#beagle postcard

[chaplinfortheages]

Tinted photocard depicting him in 1918.

These tinted photo cards were very popular in the late 1910’s and 1920’s.

[impetuousdesigns]

最後のユニコーン・The Last Unicorn

When I was a kid, one of my favorite movies was "The Last Unicorn." I watched it many, many times growing up, and in high school I read the book The Last Unicorn by Peter S Beagle. 

子供の頃、「最後のユニコーン」という映画が大好きだった。その映画を何回も何回も見て、そして高校生のときピーター・S・ビーグルが書いた同名の本も読んだ。

In the story, cruel King Haggard has captured nearly all the unicorns in the world and trapped them in the sea beside his castle. He gazes out at the unicorns, who are too scared to emerge from the waves, and he says this is the only thing in the world that brings him pleasure. 

話によると、残酷なハッガード王は一頭を除いて世界のユニコーン全てを捕まえて、城の近くにある海に閉じ込めた。ハッガード王は、毎日怖がて海から出られないユニコーンを見張っている。これが唯一ハッガード王に喜びをもたらすものだった。

There is a lot more to the story, but whenever the sea is whipped up by winds, I remember the scene of white unicorns visible amidst the crashing waves. Even though I have never spotted any unicorns in the sea, I still check… just in case. 

 話はもっとあるけど、海が強風で舞い上がるたびに、白波の中で浮かんでいるユニコーンのシーンを思い出す。ユニコーンを見たことがなくても、じっくり波を見てしまう…念の為に。

I was looking out at the sea today, checking for unicorns, when I saw something jump. “What?! Was that a ray? Can they even jump?” I wondered and quickly whipped out my phone to check. Why yes, rays do jump. 

今日、ユニコーンがいるかどうか確認しながら海を見ている時、水面で跳ねた生き物を見た。「えっ？あれはエイじゃないか？エイは跳ねるの？」と思って、すぐにスマホで調べた。確かに、エイは跳ねる！

Come to think of it, I saw feeding time at Churaumi Aquarium in Okinawa, and I remember seeing the rays shoot like lightning across the surface of the water as the whale shark vacuumed up massive gulps of water and fishy food. The ray I spotted today wasn’t a unicorn, but it was a rare experience and feels kind of magical. 

考えてみると、沖縄の美ら海水族館で餌やりを見た。その時、巨大なジンベエザメは掃除機のように海水と餌をがぶ飲みしたが、エイたちは稲妻のように水面で瞬く間に餌を吸い込んでいく。今日見たエイはユニコーンじゃなかったが、エイを見るのは珍しくて不思議なことだ。

[frankmayo]

[avaritia-apotheosis]

They Might Be Giants

Alfred Pennyworth receives a phone call and is given custody over his recently orphaned nephew Danny Fenton.

A DPxDC Crossover // Read on [AO3] // Fic Masterlist

◆◆◆

one. 

Alfred received the phone call on an idyllic Sunday afternoon. Wayne Manor was a sleepy old thing in this weather, the house quiet and still as Alfred polished the silver to a shine. Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were out, taking little Master Bruce with them to see a new exhibit on the Mesozoic period.

He picked up the ringing kitchen landline and cradled the receiver in the juncture of his shoulder and ear, a practiced speech of “ Wayne Manor, may I know who is speaking? Apologies, the masters are unavailable at this moment, but may I pass on a message?” already at the tip of his tongue. 

Before he could open his mouth, the caller spoke. “Is this Mr. Alfred Beagle?”

Beagle was his mother’s maiden name, and the name Alfred took when he worked in Britain. The Pennyworth name, after all, was too closely associated with the Waynes. No one had called him that for years, now. He adjusted his grip on the receiver before resuming his polishing. “This is he. May I know who is calling?”

The caller—a tired sounding woman with a midwestern lilt—introduced herself as Mrs. Eller, the attorney to Jack and Madeline Fenton. “I am sorry that you had to learn about it like this, Mr. Pennyworth, but your cousin, Maddie Fenton, her husband, and their daughter Jasmine recently passed away in an accident this Wednesday. You have my deepest condolences.”

They were second cousins. That was the first thought that came to Alfred’s mind, the cloth in his hand frozen at the dip of the spoon he was shining. Their fathers were cousins who lived on opposite sides of the pond. Despite this, Alfred and Maddie remained in close contact with each other throughout their childhood. They were penpals, sending letters and photos and holiday postcards (Maddie more so than Alfred).

He was even invited to their wedding.

And now—

“Wait a minute…” Alfred’s mind stalled. He set down the silver and the cloth. “You said that the daughter died as well. They had a younger son. What happened to him?”

“He is alive and…as well as he could be in this situation. Danny is actually the reason why I needed to contact you.” Mrs. Eller cleared her throat. “In the Fentons’ will, you were named as their childrens’ legal guardian in case…the worst ever came to pass.”

“I…me? What about Alicia? Maddie’s sister?”

“It’s the late Doctors Fentons’ will, sir. And Danny has agreed to it as well.”

“I see.” Alfred’s breath came out in a shuddering gasp. “Well, if my dear late cousin willed it, then I am willing to comply. Please, let me make some arrangements first, and then I will get back to you with the details.” 

He hung up the phone—

—buried his face in his hands—

—and breathed. 

Alfred could not afford to cry right now.

◆◆◆

two. 

Thomas and Martha were more than happy to accommodate Danny within the manor when Alfred told them about his current situation. It was expected—the Waynes always had a penchant for generosity—but Alfred couldn’t help the sigh of relief all the same. 

(Master Bruce, precocious eight-year-old that he was, wrinkled his brows at the news. While fine with sharing his own things, the attention of his favorite people on the other hand, he hoards like a greedy dragon.)

A week after that terrible phone call, Alfred pulled the black Bentley up to the correct airport terminal and waited for his new charge’s arrival. 

Alfred had seen grief in many faces. Had experienced it himself. Despite this, nothing would ever prepare him for the utter desolation that seeped through Danny’s body. The boy was wan faced— skin almost gray. His cheeks were sunken and hollow, eyes bruised by shadows and stained red by tears. His back was hunched, less from the weight of his backpack and more so from the grief that hung on his shoulders. 

“Mr. Pennyworth?”  Danny’s voice was a dull timbre, nearly cracking at the edges. Alfred shook his hand (freezing cold, but not clammy). “I remember you. Mom always made sure to send you a Christmas card.”

The Fenton family Christmas card was always something Alfred appreciated. He had no family of his own that he was particularly close to, his immediate relatives all dead or estranged in some way. That Alfred received a card without fail every Christmas was always a novel feeling. It was…nice, to know that he still had ties somewhere. Danny, Alfred remembered, never really smiled in those cards. Oh he’d stretch his lips wide and show his teeth, but it was obvious from the way the smile never reached his eyes, and the tightness around his jaw that Danny wasn’t a Christmas person. 

And now, with only a few weeks left till Christmas, he might never be one. 

The two slid into the Bentley and drove off in relative silence. Danny had his head pressed against the window, eyes glazed as he watched the high-rise Gotham streets soon fade into open, rolling hills, and then the palatial monument that was Wayne Manor. 

At the sight of the manor, Danny blinked. “You a millionaire or something?” (Shoulders tensed. Hands curled into fist. His jaw clenched into a hard line, and there was a kind of acidity in his tone at the question. Problems with wealth? No. People with wealth.)

“No.” Alfred kept his tone bland. “But I do work for them. I am the Head Butler for the Wayne family, and have lived here with them while under their employ. They’ve graciously extended that hospitality to you.”

“Do I have to work for them or something?”

Most definitely a problem of someone with wealth.

Alfred shook his head. “While I would appreciate some help here and there, you have no obligation to do so. This is where you’ll live, with me. You can live here for as long as you’d like, and when you feel ready, we can also talk about entering you into school again.”

Danny drums his fingers against his forearm, eyes trained on the stone statues that guarded the door.

Thomas and Martha welcomed the boy with open arms. Danny shook their hands and thanked them with a raspy voice, polite smile not reaching his eyes. 

Master Bruce, shy and wary of the newest addition to the Wayne household, hid in the shadows of his mother’s ash mauve skirts. His blue eyes peeked upwards at Danny inquisitively.

(Later, after Alfred helped Danny settle into the room across from his own, Master Bruce would pull Alfred aside and ask why Danny looked so sad. 

Alfred knelt to Bruce’s eye level and pressed a warm hand on his shoulder. “He is sad because his family is gone.”

Master Bruce tilted his head. “Gone where? When will they be back?” For all that he was an intelligent lad, Bruce was barely more than a child. Death was a foreign concept. The death of a loved one was even moreso.

“Somewhere far, far away.” Alfred doesn’t want to be the one that teaches Bruce about death.)

◆◆◆

three. 

Wayne Manor was rumored to be haunted. It was a silly rumor of course; the Manor was an old house, and old houses have a tendency to make noises. But with Danny, one might almost be tricked into thinking it was true. 

Danny was a wraith. He haunted the wide and empty hallways with preternaturally silent footsteps, the hairs on Alfred’s nape standing on ends whenever he’d suddenly catch a glimpse of the boy at the corner of his eye. Sometimes Alfred would see him linger in shadowed nooks or in the solitude of his bedroom, staring vacantly at nothing. 

“He is still grieving,” Thomas would say. “Be patient with him.”

“He needs space,” Martha advised. “Just be there for him, Alfie. Let him know you’re someone he can trust, someone he can count on for support.”

Alfred looked down at his white-gloved hands. He knew that. He knew Danny needed support, needed space, needed time . But what about after? When the pang of grief had dulled with time, and Danny decided to step into the world instead of letting it pass by him? He was a child, and all children need parents.

Alfred remembers his time as an intelligence officer, slumming with petty criminals and socializing with wealthy targets. Living double, triple, quadruple lives, and exploiting every weakness that he could dig up in order to tear people down. 

Nurturing hands he had not.

(Fatherhood would never suit someone like him.)

“I don’t know if I can,” he confessed.

“But you must either way,” said Martha. “You are all Danny has left in the world.”

“The best is all you can really do,” added Thomas. “Look on the bright side: you’re already doing so well with Bruce.”

Sighing through his nose, Alfred rubbed the ache away from his temples. Recalled, then, the distant past with his own father who cared more for another family than his own. Jarvis Pennyworth was an austere man who embodied the ‘stiff upper lip’ idiom so commonly applied to the British people. Even in Alfred’s memory, Jarvis barely smiled. 

Jarvis was not a warm father. And yet…

Alfred still remembered the warmth that bloomed in his chest whenever he was young and saw a plate of freshly peeled fruit sitting on his desk.

Jarvis was not a particularly warm father, and more often than not was clumsy and awkward with his affection. But he loved his family still. Even far away, Alfred knew that his father would always be there for him.

And maybe, that’s what Danny needed from him too. 

◆◆◆

four. 

Alfred's previous occupation necessitated light sleeping habits, and for all Danny's too-quiet footsteps, he too was at the mercy of the Manor's age. Danny's door creaked open in the dead of night, rousing Alfred from his rest. From there, it only took Alfred fifteen seconds to ascertain that Danny had already turned around the hallway.

Alfred rose from his bed and tied his dressing robe around his waist. His nephew had a habit of wandering outside his room late at night. At first, from Alfred's observations, it was only to aimlessly walk throughout the Manor. After the first week, Danny had begun to gravitate to one place in particular.

The library.

Though it was less for the comfort of books or the rather comfortable wingback armchairs that surrounded the fireplace, and more for the small balcony that overlooked the topiary garden.

The first time Alfred had followed Danny there, he nearly had a heart attack when he saw Danny sit at the edge of the balustrade, feet dangling twenty feet above the ground. He nearly gave away his hiding spot in the shadow of some shelves. Fortunate for him that Danny wasn't the most observant person. He was like his mother in that way; for all that Maddie was an intelligent and frightfully observant little girl, she could be totally blind to some of the most obvious signs. (Alfred wondered if she ever grew past that.)

Like the first time, Danny sat at the edge of the balustrade. His fingers drummed a rhythmic pattern against the stone, head tilted up as he watched the starry sky above. Unlike the first time, Alfred made a stop at the kitchen first, coming out with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Made just the way his own father used to. 

Alfred deliberately stepped on a few creaky floorboards on his way over to alert Danny of his presence. He set down his own mug atop the railing before offering the other to his nephew. "It's cold out."

Wordlessly, Danny wrapped his hands around the mug and tucked it close to his chest. His blue eyes— startlingly bright in the darkness—scrunched in confusion as he tried to figure out Alfred's angle.

"It's not poisoned," Alfred joked dryly. He took a sip of his own mug as if to prove it. "That's too cliche."

"Too suspicious, too. It'd be easier to just push me off the balcony. Makes it look like an accident." Danny turned pink, sheepish. "Oh no that was kinda morbid. I'm sorry, I don't — I don't know why I said that."

He chuckled. "I'm the last person to reprimand you for morbid jokes, boy. And besides, you're right." Alfred smiled from beneath his cup when he saw Danny take a sip of the hot chocolate. "What brings you out here, anyway?"

There was a line of chocolate above Danny's lip. He wiped it away with the back of his wrist. "Stargazing, I guess. It's— there's less light pollution here and I wanted to just…look, I guess."

"Do you like astronomy?"

Danny nodded, gazing upwards at the cluster of stars above. "I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little."

"And now?"

"I still do. A lot. But I don't think that's possible for me anymore."

Alfred adjusted his grip on his mug. “Why not?”

Danny shrugged. “I don’t…know, really.” His voice is infinitesimally small that it is almost carried away by the evening wind. He hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees and mug settled on the bannister. Looked as if he was teetering on the edge and Alfred’s hand itched to pull on his arm as if to anchor him. “It feels as though I’m someone else. Like the Danny that wanted to become an astronaut lives in an entirely separate reality, and it feels weird to still want that dream because he and I are so—” 

His breath catches in his throat. Eyes wide as a single tear slid down his cheek.

Then, all at once, his energy leaves him. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Alfred shook his head. “No. Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for.” He met Danny’s gaze. Hoped that the boy would see the sincerity in his own eyes. “You are right. You are changed, Danny. I don’t know in what way, but you have changed and it is alright that you feel like a different person. Grief changes you, but it doesn’t mean you have to distance yourself from who you once were.”

Danny gripped the bannister tight. Fingers dug harshly into the stone. “I heard a lot that ‘time heals all wounds.’ ” He laughed humorlessly. “Is that actually true?”

“No,” Alfred said. “It doesn’t. The wound will never heal, but time will numb it enough that it no longer feels as painful.”

Danny looked at Alfred for a long moment, searching for something. The cold wind tousled his hair. Despite the frigid temperatures, Danny had not shivered even once.

Then, he spoke. “I still don’t think I can become an astronaut.”

Alfred’s gaze softened. “That’s alright. You’re still young, and you have plenty of time to decide what you want to do with it.”

◆◆◆

five. 

Surprisingly—or perhaps, unsurprisingly—it was Master Bruce that pulled Danny out of the shadows of grief. Not completely, but…enough so that Danny began to finish everything on his plate and was unafraid to sleep some nights without waking up in nightmares.

Thomas and Martha were pleased, of course. For all Bruce’s brightness and endearing personality, he was so shy and struggled to make friends his own age. Danny at fourteen was still years older, but progress was progress. The Wayne couple would encourage the two’s friendship with a warm smile and an overindulgence in their antics. As long as Danny and Bruce didn’t leave the estate without their permission or stay out too late, the boys were free to wander as they liked.

In Alfred’s eyes, the connection between the two was obvious. Like called to like. Loneliness called to loneliness.

Once, Alfred caught the boys laying down in the soft grassy fields behind the manor. Their heads are pillowed by their arms, eyes craned towards the bright array of stars above, and willfully ignorant of the curfew they were breaking.

Danny lifted his arm to point at the sky. “See those three stars in a line?” he said to Bruce. “Those three stars make up Orion’s belt, and are the brightest stars in his constellation. See? If you follow it, you can sorta make the shape of a person.”

“I see it!” Master Bruce exclaimed. He traced a vague shape in the air. “There’s his chest. That, his arm. And look! I can even see his bow!”

“You know, a lot of people actually think that’s a shield.”

“But that looks nothing like a shield!” 

Alfred couldn’t see for certain, but he felt that Danny would’ve shrugged at that statement. “Shield, bow, pelt of fur, doesn’t really matter in the end. The important thing was that you could see it. The ancient Mediterraneans used Orion as, like, an old calendar to know when it was a good time to thresh—that is, to separate the seeds from like a barley plant—their crops.” He moved his hand again. “The other cool thing about Orion is that it’s a good way to find other stars. See, if you follow the line of his belt away from his bow, you’ll find Sirius, which is the brightest star in the canis major constellation.”

“Is that his dog?”

“Yeah, that’s his dog. Sirius is also the brightest star in our night sky— well, after the sun at least. Anyway, if you follow the line of Orion’s belt towards the bow and even past it, you can see a cluster of stars way up there. There should be seven, but it might be hard to see all of them.”

“I think I see it? Is it that one?”

“Uh, a bit further— yep! That one. That’s the Pleiades, an open star cluster and probably one of the most well known stars in history. There’s actually way more than seven stars up there, but as far as seeing with the naked eye goes, we can only see seven. Like Orion, they were used to mark when it was a good time to harvest, but more than that, they were used by Greek sailors to know when it was a good time to sail. If the Pleiades were setting, or they were gone from the sky, then the seas would be too dangerous and it was better to go home.”

“What about that star over there?”

Alfred sees Danny shift, his head tilting towards the small lump that made up Master Bruce. “Which one?”

“Between the Pleiades and Orion there’s this really bright orange star.”

“Alpha Taurus. The brightest star in the Taurus constellation.” A beat. “Aldebaran, I think is its name. They call it ‘The Follower’ because it always follows after the Pleiades. Fun fact, it’s like over forty-times larger than the sun.”

“Really?” Alfred could hear the incredulity in Master Bruce’s voice. “It doesn’t look like it.”

“Well, all of those stars are lightyears away. They’re so far away that, technically, we’re not really seeing the stars. The light they give takes a long time to actually reach here on earth for us to see, so what we’re looking at is the light of a star from hundreds or thousands of years ago.”

Danny went quiet for a moment. “Really…for all we know, some of the stars we’re looking at have been dead for a while. Alive to us, but dead in reality. A weird kind of limbo.”

“Does it matter though?” Master Bruce said.

“What?”

He turned over, laying on his belly and holding himself up on his forearms. “Dead or alive? Does it matter?” 

“I don’t…”

“I don’t think it does.” Master Bruce flopped back down to the grass. “If it’s alive, it’s alive. If it isn’t, then… it’s still alive in a way? My dad said that you’re never truly dead as long as someone remembers you, and as long as we see the star then it’ll always stay alive.”

Danny was silent for a moment.

Then he laughed and ruffled Bruce’s hair. “You know, Bruce, you’re way too smart for your age.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Never. You kinda remind me of my sister a bit.” 

Alfred’s breath hitched. It was the first time he had ever heard Danny willingly bring up his family since they first met. 

“She was a huge know-it-all,” Danny continued. “Annoyed me a lot because everyone always noticed that I wasn’t smart like her, but…she had a big heart, like you.”

Danny hauled himself to his feet before offering an arm to Master Bruce. “Come on, we better head back before anyone notices that we snuck out past your bedtime.”

Master Bruce whined. “Can’t we stay a bit longer?”

“We can do this again tomorrow night.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die and all that.”

The two walked arm in arm back through the patio entrance, Danny’s footsteps still that same eerie silence, and little Bruce’s slowly matching his gait to copy Danny’s movements. Neither were aware of Alfred, who clung to the shadows, watching his two boys go.

(Alfred said nothing of the boys’ late-night astronomy lessons. He continued to say nothing whenever he caught the two of them breaking curfew. Instead, he’d settle on a chair in a hidden nook that comfortably kept the two in sight, and watched the stars.)

◆◆◆

six. 

Months passed, and slowly, Danny learned to move on. He ate more now. Smiled more. Laughed more. Lived more. 

Danny was a delight to have in the Manor. He was an extra voice that bounced around the vast hallways, another plate set down for family meals, and a point of normalcy in the glittering world of the Waynes. He was Alfred’s apprentice in the kitchen, their handy mechanic when technology went awry, and Bruce’s ever watchful guardian. 

Martha and Thomas loved him. Bruce adored him. 

And Alfred?

Alfred could not help the little voice at the back of his head that wanted to call the boy his own. Danny was his nephew, his family along with the Waynes. 

Despite all the tragedy that brought Danny to Gotham, Alfred could not help but be happy that Danny was here with them.

But Gotham was a cruel mistress.

And Happiness was as fragile as a string of pearls.

Alfred drove Bruce away from that godforsaken alley as soon as he could. The boy (eight years old, he was eight years old and stained in his own parents’ blood) shivered in the passenger seat, an officer’s jacket slung over his small frame. He was silent. Unmoving. Hollow eyes trained at the darkening sky ahead.

They reached the Manor to find Danny furiously pacing on the front steps, teeth worrying the end of his thumb. He froze as soon as Alfred stepped out of the black Bentley.

He jumped down the front steps, shoes skidding against the gravel. “Alfred?”

What happened?

Is everything alright?

Alfred could read every bit of Danny’s body language as if the boy was an open book. The tense line of his shoulders; the rigidness of his spine; the sudden depth of his respirations as if Danny was forcing himself to calm down but couldn’t quite get there in time. There was a wild sort of desperation in his eyes— but Danny wasn’t looking at Alfred. Wasn’t here. Not completely at least.

Some part of Danny was back in Amity again. A young boy like Master Bruce watching his whole world fall apart with a bang. 

Alfred kept a stiff upper lip as he opened the passenger door and helped Master Bruce onto unsteady legs. He had to be strong now, for both his boys. 

“Alfred,” Danny started again. “What— what happened? Where’s—” At the sight of Master Bruce, Danny stumbled to his knees. 

“Bruce? Are you—” He cradled Bruce’s blood-stained cheek, fingers shaking. 

Bruce spoke. The first words he’d said since Alfred came to get him. “What do I do, Danny?” His voice is shaking and raw and so small . The wind could almost carry it away. “They’re gone, Danny. My parents are gone, too.”

Alfred could see the instant Danny broke. 

(Alfred could feel the second he broke, too.)

He pulled both his boys into his arms and held them tight. They were all each other had in this world, and Alfred begged to a god he hadn’t believed in for years that the world not separate them even more.

◆◆◆

seven. 

It’s been a week. 

Alfred found both boys curled up in the grassy fields behind Wayne Manor, staring at the dark expanse of night.

“I never want anyone else to go through what we did,” Bruce said. 

A promise. 

Danny turned to look at Bruce, a hand held out. Aldebaran shone bright and red above him. “Never again.” 

A pact. 

◆◆◆

eight. 

When Bruce is midway through his first year of university and Danny is nearly finished with his bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering, the two of them dropped out of college, packed a bag each, and disappeared into the night.

 They gave no word. They left no note.

Months later, they were declared dead. Another tragedy for the people of Gotham, who mourned their bright prince. 

All of Bruce Wayne’s finances and belongings were left to Alfred, who continued to tend to them, as if any day Bruce Wayne and his smiling shadow would return. 

Time passed.

The world turned.

Bruce Wayne and Danny Fenton remained dead. 

Until one night, when the Pleiades had begun their descent from the sky, Alfred woke to a phone call. He held the phone to his ear, spoke into the receiver in hushed tones, and hung up a few minutes later. 

He readies his uniform. Made sure that it was free of lint, and the fabric was ironed out of any wrinkles. He dressed, made himself presentable, and drove the black Bentley all the way to a lonely airfield on the outskirts of Gotham.

He waits. 

He does not wait long. (He’s waited long enough.)

A small plane descends. Landed on the runway. Stopped. 

An eternity, and the doors opened. 

Out steps two young men, tall and lean, with whipcord muscles and scars that held stories that Alfred might never know.  Their eyes are tired but bright. Hungry for vengeance, for justice, for Gotham .

Alfred smiled at his boys.

“Welcome home.”

[chaotic-scraps]

All I Want For Christmas is You (Part 1)

Inspired by the song version Minor Key All I Want For Christmas is You - Kurt Hugo Schneider with original characters (no names, I'm allergic apparently).

CW: Kidnapping, gun violence

Red and green lights blinked through the window blinds. Christmas music echoed from the street below. Gloved and shaking hands pulled red yarn from tack to tack. Photographs, sticky notes, news articles, emails.

The detective stared. Head pounding. Swigged the cold and bitter coffee. Jittery. Cold.

A month. It'd been more than a month since the thief's last known activity.

It just didn't make sense.

"Where are you," he whispered.

It wasn't like they owed him anything. Not the little gifts they would leave after a heist, nor the postcards mocking him for being one step behind.

Not the flirtatious moments that just… Refused to leave his mind.

They'd given him a souvenir of the last heist, just before disappearing. A thick and heavy gear, uniquely shaped, wrapped in a box. He'd shoved it into his bottom drawer with the other odds and ends the thief brought them.

He scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It meant nothing, he tried to tell himself. No news was good news, right? The thief was lying low after kicking the hornet's nest.

It had only been a month. They'd turn up. They always do.

Yet the hours ate away at him. They'd… Promised to stop by on Christmas Eve. Rookie mistake. Never trust a con artist to follow through on their honeyed promises.

Yet…

The thief's last target had been none other than a mob boss. They'd been missing since shortly after the heist.

If… If the detective could find some sign, some single shred of evidence they were okay, that they were safe, he could sleep.

He tried not to think the worst.

He took a shaky breath.

He couldn't sleep. Couldn't focus. Couldn't function.

Time to call on an old family… 'friend'.

Hopefully she was in a good mood.

He pushed through the cold and crowded streets. He went down a much quieter alley to a door with a small and faded sign.

The door to the shop jangled.

"Hey! Look who the rat dragged in," the shopkeep rasped. She hacked a cough and limped over to him.

"C'mere, you!"

She pulled him into a back-cracking hug.

"Ohh! Merry Christmas, sugar plum! I haven't seen you since, what? Last year? You look thin. Have a cookie."

The detective shook his head. "I just need some information, then I'll be out of your hair."

The shopkeep pursed her lips.

"Oh. I see. I'd hate to keep you, mister important detective man. No time to visit your auntie anymore. Not even on Christmas."

"You shot at me last time."

"Warning shots. Ought to teach you not to stick your nose where it don't belong."

"…Yeah." The detective sighed heavy. "I… Speaking of that." He withdrew a photograph and slid it to her. "Recognize this face?"

The shopkeep squinted. "Oh, yeah, that thief character. Stole my favorite mug. Little beagle on the front. Said 'You're the Doggon Best' on it."

Oh. The thief gave him that mug. He used it every day.

He shifted his gaze awkwardly, opening the door to a grandfather clock pendulum.

"Have you seen anything of them recently?" He asked.

"I heard they're not going to be a problem anymore," the shopkeep sniffed. "Quit fiddling with that old clock. You'll break it."

An old and matted cat mewled and stretched, and she scratched his head. "Does Mr. Biscuits want his num nums?" She cooed.

"What does that mean," the detective hissed, stepping between the shopkeep and her cat. "What do you mean, they're not a problem anymore?"

"You get between me and Mr. Biscuits, and we'll have ourselves a problem," the shopkeep growled, pushing past them. "Your friend messed with the wrong people. Forget about them."

"You know something," the detective demanded. "That mob boss has them, right? Where are they?"

"Dead," she rasped. "Dead, as far as you're concerned."

The detective sucked in a breath.

He leaned against the glass display for support.

No. No, they couldn't be dead. If the item the thief stole was worth their life, they wouldn't do away with them until they found said item. They were currently worth more alive.

"I don't believe it. Tell me your sources"

"I don't owe you that. Believe what you want."

"Where…" The detective pulled out a notepad. "Where is the boss's last known location?"

The shopkeep's eyes went wide, nostrils flared.

"No. You're looking for a fool's end, and I want no part in it," she said, walking by and pulling him by the sleeve.

"Take this cookie and get out, you fool boy." The shopkeep pushed a gingerbread into his hands and shoved him out the door.

The streets were colder as the night grew darker. Crowds thinned and the festive lights went out. The detective found a bench to sink into.

Something began to build in his chest. A cold, sad laugh.

He was laughing.

Crying.

God, he needed to get ahold of himself.

"Hey, uh," a voice caught his attention.

The detective hastily scrubbed away his tears.

"Heard you're looking for a friend," the gaunt figure grunted. "I can help."

Their eyes flicked to the cookie, and they swallowed. "For a price."

The detective held out the cookie for them. They blinked wide-eyed, then snatched and scarfed it down. A moan of satisfaction.

"The mob boss is hosting the Christmas party in their cabin." They smacked their lips. "That's just outside of the abandoned diner, cut right after the old winery. You'll find an unmarked path with a fork, go left. Tell em you're making a delivery."

They shoved a package in his hands. Cookies.

"I can't trust myself with 'em." The stranger grinned crookedly. "God, I've been so tempted for a nibble all day. Fresh baked this morning. A special something in the butter. God, just smell that." He sniffed the box deeply. "Tell em Ol' Shakylegs sent you if they ask."

The detective reached the address long after dark. Vehicles parked back to back all the way down the driveway and across the lawn. Anyone parked farther in was stuck. What a nightmare. He parked his motorbike close to the side.

There was a side entrance where staff went in and out. He made his way over and an event planner all but snatched the parcel away.

"You're late," they barked.

"Apologies," the detective said.

"Well? Move it! Clear out!"

"Where's the restroom?"

The planner scoffed. "Second door on your right. There's a line."

The detective nodded. Then went left, towards the party. He slipped into the crowd, eyes darting around for familiar faces.

A hand grabbed his shoulder.

"You're not supposed to be here," a hefty man grunted. "Party guests only."

"I'm a detective, and I found something of interest for your boss," the detective said. He handed a photograph of the gear the thief had left them.

"This looks like junk." The man held the photograph. Squinted. "Stay right here."

The detective peered around the room. Suspicious eyes flicked back. He recognized some. Some recognized him. He waved and forced a smile.

The man returned. "Come with me," he said. He grabbed the detective by the shoulder in an iron grip and pushed him through the murmuring crowd.

He reached a private study and shoved the detective inside. A few more men blocked the door.

"I'm told you have something of mine, detective," the mob boss said, tapping the photograph of the gear. "A Christmas gift, perhaps? This isn't extortion. You're much too smart."

"I need the whereabouts of a certain thief," the detective said. "Tell me where they are, and I'll wrap that gear in a pretty little bow for you before Santa comes to town."

The boss tapped his desk. "I need the blueprints, too."

"Only they have that information." The detective wet his lips. "I can get them to talk. Let me see them."

"Afraid that's not how this is going down." The boss made a gesture and one of the grunts pulled the detective to his knees, gun barrel digging into his temple. "You bring me the gear and the blueprints or my boy's'll make like Picasso with your brains."

Silencer. Plastic wrap on the floors and furniture. Fridge-sized gift box. He wasn't joking.

"Replicating the gear will take years," the detective said, voice stronger than he felt. "You need it now. Let's be reasonable here. Only I know where it's hidden. Blueprints won't help if you don't have all the pieces."

The boss stepped around the desk like a panther stalking for the kill. He looked down at the prone man with a bloodthirsty glint in his eye.

"Do you have family, detective?" The boss asked. "You look like a family man. You have a wife? Husband?"

The detective sucked in a breath.

"No." He looked down. "No, I have no one."

"No." The boss patted his cheek. "No, of course not. You don't know what it takes to raise a family. A happy family. What the cost is."

He gripped the detective's hair and forced him to meet his eyes.

"You get between me and my livelihood, you threaten my family. Understand? You come to me the day before Christmas and you threaten my livelihood with my family just outside--"

"Tell me they're alive," the detective pleaded. "Tell me they're alive. Give me some proof they're alive. Or…"

He took a shaking breath. "Or I won't care what you do to me."

There was a shift. The boss released his grip.

"You care for them," the boss whispered in revelation.

The detective's throat bobbed.

"You came for them… Because you have feelings for them."

"They're all I have," the detective whispered.

"That's why you have the gear," the boss said, everything clicking into place. "They care for you, too."

A pang in the detective's heart. Did they?… They never really confirmed-…

"Bag him. Take him to the basement," the boss said. "I'll deal with him later."

The detective yanked himself out of the grunt's grip and dodged a swing to the back of his head. One hit the other. The boss shot at him, missed and hit the second grunt. The detective grabbed a bottle of brandy and broke it, and held the broken glass to the mob boss's neck. A bead of blood trickled from where he pressed too hard.

"I will destroy you," the mob boss hissed. "I will destroy everything you love."

"You have MORE TO LOSE," the detective roared. "You have a family? I have one person. ONE PERSON I CARE ABOUT! WHAT ELSE CAN YOU TAKE?! TRY ME!!!"

He grabbed at the boss's wrist and bit into it until he released the gun. The boss wailed.

"YOU'RE INSANE!" He screeched.

"Tell me where they are," the detective said. "Tell me where they are now."

"In the abandoned warehouse near the pier," the mob boss said. "But you will never--"

Grunts stormed in from outside. They trained their guns on him.

The detective aimed the gun towards the ceiling, and shot the light. He ducked and rolled in the ensuing chaos.

"He's escaping! Get him! GET HIM, YOU IDIOTS!"

The detective burst into the room filled with festivities and barreled through the back entrance.

"Grab him! SOMEONE GRAB HIM!"

The detective pushed a chocolate fountain over. The grunts skidded and fell behind him.

Shots fired. The staff hit the floor.

Glass shattered. A bullet grazed the detective's side. He ran out the back and mounted the motorbike.

Too many cars parked. The grunts scattered in panic, trying to work a car free.

Precious time lost for them. The detective chuckled. That was a lesson in crowd management.

It was well after midnight when he reached the pier. Someone must've phoned he was coming. Grunts all around the perimeter.

They didn't expect him to be so brazen.

He barreled through a crowd of grunts who dove away with a cry. He shot at the deadbolt, but it held firm. A waste of bullets, a waste of time.

Something hit the back of his head.

The detective came to with a bag over his head. Hands tied behind his back, feet tied to a chair.

"Detective? You awake?"

His heart fluttered.

The thief's voice.

"I… It's you," the detective was overcome with emotion. "I heard you were dead."

"You came looking for me anyway?" The thief huffed. "You… Why would you do that? For me?"

"No, I was just looking for my wallet," the detective said. "You stole it again, remember?"

Laughter. "Lot of trouble for a wallet," the thief said. "You know you can request new cards--"

The detective drew in a sharp breath.

"What? What is it?" The thief sounded worried. "Did they hurt you? What?"

"N-nothing," the detective said, voice rough. "I…"

Thought I'd never see you again, he couldn't say.

"Merry Christmas," he said instead.

The thief snorted. "Yeah. Merry Christmas."

A click.

"Touching reunion," the mob boss said. "You two seem close. Let's test that relationship."

[almostpleasantrebel]

first lines fic challenge

first lines fanfic challenge thing: post the first 10 lines of 10 fics you've written (or up to that).

Thank you to @emthought for the tag!!! Tagging anyone who wants to play.

Yes, most of these are MASH. 1. The Only Times I’ve Ever Known

The hotel bar was quiet for a Friday night. The kind of quiet that hung like smoke in the air, velvety, thick, and not altogether unpleasant. Margaret stepped inside with the wind still clinging to her coat. She hesitated just past the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness. Soft light flickered off polished glass and brass fixtures, catching in the curves of half-empty tumblers and the tired expressions of traveling men.

She was early. Or maybe he was late.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she crossed the room. She hadn’t expected to be nervous. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t anything.

2. Spring Comes Late In Maine

The winter was cold and bitter, even by Maine standards, even when wrapped in the thick wool coat she’d stolen from Hawkeye, faded at the cuffs and pockets like warm caves. Margaret felt the cold down to her bones. It wasn’t just the air that bit, but something quieter, heavier. The kind of chill that didn’t lift with the snow. His coat had been hanging by his back door when she first arrived in November. She hadn’t asked, just shrugged into it one morning on her way to the bakery. It hung a little loose in the shoulders, with a faint scent of coffee and cedar. She never gave it back, and he never asked for it back.

By mid-March, the snow still clung to north-facing slopes and shadowed ditches, but the roads were clear and the light was changing. There was a softness at the edges of the days now, a golden hush just before dusk that she hadn’t noticed when she first came. She watched it from the kitchen window sometimes, a dish towel in her hand, forgetting what she’d meant to do next. 

3. Bits Of Light

The morning sunlight fell in ribbons across the old hardwood floor, catching on dust motes that swirled gently with the hum of the ceiling fan. Margaret Houlihan stood at the kitchen counter, cradling a ceramic mug in both hands. The mug was chipped on one side, with the glaze hairline-cracked like spider webs. She liked it that way; things with a little wear to them felt more honest. The tea was strong, steeped dark with a generous spoonful of honey. She took her time with the first sip, letting the warmth settle into the soft places behind her ribs. Outside the window, the daffodils she planted in March were stretching open, a mess of yellow and green tangled near the fence line. The breeze carried the faint scent of lilac from somewhere down the road.

Her dog, an old, sweet Beagle named June, snored quietly beneath the table. Her ears twitched in her sleep. She reached down to scratch the familiar patch behind her ear and murmured, “You’ve got the right idea.”

4. Somewhere Near The Ocean

It all started with an impulse decision. 

For five years, Margaret Houlihan had written to Hawkeye Pierce, long letters at first, filled with stories, updates, half-truths, and unsaid things. Over time, the letters grew shorter but somehow more honest, a postcard from Atlantic City. A note scribbled in the margins of a book that the other thought they would like, a clipping from the Boston Globe with a sarcastic remark in her sharp, slanted handwriting.

They never talked on the phone, even after exchanging numbers, and they never made plans to see each other in person. It was an unspoken agreement, safe, contained, and distant, like old wounds kept under clean bandages.

And then, one gray Tuesday in the middle of November, Margaret bought a train ticket to Maine.

No warning. No letter ahead of time. Just her and a suitcase and a sudden, irrational certainty that if she didn’t do something, anything, she’d regret it forever. 

The ride was long and quiet. She stared out the window at a blur of thawing fields and crooked telephone poles, rehearsing what she might say. Surprise sounded flippant.

5. The Middle Of Nowhere, Arizona

Margaret Houlihan was never one to disappoint anyone, especially her father. So when she returned from Korea and he told her he’d set up a head nursing position for her at an army hospital, she packed up and went despite not wanting to be in the army anymore, and wanting to work at a civilian hospital. 

The position at the hospital was fine enough; her nurses were extremely competent and good at what they did, and the doctors they worked with were respectable. 

After being at the hospital for a year Margaret began to feel conflicted, she had everything she should want. She was on the fast track to Lieutenant Colonel, her position was respected, and she’d even made friends with many of her nurses, but it somehow felt wrong. 

She told herself it was just an adjustment period, that after Korea, anywhere would feel dull. But no matter how hard she tried to settle into her routine, the feeling of emptiness gnawed at her. The rigid structure of army life, which had once given her purpose, now felt suffocating. The predictable shifts, the bureaucratic procedures, the lack of urgency—it all felt like she was just going through the motions absentmindedly.

Margaret had spent so much of her life proving herself, first to her father, then to the army, then to every man who thought she wasn’t strong enough to stand beside them. And yet, standing here, in a position of authority, she felt more like a shadow of herself than ever before.

It wasn’t until she found herself staring at the discharge papers of a young nurse—one who had chosen to leave for a civilian trauma center in Chicago—that the thought hit her with full force. 

6. Dear Diary

The town of Ashwick, Virginia, sits in a forgotten pocket of the state, nestled between the rolling Appalachian foothills and a once-thriving railway line that now only sees the occasional train. Though two decades have since passed the town is stuck in the early 1950’s and remains stubbornly fixed that way, refusing to acknowledge the world beyond its county lines had moved on without it.

Main street was lined with brick buildings whose fading advertisements were still painted on their sides, dotted with boarded-up storefronts, their window displays frozen in time--dusty mannequins in outdated dresses, rusting bicycles, and television sets that never got past black and white. The same family has run the five-and-dime store for three generations and still carries merchandise that hasn't been changed since Eisenhower was in office--filled with rows of tin lunch boxes, ceramic knick-knacks, and penny candy that hasn't cost a penny since the '60s. Lou's Diner serves burgers, meatloaf, and milkshakes under the warm hum of neon lights while waitresses who still call customers "hon" pour hot, fresh coffee into thick ceramic mugs. A jukebox that was older than all of the residents sat in the corner, filled with mostly Elvis, Buddy Holly, and Patsy Cline, rattling as it played. The movie theater hasn't gotten a new film since 1959 and mostly plays reruns of John Wayne westerns and mid-century musicals due to the owner and town councils who've been run by the same men for decades agreeing that newer movies are "too edgy" for Ashwicks tastes. What was once the town lifeline, Ashwick Station is now a ghost town with only one passenger train a day and the occasional freight train that just passes by without stopping. Though its timetable is still nailed to the wall it is years out of date. Old Mr. Dawson still runs the barber shop, refusing to stock newer magazines--its waiting area cluttered with aging editions of Life and Time, promising a future that had already come and gone elsewhere.

This is the town that the former Major Margaret Houlihan moved to in 1955 with her newborn baby girl, it was more populated and alive then, though not by much; the mines hadn’t yet closed, and the mill was still working at full capacity, trains both freight and passenger came and went multiple times a day. 

7. How Hearts Mend

Margaret looked at the freshly written letter on her desk, she stared at it for a few moments before crumbling it into a ball and throwing it away.

"This isn't right," she sighed to herself, placing her head in her hands. "I'm never going to get these done."

It had been two years since Margaret Houlihan left Korea. When the war ended she left the army completely and took up a job at a civilian hospital in Plymouth Massachusetts. She was content, she got along with her coworkers just fine and she enjoyed the less intense nature of the hospital compared to the 4077. The one thing is, Margaret hadn’t written any letters to those she served with, she tried of course but was never able to finish any, not even to respond to the few she had received. Now there were so many people that she needed to respond to, Hawkeye, BJ, Colonel Potter, and a few others including some of her nurses had all written her a letter or two. She desperately wanted to all of them, she’d have her letter planned out in her head perfectly but when she’d go to write it the words would vanish like smoke from a fire or wouldn’t sound right on paper. She sighed heavily, looking at the ever growing stack of crumbled up letters in the trash can beside her, it was her day off and she promised herself she would finally get them done. She reached over for another piece of paper and set off to start writing again. After what felt like hours but was only really twenty five minutes she finally finished a letter she was happy with. 

Margaret looked to the clock that hung right outside by her desk and groaned quietly; it was only noon but it felt much much later. 

8. Fever Hotter Than The Sun

Margaret's head started pounding as she stirred awake. Even with her eyes still closed she could tell that where she currently was, wherever that may be, was not where she fell asleep. It was even more strange when she realized that somehow wherever she was lying down was more uncomfortable than the cot she fell asleep in. She sat up, gently rubbing her eyes before slowly opening them, realizing she had been lying on the cold, hard, wooden floor of a college dorm room. Margaret felt strange as she started to fully wake up and become more aware of her surroundings, as far as she knew she fell asleep in a tent in Korea but woke up in an increasingly oddly familiar dorm room. She wasn’t quite sure if she was dreaming or if she had just woken up from a hyperrealistic dream. All of a sudden her eyes registered the light, causing her to groan as the pain in her head continued to grow. After giving herself another moment to adjust Margaret realized where she was, she was in one of the dorm rooms of her alma mater, but not hers. Though she wasn’t quite able to figure out exactly whose room it was. 

The sound is rushing water that she had previously been ignoring shut off as she stood up, making her way to a full-length mirror. Margaret found herself in a long skirt, burnt orange sweater, and a letterman jacket she must’ve taken off of one of the football players. Looking around the room the decorations and small touches a personality to try and figure out whose room she’s fallen asleep on the floor in. It wasn’t until she found a tube of noir red lipstick on the desk that it hit her she was in Helen’s dorm room, and she picked up the lipstick, turning it over in her hands as she carefully inspected the design on the outside of the tube. 

9. For Auld Lang Syne, My Dear

Margaret Houlihan had been in love with Helen Whitfield since they met in nursing school, once they graduated they both joined the United States Army Nursing Corps together and ended up stationed at separate bases. Every once in a blue moon, they were stationed at the same base together, and even though it was never for long they savored their time together. After The Korean War ended when they were both no longer in the army and back in the States life was complicated for both of them, Helen was still early into her sobriety and Margaret had to figure out who she was now that she was a civilian. Deciding that they were in unstable places in their lives they would wait until they were in more stable places to be together. Of course, they still wrote letters to each other often and called whenever they could, but they never saw each other, that is until one day in September of 1953. Without any thought or warning, Margaret decided to drive all the way down to Virginia and show up at Helen’s doorstep. She spent a week in Virginia with Helen, a wonderful week full of soft sheets against skin, fresh morning air flowing through windows, homemade breakfasts in bed full of sweet fresh fruit, and late-night picnics by the lake where they laid down in the cool grass and held each other. 

After a week Margaret reluctantly had to go back to Brooklyn. Her last night in Virginia was spent wrapped in Helen’s arms, breathing in the fresh night air that freely poured through the window and Helen’s familiar scent of sweet orange.

10. For The Sake Of Auld Lang Syne

By the time Susan left County it was dark despite only being around five in the evening and snowing heavily. She cursed quietly under her breath upon making it into her car and feeling how bitterly cold it was. The relatively short drive back to her apartment felt like years due to the clogged roads of everyone trying to leave work at the same time. Her mood only soured more when she discovered her parking spot had been taken, making her have to park further away and walk in the snow. Susan sighed in relief upon walking into the building, feeling the warmth of the heat as she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. 

The keys jingled lightly as the door opened and she stepped in carefully before closing it behind her. She hung her coat on the stand, dropping her bag somewhere near the door before slumping her way to the couch where Kerry was sitting while reading. 

“I hate working New Years,” Susan huffed. 

“At least you’re not working during the ball drop.”

“How did you manage to get off?”

[foalskin]

Maude Fealy, postcard ph. J. Beagles

"We'll baffle them, I warrant. What shall it be? I'll go as a nun." 

[littlestcreamsoda]

Rare qualities in pets I enjoy:

Blush (like the mommy cow)

Metallic features

Red

Tufts of fur on their head (like a beagle, a fox, etc)

Freckles

Natural patterns (calico, tiger, etc)

Postcard pet patterns

Blythe pets

Extreme pets

[bitbybitwrites]

Thank you to @forabeatofadrum , @wordsofhoneydew , @onthewaytosomewhere , @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion for tagging me for Six Sentence Sunday and WIP Wednesday!

I'm tired - are you all tired? Can I nap now?

Writing is going slowly, but its going:)

Some bits and pieces from assorted Klaine and RWRB WIP for you all under the link.

1.) From Puppy Love (RWRB Fluffy kid!fic): (cc @omgbarbiegurl )

“I know it’s crazy because maybe it’s kind of soon in our friendship and all . . but . . .” “Henry,” Nora gave him this warning glare that he felt even Raf wouldn’t be able to to ignore. “ . .Would you be my emergency dog sitter/walker when I’m caught in a bind?” Henry blurted out quickly. “Of course!”  Henry sighed in relief.  “Thank you.”  “Did you seriously think I’d say no?” Nora looked at David as he rolled over again to hint at a need for belly scratches.  “I can hardly say no to Raf, you think I’d do the same to you and this adorable little guy?”  She reached down to satisfy David’s insatiable need for attention, chuckling as she heard the happy grunts the beagle made as soon as she started. Henry reached into his pocket and tentatively pulled out a spare key for his apartment.  “I trust that you’ll use this sparingly and only when necessary?” “I will guard it with my life, “ Nora exclaimed as she took possession of the key.  “And I promise to refold everything in your underwear drawer after I rifle through it.” She winked. “I am regretting this decision already.” Nora stuck her tongue out at Henry playfully.  “Oh you’re full of it.  You know you love me, or you wouldn’t have asked. I am a delight!.” “You sound like Papi,” Raf said as he took over scratching David’s belly. “He learned from the best, kiddo,” Nora said, smirking. “I might be in need of your services sooner than later - but only if it won’t disrupt you and Raf.  If it will, I’m sure David would be fine by himself for a few hours today.” Henry confessed. “Noooooooooo!” Raf wailed, hugging David tightly.  “Can David stay and play?  Please Tia Nora? Please? Please-please-please-please?”  Raf turned on the pout and the puppy eyes.  David seemed to get the memo, Henry could have sworn the beagle was looking at Nora with the same expression. It was impossible for anyone to say no to those eyes ( human and canine).“Only if you finish your homework first.  Play after, OK?” Nora sighed as she told Raf.  “Someone’s got to be responsible here.  Your father trusted me with that.” Raf cheered as he gave David another big hug and was rewarded with a multitude of doggie kisses in return.  Henry had to grin at the bond David was developing with the little boy.  It was the kind of friendship he wished he had when he was younger.  A dog like David certainly would have made life in his grandmother’s house so much more tolerable. “Am I ever getting my dog back there do you think?” Henry asked as he leaned in to Nora. “I’m not quite sure.” Nora snickered.  “He’ll be in good hands, I promise.” She nudged Henry gently with her shoulder.  “Not to be too nosy.  But is everything OK?  Us watching David is kind of out of the blue - you two have been inseparable ever since you adopted him and brought him home.” Henry blushed as he fiddled with the postcard in his hands. “I . .um . . may have . .  a date.” “Shut up!” Nora cried gleefully as she smacked him on the arm.  “That’s fantastic!  Oh god, what will happen when Mrs. Schoenfeld finds out?  Will she double down on the baked goods to win you over?”  Nora cackled loudly at the thought. Henry groaned. “If that happens, I am leaving everything on your doormat.”

2.) From Sanctuary (Klaine fantasy AU): ( cc @datshitrandom and @justgleekout)

Taking the items and quickly tying them up in the cloth that the princeling had brought with him, the young woman paused for a moment, her eyes closing and her brow furrowing in concern. With one hand resting on her growing belly and one resting on the wooden table to support her weight, she paused in her task abruptly.   Blaine held his breath as he watched.  Mistress Fabray was a gifted young woman who came from a long line of seers.  He had heard of her visions and how they could overtake her at any time of the day or night. It was why she lived in the small secluded cottage away from the prying eyes of those in the castle. A slight breeze blew through the cottage, setting the assortment of crystals hanging above the window chiming softly against one another.  Quinn’s eyes filled with a golden glow, masking the kind brown ones that often were there. Her body shuddered as the vision overtook her. She gasped out, her voice gravelly and hard : Over hill, through darkened dale The blood flows fast, the cheek grows pale The crown that clatters to the ground Lies tarnished now and makes no sound. The bird that flies on moonlit wings No longer soars, no longer sings It tumbles swiftly from its nest So longing for its heart to rest By waters edge its finds its place Its soul will mend. A kindly face, Two lives entwined, two spirits one Beneath the boughs, warmed by the sun The courage lost is found in plain sight A journey then from day to night Brings fledglings back toward home and then The crown once rusted, shines again Falling to her knees, the seeress cried out as if in pain.  The princeling rushed forward to catch her as she went limp in his arms, her eyes rolling backward.  Panic begun to set in as Blaine lowered her gently to the floor.  He had to get help. “Watch over her, puss," the young prince ordered the brindle cat aa he stumbled out of the cottage door and down the well worn path that led farther into the wood.

3.) From my online auction!AU - how ardently i admire and love you - (RWRB fic)

Alex looked up to see his older sister come through the door, kicking off her heels and walking over to them.  June leaned over to kiss Nora as she grabbed a burrito for herself. She plopped down on the other end of the couch , dropping her feet in her brother’s lap and wigging her toes. “What’s the existential crisis, lil bit?” She asked, her eyes twinkling merrily. Alex huffed at his sister as he slowly picked away at the burrito in his hands.  “Henry’s birthday.” “Ahhhhh,” June nodded in understanding.  “Planning a party or buying a gift?” “Gift.” Nora responded around a mouth full of burrito. “Everything I think of he either owns, or has turned out to not be so great of an idea.  Bea talked me down from buying a polo pony a while ago.” June wrinkled her nose at that suggestion.  “Really Alex?  Polo?”   “I know, I know . . Bea said the same thing.” “It’s just not really . . .Henry.” Nora said  as she passed the bag of tortilla chips to the siblings. "Don't get me wrong, I know he plays but he's never gave me that rich-guy-polo-vibe. He's too down to earth, really." “I was at the end of my rope.” “Naughty . . .” Nora teased, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “There’s a good shibari workshop I know of . . if that’s more your thing.” “Nora!” June hissed, giving her girlfriend the “do-not-talk-about-that-in-front-of-my-little-brother” glare. “Oh . . . .OH . . . oh . . eeeeeewwww,” Alex groaned as he looked at the both of them, his head bobbing back and forth as if he was watching a tennis match between the two.  “No. Stop.  Stop right there.  Too much information.  I don’t ever want that picture seared into my brain.” “No kink shaming, Alex.” June said as she poked him in the stomach with her ankle. “Never say the words ‘kink’  and’ shaming’ to me in the same sentence ever again, Bug.  I never want to know how you two defile this apartment when I’m not here.” “But . . .” piped up Nora. “Never. Want. To. Know.”

4.) From If I Can Make Your Heart My Home ( Klaine fic) (cc @datshitrandom)

“Hello, my darling.  Have you been here long?” Cooper glanced up from his phone to see his grandmother standing in front of him, two steaming paper cups in her hands.  She offered one to him which he took gratefully. “Thanks, Nan.” He said, sighing as he took a long pull from the cup.  “Did your meeting go well?” She sighed.  “As well as it could have gone,  I suppose.  June is still livid about what happened at the Martell Fundraiser. But I suppose one can’t blame her.”  Lillian peered down the hallway towards her grandson’s room. “How was Blaine today?” “As well as could be expected.  What was it that Doctor Figgins told us? Pneumonia? “Bacterial pneumonia that was too far gone.” Nana said sadly.  “I should have caught on, but your brother was trying to not let me see how ill he was.” “Pain in the ass,” muttered Cooper, taking another sip of his coffee.”If he already wasn’t in the hospital, I’d put him in there myself.” Lillian chuckled.  “Why are you sitting out here?  Oh, and did Sam come by today?  He told me he would when I ran into him this morning.” Cooper stretched his long legs and arms, yawning deeply.  “I’m sorry, I just needed a bit of a break.  Since Blaine ’s been sleeping most of the time, I don’t think he would have noticed if I slipped out for a bit.  But yeah, Sam came by for a bit during lunch, dropped off some comic books for Blaine.  Told me Schubert is having a grand ole time having a sleepover with him.” Cooper’s eyes darted back down the hall toward where Blaine’s room was located.  “Nan, that fellow, Kurt, came by again.” he confessed  “He’s in with Blaine now.  I kind of felt he needed privacy. Blaine’s still asleep, though.” Lillian’s eyes softened.  “I’m glad he came to visit.” “What’s his deal, Nan?  What’s going on between those two?” “Kurt and Blaine have a lot to figure out and a lot to talk about, Cooper,” Lillian said.  “And that’s all you’ll get from me.” Cooper pouted.  “You’re no fun.” Lillian rolled her eyes as she stood up, brushing wrinkles away from her skirt.  “And you, my darling, love gossip too much.  Just like your grandfather.”

Ooof . . that was a lot.

So tagging for folks ( no pressure!): @hkvoyage, @spaceorphan18, @14carrotghoul, @myheartalivewrites, @kirakiwiwrites , @madas-ahatters-world and and anyone else who wants to go for it - go ahead!

[welcome-to-neighborhood-park]

Barnaby B. Beagle and Eddie Dear

Playfellow Engineering would like to introduce to you everyone's favorite comedian and mailman! With added touches to their designs, these two sport more noticeable differences compared to Wally and Home.

Characters Information Below

Barnaby B. Beagle is the funniest neighbor here at Neighborhood Park! He’s got a joke for every occasion! He's a Beagle who knows how to have fun but also knows how to kick back and do some proper loafing around. Often seen wandering the park alongside his best pal, Wally, visitors are sure to never miss the boisterous Beagle! And if you’re having trouble finding Wally, just find Barnaby and the little fella is sure to be nearby. While Wally draws in his sketchbook, Barnaby could be cracking jokes or balancing on his ball! If you ask, he’ll give you a kazoo and even show you how to play.

Barnaby turned his house into a funhouse to give everyone a laugh and show some of Home’s grouchier neighbors how to have fun! Giggle at the hilarious hall of mirrors, chuckle on the twisted floorboards, and howl as fellow visitors dive into the ball pit! This doghouse is after your funny bone!

When your done having a ball, or just want to relax, trek on over to Barnaby’s Lazy Tree Ride! No rivers here folks, visitors instead recline and relax under the shade of Barnaby’s favorite tree! Do some bird watching, listen to Barnaby’s recorded story, or play a game of I Spy and see if you can spot any of Wally’s art on the tree. An audio and visual experience for all ages!

Eye Color: Brown Height: 7'2" or 86 inches Age: mid 20s Additional Details: defined snout, dog whiskers, vest pockets, yellow apple clip on hat, noticeably fluffier

Sentient. Unaware.

Eddie Dear is seen all over the neighborhood as he makes his deliveries and offers help to his neighbors. He’s as clumsy as he is kind so make sure to clear a path for him! With how bustling the neighborhood’s gotten, Eddie made the decision to bring on some trainees to help manage the workload. If asked, Eddie will give you a pamphlet for the park and will give you a sticker as well! You can also just ask for the sticker if you got you pamphlet from the post office.

Eddie’s Post Office serves as the Information Center, everything you need to know can be found there and the Post Office employees are always available if you have questions! Any lost items can be retrieved in from Eddie’s Lost and Found located in the building. Inside there’s also an arts n crafts area where visitors make their own postcards and letters to keep or send to any of the neighbors! When not delivering the mail or helping folks in the neighborhood, Eddie can be found here making or teaching visitors various paper crafts!

Eddie brings his trainee and visitors looking for a tour on The Mail Delivery Monorail to not only show them the ropes of being a postman, but also show off the delightful neighborhood he calls home! The Mail Delivery Monorail is a tour ride that travels down the center of the roundabout sidewalk. Eddie talks about the neighborhood, residents, and all the things to do! The monorail stops at each neighbor’s house where Eddie gets off to deliver their mail. During this time visitors can exit the ride or listen to his trainee give a fun fact about the park Eddie forgot to mention.

Eye Color: Purple Height: 5'8" or 68 inches Age: late 20s Additional Details: chin stubble, left breast pocket with Post Office Logo, envelope shaped belt buckle. (I think he has stains under his eyes? if you ask me they kinda look like eyebags,,)

Sentient. Aware.

[ourboudoir-on-etsy]

[oyasumi-ashurii]

if you get this, answer with three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs! anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog ✨️

Oh! Honestly I'm pretty boring lmao, but here's some at the top of my head: 1. I'm a leftie, as is quite a few people in my family and we're all more on the creative side. It's just a weird coincidence but an interesting one. 2. I have a pretty decent sized FF collection, especially a whole shelf dedicated to FF8 (not really the figurines, I'm more of a book and music girl so I collect 90s magazines, the ultimania guide, postcards, vinyls and soundtracks, etc. I do have griever and a music box, too!) I might share a picture of what I've collected over the 10+ years sometime! 3. I have two sweet doggos! a beagle/yorkie named Sophie and a blue heeler/german shepherd named Ripley (my husband's a big fan of Alien haha)! Ty for this~! <3

[romanovsonelastdance]

Can you share your favorite reverse sides of the cards you have? Such as what is written or perhaps a back whose design you like. Love your posts about collecting cards and photos!

I can only read the ones that are in English or French; anything else is a mystery to me!

I can say that my favorite back is hands-down the one I'm like 99% sure was actually written by the person who is pictured on the other side. About a year ago I bought this Maria Pavlovna Sr (Miechen) card for like $30. There was nothing in the listing to suggest she had signed it or had written it, and I hadn't looked at the scans of the back really at all when I bought it.

But when it arrived I realized the 'Marie' on the front was not a facsimile but something someone had actually written, and that the writing on the back (in French) looked an awful lot like examples of Miechen's handwriting. It was post-marked St. Petersburg and addressed to a Princess (Her Highness Mme the Princess Murat). It seems like the seller didn't know what they had and I didn't realize what it was until I had it in my hands!

Other than that I don't really have any favorites. But I do have examples.

Sort of "standard" Russian postcard back. A lot of them look like this, or something very similar.

These are charity ones, I believe? This is from c.1904, and the crown at the top has Alix's name around it, so presumably the purchase of this card supported some of her charities. I also have some from WWI with Tatiana's name.

This is the back of the 'OTMA Bingo' set I've been collecting. I have all of them, but two of them don't have this exact back.

Here are the two major British publishers, Beagles and Rotary:

And some French ones. The first from the 1901 series with baby Anastasia, and the second from the 1920s anti-Bolshevik cards; sometimes these also had a rubber stamped 'committee anti-bolcheviste' on them but this one doesn't.

[monkeyssalad-blog]

Dorothy Gish by Truus, Bob & Jan too! Via Flickr: British postcard in the Famous Cinema Stars Series by J. Beagles & Co., London, no. 103.A. American actress Dorothy Gish was the sister of silent film star Lilian Gish. D.W. Griffith discovered the two girls in 1912 and they starred in his epics Hearts of the World (1918) and Orphans of the Storm (1921). Dorothy Elizabeth Gish was born in 1898 in Massillon, Ohio, USA. Her restless father, traveling salesman James Lee Gish was frequently absent and later abandoned his family. Her mother, Mary Robinson McConnell a.k.a. Mary Gish, entered into acting to make money to support the family. As soon as Dorothy and her sister Lillian Gish were old enough, they became part of the act. In 1902, at the age of four, Dorothy made her stage debut portraying the character Little Willie in 'East Lynne', an adaptation of the 1861 English novel by Ellen Wood. In 1912 they met fellow child actress Mary Pickford, and she got both of them extra work with Biograph Pictures in New York at salaries of 50 dollars a week. Director D.W. Griffith was impressed by both the girls and cast them in An Unseen Enemy (D.W. Griffith, 1912), their first picture. Dorothy would go on to star in over 100 two-reel films and features over the years. She would appear in the very successful Judith of Bethulia (D.W. Griffith, 1914) with Blanche Sweet and Henry B. Walthall. Griffith did not use Dorothy in any of his earliest epics, but while he spent months working on The Birth of a Nation and Intolerance, Dorothy was featured in many feature-length films made under the banner of Triangle and Mutual releases. They were directed by young Griffith protégés such as Donald Crisp, James Kirkwood, and Christy Cabanne. Elmer Clifton directed a series of seven Paramount-Artcraft comedies with Dorothy that were so successful and popular that the tremendous revenue they raked in helped to pay the cost of Griffith’s expensive epics. These films were wildly popular with the public and the critics. She specialised in pantomime and light comedy, while her sister appeared in tragic roles. Then the two sisters made a number of films together, including the extremely successful Hearts of the World (D.W. Griffith, 1918) and Orphans of the Storm (D.W. Griffith, 1921). In both films, Dorothy would play French girls, but in different periods of time. Wikipedia about Hearts of the World: "In the 1918 release Hearts of the World, a film about World War I and the devastation of France, Dorothy found her first cinematic foothold in comedy, striking a personal hit in a role that captured the essence of her sense of humor. As the 'little disturber', a street singer, her performance was the highlight of the film, and her characterization on screen catapulted her into a career as a star of comedy films." Dorothy became famous in a series of Griffith-supervised comedies for the Triangle-Fine Arts and Paramount companies from 1918 through 1920. Almost all of these films are now considered to be lost. While Dorothy Gish would excel in pantomime and light comedy, her popularity would always be overshadowed by that of her sister Lillian, who was considered to be one of the silent screen's greatest stars. Lillian would try her hand at directing, with a film called Remodeling Her Husband (Lillian Gish, 1920), which starred Dorothy and James Rennie. Dorothy and James married later that year. Dorothy would only make a handful of films in the 1920s. In the costume film Romola (Henry King, 1924) about Italy in the Middle Ages, she would again co-star with Lillian. By 1926 Dorothy had moved to England, where she would star as the title figure in Nell Gwyn (Herbert Wilcox, 1926). The success led to three more British films. Her last silent film would be Madame Pompadour (Herbert Wilcox, 1927) with Antonio Moreno. When the film industry converted to talking pictures, Dorothy made one in 1930, the British crime drama Wolves (Albert de Courville, 1930) with Charles Laughton. Earlier, in 1928 and 1929, her performances in the Broadway play 'Young Love' and her work with director George Cukor renewed her interest in stagecraft and in the immediacy of performing live again. After that, she enjoyed a long career on the stage. Only incidentally, she accepted film offers. Director Otto Preminger cast Dorothy in his 1946 film, Centennial Summer. Her final film appearance was in The Cardinal (Otto Preminger, 1963). Gish had divorced James Rennie in 1935. Dorothy never married again. In 1968, Dorothy Gish passed away by bronchial pneumonia in Rapallo, Italy. She was 70. Her remains were interred at Saint Bartholomew's Episcopal Church in New York City. In 1976, the Dorothy and Lillian Gish Film Theater was dedicated on the Bowling Green State University campus in Bowling Green, Ohio. Sources: Tony Fontana (IMDb), Wikipedia, and IMDb. And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

[petitescartes]

vintage CB radio QSL postcard beagle comic 1970s Spruce Grove Alberta

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss

Such is the Star of Roanoke

AT THE STAR OF ROANOKE, MILL MOUNTAIN PARK, ROANOKE, VA: It may have started in 1949 as a Christmas marketing promotion among local merchants ... but for some reason, a gigantic star atop Roanoke's Mill Mountain has become something of a hallmark of the community, one of a handful of such whose names are bound to bring out the laughs.

Not to mention affording quite the view of Roanoke below, and when conditions are just right, the Blue Ridge country beyond.

Yet for some reason, our intrepid little party decided to make the drive up Mill Mountain as the evening made itself obvious--not to mention being when the Star of Roanoke was switched on for the evening ahead. In the main, such is in white neon, but for the sake of patriotic identity, red, white and blue are displayed on the likes of Memorial Day, Independence Day, the 9/11 anniversary and Veterans' Day. But at one point, as a safety reminder, the star displayed red for two days following casualties in the wake of traffic accidents.

Though you have to picture us trying to divide our attention between the lights of Roanoke and the giant star in the nighttime sky glowing down on The Star City of the Blue Ridge, a moniker since bestowed on Roanoke thanks to the landmark's influence. And who could blame them, even considering the time a certain Dirty Dawg invoked her name just to try and get some sustenance?

Until, for some reason ... an occasional girlfriend of mine, Betty Makaska even, came unto the scene to drink in the view from Mill Mountain. She may be a little on the crazy side, folks, but at least she can become interesting company, even if Huckleberry Hound may have been at a loss for words at seeing Betty Makaska close to our motorhome in the overlook site's parking lot.

"And who might those two beagles be?" asked she, whence I replied, "No less than the Bungle Brothers." Who, in turn, introduced themselves as half-baked vaudeville wannabes forever seeking some attention, even if Branson, Missouri doesn't want them for some reason or another.

"And none other than Crazy Claws," introduced he, "crazy as much in name as in Nature, and not just the personal nature you may otherwise be expecting." Which had Betty Makaska asking rather dumbfounded, "Is he for REAL, Snagglepuss?!"

"How else could it be?" replieth I.

Which, for some reason, saw Betty Makaska join our company beside the Star of Roanoke.

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

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