#robin woods fiction

[robinwoodsfiction]

The Art of Writing Witty Dialogue: 10 Tips

Dialogue is the heartbeat of any great story. It’s where characters come to life, where conflict simmers, and where humor can cut through tension like a knife. Here are 10 tips for writing witty dialogue. Witty dialogue, in particular, can elevate a story, giving it layers of complexity and nuance while simultaneously entertaining the reader. Whether your characters are bickering over a trivial…

[hasaniwalker]

Hundred Acre Kingdom: Prologue Teaser

I started expanding on my Hundred Acre Kingdom story for print now that tigger is in public domain. Kessie and Gopher will be changed, they’re still very much all Disney.

If you didn’t see the original story post years ago, this is the story of Christopher Robin’s daughter and the world she creates after she gets her father’s childhood toys. With a more adventurous imagination, she creates a world of knights, castles and monsters. This isn’t a horror film (though those adaptations get the most attention). Instead, it’s a coming of age story about what we inherit from others and finding our own paths.

I’m planning to self publish this for myself and anyone who cares to read it. It’ll probably be limited once it comes out.

Anyway, here’s a first draft of the new opening prologue for the book.

The Hundred Acre Kingdom

“I knew when I met you an adventure was going to happen.” 

― A.A. Milne

Prologue

The covers were a poor defense. She knew that, but pulled them close all the same. As the thunder rolled closer, it was only a matter of time before it found its way to her home. Destroying the door to and pouring inside. Lightning striking the walls, tearing down all the comforts decorating the hallway. All to make its way to her room and take her away to the darkness outside.  The Noise outside was proof enough of the sky’s intent. Loud, desperate and hateful that it hadn’t found her yet.  Yes, the covers were a very poor defense.

“Tut, tut little one.” Her father told her. “It’ll pass in good time.”

His ignorance of the threat outside was laughable. How could anyone be so calm with the storm so close to finding them? However, his words were a distraction. And a distraction of any kind was welcomed.

“I was just as afraid when I was your age, but you come to enjoys the thunder after a while.”

“I’m not afraid.” She nearly snapped in a whisper. “I’m just, wary.”

Her father smiled. “Well, when I was wary, I had some friends who would help me through it. Would you like to meet them?”

The girl barely paid attention to his words. A flicker of light lit up the room for a second. The threat was closer. Checking windows. Trying to find any trace of her. Time was running out.

“This one, he was always so afraid.” The man continued. “But his friend was always by his side to help keep him calm.”

The thunder had lost its way. Confused. They were safe for a little while. The girl looked to her father to see him holding a stuffed pig and bear. Old and ragged. They looked up at her with curious eyes. He placed them on the bed with her.

“These are your friends?”

“They were, a long time ago.”

She lifted up the pig. He was a small creature, but not without charm.

“Piglet.” Her father said. “On account of his size.” The girl smiled at this as her father stood up from the bed. “They’ll keep you safe through the night, and you can do the same for them I’m sure.” He looked at her, waiting for an answer to a question he didn’t ask.

The girl looked at the bear and the pig. The covers wouldn’t help, but reinforcements would.

“Yes.” She responded. “I’m sure I can.”

With that, her father left the room, closing their door behind him.  The rain still poured outside. Gently hitting the window and roof. For a moment, it was peaceful. Until a shattering boom was heard. The girl pulled the covers closer and looked to the window. Everything went silent again, except for a low whimper from the side of her bed.  She looked over to find the bear. Quivering, paws over its head and eyes tightly closed.

“I don’t think it’s found us yet.” She reassured him to no effect.

“He’ll be like that for a while mum.” The pig, Piglet had moved to the window. Peaking outside. “Looks like pure fury, but he’s nothing but fluff.”

“Don’t look out the window, it’ll see you.” The girl warned the pig.

“Looks to have lost our scent.” He leaped from the window and walked to the bear. “But if it comes back, I’ll be ready.” Piglet scratched the bear’s head. “And you’ll find bravery then, won’t you cub?”

The bear raised his head and nuzzled Piglet. He was large, but gentle with the small swine. Another flicker of light outside sent the bear into trembles. He looked to the girl. Eyes pleading for her to do anything to help. All she could offer, was a hand, to which the bear licked affectionately.

“We should pass the time then.” Piglet suggested.

“With what?”

Piglet leaned against the bear as if relaxing in the grass. He placed his hands on his stomach and thought.

“A story would be nice.” He offered.

“Something adventurous?” 

“That would be preferred if you’re able Miss…What should I call you?”

The girl thought this over. Not a strange question, but to be asked by a pig seemed like a unique situation.

“Clover, you can call me clover.”

Piglet nodded. “We’ll, Miss Clover. Tell us a story of adventure and courage and when the rolling thunder is done searching, I’ll take you beyond this fortress to real adventures waiting outside.”

“Along with the bear?” Clover found herself growing excited.

“Of course, can’t leave our steed.”

As Piglet rested and the rain passed, Clover spun a story of perilous events and wondrous places. It was the first of many that she would share with her new friends. Eventually, light shone through the dark clouds, and the rolling terror was long forgotten. Now it was time to go outside with the bear and Piglet, and ride off into the vast woods. Making discoveries and creating their own stories. Of which, there would be many.

[rewrittenwrongs]

Whumptober day 4: hallucinations / “you’re still alive in my head”

Chapter 1 of 3 | chapter 2 coming soon | read on Ao3 (registered users only)

Whumptober masterpost | day 3 | day 5 coming soon

TW: hallucinations (who’da guessed), (non-graphic) aftermath of a panic attack, referenced alienation

Tim… took a deep breath. Panic attacks aren’t fun, but he knew what to do after coming down.

Running through the exercise is mechanical, repetitive, not quite comforting in its familiarity. His breathing stayed elevated. He continued hearing Dick talking him through the steps, encouraging him, even though Dick was in a different country and he and Tim haven’t been on good terms for… three months, now? God. It’s been three months.

That means it’s been five since Batman was killed.

But he isn’t dead, Tim assures himself hurriedly. Bruce is alive. He was killed, but he isn’t dead.

Granted, Tim and Ra’s al Ghul are the only people on earth that think that, and Ra’s is more curious if he’s right than in agreement.

God. Tim isn’t used to being this lonely anymore. The ache of missing Dick and Alfred, of missing Bruce, Kon, Bart, Jack, Dana—when did everyone he love start dying? What primordial deity did he piss off? If there was a way to beg for forgiveness, for all the constant losses and grief and pain to stop, he would do it in a heartbeat.

But there isn’t any deity he can appeal to right now. He’s at the mercy of fate and Ra’s al Ghul now, the only thing left to do is keep looking, searching, exploring for more proof and a way to get Bruce back. He will find it. He will. He has to.

“C’mon, Tim, take a break,” the devil said with the face of Dick Grayson. This hallucination was much more accurate than the last one, down to the scar on his cheekbone, the gash where an earring used to sit, the circles under his eyes, the wisps of premature grey in his hair. The only inaccuracy was the Nightwing suit. Tim chose not to think about it, and continued wilfully ignoring the hallucination as he shakily sorted papers.

Pru was a surprisingly disorganised person, despite being an assassin. She was good at logging information, when motivated, but keeping tract of it? Never. Usually Owens did that, but he was scoping out tonight’s hit with Pru, and Z was out ordering food or something.

They didn’t quite believe in Tim’s quest, but they believed in the cause, maybe, and were plenty motivated to help him. Not only thanks to Ra’s instructions: Tim was starting to think they began to like him, in the five or so weeks they’ve been working together. It was, regrettably, mutual.

Also, he’s fairly certain Pru has been hitting on him, so that might be why she seems happy spending time with him.

“Now is not the time to be dating someone, Tim,” Dick said amusedly. As if Tim was interested in her. As if this situation wasn’t Dick’s fault in the first place.

If it weren’t for Dick, Tim wouldn’t be halfway around the world working with rambunctious assassins and a maybe-immortal cult leader. He could be finding his not-dead adoptive father with the Justice League instead, or maybe they already would’ve succeeded, and everything would go back to how it should be.

Still with some teenage hero-shaped holes, unfortunately.

Hallucination-Dick sighed like he had heard Tim’s thoughts and was disappointed by them. Which was possible, he was a figment of Tim’s imagination. Then he followed Tim to the bed and pantomimed sitting on it, appearance wavering at the edges. “You need to come home, Tim. We can get you help.”

Tim said nothing. He continued organising the files; photos mostly, documentation of various ancient artefacts that could’ve been left by Bruce. They only had one place left before they would, hopefully, have enough proof of Bruce’s existence to hand over to the League.

He tried to ignore the anxiety—what if they wrote him off as mad again and didn’t even look at it? What if something horrible happened to Tim and they weren’t able to drop off the evidence? What if they still couldn’t get Bruce back? What if—

“Come on, Tim, come home.” Not-Dick’s voice gained a desperate edge, brows pinching in a way that looked almost pleading. “You can heal from this.”

Tim huffed. “You say that like believing in the truth is an illness,” he hissed quietly. The hotel they stayed in was upscale, but the walls were still thin, and he’d prefer not to be written off as crazy by anyone else today.

“Bruce died, Tim. Kal heard his heart stop. You saw the body. Giving in to your delusions—“

“Delusions?” Tim chuckled. “I’m not delusional. I may be crazy, but I’m still right. Bruce is alive.”

“I know you want to think that—“

“Boss!”

The door to their suite unlocked and swung open. Owens and Pru entered, toting bags of surveillance equipment. “Honey, we’re home!” Pru called. Owens snickered.

Tim left his bedroom and entered the suite proper, greeting the two of them with a roll of his eyes. Pru was wearing sunglasses and had her shirt unbuttoned perhaps more than strictly necessary; Owens looked fondly exasperated as he set down the equipment.

“I see you’re still on one piece,” Tim said with mock disappointment.

Pru took off her glasses and pointed with them at him. “No need to sound so excited.”

Hallucination-Dick sighed and followed him into the room, wavering at the edges like a distorted hologram, but only when Tim glanced directly at him. Tim avoided looking at him.

“Z have an ETA?” Tim asked.

“Ten minutes,” Owens reported, lowering himself into an armchair. He looked ready for a nap.

“After dinner we can shove off,” Pru declared. “Museum’s already closed for the night, the security is lacklustre at best.”

“If we find what we’re looking for we’ll be done.” They all already knew that, but Tim just… needed to say it. It hasn’t sunk in. “We only need one more thing, then we’re home-bound.”

Pru and Owens shared a knowing look, not quite sad and not quite triumphant. “What are we doing if tonight’s a bust?” Pru asked.

Tim grinned slightly for reasons unknown to him. “We head to Iraq.”

Not-Dick sighed, and disappeared.

[nickyfrancis24]

Winnie the Pooh – A.A.Milne

Winnie the Pooh – A.A.Milne Title: Winnie the PoohAuthor: A.A.MilnePublisher: October 1, 2001 by Dutton JuvenileGenres: Children, Fiction, Classics, Fantasy, Animals, Middle Grade, Audiobook, Picture Books, Young Adult, Juvenile More books by A.A.Milne My Review: “Must read book for every parent and their kids.”“Keeps you laughing and smiling the whole time. It’s just amazing!!!” Read more:…

[cybergoth1]

beyond the cowl | chapter 01 | batfamily x isekaide!reader

masterlist | prologue | chapter 02.

synopsis: ❛❛you're just a normal twenty-one-year old girl trying to navigate life with a shitty job and a useless degree. life isn't easy, and between expensive therapy sessions and the constant feeling of failure, you suddenly wake up in a body that wasn't yours, with a past that wasn't yours. now, in another dimension, you're dealing with the fact that you're a crucial part of the caped crusade that shaped bruce wayne's life. you're the second robin, the former girl wonder, and the vigilant gotham needed so much.❞

warnings/tags: swearing. avoiding body descriptions like the plague. the bat boys being themselves. there's a tiny reference to 'nightwing: year one'.

When you woke up for the second time, the room was already shrouded in complete darkness, with only faint slivers of light slipping through the loosely drawn curtains. Your head felt heavy, and your ears rang as you slowly opened your eyes, wearily gazing at the white ceiling. The soft silk fabric against your skin felt like a warm embrace as you took a deep breath, trying to use your rational side to keep yourself from panicking again.

The tips of your fingers glided over the sheets, seeking the softness of it as you tried to organize your scattered thoughts. You were in Gotham — the shittiest place in the entire world, at least in DC’s fictional universe.

Fucking Gotham. Batman's Gotham. Joker's Gotham.

Out of nowhere, you found yourself missing the sagging, cheap mattress that made your back ache every night. You looked into the darkness around you and longed for your tiny, shared bedroom at your mom’s place.

Summoning strength from an unknown place, you decided to get out of bed and blindly search for the light switch in the room, as you had no idea where your phone was. Your left hand found the switch, and as you pressed it, the light momentarily blinded you until your eyes adjusted to the brightness.

The bedroom was huge, like, the size of your mom's whole apartment. But what truy left you speechless were the stunning detalis: your favorite color was painted on the walls, the bookshelves near the bed were crafted from fine wood, the exquisite furniture was strategically placed near the big windows, and the king-sized bed sat perfectly in the center of the room. The sheets were a soft pastel pink, and you were certain the curtains were made of linen.

A small section of the wall filled with Polaroids caught your attention more than anything else in the room, drawing you closer to the photos that decorated the space in a way that would have thrilled your sixteen-year-old self. It was you— your face, your hair, your smile, your body captured in those photos. Your face, repeated countless times, revelead a reality you coudn't believe was true.

Your eyes scanned through the photos, and you tried to count in your mind how many faces you could recognize with your limited knowledge of the universe that had swallowed you without asking for permission. One photo stood out— one of you next to Barbara Gordon and Stephanie Brown. The three of you were baking a massive cake for, apparently, Tim's birthday on the manor's kitchen while Alfred stood in the corner, tidying up the mess.

Perhaps, in this strange version of your life, you were a Batgirl, just like they once were at some point. But your hypothesis was immediately disproved when you saw a photo of yourself, probably around thirteen or fourteen years old, sloppily gripping a trapeze while a teenage Dick Grayson demonstrated the correct way to hold on from his position on the ground. At the bottom of the photo, you could see the cursive writing standing out: 'Girl Wonder working out for the first time'.

Ok, so you used to be Robin.

You were definitely no longer a kid or a teenager based on the last pictures— your days of wearing green shorts and pixie boots were probably long behind you. But if you weren't Robin anymore, then what were you? And if you were Robin at one point in this weird timeline, did that mean you were an orphan, adopted by Bruce Wayne?

Was he your father, or something close to it? Were you his ward? Wait, holy shit, how old are you here? You touched your face, feeling despair slowly creeping in and spreading through your body like poison. It wasn't long before your shaky feet carried you to the bathroom, the door partially concealed between the bookshelves.

You were finally facing the mirror, yet your eyes remained fixed on your hands.

Then courage took hold of you, and you finally looked at yourself in the mirror on impulse. Oh, wow. The girl who stared back at you looked more like a grown woman than anything else—her face slightly more mature than yours and strikingly beautiful, almost breathtaking. There were no pimples or acne marks, not a single blemish marred her flawless skin and perfect hair. Perfect teeth, cute dimples and pretty lips. It was almost uncanny how beautiful you appeared, still carrying most of your familiar traits.

The girl in the mirror smirked at you, her expression a mix of snobbishness and boredom. She seemed to despise you in some way.

"You look like a trust fund baby," you said, her lips moving and her brow furrowing as you talked.

That was you.

She was you.

You looked down at the countertop, avoiding her magnetic gaze. Your vision was immediately assaulted by the sheer number of expensive skincare products—each one seeming like it could cost you a kidney.

"So you're— we're disgustingly rich now, hm? La Mer, Dior, La Prairie..."

You both locked eyes again.

"Who are you?" you felt like you both were wondering the same thing.

This time, you weren’t gentle in your search for answers. You opened drawers, the closet, and designer bags, rifling through everything until you felt satisfied. The noise of things crashing to the floor was so loud that you could hear curious murmurs and footsteps on the other side of the door.

A huge smile spread across your face as you realized what you'd found. Thank God she was the nostalgic type— at the bottom of her big closet, behind some Hermes bags, you found a box full of old newspapers. Some headlines excitedly reported the debut of the first Girl Wonder many years ago. Hum, she— you looked surprisingly confident in those ridiculous green shorts and cape. But is the next newspaper in the huge pile that finally put an end to your curiosity and anguish.

You're new name is Blackwing. Fucking stupid. You frowned as you read more about your alter ego. Blackwing apparently operated in Gotham and, sometimes, out of New Jersey — there were some New York and Delaware newspapers in the pile, reporting your involvement in the drop in local crime. Your curious eyes studied the imposing figure on the first page.

Blackwing's red cowl covered her entire head, leaving only her eyes, nose, and mouth exposed— something that remind you of Batman's own suit. Speaking of suits, hers was red with black accents, leaving you to wonder if it was leotard beneath all the layers. The overall design gave her a very menacing look, you bet it wasn't a big hit with the kids.

Inside the old box, you also found a phone, saddly not yours, and quickly unlocked using facial ID. You wasted no time and searched Blackwing across several platforms.

In just six minutes goggling, you found a lot of things.

They called you the “woman without fear” because you were insanely brutal during your patrols, — at least that’s what the Gotham Times and Gotham Gazette liked to put in their headlines — madly sending petty thieves and thugs to the nearest ICU with your aggressive blows and merceless punches. Damn, you were like a demon seeking blood, an unmedicated demon it seemed, running from rooftop to rooftop, terrorizing the city’s criminals and sometimes the poor civilians.

You cringed, shrinking into your clothes while reading a Reddit post about the last time you damaged a whole-ass bulding fighting with Clayface on Gotham’s main street. How does insurance work in a world full of crazy people — some of them with superpowers — damaging property on a daily basis? Who’s paying for this shitshow?

Wait, how are you even taking punches like that, being thrown against walls and floors without dying on the spot? You thought with widew eyes while watching yourself being tossed around the street like a ragdoll by Bane in Twitter — a total dead weight in his massive hands.

You heard a soft knock at the door, followed by Alfred's voice.

"Miss, I trust your room is now renovated to your satisfaction," he said almost smiling, subtly alluding to all the noise you had been making. "But dinner is served".

"Oh—" you said surprised, putting the newspaper and the old phone back on the box. "Yeah, yeah, sure".

Shit.

Dinner. Probably with Bruce and Damian. Maybe Tim and Dick if you were totally unlucky tonight. You swallowed hard, realizing you were about to share a table with the world’s greastest detectives—without knowing almost anything about the life you technically shared with them. You're fucked.

"I'm fucked, I'm totally fucked" you muttered as you walked down the grand staircase, trying not to let the manor’s luxury overwhelm you and distract you from staying alert.

Near the dining room, you heard a voice calling you by your last name.

Thank God—at least that was the same as in your old life. You slowly turned your body, and Damian Wayne’s green eyes met yours, showing something closer to boredom. Great.

"Father said I shouldn't have been so rough with you during training earlier".

Training?

"And, naturally, I told him It was entirely fault of your chronic stupidity and lack of motor coordination," he added, his tone drippring with condescension.

You couldn’t let that slide. You looked down at him—you were at least five inches taller.

"You've got too much attitude for someone your size. What are you? Four?"

Damian looked like an angry cat, ready to tear your face off. He called you an 'unworthy opponent,' as if he were a knight in a Game of Thrones episode, then stormed off to sit at the table with an ugly scowl.

That weird ass kid needed an iPad.

"Don’t provoke her, Dami. You know how mean she gets without her eight hours of sleep."

Dick Grayson showed up, blessing you with his perfect white teeth and baby blue eyes. You watched him ruffle Damian's hair while the boy protested loudly.

"What are you even doing here, Grayson?' he said, slapping his hand away. You couldn’t help but notice his large biceps and broad shoulders, so you decided your nails were suddenly very interesting.

"Babs tracked down a Blüdhaven gang warehouse. They're hiding illegal weapons in Gotham."

You felt his gaze on you, followed by a hand resting on your left shoulder. He looked at you with warm eyes.

"Nice to see you back on your feet, little wing," he said, friendly patting your shoulder as you melted on the spot. Little wing?

'Hush, little wing. We're the stealthy ones, remember?'

Before your eyes, you could almost see and feel the fabricated memory surfacing—the memory of a body and a life that weren’t truly yours. It was the first time you teamed up, three weeks after you took on the Robin mantle. Dick listened to your constant chatter while you two tried to rescue some hostages. He didn't make you feel like a dumb kid in a costume — more like his cool sidekick.

Analyzing the timeline, you’re definitely the second Robin. Bruce probably took you in a few months after Dick moved out — both from Wayne Manor and from his role as Robin — leading to the older man's empty nest crisis.

But what could someone like you have done to impress someone like the Dark Knight?

You made a mental note to search more later and then gave Dick a smile.

"Glad to be back".

tag-list: @rosescarlettx, @btsloveer07-blog, @rainbowstar, @xingyunny, @mikyapixie, @sheep-from-rad, @fandomly-obsessed, @migilore, @natsukicookies, @candlewitch-cryptic, @socialmess-jery, @mona1704, @dieforcoffee26, @stupouid, @astrelz, @dind1n, @cxcilla, @mimi-sanisanidiot, @ceridwyn3, @sunako50, @lilithquillete, @rainbowstar, @ninihrtss, @dind1n, @blondwhxrewrites, @rosiita-fresita, @lovely-maryj, @vxsire

[babiebom]

Heyyy! I was wondering if u could do the bachelors & bachelorettes reactin to / dating an s/o who has really intense nose bleeds when they're stressed. But plot twist bc this is literally the norm for the farmer bc they have crippling anxiety, especially social.

Thank u sm!!

A/N: I don’t know why I thought this was funny??? My anxiety just makes my stomach upset but a nosebleed in front of everyone like some sort of anxious demon is funny. Not the clean up tho. I’ve never had a nosebleed but I know they bleed SO MUCH. Also no problemo!!! Always glad to get requests!! I did different things (so not just stressed because I would’ve written the same thing for anyone I made crush aspects as sort of for stress too lmao) for each hopefully they’re good enough!

Tw: cursing, blood, anxiety, the nose bleeds are VERY dramatic because it’s fiction lmao. Physical fights(in Leah’s part), arguments(in almost all of them). Pierre hate Pam hate(kinda) Demetrius hate Morris hate. And Kel is gender neutral! let me know if there’s anything else to tag!

Wc: idk lmao hopefully at least 100 words for each

Stardew Masterlist

Sebastian:

Just frowns

Actually helps unexpectedly

��.we can never talk about this happening again if you want……

It’s not often that you get to see the towns resident emo, even after visiting Robin multiple times for various building needs. So when you wander into the house, looking for Robin so you can upgrade your coop, seeing him makes your brain malfunction.

“Oh…hey farmer.” He greets, moving past you to head further into the house. You blink for a second before returning the greeting, watching as his dark hoodie disappears behind a wall.

You try to force your breathing to slow down. There is absolutely NO reason you should be this worked up over a literal one second conversation. While you sit with your thoughts, foot steps fill your ears and the sight of Sebastian returning from wherever he went makes all of your progress regress. “So…you here waiting for my mom?”

You nod quickly, clearing your throat, “yeah…um…just need to upgrade my chicken coop.”

“Oh well, she’s not in today. She usually goes to Pierre’s store to work out with the other moms.”

You frown to yourself, how did you miss that she wouldn’t be in today? Damn now all you can think about is how you just made a fool of yourself. Lost in your thoughts, you miss that Sebastian had cleared his throat a couple times until he waves a hand in front of your face.

“If you want, I can take your order and tell her when she gets home later. That way she can get started tomorrow.”

“Would you?” Your heart flips as you perk up. Was he usually this nice? You kinda heard from Robin herself that Sebastian never really interacted with people he wasn’t already friends with.

“Yeah sure.” He shrugs and moves to go around the counter, setting his slowly cooling food down. “Okay so she usually charges 10,000g and you have to have 400 logs of wood and 150 things of stone. Sound right?”

You nod and hand over the bag of money. The second your hands touch it’s like your body decided it couldn’t handle anything else from him. Luckily he just takes the money and pretends like your nose hasn’t become a geyser as you scramble to try to keep the blood from dripping all over their furniture.

Sam:

WOAH DUDE IS THAT LIKE….NORMAL?

it’s like from a movie or something

Is overall sorta scared but at the same time thinks it’s cool

“And this is how I do a kick flip!” Sam shows you skateboard trick after trick and honestly you can’t get enough of it. It wasn’t a secret that the both of you had crushes on each other, and even now it was very obvious by how you were watching him do his tricks that you had feelings for him. Yet still you two weren’t in a relationship, just sort of friends who like each other in a romantic sort of way.

“You’re so cool!” You clap as he lands another trick.

“And you’re cute!”

“What?”

You freeze in your spot and watch in confusion as he sort of freezes midway through his next trick and crashes to the ground. His words echo in your head, making your face heat up and your heart soar. He smacks his face on the ground, sending you into a panic because now all you can think about is how he thinks you’re cute, and now how he probably has a concussion from hitting his face directly onto the concrete.

When he lifts his face off the ground, you’re kneeling next to him, trying to check on him. His forehead is bleeding, his nose is bleeding, and so is his mouth. You shriek and try to go through your backpack to see if you have anything to help him. You didn’t.

You already know where this is leading, and you let out a groan of annoyance right before your nose starts leaking just like his. His eyes widen and he lets out a loud laugh. Maybe you two can move out of the weird friendship you have after all.

Shane:

Would just stare silently

Like no comments no nothing

Doesn’t even act like it’s happening

Having a part time job at Joja Mart during the winter is one of the absolute worst ideas that you’ve had in a while. But you didn’t make a lot during your first year of farming. Stacking the products onto the shelves, your only saving Grace is the fact that you’re allowed to have earphones in. Except for the fact that Pam is now standing next to you asking loudly about where something is. Shane is stacking the shelves behind you.

“I don’t know Pam…the alcohol is probably on the wall in the back.” You frown at her. She obviously knows that you don’t know this store that well, you were a FARMER that NEVER shopped here before. She rasps out another question and it takes everything in you to not snap at her. Trying to calm yourself of course there’s gonna be something else that makes you lose your mind. That something is Morris, coming over and being the absolute WORST and in turn making Pam LOUDER and more insistent.

He’s lecturing you, Pam is agreeing with him way too loudly, the music on your headphones is now overwhelming instead of calming, and the sound of random things in the market is making you want to bite a chunk out of the loaves of bread in front of you, plastic and all. With everything building up inside of you, you already know what’s going to happen. It always happens, but instead of excusing yourself you stand there, staring Morris down as the blood begins to flow from your nostrils.

Pam yells out curses and Morris begins to stutter, but behind them Shane just stares for a second before continuing to work. When you’re finally left alone with him in the aisle as your two stressors hastily take their leave, all he does is let out a dry chuckle.

“Sam has a hell of a mess to clean up…”

Alex:

Oh DUDE your nose is like….LEAKING

Doesn’t help

Just watched and comments

“AND THEN HE HAS THE NERVE TO TELL PEOPLE THAT MY HARVESTS ARE HIS BUT HE ONLY DOES IT IF ITS GOOD!” You rant to the brown haired boy, pacing back and forth in his room. Thankfully both Evelyn and George were out so you weren’t bothering anyone except for the man in front of you.

You huff and puff as he watches, slightly amused slightly concerned. Alex wasn’t the best person to go to when you’re upset unless it was something absolutely devastating. So being in front of him now, complains about your farming woes meant that he was only half ass taking it seriously. “You should go and speak your mind.” He says.

Turns out you should NOT take advice from Alex. Standing in Pierre’s shop, you’re staring him down angrily, anxiety creeping up your throat from you trying to will yourself to call him out on his bullshit. The older man just kind of stares at you in confusion because all you had done was shout his name angrily as you entered the shop then stand in front of him seething.

“You….you…..” you point a finger at him. This was the moment, the moment you stand up for yourself and tell Pierre how HORRIBLE he is!

But of course things don’t work how you want and your nose gushes out blood all over the counter before you can work yourself up to the point of accusations. With a gasp you run out of the shop, hoping that he would keep his mouth shut with Alex running behind you laughing. Again, NEVER let Alex talk you into anything.

Elliott:

Panics

How do I help PLS LET ME HELP

Everything probably gets messy

Fishing had never been your favorite pastime, but now trying to fix up the community center you had to. Unfortunately Willy was gone and couldn’t properly teach you even though he had gifted you an old rod of his, so the next best thing is getting your boyfriend to teach you since he does fish often. Now you stand on the docks, waiting for a fish to bite the hook.

“Keep calm, the fish can feel your fear and it makes them upset.” Elliott spoke. In all honesty you didn’t even know if that was true or not, but you take in a breath to calm down. You did not want to be here all day you had cows to pet.

The second your line begins to pull you try to pull the fish in. And you succeed until it comes time to unhook the eel you managed to catch. The eel is slimy and slippery and all around not a good thing to try to grip. A shriek leaves your lips and the eel struggles, Elliott tries to help you but is also struggling to catch hold of it. And now your nose is bleeding adding another layer to the already hellish experience.

You’re unhappy, the eel is unhappy, and Elliott is unhappy. After what seems like an hour, the stupid thing slips out of your grips and back into the ocean, washing your nose blood off of it and splashing you with saltwater. 0 out of 10 you will not be trying again.

Harvey:

Calm but concerned(after panicking for a second)

Has a doctory approach to it

But is secretly like WTF inside

Your heart thumps in your chest as you sit on the clinic bed. It’s been a while since you’ve been in Harvey’s clinic, having taken a break from the mines, and somehow this seems more shameful than having been beaten almost to death by living slime. Your hands bleed into the cloth you have pressed into it. One of the pigs knocked you over into the broken fence you were in the middle of fixing. Now you sit waiting for the good looking Doctor.

When he walks in he’s all smiles, tapping his clipboard with his pen. “While I’m sad to see that you’re injured, I’m glad to see it isn’t from those mines again.” The eye contact he makes with you makes your heart twist for a second.

He starts speaking of all the shots you need and the antibiotics you need to take, rust poisoning is quite serious you know. “Now,” he says, moving towards you, “let me see your hand.”

Your heart thumps erratically at the close proximity of him and you. You only really ever got to see him this close when you were half dead and barely conscious. His face is much too close for you to be able to do anything but focus on how pretty his eyes are, and how fluffy his mustache is, and how…

“OH MY DEAR YOBA” He yelps and jumps away from you. It takes only a second after him to realize what’s going on, and now your furiously wiping away at your nose with your hands instead of with the cloth, and he’s trying to get something on your nose to catch the blood. It’s a disaster, really. But at least you’re already in a clinic!

Penny:

Probably panics

Doesn’t know how to deal with it

Would try to help though

The warmth of the pool in the spa did nothing to ease your nerves as you waded in the shallow end of the pool. Penny had invited you to come sometime after 7 pm, and when you had arrived she was already waiting for you, kicking her feet in the pool. The thought of her asking you here made your stomach turn, did you do something wrong…? Was she inviting you here to tell you she hated you or something…? You had grown close to her over your time here and would hate it if she thought you were too much or something.

“Do you know why I invited you here?” She asks, moving closer but keeping her eyes on the water.

You shake your head, “I’m not exactly sure, no.”

She frowns and sighs at you, meeting your eyes for a fleeting second then looking elsewhere. “Really? I thought you would’ve noticed by now…” her words trail off and her eyebrows furrow.

The next few seconds are ones that you simultaneously want to remember for forever and forget. She confesses her feelings for you. Feelings that you obviously reciprocate, and the emotions in you mix and grow, rising up your throat as if you were a volcano of conflicting feelings. As soon as you open your mouth to tell her that yes, you like her too, her face morphs into one that’s horrified instead of hopeful, disgusted instead of smitten and you realize a second after she does that your nose is spouting red, dyeing the water you both were swimming in.

Penny shrieks for a solid second before trying to scramble out of the water as fast as she can. You do the same, swirling the red around the pool as both of you splash trying to exit the now crime scene looking pool. When you get out of the water, she’s holding a towel right in your face, smooshing it so hard you can barely breathe and now your nose is throbbing with slight pain. “What do we do?!” She asks moving about quickly. She’s so confused that she just keeps walking and turning as if she’s remembering and forgetting things at the same time.

You just tilt your head downward and cringe inwardly, this was not the way to get a girl to like you. “It’s fine…I’m fine,” you say voice nasally and muffled. “And I like you too by the way.”

Haley:

confused staring

wtf is happening

Actually speechless

It isn’t every day that you get to talk to a beautiful blonde. It isn’t even every day that you talk to anyone. So when she approaches you on one of your trips off of your farm you couldn’t help but feel like either everything is out to get you or that you’re up on your luck. You don’t really know for sure, it honestly depends on how things go.

“Hey farmer!” She smiles as soon as she stops in front of you, the feeling of your stomach twisting makes you want to vomit in all of your nervousness. “I have a favor to ask you…”

“Yeah?” You ask trying to keep your cool. “What is it?”

“I would totally love love LOVE you forever if you could bring me an amethyst? It’s for Emily’s birthday and I don’t really like Clint so I don’t wanna buy anything from him. I’m willing to pay 150g!”

You cough into your fist, nodding along and taken aback by how casually she’s speaking to you. Before you can accept doing her the favor, the horrified look on your face makes your words falter.

She looks absolutely horrified, and touching your hand to your face you can feel why. Your nose started dripping blood, and by dripping you mean you can now feel it running down to your chin. A flurry of curses leave your mouth as confused noises leave hers. It's not much of a surprise that this has happened, but man did you wish it wasn't in front of her.

Emily:

Surprisingly chill about it

Probably has a weird story about a nosebleed or something

Actually helps

You sit at the bar alone, upset at a horrible farming day. You tried your best, you really did, but those stupid ass crows actually ate ALL of your seedlings. Or…almost all of them but that’s basically the same thing! There is no way you’re gonna make enough to make it through winter comfortably. You told Emily exactly this, appreciative of her listening ear in the middle of her busy shift.

“You know they probably didn’t mean it…or maybe they did,” she sucks in a breath eyebrows furrowing as she thinks, “you know crows are very smart they probably know that you’re using that land to farm and stay there because of all the free food.”

“But it’s not free!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up in annoyance, “I have to buy those seeds! They’re just putting me into debt!”

She hums and nods, wiping the bar next to you where a person had just left. You had only a couple months left until the snow started falling and making it virtually impossible to grow anything. The little plants you had left you had to fight the crows for. And by fight I mean you angrily swung a broom at the with the intent of scaring them (not hitting them that’s mean). Still the growing anger inside you was not easily crushed by her warm and quite frankly outlandish words. No, in fact your anger grew the more you thought about it.

You felt it coming before anything had even exited your nose, hurriedly snatching the rag from Emily’s hands. Damn now you would have to buy the bar a new one. She just blinks then nods as if your nose becoming a bloody waterfall was normal.

“You know…nose bleeds cause by stress is usually because your heart rate and blood pressure increase and it causes your blood vessels to dilate!”

You stare at her before laughing. Maybe she was helpful after all.

Abigail:

WOAH

WTF

WHAT DO WE DO?

You stand in front of Pierre in front of the shop, arms crossed as you watch his face grow redder the longer time goes on. “-IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH MY DAUGHTER?” You’re not really listening to his tirade, over the whole ‘protective dad’ thing.

“Dad I’m an adult! You have no say in who I date!” Abigail yells back, face equally red. Who would’ve known that he would have a problem with the farmer he rips off constantly dating his daughter?

He yells out more reasons that the two of you shouldn’t be dating, and in turn points a finger into your chest roughly. You sputter out an offended sound, moving away from him. “Don’t touch me!”

“You shouldn’t be touching my daughter!”

“What? Dude we just started dating, you’re weird as hell!”

The arguing only gets worse from there, accusations flying around and now an audience comes with the drama. It’s almost too much for you to handle with now Caroline, Harvey, Haley, and the Milner family standing and watching the chaos. “Abby let’s just go to my place…” you try suddenly feeling the need to escape and no longer feeling the ‘fuck you dude’ attitude.

“No! He needs to understand that he can’t control my life!”

It’s like a volcano in your body and just like a volcano your nose begins to erupt. Now you’re screaming, Abigail is screaming, Pierre is screaming, the Mullners are screaming. Could this get any worse?

Turns out yeah, it can get any worse, like a family fight worse and now all of you are sitting in Harvey’s clinic. At least you aren’t the only bloody one now.

Maru:

Is surprised

Also forgets what to do

Would probably make things worse

Maru talks about robots and space the way you would talk about her: totally and completely enamored. You sit on her bed listening to her talk about her newest invention, some sort of robot that can cook and clean and basically be a free maid. You laugh and move your arm to get in a more comfortable position to watch her. Unfortunately your arm had other plans and smacked hard into her bed post. Groaning out in pain, your eyes close and begin to water from how much your elbow hurt.

Demetrius is in your face before you even realize that he was in the room. You yelp out in surprise as he starts ranting about you ruining his daughter’s future. You blink in surprise and try to retreat back into the mattress. What was happening. You can hear Maru screaming over his words but your ears feel like they’re filled with water.

“We’re just friends!” You find yourself shouting. Like damn is the man insane? It wasn’t the first time he’s gotten upset at you over Maru, but it was the first time that he was absolutely losing his mind.

“Dad stop!”

Time froze for a second as you and Demetrius stared at each other, Maru standing near him. Breathing in you can taste blood in your mouth before your nose starts bleeding, yet you can’t bring yourself to do anything but sit and catch your breath.

“Oh my god!” Both Demetrius and Maru exclaim moving around the room trying to find something to help. You couldn’t help but feel annoyed at him acting concerned now.

Thankfully Maru looked cute trying to help you which at least made things a little better.

Leah:

Is also freaking out on the inside but calm on the outside

Helps you with tissues

Is understanding

Going on a date with Leah is a dream come true. There’s paint, wine, food, and you’re sitting in the prettiest meadow you’ve ever seen, well it’s pretty because Leah is there and she’s pretty and you’ve been here multiple times because it’s near her cottage but it still looks different today.

You sit, paintbrush in hand, laughing at something she’s saying. It’s fun and if she hadn’t have asked you would’ve spent the day farming like usual, this little break was needed. The day couldn’t be ruined, absolutely nothing can ruin it.

Okay, one thing can ruin it and that one thing is Kel coming and ruining everything. The argument that ensues is one of the worst that you’ve seen. Kel tries to walk up on you(translation: Kel wants to fight you), Leah stops them but in turn gets into a fight with them which causes you to actually get up and try to defend her.

You kinda black out until you can hear Kel call out “I made your nose bleed bitch!” Which again causes you to want to drown in your anger.

“My noses is bleeding because I’m stressed, stupid!” You yell back. It’s obvious Kel hadn’t been able to hit your nose so claiming to be able to hit you so hard your nose bleeds isn’t even possible. It’s almost childish how the two of you argue.

Leah finally gets Kel to leave and hands you a bunch of tissues as she sits you down on the now rumpled blanket. As the two of you catch your breath and calm down, you find yourself smiling at her behind the wad of tissues catching blood flowing from your nose.

At least the situation would be funny in the future.

[hope-ur-ok]

Surprise Song Master post ~ European Leg

5/9 Paris, FR: Paris + LOML

5/10 Paris, FR: Is It Over Now?/OOTW + My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

5/11 Paris, FR: Hey Stephen + Maroon

5/12 Paris, FR: The Alchemy / Treacherous + Begin Again / Paris

5/17 Stockholm, SE: I Think He Knows / Gorgeous + Peter

5/18 Stockholm, SE: Guilty As Sin? + Say Don't Go / Welcome to New York / Clean

5/19 Stockholm, SE: Message In A Bottle / How You Get The Girl / New Romantics + How Did It End?

5/24 Lisbon, PT: Come Back... Be Here / The Way I Loved You / The Other Side of the Door + Fresh Out the Slammer / High Infidelity

5/25 Lisbon, PT: The Tortured Poets Department / Now That We Don't Talk + You're On Your Own Kid / Long Live

5/29 Madrid, ES: Sparks Fly / I Can Fix Him (No Really Can) + I Look In People's Windows / Snow On the Beach

5/30 Madrid, ES: Our Song / Jump Then Fall + King of My Heart

6/2 Lyon, FR: The Prophecy / Long Story Short + Fifteen / You're On Your Own Kid

6/3 Lyon, FR: Glitch / Everything Has Changed + Chloe Or Sam Or Sophia Or Marcus

6/7 Edinburgh, Scotland UK: Would've Could've Should've / I Know Places + 'Tis the Damn Season / Daylight

6/8 Edinburgh, Scotland UK: The Bolter / Getaway Car + All of the Girls You Loved Before / Crazier

6/9 Edinburgh, Scotland UK: It's Nice To Have A Friend / Dorothea + Haunted / Exile

6/13 Liverpool, England UK: I Can See You / Mine + Cornelia Street / Maroon

6/14 Liverpool, England UK: This Is What You Came For / Gold Rush + The Great War / You're Losing Me

6/15 Liverpool, England UK: Carolina / No Body No Crime + The Manuscript / Red

6/18 Cardiff, Wales UK: I Forgot That You Existed / This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things + I Hate It Here / The Lakes

6/21 London, England UK: Hits Different / Death By A Thousand Cuts + The Black Dog / Come Back Be Here / Maroon

6/22 London, England UK: thanK you aIMee / Mean + Castles Crumbling w/ Hayley Williams

6/23 London, England UK: Us w/ Gracie Abrams + Out Of The Woods / Is It Over Now? / Clean

6/28 Dublin, IE: State of Grace / You're On Your Own Kid + Sweet Nothing / Hoax

6/29 Dublin, IE: The Albatross / Dancing With Our Hands Tied + This Love / Ours

6/30 Dublin, IE: Clara Bow / The Lucky One + You’re On Your Own Kid

7/4 Amsterdam, NL: Guilty as Sin? / Untouchable + The Archer / Question...?

7/5 Amsterdam, NL: imgonnagetyouback / Dress + You Are In Love / Cowboy Like Me

7/6 Amsterdam, NL: Sweeter than fiction / Holy Ground + Mary's Song / So High School / Everything Has Changed

7/9 Zürich, CH: Right Where You Left Me / All You Had To Do Was Stay + Last Kiss / Sad Beautiful Tragic

7/10 Zürich, CH: Closure / A Perfectly Good Heart + Robin / Never Grow Up

7/13 Milan, IT: The 1 / Wonderland + I Almost Do / The Moment I Knew

7/14 Milan, IT: Mr. Perfectly Fine / Red + Getaway Car / Out Of The Woods

7/17 Gelsenkirchen, DE: Superstar / Invisible String + "Slut!" / False God

7/18 Gelsenkirchen, DE: Speak Now / Hey Stephen + This Is Me Trying / Labyrinth

7/19 Gelsenkirchen, DE: Paper Rings / Stay Stay Stay + It's Time To Go / Better Man

7/23 Hamburg, DE: Teardrops On My Guitar / The Last Time + We Were Happy / Happiness

7/24 Hamburg, DE: The Last Great American Dynasty / Run + Nothing New / Dear Reader

7/27 Munich, DE: Fresh Out The Slammer / You Are In Love + Ivy / Call It What You Want

7/28 Munich, DE: I Don't Wanna Live Forever / Imgonnagetyouback + LOML / Don't You

8/1 Warsaw, PL: Mirrorball / Clara Bow + Suburban Legends / New Years Day

8/2 Warsaw, PL: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) / I Can See You + Red / Maroon

8/3 Warsaw, PL: Today Was A Fairytale / I Think He Knows + The Black Dog / Exile

8/15 London, England UK: Everything Has Changed / End Game / Thinking Out Loud w/Ed Sheeran + King Of My Heart / The Alchemy

8/16 London, England UK: London Boy + Dear John / Sad Beautiful Tragic

8/17 London, England UK: I Did Something Bad + My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys / Coney Island

8/19 London, England UK: Long Live / Change + The Archer / You're On Your Own Kid

8/20 London, England UK: Death By A Thousand Cut / Getaway Car w/Jack Antonoff + So Long, London

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in December 2024 🌈

Find these books and more here.

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Happy reading!

❓What was the last queer book you read?

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Sugar-Coated Kisses - Echo Lark 🧡 Christmas at Watson Memorial - Clara Ann Simons 💛 Warm-Blooded - J Greene 💚 It Takes Three To Tango - Jem Wendel 💙 The Black Curse - N.A. Moore 💜 Heavenly Tyrant - Xiran Jay Zhao ❤️ Encrypted Hearts - E.V. Bancroft 🧡 Dangerous Devotion - Robin Jo Margaret 💛 Sew in Love - Rhea Fox 💙 Saint - Chani Lynn Feener 💜 Her Ladyship's Christmas Companion - Theresa Meiningen 🌈 A Sky of Emerald Stars - A.K. Mulford

❤️ Inked in Blood and Memory - Allison Ivy 🧡 The Key - Jo Morgan Sloan 💛 Home Between Homes - Flynn Woods 💚 A Kiss for the Holidays - C.S. Autumn 💙 Loving the Linebacker - Amaya Knight 💜 Close to Home - Allisa Bahney ❤️ Christmas Shelter - Eva Gonzay & Julia C. Brown 🧡 This Isn't Everything You Are - J. Marie Rundquist 💛 Keep It in the Dark - Justin Arnold 💙 Santa & His Elf - Bink Cummings 💜 On the Subject of Kittens and Mittens - Katie Silverwings 🌈 Winter's Whisper - M Bonneau

❤️ Boyfriends - refrainbow 🧡 Innis Harbor - Patricia Evans 💛 A Complementary Connection - Eskay Kabba 💚 Point of Sighs - Melissa Scott 💙 Bind You by Blood - Shepard DiStasio 💜 The Resurrectionist - A. Rae Dunlap ❤️ Fractured Dreamer - A.K. Adler 🧡 The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou 💛 Becoming Disabled - Jan Doolittle Wilson 💙 A Caress of Water - Nico Silver 💜 How to Survive As a Villain 1 - Yi Yi Yi Yi 🌈 The Silent Concubine - Qiang Tang

❤️ Hadrian - Harlowe Savage 🧡 A Series of Rooms - A.J. Barlowe 💛 Inklings of Invisibility - S.L. Dove Cooper 💚 The Cobbler and His Elves - C.B. Wren 💙 A Nightclub for the Holidays - Arden Coutts 💜 Armor of Dusk - Jess Galaxie ❤️ Twisted Shadows - Allie Therin 🧡 A Deception of Courts - Ben Alderson 💛 Trial Run - Carsen Taite 💙 How to Flirt with a Witch - Tiana Warner 💜 Roughed Up - Kate Hawthorne 🌈 House of Crimson Curses - Ruby Roe

❤️ Sister Snake - Amanda Lee Koe 🧡 Roland Rogers Isn't Dead Yet - Samantha Allen 💛 The Rivals - Jane Pek 💚 Private Rites - Julia Armfield 💙 The Christmas Switch - Briar Prescott 💜 Ribbonwood - Ruby Landers ❤️ Shifting Lanes - Joanne Kwan 🧡 Twice-Spent Comet - Ziggy Schutz 💛 A Crush for the Holidays - E.L. Ough 💙 Resist - Lasairiona Lewis 💜 Free from Falling - E.L. Massey 🌈 The Legendary Master's Wife - Yin Ya

❤️ Tide Breaker's Curse - Ivy H. Marikova 🧡 Twist Her - Terri Ronald 💛 How to Fuck Like a Girl - Vera Blossom 💚 Dog Days of Christmas - Krystal Wolfgang & Kimberly Wolfgang 💙 Warmer, Colder - Alexia Onyx 💜 Salt in the Wind - Jenna Pine ❤️ What We Carry With Us - Joseff McKenneth Goodwin 🧡 Reinvention - Karol Yan 💛 Christmas Carols - Maxime Jaz 💙 I'm Not Your Pet - Fae Quin 💜 Something Extraordinary - Alexis Hall 🌈 I Might Be in Trouble - Daniel Aleman

❤️ Deck the Palms - Annabeth Albert 🧡 Don't Get It Twisted - Wren Taylor 💛 Ice & Sweet - Charlie Novak 💚 Speak EZ - Elle E. Ire 💙 The Disabled Tyrant's Beloved Pet Fish - Xue Shan Fei Hu 💜 Horns For Hell - Rafael Nicolás ❤️ Flamboyant Fictions - Ian Fleishman 🧡 Where the Heart Is - Jenni Simonis 💛 Sorry I Kissed Your Dad - Achilles King 💙 Merry Weihnachten - E.J. Noyes 💜 An Alpha for the Holidays - Emily Axon 🌈 The Blessed - Anne Shade

❤️ Our Sinful Love - Amy H. 🧡 Gambler's Conceit - Adara Wolf & R. Phoenix 💛 Fate and Flambe - Leena Metcalfe 💚 Figure You Out - Hannah Danielle & K.F. Starfell 💙 Amaranthine - Aricka Alexander 💜 Twisted Loyalties - Barbara J. Webb ❤️ Echoes of Us - Alex Cross 🧡 The Shadowbearer's Curse - Jasmyn Morning 💛 Too Many Beds - Various 💙 We Are the Beasts - Gigi Griffis 💜 Unspoken - N.N. Britt 🌈 Rainbows After Storms - Luka Kobachi

❤️ The Shutouts - Gabrielle Korn 🧡 Robin's Worlds - Rainie Oet & Mathias Ball 💛 What the Woods Took - Courtney Gould 💚 Rescue Me - N. Slater 💙 Seb & Ailin - Michele Notaro 💜 The International Love Story - Jonas Noelting ❤️ Waterlogged - Nance Sparks 🧡 The Guardians - Sheri Lewis Wohl 💛 The Changeling's Faerie Prince - K.D. Ellis 💙 Until at Dawn We Wake - Charlotte Dalwood 💜 How to Get a Life in Ten Dates - Jenny L. Howe 🌈 Hammajang Luck - Makana Yamamoto

❤️ The Rules of Royalty - Cale Dietrich 🧡 Tired of Waiting for Tomorrow - Allison K. Garcia 💛 One Last Run - Bryce Oakley 💚 Reckless Hearts - Jax Calder 💙 Christmissed - Blythe H. Warren 💜 How Could You - Ren Strapp ❤️ Blackened - Tyler Briggs 🧡 Gratification in Gluttony - Nik Knight 💛 The Mogul Meets Her Match - Julia Underwood 💙 How to Be Heard - Roxane Gay 💜 The Case of the Missing Maid - Rob Osler 🌈 Shades of Us - D.L. Sims

[entropyvoid]

So anyway my hot take about the bit where Sunday is taking you on a guided tour through a dramatic play about the history of Penacony is that the confusion of him narrating over the story so you can’t parse what’s goin on is that it’s actually an EXCELLENT creative choice in interactive storytelling actually, because that whole scene isn’t really about Penacony’s past, present, or future, it’s about cult programming. Sunday’s goal is not for you to witness a dramatization of Penacony’s history and form your own thoughts and opinions about it, his goal is a last ditch effort to get you to share HIS specific perspective.

He talks over the story to tell you what’s happening, giving his conclusions from the get-go and sometimes even saying things that seem to directly contradict what he’s speaking over, but by the time you can even parse it, it’s gone and you’re left with little to do but move on. It’s overwhelming and makes it very difficult to form a coherent thought about it, much less a proper refutation to his arguments. It is a tactic intended to melt your brain and repeatedly hit it with a hammer of his view - the only reasonable view. So reasonable that it doesn’t even seem to occur to him that someone might have an opposing interpretation that’s logical, (more on this later,) he’s not open to new ideas, he is so completely and utterly set in his philosophy that he takes a chance in trying to hold your hand through it and explain it to you because he believes that if he just talks you through it, you’ll see the light. He is trying to convert others into to accepting the Order. Inducing mental exhaustion combined with repeating a specific philosophy, backed with an narrative to make it feel credible over and over again until your brain is too fried to do anything but accept if is a pretty common brainwashing tactic. For the devs to actually manage to induce that direct feeling in the players within the safety of fiction is actually a really impressive feat.

And he probably isn’t even really taking the specific approach he does consciously, rather, he is likely repeating some of the tactics that Gopher Wood put him through. Gopher, probably the closest thing Sunday had to a parental figure after his mother’s death, is an entity with no physical form that’s practically nigh omniscient and omnipresent within the dreamscape, is able to take over the bodies of anyone within the Oak family (possibly without their knowledge or without them remembering it?) and has been looking after Sunday from a young age. Firstly, we see them employing very similar (conversational? Argumentative?) styles. From the scene about the rehabilitated bird, we see Gopher giving a very scientific but ultimately leading explanation of natural selection (and the inherent cruelty of nature that Sunday heavily internalizes and repeats further down the line,) then poses a question that seems very open: what do you want to do about it? What do you want to do with this fucked up little fledgling that can’t fly? In his inner world, Sunday presents you with this, and several other personal experiences intended to lead you to a particular answer, then calmly asks you what decision you would’ve made in his place, in a way very reminiscent of how Gopher himself spoke to Sunday and Robin.

Sunday’s answer, to build a cage for the bird so it could live”no matter what,” happens to have aligned pretty well with the philosophies of the Order, and the quick unfortunate end the bird met when it was later released solidified his desire to protect via control, and proved to be a very formative experience for him. I think it’s highly plausible that this an early illustration of Sunday’s cult grooming already taking root, or at the very least, of Gopher fishing for a kid who’s open and susceptible to it. Gopher, seemingly being Sunday’s sole direct conspirator, is almost certainly the one who guided him on the path of worshipping the Order, while also making Sunday feel like it was his idea.

We don’t see too much in the way of interactions between Gopher and Sunday beyond that, so we’ll have to fill in the gaps - but Gopher is shown to be constantly watching over the schemes Sunday is involved in via possession of birds long before we actually learn who he is. He is always there, always watching, he can instantly overtake the will of others (so long as they’re in the Oak family - but that’s abt 1/5th of Penacony’s population and the group Sunday is a part of and thus most surrounded by,) and despite seeming very calm and reasonable, he’s clearly not above shutting people down through direct metal suppression if their questions start to pose any kind of a threat. When Welt’s questions became too direct and poignant, leading to him and Robin realizing that Gopher and Sunday were followers of Ena rather than Xipe, Gopher quickly commands Sunday to use his own mental suppression powers on them (since they’re both outside of Gopher’s control,) and Sunday does not hesitate. I have to wonder - how many times has Gopher potentially used this on Sunday, or any of the people around Sunday who got a little too close to presenting him with ideas that challenged the Order’s philosophy? It would not only be extremely easy for him to isolate Sunday intellectually while retaining his status as the sole voice of reason, but also likely, given that protection through control and domination is kind of the whole theme of the Order. (Or at least - Gopher and Sunday’s interpretation of it.) We can thus extrapolate that Gopher may’ve likely used other tactics of manipulation and control on Sunday that we haven’t seen, but which Sunday may imitate, such as in the segment with him narrating over the play about Penacony’s history.

And Sunday, clearly, is extremely isolated, long before he tres to pull his little stunt that ends in him as the lone awake person in an eternal dreamworld. Aside from Gopher, who can’t really be called on and only shows up when he feels like it, the only person he has to confide in is his sister Robin, but Sunday has long since internalized his whole “the strong protect the weak, and they protect the weak through control” bit to the extent that he tries very hard to shelter her from the things he sees as dangerous and painful. He doesn’t tell her about what happened to the bird (though she figured it out on her own anyway,) he doesn’t tell her a damn thing about his lil Ena cult, and he most certainly does not tell her about his doubts, his troubles, or the emotional weight of hearing about the worst of humanity (like that guy who sold his kids for a ticket) through the confessional booth day in and day out with a script that just says “Xipe forgives you.”

And Robin is, frankly, way stronger and smarter than her brother seems to give her any damn credit for. She’s left Penacony to tour the universe, and she headed into a warzone to help in the process, got shot in the throat, and kept singing after recovery. She’s experienced so much more of the universe than Sunday has, she’s had actual conversations with people about their problems that were not one-sided and driven by some sort of ulterior motive. She’s been the first to pick apart his faulty logic or catch on to him hiding something every time, (whether she mentions it in the moment or not,) she was the first to realize something was wrong and wake up in the end, and she ultimately rallied everyone to save her brother from himself. Had Sunday confided in her, talked about deeper life philosophies with her, shared his thoughts and feelings with her, not been isolated or isolated himself from her, treated her like she was just as strong as he was, things may have turned out very different.

Who’s really more sheltered? Robin, or her brother who tried to protect her from it all?

[nicnak20]

Seattle:

*It's 1996 in Seattle, Washington, and there's a brooding ghostwriter- Nicholas- whose dark secret carries over into a story he publishes in the newspaper becoming a huge hit. Nicholas finds it surreal to have his personal misery exploited for other's entertainment, but it becomes even more jarring when, Yn, a pesky and ambitious journalist begins to question exactly how much of the ghostwriter's story is fiction? *

 *Mentions of trauma, depression, angst, isolation and unstable mental health.*

He taps his fingers abrasively against the forearm of the leg of the desk, while the other knuckles nearly grind themselves into the sand wood toned top. The lucid yet faint patters of the air conditioning rattle through his living room as he stares blankly into the blaring white screen of the computer. The splats of rain cling to his window as though setting the mood for the already murky week that was spent half inside the apartment, or the other spent cruising around the street, gazing up into the rising space needle with Pearl Jam blaring on the radio. Nicholas bites the eraser of his pencil- gnawing on it a bit deeper than what his brain told him to. Suddenly, his bare legs felt loose around his worn in stonewashed; sitting up and stretching his body as far as it'll go, edging on calling it a day.

Nicholas glanced towards the empty pizza box sitting on the coffee table- grease stains over the coupon, "Buy one, get one free!" Rolling his eyes, Nicholas slumped against his couch, mentally trying decide if his hand should hover over the TV remote or let the silence fill the space. He went towards option A. Flipping through the channels- One Life To Live, The Adventures Of Batman And Robin- all flickered past. Nicholas knew all the good shows would be on by eight- sometimes seven on weekends. He hated to admit that as much as he called it trash, he couldn't peer his eyes away MTV's Spring Break special that premiered two months ago. It gave him a one shot featuring a very outrageously sexual deviant who met the shy boy next door.

Nicholas needed a formal introduction. Twenty seven years old, working for the local newspaper- Seattle Chronicles- as a ghostwriter that writes new one shot stories every week when the paper's printed. Fictional characters swirled through Nicholas's mind all the time- something he liked to believe made him chronically tired every morning he woke up, even if he had slept the typical eight hours. Maybe it was the stress of the looming deadline that was due and Nicholas once again had nothing. Nothing to show for his little short story that was expected to arrive with a newly printed fresh paper that was to be at the stores and on the people's front steps if they subscribed. Too stuck in a rut to come up with his own ideas; jadedness seemed to brand his every thought and vision.

Nicholas changed states- California to Washington- when he wanted a change, a fresh start as a hopeful grad student who buried his head in creative writing and English courses. He remembered those times where the sleepy city was vibrant and colorful like there was this beam of bright hope shadowing him as he made a new- a better name for himself. But after a while, even Seattle's sunny days didn't bring life to what was the soul of Nicholas's aspirations. Graduating with a bacholer's degree, and snagging an uptown postion as the newspapers ghostwriting author, Nicholas felt like an empty hollow spirit himself on most days. Ghostwriter by trade, but ghost by spirit, he would humorously describe himself.

His fingers would hover over the bulky white keys, the microsoft word note would sometimes flicker a quick like snag, as if the computer was trying wake up from being bored out of its mind from Nicholas's lack of devotion. Jerry Springer couldn't even slice through into maybe a hollow humerous story that would've taken no more than five minutes to write. 

A few hours pass- Nicholas, wandering his apartment with the still wafting scent of burnt toast from that morning. His usual seven o'clock headache pounds through his temples- throbbing a pulse of its own through his brain. Instead, Nicholas fights through it, pouring himself a cup of lukewarm coffee and settles down in front of the TV with his notepad and eraser chewed pencil to gauge out some type of misconstrued fantasy he created from even the simplest line from a Ren And Stimpy episode that comically turned into something farce in the second page of the papers. Nicholas's time would be up in several hours. He only had tomorrow to send in something by evening. The grip around his pencil was weak- fingers twitched and his mind was blank and unable to remove the static cloud of tension from his brain. The grim fog that hovered over him- lingering this haunted presence that he couldn't seem to shake. The headache pounded harder.

Nicholas grabbed the remote and turned the TV to life again. Home Improvement flashed on, taking Nicholas back to the couch. Ten minutes in and Nicholas lost interest. His mind couldn't flicker the attention to where he wanted it to be: on his work. The rain stopped and the air condtioning died down for the day. Nicholas grabbed his jacket and keys and then expelled himself from the wry and stuffy apartment. 5D. His number mixed amongst the others on the sixth floor. Unannouced and distant like he pictured when he first arrived in one of the humdrum apartments of Captiol Hill. The trendiest neighborhood in all of Seattle with young hipsters, breakout musicians, grunge cultured artist and free spirited people who wanted to paint the rainy coffee shop obsessed city with their own lights. Nicholas considered himself one of them.

He would walk through his neighborhood and shortcuted through the little sidestreets to make his classes on time. Nicholas carried this pragmatic sense of finding tastier things than back at home. There would be redemption here- a new beginning for what his life was supposed to be. A practical grad school took him towards an established job with the newspaper for three years, after he slaved away in coffee shops, libraries, record shops and delivery driving to pay for his apartment and to make his ends meet up until after graduation.

Nicholas found himself in his 86' Honda that raided the streets as the image of the sun setting casted over his rearveiw mirror. The space needle rises up in his path as he finally joins the sea of cars on the highway. Manic energy surged through him. Black Hole Sun played as soon as Nicholas's fingers met with the button on the radio. A pierce of excitement; Nicholas would see something- anything to pick his brain for even a shred of an idea that he could carefully craft and build with his own experiences of the city. His hands squeezed the steering wheel and his foot was steady on the gas. The pop culture world was spiraling; Mariah Carey's Always Be My Baby was the number one song on the radio, followed by hers and Boyz II Men- One Sweet Day. ER was premiering a new episode this week. The Horse Whisper was a book to die for. And still, Nicholas had nothing. The Seattle Times took their shots at Seattle Chronicles and Mr. Winchel wasn't exactly in the best mood because of it. "Nicholas, your deadline's almost up!"

"I know- I'm so sorry Mr. Winchel. I was trying to come up with something to use for the story this wee-"

"Have it on my desk or sent to my computer by Friday, or you're finished!"

"Yes Sir..." 

Nicholas remembered that conversation; happened three days ago and Friday was practially here. He could recall his sheepishness and how gutted his boss's words were to him. He balled them up deliberately in the back of his brain as a mullish reminder of what he needed to do. Turning into a Mcdonald's parking lot, Nicholas finally felt his stomach bark at him. He hadn't eaten much this morning and the only thing he had that afternoon besides coffee was a granola bar. Dinner would be the perfect ending to this 'inspirational' motivated drive before he drove back down to his apartment to enjoy his food and maybe forget about the beating anxieties and expectations of his life for just a little while.

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

The big mac and a large fry settled in his stomach as Nicholas ran his mind over again for even a basic prompt. A swift swipe of bewilderment that he was indeed living out a reality of suffering from extreme writer's block. 

Nicholas laid against his couch watching the celling fan spin slowly in a pace controlled hypnotic haze. A haze that spun into a ring of fire. It beamed down lower and lower; flames wisping and nicking the small little ends of Nicholas's hair. A ghostly sinister smile appeared and then demonic laughter. Its eyes held fire and its mouth was agape with the same flames. Nicholas's understood those flames. The fire that burned inside of of brain- his memory of those flashes. So vivid, it was as real as the room he was in. The fan jolted down and engulfed Nicholas in its firery mouth- scalding him into ash until....

He shot up. 

Nicholas, out of breath and gasping for air scanned his bedroom. Dark with only light in the dark perceptions, he could make out the faint shadow of of his chair and little table desk with the TV hanging over it. Only the cast of the moonlight ogled small light over Nicholas's bed. Nicholas ran his hand through his sweaty and damp hair; tossled and mangled into a typical bedhead style that left little bangs of hair hanging over his eyes. Nicholas stretched before getting out of bed and wandered into his empty and tranquil living room. The smell of fast food still lingered and his notebook was propped just how he left it when he turned in for the night unconsciously.

Nicholas stumbled over to his desk- eyes still hazy- and turned on his desk lamp. An illuminated glow echoed through the living room like a smoke signal. A little latern in a dark lake floating down like it was meant to be seen by someone. Nicholas tapped on of the computer's keys and it stirred itself to life. A presence came about. The dainty loiter of something Nicholas couldn't quite describe... but he knew what it was. He turned around and saw how empty and dark his apartment was. No sign of life other than him and kitchen faucet that dripped its last little drops into the sink before silence. Utterly cold, raw and oppresive silence. It made a nest for Nicholas's thoughts. His fears. His taunts.

Gasoline and lawn mowers flashed through his mind. Then came the grainy images of his point of view of huffing in a cigarette- a nasty habit he hid from his family as a teen. Nicholas tried to control his mind- his thoughts like they didn't have a life of its own. Deep scowls and gritted teeth appeared and then the clanger of yells and raised voices. Nicholas remembered what his harsh thoughts were too that day: Fuck you, Dyke!

It sent this hot adrenaline through his body. His cheeks heated and puffed out and his eyes kept focus on the computer screen. With suddeness, Nicholas grabbed the mouse and clicked his one word. His fingers hovered over the keys until Nicholas forced his fingers on the buttons to make words. And they kept typing until dawn came. From three in the morning to nearly seven. Eight o'clock was his check in time for work. But Nicholas was practically already done. His work from home week was up; Mr. Whincel was nice enough to think it would help Nicholas with his writer's block. And in some way, it did. Once Nicholas put the final period on the last sentence. A full story had been made. Raw and uncut. Based from his personal pain and resounding memories- the nightmares that still cursed him- thousands of words were typed and crafted into something more worthy than just the newspaper's weekly column.

Nicholas sat back in the chair and just gawked at the screen, scanning his brain even more deeply for why he wrote it. Nicholas never took too much time to reflect on what was grinding inside him the most. The deepest and most complicated event of his life was now outed onto a Microsoft writing program, disguised in fictional characters with an all too real setting. Nicholas felt this unease soak in him. A house on fire, a lawn burning with the home and everything in it- every little thing that made the home a home in the first place.

It all burned down with the flick of a wrist. A hypothetical imagery of a deeper root that flails through the one shot. Nicholas felt his stomach grumble. Getting out of the chair, stretching his limbs as far as they'd go before clearing away his trash that sprawled around. Mcdonald's sounded better than whipping up pancake batter that would likely burn against the griddle. Nicholas saved his word document before grabbing his keys and jacket and heading to the door. Taking one last scan around the now brightened living room, Nicholas resonated a deep sigh and slid out the door like an unspoken word.

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

The car ride was silent. It was peaceful to Nicholas. So much, that he ate his breakfast in the car. The now eroding sunlight coated Nicholas's hair with yellow light. His coffee was illuminated with steam still slithering from the open hole of the cap. Nicholas thought about his word document. All the words he typed; bold and tender like an open wound. Nicholas treaded around the document like it was too sore to touch. Afraid to sting it with salt if he just stared at it a little bit longer. Afraid it would sting him if were to even graze a few of his own writing for a minute. Nicholas sipped his coffee again. He forced his mind to glow blank and only take in the scerene picture of the park behind the Mcdonald's.

The answering machine could be heard from outside Nicholas's door. It made him worry who else could hear his phone calls. "Hey Nicholas, it's Linus. The deadline for the story will be this evening by eight sharp. The rest of the newspaper's done and we're all waiting for your story. Again, eight sharp- no exceptions." 

A shudder ran down Nicholas's spine. If he knew anything about his boss, it was that he meant business no matter what. He ran to his computer and pulled up his word document. Looking without boring too much at his work, his fingers took him to Mr. Winchel's fax number. Giving one quick glance over his story and then with a sharp reflex, he sent it in through the fax. His story would no longer be his, but now the paper's. The editor would check it over and Nicholas would be paid and expected to move on to his next project.

He sat back in his chair thinking carefully to what he had just done; eyes watering yet with no need to spill tears. Sadness wasn't an emotion. But the bigger stakes were the price he would be forced to pay for such a detailed description of one of his nightmares.

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

Anticipation injected itself into Nicholas. He didn't sit fiddling his thumbs- he paced around his bedroom trying to burn off the caffeine from his third coffee that day. It had been hours since Nicholas sent in his story. He wondered what Mr. Winchel was thinking. What would he say about the article? How would he take it? Suddenly the room turned cold and airy. Like a ghost was present and turned down the thermos. 

Nicholas still had the draft saved on his computer. But he just couldn't bring himself to read it. It swirled around his head. The flames sounded again. They molded fiery figures of his past, like statues that stood on Easter Island- secrets buried underneath their rock heads. It blared in Nicholas's mind. His brothers, Paulie- the eldest, Craig- the second one. They didn't deserve it. Nicholas loved them- admired them. They didn't hold the same flame that had embedded itself into Nicholas, that seemed to be there ever since the day he entered the world. A ball of fire that made contact with the ambitious oxygen and let itself explode like a supernova.

The figures stood there before evaporating into thin uncleared air. Nicholas swallowed hard and then stopped his pacing in mid stand. He sat on his bed and held himself; rubbing his hands over his arms like they had cold goosebumps all over them. Something in Nicholas made him inflamed. Her eyebrows furrowed and his jaw gritted and clenched. The grip on his arms became harsher and the glare across his face sterner. Nicholas took in a deep breath, but the pressure didn't fray even a bit. Forcing his mind to go blank again for a bit and then wheeled his memory into a hazy clasp of guilt. It spun like a pinwheel as his thoughts spotlighted Craig and Paulie. The pain gnawed into him like a toothache. It lived in his dreams, his thoughts... his story. The same one shot he sent into his newspaper. Biting the side of his lip, Nicholas went into his kitchen and made himself a cup of tea to ease his nerves.

Taking a seat at his kitchen nook, Nicholas just stared at his blank tea. It stared back at him like a jaded mirror. A reflection that merely reflected the lights from the kitchen rather than his own face. Nicholas looked toward his little pastel blue clock over the same wall as his pantry door. It closing in on nine now and his worries had taken up to an hour to manifest themselves into a quiet submerge of just tea drinking and blank staring with hollow thoughts. In that moment, he just took a sip of his tea, and let his eyes roll back in his head.

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

A ringing sounded in his head. The images of fire and floral curtains nested in his dreams while the annoying pound of rings tingled through his mind. It took Nicholas a minute to realize it was the phone. He shot up- hair tossled and swoshed around like he was in a wind storm. Sprinting out of bed, nearly tripping over his own sheets, Nicholas grabbed the phone. "Hello?"

"Nicholas! It's Linus. That story you sent in last night? Exploded! When we printed the paper, almost all our readers flocked towards your story! It attracted new subscribers and now your one shot is the most popular thing about our paper. I read some part of it- you got real talent, boy, I'll tell you that. Through the whole three years you've been here, I've never seen you write anything this good!"

Nicholas felt a smile spread slightly across his lips. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad it's recieving so much good feedback." 

"Yeah, it's really booming, Nick! Keep it up! Don't forget to pick up your next instructions at the office today." After the call ended, Nicholas felt this pang rattle through him. Taking a few steps back, Nicholas scanned the room again. The clock read seven twenty five. He stretched before going into kitchen for a cup of coffee and a slice of toast. A dread seemed to pulse through Nicholas. Mr. Winchel only had good things to say about his work, but it didn't make it better. Nicholas loved the flattery- he wanted to be an author one day. He just begin to regret the type of story he submitted. A lucidity of understanding of what Nicholas was about to face seemed to be beyond his understanding. 

As the coffee brewed, Nicholas made his bed, brushed his hair and feed his fish. But all the while his mind swam in this visual of every little detail he wrote of his story; fire, ash remains of grass and the engulfing and suffocating black smoke that fills your lungs until it chokes you. Nicholas found himself suckling down his coffee and chewing anxiously on his toast- teeth grinding a bit as he took every anticipated bite. Nicholas had a quick shower washing off the filth of his week stay home job, before jumping into new clean clothes and decided to face the outside as a fresh face apparent bong amoung them all. The radio blared Alanis Morissette 'Ironic' as Nicholas mixed in with the daily traffice of the morning race to your job rush. Once parked and settled out of the car, the moment Nicholas went through the doors, a bright smile appeared across his face to the most dimply one he could give. A good morning was thrown so politely to every office worker, janitor, manager and who ever else.

His sneakers squeaked through the glossy floor as Nicholas made his way to his desk. Still neatly primmed and decently decorated with pictures of nature and his pet fish, Coral and Bubbles. An incognito entrance he assumed, was more looked upon that her realized. "Nicholas!" Holly cheered from around the corner where her cubicle sat. "I read your story- Flames- it was so good! I especially loved the part of the mother, Lynn. You nailed it with the detachment of postpartum depression!" She applauded. "This is one of the best stories I've read of yours- besides the horny next door neighbor." She winked. A shudder pressed against Nicholas's spine. "Thank you," He smiled, "i'm glad you enjoyed it."

Tim from next door chimed in. "Your captured the charcter's personalities so well- did you study psychology?" Grinning ear to ear, Nicholas hid his utter comtempt for the story. "I wish... no- it was based of a Law and Order episode I watched a week ago." Nicholas scanned them all; scrutinizing their expressions and their acclaim for his work. 

It was later that day when a paper was given to him of all the readers that had read Flames thar day. It was over five thousand. Nicholas didn't even believe that many people lived in Seattle. Every hour there was someone complimenting him- praising him for his well done precise one shot. At one point, Nicholas envisioned his own desk being on fire and his cubicle was in utter flames; flames he couldn't extinguish. As the media and what seemed to be whole press of Seattle Chronicles, went on and on about how Flames gave a deep dive into the tugs of mental health and how Alex- the main character- was emotionally disturbed on some level and needed to be looked after as his actions caused great 'destruction.'

It wasn't his actions particularly, Nicholas surly thought. He couldn't help it.

"The boy needed to be straightjacketed and sent to the looney bin!" One reader commented. Nicholas just scoffed inside of himself.

"He was a product of his environment. When parents create problems, they don't realize their children feed off of them too." An acutal psychiatrist commented.

"Should've died with them." Another guy said. Nicholas tensed up. His eyes scanned over the words a few more times before he set the paper down.

Alex was misguided. Misunderstood.... he was more capable than what people thought. And what would they know? Nicholas knew they weren't saints. A hillbilly shouldn't comment when his views were the defenition compromised. And some out of bin drug addicted hippie had no opinion; mind so spacy and muddled that it would be inevitable to seize a straight answer from him. 

No one truly understood what happened. Only Nicholas did. Straight as an arrow that held doors open a bit longer than needed, would smile at a complete stranger no matter gruffy they looked and never missed a payment or lived an irresponsible on the edge life. He had a compass to who he wanted to be and followed it religiously; double checking his thoughts sometimes if the situation was more gray and needed abstract comeplex reasoning. Nicholas trusted his judgement because he played it fairly. Not too safe, but safe enough. Therefore, he had an unspoken internal rule that everyone who was bounded by the moral principals had to be fair too. Not too harsh, not too soft. A close to perfect compass, or as Nicholas would like to think of it as a decent guide of life.

As the week went on, so did everyone's attraction with the story. A hidden writer he was. No one more than just the title of the story and the newspaper brand it came from. But people begin to crave to understand the person behind the words. How could they write something so deep and meaningful without being known? They blended in with the unusual city; in any coffee shop or record store, or library. He could be in his car on his way to DC or she could be trying to file for a loan at any bank. They could be in their home blaring their nineties records from last year while cooking dinner or cleaning their house.

They could be anywhere. But Nicholas didn't want to be anywhere. He wanted to be invisible and walk through his rainy streets like any other patron in Captiol Hill. 

Nicholas sat back in the computer chair, pencil in between the fingers he had pressed to his chin and lips as he just took in the quiet of his apartment. He'll never understand why he wrote what he wrote; moreso he'll never understand why desperation inked through his rationalism. Nicholas needed an outlet and found it through a word program on his computer. It was never meant to be shared, but always hidden away like a deposit box under a bed or somewhere in the bank. It sunk in; stabbed in his gut that people took pleasure from reading his personal misery he lived in from one point. And once the mental reminder of that kicked in, so did the guilt. And that's what always be there. It was his fault anyway. He caused this.... just like his own outwear.

Nicholas decided to shut it off for now. A headache would arrive again, but the thinking wouldn't exacerbate it.

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

The newspaper landed flank over her desk. Dropping her pen, Yn scanned the newspaper with a furrowed eyebrow. She looked up at Mr. Benson. "What is this fo-"

"Seattle Chronicles. Their paper just hit the top one of all Seattle...overnight. We need a story that's gonna push our paper to the top. I need you to find something- anything that's worthwhile for reading, Yn." As Mr. Benson walked away, Yn slouched more in her chair. She liked the way her french tips looked while she held the paper, prompting her to pick it up and study it. Flames. The top story of Seattle that was booming all over the city. Yn circled it- she repeated every big word and replayed every scene of what she pictured the fire to be like and Alex's pain that to her, symbolized the flames. She imagined the smoke comeing from his lungs and the passion that brimmed in his eyes.

Maybe his hair was the color of dusk and his eyes a golden ember. The smell of amber would radiate his body and the charcol of smoke would fill the air like a final stance against his inner demons. Yn found herself studying the article. She went home that night with a bag of Chinese in one arm and the newspaper in the other. Yn searched the internet for reasons of the story's existance. Who was the person behind this? She could tell it was a man who wrote it. A male's perspective that themed the story. An all too visual look of his broken home and his desperate feelings. Most people saw it as melancholy, but to Yn, it was painted in every shade of red. She connected the flames to his passion, but the fire to his rage.

And Yn knew all too well of how real those flames could be. It was the descriptions; percise detail to every little charcter move and the how gloomingly despondent the setting was. The happy home on the block was anything but that. Not to mention the inner turmoil of Alex's thoughts- his fears and pain. He knew where every little piece should go, like he crafting a puzzle. To intelligent to be a simple one shot story. 

The clock had turned to two in the morning by now. Only the wisping sounds of spring wind could be heard and a few slow pacing cars that drove by every now and then. Yn didn't even realize she was still in her dress shirt and black slacks when she finally looked up. Her apartment still lit from living room to kitchen. As she finished the last remaining paragraphs of the one shot, Yn felt a flurry over her. The piece felt more real than it was meant to be. A construe biography that was just disguised as a fiction piece. Yn became sure of it the more she reflected on the sequences of every scene. The flames, the underlining tension that was sure to erupt in every scene with Alex and Dan- his father. The father and son relationship is what stuck out the most. The nuance in Alex's deep rooted issues stemmed from Dan. The realism of each tenticle that circulated their bond left Yn more and more attuned; couldn't peer her eyes away for a minute, until the satisfying ending befalled them all.

Yn needed to get a story that would pull her paper up to the top, as Mr. Benson said. Yn went to her desk and grabbed her portfolio. Checking through every potential story that could've been hers; her co-workers either got them first or they did better. More professional journalists she thought. Or at least what Mr. Benson thought.

All of Yn's other stories just weren't enough. She would take on more and more and they would pile up on Mr. Benson's desk, like they were expected to be graded. Some would make it into the front page, others would be on the third of fourth page. Mr. Benson would just look at her reports, scanning them for something- anything that would make them stand out. After a while, he would just say "good job" and plop them on the fourth page of the Seattle Tribune. The others stories would be on the front pages for everyone to see and read about like they were being paraded around for their best works. But Yn worked harder than all of them. Overtime in her little cubicle typing up her interviews or the reports of the public opinions she took that week. Editing her final conclusions and perfecting her articles- a trait she learned in college with her thesis- before sending them into Mr. Benson.

Now that this one story landed on her desk, Yn had to take it on; submerge herself in it and grind out the gritty tacit details. She would study and immerse her mind behind the writer's. Yn made a promise to find out who the writer was; why he wrote this story and concocted a setting- a piece of his real memories. Yn knew it had to be real. 

Mr. Benson told her to gather up a good story for the paper. Yn decided she would find it uncovering the puzzle of Flames. The author, the story and its assumed reality and then the interview of it all being brought in the open. The public wanted more of Flames. They feeded on the trauma and the power Alex fought to have. And Yn craved the rush of the secret waiting to be exposed.

Setting the paper down on her desk, Yn stretched, smirk shifting over her face. She then took one last look of her living room before going into her bedroom for the night, excited to start her project in the morning.

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

Time slowly seemed to drift on and on. Nicholas checked his alarm that read three o'five. The sky was dark and the world was quiet. Nicholas was up and it was clear he wasn't about to catch any sleep anytime soon. His mind was a constant picture show of Flames. The story that ran through Seattle with such esteem, critics were desperate to interview the author behind the engaging story.

But it was the image of actual flames the played through Nicholas's brain too. Bright flashes of fire, and then dark flashes of the last moments he spent in his old bedroom. Nicholas could almost smell that scent of pine mixed in a bleach like scent and how it was the marking smell of his childhood sanctuary. It nearly made him nauseous. A haunted memory of the faded sky blue jeans he wore and the black members only jacket he was wearing. They were stuffed deep in the back of his closet like a vintage display that needed to be sealed and protected at all costs because of the fragility of it. Nicholas saw himself and then searing flames that tucked over the whole house and the garage within minutes. The fire didn't give a fair chance to the remainders that were still sleeping inside by the time the blare of the smoke alarms sounded.

Nicholas pounded his head gently with his knuckle. It was the glaring dinging of the smoke detectors that rang like church bells in his brain. A sudden flash of his father's face appeared through the smog of the smoke. It jolted Nicholas out of his bed and propelled him into the kitchen. A visionary that was alive; undead in how deep the wounds still went. Nicholas's throat was dry. He made himself a glass of water before taking a seat on the couch. He sat in the breathing silence for a moment. His mind still sore from the anguish driven fear he still remembered.

Nicholas couldn't seem to grasp onto a good reassurance of his story being somehow safe. It was out in the world for anyone to judge or gawk at. The intense details that mirrored his perfect secret, were everyone else's key points in how fabulous Flames turned out to be. No one expected 'goody-goody' Nicholas to craft something so dark and quivering from his mind. Not that his stories were always coated in saccharine- deep morals with jagged coarse edges were his central themes in most of his writings. Nicholas never crafted an amoral or downright indecent fiction piece as he saw those as "delusional and tattered pieces of junk that were a waste of time to even read." 

One particular story that exampled this was about a young girl whose mother was a typical mother hen. Scruntinzing every little detail of her child and needing to walk behind her every little step. It ended with the girl finally 'realizing' that her mother only 'cared' about her, making it 'acceptable' in the end. A disgust heated in Nicholas. "Fuck that!" He said silently to himself. "She should've ran away, not come back!"

It was those 'lessons' that prompted Nicholas to be an overachiever in securing noble principals without losing his creative ideas in his stories. He enjoyed ambigious endings and ones where the bad guys were acknowledged as such- either by the characters or the readers. His readers would read through his stories and be forced to think about if the character's endings deserved better, or if their path should've been different from the start. Choices were Nicholas's key elements in his complicated and sophisticated pieces.

But his own choices were the complexity of his own story. Something that he wanted to bury so far deep in him, that he wouldn't be able to recall it to mind or emotion. Now he was looking back on that option to just that and wondered.... was it the best thing to do?

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

Yn was right as rain in the morning. Her coffee was freshly brewed, she had made herself a decent but fit breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, a pear and some bacon on the side. Her pencil skirt had been pressed and so had her matching tan blazer. Her beige heels clicked giddily across the living room as Yn made her way to her brief case- snagging her portfolio from off the desk and stuffing it inside before yanking her keys off the rack and stepping out of her apartment, once she triple checked her stove and her locked door.

Marking down everything she had: camera, notepad, pens, pencils, tape recorder, fresh new cassette tapes. Then she drove onto the freeway, driving to the rhythm of the cars that surrounded her 87' Chevy Celebrity. Yn stopped into her office for a quick refreshal before heading back out to start her investigation. The Seattle Chronicle she thought. Locating it only a few streets down from her own office, Yn didn't hesitate to make the drive. She scanned the newspaper deeply once more. She knew whoever wrote it, hid behind the title of a ghostwriter. It was very difficult to track ghostwriters- they chose not to be seen or heard. Yn gave way to an internal deep breath. This was going to be harder than she thought.

But she had to take this chance. She was a journalist for God's sake! Challenges were in her resume. Taking a deep breath and one last check of everything in her bag, Yn strolled out of her car and into the building. She stopped inside the woman's bathroom, checking if her lipstick was perfectly painted on, and if her wig that she plopped on had curled perfectly at the ends. Her bulky pearl and gold earrings gave Yn this fashionable sense, while her matching gold watch have her a more professional look. Yn smiled to herself in the mirror. She looked perfect; calculating and intelligent to fit her role of what she needed to be in that office room once she stepped off that elevator. 

The ride upstairs seemed bumpy, but Yn only must've imagined it as her knees were a bit shaky from the pressure of her stress. Straightning herself up against the handles of the elevator wall, Yn made sure that when the doors opened, she would be standing confidently with a gleaming smile and fluttery eyes that were thristy for knowledge.

"Hello," Yn introduced herself to the office, "i'm looking for the owner?" 

One of the workers, Darcy, pointed towards a door in the back with a picture window that stared out into the main office. "Thank you." Yn clicked over to the door, letting the employees take desultory glances. Nicholas watched for a bit before turning back to his computer. "Who's she?" Mark, the head of printing asked. Nicholas shrugged. He just watched the young woman woo herself into Mr. Winchel's office with the most pristine bleach white smile he'd seen on anyone who ever worked in an office had. She was dressed to formal to be working anywhere else.

"What can I help you with?" Mr. Winchel asked, eyeing Yn up and down. He couldn't gawk away for a minute because of how well her curves fit and shaped her so nicely. She cleared her throat, making him shoot his attention back up to her eyes. "I'm Yn, I work for Scribe & Quill publishing," Yn handed Mr. Winchel the fake company card she printed. "I read the story on the Seattle Chronicle's second page and that's when I saw the story Flames. Might I say, I fell in love with it! The enriching detail of the story and the highbrowed ending that symbolized how mental is an overlooked problem in our world and how we can literally blow up in flames if we don't care for it." Yn licked her lips. "What I wanted... was... well, the writer behind the story. I know it's a ghostwriter, but even more so- this story is true talent on their end and an achievement to this newspaper. You really picked an excellent writer." Yn winked.

Mr. Winchel blushed. "Well... I... thanks." Yn smiled at him, showcasing her deep dimples. "I just need the writer." Yn swung her hair slightly away from her face and blinked innocently into Mr. Winchel's eyes. "Uh... well... normally we protect the confidentality of the writer. We have a ghostwriter who'd rather not be seen or credited on any of our papers." Yn's smile faltered a bit, but still hadn't broken eye contact. "I understand. Well, if the writer changes their mind, my number's on the card."

Yn smiled before exiting the office. She was halfway into the lobby when a broad figure trailed behind her. "Hey there, sweetie." She turned around. "Hi?"

"Oh, sorry- didn't mean to scare to ya. I'm John by the way." He stuck out his hand. Yn took and introduced herself. "I'm Yn." She noticed his badge that was clipped the side of his pants. He was a member of the Seattle Chronicle. "I was wondering... if you were free Friday night?"

Yn raised an eyebrow. Straightforward much? She thought. "Well... I'm more into writers.... I'm trying to find one actually."

"I'm a writer! I mean- I work for the Seattle Chronicle upstairs." 

"Really? Well.. do you know who wrote Flames- the story that's number one through the whole media right now as far as newspapers go."

"Yeah, it's this guy I work with, Nicholas. He's great- very dedicated to his work... nice guy." A smirk appeared through Yn's lips. "Thank you so much, I really appreciate it."

Before Yn could turn away, John spoke up. "Hey, what about Friday?"

"Well, lemme me check my schedule first- I gotta go." And with that, Yn flew out the door and into her car.

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

Yn wrote down all the details she had learned from the investigation. After grabbing a quick lunch, she sat in her car writing down notes and going over the important conversations. She had his name: Nicholas. Now she needed his last name, then his number and then the truth. Yn knew where he worked, she knew he was the ghostwriter and that he was the author behind the story. But in the sea of faces she saw within all those cublicles, it was difficult to point out which one was Nicholas. And thanks to the John- so eager to score a date- she had just another crucial piece of information.

Finishing the last bite of her sandwich, Yn folded up her notes and placed them in her portfolio. She drove back home after picking up dinner for herself and was longing to get back into her apartment to do research. 

Yn took in the smell of home as she brought in the bag of Chinese food in one arm and her brief case in the other. Setting her items down on the coffee table, Yn ran to her computer after stripping off her blazer. She ran through Yahoo and searched up Nicholas. Yn typed in Seattle Chronicle and then Nicholas to see if he was registered. He was labled as one of the writers along with at least twenty other names that worked with Seattle Chronicle. There was a Nicholas that worked on the second floor that was part of reception, and then a second whose name was spelled Nikolas that was part of spell checking. But Nicholas that worked in writing was the one Yn needed. Nicholas A. Chavez. 

The A stuck out in his name like this thorn you couldn't seem to get around. Yn wondered what his full name was- the A being his second name. Allen? Albert? Alec? Aiden?

They all seemed so sure like the other millions of names that started with A out there. Yn noted it before continuing her search on him. 

She scanned the internet for any traces of Nicholas. What could be there that would take her down a rabbit hole of unlocking everything she was trying to prove about Flames. That it was a real story- nonfictional in its tale. Yn found another name under Chavez. Alex. Could that be what the A stood for in his name? 

Yn did some more exploring. Alex was the ticket to unlocking some information on her confusion for sure. Her eyebrow arched as several articles on Alex Chavez popped up. According to sources, he was from San Deigo and lived with his parents and two older brothers. Yn kept reading until she found something that popped out to her. 

Alex was presumed dead in a house fire that killed his whole family.

Yn could feel the sound of her own heartbeat echoing out of her chest. He was dead? At least, supposed the be.

Yn's brow arched up. Her confusion was still palpating through her understanding of whatever there was she could possibly understand. So she decided to keep reading.

To Alex's friends, he was a nice person; kind, assertive and very strong willed. His former boss said the same thing. "He was very hard nosed when it came to getting what he wanted. Hard worker, tough guy- but a very sensitive young man. I'll tell you that he was one of the best God dang workers I ever had. And that was just part time!"

Yn licked her lips. She continued reading on hoping to find somethine else. The former boss continued, "I did believe he had some problems at home though. Whenever the subject of his parents came up, he shut down and didn't wanna talk about it. His father would come down here sometimes, but Alex mostly avoided him. The boy didn't even like making eye contact with him. Didn't take rocket science to know how he felt about his old man."

Yn wrote it all down in her notes. The pictures of the house- once a tall prim pale yellow and white shuttered home, now burned ash to nothing, not even the lawn it stood in back of was salvaged. The home was beautiful. A white spiral staircase, a small entry way before you met the living room, the bedrooms were all decent sized with space and arm room. Nothing about the home stood out as undesirable or odd. Yn found it quite strange on how it burned down all of a sudden within one night. But one thing haunted Yn as she read the last finishing paragraphs of the article.

Alex was presumed dead, although his supposed burned body was never found unlike the others. They assumed he burned all the way close to the ashes. They never found any other life of him otherwise.

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

Yn needed to meet Nicholas. She was anxious to find answers and even more desperate to uncover his dark past. She couldn't stop herself from thinking of the mysterious house fire; perfect and prim in a well thought out neighborhood, the lawn so lush and green and the two sedans parked in their huge three car garage. Then there was the roomy SUV that could fit nearly six people at once. It all looked too well- too average to caused tension. Yn thought about what was brewing behind that mahogany door and what was simmering on the inside of those walls.

The thick bog of traction that was sprawled out between Nicholas and his parents. Especially his father. Yn kept all her notes handy with her and decided she would send an email to Nicholas under a pen name. She created a different email adress so she couldn't be traced back to Seattle Tribune. Her email was sweet, polite and professional. As far as Nicholas would know, Yn was from Scribe & Quill publishing.

Subject: Publishing Opportunity

Dear Mr. Chavez,

My name is Yn, and I am a publisher at Scribe & Quill. I am writing to you today having recently read your compelling story, "Flames," in the Seattle Chronicles. I was deeply impressed by your evocative writing style and the narrative you crafted. The story resonated strongly with me, and I found myself captivated by its intense drama, deeply flawed but well written characters and the overall universal theme of the importance of mental health.

At Scribe & Quill, we are always seeking out talented writers with fresh voices and compelling stories. Your piece, "Flames," immediately stood out to me as possessing the qualities we value in our authors. We believe your writing has significant potential to reach a wider audience and make a meaningful impact.

With this in mind, I would be very interested in exploring the possibility of publishing "Flames" with Scribe & Quill, perhaps as part of a collection or a standalone work, depending on its full scope and your aspirations for the piece. Furthermore, I would be keen to learn more about your other writing projects and consider potential future collaborations.

To discuss this further in a more informal setting, I would be delighted to invite you for a meeting at a café at your earliest convenience. Please let me know if this is something you would be interested in, and what days and times might work best for you to meet. I am flexible and happy to accommodate your schedule and preferred location within Seattle. I look forward to hearing from you and hopefully having the opportunity to discuss your work in greater detail.

Sincerely,

Yn Roberts, Publisher Scribe & Quill

Yn sent in the email and waited until the end of the day. It was then when she finally recieved a response.

Subject Line: Publishing cafe meet up

Dear Yn Roberts,

Thank you so much for your email and for extending the invitation to meet and discuss the publishing offer from Scribe & Quill. I truly appreciate you taking the time to reach out and am very pleased with the prospect of collaborating with your publishing house. I have carefully considered the offer you sent, and I am excited about the potential opportunities it presents.

I am writing to confirm my enthusiastic acceptance of your suggestion for a cafe meet up. I believe that discussing the details of the offer in person will be incredibly beneficial, allowing us to delve into specifics and ensure we both have a clear understanding of the next steps. I am keen to learn more about your vision for this project and how we can work together effectively to bring it to fruition.

Regarding the logistics of our meeting, I am happy to confirm that a meeting around 10:00 AM at Starbucks would work perfectly for me. Please let me know if this time and location are still convenient for you, or if you had a specific Starbucks location in mind. If you have a preferred branch, I am flexible and happy to adjust accordingly.

I am genuinely looking forward to our conversation and the opportunity to explore this collaboration further. Thank you once again for this wonderful opportunity. I believe this meeting will be a productive and positive step forward, and I am eager to discuss the exciting possibilities that lie ahead with Scribe & Quill.

Sincerely,

Nicholas Chavez, Seattle Chronicle

Yn felt this thick sense of giddyness flow through her. She was finally catching her meeting with Nicholas and it would be then that she would get the answers she needed, finish her report and send it in to her own newspaper. Flames: Uncovered as a true story behind the words. Sure, she knew it was unethical to lie and even more poor to exploit an unassuming man. But Yn was desperate. If this story didn't exist, then she would have nothing to show for as one of Mr. Benson's employees. She would be forgotten and left to stand in the shadows of everyone else's front page news. To Yn, Nicholas's confession was the holy grail to something better- a better future for her standing as a well succeeded journalist and storyteller herself.

She didn't have time to think about the harsh consequences that could befall Nicholas. And Yn didn't think she ever would.

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

 Nicholas started to regret sending the email. He should've just ignored it. He wasn't ready. At least he didn't think he was. Nicholas already thought about how the interview could go. He would get rejected. He could fake this professionalism, but Yn would only see right through it. She would see this scared and fragile kid who couldn't seem to direct his life on a focused path. But he was sure though. Nicholas wanted to be a writer- he loves writing. Becoming an author was always in the cards for him, but he just couldn't seem to know which step he needed to take.

Taking a deep breath, Nicholas looked at himself in the mirror- really looked at himself. He had to face the world at some point. Dressing in a maroon dress shirt and black slacks, Nicholas grabbed his bag before stepping out of his apartment. The car ride was silent- the radio didn't even make a buzz. Nicholas kept checking his watch, his stomach gurgling silently inside- his intestines seemed to jumble around inside his body like tennis balls.

Nicholas kept checking his breaths all the way to the cafe. Once he pulled into the parking lot, Nicholas felt his breaths shake. Pulling down the overhead mirror, he adjusted his bangs one last time before stepping out of the car with his bag. It held the copy of Flames, his resume and the copy of his University records and degrees with his majors.

He took a deep breath and stepped out of his car and walked towards the Starbucks- hands trembling slightly and his head halfway in some other place. He was thinking a million different things in his brain. If this was his big break, Nicholas didn't know if he was ready for it as much as he wanted to be. As he walked through the glass door- holding it open for a few people to pass by- he kept a confident and postioned smile over his face. Scanning the coffee house, he was expecting to see a sharp dressed lady with a neatly styled curled in lob and maybe dark bulky rimmed glasses.

Instead he was met with the waving hand of a young woman who looked the same age as him with a cheery yet professional grin and a welcoming presance. Nicholas cleared his throat and joined Yn at the table. "Yn Roberts?" Yn nodded and Nicholas took his seat across from her- finally meeting her daze once he settled into his chair.

"Hi Ms. Roberts-"

"Please, call me, Yn." Nicholas blushed a bit. Staring directly at her with her features present in the light, she was a natural beauty.

"Okay. Yn, I'm Nicholas, Nicholas Chavez- the one you emailed about my story in the paper, Flames?" Sounding it aloud, Nicholas wondered how Yn knew he was the one who wrote it. He was a ghostwriter- his privacy was supposed to be protected.

"How did you know it was my story?" The words came out faster than he could catch them. Yn smiled showcasing her dimples- something she liked to do to be charming.

"Well, I did some digging around because I just had to know. And that's when-" She stopped herself. Nicholas knew a reporter who was in his place of work before- he knew she was there, just not as the same person.

"Well, I had some of my reporters scout out who the mystery writer was and that's when they found you." Yn stared at Nicholas for a longer time. She was searching his eyes for any signs of recognition blooming into his memory. Her hair was her natural color this time- no wig- her lipstick was a lighter shade and her blazer and skirt were navy blue with gray heels and her John Lennon sunglasses were perched on her head, pulling back the strains of the hair from her face.

Nicholas only smiled and looked down at his portfolio. Yn took note of how his was similar to her own. "So Nicholas, about Flames- your story... how did it come about? Was it based off a significant event maybe?"

Yn was set to take notes. Nicholas shuffled in his seat a bit. "What do you mean?"

"Well, like there are news reports on the TV and in the paper on online even about about crazy things happening. I was curious of Flames was inspired off a real life event that happened maybe on the news or because of something maybe you read?"

Nicholas cleared his throat. "I had the idea down for a long time... it was a strong idea with a strong setting. I was in a tight pinch for a story because of the deadline- so it was a shot in the dark."

"Mmm, and you wrote it because it was one of those ideas that just kept nagging at you until you wrote it?"

"Correct." Nicholas stated, politely but matter of fact. Yn wrote it down in her notes. 

"Tell me Nicholas, when you finally started the draft of the story, what was the process of writing it? The story has so much depth and detail in it- was it a planned story where you laid down the formats of how you wanted it to go?"

"Not really," Yn looked up. 

"I.... I just kinda had the whole story and the plot down in my mind and just started writing it with the story actually guiding me." He chuckled. 

"Oh," Yn wrote down some more notes, "the story led you?"

"Yeah." Nicholas's smile faltered a bit. "The charcters just came out so naturally, like it was a replay- or something like that."

Suddenly the air felt too thick to breathe. Yn's gaze shot back to him faster than a bullet. It unsettled Nicholas in a way where his skin felt too tight for his skin and the collar of his shirt tightend around his neck and the room became splotchy and fuzzy.

"What I mean is- I had read a news report a while back and I guess the memory of the report stuck in my mind. I didn't think about it until a few weeks ago and it wouldn't go away until I wrote it down- I'm a writer so it's an annoying quirk I guess. Anyway, once I wrote it down, I changed a few details and created the characters of their own identity.... and that's how Flames was born."

Yn tapped her nails against her notepad. She gave a quick nod, a polite smile and wrote down another note. She cleared her throat. "Okay..." she whispered. "What about Dan. His character-aside from Alex's- stood out the most to me, especially the relationship between those two. Whenever the scene revolved around them, the tension that Alex had for him carried through the entire scene. He had a deep anger for Dan and it was a result of their strained relationship. How did that come about?"

Nicholas's heart beat sped up the more he thought about it. His fist clenched themselves until the knuckles were white and his cheeks flushed. He had to keep himself from speaking through gritted teeth.

"Well... I guess it really symbolized the story's theme or at least went along with it: How sometimes fathers and sons don't always see eye to eye and how Alex's ambitions were chafing constantly with Dan's own personal desires." Nicholas's voice was a bit tight. He internally reminded himself to breathe deeply inside. 

It's alright, Nicholas. He's gone now.... they all are.

Yn wrote down more notes. "Alright, and about that news report you read a while back- how does Flames connect with the relationship between Alex and Dan."

Nicholas opened his mouth to speak. 

Beep! His pager went off.

"I'm so sorry, Yn. I have to take this- it's a work message-"

"No, it's alright."

Nicholas smiled. "Can we reschedule the rest of the interview? If that's alright?"

Yn closed her notepad and clicked her pen. "Of course. Let me know when it's best. It was nice meeting you, Nicholas." She held out her hand.

"You too." Nicholas shook her hand with a thick smile before grabbing his portfolio and darting out of the place. As Nicholas disappeared, Yn slammed her pen down lightly on the notepad and huffing out a small breath.

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

Nicholas checked his pager in his car. It was a message from Mr. Winchel.

'A reporter wanted to know about your story, Nicholas. I need your permission to verify that you're okay with her wanting to interview you for some publishing contract or something.'

Nicholas swallowed hard. The same 'reporter' from Scribe & Quill that Yn supposedly sent was in his office and he didn't even know it. Or maybe he did. Nicholas drove home with the thought on his mind. He thought back hard to when the reporter had visited him. The pretty woman with lob, the bulky earrings and the tan business outfit.....

It was Yn. 

The realization nearly banged Nicholas into a heartattack. The wig had fooled him, but her remembered those dimples. How she had strolled into his office asking for Mr. Winchel and making all the men drool over her. Had Mr. Winchel betrayed his confidentality? Had he given her his name? Nicholas texted back on his pager.

'A reporter? What did she want?'

A quick response was given.

'She was some publishing agent or something with a publishing company, Scribe and Quill I think. I never told her anything but I wanted to be sure it was legitimate.'

Nicholas wanted to smack his head for being so clueless. He knew it was probably someone on his job that gave him away. His mind flickered to John Cranny. The playboy of the office. Yn no doubt knew she could trick him into spilling information about him with just one flick her of her hair and a bat of her eyelashes probably.

Nicholas didn't have enough energy to be angry. He sped home and locked himself in his apartment for the rest of the day, only ordering takeout and pizza delivery. Nicholas knew he would call Mr. Winchel in the morning and ask to have another work from home week... or maybe two... or maybe the rest of the month... or year.

He couldn't trust anyone. Staring out at his window he watched the city go by- the people walking down the sidewalks, kids riding their bikes, trucks honking and cruising by, annoying hollers from drugged hippies and jaded teens that went by and then the noise of Mr. Hummer's air condition from the floor above him. For the first time ever, Nicholas could truly feel the essance of being alone; to his own devices. A publishing contract- for whoever the hell Yn was- wasn't worth it. It would be one day, but not with Yn... if she was even a publisher to begin with. Nicholas doubted it. He became agitated at being swindled into his personal life being poked around in.

No one needed to know what really happened. Flames was just strictly fictional... except it wasn't. It was as real as the fire nightmares he woke up with on some nights. It was as real as the lingering presence that was all over his apartment; personal oasis it was supposed to be.

His family- his father, mother and two brothers were dead. And it was all his fault. Their deaths were as real as the trauma he still found himself remembering all the time. 

But it was one thing that was fake. So fake, that even Yn's phoney Yn Roberts act of Scribe & Quill couldn't top it.

The man eating guilt. There was some guilt- Craig and Paulie didn't deserve to die. It was just Dan and Ana. Mom and Dad who deserved punishment. Especially Dan. After everything he put Nicholas through.... not one lick of sadness crossed into his mind then or now.

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

Dan and Ana were highschool sweethearts. They married in Florida, but moved their dreams down into the suburbs of San Diego. Dan always pictured them as Romeo and Juliet; Ana's stark ambition towards love in life and Dan's own enthusiasm towards purity. Their family grew once Paulie was born. His sweet little skin, puckered baby lips and that fresh smell was something that still lingered through with the couple's choice to try again.

Craig came along and their family was complete. "Our little family of four," Ana would say at parties when describing their family to her friends. Ana loved being a mother and she loved her days filled with adventure at home taking care of the children and trying out different and new recipes to surprise Dan with once he would return home from a long hard day at work.

As Dan watched the boys run and play around the yard, it sparked a deeply hidden yet punctial desire for just one more. Another baby- a last child to just fill in the edges of their family. Once the boys started school, Dan had approached this idea to Ana, only for her to dismiss. "I'm fine with the tow children we have, Dan."

"Of course! I love the boys.... but I was just thinking that... it would be nice to have another baby, maybe. I mean... the boys are in school now and...." Dan took a deep breath. "I had a lot of siblings growing up... it was fun, we had fun times."

Dan suspected Ana's role as an only child in her family was her deciding factor. But to Ana, she was feeling the pangs of being just another stepford wife. Taking care of everything while Dan was at work was great for a while, but now it was routine. Looking at Dan, he wasn't the suave football player whose muscles had muscles. The slick black hair that held volume everytime the wind blew it or the slightly jaded boy who held worldly brawn in his views. He was just Dan now. Even looking at him became routine too.

Ana would roll over- her back would face Dan and she would drift off into sleep from staring at the blank wall in front of her. Dan would question this some nights. His worries to why she wouldn't kiss his neck anymore or allow her body to be spooned by his arms. A jolt of fear zapped him when the words affair popped into his mind. Was there someone else? 

There wasn't someone else for Ana. Even though she had met this nice man, Hugh at the store a few months back and she took in the pleasure of having a few secret coffee dates with him while the house was empty and Ana wouldn't have to come back to needy children or an unpleased husband. She broke it off after the sixth date when she was worried someone would see him kissing the frail of her neck.

It was then Ana realized she wanted more. A housewife and mother were just not in the works for her anymore. And somehow, Dan sensed this. He tried romantic dinners, double dates, trying new things with Ana- anything to give them back that spark. Ana has resolved to herself silently that in the coming winter break, she would leave the city and retitle herself again. Ana couldn't sitfle her need for a bite out of whatever life had to offer for her anymore. So confined and trapped in her daily routine, that it seemed nightmarish even.

But everything changed one fall morning.

It started with the cramps. Then her loss of her usual menses. A heightened sense of smell toward anything that smelled delicious, while also feeling sick to her stomach only a few moments after smelling the food. It then hit Ana, but she wanted to be sure. She wanted to believe it was just some stupid stomach bug that she caught from the typical flu season that always sprung at that time.

But after a frog test comfirmed it, it felt like her world went from gray to black. She practically slammed down the test results on the table for Dan to see. His eyes went wide. "Oh my God...." his voice trailed. He looked up at Ana with tears in the corners of his eyes. "You're.... pregnant?"

Ana nodded slowly. She didn't even feel when Dan wrapped her in a tight hug and kissed the side of her head. She didn't even have to strength to cry. Instead she just curled up in bed- with the excuse of tiredness- and stared out at the wall in silence. Oh how the world was mocking her. Any plans of packed bags and big city lights were crushed with this news. Ana saw the baby as more of a parasite than a blessing like she did with Paulie and Craig.

Ana thought about miscarrying. If maybe she could make her body reject the baby and it would propel her even more out of the home- give her an excuse to run away and start fresh. But she knew she couldn't. Dan would notice, even the boys would notice. Ana thought about abortion. Some of her friends back in high school had it done. "It's a cautious decision. You'll regret it if you actually decide you really didn't want to do it." Alice Swassy had said back then. How convenient she remembered it. Ana didn't have the stomach to go through with it. So, she chose to carry the baby full term.

But all the while she tried to avoid Dan like the plauge. She spent most mornings in bed and the times where she would erode slightly to the outside, it was only for food or to get some fresh air and leg room. Ana became nocturnal- not sleeping at night, but through the day where her mind was too bogged down with pain to even think.

Meanwhile, Dan was left to pick up the pieces of what was left of their perfect family. He felt like a single parent running around catering to his children's needs while anxiously awaiting another baby. He missed Ana. He missed what she used to be. 

Ana was his wife- his best friend. And she didn't want him as much as he wanted her. She didn't need his love; serving no reasons for her to give him some of her own. Even the children seemed like strangers to Ana. Dan watched Paulie and Craig and their friends, and then he saw Ana imbedded in her own sadness. He was alone. No one was there to talk, to ask what his thoughts were... Dan felt trapped in this bubble of bereaved isolation.

And then the baby was born... a month before he was ready.

Dan named the baby Alex, like Alexander the great. Ana was tucked in her bed, barely making eye contact with little Alexander, while Dan was the one sat at the incubator watching his every little breath. Tears prickled his eyes as he saw the little tiny baby that was alone in this plastic box that needed someone for him. Dan couldn't lose him. He stood as his only little lifeline that needed to be protected from anything that would harm his fragile little body. 

Ana was released from the hospital before Alex and didn't hesitate driving herself back to their home where she rather stare at the blank walls than hold her newborn son. Dan sat at the little incubator reading little books to Alex and watching him respond with weak gurgles. He would silently reassure himself that most babies were premature and turned out fine, and they did. But when Dan looked at Alex- really looked at him for the first time, he realized that his baby was different. Alex was his new goal in life. Ana and him had died long ago; dead like a flower that shriveled back into the ground in the winter months. Paulie and Craig didn't need him like Alex did.

As Dan's arms wrapped around the baby, he saw himself in Alex's brown bambi eyes. He saw his purpose. Dan found a little spark in his baby boy that he wasn't about to let die out. Being Alex's father was giving him a new path in his stale life. Alex needed him... he always would. And Dan was sure of it. His lifeline pierced into Alex like a teather that he was determined to nurture until the very end. Alex was Dan's future... his hope. A new beginning rose in Dan and it made him feel like a king again. He didn't need Ana's love when all he had was Alex now. And that was all that mattered.

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

Alexander Nicholas Chavez. A summertime baby that was born in the thick of June's heat. As the summer lingered on, so did Ana's grievance. The one thing that Dan would remember from the month Alex stayed in the hospital was the connection he soley formed with him. July was when Alex was brought home.

Dan watched Alex sleep. He would just stare into his bassinet and barely fall asleep for himself. A slight stir from Alex would make Dan's eyes spring open. Dan would watch Alex play with his blocks. He would watch him carefully, before sometimes joining in. Dan wore a sling and would plop Alex inside of it while he ran his usual errands and barely let Alex sleep in his own room on most nights despite him having his own crib. Even when Alex began to outgrow the sling, Dan still kept him in there. He saw it as bonding. Most babies cried to be held, Alex cried to be put down. Dan would continue holding him and just try to rock Alex to sleep or ignore his screams and cries at least until Ana would snap.

"For God's sake! Put him down in his damn crib!" She'd say, "he's tired, Dan!" Dan saw the irked face of his wife and children before surrending Alex into his crib. But he would still linger in his bedroom for a few moments longer- sitting in the rocking chair just waiting for Alex to wake again.

If Alex began to crawl across the floor, Dan would swoop in and pick him up. When Alex began to walk, Dan had to be right in front of him. It would scare him more than agitate Dan if Alex dared to try walking when no one else was around. Dan believed he wasn't fully ready and that he should be older. But Alex still kept walking- whether Dan was there or not.

Dan held this quiet fear- an unspoken terrifying idea of his only little lifeline being severed one day from nature. He would look at Alex and see this not so subtle stuborness that was inside him. Alex held the power over Dan's confidence- his hope for happiness again. And every time it was threatened, the fear would spiral a little more. All he could see was the little premie baby that needed him more than anything.... but Dan knew it was just him that needed Alex. He was Dan's lifeline and like a climber clinging to their rope, Dan held on tightly to his. But where there's fear, there's control. And Alex fought for his own. The more Alex grew, the more he fought, and the more the fear would grow.

Alex didn't always play by Dan's rules; carefully monitored activites where the only ones Alex could enjoy were only if Dan was there; Alex just found other ways to play and escape the watchful eye of Dan.

 A three year old Alex watched his brothers play and have their fun, their friends, their own lives, while his rested attached to Dan's hip.

Alex would have to sit by Dan at the picnic watching Paulie and Craig play in the sun, while he sat under a tree while Dan sat beside him. Alex wondered why he couldn't have fun. "But we are having fun!" Dan said. "I like having you here."

Once Dan's back was turned, Alex darted into the sun and played tag with his brothers. Dan grabbed him and gave Alex a stern warning not to leave his side again. 

Four year old Alex couldn't join in on his brothers tree climbling race. Instead of grappling onto the branches with his own hands, he would have to ride on Dan's back while he climbed up the tree for him. Alex- holding this scowl- decided he rather risk breaking an arm or leg shuffling down each branch by himself, leaving Dan behind to have to catch up while he yelled for Alex to stop.

The tug-of-war between father and son continued like this. Alex would look to his mother for help, expecting her to argue back to his father about his double standard rules and defend him. 

"Alex, quit bothering me. Why don't you just go talk to your father,"

"Because he won't listen, Mommy." Ana stared at Alex for a moment. All her failed dreams rested on him. Failing to escape her misery of her own broken home, she didn't think twice when it came to pushing him aside. "Go away, Alex. I'm busy."

Alex was left to fend for himself. 

Dan insisted on walking or driving an eight year old Alex to school every morning, and volunteering for every field trip, or else Alex couldn't go at all. Alex would repay this by waking up an hour early and snaggin a ride on the school bus, and then on field trips, giving Dan the cold shoulder or pretending he didn't even exist. It was all met with punishment at the end of each attempt. Dan saw himself losing Alex. Nature was making Alex grow up and apart from him- leaving him behind like everyone else in his life. He pushed harder.

Every choice Alex wanted to make needed Dan's overhead approval. He couldn't go to movies by himself and Dan had to choose the movie. If Alex wanted to hang out with his friends after school, Dan had to be in the background somewhere monitoring them. It made Alex lose some friends. "There weren't real friends anyway." Dan would say, exasperating Alex even more. Every attempt to speak up and call out his father, was met with Dan cutting Alex off and telling him he knew what was best for him and that he loved him.

"I'm only trying to protect you," Dan would say. "You don't know what's out there in this world, Alex... you need me."

"No I don't... neither do Craig and Paulie, do they?" Dan shook his head. 

"They're older, buddy." Nicholas rolled his eyes and stormed away. He tried telling school faculty about the home problems.

"I think, your father is trying to protect you. Not all kids have that... be grateful." Then there was, "I wish my father was a loving as yours!" The condescension was insulting to say the least. Alex would stare at their smirking faces that looked down on him and just storm away in defeat.

The glaring difference between Paulie and Craig versus him was despairing. Alex had to work and bleed hard for everything that was handed to his older brothers. Alex saw that even his own clothes were products of Dan's style. Not a hundered percent by choice- the little one he did have. Alex wanted to pick out a shirt that he knew Dan wouldn't care for. Dan insisted he go shopping with him to 'help' him decide what to buy. It ended with Dan only paying for most of what he liked on Alex and only a few clothes that Alex liked for himself. 

Like all fights, they're violent. Except the violence was internal. Alex's anger turned into bitterness.... then rage. He wished for Dan to be gone- just vanish off the face of the earth sometimes. At sixteen, Alex decided to sneak out and join a wild party that was thrown by one of his classmates, Jim Panette. That was when Alex introduced himself to cigarettes and would practice taking puffs on free breaks. He returned home at four in the morning and no one knew he had left. He did this a few more times, until one night Dan was waiting for him in his bedroom with a deep frown and his jaw tight.

A fight erupted and on Dan's way out of Alex's room, Alex said something Dan never knew he could possibly say to him. "Fucking Dyke."

He turned around slowly. "What did you just say to me?" Alex just stood there with his arms crossed and staring angrily into Dan's eyes. He kept silent knowing that Dan did hear what he said to him and that the first time would simmer in him deeply enough. Dan walked back to his room and stayed up the rest of the night. They never spoke of that night again, but neither one would ever forget it. Alex was grounded for a month and Dan was left to question where the faint smell of nicotine came from. He didn't believe it was from the party. He just knew it wasn't. Alex hid his habit well and no ever found out... even if they suspected it.

At seventeen, Alex snagged a secret job at a grocery store. He spent the summer working hard and was constantly earning money that he hid in little box that was shoved in the back of his closet. He bought a duffle bag and new sneakers. Alex never bought too much, but just kept saving. His goal?: Leave home by eighteen. A promise he made to himself.

Dan would drag Alex on day trips where he ran errands and expected Alex to help as part of 'bonding.' Alex dragged his feet and barely made eye contact with Dan. He held his breath when they ran into the parking lot of the grocery store he worked at. Dan couldn't make Alex go, so he huffed and went inside by himself. Alex forced himself to go with Dan to the next store where they barely talked, despite Dan's attempts to make conversation- and prod around the reasons to why Alex didn't want to go inside the store. "I just wanted to rest my legs,"

"Alex," Dan warned.

"Not everyone likes running stupid errands like you do, Dad!" Dan dropped the subject and kept silent. Dan glanced over to Alex and saw how distant he was trying to be. It scared him. Nature was pulling Alex away from him again. 

Alex's eighteen birthday was approaching soon and Dan was dreading it. Paulie and Craig had moved out to college and were visiting for Alex's birthday week. Alex was the only child at the house and Dan wanted to keep him there. The thought of Alex leaving for college made his stomach curl. He would be all alone and Alex would be away from him. It wasn't supposed to happen like that. Alex should've wanted to stay at home and do community college right in San Deigo. 

But Alex anticipated his eighteenth birthday. He was planning to attend a college somewhere in Settle. He first decided on the city when he stumbled upon a few books talking about how great the city was for new upcoming artists. A place for young people to immerse themselves in total freedom at the start of their lives. It meant something to Alex that he would find a nice apartment down there and stay there. As his birthday was around the corner, Dan tried hard to get Alex to tell him about what his plans were for once he graduated.

Alex kept tight lipped and never said anything more than "I don't know."

"How about we go and start looking for colleges around the area?" Dan halfway expected Alex to look up and repeat "we?" before Dan would dismiss it and insist that he would make it a father and son adventure. 

"Why would I want to go to college?" Alex finally looked up from his bowl of cereal, munching on his Cherrios.

"Well... it gives great opportunities for what you want to do in the future." Alex flattered Dan and didn't argue about the day trip to check out different colleges. Maybe he could've did a better job in being uninterested instead of resolving himself to silence. Dan was convinced Alex was unamused and decided to surprise him with a special gift on his birthday.

"I arranged an apprenticeship at my job so that it might give you an idea to what you want to do!" Dan said, happily.

Alex raised an eyebrow. "You mean I'm shadowing you while you work in the factory?" Dan nodded. 

"This way I can keep an eye on you and we can work together while at the same time, you get work experience." The words flowed so freely out of his mouth. They echoed in Alex's head. 'Keep an eye of you.' As if Alex was still the child Dan smothered like he always did.

Alex glanced over the room that waited for his response. Ana was drinking wine, while Craig and Paulie were glancing between Alex and Dan. Alex cleared his throat. "Thanks Dad." He said with bitterness mixing into his words. His mind was a flurry of anger that bled open again like an infected wound.

Alex made up his mind. He knew he would never get away from Dan if he took that job. Dan wanted to cage him in like a lost and weak little bird that needed more of his father's hazy lies than of the real world. Alex made a plan. His apprenticeship started in a week and he was due back at work the following Monday. Alex gave his boss a notice of his quitting, while working in those last extra hours to earn money. Alex even sold the things he didn't want anymore for extra cash and locked it up in his box.

It was a Thursday. Dan had mowed the lawn that morning, the boys were staying one last day and Ana was in the garden tending to her roses. Alex had set his sights on Seattle and was ready to go. He packed all the clothes that were truly his and shoved them into his duffle bag with his box of money. Alex took bags of chips, water bottles, granola bars and coffee packets into his bag before zipping it up. It was two in the morning. Everyone was asleep while Alex was wide awake. Friday was the day he was supposed to go with Dan to his job. Swallowing down the pique, Alex tip toed out of his bedroom and down the stairs. He left a note on his bedroom door simply stating that he was onto better things but would never detail what those things were.

Alex took off his shoes- remembering the last time he snuck out- and stepped down the stairs carefully. Desperation ran all through Alex's eyes. Flashes of Dan's patronizing exspressions or his side eyes only fueled Alex's burning desire to run away with arms wide open- breaking out of those shackles that were tied to his ankles. For years, the rage burned deep inside of him like an angry fire. Every 'No you can't' from Dan added more fuel and life to that fire until the rage became a life of its own. When he saw Dan, he saw his own rage at his home. His hatred for the father Dan was to him only blared louder and louder with each attempt to gain more control. 

Dan noticed the jade of his son. The darkness of his eyes that only lit up when he was away from him. Alex knew Dan was trying to force something that was never there for either one of them; destroyed the first time Dan made up his mind to be his own worst enemy.

A selfish waste of time, was something Alex thought about him among other things. Alex, not savage by nature, but ruthless when it came to his feelings about his father. Like a virulent beast that wanted to ferociously scratch out the flesh of his enemy and sink its teeth into their bones, Alex's rage never stopped hunting for ways to assert just exactly what Dan was in his eyes: an enemy.

Disarming the alarm, Alex strolled out of the house and closed the front door behind him. Taking a cigerette from the pack that was stuffed in his pocket, Alex searched himself for a light. There wasn't one. Pacing over by the garage, Alex remembered the spare matches he kept in case his lighter ran out of fluid. It was the old fashioned way, but it got the job done he thought. As he swiped the match against the scratchy part, it didn't light. He did it again and a single flame alit.

Taking it carefully to the tip of the cigerette that he postioned in his mouth, the match slipped from his fingers and fell onto the pavement. A trail of fire rose before Alex could stomp it out, and he watched as it continued to trail all the way into the garage until a loud explosion sounded and caught up the entire garage and house on fire. Alex stood there, face white with horror as the fire blazed like a bright latern had been glowing through it. The smoke alarms sounded by the time Alex was halfway down the sidewalk. He ran to the nearest telephone booth and called for the fireman and whoever else could come. As he stood by waiting, the sound of sirens wailed down the street. Firetrucks, police cars, ambulances all sped down to his street. 

Alex blended in carefully with the crowd of onlookers that stood behind the barriers. By the time her returned, the house was just a shell. He searched everywhere for any sign of his family, but he couldn't see them. The fireman cooled down the fire, but there was a grim silence that stood as the understanding dawned on everyone. Alex's family was gone. All he had was the clothes on his backs and the dufflebag stuffed full of the last things he ever took with him. He walked away with his head down and disappeared around the corner to make his way to the bus depot.

Alex borded the greyhound to Seattle where he took on odd jobs while living in a motel until he found a stable job and settled into a cheap apartment. 

Alex wanted to start fresh; shed that image- the memory of who he once was. His first day in Seattle, Alex changed his legal name to his middle one, Nicholas. He would live as Nicholas Chavez and live the life he dreamed and hoped for himself. Alex died in that fire as far as anyone was concerned. Nicholas would never know the last thoughts of family- his father. 

He would never know how fragile Dan was that night and how darted to Alex's bedroom while the smoke was still visible. The horror of seeing his son's bedroom burning down like paper and seeing his bed empty and smokey before he passed out. He died in Alex's bedroom. Dan died after realizing that he lost the one thing that held him together. The one thing he fought tooth and nail to keep for himself no matter how disastrous it would end, was gone. His son was gone. Not engulfed in the flames, but perished like the smoke in the wind of the water. Alex cut the lifeline and left Dan to fall hard onto the pavement where he burned up in the flames of Alex's rage.

And Nicholas still carried that rage. Even after his conscience settled and he understood it wasn't a deliberate attack, on some days he wished it was. Not towards Paulie or Craig- the brothers he missed. But to Ana and Dan. He wished he could sparked the match and lit up Dan like a firecracker. Ana would just drown with Dan like she always did and then their ashes would be Nicholas's pavement. Nicholas still held that solem spark of comeplete apathy towards his parents. Dan especially.

Dan treated him like an object that didn't get half the respect he deserved. Ana participated by not loving him either. So.... they were punished. Just like all the times Nicholas bared punishment for defending himself, now it was their turn. The fire grazed their skin and ate them up until there was nothing left of them except coal of the ruins. 

Nicholas kicked the nasty habit of smoking. He couldn't even look at fire the same way again. Nicholas knew he would forever live with what happened that night. How he continued living and moving on with his life was all he ever wanted. Dan wasn't there to take that away from him anymore. But it wasn't enough. He would always be sore from the pain of his past. A past that Dan created. He would always be angry at Dan for not being the father he should've been.

A realization donned on Nicholas; his new home was still broken. Miles away from the burnt rubble of his old life, he created a broken home for himself. A home still filled with rage that ran deeper than the guilt of the fire. The guilt was hidden for his brothers- it was the more acceptable emotion. Rage was a naughty one that if left uncontrolled would give to way serious consequences. And Nicholas wanted to be better, more righteous than what he came from. But he couldn't erase the anger or the pain. It his very being was the rage. And it still bubbled underneath the concocted surface of himself. Nicholas was the rage. It was a lesson for Dan still.

He was the gasoline and fueled the air with his own senses. Nicholas was the fire. The burning flame that was burning out of control. And it killed him. Dan died by the hands of his son's fire. Nicholas lit the match, Dan left the lawn mower gasoline to leak out and hide itself in the dark. Nicholas dropped the match, but Dan still left the gasoline trial uncleaned and open.

Nicholas would always be the fire that burned it all down.

But Dan.... should've never played with that fire in the first place.

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

Yn spent her night in her sweat pants and long sleeve purple shirt searching up anything she could've about Nicholas. His curious exit out of their interview exsasperated Yn while also enticing her suspicions. She couldn't let this get away. Every article of the fire, Yn scanned through it and wrote down detail after detail, even the ones that didn't seem to matter. 

Yn was hunched over her desk with her fingers pressing into the side of her temples. Everything she investigated with Nicholas took her back to sqaure one. His real name was Alex, he changed his name, his family died in a house fire that mimics the story he wrote.... it all came up to nothing except what Yn already knew. Flames wasn't a fictional story, but there was no other proof of any other truths. The characters were seemingly made up and for all she knew, so was Alex's. Hell, Yn didn't even know who the real Nicholas was. Taking a deep breath, Yn clicked off the computer and sat back in her chair. She stared up at the blank celling and let a wave of relief mixed in dunce wash over her.

She felt pathetic. Her efforts, her ambitions all led to nothing except blank pages of a tightly sealed secret or lie that festered somewhere where only Nicholas could know. Only he knew what happened in that fire- only he knew what happened period. And Yn decided to just keep it that way. She gave a hard smack to her forehead before ripping herself from the chair and plopped down on her couch. The best journalist was a title that seemed so far away from her. It was all she wanted- the reason she even decided to draw outside the lines and go on this wild goose chase to prove something to everyone... to herself mostly.

Her ambition was born when she was. Yn was the youngest child of her family. An older sister was someone she had to look up to and mimic in succsess. And Gayle, her sister was the embodiment of achievement. At least to everyone and especially their parents. 

It all came so easy for Gayle. Her parents doted on her every move and seemed to hold up on this pedestal of perfection. The golden child that every parent wished they had. Gayle was a straight A student, the captain of the cheer team, the teacher's star student, a does-it-right-the-first-time type of girl and a fast learner. Then there was Yn. In her shadow, scared of her own shadow too.

Her parents seemed to forget she even existed. They would forget about her school plays, her music lesson.... her talents. Yn would never be like Gayle. For Yn to be seen, she had to work harder. She needed to be number one with everything she ever tried and succssed. But somehow, it just still wasn't enough. 

Gayle this, Gayle that. Everything revolved around her next event, while Yn was made to sit and watch her parents gleam and beam at their daughter. Yn loved Gayle, she truly did. But there was no question to the brewing angst she felt for her sister taking away their parents from her. Yn find some solace in writing. It became a passion that gave her an outlet to pour out her inner most feelings and understand other's emotions as well. It still didn't take away the hurt though.

Yn never grew out of this. She never seemed enough for anyone... not even herself. Cocooned in her own pain, Yn decided to keep her head down and stick to what she was good at and hope no one would notice her. They didn't notice. Even when Gayle left for college, they still never noticed. It was that spring with Yn decided she wanted better and shot out to Seattle for a new beginning. Yn promised herself she would work hard and be acknowleged for her works as a journalist. She studied hard in the classes, got amazing grades, and continued working towards what was next.

She never gave up- something she credited to herself with a pat on the back and a pencil glued behind her ear with every note she took.

Here she was now. On the couch recounting this time as one of the few stories she just couldn't crack. But she met Nicholas- another soul that was tattered at the fringes. There was something about that seemed so guilty, yet so sympathetic. She could understand about him was in there; hiding behind the corners of his friendly smile and kind soft voice. It an ugly reminder of something mirrored in herself.

The resentment ran deep. But for Yn, the sadness trailed deeper. Throwing away parties for computer searches, and spa days for all over the city interviews, it was all for this bronze medal that would just be enough to tell her that she mattered. That she was good and important enough for someone to notice her face in the sea of others. Sadness; paved over like a street of the upmost goal to achieve. Yn needed to win something to be seen. For twenty six years, it was all she ever wanted. 

Flames was the story that would've pushed her to that level, she thought. But it wouldn't have. Yn made up something that simply wasn't there. Flames was a story that was written and sealed... there was no quest in trying to find answers into something that wasn't about to be uncovered. Throwing in the towel, Yn finally decided that come Monday morning, she would try her aim at a different story- one that Mr. Benson would assign to her and expect to be done by the time her deadline was up.

When Yn would walk into her office Monday, Flames would be forgotten and Yn would just have to adapt to that.

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

A month passed. May was here and so was the warm weather that harbor into the summer months. Nicholas had just faxed over a one shot- two people who were unlikely to love, fell in love in the most oddest situation. Nicholas had spent overtime in the office that evening and once the clock struck close to nine, he clocked out and saved his drafts on his computer.

'Petals for a rose' bloomed over the next few days during the usual newspaper sellouts. Seattle Chronicle was booming and Mr. Winchel found it in credit to Nicholas. "Something we can all relate to!" was the daily response of the readers. Nicholas took pride in it, but still noticed it wasn't as infamous as Flames was. That was perfectly okay with him anyway. Just a story to forget about.

Nicholas kept it to himself of his earnest goal to see a therapist one day. A seesaw of wonder if he would ever be honest with them or if he would make up scenarios for them to break down just like how everyone seemed to break down the bricks of beams of Flames. Regardless, he saw it as hope. A lit spark that burned inside of him like a smoke signal. It was hope for a better future- a life that he still yearned to have. Nicholas didn't want to be consumed by his own flames, but rather learn how to cool them down and fan them away from his body to not be engulfed in the blazes.

As Nicholas strolled down the nearly empty sidewalk to his apartment, he took in how the city begin to glow again. The shiny halo that illuminated Seattle's very presence was disguised as bright city skyscrapers, the spicy thick aroma of coffee and the warm dreamy breeze of the night that wrapped around his skin. It was within the flocks of the people that he met out a catchy almost haunting face in the mix. The same bouncy hair and sunkisted red lips. Her jewelry sparkled in the reflection of the city as the sound of her heels clicked into his path.

Yn. She met his eyes- those kind brown eyes that held a glint of life and something else that sizzled. His face seemed to glow among the people, like a spotlight was shining down on him like a stage light. Their eyes locked for what felt like forever; staring into her eyes with this shock mixed knowing look, he moved closer. Yn stood frozen looking- searching his face for something, anything to capture what she was hoping even after all this time to find.

He knew... deep she did too. Their feet met side by side for the minute before they continued down their own directions. Yn stopped and looked back briefly into the back of Nicholas's head. Once her own head turned back around, his faced the back of her hair and neat it looked swaying against her back. 

An inaudible thought crossed his brain before a smirk spread across his lips. Nicholas then kept on walking, and didn't stop until he would reach where he was going.

[youryurigoddess]

Aziraphale has memorized Winnie the Pooh and it’s more important than you think

Basically Neil Gaiman was casually dropping hints about Good Omens 2 plot as early as 2019:

Aziraphale has memorized the Winnie the Pooh books, several Georgette Heyer novels, and Bobo’s Modern Coin Magic, though.

Georgette Heyer was an English novelist and short-story writer, in both the Regency romance (which she has virtually invented, based on extensive historical research as well as Jane Austen’s influences) and detective fiction genres. She used romantic plots and happy endings in both.

That is, with the exception of Penhallow, her 1942 mystery novel explaining how a desperate act intended to bring about good consequences brings only more tragedy in its wake instead (and spoiler alert: murdering a thoroughly unlikeable elderly character doesn’t secure the expected peace or happiness).

J. B. Bobo’s Modern Coin Magic, while not that modern anymore with a publishing date of 1952, provides a complete treatise on sleight of hand coin conjuring, making an excellent companion for those who want to impress and entertain with some classic magic tricks. Including working professional magicians like Fell the Marvelous.

But what about the Winnie the Pooh books? Sure, they offer the ultimate childhood escapist fantasy with a happy-go-lucky story and cheerful characters living in the Garden of— um, Hundred Acre Wood. The original Ashdown Forest is, by the way, located under the South Downs National Park authority.

A. A. Milne participated in and survived two world wars. Writing was a creative way of talking about his struggles and those of many other individuals affected by trauma, mental health issues and illnesses that are left untreated and undiagnosed. Each of the animals famously symbolizes different disorder.

And according to the major theme of the power of friendship saving the day (with an occasional help of Christopher Robin, who plays his ineffable game as long as his adults let him), even a scary guest turns out not so scary after all, becoming a new friend himself.

[robinwoodsfiction]

Writing Characters: Histrionic Personality

I’m continuing my series inspired by Cluster B Personality Disorders because messy characters make great stories. You can check out my posts on Classic Narcissists, Vulnerable Narcissist, and Borderline Personality too. Without further ado, writing characters—histrionic personality. Histrionic Personality Traits Histrionic personality disorder is characterized by constant attention-seeking,…

[mizzskelter]

My new loathing of flowers and carpal tunnel aside, finished Robin's cover art (who is also in desperate need of clothing redesign...)

Here's the playlist link:

List of songs under the cut:

Lemonade, Problematic (Twin XL) | If You Ever Feel Alone (SAINTE) | I/me/myself (Will Wood) | Smile (Dami Im) | Flos (KUJIRAGI cover) | Fashion Forward + She's Quiet Acoustic (The Home Team) | Sunkissed (khai dreams) | Matsuri (Will Stetson cover) | Lost Kitten (Metric) | more than a friend (Animal Sun) | She Wants Me (To Be Loved) (The Happy Fits) First Rate Town (Good Kid) | Tongues & Teeth, Canary in a Coal Mine, and Pretty Little Things (Crane Wives) | Perspective + Carry On (Polite Fiction) | When Will I See You Again (Shakka) Everlasting Summer (Seycara) | Everything's Alright (DJ Okawari) | Everything in You (Adventure Time ost) | Our Life (Fat Bard) | Wren's Lullaby (Dandelion Hands)

If anyone's curious and wants do a symbolism deep dive or something on the flowers: (right to left) daisies, crocuses, Stars of Bethlehem, lilacs (madame lemonie or angel white variety).

[crystaloregarden]

made a visual bingo sheet for doing @batmanisagatewaydrug 's 2025 book bingo since my memory is a lot better with images + I'm not a person who remembers or pays a lot of mind to genres so I'd just forget anyhow B)

also, a few of my friends and i are doing this book bingo together in my server, if any of my moots want to join in!

book titles & my reason for choosing them under the cut:

Literary Fiction: If We Were Villains - M.L. Rio (blind pick from storygraph)

Short Story Collection: The Collected Short Stories of Roald Dahl - Roald Dahl (roald dahl is on this list already so i figured i'd read some of his other stuff, too!)

Sequel: Two Hearts & The Way Home - Peter S. Beagle (sequels-ish to the last unicorn which is one of my top fav pieces of media of all time I NEEEED THESE)

Reread a childhood favorite: Matilda - Roald Dahl (LOVE THIS BOOK & MOVIE SO MUCH!!!)

20th century speculative fiction: The Left Hand of Darkness - Ursula K. Le Guin (i've been trying and failing to read Wizard of Earthsea due to lack of time + its juvenile tone so hoping i can find something i like in this book instead!)

Fantasy: Iron Widow - Xiran Jay Zhao (been on my TBR forever and finally have an excuse to prioritize it)

Published before 1950: The Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux (ALSO been on my TBR forever, attempted to read it once via audiobook but the audiobook reader was so bad at reading that i had to put it down. hopefully my library has a print copy!!)

Indie Publisher: Those We Do Not See - Angie Gallion (looked on the list that the tumblr post recommended, ended up at red adept publishing and blind picked)

Graphic Novel/Comic Book/Manga: Dragon Quest - Adventure of Dai (recommended to me by luca! he first recommended dragonball to me and i had to decline because that's is SO many chapters FHSJDFKL)

Animal on the Cover: The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World - Robin Wall Kimmerer (obsessed with all of kimmerer's works and need to read them all NOOOWWWWWW)

Set in a Country You Have Never Visited: The Fox Wife - Yangsze Choo (this was recommended to me right before i left kansas by the person who did my hair so it's only been on my TBR a short while, but i'm always super eager to read books that were personally recommended to me!!)

Science Fiction: Time Shards - David Fitzgerald, Dana Fredsti (was on my TBR in storygraph, i don't remember adding this so it might as well be a blind pick FHKSJDHF)

2025 Debut Author: The Woman In The Wallpaper - Lora Jones (blind pick!)

Memoir: Leading Lady: A Memoir of a Most Unusual Boy - Charles Busch (recommended to me by my coworker at my old job who was an elderly gay man who spent his life in theatre, extra excited to read this one!!)

Essay Collection: Fanged Noumena: Collected Writings 1987-2007 - Nick Land (on my storygraph TBR, i think i saw some quotes from a tumblr post and added it?? i THINK)

2024 Award Winner: Dance with Me - Georgia Beers (blind picked from the Lambda Literary Awards since they focus on LGBT+ works!)

Nonfiction: Conflict Is Not Abuse: Overstating Harm, Community Responsibility, and the Duty of Repair - Sarah Schulman (recommendation from a tumblr account i follow for book recs on activism and mental health)

Activism/SJ: Revolting Prostitutes: The Fight for Sex Workers' Rights - Molly Smith, Juno Mac (same as above!)

Romance Novel: Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami (was on my storygraph TBR)

Horror: Annihilation - Jeff VanderMeer (i am vaguely aware that the movie version of this book is dogshit and i've heard the book is LEAGUES better so i want to take a peek for myself)

Published in 2000-2009: Reading Like a Writer: A Guide for People Who Love Books and for Those Who Want to Write Them - Francine Prose (ohhh i added this to my tbr recently-ish but i don't remember where i found it, i am SUPER interested in this though as both a writer and an avid reader!)

Historical Fiction: Babel - R.F. Kuang (blind pic, partially influenced by the fact that luca brings up the tower of babel so often that we have a spiritual "mentioning tower of babel" jar in place)

all i need now is the library rec (i'll be moving in walking distance from a library in a couple weeks), the read & make a zine (i'll poke around archive.org to find some interesting ones & potentially want to make one myself about my old cat who passed) and read & make a recipe (i cook at home rather than eat out most of the time so this is gonna happen prolly within like a week of 2025 anyways)

[hyperfixatedcatlover]

The Beauty's Rebirth - Chapter 2: Mother Agent

Hey y'all! Sorry this took so long to get out! Please cast your votes! I will write all paths but I will write them one at a time so I want to know what you all would want!

TW: Child abuse, starvation, mentions of being trafficked, MDNI

I do not support or condone such behaviors in real life, this is purely fiction.

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2(You are here)

In modeling, there is a term models are aware of. This term is "Mother agent." The mother agent is the agency or the person that discovered you.

'It's funny,' you think to yourself on the way to your house ship - as one of, if not, the most famous models in the galaxy, having a nice apartment that can also travel the stars was exceedingly helpful - 'my mother agent is more of a mother than my actual one.'

The craft driving you home is silent on the inside, but the silence is thick. The typical post-filming headache has set in, restarting the typical routine of these gigs. You smiled, you waved as you went to the dressing room, you took the expensive dress off and put on another nice, semi-less stifling outfit, waved as you went to the car, continued to wave out the window as the car drives away until you were finally out of sight. In these moments of traveling while the pressure in your skull causes the intense desire for pure, uninterrupted quiet, your mind can't help but drift. And drift it does, into the dark recesses of your brain where the memories of your childhood are.

'Mother always hated my beauty, I wonder what she thinks of it now.' Your mother was always jealous. At just five years old, the curls in your hair and the smile that shone seemed to tell her that you were much more beautiful, something she couldn't be. Of course it had to be your fault, of course she needed to punish you for it, of course she needed to starve you when you were seven to keep your figure, of course she needed to train you in acting docile and submissive, though that may have been the malnourishment that caused you to not ever speak up. Mistakes were met with harsh punishment,

"It's for your own good, you ungrateful spawn!"

You shake the memory out of your head, instead choosing to remember the kind woman at the modeling agency, which was small and didn't have that much money who took a chance on you. Poor, starving, freezing you, who she gave a roof over your head and a job, who listened to the story of your parents selling you off to become a concubine to a man thrice your age on another planet, how they faked your death at home. The woman who taught you what you needed to know. In your reminiscence, you to see something out of the corner of your eye. You catch sight of a light blue planet with golden swirls in various parts. Gold and blue… The colors cause your brain to remember someone, someone you miss dearly. I wonder how those two are doing.

The Halovian boy who was only a year older than you, and his sister who was two years your junior, the Oak Branch of The Family. They were the only two people who ever made you happy. At one of the events you were allowed to go to at just nine years of age, you got lost and began to cry no matter how hard you tried to resist it. It was at that point when a boy of slightly shorter height than yours and his much smaller sister found you. When I looked into the young boy's eyes, I felt seen. You were friends ever since, though your meetings were few and far between from how your families kept you busy.

Mr. Wood must have given him some freedom now, I know Robin is a singer, and Sunny most likely is in charge of something back home. If I can even call such a place home.

Childhood friend musings aside, your aircraft has landed in your garage, and you step out waving Charles, your Chauffer, goodbye as you scan your fingerprint to unlock the door. As you step into the home, the mewls of your cherry pie and lemon merengue pie snacks cause you to giggle as the hop towards you like they haven't seen you in months, despite only having been gone for five hours. You pat their heads and go to the master bathroom and shower, scrubbing the makeup, hair spray, and whatever else they put on your skin and in your hair. As you exit the bathroom, now wearing a satin nightgown, you see the snacks waiting for you on the bed.

Oh those cuties, I wish I could stay with them all day.

You join them on the bed when you get a message, your mother agent.

'Hey, you have a couple days off but before you go to bed, you need to hear the options to decide what your next shoot is. I'll get your answer tomorrow so you can think about it.'

'I get to decide?'

'My assistant's system glitched out and crashed, causing three events to be scheduled at the same time. I'll handle the fallout, but you should pick what you want to do.'

'Oh, okay! What are my options?'

'First option is that you could go to a planet, called Belobog, which recently made contact with the IPC and do a shoot there to increase tourism.'

'I guess I wouldn't need heavy security as most people there won't know who I am.'

'True, but you'll still have some. The next option is a shoot on the Xianzhou Loufu. An indie designer you've modeled for in the past is launching a line of traditional hanfu-inspired nightgowns and wants you to model a few, some are a smidge risqué, however.'

'I think I've shown more skin than was you're implying, I'll be fine if I go that route, but what is the last option?'

'You don't have to go to this one, I will make sure your reputation with this brand doesn't sink.'

'What do you mean? You're freaking me out a little bit.'

'The last option is with a major brand, they have a new clothing line with vintage clothes with a modern twist. The shoot will be in Penacony.'

'Oh.'

'My thoughts exactly. I'll let you think about what you want and talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight, sleep well!'

Mother Agent has gone offline

You set the phone on the nightstand and ponder.

Do I go somewhere new and help a planet's economy? Do I go to a smaller designer and give them more reputation? Or, do I go home? Where do I go?

After some tossing and turning, you fall asleep, dreams not reaching you, just a voice telling you to fly free. When you wake up, the snacks are ready for food. As the coffee brews and the snacks munch, you pick up your phone, having made your decision.

'I want to go to…'

[vintagerpg]

This is the Science Fiction Book Club first edition of Robert Holdstock’s Mythago Wood (1984). It concern a family living near the titular forest. Dad’s obsessed with it, Mom is going to pieces because of that obsession, kids are largely neglected. One brother goes to war, the other stays. Mom and Dad die. The war brother comes back years later and find things…strange.

The forest is larger on the inside than it is on the outside. It is also inhabited by unusual people, like Roman centurions, Robin Hood-like huntsmen, barbarians and a giant rage god that is a man with a boar head. These inhabitants are both manifestations of the land’s memory and also somehow connected to the minds of the regular people who enter the woods — everyone brings their own set of mythagos to life. The edges of this are fuzzy and never fully explained. Its the best part of the book and it speaks somehow of a primal human consciousness in such a way that I’ve never really been able to stop thinking about it (even though I have very little desire to read the subsequent novels in the series).

The bulk of the novel consists of a rivalry between the two brothers. The one who stayed has spent years roaming the strange landscape inside the wood (which houses many ruins and a couple of distinct culture groups) as a barbaric reaver who seeks the affections of a young Boudica-like woman/archetype that the war brother also loves (some of the relationship stuff here is yicky, fair warning). Christian’s (ironic name) transformation into a violent, filthy bandit king is striking and also resonates strangely. Things come to a head near the even-weirder heart of the wood and end rather enigmatically (and subverts expectations for a violent score-settling).

Curiously, despite there being like eight books in the series, I don’t ever hear folks talk about them. That, somehow, makes the secrets of this book even more appealing.