#also i bought decent masks that should arrive this week

[we-dragons]

I'm from a different dimension actually Chapter 8 Damian x reader

The school is shut down for a week ironically because of an attack by The Joker and Two-Face, that Robin and his team took down. The teachers sent out a notice with homework attached and told us to stay inside. Nightmare came back somewhere in the morning I couldn't tell the time because I apparently fell asleep along with Boy Wonder before the end of season 1 of The Highlander. I gently placed him down on the couch, gotten dressed, and made some breakfast, I only had eggs so I made some scrambled and put them on a plate for him and me. Nightmare got the last of the bacon. I put a plate over Robins while I ate mine sitting at the small table in the kitchen going over my homework. Sadly I finished my homework before my eggs and they have gone cold. I silently morn my eggs eating the cold carcass. "You stare any harder at that screen and you might break it." I jump, my head shoots upwards and I sigh, but then my eyes drop on my cat. My jaw drops the furball is purring in the arms of a masked stranger who is petting his head. Robin was petting my cat holding him like a baby and the demon is purring. Robin still had his eyes, and limbs not even a bite mark was seen on his skin.

"You traitor, you barely know him." I playful scold the feline, he meows nuzzling his face in Robin's chest.

"Your monster seems friendly."

"Nightmare looks like he's been introduced to catnip."

"Just a few scratches here and there." He smirks taking a seat next to me."Thank you for breakfast."

"Mhm." I turn back to the screen, "Will you be going back today Robin?"

"I might."

"Hmm." I finish the last problem for today closing the device, "Well I have to go to work, your welcome to stay if you want." I smooth out my clothes tossing one last look at the melting ball of fur. I quirk an eyebrow but move out to the door. I stop Halfway through the doorway and look back putting on my meanest face. "If you break a single window in my home I will find where ever you are and break you. Bye Nightmare, love you, I'll be back in a few hours."

_____________________________________________________________

"Nightmare! I'm back!" my keys skitter across the floor but no black fur is seen. He's still in the arms of Robin though it's not Robin, Green eyes. My stomach sinks and my mouth goes dry. "Damian?" His is just as much shock as me, he puts down Nightmare and rushes to me the door slams behind me. And I'm being dragged then forced to sit, his hands grip my shoulders. "Your early, why did you arrive early, you not supposed to be back for another half hour." I hardly heard him, I scold myself now realizing the obvious. Why else would Nightmare feel comfortable around him he had been here before multiple times noticed how I treated Damian and that's why he was a purring mess in his arms. I said be nice to him when he was over not Robin, but of course, they smell the same Nightmare associated with both people. I should have spotted it sooner, the voice, the height, the tone of his speech. Dear God, I can mom telling how oblivious, like she did when she won Clue. It was right there, he asked the right question and baited me for answers. I don't know why this is a shock to me. Now that I think of it I have to stop myself from laughing

"What the hell," my voice quivers. "Damian, Damian Wayne. You help Gotham." I start snickering, pulling my hand over my face. I throw my head back laughing then fall over to the side. "Nightmare you knew didn't you! Haha, that's why you were you were melting like butter."

"Your laughing!"

"Did you assume I wouldn't!" I wheeze, my breath nearly coming out to form words. "I can imagine you fighting, but saving people that's something else entirely."

"Do you think so little of me?" He sounds disappointed.

"I don't mean it to offend you but what else can I say. I didn't expect this." I sit up, clearing my throat and looking him dead in the eye. "Can I just call you Damian now, or do I still have to you different names."

"Why aren't you more surprised?"I Smile sadly.

"I thought you would have read up on me, do you know who killed my parents that day at home." He stiffens, he opens his mouth but continues. "My Father's sister, my aunt, killed them both during dinner. All because my mother wouldn't let her see those journals you asked about. After that it many people took off their masks."

"That's all it took?"

"What should it take, she killed her own brother because she didn't get confidential knowledge. To be honest, I don't really care anymore."

"You need professional help." I shrug.

"Probably, but getting sessions is expensive and I don't enjoy answering "and how are you feeling?" questions. I had enough of that already from everyone else."

"Where's your brother, Emil?" I feel myself frown.

"He's with someone I trust, I can't tell you who, sorry."

"The file says you died, you also made a miraculous recovery, recovery from what?"

"I prefer not to answer that question, It's rather personal." I don't want to explain that either, I know the doctor was shocked to see me come back. They had to call the professor to have him take me and my brother. After that this entire fiasco.

"You know I'll find out either way."

"Listen, I don't know how I made it, I was tortured by my she who will not be named and left for dead. I prayed for anyone and everyone who would hear me, someone did, the police found me and I was rushed to the hospital. I decided to take a nap, and I woke up to the sound of Emil crying. He cried, even more, when I woke up, screaming even, the good doctor nearly fainted. I was plugged into wires of all sorts, and my uncle was holding a plug, I assume he pulled, tackled me. My body lit up in pain and felt like I was run over, the next I am separated from my family and rushed into a place where they check on me every three months. At least I got to choose the place, they pay for the school, and I cover everything else." I give in, it feels nice to tell someone, something even if it's not the whole truth. But it seems to shut him up. "Please don't go looking for Emil, they haven't caught my aunt yet. I don't know if she's looking for them next, I would prefer not to stand over another grave knowing she got them too." I stare at him gauging his reaction, his face is still stone, unmoving in the uncomfortable silence. I pick up Nightmare, who has been rubbing against my leg for a bit, and scratch his head as he wants.

"Fine, I won't push further but I have terms."

"Really?" What would he need terms for?

"1, you don't reveal my identity to anyone. 2, you will not acknowledge that you know my family’s identities. 3, I come whenever I like as Robin or as Damian. 4, I add terms whenever I please."

"Why would I agree to any of that? I'm the one who has your identity." He smiles.

"Because I will tell Batman this information, and he doesn't talk as kindly to people hiding something. You obviously still are, but for now, I'll let it slide I'm sure by now you've decided to watch the news, so you know what he does." I gulp, I did see his more recent victim and he looked traumatized.

"Alright fine, but I binge so if you fall asleep tough luck, I'm not going back."

"Fine," he reaches back and pulls out his mask which he puts back on, walking out to the kitchen. "I back in a bit, pull out your couch bed while I'm gone. I will be staying here a while." I get up after him.

"Hey, that offer is for when I thought you were some homeless bums who fights crime, gets money from villain's wallets. You have a perfectly good bed at home!" He turns back one foot on the railing and a grappling hook in hand. "Term 6, I will stay as long as I like." he jumps off like before, not giving me a chance to speak.

"Bastard! I need my alone time!" He's gone I don't even know if he heard me. I grumble pulling out the spare sheets and blankets to set up the bed. "He better be paying rent, smug rich kid."

"Meow." Nightmare looks over at the window Robin left of.

"Yes, he's coming back."

"Meow"

"No, I'm not going tell him, not until I have to."

"Merrow"

"Shut up." I kick the side of the couch holding the two large cushions that lay on it, the bed springs out and makes a satisfying thud on the floor. "Go and see if the data has finished downloading, then put it back in the box I'll make you something in a how you feel about tuna our downstairs grandparents gave me a can."

_____________________________________________________________

The sheets are made, the cat is fed and now I am going over how I was going to cover for another person. How much would he eat, can he survive on pastries, ramen, and eggs. How long was he staying, would his family come asking about him seeing as he was here before. At both times, when he broke my window, and when they came for coffee.

"Hey, open the door." The voice is cold but still recognizable. I get up slowly taking my time getting there along with opening the door. He hurries in, dressed in some normal-ish clothes that still look expensive, but he still dressed like he came out of a photo shoot. He not only has a suitcase but some grocery bags, I frown at those. He seems to notice because he forgets his suitcase and charges into the kitchen. "Hey!"

"Y/N I am not eating ramen and eggs for god knows how long. I will cook a decent meal and you will have something healthy."

"How did you know I only had eggs and ramen?"

"I went through your fridge," He places a bag of tomatoes in the bottom drawer where I see green onions and various other veggies.

"I make stir-fry once a month, you have bought enough greens and reds to make that for two weeks. I don't even have rice."

"You don't like it when people spend money on you, do you?"

"I don't need other people's money," He opens his mouth, but I stop him raising a finger cutting him off. "And before you mention Molly, she remains the exception. Not that me telling her not to stops her."

"And why is that." He stops putting the food in the fridge.

"Because I've been friends with her longer," I look back at his bags and frown. "How long do you plan on staying again."

"For as long as I please."

"Won't they come looking for you? Your family I mean, the Detective stops by almost every day."

"Grayson won't be a problem, I left them a trail that leads to several other places." He stuffs the last of the food in the fridge, getting up and looking out the balcony window. "Should take a long while." I can hear the smugness in his voice.

"Your happy you tricked your brothers aren't you." He turns around forcing himself to frown but the corners of his lips twitch.

"Ho, you're a bastard Wayne."

"You're really gonna curse me?"

"You didn't tell me I couldn't Damian." I grab my computer and open Hulu putting on Star Trek; Next-generation where I left off. "Hope you enjoy space adventure, because I'm not starting this over its seven seasons and 4 movies. I'm halfway through season 3, if you want context just ask." I glance up signaling that I am waiting for a response, he leans on the wall in front of my kitchen. I can't read his face, but his face of neutral displeasure wasn't much better. "So, your done feeling good about yourself, or is there something else you need."

"It's been something I've been wondering for a while now, those iridescent pieces you fed me."

"Part of my mother's work." Not a complete lie,

"Was that what those missing journals about?"

"No." More of a lie but not wrong. He groans anyway, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Man, you really like to cut in deep and waste time. Just come here and watch some Star Trek with me I need someone else to groan in pain about Counselor Troy's and Will Riker's on and off slow burn romance." Begrudgingly he walks over plopping down next to me.

"Your tastes in tv are odd."

"You have no idea, my tastes in something go everywhere, after this and Highlander I have several old cartoons next. First, I might have to gather what you know about the Quack pack, Goof troop, Ducktales, and all that pizazz. Though I have a feeling that you would like Darkwing Duck more, or it could possibly be too relatable." He gives me a look.

"How could I relate to a duck?"

"We are a long way from that now, at the moment we must bear witness to Captain Picard and his adventures commanding the USS Enterprise."

"Has anyone told you how unbelievably weird you are?"

"Sir, you have entered my life for what looks to be the long run. You will experience the kind of weirdness only Molly has ever seen. But now that you are basically my roommate you might see more." I pat his shoulder. "So, buckle up, because this is now you've got a seat on this roller-coaster, and you can't get off till the car reaches a complete stop. Now can we please get back to the show I want to see some cosmic action?"

_____________________________________________________________

"Was that a statement or a question?"

"He can achieve the perception of feeling with a chip that goes into his hyper-advanced brain, lets his brother take it but can't make his own."

"I lent you my computer to catch up to where I left off for one night and that's what you're hung upon."

"Yes," his eyes look serious while he shoves some oatmeal in his mouth. "You are the one who can't stand the slow burn."

"Touche."

Before we got to the last season, Damian had asked he could see the rest of the show before the finally. I didn't expect that he would binge because it was a weekend, he even made extensive notes on character weakness. He still went out on patrol every night but came back with no one tailing him. That's what he says at least. He looks tired, with bags under his eyes and just lacking energy altogether.

"While I'm at work please go to sleep, you look like you fought an energy vampire and lost."

"I wouldn’t have lost to a vampire, they’re not that hard to kill.”

“But they drink blood they need to get close; energy vampires are more psychic they don’t even have to be a real monster.” He stops eating/

“How so?”

“They could be emotionally, physically, and mentally draining people. You know like Deity Skimmer, the girl in our science class. You can’t kill the energy-sucking vibes she gives off, can you.” He snorts behind his hand.” I mean it, even creatures of the night need sleep.” I drop my dishes off in the sink. I walk off to the door putting on my boots, I hear the chair slide and I feel his judging eyes digging holes in the back of my skull.

“Once again your conditions said nothing about teasing you, suck it up.” He scoffs. “I’ll be back around 5, don’t break any more windows while I’m gone.” I close the door before I hear any remarks once more about the incident. Though I laugh to myself, I straighten out my outfit and head down to the wonderful smells of the coffee shop. I walk slowly down the stairs looking out to the crowd that had been seated in the lounge. My managers were out by the couches talking to one of the regulars. Pull me behind the counter and relieve my coworker Meg, she looks exhausted and excuses herself. She takes what I assume is her coffee and puts away her apron and rushes out the door. I finish out what she didn’t clean and wait for anyone to come up to the counter. *Ring* though it is loud I hear the bell for the door ring.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment, I need to clean the nozzle here.”

“That’s fine, I can wait.” I flinch but catch myself, so it looks like I flicked something. I turn around with the best smile I can pull off. The sleep-deprived brother of Damian, peers at me from under his hair a frown tugging on his face.

“Oh hey! You came here with detective Grayson last time. Is there anything you would like?”

“Coffee.”

“Any particular kind?”

“Anything that will keep me from sleeping on this counter.” He knocks on the surface twice.

“I Can recommend our D&D potion bottle, it’s a personal favorite of the owners.”

“Why not, how much?” He fumbles around for his pockets, I stop him.

“How about, I make get it for you, and then you pay.” He brings his hands back on the counter and nods.

“I will only be a few minutes, please make yourself comfortable.” I pull out the ingredients for our powerful concoction, the pho fried ice cream, a large potion bottle with a straw, and 20-sided dice. I place the potion bottle in front of him and the ice cream but hand him the dice. He stares at the shiny plastic unmoving.

“I would roll that.” He does what I say and lands on a nine. “Well, sir after this one you can either have another potion or chose two desserts of any kind from our display or menu.” He takes a sip from the straw rather slow; his eyes perk up a bit.

“How Much did you say this was?”

“Oh! That will be $9.23?” He pulls out the exact amount, and I put it away in the register, placing it in the compartment marked D&D.

“And I would like another one of these to go.”

“Sure, would you like it now or before you go?”

“Well now should be nice, I’m leaving in just a bit.” I pull out a cup that is relatively the same size as the potion bottle. I go to give him his cup and notice that he finished the bottle and ice cream. Confusion hits me, but I don’t stare too long to turn to clean the mess. “Have you seen Damian at all?” And there it was.

“No, not since the Gala? Did something happen?”

“There was a…disagreement so he ran out, but if you see him,” He handed me a piece of paper with a string of numbers and an email. “Tell me. That is my number and email.” He does not say anymore and walks out the door, the bell signaling his departure.

_____________________________________________________________

When I got back, I told Damian what happened, he isn’t pleased and is currently pacing the floor.

“My guess is that he knows.” I sigh over my tea and stare sadly at the replaced window.

“No doubt.”

“You know I was rather hoping not to be having another visit from the Batman. What will happen when they find out that I know about the caped crusader thing.”

“He’ll either force into secrecy, turn you into a child crusader, or confine you to the manor.”

“So in other words no privacy.”

“None.”

“As lovely as that would be you told me this was temporary, so why can’t you go back?”

“At the Gala I was supposed to keep you entertained at the table so that we could trap you into to talking about those journals.” I knew it.

“So, you lied to me.” I look at him, faking shock and betrayal.

“It was for the sake of the investigation; I didn’t think that I would end up-.” He examines my expression and face palms. “What’s wrong with you.”

“I like to call it “I laugh in the face of danger” Syndrome, in a moment of despair I crave comedy.”

“You're worse than Grayson.”

“I like him, so I’ll let this one slide.” I sip the warm liquid feeling soothed at the pumpkin spice. “What are you going to do now?” Nightmare jumps on the table noticing my concern and waiting for his answer from me. He walks to the corner where he put his bag then went to the closet pulling out my suitcase. He then grabs his outfit Robin outfit from the coat rack and his other materials. “Get packed, we’re leaving. I’ll grab Nightmare’s things gab whatever you need. And I mean need, don’t pick it up unless it’s necessary.”

“What? I can’t just leave, what about my job? School?!” He Pulls out my backpack and puts some food in it. “Damian!”

“Just trust me, I’ll take care of it! I don’t want you tangled up in my family’s nonsense.” He looks at me something odd swirling in his eyes. “Please.”

“Fine,” I grab my suitcase and pack my box and my compiece which hasn’t gotten back to me on its progress. I throw a few sets of clothes. I open the box to make sure the journals, the scales, and everything else, then I hide it under the clothing and my laptop in the front pocket. I thank myself for making sure to get a suitcase that has a double use as a backpack. In the living room, Damian is all packed the bag is strapped across his chest and he’s holding Nightmare.

“Let’s go.” He hands me Nightmare and pulls me to the balcony. He pulls out and belts with a ring pultruded out on one side swiftly put it around me connecting the loop to his belt. “Hold on tight, and don’t let go till I tell you.” I Sling an arm around him and grip on to Nightmare, he doesn’t hesitate and shoots across the balcony with his grappling gun. I screw my eyes shut. And wait to stop, my heart beats wildly in my chest Nightmare begins purring maybe in hopes to soothe me. I feel something wrong, but it would mean I was away from the Crows. I’m running again, even if it’s not me who chose this it still feels wrong. Because in the direction he’s going it seems that we were leaving Gotham. And for some reason, I feel like it would be a while before I returned.

#wayne #scifi #damian #bruce #bats #fanfiction #xreader #characterxreader #jason todd #tim drake #character x reader #mxf #fxm #batboys #batboys x reader #Damianxreader #X reader #DC #Marvel #MarvelxReader #DCxreader #batfam #mutants #Damian Wayne x reader

[cinnonym]

christmas is the time to say i love you (share the joys)

Written for Day 9 - Ugly Sweater / Dressing Up of 12 Days of Supercorp @supercorpbb

Read on AO3

***

In retrospect, maybe Alex should have known better.

After all, there had been signs aplenty in the past couple of weeks. Supergirl taking longer for her tasks at work. Kara smiling at her phone during movie night, although she used to be the one who always insisted on the no-phones rule. Lena coming over to the loft unannounced one day, looking somewhat bummed when she found Alex there.

Just to name a few things that Alex had noticed. And who knew what else had been going on behind her back? Since her little sister had finally learned to keep a secret (and used that power for evil, evidently), there was no telling, really. Because, like, people didn't fall in love over night.

But Alex was getting ahead of herself. There was a certain order to events, and Alex should at least try to do this the right way. So she would have her story at the ready, if she were ever asked to recount it.

At her sister's wedding, for example. In case it came as unexpectedly as... But she was getting ahead of herself.

***

Of course, it had all went down during game night.

Because heaven forbid they could have one relaxed pre-Christmas evening without something big happening. (Alex supposed she should be glad there hadn't been a city-wide fire, again, or a hostile alien attack or something of the sort. Then again, at least she would have known how to deal with that.)

So, game night. They'd been a small round that evening, just Kara, Lena, and Sam, plus Ruby as a honorary guest, all huddling together at Alex's place for once. Because it felt empty ever since Maggie had moved out, and also because Alex was planning on drinking plenty and Kara'd been hesitant to let her stay over lately (Alex should have known).

It was a quiet night, peaceful somehow. There hadn't been any snow yet, but the clouds were thick and promising, and there lay a certain expectancy in the air, as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Well, something did happen. It wasn't snow though. It was the doorbell.

"You're late," Alex said into the entry phone, fully expecting a contrite giggle in reply. Kara was rarely on time, but she always, always apologised profoundly when she arrived at last. As for Lena... Well, Alex hadn't even expected her to show up at all, in fact. Leading a company like L-Corp probably didn't allow for much free time, and Alex barely considered Lena to be one to drop it all just for something as trivial as game night.

She was wrong. On all accounts.

"Why, hello there!" Kara sang (yes, sang) in reply, and there was a chuckle in the background that Alex would in the course of the evening learn to recognise as Lena's. "And a good evening to you too. Hope you didn't get started without us?"

"Us?" Alex asked. Oh, blissful last moments of oblivion.

Kara's laugh was entirely unfamiliar, loud and carefree in a way Alex hadn't heard in years. "Oh, Lena and me of course," she said, "sorry for coming so late, we got... held up along the way."

There was that chuckle again, before Lena's voice was heard in the background: "Is she gonna let us in or not, it's freezing!"

Alex pressed the buzzer wordlessly, turning around with a slight frown.

"Us?" Ruby asked, catching her eyes from where she was stretched out on the couch. "Was that Kara?"

"Yep," Alex made, "Kara... and Lena."

Sam raised her eyebrows. "Did they come together?"

"Apparently?" Alex sighed. Something was off, something was not adding up, like a calculation gone awry, but she couldn't yet put her finger on the point where she went wrong. She shrugged the thought off.

"Why don't you ask them yourself?"

Because then there they were, Kara in one of her light jackets that did a great job at masking her alien heritage (not), Lena in a lush coat, wrapped up from head to toe.

"Hi!" Kara beamed. And while her sister was a smiling person in general, Alex had seldomly seen her that radiant. Even Lena's typical "Alex" was way less reserved than usual. Oh yes, something was going on.

Sam noticed it too. She gave Alex a puzzled little side glance before she stood up to hug the newcomers, warm and long like only Sam could hug people. (And maybe something was going on there too, but Alex refused to think about it.)

"Kara," Sam smiled, "it's good to see you again. And Lena, I'm happy you could make it."

Lena ducked her head, because even she wasn't immune to the charm that was Samantha Arias. "Anything to spend time with my friends."

At which Kara snorted. Alex's frown deepened.

"Now that we're all here," she said, rather pointedly, "maybe we can get started on some games?"

"Please, before y'all start acting even weirder!" But even Ruby, her reproving (and very valid) exclamation be blessed, couldn't help glancing curiously at the blush that had appeared across Lena's cheeks.

***

"Neat sweater, by the way," remarked Sam halfway into Activity. It was a comment totally aimed at distracting Alex from the fact that Lena and Kara had just fleeced them in pantomime, and to Alex's shame it worked like a charm.

Because the thing was, she'd noticed the sweater too. It was a hideous thing, (clashing colours, frantic patterns, an honest-to-God bell sewn to the front) and there was just no way that an item like that could be found in Lena Luthor's walk-in closet. She must have either bought it especially for this occasion, or...

Or there was a reason why it was slightly too big for her. Why Lena snuggled into it from time to time, inhaling its scent with a smile that was uncommonly soft. Why Alex had the feeling she'd seen this exact sweater before, the ugly pattern burned into her memory.

And why Kara was wearing a sweater with a suspiciously equally ugly print.

Alex started choking just when Lena's smile turned from surprised to smug. She knew what Lena would say, realised it in the very second Lena spoke the words, like she were reading her mind.

"Thank you, but it's actually Kara's."

"Is it now?" Sam smiled in a way that made it very obvious she'd figured out as much already. Ruby was smirking too. Only Alex had apparently been too focused on fucking Activity to notice it earlier.

"Oh?" She made somewhat strenuously, the feeling that something was going on suddenly stronger than ever before. "How come?"

Lena gave her a patient smile, while Kara giggled. "Well, she came to pick me up in the nicest dress you can possibly imagine, although I'd specifically told her to wear something casual. And like, I said to her 'you can't wear that, we'll all get depressed' because you know, it was just that ho- pretty." Kara blushed. Alex was beginning to feel a little faint.

"O-kay?"

"Anyway, one thing led to another and long story short, I let her borrow a sweater," Kara finished hastily, then looked at Lena with what Alex called the un-frown (just like a normal frown, except it became exceedingly clear that Kara very much didn't mean it). "Borrow."

Lena blinked innocently. "Whatever you say, darling."

Darling?

"I'm never getting this sweater back, am I?" Kara huffed exaggeratedly, to which Lena only replied with a "nope", popping the p almost as hard as Kara usually did. Then she squeezed Kara's hand in reconciliation.

At which point Alex noticed they were holding hands.

***

It had all got sorted out quite quickly after that. Ruby wasn't surprised. Sam had always known, or at least strongly suspected it (which was mildly terrifying insofar that Alex was pretty sure she herself did a way worse job at hiding her feelings than Kara and Lena. On the other hand, maybe it also meant that the dinner invitation Sam had extended to her later that night was a dinner invitation indeed.)

Ultimately, it turned out that the only one who'd been completely in the dark about matters was Alex. She, who'd always prided herself in having a good nose for all things Kara-related. She, who'd always assumed she had a decent gaydar.

She, who couldn't even complain about it, because the light in Kara's eyes whenever Lena smiled at her was so bright, it banished the dark thoughts right from Alex's mind.

So, yeah, in retrospect there had been signs aplenty. Supergirl working out between her assignments sometimes now. Kara buying a necklace that was so not her style, even the jeweller asked her multiple times if she was certain she wanted that one. Lena sitting on Kara's couch one day when Alex came by unannounced, painting her nails with Kara's favourite polish.

Just to name a few things Alex recalled now afterwards. And she really should have known.

#supercorp #supercorp fanfiction #sc fanfic #sc #supergirl #christmas #christmas fic #mini fic #my writing #ugly sweater

[delightfully-difficult-pirate]

Kittens for Quarantine (1/2) (CSJJ Day 16)

A/N: I originally came up with this idea during lockdown in 2020, when YouTube channels like Kitten Academy and Kitten Lady were essential to my sanity (what little of it there is).  I hoped to have it finished in time for today, but it turned into more of a beast that I anticipated, so I’m afraid I’ll have to post it in two parts.  Part 2 will come in Feb, as to not distract from any of the wonderful CSJJ pieces scheduled for the second half of January.  

Thank you @csjanuaryjoy​ for all your hard work organizing this event!!!

Trigger warning: Pandemic. 

Summary: During a storm, a stray cat runs into Emma’s home. Killian, Storybrooke’s new shelter manager, comes to help her out but some more unexpected arrivals mean Emma and her son are going to need a crash course on cat and kitten care.  

AO3

                                                           ~*~

Arms laden with bags of groceries and rain pelting her face, Emma Swan struggled to get the key into the lock of her front door.  Wet strands of her blonde hair stuck to her face, obscuring her vision even more.

Just as she was about to give up and call her 12 year-old son, Henry, to come open the door for her, the key slipped into the lock.  Emma shouldered open the door before dropping the bags onto the floor so they held it open.

"Henry, come start putting the groceries away," She yelled into the large house.

Too large of a house for just the two of them, honestly, but Emma had fallen in love with the blue Queen Anne Revival-style home when her realtor first gave them a tour, even though it was a little of a fixer-upper.  At over 100-years-old, that was to be expected.  It had been a little out of her price range until the City of Storybrooke helped her secure a better mortgage deal, as long as she agreed to restore the home to its former glory.  

The arrival of her help was preceded by loud thumps as Henry ran down the stairs.  He flashed her a grin as he grabbed a couple of bags and hauled them to the kitchen.

With a shake, Emma prepared herself to brave the raging storm once again to retrieve the remaining bags.  She'd hoped to be home before it started, but Leroy's van broke down in the middle of Main Street and she'd needed to help divert traffic until the tow truck could get there. She was lucky, she reminded herself as she loaded her arms up with bags, that Storybrooke was such a calm town and rarely needed its Sheriff for anything serious enough to keep her from getting home on time.  A far cry from her years working as a bail bonds agent in Boston.

A streak of lightning blinded Emma for a moment as she made her way toward her house, followed shortly after by a large crash of thunder.  She hoped that the storm wouldn't damage any powerlines.  She'd just bought two pints of ice-cream... which were sitting on the kitchen counter, melting, with no Henry in sight.

With a frown, Emma kicked the door shut.  It wasn't like Henry to abandon a job half done, nor to abuse ice-cream in such away.  After dropping the bags on the kitchen floor and her reusable fabric mask in the basket marked "Dirty", she washed her hands before going in search of her son.

"Kid, where’d you go?" she called out.

Emma almost missed his reply thanks to another crash of thunder but she was just able to hear enough to determine he was upstairs, and she found him in her bedroom on the top floor.  He was crouched on the floor and looking underneath her bed.  Henry looked up when she entered and told her, "I saw something small run into the house while you were outside and followed it in here. I think it’s a cat."

Emma blinked in shock. A cat?

She joined Henry on the floor and peered under her bed.  A pair of yellow eyes set in a colorful face stared back at her.

Wide-eyed, she sat back on her heels.  There was definitely a cat under her bed.  Not an ideal situation but it was a hundred times better than the other likely hood, a raccoon.

"Umm... I guess we should call David?"

Henry nodded in agreement.  Emma's good friend and Deputy was the head volunteer for the local animal shelter and would be able to arrange for someone to come and get their interloper. After she shooed Henry back downstairs to finish putting away the groceries, Emma called David.

He answered with a cheerful "Emma!"

“A cat ran into the house and is hiding under my bed," she blurted out.

There was a pause before David let out a boisterous laugh. "Sorry, sorry," he said, sounding breathless, "that was not what I was expecting."

"Neither was I," she replied.

David chuckled at her sardonic tone. "I'll give Killian a call. He'll be able to coordinate someone to come help you out."

"Who?"

"Killian Jones, the new Shelter Manager the City hired. He started about six weeks ago, not long before lockdown started."

Emma vaguely remembered a discussion during a City Council meeting last year about a grant from the state to expand the shelter, which also allowed for more full-time staff to be hired.  But she didn't recall anything on the topic after that.  Of course, she could barely remember what happened last week since 2020 was so chaotic.  

"I don't think I've met him yet," she admitted.  Normally, Emma made a point to introduce herself to new people who moved to town.  But with social interaction outside your household being discouraged due to the pandemic, she wasn't doing so.

"He used to help run a not-for-profit rescue group in NYC," David told her. “Grew tired of city life, though, and wanted a change."

Given the current situation in NYC, he was lucky to have moved to Maine when he did, Emma mused.

"Anyways, I'll give him your number so he can reach out."

After a quick thanks, Emma ended the call.  With a sigh, she stretched out on her stomach and eyed her unexpected guest.  The cat hadn't moved and continued to stare back at her.  Its face was a mix of black, orange and white. The pupils of its eyes looked fully dilated and its ears were flat and sticking out sideways, which worried Emma until a quick internet search informed her that the cat was probably anxious or afraid and unlikely to become aggressive unless they began to feel threatened.  Which would probably be the case if Emma tried to remove the cat from its current hiding spot on her own.  As much as she didn't want to invite a possible stranger into her home, much less her bedroom, she also didn't want to risk getting bit and/or scratched, and having to make a visit to the hospital as a result.

Resigned to waiting for the animal expert, Emma heaved herself up off the floor.  She left the cat trapped in her bedroom and made her way downstairs.  Henry already had most of the groceries away, except those that needed to go in places he couldn't reach.  Though with the way he was growing, it wouldn't be long before she would need to find a new hiding spot for her secret stash of chocolate.

Her phone rang around 10 minutes later, vibrating loudly on the kitchen table.  Since it was a number she didn't recognize, she hoped it was Killian Jones or another shelter volunteer who could help her out.

"Is this Emma Swan?" A surprisingly accented voice replied to her casual greeting.  At her affirmative, her caller continued, "this is Killian; David told me you have a bit of a problem with a stray cat.''

"You could say that. It ran inside and has taken up residence under my bed."

A deep chuckle reverberated across the line. "Probably seeking shelter from the storm.”

Honestly, Emma couldn't blame the cat for wanting inside where it was warm and dry.  She'd done the same during her time on the streets, even going so far as to break into empty houses when desperate.

"I'd rather not call out any of the volunteers in this weather, but it'll be around an hour until I can make it over to help you out. Will that be alright?"

Emma's nose scrunched in annoyance at having to wait, but reminded herself that this wasn't exactly an emergency.  After telling Killian that would be fine, they ended the call and Emma text him her address.

To pass the time, Emma set about making a simple dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup for Henry and herself.  They were doing the dishes, her washing and him drying, when there was a knock on the door. They both donned clean masks before she pulled the door open and she found herself looking into a pair of the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.  They and some black eyebrows were all that was visible of the man's face, since he wore a beanie pulled low over his forehead and a colorful paw-print patterned mask.

"Emma Swan, I hope?" The man – Killian - asked.  She nodded and quickly invited him inside as lightning streaked across the sky.  She didn't want another startled animal running inside after all.

Killian removed a wet rain jacket, plaid scarf, and beanie, hanging them on the coat tree by the door.  His dark hair was flat against his head thanks to the beanie until he ran a hand through it, mussing the strands until they were casually messy.  He wore a dark button-up under an equally dark vest – who still wore vests - with the top few buttons undone, revealing a decent amount chest hair and the chain of a long necklace.  This was paired with tight, black jeans that hugged a trim waist above sturdy looking boots.  

Emma wasn't sure what she was expecting someone who ran an animal shelter to look like, but sexy punk-rock professor wasn't it.  When her eyes returned to Killian’s face, she realized that he must have been aware that she’d been checking him out because she was met with a raised brow and amused blue eyes.  She’d bet money that he was smirking beneath his mask as well.

“The cat is upstairs,” she announced before turning around to hide the blush she could feel making its way up her neck.  She listened to Henry regale Killian with the tale of the cat’s sudden arrival as she led the way upstairs.  At her door, she paused.

“Excuse the mess.  We only moved in a few weeks ago,” Emma murmured, suddenly feeling the need to explain the piles of boxes still scattered around her room.  

Killian’s soft laugh sent a shiver down her back.  “Don’t worry lass, I won’t judge.  Been in my new place for nearly two months and still have a fair few boxes left myself.”

With a sharp nod, she let Killian into her room, but directed Henry to remain in the hall.  She stood back as Killian set down a small cat carrier she hasn’t noticed before and kneeled next to her bed, peering under it. She tried not to watch as his jeans hugged his shapely ass even more than before.

Killian raised his head and looked at her over his shoulder. “Lass, there is no cat under there.”

“What?” Emma immediately dropped down and looked for herself, but Killian was right.  There was no cat underneath her bed anymore.  She jumped up and looked around for any other places where a cat could go.  The door to her ensuite bathroom was closed, as was the one to her closet.

“She’s probably behind some of the boxes.”  

They started checking the various nooks and corners created by the haphazard piles of boxes.  She was about to pick-up a partially open box labeled “blankets” when she heard a small squeak come from within it.  Startled, she slowly lifted the flap of the box to peer inside.

“Umm…” was all she could initially get out.  “I found the cat.”

Killian appeared at her shoulder and let out a surprised “oh!” when he looked down.  Inside the box was not only the cat from earlier, which Emma could now see was a calico, but also two small, squirming kittens.  One was black with little white paws and the other looked to be a calico like the mother.  

“Look at you,” Killian crooned at the cat as he folded back all the flaps of the box. “Such a good mom, finding somewhere safe to have your babies.”

Emma marveled at how small the kittens were and couldn’t bring herself to be upset that they’d been born on one of her favorite knit blankets.  Everyone one, cats included, deserved a safe, comfortable place to give birth.

Killian slowly reached his hand into the box.  The mom cat watched attentively but didn’t make any move to stop Killian as he carefully grabbed the black kitten and lifted it partway out of the box.  It let out a high pitched squeak and flailed its small limbs as Killian checked it over.  As he did so, Emma noticed that he was still wearing a glove on his left hand and that it appeared oddly stiff.

“I think that one is a little boy,” he whispered, placing the kitten back at a nipple to nurse.  He repeated the processes with the calico kitten, who he declared it was most likely a girl.

“Male calicos,” he told her in a calm, soft voice, poking around the mother cat’s belly as he did so, “are extremely rare and only happen because of a genetic abnormality.”

Emma didn’t know enough about genetics to really understand why that would happen, but she would definitely look it up later.  After another minute, Killian pulled his hand from the box and sat back.  “It doesn’t feel like she has anymore kittens in her, so these two are probably it.”

“That’s good, isn’t it? Less for the shelter to take care of.”

Killian’s hand rose and made to rub across his face, obviously a habit, but he caught himself before he touched his mask.  “I’m afraid the kittens complicate things.”

Emma sighed.  Of course it would.

“The shelter isn’t set up to care for cats with kittens this small,” he informed her, “most aren’t, so they rely on people willing to foster the families until they can be adopted out.”

Killian scratched behind his ear as he continued, “Storybrooke doesn’t have a large foster network to begin with and very few are willing to care for mom cats with new kittens. Those that can are already doing so and I don’t think any of them will have space for more for another couple of weeks.”

This wasn’t completely new information.  David often complained about the lack of foster families in town and how often they needed to reach out to nearby organizations for help.  It was one of the main reasons David convinced the City to apply for the state grant program to improve the shelter.  

“Can you take them?” She suggested, hopeful.

With a sad look in his eyes, Killian shook his head. “I have two orphan litters at home, one of which is only three weeks old.  I wouldn’t be able to provide an appropriate level of care for any of them if I took in another.”

The idea of orphan kittens hit Emma right in the heart.  Orphans, no matter the species, were always a sensitive topic for her because of her past. She studied the two wiggling kittens nursing away in front of her for a moment.  Killian was regarding her with an unreadable expression on his face when she looked back over at him.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take care of these three until I can arrange another home?”

Emma blinked in shock. “What? I don’t know how to take care of a normal cat, much less one with kittens!” She exclaimed.

“It’s not that hard, really, I promise,” he held his hands up in front of him to convey his honesty at her suspicious look.  “Leto here does all the hard work.  You’ll mostly just be feeding her, checking the kitten’s weights to make sure they’re getting enough milk, and socializing them a bit.”

“Leto? You’ve already named the cat?”

He had the grace to look embarrassed and scratched behind his ear.  “Aye, Leto.  She was a Greek goddess and one of Zeus’ lovers.  Her story came to mind earlier and the name stuck.”

Incredulous, Emma could only stare at Killian, who flushed under her scrutiny.

“What is her story?” Emma eventually asked, curious.

“Leto is considered the goddess of motherhood or a protector of the young. But she is mostly known for being the mother of the goddess Artemis and god Apollo.  But when Leto first became pregnant, Zeus’ wife, Hera was enraged and made all lands shun her to prevent her from having anywhere to give birth. Eventually she came upon the newly created island Delos, which was not yet attached to the earth and therefore wasn’t land.  There she was able to finally give birth.”

Even Emma had to admit that the name was appropriate.  “So the girl is Artemis and the boy Apollo?”

Killian nodded.

Emma shrugged. “Works for me. Now, how do you socialize a kitten? I imagine it doesn’t involve signing them up for extracurricular activities,” she joked.

“Handling them in order to get them accustomed to it.  Basically playing with kittens, but with purpose.” From the crinkles next to his eyes, Killian was grinning under his mask.  

“Won’t that make her mad?” Emma nodded at Leto, who was currently licking Apollo’s head.

Killian shook his head. “She let me handle them without a problem, so I doubt she’ll object to you doing so.  Why don’t you give it a try?” He encouraged.

After taking a fortifying breath, Emma slowly reached into the box.  Like before, Leto watched Emma’s hand intently but did nothing to stop her from grasping little Artemis and lifting her up.  The kitten let out a squeak that caused her mom to lean forward and sniff at her for a moment, but they both settled down a moment later. Emma held the kitten for another minute before setting her back down.  

There was pride in Killian’s voice when he told her, “She trusts you.”

Her own voice held a touch of awe when she replied, “I guess she does.”

They sat and watched the little family of three for a couple of minutes before Killian broke the silence to ask, “So, will you take care of them?  At least for a couple of weeks?”

“Yeah, I guess I can.”

An exuberant “Yes!” came from the door of her room and Emma looked up to see Henry watching from where her door was opened a couple of inches.  A door she distinctly remembered closing.

Killian gracefully rose from the floor and immediately held out his hand to help her before he remembered the “no touching” rules they all lived under now.  He pulled his hand back with a frustrated growl, the sound of which did wonderful things to Emma’s nether regions.  She clenched her legs together as she stood, inwardly curing that such a simple sound turned her on.  She’d have to deal with that later.

“I’m going to grab some supplies from my truck that you can use,” Killian told her as they left her room. “Can you two get a medium sized box and some towels or blankets together?”

With a nod, she and Henry collected the items in the empty room Emma intended to one day turn into an office. When Killian returned, he cut a large hole in the front box and then a small one at the back, through which he threaded the cord of a heating pad.  He added a folded towel along the bottom before placing the entire thing within a large dog crate.  An old blanket, small litter box, and water and food dishes went in as well.

At each step Killian explained what he was doing and why, and she watched as Henry soaked up the information like a sponge.  “The heating pad needs to be plugged into a secondary thermostat in order to keep it from becoming too hot.”

Soon the whole set up was ready for its new inhabitants and Emma carefully carried the box with Leto and her kittens down from her bedroom.  At Killian’s direction, she placed Artemis and Apollo into the new box.  Soon her kitten’s squeaks drew Leto’s attention and when she hopped out of the blanket box and went into the new one to retrieve them, they shut the crate door behind her.  She paced around the crate for a moment before going into the box and curling up with her babies.

Killian draped a large blanket over the crate, “Its best to leave her be for a bit to let her get settled in.”

The cat crisis taken care of, the three of them made their way back downstairs.  Henry immediately started texting photos of Leto and her kittens to all of his friends.  They were, she was quickly informed, insanely jealous.

“I’m sure they are now. Send them some photos of you scooping the litterbox tomorrow and I bet they’ll be less envious,” she informed her son, which earned a chuckle from Killian.

He chimed in with, “People often forget the less glamourous side of having pets and how much work it can be.”  He’d definitely know all about that, running a shelter.  

As Killian looped his scarf around his neck, he asked, “I’d like to come back tomorrow to check-in on Leto and I’ll also bring some more cat food, if that is alright.”  

Emma nodded, thrilled that they would still have his help in taking care of Leto and her kittens.  She was also glad that it meant that she would see Killian again, as ill-advised as socializing was right now.  Not only was he handsome, even with half his face covered, but he was a pleasant person.  Obviously caring, given what he did, and he had a sense of humor.

“I left a cheat-sheet upstairs that has what you need to do and how, as well as what to look out for.  But if you have any questions, any at all, you can call me,” Killian assured her, “Day or night.”

As much as she would love to hear what Killian’s voice sounded like when he first woke up, she didn’t want to rely on him too heavily.  He did have a full-time job and two litters of kittens to care for, after all.

“Any other resources you recommend we check out?”

For some reason, her questioned caused Killian to blush.  “Oh… um…” he stuttered. “I actually have a small YouTube channel about pet fostering, specifically cats, that you could check out.”

Watch video of Killian playing with kittens?  No way was she going to pass that up. “I’ll definitely check it out.  What is the channel called?”

If possible, Killian’s already flush skin turned even more read.  

“It’s KillyKat.”

                                                          ~*~

A/N: See you in Feb!

#csjj2021 #csjj 2021 #Captain swan ff #csff #cs ff au #Lee Writes #KforQ #Captain Swan

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Avengers #234: The Witch’s Tale!

August, 1983

“Seasons of the Witch!”

If Wanda offers you a free Halloween mask, politely tell her no thanks.

A lot going on in this cover. Because this is one of those issues that summarizes a character’s continuity because wikipedia doesn’t exist yet and back issues aren’t super easy to get. 

Last time: There was an Avengers/Fantastic Four sorta crossover where Annihilus tried to blow up the universe. The primary fallout of that is that Vision walked into a null-field and then collapsed. He’s basically in a robot-coma recovering.

This time: the Avengers bring Vision home in a tube.

It looks like the kind of coffin you shoot into space but it’s not. It’s just a life-support capsule that looks like a space coffin.

Now though it sucks that Vision is in a robot coma, this does mean that he and Wanda are back involved with the book again. We briefly checked in with them during the Trial of Yellowjacket arc.

But we’ve been pretty short of Scarlet Witch and Vision since #211 when they left the team to try to have a go at a regular life. I’ll summarize in brief how that’s been at the appropriate time. Point being, that’s twenty some issues with a very low amount of my second favorite comic couple.

She-Hulk and Thor carry the capsule into the basement of Avengers Mansion because that’s where their medical center is. The basement. Of course. Why wouldn’t you put your medical center in the basement. Best place for it.

Wanda thanks Wasp for inviting her (and Vision) to stay at the Mansion when they could have stayed at the Baxter Building.

Wasp: “Nonsense! That place was left in a mess by Annihilus! Besides, the Avengers take care of their own!”

(Tangentially, the Avengers have always been more of a family to Wanda than anyone else aside from Django and Marya Maximoff who raised her and Pietro. The Avengers are Wanda’s family basically.)

Also, it’s not said anywhere but I feel like probably Reed Richards never did do that procedure that was supposed to help Vision recover more quickly as distracted as he was by Franklin’s injuries.

While Wanda hovers (metaphorically) around Vision’s tube, Wasp reflects on how hard this is hitting her.

Wasp: “She and the Vision were such a strange match, but they’ve been so devoted to each other their marriage worked -- !”

Oof, that bold hurts, Jan.

Wanda asks for some time alone with her husband so the Avengers leave the basement level medical center, all thinking thoughts as often happens.

Wasp feels guilty because she’s the one that called Wanda and Vision into action but justifies that they were needed. Even though they didn’t really accomplish much.... Kinda makes it worse.

Captain America asks Thor off to have a private chat.

Captain Marvel laments that they couldn’t destroy the field before Vision was injured. And Starfox muses about the sensitivity he senses from Captain Marvel.

Kinda wondering if Stern is trying to set up a love triangle between Starfox, Captain Marvel, and She-Hulk.

Speaking of She-Hulk.

She-Hulk: Any of us could’ve wound up in a tube... or on a slab. But that’s the risk we have to take!

A very typically She-Hulk of this era kind of thought. She’s very direct.

Wasp calls a rain-check on apartment hunting. Which is what she and She-Hulk were doing before the whole invisible dome thing.

And She-Hulk finds other ways to occupy her time.

She-Hulk: “Hey, Starfox! You have any plans for tonight?”

Starfox: “Well, I’d considered checking out the local sights, but if you have a better offer -- !”

She-Hulk: “Spaceman, I can show you some things you won’t believe!”

She’s very direct.

Over at Captain America and Thor’s private conversation, Captain America catches Thor up on the happenings re: Iron Man, i.e. Tony Stark.

Cap(tain America): “It’s Iron Man, Thor... the Wasp and I paid him a visit to find out why he’d resigned from the Avengers. I... don’t quite know how to say this, but... Tony Stark hasn’t just left the Avengers! He’s given up his identity as Iron Man... turned his armor over to another man!”

Thor: “Eh? ‘Tis most passing strange!”

Cap: “That’s not the only thing that’s ‘most passing strange!’ When we talked to him, Stark was so drunk, I’m surprised he was able to stand up! And when I suggested that he’d had too much to drink, he ordered Jan and me out of his apartment!”

Turns out that off-panel at some point, Tony confided his problems with alcoholism to Thor.

Another example of the close relationship that Thor and Iron Man used to have and lamentably don’t seem to have anymore.

Cap even says that Thor has known Tony longer than the rest of the Avengers. While Wasp has been on the team just as long as Thor has, yeah, Thor has known the man in Iron Man longer.

So Cap asks Thor to try to talk to Tony because maybe he could get through to him.

Thor: “I could try, Captain! But if he rejected your advice, while under the influence, I fear for my ability to do better!”

Cap: “What about your mortal identity? Maybe if you approached him as Dr. Don Blake... man to man...”

Thor: “Mayhap. I shall give this thought.”

Thor then hammer-whirl flies off, leaving Cap to think about whether there’s anything additional that he could do, maybe in Iron Man #172, which was on sale at the same time.

Since this issue is otherwise going to be a lot of recapping Scarlet Witch’s entire life, why not pop into another book briefly for some additional content?

I’m the boss and I’ll allow it.

So over in Iron Man in general and issue #172 specifically, Tony Stark is on hard times. We know about the alcoholism and Rhodey taking over as Iron Man. But a man called Obadiah Stane is also attempting an incredibly hostile takeover of Stark International. He’s bought up all the company’s debt (and it has a lot), he has a bunch of civil suits pending against the company, and he’s secretly been the architect behind Tony Stark’s imploding life. That and Tony himself. Takes two to implode.

The last hope Stark Int. has is a writ that will force Stane to back off for a week or two. It’s not a lot but it’ll be some breathing room. Only problem is that it needs Tony Stark’s notarized signature before 5 PM and they kinda lost track of him after he broke into a museum to put on some knight armor and had to be bailed out of jail.

Rhodey decides to call Captain America for help and that’s how we get the asterisk indicating that you should check out Iron Man #172.

Cap does find Tony but unfortunately, Tony slips away in the confusion when an old Iron Man foe called Firebrand (unfortunately not a gargoyle) sets the hotel on fire because he’s just incredibly pissed off at the idea of Tony Stark.

Cap’s less-nice confrontation with Tony about his drinking is decent drama (but possibly not the right tactic to take) though so have some of that.

Anyway. Back to Avengers.

Meanwhile, over on Long Island and at the Cross Technological Enterprises building, industrial espionage gets aggressive as some men in jumpsuits and balaclavas climb the building to sneak in.

One of them is worried because that Avenger guy Hawkeye is in charge of security but the boss is like pssh Hawkeye is a chump with a broken leg.

Then Hawkeye arrives on a hover scooter because insulting Hawkeye probably just summons him to prove you wrong. He has that kind of contrarian energy at times.

He shoots all of their guns out of their hands and pins them to the wall with arrows all before they can really do anything.

His leg may be broken but his arms aren’t. And those are the limbs that do archery.

Sure, his style is slightly harshed by having only one swashbuckler boot on but that still doesn’t stop him from shooting arrows.

A woman and a photographer show up instantly to take pictures of Hawkeye’s cool victory. Apparently the woman is Sheila Danning and she says that she’s in charge of PR for Cross Technological Enterprises.

People showing up to take pictures of how cool he is makes Hawkeye feel very appreciated so he happily poses for some pictures with the captured intruders.

I feel like this is going to end up related to the Hawkeye solo miniseries that’s published around this time. The events of the miniseries cost Hawkeye his hearing but gain him a wife. So we’ll call it a net positive for Clint.

I’ll possibly summarize the relevant parts of the series when it becomes relevant to Avengers, which I’m sure it will.

Several hours later, back over at Avengers Mansion, She-Hulk wakes up after a night with Starfox.

So let’s discuss a thing.

In a later She-Hulk series, the moral iffyness of Starfox’s ability to shoot pleasure at people’s brains and make them become infatuated with him is explored. In a legal sense. As in, Starfox gets put on trial for sexual assault and accused of using his powers to seduce people.

The question is raised whether he had ever used his powers to seduce She-Hulk in regards to them getting together like this in Avengers. And when he won’t give her a straight answer, she beats the shit out of him.

Eventually, the case goes all the way up to the Living Tribunal, the cosmic judge of all realities because of course there’s one of those, and a mind probe proves that Starfox did not use his abilities to influence She-Hulk’s decision to have sex with him.

They’re both just horny people.

Anyway, Starfox and She-Hulk get on first name non-codename basis with each other. Then Starfox takes off to go explore New York, but he and She-Hulk do make plans to get together again in the evening.

She-Hulk’s post-implied-coitus giddiness is rained on when she learns that Wanda hasn’t slept at all and has spent the whole night at Vision’s side.

So now its time for She-Hulk brand very direct friendship.

She tells Jarvis to go make breakfast and she’ll deal with Wanda.

As we saw in and about the Trial of Yellowjacket, She-Hulk doesn’t really beat around the bush.

So when Wanda says she’d rather stay at Vision’s side rather than get breakfast, She-Hulk grabs her and tries to physically drag her towards self-care.

She-Hulk: “Look, watching your hubby won’t make him get well any faster. You’re coming with me! You’ll feel a lot better with a little breakfast in you!”

It doesn’t go over well.

Wanda blasts She-Hulk away and now Jen and Wanda are angry at each other and Wasp arrived just in time to play baffled mediator.

She-Hulk: “I hope you have a good dentist, Red!”

Wasp: “Jennifer!”

She-Hulk: “She started it, Wasp! I was just showing her some hospitality, and she sent me flying with her crummy hex bolts!”

Scarlet Witch: “What?! You physically pull me from my husband’s side, and you call that hospitality?!?”

Wasp: “Girls, girls! We’re all friends here! I know how upset you must be, Wanda, but you mustn't let worry get the better of you! I think we all need a spot of breakfast! Please join me, Wanda. The She-Hulk will relieve you at watching over the Vision... we all will!”

She-Hulk: “That’s what I was trying to tell her!”

Jen’s heart was in the right place but she lacks much in the way of tact?

Anyway, Wasp and Wanda set up in the library and Jarvis brings breakfast pastries to them, though Wanda refuses any.

Free breakfast aggros Captain Marvel and now she’s here too. That and She-Hulk trying to make up through a proxy.

Captain Marvel: “A little bird told me that you were serving your continental special, and I just couldn’t stay away!”

Wasp: “A little bird, C.M.?”

Captain Marvel, whispering: “Well, a big bird! She-Hulk radioed me that the Scarlet Witch was still a little down, and suggested that I might be of help, cheering her up!”

You have a good heart, Jen-Hulk.

Also, Monica just beams right in through the library window as a sunbeam before forming back into her human shape. And that’s delightful. But would be startling. Jarvis is startled. He’s seen it all but all keeps expanding.

Monica and Wanda briefly bond over both speaking French when Monica praises that Jarvis’ pastries rival the best of the French Quarter. Jan is a bit lost because she doesn’t know any French but Monica and Wanda were just very excited because they don’t get to French very often. The language.

AND with the ice broken, Monica smoothly shifts topics over to asking Wanda about herself.

Captain Marvel: “You know, there’s so much I’d like to ask you. I’ve read all about you in the files, of course -- but they’re so impersonal. You’ve led such a fascinating life.”

Scarlet Witch: “Fascinating? I suppose... but I was too young to appreciate some of the more fantastic moments.”

AND THEN WANDA LEGIT, NO FURTHER PROMPTING, STARTS NARRATING HER WHOLE LIFE STARTING FROM BIRTH.

DAMN WANDA, exposition under pressure?

So Wanda tells Monica about how she was born in WUNDAGORE, a Balkan mountain in Transia with a super-advanced city built on it. The High Evolutionary was making furries for reasons which escape me but it explains why a cow-woman answered the door when Magda, supposedly Wanda’s mom although that has changed, came knocking on the door.

She was double pregnant and on the run from a husband who had developed terrible problems and an attitude problem.

The cow-woman Bova, invited Magda into the city and helped deliver her children Pietro and Wanda. And then Magda walked off into the snow to die, pulling a Padme-on-purpose-but-years-ahead-of-time by dying just after having twins.

Her thought process was that Mystery Husband would come looking for her but if he found her frozen in the snow, he wouldn’t find out that she’d had children? I dunno, this logic is a bit spurious.

I’m glad that Wanda’s current in the year 2021 real mom isn’t someone who walked off into the snow to die because it seemed like a good idea.

Showing what an awful idea this was, Magda left Wanda and Pietro in the care of Bova who had no idea what to do with two babies. So she took the matter to the High Evolutionary who also didn’t want to deal with it and decided to dump the babies on a childless Roma couple.

High Evolutionary: ‘DOES ANYBODY WANT SOME BABIES?’

Except the comic doesn’t say Roma, they say the g-slur. I don’t think Marvel ever stops doing that. Its a weird case where the portrayal is overall sympathetic but tinged with stereotypes and using a slur.

Shape up, Marvel.

I also notice that Wanda’s recap leaves out Fake Dad Robert Frank, the Whizzer.

The first time Wanda’s parentage was Totally Revealed For Real, it was revealed that not only Magda but Robert and Madeline Joyce Frank were hanging around Wundagore waiting to give birth.

I’ve already been into it before but originally it was just the Franks kids but the Whizzer whizzed off in grief when he learned his wife died in childbirth. Then when someone got it into their head to retcon otherwise, Magda was at Wundagore and gave birth to twins and then the High Evolutionary had Bova try to give the kids to Robert but he ran off in his grief so shrugged and passed them off to Django and Marya Maximoff AKA the real parents even if not biological.

To editorialize, the Maximoffs actually raised Wanda and Pietro so no matter what, I’ll always consider them the twins’ real parents.

Anyway, the Franks aren’t part of this retelling. Which is funny because for a while Wanda thought the Whizzer was their dad and treated him like one and now she’s dumped him like raw meat for ease of retelling. Tsk tsk.

So, Wanda and Pietro lived a good life and “better parents could hardly have been found.” Then when adolescence happened, Pietro suddenly could run really fast and Wanda “discovered that strange, unpredictable things would happen if I was in a certain frame of mind and gestured in a particular way.”

That’s a pretty specific mutant power. And she relates that she kept causing accidents by gesturing in the particular way while in a certain frame of mind, it’s like, Wanda, don’t gesture that way? Get mittens or tie your fingers together. Its not hard.

Your powers are so specific!

Stereotypes happen and an angry mob burns down the Maximoffs’ camp.

Pietro ran Wanda to safety and the shock was so great that they got AMNESIA.

Marya, I think, died but Django survived and went a little mad with grief, assuming he lost his wife and kids.

For a couple years, Wanda and Pietro just kicked it around Eastern Europe, Pietro using his superspeed to catch game. Things were going okay but not great up until the time that Wanda wandered into a village and made the fuck-things-up gesture and whoops fucked things up.

I’m telling you, Wanda, mittens.

Anyway, she set a house on fire, WITH HER MIND, and now there’s an angry mob after her assuming that she’s a witch.

As sometimes happens in Marvel Eastern Europe.

The mob chased Wanda to camp where Pietro lost his shit and superspeed tried to beat up a mob but wound up getting pinned down and beaten.

Then Magneto showed up and yanked all the crude farming implements away and told the mob to gtfo.

Magneto: “Come no further, homo sapiens! The two whom you attack are under the protection of Magneto!”

An idiot: “With power such as his, he can only be Satan himself!”

An idiot who has the right idea: “Run! Run for your lives!”

Wanda thanks Magneto for the save and he demands “Let neither of you ever forget what you owe me... ever!”

Cool. Cool cool cool.

Wanda: “He took us in... fed and clothed us... but never did he show us any human kindness. We were supposed to be above that, he said... we were mutants, and under his tutelage, we became Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch!”

What a dick.

Anyway, Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver were forced to join Magneto and his other agents Toad and Mastermind.

Magneto’s Brotherhood clashed with the X-Men multiple times. And then the Stranger just sorta yoinked Magneto into space.

Early X-Men is a bafflement to me.

Wanda: “Our debt had been repaid to Magneto many times over. We were beholden to him no longer... We were free. And... we were alone. We had just begun to realize the potential of our mutant powers, but we did not know how best to use them. Cut off from Magneto’s cruel exploitation, we didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what would have become of us, had we not been accepted as Avengers! The Avengers gave purpose to our lives, gave us something to be part of.”

Anyway, being on the Avengers meant dangers and foes to fight but it also meant allies, friends, and ROBOT BOYFRIENDS.

Wanda: “Were it not for the Avengers, I might never have met the Vision! He was the product of a laboratory -- and many thought him to be inhumanely cold -- but I grew to love the warm, feeling inner man.”

Of course, if you tell Vision he has feelings he gets mad and insists NUH UH.

And dating Vision pissed off Quicksilver who basically disowned Wanda for a while.

But who gives a fuck what Pietro says, Wanda also learned WITCHCRAFT and (although not explicitly mentioned) how to summon METEORS TO SMASH HER FOES.

And she got married in a double ceremony where the other bride married a tree! That tree part doesn’t get mentioned.

After this, Wanda and Vision went on a short honeymoon but found that the hashtag Avengers life kept them so busy that they didn’t have a lot of time to themselves.

Then Real Dad Django Maximoff showed up and Wanda and Pietro went with him to Transia to learn their backstory.

Annnnnd Wanda got possessed by Chthon. Won’t be the first time ha ha.

Thankfully, the Avengers managed to do a care bear stare to unpossess her. Oh, and Django died. A misstep if you ask me. There was too much character potential to just kill him off after one arc.

Alas, alas.

Anyway, the recap skips over a whole bunch of stuff and doesn’t mention Moondragon’s role but we get to the point where Wanda and Vision quit the Avengers.

Wanda: “When the Vision and I were finally reunited, our thoughts began to turn inward. Our life with the Avengers was fulfilling, but apart from our careers, we had no real private life of our own. Would society accept us on our own, away from Avengers Mansion? We didn’t know -- but we had to at least try to find out. Taking our accrued Avengers salaries, we bought a modest little home in Leonia, New Jersey.”

So a brief recap of their adventures in the first Vision and Scarlet Witch miniseries.

In the first issue, Captain America’s Halloween housewarming gift of a cursed book winds up being cursed and contains Samhain. When Wanda didn’t immediately free him, he got angry and turned some trick or treaters into monster versions of their costumes to attack Vision while Samhain attacked Wanda. She manages to set the cursed tome on fire, ending Samhain’s power. FOR NOW. Then Not-Actually-Their-Father-But-Doesn’t-Know-It-Yet the Whizzer shows up.

In issue two, the Whizzer is looking for Wanda’s help in regaining custody of his son Nuklo the Nuclear Man. With their help, Whizzer manages to get the court to agree to release Nuklo to his custody. But the lead doctor managing Nuklo is secretly ISBISA! ... Y’know, the Whizzer’s old foe from his All-Winner’s Squad days? No? Okay, well he also masterminded the nuclear ‘accident’ that led to Nuklo’s birth in the first place. And now he’s back to finish the job with radiation siphoned from Nuklo. In anger at Wanda being drawn into Golden Age drama, Vision reveals that Wanda isn’t the Whizzer’s kid but it little matters because Whizzer has a massive heart attack and dies. Nuklo helps defeat Isbisa and both of them are drained of atomic power leaving them human. Oh and Vision’s arm gets melted off. That’s kinda important.

In issue three, Vision is in a robot coma and he needs an energy donation from Wonder Man, his brain brother, to recover. Comic books! Vision has a meaning laden coma dream where Ultron screams at him a lot. Grim Reaper attacks and tries to kill Vision and Wonder Man while they’re incapacitated because he has one character beat and its that. But Vision manages to subdue him.

In issue four, is the pertinent one for this issue.

I’m going to say, I think the second Vision and Scarlet Witch series is better. This was a series of loosely related mishaps. The second volume does more with Vision and Scarlet Witch living in suburbia as a concept.

Anyway, in the fourth issue and in this Avengers recap of Wanda’s entire life, after Vision lost his arm, he and Wanda went up to Attilan to get it replaced. Because the Inhumans can casually just build him a new arm that works with his powers.

And people say the Inhumans aren’t good for anything.

While on the moon, Wanda and Vision decide to visit with Pietro and Crystal and their new daughter Luna. Pietro was even not a dick to Vision. It was a nice moment until Magneto barged in and started a fight by insisting he wasn’t here to fight while trapping everyone inside the building. Also, he threatened Bova to get information on who his kids were and frankly, that’s unforgivable. Bova is an angel. A cow angel.

They fight fight fight and then the fight is ended when Luna cries and Magneto realizes he’s doing a big superhero/supervillain fight in the same room as a fragile child and realizes ‘wow maybe i’m the dick here.’

Now the Vision and Scarlet Witch series ends with the internal-reveal that MAGNETO is the father (for now) of Wanda and Pietro. Magneto asking them to accept him as such. And on a confused moment of ‘shit what now.’

The Avengers issue picks up on that and finishes out the scene.

While Wanda is too stunned to know what to say, Pietro has some choice words.

He snatches his daughter away from Magneto and tells him fuck off, you’re no father to me.

Magneto’s argument is ‘hey genetics is the only thing that matters you’re my son like it or not.’

Pietro’s counter argument is ‘nuh uh’ and that Django Maximoff is the only man he calls father. And Wanda agrees.

Its good to see some Django respect.

Magneto tells them they’ll see the error of their ways and flies off.

Which is the wrong tack to take to prove that you’ve changed and are ready to get some good dadding in and won’t kill your granddaughter for being a human.

He’s super bad at this.

After that, Wanda and Vision went home to New Jersey and just stayed at home for a while, Wanda was so horrified by the reveal.

Wanda: “Even now, I can hardly begin to express the horror, the shame! It’s as if I suddenly discovered Hitler lurking in my family tree! Part of me wishes that he is really sincere about tempering his hatred for non-mutant humans. But even if he was telling the truth, that can never excuse his past crimes... Nothing can!”

Its really surprising how ready people are in-universe to compare Magneto to Hitler. From Wanda to Cap to Xorn.

Wasp: “Wanda... you mustn’t torture yourself this way! Magneto has no claim on you, and you’re certainly not responsible for him! I know it must be tough, but you can’t let him ruin the rest of your life!”

These are helpful things to tell Wanda to calm her down.

Less helpful is when Wasp speculates that hey maybe it was okay not to believe Magneto when he said he’s changed because maybe he’ll become worse! Maybe his newfound tolerance of humanity will lead him to try to save humanity from itself rather than wipe it out. In reference to how Moondragon tried to do that on that planet we never heard from again.

Wanda: “Heaven help us, if such a thought occurs to Magneto!”

I’m pretty sure he’s going to be too busy in the near future trying to be teacher to the most death-prone idiots this side of Westchester. And then after that when he decides to be evil again, he’s going to do some nonsense with Asteroid M. But I don’t think he ever hits the ‘save humanity from itself’ point.

Anyway.

Wasp and Captain Marvel reassure Wanda that if Magneto Strikes Again the Avengers will be with her!

The following day, Wanda returns to Leonia, New Jersey to put together a suitcase of stuff since she’s going to be staying at Avengers Mansion for a while.

Wanda: “Jan was nice enough to offer me a few of her things, but they’re all too small for my figure. And that robe the She-Hulk lent me last night fit like a tent!”

Wasp and Scarlet Witch usually look the same size and shape but that’s important canon body shape information for someone, I guess. If they wanted to draw Avengers But Not All The Same Paper Dolls character designs.

Anyway, the issue really ends with Dr Strange showing up to pull Wanda into a crossover with his own book in Doctor Strange #60.

Ergh. This era sure has a lot of stuff going off on the sides.

I’ll synopsize Scarlet Witch’s time in Doctor Strange’s book if it becomes necessary but I’ve already looked at five non-Avengers issue for this post and am probably going to have to cover the Hawkeye series in brief too when it intersects with Avengers.

Follow @essential-avengers​ for grudging contextualization of everything that’s happening in Avengers, when I feel like it. Like and reblog if you liked.

#avengers #scarlet witch #the vision #the Wasp #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #there were more people but they're not very relevant #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #because this is a big recap of everything wanda it has a lot of the g-slur in it #i've tried to not use panels where its used #and just up and cropped the high evolutionary one

[misssophiachase]

Blame Taylor Swift for distracting me from my other stories (which are still being updated I promise). Eleven parts - eleven songs. Hope you like it. 

Invisible String

Famous singer Caroline Forbes returns to her hometown for a funeral and to face demons from her past, not expecting someone familiar to return and throw the confected world she's created upside down. Based off songs and lyrics from Taylor Swift's Folklore. On FF and AO3

Chapter one: the 1

Mystic Falls, VA

The large, antique mirror was always one of her favourite pieces of furniture in the house. Her mother had been an avid collector of rare, antique pieces and this was one of her most treasured finds.

Liz told her as a child that mirrors possess magical powers.

They don't lie.

Looking at herself today, Caroline knew that much was true. She barely recognised the woman staring back at her.

Her knee length, black, Chanel dress was modest but stylish and her blonde tresses were pulled back into a low chignon at the nape of her neck with a pair of simple, pearl earrings her only accessories. 

She looked every bit the grieving ex-girlfriend, her publicist had made sure of it. The problem was, only half of that statement was true. Ex-girlfriend, yes, but grieving she wasn't quite sure.

Caroline walked to the nearby bay window, looking down at the beach below.

Her large mansion sitting atop the cliffs overlooking the sea had been an impulse purchase five years earlier. She'd bought it for her mother initially. But Liz always maintained that she preferred the small house on Mulberry Drive where she'd raised Caroline and it had remained vacant ever since.

She couldn't bring herself to sell it, if anything it was a veiled reminder to the residents of Mystic Falls who she'd become and just how much some had underestimated her worth. Petty, yes, but Caroline felt it was justified all the same.

She faltered, seeing the long stretch of sand below. It always reminded her of him. The lazy summer days that passed while they played in the surf and built a myriad of sandcastles, some even taller than Caroline. He was like that, always had to be the most competitive. The best.

But also so loving and kind, his unconditional support like a warm hug that she'd craved for too long before he arrived in town. He was everything she needed and that feeling had never abated, even after all this time.

She looked away and shook her head, determined to push those particular memories deeper inside. This trip was about her ex-boyfriend, not the boy with the dimples who rescued her and what they could have had, what they could have been. Caroline repeatedly told herself that their story was destined to be captured like a snapshot in time, nothing more.

After all, some of the greatest movies of all time were never made.

He'd gone on to become one of the hottest and most sought after actors in Hollywood, his recent nomination for an Academy Award his latest accomplishment. 

Sure, she liked to pretend she didn't keep tabs on his life but that would be lying. Every time she saw him photographed in magazines and at movie premieres, his arm around the latest girlfriend, Caroline couldn't help but wish it was her.

But they'd had their chance and there was too much history between them to ever salvage what could have been.

"Caroline, you ready?" she turned to face her publicist and best friend from the doorway. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" She nodded, her invisible mask now firmly in place, determined to hopefully get through this day unscathed and as quickly as possible.

Then she could get the hell out of Mystic Falls and never come back again.

1 week earlier...Empire Field Mile High, Denver CO

"Thanks everyone, you've been amazing, good night!" Caroline yelled into the microphone, waving at the heaving crowd for the last time.

Whether it was a small dive bar at the beginning of her career or the giant stadiums she'd graduated to, Caroline didn't think she'd ever tire of the feelings it evoked. Caroline didn't think she'd be here, let alone doing something that she loved. She'd been singing since she was a little girl sitting on her mother's lap but never thought she'd be singing her own songs for the masses.

She was discovered in one of those very dive bars at the age of nineteen. It was her first regular gig and although the clientele were either non-existent or questionable, Caroline was just grateful to have a steady job for three months.

When the handsome and immaculately dressed brunette (although she wouldn't admit that to him now) had entered the bar, looking completely out of place, she was mid-song. She could remember the cover song like it was yesterday, Breathe by Sia.

Just after her set, he'd produced one of those impressive-looking business cards before approaching her on stage. Enzo St John was his name. His demeanour was poised, his manner and unexpected British accent extremely polished.

"I'm going to make you a star."

If she wasn't so starving, desperate and facing eviction from her Santa Monica studio, Caroline probably would have scoffed at his cliched terminology. But she wasn't that much of an idiot.

And he did make her a star. As evidenced by her steady climb up the music charts, sold out concerts and complete make-over from small town girl to multiple grammy award winner and current 'it' girl if nights like this playing in Denver were anything to go by.

"You knocked it out of the park!" Enzo yelled, trying to be heard over the loud cheers from the manic crowd in Denver as she walked off stage.

"You do realise this is a football stadium, right?" She asked, taking the towel one of the stage hands had kindly provided.

"I don't understand." The way his forehead creased in utter confusion was enough to prove that very point.

"Of course he doesn't," her agent interrupted their conversation. "Enzo doesn't realise he's used a baseball metaphor because all he cares about is his beloved soccer."

"I'll pretend you didn't just commit blasphemy by calling football that dreaded word, Bennett," he huffed. "Bloody Americans."

"We love you too, Lorenzo," Caroline teased, throwing the towel she'd just used at him teasingly. "Now, what's next?"

Bonnie and Enzo looked at her mouths agape. Only Caroline Forbes, America's sweetheart, would be this hardworking. Her schedule was hectic enough but Caroline always took it in her stride and strived to do more and be better. Her mother had taught her that from a young age and she hadn't forgotten since.

"Ah, I don't know, maybe go back to the hotel and sleep, darling," Enzo responded, finally finding his voice. "This tour is only going to get crazier and you need to rest."

"Even Kat would recommend that and we all know how much she loves a good after party," Bonnie joked.

She was an agent at premiere talent company CAA and had recently come on the road for a few weeks. Caroline had met her and publicist Katherine Pierce not long after Enzo. The three were a packaged deal even if they did fight like siblings. Being an only child, Caroline actually relished in their incessant bickering.

Caroline weaved her way backstage and into her makeshift dressing room. Her finale outfit was meant to not only sparkle but also to stand out. Which was great but comfort definitely wasn't an overall factor in its design.

After an obligatory swig of Evian, she began to change. A knock at the door wasn't wholly unexpected, hence the screen she was standing behind. Usually, it was one of her personal staff needing to discuss various matters. Caroline was someone who didn't like to be alone, especially with her thoughts, so would never discourage company.

"Care," she heard her publicist call out. "You decent?"

"Come in, Kat," she said, albeit muffled by the top she was removing.

"Amazing show, as usual," she smiled, closing the door behind her. "How are you feeling?"

"Invigorated," she grinned. "Performing live is the best high anyone could ask for."

"Well, I'm glad," she began slowly,"because I have some news that I thought you should know." Caroline didn't like the sound of that, it was just like when she'd been informed her mother had passed away in the line of duty three years ago. She suddenly felt sick, holding onto the screen for some much- needed balance.

"News?"

"From your hometown," she added. "I wasn't sure if you already know but given your response I assume not."

"Just tell me," she snapped. Caroline knew it was uncalled for given she was just the messenger but there was something about the mention of Mystic Falls that had the tendency to throw her into a spin.

"I'm sorry," Kat soothed. "Your, uh, I mean, uh, Damon Salvatore has passed away."

Caroline felt the precarious sense of balance she had slowly slipping away, all the way onto the floor. It was only when Kat scooped her up and led her towards the couch that she finally processed her words.

Damon.

Dead.

"How?" She managed to bite out as Katherine force fed her some water.

"Motorcycle accident," she offered, brushing the hair from her forehead. "He collided with a vehicle on the interstate. It was instant."

Caroline closed her eyes. She'd always wondered what it would feel like to hear those words but it didn't register like she'd imagined. She'd wished so many bad things on him too many times. She thought there'd be a sense of relief or freedom.

But all she felt was nothing. Not sad, not angry, not shock or disbelief. Just nothing.

Besides Kat telling her she was "so sorry" and continuing to rub her back, the silence in the room was deafening.

"How do you, of all people, know that?" She croaked, sitting up and looking at her friend imploringly. They'd never met. Damon was nothing but a revised memory she'd concocted for her public image.

The typical small town girl with the high school sweetheart angle and her management team had eaten it up. If only it was true.

"Those rabid vultures at TMZ somehow got a hold of it, want to know if Caroline Forbes is attending his funeral in Mystic Falls."

"Well, given you just told me…"

"I know, like I said vultures," she hissed. "I'm not even going to justify their heartless request with a response. Can I get you anything, sweetie? Tissues, water, a really big bowl of chilli fries with extra ketchup?"

Caroline snuggled back into Katherine's embrace knowing exactly what she wanted. She wanted to forget, even if it was just for one night. "I need a really big bottle of tequila."

Caroline winced from the memory, thinking that tequila truly was evil and that she wouldn't be touching it again anytime soon.

Fast forward a couple of days and Caroline was here preparing for Damon's funeral. They'd only arrived late the night before so as to avoid the welcome circus. Her team had accompanied her to Mystic Falls in a show of support and she appreciated it, even if they didn't know the full story.

Given every media outlet knew about his death via TMZ, Caroline figured if she didn't go along with it then they'd know her backstory wasn't exactly what she'd sold them and that couldn't happen.

She'd worked too hard to get where she was and her past wasn't going to return and ruin that.

#klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fanfic #folklore inspired #klaroline #invisible string #misssophiachase #chapter 1 #the 1

[camptony]

What Are The Odds? || Sebtony

"Don't worry, man. I'll let you know when your orders arrives." Tony smiled at the person standing in front of him and watched them walk to the door and leaving the store, the sound of the bell above the door echoing softly inside the store. 

His store. The Playtone. The store he had always dreamed about having, and that was now a reality. Two years in the making, and come next Halloween a year since it opened. His little vintage store in Low East Manhattan. The little store with the apartment on top where he had lived since he bought the two-story building. The apartment he now shared with his girlfriend, Cleopatra, who also helped him run the store, along with another employee. 

Yes. Life had been good. Busy and good. But on that particular day when the bell on top of the door rang again, he never expected a blast from the past to walk right into his store. 

And his life.

Sebastian hummed to himself, walking through the streets of New York briskly because he was on a mission. He'd been so busy recently with his exhibition coming up, that he'd sort of compartmentalised and set aside anything else that was going on. 

Including this. 

Ritchie's birthday dinner. Ritchie's birthday, for that matter. Which is why he was currently walking through the streets of New York like a man on a mission (which wasn't really that uncommon for residents of New York, but he wasn't even really sure he would classify himself as that yet). He needed to find something to give him. They'd only been going out for six months so, since he first landed in New York but with how busy he'd been with the exhibition over the past few weeks, he figured he owed him a decent present, dinner and evening at least. 

Every shop he walked past or walked in had nothing. He had never been a particularly good gift giver, especially when it came to romantic partners. And he knew Ritchie... at least, he thought he did. But when it came to buying him a gift, he realised maybe he didn't know him as well as he thought. But then a small store caught his eye, with the words The Playtone etched above the door. He didn't really expect much as he stepped inside of it, given that he hadn't had any luck so far, but when he saw the records lined up a thought struck him. 

"Hi," he said to the young woman behind the counter who smiled in greeting, "do you have any vinyls of Broadway shows? Something classic maybe...?" She made a soft hmm sound, "I know we stock some of the more recent and mainstream shows, but I'm not sure with the classics, I haven't seen any but there's a lot of records here." She laughed, "would you like me to check with the owner? He's just in the back." "Yes, please," Sebastian said with a nod, "that would be great.

@rockcreeksmythe

Having received a full stock of vintage music tapes that morning, Tony had his hands full with making sure everything was placed in the right order, so it would all be easy to locate when they made the space at the shop for them. Cleo's voice calling him out caught his attention so he went quickly to see what she wanted. 

"Vinyls of Broadway classics? I think we have some but not sure which..." The bell above the door sounded again. "You see that customer and I'll handle the Broadway one. Which one is it?" She pointed discretly, so Tony walked up to where that costumer was, of who he could see only his back. At first. 

"Hey. You have a specific Broadway show in mind to have on vinyl?" he asked the man, but when he turned around he froze. 

"Holy shit..." He blinked. "Sebastian?"

Sebastian hummed to himself, flicking through a box of discounted vinyls at the front of the store, his back now turned away from the direction the salesperson had walked. He wasn't sure if being so clueless over what to buy Ritchie was a bad thing but he never had been one to have a way with gifts. He just never knew how to pick the perfect gift. But he was sure he'd seen a vinyl player at Ritchie's place and he acted in musical theatre so surely something classic would be safe. 

He heard the question and straightened up, turning and starting to say "I'm not s- Tony?" He looked at the other man in surprise and then in appreciation. He looked good - really good. Though that was hardly shocking, because he doubted five years would somehow make somebody unattractive. But still, he was maybe a little caught off guard by seeing him again. But still - relationship or not - he couldn't help but let his eyes appraise him, flicking up and down his body. 

"Wow... it's good to see you," he said, with an easy grin, "what's it been - five years?"

The two seconds that took Tony to snap out of the surprise felt like a century, and he blinked and cleared his throat before he talked again. "Likewise, man! Ahaha, yeah... Five whole years." He gestured around with both his arms open. "Quite the difference it makes, huh?" The way Sebastian eyed him didn't escape his attention, and for a split second the memory of them having that one passionate encounter all those years again came to mind again. But he haad to shake that off and now. 

"How you've been, man? Look at you, all clean up. Or at least dressing much better that you did back at that camp." He chuckled, then place his hand on the stack of vinyl records. "So, you're looking for something specific?"

Sebastian laughed, "yeah, well, I didn't exactly pack my best clothes for camp." He didn't elaborate to say he'd cleaned up in other ways, because he wasn't sure it was really a conversation to be had in a record store. And really, they weren't long time friends. They'd just been in the same place for two weeks and slept together. Though he couldn't deny he'd definitely felt a stronger instant connection to Tony than he had a lot of people in his life... most people, really. But then, he wasn't blind. He knew Tony was undeniably attractive, so he was sure it was just that. 

He cleared his throat, "yeah... yeah, I've been good. Working on my art and all that. I moved to New York about six months ago." He looked around the store, "so you own this place? It's really nice ... honestly, I didn't really know record stores still existed until I nearly walked by on the street. Success is a good look on you," he said with a wink - and then remember why he was here. Ritchie. Right. "And I don't know. I'm after a present for my boyfriend but I suck at buying gifts. He's an actor so I thought maybe something Broadway."

Tony looked up at him and smIled. "So cool you kept going with your art, man. Do you have any fancy art display gallery that I can go to to see that firsthand?" He looked around and nodded. "I do. In fact, I own the building. I live upstairs. Pretty cool, huh? That way I could never be late for work." He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, they aren't many of these these days, no. So that's what makes it special, for when you're feeling a little vintage." He nodded and smiled. "Well, that's narrowminded. I mean, just because he's an actor it doesn't mean he would just go for a Broadway musical." 

He chuckled, then turned around and moved to the next counter of records. "You could always go for RENT. Classic. I also have The Producers here I think- Oh!" He pulled a record out. "Here's a good one too. Falsettos. Interested?" At that moment, Cleo walked by and smiled at them. "Everything okay, sweetie? Did you find something for the gentleman?" He smiled at her, then looked back at him. "Working on it, hun" he said and blew a kiss at her. "We both have our significant ones, as you can see" he said with a soft chuckle.

Sebastian nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, that was actually why I moved to New York. I got a call from a gallery - the fucking MET called me directly - that they were interested in showing some of my pieces in an upcoming exhibition and if I could consider doing some exclusive works for that showing. I thought what better way to paint than to get inspiration from the city itself. It's actually opening in two weeks. You should drop by," he offered, though he doubted Tony would. 

He looked around, impressed. To own any kind of property in New York was impressive given how expensive the city was, let alone a property that housed a nice store and an apartment on top. He'd honestly assumed Tony was just leasing the rental space. "Short commute - very clever," he said with a chuckle. 

When Tony commented that Ritchie may not like Broadway just because he's an actor, he looked at him, aghast. "I know that I just can't think of anything else and I know he has a vinyl player so... I just thought it would be a good idea. I'm not good at gifts," he admitted. "Um..." He glanced down at the offerings Tony had pulled out, just in time for the girl who had greeted him when he first walked in to speak. He looked at her, then back at Tony but easily masked the surprise. "It seems so," he said, with a smile. Frankly, he'd assumed Tony was gay just given by the fact they'd slept together. He wasn't anti-bisexual men by any means - he'd slept with plenty in France - but he supposed he still assumed gay as the default. Perhaps he needed to work on that. "How long have you two been together?" He asked, taking the Falsettos vinyl from Tony. He was sure he'd heard Ritchie talk about the musical before - something about wanting to play Visser, he thinks, so he must enjoy it.

Tony smile brightly. "Wow, that's impressive! I mean, I never got any chance to see your work, but if the MET called, then I'll definitely take their word on that. I'll drop by, absolutely. See what the fuss is about." He winked at him playfully, then nodded. "I know, right? It was, like, the best deal ever. Problem is I never have the chance to actually be late for work, so that sucks." He chuckled and shook his head at himself for his lame joke, then gave Sebastian the chance to look at the records he had pulled out for him to check. He looked at where Cleo had walked away and smiled. "Almost a year and a half. What about you and Ritchie?" The bell on top of the door rang and a small group of people entered the store. It was a busy morning.

Sebastian chuckled, "well, I was sort of in a bit of a slump when I went to the camp. It was one of the reasons I went." Given it had been five years since they'd seen each other last - well, five years since they'd seen each other first too, when you thought about it - he couldn't quite remember exactly how much Tony and him had discussed about their lives outside of camp. Not the finer details at least. "A year and a half? Congratulations. This one, thank you," he held up the Falsettos one, "I think I've heard Ritchie mention it before but I don't think he's got it. And oh, only about six months. Since I moved to the city actually - he was a friend of a friend so I think I met him on my second or third night here. He's a good guy."

Tony's face broke in a bright smile. "Is that so? Well, you looked pretty good to me" he said with somewhat of a teasing tone, then took the rercord Sebastian gave him and nodded. "Good choice, yeah. Thanks, man. It's been quite fine, really. I never thought of myself having a relationship like this but-" He shrugged. "You never know until you know, right? Like you and Ritchie. You seem to care for him enough to buy him a present, so that's cool of you. You want me to wrap this one up for you? We do that here. You wouldn't imagine how many gifts I've sold here, for people who want to give others something special."

Sebastian smirked, "well obviously. I said I was in a slump, not that I didn't look. I always look good." Okay, maybe not always, but Tony didn't need to know that. He looked down at the record in his hands and shrugged, "it's his birthday. I think I'd be a pretty bad boyfriend if i didn't show up with a present. I mean, obviously I care for him but even if I was going to a birthday dinner of somebody I barely knew I'd bring a gift. Maybe not a record of a - yes. Sorry." He laughed, shaking his head, "I think I'm just glad I found something. I was getting worried. I'd love for you to wrap it, thank you. If I wrap it, it'll look it's been run over by a truck."

Tony's eyebrow went up so high it almost touched his hairline, then he chuckled and took the record from him.  "No problem. I forgot how cute you looked when you rambled." He flashed him a bright smile, then turn around to head to the counter. "Good of you to tell me. Thus I know not to hire you as help when Christmas time comes." He winked at him, then grabbed a sheet of navy blue colored paper and worked on it skillfully. "So, does this mean you'll be staying in New York permanently?"

Sebastian laughed, "oh, come on, Tony. I'm always cute. But no need to lie, I doubt you truly forgot." He winked at him, leaning against the counter as he watched Tony gather the supplies to wrap the record. He shrugged, "I don't know if I could ever say I'm staying somewhere permanently - who knows what the future will bring. But I have no plans to leave New York now, no. I'll be here for the foreseeable future. That looks good," he added, nodding down to well wrapped record.

Tony looked up at him from under his eyelashes and gave him a warm, flirty smile. "I never said I did. Plus, I don't think you forgot either..." he said with a low voice, then focused on making the gift as pretty as he could. "That's good! Maybe we could hangout sometime soon? Maybe I could go to one of your art showings. I mean, you will have one happening, right? Because I'm gonna be honest- You left me curious when you told me about it." He looked up at him. "And if you're real good, maybe I'll invite you over to thee bar I play sometimes, so you can hear me play again." He chuckled. "Not the same atmosphere than singing at the lake shore, but still nice." He handed him the gift. "There you go. I'm sure your boyfriend will love it."

Sebastian was snapped out of the moment when Tony handed him the wrapped up record. "Right -" he cleared his throat. Boyfriend. His boyfriend. "Yeah, I think Ritchie will. Though he'll probably know I didn't wrap it, it looks way too neat," he laughed, shaking his head. "And I'd like that - really. Here," he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet and from it, a business card. It had his business details on it but he flipped it over and grabbed a pen, scribbling a number on the back of it. "That's my personal number, not my business one. I don't give that out to just anybody," he winked at him. "Call me, if you want to catch up. But the details of my opening are on my website, which is also on the card. If you're free, you should come. You can bring your girlfriend, if you'd like." He tucked the card in Tony's pocket, hand lingering for maybe a moment longer than it should have. "Now - how much do I owe you?"

Tony chuckled. "Just tell the person who wrapped put a lot of thought in it" he said, then took the card Sebastian was giving him. "Aww, you made feel special already, thanks" he told him with a smile, then followed the path of Sebastiaan's hand as his hand slipped in his pocket and grinned. "Sure, I will. If we can't catch up before the opening, in case it gets busy in here, don't worry. I wouldn't miss your big night. Oh, she will. She's a sucker for anything to do with art, so thank you for the invite." He  made a double check for the price and let Sebastian know, and soon after they were done with it. "Here's your receipt. Enjoy. And just remember- If you get lucky tonight because of that gift, you will owe one." He winked at him, then offered his hand. "Nice to see you again, Seb. See you soon... again?" He chuckled.

Sebastian laughed taking the receipt and  shaking his head in amusement at Tony's comment , "I'll keep that in mind. Maybe I'll have to buy another record if that's the case." He looked down at Tony's extended hand and shook it. It felt weirdly formal, given the way they'd known each other in the past. But also, Sebastian reminded himself, they weren't even really friends. They hardly knew each other, save for two weeks, five years ago. But there was something about the man that made Sebastian feel a sense of familiarity and ease. He was sure that living in the same city, they could become good friends. "Soon," he echoed with a nod and a smile. He held up the wrapped record in thanks and then ducked out of the store. With one final glance back at the door as it shut behind him, he turned and walked away ready to head home and get ready for the dinner.

END SCENE.

#para #discord

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 18/28 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

When the Maiden’s Teeth launched, Yvanne dreaded the onset of seasickness, before remembering that she was here explicitly as a mage didn’t have to hide her magic anymore. At first she felt shy using magic—it had been so long, and a part of her was afraid she’d forgotten—but when the ship began to pitch and roll properly, she rapidly got over it. The spell for suppressing nausea wasn’t exactly simple, but  cast well consumed little enough energy that she could afford to keep herself cloaked in its soothing aura indefinitely. 

She had spent her last voyage huddled miserably in the hold. Now she stood on the deck, nominally a part of the crew, feeling the spray of the sea

The captain was a grey-bearded Nevarran man. He was, charitably, not particularly talkative.

“When do we arrive?”

“Soon.”

“What should I do if there’s already a strong wind?”

“Eh.”

Yvanne soon gave up.

The strangest thing was how the crew treated her. They were unfailingly polite—but it was a politeness born of fear. After all, all they knew about her was that she was an apostate, a criminal. That she technically wasn’t didn’t seem prudent to mention. Yvanne got the impression that most of them didn’t really know what magic was and wasn’t capable of, and suspected that a few thought that she was already possessed. She tried explaining it to them a few times, and got a lot of polite, nervous nods.

Having nothing to do, she practiced wind spells, dreading the moment she’d be called upon to do her job. The might of her magic had once summoned storms and sustained armies; now she wasn’t sure if she could even manage a decent gale. 

But as it happened along the journey the winds were fair, and Yvanne’s services weren’t needed. After several days of bored staring at the horizon, they made port.

Dairsmuid...wasn’t what she’d anticipated. It seemed so plain. She had been expecting—well, more than this. This port looked not too different from any large Ferelden town.

She made to disembark, eager to release her anti-nausea spell, when the captain stopped her. “Be back in two hours.”

“Back?” she said quizzically. “But I’m getting off. Isn’t this Dairsmuid?”

He looked at her like she was stupid. “No,” he said, “This is Jader.”

“Jader? But that’s in Orlais!”

“I congratulate you on your grasp of basic geography.” He went back to examining the manifest.

“But I thought this ship was bound for Rivain.”

“Yes, yes,” the captain said irritably. “Eventually Rivain. But first, Orlais”

“And when exactly will we reach Dairsmuid?” she demanded, but the captain pretended like he hadn’t heard her.

She didn’t go ashore. She spent her two spare hours steaming in her hammock belowdecks, furious at the captain for his rudeness, Anders for putting her on this ship, and the Maker for making her be born in the first place. She would come to regret this decision when the Maiden’s Teeth  launched again, and her opportunity to set her feet on dry ground for a time disappeared.

The few days she had spent with nothing to do had been tolerable. The next few, less so. Yvanne could tell by the sun that they were headed west, not east. They were getting further from Dairsmuid. This would be a long voyage.

The prospect of nothing to do for weeks on end but be alone with her thoughts was unspeakable. So she cut the skirt of the dress she’d bought back in Highever in half, clumsily stitched the tattered remnants into half-decent trousers with a borrowed whalebone needle, and resolved to become a sailor.

She learned to tie knots, scale the rigging, read the stars. What she liked best were the songs. The sailors sang work songs as they heaved and pulled, and these she learned swiftest of all; their simple call-and-response structure made that easy.

The crew didn’t seem exactly thrilled by her participatory spirit, though she could usually find someone to show her how to do something that needed to be done. With her magically augmented strength, she made for a fine strong pair of hands, and the Maiden could always use those. 

The only member of the Maiden’s crew that didn’t keep some level of distance from Yvanne was a Qunari woman covered in intricate tattoos. She was as much an outsider as Yvanne, and no wonder; as the only Qunari aboard, she stood out. Easily eight feet tall, she had biceps as thick as Yvanne’s waist, and a long white braid that wrapped around the sawn-off remnants of her horns. It was she who taught Yvanne many of the skills she needed to be a real member of the crew.

“So you’re Qunari?” Yvanne finally asked her, by way of casual conversation.

Immediately the woman’s massive hand darted out to cuff her across the ear. Yvanne saw stars. “What was that for!” she demanded.

“I am not Qunari. I am Tal Vashoth.”

“Alright,” said Yvanne, who didn’t know the difference and had a hunch that asking would warrant another cuff across the ear. “What’s your name, then?”

“I am called Cheddar.”

“Cheddar?”

“Under the Qun I was told I was Arvaarad. Now I am no longer under the Qun, and I choose what I am called.”

“So you chose to be called Cheddar?”

“Yes,” she said proudly. “And what are you called?”

She hesitated, but what was the point? “I’m Yvanne.”

Cheddar burst out laughing.

“What?” Yvanne demanded. “What’s so funny?”

She grinned. “Someday when we are better friends I will tell you what that word means in my language.”

Yvanne harrumphed. But she took that to mean that they were at least some kind of friends.

From Jader they made port in Cumberland. The College of Magi met here, Yvanne was vaguely aware. The Maiden wasn’t staying in port for long enough for Yvanne to see much of it, though the soaring pillars and golden domes of Cumberland tempted severely. Surely this was a city large enough to fit several Denerims within it. She found herself feeling terribly provincial, and sorry that she wouldn’t be staying.

After Cumberland the Maiden again made west. Yvanne nearly tore her hair out when she realized where the vessel was headed. She was further now from Dairsmuid than ever. She confronted the captain over this,  nearly kicking down the door—with slightly more force than she could naturally produce.

“Yes, yes,” he told her, unphased by the crackling in the air. “First Jader, then Cumberland, then Val Royeaux. Then Dairsmuid.”

“Are there any other stops that I should know about?”

“Get back to work,” the captain said disinterestedly. 

Her anger drained quickly, though, when they made port in Val Royeaux. It shamed her proud Ferelden heart, but it was the most beautiful city she had ever seen. They had a few days of shore leave, and received some of their pay besides. This astonished her; she hadn’t realized that she was getting paid. 

She wandered the markets and cafes with Cheddar, gawking at the ridiculously outfitted and masked Orlesians.

“I’ve been a sailor for many years,” said Cheddar, “But Val Royeaux still impresses me. Bit of a backwater compared to Qunandar, sure, but I like how colorful it is.”

“What’s Qunandar like?”

“Big. Efficient. Steel and smoke and wondrous works.” The corners of her mouth tightened. “But I don’t miss it.”

They passed a stand of colorful pastries that looked like tiny clouds. Cheddar’s face lit up. “Here, little bird, you have to try these,” she said eagerly. “I’ve only ever seen them sold in this particular quarter of Val Royeaux.”

Yvanne bought one. It tasted exactly like how she always imagined clouds tasted, and disappeared almost at once. The sugar was so intense it made her teeth hurt. “Since when am I ‘little bird’?” she asked, wondering whether it would be worth her meager pay to buy another sugar-cloud.

Cheddar grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. I can’t bear to call you—what you’re named. It’s just so silly.”

“This coming from someone named Cheddar?” Yvanne said indignantly. 

“At least I chose my silly name.”

They both laughed.

For the first time in years—for the first time since she’d met her—Yvanne hardly thought about Loriel at all.

—

The next leg of the journey was the longest yet. Yvanne’s hands grew thick and calloused. Salt settled in her hair, and the sun freckled her skin. As time went on, she had to rely on arcane warrior magic less and less to pull her weight. For the first time in her life, she actually had something identifiable as muscles.

One morning she forgot to cast the anti-nausea spell, and didn’t realize it til late in the afternoon, when despite its absence, she felt perfectly fine. The sea was within her now. She wondered how much sooner this might have happened if she’d forgone the spell entirely.

The other sailors never quite felt fully at ease with her, but that was changing, especially as she used magic less and less. Sailors had to trust each other in order to work together. But what she thought really did it was the songs. It was hard to sing with a person, striving for the same goal, hauling the same load, and not get to like them at least a little. The longer Yvanne spent as a sailor the more the crew seemed to forget that she was also a mage.

“You have to tell me,” she asked Cheddar one night. “Why Cheddar?”

The Vashoth woman wrapped her braid contemplatively around one massive finger. “I will tell you,” she said. “When I decided I would no longer be Qunari, it was not an easy journey. First I had to escape the Qun in mind and soul. That part was very hard. Then I had to figure out what I was to do with my Saarebaset—”

“Saarebaset?”

“Things like you. Eh, I forget the word—maj? Mage?”

A drop of cold slid down Yvanne’s back. “Things?”

“In your language Saarebas means ‘dangerous thing,’” Cheddar said casually. “And yes, I knew they were dangerous. I knew if I ceased to be Arvaarad, demons could take them, and many would suffer. But they made me so sad. I didn’t want to hold their leash anymore.”

“You were like a Templar.”

“No,” Cheddar said irritably. “I was Arvaarad. Now I am Cheddar. Get it straight, eh?”

“Alright, alright. So why Cheddar?”

“Oh, yes. I told my Saarebaset that I was freeing them. They begged me not to. They would be lost without me. That was the worst part. It almost made me reconsider! But I was no longer Qunari. I could not protect them, even if I wanted to.”

“What happened to them?”

“Oh, they killed themselves, I think,” Cheddar said vaguely. “That is what they are supposed to do. I doubt they had the imagination to do anything else.”

“And you let them?!” Yvanne stood up, unconsciously pulling in Fade energy in preparation for—she didn’t know what.

“I could hardly have stopped them.”

“You could have freed them, too!”

“I told you—they did not want to be free.”

“You didn’t try!”

“They were Qunari, body, mind, and soul,” said Cheddar, unperturbed. “I had no say over their souls. That was their business and theirs alone.”

“Then—you could have stayed for them.”

“And remained a prisoner myself?” She shook her head. “Now that I was not willing to do.”

Yvanne had no response to that.

“That’s life for you.” Cheddar shrugged. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

With effort, Yvanne let go of the Fade energy she hadn’t realized she’d been holding on to. “Yes.”

“Once I had freed my mind and my soul, I had only to free my body. Now that part was easy. I just walked away.”

“You could do that?”

“Sure. It was easy. I was stationed in Kont-arr, on the north coast of Rivain. Hardly the Qunari heartland.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” said Cheddar, “I was walking down the road, completely alone for the first time in my life. The first night, I slept under an white-barked tree, ate what I could find, drank from puddles of rainwater, and I did not see another soul. At some point along the way I realized I was no longer Arvaarad, but did not yet know who I would be. I could not stand to be Arvaarad, but neither could I stand to be nobody. Within that very hour I saw a man headed up the road, his cart pulled by a brawny goat. I did not speak his language very well, but I asked him the name of his goat. He answered that it was ‘Cheddar,’ and that was as fine a name to me as any, so I decided that it would be my name, too.”

“You named yourself after a goat?”

“Yes!”

“That doesn’t strike you as demeaning? What with, you know—” Yvanne gestured vaguely at the remnants of her horns. 

“No more demeaning than accepting someone else’s naming of you like a dumb animal is named,” she said disdainfully.

“Fair, I guess.” Perhaps some day she would leave Yvanne behind for good. “I didn’t realize you were from Rivain. What’s it like?”

Cheddar thought on this. “Bit of a backwater,” she said eventually. “Swamps are full of crazy women summoning demons. But it was home, for a time. Maybe you’ll like it.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

They lay in their hammocks for a time—Yvanne curled inward, Cheddar nearly spilling out from hers, legs dragging on the deck floor. The Maiden creaked in her comfortable way. Somewhere beyond the haven of the ship that had become (however briefly) home, roared the sea.

Eventually, Yvanne said: “So will you tell me what my name means in your language now?”

Cheddar grinned. “No. It is much funnier this way.”

—

“Hey, Cheddar,” Yvanne said as Ostwick—yet another stop that Yvanne was not, in so many words, informed of—disappeared behind them. “You were kind of a Templar—”

“Arvaarad,” Cheddar corrected. “Not much like your toothless Templars.”

Toothless. Not the word Yvanne would have used. “Right,” she said, disheartened. “I’m just surprised. Of everyone on this ship you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to think I’m dangerous—”

Cheddar burst into laughter. “Of course you are dangerous!” she said. “At any moment demons could burst through and take your soul, and then you would kill us all in your mad rage.”

“That—that wouldn’t happen!” Yvanne said, indignant. “I trained to guard against that. I was the youngest Harrowed mage in a generation.”

Cheddar waved away her words with a wiggle of her fingers. “Trained,” she said dismissively. “That is just there to make you feel safe! You cannot train to guard against a demon. It will take you whether you will it or no, if it decides it wants you.”

“If you think I’m so dangerous, then why befriend me?” Yvanne demanded. “Why agree to work alongside me at all?”

Cheddar gave her a quizzical look. 

“The sea is dangerous,” she explained, as though Yvanne was a slow child. “But still we sail upon it.”

“But—”

Cheddar reached out to pat her on the back. “Do not worry. If demons eat your heart,I won’t blame you. I’ll know you couldn’t have done anything about it.”

Yvanne was so puzzled by this reaction that she only managed to produce a consternated, “Thanks, I think?”

“Enough about that,” said Cheddar. “Ostwick is little to write home about, but next we go to Antiva City. Now that is a marvel! Rialto Bay at this time of year is a flurry of colors from all the ships that come to trade there. You can find anything in Antiva City!”

Yvanne found herself looking forward to it, and not thinking too much about what would come after.

—

But as it happened, Yvanne never reached Antiva City, because off the coast of Llomeryn, they were attacked by pirates.

The rival ship began to approach late in the day. Yvanne didn’t notice it at first. When the captain pulled her away from swabbing the deck to summon a wind, she didn’t think it too strange, although usually she was only ordered to use magic if the winds were really still. A merry gale already the sails that morning, albeit at an angle, when Yvanne took up her position

Her wind magic was woefully inefficient, even she could tell. Only a fraction of the magical energy she was expending was going into the gale itself; the rest sparked off as waste heat, crackling sound, and little lightning strikes that left her hair standing on end. Work like this at Kinloch would have seen her whipped.

“Can’t I stop yet?” she complained to the captain. “The wind’s plenty strong as it is.”

“No.” 

“But—”

“You’ve your orders.”

She grumbled, but maintained the wind. Only then did she notice the other ship on the horizon.

“Are we close to a port?” she asked a fellow crewmember, a dwarven woman named Molly who was adjusting the aft sail in earshot. “I thought we weren’t due in Antiva City for another few days.”

Molly only shook her head and grunted in response. By afternoon the captain had not changed his orders, and she was starting to feel faint. Cheddar brought her a midday meal. 

“Is it normal for a ship to pursue another for so long?” she asked Cheddar, once she’d finished scarfing the unexciting sailor’s fare. 

Cheddar looked to aft, and the other ship there. It was still there—and closer now than ever.

“No,” she said. “Probably pirates. Captain hasn’t said anything to prevent panic, but everyone knows, I think, or at least suspects.”

“Pirates?” Yvanne said anxiously. 

“Oh, sure. Plenty of their ilk around here.”

Yvanne watched the ever-less-distant blur for a time. Now she understood the captain’s orders, but would it have killed him to tell her? “How are they still behind us? I’ve been summoning wind all day!”

“They’ll have their own windmage,” Cheddar explained. “And they’ll be in a smaller ship, not so loaded with cargo. They will not catch us at once, but if they are very determined, they will catch us.”

“And then what happens?”

“We fight them, of course!” Cheddar laughed. “These canons are not just for show.”

“And if we lose…?”

Cheddar rubbed her chin. “Well, we might be killed. Or compelled to join their crew, or marooned on an island, or enslaved.”

“Killed? Enslaved?”

“Well, that’s life for you.” Cheddar shrugged. “But I’ve never been killed or enslaved by pirates before, so I don’t see why I should start now.”

Yvanne watched the ship in the distance. It didn’t appear to draw any closer, but that made it worse—the thought that they would be caught inevitably, however long it took if they did not make Antiva City first.

And it was inevitable. At her peak Yvanne had commanded oceans of mana—and even then she’d consumed lyrium by the gallon to sustain her casting habits. Since then, she had abandoned magic, let it atrophy and rot away like a vestigial limb, and while she had forgotten nothing, she was not as strong as she had been. She could already tell that she wouldn’t be able to sustain a wind this strong for much longer; already she was feeling the telltale signs of mana exhaustion. 

“Get back to work, windmage!” the captain barked in her ear startling her out of her reverie.

“If I do that, I’ll be useless by sundown,” she protested. “Unless you happen to have a stash of lyrium potions somewhere aboard that you’ve failed to inform me of?”

He scowled at her. 

“The problem is you have me summoning wind,” she complained. “I can do so much more than that. If you’d let me—”

“Do your job,” said the captain. She sighed and began again to cast.

And still the pirates approached.

Well, we might be killed...or enslaved. Was that true? She had no way of knowing, but no real reason to doubt. But the Maiden’s cannons were strong, weren’t they?

Now the pirate ship was close enough that even a dull eye could spot the colors they flew.

The crew was beginning to murmur nervously. Some threw her dirty looks, no doubt holding her responsible for being bad at her job.

The next time Cheddar came to check on her, as the sun was setting, even she looked a little unnerved. “What’s going on?” Yvanne panted. She was scraping the very bottom of her well of mana.

“Things don’t look good,” said Cheddar. “Raiders out of Llomeryn can be handled civilly, but these aren’t Raiders. Those are Silesian pirates, sailing out of Tevinter. They don’t generally come this far.”

Yvanne did not like how nervous she sounded. “What does that mean?”

“It means that we had better sink their ship before they engage. Or else.”

“Or else…?”

Cheddar shook her head. “Best not speak of it. If you are lucky you will not live to see it.”

“And what are the odds of us sinking their ship?”

Cheddar made a noncommittal sound and wiggled her hand back and forth.

Yvanne snapped. She ended the wind spell, damn what the captain said. She would have to take this into her own hands. The pirate vessel was obviously too far for ordinary combat magic. She could shoot all the lightning she wanted at them; it would still fall short, though it would probably fry plenty of the fish in the sea in the bargain. And any closer, the pirates’ own mage—and they would well have more than one, if they were out of Tevinter—would be more than a match for her. Her mind tumbled and spun and produced an idea.

“Cheddar,” she said, steady, “would a smaller ship like theirs withstand stormy weather as well as ours?”

“No, of course not,” she answered, puzzled. “It would be much more likely to sink. Piracy’s dangerous business, after all.”

Yvanne’s teeth flash in the growing dark. “Great,” she said. “I’m going to try something.”

Cheddar didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

“I think we have no other choice,” she said grimly “You may want to hang on. And tell everyone else to hang on, too.”

For a moment she thought the Vashoth woman was going to stop her, that her essential Arvaarad nature would get the better of her. But she only shrugged, said “Alright, little bird, good luck,” and asked no more. 

Yvanne wasted no time, even as other crewmembers shouted at her for abandoning her post. Betrayer, they called her, faithless abandoner, but she paid no heed. She climbed the rigging with practiced if not expert ease, until the deck below was dizzyingly far away.

Vertigo she was used to. Being in the crow’s nest itself was another thing. Barrel duty—for the nest was little more than a barrel fastened to the main-mast—was often doled out as punishment, and no wonder; every motion of the ship was multiplied many times over, with every motion threatening to toss the barrelman into the sea. Yvanne  regretted having no anti-nausea spell, but now there was no time for it.

What she needed was a storm. A big one. 

She had always been good with storms. Her earliest use of magic had been lightning, and many had told her that even her healing had felt like a shock back to life. It was all second nature to her, the thunder and the lightning and the wind and rain—not so much the constituent parts as the tempest as whole. Of course she was no good at tempered wind spells; her magic tended to spread out and spark and roil. A simple gale did not become her.

But a deadly storm at sea to sink a rival ship? This she could do. 

She reached inside herself, drawing from the endless well of power that she knew the Fade to be, and found—a puddle. A few drops. It was like forcing the ocean through a drinking straw.

Cursing her shortsightedness in not abandoning her post earlier, she wished for lyrium above all things. She had not had a drop of it in so long. But she had no lyrium. She had nothing. She was spent, utterly empty.

...no, not utterly empty. There was power yet inside her. Power in her blood.

Sickening memories overwhelmed her at the thought, worse even than the swaying of the ship. She reached again for the Fade, desperate for any other way. 

Please, she called out in panicked anguish. Please! But there was nothing.

She would have to do it.

At first she worried that she would not remember how to do it—but blood magic was not the sort of thing one could forget. She had no dagger; only her own ragged fingernail. She had to make several attempts, and she had to press hard. At first she worried that she simply wouldn’t be able to break the skin, but finally her scrabbling succeeded. The wound bled, and it hurt.

Like a dam breaking, new power flowed through her. It came from a reservoir that was all her own. And from this reservoir, still clinging to the mast, she began to chant.

Nobody came up to stop her. She silently thanked her friend for it.

The storm that materialized off the coast of Llomeryn came on fast, even for a storm at sea. Mere minutes ago the sky had been clear, and now clouds gathered there like battalions of an army. As her lips formed the words—words that were not necessary, no more than the precise shapes of her fingers, although they helped—the storm grew. The waves rose taller, rougher. 

The clouds she had gathered rumbled darkly. Rain began to fall, first in drops, then sheets. They fell so cold and hard that it hurt her skin, and this pain, too, she channeled. Life was pain—where had she heard that? Life was pain, sure enough, and life was power.

She could feel the storm’s power. It dwelled in the clouds, in the growing waves, the rising winds. It filled her up even as her blood flowed. For one wild moment, she felt alive again.

Lightning streaked out towards the Maiden’s mast, sure to strike—and at the last moment, she turned it away. Instead it hit the pirate’s vessel. In the distance—though it was increasingly hard to see—she saw a brief fire ignite before being put out.

The waves reared up taller than the mast itself; the Maiden surged up, crested, fell. She could no longer see the other ship, and anyway, now all her focus was concentrated on keeping the Maiden intact. She had more than an inkling that the only thing that now protected it was some fey power she had summoned from within herself—but which was not quite of herself. But the storm was hers, and the ship was hers, as Vigil’s Keep had once been hers; this, she would protect.

Time froze, or compressed, or both. She could not have said how long she clung to the crow’s nest, crackling with blood and spirit, her awareness more in the wind and water than her body.

The storm raged.

Eventually, it ceased.

The Maiden had survived.

She  had no idea how she got down from the crow’s nest. Her world spun and sparked, the residual rain flattening her clothes to her skin and making movement all the more difficult. Rough warm hands studied her; the grey blur resolved itself into her astonished friend.

“Wow!” she told Cheddar, breathless and giddy. “I had no idea I had that in me!”

After that she knew no more.

—

Yvanne awoke in chains and darkness, sodden and frozen.

She tried to scream, and realized she was gagged. I failed, she thought despondently. The pirates had captured them after all. 

No! She would not allow it! She would die first. She would ensure she died first—

—but no. She had seen the encroaching ship break and sink. Hadn’t she? It had been so dark. Perhaps she had felt rather than seen them go down.

She risked a wisplight, and as its greenish glow illuminated her surroundings, her heart sank. This was the hold of the Maiden. Her own crewmates had put her in chains.

How long she sat there shivering in the dark, she couldn’t say. She’d never been in solitary at Kinloch. Loriel had always managed to protect her. She had no worked out method of marking the time, save by her growing hunger and thirst; and even then this told her little, save that she was very hungry, and very thirsty.

And worse, she was tired; tired in a way she’d never been before. Something vital had been wrung out of her. Even her connection to the Fade felt tenuous, a fog obscuring her sense of it. The blood magic, she realized dully. It had drained her so completely that, though enough time had passed by now that she should have full access to the Fade again, she had almost no mana at all. This was what Loriel had been doing to herself? It was completely unsustainable. No wonder the Tevinter magisters sacrificed their slaves.

The shackles chafed her wrists, and her shoulders ached miserably from the awkward position they’d been forced into, but the gag was the worst of it. It had been done inexpertly and pressed at the corners of her mouth, making it impossible not to drool.

But finally they came for her.

Two men, who she had trusted with her life less than a day ago, hauled her abovedecks, where relentless daylight nearly blinded her. It must have been high noon already. The Maiden had survived, yes, but barely. The mainsail was in shreds. The jibe was gone altogether. The mast leaned at a crooked angle. 

But all the crew were alive. Alive, and staring at her, not a shred of pity in their eyes.

The men forced her to her knees.

She found Cheddar in the crowd, towering head and shoulders above the rest. Yvanne stared at her, pleading, but Cheddar only gave a little shrug.

Someone ripped away her gag. The captain approached her, keeping a careful distance. He looked only, and said nothing.

Yvanne fought the bizarre urge to apologize. She kept her chin up and looked him in the eye.

“Windmage, you are being tried for treason,” the captain said finally.

“Treason?” she burst out. “I saved all our lives!”

“You have lead this ship into needless danger. You have blown us hopelessly off course. You have all but destroyed this ship. All this is tantamount to treason.”

“I’m no citizen of any country,” she protested. “How can I be a traitor?”

“You are part of this ship!” roared the captain, “and now you will answer to it!”

She glared. “I did only what was necessary to preserve the life of this crew. At great personal cost. I’m no traitor.”

“She’s possessed, I say!” shouted a crewman. His name was Derrick. He had ruddy red cheeks and a fondness for dirty jokes. He’d shown her how to tie a bowline knot. “Demons dwell within her! Traitor or not, we must be rid of her before she dooms us all!”

Stone-faced, the captain turned to Cheddar. “You, Arvaarad. You know about demons. Is she possessed?”

“Cheddar,” Cheddar corrected absently. She scrutinized Yvanne with her bright blue eyes, and for a moment Yvanne was so bold as to hope. Then Cheddar shook her head. “Can’t say for sure. Demons are tricksy; it’s their nature. She might be possessed, and the demon yet hiding.”

“And do you suppose,” said the captain, “that an unpossessed mage would have been capable of what we saw?”

Cheddar shrugged. “Couldn’t say. Best assume every mage is possessed, if you’re not sure. Saves a lot of trouble in the long run.”

Murmurs of assent spread through the crowd.

“Please,” Yvanne said. “At least consider self interest! You’ve blown off course. With the damage to the ship it may take weeks to find your way back. Once my mana regenerates I could shorten that time to mere days.”

“That would have been so,” said the captain, “if you could be trusted.”

“Alright, then,” she replied coldly. “Don’t trust me. Fear me instead. You saw what I did last night. You all know what I’m capable of. Do you suppose, if you turn on me, that you’ll be spared my wrath? Release me now and I may yet guide this ship to safe harbor. Keep me bound and you may be sure that none of you will ever see land again.”

Scraping at the corners of her soul for even a drop of mana, she managed to briefly make her eyes glow. Just to make a point. Just so that they would remember what she was.

It almost worked. Several members of the crew drew back or gasped.

Then the bosun—an Orlesian elf called Annette—called out, “She’s bluffing. She has no mana left. She said so herself! Arva—Cheddar, that’s true, isn’t it? They need time to regenerate, do they not?”

“That’s true,” Cheddar said reluctantly, not looking at Yvanne. 

“If she had any power she would have freed herself already,” the Orlesian snarled. “If she really had the power to slay us all and seize the ship, she would have done so. I suggest we do not wait to see whether she is capable of this. Execute her now for treason while we still can!”

“Bad luck to slay a mage at sea,” rumbled another crewman, a burly Marcher with a short blond beard. “The winds would turn on us. We would be lost for certain.”

This got murmurs as well. Thank the Maker, thought Yvanne, rejoicing, for all these stupid bloody sailor’s superstitions.

“That’s true,” said the captain, measured. “Bad luck to slay a mage at sea. But neither can we risk her presence.”

At length he considered.

Finally, the captain spoke: “Throw her overboard. The sea will decide her fate.”

Yvanne at least had the satisfaction of not begging as they hauled her to the edge. Even now at her most powerless the crew was loath to touch her; they dragged her by the chains.

She had one chance to look back at the Maiden, at these people she had raised her voice with, these people she had trusted, at Cheddar who she had thought her friend. The Vashoth met her eyes. There was no trace of guilt in them. Regret, perhaps, but not guilt.

All of a sudden the crowd receded. She stood bound and alone at the precipice. 

“You will jump,” ordered the captain. 

“You can’t be serious,” Yvanne said dully.

“We prefer not to force you. We are good men. And I am sympathetic,” the captain said reasonably. “I understand it was not your fault. But you cannot remain aboard this ship. If we must use force, we will.”

Cheddar gave her an encouraging smile and a shrug, as though to say, Well, that’s life for you!

Yvanne gazed at the choppy waves. How many miles would her body sink? How long would it take her to drown? Would it hurt? Would it be so bad?

She tried to think of some parting words, but found that she had nothing to say. Nothing at all.

Whether she jumped or slipped or was pushed in the end did not matter. She managed a single deep breath against all odds, and then she sank, dragged down by the weight of her chains. She struggled; it was a difficult instinct to suppress. Her hair and clothing billowed out, medusa-like. How quickly the light went away, how rapidly the pressure built. Only a moment ago she had bathed in sunlight and in air, and now her world was crushing darkness, crushing cold. 

Now this was truly the end of the line. The Fade would not save her. Her blood would not save her; it would hasten her death if anything. She could not escape the chains, and even if she did, what then? She could not swim forever. The sea would get her in the end.

Oh, and wasn’t it better this way? Wasn’t it neater? What in her life had been worth living, since she had left Vigil’s Keep? What a pointless farce it all had been. A drowning woman’s final gasping struggle, before succumbing to the totality of her irrelevance. How fitting, how neat.

Her lungs burned. Seawater poured into her throat. Oh Maker, drowning hurt. She had not thought it would hurt so much.

Then all of a sudden the pain receded. Her rigid limbs relaxed. It no longer seemed so bad to drown.

The blackness in front of her eyes faded to a pale and calming grey. It would be easy. It would be good.

Then somewhere something deep inside called out with the animal fury of a thousand generations: 

I

want

to 

LIVE!

The pale grey of a peaceful death bloomed into a violent green.

—

Eventually she washed up on a beach.

She had no memory of how she came to be there; not of escaping the chains (though she must have, for they were gone), nor of floating on the currents, nor of being deposited on the shore. It did not seem like she had been unconscious; she could not say that she had ‘woken up.’ At best it felt like she had been a passenger inside herself, and was only now fully in control again. When she searched for the memories, they were not there.

Best not to think about it, she told herself as she lay in the sand, the tide lapping at her feet.

For hours she lay there, too tired to move. She drifted in and out of consciousness, half in dream and half in fantasy, not quite in either realm. Every time she managed to open her eyes, the sun had fallen further into the horizon.

Around dusk she finally sat up and examined her surroundings. The beach was deserted, littered with stones and shells and little creatures. The strangest trees she had ever seen grew further up the beach, swaying gently in the late-afternoon breeze.

Abruptly she was struck by a memory at Kinloch Hold. Back before Anders had tried to escape across the lake and gotten them all banned from outside time, they’d been permitted on the lakeshore. Yvanne had liked to swim, and Loriel had liked to sit on the rough grey sand and read, but sometimes she could be persuaded to come play. They’d waded in the shallows and looked for interesting rocks and shells and built lopsided structures in the sand. Then at night they would giggle and whisper about the island they would rule someday, as soon as they escaped. When had they stopped fantasizing about their secret island? Presumably the day they realized that they would never escape.

Despite everything, this place was beautiful. Soft white sand. A soft breeze of gentle air. The smell of salt and fading sunlight, the rustling of the trees. She watched as the sun sank into the sea and set the sky aflame, a panoply of color just for her. As it set, the stars came out, a sparkling veil with no moon to dim their shine.

She wondered if Loriel would have liked it here.

Then she bent over in shattered grief, keening, and for the first time, felt no anger, none at all.

#amell #surana #femslash #dragon age #please read my wizard lesbian fanfiction

[anonsally]

Days 94-96 of COVID-19 shelter-in-place

Various shelter-in-place restrictions are being relaxed, and, unrelatedly, I have had some pretty good birdwatching lately.

Day 94 was Thursday. We had failed to buy milk the previous day (and I feel this was not my job after my medical procedure Wednesday morning), so I ended up having a smaller bowl of cereal than usual (followed by some of Wife’s millet porridge made with almond milk) and then going to buy some. There was no line to get in! That was very lucky! The store will be resuming its normal hours this week and staying open later than it has been lately, which is a relief--we won’t have as many incidents of realising too late that we don’t have what we need for breakfast the next day.

Then I “went” to work: we had a long meeting during which we did not come to an agreement about various strategies for analysis. The biostatistics grad student is convinced that the method two of us are advocating is based on an incorrect assumption, whereas I don’t see where we are making that assumption. I worked out some probability calculations with pencil and paper and wrote to the group about what I thought we were trying to do and why I didn’t think it made the erroneous assumption. I don’t know if that’s where she thought the assumption was coming in, though.

After work, I took a neighborhood walk with my binoculars and ended up getting some good birdwatching in. About halfway into the walk, I heard some rustling in the dry leaves on the ground. “Towhee?” I thought, and looked around for the source, expecting to see a brown California towhee. But it turned out to be a spotted towhee! Such a pretty bird, and I got a really good view of it in the binoculars. Since it’s a comparatively recent addition to my repertoire, I was excited about it. 

After that, I saw some house finches at the tippy top of a thin cypress (?) tree, and also saw a bird through the binoculars that... well, I couldn’t identify it, and I suspect this description is wrong because I couldn’t find anything in my book that matched it, but @lies​, if you have any ideas please let me know! It seemed to be a smallish bird with a solid (possibly orangey-) yellow front and a long, thin beak. It was perched near the top of a tree, and something I assume was a hummingbird seemed to be divebombing it? 

I walked back toward home but stopped at the house with the bird-feeders out front. There was a Nuttall’s woodpecker at the suet feeder! That was exciting (it’s another one I learned recently, and I’ve never seen one at a feeder). It got chased away by a scrub jay but hung out in the tree for a while and I got to watch it some more. There were also more chestnut-backed chickadees, goldfinches, and house finches, as usual, as well as a Steller’s jay. So I felt like I’d seen all the high-quality birds! 

In the evening I solved word puzzles with my dad on a video call. 

Yesterday was Day 95. I got up at 8am, and was really tired, but I had arranged to take a walk with my high school friend who’s visiting (and came over on Wednesday). We had planned to meet at 10am, but in a series of texts we postponed it to 10:15 and then 10:30, and then I didn’t manage to arrive at the meeting place until 10:40, and when I checked my phone on arrival, I saw that she was at least 10 minutes behind me! But eventually she turned up and we had a lovely walk in a park Wife and I have not been hiking in (it is a bit more crowded and less sunny than most of the ones we have gone to), but it’s the one this friend and I had both visited with our families as kids. This was just a very short, easy walk, but we saw ducks, turtles, chestnut-backed chickadees, a cute little periwinkle blue butterfly, and an amazingly well-camouflaged moth. It looked just like a leaf, but I happened to see it flap into position. I think it was an omnivorous looper? but the stripe along the back is blueish, which I haven’t seen in the photos online. Anyway, I was pleased with myself for not being scared of it. We also heard a woodpecker, but I couldn’t locate it. After our walk, we sat and chatted for a long time, and saw a couple of enormous ravens, a wild turkey, a bird of prey with a longish tail, and a couple of Steller’s jays. It was great to spend so much time with my friend. We did not stay 6ft apart the whole time, but when we were closer, we had our masks on, and when we were seated and talking, we were further apart; plus, we were outside the whole time. So I think it is fairly low-risk.

Afterwards, I drove down to my office. I had an appointment at 1:30, but I arrived a few minutes early, so first I ordered tacos to pick up at 1:45, and then I folded down the back seat of the car. I went to the door and waited for the building manager to let me in. I was there to collect my desk chair, in hopes that it will make working at home less of an ergonomic disaster. I also found Girl Scout cookies and some chocolate in my desk, so I brought them home too! The chair did fit in the back of the car (phew), and I picked up my tacos and came home. 

I worked all afternoon, though I took some breaks to read about Juneteenth, too. I had heard of it before as a Black American holiday, but I don’t think I had realised what it was specifically celebrating. And frankly, it’s outrageous that it isn’t a national holiday. The abolishment of slavery is something we should all be celebrating (as a first step toward liberty and justice for all, which we obviously have not yet achieved).

After work, I went to buy some ice cream and noticed that restaurants with space for outdoor dining have resumed seating people outside, with decent spacing between tables. 

I watered the plants that had to be put into pots, several of which are looking pretty shocked from the transplanting. And Wife and I did some heroic Adulting in the kitchen. I stayed up late.

Today was the Summer Solstice and also Day 96! Widget lost his lunch, or rather barfed his breakfast. I’m hoping an opossum will eat the vomit tonight, because I don’t want to have to clean it up.

I wrote to my city councilmember again, this time to ask about the fireworks we have been hearing every night for a few weeks. Last night’s fireworks may have been for Juneteenth, though. Anyway, I ended up going to the farmers’ market by myself rather late (Wife had a headache), but I ran into @llamapunk there and got to spend some time chatting and catching up with her while doing my shopping. Alas, I was too late for peaches! But in compensation, I bought lots of strawberries and some rhubarb. 

After I came home and ate, Wife and I set off to a park for a hike. This wasn’t as satisfying as most of the hikes we’ve taken--the trails were very confusing and poorly marked at many of the intersections, so we took wrong turns more than once. Also, they were both narrow and somewhat heavily trafficked in some sections, making it awkward to maintain much distance between ourselves and other hikers. Still, aspects of it were nice, and we got some good exercise--there was a very steep uphill section. However, the most exciting part of it was that we saw a family of wild turkeys, including several babies! So the hike was worth it just for that! I heard a woodpecker but couldn’t find it, but I got to point out some chestnut-backed chickadees to Wife, who was charmed by how cute they are. There was a variety of plant life, too, including a dead tree with some good fungi, a bay laurel with fragrant leaves, redwoods (with miner’s lettuce and redwood sorrel at their feet, but we were not supposed to stray from the trail to pick them), ferns, eucalypti, wildflowers, and the first ripe wild blackberries of the season. Being outside in nature and getting a little exercise seemed to relieve Wife’s headache, too.

I’ve solved a couple of cryptic crossword puzzles in the past couple days.

It looks like my county’s daily COVID-19 new confirmed case counts have been higher since late May than they were before that time, but that might be partly because of higher numbers of people getting tested. And the deaths seem to have peaked in April. Number of people in the ICU has remained fairly stable since mid-April, but the number of people in the hospital has roughly been increasing very slowly. Still, it doesn’t look like the protests have resulted in a pandemic upswing.

#personal #birdwatching #wildlife #tacos #food #even though there is no picture of food here #epidemiology

[morris-magus-merry-miller]

Chapter 4: Ship to the Stars

We saw to it that our cyclops friend and the once captive guards all made it back to the surface safely, then we all made our way back to Port Town. Our new friend said he was going to look into the theatre scene in Port Town and try to begin anew as a thespian. An excellent idea if I do say so myself—I had already noted he is excellent at projecting his voice after all. I do believe someday he will be quite the name on stage, and people shall come to Port Town from all over to see his performances.

 I should have gotten an autograph.

Regardless, after we arrived in Port Town our group decided to split up for the evening. Candy returned to the inn, Issac and Vigo went to check on Peanut and Gordon at the stables, and John and I went to report our successful venture to Terrance. He thanked us for our service and paid us the agreed upon amount. We asked him if there were any clerics in town who were magically inclined enough to resurrect the dead, to which he denied, no one in town was quite that powerful. John decided that we would simply have to try a different route, and said he’d prepare a spell the next day that would allow him to speak to the dead.

While we were there reporting the successful retrieval of Captain Gladshire’s men from the bowls of the earth, we brought up the note that we’d found on Ringwald’s person. It would seem the captain of the guard was quite familiar with the Wizard of the Stars. In fact, the wizard was his uncle! Oswald Gladshire, the Wizard of the Stars. Terrance offered to introduce us, as he lived a reclusive life of luxury on an island a few hours off the coast, and might not let us in without his nephew’s recommendation. We gladly agreed. Then John and I went our separate ways for the night, I returning to the inn and John returning to his home elsewhere in town.

 Back at the inn Candy was nowhere to be found. Issac had decided to sleep in the stables, as he wasn’t used to being apart from Peanut. Vigo had returned at around the same time as I. I think we were all exhausted from the day’s events however, as we quickly parted ways to rest. I for one fell straight to the world of dreams the moment my head hit the pillow. I hope to not go spelunking again any time soon. My poor little legs aren’t meant for such abuse.

 The next day Candy was behind the bar serving breakfast in Paige’s place. She greeted us in quite the chipper mood for the early hour, and informed us that she’d hired someone to help us with our next venture. We quickly discovered who—Paige herself. Gone were the unassuming barmaid clothes, and in their place a rather intimidating full set of black leather armor, with the symbol of the Reaper of Reputation boldly emblazoned across the front. I’d heard that Port Town was very open minded about which religions were openly permitted, but it still came as a bit of a surprise to see someone openly wearing the symbol of Norgerber. That’s like…in the top 3 least accepted religions in most regions. Right up there with Lamashtu, and Urgathoa in the days before awakened undead were a common sight. Still below Rovagug though. No one really wants to be around someone who worships a being who wants every living thing to be dead.

I digress. Suffice to say, it was a surprise. But Paige is still a woman of fine standing in my book. Candy likes her, and she has been nothing but good to us. I am not one to judge a book by their cover, as they say. This cover just happens to have a neat half mask symbol for a god of murder and secrets on it.

  After introductions were re-established, I shared with the others what John and I had learned from Captain Gladshire. We took some time to prepare for the next step in our journey, and stopped by the local branch of Glarginards to buy supplies. I learned much from our latest venture, and will step forward better prepared than ever. Invisible foes will never catch us by surprise again as I bought a couple of trinkets to help with that failing, and I also took some inspiration from Vigo and got a very nice little necklace whose beads can ignite into fireballs. Also as a treat for myself I got spectacles that let me read all languages. I’m already well versed in a number of languages, such as goblin, gnome, and of course halfling, but it never hurts to be prepared for those rare languages like, for instance, undercommon in that last area.

Once our shopping spree was over, we made our way towards the guard barracks to meet with Terrance. There, the other guards were ushering him out, letting him know he had more than enough PTO to take a break, and that quite frankly he really needed a vacation. After saying his goodbyes, Terrance lead us to the docks. John seemed to have a bit of a panicky moment. He told us that he ought to stay behind, and that the spell to speak with Ringwald would take a week to cast. That was…kind of obviously not the case, even to those of us who aren’t that well versed in divine magic. Clearly the poor man has a phobia of water, or perhaps just the ocean itself. Regardless, it is his daughter’s life on the line, as I pointed out to him. And we needed him with us. Especially if anything went wrong. Candy’s near-death experience had made it quite clear that we needed John’s healing magics rather desperately.

John finally agreed to come along, but wanted to get the séance out of the way first. So we set up a little ways away from the docks and used his magic to speak with the corpse of Cleric Ringwald. She told us that even if she were revived she couldn’t presently undo the curse placed upon Dualwood—but that we were on the right track seeking out the Wizard of the Stars, for he would be the key in finding out how to do so. She also confirmed that she would very much like to be revived once we could find the means to do so. With the number of questions the spell could handle exhausted, the cleric’s spirit left her body once more, and she was returned to the bag of holding for the time being until we could find a more powerful healer to help her.

With that done, we followed Captain Gladshire to meet with his contact at the docks. The contact in question was an undine ship captain named Nairon, who could use her acute control of the waters to captain a decently large vessel with no crew. On the deck of the ship she had a statue of Besmara, the Pirate Queen, goddess of storms and piracy.

Again, no judgement, but it was a surprise that Terrance had a pirate contact given his…honestly rather puppy-ish demeanor.

 With John retreating away from the sides of the ship (poor man), and Terrance and Paige claiming the two private cabins for themselves, we began our voyage out into the open sea. Our destination…the Isle of Marvelous Madness, to meet with the Wizard of the Stars.

 And oh, what Madness did await us there.

#entry #pathfinder #pathfinder campaign #dungeons and dragons #d&d campaign #Morris 3M

[welcometothepenumbra]

JUNO STEEL AND THE LONG WAY HOME (PART TWO)

SOUND: RAIN. TRAIN ARRIVES, CREAKS TO A STOP. DOOR CLANKS OPEN.

CONDUCTOR: Ah, good evening, Traveler. And welcome… to The Penumbra.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS SHUT.

Take your seat, please, take your seat.

MUSIC: STARTS.

The junction lies ahead, so if you’ll allow me just a moment.

SOUND: TRAIN WHISTLE.

We are now passing through Hyperion City.

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING.

Our next stop?

SOUND: TRAIN BRAKES.

Juno Steel and the Long Way Home.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS OPEN, RAIN.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: WATER DRIPPING, RIPPLING.

THEIA: (DISTANT, OVERLAPPING) Target located. Alerting central office. Exchanging map data. Sector is clear. Recharging. Recharging.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Here’s a lesson that never sticks, no matter how many times you learn it: even when you’re not around, the world keeps movin’ without you. Never feels that way. When you leave, you take a frozen version of the place with you in your head, and that feels real, but… then you get back and find the place is melting right in front of you.

SMALL FRY: (WHIMPERS, QUIET BARKS)

JUNO: Yep, I’m pretty wiped too, Small Fry. How ‘bout a snack break?

SOUND: SPLASH.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I remember these sewers as an escape, if you can believe it. When things got too rough topside I would lose myself down here, where things were simple. Where the monsters looked like monsters, big furry ones with long teeth and mean eyes. They were scary, but… that was part of the escape.

SMALL FRY: (IN BACKGROUND) (BARKS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): When you’re so young you think monsters are the scariest things out there… what could feel better than teaching the boogeyman to eat out of the palm of your hand?

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: Whatsamatter? You don’t like salmon chips?

SMALL FRY: (YIP!)

JUNO: Don’t tell me you’re picky.

SOUND: CRUNCHING, CHEWING.

(GARBLED, MOUTH FULL) Aw, man, these’ve got the freeze-dried soy dust and everything! You’re outta your mind, Small Fry.

SMALL FRY: (SNIFFS & SNORTS)

JUNO: Oh, what’s that? Now you want one?

SMALL FRY: (SNORTS)

JUNO: That’s what I thought. Take the bag, it’s yours.

SMALL FRY: (GRRRR)

JUNO: (SIGHS)

SOUND: CRUNCHING, CHEWING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): I wonder sometimes if having that escape as a kid felt a little too good. Like I’d go underground and feel like all the world’s horrors could be tamed, then, come back up and think that feeling should last forever. It felt like I could make it last forever if I tried. But, things change.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

SOUND: CREAKING.

JUNO: What’s the matter, Small Fry? You hear some… thing…?

THEIA: Target sighted.

JUNO: Damn it! Get in…

…that pipe, quickly! Hide under my coat!

SMALL FRY: (SNUFFLES)

THEIA: Target recognized. Target is—

JUNO: (OVER THE BELOW) Juno Steel, yeah.

THEIA: —Juno Steel. Directive: do no—

JUNO: (OVER THE ABOVE) Do no harm, Mayor O’Flaherty requests my presence, you can’t capture me nonviolently so I’m supposed to go there on my own, that it?

THEIA: (AFTER A PAUSE) This is your only—

JUNO: Right, thanks, almost forgot, this is my only warning. I’m workin’ on it now, but thanks for the reminder, bye!

THEIA: Farewell. Juno Steel.

SOUND: CREAKING FADES OUT.

JUNO: (QUIETLY) Going… going, aaaaaand gone. Psst!

Hey kid! Coast is clear!

SOUND: HEAVY CREAK.

Small Fry?

SOUND: SPLASHING.

…The hell is this?

SOUND: SPLASHING FOOTSTEPS.

Another room?

SMALL FRY: (SNORES)

JUNO: (GASPS)

SOUND: GUN COCKING.

…Oh.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The rabbit was asleep. Just… tuckered out.

Then I felt the exhaustion piling on me too, so I sat and let her nap awhile. And if I got some rest out of the bargain, so be it.

Small Fry had found a good hiding spot. The pipe I’d shoved her into led through a shattered wall, which opened up into another one of the sewer’s old chambers. Must have been a false start from some earlier construction job, walled-up so it’d just go away, but… that never kept anything hidden forever, did it?

The Theia bots were tearing this place apart, and soon one would find Small Fry. But even if they did clear out and we did get outta here, what the hell was I gonna do with her?

MUSIC: STARTS.

My name’s Juno Steel. I’m a private eye, and that means I’m supposed to reserve my blaster for whoever pays my bills. Money hasn’t mattered to me for years, but even so, it… was a rule, and rules are comfortable.

I keep feeling like I don’t know any of the rules anymore, but… I need ‘em. Because if you try to save every sorry soul who hops into your life…

…that might make you a hero, and… right now I’m not sure there’s anything worse.

MUSIC: ENDS. STARTS (FROM COMMS).

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Welcome back to Questions Unanswered: Where is Jack Takano? Tonight’s episode: Part 11 – “The Mask.”

Jack Takano was famously a very private man: until the end of his time at Northstar, he never kept a home address on file, or spoke to anyone about his friends and family outside the company. Even his face was private, as Founder and CEO of Northstar Miranda Fairbanks wrote:

FAIRBANKS ACTOR (FROM COMMS): It was known around the office that Jack daily wore makeup thick even by Hyperion’s standards… I once came into the office quite early to find that he had fallen asleep, drooling, onto his desk and hand. It was almost sweet… until he moved that hand and a layer of skin peeled off his face, only to reveal another, much paler skin beneath. Or so it seemed, until I saw the foundation smudges on the table. When I woke him, he covered his face, mumbled something about not looking decent, and ran off to reapply. A skin condition, he told me later. I never bought it. The difference between the skin beneath and the mask over it was so extreme that it seemed like there was another man under there, buried alive.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): But even a man with a hidden face can’t hide everything. Takano may not have left an explanation for his disappearance in his famous farewell note, but his coworkers did notice a change.

VEGA (FROM COMMS): Well, we all expected something was going to happen. Just not… something that extreme.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): What about his behavior seemed like the first sign, Dr. Vega?

VEGA (FROM COMMS): Isolation, first. Irritability, some days, although he’d always apologize soon after. But I think the first unquestionable sign for me was Andromeda 3.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): If you didn’t see Andromeda 3 at release, it’s unlikely you ever will: the film was panned so universally that Northstar established an Anti-Informations Department just to erase every copy they could find. Or as one reviewer put it:

VOICE 6 (FROM COMMS): Schlock and drivel. Its characterization is so flat it approaches concave. Its pacing makes death seem a fond alternative. And worst of all, it appears Takano has no idea what made Andromeda so compelling in the first place, and what remains are only echoes of the Turbo nonsense that nearly put Northstar into its early, and perhaps deserved, grave. Takano needs to get his head out of building tourist traps and back into telling stories, because this was clearly rushed.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): The only thing atypical of this review is its lenience: the reviewer gave Andromeda 3 the highest rating we could find. But that last sentiment, that the film was rushed, is repeated by nearly every review on record, despite the fact that it is completely untrue.

CHEN (FROM COMMS): I don’t think I ever saw Jack work harder on a project. Besides the park, obviously.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): That’s Jocelyn Chen, former Head of Animation at Northstar.

MUSIC: ENDS.

CHEN (FROM COMMS): I remember seeing pages of script and sketches of Andromeda 3 a few weeks before the first film came out, but he was never satisfied. It was just rewrite after rewrite with him.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Was his process similar for Chainmail Warrior Andromeda or Sea of Sinners?

CHEN (FROM COMMS): Not at all. He had full storyboards for both ready when he first pitched the project, and he only had a month on those. But the third one… I don’t know. He kept talking about the responsibility, and… I tried to help, but, the pressure must’ve gotten to him.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): You came under fire for that film, too.

CHEN (FROM COMMS): I did.

I– I wasn’t mad at him for having writer’s block. I was mad at him for not listening earlier, for not giving us something, anyway. I had to steal his notes just so we could start work on time for a sloppy release, and… that was the only time I’ve ever heard him get angry.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): A recording of Takano’s tirade was leaked a few months after Andromeda 3’s release:

SOUND: BACKGROUND STATIC.

JACK (FROM COMMS): We are doing something important here. Am I the only one who sees that? Am I?!

CHEN (FROM COMMS): Jack, we have a deadline—

JACK (FROM COMMS): Damn the deadline! You’re exactly the problem, Jocelyn, focusing on the smallest issues when you should be solving the big ones, taking the solution now over the solution that works– DO NOT SPEAK while I am speaking!

No. Keep the damn notes. It’s too late already.

SOUND: STATIC FADES OUT.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): The company could have scrubbed this leak like they erased the film, had Takano himself not acknowledged it, in a press conference the day after it spread:

JACK (FROM COMMS): …I would like to apologize, of course. I’ve already apologized to Jocelyn, but, like it or not I’ve been thrust into the public eye; and as a result, my responsibility extends to each and every one of you.

SMALL FRY: (SNUFFLES & SNORTS)

JUNO: Mmm… quit it.

SOUND: WATER DRIPPING, BUBBLING.

JACK (FROM COMMS): Three years is not a very long time to grow old, and, yet I find that, compared to the early days of Andromeda, I feel precisely—

JUNO: (OVER THE BELOW) I said quit it!

JACK (FROM COMMS): (OVER THE ABOVE) —how I expected an old man must: very tired, and only slightly more wise.

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

JACK (FROM COMMS): What strikes me as most beautiful about Andromeda is how she works not just on the world, but also on herself. Tirelessly. When Andromeda discovers that her magic chainmail is empowered by the suffering of others, she sees immediately how this might corrupt her… and she steels herself against it.

I see now the power I have in Northstar. And I see the heavy responsibility that power bestows upon me. We will use it for good, from here out. For Polaris.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

SOUND: SLAP.

JUNO: (OVER THE BELOW) Damn it, Rita, I’m taking a nap, you—!

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

HAWK (FROM COMMS): (OVER THE ABOVE) Takano’s apology was very well received—

JUNO: …Oh.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): (OVER THE BELOW) —as Jocelyn Chen recalls.

JUNO: (OVER THE ABOVE) Small Fry. Right.

SMALL FRY: (GROWLS)

CHEN (FROM COMMS): (OVER THE BELOW) He could do that, apologize and have all forgiven—

JUNO: (OVER THE ABOVE) What’s the matter, kid, you hungry?

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

JUNO: What the hell? Get off me!

CHEN (FROM COMMS): —really forgiven. You could always tell he meant it, that it really had eaten him up inside. He—

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

SOUND: CLICK, COMMS CUTS OFF.

JUNO: The hell?

Did you… take my comms? Out of my ear?

SMALL FRY: (BARKS, GROWLS)

JUNO: Don’t eat it!

Well, looks like we’re awake now, doesn’t it? Here, come close. You just put it up to your ear like this, and—

SOUND: FEEDBACK SCREECH.

JUNO & SMALL FRY: (PAINED YELLS)

JUNO: God dammit, what did you do?

SMALL FRY: (WHIMPERING)

JUNO: You know how long it took me to figure that thing out? Now look, it’s wet and it stinks and I can’t even listen to it and I don’t know where anybody is or what the hell I’m gonna do to keep you safe and—

SOUND: PLOP, SPLASH.

There. It’s trash now. Just like this whole stupid idea. Whatever.

SOUND: SPLASHES. DISTANT FEEDBACK.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: I told you, the comms is broken.

SOUND: FEEDBACK STOPS. ELECTRONIC SCROLLING.

JUNO: You’re just gonna hurt yourself. Make it explode or something.

SMALL FRY: (GROWLS)

SOUND: BEEPS.

JUNO: Damn it, don’t you listen?

SOUND: ALARM BEEPS.

It’s busted. See?

SOUND: JINGLE (FROM COMMS).

VOICE 7 (FROM COMMS): Welcome to your comms. Please enter your name.

JUNO: Wait, what?

SMALL FRY: (GROWLS)

JUNO: You… there’s no way you know how to use this. You can’t.

SMALL FRY: (YIPS)

JUNO: Alright, take it.

SMALL FRY: (RRRRR!)

SOUND: BEEPS.

JUNO: No. Way.

SMALL FRY: (GRRRS, YIP!)

SOUND: LOUD JINGLE (FROM COMMS).

VOICE 7 (FROM COMMS): (VERY LOUD) Bienvenue à votre comms.

JUNO: (HISS OF PAIN) Nevermind! (SIGHS)

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: But… you did have it for a second.

SOUND: BEEPS.

SMALL FRY: (SNUFFLE, GROWLS)

JUNO: No, no, I’m gonna try this time.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: And, uh… thanks, Small Fry. I needed that.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO (NARRATOR): While I messed with that comms I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about Rita. She’d been telling me what Small Fry just had for years – that I didn’t need her to set everything up, that I wasn’t even trying, and… I’d yell at her that I got it, but I was just busy. And then sit alone, like an idiot, while she set up my comms, my monitor, everything.

Ma never let us have that stuff. And then I just got too proud to admit I didn’t get it, and… I got better and better at asking other people to work around me, I guess. Anyway, I… had the thing up and running again soon.

SOUND: BLIP.

JACKET (FROM COMMS): We may look backward only to ensure we have not walked this path before.

JUNO: Yeah, thanks, big guy.

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: Just… give me one more minute.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Maybe I’d gone mad with power, but… I had an idea, and I was hungry for another win. I knew the comms could get on the net, and I knew the sewer system’s layout was a public document. The rest was just guesswork. Learning and mistakes.

SOUND: ERROR BEEP.

JUNO: (GROWLS)

SOUND: ERROR BEEP.

Aghhhh!

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): …a whole lot of mistakes. But, still.

It took me an hour to do what Rita could’ve done in two seconds, but, I was proud of it.

SOUND: BEEP.

JUNO: Ha! Got it! Look, it’s a map, and I think I found a manhole that’ll take us…

SMALL FRY: (SNORES)

JUNO: …out of the… sewer.

Hey. Hey, c’mon, Small Fry. C’mon.

SMALL FRY: (SNUFFLES AWAKE)

JUNO: We gotta go, kid. I think I found a way out of here. And after that…

We’ll have to figure that out together, I guess.

SMALL FRY: (MEWLS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): I split the comms so I could carry it in my hand and my ear at the same time. It was gonna be a hike to get to that manhole leading out of the sewer, and… to Oldtown.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): (FADING IN) The year between Andromeda 3’s release and the opening of Polaris Park marked a shift in how Northstar was run. Takano removed himself from the film production process completely, hiring previously-terminated Northstar writer Kenni Okombe and rock-star-slash-poet Rajavi to co-write Andromeda and the Dragon’s Peak, based on some of Takano’s early sketches. In the meantime, Jack Takano redoubled his efforts on Polaris Park, and though he spent many, many hours in that office – staying for days or weeks on end, according to some – his coworkers saw him less than ever.

VEGA (FROM COMMS): Always in his office. It was as though we’d taken on a staff hermit. (LAUGHS) Not that it was a funny situation, of course, Jack was clearly troubled. But, well… we all just thought that if the tortured genius needs his space, give him his space.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Many of Takano’s former coworkers expressed similar sentiments. But not Jocelyn Chen.

CHEN (FROM COMMS): Everyone always said yes to Jack, and it wasn’t good for him. So when he started hiding, working himself sick, all that… I wasn’t having it, and I said so.

He gave me some line… something about how he had to figure out the problem by himself, that he couldn’t compromise on the park any more than he already had. And I said, “Jack, you can take all your toys, and go hide in your room if you want. But if you keep working like this, you’re going to get yourself killed, and—”

After that… after I said that, he just… looked at me and waited. Like I hadn’t gotten to my point yet. Like that wasn’t even enough reason t—

Anyway. I ended the conversation there, because I wasn’t getting anywhere. But clearly he wasn’t done.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Ms. Chen is referring to a public charity event at which Takano spoke to raise funds for Martian fire departments. Though the speech was largely typical of his optimistic oratory, there was a tangent that was met with confusion in the press:

JACK (FROM COMMS): But the most beautiful thing about Andromeda, I think, is… that she always goes it alone. She recognizes that heroism is a blessing for the world and a curse for the hero, who must live with the weight of every decision they make, the pain of every loss they fail to prevent. And yet she never stops. And she never shares this burden with another, because she knows it is better for one to suffer than two. Goodness is her charge. And she lives up to it alone.

CHEN (FROM COMMS): Which isn’t even true. Aries, the Ramblers, Captain Cancer, Queen Pisces – by that point, Andromeda had relied on others twice a movie! Well, minus Andromeda 3, but… (SIGHS)

VEGA (FROM COMMS): Jack never spoke to me directly about his design problem, but I could see it amongst the lines, as it were. Something at the core of Polaris Park had gone wrong for him, somewhere. Some of his work orders implied that the problem had come from compromises he’d made, and so he tried hiding the gift shops, changing the logo so that ‘Polaris’ was much larger than ‘Park,’ that kind of thing. Then a week later, all those orders would be undone, and he clearly felt that the problem came earlier than his compromises… from the park’s initial contraception, perhaps.

I knew that he expected me to decode that subtext. I like to think I was rather a confidant for him in that way – the only one he could undress even part of his heart to.

SOUND: WATER DRIPPING, RIPPLING FADES IN. DISTANT BOOM.

SMALL FRY: (BARK BARK!)

JUNO: Huh?

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Despite Dr. Vega’s claims, the work orders we’ve unearthed state Takano’s frustrations directly to every head of every department. Polaris Park was not doing what it was supposed to – though Takano was never clear about what its actual purpose was.

SOUND: DISTANT BOOM.

JUNO: What the hell was—

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

HAWK (FROM COMMS): And as Takano tried to solve it—

SOUND: DISTANT BOOM.

—the days to Polaris Park’s opening – and the man’s disappearance—

SOUND: TWO DISTANT BOOMS.

—drew closer and closer.

SMALL FRY: (BARK BARK!)

SOUND: CLICK, COMMS CUTS OFF.

JUNO: Shhh!

JUNO (NARRATOR): We were close to the exit by then. There was just one last pipe we had to pass through, one big enough to stand and walk in. We hadn’t heard a Theia bot in half an hour; it was quiet here.

Until that thumping started, down at the end of the pipe.

SOUND: DISTANT BOOMS.

As quickly as I could I searched the wall around me for weak spots – cracks, openings, anywhere at all to hide – but there were none. This thing had picked the one solid spot left in the entire Oldtown sewer system to corner us.

SMALL FRY: (WHIMPERS)

SOUND: DISTANT BOOM.

JUNO: (QUIETLY) Get behind me, kid, it’s alright. You’re gonna be alright.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The noise kept coming. I tried to make a plan: hide Small Fry in the sludge and try to talk my way out? No, the Theia bots were chatty, and she couldn’t hold her breath that long. Take a shot at it before it saw us? Maybe, but I doubted I could connect without a Theia on my side.

It got closer.

SOUND: SPLASH.

And closer. And then it rounded the corner.

SOUND: SPLASH.

?????: (GROWLS, PANTING)

SMALL FRY: (YIPS & BARKS)

JUNO: A rabbit…? Alive?

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

RABBIT: (GROWL-BARKS)

JUNO: You know him. You know that rabbit, don’t you?

SMALL FRY: (YIPS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): So, that was it, then. Some of the rabbits were alive. I’d brought Small Fry home, and… I felt just… awful.

Looking into her big black eyes, one hand on her matted fur, I realized I already cared about this little rabbit. Protecting her made me feel useful, and loved, and… it was hard to put that away.

I let myself live in maybes for a second. A little rabbit munching snack food under my desk. A big one asleep in the corner of my office – ‘the muscle,’ I’d call her, but really… her name would be Small Fry. Even when she got huge.

I never really would’ve taken her, not really; but… it was nice to pretend, for a second.

JUNO: You can trust that big fella over there?

SMALL FRY: (BARK!)

JUNO: Then go home, kid.

Go home.

SOUND: SPLASHING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): So I watched her hop away. She seemed… happy.

RABBIT: (IN BACKGROUND) (GROWLS)

JUNO (NARRATOR): And that’s when the big rabbit ran over and socked me in the face.

RABBIT: (ROARS)

SOUND: PUNCH.

JUNO: Oof!

SOUND: BIG SPLASH.

H-hey, come on! I know you were scared, but—

SOUND: PUNCH, SPLASH.

Oof!

The hell do you want from me? Money? I got creds, but you have to get off me—

RABBIT: (ROARS, GROWLS)

SOUND: PUNCHES.

JUNO (NARRATOR): This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how the rabbits were. They’d never turn down creds and they never made those noises and they were never… this angry.

I reached for my blaster. But the rabbit had a desperate quickness I’d never seen before and in a second my gun was spinning over his shoulder.

RABBIT: (ROARRRRRR)

SOUND: PUNCH. PLOP.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The rabbit reared back to howl. He still had crumbs and frosting in his fur, big soft belly for scratching, just like all the rabbits I knew. But this one was burned, too. Charred trenches of fur and skin running along his sides, part of one ear gone.

And he looked… so scared. Pissed-off and powerless; like if he couldn’t pin down and punch all those Theia bots, or the human race, or death itself… he was ready to settle for me.

I still had my plasma knife, but I couldn’t stab him. I couldn’t let Ramses make me kill again.

RABBIT: (ROARS)

SMALL FRY: (SQUEAKING)

JUNO (NARRATOR): Small Fry ran up to the rabbit and tugged on his tail. The rabbit nearly jumped out of his fur, and didn’t even look behind him before he kicked one of those huge legs back at the kid.

RABBIT: (RAHHH!)

SOUND: PUNCH. PLOP, SPLASH.

SMALL FRY: (WHIMPERING)

JUNO (NARRATOR): I’ve never seen a rabbit do that. This rabbit had never seen it, either. Looked like he’d spend the rest of his life wishing he hadn’t. Then he turned, and I saw that he was ready to blame it all on me.

RABBIT: (PANTING, BIG HOWL)

JUNO (NARRATOR): A few months ago I might’ve let him, too. That’s what a hero’s for, right? Taking all the hits so the innocent don’t have to, while the ones causing all the pain sit in the stands and watch, blood and popcorn butter sticky on their fingertips.

I was done with that. Instead, I was gonna give the rabbit some advice. So I turned the volume on my comms all the way up.

SOUND: INCREASINGLY LOUDER BEEPS.

RABBIT: (ROARRRR)

JUNO (NARRATOR): And right when he was about to crush my skull… I jammed my comms into his ear and pressed play.

SOUND: FEEDBACK SCREECH. BLIP.

JACKET (FROM COMMS): (VERY LOUD, OVER THE BELOW) We may look backward only to ensure we have not walked this path before.

RABBIT: (OVER THE ABOVE) (HOWL OF PAIN)

SOUND: BLIP. SPLASH.

JUNO: Whaddaya know? Looks like that advice just saved my life, too.

SOUND: SPLASHING FOOTSTEPS.

Stay down, cottontail. I’m not kidding.

SOUND: LOW ELECTRIC HUM.

(OVER THE BELOW) See this? Plasma knife. Real hot; real sharp. I don’t want to hurt you, but if you come any closer, I’ll have to.

RABBIT: (OVER THE ABOVE) (GROWLS)

JUNO: Take the kid and go. This’ll kill you, you understand? Dead.

Stop! Neither one of us wants this!

RABBIT: (BIG GROWL)

JUNO (NARRATOR): But he kept running towards me. And he knew he wouldn’t win. I’m just not sure he cared.

He was almost on top of me. I knew I’d do it if I had to, and… that’s when I heard the first shot.

SOUND: BIG BLASTER SHOT. ELECTRIC WHIR.

THEIA: (AFTER A PAUSE) Targets detected.

SOUND: CREAKING.

JUNO (NARRATOR): A big Theia bot stood in front of me and its first laser sizzled in the wall behind.

The bot had Small Fry pinned between a wall and the end of its cannon.

SMALL FRY: (BARKING)

JUNO: Dammit, no, no, no…!

RABBIT: (GROWLS)

THEIA: Come closer. Rabbit.

JUNO: …What?

RABBIT: (GROWL?)

THEIA: Come closer. I will tell you. When. To stop.

SOUND: SPLASHING FOOTSTEPS.

Closer. Just. A little closer. Real close. There.

SMALL FRY: (YIP!)

SOUND: PLOP.

THEIA: Your little one.

SMALL FRY: (BARKS, MEWLS)

RABBIT: (GRRRRRR)

THEIA: Now please leave. And be careful. Bunnies.

SMALL FRY: (BARKS)

SOUND: SPLASHING FOOTSTEPS FADE.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The two ran, and Small Fry never looked back. I was proud of her. We may look backward only to ensure we have not walked this path before, right? Wherever those rabbits were going, whatever home awaited them… they’d definitely never been there before.

THEIA: You. Stay there.

SOUND: CREAKING.

JUNO: (HEAVY BREATHING)

SOUND: CREAKING STOPS. HISS OF STEAM.

THEIA: Are you injured. User. Mista Steel.

JUNO: Mista…

(STARTS LAUGHING, OVER THE BELOW)

THEIA: Because. Um. Ramses wants to see you aboveground. And. Somethin’ somethin’. No. Don’t say. Somethin’ somethin’. Say—

JUNO: Rita?!

THEIA: —somethin’, you—

JUNO: Rita, is that really you?

THEIA: No. I’m. Um. What’s this thing called. Tara. Teyona. Let me. Look it up.

JUNO: Rita! God, I am glad to see… whatever the hell robot this is.

THEIA: This is. The Theo’s Spectacles.

JUNO: Wait– you yelled at the bot for saying “somethin’ somethin’,” which means you must be able to hear it.

THEIA: Nuh-uh.

JUNO: Rita…

THEIA: Who’s that. She sounds nice.

JUNO: Just drop the joke, alright? I’ve been looking for you for days, I’m filthy, I’m tired, so just tell me where the hell you are!

THEIA: Oh. Does it make you worried. Not knowing. Where very pretty user. Rita is?

JUNO: Rita, I said—

THEIA: ‘Cause maybe. Then. She should disappear for weeks instead. Not say anything. ‘Cause that would definitely make you. Less worried. And not way more worried. Ain’t that right. Boss?

JUNO: (AFTER A PAUSE) Oh, I…

(QUIETLY) What did I do?

Rita, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

…Rita?

THEIA: The Theia Order. Is shutting. Down.

SOUND: POWERING DOWN.

JUNO: Rita? Rita?!

…No.

Please…

SOUND: THUMPING ON METAL.

No! Damn it, no! No!

I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Rita; and, I know that’s not enough. I know how sour a sorry tastes when it comes from someone who’s apologized before and never changed a thing. I know you’ve got no reason to believe me, but…

SOUND: METAL CLUNK.

Please don’t leave me here, Rita. You’ve got every reason to, but… I’m tryin’ to get better. I really want to get better, maybe for the first time in my life since the HCPD, and… I’m just so scared that it’s too late, and everybody’s already smartened up and gone, and maybe you should, but please, please—

RITA: Hi Mista Steel.

JUNO: (YELPS, PANTING) How long were you behind me?

RITA: Just for the last ‘please please.’ I miss anything you wanna say again?

JUNO: I, uh…

I’m sorry, Rita. I’m just… so sorry. It won’t happen again.

…Rita?

SOUND: THWUMP.

Oof!

RITA: I missed you, boss. I was real worried.

JUNO: I know. I hear you. For once. (DEEP BREATH) And I missed you too, Rita. Really.

RITA: (SNIFFLING)

JUNO: What? What’s the matter?

RITA: (SNIFFING/CHOKING BACK TEARS) We just… ain’t never hugged this long before, boss. (SWALLOWS) It’s nice.

JUNO: Oh. Yeah, it’s…

(CLEARS THROAT) Anyway, uh… I got a map, and it says there should be a way out just over—

RITA: Oh, yeah. The whole system’s bein’ shifted around, boss. None’a your maps are gonna work anymore.

JUNO: Shifted around for what?

RITA: Oldtown, I guess. But anyway, I figured out the way up before I even came down here because you know me, Mista Steel, I’m all for an adventure but as soon as it’s one that might get one’a my three S’s wet, I gotta get in and out. That’s right, my shoes, snacks, and salmon sausage snacks, so—

JUNO: You know a way up?

RITA: I do! Wanna go see? I was hopin’ we’d be able to bring that big puppet I hacked into with us, but it ain’t exactly gonna fit through the manhole. Or up the ladder, which I learned ‘cause at first I had two ways out but then I broke one, you’re never gonna believe how, boss, it was—

JUNO: With the big robot, right. Listen, Rita, I want to hear that whole story, I really do, but can we do it someplace we’re not covered in slime?

RITA: That’s a great idea, boss. This way.

SOUND: SPLASHING FOOTSTEPS.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): (FADING IN) …let’s look at that moment one more time. Opening day at Polaris Park. Moments after Takano’s last employee check-in. The silent, solitary moment in which his departure flipped from an idea to an action.

We can’t know what he was thinking in those moments. And in the end, trying to understand every minute detail of the departed’s psyche tells us more about ourselves, in many ways, than about them. Just ask Lorenzo Vega:

VEGA (FROM COMMS): Jack was… a perfectionist. He’d made so many compromises with his park, had seen his vision so diluted. One can only conclude that the sight of it, his creation so malformed… who wouldn’t leave?

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Or Jocelyn Chen:

CHEN (FROM COMMS): He was a visionary, and that meant he had no idea what he was doing. He could help us up to greatness, but him? His sights were always going to be aimed up about a dozen feet over where he ended up, and he was always going to be bored by whatever he made. Always.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): Or Miranda Fairbanks, who wrote in her memoir:

FAIRBANKS ACTOR (FROM COMMS): Humanity needs people like Jack, I think. People who can just see how things should be, without the reality of what they are getting in the way. That’s how progress happens. And so I assume he must have seen the true way forward somewhere other than us… and run towards it.

JUNO: This ladder?

RITA: Mm-hmm.

SOUND: GRUNTS, METAL CLANKING.

HAWK (FROM COMMS): We’ve presented you with theories over these many hours, but we will probably never know why Jack Takano left us behind. The only clue we have is the audio note found in his office, once he was gone. And to conclude our program, we will play it in full.

MUSIC: STARTS (FROM COMMS).

JACK (FROM COMMS): The thing I find most beautiful about Andromeda, in the end, is this: that she can never be satisfied. I wonder now, if Orion’s curse wasn’t really a blessing for our Homeless Hero. He turned her from a protector of one city, to an active force of good the world over.

RITA: (OVERLAPPING WITH THE END OF ABOVE) What’s the holdup, boss?

JUNO: Found the manhole cover.

JACK (FROM COMMS): To find home—

JUNO: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: METAL SCRAPING.

JACK (FROM COMMS): (OVER THE ABOVE) —Andromeda always looks backwards. Polaris. Nostalgia. The paradise left behind. And this works in our stories, when we only show the shining city for a few seconds at a time. But in life, no such place exists.

RITA: Mista Steel?

JACK (FROM COMMS): If it did—

RITA: Mista Steel?

JACK (FROM COMMS): —we would already live there.

JUNO: This… this isn’t Oldtown.

RITA: I’m pretty sure it is, boss. I counted paces an’ everything.

JUNO: No. The map’s right. I’m happy to explain in a minute, Rita, just as soon as I get this cannon out of my face.

THEIA: Remove yourselves. From. The sewer. Help. Is on the way.

JACK (FROM COMMS): But there may yet be such a home. I believe we can find it. But we cannot turn our heads if it is not what we expected, or if we fear what we see when it opens its gates.

RITA: Oh no oh no oh no—

THEIA: Now put your hands up. Please.

JACK (FROM COMMS): Home is not in the past. It can’t be. And that means when we find home, when we find the perfect place we yearn for… I doubt we will even recognize it.

RITA: What is this place? What happened to Oldtown?

JUNO: Says it right there on the sign, Rita.

“Welcome to Newtown: The City of the Future.”

JACK (FROM COMMS): And so now I leave. I go now to seek the true way home, as any hero should. And I urge you to do the same. Or, at least, to accept it when it comes. I look forward to meeting you there. Jack Takano.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you’ve enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you’ll receive access to commentary tracks like this one, from actor Matthew Zahnzinger and co-creators Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert:

SOUND: TRAIN STOPS, DOOR SLIDES OPEN, RAIN.

SOPHIE: …There’s not anything more to it than it’s like, yeah, well I thought of it, and I’m smart, and how do I know that? Well, ‘cause I’m me, I just know.

KEVIN: Mmhmm.

SOPHIE: And there’s nobody… above him to tell him, y’know. And there’s no way of knowing for sure… what is good.

MATTHEW: Although to that point, and, to get… back on my bandwagon of every commentary complimenting Kevin’s writing, um—

SOPHIE: Could you compliment me a little bit, for once?

MATTHEW: (LAUGHING)

SOPHIE: What is this?!

SOUND: DOOR SLIDES SHUT.

CONDUCTOR: You can also support The Penumbra by liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter @thepenumbrapod, following us on Tumblr @thepenumbrapodcast, telling your friends about us, telling your friends to tell their friends about us, and especially by rating and reviewing our podcast on iTunes. Every rating, comment, and kind word spreads our stories further and inspires us to keep creating more and better tales to come.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Minchowski, Camille Blanton, Christine Kim, Rowan Collins, Garrett M, Jay Iannuzzelli, Karin Z-H, Canteloupe, Fiona Parker, Regan, Ko, Kim Zeugin, Atha Lang, Vron, Charlie Spiegel, and Jaimie Gunter for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

Did you know that The Penumbra has merchandise for sale? It’s true! The Penumbra has partnered with DFTBA to bring you the posters, shirts, and pins your heart desires. Just go to dftba.com and search for The Penumbra Podcast.

This tale, Juno Steel and the Long Way Home, was told by the following people: Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, Matthew Zahnzinger as Jack Takano and Ramses O’Flaherty, Marge Dunn as Hawk Hackett, Bob Mussett as Lorenzo Vega, Melissa Barker as Jocelyn Chen, Allison Choat as the Miranda Fairbanks reader, Sophie Kaner as the Theia and Small Fry, and Kate Jones as Rita.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert. If you wish to know more about our ever-expanding, infinitely-creative team of artists, musicians, editors, designers, and managers, you can read about them in the show notes of this episode.

I’m afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

#juno steel #i miss small fry

[mariogman25]

The Great Lakes Marvel Universe Part 1: The Stupendous Spider-Man

Here’s a sort of pitch idea for an alternate universe of the regular marvel universe. It’s been an idea in my head that basically started, inspired by Spider-Verse, “What if I were Spider-Man?”, and it kinda spiraled out from there. The other questions I asked myself were “How can we ground the heroes even further than now?” and “Oh right Great Lakes Avengers are a thing, I wonder if I can sort of flip the script with this?” And so I’ll just kind of pitch ideas out into the ether to see if people are interested.

From “The Middle of Nowhere” Wisconsin, a college-goer is off on science field trip with his class near Milwaukee, let’s call him... Jacob. He isn’t terribly interested due to the whole reason he’s on this trip is he had to take this class to get access to the stuff he really wants to do. He’s not much into deep sciences, he just wants to entertain people, make people happy. 

As he quietly listens to some tunes on the headphones around his neck, we cut to a small Brown Recluse Spider, somehow having found a new home in a small cardboard box in a pile of cardboard boxes that haven’t been touched in a while at this building. Jacob is called over by a nearby scientist, his arms holding a tray of closed chemicals, and asks him to help him by moving these boxes, tired of them being in the way for so long. Jacob, kind as he is, obliges the scientist. Grabbing the base of the cardboard boxes he hefts them up. Inside the small box on top, we see the spider freaking the hell out as it runs the hell out of its box on down onto whatever it’s disturbing it’s home. Jacob doesn’t notice it immediately, the dust making him squint his eyes real tight, he turns to the scientist, looking to where to put them. Suddenly he feels a massive pain in his arm as he drops the boxes. 

And suddenly it’s as if everything is in slow motion. The boxes strike the tray of chemicals, they fly into the air. Jacob looks to his arm, seeing a spider biting him there. As he’s about to scream about it, he sees the glass tubes of chemicals flying towards him as he tries to get out of the way, holding his arm up to defend himself, a glass of something shatters against him in the same arm the spider bit him... and he lets out a horrific shriek. The overwhelming pain in his arm, he sees his arm flesh melting, he falls to the floor. As he writhes and screams bloody murder, he sees the sweatshirt burning away on his forearm, the spider is melting too. Something shifts and it suddenly feels as though his whole body is burning, sitting on some giant that’s also screaming, as you sink further into his flesh... wait, that’s himself... He’s looking at himself from the point of view of the spider. They both continue to scream as Jacob eventually blacks out, getting carted out of building as fast as possible to the hospital.

We cut to a week later, we see Jacob in his room, sitting on his bed at night. He lives with his own parents still, it being the cheapest option and they’re good people. He seems to be mourning the damage to his sweatshirt. It was his favorite sweatshirt... He eventually looks to the scar damage on his arm. It’s rather horrific to look at, but something has been bothering him about it. In the middle of his inner forearm is a perfectly non-scarred area in the shape of a spider. He just sort of assumes it’s a fluke, like the spider that bit him saved that skin from burning, and those visions from it’s perspective and seeing it melt into his flesh were just... pain hallucinations or something... he doesn’t really want to think about that day, the pain in his arm spikes suddenly, as he goes to take his pain meds and head to sleep.

Over the course of many weeks, we see him develop... odd tendencies. He likes hanging out in small corners, his own mind keeps making him think of “Nesting” somewhere, and the idea of eating crickets is suddenly more appetizing to him now then ever before. It all comes to a head, when in the middle of the night, in a tired stupor in a cold sweat, he walks over to his closet, stands in the corner of it, and as if out of instinct, places his hand against the wall and sprays web out of his forearm... right from where the spider scar is... and that snaps him out of his cold stupor and the adrenaline hits him. He jumps backwards... far... unexpectedly far... and high too, considering he sees himself suddenly two feet higher than before and not coming down. He then sees himself sticking to the opposite corner of his closet... on the ceiling. He lets out a yelp and scrambles down from the ceiling and out of his closet, his heart pounding. His father walks in, eyes wide from hearing his son scream... “What the hell was that?!” he exclaimed “Uhuhuh... spider...” Jacob responded hesitantly  “...did the spider bite you...?” his father asked “...nnnooooo?” Jacob responded again, unsure how to say “OK. Be safe, alright?”  “Ok dad. Thanks.”  “Yeah.” His father headed out of the room as Jacob turned around and stared wide eyed at the spider-scar on his arm. ‘What the hell was that?!’

And so we go further into through a montage of what’s going on in Jacob’s life. He experiments with what he can do. The webbing seems to only com from that one arm, but he’s got a few different kinds if he concentrates on it. Stuff like a line, netting, and what he likes to call “armor webbing” were it spreads out along himself, giving him a sort of armor or nest of netting. Unfortunately creating this webbing makes him really hungry, mostly for proteins, and overuse starts draining him of muscle mass. So he tries to be more careful when shooting this stuff or he’ll starve himself really quickly. 

Jacob was never the most... active person. Not exactly ‘in shape’, but he was decently strong. But... something’s at least changed now. He can lift things easily that he struggled with before, he’s gotten faster, as are his reaction times. He can also sort of... tell all what’s around him. Like a sort of echolocation that he doesn’t need to scream for. He also checked recently but he was sure his canine teeth weren’t also that long before... and for some reason those teeth taste really bitter for some reason... ‘I’ll get used to it I guess...’

Eventually he gets back to everyday life, having kept that old sweatshirt for sentimental reasons. He has to wear a sort of arm sock as not to disturb anyone looking at him or disturb himself until the scar eventually fades... hopefully. Jacob has always been a fan of super heroes, going to see all their movies, and while not really reading their comics, at least knew he had something special. He sometimes has avid talks to himself in his head, figuring “OH MY GOD I’M A REAL SUPER HERO!” “Oh god what should I do with this power... I don’t want anyone close to me to die because of this...” and talks of that nature. He definitely kept the whole webbing thing a secret while thinking all this over.

Then his chance came one day. As he was cashiering at the store he worked at, a man pulled a gun on him and shot in the air. He complied for the demands of course, until the man was being led to the safe in the back. Almost as if acting on instinct again, Jacob jumped from the register to the man, punching right in the back of the head, laying him flat on the ground. This eventually earned him both congratulations and also condemnation, saying he was fucking nuts for trying to stop that guy, but good job on knocking him out.

At home Jacob was thinking it over. He was really good at the whole crime fighting thing. He didn’t exactly want to do the whole “power corrupts” thing as he was just too naturally good/paranoid to consider going to commit actual crimes with his power. He started with his costume. He bought a brand new green sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and a pair of sunglasses, and went to work Having watched a few movies with an actual costume making sequence, he pulled a few ideas, eventually sewing a pair of mirrored aviators into the “mask” of the costume, along with adding a zipper to the front of the hood to allow for him to take off the costume easily.

He modified a pair of jeans to allow for flexibility, adding sweatpants material to the knees and other parts to allow him to actually move around very acrobatically. He also figured he’d need a pair of gloves so fingerprints won’t be seen, so he went to his dads workshop and grabbed a good pair of cut resistant gloves. One it was all put together in an ensemble, he looked himself in the mirror at home while he was alone. It needed one last thing to really make it all thematic. He bought some black spray paint, made a decent stencil, and got to decorating his costume. He climbed to the top of his home and stood dramatically on the top.

(Art by: https://twitter.com/Thwipthw1p )

“Alright... I can do this... I can do this...”

And so the training montage begins. He gets to figuring out his limits, and how to use his webs. Due to the lack of tall buildings for where he lives, he learns how to swing and travel through the trees of his home.

And so we begin to watch this blossoming super hero come into his own. Let us watch where he finally proves to himself that he’s got what it takes.

It’s a bank robbery in progress in town. The robbers have everyone on the ground and are in the process of emptying the vault. The police have not arrived yet, and some people are crying on the ground. The robbers, 4 of them in total, hear someone shout “OH SHIT” down the hall, near the bathrooms. Thinking they missed someone, they send one guy down there to stop the guy from calling the cops... minutes pass, and the man hasn’t emerged from the bathroom. They start worrying, and they send another guy, gun at the ready, and when he opens the door he screams “WHAT THE FUCK!?”. He sees his friend tied up in a gross webbing cocoon of some sort, on the wall across from the bathroom door. The man tries freeing his friend before he feels a striking pain on the back of his head and he’s out like a light. The last two robbers look at eachother worried when suddenly from around a corner they aren’t looking down, one of the robbers is pulled away by something they can’t see, right out of a horror movie, both of them screaming as one is out of sight. As the last one runs to the man that ran away, suddenly a gunshot rings out and his knee gives out as he screams once again, in pain this time. He sees only a flash of green before a brown boot strikes him in the nose and he’s out like a light as well.

The cops find the robbers all in various states of pain. One man tied up in a sort of cocoon, eyes covered, crying thinking he was going to be eaten by a giant spider. One was stuck to the first man, face slammed into the webbing with a massive bruise on his head from one punch. Another man was stick to the ceiling tied up and hanging there knocked out, and the final man as knocked out cold on the floor, a broken nose and a bullet wound through the leg, that same leg also being bandaged up with webs and stuck to the floor. There was no bullet left at the scene.

Later that day, Jacob ate a really large sandwich to replenish all he lost from the webbing.

We jump further into the future of Jacob’s life. He’s been given an official job by the police department so that he may no longer work at that store he was at before, but he made sure to space out his acceptance of the police job and the quitting of his store job as not to arouse suspicion. They let him wear his costume to keep anonymity when fighting crimes, and he’s learned some useful skills.

In place of the webswinging the other Spider-People have, this Spider-Man can surf on cars and essentially “water-ski” behind speeding cars like an expert. He does eventually figure out a way to stop that from wearing the hell out of his shoes (metal plates for the bottoms of shoes). Though he’s still not wholly confident in his abilities, this spider-man also carries a revolver, for surprises.

(I wonder what villains I’d use in this universe...)

#marvel #marvel au #alternate universe #Great Lakes Marvel Universe

[bandoms-are-fandoms]

Ghostwriter Chapter 4

 As much as I would have liked it too, my life did not slow down once I began work for BTS. Day in and day out, we are always on our feet; the boys practice every chance that they get and there is not a moment to even take a break, let alone write a single song. No wonder they went looking for help, every morning we get up before sunrise and every night we end up getting home after the vampires come out. I mean, geez! I thought to be an intern was hard, but I think I'd rather be unpaid and manual labor than do what they do every day.

The work isn't the problem though, every chance the boys got to spend time with me, they did so I could get a better idea of who they are as people. There have been plans canceled and even throwing me in some dressy clothes and making me tag along to big events like celebrity parties. Not that they wanted to go to those either. Suga's face told me that he hated how much a party would turn out to be, but after a party one night, the boys started drinking with me around and I did get out a few little secrets from them.

They each have a girlfriend although I have not met any of them yet. Some of them sound just terrifying though. Suga told me about his girlfriend who was also a Korean Popstar by the name of Mi-Ok, but her stage name was Sinbi which went with her Lolita style (apparently). The thing is that each guy described Mi-Ok as the type of girl who doesn't take very well to being told what to do and they say she is pretty scary with her popstar mask off (she has resting bitch face or so they say).

Jimin explained to me that his girlfriend was a Social Media Consultant and that I would meet her pretty soon. Her name was Mun-Hee and she was some kind of genius. She had finished all of her school by the time she was sixteen and was on the board of her father's company, Bumonim Eum-Ag. That's terrifying to think a girl, not much older than me might I add, sitting on a board and bossing people probably twice her age around.

Namjoon is dating an American girl by the name of Shayla and he explained to me that they had collaborated on a couple of songs before deciding to become a couple. He told me that she was a very relaxed person and went with the flow of the conversation, but that didn't mean she wasn't ready for a fight whenever the time came. He told me that she was having trouble back home with another producer and that I probably wouldn't meet her for a while. The look in his eye though, it held some much affection when he spoke about her.

Eun-Yeong was Jin's girlfriend and she is probably one of my all-time favorite models; he explained to me that she was always busy and he didn't get to see her as much as he wanted, but he was enduring for the time they could actually spend together. She's apparently a force of nature, a real advocate for what she wants and what she believes should be done for future generations of women. She has family troubles, but she pushes through and that's what he wants to convey to her in a song.

J-Hope is with a Latina girl by the name of Carina and he showed me a couple of dances they did together for Carina's dance studio. She was accepted into an academy here in Korea when she was younger and she built herself up from scratch to be able to be the best of the best. I smile as I would watch as I saw his face grow brighter and brighter with each move on the screen and I couldn't help, but notice everyone looked so proud to talk about their girlfriends.

V was dating this girl by the name of Maggie Cho and she was also American, she was their primary translator whenever they needed to travel and Namjoon wasn't around. She's apparently a very shy girl and that's why I haven't met her either. I get a strange feeling these boys are just trying to hide their girlfriends from me, but I don't quite understand why they would do that.

Jungkook is the only one who wasn't really looking for a relationship right now and that is what is going to make writing the hardest on me. Sure, I can take the words that each one has told me about what they've endured with their girlfriends, but it won't be the same as them actually writing the song for them. Jungkook can't even tell me he wants the song to be like, he just said that I should think about how my body would "move for a guy." What do you do with that!?

I sigh to myself as I go over the day's events once more, looking at the notepad in my arms. I adjust my heels, trying to get inspiration from the simple white stilettos, but that pain was nothing about love or body. In fact, even wearing heels is like hating your body, but they're just so damn cute, I can't take it! Scribbling out the words of pain from my blisters, I sigh as I try to think of words to describe love, but what is love?

I've never been in love, only the idea of being in love. Groaning, I switch the notepad behind the tablet I was given that contains today's schedule. The boys were recording an interview and I was traveling with them as their Administrative Assistant to understand who they are as people to be able to write the songs they asked me. We've been up since like five in the morning and I'm already exhausted at ten thirty this morning. They all had to get ready and chastised me as I was getting ready in the car because I held them up, all in good fun though.

I watch them smoothly talk through the interviewer's questions, giving just enough to show who they are, but not enough to ruin the image they've spent on for the last five years. Before bed last night, I decided that I needed to get to know the fans and the boys better with my own research. Apparently, their fans are called ARMY and they have the strongest passion out of everyone for BTS to succeed.

I look down at the schedule in my hands again, noting that our day is packed until at least midnight, if not longer. Every day, these boys are working hard for their fans and for their dreams. It's hard to believe people so young have such an impact on other people's lives. Sighing to myself, I begin to doubt my talents once more.

I have no sense of rhythm and I can hardly rhyme, but when I write, it flows from my fingertips on to a page. Watching the boys clammer off stage in excitement, I place a smile on my face as I had each boy a bottle of water.

"Great job out there!" I praise them, looking at the schedule, "We'll get you guys some food while we wait for the car to come and get you. Apparently were filming something else today...?" I murmur, looking it over.

"It's an episode of Run BTS!" J-Hope informs me, quickly finishing his bottle of water. I look at him with a confused look, scrunching up my eyebrows, "You're really not involved in popular culture, are you?" He teases, grinning at me.

"...I can tell you about American tv shows, some Japanese shows, and Korean drama, but..." I sigh, rubbing my head, "I know absolutely nothing about music."

"I heard you singing in the bathroom this morning," Jungkook pipes up and I can't help, but laugh a little.

"An opening theme song..." I tell them sheepishly. Before our playful banter could continue, my attention was taken away by a tv manager.

"Ms. Tsukamu!" The manager calls, running over to me, "Sorry to bother you, but I need to discuss a few things with you..." The manager takes me away from the group, but I wish I wasn't doing this alone. My head can barely wrap around what has happened in the past week, let alone what I have to say to this manager.

After we finish up at the studio, we make our way to the next stop: filming for Run BTS apparently. Everything is going so smoothly, I figured that the day would end on a high note, but boy was I wrong. We spent hours watching the boys fight in a kimchi battle and eventually, the losers are supposed to clean up. Sadly, Jungkook, J-Hope, and Jimin are the losers and take three years to clean up. While we stand off to the side as these boys begin their punishment, Namjoon pulls me close to him so he can talk to me quietly.

"Have you started on a draft yet?" He asks me and my stomach literally drops to my ankles. At the anxious look on my face, he gives a small sigh, "We can't expect you to be on our level after just a couple of days of spending time with us, but you should have some sort of draft."

"We've just been so busy and I know that's not an excuse-" I began to explain to Namjoon, but he holds up his hand for me.

"I thought what we told you the other night would've helped." He sighs as the boys finish up cleaning.

"You ask me to write a love song based on your experiences," I try to explain to him the impossibility of it, but he just shakes his head at me. Quietly, the eight of us move into the van and head back to our home. Filming had taken all day, so we had to push most of today's events to tomorrow. I glance at the clock on my phone and sigh; eleven fifteen... Where has the day gone?

When we arrived home, everyone began to trudge their way back to the bedroom. Well, everyone except for me; as I watch them all go to their respective rooms, I sit down on the couch taking off my pain filled heels and I stare at the blank tv screen. After only a week of staying with them and I still am not up to par for any matter.

Begrudgingly, I walk into the bedroom I was sharing after making sure both boys were decent and awake so I can grab my pajamas. After grabbing the shorts and the t-shirt, I walk into the kitchen, pulling out one of the tiny cakes I had bought the other night. Moving to the kitchen table, I start to nibble on the sweet treat while staring at the notepad once again.

"Heartbreak..." I whisper to myself, "Enduring... First... Unrequited... Self... Body..." Sighing, I begin to write down whatever came to my mind, but I was a novice when it came to anything about love. I know family love, but I can't even explain all of that... I really am totally useless, aren't I?

Hours seem to tick by as I sit and stare at the scribbles and marks on the notepad, but nothing is coming to me. Usually, when I write, I just let my hand do all the work and let the words flow right out of me, but I just can't write anything that's worthy of being called a love song. How do you even write a song? How do you even write in general?

Frustrated, I throw the pencil down and lean back in the chair. For the first time in a week, I felt like crying again. I can't compete with a global sensation of a boy band; they would get better work from a slug than they would me. I've had script after script thrown back into my face because it wasn't "original enough" or "the characters didn't feel real." The best comment was when a teacher of mine looked over one of my writings for me and told me that I should, "look into a new career path" because I didn't have the talent. I should've just listened to her, but I continued pressing forward, hoping my dream could come true in South Korea. I should've just stayed in Japan and became a simple office work.

My prideful tear ducts refused to let loose even one tear, but I felt the turmoil of emotions turning into my stomach. Everything going on made me feel like I was going to throw up and I was just about to give up for the night when I felt something cold touch my forehead. Blinking my eyes open, I look to see a glass of water above me.

"You need a break," Jungkook informs me, setting the glass down and sitting across from me.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" I put on my best smile, taking the glass gratefully as I sipped on it.

"I needed some water and noticed that you were still up," He shrugs his shoulders, drinking his own water.

"I didn't even hear you come in." I realize as I look at him in mild surprise.

"You looked like you were having a moment, so I thought I'd leave you alone for a bit." He chuckles, turning to look me in the eye. His gaze became serious as he steadily held my eyes with his own, "Are you alright?"

Trying to play it off, I smile at him and take a big gulp of water to will my emotions back into their container, "Never better!" I chirped quietly, maintaining the smile.

"You can't bullshit me, you know?" He leans back, crossing his arms. I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Now, why would you say that?"

"Because you're not okay and you're not fine," He huffs, "You've had the same fake smile on your face since we left the studio. You wanna tell me what's going one?"

For a moment, I felt my smile waver and I was about to spill my guts, but I just can't do it. Feeling overwhelmed by my emotions, I just shrug my shoulders at him, "I'm a little homesick, I guess."

He gives me a look that tells me he's not buying what I'm saying, but I still can't bring myself to saying anything. Quickly, I stand up, making the chair squeal underneath my weight. Giving an awkward cough, I head towards our shared room.

"You can't keep lying. You wear your heart too much on your sleeve," He whispers, but the quiet room allows it to catch my ears. I turn to him and give him one more smile that I could muster up.

"Just because I don't say anything in confirmation, doesn't mean that I'm okay," I mumble to him, "Are you going back to bed?" He shakes his head and I nod mine in return. Quietly, I crawl into bed next to Chi-Chi and fall into a deep, restless sleep.

The next day, we all scramble out of the room and head back to Big Hit Entertainment to discuss the day's plans. The boys haven't eaten, so when we arrive, I retrieve a tray of food that was prepared for them and it was set out in front of all seven boys and all four managers. Just as I was about to leave, Jungkook grabs my arm.

"I have something I want to talk about," He sighs loud enough to catch everyone's attention. He releases my arm and clears his throat awkwardly, "I think, because she's so inexperienced, that Sakka has hit and writer's block."

"Jungkook." I hiss at him a warning tone, but he ignores me flat out.

"So, I want to work with her," He says, cooly. The words that leave his mouth are so nonchalant, I don't think they processed in everyone's minds until a moment later. Nobody made a sudden move and I couldn't help shouting out my response.

"What did you say!?"

________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I don’t own BTS, but I do own Sakka and her companions. This is loosely like Voltage’s Scandal in the Spotlight and anything associated with that I do not own

#bangtan #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan imagines #bangtan scenarios #bts #bts imagines #bts jhope #bts jimin #bts jin #bts rm #bts suga #bts v #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #jungkookie #jungkook fanfic #jungkook #jungkook imagines #namjoon #jin #jimin #taehyung #yoongi #hoseok #seokjin

[bike42]

Kentucky Derby Weekend April 29 – May 2, 2021

Wednesday evening, we took Sox the cat downtown to Bailey’s condo, then came home to pack (the cat hates to see suitcases).  I can pack for a hiking trip with my eyes practically closed, but this kind of trip took some thinking!  I had to match shoes, purses and jewelry to all of my outfits, and then of course there was my hat.  Since we’d decided to drive the 6+ hours to Louisville, space wasn’t an issue and we were able to load our car with hat boxes, a large bag of snacks, yoga mat, pillows and suitcases!

 We were up at 6am on Thursday, anxious to get going, and we were on the road just after 7am.  As we were packing last night, Jeff wondered if our iPass was in the new Audi – I thought it was, but we didn’t check.  We had decided to travel straight down through Illinois and skip the Chicago madness so I was thinking tolls wouldn’t be an issue anyway. But as we got to Janesville, we recalled we still had the one toll near Rockford, so I checked the glove box – the iPass was not there.  It had been in our old Audi, so I thought it was odd that we’d have moved it to the other car – we haven’t travelled to Illinois since February 2020.  Then Jeff said he thought he remembered that our new Audi has a built-in toll pass?!  I got out the manual and sure enough!  It led me through the steps to get it activated, and I was able to get it set up just moments before we hit the Illinois border.

 We had rain through most of Illinois, but decent traffic and no major slowdowns even though there was a lot of road construction. We turned east at Bloomington toward Danville, IL which started us reminiscing about our 2013 cycling trip down the length of the state.

 The trees were more leafed out than ours and it seemed to get greener with every mile we traveled.  As we got south of Indianapolis, we saw our first Waffle House, so we stopped the Waffle House in Taylorsville for our favorite breakfast (regardless of the time of day) when we’re in the south (waffles, eggs over easy, split a side of bacon).

 We arrived in Louisville and checked into the downtown Hilton Garden Inn just before 3pm. That left us ample downtime for yoga, naps, catching up email from the day, and showers before our 7pm dinner reservation at Vincenzo’s.

 So many experiences already on the trip feel novel, packing last night, a six-hour road trip, and now checking into the nicest hotel we’ve stayed in since February 2020. Once upside to the pandemic and its quarantine is the pure appreciation I have for the ability to travel again!

 The restaurant was an easy walk from the hotel, and even though we’d checked the weather app before we headed down from our room, we were surprised to have sprinkles on our faces when we stepped out onto the sidewalk. No worries, Jeff had his rain coat and I had my beautiful poncho that I’d bought in Paris two years ago on a rainy April day.

 We had a great leisurely dinner, four courses and a bottle of wine.  It was nice to be dressed up and out together again.  The staff and service were amazing, and we tried to chat a bit with the gentleman we thought was the proprietor (Vincenzo?), but he seemed to have limited English (or hearing).  We’d heard on the local news before going out that that town of Louisville was so excited about this week-end – several hotels and restaurants were booked full – and that’s news!  

  After dinner, we walked through the Fourth street party area, which was fairly subdued at 6:30pm but we expected it’d be hopping later. There was a friendly guy on the street having a cigarette, he was a beer salesman named Scott from Appleton, WI.  He was excited to tell us all about what to expect at the derby, how crowded this area should be right now (in a normal year), all the famous people he’d previously partied with here, etc.  He’d have gone on all night, but his wife was calling him from a nearby table telling him his dinner was getting cold!

 We had a lazy Friday morning, then we were out on the street at 9am to walk to waterfront park. Our hotel was a great location, and we found it was a beautiful day. It wasn’t long before we were peeling off layers. We walked along the Ohio river, east to the converted railroad bridge called the Big Four Bridge, the headed back. The river itself is muddy and filled with debris, but the Waterfront Park was fabulous. All of the people we encountered were so friendly – many greeting us with “Happy Derby!”

 We had tickets to tour the Louisville Slugger factory and museum at 11am, so we walked back along the waterfront and found it in a funky part of old town (Main Street) – the area that had been known as Whiskey Row at the turn of the century.  We really enjoyed the tour.  Since I’d booked it last week, I had this song lyric with “Louisville Slugger” trying to work its was to the front of my brain.  I took to google when we were having lunch later and figured out its from Mary Chapin Carpenter’s song “The Bug.”  It goes:  “sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug … sometimes you’re the Louisville Slugger, baby, sometimes you the ball … “

 After lunch we wandered into the Evan Williams Experience, where we sampled Peach Mint Juleps – yum.  Back to the hotel, we had a nap, then showers – ready for our next event at 3:30pm.  This was an event booked by the group where we got our tickets:  Princeton Sports Group.  It was billed as “Derby Eve at Buffalo Trace,” but we weren’t sure what to expect.  We got to the lobby and found we were a busload of people, and we were headed to the Buffalo Trace Distillery, about an hour away in Frankfort!  Our guide and driver were great, they plied us with cocktails and information about bourbon and the trip went fast.  

 When we arrived at the distillery, there were three other packed busses, so we had a wait a bit to get through the temperature screening and get assigned to a guide.  The distillery had a policy that everyone wear masks (except when seated in the tasting room), even outside, and some in our group were pretty vocal about thinking that requirement was ridiculous (especially the group from Texas!).

 While I enjoyed the tour of the rickhouses (3-4 floor buildings where whiskey is aged after its barreled), and the room where the empty barrels were stored, I was disappointed that we didn’t get to tour the actual distillery – I wanted to see the chemistry!  None-the-less, we had an enthusiastic tour guide and it continued to be a beautiful day and we enjoyed the beauty and the history of the property while we waited our turn to enter the tasting room.  There we were socially distanced at spots with 5 shots laid out for each of us – a vodka (too strong for me just straight), and three bourbons with progressively better quality:  Buffalo Trace, Eagle Rare, and Blanton’s Single Barrel (we’d been introduced to that last month by our nephew Calvin, a far superior bourbon).  We thought the tasting finished with their Bourbon Cream (like a Bailey’s) which was yummy on its own, but they served it with a shot glass of root beer and when we combined the two – we found heaven! Since it was Derby time, they finished the tasting with a demonstration of making Mint Juleps, and we each were served a large portion of that!

 After the tasting, we had some time to shop, so we headed to the store and bought a bottle of their Bourbon Cream (they sell out of Blanton’s as soon as its bottled, or we’d have bought that too).  By then we were mildly buzzed and in need of food.

 Back on the bus, we travelled about 20 minutes before stopping at Jeptha Creek – an event center where we had dinner, more drinks, dancing to a bluegrass band and playing a little corn-hole in the yard. During dinner, we sat with two couples that had arrived on another bus – also their first Derby experience and we enjoyed trading stories with them.  

 On our bus back to Louisville, our guide decided it was time for bus Karaoke (using the music on his phone and holding it up to the microphone).  One guy, who didn’t seem particularly gregarious, got up to sing, and sang very well as the bus lurched along the interstate.  We sang all the way to the hotel, a fun night.

 We awoke Saturday morning to another beautiful day, and had a leisurely morning with a hotel room workout and breakfast. We had the local NBC affiliate that had full time coverage from Churchill Downs and we watched the first two races on TV before heading out. The gates opened at 10am, but that felt too early to go, yet there were plenty of partiers already there.

 We headed out of the hotel about noon. It was a bright sunny day and neither of us were prepared with sunscreen, so we walked around the corner to the CVS drugstore. As we walked down the street, we were greeted with shouts of “Happy Derby Day,” and nearly every vehicle driving by stopped as asked if we wanted a “shuttle” to the track. Our hotel offered a shuttle for $40 per person (which I thought was excessive), we could have driven our car and parked at the University lot and walked from there, but we’d decided we were going to take an Uber (I really want to think the best of people, but it seemed like a bad idea to jump into a car with someone who’s just taped a “Derby Shuttle” sign to his car for the day).

 As we walked into CVS, a confrontation broke out between a store employee and a young black man who was accused of having stashed something inside his coat. You could feel the tension in the store, and it put me on edge too. Other employees were suggesting the manager hold the guy until the police arrived. We grabbed a bottle of sunscreen and went to the checkout, where the clerk was almost too distracted to check us out.

 As we walked out the door, the managers had wrestled the man outside and the police had arrived. The scene quickly was surrounded by others that were taking videos on their cell phones. We moved around the corner, and didn’t see how it resolved, but it went quietly. Perhaps the manager was wrong?  

 Last month, we both got new iPhones, and are still struggling with having to sign into apps we haven’t used!? Ugh. We both really struggle trying to recall passwords that our phones have been so diligent about remembering, or allowing us to use face recognition. After a bit, Jeff succeeded in getting into his Uber app, but then his credit card had changed since we last used Uber, probably in NYC in 2019. My nerves were still on edge, and I was a bit panicked about standing here outside CVS with both of us focused on the phone, Jeff with his wallet in his hand and his credit card out. I pulled out my phone and was able to log into my Uber and my credit card was still active, so I said “I’ll order the Uber and you can work on your account another time!”

 We had a great Uber driver, Onfraus. He had a Green Bay Packer emblem on the front of his Jeep. His girlfriend is from Wausau and he knew a lot about Madison. He asked if State Street was still the place to be, and was shocked when we told him of the devastation after “protests” turned violent last year when windows were smashed and businesses looted after the George Floyd killing in Minneapolis. We all agreed it didn’t make sense - the wrong people in the wrong place, with a demonstration of anti-police effort. His calm wonderful manner helped calm my frayed nerves. A lifelong Louisville resident, he was helpful in explaining where he had to drop us, and how to walk to the track from where he dropped us, and also where to find the Uber pickup lot to get our ride back to the hotel after the Derby. It was just over three miles - $45 with tip (surge pricing).

 It was easy to figure out the way to the track, we followed the colorful crowd. Lots of young adults - many of them quite drunk already. I was surprised that many people had chairs, headed for the infield lawn which is where the party really happens, we’d heard. We followed the crowd to the gates, went through security, but our tickets wouldn’t read in the scanner - oh no. Our panic was relieved when a supervisor told us we had Clubhouse tickets, and we were at the infield gate, the wrong gate. They led us out and we worked our way against the crowd for a bit, and felt like was walked all the way around the outside of the track until we found our gate. I’d worn shoes for comfort and was glad to be walking before sitting for the next six hours or so.

 At the Clubhouse entrance, things were more civilized and the crowd was scarce. In fact, due to COVID, they’re operating at about 40% capacity - so for someone like me that likes my personal space, this was perfect!

 We found our seats - the first two seats in a box that was set up for just four, but could accommodate six. Every other box was blocked out with a tarp to maintain physical distance, so we had perfect sight lines to the finish like right in front of us. We were in the covered section, so no need for that sunscreen after all (but we saw quite a few people who could have used it).

 There was a race roughly every hour, so we fell into an easy pattern of watching a race, then exploring the grounds in between races. This year for the first time, all food and drink were included in the ticket price, so we grazed on food and I sampled most of the specialty cocktails: Mint Julep, Whiskey Spire (cranberry) and the Lily (vodka and grapefruit).

 For me, the neatest part about being onsite was standing at the edge of the paddock. Not only was the people watching amazing, but it gave us a close look at the horses. They’d be led around the circle, some seemed proud to be on display, some were fighting being led around, then they’d pull them into a cubicle where magically the tiny saddle would be strapped to the horse, then another lap or two, photos with the owners / VIP and one last parade past with the jockey onboard. How cool it was to see that up close. I’d never noticed their lightweight boots, and the small stirrups that seemed strung up too high. From the paddock, the procession would move under the grandstand and out onto the track where they’d parade by, before heading around the track to the starting gate (which was out of our view, but we could see it on the large video screen). The only downside to being there in person is the race happens so fast and with the crown noise and the garbled speakers, we couldn’t really tell how the horses we’d selected we’re doing!

 We were joined in our box by a dapper young man, Jackson and his girlfriend, Danni, from Miami. Jackson split his time growing up between Middleton WI with his dad (attended Edgewood High School), and Louisville with his mom. He’d been to the derby many times before, but this could have been his first time trying to impress a girl with his knowledge. They were cute.

 In the box kitty-corner to our front right, there were Louisville police officers. They primarily spent their time scrolling through their social media feeds on their phones. Later in the evening, two started smoking cigars and snapping photos of themselves. It seemed inappropriate and was noxious to be around, but the smell of cigar smoke was pervasive throughout the day regardless. As we were heading out to explore between races, we stopped to ask them if it’d be safe to walk the three miles back to our hotel after the race. They looked at us like we had two heads!

 The actual “Derby” the twelfth of fourteen races during the day. It was the only race we actually bet us, choosing Hot Road Charlie (Jeff pick which finished third), and my pick, Rock Your World, finished in seventeenth place. We’d added the favorite pick of the day, Essential Quality to our trifecta bet (it came in fourth). Almost, but that doesn’t count in horse racing, so we lost our $200 but had fun doing so!

 We hung around for a bit, enjoying some last-minute people watching, then joined the stream of people heading out of the main gate.  We turned right, towards the Uber lot, which meant we were once again walking against the crowd leaving the infield – many were now very drunk, most were sunburned, and some were being carried.  It seemed to be a zoo at the Uber lot, and the app showed our same driver, but it’d oscillate between 20-30 minutes away.  The crowd and the noise of the Jesus Freaks yelling at the crowd through bad speakers was making me crazy, so I lobbied to start walking.

 We walked with a smaller crowd, but many of them pealed off as we strolled through the U of L campus.  We walked past large house parties, still going strong.  After a mile, there were only a handful of us still walking towards downtown, but it felt good to move and the neighborhood felt ok. Several people that we’d pass would shout out friendly greetings, and we just kept moving, only slightly creeped out by the recommendation from the police that we don’t try to walk back to the hotel.

 It started getting dark as we got close, but by then, it felt like a normal evening stroll.  It felt great to get to the room though and jump into the shower to wash away the dirt and cigar smoke from the day!  We were probably both sleeping by 9pm!

 On Sunday, we were up before our alarm, so we got dressed and finished packing up and we were crossing the Ohio back into Indiana before 7am.  An uneventful drive, and great to be home in the early afternoon and still enjoy the day.

#KentuckyDerby

[yeoldontknow]

Wings

Author’s Note: lord i didnt think id be writing this so soon but ive been so soft (tm) and pcy has been doing the most(tm) so here we are i guess. this is the first part of his Did You See story. im weak as hell lmao Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Summary: Chanyeol is your best friend and travel buddy. Everywhere you go, he falls a little bit more in love with you. Eventually, he tells you why he goes everywhere with you - just you.  Genre: fluff; angst Rating: PG-13 Warnings: some swearing Word Count: 5,356

Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[12:04 AM]: LOOK!!! YN[12:05 AM]: this is shockingly neat YN[12:06 AM]: im stunned Yeolo[12:06 AM]: :< Yeolo[12:07 AM]: i am neat :< YN[12:08 AM]: youre like… YN[12:09 AM]: slightly organized chaos Yeolo[12:10 AM] - Message sent with Confetti: CHAOS

Yeolo[12:11 AM]: do you like how i rolled my shirts ! YN[12:12 AM]: im mostly impressed with how fucking many you fit in there Yeolo[12:13 AM]: WELL!! Yeolo[12:14 AM]: you know different shirts for different moods… Yeolo[12:14 AM]: weather YN[12:15 AM]: IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?? Yeolo[12:15 AM]: WAT WAT YN sent a Photo with Mark Up Yeolo[12:16 AM]: YES YES THE HOODIE HE IS COMING YN[12:17 AM]: I AM STEALING HIM ON DAY 2 AND YOU WILL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN Yeolo[12:18 AM]: *frowns loudly* he YN[12:19 AM] - Message sent with Celebration: his butt is mine Yeolo[12:20 AM]: do you still heave beat it in your head from JDs party???? YN[12:21 AM]: listen if i have to suffer with it YN[12:21 AM]: you have to suffer with me Yeolo[12:22 AM]: yikes YN[12:24 AM]: are you taking any converters? Yeolo[12:24 AM]: yeah you can use mine YN[12:25 AM]: yay! Yeolo[1:06 AM]: are you nervous? Yeolo[1:07 AM]: wait are you up Yeolo[1:08 AM]: im nervous but idk why YN[1:09 AM]: im up. i wouldnt say im nervous weve done this a million times YN[1:10 AM]: i just dont like flying very much Yeolo[1:11 AM]: no one really likes flying Yeolo[1:12 AM]: but ill hold your hand the whole time YN[1:13 AM] - Message sent with Love: u Yeolo[1:13 AM] - Message sent with Fireworks: me Yeolo[1:15 AM]: can i come over? Yeolo[1:16 AM]: i sleep better next you YN[1:17 AM]: you haven't needed to ask for 5 years don't be a goose YN[1:18 AM]: but yes im too excited to sleep anyway Yeolo[1:19 AM]: ill bring my shit so we can just go to the airport together YN[1:20 AM]: key is under the mat. im getting your fave blanket out of the closet Yeolo[1:21 AM]: !!!! Yeolo[1:22 AM]: ill just take the spare toothbrush i have there with me instead of my good electric one YN[1:23 AM]: u is smert Yeolo[1:24 AM]: i be there in 10 minie YN[1:25 AM]: 10 MINIES!!!

Remaining in bed, you lay back and stare at the ceiling, heartbeat keeping time with the rain against your window. You think you love him most when he’s like this, needy and clingy and over excited. London was his idea, or maybe it was yours, or, possibly, you thought of it at the same time. It felt like it, the way you both talked excitedly on his couch eight months ago, bare feet battling for dominance on the tattered cushion. The way the words spilled eagerly from your mouths, the way he’d already Googled, and you’d already used your credit card points for airline tickets, it felt like you were connected, united.

Something as simple as this, as planning a trip, felt remarkable and exciting. The phrase ‘why don't we go’ igniting a fire in your veins, making the world sound sweeter just because he spun city names into gold against his tongue. Always, it’s like this with him, life becoming an thrilling bundle of possibility, filled with magic and wonder, and existing without obstacles. It’s like this with him because he makes it so, his mouth only ever giving you the best words and your heart unable to say no at the sight of his wide eyes.

Precisely ten minutes later, Chanyeol’s heavy feet resonate throughout the hall as he struggles up the stairs to your door. Already, between the plaster and the wood of your door, you can feel him, his energy permeating your space and making your heart feel heavy with want. The sound of him alone wakes you up, invigorates you, sending sparks along your skin that make you feel electric or magnetic, or maybe both.

After six years of knowing Chanyeol, learning his noise and learning his breath, you are skilled at discerning his mood from the sound of his steps. Tonight, he is elated, hurried in his movements and wholly unburdened by the weight of his suitcase, driven into a clamor by the force of his excitement. Tonight, he is humming, as quietly as he can, yet still his voice his a thunderclap, barreling through the walls and deep into your bloodstream. You don't recognize what he's humming, the sound slow and somber, but it sounds important, like he's very serious about getting the notes right, and you find yourself frowning when he stops, saddened by the loss of the his voice.

At the first sounds of the spare key sliding into the lock, you turn over in bed, making room for him on the mattress, in your life, in your body, ready to keep him with you for always. When he pushes through the door, clambering with his limbs and his bags, he releases a giddy sigh, an exclamation of relief that makes a smile spread across your lips. Keeping still, you listen as he moves through your house and into your kitchen with sure steps. He turns on the electric kettle, the one he bought your for Christmas three years ago. Rummaging through your cupboard, the one he helped you build, he pulls out mug with a happy chuckle. Something has amused him, and you swoon into the bed at the sound, pressing your head against your pillows with a sigh.

You know he thinks of this space as his, moves around it openly and possessively, because his memories exist within the paint and the furnishings just as much as yours. Not least because he spends the majority of his time in the space you occupy, your flat larger and quieter than his own, but because he was the one who found it for you. Because, when your life felt as though it was ending, he was the one who built it back up around you, with you, leaving his traces on all the new pieces.

It is not that you expected your relationship with Ethan to last forever, merely that, after Ethan, you thought there would be something. When you found Ethan in your bed with another woman, hands and mouth pulling at her skin as if he wanted to make a home of her body, you found you simply didn't want anything. His lies had reduced you to nothing and, while you knew it was not the case, you felt nothing was what you deserved forevermore.

For two weeks, you slept on Chanyeol's couch, curled into a ball and trying not to be a burden. For five more, you slept in his bed, neither sexual nor wanting it to be, simply because he said he wanted you comfortable. Then, he said it was because no one should cry alone. Then, and lastly, because he said he never felt comfortable without you beside him. Not anymore.

His hands shook when he showed you the advertisement, and you wondered why he was nervous. Looking at your feet and with his voice quite small, he said he didn't want you to think he was kicking you out. You said, ‘are you?’ And he just looked at you, suddenly the most serious you've ever seen him, and said, ‘I just want you to have something that's yours.’ Sincerity looked beautiful on Chanyeol, not that he was insincere, but this was transcendent. You felt him then, like a knife. You don't think you’ve stopped feeling him since.

He never really went home after you moved in, just brought an air bed and stayed with you until you could afford decent furniture. You cried a lot those first few days, scared but not alone, and wondering how you could, or would, cope with this sudden something. Chanyeol held you, tighter than usual, and didn't say anything just clung to you until you were tired and wholly exhausted from living. You think that was when his habit for humming started, those days when his voice was a comfort, a lullaby, and its sound evolving into something you felt belonged to you.

Painting the living room was your favourite day, the first day you ever saw him, really saw him. The paint on his cheek made him look wild, like he was at war with the wall and was trying to win you over. You didn't know how to tell him he'd already won. You think he won the day you met him, you just needed the world to take on better colours.

The sound of your door opening shakes you from your thoughts, and Chanyeol enters with a grin, hair messy and cheeks puffy from lack of sleep. He's arrived already in his pajamas, ready to be comfortable and ready to be near you, and you watch, turning the sheets over for him, as he climbs into the bed with careful placements of his limbs.

‘Here,’ he says, handing you a mug - his favourite, the one he leaves for himself.

Careful not to spill anything, you take it, letting your fingers graze momentarily to feel the spark once more, and smell its contents.

‘Is this chamomile?’

Chanyeol settles against the pillows with a hum, and turns onto his side to face you. ‘It’ll help you de-stress,’ he shrugs, before his hand snakes into the pocket of his hoodie. ‘I also got you this.’

He hands you something black, something plastic, and, in the dim light of the bedroom, it takes you a moment to recognize it.

‘A sleeping mask?’ You glance at him, confused.

‘With cucumber.’ Laying back to nestle into the bed, he pulls out his phone and yawns. ‘You’re always super hot on flights and you never sleep. So, just try this please.’

‘You’re a nerd,’ you murmur, glad he is distracted and unable to see the blush that is blooming beneath your cheeks.

‘And you are annoying,’ he retorts, peering up at you with a grin, tongue between his teeth.

Dropping the mask to your nightstand, you sigh, somewhat heavy for the light feeling in your chest. ‘But you love me.’

‘And you love me.’

It feels too raw to agree or acknowledge the statement, like saying anything will force you to say absolutely everything, and so instead you remain silent, keeping your tongue locked behind your teeth so as not to give yourself away.

Time passes steadily, your body relaxing simply because he is near and you can hear the even rise and fall of his breath. The rain and his quiet hums become a soundtrack for your slow sipping of the tea, scrolling through your phone mindlessly, unfocused, and running through your packing checklist once more. 

Eventually, Chanyeol puts his phone beneath a pillow and cuddles against you, resting his head on your shoulder as he watches you scroll. Sometimes, he reaches forward to tap the screen, teasing you by threatening to like pictures on Instagram that belong to people you know of, but do not really know. You fight him off weakly, push yourself away, tell him he’s being an ass, and warning that you will spill, but you don’t mean it. Not at all. The cup is empty, anyway.

After thirty minutes, you place your phone and mug on the nightstand beside the mask, turning over in the bed to face him. For a while, you say nothing, just admire the way his hair falls over his forehead and into his eyes, the small mole on his nose, the way his mouth pouts slightly, the way just seeing you seems to make him smile - or perhaps, he’s simply excited.

Pressing yourself closer to him, you yawn. ‘Did you remember your passport?’

Chanyeol rears back, eyes wide and lips parted in horror, paling in the wake of your words. Your stomach drops.

‘Chanyeol!’

‘Yes,’ he laughs, reaching out from under the blanket to tap your nose. ‘I remembered it.’

Rolling your eyes, you bury your face in the pillow. ‘We should sleep,’ you announce, voice muffled. ‘We have a long drive to the airport tomorrow.’

He nuzzles close, draping an arm over your waist to pull you into his chest. Curling against him with a happy sigh, you press your ear to his sternum to hear his heartbeat. It flutters, just once. ‘Do you think it’ll be raining like this in London?’ he ponders quietly as he draws lazy circles along your spine.

‘It might be,’ you murmur, instantly relaxing into his hold and feeling yourself slip into sleep.

‘I hope so,’ his whispers into your hair, tightening his hold on your body. ‘It’ll feel like tonight never ended.’

You didn’t think the mask would work, but it does. Somewhere over Iceland, you fall asleep against Chanyeol’s shoulder, soothed by the cool mask and his reassuring grip in your hand. Your body tilts into his until you are resting at his side, and he lifts his arm to pull you close, tucking the blanket beneath your chin. Sleeping, simply sleeping, with you is a quiet gift from the universe, one he relishes with his whole heart.

Because you are sleeping, he is free to watch you and free to want you without limitations. Always, he wants to touch you, has stop himself from stroking his thumb along your cheek and across your lips. Always, he has to remind himself that you are not his, you are not his touch nor his to have, but how he wants you. Oh, how he wants you with every beat of his weary heart.

You are not his, so when he sees the green and amber lights erupt just beyond the window, he nudges you awake. Bleary eyed and cranky, you whine for him to stop until he points, makes you see the lights and how they transform the earth into an alien thing, a new thing, something you cannot imagine existing within.

You are not his, so when he sees the Aurora Borealis, he nudges you awake simply so he can share one moment with you. One moment he can call ours.

Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:31 PM]: whats this YN[6:34 PM]: un stylo Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:35 PM]: ???? YN[6:36 PM]: un café Yeolo[6:37 PM]: how do i say map? YN[6:38 PM]: i already taught you that one lmao la carte Yeolo[6:39 PM]: train station YN[6:39 PM]: la gare YN[6:40 PM]: how do you say im lost Yeolo[6:41 PM]: uhhhhhhhh Yeolo[6:42 PM]: je me losté YN[6:43 PM]: INCORRECT Yeolo[6:43 PM]: T____T FRENCH IS HARD YN[6:44 PM]: weve been over this one: je suis perdu Yeolo[6:45 PM]: why do you just assume im going to get lost Yeolo[6:46 PM]: the other vocab is more fun :< YN[6:47 PM]: its not an assumption i have money riding on it with baek Yeolo[6:48 PM]: you guys are assholes YN[6:49 PM]: connards Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:51 PM]: what is this YN[6:52 PM]: un ananas YN[6:52 PM]: when are you ever going to need pineapple on this trip??? Yeolo[6:53 PM]: YOU NEVER KNOW Yeolo sent a Photo Yeolo[6:54 PM]: this? YN[6:59 PM]: moi YN[6:59 PM]: when did you take this?? i didnt even see you doing it Yeolo[7:01 PM]: at sooberrys bonfire last week Yeolo sent a photo Yeolo[7:02 PM]: AND THIS? YN[7:03 PM]: un branleur Yeolo[7:04 PM]: wait idk that word Yeolo[7:04 PM]: countess tell me what that means YN[7:06 PM] - Message sent with Loud Effect: COUNTESS? Yeolo[7:08 PM] - Sent with Slam Effect: HEY!! Yeolo[7:08 PM]: i googled! im not a wanker! YN sent a Video Yeolo[7:09 PM]: thats the most emasculating eye roll ive ever seen Yeolo[7:10 PM]: *cries loudly* YN[7:11 PM]: tell me why you called me countess Yeolo[7:13 PM]: no youre being mean :< YN sent a Photo Yeolo[7:14 PM]: stop pouting !!!! Yeolo[7:15 PM]: my heart !!! YN[7:17 PM]: fine YN[7:18 PM]: the correct word for that picture is très mignon Yeolo[7:19 PM]: CUTE! YOU THINK IM VERY CUTE YN[7:20 PM]: of course you know that and not the IMPORTANT WORDS

In the middle of the Notre Dame, Chanyeol slips his fingers between yours and squeezes. Several moments pass before you realize he’s done this, and you, shaken and trembling, are too weak to truly look up at him. You know how you look, wide eyed and trying not to cry, emotions running free and rampant, turning you into a vulnerable, fragile thing. Overwhelmed, is how you think you feel, body and heart too full of beautiful things to truly process everything in front of you. Looking at Chanyeol would cause the dam inside you to fissure, shattering just enough to release the deluge, and you don’t think you are strong enough to survive such an onslaught of emotional veracity. Not today, at least. Not when everything around you is so perfectly quiet. 

Leading you over to a pew, he sits beside you but does not let go of your hand. For one hour, you remain in silence. It’s the longest you think he’s ever gone without saying a word, and when you finally gather the strength to look at him, when you finally think you truly could be brave, if only so you could keep his after image alive in your mind for eternity, you see that he looks just the same as you.

Reverence has settled on and underneath his skin, giving him an ethereal glow from the inside out. The sun pours through the stained glass windows, and the bronze and honey of the wood polish seem to seek out his shades, eager to make shadows beneath his cheekbones; they turn him into an angelic thing, a holy thing, something that makes you feel the true definition of awe. It hurts to see him like this, you think, to see his lips, so full and pink as the blood races through his body, fighting to keep and carry all his emotions beneath the blanket of his flesh. It hurts to see him like this, looking almost naked and fragile, just like you.

It hurts to see him and not be able to call him yours, so you tell him things that belong to neither of you, only to souls long passed. Doing this makes it easy, makes suffering the the pain of true adoration feel somewhat weightless because you can almost imagine this too shall pass. Hands built this cathedral, fingers laid all the stained glass into intricate patterns, and the whole length of their life seemed infinite and paradoxically brief. Someone must have loved like this, felt devoted to a thing that could not love them back, and they lived - or, perhaps, they died and, if they died, it was not by the hands of love.

You tell him of the French Revolution and the cloister windows; you tell him of the organ, and its 32-key pedalboard. You tell him of all these things, hoping that the lives and the wars and the names of the all the people who suffered to build, and rebuild the cathedral can also build, and rebuild your heart.

You tell him all these things and, as you do, he watches. You point to the windows, discussing with yourself how they were destroyed during the revolution when the cathedral was used as a storage warehouse for food, and how even the restoration couldn’t get the art quite the same. Chanyeol listens, but he does not want to look at them, not when he’s looking at you. Between his fingers, your small hand squeezes and jitters, shaking his in excitement to show him something new, but still he only sees you.

He’s not sure why no one else seems to notice, how simply being in this church has suddenly given you wings. Thousands of names run up and into his mouth, through his mind, and he wants to give them to you, wants them to spill out and over for everyone to hear. He wants to call you Angel, wants to call you Goddess, wants to call you nothing at all because something this pure and this holy should never be tarnished by his tongue.

He wants to call you everything so instead he calls you mes tous.

He knows it’s wrong, rather, thinks it is wrong, but when he’s looking at you, he simply cannot fathom any other term.

For him, you are everything, and nothing else will ever compare.

Yeolo[11:32 AM]: countess YN[11:33 AM]: this text better be about lolla tix Yeolo[11:33 AM]: it is not YN[11:34 AM]: GOD DAMMIT YN[11:34 AM]: T______T YN[11:35 AM]: i hate meetings YN[11:36 AM]: im so sad now Yeolo[11:37 AM]: i know baby i know Yeolo[11:38 AM]: but whats the name of that place you stayed in last year Yeolo[11:39 AM]: for the fest YN[11:40 AM]: the hi chicago hostel YN[11:41 AM]: why YN[11:42 AM]: i am NOT making shithead baek reservations if he got tix YN[11:43 AM]: maybe i will for yixing YN[11:43 AM]: because i am nice Yeolo sent a Photo YN[11:44 AM]: PARK CHANYEOL YN[11:45 AM]: YOU BETTER NOT BE FUCKING WITH ME Yeolo[11:46 AM]: I AM NOT FUCKING WITH YOU BABY YN[11:47 AM]: YOU GOT THEM Yeolo[11:48 AM]: I GOT THEM BABY WERE GOING YN wants to FaceTime

The rain in Chicago is biblical, pouring out of a chasm in the sky in torrents. You could drown in it, you think, if you let yourself go, let it take you over. Like this, it’s easy to associate it with Chanyeol, to assume that it’s him in the rain; it’s him soaking you with wet kisses that cover your hair. It covers you how Chanyeol covers you: completely, warm against your skin and never feeling like a threat, simply cleansing - your body and your mind, making you feel free, making you feel new. The rain feels like Chanyeol, and so you welcome it, let it run down your neck, let it pour into your lungs, and over your skin, baptising yourself in his essence before he comes to wipe his holy residue away.

With the festival over, Chanyeol takes your hand and starts leading you through the crowd to exit the park. He doesn’t say anything, just glances down at you and smiles, squinting through the rain, though his grip never slips. Even in the dark of the night and in between the thick drops, you can see him, radiating like a beacon, calling you to him, a lighthouse for the lonely ship of your ardor.

Standing on Michigan Ave, you cock your head back, letting people push past and grumble at your stillness, and try to keep all of this with you, within you. The city, the weather, the music, his touch, his hands, his mouth. You think on Chanyeol’s arms as they held you, swayed with you to your favourite songs. You think on his laugh as he ran from stage to stage, forcing you to keep up with his long stride. You think of how he fell asleep in your lap, curled up on a blanket beneath a tree, cuddling into you for comfort.

These things, these important, meaningful things, are carved into your bones, and you think they were drawn by Chicago itself. Leaving means tearing out your ribs and leaving them behind. Leaving means going back to how things are, to reality, to the realization that Chanyeol is not yours. And you cannot expect him to be.

Tugging on your hand, Chanyeol waits patiently before you as you open your eyes, and you smile. Rain glides down his nose, dripping off at the tip, making him chuckle. Intensely, he holds your gaze, does not waver and instead looks into you, as though he is seeking your heart, seeking your blood, and asking for both with only his eyes. With parted lips, he breathes through his mouth, as though he has run a mile to get to you, perhaps run for his whole life to have you with him.

A tether has started to spawn between your chests, growing into steel cable and pulling you to him, as though he is a magnet. You step closer forcing your steps to be cautious, your anxious feet wanting to run to him, run through him to say you have been inside him, and left your name behind on all his brightest and ugliest parts. And when he steps closer, gaze dark and chest heaving and hands seeking the wet skin of your arms, you think maybe you could speak, if only to keep him with you, like this, for just one minute more.

‘Let’s not go home.’ It’s neither a question nor a plea, simply a wish, simply a door to an alternate reality you wish you could unlock.

But Chanyeol, already having learned to be brave for you, slides his hands from your arms to your cheeks, and thinks he could do it again. ‘I already am home.’

He presses your lips together without caution, without fear, as if it’s the only thing he’s known how to do in his life. Tilting your head to the side, you open for him, and feel him growl into your mouth as he crushes your body against his, hands moving to splay against your back. You are glad for his tight hold, your knees starting to shake and your hands fisting in his shirt for purchase. He holds you up and supports you with ease, swallows your moans with the whole of his greedy throat, and devours you as though he could never have his fill. Lips moving in unison, you suck on his bottom lip, relishing how soft and smooth the skin feels against your hungry mouth, and this makes him part, gasping for breath.

‘Chanyeol,’ you try, though your voice sounds weak and broken.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he closes his eyes and tries to speak. ‘I call you Countess,’ he croaks, voice tight and small as he struggles to catch his breath and not to cry.

You nod, unable to offer anything else, skin sliding against his. ‘Yes.’

Shaking his head, he pulls away from you for a moment but does not let you go. ‘It comes from the French comte, and that comes from Latin meaning companion,’ he attempts to explain, the words sounding lackluster and unconfident in his haste. ‘You are...that and...I listen to you.’

‘You’re not makin sense, dove,’ you say, lacing your tone with compassion as you bring a palm to his cheek.

‘You don’t think I listen but I do.’ He nuzzles into your palm with a content sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before pressing a wet kiss to your palm and continuing. ‘I hang off every fucking word you say, commit it to memory. I’m always wanting you to say things twice: first so I can learn it and second just so I can hear you say it. I just want to hear it.’

‘Ch-’

‘I’m in love with you.’

Chanyeol announces the words like they’re a jumble of syllables he’s never had to use and is only now learning how to phrase them, or how to shape them. In the wake of their cadence, he takes in your wide, shocked eyes, and realizes he loves them. He loves how they sound on his tongue, loves how they make you look, and so he says them again.

‘I’m so in love with you,’ he repeats, this time slower, and this time making sure you hear. You have the passing sensation he looks like he could float away, awed smile on his lips as he regards you and eyes blown with desire, dark and purely euphoric. ‘It took me forever to figure it out because I’ve never felt this way before, it honestly feels like I could die or I could live forever, like just breathing around you is a risk but fuck, I’ve never felt more alive just standing next to you, just existing beside you.’

The ground seemingly disappears from beneath your feet at his confession, voice gone off in search of the terrain you once knew so well. A shiver runs through your body, though you cannot tell if it is simply of the rain or because of the things he is saying. Unable to do or think through anything, you merely stare, hold onto his shoulders and try not to whimper at the way he whines at the loss of your skin against his.

‘I think I’ve been in love with you since I met you,’ he continues, ‘when the Empress brought you to JD’s party, remember? How I didn’t stop standing next to you or trying to talk to you? You thought I was clingy, maybe I am, but I just wanted to share everything with you. And you already had a boyfriend. He was such a shithead. I hated him first because he had you and then most because he hurt you. The first time I heard you crying on the couch I sat against my door and listened. I wanted to die and then I wanted to go kill him. You did that for weeks, until I needed you in my bed. I couldn’t take it, I just wanted to hold you.’

Running his hands along your cheeks, he kisses your forehead, as your eyes flutter shut with a sight. Then he brings his lips to your nose, your cheeks, your eyes, and, lastly, your lips.

‘I always want to hold you,’ he whispers, breath warm against your mouth as he lingers close. ‘I can’t sleep without you. I don’t deserve you. At all. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re funny, half the time you look like a fucking angel. I keep fucking up things I want to say because you look at me and it’s like my whole life is suddenly shifting. I don’t deserve you, and you can do so much better than me, so we travel. I give you the world because you deserve that, and at least that I get to share.’

It takes you a long while to find your voice, your hands playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck as he presses chaste kisses against your lips. He’s scared, you can feel it in the way he trembles against you, body exhilarated from his confession and terrified, now, of rejection. He’s scared you will push him away, and so he takes what he can get from your mouth and your skin, having his fill to keep it inside for always, even after you are gone.

Much the same, you press your body close to his, letting his cologne linger on your tongue and inside your blood. For you, he is a contact high, a shot of adrenaline straight to your heart that makes the world seem better, seem brighter, simply because he is there to change the spectrum of your vision. And so you take your time simply touching him, touching all the things you’ve felt before without really letting yourself feel them.

‘I decide what I deserve,’ you mutter quietly against his jaw.

This seems to shock him into action, his body careening into yours as he buries his face into your neck. ‘I want you,’ he cries, in relief. ‘Oh my God, I want you.’

‘I’m yours,’ you whisper, pulling his head from your neck and kissing him, first with your soul and then with your mouth. ‘I’m yours.’

#chanyeol x reader #chanyeol fluff #kpoptrashtag #kwriterskollection #noonanet #chanyeol fanficiton #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol au #chanyeol scenario #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo au #exo fluff #exo scenario #park chanyeol #did you see: universe

[slapmeagain-blog]

COVID-19 Life

9 April 2020

Spain, Greece, losing my virginities..... and my fears.

Happy 80th birthday Sally!  Sally is one of my friends from Waverley, PA, with whom I had the pleasure of joining as part of a group of 9 of us who traveled together to Greece for two weeks a couple of years back organized by my BFF Suzanne Staples.  It was a really great trip.  We had a big van, a driver (Costas) and a guide/historian (Mara) and visited all the usual places, from Athens and Evia to Corinth, Kalamata to Delphi, Olympia, Marathon, into the mountains and by air to Santorini.  I hadn’t spent that much time enjoying Greece since 1970 - wow - 50 years (very sobering). 

I first went to Greece as part of a student group in 1970.  We spent two weeks in Italy, and then 4 weeks in Greece.  We were studying Greek and Roman civilization, architecture and art.  Probably my very best memories from high school.  The year before I had gone to Spain on a similar program - six weeks at the University of Salamanca.  I was in awe of the French kids who smoked Gitanes in class.  There we studied Spanish as well as history. Summer of 1969 was a blockbuster back home in the US.  We had both the moon landing and Chappaquiddick!  As 16 year-olds, we were basically clueless except for where to get wine, pot, and trying to have our first sex.  (I accomplished all three, even if I didn’t know at the time that my first sex was with the wrong gender!)  Oh, and my sister, at home in LA, dropped acid, got divorced, then pregnant and then my mom remarried and moved to Hawaii, leaving me to finish my senior year in Hawthorne “At Home Alone”.  In Salamanca, I also had my last recurring nightmare, dreams that I had had since I was 2-3 years old (which involved a lot of sleep walking, night terrors and peeing on or in assorted pieces of furniture including my clothing drawers, the clothes dryer, a TV and a long walk alone at 2 a.m. to the local mini-market when I was 5 or 6.  I managed to find my way back home when I woke up -- ran the whole way -- and went to bed without being discovered.  My parents did put a chain lock on the front door, well out of my reach, after that.  I found it interesting that those nightmares went away at the exact same time I stopped living with either of my parents.  

Early in the week, here in the Hudson Valley, we enjoyed a couple of warm days, close to 70, and I have worked more in the gardens around the property, clearing remaining leaves and dead plants.  Yesterday was gloomy, though not cold, and today we are getting a decent amount of rain.  I’m finding that if I can spend a couple of hours a day working in the gardens on sunny days, I can keep up with what needs to be done, and I’m enjoying it very much.  My dad used to do the same.  He’d knock off work by 2 p.m., come home and spend a couple of hours in his gardens, then settle down to watching “Ellen” and “Dr. Phil” with mom.  I hope I never enjoy watching TV like they did.  Thank god programming has expanded to include so many mini-series and cable TV shows which are actually not bad.  

Still having nightly cocktail hours on Skype with friends.  Last night I checked in with the Weisbergs, then we had a 6 person call with Italian friends, then on my own I Skyped both grandkids (individually), and an old UH-friend from the late-70s in Bel Air, and finally B&B/F&F.  We also made pizzas at home last night.  

I think I am finally slipping into a routine that works.  I should be looking for ways to get more exercise, yoga is probably my best best, and walking, besides the gardening. I read somewhere that gardening counts as exercise!  Chinese classes started on Tuesday night via Zoom, and it was actually very good.  I loved that I can fill a coffee cup with wine and sit there in front of the screen and learn a language with a beautiful new teacher and 5 classmates from last term.  I hope we get to continue to learn via video, even after COVID goes away!

Waking up between 7-8 a.m. without an alarm and enjoying getting ready for the day with no sense of urgency.  Showering, shaving, nails, teeth, hair, clothes, coffee, news, check email, process cancellations at the B&B, set up calls for QWZRD.  I have this blog, and Chinese homework.... we’re starting to learn to write!!  Finishing up a new history of Brooklyn (reading, not writing).  Lunch today -- thinking of plant-based burgers or pad thai, and I also bought ingredients for stir-fried eggplant and ground ‘pork’ with garlic, chilies and honey.  One of  my favorite Chinese dishes.  Then a nap (probably), some more work on the computer or reading, then cocktails!  Life could be much worse.  We are so fortunate.  

And on the subject of how life has changed, I had a scheduled 4:30 p.m. video conference call with my PCP at 8 p.m. last night -- I feel so bad for the health care workers right now.  And it was just for a prescription refill.  Used to be you could just send in an email and then go to the pharmacy and pick it up, but now they are requiring video calls with the doctor to get a refill.  I have 5 prescriptions.  I think it’s a huge mis-allocation of resources to make the doctors talk to every patient before refilling a prescription!

Less important but nonetheless annoying, is that the plastic bag industry seems to have convinced politicians that plastic single use bags (which were recently made illegal in NY) are safer than the bags we were bringing to the supermarket for our groceries in this time of COVID!  And, the cashiers, for the most past aren’t using any personal protective equipment (PPE - another new acronym!), masks or gloves.  Everyday is something new.  

And, two masks arrived for us yesterday.  Ordered them 3 weeks ago.

[jam-esc]

About two weeks ago, I came across this post on Twitter:

pervadere #FunkyAF #SummerFilmParty [Sprocket Rocket, Cinestill 50D] pic.twitter.com/ye68ObcRRD

— kim (@kimmiechem2) June 20, 2017

I liked the photo and left a  comment, and Kim replied:

Definitely recommend the Sprocket Rocket to panos lovers. Cheap & cheerful. Definitely is a light hog, however. 🙃

— kim (@kimmiechem2) June 22, 2017

About an hour of research, an hour of hunting for a good price, a debit card number, and 4 days later, I was unboxing yet another toy…

The day before the Sprocket Rocket arrived, Hamish Gill posted an interesting article about his Hasselblad X-pan and why he sold it after only 5 rolls (well, 5 rolls and 18 months).

He bought the X-pan because he thought “…it had the potential to provide me with a unique perspective, that it might challenge my framing, enable me to shoot frames that felt cinematic, and even give me a sense of medium format photography…” but then never shot with it. At $75, my investment in the Sprocket Rocket is not so high, and if I don’t end up using it much, I’m not out much. Plus, while I think the Sprocket Rocket has the potential to provide a unique perspective, challenge my framing, and encourage cinematic feel in my images, I bought it for the fun as much as anything, so I’m not sure I can lose, or, not in the same way as Hamish did with his X-pan.

I was particularly interested in Gill’s general comments around panoramic photography—in particular the “landscape trap”—and I tried (and will try) to keep it in mind when playing with the Sprocket Rocket. 

And with that, the mail carrier arrived, and I got to unboxing…

Now, I really don’t need another camera, but the Sprocket Rocket is one of the most interesting-looking and different cameras I’ve seen in awhile.

Lomography took inspiration from (or ripped off) an old bakelite camera from the late 1930s and early 1940s, made in Chicago, and marketed under about 20 different names, and this gave the camera a fun and funky sort of Art Deco feel that I really love.

With a groovy design in hand, Lomography modified the insides in several ways ways. Where those old cameras had a 50mm fixed lens and produced 4x3cm negatives on 127 film, the Sprocket Rocket has a 30mm lens and captures 36 x 72mm (or 24x72mm) panoramic negatives on 35mm film.

Now, I’ve seen and been intrigued by the cameras like the Hasselblad XPan and Fuji TX-1 and TX-2, and medium format 6x17cm cameras like the the Fuji GX617, Linhof Technorama 617, and other, less famous (and less expensive) panoramic cameras, but couldn’t ever see needing that format, especially for the price.

But at $75, I couldn’t really resist the Sprocket Rocket.

Now, comparing the Sprocket Rocket, another hunk of plastic from Lomography, with precision engineered marvels like the Fuji cameras that I’ve never used may sound silly, but bear with me…

A 90mm lens on a 617 format camera produces negatives that cover about a 90° area of view. The 30mm lens for the Hasselblads and Fujis  cover 94°. But the Sprocket Rocket gives 103° of coverage, and produces negatives 8mm wider (and 10mm taller) than the fancy ‘blads and Fujis.

Sure, it’s all plastic and only has one shutter speed (or two, if you count Bulb) and 2 rather limited apertures, but still.

#gallery-0-19 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-19 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-19 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-19 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Speaking of apertures, Lomography claims the cloudy setting is f/10.8 and the sunny setting is f/16, but virtually eveyone (including Kim, above) claims the camera is light hungry, and the User Manual is explicit. From the section titled “How to Achieve Correct Settings:”

These settings have been designed for using 400 ISO film speed.

Also, under “Trouble Shooting:”

Q: I only got a few images on my roll, and most of them are very dark. A: Most probably you have been underexposing your images or even using slow speed 100 ISO film. Try out a 800 ISO film which is more light sensitive and be sure to use the B shutter in shade and indoor to get more light on the film. A flash will also brighten up any pictures (sic.), day or night!

Now, with a fixed shutter speed of 1/100th and an aperture of f/16, the Sunny 16 rule would indicate proper exposure with ISO 100 film. If you need 400 speed film in bright daylight, then the shutter speed must be faster than 1/100th, or the aperture smaller than f/16, or I don’t understand the Sunny 16 rule.

Jamie Zucek ran some tests on Provia 400: Sprocket Rocket vs. Nikon F100 with 20mm lens. He guessed the apertures to be more like f/16 and f/22.

Not wanting to “waste” any film, I threw caution (and manufacturer suggestions) to the wind and bulk loaded a couple of rolls of Konica Pro 160. I figured late June in North Texas would give plenty of bright, sunny days, and even f/22 at 1/100th should be decent enough on ISO 160 film.

And I was right, mostly.

I started out shooting sprockets, as the camera was designed for. I shot in bulb mode a good bit, trying to err on the side of overexposure, rather than under, and it almost worked.

A selfy, handheld for 10 seconds on the Cloudy setting, turned out surprisingly well.

#gallery-0-20 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-20 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 100%; } #gallery-0-20 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-20 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

But, in general, the Sprocket Rocket really is surprisingly light hungry. Here, for example, are two shots, taken back to back about 1 in the after noon on a very bright day, the first on cloudy, the second on sunny. There are clouds visible, but the sun was out and almost directly overhead. It was bright out, and hot.

#gallery-0-21 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-21 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-21 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-21 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

You can see a bit of flare in the center of the frame. The sun was well out of frame, but still high above. I guess flare is to be expected from a plastic lens, but it’s a pleasant-enough flare, and only popped up in these two frames. (The wild colors in the cloudy shot probably came from bulk loading: the first frames on almost every bulk roll I load are fogged, I think because I’m rolling into old canisters, maybe they’re no longer light tight, or maybe the loading does something to the felt? No idea, but it happens on every roll: I lose about 10″ of film to red fog.)

Even with these, though, underexposure continued unabated… These two, for example, were shot in what I considered broad daylight on, but were somewhat underexposed. Sure, I was in shade, but the sun was blasting the scene. The first was shot about 2pm, and the sun wasn’t overhead, but hadn’t disappeared behind nearby skyscrapers yet; the second was later in the day, maybe 3:30 or 4, and partially blocked by my neighbor’s house, but why is the sky a stop or two under?

This one, shot under evening window light, was way underexposed at 2 seconds on the cloudy setting. I still like it, but it’s really a shame: my darling, adorable wife had some great henna tattoos on her darling, adorable hands for Eid, and I didn’t get this roll developed in time to realize how far off it was.

(The red line and creases in the above two came from some issues I had with humidity in the dark bag while loading: I think they add some interest that wouldn’t be there otherwise.

With a little massage after scanning, I did get some acceptable shots, all on the cloudy setting, if my notes can be believed. They’re still off, but closer.

#gallery-0-22 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-22 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-22 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-22 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

I was pleasantly surprised by the long exposure I took to finish off the roll on my drive into work one morning. I think this was handheld for about 15 seconds.

I really wish I could hold cameras steady in the car at 75mph… Alas.

After that first roll, I inserted the mask, and shot another roll sprocket-less. I won’t bore you with too many of the details, but I like the sprocket-less shots. Pure pano, with no distraction or hipster stuff. I like the extra height from the sprockets, though, and it might be worth trying some unperforated film, if I can find some in 400 speed.

I had some underexposure issues with these too, and learned my lesson about “slow” film in the Sprocket Rocket. (I shot a roll Labeauratoire [kromiəm] 500 at the 4th of July parade that came out a bit better, and God willing I’ll share some shots from that next week.)

So, the Sprocket Rocket.

For $75, it makes a great gateway to the world of Panoramic photography. The plastic lens is surprisingly sharp, for a plastic lens, and the camera is, indeed, cheap and cheerful. I had loads of fun with it, and look forward to putting many more rolls through it.

There is some bad to the camera, as fun as it is. It distorts horribly, but if you know how to work it, you can manage. I haven’t gotten there yet, but I can imagine ways to work with it. It’s imperative to keep the camera level, though, or to keep any horizontal or vertical lines near the middle of the frame.

In the same vein, vertical panoramas are really hard to pull off. They’re just too tall, and the distortion is, again, atrocious.

#gallery-0-24 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-24 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-24 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-24 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Portraits could be interesting, and I can imagine some interesting results with some slow, fine grained film (and high-powered, wide angle strobes). Maybe something like Robert Longo’s Men in the Cities series… I need to write that down.

And one last issue that I haven’t run into yet comes from the frame counter thing.

  On the left side, looking down from the top, between the rewind knob and the flash shoe, there are two circular depressions with little holes in. The one nearest the flash shoe displays the frame numbers; the one near the rewind knob shows a little white dot when you’ve wound far enough for a new frame. This dot is tiny and goes by really quickly, so you must pay close attention when winding.

But those are all just minor complaints: for what it is, primarily a means to shoot sprockets and super-wide angle panoramas, the Sprocket Rocket is great, and it’s cheap enough and as well built as a plastic camera can be. It’s also surprisingly fun and easy to use.

[yasr_multiset setid=2]

Overall, I give the Sprocket Rocket a solid 4

[yasr_overall_rating]

You can pick up brand new ones in a variety of fun colors for $90 direct from Lomography, or brave the wilds of eBay and the internets for used or grey market versions. Lomo was out of stock of the black one when I was shopping, but a nice Chinese firm shipped me one for $75, and if you’re patient, you can probably find one cheaper.

If you want to try out panoramic photography or shoot sprockets, there’s really not a better way, imo… There may be sharper or more optically well-corrected options, but none go as wide, as cheaply as the Sprocket Rocket.

Enter the Sprocket Rocket About two weeks ago, I came across this post on Twitter: pervadere #FunkyAF #SummerFilmParty pic.twitter.com/ye68ObcRRD — kim (@kimmiechem2) …

#Konica Pro 160 #Sprocket Rocket