#plus something something reverence as an almost twisted form of love

[cosmicquill]

My secret Hatchetfield crack theory is that Willabella Muckwab and Webby were lovers. No I will not elaborate (/lie).

[anerdwrites]

May I have this dance?

The Princess Ball snuck up on them all. It didn’t feel like it had been ten years since the last one, especially since Scorpia had thrown a ball after the war had ended as an impromptu celebration. This time, Mermista was the esteemed hostess. Adora was excited to attend, having fully earned her honorary princess title. She was a little tired of talking about the dance, though. It was all Glimmer and Bow wanted to discuss for the whole month leading up to it.

And as excited as Adora was, it was tinged with disappointment. Catra had blatantly refused to be her plus one. Instead, Adora would be attending the dance alone. She’d be a third wheel to Glimmer and Bow all night, and probably spend more time with Entrapta than anyone else- if Entrapta even chose to attend. She hadn’t RSVP’d.

(“I just don’t belong with the princesses, Adora. Even if they’ve all forgiven me, I still feel out of place. You belong with them, and I won’t be the one to ruin your fun. Go, enjoy your night. Dance, laugh, and enjoy yourself. You can tell me about it afterwards,” Catra had told her. Adora couldn’t find the words to tell her that she didn’t know how to have fun without Catra, anymore.)

She chose to wear a similar dress to the one she’d worn at Scorpia’s ball. It was white, with golden accents. There was no trailing cape this time, though, and her hair was twisted into an elegant bun that threatened to give her a headache. She’d gotten ready alone for this dance, telling Glimmer that she’d rather use the time to study her etiquette charts. In truth, she just wanted the calm before the storm.

Adora squared her shoulders before she entered Mermista’s beautiful castle. She could see Sea Hawk sitting on Mermista’s right, squirming in his chair in impatience. It was a miracle that he wasn’t singing; Adora had to wonder what Mermista had threatened him with to get him to behave.

“Revered hostess,” Adora greeted, sinking into her curtsy. She counted to three in her head, then rose with a smile. “I’m honored to be here in your hall, to celebrate with you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Welcome, Princess Adora. Where’s your girlfriend?” Mermista replied. Adora was surprised when she didn’t add on a hasty ‘not that I care’ at the end of her question.

“Uh... Catra couldn’t make it. She sends her regrets,” Adora replies quickly. “I’m sure she’ll be at the next meeting, though.”

“Sure. Enjoy the party,” Mermista told her, already bored of the conversation. Adora gave another (shorter) curtsy, then made her way down to find her other friends.

She spotted Glimmer and Bow immediately, but chose to go in the other direction. They were her absolute best friends, but it was hard to be around them sometimes- especially since they’d just gotten engaged. She was relieved to see Entrapta lurking in a corner of the room, alone.

“Hi, Entrapta. Are you enjoying yourself?” Adora asked, stopping in front of the technology princess.

“Oh, yes! Scorpia just went to get snacks. This is always so fascinating, don’t you think? It’s even better now that I’m closer to understanding how it works,” Entrapta smiled, looking up at Adora happily. “Where’s Catra? I figured she’d be right beside you. Did she sneak off again?”

Adora’s smile became slightly more forced as she answered the question. “No, Catra didn’t want to come. She’s been tired, lately.”

“That’s odd. I could have sworn I just saw-“ Entrapta trailed off as Scorpia joined them, holding an array of tiny treats.

“Adora! It’s great to see you. How have you been?” Scorpia asked. She didn’t give Adora a chance to answer. “Oh! I think Mermista is about to announce the first dance. I’ve been teaching Entrapta how! Please excuse us.”

They were already walking away before Scorpia had finished speaking. Adora watched them go with a sad smile. She walked towards the stairs quickly, hoping to make it off of the dance floor in time- but it wasn’t meant to be. She’d only made it halfway before Mermista started the announcement.

“I guess it’s my honor to announce this first dance. Enjoy yourselves, guys,” she said loudly.

The lights dimmed, and the music started to play. Adora sighed, clenching her fists in determination. She looked to her left, but the girl was already paired off. She expected the same to her right, but was shocked to see a hand already extended towards her. Her eyes widened further when she saw just who it was.

“Catra?” She gasped, a smile already forming. It was just natural to raise her hand and mirror Catra’s stance as the dance truly began.

“Hey, Adora,” Catra grinned. “You didn’t think I’d really leave you all alone, did you?”

“Well...” Adora couldn’t stop smiling as they moved in a slow circle.

“Do you remember the first time we ever danced together? When we found that old record and took it up to our spot? We were both terrible, but it was so fun that neither of us cared,” Catra mused.

“Oh yeah!” Adora giggled. “We were so young, then.”

“That was the first night I looked at you and realized that I could never live without you,” Catra admitted, smiling almost shyly.

“Catra,” Adora whispered, tears in her eyes.

“I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve had that exact same thought at this point. But I know it’s a lot,” Catra continued. “And that’s why I want you to have this.”

Adora hadn’t noticed that Catra had led them both to the edge of the dance floor until Catra stopped dancing and got down on one knee. From her pocket she pulled a beautiful golden chain, attached to which was a carefully removed claw from Catra’s own hand.

(Adora remembered exactly when it had been removed, nearly six months before this dance. Catra had told her there was an accident in a rebuilding project, and that it would grow back. “It’s no big deal. These things happen,” she’d said.)

“Adora, I can’t imagine a life without you by my side. I love you so much that it’s hard for me to breathe without you. I don’t want to spend a single day of our future apart. Will you marry me?” Catra asked. Her eyes were glistening with tears as she offered the necklace.

“Oh, Catra,” Adora smiled, wiping at her own tears. “Of course I will!”

Neither woman heard the cheers that echoed through the hall. Catra rose quickly and fastened the necklace around Adora’s neck. Adora barely let her finish before pulling her into a searing kiss.

“I love you,” Adora told her softly as their foreheads rested together. “I will always love you.”

(Hours later, in the privacy of their own room, Adora removed the golden wing broach from her dress and pinned it to Catra’s favorite jacket. In the ten years it had been since she’d bought the pin for herself, she’d never once gone a day without wearing it. Now that she had Catra’s necklace, she no longer needed it. She was happy to make it the symbol of her love for Catra. And if Catra openly cried when she noticed it the next day, neither of them ever mentioned it again.)

{Feel free to send me a prompt if there’s something you want to read!}

[dotsz]

hey i finished my elmer’s glue fic i bet for the phight

@phandomphightclub​ dunno if you’re still active but here’s my bet lol fml

Empty. The room was empty.

Oh, sure, one could argue otherwise; literally speaking, the room was covered wall to floor in posters from various comic books, fanarts, certificates, and the such. Action figures littered every surface, and the camera set in front of the desk gave the impression of there always being an audience.

And yet.

It wasn’t so much the contents of the room but the atmosphere that made it feel so incredibly void of… happiness? No. Purpose. Maybe. Even the word felt empty.

Butch sighed from his place on his seat. He looked into the camera, the lenses reflecting his own mournful face back at him, and a cold pit grew in his stomach.

“What am I,” he said, “but a puppet in this madness? This simulation? This… this reality, it’s… it’s falling apart.” He put his head in his hands, inwardly cursing himself for how his shoulders shook. “Oh, Lord, it’s all falling apart.”

All this efforts to create something for this bland world, all the years of pouring his heart and soul into his work… was it for naught? Did they truly detest him so? What did he ever do to deserve such torment?

Deep in the recesses of his mind, a dark voice slithered through. But you didn’t really do anything! it whispered. Your show only did well because of the concept; still people fight you on it, tell you what you could do better, yet you refuse to open your mind and accept criticism-

“Silence yourself,” Butch murmured fiercely. “I am not weak. I don’t listen to those who are less than me.”

But are they really less than you? it cackled. What if you are the one in the simulation? The dream? The nightmare? What if they are telling you to wake up? What if your masterpiece is really the key to your salvation, not theirs?

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” Butch stood abruptly from his chair, and the screech it made as it slid across the floor caused him to cringe almost as much as the phandom while watching Livin’ Large. “I created their childhood. Without me, they would not exist. I shaped their very souls.”

Is that the truth? Or simply your over-inflated ego?

“Who even are you?” Butch whirled around to face his wall of fanart, which had not been updated since, like, 2015. “What business do you have to be in my mind, speaking poison into me?”

I am your insecurities.

“Impossible. I have none.”

Let me clarify, said the voice. I am the insecurities created out of your show. The creation of Danny Phantom came with sacrifice; it came with the knowledge that despite your initial ideas being of interest, your writing and unwillingness to stray from your narrow-minded beliefs of what cartoons are to be caused the show to inevitably fall into mediocrity.

“Hey-”

The inspiration of superheroes, woven into a twist of a child’s secret identity stemming from keeping themselves safe rather than those they love, coupled with the allure of ghosts in a small, eerie town, as well as relatable and well-written depictions of teenage characters, could’ve made the show to be a legend, revered, given much more than two seasons plus one half-assed excuse for a season and conclusion.

“Are you done yet?” Butch asked irritatedly, an ache beginning to form between his eyes. He didn't have time for this. He didn’t have much time for anything, it seemed, what with Oaxis needing more support and his fans letting him down… he was always being let down…

Stop whining, the voice snapped. Anyway, as I was saying: if Danny Phantom had been given the same treatment as other popular cartoons, like Gravity Falls, the creepiness would’ve fit its child-like innocence enough to give it the right kind of feel people were hoping for when you put ghosts and superheroes together. Truly, I pity you. You could’ve done something great.

“Stop…” Butch groaned. His head pounded, his hands shook, and every inch of his body tried its hardest to go against the thoughts that had begun to enter his brain. His - no, it was no longer his - fandom had grown into a phandom, solely for the show, leaving his ideas behind for “better” ones of their own. And when he demanded answers, they only laughed in his face… is this what he’d become? A laughing stock? An example of everything he’s ever hated?

This simulation of life was created for us to give, the voice said, sounding much more sympathetic. But they’ve done nothing but take from you.

“I…” Butch gasped, fell into his chair, stared into the camera. Soulless lenses.

Isn’t it your fault, though? You pushed them away, didn’t you?

Black spots danced before his eyes.

You false god, said the voice, and Butch lost consciousness.

He swam in darkness for what felt like eons. Bursts of light and noise every so often tore through the veil in front of him; he heard whispers from years past, mutterings of guacamole and a red-head background character, the phrase Phantom Planet’s Not Canon Fuck You; he saw lists of dissection fics and metaphysical hang-out spots at Denny’s, accusations of diaper fetishes… finally showing his ridicule after announcing Oaxis, the way they slandered him.

This was his legacy being shown.

Butch groaned. Something soft remained under him.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” said a voice to his right. Familiar.

He opened his eyes, slowly, pushing through the heaviness, black spots receding to the corners of his vision. He took a moment to recognize he still sat in his office, only this time on a small couch by the corner.

“Here, drink some water,” said the same voice. Butch turned his head to look-

And froze.

It was him. It looked like him. Same strong jawline, luscious locks of dark hair, broad shoulders and tight-fitting shirt that stretched over his toned physique; same deep, soulful brown eyes, a charming grin showing perfect, pearly-white teeth.

It was like looking into a mirror.

The other him grinned wider, holding out a cup of water. “Here, drink up.”

As if on autopilot, Butch reached forward and took the glass out of Other-Butch’s hands. Their fingers brushed, and something akin to electricity traveled up his arm and into his chest, warming him up from the inside, making him gasp. With shaking hands, he gulped down the cold drink and shivered at the chill.

“What was that?” Butch choked out, staring at the perfection that was his face - on another body, yet so incredibly familiar he had no choice but to feel calm, secure, happy.

Other-Butch laughed, booming and infectious. “Oh, you took a nasty fall, all right. Don’t worry, the voice in your head won’t come as long as I’m here.”

“Alright?” Butch paused. “Who are you?”

“I’m you,” said Other-Butch simply. “Well, not exactly; I have my own thoughts and feelings too, of course. But I’m still you. Same memories.”

“Same name?”

“Butch Hartman.” Other-Butch smiled softly as if he were revisiting an old nostalgic memory. “But you can call me Elmer, if it’s too confusing.”

“Elmer.” Butch tried the name on his tongue - it fit. “I haven’t heard that in years.”

“It’s pretty old, isn’t it?” Elmer sighed, leaning forward. His biceps flexed as he wrung his large hands together. “Butch, do you remember the Golden Days?”

“The what?”

“The Golden Days.” A ghost of a smile. “Back when everyone loved your show. I mean, they still do, but they respected it back then. Loved you. Your ideas.”

“I…” Butch closed his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I do. Good times.”

“I remember your - our passion,” Elmer continued, his voice dripping with wistfulness. “And now? What now?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re giving up,” Elmer said, his tone suddenly sharp.

Butch snapped his eyes open to stare at Elmer. His jaw jutted out defiantly, his eyes smoldering, looking into his very soul. For the second time today, Butch shivered.

“You can’t give up, not now,” Elmer continued. “What about Oaxis? What about the children? You’re making the future, Butch.”

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. Butch sniffed angrily - he, crying? The almighty Butch Hartman? No, he would not stoop to such low measures. “The phandom-”

“Those little shits know nothing of what you’ve accomplished,” Elmer hissed. “All they’re good for is making bad shitposts and hurting your canon. What happened to ‘You can’t bring me down,’ to ‘Criticism only makes me stronger?’ What happened to the Butch we know?’

Butch stayed silent.

“You can’t give up.” Elmer grabbed his hand, brought it close to him. Butch gasped at the energy flowing between them. “You can’t.”

And through his doubt, a pinprick of light shone through; a small bit of passion broke through, then multiplied, flooding his veins and swelling his heart as he fell further into the electricity Elmer brought him.

Butch grinned, reminiscent to his old bravado. “You’re right.”

Elmer mirrored his grin. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“You will?”

“We can do this together,” Elmer said, his eyes wide and open. Butch leaned into him, the two embracing, gasping at the energy coursing through them. Yes, this was meant to be. They were meant to be.

And whatever happened, Butch knew he’d be ready. With Elmer by his side.

“We can fix this simulation,” Elmer whispered hoarsely into his ear. “Together. Like glue.”

And Butch said, “Okay.”

And together, they created.

[rosesisupposes]

Destined, part 8

aka Sweet Dreams are Made of These

Character Tags: Virgil/Anixety ; Patton/Creativity ; Patton/Morality ; Logan/Logic ; Remy/Sleep ; Dante/Deceit

Chapter Pairings: 

Chapter Warnings: lies, theft, negative self-talk

Reader Tags: @residentanchor​ @royally-anxious​ @brendonuriesguardianvirgil​

Summary: After centuries of acting as an oracle to heroes, quest-seekers, and villains alike, Virgil just wants to live as a normal, modern human. For someone who can see infinite probabilities, you’d think he’d know better.

<<Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9>>

Read on Ao3

Flashback: central Europe, 1000 CE

Kat Baker was not a very good one. At the very least, she was the worst baker in the Baker family. And today she’d proved beyond a doubt that if she inherited running the family store, as she was expected to, Bakers’ Dozen would be out of business within the week. She could practically feel three generations of Baker women glaring at her in disappointment.

It had started with the sign.

Mama had asked her to paint a new sign after the old one rotted. She had been ecstatic. Finally, a chance to create something not made of icing! Something that would last!

She’d been very methodical about it, too. She’d sketched several designs and got Mama’s approval, and made a quick version on parchment paper before trying to recreate it on the wooden sign that hung outside the thatched-roof bakery.

But today, once she finally had gotten her paints out, she had gotten too caught up in it, and she’d forgotten to take the loaves out of the oven. The simple daily loaves. The kind that people actually depended on the Baker business for. The kind that were the staple of half their villages’ meals for the day. They had burned, and Mama and her sister Cythera had had to use up the extra dough to quickly get out as many as possible for the daily traffic.

All the pretty, fancy baking that Kat was good at helping with was just extra, the kind of thing that would help them maintain and expand their business. The village loved her sugar flowers and decorations, even the elegantly braided and twisted breads, but they didn’t live on sweetcakes. The daily bread was the backbone of the town and the store itself. Mama was furious.

Kat had run to the woods, crying. Why couldn’t she be a better daughter, a better Baker. Why was she so flighty when her family needed her to be stable, and dependable, and adult?

She ran down a barely-seen path to a small glade, and threw herself down on the mossy bank of the small pond there. This was her paradise, her tranquil pool. She sat and breathed in and out, listening to forest sounds and admiring the flowers around her. At least here she felt like she belonged, and there were no expectations to disappoint.

Relaxing, she doodled in the dirt with a reed plucked from the bank, sketching the water lilies gently floating on the pool’s surface. She started adding flourishes - a frog on a lilypad, a bird overhead, a butterfly in flight. Her concentration was entirely locked on the spreading patterns drawn in the dirt.

Right up until she heard a splash and a voice yell for help.

A tiny blue form was in the middle of the pool, struggling to stay afloat as sodden white wings threatened to sink it. With a start but no hesitation, she waded in, and used a lilypad to scoop up the small creature.

Kat brought it back to land, and deposited her tiny, soaked burden on the dry moss. Shakily standing, a tiny voice said “Thank you, you sweet thing! You saved my life!”

Getting a good look at last, Kat gasped. It was a fairy! A real-life fairy! She knew they existed of course, and everyone said this forest was mystic, but she’d only ever heard stories. The small creature had sky-blue skin, from tiny toes to dangling antennae. Moth wings, white with light brown dots, flapped out from a wee torso in an effort to dry them.

“Oh, toadstools- I haven’t introduced myself. Hello, human! I’m Baxter!”

“Hello, Baxter, I’m Kat. Are you alright?”

The little fairy grinned. “I’ve been wetter! I was almost in over my head in that situation! But thanks to you I’ll be all flight now!”

Kat giggled. The fairy grinned even more broadly. They loved it when people enjoyed their jokes.

“So, mister Kat!” they peeped cheerfully. “How can I repay you for saving my life?”

“Oh, it was no troub- wait, mister?”

“Fiddlesticks, did I get that wrong again? You humans and your non-fluid genders, I’ll never learn. Do you prefer miss, is that right term? More importantly, can I call you Kitty Kat?”

Kat scowled. “No one calls me Kitty. Well, except Cythy, and only because she’s my little sister. And Mama, but only to annoy me. I’m just Kat. Miss Kat, but only if you insist.”

Baxter shrugged philosophically. “Someday, I will find a kitty I can get along with. Actual cats keep trying to eat me. And - oh wait, I was asking a question back there wasn’t I. Oh yes. What can I do to repay you, my sweet Miss Kat?”

Kat grinned at the funny little creature. “You don’t need to do anything for me - unless you can turn me into not a disaster.”

“Exccuussee me?” the fairy asked, offended. They tested their now-dry wings, and fluttered up to Kat’s eye level. “Are you bad-talking my newest best friend?”

“Who’s your - oh. Me.” She shrugged. “It’s not bad-talking if it’s true. I am a disaster and my whole family - no, the whole village - knows it.”

“I will PHYSICALLY FIGHT YOU!” the fairy said, holding up tiny fists.

Kat eyed them with a crooked smile. The fairy’s body was all of four inches tall, their long curly antenna only adding another half inch. “I mean it!” they insisted fiercely. “You are great and perfect! You just saved my life! How could you not be!”

“Because I’m supposed to be a baker and I just can’t do any of it right. Not to mention actually running a business! I just mess everything up and make my family’s life harder.”

“You adorable wingless butterfly, I am sure that’s not true.”

“It is. Every last bread loaf burned today, all because of me. People needed those, and because of me Cythera and Mama will be exhausted tonight when they need to be preparing for tomorrow.”  

“I know!  I could help you! With just a pinch of magic, you won’t give loaf a bad name!”

Kat half-heartedly laughed at the pun, but couldn’t restrain her sighs. “But even then… I’d be dependent on that for everything. And it wouldn’t be fair to Cythera. She’s the one who can actually bake, and she’s so good at it. Plus, she’s already had so many good ideas about how to make Mama’s life easier. Why couldn’t she have been the oldest? She could inherit the store, like she deserves to. I just want to make beautiful things, without the pressure of knowing families rely on me every day to get food out early enough.”

Baxter frowned. “Have you asked if you can just… not inherit and let your sister take over? It seems like that would make everyone happy.”

“I want to, it’s just… I love my family so much, I would never want to do wrong by them. If I tell Mama I don’t want to run the shop… wouldn't that be rejecting all her hard work, and telling her it didn’t mean anything? And her mother’s work, and her mother’s mother’s work… they all took on the responsibility for our store and our family name. None of them shirked their duty. If I do, that’s who I’ll be my whole life. The Baker who wasn’t.” A tear fell from her cheek and landed on her stained apron.

Baxter sat on her shoulder, legs dangling past her collarbone. “Hey, kiddo, it’s alright! You would be happier, and so would your family - that’s all you could ask for, right?”

Kat shook her head, careful not to knock off her new friend. “It just feels wrong. I know I’m not the best at it, but I promised Mama I would. I promised Papa I would. How can I back out of a promise, especially if I don’t know it will work out? Or even what else I would do?”

“What do you want to do, Kat Not-a-Baker?”

“I want to create, but not from dough,” she whispered reverently. “I want to paint and draw, and make beautiful things. Permanent things,” she added, looking sadly at her drawings in the dirt. In the scramble to rescue Baxter, almost all the marks had been smudged or splashed away. “It always feels so natural and right, when I’m able to sketch, or doodle, or paint. But I don’t know if that means it’s what I’m really meant to do, or if I’m just frivolous and need to focus. That’s what Gran’mama always said, anyway.”

Baxter hummed. “I might be able to help you there,” they said, dangling their legs and swinging them a little. “With my help, you might be able to find just the right person who can tell you exactly what you’re meant to be.”

Kat turned her head to stare at the blue creature. “Like… like a Quest?!”

“Exactly like a Quest,” Baxter replied. They knew that techhhhhnicalllyy, they’re not supposed to be going off on Quests without becoming an official Fairy Godparent, but even official parents don’t get to choose their Godchildren. And Baxter liked Kat a lot.

Plus, the Elders were sticks-in-the-mud and kept saying that Baxter “wasn’t ready” and needed to “stop making so many puns” and “take this seeeeeriousssslyyy.”

All the younger fairies loved them, and thought their advice was great. Maybe if they proved they could be a really great Godparent to Kat, the Elders would finally see reason.

This was a great plan, they could feel it all the way to the tips of their wings.

“Have you heard of the Harz Forest, or the Fortuneteller of the Wood?” they asked, fluttering out in front of the teen.

“Only that humans almost never go in it, and that everyone who tries to enter gets lost. And Auntie Delinda says it’s because the magic folk scare or curse everyone to make sure only the worthy can reach the Teller, but Mama says that’s horseradish and that fortune-tellers are just regular people telling you what you want to hear.”

Baxter put their hands on their hips. “I am offended. Here I am, a real-life fairy, and you’re telling me the magic folk are horseradish?”

“Don’t blame me!” Kat said with a pout. “I’ve been looking for fairies, or unicorns, or even a dragon as long as it’s something magical, for my whole life, and I only just found you on accident today. If most humans have to go at least fifteen years without any clues, no wonder Mama thinks fairies have disappeared.”

Baxter looked chagrined. “The fae folk have been limiting our contact lately, it’s true. Does that mean your mother won’t let you come with me?”

“Not at all - when she sees you, and you tell her we’re going on a Quest! She’ll have to agree. She may be a skeptic, but even she knows the tales - that to be a fairy’s Goddaughter is special, and there are consequences of denying a fairy Quest.”

“That...is… absolutely right! Yes, what we’re doing is a true, official fairy Quest, because you, Kat Baker, are just too special to ignore, you delightful little cherub. Yessiree, you are indeed a Goddaughter, and I am your Official™ Fairy Godparent!” Baxter lied. It was for a good cause, after all.

“Did you say something after official? What is a tee-ehm? Is it like a fairy’s magic wand?”

“Uh, yes! Yes, that’s very wise of you to point out. I will need to stop by my colony to get my magic wand before we can leave. If you meet me here as early as you can tomorrow morning, we can go talk to your mother then. And then we can be off on our Quest - to find the Fortuneteller of the Wood!”

Kate leapt to her feet. “You mean it? Really? Tomorrow? Oh, I’m so excited! Yes, I will be here once the bread is out tomorrow, just after sunrise. I’ll see you tomorrow, Baxter!”

Baxter watched her go, then wheeled in midair to head back to the colony. He’d committed, now. All that was left to do was get a wand.

If Kat hadn’t been convinced that Baxter was magical, this proved it.

Her Mama, her skeptic, no-nonsense, stubborn Mama, had needed only 5 minutes talking with the little fairy to allow her to go off on her Quest. Mama had packed a haversack with the most durable loaves, and made sure she brought her Papa’s forest journal of edible plants.

“Take care of it, and yourself, my sweet Kat. I hope your Quest goes well, and that you find what you’re looking for,” she had said, hugging her tightly and kissing her forehead.

Cythy was jealous, but promised to support Mama. “Bring me back an extra prince, Kitty! Or tell Baxter to come live with us!” Their charm had clearly roped in the entire Baker family. It was something in those earnest brown eyes, and the wide smile. Plus, they seemed to give off respect like a perfume when they put their mind to it.

And now, not even a day later, they’d reached the edge of the Harz Forest. They knew that the Fortuneteller lived deep in the woods, at the furthest point from all the edges. Kat was dying of curiosity - what kept people away? Would it be scary? Would she be ready?

She and Baxter were following what path seemed to exist. It was faint, and definitely not commonly trod. But it definitely was moving steadily away from the edge of the forest, so it must be heading deeper in.

Baxter spent parts of the journey flying beside he, and parts sitting on her shoulder or on her pack, telling stories about antics they and their fae friends had gotten into, and slowly convincing the girl to let them call her Kitty Kat. They were in the middle of a rather entertaining story regarding Baxter’s first ill-fated attempt to befriend an actual cat when they suddenly pulled on Kat’s hair, squeaking “Pump the brakes there, kiddo.”

Kat looked around, confused. She didn’t see anything threatening - what was wrong?

Baxter flew out in front of her, soft wings flapping as they removed their wand from a tiny holster on their waist. Their eyes and wand glowed as they turned in a semicircle, continuing to hover. “Aha! Oh, that is just so clever,” they exclaimed. Turning to their human companion - no, their Goddaughter - Baxter explained, “It’s wood sprite magic. That’s what protects this forest. There are misdirection charms everywhere, designed to send any humans right back to the edges of the forest without realizing they’ve been turned around. It would work on anyone unable to cast spells, though magic folk like me might notice something funny. Luckily, I am your Godparent, and I am Prepared!”

A glow arose from the tip of their wand, spreading into a silvery bubble the enclosed fairy and human alike. It hung for a moment, then melted away. “We’ll be all set now - the spells won’t affect us. The sprites have gotten more strategic than I remember - time was they’d just try to strangle any intruders one by one. But this way, they only need to maintain the spell, and don’t risk losing any of their own!”

Kat rubbed her throat at the thought of wood sprites and strangulation. “Will they still try to stop us? Is there danger?”

“I don’t believe so. We just need to be careful to not harm any trees. Not that either of us wood,” they added, flying next to Kat just to elbow her lightly. She giggled. “No really! These wood sprites are all the same! No bite, all bark!”

“Baxter, you were definitely destined to be my Godparent. Papa used to make the same jokes all the time. I always groaned and complained, but I loved them. I wish I could have told him that.”

The blue fairy felt their heart squeeze. They flew up and stroke the girl’s head. “Kiddo, don’t you worry. He knew.”

As Baxter had predicted, they didn’t encounter any trouble. It was a far distance to walk, but they were able to find small clearings to sleep in. At night, Baxter cast a protection spell just in case, and included heat in the ward, so there was no need to harm any trees for firewood.

It took two nights and three days of walking before Baxter noticed heavier layers of magic, and Kat spotted a break in the trees ahead. “This must be it!” Kat said excitedly. “The center of the forest - we’re almost at the home of the Fortuneteller of the Wood!”

They were expecting a cottage, maybe a tower. What they found was a huge natural home built in the heart of a tree. A sprawling tree, at least fifteen feet in diameter, twisted up towards the clouds above. A hollow in the middle of the trunk contained what looked like a natural staircase as the tree continued to grow around it. The stairs twined within the trunk before disappearing into a dense canopy.

“Should we… go up?” Kat asked nervously. “I hate to barge in…”

“The Teller probably isn’t used to guests, so wouldn’t know to check for us,” Baxter noted. “Let’s see where the stairs lead.”

They climbed up carefully, both in awe of the massive natural being. They reached the top only to find a room made out of twined branches. The floor was a net of branches in all directions, curving up and around to create the walls. It felt a bit like standing in a wicker basket - a still-living basket that pulsed with green life on every side.

Kat made eye contact with Baxter, who nodded encouragingly. She took a deep breath, and called out “Mr. Fortuneteller? Teller of the Wood? I come seeking my destiny!”

They heard a rustling above them. Through the leaves and branches above her head, Kat saw a form swinging back and forth from branch to branch. It descended quickly, but with what was clearly ease of long practice. The form finally dropped deftly in front of the fairy and human guests in its home, bracing its landing with a bended knee.

The form rose to full height. It was a long way to go. Baxter’s first thought was a druid or a sprite grown to fifty times its size, but neither druids nor sprites could be fortune-tellers. No, this was just a Sage who’d chosen to blend in with his home. His skin was a dark, warm brown, made even darker by his leathery tan. His hair was a mixture of dark and light green, falling messily into his face and almost - almost - obscuring shockingly bright green eyes. His cheeks had what could have been greenish stubble, but could also be lichen. At his full height, he was at least six feet tall, towering over both his guests.

Baxter was absolutely overcome. They would have expected the Sage to stand awkwardly, but his body was well-proportionate to his height, and he was clearly in his element surrounded by his wooded home. When Baxter was finally able to pull his eyes away from the tall tree man, he noticed wood sprites darting in and out of the tree room, flitting around their giant counterpart and away.

“Welcome, Seeker,” the Teller said at last. His voice was rough with disuse, but shiveringly deep, and Baxter could feel himself swooning as he fluttered by Kat’s shoulder.  “I am the one some call the Fortuneteller of the Wood. My name is Devas.”

Kat gave a small curtsy. “Greetings, Devas. I am Katherine Baker, Kat. And this is my fairy Godparent, Baxter.”

“A Quest, is this? You must be very special to have a fairy Quest bring you to me. Particularly when I have not been an active Fortune Teller in over a hundred years.”

Kat beamed with pride. “They are an excellent Godparent, and have guided me here to help me find my destiny!”

Devas hesitated, and seemed ready to decline, but paused when the small blue fairy came up to just below eye level. Baxter felt their tiny heart beating much quicker as those emerald eyes inspected him. Devas rumbled, “I have been acting as protector to the sprites of this forest, helping the trees themselves repel advancing farmers and conquerors. Tell me, fairy, why I should resume the ancient duties I had left behind these many years?”

Baxter shivered, partly in fear, and partly not in fear at all. They drew a deep breath, and channeled their innate magic to sweeten the mood of the giant man. “Devas, great Sage, we have journeyed long to find you. My  young friend here - that is, my Goddaughter, is torn between duty and passion. She just wants to know which choice will be Right. Can you, Heart of the Harz, Teller of the Wood, please help her? It’s for her family!”

Devas had never seen a fairy with such striking brown eyes, made all the more startling by the contrast from their bright blue body. And the way the little thing looked at him as they asked, on behalf of their charge… Devas may have been committed to his forest home, but he didn’t have a wooden heart. He relented.

“Very well, young Seeker. Do you know the invocation?” he asked as relaxed his lanky form into a tailor’s seat. Sitting, he still almost as tall as the teen who cautiously approached him.

“I do, great Teller,” she said, taking a breath. “Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny.”

“Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

“I am.” Her small face was determined.

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.”

Devas’ huge brown hands enveloped Kat’s, the paler skin of his palms still not as light as hers. He closed his eyes and looked into the ether.

Kat Baker. What a relief. No dragons or quests or risking the world. She just wanted to know if she was wrong to have an ‘impractical’ passion. It reminded Devas fondly of the farmers from all those years ago at Delphi. No grand decisions of right and wrong - just hoping that life will go her way. And it was within her power - no magic needed. If only all destinies were like this, Devas might not have escaped to the woods for his current lifetime. He smiled internally, and spoke.

“To trust that beauty will be recognized, you must commit with all your heart.”

Kat withdrew her hands, her eyes shining. She looked up at her fluttering companion and grinned. “Baxter, did you hear that! That sounds like a good sign!”

“It sure does kiddo! I can hardly be-leaf it!”

Something was bothering Devas. This wasn’t his first interaction with a fairy Godparent, and this one was… different. Much less polished. Far more scattered than fairies tended to want Godparents to be. And Devas was just a tad suspicious.

“Fairy - Baxter, was it? Do you seek a destiny as well? On behalf of your Quest, I will Tell it for you, if you wish.”

“Ohhh I don’t know that that’s necessary, my future can really stay a mys-tree!”

“Oh Bax, don’t be silly!” Kat piped up. “Even if you know you’re going to keep being a fairy Godparent, don’t you want a hint for how things will go?”

A strained look flashed across the little creatures’ blue face. They fluttered up towards the leafy ceiling, muttering to themself. Finally, they descended, and landed on Devas’ large palm. “I… suppose there are questions I have for the future. Here goes nothing. Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny.”

“Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

Baxter’s face turned a much lighter shade of blue, but they proceeded nonetheless. “I am.”

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.”

Two tiny hands wrapped around the Sage’s thumb as the ether clouded his vision once more.

As he gazed through flashing futures, Devas immediately felt his suspicions were well-founded. There were possible future Godchildren, yes, but far more were ending up selfish, or cruel, or cowardly than fairies were supposed to allow. And in the futures without Godchildren, Baxter was exiled entirely, shut out of their colony. Devas frowned. He didn’t see any future choices that caused it. What could the fairy have already done? Was it worth it to check?

A sudden voice, high-pitched but firm and filled with disdain. “Once a thief, forever a thief.” It came from a grave-looking fairy, clearly much older than Baxter, surrounded by a group of stone-faced elders. That was it. Devas was going to look into the past.

Devas is Baxter, sitting with a smaller, younger fairy. “Now Felics, I know you didn’t mean to hurt Poppy, but you did hurt them, and you need to apologize. “But Bax, what if they are still mad at me? Can’t I just wait until they feel better?” “No, kiddo, you can’t. Sometimes doing the right thing doesn’t feel all that great.”

The world shifts, to only hours later. Devas feels their fairy heart fluttering as quickly as their wings with nerves. Their prank went wrong, and their best friend is furious with them. Why can’t they understand it was a joke? Devas always meant it to be a joke, they should know that. If they don’t understand that and don’t want to be part of the delights that are Devas’ brilliant pranks, maybe it’s best they not be friends anymore.

Devas paused in his visions. He recognized the sentiment - feelings always threatened to overpower better judgment. But to give in to the emotional reaction just after urging the impressionable not to? No wonder their potential future Godchildren could be so… petty.

It is night, just a few days ago. Devas flies silently through the colony. They’d slipped through the illusion on the huge, mossy boulder during the ritual hour, as everyone was out in fairy circles. Their luck is doubly in - only one Elder is guarding the inner vault, and it’s Blunda. She is old and sleepy, and it takes just a whispered suggestion with a tiny twist of magic to have her snoring. Devas grins to themself. Clearly, this is why they would make a great Godparent. They’re so resourceful! The Elders really didn’t know what they were missing, delaying their first deployment. They fly into the vault, and found racks upon racks of magic wands. Bee-ee-ay-youtiful. They select a belt and holster from the tray, then reach for one of the magic objects. As they snatch it, they sense alarm spells going off, zooming to the Elders. Time for their escape. They race past Blunda (still sleeping) and take a hidden shortcut through the colony walls, escaping into open air. They feel a slight twinge against their conscience. They know stealing is Wrong, but who else would help Kat? The Elders were so particular in which children were named Godchildren. Baxter likes Kat a lot, and she was so kind to them. So helping her must be Right, and anything they do that helps her is also Right.

Right?

Devas drew back, frowning. Now the futures all made sense. But the fairy can’t be beyond all help, are they? Devas knew he was likely overstepping, but he asked Baxter a clarifying question.

“Fairy, what do you want your destiny to be? What do you want to be your life’s work and legacy?”

Baxter smiled cheerfully.  “I want to be a Good Fairy and Godparent, and help as many kiddos as I can, and bring smiles to their faces!”

“Can a Godparent be Good if their idea of Good shifts?” Devas asked quietly.

The fairy went pale. Devas nodded, then spoke Baxter’s destiny.

“A willow that bends without end supports no weight. An unforgiving oak will break those that oppose it. Only if you can resist these extremes will the forest path be revealed to you.”

Baxter’s tiny mouth hung open, processing what the forest Sage had said. They had a lot to consider.

As fairy and girl made their way along the long journey home, Kat asked Baxter what they were thinking, unnerved by their uncharacteristic silence.

“Kitty Kat, have I been a good Godparent to you? Have I helped you figure out the Right thing to do?”

“Of course you’ve been good! You got us to the Sage and now I know what I need to do! At least I think I do.”

“But do I do what’s Right? Or just what I think will make me happy?”

“Both, I think!”

“What about when they’re not the same?”

Kat frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s happened, has it?”

Baxter’s insides twisted. Should they have admitted to Kat that the wand was stolen? But that would mean admitting that they hadn’t been assigned to her, that she hadn’t been picked as a Goddaughter. Would that hurt her? Wouldn’t she feel liked Baxter had betrayed her?

Their sudden realization caused them to fly straight into a tree branch.

They were asking themselves entirely the wrong questions. They couldn’t focus on the perceived outcomes of their actions, but on what was the right thing to do. And the right thing to do was to tell Kat the truth. All of it.

They had betrayed Kat, by lying, and convincing her to leave her family on false pretenses. The forest hadn’t been dangerous, but it could have been, and Kat would have been at risk of her life without even knowing why.

“Kiddo? I mean, Kat? Can we take a break for a second,” they asked nervously.

“Of course, Baxter. Are your wings tired?”

“No, I just… need to get something off my chest.”

“We’d better sit down then. Wouldn’t want you to get crushed!” Kat replied with a goofy grin. The cheesy joke, so like their own, made Baxter grin back in spite of themself.

Kat settled carefully in a mossy clearing, checking for saplings before sitting gently. Even though there was no longer a threat, she didn’t want to harm Devas’ forests.

Baxter found a sapling, barely over two feet tall, and alit on the top-most branch. Leaning against the slender trunk, they let their wings fall back into a rest position. They looked down at their tiny blue feet, not wanting to make eye contact with Kat just yet.

“I… I want to apologize, Kat. I have not been a good Godparent to you.”

Kat looked at him quizzically. “Bax, what do you mean? You’ve been so nice! And we succeeded in our Quest to find the Teller, and we’re practically home already. That all sounds like a great Godparent to me!”

“That’s just it, Kat. It wasn’t a Quest, not truly. And… I’m not a real Godparent. I just really, really wanted to be one. I’m so sorry,” Baxter said sadly. They looked up. Kat’s face was one of confusion, but her eyes still radiated trust for her magical companion of the past week. They felt their heart squish itself into an even tighter corner of their chest.

“The fae folk have a lot of very strict rules over who can be deployed as a Godparent, and who can be a Godchild. I’ve always resented those rules, because the Elders kept telling me I wasn’t ready, and I was so sure that I was.

“But now I understand, finally, why I never was. Kat, I… I lied to you. From practically the moment we first met. I was never chosen to be your Godparent. And to the best of my knowledge… you were never chosen to be a Godchild.”

Kat’s confusion shifted into clear self-doubt, and her eyes started to mist over with tears. This was even harder than Baxter had feared it would be.

“Kitty Kat, I promise you, it’s not because you aren’t brilliant, or talented, or delightful. There are just very exacting standards. It always feels like the Elders have some weird measuring cord - ‘Must Be This Miserable or Have This Much Potential Greatness or Must Have Been This Much Switched At Birth to Get a Fairy’. It’s not about who deserves one, I don’t think, but about whose life absolutely needs magical help to spread the most good in the world. And we don’t want to admit it, but we fae folk are shrinking in number. We live for hundreds of years, yes, but almost all our colonies are aging, and we don’t have as many potential parents to deploy. I’ve never heard of a fairy living over 1,000, and my Elders are all well into their 900s...”

Baxter shook their head. “Sorry, I’m getting distracted. That’s not the point. The point is… I wanted so badly to have the title of Godparent, to skip the process and go right to the glory, that I lied to you. I justified it because I was helping you, but I was really just trying to help myself. I lied to your family, and brought you out to these woods. What if they had been truly dangerous? If you’d been hurt… Kitty Kat, I would never forgive myself. And it would have been all my fault. I even stole this wand from my colony’s vaults, and told myself I deserved to have one. I am glad that you got to hear your destiny, and that you feel confident in your path moving forward. I really am. But you deserved better than me - as a Godparent or as a friend. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

They took a deep breath, still avoiding the girl’s eyes. “I understand if you are mad at me. I hope you will still allow me to accompany you until the end of this journey, so that I can at least protect you until you are safe at home.”

Long moments passed. Kat still had not made a sound. Baxter cringed. She hates me. She must. How could she not - I am a thief and a liar and I risked her life for my own ego.

Or maybe, she is just nervous. I should reassure her. If she needs to be reassured, I need to be the one to do it. I owe her that much, at least.

They peered up, still cringing, prepared for anger and disgust. They instead saw disappointment. Somehow, that was even worse.

“I… don’t know what to say. Thank you for telling me the truth.” Kat looked down, fiddling with the frayed hem of her apron. “I’m glad that I did get to meet the Teller, at least. And the sprites. I’m glad I know there is a destiny where I am happy, and pursuing my dream. I just wish… I wish I’d actually deserved it.”

Baxter’s heart broke.

“Kitty Kat… you did deserve it. And you do. Kat, please look at me,” Baxter pleaded. The girl reluctantly met their eyes, her own bright with unshed tears. “Kat, you deserve all of this and more. Certainly more than this shoddy excuse for a fake Godparent. I… know I haven't exactly been trustworthy. Ask me to swear by anything, though. I really and truly mean it.”

Kat frowned. “Swear by your destiny, then. The tales all say that breaking an oath will destroy the magic of what you swear by. Will you risk it? Or will you take the easy way out again?”

Baxter swallowed. Her tone hurt, but they knew they deserved it. “I will, Kat. I will swear by my destiny that you deserved this quest, and you deserved a Godparent. Even if I wasn’t the one you deserved.”

Both fairy and human regarded each other in silence for a moment. The only sound was the whispers of wind in the treetops above.

Finally, Kat nodded. “Thank you, Baxter. I believe you. And… I forgive you.”

“Why? I mean, really? You don’t have to, I know it was wrong and hurtful, you don’t have to be okay with it already…”

“But that’s just it, Bax,” the girl said. She stood, and reached out a hand for the fairy to step on. “You know now. I think, maybe, you knew before too, but you didn’t want to admit it. Because it was too hard, or too painful. But now you have, despite that.” She held small blue being up to her eye level. “You made mistakes, Bax. And your mistakes hurt others. But I don’t think you’ll ever make those mistakes again, now that you see that. I think you’re a Good fairy, and have always been one deep down. You just know to listen to that deep-down voice more now.”

Baxter tried to swallow the quickly-forming lump in their throat. She believed in them. After everything they’d brought her through, and everything they’d admitted, she believed. They’d never felt like anyone believed in them before. Even before they’d become a prankster, no one in the colony had ever seemed to expect them to be anything special or Good.

“Thank you, Kat. I am going to try my best, and keep trying even when I don’t quite get there. I hope you’ll be proud of me.”

“I know I will be. Swear on my destiny,” she said with a smile.

Baxter flew closer and hugged as much of her face as they could. “I’m sorry I was a fake Godparent, but I am so glad you were my fake Goddaughter. When we get back - will you be my not-fake friend?”

Kat carefully pat their head as a hug back, smiling. “Just you try and stop me!”

Fairy and human set off to the forest’s edge, heading home again. The sprite spells helped guide them away from the heart of the woods, and away from the Sage who’d given them both hope. Baxter was sorry they would likely never see Devas again, but one destiny was enough for anyone’s lifetime.

Besides, the Sage could only get so much credit. Finding him had been a grand adventure, but it was their young human friend who’d truly helped them find what they’d been missing.

Kat had rescued them, the first day they’d met. Now, she’d rescued them again, but for the rest of their life. If it hadn’t been for her, they might never have found their morality.

Notes:

Baxter’s wings are based on the moth Eudeilinia herminiata. Fun fact - this type of moth feeds exclusively trees from the dogwood genus

(did I specifically surround Baxter with Kat and Dog(wood)s yes, yes I did)

Baxter: Anglo-Saxon/Scottish origin, means “baker”

[katarinahime]

Day 1 - Words - Hanahaki

*disclaimer - Sasuke is not really a good person*

She coughed into her dark, ruby handkerchief, for the thousandth time and Sasuke finally saw it. Saw the thing he knew deep down in his heart but never actually allowed his thoughts to shape around. Not allowing the words to form in his mind. Not even letting it be thought into existence.

But he couldn’t deny his eyes. They missed nothing.

Tuberculosis.

One droplet of blood missed the crimson cloth and stained her previously pure white, lace gloves. Staining everything along with it.

When he finally managed to tear his eyes away from the drop, it really was a small drop, her eyes met his, almost startling.

They were sad, looking at him cautiously. Resigned to her misery, yet not wanting to spread it.

“I told you not to waste your time on me.”

Anger welled in Sasuke. A animal he knew well. He was a simple man, ruled by few things, but always succumbed to those raw emotions. Rage.

He’d struck women before. And beside having horrific nightmares of the look on his dead mother’s face if she ever found out, he held little regret for that as well. But he wasn’t angry at her.

Angry at something he couldn’t kill. Something too abstract for him to think much about.

Just a name.

Tuberculosis.

A name that brought with it pain and death. Disease and suffering. Nobody survived its wrath. There was nothing Sasuke could do. And he would do it, if he could.

Realizing, now, out next to the canyon, he would move heaven and hell, kill anything, anything, everything, to make it so he had never seen that drop of blood on her glove.

But there was nothing to do.

The first time Sasuke saw her, in town, he had stopped dead in his tracks. Not because she was beautiful, though she was. Because he knew her. Well, not her specifically. The thick dark hair, pale eyes, traveling in a pack. Deja Vu washed over him of a time he had been desperately trying to forget.

North. New York.

Hyugas.

He blinked for a few moments, adjusting to the sunlight. He had spent all night above the saloon with Sakura, and he honestly still could’ve been drunk for all he knew. His hangover was too rough for him to listen to one more second of her talking without shoving her down the steps, so he had decided to show himself out.

Konoha was the closets thing he had to a safe haven. He tried to limited his crimes in this place as much as possible, and breaking the neck or at least a leg on this poor towns most valuable whore was sure to put him in some trouble.

But now, a raging head ache, a stomach full of acid, blazing hot sun, dusty, bustling street, and a ghost from his past, Sasuke was considering heading back inside. Drinking away the drink had always been a viable option.

The group didn’t notice him and continued their walk away from the street he was on.

He considered leaving that very night, but rounding up his team when they had just returned would be easier said than done. Suigetsu would be game for anything, and Karin agreed to what Sasuke said, at least eventually. But Jugo would need time, convincing.

Plus, Sasuke needed to act like a damn man.

Seeing one family from back east shouldn’t send him scrambling out of town like a beaten dog.

It wouldn’t be a couple days later that he wished he had left. Left and never came back.

Admittedly, he was startled when she approached him. He was back in town, getting “supplies”. At least that’s what he ended up telling her.

He was drunk in the middle of the day again. Not stumbling around, making a fool of himself. But he was definitely not in his right might.

“Excuse me, sir? You’re Sasuke Uchiha, yes?”

He had been adjusting his horses straps, and didn’t look up.

“My name is Hinata. Hinata Hyuga.”

There was a pause to see if he’d reply.

“I was wondering if, possibly, you remembered me. From -“

“Hn.” He finally interrupted.

He didn’t need any reminders from some stranger who thought they knew him.

“I have some pictures that you might be interested in.”

“Doubt it.” He grumbled.

“They’re of your mother.”

Sasuke froze.

Finally, he turned to look at her.

She was similar from the minuscule amount that he remembered of her. Black hair, white eyes. They all looked like that though. She was wearing a rather thick dress for the weather, high collared, ending up under her chin. Her skin was hidden under the shadow of a matching hat, and he couldn’t tell if it was powdered or naturally that ghostly white. Her cheeks and the tips of her nose were tinged pink, as if she could be cold in the heat and her attire.

He didn’t end up saying much else, and she left with an open invitation.

He planned on never speaking to her again.

But Sasuke found himself on the Hyuga ranch the very next day. Sober this time. But a flask of whiskey in his vest pocket could change that at any moment.

Hinata didn’t look surprised to see him in the slightest. Though the rest of her family sure seemed shocked. And not anywhere close to happy or welcoming.

Hinata didn’t mind. She invited him in, dressed much like the last time he had seen her, thick dress, sans hat and gloves but still just as pale. Her thick black her twisted into bun on the back of her head. Her skin just as stark white.

He saw what she was holding as she was handling a small shoe box. Clutched in one hand was the red handkerchief. The first time he had ever seen it, he didn’t think much about it.

His mind was too busy, terrified of what he would see.

Hinata walked them into the very first room of the house. Then excused every person that had come to check on them. On her.

She handed him the whole box delicately, once she had sat down on one of the sitting chairs. She had offered him one but he chose to stand.

Sasuke opened the box reverently and then discarded the lid. Cautiously peering inside.

“How’d you get these photos?” Sasuke’s voice was calm, even as his hand shook, picking up the first black and white photo on the top.

“Our mothers we’re friends. Most of your families belongings, well...”

Hinata probably didn’t want to tell him that there was nothing left. Not after those fucking vultures hand come through it. He was starting to notice how disgustingly nice she was already.

She coughed into the red handkerchief, the first time he had seen her do it. It was a wet, hacking sound and she turned away from him, did her best to stifle it.

He might’ve picked up on it then. But he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

“Excuse me.” Hinata apologized, dabbing at her mouth. “Our mothers were close friends as girls. Mine made sure to save what photos were left in your household.”

Sasuke had been trying to hold a small portrait of his mother, but he could barley see her face. His hands shook, his vision blurred.

He dropped the box down on the chaise and walked straight out of the ranch, out to their property fence, unhooked his horse, and left.

He was never going to come back.

It only took two night with Sakura for him to change his mind.

He came up the next day unexpectedly. Uninvited. From the looks of the other family members - clearly unwanted.

But she smiled at him. Pale, wrapped in a winter dress again.

“Do you come back for the photos?” She asked, softly.

Her smile was small and Sasuke stared at her face for awhile.

“No.”

She looked confused for a moment.

Sasuke looked around the room quickly and then surveyed Hinata again. She was pretty. Her black hair was wrapped in a twist, and even though she wore dresses that were too thick, he could tell she was built built better than any whore he had ever cashed out for. Her skin was ghostly white but her cheeks always had a tint of warmth to them.

He saw it again this time, and finally gave it a second thought. The deep red handkerchief.

“Do you want to go on a walk?” He finally asked.

The sun was harsh and warmed Sasuke’s dark clothes as they walked through a small path on her property. Though Hinata also opted for a white knit shawl and a hat before embarking outside, which only made Sasuke’s skin itch. This was all before Hinata had to talk several family members into allowing her to accompany him.

A snake crossed their path halfway through, making Hinata freeze next to him.

“I don’t care for snakes.” She whispered.

Sasuke rolled his eyes, shoving her gently around it. “Should’ve stayed in New York then.”

She didn’t reply as they made their way to the mulberry trees.

“Mr. Uchiha,”

He snorted. “Hn?”

“I don’t think going on many more of these outing will be to your best interest.”

Sasuke raised his eyebrows, unable to keep the smirk off his face. “Most people are worried about their own best interest when alone with me.”

Hinata’s face didn’t change. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You must not know me very well then.” Sasuke plucked down a mulberry and held it out to her.

Sasuke ended up back at heir ranch more after that. Each time Hinata reluctantly agreed to whatever asinine thing he proposed. Walks. Berry picking. Looking at flowers. It was all incredibly pathetic.

Mundane. Abhorrent.

None the less. Sasuke found that Hinata made nauseatingly redundant tasks somewhat enjoyable.

She would tell him all about the preserves she was going to make whenever they picked fruit. Once she spent an entire evening telling him about her mothers love for flower pressing and the next day he had brought her to the field.

She was weird.

Sasuke had never seen someone dress like she did in the weather. Never seen a family be so incredibly over bearing. Never had a girl adamantly warm him off of spending time with her and then act so happy to see him.

“You really shouldn’t waste your time on me.” She pressed as Sasuke lifted her onto his horse.

“Yeah, yeah Hyūga.” He swung himself up right behind her, feeling her back against his chest. “What are we doing today.”

“We need ribbon. For the jars.” She smiled.

“Ribbon for the jars.” He muttered, smirking.

Going into town with THE Hinata Hyūga always garnered him strange looks. Or maybe they were looks for her? A delicate, beautiful woman, riding in with the scum of the earth.

It wasn’t until they were in the shop that Sasuke realized what those looks were actually for.

Hinata was looking through spools of ribbon, Sasuke standing a few feet back, leaning against a wall, watching her. A woman with a couple children following behind like ducklings, was giving Hinata a strange look.

Hinata plucked up two different spools, and turned to him. “Sasuke, which do you th-“

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12979319/1/

[bogwithanlforluck-blog]

Stalker Songs, for Your Valentine

Although folks have posted online their favorite “stalker songs” from the pop/R&B category before, I don’t think we can ever get enough of these treasures. So here are some more. A lucky #13 of them, at that. 

This list evolved after I heard a certain song in the car while driving recently (2019). I thought, “This is a perfect stalker song.” Of course that thought led me to ponder what other songs might make the list of “Greatest Stalker Songs” in pop/R&B music. I enlisted the support of a friend of mine, Scott (known here as “headonaplatterboy”), and together we compiled a completely incomplete list of stalker songs, which I have decided to rank according to my own thoughts, experiences, and tastes. Thus, what you see here is the work of two people who know a smattering of good music, and a whole lot of not-so-good-music, but we both believe that stalker songs happen to fall on the “good music” end of the spectrum. We both also happen to agree that this list is a perfect Valentine’s Day gift for any of you Valentine’s Day cynics out there, like Scott and myself. What do you think? Please consider the list — go online and listen to any ones you don’t know — and then add your contributions if you so desire. You can even re-order my list according to your own tastes.

13. “Hungry Like the Wolf” — Duran Duran: Here he comes, with a “howl” and a “whine,” he’s “after you”! Yes, that’s Simon LeBon of Duran Duran doing his best to nab his object of desire. Good luck, wolfman. I’ve heard that when the band originally tried to pitch this song, DJs and the like were like, “Meh,” but in the end, it became Duran Duran’s first hit, and a top 10 hit at that. The predatory nature of the song helps — it relentlessly pushes towards its goal, ever on the hunt; just like the song itself, it does not give up, stinky and all (“smell like I sound”), in its quest for the Top 40. And it made it.

12. “One Way or Another” — Blondie: Girl power, my friends! And girl-with-an-agenda-power, at that. Deborah Harry stands tall as one of the premium women in rock, and she has left a definite, blonde-colored imprint on rock history. However, in this song, she simply rocks, and she gives her listeners an idea of how determined she is. This song even has a snarky little side-bit about catching the object of her prey only to “give [it] the slip,” because she can chase it down, play with it, then dump it. Great stalking technique and certainly a plus for women turning the tables on creepy guys.

11. “I Want You” — Elvis Costello: Ouch. This one starts out as a beautiful ballad, then a couple minutes in, a jangly guitar chord changes the scene entirely. That ballad turns into a nasty, twisted, ever-obsessive rant on a love gone astray, and the singer’s need to get that love back. The chorus line “I want you” sounds so desperate and hostile towards the end that it’s hard to hear without cringing. Costello knows all the tricks on writing great songs; he does not fail here.

10. “I Put a Spell On You” — Screamin’ Jay Hawkins: Love this — perfect stalker material. The lyrics contain almost what I would think of as the FBI profile for “stalker,” but never mind that. Hawkins sings the song with sorcerous mastery — no escaping the voodoo magic here. His voice draws out the menace and the all-encompassing, Halloween-like “I’m Coming To Get You” vibe. In short, this one gives me chills, so the stalker threat is real, my friends.

9. “I Will Possess Your Heart”— Death Cab For Cutie: This song has a repetitive assuredness that kind of jangles one’s nerves (mine at least). Ben Gibbard sings nearly every line of the song as an address to his “love,” so that the song takes on an almost hypnotic effect: a siren tune that impels the listener to “believe me,” in a magical sense. The bass background tells a more sinister story — it has an ominous quality, and with the addition of the piano — the minor keys playing on top of that bass — well, something wicked this way comes, no matter the reassurances the singer conveys. Good freaky-factor there, and the band name helps.

8. “This Tornado Loves You” — Neko Case: A song that has all the innocence and earnestness of a crush behind it, except for the fact that the crush is literal: it’s a tornado that chases down the object of the singer’s favor with one of the most destructive forces on the planet. Bodies, houses, fields, livelihoods are all sacrificed in the search for that hidden someone. Case does a nice job of playing the nice girl, but in the end, she’s a tornado. One heck of a destructive stalker, there.

7. “Run For Your Life” — The Beatles: No pop/R&B “best of” list can contain a song without the Beatles, because the Beatles covered all the bases, and because they covered them expertly. John Lennon sounds utterly monomaniacal in this song — no room for argument or stepping out of line, because if so, “That’s the end, little girl.” The “little girl” characterization does not escape me; definitely Lennon weakens his prey by reducing her size and power. And the death threat that pervades this song gives it that extra “ooh, scary stalker!” edge, so kudos (yet again) to the Beatles for making the Stalker Chart with a quality entry.

6. “Don’t You Want Me” — Human League: This duet between lovers on the quits gives us the movie-version of a possessive maniac much like that in “Run For Your Life” who cannot conceive of the fact that his girlfriend is hitting the high road. A whole story appears here: the woman admits that the stalker helped turn her from a waitress into a star, but in her attempt to leave him and “live her life on her own,” her onetime savior turns stalker. He sings, “You know I don’t believe you when I hear that you won’t see me/….You’d better change your mind/ You’d better change it back or we will both be sorry!” The man’s hysteria increases as the song goes along, and as listeners, we get a bit frightened for the young woman’s future. Good stalking here; well done in duet-form — also a great, classic dance-tune that reached #2 in the U.S.

5. “Little Red Riding Hood” — Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs:  This song gets a hundred gold stars for various moments of glory throughout. Sam the Sham goes for high drama in his delivery of the song, for one thing. At first, he sounds just like a cool guy on the street seeing a pretty woman pass by — “You sure are looking good” sung to a slinky, Kool Kat beat — and he goes on to warn this lady that a big, bad wolf might try to snatch her. Then Sam goes on to inform her that he’s not the bad wolf, at least not outwardly: he’s got his sheep-suit on, until he can be trusted. And then, somewhere thereafter, he turns ‘Baaaad” (sung like a sheep). C’mon, people, this song is genius, and a near-perfect example of stalker self-delusion in its proud revelation of the creep’s expert methods.

4. “(I Am) Superman” — REM: Admittedly, this is the song that started me doing some stalking of my own: i.e., finding the best stalking songs I could imagine (with the help of Scott). So, REM gets a relatively high ranking here because their stalking prowess is readily evident in this song. Every phrase of the music ends in a full stop, with the effect that listeners just cannot deny the dominance of this self-professed Superman. Written and delivered with such confidence and finality, I find it hard to argue that Michael Stipe is not Superman here. And he can see everything, the stalking madman. That’s a strong declaration, but I believe it.  

3. “Vehicle” — Ides of March: You want a stalker song that has it all? “Vehicle” is your Uber, no pun intended. This song includes a go-for-broke introduction with a fantastic horn blast, plus a beat to get down to, but don’t forget: there’s danger here. This song brings us the “friendly stranger in the black sedan” (sounds like a hearse to me) who’s putting on the breaks beside you, rolling down the window, and trying to get you in that car with “pictures, candy” and the “lovable man” driving. Yikes! However, let’s be reverent. This is a religious stalker, because, as he puts it, in near gospel-like vocalization: “I want you; I need you; I want to got to have you child: Great God in Heaven you know I looooove you!” Bang!

2. “14th Street” — Laura Cantrell: Ha! Do not be fooled by the sweetness and shyness conveyed in this song. Despite the beautiful melody and Cantrell’s gentle, charming vocals, listeners cannot ignore the fact that “14th Street” is about a woman following her object of desire stealthily down the road. Sounds like stalking to me. The song makes it all the way to #2 on my list because it describes the potential stalker in all of us: at some points in all our lives, we just want to know what those whom we love are doing, but we don’t want them to know that we want to know.

1. “Every Breath You Take” — The Police: This is the G.O.A.T. of stalker songs because it is so sneaky. Sting may not have written it as a veiled love song, but it came out that way, to the extent that the public in 1983 snatched it up as one of the most romantic pieces of all time. Frequently played at weddings, unendingly played on the radio, one would not believe, perhaps, that this song is about a jealous lover surveilling his ex. Because the stalker’s guilt is so completely masked by the beautiful melody and seemingly loving, protective lyrics, this song ranks as the #1 stalker song on my list — it is the most successful stalker song, because to this day, it remains undercover as a favorite love song.

NB: I have left out several great songs -- some music-expert friends suggested a couple of George Jones songs, though since I am sticking to Pop/R&B, Ol’ Possum isn’t on my list -- but his stalking expertise is worth notice. Just let me know what you think of the list; what you’d add. It’d be great to cue up all these monsters on Valentine’s Day to provide the soundtrack for the holiday!

[theravingcycle-blog]

Pynch soulmate au

Here's a re-upload of a (now edited) pynch soulmate au from my old blog, lynchganseyparrish. Please enjoy and send any other prompts you can think of! The forest on Ronan’s back had wilted. The leaves had curled in, just slightly, and the branches were drooping. Normally, Ronan wouldn’t have thought about it too much – it wasn’t any of his business how his supposed ‘soulmate’ was feeling, plus it wasn’t like he cared either way – only something new had appeared in the tattoo; flowers, of all different colours, peeking out cheerfully through the vines and twisting their way around the trunks of the trees. It bemused Ronan, as it seemed to mean his soulmate was feeling both happy and sad at the same time, and he couldn’t help but wonder what caused it. Ronan also had another reason to be a little more anxious than usual – his best friend was getting married. He was viciously pleased when Gansey asked him to be the best man, because he thought Gansey might have been pressured into asking someone a little more presentable to have by his side in front of the upper-class men and women who would be attending the wedding to see how Senator Gansey’s son had turned out. Of course, Blue wasn’t exactly a ‘presentable’ companion either. In fact, neither Ronan nor Blue were really fitting company for someone like Gansey III, but it wasn’t like Gansey himself had ever complied with tradition. Truly, he and Blue were a perfect match, just as their tattoos had foretold. Ronan loved imagining the looks on the Gansey’s faces when they finally met their son’s soulmate – a 5’ nothing wildfire of a person with a fashion sense to rival their son’s, though at least hers was edgy. Ronan took his spot near the Altar, waiting for the music to start. He nudged Blue, who was standing next to him in a tattered white dress that she had layered with other clothing, and brought his mouth to her ear. He actually had to bend down to reach, which was fucking hilarious. “Last chance to back out. I did have to physically force him not to wear boat shoes,” Ronan whispered, and Blue laughed while cringing. “I think it’s too late,” she muttered back. “Some congress people are here, and if we stop it now I won’t get the chance to yell at them.” “Atta girl,” Ronan said, and ruffled her hair. She scowled and was about to reply when someone put their hand on her shoulder. “Hey Blue, sorry I’m late; Noah almost nailed me with the glitter pot and I only just escaped.” Blue pulled whoever it was down –again, hilarious – for a hug, and then laughed. “He still got you, look, it’s all over your neck!” she sounded a little too gleeful; like she had a plan starting to form in her dwarf brain. Ronan almost felt sorry for the poor dude. Wait, that dude was hot. Okay, Ronan definitely felt sorry for him now. “Ronan,” Blue said. “This is Adam Parrish, my wench of honour.” Parrish rolled his eyes and stuck out a hand. “I prefer man of honour,” he laughed lightly. Wowzer, Ronan thought, and then: Did I just unironically think the word wowzer? Adam’s hand was warm and elegant when he shook it. Ronan really liked Adam’s hands. He cleared his throat. “Ronan Lynch.” Adam smiled softly, he seemed a little – shy? Abashed? Ronan couldn’t tell. “Nice to meet you, Ronan,” he said quietly as the music began to play and the doors started to open. Naturally, Blue had insisted that Gansey walked down the aisle, because the idea of a woman being ‘given away’ by a man, to another man, was incredibly sexist, and if she was going to get married at all, it would not be in a way that ‘further encourages the subtle dehumanisation and oppression of women’ as Blue had put it. Although, she had said it with a lot more feeling, and a lot less child-friendly words. Ronan zoned out again as Gansey reached the altar, but who could blame him? Weddings were boring as fuck. Actually, he was pretty sure Parrish was also zoned out – his eyes were slightly glazed over and he’d been staring at the same spot for the past two minutes. Not that Ronan had been, like, watching him or anything. He’d just…noticed, was all. He forced himself out of that dangerous train of thought as Noah brought the rings. It was quite the scandal when Blue asked Noah to do it – generally people like him weren’t allowed to participate in things such as weddings. Noah didn’t have a soul tattoo, something about which there were many theories – soulmate died before birth, etc. but no one really knew. The more bigoted, stupid and therefore most popular assumption was that those without a soul mark didn’t have souls, and so were not truly alive. Ronan really hated that theory – especially after he met Noah. The guy was the most vibrant person he knew. Suddenly, Gansey and Blue were kissing (did he really zone out that long?) and the wildfire on Gansey’s arm roared into an inferno, licking its way up his neck onto his cheek before it died down as they pulled apart. Ronan’s gaze shifted to the map of Henrietta on Blue’s ankle, and saw the lines representing streets begin to darken until the bolder lines formed a pattern – two crowns, side by side. Gansey really was a sap, Ronan thought, but he couldn’t help grinning a little. Finally, the ceremony was over, and Ronan was free to do as he pleased at the reception. Which was hide in a corner and glare at all the people swarming around Gansey and Blue, whilst simultaneously watching Parrish. Not in a creepy way! Adam was just… interesting. He wondered idly how he became friends with Blue. He didn’t seem to be good friends with anyone else here, in fact, he looked a little lonely, leaning against the wall over there. Maybe Ronan should- “Ronan!” said Blue, a little breathlessly, dragging an apologetic looking Gansey behind her. “There you are! We just escaped the mob,” Gansey winced and looked around in the vain hope that no one heard her “-and we’re all about to go sit, do you know where Adam is?” “Yeah, he’s right over there,” Ronan pointed, and Blue beamed wickedly. She tugged on Gansey’s sleeve, and he bent down – again, fucking hilarious – so she could whisper in his ear. He nodded, then set off. “Been keeping an eye on Parrish, huh?” she smirked. “I mean, I don’t blame you. Adam is smokin’.” “I-what-no!” Ronan spluttered a little (though he would never admit that). He regained his composure, shot her a Ronan Glare ™ and stalked off to find Gansey and their table. “YOU KNOW ABOUT THE TRADITION FOR THE MAID OF HONOUR AND BEST MAN,” Blue shouted at his retreating back. She sounded like she was wiggling her eyebrows at him. He flipped her the bird without turning, and heard the gasps of scandalised guests, along with Blue’s cackle as she went to get Adam. He flopped into the seat next to Gansey, and put his head on the table. “You married a fucking gremlin,” he said to Gansey, who didn’t look put out in the slightest. “She’s incredible,” he agreed reverently, as if Ronan hadn’t just been attempting to insult her. “Whatever,” Ronan said, smushing his face against the table. “Just don’t feed her after midnight.” **** Adam and Blue joined the table shortly after, along with Noah. Adam was really pretty. Not that it mattered, because it wasn’t like Ronan was going to act on it- he found out (subtly) that Adam and Blue had dated when they first met, so odds were he was probably straight. Also, he thought maybe Adam had some mixed feelings about today - he seemed a little wistful when no one else was looking, so maybe he still had feelings for Blue. Tragic, but Ronan would get over it. Probably. “Ronan,” Adam laughed, waving a hand in front of his face. “Rooooonan.” Ronan was coming to the conclusion that Adam was a little tipsy, though it wasn’t his place to judge considering he was much closer to drunk. It was just after the reception, Gansey and Blue having just driven home in the Pig (whether they’d make it home without it breaking down was a different story) and Ronan and Adam were… well, they were just standing there. Should they be heading off too? “Fuck,” said Adam, with a bit of humour in his voice still. “I don’t normally drink. It’s those stupid apple juice Champaign things. They trick me every time.” He groaned, mussing his hair and sending Ronan into cardiac arrest. “I can’t drive home.” “I can give you a lift,” Ronan said, probably a bit too eager to make a good impression on Adam. Adam looked at him like he was an idiot, and well, yeah, fair enough, but it wasn’t a completely stupid thing to offer! “You’re drunker than I am,” Adam said. “You’re not driving anywhere.” Ronan rolled his eyes. “Okay, mom,” he said mockingly, and Adam drew himself up to his full height – which was still just shorter than Ronan. (He should have found this funny but instead he just found it adorable and he was so screwed) “Hey,” Adam said, voice slightly slurred and – was that an accent slipping out? Oh god oh god oh god- “Rules are … important,” he said, poking Ronan in the chest. “I’m calling a cab,” he sighed, getting his phone out. Ronan ignored the twinge of disappointment in his chest as Adam finished speaking and hung up. He started to walk back inside, to see if he could get a lift with someone, when he felt Adam’s hand on his shoulder. “Ronan,” Adam said clearly, and there wasn’t a hint of alcohol in his voice. “I really would like a drive… maybe when we’re both completely sober?” Ronan couldn’t breathe. Is this what it sounds like? Is he… He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him. “I’d- I’d like that.” Adam grinned and Ronan’s breath had just come back, fuck you Parrish- “It’s a date,” he said, and reached for Ronan’s arm. Ronan complied with whatever he was doing mainly because his brain had forgotten how to function properly, because HIS HANDS ARE ON MY ARM, oh fuckfuckfuckfuck- “There,” said Adam, drawing back, and Ronan took his arm back to inspect it. There were numbers written on it (he hadn’t even realised Adam had a pen) and he distantly realised it must have been Adam’s number. He had Adam’s number. Adam’s number was on his arm. Wowzer. He was so out of it he barely registered a cab pulling up. Adam turned away and made to open the door when Ronan spun him round again. “I’ll- uh, see you soon,” Ronan said, and he must have been a hell of a lot drunker than he realised because he leant forwards and kissed Adam on the cheek. He spun quickly and started walking hurriedly back indoors, his thoughts a turmoil of holy fuck I just did that I just DID that! He walked so fast he almost missed Adam’s breathlessly pleased laugh of “…Bye.” Ronan almost ran into the door when he reached it. **** Three weeks later, they were dating. Ronan hadn’t expected Adam to be so much, so smart and witty and kind and fierce and so full of surprises. It had only been three weeks and he had fallen so hard, but then, Ronan never did do things slowly – he lived like he drove, reckless, wild and probably incredibly dangerously for bystanders. He was over at Adam’s place (which was tiny but he didn’t care because it was Adam) after their fourth (or fifth) official date, and he was decidedly too distracted by Adam to care which it was. Adam slid a hand under his shirt, lips still locked feverously, and traced the skin of Ronan’s back. Ronan jumped and pulled away, stifling his groan. “Sorry,” Adam said. “Too much?” “No,” Ronan breathed. “God, no.” Adam regarded him strangely. “Are you alright?” He asked. Ronan took a deep breath and nodded. “It’s just- that’s where my tattoo is,” he said, cautiously, analysing Adam’s face. “Oh,” said Adam. “Can I- Is it alright if I see?” he questioned, sounding a little nervous. Ronan held his breath. “Yeah,” he said, roughly. “Yeah, that’s- okay.” He turned around and slowly pulled his shirt off. He heard Adam gasp, and felt hands ghosting over his back, tracing the trunks of the trees. It had been getting much more impressive in recent times, the forest blooming like nothing he’d seen before, and he had even spotted small animals darting through the trees. Ronan bit his lip as he felt Adam’s blunt nail trace down the curve of his spine, and tried desperately not to do anything to scare him off. Suddenly he felt Adam’s hot breath on his ear. “Ronan,” he said urgently. “Ronan, it’s mine.” Ronan turned around instantly, so he was face to face with Adam once again. “What?” He said disbelievingly, and Adam bit his lip, smiling wider than Ronan had ever seen. “The mark,” he said. “That’s mine.” Ronan lurched forward and pulled him into a desperate, needy kiss. Breaking it off, he said “wait- where’s yours – can I?” and Adam nodded. His brain short circuited as Adam began to pull down his pants, and he was sure he blushed furiously as Adam shot him an amused glance. He’d only tugged it down a little past his hipbone, but Ronan couldn’t find it in himself to be disappointed when he saw the small mark moving on Adams skin. It was really quite small, and he had to lean closer to get a better look at it (well, that was his excuse anyway). It was a raven, only a small one, perched delicately on Adam’s hip. It looked up at him as if to say well, what are you waiting for? Ronan felt recognition and certainty flood through him as the raven took off, soaring in circles around Adam’s body before settling back down on his hip. Ronan leaned forward more, pressed his lips to it, and smiled when he heard Adam’s gasp. He looked up and met Adam’s eyes, resting his head on Adam’s stomach. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, that’s – that’s mine.” Adam laughed breathlessly and pulled him up for a deep, heart-wrenching kiss. The raven cawed soundlessly in triumph and the forest whispered back. They both said the same thing. Finally.

[remainseatedatalltimes]

And the decade ends with a...

So concludes another year, and with it, another decade as well.  Now, I wish I could sit here and reflect on what a game-changing, exhilarating and revolutionary year 2019 was in the world of cinema.  But I can’t.  In fact, in my 8 years of writing this one time annual blog, there has never been a year that was as insipid as this past year was.  So much so, that unlike in previous years where I have always started this blog highlighting some of the greats of the year that was, this year I’ve decided to start with the bottom of the barrel. But don’t fret, there are a few glasses of the good stuff left.  Not many, but a few.  

To set the scene, my least favourite film of 2019 is a movie (and no, it’s not the one you’re thinking of), that will likely go on to be nominated for several Academy Awards in just a few short weeks’ time.  And it should be nominated. There is plenty to praise about this film.  But incredible performances, stylish directing and a story centered around one of the most fascinating events in modern history does not always a good film make.  Not when it’s told in such an obnoxious, pretentious and self-indulgent way.  So, to kick things off, I present to you, my least favourite film of 2019 – Once Upon A Time In Hollywood.

I should say straight off the bat that I am only a moderate fan of Quentin Tarantino’s work.  I love his film knowledge and his passion for making unique, and also highly nostalgic films.  But I’m also a firm believer that storytelling is at the heart of great cinema, and I often feel Tarantino sacrifices storytelling for brilliant, but often bloated camerawork and cinematography.

I had high hopes for Once Upon A Time In Hollywood however.  This was Tarantino working with an incredible cast, telling an original story set within one of Hollywood’s most infamous eras – and when the wonderfully retro and charming trailer dropped, I couldn’t have been more excited. This should have been the perfect canvas for Tarantino to shine.  

But instead, Once Upon A Time In Hollywood is a frustratingly tedious, hedonistic film that almost feels like it’s mocking its audience with its in-jokes and smarmy blurring of lines between real events and fiction.  In just shy of 3 hours, Tarantino essentially conveys 3 things: actors are self-doubting creatures that need constant re-assurance (no surprise); Hollywood is a game of relationships where not rocking the boat is paramount (again, no surprise – most industries are the same); and that shocking audiences is apparently very easy when you take a non-fiction story and completely change the ending (1 plus 1 equals 7).  I know what you’re thinking.  How can that possibly make for a near 3 hour film?  Well, I refer you back to Paragraph 2 of the Remain Seated At All Times Tumblr blog post titled “And the decade ends with a....”, where I stated that this film is “obnoxious, pretentious and self-indulgent”.  Just like that entire last sentence is superfluous…well…you get the point.

So to prove that moving on once you’ve made a point IS achievable, let me then proceed to the other atrocity of 2019:  Roadkill.  Sorry. I mean, Cats.

Now before anybody jumps up and down and complains that a movie that is – in fact – so much worse than Once Upon A Time In Hollywood isn’t my worst film of 2019, I offer you this one short piece of commentary.  Cats is the kind of epic, unequivocal, indescribable disaster that actually transcends awful into a place of almost fascination and reverence.  You know what I mean.  Like watching a YouTube video of someone mixing paint. You know it’s ridiculous to sit there and watch it – but you can’t look away.  You’re transfixed.  And I will take that over boring arrogance any day.

Cats is NOT boring.  It’s far from it.  Much like the musical that inspired it – which so happens to also be one of the worst musicals ever created – Cats is a bold, daring attempt to deliver something no one ever wanted to see.  Humans behaving like cats singing boring ballads.  Add to it an insipid score that needs serious remastering, awful special effects, and an enhanced story-line that makes zero sense (yes, I know, they’re dancing humans dressed as cats – why am I surprised by a ridiculous story-line?), and you have 90 minutes of sheer bewilderment.  The only saving grace:  Hopefully the movie has sufficiently taken the last of nine lives from this atrocious musical so that we never have to endure another performance – either in film, OR on stage.

So now that we’ve taken out the kitty litter, let’s look at some of the brighter sparks of 2019. Because, whilst there were actually NO films last year that I reviewed higher than 4-stars, there were still a few gems that warrant some attention.  These include last year’s Best Picture winner, Green Book; the dark and twisted take on one of DC’s greatest villains, Joker; the hilarious and earnest original whodunit, Knives Out; and the epic end to the greatest movie franchise in history, Avenger’s Endgame.

But taking the spot of my 3rd best film of the year was the latest film in the franchise that constantly delivers the impossible – a better film with each and every sequel.  In its simplest form, Toy Story 4 is a beautiful romantic comedy featuring two stand-out lead characters.  But whilst the lovely romance of Woody and Bo Peep take centre stage, it’s the gobsmackingly clever new characters including the show boater with no self-confidence – Duke Caboom– and my absolute favourite new character of 2019 (and spirit utensil) – Forky – that ultimately steal the show.  Pixar never ceases to amaze, and Toy Story 4 is no exception. The idea of creating a kids movie positioned around a romantic comedy, where a core character is made of trash, thinks of himself as nothing more, and needs to learn self-worth from scratch, is something truly extraordinary.  So thank you Pixar for giving me Forky.  A character that taught me so much, even at my age!

Speaking of education, slipping into 2nd place is Olivia Wildes glorious directorial debut – Booksmart.  This joyous, hilarious and utterly original coming of age story is spearheaded by stellar performances by its two leads.  But it’s the way the film manages to use its often absurd humour to elevate its very sincere reflection of growing up in today’s day and age that really set this film apart.  Booksmart continues the trend of unique, smart coming of age stories where young love is not the focus.  Instead, it simply heroes its two smart and strong female leads and showcases that there’s no one more important than your best friend.

And so we come to my favourite film of the year – although, favourite is probably not the best word to use given how uncomfortable I found this film to watch.   But it’s precisely that discomfort that elevates this harrowing and heartbreaking film to my number one spot.  That film:  Hotel Mumbai.

I understand that putting a dramatized version of a horrifying real-life event at the top of my list may seem odd – and for many reviewers, this movie felt exploitative. But I couldn’t disagree more.  For me, Hotel Mumbai deftly balances the fears and bravery of its protagonists with a dismaying reflection of the motivations (or often lack there of) of the terrorists.  Add to that some social commentary on the political failures that made the tragedy far worse, and you have an uncomfortable to watch, but ultimately poignant reflection of just one of recent history’s most horrifying incidents, and my number 1 film of 2019.

Now, to avoid ending this recap of 2019 on such a dire note, I should point out that there are a large number of additional films I feel should be included in this list including Roma and The Irishman.  However – given I don’t review movies I see outside of cinemas (how can I honestly review a film I watch on a plane the same way I do on a giant immersive screen), I’ve intentionally left these off the list.  Likewise, there’s a number of films I missed this year – including the well-reviewed Parasite, and the latest from the genius that is Taikia Waititi – Jojo Rabbit – that I feel would likely have been quite high up in my rankings had I seen them in cinemas earlier in the year.   Although, given Once Upon A Time In Hollywood was my least favourite film – and yet it just walked away with a Best Picture award at the Golden Globes – then perhaps not.  Which is probably why I shouldn’t give up my day job.  Call me old fashioned, but I like my movies to have a plot.  And a point.

But for now, that’s a wrap on 2019.  Lets home this new decade brings with it more reasons to return to a cinema near you.  See you next year!

[zecuddlyblumedic]

A Birthday Celebrated

"Where are we going?"

"If you ask me that one more time, I'm going to pull over and kick your ass out of the car. And no, I will not slow to a halt when I do it. You’re going to hit the pavement hard.”

“What pavement? The road’s nothing but dirt and rock. It’s a mountain trail.”

“Smartass.”

Unable to stop himself from smiling, Abelärd Haswell peered out of the window at the passing world around them. His brother, intent on driving, had decided to just use a company assigned truck. Because of that, he had to endure the rocky terrain and the winding path down from the mountain, all the while hoping that the engine didn't overheat. 

Or explode.

It was strange. Casting a quick glance at his brother, Abelärd tried to figure out just what it was he was thinking. It had been quite a strange thing seeing his brother enter the BLU infirmary unannounced. Even stranger was his attitude. He didn't have his usual dour disposition, nor was his silver tongue armed with any sarcastic openers or comments. He was very short and to the point about... all of it! 'Grab your coat, grab your scarf, we're going out', is all he had said. When pressured for the finer details, his stubborn older twin remained silent.

Rubbing his gloved hands together, he settled back and enjoyed the ride. He hoped to ignore the belching backfiring of the truck, that occasional hiccup in the automobile's function that reminded him that they were basically using a rusted piece of garbage that should have long ago been decommissioned. 

He had to try again. He had to find out where they were going. It wasn't every day that his brother wanted to do something with him.

"I know you don't want to tell me," he began slowly, his words chosen carefully, “but I’d like to know.” 

Speaking in his native tongue was a lot easier than speaking in English when it came to expressing himself. Plus, he knew his brother felt more comfortable speaking it. 

“I would like to know where we're going,” he continued. “Besides, it's not often we get to spend time together. And you usually tend to avoid me. I know, I annoy you. You hate spending time wi--"

"Dinner."

Puzzled, the BLU Medic looked his twin over. His brother's eyes locked on the road, his expression betrayed no ill intention or begrudgingly suppressed emotion. And even with his brother's scarf hiding most of his mouth, he could still tell that his brother wasn't clenching his jaw in rage, something he did often. 

"Dinner? You're taking me to--"

"For our birthday."

"...What?"

Their birthday!

How had he forgotten? A hot wave of panic washed over Abelärd. He couldn't believe he forgot that! Yesterday! 

They were born in Meißen, the best thing to have happened in the lives of Giselle and Friedrich Haswell. They had lived a humble life, idyllic in its childhood whimsy. Even with the heartache and their struggles, things were good for the most part. But that was to be expected. Times were tough, but times were always tough. Even now, in the present date in time, times weren't as easy as he had hoped they would have been. But that's life. That's how things just were.

"Our..." Running a hand through his salt-and-pepper flecked hair, Abelärd couldn't help but smile. "You're celebrating our birthdays?" He paused at that. Plural. Should he use the plural form of that? Technically they each had a birthday, but it seemed like the shared it, much like the shared most things in their life. "Birthdays, birthday. Birthday."

"Stop nitpicking over the grammar."

Sliding in the seat, he found himself pressed against the side of his door. Aldous had taken the turn sharply and was now driving right into town. He quietly prayed that they made it to their destination safely, but he didn’t have to pray long.

They arrived.

The town was pleasant enough. Quite homey, really. Just a typical town at the base of the mountain. A close-knit community, it was small enough where you came to know everyone and everything but it was still large enough to find things to do. It had several hotspots that the mercenaries often snuck off to, including the diners and restaurants. 

"But why dinner? You hate spending time with me."

"Normally, I do," Aldous conceded in a dry, flat tone. "But it's not as much as my choice as it was someone else's request."

Making a confused sort of sound, the BLU Medic watched as his brother fished around in a coat pocket. Skilled in looking for cigarettes while driving, Aldous was used to having only one hand on the wheel. As such, he found the note relatively quickly.

Aldous passed the note to his brother. "I found that today. Slipped under my door."

"Someone left this?" Opening it up, Abelärd flattened it on his knee. Adjusting his glasses, he read it twice before letting out a confused sounding 'hmm'. He flipped the note over, scanning it for something.

"No name, if you're looking for it."

"No name? No one signed the envelope?"

"No name."

"We don't know who left it?"

"Someone who had five hundred dollars to waste on the likes of us, that's who left it. Other than that, no. I don’t know who gave us that."

Chuckling softly to himself, the BLU Medic folded the note back up and tucked it, almost reverently, into his pocket. He had come to embrace his brother's dry way of responding. Sarcastic most of the time, defensive the rest of the time. He knew his brother well enough by now that he could tell that he, too, was confused. 

"I wonder who left it." Reaching over, he patted his brother's leg. "I bet it was Karl."

Turning down a road, Aldous slowed to a stop at a stoplight. The red light shone bright in the dulling light of the day. "Karl? And here I thought your first guess would have been your lover."

"Jane?"

Easing on the pedal, he put the truck into motion once the light flicked to green. "The Soldier is all about having us bond and having genuine 'brotherly' time."

The way his brother said that caused him to laugh. Abelärd unfolded the note amidst his laughter, examining the writing. "It wasn't him."

"How are you so sure?"

"His writing is too childlike." He shook his head. "What I mean is... it's messy. Innocently messy. Not at all neat. Big letters, sometimes it's hard to read."

"I don't know what you find in that man." Pulling the car into a parking lot, he scanned the expanse for the perfect place to park. "Crude, rude, loud, messy."

Feeling just a tad bit ruffled, Abelärd found himself coming to the Soldier's defense. He never got a word out, however, for his brother wasn't done speaking. He heard something muffled behind the cloth of his brother's scarf. And even with the fabric mostly covering his mouth, he could tell that he had said something. He saw his jaw move.

"What?"

Twisting the key in the ignition with a rather sharp gesture, the usually soured older twin let the engine die down before he replied.

"I said nothing."

"No, you said something."

"I said nothing,” he snapped. “You need your hearing checked."

Abelärd reached out, staying his brother's hand before he could unbuckle his seatbelt. His gray-blue eyes searching his, he squeezed his twin's hand. "Please," he whispered softly, "don't leave me out of things. I want to know what you said."

Silence settled in the car. Moving in his seat, Aldous turned to better look at his brother. His expression was stern, his gaze piercing and cold. A typical look for him. 

"Don't leave me out of your life," Abelärd urged. "I want to know what you think." Shaking his head, he squeezed his brother's hand once more. "I... know you don't like Jane. And I know you still struggle with the fact that I am the way I am, and that I love an American man, but--"

"I said," Aldous sharply interjected, his tone taunt and businesslike, "despite all of his flaws, I am... glad that you found him. You two were meant for each other."

Even as his brother opened his door and exited the truck, Abelärd sat there, grounded in his own shock. At first he wasn't sure he had heard what he had.

Perhaps he had misheard, and Aldous had said something else. Some nasty, sly, sarcastic comment that usually slipped out of him. But no. It was a miracle of all miracles, but instead of disapproval, his brother had showed his approval of his relationship with Jane. Approval, acceptance and understanding.

He had finally received his brother's blessings.

"--well, are you?"

Jolted back to reality, Abelärd looked up to find that his brother had opened his door. Aldous was reaching out to help him down from his seat. It wasn't that far of a drop from the truck cabin, but it did sit up high enough from the road that help was appreciated. 

"Am I..."

"Coming or not?" Scoffing to himself, Aldous impatiently frowned. "If you don't want to eat, fine. I'll go and spend all this money on me. I'll tell Karl, or Jane, or whoever sent the money and the note that I had a lovely dinner by myself because my brother was too much of an emotional sod to join me."

Taking off his glasses to quickly wipe his eyes on his sleeve, Abelärd happily took his brother's hand and hopped down from the truck cabin. He squeezed his brother's hand fondly before draping an arm across his twin's thinner shoulders.

"I don't want to disappoint them, so I think I'll join you, brother."

Aldous tried to hide the smirk playing on his lips, but he just couldn't. "I don't think they have tea here."

"Tea?" Eyebrows raised in mock surprise, Abelärd laughed. "The note mentioned wine, did it not?"

At this Aldous laughed. "You, drinking wine? And here I thought you were a stiff, unbudging health nut."

"Wine's healthy. In moderation. Good for the heart!"

"Oh, that’s right. You drink alcohol. You drink that disgusting swill with your American.”

“American beer isn’t that bad.”

“Just don't get drunk on me. I'm not about to drag your drunk ass back to the base and tuck you into bed."

Walking side-by-side, the two brothers made their way to the restaurant. And neither twin would admit to it, but they both felt a change. Perhaps getting older wasn't so bad. They had each other still. They had separate lives to live, of course, but they shared a birthday and, as such, shared that singular experience with doubled importance. Not everyone had the chance to be a twin to another. What they shared was something special.

"You have to tell me what's new in your life, brother. We need to catch up."

"You're such a nosy busy body, you know everything about my life. What do we need to catch up on?"

"Everything! For starters, tell me about anything you’ve researched lately. Or how about your upcoming vacation!"

"Fine, fine."

“And maybe...you can tell me how you and Alexei have been.”

“Don’t make me poison your food.”

Sometimes it wasn't as clear cut as Abelärd wanted it, but maybe they were doing alright after all. And just maybe they had finally achieved some sort of peace between them. They could live again as true brothers. No war, no strife marring their bonds. Perhaps a twisted sort of sarcasm, but that was alright. This was a start. They could try to regain what they had lost.

And, perhaps... this was how it was meant to be. And if some occasional tense squabbling was involved, or the sporadic spurts of chaotic discord came with the territory of being with his brother... well, then, Abelärd wouldn't change a thing.

Maybe it was alright to let go of past grievances and to finally forgive. His brother, and himself.

[divorceyourring]

Influencers in Jewelry Design: Mary Lee Hu

Mary Lee Hu is a larger-than-life artist in the jewelry world. She has literally done it all, from creating a breathtaking body of jewelry and sharing her knowledge with students and established artists alike to winning major awards and honors and having her work shown in some of the most prestigious museums in the world. And she created a new way of making jewelry—by using the same techniques used in fiber arts except with silver and gold wire.

When Mary first started working in metal wire in graduate school she was taking a metals class as well as a weaving class. She decided to experiment and try combining them. She realized she could combine the linear textile structures with what she loved about metal—its gentle resistance to being formed and the reflection of light off its surface.

“The idea of working with wire came to me while in graduate school in the mid-’60s,” she says. “I had always enjoyed linear patterning when drawing, and I enjoyed building my shapes from this patterning to achieve in metal something similar to what I had been doing in my drawings.

“At first, I spent several years exploring various processes of making form with wire—wrapping, braiding, or weaving it. Objects made were either jewelry pieces, or small insect or animal forms which gradually evolved into larger, woven basket-like forms. Both were primarily used to explore possibilities and limits using the wire. Since 1974, I have settled on the process of twining, and almost all of my pieces since then have been an exploration of what I could do with it.”

After Mary completed her MFA from Southern Illinois University, she traveled  around until she began teaching in the metal arts program at the University of Washington in 1980. At both the University of Washington and at workshops held around the United States, Mary has been able to pass on her passion for her techniques and processes. In 2006 she retired as a professor emeritus.

What Mary loves most about teaching is that most of her beginning jewelry students come knowing almost nothing about the processes when they start and leave with much more confidence in their skills. Beginning students often push themselves more than she ever would, which gives her immense satisfaction.

The cover of Knitted, Knotted, Twisted & Twined (a beautiful coffee table book chronicling Mary’s art published by the Bellevue Art Museum) states: “Working with wire as weavers use thread, Mary Lee Hu has affirmed her distinctive voice in the world of jewelry through her elegant and apparently effortless creations. Her unforgettable sense of light as form is matched only by her astonishing ability to transform her costly materials—gold and silver—into works that are utterly modern yet rival those of antiquity.”

When I asked Hu what her favorite tool was, she gave me the most unusual answer I have ever received from anyone: “Fingernails!” She went on to clarify that medium-to-long fingernails are a part of her toolbox.

“I am passionate about the whole history of jewelry and body adornment, she says. “From my own field of contemporary studio jewelry, to fine, fashion and costume jewelry, to historic, pre-historic and tribal pieces worldwide – their history, makers, materials, techniques, plus the many reasons for which they were made, given or purchased, worn, valued, treasured, hoarded, bartered, stolen, passed down … signifiers of identity, status, belief, protectors of health or wealth, sentimental reminders of loved or revered ones, of places visited, pledges or allegiances sworn or milestones reached and celebrated, these objects have a history that has helped archeologists and anthropologists to trace man’s development for over 100,000 years.”

Hu’s work are all one-of-a-kinds because she works so clearly within the confines of her individual artistic vision, techniques and passion. And she has never hired anyone to help in her studio, except for a stone cutter.

Among her numerous awards and accolades, she is a former president of the Society of North American Goldsmiths, has been inducted into the American Craft Council’s College of Fellows, has received three National Endowment of the Arts Craftsman Fellowships and is the winner of the 2008 Irving and Yvonne Twining Humber Award for Lifetime Artistic Achievement. Her works are also in collections such as the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Renwick Gallery, the American Crafts Museum, the Museum of Fine Art in Boston, and the Art Institute of Chicago, as well as countless private collections around the world.

“I am interested in how my own pieces and the field of contemporary jewelry with which I identify fit into our current culture,” she says. In response, I would, without hesitation, say, elegantly and effortlessly.

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