#so fucking cool something about blue and blurry photos are just everything to me...

[mrbrightxside]

Best photos I've ever seen it feels like a memory I'm reminiscing about 🙏🏻 This caught me so off-guard LMFAO I just really loved this specific picture 🫶

This isn't a call out (obvi), I just think it's rlly funny that someone took the picture from my banner and made it theirs bc that's just a picture of a comic book store I took last time I went LMFAO

Here is the whole picture if u want it lol

[xwing-baby]

Pull Over (Frankie Morales x gn!Reader)

Warnings: Fluff!! description of a dead bird, swearing, not edited

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: On a cross country road trip with your boyfriend Frankie, you wake to a beautiful sight...

A/n: I’ve pining for Frankie all week, add this gorgeous prompt photo and this is the result

---

You woke up slowly to the sound of Frankie mumbling along to the radio, as he had been when you fell asleep. Blue sky was all you could see out the window as you slumped in your seat, it wasn’t until you sat up properly that you saw the majesty of your surroundings. You gasped at the sigh of the expansive red dirt, sun dancing on the endless road ahead in mirages. The last time your eyes were open you were driving through concrete suburbs, a far cry from the desolate and beautiful desert you drove in now.

“Holy shit, Frankie!” You exclaimed, choking up in emotion at the sight through the windshield. Frankie startled at your sudden proclamation, “Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” Tears streamed down your cheeks, happy tears, shocked and amazed tears. You wiped them quickly from your eyes hoping your fiancé wouldn’t see.

“Are you crying?” Frankie laughed, turning his head for a moment to look at you properly. He didn’t miss the tightness in your voice.

“Shut up,” You sniffed, wiping your eyes, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I didn’t know you’d react like that!” Frankie continued to laugh at you, “And besides you looked cute!”

“That is not an excuse!” You exclaimed, cheeks heating up at his compliment, “Oh Babe, it's so beautiful,” You sighed happily. You pulled your phone from your jeans and took pictures through the truck window. They’d come out blurry and scratched, Frankie knew that. Then he had an idea.

“Do you want to pull over to take a proper photo?” He asked. Your mom had recently given you her old polaroid camera, the one she used when you and your siblings were younger. Having been there as a stop on the road trip already, it was sat in your bag waiting to be used. Here would be the best location to start, he thought. 

“Really? What about your schedule?” Ever the military man, Frankie liked to have a plan and stuck to it religiously. You’d been on the road for two weeks, he had planned every moment down the minute. He’d refused to stop at rest stops, despite if he himself needed to pee, all in the name of the schedule. You were surprised he was allowing the break. 

“Baby I can allow five minutes for a photo I’m not a complete hard ass,” He chuckled, “there's a stop point up ahead, I’ll pull over there and you can take some,”

You cheered and began to root around the stuffed backpack in the footwell to find out the camera. Frankie pulled the truck up ahead a few meters, parked and you jumped out eagerly.

“Fuck me it’s hot,” Outside of the cool AC in the vehicle, the air was dry but scorching hot. You could practically feel the soles of your shoes melting to the tar as you stood on the road. 

“It is a desert,” Frankie said, looking around at the expansive nothingness.

“Really? Would never have guessed!” You stuck your tongue out at him, he copied and you quickly snapped a photo. Frankie pouted and reached for the paper as it printed but you were fast and slipped the photograph in your pocket before he could get it and ruin it. 

Frankie wandered around the truck, you walked a few paces in the opposite direction enjoying stretching your legs. You’d been driving for eight hours, even if you had been asleep for the last two hours, your legs were cramped up. You stretched them out as you walked through the red dirt, watching your sneakers slowly become red stained too. You snapped a photo of Frankie leant against the truck staring off into the distance, a photo cliffs in the distance and then...

“Ah gross there's a skeleton!” You exclaimed. A half rotted carcass lay on the side of the road, bones pale under the beating sun it had been there for a while. It used to be a bird, though its feathers were gone. You stepped closer to it to get a better look.

“Don’t go closer to it!” Frankie said, walking over to you to look at it too.

“What? It’s already dead, it’s cool!” You peered at it, gagging as the smell of rotting flesh hit you. You retreated back to him and wrapped your arms around his waist as you took in the expansive desert surrounding you. 

“I do worry about you sometimes,” He teased you. 

“As you should, baby,” You grinned and kissed him quickly. “Take a picture of me, I’ve got loads of you,”

“Watch for cars,” Frankie warned as you stepped into the middle of the road. 

“Somehow I think I might see them,” You joked, it was clear from miles around you. You stood in the road and posed for the photo, waiting for a moment before calling back, ”Did you take it?”

“If you stop moving!” 

“I’m posing!” You laughed, Frankie raised a brow. “Fine I’ll hold still for you, slow poke,”

“Got one,” He said after another couple seconds. You sighed and jogged back over and took the developing photo from his fingers. You smiled, it was a really nice photo actually. 

“That’s cute! You are a surprisingly good photographer,”

“What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” He smiled proudly. 

“That you are,” You pressed up on your toes and kissed him on the lips again, “I’m going to take a couple more and then I will be back in the car and we can get to Vegas!” You sang, doing an excited dance at the thought of finally getting to your destination. Frankie cheered too and laughed heartily before giving you ass a little tap and letting you go. 

He watched you wander about in the wilderness ahead, ever the adventurer. Unlike him, you didn’t really know the harshness of the world. You knew the things he had done, the things he’d seen, but only through stories. You weren’t hardened to the world like he was, like he used to be. Pope always teased him that you’d turned him soft but Frankie couldn’t find fault in that if it meant he could have moments like this. Usually a small reminder in his head would tell him to watch the back mirror, to watch for people hidden on the side of the road. Now, he didn’t think about any of that and instead watched you stride fearlessly into the unknown, smiling at the wildness taking photos as if you belonged among the rocks that surrounded you. 

Your smile was his favourite thing in the world. He would rather die than never wake up to see it again. You brought so much joy into his life, even when things were tough to hope that you would stick around long enough to smile again helped him through. Through fights, through low moments for the both of you the smile always sat as the prize for getting through the dark. It was what he dreamt of stuck in the Andes, it was what drove him home when he wanted to run away from everything. You.

The question had been his head the entire trip. He wanted to ask at a good time, a romantic spot meant something to the two of you. One memorable and meaningful. His plan was to take you out to California, where you’d met, and propose on the same beach. But each day with you in the truck was making him impatient. He nearly slipped it out when you had sex in the horrible motel you’d stayed at the night before. He was desperate, couldn’t wait another day to ask you to be his for forever. Now, watching you and your reaction to seeing it waking up from your nap. Maybe he didn’t need California, and past memories. Maybe he could make new ones here in the middle of the desert.

He watched you walk back to the truck, slipping the last polaroid into your back pocket. You opened the door and smiled at him. That smile. The decision was made. He had to ask now.

“What?” You asked, with an awkward laugh. You could tell he wanted to say something. He didn’t so you began to pack up your camera, putting it and the polaroid photos you’d taken away safely.

“What would you say if I asked you to marry me?” He asked, you stopped fiddling with your backpack and looked back up at him. Your heart fluttered in your chest. 

“What?” You were surprised. You had spoken about marriage with him, from the beginning of your relationship you had joked about being grumpy grandparents on a porch swing together. You just didn’t think Frankie was the type to just ask like this. You sat up and looked at your boyfriend. He was staring directly at you, he cleared his throat and readjusted his shirt. 

“Marry me? Tonight. In Vegas,” He said with more confidence, “Our friends are already there, I don’t have ring but we can go get one when we get there and I-,” He stopped, catching himself rambling, getting excited at the idea, “I would like to marry you,” He admitted, with a hopeful smile.

“You’re serious?” You asked, shocked at his words in the best way. Francisco didn’t speak, looking back at you with hopeful eyes. He needed an answer, “Yes of course I’ll marry you! Yes!”

“Thank fuck,” He gasped as you leaned over the console and kissed him hard. You’d kissed him a million times, but this was special, a new spark. 

“I have one condition,” You said as you pulled away. 

“Anything,” He smiled, eyes starry looking at you, so full of love.

“I want an Elvis impersonator to officiate” You tried to remain serious but couldn’t fight the grin on your lips. Frankie laughed and shook his head, “And you need to call my dad,” You said seriously, “I know it takes away from the spontaneity but he’d be-,”

“Already asked him, two weeks ago,” He interrupted you. Your jaw dropped, shocked.

“We were at their- Oh my god that’s why Dad had that stupid grin on his face when we left, isn’t it?” You gasped, hitting his arm playfully.

“Maybe,” He smirked, proud of himself now his plan had fully worked out. You gaped at him, 

“So you really planned to propose next to a decaying bird?” You looked at the skeleton again, curling your lip at it.

“The bird wasn’t in the plan,” He chuckled, turning your attention back to him with his hands on your cheeks. You smiled and leant into his touch, affectionately. 

“I love you Frankie Morales,” you whispered. 

“I love you too sweetheart,” 

---

tagging: @autumnleaves1991-blog​ the wonderful host of this awesome game

@hunters-heathen​ @peterssweetpea​ @beskarbabs​ @this-cat-is-dea​ @wille-zarr​ 

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @lifeistrangezine Chaos Theory zine!  I wanted to explore some of the branches Max went through.

…

…

…

…

“The trolley problem.” Ms. Hoida stood at the front of the classroom, writing out the words on the blackboard. Her chalk hit the board in hard taps, confident strokes that did not match her quiet demeanor. “It’s a common philosophical question, one that will be explored in the book you will read this semester.”

 She turned around, smiling brightly at the class. “The question is this: a trolley is barrelling down the tracks. In the distance, you see five people standing in your path. There’s a fork in the road and you can save them by changing tracks. But in doing so, you’ll kill a lone worker who’s on this second track. You can’t warn them nor can you stop the trolley in time. What do you do?”

 There was a long silence as no one answered. Ms. Hoida raised a brow, looking at them curiously. “Who lives and who dies?”

 Max tried not to snort. What an easy question—the answer was obvious.

 You’d pick the path with one person every single time.

-x-

 Case Chloe:

 Max crouched in the darkness, the jackhammer beating of her heart so loud she didn’t know how it didn’t give her away. The girls’ change room wasn’t that big, the white tiles echoing every sound. It was a miracle that Mr. Madsen hadn’t heard her yet.

 Pressed against the cool metal lockers, she peered around the corner. Max could barely make out his back, the light of his flashlight swinging away as he inspected every nook and cranny for an intruder. This was exactly what she expected to happen when she joined Chloe for a midnight swim: trouble. Trouble that would mar her school record forever.

 Something cold and soft touched her arm and Max covered her mouth to muffle her scream. It was just Chloe, it was only Chloe. She could still smell the chlorine from the pool as water dripped down her spiky blue hair. Max turned to look at her, her outline barely visible in the almost non-existent light. Mr. Madsen stepped forward, his footstep echoing on the tiles, and Max pulled Chloe along as she quietly tiptoed toward the exit.

 If they could just sneak out—

 “Who’s there?” Mr. Madsen growled, swinging around. His flashlight landed on them and Max felt like a deer in the headlights, waiting for the car to crash. “Chloe. Why am I not surprised?”

 “Fuck,” Chloe muttered before snarling back, “Not like you know how to have any fun!”

 Max swallowed, watching the two argue, their words growing more heated by the second. She could fix this. All she needed to do was concentrate and she could fix this. Closing her eyes, she focused on time, on the photo negatives of her past, going through them until she found one just before they chose the girls’ change room to hide in.

 “Anyone there?” Mr. Madsen called out, his flashlight shining into the girls’ change room.

 Max quietly made her way back to the pool, intercepting Chloe before she could hide. “Boys’ change room.”

 “What?” Chloe stared at her, confused, before realization dawned. “Super Max to the rescue, huh?”

 Super Max. It didn’t feel particularly heroic to use her powers like this, but she’d take what she could get.

 -x-

 Case Warren:

 “How does it look?” Sitting on the desk, Warren tilted his head back, angling his face toward the light. His hands rested between his legs, keeping him balanced as he patiently waited for her inspection.

 Max set down the first aid kit on a free desk. Luckily, the science room was empty for once, free of Brook or her teachers. Leaning forward, she tucked a lock behind her ear as she studied Warren’s face. Under the light, his skin looked paler than usual, the dark circle around his eye blacker. There was a cut on his bottom lip, dried blood crusted at the edges. “You look…” she paused, not sure what to say.

 “Beat up?” Warren suggested playfully, grinning.

 “Beat up,” she agreed, pulling back to open the first aid kit. “I can’t believe you did that.”

 “Me neither.” He chuckled before wincing. Gingerly, he touched his lip and groaned. “Man, Nathan packs a punch for a rich guy.”

 “He really hurt you,” Max warned, her eyes flickering to his black eye. She couldn’t stop staring at it.

 “I just wasn’t ready.” Raising his fists, he punched the air in front of him. “Next time, I’ll be the one punching him.”

 “Or you’ll be the one—” Getting beat. Getting shot. She’d almost forgotten about it, the bathroom shooting that chain-started her powers. Nathan was dangerous, far more dangerous than anyone realized.

 “Or what?” Warren raised a brow, staring at her.

 Max faltered, not sure what to say. “He’s just…dangerous.” Her fingers rifled through the band-aids idly. “Just…be careful, okay?”

 “Yeah, you don’t have to worry about me.” Chest puffed out, Warren winked at her dorkily. “I’m kinda like a hero, you know?”

 “Heroes don’t usually get beat up,” she pointed out. If she went back to the parking lot, if she and Chloe got there quicker or warned Warren, would he be okay? Sure, he was smiling now, but he was also in Nathan’s bad books.

 And Nathan wasn’t the kind of person who settled for getting even.

 “I’m sorry,” Max apologized. Before he could ask why, time was rewinding itself.

 -x-

 Case Kate:

 This is wrong. The single thought replayed over and over in Max’s head as she stood in front of the dormitory, staring down at the steps. A single, framed picture of Kate sat on the middle rung, surrounded by rings of candles and bouquets of white lilies. In the dark, the lights flickered, casting multiple shadows over her picture. A white bear sat at the bottom of the staircase.

 Kate likes rabbits. Max stared at the stuffed bear, fighting the urge to pick it up and chuck it over the field. But that wasn’t what was wrong, was it? Bear, rabbit, it didn’t change the fact that this was a memorial for Kate.

 That Kate was dead.

 As the thought struck her, she hunched over and covered her mouth. The acidic taste of bile lingered on her tongue, even though it had been hours since she’d last vomited. If Max turned to her left, if she tilted her head a centimeter, she could see the spot where Kate fell, hear the sickening crunch as she landed. Yellow caution tape still surrounded the spot, the cops not finished with their investigation.

 This is wrong, she thought again, trying to force her legs to move. If she went up a floor, she’d find Kate’s room. Maybe she was playing with her rabbit or reading a book. A light would spill through the cracks of her closed door, her soft humming barely audible as Max walked past. On her whiteboard would be some stupid insult and Max would erase it and doodle something cheerful.

 Somewhere, someone was crying, and Max wasn’t sure if it was her. It was automatic this time, her grip on her powers, the world slipping around her as she fought the flow of time.

  This was one fate she couldn’t allow to pass.

 -x-

 Case Frank:

 A gunshot echoed in Max’s ears as she stared at the ground, at the blood pooling around Frank’s body. It spread slowly, unevenly on the concrete. Red spots dotted her shoes.

 Next to her, Chloe dropped her gun with a clatter, her hand covering her mouth. “He…he attacked. It was the only way to protect us.” Desperate, she turned to Max, tears in her eyes. “Right? That’s…there’s nothing we could have done.”

 Max studied her. Behind them, the ocean waves calmly lapped on the beach and seagulls cried overhead. It was strange, she felt oddly peaceful as she nodded and looked back down at Frank. He stared blankly at the sky, his beloved dog next to him. “It’s okay, Chloe.” She had lived through this scene five times already and there were other, better outcomes. “It’ll be okay.”

 Her ears were the only ones that would remember Frank’s death gurgle. Her eyes were the only ones that would remember this sight.

 Next time, next time she’d say the right thing.

 -x-

 Case Max:

 Max shivered, tightening her grip on Chloe’s wet, clammy hands. In the middle of the storm, in the midst of all this destruction, her warmth was grounding. Rain plastered Max’s hair to her face uncomfortably, but she didn’t push them away, too afraid to let go.

 The wind howled around them as they stood at the top of the hill, at the edge of the cliff. The lighthouse lit the sea up every few seconds, but there was no safety in its beam. The storm was upon them and it would take more than a ray of light to rescue them.

 “Max.” Chloe’s voice was soft for once. “You know what you have to do.”

 She shook her head, keeping her eyes glued to their interlaced hands. “I can’t do anything about this. I’m not that super.”

 “Max,” Chloe repeated, tugging her hands up and forcing her to look up. “Look at the town.”

 She didn’t want to. Even after running through it, saving her classmates and friends, seeing the fire and damage, it was easy to pretend out here. It was quieter at the lighthouse, the storm drowning out every other sound, and maybe the town was fine. Maybe everything was fine and they just had to wait it out.  

 “Look, Max.” Impatience leaked into her voice, and Chloe tugged Max’s hands again urgently. “Look.”

 Despite herself, she did. She turned her head, followed Chloe’s gaze to the ruins of their town. To the hurricane landing on the shoreline, ripping buildings off the earth. From here, she couldn’t hear the screams, but she could imagine them.

 Oh, she could imagine them.

 “They’re all going to die, aren’t they?” Max muttered, watching at the storm move closer and closer to the diner. To Joyce. To Frank. To Warren and Kate and—

 “Yeah, but they don’t have to.” Chloe clutched her hands tightly, forcing her attention back to her.

 Immediately, Max knew what she meant. “No.”

 She tried to pull away but Chloe didn’t let her. Despite how slick her hands were from the rain, her grip remained tight. “Max!”

 “I can’t, Chloe! That’d mean…” Her eyes welled, her sight growing even more blurry. “That…that day, in the bathroom…Nathan, he-he—” killed you, but Max couldn’t utter the last words, couldn’t make them real.

 “I know! And I…I don’t want to die, Max!” Chloe shook her head, her voice cracking. “But I don’t want them to die too. I’m just me, you know? One person, against a whole town—it’s an easy choice, isn’t it?”

 One person versus many.

 The Trolley problem, Ms. Hoida had said, her chalk hitting the board confidently. Who would you save?

 Chloe or the town.

 Chloe or Kate, Warren, Joyce, her classmates, her neighbours, perfect strangers.

 Max could hear wheels rolling down a track, feel the cool metal of a track shaft between her hands. Left or right, the many vs the one.

 It was an easy choice.

 It was supposed to be an easy choice.

 “I…I…” Max stared up at Chloe helplessly.

 Whatever path she took, only heartbreak lay at the end.

[god-of-identity]

i’ve been listening to way too many creepypastas.

@irrelevant-proxy-bitch as promised, my creepypasta sona/oc origin story. hopefully it meets the standards, heh

Genesis Caveat Origin

or, How I Became a Proxy

That thing is watching me again.

I first noticed it after a particularly boring day of school. I hadn’t paid attention in most of my classes, instead opting to scroll through Tumblr, mess around on Discord, and listen to Creepypasta readings on Youtube. I’m probably failing most of my classes at this point. I can’t bring myself to care. I can’t bring myself to care about much of anything these days. Fiction is the only thing that piques my interest, those made-up worlds are so much more entertaining than the boring one I’m stuck living in. That’s probably why I like writing so much, I can create and destroy whole worlds with no consequence to me, I can control everything and nothing, and it can be as entertaining as I want it to be.

I’m getting off-track. Sorry.

I’d been ignored all day, as per usual, so when I was walking home and felt someone watching me, I was confused and more than a little curious. I normally walk at a fairly quick pace, but I slowed my steps a little when I felt I was being watched. I turned to look behind me, but no one was there. The sidewalk was empty. Actually, the whole street was empty, which is what caused my anxiety to spike. There were no people, no cars, even the storefronts looked empty. I turned back forward and picked up my pace again, walking quickly all the way home. It wasn’t until I’d reached my front door that I realized the feeling of that stare had vanished the instant I’d turned around.

Since then, I’ve felt that stare every time I walk home from school.

After the first day, I didn’t bother looking back. Something told me I wouldn’t be able to see anyone if I did. I was more than a bit creeped out by the whole thing. Why was someone spying on me? How long had they been watching me before I noticed? I was half-convinced I’d been singled out because I’m a textbook wallflower- no one at school would know if I went missing, and they definitely wouldn’t care. If someone snatched me while I was on my way to school, my parents wouldn’t find out until I was late getting home, and by then their frantic calls to the school and police wouldn’t do a thing- I’d probably be long gone.

I guess I was right about that part, heh. Just not for the reasons I thought.

. . .

I’m getting ahead of myself. Where were we? Ah, right.

It’s the seventh day of me being stared at as I’m walking home from school. For the past week, caution won out over curiosity, and instead of trying to spot whoever’s stalking me, I’ve just gotten home as fast as I can. I also made a habit of texting my parents when I leave school- they know how long it’s supposed to take me to get home, so if I get kidnapped they’ll know sooner. Same as when I head to school in the mornings, because I’ve been feeling the gaze on me then too.

I think part of me always knew it wasn’t human.

Shit, sorry. Focus.

Anyway, walking home. Seventh day in a row. Blah blah blah. Only this time, my curiosity outweighed my caution. Maybe I was just so damn bored of the life I had, that I’d do anything to mix things up. Actually, I’m sure that’s what it was. Suffice to say, as I walked down the eerily empty street, this time I slowed my steps instead of speeding them up. Then I slowly turned my head to look behind me. And saw it. The thing that was stalking me. I only caught half a second’s glance before it vanished, but that was enough. The details flashed in my mind. Tall, freakishly so. Black suit, torn sleeves. Something like tentacles raised up behind it. And the face- no face. At least not that my mind allowed me to see.

Then it vanished.

I spun back forwards and sprinted the rest of the way home.

The minute I got home I locked myself in my bedroom, drawing the curtains closed and booting up my laptop. A barely comprehensible entry in the Google search bar was autocorrected in seconds, and with a shaking hand, I moved the mouse to click on the images tab. Photoshopped pictures, fanart, and blurry photos stared back at me.

“I knew it.”

Like I mentioned at the start of this narration, I listen to a lot of creepypasta readings on Youtube. So I’m familiar with some of the stories. Laughing Jack. Jeff the Killer. Lost Silver. So many others. And of course, the one that started it all.

Slenderman.

“Holy fuck.”

I was being stalked by Slenderman. Why? And why hadn’t he killed me? I needed answers. Luckily, the internet is a magnificent place. I curled up in my swivel chair and started typing away, searching up everything I could about Slenderman and his proxies. Even the stuff I already knew, I read or listened to again. I took in as much information as possible. It’s said that knowledge is power, and for some things, the more you know, the more danger you’re in. But in this case, well. I’d seen him. He knew I’d seen him. What did I have to lose?

The next time I look at my clock, it’s nearly five in the morning. I’d done about all the research my brain could handle, even with my hyperfixations running at full throttle. More info probably wouldn’t matter anyway.

I’d made my decision, my plan.

Now, to execute it.

I empty my backpack of school supplies and pulled out a Sharpie. Lowering the felt tip to the fabric on the inside of the backpack, I let out a slow breath. With things like this, power always came from belief, at least that’s what the stories told me. I’d seen him, I knew it was real, it was all real. Now that I knew that, anything was possible. The line between fiction and reality is blurring.

As an author, it’s my job to break it.

I scribble a phrase on the inside of the backpack and capped the sharpie. Then I reach over to one of the books I’d stacked in the ‘bring with’ pile and drop it in.

The book hit the bottom of the bag and vanished.

I grin and reach in, hand passing through a cool sort of veil. I feel around, grabbing the book, and pull it out. It worked. It worked! I giggle, flapping my free hand in excitement. Pocket dimension backpack, success!! I start piling the books into it, all the stories I will carry with me. Then my sketchbooks and drawing supplies. My laptop, chargers, wallet, phone, anything I think I might potentially need. Even some of the food and drinks I’d snuck into my room. My blankets and pillow. Some clothes I’d grown attached too. Hell, let’s bring my stuffed animals and collection of keepsakes too, why not? It can all fit! I empty my shelf of little knick-knacks into the backpack. Nearly everything that I can lift in my room has gone into that pack.

Now… to wait.

7am. I make my move.

I stand in front of the mirror in my room, looking myself over. I’m wearing an outfit I wear almost every day. Grey jacket with a red upside-down heart on the chest, grey shorts with red on the edges, boots, a long red scarf, and a pair of fingerless gloves. The only difference is that now, all my clothes have been altered by my newly discovered ability. I’m calling it “author powers” because that’s the closest I can get to properly explaining it. Now, my entire ensemble is fireproof, waterproof, and much harder to cut through that ordinary cloth. My boots are much more comfortable and molded to my feet. Everything fits just right.

Oh, one more thing. I pick up the blue-light glasses I’d left on my desk. I don’t even have to write on them to alter them, but it’s a fun little gimmick so I might just keep doing it. A couple lines on the glasses, and they’re suddenly much more useful. They’ll function as sunglasses now too, as well as a night vision and heat-seeking mode. And they’ll stay on my face without falling off. I push the glasses up my nose and look back into the mirror.

I guess the function wasn’t the only thing I altered. My ability has a lot to do with intentions.

Instead of glasses, I’m wearing a black mask with turquoise lenses. The mask only covers the upper half of my face. But that’s not the only thing that’s changed. Instead of my hair being the usual dirty-blonde and down to my shoulders, it’s pink, shorter and sorta spiked up- at least that’s the best way to describe it. Not spiked, that’s too sharp. But I can’t find another word right now, so we’ll stick with it. It was a transformation I hadn’t anticipated, but one that I’m sure to keep. I grin, showing teeth sharper than normal.

“This is gonna be fun.”

I hear someone in the kitchen. My dad, getting ready for the day. It’s Saturday, so he doesn’t have work. We don’t have a foster kid at the moment, so mom will be sleeping in. And my sister is still asleep in her bedroom. Perfect.

I raise a hand, seeing the black claws that now extend from the ends of my gloves. I’d been wondering how I’d get to a knife, but I guess now I won’t need one. I tighten the straps of my backpack and step out of my bedroom.

“Heh. Time to raise hell.”

~

Six days later. Thirteen days since this all started.

It took me for-fucking-ever to find the mansion. Even longer to get there with the burden I’m dragging along. But here I am. It looms over me, giving off the same creepy vibe I got from my stalker. I know he’s there, and he knows I’m here. Someone will answer the door soon, I don’t even have to knock.

The smell of blood isn’t as bad as I thought. I’m glad I made my clothes stain-proof, I’d hate to have to throw away my gloves. As I’m waiting, I tap my foot idly and inspect my fingers. I have a nasty habit of biting the skin around my fingernails, which shows even with my claws. Oh, there’s blood on my claws. Not quite dry, so I just lick it off. Huh, doesn’t taste that bad either.

Someone’s moving inside. I straighten up slightly, hand dropping to my side. I nudge one of the bodies next to me with a foot, then take a half-step away when an arm flops to the ground. I look back to the door, arms crossed (carefully, to avoid cutting myself) as I wait. The door finally creaks open, revealing someone I don’t recognize. I assume it’s one of the proxies, but it’s not one that I’ve read anything about. Only one way to find out.

“You’re one of his proxies, I assume?” Even my voice is different, with the mask. I like it.

The proxy laughs. “Fuck yeah, I’m the number one proxy bitch. But you can call me Irre.” She pronounced it like ‘eerie’, which I thought was fitting.

I snort with amusement and take a moment to look the proxy up and down. She has pale blue skin, long hair that faded from black into red, and silver eyes. She’s about my height, maybe an inch shorter, with a healthier-looking build than the almost-too-skinny twig stature I see every time I look in the mirror. She even looks to be about my age too, give or take a year. She gives off a chaotic sort of presence, but in a way that’s almost difficult to perceive. I’m reminded of my school days, blending into the background. After a few people told me my stare was creepy, even though I’d just been looking at them, I didn’t meet anyone’s gaze. Apparently I had an intensity others found unsettling, but only if they noticed me. I’m reminded of that with this proxy, only with chaotic energy instead. I smile slightly. We might just get along.

“Well, nice to meet you, number one proxy bitch,” I respond with a chuckle. “Speaking of proxies. Where do I sign up? I brought a peace offering.” An idle hand gesture draws her attention to the bodies sprawled next to me. Two bodies, carved up with precise markings, and very much dead. What remains of my parents. My claws had marked them, turned their corpses into a work of art. I’d saved the blood, bagged it and put it in my backpack. I might need it later.

Irre looks the bodies over and grins. “I think you’ll fit in just fine here. Course, that’s not my decision.” She glances back at the house. “The others will get curious soon. Last chance to turn back.”

“I’m not going back. Besides, he sought me out first,” I admit. “Took me awhile to figure it out. But I’m here now.”

She nod in understanding. “In that case… what’s your name?”

I grin, showing sharp teeth. “I am Genesis Caveat.”

[dyscrasia-eucrasia]

Part 5

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Like every day, Angel woke up to an alarm at noon. And, like every day, he considered sleeping in. But he'd established that his Instagram stories started updating at 12:30, and he refused to break that routine. 

He dragged himself out of bed and over to the kitchen. He was in a bulking phase, which meant that at least he got to eat a lot of calories, but even then he had to check the notebook he kept next to the fridge to make sure he was hitting his macros. Breakfast wound up being oats made with peanut butter, greek yogurt, and protein powder. It was ugly to look at and nearly as bland, since there was no sugar to liven up the flavors. That was the sacrifice that he had to make for the sake of his physique - giving up basically everything that tasted good and living on a diet of peanut butter, chicken, and brown rice. 

After he finished choking down his breakfast, he had to take a minute to search his apartment for his wireless earbuds. He popped them in his ears, grabbed his phone, perched himself on the window sill, and proceeded to take a dozen selfies, all with slight variations, until he got the perfect one of himself turned just slightly towards the window, his earbuds clearly showing, the street outside visible but artistically blurry. It took him a few more minutes in Facetune to edit out the puffiness under his eyes and a blemish that was forming on his chin, not to mention lighten his skin and up the saturation of the blue dye in his hair. He needed a dye touch-up, but no one on Instagram needed to know that. 

It took him a few more minutes to craft his story post, carefully weighing the benefits of a filter that gave him dog ears and deciding how many emojis he wanted to use. 

Then of course there was the matter of what to say in the story. His first post of every day was a 'song of the day' post. It took him a minute to think of what song to use. Ultimately, he wound up writing: 'Listening to Bad Guy today! Love Billie Eilish!' and then took another minute to choose the exact font style, color, and positioning. 

He hadn't actually been listening to Billie Eilish. He liked her music, sure, but lately he had been on a nostalgic kick, listening to nu metal. But it wasn't #relatable to post about listening to Coal Chamber. How many people even remembered that the band existed? Certainly none of the e-boys that followed Angel's account. 

No, Angel's brand didn't work with a maligned, forgotten genre from the late 90s. He'd made a name for himself as goth-lite. Not really goth, but not an e-boy either. Rather, he was just a touch edgy, but still firmly in the mainstream gay community. 

All the more reason to keep Bacchus to himself. It was totally against his brand to go to shows with mosh pits. 

'Tell me what song you wanna see me pole dance to!' He added to the post, making a comment field for people to respond. Within seconds, answers started to pour in, mostly Top 40 sex jams. 

He spent a little longer scrolling through Instagram, commenting on videos from other dancers. Every comment was upbeat and encouraging, even if he thought their dancing was a bit shit. There was no room to be critical on social media. He had to treat everyone as if they were his best friend, even if he didn't know them. He was still building his following, and any drama could ruin that. 

His DMs were full, as usual. Most of them were thirst-DMs, a couple were shady sounding guys offering to be his manager. Nothing interesting enough to respond to. 

A notification popped up at the top of his screen from Grindr. He automatically tapped it to go to the app, only to be greeted with a blurry dick pic. He wasn't against dick pics, but they had to have a bit of effort put into them. This one was just lazy. The guy didn't even look like he was hard. 

He tapped the back button to look at the rest of his messages. A lot were dick pics. Some were asking for a hookup. One was a message from a guy he'd hooked up with a few days ago, saying that he had a nice time and asking if he wanted to get together again. 

The guy had been alright. A nice enough bodybuilder who had been surprisingly gentle and considerate during sex. But his personality had been as bland as the meal-prepped chicken sitting in Angel's fridge. Angel knew he could do better. But it never hurt to have the guy on-call as backup if he felt the need to get laid right away, so he snapped a selfie and sent it to him, with a short note that simply said, 'I had fun!' 

With that, he'd had enough social media, and it was almost time for his workout, anyways. 

Thirty minutes later, he met with his personal trainer. He paid a hefty fine for one of the best trainers in the city, someone he trusted to help him sculpt his physique without making comments about trying plastic surgery. His trainer was cute, nice, and painfully straight, which was something Angel had specifically looked for. He didn't want to be distracted by a guy who may or may not be interested in fucking. 

Like always, working out kicked his ass, and like always, he took a sweaty selfie in the locker room mirror with his shirt lifted to show his abs and posted it on his Instagram story. 

His day was far from over, though. He had to stop by the smoothie shop and take a photo of his smoothie - milk, whey powder, greens, banana, and peanut butter - and then go out and take photos around town until he found something that made it look like he was doing something interesting that day. He eventually found a corner of a building that had been tagged with a dozen Mothman stickers and snapped a selfie in front of it, captioned it 'Hanging out with my fellow spooky kids!' and posting it to his main Instagram. 

And then the boredom set in. He didn't really have anything planned for the day, and he still had plenty of time before he had to go to work. Sure, he could go home and put on some makeup and take artful thirst-trap selfies, but he'd done that so recently. He didn't want to make his Instagram nothing but thirst-traps - he had to make sure he was attractive to multiple types of brands if he ever wanted a sponsorship. 

The thing was, trying to be an Instagram star was lonely. He had friends, but they were either work colleagues - and thus rivals - or other micro-influencers. All their conversations were about collabs and SEO and ways to boost engagement. To outsiders he no doubt looked like he lived a lavish and incredibly fun lifestyle as a stripper, but they didn't see the day-to-day boredom or the awkwardness behind running into people who knew him from the club out in broad daylight. 

He wanted someone to talk to who wasn't a part of all that bullshit. 

Of course, as soon as he had that thought, he realized that he wanted to talk to Demie again. 

He wasn't sure if he should. He'd just called him that morning, after all. 

It wasn't that he was worried about coming off as desperate, but more that he was worried about scaring Demie off. He was absolutely certain that Demie was gay, but he was also sure that Demie was a country boy, and country gays were different from city gays. Country boys had such an endearing gee-shucks quality about them, like they were trying so hard to be beer-drinkin', truck-drivin' bros, but they were just a little too soft-spoken and shy for that. 

Demie - from what Angel could tell - was a guy who wanted to be cool to other men but who was also painfully nervous around them. 

It was absolutely adorable, and Angel wanted so badly to get him into bed. 

But getting that kind of guy into bed was a challenge. It was like hunting a deer. Move too fast or too loudly, and he'd run off into the woods. 

Or so Angel assumed. He'd never actually gone hunting. That was too much a white person thing to do. 

Fuck it, he decided. Demie was the first real connection he'd made in a long time. And it wasn't like he was asking for a hookup. He just wanted to talk. 

He settled onto a bench where he could still see the Mothman stickers and dialed Demie's number. The phone rang with no answer. No shit, it was a Monday afternoon. People with normal 9 to 5s worked at that time. 

Well, at least he could leave a message and give Demie his number. He realized he'd never actually told Demie how to contact him. 

Eventually the answering machine picked up. "You've reached Demie and Elaine," Demie's voice said. "If you're trying to sell us something we don't fucking want it. If you're trying to get on our property, we have guns and we're not afraid to fucking use them. Bye." 

"Wow, your answering machine is pretty aggro," Angel said. "This is Angel, but the way. I realized I didn't give you my number. So, y'know, just in case you want to get in touch…" 

He left his number and hung up. He sat staring at the Mothman stickers a little longer. He kind of wanted to send a picture of them to Demie, since Demie in a way reminded him of a cryptid - shy and kind of elusive. But of course, he couldn't, since Demie didn't have a cellphone. Still, he took a non-selfie picture of them anyways. Just in case he got to hang out with Demie sometime.

[sydkn3e]

Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

“Had a damn good run, didn’t we?”

They’re the first words that either of them have spoken in hours.

Cas shifts in his seat. He reaches down, squeezes Dean’s hand. It’s frail, a little wrinkled, thin skin spread across sharp bone. He swallows; Dean hears his throat click. He looks up at him, furrowing his brow.

“We did,” Cas says finally, meeting his gaze. Those same wide blue eyes, the same look, even after all these years. Like Dean’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

Dean gives him a smile, dropping his gaze to the bedside table when Cas smiles back. An old photo stares back at him, one that had taken them several tries to get right, with Dean struggling to set the timer and Jack hardly ever looking at the camera. They’d finally gotten one, though, of the four of them, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, smiles on all their faces. Cas and Dean in the middle, Sam to Dean’s right, Jack to Cas’s left. Dean’s gaze hovers over Sam.

“He knows?”

Cas nods.

Dean swallows. “He’s good?”

Cas leans forward in his chair, laying his other hand on top of Dean’s. “He’s happy.”

“Happy.” Dean huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over his chest. “I’ll be damned.”

“It’s the very least what you both deserve.”

Dean closes his eyes, breathing in deep and letting it out slowly. He thinks of Cas. Of the day they saved him from the Empty. The day Chuck gave him his powers back. The day they said secret vows to each other one night after a rugaru hunt, and Sam’s knowing smile when they’d returned home.

He thinks of Jack. Of the first time he ever drove the Impala. The first time he went on date. He thinks of his inquisitiveness and kindness. He thinks of how the three of them raised a kid seemingly pre-destined for evil to be one of the most empathetic people he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.

He thinks of Sam. Oh, does he think of Sam. He thinks of the Sam he saved from the nursery all those years ago, the Sam who ditched school and a loving girlfriend to help his family. He thinks of the Sam who saved his life numerous times. The Sam who beat Lucifer. The Sam who saved the world.

Sam died peacefully in his sleep just a few short years ago, with his wife by his side. He was happy. Dean was happy for him.

Dean opens his eyes. Cas looks at him, and he knows. They both do.

“It’s time.”

Cas lets out a shaky breath. “Yes.”

Dean blinks up at him. Cas’s eyes are glassy, his lips slightly parted. He looks the same as he always has, the same as he always will. A picture frozen in time.  

“You gonna be there when I wake up?”

Cas’s face contorts, eyebrows drawn together, eyes downturned in the corners. He tilts his head, leaning in closer, holding Dean’s hand between his own and pressing it to his lips as he speaks.

“Of course.”

Dean smiles and squeezes Cas's hand. He closes his eyes, and finally lets himself sleep.

----

When he opens his eyes again, Dean squints against a bright light. It fades slowly and he blinks, chasing away the black spots in his vision. There's a old door, light streaming underneath, knob old and tarnished. He reaches out it, turns it, and steps inside.

It's Rocky's.

Soft music from the jukebox fills the space, but Dean's focus is drawn to the man sitting at the bar, two chilled beers open in front of him.

Sam turns, laying an arm across the bar. He looks like his old self, devoid of wrinkles and gray hair. He smiles, sliding one of the beers to the stool beside him.

“There you are. We've been waiting.”

Dean's breath hitches and he swallows. Something in his periphery catches his eye and he looks over, seeing his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. His meets a wide- eyed gaze, a smooth face with faint freckles. A face he barely remembers. A face he hasn't seen in forty years.

He slowly reaches up, watching his reflection, and touches his cheek with a hard bob of his Adam’s apple. The skin feels as smooth as it looks, with some peach fuzz to go with it. Dean takes a step back and looks down at himself, almost laughing when he sees his old body. He’s wearing clothes he hasn’t worn in ages, old hunter flannel with jeans and thick boots. Dean feels...young, light, like him again. His hands look strong, not withered and trembling with the effort just to hold a damn cup of coffee. Dean almost wants to unzip himself just to see-

“Dude, do not look at your junk with me here,” came Sammy’s voice again.

Dean snaps his head up, blinks, and grins. It’s a little wobbly, and his eyes are blurry, but he walks up to his little brother slowly and stops just a few feet from him. He looks at him- really looks at him- and swallows past the lump on his throat. So many memories come rushing back his knees almost buckle. His death had been hard, of course, but not surprising. Few hunters got to grow old like they did. Settle down. Have families. Sam passing in his sleep had been a miracle.  

Dean finally slides into the barstool next to Sam and wraps his fingers around the beer. It’s cold and Dean bets it never gets warm.

“So,” he says, voice rough and unsteady, “this is…”

“Heaven,” Sam nods, taking a casual sip of his beer. As if he isn’t sitting in a bar in Heaven, looking 40 years younger, in a bar that doesn’t really exist. Then again, he’s had some time to get used to this.

“You, uh…” Dean licks his lips, running his thumb over the cool glass of the bottle. “You said ‘we’. Who, uh…”

“Everyone,” Sam chuckles softly, setting his beer down with a quiet thunk. “Bobby, Charlie, Kevin, Jo, Ellen, mom...dad.” He shrugs and turns in his seat, bracing an arm over the bar. “But I wanted some time with my brother first.”

Dean clenches his jaw and nods, his throat bobbing. He can’t think of all their faces right now. It’s too much and of course Sam knows that. Knows he wouldn’t have been able to handle all of them at the start, at once. That’s the real reason Sam insisted he go first and Dean is grateful his brother knows him so well.

“How are you...here?” Dean asks, finally looking up, taking in the face he hasn’t seen in years. Decades. “I thought in Heaven everyone stuck to their own little piece of paradise.”

Sam shrugs, rapping his knuckles on the worn wood of the bar. “Let’s just say you have it in with an angel who apparently has a lot of pull around here. Plus, I think Chuck kinda owes us one.”

Dean’s eyes suddenly glance around sharply, searching for that familiar blue tie and trench coat. Cas isn’t there, though, and Dean tries to push away the flutter of panic in his chest. Cas promised he’d be here when Dean “woke”. He’ll be here.

“Sammy, it’s…” Dean huffs and scrubs a hand down his face, then finally pulls Sam into a tight hug. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Sam says roughly, patting Dean on the back hard. The hug probably lasts longer than it should, but fuck if either of them care.

“How-how you been?” Dean asks, pulling away and finally taking a chug of his beer. It’s perfect.

“Really...really good,” Sam laughs, tucking some hair behind his ear. Dean doesn’t have it in him to poke fun at the length. Yet. “I kinda thought I’d get bored, you know? But...I dunno, man. It’s nice to just...be. Peaceful. Nice to know it’s finally done for us. Whatever happens down there...it’s up to the next generation now.”

Dean nods in understanding. Despite them “retiring”, a hunter never really stops. They slow down, sure, but never stop until their bodies just physically couldn’t keep up anymore. Or something ate them. Either way. Sammy and Eileen had married, moved into a beautiful house, had a kick-ass daughter and a dog. But even through that, Sam had still helped out where he could. Researched cases for other hunters, found cases and hunters to take care of it. Even joined a case every once and a while, but that had been rare.

Dean had taken longer to pass the mantle, so to speak. Habits die hard and all that. Him and Cas took over the bunker, made it a sort of way station and safe house for any hunter- or victim- in need. It was Cas’s insistence that finally made Dean give up active hunting. It had been surprisingly easy once he did. Domesticity had never been something Dean ever thought he could have, but with Cas...well, the angel always made things easier. And it helped that Cas always found interesting ways to keep Dean occupied.

He had always felt a bit anxious, though. Waiting for the next apocalypse, the next big bad to come and fuck everything up. Sam is right. It’s nice to know he’s done now. He can rest, knowing that all those nasty monsters aren’t his problem anymore.

“You think we taught him well enough, then?” Dean asks, spinning the bottle against the wooden bar.

“He's got this,” Sam says reassuringly. “And even if we didn't… Cas is helpin’ him. When he needs it.”

“Cas.”

“Yeah.” Sam looks over at him, tapping a finger against his bottle. “He was with you, there at the end, wasn’t he?”

Dean looks down at his glass and smiles, huffing a laugh. “Yeah. ‘Course he was.” He raises his head and catches Sam’s eye, finding his brother smiling softly at him. Dean coughs once and clears his throat, looking back down as he fingers the Cosmic Cowboy label on his bottle. “He, uh...he said he’d be here.”

“Dean.”

Dean snaps his head up, and there he is.

Cas is standing at the other end of the bar, with a case of Grackle stout in his bare arms. He’s wearing a Rocky’s t-shirt and jeans, his hair tousled and swept to the side in the way Dean had come to love over the years.

Dean slides out of his seat, grinning.

“Cas.”

Cas smiles widely, complete with eye crinkles, and sits the case on the top of the bar. Dean starts over to him and Cas rounds the bar, his arms wrapping around Dean’s waist when Dean throws his arms around him.

“It’s really you,” Dean murmurs into his neck, eyes swimming.

“I told you I’d be here.”

Dean swallows and closes his eyes. He thinks about how he’s never felt more at home, more content, more happy than he does at this very moment, finally getting to live peacefully with his brother and the love of his life. With all the people that ever made his life worth anything.

With the person who made him realize his life was worth something.

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean lets out a gasping sob masked inside a laugh. “Love you too, Cas.”

Dean pulls back and touches a hand to Cas’s cheek, then claps him on the shoulder, squeezing softly. He looks back at Sam and runs a hand down his face, wiping away stray tears. He quirks a smile, tilting his head.

“End of the line, eh, boys?”

“I like to think of it as the beginning,” Cas says sagely, pressing his lips together into a smile when the brothers look at him.

Sam smiles, cheeks dimpling, and shrugs. “Nothing ever really ends, does it?”

Collaboration with my cowriter and soulmate @deanmon69 🖤🖤

[stillgotme]

HELLO EVERYONE ok i’m finally doing this after like 84 years lmao

SO yeah several people in the past few months have asked me about my editing process and i said that i’d hopefully do it after gen 2 stuff and since i’m taking a break from gen 2 and wanna stall bc returning to gen 1 will be painful, ya girl got her ass to go through with it. keep in mind, this tutorial is for people who already know the basics of photoshop. if you don’t there’s many tutorials online that’ll help beginners. i’m gonna be editing a pic of val and chance all dressed up and ready to crash a prom to get lit with their homies maggie and eli

*rosanna pansino voice* LET’S GET STARTED

so i use reshade and i believe the version i have is 3.0.7 or something idk but it’s 3.0 and i switch between 3 presets that are my own. the one i use the most started with pickypikachu’s cinematic preset as a base.

now, i know not everyone has reshade, but there’s still a way you can mimic the DOF effect with photoshop. when my stubborn ass edited everything myself all i did was duplicate the photo, apply field blur and adjust the bokeh lighting, added a layer mask and with a brush using the color black, i “colored” in what i didn’t want to be blurry and BOOM ya got that DOF goodness

so for DOF i use either the marty mcfly shader or the matso shader and even both, like in this case. i also love that sweet mxao bc ooh yess them SHADOWS. but unfortunately bc i’ll never ever let go of alpha hair and you’ll have to rip them away from my cold dead hands, ya get this shit.

the dof and shadows cutting through the hair making it look ugly and blurry and just all around BLECH

so when taking screenshots, i take two photos. one with the dof and mxao and another without those shaders

now i open both pics in photoshop and layer the photo with the effects over the one without

ok this is totally optional and you don’t have to do it but i like to crop my photos and the preset for my cropping dimensions is 1150 x 705 bc that’s what i’m going to resize my photos to (w/ 300 resolution). again, totally optional, you don’t have to do this part but i do.

so now i add a layer mask to the top layer

next i select the brush tool and choose whatever brush i wanna use. i usually switch between these two brushes depending on what i need at the moment. and make sure the color you’re painting with is black.

and now just “paint” over the ugly parts to erase them. depending on your photo this can sometimes take a while, but hey ya get that dof and beautiful alpha hair. i also take this time to erase some of the blurriness that forms around my sims from the dof effect

right click on the layer and select “merge down” and i’m left with this. obviously, you see some parts that aren’t blurred anymore but i just fix it with the blur tool at 100% opacity, zoom in on the unblurred edges and blur them in with whatever brush i choose. i personally choose the one with hard edges and i make sure the brush size is very very small. this part’s also a lil time consuming so ya gotta be patient.

doesn’t that look better? now it’s time to get to the actual editing lmao. first, click layer > background layer to make it a background. this is necessary for me bc of the photoshop action i use.

so in order to give my pics that “crisp” look, i first reduce noise and these are my default settings

then i do topaz clean

then smart sharpen

then i use the liquify tool bc sometimes there’s jagged edges on the shoulders, elbows, chins, etc. that i wanna smooth out. i also use this to adjust facial expressions, like for this i wanna make the smiles curve up a lil bit more bc chalerie are in love and happy  

now this is the part where i kinda nitpick bc i’m a perfectionist lmao like i clean up some lines on val’s arms and fix that weird spot on the collar of chance’s shirt, all that small stuff people wouldn’t notice but I DO so i fix it

alright now it’s time for me to draw hair! again, this is optional and i understand not everyone has a tablet or likes drawing hair so skip this if it ain’t your thang. first add a new layer for the hair.

i like to add extra hair to make it more full or fix clipping and “highlights” to kinda emphasize the lighting effects i’ll do later and i usually go with a lighter color of the hair for the highlights OR i do the color of the lighting. in this case i’m just going with a very light brown color. this brush is from this set by castrochew and i have the opacity at 100% and size at 3 px.

this is what it looks like after i draw all the hair. and for the highlights i always reduce the layer opacity to 50-60% or even less than that depending on how subtle i want them to be. after that, i merge them all down.

now it’s time to do all the shading and highlighting. make sure you do it all as separate layers, too. even tho i use mxao it still doesn’t do enough for me, so i always add shadows and i recommend you use dark brown for the shadows as black is a a bit too dark especially when you’re adding shadows around the faces. like y’all don’t want it to look like your sims put mud on their face. trust me guys i contour my face.

now take a hard edge brush and draw where you wanna add shadows

apply gaussian blur and erase any excess “shadows”  then reduce the layer opacity to your liking. now keep doing that in other areas where you wanna add shadows. it all depends on the picture and i really just use my general knowledge of how lighting and shadows work. remember, make sure each shadow and highlight you add is a separate layer!

for highlights, use a light color, a soft edge brush, change the brush opacity to 60% and change the layer mode to “soft light”. like with the shadows, just paint whatever you wanna highlight, gaussian blur, reduce layer opacity, etc. then after you’re done shading and highlighting, merge all the layers down.

then to enhance the highlights even more i use the dodge tool with the exposure at 25% and paint over all the highlighted areas

so this is how it looks after i did all the time consuming stuff and now it’s time to play with COLOR YEAHHHHHH

this is the action i’ve been using forever and it’s a ride or die, always got my back, never fails me, always there when i need it. all i gotta do is click on that and press the “play” button and everything’s beautiful and colorful and all my problems seem to go away and suddenly the your lie in april soundtrack is playing the background

but most of the time i untick the “curves” layer from the action as it can be too bright for me and i just adjust the curves of the image to what i prefer.

now it’s my favorite part! time to add that good-ass LIGHTING and since i went crazy with the lights for the background, it’s gonna be fun to do this one hehehe. ok so first duplicate your image and then choose the color of the lighting you want. for this pic, i want the lighting to be a nice light warm yellow/orange color

now for the brush mode, choose “linear dodge (add)” and change the opacity to 35%-45% or hey even higher if ya wanna go bright as fuck. and get a soft edge brush and make it big. like fucking BIG. you see the size i put it at? yeah, make it big bc we want that beautiful shit EVERYWHERE

YEAH DAS DAT SHIT I LIKE. keep painting over areas ya wanna see glow and even paint over the same area twice to make it brighter. hell, don’t just stop at one color. add other colors of light if ya want. add some pinks or blue or purple, adjust the brush size, go crazy. BLIND EVERYONE.

buuuuuuut with all the sweet lighting, it tends to make your pretty pic look all washed out and also lighting doesn’t always work that way. and that’s why i told y’all to duplicate your image bc we’re gonna add a layer mask again and with a soft edge brush you gotta erase some of that lighting. change the brush mode back to normal, put the opacity at 100% and make sure your brush is black and get rid of what you need to. but what’s good about this is you don’t have to be perfect and it’s ok if there’s still some lights on your sims bc now it looks like the light is shining on them awwww. now merge that layer down

now color balance! i like to enhance the red, magenta, and blue most of the time but as always it all depends on the photo and what your preference is.

all that’s left to do now is change the image size. i change the resolution to 300 ppi (it doesn’t really do anything but like it’s become a habit of me to do it so i do it idk) and make sure if you’re making your image smaller, you apply “bicubic sharper” so your image stays sharp when you change the size

AND THIS IS THE FINAL PRODUCT.

so this is my editing process and i hope some of you learned some stuff from this. also please keep in mind that i also encourage y’all to do your own spin on things when you edit. i’m all for taking tips from others and learning cool new tricks but develop a style that fits YOU. eventually you’ll find it and i know that you’ll end up creating something amazing that shows how unique and lovely you are.

anyways, i’m so glad i finally got this done. love you guys 💖💖💖

[nightmaretyrantvantas]

Gracie lucio writing wips if any of you were curious(to perhaps be posted soon)

Normal universe writings

She looked into Damian’s eyes uncertainly, briefly convince he was trying to prank her. There was no way he was deciding now, in a locked cell in a mission gone so wrong, tied together and both hazy from injuries, was the best time to talk about their feelings.

Even though his eyes were a little glazed over from either the pain of the head injury and stab wound or the small delirium of his slight blood loss, they were stubbornly determined and fierce as he leaned his face closer to hers. She caught a wisp of his shampoo from how close they were and ‘oh sweet moon goddess he’s fucking serious’  now was NOT the time for her to get all flustered this was a serious situation and she needed Damian to be more focused and maybe a tad more lucid.

~~~

“ Hey Dick?” The thirteen year old’s companion gave her his attention from his position beside her as her reading cushion, the two of them having curled up after a long patrol in the rain on a self made nest of blankets and pillows beside the lit fireplace. The bright blue eyed boy smiled and rested his chin on top of her head from where it was nestled against his shoulder. 

“ Yeah Gracie?” She took a small breath and glanced up at him while setting aside her book. She had been reading and re-reading the same sentence over and over again for the past half hour, deep in thought and decided to banish any negative ones right away. She reached out and found his hand, gripping it tight seeking a comfort he gave by twisting his body so she rested against his chest.

“ You’re always going to be my best friend right?” He smiled at the question and and chuckled softly.

“ Of course silly. Best friends forever. We promised after all.” She was quiet for a moment and looked ahead of her.

“ So...we’ll always be together right? You...you wont leave me like everyone else right...?” The only sound for a few moments was the sound of the rain pattering on the window and the snap and crackle of the fire. Dick’s other arm wrapping around her in a hug as he squeezed her hand.

�� I’m not leaving you. We’ll stay together...no matter what.”

~~~

I heard the safe house door open and I looked up tiredly from the couch, huddled up in the smoke scented leather jacket that was much too big for me to look at the tall man I considered my friend.

“ J-jason...” He gave a sigh and put out his cigarette in a nearby ash tray and sat beside me, ruffling my hair.

“ Dont worry kid, my buddy Roy is out there now diverting anyone who possibly followed us. From now on, until we hear the signal from Dickie, you are officially dead and off the grid.” I nodded and leaned into his hand almost desperate for affectionate physical contact. I was cold, tired, and shaken from the thought a silver bullet had almost pierced my heart a second time if it hadnt been for Jason and Roy. He didnt say anything about the way I pushed into his hand like he didnt mention the way I moved closer and curled into his side for comfort, trembling inside the warm confines of his jacket. All he did was ask what kind of take out I’d want for dinner so he could text Roy to pick some up on his way back, as he was starved but too lazy to go out himself at the moment. I shrugged meekly and stayed quiet, soon falling asleep in his scent and already missing my bed back in the tower...

~~~

“ aaaaachoo!” The ten year old lycran whimpered in pain as she shivered under her quilts and blankets, sniffling through her stuffed up nose pathetically. She felt like she was DYING even as the small relief of a cold rag was laid on her burning forehead. She looked up blearily expecting to see the tall grandfatherly figure of Alfred above her checking on her and gave a slow blink when she saw Bruce’s even taller, bold, blurry shape beside her bed. She felt his big worn hand against her cheek and leaned against its coolness gratefully, cheek scratching against his callouses soothingly. There was another hand that patted her messy, tangled mop of hair and smoothed it down a little. He was talking to her but she was so tired she barely caught any words. 

“ Bruce? Will she be ok...?” Dick’s voice floated into her ears and she opened her eyes, not even realizing she had shut them in the first place. Her eyes drooped and landed on on her concerned partner who now accompanied the large adoptive father figure, peering around his frame to look at her with wide worried blue eyes. She tried to tell him she was fine but the moment she opened her mouth a surge of fiery pain shot through her throat and made her hack and cough violently, leaning her now throbbing head further into her pillows with a miserable groan after.

“ Im not sure yet Chum...we cant have a normal doctor check her out so im trying to find someone trustworthy to examine her. For now, we should let her rest. If you’d like you can help Alfred bring her things while I go out looking for a doctor.” 

~~~

"Here."

She looked up at Damian a bit startled then down at the box he held in front of her. She blinked once, then twice as she examined the white box and the various holes in the side and the neat pale green bow keeping it tied shut before looking back up at the boy wonder.

"Um...this is sweet of you Damian but...my birthday is a few months away..." He grunted and stepped into her room, noting how it was a little disheveled and unorganized with case works and evidence and clues, just like the rooms clearly drained owner. As Damian looked at the shorter girl he held back from saying anything her extra messy hair or the dark smudges under her eyes from all nighters. He did sigh at her hesitance though.

"Im well aware. I just...i...just open it already." She rolled her eyes a little but obeyed his command nonetheless, undoing the ribbon and pulling the lid off.

She didnt know what she expected to be in there. The past two all nighters mustve been screwing with her to have not recognized the scent coming from the box. She dropped the lid to the ground and put a hand to her mouth in surprise.

"I...i found him wandering outside a shelter in Gotham...when i brought him back in they said he was an abandoned emotional support animal that had slipped out the door. I thought of you so i...filled out the papers and got him his shots and everything. I figured after all the hassle months ago and the extra work loads youve been taking on to help out Grayson and Father...perhaps a supportive companion would be beneficial to your mental health..." She looked up at him as he almost over explained his gift and she looked back into the box, slowly reaching in and lifting the year old black and brown Maine coon kitten from the box and into her arms. The movement awoken him and the kitten meowed at Gracie and sniffed her before purring contently and getting cozy again. The sound of the purring and the feeling of the cat's warmth and breathing body and soft fur made her heart warm and her stress ease away like the tide. She knew he didnt just find this beauty by chance, he likely searched shelters and adoption centers for him. She looked up at Damian and happily moved forward and kissed his cheek with a smile.

"Thank you Damian i love him! Youre too kind" he shrugged but smiled at the two as she cooed softly and cradled the fluffy beast kissing his little head. He knew the cat was something she needed to keep from falling into that dark place, a co.fort and a responisiblity that would keep her from restarting that cycle.

He cleared his throat a little and reseized her attention.

"What will you name him?" She hummed a little and got a playful little grin that made him narrow his eyes.

"I think...I'll name him Robin."

~~~~~~~

Young justice au story wips(The main ship for her in the young justice universe is Dick X Gracie) 

“ You cant just--Are you even listening to me?” Gracie dragged herself into a sitting position and leaned close to the half-kryptonian with a bitter but playful grin.

“ Nope. Not a word Connor. Im afraid I was much too busy staring deeply into your handsome eyes like in the scene of a romance novel. So I missed every single word.” He stared back at her but snorted out a laugh at her joke, rolling his eyes with a smile of his own. The smile made her relax, feel more at ease with the situation. She couldnt help it, and she lifted her camera up and aimed.

“ Connor look over here with that smile!” He turned his head still smiling, one eyebrow quirked curiously as she hit the button and the camera flashed with a beep and a blink. She lifted her head from the viewfinder with a much more joyful grin, looking rather pleased with herself.

“ Now THAT one is getting printed professionally, or else no one will believe its real.” They both shared a small laugh and she set the camera aside to lean against him, shoulder to arm while she fiddled with the photo settings. They settled into a comforting silence for a few long moments

“ She isnt that bad....or bad at all really. Under different circumstances we would be good friends by now...” She finally spoke up, not taking her eyes off her camera.

“ But?”

She gave a sigh and leaned her head against him in exasperation before looking up to him.

“ Its not her. Its...It’s all the conflicting and difficult feelings that arise when I see her and Robin together...getting so...close and dare I say flirty. Sometimes seeing it makes me downright sick to my stomach and I just need to leave the room.” There was a long silence and she opened her mouth to apologize for bringing up feelings. But she never got the chance.

~~~

“ Dont...you win...you win ok? I surrender.”

The words were resentful, but defeated as Gracie aka Alpha Wolf dropped her staff and utility belt to the ground and raised her hands in surrender. She stared at the tall armed man that stood a few feet before her, the monster that has haunted her every step and shadow since the death of her parents. She stared into his apathetic eyes with her head no longer held up proud, but hung almost submissively with hateful eyes. She ignored the any reasoning against her decision, ignored the sounds of her pained teammates coming back to their senses and realizing what was going on.

“ Alpha dont!”

“ A-alpha d-dont do it!” 

She grit her teeth and ignored their voices, ignored Superboy’s warning shout as he started to get up with difficulty. She kept all her focus on the monster in front of her, determined to protect her team, her friends, her pack. Just like she should as an Alpha. 

She never wanted this man to hurt anyone precious to her ever again. Not if she could help it. 

“P...please...you win. I give up. Kill me, capture me, do whatever. Just...please, let the others go free....its me you want not them...just let hi--them go...” The pleas burned her mouth like acid, as if she had swallowed silver and Wolfs bane.But she gave them, staring into his eyes and keeping her hands up in the air. She wouldnt let him take anyone else away from her again. Not this time. 

Not with Robin dangling in his steel grip with a gun to his temple. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tadaaaa! A bunch of my DC and my Gracie writing wips! Im working on all of these at different paces but theyre getting done! 

If there are any particular ones of these you guys wanna see published soon please do tell me in my inbox! Itll motivate me to finish it faster! You can also send new writing prompts or story ideas for me to write too! I hope you guys enjoy these little sneak peeks of future oneshots!

[thewitchqueen281]

Experiment 808 AU

Hey so I did actually have someone show some interest in this AU, but I’m awful at formatting so I'm just making a separate text post. Read about each character under the cut. A bit about the setting. It’s pretty distant future, this big lab in the middle of the city was commissioned to make a ton of super soldiers. Not knowing where to start they just... started kidnapping kids. Like from their cribs and everything. Not legal but they can like start from scratch there. By the time most of them are ten they’ve been tortured and beaten and do not want to be there. So they just escape. Because like what are they going to do to stop a bunch of kids with powers.  They run free into the city. They stay hidden in bunkers and hideouts. They are all about 15~16 ish. I haven't decided whether or not Al is still a year younger or if they are twins so, for now, its up too you. 

Anyway, enjoy these stupid teens.

Ed 

Has gills on his neck and sides, and dragonfly wings.

the wings are red and while he can fly fast can’t fly for a very long time. 

Instead of his traditional black tank top and coat, he wears one of those knit sleeveless turtleneck things with his red coat that ties around in the front.

Anyone with gills is bioluminescent underwater, he glows red in his face and all around his arms.

he wears a different outfit because it hides his wings and his gills. 

still kind of a little shit. 

knows all the other kids, is friends with most of them surprisingly. 

lives with his brother, Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeyes, and Denny Brosh in an abandoned library on the west side of the city. Because they are the kids he trusts the most.

he would live with Ling, Lan Fan, and Winry. But Ling and Lan Fan don't really live anywhere and Winry travels between all the kid's hideouts making sure they didn't break anything.

Likes knives, like really really likes knives

has like twenty on him at all times. 

he actually meets Ling by throwing a knife at him and getting really pissed that he missed. 

Roy Mustang 

Has a salamander tail, sometimes breaths a small bit of fire. 

Doesn't really like people at all. 

is four ten and has a lisp and you can pry this headcanon away from my cold dead hands. 

frequent all-nighters, whether playing video games or trying to master fire breath. 

Wears really baggy cargo pants, he likes the pockets. 

has a haircut with two very long pieces of hair in the front and kinda shitty bangs. 

he regrets this haircut. 

he’s best friends with Riza and Ed because Riza and Ed are also wild kids who won't stop him from jumping off really high places or putting bugs in Al’s tea. 

Likes lollypops, no one is sure why he just thinks they taste nice. 

huge crush on Jean Havoc from the group uptown, The others make fun of him. 

Riza Hawkeye 

Has a cheetah tail and likes to R U N

She's a very fast girl, for a long time everyone thought that was one of the abilities given to her during her time in the lab.

it's not  

she just likes to run. 

despite being a wild teen is the second most sensible one in their group. Has had to drag Roy to bed, but almost everyone has had to do that once or twice.

cant cook for shit. like really. she hates cooking shes so bad at it. 

everyone expects her to be the mom for some reason like they think she cooks and cleans. 

shed rather die, Ed cooks, they take shifts cleaning.

loves long skirts and horror novels. 

likes to think she can talk to ghosts or summon demons. 

or maybe she can. 

nobody really knows. 

Talks to herself on occasion. 

Al 

Has gills like his brother. Very small antlers as well.

glows blue underwater near his ears and around his legs. He and his brother have matching symbols on their backs.  

wears a blue hoodie to cover the antlers. 

The actual Mom Friend TM 

Enjoys tea and not having to deal with his brother and CO’s bullshit. 

for once would like to sleep in. just once. 

Would be a wine mom but he is responsible and doesn't drink while underage, unlike almost all of his friends who really don't seem to give a shit.

Sassy, like, really sassy. 

bad at hiding his emotions. 

you will know when he thinks your being a dumbass.

*looks into the camera like he's on the office* 

“Al me and the others are going to jump off the top of the building and see with we can stop ourselves.” “Good luck brother.”

Is friends with everyone and really he loves them all but goddamn. 

One time Ed dated a real shit head and you don't want to know what happened after he dumped Ed. he isn't dead but he won't be walking anytime soon.

Denny Brosh

Has Squid tentacles under his arms and fins on his legs. He glows a bright yellow underwater. 

Knits, like a lot. Every one of them has a homemade sweater from him. the others he lives with wear theirs all the time. Because they do gross things like care about one another in this household. 

Is still really good friends with Maria Ross, he wishes they saw each other more. 

can and will shock you with his tentacles, especially if you make jokes about them. 

Meme dream team leader. 

Al doesn't understand memes and Denny hurts every day because of this. 

has a bright yellow sweater that he knitted himself and then had every single one of his friend sign.

Thinks Kain Furey is super cute. Roy thinks he's super gross because Furey is an innocent Denny!

wholesome meme some days sex jokes on others. 

pretty much all the kids have pretty severe mental health issues, but Denny is one of the few who has tried to help his. 

takes anxiety meds. 

while he doesn't have any sibling this timeline he has his friends and honestly they are pretty close to siblings. 

has called Ed big brother but like everyone has once or twice. Ed doesn't really give a shit and has accepted his fate as the oldest and apparently the most brother like. 

Maria Ross 

Lots a scales, like all over her body. 

has wings but she isn't sure what animal they could be from.

they are big and scaley like her. 

Lives with Olivier, Mei Chang, Sheska, and Winry Rockbell when she's around. They live in an old dinner on the east side of town. 

Would date Sheska 100%. 

Sorta has claws, doesn't matter she enjoys painting them. 

Good friends with Olivier, actually best friends. This is a problem in some ways because Olivier and Denny don’t get along at all. 

Has a gun, only used it once or twice to protect her friends. 

she hopes she never has to use it again.

Sometimes wonders what her family would be like if she hadn't grown up in a lab. Wonders whether of not her family sold her or if she was stolen. She wonders for the other kids as well.

Breaths and cries ice. 

prefers if her friends called her Ria 

Olivier Armstrong  

This bitch got bat wings

they are fucking huge. 

she can’t really hide them so she only goes outside at night. 

she has become a cryptid. 

blurry shitty pictures of her crouching on buildings wings extended, her eyes glowing are all over forums. 

Batgirl strikes again?? 

she thinks its super funny. 

Doesn't really try to hide how she's feeling. 

most of the time she’s Arragont or amused.

Anime character tch. 

Her list of people she dislikes is bigger than the list of people she likes. 

that's a lie she loves all her friend's

she’s just bad about showing it and claims to hate them. 

everyone calls her Livi. 

she hates it but nobody cares. 

keeps her hair in a ponytail.

Mei Chang

has a cat tail, and night vision.

Please don't make any jokes. 

she doesn't want this.

People sometimes pull her tail. they only pull it once though. People learn from their mistakes.

wears a big pink coat with lots of pockets. she keeps both dead mice and her kunai in the pockets. 

Is Winrys assistant when she's around.

loves to help. is crushing on Al from the west side library. Everyone knows but Al. Ed and Ling think that is hilarious. Like it didn't take them months to get over themselves. 

Ling is her half-brother. She isn't sure how trustworthy the info is because it’s something she heard from lab technicians. 

Wants to learn to fight better but nobody wants to spar with her. 

Sit’s up at night and stares at her coffee. 

it’s cold now but she can’t get to sleep. 

Winry Rockbell 

Has butterfly wings, emperor butterfly wings. They don't make her as fast as Ed but it is faster to fly than to walk and she can fly for pretty long periods of time.

automail isn't really a thing. So Winry does general doctor stuff.

she goes between bases and makes sure that everybody is healthy. 

most of the time that isn't the case so shes pretty much always working.

Thinks Mei is a wonderful helper.  

Wears her signature tube top. doesn't travel through populated areas and definitely doesn't by day.

Butterflygirl isn't as cool as a cryptid as Batgirl so she doesn't get much coverage. 

Will still hit you with a wrench don't test her. 

She carries it and her entire toolbox because she’ll be damned if she loses time for her machines while helping out these idiots.

Dating Mothman. 

Mothman is actually Lan Fan. this joke doesn't make a lot of sense to her because Lan Fan doesn't have moth wings. Ling and Ed tell her to shut up and go with it. She rolls her eyes fondly. 

Kain Fuery 

Has ant antenna. he can send messages across radio waves because of this. makes it easy to keep up with his friends. 

Lives with Jean and Rebbeca in what they think was once a club. It's unused now but it does have an underground bunker for some reason.

He is an innocent 

(He isn't) 

keeps a picture of some dog in his pocket. 

he needs it to keep up morale. 

yes, it is just a stock photo of a dog that he stole out a picture frame at wallmart a couple years ago.

He really likes animals. Ed and Roy hate going out with both him and Al in a pair because both of them insist on stopping to pet every dog and cat or whatever animal.

Functional Bi 

Jean Havoc  

Has fins he thinks. they are like spiky and help him swim better. they are all over his back and wrap around his arms. Has gills, and he tends to glow a bluish purple.  

he lives in the club but prefers to be near the docks. 

Loves to swim

Just call him Jean

Please god just call him Jean. 

Olivier and Maria butchered his last name so bad when he first meet him that he is permanently traumatized. 

he’s being dramatic but like, that's who he is??

Disaster Bi 

Pinning? His constant mood?

Ling Yao

Red panda tail and claws. 

Loves sweet things, like so much.

Can see in the dark, loves his night vision

Thinks Ed throwing knives at him is super hot

Ed is Concerned TM 

Doesn't really live anywhere. 

bounces around the bases with Lan Fan. 

Lan Fan is actually his twin sister but they haven't told Mei that yet.

he doesn't know why people don't just know.

Climbs in Ed’s window in the middle of the night. 

freaked Ed out the first time it happened but he got used to it. 

spars on rooftops in the middle of the day. 

For some reason, nobody seems to freak out. 

Kink is love and appreciation

doesn't actually know most of the other kids. Sometimes there will just be a different kid at the base and He’ll be like cool.

Everone knows about Ling though. 

Lan Fan

She has lunar moth wings. Although Winry seems to think they are from some type of butterfly like her. Ed and Ling know the truth and call her moth man. 

She flicks their faces for it. 

loves food. thinks it must be because lunar moths cant eat, that side of her wants to eat E V E R Y T H I N G. 

Or maybe she just has a huge appetite because Ling eats a ton as well. 

has night vision as well.

Is her last name Fan? Not even she knows. 

Everyone calls her Lan Fan though. 

Spars with Ling but prefers fighting with Ed because Ling holds back. Ed doesn't.

tries so hard not to scream at her friends. 

god, she tries so hard. 

This took so long. If you want to hear about specific characters request it and I’ll make another one of these. If anyone wants to write a fanfic send it to me, I’ll be the first one to kudos that ish.  

[persephones24]

Love of my Life: Part 3

AN: Here it is, my lovely potatoes. Sorry it took me so long to post this. Hopefully it is to your liking. I am going to have an epilogue for this story. I have an request in my ask box that is perfect for the epilogue so I will combine the two. I hope you like the final part to Love Of My Life.

Pairing: Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2700

“Guys, are you sure that this is where he is keeping her.” Spencer asked looking at a map with a location circled in bright red marker. The team bustled around, strapping in their FBI vest and gun holsters, preparing for what may come when they find you. “How did you come to this conclusion.”  

The team looked at each other, contemplating on telling him. Rossi was the first to confess.

“Garcia pinpointed where the kidnapping and the phone calls came from. The three areas that the west side phone tower is where he most commonly retrieves his victims and used his phone. It took a little bit of time to find out which phone tower he used but we got him.” Spencer eye brow knitted together, shock and confusion taking over him.

“There are six different abandoned warehouses in the perimeter of the tower, we pinpointed it to be the one farthest from any main roads and access to any camp sites.”

“Are you sure this is the place where he is keeping her. It doesn’t fit his profile.”

“Reid, we have no choice. The women that you love, that we all love is missing and this is the only lead that we have. We are desperate for anything at the moment.” JJ replied, stretching her hand out towards his arm, squeezing it gently.

“Yeah, I get that. But this guy has been living in closed proximities his whole life. Any space that is any bigger will likely cause him to have mild panic attacks. There has to be another location close that he would use.”

“Well, figure it out Genius.” Morgan said, leaning against a table, his arm folded across his chest. The team sat around Spencer as they watched him work.

Spencer’s eyes scanned over the map, analyzing the landscape, looking for any indentation of unrecognizable land. Looking at ever centimeter of the map, praying that he finds what he is looking for. Until his eyes spotted a small brown speck, a small house sat to the far left side of the uncharted area, some ways away from any of the other abandon warehouses. Grabbing a colorful blue marker from the table, he circles the area.

“Marcus Leonards wouldn’t use a big warehouse to do his bidding, something smaller and comfortable would be suffice for him. There’s an old house a few miles away from the warehouse. It’s more likely for him to be there.”

Hotch looked over the map, his face scrunches up as he thought about the new found evidence. After a few seconds, he nods his head. “We leave in 2.”

They ran out of the bullpen, taking the elevator to the ground floor and to their SUV’s. Spencer quickly put on his FBI vest and gun holster, sliding into the backseat, with Hotch and Morgan occupying the front seat. Turning over the SUV, Hotch pealed out of the garage, speeding to the uncharted area where you awaited. Morgan turned around and looked at Spencer.

“Let’s go get your woman, kid.”

“Okay, break time.” Hearing the knife hit the floor with a thud, you let out a breathy sigh. Feeling the cool air hit your exposed muscles, you hiss in pain. You whimper, your body going rigid, the blood from the open sore on your back leaking in your panties, dripping down your legs and joining the dried up mud on the ground. The restraints cutting in your bruised wrist, the lack of skin becoming infected.

You took in a shaky breath, trying to get your barring, but the pain in your back was too great. You head hung low, you wanted to cry but it never came, too dehydrated to shed tears. You wanted to die, you just want this pain to be over. Why doesn’t he just kill me already? What is he waiting for? This is fun to him. The sick fuck. The bastard.

Your thoughts wandered to Spencer, he is trying his hardest to find you. You need to be strong, he needs you to be strong.

Right?

God you missed him. The cute way he would ramble of facts when he was nervous, the blush upon his face when you tell him he’s adorable. The quiet nights you shared at your house, cooking dinner for each other, drinking wine, enjoying each other’s company. Snuggling on the couch, everything and anything not a secret to each other. Even when you would self-hate on your body, he would praise you, giving you the confidence that you needed to feel good about yourself.  

Marcus pulled a chair from the wall, setting it in front of you. As he sat down, his eyes never left your lifeless face, a smirk upon his face.

“So, you’re a plus size model. I have to say that you work is superb. The photo shoot that you did for dove was breathtakingly beautiful.” Lifting your head, your eyes bore into his, the hatred for this man showing. His smirk only grew, his eyes twinkling. “No wonder I find you fascinating. The others were always afraid to even look at me. But you, you don’t even hesitate.”

“I dealt with bullies that think they could break me. Your no different from them.”

“I’m different.” His face faltered into a deep scowl, eyes burning into yours. You could feel a violent shiver about to erupt from you, but you kept your ground, not wanting to show him any weakness. But deep down inside, you were terrified. You need to buy more time; Spencer will find you. His team always finds their victims.  

“Please. You might have been bullied but you turned into one. Taking innocent women and torturing them for your own fun. How pathetic can you be?”

His chest raised rapidly raised, his anger getting the best of him. Running a hand over his face, he took a deep breath, leaning on his forward resting on his knees. You felt the anger and emotion that you been holding on to for so long coming out. You really don’t care that he will kill you, but you will get your point across. “Don’t you think that I do this for a reason.”

“I know that a troubled childhood can start it. But what really made you start killing fat women?”

Marcus chuckles, running his hand through his hair, his blue eyes softening a little. “You don’t know what I have been through. You don’t know my life.”

You scoff. “oh boo hoo. Let me get a tissue right next to the strip of skin that you pulled from my back. I was tortured by my dad when I was little, to a point where I was physically hurt every other week. But you don’t see me going around killing innocent women because they remind you of your mom. Be a human being and get over it.”

Marcus shot up from the chair, the momentum making the chair fall over. He towered over you, his face so close that you could feel his breath on your lips. His breath came out in spurts, making his chest raised and fall rapidly. His eyes were blood shot, his face is tented red, hands balled up into fist. The feeling of rage rolling off his body in waves.

“What are you going to do, hit me? You already have me hanging, a chunk of skin gone from my back. What else can you do?”

He hesitated before his face fell, and you swore that you saw tears his eyes watering. But just like his emotions, it changed back to the carefree smile.

“My mom used to burn me with an iron. Arms, legs, stomach, and back. Every piece of my flesh has been touched by that iron. And yet no one cared to question it. When she died two months ago from pneumonia, that set this killing spree off. I was so mad at her for dying so easy. All the shit that she did to me and she dies from something so simple, it’s insulting to me.”

“Insulting. To you. Wow. You’re an ass. My dad physically abused me since I was 5 years old, throwing me against wall, breaking bones, making me feel like shit. My mom never stopped him, letting him do whatever he wants to me. And then, being the piece of trash that he is, while I’m at school, he killed my mom and then himself. Everyone has problems that happened in their childhood, but they deal with it. They make things in their lives better. Make this shitty world better for you. So stop acting like a fucking spoiled brat and get your shit together.”

His usual smile upon his face fell slightly, his eyes crinkled at the ends forming deep lines. He lifted his hand, taking notice that you haven’t flinched at all. He caressed your cheek, gently. He stared lovingly at you, the expression on his face more relaxed and more genuine.

The sound of tires moving against dirt ground broke him of his trance. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head while looking at the ground. Multiply car doors closed, and the sound of a door being broken into filled the dark and dank room. Marcus ran a finger down the side of your face before taking hold of your cheek between his fingers.

“Looks like your boyfriend found us.” He leaned forward, pecking your lips with his. You fought the urge to throw up, instead you shook away from his grasp on you. “If only we met in different circumstances, I believe that we would be perfect for each other.”

“The love of my life is Spencer. Nothing can ever be as perfect as our relationship. Nothing.”

Your head became dizzy, your eye beginning to get blurry. The blood loss finally taking its toll. Is this where you are going to die? Alone with a psychopath? Alone? Without Spencer. Your heart ached, the last time you talked to him, you got into an argument over something so dumb and stupid. You never wanted to end a conversation on a bad note, unsure of the possibilities of the other dying and the last thing they remember was your argument.

You silently prayed to whoever is up there in heaven that you would see him again. Just seeing his face one last time will put you at ease. You will be ready to die.

The door to the far end of the cellar burst open and the sound of yelling filled the room. Through your blurry vision, you saw two men take hold of Marcus, dragging him away from your body.

Seeing a shadow appear in front of your eyes, you felt your head being lifted by two very soft and comfortable hands. Your eyes focused on the face that appeared in front of you, connecting with tired and red brown eyes. His face filled with relief after seeing you, tears coming down his face, he kissed your cheek softly, sobs raking through his body. And just like that, everything turned black.

You woke up to a brightly lit room, the white walls making the light even brighter. The taste of medicine in your mouth. You shifted slightly and regretted it immediately. Pain filled your limbs, making your head throb, your eyes watered. You lifted your hand over your eyes, feeling soft material on your skin. You noticed that both of your hands were bandaged up, the soft like material wrapped around your whole hand.

Surveying your surroundings, you notice that you were in a hospital, the sound of a machine beeping somewhere in the distance. You moved slightly, feeling padded material on your lower back. You turned your body a few inches, and felt the burning sensation coming from your lower back. You yelp, quickie turning your body to its side.

“Y/N. Hey, it’s okay.” Spencer came into your vision, taking hold of your bandaged hands. He pressed a button on a remote control, releasing medicine into your system. The pain in your back subsided partially, not fully going away but making it bearable.

Spencer stroked your hair, pushing some strands of hair behind your ear. He looked horrible, his eyes still bloodshot red, white streaks along his cheeks from crying, his hair having a thin layer of grease, his clothes wrinkled. His eyes scanned you’re your bruised face, the purple mark covering your nose, your swollen eyes. His eyes filled with tears again the pain of seeing you beaten up and broken becoming too much for him. Using your clothed hands to gentle wipe away his tears, you opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Taking a plastic cup from the bedside table, Spencer tipped your head back as the cool water went down your parched throat.

Spencer set the cup back on the table, he pulls up the chair he was sitting in, setting it beside your bed. He set his hand over yours, he hasn’t left your side since they found you. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, your heart fluttered, his presence relaxing you. Licking your chapped lips, you finally spoke, your voice raspy.

“What happened?”

“Um… You fainted as soon as we arrived. You uh... you went into hypovolemic shock, a condition where none of your organs were getting enough blood for them to function. We had to rush you to the hospital before it became too late. Your nose is broken but it will heal properly. The wounds on your wrist became infected, but it’s not too bad, eventually they will heal but it will take a while. Your back…” he let out a sob before sniffling, fresh tear trickling down his cheeks.  

“T-the s-s-skin that he peeled off you was too damaged and the cells died, so they couldn’t put it back. Just like for burned victims, they use foreskin to help the skin cells regenerate. But it won’t heal properly and it will leave a permanent scar.”

You inhale, holding back the tears that so desperately wanted to come out. Your career is over. The time and money that you spent modeling. Your hard work and dedication to this impossible job, one in one-million people will only make it big in the modeling industry. Ten years of sacrifices paid off and you finally got your break. All of it went down the drain in only 24 hours.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you. This is all my fault. If only I was there with you.”

“Don’t you dare do that. Don’t blame everything that that man did to me on you. None of this is your fault. None. It’s okay. This scar on my back will be a reminder that I survived a traumatic experience. Don’t be beat yourself down because of what physically happened to me. Be overjoyed that I’m a live, breathing. I’m here to stay, Spencer.”

A small smile broke out over his tired face. Standing up, he leans over you, his face coming closer to yours. His chapped lips meet yours in a sweet and tender kiss, the fear and despair that he had slowly melting away. Being overtaken with joy, delight, and love. When she was kidnapped, his whole being felt like it was going to tear apart, ripping his heart up. He felt like he fell into a dark abyss, nothing and no one could bring him out of it. But just having her here, breathing and alive, set him at ease. The love of his life is safe.  

Separating, Spencer sits back down in the chair, using the back of his hands, he wiped away his tears. Your eyes began to get heavy, the medicine putting you to sleep.

“You should get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Nodding your head, you closed your eyes. You sigh, flexing your stiff legs.

“You know what weird?”

“What that?”

“That I have men penis skin on my back.” Spencer burst out in laughter, he doubled over, holding his stomach, as tears of joy fell from his eyes.

“God, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You mumble before sleep took over you once again.

[hellyeahomeland]

“The Flag House” | Directed by Michael Klick

Right off the block, we would not be HYH if we didn’t note the hat!  In this opening sequence it is clear that Quinn is confused and beginning to remember the diner. Klick (who has been the show’s line producer since the series started) and David Klein (director of photography) choose to portray his confused state with the blurry diner as Quinn’s face enters the camera from the right.

It’s not every Sunday we see Quinn checking out a woman’s behind and, well, this just had to be included for posterior posterity. Also, note how the patron is also flirty and the background is a bit dreamy and unfocused as Quinn begins to recall Nicki and his surroundings.

The children were shown playing basketball twice and, it seems clear, there was more to it than simply setting up Quinn’s later conversation with the boy. We know that basketball is Quinn’s sport from “Separation Anxiety,” when he said, “I see you like to use potassium chlorate… but the smell reminds me of the visitors' changing room at a high school basketball game.” Who knows if Quinn ever really played high school basketball given the backstory we have for him now but it seems clear these children, happily and carelessly playing, may represent everything Quinn did not have.

Note that Klein chose to make these shots relatively colorless and stark. The tones are muted with a predominance of gray.

One of the first camera angles Klick and Klein depict of the flag house is, interestingly, from the point of view of the flag itself. One could interpret this as patriotism literally blocking our perspective, or maybe Klick and Klein just thought it would look cool!

The Works of Franny Mathison #1: “A Cat”

We’re fairly certain the set designers weren’t thinking about Laura’s cat from season five but we just appreciated Franny’s drawing (bottom left) so we threw this in. We’re wondering how many of these were drawn by the twins themselves.

The Works of Franny Mathison #2: “Very Big Mommy”

And while we’re touring the Mathison Progeny Art Gallery, any child psychologists care to ring in on the drawing above the dresser? Carrie is very large compared to a very small and very red Franny. We’re happy Carrie is smiling!

The Works of Franny Mathison #3: “Quinn & Mommy Living in a Tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G”

Franny uses the evocative color of purple to represent and link those whom she loves the most. We’re kidding, but the “C” and the “Q” in Franny’s tree are the same color. We get that the star nightlight shown early in the season was just a star but this…

maybe, just maybe

(It’s possible Franny didn’t actually draw this one but the artwork in this kid’s room is certainly not to be ignored.) 

This is pretty standard Homeland with its themes of watching and being watched. Here, however, Klick and Klein shoot Saul looking up at the camera almost like the trapped animal he is. The grey colors are almost prison-like. Saul is, narratively and physically, in a small place, a cornered man in every way.

This, too, is a fairly simple shot of Carrie coming to a dramatic realization. Carrie has a choice: seeing her child or giving a deposition in which she will compromise Dar. Situated almost perfectly between two black and white windows, we understand how she’s caught in the middle.

And, well, the videographer was just plain creepy and reminded us of all those weird side characters on The X Files. 

Okay, the letter is just starting to seem very, very weird. Dar is constantly offering, pocketing it, unfolding it. (We know of another letter that seemed to mean a great deal...) We’ve even seen the names when he was in the car last week. First, Dar, please consider email. Second, we’re wondering if there’s more to the letter than meets the eye. Is Dar trying to covertly communicate something to Keane with these names? Are they characters for next season? Any other theories?

Keane’s pose jumped out here as provocative. It’s “man spay” in every way (there are legit warnings against this pose on NYC subways in order to allow seat space for people). Some of us considered this to be a nonsexual version of Sharon Stone’s iconic Basic Instinct pose but regardless, this girl is clearly not bowing to the boys without a fight. Klick likely intended her to look masculine and dominating.

Once in awhile we must take a moment for a man with the solemn hubris and pedigree to pull off what F. Murray Abraham does here. It was a beautiful acting moment. Nothing more or less. Except, perhaps, these may be our last moments with this fine actor who has made us feel so much anger, confusion, and interest over the years.

Again, the flag house is filmed from the inside out with the boy--and, yes, we’re gonna say it--the symbolic maybe-fill-in for a young Quinn John. Quinn was looking at those boys playing basketball with much nostalgia.

It’s a dangerous game of ding dong ditch this boy is playing… and didn’t we all think it was about to be more of a crisis than it was? By the way, what’s the phone number of the CIA landscaper? This winter has been mild in NYC, but still, that’s some nice upkeep.

Arguably the lighting for Quinn’s flashback is rather forced with its blaring yellow tones. This shot, however, is decidedly evocative, with messiah levels of light chosen by Klein. And, again, the window.

More framed artwork adorns the Mathison household, but this caught Sara’s eye because the photo on Carrie’s desk on the far left is the same one of her and Franny from season four. Sometimes prop continuity is nice.

If we’ve learned from set spying, it’s this: they don’t shoot any frame on accident. So… the church steeple as savior Mira is rushed to Saul may have been intentional. The gray winter landscape and colorless cars (part of the call sheets) were also intentional as Klick painted a wintery, bleak visual narrative.

This is the final scene with Mira (ever?) and, Manhattan hazy behind them, she  she stands over Saul and asks him, “When has that [humiliation] ever made the slightest bit of fucking difference to you?” God bless you, Mira Berenson.

Klick keeps the camera on this shot for a surprisingly long time. Note Andrew, his medals and honors displayed across his chest and the word “cowardice” sitting just above them, his gaze fixed squarely on his mother.

Klick has several frames of the sock puppet troll images cast onto the figures of O’Keefe and Dar. These men are, literally, wearing their own lies. Also, note the continuation of the gray tones within the Onyx scenes.

We’re not sure what to say about this but it sure has the fandom buzzing (is Quinn going to be framed?) so we thought we’d throw it in.

These shots were simply beautiful; Saul (in a possible callback to... My Fair Lady? A Streetcar Named Desire?)  is almost calling to the sky (the gods?) in search of Carrie in the first shot. The second shot shows the seemingly endless brownstones with Saul at his ultimate destination, Carrie’s home. Note that Carrie’s house lights--on the right of the shot and beside the steps--are the only ones lit on the darkened street. One could argue that it’s Carrie’s home which is the light of “truth,” considering what Saul discovers inside. 

Some have argued that it’s meaningful that Saul gets into Carrie’s home from the hole that Quinn, in his paranoia and depression, created in “The Man in the Basement.” Quinn claims to have thought “someone was trying to break in” and it’s ironic that Saul is ultimately the one who does.

Klick chooses several shots of ascending stairs in this episode, and we suspect this is important as all the characters seem to be rising out of the swamp of murkiness as they unravel the conspiracy. The very first shot of Carrie features her and Max making their way up the stairs to Franny’s room. In this sequence, Saul is first shown ascending the basement stairs and then after tea (!) ascends the second set of stairs to Carrie’s hidden room. Finally, when Carrie goes to Quinn in the final scene, she is again shown climbing stairs. (The caveat here is that NYC is a very vertical city.)

The sweeping panorama of Carrie’s bulletin boards was almost exactly how they shot Onyx’s enormous sock puppet reveal last week. Together with Sean Callery’s score, Saul and the viewer are given access to this surprise underworld of Carrie’s mind: a different kind of conspiracy this time, one in which fragments of truth, instead of lies, are uncovered.

The production designers put plenty of thought into Carrie’s bulletin board. Note that the strings are in primary colors and actually represent a certain kind of logic. The strings and sticky notes that are blue represent Keane (Democrats take note!) while the red represents Dar (Republicans take note!). Yellow seems to represent the FBI.

Fun fact: The news article above has a by-line of John Kretschmer who has been the production designer on Homeland for years. 

Again the direction here plays with the glare of Keane’s laptop screen. The lies aren’t projected onto her, as they were with Dar or O’Keefe, but literally reflected back at her (much as they have been with Max). In one of the most heartbreaking moments of the season, Keane comes face-to-face not only with these lies but with her own decision to bring her son out from the shadows and into the light.

As pointed out in past Director Chair features, Klein loves his blues, and the final scene was beautifully backlit with the blue tarps surrounding the house creating almost a sci-fi feeling. Blue, notably, is often associated with clarity as all the pieces start to fall into place (which is the actual logline for the finale, by the way).

As noted earlier, Carrie ascends the stairs to get to Quinn who has his own truths to reveal. The use of her cell phone light here is almost star-like. That’s likely a notable choice by Klick and Klein because so often flashlight sequences depict a long beam of light. In this shot, however, Carrie emits a single point of light.

Only Homeland could make a close-up of an assault weapon seem so beautiful. Note, again, the circle of light in the distance.

One of the final shots of the episode depicts Belli in the bullseye in an eerie mirror of his own targeting of Astrid in “alt.truth.” Strangely, Belli appears to be looking upward, not at the group seated all below him, but across the street to Carrie and Quinn, who are waiting in the wings.

[punishandenslavesuckers]

Alternate universe where Kal-El’s baby pod comes down behind Wayne Manor. (ao3)

chapter 1 chapter 2  chapter 3 chapter 4

Wayne family problems always happen at 2AM.

Zatanna gets the call on her cell in Athens and it takes her a full minute to register the buzzing before she rolls over and paws her phone from the nightstand. Scraping her hair form her face, she squints at the name on the phone. Private line, proxy number. She checks the time and figures there’s still only one person who would call at 2AM her time.

“Bruce? Is that you?”

“He went public.”

She hangs up.

Thirty seconds later she drops onto Bruce Wayne’s kitchen island in Gotham, bare feet slapping the two-hundred grand black-marble countertop. Her hair crackles, a writhing nest of post-teleportation static and half-grounded etherium. Her eyes, she knows, have the fairy-light glow of a woman riding wild and uncontrollable forces dimension to dimension. Point of fact, that kind of chaos suits her and the static roar in her blood just now. Chaos suits her fine. She understands the appeal of it, standing there, lit up from the inside. Panic in her teeth.

Bruce looks at the tangled sorceress crouching half-dressed on his kitchen counter, he just says, calmly, “Do you need a bathrobe?”

She’s in shorts and a crop top. She hops off the counter, ignoring him. “Where’s Kal?”

“Metropolis.” He unmutes two mid-sized televisions mounted on the wall by the sink and another by the bar. One is Metropolis Daily, the other CNN. The scroll bar reads: super-human hero saves hundreds. “Suspension bridge collapse. He’s currently holding the bridge in place while everyone evacuates. He’s been there for three hours now. Every news network on the globe is re-casting the live coverage.”

“Metropolis. So he didn’t go far.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Bruce has his laptop open on the counter and pulls up a dozen news articles in various languages, no photos except of what appear to be blurry phone camera stills. “This is the first time he’s slowed down enough to be caught on film, but based on his speed and eye-witness accounts, they’re linking him to series of similar interventions all over the world. Disaster interventions mostly. I think he’s been operating internationally until now. He’s doing exactly what I told him not to do.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So far? His face is all over global news.”

“My god. He’s not a wearing a mask?”

“No. As far as I can tell, he’s wearing some kind of uniform based on his family colors and house crest.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Bruce says nothing. So she looks at the footage.

“Holy shit, you’re not kidding. He’s wearing primary colors. Why does he have a cape? Why is it bright red? What the fuck?”

“Either habit or tactics. If the material is bulletproof like the material from his Robin uniform, then he might be using it to protect civilians.”

“How is he funding this? Did he access his trust?”

“No. He hasn’t accepted anything from me since…” He glances at her. “Since he left. I assume he’s found employment.”

“But not as Clark Wayne.”

“Not that I’ve found. But he knows how to forge documents as well as Alfred does. If he wants to, he can be anyone.”

“Where is he now?”

“Still under the Grandcross Bridge. Rescue and construction personnel are approaching now, but as far as I can tell he’s having no trouble holding position.”

“How is he holding the whole bridge? I don’t doubt he’s strong enough, but he’s too small to just –”

“The five of the suspension cables along the right side of the bridge seem to have snapped. The bridge was going lopsided, cars sliding into the river. He’s just leveling it out. You’re right though. It’s collapsing. He’s a single load-bearing point where there were five. The civil engineers are trying to get close enough to talk to him, I believe.”

“No lives are in danger?”

“No. But…”

“Breaking news,” says the television. “We’re cutting to a live feed from the crisis at the Metropolis Grandcross Bridge. Fire and rescue personnel have deployed a rescue drone to open communication with the meta-human currently holding up the remains of the now highly unstable Grandcross suspension bridge. Live momentarily.”

Alfred, from the kitchen door where he’s just arrived, says, “Bloody hell.”

On the television screen a slightly wobbling drone camera cuts a path toward the belly of the suspension bridge. In the feed, you can hear the whine of the little turbine motors as it zips through the dust toward a blue and red figure braced like Atlas beneath the bridge. The drone flits uncertainly for a moment, buffeted by wind and for a moment captures a turbulent image of Kal Wayne – changed remarkably in just two years, but also not, not at all changed, but different nonetheless – looking slightly to the left and blinking at the little drone.

He follows it with his eyes as the camera swings in a way to frame his face, zooming in. his eyes in the camera are… frighteningly blue, alien blue, almost colorless and iridescent. Zatana’s never seen him do that with his eyes and in that moment, staring into the camera, expression curious and faintly distracted, she thinks the world’s going to change. This is the face of things to come. Something shivers through her, an old primal kind of shudder, deeper than physical… archetypical and ancient. Like every ley line in the world just hummed.

On TV, a loud speaker crackles, barely loud enough to hear over the drone’s motor.

“This is Kathy Motomori of Metropolis Fire and Rescue.” Live captions scroll across the bottom of the screen. Kal shifts his shoulders slightly against the concrete above him, his palms spread flat against the stone. “Are you in danger, sir?”

He blinks. “Oh! No. I’m fine.” A pause. “Thanks!”

“Jesus,” says Zatana.

Bruce has one hand on the counter next to him and it becomes a fist instead. On screen Kal shakes dust from his hair and says, loudly, “Everyone is clear of the bridge now right? Do you need me to keep holding it up or should I let it go?”

There’s a momentary pause from the other side. “My engineers are saying the bridge won’t last even with your help. It’s going to come apart on top of you. We’re recommending you try to get clear. Can you do that without our aid? Do you need assistance? My people are willing to come in.”

“No, no! Don’t send anyone!” He shakes his head slightly and a single dark curl of hair gets free from his bangs, coiling against his brow. Zatana doesn’t know it right then, but that’s the image that’s going to go around the world. “I’m okay. I can get clear on my own.”

“Then good luck, son. Get out of there safe. Understood?”

“Understood, ma’am.”

The drone wobbles and withdraws, pulling back but continuing to zoom in on Kal as he glances up at the massive shelf of stone he’s bracing… then rolls up so he’s bracing his hands and feet against it, creating the optical illusion of being stuck to the bottom of the bridge, his cape flapping gently beneath him. Then, lightly, he pushes off and floats free beneath. The bridge holds, but in the feed the crack and groan of steel instantly fills the audio. The camera pulls back, zooming away as the bridge buckles and falls. Kal watches it for a moment. Then he notices the camera now watching him and looks, momentarily, flummoxed about the attention.

He decides on a kind of half-wave, half-salute kind of thing. Then he turns in midair and throws one arm forward as if into some kind of forward stoke and arcs with that familiar thoughtless momentum into the free air over the Metropolis River. Then the sound barrier breaks in the distance. The camera screen beholds nothing but empty sky.

“Welp,” says Zatana.

“Goodness,” says Alfred.

“…” says Bruce.

From the door, just behind Alfred, Dick Grayson – still in his pajamas, frazzled with bedhead, all of fifteen, dark-haired and thrilled – says, “Cool.”

 “The President official gave Superman the Medal of Freedom today for his actions during Hurricane Roger.”

Bruce says nothing.

“He’s ducking my tracer spells by the way.” Zatana takes a seat on the desk, moving Bruce’s files aside to make room. “I’ve tapped a few sources in the magical communities and a handful of them say they’re passingly familiar with someone matching Kal’s description but no one linked him to any of the traceable Superman events. Lois Lane did a pretty bang up job with the international angle. They’re saying Superman’s saved the lives of about five-hundred people and counting just this last year and that’s the incidents people have come forward with.”

Bruce says nothing.

“Bruce, I’m sure he’ll come back at some point and not for nothing, he is bulletproof and mostly magic proof.”

Bruce says, “Kal is an adult now. He can do as he likes.”

Zatana says, “Obviously, but he’s still your little brother. You’re allowed to worry.”

“His approach is reckless and dangerous and literally everything I warned him not to do.”

“He’s insanely popular, well-loved by everyone, and he hasn’t told a soul that he’s an alien. He just keeps insisting he’s nice city boy who want to help. A nice American city boy by golly-gee raised right here wherever here is I won’t commit but hell I’m sure just like you, boss. He’s really good at that. His blandish is excellent. Lookit me, folks, I’m just so adorable blue-eyed relatable and cute. I saved a puppy today. I played baseball with a bunch of kids in Bangladesh. There’s a hundred blogs dedicated to how cute my butt is in my weird uniform that is definitely armor, but no one is talking about it.”

“Just because he’s good at getting people to like him, doesn’t mean he’s safe.”

“Obviously not, but he’s doing the absolute best that he can with the option that he’s taken. He’s popular Bruce. You can get away with murder if you’re popular and there’s precedent for it. You have that Flash guy in Star City. That Green Arrow person. You… kind of… you’re pretty popular in Gotham for a dude everyone thinks is demonic sewer monster.”

“It’s Gotham,” says Bruce, like that explains it.

Zatana picks up her tea and sips.

“Look, Gotham loves two things: Its football team and Batman. Therefore, Batman gets away with a lot. Keeping that mind, Metropolis loves two things –”

“Being owned by a libertarian asshole and over-priced sushi?”

“No, Bruce – is that thing? Stop distracting me! They love being progressive and they love Superman. Okay? If Metropolis likes Superman than a good portion of the country follows. Daily Planet says they like him, then most of the internet says they like him. Metropolis may be owned by a libertarian douchebag, but even Lex Luthor knows to pretend to be progressive and likeable. His blandish is right up there with Kal’s.”

“Yes, there’s a comfort. Lex fucking Luthor talking to Kal-El.”

“Right, because Superman totally didn’t graffiti his pent-house office window last week with vague implications that Lex is a capitalist monster.”

Bruce smiles. Like, not with his mouth, but it’s there. Zatana can see it.

“See, and the beauty of it is Lex can try to take legal action but he won’t because it’s political suicide. Kal know what he’s doing. He’s smart and capable and has an IQ over one-forty and an interest in communications. He’s Metropolis’ favorite son right now. He’s America’s favorite son. You know how I can tell he’s going to be the biggest thing since sliced bread? He’s just a little bit brown and he openly spoke fluent Cantonese in front of cameras and people aren’t trying to nuke him out of the sky. That’s how I know he’s reached the adoration nadir necessary to survive the public. Okay?”

“You can stop trying to comfort me, Zatana. I know you have better things to do.”

“Better things to do than hang out in your mansion and eat your fancy toast?”

“How can toast be fancy?”

“I dunno, man, but you do it.”

“I’ve accepted that Kal is going to do as he likes. I don’t have to like it, but it’s how it is.”

“It’s been nearly a year since he came out as Superman.” Zatana taps a nail meaningfully against the side of her mug. “You could try to get in contact with him you know.”

Bruce says, “I figure he’ll do that himself.”

Zatana says, “Ugh. You’re both children.”

And Dick, who’s been hiding in the rafters in the dining room says, “So am I gonna get to meet him finally or what?”

“Get down from there. What did I tell you about –!”

 Six months later a giant albino mohawked dude on a space-faring motorcycle shows up in Metropolis.

Then he beats Superman within an inch of his new superheroing life.

Jimmy Olsen, armed with a smart phone camera and more balls than his resume would grant him, captures most of the carnage on a Facebook livesteam where the hulking alien tries to tear Metropolis’ golden boy limb from limb. In later interviews, Jimmy would admit that he and Superman have a rapport and most of why he stayed was simply because he couldn’t bring himself to leave while Big Blue was fighting for his life. Something, he was certain, Superman had never had to do before.

The world gets a first-hand look at intelligent non-terrestrial lifeforms as one tries to curb stop Superman’s skull open in the middle of Broadway Avenue. Then it gets to watch as said lifeform hurls him into the ground with enough force to break the sound barrier. They watch intelligent alien life rip Kal’s cape from his shoulders, watch it kick him in the ribs, try to strangle him, gouge his invincible blue eyes out and get their thumbs lasered off for their efforts. (Oh, yes, Superman has laser eyes. No one knew that. Now everyone knows that.)

Then the whole world gets to watch Superman do something like panic and beat this monster into a crater with the wreackage of its own motorcycle. Then they get to watch him grab and hurl this alien out of the stratosphere with enough power to splinter the ground beneath him like plaster and send the beast rocketing out of Earth’s atmo. Jimmy Olsen’s smart phone camera captures the moment of aftermath where Superman stands there, uniform torn, blood running from his nose and mouth, staring anxiously into the sky and breathing hard, breathing like his ribs are fractured. Jimmy Olsen’s smart phone camera transmits, live, the moment where Superman collapses to one knee, then collapses entirely and –

Jimmy Olsen, dropping his camera, crying, “Oh my god! Supes?! Superman, are you –?”

Before the feed cuts.

  “Look, I’m just saying he’s not that mad at you.”

Dick Grayson, eighteen, wearing a pair of sunglasses with his boots up on the spare chair next to him – he’s got an ice cream cone in one hand and he thinks the whole thing is kind of dumb.

Across from him: Superman in a blue button-up and jeans, blinking at him from behind a pair of un-convincing thick-rimmed glasses. He’s got an untouched basket of fires and a burger in front of him. It pleases Dick just a little bit to note that at eighteen he’s already about Kal-El’s height if not quiet his build. Not, mind you, that Superman has many options in body building and it’s sort of ridiculous to compare physiques when one of them (not him) can pick up a bus and throw it across the country.

The point: Kal doesn’t look very intimidating sitting in a burger joint with an anxious look on his face.

“It’s been almost three years.”

The July sun curves a scorching path into the mid-day sky. It’s pretty hot.

Dick adjusts his sunglasses and says, “Look, Kal. I get that you guys had some big falling out or whatever, but at the end of the day you’re both being huge assholes and should just talk to one another. Zatana says so. Alfred says so. I say so and I’m the guy who’s doing your old job so I feel like I have special permission to tell you to suck it up and stop being weird about it. You weren’t weird about talking to me and I expected you to be a lot weirder in person. So you have no excuse.”

Kal looks genuinely curious. “Why would you think I’d be weird in person?”

“I dunno. You’re so good in front of a camera I thought you might be a little strange when you turn off the whole All American Alien shtick. Any particular reason you try to come off like a home-grown suburbanite when you’re a Gotham kid?”

“Technically, I was raised internationally for most of my childhood, I’m an alien, and mid-western accents are practically un-detectible to anyone not looking for it?”

“Solid call. Solid call. Anyway, you’re not weird.”

Kal looks wry. “Thanks, I try. Look, Dick, I appreciate what you’re trying to say, but I’m not sure if you understand… the history with Bruce and me.”

“Says who? I’m great at understanding. I’ve also been living with Bruce for the better part of three years so, like, try me.”

“Well, first of all, I’m an alien that landed in his backyard when he was sixteen and he decided to adopt me.”

“Yes, he has impulse control problems in that area. I’ve noticed.”

“My childhood was weird.”

“I grew up in the circus and then signed on to be Boy Wonder Two Point Oh. My childhood was also weird. What is it you’re worried I won’t understand?”

“I don’t know… so much of how I was raised was based around this… It’s weird. I am bulletproof. Literally, I’m one of the toughest living things on the planet, but my whole childhood was a lot of fear and hyper-vigilant measures to make sure I was safe. Now, I’m just… it’s like a threw all that away. I feel like a bastard sometimes. Ungrateful I guess? But I don’t regret it. Not… not at all. Not even a little bit and I feel like that’s the part that’s going to make it impossible to talk about.”

“You know how stupidly noble that sounds right? You’re like an afterschool special.”

“Grayson,” he says in this tone that has this low sub-tonal quality that literally makes the air shiver.

“Okay, so you’re afraid you’ll have to defend your decisions to him and he’s going to be judgmental and disapproving, basically? Because, that’s kind of what dads are there for.”

“He’s not my dad.”

“Right.”

Kal looks uncomfortable. “He was always really clear on that point, actually.”

“Oh. Sorry. What I meant is you are family at the end of the day.”

“I know…”

“Jeez, this is really eating at you. What specifically do you think will happen? Worst scenario.”

“I tell him I regret nothing that I’ve done and by extension he takes that to mean everything he ever did for me was pointless and all the work he does is also pointless and he basically realizes he raised a totalitarian monster that rejects all his personal axioms?”

Dick lowers his sunglasses slightly to stare at him over the rims.

Kal looks, thankfully, embarrassed. “Worst case scenario! I literally did the exact thing he raised me not to do and I just don’t see how he’s going to forgive me for that.”

“Because you’re his little brother and he loves you. Wow. That was easy. Let’s go to Gotham right now.”

Kal jerks a little when Dick makes a mock-move to stand up and that tiny fear response makes Dick feel just a little bad. He sits back down.

“You honestly think he’s not going to forgive you for going out on your own?”

“He has strong opinions about things.”

“He’s also just a dude with a thing for Vantablack.”

“You wouldn’t be scared to disobey him?”

“Are you kidding? Petrified. But I’d still do it if I really believed it and, honestly, I think as long as you’re not drowning puppies in buckets or getting a mullet he’ll probably respect what you did.” Dick shrugs. “I mean, it’s hard to argue with the results.”

Kal looks skeptical.

“I’m not saying he won’t be a huge tool about it at first, maybe, but he’ll get over it. Seriously. Just… reach out. I don’t think he’s going to do it because he thinks you… want it this way or something. I can tell you don’t so just fix it. Or at least try. You’re Superman. You can’t possibly tell me it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”

Kal almost smiles. “I’m really glad you signed on to be Robin Two Point Oh.”

“Okay, well, don’t spread it around but I’ll probably upgrade from that pretty quick here.”

“You’re thinking about leaving?”

“I’m eighteen. I’ll have to leave eventually.”

“And… the rest of it?”

“You mean the cape and cowl?” He frowns. “I mean… I think I’ll always want to do that. Just not… not in Gotham forever. And I can’t be Robin somewhere else; I think that’s a really specific role. Look, it’s just something I’m tossing around. You left. I can leave. It’s just the normal progression of things.”

Kal thinks about it. “You picked out a name yet?”

Dick blinks behind his glasses. “No. Why?”

“I might have a suggestion.”

  It was, perhaps, inevitable that it would happen this way.

Or that’s what he’s thinking while he’s falling from 10,000 feet up, every on-board system fried, auxiliary flight components shredded, the dark terrain racing up to meet him. He goes through possible scenarios. Anything and everything he could do to prevent slamming into the planet at terminal velocity and he’s got nothing. The sky above him: a rolling orange swath of flame, the steel monolith coming apart in continental shards of alien alloy. The mechanism of mass destruction slicing a fiery path toward the ocean.

Even if he could fly, he’s not sure he could get clear of the wreckage – likely to fall miles around.

His armor’s melted in places – fused to his ribs, his right thigh, his boots have melted at the sole. The pain is… intense actually. Intense enough he’s a little relieved it’s probably going to stop very soon. The wind in his ears roars. Through the roar, his comm still just barely crackles with Dick’s voice, frantic and far away, saying his name (is that really his name?) over and over again from too far away to help.

His primary regret: Dick is going to watch him die on fucking monitor.

“It’s fine,” he says, which is fucking stupid of course.

“No!”

“You’re going to be fine, Dick.”

These are the worst last words in the history of last words. He just doesn’t know what else to say, the earth rushing up as it is, so fast he’s not going to be able to speak. Bruce rolls into a para-trooper flat, belly down, arms and legs out, facing the growing ridge of the mountain that, it appears, will be his final destination. The comm’s damaged. Dick is saying something. He can’t make it out and he’s not sure why that – not the screaming air, not the pain, not the inevitable end – is getting to him. Seconds before his death and all he can think is he’d trade anything to hear what Dick is trying to say.

There’s static now.

There’s no one with him for this part.

That’s fine.

It’s fine.

Really.

It’s…

The mountain below him suddenly snaps. It vanishes. There’s a bright primary blur that baffles his eyes before snapping back into focus and, like a glitch in the universe, Kal-El is between him and the earth. His eyes: wide, colorless blue, inhuman in their hue and containing every human fear possible. He’s moving at terminal velocity, backwards, propelled by the mysterious gravitational forces that live in his Kryptonian physiology. He’s wearing his uniform. Superman – flying exactly fast enough to be exactly within arms’ reach, face to face with Batman as he falls.

He’s shouting something.

Bruce throws his arms out at the same moment Kal grabs for him, seizes his elbows and pulls him into his chest. Bruce feels three of his ribs crack when Kal miscalculates the speed, slams into him with enough force to stun. He doesn’t have the air to scream as Kal balls around him and pitches, hard, right. His arms cage him like a roll bar in a flipping car. The G-force briefly curdles his brain, dark edges closing. His teeth in his skull seem set to explode. Lungs crushed, surrounded by a splintering construct of calcium.

Then it stops. Planes out. Bruce opens his eyes and the sky is framed by trees, the hole in the canopy of evergreens. The ground underneath him smells of pine and shredded earth, a Superman shaped crater in the forest floor. He must have blacked out for the impact. Kal is looking down at him with a panic in his face that steals all his adult years and Bruce sees him – five years old, stuck on that goddamn bunker ceiling.

“Bruce! Bruce?! Are you okay?”

He grunts. Gets his breath.

“Sloppy catch.”

Kal stares.

Bruce grimaces and sits up. “We practiced that about a hundred times in the Philippines.”

Kal stares.

“If you don’t learn how to match velocity in mid-air, you can’t expect to save civilians from –.”

Kal moves forward and hooks both arms around Bruce’s shoulders and silently buries his face against his shoulder.

Bruce hesitates… then loops one arm around Superman’s back, palm flat against his shoulder blades.

“Nice of you to drop by,” Bruce says.

Kal laughs. “Dick said I should.”

“You couldn’t call me before alien warships are flying over Gotham?”

“You couldn't call me before you pick a fight with an alien warship?”

"I don't have your number."

"Dick has my number. You have my number if you wanted my number."

Bruce sighs, pressing a hand into his ribs. “Any chance of flying out of here that isn’t you carrying me bridal style?”

 “Not really. You crashed the Bat Jet into the side of their ship.”

“It’s not called the ‘Bat Jet’. It’s just a jet.”

“Dick says it’s the Bat Jet and he also says, you still call the car ‘The Batmobile’. So…”

Bruce glares.

“Are you glaring? I can’t tell with the new cowl. Is that, like, a heavy combat version or…?”

“I’m glaring.”

“Okay. Thought so. You know you can admit I'm good at naming things.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You should have let me drop into the goddamn mountain.”

“Batmobile. Trademark: Superman.”