What If I gave up on art 😎?

ok so i was tagged by the lovely @lexiklecksi for the 11/11/11 tag, the rules are: answer the 11 questions she asked me, make up my own 11 questions and then tag 11 ppl to answer those (so if you want you can skip to the questions at the bottom lmao). however as a fair warning: this got Way too long probably bc im rambly today. i tried to limit the stream of consciousness but….

1. current musical obsession: Frank Ocean and related sort of neo-r&b stuff - while writing this im also discovering Childish Gambino’s “Awaken, My Love!” (and also the song Golden Brown, but not bc im listening to it but bc im learning it on both guitar and piano)

2. 3 things i always take with me:

- wallet (or at least my id)

- phone (&earphones)

- cigarettes&lighter

3. what (or who) i miss most in lockdown: i dont rly remember? im so used to the situation by now that i kind of forget to miss what i did when things were “normal”... but i guess going to bars w/ friends, and just being able to go shopping when i need smth

4. pick: either only read 1 book or only read books picked by someone else: i wouldn’t be able to only read one book for the rest of my life! so definitely the second option (esp if i can pick the person who picks the books)

5. why i found your blog/followed you and if i intend to stay: uhh you followed me and when i checked your blog i liked the vibe i guess? also you were v nice in the tags of my music stuff! also ya i like it here, so im staying for a while

6. when and why did i last cry: i genuinely dont know for sure.. the last time i specifically remember crying was my granddad’s funeral, which is three yrs ago this month, but i do know ive cried once or twice since then, i just dont remember for sure when and why.

wait i do remember, i think the last time was when i saw Richard Says Goodbye (live music and movies or books are basically the only reason i rly cry, im not an emotional crier, dont know why).

7. who holds the key to my heart: my partner of five (and a bit) years, whom i love Very Much! (although ofc my heart is not locked, i have so much love to give, just romantically i am very much taken)

8, pick one: star wars/star trek, dobby/gollum, white/black magic, flying/teleportation, time travel: past/future?

- Star Wars

- Gollum (even though i have read hp but still havent read lotr, ive read the hobbit like 4 times tho)

- i think the hard dichotomy btwn white/black magic or like light/dark and good/bad in most fiction is often v flawed bc thats not how the world works, everything is grey areas (e.g. the Jedi are not better than the Sith, both have deeply flawed philosophies). the Force (or any magic for that matter) is not inherently good or evil, it just is. nature isnt abt good or evil, isnt abt opposites but abt balance.

and especially if you work with the occult and magical, i think thats all abt walking the edge between light and dark, life and death, night and day, good and bad etc…

so to answer the question: grey magic lmao, its all abt balance

- teleportation i think, bc while flying is very cool, i think teleportation has more practical uses (although also has danger involved, such as what happens if you teleport into a space that is already occupied by a person or an object? but for the sake of argument, prolly teleportation)

- do not even get me started on time travel.. the implications of time travel to the past are…… complicated to say the least (it only works if you believe in hard determinism, which i wholly do not). so in a practical sense, def to the future (although that is also Problematic within the constraints of our four-dimensional universe/experience).

in a philosophical sense though, ignoring all the paradoxes and laws of time and space, id still pick the future (or maybe no time travel at all), bc i think the past is the past for a reason. we remember it, we learn from it, but ultimately we must leave it behind.

my philosophical problem with traveling to the future is more that you cant just. skip life. so if you travel to the future, it has to be way beyond your own life and direct influence, or youll interfere with yourself and your own future, and thats scientifically, psychologically /and/ philosophically a v bad idea all round, i think.

9. which thoughts keep me awake at night: almost never specific thoughts, but quite often anxiety abt the near future. but theres no like, lingering issues that keep me awake.

10. what id do with you if we were locked up together for 24hrs: i think i’d really like to write with you! make poetry, song lyrics, make art! bc we could rly learn from each other i think and also we could just rly pick each others brain abt mundane, important and transcendental stuff ya know?

11. ask anything: do you have concrete, long term plans for the future, maybe even backup plans? a clear vision of how the rest of your life is going to go? or are you more the type to do what makes you happy now and figure it out as you go along?

my own questions (large variation in vibes and weight, i know):

describe your favourite colour using other senses (like what sound, smell, feeling or w/e do you associate with it)

what’s the best thing that happened to you in the last week, last month and last year?

what’s the one thing/what are the things that help(s) you get up in the moring and keep putting one foot in front of the other?

are you a leftie? (warning: there is a correct answer)

do you play/have you ever played a musical instrument? (and for the sake of completeness, yes i am counting singing as well)

do you have one thing (e.g. a song, movie, book or smth else) that never fails to bring you joy?

do you have one (or more) person(s) you feel you could still hit up after ten yrs of radio silence and you’d still vibe?

what’s your favourite song lyric/line from a poem/quote? and why?

who was your first celebrity crush? (if you’ve ever had one obvsly)

what’s smth you’re looking forward to? could be specific, could be a general thing like a driver’s licence or your own apartment or w/e

this one is specifically to feed my curiosity, indulge me: why did you follow me?

congrats, you’ve managed to reach the end! again, very sorry for the rambles, thanks for sticking around. im tagging @alt-heidi, @terdiscussie, @a-soul-to-cling-to, @ontvreemd, @sarahhnghae and i guess whoever fuckin feels like it? i literally can’t think of 11 ppl on this hell site, so if i forgot you its not personal. if we’re mutuals you’re especially tagged.

explorers of arvus: heading back / 3.11.21

zoom and enhonse

LAST TIME ON ARVUS taure passed out and we are now down a healer! also we met a disciple of halvkar, and surprisingly did not murder her. this is fine. we have instantly gotten distracted by our various carts. cats. our various cats

DID ANY OF US CATCH TAURE, SHE FELL OVER sieron tried to catch her and smacked charlie+thorne in the face (he rolled a nat1, f) BUT the catboy is to the rescue bc silje is the designated Not Incompetent of the group today

CONSULT THE CHILD hewwo yrel yrel: her mind is being consumed by the serpent of nightmares. :D charlie: HELLO?????//

so, dendar(?) the night serpent is imprisoned beneath arvus! she was formed from the nightmares of the first sentient being, and sometimes she eats people's nightmares. if she's exceptionally hungry, she'll force nightmares onto people for her to feed off their fear. yrel thinks taure will Probably wake up. there's a thing on arvus mentioned by the locals called a "sleeping sickness" where people will fall asleep for a few days, sometimes longer, but will wake up. its magical in cause, the people afflicted by it have horrific nightmares, and its just kinda. a thing. wowza

(i have gone back to spelling yrel's name as yrel bc i think it looks nice)

OH HEY SOMEONE POSTED A THEORY ON ONE OF MY STICKMOLUS ANIMATIONS man i should get back to stickmolus sometime. once dsmp releases its awful grip on me.

i keep getting distracted by seeing myself in the camera preview. i have a tooth gap! what the fuck its cute?? K I KNOW WE'RE SUPER BLURRY IN FRONT RN BUT PLEASE HELP ME STAY FOCUSED I SWEAR -leo

we're gonna build a sled! to put taure on. thorne: i have a good strength score. ....i say, out loud charlie: i am four feet tall. [cue argument between thorne & sieron about them both being horcs but sieron has a +0 bc strength is his dump stat] OH, OKAY, THORNE ROLLED A NAT20 TO CARRY TAURE. NICE

[discussion about what to tell everyone at camp vengenace] thorne: the last thing we need to do is a witch hunt charlie: --and we already hunted the witch! the witch has been hunted.

time to discuss strategy! we need to figure out how to head back to camp vengeance, eg if we want to follow the path we already took or if we wanna do some trailblazing. looks like we're gonna try and take the most direct path! which means we'll prolly risk tangoing with some undead but im willing to risk it TINY HUT STAIRCASE sorry i just remember it now and then

nyx: [meowing at his cats] thorne: uh... why is silje meowing? jorb: silje's food bowl is empty jorb: you look at silje's food bowl and there's a divot in the middle and the food is all on the sides emotionally, we must bully the catboy silje saw something interesting and started meowing

thorne: ill take first watch silje: ill also take first watch. charlie: [quietly] gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyy (but, like, extended for 15 seconds)

silje: [takes watch] [rolls a nat1 and gets distracted by looking at his crush]

THORNE HAS LOCATED A DOG the dog does not give a shit about the tiny hut. THE DOG HAS PEED ON THE TINY HUT goodbye dog

EVERYONE IS ROLLING AT LEAST 1 NAT1 thorne: wow! that sure is a dog. thorne has drawn the worst possible dog. thorne has erased the worst possible dog. we dont speak of the worst possible dog its the dog version of honse. DONSE

sieron is now on watch! MAN we are havin trouble rolling today. at least kali's here to make sure sieron doesnt stare at a rock for 50000 years sieron sees a mouse! bottom text

charlie is now on watch! kali is havin a big ol thonk. nothing meaningful has come of this

i am perceiving some deer. sieron is not perceiving some deer. silje is perceiving some deer, but better the deer are fucked up and undead! silje has gone from "we should hunt these deer for food" to "we should hunt these deer for sport"

charlie: i do not feel like being jumped by five thousand skeletons

charlie takes first watch with sieron! WHY ARE OUR ROLLS SO TERRIBLE taure is super cursed right now. that's not very pog charlie: this place sucks. thorne: to be fair, we havent-- charlie: YOU'RE ASLEEP, SHUT UP

oh hey coolname galvanic finally partied. nice.

thorne is at watch! solar: hey, is leomund's tiny hut an orb? there's a critter digging around! AH, THE CRITTER IS UNDEAD. this could be a problem

solar: hey michael, how much does the horrific sin against god dog i drew look like this creature michael: [dice roll noises] about 50%.

michael: if anyone likes, they can make a nature check-- solar: ME MEMEMEMEME ME ME ME

its a bulette! aka a land shark. problem: they are not normally undead. this one is undead.

jorb: imagine if you could tame one of those and use it as a mount. leo: IT WOULD JUST DIG UNDERGROUND AND LEAVE YOU THERE

we are just calling it a weird dog

we're going to mail a letter to the heart of arvus. HEY, CHECK OUT THIS WEIRD DOG,

JORB FOUND ART OF A BABY BULETTE. WEIRD PUPPY!

solar: hey guys, check out this sick art of a bulette i found

silje kept a lookout for the weird dog but its just fucked off. goodbye, weird dog give it up for day 3!

man there's been like, three incinerations today in blaseball. what's up with that. I SWEAR IM MOSTLY PAYING ATTENTION its just been an eventful day in blaseball. also im wearing my garages bomber rn. jaylen is home wooOOOO the wind smells stinky. this is fine.

we're actively avoiding whatever combat michael keeps nudging at us bc we're carrying around an unconscious person and i SWEAR hes gonna throw something directly at us once he's done with our shenanigans

UHH MICHAEL ASKING FOR PASSIVE PERCEPTION LOL

huh. this place used to be inhabited? we're in the woods rn but there's some like, stone ruins? like, VERY ruins. like, not really any structures standing, but enough evidence to show there Were things. WE FOUND A STATUE charlie: i want to smash my face against the lore.

used to be a circle of standing stones, but most of em fell over or got overgrown. inside of the circle has been cleared, although v roughly-- ground's torn up statue is of fjolnir! warrior holding up a spear and shield. AH, THERE ARE CORPSES, a human got REAL fucked up here. one of the corpses is straight up impaled on fjolnir's spear. n ... not pog.

i am trying so, so hard to pay attention. but i also kinda wanna take a nap.

charlie: [stares at statue] [rolls a 4] i wonder if he had a dick.

okay so something rolled in, tore up the overgrowth inside the circle, and murdered a couple dudes. and was also super tall and human-adjacent. hrm.

oh my god why are we rolling so shit today. time to stealth away and hope we dont get casually dismembered

k: jorb's hair is so long... leo: K, PLEASE,

time for a break! i am very tired but im gonan see if i can push through a little further. nyx is petting his cat why do orangatangs look like that

first watch is thorne and sieron! have they even, like, talked thorne unhabby ): thorne's worried we were tresspassing when checking out the statue, meanwhile im thinking about that one time when sieron got bit by a groundhog

(oh my god this is from late 2018)

leomund's tiny hut, aka the anti-sea bear circle we are getting SO much mileage out of the tiny hut. SILJE HUMS A SONG WITH KALI cute........... FINALLY I HAVE ROLLED ABOVE A 14 wait no i rolled a 16 twice. anyway we are not dead

nearly at camp vengenace! boy howdy i hope camp vengeance didnt get burned down. AH FUCK TAURE IS UNCONSCIOUS SO WE CANT CAST FOR DETECT POISON kaepora nearly made us all shit ourselves but its okay he just saw some bison and thought it was cool Michael Is Consulting Several Tables

WHY DOES JORB'S CAMERA ZOOM LIKE THAT why am i hungry. i have so many questions

HEY, TALL GUY [smacks sieron]

camp vengeance looks better! like, nobody's Obviously Sick anymore, the medical tents arent overfilled, we did it! we saved the dayyyyyy time to report to ryder! taure's getting dropped off at the medical tent

man remember when charlie didnt wear pants

oh man, with taure unconscious charlie is now taking point with social interaction. wild. jk im making jorb do it bc im tired HAHA NAT 20 PERSUASION BC OF ME HELPIN SIERON man ryder is such a cock. he was totally ready to keep throwing troops at heaven's brazier to die until we managed to persuade him out of it. jorb: did we tell ryder about the vision? michael: you kinda just took a look at him and went STINKY BOY!

okay yeah anything that dies on arvus will just pop back up as undead. man, arvus sucks.

ryder: alright, dismissed. charlie: seeya, soldier boy! :D hahahahaha im gonna eat his knees.

SILJE NEEDS ENRICHMENT IN HIS ENCLOSURE

charlie: ive decided he sucks. silje: we've already arrived to that, you're late!

LMAO WE WALKED IN ON INGRID AND HER CRUSH they fuckin. nice. you go, you funky lesbian

jorb: we've got the tiny hut, we could go anywhere leo: we could go to SPACE! nyx: we could not go to space. leo: WITH A TINY HUT STAIRCASE, WE CAN,

we are 320 miles away from the spaceship that exists on arvus. nice.

michael: justin sees you-- roll a strength saving throw. leo: i cant wait to die! [rolls a 3] I AM CRUSHED BY MY DOG michael: he rolled a nat20.

BOSS ENCOUNTER: CHARLIE'S DOG (the small circle next to him is one of the medical tents.)

THORNE IS PACT OF THE GUN solar: PARRY THIS, YOU FUCKING CASUAL

sieron, to ingrid: seems like youve been doing well charlie: i punch sieron. sieron: sieron: the camp, of course.

man we have no idea if the heart of arvus is actually related to the prophecy or not. theres a Lot of stuff lining up, but not enough, and its hard to say how much of it couldve been literal?

solar & michael: [discussing exposition] me: [cracking up bc penn sent me a funny dsmp joke]

prophecies are weird.

charlie is just s she is just sitting here SILJE PLAYED CARDS REALLY GOOD AT ME nyx rolled a nat20 and took all my money

oh cool we can talk to yrel telepathically! time to hoist yrel. THIS IS SO SCUFFED thorne mentioned yrel and now we're trying to explain to ingrid that we have a magic talking snake charlie: I WANT TO GO HOME. thorne: we cant go, we have a GOD-KING to kill! "i think theyre insane, theyre talking to a snake" "ingrid, druids exist" "oh. im gonna go back to getting railed by my 7 foot tall girlfriend"

Hollow Point 36

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty // Twenty-One // Twenty-Two // Twenty-Three // Twenty-Four // Twenty-Five // Twenty-Six // Twenty-Seven // Twenty-Eight // Twenty-Nine // Thirty // Thirty-One // Thirty-Two // Thirty-Three // Thirty-Four // Thirty-Five // Thirty-Six (here) 

Chapter Thirty-Six At the End of All Things

The first time Sakura awoke, everything was hazy. Like she was in a thick fog, her head filled with clouds. There were voices just beyond and a beeping nearby that seemed to reverberate through her skull. Bright lights shined in her eyes, but she couldn’t find the strength to shield her vision from it. Then she faded out again.

The next time Sakura opened her eyes, her surroundings were much clearer. She was still groggy, her dreams and reality dancing on the same line until she didn’t know what was real and what was her imagination. It took her a few minutes to get her bearings, but when she finally blinked into focus, she instantly recognized the hospital room.

Like a knee-jerk reaction, adrenaline filled Sakura’s veins as she recalled brief flashes of the port. But one glance down at her hands and she saw they were free of handcuffs. She hadn’t been caught by the CIA.

What did catch her notice was she was no longer wearing a Kevlar vest. Instead, she had been changed into a standard hospital gown. There was a sheet tucked around her middle to keep her legs warm and an IV inserted into her arm. It was connected to a bag with a clear liquid inside, likely just fluids. And perhaps pain killers, she realized after a sharp ache lanced through her shoulder when she tried to move her arm.

Pulling back the collar of her gown, Sakura found the left side of her upper body was wrapped in bandages. Post-surgery. At least someone had removed the bullet. Though, she would need to get out of the hospital soon before the police were called and she was questioned. If they hadn’t been called already.

That’s when Sakura realized she was alone. Where was Kakashi?

Through the clear, sliding doors, she could see the nurses’ station down the hall. There were two nurses there now, but they were busy with paperwork. She watched them until the television on the wall behind the desk caught her attention. It was playing the morning news.

From her distance, she couldn’t read the captions, but the channel was showing a helicopter view of the warehouse in Newark. It was still dark, just before dawn, the shipping yard lit up by a handful of overhead spotlights as red and blue police lights flashed. The video was at least a few hours old. Just outside the hospital window, the sun was already peeking above the horizon.

In that moment, Sakura remembered Itachi. Her heartrate and blood pressure spiked as she recalled the blood that had been gathering around him while she had been forced to watch on, unable to help. She worried what had become of him, where he was now.

Pushing herself up in bed, Sakura searched the room for her personal items, specifically her phone. She could call Kakashi or Shikamaru. It would be the fastest way to learn if there had been any casualties in the CIA’s raid.

However, before Sakura could move to get out of bed, the door to her room slid open. Automatically she glanced towards the sound, only to freeze as she recognized the person in the doorway.

Tsunade.

Her adopted mother was exactly how Sakura remembered her. She had long, blonde hair she had pulled back away from her face with the exception of a few strands that had escaped to frame her intelligent, hazel eyes. Tsunade was approaching sixty now, but her youthful face didn’t look a day over fifty. She exuded authority and professionalism in her white doctor’s coat, and in that instant, Sakura suddenly knew exactly where she was. Tsunade’s hospital.

Her adopted mother didn’t immediately speak as she stepped into the room flanked by two younger doctors, likely interns, but her expression was stern and clear: Sakura was to say nothing.

“I see you are finally awake,” Tsunade said, her voice calm and professional. As if they were complete strangers. “Are you in any pain, Ms….?”

“Johnson,” Sakura replied after a small hesitation. “Sarah Johnson.” The most vague American name she could think of in that moment.

Tsunade glanced at one of her interns, ensuring the young male doctor wrote the name down in her file before she returned her attention to Sakura. “How’s your pain now?”

“Manageable,” Sakura replied on autopilot. She was still stunned to see her adopted mother before her so suddenly after these last few years of radio silence. Sakura couldn’t tear her eyes away.

As if Tsunade was simply her surgeon, she stepped forward and began going through a normal examination of Sakura’s injury, post-surgery. “You had some nasty shrapnel to your shoulder, but I was able to successfully remove all of it. The man who brought you in said you were hit by debris from a car accident across the street. Unfortunate place and time.”

Sakura wondered what the actual chances of that happening were. It was probably the first thing Kakashi had thought of when the ER nurses had asked what happened. Sakura knew Tsunade knew it was a lie too. Her adopted mother was smart enough to know a fragmented bullet when she saw one, but she was lying to keep Sakura’s cover. Both their covers. It was a lie to keep the police at bay.

“Do you know where he is now?” Sakura asked.

“I believe getting coffee. He should return shortly,” Tsunade answered, examining the line in her IV for kinks. “The damage to your shoulder was fortunately minimal, but it will take several weeks to heal and some months of physical therapy to regain full use.”

Tsunade turned away from her then, continuing her examination as she spoke to the interns, asking them questions and teaching them as she went along. All the while, Sakura kept her gaze on her, as if afraid if she even so much as blinked too long, Tsunade would vanish right before her eyes.

After a few minutes that seemed to stretch on for hours, the interns finally left. The room lapsed into silence as Tsunade scribbled notes down into her chart.

Eventually, Tsunade closed Sakura’s chart. She capped her pen and slipped it into the front pocket of her coat before she finally met Sakura’s gaze. “I’ve kept your gunshot wound quiet, but someone will recognize the injury soon. You need to leave before the police are called.”

Sakura barely heard her. “Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you in over three years.”

“You had your mission,” Tsunade replied, her hazel eyes unaffected. “The rest was for you to finish.”

“And you didn’t think I might need support to do that?” Sakura asked, her confusion evident. “I’ve been calling you. For months now. Why didn’t you answer?”

“I taught you everything. I trained you to the best of my abilities. There was nothing more I could have done.”

Sakura let out a laugh that was more incredulous and exasperated than humorous. “You could have been there.”

“You were always meant to complete your mission alone.”

“Yes, but-”

“Enough, Sakura,” Tsunade interrupted. “We’re finished here.”

Her cold tone startled Sakura. She gave pause as Tsunade simply stared at her as if Sakura was nothing more than a boring piece of art. Slowly, one-by-one, the pieces began clicking into place. Cold dread filled Sakura as it dawned on her that she had put herself, Kakashi, Ino, Itachi in danger for a woman who saw her as nothing but a means to an end.

“You told Hashirama that you wanted a daughter, but he didn’t give me to you because you couldn’t have children,” Sakura said, her voice accusatory but calm compared to the raging storm building within her. “You wanted someone to train. Someone to take care of Hashirama because you couldn’t do it yourself. Not without getting caught.”

Tsunade’s face might as well have been carved from stone. “You did as directed. You completed your orders. You are released.”

Those words were like a slap across the face, but Sakura wasn’t given the chance to reply when the door to the room slid open again. It was Kakashi. He looked relieved to see her alert and conscious before he sensed the tension emanating from her. Concern briefly flickered behind his eyes before his gaze shifted to Tsunade.

She barely acknowledged him. Merely stepped towards the bed to mute the alarms on Sakura’s monitor before she slipped the IV out of her arm. “Don’t allow the nurses to see you when you leave,” Tsunade told her.

Then she was gone. Out the door and out of Sakura’s life. Perhaps forever.

Sakura could only sit there, her mouth slack and her eyes unfocused as she tried to process what had just happened. How everything she had believed her entire life could have shredded right before her eyes. It felt surreal, like a dream she couldn’t escape from.

White, hot anger flooded her heart and filled her veins like lightning. Betrayal stung like acid in her chest. She wanted to punch something, shoot something. Her fingers itched to wrap around the grip of a gun. She wanted to burn New York City to the ground.

Then, like a bubble, all that rage popped until she was left with nothing but a sinking sadness that buried deeper and deeper into her soul. It wrapped around her like a blanket, tumbling so deep she didn’t know if the feeling would ever leave her.

All those memories of her childhood burned bright in her mind’s eye. The smile on Tsunade’s face when she had brought Sakura home for the first time, her words of encouragement when Sakura failed and the pride in Tsunade’s eyes when she had succeeded. Grief sunk into Sakura’s chest like a heavy stone as she realized it had all been a lie. Tsunade had groomed Sakura to love and adore her until Sakura would do anything for the woman who had rescued her.

Sakura was certain she would have sat there in that hospital room, stuck in that single moment for the rest of her life, had the faint echo of footsteps not broken through her thoughts. She blinked back to herself as Kakashi stopped beside her bed. He looked like he wanted to reach out, but thought better of it.

“You okay?” he asked.

Sakura opened her mouth but not even a breath escaped. She didn’t know if he meant physically or mentally, but it didn’t matter. They needed to leave.

“We should get out of here,” Sakura said instead, suddenly itching to be out from this cramped, suffocating room.

A ghost of a frown crossed his mouth, but then it was gone as he slipped the backpack off his shoulder she hadn’t realized he had been carrying until now. Inside were a change of her clothes. He steadied her as she slipped into her jeans and shirt, the latter task he had to help her with after she realized she couldn’t lift her arm more than a few inches without a great deal of pain. He hung her jacket over her shoulders, leaving her sleeves empty before he collected the rest of her things.

Then together, they slipped out of the hospital unnoticed.

xx

The pair drove in silence for some time. The hospital was over twenty miles out of New York City. Sakura didn’t ask why Kakashi had taken her specifically to Tsunade. Had Sakura gone anywhere else the police would have been called, she would have been questioned and it would have led to a series of headaches that were best avoided from the beginning.

In the quiet, her mind rolled like heavy, thunder clouds. She replayed her conversation over with Tsunade, that piping hot rage sitting in her stomach like boiling water. Only to give way as her last moments with Itachi filled her memory. The hurt and betrayal and heartbreak in his eyes. She wondered if he had felt like she did now. Learning he had been used, he had been played.

Her stomach twisted sharply. The question of his fate hung heavy on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t find the courage to ask, afraid of the answer. Instead, she asked another burning question.

“What happened? After I was shot.”

Kakashi didn’t glance at her as he took the juncture to the next highway. “The CIA successfully took down Akatsuki. Everyone not killed was rounded up and arrested. Your plan to take out the major members of Akatsuki was a significant part in allowing the CIA to success. None of them showed with their men. Tobirama, Tenten and whoever else you called got them all. Everyone is dead but Kisame. He escaped to Egypt.”

Sakura hummed at that. “Call Temari. I want eyes on him.”

“You think he’ll retaliate against you for trying to kill him?”

“Not on American soil, but yes.”

Kakashi hummed his agreement. Then after a brief silence, he asked, “What about here? The Underground is in chaos. Now would be the perfect time to claim it.”

She fell quiet as she considered that. With Akatsuki in shambles and Hashirama dead, the Underground had a lot of availability now. It would be the perfect opportunity for her to take over the Eastern Coast. Which she was going to do. Just not in the way Kakashi was expecting.

“Tell Tobirama to take control of Hashirama’s assets. Tenten can have whatever territory is left over.”

Kakashi shot her a look of surprise. “Why would you do that?” When she replied with a meaningful glance, it dawned on him. “Because then they both owe you favors. You can control the Eastern Coast without having to manage it yourself.”

Sakura hummed her agreement.

“Then what will you do?” he asked.

Sakura thought about her next statement carefully. She thought about Tsunade’s parting words, feeling that painful betrayal again. “I want you to spread the word that Tsunade is dead.”

Kakashi glanced at her sharply until the tires bumped over the lane dividers on the highway. He jerked the wheel to straighten their course. “What? After all this, you’re giving everything up?”

She shook her head. “No, just her,” she said. Her voice was soft but she wasn’t able to completely keep the bitterness out of her voice. “From now on, I will be known as Sakura. I won’t give Tsunade the credit any longer.”

He peered in her direction again but said nothing as they continued their drive. The pain in Sakura’s shoulder was beginning to worsen as the drugs faded, but it paled in comparison to the ache in her chest, until she could no longer stand not knowing.

“Where’s Itachi?” she asked quietly.

A heavy silence passed before Kakashi answered, “He was taken to a hospital under the CIA’s protection. I spoke to my contacts there. He’s alive,” he said, causing hope to bloom in her chest. It died on his next words. “But he’s in a coma. He took a bullet to the stomach. They don’t know how well he’ll recover yet or if he’ll even…”

“Or if he’ll even wake up,” Sakura finished, feeling that hole in her heart slowly rip open little-by-little.

Kakashi peered at her, but she didn’t dare look at him. She couldn’t stand his pity at the moment. “I’m sorry, Sakura.”

“Don’t be,” she murmured. “This is my fault. I did this.”

They didn’t speak the rest of the way to Sakura’s apartment. Simply sat in silence as Kakashi steered them across the bridge and back into New York. Before them, the impressive skyline towered on the horizon, but Sakura didn’t see. She was numb to the world around her. Exhausted, both physically and mentally.

It was only once her door opened that Sakura realized they were parked in her underground garage. Kakashi helped her out of her seat before he adjusted her jacket around her shoulders to hide the bulky bandages, lest anyone should pass them.

Blindly, Sakura allowed Kakashi to lead her through the building until they reached her apartment. Kakashi unlocked the door and closed it behind them as Sakura kicked off her shoes. She said nothing as she made a beeline for her bed, letting her jacket drop somewhere on the floor before she slipped under the covers.

Kakashi was at her side a minute later with a spare bottle of prescription pain meds she kept in her medicine cabinet. She popped two in her mouth and greedily sucked down the bottle of water he handed her before she curled up on her uninjured side, her back to him. He simply pulled the covers around her.

“Can I get you anything else?” Kakashi murmured.

Sakura thought of Itachi, but the image of him lying in some government hospital unconscious and hooked up to life support stole her voice. Swallowing, she shook her head. “No.”

She vaguely heard him set something on her nightstand. A moment later, she realized it was her cell phone. “Call me if you need me.”

She said nothing in reply. Merely stared at the wall on the other side of her bed as she listened to Kakashi’s footsteps cross the room before the deadbolt slid back into place.

Sakura didn’t know how long she laid there. The meds took the worst of the bite out of her injury and exhaustion weighed on her like a physical weight, but her mind refused to rest. Her thoughts kept replaying the events at the warehouse. She wondered how she could have changed things, what she could have done differently, but the look on Itachi’s face wouldn’t leave her. It was burned into her mind.

What had she done?

Curling further into herself, Sakura opened her mouth to let out a heavy sigh. What escaped instead was a shuddering breath. And before she could stop it, a wave of emotion washed through her, picking her up and sweeping her out the sea before the currents pulled her under. Her anguish spilled out of her until it clogged her throat and made it near impossible to breathe, filling every corner of her empty apartment.

Or so she thought.

For from the living room, Kakashi said silently on the couch. He listened to each sob that echoed from the bedroom, until the sun was high and exhaustion finally overcame them both. It would be nearly sunrise before they would wake again.

xx

Three weeks later…

Sakura blew the steam off her coffee mug. She waited until it was cool enough not to burn her tongue before she finally took a sip and deemed the flavor to her liking.

Inside the coffeehouse, businessmen and women were hurrying in and out. The little shop was tucked between a large bank and a high rise of offices, making it a popular stop for those on their way into a meeting. A woman stopped beside Sakura and dumped in an unhealthy amount of cream and sugar before she quickly left, apparently running late for something.

With her shoulder still recovering, Sakura had to do most things one-handed. She set her to-go cup down on the counter before she snapped the lid over the top. Before leaving, she checked her phone.

There was a new message from Tenten. She was still on time to getting her shipments dropped off. Tobirama would be back in town tonight to update Sakura on the other shipments leaving Cairo. His plane was to land a few hours after sundown.

Satisfied, Sakura pocketed her phone again before she grabbed her coffee and made for the exit. A man in a nice business suit held the door for her, smiling something a little too friendly as he looked her purposely. Sakura was hardly fazed. She merely returned the smile before she slipped by without a word.

On the sidewalk, she paused to look for Kakashi’s car as she took a sip of her coffee. She didn’t know where Kakashi had gone in the morning rush, but she waited patiently. Ever since he had picked her up from the hospital, he had hardly left her side. He would be there soon.

Lowering her coffee cup, Sakura gazed about the downtown streets lazily. After a few minutes with no sight of Kakashi, she made to shuffle her coffee into her still-healing arm to pull out her phone when something caught her eye.

No, not something. Someone.

It was Shisui. He was standing across the busy street, leaning against the side of a sleek, black Lexus. She recognized it as Itachi’s. But it wasn’t the car that caught her notice. It was Shisui himself. He looked terrible. Absolutely haggard with dark circles under his eyes and his skin a little too pale, even for a New Yorker. He looked like he hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten in weeks.

And like a candle blowing out in the wind, the warmth left Sakura’s body. She knew what had happened.

They had pulled the plug on Itachi.

She couldn’t explain how she knew it from that single look from Shisui, but she was absolutely certain. Itachi was gone.

As if someone had pressed pause on the television, everything stilled. The people around them, the cars on the city streets. The entire world stopped and held its breath.

Then Shisui turned away and slipped into Itachi’s Lexus. Without a single word, he simply drove away, leaving Sakura alone on the busy sidewalk, the coffee in her cup tasting like mud and ash. The grey city seemed to become even dimmer, like all color had drained out of the world.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sakura pushed herself to focus on her work, getting shipments ordered, organized and delivered. Her day was over before she realized it and she was forced to face her new reality.

She sent Kakashi away. He had been confused but he didn’t deny her request, and for the first time since she had been shot, Sakura was alone.

She sat in the kitchen chair she had pulled up to the window and sipped on tequila as she tried her best not to think about the shirt in the back of her closet – the one that smelled like Itachi – until suddenly, she realized she was drunk. Apparently, chain-drinking did that.

The urge to give in, to wrap herself up in the last bit of clothing that reminded her of his gentle kisses and tender touch, nearly overwhelmed her, and likely would have if her phone hadn’t abruptly pinged.

It was from Tobirama. He had landed.

Suddenly, Sakura had a far worse idea.

Less than an hour later, a taxi dropped Sakura off in Queens in front of a large house with tall, iron gates. The guard had let her in on-sight, allowing the driver to pull up the well-lit, circular drive to stop before the great mansion.

As Sakura stepped out of the cab, she admired the home. Tobirama had made a few modifications, including more lights that accentuated the stone work. It looked much classier than when Hashirama had lived there.

At the door, a butler greeted her and accepted her jacket. He made himself scarce when Tobirama appeared at the banister and descended the stairs. His hair was still damp from a shower, and he had changed into a grey sweater and a nice pair of cotton, white pants after his flight. Something comfortable but classy lest someone dropped in late. Someone like her.

“Sakura,” Tobirama greeted. His tone was welcoming but obviously curious. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight. Is everything alright?”

She had tried to fill the gaping hole in her chest with tequila, but she smiled nonetheless, hoping she appeared more sober than she felt. “Yes. I hope I’m not intruding.”

His confusion lingered, but he gestured for her to follow him anyway. He led her to the very den she had sat with Hashirama before. Only now it felt different. Less intimidating and more focused. Like an actual office should be.

Inside, a maid was dusting a tall painting of a beautiful forest with horses grazing in the middle. As soon as the worker saw them enter, she quickly stepped off her stool and excused herself, taking the folding steps with her.

Sakura didn’t pay her much mind. Instead she gazed at the painting as she briefly wondered what its significance was. It certainly hadn’t been there while Hashirama lived there, but the thought was fleeting. She turned away when she heard Tobirama pull out two crystal glasses before he poured a couple of fingers in each.

Only after they made themselves comfortable on the lush, leather couch across the room did he finally ask, “Are you really so keen to know how my trip to Egypt went?”

Frankly, Sakura couldn’t care less about Cairo at the moment, but for pretenses, she inclined her head.

They sipped their whiskey as Tobirama updated her. He informed her of Temari’s success in seamlessly taking over Akatsuki’s old territory and contacts, and Tobirama’s latest attempt to track down Madara’s whereabouts. Of course, it had led to another dead end like it had for the last several weeks.

“I know the bastard was there,” Tobirama told her, a small frown on his lips. “But he slipped out before I could track him down.”

“Do you suspect where he went?” she asked.

“Hong Kong.”

Sakura hummed in reply as she sipped more of her drink. The whiskey settled warmly in her stomach, but it did nothing to ease the cold in her chest.

“Once I get my shipments squared away here, I can go there and follow his trail-”

“No,” she shook her head, much to Tobirama’s surprise. “Let him stay there.”

His brows furrowed. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Madara has contacts there that neither of us have. If we go after him, he’ll have us killed on-sight,” she told him, briefly studying the amber liquid in her glass. “There’s one thing I’m certain of and it’s that Madara wants both of us dead; for what we did to Akatsuki and for what we did to Izuna. Let him come to us when he finally decides he can’t live in a world with us in it. For now, he can rot in his hole.”

She finished her statement by swallowing the rest of her drink in one large gulp. Then she stood to place the glass on the desk, out of the way.

“And in the meantime, what do we do?” Tobirama asked.

Sakura turned back around to face him upon his question. She didn’t reply as she eyed him, taking in his relaxed form as he lounged on the leather sofa. The hand grasping his whiskey rested on the arm of the couch while the other rested beside his thigh.

In this setting, he was more handsome than she could ever remember him being. Money looked good on him. And so did she, she decided.

“I’m sure we can think of something,” Sakura replied. Her hand skimmed up the front of her blouse until she found the top button. Then she popped it open.

Tobirama’s glass stilled halfway to his mouth as she approached him. Automatically his gaze was drawn to her cleavage as it was slowly exposed to his viewing. He swallowed thickly before he made a point of meeting her gaze.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled.

Sakura shot him a look as if he had asked the dumbest question in the world before she dropped her shirt to the floor and slipped into his lap. Even with only her lacy, wine-colored bra keeping her decent, his eyes never left hers. He stubbornly kept his hands by his sides.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Sakura countered smoothly.

Something akin to a scowl crossed his face. “I thought we had agreed this was a bad idea.”

Her hands settled on the firm muscles of his chest as her gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth before meeting his gaze once more. When she spoke, her voice had turned soft to something almost vulnerable. “Don’t you ever wish we could go back to the way we started? Before everything got so complicated.”

An unusually serious expression crossed Tobirama’s face. His gaze searched hers, as if wondering where they would be now if things between them hadn’t ended so abruptly. She didn’t know what he saw in her eyes – if he saw anything at all – but then he was downing the rest of his whiskey. He set the glass aside before he twisted a hand into her hair and forced her mouth to meet his.

There was nothing gentle about the way Tobirama held her. He secured an arm around her waist before he picked her up and laid her against the soft leather of the couch, careful of her still-healing shoulder. As soon as she was settled, he was on her again, his knee pressing into the space between her legs as he bit a path down her throat. A sharp gasp escaped her when he found a sensitive spot, but the noise was quickly muffled as he crushed his mouth against hers again.

His kiss felt like drowning. Like she was being pulled beneath the current, her head inches or perhaps miles below the surface. She didn’t know if it eased or just numbed the pain in her chest, but she had the fleeting thought that if it could distract her from her grief if only for a few minutes, then she would take everything she could.

Just as the world had taken everything from her.

tbc…

The Joker 80th Anniversary Super Spectacular (2020)

“So Lego,” said nobody ever. “Now that you’re got some decent free time and the spoons to write, what are you gonna do? Get some actual work done on that Detective Conan longfic you’ve been rattling about the last two years? Actually start your long-overdue cert paper, that thing you need to graduate?”

Oooof course not! Instead, let’s dive back into the wonderful world of Cape Comix, featuring Tumblr’s least-wanted villain! Will any of these ten little tales actually manage to find something new - or at least interesting - to say about Laughing Boy? Let’s find out.

“Scars” by Scott Snyder and Jock. A pretty typical Snyder gonzo-horror jaunt, complete with “haha, the Joker really is the godmode manipulator/killer you’ve been denying he was all story! Sucks to be you!” ending. It’s stories like these that make me wonder why the hell Bruce’s rogues gallery even needs Scarecrow anymore, even in concept.

“What Comes at the End of a Joke” by James Tynion IV and Mikel Janin. Ahh, Christ, why didn’t I expect there’d be a Joker War tie-in somewhere in this... Well, there ya have it, the Secret Origin of Punchline. There’s a germ of an interesting idea here, likening the Joker’s “the hell with anything else, I just want to fuck over The Powers That Be” influence on Gotham’s youth to the Alt-Right’s influence in real life, but even then I reckon other writers have already done it better.

“Kill the Batman” by Gary Whitta, Greg Miller, and Dan Mora. The first creative team I had to look up - apparently, one of ‘em used to run IGN, and the other co-wrote Rogue One. This is also the first one built as a comedy, which I approve of in theory; in execution, though, the setup is a bit too mawkish for its own good (not to mention way too eager to quote-mine Chris Nolan) the last-page punchline is exactly the kind of dad humor our “hero” was complaining about halfway through the story. All in all, I’d still recommend “Going Sane” as a better take on the whole premise.

“Introducing the Dove Corps” by Denny O’Neil and Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez. Guys, whatever differences I’ve had with his work over the years, I really wanted to report that O’Neil went out on a high note. And I will say this one probably has the strongest premise in the whole book, with Joker trying to not only (gasp!) play hero but (horrors!) do it without bloodshed. O’Neil doesn’t quite cheat the premise, but the story is still bogged down with at least one unleapable logic hole (a Special Forces Team doesn’t know who the fucking Joker is?!), a bunch of pointless continuity-mining (See! The origin of TKJ’s tourist getup!), and a predictable-as-hell ending. Whatever faults the other stories may have, none of them end on a line as hacky as “Killing is so much fun.”

“The War Within” by Peter Tomasi and Simone Bianchi. Okay, first thing - it’s not “Batman/Badman” levels of faux-cleverness, but it’s not quite out of that ballpark. There’s no real plot outside the narration (except maybe to set up some future arc in Tomasi’s Detective), just Bianchi doing a Joker-through-the-ages showcase. Said showcase hits most of the obligatory choices - Golden Age, Silver Age, TKJ, TDK, TDKR - but I will say I was pleasantly surprised to see The Batman’s Joker getting a shout-out, dreads and all.

“The Last Smile” by Paul Dini and Riley Rossmo. Huh. Wasn’t expecting to see Dini do a riff on Joker: Devil’s Advocate of all things - and only slightly that it would average out as the best story in here. After his less-than-stellar writing on the Arkham games, it’s heartening to see Dini’s still got some of the old magic, with a genuinely insightful look into what might scare the Joker: the possibility that Batman can have his cake and eat it too, can get rid of his not-so-eternal dance partner without endangering his precious code, because sometimes, the law is good for something after all. Kudos, too, for a more creative use of Harley - and rapport with Ivy - than years and years of Harley-centric media have ever managed.

“Birthday Bugs” by Tom Taylor and Eduardo Risso. A strong competitor to the previous one - you can almost never go wrong with “the Joker tries to do something nice for an innocent” as a premise - with some choice lines that carry the theme smoothly without ever feeling like grandstanding. That said, Risso’s art is a lot more hit-and-miss than Rossmo’s - some panels are absolutely beautiful, but others - especially if Joker’s actually in them - just look hideously tryhard - and the gore in the last couple pages feels more cheap than disturbing.

“No Heroes” by Eduardo Medeiros and Rafael Albuquerque. See previous opening line. The themes discussed here (why be a hero for a soulless Capitalist engine?) are a little triter, not helped by the fact that the story’s not really long enough to let them breathe properly, but the art is on the whole a lot stronger; and in an age where artists are falling over themselves to out-demonic each others’ Jokers, I especially dig the choice to put him in a mask for most of the story, rooting his scariness in unmoving minimalism instead of hyperexaggerating every wrinkle and pore of his face,

“Penance” by Tony Daniel. Ah, yes. The perennial weak-link of the Reborn era and the inventor of that whole skinned-face idiocy back at the start of the New 52, Daniel’s turn here... threatens to be interesting a few times, but never manages to get all its ideas into anything coherent, much less good in execution. Shame, really - apart from “Birthday Bugs” it’s the only one to focus on “normal” crooks, a perennially underrated element in Joker romps.

“Two Fell Into The Hornet’s Nest” by Brian Azzarello & Lee Bermejo. This was the one I was least looking forward to... and it looks like ol’ Brian anticipated that, given the line (”Have you checked the credits on who’s writing this?”) he kicks off page two with. I suppose it, more than any of the other stories, cut to the heart of what the Joker’s stream-of-consciousness should look like - but that doesn’t really stop it from feeling like something Azzarello cranked out on a lunch break. Even random nonsense needs to be handled with care to not feel like waste of the reader’s time - and whatever else this one has going for it (I did smile a little the nurse taunting Joker about being as much an empty corporate symbol as Batman himself), care's not really on the menu. Stick with his Calvin & Hobbes parody from Superman/Batman #75.

So there ya have it - three (possibly four) stories I’d legitimately read again, surrounded by a sea of mediocrity and misfires (and some intermittently interesting pinups - JRJR’s Joker-as-007 piece hit my sweet-spot best). That’s honestly a better record than I would’ve expected for the J-Man in 2020 - better, by all accounts, than the 80th super-spectacular the Robins got.

Would it have been too much to ask the Lego Batman guys to contribute something, though?

I Took A Walk For Seven Years

by theoddcatlady

It was August 9, 2010. I was thirty eight years old. My oldest daughter Avis was twelve, and the younger pair, Joanne and John, were nine year old twins. I’d been married for fifteen years. I worked at an insurance firm. And every Sunday, while my wife and Avis went to church and the twins went to my mother’s house, I took a walk.

It was a clockwork sort of arrangement. My wife knew never to push me into going with her, I was an atheist and set on staying that way.

Of course, given what’s happened, my views have changed.

It was just a normal day. Avis gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me to not forget my coat, even if it was an abnormally warm day. I’d say it was maybe sixty five, maybe sixty eight degrees Fahrenheit. My mom picked up the twins. And I started down my walk.

We lived off the beaten path, so to speak. Our road was never busy and most of the area was taken up by farmland. A truck passed me on the road and I waved. I was pretty sure it was Art, although it could’ve been one of his sons on his way to church. Either way, he waved back.

I took a turn to the right onto Hensel. Hensel was a dirt road but it was never travelled except by farmers, and today it was quiet. Good time to collect my thoughts.

Every other time before this, I’d turn back around once I reached Art’s farmhouse, although occasionally his wife would pull me in for lemonade and gossip.

But August 9 would be the day I took the longest walk of my life.

I was passing by the cornfield when I heard laughter. To be more specific, it was a child’s laughter. I paused and looked into the cornfield.

A pair of forest green eyes looked back at me.

The girl looked to be no older than seven, had red hair tied into twin braids, and I assumed she was one of Art’s grandchildren. She smiled broadly.

“Catch me!”

She darted back into the corn and I could hear her giggles slowly fade away.

Normally I would’ve scoffed at going into the field, as I’d have to cross the ditch and I didn’t want to get dirt on my pants. But I felt a little bit of concern, a small child running around the field by herself. So with a jump that I knew my knees would feel in the morning, I jump into the corn field.

Using the sound of her laughter, I started pushing through the corn. The dry leaves scratched at my face and hands, and dust kicked up into my face.

I knew she couldn’t outrun me for long, even if she was a child with boundless energy, I had longer legs.

However, I exited the cornfield in a place I didn’t know.

My house was nowhere to be seen. And there was a light layer of snow covering the ground.

I spun around but the corn was gone, replaced by frosted evergreen trees. The temperature had significantly dropped and I was now thankful that my daughter insisted I bring a coat. I shivered and spun around a few more times, trying to make sense of this dream I’d apparently fallen into and where was that little girl?

“Hey! Mister!”

I finally spun around enough to see her, peering past a branch. She grinned.

“You catch me, I’ll show you the way out!”

That began the chase.

Getting smacked with tree branches was far worse than the corn, the needles tearing at my skin like knives as I pushed past them to find that little girl. Whenever I got lost, I’d hear her laugh. She was having fun. I was not.

The wet snow beneath my feet made it impossible to gain traction, and forget running- I’d slip if I so much as stepped wrong. With every minute I got colder and colder. My teeth chattered so hard my jaw ached.

Then I broke from the treeline into a grassy meadow.

I didn’t expect the change so I ended up toppling over. The grass smelled sweet as honey. A fat bumblebee trundled past my head and landed on a Black Eyed Susan. It was heaven.

But the peace of the meadow was broken by that girl laughing again.

“Awwww, are you already giving up?”

The warm sunlight made her glow, like a tiny angel, but as I stumbled to my feet, I caught something behind those big eyes I hadn’t before.

Malevolence.

She was toying with me and she knew it.

I can’t tell you how many times the environment changed. One minute it’d be across a meadow, then a desert during a sandstorm. I’d have to rely solely on hearing her in places like that. Sometimes we’d be back in the cornfield, and I’d shout for Art to get me out of here but no help ever came. Sometimes we’d be running across barren tundra, where she’d be just out of my grasp.

She wasn’t always a little girl either. Sometimes she was a young teen, with a gap between her teeth and who’d hum sweet tunes. Sometimes she was a ravishing model of her early twenties, with fiery hair and a flirtatious grin. And the times she wasn’t any of those, she was an ancient crone, with a bent back and arthritic hands that clutched to her cane but still managed to hobble away from me.

She called herself Clarice occasionally. Other times it was Lolita, Dixie, Isabella, Hope… I lost count of her names too. A straight answer was impossible. She’d never lie to me though, just avoid answering any of the questions I’d ask her.

So I knew she was my key out of there.

It was in the meadow where I finally got her.

She was a little girl again, and her taunting was beyond cruel this time. She’d stop, pick flowers, and run on before I could grab her. She’d throw the flowers about and sing ridiculous nonsense songs and I knew I couldn’t ever win like this.

So I dropped to the ground.

The little girl stopped.

“Oh, are you really giving up now? You’re sooooo close!”

Nothing. I remained still as I gasped for breath.

I heard her get closer and closer.

“Mister? Are you okay? Do you need a break? You’ve been going on a really loooong time…”

Once I saw her shadow I lunged.

She almost got away but my hand wrapped around her braid and I pulled her back so hard I could’ve snapped her neck. I embraced her in my arms and breathed out, “I got you.”

I’d never felt so successful in my entire life. I’d finally gotten her.

She turned around and smiled sadly.

“Can we play again? We were having fun. You don’t have to go back, we can stay here.”

No way. I was done with this. “Nope. You let me out of here right now or I’m strangling you with your own braids.” A little dramatic, perhaps, but I gripped tighter onto her hair to make clear my point.

She sighed before she kissed my cheek. The same place Avis did before church.

“Okay.”

When I woke up, I was in the middle of the plowed cornfield.

It was spring time, the ground was churned to mud and the water freezing cold. I peeled myself off the ground and began stumbling home.

It was then I noticed how tired I truly was. My mouth was parched as the deserts I ran through. My body was stiff and ached like I’d run a thousand miles, and there was a chance I had. I had one goal in mind though, and that was home. I could finally go home.

Despite tripping through the mud a dozen times, I caught sight of my house and immediately began to cry. Barely able to move, I just pointed myself to the backyard. My wife should be home about now. She’d see me and come to my aid.

Two teenage boys were on the back porch, one was smoking while the other was playing on his phone. I couldn’t recognize either of them. Had my family moved? I raised my hand and attempted to speak, but it came out as a raspy moan.

Both boys jumped out of their skin, the one smoking dropping his cigarette and they backed off. The shorter one raised a hand. “Sir, you’re gonna have to…” He trailed off and his eyes widened.

The eyes that looked exactly like my wife’s.

“… Dad?!”

I passed out on the ground, just a few steps from the back door.

I woke up in the hospital. I’d been cleaned up, had an IV running into my arm, and a woman was sitting next to my bed. Fast asleep. With a tattoo of a bird on her neck. A sparrow, to be exact.

Avis always loved her sparrows.

I’d been gone for a little over seven years. When I didn’t return from my walk, my wife reported me missing. At first law enforcement assumed I’d just ran off with another woman, but when that line of investigation went dry, they realized I’d been the victim of foul play.

Search parties were made. People were questioned. No one was imprisoned. They never found me. And life marched on.

Art apparently died about a year after I went missing. Stroke. The farm went to his sons, who ended up selling the whole property to another family. A family who stayed oblivious to the fact that was the place I was last spotted.

The boys on the back porch were in fact my boys. I just hadn’t been around when Joanne announced he was now James, at the age of thirteen. I wish I could’ve been there to help him become a man.

I apparently had a good replacement though.

After four years and it looked like I was gone for good, my wife met someone new. His name’s Clark. They’d gotten married six months after they met. Clark was a real outdoorsman, hunter, fisherman, and loved to go camping. As I chased a fairy child through her playground, he was taking James and John out on trips every weekend and putting away money to help James afford his surgeries and the like. Clark had two kids of his own, and I was soon a memory in this house. They could survive without me.

Avis was the only one who hadn’t given up on me. She pursued every lead. Every dead end. Every chance that I could be there, she was chasing it. Stubborn girl. My girl. But she’d grown from a girl to a woman since I’d been gone, and it was like talking to a stranger. A strange who had my chin and nose, but a stranger nonetheless.

My wife did want to help me adjust though, and kindly offered the guest bedroom for me while I recovered. I’d apparently been through hell, bones were broken and healed, muscles torn and strained beyond their limits. I was malnourished and could barely stand without my walker, and I just had nowhere to go.

It was not a place I could stay though.

Clark’s kids looked at me like I was some bogeyman that lived down the hall. Clark and I tried to be polite to each other but things became tense as my now ex-wife was struggling whether or not she should officially put down on paper who she would divorce.

I was just in the way.

But the little girl wasn’t gone.

Nightly I’d see her outside my window. She’d peer in, with those big eyes, and mouth the words,

“Come with me.”

I’ve told my wife I’m just going out for a walk.

A PLAYLIST OF RICHIE TOZIER APPEARANCES

Fandom: IT (2017)

Pairing: Reddie ( Richie Tozier / Eddie Kaspbrak )

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: 

Eddie is, by all means, a popular vlogger. He’s worked hard to get himself where he is, and the fans love him for that, appreciate him for that.

But they’re also somewhat obsessed with Richie Tozier, and trying to decide if Eddie is, in fact, dating him.

So sue them.

AO3 Link

For @odeto-tozier, based off of their Vlogger!Eddie post.

Tag List: @killerxqueer @richietozierlitaf @princely-dots

I. 101 WAYS TO DITCH YOUR FRIENDS - 932k VIEWS

One of the most popular videos on Eddie’s entire channel, at least for a while, this is where Eddie introduces them. The Losers Club. He’s mentioned them, sure. Talked about having them on for a video, showed off their makeup or their art and directed his fan base to their social medias, but this is where he finally introduces them.

Big Bill is first. Eddie’s best friend, the sweetest guy there is, always there for Eddie. One of the only people to not have made fun of him in middle school for having asthma, Bill knew stuff to do. Places to go. Things to see. And the thing is, Eddie may not have needed an inhaler anymore, but he still never breathed as well as he did when he was with Bill. They’d run all night and never need to catch their breath, that was the kind of bond they had.

And then there’s Mike, and okay, maybe Bill isn’t the sweetest guy in the world. He’s up there, sure, but he doesn’t compare to Mike Hanlon. From the moment Mike is on screen, he’s smiling. Then he realizes he’s being filmed, and he smiles even more. He wants to show the camera a thousand things, from the soft sheep on his farm, to the flowers he’s pressed in his free time, to the pages of history he has organized on his book shelves. Mike is smiles and safety, strong and soft all at once.

Ben is quiet most of the time he’s on camera. While Eddie promises Ben’s all laughs when they’re hanging out, he’s just too shy to do anything for what could possibly (and definitely would) be thousands of people. He’s better at writing words than saying them, and Eddie shamelessly uses that as an opportunity to plug Ben’s up and coming poetry book that he’s been setting up a kickstarter for.

Beverly, Stan, and Richie come as a tangled group. It’s a whirlwind, really, the four of them pushing through the walmart doors at almost 2am. There’s a lot of swift laughter and fumbling of the phone, unwillingly passing the camera from set of hands to set of hands. At some point Richie refuses to give the phone back, holding it high above his head, camera angled down towards a clearly angry Eddie.

There’s a lot of banter, and even Bev and Stan can be heard “oo-ing” in the background and yelling out to “just kiss already!” It’s clearly a joke (maybe?) between a close group of friends, but all of Eddie’s fans instantly latch onto this. It’s perfect, an equal amount of fond push and shove on each end, and it’s addictive.

The walmart group each get their own sections later, and some more group videos are thrown in towards the end, but all of the gif sets made seem to revolve around Richie. His sections is mostly Richie taking the phone and talking about himself, making bad jokes that Eddie swears he’s going to cut out, but it all stays in the video anyway, gasoline on the fire.

II. FUCK THE CHALLENGE SYSTEM - 458k VIEWS

Eddie hates challenges. All of his fans know this, just as they know that any challenge they want Eddie to do - they send to Richie.

Because Richie gets Eddie to do anything.

And that, right there, is what holds every single fan up. If they weren’t dating, why was Eddie putty in Richie’s hands? Best friends, sure, but none of Eddie’s other friends convinced him to do challenges.

(They don’t mention that maybe, just maybe, it’s because Richie is a little shit that loves pushing Eddie’s buttons, and all of his other friends respect him when he declines.

Yeah, they just don’t mention it.)

Except this time, there is no actual challenge. Eddie is going off about how wrong they make him feel, how perverse it is to not only force an uncomfortable situation onto him, but to then expect him to force another youtuber into doing the same. It’s unfair, and unclean, and while he respects any fellow vloggers who enjoy the challenges, he’s officially cancelling any challenge videos on his page ever again.

Richie, who just seems to always be around when challenges are mentioned (who seems to just always be around) immediately flies into the frame.

“You heard it! Eds spagehds is officially moving all challenge videos to my page, so if you want to catch them, you’re gonna have to follow this mother fucker right here.” Eddie’s protests and profanities go ignored, shouts of, “Rich, no! Fuck no!” and then the video cuts to an unfamiliar room, with Eddie moping dejectedly in his chair.

It’s thirty seconds exactly (00:30) of Eddie looking sadly into the camera, dead silence around him. In the empty space next to him, a chair that presumably expects to host one Richie Tozier, is a hyperlink to Richie’s channel, and their first Challenge Compilation video.

( Eddie Finally Does All the Challenges He’s Been Refusing, All At Once - 212k Views )

And now the subs know that Richie can make Eddie do anything, any fucking thing.

And they know what the inside of Richie’s room looks like, too.

III. WHY GAYS RELY ON PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION - 644k VIEWS

This video is literally the most fucking blurry, conspiracy theory, I-Have-Proof-Of-The-Lochness-Monster shit that Eddie’s fandom has ever seen. It is, by all accounts, a normal ass vlog. Eddie’s there at his counter, bright sunlight from the large windows in his kitchen filtering into the space, a cup of (presumably) black tea immediately to Eddie’s right. Not that he’ll ever drink it in the video, because he never does, but he does use it to keep his hands warm when they aren’t busy flying all over the place while he angrily vents about why public transportation is the worst, but actually driving makes him too fucking anxious to function.

Because, come on, fuck turnpikes.

The video is approximately two minutes and thirteen seconds (2:13) long, and yet this video has triple the amount of views as every past two minute long vlog for the past four months.

(Four months ago Eddie released a two minute vlog that was nothing but Eddie’s friends petting his hair, and Eddie making soft happy faces in return. The fandom continues to keep that video alive, if only by desperately comparing the length of Richie petting Eddie to the length of every other loser doing so in hopes that the numbers will add up and mean something. So far, it doesn’t.)

There’s really nothing about this vlog that stands out, not even the mug Eddie uses or the clothes he wears. The outfit is one that they’ve seen before, between fashion vlogs and #ootd instagram posts.

No, the reason this particular video skyrockets in popularity is not because of anything Eddie does, but because, around 1:43, from a very distant shot, you can see a figure lazily walking into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and some cereal, and leaving. That figure, almost 100% wearing nothing but boxers, looks a hell of a lot like one Richie Tozier.

You know, disregarding the distance. And the pixelation. And Eddie’s face cutting off the figure most of the time anyway, because it is his vlog.

But that almost-naked figure in the background is definitely an almost-naked Richie Tozier, the fandom swears it.

IV. PRETTY BOY TRANSFORMATION - 722k VIEWS

The entire fan base already knew Eddie was a pretty boy. That was half of the appeal of his channel in the first place, that you knew exactly what you were going to get. A safe place for any identity. Eddie had been sent plenty of soft shirts and flower crowns already, and half of what he opened on his unboxing streams was pastel. The fans didn’t need to make edits or gifs or icons - Eddie was perfectly happy to wear all of it on his own.

But Eddie with make up, that was an entirely new type of pretty boy.

The video starts with Bev and Eddie bickering, and quickly devolves into not-so-subtly shoving each other’s shoulders while trying to get in front of the camera. They’re both laughing, wide smiles and warm eyes, until finally Bev pushes Eddie’s head down and sticks her whole face into the camera to let all 1.2 million subscribers know that she is, in fact, going to do Eddie’s makeup - but only after letting Eddie pick his own outfit, first.

The dusty blue eyeshadow is a safe choice, and matches the large sweater Eddie’s wearing. Then Bev is drawing large wings onto Eddie’s tan skin with white liquid, and lining his bottom lid with decorative dots. Eddie tries to sass Bev the entire time she’s trying to put on white lipstick that she had found from god knows where, but Eddie refuses to stop talking until finally she admits defeat and let’s Eddie put on a soft matte pink instead. The last touch is silver glitter, thickly painted from the corner of Eddie’s eyes and down his cheeks.

The orange light of the sun skips across Eddie, shimmering like dust. Eddie makes a pouty kissy face, lips puckered and eyelashes fluttering, head just barely resting on his hand while his large sleeve slides down his thin wrist. And that’s when it happens.

The first actual conclusive clue.

(So the fans say. Because really, an audio clip that is exactly .02 seconds long is hardly more conclusive than any of their video evidence, but the file still spreads like wildfire.)

“Cute, cute, cute!”

The voice comes from off screen, and Eddie snaps his teeth in the direction of Richie’s voice before the video hard cuts to Eddie posing for the camera.

V. TRANSPORTATION STRIKES AGAIN - 834k VIEWS

It’s another shitty phone video, and this time the quality is even worse because of the trembling car. A quarter of the video is blurred, and again, this is another two minute vlog. Two minutes and thirty one seconds (2:31) to be exact. A quarter of that leaves, well, not much actual time to have actual footage.

Once again, Eddie’s transportation life is crumbling. The buses are all shut down, too many workers on strike, and there’s no other quick way to be mobile. He’s stuck in Richie’s run down truck, and maybe he’s a little fond of it, but he doesn’t have time for Richie to make seven ridiculous pit stops.

The fans are a little disappointed that they don’t get to see Richie and Eddie’s gas station excursions, but they notice when the video cuts from an empty truck to one filled with drinks and snacks, and that only means one thing - Eddie gave in and let Richie get whatever he wanted. Again.

One point for the shippers.

It’s a short glance into Eddie’s life, just something quick to keep his subs satisfied until he can finish editing his full length video, which he promises will be out by the end of the next day.

“Aw, Eds, it’s like you care.” Then Richie’s ruffling Eddie’s wind swept hair, and Eddie is trying to keep his stern expression on despite the laughter that starts bubbling up from his chest. He swats at Richie’s hand, yelling at him to watch where he’s fucking driving, but even behind the wheel Richie manages to be a menace.

Then they’re there, wherever there is, (and yet again the fans wish they knew, because Eddie casually keeps skipping over it, but they can at least realize there’s a line of privacy there somewhere that they shouldn’t overstep). Then Richie is taking the phone from Eddie, mock saluting it, and kissing Eddie’s head before pushing him out the door.

Yeah, the all of the fans double take, too. Rewind the video, and then rewind it again. Throw on captions for good measure. That’s definitely there, they aren’t searching pixels this time.

Richie just kissed Eddie on the forehead. If he isn’t whipped, which he should be, all of Eddie’s fans will be whipped for him.

+I. THE REAL MTV: CRIB TOUR!! - 1.1M VIEWS

Eddie’s not in his normal spot. The lighting is different, and the camera is close to his face - utilizing an above angle that Eddie doesn’t use often.

But Eddie’s smiling, his face expression tired and content. Most of his greeting comes out mumbled, and he tries his best to address his fans, but he can’t. He’s too comfortable, he tells them. He recently invested in a good pillow, and boy, has it made all the difference. He’s not a sell out, he just doesn’t see anything wrong with product placement. If a quality brand is willing to offer him merchandise for free, he’s gonna take it.

Except then he’s pushed, and the feed goes hazy for a moment, until the phone is back up in place - and zoomed out this time, too.

Eddie is on his couch, curled up in between Richie’s legs. “I’m not a pillow, Eds. I’m not sponsoring you.”

“Of course you are, shut the fuck up.”

Then Eddie’s rambling about how comfortable the cushions are, how warm the sunlight is, how he doesn’t think he’ll ever walk again if it means he has to get up. He goes on like this for a long while, and Richie just watches him, his own hair wild with sleep and a smile taking up over half his face. When Eddie realizes he’s talking to himself, he turns in Richie’s arms to look up at his face, and Richie jolts.

“Hey there, princess.”

“Are we going to show them our new apartment or not?”

“Mmmmm…. or not, if that means I get to stay here with you.” Eddie sighs in defeat, but he doesn’t look disappointed in the slightest as he leans back to lay his head against Richie’s chest. Richie dips down to kiss his forehead before taking the phone, leading his own rambling.

Twelve minutes in, (12:46 exactly), Eddie blinks awake. He looks up and wordlessly cuts Richie off, pressing their lips together gently. There’s a few seconds of silence where the two pull back to stare at each other with soft smiles curling their lips, sunlight filtering between them.

The fandom cries.

“Come on, loser, let’s show them our new home already.”

The fandom cries harder.

Spilt on the Ground like Water

A/N warning for torture, starvation, water deprivation, serious amounts of dub-con, suicidal ideation, past hydra trash party reference, pre-slash, medical aftermath including a foley tube (catheter), not Clint Barton friendly, not particularly Steve friendly, kissing, frottage, bonding over shitty experiences

Chapter Four: Not Without Him

If there was one thing that could be counted upon in the entire fucking universe, it was that Captain goddamn America couldn’t arrive anywhere except in the nick of time. Like. what the hell, Stevie. Did the guy have a doomsday fucking watch or something and he couldn’t show up before things were absolutely critical? It was written into his goddamn contract or something?

Also, he apparently had something against being stealthy -- Natasha could not have taught him any better? -- which might usually get an eyeroll, except that in this particular instance, Bucky needed him to be loud and obnoxious.

“Down here, pal!” Bucky shifted his grip. One arm under Tony’s arms, keeping his head above water, the other pushed against the wall to keep himself upright.

“Come on!” Steve yelled, and it wasn’t long after that Bucky heard his boots on the stairs.

“Can’t,” Bucky explained. It was self-evident when Steve got there. Tony was trapped in debris, unconscious and the room was slowly filling with water. Like some bad Star Trek episode or something. Bucky could get Tony out, but he’d go under if Bucky let go.

Steve splashed into the Command & Control center.

“Well, this doesn’t look good,” another voice added, coming up behind Steve.

Hawkeye. Not a fan. He was looking down the shaft of an arrow, not quite sure who he was supposed to shoot, apparently.

“Get th’ damn support beam off ‘im and we can get out of here,” Bucky suggested, confused as to why they weren’t actually moving yet.

He’d been holding Tony up for hours, it seemed. His back ached, his chest hurt, there were pieces of debris stuck in his skin. The first gush of water had filled the room to almost thigh deep in moments, then someone else -- somewhere, Bucky didn’t know where, or who, or why -- had managed to cut it down to a slow, but steady rise. Whoever that person was, Bucky was gonna pin a medal on them, even if they were fucking Hydra, because he and Tony would have died, if the water hadn’t slowed.

Steve tried.

His muscles bunched and his shoulders strained enough so that the fabric of his armor was stretched. Bucky tugged, light, but Tony wouldn’t budge.

“Leave him,” Hawkeye suggested, cynical. He still hadn’t come all the way into the room, watching the mayhem from a secure lookout position.

“Fuck you, pal,” Bucky snarled. He wasn’t going anywhere. If he drowned with Tony, so be it.

art by the amazing and talented @mto-art in a collaborative story-telling effort. 

Do not repost without permission. (reblogs okay)

(more below the cut)

“I can’t lift it, Buck,” Steve said, and Bucky squinted at him, not sure if Steve was sincerely trying or not. Couldn’t prove it. But none of them had much lingering fondness for Tony. Steve had only come for Bucky -- he’d managed to get his SOS and location out when they’d plugged him in to torture him; the extra electricity had given his internal circuits some extra boost. Enough that Natasha would have been able to find him, and Steve would come for him.

Bucky knew that like he knew his own name.

Admittedly, there were days that Bucky didn’t know his own name. So there was that.

“You bring the witch with you?”

Of course they had; just the way Hawkeye’s gaze flickered upward was enough to tell him the truth.

“Get her down here and get us out of here.”

“He’s pretty badly hurt,” Steve reasoned. “You think--”

Bucky drew a knife from the small arsenal he’d taken off the guards. “He’ll live. He has to. You get us out of here.” His fingers tightened against Tony’s

“Wanda’s evacuating the other prisoners,” Steve said. “Clint, hold up Stark, Bucky can help me lift.”

Bucky thought he might throw up, trusting Hawkeye to keep Tony’s head above water while they worked on the support beam, but what else was he going to do? Aside from flay Hawkeye alive if he let Tony drown.

Bucky got himself under the beam and heaved. Okay, provisionally, Steve was forgiven for being an asshole, because Bucky was pretty sure he couldn’t have lifted the goddamn thing on his own. His bones ached from the strain of the weight against him.

In the end, they barely managed to shift it enough for Hawkeye to pull Tony free. A blossom of red bloomed against the water as soon as they moved; something had been keeping Tony from bleeding. As soon as Steve was clear, Bucky dropped his half of the beam and raced to Tony’s side. “Shit, shit, shit.”

And the water was rising faster, now. “Come on, Buck,” Steve said, grabbing his arm and pulling him. “We need to go now.”

“He’ll bleed out if we don’t get this stopped now.”

“Buck, I’m not leaving without you.”

“Well, I ain’t leavin’ without him, so get the hell off me, pal,” Bucky snapped.

Bucky located the source of the blood and started basic first aid. The lack of supplies was maddening.

“Jesus,” Steve complained, but at least he helped get Tony out the water so Bucky could get a tourniquet on. “What happened here? Why’s he so important to you?”

Bucky looked up at Steve; if his heart wasn’t in his eyes, he suspected that was because it was busy panicking. But he didn’t have time to sort through his tangle of feelings. It wasn’t just what Tony could do for him, free him from the mess inside his head. There was more to it, but Bucky needed some time to figure it out. “He’s just important.”

“Hey, hey, doll, shhh,” a voice said. It wasn’t quite a familiar voice, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar voice either, and it calmed Tony just enough that he stopped struggling against whatever was holding down.

The nasal cannula was hanging down his cheek, looped over one ear, but in his frantic attempts to sit up, he’d knocked it aside.

Another set of tubes went into his arm. There was probably a set of tubes that were coming out of his ass, too. Tony’d been in the hospital a few times for long-term injuries. Those visits fucking sucked.

“Get me out of this bed,” Tony said, or he tried to say. His voice was just about gone, hoarse and scratchy like he’d been screaming, and his throat hurt like someone had shoved a tennis racquet down his throat. Sideways.

Barnes-- no, Bucky, they’d decided that, just before the big crazy, hadn’t they… yeah. Bucky didn’t bother to try to talk him out of it, or object, or anything. He just started unwinding the tubes, peeling off the tape. He tugged the IV line out with an expert hand and produced a bandage pad and a roll of pink medical tape to stop the bleeding.

“You want me to decath you, or wait for a nurse?”

Yeah, great. Tube up his dick. That was just charming.

Tony blinked. “You know how to do that?” Safely was unspoken, but decidedly implied because really, no, he didn’t want anyone to just rip a Foley tube out of there, not even him.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He held up a syringe -- no needle, thank Christ -- and a pair of thin, blue gloves. “I can do it.”

What the hell? Bucky had already seen everything Tony had to offer, and they’d been through hell together. A little further wouldn’t cross anyone’s eyes. He nodded, then didn’t watch while Bucky did a number of uncomfortable things in the general vicinity of his dick. He didn’t even want to know what Bucky did with what was probably a bag full of pee. Just, yeah. See no evil.

“I brought your clothes, too,” Bucky said. There was a brush of cool, wet cloth along his thighs and then, “and coffee, in a thermos. Wasn’t sure when you’d wake up.”

“What clothes?”

“Jeans, sneakers with lifts -- you wear lifts, Tony -- and a Metallica tee.”

“You’d wear lifts too if half your friends were a good four or five inches taller than you are,” Tony muttered. No point denying it. Anyone who’d ever paid attention to his footwear knew he was a little sensitive about his height. “Also, did you say something about coffee?”

“Here you go.” Bucky washed his hands, then poured him a cap full from the thermos, still steaming, black as night and bitter as regret. Perfect.

“You’re my new favorite,” Tony declared. The hot liquid woke him up a little, soothed his aching throat. “What happened, where are we, who’s with you, and are we in any danger?”

“Slow down,” Bucky said, steadying the cup before Tony dropped it, which would have been both uncomfortable and a waste of perfectly good coffee. “In answer to your questions, we’re in Budalange, in the hospital.”

“Luxembourg? Why?”

“They’re not signees of the Accords, and it was the safest -- and closest -- neutral zone we could maintain on the fuel that was left in the quinjet.”

Tony nodded, make a continue gesture while he caffeinated himself. After weeks of being without, the buzz was hitting him right away.

“The Raft sank. We have no way to estimate lives lost, since the facility had no official records, but over four dozen powered persons were rescued who’d been held prisoner there, not including you and I. Steve, Romanov, Barton, and Wanda came to the rescue. Your friend, James Rhodes, brought me your clothes via overnight Warmachine delivery, and after he comes back from a forty-eight hour stint of bedside vigil with no sleep, he’ll be damned happy to see you. And… we’re in as much danger as is the status quo for superheroes.”

“Situation normal. All fucked up,” Tony said. Rhodey was here? There was a warm fuzzy feeling at that, which neatly counteracted the chill around his heart at the thought of Rogers or Maximoff. Or Barton for that matter. He wondered if Rhodey had used his bionic legs to kick Barton’s ass yet. He hoped not.

He’d rather be a witness.

“That’s about the size of it, yes,” Bucky said.

Tony cocked his head. “There’s more you’re not telling me.”

“True,” Bucky said. He shook out Tony’s jeans. “Lean on me, if you need. I’ll help you get dressed.”

He was wobbly, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Bucky was calmly stoic about the whole thing, enough so that Tony only felt mild embarrassment about using him as a human crutch while getting into pants and his tee.

“So, is this some sort of Stockholm Syndrome thing? We bonded over being imprisoned and tortured together? And you know, while there’s an unlocked door nearby, you want to tell me what was up with that…” Tony waved his hand around, as if there was a word for the not-quite-sex that had happened between them.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said. “And probably? And… that was a calculated risk.”

Tony’s eyebrow reached the stratosphere. “So, you’re bad at math.”

Bucky chuckled. “Maybe so, doll,” he said. “But there was an extreme protocol set up. Hydra… made it impossible for me to turn on certain higher ups, even if I was ordered to by someone who had my command words. I can’t… I can’t hurt anyone I’ve been… intimate seems the wrong word.”

Tony considered vomiting, but he didn’t think there was anything in his stomach to come up and his throat already hurt. “Who--” He bit that off. Tony really didn’t want to know.

“I think most of them are dead,” Bucky said, not meeting Tony’s eyes. “I wasn’t sure it would work. But that shit is still in my head and I didn’t want to hurt you. Kinda counterproductive to the whole idea of rescuing you.”

Tony gave a bitter barking sound. It wasn’t a laugh, no, not even close. “Hydra is so fucked up.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Bucky said, and that was true. Didn’t want to know.

“So, what now?”

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. I ain’t never been the brains of the operation before. Which Steve’ll tell you. Battle plans, yes. What happens now? I got no clue, doll.” He reached out, touched Tony’s face with two metal fingers. The metal was warm, which seemed like it should be strange, except how it wasn’t. Electronics got hot when they were working, fact of life. That’s why the arm had vent-ports in it, after all.

Tony took hold of Bucky’s metal wrist, held those fingers in place. He didn’t know what came next. He’d figure it out as they went. But he did know one thing. He didn’t want Bucky to leave. And he didn’t know how to ask him to stay.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why come for me at all? How’d you even know where I was? Why… why… lots of why?”

“There were a lot of reasons, in the beginning. Before I ever got thrown in that damn hole and saw you there, strong as hell, defiant as a windstorm. Then the old reasons stopped mattering.”

“So what’s the new reason?”

Bucky took a step, the most hesitant, tentative step Tony had ever seen, tilted his head, inhaled--

Tony met him halfway, already sensing in his bones what was about to happen and wanting it more than anything.

Tony’s hand came up and found its way into that tangle of rich, dark hair, pulled Bucky’s head down. Bucky opened his mouth, caught Tony’s bottom lip in his teeth and tugged, then licked at it until Tony thought he might actively die from the sensation. Bucky whimpered, pulled them closer.

Tony rewarded that beautiful little sound by opening to the kiss, shifting against Bucky to test his mouth, taste him.

When Bucky pulled back, his eyes were wide, dark. “I don’t… I don’t know what it is,” he said. “I ain’t… felt anything like it before.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

Dark Angels: Creation Part 5 Old Magick

Zav:

The silence is deafening as Adrian and Sean look at me in shock. Bryn just nods. We’ve talked about this. We believe we can make it work. Clearing my throat, I look at Sin as he raises his eyebrow in question.-

You have a soul. You have reaper powers. And as a former angel my grace is still intact. All are sources of incredible energy. Together they could give you the edge.

Sean: “Can that even be done? I mean, your grace is your blood, my brother. It flows through you. But Sin…all of the rest of us still have regular, oxygen carrying blood flowing through our veins. It’s not like you can give him a transfusion. It doesn’t work that way.”

Zav: --Casting my eyes down, because I really don’t want the others to see how much this still hurts, all these thousands of years later…--

You’re right Sean. If you cut me, I bleed blue energy, not red blood. But when soul and grace exist in the same body, grace doesn’t flow through the veins, it wraps around the soul.

--sighs—

My children were Nephilim. They had both human soul and grace in them. When they died their blood ran red like a humans, but my grace was within them too. I could feel it. I could always feel it in them, as I would have with another angel.

Sean: Well crap… I can feel how much it’s killing him to talk about this. He loved his human wife and kids. Loved them so much that the white god had them murdered, along with Zav and all the Grigori and their human families. He couldn’t take the competition. And Zav’s pain is still so bad that I can almost reach out and touch it. But this has to be said…

“I know bud, I know…but the genetics are different. You’re…” taking a deep breath and pushing through the wave of pain Zav puts out, “Your kids were naturally born with both. Their bodies were adapted to it in the womb. If we tried to use an IV to transfuse your grace into Sin’s body with its human soul, it could go totally bad. It’s never been tried. And add to it the sheer power that he already holds as not just a reaper, but one that could basically end the world if he wanted to, that’s three different types of energy. It’s like combining solar power with both nuclear fission and fusion. There’s no telling how many ways it could go sideways.

Bryn: “It can be done Sean. It HAS to be done.” I take a deep breath as all eyes turn to me… this pitch is important, so I’ve got to make it good.

“Zav and I’ve done some discrete digging. Our sources tell us the Horseman received thousands of souls as his kickback and he’s consumed them all. The power has changed him in more ways than one. In the past he appeared as an old, withered husk of a man. But all that energy has made him physically younger and stronger as well more powerful. And the souls he consumed weren’t just run of the mill. They were all dark, evil. They’d used up all their options and weren’t getting another shot at life. From what we’ve seen, I think it’s affected him psychologically. He’s got a lot in common with that fifth column of demented assholes he’s created within the corps. Between the nature of the souls he consumed and the amount of energy in them, there’s nothing left inside him but lust for more power and personal gain. I hate to say it Sin, but as powerful as you are, you’re not going to be enough and when he hits us with the psycho corps, we’re going to have our hands too full to have your back. So Zav and I have been looking at alternatives and I think we’ve found one.” 

Reaching into the small leather pouch attached to a belt at my waist, I pull out a pure clear quartz crystal wrapped in a soft chamois cloth. Opening it, I lay it on the table.

“A grace stone. It’s old magick. Older than I am, maybe even older than you are Sin. It dates back to the time when the Grigori began walking the earth. They taught humans, nurtured them, and sometimes, in dire circumstances, shared their grace with them through grace stones. Zav will donate as much grace as he can spare and I’ll capture it within this crystal. I’ll bind the resulting amulet with leather and you’ll wear it around your neck. For a normal human only a little grace would have been used and it would have been more of a strengthener, making them a little faster, their senses a little sharper, letting them heal a little quicker. But for you?” Looking him squarely in the eye, “It should do much more. The stone will hold a thousand times the grace that would have been used and be much more powerful. We know reaper powers are compatible with both the human soul and an angel’s grace, so they’ll act as the channel to help the grace combine within you without physically becoming part of you.” Shaking my head here and huffing a sigh.

“There’s no sure thing. It’s never been done. We’re counting on the reaper energy to help your soul absorb the grace. If it works, it will give you greater strength physically and metaphysically.” Biting my lip, I look down at the table for a moment and then back up, looking at each one of them in turn, ending with Sin. 

“I’m not saying it’s completely safe. The bigger worry is just the sheer amount of energy you’re going to try to absorb as you pull it from the Horseman. It could go bad in a heartbeat. You’re both reapers and the power you’re draining should be compatible but with the souls he’s consumed there’s just /so/ much of it.

Adrian: -I had been quiet until now. I’d said all I had to out on the lanai, or so I’d thought, but now it burst out of me.-

Keep Sean with you. It’s the only way this works.

--Sin tilted his head at me, tented his fingers, as he gave me that look that he has that makes you wonder if he can read your mind--

Sin: *Bryn and Zav’s plan was…intriguing. But keeping Sean with me was not how I’d thought to plan this battle. However, Adrian’s tone held an urgency to it.*

I had thought to have each of you lead a group to keep the “psychos” busy while I tend to the Horseman.

Adrian: --I shake my head, the vision, muddled as it was, lending me some conviction on this—

Sean has to stay with you. It’s the only way you’ve got a chance. He can use his empathy to monitor what’s going on with all that power. His gift lets him channel pain away from others and other emotions into them. It could let him drain some of the power away from you and funnel it to us before you hit critical mass. The power you’re taking from the old man is immense. You probably could have handled taking his original energy but with the souls? You need a safety valve. Sean is it.

Sin: *I raise an eyebrow at him,* Is this part of your vision?

Adrian: --I shake my head--

I didn’t see anything that clearly, just what I told you. But Sin, I know in my gut that Sean has to be your wingman on this.

Sean: So… this was what Bryn and Zav had been working on all this while. It’s not a bad start to a plan.

“You know kids, it might have been helpful if you’d shared this with the rest of the class before you started digging in the sandbox. Adrian and I might have been able to help out. But that said,” leaning forward, placing my elbows on the table and tenting my hands, “I agree with all of them, Sin. It’s a risky plan, but the whole damned thing is risky. And I’ll feel better if I’m at your back. Even with all his power, he’s got to be looking forward to taking you down physically. You’ve always had that on him. You don’t now. Oh, don’t look at me like that…” shutting him down as Sin starts to protest. Instead he sits back in his chair with that damned eyebrow raised and his mouth twitching like he wants to argue.

“You’re better with a blade than any damned one of us, and no doubt better than he ever thought to be. You work with it, use it with that weird ancient Asian martial arts practice you run through every morning. You use it for real when you need it. But physically, he’ll be a match for you now and he’ll want to prove that. He’ll bring minions to wear you down some first, you said it yourself. And when that’s not enough he’ll try to strike you down with his power and take back what he originally gave you. If I’m there I can at least handle the minions. And Adrian’s right. I can try to channel out the excess power when I feel you begin to overload. The key is, can you open that channel and drain him as you fight?” 

Sin: *My mouth set in a firm line, a little irritated by the thought that it was a possibility that I couldn’t*

I can. I have absolutely no doubt of that. The link, once opened again, will be an easy conduit for it.

*Thoughtfully, I rub my chin as I consider the rest of their words. They have functioned well, as the unit I trained them to be, and Sean has displayed the leadership that make him my logical successor if I should fall. No, I have no worries about the reapers being leaderless if I die. They never have been. Even with my exit from the corps, Sean had been subtly running it without even realizing it. And the others had accepted it automatically. Finally, I respond,* 

It seems you have this well thought out. It makes me wonder just how long you four have been working on this.

*All four of them have a slightly sheepish look as they glance at each other until finally soft laughter breaks from Bryn and the others smile more comfortably.*

Bryn: “Since the day you left Sin. Even before he turned into an evil megalomaniac, the Horseman of Death was a narcissistic bastard that considered all of us expendable. You can’t follow someone who doesn’t lead. You can only work around him and that’s what we’ve been doing, prepping for the day we could lure you back. And now he’s done that for us.

Sean: The emotions around the table had been erratic as we talked. Worry and anxiety had been predominant but now that we’ve dealt with the most delicate – and potentially devastating issue – we’d settled down. Emotions were still focused, intense, but that thread of uncertainty was gone and a confidence was growing. Confidence is delicate fence to walk. It can make the difference between winning and losing because a confident person will take risks to win but an over-confident one is blind to the opponent’s strategies. We weren’t going to be blind. It was my job to make sure of it.

“So we’ve got that settled. Now let’s talk about an actual battle plan.”

#TBC

I Took a Walk for Seven Years

It was August 9, 2009. I was thirty eight years old. My oldest daughter Avis was twelve, and the younger pair, Joanne and John, were nine year old twins. I’d been married for fifteen years. I worked at an insurance firm. And every Sunday, while my wife and Avis went to church and the twins went to my mother’s house, I took a walk.

It was a clockwork sort of arrangement. My wife knew never to push me into going with her, I was an atheist and set on staying that way.

Of course, given what’s happened, my views have changed.

It was just a normal day. Avis gave me a kiss on the cheek and told me to not forget my coat, even if it was an abnormally warm day. I’d say it was maybe sixty five, maybe sixty eight degrees Fahrenheit. My mom picked up the twins. And I started down my walk.

We lived off the beaten path, so to speak. Our road was never busy and most of the area was taken up by farmland. A truck passed me on the road and I waved. I was pretty sure it was Art, although it could’ve been one of his sons on his way to church. Either way, he waved back.

I took a turn to the right onto Hensel. Hensel was a dirt road but it was never travelled except by farmers, and today it was quiet. Good time to collect my thoughts.

Every other time before this, I’d turn back around once I reached Art’s farmhouse, although occasionally his wife would pull me in for lemonade and gossip.

But August 9 would be the day I took the longest walk of my life.

I was passing by the cornfield when I heard laughter. To be more specific, it was a child’s laughter. I paused and looked into the cornfield.

A pair of forest green eyes looked back at me.

The girl looked to be no older than seven, had red hair tied into twin braids, and I assumed she was one of Art’s grandchildren. She smiled broadly.

“Catch me!”

She darted back into the corn and I could hear her giggles slowly fade away.

Normally I would’ve scoffed at going into the field, as I’d have to cross the ditch and I didn’t want to get dirt on my pants. But I felt a little bit of concern, a small child running around the field by herself. So with a jump that I knew my knees would feel in the morning, I jump into the corn field.

Using the sound of her laughter, I started pushing through the corn. The dry leaves scratched at my face and hands, and dust kicked up into my face.

I knew she couldn’t outrun me for long, even if she was a child with boundless energy, I had longer legs.

However, I exited the cornfield in a place I didn’t know.

My house was nowhere to be seen. And there was a light layer of snow covering the ground.

I spun around but the corn was gone, replaced by frosted evergreen trees. The temperature had significantly dropped and I was now thankful that my daughter insisted I bring a coat. I shivered and spun around a few more times, trying to make sense of this dream I’d apparently fallen into and where was that little girl?

“Hey! Mister!”

I finally spun around enough to see her, peering past a branch. She grinned.

“You catch me, I’ll show you the way out!”

That began the chase.

Getting smacked with tree branches was far worse than the corn, the needles tearing at my skin like knives as I pushed past them to find that little girl. Whenever I got lost, I’d hear her laugh. She was having fun. I was not.

The wet snow beneath my feet made it impossible to gain traction, and forget running- I’d slip if I so much as stepped wrong. With every minute I got colder and colder. My teeth chattered so hard my jaw ached.

Then I broke from the treeline into a grassy meadow.

I didn’t expect the change so I ended up toppling over. The grass smelled sweet as honey. A fat bumblebee trundled past my head and landed on a Black Eyed Susan. It was heaven.

But the peace of the meadow was broken by that girl laughing again.

“Awwww, are you already giving up?”

The warm sunlight made her glow, like a tiny angel, but as I stumbled to my feet, I caught something behind those big eyes I hadn’t before.

Malevolence.

She was toying with me and she knew it.

I can’t tell you how many times the environment changed. One minute it’d be across a meadow, then a desert during a sandstorm. I’d have to rely solely on hearing her in places like that. Sometimes we’d be back in the cornfield, and I’d shout for Art to get me out of here but no help ever came. Sometimes we’d be running across barren tundra, where she’d be just out of my grasp.

She wasn’t always a little girl either. Sometimes she was a young teen, with a gap between her teeth and who’d hum sweet tunes. Sometimes she was a ravishing model, with fiery hair and a flirtatious grin. And the times she wasn’t any of those, she was an ancient crone, with a bent back and arthritic hands that clutched to her cane but still managed to hobble away from me.

She called herself Clarice occasionally. Other times it was Lolita, Dixie, Isabella, Hope… I lost count of her names too. A straight answer was impossible. She’d never lie to me though, just avoid answering any of the questions I’d ask her.

So I knew she was my key out of there.

It was in the meadow where I finally got her.

She was a little girl again, and her taunting was beyond cruel this time. She’d stop, pick flowers, and run on before I could grab her. She’d throw the flowers about and sing ridiculous nonsense songs and I knew I couldn’t ever win like this.

So I dropped to the ground.

The little girl stopped.

“Oh, are you really giving up now? You’re sooooo close!”

Nothing. I remained still as I gasped for breath.

I heard her get closer and closer.

“Mister? Are you okay? Do you need a break? You’ve been going on a really loooong time…”

Once I saw her shadow I lunged.

She almost got away but my hand wrapped around her braid and I pulled her back so hard I could’ve snapped her neck. I embraced her in my arms and breathed out, “I got you.”

I’d never felt so successful in my entire life. I’d finally gotten her.

She turned around and smiled sadly.

“Can we play again? We were having fun. You don’t have to go back, we can stay here.”

No way. I was done with this. “Nope. You let me out of here right now or I’m strangling you with your own braids.” A little dramatic, perhaps, but I gripped tighter onto her hair to make clear my point.

She sighed before she kissed my cheek. The same place Avis did before church.

“Okay.”

When I woke up, I was in the middle of the plowed cornfield.

It was spring time, the ground was churned to mud and the water freezing cold. I peeled myself off the ground and began stumbling home.

It was then I noticed how tired I truly was. My mouth was parched as the deserts I ran through. My body was stiff and ached like I’d run a thousand miles, and there was a chance I had. I had one goal in mind though, and that was home. I could finally go home.

Despite tripping through the mud a dozen times, I caught sight of my house and immediately began to cry. Barely able to move, I just pointed myself to the backyard. My wife should be home about now. She’d see me and come to my aid.

Two teenage boys were on the back porch, one was smoking while the other was playing on his phone. I couldn’t recognize either of them. Had my family moved? I raised my hand and attempted to speak, but it came out as a raspy moan.

Both boys jumped out of their skin, the one smoking dropping his cigarette and they backed off. The shorter one raised a hand. “Sir, you’re gonna have to...” He trailed off and his eyes widened.

The eyes that looked exactly like my wife’s.

“… Dad?!”

I passed out on the ground, just a few steps from the back door.

I woke up in the hospital. I’d been cleaned up, had an IV running into my arm, and a woman was sitting next to my bed. Fast asleep. With a tattoo of a bird on her neck. A sparrow, to be exact.

Avis always loved her sparrows.

I’d been gone for a little over seven years. When I didn’t return from my walk, my wife reported me missing. At first law enforcement assumed I’d just ran off with another woman, but when that line of investigation went dry, they realized I’d been the victim of foul play.

Search parties were made. People were questioned. No one was imprisoned. They never found me. And life marched on.

Art apparently died about a year after I went missing. Stroke. The farm went to his sons, who ended up selling the whole property to another family. A family who stayed oblivious to the fact that was the place I was last spotted.

The boys on the back porch were in fact my boys. I just hadn’t been around when Joanne announced he was now James, at the age of thirteen. I wish I could’ve been there to help him become a man.

I apparently had a good replacement though.

After four years and it looked like I was gone for good, my wife met someone new. His name’s Clark. They’d gotten married six months after they met. Clark was a real outdoorsman, hunter, fisherman, and loved to go camping. As I chased a fairy child through her playground, he was taking James and John out on trips every weekend and putting away money to help James afford his surgeries and the like. Clark had two kids of his own, and I was soon a memory in this house. They could survive without me.

Avis was the only one who hadn’t given up on me. She pursued every lead. Every dead end. Every chance that I could be there, she was chasing it. Stubborn girl. My girl. But she’d grown from a girl to a woman since I’d been gone, and it was like talking to a stranger. A strange who had my chin and nose, but a stranger nonetheless.

My wife did want to help me adjust though, and kindly offered the guest bedroom for me while I recovered. I’d apparently been through hell, bones were broken and healed, muscles torn and strained beyond their limits. I was malnourished and could barely stand without my walker, and I just had nowhere to go.

It was not a place I could stay though.

Clark’s kids looked at me like I was some bogeyman that lived down the hall. Clark and I tried to be polite to each other but things became tense as my now ex-wife was struggling whether or not she should officially put down on paper who she would divorce.

I was just in the way.

But the little girl wasn’t gone.

Nightly I’d see her outside my window. She’d peer in, with those big eyes, and mouth the words,

“Come with me.”

I’ve told my wife I’m just going out for a walk.

Review: Castlevania (Season 2)

Let us go out this night for exposition

(Note: This is a spoiler-free review of the first six episodes of Castlevania Season 2, however, there will be spoilers for Season 1)

The first season of Castlevania was a surprise that I’m not sure many people were expecting. It was a solid, albeit short, four-episode season that did everything you would expect from a Castlevania animated series. There were dozens of monsters that needed to be killed, a Belmont, and a pissed off Dracula that wanted to exterminate all human life. Still, its short length really hampered any enthusiasm I had for the season. Just as things were started to get good, the season was over. It felt more like a proof of concept than anything else. 

Thankfully, we have a second season that gives us eight episodes and expands the story way more than the first season. If the first season was all about action and grizzly entertainment, then season two is more determined to get across the plot and character motivations. Unfortunately, this approach means that the series never hits the same high points in action as the first, though makes up for it with a deeper examination of Dracula, his cause, and his chosen allies.

Castlevania (Season 2) Showrunner: Adi Shankar Release Date: October 26, 2018 (Netflix)

The second season picks up immediately after the first season, with Trevor beginning his journey with Alucard and Sypha to stop Dracula once and for all. Trevor still isn’t the biggest fan of Alucard, partly due to him being Dracula’s son and mostly because Alucard just tried to kill him, but they’re going to have to put their differences aside for their upcoming battle. Meanwhile, Dracula is assembling his army of vampires, monsters, and human sympathizers to lay waste to the human world, not realizing that his eradication of all humans may cause some dissent in his ranks from monsters that need humans to survive. 

I know that there were some comparisons to Game of Thrones that could have been thrown at the first season, but now the Game of Thrones comparisons are front and center. We spend more time this season dealing with military planning and possible GoT styled betrayals, garden scenes included, than actual action this time around. The majority of the second season is centered on expanding on the cast of characters and their relationships between each other, which I’d normally be for, but when the first season was so focused on over-the-top action instead of telling its story, it makes the second season really feel like a different show at times.

Not to say that any of that is bad, given how excellent the voice cast is. Graham McTavish and Richard Armitage, who play Dracula and Trevor Belmont respectively, deliver their lines with such impact and conviction that I don’t mind hearing them exposit their backstories and histories. Most of the season is dedicated to delving into Dracula’s state of mind and how he’s just tired of everything that happened with his wife’s murder and his desire for vengeance. We get the sense that Dracula feels no joy in what he’s doing, but his hatred is the only thing that’s keeping him going. I could listen to Graham McTavish explaining how lonely Dracula feels and how apathetic he is about his own war for days. 

As for our heroes, we spend a fair amount of time just watching them travel together and see the chemistry between the three of them. All three of them gel together very well, especially when they’re just given time to sit around and talk to each other. Alucard and Trevor’s relationship in particular is pretty damn funny, with the two of them throwing insults at one another yet being forced to play nice just to get the job done. Sypha is usually the mediator between the two of them, but she’s just charismatic enough to hold her own with the two boys, despite how little screentime she has compared to the two of them.

As for the action, I wish that we had more than we got. When the action happens, it’s just as bloody as you would expect it to be. Heads get crushed, people get stabbed, hearts get pulled from still living bodies, monsters get burned alive, and Dracula lives up to his Tepes name with pride. Those fantastic moments are so few and far between though, with an entire episode going by without any major action set pieces. When they do appear, they’re usually brief and are too short to fully appreciate them. When you have an army of vampires laying waste to the countryside and drinking the blood of their victims for fun, you should spend more than a minute and a half showing off the massacre is all I’m saying. 

The animation and art style hasn’t changed all that much from the first season, and that’s a good thing. I enjoyed a lot of the character designs and the new characters fit in right at home. The weirdest thing that I noticed as I watched the first six episodes was that all of the vampires have super long fingernails. Like, almost as long as their actual fingers. It’s an odd little detail, and I don’t know why it was so memorable to me, but it stuck out like a sore thumb to the point where I noticed it every time a vampire appeared onscreen. 

If you were looking for more Castlevania references that pop up during the season, then season two has you covered. There were references to the original game, Symphony of the Night, Super Castlevania IV, and even Curse of Darkness that will leave fans quite pleased. I know that I definitely geeked out early on in the season when a group of famous monsters appeared to cause some havoc for our merry band of vampire hunters and even when a few characters popped up that fans may know. 

The expanded episode count does do the series plenty of favors, allowing each episode to have its own time to breath and not feel like a rushed action movie, but there are a couple of moments of dead air between several characters, mostly Dracula’s generals. Several conversations between them just felt like they were repeated information that we already knew just so that each episode could pad out its runtime to 24 minutes. I’m all for more episodes to flesh out a story, but you need to do something with them to justify the added episodes. I was getting a lot of Preacher season 2 flashbacks where most of the season took place in one location with barely anything happening until the finale, which is unfortunately true here for both our heroes and villains. 

Castlevania’s second season still carries over the same Gothic atmosphere and its ultra-violent anime roots, but it’s a different beast in nearly every other aspect. The action is played down for more exposition, and character motivations are given the spotlight. For characters like Dracula, that’s fine and dandy, but when it’s spent on uninteresting supporting characters, it just feels like a waste of my time. If all of this was in service of having more eyeball goring action in the finale and future seasons, then a slower-paced second season is fine by me as long as the results are as satisyfing as the first season’s.

You are logged out. Login | Sign up

      Castlevania Season 2 reviewed by Jesse Lab

7

GOOD

Solid and definitely has an audience. There could be some hard-to-ignore faults, but the experience is fun. How we score:  The destructoid reviews guide

        from SpicyNBAChili.com http://spicymoviechili.spicynbachili.com/review-castlevania-season-2/

Alchemy: Tiny Steps

Chapters: 18/45 Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist/Harry Potter Rating: T Relationships: Edward/Winry, Lan Fan/Ling, and May/Alphonse. Primary Characters: Edward Elric, Severus Snape Additional Tags: Crossover, Teacher!Edward, BrOtp Edward/Severus. Sassy beyond measure. Pro!Snape Series: Part 2 of 9. Summary: Part two of the Alchemy Series.  Politics. Either you love it, hate it or you live it. For Alchemy Teacher Edward Elric, he lives it, hates it and loves it when he gets the upper hand. Here is to another year of hell… D/C: I do not own Harry Potter or Fullmetal Alchemist. Discord: La Red(Mesh Mash of… stuff.): https://discord.gg/KYjmVAb Alchemy Series: https://discord.gg/DejEYNJ

  Alchemy Placement Exam

9/2/1990

Created By: Edward Elric

The following exam will determine if you are still capable of continuing my class. This maybe a placement exam, it will still have a say whether you will continue studying Alchemy or stop completely for one year, (Or forever, depends on your answers).

Good luck with this exam here's to hoping you improved from our last class meeting!

(Remember, do not speed through with haste. Take a deep breath and think everything through deeply. Reread the questions to ensure you understand what is needed to be done.)

                                                            …

Part I :

Critical Thinking…

Part II :

Write the following compound formula…

Part III :

Name the following Alchemic symbols…

Part IV :

Create the following Transmutation Circles…

Part V :

Write the following Laws…

Part VI :

Answer in your own words the following…

Equivalent Exchange:

Rebound:

Comprehension:

Deconstruction:

Reconstruction:

Part VII :

Decode the following…

Part VIII :

All is one, one is all.

Good luck.

Edward sat behind his desk, leaning into his chair with both legs propped on top of his desk while reading the Daily Prophet. Today's main story, Minister Amelia Bones is having old cases reviewed again. It apparently was heavily noted there was past corruption and there is a need to ensure everyone was prosecuted to the law at the fullest. The current article he is reading was about how the Minister is making dealings with Major General Armstrong and General Mustang.

Good.

The sound of papers rustling made Edward to fold his paper over to see the twelve remaining students from last year taking his placement exam.

Four Slytherin.

Terrance Higgs

Edmond Mortin

Timothy Jerkins

Wynne Rabnott

Three Ravenclaws.

Rachel McWilliams

Elfrida Hopkirk

Nathaniel Praxley

Three Hufflepuff.

Kasey State

Yaxley Prang

Emmeline Evan

Two Griffindor.

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

People (Mainly students from Griffindor) gripped about his unfair how there were more Slytherins than any other house. Others (Ravenclaw this time) went on with how Alchemy made no sense, or the exam was rigged somehow to make many fail. Something along those lines. Meh. Meh he says! Everyone that passed were rightfully given a spot in his class and if they chose to leave then it's their own damn fault. Truth knows he's been trying to get Terrance to leave his class. That kid is stubborn, that's for sure.

Don't get him wrong, Terrance is an excellent student. Not your typical Slytherin, is not bothered with blood purity or house rivalry. The only thing Edward had doubt about the young man is that… his head is primarily focused on Quidditch. The kid is a complete natural and from what Severus had told him, he caught the eye of current agents of several professional Quidditch teams. However, Terrance has to keep up with his work in order to keep everything on track. For Edward, have the kid drop Alchemy to focus on a path he knows will suit him for later in life.

No. Nope. Nada. That is not the case of Terrance Higgs. He made it a point that Alchemy will be his primary elective and will take on whatever the Alchemy Teacher throw at him. Edward respects that and couldn't help but snort. Stubborn. Terrence is going to need that to move forward to keep up with his school work and extracurricular activity.

Few other students that remained had dropped out of Quidditch or other electives to primarily focus on Alchemy. Amendable, but unnecessary. They just need to take a step back and look at the big picture. They have to ensure they don't lose themselves in the work or grow insane… Insanity is common in Alchemist… That and many other things…

Perhaps Edward should do something for those that needed to take a step back from Alchemy for a short time…

"Mr. Elric?"

Edward only blinked once as he turned his focus on Terrence, who now stood in front of his desk. "Finished?"

"Yes sir…" Terrance handed his test to the Alchemy Teacher, who took it with an eyebrow raised. He couldn't help but hold back a gulp of apprehension. Mr. Elric had previously tried to get him out of the class to focus his time in Quidditch. However, no matter how much he tried, the young Slytherin wasn't having it. He was going to stick through it and… well… insert explicit phrase here.

"You improved. Good work."

"Thank you, sir."

-.-

Alphonse sat rigidly in his seat, not touching the cup of tea that was served for him. He sat in the Headmaster's office having a meeting with the Head of Houses along with the Headmaster. The purpose of the meeting had to do with Alphonse purpose being at the school. Having to gather up information to see what could be implemented to Xing's school.

The only problem is that….

The Headmaster is making appear it should be an exact replica of Hogwarts. That would be a huge no for Alphonse. What he and Ling had in mind, having a second Hogwarts will not be a good idea. Divided houses. Prejudice towards blood and houses. Blatant favoritism to the point it is known to everyone around. Let's move forward with life and not create enemies that will last a lifetime.

Professor Sprout is going on about the possible ways the school could implement a Herbology Department. That is a good idea, with the fact Xing primarily focuses on the Healing Arts and already have a good array of necessary medicine herbs for their practices. Plus, Ling made it a point he wanted a Herbalogist and the Professor is already referring him many of her past pupils as possible candidates.

Professor McGonagall is talking about discipline, Transfiguration, and enrollment. Discipline will be dealt with the laws of the land and have to translate them into the school. Transfiguration will have to be taught, but the issue is that the complication of it crossing Alchemy and Ishvalan beliefs. Even so, it is needed and how to be implemented will be yet to be seen. Enrollment. This will be the main topic that will be a huge sore point for the elders and the entire country of Xing. Many approve for just the high class or only the fifty clans. Main issue would be the rest of Xing that do not belong in a clan who have developed magical abilities. That is an issue Alphonse, Ling, and many other's have to look deeply into.

Alphonse and Severus had spoken during the summer and had come to an agreement that the Potion's Professor will be sending over a former student that will stand in as the Potioneer Ling requested. Along with giving him contact to his suppliers and materials to start off teaching potions. Including with a past student that rank rather high in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Alphonse will have to talk to Ling in terms of the Dark arts but in all, he believes it would be a good idea. Still, better to check up with the guy in charge.

"We have one of our professors to personal hand deliver a letter to a first year with a muggle background…"

"Normally we send out letters via owl."

'Owl's aren't going to cut it…' Alphonse kept his gaze at his reflection in his tea. 'They won't stand the climate and constant sand storms. Hawks? Hm…'

-.-

Cedric Diggory stared at an announcement of an Alchemy Entrance Exam that will take place the throughout the entire week at different hours. The first exam will be given to the first years, after that will be divided by others never took the exam and the rest will be placed randomly depending on one's schedule. There was something about students that quit the class that wish to retake the class will have to take to Mr. Elric but that did not include him. Throughout the entire summer, he had been studying what he believes to help him with the exam.

Hopefully that will help him. Cedric had wanted to take the class last year but was intimidated by the entrance exam and the teacher in general. Mainly the teacher. Mr. Elric is intimidating. Very intimidating. Still, from his housemates that are taking the class tell him about random stories and what they are learning. This only motivated the Hufflepuff to study to perhaps take the exam with his head up.

"Food… Food…. Food…"

Cedric paused mid-thought to turn around to see Mr. Elric grumbling as he walked by him towards the kitchen. He swore the Alchemy Teacher looked like he is undead and completely dead to the world around him.

"I hate all nighters…"

Cedric slowly began to back away from the Alchemy Teacher before going into a full run. Perhaps he should rethink about thinking the Alchemy Exam.

Said teacher didn't pay much notice of what just happened as he gained access to the kitchen. A smile appeared on his face as the House Elves cheered at his appearance and began to bring out random treats for him. "Pie…"

-.-

"Here's to hoping we get in again." Fred paced around the Gryffindor Common Room, while his brother sat on the couch that was place in front of the fireplace.

"Stop worrying. Mr. Elric told use we are a shoe in, he just wanted to know where to place us. This is just a formality." George waved off his brother's concern.

"You know how he is. If he finds one thing, then it's over!"

"I know. Stop panicking, remember what else he said? We are to talk to him and see where we went wrong in general. If it has to do with us intellectually, then we study our way in again. The only way we are going to be kicked out if we…you know."

Fred stopped pacing to stare at the fire nervously. "I know and we must never discuss it."

"Long as we do not go down that road, we are good."

"Then let's stop talking about it, dear brother."

"Stop talking about what? I don't know what you are talking about?"

-.-

Terrence watched the captain of the Slytherin's Quidditch Team walk off after their short conversation. Well, it was more of the other guy is demanding him to continue with Quidditch and do every attempt to keep his head in the game. After discussion, the captain walked off feeling satisfied he did his job.

Terrence couldn't help but shake his head at his older housemate's demand of him. Of course he intends on continuing his Quidditch career. Professor Snape, Mr. Elric and his parents made it clear if he starts to fall behind in the sport, Alchemy is off his lift of classes. He likes Alchemy. He likes the atmosphere, likes how Mr. Elric only shows some sort of favoritism to all his students. Not once did he ever play on blood, house or anything else along those lines. So much hate could be take before it starts to make you hate oneself.

"Terrence!"

Terrance turned around to see a Rachel McWilliams, a fellow Alchemy student, running down the corridor towards him. The fourth year Ravenclaw is wearing her Hogwarts' uniform, but is wearing a pair of pants instead of a skirt, sunflower colored hair which is tied up using her tie. "McWilliams."

"Higgs. What do you think of the Placement Exam?" The Ravenclaw asked the Slytherin with worry evident in her voice. "I don't believe I did well in the decoding portion of the test. I've never scored that high in that area."

"I'm sure you did well enough." Terrance managed to get in between Rachel's sentences. The Ravenclaw is a constant worrier, always doubting herself and even questioning why she was placed in Ravenclaw. If she wasn't worrying then is talking at a hundred miles a minute about anything to everything that caught her attention. "Take a breath."

"-Then I thought about what Mr. Elric taught us back in Amestris and bam! Everything made sense! Well? How do you think you did on the test?"

"…Am I allowed to speak now?"

"Yes, I asked you a question."

"...Don't know. Don't care right now. I'm hungry and I missed breakfast to study."

"Really!? Don't you know breakfast is one of the most important meals of the day!"

-.-

"Not again… Xerxes! Give me back that paper! I need to grade it!"

"Hoot!"

"What do you mean I don't give you enough attention! You were napping all day!"

"HOOT!"

"AHHHH! Not the hair! Take the papers!"

Are You Passionate About Life?

It’s no shock that not many people are very passionate about their lives. I am doing some research on the subject and asked some people their thoughts and here is what they said about it:

At 26, I feel like I should definitely be further in life! Like I should have more accomplishments! In result, I clock in everyday to a Job (For the past 9 years) that I hate! I feel like There are so many things I'm good at, but haven't really figured out which one I can really say that I have a passion for! Idk where to start..... instead of picking something, going back to school and getting a degree for that, Ive waisted literally years of doing nothing!

And I think you're right, you need to go out and work at finding your passion. If it's something that you're not already aware of. Most people never find there passion because they fall in lust and have kids and need to support their family, if you don't have the luxury of changing jobs of not having security. And the reverse is that you follow your passion and then when you're too old you think I wish I would've taken the time to have a family. Life is a very precarious balancing act. If your passion consumes you, you must realize that there will be a sacrifice in your life because to have balance is very difficult to maintain!

Unlike so many of the other individuals that have commented, I am 26 years old and i am still struggling to find what matters. I majored in Economics , i have worked as a teacher and now i am in the hospice industry, kind of crazy. I am extremely eager to fund something i am passionate about. Sometimes i cry bc i find myself very lost in the world.

I'm currently going through this phase understanding myself and figuring out my passion and not caring what others think. It has been a battle and I can't seem to figure out my passion. At this very moment I know that I enjoy being part of fashion, makeup, acting and celebrities, but I just don't how to find where I belong and how to go about it. I hoping that maybe you can create a video more depth about it.

I know what I want to do. But every day if I have a free time I end up procrastinating and just play video games. Although I set 2 hours every day doing what I really want. Is it passion? Cause if its passion, I really should've been doing it and not just setting 2 hours every day, instead I should dedicate my whole free time. So it passion? or Is it lack of self discipline?

I have been feeling without passion, without feeling and have become frustrated. I am a college student and a millennial in the heart of our generation entering adulthood. I have experienced a lot of adverse events throughout my short life - and I feel like I am very close to success but I really love the concept of finding my "authentic self”.

Is it possible that you feel you know your passion but by a sudden decision you make you change your way so you feel lost in that situation? I mean what is passion really?is it what you wanna be or is it just way of planning all you have to go on a way to reach your passion?can you change job by reasoning yourself but not really noticing how its really serving your passion and then never reach your passion?...I'm lost I’ve stopped working thinking that iv once known how I'm gonna do what I'm meant to do but i feel like I'm stuck in a situation that i don't know how to handle...should i give up on my situation? And forget my reasons for a scheduled way to get to my passion?

The problem in doing your passion is that some times you will need to survive in order to even start doing it. Surviving in this world means to be dependent on yourself by yourself and that is by getting a job "At least" so you can live as a normal person in your society. So basically it is hard and I think it is very very rare for someone to start his passion from his early age and continue in that path until it will be a life career.

It never comes that quick, most important is to be highly aware of your identity, have the state to be comfortable only on your own without any need for external stimulation that will make you temporarily happy, let the past go, do not worry about trying new things, jobs and places which helps you to come up with new ideas feeding your future passion.

I'm in art school for illustration and I have to find out what kind of illustration I want to do. I love what I've been doing I tried out classes from different tracks. I like them all, and I did good with all of them. But I still can't decide. I know it's not good if I try to do everything at the same time. And now I'm starting to lose energy in things I'm doing since my goal isn't as clear as what I had before anymore.

I’ve literally done all these things and still don’t know. I’ve been to 21 countries, I read 5 books a month, I’ve had 6 different jobs, I have a college degree and I’m almost 30 and not closer to knowing.

Well, I would argue that if you are not willing to work for your passion, then it is not really a true passion... A passion by definition is something that you feel compelled to do and you obsessively and compulsively do it and you enjoy it.

I´m confused with my passion. I still haven´t found that one passion I want to devote my whole life to... Well, to be honest, many times I thought I found it but when I look back I see how wrong I was at that time... I went through many very different stages... I wanted to be a biologist, pharmacist... than I studied psychology for one year... Than I was working on my own line of hand made notebooks... Than I found out that four of my five biggest strengths are learning and thinking associated... So I got into studying psychology and personal development on my own... But every time I realized after a while that it is not something I want to do for the rest of my life... Now I really got into fitness, nutrition and wellbeing so an idea of a lifestyle-ćhange-coach came to my mind... But after all the experience with not clicking with what I really thought I want to do I´m a little discouraged to make the first steps... Does anybody have any suggestions about this?

The "follow you passion" advice, is based on these premises: 1. Passion is consequent. 2. Passion is going to make you successful/Passion is more important than success. 3. Passion is an autonomous thing that you can "find" and "follow". 4. Passion is going to make it all easy. 5. Passion is not created, but found. 6. Everyone has a passion. 7. Passion is going to replace discipline, because of the sheer amount of motivation. 8. The Passion Advice is not something successful people use in a speech to cover up the real factors for their success(hard work and talent), because they are humble.

I'm really in a bit of an issue.

I'm 18, last year of school before college and we are going over career/courses etc.

I was told to sit one online, but I got my mother to oversee my answers to ensure I wasn't fooling myself or subliminally directing myself.

Strange thing is any question regarding being a musician, playing in a band, and/or writing songs she 'strongly agreed' with.

I've never said I want a career in music, I play guitar and sing/write songs. I've also mentioned how I'd like to join a band in college but she sees me as a musician.

A lot of people do apparently, I'm shy, short, quiet but aggressive when pressed with something I'm not comfortable in/with.

I've never played on stage yet she gets the impression a career in music is where I should go. That music is my passion and therefore my ideal career.

Resources

http://coachinginst.com/life

https://www.inc.com/magazine/20060401/coach.html

https://www.quora.com/What-are-people-passionate-about-in-life

http://jackcanfield.com/blog/finding-life-purpose/

https://work.chron.com/define-passion-life-10132.html

http://coachinginst.com/find

8 years

"She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice. It's supposed to make you feel something." It was raining. He started his day with coffee and cigarettes. Just like what he always do. It was a normal day. He wish... His bed feels bigger without someone sleeps beside. His nights are colder than the cup of coffee he didn't finish that morning. 2008 Alex was an angry teenager. As everybody is. He was 17 then and was already knows how to lit a joint. Why? He needs love, attention and time. His parents can't give it to him. He feels like that it is the only way to have love. Although he always denies it. He is obviously seeking for love. At that point of time he can't recognize the good and the bad. A deviant of his own rules. Schooling for Alex is torture. "I can never be wrong that school is shit! That everyone is just like everybody else living in a prison built by lucky persons who has an obligation to teach stupid kids with stupidity." He once said to a kid in school while dripping the kid's face in the toilet bowl. The school always calls his parents about complaints coming from teachers. He got in detention, and worst expelled. A year after he came back to school. But in a different school. Then it all began.... 2009 He's calm. But everyone's noisy. A girl walked in the room. Suddenly he can't hear any noise. Just the noise of her shoes as she walks through her chair... Wait... She's walking near- "Hi! I saw you a while ago at the arts room. I see your eyes and I see like you're in really deep thought so I said to myself maybe he's an artist. Oh by the way, I'm Ysabel. Call me Ysa." Said by the girl that made him almost blast his eyes off. He almost can't say anything. "Tha-thank you." Awkwardly said by Alex. Alex feels like he is going to be great in this school. He feels enlightened. Alex was thinking of her the whole day. He can't forget the smile in her eyes that makes his heart skip a beat. Confused. He feels it. Because all this time he didn't know what love feels like. Days have passed, he gained courage to talk to her and be friends. "Hi!" Again, awkwardly said by him. "Oh hello! The artist guy!" Happily said by Ysa. "Yup! That's me. Mind if I join you eating?" Said Alex. She nod her head. They had a nice conversation and they had a lot in common. From that moment on, Alex knew what love is. They always hang around and go to places they want to go. As a matter of fact, they both love music. Their taste of music are the same. "How's going it with Ysa?" Calmly said by Alex's friend, Mac. "We're good, man! She's so beautiful and nice. I just can't get enough of her. She's all I see. She sees my rights in my world of wrongs. And she loves Four Of Spades too." Couldn't explain what feeling it is that he expresses while saying that. But he's happy for sure. *text message* from "Ysa" "Hey! It's Four Of Spades tonight! Let's go. I'll pick you up at 7. *smiley face*" What is the best way to escape problems? Music and a cold beer. He then realized that Ysa makes the best out of him. Four Of Spade's "Mundo" played. It was a moment to remember. Ysa was closing her eyes as she sings along with the band. "Limutin na ang mundo Nang magkasama tayo Sunod sa bawat galaw Hindi na maliligaw Mundo'y magiging ikaw" She's drunk. Troubled is he as he helped her go out. They sat down in front of the bar. "You see that big bank over there?! *hic*" She said. "Yeah. What about it?" Reply by alex. "We will put all our money there when we're married! *hic*" Smiling said by Ysa. Then it happen again. All of a sudden he again felt love. He then realized the beauty of her even if her face was red. It occur to him that now he is sure. He's inlove with Ysa. "Brullgghhhh" She vomits in the streets as she danced like an idiot. Alex decided to drive her home. She was asleep. Then Alex asked himself, "Even in sleeping? Why is she so beautiful? Why does she makes me feel this way?" He is now confused again about what love is. He takes her to bed and kiss her forehead and whispers, "I love you." He was about to leave the room then she shouted, "I hear that! *hic*" He came home with a smile in his face and a happiness that nobody but her can give. The next day, Ysa was late and looks like she just gotten out of bed. She still even got rocks in her eyes. Still, beautiful. "Hey Alex! Do I look good? Do I still look drunk?" Said Ysa. "You always look drunk!" Said Mac. "Shut up Mac, I'm asking Alex!" Whole class laughs. "Alex? Do I look good?" Said calmly by Ysa. "Always" said Alex. Again, whole class laughs. Alex was embarrassed. It was then art class. They painted. Ysa was sneaking to see Alex's work... It was a portrait of Ysa. "That is beautiful." Said by their art teacher. "More than who is in the painting." Said by Alex. Lunchtime. Again, they're eating together. Having a normal conversation about what happened the other night. "You remembered anything last night?" Alex asked. "Yup. I remember everything. You said you love me. I'm okay with it. All you have to do is ask." Said by Ysa. Then. The feeling can't be explained. He just didn't do anything. He just asked, "Do you feel the same way too?" "I've always been." Fireworks and unicorns appeared in his imagination as he heard those words came out of her mouth. Then, Ysa started saying, "The day I saw you in the arts room, I can't explain it. I'm sorry, I'm not good at explaining what love is beacuse I've never felt like this before." Embarrassedly said by her. He had nothing to say. He just stares at her and smiles like a kid with a toy. She then get backed to their normal conversation. That night, Alex was thinking that maybe she's as lonely as he. He sees it through her eyes that maybe they felt the same way how others treat them. That they're in the same situation. Seeking for love. "Hey Alex, look! An art exhibit show on Friday. And Four Of Spades are performing again!!" *poster says:* IKAW ANG JOY SA CHICKEN. IKAW ANG BIDA SAAKING SAYA. ART EXHIBIT. PERFORMANCES BY: IV OF SPADES SAUNDERS "I'm in." Said he. "I'm in too! I'll invite Joy." Suddenly Mac is there. "It's gonna be great! And hey Alex, can you pick me up at 7?" Happily said by Ysa. "Sure. I can." Said Alex. They got into the place and it was full packed of paintings by different young artists all over the country. It is sure a nice view for Ysa and Alex. "I like this one. It's like saying to me that, It's happy to live in the world of fantasy, but are you really living? Or it just kills you everyday?" Thoughtfully said by Ysa. Suddenly she holds her hands and he feels like never letting go. Mac and Joy said their goodbyes and drive home. While Ysa and Alex also, drive home. As they were driving home, awkward silence can only be heard. They decided to go to Alex's place. They talked and talked about everything. Hopes, dreams, and the future. "Where do you think we are in the next 8 years?" Asked by Ysa. "Hmmm... I see myself sitting in a chair, a canvas is infront of me and a color pallette in my hand while painting you..." She didn't say anything. They just kissed. He feels what he had to feel. The happiness, the sincerity, and the love. "Let's call it a day. Drive me home." Calmly said by Ysa. As they were driving home, they felt sad. They don't know why. Ysa was suddenly in tears. Alex asked her what's wrong, but she did not answer. As soon as Ysa gets out of the car, she said, "I love you Alex." While she's in tears. Alex didn't know why she is crying. She didn't explain why. The next day, Ysa didn't attend class. Alex wondered why. Alex thought maybe she's just sick, or maybe lazy to get up and go to school. But.... It's now a week since Ysa came to school. Alex tried to call her but the number isn't already in line. He goes to her house but she isn't there. Her family isn't there either. He tried everything to contact Ysa. He tried everything. "Get over her man. I mean, maybe her parents brought her to Manila and continued her studies there." Said Mac. "No. I'm going to find her and I will not stop until I do." Confidently said by Alex. Mac have no choice but to help Alex. Did they succeeded? 2017 It was raining. He started his day with coffee and cigarettes. Just like what he always do. It was a normal day. He wish... His bed feels bigger without someone sleeps beside. His nights are colder than the cup of coffee he didn't finish that morning. Earphones plugged in, walking in the rain, "Kung lumisan ka Wag naman sana" He suddenly saw the bank where Ysa and he talked about. He walked in. He had no intention doing anything. Just wanted to trigger good memories. A lady walked in, suddenly he can't hear any noise. Just the noise of her shoes as she walks towards near him. "Ysa?" "Alex? What are you doing here?" Ysa said. "Nothing. Just trying to bring back memories." Sadness can be felt as he said it to her. Ysa acts like she didn't care and nothing happened and just asked, "Are still in living in there?" Asked her. "Yes. I still live there. Good to see you. You're still beautiful." Said Alex. "We can talk outside." Ysa said. Ysa explained to him that her parents brought her to Manila and continued her studies there. Mac was right. "Do you fulfill your dreams? Are you now an artist?" Asked Ysa. "Yes. I am. You know, I've been worried about you. I searched you everwhere. I've got nothing but a memory that makes me feel sad until today." Cryingly said by Alex. She said that, she felt sad that moment. "But it's in the past maybe we can go over it." She then said. Just a smile and a small talk is enough for the years of him searching for Ysa. He drives home with tears in his eyes. Hoping he will be okay. But he's not. He said to himself that maybe all he need is to accept that he is not for Ysa. He just dont get it why after all these years, seeing her is always like the first time. Someone knocked on the door. "Will you paint a portrait of me?" -Ysa.