#the man the myth the monotone

[eightypercentjack-blog]

I had you big time...

Happy Anniversary to the show that made me the lore-loving, slowburn-savouring nerd I am today!

I'm from a very nerdy family and we all loved The X Files. I remember reading the companion books for a few series and becoming obsessed with how much detail went into things like the episode titles and every tiny reference. We'd get *so* excited anytime the title card changed. One of the creepiest episodes inspired me to write a poem I love. My big fluffy Maine Coon cat, affectionately known as just Kit, is actually named Kitsunegari as one of a whole litter of X-File episode-honouring kittens 😄

I try to make sure everyone knows about Bree Sharp's glorious pun-filled homage to David Duchuvny. I love figuring out just how many movie stars got their first break on the show (hello Ryan Reynolds, Jack Black etc...). I've hiked round Lynn Canyon Park where so much of it was filmed and felt like I could have literally been in 'Darkness Falls'. My first ever celebrity meet & greet was with Mitch Pileggi and Nicholas Lea and I've since met Smoking Man himself (an absolute delight) and eventually our beloved duo too, a few years apart - Gillian Anderson gave me chilli chocolate and David insisted on signing next to Gillian's autograph. They were both sweethearts (and he especially still lit up at the mention of her name 🥰).

I *love* virtually everything about The X Files (definitely some exceptions 😄) but as someone who values friendship so very highly and whose connection to deeper relationships is rooted completely in this, Mulder and Scully were so much more than a cliché slowburn friends-to-lovers for me, they beautifully exemplified the fact that line can be a little blurred from the start, and that deep genuine mutual respect, trust, care and admiration can be as powerful as, or indistinguishable from, more traditionally depicted romantic love. Their journey and that gorgeous message is one I've subconsciously sought out in so many fictional pairings since and in my own life too.

My little probably demi-of-some-description heart identified with them so much and the wait for what was so adorably inevitable between them was so, so worth it and earned and magical. They were *the* ship, the og sweet, sweet slowburn-but-they-kinda-already-got-there-years-before-the-kiss kinda pairing 😄 (I truly have a pattern of loving this exact scenario!!!)

So yeah, happy anniversary you crazy little show. I laugh, I cry, I'm very grateful and if I could only pick a single show, I want to believe you'll always be the one 👽

[girlwithhat]

That will always be David Duchovny. Sorry to all the other Davids related to my fandoms (and IRL).

who is the first david you think of when you hear the name david

[randomfoggytiger]

So, today is David's birthday.

If I can (depending on the streaming website/$$/availability):

I will do a multi-part "blog" reaction for whichever one wins, btw.

[femalethink]

Pornography is regularly used in ways that have nothing to do with sexual explicitness. Rather, pornography is commonly understood as a form of propaganda, a representational style linked with defamation and desensitization, if not destruction. Patricia J. Williams, who thinks legally, critically, and gracefully about race, sex, and injustice, calls pornography a "habit of thinking," and one that informs all manner of abusive and exploitative attitudes and relationships. Pornography, as I am using the term, is just that, a worldview, a way of thinking and acting that sexualizes and genders domination and submission, from the bedroom to the war room, making domination masculine (even when a woman plays that role) and submission feminine (even when a man plays that role), and making both the essence of sex. By wedding sexuality to inequality, pornography conditions women and men to have a substantial investment in maintaining the oppressive status quo—again, from interpersonal relationships to international politics.

Pornography kills off, and then substitutes itself for, the erotic—the life force, the earthy and ethereal force of growth, fruitfulness, exuberance, ecstasy, connectedness, and integrity. Pornography severs eroticism from intimacy and empathy and bonds it to voyeurism and objectification (of the self and of another). It incarnates pleasure in acts of hatred. It would have all of us believe, even those of us getting the "fuzzy end of the lollypop" (Sugar/Marilyn Monroe's lament in Some Like It Hot, Billy Wilder, 1959), that without a certain measure of power and powerlessness, danger, fear, pain, possession, shame, distance, and violence there wouldn't be any "sex" at all. Of course, the simultaneously pornographic, monotonous, and erotophobic culture tends to make that true. Variously damaged, alienated, and desensitized, pornography can become what we need in order to feel at all.

Some applaud pornography because it allows access to sexual imagery and language and easily offends offensive religious morality. Yet pornography is no real alternative to systemic sex-negative morality; rather it is an intrinsic part of it. Pornography and mainstream morality both stem from and continually reinforce a worldview that first makes a complex of body/low/sex/dirty/deviant/female/devil and then severs these from mind/high/spirit/pure/normal/male/god. For both, sex itself is the core taboo. Moralism systematically upholds the taboo and pornography systematically violates it. In the complex that evolves from this absurdity, taboo violation itself becomes erotically charged. Evil becomes seductive and the good mostly boring. Without patriarchal moralism's misogyny, homophobia, demand for sexual ignorance, and sin-sex-shame equation, pornography as we know it would not exist. And, together, the two work to maintain the sex and gender status quo.

—Jane Caputi, "Goddesses and Monsters: Women, Myth, Power, and Popular Culture."

[disneyprincemuke]

no other shade of blue, but you * ms47

you didn't have a favourite colour up until you met him

pairings: mick schumacher x fem!reader

word count: 1136

notes: i actually am so down bad for this man right now, don't really know what to tell you, so here i am with a short blurb for the man, the myth, the legend... also not THAT great so let me just skrrt skrrt

(f1 masterlist)

first dates, well, they're never easy. unless it's from a recommendation of your aunt's husband. she had gushed on and on about the man she was trying to set you up and while you were hesitant at first, hearing her husband talk about how amazing the guy is, you finally agreed.

you still remember, all those years ago, the unfortunate way that it had gone wrong for you and the man sitting next to you in his best suit. you press your lips together as you fumble with the lace of your dress, speakers booming with a monotonous voice as you tried to fight off the boredom that is unfortunately getting the best of you.

you drop your head slightly to glance at him, smiling slightly when he notices your stare. mick reaches over for your hand, squeezing it slightly before intertwining your hands. you remember when you used to pray, despite never being religious in your life, that you would never forget the way his blue eyes shine.

you remember how your car had broken down en route to the restaurant your uncle had asked you to drive to, telling you that he made the reservation under mick's name. you had to call your uncle for help, who was unfortunately out of town with your aunt, so the only person left to save you was mick.

you watched as his car drove up to yours in the dark of the night, you leaning against the trunk of your car. you pushed yourself off as he came to a stop right by you.

"are you okay?" he asked you, shutting the car of his door behind him. you had to take a step back to fully process the man that is approaching you. his pictures clearly didn't do him much justice, because he looks much better up close. "i called the tow truck, but it's going to take a while."

you smiled at him, at the time, only very thankful for the way he came to you without another question. "thank you so much for coming to me. mick, right?"

he nodded at you with a smile. "and you're hanna's niece, right? (y/n)?"

"yes, that's me." you offered your hand out to shake his, which he does take, surprisingly.

"i hope you didn't wait for too long," he muttered, turning away from you. he opened the door to the back of his car and reached in for something. "i was calling the tow truck for you and they told me they'd be a while."

you tried to take a peek at what he's reaching into. but he's quick with his actions, turning around to show you what's in his hands. it's a paper bag and a plastic bag with two cups in it. "we'll miss our reservation, and it's dinner - i assumed you're just as hungry as i am. i got us food to eat in the meantime."

you remember your heart skipping a beat when he laid it all out on the trunk of his car. it was just some fast food takeout, but you remember the way your heart felt warm when he pat the hood of his car for you to take a seat on.

"are you sure? your car looks expensive - i don't want to damage it," you said, shaking your hand.

in return, mick hopped on it first. he pats the empty spot on the other side of the hood for you to hop on. "don't worry about it."

you sat on the hood of that car for the better part of the next 3 hours. when the towing company told mick they would take a while, they were not kidding. neither you nor mick knew what exactly to talk about while you indulged yourself in a simple meal of burger and fries.

hour one was filled with food and small talk, both of you trying to properly navigate how comfortable you can get with your questions. you were still on opposite ends of the hood at the time.

hour two was when mick would keep the trash from your simple meal. you sat slightly closer to him, shoulders brushing as you indulged yourself in a conversation about the one thing you know about him: race cars. eventually, you talked about your relations to hanna and sebastian, and were curious why you'd never been to a race.

you would admit that you'd never been a big fan of cars, making it a point to gesture towards your beat-up vehicle that objectively ruined your date. he laughed, throwing his head back, and argued that this date was a nice change instead of sitting in a fancy restaurant for hours hunched over the table and trying to fit the stereotypes of a first date.

hour three, you found yourself a lot closer to mick. your shoulders are now touching and the conversation flowed way more naturally than you initially thought. he seemed to be more down-to-earth than you expected, admittedly scared away by the fact that his father is a very big name everywhere.

"okay, this is a stupid question," mick started, turning to you slightly.

"no question is stupid on a first date," you shook your head with a small smile. "what is it?"

"what's your favourite colour?"

you were stumped for the first time that night. you thought for a few seconds, looking ahead at the dead road as you debated in your head if you actually had one. mick would pipe down and slump his shoulders as he watches you think.

"i don't actually-" you turned your head to look at him, feeling your words catch in your throat when your eyes met his. you would feel this churning in your stomach as you looked at him, his eyes innocently staring into yours with his eyebrows raised to urge you for an answer.

you would sigh shakily as you answered him. "it's blue."

ever since then, blue has been your favourite colour. not just any blue - it has to be the specific shade that mick's eyes are. the dreamy and captivating blue that you would come to know and love for as long as you've known him.

before you know it, you stand at the end of the chapel with a mic in your hands. you glance over mick's shoulder, catching sebastian's proud smile before you return your eyes to the man who got on his knee for you.

"and actually," you say, as you wrap up your vows, "on our first date, you asked me what's my favourite colour." you look up with a small smile.

"i actually didn't have one. i said blue, because they're the colour of your eyes. i've never seen blue the same ever since," you smile. "i could probably live in it now."

general taglist: @cashtons-wife

[monstaxdirtywonk]

Heaven is a place in hell with you.

Member: San as Hades x Reader Persephone

Plot: It's not the typical myth although it does share some similarities I've made some changes too to fit what I had in mind.

Genre: Angst, Fluff and eventual smut (not in this chapter)

Endless darkness. That's all his eyes have been seeing for the eternity of time. If only someone could imagine the depth of time combined with the depth of the darkness, they'd lose their sanity. Being a God grants you great power but being the God of the dead might not be seen as attractive as other God's kingdoms. Poseidon, ruling the vast sea or Zeus, ruling the mortal world. But death is the most powerful of all, Hades thinks, for it holds the power to diminish everything else. Whether someone was rich, privileged or one of a kind, after their passing, they are just part of the soul parade, a group of shadows with no purpose, just lurking around till the dawn of time. Maybe even after that. Hades has a bit of a reputation if you will, hated by most, if not all the living. The God's aren't fond of him either. He is too monotonous for their liking, keeps mostly to himself, he is on his own, just like what he rules, a lonely experience by default. His body is as immortal as it can be, a vast contrast between his surroundings. He stood tall and proud, well shaped and proportionate. His face chiseled and enigmatic, his prominent bone structure and intense gaze making him intimidating in a striking way. Appearance wise he looked no older than 25, but his soul felt awfully old. Maybe others were right to despise him. He can't stand himself either at times. A gloomy haze was his life, that seemed to have no end.

"A girl is playing around the lake, Lord" Thanatos, his trusted winged friend mentioned.

"She comes here often. She doesn't look human, but not godly either. More like a mixture of them too, not ordinary enough for a mortal, not divine enough for a goddess".

Hades decided to take a closer look after Thanatos' description. He is someone that likes to keep his thoughts and opinions independent, but he couldn't agree more. Her beauty was like something he'd witness before and something entirely different, all at the same time. She appeared delicate and gentle, her hands brushing through the bush, as the wind blew against her face. She seemed beautiful, but in a very different way than Aphrodite is. He didn't feel an ounce of lust for her, her vibes innocent and pure, almost angelic. The type of person you want to protect with your life, if he even had such a thing.

"Maybe she is a nymph? But she is someone I've never seen before and I keep up with them to say the least" Thanatos laughed, confirming his womanizer nature.

Hades laughed as well. His friend had a charm that drew others to him. Maybe they liked getting a taste of death while still alive, literally.

"That's true, you'd know her by now. I'm sure Artemis despise you, my friend. You are ruining chaste virgins left and right."

"Well what can I say? I'm popular with the ladies. I guess they might have a thing for my wings? I mean there aren't that many of us, even in the immortal world. But speaking of getting down and dirty, you haven't been laid in such a long time, Hades!"

The latter's eyes grew at the realization. He had some needs but they never bothered him to that extent. Keeping busy did the trick so far and he was more of an old fashioned man to say the least. His mistress was the night but he grew sick of her. They were too similar, he thought. He wanted some light to enter his world, a blinding brightness to shake him up and warm his icy heart. Or at least that was his persona, his mask. He knew, better than anyone, how much he felt and loved and longed for it. But he could wait for that, he had time, that's for sure.

"Mind your business boy" he said in a teasing tone but failed at intimidating his friend. Hades looked dark, dangerous even, until he became familiar to you. Once you made a place for yourself in his heart, he couldn't be further from that.

"Okay okay, I was just saying that it's a pity for you to go like that. But whatever makes you happy." He answered and raised both of his arms in a defeating manner. Thanatos knew that he was basically a brother to Hades, but he still wanted to keep their relations good, because he had the tendency to say more than he should.

"It's all good, I'm just teasing you!" Hades smiled his way and showed his dimples, the sweetest sight his kingdom had to offer.

Thanatos smiled back and took a look at the lake again, which they were able to see from the inside, as it was the main portal for the underworld. His smile quickly turned sour, and worry played over his handsome features.

"What is it?" Hades asked.

"The girl...seems to be in danger". Thanatos pointed out and Hades took a closer look. A wolf was some meters away from her, moving eerily elegantly for such a creature. Given the area the lake was, it seemed unlikely for an actual wolf to be there. It's size was extraordinary large too, all this made him believe it was one of Zeus' tricks again. A sudden surge of protective energy took over him and he wanted to save this poor girl from Zeus. She didn't deserve Hera's wrath either. None of them did. Hades took a hold of his scepter and pushed it on the ground. The lake started waving and it turned dark as if it was raining during a perfectly sunny day. The girl gasped at the sight in front of her and took a step back since she was almost right next to the lake by now. The waters were divided and a set of stairs showed up. When Zeus realized that the girl was about to escape, he started running towards her and she felt such an overwhelming fear that made her run without even realizing that this was probably a bad idea. She followed the stairs which turned to water again after each of her steps. As soon as she touched the ground, she broke down in tears and hid her face inside her hands, too scared to open them and face her destiny. But sometimes our destiny isn't as scary as we think it is, because there, in this dark and seemingly unwelcome world, she'd find a man with no soul, but more capacity to love than anyone else with a soul ever could.

Next chapter:

[epicfranb]

Fuck it I'm not even rereading this. Here you go

Doc hired Etho, a skilled (probably) assassin to kill two of his most hated hermits: Keralis and Bdubs. And, after a long and fierce battle with Keralis that no one ended up winning, Etho wiped the layer of sweat from his forehead and said "Next one's gonna have to wait."

Does he even need to fight Keralis again? Hopefully, the fact that the fight took place is enough. After all, Doc's main goal is to scare them, isn't it? Etho and Doc go way back, so the guess probably has some truth to it.

Fixing up the gear after a long fight like this is a pain though. His sword needs sharping, the bow probably needs replacing, and his armor is... Well, everything could be in a better shape had Etho thought of a plan beyond "spam crossbows, then do whatever". His anvil aim could use some training, and his crossbow machine gun design could be improved. But it's better off in the hands of a more skilled player anyway.

Etho thinks he is quite a skilled player. But not in terms of fighting, no-no. Someone else could take the lead, someone more experienced – Etho's happy enough devising a plan and preparing the gear. Fighting isn't his forte.

Assassinating Bdubs is gonna need a better plan than this. If he succeeds in at least one of the hits, Doc will be happy enough (to pay him). But, unlike Keralis, Bdubs is... Too easy to kill. Pathetically so. It's just going to be boring. He needs a better plan than this.

Fixing armor was a job so usual and monotone to Etho, that it was easy to space out and lose himself in thoughts, and then wake up to a set of fully repaired gear. Normally, he would get some music on, but he kind of forgot about it before he spaced out, thinking about...

Yes, him again. Bdubs.

That man had an annoying habit of occupying all of the space within Etho's head. And, Bdubs himself doesn't do it directly, but Etho blames him anyway, because he knows it'd make him mad.

Bdubs has a funny voice. Every time he speaks, he voices his thoughts in such a strange manner, using some of the strangest vocabulary, interspersed with his "patented" "Bdubs noises". His speech patterns make no sense, the words never quite come out right, he's loud, he's boisterous, he's hilarious, and he's very, very talkative. Man has so many ideas and thoughts running through his head at all times, and he needs to get ALL of them out, to the point where he's been talking for hours, jumping from topic to topic, from idea to idea, and if he isn't stopped, he gets his throat killed. And a lot of the times, his throat does get killed after talking to Etho, because the other spaces out or falls asleep, as if Bdubs's voice is a lullaby to him.

Even now, one swing forth, one swing back, Etho's hands move on their own, the only sound in his head is a replay of Bdubs's voice, saying gibberish. It's like a catchy song that's been stuck in your head, you may not remember the lyrics, but you're enjoying the general sound of it. And Etho enjoyed his imaginary Bdubs singing to him. He has such a beautiful voice.

Helmet done, now onto the wings.

Honestly, it's appalling how different Etho and Bdubs are, even in the small things. Like, taste in food as an example. Etho's first impression of Bdubs was that he's the same sweet tooth that he is; turns out, it's quite the opposite. Bdubs doesn't put any sugar in his morning drinks, and he's a fan of green tea, which Etho only tolerates. He also likes bitter chocolate, and Etho thought those kinds of people only exist in myths... Oh, and he likes raisins. What a weird guy.

Their sleep schedules are so different, that at the rare occasions they've lived together, they barely ever saw each other. Bdubs goes to sleep early, and, despite taking his sweet time getting out of bed, he gets up early, too. A real morning bird with a solid schedule, in contrast to Etho, who stays up all night, working when no one and nothing is around to bother him – and gets up whenever. Sometimes he woke up first, and took his chance to prank Bdubs; other times he wasn't so lucky, and got pranked back. It was a fun back-and-forth while it lasted, but now Etho has the advantage of knowing Bdubs's exact sleep schedule, which Bdubs can't brag about – Etho's schedule is too chaotic. Those games are always fun.

With all the holes in the wings patched up, leggings are next.

Etho recalled his surprise when Bdubs came to him, all those years ago, and with eyes beaming of excitement, exclaimed: "Teach me how to fight!" Etho was never more than decent at fighting, but Bdubs seemed to be so caught up in his idealized version of Etho, that he thought it'd be better to ask him, and not someone who had actual skill. At least, that's what Etho thought at the time.

It was never about the fighting, no. It was never about swords, nor was it about bows or armor – it was about admiration. Bdubs admired Etho, and wanted to be closer to him. No, not in his skill – although, Bdubs admitted, that too – it was just about spending time together. The warmth of the other's skin on his hands, guiding him, on his torso, teaching him, his voice so close like it's reverberating in his heart, and his breath tickling his neck from behind... At least that's what Etho imagined Bdubs felt. Back then, he couldn't put his finger on why Bdubs shivered and blushed so often during their trainings, but, thinking about it now, it made some sense.

Swords clashing against one another, bodies in perfect sync, moving one after the other, shifting their feet in the same rhythm they got adjusted to – it was more like a dance than it was fencing. Sometimes, all of the competitiveness between the two would fade, and they were moments away from throwing their swords on the ground and taking each other's hands, wrap their arms around the other, to guide him somewhere else, in the same dance, same rhythm, but with much different implications. They regretted only a little bit that they never ended up getting into dance.

It was a nice memory, but Etho was somewhat bothered by his cheeks getting hotter. His entire body got hotter, in fact. Sweat dripped from his forehead, and his hands shook slightly.

It seems that it's time for a rest, Etho thought. He still had his boots to repair, but they could wait. He'll be gone only a little while.

For now, maybe he can think about a plan to kill Bdubs... Kill Bdubs, huh. Normally that'd sound quite tempting, but he wasn't really in the mood for any killing now. Getting soft, Etho chuckled to himself. But being soft felt kind of nice once in a while.

If I don't want to kill him, Etho thought as he got into the kitchen – if you could call it that, – maybe I'll find a way to make him die, and me not have to see it. That meant a trap, and, thankfully, Etho had an extensive catalogue of traps permanently in his head. Some of them more obvious, others – devilishly hidden, and whichever one he chose depended on what would get a funnier reaction. In chat, at least. Or in a later conversation.

But nothing really felt right. Etho cracked an egg – fill his base with chickens? no, that won't kill him. Entity cramming maybe? Etho whisked some dough – drowning is a good idea. But it's long, he can get out. And it's painful. Since when was Etho hesitant about a trap being painful? Etho put the cake in the oven –– Wait, cake?

Etho crouched in front of the oven, taking a curious look inside – sure enough, that is a cake. When did he make a cake? Why did he make a cake?

Etho has a pretty strong grasp on his own mind, but even that becomes a mystery when Bdubs is involved.

If the cake was meant to be a trap, it was a bad one. He didn't even put any poison in it! The frosting is now finished too, and that doesn't have any poison either... Unless Etho adds it. Which he doesn't. Whether he forgot, or just didn't want to, he didn't really know. Looking for the right poison, or making it from scratch, was a hassle, and Etho was too lazy to deal with that.

Besides, his mouth watered at his own cake. It was his sugary masterpiece, and he was itching to take a nice big bite off of it... But he held back. This cake is for Bdubs. Once he figures out how to make it into a trap.

Will Bdubs even want to eat such a sweet cake? Etho's mind wandered somewhere else while baking it, so he had no idea how much sugar he actually put into it. Knowing himself and his taste buds, it was probably... Way too much for Bdubs to handle. Maybe the excess sugar can kill him. Yeah, that'll do.

Etho rummaged around his storage system to find a nice big box and some wrapping paper with heart patterns to wrap the cake into. Maybe the heart patterns were excessive – Etho swore he had other types of patterns somewhere – but he couldn't find anything else, and wasn't bothered to. The cake neatly packaged, Etho grabbed his freshly restocked redstone box and flew off in the direction of Bdubs's base.

Etho usually thinks. He thinks about what he's gonna do next, even when he does something on a whim, he thinks first. How am I gonna do it? What are the steps? What am I going to need? His mind was in a haze as he flew, as if locked out of his own head, only able to peek through the bars, and the only thing left of his brain was an enormous screen with just images of Bdubs on it. This was getting ridiculous, but he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. The thoughts felt nice.

Bdubs wasn't online, thankfully, so setting up a trap didn't require any stealth ninja moves. Etho didn't even try to hide that it was a trap: the gift box was sitting right on top of an observer, ready to trigger it. There was nothing under it but a dispenser – what was in it? a damage potion? lava? exactly 24 boats to entity cram him (forget that you can't fit 24 boats in one dispenser)? Well, Bdubs is going to have to find out himself. The joy of discovery, and all. Etho's heart raced, despite knowing Bdubs isn't here to catch him in the act; he felt hot all over, despite Bdubs's biome being cooler than his; and his cheeks hurt from smiling, even though nothing happened yet. There was no rational reason for any of those body reactions to occur; and yet, they did. A human's body is hardly ever rational, but Etho found comfort in knowing what causes which reactions, and he was clueless about his current state. He guessed that he was just really looking forward to the prank working... I mean, what prank? It's a death trap! Totally!...

***

Etho had completely forgotten about the trap, when his communicator buzzed in his pocket. All of the gear repaired, and all the hitman matters taken care of, he has managed to distract himself from thinking about his... Friend, and get to work. However, the friend demanded attention, and who was Etho to decline him that attention? In his mind, a picture of an excited dog replaced Bdubs for a second, prompting a sudden outburst of laughter from Etho, which, he was pretty sure, could be heard even from Xisuma's base.

Etho took the familiar route through the Nether to Bdubs's base. He circled above it for a second, looking for the town's proud owner – he spotted him right next to his starter house (made of diorite, of course), and landed right behind him, scaring him to death.

"What are ya doin' sneakin' up behind me like that, huh?!" He fumed, stamping his feet all over the place. "What are you, role-playin' a ninja?!"

"Some people do call me a little bit of a ninja." Etho shrugged, prompting a scowl from Bdubs. "Anyway, whatcha got there? A cake?"

Behind him, the cake was sitting on the observer like on a table, unwrapped, with a small piece cut out of it. Bdubs probably checked it for poison; or maybe he couldn't eat the rest because it was too sweet. Either way, same thing, really.

"Aww, dontcha pretend like you don't know what it is!" Bdubs sang proudly like he just solved the world's hardest riddle; Etho couldn't help but smile, giving himself away. "Yeah, I knew it! It's yours! I know how you bake your cakes, you won't fool me!"

"Did I poison you with sweetness?" Etho asked through laughter.

"I'd rather not say what I did with the piece that I put in my mouth." Bdubs nodded behind him, in the direction of the river. Ah, so it was that sweet.

"Awwww, you spat out my cake? That I baked for you, with such love and care?"

"Yes, but I don't want to do it with the rest, so you're here to get rid of it." Bdubs walked up to the cake and shifted it around, sending a short pulse down. The dispenser didn't fire, meaning Bdubs saw the message.

"You mean you aren't going to eat it." Etho sobbed, hugging his arms. "Welp, more left for me!" He smiled.

"Great! Cuz I physically can't eat it!" Bdubs laughed.

He brought Etho a chair, a plate and a spoon, some tea (three spoons of sugar, as usual) and even a tablecloth to turn the observer into a real table (that ticks sometimes). Etho dug in immediately – he'd completely forgotten he hasn't eaten anything since that battle with Keralis. And oh was the cake sweet. Too sweet even for Etho, but he enjoyed it. Bdubs watched him enjoy the dessert, sipping his own tea, with a wide smile on his face.

"Didn't know you enjoyed watching people eat." Etho commented.

"Nope, just you."

"That's weird."

"You're weird, consuming that amount of sugar and not dying." Bdubs chuckled, but kept smiling. He was rather calm – calmer than Etho expected right after a prank.

The warm smile would get imprinted in his mind forever, Etho felt. There was just too much fondness, too much affection in it, that his skin started burning again.

Bdubs took the cherry from the top of the cake, closed one eye and put a cherry in front of the other: "You're as red as this cherry right now." He didn't even let Etho react, before putting the berry into his mouth. Etho tried not to think about the implications of that. "Come on now, what happened? What are you getting flustered for?" He teased.

Etho looked away – tried to, Bdubs followed his gaze – and put on his mask, even though he still had cake left on his plate. That didn't help hiding his rosy cheeks, and now ears too. Etho gave up trying to guess why his body was doing it at that point. He just didn't want Bdubs seeing him like this.

"Ay, you didn't finish your slice!" Bdubs laughed. "Sorry I took your cherry, but it the only edible thing on it."

"It's fine, I'm just gonna take the rest home," Etho said, attempting to appear collected, but regretted it immediately: his voice cracked in the most pathetic way possible.

Bdubs burst out, leaning on the observer for support, sending a few ticks again. The corners of his eyes teared up, but at least his face was now all red too, so Etho wasn't the only one. It was hardly comforting.

"Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't laugh! I shouldn't...!" He wheezed. Etho was ready to just take the cake and fly away in embarrassment, but the cake needed to be put in a box first – doing it now would only make the situation more awkward. Etho believed he could endure it. "Sorry–" Bdubs kept apologizing, "Know what? Next time, c'mere, and let's bake an actually edible cake together. Sound good?"

Etho sat still for a second, eyes wandering in the forest afar. They could bake a cake together, a cake that both of them could enjoy.

"That... Sounds good." Etho uttered from under his breath. It did sound good. Sweet, even.

"Then it's a deal!" Bdubs clapped his hands together. They arranged a time, he helped Etho pack the cake back up, and then it was time to say goodbyes.

Just as Etho was about to take off, Bdubs pulled his sleeve – and then pulled him closer, wrapped his arms around his torso in a sudden embrace. Etho instinctively put his arms on Bdubs's back, resting his head on his messy hair that tickled his nose. Etho could stay like this forever – or if not forever, then for a long time. But Bdubs let him go, and then they needed to go. Etho hastily took out his rockets and boosted off into the sky, to not let Bdubs see his face again.

Bdubs yelled after him:

"You have a good day as well!..."

Etho felt warm.

[daifukumochiin]

Summary: Sasuke's orderly life at elite Sairiumu Academy is disrupted by the arrival of Hinata, a timid transfer student whose obvious crush on him, a young man dedicated to his craft and his current relationship, stirs unease. (Initial SasuSaku with SasuHina endgame, modern Norse myth AU, high school, angst, romance, photography, postmodern-ish fic). Rated T

Nevertheless I have this against you, that you have left your first love. NKJV — Revelation 2:4

LIGHTS,

BOWS, and

MISTLETOES

an entry for SasuHina Month 2024, Day 27 : Forget and Remember

(for @peachy-hina, since December) @sasu-hina

ffnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14369143/1/Lights-Bows-and-Mistletoes

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57030778

Part 1: Lights go to Chapter List>

I heard a voice, that cried, "Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead!" And through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry Of sunward sailing cranes. 

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tegner’s Drapa

i

What does one make of stalkers? Female ones.

Sasuke stood close to five foot eleven, fairly active and athletic, with a lean, muscled build typical of a teenager who cared for his health and traveled frequently for photography. Not quite pugilist material, but capable of defending himself if necessary. With his quick wit and a taekwondo brown belt, he was well-prepared for self-defense—should, as previously mentioned, the situation call for it.

Sairiumu Academy lay reposed among lush, well-preserved forests at the base of a prominent mountain carved with the visages of heroes past. At one glance, it seemed a serene and fortified paradise for the children of the elite and sickeningly wealthy. But there loomed a sense of threat in its seemingly endless marbled corridors for Sasuke that particular busy noon when she came: the new transfer student, Hinata Hyuuga. The crown of her head couldn't even reach his neck; she showed no vile display of possession of arms or rambunctious attitude; she couldn't seem to stop twiddling her thumbs, and judging from her body language, didn't feel confident enough in herself to speak way out of a difficult situation. And yet, she dared strike him up with a greeting, asked him for general guidance about the photography club’s applications, and timidly signed her name on the form.

It didn't escape Sasuke how she stole glances at him. With only the reception table between them, she must've imagined he kept looking at her because he was checking her out. A sense of dread came over him, and he looked away. He had taken on the reception duties and sent the other photography club members on a lunch break. To Hinata Hyuuga, who has an apparent crush on him, it was the perfect opportunity to engage him in small talk and get familiar. But he would not let her have it.

As though held at gunpoint, he glanced to the right and then to the left, checking out the hallway while she continued filling out the form in small, neat handwriting. His heartbeat quickened, each thump echoing in his ears, a drumbeat of unease. At a corner several blocks away, the Japanese classic painting club was bustling and this brought Sasuke a sense of shallow relief. Should anything happen, they could be his neighborly witnesses.

“Orientation on the 7th,” he said, handing her an envelope with pamphlets and orientation details inside. His voice was kept monotonous like the hum of a fan, his face blank and stone cold, though he maintained eye contact because he wasn't one to cower in the face of intimidation.

With a deer caught in headlights impression, Hinata Hyuuga's eyes caught the light in an almost prismatic quality. They were like amethysts, clear with streaks of light jumping through a million tiny mirror surfaces, shooting back at him with the rush of a bullet train. It was uncanny and inhuman, sending jolts along his spine. She made the hairs on his forearms rise in goose flesh.

“O-okay…” she replied. And then not another word.

As she walked away, he noticed a faint scent of rain in the air, a memory of an evening on Hashirama’s bridge flashing briefly in his mind, her crazy eyes wide with recognition as she gripped his sleeve. This was not the first time he’d seen her. Her transfer to Sairiumu and even ending up in the same class as him—they weren't mere coincidences, Sasuke was certain. She had come after him.

She disappeared down the hallway after taking a turn, and a sense of foreboding still lingered. An unsettling heaviness whirred in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't quite shake. go to Chapter List>

[sky-fire-forever]

Happy Friday

"you can't save everyone" from the angst prompts. And I'm thinking Fenris/Hawke/Anders.

Thank you for this prompt! I decided to put it in my Tranquil!Anders au because I love angst.

My Hawke in this one is Scorpius, who uses they/them pronouns.

“I don't want to talk about this,” Hawke says stubbornly because they're nothing if they aren't incredibly stubborn. 

“You don't have a choice. It needs to be discussed,” Fenris fires back. “What will we do if there is no cure?”

It's an argument they've been dancing around for weeks now. Every time Fenris tries to bring up what's happening, Hawke avoids and deflects and refuses to give a straight answer. They're avoiding the reality that sits before them and it's growing frustrating.

“There has to be!” Hawke says and there's desperation in their voice, a demand for reality itself to change based on their command. “We'll find it. We have to.”

Fenris sighs, the fight not yet leaving him. “And if we can't? How long will we spend searching for what might be a myth?”

“As long as it takes.” Hawke's voice is hard. 

“The rest of our lives?” Fenris presses. “Until we wither away and die hunting for what might not even exist?”

“You don't have to come with me!” Hawke snaps. “I can do this on my own!”

That hits Fenris like a slap to the face. Since they first learned Anders was missing, they've been in this together; they tracked Anders down together, found him together, made the decision to keep him alive together. This isn't something Hawke can decide Fenris isn't a part of.

“I do not think that would be wise,” Anders’ monotone voice comes from somewhere to Fenris’ right. 

“No one asked you,” Hawke hisses. 

“Apologies.” Anders bows his head in submission and Fenris hates it.

Anders should have an opinion, he should fight to say it, should cause a fuss over his sense of justice. He should be more than this barely cognizant husk if a man that the Rite of Tranquility turned him into. 

But it doesn't matter what should be true, the reality of the situation is clear: Anders is Tranquil. He will likely remain Tranquil until the day he dies, either by Fenris’ blade or Hawke’s magic or some other death that falls upon him. They can't spend the rest of their lives chasing a fairytale in the vain hopes of a cure. 

“You can't save everyone,” Fenris says as he searches Hawke’s face for any hint of regret.

“I don't need to save everyone,” Hawke says. “Just him.”

Fenris sees the pain in their eyes and he can’t bring himself to argue further, not now. Eventually, he’ll bring it up again and the argument will begin anew. For now, though, he’s too exhausted to continue the fight. 

[randomfoggytiger]

LOVED your Milagro analysis! I recently showed the episode to a friend who's not an xf fan, and she was bothered by the lack of emotion from Mulder and i was like...whatt. how can you not see how bothered and jealous he is from the minute he discovers it was padgett who sent the charm. his expressions in the elevator, breaking into his apartment to find Scully there, every time Scully defended padgett, like I was eating that shti right upp so I was so confused. I think it's difficult for people who aren't used to watching DD's acting (especially as Mulder) to be able to see the subtleties. I actually think Milagro's quite significant in terms of their emotional arch as well, I know he ditches her again the next episode but I feel a definite shift in their energies, like some things had been cleared, and then he does come back to her (baseball scene), whenever he can find the headspace to get away from his obsessive need to search and find, he always comes back to Scully (touchstone I actually cannotttt). anyway, I feel really validated in my emotions after reading the post so sorry for the rant but really appreciate it!!!

I get the same thing-- I also have someone I showed the series to, and she, unironically, falls into the "MSR wouldn't last and is surprised that it did" noromo camp.

DD's acting as Mulder is soooooooooooo great: even compared to his earlier work, there was a flatness undercut by jocular tongue-in-cheek teasing that makes it so memorable. But I found, even when watching a scene, that if I take random screenshots they STILL don't capture the emotion-- I have to be very careful which expressions to pick because they're "flit and they're gone" reactions.

And thank you for liking the Milagro analyses! It was an out-of-left-field for me, and surprisingly a lot of (not hard) work, two parts turning into three and 30 screenshots turning into 30 sets of 3 squished together screenshots. Love the feedback, and rant anytime~! ;)))))

[nerdysleepybunny]

Not requested, but here’s some Technoblade for y’all. A mix of angst and fluff. It’s currently 1 am and I’m too tired to get any actual fics out atm so y’all can get this little thing before I go to bed. Goodnight my sleepies. 💕

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Fandom(s): DreamSMP

Character(s): C!Technoblade

Reader: Gender neutral (they/you)

TW: Mention of death

Style: Hcs

Summary: You find out that Technoblade will be dying soon. You decide to finally confess your love to him whilst spending your last moments with him.

You walked into Technoblade’s cabin, seeing him looking out the window. His cape and crown were discarded, leaving his beautiful form on full display. His hair wasn’t in its usual braid, it was fully down, framing his scarred face. The man had heard the door open, but didn’t move or look towards the sound, knowing very well who was here.

You walked next to him, staring at the same view. He had been watching the sunset. It reminded you of him.

“Y/N.” His monotone voice broke the silence. The air was tense. He could tell you were holding back tears.

“I’m dying very soon.”

“I know.” He noted how your voice broke, and when he looked down at you, he saw how watery your eyes were. You refused to look at him, knowing it would instantly break the dam. It hurt him knowing how much pain you were going through. He never knew he could have such an affect on someone. He watched with a sad expression as you wiped your eyes before turning to him, not yet looking at his face.

“Technoblade.” You grabbed one of his hands, which was a lot bigger than yours. His heart shattered as he thought back to all the times you played with his hands, tracing the lines and scars, maneuvering his fingers to form a certain shape, cracking his knuckles, playing with the jewelry, or simply just holding it. It was a habit that he’d come to enjoy and even find a comfort in. You knew he wasn’t really one for physical affection, so you showed your love in small ways. And whilst at first they were difficult to get used to, it eventually worried him if you weren’t doing the small acts you usually did.

You played around with his hand a bit, before intertwining your fingers with his and bringing your other hand to hold his near your heart. You sighed, stepping closer to Techno.

“I love you.” The words stunned him. Sure, you’ve said them before, but those were in a platonic way. He could tell that this time was different. But now wasn’t the time for him to go through a whole rant of “there’s so many other people but you love ME?” He could tell that was the last thing you needed right now. So he accepted your words.

“I love you too.” He gently unwrapped his hand from yours, moving it to cup your cheek. Your eyes finally met his red ones, tears streaming down your face. Now it was Techno who was holding back tears.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner..” The piglin took his other hand to cup your other cheek, holding your face still as he leaned down and placed a gentle yet loving kiss to your forehead. A silent way of telling you that it was alright.

“When I die, I’d like to meet you again. And spend the afterlife with you.” Technoblade smiled and leaned his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes with nothing but adoration.

“I’d love that.”

You spent his final moments right by his side in his bedroom, watching the sunset, then the moonrise, then the stars. He retold you Greek myths, rambled about how he was feeling, how scared he was to die, and how sad he was that he had to leave you. You listened and comforted him through the whole thing. And right before he died, he gave you one last kiss on the lips, one that was passionate and long-lasting. The tears came right back, knowing what was about to come. He shared one last “I love you” before taking his final breath. You luckily managed to say it back just before he died, seeing him smile before he went completely limp.

You stayed in his bedroom for hours, holding him close to you and sobbing until his body went cold. You hoped that it wasn’t true, hoped that he’d open his eyes and laugh at the state you were in. But no. He was gone, and he was never coming back.

You took all of his favorite and personal belongings. His crown, his cape, his sword, his axe, his book of Greek myths, and The Art of War. You gave your lover one last kiss before burying him along with all of his belongings, stabbing his sword into the ground and placing his cape and crown with it. You surround his grave with his favorite flowers and potatoes, along with a sign that said “I love you. -Y/N”

You took Technoblade’s extra cape, vowing to keep it safe and never let anything bad happen to it. It was all you had left of him. You stayed at his cabin that night, sleeping in his bed. Well, tried to. You were cuddled up in his sheets and his cape, Techno being the only thing on your mind. The feeling of his last kiss to you still burned on your lips, wishing you could feel it one last time. You cried all night in his bed, not falling asleep until the sun came up. When you awoke in the afternoon, you expected Technoblade to be there by your side, before remembering the tragic truth.

He was gone.

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Honestly just knowing that Alex’s heart no longer beats, he no longer breathes, and his body is now ice cold is just super scary. The sound of heartbeats have always been comforting but after losing him I’ve realized how scary and painful death can truly be. Now whenever I hear a heartbeat I’ll probably start crying and imagine it’s Techno- Anywho, it’s officially 2 am, almost 3 am. I spent way more time on this than I thought I would lmfao. But it’s time for me to sleep. Bye bye sleepies. <33

[guzsdaily]

A Happy Life is Boring

Daily Blogs 360 - Oct 30th, 12.024

And I'm happy about it.

True Happiness

Since I can remember, I have always heard about "finding true happiness", "and they lived happy forever ever, the end", "if you are not happy, you should worry", and you probably also heard of it, and probably know it is bullshit.

It is rare, if not impossible, to be happy forever, since it is biology. As human, we adapt to the current state we are, so if you are being able to progress in life, maybe bought a new house, or was able to get a job, or just is being able to get over the day-to-day and being productive, you will feel happiness in the start, but get used to it as time passes is this state. That's why a lot of people who were able to achieve their dreams, can feel lost or even sad about it after, since the progress, the curve of happiness, will flatten after some point, and you end without anything to fill that gap again. I felt this a lot of times in my short life, and it took some time to know why I wasn't feeling happy.

Achieving your goals will be fulfilling, you will feel happy, but it will flatten as it is achieved. It will probably end up boring.

Unfortunately, even when I was able to keep growing, like in this year, boredom was something frequent. This year was great for me, I finally started my dream brand, my projects are taking shape and being done, I finally have an actual job and salary, and this daily blog is being something consistent in my life. However, I got used to it, thinking about these achievements don't really make me feel happy, even tho I'm proud of myself, I mostly feel nothing. And I'm kinda okay with it, I finally understand that unending happiness is just a myth, and that I should feel more things.

True Feelings

Growing up, I was always indirectly toughed that feeling anything besides happiness is bad. I should never feel bored in my life; I should never feel anger; envy; I shouldn't feel sadness; and dear god if I cried when I am a man! Man don't cry!

No, they cry, they should fucking cry.

It was hard to kinda accept it, but not gonna lie, I feel better feeling more emotions than just happiness. You should, generally, feel all emotions in the emotions' spectrum, from anger to peace, from sadness to happiness, feel them, don't repress them. And yes, you don't necessarily need to seek them to have a better person, but a little I would recommend (of course, if you are sad you aren't supposed to seek feeling more sad, if that isn't obvious).

Something that I do time to time, is getting some songs, and actually listen to them. I mostly do this when I, like previously said, feel bored. I get some songs, sit on the carpet of my room, with just the lights of my monitor illuminating my room, and I focus on the songs.

And you know what I feel with the songs? Everything. I cry when a good guitar solo on a sad song until my eyes turn red, like with The Loneliest by Måneskin; Or start to dance and feel a small nostalgia for when I listened Novocaine by The Unlikely Candidates going to school; I feel dread and fear of the future with songs such as Welcome To The Internet; Or a strange peace with That Funny Feeling, both by Bo Burnham.

Because feeling just happy is boring.

True Life

One of the other main reasons I seek feelings with art and music, is that my day-to-day is and forever will be monotonous.

Trying to organize your life, will probably make you end up having a routine of some sort, which by the definition, will make your day-to-day be repetitive. Repetitive days are of course, not dopamine inducing. I always grew thinking that a fulfilling life is one that you do something different every day, and even tho having adventures and doing different thing is fulfilling in the short term, it probably won't be if you are focusing on something bigger. Yes, making the progress and work entertaining and valuing the in-between is great, but most projects will have some sort of repetitiveness or standard on the daily liking it or not. My main/current profession/focus which is programming is in some sense different each day, since problems and the code you will write to solve them will be mostly always different, but I can't go away from the repetitiveness of the same keywords, patterns, language, and way of solving problems.

If you saw my day-to-day, you would be probably bored, since it is mostly just:

Wake up;

Make up my bed and brush my teeth;

Get some coffee and check my emails;

Go to the computer and do some tasks for my job;

Lunch;

Daily meeting;

Do some tasks for my own projects;

Finish the working day;

Have some resting hours, maybe passing time with my partner;

Write the daily blog;

Go to bed.

That's pretty much how I would summarize the day-to-day. Do I feel anything special during the day? Nop. Do I feel happiness in the day? Mostly no. I feel nothing.

However, this was the routine that made me be able to have progress in my projects, was the routine that made me have a job, that is making me hopefully a better person and more close to achieve my dreams. And knowing that makes me happy when I think about it, but someone from the outside wouldn't feel the same, neither do I most of the time.

Because, a happy life is boring. And I'm happy having a boring life.

Today's artists & creative things Music: ピノキオピー - きみも悪い人でよかった feat. 初音ミク / I'm glad you're evil too - by ピノキオピー PINOCCHIOP OFFICIAL CHANNEL I cried at this song when I heard it for the first time, this is a masterpiece.

© 2024 Gustavo "Guz" L. de Mello. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

[yourassimcomingforit]

Henry’s speech vs Greek myths

In Henry’s speech during FFPS he alludes to William Aftons or as he’s referred to in the game Scraptrap’s character being one similar to Sisyphus’, who in his Greek myth tried to escape and trick death. During his speech, Henry says things like, “your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles” and condemns him to “the darkest pit of hell” when referring to William’s search for eternal life via murdering children. While it’s not a direct one-to-one association with the myth of Sisphyus there are still many similarities. Sisyphus is a man who strived to outrun death and in his failure was sentenced to rolling a rock up a hill somewhere in the underworld forever and never succeeding, a monotonous task he’s forced to repeat over and over . While William is a man who attempted to outrun death via murder and when he is finally killed he’s sent to some kind of purgatory forced to play the same night over and over, as seen in the next game Ultimate Custom Night where you play as him stuck and forced to play night after night as a typical night guard against all of the Five Nights at Freddy’s characters, never able to leave. It’s a monotonous task he’s forced to repeat over and over. The slight references to Sisphyus’ myth gives a hint to what would happen in the next game, along with giving further insight into Williams character if you look at him through the lens of Sisyphus.

The Minotaur was a “monster” that was trapped in a labyrinth with no exit or escape. Throughout Henry’s speech at the end of Freddy Fazbears Pizzeria Simulator (FFPS) Henry refers to the animatronics trapped in the pizzeria as “monsters trapped in corridors” and the actual pizzeria as “a labyrinth with no exit” both of which are associated with the Greek myth about the Minotaur. The references to the myth give the listener a deeper understanding of the animatronics by connecting the confusing story in the game to a recognizable myth.

[madmarchhare]

When the Times Change Chapter 3

The third chapter to the post-apocalyptic story that I posted the other day. I hope you enjoy it, but I would recommend reading the first and second chapters before continuing to read this, if you have not already.

Verdant: ‘The drink of death’

Lil’ broke the rumbling monotone of the engine by switching on the radio, being firmly met with the rush of static, the sound of absence, and fiddled with the dial trying to capture the voice of the few stations still left. I didn’t see why they still broadcasted, really, no good way to profit off it, though it did make communication easier if you could encode your messages right. After a few minutes of fiddling with the radio she found a station while Rock drove. It was a patchwork sort of broadcast, with no set theme or genre. Though there wasn’t really any who could claim that, bar from a classical station that went silent last year, to the dismay of many I had heard.

The broadcast now coming through the crackling speakers was headed by a man, presumably, who called himself ‘The Songbird’. A bit of an effeminate name, but it was quickly latched onto by its listeners, so I couldn’t really call fault in it. As for where that broadcast came from, there was a great level of debate. Some liked the idea of a Western broadcast from somewhere like Ray, or Lantro. Even L.A. for some of the more hopeful, or foolish, of old men. But personally, I nurtured the idea of an Eastern broadcast, likely from Carston near Old Chicago, or in the southern part of Wisconsin, or even on the outskirts of the Crack, that God forsaken place.

But disregarding that, he was here, with an eternal peal of songs and comments, often talking about events that never happened, or were ahead in the future, that hadn’t happened yet, or were years in the past of the Old World. He was a mystery, a cryptid, something there but never able to be explained.

But, again, few actually cared, relegating the story to the endless stock of unexplained mysteries, myths and monsters that surrounded and accompanied the wasteland we lived in. There was little time to think for most. We continued forward to the North-East, the pair apparently needing no prodding to uphold our bargain. So, I decided to rest, hanging my jacket on the frame of the car. Tucking my earnings into a fold on my shoe I laid down to rest, keeping all bar my jacket on, a precaution turned habit.

We arrived at Verdant the next day, closing in on mid-day, the pair having to stop for a few hours outside of the city to let the engine cool and to refuel, revealing the temperamentality of their vehicle, it obviously being built for either cooler terrain or for sprints not marathons, the mammoth of an engine sputtering and wheezing like a dying man’s breath. The black paint likely did not help.

But, never the less, we arrived.

The sun was firm and proud in the sky, roasting the air around us and the ground at our feet, but even more irritatingly it was blustery, the wind whipping and turning like a mad dog, sending the course dirt and sand to dance and swirl irritably around the raw ankles and faces of those who wandered the city’s streets. We walked up to the city’s entrance as a pair of brown uniformed guards walked by, then one turned to us and seemed to jump up and walked hurriedly to us pulling his, quite badly maintained rifle, from his back into his grip.

“Hold it!” he yelled out clearly, fitting his rifle into his shoulder, and pointing it squarely at my chest, his finger falling onto the trigger. The guards all loved to wave those things about didn’t they. “You were supposed to be incarcerated at Newgate! What are you doing here?” his tone was aggressive and short, his face pulled in a stern expression, the cliché of Verdant guards. I smiled kindly at him, which seemed more to knock him off balance. Good.

“You have been misinformed sir,” I replied, the other two gave each other slightly confused looks, but kept it to themselves, my possible arrest not bothering them too much. Typical.

“I was sentenced to serfdom, slavery really but it’s less offensive or incriminating to put down on documents you see- the ‘powers that be’ as they call themselves prefer to announce it as imprisonment, than face public criticism, slavery tends to leave a bitter taste in the mouths of many you see,” I spieled smilingly, the man’s face was confused at my statement, but nervous, “You could confirm it with them, but they don’t really like those down the bottom of the ladder to know about these things, so I would recommend keeping this to yourself…” I finished, smiling kindly as I let the dark not hang in his face like a noose, his face soon turning pale, making the grey shadow from a bad razor clear on his face.

“S-so, why are you here, in Verdant?” he inquired, still resilient in his duty, but trying to ignore the earlier conversation, lowering his rifle. I smiled at him pitifully.

“I am here with my handler, my Lady here,” I replied gesturing grandly to Lil’, not totally withholding myself from the enjoyment of the irony of the assertion. Lil’ and Rock took on angered and shocked expressions but quickly hid them before the guard had a chance to notice. And before he pursued any further, I continued: “And do not be so presumptuous as to ask my lady’s aims in this city as she will not be so lowered to explain herself to one as low pegged as you.” The guard wore a slightly insulted expression in response, knitting his brow, but quickly got over it, likely used to this treatment from many.

“And what is, He, present here for?” he asked, regarding Rock with a gesture of his eyes and a slight bitterness in his voice, showing his plain dislike, but otherwise settling into a documentarian tone.

“He is her concubine,” I replied in a matter-of-fact tone, which attracted wide eyed stares from the pair at the back of my head.

“Really?” the guard scoffed slightly.

“Well, yes, after all you didn’t consider that to be my role, did you?” I retorted, making the guard stiffen in response, “My lady is not so course as to enjoy the affections of children, she prefers those of Quazi’s, especially reptiles, after all I hear women are quite fond of what their tongues can do,” I elucidated with a cheeky expression, the guard going slightly red in the face as I continued, as well as the pair behind me, coughing slightly as he tried to move away from the subject.

“Well carry on, and enjoy your visit,” he ended the questioning and walked away, slightly awkwardly, to re-join his fellow guar- his face still not settled on which colour to turn. As he departed, I could feel the stares sizzling on the back of my head, outperforming the sun overhead.

“What the hell you prick! Why the fuck did you say that!?” Rock roared lifting me up by my lapels and shaking me roughly. I looked at him with a smirk.

“He wanted a reason for my ‘freedom’ so I supplied him with one,” I replied flatly, playing coy.

He went redder still and retorted, “You know bloody well that’s not what I’m talking about!” his face even redder now, both from embarrassment and anger.

“First thing that came to mind,” I replied smarmily, keeping a straight face.

“Calling us slavers!?” Rock demanded, shaking me again.

“Is that not an apt assessment of the situation. I am with you against my will, as you declared yourselves my handlers ‘for the greater good’ as you would put it. You can label it as you please to help your sense of justice, but those are the facts,” I retorted, being short with them, my face drawn thin as I finished, while Rock’s own was wrapped in a red grimace. Infuriated but not seeing any further way to chew me out, he dropped me unceremoniously onto my feet, giving one last grumble as he did so. We than walked into the city proper.

Verdant was a much flatter city than Olrick, sat in the dip of two hills, that the city mined rock and clay from, with buildings sat low to the ground, all bleached by the sun, the lack of nearly any obstacle robbing them of any possibility of shade. But the pride of this city was the water vein that ran underneath that brought life to this city. But that blessing had fallen from grace when it became irradiated a few years ago, the city now relying on other townships for most food and water.

We walked northwards into the city, following one of the main streets. Verdant was built like a wagon wheel. Circular in form, with roads coming from its centre like spokes, the centre spire being where the cities governors ruled. Conveniently the shop I was looking for was on the road’s turning near the centre.

“So…” Lil’ began tentatively, trying to start a conversation most likely wanting to bring Rock from his crimson stupor, a feeling of exhaustion the first thing that came to me. “What’s Newgate?” I regarded her plainly, still walking forward then began, deciding to indulge her question, to possibly curry some favour.

“Since this settlements founding, and up till recently, they had massive trouble with crime, but the city was reluctant to establish a police force. People were still terrified from what happened in Amarillo, the coup and the College Massacre after it - where the police there executed any dissenters, hung the bodies from the roof of the college and the art museum next door,” I explained half-heartedly. The pair took on expressions of disgust, apparently not having heard about it.

Honestly, what did they actually know?

“So, they decided to simply make the punishments for crimes more and more blood thirsty and violent, to scare off criminals, to make the risk outweigh any possible gain. Which is similar to what an old-world nation did once,” I paused my narrative to let a trolley cross the street, the ramshackle carriage running on a reclaimed steel rail set into the orange soil, a recent addition from just before I came here apparently, sending sparks flying from the wires overhead that it clung to with an old meat hook. “And when the police force came, they wanted to keep some element, or flavour of the viciousness of punishment from the old system, so, they founded Newgate, put it a few miles South East of Wichita, under the control of some of the raider bosses in the city. They named it after an old-world prison once called by a famous author of its nation ‘a blueprint for hell’…. A comparison matched if not exceeded by its reincarnation,” I finished morosely, keeping a pace ahead of the pair.

“How do you know so much about these places?” Lil’ asked curiously, Rock looking at me like he also asked the question. I regarded her flatly, debating whether to bother with answering it.

“I listen to chatter and my customers, I make it my business to know what I think it will be necessary to my business ventures. I know what I have heard and what I learned and experienced for myself. Just as you have, and everyone else has. I just make more time for it,” I answered plainly, the other two not bothering to hide their dissatisfaction with my answer, not that I cared. I wasn’t their entertainer.

We came to the turning and dipped into it. The street currently was coated in the cool shadow cast by the spire that stood as the town’s centre, looming over it. At one point it was an observation tower, though what it actually observed was not known, and thus not cared about. The street was like most in Verdant, low houses and a wide road, buildings stuffed either side broken up by toothpick alleys, tarp pulled out over sections of the street in an attempt to get some shade. But here the shacks pushed out into the street, counters and boxes laden with wares to catch the attention of those on the street and pull them into the store proper.

I turned around to the pair, making them stop suddenly. “Well, while we’re here, why don’t you do some shopping for supplies while I go retrieve my belongings,” I proposed to them, my arms behind my back, the pair almost immediately taking on suspicious looks, Rock more plainly so.

“Why? So, you can ditch us and escape!?” Rock yelled leaning in close, till his face was an inch from mine. His shout pulling the attention of passers by at least for a moment.

“My friend, I would advise against shouting in the street about my imprisonment,” I chided, the Quazi quickly darting his eyes at the few lingering gazes aimed at us, and he coughed into his hand and began fingering his collar nervously as he straightened back up. “And no, I’m not trying to escape, I simply think it would be a better use of time. Besides, within this city I am a criminal, why would I try to escape here when you are the thing protecting me from my likely arrest?” I finished, a level of irate sass still clear in my voice.

He regarded me coolly but then gave a heavy sigh looking down, as he pinched his brow. “Fine...” he breathed, Lil’ nodding with him.

I began to turn away when Lil’ spoke up, “but Azzy,” I turned around to snap at her for using that nickname, but she interrupted me, “If I find out you have been cheating these people any more than you already have - It will, not, end well for you,” she finished darkly, cracking her knuckles, a straight yet terrible expression bolted heavily on her face. I cleared my throat then nodded to her in agreement, peeling away from the group, a slight grimace on my lips. I suppose, that, was how much she would allow.

As the other two went off to search for supplies, asking a stranger - who obviously was hired by the shop he directed them to - for directions, and went off down a different street, I continued further down the one we had parted ways on. The ground was dusty, yet hard underfoot at the same time, sparsely invaded by sickly green desert grass, sharp and waxy, along with stringy pale bushes. The buildings were all either made of a grey, bleached wood often called ‘drifter’s wood’ or radwood. It was light like balsa wood, but it was hard and burnt poorly. Or they were made of fired mud-bricks carved from the two hills that surrounded the city.  It was a yellowish, chalky coloured soil that was firm and easily set or fired, often used for typical brick structures or simple sod houses. The street was full of people, great processions of them flowed through it, or just sat on the ground and leaned against the stalls relishing the forgiving and patient shade.

The shop I was looking for was the only one on the street made of metal, and the least busy of them all. It was panelled in corrugated iron, bitten with rust and patina, bolted heavily onto a steel frame hewn together with rough welds left un-tended. It had a gaol door as its back entrance and bank gaurds as its shutters pulled from a town bank somewhere. It was the Contraband Office, where Verdant sold the valuables and ‘loot’ of criminals they caught, either to the original owners, or to the highest bidder. It was staffed by a largish man dressed in a white sleeveless vest, who had thick arms and large hands. With a small face on a large head to top it off. But, despite appearances, he spoke very clearly and with a refined air, his dress most likely for function rather than for style.

No one knew his actual name - he was just ‘the Quartermaster’.

“Ah, hello dear sir, see anything that catches your interest? If not, I have some recommendations for a gentleman such as yourself,” the Quartermaster advertised pleasantly, his small face getting lost in his head as he smiled.

“No, I think I’ll have a look for myself for the moment, thank you though,” I flashed him a warm smile as I replied, which he returned, the look of a salesman well hidden in his face. Not hidden enough though. The stall was laden with items on shelves, strewn about on desks, on top of or spilling from safes. The shop was lit by a zig zag of fairy lights hung from the steel rafters, their polite buzz as they worked being drowned out by the growling rattle of a reclaimed copper fan, hung on the wall, blowing the dry air about the shop. And of course, in the centre occupying a third of the shop itself, the Quartermaster, his cleanshaven face lit by a warm glow of a cigar made from old paper, sending up a twisting spire of dirty smoke that was quickly tossed about by the fan.

After a moment I spotted it on a shelf near the top of the rear wall, nestled between three bottles of snake wine - the handmade bottles filled with a muddy brown liquid - and a pair of colt pistols plated in gold and silver with jet and pearl grips respectively, engraved in either Spanish or Italian. It was a smallish box dressed in navy blue leather, the combination lock untouched, and succinctly uncracked, its true value likely not known.

“What about that box in the back, the blue one?” I pursued feigning ignorance. At this he perked up, having been absorbed in his makeshift cigar and a ratty pink book. He turned his head to the back of the stall and smiled broadly, his cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth almost magically.

“Ahh,” he exclaimed, grandly, readying his best salesman pitch, disguising it as a description, “this was taken from a notorious scammer that was charged with manslaughter and fraudulent advertising. He sold undercharged bullets as standard rounds and irradiated or polluted water as clean. Doesn’t open, bloke didn’t keep the code on him, but still, it makes a good conversation piece and could be picked, with some time. I could give it to you for… Two thousand Note.”

I looked over to him pleasantly. The battle had begun. “Two-thousand?” I asked politely, putting on a curious expression, “Since it doesn’t open, I don’t think it should be that much, it could have rot, or be booby trapped, or filled with contraband… For two thousand the risk doesn’t seem worth it. How about fifteen-hundred?” I raised a counter offer, testing the waters with the value, not sure how low he would go yet. He smiled back politely, pleased at the challenge, while simultaneously annoyed at the loss of an easy sell.

“Ah, but this is part of the allure, the adventure and the mystery of it give substance to the cost. But I am a good fellow, for you, I could bring the price down to eighteen hundred,” the Quartermaster countered, making his voice excited to try and drag out some buyer’s joy from me, a good technique. I put my hands into my pockets and dipped my head closer to the box on the shelf, making a mock inspection, trying to make the man think I was taking the bait. 

“Best I can do is sixteen- fifty,” I answered. He smiled at me widely and reached for the box from the shelf lifting it out from under the gold-plated pistol and placing it on the counter, with a light thump.

“Done!” he exclaimed with a pleased finality, his smile barely splitting his large head. I handed him the money as he pushed the box forward, the man then deftly counting up the notes with a dexterity his thick hands didn’t quite suggest. I picked up the box from the handle hidden under the lock and turned to leave when something in the open shelves before the stall caught my attention. It was a polished steel pistol sat atop a box with its image on it. It was flowing with smooth lines and a sweeping look, ‘atomic age’ I think a client once called it.

“What about this?” I asked, gesturing to the pistol. The Quartermaster seemed to shout internally for joy, really it was so obvious he might as well have done it out loud.

“Ah, that. That was taken from a raider group called the Followers of War, they worship firearms and technology, even have their own ‘gun Jesus’, Ian something. Surprisingly peaceful group, or at least this man was, but he looked a bit too long at a councilman’s daughter, if you catch my meaning. So, he was ‘made an example of’, as they put it. Took It off him before they strung him up, grisly affair really. Anyway, it’s called the ‘Whitney Wolverine’, made in the 1950’s and rather rare, holds ten rounds of .22 LR. It comes with two spare magazines as well as one in the pistol itself, a cleaning kit and a spare barrel and bolt and the man’s holster, hanged with him. And since you bought the box for me, I’ll give you a discount, four thousand Note,” he finished pleasantly, giving his pitch quickly, skating over the messier details in a dismissive manner. A wide smile on his face.

It was an obvious attraction pitch, after all, how much did it cost before the bargain, if it really was one. But I had no weapons, and most were a bit too pricy, though which again raised the question of why he was selling it for so low. But if it turned out poorly, I could always re-sell it to some shmuck on the street. “I’ll take it,” I said plainly, handing him the money and picking up the pistol and putting it into its box, picking up the holster last. It was one that tucked underneath the arm on the chest, of worn yellowish leather, padded with fur.

“Pleasure doing business,” the Quartermaster, replied thumbing through the bills mirthfully, his grand smile still dwarfed on his face.

“Likewise,” I replied as he receded back into the shop to put his earnings into a stained white safe on the floor being used as a stand for some of the store’s merchandise. A meagre earning for him compared to the actual value of my case.

I went to the crossroads, which they had specified as the meetup point after we had parted ways, and sat down on a wooden bench nestled in an alcove of a building where it ducked inward from the street. After waiting about ten minutes I surmised that they would be a bit longer, so I began re-sorting my purchases, first slipping off my jacket and pulling on the pistol sash over my shirt, slotting the pistol smoothly into the holster, keeping the box to hold everything else. I then lifted the case properly onto my lap and entered the combination: 13878, and heard the polite click of the lock suddenly releasing, I lifted the lid which snapped open from its springs.

Inside lay its bounty. It contained a Curta mechanical calculator; an accounts book and set of writing pencils, a book on Pittman’s shorthand; a stack of twenty thousand Note; a pocket book map of the wastes (self-annotated); some bullets for money, they preferred them over Note in the northwest, and finally in the right side of the case was a small jewellery box, fitting seamlessly in the case, its deep navy leather matching the felt lining of the latter. Inside the jewellery box, surrounded by slightly tarnished white silk lining sat a silver glasses case, heavily engraved, containing a pair of ornate yet conservative looking reading glasses; a large engraved FOB watch lined in nickel and silver with a white Ivory face and blue hands on a long chain and finally, a plain Iron ring clutching pleasantly at an odd clump of amber, an outlier compared to the glitz of the other occupants of the case, but just as valuable.

All of these made the value of the case immense. Though the rendered down silver that lined the case were also a contributor. I fixed the watch into my waistcoat, not putting on the glasses or the ring as to not draw too much attention. After an hour, they still had not arrived, so I updated my books and peered around at the wares of the merchants: it was mostly junk, copies or scrap to catch the eye of anyone who walked by. There was a food shop on the corner that sat with the sun now stood high behind it. It was staffed by a tall, reasonably thin, woman dressed in a grimy turquoise and red boilersuit, looted from the bowels of the observation tower with the sleeves rolled up past the elbows. She leaned over the counter of her stall with a proud secureness in the quality of her wares, her blonde hair in twin plats tossed over her shoulders, greasy from the city’s general lack of soap and water, her face welcoming but powdered in the reddish dust that caked most things in Verdant.

Giving into my peckishness I wandered over, “So, what do you sell?” I asked standing slightly away from the stall, peering into it as I tried to notice some inkling of the shops’ speciality. The woman gave a broad smile in response, knowing that a meal was always the easiest sell.

“Kebabs,” she answered, a smile still wedged onto her face, “simmered and seasoned for three hours and slow cooked - ninety Note for one,” she stated as she handed me one. “First one’s free.”

“Thank you,” I replied, not remis to free food when offered, and took a bite. It was delicious and had a pleasant texture, but said texture was slightly crackly like I was chewing Rockers (a sort of hard tack that you could buy in Frontier, that weren’t all that bad) and had an odd consistency. “What type of meat is this?”

“Scorps,” the shopkeeper answered, her voice pleasant as she replied. I stopped for a moment, looking at the meat on the metal rod, but then shrugged my shoulders and went for another bite.

“Hey you haven’t paid for that!” she suddenly yelled, stopping me. I looked at her slightly confused, hesitant of what to expect.

“What are you talking about?” I retorted, expecting a scam, but I was too late.

“Only the first bite’s free not the whole thing,” she replied, feigning ignorance through her sternness with a smugness well hidden in her voice. I smiled at her, it was a good trick I’ll give her that, I’ll have to remember that for later, though it is irritating nonetheless.

“Very well,” I replied handing over a small pile of money, which she went to snatch from my hand but before she took it, I leaned in close and whispered, “I can respect the use of small text but I would work on your wording, or a warrant may come for you.” My cheery tone at the threat made the woman take on a perturbed look. “In any case, they are as nice as you said, thank you,” I added pleasantly, her expression still uncertain, and began to walk off before turning back and yelling.

“I never got your name by the way…” I called over my shoulder, the question caused her to give a start, and stiffen slightly, nervously replying.

“C-call me Charlie, and you?” she asked trying to shake off her nerves by continuing the conversation. I gave her a polite smile and replied, doubting she could do much with a name.

“Asriel,” I answered, still smiling softly at her, seeming to make her flinch. I walked back to the bench, as I finished off the kebab.

A couple of hours later I determined that they were being held up and decided to look for them, though mainly because the guard patrols became much more common around six, and the lack of my ‘owner’ would flare up suspicion. I ventured out into the edges of the city, watching as the majority of the stalls folded up for the night, not ready for the dark and cold, bar for the determined few. From which came the sudden ‘plink’ and buzzing of old bulbs or the sputtering hiss of gas lamps, their orange light jousting out into the street ready for the imminent arrival of darkness, strong only as the sun still hanged blisteringly in the sky. The streets thronged with a fervour of visitors milling about, but slowly they started peeling away, while in parallel a mass of guards flowed in the streets, either soon to be relieved for the day, or commissioned to the oncoming night. The pair of self-professed ‘heroes’ however were nowhere, the entire city seemingly absent of their presence.

I then started to walk back to their car, debating whether to simply take the vehicle and my belongings outright, or simply my things and to get a decent push bike from one of the stalls here. There were benefits to both but I leaned more to the bike. After all, then there was not the cost of fuel to account for, and I’m not sure I could reach the pedals of the car. Then as I walked by a small concrete building, its sealed-up door started banging from the inside, each thump heavy and powerful. The door was sealed by a large bolt and a brick at its foot. Sensing the possibility for profit, or maybe penance, I leapt for the former and pulled back the bolt. The door burst open, the trapped individual having rushed the door, and tripped over the brick at the base of it and fell flat on their face.

Sadly, I then noticed it was my ‘liberator’, Rock and another woman looked curiously out of the doorframe then followed out after her.

Honestly of all the foul chances.

“I was hoping for someone else,” I stated flatly as she pushed herself off the floor, groaning as she rubbed her face with one hand. She looked quickly up at me and sighed, not quite pleased to see me either. “I don’t suppose this makes us even, does it?” I added smarmily, she quickly shot me a glare but decided to ignore me.

“Why are you here?” Rock asked exhaustedly, his brow furrowed, his face dirty with some foul looking blood dappled across it, yet his tired expression no less plain on his face.

“Over four hours is a rather long time to stay still in a city where my mere presence is a felony my friend, I came to see where you were, and to be less plainly in sight. And I have now found you so all’s well,” I responded slightly agitatedly.

“Oh, so it wasn’t to make off with our car and our money then?” he pursued irritably, his vigour coming back quickly as his face bent into a hard frown. I looked at him hard hiding my displeasure.

“Firstly, I earned most of that money, so don’t act so proud, and secondly what use is a car to me aside from raw capital, I can make my own way, as I always have,” I answered, Rock disengaged with the conversation, his vigour flagging as he sat down and leaned hard against the shed, letting out a long breath. “Besides I can’t reach the pedals,” I added, hoping to disarm them slightly, and move things along. The unknown woman snorted slightly at my statement, catching my attention.

“And who are you might I add?” I asked, glancing to her, making her clear her throat in embarrassment.

“Oh yes, how rude of me,” she replied, embarrassed, “My name is Dr Meire, but most people call me ‘Merry’, lovely to meet you,” Meire finished jollily, an uncommon disposition in the wastes, offering her hand with an air about her as welcoming and clear as silk sheets. I accepted her handshake almost subconsciously, keeping my palm away from her grip, and giving her a slightly sceptical look, cocking my head slightly as I offered my hand.

“Pleasure,” I greeted, my caution masked in a genial tone, as she took my hand in her small yet callused own and shook it vigorously, but briskly. She was a thin, tall woman with a roundish face that fell into an almost natural smile, crowned with a mess of ginger hair held together by two loose buns that spang about like pinecones.

“Oh! Your hands are all mangled, did you put them in a fire when you were little?” she suddenly declared, turning over my hands and studying the palms with a fascinated expression, my rambling scars covering the entirety of the inside of my palms and fingers on both hands, the other two making idle glances over to them.

I snatched my hands out of her grasp, a slight bit of panic and anger bubbling up in me. “I don’t think that is relevant.” I returned briskly, a look of indignation flashing on my face before I forced it off. She took on a slightly hurt expression for a moment, but did not hold it for more than that, and quickly pulled her face back into a smile.

“Of course, my apologies,” she replied pleasantly. “Well, Lil’, Rock, thank you again so much for your assistance, you have helped everyone in this town, and it was lovely to meet your friend,” she addressed the pair, smiling kindly to them, then turned to me, not seeing the slight look of disgust Rock had at being called my friend, then looked like she just had a revelation. “Ohhh, I remember you!” she blurted, making me give a start internally. “You were the one who kept going into the water tunnel from the other entrance. You brought up all that water and filtered and boiled it,” Meire exclaimed excitedly.   

I became slightly worried at this, she appeared to a be a ‘good’ person, and if that was the case, she was likely to rat me out to the Council. I could probably convince her with the same story I had sold to the guard, that was, if Lil’ didn’t shoot her mouth wide and blind. “Thank you!” the woman suddenly cried out snatching me up into an unwelcome hug. I didn’t quite know what was happening, I was either being mistaken for someone else, or this woman had something wrong with her, though either way I could use this to my advantage. Both Rock and Lil’ were similarly surprised, with Rock looking like he had just seen a desert bear do the Can-Can in front of him.

“If, I may ask, whatever for?” I wheezed, trying to act cordially, with difficulty as she squeezed all the air from my lungs. She stopped hugging me, letting me catch my breath as she placed me back down onto the ground.

“For helping me figure out how to neutralize the radiation in the water vein of course,” she answered, a broad smile on her face as she replied - accompanied, unbeknownst to her with looks of disbelief and doubt from the pair behind her.

“You were selling some clearly irradiated water for people to examine and use for experiments near the square. I asked you how you cleaned it and it made me think to use reverse osmosis to de-irradiate the water,” she asserted as a broad smile slit her face. I had some feint memories of something like that happening but wasn’t sure of it. But I was not so foolish as to let the opportunity slip by, keeping any confusion off my face.

“Oh of course, I remember now, that’s what it was, well think nothing of it, I was happy to help,” I replied affably. Meire gave a wide smile in return, and nodded her head quickly in thanks, Lil’ and Rock having affixed looks of scepticism onto their faces, but still held their peace while the Good Doctor was close. She bade us goodbye, waving with one hand, her coat swinging open as she did so, showing off a small pin on the inside lapel, a steel tower over a brass desert.

So, a member of the revolutionaries it seems, well isn’t that a coincidence…

She went down the street leading to the town centre, and as she began to mix within the crowds and the quickly onsetting darkness, the pair moved to leave, heading out of the city. I followed after them, slightly sore at the lack of opportunities to trade the visit had given me, only those two opportunities earlier.

“You had no clue what she was talking about, did you,” Lil’ flatly accused, wearing an unamused expression on her face. I placed an eye on Lil’, having expected Rock to be the one to break the peace with a snide comment.

“Your insinuation wounds me, but does not surprise me. I knew perfectly well what she was talking about. To help people like that woman is another benefit of my business,” I returned with a level tone. She regarded me with a heavy look of scepticism, seeing no fruit in my words. “Do not let your idea of what I am taint the actuality of my actions,” I softly added, her expression softened slightly from my little charade, but she still held a look of ill regard. The subject was dropped… A pleasant gift from the city, helping to improve my standing in the pair’s eyes, if only a little.

We arrived at their car as the moonlight began dripping down, its paltry light giving the darkness a ghostly illumination, bringing with it the natural orchestra of the cries and calls of the creatures that made the valley their home, waiting to be preyed upon or to prey. We loaded ourselves into the car, the pair having apparently already loaded their supplies into it. It rumbled itself to a start like a rudely awoken beast, roaring like a manticore as its shook itself awake. It launched itself forward, kicking up sand that danced about in tired clouds, almost idle in the air. I could not tell the direction we were going, the lack of the sun robbing me of that knowledge. Though, in all truth, I doubted that even if I knew that the pair would let me direct them. No matter, really, there is always a profit that can be gleamed from any situation.

The car continued in silence for a while before Rock broke it. “So, what was it that you needed to get back?” a diminutive tone ringing through his question. I wasn’t really bothered to answer, but, if I dodged the question, they might suspect something sinister, so better to give them something to chew on, even if it wasn’t anything true.

“A case, mere sentimentality really,” I replied off handily, he wasn’t facing me, so his expression was a bit of a mystery, but I assumed he was sceptical.

“So, what were the pair of you doing while I was waiting?” I ventured, breaking the silence again, the cackling rumble of the engine sifting into the background noise along with animal calls and long ringing shots from some far-off place.

“We just helped the Doctor in her project to purify the towns water supply. She came up to us after we had bought some supplies and asked for us to guard her as she installed her machine. So, we followed her into the tunnel, killed some Milis’ and crab thingies. Then she installed the machine at the head of the stream to purify it. Now that town will finally have clean water,” Rock finished proudly, sounding pleased with himself.

“Well, that’s good,” I replied with fake geniality after a moment, hiding annoyed at the loss of a good trade opportunity in Verdant. The lack of water always made for easy business. But I suppose it was okay to get some more standing with the revolutionaries, it would come in handy shortly.

[mulderscully]

Do you think David Duchovny is a bad actor?

no 😭 ngl i do think gillian is a BETTER actor overall, but in s1 they're both really green and still learning how to act and i find that endearing as hell but it also makes their stronger acting moments really shine!! david is a good actor most of the time, he does some things better than others and that's okay. the man the myth the monotone as they say....

[daifukumochiin]

Summary: Sasuke's orderly life at elite Sairiumu Academy is disrupted by the arrival of Hinata, a timid transfer student whose obvious crush on him, a young man dedicated to his craft and his current relationship, stirs unease. (Initial SasuSaku with SasuHina endgame, modern Norse myth AU, high school, angst, romance, photography, postmodern-ish fic). Rated T

LIGHTS,

BOWS, and

MISTLETOES

an entry for SasuHina Month 2024, Day 27 : Forget and Remember

(for peachy-hina, since December)

ffnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14369143/1/Lights-Bows-and-Mistletoes

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57030778

Part 1: Lights

go to Chapter List>

viii

Northernness. 

In Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis called that instant among a few which he met while reading the opening lines to "Tegner’s Drapa"–

–immediately lifting him into huge regions of the northern sky, and desiring intensely something that couldn’t be described, “except that it is cold, spacious, severe, pale, and remote.”

Sasuke had it all figured out during his presentation: the longing for an unattainable, imaginary world; an unsatisfied desire more desirable than any other satisfaction. The “cold, spacious, severe, pale, and remote” in Konoha. He had the color schemes prepared, the mood boards where the rest could take inspiration—he had the full vision.

But, a thing about artistic vision is how it would often only truly show itself in the mind of one, akin to a prophet's commission destined to be shared with a skeptical crowd. Once the candle is lit—the vision spoken, its flame cast upon awaiting wicks—is either one of two outcomes: an empowered mob, or a frustrated artist.

Sasuke stood in the darkened room, the glow of his presentation casting long shadows between him and the rest of the club. The pause hung heavy in the air, their bleary irises reflecting the projected screen, dull and unmoved. He burned with a fierce, solitary flame, yet the rest couldn’t catch fire.

Unease settled at the basement of his gut, lounging there, and crossed its legs. His fingers, clutching the wireless clicker, felt cold and alien, as if they no longer belonged to him. He loosened his tie and signaled for the lights to be switched back on.

“Questions?” Sasuke reached for his water flask. Funny, he thought as he took a sip, how it gave an impression of offering himself to a hoard of wild beasts ready to pounce without due reverence whatsoever. 

Click. Click. Click—their responses registered as a monotonous clicking noise in his mind; all clicks and no illumination. Barely a single one had lights flashing off in their imagination, their cranial apertures set to f/22 with shutter speeds at 1/1000, and their ISO sensitivity low. 

He took a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Creation is a brutal endeavor: fail to hold the fort—the sense of preservation toward the vision—and he’ll be torn to pieces; fall short of winning the Kage Jin and it would be his fall to take alone. 

"Fine," he exhaled. "I'll take you on. One. By. One." 

In the months that would follow, he’d find himself worn thin, hunched over his desk, eyes bloodshot and fingers sore from endless editing as he pushed forward with the vision singularly, just to fill in the gaps, and somewhere down that road, his natural demise. But even then, all he could really think about was winning the Kage Jin.

Last weekend, my friends and I couldn't enjoy our usual club because the DJ changed, and the vibe was off. We went bar hopping all night, but none of the places felt right. Is that it?

“Somewhat.” 

So-so. Kinda. 

At first, Sasuke had more patience. 

Who could blame Sasuke's club members for all their privilege? Northernness to Sasuke lies on the other side of the fence that is winning the Kage Jin whereas to them, photography is just a hobby and the club is for extracurricular credits. They didn’t have fathers who threatened to disown them or shatter their equipment should they choose to pursue photography professionally after high school. 

“How’s everything so far?” Neji asked during brunch at the school’s dining hall. His uni exams weren't until November, so Sasuke understood that when he was invited to join Neji for meals, it was purely a club matter.

“The theme was decided last week,” Sasuke replied, forking a pea.

“Oh, really? What is it?”

“Northernness. C.S. Lewis…” As he spoke, he closely watched Neji’s subtle reactions.

Neji paused from slicing his steak, considering. “Interesting. Though spare me the details. The theme is only as strong as its execution.”

Sasuke nodded. “We’ve had a few meetings since then and I’ve already set up teams for various assignments.”

“Good,” commended Neji. “I was introduced to a gallery chain owner from Hoshigakure the other day. I think he’ll find you interesting, so I’ve set up a meeting this weekend.”

“What time?”

“Sunday afternoon. Just clear it out. It’s a party attended by other patrons of art. Get Sakura to join you.”

“I think she’ll be busy with the Student Council.”

“I’ll just call you then.”

When he had been at the end of his rope, it was Neji who offered an extension. Parties and meeting new people were his least favorite things to do on a weekend, but Neji taught him networking was important if he were to make his future decisions right.

2. Isn't it too vague? How are we gonna incorporate pictures from the archives if you're hellbent on following a theme?

Sasuke carefully laid with gloved hands a set of old pictures that he had taken out from the archives on the light table where a few selected members gathered around.

“I’m thinking of a sub-collection that draws inspiration from these events,” said Sasuke. “The history, the pioneering spirit, a deep-seated longing for the extraordinary, and the pursuit of awe and wonder transcending the mundane—we’re bringing these essences into the present.”

“But how are we supposed to do that without just copying old pictures?” asked Kiba, a sophomore from another class.

Sasuke’s eyes narrowed slightly. “We’re not copying. We’re reinterpreting. Look”—he tapped his finger on a photo—“What’s being built here?”

“The subway?”

“Ah, is that the Hashirama Bridge?!” Another member, Ino, pointed gleefully at a different photo.

The rest followed her excitement as they identified other notable structures in Metro Konoha during their earliest stages. 

“Think about the vision and effort that went into these structures,” said Sasuke. “Find modern equivalents or create scenes that evoke the same sense of achievement and significance. Reign in that energy visually.”

Then Kiba raised his hand. “The city’s expanding the subway and construction is currently going on. That might be a good place to start. The only problem we’d have is if it’s gonna be okay. Some places might need permits or things like that.”

“Leave that to me,” replied Sasuke. “I’ll contact Neji whenever.”

Days later Neji invited him again to brunch.

“The assignment you gave Inuzuka and his team was interesting. When I told grandfather, he insisted he’d have more stories to tell about how things were back then.” Neji chuckled and wiped his mouth with a table napkin.

Sasuke couldn’t swallow the partridge, so he had to down it with water first. “About that… I’ve decided I won’t be using their shots.”

“I see,” said Neji. “It was that bad, huh?”

“Well… not really.”

“Just say it as is. No one’s gonna hear about it. And I doubt anyone would fault you even if they did. You’re aiming to win, aren't you?”

3. So… wintry vibes? How the heck does that work? Konoha's vibe is just not it.

There are plenty of ways to capture the cold and remote right out the warm, sunny corners of Metro Konoha: early mornings; late nights; foggy mists; the bay after rainy afternoons; excerpts of nostalgia that could be replicated in the studio, and the lights manipulated among a plethora of non-CGI tools they could use for effects.

Determined to prove his point to the rest of the cynical lot, he rode the train to school at 4:30 AM and scoured the campus for interesting shots. Looking up from the school grounds, the silhouette of birds flitting among the intricate details of the roofline, gave him the idea to venture up to the school rooftop for a closer look.

He passed through Omni Glow Hall, one of Sairiumu’s oldest buildings, up a flight of stairs, and entered a dim, musty corridor lined with aged wood and old leather book covers. The air ran thick with the stench of persistent grime that no amount of upkeep could completely remove. To get to the rooftop, he pushed through an ancient twin door, gripping slightly on the coarse brass handles with grotesques set on their swirled parts. Despite their age and infrequent use, the well-oiled hinges moved smoothly. A gust of wind greeted Sasuke's face, followed by the sound of flapping wings, a sound one too many. He nearly snapped a photo by what he saw, his breath caught and his forefinger twitching on the shutter button, overwhelmed by the impulse to capture the scene and yet withholding from that desire.

Hinata Hyuuga stood on the rooftop with a lost look in her eyes, her hand extended as mourning doves gathered to feed from it. They surrounded her, from her head to foot—a swirling flock—which, while to an onlooker might seem ominous, a whirlpool of unknown diseases, didn't trouble her—not even batting an eyelash.

When she noticed Sasuke standing there, her eyes widened slightly before she quickly lowered her gaze, a soft blush tinting her cheeks. Her fingers trembled just a bit as she tried to keep her hand steady for the doves.

“G-good morning…” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. As she made a small, nervous bow with her head, the doves fluttered briefly and then perched back not long after.

“Good morning,” he replied with measured calm. He wasn't about to be found out. Some guilt; partly something else.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just looking around." He slipped his hands into his pockets and let his gaze drift to a random spot in the skyline. "What about you?”

“Feeding the birds… as you can see.”

“Right… Do you mind if I take a picture?”

“O-of the birds?” The sun was barely out and he could hardly see the expression she was making.

“Of the birds.”

“Oh. Go ahead… They're too occupied to care.”

Sasuke clicked the camera. Adjusted the center. Clicked again. Adjusted. Clicked a third time. True to Hinata’s words, the birds remained unbothered, even with the flash.

While scanning the shots he took, he said out of nowhere: “Thanks to the Norse myth book you left the other day, I’ve figured out what the club’s going to do for this year’s Inuwashi.”

“Inuwashi?”

“The club’s yearly publication. It's a candidate for the Kage-Jin—”

Sasuke fell silent for a moment, leaving Hinata waiting for him to continue. He wondered what she thought about the theme, about Northernness. If she would intuitively comprehend what he wanted; if she'd asked the right questions; if her pictures would enthrall him unexpectedly like her qualifying exhibition entry...

When he didn’t speak, Hinata asked, “Do you like it here? Are you having a pleasant time?"

Sasuke snapped out of his trance and took a few more shots, adjusting the camera settings with a practiced hand. “About the club or Sairiumu in general? I haven’t thought about it. Don’t ask weird questions.” As he spoke, he tilted the camera slightly, capturing a subtle glimpse of the top of Hinata’s head in the shot.

“Stay away from mistletoes,” she said.

Sasuke raised a brow at her odd statement. “What about them?”

“They’re bad for you.”

Sasuke smirked. No wonder Neji said all those things about her—he finally understood: she's a Norse myth otaku. This explains the disturbing things she had said and done to him so far. A tinge of relief swept over him now knowing that she's just this kind of crazy, who just thought that maybe, maybe he's—

“Like Baldur?" He could almost laugh, but he couldn't risk looking uncool. "Getting too much into Norse myth is bad for you,” he said, smiling crookedly as he turned to leave.

Hardly anything about him is like Baldur.

4. C.S. Lewis? Wasn’t he prehistoric? Wouldn’t that be too outdated and out of touch?

She’s just… She’s just so,

Has anyone in the studio met someone like her before?

Who in their right mind would think that? Norse myth? And they say C.S. Lewis is prehistoric.

While it couldn’t be denied that he has a beautiful face and a goodly overall appearance—which brought him trouble that could last a lifetime—but, had he been anything like Baldur—the Norse god of light and radiance, joy and purity, peace and forgiveness—he would've just dismissed the uninspiring submissions of his club members with a smile. He'd put in a kind word and tell them to try again. 

But Sasuke? He huffed and bristled like a mad horse and his dissatisfaction towards his members only grew.

“I apologize for that. You caught me at a bad time.” Sasuke rubbed his forehead, feeling the tension building up. One of the very few freshmen he had allowed to work on Inuwashi was just leaving his office in tears when Neji walked in.

Neji watched the freshman leave. “What happened?” He locked the door behind him.

Sasuke sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I tried to be constructive, but...”

“But it had been another subpar submission.” Neji nodded understandingly. “Don’t take it to heart. I trust I placed the perfect man for the job. You’ll make it happen for this club. They don’t have to understand now, but they will when the time comes and you’ve got a Kage Jin trophy displayed here…”

When Neji looked around his office, his gaze stopped at the framed picture of a quarter of a head and mourning doves above it hanging on the wall.

“Yours?” With Neji, it was almost a statement and he had to ask just in case.

Sasuke smirked and nodded, the event from earlier immediately forgotten.

“Fascinating.” Neji approached the picture to scrutinize it further. “I like the mysterious dark, inky shades, and gray contrasts, the almost smoky buildup of flapping mourning doves caught in a motion blur...” 

The picture never failed to draw compliments from visitors. Sasuke had developed a technique to achieve the quality of a traditional darkroom print out of a digital photo. So far, no one had asked about the head—whose head it was. Unconsciously, Sasuke made a habit of staring at her in a way that he couldn't in the classroom over fear of suspicion. The what-ifs and could-have-been left him with a continuous pang of regret and he feared the day that she might break into his office, perhaps through the glass window, open his chest, and discover the things he'd speak to no one: he couldn’t push away the thought that Hinata would have had more interest in Northernness than the rest of his club members put together. 

“Hey, do you think—” Sasuke paused.

Would Neji?

No, Neji would be strongly against it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” replied Sasuke.

“I never thought you’d find mourning doves interesting.”

“Me either.”

5. Are you saying we only start taking pictures in the winter? That's stupid and I'd totally hate it if we're shooting outdoors.

To set a wintry precedent, an atmosphere that would seal in the illusion for everything else that would follow, Sasuke proposed scheduling an outdoor shoot for the first few pages of Inuwashi. None of Konoha's mountains, not even in the winter, would compare to the snowy mountain ranges of the place he had in mind. 

"Yukigakure," he revealed. 

The idea was met with enthusiasm from the club members. They envisioned a cheerful trip to luxurious ski resorts and exclusive hot springs. Sasuke looked forward to the peril, to northern lights and white nights—something Hinata would've had better insights into, having come from there. But none of it would happen the way anyone in the Photography Club, including Sasuke, pictured it. 

6. Shouldn't we take a vote? I'm not saying 'Northernness' or whatever you just presented is a bad idea, but others might have suggestions that the majority would like to explore.

Morio, the vice president, posed a question during Sasuke’s theme presentation that echoed until the Photography Club’s falling out. But Sasuke didn’t have the foresight then. All he recognized was that Morio had the wrong notion about why Neji chose him, why Northernness would make Inuwashi stand out, why he was convinced he knew best, and thus answered Morio in this manner:

“Do you know why you’re not the club president? It’s because you don’t have what it takes to be where I am.”

Truth be told, Morio had always rubbed Sasuke the wrong way. As a member of the Student Council alongside Sakura and others, and with his family’s ownership of an S&Lee 500 mining corporation, Morio had the background and skills that made him a strong diplomat. This greatly contrasted with Sasuke’s solitary approach. He was a competent photographer and had a knack for connecting with others, making him a strong candidate for club president if it had been up to the members’ vote. In contrast, Sasuke preferred to stay cooped up in his office, often discarding other people's photos that he didn’t like in the bin.

Morio had all the right cards. The least Sasuke could have done was temper his response. No egos would have been bruised, and he might have avoided much trouble. Because, months later, when the time came for the review of the first draft of Inuwashi, Morio voiced out an honest observation:

“Most of these pictures are yours, Sasuke.”

“It’s the material that matters," Sasuke retorted. "You can’t argue with the quality. This is a winning piece in progress.”

Morio laughed dismissively. “You’re not running a club. This is a one-man show.”

Sasuke’s temper flared, and he slammed his fist on the table. "Don’t like it? Then leave. This is getting old."

He should've noticed it then—the odd spill of malice in the studio; how nobody was on his side.

“Guess we just don’t have that special something like you do,” Morio said with a suspiciously casual tone. As he rose from his seat to leave, more movement rippled around the table, and Sasuke watched in shock as his core members began to slip away, one by one.

He stewed over the betrayal all evening. If his former team members chose not to return, perhaps he never needed them. The new recruits, though still green and needing more training, could take over the simpler tasks. Besides, there was no rule in the Kage Jin’s guidelines explicitly stipulating that contributions had to come from multiple people. If it came down to it, Sasuke would manage on his own.

The following day, Sasuke arrived at the studio to find all his files and work in progress wiped out from his office computer, his cloud access hacked, and all saved progress vanished. Fortunately, Sasuke had learned to take basic precautions early on. He backed up his work and club files on an external drive he carried to school, and on a second drive he updated regularly from his home PC.

There was no doubt to Sasuke about who was behind the sabotage. When he spotted Morio talking to the girls in the classroom, his rage flared beyond control. Eyes darkened by anger, Sasuke lunged at him, gripping his collar, and delivered a swift, decisive punch to his jaw—all in front of Hinata. The shock on her face briefly registered at the back of his mind, slicing through his anger like a shard of ice. 

He clenched his jaw, feeling the sting of the aftermath on his knuckles.

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