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I spy with my little eye ACCEPTANCE.I spy with my little eye a BARBECUE stand.I spy with my little eye rainbow COOKIES.I spy with my little eye DRAG QUEENS.I spy with my little eye ENTHUSIASM.I spy with my little eye FUNNEL cake.I spy with my little eye GLITTER.I spy with my little eye feeling HEAT from the sun.I spy with my little eye feeling INSPIRED.I spy with my little eye feeling filled with JOY.I spy with my little eye KISSES being shared.I spy with my little eye LEOTARDS.I spy with my little eye MEN kissing.I spy with my little eye NACHOS.I spy with my little eye feeling OPTIMISTIC about a good day.I spy with my little eye feeling PROUD to be an ally. I spy with my little eye QUOTES to inspire.I spy with my little eye RUM punch.I spy with my little eye SHADEY Queens.I spy with my little eye TACOS.I spy with my little eye feeling UNAFRAID.I spy with my little eye feeling VIVACIOUS.I spy with my little eye feeling WARM.I spy with my little eye feeling XENIAL.I spy with my little eye YELLING crowds looking happy..I spy with my little eye ZUMBA dancers.

Task:Create an I-Spy list using each letter of the alphabet A-Z of all the things you see, do, eat, feel, thoughts, emotions, etc, during the pride parade A -  I spy with my little eye ANIMALS dressed up.B -  I spy with my little eye BISEXUAL'S duh.C -  I spy with my little eye COLOURFUL CONFETTI.D -  I spy with my little eye DIVAS everywhere.E -  I spy with my little eye feeling EXCITED.F -  I spy with my little eye FEATHER BOAS.G -  I spy with my little eye GAYS obviously.H -  I spy with my little eye HAPPINESS.I -  I spy with my little eye INCLUSIVITY.J -  I spy with my little eye feeling JOYFUL.K - I spy with my little eye KISSES being shared.L -  I spy with my little eye LESBIANS of course.M -  I spy with my little eye MARTINIS.N -  I spy with my little eye NAUGHTY toys.O -  I spy with my little eye feeling OVERJOYED.P -  I spy with my little eye PEOPLE everywhere.Q -  I spy with my little eye QUEERS, f*ck yeah.R -  I spy with my little eye ROMANCE of all kinds.S -  I spy with my little eye SYMBOLS of equality.T -  I spy with my little eye TRANSEXUAL bada$$es U -  I spy with my little eye people being UNAPOLOGETICALLY themselves.V -  I spy with my little eye VIBRANT colours.W -  I spy with my little eye WHITSLES.X -  I spy with my little eye a XYLOPHONE.Y -  I spy with my little eye a YELLOW inflatable banana. Z -   I spy with my little eye rainbow ZOODLES.

When she turned 18, Sophie decided to follow her dreams instead of wasting her time finding a job or getting herself into lots of study debt. That’s why she made her backpack and decided to travel all by herself, determined to live day by day and experience life as it came. This meant that she had to look for a new play to spend the day basically every single day, and today was no different.She thought she was in luck as she found herself a hostel which seemed pretty affordable. Alas, there was no single room vacant anymore. Yet there was this group which had rented themselves an eight-person room, but the receptionist had only seen seven checking in. So perhaps she could go and ask if they could spare that last bed?After knocking on the door of said room and explaining her situation, the two guys who were there seemed quite eager to indeed offer up that last bed. Much to Sophies relief and gratitude. At that moment though, she didn’t realize that all other seven beds in the room would be taken up by guys that night… 

Sophie had gotten quite used to her daddy spoiling her with all sorts of expensive gifts and clothes. After getting into an argument with him though, he decided to punish her by not buying her anything anymore. Yet her cravings for expensive fashion still remained, so she tried to keep those cravings satisfied by going out in the mall and swiping some of her most wanted articles without paying for them. All seemed to go well, until that one time when she suddenly felt a heavy hand at her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks just when she tried to leave the store with quite the haul… 

Sophie had taken up running, since she had gotten quite insecure about her weight after her boyfriend commented negatively on it. So she was determined to work on her thick curves by doing a daily morning run. Today was no different, aside from the fact that parents weren’t home and wouldn’t be until late in the afternoon or even evening. That wouldn’t have been a problem at all, if not for the fact she had totally forgotten to put the key to the front door underneath the door mat…So when he finally finished her morning run, she soon figured out she had locked herself out. Being all sweaty and having somewhat sore feet, she didn’t know what to do. So she ended up ringing the neighbours door bell, hoping he might have a spare key or that at least he’d let her shower at his place… 

Sophie and her friends were at this party, playing a game of ‘truth or dare’ which started to gradually got more and more out of hand. At one point in time, it was Sophies turn and she felt bold enough to ask for a dare. One of her friends had quite the smirk on her face, as she told her: “Alright: I dare you to put on a blindfold for the next half an hour and you can’t take it off, no matter what happens…”Sophie raised her brow in confusion, since that didn’t sound too bad at all: “Sure thing: why not?!”, she confidently proclaimed. After she was being blindfolded to the point where all she could see was pitch-black, her friend would proceed by writing something on her forehead with a black marker: “Aah, that tickles! What are you writing?”, Sophie wondered. Her friend only whispered mysteriously: “You’ll find out soon enough…”, causing her other friends to giggle as well, as they could all read the words ‘free use’ across Sophies forehead… 

There are a few things Lauren wants to do this summer and hopefully she will get the chance to. She works so many hours at the hospital, so sometimes it gets hard to take time off for herself.   Spend less time at work. HOPEFULLY people aren't as stupid as they have been the last weeks. It would nice to be on call for a super long weekend just to have some time to rewind and recharge. Go to the beach.  Spend time with Jax, somewhere outdoors, maybe take him to the lakehouse.  GET A TAN, I'm pastey white since I never see the light of day because of work. Eat as much seafood as possible.   Go up to the lakehouse ( alone sometimes ) and ride the jetski. Read a book.

Real Name - Anastasia KvitkoNickname - AnastasiaProfession - Glamour model, Entrepreneur, Instagram StarKnown As - Russian Kim KardashianAge - 27 years (2021)Date of Birth - 25 November 1994Birthplace - Kaliningrad, RussiaNationality - RussianEthnicity - Russian WhiteReligion - ChristianGender - Female     Height in Inches - 5 feet 9 inchWeight in Pounds - 145 lbsBody Measurements - 38-25-42Bra Size - 38BWaist Size - 25Hip Size - 42Eye Color - BrownHair Color - BrownBodytype - Hourglass

    Your browser does not support the audio element.   SIDE OF A BULLET What makes a person worthy in life? Is it the things they accomplished? Is it following the creed of society; get a job, pay your dues, and prove you can be a functional member of said society? What happens when all the valor and accomplishments in life burn away? Memories played in his mind constantly. The event playing back in his mind, searing the events like a monstrous migraine. The heavy feel of his chest struggled for life. Each raise of his chest being a battle. It’d be easy to simply let go, right? But he didn’t feel the touch of death. Not yet at least. He had been close a few times in life. Most say death’s touch is cold, but there’s a warmth that can’t be explained. You become embraced and almost trapped in a comforted warmth. Will he finally let go and see what lied beyond the veil of the in between?No. Eyes shot awake at the sound of commotion. His blurred vision seeing some form or creature padding his body that laid in a stupor. He reached with inebriated hands for his gun and pointed it at the stranger. Mustering up all the strength he could, he muttered. “One chance…” The sudden movement and sight of the gun scared off the would be looter. The weighted body struggled to sit up catching his breath and taking in the cool air of the night. Quick breaths settled his heart as the throbbing sensation radiated in his core. He blinked and held his eyes tight, dreaming of a time gone. Stumbling upright, the tattered clothes on his back held the stains of his past. The flickering street light casting its orange glow through the broken window as the night howled and rattled the frames. He looked around, his hand still holding the gun. It wasn’t a dream. This was his life now. Derelict floors cackled with each step of the tattered boots. He walked through the musty and molded hallway, walking by make shift doors or curtains for some form of privacy. But not all had the luxury of something to cover their chosen space for the night. Each person had their stories for being here. How they ended up here. Hell on Earth. No help would come to them. A domain of vices and desires. Devil’s playground. Satan’s sanctuary. It was here. It was all here in the beginning and it would be here in the end. Stepping out into the cold air, he carefully avoided the broken concrete and made his way.  Eyes staring upon the faint sign of neon. Crossing the street, the smell of burning garbage hit his nose like a bin of medical waste. People huddled by the bins of trash that held a torch of false warmth and comfort. Something—anything to provide a sense of normalcy.“Well if it isn’t you. Hey, cop. You going to shoot me too?” a portly man cackled as he insulted the man. Though his words faded as he covered distance, the words cut deep. His words brought forth memories that could not be forgotten. Walking under the flickering street lights, his mind could never forget that night.The stink of so many bodies. The smell of sex. The look in her eyes and the demented smile of satisfactory betrayal accomplished. Then the smell of gunpowder and the sparks of fire were all he saw. All of it in red. Stopping at the bar, he looked at his hands. Seeing the strains of blood that would never wash away. Opening the door, the small chiming bell sounded. The dark bar seemed like it had seen better days. Boarded windows and broken wood decorated the surrounding windows. No views to be seen here. An ornery man gazed up, seeing the patron enter. “Back again?” his voice old and hoarse. Sitting at the bar, the dark haired and bearded man looked at the old timer, his eyes glazed and gone. Staring off blankly as the light dangled over his head by a broken wire. Nodding softly, he silently breathed, his mind trying to forget that night. He glanced over to the old man, blinking for a moment as if he saw the dark eyes on the old man. That couldn’t be. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. His mind flashed back to the eyes. Her eyes. So dark, void of anything. No light. No life. Nothing. Yet she had laughed like a witch. Happy to do the deed that destroyed his life. The smile and the laughter, he could never forget. The sound of the glass hitting the table broke him from Dream’s hold. He looked as the golden elixir poured into the glass filling it to the brim. Letting out a relieving sigh, he took the glass and nearly put the drink to his mouth when he heard someone’s voice.“Sad to see you in this sorry state.”Turning around, he looked upon the speaker. The white blouse underneath the dark jacket giving her away in the dark room. But why didn’t he see her until now? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He watched as the woman came to the light, stepping out from the corner as her dress shoes knocked on the sticky floor with each stride. Seeing her in the light, his eyes widened taking in her features. Slender dress pants completed her outfit as the strong eyes gazed upon him with pity. The hair had changed from what he remembered. No longer blond and long. Short and sleek.“Got a hair cut…” he said weakly.The woman smirked for a second. “What? I had to change things up or you’d find me again. Oh right, you don’t do that anymore.” The tone was playful but the insult was heard. “I’m not chasing you anymore. Not chasing after anyone anymore.” She eyed his glass as he downed the hole quadrupedal serving of whiskey. His mouth burning and his throat gagging from the huge amount of alcohol in one go. “If you want to drink your life away and be here, fine. But I wanted to at least tell you this. I’m sorry for what happened. If you want to direct all that talent somewhere, then I got a lead on who you should direct all your time towards. It wouldn’t even take you long to find him. He’s here. Hell on earth.” Remaining silent for a moment, the run-down man looked at her. “What do you mean?” Curiosity had sparked. Then again, she always got him curious.“You said what you saw was black eyes on...her.” she carefully worded her comments, avoiding a touchy subject. “Well, the one that’ll give you an answer is somewhere, here. Don’t have a name per say, but folks here know him as the King of Hell.”The sudden mention of the name made the old man drop a glass, staring at the woman. This garnered even more curiosity from the man. With a sly smile she put her hand over the empty glass, covering it before taking it and flipping it over. “As much as I enjoy a good drink, what will it be? You going to drink this chance away or you going to do what you do best?” Looking at his hands, the man sighed and breathed out as if taking a renewed breath of life for the first time. Tightening his hand into a fist he stared forward, looking at the reflection in the broken mirror behind the bottles of liquor. He was a shell of his former self. Face dirtied. Beard wildly ignored, growing without control. Strained and weathered clothes. All of it was a far cry from who he was. But his eyes now had vigor.“Looks like I got a name to scratch on the side of a bullet.” 

KARAOKE SUMMER SING-ALONG 1) Morgan Wallen - Sand In My Boots2) Spice Girls - Wannabe3) Backstreet Boys - I Want It That Way4) Walk The Moon - Shut Up and Dance5) Bruce Springsteen - Born To Run6) Kelly Clarkson - Stronger (What Doesn't Kill You)7) Taylor Swift - Cruel Summer8) Queen - We Are The Champions9) Sabrina Carpenter - Espresso10) Billy Joel - Uptown Girl

WATER, FUN, AND SING-ALONG   1) Girls Just Wanna Have Fun - Cyndi Lauper2) Last Night - Morgan Wallen 3)Love Song - Sara Bareilles4) 7 Years - Lukas Graham5) I Will Survive - Gloria Gaynor6) I Wanna Dance With Somebody - Whitney Houston7)Dancing Queen - ABBA8) Someone You Loved - Lewis Capaldi9) Someone Like You - Adele10) Sweet Caroline - Neil Diamond  

Heaven's Door 天国の扉 [Tengoku no tobira]   Machiavellian / @windingxpath Riko Amanai was dead. With that death, his world crashed around him. He and Satoru Gojo were the good guys. They were supposed to be unstoppable. With their failure and the blood of an innocent now spilled, everything he knew was in shambles. Suguru Geto had lost track of how long it had been since the ultimate failure had cast him from the top of the Jujutsu Sorcerer world to the depths of depravity. Toji Fushiguro had taken her life and had left Suguru himself gravely injured. He stood alone in the shower as water began to pummel his body. The intensity of the water was so forceful that it left indentations on his skin. Even the wound caused by Fushigoro started to bleed despite the medical attention that Suguru had received. He was so numb, he felt none of it. As the rivulets of water raced down his muscular frame the intermingled crimson drops of blood began to pour down into the drain and fade away into the sewer. His arms moved in front of him as he collapsed into the wall of the shower. His weight shifted and his forehead touched his arm. The falling water hid his face saturated with tears.After a while later, he did exit the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. His lengthy ebony locks formed tendrils that were still dripping wet. He didn't care. He just wanted to feel something right now when nothing else was getting through to him. On the nightstand beside his bed his phone was on the charger. He could see it blinking with unread texts and voice messages. He didn't bother to pick it up. He left it there. The only one who could remotely understand what was going on in his mind was Satoru Gojo. Who knew what his best friend was doing right now? Suguru didn't. Gojo could have been on the dark side of the moon for all he knew. He took a few moments to fix his bandages again and put on some loose fitting clothing. It was a black shirt and black jogging pants that he wore. He pulled those ebony locks up behind his head and sighed deeply. He was trying desperately to make sense of it all. Everywhere he looked, Geto felt as though he couldn't breathe. These memories were everywhere. The pictures on the wall, a simple basketball laying under a chair in the corner, no matter how big or how small it was, Geto was reminded how happy and innocent they had been before being given this one assignment that destroyed everything. The Jujutsu Sorcerers over them had stressed how important it was to protect non-curse users. It was their job to keep them safe. Geto felt rage begin to rise in him. He started into ripping pictures off walls and flipping tables. Once his outburst was over, he left his room and ran out into the stygian Tokyo night. He had no presence of mind to grab his phone as he left.Countless numbers of people passed him even at this late hour. He stood taller than most people who were inhabitants of the world's most populated city, Tokyo. He could see the streets were littered with cursed spirits among the well dresed and the vagrant alike. Subtle hisses came from one cursed spirit as he passed one particular woman on the street. He wanted no confrontation. He was still reeling from the mental and physical anguish after being so handily defeated and an utter failure. Why should he be concerned for an ungrateful populace who didn't even know that curses existed in the first place?“You shouldn't.” The voice that answered his thoughts came from a small Japanese woman that was leaning upon a gnarled branch of oak that she used as a walking stick. “What has that brought you and Satoru Gojo? Have you won anything other than a pat on the back?” “You know who I am?” The young man asked curiously. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” He could see no cursed spirit around her. He narrowed his eyes to take in the woman's surroundings. It appeared that all around them time had stopped. There were no cursed spirits around her. She was the cursed spirit.“My name is unimportant Suguru Geto. Just know that the key to your destiny lies in the Tokyo Islands. There is a Torii that will lead you to unlimited power. All the questions you're asking can be answered there by my master. He is waiting for you there.” She bowed to him as she further baited the hook.It all seemed a little too easy. His mind called out for answers. With how fragile he was at the moment, he would have normally asked more questions but he was so starved for answers he didn't. “Which island?” He asked. There were multiple islands to the south of Tokyo so he needed direction.“Oshima.” She spoke simply. “My master is waiting for you there on the other side of the gate. Don't disappoint him.” Her appearance was that of an old Japanese woman with many wrinkles and no teeth. She whistled when she spoke because she had no teeth.“Oshima.” He could be there by mid day if he tried hard enough. It was really a shame the ferry didn't run overnight.  "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." credit: james kriet

Hey! Im roleplaying as amy winehouse. so, keep that in mind!

Alfred Pennyworth was well accustomed to sweeping up the shattered fragments of Bruce Wayne’s complicated existence. The countless domestic responsibilities overseen and assumed by Wayne Manor’s butler over the years actually became secondary to the more human needs of his “eccentric” employer. Assuming the role of surrogate father, tasked with guiding a traumatized billionaire orphan through the many expectations projected upon the Wayne family heir, did not end once Bruce became a grown man. It certainly did not end once the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne became Batman. Far from it.   “Master Wayne?” If anything, Alfred’s more intimate involvement in the billionaire playboy’s adult life transitioned from the roles of legal guardian, valet, teacher and loyal confidante to something more akin to nursing and damage control. Once Bruce came of age and could legally disregard Alfred’s parental concern over health or safety matters, the butler’s voice was relegated to a secondary voice uttering warnings and unsolicited advice. But even when Bruce insisted he’d outgrown the necessity for a parental figure, Alfred remained steadfast in his dedication to safeguarding the Wayne reputation and Bruce’s reputation in particular. Like a devoted father, he lost sleep when the Caped Crusader’s nocturnal crime fighting activities left Alfred alone in the mansion, always relieved when Bruce made it home in the early hours. Bandages would be ready, bones would be reset, wounds cleansed and stitched by Alfred’s experienced hands. And the tea would always be ready, no matter if refreshments were only served after a proper scolding and reminder that there was still time for Bruce Wayne to make a real life for himself. Gotham is not your responsibility, Master Wayne!I’m making it mine, Alfred. Gotham needs me. But in recent months, Bruce’s behavior had taken a darker than usual turn. When small bottles of liquor and drug paraphernalia were found shamefully hidden in various areas of the house while Alfred was cleaning, Bruce barred the butler from tidying the billionaire’s room behind a newly changed lock. The drunkenness Bruce indulged in at parties, previously part of his cover to avoid detection as Batman, was seeping into his private hours as Alfred smelled traces of alcohol mixed secretly into the teacups he washed. Harder substances appeared while Alfred was instructed to look the other way. Bruce’s eyes appeared more red and swollen as the days passed, his anxiety and depressive demeanor worsening, his usually sharp observational skills giving way to a notable indifference to anything beyond an unhealthy hypervigilance for patrolling Gotham’s crime-ridden streets. And when confronted about those matters, Bruce’s responses to Alfred’s “lectures” - what Alfred viewed as well-meaning suggestions - became increasingly belligerent and dismissive. It could not even be said that the pair quarreled more often - their interactions had become progressively one-sided or volatile until Alfred retreated, remembering his role was to serve while allowing his friend more space. Remembering his new place in the scheme of things. Alfred had been roused more than once from troubled sleep well before dawn, habitually searching rooms that were still in use for signs of Bruce’s return from the nightly patrols. This time, he had succumbed at long last to exhaustion, uncharacteristically oversleeping with no alarm set to rouse him, as it was his habit to rise early on his own. Making himself ready for the day only after the first morning light breached the curtains and shutters throughout the old mansion, he hurried to make up for lost time, cursing himself for his tardiness. Surely Bruce was expecting his breakfast, but the sound of Alfred’s name being hollered was decidedly absent. “Master Wayne?” Alfred would have preferred to return to the days when the sight of Bruce’s unconscious form sprawled unnaturally across the floor wasn’t so familiar. Once upon a time it was a startling discovery, enough to raise Alfred’s blood pressure in a tangled rush of fear and relief. Now, the vision of Bruce Wayne once again passed out from whatever substance currently flooded his veins filled Alfred Pennyworth with fury and disgust. The world rested at the billionaire’s feet, allowing him access to every resource available for making himself a better man in every way. Now he was reduced to a pathetic, drunken, drug-addled heap on the floor of his father’s old office on another beautiful, sunny morning. Thomas Wayne would have been horrified by such a display. What an absolute disgrace you are, son!You’re a Wayne, for God’s sake.Get up, brush yourself off and set a good example for the people of Gotham! “Well, that’s bloody productive, innit, Sir? Nursing your wounds with booze and drugs, and who knows what else,” Alfred muttered to the walls as he loomed in the doorway, knowing full well Bruce didn’t yet hear him from where he lay across the room. Just witnessing the younger man’s state was a sort of personal humiliation Alfred felt to his bones. This was Batman, the light for Gotham? It was all done at considerable cost to the man beneath the cowl. Irritated, Alfred stepped further into the room before stopping, glancing about for something a little less subtle to employ for Bruce’s rude awakening. Fetching a nearby vase and making silent apologies to the Chinese evergreen flourishing within, he started to pull the growth and roots free with the intention of dousing Bruce Wayne in a sobering bath of fertilized plant water. Right as he was about to unleash the splash, however, Alfred suddenly froze in a bewildering torrent of voices from the past. If something happens to his mother and me, you are responsible for my son, for his life and his future, to raise him as I would have, as would be expected for a Wayne. Thomas Wayne’s stern directions resurfaced in Alfred’s memories. And that also means no psychiatrists, no counselors.He’s a Wayne, Alfred. And that means you are to trust him to choose his own course.Do you understand? Promise me. You have my word, Sir. And my promise. The memory was not alone. A conversation he’d once had with Jim Gordon in the early days, shortly after Bruce’s parents were murdered, joined in the fray to finally get Alfred’s attention as he paused long enough to digest it all. He's not been sleeping. And when he does, he has these nightmares. Now he's hurting himself. Burning himself. He's cutting.Is he getting professional help?Oh, you mean psychiatrists? Oh, no, none, he won't have them. No psychiatrists, that's a rule.You make the rules, don't you? You're his guardian.Now, Bruce's father gave me very firm orders was him and his missus to die. Now I will raise the boy the way his father told me to raise him.Which is how?Trust him to choose his own course. He is, after all, a Wayne.Sounds like a recipe for disaster. How long had it been since Alfred allowed such memories to truly sink in? It was always too convenient to ignore the glaring truth all those years. So many sleepless nights spent fretting over Bruce’s welfare and Alfred’s many mistakes while raising him into adulthood could not change the past, Alfred knew. It seemed more logical to just move forward, hoping the man would merely come to his senses without betraying a father’s wishes, as if that’s all it took to improve one’s mental health. Traditional values and a chin-up attitude couldn’t possibly undo what was done, but what another, healthier, stronger way existed to make everything more bearable for the child still suffering inside the man? Head up, eyes front. Don’t let them see you crying. The first words Bruce Wayne heard from Alfred Pennyworth when the butler arrived to remove him from a bloodied alley that fateful night started it all. Alfred set the bar from that moment, the expectation - Thomas Wayne’s expectation - that Bruce should work everything out on his own. Public perception, honor and tradition mattered more than the fact that the needs of the child were never properly met. The palpable sorrow arising from consciousness of his own guilt weighed heavily upon Alfred. He’d done the best he could with all that he possessed over the years and made numerous sacrifices for Bruce’s sake, but he could have done more. So much more. You meant well enough, Thomas. But he could never again be the boy you left. Too much changed.We failed him.I failed him.Now who can we possibly trust to reach that boy again where it truly mattered, after everything that’s happened since? Slowly setting the vase down and carefully replacing the plant, Alfred absently wiped his hands on his pant legs, willing himself to slow his breathing. The anger and resentment he’d felt toward Bruce temporarily subsided. If Bruce had lost his way, wasn’t it Alfred’s responsibility to help him find the light? Alfred’s loyalty was pledged to the man, not what the man had decided to do to himself. He couldn’t turn his back on Bruce now, not when the child still needed him and the adult was stranded back in a dark alley painted with the blood of his murdered parents. Stealthily closing the physical distance between them, the butler knelt at the other man’s side, gently shaking him while noting the visible scrapes, gashes and bruises decorating Bruce’s skin. They were a usual sight, but what good was he really doing for Gotham, let alone for himself, if Batman was pronouncing judgment on the city while hyped up on liquor and coke? “Master B?” The old term of affection from all those years ago slipped past Alfred’s lips in a loving whisper. Boundaries between past and present became a blur, with the aging butler reaching out to the grieving little boy living inside the traumatized shell of the battered man. He remembered a time when he’d paced his room most of the night waiting for teenaged Bruce to come home after going missing again, only to find the boy mysteriously unharmed on the sofa later that morning. How relieved he’d been. And Bruce had soundly embraced him, thankful to be safe and whole in Alfred’s protective arms. “Wake up, son. Wake up.” Alfred still saw the boy in the haggard, pained face of the sleeping male. Come back to me, Master Bruce. If Bruce awoke from the haze of another nightmare, Alfred would attempt to soothe away the horrors, just as he’d always done. But not all nightmares were so easily vanquished for a man. Alfred knew that truth only too well, just as he also knew Bruce was no longer obligated to listen to his theories or take fatherly counsel to heart. A serious attempt at intervention may well be necessary. “Ah, there you are.” Breathing a sigh of relief when Bruce stirred, Alfred tenderly snaked an arm around his boss’ shoulders to help ease him upright as they sat together. “You gave me quite a scare, Sir. I imagine you’ve a bit of a headache, to say the least?” All his observations and the recent strains on their relationship aside, Alfred Pennyworth was still unprepared for the coming storm. Reply by @Pennyworth for @warxcrime. (c) made by creativian

Name: JennyTitle(s): The DoctorAlias(es): None YetAge: 23Age Appearance: Early TwentiesSpecies: Gallefrayian (One acception is she IS a clone) Occupation: Time Traveler and savior Hair Color: BlondeEye Color: GreenScars: One over her left heartTattoo's: NoneAccessories/Other: Her home made Sonic Screw DriverCatch Phrase: TBDPersonality: Jenny is spunky and full of life, looking for the best things in life and to find everything she can. Positive one and even when there's a bad situation she marches forward, unlike her father she is more prone to violence but won't kill.