after failing miserably the first go around, (crochet) Home's walls are complete! we're less than halfway there but hey! The Walls!

🔪 🎼 🌹 ENDGAME ☄️ 💣 🔥

 to a line erased, to friends coming together, to my favorite campaign in the whole world. THANK YOU!

 i just needed to complete the set i made last year with a piece for the ending, regardless of how long it took. and what it took were a bunch of sketches, a handful of different proposals, and weeks of work spread out through months. i love the end result and how different this one is from the rest -turns out i’ve learned a lot and was much more certain about how i wanted to go about this one in comparison to the others, what with opting for a composition where no one in the party was at the center, with going just ham with the outfits, with taking my time with every detail and not skimping on the background, etc. i do think it’s very sweet how wanting to avoid anyone being a central character here was something i realized very early on that i wanted to work with, and, meanwhile, in all previous three pieces it just happened naturally... i like to think it speaks of how the campaign and the team worked. i love them so much. i’m so happy i got to draw wilde and skraak like this, seeing the full party in this style and scene is just so so great. i wanted something epic and i think it worked, this went through a lot of tweaks and i’m very glad the final piece is so nice. i just love rqg so much.

 here’s some close-ups of the characters and patterns!

[ cel // azu // hamid // zolf // sasha // bertie | wilde | skraak | grizzop // blue, green, black // red, purple // gold, ochre // pink ]

 and here’s a twitter thread with all the preliminary sketches! 

 i made this poster in honor of the story ending, and have one more planned in honor of the podcast itself. here’s to hoping it turns out just as good 💕

 also, do check the previous three pieces! they’re still super cute and complete this crazy timeline!

 ID under the cut, it’s a long one!

[ID: a digital, full-color illustration for the endgame of erasing the line. it is drawn with medium-thin lines and is heavily stylized, in a way that all figures are broken down into sharp, strong-shaped segments with bold colors and filled in with intricate patterns. the characters' poses and features are accordingly angular, and it's made so everyone's faces are turned into sharp profiles from the camera.    the scene is of the lolomg standing battle-ready on the roof of the houses of parliament, with big ben behind them. on the frontmost layer is a low, triangle-shaped rooftop over with the party stands, three to one side and three to the other. behind them is another layer of walls and roofs from the building, with big ben at the center, and the furthermost layer corresponds to the sky. the scene is put together so nobody in the team stands at the center, and that space is instead occupied by the clock tower standing tall in the near background. the roofs are blue with a checkered pattern, the walls a faded yellow, and the windows dark. there are cracks, stains and blue bushes with small flowers all across the visible building, which is symmetrical and made from two mirrored halves.    to our left, from bottom to top, are skraak, wilde, and azu, all facing left. in the same manner, to our right are zolf, cel, and hamid, all facing right. skraak is standing closer to the leftmost edge of the roof, with wilde a little further up behind him, and a twelve-foot tall azu behind them both. on the other side, zolf is closest to the triangular rooftop with his glaive upright just at the tip of it. behind him but closer to the right border is cel, and flying just behind and a little above them, is hamid.    to start on the left half, skraak is half-crouched menacingly with an angry snarl on his face. his figure is the only one made up mostly of curves, so from the tip of his snout to his knee he his curled over like a sideways U. his tail follows that direction further and curls a little towards the bottom, with a sharp, curved blade attached to the side end of it, looking a bit like half of an axe. only his frontmost arm is visible, holding the dagger of stalking with the blade back and curving upwards, his elbow high up. his left leg is taking a step forward while the right balances him out from behind. he's colored bright red and has patches of lighter and darker scales in his legs, tail, arms and face. he has a tight, short-sleeved, black upper-body armor that ends when it reaches the belts by his waist. the armor has a streak of silver scales across his chest and a section of red spiral patterns going down his abdomen. he has gray gloves and light-brown bracers around the wrist and bicep, along with matching shin-guards. he has a long snout, many fangs, narrowed yellow eyes and two sets of yellow horns, the first shorter than the next. his neck frill begins above his eye like a furrowed eyebrow and extends back, ending below his jaw in a scaly patch. the webs of it are yellow and every other one has a mosaic-like scale pattern. his striped horns, the spikes along his tail and his claws are also yellow.    behind him, wilde is also giving a step forward with his left leg and the right bends behind him. he's pale, tall and skinny, and his stance is such that his back is towards us, with his right arm bent and the hand obscured by his hip, and his left arm is held up just above his head with the sparkle of a spell around his outstretched index finger. unlike skraak, he merely has narrowed, focused eyes and a slight frown. he has eyebags that look like running eyeliner, in short vertical streaks running down. his hair is long and brown, falling behind him, and it has two broad streaks of white down the side, with spiral patterns all throughout them. his robes of the resplendent thespian have a first layer of deep red long sleeves with silver frilly ends; then poofy, pink short sleeves, and then a glimmering two-tailed coat, the ends of which whip towards our left. the short sleeves have alternating rows of a slim, white curling pattern over pale pink, and of pale pink flowers over hot pink. the body of the coat has stripes of yellow, lilac and purple, and wherever they meet there are dark magenta lines with small white diamond shapes on them. there are tiny sparkles on the stripes of color. we can see the inside of the two tails and they're red as the long sleeves, alternating between vertical rows of red spirals and flowery, swirling yellow patterns. he has poofy, short magenta shorts with stripes of purple and lines of pale pink. he has white leggings and ankle-high red boots, high heeled and with white spats.    towering above him is azu, who yells angrily to our left, holding her right hand high as if she was ordering whatever is coming off-screen to stop. her left hand is holding her great axe steady across her shoulders, so her outstretched arm follows in the direction of the handle of it. she stands with her body facing towards the center of the illustration, left leg bent near the cusp of the roof, supporting her weight as she leans in on it, leaving her right leg outstretched and following on the leaning. her broad form is clad in a glimmering pink breastplate, with a big, sparkling pink heart in the center, surrounded by pale pink and silver feathers in the manner of short wings. the edges of the layered breastplate have thin swirling designs each following on the borders of it, and when the breastplate ends below her ribs, there is another two layers of feathers by the side, and below them comes a tasset colored in pale yellow, with patterns of swirls and leaves on it. there are two layers of shoulder pauldrons, with the topmost one sharing that same yellow color scheme and patterns, and the one below it following in the pink of the breastplate. the shirt underneath her armor has wide, poofy short-sleeves that resemble wilde's, pale pink with thin-lined chains of lowercase, cursive ''e'' shapes. her skin is dark brown, her shaved hair is darker and covered in spiral patterns. she has a small cut on her visible eyebrow, the same running dark lines as wilde under her eye, and from this side we can see her non-broken tusk where she indignantly opens her mouth. her lower lip is painted hot pink, like her nails. she has arm-guards with spiral patterns in pinks and purples, followed by fingerless pink armor on her hands. her great axe is a wide, hot pink blade with thin, white curling patterns across the edges of it. from beneath her amor comes a long, two-layered pink battle skirt that whips in the wind towards the leftmost border of the drawing, the tips of it disappearing off-screen. the first layer is a warmer pink, the one below it is a colder purple. both layers alternate between one plait being just color, and the next being covered in spiral and floral patterns. visible on her supporting leg are pale yellow pants, and knee-high dark pink greaves. they have three hearts along the middle, a marble-patterned spike-like cover by the knee, and then a layer beneath covers the boots with the same pink and purple patterns from the arm guards. with her in the back, her lower half is slightly obscured in a blue haze; skraak reaches up to about the knee of her right leg, and wilde is just below the heart on her breastplate.    moving onto the right half, near the center is zolf. he's down on one knee, left leg down and right leg up, body facing towards our left while his head turns right. his right hand is holding his flaming glaive upright, and on the left he's holding one side of a pair of headphones to the ear we can't see. these connect to babbage, whom he's carrying on a backpack or case made of metal and glass. the brain floats in a green, bubbly liquid. zolf's mouth is obscured by his single-plait beard and his mustache, so only his stern look is visible. his eyes are green and have the same dark lines running down the lower eyelid. his hair is short, white and pointy. there are spirals and concentric circles down the braid of his beard. the mantle of faith is light gray, with an embroidered yellow border and matching four-point stars across a darker stripe just above the edge of the cape. it drags down behind him and the inside of it folds in such a way that every other stripe has a design of golden suns with beaming rays, and the remaining ones are a paler yellow with floating laurels on them. his breatsplate is a light brown-gray, with a laurel pattern on the edges, and two more layers of armor running below it. the second curves with his belly and ends by his midriff; it has a sun design at the center, like the ones in the cape, right below a central dip in the breastplate, and then come rows of laurels and stripes. the last layer is a tasset covering the sides of his thighs, like azu's, but his are simple and rounded and have the same beaming sun at their center. he's wearing a chainmail and plain brown elbow-length gloves with arm guards, which have gray and gold curved stripes. his trousers are plain dark gray and his boots of levitation are white, high-heeled, and go up to his shins. they have gold embroidery in the form of little swirls by the tip and along the side, and both the heels and upper fold of the shoes are deep blue. his glaive reaches just below the clock face, the fire of it white, orange and yellow, with multiple spiral and striped designs on it.    more to the center of the right half is cel. they're starting to fly, just a feet or two above the roof, mid transformation, with an emptied potion on their right hand and a handful of bombs in the other. they have sprouted just one wing, still half closed and beginning to stretch to our right, while their right leg and left arm have turned into something clawed and fuzzy, brown-orange and with dotted lines and alternating tones in a pattern reminiscent of a sweater. their wing is also orange and appears fuzzy at the edges, bat-like with a black claw where it bends and dark red and brown, spotted sections on the webs. their head and body are facing to the right of the illustration, snarling at something off-camera with angry narrowed eyes and a mouthful of big fangs. they have the same dark marks under their eyes, pale skin, their nose has gone crooked from the transformation, and we can see their burnt ear. their hair is a gray blond, wild and vertical, slightly swept back. they have their green-lensed goggles on their forehead. they're holding their right arm up, bending at the elbow so the empty potion bottle is pointing downwards, held by a hand in an elbow-length dark blue glove. their other arm passes over their chest and holds the three bombs in a dark-clawed hand just to the right of the potion. they're a little hunched over in their flight, making their anger seem more feral, and their long, lanky leg curves downwards next to their other, transforming limb. their long, plain brown coat whips to the right behind them, like a fan, and the inside of it is filled with gray swirls. their shirt is visible where their coat is open by their chest, and it has small spirals filled in with light green and orange. there are two bandoliers crossed over their chest.    just above them, by the height where the blade of zolf's glaive begins, is hamid. he has taken off flying and is holding the rod of maximize with both hands, the head of it pointing back, diagonally downwards, along with his cape and wings. he's flying diagonally upwards towards the right, looking on with a determined look on his face. his eyes are narrowed and bitter, brow furrowed low with the same dark lines. he has sharp eyeliner and bright red eyeshadow. his mouth is sternly closed but two fangs are poking out. he has stubble on his chin and his dark brown hair is slicked back, but there are sharp strands poking out in curved ends as they follow the direction of his scalp. he's wearing a black button-up with rolled up sleeves, the sleeves of many garments up to his elbows. his skin is dark brown but there are a myriad of orange and yellow scales down the side of his face, just above his eyes, and on his nose. his arms are completely covered in them as well. his cravat is white and his waistcoat is dark red, with a yellow border and a grid-like design of diamonds and X shapes on it. his trousers are plain black, the shape of them going all the way down to his pointy dress shoes, and he isn't wearing a suit jacket. like cel, he's facing fully towards the right, flying with his left leg up and the right matching the direction of his speed, just like his cape as it trails behind him. the upper part of the cape is a dark magenta, with golden ends and spiral designs on the lower portion of it. the front of it reaches midway down his chest, and the back of it is long and it fans out in segments covered with concentric half-circles in lighter and darker purples. his left hand holds the lower end of the staff up, the shaft of it in line with his forearm and the whole of his right arm, holding the rod back. the shaft is black, and the head is gold, spiky and symetric, the shapes of it floating around one another and with one big red crystal in the center. following in the rod's shaft, the shapes are like a spiky U containing the cristal, followed by a sort of wide M, with crescent shapes on either side of it. his one visible, draconic wing splays to the left behind him, and it's a dark orange in color, sporting the same mosaic-like scales in the webs as those in his arms and on skraak's frill.    lastly, above in the center, guivres' wings spread from behind the tip of big ben. they're a glimmering gold, with blue vine-like patterns across most of the structure of them, and with a shinning mosaic of gold and blue scales on the webs. there are sharp spikes on the ends and bends of it. just above them, the sun shines down menacingly in an orange-blue dust-ridden sky, and blue petals storm around the party as if they were coming from her, unseen behind the tower half covered in blue, blooming bushes. end ID]

Fatgum x reader- Atlas

Fluff + Greek mythology AU.

You were nothing more than a simple human, roaming the built up world to find something new and interesting, something no one could see but you, a secret for you and the universe to hold together. You needed to find something special is what you thought, taking a break at the atlas mountains in the scorching Morroccon sun. sweat bead down your forehead and your skin was hot to the touch but the adventure and experience, the trials to find something undiscovered was worth the peeling skin on your shoulders being soothed by aloe over and over.

Your persistence to find the unknown secret may have started genuinely, you wanted to find what the universe wanted you too, but eventually it gave you a reason to travel the world. You've travelled to 28 countries in 4 years, beginning at 18 and now you're 22, you skipped uni and college, you made money from ad revenue on youtube since your vlogs became popular, and you were incredible when it came to saving money.

Of course, you were still searching, but now you felt like you had even bigger reasons. Exploring the world, drinking in fountains of culture and knowledge, that was perfection enough. But the secret was missing.

You stood up rolling your neck and started your walk up rocky paths of mud and stone to the sandy houses forming a village and your senses lead you to a vendor, golden couscous with colourful, roasted vegetables mixed through smelled amazing and glasses of fresh mint tea lined up for you to drink while eating couscous at the vendors stall. You requested a glass of the tea, sat down, and drank it too quickly, burning your tongue from the hot water. You sucked in sharply and hummed in pain. "Thank you!" you said paying for the drink and continuing to the mountains past the beige buildings with terracotta tile roofs.

You felt like if you walked between the fingers of the mountain grabbing the earth with their hands you would find something unknown. You walked around the spurs peering into the joining point of each interlocked section but none tugged you in, pulled you towards them with mystery.

Apart from one. The sun was on the opposite side so technically there should have been no light, but it seemed perfectly visible to you? Was it a trick of the light? Possibly an illusion? Either way your heart longed to investigate and so you did. You trudged forward kicking a stone out your way and looked at the joining line. "You have to be something right?" you muttered and put your hand between the drack. You drew a triangle, mimicking the shape the spurs made and as quickly as you could blink, the mountain began to shake, not violently, but it trembled like being coerced into sharing it's deepest secrets.

"Okay... mountains don't usually do that" you say with wide eye's as the seam rips apart and balls of moss and rock tumble into a pile on the floor. Was it a doorway for you? Who knew, you didn;t care, whatever it was you were finding out one way or another.

You stepped into the cavern, dripping stalagmites made your head turn in the direction of every 'plop' into the puddle and your hands brushed against the side of the wall for stability and a sense of surrounding. "These feel like bricks?" you whisper in a questioning tone as your eye's begin to adjust to the dark and you found that you were going aimlessly through a long, triangular corridor. The bricks were a muted clay colour with green moss and algae blanketing them, the grout in the walls was black and viridian unidentifiable as something anyone had ever known of.

The terracotta sparsely began to cut into black white and grey granite eventually forming a whole wall as if the bricks had never been there to begin with. The marble was just as unkempt and ruined as the bricks but the walls got wider, further and further away from each other until they opened into a wide, white cavern, glowing and inhumanely clean. In the middle was a statue of a hulking man, holding the sky. He wore no shirt and had a pair of orange shorts on and black sandals, sandals that looked real and hyper-realistic looking shorts that flowed with the draft and skin you could see the detail of every pore in. hold on... fabric made of marble should not flow in the wind and should not be such an even orange no matter how much paint.

You slowly looked up, the chest rising and falling with a huffing breath it had to take, the hands trembled and the lips quivered. The hairs on his leg and arm stuck up with the chill of the wind and his elbows dropped slightly making the sky move. Finally, you dared look at the eye's of the giant, who was looking back at you confused as a bee trying to escape through a shut window. Mustard yellow eye's with sunken bag's looked right back at you and you backed up letting out a girlish scream.

"Hey hey wait!!" he shouted, wishing he could reach out and shake your hand or reach after you to emphasise that he wanted you to stay. "Please! Please don't go. I don't have anyone to talk to, I promise I won't hurt you!" he begged, glancing at your figure backing up and starfishing against a wall like it would absorb you and push you out the other side. "Y-you you're talking! And moving! But you, you're a statue?" you shook your hands in front of you and he laughed lightly. "I'm not a statue, I'm a titan. I'm just a big God to be honest, big God doing his job" he nodded his head at his rhyming ability and you slid down the wall grazing your burnt back. "Don't do that you'll hurt yourself" he said.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself then blew out, another deep breath and blew out, another deep breath then blew out. "Okay. so... what you're like atlas or something? He was... he was a titan right and he just held up the universe forever and that looks like something important like the universe" you pointed at the sphere on his back constantly shifting and changing colours and he made a whiney voice at the back of his throat. "Sorta? I'm Taishiro, nice to meet you" he greeted with a nod and you nodded back glancing again at the exit.

Could you trust him?

One look from him and it wasn't hard to tell he was overjoyed to finally talk to someone so you stood in front of him with your hands on your hips so he could see you while he was looking down. "Should I know who taishiro is, not to sound rude but everyone's heard of atlas, who is taishiro?" you asked biting a nail and the titan nodded understandably, fair enough, you would ask valid questions.

"so like, zeus wanted to do something cool and like "oh look i'm redeemable" se he basically said hey all the titans weren't so bad and just did what dad told them to so they all got freed or whatever but someone still has to hold the sky so they gave me the job" he said in one breath which was impressive to you but he wasn't finished. "which is okay, I don't mind it here but it's boring and lonely and my arms have cramp and God I miss food. And like they just made me a titan, they just chose me off the street after work and were like yo we need a new titan and I thought, hey y'know what i'm a hero, i'd be doing good for the world but i'm bored and hungry" he finished his ramble and you giggled.

You opened a packet of pistachios and a muffin and looked at him. "Can I climb you?" you asked gripping the pistachios in your teeth and pulling the muffin in a travel cup that clipped to your belt. "Sure! Not like you're very heavy to me" he joked and you laughed quietly grabbing the threads of his sandals and pulling yourself up like a climbing wall. "Oh you're so small. It tickles" he laughed. Resisting the urge to twitch and jerk you off his leg. You climbed quickly like the ropes in gym class then when you got to the shorts you pulled yourself up until you rested on his knee, flat as a table.

"Uhh, I think this should be good" you nod and balance cautiously to sit down pulling out the muffin and tapping his knee. "Hey open your mouth" you ask and he does so without question. You throw the muffin like a shot put and he grins, savouring the sweet, chocolatey taste "sorry their human sized" you sigh and shuck the pistachios for yourself, chewing on the green nuts with hundreds of questions buzzing in your head.

"So you were a hero?" you question flicking the pistachio shell into the bowl below you where taishiro's feet stood rooted to the ground. "Mhm. BMI hero: fat gum. I was like 46th, the world thinks I retired, that's what I told them but to me i'm still being a hero" he explained and you hummed agreeingly. "It's pretty hero like to give up everything to hold the weight of the world" you smile up at him and he blushes lightly. "Aw, you sound like one of my old interns. I miss it sometimes though, and I miss talking to people so much, it gets lonely here" a breeze flew past you and he shivered, but didn't lose an ounce of balance on the sphere, it was firmly rooted above him, it could have been suspended for all you knew. "Yeah, I bet, especially since being a hero is a pretty team focused job right?"

He smiled sadly and looked up at the tiny exit. He couldn't fit through doors like that anymore, he was the height of the eiffel tower and with one step he'd crack open the crust of the earth. "Yeah. you sound like you know what your talking about" you smiled tucking your hair behind your ear and shrugged "I do. I went to shiketsu to be a hero but when I left I was like... nah, that ain't my purpose. I wanted to like, find a secret the universe had that no one else knew about so i've been travelling for 4 years and I guess you were the secret right?" you thearised and he agreed happily. "It's cool knowing the universe wanted you to find me!" "heck yeah it is!"

You stayed with taishiro for a few days before having to leave and you had never felt so sad before. It was finally over, you didn't have a reason to travel anymore, you found the secret and had solidified a friendship with him but now you were leaving? Despite the snacks and drinks and stories shared about what you'd seen. You felt guilty leaving him again but he looked overjoyed. "I'll visit soon okay!" you shouted and he nodded "I'll see ya around. Say hey to little red riot for me, and suneater!" he instructed and you saluted exiting the cavern back into the dank corridor.

You kept your eyes trained on the ground until you left the mountain. A shimmering rainbow was directly in front of you and you swiped your hand through it like a cloud of smoke you tried re-directing.

The rainbow fizzled and formed into a human with long white hair and pasty skin, a long sundress with rainbow accents and black eye's. "Hi, (y/n) (y/ln) am I right? Oh I know i'm right don't worry, i'm iris Goddess of the rainbow and a messenger for the Gods of sorts. See I'm here to offer you a fast pass from wherever you are to right here in Morocco, next to our dear friend Tai whenever you please" she said with a smile, arm around your shoulder and walking away from the entrance like a car salesman.

You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow interested but cautious. "What will it cost me?" you ask bluntly and she laughed, slapping your back lightly. "Your hilarious kid. No it costs you nothing more than a prayer or 2 to me and my dear friend Hermes, see he's the God of travel, he's my partner in this see, and what we'll do is just zip you over here faster than you can think!" she exclaimed. You nodded and thought. A free service from 2 Gods? Were they typically that kind? No not really so...

"Oh I see. Zeus wants a fuck doesn't he" you jeered and the sky's went pale grey, like the colour your skin would go if you;d seen a ghost. Iris choked and looked up. "Um... the God of the sky does take an interest in you, yes." you rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at the sky. "Keep it in your pants buddy! I want the fast pass for free or I tell yo wife!!" you bargained, though it was hardly a haggle as the king God, terrified of his wifes wrath, told irish to just give you it for free.

"Thank you! I'll be sure to think of you when I see rainbows from now on, maybe we can have a chat! Oh oh or come see me and Tai some time, he says he gets lonely, you should visit him!" you grinned with a wave and said your address, being transported immediately like cargo from morocco to your home.

You crashed into your bed and huffed grabbing your limbs to make sure you were completely there. "DOES THIS WORK WITH OTHER COUNTRIES!" you shouted to no one in particular, your voice cracking while you spoke and then collapsed into bed, falling into a deep slumber.

A/n: Not gonna lie I really dont like thos chapter. It feels rushed and boring, I think I'll revisit it at somepoint. If you have any feedback feel free to comment!

V: Letting Lie

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: There’s a breakthrough in the case, and Reader takes things into her own hands. Part one, two, three, and four.

The hospital was white. All white. Like a dream. White walls, white floors, white curtains, white stretchers, white papers fluttering around on clipboards, doctors in white coats. Mr. Wayne’s suit was black, so I focused on him. Black suit, blue tie. Black hair, blue eyes. He was filling out whatever paper the nurse had given him. Something about seeing it all play out, despite the face he had put on for me, made my eyes well up with tears. He was afraid, so I was afraid.

“Mr. Wayne?” His eyes shot up as he looked desperately at the nurse. He was so helplessly at the mercy of whatever news they brought us. We both were. “Will you come with us? We’ll have a nurse stay with the girl.” The nurse looked down at me with a warm smile. White teeth.

“We need to borrow Mr. Wayne for just a second. That okay, baby?” I just nodded, not really considering it something I could say no to. No, please, I want him to stay. I’m scared and I want him to stay. A male nurse came and sat by me. He talked to me about school, my favorite subjects- science, math. He asked me what I wanted to be, and I shrugged.

“People who like science and math make good doctors.” He said. I shrugged again, but then considered it more.

“Is it hard?” I asked.

“It’s very hard. Not a lot of people can do it.”

“…”

“But it’s worth it. You help people, you know?”

Mr. Wayne appeared from around the corridor. The look on his face made all the papers stop fluttering. Made all the doctors stop rushing. Made the world stop where it was. Somewhere, maybe, in retrospect, I knew before he said it. I kept my eyes trained on his face, even though I wanted to look away.

“Y/N…” He said, taking a seat beside me. “Listen to me, sweetpea. Your parents-” His voice was cautious, considerate as he tried again. “Your moms got hurt really badly tonight… They- they’re both…“ A tear landed on my hand as the memory grew into a reality, which was bigger than I was. White sheets, red blood. He took my hand, and wiped it away.

“They’re gone now.”

*

They didn’t talk about Jason Todd.

And since they were the only people in his life at the time he died, nobody talked about Jason Todd. We met a couple of times, before Bruce took me in. I hated my expensive gowns, and he hated his expensive obligations, and we hid together at parties, all the while Dick insisted we’d get married. He lived, albeit briefly, as a smart, capable boy, and died as a smart, capable Robin. I had trouble looking at his face- pictures and old year books. When I did, I was looking into the face of a boy who died an untimely, tragic death. That was it. That was his story. Jason Todd died alone, afraid, and probably in a lot of pain. I went to his funeral.

If at all he came up (I could only think of one or two occasions), Bruce would tense, his eyes falling away, and Alfred’s gaze would cloud with memory. Dick, at least, could share a story or two, coveting the fondness and pride he had for his brother without dismissing the whole subject. Tim and Damian didn’t ask. They just tried not to die with the uniform on.

So walking into the cave and seeing Jason Todd’s face plastered on the central monitor seemed like the single most unlikely thing to occur in the Wayne household. I would’ve placed Bruce adopting another child before digging up and displaying dead ones.

Tim, Dick, and Babs were huddled close, faces wound and tight, while Bruce looked distracted, fascinated with his W.E. ballpoint pen. I dragged my feet a little to alert them all of my entry, but only Babs looked up.

“Y/N.” She said.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

Everyone just sort of concluded that someone else would explain, or take the lead, but no one made any attempt to do so. Finally, Bruce sighed.

“Come here. Sit down.” Okay. If there was anything in the world that could make your intestines feel like they were getting turned to ramen noodles by a paper shredder, it was Bruce Wayne telling you to come here, sit down. I searched the others’ faces as I did so.

“What happened?” I asked quietly, trying to fill the chasmic silence.

“I’m going to go over everything. Do you remember…” He trailed off- just for a second. It wasn’t often I saw him battle with something like that. His face was tired, and his eyes revealed a struggle as he fought whatever emotion he was grappling with. “Do you remember Jason?”

I nodded. “Sort of.” An echoing memory passed. Lacy table cloth curtains and chocolate covered strawberries as we camped under gala snack tables, whispering and laughing. Bruce watching me when my parents went out of town, and Jason giving me a tour of the library. The red roses on his burial. Sure, sort of. His blurry picture was on the monitor, anyway.

“Okay. Very good.” Bruce began again, perhaps relieved he would have to go into detail to refresh my memory.

“We’ve been putting a lot of information together regarding the Red Hood. We’ve been able to deduce his origins were The Viper House, but before that, Arkham. He began working out of the Asylum, and contacts there had a lot of information about him.”

That, I didn’t know. I supposed I wasn’t the only one slinking around in shadows. He was addressing everyone now, going through visuals on the monitor.

“He began to placate what was left of Joker’s operations in Coventry before he started on general crime. Oracle was even able to get some information from Harley Quinn.” I looked at Babs with some surprise, and she just nodded along.

“The very first sighting of him- in Coventry- was April 27th, seven months ago. The fifth anniversary of…”

I nodded. I knew what April 27th was. A vapid, despairing day in the manor that Bruce spent in his office and Dick didn’t call. I didn’t follow, but if Bruce had linked Jason’s death to Red Hood, I knew he must have something big.

“All of the information we gathered, on top of his intimate knowledge of us, vigilante or otherwise, has lead us to a clear conclusion. The encounter in Crime Alley on the 21st was just another confirmation.”

I almost flinched as my eyes flew to Tim, but no one seemed particularly interested in me. I texted him quickly, careful to avoid Bruce’s eye.

You told him?

- I told him I was the one who saw it. It was important information.

Shit, Tim. Was he mad?

He didn’t answer, looking back up to the briefing. I slid my phone into my pocket, guilt weighing in my chest alongside the other myriad of emotions building.

“He’s been around longer than seven months. Much longer. And it began with Jason’s death.”

I furrowed my brow, putting together a puzzle with with bent, broken edges, like trying to fit a triangle into a square-shaped hole- just one angle missing.

“Are you saying… Joker didn’t kill Jason? That this guy did?” My body felt cold.

Bruce looked at Dick, who didn’t return his gaze. Then, he turned back to me.

“I’m saying... that Jason is Red Hood.”

I let confusion twist on my face. “What? How? That’s not possible. You think he lived? We- I mean, we had a funeral.”

Dick shook his head, answering on Bruce’s behalf. “He did die, but… are you familiar with the Lazarus Pit?”

I went over my tangling thoughts. The crime scenes. The anger. The vigilante justice packaged in a case of blood and bullets, shipped right to Gotham’s largest looming criminals. The warehouse, the alley. The button. The leather on his gloves as he ran his fingers along my face and pressed it, leaving me all alone.

Tell Batman,

It was all falling in line; bubbling up and searing together like hot, melding flesh pulled together in the burning waters of the Lazarus.

I’m getting impatient.

“So… what are you going to do?” I asked.

Dick’s face was pained. Solemn. “I… we want to try to talk to him. There’s a reason he’s doing all this, and there’s a reason he chose now. If we want to figure it out, we have to find him.”

I swallowed. “I can help.”

“No.” Bruce declared swiftly. “Absolutely not. The only thing we know about him is that he’s dangerous. Red Hood may have Jason’s DNA, but we need to work under the assumption that he isn’t the same person.”

I could answer that. He wasn’t.

“Do not look for him. Do not engage him. Is that clear?” He was talking to me, Tim, and Damian. We all nodded.

“Any unapproved interaction could jeopardize the case, and give him more insight into our movements. We want to try and remain one step ahead. That is all.” The explanation was for Damian, who operated on bargains, not orders. Again, we all nodded. After a moment, I sighed.

“Well… I have school in the morning. Will you tell me if you learn anything else?” I asked. The three of them nodded, and Dick muttered a ‘goodnight’. I turned, mind working against the grain of what I should do and what I wanted to do.

Just go to bed, I willed myself.

Just go.

*

Night fell, black and smoggy. The sea was hissing and writhing, unsettled with the gale of a promised storm. I wasn’t entirely certain what would catch Red Hood’s attention. It seemed that our history comprised of him finding us, and not the other way around. Gotham Docks seemed like a good place to start. Ever since Kuznetsov was found in his watery grave, his men belonged to Hood. They moved drug imports that came to Port Adams- actual drugs- pharmaceuticals, over-the-counters, hydrocodone, acetaminophen; all legal things. But Gotham City taxed the living hell out of medicine imports, so people like Kuznetsov (may he rest in peace) smuggled them in fishing vessels for cheap, and got them into the hands of big pharma and medicare companies for a lot of money.

I’d picked a cozy spot on the roof of a bait shop that made me feel safely invisible as my eyes swept over the docks. Batman didn’t typically prioritize crime of this caliber; over the counter meds weren’t going to blow anyone’s heads off the way crazy clowns and mafia bosses were. It made the busy henchmen on the boardwalks nice and blatant. It wasn’t hard to find tonight’s operation.

I needed to make a scene. Make some noise, throw out some names- one name in particular. Wherever he was, I hoped it’d be enough to make it worth dropping in. I was used to making quick, efficient work of criminals, not stalling. Making a scene meant no disappearing in shadows, or quieting the sound of my breath.

There were a couple of men dollying crates in and out of a packaging plant. Disguised as fishermen, naturally. As they approached the building, several feet from the propped-open door, I dropped. Embracing the momentum, my weight striking the old wood made a salient sound, and sent the startled men gasping and staggering backward.

“Holy shit!”

“B-Batma-

“B-B-Batgirl?” I clipped. “Were you gonna say Batgirl?” It didn’t really matter which bat they thought it was. The fear all worked to the necessary effect.

“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” The man muttered, scooting backward along the wood as I let my step fall heavy against it.

“Where is he?” I asked, drumming up my vicious, raspy voice, like smoke on the sea.

“Where-where’s who?” He stuttered. The other man was taking advantage of my focus and scrambling to his feet. Any second, he would bolt into the building. Perfect.

“Red. Hood.” I said, loud enough that the fleeing man would hear.

“I don’t know! Hand to god, I don’t know!” The man on the ground pleaded. I looked down at him, letting the fear and shadow distort my face.

“I don’t believe you.” I kicked him in the chest, sufficiently knocking the wind out of him, but left him there, turning my attention to the packaging plant.

Adrenaline was in my limbs, pushing and pulling with the running blood under my skin. When was the last time I had a good fight? Carjackings and bank robberies felt so small, and predictable. Everything was always stable. Batman always had it under control, watching dutifully from rooftops, appearing in split second if I needed help.

Tonight, Batman wasn’t here. I felt no eyes on my back, no voices in my ear. It was under control, but it was my control.

The men inside had already sufficiently scattered. I didn’t bother to hush my footsteps as I entered. The icy breeze from the open door made my cape flutter, despite its weight- and that was the only sound.

Suddenly, boots on concrete, and a man let out a defiant cry as he shot toward me, with a rusted tire iron raised above his head. I moved on practiced instinct, side stepping and leaving him stumbling, before delivering a hard, well-aimed kick that he wasn’t getting up from. Two other men concluded (incorrectly) if they went together, they could take me.

It was a blur of fists and make-shift weapons comprised of packaging tools, but they were easy to parry and subdue. I kicked the second one back with enough force to send him through a thin wooden partition, which cracked and splintered under his weight. I swung my eyes around the scene.

“Anyone else?” I knew they were there. Tucked behind conveyor belts and crouched low, using fish barrels for cover. No one answered the call of duty.

“I’ll ask again,” I called. “Where. Is. Red. Hood?”

Suddenly, a flash of color, and I went backward and downward, catching myself enough that my arm slid across the concrete instead of my face. I let out a sharp breath just in time to dodge another blow.

“All this,” The computerized tilt of his voice couldn’t smother the anger in it. “For little old me?”

I kept my eyes trained on his hands, because I could entertain close combat, but knew I’d need to bolt if he drew his guns. That didn’t appear to be his intention. I dipped away from one of his swings, but he swiped at the fabric of my cape, grip closing, and used it to heave me into a barrel. I gasped at the force of it as I reckoned with shattered wood. Barely recovering, I rolled out of the way as he swung low. I went for the door, figuring I could use a little more space, since he had a hundred pounds and a few feet on me.

Outside, a frigid wind was cascading across the docks, biting my skin and casting droplets of salt water all around. Red Hood moved imposingly slow-paced, attending the cuff of his jacket sleeve, while I put a hand on the railing and tried to find my footing again.

“There are easier ways to get my attention, sweet thing.” Drawing to a halt, he didn’t look like he was going to attack me again, so I wiped the blood from my lip and straightened.

“Sorry. You forgot..” I was still breathing heavily. “To give me.. your number… last time.”

He laughed; a terrible, beautiful thing. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”

I fought to remember why I was here, and consequently, tried to pull together Jason Todd with the faceless man before me. They seemed to foil one another- a triangle through a square-shaped hole.

“So what do you want?” He asked, more serious this time. Though a reasonable question, it almost sounded rhetorical for the sheer lack of curiosity in it. I swallowed.

“Show me your face.” I said. It was so quiet, so hushed by the jeering sea that I was surprised when he tilted his head in response.

“Liked our little game that much? Had to crack a few skulls just to play it again?” I was frustrated, wishing he would come close, like he had in the alley, and let me touch him. Let me push away the helmet and know.

I tried to convey my seriousness with a look, but he just rolled his shoulders.

“Is that all, little bird?” He seemed annoyed; like I’d dragged him here only to concern myself with the small matter of his secret identity. The secret identity of Gotham’s most prolific crimelord. I wanted to make him understand, but I didn’t know what to say. He didn’t say anything else, either. He didn’t say “no” or “whatever” or “goodbye”. He just started walking away.

Jason.

Suddenly, I stopped myself. What if he wasn’t? What if Bruce was wrong? I’d throw out a name- an accusation- at a monstrous stranger who had no connection to me or my family. He’d laugh his terrible laugh and know that the world’s greatest detectives weren’t so great after all. Nervousness consumed me, tightening around my throat, placating me while I watched his form get smaller as he walked away, the darkness threatening to swallow him up.

“Jason!”

He stopped. His boots dragged to a jarring halt on the wood. Slowly, then, he turned around. The shadows were long and cast over him, turning his helm the color of old blood.

“Come back.” I said. “Please.”

His body language was unreadable, a mix between relaxed and hesitant that left him standing there, looming, and left me unsure as to whether he was going to leave, or pull a glock on me. Then, he lifted his hands. His thumbs dragged beneath his jaw methodically, until there came a hiss from his helmet, and he pulled it off.

“Jason.” I repeated. My voice was tight. It shook. His gaze followed me in the dark before he approached, gate slow and heavy, and sat down on a fishing crate.

“What? Do I look different? Put on a little weight?” Maybe he was joking- I couldn’t tell. The soft rasping of his voice startlingly contrasted the voice scrambler, and blended with the bubbling waters below our feet. But something eerie laced it. It was still foreign to me. “It’s okay. You can tell me.”

I had previously thought I might be able to do this; face him. After all- I should be happy to see him again, alive after five years of Bruce’s grief and wretched hollowness. Years of operating in the long, dark shadow cast by his headstone. But somehow, the man before me was instead a confirmation. A walking death certificate. Jason Todd- the other Jason Todd- was still gone. Bronze skin, of which small, light colored scars adorned. Midnight hair mussed from his helmet, leaving a couple strands to fall over his dark eyes; eyes that used to hold warmth, and now held a malefic coldness. When I drank in the features of his face, I found my chalice empty. He didn’t approach me this time- didn’t draw near enough to feel his heat. Just sat there, elbows resting on his thighs, leaning forward and looking at me. I had trouble holding his gaze, but I did. Then, he gave me a chilling grin.

“Did you miss me?”

His voice knocked something loose, as my mind placed him as a memory. Someone I’d actually known. I had a million burning questions. “How? What happened?”

He pulled out a cigarette, shrugging. “I’ve been busy. Dying’s a lotta work.”

“Why- why are doing this?” This being spending seven months as the most prolific crimelord in Gotham. There was a spark of his lighter. Using his hand to shield the flame from the winds and misting water, it nurtured an orange glow on his face, bathing his skin in auburn light for just a moment. I blinked, and it was extinguished, replaced, again, by the blue darkness. He took a deep drag.

“Know how I died, dollface?” He asked. I did, so I nodded.

“Remember what happened to the bastard who killed me? After.” I studied him, still reeling a bit from accepting the man before me as the boy he’d been. I remembered there was another attack after Jason’s death. Joker took forty pounds of C4 to a shopping center in Fashion district at the beginning of May. Amidst the rubble were Robin: Missing posters. Bruce didn’t make them. Joker kept up his streak thereafter. He didn’t stop until his death, last year.

“Nothin’.” Jason supplied the answer. A hard, bitter, sorrowful nothing. It burned cold, like an inverse flame.

“Batman doesn’t kill. He doesn’t kill, and killers do. So they walk, and keep killing, and he calls it justice.”

I let it all sink in. Batman was the only thing standing between Gotham and complete corruption. I saw, in my memory, all the people I’d helped. All the victims who’d ever clung to me or thanked me through tears. All the pride I’d ever felt carrying the mantle. Batman didn’t kill because you can’t go back from killing. If he did, it wouldn’t be vigilantes against criminals- it’d be dogs eating dogs. Domestic war. Jason had been Robin. Surely he understood the philosophy of it?

But, then, what did it get him? He took those philosophies to the grave. When he finally crawled back out, he did what anyone with a vendetta might do. He overcorrected.

“Tell me somethin’, little bird.” His eyes leveled steadily on mine as I looked back up. “You call that justice?” I swayed under the intensity of it. I was afraid to disagree with him, but I didn’t even know if I wanted to. There were a lot of times I watched Joker slip through Batman’s hands, free to blow up another shopping center, when he could’ve stopped him if he just-

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

He got up, cigarette hanging from his lips, gaunt eyes burning through the blue dark.

“I think you do.”

The sea hissed, and the wind writhed, and I watched as the night swallowed him up.

Map to Nowhere

Fandom: The Promised Neverland (Anime)

Character Focus: Ray (and Emma)

Summary: Emma and Ray stargaze outside the base, and think about many things.

Notes: I couple weeks ago Tale Foundry's prompt of the week was "Map to Nowhere." I started thinking then that that would be a great prompt for Promised Neverland.

After watching S2 ep3--(and, if it isn't already clear, there's some minor spoilers for that here! And major spoilers if you haven't finished S1!)--when I saw the stars outside the base I thought they were absolutely gorgeous, and I was like "Oh I am absolutely writing a stargazing fic for that prompt" haha! 

Also just wanted to quick say that I know nothing about the manga, and I wrote this with the current-anime-knowledge I have!

I've been wanting to write a fic for the Promised Neverland for a while, so I had a lot of fun with this! If you're interested in reading more tpn fics from me, don't hesitate to send me prompts!

If you enjoy this fic, please please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment!!

*

Map to Nowhere

Emma, Ray, and Norman lay in a circle—(well more like a triangle)—on their roof. Today they enacted their plan: they had snuck out at midnight, (shushing each other all the way), to watch the stars. And, well, if they were already sneaking around, might as well pick the roof as their location. It was closer, after all.

“Ooh, I know this one!” Emma pointed to a collection of stars. “It’s a house!” She said with utmost confidence.

“That’s Cephus!” Norman corrected her.

“It can’t see us, silly!”

“No, Cephus.”

“He was a Greek king,” Ray explained.

“A Greek king?”

“Yes.” Norman said. “He was the wife of Cassiopiea.”

“Cassi-who-peea?”

“Spare her the details.” Ray glanced at Norman. “That story’s a…little sad for her liking.”

“You’re probably right.”

She pouted, but quickly recovered. “You guys sure know a lot about stars!”

“Not really.” Norman smiled. “We just read a lot.”

“You sayin’ I don’t read?!”

“Not as much,” Ray replied flatly.

Another pause. Apparently she couldn’t deny that.

“Do you think we could ever go there some day?”

“Well…it’d take a lot of hard work and luck…but potentially!” Norman replied.

“Do you think we’d need some sort of...map?”

Norman laughed. “A map would be good, yeah.”

Ray said nothing, returning his gaze to the sky. They were always undeniably far, but, as Emma and Norman puzzled out how to reach them, to him, they seemed to slink away as they spoke.

******

The stars unfurled above Ray. And endless expanse of spackled blue.

He’d stargazed before. He, Norman, and Emma had snuck out of bed to lie on their backs in the grass, or even on the roof to watch the sunrise, asking each other what games they’d like to play, and if they could go there one day. All the while Ray knew they wouldn’t so much as leave the farm; the stars as real as glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling, as untouchable as freedom itself.

Now, laying on the dirt above the base, reaching out his hand, he swore he felt his fingers graze them.

No fences, or trees, or walls to block his view. No imprisonment, or impending promise of death. Well, death was still both inevitable and probable, but it was nice there wasn’t an exact date, at least. Or maybe…well, he spent so much of his life planning and, in a way, hoping for his own death…the idea that he ought to live for the future, without a deadline in mind was…oddly foreign.

The world was open, and inviting. There was beauty in that, yes, but freedom, the expansive Earth, was as alien as another planet. The instability of numberless days was, well...unstable. Not insurmountable, but certainly unpredictable.

His mind drifted back to Mom and the others back at the farm. He wondered briefly how and what they were doing. It was likely their escape had made life worse for those that remained, and/or for themselves. Scratch that, he knew they’d made life for themselves worse, because Emma was determined to return and save everyone.

Ray had never had much difficulty valuing his own self preservation above everything else. The thought of everyone else in the orphanage didn’t plague him too often. His own survival was enough of a burden to trouble himself with the woes of everyone else. He didn’t know how Emma did it. It was almost impressive just how many people she was able to worry about at any single given time.

Still when he thought of mom…She wasn’t particularly kind, or lovable. He’d known from the very beginning this was nothing but a game, and she was nothing but a player. But he remembered perfectly the look in her eyes as she watched them leaving—(like he remembered everything else). He expected anger, betrayal…but that sadness was unexpected. He didn’t make the mistake of thinking it real yet…if he knew it wasn’t, why did it haunt him?

Today, was she taking it out on the kids that remained? Did any of that sadness stay within her? Or was it replaced with scorn for even the innocents left?

Or else was she herself punished for their transgressions? Imprisoned, tortured, or staked in the heart with a flower?

And if she was, what would that mean for the kids at the farm?

“Ray? How do you know that song?”

She wasn’t kind or lovable…but she was his mother. Something none of the other kids could say: his mother. His real one.

Did he actually—?

“There you are!” A voice broke through his musings. The hatch opened to reveal a head of red hair. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Well you can either sit there crying about it, or you can join me!” Ray threw to her casually.

“Maybe I will!” She harrumphed.

Emma scooched out of the hatch, closing it, but, instead of laying down to watch the stars, she knelt over his head so her face was blocking his view.

“Whaatcha thinkin’ about?” She sang.

Ray flicked her forehead.

“Hey!” She rubbed her forehead, pouting as he smirked.

After she had sufficiently stared him down, (or else knew she was fighting a losing battle), she flopped on the ground with her head on the opposite side of his.

For a moment they just stared up at the stars in silence, basking in their glow.

“They seem so much closer out here!” Emma reached out her hand and made a grabbing motion.

“Mm.”

“What do you think’s up there?”

“A lot of hydrogen gas and—”

“You know that's not what I meant! Would it kill you to have an imagination?!”

Ray scoffed.

“Aliens?” Emma offered.

He was about to shoot down the idea, but paused and replied instead, “I suppose that isn’t too far off from demons.”

“How do you think we’d get there? A starship maybe? Ooh! Like a literal pirate ship in space! That'd be so cool!" She held up her arms, then let them fall out to her sides.

He laughed. “And you have the wildest imagination.”

“It’s not my fault yours just doesn’t work properly.”

“I have an imagination; it’s just grounded in reality.”

“But reality’s so boooring. I mean…” She paused, saying more seriously, “Do you think it’d be better up there? Than here, I mean?”

“If ‘better’ means easier to survive in, then no.”

She groaned, and seemed to decide he wasn’t the best stargazing buddy, because for a minute or two, she actually stayed silent—(shocking indeed).

”Reality’s not so bad, you know." Ray spoke after a bit. "I mean...it’s just a lot of hydrogen gas, yeah, but have you seen pictures of nebulas? Or supernovas? I've seen them in books. They’re some of the most beautiful sights in the universe. To me, that’s much cooler than fantasizing about unicorns in the sky.”

“Hey! I didn’t say anything about unicorns!”

He laughed.

“But... yeah! I guess you’re right!”

The next question was a murmur, soft and serious as ever:

“…Do you think Norman’s up there?”

Breath was cold and sharp on the back of Ray’s throat, eyes widening in shock.

“I…I don’t know.” He exhaled the breath.

“Wherever he is…I hope he’s doing alright. You know, having fun and all,” she said with the air of a lover saying they hoped their ex was happy, when really they wished to get back together.

The wind blew past them, and they had to shut their eyes against the dust. Once it passed she murmured:

“I miss him…A lot. It’d be so much more fun if he was here with us.”

“You sayin’ I’m not fun?” Ray tried to joke.

Emma’s laugh was taut. He wondered if she was trying not to cry.

Ray looked back at the stars. They were so close a second ago, but in that moment they began to drift away.

“I miss him too.”

Friend And Enemy

Another story for @connor-sent-by-cyberlife. My intention is that this will be one part of a two part story, the second will be due for one of the future prompts.

Pairings: HankCon / Hannor / Hank X Connor

Warnings: - Swearing - Implied Sexual Situations, Drinking and Drugs - Referenced and Stated Murder - Depression and Self-Hatred - Bad Choices

Words: 2881

Enjoy!

The neon lights of the club flashed through the retinas of Hank’s optical units. For a human, they may have been blinding. A heavy pounding of bass music flooded through the club’s structure, the sound system stretched extensively across the walls. On the dance floor, human patrons were ‘dancing’, their bodies a stench of alcohol, sweat and smoke. Despite the anti-android sign on the door, it was easy for Hank to slip in, his model designed to blend in with the crowd. Few eyes trailed to the arm band on his right, or the gleaming, blue triangle, the obvious marks of an android, if only because they were all too inebriated to notice.

 It didn’t suit Hank’s expectations. He was only present in the Eden Club to search for any sign of his partner-to-be. It was the third club he had entered in search of detective Connor Arkait, previously Connor Kamski. Hank had simply been informed by Captain Fowler that this detective had told her he was due out to celebrate some occasion, and would be at the Eden Club. That narrowed it down to three locations across Detroit, and Hank had been searching for him the past hour and a half. His phone was off it seemed, as Hank had been attempting to connect to it and had been reduced to simply leaving a voicemail.

 His scanners were struggling with the mess of human faces, and whether they meant to, the crowd helped to siphon him through to the other side of the dance floor too quick for him finish his scans. His LED flashed a brilliant yellow in the android equivalent to frustration. As he leaned back against the wall of a booth, he allowed himself another look across the club. Finally, his scanners picked up on something; some loose papers beside a folder, marked with a stamp that read ‘DPD’.

 He approached, skirting the edges of the dancing, grinding crowd, until he came upon a near empty booth. A dark haired human was stooped over the papers, eyes focussed on the work before him, pen rapidly dashing across paper. Hank cleared his throat, a human gesture to gain his attention, and warm, brown eyes flicked up to meet his own. It was easily enough time to scan the other’s facial features.

 He had a 100% match.

 ‘Detective Arkait?’

 The human seemed confused, looking Hank up and down as if scanning himself. Eyes flicked to the LED on Hank’s temple, his serial and model number emblazoned upon the breast of his grey uniform. His eyes turned back to Hank’s face and took in his artificially depicted age, and the addition of silver hair and trimmed beard.

 The detective immediately started packing up his papers; it was an odd place for a human to attempt to work. It came across immediately as ‘workaholic’ behaviour, and with the lack of glass on the table or any traces of it against the detectives lips, Hank could only assume that his ‘night out’ was not one for relaxation. The detective stood, revealing him still in something akin to business wear or a uniform. The white shirt was open a bit by the collar, so that the human may not overheat in the 30 degree Celsius conditions.

 The detective had finished cleaning up, and gestured vaguely towards the front of the club, as if insinuating an exit. Hank led the way, his size enough to form a path for the detective to follow. Once they had reached the exit, beneath the streetlights and neon signs, Hank could make out where blood had risen to the surface of Connor’s skin, creating a flushed look to his features. It was probably due to the heat of the club, or the embarrassment of being caught out.

 They stepped away from the club, Hank patiently waiting to be addressed. By the time they stepped into a nearby, empty street, Connor’s face had lost some of its heat. But not all of it.

 ‘Sorry.’ Hank was not expecting an apology, nor the explanation that followed. ‘I was not expecting to be called out this evening.’ Connor adjusted one of the suspender straps, a light smack of elastic against his body a strange ministration to Hank. It confused Hank further that Connor would be explaining the circumstances to him; an android.

 ‘I am unfamiliar with the HK800 model.’

 ‘I’m a prototype android, assigned to you for a recent deviancy case.’ When Connor heard that, a pout came over his features.

 ‘So that is why Niles stole my phone.’ He huffed, blowing a stray, defiant lock out of his eyes. The same curl of hair returned to hanging just above his left eye anyway. ‘Sorry I couldn’t answer my phone. Do you have the details of the investigation, or are they still being compiled?’

 ‘The crime scene is still being investigated. Captain Fowler expressed his wish to have you there.’

 Connor smiled at him, a gesture that Hank did not understand. Humans didn’t often smile at androids, whether it was because they were against them entirely, simply saw them as objects or even when they did smile at them, it was hardly genuine. To read the human features and see that his eyes creased slightly at the corners, and the pull of his lips created dimples, Hank determined it was a real smile. It was confusing.

 ‘Do you terribly mind calling a cab, then? We’ll head over right away.’ A flick of Hank’s LED and two minutes and forty-seven seconds later, a self-driving taxi had pulled up on the street curb. Connor stepped inside, followed by Hank himself, and the directions were inputted.

 It was a quiet ride for the most part, but it seemed the detective was in some form of discomfort. His movements were agitated, and a coin had been removed from his pocket. He stroked his thumb over the quarter, and twirled it between the fingers on one hand, distracted. It reminded Hank of his own calibration technique, but he didn’t voice his opinion on the matter. His words only mattered once he had to detail what he could discover at the crime scene.

 ‘What should I call you?’ Hank turned his eyes back to the human, who seemed to have no qualms speaking with an android in such a casual manner. It seemed odd. ‘No offense intended, of course, but I was curious if I should simply refer to you by HK800 or if you have a name. It may be easier for me to say than ‘HK800’ all the time.’ His tone was soft, a joking inflection in his words.

 ‘Hank.’

 ‘It’s a nice name.’ There was a brief algorithm of words and numbers that faded in and out across Hank’s HUD, too quickly for him to immediately decipher. But something stirred within the android at those words; he couldn’t recognise if it was perhaps a glitch or minor malfunction in his biocomponents, but he felt his thirium pump briefly skip a beat. It threw off the rhythm for all of 2.09 seconds, but it was noticeable enough. What should have been a potential concern was ignored, if only because…

 It felt… Nice…

  ~X~

  ‘Hank! Let’s go!’ Connor was on his feet and, alongside Hank’s own, heavy footsteps, the two of them had taken off after the deviant. The android had been hiding in an abandoned apartment building, caring for pigeons of all things, and had immediately gone to attack Connor when the detective had drawn too close to its hiding place.

 The corridor was cramped, Hank taking the lead as he glided over several thrown obstacles. He heard a rough sound of either pain or exertion, but he could not wait. If he slowed down now, they would lose the deviant.

 Hank bust through the fire exit door, the steel barrier colliding into the wall and near coming off its hinges at the force. Before him was the rooftop; the deviant leapt beneath the giant sign and onto the raised farm on the opposite rooftop. Behind him, Connor followed, only just keeping pace. His breaths were a constant reminder of his presence, and served to aggravate Hank further.

 Through the wheat, Hank hurriedly climbed a brick wall, eyes constantly scanning and pre-constructing what paths laid out before him. He couldn’t afford to be slow or even careful; he would lose sight of his target.

 Through greenhouses and across glass rooftops, Hank tracked the deviant. Connor’s progress had slowed behind him, to where he could no longer hear him breathing. He didn’t chance a glance behind him, not when he was so close. He could hear the South Detroit train on route, could see the drop off where the tracks created a large gap between the first rooftop farms and a rooftop orchard.

 The deviant leapt, and Hank made to do the same.

 ‘Oh, fuck…’ The voice was so soft, or perhaps it was loud but simply muted by the heavy winds. Hank turned his head around, optical units scanning as he watched Connor’s form, a distance behind him, slip through an open skylight, hands gripping tight to the edge. Beneath him, there was a whirl of engines, the sound of many blades slicing and dicing through crops. Connor’s legs dangled several metres above the ground, his hands struggling to keep a hold of the glass roof.

 From where he was, Hank could not see Connor’s face, but he could hear his ragged, exhausted breaths. He scanned Connor, watching with a strange, hollow feeling in his chest as the ‘survival chance’ read 68%. Beside it, the chance of following and apprehending the deviant was beginning to lower with every half second he spent weighing his options.

 Finally, he could see Connor pull himself up, just enough that Hank could see his face. Wide eyes, filled with fear. Hank’s hands twitched, his HUD depicting the beginning of a red, security field between him and Connor. His programming, CyberLife itself, was telling him to go and continue his pursuit.

 ‘Hank…’ His voice was strained, and with a feeling like Hank’s own biocomponents were about to fall, he watched the other slip. His chances decreased by seven percent, but Hank shook his head. It had to be enough. He had to trust the detective could look after himself. The deviant was his number one priority.

 He turned, and took off in the other direction, hot on the deviant’s trail.

 As the HK800 left him behind, Connor sighed, hanging his head against his chest. Every moment, he could feel his fingers slipping. Beneath him, the tractor roared ominously, and Connor could practically feel the engine rattling his very ribcage. He should have figured the deviant was the priority, but he had hoped Hank would have…

 What had he hoped?

 That he meant something to a machine? It didn’t matter that they shared a car ride together, how Connor had noticed the android seemingly smile more whenever they spoke, how Hank had even protected him Ortiz’s own android. What mattered was the mission. He felt his hands slip, and with a cry, he landed in the wet soil below, the tractor nearly upon him.

  ~X~

  He had heard about Connor’s condition through the Captain. Hank couldn’t care, he was a machine after all, but the more he heard about Connor’s condition, the worse he felt. It was as if every word twisted his thirium pump awkwardly around in the pit of his synthetic chest.

 ‘Broken ribs.’

 ‘Dislocated shoulder.’

 ‘Plenty of cuts and bruises.’

 ‘Mostly, however, he is still suffering from a bit of shock. He won’t be in tomorrow, as much as he may wish to be.’ Hank felt like ‘shit’; a term used, in this case, to mean that he felt less than subpar. He couldn’t imagine Connor, the one he was supposed to please and work with, would ever want to see him again. However, by CyberLife’s insistence, Hank would force himself into Connor’s life once more, once the workaholic detective could no longer stand to remain in his apartment.

 He had been assigned to an investigation alongside detective Reed, in one of the Eden Clubs across Detroit. A murder, presumably committed by a deviant, but Hank had hardly been able to concentrate. By the time detective Reed had made his case that it was manslaughter, and the ‘fucking idiot’ had a little too much ‘fun’, Hank did not have the energy to argue.

 It was as if stasis weighed on his biocomponents, near drowning him.

 He wondered if this was how guilt felt to humans.

  ~X~

  Hank stepped towards the park bench, the faintest, early snowfall gently floating down in a fine curtain of white. There, still bandaged and bruised, sat Connor.

 A hand rested by his side, and with a scan, Hank could see that the three broken ribs had hardly healed since he had been ordered home to rest. Bruises and minor cuts were painted across the detective’s porcelain skin. Eyes downcast to the pavement beneath his feet, Connor paid him no mind when he approached. There was a crushing sensation in Hank's synthetic form, the same feeling he had when he had been working alongside Gavin. Once more, he noted a brief flash of numbers and letters in the top left of his HUD.

 Once he was finally stood beside Connor, he noted that the other’s usually kind smile and bright eyes had turned cold. Distant. It didn’t suit him; he wanted those excitable questions about how he analysed samples, and the continuous, ‘friendly’ chatter, as if the other thought and acted like Hank was just another human.

 ‘Good evening, Connor.’

 The other was silent, and the smile that pulled onto his face, was not a genuine one. He wasn’t surprised, but he didn’t feel any better or reassured. In fact, the strange pit in his body seemed to burrow uncomfortably deep.

 ‘Hello Hank.’

 ‘I…’ What should he say? He didn’t want to simply speak because that was what CyberLife told him to do. He wanted to say something, anything that might make the other feel better. He near scoffed at the idea. Yes, because there was an easy way to apologise to someone for leaving them to die.

 ‘It is alright, Hank.’ Connor hummed, slipping off the bench, his movements slow and stiff. ‘It made sense what you did. You did the right thing, going after the deviant.’

 What?

 ‘I was the one that made the mistake of missing the danger. Hell, if I had just remained where I was, or had gone a different route, I would have been safe. It was my own doing that caused me to fall.’ The tone was shameful, and tears pricked the corners of Connor’s lovely eyes. Hank felt worse.

 ‘No.’ He stepped closer, raising his hands. Connor hurriedly stepped back, and Hank halted his movements. He didn’t want to scare the other off.

 ‘You… I don’t think I have seen a human with such little self-worth.’ Hank didn’t mean for it to sound as cruel as it did. Connor’s eyes flashed angrily, and though he opened his mouth as if to scream or berate, Hank was fearful to see that face morph to reluctant acceptance.

 ‘And?’ Connor tilted his head up to Hank, and didn’t move away this time when the silver-haired android approached him. ‘Is it wrong to accept that you are just not worth it?’ When Hank opened his mouth to speak, Connor hushed him gently. ‘I’m not trying to guilt you, Hank. I just… Your actions yesterday, they reminded me of how things work.’

 Hank furrowed his brow, but he had the permission, it seemed, to rest his hands on Connor’s arms, even bring the small human closer.

 ‘Though we are not friends, Hank, I do hope you don’t see me as a problem. I do hope I am not a burden to you or your investigation.’

 ‘Why?’ Hank spoke before he ever realised he had formed the words. He didn’t pay any mind to the dialogue options his HUD provided him, and allowed his body the freedom to dictate his words. ‘If anything, Connor, I am the one that caused you trouble. I am the burden on you. If I wasn’t here, perhaps you would have been saved from, at least, your injuries.’

 ‘I… I wish I hadn’t moved.’

 Hank didn’t understand.

 ‘I just… Sorry… I’m just being stupid.’

 Hank finally brought Connor in towards his chest, feeling fluid beginning to leak from his eyes. He didn’t want Connor to see. He hid the other’s face in his chest, one hand in the dark curls and just listening for the sound of the other’s heart.

 ‘No. Never. You are not stupid, Connor, and please… Do not doubt yourself like this anymore. I... I don’t want you to lose yourself.’

 ‘I didn’t think androids could want anything?’ Connor half joked, but the laughter was half-hearted and weak.

 ‘Well, this one does. I want you to be safe. I want you as a friend, Connor.’

 ‘Just… Don’t leave me for dead again, okay?’

 Hank didn’t have the words to agree. He didn’t have the ability to wrap his mind around that sentence. He couldn’t do it. However, he did nod his head.

 ‘Never again.’

I’ve Made A Huge Mistake {5/?}

Peter Parker x Reader, Quentin Beck x Reader

Summary: Peter just wanted to enjoy his trip to Europe, maybe even confess his feelings to his best friends.But along came a mysterious new hero to ruin those plans. Peter and his class are aged up and in college.

Warnings: Violence in later chapters, manipulation, age gap

Word Count: 2418

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

They pulled up to their hotel in Prague, a vast improvement from the run-down one in Italy. It was the image of luxury, near to the city centre, built-in some historic-looking building. Two doormen opened the gold-framed doors. All the students looked around in awe at the huge marble room. A pianist played, gently adding to the high-class atmosphere.

“This is absolutely insane.” She said, admiring the detailed granite tiles.

“Speak for yourself, I’m home.” Flash said arrogantly.

“What can I say, the squeaky wheel gets the grease.” Mr Harrington said in response to everyone’s amazed reaction. “Everyone get settled in, rested up,” he continued, “cause tonight, big surprise, the Carnival of Lights.” He exclaimed. As Mr Harrigton continued Peter felt his phone vibrate, he pulled it out to see Maria Hill’s name flashing over the screen of his phone. While Peter stepped away from the group, she noticed MJ’s intense stare from the corner of her eye. The jealousy bubbled slightly in the pit of her stomach. You don’t like him like that, she reminded herself, he’s your best friend. She attempted to drown out the feeling, instead trying to tune into Mr Harrington’s ramblings about the night’s carnival.

“Hello.” Peter answered.

“Parker it’s Hill,” The agent spoke across the phone, “there’s an earpiece in your suit, put it on and await further instruction, understood.”

“Um, yes ma’am,” Peter replied nervously. Peter stared at all the people who were in danger, who had been dragged into a mess he now had to solve.

An hour or so later he found himself with Fury, Hill and Beck, reciting the plan that had just been drilled into his head.

“I will be in the cathedral tower, keeping watch for the fire monster. When that shows up I will radio you guys. And then Mr Beck and I’ll -”

“My name is Mysterio.” The man said firmly, giving Peter a reassuring look, making the younger man smile. “Look, our only hope of finishing this is stopping the elemental now. We can try to draw it away from civilians but the most important thing is to keep it away from metal. It’ll get too powerful, then there’ll be no hope for us.” Beck instructed.

“I’m just worried, that me being here is putting my friend’s in danger and -”

“You’re worried about us putting your friends in danger,” Fury shouted from across the room, “You who set a drone strike on your own trip. Stark gave you this responsibility,” Fury poked harshly at the glasses hanging on his shirt, “But it’s clear to me that you are not ready for this.” Peter looked down guiltily, quickly excusing himself from the briefing room. He made his way up to the hotel roof, staring over the city destined for a disaster. He was only alone for about ten minutes before Beck came floating up to console him.

“How you feeling?” Beck asked, sitting down on the ledge beside Peter.

“I just didn’t expect to have to save the world this summer. I know it makes me sound like a jerk but -”

“You’re not a jerk for wanting a normal life kid. You're a good kid. There's a part of me that wants to tell you to just turn around, run away from all this. And then, there's another part of me that knows what we're about to fight. What's at stake. And I'm glad you're here. You’ve got these skills, these talents and I’d be honoured if you do decide to help me.” 

“I want to help, I’m just worried about my friends.”

“I get that, just keep them inside, in a safe place while we save the day. You know there’s some opera on tonight, everyone will be at the carnival so it’ll be empty.” Beck suggested.

“Yeah, I’m sure they’d love that.” Peter said sarcastically, but still appreciative of his idea.

So that’s how Peter found himself entering an opera house as the rest of the trip complained about missing out on the biggest party of the year, with only his two best friends aiding him in support of the idea. The situation was definitely improved by the fact Peter got to admire her in the emerald, satin dress she wore.

“You look really pretty by the way.” He whispered to her, loving the way she blushed lightly. It was always his favourite sight.

“Thanks, you too. Um, you also look pretty.” She mumbled back. You’re just friends, she repeated to herself again. But it was a harder and harder thought to believe. She was confused, to say the least, and her growing feelings for Beck only made it more difficult to comprehend. “I’m gonna go to our seat, I hope you can stick around for a bit.” She beamed, punching him lightly on the arm before inwardly cringing at her actions. Smooth, really. She walked away, smiling over her shoulder at the boy, feeling the longing gaze. Soon she spotted MJ and moved into the empty seat beside her.

“You guys are weird,” MJ said immediately after she sat down.

“Really, you wanna call me weird when they’re sitting right there.” She said, pointing to Ned and Betty, both gushing over each other as they shared a set of opera glasses.

“Yeah,” MJ replied bluntly, “especially Peter, don’t tell me you don’t notice him disappearing all the time. You’ve got to find that suspicious.” She panicked, trying to come up with some excuse to cover Peter’s ass.

“He just gets anxious, has to be alone sometimes to calm down.” She lied.

“Yeah, but there’s removing yourself from a situation and then there’s disappearing for hours at a time. Look he’s leaving right now.” She turned, following MJ’s stare to see Peter rushing at the hall. She was disappointed. Although she knew his duties took priority over this, she couldn’t help feel let down by missing out on a night with her best friend. “Come on, let’s see where he goes.” She glared at MJ as the girl started to get up out of her seat.

“MJ, sit down we can’t leave.” She tried to drag MJ back into her seat.

“Why not, Peter’s allowed to.”

“He’s having a bad day, he told me he’s just going back to the hotel.”

“Then we’ll be good friends and comfort him.” MJ pulled out of the other girl’s grip.

“Brad will be heart-broken.” She nodded to the boy MJ had been flirting on and off with all trip.

“He’ll live. Look, you can come with me or stay here and bore yourself to death. And if Peter’s fine, then we’re ditching him to go to the carnival.” Knowing there was no stopping MJ, she joined her in sneaking out of the theatre. She could at least keep her away from the city centre. Not long after the two girls left, Ned found himself in a similar predicament, getting dragged out by his girlfriend.

Despite all of her protests and best efforts to avoid it, she managed to find herself nearing the carnival. Finding Peter’s hotel room empty only boosted MJ’s curiosity and ended with her basically carrying her friend to the party. The streets were filled with lights and colour, market stools stocked with an array of foods and gifts. Not a minute went by without a string of fireworks going off in the sky. Rides sat at every corner of every plaza, all lit up with strings of LED lights. She had to admit it would have been one of the magical experiences of her life if it wasn’t for the looming threat of another attack. The huge crowds of people all in imminent danger.  And the top of a clocktower hid Peter, wearing his new, all-black suit, awaiting the arrival of the final elemental.

“How’s the suit?” Fury asked once everyone was in position.

“Um, it’s great, a little tight around the old web-shooter.” Peter joked, Fury’s eye roll was so clear Peter could practically hear it.

“Parker.”

“Okay, I’ll shut up.”

The two girls were wandering around, weaving through the crowds.

“MJ, we should head back before anyone notices we’re gone.” She said, tugging on MJ’s arm as though she was some little kid.

“I just wanna find what Peter’s up to, then we can do whatever you want.”

“God, you’re acting like some stalker.”

“He’s disappeared too many times for there to be a simple explanation. Surely you want to find out what he’s been hiding.”

“MJ, I’m fucking serious we have to get back.” She noticed steam rising from a nearby fountain and knew the elemental was going to strike at any moment. 

“What the hell.” MJ had spotted it too, and stepped towards it. The ground split beneath their feet, lava seeping through the cracks, sliding up the statue above the fountain.

“MJ, we need to get -” Before she could finish her sentence the elemental had formed, sending the surrounding concrete flying out in all directions. She grabbed onto MJ’s hand and sprinted as fast as they could in the opposite direction. Panic ensued around them, the girls found a smaller alleyway to hide down.

“Okay, he’s here.” Peter rushed out as soon as the chaos began. “Beck, are you ready?” 

“On your lead Spiderman.” Beck flew towards the centre, watching the elemental smashing down on its metal surroundings to gain more power. Beck landed, green dust clouding around him as he summoned his signature green triangles over his hands. Whilst Beck had the attention of the elemental, Peter swung down, smashing a pile of wood over its head to immobilise it for a second, giving Beck the opportunity to start firing at the elemental. Peter shot a web out at a fire hydrant, pulling it out of the ground to allow the water to spray out at the fire monster. The thing punched the wall Peter was stuck to, sending him flying into the base of the ferris wheel. Before he could do anything it had gotten to a carousel, and Peter was forced to watch it suddenly grow in size.

“Night monkey, night monkey help us.” Peter heard a familiar voice cry as he stood back up. He looked up to see Ned and Betty trapped, calling out for some unknown person. Ned stared down, giving Peter a look as to say ‘just go with it’.

“Oh no, no, no.” His friends in danger - his worst nightmare. The elemental came charging towards him, all of his webs were burned as soon as he tried to do anything to directly stop the monster. A mere second before it could strike Peter and the wheel, Beck threw up a force field, preventing any harm. But he couldn’t hold it for very long. Each hit sent sparks down into the heroes’ faces.

“We’ve gotta hit him with something he can’t absorb.”

“You go left, I’ll go right.” They nodded briefly before Beck sent to force field outwards, pushing the elemental outwards. Beck flew up into the air, leaving Peter to swing toward the tallest building in the plaza. He ran up the wall, successfully distracting it for long enough for Beck to get to a better, higher position. Before the elemental could hit him, Peter flipped off the building, shooting a web onto a piece of rumble, flinging it into the monster. This gave Beck the opportunity to attack the elemental. “That hurt him, keep going.” Beck instructed. Peter repeatedly picked up and threw pieces of concrete rumble. But that didn’t hold it off for too long. Soon it had smashed a fist into the ground, sending a line of fire to the ferris wheel, knocking the wheel off its hinge. The screams of Peter’s friends filled the air. Peter went to shoot a web to help them, only to find it not connecting to the actual wheel, instead to some invisible force. He tried to pull his web back in only to find it flying away with some unknown piece of debris attached. It landed in the alleyway the two girls were hiding in.

“What the fuck,” MJ said as she picked it up, “These are Spiderman’s webs.” She stated.

“It can’t be, he’s a friendly neighbourhood Spiderman, he works in New York.” The other girl tried to reason.

“He was in Washington, maybe he likes to travel.” MJ shoved the object into her pocket.

Peter pushed the curiosity out of head and turned to focus on saving his friends. He webbed up to where Ned and Betty were trapped.

“Whatever happens, I’m glad we met.” Beck said to Peter.

“Beck, what are you doing?”

“What I should’ve done last time.” Beck began to absorb a swarm of energy, building it up before flying into the centre of the monster. The fire was replaced with the green of Beck’s powers, causing it to explode with a blast of energy. Peter swung down to help an injured Beck up. Before he knew it, his best friend was running out of her hiding space, flinging her arms around Beck. He gripped onto her instinctively, holding on to her for dear life.

���What are you doing here?”

“MJ’s too stubborn for her own good.” She laughed. “Thank god you’re alright. You saved everyone, what are you gonna do now hero?”

“This.” He said, leaning down to kiss her.  She was surprised at his boldness at first, but quickly allowed him to deepen it as he shamelessly shoved his tongue into her mouth. It was passionate and messy, a rush of all their built up emotions. It was as though everyone else had disappeared, Peter and MJ were gone, Fury’s car pulling up didn’t exist - it was just the two of them. It carried on like that until they heard a loud cough from Fury. They broke apart, still remaining in each other’s arms. She flushed, giggled nervously at everyone’s stares.

“That the last of them?” Fury asked. Beck nodded. “But that won’t be the last threat, Hill and I are attending the headquarters in Berlin tomorrow, you should join us.”

“I’d be honoured.” Beck stepped away from her to shake Fury’s hand. “I’m taking you out tonight.” He turned to point at her, she agreed eagerly. “I’ll pick you up at 10. And you Spiderman, need to come with me, celebrate before my date.” 

“I’m not 21.” Was all Peter could come up with.

Peter had watched the interaction from afar, his heart breaking every second. He now truly believed he had no chance.

Taglist Open:

@cool-ontherun-world 

@eleventhdoctorsangel 

@chubby-tink

@eridanuswave

room nine- h.h.j

a/n: ok sorry guys this is long only because i wanted to add some narrative haha. 

warning: smut, anal, lots and lots and lots of dirty talk omg. this is probably one of the most dirtiest things i’ve ever wrote and im surprised its not about changbin sksksk

»»————-　♡　————-««

from high school nerds to the most popular instagram users-- your school had it all. known for academic excellence and most drug addicts, lordseochangbin high school [my inspiration is wack im sorry] was almost like it’s own city. cafe’s and restaurants filled the lunch area’s and a small police station near the corner ensured it’s safety.

you were no part of this typical society however, you in fact were like the small crumb that fell from the loaf of bread that we call “the social status”. at the top of the social triangle, or piece of bread i guess, was the queen of all churches and god’s brightest angel- jennifer. jennifer in fact didn’t seem too holy when she wore those see-through tank tops and short plaid skirts to amuse her fuckboy, hwang hyunjin. you’re probably thinking, “oh this is way too typical--” and that’s because it is. hyunjin at the top, you.. somewhere in the bottom. 

anyways, it was finally winter break which meant the annual “party at the hwang’s” but word has it this year his little girlfriend wasn’t going to be there. that’s right, jennifer was going on vacay. this meant everyone was invited to hyunjin’s party, something that jennifer would’ve disapproved of if she knew. “come on y/n! just put a little makeup on, you’ll look gorgeous” you rolled your eyes at your friend before finally obliging, “finee, let’s just go and come back”. you closed your eyes as your friend applied some eye shadow and did some finishing touches, and after a couple outfits you finally decided on a black dress and thigh-high boots. 

“how do i look?” you said, doing a little twirl to show off the outfit.

your friend slapped your shoulder, her last drink obviously taking its toll. “fucking sexy, now lets go!”

»»————-　♡　————-««

the hwang’s mansion was huge, music blasting through the roof as you walked in. in the midst of time, all eyes turned to your beautiful figure, quickly acknowledging the arrival of a beautiful stranger- little did they know it was the shy girl in the corner of science class everyday. the makeup bought you some confidence, something you wished you had when jennifer bullied you everyday.

in hyunjin’s eyes she probably looked like an angel, but to you and everyone else she was worse than the devil. now that she wasn’t here you decided to let it all go. the trauma of having to pull out garbage from your hair to cleaning your soaked p.e. clothes, you decided to forget them on the dance floor. 

grabbing a drink from the servant, you noticed a note with a number reflecting on the disco lights. this caught your attention, forcing you to finish the drink and turn the cup around. on the bottom it read, “you’re invited to room nine”

“room nine?” you muttered to yourself, looking up at the top floor of the mansion home. you noticed each door was in fact labeled, the number nine of the detailed door almost glowing and compelling you to come inside. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

before you knew it, you found yourself opening the door to room nine. your curiosity got the best of you and now here you were, no one knowing your whereabouts as you secretively stepped inside.

“welcome” a somewhat familiar voice said. you turned around to see hyunjin sitting on a love sofa, one hand patting the seat next to him for you to sit down.

“thank you” you replied, sitting next to him with your voice soft and gentle. you weren’t sure of his intentions, which actually frightened you considering he was your bully’s boyfriend. did you do something wrong? hurt jessica in some way? concerns of what hyunjin was going to do to you filled your thoughts before he could continue.

“no problem, how are you?” he rested his chin on his hand, facing towards you as you adjusted your dress in your seat.

“im doing alright, yourself?” 

“im great, just horny as usual” he casually replied. these words ran through your head in a millisecond, sending spirals of hormones through your veins and making you more eager than ever. 

you took a deep breath as you quickly processed what he could possibly be suggesting. hyunjin wouldn’t fuck with the school’s outcast, he’d wreck his reputation. unless... he didn’t know it was you. maybe he thought you were someone else with the fancy attire, decent makeup and somewhat overflowing confidence. 

you sat up straight, placing a hand on his thigh before giving it a squeeze. “you need help with that?” you asked, looking him right in the eyes.

“well, if you offer i cant refuse” he said, adjusting himself in his seat to be comfortable. “you enjoy helping strangers?” he asked.

god, he really had no idea who you were. you took a deep breath before accepting the fact that you were merely a stranger to him before putting on your facade.

“i don’t usually make this offer, if that’s what you’re asking” you replied vaguely.

hyunjin leaned back on the couch, his hands grazing yours. “why am i so lucky then? you’re making me curious now” he pouted

“hmm.. let’s just say i know a good guy when i see one” 

to your surprise, hyunjin got up. he walked over to the bed behind the sofa stripping himself until he had the bare minimum. you sat in shock as he freed his throbbing dick from his blue jeans and watched as he sat down on the edge of the bed. 

“is this what you call a good boy?” you got up from your seat, a chuckle leaving your lips as you watched him pump himself. “i can tell you’re gonna do such a good job” you whispered seductively in front of him

hyunjin looked up to you curiously, “i thought you’d be the one doing a good job” a smirk formed with hyunjin’s lips as he watched you fall on your knees to him. “let me show you what i can do” you licked a strip down his angry red member before taking it in your mouth whole, your hands pumping anything that couldn’t fit. you felt hyunjin’s hips buck, slowly thrusting into your mouth as desperate grunts left his plump lips.

“fuck” he cursed, his nails digging into the comforter as you bobbed your head.

you sucked him off, standing up to raise his chin. “i never fuck with boys at parties, but look at you.. got me like your little slut” you said, your thumb brushing over his blush cheeks.

his hands wrapped around your waist as you fit in between his legs, your core throbbing from the heat and impatience. “im not complaining, you’re sucking so nicely babygirl” he replied as he ran his fingertips up and down the sides of your arms.

“though you could take this off” he suggested, tugging the bottom of your dress

“is that what you’d like daddy?” you said, pulling your dress up to give him a peek of your erected nipples

“mmm.. yes” he helped you get rid of your clothing before you were in between his legs again, his hands grabbing your ass

“you have such a nice ass.. do you appreciate anal?” he whispered, both his hands squeezing your ass tight so you were right against his body.

you leaned down so your hyunjin could feel your breath near his ear. the feeling of hyunjin teasing his member so close made you speechless but you managed to regain some strength to whisper back, “w-with you.. i’d love to”

“really? don’t stutter. give me a reason why i should” he said, spanking your ass so you knew it’d leave a perfect hand print of his till the morning.

“b-because you want it too” you replied hesitantly

“mhmm” he hummed, “you want to take my fat cock in your ass? i’d love to fuck you.. you’re so beautiful” he said, placing you on his lap

you jerked your hips against his, grabbing his hair as he assisted you in riding him. “i love it when you ride me like that babygirl” he held a tight grip on your waist making you whimper and you felt your stomach turning all kinds of reds and blues. 

you took a second to step back however, looking at hyunjin as he looked back at you. he was handsome, you had to admit. his hair stuck to his forehead, his face glistening in sweat, and the way his eyes closed in pleasure as you sped up. you pressed your lips against his, humming into the kiss as he laid on the bed and got on top of you.

he kissed your whole body up and down, you finding yourself squirming in pleasure as his touch cools you down. his hands roam around your luscious  curves before lifting your legs so your lips can meet again while his dick rubs against your pussy.

hyunjin slowly penetrates though your wet walls, stretching them with his swollen mushroom and sucking your tongue.

the feeling of his cock inside you makes you grab his hands, something the both of you weren’t used to, as your fingers intertwine. hyunjin wasn’t complaining about his however as he shoved more and more of his member down your pussy, stretching it to shape his thickness while you moan into his mouth.

“god, you’re so tight” hyunjin pounded your pussy harder, his balls slapping against your ass and you grab his hair as you feel his walls clench around him.

“you feel so good inside me” you whispered into his neck. hyunjin could simply stare into your eyes while kissing you, his fat cock pounding you faster and harder with every touch.

“it seems youre enjoying my dick after all” he said, you humming in agreement

hyunjin pulls out, taking a second to move your hair away from your face before gliding his dick in your ass. he steadily forces his juicy bell-end against you to break in. “mmm” he hums, “ im gonna enjoy your ass so much”

he glides his member in your booty and pounds you while kissing you, “make me cum in your ass babygirl” he grabs your ass and lifts you up faster, enjoying how your big tits rub against his chest

“i’m gonna cum” he says, your eyes closing at the feeling of him hitting your sweet spot before you could unconsciously reply, “fill me up love”

“i already have a girlfriend you know?” he replied, his hands intertwining with yours again

“what a dick..” you suddenly remember jennifer, someone you didn’t want to think about tonight. but this facade of yours covered the outcast who was bullied everyday, and you wanted payback. “does she do you like this?”

“no.. oh god no. no one does it like you, but you call me love and i don’t wanna break your heart baby”

you smirked, knowing he liked what he was doing before hyunjin’s fingers could tighten around yours as he cummed inside you, your high following after. your deep breaths filled the whole room as hyunjin collapsed onto the bed. he still held onto you however, kissing your knuckles. 

“you make me feel so dirty, knowing you have a girlfriend already” you said, making him laugh

“i’m such an asshole, i cheat on her so much. don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“used to..” you lied, “now i just wait until someone decent comes along”

“well i’m sure as hell not decent” he said, running his fingers though his hair as the two of you stared at the roof

“and i surely wasn’t considering you either” you said with a smile on your face. 

“hmph, glad you could just use me as your sextoy”

“im sorry, weren’t you the one that said you were horny?” hyunjin threw his hands up in defense, “okay, okay then. thank you for helping me though. you wanna stay here for the night? let me get you cleaned up”

he got up, releasing his fingers from yours but you wouldn’t let go. “can we just stay like this? put on a movie or something” 

hyunjin smiled, “i don’t think thats how this works, but ill stay with you since you took me in so well” 

for the rest of the night you laid on hyunjin’s chest as his fingers brushed through your hair, the perfect feeling to fall asleep to.

»»————-　♡　————-««

on monday morning, your friends went to grab some coffee before the three of you could receive a notification. 

“oh my god, hyunjin broke up with jennifer !” you spat out your coffee, your friends rushing to grab some tissues. 

“y/n! are you okay?!” 

“i’m fine.. lets just go to class” you said, your friends grabbing your coffee for you as the three of you walked to the school

you parted ways with your friends, soon after being encountered by the one and only jennifer. “oh hey! look it’s my favorite outcast!” she said sarcastically, shoving you onto the floor. your hands were quick to hold you up, avoiding you from a tragic fall. you couldn’t help but to laugh however, if only jennifer knew you fucked her mans and got him to admit you gave him better sex. 

“no response? maybe i should just-” she raised her leg, making your eyes squint before someone could step in between you two.

he held out a hand, helping you up. “shall i walk you to class?” he asked, ignoring jennifer’s presence. 

“me?” you asked.

“yes, you dumbass. lets go” hyunjin dragged you away from the scene.

“you knew it was me all along?” you asked

“of course, what do you take me for? some horny fuckboy?” he sarcastically asked, making you laugh. “ i actually had a good time that night, lets go on an actual date next time” he said before stopping in front of your classroom.

“ill be here after” he said, kissing your forehead. “later” you replied. 

you watched hyunjin as he walked to his class, staring in disbelief. so maybe you weren’t an outcast anymore? or maybe you were just a lucky guest of room number nine.

Five Times Eve Baird Said Jump

Fandom: The Librarians

Relationship: Platonic Eve Baird and Cassandra Cillian

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction

Read Part One

Part Two

CILLIAN

Cass thought that the whole ‘jumping from a great height’ was just a one-time thing. It wasn’t. At least she had something softer to land on than Ezekiel did. Originally for Writer’s Month Day 13: Music

“Why can’t I ever go to a museum for normal reasons!” Eve lamented, and Cassandra hid a wince.

“Uh…”

“Don’t answer that!” Eve snapped, banging on the locked door once more before turning around to survey the cramped storage room. “Alright, please tell me that you worked out exactly how that grave robber was controlling the rock dudes?”

“Dr Nair’s not a grave robber, he’s an archaeologist,” Cass explained, “And as far as I can tell, the lute is like a remote. Playing the right notes in the right order wakes the shabti up, and then another set of notes makes them obey the player.”

“Archaeologists are just legal grave robbers,” Eve muttered as she started pulling at a half-open cabinet. Cassandra took her place at the door, leaning down to look at the lock. It’s times like this that she wished Ezekiel was here.

The Clipping’s Book had sent her and Eve to the Grand Egyptian Museum. It wasn’t finished yet – the building was mostly completed bar the outside cosmetic stuff, but the interior and exhibits still had a lot of work to be done on them before the grand opening. The article had been about the newest archaeological find that was to be the crowning piece of the opening – the largest collection of intact shabti, life sized and incredibly detailed, along with intact musical instruments and scrolls containing Pashedu’s dissertations on magic. It was those dissertations that put them into this mess. Eve and Cass had only been in the museum for maybe ten minutes, dodging escaping construction workers and archivists before being caught by the shabti and their master.

Dr Rashida Nair, the main archaeologist in charge of the dig, had been quite upset with how his finds were being treated and accredited. None of his colleagues believed in the myths of Heka’s Lute – a 19th Dynasty instrument given to artesian Pashedu. The deity of magic, before Isis gained that domain, was so impressed with the mans’ skill that he granted Pashedu the ability to bring them to life with the lute. Dr Nair decided to prove his colleagues wrong and regain Pashedu’s dissertations at the same time. Cass had been able to decipher that much from Dr Nair’s research notes before the man himself found them.

A loud crash shocked Cass out of her reverie. Eve stood before the cabinet, now on its side, with hands on her hips. In the wall, almost level with the ceiling and almost two metres over Eve’s head, was an air duct. “What do you say to getting out of here, Cass?”

She walked to Eve’s side and frowned. “Uh, I don’t know if I can get up there.” While she’d become a lot fitter in her time as a Librarian – thanks to her drill sergeant of a Guardian – she wasn’t exactly a gymnast.

“You can if you climb on my shoulders,” Eve said, already crouching.

That was easier said than done.

Cass wobbled on Eve’s shoulders, feet wrapped around her back and fingers probably holding onto the blonde hair a lot harder than necessary. “I really don’t feel very comfortable up here!” Her mind immediately flickered to all the ways this could go wrong – how injured they would both get if she fell – what would happen if they landed on the corner of the cabinet –

“I’m not going to drop you, Red. Trust me.” Eve still sounded way too nonchalant as she stepped onto the cabinet, hands wrapped around Cass’ calves. “If you stand, do you think you could unscrew the vent?”

She squinted. “Yeah, I’d just need something like…” One of Eve’s hands moved away from her leg, making her yelp, and reappeared with a Swiss army knife.

“This?”

“Yes, that’s perfect!” Cass squealed and waved her arms as Eve’s hands grabbed her feet and pushed upwards. After a moment, she recovered enough to press her hands against the wall and look down. Eve glanced up with a smirk.

“You gotta stand on my shoulders, Red.”

“But you could give me a little more warning first,” Cass grumbled. Eve’s hands stayed around her calves as she balanced on strong shoulders. She started on the screws, dropping each one into her pocket.

“I really need to get you your own pocketknife, same with Stone, if he doesn’t already. Everyone should have one. Although I’m pretty sure Jones has it covered with his lock picks…”

Cass pulled out the final screw and tugged at the vent grille, almost dropping it in surprise. It was lighter than she thought it would be. Carefully, almost overbalancing, she balanced it on top of the cabinet further in the corner. “Alright, now what?”

“Now, we crawl.” Eve grabbed Cass’ feet again and pushed.

She yelped. The air vent seemed a lot smaller now that she was trying to climb into it. It took a lot of wiggling to get herself in there, since the duct was only about five centimetres wider than her shoulders on either side. Once her legs were in, Cass twisted onto her side as best as she could and looked back. “Again with the no warning!”

There was a huff of laughter. “Sorry, Red!”

“How are you going to get up?”

Eve didn’t answer. Cass heard a handful of footsteps, a bang of shoe against metal, a grunt and suddenly there were hands on the edge of the vent. A couple of soft thuds reverberated through the wall as Eve used her feet to help propel herself upwards, before her face appeared in the opening. As Eve pulled herself the rest of the way in, Cass took a moment to admire the play of light and shadows against the muscles of her arms. Even though she sees Eve as an older-sister/mother figure, she could still appreciate a strong woman – she’d always been a little weak for them.

After a moment of struggle, Eve was fully in the vent, blocking the light with her broader shoulders. “Okay. Cass? Think you could work out how to get to the roof from here? I’m pretty sure Nair’s got a helicopter up there – the rock dudes were taking the scrolls upstairs, not down.”

“Well, the room they put us in was on the ground floor, south side based on how the light was coming in through the windows as we passed…” Cass mused to herself. In the close confines of the vent, she couldn’t indulge in the full extent of her synaesthesia, but she could still see the building floor plans Ezekiel had found for her. He’d been bitter about being kept back by the cold he’d gained from his and Eve’s dip into the Indian Ocean, but he could still hack into the museums systems. “Considering the building layout, the size of the lower exhibition halls, the current level of construction and the position of the loading dock compared to where we are… if we head straight along this duct, then take the second – no, third left, that will lead us to the larger main vent that runs straight from the main lobby of the museum to the loading dock. They haven’t finished the north wall, so the vent will open up there. We can get out and use the outer scaffolding to reach the roof. That should stop Dr Nair or the shabti from noticing us.”

A hand clasped her ankle for a moment. “Well, lead on Red. Let’s go stop a grave robber.”

As the two started army crawling through the vents, Cass heard Eve mutter – “I honestly thought I’d be dealing with mummies when I said that…”

****************

Cass had a much better appreciation for Ezekiel if this is what he went through on some of his heists. She was regretting wearing a short-sleeved top now, with her elbows red and raw from the crawl through the vents, and her knees aching under her tights. Eve seemed to be faring better, but the back of her shirt was damp with sweat, and there were bleeding grazes up the back of her upper arms. She’d saved Cass from falling a dozen metres into a ventilation shaft leading to the basement when she hadn’t noticed the gap in the vent. The grazes came from her lunge to catch Cass’ waist, and then the desperate pull upwards. They’d both been a lot more careful after that.

Eve nudged her. “Ready to start climbing?”

Looking up, Cass swallowed. The scaffolding resembled a fire escape – metal platforms connected by ladders – but a lot skinnier and creakier. “No,” she sighed, “But we’re going to be doing it anyway.”

The climb wasn’t as nerve wracking as Cass thought it would be. Eve climbed up after her, in case she slipped, and as long as she didn’t look down, it was almost fun. Partway up, as they inched across a beam to get to the next ladder, Eve tapped her. “Hey Red, what’s that?”

Cass squeezed past the pillar of large orange buckets and smiled. “It’s a waste thing, I think. Jake was telling me about them. It’s so that the builders can send waste down without having to carry it – kinda like a garbage disposal.” The long tube was made out of buckets as wide as the chutes had been inside, all stacked together with the bottoms removed.

“Huh.”

Then they cleared the last ladder.

The building was shaped vaguely like an angled rectangle. The back of the museum was wider than the front, and the connected front courtyard extended far enough to make the entire thing look like a triangle without the point. The roof itself was made up of six upward-angled roof sheets, running perpendicular to the front of the museum, resembling a fan. In the middle was a row of concrete sheets, splitting the museum into front and back and angled opposite to the rest of the roof. This was where Dr Nair had set up his helicopter. A line of shabti holding scrolls were slowly climbing out of a maintenance hatch under the musical instructions of the doctor.

Eve tapped her. “Okay, if I make a distraction, do you think you could get the lute off the doctor and, I don’t know, turn the shabti off?”

Cass frowned. “Maybe… Magic tends to follow the concept of duality, so if I play the activation notes backwards, it should stop the shabti.”

“Should? I don’t like should.” Despite her joking tone, Eve looked concerned.

“I am relatively sure. Worst case, it does nothing.”

“If it doesn’t work, you might need to break the lute,” Eve said after a moment. She spoke over Cassandra’s protests. “I know, preserving history and all that, but we need to stop these shabti, so let’s hope that your music theory works.”

“Alright…” The reverse notes would work – just like the natural world, magic follows a set of rules, and according to those rules all Cass would have to do was reverse the notes. She liked rules. They were like quadratic equations or linear functions – they had one right answer. No grey areas.

“Anyway, I’m going to head to the other side of the roof – once I get to that roof section there,” here, Eve pointed at the section one space from the furthest edge, “I want you to head along this side and duck behind the raised section the helicopter’s on. Once I see you there, I’ll distract the shabti long enough for you to get the lute.” There was a pause, and Eve glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “Are you going to be okay getting the lute?”

Cass knew Eve was thinking about the last time Cass played distraction, and the injury she’d gotten. Frustration made her tone sharper. “I’ll be fine Eve. I can handle one archaeologist.”

A calming hand rested on her shoulder. “I know you can Cass. I just – I’m always going to worry about you. Same with Jones and Stone. Same with Jenkins, same with Flynn. You guys are my charges. I’ll always be concerned.”

“I know that,” Cass responded, “But you’re also going to have to trust us to do our job. I can handle this.”

Eve gave her a sharp nod and breathed in deep. “Alright. Remember, wait until I get to that fifth section, and then go.”

The two women split, and Cass watched with envy as Eve steadily, gracefully, crept along the edge of the roof. The second her feet hit the fifth section, Cass was off. Her steps may not have been quite as sure, but she still made a steady pace towards the helicopter. Dr Nair wasn’t paying attention to anything but the scrolls and his lute, fingers picking at the strings almost absentmindedly as he barked orders at the shambling shabti. The sound of heavy stone feet hitting the concrete roof masked any noise Cass could make. Hidden behind the last section, she wondered about what kind of distraction Eve would make. Eve always had a gun on her, so maybe she’d shoot something? Or maybe she’d use something else – in her time as Guardian, Eve had learned the importance of not damaging artefacts, so she might try something that wouldn’t harm the shabti. There was some construction stuff on the far edge, perhaps she’d throw something?

As it was, all of Cass’s guesses were way off. Eve sprinted towards the helicopter, not trying to hide her approach in any way. At the last minute, she veered around a shabti, snatched the scroll it held, and sprinted across the roof. As she ran past Cass’s hiding place, Eve shot her a wink.

“Hey, Doctor!” She yelled, “I’m pretty sure this scroll is valuable – be a shame if I tore it!”

“Shabti!” Dr Nair screamed, strumming a rapid tune on the lute, “Stop that woman! Collect the scroll without damage!”

Instantly, the shabti dropped whatever they were holding and ran towards Eve with all the speed they could muster – which, admittedly, wasn’t much.

“I read somewhere that papyrus dissolves in vinegar – maybe I should test it!” Eve yelled in response, darting to the edge of the roof. With a wave, she jumped off the edge. Cass stifled her shock with her hand. Eve is fine, she reassured herself, there’s probably scaffolding on the other side, she’s just jumped down a level or something. She’s fine.

Most of the shabti were gone now, with the last of them only a few metres away. Cass took her chance.

Dr Nair only noticed her arrival as the lute slipped from his hands. It was a surprisingly heavy instrument, Cass noticed as she stumbled away. The doctor lunged at her, but suddenly Eve was there, catching his arms and locking them behind his back.

Not for the first time, Cass wondered what the hell Eve learned in the military.

“Play the notes!” Eve shouted, one eye on the shabti who had reversed their path and were now headed in their direction.

It should be noted that Cass has never really played an instrument before. Once her parents realised how mathematically and scientifically inclined she was, things like the creative arts – music, painting, dancing, drama – all slipped to the wayside. Thankfully, the activation notes for the shabti weren’t the most difficult piece of music to play… and the ancient Egyptian lute only had two strings. Her fingers slid along the long neck of the lute, tassels tickling her arm. Cass winced as the strings tore at her fingers, but that first note still rang out.

The shabti stopped.

Another note, with fingers just a little bit higher. A longer note with fingers closer to the oval-shaped body of the lute. A couple of quick notes – not as quick as the doctor was able to play them, but a close enough facsimile – higher than others played. The whole tune was a discordant mess, given that it was being played backwards, but Cass was pleased to see that it seemed to be working.

As the final note was strummed, the doctor was shocked out of whatever stupor he had fallen into. “You idiots! You’ve destroyed everything!”

Eve hauled him around and let him go, putting herself in between Cass and the archaeologist who was practically frothing at the mouth. “I’m pretty sure the museum will see it just a little differently considering we’ve stopped you from running off with their artefacts.”

Dr Nair laughed hysterically, backing further down the roof. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you? What you just played wasn’t to turn them off or whatever you thought it was – it was to destroy them.”

Cass’s breath caught in her throat. Magic lies on duality. The activation notes didn’t turn the shabti on, it brought them to life. By reversing the notes… Cass essentially ordered them to die. Spinning around, she saw the shabti, still clustered around them and the helicopter, started to glow. Orange lines etched themselves into the hieroglyphics and filled their eyes. Even as she watched, the orange seemed to grow darker.

Eve grabbed her arm. “Cass, we need to go!”

Further down the roof, the doctor had already gotten to the maintenance hatch – it slammed shut inches in front of Eve’s fingers. She could barely hear Dr Nair’s laughter. A frown pulled at her face. “Well, that was rude.”

Then Cass was being pulled away again, back to where they got to the roof in the first place. Glancing down at the lute still in her hand, she went pale. She had brushed up on a little ancient Egyptian before coming here – and those looked a lot like a countdown etched in glowing orange on the bowl of the instrument. “Uh, Eve?”

“Cass, we need to hurry up!” Eve started to climb down the scaffolding, but Cass pulled her back.

“We’re not going to have time!” She waved the lute closer to her Guardian’s face, and when there was no comprehension, she huffed. “This is a countdown!” And they didn’t have very much time.

Eve glanced down for a second, then to her left. A strange look came over her face. “Cass, we’re going to need to jump.”

My Guardian has gone mad. “Eve, are you crazy?! That’s like a twenty-metre drop!”

“Not if we take the slide.” And then Eve had an arm around her waist and was pulling her over the edge. The thump of their feet hitting the scaffolding made Cass’s teeth rattle. To their left was a bright orange bucket-tube.

“Oh no. No, no, no!” Cass looked on helplessly as Eve guided herself into the tube.

“It’ll be okay Cass. I’ll catch you at the bottom if I need to.” And then Eve was gone. The tube shuddered. There was the echo of Eve crying out in… excitement?

Cass sighed. Of course her Guardian was an adrenaline junkie. A flash of orange caught her eye. There was a curved squiggled shape on the lute. Nine. It changed. Eight. Again. Seven. Cass shuffled into the tube. Held the lute to her chest. Took in a deep breath.

Eve’s voice came from the depths of the tube.

“Just jump Cass!”

She jumped.

At the bottom, she spluttered as she sunk into a sand dune. After a moment, Eve’s smiling face appeared above her with a helping hand. “That was fun, right?”

No one would blame her for immediately tugging her Guardian into the sand and trying to bury her, right?

Double Grand Emporium, Part 1 (Lego Main Street)

I bought a second Grand Emporium shortly before the Great Stay At Home with intent of merging the two into one ultrastore with a DRASTICALLY rebuilt interior, because the original interior is really really sad. I’ve been tweaking all of the modular building sets I’ve got in some form or another, some more drastically than others (the Palace Cinema interior is a whole big project), but the Emporium REALLY needed it.

So these (I’d already reworked the one on the right somewhat)...

Went through this...

To become this

Each floor is a solid piece, but the roof I’ve split into separate halves, since they’re very flat and would not be remotely stable.

I did a LOT of rekajiggering the exterior to hide as much of the “two kits smashed together” look as possible. Like, you can REALLY see it in the side-by-side and earlier build

This took slicing the width of each half down by 2 studs to get things even, which led to a cascading series of rebuild challenges.

I’m also really happy with getting the billboards diagonal, and making the billboards look nicer, and the extra roof-ledge detailing, all via pieces that did not exist when this set was first made.

And whoah nelly, was the original interior sad. This set was like... the second or third of these to even HAVE an interior with anything inside it, so they were very rudimentary. So of course, I hadda fix that. The original... (the following is not my pic, it’s from the “A Lego A Day” blog, look up “legomyphoto.wordpress.com”)

And the new take:

I spent a TON of time working out how to make the new double escalator with the “glass” sides work. It is unfortunately not a super-secure build, notably the outer walls and black “handrails” are mostly held in place with a single stud, not two, so they can get bumped out of position. But putting them against walls and columns keeps the walls from getting pushed outward, and the steps were raised one plate so they keep the walls from being pushed inward. Sadly, there’s not much I can do about the black 1x8 handrails on top to make them more secure that doesn’t involve glue and I’m NOT doing that.

Early escalator test-build pics follow. The blue triangle piece sadly does not exist in black yet, which is frustrating because it fills that handrail gap about as good as I could ever have hoped. Please let that piece happen in black soon.

I moved the dressing room to under the escalator... or more accurately, I made a dressing room period, since the original is just a curtain in the middle of the sales floor. Yikes. There’s a bench, mirror, hanging racks, and breakaway wall in the back for access.

And a reworking of the service counter to display jewelry...

The upper floors I’ve not gotten as much interior work done, they are mostly empty, but it’s coming along... top floor is toys & games, as it was before, only now there’s gonna be... a lot.

Original (again via “legomyphoto”)...

Bebuild...

Of course I had to have Lego-in-Lego recursion going on.Really happy with how the build-a-minifigure stand turned out, even if it too is not the most stable build (the whole top is held in place by a single off-center stud). The plan is to put more Lego boxes on the right, “action figures” and dolls/plush toys along the front, some sports gear and Lego Star Wars/Minecraft accessories (roleplay!) along the left wall leading to the game wall.Probably some more mannequins of merch-folk (it’s why I got the Spider-Man, among others).

Sadly the new build really doesn’t have room for the chandeliers so I’m not sure what I’m gonna do with those.

Middle floor is housewares and I’ve done so little there it’s not worth pics yet. Just imagine the top floor there, only with another escalator leading up and nothing else on the floor yet.

Whee!

Innocent Desire (Kyoru commission)

Summary: In which I was commissioned to write a fic about kyo and tohru pinning with the new found sexual tension kyoru apparently have in the new madubachi chapters haha.  You can find commission details on my blog.

Kyo focused on the distant sound of waves gently splashing upon the sea shore. He closed his eyes, making his way to the sandy beach, listening to the alluring sound of water. But the calming sound seemed to do no good. The love he felt was like a kindling flame gnawing away inside him. It was the same as always: Tohru sleeping under the same roof – they lived together, after all. But this time, his heart wouldn’t settle at the thought. Sharing a vactation house together, all but a paper thin wall between them… it was enough to send his heart racing. Enough to send him out for a midnight walk hoping the chilled air and gentle waves would cool his heated heart.

He’d never felt this way before. Girls were something to be feared, something to avoid, not something to crave, not something to desire. She was such an innocent girl. But that made it not only the more sinful, all the enticing. His mind was perverse; he hated himself for wondering it, but how would she act… like that?  The idea was almost absurd; Tohru was a sweet and innocent girl, but she was only human. What kind of sound would she make? Would it be just as sweet as the way she called his name, if not even sweeter…?

“Ugh!” Kyo groaned aloud, shaking his bright orange hair as a furious blush painted his face. He hated himself for such thoughts. He didn’t want to be disrespectful, but he was just so damn in love with her he couldn’t help but wonder.  He’d left the house to get away from these thoughts – he’d even slapped on his swim shorts; a douse in the cold, harsh ocean was what he needed to cool off. His footsteps sank into the soft sand as he stormed, so heated he was hardly paying attention to what he was drawing close to; at the very least the air was cool and refreshing, but still his body was blazing.

After finally paying attention, he stopped, eyes widening at the sight before him.

His heart soared.

The moon shone on the horizon of the still, shimmering ocean, and Tohru stood before it, acting as his beacon of light both literally as well as figuratively as the moon circled as a gigantic spotlight behind her, casting her body in a beautiful, silver glow. She looked so angelic, like a single ray of hope streaming from the heaven’s to cure his curse, his locked away heart. Yet Kyo’s mind was plagued with sin. He focused on that smooth, visible patch of skin on her lower back, the beautiful, ridges of her spine highlighted silver. Before he knew it his eyes trailed downward, following the triangle of her pink swimsuit that clenched between her cheeks, showing a tiny glimpse of her behind. Her long, sleek legs seemed to glow in porcelain in the moonlight, dipping into the crystalised water….

Stop you creep! Kyo shouted internally, hating himself for such disrespectful gaze to this beautiful angel of a person.

“Kyo…kun?” she whispered. Her long brown hair whisped over her face as she turned her head to meet him, the sleek brown flashing in the moonlight.

She was too far away to hear. But Kyo recognised the call of his name from the movements of her lips; lips he’d watched always so intently, longing to kiss, now noting how they glistened in this light, just begging for the touch of another…

Of course, he’d tried to avoid her. All he would do was break her heart regardless. Yet here she was, both figuratively and literally standing as the light of his life with the moonlight streaming out behind her. How could he resist such a beautiful sight? He was drawn to her like a moth to flame, knowing such a relationship could only end in heartbreak, yet tantilised by hope. He wasn’t fit for love. Nor could he anyway – he was to be locked away, without ever knowing the touch of another. But that moonlight. That light of hope and more importantly the girl in front of it, it drew him in, reaching forward as if striving for an unobtainable heaven.

“Tohru,” he called, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“O-oh…” Tohru whimpered.

So much had happened with them. But with the height difference she found her eyes plastered to the broad shape of his pectoral; blushing, she staggered backwards, sending crystal  droplets spraying. The water hit Kyo’s bare chest and made the beautifully sculpted ripples of his abs glisten wetly in the shimmer of moonlight. Her eyes glimpsed, pupils dilating with the sight of something she enjoyed, but she stepped backwards, looking away to hide the blossoming blush on her features.

“Kyo-kun, what are you doing here?” she whispered meekly.

“I came to have some time to myself. Instead I found something better,” he replied. He smiled. “I was going to ask you the same question.”

Tohru crossed her hands over her chest. It made her dainty breasts push together – Kyo averted his gaze quickly.

“I…had such a good time with you here before. My mind was unrested, so I wanted to recall those moments.”

Kyo’s heart plunged. How he wanted to reach out. Hold her. Tell her he loved her. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t good enough for this incredible girl. And he was going to be locked away.  This couldn’t end in anything but heartbreak.

“Tohru…”

He found his arms reaching out of their own accord. Willing to embrace, then he stopped millimetres away from her flesh, breathing down her neck. Their chests bumped, soft into hard, but Kyo’s hands curled into fists by his sides, his gentle breath sending quivers down Tohru’s spine.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

They both knew they loved each other. But fate wouldn’t allow it. Kyo found himself trembling, every fibre of his being screaming to take this girl into his arms, to take her and never let go.

Tohru’s face scrunched. A little whimper passed through her lips, a watery glimmer consuming her eyes.

“No,” Kyo breathed, “no, please, I can’t bare to see you cry…”

He took her hand. Their fingers intertwined like a lock and a key, so perfect for one another, yet star-crossed by a fate that wouldn’t allow it. Tohru instinctively jumped. The blossoms of static that coursed through them, tickling and surging like a swarm of butterflies fluttering inside him, could only mean one thing: it was love. They both knew it. As he let her ashore, there was a magnet pull between them; an unseen force urging these bodies to come together, yet fate wouldn’t allow it.

“Come. Look at the stars with me. You’d like that right?” Kyo said.

Tohru nodded. First she sat down, folding her knees as if shy but then she… lay down. Her eyes never left Kyo’s as she laid her body flat on the ground, as if enticing him to look.

Kyo had never seen such a beautiful sight in his life. Laid flat, the swimsuit clung to the slender curves of her body, her bare stomach looked unbelievably kissable. Her deep brown hair spiralled around her, eyes of the same colour glittering in the starlight. Kyo blushed hard, he had to look away , trying his best to respect her– there was no way this sweet girl was enticing him to look.

“Kyo-kun.” Her sweet, tender voice sent quivers down his spine as she extended her arm. “Please lie next to me.”

Kyo’s heart was going crazy. He almost wanted to flee – he wasn’t cut out for this romance crap, if he let himself love her, he’d ruin it. But her smile. Her beautiful smile beaming brighter than the moonlight – how could he say no? He’d hurt this girl so much already. He couldn’t bare to do it again.

He took her hand, biting his lip and almost shaking, and got on his knees.

“It’s okay,” Tohru said sweetly. “You deserve to be loved. Even if you can’t see it yet, you’re incredible.”

His caged heart soared. The elation of love lit his body.

“Tohru,” he said shakily.

It couldn’t be done. He couldn’t be free to love her without breaking her heart.

“Please let me love you,” Tohru whispered.

No longer in control, a slave to his desires, he crawled over to Tohru and got on all fours on top of her. Water cascaded down his chest and thick muscular arms, yet he maintained a distance, careful not to instigate any embrace. He bit his lip, afraid of what might happen if he let it roam free.

“Just this once,” he whispered in a rugged lilt of a voice. “Just this once. …Can I kiss you?”

Tohru’s eyes went doey. Mesmerised by the fiery haired man towering over her with his fierce looking beauty, the man she loved and yearned for so deeply.

“Yes,” she whispered, almost inaudibly, hand reaching to caress his hair.

Kyo drew in close, shaking, Afraid to open his heart, Afraid of the pain he might reap on her if he got locked away in that room. But his heart was in full bloom, sapping all reason from his mind.

Their lips met in a delicate, tepid touch. First they held the kiss. Simply enjoying the touch as supernovas of goodness exploded inside them. His hands wanted to wander so badly but they refrained; instead he put all his work into the kiss, working gentle yet passionately.  He whisked his lips over hers over and over again, caressing and tugging, body literally wilting with goodness that he groaned, sparks flying at each touch.

But it was too good. Kyo was afraid of falling in too deep and pulled back, softly tugging her bottom lip with his own, gazing lovingly into her eyes as he left her.

They panted, Bodies surging with goodness. But that was all Kyo could manage for now. That was all his fragile heart could take.

Tenderly, he stroked Tohru’s cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He’d never wanted to embrace someone more in his life. He didn’t care about the curse anymore. He needed to hold her. Feel her body against his let her know how much he loved her, even if he couldn’t say it back.

Kyo scooped her up in his arms, squeezing her as tightly as he could before it was over, longing for this human embrace to last forever as he indulged the beautiful soft touch of her body.

He transformed in a burst of orange, and a little tangerine cat shifted his place.

Tohru picked him up, holding him to her shoulder while she stroked his fur.

“I love you, Kyo,” she whispered. “ I’ll wait however long it takes for you to be able to say it back.”

KZ Sachsenhausen

One of mine... 

KZ Sachsenhausen ; there and then, here and now

In the summer of 1936 the posters on the underground in Berlin declaimed to every traveller, “Escape the big smoke. Come and enjoy the forests and lakes of Oranienburg". A forty-five minute train journey from S-Bahn Friedrichstrasse (1), in the heart of the city, brought sun seekers into the pleasant countryside to the north.

And why not? The dappled forest paths and clear lakes offered welcome relief from the thronged streets of the capital, streets filled with thousands of visitors who had come for the Olympiad being held in the new stadium, built to the west of the city.

People from all over the world had flown in to Flughafen Tempelhof, the airport whose buildings were a stone testament to the vitality of the l000 Year Reich. From there, visitors jostled along Swastika-hung streets to view the city sights: the Brandenburg Gate, the treasures of the Pergamon Museum, Schloss Charlottenburg; to climb to the top of the Siegessäule (2) not yet moved, on Hitler's order, from its home in front of the Reichstag; to stroll down the Unter den Linden  - although the crowds were no longer shaded by its eponymous trees since they had been felled so as not to obscure the vista of Nazi (3)  parades.

Few visitors, admiring the State Opera house, recalled the newsreels of 1933  which showed this building lit by the flickering light of a great bonfire - a bonfire of burning books heaped on the adjacent square.

Impressionable tourists lunched in the Café Schottenham, by the Anhalter Bahnhof (4), and then walked admiringly past the Bauhaus designed Europahaus en route to the splendid new Air Ministry building. Only a few years earlier the sightseers might have taken their coffee and cake in the Hotel Prinz Albrecht but this was now the HQ of Reichsfűhrer SS (5), Heinrich Himmler.

With every pavement, café and square teeming with tourists it was no wonder Berliners escaped to the relative calm of Oranienburg, to take a boat out on the lake, or to walk through the woods.

There were some city-dwellers, however, who travelled there under duress and for a more sinister purpose. To prevent the possibility of any embarrassing incidents in Berlin during the period of the Games, to disguise its anti-Semitism, and to forestall any negative publicity, some of the measures taken against the Jews by the regime were suspended.

Behind this façade (quietly, unobtrusively, diligently), the Gestapo (6) intensified its labours rounding up the enemies of the Reich - Communists, Social Democrats, trade unionists, liberals, Christians, Jews, Sinti and Romany peoples, pacifists,

Jehovah' s Witnesses, homosexuals, those designated 'anti­-socials' or criminals - and took them to the purpose built camp on the outskirts of Oranienburg. It was known as KZ Sachsenhausen. (7)

On a wintry day in February l996, I followed in their footsteps.

---------------

I was part way through my week in the city when I made my ‘pilgrimage’. After breakfasting, showering, and dressing in my most colourful clothes and dangliest earring,

I picked up the remembrance (8), quitted my Berlin lodgings and set out for Oranienburg. The journey that had brought me to this time and place had begun years before in quite another location. As a younger man, studying Modern History at the University of Liverpool, I had focussed my enthusiasm on nineteenth and twentieth century European history: Berlin was a pivotal place in the scheme of things. My perspective, particularly on twentieth century German history, was informed by the lived experience of being a gay man. There and then reached a spectral hand into the here and now.

The cold February sky was downcast; grey, lowering. pedestrians turned up their coat collars to insulate themselves and hastened to their destinations. Sometimes I drew startled looks - my appearance being somewhat conspicuous - opposing the bleakness of the morning as it did. It was the fluttering ribbons which attracted most interest though.

(Like the compelling image of the red coat in the film "Schindler's List"?)

      The train journey to Oranienburg was a journey in time as much as through a landscape. The train trundled across the city, heading northwards. Tenements gave way to light-industrial enterprises, these, in their turn, to detached houses with steeply-raked roofs. The houses thinned out and were separated by fields, wooded areas, little ponds and watercourses. As we clanked onwards, the landscape became more open. I could see now that the ground was waterlogged; crusty, muddy and frosted with snow. Even the larger lakes were frozen. Denuded trees pointed bony fingers to the sky. Somehow I had drifted into the winter of l944/45. The train reached its terminus and we few passengers reluctantly turned out of the warm carriages to brave the wind-scoured platform.

         Almost immediately, a gentle dusting of snow began to fall. (I am surprised to find that 1 feel glad it is snowing. It seems appropriate). I am possessed by the unshakeable conviction that no-one should visit at a pretty time of year. It would be  sacrilegious.

There is a mixture of buildings in the town, old and new, the streets are cobbled not asphalted. It requires no effort of imagination to see columns marching along this road. Straggly columns, sore-footed, threadbare.

        Oranienburg is a smallish town, similar to my own home town in NE Lancashire. There is some road traffic thudding over the cobbles; Trabbies and Wartburgs as well as VWs and Opels. Some kids look at me with unrestrained interest, older people with more reserve. Some of them even have a reproachful aspect.This is no longer Berlin, where people of unusual aspect arouse little notice and less comment. This is not even Manchester, where gays can be visible with a modicum of safety. This is the familiar, narrow, inhospitable ‘small-town’ Bronski Beat sang about with such eloquence.

I recognise it from my own lived experience.

I become conscious of many thoughts; "This building would have been there then"

"What must it be like to live here now, with such a legacy?"

"What do these little kids make of it?"

Practical considerations imposed themselves and I looked for a signpost. There was one. How sobering, how chilling, to see it written. No longer a name from the past but a place here and now: Gedenkstätte Sachsenhausen (9).

Following the directions indicated, I walked towards the camp. As I neared it, the monument became visible above the rooftops. It stands uncompromisingly  - a concrete grey monolith with pinkish triangles on the upper section. You could easily imagine that it was physically holding up the clouded sky, like Atlas.

At the corner of the Strasse der Nationen (10), which leads to the entrance, there is a small display board that remembers those who were killed on the 'Death March'. In the spring of l945, when it became obvious that all was lost, the authorities decided to march the camp inmates to the Baltic, intending to put them on ships and sink them.

Six thousand died before the column was liberated - they were shot, beaten to death, or killed by cold and exhaustion. It was a sombre marker for what lay ahead.

Before going into the camp proper visitors walk through an entrance gate and along a wooded way that leads past the information centre. Through the trees to the left (sparse, wintry and naked) glimpses of the perimeter wall can be had. I went in to the office and collected an English guide map. The room was dominated by a big, green-tiled stove that radiated masses of heat. It made the cold outside seem that much more intense.

"What must it be like to work in such a place?" I wondered,

"Do you grow used to the horror of it all? Can you afford to forget?" I quitted the building and felt very alone. There was just me, the remembrance, and the reality of Sachsenhausen. There and then, here and now. I feel strongly that Sachsenhausen is not history: history has no life in it. Sachsenhausen can never be mere history as long as there is someone who knows, who remembers, who lives in the light of that remembrance.

The first place that presents itself to the visitor is a modern exhibition centre (1961) which houses photographs, archive material, and an allegorical stained glass memorial window. The building dates from the original opening of the camp as a centre for national remembrance, in what was then the GDR (11). It focuses on the wartime history of Sachsenhausen. It stands in what was the SS barrack area, just in front of the gatehouse. Inside, I noted the brief descriptions of the photos in English. Many needed no explanation: the horrors were all-to-evident. Among the most harrowing were the pictures of those murdered on the march to the Baltic.

    Corpses were scattered along the route - in fields, in ditches, in the woods, by the roadside - killed by a single pistol shot to the head. From under makeshift coverings (which those who found the bodies had used to try and afford them the dignity denied them by their tormentors) poked emaciated limbs, bruised and disfigured faces, unshod feet. Other photographs detailed those who were left behind, the three thousand in the 'hospital', found when the Russians entered the camp on April 22nd 1945.

On that April day, some few miles to the south, Hitler was in the bunker beneath the Reich Chancellery. He had celebrated his last birthday two days previously. The sounds of the strife above ground were muffled and did not disturb the delusions of ultimate victory he cherished. In the cold reality of day, Flughafen Tempelhof was about to fall to the advancing Russians.

Within a week Hitler would be dead.

Some of the prisoners in Sachsenhausen made slow recoveries and joined the sea of 'Displaced Persons' trying to get home in post-war Europe. For others, death's grip was too tight for liberation to make a difference.

Leaving the photograph collection, I turned toward the entrance to the camp proper and walked through. Arbeit Macht Frei (l2) said the mocking inscription on the gate. By the end of 1944, over 204,000 people had read that sentence as they passed under the lintel and in to the Appellplatz (13). Once inside, more than 100,000 of them were systematically put to death. Others met death in camps they were transferred to. It would be invidious to try to describe the sufferings endured by camp inmates in a purely statistical way; in any case, the destruction of records means that an accurate total can never be known. The information in Sachsenhausen suggests that some 30,000 gay men were sent to the camps under the Nazis. Estimates vary. A figure of 60,000 or more may not be unduly high. Perhaps as many as 2/3rds of these men did not survive.

Standing there, 1 felt as if I had ought to remove my boots and go barefoot. A stupid idea but an almost overpowering feeling. I gazed across the open courtyard, at the monument towering beyond, and was filled with unutterable sadness.

The camp is laid out like a gigantic triangle, with the gatehouse in the centre of the baseline. Emotionally, I felt this to be an obscene joke. Apparently, it was simply the result of Nazi thoroughness and the exigencies of security - a shorter perimeter, fewer watchtowers, fewer unobserved corners, better sightlines. All so easily calculated.

The courtyard presented a large semicircle - the placement of the first row of huts being indicated by a latticed wall. Behind me, to my left and right was the neutral zone (actually a killing field); a wire boundary marker, a few yards of bare earth, then an electric fence.  Finally, and almost superfluously, there was the perimeter wall with its barbed wire crown. To step over the marker invited being shot without warning. Photographic evidence shows that some prisoners chose this. Still others crossed the death strip and embraced the electrified wire.

I looked down at the map in my hand. It was difficult to use it nimbly because of the cutting wind and my chilled muscles. My eyes were watering, too, but I could not blame the wind for that. The ribbons on the remembrance fluttered; the only colour in the landscape.

Immediately in front of me was a great concrete roller that weighed three metric tonnes. The Häftlinge (14) were forced to run pulling this and were beaten if they moved too slowly. A semicircle just in front of the first row of huts was identified as the Schuhprűfstrecke (15), Here, in a broad arc, were nine sections - each of a different surface - gravel, flint, broken stone, sand etc… Prisoners had to walk over these for ten hours each day (about 25 miles, carrying 35lb in weight) to test the durability of shoe/boot soles. I looked down. The frost-frozen ground cracked beneath my own booted feet and I sank into the mush. Scattered snowflakes flitted by. A few rooks called, screechingly.

A party of British teenagers came in through the gatehouse. They were chatty, boisterous, as kids are. But their voices grated on my ears even more than the shrill rooks. Some places in the world must only ever be silent places. Not because noise is a bad thing.

No, Act Up is right when it says that Silence = Death. But in Sachsenhausen the silence is needful. It is what makes it permissible to be noisy elsewhere. If the potent and clamorous silence of that place is ever trodden underfoot, then the laughter, songs, protests, whistles and dancing that enliven and affirm us wherever we are will be themselves in danger of being silenced forever.

There are those who wish it so.

In September of 1992, a number of individuals broke into the camp and burned down two of the huts (known as the Jewish Barracks). It is thought that this act was a deliberate desecration of the memorial and was an indication of the resurgence of xenophobia and anti-Semitism in the recently re-unified Germany. In Berlin itself, on Oranienburger Strasse, stands the recently restored Neue Synagoge (16). It is guarded by three armed policemen and is protected by stringent security measures. Inside is an exhibition that focuses on the history of the Jewish people in Berlin, even so, it acknowledges that racism and prejudice have deep roots are widely prevalent.                      

Closer to home, there is a latent racism abroad on the streets of my own town. The National Front has contested, and continues to be active, in local elections. Dispersed asylum seekers meet with thinly veiled hostility. In 1994 an NF candidate was successfully elected in local council elections on the Isle of Dogs, London. Jewish cemeteries are regularly vandalized. Violence directed at lesbians and gay men, is, sadly, an unremarkable occurrence.

My train of thought had been interrupted by the noise of the school kids, so I allowed them to go their own way and then turned my attention back to the map. Over to the right was a temporary exhibition that told the story of the Jewish Barracks and their inmates. The future of these two barrack blocks (38 and 39), destroyed in the arson attack, remains to be decided.  

Further on was the special detention camp set up for prominent political, and other, prisoners. A number of the cells are still there. Prisoners were often held in solitary confinement for long periods, tortured, denied food and drink, kept in darkened cells for months or even longer. Martin Niemőller (17) was a prisoner here. To walk along and look into the tiny cells (some with memorials inside) was a humbling experience. It was not hard to imagine the clang of steel doors, the turn of keys, the sounds of brutal interrogation echoing down the narrow corridor.

What was the date again?

At the far end, the building opened on to an exercise yard, separated from the rest of the camp by a high wall. I stepped out again into the bleak, dismal light. To the left was the Erdbunker (18), a burial cell or pit where prisoners were virtually entombed, exposed to bitter cold and oozing wet walls with only a small, steel barred hatch above.

What would you see from inside? A cross hatched patch of blue? A slate grey torrent?

On the February day I was there, the ground was waterlogged. I could hear the drip of icy melt water as it fell into that dark maw. A great puddle surrounded the hatch, frozen on top, squelchy underneath.

Just beyond the bunker, on the wall, was the memorial plaque that I had come to see; journey’s end for the beribboned remembrance, journey’s beginning for my living remembrance. The plaque is a stark in its simplicity: a black rectangle with the letters punched out by stencil, exposing the wall behind. On the ground below, a few tiles, and, scattered on them, a few carnations. Had they once been pink? The wording of the memorial was as stark in its simplicity as the plaque itself. How else could it be? How can you dress it up in fine language?

TOTGESHLAGEN

TOTGESCHWIEGEN

DEN

HOMOSEXUELLEN

OPFERN

DES

NATIONALSOZIALISMUS

Taking hold of the remembrance, I drove the pole in to the ground as far as it would go and then banked up the mushed, sandy, ice-filled soil around it to hold it steady. Not caring whether I was observed or not, I knelt down in the waterlogged yard,

sank back onto my haunches and waited quietly for about the length of time it takes a man to walk a mile slowly. Everything was hushed. The ribbons flapped and the poem waved about as  the wind caught it. For a moment or two, there was a dancing rainbow

When the time was right, I stood up to continue my journey. (I returned to the remembrance before I finally left the camp, the hard frost meant that the banked earth at the base of the pole was already beginning to freeze. Almost as if to ward off the chill, the freedom ribbons fluttered gaily. This optimism made the leave-taking that much easier).

I moved on item the exercise yard to the exhibition mounted in the former prisoners’ kitchen.  The route took me past the sites of the gallows where prisoners deemed to have committed offences were hung,. Other grisly punishments were also meted out here during roll call "pour encourager les autres". Away to the right, by the perimeter wall stood a monument to those who died in the camp during the period 1945-50. For Sachsenhausen's infamy did not end with the war's end. The Soviets operated the site, under the name of ‘Special Camp No. 7’, and imprisoned former members of the Nazi Party, members of the SS, and the Wehrmacht (20), as well as prisoners of war released by the Western Allies, and others. Later on, inmates included people who were victims of denunciations, people who were arbitrarily arrested, growing numbers of Social Democrats, Christian Democrats and Liberals, opponents of the Soviet occupying power, and of the emerging East German Communist regime. It is estimated that 20,000 people died as a result of the conditions in the camp..

The sights that met the eye once inside the former cook-house were stinging. Further calculated horrors, to which the prisoners were subject, were held up for unwelcome yet necessary inspection.. There were artefacts from the wartime history of the camp – Zyklon B canisters (21). Human hair, gathered for use as war materiel. Fillings from teeth.

Striped uniforms, with their triangles of various colours (22). Plates and cutlery, stamped with prisoners’ numbers. The ‘height measurer’ from Station Z (23). This building was a place I wanted to run through quickly and escape from. Instead, I walked slowly and deliberately through it all, step by step, case by case, from one information board to the next. It was like the Stations of the Cross. Is it realistic to hope for a Resurrection? ‘Can there be lyric poetry after the Holocaust?’ someone asked.

Can there be?

I do not feel able to answer that question. But I can witness to this: the even in Sachsenhausen it proved impossible to crush the creativity and aspirations of the human spirit. Prisoners crafted necessarily small but beautiful things from the most basic materials and contraband. They made chess sets, inlaid cigarette cases, even a crude radio receiver. Furthermore, there is at least one recorded instance of resistance, carried out by the ‘Jewish 18’. In the autumn of 1942, in protest at their inhuman treatment, eighteen Jews staged a protest in the Appellplatz. Their act of resistance, though brutally suppressed, did result in some amelioration of camp conditions for the Jewish inmates. It did not save the 18 from Auschwitz-Birkenau.

When I had reached the end of the exhibition I paused for a long time by the visitors’ book because   had to frame carefully what I wanted to write there. What response can on make to such horrors?

"Whereof one cannot speak, thereof must one remain silent", noted Wittgenstein in his philosophical investigation of language. He must have been thinking of the situations that test the boundaries of human experience when he formulated that precept. And here was I in such an extremity. Just how do you write down a howl of anguish in the soul?

When I left the block I saw the great monument towering before me. I went up close and looked at its huge bronze figures and its concrete vastness. The scale was so big as to be scarcely human. In a way, this is perversely fitting since the dreadful events to which it testifies are equally vast in scope and inhuman in character. The sculpted group of figures at the base of the tower is entitled "Liberation". (A secular version of Resurrection?)

Feeling tiny, I turned and walked the short distance to the site of Station Z.

If Dante's Inferno is taken as a metaphor for Sachsenhausen, then Station Z may be thought of as the deepest and most damned region of that place. Perhaps it is fitting that this was the last place I visited and the place where I most nearly lost what measure of self-control was left to me.

The area is shielded from the elements by a canopy. The suffering and the loss are recalled in an affecting monument; bronze figures two adults with a dead child. More affecting still are the remains of the building that stood on this spot. It was built in l942 and was staffed by the SS. Here thousands upon thousands were gassed, or shot. Their bodies were profaned (treated as the source of raw materials for the war effort) then burned. Any remains were crammed into a subterranean bunker close by.

Given what preceded death, this can be no real surprise. Often, camp inmates were used as a slave work force for various SS-run enterprises. Prisoners from Sachsenhausen were compelled to build the canteen and recreational facilities, used by the Gestapo and SS, on the Prinz Albrecht Terrain (24). In the 'hospital' prisoners were used in experiments to test drugs, chemical weapons, and 'treatments'.

The foundations only remain.

No access is allowed: visitors look through a wire fence on to the features that rising up from the earth. Clearly discernible are the rooms that comprised the gas-chamber (disguised as a shower room) the ante-room where prisoners stripped before going in to the 'shower', and the ramp where the dead, having been thrown on to carts, were pulled the few yards to the crematorium.

          Also evident were rooms used for interrogations and a killing room made to appear like a clinic. Prisoners were stood against a height measurer attached to a wall. (A wooden finger that ran between two slats, marked off in centimetres). Unknown to the inmate, there was a hidden room behind the wall. Once the wooden finger was upon his or her head, someone in that room would shoot them in the back of the neck. Bodies were dragged across the floor and through a door that opened on to the crematorium.

           All so convenient, so duplicitous, shielded from the eyes of the other inmates.

But there could be no secrecy; the smoke, the smell, the miasma, the point of no return.

It must have been evident for miles.

The wind whipped up again. Steam rising from the boiler house in the old laundry block caught my eye and was transformed into the smoke from this charnel house. It was suddenly 1944 again. The camp was filled beyond capacity with the enemies of the Reich, 90% of them non-German. There were representative groups from virtually all of Nazi occupied Europe.

Russian prisoners were being systematically exterminated. Food was scarce, warm clothes scarcer still. Prisoners were beaten, worked to death, tortured, subject to crazed experiments.

The rooks sent up a cacophony of cries that brought me to myself again. Here I was, in 1996, looking& back at what had been. Statistics in Sachsenhausen indicate that there were more than 2000 concentration camps, sub-camps and detention centres in Germany alone.

I blinked back tears as I looked through the fence and reconstructed these terrors in my mind's eye. Walking round the site, moving clockwise past the sculpture in the near left hand corner, I caught site of a feature that I did not immediately recognise and so moved closer. Suddenly, even through eyes misted over, it became all-to-evident.

The few courses of bricks, the metal doors and the flues, resolved themselves into ovens. There were four in a row. I was absolutely stricken. My legs buckled and I let out an involuntary cry as I stumbled and reached out for the wire to support myself.

From then on, I was in a daze. I tottered across the frozen earth and picked my way gingerly down the trench that led down to the bunker where the bones had been dumped. Signs on the sides of the wooden ramparts indicated where prisoners of war had been shot. Others who met their death at this entrance to Hades included those sent to Sachsenhausen by Reichssicherheitshauptampt of the SS and the Gestapo (25).

Most sickening was the mechanised gibbet, worked by a winch and pulley, which allowed four people to be hung at one time, with the minimum expenditure of effort or manpower. It was what 1 had come to expect of the Nazis during the course of my visit. That I was no longer shocked by such atrocity was a shock in itself. I stared out of the pit at the vast grey sky, punctured only by the concrete finger of the monument. The sky was heavy under the weight of its own sorrow.

The closing scene from the film Judgment at Nurembergcame to mind. An American (small town) judge visits his leading Nazi counterpart whom he has just sentenced for war crimes. The German judge offers, as mitigating explanation, that he thought the Nazis could be controlled and used, that he never imagined it would come to this. His counterpart dismisses this very cogently and simply: "It came to this the first time you sentenced a person to death whom you knew to be innocent."

If Sachsenhausen indelibly imprinted one idea in me, it is this: that every step down the road which begins with disrespect for another person ends at KZ Sachsenhausen. All the sentences which begin, "I'm not …………… (insert your own favourite prejudice)…… but ......" conclude, ultimately, with the sharp report of a pistol shot, or the creak of rope, or the bolts sliding home on the door to the 'shower'.

Many of the entries in the visitors' book say, "This must not be allowed to happen again". My feeling is that it has never stopped happening. I believe that it may prove truly fatal to think of there and then and exclude here and now. I am convinced that the celebration of life and difference, the promotion of human flourishing, is dependent upon us being ever vigilant, and ever respectful of the dignity of others.

My visit to Berlin showed ample evidence that a significant number of people share this perspective. In the wake of the arson attack on the 'Jewish Barracks' at Sachsenhausen, there was a spontaneous gathering at the memorial to express concern and regret. Subsequently, a demonstration was held which focussed on the theme 'reflecting in Germany - together against xenophobia and anti-Semitism'. 7000 people attended.

When the Berlin city authorities were considering what uses the Prinz Albrecht Terrain might be put to, concerned citizens and organisations took an active interest and even direct action, including a symbolic 'dig' on May 5th., 1985. The discovery of the foundations of the buildings associated with the site, particularly the cells used by the Gestapo, and those parts built by the slave workers from Sachsenhausen, together with the insistent pressure brought to bear by those who saw the necessity of an explicit recognition of the role that the site played during the period of the Third Reich, resulted in the opening of an exhibition pavilion and associated memorials which currently comprise the site. The motto of the groups coordinating the May 5th dig seems very appropriate: "LET NO GRASS GROW OVER IT!"

The city is notable for the number of memorials and plaques that detail the location of many buildings, and chronicle many events, which some would rather forget. Berlin's insistence on facing up to the past and continuing to confront it in the present struck me very forcefully. Less formal but no less striking is the graffiti that can be seen in the city. Particularly in the workers residential areas, like Prenzlauer Berg, graffiti appears to be regarded as necessary.

Graffiti ist kein Verbrechen!

Lesben Pauer

Nazis vertreiben, Auslanderinnen bleiben  

This is a Nazi house

Much graffiti was focussed on current concerns – Kurdish refugees, the confrontation between Neo~Nazis and their Anarchist and Anti-Fascist opponents. Some was witty and creative but most was political in its inspiration. Amongst my favourites was the pointed reminder: "Wer bunker baut, wirft bomben" (27).

Comparing this situation to that nearer to home gives cause for unease. I do not feel that we recognise the dangers of forgetfulness, or apathy. Remember Pastor Niemöller's lament?

       Muted public concern permits our government to play fast and loose with human rights - witness the attempt to expel the Saudi dissident, Mohammed al Mas'ari, to protect lucrative arms deals with the Saudi government. Consider how the Criminal Justice Act is used against travelling people and against those who wish to undertake direct and legitimate protests.

Examine closely those churches who claim to esteem the unique dignity of the human person in absolute terms yet couch their teaching and pastoral documents in such a way that the human dignity of some is completely abrogated. This may be noted particularly when the churches address themselves to women’s issues, lesbian and gay issues, or issues of race and ethnic origin. There is no comfort to be had in looking at the wider situation - the former Yugoslavia, Iraq, Chechnya, or Rwanda.

I wish I were able to claim for lesbians and gay men some innate virtue that renders us impervious to the propaganda of racism and sexism, but I can't. Though we may identify more strongly than some with the women, children and men who were butchered there and then in places like Sachsenhausen, and though we might feel their suffering acutely and recoil in genuine horror, still that does not confer an automatic immunity to the hateful thinking patterns that produced the concentration camps.

If it is true that lesbians and gay men (among others) have a 'privileged' access to the experience of the Häftlinge, then we have a particular responsibility to be vigilant. The danger we face because of that propaganda and its attendant terrors may be more subtle and understated in Britain than it is overseas but it is no less invidious. We must be vigilant not simply to prevent the virulent return of those values that consigned us to the camps (the fear of being inmates in the here and now) but also to prevent us from being seduced by the simplistic slogans and false promises that would make us accomplices in their institution. Without such vigilance we face the awful an almost unimaginable possibility of being deceived into acting as the new guards.

The lesson that Pastor Niemöller learned (too late?) was that if it could be you, it could be me, and if it were me, then it could be any of us. For that reason the same thing is demanded of each of us:

Vigilance and respect; there and then, here and now

                                                                                              2001 © PD Entwistle

Notes

(1) S-Bahn Friedrichstrasse:

Berlin is served by a variety of train and tram routes. S-Bahn refers to the Schnellbahn - the overland train network, Friedrichstrasse to the station in the centre of the city.

(2) Siegessäule:

Victory Column, built to commemorate the military victory over the French  which led to the founding of the Second Reich in 1871.

(3) Nazi:

NSDAP  Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei. The National Socialist German Worker's Party. Elected to power in 1933, the party began to usurp the power of the state, supplanting the rule of law and government by the fiat of the party and the instruments of terror it wielded. Within a few months Hitler had stifled all opposition and abandoned any pretence of democratic rule.

(4) Anhalter Bahnhof:

This was one the chief railway termini for Berlin. Severely damaged in wartime bombing, there now remains only a portion of the facade.

(5) Reichsfűhrer SS:

Himmler’s official title, ‘Reich leader of the SS’. The SS (Schűtzstaffel) was the Protection Squad of the Nazi Party.

(6) Gestapo:

     Geheime Staatspolizei, the secret state police.

(7) KZ Sachsenhausen:

Konzentrationslager, concentration camp. In the earlier years of Nazi Germany  the camps were sometimes referred to as Schutzhäftlager, protective custody camps.

(8) Remembrance:

This had its origin in two distinct items which seemed to belong together as a 'token' that could be taken to Sachsenhausen and left at the memorial there. The remembrance consisted of 6 freedom ribbons, in the rainbow colours, attached to a pole. These ribbons had been part of a larger banner that had been carried on the Lesbian and Gay Pride March (London) in the summer of 1994. Together with the ribbons was a poem (see below).

                       The Colour of Forget-Me-Nots

                                         rose pink

                                     carnation pink

                                         perky pink

                                            panther

                                    champagne pink

                                         in the pink

                                        lily the pink

                                            lipstick

                                       blushing pink

                                     candy floss pink

                                         baby pink

                                          bootees

                                    marshmallow pink

                                     bubblegum pink

                                        fuchsia pink

                                           Triangle

(9) Gedenkstätte Sachsenhausen:

Many of the former camps have been designated as places of national remembrance and reflection. Sachsenhausen is the one closest to Berlin.

(10) Strasse der Nationen:

      Street of the nations

(11) GDP:

      German Democratic Republic more commonly referred to as East Germany .

       Now, of course, no longer in existence since the reunification of Germany.

(12) Arbeit Macht Frei:

       The motto which was found at the entrance to the concentration camps. Work shall  

        set you free.

(13) Appellplatz:

The place where inmates were assembled for roll-calls, punishments etc…

(14) Häftlinge:

Prisoners of the camp.

(15) Schuhprűfstrecke:

The shoe-testing ground.

(16) Neue Synagoge:

The 'New Synagogue’, completed in 1866. One of two dozen synagogues vandalised and set alight on Kristallnacht (the night of broken glass), November 9th., 1938. Following this pogrom 12,000 Berlin Jews were brought to Sachsenhausen.

(17) Martin Niemöller:

       Pastor Niemöller, U-Boat commander in WWI and a one-time supporter of the      

       Nazis, came to reject Fascism and was incarcerated in Sachsenhausen.

       He is, perhaps, best remembered for the following verse –

First they came for the Jews

And I did not speak out – because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for the Communists

And I did not speak out because I was not a Communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists

And I did not speak out  - because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for me

And there was no-one left to speak out for me.

(18) Erdbunker:

       Literally, ‘earth bunker’.

(19) Totgeshlagen…:

       A literal translation is difficult. The inscription may be read as –

                                           BEATEN TO DEATH

                                         SILENCED TO DEATH

                                                       THE

                                              HOMOSEXUAL

                                                   VICTIMS

                                                       OF

                                                   NAZISM

(20) Wehrmacht:

       The German Army.

(21) Zyklon B:

      The cyanide gas pellets used in the gas chambers.

(22) Triangles:

       Prisoners in the camps were made to wear triangles of different colours. The

       respective colours indicated the reason for their incarceration, eg. green = criminal,

       red = political offender, black = anti-social, pink = homosexual.

(23) Station Z:

       The mass extermination facility, built by the SS in 1942, and run by the

        Totenkopfstandarte SS  (Death’s Head battalions of the SS). Here, thousands

        upon thousands were systematically butchered.

(24) Prinz Albrecht Terrain:

       An area of central Berlin that housed the offices and HQ of the Nazi state terror

      apparatus eg. the Gestapo, the SS. Bounded by (what is now) the Wilhelmstrasse,

      Niederkirchnerstrasse, Stresemannstrasse, and Anhalterstrasse.

(25) Reishsicherheitshauptamt:

      An approximate translation would be Head Office of Reich Security.

(26) Graffiti:

Colloquial translations might be –

Graffiti is no crime!

Lesbian Power!

Deport the Nazis, let the immigrant women stay

(27) Wer Bunker…:

     Whoever builds bunkers, drops bombs

The Murderess from the Grunewald (7): Secret Whitsun holidays on Rügen (2): Prince Bismarck and the secret

“Villa Kogge” Berlin * Picture by SPQP [CC BY-SA 3.0  (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], von Wikimedia Commons

Previously

Meeting Prince Bismarck

         "Jamie! What's this?"

         "My house."

         "That's not a house! That's a," Claire swallowed the swear word, "castle!"

         Jamie laughed.

         "Well, it's not that big."  

         He had driven up the driveway, then turned left around the circular flower bed that separated the driveway from the house and stopped just in front of the entrance.

         With each meter that they had come closer, more details had become visible. Before their eyes appeared a large, rectangular building with three floors. An eight-step stone staircase led to a plateau, from which one could enter the house through a high and heavy oak door. Implied Corinthian columns, held in a light brown color, lined the front door. The door and the windows of the first floor were rounded at the top. The windows of the other two floors reflected the rectangular shape of the house. The conclusion of the third floor was a gable triangle. Inside of it was a coat of arms held by two lions. Below the roof a frieze of flowers and tendrils went around the whole house. Like the columns, the frieze was held in a light brown color – a clear contrast to the rest of the house, which was painted in white.

         Before Jamie got out and opened Claire's door, she was standing in front of the house, staring at it with wonder.  

         "A classic example of classicism," she said mischievously.

         Jamie took her hand and led her up the steps to the front door.

         "Now we have to be cautious. Please step beside the door."

         Claire looked at him, puzzled.

         "Why do we have to be cautious when we enter your own house?"

         "My friend Prince Bismarck is something ... well, let's say - spontaneously - and I do not want him to run you over accidentally."

         "Jamie ...?"

         He did not answer her questions, but placed her behind one of the large flower tubs that stood to the right and left of the door. Then he took his keychain out of his jacket and carefully opened the front door.

         Before they knew it, a small black ball of fur, no larger (and probably no thicker) as Claire's forearm,  raced out of the door. The 'Tour de Force' of this little black Something was accompanied by a barrage of barks, wuffs and other indefinable noises. Then Claire suddenly realized why Jamie had put her in safe distance. Obviously, the little black creature had lost control of his bladder while rejoicing over the reunion with its master. Several wet spots on the flagstones testified to this.

         "Enough Bismarck!" Jamie said emphasis and after a few more jumps of joy the dog stopped and sat down. Then he looked up expectantly. Jamie stroked the head of the little dog several times, talking calmly to him, then he grabbed its neck.

         "Come on, Claire."

         Jamie carried the dog into the house and Claire followed him. They entered a square entrance hall about the size of Claire's entire living room. Jamie disappeared into a room on the right side of the front door. She followed him and saw that it was a small bathroom for guests. On the wall to the left of this room was a framed quote in Gothic script: "Nothing will turn a man's home into a castle more quickly and more effectively than a dachshund. - Queen Victoria" Claire read it, rolled her eyes and smiled. Then she looked at Jamie.

         "My little friend, Prince Bismarck, is not quite clean yet ... especially when he is in his joyful welcome mode ...."

         He took a moistened washcloth and cleaned the animal. Then he wrapped it in a towel. When he returned to the hall, Claire saw that the dog Jamie was holding was a small black short-haired dachshund. The animal looked at her with big brown eyes.

         "Bismarck, that's Claire. Be polite!"

         "Claire, that's my friend Prince Bismarck!"

         She smiled and shook her head.

         "May I?"

         "Of course! He does not bite, he still has baby teeth. "

         "How old is he?"

         "Four months. Usually I do not leave him alone overnight, but ... I'll take him with me to the office. He stays with my secretary when I have to go to court ... "

(”Dackel” by congerdesign)    

         Claire gently stroked Bismarck's head and before she knew it, he began to lick her hand.

         "That's fine, old boy. Give the lady a hand kiss. "

         After some more petting Jamie put the animal on the floor.

         "Ready for a little tour of the house?"

         "Gladly."

         He took her hand and led her through a double door separating the hall from the rest of the living area. Through a corridor they came to other rooms.                   "Right here is the library."

         Jamie opened a large oak door and led Claire into the room. Three sides of the room had shelves of dark wood in which she saw books of all sizes and age. In the middle of the room were two black leather sofas opposite. In the middle stood a large coffee table, on which a glass ball vase was placed. Fresh lilac branches were sticking out of it. Their scent was clearly perceptible in the whole room. A stack of magazines and some current dailies could also be found on the table. On the fourth wall she saw a large window front, from which one could see part of the garden. A desk, which Claire assumed was from the time of Biedermeier, stood in front of the windows. Two chairs, one in front of and one behind the desk came from the same era. Not far from the desk, but closer to the window, stood a wooden pillar. On the top of the plate stood a white-and-gold porcelain pot that harbored a large green fern. A not inconsiderable number of different cacti were lined up on the window sills. Behind the desk stood, a bit offset, a Biedermeier cabinet.  Its upper half was glazed. Behind it, glasses and bottles became visible and Claire guessed that Jamie was using this cabinet as a bar. Then she felt his hand lightly on her back.

         "Do you like it?"

         "Very much."

         "Come, I'll show you the rest."

         He led her through the hallway.

         "The living- and dining room," Jamie said as he opened the next door. A large room was displayed in front of Claire. A long dining table with numerous chairs stood on its right side. On the wall beyond stood several sideboards, over which hung several paintings showing various persons and a ship in a stormy sea. On the right side of the room, they came to an arrangement of leather sofas and leather armchairs placed between another window front and a large fireplace. Claire tried to estimate the size of the room, but she forgot it because there was so much to see. A door dividing the window front caught Claire's attention.

         "Where is this door leading?" she asked softly.

         "Into the winter garden."

         Again she felt his hand lightly on her back as he slowly led her forward.

         Claire's eyes widened once more. The winter garden turned out to be a miniature version of the dining and living room. There was a smaller dining table with six chairs, and four large leather chairs in front of a fireplace. Numerous flowers - orchids of various kinds, small palm trees, orange and citrus trees and other green plants, stood on the windowsills or in clay and porcelain containers between the seating arrangements. Another door on the left led to a large garden.

         "Jamie ..."

         "Do you like it?"

         "It is ... amazing!"

         In Claire's voice there was astonishment, but also exhaustion. She would need days, if not weeks, to get to know this house, and she had seen only a few rooms. Slowly he pulled her close and kissed her gently on her forehead.

         "Come on, there is more to see."

         When she opened her eyes again and looked into his bright face, she thought for a moment that he resembled a teenager who was about to share a big find with a friend. She had experienced so many facets of him - the serious, educated and purposeful lawyer. The loving and caring friend. The forward-thinking strategist. The formidable protector. But this site she especially loved. And she wondered how many - or rather how few - people knew this side of him. The answer to that came only a few minutes later. Slowly they had gone back into the hallway. Bismarck, sniffing at this or that piece of furniture and occasionally making a little sound, always in tow. Jamie, his arm still around her waist, opened another door.  

         "The kitchen."

         The room they entered was clearly different from any room of the house she had seen until now. The kitchen was a bright and friendly room with all the modern equipment one could think of. Just to the left  side of the door stood a plaited dog basket with a red checkered cushion, in front of it a feeding and a water bowl. Above the basket hung a framed picture that showed a kind of cartoon drawing. It showed a brown dachshund in the costume of a dragon and the lettering: "Dachshunds are dragons in disguise".  

         "Beware the dragon," Jamie whispered.

         "Oh yeah, sure," she whispered back, as the little black dragon suddenly squeezed between her feet to his water bowl and started to drink. Once again she glanced around the room. On the right side of the room was a white bench that surrounded a large table on three sides. Claire paused for a moment. Then she looked questioningly at Jamie.

         "What is? Something missing?"

         She hesitated for a moment.

         "You told me so much about your family. Where are they?"

         Jamie swallowed.

         "They ...  they don’t live here."

         Although he answered quickly, Claire didn’t miss the sadness in his voice.

         When he saw Claire's questioning look, he continued:

         "I'll explain it to you later. When we are on the island ... and ... and have more time. Is that okay for you?"

         "I'm sorry if I ..."  

         "No, Claire. It's okay that you asked. I ... I want to tell you. But as I said ... when we have more time."

         She nodded.

         "Ready for the second floor?"

         "Yes. Lead on."  

  “Villa Kogge - Berlin - Oberlicht” * Picture by Elmar Nolte [CC BY-SA 4.0  (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)], from Wikimedia Commons

       Jamie led them back down the corridor to the hall, from where a staircase led to the upper floors. The stairs were wide enough for two people and so Jamie put his arm around Claire's waist again and they walked up next to each other, followed by Prince Bismarck right behind them. Arriving on the first floor, Jamie led her past several smaller rooms.

         "These are rooms that I don’t use right now. Only when I have guests."

         He pointed to the furniture covered with large sheets.

         "On the third floor there are a few other small rooms. I use them as storerooms and for supplies."

         They went back the whole way and stopped in front of a double door. Jamie opened one of the doors and motioned for her to enter.

         "This is my work and living room."

         The room was almost as big as the living room below, but without the dining area. It was dominated by a large, desk obliquely placed to the window front. Behind it there stood a modern leather armchair that matched the dark color of the desk. Under the desk she saw a plaited dog basket with a dark red pillow. Claire went to the window front. From it she could see not only in the garden, but over a small forest also the Havel. Carefully she ran her fingers over the few plants that stood on the window sill: another large fern, a blooming violet, and an orchid with a panicle of red blossoms. Then she turned around. To the right of the door there was a large fireplace, in front of it a small and a larger leather sofa, as well as two or three small side tables. To the right and left of the fireplace hung various paintings. One showed a couple in noble clothes. Claire suspected that it showed Jamie's parents. Another picture showed a large, gray mansion with several floors and a tall tower next to it. Both buildings were embedded in a green hilly landscape. The wall opposite the desk was filled with bookshelves that reached to the ceiling. When Claire turned around again, she saw that Jamie had sat down in the desk chair. Bismarck had made himself comfortable in the dog basket at his feet.

         "You two spend a lot of time together up here, right?"

         It was more a statement than a question.

         "Yes, a lot of time."

         "I understand that well. It is really cozy. I can imagine that you can work or relax here with joy."

         "That's true. Especially in winter. "

         "And where does the last door on this floor lead?"

         "Only to a bathroom."

         "To a bathroom? Then ... you have your bedchamber on the third floor? "

         Jamie grinned.

         "No. As I said, there are only storage rooms. "

         Claire looked perplexed. But he just smiled and stayed silent. Then he got up, pulled her close and kissed her.

         "Can you keep a secret?"

         "Sure."

         She said the word with all conviction she was capable of. But at the same time, she was not so sure that she would be able to keep her promise. What kind of secret would he reveal to her? What hidden side of him would she now get to know now? Would it be a positive or a bad surprise?  

         "Good, then come on."

         He led her to the middle of the shelf and put his right hand against one side of one of the drawers. A click sound was heard and suddenly the right side of the shelf came off the wall. The secret door opened to a bedroom that Claire would have expected in an early 18th-century castle, but not in a villa of today's Berlin. Carefully, she stepped over the threshold and marveled at the world that offered itself to her. In the middle of the room, which dominant color was a dark blue, stood a large four-poster bed. Claire estimated its age to be at least two hundred years, if not more. To the right and left of it were small side tables of the same color and with the same carvings as the pillars of the bed. In front of the bed was a large chest with iron fittings. On the left side of the room stood a massive wardrobe. When she turned around, she saw that even this room had a fireplace. Next to the fireplace stood a small table with a mirror. Behind it was the only window of the room. Two armchairs in front of the fireplace completed the furnishing of it. Carefully, Claire slid her right hand over the blue wallpaper and the silver leaves woven into it. Then she turned to Jamie.

         "It ... it's beautiful," she whispered.

         Jamie, who had approached her, gently put his arms around her and looked at her.  

         "Over the generations, parts of this house have been renovated and altered over and over again. But not this room. Since my great-grandfather built this house, it has always been the bedroom of the couple that continued our line. Apart from my family, you are the only person I have allowed to enter this room and I wish nothing more than to carry you across this threshold as my wife ... one day."  

         She looked at him. Then she turned her face away, looked down, and was silent.  

         "Claire, what is it?"

         "Are you sure, Jamie?"

         "Yes of course! Why do you ask?"

         "What about Jeanne Luigi?"

         "What is with her?"

         She saw in his eyes that he was genuinely surprised. This calmed and disturbed her at the same time.  

         "Didn’t you see how she looked at you? I thought she would devour you alive."

         "She is a married woman!"

         "I know. But you know the saying: That's a reason – not an obstacle."

        "Claire, for me that's a reason and a hindrance and an absolute taboo! She is the wife of a client!"  

        "She looked at you like ..."

         "I don’t care. She doesn’t mean anything to me. Absolutely nothing. The only woman who means something, everything, the only woman with whom I want to share my life stands in front of me!"

         Before she could say anything, he kissed her with an intensity of which she didn’t know if it was fed by passion or rage – or both. As they parted, she looked at him for a moment, quiet and thoughtful. Then she said:

         “Please, forgive me. It's none of my business anyway."

         "Isn’t it?"

         "Is it?"

         "Yes it is. And you don’t have to apologize for asking. I'm glad you did it."

         He pulled her close. Then he whispered:

         "We are ... not ready to tell each other ... all that is to tell. That's fine. We will endure this time. Our relationship will grow and so will our trust. I wish to share everything with you. But until we are ready, everything we tell each other should be true. Can you agree?"

         "Yes. Yes, I agree."

         He smiled and she saw, how his whole body relaxed.

         "Thank you, Claire. And now I'll tell you another secret."

         He went to the wardrobe and reached with one hand to its top. As if guided by an invisible hand, the cabinet moved to the left with a rolling noise. Behind it a door became visible.

         "This one leads to the bathroom ..."

Thank you for reading. Next time, read: Claire’s story (2)

Say What You See

On a wall, the full length just about a foot from the floor extending up over 5ft tall and expanding wider than both arms stretched out is a gold rectangle frame with integrate gold grooved patterned lines running round the inside of the whole frame with fine parallel line bordering a decorative repetitive gold leaf and bud pattern carved the material which has the texture of smooth carved wood.

Inside this frame is an expanse of finely woven material that covers the whole area inside the frame except a small area along the bottom where the material is cut in a slight curve with a little bit of damage at the bottom middle of the woven material.

The entire surface of the finely woven material is covered in glistening paint strokes in mostly many shades of browns, greens and blues. The paint strokes form the image of a majestic valley landscape, looking down from half way up one of the hillsides.

At the very foreground of the image on the left are some vert tall trees, the tree trunks are a reddish brown colour, narrow and tower above the hill, the fore most trees stretches from almost the bottom of the woven material to the top, the branches and leaves only become abundant with life at the top quarter of the tree trunks. behind the first trees is a whole forest of these trees growing down the hill along with smaller shrubs and undergrowth hinted with a more yellow brown blur of paint brush stroke.

At the bottom of the first tree trunk running along the bottom of the woven material is the intricate fine brush strokes detailing the brambles and undergrowth. On these Brambles sparsely spread out is the tiny red dots of the berries found growing on these brambles.

From the right corner of the woven material the brush strokes depict a dirt road curving out of the images right corner and extending to the background of the image curving to the left down the hill side, then curving right further down the hill and finally curving left round the hillside of the trees going out of sight.

The dirt road has a small wooden fence made of branches cut from trees and vertically stuck in the ground with horizontal branches attached. Further down the hillside the fence has brambles with red berries growing through the gaps.

Traveling u the dirt road is a herd of animals, with long shabby looking fur, two massive horns curving out the sides of their head above the ears and between the horns the fur grows over looking like an overgrown unruly fringe covering the tops of the animals eyes. The animals fur covers their entire body and they have four legs with hooved feet, their nose is the shape of an upside down triangle.

The herd is climbing up the hill looking toward the top of the hill. The darkest brown furred animal to the right is grazing grass at the side of the dirt road as it walks, next to it is a lighter more orangy-brown furred animal, next to that a lighter dirty white almost cream in colour furred animal stare right at you out of the image, the forth animal at the front with its reddish-brown fur has its head down and its front leg bent almost as it it is about to charge. Behind the first four animals, the paint strokes depict at least another twelve of these animals filling almost the entire length of the dirt road, all having a variety of coloured fur ranging from several shades of brown to dirty white or cream.

At the back of the herd is a man following them, the brush strokes only depict the blurred sense of the man in the distance.

Further back down the hill. behind the first four animals is a row of trees with red foliage hiding a white cottage farmhouse with a single floor. It has a straw thatched roof and a chimney that has smoke coming out of it.

In the distance the brush strokes depict a river curving through the valley down below, abundant with fields, trees, forests and shrubs. In the further distance is a group of farm houses in the middle of the field which ends at the river side. Over the other side of the river is a majestic sandy coloured stone built castle, he center of the castle has two towers almost twice the height of the main building, the lower part of the castle expands to either side with a smaller tower at each end. It is surrounded by a forest of trees that cover the view of the grounds.

In the distance you can see that the valley is surrounded by hills with the river curving round them. Further on where your eye follows the valley to the horizon is a higher more rockier hill, so high that the white clouds are covering the top of the hill causing it to fade in places.

The far top left corner of the image, the clouds have become grey and look heavy with rain. Towards the right top corner the clouds are fluffier and white with patches of bright blue sky.

~~~~~~~~~~

Final Processing Design

"Stairway to Haven”

I wanted to create a design that built on my earlier experiments but was a clear step up in terms of difficulty. At first I began creating a 2D image but then I decided to give it a 3D appearance as this complicated the look of the art and required a lot more problem solving to get the perspective correct.

The code is creating the illusion of a 3D image by using points, lines, shapes, colours and transparency. I used the “0″ point on both the x and y axis to plot each coordinate. I started by creating the hills, then the house and finished off with the smaller details. By starting with the hills and then the house it was easier to get a sense of the scale I was designing to and helped when adding additional detail. The majority of the shapes I created were made using the ‘begin shape/end shape” function as this allowed me the most freedom to customise the shapes.

When picking fill colours (particularly for the house and hills) I used the moon’s location in relation to each element/shape to help inform me as to what colour would create the best illusion of depth. I used “no stroke” for elements that had a transparency applied to them - this included the moon, the light beams and the smoke to allow those elements to almost blend into the background. I made use of additional lines to help elements feel more 3D such as the inner chimney line, the steps and paths and along the side of the spotlight by the front door. When I did apply a stroke I played with the stroke weight to increase or decrease how 3D an element appeared.  A good example of the use of thin lines is the door, to which I applied a small stroke of 1, giving an illusion of depth without drawing too much attention to it. When creating a step I used the thicker weights of 3 and 4 as this gave the details more visual weight. 

When I created the beam of light coming from the light by the front door I created a shape like a stretched out trapezium and added an oval at the bottom with the intention of giving the light beam a strong 3D appearance. However, the end result looked really flat and unrealistic so to fix this I added an additional semi circle on the half of oval that was not interacting with the stretched out trapezium. I then played with the transparency level of the semi circle until the semi circle and oval looked like one shape. This also helped the ‘light beam’ shape looked like it was blending in with the oval rather than ending in a straight harsh horizontal line that was effectively cutting the oval in half. For the bush, I created the overall shape of the bush and then used triangles overlaid in darker and lighter colours to give it the illusion of depth. 

My code:

void setup (){ // runs once size(500,500);

// Night sky fill(0,3,54); square(0,0,500);

//Stars noStroke(); fill(255); ellipse(10,10,1,1); ellipse(150,150,2,2); ellipse(460,180,1,1); ellipse(100,260,1,1); ellipse(50,160,2,2); ellipse(300,60,1,1); ellipse(390,90,3,3); ellipse(450,30,1,1); ellipse(200,40,1,1); ellipse(490,280,1,1); ellipse(200,40,1,1); ellipse(250,140,1,1); ellipse(50,240,1,1); ellipse(80,240,2,2); ellipse(20,110,1,1); ellipse(220,110,1,1); ellipse(160,210,2,2); ellipse(440,270,2,2); ellipse(470,120,1,1); ellipse(20,20,2,2); ellipse(20,200,1,1); ellipse(150,20,2,2); ellipse(350,20,1,1); ellipse(420,160,1,1); ellipse(480,220,3,3); ellipse(180,250,2,2); ellipse(60,280,1,1); ellipse(20,290,2,2); ellipse(430,210,1,1); ellipse(430,130,2,2); ellipse(320,100,1,1); ellipse(100,200,1,1); ellipse(170,90,2,2); ellipse(40,70,1,1); ellipse(490,70,1,1); ellipse(150,275,1,1); ellipse(90,30,1,1); ellipse(110,130,1,1); ellipse(310,30,2,2); ellipse(260,20,1,1); ellipse(250,70,2,2); ellipse(190,170,1,1); ellipse(450,70,2,2); ellipse(350,60,1,1); ellipse(410,240,2,2);

//LIGHT GREEN The side top of the lower hill silhouette noStroke(); fill(2,51,0); beginShape(); vertex(260,450); vertex(150,450); vertex(40,310); vertex(238,310); endShape();

//MID TO DARK GREEN Shadow on top of the lower hill silhouette fill(2,32,0); beginShape(); vertex(205,415); vertex(500,415); vertex(500,450); vertex(248,450); endShape();

//DARK GREEN    Creates the front of the upper hill silhouette fill(1,28,0); beginShape(); //vertex(175,375); vertex(196,345); vertex(500,345); vertex(500,420); vertex(210,420); vertex(196,345); endShape();

//LIGHT GREEN   Creates the top of the upper hill silhouette fill(2,51,0); beginShape(); vertex(500,350); vertex(195,350); vertex(125,295); vertex(125,295); vertex(500,295); endShape();

//MID GREEN   Creates the side of the upper hill silhouette fill(2,43,0); beginShape(); vertex(110,320); vertex(125,295); vertex(197,350); vertex(210,420); vertex(110,320); endShape();

//DARK GREEN    Creates the front of the lower hill silhouette fill(1,28,06); beginShape(); vertex(155,500); vertex(150,450); vertex(500,450); vertex(500,500); vertex(0,500); endShape();

//MID GREEN    Creates the side of the lower hill silhouette fill(2,43,0); beginShape(); vertex(0,360); vertex(40,310); vertex(153,450); vertex(155,500); vertex(0,500); endShape();

// Creates left wall of house fill(64,0,0); beginShape(); vertex(200,195); vertex(275,180); vertex(275,340); vertex(200,310); endShape();

// Creates right wall of house noStroke(); fill(33,0,0); beginShape(); vertex(275,200); vertex(400,205); vertex(400,330); vertex(275,340); endShape();

//Grass strokeWeight(3); // stroke(2,110,2); fill(2,110,2); triangle(261,336,263,325,265,338); // stroke(2,110,2); fill(2,110,2); triangle(274,338,277,327,280,338); // stroke(11, 138, 3); fill(11, 138, 3); triangle(267,338,270,328,273,339); //

//Chimenee stroke(0); strokeWeight(3); //BACK SECTION fill(124,124,124); beginShape(); vertex(336,140); vertex(360,137); vertex(360,190); vertex(340,190); endShape(); //RIGHT SIDE SECTION fill(68,68,68); beginShape(); vertex(360,137); vertex(375,145); vertex(375,200); vertex(360,190); endShape(); strokeWeight(1); line(360,137,360,190); //FRONT SECTION strokeWeight(3); fill(33,0,0); beginShape(); vertex(350,147); vertex(375,145); vertex(375,200); vertex(350,200); endShape(); //LEFT SIDE SECTION fill(64,0,0); beginShape(); vertex(336,140); vertex(350,147); vertex(350,200); vertex(336,190); vertex(336,140); endShape();

//Smoke noStroke(); fill(251,251,251,30); beginShape(); vertex(335,140); vertex(340,120); vertex(345,110); vertex(340,80); vertex(360,60); vertex(360,40); vertex(390,25); vertex(400,0); vertex(500,0); vertex(500,70); vertex(480,70); vertex(470,110); vertex(430,100); vertex(420,130); vertex(375,145); vertex(360,147); endShape(); strokeWeight(3); stroke(251,251,251,4); line(355,125,355,80);//left smoke detail line(365,76,395,40);//left smoke detail line(411,45,420,10); //left smoke detail       line(370,135,410,121);//right smoke detail line(408,110,418,85);//right smoke detail line(430,72,480,60);//right smoke detail line(483,47,495,10);//right smoke detail line(435,55,455,32);//top middle smoke detail line(472,35,475,10);//top middle smoke detail line(370,120,382,93);//bottom middle smoke detail line(385,80,415,60);//bottom middle smoke detail

//Roof outline strokeWeight(1); stroke(0); fill(43,45,47); beginShape(); vertex(300,125); vertex(410,210); vertex(270,220); vertex(195,195); endShape(); fill(0); triangle(300,125,410,210,270,221);

//Right window strokeWeight(2); stroke(255,240,20); fill(255,240,20); beginShape(); vertex(350,250); vertex(390,248); vertex(390,286); vertex(350,290); endShape();

//Right curtains noStroke(); fill(61,122,179); beginShape();//right curtain vertex(385,248); vertex(392,247); vertex(392,287); vertex(385,288); endShape(); beginShape();//left curtain vertex(349,249); vertex(356,249); vertex(356,291); vertex(349,292); endShape();

//Right window cross lines strokeWeight(2); stroke(0); line(370,248,370,289);//Vertical line line(350,270,390,268);//Horizontal line

//Left window strokeWeight(2); stroke(255,240,20); fill(255,240,20); beginShape(); vertex(290,252); vertex(330,250); vertex(330,291); vertex(290,294); endShape();

//Left curtains noStroke(); fill(61,122,179); beginShape(); vertex(325,250);//right curtain vertex(332,249); vertex(332,292); vertex(325,293); endShape(); beginShape();//left curtain vertex(289.5,251); vertex(296,251); vertex(296,295); vertex(289.5,296); endShape();

//Left window cross lines strokeWeight(2); stroke(0); line(310,250,310,294);//Vertical line line(287,274,335,271);//Horizontal line

//Lights shining out window on ground noStroke(); fill(250,243,2,10); beginShape();//makes up the left shape vertex(295,295);//left upper point vertex(320,287);//right upper point vertex(400,350);//right lower point vertex(300,350);//left lower point endShape(); beginShape();//makes up the right shape vertex(355,290);//left upper point vertex(375,280);//right upper point vertex(480,350);//right lower point vertex(370,350);//left lower point endShape();

//Door strokeWeight(1); stroke(0); fill(7,0,51); beginShape(); vertex(225,239); vertex(250,247); vertex(250,329); vertex(225,319); vertex(225,239); endShape();

//Door knob noStroke(); fill(61,122,179); circle(245,291,5);

//Back ring fill(255,255,255,30); circle(100,80,85);

//Middle fill(255,255,255,70); circle(100,80,75);

//First ring fill(255,255,255,80); circle(100,80,65);

//Moon fill(255); circle(100,80,55);

//Upper rosebush noStroke(); fill(0,82,8); beginShape(); vertex(400,310); vertex(400,295); vertex(410,280); vertex(435,265); vertex(455,265); vertex(475,280); vertex(485,295); vertex(485,310); vertex(470,309); vertex(440,312); vertex(415,309); vertex(400,310); endShape(); fill(1,56,4); triangle(400,295,410,280,440,312); fill(0,66,6); triangle(435,265,455,265,440,312); fill(8,69,11); triangle(475,280,485,295,440,312); fill(0,125,12); triangle(410,280,435,265,438,290); fill(1,112,13); triangle(440,310,449,285,475,280); noStroke(); fill(214,2,98); ellipse(420,280,5,5); ellipse(440,290,5,5); ellipse(460,275,5,5); ellipse(435,275,5,5); ellipse(410,300,5,5); ellipse(455,300,5,5); ellipse(470,290,5,5);

//Upper path strokeWeight(1); stroke(28,28,28); fill(99,99,99); beginShape(); vertex(251,331);//bottom right point vertex(194,346);//bottom left point vertex(172,330);//top left point vertex(225,321);//top right point vertex(251,331); endShape(); strokeWeight(3); stroke(28,28,28); line(251,331,194,346); line(172,331,194,346);

//Outside light noStroke(); fill(250,243,2,20); beginShape(); vertex(208,250); vertex(216,254); vertex(219,330); vertex(190,325); endShape(); fill(250,243,2,20); ellipse(204,327,30,10);; fill(250,243,2,30); arc(204,329,26,9, 0, PI+QUARTER_PI, CHORD); fill(247,214,0); ellipse(212,253,5,5); fill(112,112,112); triangle(204,250,214,240,221,254); strokeWeight(3); stroke(28,28,28); line(221,255,214,240);

//Lower path strokeWeight(1); stroke(28,28,28); fill(99,99,99); beginShape(); vertex(173,383);//bottom right point vertex(120,407);//bottom left point vertex(96,381);//top left point vertex(153,365);//top right point endShape(); strokeWeight(3); stroke(28,28,28); line(173,383,120,407); line(120,407,96,381);

//Top steps strokeWeight(4); stroke(99,99,99); line(169,338,190,354); line(163,350,184,366); line(157,359,178,377); //Top steps drop shadow strokeWeight(3); stroke(28,28,28); line(167,341,189,357); line(161,352,182,369); line(155,361,177,380);

//Bottom steps strokeWeight(4); stroke(99,99,99); line(90,388,110,412); line(82,397,101,421); line(73,407,92,432); line(64,416,82,441); line(55,426,73,451); line(45,436,63,461); line(35,446,53,471); line(25,456,43,481); line(15,466,33,491); line(5,476,23,501);

//Bottom steps drop shadow strokeWeight(3); stroke(28,28,28); //line(-4,+2,-2,+4); line(86,390,108,416); line(78,399,99,425); line(71,409,90,436); line(60,418,80,446); line(51,428,71,456); line(41,438,61,466); line(31,448,51,476); line(21,458,41,486); line(11,468,31,496); line(1,478,21,506);

Next Caller Pt 5

* A couple hours earlier *

Still mid call with Dain in his try to figure out who was behind the show Gorgo sat in her office that Gimli and Gloin had stopped in the office across from to give her some privacy. Admiring the new art on the wall Gimli kept busy while Gloin glanced at his still buzzing phone deciding to silence the guys in their constant requests for updates. Calling Thorin he said, “Thorin, none of you mentioned the Lass worked for Findis for 12 years.”

Through the line he could feel their moment of looking at one another around the phone on speaker before Dwalin asked, “She works at Findis? We never got that far.”

Thorin, “Only came up how long her shifts were. She had a good review then?”

Gloin, “The Dominic fiasco, she fixed it.”

Balin, “Impressive. No doubt they will have ample tales to share on our young Lass.”

Gloin, “Well, tomorrow is her day off, I’ll be there with all the details for her.”

Dwalin, “What did she settle on? We caught you mentioning she could afford a home.”

Gloin, “Cerulean  Circle. Perfect for her to grow into.”

Thorin, “Better deal than her current expense?”

Gloin smirked, “Around 500 cheaper a month.”

Thorin, “Good. It was what she wanted all around?”

Gloin, “She expected a closet I assume. Seemed nervous, assuming it would all get pulled out from under her. I don’t know what she’s faced before in backlash for her relatives, this house is exactly what she deserves right now. So no spooking her tomorrow with any comments on anything going wrong or foul weather or any omens, nothing, I don’t want to risk startling the poor dear she’s had a rough few centuries so far.”

Dwalin, “We wouldn’t dream of it. The boys will behave we’ll see to it.”

.

They couldn’t even begin to imagine what to expect of Beryl. All the news shared was that it was this ghastly place, but with the fact that you had lived there each of them had a hint of hope that it wasn’t as terrible as others had let on. An hour and a half drive from their familiar city to endless interstate flipped suddenly to what they could only link to a sort of resort style decor. Bright but empty buildings that would seem like they would be lovely and ready to open up for the day yet the empty flowering cacti lined streets were bare of any customers. Word apparently had passed on and if someone would be taking over the city it seemed easier as all the Troll, Orc and Uruk-hai citizens were driving opposite ways from where they were headed with loaded trucks of their own leaving just the gleeful goblins strolling by between groups of Easterlings glaring at each truck passing by.

Up to the lot behind your building they pulled in and Thorin exited the van with his cousins and Nephews while the Driver stayed in the truck watching the group of Uruk-hai teens loading up more boxes into their own while their mother nursed their sister. Peering up at the oddly cheerful yellow shingled building with ample windows, balconies and a glass roof for the very top floor surrounded by sectioned off planters with clearly dug up plants a trio of Trolls were potting to transfer to their owners in their group upping arrival. Fili, “Not what I pictured.”

Bilbo, “Certainly not what the news says it’s like.”

Gloin eyed the building saying, “17th floor.”

Thorin glanced at his cousin and sighed joining Dwalin on leading the way into the stunningly picturesque apartment lobby with crisp white and gold accented wingback furniture and cherry tables topped by gold lights filling the place. Into the massive elevator they all squeezed and Kili said, “There’s no floor 17.”

Gloin cleared his throat feeling eyes on him and said, “A renter refused to sacrifice space to aid in continuing the lift shaft.”

Bofur couldn’t help but snort behind his hand and Kili hit the button and the men sighed hating they would have to take two flights of stairs. Only at the 15th floor they noticed the ceilings for higher and in the stairwell they realized there was four flights they would have to trek to get to your floor. Groaning on the whole path they finally reached your floor eyeing the hand carved doors each with stunning tunes and images etched into the wooden slats on the metal doors.

The one on the end sticking out by the much older wood and firefly accented door above the yellow and black diagonally striped mat outside drew them to it. The opening of the one across from it however halted the men who eyed the massive pair of Uruk-hai brothers standing at over eight feet tall who looked them over in return only to nod their heads and shift allowing the bubbly blonde half Troll women through. The last who said in a thick accent, “Good to see ta Bun has moving hands.”

Her mate grunted in return, “Not much to move,” shifting to grab an armful of ukulele cases his brother grabbed the rest of.

The other male said with a point, “Trash chute is silver, big shaft, take that to 15, how we moved couches.”

Thorin nodded, “Will do, thank you.”

His wife grinned and passed Dwalin a decorative pan in the shape of a flower, “For ta Bun, luck and safe for move.”

Dwalin nodded in their path to the stairs leaving their empty oblong apartment open, “I’ll give it to her.”

“You help ta Bun?” A voice behind them boomed and it seemed more and more doors opened up with the same question being asked until all five doors around them had been left open and empty apartments sat open in the families heading down to their vehicles.

Pulling the lever in the wall next to the door frame Bilbo drew the focus back to your apartment at the muffled buzzing sound followed by a muffled thud narrowing eyes at the door. Suddenly it swung open and with a panting grin you eyed the group of Dwarves behind the Hobbit who flashed you a quick grin once his eyes had trailed the lightning streak like scar along your collar bone in a telling white on your olive skin revealed in your sideways slanted baggy tank top over ink stained jean shorts and bright green converse. “Hey, um, wow you brought a group, I pictured like, three of you.”

Thorin smirked and rumbled back, “What use would three be in emptying a house? Your neighbors gifted, ta Bun, a bunch of tins.”

In their flashing you the tins you grinned, “Aww, so sweet of them they didn’t have to.”

Dwalin, “Can we ask why?”

“I’m the elder on the floor. You always gift the eldest before you leave a territory.” When you stepped back you said, “Guess we can see how many of you fit.”

Peering inside Dwalin asked eyeing the floor to ceiling piles of books with cubbies filled with knickknacks, sketches and mini framed portraits. “You didn’t pack?” All across the walls around the cubbies and cabinets acting as your closet surely showed little effort towards moving past the laundry basket with blankets, sheets and pillows on top of the blood boiling twin sized mattress on a four inch platform.

Turning around from your path to the kitchen you eyed the shelves and giggled approaching one. At the base you tapped your foot on the blue slanted square pattern all at once causing in a ripple the cubbies to drop into the base until in a line of trunks the bare walls were revealed. Some with a few collapsing trunks resting one on top of the other or even more behind the first row parting their lips. “Sorry, keep forgetting only Trolls make them.” You said stepping around your troll sized armchair and round end table clearly acting as your dinner table on the lone patch of tile acting as your dining area against the jut out spot where your shelves for the open pantry was.

Bofur said, “Very handy.”

“Packed up the kitchen should be room for the gifts still.”

Splitting up the men divided to grab the trunks to fill the carts they brought for the trash chute. Just leaving a bed sheet coated object and the bed Kili tapped the triangle on making it snap up too luring a smirk across his lips while holding the laundry basket of sheets to carry down with the rest of it all until the room was empty except for the sheet coated object Thorin and Gloin were staring at.

Pointing at it Fili asked, “Miss Pear, what’s under the sheet?”

Gloin, “It’s not your bird cage, is it?”

You shook your head, “No, they’re up top. That’s my piano.”

Unable to help it Thorin smirked and purred, “You have a piano in all this?”

Firing back with a playful smirk you walked over and pulled back the sheet dropping their jaws seeing the partial geode carved piano with stone legs and crystal revealed top housing the keys and compartment for the strings and mounts. “Where-,” Gloin rasped out.

With a smirk you replied, “Gift from my Gran.”

Dwalin, “That’s singing stone.”

“Yes it is.” Still smirking as it registered that it was crafted from stones known to him along to whatever tune you played harmonizing to even the simplest of tunes. “Lighter than it looks.” You said guiding the Dwarves to lift the instrument and set it on the cart. While that went down you led Bilbo, Thorin and Dwalin upstairs. Right behind you Bilbo wondered just where this supposed garden of yours was only to let out a gasping squeal in seeing the stunning oasis under the golden light refracted into dozens of rainbows around the planters of various flowers, small fruit bearing trees, vines and bushes beside the trunks you closed holding your potatoes, carrots and green beans. “Now it shouldn’t be too heavy to manage, those are Uruk planters, fairly light for most races though a bit cumbersome and I’ll get the swings.”

Thorin muttered to himself, “Swings..” eyeing the Elven rope contraptions laced between support beams with bells and nipping decorations showing signs of being pecked at and adjusted.

Fili begins his uncles climbed up next saying, “I thought they said you had birds.”

“Be nice Kuu,” you said and his gaze followed yours to his left. With eyes widening at the once thought odd shimmering silver white speckled bush with a silvery green eye aimed right at Dwalin in the head turning around revealing the face of the turning three foot Great Owl chick from his being woken by the scent and sounds of the strangers.

Kili let out a breath of air, “You have a Great Owl..”

Moving past the Dwarves you shifted the hamster carrier like cage packed with woven tufts of grass and soft clover holding the egg carton like holder with the shimmering galaxy humming bird flock seated in and around the nests watching those around you. Curiously Thorin moved closer to a yellow and orange crystal box with a slot in the top filled with coins he shifted sideways to read the word ‘Rent’ across the top on a piece of painting tape. His smirk however fell at the sudden appearance of the nearly two foot tall zebra striped raven now dangling sideways on one of the swings squawked at Thorin who whispered in Raven tongue, “Hello.”

Belly replied, “Hello, that is my rent. Mind the box, it is heavy.”

Thorin smirked deeper and nodded as you said, “This is Balakavallatagh, but only I can call him Belly.”

Belly nodded, “Only Jack Rabbit.”

Bilbo after touring the mini garden helping the Dwarves on how to close or carry each planter asked, “Jack Rabbit?”

Grinning at him you said, “My name is Jaqiearae.”

He nodded, “Ah, what does ta Bun mean?”

Weakly you chuckled adjusting your sleeve to sit on your shoulder again only for it to slide off once more calling eyes back to your scar, “Trolls and Uruk call you by the meaning of your name. Jack Rabbit is a slur in their tongues. They call hare, bun. So, the Bun. You add ‘ta’ to alert others that it’s a name.”

Bilbo nodded, “Makes sense.”

Dwalin asked noticing the stained glass wrought iron panels, “What is that glass there?”

Your head turned and Belly said, “Houses stripped for travel.”

Fili looked at the Owl as he stretched his wings and shivered fluffing up his feathers mumbling, “We were told it was a long distance.”

Smirking to yourself you brought over a wicker basket with a lid you carried between the confused men saying, “Alright Kuu, lets get you down the steps and you can nap in here.”

Hopping off the short perch the men watched his strut to the steps only to slide down the railing and land with a clack of his talons muffling. Bofur chuckled seeing you crouch to raise him on your arm that lowered into the basket he nestled into as you added the lid, seen to close his eyes again through the open slot in the side. To join his friend Belly slid next halting the Dwarves there gawking at the impossibly rare breed of Raven looking each of them over with his pale green gold flecked eyes while you went up again. Each planter was being brought down while you reached up giving simple tugs on the swings that came free and filled the second basket. From downstairs you heard Belly call out, “Travel tunes!”

“I got it.” You called back making the men around you chuckle again.

Dwalin, “Travel tunes?”

Weakly you chuckled, “Insisted I make a mix tape of their favorite songs to pass the time. Never been in a car before.”

Gloin, “Can’t wait to hear what their choice is,” holding a small pear tree following Bifur with the orange tree.

Bilbo asked, “How did you manage all this? I don’t mean to insult you, but this isn’t exactly prime condition for crops.”

“I’m half Vanyar, we’re a little bit impossible.”

Dwalin rumbled, “Other half Hobbit no doubt.”

“No, Teleri, Hobbit and Maiar.” Halting him for a moment to look you over, “His Mom was half Hobbit, so, close.”

Thorin, “Maiar?”

You nodded, “Only like an eighth? I think, hard to keep up the math. I’m a mutt.” Looking to Bilbo you said, “It’s not that hard, just have to find the right mix for the soil and add in extra minerals and adjust each to fit the best sunlight positions.”

On the other end of the room Kili asked, “Miss, um, what happened to your bike?”

You turned looking at the half of your bike left by the remnants of your homemade washing machine, “That was my washing machine that also hooked up with the sprinklers.”

Bilbo, “Sprinklers?” You nodded and showed him the bucket of hoses you had used to link up to the part of the roof that flooded you used as a makeshift water well for the plants emptied by the force of the pump you had made.

Bofur, “How did you come up with all this?”

You looked at him, “Had a lot of time to myself in Ruun. You pick up a lot on how to work with scraps.”

The men collectively repeated the name of the now destroyed island prison the Dark Elves from past the Smoking Cinders Forest below Orcarni had held thousands of Elves captive from the forces they faced in the wars centuries back. “Ruun?!”

You nodded, “Service was mandatory in Nuunife, 50 years. 2 years in our freighter was hit, again, my name had me snatched up from the wreckage, even though I was an engineer. Wasn’t that bad, past the first couple months…”

Again Bilbo’s eyes fell to your shoulder at the stroke of your fingers along the scar, “They did that?”

“Um, the carrier got hit by something, the reactor surged, caught me, but they have uv markers, to brand their prisoners. It’s there, and on the back,” you shook your head, “You don’t need to look at me like that. Staged a coup and stole one of their carriers we managed to get to Numenor. Discharged, with honors outstanding.”

Lowly Gloin said patting your other shoulder, “No doubt in that.”

Bilbo wet his lips, “I only mention, that is, I’m a tattoo artist, if you like we work with uv often, it is fairly easy to cover if it is old.”

“Well it was seven centuries back.”

Bilbo grinned at you, “I’ll leave you my card, we can set up an appointment to think up a design you might like whenever you like. No worries on the cost, we always offer free for jobs like this for former service men and women.”

You nodded and turned to help gather the rest of the odds and ends until you were joining the guys down. Holding the hummingbird carrier with Belly on your shoulder nuzzling against your head to keep calm at his first and last time out of this apartment with you while Kuu tried to sleep riding on the cart in his basket. Through the slot on the locked office wall Bilbo slid the envelope holding the key to your open apartment and joined you all on the walk to the waiting van beside the locked up truck.

In the back of the trunk Kuu was settled while Belly and the carrier were with you in the front seat you buckled into. Into the slot the mix tape was eased and your fingers rose to smooth against your forehead as the first song popped up. For an hour the songs would play and for the embarrassment you had assumed to feel the singing and bouncing Dwarves joined the birds bopping along to ‘Safety Dance’ to start off the long voyage.

.

There was no time for sentiment, no time to take a lingering stroll through the tiny apartment, not while your mind raced at all you had shared in these past few days. No one had ever asked about your scar before, a stunning fact stinging at you. No one had asked why you were so fine with being alone and living in such cramped quarters, were used to going without. Or how you had grown to be so comfortable with the supposed rougher races who mainly had a lifetime a third of all the others explaining why they would use surrogates from the race of Men every other generation to hopefully extend that precious time they had together. No one had cared to try and help you like this before, and it was highly understated that you were beyond baffled as to how to behave after this.

As fast as you had been moved out your things were moved to the equivalent of the rooms they had been taken from and a call from the owner of the truck had the guys off again. One lingering awed gaze at the greenhouse was what Bilbo got to take with him before managing to slip you his card to come up with your tattoo idea. And with the closing of your forest green door you turned with a grin to Belly with his head cocked on top of one of your trunks only to join you in a giddy hop while you let out an excited squeak.

Through the house you showed the birds then got to assembling their homes again in the greenhouse while they flew around inspecting the arches and domed ceiling praising the home you had found for all of you. From above between glances off the arches they helped to guide you in laying out the planters to better spots. All sharing their eagerness to see how the earth would take their plants once you had moved them from their planters finally. Their swings were next with Belly helping to guide the ropes and swings under them with much more space this time around for their bells and dangling perches. Carefully you helped to resettle the nests for the hummingbirds back in their home they thanked you for then nestled on top of again to nap from their tiring day ensuring their favorite flowers were taking in all the sunlight they could before they had drifted off.

Though on your walk back to the kitchen you paused hearing your doorbell ring. With your head cocked you walked through the house to your front door. Opening it you found Thorin holding Belly’s tape, “Forgot this.”

“You drove all the way back to give me this?”

A moment his lips pursed and he replied, “No.” Your brow inched up and he lifted a bag from his side, “I brought food. It needs to cool, so I thought you might need help unpacking your kitchen?”

“I knew you were up to something.” His brow inched up, “Trying to subtly hide my dishes too high up for me to reach.” Earning an eye roll from him as he walked in easing the door behind himself shut then followed after you to the kitchen. On top of the counter he set the bag and watched you open the trunk you had filled with the things from your kitchen. Cubbies rose slowly and on the counter you set the open topped boxes of food you had pulled from your pantry he helped to take back to your new pantry. “You could have waited on the tape till tomorrow.”

Lowly he rumbled back, “Didn’t feel right. One call and you were just alone. Well, not alone,” his eyes scanned over your face in setting the empty boxes back and joining you in grabbing the next set with cups he followed your lead in where to place them to your liking. “How are they taking it?”

“Well, the hummingbirds are napping, thoroughly exhausted by the whole ordeal,” making him chuckle to himself, “It’s such a big world to them. And the greenhouse is amazing.”

“Yes it is.” His eyes scanned over you again from the side of his gaze.

“Kuu is finding his favorite spots to hide, and Belly is taking a lap over the block.”

Thorin smirked, “No wonder your neighbors seemed to be buzzing. They are rare you know. Hardly ever seen out of captivity due to their status. Where did you find him?”

“Old neighbor bought his egg, wanted to eat him, I told them a lie and bought him. Still trying to perfect my Raven tongue. Bit rough, but I am not the worst student.”

“It is impressive, few other races can master the sounds.”

“Exactly. Part of why he’s patient. Plus Kuu had a talk with him when he was young, I had a hard week and started crying halfway through a lesson. It was bad, worse than bad, but he understands. I tried to get him some raven buddies but apparently I looked a bit shady in the shops or something, wouldn’t let me buy one.”

Thorin chuckled again, “You’re not shady. Few shops sell unless given an event one of their clan are holding. Ravens are meant to bond with their keepers, I am sure you know. To hear you have one,”

“Ya, no doubt I’ll pluck it and eat it.” Making him chuckle again in your move to the silverware trays you eased into their new drawers you left cracked to remember which they were in. “Maybe he can find one or two around here to chat with.”

Thorin chuckled saying, “Perhaps I could bring by my raven, Roac, he loves meeting new birds. Should have heard him the last time a pigeon landed on our balcony.” In a curious glance over you he asked, “You like it here? I mean, you bought it, but, was it what you hoped for?”

“Always liked the Hobbit style, I do have to admit the Dwarf touches too, especially in the greenhouse. Let me guess, something, modern for you.”

With a smirk he turned with you to your round dining/end table you set plates on and slid a pair of trunks over to for seats, “My brother picked the style. It was available. Plenty of rooms for the pair of us, bit cramped with our nephews there.”

“Gloin can’t help there?”

Thorin chuckled, “Trust me, he wants to, but none of us can agree on a place or find a day we’re all off for hunting. Plus the boys have terrible taste.”

Looking in your fridge you said, “Apple juice or cranberry juice?” his brow inched up, “Or I have a water bottle left? Guess I’ll have to shop.”

While he carried the bag of food over he answered, “Apple, please.” You brought him over a small 8 oz bottle of juice deepening his smirk as it nearly vanished inside his fist the same size of your bottle of cranberry juice you set down while you sat down on the trunk behind you. “These are adorable,” he teased and you rolled your eyes.

“I reuse them, get the bigger bottles and pour them in these so I can use the bigger ones for making soaps.”

“Do you need help with furniture?” he said setting out the final container of food noticing your fork being pointed at him.

“I’ve got it, I’ve known you a few days you’ve helped me with a review job, to move and brought me dinner, you do not get to redecorate too. I got it, gotta plan.”

“And how long will that take?”

You shrugged, “Who knows.” Making him roll his eyes next watching you serve yourself from the containers to fill your plate before he did the same.

“Well if you-,”

“Need help, I know, I will contact my local Mug Dealer.”

“I-,” you smirked at him and he rolled his eyes and looked to his plate again. “You must be pleased most of my family is calling me that now.”

“It’s adorable, plus it gives you a bit of mystique to add to your daily life in that shop of yours.”

“So you assume I need mystique in my life?”

“Everyone does,” you said filling your fork, “My main job’s mostly watching other people live their lives from the background. You have no idea how many stories whiz right by you, no doubt having a shop is like that too. People buzz in and out without ever really interacting with you as a person.”

Through your next bite he looked over your face and asked, “Gloin did spill the beans, you work at Findis, do you like it there?”

“It’s nice. I’ve got a nitpicking thing, I’m good at cleaning. Did get bumped up to the top floors so I also do errands and such, within reason of course. But it’s one of the best jobs I’ve had. Now I’m just a stop away from it. How bout you, you like the shop?”

“We opened the shop, it’s our baby. I love the shop. Not the baby sitting hassles from time to time, I have nothing against mothers but the ones who plan poorly taking advantage of those who try to help them, I have little compassion for.”

“I’m not-,”

He shook his head and gave his hand a slight wave in front of his chest after taking a bite of his food, “You are not taking advantage. And if you were I wouldn’t blame you.”

“My past doesn’t forgive being cruel. It demands the opposite.”

“I get that.”

“But thank you for the permission to take advantage of you.” Coughing through swallowing his mouthful he glanced up at you seeing your puffy cheeked grin, a sparing sip of his drink later and you got back to eating talking about possible ideas you could use for filling your empty rooms and companies to help.

Chatting playfully back and forth eventually in your shared history of wishing for castles with hidden hideaways and treasures came to a halt as he said, “I have books on how to build secret doors in bookshelves.”

You lowered your drink and pointed at him making his brows inch up, “I have a secret study!”

Chuckling lowly he asked, “What?”

Up you popped taking hold of his wrist pulling him to his feet excitedly spreading his grin in his trot behind you passing through your bedroom into the hidden study through a hidden door earning another chuckle from him. When you let him go he looked around and stopped to see you pull the door open in the atrium revealing the second hidden door there. “It’s so cool!”

He chuckled again and stepped closer to you only to pause at the alarm sounding on his phone he pulled out. “Oh, wow it’s getting late. Let me help you clean up.” While you turned his hand clenched a moment in realizing just how close to you he had been standing.

Quietly through lingering chuckles you both cleaned up and into the trash can you brought out of another trunk the containers were put while he rinsed the dishes and set them to dry on the rack in the washer. Closing that had him turn to see you flashing him a rapid grin and shift to guide him to the door, through the forest green door you eyed his sporty black car he walked to saying, “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” Waves were traded and you closed the door in his lowering into the car. Exhaling slowly you leaned against the door and turned your head to flip the lock feeling the locks inside the door shifting to latch into the frame at several points. “Why does he have to be so amazing?” you sighed out in a push off the door to head to your bedroom to try and get some sleep.

Another kick to your bed case had it expanding to full Troll size in the center of the room with a cushioned head and footboard now fully expanded. Onto the bed you crawled and plopped down hugging your pillow in the softly rising light of the crystal lanterns on the walls that would give off a soft glow through the house so it was never fully dark inside.

A sudden pop up had you also ensuring the garage and back door were locked as well before coming back again to lay across your pillow again. To the sound of Kuu singing a song you fell asleep smiling to yourself in planning the letter you would write to your mother, sisters and Cirdan. Breakfast would come soon enough and after a shower you could start a draft of it all to send off while you ate, surely the first of dozens until you could get the wording right and add pictures of your new home.

Pt 6

A rough sketch of the Dwobbit Home I made up. :)

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess​, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​, @mariannetora​, @shesakillerkween

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac