#you can see in the image above that mine came with a rubber band for stylus holding where as Suppermariobroths does not

[angletic]

Officially licensed 2012 Princess Peach-themed Nintendo 3DS case from Japan.

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[arlechinav-blog]

Krotala of the Cult of Artemis (Part II)

Picking up where we left off with Part I.

These are dancing spoons. They are made of wood and you can see how they are held in the hands in this second image. I use rubber bands on mine, like you see in the first image, because it helps to keep them from sliding while you are trying to get your groove on. These are most commonly used today in what is now Turkiye.

Next we have a few examples of nacchere. These are used in Southern Italy in tammurriata traditions.

And for your delight and amusement, here are a few samples of an Egyptian version dated to around 1900BCE. Funsies. These are made of hippopotamus ivory.

What I really want to highlight in that 2nd image just above with the whole scene of musicians and dancers laid out are how the drummers are playing and the difference in the size of the dancers. This is a single-handed frame drum style that was once prevalent all over the Mediterranean and Aegean but is now only found in a few isolated areas--mostly Islands and in the South of what is now Italy. As for the dancers, this dance family tree is strongly associated with youth. As I said in Part I, it was a normal part of a young girl's education in martial arts and courtship that would prepare them to hopefully find a good mate and also give them the building blocks to defend themselves.

Just a little close up on what they are holding in their hands. This was a dance family that was very popular all over the Med and Black Sea regions. I have followed it all the way out to the Canary Islands in the Atlantic and, more recently, it has gone on to influence some South and Central American dance traditions. I am a big ol' dance nerd so I just love seeing all the ways this dance family tree has spread and what different groups of people have done with it over time. It was known to be an import to Egypt, it was not reportedly a native dance there. The Egyptian court had a very long standing tradition of importing performers from all over the place. They just liked cool dances.

Back to Artemis and what this all has to do with her cult!

Artemis had a lot of weapon based dances back in the day. Shield dances (prulin eonoplion) were very common in her worship especially. A funerary dance called prylis is a very good example of that. Prylis was a shield dance that was danced around a funeral pyre, culminating in the dancers depositing their wooden shields onto the pyre to help the body burn. It was a way to show deep grief and honor. This dance was featured in the Iliad as King Priam performed it for the burning body of Hector. So, there are some funerary associations for Artemis for you.

There were also sword dances, spear dances, archery dances, etc. If it was a weapon or could be used in defense, there was probably an associated dance for Artemis tied to it. Such pyrrhic dances were used to train for warfare and self-defense. They were basically a series of weapon drills set to music and often done with a partner. This would result in trading blows with your partner, and since these were kids initially doing it, those blows would go clack--because they were made of wood. Over time, the rhythmic sound of the wooden clacking came to represent Artemisian dances and became an essential component in them. To the point that weapons and shields were replaced with krotala in the courtship version of this type of dance. This allowed people to dance more freely with each other, without smacking your potential mate in the head. Which, I shouldn't have to tell you, is not a great start to a romance. There were other versions of this dance that replaced the shield with a cape or mantle. That one was usually accompanied by a sword or a spear and was intended to look extremely elegant.

The Music

These dances were set to music utilizing a single handed frame drum in a 1-2 1-2-3 type of pattern, and involved singing layered over the top of this. Different cults paired different types of instruments and songs together so the unique combination of: single handed frame drum + vocals + wooden hand clackers + the 1-2 1-2-3 rhythm pattern + paired dance with elements of self defense and courtship = a rather specific thing. Makes it very easy to track. There are many surviving examples of this rhythm out there today. Tammurriata is one of them! Which is part of the reason why I set my version of the Orphic Hymn to Artemis to a Tammurriata.

To be continued yet again...

[the-alice-of-hearts]

Kids Again Ch 4

<Previous First Next>

He's always running with no one to keep warm

Two years she watched him run the rooftops and do his best to live up to the image that Bruce had, it wore heavy on him. 

She saw him get more reckless, and hurt more often. It was like he was running in circles, he was trying so, so hard to be better. She couldn’t even tell if he knew that’s what he was doing. So she stayed in his head as much as she could, making sure that he didn’t die on her. 

Marinette came to class with bags under her eyes. Her friends watched her up her coffee intake, she moved everyday like she knew something bad was going to happen. She got quieter, more clumsy. She would be there one moment and then in Gotham the next. Kim walked next to her, made sure he was ready to catch her. Alix went with Marinette any place the boys couldn’t. They watched over her; made sure that she didn’t get hurt. 

“Mari?” Alix had asked her in a small voice one day, “when did you sleep last?”

The four of them were lying on her floor, working on homework like they always did. Kim and Nino looked over to see her response. 

“What day is it today?” Marinette stalled for time, hoping that it hadn’t been too long. They got overprotective when she went too long with sleeping, and it wasn’t something she wanted to deal with today. Unfortunately it looked like they weren’t going to answer until she did. She sighed loudly, “I think I got a decent amount on thursday. Slept almost 5 hours before... waking up.”

Kim reached over to hug her, they all knew what was unsaid. She woke up in pain, scared, and hurting.”

Nino came closer as well, “Netté, today is wednesday.” He reached out and held her hands, “go to sleep. We will watch out for you. He usually naps before patrol anyways yeah?”

She rubbed her eyes, “yeah... he does… but we still have homework to finish.”

Alix grabbed the papers that Marinette was reaching for, “and we can finish our own work then help you with yours after you nap.”

Marinette bit her lip trying to stay alert enough to protest, “you’ll fail english without me.”

Kim laughed and tapped his fist on her head, “at the rate you’re going we’ll fail with you too. Please em gái, take a nap. Just a short one will do.” ((Vietnamese: little sister))

---

With that they convinced her to go lay down. The three of them looked at each other, Alix spoke up first, “what do we do if…”

“If he dies.” Nino picked up the train of thought, “I don’t know that we can do anything.”

“I swear to any of the gods listening, if he hurts her, I will kill him myself.” Kim looked at Mari. She was sleeping heavily, but he could see her start to toss and turn. “He’s already giving her nightmares.” 

“All we can do is be steady for her. She needs us to be strong, so we will be. Alix, do you think your dad will let you stay here for a while?” Nino had started planning out all of this weeks ago.

Alix nodded, “yeah I think he’s about to go to an excavation site soon anyways. My brother would be glad to not have to look after me.”

“Good. Kim, can you run interference with the teachers? This is hard enough on her, we don’t need her to have extra stress on her plate.”

“Yeah I can take care of that.” Kim was still looking at her so he saw when she finally let out a sigh and settled down, “how do we make her sleep though?”

“I can help with that.” Sabine had climbed up to check in on then and heard the conversation taking place, “We have her with a therapist, and it will be easy enough to get her prescribed meds for her anxiety and to help her sleep. It’ll just be a matter of making sure she takes them.”

Nino nodded at her, “We can make sure she’s taking them in the morning. I have to take mine each morning and evening on a schedule as well as needed for worse times. I can help there.”

Sabine smiled at him, “thank you Nino, that would help a lot. Alix you can stay here as long as you want, but if it gets to be too much please let us know.” She took on a stern voice, “You shouldn’t have to bear this alone. None of you are to take on more than you can handle. I know you want to help her, but you’re all kids too. I’m not above banning you from the house if I think you are putting too much stress on yourselves.” She reached out to grasp Nino’s hand, “I mean it. I know you know very well what she is going through, but your mom and I have a deal.” 

Nino smiled back, “yes ma’am. I promise.”

Sabine stood up from where she had sat near them, “With that settled, who wants to help me bring up some food for everyone. You all should eat, and Marinette will need to eat when she wakes up.”

Kim offered to go help her. After they left Nino turned to Alix, “you have to make sure she’s taking her meds at night. She won’t want to, and she will try to hide it. But you have always known us better than we know ourselves. You have to make sure she takes them.”

Alix nodded at him grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze, “You know I will. Found family, right?”

“Found family.” he repeated the vow. 

---

Marinette stopped talking one day. She was getting sleep, but she still wasn’t in Paris enough. So she stopped talking. If she didn’t say anything then people noticed less when she left in the middle of a conversation. 

No one else at school noticed. Well no one but Chloé, but even she knew that this was off limits for teasing. Chloé may have become a bitch to Marinette for no known reason, but she knew the limits on what was too far. 

Mariette went silent so Kim got louder. The three hoped that if the teachers were focused on him being a clown that they wouldn’t notice Marinette not participating in class. Kim and Alix started a ‘rivalry’, making sure that any eyes that might stray to Marinette would land back on them. Nino had Marinette sit next to him so he could take notes for her, and nudge her if a teacher was looking at her. He also had the worst job, making her actually take her anxiety meds. Alix and Kim played distraction, Nino played mother hen. 

Marinette from a year ago would still have complained. She would have reminded them that she was a big girl and she could take care of herself. This wasn’t Marinette from a year ago, this was their best friend so scared for her soulmate’s life that she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

---

Then something unexpected happened. 

Marinette spoke up during their study session unprompted for the first time in weeks, “He’s not Robin anymore.”

Alix sharply looked up from where they had been laying, “What?”

They all hesitated waiting for Marinette to continue, “Bruce saw his stitches, he... well he blamed Jason.” She scoffed at the thought, “like the asshole didn’t drive him into his recklessness.” 

“Netté, what happens now?” Nino was always the first one to speak up.

“Bruce said that he was wrong, that he shouldn’t have trusted Jason as Robin. He ran away. He’s stronger now, so being on the streets isn’t as dangerous. But he’s back out there. He went to one of his old hideouts. I don’t know what he’s doing next…” she trailed off and they all waited for her next thought. 

The boys had both moved closer, Alix was still laying on their back looking up at Marinette. They all knew that when her thinking face came out they needed to wait for her to speak up. 

She took a deep breath, “I need you guys to help me get him here. I know it’s a lot to ask, and I totally understand if you can’t help me, but it’s just-“

“How are we going to do that?” Kim asked her, cutting her off. They were all willing to do whatever it took to make Marinette smile again. 

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth in a perfect O, “you’ll really help?”

Alix nudged her leg, “found family right?”

Marinette smiled at that, “yeah, found family.”

She laid out her plan. It would take them all because it involved smuggling Marinette to Gotham, and her parents would notice if she started acting unusually in front of them. 

It only took a week to get things together. Alix had convinced their dad that they were looking into a historical artefact in class and wanted to prove their teacher wrong so they needed to go to America with Marinette as a witness. He bought the story easily, believing Alix when they told him they needed to take Marinette specifically because she knew the city better. Reminding him that her soulmate grew up there. So with two plane tickets the plan was finally in motion. Kim had been bringing his gym bag empty to the group study sessions so that Mari could pack clothes in it. Nino had a suitcase that he had smuggled out when his parents weren’t home. All of it was slowly collected at Alix’s house. Since their dad was still out of town they only had to drop home to take care of their plants, so it made it a really easy place to keep things. 

Then it took another week for their departure date. For the entire two weeks Marinette had been so focused on going to Gotham that she didn’t notice that Jason had been blocking her. Later she would know that he didn’t even realize he was doing it. 

They were at school the day before they would be on their way to Gotham when Mari checked in on Jason, making sure that she could find him. Hoping that he was in a place that she would easily be able to find him. He wasn’t. He wasn’t even in Gotham. He was in a desert, with a woman. She looked a little like Jason, but his mom had died… and this wasn’t Catherine.

Marinette looked up at Kim with fear in her eyes, “Something is wrong.” she said it quietly. With Alix’s hearing, Kim’s ability to read lips, and Nino sitting next to her it was easy to be sure that they all knew something was happening. 

Kim acted fast, shooting a rubber band at Chloé made her stand up and start yelling. That provided enough distraction for Alix to get over to Marinette’s other side. With Nino and Alix surrounding her, and Kim playing distraction she was able to completely follow Jason. It wasn’t good, he was with the woman. He called her mom, guess that explained why he wasn’t in Gotham. When Joker appeared Marinette gasped. 

_____________________________________

She was loud enough that Rose and Juleka looked over at her. Alix shielded Marinette’s body as much as they could, trying to make sure that no one could see her face. The terror on it shouldn’t be seen by anyone else. They took care of each other, and Marinette would be mortified if she found out someone else knew what she was going through. But not even with the combined efforts of all three of their strengths could they keep the attention off of her when the screaming started. 

It was like listening to a horror movie. Marinette’s screams ripped through the classroom. If you asked anyone to describe it they would tell you it was like being in a room that was filled with terror. 

“Everyone get out!!” Chloé yelled loudly. Alix looked up at her in surprise, not expecting Chloé of all people to help. Between Chloé and Kim they got the classroom cleared in less than a minute. “I’m gonna stand outside the door so no one comes in. Just, take care of her yeah?” with that she walked out of the room and closed the door. They could see her shadow still there. True to her word no one came in the classroom. Unfortunately everyone in their hall could hear the screams. 

“Netté, please. You have to listen to my voice. You have to come back, come back to Paris. You don’t want to see this. Please come back to us.” Alix finally clued back into Nino’s voice. He was trying to get her to come back, but it didn’t seem to be working. 

____________________________

Marinette wasn’t listening to Nino, she was caught in this moment. Watching Joker beat Jason, his blood spilling out on the floor. Then something happened that opened everything. Her mother had once told her that some soulmates could talk to each other in times of crisis, and this would count as one. 

She could hear Jason’s voice, ‘please let me pass out, please let me pass out, she doesn’t deserve to see this, please whatever deity might be listening let me pass out!’

Then she heard others in the link, ‘Jay bird! Please tell me you’re there! Little wing I’m trying to get there faster, but you have to wake up. There’s a bomb, you have to get up. Jay you have to get up now! You have to go to the door.’ 

“Jason please! Please wake up. We need you, we need you to wake up. I need you!” Marinette didn’t realise she had spoken out loud, but she would feel that her friends were all holding her. 

‘You don’t really know me, but please live for us. We all need to meet you one day.’

“Jason you have to get to the door.” She was sobbing now.

‘Jay, wake up!’

He started moving, crawling towards the door. For a moment she had hope that he would make it. She could feel everyone pleading with the gods to just get him out of there alive. Then he tried the door, it was locked. He didn’t have enough strength or time to get out of there, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never got to love you Marinette.’

If she hadn’t already been in Kim’s lap she would have fallen to the ground. All the energy in her body was gone. It was like a huge chunk of her had been ripped out. 

“Mari, can you hear us?” she heard Alix’s soft voice.

“Netté, we need you to talk to us.”

Her sobs had turned into a hysterical laugh, “he’s dead!” She looked at Nino, still crying but becoming worse by the moment, “the fucking clown killed him!” 

Kim was running his hands through Marinette’s hair, all three of them waited for her to break back down. They had gone through it with Nino, they would be just as steady for Mari. 

After her laughing turned back to sobs Kim wrapped his arms around her again. Holding her tight, “we’re here for you em gái. We’re here.”

“He’s dead… Jay’s dead…” she sniffled turning to press her face into Kim’s chest, “and his last thought was of me.” 

Nino and Alix had moved in and were hugging her now too. “Netté, I promise, it gets easier.”

[urlocalfrogmammy]

california dreaming—joe liebgott

inspired by:

ANON: Hey from the prompt list could you do 3 with Joe liebgott or 13 with Winters I think that could be cute☺️

y/n is fed up of war, and haguenau is the last straw. joe liebgott tries to comfort you. (prompt #3: “if you're the brains behind this, we're fucked.”

i hope i can live up to your expectations! warnings: seriously— this is sadder than usual. metions of death if that’s not up ur street, but it’s band of brothers so i’m assuming u can cope with it. word count 1k

all the men were fascinated by who would lead this patrol. the only commissioned officer in the room was a new one, straight out of west point. lieutenant jones. he was creamy faced and his voice and demeanour screamed privilege. you didn't like him in the slightest. he had no experience, and he stuck out like a sore thumb. he reminded you of training, with his naive nature, and the way you'd all felt about the army before you'd been in combat. all levels of professionalism had dissipated now, you were more than colleagues. that didn't seem to click in mind.

he wore a signet ring on one hand, you caught it shining in the light. you found yourself spinning the ring you wore, the one your joe gave you in england, on your finger. you wondered if the pair of you would make it to california again, or if you would both die on this patrol. you had no idea what sink was thinking, having a patrol. the germans were finished. that's what perconte told you. stretching your arms up above your head until you heard the pop you wanted, you sighed, slowly walking up and down the strip next to the table. "stop pacing." babe chastised you, pulling you down between him and grant. "i'm worried."

"come on. he can't be leading."

"i'm not sure what they've decided."

"no way. not on his first day." chuck shook his head and lit you up a cigarette.

"well, do you see any other officer here?"

you heard footsteps, but they weren't from captain winters. cobb, skinny, garcia and alley came swanning in. "they call you too?" popeye asked. there was a rumble of a 'yes' from the men.

moe leaned on the table. "so who's in charge of this bullshit?"

lieutenant jones looked over to you all. "if you're the brains behind this, we're fucked." you paused before adding the deliberately omitted: "sir." liebgott chuckled at you and pulled on your sleeve, urging you to sit next to him. you complied, settling yourself on the arm of his chair.

"no he ain't."

"if he ain't, it's you chuck. or y/n or shifty, or moe." babe announced, nudging you.

"it won't be me." you piped up. "i'm not even a staff sergeant."

"you're one of our best tacticians. that would be better than him." liebgott quirked.

"ten-hut!" winters was here. you signed again, standing up and at attention.

"jesus."

"at ease."

the plan seemed simple. four rubber boats, get across the river, get the prisoners, get out. if the house is empty, blow it up. lieutenant jones was just observing, much to everyone's relief. it was johnny martin who was leading the patrol, a capable leader who you respected.

"picked your assault team?"

"mcclung, sisk, cobb, garcia and webster, as translator. the rest of you guys, a base of fire with sergeant y/n and sergeant grant." he threw a whistle at you, and grant. "you speak german, right webster?"

"yeah, a little bit."

"good. that's my team sir." you raised your eyebrows with a little smile at liebgott, in reference to the palpable tension between martin and webster. liebgott smirked back.

"questions?"

"no sir."

"good. good luck."

"thank you sir."

jones called out: "ten-hut!" which was instantly followed by winters calling:

"as you were, carry on."

jones looked embarrassed. "aw." you mumbled to chuck, "poor lamb!"

"a little german." liebgott spat, looking up at webster. "his german is as good as mine."

webster got joe off the hook. he didn't have to go on the patrol. behind one of the houses in haguenau, you both could have a little privacy. you lit him a cigarette, something you didn’t have to do often. joe only smoked when he was worried, or stressed, or had nothing better to do. clinging to you, he begged: “be safe, y/n. promise me—”

“i’m not even going in the damn house.”

“but still. don’t get hurt.” you leaned up and wrapped your arms around his neck. spying around to check there was no one to see, you crashed your lips into his. reciprocating your action, your lips moved against one another gently. you pulled away, “i love you joe.”

“i love you too.”

you crawled into your bed. martin had softly sent you away. jackson was dead, killed by his own grenade. you were distraught. no one was supposed to get hurt, not now, and yet here you were, crying into your arm. liebgott was in the bunk above you, and he hadn't been on the patrol. more importantly, there was no one you'd rather cuddle with than him. "joe." you poked him. "joe!"

"goddamnit, what?"

"i can't sleep." you could hear your own voice wobble.

"alright, come here doll." clambering into his bed, you felt yourself shaking, not from the cold but from the shock of that evening. "god, your safe." he cupped your face in his hands. "you're safe."

"jackson's dead."

"christ." he pulled you into his chest, one hand stroking the back of your neck, the other caressing your hip. "he was a baby, joe. a fucking baby." you felt joe's breathing next to you, ragged from shock.

"yeah he was." you nuzzled your nose into his neck, feeling the scar from where the bullet clipped it in holland. all you could see were the images of eugene's face, all burned and bloodied, his quivering body as he begged for someone to keep him alive. you sobbed harder, joe clutching you and peppering your hair with soft kisses.

"i was thinking about home before. about california."

"do you miss it?"

"yeah. i miss it a lot joe."

"we'll be back soon." he murmured, kissing your hair again and smoothing it down. "i love you, y/n."

"i love you too." placing your ear onto his chest, you sighed and let joe’s heartbeat lull you into sleep. you didn’t need to say anything to each other, just to be with one another. things were shitty, but they going to get better. that, you could only pray for.

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 24

Guys. This is...this. 

Ao3

000000

The ride to the station in the back of Grisly’s unmarked car is a blur that smells like the heavy stink of Hiccup’s anxiety, blood, and the new car scented air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. Grisly hums continuously, a tune that elevator designers would find too festive, and Hiccup can’t decide whether he’s better off thinking or not thinking, not that he seems to have a choice aside from staring wide eyed at the back of the passenger seat, arm throbbing from being wrenched behind his back.

He stumbles when Grisly half shoves him in front of a wall striped in foot wide increments, nearly smacking his forehead on a crisp number 6 before regaining his balance. Grisly produces a plastic board displaying a six-digit booking number and Hiccup’s name in block letters, the roman numeral ‘III’ included at the end like this is some kind of cosmic déjà vu, before handing it over and stepping behind the ancient mugshot camera.

Hiccup’s dad was arguing about funds to get that camera replaced when he died, and his presence haunts the room like a poltergeist too disappointed to step in as Hiccup’s savior.

“Say Guilty,” Grisly teases, canines sharp and somehow bright even though he’s standing outside the circle of garish light from the halogen lamp dangling above Hiccup’s head. “My boy, at least try not to look so stunned, I will be bringing Astrid a keepsake when I see her next. Not that she’ll be keeping anything for long.”

Astrid.

Her name snaps him out of his daze and his heart thuds back to life, slamming so hard in his chest he’s worried about it making him throw up what he kept in at her apartment. Grisly’s going to go after her, he has to stop him. There has to be a way to stop him, and Hiccup drops his booking number, reflexively struggling against the handcuffs.

“Now, Hiccup, this still has to look good in the system,” Grisly shoves the board back in his hands and he elbows the wall hard enough that it sparks up his arm, like the time he got caught trying to twist out of his dad’s stolen handcuffs and had to talk fast. “Some of that stubbornness you’re so famous for.   Show me how brittle that strong chin is.”

Grisly taps his own chin and Hiccup grinds his teeth, standing up straight and holding the board at a coquettish angle in front of his chest.

“Be sure to get my good side.” Hiccup is in the system. He’s stuck here as long as it takes to process him, and as long as he’s not in a cell, as long as he can see Grisly, Grisly can’t get at Astrid. She is safe as long as Grisly is with him.

Ask a few hundred Trip Advisor reviews averaging a solid four point two, he can fill dead space and captivate an audience.

“Right profile then,” Grisly indicates that he turn and he sighs, anything to keep sound coming out because if it stops, the paralysis might set back in.

“Wait,” he says as the camera flashes, heartbeat too fast and off kilter, like a hummingbird in a slowly tipping cage, “All Right, in the creepy comic sans note that you obviously wrote—”

“I thought it sounded like you,” Grisly steps into the light, only serving to wash the last ghost of color out of his cheeks, “blathering on like you do, saying nothing of substance.”

“Comic sans?” Hiccup snorts, breathing deep and leaning into his longest, best known role.

His dad used to say that he talked like his life depended on it, but Hiccup never anticipated the real test would be other people’s lives. People he loves.

“It’s easier to read.”

“Choosing Comic sans might be the worst thing you’ve done.” He watches Grisly’s narrow nostrils flare, the first crack in his manic veneer, and the little lively Snotlout in the back of Hiccup’s mind brags that antagonizing Grisly was the right thing to do all along.

It got real Snotlout shot, of course, but for Grisly to take the same tactic now he’d have to get Hiccup away from the cameras, which he can’t easily do mid-arrest.

Grisly starts patting Hiccup down by the desk in the intake room, thin, dry lips quirking when he touches the dried blood at the neck of Hiccup’s shirt and Hiccup turns his gag into a laugh.

“Are you dyslexic? I thought that was a myth.”

Grisly pats his front pocket before shoving his hand deep enough inside that parts of Hiccup retreat as far as they’re able.

“Do you want to hear that I was bullied? That I was small and slow in school and that made me cruel? Does it make your situation easier to deal with if you pity me?” His grin spreads slowly across his face, the only part of him that seems alive, and his fingers curl in Hiccup’s pocket.

“What happened at Astrid’s apartment might be your thing,” Hiccup makes eye contact with the outdated, image only security camera in the corner and takes a deep breath before glaring down at Grisly, “but it’s not mine.”

“I’m doing this because I want to. Because it’s fun to make you and your friends and the police run around like scared chickens in their coop while the fox locks himself in with them.” He stands up, pulling a ring of keys out of Hiccup’s pocket with a self-satisfied chuckle. The keyring reads ‘Benson’ and Hiccup’s blood runs cold. “And as much as you frustrated me, all of it makes catching you so much better.”

“Well Mr. Benson definitely has enough money to sue me for identity theft,” Hiccup clears his throat, “so that’s not…great.”

“This is…brilliant,” Grisly’s breath smells like death. Not rot. Not the cloying, tired scent of road kill in the sun. The moment of death itself, when the electric impulses that used to be human evaporate into the air in a cloud of static and pain. Like he breathes that in and lets it seep slowly through him, preserving him in its singular, inevitable eternity. “That idiot woman is still looking for these, I can’t wait to tell her I found them in evidence.”

“Ruffnut got a fax from the condos,” Hiccup whispers to himself, and Grisly’s eyes sharpen, grin deflecting to grimace.

“I thought you were smarter than this.” Grisly steps away, rooting through a locker for a jumpsuit and shoving it at Hiccup, who drops it. “Your clothes are evidence. You can change behind the curtain.” He points at a small corner of the room separated from the rest by a shower curtain and Hiccup holds his hands up to be uncuffed.

Hiccup takes his time changing, pausing with his shirt off to scrub as much of the dried blood from his neck and jaw as he can, trying not to inhale. He waits for Grisly to make a run for it, to go after Astrid and Snotlout and leave him in the hands of another officer, but he just paces the room, his footfalls padded like a predator on the cusp of making prey aware of their presence.

The floors creak though, cheap rubber-backed rug squeaking against peeling linoleum, the decay of the room protecting Hiccup like history always seems to.

The jumpsuit and the underwear issued along with it are too big, threatening to fall down as he adjusts the orange cuff around his metallic left ankle. Grisly must see what he’s doing because he comments, voice smooth enough to highlight how rough it was before the pause.

“Usually I’d take something that could so easily be used as a bludgeon,” he sneers when Hiccup pulls the curtain back, “but in your hands…”

“If I’m so scrawny, why me?” Hiccup doesn’t pick up his own clothes, instead waiting as patiently as he can feign for Grisly to re-cuff him, far too tight this time, and add the pile of fabric to his evidence bag.

“It doesn’t take bodily strength to wield a knife,” Grisly points at his temple, “only strength of mind.”

“So that’s why you chose to frame me?”

“What does it matter? It’s done.” He checks his watch, which is impossibly immaculate given what the shiny band spent the morning reflecting. “Or almost done. It will be soon.”

“Then what’s the harm in telling me why you chose me?”

“I never had children—”

“Thank God,” Hiccup rolls his eyes and Grisly tries to ignore him, jaw twitching. He’s not a man used to being antagonized and the cracks are spreading.

Snotlout is smart, Astrid is brilliant, if Grisly is loud. If he’s off kilter, maybe they’ll react quickly enough. Maybe it’s about knocking him off his game while he’s still flying high from his morning indiscretions.

“Clingy, slimy little vermin—”

“Right, kids are slimy, not blood or—”

“But I was under the assumption that at some point they stop with the incessant questions.” Grisly’s voice trembles as his volume expands and Hiccup shrugs, forcing the motion flippant.

“I didn’t.” He exhales, “what came first, the Admiral Hiccup Haddock collection or you choosing me as your prime suspect?” He can’t help but be curious and given everything else going on, he hates himself for it. Or at least he tries to, maybe some hate manages to wedge itself in his brain next to everything else.

“Like I said Mr. Haddock,” Grisly doesn’t like repeating himself but seems compelled to tie off loose ends, “I’m in the business of making money, you and your tour are not.”

“But Heather…” Hiccup can’t help but laugh, a real shocked laugh that makes him worry that part of his brain is floating away with the controls and his confident ruse, “are you saying you framed me for murder because Heather is more marketable than me?”

Grisly doesn’t like being laughed at and his expression darkens, like he’s burning through his morning’s effervescence faster than he’s used to, and Hiccup wonders how long the camera will really protect him.

Not that it matters. Snotlout matters. Astrid matters. It’d kill him if he didn’t get to tell her how he feels, but in the context of this situation, that’s kind of a moot point, isn’t it?

“When I told you not to pity me, I meant it,” Grisly growls, rough as his grip on Hiccup’s arm. A purposeful, strangling grip that’s too practiced to make an empty threat. A grip that promises. “I crawled from under the weight of everything that made me pitiable. Born in a country that had no use for me? I made myself indispensable. I took the chances others would not, I made the choices that coddled, weak people could not, and I took control. I didn’t beg in the streets like a dog, I caught the dog, ignored its squeal and made the streets better.” He hisses, a fine mist spraying across Hiccup’s face as Grisly leans in, practically primed to bite, “I take control.”

“Dead people don’t really have a say though, so is it really control?” Hiccup’s voice doesn’t shake even as his knees do.

“Yes,” Grisly checks his phone with the hand not cutting off circulation to the part of Hiccup’s arm not already deadened by cuffs, the bright screen illuminating his face at an angle that questions the humanity of his features. The sharp jaw, the thin lips, the hollows of his cheeks still shadowed like every kill he makes drags him halfway down after the victim, “the judge is ready to see me about your bail.”

“So I wait in a holding cell,” Hiccup’s throat tightens at the thought of letting Grisly out of his sight. At different blonde hair in his hand, blood soaking a different floor.

“No,” the superficial cracks on Grisly’s veneer spread outward along his geometric edges and for the first time, Hiccup sees something like hesitance mirrored in his usually blank eyes, “he wants to see you too.”

“What’s to stop me from telling him all of this?” Things aren’t going according to Grisly’s plan, for maybe the first time since Hiccup stumbled across a body he wasn’t supposed to yet, and he dives in this time with his eyes wide open. “Maybe it doesn’t need to get to trial—”

“Go ahead,” Grisly’s smirk is cruel now instead of indifferent, like the lock is broken off of the predator’s cage and he doesn’t care that the zookeeper has a gun, “if you want to assume I’m the only one capable of cleaning up the rest of this mess.”

He’s not working alone. There must be NWF members willing to step in and Hiccup thinks of Snotlout, vulnerable in a hospital bed. Astrid, vulnerable in his apartment, finally soft after fighting it for so long. After twenty-five long years, Hiccup finally has motivation to be quiet.

He must nod and something in his numbed expression must look like understanding because Grisly practically drags him out of the door and down the hall to a small office sometimes used for legal rituals when the county courthouse is full. No one has to tell Hiccup to sit on the small plastic chair inside. He isn’t surprised when the door locks behind them.

He is, however, surprised to see the judge.

“Honorable Judge Treacherous,” Grisly tilts the title into something pedantic as he takes the floor, pacing back and forth with steps as even as the heartbeat Hiccup saw him stop couldn’t have been. “I understand you wanted to see the suspect in person to set bail, an unorthodox decision for a man in your…lofty position—“

“Captain Stoick Haddock was an old friend of mine,” Judge Treacherous leans his elbows on the desk and looks at Hiccup over his glasses, down his repeatedly broken nose. Hiccup knows his dad can take posthumous credit for at least two of those breaks and he swallows hard, fidgeting in the too tight cuffs on his wrists.

The jumpsuit makes him feel guilty, but not as guilty as his bloody clothes would have.

“Friend?” Hiccup asks, over-used voice croaking around the question until he clears his throat. “I didn’t quite get that impression.”

Judge Treacherous laughs, “I didn’t get the impression dear Stoick was raising a serial killer.”

“Me either,” Hiccup blurts, fingers numb with instant regret.

“Is that a confession?” Grisly’s eyes sparkle, somehow reflecting blood no longer in front of him.

“This isn’t a trial, Mister…Gruesome, was it?” Judge Treacherous curls his lip and Grisly stands up straighter, rigid like a scarecrow itching for dawn. “When will the officer…Ah, here, Detective Eretson,” Treacherous skims through a stack of papers in front of him, “when will I be meeting this Detective Eretson?”

“Well, as I’m sure you can see from the entire case history I’ve presented to you, Eretson has proven ineffective—“

“Sorry I’m late,” Eretson’s accent cuts through the creak of the poorly hung door as he walks inside, smoothing his suit jacket and standing shoulder to shoulder with Grisly, “train ran slow.”

Hiccup never though Eretson’s presence could be comforting, but the way he glares at Grisly seeks to change that. Grisly’s suddenly tense shoulders back the notion up as he turns around, blood leaching from his face like it leached into Astrid’s carpet.

Astrid.

Panic grips his heart like a steel vice and he repeats the mantra of his morning to himself. Hiccup is in the system, he’s not going anywhere, and as long as he can see Grisly, Grisly can’t get at Astrid. She’s safe as long as Grisly is with him.

Eretson must see his panic, because he catches Hiccup’s eye and nods, his expression as unreadable as always and maybe Hiccup is lying to himself but there’s something comforting there. Something solid. And while Hiccup knows that the detective’s solidity isn’t necessarily rooted in his favor, it’s clearly planted against Grisly and that has to be good enough for now.

“Good old Berk public transportation,” Judge Treacherous attempts small talk, skimming through the file in front of him, “I thought you’d called me here for an offense you caught Mr. Haddock committing this morning.”

“Yes—”

“Where is that information in the case file?” Treacherous slides the manila folder towards Grisly, who bristles.

“I haven’t had a chance to include it,” his voice is mellow even as the hands folded behind his back twitch. “but the rest of the file is—”

“Very thorough,” Eretson cuts in, “it’s been my case for months—”

“And yet I’m the one lucky enough to stumble on the answer,” Grisly grins too bright, his façade slipping another inch under Eretson’s even stare.

“Stumble, right,” Eretson raises an eyebrow, “lucky.”

“Mr. Ghastly, I have to say I’m a bit confused to be summoned so early in the morning to set bail for a case I’ve been seeing discussed on the news for months.” Treacherous folds his hands, “if you honestly believe Stoick’s boy is the Grimborn Copycat killer, I couldn’t in good conscience let him back on the streets.”

If Grisly was pale before, he’s chalky now, complexion abandoning its noble cause to cling to the last dregs of life as his expression freezes into place like a wax effigy stretched over limestone.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if there’s even a chance that Mr. Haddock is connected to everything in this file, I’ll be making the decision to hold him without bail until a trial can shed proper light on the situation.”

“If there’s a chance—shed light—” Grisly sputters, “more than enough light has been shed, I saw him with my own two eyes, holding a girl up and slitting her throat—”

“I’ll need details for the report,” Eretson cuts in, voice level, and if Hiccup weren’t sworn to silence, he might laugh. Or cry. Or hug Eretson’s leg like the child Grisly accused him of being and hide.

“And I have those details,” Grisly struggles for his composure, a predator walking on wet tile for the first time, a janitorial bureaucracy rendering millions of years of evolution useless, “but to issue a remand without bail—to put this boy’s disrespect of the law on our taxpayers—”

“Taxpayers who pay taxes for the legal system to keep them safe from alleged serial murderers,” Treacherous would bang a gavel if he had one, but he doesn’t so he thumps a meaty hand on the desk. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“You haven’t even read the file! And you call yourself a judge,” Grisly’s voice cracks like his composure did as he flicks through the file, dropping half the pages on the floor, “the assailant worked backwards through the Grimborn murders, I caught him in the act of the first this morning. It stands to reason that he’s done with his spree—”

“You’re assuming someone reasonable doing the reasoning,” Treacherous looks to Eretson and then to Hiccup, his tone almost apologetic as he digs in his heels. “Letting a proposed serial murderer out on bail would be the end of my career.”

“House arrest then,” Grisly tries, “he lives with a cop, it’s perfect, there’s no sense in using the city’s resources to hold him at an overpriced jail.”

“Overpriced?” Treacherous snorts, “I picked out the bathroom tile myself, it was very reasonable.”

“Also, your Honor, the officer that lives with Mr. Haddock is currently suspended and on medical leave,” Eretson adds and Treacherous laughs before signing a piece of paper, presumably with his official recommendation.

“Held without bail until the trial,” he sets his pen down, “if the boy has already killed four people, I don’t trust an injured, suspended cop to keep him contained if he decides to work backwards through Bundy.”

“Look at the file!” Grisly shouts, the predator’s paw caught in a trap as he fought to remove a thorn, “it’s immaculate, from his research to the timing of the murders. Everything points to him! Every last drop of blood—”

“Mr. Garish, that is enough!” Treacherous stands up, towering even over Eretson, Hiccup’s dad’s ghost finally stepping into a pair of familiar if un-ideal shoes.

“It’s Grisly, your Onerous.”

The silence rings like high pitched static, the fire alarm between beeps.

Eretson clears his throat, “On second thought, maybe this case is better suited to Mr. Grisly’s particular talents.”

Hiccup’s stomach falls out from under him, and he looks around for confirmation that his ears aren’t making up worst case scenarios, like his actual situation isn’t bad enough. Eretson is patient in professional silence but Grisly’s face is contorting in confusion and rage as Judge Treacherous raises a doubtful eyebrow.

Grisly talks first, voice small, “You do?”

“Seeing how this is going, your Honor, I agree with Mr. Grisly, I might have been over my head with the unique complexities of the case.” Eretson gives Hiccup the barest ghost of a nod as he defers to Grisly with a subtle duck of the chin that’s anything but reverent.

“Well, finally someone is seeing sense,” Grisly attempts to regain his quiet, stealthy tone but instead his voice wavers, something uncouth bleeding into the edges.

“You can see my commanding officer about the transfer paperwork,” Eretson points vaguely down the hallway then turns back to Treacherous, “Captain Anderson, I know you two have worked together in the past.”

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘together’ quite so loud, Detective,” Treacherous chuckles, “that was off the books.”

“Apologies.”

“And if that is your decision, Eretson, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave the courtroom.” Treacherous looks between him and Grisly, reacquainting himself with the changing situation.

“I think it’s what’s best moving forward.” Eretson nods, looking every shade as competent and a hundred times more mysterious than Hiccup has ever seen him.

“Once the transfer paperwork is complete and the file is updated,” Treacherous slides what’s left in the folder pointedly at Grisly, who trips over his own feet to bend and pick up the mess on the floor, looking more like the Ms. Moore, the condo manager, than Hiccup ever could have imagined, “then we can move forward discussing any warrants your investigation might need. Anything else?”

“No.” Grisly clutches the disorganized file to his chest like someone just used it to bludgeon him and he’s still recovering from the shock.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Eretson clears his throat again, approaching the desk with a natural sort of ease, “I was wondering if Grisly selected a public defender.”

“No, he did not, as he completely violated protocol.” Judge Treacherous laughs again and Eretson’s smile is slow and reserved, but unmistakable.

“I’d like to offer to represent Mr. Haddock moving forward.” Eretson presents the solution like it’s not impossible and Hiccup and Treacherous trade confused glances. “Is that a problem?”

Treacherous starts slowly, “Are you…”

“I’ve passed the bar, yes, I’ll have my paperwork faxed over.”

“Obviously,” Treacherous nods to himself.

“I’ll be taking the back interrogation room to speak to my client then, I’ll address having him moved to the county jail when we’re through.”

Grisly wants to kill Astrid and Snotlout, Grisly is on the case now. Grisly framed Hiccup. Eretson turned over the case to him, even though Eretson has never shown anything like trust in the man. Eretson has gone from savior to traitor to…lawyer in the most confusing five minute span of Hiccup’s life, and that’s saying a lot for someone who is currently being framed for a slew of violent murders.

Eretson sits down across the table in the interrogation room and starts babbling in legal-ese, the words going into Hiccup’s ears like the strumming of an out of tune base guitar until he opens his mouth, unsure what’s going to fall out until it does.

“You’re a lawyer?”

Eretson pauses, eyebrow raised, ghost of a grin haunting the corner of his mouth, “That’s what you’re asking? You should be asking my rate.”

“What’s your rate?” Hiccup parrots back at him and Eretson folds his hands on the table.

“You help me bring Grisly down,” he starts, deadly in a way that makes Hiccup want to hide behind him again. “And whatever you can get Jorgenson to throw in. Now, let’s start with what actually happened this morning.”

“Ok, ok…let me think,” he tries to pull back the veil of blood separating then from now and blushes when he succeeds, “so I was with Astrid—”

“I know,” Eretson surprises him by blushing himself, the pink in his cheeks exactly at odds with the rest of his appearance, “after that. Let’s start when you left the apartment.”

“Oh. Right.” He rubs the back of his neck, “wait, you know? How do you know?”

“I was—in the interest of full disclosure regarding the case,” Eretson clears his throat, tone more formal as his face reddens, “at your residence along with Jorgenson this morning—”

“Snotlout?” Hiccup frowns, “is he ok? Is Astrid ok? I have to—Grisly’s going to go after them—”

“They’re somewhere safe,” Eretson nods, all business again, “now back to the beginning, tell me what happened when you left the apartment.”

00000

The county jail stands on the corner where Big Top 24/7 Video used to, in direct sight of the back of the police station. Hiccup can see his dad’s office’s window from the tiny, barred window of his cell and he remembers being nine years old visiting his dad at work and wondering why his dad couldn’t make time to take him to the circus.

After the rumors that the pollution in Berk’s shipping lanes was deforming whales were scientifically corroborated in the mid-nineteen-seventies, trucking took over. Of course, trucking companies were worried about carjacking in the largely impoverished downtown Berk, so a beltway smeared a swath of unpopulated buildings into a slick semi-circle of asphalt. And with all freeways come truck stops and motels with flickering Vacancy signs, and Big Top 24/7 sprung up between them like a necessarily evil lovechild woefully holding the family together.

Big Top 24/7 Video opened off of the first exit within the city limits, a round brick building with a conical fiberglass roof, painted in garish red and yellow stripes that allowed a circus motif to almost veil a secret. The advertisement of private rooms and VHS sales likely did nothing to fool passing motorists looking for a reason to take their eyes off the road for even a second, but it fooled Hiccup.

When he was a teenager looking for something—anything—worth fighting with his dad over, he used to wonder how his dad was ok with circus animals being caged and made to perform for people’s entertainment right in the station’s backyard, especially given his dad wouldn’t even let him get a dog on the grounds that he was ‘irresponsible’. Hiccup threatened to do something about it once when he was about thirteen, but his dad assured him if he even so much as tried to run in that direction, he could spend the afternoon in the holding cell.

Again, Hiccup thought that was pretty rich coming from a guy who met his wife at an illegal protest to protect Berk’s last resident population of hibernating black bears.

Big Top 24/7 Video was torn down about seven years ago for the new jail to go in, and Hiccup wasn’t talking to his dad enough to gauge any sort of reaction. He imagines now that it was something like relief, if only because it was one less thing to answer his son’s ever instigating questions about, but he never got a chance to ask.

His dad died before Hiccup put together the truth that the untouchable circus of his youth was actually a dingy but surprisingly long-lived scheme to bring truckers together in the homosexually word-playing name of VHS porn and other so-called erotic novelties.

But from where he stands now? Well, he’d prefer cheap, fuzzy handcuffs to the ones that bruised his wrists as Grisly dragged him in front of a judge who invoked his father’s name like a bar he’d never meet. He’d love a ground floor ‘private’ suite with a VHS player as old as he is in the corner that he could rent by the hour over the cell he’s stuck in now, especially because a glory hole might provide a means of escape more viable than the bars on the window.

Plus, he knows for a fact he looks better in largely ill-fitting themed-garb than he does in oversized, itchy orange.

By early afternoon, even he can’t conjure enough detail about the dreary view to distract himself any longer.

What if Eretson is wrong? What if Grisly isn’t spending the day tied up with paperwork and in fact, he’s already caught up to Astrid?

Grisly would gloat, Hiccup knows that. He knows it in more blood-spattered detail than he cares to remember, but the only thing worse than remembering it is foreshadowing a repeat performance, this time with the ghost of the blood of someone he loves thrown in his face.

He’s never planned a murder, obviously, so he doesn’t really have a handle on how long it might take.   He assumes it might take longer given that Grisly is surely going to try and make it look like an accident, since framing Hiccup while he’s literally incarcerated is sure to be a bit harder than framing him while he’s walking around alleys talking about murder.

But no matter how many times he tries to convince himself it could take days or weeks or even months for Grisly to clean up his mess, he flinches every time he hears footsteps in the hallway.

The stairwell door at the end of his floor creaks open and he wonders if Grisly will go for Astrid first, using the address he sent Dave’s foot to and cornering her. Another cell door swings open, scraping across the linoleum floor, and he wonders if maybe Snotlout is an easier or mouthier target to go after first.

A key turns in the exterior door to his solitary cell and he freezes, plastic slipper squeaking against his plastic foot and tearing the silence like wet paper.

No matter who it is, he’ll be stuck, for the first time in his life, with wishing he had said more even sooner and more often.

The door opens and he braces himself for Grisly’s maniacal grin, almost stumbling from the strength of his refusal to show shock when he sees Heather instead, pale and wide eyed, hair disheveled under a crooked police uniform hat.

“Thank fuck I guessed the right room,” she shuts the door quickly behind her and leans back against it, breathing hard. She’s wearing a police uniform jacket too, one that’s simultaneously way too big for her and way too short in a disarmingly familiar combination of borrowed hoodie and crop top.

“Heather.” Hiccup says dumbly, forgetting how to ask questions when he’s so busy trying to force the answers.

“I knew you were on this floor and I had to guess it’d be a smaller cell since Grisly said you were by yourself, but—“

“What are you doing here?” His second attempt at a question goes better, not that Heather gives any impression that she heard him.

“But I guessed right, so now it’s just…keys, I guess, which one of these is for the cell gate thingy.” She starts rifling through a ring of a few dozen keys, trying a couple of them in the barred gate between them but having no luck.

“I didn’t realize you’d officially joined the force.”

“Unless the cell key is on the other ring in the office that I can’t get into—“

“Was the official police tailor unavailable when they assigned you a uniform?” Hiccup laughs at his own half joke, shoulders so stiff they feel brittle, like he’ll shatter if she keeps looking through him like he’s not here.

“It’s Snotlout’s spare,” she pauses, swallowing hard and shoving one stretched cuff back up her arm from where it was covering her hand. He doesn’t need to ask if she heard about Snotlout getting shot, the sympathy almost verging on apology in her expression is enough.

“Ah, could have guessed that,” he nods, “I swim in his crop tops too. Or shirts, I mean shirts.” The joke falls so flat he almost thinks Heather is going to cry, but he’s glad she swallows it back, since it would probably make him cry too and he’s not going to give Grisly that satisfaction.

“I’m not here to chat, I’m here to get you out of this cell.” She goes back to sifting through her key ring and Hiccup frowns, nearly collapsing onto the hard, metal bench against the wall of his cell. “Just give me a second—“

“You can’t break me out of jail.”

“I have Snotlout’s badge too,” she flashes him the shiny shield in her pocket, “that’s how I got in here.”

“Yeah, I’m in jail for murder, remember? You might have heard the judge said ‘no bail due to serial killings’?” He presses the heels of his hands against closed eyelids, “you can’t just let me out.”

“But you didn’t do it,” she says with such conviction that he wants to ask if she knows who did and he resents the distance she put between them more than ever.

No, they’re both to blame for the distance. He had what he thought were better reasons at the time, but they both said things they shouldn’t have and now they’re on either side of a barred cell wall.

“I got arrested for it.”

“Yeah, but that’s—I know you didn’t do it—”

“It doesn’t matter what you know!” He shouts, louder than he knows he should, suddenly full of resentment for even the implication that she could help him. It’s easier to know that no help is coming than it is to shove off insufficient help in the name of the ill-fitting position of ‘voice of reason’. “You can’t exhume Johann for a confession and you can’t just let me out of jail.”

“Johann?” She snorts, but she gives up on the keyring too and Hiccup’s heart falls even though it’s what he was hoping for, “you think this has anything to do with Johann?”

“Doesn’t everything?”

“I…” She deflates the rest of the way, hugging Snotlout’s jacket tighter around herself and leaning back against the wall, yanking at her braid in frustration, “Admiral Hiccup Haddock.”

“You know my military career wasn’t quite that successful,” he rests the back of his head against the cold brick and stares at the ceiling, “and since when do you call me by my full name?”

“Grisly played me for Admiral Hiccup Haddock,” she continues, slumping down to sit cross-legged on the floor, keys forgotten in her lap. Maybe she just needed to talk.  

As much as he’d like to, he can’t find it in himself to blame her.

“I know the feeling.”

“Do you?” Heather snorts, “he had me go on the news and talk about how absurd the whole theory is, I—any credibility I had—“

“Right, Grimborn credibility,” Hiccup cuts her off, gesturing at his jumpsuit, “I guess I’ve got that in spades now, you know, since Grisly framed me for a series of modern copycat murders.”

“I guess you get it then.” She has the sense to look at least a little sheepish and Hiccup sighs, rubbing his face.

“I’m sure that misogyny makes it worse.”

“Absolutely,” she nods, “I’d look way less stupid decrying the now practically proven Admiral Haddock theory on the news if I were a man.”

“Right, men get to make mistakes like that without it ruining their reputation.” He sighs, “I have to ask, ok? Just…when you say you know I didn’t do it, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” she winces like she always has when she lies, looking up through her eyelashes, “you put spiders outside—“

“You’ve worked closer with Grisly than anyone.”

“And I’m sorry for that, if I knew—”

“That he’d play you?” Hiccup hangs his head, running a hand through his hair and trying not to think about the crust near his face. “He only chose you because you’re more marketable than me, he practically admitted it. It could be you in here.”

“The name doesn’t help your case,” Heather twirls the keys around her finger, “there has to be some way to fix this, I—you have to have an alibi, or something.”

“An alibi,” he shakes his head, “not this time, I—I can’t bring Astrid into this. Not again, especially not now.”

“She’s been involved the whole time! Hell, she was just a suspect—”

“I just can’t.”

“What’s so different about now?” Heather looks like his friend when she’s worried and there are a million logical ways to answer that question. He could start with Grisly and end there, but instead the day catches up to him and his resolve breaks, his last important secret falling out of his mouth.

“Because I love her.”

“Oh.” Heather bites her lip, uncharacteristically quiet as she fidgets, scraping some gum off of the sole of her boot with a fingernail.

“Oh?” He prods.

“Does she—I mean does she know?” She continues before he can answer, slouching a little further against the wall, “as in does she know there’s a possibility of it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does she know that she’s your alibi for last night in particular?” Heather gestures at nothing, verging on frustrated and Hiccup frowns at her.

“Considering she was in my apartment with me all night and we slept together, I’m pretty sure she’s aware that we were together. Why do you ask?”

“Ok, ok, no need to be so defensive,” Heather holds her hands up.

“No need? Not like you just inferred I was stalking Astrid—”

“You hang out in a lot of creepy alleys near her apartment,” she laughs, “I had to check.”

“Your confidence in me—or lack-there-of is…” He trails off, “I missed it. I—friends? Please? I don’t need any other enemies.”

“Yeah,” she nods, “no one will believe me if I publish Johann now anyway…” Something in his expression wards her off of the topic like even she’s hesitant to rock a newly patched boat. “If we’re friends again, does that mean I get to give you relationship advice?”

“No—”

“Shouldn’t it be up to Astrid if she wants to be involved or not?”

“I just…Not this time, it’s too much to risk, I can’t…of course she’d want to be involved and—”

“Well then, what the hell else am I supposed to do? You won’t let me break you out, you won’t let me find your alibi, I’ve been working for the guy that got you into this mess and defamed me and there’s nothing I can do to redeem myself?”

He likes that she phrases it in terms of redeeming herself, not helping him. It makes it distant, comfortable, and gives him analytical breathing room he hasn’t had all day.

What could Heather do?

What hole exists in Grisly’s perfect plan that Heather could bore into? Hell, how’d he get so much right about Grimborn going off of Heather’s sensationalized tour information and an Admiral Hiccup Haddock book?

“That’s it!” Hiccup sits up straight, lowering his voice at Heather’s alarmed expression. “He had to fuck up somewhere. Not on the framing for murder, obviously, he’s good at that, but at the Grimborn. If he’s saying I did it to mimic Grimborn and you find somewhere in my Grimborn research that I disagree with what the modern case says—”

“Then it points to someone with a different Grimborn theory than you,” she stands up, tucking the stolen keys carefully in Snotlout’s jacket pocket. “It’s something, I can do that.”

“It might be enough, I think Grisly’s starting to crack under the pressure.” Hiccup lets himself hope for a second, not so long that he can’t shut it down before the long, lonely night ahead, but enough to make the dull light through the window seem livable. “Get in touch with Eretson, he seems to know where Astrid and Snotlout are, they can help.”

“Right, like I’d ask Snotlout for help with research this important.”

“No, I mean Astrid, she’s…she’s brilliant, ok?”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Heather scoffs, voice soft as she reaches for the handle to the room’s outer door, fingers lingering on the knob for a second, “take care of yourself, don’t drop the soap or—”

“Don’t remind me, I already had Grisly in my front pocket today, just…go. Don’t get caught stealing Snotlout’s keys.”

“Right,” Heather nods, somehow leaving the room a little more hopeful, if lonelier, than she found it.

[jackshithere]

Entire Anakonda in Netz documentary (transcribed) 2/4

Part 1

I have an overall plan in my head beforehand. And during rehearsals, I see how everything is working out. During the first five concerts, I see what works or not and that gets rehearsed.

That's how I get a sense of continuity. Although, there are always many uncertainties. Should I stay put or will it interfere with my singing if I move around so that I can't inhale enough air

to sing the vowels? After around 5 to 10 concerts, you know the moves and choreography and you do it every evening.

 As a keyboarder, I'm not tied to the stage. When I'm not playing, I can just walk away and do something. Guitarists always have their guitar. They have to take it off before they can move around. During this time, I can step into the boat or fool around. I can just get up and go. In our heavy metal music, the keyboard isn't that important. In many sections I don't play but don't have to just stand around.

Many of the things you do are actually not that pleasant. It's like a cold shower: First, you don't want to do it, but afterwards when it's over, you feel better!

It gets extremely hot on the stage. If I don't watch out, I can burn my fingertips. Or Till shoots me in the head, my hair catches fire or I slip. All kinds of things can happen: I'll climb out of the pot, loose my grip and fall. If the rockets are ignited too early, I'll get one in the face. It's all happened!

Of course, Rammstein shows use unbelievably many effects. And we'd all like to be involved with them. But it's hard to play an instrument while still handling all of these effects. We've tried a lot though. For a while I had a burning guitar. Then I had a guitar that I destroyed. Or these flaming microphone stands. You think these little tricks look good or that you're cool. When probably you look ridiculous (laugh).

Our manager, Emu, is always around when we're working out new ideas. He's very interested in light and works closely with the light designers. He tells them what's important for Rammstein. A certain rhythm or a certain mood. For me, he's a big part of our success and image, many things. He's not a band member but still belongs to the band.

I'm extremely fascinated by light. "How Rammstein appears on stage;" The effect of the interaction between music, performance and light on the audience. Light conveys everything in Rammstein's music that we want to accentuate so that it is perceived better. A poor lightshow that's out of sync with the rhythm of the music, would make Rammstein's music more difficult to grasp.

It's similar with pyrotechnics. I've come to the understanding that pyrotechnics are not always pyrotechnics. They can be applied much differently with Rammstein's music. They add rhythm to Rammstein's music where it isn't possible with other music. With other bands, pyrotechnics are often just for show. I would even say that it's just for 'decoration'. For us, the sounds made by pyrotechnics are a part of the overall sonic effect.

Some things are very dangerous. Flamepots under the stage, for example. If they go off at the wrong moment, you can be burned badly. Other things can be set off by sparks. Such as by Till's fire bow. The best bet is to stay away from the flamepots.

Sometimes it gets really hot. But I really like that sort of thing. I have absolutely no fear of fire. In fact, I love it. The closer I am, the bigger the kick. These fire fountains are so hot... ...sometimes you get burned. But that's kind of cool too. I totally like it!

Of course you're seeking attention. You simply crave it. Otherwise, you wouldn't go on stage or even make music. If I was satisfied with my whole life, just simply satisfied, then I wouldn't need to perform my music in front of people. I suck it all up and feel better but naturally this is self-deception. Intellectually, I understand this. But still, I've found a way that I can live. It won't become a problem until it slackens or stops entirely. I'll have to find something else or be cured by then. It is really important to understand, that you're just playing a role. It's basically just an 'idea'. Of course the fans out there want their star, the way they see him. You have to understand that they don't really want you. You have to fulfil this role. You play this role. It doesn't have much to do with how you really are. It shouldn't either!

I look for someone with whom I can make eye contact. Usually a girl! The eye contact helps me to put on a good show. Sometimes we have someone who hands out backstage passes. It has happened, that I've met this person after the show. But that's not what it's about. It's only about the moment. I have no real need to get closer. It's a kind of 'tool', like with my sound. I need someone that I can connect to. And when the contact is there, everything works.

I don't like being stared at. I try to ignore it. I avoid it! Sometimes it suits the song to act out an exchange with many gestures. Otherwise I don't look for it... I look for a spot at the back. Usually the man at the mixing desk.

My first boat trip was really exciting. At first I didn't realise that I had floated out on top of the crowd. But back on the stage, I felt weak in the knees and knew that it was something special. I've tried many different ways to navigate the boat. But it's a head thing. I imagine I can steer the crowd with my thoughts - and with this also the boat. Once I'm out far enough, I think, "Okay, you have to go back now". It's hard to describe how it works. You can try to shift your weight, but the chaos principle is paramount, that everyone knows what they have to do and return you automatically. Even though it has happened a few times, I'm not afraid of tipping. I'm not afraid of the crowd.

 I think the boat is a great effect. When it doesn't come, I get annoyed. Then Olli suffers, because I piss him off so much. It's a way of relaxing for us. People stop looking at the stage. Olli is the focal point and moves as if on a sea of hands. Sometimes we're afraid he'll fall or not come back. It's great to watch. It's one of the best effects that I know. Flake used to be the captain. And he sometimes went way to the back rows... where nobody was (laugh), and fell down to the ground (laugh). He came back with a few bruises and he was absolutely furious (laugh). He was spitting like a goose but he had really hurt himself.

Yeah, it's pretty unpleasant to travel around in the boat. I thought to myself, "This effect will be old some day". Olli's much better at it then I am. He's also got a better boat (laugh). Mine didn't have a proper floor, just a rubber base. People always punched or pierced something through it. His boat has a solid base and is larger. It doesn't tip so easily. 4 out of 10 times, I tipped over. You go to the hospital and they stitch you together (laugh). The next day, you're back again. You fall from two metres, above the crowd but you're still on top... But when you tip over... You have a concussion, bruises, spinal injuries, broken elbows, the usual stuff. At some stage you say, "hmm...". Sometimes they rip your clothes off. You come back naked and wrap yourself in a towel. The next day you've got nothing to wear for the show. First to go are the shoes. But as I said, it's like a cold shower. When it ends safely, you're happy.

The best thing about a concert is you come out of yourself. Playing puts you in a kind of 'in-the-moment' state. You don't think about what's coming, there's just the moment!

[poetic-sinema]

Semblance: Five

A/N: It is a number of years later when Lou Taenaka encounters her former guitar instructor. He is still as calm and collected, but the semblance of attraction is undeniable.  

A Myles Kennedy student/teacher fanfic.

Warnings: It’s trash

Words: 1125

One does not know pain until one has tied their hair with a rubber band and then tried to take it out. I’d ran out of options when I discovered that I’d forgotten to lace my wrist with the hair band I’d taken for granted for always having around and succumbed to the desperation of needing to get my hair out of my eyes while I worked. All things seem to be good ideas until they’re not, like the long bangs I decided to keep, knowing full well I slogged in a kitchen for eight hours on end. 

“Dude, I’m leaving!” Vivienne called out from the front as I heard the rustling of the buckles on her bag slip from the countertop.

“Okay!” I shouted, attention solely focused on detangling my hair off the top of my head from what could only be described as a contraption of torture. I’d barely made a motion to pull upwards in full force before I screamed out in both agony and frustration. It sucks more have this done to the front of your scalp as compared to the back.  It is way too late and I am way too tired to deal with this shit right now, I thought as stomped harshly across the kitchen to fetch a pair of food scissors I knew I had to replace if I ended up going through with this. 

“I don’t think you should do that,” A voice uttered from behind me.

I turned with the scissors still in hand to see Mr. Ken- Myles rubbing the back of his neck with his palm, expression unsure if he should’ve said anything at all, “Vivienne kindda let me in.”

I look like a total fucking idiot, and this guy walks in. Brilliant. 

I huffed at my thoughts, “Help me,” I stated, resigned.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what you’d look like with long hair.” Myles said, undoing the knots that had appeared on the rubber band as it entangled with my bangs. 

I have never had long hair, not that I could remember anyway. My mother would never let my hair grow out any longer than five inches under my nape as a child therefore I’d constantly need to sit on a short stool in the yard every other month so she was able to trim it. I was bowl cut baby from the get-go. 

As habit would have it, I’d kept trimming my hair into adulthood, primarily because I found how uncomfortable it was to have hair stick to your nape. The only difference was that now I was able to grow my fringe out a little more, as a sign of coming of age and cathartic rebellion. 

Then again, rebellion constantly comes with a downside.

“I tried to grow it out when I was sixteen,” I explained, trying to look up only to have the older man shove my head down again, “It seems that I can’t handle the feeling of things growing on the back of my neck so I gave up and chopped it short again.”

“A little bit more,” He soothed. We sat so close that my forehead almost touched his rising chest, his breathing gentle underneath the solid black button up. It seemed that it would’ve only taken a slight flick of a finger to push aside the unbuttoned fabric above his chest so as to expose his skin. 

“There ya go.” Myles declared, letting my bangs fall, covering my forehead and into my eye. His next move appeared unconscious as he tucked the hair behind my ear. It took every inch of fiber within me to not lean into his lingering palm. 

“Sorry.” He was quick to apologize, snatching his hand back as if he’d touched a hot kettle and instantly moved his gaze from mine. 

“It’s fine.” What was a firm, confident statement in my head came out as barely a squeak. 

“So I thought you’d flown off right after the wedding?” I had to scour the back of my head to fill the stillness with something that made sense. The quiet was much too agonizing to bear, and the thoughts running through the surface of my mind made my heart convulse erratically.  

“Your brother convinced me to stay a couple more days,” He started, his eyes travelling back to watch me, “I just finished a record with Slash, and they won’t be needing me in for another week for post production.”

I nodded. I wished I knew a little more about the music making process, or even knew his music at all, so I’d be able to have an input as to what he was doing. But I hadn’t even known he had an international career before last month. What I desperately needed, however, was to fill the silences between our conversations.

“Do you want some coffee, I can make you some coffee.” I offered, finding an urgent need to not sit still.

“Sure.” He gave a small nod. 

“So why’d you name the place Dimitryi’s?” He queried. In the minutes that it took me to make a brew, my former teacher had gotten up to fully inspect the kitchen. My guess was that he was feeling as antsy as I had been.

“There was a point in my life where I thought I’d fallen completely and irrevocably in love with a Dimitryi, and so to keep the memory of him alive, I named the store after him.” 

He twisted around from checking out the pin board we’d used to tag recipes, clearly interested in my story, “Really?”

I snorted, “No, but that would’ve been a really great tale to tell.”

He scrunched his face up in disapproval for making him the fool whilst coming forward to accept the brew I offered him. 

“Naming a bakery is like naming a child,” I started, “But when I first conceptualized the image of this place, I wanted it to be almost a spitting image of what The Butcher’s Brew is. My brothers gave such an identity to that café that it was almost impossible to have an idea even better than that. Latching onto what has established itself as a brand became old quite quickly when I’d realized I wanted the place to be more than what was on the surface. I wanted detail, character, and vigor. And what’s better than to give it a Russian name.”

Myles looked impressed from his seat for a moment before I continued, “Also it’s the name of the cute guy from the film Anastasia.”

He rolled his eyes, “That animated movie with the soundtrack you used to hum along to whenever you stopped paying attention to whatever I’d say in class?”

“Yup.” I nodded, holding in a snicker. 

[justtextmeoppa]

❝ I’ve to thank We Got Married ❞

Plot: You and Jaebum were a “fake” couple on We Got Married. You two were filming and he was waiting for you into a coffe shop. It’s started to rain and you became all wet; Because of the script he couldn't take care of you the way he wanted to, you secretly love each other; and after you were done, you two decided to stay alone and with his warm actions he gave you hints how much he cared about you.

Paring: JaebumxReader 

Words count: 2,1k+

Genre: Fluffy

For our @bulletproofself, I hope you like it cutie! M. ♥ Gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner! ♥

"Damn, damn, damn!"  

Your voice was lost in the sound of the rain, while you kept running towards the Café where you knew Jaebum was waiting for you.  

The cameras were with you, completely surprised from the sudden downpour that seemed to have affected the entire city at that time.  

"Run Y/N, run!" They continued to yell, but run without being able to see much because of rain was not easy.  

The only consolation was that soon you would have seen your "fake" husband", for whom you secretly had begun to develop feelings many weeks before.  

Now it was three months that you two took part in that program and staying in close touch with him helped you to see an awful lot about him.  

The must you know him and more your feelings grew.  

Meanwhile, he was waiting, trying to remember the script he had read earlier, starting to worry seeing the weather raging outside the small and cozy cafes.  

"She's coming?" He asked at one of the crew and a small nod of assent reassured him slightly, although not entirely.  

It was not until the door bell, the notice that someone had just entered, to reassure him.  

For the first five seconds.  

You were standing in front of the door, dripping everywhere and being sorry to be in that condition despite your attempts to run as fast as you can.  

"Fuck... Y/N " He swore under his breath, he didn't want to be heard by the cameras, forcing himself to remain in place because it was what the script told him to do.  

The sincere moments in that program were few and he began to be tired, wanted to be more free. More honest, especially towards you.  

"I'm Sorry... The rain caught me off guard. " You excused yourself, rushing toward the table and sitting in front of him, completely embarrassed.  

The blush on your cheeks was due to your outfit or at least was what you kept telling yourself mentally. The truth was that even just see him led to you the famous "butterflies in the stomach".  

"An umbrella?" He asked, trying to stay lowkey, having to bite the inside of his cheek to ask not more.  

"Oh, Jae! The weather forecast had put nice weather. NICE. WEATHER. What do I know, huh? " You snorted, getting off your jacket that was completely water soup; "If I were psychic, I could have predicted!"  

"Yes, okay. I order you something hot. "  

"Shouldn't we carry out the proof of this day?"  

"The proof of this day is to not kill each other."  

"BUT IT'S HARD!" Your voice went up by some eighth, making the crew laugh but causing to you, albeit only mentally, a curse long few minutes.  

You hated having to pretend, you were so simple compared to the image that that program was giving you, you were afraid that Jaebum really thinks of you as an airhead girl.  

"You know that however, they ship us?"  

"Really? They can see or just pretend to be blind?" He asked upset, making a nod to the waitress who immediately came up to take his order.  

He knew your tastes, although you wouldn't think possible, and when he ordered a latte with a sprinkle of cinnamon you don't do anything but smile. Smile immediately framed by cameras, afraid to miss any of your reactions.  

While he ordered you tried to fix the mess that was your hair and definitely your face, but you ignored the makeup that imagined being smeared. You picked up your hair into a high bun, although some subtle strands of hair fell over your shoulders and continued to soak your shirt, just slightly moist because that had been covered by the jacket.  

"Husband?" You called him out, causing him to turn with a sigh.  

"Tell Me, Y/N"  

"Am I so horrible..?"  

"You look like a clown, look." He gave you the sugar container, a reflective surface in metal and you had to keep from screaming. You were really a clown. "So stop saying I'm lying when I say that you snore, I always tell the truth."  

"I DON'T SNORE, JAEBUM!!"  

"Whatever."  

               ___ 

"Finished!"  

The scream of the Director caused a wave of joy in the entire crew, which began to disassemble all the cameras and gear. A small sigh of relief left your lips, while the cold that made you company for more than two hours seemed to be your second skin. The only thing you ever wanted was to go home and take a long, hot bath.  

"Will you stay here?"  

You were ready to get up when the sweet voice of Jaebum do you froze instantly, almost glued you to the chair. If he asked you, you would have even spent all day and night with him.  

"Obviously, it makes me really happy."  

After nearly ten minutes the crew had finally gone and you guys were totally alone. There was a change into the atmosphere, in both of you, almost as if the absence of all those people took a huge weight off your shoulders.  

"Wait.." He said, taking his jacket off and handing it out from above the table. "You must be cold, isn't it?"  

"Hell ya, I feel like a popsicle," You admitted, and thank him with a shy smile but refusing his jacket. "But I'm still a little damp, I don't want to get it wet.. and my hair still dripping, I don't know how it's possible but they do. "  

"Y/N don't be stubborn."  

"But I don't kno--" you began to say when he got up from his chair and wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, so as to cover you completely. "It's huge." You whispered.  

"You're tiny, it couldn't get close. But it looks good on you. "  

"T-Thanks!"  

"You could use tea, you know?"  

"I don't really like.."  You confessed, biting your lower lip while he was addressing a look upset to you. "What!?"  

"Thè can help you."  

"Have I to drink it..?"  

"I just want you to warm up a bit, Y/N"  

The sweetness in his voice was able to warm you up more than any hot drink, but with a small nod you accepted his request.  

His jacket smelled good and was hot, then you tightened it savoring that little moment of calm.  

"Isn't it warm?? Do you want me to take a sweater? Jinyoung always leaves a spare one into the car. "  

"I'm fine Jaebum so, don't worry. Today you're nicer than usual. " You pointed out, finding that loving side amazingly cute.  

"Don't... That's, you can get sick and I don't want your bandmates to kill me because their leader got sick. " Almost coughed out those words, covering his mouth with his clenched fist and making you smile amused. "Then I must bear your presence too because this week we have to record every day."  

"Hell.. It's true. "  

"Did you have different programs?"  

"Honestly? I wanted to go to see my parents, I haven't seen them in almost a year. "  

You had lied to everyone for months, saying you saw your parents regularly, realizing only then the huge mess you were combined. His eyes had become to slightly bored, because of the shooting, a visibly worried.  

And you understood thanks to a small wrinkle had formed between his eyebrows and his mouth was folded into an annoyed scowl, that at that time you wanted to drive off with a kiss.  

"What..?"  

"You lied to me. Last week you told me that you went to your parents on weekend "  

"Oops...? I just don't want to worry anyone. I'm fine... "  

"Bullshit. Now drink your tea, then I'll take you to the dorm. You take a hot shower, I'll wait and then take to your parents. "  

"In Busan?"  

"My schedule is free tomorrow. " He admitted with a tone of defiance, folding his arms across his chest and looking into your eyes waiting for your retort.  

But you didn't know what to say because nobody had treated you as he was doing. You stayed in silence, looking down on your hands folded on a table and only when the waitress arrived with your tea, you raised your eyes and thank her with a slight smile.  

"Y/N?"  

"Huh?"  

"Sit next to me, so you're more sheltered from gusts of wind coming from the door." He almost ordered and slid your cup on the table, put next to his now empty.  

You looked upset, trying to decipher his behavior. "So?" He asked bossy, pointing to the spot next to him on the sofa.  

You snorted but immediately went to sit next to him, but keeping yourself a few centimeters away. You didn't want him to get wet and especially to feel you shaking because of the cold you felt. 

"Maid?? Do you have a towel? " He asked yelling to the waitress, who immediately nodded and returned shortly afterward with a towel itself.  

She handed it to him, you were committed to sip your tea and ignore it when your eyes were blinded and a rough fabric stroked your face.  

"What!?"  

"Be quiet, I'm drying your hair. Let me get this rubber band... I got it. "  

That was no longer an ordinary afternoon, it was turning into an episode of one of those dramas that you used to see at in your spare time.  

His hands were moving up on your hair, rubbing the towel and dry off your hair as best as he could. If you will get sick, even though you couldn't have known, he wouldn't forgive him for anything in the world.  

"Jae?"  

"Huh? I'm almost done."  

"Can I ask you something?"  

"I'm listening, but please... Not something stupid like your usual. " He took it playfully around, lifting your face by placing two fingers under your chin.  

Despite the towel you got to see his smile, that smile you liked so much, forget for a moment what you wanted to ask him.  

"Y/N... What did you want to ask me? "  

"Why are you doing this?" It was your question, honest and sincere, which caused him to freeze instantly.  

He didn't want to find himself like that but unwittingly he was acting like a guy with a huge crush.  

"I.."  

"You?"  

"I don't want you to get sick." He muttered shyly, avoiding your gaze and finally removing the towel.  

At that moment you looked around, there were basically just you two and the waitress in the coffee shop because the storm that continued to hit the city. And that was the perfect moment to act.  

Clutching the collar of his shirt you moved him towards you and just touched his lips, so innocent and clumsy.  

It was your first kiss and it was a simple snap of lips, but you didn't care much. It was with Jaebum, the first guy that you were in love so for you was still perfect.  

His expression turned upside down, however, made you think to be just a fool to think he felt something for you and now working with him would be a thousand times more awkward.  

"I.. S-Sorry J-Jae.." You stammered, loosening the grip on his shirt; "I'm sorry, r-really sorry."  

"Why?"  

"W-Well ... I didn't mean to put you on e-embarrassment ... " Your voice was trembling, as much as you were at that time.  

You were about to leave when he leaned his hand behind your neck, into your hair now almost dry, drawing you towards him and resting his lips to yours.  

His approach was so completely different than yours. His lips were firm into yours and he took to kiss you gently but with desire.  

It seemed like his lips were longing for, as much as yours wanted the same thing.  

The kiss lasted, however, too little because, after a few seconds, you saw him get away but put his forehead against yours, without ceasing to smile even for a second.  

"I think this program will become more interesting from today."  He blinked with an amused tone.  

"Wh-Why?"  

"You're not my wife actually, but my feelings are real Y/N". He whispered, his lips grazing again yours albeit in a mild and delicate way. "I’ve to thank We Got Married then... And I thought I would totally hate my future wife. "  

"You were lucky, Im Jaebum."  

"Damn lucky, Y/N".

[cutiecrates]

Cutie Reviews: Gacha Gacha crate March 19

Here I am, ready for the next review! We’re getting really behind and I know I have to kick it up a notch; but good news, I’ve played so much Yoshi’s Crafted World that I almost have it 100% beaten : D I’m kind of sad about that, but I had so much fun playing it~

For this month, the booklet wasn’t as interesting- unless you really like Sumikko Gurashi like me x3 it features 2 pages with information above the characters and series, along with the Gacha Gacha Community page (the one I usually show at the start of the entry) like usual.

Anyway, I don’t really have anything else to bring up, so let’s get started with the review!

Banana Animals

So as you can see, the idea behind this one is to make banana look like cute animals... and a beetle.

You see where my finger is on the booklet?

I got the beetle T_T

Now, yeah sure, I’d really have like the seal- but I’m terrified of bugs, I would have preferred ANY of them. I was so shook by it that I was afraid to even open the capsule and couldn’t even stand to touch it. Even now I still can’t, but I was trying to overcome it considering I know it’s not actually a bug. It’s just a rotting banana that resembles one...

Rating: ♥ ♥

I loved everything in my box, except or this. This is the only thing that I didn’t like, which is a shame because the concept is super-cute. The figure quality as far as I can tell is really nice; and if you actually like bugs or beetles, this could be a fun addition to your collection.

Sumikko Gurashi Chokonto Mascot

After that traumatic experience I needed some cuteness to help me recover ;3 and lucky me, this was just the ticket! I love Sumikko Gurashi- especially Neko~

This is the second Sumikko Gurashi item we got in this brand (and my second Neko from this brand). Besides Neko, one could also obtain Tonkatsu, Shirokuma, Tokage, and Penguin? Each mascot is super-soft and plush, and they come on a rubber band-like piece. They all have really cute, thin “3D-esque pieces“ and are very accurately detailed.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ 

This almost reminds me of a plush, non-squishy squishy because it’s so soft. It’s also really cute and I love playing with it. I also think these would be really cute accessories for dolls if you didn’t want to use it for it’s intended purposes.

Neko Kaburu

Is it me, or does this kitty look a bit strange....?

Wait, I think it’s beginning to move. Now it’s... taking off it’s head?!

Oh, it’s a penguin!

That’s right guys, once again or this month we’re treated to disguised animals pretending to be kitties! We’re getting a bit of repeat this month in terms of “concept/ideas“, but at least they’re cute!

For this series, there are 6 available animals. Besides the penguin, there is a bear, a panda, a red panda, a koala, and a seal. Each with it’s own cat hat/head colorized to match it.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Besides just being adorable, these figures are extremely well made. The figures are made of a really good plastic/material (I can’t describe it, but it makes a really good, solid sound when tapping it), the paint is accurately applied, there’s no flaws. Honestly, you could just get it for the animal if you were collecting them and just wanted a nice figure to add.

My only itty-bitty problem is that I noticed it’s a little difficult to keep the cat head on for this one. It wants to keep sliding or spinning around, like “exorcist cat-penguin“. But there is a little notch, and it’s not impossible to use it, so it’s not a real problem.

Luxury Chocolate Mascot

To celebrate White Day, we got these adorable chocolate mascots by Toys Spritis :D There is 7 to collect ranging in various brands, including a really cute heart-shaped box I wish I got. But I think this one is plenty cute too.

There’s also something special about these....

It opens! And the little chocolates can be removed, the only way this could be any better would be if they’re scented (they smell like plastic but that’s it). If I somehow could, I’d definitely pick up the rest of this series ;3

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

This is the perfect play or re-ment accessory, it’s so small and cute! I can’t stand it!

I have a concern with these, or at the very least this specific one. Because of it being a little sliding box, I’m kind of worried about it sliding open and everything falling out. See, the ball chain is on the red portion of the box, where the chocolate is. It doesn’t super-easily slide on and off, but it’s enough to concern me a little bit...

Chokotto Home Party

This our next fun item, a cute chocolate-based game series! These little games use all sorts of chocolates, like cookies, actual chocolate, donuts, ice cream. They’re ultra-fun and so cute and little~

These are by Epoch, and each one costs 200 yen.

For this game, the goal is to keep stacking the donuts until someone knocks it over. Whoever does that is the loser. It’s a very easy game to understand, but the included booklet does include instructions (in Japanese) to help you understand the game further.

Rating: ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ 

Again I say, it’s super cute and little, and again, perfect for re-ments, doll houses (sylvanian families especially, which I’d like to use mine for when not playing with it), and it’s just really really fun to play with. I wish there was a way to store the pieces, but I mean, if you keep the capsule it’s fine.

Teaser

No, this is not a Gacha toy called Teaser, this image is a teaser : D Because this is our first DIY gacha we’re receiving in this box, and for that reason I’ve decided to save that for it’s own post, because of the pic limit and all.

So if you’re excited to find out what this is, stay tuned for that review!

♥ Cutie Ranking ♥

Quality - 5 out of 5. Everything came fine and in-tact, I loved the detailing on everything and how clean they all look. They’re kind of small, but due to a lack of knowing the prices for them, I can’t really say if this is worth what we pay or not.

Content - 4 out of 5. I would have given this the perfect score if not for the fact I detest the one item- but the theme itself is still plenty cute, and again I’m sure there’s plenty of people who would love it regardless.

Total Rank: 9 out of 10 cuties. This is the first Gacha Gacha crate I’m almost, nearly completely in love with ♥  Not only were the details crisp and clean on every piece, but they were just lovely and a lot of fun- even if one terrified me silly. Out of every box in this brand so far, this would be the one I recommended the most! But for now, I recommend every single one of the gachapon within it, so if you can find them I suggest buying one :3 or joining Gacha Gacha crate!

♥ Cutie Scale ♥

(I left off the item I didn’t review for obvious reasons.)

1.  Chokotto Home Party - How could I not give this first place? We get a whole bunch of cute sweets to play with! The detail on every single one is also really nice, and just plain cute- I’d have loved any of them but I’m really happy I got this one~

2.  Chocolate Mascot - I’m a sucker for little foods, so of course I really loved the detail and overall adorableness of this one. I might not have liked it as much if we couldn’t actually open it and remove the chocolates, but the detail on the outside packaging is really nice too.

3.  Sumikko Gurashi Mascot - I love love love Neko! I always get so happy when I see it, and this one is ultra-squishy soft, I want to cuddle it~

4. Cat-Head Animal Figure - I really like it’s detail and sturdy build. The penguin is also kind of cute.

5. Banana Animal - I can almost guarantee this probably would have been my favorite item i I had gotten anything else...

[vthiker09]

Something is Wrong

After the screws were removed, I found myself in what felt like an odd situation.  I had just had surgery and I didn’t want help rehabbing from it.  At this point I had been in PT for four months.  I had worked with five different PT’s and had done every single thing they had told me to do and from my perspective, it hadn’t worked.  I couldn’t go through a single day without significant discomfort, let alone hike the mountains I missed so badly.  I also felt burnt out.  I believe this is a piece of rehabilitation and being injured people don’t talk about often: rehabilitating an injury is exhausting.  Even for an active person, I felt like PT was work.  It felt like work because it wasn’t exercise for fun.  It was exercise focused on my injury and reminded me every single day I was hurt.  I didn’t want to be hurt anymore and PT was solid proof I was.  Thus, I stopped going and decided maybe I could do this on my own.  Even though I had all sorts of reminders in the form of constant swelling, bruising, lack of range of motion, nerve pain, and a six inch scar with some new stitches in there, I thought I could, in some way, ignore all of this and finally be better.

Even though this would later prove to be truly misguided, I felt free.  The day after the screws were taken out, I went for a four mile long walk with five or six of my closest friends.  It felt normal.  We chatted about normal things.  We laughed and meandered in the park behind my house in the ways we had before I was hurt.  What wasn’t normal was the taring, burning, and throbbing I felt in my leg.  When we got back from the walk I tried to play a game, while sitting in a chair.  I realized while my friend was taking their turn, I was basically in tears.  My freshly operated on limb, despite my desperate need for it be healed, wasn’t.  

Even with my PT dropout status, I kept doing the exercise routine I was given before the screws came out.  I knew the exercises helped, even if I didn’t want to actually go to PT.  Between this and my daily three to four mile walks, I started to notice something I wasn’t happy with: my leg felt worse.  What “worse” meant was my ankle felt like jello and jello is not capable of supporting a person.  In addition to feeling like jello, my ankle also acted like jello.  All of a sudden walking down a sidewalk had become a dangerous activity.  It was dangerous because even a simple stone would cause my ankle to give out and I would roll it - causing stress on tendons I knew were already unhappy.  

My growing concern about my jiggly joint didn’t stop me from trying to pretend things were okay.  A few weeks later I decided to go on an “easy hike.”  Easy to me was six miles on relatively flat ground.  You know what you can’t easily find in the woods?  Even ground.  Thus, even though the hike was flat, it was uneven and my jiggly joint knew it.  About a mile from the car I stepped on a rock and twisted my ankle enough my friends noticed it.  Let’s think about what I just said - I was on flat ground and I stepped on a small rock.  Does this seem like normal ankle behavior? because it didn’t to me.  It was also concerning because this was the limb I was supposed to be taking care of.  Surely twisting it a few more times wasn’t going to aid me in my healing process.

This became habit for me.  I would go on baby hikes, roll my ankle, and then worry about why.  At this point my Googling was at unhealthy levels.  I spent basically every free minute I had scouring the internet looking for any reason why I had a jiggly joint.  My Googling hysteria was a desperate attempt to do anything to help myself.  Remember - I didn’t have any providers in my life other than my surgeon, who I wasn’t sure could help me.  Thus, I was on my own, through my own choices, to figure it out.  After reading hundreds of websites, I decided I had a chronically unstable ankle and peroneal tendinitis.   

Chronic ankle instability is characterized by reoccurring giving way of the ankle joint, particularly in unusual situations.  Usually people who end up with chronic ankle instability have a longish history of ankle injuries and tend to not rehab their ankle injuries correctly.  Sound familiar?  My decades of ankle injuries all of which had zero rehab, all of a sudden made sense.  The culprits when it comes to chronic ankle instability are often your lateral ankle ligaments.  Ligaments can be described as really tough rubber bands.  They provide stability to your joint and help you move.  If it wasn’t for ligaments and tendons, your bones would just fall into a pile of bones because there wouldn’t be anything to support them.  Pretend you have a rubber band you play with everyday.  After years of stretching, the rubber band loses it’s elasticity and becomes overly stretched.  Consequently, if you use your now overly stretched rubber band to hold items together - it won’t do a good job.

Every reasonable brain cell I have believed my rubber bands weren’t working.  Compounding my overly stretchy rubber bands were my friendly peroneal tendons.  These guys are located on the outside of your ankle.  They connect a muscle in your leg to your fifth metatarsal (pinky toe).   If you have some free time someday, google the following phrase: “peroneal tendinitis and chronic ankle instability.”  You’ll get 95,000 results, which all speak to how if your lateral ankle ligaments are too stretchy, it puts more pressure on your peroneal tendons and they will eventually start to fail and join the pain party.  We’ll talk about this later and let me point out something which should be obvious: everything in your body is connected and if one thing begins to fail, it will only be matter of time until something else can’t pick up the slack anymore and will also begin to fail.

I had, at this point, diagnosed myself and was super sure I was right.  All I needed was a surgeon to agree with me and help me.  During my Google hysteria, I saw a few things over and over and over and over:

1. Ankle history is a key piece of diagnosing chronic ankle instability.

2. Chronic ankle instability can be difficult to diagnosis because it doesn’t behave like an acute issue.  It’s not always symptomatic and often times won’t respond to traditional stability tests.

I had an upcoming surgeon appointment and I knew I needed to make a strong case for what I believed was wrong because a) I’m not a doctor and b) in my experience, they don’t respond well when you say “I think it’s x or y.”  Step one of my efforts comprised writing an overly detailed ankle history.  Starting with the first time I majorly hurt my ankle in high school, I detailed every single subsequent time I moderately or majorly hurt my ankle and all the times I did nothing about it.  Three single spaced pages later, I checked off “ankle history.”  I emailed it the surgeon’s nurse and asked her to pass it along in preparation for my appointment.  

Step two is something I’m not proud of.  If you re-read number two above, you see the piece about “chronic ankle instability is not always symptomatic.”  You mix this with my previous statement, a few blogs posts ago, where I spoke about how I needed to make it so obvious to the providers I was working with something was wrong that they couldn’t say anything other than “here’s how we can help” and you get this: I made sure my ankle was symptomatic when I limped into those surgeon appointments.  Granted this didn’t take anything other than going for a walk, I made sure the night before my appointment I went for a four or five mile walk on uneven ground.  Doing this meant I would limp into the appointment with peroneal tendons the size of a small hot dog and lateral ankle ligaments as stretchy as they were going to get.

I limped into the subsequent appointment ready to make my case.  When the surgeon walked in, he told me he had read my history and would like to do a couple of tests.  He did an anterior drawer test, which tests stability of the lateral ankle ligament complex and did a stress test x-ray, also meant to test ankle stability.  My jiggly ankle managed to pass both tests with flying colors - meaning there were no signs of ankle instability.  The surgeon, who could clearly see I was in a bunch of pain and my ankle was not in a good state, admitted he was a little stumped.  His areas of expertise were not chronic ankle issues and although he had run my case by the surgeon who did specialize in this area, it was unclear what was wrong.  At first, his suggestion was to wait a few more months to see if things calmed down.  After an emphatic “no” on my part, we started to discuss an MRI.  

Magnetic resonance imaging uses a set of magnets on steroids to look at soft tissue.  Unlike x-rays, MRI’s can see your friendly tendons and ligaments.  The great thing about MRI’s is they can see EVERYTHING.  This is also the bad thing about MRI’s.  There is a whole bunch of research out there about how you can take twenty people off the street, do an MRI of some part of their body, and identify an issue.  This was a big part of why the surgeon was so reluctant to order an MRI for my ankle.  He had said a few times there was no doubt mine would come back abnormal and at some points he couldn’t even do one because my tissues were so disrupted the images would be distorted in a way they would be useless.  Additionally, when it comes to ankles, the vast majority of issues can be diagnosed via stress tests and x-rays.  Remember - if your rubber bands are failing they won’t hold things together well and this is something a surgeon can feel or see.  Either your bones won’t be in the correct place or the surgeon will be able to move your joint in an abnormal way.

In my case this wasn’t true.  My bones were in the right place and the surgeon couldn’t move my joint in an abnormal way.  At the same time I was miserable.  In what I believe was a weird act of defeat, the surgeon agreed to order an MRI for my ankle.  His last words to me were “avoid uneven ground until we can figure out what’s wrong with you.”  Let’s take two seconds to think about how absolutely ridiculous this statement is: Think about the world and then list all the places the ground is uneven.  Then, think about living in a state where pot holes and cracked sidewalks are just as common as trees.  Given this, tell me how I could have avoided “uneven ground.”  Consequently, this would be the last time I would meet with this surgeon and would set the stage for round three in the OR.