#panels end up looking so cluttered it's hard to tell what's even happening really

[diseaseriddencube]

i keep going back to read sparklecare thinking i'll like it but i just...don't

maybe i'm silly but it feels very flat? I still have no real grasp on the characters or attachment to them, I have vague ideas of a few of their main traits but not much else. I'm aware the entire comic is basically vent art, it does just read like a child's fanfic though..not to be insulting to fanfiction, but it does have a certain style or writing or joking to it. I don't dislike it either, but the writing and characters just don't vibe with me, i don't have the words to adequately explain why though

#sparklecare #i love the idea of it all #this hyper saturated hospital themed comic #it was instantly something that interested me #i'm always a sucker for blood and gore under sparkles and neon #perhaps it's just the art style #the thick lines just aren't doing it justice sometimes #panels end up looking so cluttered it's hard to tell what's even happening really #i DO love the website though. the entire web design fucks hard #the design changing with the chapters is absolutely incredible #(though they REALLY need a 'skip to page' button. the volumes have over a hundred pages to individually skip) #i like how much effort they put into trigger warning for things #though...with this art style..it almost feels unnecessarily silly sometimes #like TW vomit and it's a single brush stroke drop of green on the floor #blood is just the most cartoony red blobs i feel like it wouldn't even scare a toddler #even i have trouble looking at needle scenes but i can easily lower the content warning because of the art style #it gives me the vibe of those tumblr bios with dnis and a giant list of mental illnesses from people who don't understand what a squick is #half the faq page feels like 'you can't do this because it makes me uncomfy uwu' #....this entire post is criticism but i'll keep coming back to read it anyways 😍😍

[whirligig-girl]

D'v: "Hahaa... we're holding hands again... I’m so sorry I wasn't watching where I was going and I was just reading up on--well what I was reading wasn’t important--I was..."

T'l: silent Vulcan noises and depraved illogical thoughts

some artist’s notes and fic snippets below the break:

Getting the pose right was a nightmare!

I drew Tendi and T’lyn on different layers with different colors because otherwise it’d be too confusing. The mess going on in their legs and hands especially. It was a challenge to find a relatively natural looking pose that allowed their hands to match up without hiding anything important. I found i could draw a four-segment stick-figure limb connecting their shoulders, and that helped me get their arms right. The legs were also a mess to figure out, but mostly just because they’re a confusing mess of limbs--they don’t have to intertwine nice.

Also, T’lyn is going to make me learn to draw hands right I swear to god. I could not half-ass the hands on this one.

narrative snipets break:

at that second panel, when Tendi realizes what's happened and gets embarassed, she immediately like, tries to let go and raise her hands respectfully......... but t'lyn just... doesn't let go. for a moment.

Ray Daly’s contribution. (Actually Ray contributed to feedback while I was drawing it, but...)

Mariner: it couldn't have been that bad, tendi Tendi, still flustered: not that bad?? Not that bad?!? would it be fine if you tripped and Bradward’s D--?! Mariner: eekaaay! you've made your point!!

Earlier version when I thought I was finished:

It’s good to go the extra mile on your art. I think this plainer version would still have been fine, but since I went so far as to actually draw the background for a change, adding the dropped/thrown clutter (PADDs and Tricorder) helped a lot.

T’lyn and Tendi’s mess of legs was hard to differentiate (though adding the shading helps). I made Tendi’s pants slightly darker, though with the shading you can barely tell. I also gave them different boot colors. The original idea was that pure science officers have black and blue boots and medical officers have white and blue boots. We can see that in a few places in season 1. But it seems like they eventually abandoned that concept and just give all science officers white and blue boots. T’lyn is not a medical officer, so obviously she gets black boots. Technically since Tendi is in Senior Science Officer training instead of Medical, she should have black boots, but I gave her white boots so you could tell them apart more easily.

I wasn’t even going to add the facial expressions. I drew this to figure out which one I wanted to use:

Then I put it in the drawing.

But I just kept looking at the sketch and thinking “both are good. Both are good!”

So I made it two panels. Because of how the layers were set up this was easier said than done. But I managed it just fine in the end. I really like how she’s backlit by the ceiling lights in the inset panels. Some kind of like, contrast between the angelic goddess looking down at you and the reality that she’s an emotional mess who wears her emotions on her sleeve.

It was also really important to add the inset panels because I don’t want to give the impression that either Tendi is doing this on purpose nor any orion fem dom stereotypes. It’s way funnier and cuter if she just keeps accidentally finding herself in these scenarios, worried that T’lyn’s resentment for her is growing because SHE KEEPS AVOIDING ME OUTSIDE OF STUDY SESSIONS! AND WHEN WE MAKE EYE CONTACT SHE LOOKS AWAY! I FUCKED UP! but actually T’lyn is just struggling to control her mad nasty thoughts about just what she’d like to do to Tendi (she’d like to hold her hands some more)

Adding the inset panels lets me make sure Tendi’s character is adequately captured so she’s not just A Thing Happening To T’lyn.

The dropped PADDs and Tricorder make the scene seem more diagetic, and just more real/plausible. They’re busy looking at their PADDs and not looking where they’re going, see? The one that’s face down is T’lyn’s, the two face up are Tendi’s. The PADD screens are cropped screenshots from the show that have been edited and then skewed/rotated/rescaled into place

The first PADD is Tendi doing research on Vulcan touch telepathy (after being told by someone else what the significance of handholding is to Vulcans), the second one is actually breaking the fourth wall and addressing the viewer directly.

one of the last touches I added was to erase the line-art around her pupils, so the pupils would look smaller (aids to the feeling of shock) and add a nostril (Dunno why--I never draw nostrils on Lower Decks characters, but it just seemed correct in this case) and a little wrinkle on her eye. All this was added because, when I drew Tendi’s face, it felt more detailed than T’lyn’s for some reason (freckles I think?) and I felt I had to make them match.

T’lyn’s face here was fun and took a while to get right. She (and all Vulcans in Lower Decks) are usually half-lidded, but we see T’lyn’s kinda shock when Tendi grabs her hand in the One Canon T’lyndi Scene We Have At Least Until Next Year--even then she looks attentive, not necessarily shocked.

I just think it’s kind of cool that they both have non-red blood and colorful blush.

#T'lyndi #Tendi #T'lyn #if you like you should reblog; likes do nothing on tumblr #wlw #femslash #D'vana Tendi / T'lyn #D'vana Tendi x T'lyn #Star Trek #Star Trek Lower Decks #Lower Decks #premarital hand holding #Orion #Vulcan #LWD #LOW #LDS

[rattlerinthewheel]

Fight Like Siblings: Scud/Reader

You fight like siblings. That’s where anything "familial" ends.

For the Season of Kink bingo square: wall sex, at @phoenixblack89’s request along with a gender neutral reader (well, female, but I couldn’t manage so we settled on gender neutral). Sorry for the delay! Got a migraine towards the end of the night and wanted to do one last proofread this morning.

Title is a wink to Eric and his "sister" Nora from True Blood, when he says they fight like siblings but fuck like champions. No incest here, though.

- - -

The van’s cluttered. Weapons, junk, junk food out in the open or stuffed away under ratty blankets. There’s hardly a place for you to be without something clanging off your hip or crinkling under your foot. It’s unavoidable, because not only is the van trashed, but it’s dark. A bank of TVs is your only light source, some of them switched off, the rest displaying grainy feed that just barely gives you the shapes of the other familiar against the opposite wall.

You slump against the back wall, eyeing the doors the familiar slammed shut after you leapt in. You don’t hear anything, and the feed’s utterly boring, so you relax by a fraction—and stiffen when you feel something with give to it sag under the hand you put down. Soft, sticky, and it flakes off onto your palm when you snatch your hand back.

It’s a goddamn donut.

"Could’ve left you out there, you know," Frohmeyer—Damaskinos is too formal to call him Josh, or Scud, which you don’t blame; it’s fucking stupid—says from where he’s a lump on the floor, seeing your look. Content with the rest of the trash.

"Couldn’t kill you to clean up," you scoff, tossing the donut at him. It’s childish, but so’s the cartoon he’s got playing on one of the TVs. "Damaskinos would be disgusted."

"Damaskinos ain’t here," Frohmeyer scoffs.

He fishes out a cigarette, and the orange spark of the lighter that materializes like some magic trick hurts your eyes. Nicotine burns your sinuses, but at least it isn’t the earthy weed you get a whiff of, seeped into the blankets.

"’Sides, keep your voice down," he snaps, clapping the Zippo shut and tossing it into the middle of the van. You guess that’s what he does with most of the junk scattered around when he’s done with it. "Damaskinos wouldn’t be too thrilled if you gave us away."

"Oh, so now you’re worried about it?"

You fall into bickering. Fighting like siblings, some of the familiars do. Part of it’s the need to get out of familiar status alive—well, turned. Prove to the one you’ve given yourself over to that you’re worth it, carrying their name, representing them.

Part of it’s that the only thing that bonds you is that you are familiars, otherwise you’d likely never interact with one another a day in your lives.

With Frohmeyer, you’d be sure of that.

"You should smile more," pulls you out of scowling at the donut where it landed against his leg.

You’d finally fallen quiet, too—but it’s just like Frohmeyer to ruin things. "You should get drained."

"Aw," he hums, and another cloud of smoke burns your nose, "the baby jealous Big Brother got the job instead? Had to hold Nyssa’s hand after I did all the work?"

You’re livid, and you make that clear by your lack of response. You’ve only been sent in after Frohmeyer’s done the hard task of getting in the daywalker’s good graces. You know why, that logically, Frohmeyer was the better choice to lure those two females at that campsite—and by default, the daywalker, once they started tearing into him.

But it still stings. And by the smokey grin that leers at you, Frohmeyer knows it still does, too.

"Fuck off," is what you settle on, pushing to your feet and not caring when you kick his ankle by accident.

"Fuck off yourself," gets scoffed up from below, with another thick cloud of smoke. You expect that.

But you don’t expect the foot he lashes out, that hooks your instep and sends you stumbling. "Asshole!" would probably draw a reaper or two, if there were any shown skulking around in the feeds; but there aren’t, so you let it bellow, and because he just grins at that you can’t do anything but lunge at him.

It isn’t fair. Tinkering and building—he calls it art; you call it clutter to stub your foot on—has given him strength, from having to clamber and lift his bigger projects. You don’t have any hobbies that give you an edge, so it’s you that ends up against the van’s wall, thumped into it, with his hands bracing yours in the curve where wall and ceiling bend.

It’s not fair, either, that he isn’t even bad-looking. That would make hating him easier.

At least it does so for the fucking.

His bangs are greasy, unwashed, but you like the way they both hide and make his eyes pop. A blue that’ll be downright deadly, once he’s turned. That’ll go bleach-blue, once he’s drank his fill, silver in the worst of blackness. Cheekbones that cut, soft-looking arms that bunch with hidden steel when you try to wrangle yourself free. It’ll cut harsher, harden to bedrock when he’s earned his place.

Maybe there’s something in that nicotine that isn’t, after all. The cigs did look home-rolled.

You’re too busy taking in his tongue to ask.

You feel his laugh buzz around your teeth as you cringe back, at first; he was halfway through puffing out another damn cloud, and it dries out your throat and chalks your tongue.

You get back at him by kissing deeper, biting into his bottom lip where the tattoo is. He has a penchant for rubbing the spot on the outside, you’ve noticed, the nerves scrambled from the overeager vampire that inked it. Yours doesn’t bother you—the meat of it’s raised, but that’s all—but he bites down on yours in retaliation. But the growl he follows it with is light and playful.

"Quit fucking around," you huff.

His grin’s wide and flashes teeth that aren’t sharp. They will be, one day, you can practically see the fangs he’ll get wink down with it. "Get right to it, then? Sure, baby."

"Don’t," you warn, even as he lets your hands go so you can paw at the front of his pants. Baby is too often used when he’s dangling the fact that he’s older (and was found and picked first) over your head. You can’t associate it with anything but the fact that you’re not-really-siblings.

You don’t need some incest angle forced into this. Jesus, no.

He lets it go, not because he’s being nice. You pulling him out is distracting—one of the guaranteed ways you’ve figured out, over the years, that will shut him up.

It doesn’t quiet him entirely. He pants against your cheek where he leans his head against yours, curling his fingers in your hair to keep them busy—they always need to be doing something—and his sharp inhales shake back out thready. He moans when you start stroking him, at a slow and even pace because this is the only peace you’ll get from him anytime soon. You want to take advantage of that. Even if his weight pressing on yours slowly drags you down, until you both kneel on the floor with the junk and trash.

You hiss at the burn in your legs as the hands that are plucking at a knot in your hair drop to your shoulders and bend you back, pinning you back. But the noise gets swallowed as he kisses you again, his hard-on pressing into your stomach.

You get a hand back on his cock, the other pushing his hip out so you can get to it.

"Just think how good this’ll be, when we don’t need air," he hums, panting.

You roll your eyes, but you help him get your jeans down, and he turns you to the van’s wall to get things going.

And it’s going well, his rhythm eager and greedy, your meeting thrusts keeping up, until the van shudders as something heavy drops on its roof.

Your swear gets muffled by the hand that clamps over it. You’re too frozen to bite it like you want to, and you don’t get the chance when you get your wits back because it’s off your mouth just as fast. He’s out of you, with it, and you can’t help but ache at the abrupt end even as he points to one of the TVs and you get your jeans up.

On top of the roof, a reaper’s crouched, scenting—and down the street, from another angle, you watch more lope towards the van.

"Shit," he hisses, fumbling with the panel under the TVs and you get ahold of his gun. You’re already pointing it towards the doors, waiting, as you hear a shriek too awful to even be vampire. Normal vampire.

"Get your pants up," you tell him distantly. If you have to make a run for it, you aren’t risking your own neck to help him up if he trips over himself.

He does, and you shove his gun at him while you grab yours, when a quick glance to the feeds show you aren’t going to be overrun in the second you’re defenseless. But it’ll happen, soon enough; the reaper overhead snarls and the blow it aims lags after the dent and crunch that bursts down, mangling the roof. It’s some kind of rallying or hunting cry, because the reapers in the street begin to sprint.

"Ready?" He’s got a thumb on one of the panel’s switches, ready to flick. "UV’ll smoke most of ‘em, ‘cept the dipshit on the roof."

It’ll try to get in any way it can. You get what his nod to the door means: control where it gets in, so you aren’t surprised.

"Do it."

He does, and when what’s left of the pack is still flaking and sizzling, you put more than enough rounds in the remaining repeal. Just to be safe, one of the UV lights are angled it’s way, where it’s already wilting and curling like a dead spider.

Then it’s gone, too.

It’s a mood killer, but once you’re back in the van and he’s done radioing the team to let them know what’s been dealt with, you get into light petting easily enough.

#blade 2 #scud #scud x reader #gender neutral reader #human reader #season of kink #prompt request

[popculturebuffet]

Ducktales Final Four!: The Lost Cargo of Kit Cloudkicker!

Hello You Happy People. SPIN IT! OHOHOHOHOHOHO LETS’ BEGIN IT!

After 10,000 years we’re finally at the motherducking Talespin episode! And only 8000 of those years were the last 14 months as Ducktales 2017 has been working toward this for a while with Cape Suzette being prominently mentioned in both the first episode and the season 1 finale, and Don Karnage being a regular part of the rouges gallery, voiced by the wonderous Jamie Camil. So this episode was less a matter of “If”, since Don’s presence meant Disney wasn’t really against it happening, and more a matter of “When and How.” The how, to a point was settled at the big NYCC panel for Ducktales that revealed Daisy and Goofy... as it also revealed aged up versions of Kit and Molly, meaning a proper tailspin episode was on the way.  I could not have been more pumped. While I didn’t remember the cartoon well, i’d always loved Talespin since I was a kid and as an adult my curosity only grew. Still need to watch way more of it mind you, I really have slept on most of the Disney Plus Libarary and that’s dumb of me, but what i’ve seen is impressive. The story of an irresponsible bear forced to work with a buisnesswoman bear after she buys his seaplane, his loveable kid sidekick and said buisness bear’s daughter whose cute as a button but suprisingly tolerable for a little kid character. Opposing them were masterful buisnessman Shere Kahn, who sadly does not show up here and could be friend , foe or neutral depending on the episode, and Don Karnage, a kooky sky pirate who as mentioned is already in this series and was Balloo’s arch enemy. The series was colorful, creative, had a great premise and cast and in general was just awesome and out of the Disney Afternoon shows is honestly my faviorite, though Darkwing is getting close. I even recently finally got the Shere Kahn funko, which is starring into my soul as I type this review! Hurrah! 

So I waited impatiently like I did for Daisy and Goofy, both also things I’d wanted in the series since the start. Thing was.. Goofy showed up in the second episode of the season, that was part of the premiere, and while the wait for Daisy was agonizing, she still showed up pretty early into the season at episode five. Gosalyn showed up at episode 12. This is episode  20.  

I do get it: This season was built to be the last just in case.. and ended up being the last so good job there. There was a LOT to wrap up in one season and on top of that they had a double and TRIPLE length episode taking up 5 episodes of the season, AND two holiday episodes. So that gave them only 18 normal episodes they had to place very carefully. So likely, given that they had some episodes important to the finale that couldn’t wait for the last minute in “The First Adventure” and “The Battle for Castle McDuck!”, as I highly doubt pepper was given such  a build up to not be important in the finale, still think she’s webby’s mom, we’ll see soon enough. And New Gods on the Block, while not as important was probably not swapped with this one because they wanted a lighter episode after three plot important episodes in a row, two of which are fairly intense and had lasting consequences and one of which, while a bit of a breather, was still indulging in the new FOWL status quo. This one ended up crammed into the last block.. because they likely really wanted to do this one, wanted it to tie into FOWL... and had nowhere else to put it, with Life and Crimes likely serving as one last break from FOWL, if it doesn’t end up tying into it, before the finale movie. Doesn’t make waiting forever for it any less grating, but hey it’s finally here. So how was it? Was it worth the hype? And how do the Wuzzles factor into this? Join me under the cut and spin it with me to find out and count down to 3!

So we open with an adult Kid Cloudkicker at work, voiced by Adam Pally!

If you haven’t heard of him, and one of my Patreons had not, he was on Happy Endings and the Mindy Project, and has a very distinct voice and is very funny, so it was a pleasant surprise to have him pop up here as Kit and given aforementioned roles were messes in some way shape or form, especially Max from happy endings whose essentially Oscar the Grouch, just as gay only not living in a trash can. Though if he had to he would. 

Since he was a kid KIt’s picked up the old family business, and is now running hire for hire.. and has also picked up his Dad’s old enemies as Don Karnage chases after Kit, his second greatest nemesis, who freely mocks him. It’s a lovely sequence but shows Kit isn’t the best pilot, and his fancy flying, while beating Don, also opens both crates, freeing the livestock he’s carrying.. and the other cargo, a mysterious stone that was in a F.O.W.L. crate that merges the chicken with  a goat, and scares kit, and he ends up causing his cargo to drop out of the plane.  Cue titles. 

Back with our heroes for this series, Della is recroding Dewey as he flies solo the first time!

That is so precious. Huey is along for the ride and is taking having his reckless brother with the attention span of a coked up ferret at the helm exactly how you’d expect. 

Of course his helmet says safety boy and of course he has a helmet on over his hat. Awww. Dewey, while good at it, he’s a 12 year old flying a rather sizeable plane with no difficulty that’s  pretty impressive.. he’s also Dewey so just flying a plane normally isn’t enough and he wants to Dewey it instead and do all the fancy stuff. He wants to be special as is usual for him, not realizing this is how you get to being good as his mom or Launchpad. And he’s 12 so that makes sense just on the basic level.. but it also makes sense on a comparison level: Dewey’s done a LOT of impressive stuff over the course of the series: rattling it off because why not, and this is just things he acomplished himself: he found the Lost Jewel of Atlantis (Getting it home was still a team effort but he is the one who identified it), is a golf pro better than his uncle whose played the game for centuries at this point,   defeated Don Karnage in a sword fight with little to no sword training, was crucial in beating Magica during the Shadow War, travled through time, by accident or not, consulted on a major motion picture, defeated a Gandra, even if she was going easy on him, BLIND, and biggest of all defeated the World Serpent Jormunngandr, by himself, a GOD that’s fought Scrooge evenly for decades. AND FINISHED HIM WITH A PILEDRIVER. To reitirate this was ONLY the stuff he did himself. So I get why he’d think just flying a plane when his mom and best friend have done so much more with it is boring and that being a pilot when two people he looks up to are already one is just.. boring. I’ts not special or unique and given his family name is built on the two, I can see why he’d chafe under this. 

Della for her part isn’t doing things wrong entirely, she wants him to start with the basics, the fact he can DO those basics at such a young age with minimal training shows he has a true knack for it, and it takes experince to pull off death defying stunts. The First Adventure backs this up as while Della was so talented as a kid she could land a plane herself.. that was all she did. And it’s still incredibly impressive a ten year old landed a seaplane with no real world training or hours in a full on flight simulator. The issue that’s never really adressed is while she’s mostly doing it right she dosen’t get that despite his talent, Dewey just dosen’t find this INTRESTING or get how impressive he is, and that dressing it up a bit migh’tve helped. It’s an understandable mistake though, teaching someone something in any context is hard. It’s one of many, MANY reasons like currently horribly hazzarodus conditions, long hours, having to buy their own suplies at times, that teachers are badly underpayed. 

Before we get into why their headed to Cape Suzette at long last, there is one notiacble absence in this episode I can’t really ignore: Launchpad. While he has been absent in every episode since Let’s Get Dangerous, not counting “How Santa Stole Christmas!” as the two holiday episodes were made to fit in anywhere story wise and timeline and production wise take place before the rest of Season 3 , which takes place during Spring given both the March note on Boyd and Huey’s photos in Astro BOYD, and Forbidden Fountain taking place during spring break. At most it’s currently running into Summer. I put too much thought into this with someone i’ve lost contact with. 

My point, I had one trust me, is that Launchpad has just been gone for the second half of the season . And up till now it wasn’t necesarily a bad thing: He was a major part of Let’s Get Dangerous and wasn’t really needed for any of the episodes so far: The Manor side of things in ImpossiBin was purposfully intense and while he would’ve had some thoughts on Beakly’s actions, it just worked better with him gone and the only other adult in the house at the moment busy doing other stuff for their protection till the climax. Split Sword was kid focused, New Gods didn’t really involve him at all, though I am sad he and Storkules never met as far as I can tell, The First Adventure was a flashback, Fight for CastleMcDuck was about the family unit more, and Beaks in the Shell is the only one so far I think he could’ve been included in at all and again shoving him in would’ve just cluttered things up. Like a lot of character ballance issues of the series, there’s a good enough reason.. this is just the one exception in the last batch I think would’ve been improved by having him. He’s Dewey’s best friend, he’s been there for him, he would’ve been a good counterpoint as a teacher and it could’ve been intersting having both he and della have constrasting styles but valuable things to teach and I would’ve loved to see him interact with Kit. It also just feels really weird to be down a pilot in the episode about the franchise about a pilot. \

The fact Dewey ends up crashing while landing after Huey applauds him on his safe normal landing, which ticks him off because he dosen’t want to be normal, hammers in it in a bit as he missed his buddy’s first crash. I get leaving him out as Kit is just as irresponsible and the episodes just as much about Kit if not more so as it is about Dewey, so I understand it but it dosne’t make it feel like any less of a lost opportunity. 

As for why their in the cape at last, it’s unsuprsingly another missing mystery, the stone of what is which can combine two things, the stone seen in the intro. Kit loosing it turns out to be a good thing as it meant FOWL didn’t get it, and they can find it, and are in town to find him. They pass the hire for hire offices which have a ton of notices on the door, and Dewey is entranced by the idea of cloud kicking, aka sky surfing, aka that thing kit did in the original. We also get to see updated versions of Baloo, Kit and Molly. Sadly no Rebecca. Can’t win em all. 

Our trio find Kit whose asleep, clearly having no customers and trying to pass it off like he does. It turns out he knows Della, as they went to flight school together, though she only vaugely remembers him at best. She does remember Molly though, wouldn’t be suprised if that’s another ex of hers either, and wonders what happen to her.. and not just because htere’s always room in Della’s harem.  Kit dodges.. and it’s likely in large part because it’s clear to anyone looking despite his statments he’s kinda stalled as an adult. It’s very clear from his surroudings, him being a pilot for hire, and him eagerly taking Dewey on as a sidekick when Dewey shows intresting in Cloud Kicking, that he’s trying to be Baloo. This idea was, according to Frank, the brainchild of the episode’s director, and one of it’s writers and storyboarders, Tanner Johnson. Tanner pitched “What if Kit never outgrew his Baloo fanboying?”. 

It’s an intresting idea: while it is sad we don’t get to see the old boy at any point and I do wonder where he is now and what he’s up to in his retirment, probably just flying about free as a bird would be my guess given how he never liked working to begin with, I applaud them for doing something unique with the Tailspin cast that fits into the themes of the season rather than just have them show up. By making it Kit instead of Baloo cargoing them, it gives us more of an arc to work with character wise as Kit has become so obessed with becoming his dad, he never stopped to consider if he was even good at it or enjoyed it.

  Using Della is part of what makes this work as she too grew up with a larger than life mentor and adopted dad.. but unlike Kit, she grew up a bit and saw the flaws in her dad. His greed, his selfishness, his tendency to hog the glory, his ego.. she stopped putting him on a pedestal. She still loves him, still wants his respect and admiration to this day, but she gets he’s not perfect and not who she wants to be.  Kit clearly never got this message. He never grew out of putting Baloo on a pedsteal and wanting ot literally be him instead of his own man. So he ignored the many flaws in how Baloo lived: Baloo started Talespin having lost his plane because he was so obessed with freedom and doing what he wanted, he didn’t bother actually paying on it and chafed under actually doing work half the time. He’s talented, fun to be around and a hell of pilot bar none, he honestly outclasses Della, but he was entirely irresponsible. Kit’s found himself in the same position Baloo was in: living alone, having not a lot going on, and on the verge of loosing his plane. Not only that he’s worse off because Baloo at least, while lazy, had enough talent. Kit.. isn’t a good pilot as we’ve seen and will see again, and clearly not only dosen’t have a knack for it, but is only doing it because Baloo did. He’s so obsessed with being who he THINKS baloo would want him to be, he never stopped to think that the actual Baloo would just want him to be happy and has probably told him this, or was probably too proud of what Kit was doing to realize what he was doing to his life. 

But Della dosen’t have time to get him a therapist, they need to find that stone before FOWL, and Kit offers to take them.. if they hire him. Della scoffs at this and insults the Sea Duck

Yeah Della your fantastic.. but you do NOT insult the Sea Duck and your very, VERY lucky it’s not Baloo you were dealing with as he would’ve turned you down out of principal. The Sea Duck is fucking awesome, and a national treasure. Thankfully Kit instead points out the Sunchaser isn’t in a better place after Dewey Dewed what he dew, so they really don’t have a choice. 

Della does draw the line at letting Kit fly as she eventually realizes he’s not good at this, mostly letting Crowby his crowbar do all the work, and finds he has a map to where he dropped the stone, so he dosen’t even have that leg to stand on and throws him out of his own cockpit before he gets them all killed. Okay that time on her side. Kit takes this time to try and train Dewey on cloudkicking... but despite being encaustic at the idea of it the reality leaves Dewford scared shitless.. and doubles up on bad things as Don Karnage and his crew are closing in on the island. FOWL hired them to get it for them, though why FOWL didn’t do so themselves I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong i’m happy to have Jamie back and it really wouldn’t feel right ot have a Tailspin ep without Don Karnage, I just find it odd Bradford would hire outside contractors for this given he has a full staff and not at least send Heron or Steelbeak along to supervise.  Regardless, Don puts pleasure before buisness spotting Kit.. and fully commits after finding out Dewey is ALSO involved. I also find it hilarous DEWEY outranks Kit on Don Karnage’s enemy list. So naturally he goes after him, int he personal plane he used in the series which also showed up in the cold open, and with Dewey not having the skill to take Don on, Kit is forced ot step in. He also calls him “Little briches” which while another sign of how much he wants to be his own dad.. is still too awesome not to apricate. Don cuts the line but thanks to Kit’s fancy footwork, they make it out alive and wash up on an island. Della soon joins them, thanks kit for saving her kid then rightfully slaps him for putting him in danger in the first place. Dewey also has to stop her from punching him when he explains he had no idea the stone ended up on this island, which granted she is justified in but Dewey , of all people, rightly saw this means they don’t have to drag a  unconcious bear around who probably hasn’t showered in a while. I mean the smell will be there either way but there’s less chance of accidnetlly inhaling too much while he’s conconcious. They also find out what the Stone’s been doing: combining the wildlife leading to rhino monkey hybrid trying to murder them. So at the last minute Frank also squeezed in another disney aftenroon show but one tha’ts not streaming and most don’t care about: the wuzzles, a bunch of hybrids of various animals... Frank couldn’t do much with that as is and just decided to rightfully play it for horror. 

Our heroes find Don, whose found the stone.. and is simply throwing most of hi crew  at it rather than doing anything productive, with them turning into just.. utterly horrifying combinations. Hands for heads and everything, bug legs, a non-anthro parrot head. it’s pretty tough to watch and I question why the episode did this as Don’s crew did not deserve this and this episode is mostly lightearted before and after this. A tailspin tribute episode episode should not pair well with the song no spill blood.. seroiusly you paid for all I do is win, and rightfully but you couldn’t get this?

Regardless the kids and manchild are told to stay put while the slightly more functional womanchild takes care of Don. Dewey and Kit naturally don’t, which is fair: what did della expect, the sugared up rabbit in a small duck’s body and the incompitent but charming manchild she’s insulted repedadtly to listen? Naturally they both beef it as Dewey can’t board and while Kit does get Don’s plane, he ends up crashing it instead of doing anything productive. I mean even Launchpad would’ve at least got back to the seaduck.. he would’ve crashed into it but still. Look when you make Launchpad look compietnet you really need to rethink your life.  Della has bigger problems though as it turns out the thing they were on.. was a coocoon.. for a butterbear. Oh no. Thankfully this goes better than you’d expect as she’s able to ride the thing and it tangles up some rope, taking the stone of what was with it and Don takes off after it with what pirates he has left. 

Our remaining heros return to the Sea Duck. Dewey and Kit plan to do the same thing again and expect diffrent results but Huey.. has some words for them. 

He’s fed up with this and points out they need to swap jobs. Dewey CAN fly, and Kit really is good at cloudkicking, it’s in the name, and he needs to return to it. While Dewey balks again stating anyone can be a pilot.. Kit finally admits that’s not true and he’s just not good at it and Huey finally snaps them out o fthier neurosis, Kit a bit late but better late than never given the state of his life, and points out the episode’s aseop: YOU make something special just by doing what you like to do and are good at well. I’ts been hard making these reviews, but I feel i’m getting the hang at it and it’s what I was meant to do, I just had to find it. It’s not always easy to find your calling but when you got it, go for it instead of some version of you you think you should be.  So we get pured distilled awesome for the climax. Besides Della again riding a bear that’s also a butterfly, Kit, also a bear I did not miss that gag, proceeds to finally spin it and begin again it as he tears through them with Crowby and easily deispatches the planes finally earning Della’s respect and finally back in his element, using his newfound size and strength combined with his still inherent acrobatics to easily take them out and land on Carnage’s plane and beat him. 

So the day is saved: The stone lands on the plane and our heroes properly secure it. Della releases her bear fly but it’ll find it’s way home i’m sure... so majestic. Or it’ll eat all the world’s seagulls. Good news either way. 

Back at the bay Kit packs up the stone safetly and gives them the bill. Which Della grumbles at but whiel he didn’t fly he did save their asses.. after endagenring them but still and does have a buisness to run. Plus he has to save his plane. 

But it turns out someone’s already bought it. And you can probably guess who. 

No not you sweetie.. though he is an investor for the person who DID buy it: Molly, whose taken being danger woman from a 4 year old’s play time to her career running an air stunt show. This is the other thing that cemented the whole aged up versions of these guys working for me: HIstory Repeating itself. Once again an enterprising young woman with a lot of ideas has bought the seaduck from it’s incompitent owner and hires the former owner to work for her.  But things are warmer this time: Kit wasn’t happy doing what he was doing, and it’s clear unlike Rebecca, who just bought the first plane she could get and hired baloo because he was who she could afford, they became friends with time and patience if not more but that’s still vauge... Molly did this out of love. She knew Kit was struggling and probably has as many fond memories of the sea duck and baloo as he does and didn’t want someone else to get the old girl. Her air show seems to be going fine, she apparently has a full crew, fans and enough money to purchase another plane on a whim from the bank to expand the show.. she wanted her old plane back and her old brother back. And wheras again Rebecca offered Baloo the job because he wanted to keep his baby safe from some half assed pilot she could afford and she knew it and thus could manipulate him with that. Plus he worked cheap so there. Here Molly just admires her brothers skills and hires them on it and he’s frankly more comfortable being a sidekick than the main star anyway. 

He TRIES to brush it off but gladly accepts. God another possible spinoff.. please make this Disney.. and if not at least Reboot tailspin I miss it. Still it’s a very satisfying ending. But what of Don Karnage? Well he’s lost everything as a result of this, unable to get back to his carrier, his crew mostly gone, and FOWL sure to be gunning for him. This is seemingly the end for him.. until he finds a chunk of the stone. “Or the start of an encore”. Wether this was a setup for a possible part of season 4, a possible spinoff or is going to come back in the finale.. we’re just going to have to wait and see won’t we?

Final Thoughts: I really liked this one. It’s not the best of the season: Kit’s arc is kinda telegraphed and Dewey’s arc while intresting isn’t focused on enough to really be that engaging. But the ideas at the core are solid and fit into the series well, the idea to age up our kid heroes from Talespin was really clever and paid off and as usual Adam Pally is a delight and as I said at the top was pitch perfect casting. Couldn’t figure out who played molly and the credits cut out on me, so let mek now if you do but yeah I enjoyed this one> It wasn’t the series at it’s best but given the last two are liable to get pretty intense it was a nice breezy break. And it got me wanting to watch Talespin again and there’s nothing bad about that. 

NEXT WEEK: In our penultimate adventure, Ducktales reinacts that one episode of Batman the Animated Series where all of Batman’s foes put him on Trial, as Scrooge’s Rogues put him on trial with Doofus as prosecuter and Louie for the defense. Well at least it’s not Lionel Hutz. 

This Week: Lots of Ducks! The lena retrospective continues as we take a detour for some comix, and we begin the Della arc as we go back to the start. It’s finally time to talk about Woo-Ooo!. 

If any of this sounds appealing follow my blog for more. If you like these reviews head over to my patreon, patreon.com/popculturebuffet, and become a patreon. At the 5 dollar level you get a review a month and even a dollar helps get to my stretch goals. I’m up to 15 a month so 20 is next and that means a darkwing duck review every month! And if you really like Talespin like I do, 25 nets you a tailspin review a month and a review of the pilot. Ohohohohohohoo. See you at the next rainbow. 

#ducktales #talespin #the lost cargo of kit cloudkicker #della duck #dewey duck #kit cloudkicker #molly cunningham #danger woman #huey duck #don karnage #disney channel #the disney afternoon

[booklover41802]

Ok can I ask for another Jurdan prompt it’s post Wicked king it’s been several months since Jude was banished and she’s physically healthy again. Vivi decides Jude needs a girls night and forces her into a sexy revealing outfit, Jude gets drugged while Vivi’s distracted but Cardan rescues her before she gets hurt. And it has a happy ending. I love your angst but I want to see your Jurdan happy ending.

Of course! This was really fun to write, and to explore Cardan’s soft side :)

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Jude

Sitting on the couch in Vivi’s apartment made Jude wonder why mortals ever bothered to do anything. A fish stick dangled out of her mouth, while she swung her legs over the side of the plain colored couch, contemplating life. Her mind had withered and decayed while in the mortal world, wit and strategy a non-essential thing.

She shoved the fish stick in her mouth, swinging her legs and forth, her head resting against the cushions. As she took a bite, Vivi bounced in from the kitchen, a wild glint in her golden eyes, her hands hidden behind her back. When she stopped in front of Jude, Vivi’s lips downturned at the sight of Jude with a fish stick in her mouth. “You’ll choke if you swallow that bite sitting down.”

“I am perfectly content to lie like this while I finish this decadent meal,” Jude said around the food in her mouth. She swallowed, trying to prove her point, but ended up choking. She coughed, ejecting the fish stick from her mouth. Studiously avoiding Vivi’s gaze, Jude discreetly cleared her throat.

“I told you that was going to happen, Jude.”

Jude waved her off and sat up. “Mistakes are the only decisions I seem to be making these days. What’s one more? I have expectations to fulfill, I can’t disappoint myself by doing something good.”

Vivi’s ears twitched as a wicked grin curved her lips, showing off her unnaturally white teeth. “I think I have a solution to your depressing outlook on life.” From behind her back, she pulled out a lacy red body-suit, a black leather mini skirt, and dangerously high black heels. She threw them at Jude. “Put these on, we’re out to a club.”

Jude abandoned the half-eaten fish stick on the table and wrinkled her nose at the clothing. Carefully picking up the body-suit like it was a bomb, she looked at it, then Vivi, and back to the outfit. “You want me to… wear this?”

A mysterious light filled her eyes at Jude’s words. “Of course. How else will you find someone if you wear the clothes you have on,” Vivi motioned to Jude’s wrinkled pajamas. “I have your best interests at heart! It’s time to have some fun, Jude. Cardan is not coming for you.”

Jude winced at her words, knowing she was right, but a small bit of hope was still wrapped tightly around her heart. Of course, Cardan wouldn’t pardon her, but what if he did? What if he still loved her as fiercely as she loved him? What if what if what if. “Only time will tell.”

Taking a deep breath, Vivi took a seat beside her, readying her emotions for the heartbreak she was about to give Jude. “It’s been three months, Jude. You’ve heard nothing from Faerie, and I doubt you ever will. The Fae are not a loving folk. Love is rare to find, especially with a King. Cardan may have loved you at one time, but at this point, it’s better to let go than to hang onto something that will never happen. Cardan is my friend, but you’re my sister-”

Jude raised a hand to stop her from continuing, knowing she was right. The hope that Cardan would show up on their doorstep deflated, but didn’t truly go away. There was one thing that kept it alive. One tiny little detail that Vivi was unaware of. “But what if-”

“Jude-”

“Whatever, I’ll just put it on,” Jude said, trying to hold back tears. Why now? Why had the grief hit her months after being away? Was it the realization that she had something to fight for? That she wasn’t just something that Cardan could throw away, that she was the Queen?

She rose from the couch, outfit in hand, and stalked away to her bedroom to put it on. As she strode towards her room, she angrily wiped away tears, hating Cardan for making her feel this way. 

Jude softly shut the door, bracing her hands against the frame, wondering just what she was getting herself into. Her head fell to her chest as she counted her breaths, trying, and failing to calm herself. One breath in, one breath out. 

When she had calmed herself enough, she padded over to the mirror up against the wall. Her clothes fell to the floor with barely a sound. She studied herself in the mirror, noting how she had lost weight in her time spent away from Faerie, her gaunt cheekbones protruding ever so slightly. “What have I become,” Jude breathed. “Who have I turned into?” Perhaps it was time to stop clinging to the past as if her life depended on it.

Mind made up, Jude slid the silky lace bodysuit on, shimmied into the leather skirt, and shoved her feet into the ridiculous heels. As an extra precaution, she slipped the rowan berries over her head. When she gazed back into the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. After all, this wasn’t an outfit typically worn by the Queen of Faerie. It was perfect for a night like tonight. 

She strutted out the door with a flounce to her steps where Vivi waited beside the door. Vivi donned a steel gray dress with little ruffles at the bottom that clung to her figure in all the best possible ways. Around her neck was a single golden chain that held a circle with the letter H on it. Her wrists were cluttered with chunky bracelets, on her ears dangling all sorts of earrings. 

“Jude… you look incredible!” Vivi exclaimed, her hands coming up to cover her mouth in awe.

Jude frowned as she looked down at what she wore. “It’s different from what I’m used to. There’s no place to store a knife in this outfit with it clinging so tight to me.” As if to prove her point, she attempted to pull the fabric down a few inches.

Vivi’s brows furrowed together as she gently grasped her hands to stop her from pulling on it. “Stop yanking the skirt down, it’s supposed to be that short.”

Stretching out of Vivi’s reach, Jude headed for the door, wondering why she even agreed to go out. “Let’s just go before I lose my nerve.”

Behind her, Jude heard Vivi squeal. It was going to be a long night. The pair of them walked side by side out of the apartment, and down to the street below. The streetlights outside of the apartment cast their shadows across the sidewalk, elongating their figures in odd proportions.

Then there it was. The club loomed up like an omnipresent figure dangling at the back of one’s mind. Dark paneling paired with an emerald green overhang shadowed the entire block across from the apartment. High windows rested above the overhang, giving a glimpse into the action inside. Rainbow lighting swirled and twirled from within, music reverberating against the establishment. In golden script the club name was printed on the green fabric.

“The Ouroboros. How original,” Jude said, unimpressed.

Vivi pulled her into the line behind all of the other night owls who couldn’t avoid the enthralling pull of the club. “It’s a new club that just opened up last week. It’s the only place in the entire city where humans and Faeries can come together.”

“Do the humans know they’re among faeries?”

Vivi’s hands twitched as she looked away awkwardly. “Well, no, not exactly. The folk that come here are glamoured to appear as normal humans.” 

The line moved fast, and soon enough they were through the door with a flash of false IDs. The bouncer hardly spared them a glance, already motioning for the next set of people inside. They slipped past the velvet rope and into a whole other world.

All along the walls were scones cast with flickering blue light resembling flame, casting the club into a mysterious glow. Jude wouldn’t be surprised if it actually was, as the folk played many tricks upon the mortal eye. High above in the rafters flashing multicolored lights passed over the cluster of bodies dancing in the center of the club, illuminating their features. One glimpse of a tail, another of a wing, scaled skin, a shimmery dress, and sweaty limbs. 

 Vivi craned her neck, searching the crowd, “I think I see Heather, I’m going to talk to her!” She vanished into the throng of dancing people, leaving Jude alone.

“Thanks, Vivi,” She muttered to herself, casting her eyes around to see if she could find the bar. She spotted it at the very back, the bar made entirely of gold, glistening under the lights.

As she got closer, she noted the bartender possessed eyes like a snake. She wondered how many mortals were deceived by his glamour. His eyes snagged on her, and they narrowed in suspicion. She shifted her gaze to the other patrons sitting there, noticing nothing unusual about them.

She slid into an open seat to have just one drink. She needed it to get her mind off Cardan. Surely one wouldn’t hurt. “Give me your strongest drink,” she shouted over the blaring music thumping in her ears.

The bartender eyed her once and motioned for her ID to be inspected. He glanced at it, her, and back to the ID. He shrugged and poured a glass of a dark frothing liquid in a shot glass. Smoke poured over the sides, like little spiders of death. He slid the drink to her, and she downed it one gulp.

The liquid burned her throat, searing the inside of her mouth. She wouldn’t be surprised if this stuff started to pour out of her ears and eyes. Perhaps she was just a lightweight, but the drink hit her hard. Already her head felt as though it was filled with cotton, the music a dull roar in her ears.

A man in a dark, pinstripe suit with a hat pulled low over his face slid next to her. “Long night?”

Her drink was refilled and she once again downed it, not sparing the man a look. “You have no idea.”

“Allow me to make it better by paying for your drink. They call me Atlas, darling. Can I have your name?” He stuck out his hand over the drink he had ordered for her. A crimson-colored thing that resembled blood. 

She turned her head to gaze at the man next to her. The lights passed over his face for a brief second, lighting up the scar that fell over his left eye. With caution she took his hand, gently shaking it, feeling his cold grip seep into her own. “No, but you may call me Nicasia.” Whoever this Atlas person was, she did not trust him in the slightest.

The man, however, burst into loud, obnoxious laughter, banging his fist on the bar. “Now that is the funniest joke I’ve heard in quite some time, darling.” Atlas wiped false tears from his eyes and quickly sobered up, a smirk curving his lips. “Who are you really?”

She took a sip of the drink he had given her and immediately felt the world spin under the feet. “St-Stop calling me darling,” Jude slurred.

“Darling I think you need to lie down. Or, should I say, Jude.” His lips upturned as she stumbled off her chair in an attempt to get away from him. The man began to reach out for her, prepared to guide her to one of the open places scattered across the club.

As she was trying to get away from the bar, Jude backed into another man, the scent of wildflowers and wine tinging the air. She whirled around, nearly falling in her ridiculous shoes. The man steadied her with a light touch on her arms. Her vision was too blurry to make out his features, only detecting a faint resemblance in the back of her mind that she knew him. 

“What she needs is for me to take her home. And for you to stop calling her darling.” A voice said. The voice that haunted her dreams, nightmares, and waking moments. Cardan.

“And who are you?” Atlas sneered.

With a woozy head, she turned to gape at Cardan. How did he know where to find her?  

“Her husband,” Cardan’s black eyes burned as he glared at Atlas as if trying to singe him where he sat. “I believe my wife will be just fine under my care.”

Those words were enough for Atlas to disappear into the crowd. His figure was gone in an instant, leaving Jude and Cardan alone at the bar. 

Cardan reached out and laced his fingers with Jude’s. “Jude, I believe you’ve had enough for tonight. Come with me. You’ll be safe.” He began to tug her towards the exit to bring her where she could get the drinks out of her system.

As soon as she began to walk, Jude lifted her heavy head to look at Cardan, seeing double. Her head rocked back and forth of its own accord, behaving on its own axis apart from the rest of the world. “Jude?” Cardan moved closer, so they were mere inches apart. 

The club flickered in and out of focus, her attention torn between giving in to the blissful darkness, or to stay with Cardan. Distantly she could hear him shouting her name, begging her to hold on. Her name on his lips was a panicked scream torn from his lungs. “Stay with me! Jude!”

No longer could she clutch this awareness any longer, and before she knew what she was doing, she grasped hold of his lapels and pulled him close, drawing a breath, to whisper, “I love you, Cardan.” Then everything went dark. 

When she awoke some time later, she and Cardan were outside of the club sitting on a bench, with just the open expanse of sky stretching above them, and the luminescent stars winking at them. Cars passed by them, the drivers not sparing them a glance, unaware that royalty was in their midst. It was then that she noticed that she was lying on his lap. She became very aware of their proximity but didn’t deign to move as her head was still pounding from the drinks she had. “Wha-what happened.”

Cardan absentmindedly twirled a strand of her hair through his fingers like a nervous tick. Even just this brief bit of contact sent shivers running down her spine. “A man put something in your drink and had planned to take you somewhere far from the club. I heard him bragging about it before he sat next to you.” Cardan’s face darkened as he reminisced on the past. Jude proceeded to pull herself into a sitting position, her head swimming as she pulled her knees close to her chest. Cardan shifted awkwardly next to her as he adjusted without her weight. “Thank you for… saving me. I owe you.”

He cleared his throat and looked away, focusing on the apartment across the street. “The debt is forgiven.”

The silence stretched out between them, words falling short of what they both desired to express. Jude was the first to break it. “Why are you here, Cardan? You banished me. You humiliated me. Now you’re back like nothing has happened? As though we can go back to the way things were?” He opened his mouth, likely to spout an excuse. She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “No. Tell me the truth, no half-truths.”

He swallowed once, took a breath, and searched her face as if deciding how much to reveal. “I thought you would have gotten my letters by now. They explained it all and my guilt for what I had done. Every day I spend without you is a day with my head underwater. I am drowning without you. I miss you, is that what you wanted to hear? That you are the one person I cannot live without. I-I love you.”

Jude stared at him blankly. “What letters?”

A wicked grin curved his lips at her words. He reached out his hand and tilted her chin up so she was looking into his black eyes. “So you truly have no idea of what I’m talking about?” He cocked his head as he studied her. “Have I finally matched you in your wit and intelligence? I outwitted you, Queen of deceits and lies, admit it.”

She yanked out of his grip, crossing her arms. “I will do no such thing,” she hissed. 

But Cardan merely sidled close and ran a finger along the lower side of her lip. Her pulse jumped at his touch. “Hmm, is that so? Is that why you didn’t detect the riddle in my words because you are more clever than I?” His voice was low and throaty, his pupils dilating. When he was like this, she almost wanted to give in, but she held back. Barely. 

She didn’t respond, too caught up in what his touch did to her. She was utterly destroyed by him. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing and moved his focus to distract her by moving close enough to kiss her. “What did you say before you passed out? Tell me again.”

“I love you.” She should stop, she should tell him to move away because she was angry at him. But the moment she saw him, her anger had fizzled out, and she had no real reason to deny him. 

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Cardan.”

He seemed to be floating on his own isle of paradise. His smile took on a softer edge as he scanned her face for any falsehoods. When he detected none, he leaned forward and pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead. “I missed you more than I can ever express, Jude. Please, don’t ever leave me again.”

“But I’m banished, and I cannot return,” she whispered under her breath.

“Are you not the Queen and my wife? Do you not wear a crown? Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown, let her not step one foot in Faerie or forfeit her life. You could have returned at any time, my darling Jude.”

It was official. Jude was the biggest idiot on the planet. In answer to his words, she pulled him closer to her and hugged him around his middle. Her face was buried in his chest as she said, “I was a fool, blinded by anger. I did not think you were capable of such mastery of words.” She shuddered against him, a few tears falling down her face. “Is this a dream? Am-Am I dreaming?” She was afraid if she opened her eyes, she would wake up in her room at Vivi’s apartment and none of this would be real.

After a brief pause, Cardan rested his chin on her hair and held her tight against him. “This is real. I’m real. We can go home, together.”

She didn’t let go as her lips trembled under the sheer relief that he was here and wasn’t going to disappear. “Take me home, Cardan.” 

Jude felt his smile as he brought his lips close to her ears, his breathy voice sending tingles all across her skin. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Tags: @illyrian-bookworm, @highladyofstoriesandmusic, @webcraft4eveh, @thefangirlofhp

#ask #thank you for the ask :) #Jurdan #tcp #twk #qon #the cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #holly black

[rutobuka2]

Hi! :) I just wanted to say that I absolutely adore your art, especially your comics (your style is to die for, it always gives me this heartwarming feeling) I'm particulary impressed with how you compose the comic page, with the panels and the angles. If it's not too much to ask, could you share some advice?

aw gosh thank you ;~; that honestly makes me so happy!!!

click for an entire paper geeking out about comic-making because I have no self-control ⬇️

I’ve never really done a deep research on the study of panel-making, but I have read at least one Scott McCloud book on making comics in general (I’m sure you can find his books online for reference) for my art university thesis. Two things he proposed on his book that have stuck with me are:

1- You need to give people “reason” to turn the page. So I interpreted that as a small cliffhanger on each page, so people are at least curious to know how the story ends, (even if my stories are pretty obvious, I don’t go for high drama too often, or violence, so most people already know everything will end well lol) at least the viewer will want to look at what the characters will feel with the development of the story. So I focus on the quality of the art, humor/feeling, and those small cliffhangers!

2- One of the things I think he mentions (omg it’s been a while) is that western comics have bigger jumps in time between every panel, while japanese manga have smaller jumps. Like, you don’t usually see the progression between [a cup on the table] -> [a hand reaching over] -> [the cup being brought to the character’s lips] on a western comic like you see often in manga. I like both styles, so my temporal jumps vary a lot between them, depending on what kind of message I’m trying to convey! Use that to your advantage to jump ahead on time, or to slow down a lot and really make drama with a small action!

About the general panel layout of my comics, though, I try to stick to a general rule of having few focus spots on each page. Of course it depends on your style, but having too many “explosions” and clutter in EVERY panel will be really hard to understand, right? Try to focus each page for one inciting incident, and I bet it’ll help out with decluttering your story. It helps out a lot if you thumbnail the entire story before starting to work on the lineart of each page. So if you feel as if a page is too chaotic/too many things happening, you can divide it into many pages.

I do angular panels usually when I want the story to read less organized, faster, since anything outside of 90° angles look like arrows! So it’s a bit of a resource to help out on making the page more dynamic? I don’t know if that’s just me creating my weird theories, or if it’s a legit method, though! 

The way I make certain elements jump out of panels is totally instinctual, however, lol! I do that based on manga (if you couldn’t already tell, I’m a big weeb), so don’t be afraid to take inspiration from your favorite stories/comics! Sometimes I want a certain scene to happen in a panel, and the limbs don’t fit, or I want the entire head to be a major focus, so I just have the characters leaking out of the panel! Like if it’s jjjjjjusssstttt a little bit that’s being cut by the panel border, just nudge the entire character out, let it breathe, especially if that panel is one of the major plot points! (But of course, for one thing to look scrumptious and jump out, the rest should look subdued/normal! So try to act according to your aesthetic sense!)

One thing that I admit is probably really unorthodox and bad is the way I draw speech bubbles, lol. I depend 100% on digital software to write/draw the bubbles on top of the entire page... That’s one thing that you HAVE to exercise while drawing the thumbnails of your pages! You HAAAAVE to write the entire dialogue on the sketch or you’ll end up with zero space to write on your bubbles! I know manga artists draw the speech bubbles “with” the characters, even if they have to correct the lines later, it’s easier to know what will be covered up by a huge speech bubble/what you can just skip on drawing! Honestly like 99% of my comic pages are fully drawn behind the speech bubbles, but I have to shed a tear and cover that pretty hand or ass I drew with dialogue because... sadly, words matter a lot! AND USE A LEGIBLE FONT!!! Ask your friends if your handwriting is good, or go to dafont and pick a nice comic font, don’t go for crazy spooky halloween bone fonts for speech!!! The worst thing in the world is a comic you can’t even read!

Also, don’t be afraid of empty spaces in your comic. It needs to look good, most and foremost, so don’t worry about the story being longer if it means you got the message across.

A last advice is: design matters a lot! If your page isn’t working, try rearranging everything in the thumbnail phase, and shout out to your designer friends for their hard work! It’s so essential, but us artists tend to think it’s unnecessary... :P

anyway, sorry for the huge text!!! hope this helps!!!!!!! ^^

#ruto's faq #unabletoinhale

[bltzgore]

So I said I do some lab whump based on the prompt and it wound up being longer than I expected, but it was also actually less whump centered. So Imma give you guys the highlights!

Tw: lab whump, female whumpee (and a male whumpee), no comfort, death, gore, pain desc, mentions of euthanasia, needles  

Intro:

82 breathes in and she breathes out, she is ready for this test. She's been working and fighting harder than anyone else. They're all weak compared to her, she made herself into what they want. A weapon. 82 breathes in and she breathes out. They'll trigger the start of it soon, any second. Her heart is trying to crack her rib cage, it's beating so hard. Is she afraid? No. Of course not. Fear has been trained out of her. She can not feel it anymore. No, what she feels now is exertion, what they have trained into her to replace the fear.

The door clicks then hisses open. Her mind sharpens. It's time to show them. Show them what she can do. Show them that she is worthy to be their next chosen. Because 82 wants it more than anyone. She is going to be the next subject chosen for the serum. She will be their next weapon!

82 breathes in and she breathes out, she runs into the room. There is another in there with her, she knows what they want her to do. She's done it before, many times in one way or another. She has to kill them.

82 doesn't recognize the other in the room with her. She wouldn't care if she did. It always ends like this, she used to it, she has to be. She looks towards her opponent, he's scared. She's amazed he's lived this long if he shows this much of it.

It doesn't take much, 82 is strong, she was bred for this. Born to fight and win. She lays him out in minutes.

He's on the ground in front of her. She broke his right leg, really high up, all he can do it try to drag himself away. But she can tell even the pain of doing that is too much for him. He stops and looks up at her, "Please! Please don't do this!" he begs. They always beg, it makes her sick. Take your death with strength, unless you want to be remembered as a sniveling coward. 82 just shakes her head and steps closer, "You tool! You're not even a person are you!?" he yells, his voice breaking with terror. "You're just their dog! You know that! Right? You'll just kill for them without asking why?" he sobs.

That's rude. She leans down, her eyes fixed on his. "Exactly." and then she lashes out. Her fists come crashing down over and over again, until his head has been reduced to a mess of gore scattered across the ground. 82 stands and looks down to where his eyes used to be, "I know why I'm killing." she sneers, before turning away.

A few minutes later a voice comes over the intercom, "Subject XPM84 - 82, your trial is complete. You have been selected by the committee for one of the five available stops in project hunter. Report to room 34 of wing D tomorrow to receive your first dose."

She did it! 82 calmly nods, before heading to the door that opened shortly after the scientist on the other side of the intercom stopped talking. She steps out into the hall, and she smiles. Yes! Yes yes yes yes! Finally!

________________________________________________________________

A discussion between 82 and her friend 63: "So you actually managed it?"

82 looked up at 63, he had the top bunk that night, "Yeah."

"Impressive." he muttered.

"You sound so happy for me." she snarked.

"I am." he insisted. "Just... you know with the trial runs and stuff, something always goes wrong." he answered

"Yeah, you're worried about me. Not jealous that I got picked first and you didn't get picked at all?" she asked, bluntly.

"No! I mean- ok, yes I wanted to be part of Hunter but this isn't about me! I didn't make the cut, you did. Project Hunter is a risk. What if something goes wrong and it kills you?"

She almost thought he was sincere, "Then I guess that's a spot opened right back up for you." she growled, turning over and away from him.

"82... I'm sorry. I'm happy you got it, you've wanted it so bad your whole life. You deserve it."

She didn't answer.

He sighed, "Goodnight 82."

________________________________________________________________

The first injection:

"Alright XPM84 - 82, please sit down here." the scientist gestured to the table. 82 swallowed and nodded, before doing as she was asked. The scientist turned and headed to the back of the room. She went to a very particular cabinet, scanned her hand on the access panel and retrieved a small vial of purple liquid. 82 could feel her heart speeding up, hear it beating heavy in her ears. She was... no! She wouldn't admit that. She was not scared of this, this was what she wanted ever since she knew it could be hers. A person could endure anything if they wanted it bad enough! 

She tightened her hand into a fist, focusing on the muscle tensing then releasing. In her peripheral vision she watched the scientist filled a syringe from the vial a cleaned a spot on her arm. She felt the sharp bite as it pressed through her skin and stayed there. It was unpleasant, but nothing new. The scientist pulled the needle from her arm and held a cotton ball over it to stop the bleeding.

Once she was content with that she headed over to one of the numerous table cluttered with various advanced looking tech. She selected something in specific, and offered it to 82. "Put this on your right wrist and keep it on until you are told to do otherwise." she instructed.

82 nodded, clamping the metal cuff around her wrist. It was tight, she could feel prongs on the inside of it pressing almost into her skin. It was uncomfortable but not unbearable. She was about to stand and head for the door when she noticed something off, the veins in her wrist were turning purple.

"Is this... normal?" she asked looking from her wrist to the scientist. She walked over and took 82's wrist to get a closer look, she didn't answer and instead called one of her colleagues over. 82's skin suddenly felt like it was burning! It was as if she was standing on a bonfire! 82 fell, grabbing hard on her wrist, trying to find something to do with the agony. She began shaking, and blood started to run from her mouth pooling on the floor. She arched her back as sharp shooting scraps of agony bit at her forearms and spine.

She was screaming, trying not to, but it felt like her body was trying to kill her. Something was wrong with her arm, it didn't feel like her arm! It felt like.... it felt like- she couldn't focus! The burning felt like it was turning into ripping, something was trying to tear her skin off from the inside! The room was whirling and swimming as she lost her grip on the messy water color of reality. It all blacked out, no fade to gray or gentle fall into unconsciousness, it was all snatched away, like someone had snapped their fingers by her ear and it was gone.    

________________________________________________________________

82 tries to get answers and 12 warns her about her harsh reality:

A doctor made the rounds an hour later. When he discovered 82 was awake he asked her a few questions about how she was feeling, if she thought she could handle some food and water. 82 answered all the questions earnestly, then tried to ask a few, "Why am I in a cell? Did I try to hurt someone? Did the serum work wrong? It's just an adverse effect of the first dose right?" The doctor answered none of her questions and walked off, writing a few things down on his data tab. "82, right?"

She looked up towards the voice.

"They took 03 cause she was responding to the serum the right way, doesn't that make you wonder why they left us?"

She shook her head, "No. I'm fine, I'm ready for my next dose."

"They don't let you decide that now do they? What if you're not? You and I both know what they do to subject that don't adapt to their assigned project."

"I said I'm FINE!" She roared, slamming her fist and forearm into the bars that separated them. The bars shook! She had never been able to rattle steel before! She was getting stronger! She was still staring at her arm in amazement when all at once a dozen nails drove themselves into her skull. 82 fell to her knees, pressing her hands hard on the sides of her head. The nails took turns stabbing the inside of her brain to mush as she strained and preyed for it to stop. It felt like hours but the incident lasted almost a minute. When it all stopped she fell back, her head buzzing.

"Still sure you're fine?" 12 asked.

_______________________________________________________________

The second injection:

82 did not tell the scientists about this incident, as far as she was concerned it was unrelated. She was ready for the second dose, it would fix everything! It had to.

She stayed in the cell for this injection, it was administered through the bars. 82 waited for something to happen, as did the observing doctors. It was almost ten minutes later when her heart started to speed up, breathing got harder, then the familiar burning of her skin kicked back in. This time she did not pass out. It went for three long hours of hell, until the chemicals seemed to have passed through her system.

This incident left 82 on the floor, weakly trying to move. She needed to show them she was fine, she could handle the last dose, easy.

"It's a shame, XPM84 - 82 was our most promising candidate. But her symptoms are just like ZZ13 - 03's, meaning she's likely to follow the same course."

The other nodded, "We should get her in the que for euthanasia with the other two." 

________________________________________________________________     

82 and 12 run into 63 while attempting escape: 

  "63! Come on! We're breaking out, come with us." 82 ushered.

"You're breaking out?” he seemed struck dumb, "I-I thought you were in the que, why are you running away?" he asked, blocking her path.

"I'm not going to take my death laying down. I gave them all that I had and they're just going to get rid me of like I'm a broken pen!" she snapped, "We're all disposable to them, but I guess I didn't care about that when I thought I could be different." she hated herself for how easy that was to admit, how true she knew it was.

"No, 82 wait." he drew closer to her. 12 watched with an anxious expression.

"They weren't going to just get rid of you because the serum didn't work. It's because the serum is flawed."

She shifted her gaze, "What do you mean?"

"They're scrubbing the hunter project because of what happens after. There's a steady decline in quality of life..."

It felt like three bars of led had just been placed in her stomach.

"82, don't run. It's not going to end well. You should just-... just let them put you to sleep. It'll be painless." he had his hands on her shoulders now. He sounded so sincere, it made her sick.

82 tore away from his grip, the fury returning to her eyes, "The hell I will! I'll decide when my life is low enough quality to end it! I'm leaving! Stay out of our way and don't tell a soul about any of this, or I will find you, and I'll kill you." she snarled.

________________________________________________________________

The side effects:

"82, did you know that all the people out here have actual names? Ya know, like the scientists do, not numbers." 12 explained.

"Really?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Really! We need names." he decided. "I'll be... Sky." his gaze wistfully made its way up to his namesake. "I never want to be away from it again."

82 smiled, it was genuine and for once she didn't feel like a moron for making such a goofy expression. They were out. Screw what 63 said, any pain was worth it if it meant she got to live out here. Free.

Sky went to continue talking when he started coughing.

"You alright?" she asked, casually glancing over. Sky was doubled over with his hands on his stomach! "SKY!" she rushed to his side, trying to figure out what to do. Was he choking? Poisoned? He began to start spitting up blood, turning the dust below to mud. She watched in horror because it was all she could do. She had no medical training, and there was no where to find medicine for miles around. What was she supposed to do!

Sky started convulsing, falling onto his side and grabbing at the sand. He couldn't speak and blood was still pouring from his mouth. 82 tried to stop his thrashing, maybe comfort him, but when he stopped it was over. There was no pulse, and no breath.  

82 couldn't speak, she was shaking. This was her future. She was going to cough up blood and die screaming and thrashing in pain! She looked down and shut her eyes, how could she have been so stupid!? Why hadn't she just stayed and let them end it gently!?

She stayed curled in on herself until the sun began to dip. She had been going over and over in her head about what to do. She could sit here and wait, she could go back.... no. She had fought to be out here, to see this world! And she was gonna do it! She was going to fight for every day she had, and if she died in agony so be it!

She stood up, not shaky, not hesitantly, but with strength and purpose. She turned her head towards the sky and yelled, "I DIE ON MY OWN DAMN TERMS, DO YOU HEAR ME!!!???" but even as she yelled her rebellion in the darkening sky, she felt anxiety tugging at the bottom of her stomach. It would become her companion for many years to come. Always there quietly nagging her about how things would end. Writhing and screaming.

#lab whump #whump #hyrbid #hybrid whumpee #whumpee #no comfort #tw death #tw needles #tw pain desc #highlight reel

[slasherholic]

warnings for this chapter: gore and death, mentions of abuse

Read chapter one here!

End of the Line | Michael Myers x Reader | Chapter Two

You make it thirty steps before the blackness bites you.

Your foot catches on some stiff piece of metal and your brain can’t catch up with the rest of your body to realize why you’re suddenly laying face-down in the dust on your stomach, why your legs aren’t still pumping, your arms not still pistoning—and then, all at once, it hits you.

You’ve tripped.

If you weren’t such a small and frightened animal you would start to cry again. But that’s not what frightened animals do, screams your lizard-brain, frightened animals run. So get up. Get up and keep running.

You do. You barrel back into the unknown. If Michael’s footsteps are still behind you you can’t hear them over the blood rushing to your ears, sweeping through your skull, dizzying your vision in a sickening way. A sticky hot wetness drips down your back from where he cut you but you don’t care about that right now. Run. Run.

You run for a long time. Until reason tells you that you’ve left Michael far behind—but reason currently has no place in your oxygen-starved thoughts. The sound of his breathing still rings in your ears and your mind is plagued with a terrible prophecy that your next stumble will be headlong into his chest. That he will lunge out from the blackness and seize you and it will all be over.

Hugging the wall, you dash around another corner—

—and there, at the end of the corridor, you can’t believe it. You think your mind is playing some cruel trick, so you keep looking down the hall, keep stumbling towards it, but no, there is no trick, it’s really there—

—a light.

Making the hallway before you not black but rather a shade of grey, like an old-fashioned photograph. And somewhere around the next corner must be its source.

You are a moth drawn to a flame. Nothing matters but that light.

Tearing through the dusty hallway, you see now what’s been tripping you—toppled desks, scattered all up and down the corridor, their metal legs jutting dangerously out.

Oh, comes your realization. It’s a school.

The corridor is a cluttered wreck of disrepair. Every classroom door you blitz past is boarded up with nails and planks. The paper on the walls peels like a bad sunburn. Wires hang down from broken panels in the ceiling.

And now, you understand what that suffocating must-smell hanging like a stiff blanket overhead is—the reek of abandonment. Michael has brought you to an abandoned building. There does not exist a more perfect hunting ground. Scream as loudly as you want because nobody will hear you, run in any direction you please because you are a rat in a maze, a fish in a barrel—escape was never a possibility in the first place. 

But you don’t think about that right now, only about the light. Reach the light. Reach it before it fades. You tear around the corner—

—the light is blinding.

Wincing, your forearm shoots up to shield your eyes from the horrible strain.

“Stay the fuck back.” Barks a voice. “I’ve got a knife.”

And you nearly topple over in shock. Raising one hand to cover the beam, you blink past it, heart racing in your chest.

Three wide-eyed faces gawk back at you from behind three flashlights, all of them trained on you like rifles. The guy in the middle—the only guy—wasn’t lying about the knife. He holds it out across his flashlight in the sort of way that a police officer might hold a gun, but he doesn’t have the look to complete the image. With his dirty-blonde hair collecting around his shoulders and studded black leather jacket, the knife-guy looks more likely to get arrested himself than to be the one doing any arresting.

He leers at you like you’re a convicted felon anyway.

“You see this?” He continues, swishing the knife a bit. “I don’t wanna use it—don’t make me use it. You just take it easy and stay right the fuck there.”

You hardly hear knife-guy’s words. What your brain clings to instead is the fact that there are People. You are not alone in the darkness. There are people in this building. 

The realization makes your pounding heart soar and for a second your head is in the clouds and all you can think is maybe I won’t die tonight after all.

To knife-guy’s left is a short and trim Mexican woman with thoughtful eyes like black pools, the biggest you’ve ever seen. She clutches tightly at his bicep with one bony hand and stares across the hall at you like you’ve sprouted a second head. The tall girl on the right must be some sort of athlete, with strong legs and golden-tan skin and a high brunette ponytail. She gawks like she’s just seen a ghost—or like she might be giving up her own ghost at any second.

Nobody moves for a moment, and in the end you just stand there, looking each other up and down.

And then some cold and bitter voice in your head reminds you, these people are lined up for a slaughterhouse. 

The hopeful thoughts in your head crash like a fiery trainwreck. Your eyes go round and horrified.

Graphic images assault your brain, of cuts so deep that you can see yellow fat and sinewy muscle and bleach-white bone, of dumbly gaping mouths, of dead, unfocused, cloudy eyes, sightless—the look of a corpse. You see in your mind’s eye that look on the faces staring back at you and your racing heart does a flip-flop into your stomach; you clench your jaw shut tight and think about not throwing up. Please don’t throw up. Please don’t throw up.

“Listen lady,” Knife-guy says, breaking the silence, sweeping his hair out of his face with his elbow. “We don’t want any trouble, alright?”

Too late for that, you think.

“If you’re trying to screw with us it just ain’t gonna work, yeah? So I’ll cut you a deal; you turn around, we turn around, we go our separate ways, and then we pretend we never even saw each other. That sound fair?”

Panic flares in your belly and all the moisture is sucked from your mouth.

“No!” The plea leaves you before you can even think. The tall girl on the right utters a little gasp at your outburst, jumping like she’s been burnt.

“No, no you don’t understand.” Your words are desperate; you hold your hands up in front of you like you actually are a convicted felon, just because it seems like the right thing to do; knife-guy seems to think it even more now.

“I’m not gonna hurt anyone. I promise, alright? But please, please, you have to listen to me—”

“Jesus!” Knife guy clutches his knife tighter. “I’m trying really hard not to be an asshole right now, okay? I don’t wanna be that macho douchebag that yells at girls, but honestly lady, you sound like some sort of nut! And believe me, we don’t want any of—”

“Oh Travis, honestly, quit it!” The short girl, silent as the grave until now, hisses sharply, elbowing Knife-guy in the ribs. Knife-guy shoots her a little look of what the hell dude, which she ignores.

“There’s something wrong, dammit—I mean, look at her!”

You assume she’s talking about the look of horror sprawled across your face, or about the cold sweat clinging to your reddened cheeks, or the fact that you must look like something that just came crawling out of the woods.

But then, you feel it again. You feel it trickling down your lower back, down your side, making your shirt cling to your skin, wetting the hem of your pants. And oh, that’s right. You’re a bloody mess.

Now, the pain registers. Your salty sweat stings the wound in an agonizing way. Paling, you reach gingerly beneath your armpit, toward your back, dreading the inspection, but doing it anyway. You need to know.

Your palm meets the cotton. You whimper, because your shirt is soaked-through.

Pulling your hand back, trying not to tremble too hard, you glance down at your fingers. They’re coated all the way to your palm in dark, shining red.

Michael cut you deep.

“Holy shit.” Travis breathes, his jaw tightening. You blink up at him again, fighting tears now.

“I’m—I’m not gonna hurt you, okay?” You stammer. “But please, you need to listen to what I’m telling you.”

You pause to lick your lips and swallow and the silence in your stead is horrible, as if every breath is being held.

“This isn’t a prank, it isn’t a joke—you guys need to get out of here right now, and I mean now.”

The silence stretches on; the short girl, the tall girl, the knife-guy—Travis, the short-girl called him—they all gawk at you as if you’ve spoken in tongues.

Then, chaos.

“Fuck that.” Sobs the tall-girl, her voice breaking. “Fuck that, I’m so not staying here. I can’t believe I let you guys talk me into this, we could have gone to see a movie! Let’s find Ashley and Josh and go.”

“Wendy, come on! She’s just trying to freak us out!”

“Well it’s fucking working, dude!”

“Both of you cut it out!” The short girl hisses, her volume a near-whisper. “Keep it down! Travis, for god’s sake, she’s telling the truth—you seriously think she did that to herself?” She eyes you anxiously, her gaze lingering on the blood eating through your shirt.

“...how did it happen?”

Her words twist something in your gut and you grimace. No, you can’t answer that—you can’t even think about that. You’re going to be sick.

But the short girl stares at you like you’re about to divulge the cure to cancer, and she isn’t going to leave it alone. So with a shuddering breath, in a voice so frail you can hardly hear yourself, you choke out the barest-bones answer you can muster.

“There’s someone else in the building.”

Your dread is a virus and the virus is contagious. The tall girl—Wendy—wilts visibly, terror overtaking her features. You think she might faint. Travis goes deathly silent, his expression hardening. The short girl chews her lip like a wad of bubblegum.

Good, you think. Great. They believe you. Now let’s get moving, please and thank you, because you simply can’t stay here any longer. Michael will not have given up the chase so easily. Any moment, the ghost-white of that awful mask is going to breach the dark. You know it. You can’t stay here. You need to get moving again.

But the short girl still isn’t satisfied.

“Who?” She asks, tears shimmering in her big brown eyes. Her words hang on her lips. “Who’s in the building?”

Your heart beats as fast and hard as if Michael’s hands are around your neck this very moment. 

Will they believe you? If you look these people in the eye and tell them the honest-to-god truth about who is lurking and stalking and hunting his way through these unlit corridors, will it tip the scales swinging in their heads hopelessly back into disbelief? Will they tell you to get lost, and to take your sick, twisted, poor-taste-of-a-joke with you, and what kind of a person pokes fun at something like that, anyway?

“It’s—he’s—”

You never get to finish. A sudden scream rips like shrapnel through the air.

The faces behind those blinding flashlights go paler than sheets. The blood in your veins runs cold. 

It is a bloody, piercing sound. It seems to rattle the walls around you. It goes on and on and on. When it cuts off it is abrupt and final and all the sound in the building is sucked away with it.

A cold, sneering voice in your head whispers, Well they’ll have to believe you now, won’t they?

Michael’s found someone.

~

He knows the hallways well. Even in the dark.

He stands at the intersection with the broken water fountain on the ground and does not move except to fill his lungs with air, listening. The girl had been loud; her footsteps carried far. He followed the echo and hunted her easily.

Now the echo has gone silent.

Looking down, staring at the floor beneath his boots, he sees them; shoe prints. Sitting freshly in the dust. Hers.

He does not need the girl’s sounds. Only her prints.

Studying them, he knows that she did not turn off here. Knows she kept on going down the hall. Toward the locker rooms.

He lifts his head and looks into the dimness after her, breathing the stale air deep into his lungs.

The hunt will be over quickly; the girl is running in a circuit.

Taking the left, stepping over the broken water fountain, he walks silently down the hall. The heat at his hips throbs, impatient. His thumb rubs back and forth across the handle of his knife. 

The girl will not see him coming. Not until it is too late.

He will grab her by her hot neck. Will let her twist in his hands. Will make her—

...

—he stops. Listening.

Hears footsteps.

Turning in a slow circle, looking over each shoulder, he searches the hall. Sees a set of double-doors. Listens more. Grips the knife harder, watching and waiting, breathing the stale air...

The doors swing open.

...and it is not the girl.

There are two of them. Two with flashlights. They keep on walking down the hall and do not look in his direction. Do not notice him standing across the way.

He watches them go. The heart in his ribs pulses steadily and rhythmically. The urge comes—follow the prey.

He follows.

He will have the girl later.

He will have her for a different urge.

~

You have never seen so much blood. Not even on Michael.

It shimmers starkly against the faded-blue lockers, streaking down in heavy wet lines toward the floor, pooling between the divots in the tile like tiny rivers, which trickle outward, extending their reach down the hall.

To your right, Wendy slaps her slender-fingered hand over her mouth. She sucks in big gasps of air and her shoulders shudder violently.

The short girl—Diane, you heard Travis calling her—stands next to Travis, her arms wound so tightly around his waist that if she squeezes any harder you suspect she might bisect him.

Travis just stands there. Shining his light at the gore. Entranced.

Your mind is blank as you yourself drink in the mess—blank and numb, thoughtless.

But when the smell of it hits you the tide of nausea comes racing back towards the shore.

You are no stranger to the tang of blood but this differs from the stench that clings to Michael when he comes home from a hunt. That smell is mixed among the salt of his sweat—muted by the scent of him—and the result is more primal and heart-pounding and less knock-you-on-your-ass dizzying.

But this smell is raw and undiluted. Straight from the source. It drains all the color from your face. It threatens to bring you right down to the floor.

You place a hand on a clammy locker door to keep from staggering.

“Look.” Diane whispers.

She untangles one arm from around Travis’s waist, raising her flashlight, shining it at the floor behind the puddle. You see what she’s pointing at. Bootprints.

The pattern on the sole is unmistakable. They are Michael’s.

They lead ten paces down the hall where they stop in front of a closed door. Squinting, you can just barely read the painted black letters on the door, letters which may have once read “Boy’s Changing Room.”

“Those aren’t Josh’s.” Travis breathes, squeezing the leather grip of his hunting knife tighter.

To your right, Wendy’s gasps become sobs. She collapses suddenly back against the row of lockers, their doors rattling harshly. You wince; Michael’s going to hear her.

Travis and Diane are on her in less than a second.

“She’s dead.” Wendy gasps. “She’s dead. We have to get out of here—”

“Christ, Wendy, stop it.” Travis hisses. Shoving his flashlight into Diane’s hand, he kneels at Wendy’s side, quick to clamp his hand over her mouth.

“You cut that out right now or you’re gonna get us killed.”

“Breathe,” Diane adds, sinking down to stroke Wendy’s hair.

Wendy tries to breathe, but it’s more of a blubbering in the end.

“You don’t know that, anyway.” Travis continues. “She could be alive right through that door, bleeding out. No way are we leaving until we find her.”

“She’s not.” You state.

Travis whips around. His scowl says it all.

Getting to his feet, he plucks his flashlight out of Diane’s hands and stands up rigidly straight. He shines the beam right in your face and you wince, wrinkling your nose at the brightness.

“Yeah lady? Alright, prove it; I don’t see a body.”

The tough-guy act is only skin deep. Blinking past the blinding beam at Travis’ face, you can see he’s tenser than a wire. He knows you’re right. He knows his friend is dead. He just doesn’t want to admit it.

You eye him sternly and hold your ground.

“I’m just being realistic; that’s a lot of blood.”

Travis’ nostrils flare, and all of a sudden he is walking across the hall with lurching strides.

The man approaching you is not small by any means—Wendy is taller than him, but only by an inch. His jacket is thick and puffs out around his arms, making him wider at the shoulders than he probably is, but his stature is sturdy, and his figure is close enough to Michael’s to plunge you into panic-mode.

Your limbs lock up habitually. You brace against the locker for hurt.

Travis stops at an uncomfortable distance from you, the leather of his jacket nearly grazing your chest. His breaths come heavily through his nose and you can feel them beating down on your face, hot and shallow. 

“You had better tell me right goddamed now,” He whispers through grit teeth, “What the fuck is in this building with us.”

The tightness in his voice is enough to unlock your limbs, enough to bring you out of your submissive trance, enough to make your lizard-brain realize that the man standing over you with a knife in his fist is not Michael, not even close—he’s just some college kid. Just as scared for his life as you are.

You don’t try to mask the hopelessness in your eyes as you finally spill.

“Do you know who killed all those people in Haddonfield last year?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Everybody with a working television or radio knows. Everyone who bothers to pick up their newspaper from their driveway in the morning knows. Everybody in the entire god-damned state knows. Hell, the entire god-damned country knows about those murders. It was all over the national news stations for a week into November, delivered each morning by a solemn news anchor:

And now, an update on the grisly string of murders which took place just last week in Haddonfield, Illinois—unofficially dubbed “The Babysitter Murders.”

The Haddonfield police department released an official statement this evening identifying the primary suspect in this ongoing case: Michael Audrey Myers, psychiatric patient and former Haddonfield resident, who escaped from government-mandated care on the night of the 30th.

Travis seems to hold his breath. When it comes out again it makes his upper body shudder. He knows, alright.

“Wait—” Wendy stutters, her frail voice cracking hard. “Wait, but I thought, didn’t they catch that guy?”

“They didn’t.” Diane pronounces quietly, shaking her head slowly. Her eyes are glued to the blood on the floor but they look unfocused and distant, like her mind is elsewhere.

“I’m following the Myers case for my thesis, and no, they never caught him.”

Travis’s invasion of your personal space finally relents. He steps back and begins pacing between you and Diane, his brow scrunching up in thought. He reaches up with his arm to wipe his hair out of his face.

“Okay, so you think it’s Myers,” He begins. “But come on, how do you know? How do you know it isn’t just some other freak? I’m sure there are plenty of real sick fucks out there, all I’m saying is that there’s no way you can know for sure it’s—”

“Guys?” 

Every head whips toward the changing room, and every flashlight follows.

There, peering tentatively out from behind the door where Michael’s boot prints lead is another tear-streaked face, a college-aged kid, no older than nineteen. The grey hood of his too-big hoodie is drawn up over his head.

“Josh!” Diane whispers.

Josh studies you sheepishly, his glossy eyes round and anxious. Then, he sees the blood. His eyes squeeze shut tight in an instant and his forehead lolls toward the door frame, knocking against it with a dull thud. His entire body begins to heave with silent sobs.

Diane shoots up from Wendy’s side like a rocket, tip-toeing around the gore. Reaching Josh, she embraces him in a tight hug, and Josh buries his face eagerly into the nook of her neck and only shakes harder. Diane caresses the frizzy ringlets around his ear and shushes him.

“If you saw anything,” She whispers, “You have to tell us. We need to know what happened.” 

“Is she dead?” Wendy sobs up from the floor, her slender fingers still clamped over her mouth.

“I-I don’t really know, man.” Josh chokes out. “It happened so fast. We were just coming to find you guys, a-a-and she saw the court, she tried to go check it out, b-but when she opened the door she got—she got—”

He gives a strangled little whimper and shakes his head weakly, burying it back into Diane’s shoulder, done.

She got grabbed, you finish in your head. It’s not a guess—it’s a fact. You don’t need Josh’s commentary to piece together what happened here.

Looking back at the smeared blood on the lockers, you see now where Michael did it, where he smashed this Ashley girl’s face into the aluminum doors, leaving divots and dents behind in the metal. At some point, Ashley had started screaming.

You drop your gaze to the heavy splatter of dark red on the tile again. 

She screamed, until Michael slit her throat.

“He followed me in there.” Josh sniffs, jerking his thumb at the locker-room door. “I ducked in a locker and he walked right past—but then he stopped and just stood there, like he was—I don’t know, waiting for something. Or—or listening for something.”

Josh wipes his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie.

“I was so scared, man. I thought I was dead.”

You listen to Josh speak and the unease in your stomach twists.

“Where did he go?” You ask. Josh eyes you warily.

“Um. I dunno, he just kinda… left.” 

All the hair on your neck stands on-end at that. You know how Michael’s mind works—at least to some extent—and you know how he hunts. And you would bet your life on the wager that he hasn’t gone far at all.

Your eyes dart up and down the hall and you squint past the reach of the flashlights, into the edge of the looming blackness. Josh’s words play like a tape recorder in your mind: She saw the court. She went to check it out. You squint at the closed doors leading to the basketball court. Your breaths shallow.

Oh; that’s where Ashley is.

“No offence or whatever, but who the hell are you?”

“She’s just some lady we found.” Travis answers for you. “Look, did you see him kill her, man?” Travis grabs Josh suddenly by the shoulders, shaking him like it’ll knock the sense back into him. “Come on, you gotta remember so we can get outta here. Where is she?”

You point an accusing finger at the basketball court.

“I think she’s in there.”

Everyone with a flashlight trains it at the doors. Another strangled sob leaves Wendy. Thick red handprints glisten wetly on the beige wood, just above the door handle.

Travis eyes the gore for a moment. Then, knife at the ready, he approaches the double doors.

It is for a wickedly selfish reason that you do not utter some warning of he’s still in there, moron, and your friend is dead, and you’ll be next. It is for a reason more potent than the fear of stumbling blindly through the darkness again; a reason more powerful than the fear of being alone in this desolate place. A reason that you are ashamed of for even thinking, but one that your lizard-brain—the part of you that cares only about your own continued survival, and to hell with everyone else—gurgles gleefully: If Michael kills them, maybe I’ll get to live.

And if not, then at the very least you can make a break for the exit while he’s busy sheathing his knife in their guts.

You look silently on as Travis carefully, carefully, nudges the door open with his shoe.

The room inside is just as abysmally dark as the rest of the school. Travis, hovering on the edge of the door frame, not daring to step foot beyond the hall, shines his flashlight around to inspect. It’s a basketball court alright, and surprisingly uncluttered. Sets of stadium bleachers line the walls on either side and loom like metal giants. Travis shines the light all around its periphery, illuminating every dark corner. There is no Ashley to be found—or Michael.

But there is more blood. A trail of it, leading out across the court, wrapping around the bleachers, disappearing from sight.

“Travis, no.” Wendy whimpers. “You can’t—oh god, please Travis, don’t go in there—please don’t. Please don’t.”

“Yeah,” Diane quickly agrees. “I think the best thing we can do for her now is to call the cops. Travis, he could still be in there.”

Travis looks anxiously back over his shoulder at her. He swallows like there’s a lump in his throat.

“Look. There’s no fucking way in the world I’m gonna leave her here with that psycho. Not until we know. This place is empty, alright? So as long as you guys stay close behind me... that fucker isn’t gonna get anyone else. I promise.”

Guilt flares in your gut. Your eyes fall to the floor. You can’t look at him. You know that not a single person standing in this hall will live to see the sun come up.

For simple fear of being left in the darkness again, when everyone shuffles into the court, you do too. Beams from all four flashlights rove the walls like spotlights. Every head is on a swivel. Travis is at least right about one thing: the room is huge and empty. There’s no way that anything could sneak up on you in here, not a housecat, not a tiger. Not even Michael.

The thin trail of blood disappears behind the bleachers—your heart pounds in your throat as the group draws nearer. The silence weighs like a heavy blanket.

Reaching the corner of the bleachers, everybody peers around the bend. You squint into the dimness.

There, suspended five feet off the ground, swaying sedately back and forth—a figure.

Travis shines his light up at it.

It is the limp body of a woman. She hangs from her neck by a length of climbing rope dangling down from the ceiling.

Somewhere in the background, Wendy starts to wail. “Oh god. Oh god. Oh my fucking god.”

The body turns, slowly. When it turns all the way around you can just make out the messy red ruins of her throat beneath the rope, slit quite literally from ear to ear.

Reality stares you in the eye, gape-mouthed and grotesque, and it will not let you look away. You drink it in and all your thoughts, even the lizard-brain thoughts, are silenced.

You study the blood seeping from the gaping gash in Ashley’s neck. You watch the way it drips down her sternum, how it eats in splotches through her white tube top, the garment pulled half-way down her chest, exposing her breasts on one side. You look all the way down to the puddle of glistening blood beneath the body and watch the droplets trailing off the slender ankles, dripping to the floor and making tiny ripples in the deep, dark red puddle beneath.

When your thoughts finally return you realize all at once that you have never witnessed Michael commit a murder. You have never had to see him plunge his knife into a screaming, crying, terrified body, but oh, you can picture it so vividly, can hear the pleading and the begging, can imagine Michael twisting the knife deeper, can see him tearing a life away with the ease of one kicking sand over a fire to snuff it out.

You know that will change tonight.

You know other things too, things that make nausea bubble up your throat, and you know before it happens that you are going to vomit, but not because of the body.

You know that Michael is a monster; you know it like you know that grass is green. You know what you are to him and you know that you should despise him for it. You know that you should want to see him burn—and a part of you does. A part of you wants nothing more in the world. A part of you wants to be the one who lights the match.

But there exists another part of you which sits like a gaping black hole right in the middle of your chest, and when the hole is open—which is most of the time—you feel cold and hollow and empty on the inside, and when it is closed you feel complete again, if only for a short while.

You know that the hole is need. And the need wants only one thing.

Standing here, staring up at the reality of what Michael is, of what he does, of what he will do to you tonight, even now, the hole in your chest still needs him like lungs need air.

He will kill you and it will not make you need him any less. Will not make you want him any less.

And as terrible, twisted, perverted, fucked-up as it is, it won’t make you love him any less, either.

It was Michael who held you down and cut open the hole in your chest; and now Michael is the only one who can fill it.

The bile rises up your throat and you are sick.

#Michael Myers #michael myers x reader #halloween #slashers #slasher x reader #horror #writing #fanfiction #reader insert #end of the line #tw: emetophobia

[big-ass-magnet]

When History Comes Calling, Ch 5/14

art by @snuffes

Fandom: Mass Effect Rating: Teen Pairing: none, some background Fshep/Garrus

Summary: In 2170, Mindoir was attacked by slavers. Hundreds were taken  captive, hundreds more were slaughtered. Kiryn was the only Shepard to  make it out alive. For years, he buried his grief, kept his head high,  and did whatever he needed to survive.He survived Mindoir and the batarians and when the Reapers came he survived them too.

But  when the war ends and he escapes his batarian masters to the Citadel,  the discovery that his twin sister is alive and well might just be the  thing that breaks him. The Hegemony's greatest assassin will remember  what it means to have something to lose.

AO3 link in notes!

Silversun Strip was…certainly something. Kiryn had been through his fair share of space stations, and this riot of shining glass and neon lights made them all look like space-bound towns. Actually, now that he thought about it, the Strip outpaced quite a few cities he’d seen, too.

This was another one of the few barely-scathed areas, although less because it had been well protected and more likely because it contained nothing the Reapers would have considered vital to survival. Clearly the genocidal synthetics from beyond dark space had never heard how important enrichment was for an organic’s mental wellbeing. Even here, though, there were signs of a struggle -- unpatched bullet holes in the walls and ripped up floor panels roped off as tripping hazards.

Nowhere to get away from it, Kiryn thought, even on your days off.

Kiryn moved with the flow of the crowd, letting them carry him down the streets as he planned his entrance. The easiest way to get inside an apartment building was through the service entrance. Half the time someone had propped the door open and you could stroll right in.

When he reached the right alleyway, he extricated himself from the crush of people, turned the corner, and scrapped the plan because there were two undercover officers hovering outside the building. They were doing their best to stay hidden, and their Citadel janitorial staff outfits looked legitimate. But they watched the doors a little too closely, kept their hands a little too close to their jackets, stood a little too warily.

So he ducked into the nearest building, which did have the service entrance propped open. He strolled down the corridor, through the lobby, and back out into the street. No sign of anyone watching the front entrance, which was interesting. Likely they were putting their trust in the building’s electronic security system. No trouble there; Kiryn knew his way around those, too.

This would be a little trickier, though. There was no way to avoid being seen, so he had to rely on not being remembered. Kiryn stuck his hands in his pockets and relaxed his shoulders, arranged his expression into one of mild interest. Nice and casual, everyone is supposed to be where they are. He strolled past the furniture store, pretended to be briefly intrigued by the sale on bed frames (five hundred credits off full size or bigger!), and finally approached Tiberius Towers’ front entrance.

He hit the call button for 15B. No response. Good. His assumption had been a safe bet: anyone who would have been in the apartment would be with Shepard. With Keris. With his sister.

Find the moment.

Stay focused.

He hit the button again.

Kiryn heaved a sigh, put on an expression of exasperation, and leaned on the button. If there had been anyone in the apartment, they would have answered by now just to make the noise stop. He pretended not to notice the turian woman approaching until she was right next to him.

“Um, excuse me.”

Kiryn glanced up and hurriedly stepped aside.

“Sorry,” he said, with an embarrassed smile. “My friend isn’t picking up.”

“That’s okay, I can let you in.”

He filed away the code she keyed in as he said “appreciate it.”

She gave him a little half-wave as she entered the elevator; he returned it as he opened the door to the stairs. Instead of climbing, however, he ducked into the shadows beneath them and took a look at the security system.

It wasn’t bad, not by a long shot, but he’d gotten around harder systems for less important people. It took less than thirty seconds to slip under the security firewalls and upload a virus that would loop the video as he went by. Anyone watching would see empty stairs.

All fifteen flights of them.

Maybe he should have taken the elevator.

Fifteen flights gave him a long time to think. He should upgrade his omni-tool. Top-of-the-line in the Hegemony tended to be middling quality anywhere else, even if you went through the black market. He should find a more comprehensive map of the Citadel, and find which areas were the dangerous ones. Experience told him that the law was likely concentrated at the Presidium, and got more diluted the further away you went.

Equally important was finding an easy way in and out of the refugee camp. Sarah had been right about the Citadel’s priorities. The guards at the doors were very concerned with who came and went. Security reasons, they claimed, when anyone could tell it was because they didn’t want the grubby little refugees actually on the Citadel, just in case they bothered the locals or, god forbid, started to think they could make a home here.

Dad would have had a conniption, he thought, and nearly missed a step in his surprise.

Perhaps he should be less surprised. Keris was alive. Of course that would drag those thoughts to the surface.

Thomas Shepard had very strong opinions about duty and responsibility, especially in regards to officers of the law. Kiryn had heard quite a few rants about what should happen to public servants who did not serve the public. Dad didn’t much approve of soldiers, either. Armies were built on the promise of protecting the people, and politicians turned them into tools for their own ends.

What would he think of his daughter joining the Navy?

Soldiers hunt soldiers, but Shepards hunt--

Kiryn stopped, midstep. He couldn’t remember. It had practically been the family motto, and he couldn’t remember. He could remember sitting at the table during dinner, his father gesturing with his fork, a four-way eyeroll between the Shepard children…

Shepards hunt...

This was pointless. What did it matter? He had more important things to do than try and remember things like that.

Besides, he was on the fifteenth floor. He checked again that the video was still looping correctly. That was a lesson you only had to learn once. As soon as he was sure it was safe, he pushed open the door and stepped confidently into the hallway. Not that it mattered -- but if anyone opened their door unexpectedly, he didn’t want to appear suspicious.

The door to apartment 15B opened as soon as he touched it.

Genetic sequence recognized.

It was a paranoid individual who used gene coded locks on their front door. He supposed Commander Shepard would have a lot of enemies.

Kiryn stepped inside and stopped dead, eyes wide. Oh, this was very, very far from the prefab housing on Mindoir. Filomet’s estate had been quite high status, thanks to the work Kiryn did for him, but it seemed downright spartan in comparison to this.

Filomet certainly didn’t have an indoor waterfall, that was for sure.

Or a hot tub.

For a few minutes he didn’t do much searching, just wandered around taking it all in. When he did start, it was a little disappointing. The apartment had a strange, semi-empty feeling that had nothing to do with it being new. Like a hotel, he thought. The art was tasteful and impersonal. All the furniture matched.

It was a place to stay, not a place to live.

The apartment was definitely inhabited, though, and by more than one person. There was food in the fridge and the cabinets, chirality carefully delineated by colored tape and, on occasion, sharpie. DEXTRO COFFEE, DO NOT DRINK, KAIDAN THIS MEANS YOU promised a very interesting story. The beds were made, but rumpled; there were a variety of products in the (three!) bathrooms.

The master bedroom felt no more lived in. There was a credit chit and a datapad on the bedside table, but no pictures, no clutter. At last Kiryn hit paydirt in the walk-in closet: a weapons table and an armor locker.

From the scattered mods and spare parts he could see she carried multiple firearms, but favored assault rifles and shotguns -- she liked it up close and personal. There were a few melted pieces that suggested she had a tendency to push her thermal clips a little too far. Kiryn felt a warm sensation in his chest. Fondness. In this way, at least, Keris had not changed.

Kiryn opened the locker. Her armor was black, but a deep black that would stand out anywhere but a sealed bunker underground. The crisp white and red stripes seemed to glow in contrast. Kiryn picked up the chest plate and nearly dropped it again. It was hard to imagine Keris could walk in this, let alone fight!

He tilted the chest plate this way and that, watching the lustrous finish shine in the light. Keris was the target. She sacrificed speed and mobility for armor that could brush off anything short of cannon fire, drawing the attention and the danger to herself, hitting the enemy head on like a battering ram.

Yes, that sounded very like Keris.

Kiryn nearly smiled as he put the armor back in place.

There were spare clothes in the drawers, but only two items hanging in the closet: a dress uniform, and an actual dress. Beneath them, shiny parade shoes and a pair of sensible black heels a full two inches higher than he’d ever seen Keris wear in his life.

The dress was the only really nice piece of clothing Keris owned, although Kiryn personally thought she could have found a nicer one. (The neckline alone was fifty years out of date, and he wasn’t even going to touch on those red highlighting lines.) There were a scant few articles of non-regulation clothing; by the looks of things she wore her crewman’s uniform even on her days off. That was...worrying. He didn’t remember her being much of a peacock, but she wouldn’t wear the same outfit twice in two weeks, let alone every single day. Kiryn never cared--

No. No, it was the other way around, wasn’t it?

Kiryn was the one who had cared. He’d spend an hour in the bathroom just doing his hair. He was the one who made sure his shoes matched his outfit; who complained about pale skin making it impossible to wear yellow without looking jaundiced. Keris would just throw on whatever her hand touched first, and dutifully go back and change when he told her for the fifth time, Ker, you can’t wear two kinds of stripes at once!

But she’d always liked it when they matched.

Kiryn looked down and brushed a hand over his shirt - dark gray, long sleeves, close fitting. It wasn’t all that different from what he wore on a job, minus some padding. He didn’t have much room to judge, did he? You could argue that slaves didn’t exactly have access to the latest fashions or the funds to buy them with. But he hadn’t been a slave for almost a year, and he hadn’t changed anything about his appearance.

He even still shaved his head.

Kiryn closed the drawers and walked away, not liking the tightness in his chest those thoughts brought on.

The first bug went in the office by the computer, before he tried to crack Keris’ password. It wasn’t any of the ones he remembered, so he had to let his omnitool take over. While he did so, he poked around in the boxes scattered around the room. Keris -- or someone else -- was halfway through taking down or putting up a collection of books and medals. He looked at the medals, but they didn’t match the accolades Keris was supposed to have earned. One of the books looked heavily used; he flipped it open. To David, so you can have another kind of adventure. Love, Kaylie.

David. Who was David? The tabloids made enough of a fuss over Keris’ imaginary paramours, surely they would have mentioned it if she was actually seeing someone.

For that matter, who was Kaylie?

His omnitool flashed, notifying him that the hack was complete. He checked to see the password -- I<3Garrus. Hopefully the contents of her computer would be able to solve that little mystery.

Kiryn set his program to download anything not labelled confidential, urgent, or as being sent from the Alliance. He had no interest in top secret projects and black ops missions. The program cheerfully informed him that it wouldn’t take long, as his requests filtered out almost the entire backlog.

Most people would advise against poking around in your sister’s extranet browsing history, but Kiryn was willing to risk it. No luck there either. The last time she’d used the computer was almost a month ago, mostly to read news articles and browse furniture catalogues.

Kiryn wasn’t sure if it was more frustrating or concerning. His sister didn’t seem to do much outside of… being Commander Shepard. Even saviors of the galaxy had to have free time. Didn’t she ever take shore leave?

What do you like to do?

It didn’t seem right. It was… logical that he would end up this way. But Keris was free. She had been able to choose. Why would she choose to be like...like him? If he had been free, would he still have ended up like this? No life, no purpose, no existence outside of his work?

With a whole galaxy on her shoulders, maybe she’d felt there wasn’t time for anything else. Maybe now that it was all over, things would be different for her.

Maybe they should be different for him, too.

The rest of the apartment was unhelpfully empty. He left his last bug in the kitchen, and made a mental note to get more. Alcohol loosened tongues; it would be good to have an ear at the bar. Feeling a little disappointed, Kiryn could only hope that the emails would be more enlightening.

He forwent the shuttle to the refugee camp in favor of walking. He had some things to pick up, after all. And it was harder to be introspective when he walked. Too much to focus on in the real world.

A new omni-tool, as he’d promised himself, although it would take a few hours of voiding the warranty to get it to do the things he needed it to do. Some mods for his sniper rifle -- the Hegemony was wrong about a lot of things, and the superiority of Batarian State Arms was now very high on his list. He’d have to find someplace out of sight where he could work on his gun, though.

Kiryn was pondering whether renting a hotel room for a few hours for the privacy to work on his very illegal rifle was as ridiculous as it sounded, when he saw something that made him stop.

The store was called Terran. It sold clothes. Nice clothes that looked to be good quality, from this distance. Suits and dresses and casual wear. And leather jackets.

He’d been saving up for one before…before. Had it all picked out, knew exactly what he wanted. It cost a lot of money to ship out to little colonies in the middle of nowhere. He’d barely been halfway to his goal when…

Why shouldn’t he buy one now? He had the money. He could wear whatever he wanted to, now.

Kiryn began to walk towards the store, but a few feet away, he froze.

He didn’t need another jacket. It had no tactical advantage over what he already had. And how could he explain it when he got back to the camp? Refugees didn’t wear things like that any more than slaves did.

Kiryn stared at his reflection in the storefront window. The pale, drawn face so carefully free of emotion. Placid eyes like green glass, hooded and empty. There was no way to tell by looking at him that he was one of the most feared assassins in batarian space. The blood on his hands was invisible to everyone but himself. Everything about him faded into the background, and that was by design and necessity.

He turned on his heel and headed for the shuttle. The sooner he got back to the camp, the sooner he could check Keris’ emails.

#mass effect #commander shepard #femshep #dudeshep #twin au #alternate universe fic #i'm sorry it's so late i got sick orz

[bits-bobs-and-barnes]

Corrupted Heart {Quentin Beck x Stark!Reader}

Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of alcohol and swearing, restraints, the slightest hint of non-con (but no nasty yet ;0)

{Author’s Note: Another new character! I hope you like this concept and how I portrayed Beck! Leave me feedback, or ask to be tagged! Like and reblog if you liked the fic, and help my blog! Enjoy!}

Tags: @legendsaresooftenwarnings @jilldsumner @chonisberonica

The booze tasted warm on his lips, and it burned on the way down. His eyes squeezed closed and he tried to channel his nervous energy back into something productive. The paper-bag crinkled noisily in his grasp, the cement was solid beneath him, and he could hear the buzz of traffic behind him. 

New York was alive at this time of night, thousands and thousands of lights twinkling down every street, everyone around him carrying out their own conversations-- ignoring the man who’s entire world was shattered at his feet. 

Early today, Tony Stark had made a mockery of his life’s work. The shame, the rage that he felt in that moment played back in his mind, and justified the resignation he’d filed an hour later. His ID badge would work for the rest of the night, and he was told to collect his things before they were removed. 

Quentin set the bottle on the curb, and drew a deep breath, straightening his posture and allowing himself some dignity. He pushed open the glass door, and presented his badge to the night security guard, feeling his heart pound as the man looked through his bag-- before finally letting him through. 

The normally chaotic Stark Tower was quiet at this time of night, and Quentin was thankful that he had a slim chance of running into any coworkers or anyone for that matter as he approached the elevator banks. He could feel the eyes of the security guard at his back, feeling his hair stand on end as he stepped inside, and waited for the doors to close. 

The moment he was alone, he set to work. Securing the phone-shaped device to the panel inside the elevator, he closed his eyes and said a prayer, hitting the top floor button. If he was lucky, the device could circumvent the keycard required to reach the residential floors of Stark Tower-- and avoid setting off any alarms in the process. 

The telltale whir of the elevator zooming upwards meant that the little trinket had served its purpose. His eyes widened in glee, and he silently breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God. The hardest part was over. 

Tony, to his credit, was practically invincible. The network of security, the Iron Man suits, and the other measures to keep him from harm were too advanced for Beck to handle alone. But you, his only daughter, were astoundingly unprotected. Maybe it was ego? Maybe Tony thought that only a madman would break into Stark Tower and risk waking the entire Avengers team? 

Now, it was just a matter of convincing you to come with him. 

---

You’d never met Quinten Beck before, never taken a second to glance in his direction-- why would you? He was another of hundreds of your father’s employees, and a meek one at that. He’d never made a pass at you, never asserted himself beyond greeting you in passing one morning in the lobby. 

Your hair was tied back, a toothbrush poking out from between your lips as you wandered the kitchen-- looking for a misplaced water-bottle. A few of the Avengers had gone out on a rare Friday without a mission, and invited you to a night of drinking and dancing-- which you’d kindly turned down. You wanted to give your dad a night with his friends, allow him a little fun for once, and were happy to retire to a night of watching TV and an early bedtime. 

The elevator dinged from the other room, and you frowned. It was barely ten-- they shouldn’t have been back yet. Pulling out the toothbrush, and setting it on the counter, you stepped out into the living room. “Hello?” You approached the elevator, seeing the doors open, and no one inside. 

Quinten was very still, waiting until you were nearly inside the elevator before he lunged. One of his arms snapped around your waist, his other lifting to cover your mouth. “Stay quiet,” he hissed in warning, feeling the warmth of your skin through the thin cotton of your pajamas. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

You felt a chill shoot up your spine, and you thought back to the training Natasha had given you a few months ago. She’d held you just like this, and told you where to start kicking. You started to struggle, and threw back a foot, aiming for that sweet-spot between the legs-- and found yourself suddenly free of his grasp, pushed forward into the elevator, stumbling. You spun around, expecting some thug or a darkly dressed villain, and finding... Beck. “Help!” You called, knowing that hardly anyone would be awake to hear your cries for aid.

He was dressed plainly, but there was determination in his eyes as he stepped forward to interpose himself between you and the door. “I told you to be quiet,” he chided, stepping forward and taking a grip of your arm, pulling you closer to him. Suddenly, realization dawned on him. You weren’t screaming as much as you should’ve been, and your shoulders were heavy with defeat? “They’re all gone, aren’t they?” He asked, pushing the button for the Parking garage, and fixing you with those intense eyes. “The Avengers? They left you all alone?” 

You didn’t answer, defiant. 

A flicker of happiness rippled through him. Perfect. It seemed like fate was on his side tonight. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he purred, free hand moving to gently caress your hip, thumb toying with the elastic waistband of your shorts. “You’re going to play nice, and tell me which one is your car. Then, we’re going to go for a drive. What happens after that,” he shrugged, “that’s up to you-- if you’re good,” his grip got a little tighter on your arm, “we can some fun.” There was no mistaking his tone... you were prettier in person, frankly. “But if you act up,” he pushed you back sternly until you were pressed up against the steel wall of the elevator. “I have no problems killing you, Y/N.” It was a lie, bold-faced one, but one he needed to keep you in line-- and keep you from screaming again.

You were silent, weighing your options. If you cooperated, you could bide your time-- planning an escape, or waiting for your dad to rescue you. Working your jaw, you sighed under your breath, and spoke. “Fine,” you answered, “I’ll be good.” 

--- 

It was easy from there. True to his word, Beck didn’t hurt you or manhandle you in any way, even allowing you to walk on your own to the car, confident that you’d honor the deal. He was only a few steps behind, he didn’t see the harm. When you got to the car though, he stopped you, poking through the clutter in his bag to find a large zip-tie, and gesturing for you to hold out your wrists. 

“Really?” You put your hands on your hips, looking at the rough plastic with distaste. “How cliche can you be?”

He rolled his eyes and stepped forward, easily taking your wrists and holding them together while he tightened the restraints around them. “I can’t have you attacking me while I drive,” he justified, stepping back and admiring his work, while hiding how strange the whole thing felt. He wasn’t a kidnapper, he wasn’t a criminal, and as the booze wore off-- he began to realize the repercussions of what he was doing. Even if he didn’t hurt you, even if he let you go right now, he’d be in prison the second Stark found him. The damage was done-- and by the time he let you go, he’d be drowning in legal fees. “There,” he let go of your wrists, and guided you into the passenger seat, taking the wheel and beginning to drive out of the darkened garage. He was silent, for a little, entering traffic and doing his best to keep from looking at you.

“Who are you?” You asked softly, fully turned in your seat to inspect him, memorizing the details of his face. There was stubble decorating his chin, and his eyes flicked in your direction as you addressed him.

Ah, what the hell. “I’m Quentin Beck,” he introduced himself, his eyes returning to the road a second later. “I used to work for your father.” He added, as though it justified what he was doing.

That tracked. It seemed Tony liked to burn as many bridges as he built, and it wasn’t hard to imagine that a former employee would come after you-- it wasn’t the first time one had attempted. “What department?” You asked, filling the air as you wiggled in the tight bonds, making no headway at releasing yourself.

“R&D,” he answered, surprised you weren’t more... resentful of him. “I helped develop the--”

“--augmented reality drones, right?” You concluded, allowing the slightest ounce of passion to seep into your tone, losing the neutrality you had. Admittedly, you thought the tech was cool, useful even, but had only looked at it a few times in passing. Your father had just presented it at MIT this morning, after months of work from R&D in the background to get it running. “I saw them this morning at the exposition, they worked well.”

He was stunned, and his mind spun as he struggled to maintain control over the situation. “Thank you?” Had you been there? Why hadn’t he seen you backstage? Had you seen him?

“So, what went wrong? Why,” you lifted your wrists as if to demonstrate, “am I involved?”

He flushed, thinking over his answer. It sounded so stupid now, so poorly planned, without a thought for the consequences at the time. “I wanted to hurt him, and he cares about you.” He answered plainly. “I never planned to hurt you, I just wanted him to feel what it’s like to have someone take something from him.” He glanced over as the came to a stop at a red-light. “I wanted to take everything from him.” 

A pit formed in your stomach. “Oh,” you breathed, looking out the window as your heart pounded against your ribs. You had almost broken the apparatus, if you could just get a minute more to fiddle with it! 

He refocused his attention on the road, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders the further they got from Stark Tower. Maybe he could convince you that this had all been a big mistake, and let you go before Tony had even realized you were missing, maybe he could take you to dinner instead? 

The audible click of the breaking plastic brought a second of pause, as both of you processed that you were no longer tied. Too many things happened at once. Quentin slammed on the brakes, sending you both lurching forward as he swerved to pull over. 

You tried to grab for the door-handle, but sooner found yourself thrown against the door as Quentin’s erratic driving took its toll. You groaned and your temples throbbed, barely hearing the click of the locks as he ensured you wouldn’t run out into traffic. 

“I thought you were going to be good?” His tone was furious, and very nearly betrayed. Had you been flattering him to lower his guard? “I was going to let you go,” his voice shook as he reached over, taking a handful of your hair and pulling sharply, forcing you to meet his eyes. “But since you can’t behave, it looks like I’m going to have to punish you.” His eyes flashed with darkness and anger, putting the car in park, and opening his door. “Get out.” 

Fear welled up in your chest. You didn’t know this neighborhood, and you were far from anything you knew. You could run... but where would you go? You stepped out of the vehicle, shivering against the cold and walking around the car to meet Beck. 

He eyed you with a new intent now... a darker one. He could see the slight tremble of your fingers, the harshly bitten lip, the shining eyes that spoke of uncertainty. You had no idea what he was capable of, and that excited him. He could get back at Tony a different way, he decided. Who’s to say revenge couldn’t be sweet? 

#quentin beck #quentin beck x reader #quentin beck imagine #mysterio #mysterio imagine #mysterio x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine

[ergomaria]

The Past is Gone (but something might be found) Preview Pt. III

Somehow, the text from the original post was deleted when I tried to edit the tags to make this easier to sort. I’ve restored it. Once again, I’m just posting this as a reminder that I’m alive and still trying to write!

PLOT: Vann, Meetra, and Carth touch the wrong thing at the wrong shrine and are turned into themselves at 18. Alek finds himself paying his penance to the Force when he has to simultaneously watch over the trio while trying to figure out how to restore them to their proper ages.

Now saddled with three teenagers and very few clues, Alek nodded in acquiescence as he trudged back towards the Hawk. Luckily, they were all fairly well behaved during the walk. Once they reached the ship the real fun began.

“So, do any of you know the codes to get back on the ship?”

There was a long bout of uncomfortable silence during which it became clear that no adult knowledge about the freighter had stuck with the teens. The worst part was that Alek did know the codes but couldn’t admit that fact without seeming suspicious. The next best option was to rewire the door panel and go from there.

“Alright, here’s a better question. Do any of you know how to rewire a hatch?”

Predictably, it was Deran who raised his hand. “Obviously I can, at least if I have the correct tools. Unfortunately, I don’t have my normal gear…”

The amount of places that Vann had broken into or out of during his search for the Star Forge still grated on Alek’s nerves. He knew for a fact there was a multitool tucked somewhere in that worn black jacket, but it was yet another fact he couldn’t openly share. “This might sound absurd, but everyone check your pockets. If your clothing originally belonged to spacers, and it looks like it did, the original owners may have left something useful behind.”

It was a risky gamble since there was always a chance that one of them had identifying documents on their person. But Alek was hoping they’d left those behind to perform a mission as covert as hiding a highly dangerous Sith holocron. Onasi’s civilian clothing was the best indicator that this might be the case. For once the Force was on his side and the search produced nothing but various odds and ends. An extra reload for the blasters, a few credits, a ration bar, a medpac, and finally a multitool that Vann had definitely purchased illegally.

Deran was predictably pleased to find the item and immediately set to work rewiring the door to his own ship. Meanwhile, Alek quietly filed that irony away for later. When the exit ramp slid open with a smooth hiss, Onasi practically cracked a tooth in his desperate attempt to not look impressed.

The inside of the Hawk was in partial disarray, though it was hard to tell if this was from whatever had transpired to turn three adults into teenagers or the mere fact that it was Vann’s ship and thus naturally full of clutter. Either way, the mess made it easier for Alek to order the teens to remain in the main hold where it was neater and theoretically ‘safer’ while he ‘checked’ the rest of the freighter. As soon as he was sure they would stay put, he moved into the cockpit to look for further clues.

Despite his tendency towards random piles of mechanical parts, Vann was absolutely fastidious when it came to researching locations and making notes about what he discovered. Before the original trip to Dromund Kaas he’d compiled an entire datapad full of files on the history of Sith purebloods, their laws, and their customs. While Nirauan had significantly less information recorded, there was still a pad with multiple paragraphs discussing the planet’s connection to both the Rakata Infinite Empire and the Force itself. It seemed that the crew was aiming to land near a series of suspected Rakata ruins that had a notable presence.

Datapad in hand, Alek peeked into the main hold to inform his charges of his next step. “Just so you’re aware, I think I found a series notes mentioning that this planet has a strange connection to the Force. I don’t know if it has anything to do with your current situation, but we can’t rule it out. I have a friend who might be able to untangle the few clues we currently have, so I’m going to comm her using the ship’s unit. Just wait here until I’m done.”

“Is she a Jedi?” Meetra was sprawled across two seats looking dangerously bored.

“She was at one time, but she’s since left the Order. However, she’s very knowledge about certain subjects and I feel that her input will be extremely helpful.” One of the subjects she had a great deal of experience with was being a Force prodigy and another was ancient artifacts from the Infinite Empire, currently making her the galaxy’s only authority on the situation. When there were no further questions, Alek hurried away to contact Rakata Base in the hope of begging Bastila for assistance.

“Vann?” The young woman’s face immediately darkened when she saw who was on the other end of the call. “Why are you there and where is Vann?”

“I’m here because Meetra contacted me when there was a complication with their current mission,” Alek hissed as quietly as possible. Noting the concern that immediately overtook Bastila’s face he assured her, “Everyone is healthy. I hesitate to say ‘fine’ because, well… Somehow, through a combination of some Rakta ruins and a Sith holocron, all three members of this crew are currently teenagers with no memories of their adult selves. I’d estimate them between seventeen and nineteen, if I had to guess.”

The incredulous glare was absolutely scathing. “You’ve picked a poor time to develop a sense of humor.”

“Why in Sith hells would I joke about this? I currently have three teenagers in the hold of this damn ship who are convinced that I’m a Jedi Sentinel named Naver who happened to sense a disturbance in the Force. Since it’s blatantly clear that my creativity it lacking, you can be sure that I couldn’t make this bantha fodder up if I tried!”

“Dustil, can you please come here? Our former ‘master’ is on the comm and he believes that he’s being hilarious. Perhaps you can convince him to tell me what’s really going on.”

“What the hells is going on now, Malak?” The younger Onai looked supremely irritated, which actually mirrored how Alek was currently feeling.

“That’s not my name.”

Appearing unbothered by the correction, Dustil sneered for a moment before snapping, “What kinrath nest did Vann get my dad into this time?”

“Oh, did he not tell you? Supposedly through the will of the Force, Vann, Meetra, and your father are now teenagers with no memory of their adult lives.” Bastila looked equally unamused. “Funny, yes?”

“Hi-kriffing-larious.”

Alek was about two second from hanging up and hoping that Rand would be more helpful, if only to get Meetra back into her proper body, when a slender figure crept into the room just within view of the comm unit.

“Um, Knight Naver, I apologize for bothering you but…”

There was a loud pop of static from the other end of the comm, which turned out to be Bastila covering the microphone with her hand so that she could curse for about thirty seconds straight.

“Yes, Deran? I was actually just telling me friend Bastila a bit about you and the others in the hope that she’d be willing to assist us in figuring out what happened. Perhaps you’d like to speak with her about your current situation? It could be useful.”

It was hard to tell who was more bewildered by the entire scenario. Luckily, Deran’s natural curiosity quickly took hold and he slipped over to the console and situated himself before the camera. “Hello, Bastila was it? What did you want to ask me?”

“Oh stars…” The young woman was doing a poor job of disguising her surprise, though she still managed to stutter, “I apologize for my lack of manners. You just… remind me of someone I know. No matter. Actually, Deran, I was just wondering how, ah, how old you are.”

“You really aren’t a Jedi, are you? Sorry, that was rude. It’s just… everyone in the Order always seems to know everything about me. But uh, I turned eighteen a few months ago.”

“Two years before Knighthood…”

“Bastila, be careful. You don’t want to scare the boy!” While it was technically true that Deran became the youngest Knight in the order at age twenty, that wasn’t information his eighteen-year old self knew. It wasn’t until nineteen that his trials actually began.

Plastering on a false smile, the young woman quickly stammered, “That’s just a guess on my part. Though, of course, I could be wrong. It’s not like I can see the future and you’re so very… young.”

Unfortunately, just the mention of Knighthood had made Deran’s back go stiff, his jaw ticking in the corner even as his expression remained stoic and proper. “Well, that’s for the Council to decide. They know best.” Even at this age he sounded thoroughly unconvinced. “What else do you want to ask me?”

“That’s… that’s it.” Turning to Alek, Bastila stated, “I believe you and I’ll do whatever I can to help. Just tell me what you need.”

“I’ll send you all of the data I have in a minute. Let me just find out what brought Deran in here in the first place.”

“I came in to let you know that Carth and Meetra left the ship. They said that they got tired of waiting for you and decided to explore on their own.” The teen winced slightly. “Also, they may have been flirting? I’m not always great at telling that type of stuff, but it’s possible they just went to go and… you know.”

The snort of hysterics from Dustil was all the confirmation that Alek needed to know that this entire situation was his punishment from the Force. Part of him considered letting Meetra and Onasi do whatever they wanted. Someone else could deal with the fallout. But he also needed to get Deran out of the room to prevent him from snooping. “I’m concerned that they’re going to get themselves into trouble. There are some very powerful ruins on this planet and I’d hate for them to make the current situation even more complicated. Can I trust you to find them and bring them back safely?”

It was an underhanded ploy. Alek was fully aware that Deran’s facade of teenage bravado combined with his crippling fear of failure would make him agree to almost any task without question. But the former Sith didn’t have time to chase two teenagers down, all while trying to keep a third from learning that he was currently speaking with his own kriffing Padawan.

As expected, Deran immediately nodded. “Of course. I’ll bring them back as quickly as possible.”

It wasn’t until the teen’s footfalls disappeared off the ship that Alek sat down with a sigh, his head pounding from the sheer mental acrobatics required to keep this situation moving forward. As he uploaded the information from Vann’s datapad he grumbled, “For Force sake, Dustil. I thought your father would be the responsible one!”

The damned kid was still laughing. “Just checking, but is Meetra the teenager as pretty as Meetra the adult? Big blue eyes and wavy blonde hair?”

Attempting to be objective about the attractiveness of someone who was like a sister to him, Alek shrugged. “I suppose? She was more petite at this age, almost willowy. I honestly think she looks better with some muscle. Less delicate.”

“I don’t care either way, it’s just… My dad kinda has a type. Or, at least he did at that point in his life. My mom was petite with wavy, honey-brown hair. They met when he was twenty.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope, you can look up the files for Morgana Onasi if you want. I um, I have. Just to see her, you know? It helps me to remember her face…” Shaking away his melancholy, Dustil cleared his throat. “Ah, anyway, at eighteen my Dad was really responsible when it came to official things. Training and studying? He was incredibly dedicated. But when he had time to himself he kind of… let loose. Nothing really bad, just a lot of drinking and fooling around with his fellow cadets. Put a bunch of bored, horny teenagers in the same dorm and stuff happens.”

Alek had lived in the Jedi dormitories during puberty and was well aware of what could happen. He winced.

“The good news is that my dad definitely liked men at that age as well… Please don’t ask how I know this. It was a really awkward conversation that only happened because I got mad at him and… ugh. But the good news is that he might rediscover how amazing Vann is. He is really great at this age, right?”

“He’s actually an anxious mess who likes to pretend he’s confident, which just comes off as arrogance. It doesn’t help that he’s actually good at whatever he does. Honestly, I think your father currently wants to throttle him.”

“Ouch. Well, maybe they’ll lose all memory of this once they get restored to their actual ages!”

“We can only hope the Force is that kind.” Rubbing his forehead, Alek asked, “Bastila, have you looked over those files I sent?”

“I’m reading them now and I’ll run them through the Rakata archives when I’m done. But you should be aware that, while we have a significant amount of information on the Infinite Empire, we don’t have much else. Vann tries to update what he can, but it’s still nothing compared to what the Jedi possess.”

“Do your best, it’s still more than I have access to on this ship.”

“I do have an idea, but you’re not going to like it one bit.” Upon noting Alek’s hopeful expression, Bastila sighed...

#kotor 2 #kotor 2 fanfic #wip excerpt #revan #male Revan #vann chis #The Jedi Exile #Female exile #Alek Squinquargesimus #Malak #bastila shan #dustil onasi #my writing #not perfection but completeness

[theglguidetowebcomics]

Essay time: A Rant About Backgrounds - Part III

To use backgrounds and not to use, and a quick showcase of genre.

From tone and the power of timing onwards. And now the next topic ans a quick showcase.

Background absence

However, as insanely useful and interesting backgrounds can be, all rules are meant to be broken. Not all panels that don’t have backgrounds are useless, rather,  there are times where they’re required. blank backgrounds have useful effects, such as time, focus, and impact.

Kill 6 Billion Demons - Tom parkison-Morgan Creating powerful moments with empty background

Tom Parkison-Morgan is a clear example of using background complexity to it’s advantage. And one of the strongest uses of removing backgrounds is to redirect focus. It brings focus onto the character and the moment. A backdrop would pull away form that, splitting the focus. In the example above is a scene from Kill 6 Billion demons where a character is having a key shoved into her forehead. An Important plot point. It’s the inciting incident to the story. So the panel focuses on the character, her shock, the hand, the key playing lights all over her face, and the soft movement of the hair. The character is lost, things are happening to fast for her to catch up. So the lack of background in this incident doesn’t just draw the audience’s full attention to the inciting incident (which it does), it uses the lack of background to explore the character’s confusion. Now, context wise the background in this scene is also rather blank due to scene (demons coming out of a void into her room). So there is another reason to it. But, even taking that into account, it still acts as a break from the former background, and considering the lack of figures in the background it still works as a disorientated removal from what’s happening around her. It removes background as a way to direct focus, and in this case, also capture the character’s state of mind.

Kill 6 Billion Demons - Tom Parkinson-Morgan Breathtaking worlds to empty scenes, the power of contrast and diversity of backgrounds

Kill 6 Billion Demons though is quite famous for it’s backgrounds, it has some of the most complex and visually rich scenary in webcomics. But the biggest strength in the webcomic is that even if it has extremely poignant sprawling landscapes it knows when and where to use them. Backgrounds are where they need to be to still ground the place of the story, removed in small talking scenes, and ommitted where the lack of backdrop heavily improves the meaning in a panel. It’s a good example of balance. An empty background doesn’t mean much unless it’s contrasted with an actual one, same vice versa. The importance lies in it’s comparison to other panels. So, even if blank backgrounds and complex backgrounds are extremely useful as a tool, there still needs to be diversity. If all the backgrounds are blank audiences won’t pick up on when a single panel is supposed to be especially blank. And, if you want a complex background to hit hard, it needs to contrast to other panels. Overused panel styles loose their effect . Which is why a lot of comics that use backgrounds well, go from no backgrounds, to full, to somewhere in the middle. It’s about a bit of variation. There’s a lot of freedom there.

Gunnerkrigg Court - Tom Siddel Some scenes need to be simple

And to addition to sprawling city splash pages being impressive there are many instances in the story were they’d simply be distracting. In this strip from Gunnerkrigg Court there is not much visual information. Besides a bed in the foreground. It’s dialogue scene. The focus is the character’s expressions and an off hand joke about a cursed tea pot, in this instance an inclusion of a background (especially a detailed one) would just clutter the scene. The panels are small, and the dialogue is quick. As much as a sense of place can add to the character’s motivation or story there are times where things need to be simple. Simple isn’t a bad thing. Backgrounds aren’t always necessary. It’s all about balance. And even if a comic is about visual information, sometimes taking a break for the dialogue is just as important. Dialogue is a tool too, it’s useful, and in many instances needed.

Go Get a Roomie - Chloé C Sometimes the background isn’t relevant right now

The need for backgrounds in scenes varies. On top of the contrast of backgrounds, and the inclusion of them actually taking away from scenes; there are also times where they’re just not relevant. And a lot of this can boil down to genre. And purpose. Go Get A Roomie is a gag and character focused comic, the importance of location and it’s effect of the plot is fairly minimal. It isn’t a comic devoid of place. Not many comics are. It has locations like a flat, a bar, a park, a mentor’s house, dreamscapes, and establishing those places is important. But, strip to strip wise, a lot of the comics segments are focused on a joke or the character’s state of mind, and backgrounds aren’t entirely relevant in those instances. Looking at the two examples from Go Get a Roomie (above) the approach to backgrounds are both rather sparse for narrative reasons.

Firstly there’s a gag strip, two side character’s visit a protagonists house for the first time, make a sexual joke, get the door shut on them. Character comedy. The joke is the focus. So the background reflects only the information needed to display this (the door frame). What’s behind the door besides the character’s is irrelevant, and much like the previous point, would also ruin the timing, and bog up the panel with useless information. Simple isn’t bad. Sometimes it’s needed. To go up with the background complexity is the strip below that. Protagonist walking down a street. The background isn’t omitted but it’s sketch like in design. Where she’s walking is somewhat important. But again. The focus is somewhere else. This instance focuses on the state of mind of the character. Aimlessly wandering, the third panel flipped, she’s completely spaced out and the sketchy background also shows her disinterest in the space she’s in as well. The background here certainly does it’s purpose. Both the character and audience aren’t focusing on it, which both supports the character’s thoughts and the reader’s focus on the character. It’s a small use, but an important one. Backgrounds may have a multitude of uses, but every tool varies in relevance case by case.

What does the fox say? - Team Gaji Soulless backgrounds and the loss of impact

But, even if backgrounds vary in use and may even negatively impact certain panels, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter when and how they’re used. There’s always a lot of freedom with what does and doesn’t work with images. But, backgrounds are a tool, you work with it rather than ignore it. Now, with this example, again it’s important to remember the context it was made with. A different industry (once again, the South Korean comic industry with a salary model), and the problems in the industry and the number of people on a project effect how it functions. And the capabilities. One isn’t necessarily better than the other. But, they do work slightly differently. However, this example from Team Gaji “What Does The Fox Say?” (strange title, I know) is a solid example of poor use of background and it’s subsequent effect on the story. The assets and backgrounds in this comic are all 3D rendered, which gives off a strange disconnect between the 2d characters and world they inhabit. And this effect is unintentional, it takes away from the story, it’s distracting, especially at first. But, probably the biggest impact of the rendered backgrounds (the use of rendered backgrounds is a different topic, this is just a case example) is how they’re structured. They’re bland. There’s no information in it. The backgrounds are generally grey scale and empty, the only information is the design. Clean modern. Which could reveal a bit about the character if the other backgrounds and assets in the comic weren’t exactly the same. The use of rendering backgrounds in this case is more about making the workload easier, which could be a completely fair reason, however it does effect the comic. The purpose of backgrounds become purely location based, where the character is when it’s necessary. It doesn’t explore the character’s relationship to the setting/opinions/tone/or personal flares even. So the backgrounds are boring. But even with that the comic still tries to have moments of no background or simple backgrounds for some effect. In the first panel the only focus is on the figure, we see she’s smoking, we see her look down, we see her blandly look over to off screen, then there’s a reveal of another character sleeping in the bed. This is supposed to be a small moment, a moment of quiet with removal of the backgrounds, but that doesn’t work when the backgrounds are information-less to begin with (just grey and sterile, not even for effect). And with the grey gradients you can’t really tell what the character’s are thinking with how the expressions are drawn, even if that’s supposed to be the focus of the frame and be the critical component to the visual story telling. The background tells the audience nothing, the lack of background tells the audience nothing, and in the end the comic relies on dialogue cues. Doesn’t make the scene horrendous, but, it does make it hard to understand and a tad boring. There are many reasons to not use backgrounds in scenes, from setting being irrelevant, to panels needing to be simple, to background removal being a really strong effect. But, Backgrounds are still a tool, and even if they can be used as often as they are not, completely disregarding how they effect the scene doesn’t make a great scene.

Backgrounds and genre

On an extremely quick note. Backgrounds vary on genre, in use, stylization, and function. There’s a lot of freedom in how backgrounds can be used, with things as subjective as media there’s never one way to do anything. So just a few examples of the variation:

Spinnerette - Krazy Krow Cliche and satire, changing styles to parody and change up a chapter. From the comic that nearly makes fun of being a comic as much as it is a good one.

Ava’s demon Michelle Czajkowski Horror and experimentation. Eeriness through the abstract.

Go Get a Roomie -

Chloé C The gag comic with emotional weight, from no backgrounds to full and back again.

Backgrounds are a tool. Not all hammers and hammers alone make a chair. How they’re used and the effect they have on the audience is complex and varied, which is a good thing. This rant isn’t how people have to use them, more that backgrounds are a useful tool and it would be nice to see them used more as a visual storytelling means.

#Comics #webcomics #essay #how to be a werewolf #kill 6 billion demons #gunnerkrigg court #go get a roomie #what does the fox say #spinnerette

[bellamyblcke]

Without the Dark We’d Never See the Stars

Pairing: Bella Swan/Edward Cullen, Bella Swan/Eleanor (Edythe) Cullen

Summary: "I’ve never had a boyfriend,” I said. “Why not?” Jess asked, curiously. “You’re freaking gorgeous, it’s a crime for you to be single.” “No one ever really asked." “People ask you here,” Jess said, “and you tell them no.”

in which Bella Swan is the lesbian we always knew she could be

Read on AO3

In seventh grade, Ian McPherson had told everyone on the playground that he wanted to die in a shark attack. He’d mimicked the chomp of the shark’s teeth and all the girls had screamed and closed their eyes. Emma Patterson had said that she wanted to die in her sleep, because it was the most peaceful way, and why anyone would want to die being mauled by a huge animal she didn’t know, and Stephanie Smith had said that her daddy had died of cancer and she was probably going to end up just like him.

But I had never given much thought to how I would die. And even if I had, I didn’t think I could have imagined this, the reflection of the long dark room in the mirrors, the gleam of the hunter’s eyes, the pound of my heart in my chest.

The hunter smiled.

I’m sorry, I thought, I’m so--

.

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I said a silent goodbye to everything we passed -- the Costco down the street, my favorite coffee shop on the corner, the mountains on the horizon, the palm trees. I would miss Phoenix, the vigorous, sprawling city. I would miss the sun.

"Bella," my mom said. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to go," I said.

Her brow pulled in a little. The furrow didn’t look right on her face. She had a face for laughing.

“I love you," I said.

She hugged me tightly to her. She smelled like lemongrass and mint tea, like home.

“How am I going to manage without my girl?” she said.

.

It was raining when I landed in Port Angeles. Charlie was waiting for me outside the airport in the cruiser. He got out of the car when he saw me and gave me an awkward, one-armed hug.

“It’s good to see you, Bells,” he said, smiling. “You haven’t changed much.”

It was unclear whether this was a compliment or not.

“How’s Renee?” he said, trying again.

"Mom's fine,” I said.

It was odd to see him in the grey Washington light. He looked older and more tired than he had the last time I had seen him.

“It’s good to see you, too,” I said, after slightly too long had passed.

.

Charlie still lived in the two-bedroom house he’d bought with my mother, though I could barely imagine my mother living in it. She always reminded me of warm things, burning incense and cluttered knicknacks. Charlie’s house felt cold and ill-used, as though someone had just moved out, though it had been eighteen years since my mother had left him.

Parked outside the house was a truck. It was old and red and slightly rusty, but I could see myself in it. It felt worn in a way that appealed to me.

“A homecoming gift,” Charlie said. He wasn’t looking at me, staring out the window.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

He shrugged, embarrassed. “It was nothing.”

“Nah,” I said. “It was something.”

.

It only took one trip to get all my stuff to my room. It had been five years since I had been to Forks, but the room -- the faded blue paint, the lacy yellow curtains, the rickety metal bed -- felt like my childhood.

Made it here safe, I texted my mother. Already miss you.

She responded immediately, and I knew she had probably been waiting by her phone.

Love you, love you, love you, she sent.

It made me feel tired, like just curling up on the bed and going to sleep. But I knew I would regret not unpacking in the morning, so I started pulling clothes from my bags. It calmed me to have some of my stuff in the space. Shirts in the worn, wooden dresser, a picture of Renee and I last summer on the desk in the corner, a pile of books on the small, childish bookshelf.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. I told myself it was the constant patter of the rain on the windowsill.

.

I woke to a sky full of mist. It felt as if the sky was caging me in.

After Charlie left for work, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three mismatched chairs and examined his small kitchen. Nothing had changed -- the dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor were all as they’d always been.  My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago. I sat there for a long time, but eventually, I had to go.

Forks High School was waiting.

.

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?"  The speaker was a stocky boy with blonde hair carefully gelled into spikes.

"Bella," I corrected.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

"Um, Government? With Jefferson, I think."

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way.”

Everyone was staring at me.

"I'm Mike," he added.

I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.

"Very." He was walking too close to me. I wondered if there was a way to politely put some distance between us.

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?" he asked.

"Ha, no,” I said.

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

I raised an eyebrow. "Sunny," I told him.

.

I feel like a bug in a spyglass, I texted Renee.

I clicked my phone shut after I had sent it and when I looked up I saw them.

They didn’t look similar, and yet they felt different than all the other students there. There was a strange stillness to them that felt far removed from the rest of the crowded cafeteria. I thought, sort of vaguely, that if they were in a movie, the frame would slow when it reached them. They looked like people the camera would want to linger on. They were all beautiful, that was part of it, but it was something more than just beauty. They were other in a way that was marked.

"Who are they?" I asked.

“Those are the Cullens,” the girl next to me said. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up. All the boys are taken.”

.

When I entered the biology classroom, all of the lab tables were filled but one.

One of the Cullens, red haired and intimidatingly gorgeous, was sitting next to the only available seat.

I kept my eyes on her as I went to introduce myself to the teacher. She didn’t look up when I sat down. Instead, she was staring out the window, her hand gripping the desk so hard that I could see the tendons of her arm.  

Halfway through the class though, I paused in my note taking and looked over to find her staring at me. Her pupils were blown so wide that I couldn’t tell where they ended.

The instant the bell rang, she was gone from her seat, swinging her bag over her shoulder with a fluid motion. She was taller than I would have expected, almost like a dancer, and it was only a moment before she was out the door.

.

"So, did you stab Eleanor Cullen with a pencil or what? She looked terrified of you."

"The girl I was sitting next to?" I asked.

"Yeah," Mike said.

"I don't know," I said. "I didn’t even speak to her."

.

“I’m sorry, hon,” the receptionist said. Eleanor Cullen was standing at the front desk when I entered. I stopped where I stood. She seemed too tall and bright to exist in the drab office. “I just don’t think we can switch you,” she continued. “All of the classes are full.”

The door opened again, cold wind blowing my hair around my face. Eleanor turned at the sound of the bell.

For a moment, she met my gaze.

"Never mind. Thank you," she said, and then without looking at me again turned out the door.

When I got to my truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life.

.

The next day was both better and worse.

It was better because it wasn’t raining, and because I now knew what to expect. Mike sat next to me in English and walked with me to my next class. He smiled a lot.  People didn’t stare at me as much, for which I was grateful. I sat with Mike, Eric, Jessica and several other people who seemed almost familiar to me at lunch, and I wasn’t drowning.

It was worse because I was tired. The wind in the eaves of the house kept me awake throughout the night, and I felt as if I was walking through my day in a haze. It was worse because Mr. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn't raised and I had the wrong answer. It was worse because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn't cringe from the ball, I hit my teammate in the head with it.

And it was worse because Eleanor Cullen wasn't in school.

.

The Thriftway wasn’t far, just a few streets south of the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket. The linoleum floors, the long rows stacked high with cereal and peanut butter and tortillas, the wandering middle-aged women, it all felt normal.

When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, taking my time to set a place in the cupboards for each item. The barrenness of Charlie’s cupboards was almost sad. It felt good to fill them.

“You’re cooking?” Charlie asked.

I turned around to find him standing in the doorway. He’d taken his boots off and there was something jarring about seeing his bare feet.

“Steak and potatoes,” I said.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“Your cabinets were empty, Dad.”

“Right,” he said. “I’ll go to the store tomorrow.”

“I went today.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“I didn’t mind.”

.

That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

.

“So, did something happen with you and Eleanor Cullen?" Jessica asked. “Because she’s staring at you.”

Eleanor was finally back in school and I was trying to pretend as if I didn’t think it was a big deal.

"I don't think she likes me," I said.

Jessica just shrugged. "The Cullens don't like anybody. Well, they don't generally notice anybody enough to like them."

"Stop looking at them," I said.

She laughed.

“Calm down, Bella,” she said. “I don’t think your social standing rests on what Eleanor Cullen thinks of you. No one listens to them anyway.”

.

"Eleanor, didn’t you think Bella should have a chance at the microscope?” Mr. Banner said.

I flushed a dark red, but Eleanor just laughed. “Bella identified three of the five.”

"Well," he said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners."

After he left, I began doodling on my notebook, drawing spirals on the cover.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Eleanor asked.

"Not really," I said. I couldn’t believe I was talking to her.

"You don't like the cold?" Her head was tilted to the side and her hair fell in a wet tumble over her shoulder.  

"Or the wet,” I said.

“Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," she mused. She was staring at me. Most people, I realized, didn’t actually look at you that often.

"You have no idea," I said.

.

"Eleanor seemed friendly enough today," Mike commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. “What’d you do to charm the ice bitch?”

“She’s not a bitch,” I said automatically.

.

When I opened my eyes in the morning, there was no fog veiling my window. Instead, a fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusting the top of my truck and whitening the road. The needles on the trees spread in dripping icicles. It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling to the side mirror.

Things I needed not to think about:

Breaking my neck on an ice slick

a problem I would not have if I was safe back in Phoenix

Eleanor Cullen

or her stupid, gorgeous hair

My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads and when I got out at school, I saw why. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck — carefully holding the side for support — to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck.

I was standing by the back corner of the truck, when I heard a high-pitched screech. I looked up, startled, and saw several things simultaneously:

A sea of faces all frozen in the same mask of shock.

Eleanor Cullen, four cars down, staring at me, a streak of red hair across her face.

A dark blue van, skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning across the ice.

I didn’t even have time to close my eyes.

.

"Bella? Are you alright?"

Eleanor’s face in close up. The sharp angle of her nose. The warm gold of her eyes.

"I'm fine,” I said.

.

When she pulled away from me I saw that there were dents in the side of the car in the shape of her hands, as if she had pushed the van off me herself. Little Eleanor, smaller than I was, almost birdlike in her delicacy. But still, there they were, those dents, impossible to unsee.

.

They brought me to the ER, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. In a town this small on a Tuesday afternoon, it was mainly deserted. It was just Eleanor and I in our section of the room, her leaning against the side of one of the beds, tapping out a message on her phone, looking far too put together, and me wearing my neck brace, watching her anxiously.

“Eleanor,” I said. “Can I talk to you?”

Eleanor looked up from her phone.The screen made her seem almost ghostlike, washing her pale features in blue light. "Your father is waiting," she said.

"You owe me an explanation," I said.

"What do you want from me, Bella?" she asked. Her hair was very red in the bland room, her eyes very dark.

"I want to know the truth," I said.

She had that look in her eyes again, the scared look. She was silent for a long time. “You should let this go,” she said. “For your own good.”

And then she was gone, turning from me before I could say anything more.

.

It was dark. Ahead of me, a figure was waiting. I couldn’t see her face, just the pallor of her skin and the bright red of her hair.

“Eleanor!” I called, but she wouldn’t turn.

I started running, but I felt as if I was moving in slow motion and however fast I ran, I could never catch her.

Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night, breathing hard. I couldn’t fall asleep for a long time after.

.

And so time passed.

.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Jessica asked for the tenth time “You weren’t planning on asking him?”

“No, Jess, I don’t even think I’m going,” I said.

The Sadie Hawkins dance was next Saturday and it was all anyone could talk about.

“Come on, Bella,” Jess said. “It will be fun. You don’t even have to go with a date if you don’t want. Though there are like ten million boys who would die to go with you. Ask Erik, or Tyler.”

I tried to think of a polite way to say that I had zero interest in either Erik or Tyler.

“Have fun with Mike,” I said. “Really, I’m good though.”

.

Mike was quiet when he walked with me to class, and he didn’t broach the subject until I was in my seat and he was perched atop my desk.

"So," Mike said, looking at the floor, "Jessica asked me to the spring dance."

"That's great,” I said.

"Well…" he said, examining me closely. "I told her I had to think about it."

"Oh,” I said. “Why?”

Mike was turning red.

“I was wondering if… well if you might be planning to ask me.”

I could tell Eleanor, seated next to me, was listening.

“Mike,” I said. “I think you should tell her yes.”

.

“Bella?” Eleanor’s voice should not have been familiar to me.

I turned.

She just looked at me. She hadn’t talked to me since the incident with the truck, weeks before.

“What? Are you speaking to me again?" I asked.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But it's better this way, really."

“Why?” I asked. It came out more vulnerable than I intended.

“It’s just,” she paused, frustrated. “It’s better if we’re not friends. Trust me.”

I thought about her eyes when she’s saved me, how they’d been warm and soft, and how quickly they’d hardened.

“It’s too bad you didn’t figure that out earlier. You could have saved yourself all this regret.”

“You think I regret saving your life?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Bella,” she said, softly.

“I know you do,” I said.

“You don’t know anything,” she said.

.

Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home that night and smelled green peppers. I couldn't blame him — the closest edible Mexican food was probably in southern California. But he was a cop, so he was brave enough to take the first bite.

"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done. We so rarely spoke, Charlie and I.

"Yeah?" he said, looking up.

“It’s cool if I go up to Seattle next week, right?”

"Will you be back in time for the dance?"

Only in a town this small would a father know when the school dances were.

"I don't really dance, Dad,” I said.

I didn’t get my dancing feet from my mother, so he just nodded.

.

When I got to school the next morning, Eleanor Cullen was leaning against the side of my truck.

“I thought you were supposed to be pretending I didn’t exist,” I said.

“I wasn’t pretending you didn’t exist,” Eleanor said.

“So are you trying to irritate me to death then? Since Tyler’s van didn’t do the job.”

I was never like this, hot and cold, and worked up over nothing.

“I’m going to class,” I said, turning and walking away. But she followed right beside me.

She looked amused. “Do you want a ride?”

“What?” I said.

“To Seattle. I heard you say you were going.”

“With who?” I said.

“With me, of course,” she said.

.

“Jess,” I said, coming up to her as I entered the lunchroom, grabbing her elbow. “You’ll never believe what happened to me this morning, like it was so fuck--”

“Bella?”

I turned and saw that Eleanor was standing right behind me, holding a lunch tray, and looking almost… nervous?

“Umm, hold on one sec,” I said, releasing Jess.

“Do you want to eat?” Eleanor asked.

“Um, yeah,” I said. “Yeah I do.”

“Bella,” Jess called. “Are you ditching us?” But Eleanor was already leading me across the cafeteria. I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination or if everyone was actually staring.

"So,” I said once we were seated. “This is different.”

She laughed.

“I decided if I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly,” she said.

I shifted, uncomfortable.

“I think your friends are angry at me for stealing you,” she said, after a long moment had passed.

“They’ll survive,” I said.

“I may not give you back,” she said.

.

The next day, she was waiting for me outside my Trig class.

“Lunch?” she asked and I nodded.

She  lead me outside. The air was heavy, but it wasn’t raining.

“If you were smart, you’d stay away from me,” she said.

Her hair was bright against the green of the lawn.

“And if I’m not?”  I asked.

“Well then, I guess we’ll see,” she said.

.

We’d sat together every day that week. It was a routine that felt too easy to grow comfortable in.

I concentrated on unscrewing the lid to my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing.

“Your boyfriend looks like he wants to fight me,” she said.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said, though if I had one guess I’d bet Mike was glaring. “But I’m sure you’re wrong,” I added.

“I’m not,” she said, looking amused. “Most people are easy read.”

.

Mike put his arm around my waist and pulled mine over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, I stopped, and he helped me to sit at the edge of the walk. I felt dizzy and a little nauseous. At least I hadn’t eaten at lunch, too anxious from Eleanor’s proximity. If this kept going, I was going to lose a lot of weight.

“Wow, you’re looking kinda green,” Mike said.

“Bella?” a voice called from a distance. “What’s wrong -- is she hurt?”

Please don’t throw up. Please don’t throw up.

“I think she fainted. I don’t really know, I mean she was fine and then she--”

“Bella,” Eleanor’s voice was right beside me. “Can you hear me?”

“No,” I said.

“We were doing blood typing in biology,” Mike said, from somewhere behind me.

“You faint at the sight of blood?” Eleanor asked, her voice right in my ear. “How ironic.”

I groaned.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll drive you home.”

.

Eleanor’s car was the fanciest in the parking lot, a bright silver Volvo. She drove so fast the world outside was just a blur. The sound of her music, soft and muted, the smell of her in the rain, the reflection of her in the door window.

“Do you think I could be scary?” she asked once we were parked outside my house. The light in the car was dim.

“I think you could be, if you wanted,” I said, honestly.

"Are you frightened of me now?" she said. My stomach twisted in my chest.

“No,” I said, but my voice came out low and throaty.

“Maybe you should be,” she said.

.

Friday, we were back at our same table. I thought I would have gotten used to her presence, but I hadn’t. It felt like the longer I was around her, the worse it got.

“Have fun at the beach, tomorrow,” she said. Mike had been planning the trip for weeks. Eleanor was looking out the window at the pouring rain. I wanted her to look at me again. “Good weather for sunbathing.”

“Aren’t you coming?”

“No,” she said. “I’m going out of town.”

“Doing what?”

“Hiking,” she said.

She didn’t strike me as the outdoorsy type. “Hiking where?”

“Goat Rocks,” she said, turning back to look at me. “It’s supposed to beautiful.”

.

"Do you know a place called Goat Rocks or something?” I asked Charlie that night. “I think it's south of Mount Rainier.”

"Yeah,” he said. “Why?"

I shrugged. "Some kids were talking about hiking there."

"It's not a very good place for hiking." He sounded surprised. "Too many bears.”

"Oh," I said. I tried to imagine Eleanor standing next to a bear in her expensive jeans and gauzy blouses. "Maybe I got the name wrong."

.

I woke to sunlight. Clouds ringed the horizon and the sun hung too low, but there was blue in the sky. I lingered by the window as long as I could, afraid if I left it would disappear.

The Newton’s Olympic Outfitters store was just north of town. A group of kids stood next to a rundown Suburban. I pulled in next to them and Mike came up to greet me.

“You came!” he  called, delighted. “I told you it was going to be sunny.”

I was really going to have to find a way to let him down easy.

“I told you I was coming,” I said.

"Will you ride in my car?"

"Sure,” I said.

He smiled blissfully. It was easy to make Mike happy.

.

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Mike asked me.

When I was a child, I used to come down to First Beach with Charlie. It was beautiful: the water a dark gray, white-capped and heaving, the cliffs, uneven summits crowned with soaring firs, the stones lining the beach a multicolored array, terra-cotta and sea green, lavender and blue gray, the driftwood trees bleached bone white, the brisk wind coming off the wave.  

"No," I said as he placed the blazing twig carefully against the teepee of wood.

"You'll like this then."

He lit another small branch and laid it alongside the first. The flames started to lick quickly up, a swirl of blue and green.

.

“You’re Isabella Swan, right?”

I looked up and saw a boy standing over me. He was very tall, and pretty in a way that boys seldom were, all finely drawn cheekbones and long, glossy black hair.

“Bella,” I said.

“Jacob. Black.” He held out his hand. “You bought my dad’s truck.”

.

The flames were intoxicating to watch and the beer had loosened everyone, so that we were all sprawled and lazy around the fire ring. Jacob’s arm had found its way around my shoulder and I leaned into him. He smelled like fire and boy.

“So you build cars?” I asked.

His eyes were dark, not dark the way that Eleanor’s war, inhuman and mysterious, but warm and kind.

“When I have the parts,” he said. “You wouldn’t know where to find a Volkswagen Rabbit master cylinder, would you?”

I laughed. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“Bella.” Lauren, one of Jessica’s friends, blonde and so straight it hurt, stumbled towards me. “I was just saying to Tyler that it was too bad that none of the Cullens could come. You’re friends with Eleanor, right?” Jessica had told me, in confidence, that Lauren had always had a bit of a thing for Emmett, Eleanor’s tall and brawny brother.

One of the older boys seated across from us looked up at that. “Dr. Carlisle Cullen’s family?” he asked.

She turned towards him, swaying. “Do you know them?” I put a hand out to steady her.

“They don’t come here,” the boy said in a way that closed the subject.

.

It was cold by the waves, and I stuck my hands in my jacket.

“What was that boy back there saying about the Cullens?” I asked Jacob.

“Oh, well, do you like scary stories?” Jacob asked. His voice was husky.

“Yeah,” I said. The dents in the car. The way that Eleanor’s eyes always seemed a different color: black and ocher and pale yellow. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well, in the old Quileute legends people claimed that we were descended from wolves and that wolves are our brothers still. It’s against tribal law to kill them.”

“Okay,” I said, drawing out the vowel.

“And there are stories about the cold ones, the natural born enemy of the wolf.”

“The cold ones?” I asked.

“Your people call them vampires,” he said.

.

The green light of the forest. The crashing of waves in the distance. Jacob Black, tugging on my hand, pulling me towards the blackest part of the forest.

“Jacob? What’s wrong?”

His face was frightened. “Run, Bella, you have to run.”

A voice in the distance, calling my name.

"Why?" I asked.

Jacob let go of my hand, shaking, falling to the dim forest floor.

I screamed his name, but he was gone, and in his place was a giant, red-brown wolf.

A light came from the beach and Eleanor stepped out from between the trees.

“Trust me,” she said. “Bella, trust me.”

.

I pulled out my laptop, curling up on my bed, and typed in one word: vampire.

I closed the laptop.

And then I opened it up again.

.

“I never noticed before, your hair has red in it,” Mike said, catching a strand between his fingers.

“Only in the sun,” I said, as he tucked it behind my ear.

“Great day, isn’t it?” he said.

“My kind of day,” I agreed, looking out across the parking lot.

.

That day, the first school day since I had come to Forks that it had been sunny, none of the Cullens came to school. I tried not to draw conclusions.

.

I found a quilt in the linen cupboard and a tattered collection of Jane Austen and went out into the backyard to soak up the sun. Part way through I stopped. I couldn’t focus on anything but Eleanor. I rolled onto my back. I would think of nothing but the sun on my skin, I told myself. I focused on each part of my body it touched, the tips of my eyelashes, the edge of my elbow, and soon found myself asleep.

.

“So, I’m thinking date two will be the first kiss date,” Jessica said. “With Mike I mean. Obviously.”

The radio blared a whiny rock song.

“But like I think it was good that we didn’t kiss on the first date, it means it's more about like a more emotional connection, don’t you think?”

“You’re so dramatic, Jess,” Angela said.

I laughed.

“Coming from the girl who hasn’t had a crush on anyone in like five ever,” Jess retorted. “Like what even is your type?”

Angela looked uncomfortable.

I was still awkward and clumsy with these sort of girl friendships. “Umm,” I said. “What exactly are we looking for with these dresses?”

Jess turned to me and Angela shot me a grateful look. “It’s semiformal,” she said. “Whatever the fuck that means.”

.

The mall in Port Angeles was a dismal place, the sort of liminal space that always disoriented me, all white tiled floors and strange mirrors.

“What are these dances even like?” I said, as we strolled the racks full of dresses.

“You’ve never been to one?” Angela asked, holding up a particularly abysmal sequined thing.

“Didn’t you ever go with a boyfriend or something?” Jess asked.

I laughed. “Umm no. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“Why not?” Jess asked, curiously. “You’re freaking gorgeous, it’s a crime for you to be single.”

“No one ever really asked,” I said.

“People ask you here,” Jess said, “and you tell them no.”

.

After the dress shopping, I went off in search of a bookstore. The girl’s night high had faded and I wanted some time to myself.

It was getting dark, the clouds finally returning. I found that I’d wandered past the part of Port Angeles that I was intended to see. I’d left my jacket in the car, and a sudden shiver made me cross my arms tightly across my chest. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty.

“Hey there, baby. Aren’t you looking fine tonight.”

There was a group of men lounging against the side of the building. As I turned to them one of them pushed off the side, walking towards me. I stepped backwards, wondering if I should run, though I’d never been particularly fast. Soon, he was almost upon me.

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” he said. His eyes were hungry.

I slipped my purse over my head, gripping the strap with one hand. Heel of the hand thrust upward. Finger through the eye socket. Knee to the groin.

Headlights suddenly flew down the street. A silver car barreled down the street before fishtailing around and skidding to a stop in front of me.

“Bella, get in.”

I got in.

.

Eleanor was intensely focused on the road, taking turns at a speed that was dizzying.

“Eleanor, are you alright?” I asked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded.

“Not really,” she said.

The car came to a stop. It was too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees along the roadside. We weren’t in town anymore.

“Bella?” she said.

It was like a shock to the system to be around her again. It had only been five days, but it had felt longer. Like an eternity.

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?” she had turned her attention to me and I was surprised at the emotion I saw on her face, as if she had been scraped raw, as if she was as frightened as I was.

"Yes,” I said.

“Could you just…,” she stopped for a second, closing her eyes. “Distract me. Please.”

“What?” I said.

She was very close to me and I could smell the scent of her hair, feel her breath on my face. How was it that moments before I had been standing, clutching my purse, ready to defend myself?

“Distract me,” she said.

And then I was leaning up and kissing her.

.

My phone rang and I pulled back from her. Her eyes were black, her pupils blown wide. She looked as windblown and shocked as I felt.

“Hello?” I said.

“Bella, we’ve been calling, but your phone’s gone straight to voicemail. Where are you?”

“Shit, Jess, I’m sorry. It’s complicated.” I was very conscious of Eleanor right beside me, the shift of her leg, the way the AC ruffled her hair, almost touching my arm. “I’ll be there soon and I’ll explain, okay?”

“You better,” she said.

“I’ll see you soon.”

I hung up and turned back to Eleanor. She started the car without saying anything and soon we were speeding back towards town.

She turned towards the restaurant before I said anything.

It felt, suddenly, like there was a chasm between us.

Jessica descended on me as soon as we pulled up.

“Explain,” she said, and then she caught sight of Eleanor. Her gaze was shrewd.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” Eleanor asked.

“Um, actually, Bella, we already ate while we were waiting,” Angela said.

“Oh,” I said. “That’s fine. I’m not even really hungry.”

“You should probably eat something,” Eleanor said. “I can drive you home.”

I turned to look at her, but her expression was unreadable.

“Okay,” I said. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

.

“You should drink,” Eleanor said. “Sugar will be good for you.”

I sipped my soda obediently, and then drank more deeply, surprised at how thirsty I was. I finished the whole thing and she pushed hers towards me.

“Are you cold?”

“It’s just the Coke,” I said.

“Here,” she said, shrugging out of her jacket.  

It was cold, the way my jacket felt when I first picked it up in the morning, and smelled like her perfume, floral and sharp.

“That color looks nice with your skin,” she said, pushing the bread basket toward me.

“I’m not going into shock,” I said.

“You should be,” she said. “But you don’t even look shaken.”

“I feel safe with you.”

Her brow furrowed.

“You shouldn’t.”

.

Eleanor held the passenger door open for me. The wash of streetlamps played prettily off the planes of her face. She was so beautiful it almost hurt.

I thought of the wikipedia page I’d read on vampires, and felt ridiculously silly, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about the dents, the missing days, the way she seemed so other, so different from anyone I had ever met.

“Saturday at the beach, I ran into an old family friend,” I said once we were seated in the car, speeding along the highway. She turned to look at me. “We went for a walk and he was telling me some of the old Quileute legends,” I continued. I was watching her face in the reflection on the windshield, I saw how she stilled. “About vampires.”

“And you thought of me,” she said.

.

It was late. We’d been sitting in the car outside my driveway for a long time.

“Why don’t you drink human blood?” I asked.

She was holding my hand and I felt more aware of that than our conversation: the smoothness of her skin, the slow drag of her thumb across the back of my hand.

“I don’t want to be a monster,” she said.

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” I said, softly.

She was quiet for a long time, and when I looked over at her I saw that her expression was pained.

“Bella,” she said, softly. “This is so wrong.”

I pulled my hand out of hers.

.

Charlie was in the living room when I came in.

“Bella?” he asked.

“Yeah, Dad, it’s me.”

He was sitting watching the baseball game but he muted it when I came in. “Did you have fun?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. The girls’ night out seemed very far away. “They both found dresses.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m just tired,” I said. And it wasn’t until I was in the shower -- the water too hot, burning my skin -- that I realized I was freezing too.

I stood in the shower until the hot water ran out.

.

“I want to know what you’re thinking.”

Eleanor was wearing a light knit t-shirt today that clung to her body in just the right ways.

“I always tell you what I’m thinking,” I said.

“You edit,” she said.

“Not much.”

She hummed. “Enough,” she said.

“You wouldn’t want to hear it,” I said.

“I would,” she said, her gaze heavy on my face. “I want to hear everything you think.”

.

“She’s going to ambush you in class,” Eleanor said. Her eyes were on Jessica as she walked away from us.

I shrugged out of her jacket and handed it to her.

“So,” she said. “Come on, tell me. What are you going to say?”

“What do you think she wants to know?

“She probably wants to know if we’re dating or not,” she said.

I couldn’t read her expression.

“What should I say?” I asked.

She tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I suppose you could say yes,” she said. “If you wanted.”

.

“So like was it a date?” Jessica asked when I sat down in Trig.

Here goes nothing. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I think it was.”

.

Walking into the cafeteria hand in hand with Eleanor Cullen was a lot like my first day here: everyone stared.

“Jessica’s analyzing my every move,” she said. “She’ll break it down for you later.”

“I’m sure she will,” I said.

She leaned closer to me. “Should we make it interesting for her?”

.

“So, you and Eleanor, huh?” Mike asked me during gym.

I winced. I really didn’t want to start disliking Mike.

“What about it?” I said.

“I don’t like it,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” I snapped.

.

A group of boys were surrounding the car next to Eleanor’s, a shiny, red thing (“Ostentatious,” Eleanor mumbled when we passed.)  They turned to stare as we passed. I wanted to duck out from under her arm. I didn’t like the way that their gazes lingered.

.

That night, I dreamed of Eleanor. I woke in the morning restless and wanting.

.

“About this Saturday,” Charlie said, turning on the faucet.

“Hmmm,” I said, noncommittally.

“Are you still set on going to Seattle?” he said.

“That was the plan,” I said. Eleanor had said she had a surprise for me.

He began to wash the plate slowly, not looking at me, “You’re sure you can't make it back for the dance?”

I winced. “I’m not going to the dance, Dad.”

“Didn’t anyone ask you?” he asked.

“It was girl’s choice.”

“Oh.” He frowned as he dried his plate.

I felt a wave of sympathy for him. It couldn’t have been easy, being a father.

.

That Friday, Eleanor was at my door bright and early. I wondered if her driving me to school was going to become a thing, if that was what girlfriends did. I didn’t have enough experience to know. Still, I followed her out to the parking lot after school, let her take my hand over the gearshift.

We sat outside my house for a long time, but we didn’t go in.

“It’s twilight,” she said, softly.

She was watching the horizon though the windshield, even obscured as it was with clouds. Suddenly, her eyes shifted to me. “It’s the safest time of day for us,” she told me. “When day becomes night.”

I didn’t like the way that melancholy had stolen into the car, the easiness between us vanishing with the light.

“I like the night,” I said, softly.

“You don’t find it sad?” she said, and I wondered then, in a way I hadn’t really before, how old she really was.

“Without the dark, we’d never see the stars,” I said.

She hummed. “Charlie will be here soon,” she said.

.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Charlie said. Billy and Jacob Black were standing in our doorway. Charlie’s house wasn’t really made for visitors and the entryway felt small and cramped.

“I hope this isn’t a bad time,” Billy said.

“No, it’s great,” I said. “I’m sure Charlie would like some actual sports fans for the game.”

“I think that’s the plan,” Jacob said, grinning. “Our TV broke last week.”

“Yes, well, and Jacob was anxious to see Bella again,” Billy said.

.

“Is something wrong with your truck?” Jacob asked, sitting at the kitchen table and watching me.

“No,” I said. “Why?”

“Oh, it’s just that you weren’t driving it, I wondered.”

“I got a ride,” I said, running the knife slowly through the tomato.

“I didn’t recognize your friend,” he said. “Which is saying something for Forks.”

“Oh, well,” I said.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Jacob, could you hand me some plates?”

“You’re evading.”

“It was Eleanor Cullen,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on the sandwiches.

Jacob just laughed. “I was wondering why my dad was acting so weird.”

“Right, because of the vampire thing,” I said. “You don’t think he’d say anything to Charlie though, right?”

Jacob looked at me oddly. “No, I don’t think so, why?

“No reason,” I said. “Have a sandwich.”

“You’re strange, Bella Swan,” he said, taking the grilled cheese. “But I like it.”

.

“How was your day?” Charlie asked. He washed the dishes as I watched from the doorway.

“Good,” I said. “My badminton team won all four games.”

“I didn’t know you could play badminton.”

“Oh, I can’t,” I said.

“Who was your partner?”

“Mike Newton?”

He looked way too happy at this news.

“Why didn’t you ask him to the dance?” he asked.

“Dad!” I said.

“What?”

“He’s dating my friend Jessica,” I said.

He frowned. “Well, I’ve made plans to go fishing with some guys from the station on Saturday, but if you wanted someone to go with you on your trip, I’d cancel.” He paused. “I know I leave you here alone too much.”

There was something in the still way he said it that deeply saddened me. I’d never felt close to Charlie like I did with Renee, but I knew that he tried hard, and that he loved me, in his quiet kind of way.

“I don’t mind being alone, Dad,” I said. “It’s okay.”

I touched his hand, sud rinsed and wrinkled. It was awkward, a not quite perfect fit, but his answering smile was worth it.

.

At lunch the next day, I could feel the eyes of the Cullen siblings on me. I played with the stem of my apple.

“Alice is the most supportive,” Eleanor told me.

“And the others?” I asked. “What are they?”

“Incredulous, for the most part,” she said.

.

“Have fun in Seattle tomorrow,” Mike said.

I wondered if I was imagining the bitter expression. I told him I wasn’t going.

“Oh,” he said. “So are you going to the dance then? With Eleanor?”

“No,” I said. “I have to study for the Trig test.”

“Oh,” he said. “Studying, I get it.”

“Mind out of the gutter, Newton. Just studying.”

“Well, you know you could come to the dance with our group anyway. We’d all dance with you.” He looked hopeful.

.

“I think your boyfriend has a lesbian kink,” I told Jessica.

“Ew,” she said, linking arms with me.

“He was way too into the idea of me ‘studying’ with Eleanor.”

“You guys are hot,” she said. “I can’t really blame the guy.”

“Jessica!”

“What?” she asked.

.

After dinner, I folded clothes and moved another load through the dryer. Unfortunately, it was the kind of job that only kept my hands busy.

Eventually though I could find nothing else to occupy myself. I put in my earbuds and played Chopin till I couldn’t think anymore.

.

I woke early, dressing in a rush, smoothing the collar of my shirt against my neck, fidgeting with the part of my hair. Charlie was already gone, and the sky had only a thin layer of clouds. I ate breakfast without tasting anything. I had just brushed my teeth when I heard the knock on the door.

Eleanor burst into laughter as soon as she saw me.

“What’s wrong?” I said. I glanced down to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything important, like shoes, or pants.

“We match,” she said.

I laughed too. “I guess the stereotypes are true.”

She looked criminally good in flannel. She looked criminally good in everything.

“Where are we going, girlfriend?” I asked. The word gave me a sudden burst of pleasure.

“We, girlfriend,” she said, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “Are going hiking.”

.

“This way,” she said, glancing at me over her shoulder.

She started into the dark forest.

“Ummm, the trail is that way,” I said.

She grinned. “I said there was a trail, not that we were taking it.” She must have seen the panic on my face. “I promise we won’t get lost.”

She turned then and I had to stifle a gasp. Eleanor was prone to wearing layers. Like a lot of layers. Eleanor in a tank top was a sight that I was quite unprepared for. The white skin of her throat, the soft swell of her chest, the way the tank clung to the curve of her waist.

“What?” she said.

“Nothing,” I said.

.

Eleanor in the sunlight was shocking, I couldn’t get used to it, though I’d been looking at her all afternoon. She didn’t look human. Her skin had a glow to it as if it was reflecting light instead of absorbing it.

“I don’t scare you?” Eleanor said. She was lying in the grass, her hair spread out in a halo. I liked the way it looked in the sun, copper and gold and red all mixed together.

“No more than usual,” I said.

.

I flexed my hand.

“You don’t mind?” I asked.

“No,” she said, closing her eyes. I trailed my hand over the muscles of her arm, following the faint pattern of bluish veins inside the crease of her elbow. “You can’t imagine how that feels,” she said.

I moved to turn her hand over. Realizing what I wanted, she flipped her hand with disconcerting speed.

“Sorry,” she said softly, when my fingers froze on her arm. “It’s too easy to be myself with you.”

.

“I love how you blush,” she said, stroking the side of my face.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Not like you,” I said. I lifted my hand to her face. She closed her eyes and I stroked her eyelid, the hollow of her eye, her cheek, her perfect nose, the seam of her lip, parting under my thumb. Her eyes fluttered open and they were hungry. Something below my stomach tightened. I wanted to kiss her, could feel the thrum of need in my veins.

“I don’t know how to be close to you,” she admitted. “I don’t know if I can.”

“This is enough,” I said. “For now, this is enough.”

.

“What are you thinking?” she said.

I rolled on to my back, watching the clouds drift across the sky. It was warm enough that I could almost pretend I was back in Phoenix, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be anywhere but right here.

“I was wishing I could know what you were thinking,” I said.

“And?”

“And I was wishing that I could believe you were real.” I didn’t look at her. “And I was wishing that I wasn’t afraid.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid,” she said, softly.

It was quiet for a moment. I wanted to reassure her, but everything I had to say seemed feeble. Instead, I just took her hand.

“I hate this part of me,” she said, finally. “The part that hungers.”

Her hand tightened in mine till it was almost painful.

“I don’t hate any part of you,” I said.

She pulled me towards her. There was grass in my hair, but she was holding me.

She whispered something so softly that I couldn’t hear. I wondered, briefly, if she was praying.

“I’ll never hurt you,” she said. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you.”

.

She could drive well, when she kept the speed reasonable. Like so many things, it seemed to be almost effortless for her. She drove one-handed, holding my hand on the seat. Occasionally she would look over at me, my face, my hair blowing out the open window, our hands twined together. The radio was turned to an oldies station, and she sang along, soft and lilting, to a song I had never heard.

“You like fifties music?” I asked.

She hummed. “Music in the fifties was good. Much better than the sixties or seventies. The eighties were fun, but I liked the fifties best.”

She had been alive in the fifties. Not just alive, but exactly the same as she was now, seventeen and beautiful. It was a concept I couldn’t wrap my mind around.

.

She was so quiet beside me -- her feet making no sound on the dirt, her clothes no whisper -- that I had to check that she was still there. In the darkness, she seemed almost normal.

I took the key from the eaves, unlocking the door and letting us into the entryway, leading the way to the kitchen. She seemed to almost light up the room, leaning against the counter, the line of her legs, the spill of her red hair, the shine of her eyes. It was distracting. I focused on the task at hand, getting out last night’s lasagna, placing a square on a plate, heating it up in the microwave. It filled the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and oregano.

The sound of tires startled me, the headlights flashing through the front windows.

“Should your father know I’m here?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said.

I waited too long. “Another time then,” she said, and then she was gone.

.

“It’s Saturday,” Charlie said. “You didn’t want to go out tonight?”

“No, Dad, I just wanted to get some sleep.”

“None of the boys in town your type, eh?”

I bit back a laugh. “No, none of the boys have caught my eye yet.”

.

“It… seems to be easier for you,” I said. It was criminal for Eleanor to look so good on my bed, like she belonged there. “Being close to me.”

“Does it?” she said. Her nose on on the corner of my jaw, her hand in my hair, her lips against the hollow of my ear.

“Much,” I said, breathless.

Her fingers were slowly tracing my collarbone. “Why do you think that is?” I asked. I never wanted her to stop touching me.

I could feel her laughter on my neck. “Mind over matter,” she said.

.

“You seem happy,” I said. We had been lying in bed for hours.

“Isn’t it supposed to be like this?” she said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “The glory of first love?”

“It is,” I said.

“It’s all so intense,” she said.

“Hmmm,” I said.

“For example,” she said. “I thought I understood jealousy, but that day when Mike Newton asked you to the dance--”

I was surprised into laughter. “You were jealous of Mike Newton?”

“You had a queue of boys lined up!”

“I’m a lesbian.”

“Well, I didn’t know that then,” she said.

.

Eleanor hummed a song I didn’t recognize, an old-timey melody, melancholic and beautiful.

“That’s lovely,” I said.

“Do you want me to sing you to sleep?” she asked. She ran a hand gently through my hair, stroking it, and I moved closer, fitting myself into the curve of her neck.

“This okay?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “This is okay.” She continued to stroke my hair, the motion calm and soothing. I found myself growing tired.

“You won’t vanish in the morning?” I asked.

“I won’t leave you,” she promised.

It was quiet for a moment, but there was one more question I had, pressing on the forefront of my mind with her so close to me, but I didn’t know how to ask.

“Eleanor?”

“Yes?”

“Nevermind.”

.

“I think you should introduce me to your father,” Eleanor said.

I was pouring milk into my cereal bowl and I froze, the liquid sloshing onto the kitchen counter.

“He already knows you,” I said.

“As your girlfriend,” she said.

“Why?”

“Why won’t you tell him?” she countered.

I didn’t know how Charlie would react.

“I don’t know,” I said.

She sighed.

“I forget how young you are sometimes.”

“That’s not fair.” I pushed my cereal around the edges of my bowl.

“Are you going to tell him?” she said.

“I will,” I said. “Just, not yet, okay?”

“He’s going to need some explanation for why I’m around here so much.”

“Will you be?” I said. “Around?”

Her face softened. “As long as you want me.”

“I’ll always want you,” I said, reaching for her. She took my hand, and I pressed hers to my lips. I wanted to bring her closer and closer. I felt completely taken up, full to the bursting.

“Forever,” she said.

Her hand found its way into my hair and I leaned into it, feeling her fingers pressing into my scalp.

“Does that make you sad?” I asked.

She didn’t answer, just looked at me for a long time.

.

I realized, as she drove my truck out the main part of town, that I had no idea where she lived. We passed over the bridge at the Calawah River, the road winding northward, the houses flashing past us growing farther apart, getting bigger. And then we were past the other houses altogether, driving through misty forest. She turned abruptly on an unpaved road, barely visible through the ferns. The forest encroached on both sides, the road twisting serpentlike through the ancient trees. Finally, the trees thinned and I could see the house, timeless and graceful, the trees growing up around it as if it had always been there.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Not even a little bit,” I said, but I took her hand

.

“Not what you expected is it?” Eleanor asked.

“No,” I admitted.

“No coffins, no piled skulls, I don’t even think we have cobwebs.”

“It’s so light and open.”

She was quiet for a moment and when I turned back to her she looked serious. “It’s the one place we never have to hide,” she said.

.

Her room looked out upon the wide river, the large scope of the mountains.

“Sometimes, I feel as if one day, I’ll tell you something, and it will be too much, and you’ll run, screaming as you go.” Her smile was rueful.

“I hate to burst your bubble, but you’re not as scary as you think you are.”

She grinned. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

I started to speak, but before I could, she was on me, pressing me back against the couch, her arms like a trap around me. I didn’t even know how we had gotten from one end of the room to the other.

“You were saying?” she said, her hair in my face, her smile in close up.

“That you are a very, very terrifying monster,” I said.

“Much better,” she said, and then she was leaning down and kissing me. My hand wound into her hair, pulling her even closer to me. She made a soft sound when I bit down on her lip. I wanted to swallow it, to swallow her.

.

It was just beginning to drizzle when Eleanor turned onto my street.

There was a weathered Ford in our driveway and Jacob and Billy Black were on the front porch. Billy’s face was impassive.

“I’ll go talk with him,” Eleanor said, moving to get out of the truck.

“Just let me deal with it,” I said.

“Okay,” she said, closing the door. “I’ll be back around dusk.”

“You don’t have to go,” I said.

“Actually I do,” she said.

“Right,” I said.

“I’ll be back soon,” she said. Her eyes flickered back to the porch and then she leaned in swiftly to kiss me. I cupped her face, wanting to keep her there, but she let go quickly.

.

“You’ll want to put it in the fridge,” Billy said, handing me a paper bag.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Where is Charlie? Fishing again? Down at the usual spot?”

“No,” I said, though I was pretty sure he was.

“Jake,” Billy said. “Why don’t you go get that new picture of Rebecca out of the car? I’ll leave that for Charlie, too.”

“Where is it?” Jacob asked. He wouldn’t look at me.

“I think I saw it in the trunk,” Billy said.

Billy and I faced each other in silence. The quiet began to feel awkward. I shoved the bag into the fridge.

“Charlie won’t be back for awhile,” I said.

He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“Bella,” he said, after a while, and then he hesitated. I waited. “Bella,” he said again, “Charlie is one of my best friends.”

“Yes,” I said.

“And I noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time Eleanor Cullen,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Maybe it’s none of my business, but I don’t think that is such a good idea.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “It is none of your business.”

“It’s not my business, but it might be Charlie’s.”

“I think it’s my business whether or not it’s his business,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, finally. “I suppose it is.”

.

My hands were shaking on the pan.

Just fucking do it, I told myself.

“What did you do with yourself today?” Charlie asked, once we were seated around the table.

My stomach felt hollow. “I went over to the Cullen’s house.”

“Why?” he asked. His mouth was full of fish.

“Well, I sort of have a date with Eleanor Cullen tonight, and she wanted to introduce me to her parents first.”

He took a drink from his glass. I watched him carefully. He was silent for a long time, not looking at me. I fiddled with the food on my plate.

“I thought you said you weren’t interested in anyone in town,” he said, finally. He looked sad and older than he normally did, the lines of his face turned downwards.

“I said I wasn’t interested in any of the boys in town.”

He frowned. “Does your mom know?” he asked.

“About Eleanor?” I said. “Not really, mentioned in passing, but not the dating thing, like specifically.”

“Bella,” he said, sounding disappointed.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, she knows.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said.

I thought about Charlie, the look on his face when he’d thought I was dating Mike Newton and the quiet way he’d said “I know I leave you here alone too much”, his fishing dates and the way he seemed perpetually stuck in the past, a remnant of another time.

“I don’t know,” I said.

He stood up, his plate half empty and moved to the sink. “When is she coming over?” he asked.

“She’ll be here in a few minutes,” I said.

“Where is she taking you?” he asked. He was still staring out the window.

“We’re going to play baseball,” I said.

He chuckled, a low, bitter sound. “You must really like this girl.”

“I do,” I said. “I really do, Dad.”

.

The doorbell rang, and Charlie went to answer it. I followed, half a step behind him. It was pouring outside, and Eleanor stood in the halo of the porch light. She met my gaze.

“Come on in, Eleanor,” Charlie said.

“Thanks, Chief Swan,” Eleanor said.

“Charlie,” he said.

We stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“So,” he said. “I hear you’re getting my girl to play baseball.”

My girl.

“That’s the plan,” Eleanor said. .

“Well, don’t stay out too late,” Charlie said. I ran forward and hugged him, and he hugged me back, his arms strong around me.

“I’ll have her home early,” Eleanor said.

“You take care of my girl, all right?” Charlie asked, gruffly, over my shoulder.

“She’ll be safe with me, sir,” Eleanor said. “I promise.”

.

Eleanor leaned over to kiss the top of my head.

“You smell so good in the rain,” she said. There was hunger in her voice, a raw terrifying thing that sparked a surge of responding need in me, but when I looked over at her, she was looking out the window, her hand gripping the steering wheel tightly.

.

Her hands came to my face, almost roughly, and she pushed me hard against the side of the car. I was breathless, holding her to me tightly, molding myself into her, my lips parting against hers, our breath mixing.

She broke off after a moment, breathing heavily, her face raw. “You’re going to be the death of me,” she said.

“You’re already dead,” I pointed out.

She grinned, leaning forward and kissing me again. “Good point.”

.

“Do you not like to play?” I asked Esme, Eleanor’s sort of mother, as we walked down the edge of the field.

“Oh, no, I prefer to referee,” she said. “I like keeping them honest.”

“Do they cheat?”

“Oh yes,” she said, laughing. “You should hear the arguments they get into. Actually, I hope you don’t, you’d think they were raised by a pack of wolves.”

“You sound like my mom,” I said, laughing.

She hummed.

“I’m so happy that Eleanor’s found you.” She took my hand, and I let her. “She’s been alone for so long.”

“You don’t mind then?” I asked. “That I’m all wrong for her?”

Her eyes were soft, and kind. “You’re who she wants,” she said. “Everything else will work out, I promise.”

.

“What do you think?” Eleanor asked. Her hair was mussed on her head and there was a swipe of dirt across her cheek.

“I’ll never be able to sit through a Major League Baseball game again,” I said.

“And you did so much of that before,” she said. I liked this happy, carefree Eleanor, the one who had nothing to hide. She glanced back at the game. “I’m up,” she said, running back, but not before pecking my cheek and grinning.

.

Despite her teasing, I liked watching them play. It was almost impossible to keep track of the game, the speed with which it all took place, the crashing sound when they collided, like boulders falling, like thunder. The Cullens, to me, seemed now somehow both more normal, teasing each other and grinning like children, and yet so beyond extraordinary, themselves, truly, for the first time that I had seen.

Carlisle was up to bat, Eleanor catching, when Alice suddenly gasped, the ball tumbling from her hand. She and Eleanor made eye contact and then suddenly, before the others could even ask what was wrong, Eleanor was at my side, wrapping herself around me.

“Alice?” Esme asked, turning to the girl, still frozen on the pitcher’s mound.

“I didn’t see, I couldn’t tell,” Alice said. Her voice was small and her face was frightened. I felt a wave of unease washing over me, the fun of the evening fading.

“What’s happening?” Carlisle asked. The Cullens were all gathered around me now.

“They were traveling much quicker I thought,” she said.

“What changed?” he asked.

“They heard us playing,” she whispered.

.

“It will be alright,” Eleanor  said to me, smoothing her hand over my hair. “I promise, I’ll keep you safe.”

The others had returned to the field, warily sweeping the forest with their eyes.

“What’s happening?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Take your hair down,” Eleanor said. I could see the effort she was putting into looking calm.

“That won’t help,” Alice said. “I could smell her across the field.”

.

They emerged one by one from the forest edge. Two men and one woman. As they approached, I couldn’t help but mark the differences between them and the Cullens, the predatory way they walked, one step up from a crouch, the leaves in their hair, their bare feet, the set of their faces. If I had cared to imagine vampires before, this is how I would have pictured them.

The man in front was easily the most beautiful, dark skinned and hard muscled. The other two rotated around him, letting him take the lead. He smiled, a flash of white, even teeth.

“We thought we heard a game,” he said. “Do you have room for three more?

The woman shifted restlessly. Her hair was a bright red, a harsh, wild tangle around her face. The other man was deceptively ordinary, nondescript face, hair, clothes, but there was something to the look in his eyes that unnerved me more than the other two. They were a sinister burgundy and I had a feeling that they did not miss much .

Three things happened simultaneously:

A wind swept through the clearing, ruffling my hair

Eleanor stiffened, her arm tightening around me

And the second male turned towards me, nostrils flaring

“What’s this?” the first man asked.

He took a step towards us. Eleanor placed herself between me and him, shielding me with her body. Her beautiful face, the face that had smiled down at me this morning, the soft morning light caught in her eyes, was hardened, fierce, terrifying.

“She’s with us,” Carlisle said, firmly.

“You brought a snack?”

I was trembling uncontrollably. I thought I might collapse, might throw up.

“I said she’s with us,” Carlisle said.

.

“We have to get you far away from here,” Eleanor said.

“No,” I said.

“No?”

“No.”

.

All the lights were on. Eleanor pulled up towards the house slowly.  

“He’s not here,” Eleanor said. “Let’s go.”

She came to my side of the car, taking my hand, pulling me into her.

“I’ve got you,” she said, holding me tightly. “I’ve got you.”

I had started crying in earnest, though I’d told myself I wouldn’t. I gave myself a moment to hold her, to feel her.

“It’s going to be fine,” she said. “It’s all going to be fine.” It sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

After too short of a moment, she let me go, leading me towards the house. “Come on, hon, we’ve got to go.”

I stopped on the porch, turning to her to look at her, Eleanor Cullen, tall and majestic and beautiful, her face drawn into a frown.

“Fifteen minutes,” she said. “Okay? Fifteen minutes.”

“I can do this,” I said. “I can do it.” Once the tears had started to fall, I found I couldn’t stop them.

I took her face in my hands.

“I love you,” I said.

Her face was pained. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Bella. I promise.”

.

“Bella, honey, are you okay? What’s going on?” Through the door, I could hear Charlie’s voice, low and frightened. I stuffed things into my bag at a frantic speed.

“I’m going home,” I said.

“What happened, honey?”

I turned to my dresser.

“Did you and Eleanor have a fight?”

“No.”

“Did she break up with you?”

The bag was full. I tried to control my breathing.

I unlocked the door and pushed past Charlie.

“I broke up with her,” I said.

He was right behind me, following me down the stairs.

“I thought you liked her,” Charlie said, catching my elbow. He looked bewildered, but his grip was firm.

“I do like her,” I said. “That’s the problem.”

My bag dug into my shoulder.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to be gay in this town?” I said.

.

Eleanor reached for my hand. “Pull over,” she said, as the house, and Charlie, disappeared behind us.

“I can drive,” I said. My hands were shaking on the wheel.

Her hands gripped my waist and she pulled me across her lap, taking my spot in the driver’s seat. “You wouldn’t be able to find the house,” she said, taking my hand across the seat.

Lights flared suddenly behind us and I jumped, but it was just another car.

“I didn’t realize you felt like that about Forks,” she said.

I sniffed, wiping my eyes.

“It’s complicated,” I said.

Jess and Angela and Mike, and late nights with Charlie, the view of the mountains in the weak sunshine, and Eleanor Cullen, complicated didn’t even begin to cover it.

.

Esme’s hands were deft, unbuttoning my shirt. I pulled hers over my head. The pants were too long. She rolled the hems a couple of times and then she was pushing me towards the door. Somehow, she was already in my clothes.  Alice was standing by the stairs. She and Esme shepherded me down the stairs. I felt like a child again, a toddler they had to take care of.

“Let’s go,” Carlisle said.

Eleanor was at my side at once. Her hands were on my waist and then she was kissing me, my feet lifted off the floor with the force of it. I clutched her back just as tightly, not thinking about her family watching, about the man outside hunting us. For the shortest second, it was just the two of us again. And then it was over and they were gone, out the door and into the night.

.

“Can I come in?” Alice asked.

I took a deep breath. “Sure.”

“You look like you could sleep longer.” She leaned against the doorway, watching me.

I shook my head.

She moved to the window, closing the curtains firmly, blocking out the rest of the world. “We need to stay hidden, okay hon?” The endearment reminded me of Eleanor.

“Okay,” I said. My voice was hoarse.

“I ordered some food for you,” she said. “It’s in the front room. Eleanor reminded me that you have to eat more frequently than we do.”

“She called?”

“No,” she said. “It was before we left.”

.

It was a long day. We stayed in the room, the windows shut, the TV on, though no one watched it. Alice and Jasper were like statues on the sofa. I lay on the floor and memorized the room, the striped pattern of the couch, tan, peach, cream, dull gold, the abstract prints, a woman combing her hair, a cat stretching.

As the afternoon wore on, I went back to bed simply for something to do.

.

”What do you see?” Jasper asked.

Alice’s eyes were focused on something very far away.

“I see a room,” she said

“What does that mean?” I asked.

Jasper looked at me. “It means the tracker’s plans have changed.”

.

In the other room, Alice was sketching on a piece of hotel stationery.

“It’s a ballet studio,” I said.  

They both turned to look at me.

.

“Mom,” I said after the beep. “Listen, I can’t explain now, but please don’t get anywhere until you call me back. Don’t worry, I’m okay, but I have to talk to you right away, no matter how late, alright? Love you.”  

I thought about calling Charlie, but I wasn’t sure if I should be home by now or not, and I was tired of lying.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch. The touch of Alice’s hands woke me briefly as she carried me to bed, but I was unconscious before my head hit the pillow.

.

They didn’t look up when I entered. Alice was sketching again.

“Did she see something more?” I asked Jasper, quietly.

He nodded.

I watched as Alice drew. A square room with low, dark beams, wood panelled walls, a large window and a stone fireplace, a TV balanced on a too-small wooden stand in the corner, an aged sectional sofa in the middle of the room, a round coffee table.

“The phone goes there,” I said, pointing.

“That’s my mother’s house.”

.

I lay there for a long time after I finished crying.

I could only see this ending one way. The only question was, how many people would get hurt before it ended?

The phone rang and I went into the front room. Jasper was missing, but Alice was talking on the phone. She made eye contact with me when I came in.

“They’re just boarding,” Alice said once she hung up. “They should be in by 9.”

Just a few more hours. Just a few more hours and I would be back with Eleanor again.

.

“Bella?” It was my mother’s voice.

“Calm down, Mom,” I said, walking slowly away from Alice. I wasn’t sure if I could lie as convincingly with her eyes on me. “Everything is fine, okay? Just give me a minute and I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

“Mom?”

“Be very careful not to say anything until I tell you to do.” His voice was generic, pleasant even, the kind of voice you heard in the background of luxury car commercials.

I wanted to scream, to curl into a ball, to punch a wall.

“That’s good,” he said. “Now repeat after me, and do try to sound natural. No, Mom, stay where you are.”

“No, Mom,” I said. “Stay where you are.”

.

I was going to die.

I wiped my eyes, once, twice. Stop fucking crying, I told myself.

Alice was waiting for me in the main room.

.

“Eleanor,” I wrote. My hand was shaking. “I love you, I’m so sorry. He has my mom, and well, I have to try. Please, please don’t come after him. I don’t think I could bear it if anyone has to be hurt because of me, especially you. I love you. Forgive me.”

I folded the letter carefully. Eventually she would find it. It was going to break her heart, I knew. It was breaking mine.

.

We sat in the long row of chairs by the metal detectors, Jasper and Alice pretending to people-watch but really watching me.

“I think I’ll eat now,” I said.

Alice stood. “I’ll come with you.”

“Do you mind if Jasper comes instead?” I asked.

I wondered what my face looked like. I felt wild and panicked. She just nodded.

Jasper stood up.

He walked silently beside me down the terminal, his hand on the small of my back.

“Do you mind?” I asked Jasper as we passed the ladies’ room. “I’ll just be a moment.”

“I’ll be right here,” he said.

As soon as the door shut behind me I was running.

.

I sat back against the seat, folding my arms across my lap. The familiar city began to rush by me -- the road to Sarah’s neighborhood, the skating rink where I had broken my arm in third grade -- but I didn’t look out the window. I was determined not to lose myself. There was no point in indulging in more terror, more anxiety.

Instead, I simply closed my eyes, and thought of Eleanor.

.

In the kitchen, there, on the whiteboard, was a ten-digit number written in a small, neat hand. I couldn’t breathe. He had been here, in my house, where Renee and I had stayed up late watching Gilmore Girls, where Micah and Sarah and I had made brownies with walnuts and had our first taste of alcohol.

My fingers stumbled over the keypad, making mistakes. I had to hang up and start again.

It rang only once.

.

In the window of the studio there was a small, pink sign. I touched the paper, hesitantly. The door opened without any resistance. The lobby was dark and cool and empty, the plastic chairs stacked along the walls. The carpet smelled like shampoo.

The first dance floor was dark, but the bigger room was lit. I couldn’t make my feet move forward.

And then my mother’s voice called, “Bella? Bella?” That same tone of hysterical panic.

I ran, sprinting to the door, towards the sound of her voice.

“Bella, you scared me! Don’t ever do that to me again.’

I was in the long, high-ceiling room. I heard her laugh and whirled to the sound. There she was, tousling my hair in relief. It was Thanksgiving, and I was twelve. We’d gone to see my grandmother in California. We went to the beach one day, and I’d leaned too far over the edge of the pier. She’d seen my feet flailing, trying to reclaim my balance.

The TV screen went blue.

.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that your girlfriend will avenge you?”

“No,” I said. “I asked her not to.”

“And what was her reply?”

“I don’t know,” I said, though I could imagine it, the horror on her face. “I left her a letter.”

He smiled, as though I had said something quaint. “How romantic, a last letter. And do you think she will honor it?”

“I hope so,” I said, softly. I didn’t want Eleanor anywhere near this man. I wanted her safe.

“And that’s where our hopes differ,” he said. “Eleanor, wasn’t it? She’s quite beautiful. You’re a lucky girl.”

I wanted to snarl, wanted to be fierce and undefeatable. But I was only a girl. A girl who was going to die in this room.

“Would you mind, very much, if I left a little letter of my own for darling Eleanor?”

He took a step back and I saw the camera.

.

I was on my hands and knees. Blood was leaking around me, smearing across the wooden floors. It dripped down my scalp, crossing my face. His foot stepped down hard on my leg. I couldn’t hold back my scream of agony.

He was standing over me, smiling. “Would you like to rethink your last request?”

He nudged my broken leg and I screamed.

“Wouldn’t you rather Eleanor try and find me?”

“No,” I said. “Eleanor, please, don’t--”

He grabbed my hair, smashing me back against the mirror. Glass cut into my scalp, blood flowing fast now, into my hair, across my shirt, onto his hands.

His eyes were dark with need.

Let it be quick now. I could feel consciousness leaving me, the combination of the pain and the blood loss making me heazy. Let it be quick.

My eyes closed.

.

As I drifted, I dreamed. I felt as if I was floating.

“Bella, Bella.” Someone was calling my name, but the voice was so far away. Eleanor, I thought. Eleanor.

“Bella, please. Bella, listen to me, please, please, Bella, please.”

Anything, I wanted to say. Anything. But I couldn’t find my lips.

.

“He bit her,” Carlisle said, softly.

I could hear Eleanor’s breath catch. It was hard to focus. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt before.

“Eleanor,” Carlisle said. “You have to do it.”

“No,” I said. “No, it hurts.”

“See if you can suck the venom back out.”

“Carlisle, I… I don’t know if I can.”

“Eleanor,” I screamed. I couldn’t stop moving. The pain in my leg flared sickeningly.

I could feel hands on my head, and more holding my leg down. This, this was the pain they had never forgotten. I didn’t think I would ever forget it either.

“Eleanor, now, or it will be too late.”

Her eyes were dark and worried. At least I had gotten to see her again.

Her jaw tightened. Then she bent over and I felt her lips on my skin.

.

When I woke I was in an unfamiliar room. The glaring lights blinded me. My hands were twisted with clear tubes and there was something taped across my face ,under my nose. I lifted my hand to rip it off.

“Oh no, you don’t.”

Cool fingers stopped my hand.

Eleanor.

“How did you do it?” I asked. “How did you save me?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

.

I could hear my mother in the hallway. She was talking to someone, maybe a nurse, and she sounded tired and upset. Eleanor moved from my side to the recliner, curling up in the chair. I saw that her feet were bare and I felt a surge of affection. Her toenails were painted black.

The door opened a crack and my mother peeked through.

“Mom,” I said.

I was crying again.

“Bella, honey,” she said, softly, coming to my side, smoothing my hair.

I had missed her. Missed her so much it hurt. “I’m so glad to see you.”

.

“You’ll like Jacksonville so much,” Renee said. We were walking slowly down the hallway of the hospital. Convalescence had been slow. “I was a little bit worried when Phil started talking about Akron, what with the snow and everything, because I know how you hate the cold, but now Jacksonville, it’s always sunny and the humidity really isn’t that bad and we found the cutest house, yellow with white trim and a porch just like in an old film and this huge oak tree, and it’s just a few minutes from the ocean, and you’ll have your own bathroom--”

“Mom, wait,” I said. “I want to live in Forks.”

She paused, looking thrown.

“But you don’t have to anymore.”

.

“I’m afraid to close my eyes,” I told Eleanor.

I’d had nightmares every night since the incident.

She took my face in her hands. “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I’ll be here, as long as you need me.”

“You know you’re talking about forever,” I said.

She smiled, and it was bittersweet. “That’s the thing about being human,” she said. “Things change.”

I could feel sleep coming for me, but I reached for her. “Stay,” I said.

“As long as it’s what’s best for you.”

I could feel her lips on my temple.

“Eleanor?” I asked.

“I’m here,” she said.

.

“This looks like a horror movie waiting to happen,” I said. There were actual balloon arches and twisted garlands of crepe paper.

“Well,” she whispered in my ear. “There are more than enough vampires present.”

.

Jacob Black was wearing an ill fitting suit jacket, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.  

“Can I cut in?” he asked, looking towards Eleanor. I was surprised to notice that Jacob didn’t have to look up, even though Eleanor, in her six inch heels, was almost six four. He must have grown half a foot since I’d seen him.

Jacob put his hands on my waist.

“You look really pretty,” he said.

“Thanks, Jake,” I said.

We danced in silence for a moment.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“Don’t get mad, okay? But my dad, he wants you to break up with your girlfriend. He asked me to tell you please.”

He paused, but instead of looking relieved at the admission, he just looked more awkward.

“Is there more?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “Forget it.”

“Just spit it out.”

“It’s so bad.”

“I don’t care. Please, just tell me.”

He sighed. “He said to tell you, no to warn you, that, and this is his plural, not mine, that we’ll be watching.”

.

Eleanor and I wove our way through the dancers. I could name every face we went past, Jess and Mike and Angela and Ben and Lauren and Miller Chapman, and then we were out the doors, facing the cool, dim light of a fading sunset.

“Twilight, again,” she said. “Another ending. No matter how perfect the day, it always ends.”

“Some things don’t have to end,” I said.

She sighed. “I brought you to prom because I didn’t want you to miss out anything. I don’t want my presence to take anything away from you, not if I can help it. I want you to have everything.”

“In what parallel universe would I have ever gone to prom of my own free will?”

She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Because I was with you,” I said, softly, touching her face.

.

“Is this what you dream about?” she asked me, later. Her teeth scraped my skin. “Being a monster?”

I pushed her back. Her eyes were wild. “I dream about being with you forever,” I said.

Her expression changed.

“Bella,” she said. Her fingers traced the shape of my lips. “I’ll stay with you, isn’t that enough.”

“Enough for now,” I said.

I reached for her, found her hand.

“I love you,” I said. “More than anything. Isn’t that enough.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, it’s enough. Enough for forever.”

#twilight #bella x edward #bella x edythe #twilight is gay #anyway her name is eleanor bc ummm that's better than edythe i didn't make the rules #i have a lot of feelings about gay twilight okay #come cry with me

[smilingformoney]

It Lives Beneath Diamond Scene: Tour with Imogen

CHAPTER THREE

You: You know what? I’d love a tour. Imogen +10 Imogen: Of course you would! I’m only just the best tour guide in all of Pine Springs! You: I don’t know… Tom gives some pretty amazing tours. You have a lot to live up to. Imogen: Puh-lease. My tours can out-tour his tours any day of the week. You: Well, then. After you, my lady. Imogen: Follow me, group! Be careful not to get lost! You trail behind Imogen as she gestures grandly and explains details of the house. You keep an eye out for anything amiss, but it seems like the place has been entirely cleaned out. You: Hey, Imogen. Don’t you think it’s weird Ned was just in town yesterday, and now suddenly he’s selling his house? Imogen: I guess? I hadn’t thought about it like that. 

You: Do you know… -What happened last night?

Imogen: Wh-what do you mean? Did something happen last night? You: Maybe. Where were you? Imogen: Um, let me think. Last night I was having dinner with my mom on Lakeview Boulevard. You: And after that? Imogen: We went home. And went to bed. Imogen: Why? What were you doing last night? You: Nothing. Never mind. 

-Who moved Ned’s things?

Imogen: Pine Springs doesn’t have any moving companies, so… Imogen: Maybe Ned moved his things himself? You: The whole house? On his own? In one night? Imogen: I-I don’t know. When you say it like that it sounds pretty impossible. You: That’s because it is. Did anyone help him? Was anyone else here last night? Imogen: How am I supposed to know? I was out having dinner with my mom! 

-When the house went up for sale?

Imogen: My mom got the call late last night, right before we went to bed. Imogen: She sounded pretty angry. Probably because of how short notice the house showing is. You: Do you know who she was talking to? Imogen: Well, I thought it was her secretary at first, but I heard her call them a man’s name. You: What was the name? Was it ‘Ned’? Imogen: No, it was something else… Imogen: Sorry, I can’t remember it right now. You: No, that’s okay. That already helps. 

Imogen stops walking and turns to face you. Imogen: [Name], what’s going on? You’re being weird. You: There’s… there’s things going on that I can’t talk about. You: But I need to know I can trust you. Imogen: Of course you can trust me! You: Just tell me one thing. Imogen: Anything. 

You: Tell me… -Who are the robed men?

Imogen: Robed men? What robed men? You: You really don’t know? Imogen: No! I literally have no idea what you’re talking about. You study Imogen closely. She meets your eyes with a sincere gaze… and you remember the way she reacted to Kyle’s death… You: Okay. I believe you. Imogen: Um, thanks…? 

-Do you know if Ned had any enemies?

Imogen: No! I mean, I don’t know him very well, but I’m pretty sure everybody likes him… even if he does say some strange things… Imogen: Why? Did somebody hurt him? Is he okay? You study Imogen closely but her concern seems genuine. You: Sorry, I can’t tell you that right now. 

You: Are there any rooms, any rooms at all, that haven’t been cleared yet? Imogen: No, everything was already gone when we came in this morning. Imogen: Oh, except the basement. But my mom told me not to go down there. She said it’s dangerous. You: Dangerous how? Imogen: It’s full of building materials and tools for the contractors or something. You: Which one’s the door to the basement? Imogen: But we’re not supposed to-- You: Imogen. Please. Imogen: You’re asking me to go against my mom, and you won’t even tell me what’s going on. Imogen: How am I supposed to trust you? 

You: Trust me because… -There’s something between us. +Romance

You: I knew it from the second we met. And I know you can feel it too. Imogen: I-- Imogen stops and looks away, a blush on her cheeks. Imogen: You’re right. I… I like you. A lot. I thought it was just me. You reach out and take her hand in yours. You: It’s not. And I can’t wait to ask you out and really get to know each other. You let her hand go. You: But I need to deal with this first. 

-Kyle’s death wasn’t an accident.

Imogen: W-what? You: We both know it. You saw how weird Kyle was acting right before he died. And as for me… You: …I know what I saw. Imogen: What did you see? You consider telling Imogen about the thing that grabbed Kyle… but you sense her hesitation, and quickly decide against it. You: I’m… not sure I’m ready to tell you that yet. You: The point is, there’s something seriously messed up going on in this town, and people are working very hard to cover it up. Imogen: You’re right. Kyle’s death wasn’t an accident, no matter what Chief Kelley says. But what are you going to do? You: I’m going to find out the truth and bring it to light. 

You: I promise I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can. You: But for now, I just need a little faith. Imogen exhales a deep sigh, then smiles. Imogen: Okay, [Name]. But we have to be fast. If my mom catches us we’re dead. You: Thank you. You won’t regret this. 

The basement stairs creak as you descend. Imogen clicks a light switch, and an old bulb flickers on. You: I thought your mom said there were building materials down here. Imogen: She did. There’s nothing down her but old junk though. Why would she lie? You: I don’t know yet. A reflection catches your eye. You move toward a small spot of something on the floor. You: Imogen… look at this! You kneel to examine a puddle of tacky liquid on the floor. It’s deep red. Imogen: Oh my god! Is that-- You: Blood. Imogen: W-Whose blood? Why would there be blood down here? You: I’ll tell you after I tell the police. But first I need to document this. Do you have… I don’t know, some cotton swabs and a plastic bag? Imogen: What, on me? You: Never mind. You fish out your phone. You: A picture of some blood on the floor isn’t the best proof, but it’s better than nothing. 

POOL OF BLOOD -Take a picture. 

Your camera flash throws light into every corner of the basement. Imogen: Hey, did you see that? You: See what? Imogen walks across the cluttered basement and shines her phone into a corner. The light glints off of something metallic. She picks it up. Imogen: It’s some kind of… key. You join her, and she hands it to you. 

SKELETON KEY -Examine 

You: Why don’t you hold onto it, Imogen? Imogen: Really? Imogen: Well… Okay. Just for safekeeping. You: Come on. Let’s get out of here before your mom finds us. ITEM ACQUIRED 

You: Could you do me one last favour? Imogen: Sure, but only if you promise to do something for me. You: Oh, uh, sure. What? Imogen: Promise we’ll get to hang out together soon. Without creepy basements and weird blood. MC +2 You: I think I can manage that. Imogen: Awesome sauce. Now what’s this favour? You: Can you keep all this between the two of us for now? And don’t let anyone touch the basement until I get back with the cops. Imogen: Okay. But the next time we hang out, I expect to get all of the deets. You: You will. That’s a promise.

CHAPTER FOUR

You: Yes! Look at this. You pull out your phone and bring up the picture you took. Parker: Is that…? You: Blood. Parker: Where did you take this? You: At Ned’s house, this morning. The whole place was empty except for the basement. Parker +5 Parker: That’s evidence, all right. I’ll head over there later and look into this… You: But what about Chief Kelley? Parker: Off the books for now. You: Thanks. Parker: In the meantime, is there anyone you can think of who might have seen anything, heard anything?

You: Oh hey, before I forget, did you find anything at Ned’s houses? In the basement? Parker: No. It was clean. Even the basement was empty. I asked Astrid but she said she hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary. Parker: I’m sorry. You: It’s fine. I didn’t really expect you to find anything. You: It was lucky I even got a picture before those robed weirdos came back and finished the job. Parker: Hey. Maybe we’ll find something tonight. You: I hope so.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Imogen: You mean a key like this?

RECOGNIZE… -Skeleton Key 

Imogen pulls the skeleton key from a discreet pocket in her dress. Tom: Is that…? Imogen: A skeleton key. A Cosmo girl never leaves home without one. Imogen slides the key into the lock. It resists turning at first but then unlocks with a satisfying click. Imogen +5 Imogen: Voi-la! MC +5 You: I knew that key would come in handy! Imogen removes the key and tries the knob. It turns easily. Imogen: Are we really doing this, you guys? Danni: We’ve come this far. I’m not turning back now. Tom: Whatever’s behind that door, Richie Rich does not want people seeing it. So that’s exactly where we need to go. Parker: Time’s wasting, people. [Name], whatever answers we find in there, they might not be the answers you’re looking for. Parker: Are you sure you want to do this? 

You: Is it what I want? -It doesn’t matter.

You: Everyone is here tonight because they want answers, because they want to protect people, or stop bad things from happening. You: Even if we find nothing, that’s one more box we can check off our list. Tom: [Name]’s right. I’ve been investigating for a while, and even dead ends can help point you in the right direction.

-More than anything.

You: Ever since Kyle died-- no, since my parents died, I’ve wanted to find out the truth. You: Even if the truth is ugly, I need to know it. It’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep at night. Danni: [Name]’s right. Uncovering the truth is the only thing that matters. 

Parker: Okay then. Let’s find out what Richard’s hiding. One by one you disappear behind the door and close it as softly as you can behind you. 

You find yourselves on a balcony overlooking a dimly lit room panelled in expensive mahogany. You: What is this pl-- Parker: Shh! Get down! Parker drags you down into a crouch and you see the hooded figures surrounding the table below. Imogen: What are they doing? Tom: Being creepy? Slowly, they begin to chant. Cultists: O Numen Magnus, audi nos, da ad nobis vim, da ad nobis fortitudinem… Danni: Getting cult-y enough in here for ya, Parker? Parker: Shhh! As the chant continues, you notice the design emblazoned on the polished surface of the table. 

RECOGNIZE… -Symbol on Cultists’ Table 

Below you, the chant comes to an end. One of the figures steps forward. Cult Leader: Welcome, brothers. Power be with you all. Cultists: We are one with the Power. Cult Leader: Tonight we will be discussing several matters of extreme importance. Cult Leader: First, the successful suppression of the truth regarding the Garza boy’s death. Imogen: Aa-- You cover Imogen’s mouth quickly before she can cry out. The people below seem not to have heard her outburst and continue. Cultist: Thank you, Leader. It was a simple matter. The public does not want to believe his death could have been anything but an accident. Cult Leader: Indeed. Our second topic is the most important one at hand. Cultist: The Vance child. You: (Me?!) Cultist: Her/His investigation into our affairs is beginning to compromise our agenda. Cult Leader: Do not get ahead of yourselves, brothers. All in due time. Cult Leader: Now. Let us begin. Cultists: Before the Power, we reveal ourselves! As one, the cultists reach up to their hoods… and pull them down! Astrid: … Vincent: … Imogen: Mom and Dad?! Richard: … Danni: Richard! Chief Kelley: … Parker: Abe? Your friends’ voices fade into the background as your gaze fixes on the fifth figure. For a long moment, you’re unable to even process what you’re seeing. Then he lifts his head to speak and the world seems to fall out from under you. Grandpa: Before the Power, we are revealed. You: GRANDPA?!

CHAPTER EIGHT

You sit back in the balcony overhanging the cultists’ overhanging the cultists’ headquarters, reeling from the discovery that your grandfather… is one of them! Grandpa: … You: (It’s Grandpa! I-- I can’t believe it!) Astrid: Now, my brothers. It is time to begin. Imogen: Gina, th-this can’t be true! 

-If you have the bracelet 

Cultist Guard: Hey! What the hell are you kids doing up here! You whip around and find two cultists looming over you and your friends! Imogen: Um, ‘run’? The commotion’s caught the attention of the cultists below! Astrid: Imogen? Richard: Apprehend them immediately! Cultist Guard: You’re coming with us! Danni: Over my dead body! One guard cracks his knuckles, while the other whips out a baton crackling with electricity! 

STUN BATON -Examine 

You all shy away from the sizzling baton, feeling the electricity raise the hairs on your arms. Cultist Guard: Now, are you gonna come along quietly or are we gonna do this the hard way? You: We’ll… we’ll come quietly. Won’t be, guys? Tom: Yeah, not a peep. You and your friends are dragged downstairs by the guards to the assembled circle. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Imogen: Wait a minute! Imogen frantically fishes in her pockets, and pulls out… 

IS THAT… -The skeleton key! 

Imogen: A-ha! Parker: I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I’m fairly certain the key for these doors doesn’t look like-- The doors unlock with a heavy click! Parker: You’re kidding me! Danni scrambles down the lamp post! Danni: Nice one! Imogen +5 Imogen: I knew this thing would come in handy again!

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices it lives beneath #choices ilb #it lives beneath #it lives beneath walkthrough

[8bitluv-erica]

Only One (DBH FanFic)

Chapter 4~ 1839 words

Sorry about the slow start, things are going to be picking up after this chapter. i hope everyone is enjoying this so far. I am having a lot of fun writing it, and cant wait to share more! 

Connor and Zoey

Only One

 Chapter 4

 Zoey sat patiently in the driver less taxi, waiting as Connor disappeared into the little ranch house. She used this time alone to look out the window and go over the events of the last 48 hours in her head. Party, murder, concussion, Connor, psychopath, Connor. She wasn’t sure how to even process everything that had happened so quickly, two days ago she was a homebody, very rarely leaving the safe little bubble she had created for herself, and now did she even have that anymore?

Her musings were cut short by the sound of the car door opening and connor sliding back into the seat next to her. She looked at the small duffle bag he had retrieved and frowned. “that was really fast, are you sure you got everything you need, I don’t mind waiting.”

         Conner gave zoey a sideways glance as small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “I appreciate that, but I gathered all I will be needing.” He turned his attention to the cars control panel and entered Zoey’s address before settling back into his seat.

         The car started to make its was down the snowy street, and that’s about when the awkward silence started. Zoey looked down as she rung her hands together, wondering what in the world she was going to do with this situation. Luckily she felt saved when connor broke the silence. “When we arrive at your apartment, I will set up a perimeter with surveillance cameras, also I will need to make a mental map of the facility.” Ok maybe saved was a strong word.

         She brought her attention to connor “wait, did you say cameras?”

         Connor nodded in response “yes, I will be setting up security cameras. Around the building and in your apartment, I will be able to monitor them wirelessly at all times.” He said with satisfaction

         Zoey just stared at him, mouth open slightly, “you are going to put security cameras in my apartment, ones that you have personal access to…at ALL times?”

         Connor studied her face, noting the apparent disapproval “yes”

         Zoey shook her head and slouched in her seat, crossing her arms directing her gaze out the window at the passing city scape. Humming under her breath “every breath you take, every move you make…”

         While he was slightly confused as to why she was humming when she looked so obviously displeased, he took a few moments to process what could be causing her temperament to change so drastically. After a few moments he came to the conclusion that she must be upset about the invasion of privacy. And while there was nothing for it, he did still feel a pang of guilt. “Zoey,” he paused for a moment before continuing “I apologize if ive upset you, it was not my intention, and If it makes you feel better I will only review the footage of the apartment if absolutely necessary.”

         She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, “it does”

           Zoey unlocked the door to her apartment an slowly entered, it looked untouched, like nothing had ever happened, like there hadn’t been a doezen strangers rummaging through her life only hours before. everything was where she left it, and the rose was gone. “damn there good” she muttered as she dropped her bag and shrugged out of her jacket, she walked over to her couch and dramatically fell over the back onto the cusoins with a soft flop. She rolled over onto her back and dangled her feet over the arm of the couch kicking her boots off. Covering her eyes with her for arm. Connor had gotten right to work with his security setup and said he wouldn’t be too long. And zoey just lay there, wonder what they would do when he was done. She sat up and looked around her apartment…what the fuck were they gunna do?

  Connor

         It had taken a little longer than originally anticipated but connor had managed to set up a solid network of cameras throughout the building. All the while making mental documentation of the floor plan of the building. After the last camera was installed he activated the network, he closed his eyes and in a matter of milliseconds had switch his internal interface and was able to view the input from all of the cameras. His LED fluttering at the process. Once satisfied he set off to the stairs, he refused to use the metal death trap of an elevator unless he had too. Once on the top floor he made his way down the hall and stopped outside Zoey’s door. Thinking to himself how this made the third time in 24 hours he found himself looking at the antique wooden door. He knocked softly and waited, he heard Zoey almost instantly “Connor? Connor why are you knocking, just come in.” he entered without further hesitation. Only to stop short after only a few steps, zoey had apparently taken the time while he was installing cameras and made herself busy. He noted that the clutter of her art supplies had been somewhat tamed, the coffee table and other flat surfaces clear and recently wiped down, the dishes were still wet in the drying rack. But what immediately caught his attention and caused his lips to pull into a shy smile, was what Zoey had herself busy with. Next to her couch she had inflated an air mattress and was in the process of making it up when he had entered. “Zoey, what are you doing?” he asked with sweet curiosity

         Zoey looked up from her task and leaned back on her haunches, hands resting on her thighs as she looked from the bed to him. “well I don’t have a guest room, and since you apparently live here for the quote “foreseeable future”” she made air quotations with her fingers, “I’m doing my best to give you a makeshift living space.”

         The sweetness of this gesture had his thirium pump skipping a beat, he walked over to stand beside what was apparently his bed and looked down to meet Zoey’s upturned gaze. She met his eyes and then looked down quickly, Connor’s sensors caught the slight rise in her body temperature and the blush creeping into her cheeks as she spoke “I’m sorry, I know it’s not much, and it’s not very glamorous, but it was the best I had to work wi…” Connor silenced her when he knelt beside her.

         “Thank you, Zoey, it’s wonderful. I very much appreciate you going out of your way to ensure my comfort.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he didn’t need a bed because he didn’t sleep. Especially when her face lit up at his approval and praise. There was that feeling in his chest again. His eyes met hers and he couldn’t help but let them linger for a moment, again, admiring how shockingly green and vibrant they were in stark contrast to her long dark eyelashes. Zoey held his gaze for a moment before turning a bright shade of pink and looking away busying herself making the bed. Connor laughed softly as he noticed the blush was tinting the tops of her ears as well.

 Zoey  

She finished making Connor’s ‘living corner’ she guessed she would call it and stood to find connor standing in front of one of her canvases. She had finished that one only days before. the painting was Lovecraftian in nature, featuring an airship with a pretty badass steampunk lady at the helm, flying above the clouds, tentacles emerging from the abyss trying desperately to grasp the ship. That painting had been a commission and would end up paying her rent for the next two months once delivered. She walked over to stand next to connor and let herself admire her own work for a moment.

         Connor spoke without taking his eyes off the painting “you are an extremely talented artist.” Zoey blushed at the complement. And felt herself puff up a little at his praise, she never really shared her art with anyone, the only people seeing it being the ones buying it for one reason or another. It was her passion and calm, and the only thing that kept her sane.

         “Thank you, Connor, that really means a lot” she paused before continuing, “So, am I allowed to leave?”

         Connor looked at her and tilted his head a little at her question “of course, you’re not a prisoner here.” He looked around the apartment before his gaze settled back to Zoey, “You can leave and go wherever you’d like, as your body guard I will follow and keep you safe.”

         Zoey beamed at Connor causing his thirium pump to skip again “Ok that’s good, because I have to deliver this painting so that I can go grocery shopping. I know you don’t need to eat but,” she glanced at her kitchen “I’ve been living off of ramen for the last couple weeks and I would love to make a real meal later”

         Connor frowned at her words and the implications behind them “you’ve eaten nothing but ramen for how long?”

         She picked up the painting and walked over to her table with it, and started gathering packing items to wrap it with “a couple weeks, it was food shopping or utility bills, and I like being warm” she said it so casually “so I had heat and ramen”

         Things started clicking in his mind at her words, the way she carried herself, how she could switch on that wit and sarcasm in a moment, why she chose to live in a building like this. Those little glimpses she had given him the previous night about her background making more sense.  He looked at his feet as he spoke his carefully planned words “Zoey, do you…have any family…or friends in this area?”

         Zoey stiffened at his question while she was wrapping her painting hands hovering over the string she was tying the brown paper with. Without looking up from her task she spoke softly “no, I don’t have friends, and l lost my family along time ago” she squared her shoulders and regained her composure “its just me, alone in my tower, with my ramen” a sad smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she continued to wrap her painting

         Connor instantly felt guilt at his question, he was starting to understand that Zoey had quite a few figurative skeletons in her closet, and that whatever happened to her in her life, must have been hard, before him stood a small fragile human, who despite her current situations continued to smile. He found himself in awe of her presence.

         Zoey finished packaging her painting and looked to Connor, she noticed his LED was settled on a solid yellow, “Connor, are you ok?”

         He looked up to her and smiled softly “yes, lets go get you something to eat that isn’t so high in sodium.”

#connor #detroit connor #connor rk800 #dbh connor #connor x fem!reader #connor and female character #dbh connor and zoey #zoey and connor #dbh zoey #connor and oc #android #i'm the android sent by cyberlife #connor android #android connor #cyberlife android #cyberlife #dbh fanfic #dbh fandom #dbh fanart #dbh fic #detroid become human #detroit become human fanfic #connor fanfiction #connor fanfic #rk800 fanfic #rk800 x reader #rk800 and oc #female oc #art #writing

[donnerpartyofone]

remember that time someone got mad at you for ripping off their vhs covers

Come now, anon. Surely you're not interested in my ability to retain information. Of course I remember that. What's your real question? Is it something more like "Why did you used to do that?", or alternatively, "Let's talk about what an asshole you used to be!" I'll tell you about that stuff, there's no need to be so coy.Anybody who was around for the early days of this ~8 year old blog (jesus...) knows that I used to post a lot of old vhs covers, in part or whole. I grew up around a mom & pop video store where the metalhead clerks called me "Igor" for spending so long hunched over the scary, forbidden-feeling horror boxes while my parents checked out LABYRINTH for me for the zillionth time. As an adult, I started incorporating them into my "art", which are like these clutter drawings that swipe from sources like comics and pulp novel covers and stuff. So, when I found out about Tumblr, I was super stoked, because I suddenly had this new outlet for my undying obsession, somewhere I could stockpile useful images to my heart's content.Whatever else I'm guilty of, I have at least never knowingly and deliberately reposted, as opposed to reblogging, another Tumblr's content. I never took something right off my dash to pass off as original content later, and I never lied to anybody if they spoke up. It's still very hard for me to understand why people do that, what comes over them, how it gets them off to just steal shit and lie about it. My crime had more to do with wilfull ignorance. My process was pretty simple: I'd just do a Google image search, and pull whatever I found directly out of there. Sometimes I'd find some specific resource like, for instance, an incredibly primitive-looking Dutch web forum where guys were just showing off their tape collections to one another, and I'd work through that for a while, but mainly, I never even looked at the URLs that the images came from. It could have been ebay, or it could have been Tumblr itself--in fact, we all now know a bunch of it did turn out to be from Tumblr--but this just seemed irrelevant to me at the time. My instinct was that these were prefabricated images that had been around in the world for decades, so I had no imagination for who could be hurt and how, by what I was doing. I didn't even ask myself. Basically, I had a very idiotic sense that it was all just "stuff on the internet". I did not have a sense of like, a human being who had spent years accumulating specific things that they loved and grinding away at the scanner for hundreds of hours to present their collection of rarities to the world. If I had been even slightly more thoughtful about it, I probably would have said that these images were not the original "art" of the person who posted the thing online, even the way a great gif is, and I wasn't interrupting anybody's ability to put food on the table. I hadn't been around long enough to develop the awareness and empathy to "get it". In fact, somebody called me out at one point, and I didn't even totally understand what they were saying. My response was to post their complaint and just cheerfully say "ok everybody, please check out this other person's cool blog!" I didn't even get the deeper (obvious) message, at that time, of "please take this stuff down, or go back and add sources, and stop doing this altogether, it's painful that you just took all my hard work."Another contributing factor in my behavior, though, was a feeling that I think a lot of people have about Tumblr, that it's supposed to look like the inside of your head. I remember that in the beginning, I didn't even like it when OTHER people added a whole bunch of tags and captions and links and stuff to their posts, I felt like it cluttered up this collective stream of intuitive, instinctual, wonderfully mysterious imagery. It brought something of the unwelcome real world into this sanctuary, something dry, stiff, didactic and anal retentive. Mainly I think I just felt like, none of us "owns" these old found images we're posting, in fact most people don't know who produced the original art for a video sleeve, so what's the big deal? At a certain point, I started to turn around on it. One reason had to be that I managed to witlessly snag at least one image that had been scanned by someone I knew and liked from Tumblr. Ironically, I think it turned out that I had taken it from a site where it had been posted by a whole other thief--but the point is, my friend recognized that it was his scan, due to some old sticker residue on the cover. Surely the very thing that I did was the bane of this friend's existence as a real deal collector, but for some reason, he was relatively gentle with me about it. He definitely didn't have to be, I was wrong, but it probably helped me understand the problem better, than just someone telling me bluntly to go fuck myself, from which I had demonstrably learned nothing.I remember I had a few hiccups after that. I had posted a couple of panels from a Simpsons comic that I picked up, and they were immediately spotted by this big important fixture of the independent comics community (who I have come to think of over the years as an unnecessarily combative blowhard in general, but hey, he wasn't wrong about me then!). So I'm like oh shit, ok, and then the next time I posted panels from a comic, I loaded them up with tags--artist, series, whatever occurred to me--and I STILL had some total stranger call me out for not crediting the artist. I'm not sure if this person just saw reblogs that didn't have the tags on them anymore, or whether they were offeneded that I used tags instead of a caption (which people can and will delete, but I digress), or that I hadn't found a source link for the images, since I owned the books. I only know that this person felt that I was somehow interfering with the livelihood of the artist by posting their original work on my blog--or I think that's it anyway, I guess this was more than five years ago. Hopefully they didn't think I was pretending to BE the artist? Anyway, it was around then that I realized there was no way to preserve the dreamlike stream of consciousness character of Tumblr, which I was so precious about. Everything had to be indexed and cited and attributed and crossreferenced and have its provenance verified and everything. Oh well, I said, petulently.This happened to me once, too--somehow, I spotted an original drawing of mine posted to somebody's blog with no credit or anything. Naturally I freaked out and threw a fucking fit, but the person asked forgiveness right away, and explained that they didn't want to reblog something out of my very old archives because apparently that is considered really stalkery by a lot of people. I found it pretty baffling, that anyone would PREFER to have their content reposted rather than reblogged for any reason, and moreover, that people get upset at the idea of someone else looking through their totally public archives. But, apparently that's a real thing, according to this person and others I heard from later. It's probably too bad this didn't happen to me earlier in life though, I might have been more sensitive.It's also too bad this story doesn't end with me having a nervous breakdown from guilt, although I do feel bad enough about it to want to talk about it publicly when prompted. Eventually I just grew out of posting this kind of content, though. It felt like everyone in the world was posting the same thing over and over, and it became extremely rare for me to see vhs art that I hadn't already seen on Tumblr, or in person, or in a book on my shelf, etc. My enthusiasm for this imagery has never waned, I just ran out of reasons to keep posting it. I got more interested in just flexing my ridiculous personality anyway, and that's the way it's been on here for years now. And here you still are, years later, so it must be working.