#file under: muses: stanford

[knotfodder]

name: Stanford Pines nicknames: Ford, Fordsy (by some) dob. age: June 15 (25-45) gender: Male pronouns: (he/him/his) secondary gender: Alpha occupation: researcher species: human (unless..?) younger fc: Tyler Hoechlin older fc: Jeffrey Dean Morgan

+smart, studious, head strong+ -stubborn, isolating, withdrawn-

[mossy-chaos]

These are all of the codes I could find in the Book of Bill!

The order is decoded message-page-type of cipher

Spoilers under the cut (for those of you who decode yourselves):

Black and white-back of the cover jacket-authors cipher

Even his lies are lies-inside the front cover-theraprism cipher

Praise the fallen angle-first actual page-Cipheric (this is the only time Cipheric is used for some reason)

Olaf was here-same-rune (not sure what this is a reference to)

Remember us-same-Bill's cipher

Let him in and break the seal between what's fiction and what's real-books new master-Bill's cipher

The Axolotl thinks he's won but Ciphers games have just begun-handprint page-color cipher

Irregular-fake covers(very top)-color cipher

The one who writes the codes-about me-Caeser cipher

Glotto/slotheny-Magazine cover(7 new sins)-Bill's cipher (I love the new sins lol)

Not a phase-Stanford pines here(on the goth moth)-Authors cipher-love the jack skellington reference (if thats what that is lol)

Warning/Folding this card may/result in crossovers-the universe is a hollogram-rune (Maybe that's how we finally get an owl house/gravity falls crossover)

My optometrist never saw it coming-What is a human-Theraprism

Paper is book skin/Shave your grandma-Skin-Bill's cipher

Love pain-Bill's tattoo knuckles-Same

Lies-How to trick everyone into loving you-same

Regrowing limbs is Axy's art/but can he regrow a ripped out heart-How to cheat death-Bill's cipher (he must really be mad at the Axolotl)

Eye doctor of a different kind/who wants to make his patient blind-silly straws-caesar

The doctor says/three sips a day/will make the visions/go away-Same

Fussy eater/baby Billy/wouldn't drink/unless it's silly-same (love how this implies that he only drank out of silly straws)

Mason-Embarrassing memories-Bill's cipher (love seeing Dipper's real name again)

Booberry-the meaning of life(popsicle stick)-Bill's cipher

One eyed king-the early years-theraprism

Suck it-The good times(liscense plate)-Caesar

Can warp narrativity/protect fourth walls-Alert from time baby-A1Z26

Lone survivor of the Euclidean massacre-Rune (I wonder what happened during that event and what that event actually is)

Tantrum-Bill's Cipher

Which henchmaniac ratted me out-The shaman-Theraprism (I find this one funny)

Titans blood-the dark ages(Wizards hat)-Rune (Love the owl house reference here)

Suck it Merlin-Never trust a wizard-Rune

Daryll-Cipherstitions(lobster lord of the deep)-Theraprism (love how that's his name)

Curse Wittebane-Witchcraft-Rune

It's all made up-America(the dollar)-Caesar

Countries aren't-Bill's cipher

Rubberhose-Animation-A1Z26

Bill cipher-top secret file-Same

Six fingered freak-Lost in the woods-authors cipher

Stanley would have made her laugh-same (he just rolled better charisma dude)

If lost return to Bill-my muse and me-Theraprism (love how he said this means wise one and also more billford hehe)

Forget the past-A voice from the past page 2-Bill's cipher (this implies that Bill wants Ford to forget Stanley so he won't get in the way)

Hopefully F's gloves will hide what Cipher has done to my hands-I was wrong about everything page 2-Author's Cipher (I love this one <3)

Ouroboros-Wakey wakey here's a snakey (on the snake)-Bill's Cipher (I guess this is the snakes name?)

Miss you-try to forget (on window)-bro's secret code

Have I been too harsh all along?-Should I contact S-Bro's secret code

Hotxolotl-Dimensional authority call transcript (on the sauce packet)-Bill's cipher

I can write codes too it's not that hard!-Dipper's page-Bill's cipher (he do be flexing his intelligence there)

(What a buncha) Love ya bro-Stanley's letter-Bro's secret code (love how this shows that they both still remember the code they made up as kids)

Just fit in (repeated)-SSSSTANNNNLEEEYY-Rune

Holy mackerel-color cipher

AXOLOTLLOTAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLOTLAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLOTLAXOLOTLLOTLAXLOTLAXLO-Theraprism

Wellwellwellbeing-message from the theraprism-A1Z26

Spheremonger, Eternalor, Bill cipher, The Logicube, Paingorious, Jessica, Shadorg, Mr Silly, The beast-recent inpatient names-Theraprism (the hallucination dog is still creepy lol)

Justice for Scrimbles/Remember Grembley-inside Back cover-Theraprism/Rune (JUSTICE FOR SCRIMBLES!!!!)

Those are all of the codes that are in this book! (Or at least that I could find lol)

[imxthexhandler]

Has your muse seen files regarding one Stanford Pines of Gravity Falls Oregon as a person of interest of any kind?

"..."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. can neither confirm or deny we have a file on a Mr. Stanford Pines from Gravity Falls, Oregon. Subject matters of any existing or expunged case files would be strictly confidential under the highest clearance."

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

Son of A B****

Title: Son of Bitch Square Filled: Omega!Sam Ship (if any): Sam/Dean, Omega!Sam/Alpha!Dean Rating: T Tags: Omega!Sam, ABO, Mpreg, Backgound ABO Summary: Sam goes to see the doctor thinking there might be something wrong or that he’s too stressed, Dean thinks Sam’s just starting omegapause, turns out they’re both wrong Word Count: 2201 Written/Created for @spnaubingo

Son of A Bitch

“I’m sure you’re worried for nothing,” Dean said. “Just stressing yourself out.” 

“But it could be something,” Sam replied. “I’d rather just talk to the doctor and see what’s going on.” 

“Could be omegapause,” Dean mused. 

“…Are you saying I’m old?” Sam asked. “I’m not even 40 yet.” 

“Okay, pre-omegapause,” Dean added. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Saying that isn’t actually making me feel better, Dean. If anything it’s making me think about morality and wills and burial plots.” 

“But you’re not thinking about what could be stressing you out,” Dean pointed out. “You’re welcome.” 

Sam snorted. “The way your mind works will never cease to amaze me.” 

“Sam Winchester?” 

He looked up at the sound of his name and saw a nurse standing in the doorway of the waiting room. 

“I gotta go, I’ll see you at home alright?” Sam added. 

“Everything will be okay Sam. And whatever it is, which is nothing, we will face it together. Like we always do,” Dean told him. 

Sam smiled a bit. “I know…Love you.” 

“Love you too.” 

Sam hung up as he stood and walked over to the nurse. “Right this way Sam. Since this is your first time seeing Dr. Sterns we have to do a couple routine tests for your file and then she’ll come in when we’re finished alright?” 

He nodded and went through the tests. He made a mental note to see about getting Dean to the doctor at some point. They were both pretty healthy, but it never hurt to have a doctor sign off on it. 

“Alright, I’ll take these samples to the lab and Dr. Sterns will be in a few minutes,” the nurse told Sam before stepping out. 

He leaned back in one of the chairs and tried not to let on how nervous he felt. He sat up straighter as the door opened and a young woman stepped into the room. 

“Sam Winchester? I’m doctor Sterns,” she smiled and offered her hand. “How are we doing today?” 

“Just trying to remember the last time I was in a doctor’s office,” he chuckled as they shook hands. “Moved around a lot for most of my life, so I’m more used to the whole free clinic, and urgent care types.” 

“Move around a lot for work?” she asked. 

“Something like that,” Sam answered. 

“Well, everything looks good, our labs are not too busy today so we should get those lab results back by the time we’re finished. I see you are a new patient with us, and you had a few concerns that prompted you coming in today. Why don’t we talk about those,” she said. 

“Right, uh it might be nothing, and it could just be me stressing out over nothing, I’ve been having trouble sleepy lately, and I’ve noticed that sometimes I get night sweats. I’ve also been getting headaches a lot more, haven’t been in the mood for sex much lately, my mate told me to mention that one, I’ve had some cramping on and off as well and some weight gain…I went online, and from what I’ve been seeing I guess I might going into pre-omegapause?” he explained. 

“If only all my patients were as thorough as you,” Dr. Sterns chuckled. “Some of the symptoms you describe can coincide with pre-omegapause. I see here you’re going to be thirty six soon, and it isn’t uncommon to start getting symptoms in one’s late thirties. However, what you’ve told me could also indicate pregnancy.” 

“Pregnancy?” Sam blinked surprised. 

That thought hadn’t crossed his mind. 

“You mentioned that you haven’t had your heat in a few months? When was your last heat?” she asked. 

“Mid May,” Sam answered. “And it didn’t last as long as it normally did. Usually it’s a week long this time it is a couple days. Three I think.” 

She nodded and wrote something notes down. “If you don’t mind me asking, why is it your first thought was pre-omegapause and not pregnancy?” 

“Well…if it was going to happen for me, shouldn’t it have happened by now?” Sam asked. “I mean…I’ve been with my mate practically all my life, and we’ve always shared my heat together, when I was younger I used to take birth control, but as I got older I started having bad reactions to it so I stopped, and there are times when we’ve forgotten protection, we just kinda assumed kids were just not in the picture for us.” 

“Have either of you been tested to know for certain?” She asked. 

“We were never in one place long enough to really think about it,” Sam admitted. He ran a hand through his hair. “But…you’re saying there’s a chance I could be pregnant?” 

“There is a chance yes,” she nodded. “The blood sample will give us a more definitive answer.” Her computer chimed and she turned to look at it. “Which, it looks like we’ve got the results.” 

“I haven’t been this nervous since I applied to Stanford,” Sam smiled a bit. 

“Alright, let’s see here. cholesterol looks good, negative for any STDs or infections which is good, and the HCG levels in your blood are on the higher side, you are pregnant Sam,” she smiled at him. 

“Really?” Sam asked. 

She turned the screen so he could see. “Normal HCG levels tend to be around here, but when you’re pregnant they’ll be around here, and get higher the further along in your pregnancy. In some cases, very high HCG levels could indicate twins or even triplets. Given your age, it wouldn’t be impossible for you to have fraternal twins.  Your hormone levels are a bit on the low side which could be playing a part in why you haven’t been feeling any nausea or morning sickness. That could spike the further along you get.” 

“Son of a bitch,” Sam sat back in the chair. “Sorry,” he blushed embarrassed. “I don’t mean to swear it’s just…the fact that I might be pregnant never even crossed my mind and then to find out I am, and that I could have twins…it’s a lot.” 

“Would you like to do an ultrasound?” She asked. “See what they look like? And it’ll tell us how far along you are.” 

“Uh yeah, sure,” Sam nodded. 

He got up and laid down on the exam table and unbuttoned his shirt while she wheeled over the machine. He shivered when the gel made contact with his stomach and watched the screen. 

“And there is your baby,” she turned the screen so he could see better and pointed. “Judging by the size, you’re just about shy two months, which means, you conceived during your last heat, which explains why it was so short. Generally once pregnancy takes, the heat is finished.” 

“Wow…They’re so small,” Sam was in awe. 

“Let me print you off a couple of pictures, and I’ll write down a list of prenatal vitamins for you,” she told him. 

She gave him some tissues to clean off his stomach and he sat up to wait for her. 

An hour had him pulling down the driveway to their house. After almost two years it was still weird to know they had a house to call home. A permanent home. He pulled his car in next to the Impala and grabbed the grocery bag off the seat and locked the doors before making his way to the house. 

“Dean?” He called as he stepped inside. “Hey boy,” he knelt down to receive a few kisses from their dog Zeppelin and Sam’s still not sure how Dean won that one one. “Where’s Dean huh? Where’s he at?” 

Zeppelin barked and ran over to the sliding glass doors that led to the back porch. Sam took the pie he picked up from the grocery store out of the bag and set it in the fridge. He was pleased to see the writing on it hadn’t smeared on the drive home. He hid a few beers and soda’s in front of it. And maybe that should have been the tip off. He can’t remember the last time he had an actual drink, as he’d been drinking soda and water a lot more. 

“Hey,” Sam stepped onto the back porch. 

“Hey,” Dean smiled. “How’d it go?” 

“Good, it was uh, it was good,” Sam answered. 

“See? I told you you had nothing to worry about,” Dean turned his attention back to the grill. “Figured I’d make kabobs for dinner. I even made sure to do a healthy amount of meat and veggies so you won’t complain this time.” 

“I don’t think meat on a stick by itself really counts as a kabob Dean,” Sam pointed out as he walked over. 

Dean wrapped his arm around him as he turned the kabobs over and leaned up to kiss his temple. “Well lucky for me, pretty much the whole world agrees that meat on a stick by itself does count.” 

Sam snorted and reached for a pepper. “I’ll go set the table. We eating inside or outside?” 

“Outside, the weather’s nice,” Dean answered. “Grab me a beer too would you?” 

Sam went back into the house and grabbed the plates from the cabinet and drinks for them. He stopped in the doorway when he saw Dean putting the kabobs on a plate, and tossing a few pieces of chicken to Zeppelin. 

He could already picture Dean standing at the same grill with their little boy or girl. Talking them through the intricacies of perfect grilling. Sneaking extra food to Zeppelin when Sam wasn’t looking. 

“I know you’re there Sam,” Dean said without looking over his shoulder. 

“He’s gonna get fat if you keep sneaking him food like that,” Sam said as he set the plates on the table. 

“He’ll be fine. Ain’t that right Zep?” Dean tossed the dog another piece before he turned off the grill and joined Sam at the table with a plate of kabobs. 

“I’ve never seen so many vegetables on your plate before,” Sam teased. “And such variety.” 

“At least I’m not getting a little paunch unlike someone,” Dean mused as he picked up his beer. 

My paunch is our baby, Sam was tempted to say, it was weird to think it but it made him feel warm inside. He knew deep down Dean had always wanted a family, and Sam had always felt a little disappointed with himself that he hadn’t been able to give that to Dean despite his claims that all he needed was Sam. But now he was pregnant, and as much as he wanted to tell Dean, he didn’t want to ruin the surprise, so instead he just kicked Dean under the table. 

“Ow,” Dean reached down to rub his ankle. “Mean.” 

They finished eating in mostly silence, comfortable silence that came from years of living in each other’s pockets and Sam pushed his plate away once he was done. He covered his mouth as he burped. 

“Excuse me,” he blushed. 

“I will take that as a compliment,” Dean grinned. 

“I picked up some pie on my way home,” Sam told him. “I put it in the fridge.” 

“Is it apple? I hope it’s apple,” Dean said as he stood up. “You want a slice?” 

“I’ll pass,” Sam answered. “But I’ll take a root beer on your way back.” 

“Must be some good news you got at the doctors. You’ve been smelling all good since you got home, and you picked up pie? If it weren’t the anti-possession tattoos I’d think you were possessed by a demon or something…Which reminds…me…” Dean’s voice trailed off. 

“Dean?” Sam leaned back to try and peer into the house. 

He stood up and walked into the house and found Dean in the kitchen. He was standing front of the fridge holding the door open. He was looking down at the pie in the fridge. Sam had asked the bakery clerk to write We’re pregnant on top of the pie in frosting. 

“Turns out it wasn’t pre-omegapause, or omegapause or stress…I’m uh. I’m pregnant Dean,” Sam told him. “We’re gonna have a baby.” 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said. 

“Yeah…my thoughts too when I found out,” Sam chuckled. 

“But what about…and all those times,” Dean said as he looked at Sam. 

“Stress…it can decrease infertility and the chances of conceiving,” Sam replied. “The last decade and a half has probably been a little stressful what with hunting monsters and trying to keep the world from imploding…you know, just normal everyday stressful things.” 

Dean laughed a little. “Yeah, totally normal stressful things…fuck, Sam this is…” 

“Good?” Sam asked hopefully. 

“More than good Sammy,” Dean answered. He set the pie down on the counter and walked over to Sam. His fingers brushed their bond mark as he pulled him down into a kiss and Sam melted into it. 

“This is amazing,” Dean said as he pulled away. “You’re gonna get so fat.”

Sam snorted and shoved his mate. “Screw you.” 

Dean just grinned at him. “I mean consider screwing is what led us here…” 

“Oh my god, just eat your pie,” Sam laughed.

[acioo]

( PART TWO HERE ) & ( PART THREE HERE ) here are NINE CHARACTER BASES ( label & background & personality ), all of whom i have played out in the past. they expand beyond ‘ the bad girl ‘ and ‘ the prince ‘ because i think as a community we’re all tired of the cliche bull, so have some of my most fun & most subversive times. these are for inspiration purposes as well as admin purposes. if you are going to use these in an rph setting, i request credit, but otherwise, it’s not necessary. ( all details viable to change ; pinterest board links available for all of them - if you are interested in my characters, see my muse page )  TW : death, alcohol, drugs, foster care, gun, blood, abuse, ( parental ) emotional neglect

001.    THE SUFFERING PSYCHIC — your father’s a shadow of a man you see in your dreams and your mother never stopped running. leaving you with relatives is the right thing to do, she thinks. they are the people she was running from, she forgets. you’re just like your mother, but you’re asthmatic and afraid and you won’t get as far as she did ( how many countries ? your cousins count with careless whispers when they think you’re asleep, but you can’t bear to ). you’re just helpless. they can’t see you in the way they see your best friend or older sister, and when they do, they try to ignore the way your eyes pick up the minor details and the power that’s an angry, divine throb in your veins.

002.   THE GHOST — you are the royal child who flourishes in the light. you look just like your mother, a golden beauty, but you speak and all they hear is your crisscrossed father. morally questionable at best, but no one can notice. have they seen the way you glitter in the light ? the sparkle in your smile ? they heard from a friend who heard from a friend that your magic is a beautiful white. all you were was good, but now everyone speaks of you as the ghost in the room. at least you died doing what you loved, which no one will talk about because it’s not something that a royal does. now that you’re back it’s hard to see anything but the haunted look in your eyes. you still love to smile. you just won’t smile for them.

003.   THE PRINCE OF HIS OWN MAKING — you’re the richest kid in town and you act like it. your father built the house you and your dozens of friends party at on the weekends and your mother’s shady mafia ties are something you and your first ( and only ) girlfriend ( now best friend ) are the only ones that know about. you’ve hooked up with half your small town and your fists have callouses from long nights outback the local convenience store because you never learned to think before you speak. no one cares that you speak four languages or that your stanford acceptance letter is on the fridge because they just want to know about where you got those pretty green eyes from and how you learned to look so good in dark clothes. and you’re fine with that. aren’t you ?

004.   THE UNWILLING VICTOR — you live in the shadow of your older sister, but you’ve never minded. the light blinds your eyes and you crack, finely and an ugly shade, when people look too closely. you’re barefeet on grass and bubblegum chapstick. and maybe you don’t know what’s under the cracks, either. but even though people would love you peel you apart like the wrapper on a piece of candy, you’re used to avoiding the spotlight and you’ve never liked surprises. because outside the peach sweet softness and perfectly white smile, the truth is that you’re not so pretty underneath it all. your fingers know how to load and unload a gun from muscle memory and the things you say have a sad song playing under them. maybe that look your older sister gives you isn’t pity. maybe it’s something else, something scary that you can’t look in the eyes.

005.  THE PUNK — you’re born with fire in your blood. you’re not the first in your family to be great, but rather one of the many, and isn’t that worse, somehow ? knowing that you never really had a choice in this life ? knowing that your story was already written and played and annotated ? they speculate that maybe you’re like this because of it all. the pressure made you a diamond and you hate that. you drink like you’re dehydrated and vodka’s pedialyte but you’re always awake for six am ballet and ready for 12 pm ice skating. and, hey, you might scare off the press with your loud mouth and your angry curses but they’re still going to follow you from apartment to liquor store to your fwb’s house because you’re the prettiest face they’ve seen in a while and you’re lightning on your feet. all you want is for it to stop but your family raised you to skate, not to live.

006.   THE CASSANDRA — you’re an accident. the sixteen-year-old heiress can’t be having a child. especially not with all the nights she spends out with her friends drinking like her life depends on it. you’re raised by your grandparents and all you know is their strict, unloving voice. you learn what it’s like to be a pawn. you can’t make them happy but you will try with all your might. from the ballet lessons to the ballet recitals to the ballet rehearsals, you’ll crack the code to their affection somehow. when you start having the visions, you don’t tell them the truth. they blame it on that time of year where all the recitals line up, leaving you an irritable, sleep-deprived mess. when you breathlessly pant about death and blood with words that aren’t yours, they turn elsewhere. but when your mother who was not your mother dies they look right at you. the foster system is a dark place until you walk with a compass based on that thing inside you into your new parent's upper east apartment. you grow up there. learn to laugh again, learn soft hands and a gentle heart, but the rooster of lovers and paint stains can’t hide the fact that you don’t know what to do with all this power that’s thrust itself onto you. you know the truth. this power is going to swallow you whole.

007.  THE ACCIDENTAL PROTAGONIST — you’re the baby of the family and by the time you’re born, your parents are out of love to give. your older siblings try their hand at raising you but the truth is they’re babies too, and they don’t know how to handle you. you with the different eyes and the different, quiet temperament and all the different problems. you don’t talk a lot but your eyes are big and wide and they see too much. you spend your days going from your fancy school to your fancy penthouse to your fancy therapist until your fancy parents uproot you to a new town. you don’t do feelings and you don’t do bonding, but when people look past everything that other people made you into, you feel like you’re finally starting to be someone and it’s freeing in the best way. you have something underneath all that. you like to yell sometimes. and you can snap. and that’s okay too.

008.   THE JERSEY DEVIL — you’re the cool kid. your cool house. your cool name. your cool parents. but it wasn’t always like that. your biological parents can’t handle one child, let alone the baseball team they have. your twin sister who you never know has your same warm brown eyes, but you find that out later, older, a pack of files in hand. and you think that’s when you first learn heartbreak. when it settles into you a cold, unruly presence. you don’t know how to get it out so you learn to adapt to it. your adoptive parents like to gloss over all the things you picked up over the years. your diagnoses, your bloody fists, your knack for troublemaking. besides, when you get arrested it’s forgotten about a news cycle later. the rumors still stay there though. about all your conquests and about all your foster homes and how your friends all have that same dirty designer look to them. you’re happy the way you are even if your pr team isn’t.

009.   THE MIDDLE CHILD — you’re the poster child for middle child syndrome, even if it’s only by eleven seconds. you aren’t like your siblings, princess and basket case. you’re angry in a way they can’t be. you like classical music at prolific volumes and you like driving your car too fast and you like making people regret believing in you. your mother scoffs. says you’re just like your grandmother who she moved countries to get away from, who drank vodka like orange juice, who never could stand the way her daughter liked to lie to herself. your father glances away. asks you to please turn that down, or please show your ‘ friend ‘ out, or to please stop ruining dinner. when you’re home alone again at age fifteen you make them regret treating you like this. and when you’re seventeen when they leave the keys to the porsche in your eyesight. and when you’re eighteen and you and your siblings can’t even make it up the steps in the penthouse because you’re so wasted new years eve. you’re angry and vicious and that makes you really fucking happy in a way that nothing else does.

[vmheadquarters]

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. --Chapter Twenty-Seven of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @nevertothethird​​. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.28 from @his-beautiful-girl​ - tag, you’re it!

_____________________________________________________________

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN by @nevertothethird​

“So, what’s our first move?” Logan asked.

Such a simple question, Veronica mused, and one she couldn’t immediately answer. If she took the book to the Sheriff’s station, she’d be bringing along with her a hunch they would likely ignore. There was also a chance, even if someone in the department believed her, that Ruby’s manuscript would go missing. While Neptune’s sheriff’s department wasn’t explicitly mentioned throughout the book, there were ample alluded-to miscarriages of justice that could be traced back to them.

And, on a purely selfish level, Veronica didn’t exactly relish the idea of sitting across from Sheriff Dan Lamb in order to explain her theory. She’d risk having his mockery directed at her in relation to the number of times her sexual assault was mentioned throughout Ruby’s book. Been there, done that with the other Lamb brother. No thank you.

She needed to regroup. “I think we head home, and –”

“Yeah, I’m going to have to veto that one.”

“Then why’d you ask?”

“I was leading the witness.”

Veronica frowned. “Why can’t we go home?”

“Because about a year ago, you and I were photographed with Ruby. Together. At the 09er.”

She exhaled a heavy sigh. “Shit.”

“And if I know Neptune –” Logan continued.

“Then all of Neptune is currently waiting for us at our apartment.”

“Well,” Logan said, his face scrunched in concentration, “maybe half of Neptune.” He gestured to the front door of Mars Investigations. “The other half is outside.”

“You’re not being serious?”

He shook his head. “Been a while since I’ve been able to use my ‘no comment’ face walking through a crowd. I did not miss it.”

Veronica pitched forward, and Logan wrapped his arms back around her waist. “Why do we live here?”

“Pony likes the beach.”

God. Ruby. Maybe book-Dick Casablancas had a point. Maybe getting close to her was dangerous. “Someone killed Ruby. Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing the small of her back in comfort.

“Suggestions on places we could go to get some work done?”

“Dick is surfing Trestles this week.”

She nodded. “You drive. I’ll call my dad on the way.”

***

Safely ensconced at Dick’s beach house, Veronica and Logan had lined the perimeter of the living room with sticky flip chart pages. Written at the top of each page was the name of a “character” from Ruby’s book, and under the name they’d listed every fact mentioned in the book about that character. From the most well-known details (Veronica transferred to Stanford for sophomore year) to the couldn’t possibly be true (Ruby’s family owning a murder-mystery house on an island somewhere between Montana and southern California).

At the bottom of Duncan’s page, she scrawled ‘believed he killed Lilly’ and put the cap on her marker. They were only halfway through Ruby’s book, and the ever increasing amount of information was overwhelming. Everything could be a clue, or nothing could be a clue. “This is insane.”

Logan took a bite of panang curry, shaking his head. “This version of Duncan is really not my biggest fan.”

She placed the page back on the stack. “If it’s any comfort, he doesn’t really seem to be a fan of mine, either.” Veronica grabbed a red marker. “Okay, so let’s start making some connections. Starting with you.”

“Must we?”

She ignored him and looked at the list of facts related to book-Logan’s history, focusing on those that couldn’t be gleaned from casual conversation.

●      San José State University

●      Dylan Goran

●      Hidden cameras in the Echolls pool house

●      Madison

●      “Recent sibling struggles with Trina”

“Dylan Goran is the one that confuses me,” Logan said. “The guy and Trina dated for a second. How could Ruby know about that?”

“When did you apply to San José State?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“And sophomore year of college? Did you and Trina have ‘sibling struggles’?”

“Nothing more than usual.”

“So how is it that Ruby could get stuff like this –” she circled Madison’s name, and then on her page circled that she’d cheated on Leo with Logan, “so right, but other stuff –” She underlined the name “Sue,” the name of book-Veronica’s therapist, “so wrong?”

“Maybe your first instinct was right: Ruby had a collaborator.”

“Yeah, but how is it so scattershot?” Veronica asked. “I mean, I didn’t even know where Duncan went to when he fled.” She pointed to the page with Duncan’s name on it. “Is it really possible he went to Australia? Is he still there?”

Logan shrugged. “No idea. But the idea that Kane money made immigration problems go away seems plausible.”

“Well, I hope that Kane money fixed the extradition problem, too.” Veronica dropped the marker on the coffee table and flopped on the couch. “I don’t think Ruby had any idea what she was doing here. She was playing with powerful people’s secrets.”

“You know what they say about truth and fiction,” Logan said.

“Yeah. It can get you fucking killed.”

She leaned forward for a coconut prawn. Something wasn’t clicking. Some of Ruby’s information was so specific, so protected, even Veronica would have had a hard time accessing it.

Say the source was in law enforcement: that would make sense of how they had access to a case file, or personnel file, mentioning an ATF agent’s connection to Norris Clayton. But what would a cop or FBI agent care about the more salacious parts of Ruby’s book? Why would they care about Carrie’s first performance on SNL? Why would a cop make up a story about Piz getting hit by a bus? Or dedicate thousands of words to a person named Jen who, as far as she and Mac knew, didn’t exist.

“Well,” she said, standing back up, this time with a green marker in hand. “We can at least eliminate some of the suspects.” On the character pages for Gia, Susan, Ruby, and Carrie, she placed a green x at the top of each page.

“Cole, too,” Logan said. “Died in a drunk driving accident a couple years after high school.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. Thank God.”

She was back to fixating on the list of facts about Logan. The juxtaposition between the true fact that Logan had shitty, drunk sex with Madison, something so hyper-specific and personal, and the blatant falsehood about which college he attended was confounding.

“You know what this all reminds me of?” Logan asked.

She kept her eyes on the flip chart pages. “What?”

“TMZ. And other bullshit websites like that.”

Now he had her attention. “How so?”

“Well, obviously, they completely whiff on stories. Like that thing with Li’l Wayne a few years ago. But every now and again, they get it right. And no one understands how.”

“A gossip reporter wouldn’t care so much about the emotional stuff, though.” She gestured to the pages. “There are full chapters in there where you and I talk through every problem in our relationship. But then tucked in, out of nowhere, are these little asides. It’s almost like –” she trailed off.

She felt that pull in her gut – the one that told her she was close to something. There was something about the way Ruby’s story was framed, the layers of mundanity alternated with seedy gossip and fabrications.

On Logan’s page, she underlined Dylan Goran’s name. “Who knew about him?”

“Trina. Me. You. Aaron.” He paused. “Dylan, obviously.”

 She nodded. “He could have told someone.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if it was mentioned somewhere in one of Aaron’s unauthorized biographies.”

“Same thing with Madison,” she said, pointing to the name. “Madison could have talked. Or, maybe a front desk clerk in Aspen. Or one of the other 09ers who was there.”

“Casey was there. Luke, too.”

“Do me a favor?” she asked. “Google your name and San José State. I want to see what comes up.”  

Logan saluted her and reached for his phone.

A source. Ruby had a source, but not one in law enforcement. A source. A source with the kind of access a gossip columnist might have. But a source who wanted more than that: they wanted the story behind the story. Someone like –

“Shit,” Logan said.

She turned around; the pull in her gut grew stronger. “What?”

“I can’t remember why, but back in college Dick and I fucked off to San José for a few days. He met a girl at a party, and we dropped her off at work the next day.” Logan handed her his phone.

The headline from some creepy celebrity stalking site he’d pulled up read: Logan Echolls, future Spartan? The accompanying photo was of him and Dick walking out of the admissions office of San José State.

“We’re not dealing with a gossip columnist, Logan.”

If everything Ruby subtly referenced got out – the degree to which the Kanes manipulated systems for Duncan, corruption within all levels of the local government, connections to the Russian Mob – it would take down most of Neptune.

“I think someone is writing a Neptune tell-all.”

“And the author is Ruby’s source.”

“Or Ruby found some other way to access the author’s manuscript.”

“Which would make whoever the author is a suspect,” Logan said.

 “Either way, we know who the publisher is.”

[theharlequinofhate]

CLINICAL

part 1-

Dry, brittle blonde hair hung in his view. No, not fully blonde, if he squinted his eyes enough and if it was the right lighting, he could almost make out a green tint. The shampoo they let him use was so chalked full of chemicals it quickly stripped out dye, and left his already damaged hair worst. Sure if he had some nice conditioner of something then it wouldn’t be so bad, but what else could one expect from the crazy house that is Arkham Asylum.

The fact he got shampoo AND enough shower time to actually wash his hair was a miracle.

“Patient #4479?”

The cold water wasn’t even an issue for him, the dye boxes he ‘acquired’ always said that cool water was best for a more ‘Even application.’

“Patient #4479, can you hear me?”

He shook his hair a bit, watching as the overhead fluorescent light hit a few of his locks. Maybe if he asked nicely they would dye his hair for him. A sudden involuntary jerk brought him out of his vainish musings.

Looking to his left he sees one of the 3 guards stationed around him step back. He must of kicked his chair.

“Patient #4479?”

Oh thats’ right, he was in therapy.

“Oops?”

The doctor before him suddenly pulled a face, almost like he just bit into something that tasted foul. Really was a facial expression that he was used to, at least since he’s been incarcerated. Most of the ones he saw before that were QUITE different.

“As I was saying, I’m Dr. Charles Markus, and I will be taking over your treatments from this day forward.”

The corner of his lips twitched upward into a smile. “New doctor? What about Danny?”

He saw Charles falter slightly at his question, and turn to glance at one of the guards in confusion. This only caused his smile to widen, he could feel the way the skin pulled unnaturally around his mouth.

“You don’t remember?” Charles was now reaching for the manila folder that was placed between them. Probably his medical records.

“Remember What?” He cocked his head to the side, trying to come off as ‘innocent’. But from the way the rookie guard to his right twitched, that was probably a failure.

Charles had opened the file and was skimming it over quickly. “ Patient was administered 400mg of Haloperidol after showing signs of a manic episode.” Charles stopped reading and looked back up to him, the man’s dull brown eyes stared into his green ones with disbelief. “You were informed of Dr.Douglas’s passing, and that I would be taking over in his place.”

He gasped in shock, but even a blind man would have been able to tell he was faking it. “Danny’s dead?!”

Charles glared now, his new doctor wasn’t buying his story of amnesia anymore. “You laughed for 45 minutes straight until a team came to prescribe you a sedative.”

He didn’t bother with pretending anymore, game was over anyway. Shaking his hair out of his face, he stared at Charles full on now, his infamous glasgow smile in place. “ I was upset.”

His new doctor shook his head and leaned forward in his chair. “ Upset? You laughed?!”

He shrugged his shoulders and stretched. His chains rattling with his movements. Twitchy guard to his right made a motion towards his gun, but stopped. So jumpy.

“You know what they say, Laughter is the best medicine.”

He saw Charles slowly shake his head. “And besides...I never would have thought Old Danny boy actually had the guts to pull the trigger. “ a giggle suddenly escapes him. “ I mean come on! A triple homicide and a suicide?! Looks like I owe Billy my pudding cups for the next month!

He couldn’t help himself now and broke down into a laughing fit.

“Get him out of here. We’re done.” Charles sat back in his chair defeated and turns away.

“Call it in Stanford.” The jumpy rookie guard from earlier jerked to attention and pulled out his radio. “Preparing to Transfer The Joker”

The bigger of the two guards paused in unbolting Joker’s chains from the chair and floor to reprimand the rookie for his mistake, it was a big no no to use criminal alises. This only caused the fit of laughter to start again.

“Don’t be so hard on the new kid Cash.”

“Shut it Clown!”

Joker giggled but said nothing, instead he followed along. Allowing Cash to jerk him roughly from the chair and to a standing position. While Cash held him in place, the 3rd guard made sure that his 3 point harness was secure. Wrist. Hips and Ankles.

“Okay ready to move out, sound alarm.”

He saw Cash motion to skittish Stan and the kid opened the door.

“Toodle loo doc..” Joker waved his fingers as best he could to the back of the chair, which still held the slumped form of his new doctor.

Carefully he shuffled form the chair, and out of the room, the cuffs on his ankles restricted his movement, so traveling by foot was slow, but anything was better than that hannibal lecter gurney they strapped him to the first few weeks he was here.

Out in the halls, he noticed how quiet it was, as was the norm for Max Security level 3 patients transfers. Blue siren lights were placed throughout the ceiling of the hallway, every MS3 transfer had the blue lights on and flash along the ceilings, and all activity in the halls would cease and they were to stand flush against the wall. The system was complete overkill, but annoyingly effective.

Rolling his eyes, Joker continues his awkward shuffling behind Cash who was leading the pack, with 2 guards stationed at his side. It was like a bad formation for follow the leader. Joker snorted suddenly at the thought of Cash playing follow the leader.

Skittish and the Strong Silent type guard both tightened their holds on his biceps, and Cash glanced back to send a glace his way. Joker grinned and sent Cash a playful wink.

The elevator dinging in the distances pulled his attention away,

There standing by the elevator was a female doctor he had never seen before. She looked to be struggling a little bit under the weight of a box she was carrying, but she still kindly held the elevator door open for them.

“Ain’t she a pea-“

Strong and silent might have reprimanded him for speaking, but he was too focused on the heart shaped face of the woman before him. She had turned and was currently smiling sweetly at Cash, but what really got his attention was the long deep set scar that traveled along the right side of her mouth, curved up over her cheek and towards her eye.

Without thought he looked down quickly searching for a badge. He needed a name.

Dr. Harleen Quinzel

Ha..ha..haaaaa

[knotfodder]

-

[synnefo-nefeli]

How about... Klapallo 49?

For this meme and the prompt “coming home”

He’s lost track of all the places he’s lived in his 25 years, although some stand out more than others.

There’s the family manor tucked in the hills of Mittenwald, looming cold and austere on the hillside over the almost fairy-tail like village. It’s where the “commons” his father was oft to remark lived, and considering Klavier had the best tutors and home schooling, money could buy Klavier has few memories in the village town.

The manor is cold and impersonal, and despite it being the ancestral seat of his father’s fathers, Klavier never felt he belonged among the severe and proper halls.  Staff kept the immense galleries and rooms neat and orderly, everything had to be in its proper place.  It wasn’t until he’s older that Klavier realized that while at any point at least four people and a staff of fifteen lived within the house and grounds, the manor never felt lived in.  It was more of a museum to showcase his family’s wealth and past achievements.  The current occupants left to spend a lifetime hoping to find a place among the walls for the future generations to remember them by.

The manor is cold and chilling, and sometimes he can’t believe he grew up in such a place.  

Kristoph however, fit in perfectly.

Themis Academy is the first place he’s lived, after the manor and the first time he’s lived in a foreign country.  

It’s a boarding school and he has to share a room-  it’s and odd thing to have to share your space when you’re twelve (a whole two years younger than most of your classmates) when you’ve never had to before.

He’s not alone per se, Kristoph is an hour (plane ride) away at Stanford. 

His roommate is nice, a foreign student like himself, so they have that to bond over at least.  Joo-won will go on to be one of Klavier’s closer friends at Themis, and years later, Joo-won joins the record label and is assigned to The Gavinner’s legal council.

Klavier remembers being excited for this new chapter in his life, his first adventure, really.  Excited to learn about the Law, eager to explore “LaLa Land” itself and see if he could make his rock-star dreams come true.  He’s prepared himself for the homesickness. 

In fact he’s read up on the feeling and ways to treat the melancholy so he won’t waste a second of this new life missing out on his old.

It’s almost three months into his semester when he realizes, that the homesickness never came.

Tour-busses are an experience all to their own.  The Label has spared no expense on customizing their small fleet of buses to have every luxury and comfort as they spent hours on the road.

It’s somewhere between the lulling bouncing for hours on an airplane and wonder one gets when they wake up in a new port of call, when on a cruise boat.

It’s a surreal experience-  he’s on a bus for hours and days at a time, watching countrysides drift by, but he has a sound proofed room to practice for the next concert and a small state of the art recording booth should the muses deign to visit.

The bands moves around too much for Klavier to get attached to any one place.  He supposes the bus is his home now, considering the hours he’s racked up in his moving living quarters,  but at times Klavier feels the detachedness of the family manor.  The bus is always pristine and nice, and despite who is occupying it, never really has a personal touch other than the Record Label’s branding.

The feeling of comradely, however, is nice. When he’d left Themis to return to Germany for his badge, he’d missed having his friends about him while he studied.  Now he had his bandmates, his closest and creative kindred spirits.

Jam-sessions that are never recorded and only live in their memories, long running games of Spades in his bunk, eating and touring across so many cities and countries, that sometimes Klavier has to scroll back through years of Instagram posts (his personal- not the Label’s- they’d scrubbed a majority of the Gavinner’s posts, especially ones that featured Daryan) to specifically remember  them all.

It’s a nice adventure filled with the warmth Klavier needs after his disastrous debut and to distract him from his nightmares of that case. But he never feels safe.

Each night when he and Daryan bid each other goodnight and climb into their respective buses, Klavier willingly pushes down the nagging sense of fragility of the distraction he’s chosen to take him far away from his brother and Phoenix Wright.

After nearly a decade of being on the road, he comes back to Los Angeles as a prosecutor.  He’s divested himself from any stipends the Label provides, because despite still being a Rock Star, he’s also a public servant.  The waters of the “Dark Age of the Law” churn constantly with scandals and public opinion towards their Justice System sinks lower and lower by the day, and Klavier is loath to add any reason for his peers and public to mistrust him.

“Go in to court with clean hands and all that jazz,” he thinks, “well, as clean as my hands can be…”

Fortunately he’s amassed a nice nest egg through being a world-famous rockstar and his endorsement deals. 

He buys a nice home in the Hollywood Hills…because, well..what else is he to do?  He’s Klavier Gavin after all.

It’s a spacious Spanish-style, with rooms for days, a pool as big as his other celebrity neighbors; high-privacy walls so the celebrity tour-buses won’t see him, with a price tag that will certainly give him an amazing tax-break and justifies the home values of the neighborhood.

He doesn’t balk at the price; it’s a good investment for him.  Other celebrities blow their money on cars, drugs, women, and gambling.  Property no matter what is a good place to put his money (and his guitars) so he doesn’t think it a waste.  

What is a waste, is the interior decorator who is tasked to create the space worthy of “Klavier Gavin’s” flare.  The decorator and his team do and amazing job of it, Klavier figures.

It’s a shame because between being a world-famous Rock Star and a full-time prosecutor, he’s barely lives in the home he’s bought in the Hollywood Hills.

At least the “Hollywood Homes” Tours enjoy it.

Two years since coming back to the courts full-time, he’s moved to Century City.  It’s a duplex- still luxerous to match his tastes, but fits his needs better than the house in Hollywood Hills ever did.  That home he sold and re-invested the money elsewhere, to the frustration of the Hollywood Tourism Board.

He lives in the duplex with Vongole.  It’s closer to work, it’s in a section of the city that lets him have the glitz and glamour but also allows him to hit dive bars and be close to the local-music scene. Sometimes his colleagues come over to work on cases with him, and he doesn’t have to worry if his living space makes his co-workers feel out of place.

It’s a good place to live and he’s happy.  But he can’t shake the feeling that his apartment is more of a means to an end.

The first time he feels it, he’s not at the address of his formally listed residence.  He still lives in Century City, but since his and Apollo’s relationship has become more serious, Klavier finds himself more and more at Apollo’s small studio apartment in Atwater Village.

The day’s weather had been so hot he’d soaked through his dress shirt before he’d climbed all the way up the steps of the court.  The cases he’d dealt with- hellish as if to match the weather.

And despite winning his cases, Klavier’s mood remained sour.  At the office, Edgeworth had given him almost all of Payne’s pending cases, as the man had been suspended (again) by the Chief Prosecutor.

A long day of paperwork, re-filing the cases that his intern had sloppily sorted (because they’d had a hot date that evening and needed to leave early), and the discovery that all of his cases over the rest of the month would take him to court houses on opposite sides of the city daily, Klavier was thoroughly exhausted by the time he parked his motorcycle at Apollo’s building.

It’s when he steps off the elevator on the third floor that he smells it.  Smells the aroma of ground pork and onions; the air spiced with garlic and a feeling that his chasing away his dark mood.

He realizes he knows this smell.  The grocery cart parked outside of the apartment door with a box with a few scraps of corn husks, further confirms his suspicion that Apollo’s cooking.  Tamales, if Klavier isn’t mistaken.

Sure enough when he enters, he’s greeted to the sight of Apollo’s back and the ties of the red apron his boyfriend is wearing.  He’s busy forming the filling mixture with his hands, and on the small stove of the galley kitchen, the heat is rising in the dutch oven to cook off the stuffed corn husks.

When Apollo turn to smile at him, Klavier is drawn to press up behind him. Wrap his arms about the smaller frame and kiss Apollo’s warm cheek.  Apollo smiles and wiggles under the touch; hands are caked in cornmeal and meat and their size difference leaves Apollo with not much else than to say, 

“Welcome home.”

It’s such a normal thing to say.  Apollo’s said it many times before- but tonight’s the first time that Klavier realizes that this is his home.

It’s not Apollo’s key on his key ring, or that Klaiver didn’t have to announce that he was coming over; nor the place he’s standing in at that very moment.  It’s this person, this beautiful human in his arms. Who loves Klavier in all his glimmerousness, whose passion matches Klavier’s own for law and life. This man who smiles at him when he comes through the door and asks him about Klavier’s day, who is cooking dinner for them as if it’s the most normal and expected thing in the world.

He feels warm and safe, and a mixture of so many things at once.  That he is feeling them all at the same time confirms to him, that no matter where work or music takes him, his home and heart is here.  With Apollo.

Klavier’s response is a deep kiss, and a happy sigh.  Apollo flusters, squawks and calls him a “sap”, but Klavier can see he’s smiling and so he does it again.

“What’s gotten in to you?” Apollo breathless, and still covered in tamale mixture, “are you that happy that we’re having tamales for dinner.”

“Ja, it’s an appropriate response given that I am about to have the best in LA,” Klavier grins and enjoys Apollo’s blush.

“Well if you help me, you’ll be able to eat them sooner-”

Klavier smiles and leans over Apollo to wash his hands in the sink before pulling another apron out of the drawer.  Apollo shifts to make room for him at the counter;pushes the bowl of tamale mixture between them for Klavier to access.

May I always have a place besides you, Liebling he thinks and they proceed to ask each other about their respective days at work as dinner is made.

[carmenlire]

Higher than the Big Trees

read on ao3

“Shit, shit, shit,” Magnus mutters as he hears his alarm going off through the fog of sleep.

He’s in bed, covers tucked up to his chin, head very firmly under the pillow that can’t quite muffle the chorus to Stir Fry. Magnus raises his head from underneath the pillows and it only takes him three tries to turn off his phone screen, a minor miracle considering he’s the polar opposite of a morning person.

He lays there for a minute, thinking over the past twenty-four hours. He’d had a run in with the Alec Lightwood.

Alexander.

Well, two actually, Magnus muses. While it had only been a second, they’d almost bumped into each other at Uptown Java yesterday morning.

Even if Magnus wasn’t an ardent fan of Lightwood’s and followed him on all major social media, he’s have known the singer was back in town by Luke’s countenance alone. Magnus has been frequenting the coffee shop in Soho for years and there’s always a little extra pep in Luke’s step when he hears from the man who might as well be his son. When Alec is in town, Luke is simply over the moon. It's adorable.

Magnus has picked up all manner of little tidbits about the Lightwood siblings throughout the years and meeting the man in question had only piqued his interest further. Magnus knew Alec was a stunning specimen, but nothing had prepared him for seeing him in person. Even if Alexander had looked like he was recovering from a three day bender, nothing could mask the sheer beauty of the man. It was just as well that he’d walked out of Uptown Java yesterday without a second glance because Magnus had found himself tongue-tied in a way he never had before.

So imagine his surprise and delight when none other than Lightwood had ducked into a dingy diner last night, looking far too good in a denim button-up and ripped skinny jeans that showed off his body to advantage.

Let’s be real, he could wear a paper sack and make it couture.

Magnus had been drinking far too many cups of coffee and grading papers that were frankly mediocre, despairing over the future of academia, when he’d glanced up and almost swallowed his tongue.

He’d played it cool and just offered a little smile when their eyes had met, but he couldn’t resist stopping by Alec’s table on his way out the door. It had surprised him that Alec could hold a conversation, if he was being honest. With any other person who possessed such good looks and seemed to revel in their playboy image, Magnus would have dismissed them as all fluff, no substance.

Maybe he’s a little judge-y, but he has the world experience to back it up.

But the two of them had sat in that little hole-in-the-wall diner for hours in a cracked vinyl booth-- in an alarming shade of red-- and talked about everything from Germany’s pop culture in the early twentieth century to how incredible of a show Brooklyn Nine Nine was and Magnus hadn’t been bored. He’d been on the edge of his seat, enthralled with the man sitting across from him who liked vanilla milkshakes and had a penchant for blushing.

While it had pained him a little to leave, it had been almost three in the morning and Magnus was apparently cursed to have Friday morning classes until he died of Early Worm Syndrome.

Magnus couldn’t find it in himself to regret last night-- this morning?-- though. It was six o’clock now and he’d managed a lousy two and a half hours of sleep, but now that the fog of the dreamless was receding, he was energized. Apparently, Alexander gave everyone a pep in their step.

Magnus stood up from bed, getting ready for the day. He showered using his signature sandalwood products and decided on one of his Victorian-inspired outfits. He might have gone a little dramatic on the makeup, but he’d never met a highlighter that didn’t suit him and he was partial to that shade of gold eyeliner.

Leaving the house with exactly eight minutes to spare, Magnus reflected wryly that he needed to meet celebrities more often-- maybe then he wouldn’t be perpetually running out of the house exactly two minutes behind schedule.

Having left his briefcase and jacket in his office, Magnus strolls along the path that leads to his class’ building, stopping to get a large macchiato, with an extra shot of espresso, on the way. While still early, especially by student’s standards, there are still a fair number of people outside. Some are rushing to class while others have already claimed their spots for the day, studying on blankets in the grass and under huge trees that will be a lifesaver once the heat hits in a few hours. There’s a girl riding a skateboard and the clacking of wheels over cement cracks accompanies the chirping of birds. It’s damn near idyllic and Magnus takes a sip of his coffee and let’s Columbia sink into his bones for the thousandth time since he first accepted his teaching position.

Magnus has been teaching full time for five years, with the last year doubling as professor and chair of the history department. Before that, he dabbled in student teaching while getting his undergrad and Ph.D. at Stanford and Oxford, respectively. He’s the youngest Chair in Columbia’s history and was insufferable about the promotion for weeks. He’s only twenty-nine but he’s decades older in terms of career projection. It’s a heady feeling that hasn’t dissipated, even after almost a year.

A few students greet him as they walk past and Magnus smiles, catching up with a few who he’ll see early next week in his senior-level seminar. Magnus’s reputation in the history department, in fact on campus in general, precedes him. It's stellar. He takes great pride in being one of the most well-liked professors at Columbia and works hard to maintain his outstanding reputation. That means learning all of his students’ names, being a dynamic, attentive, and sharp professor, and always being willing to go the extra mile for students who need it-- and who put in the work to warrant it.

Magnus walks into class and it’s already buzzing. A few people throw out, “hey Professor Bane,” and he smiles and acknowledges them before setting his coffee down-- after one last sip-- and logging into the computer. He catches snippets of conversation, most of which revolve around their projected midterm grades, and Magnus laughs to himself and raises a brow as he overhears a wild tale about a keg, a boy, and a misplaced thong.

Some things never change.

Students continue to file in and exactly on time, Magnus begins class.

He walks over to the front of the room with the stack of midterms in hand.

He raises a brow, asking, “Wanting these are we?”

Everyone nods, some in resignation and some in anticipation.

Handing them back alphabetically, Magnus reviews the essays. “Overall, I was impressed with your midterms. As freshman, you are just starting to acquaint yourselves with college-level work and, for the most part, were successful. I’ve written in a few of your blue books to come see me during my office hours. If you earned less than a seventy percent, I do want to urge you to drop by. We’ll discuss your exam in more detail and hopefully hammer out what went awry this round.

“For those wondering, there’s no curve. The highest grade was a ninety-four and the lowest-- well. No need to disclose the lowest score,” Magnus continues with a cheeky grin.

“While grading these, it looks like there was some confusion on France’s role leading up to the WWI. I want to briefly review that and answer any questions you all might have before we move on to the next section in the syllabus. Any questions?”

“Remember, if you got under a seventy percent on the midterm, come see me! My office hours are Tuesdays and Thursdays noon to three. If that doesn’t work out, email me and we’ll figure out a time together. Have a good weekend,” Magnus calls out to the students packing up and already leaving, no doubt tuning his voice out as soon as he called an end to class.

The class has a capacity of thirty and twenty-one showed up this morning. Not terrible for Friday at eight in the morning, Magnus reflects and swallows the last of his now-cold macchiato.

He throws the cup in the garbage, and turns around to see a handful of students lingering, obviously aiming to talk to him before he leaves. He meets with all of them, speaking for a few minutes about questions over the lecture or clarifying comments on the midterm. Once it’s just him in the classroom, he picks up the few exams from students who had skipped and walks down the doorway and out into the New York sunshine.

Campus is definitely more lively now that’s it’s approaching midmorning and Magnus glances at his watch.

Only two more classes, a few student sessions, and a department meeting to go and then he’s done until Monday morning. Thank God. Magnus loves his job with all his heart, but he's tired as shit. Those two hours of sleep are catching up to him. He needs more caffeine or he's definitely going to fall asleep, listening to one of the junior professors ramble on a tangent for forty-five minutes about a topic that literally no one else in the department cares about. It's exhausting on the best of days and Magnus doesn't have the patience he usually possesses in spades to deal with imbecilic colleagues.

Magnus sits down at a cozy table and grabs a menu, quickly scanning through it. While this place is usually too busy to catch a table during lunch hours, most students try their best to get off campus and forget that they're even in college once Thursday night rolls around. The campus’ lunch hot spot, Basil's Cafe, is deserted this afternoon. It's just him, a student that looks either on the brink of discovery or abject failure, and a mother with two kids who are enthusiastically painting their table with ketchup.

Magnus can see the waitress walking over in his peripheral when a man flings himself down in the chair opposite him, looking broody even at a distance in his all black ensemble. At least it's designer, Magnus thinks, equal parts amused and curious as what could have warranted such a reaction.

“College students are stupid. All of them. They’re in college and don’t even know how to conjugate gustar? How the hell did they even get accepted into Columbia. Idiotas,” one of Magnus’s reluctantly favorite people mutters. Magnus just lazily looks up, pleasant expression pasted onto his face.

“Beats me, dear. At least your students know that Barack Obama was the president last year and not during the Treaty of Versailles in 1919.”

Raphael throws him a commiserating look before they’re both laughing. Magnus truly loves teaching, but damn if some of his students just don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.

“I take it your midterms didn’t go well?”

Raphael scowls. “No. They didn’t. They had to write a short story in Spanish and someone wrote the Spot the Dog story.” He looks at Magnus, unimpressed. “You know the one. ‘Spot likes to play. Spot likes the color red.' I felt like a toddler and they still managed to have a grammatical mistake in almost every sentence.”

Magnus arches a brow. “Considering you’re the best Spanish linguist we have, things are dire indeed for our country's future.”

“They’re freshmen but they look twelve. When did we get so old,” Raphael sighs.

“Darling, speak for yourself. I’m a youthful twenty-nine and still feel like I’m twenty.”

Raphael doesn’t deign to reply and the waitress comes over a minute later to take their orders.

As she’s walking away, Raphael leans forward and gives Magnus a onceover. “What’s with you?”

Magnus just looks at him, expressionless. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You’re. . . glowing,” Raphael says in distaste.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve let me talk about how irritating my students can be with only minimal accusations about my teaching ability. You’re going easy on me and I want to know why.”

Magnus looks affronted, glaring at Raphael. “I’m sorry, just because I’m a good friend and let you rant suddenly means I’ve experienced a change of personality? Et tu, Brute?”

Raphael scoffs. “Oh, shut it. What is it? Did you get lucky last night?”

Magnus’s glare deepens. “No, I did not get lucky last night. I’m not the average teenage boy who’s only joy in life comes from sex.”

Raphael looks at him with narrowed eyes. “I’ve listened to you bemoan your life all week since you couldn’t go to Lightwood’s concert. You’ve been in a pit of despair and while it was disgusting to watch, this about-face is even more so.”

Magnus is quiet for a minute while he thinks. He could tell Raphael that he ran into Alec last night and the man wouldn’t tell a soul. But something about that diner interaction strikes Magnus as private and he’s not ready to let anyone else in about his midnight conversation.

He hums. “Well, I graded the freshmen’s exams and with the Obama exception, they all did moderately well. That must have boosted my spirits.”

Raphael mutters, “Whatever,” and their food arrives.

They eat mostly in silence, with the occasional observation or update. Thankfully, there are no more interrogations and the two go their separate ways with a promise to meet up Monday, same time, same place.

Magnus makes it through his afternoon, only rolling his eyes-- discretely of course-- half a dozen times during his departmental meeting. He will never understand why the administration schedules meetings to cover what could be mentioned in an email. In the footnote of an email. It’s a waste of time and leaves everyone annoyed.

He goes back to his office, leaving the door open, and sits down behind his desk. He’s sipping a tumbler of water and thinking about taking a break to mess around on his phone for a bit when someone knocks on his door.

Looking up, he smiles as a student hovers in the doorway.

“Julia, hello. How are you?”

Julia shyly smiles and takes a few hesitant steps into his office. “I’m okay, Dr. Bane. I just had a few questions about the exam you handed back today?”

Magnus keeps the smile on his face and gestures for her to take a seat in one of the chairs facing him. Julia is an excellent student but she’s painfully shy. He wants to make her feel as comfortable as possible as they discuss the midterm-- she’d received a sixty-three percent and he knows she can do better.

They spend the next forty five minutes going over her paper and she asks dozens of questions, from lecture notes to grading clarifications and Magnus is a little taken aback by her enthusiasm and quickness of learning. Reflecting as Julia takes a minute to write down an explanation he’d just given, Magnus knows he shouldn’t be surprised. Because she’s so shy, she refuses to ask any questions during class and so she got a little behind in material. But she’s intelligent as hell and now they have a game plan.

They set up a standing appointment every Friday afternoon for the rest of the semester to go over any questions she might have from the week’s class and Julia looks happier than he’s ever seen her. She leaves his office all smiles, and Magnus sits back in his chair, congratulating himself on a job well done. He finishes his work day answering emails and going over his outline for next week before he calls it a day.

Throwing on his jacket and sliding a few folders in his briefcase, Magnus leaves campus. The sun is still shining and his walk home is uneventful, for the most part. A woman dressed in a smart suit with peep-toe Louboutins if he's not mistaken--and he never is-- catches his eye at a crosswalk and smiles, obviously sending an invitation that Magnus turns down with a little internal sigh. He walks past her and barely feels a tinge of regret. He just wasn't into her, open invitation notwithstanding. It’s been awhile since he’s been in a relationship and even longer since he had a one night stand. The promotion has wreaked havoc with his social life and he knows he needs to get back on that horse soon.

He misses sex. He misses the intimacy that comes not just from mutual orgasms, but by living with someone every day and learning their little quirks that make them so interesting and irresistible.

All of a sudden, an image of hazel eyes that glint with wicked wit and are set in a devilishly handsome face pops into his mind and he laughs a little, rueful. Down boy, he thinks. The chances of him ever meeting Alec again are rare. It had been a minor miracle that they’d ran into each other not once, but twice, yesterday. He’s not so lucky that a spontaneous meeting would happen a third time. Fate is not his friend and he doesn't see that changing anytime soon.

He puts Alexander in a little compartment, shuts it up tight, and continues his walk home.

[amidst-the-storm]

Muse List

Post some characters you’d like to roleplay as, have role-played as, and might bring back. Then tag some people to do the same. Aside from that, please repost instead of reblogging!

(I’m gonna try to list what I can, but I’ve sprawled a lot of fandoms in roughly two years, so I’ve done a lot of different characters. I will only list muses that took up more than one or two responses.)

OC/Canon

Currently Playing:

Tempest Mirror Lock (Sonic Franchise) Reap the Hollow (Made in Abyss) Valma Kestrel Correta (Transformers Bayverse) Memory File (Transformers Animated/G1) Skit (Transformers Franchise)

(THE LIST GETS REALLY LONG, SO THE REST OF THE POST WILL BE UNDER A CUT, STARTING AT MUSES I HAVE DONE BEFORE.)

Have Played:

Psyche (Transformers Rescue Bots) Thomas (Transformers Animated) Joeline (Transformers Animated) Madeline (Transformers Animated)

(This list is just general cybertronians that I’ve RP’d as, not necessarily linked to Rescue Bots.) Optimus Prime Chase Heatwave Jazz Blitzwing Prowl Sari Bumblebee Megatron Soundwave Ratchet

Illusion (Sonic Forces)

Sonic the Hedgehog Miles “Tails” Prower Amy Knuckles the Echidna Infinite the Jackal Eggman Military Leader Shadow the Hedgehog

Soul Equinox (Sonic Boom)

Sticks Orbot

Lynn Brylee Jaiden (Doctor Who)

The Doctor

Dice (Undertale)

Gaster Sans

Myth Re-Sear Mask (Minecraft Story Mode) Onyx Mask Myth’s Sister (Minecraft Story Mode briefly) Crash Mask Myth’s Brother (Minecraft Story Mode briefly)

Jesse Ender Lapis Olivia Axel Petra Lukas Radar Gabriel Ivor Soren Ellegaard Magnus Aiden Gill Maya Isa Milo Stampy Cat Stacy Plays Cassie Rose Dan TDM Lizzie Captain Sparkles Harper PAMA Hadrian Mevia Otto Nell Lluna Stella Jack Nurm Romeo Xara The Warden

Sketch Poise (MLP:FiM) Ocean Fang (MLP: FiM)

Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash (all briefly)

Glitch Tech (FNAF 4)

Freddy (+Nightmare & Toy form) Foxy (+Nightmare & Toy form) Bonnie (+Nightmare & Toy form) Chica (+Nightmare & Toy form) Mangle Marrionette Golden Freddy (+Nightmare form)

Glitch Writer (Creepypasta)

Slenderman Jack the Killer Masky Hoodie Laughing Jack

Tessa Jae Helix (Robotex) Necklace Crack (Gravity Falls)

Bill Cipher Dipper Stanley Pines Stanford Pines Wendy Will Cipher (Fan Character by someone else) Lazy Susan

SCP-6235 (The SCP Foundation)

SCP 49

(I think that covers all the people I’ve RP’d as and have since dropped for the most part.... Most of them were for only a few RPs with close friends, and I have since grown to dislike roleplaying as canon characters since I notice my OCs get put on the sidelines as a result. I currently only roleplay canon characters with close, trusted friends.- And even then it’s on Discord.)

Want to Play:

Alpha Theta (Stargate) Polar Spark Tide (Subnautica)

Tagged by: @manamusesac (okay, I technically ‘stole’ it but oh well.) Tagging: @thefleetwayway, @tinkering-and-tampering

[ysc002-blog]

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