#i also bought some STAMPS while i was out and a BIRTHDAY PRESENT for a FRIEND

[mildmayfoxe]

hahaha hey you guys guess what. you'll never believe it. got the guy who's in charge of my fraud case on the phone and he was like "who'd you give one-time security codes to yesterday" and i was like "the guy who called me from the fraud department after they noticed a weird login in florida??" and he was like "that was the fuckin hacker. you got got. IDIOT!!!!!!!!!!" i handed my entire savings over to a fucking guy on the phone on a silver platter. like some kind of fuckin rube. bro

[runawaymarbles]

Fanbinding(ish): Gideon the Ninth, by Tamsyn Muir

Leather on bookboard, with hot foil stamping on the spine. The endpapers are a Japanese wave design, partially as a reference to Canaan House being on the water, and is also a reference to the fact that this book was a birthday present for @eebeesee, who is a giant weeb. (Fun fact: I bought that paper in 2012 and have been waiting uh, 11 years, to find the perfect project for it.)

Process under the cut.

Remember two months ago when I said I wasn't wild about doing another paperback-to-hardback conversion? Well. More fool me. (I did try and find a sewn hardback to take apart, but apparently this book was not sold as a sturdy hardback. Cue rant.)

I've tried debossing with leather before, so obviously, for embossing, I decided I'd just pick the most complicated design possible. I had to modify the skull a bit--taking out the IX, which did NOT cut well, and I had to make the lines around the glasses thicker.

After several hours of cricut cutting and experimentation, here is the cover pre-leather. (I also had to floss the skull's teeth with an awl to get some fuzz out, which I found very funny.)

Then, leather:

As you can see, I lose a lot of details in the teeth there, so I went around the edges with a heated brass stylus.

I bought a special skull stamp for the spine: it definitely wasn't made for heat, because while it did serve the purpose, it also came with a metal handle which made handling it awkward. (Oven mitts did not give me the necessary amount of dexterity. I ended up sort of wrapping a paper towel around the handle. My cousin has since informed me that we do own fire resistant gloves, but I did not remember this at the time.)

The stamp was also a pain to get even: it had to be at juuuuust the right temperature and pressure, or you'd either get too much or too little, as shown. It was also pretty picky about foil, but the brass color matched the endband cloth and insides best anyway, so that worked out. (White was a definite no.)

The other fun bit of this was doing the edges: I did them with black foil, but as we established in my earlier foiling experiments, that's not the most reliable. I think I got the best results so far on the top, but kept getting flakes on the others. I ended up painting the outside edge with ink, and then foiling on top of that. The bleed onto the pages ended up looking pretty neat, but since I hadn't done it on the top, I didn't do it on the bottom so that it wouldn't look weird on the inside. I'm not sure the foil added as much gloss as I was hoping for so next time I might just do the ink.

It did mean that I had to separate all the pages twice; I ended up bringing this to my girlfriend's haircut appointment and working on it in the corner. I hope it was the most strangely specific thing the stylist had seen someone doing when they tagged along.

[badpersonboogie]

🦄 cw pseudo incest, mommy kink, lactation, feminization, underage/age gap, breeding kink 3/3

jayce notices the change before viktor does. viktors breasts are growing, just a bit. they're firm and round and even in jayces big hands there's enough now that he can't cup the whole thing. he can't stop sucking on them. when they're alone at home together, viktor goes topless, his breasts always accessible. his nipples puffy and red from jayces attention. one night, sprawled on viktors lap, he sucks harshly while viktors hand works his cock when there's a sweet taste on his tongue. milk. his mommy is making milk, just for him. he splatters his belly with his release. he keeps nursing, switching to the other tit when the one in his mouth runs dry. he and mommy both go to bed with full bellies.

viktors birthday is coming up soon, and jayce is determined to spoil him. he's been saving up from the stipend he gets from working with viktor. between the gift he bought and the gifts he forged, he's sure it'll be a success. they spend the day together in a small town a short distance from piltover. he tries and even mostly succeeds at containing his giddiness whenever viktor introduces jayce as his son. they do have to take refuge in a cafe restroom, so jayce can empty his cum and his mommy's tits, though. they've gotten so big and soft.

that afternoon jayce presents his gifts. the first is a dress. soft red fabric, detailed in gold, the talis crest obvious in its design. jayce drools as viktor tries it on. it fits him perfectly, the ankle length skirt swishing, the lacing accentuating the small curve of his hips. and his chest. his chest looks obscene, like something out of a brothel. it's the only piece jayce ordered too small, just for this. the front can't actually lace up all the way because of it, viktors breasts hanging out from the bodice. he's the perfect picture of a beautiful, slutty, whore of a mommy. jayce is gonna buy him a dozen dresses, all like this, they'll be the only clothes mommy's allowed to wear at home.

then come the gifts jayce forged, made with his own hands. the first part was a set of plugs, one for viktors pussy and one for his ass, heavy and thick. the bases were stamped with the seal of house talis. his claim of ownership, everywhere on viktors body. jayce had long since made it a rule that his mommy couldn't leave the house without at least one load of his baby's cum inside him, this would make it easier. or at least less messy. the second part was a ring, strung on a chain to keep safe while they worked. it was a delicate band, inset with a small gemstone. his birthstone. it was a mother's ring, a popular piece of jewelry to commemorate the birth or adoption of a child. there were three dates inscribed inside it: their birth dates, and the day he'd first called viktor mommy.

he clasped it around his mommy's neck and they both knew it wasn't just a necklace. it was a collar. Viktor put one of his favorite records on and they danced together in their room. the skirt twirled beautifully, viktors hips twitched with the pressure of the plugs inside him. it was perfect.

it was jayces first birthday in a new city, far far from piltover. he was also celebrating his adoption today. it wasn't uncommon to adopt an adult to add to a family line, and he and his mommy were ecstatic. they took their copy of the form and framed it, hanging it on the wall in their room. jayce pressed his mommy gently into the bed, drinking his milk down. the milk that helped him grow into the big, strong man he was, all thanks to his mommy. it made him wonder. adoption had been so good for him, surely there had to be someone out in the city who needed a daddy? jayce sighed at the thought of an expansive family, held together by their love. maybe it was about time he gave mommy some grandchildren

oh them adopting kids is adorable but that'll significantly cut down on their sex time chffudhdh

addition: ...i love the implication of jayce being the one that gives out order hehehe viktor knows that he should refuse, assert his authority, but he finds it so hot and he likes spoiling his baby so he agrees

[sillyseaveerablogs]

Part 1 of Chapter 3 Aug (TдT) Tagging some moots so they can RB this- @misty-zzz @cartoon-angerr @paidexp @thisblogisblank @n1ttnan1t @amberkaiju @vh4mp

⳾*⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*❀⑅*⳾ It was a gloomy morning. Wind was blowing gently to the extroverted people out on Platera, the Plant Island town. The rain is pouring its insides onto the buildings and the statue of a woman with curtain bangs and a lizard-like tail with leaves and mosses following along. There were three monsters in front of the statue. One of them put up their arms and said to the statue, “Hey Ma, me, Bloom and Terra are going to Airno to see Aether and Sora. Do you accept that, Ma?” Their soft magenta iris glares at the statue’s closed eyes. They then turned to their sister and their friend and said to them, “Ma accept us! I couldn’t believe it.” Terra was smiling with a V-shaped mouth. She is a half-human half-Epic Plant Wubbox with a milk chocolate skin, dark navy blue irises, and green core underneath her black tank-top that is overlapped by her shoulder cut dress with a ribcage around her chest. Her willowy pastel green hair sprouted with Ixoras are blowing by the gentle wind. Bloom, Aether, Sora and Andrea are the daughter and sons to the celestials, that being Lauma Rossa, the Celestial of Plant and Atticus Althorne, The Celestial of Air. Since they’re hybrids, all of them are mixed with their genes. Only Aether is the only one with his father’s looks. Bloom, Andre and Terra decided to celebrate Sora, the youngest of the Althorne family, 15th birthday on Airno, the Air Island town. They finally booked their tickets for travelling reasons. They then go to the marketplace, where every monster sells everything! From Chocolate to meat to anything you want, basically you name it. Terra bought the present to give Sora. Although she still worries about her big brother’s condition. Wilbur. He never contacted her ever since the separation, poor guy, Terra thought. Maybe a letter to him will surprise him.

───※ ·❆· ※──────※ ·❆· ※──────※ ·❆· ※─── After the shopping spree with Bloom and Andrea, she immediately goes back into her room, filled with roses and exotic critters. The critters chirped and chipped as she went into the room. She sat on her desk with notes piling on other notes, a pile of notebooks sat at the corner and a pegboard with important things to jot. She picks up the bunny critter and stroke it gently as she plucks a sticky note from her desk drawer and write; Dear Wil, I know it’s been a while since you ran away from us, but I got an announcement to make, WE'RE GOING TO AIRNO TO CELEBRATE SORA’S 15TH BIRTHDAY! Now does that name ring the bell? Anyway, could you bring one of your creations? I say that because Mavi told me that since your creation wants to meet someone outside of you and him, it would make a great oppurtunity to see other exotic monsters. Also you can reject the request if you want to, just maybe a letter to send to me or a card is fine tho. I’m gonna pen off now, it’s night so I gotta hit the brakes. Bye! From your sis, Terra Terra’s face split into a smile. She put the letter into a postcard, and stamped it with a foxglove. She then sprinted to the outside, waved the mail at the bluebird critter; it then took the mail with its feet and flew away from her. ───※ ·❆· ※──────※ ·❆· ※──────※ ·❆· ※─── Mavi, the EWW was watching the view when the mail fell onto them. They stare at the mail and soon after the mail is supposed to be for Wilbur, They grinned and sent the mail to Wilbur. Wilbur was in his room, creating what seems to be a Zuuker, when Bradley the Brump whisked into his room and yelped, “Dad, Mavi sent you a mail,” Wilbur stood, skulked and grabbed the mail from Bradley’s hand. Brad then ran away to the living room. Wilbur then sat on the chair and read Terra’s mail. His corner of his mouth then lifted afterwards. He then sent Terra’s mail and started writing as a reply. Mid-way through the writing, his thoughts turn to Humbert. Hmm, I should write one for him, he thought, smiling even though their friendship ended when they're teens.

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡... ⋙⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡... ⋙ At the Gossamery Town, the Ethereal Island township, a now 17-years-old Humbert is watching his younger siblings, Skia, the youngest sister in his family, playing catch with her other older brothers, Umbra and Nyx, around the playground, full of bright and cheerful double-ethereals as toddlers. As the three siblings run in circles, Humbert notices that Meeb is flying towards him with a postcard attached to his hand. Hum then grabs the post card, thanks Meeb and reads the card. It reads: Hey Humbert,   So sorry about that time I slapped my sister in front of you and ran away from Terra, Walter, Berlioz, you, your siblings and Rumi. I’m just so mad that the stupid f**ka** green bird with three legs manipulated the Colossals that I thought my sister was yelling at me for not doing anything. Glaring at her with my amber eyes, I had enough. I slapped her and I looked at them and I was shocked so I ran away. Again, I’m sorry. Um, is Walter and Berlioz ok? I’m worried about them as I’m writing this message. Let me know as soon as possible, I have to pen off now. Bye.                                                                 Signed,                                                                 Wilbur Knowing Wilbur is still alive, Humbert smiled sadly but genuinely. He felt like writing him a letter as a reply to him. They quickly stood up and chirped to his younger siblings to go home, as the crystallised sun was lowering down to the horizon.

[thegreatestofheck]

Ocean and Alcohol Pt. 12 ✘JJ Maybank✘

part one! part two! part three! part four! part five! part six! part seven! part eight! part nine! part ten! part eleven!

(gif not mine. All credit to rudypankow!)

Word count - 5522 Warnings - Swearing, underage drinking Synopsis - The Pogues have internal issues in regards to a new member joining. But John B comes up with a clever idea on how to smooth things over.  Taglist -  @bitterbethany​​​​​  @lovelymaybankk​​​​​  @ilymarkchan​​​​​  @downbytheouterbanks​​​​​  @clearcolourlessglass​​​​​  @obxwriterfan​​​​​  @tangledinsparkles​​​ ​​ @chill-sushi​​​ @summerintheobx​ @kiarasgold​ A/N - Thank you all for the love I got on the last chapter. It was truly astounding. I’ll admit that this chapter wasn’t my absolute favorite, but it was important that I carried on with the story. After rereading some of the earlier chapters, I decided that I needed a chapter that wasn’t about the plot and was just JJ and Ellie hanging out, so that’s what the next chapter is going to be. Fluff and maybe a little bit of angst, but mostly fluff. I hope you can enjoy this chapter for now, though! Thank you all again for the love and support. Stay safe, stay healthy, stay groovy out there ladies, gentlement, and all the rest of you wonderful folk! 

***

The cool breeze ruffled your hair, goosebumps prickling your skin. JJ’s white collared shirt he had worn to the party was draped over your shoulders. He sat next to you, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him. With your adrenaline from the night fading fast, a rather large rock of fear dropped into your stomach. You couldn’t imagine what kind of storm your father was raging back at home. Shutting your eyes, you prayed silently that Kid had the smarts to stay out of his way. 

“So, like, my dad’s already going to kill me,” Pope said as John B stoked the fire. “What’s this mandatory meeting about?” 

JJ looked up to John B, who pointed finger guns at him. 

“Might as well tell him, man,” JJ said, the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Before we’re gaffed.” 

Kie turned to look at John B slowly, a look of worry on her face. 

“Ready for this?” John B asked. You nodded your head eagerly. It had to be about the gold. There was nothing else that was so important. 

“Uh, yeah,” Kie said, eyes widening. 

“So, the gold went down with the Royal Merchant,” John B started, as if telling the beginning of a long ghost story. Your heart started to pound as if it was. Pope sighed and rolled his eyes. 

“Here we go again with this,” he said, leaning back. 

“Hold on,” JJ said, “Hear him out, alright?”

Pope looked away from JJ toward John B, who had a finger to his smiling lips. He was really enjoying this whole story-telling thing. If both him and JJ were this excited, it must be a real lead. 

“It’s been here the whole time,” John B said. You scowled, your eyes narrowing as you gazed into the fire. John B looked around, letting his words settle in. “It’s on the island.” 

You sucked in a sharp intake of breath, a smile starting to widen across your lips. 

“Are you serious?” Kie asked, glancing between JJ and John B, as if one of them was going to jump up and say ‘sike!’ But neither of them did. “Oh, my god!”

“I’d like to voice my skepticism,” Pope said, leaning his elbows against his knees. 

“I’m sure you would, Pope,” John B said as he stood. You rolled your eyes at him. JJ threw a stick into the fire. “But can I please present my evidence, sir?” 

“Proceed.” Pope waved his hand in a mocking manner. 

You watched, eyes wide with merriment and a grin on your face, as John B presented his so called evidence. He spoke of Denmark Tanny, the slave who freed himself with the Royal Merchant gold, about the letter he left to his son. He told the circle about Tannyhill, the plantation that Denmark Tanny bought and how he freed slaves and got richer from his rice production. You weren’t surprised when John B told everyone that Tanny was killed, but it still made you sad. All the good he had done in his life, only to be murdered. 

“Harvest the wheat in parcel nine near the water,” John B said. “Except, there’s no wheat.” 

Your mind was swimming. It was so much to take in, so much that you didn’t really understand. 

“So, wheat is a code for gold?” you asked, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to understand. 

“Look at this,” John B took the two papers he had handed out and held them up. One was a picture of the gold with the wheat symbol stamped on the top. The other was the letter with the same wheat symbol on the bottom. Your heart started to soar. Kie laughed, her mouth falling open with glee. 

“Holy shit,” Pope breathed, looking at the pictures closer. 

“All we need is the original survey map of the property,” John B said, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. “And we’ve found the gold!” 

You covered your face with your hands to keep from screaming with joy. You had a chance after all, the chance to get Kid safe. 

“Okay,” Pope said, looking up. “This might have a small chance of being actually true.” 

JJ stood and walked around Pope and the fire toward John B.

“Dude, it’s like King Tut,” he said. 

“I am a genius,” John B just before JJ engulfed him in a hug. “Hello! Fire. You’re near the fire, you’re gonna burn.” 

“I’m so proud of you right now,” JJ said, pulling away. 

“Thank you,” John B breathed. 

Everything seemed to be going fine until Pope asked for the plan and then John B made the mistake of mentioning Sarah Cameron. You were excited to hear her name mentioned, but Kie was less so. 

“Why Sarah?” She asked. 

“Well, see, we, um-” The throne that John B had just been so gracefully sitting on seconds ago had now toppled over and he was fumbling. 

“This is gonna be good,” JJ mused, looking at his fingers. You watched rather uncomfortably as John B tried to explain to Kie what exactly had happened, how Sarah had helped. He may have almost convinced her that it was innocent, until JJ piped back up. “He was mackin’ on her.” 

You dropped your head into your hands. 

“Really helpful,” you said, shaking your head. 

“I wasn’t macking.” 

“You were totally macking Sarah Cameron.” 

“I really don’t think you’re helping here, JJ,” you said, cringing as you looked back up. He just shrugged. 

“I wasn’t macking on her,” John B protested, still trying to defend his innocence. “I was using her for access, okay?” 

You could see the lie in his face, but that still didn’t help the ache in your chest. You remembered when JJ gave the note to Sarah. John B must have been Vlad. The smile on her face when she saw who it was from had been real joy. If John B really had been playing her, Sarah had no idea. The thought of it made your stomach squeeze. 

Kie and John B continued to argue about Sarah while you kept your chin in your hands. You had no idea why Kie hated Sarah so much, but after knowing Kie, there must be a good reason. But also knowing Sarah, you weren’t sure what she could possibly do to make someone so levelheaded as Kie despise her. 

“Look, you guys know me!” John B said, looking around at the circle of friends. “Do I look like the type of guy to fall for Sarah Cameron.” 

You nodded your head a few times, glancing up at him. 

“Do you want us to answer that or-” Pope started. 

“You don’t know her yet. But I do,” Kie said, desperation clear in her voice. “You can’t trust her.” 

“Her brother beat me in the back with a golf club,” Pope said as he stared at the fire. You pointed at him, agreeing non-verbally.

“Rafe and Sarah are two different human beings,” John B said. 

“What did she do to you, exactly?” JJ asked Kie. That got her fired up more than she was already. 

“She’s like a spitting cobra,” Kie said, using her hands for dramatic effect. “First she blinds you and then-”

“This is a bad analogy,” Pope told her. 

“Listen to me!” Kie yelled, her voice breaking. “Whatever we get, she’s going to try and take.” 

You didn’t know if you could believe that. For years, Sarah was the closest person to you. She had been nothing but kind. She even invited you to her birthday party once. 

But John B wasn’t taking no for an answer. He had you all in the van less than five minutes later, Kie still smoldering with anger. 

When John B pulled to a stop at the Hawk’s Nest, JJ and Pope pulled the door open. 

“I think I’m going to go alone,” John B told you guys, turning around from the front seat. He looked at Kie, still hoping to convince her he was doing the right thing. But she just gave him the longest, most exaggerated eye roll. 

Thunder rumbled outside. You pulled the button up tighter around you, a chill running up your spine. You loved storms, the static in the air, the rain and the wind, the flashes of lightning. But this storm felt different. Like a warning. 

“I don’t think you should go alone,” you said, looking out the open van door to the storm out over the sea. 

“Why?” 

“I dunno. A bad feeling, I guess.” 

A bad feeling wasn’t enough to keep John B from leaving, it seemed. 

“I don’t see why we’re involving her at all,” Kie said as she leaned back against the van, arms crossed. 

“We’re not involving her, Kie,” John B protested, clearly tired of having the same conversation. “It’s just like a business meeting...thing.” 

“Promise me nothing’s happening between you two,” Kie said. 

“Nothing’s happening!” 

You and JJ looked at each other, rolling your eyes in sync. Maybe you and JJ had different ideas about what was happening between the two of them, but you both knew that something was going on. You just weren’t entirely sure why John B was being so stingy about it. 

“Dude, she’s gonna get inside you’re head,” Kie said, narrowing her eyes. Her mom voice was coming out again. Part of it was concern for her best friend, but the other part of it was obvious disdain for Sarah. This time, John B looked her dead in the eyes. 

“I promise.” 

“That was believable,” JJ said as you cringed. John B just really needed to come out and say it. It would make things a thousand times better than lying continually.

“A hundred percent believable,” Pope echoed. 

“Just go,” you said to John B. “It’s gonna start pouring soon.” 

“We’ll just sit here,” Pope said with a sigh as John B stepped out of the car. “In this hot ass car...while it’s lightning.” 

Kie was less than pleased. 

“Is it lightning or lightninging?” You asked, fiddling with the frayed edges of your dress. 

“I think it’s lightning,” Pope said. 

“But then it’s a verb and a noun. That doesn’t make sense.” 

“That’s just the way it is, Elm.” 

***

You sighed, looking back out the window. Yeah, you had a really bad feeling about this. 

“I told him not to go!” Kie paced back and forth, the bottom of her dress sweeping past your feet. 

“You act like it was Sarah who pushed him,” you grumbled, legs bouncing beneath you. 

The four of you sat outside of John B’s hospital room as you waited to hear from the doctor any news. Kie hadn’t stopped pacing. Pope hadn’t looked up from the floor. JJ hadn’t taken his hand out of yours. He wanted to kill Topper and part of him knew that if he left you, he might do just that. Even when he squeezed too hard, you didn’t let go. Since seeing John B unconscious on the ground, JJ had barely said a word. You couldn’t imagine what it might be like to see the person you care about most in the world in that position. You tried not to think about how you would feel if it was Kid. 

Sarah was inside the hospital room, sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his hand in hers. After hearing everything that John B had said about using her, you couldn’t help but feel horrible. You should tell her so she wouldn’t have to find out the hard way. But you also barely believed John B when he said it. 

“I’m gonna kill Topper,” JJ ground out through his teeth. You hid a grimace as he squeezed your hand even tighter. The two of you kept your heads down when doctors passed, not really wanting questions about the bruises and cuts. 

You wanted to kill Topper just as much. It was his fault you were in the current condition, after all, and now he had shoved your friend off a building. You couldn’t believe it, but you were almost starting to hate him more than Rafe. 

Of course, you didn’t say that. JJ needed someone to keep him out of trouble, not throw him deeper into it. 

Sarah emerged from the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Kie rolled her eyes and turned her back, JJ standing and dragging you up with him. 

“They said…” She cleared her throat before lifting her head higher. “They said that it’s just a concussion and a fractured wrist. He’s going to be fine.” 

There was a collective sigh of relief. You felt JJ’s grip loosen just ever so slightly. 

“What about DCS?” Pope asked, finally lifting his head. “They know he’s here. They’ll take him away.” 

Sarah shook her head slowly, biting her lower lip. 

“I talked to my dad. He’s willing to be John B’s legal guardian.”

That was a bombshell that you weren’t expecting. Your mouth fell open and you glanced over at JJ, whose eyes widened. 

“Wait, like, live with you?” Kie asked, accusation heavy in her tone. Sarah nodded her head a few times. 

“Yeah.” 

“Great. That’s just great,” JJ scoffed, pulling his hand out of yours. He turned around, messing with his hat. You walked over to Sarah and pulled her into a hug. She was hesitant to reciprocate it, but eventually, she wrapped her arms around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. All she did was nod, sniffling. 

“We should go,” Pope said finally. You let your arms fall from around Sarah. She wiped a quick tear away and turned back toward the hospital room. 

“Where do we go?” You asked, turning toward them with your hands on your hips. “I don’t think any of us can go home right now.” 

“We can go to the Wreck?” Kie suggested. “There are some spare clothes there than we can change into. Get some food. Wait for John B to wake up.” 

“Maybe we should crash at the Chateau first,” Pope said, rubbing his palms against his shorts. “I’m beat and I need to sleep.” 

“I second that,” JJ said, lifting his hand. When Kie looked at you, all you did was nod your head. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until they mentioned sleep. It had been a long, exhausting day and you somehow knew that the next few days weren’t going to be any easier. 

***

“You two do anything funny,” Pope warned, pointing a finger at you and JJ. “I’m setting your bed on fire.” 

You found the energy to smile as you dropped into the bed. 

“Aye, aye,” JJ said with a mock salute. He fell, face first, against the bed beside you, his arm flopping over your stomach. Kie shook her head as she walked into John B’s room. Pope disappeared down the hall. 

It was too hot for blankets. You kicked them onto the floor with a huff as JJ threw his shirt at the wall. You could feel JJ start to pull at the bottom of your dress. 

“What are you doing?” You asked him, glaring. He shrugged. 

“It’s hot in here. Just want you to be comfortable.” 

You shook him off, rolling onto your side. 

“You heard what Pope said. I don’t want to be responsible for John B’s house burning down. JJ sighed and kissed your shoulder before flopping back against the pillows. 

Your eyes fluttered, already half asleep. Something kept you awake. A few minutes past before you saw something large skittle across the floor. It didn’t take long for you to realize what it was. 

“JJ,” you mumbled. When he didn’t respond, you tried again a little louder. “JJ.” 

“Hmm?” He was more asleep than you had been. 

“There’s a big old heckin’ spider on the floor,” you said, limply pointing at the spider. JJ sat up and looked down at you with a partial smile. 

“What happened to your sailor’s mouth?” He asked. You turned to look at him with half open eyes. 

“JJ,” you said. “There’s a big old fucking spider on the floor.” 

He clucked his tongue, smile widening. 

“Atta girl.” 

He slid off the bed, tiptoeing to the other side. He walked over to his shoes, but you held out a hand for him to stop. 

“Don’t kill it though,” you asked, your voice whinier than you wanted it to be. 

“Sure.” JJ disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a large cup. You nodded your head against your pillow. You watched, vision blurry from a desire to sleep, as JJ scooped the spider into the cup and carried it outside. 

“Thank you,” you mused as he lay back down beside you. Instead of answering, he lay on his stomach beside you, his head resting against your shoulder, arm laying across your back. Despite the added heat from his body, you couldn’t have been more comfortable. 

You fell asleep with a smile on your face. 

***

Arriving at the Wreck, you couldn’t be happier at the smell of food or the prospect of a new set of clothes. 

“I’m burning this dress,” you grumbled as Kie helped you shimmy out of it. She was unusually quiet. “Are you okay?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“I’m sure John B is going to be fine,” you said with a smile. “He’ll meet us here.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure John B is doing just fine.” Kie turned around so you could help her unzip her dress. 

“What did happen between you and Sarah anyway?” Kie tensed. “It’s just us girls, right? You can trust me, Kie.” 

“Yeah? I thought I could trust her, too.” You were tempted not to push further, but then Kie sighed, pulling a tank top over her head. “We were best friends once. And then she stabbed me in the back, turned everyone at school against me.” 

Your stomach dropped. Even though you couldn’t imagine Sarah doing anything like that, you couldn’t not believe Kie and the grief on her face. 

“Kie, I’m so sorry.” 

“That’s why I didn’t want John B to go. It’s clear he likes her and I just don’t want him to get his heartbroken.” 

You nodded your head. That made more sense to you than an impersonal vendetta. There was a knock on the bathroom door. 

“What are you guys doing in there?” Pope called through the door. 

“Anything I can watch?” JJ asked. You could hear his smile in his voice.

You looked at Kie with a sigh. 

“Why do I like him?” 

Kie shrugged her shoulders, but there was a hint of an almost smile on her face. You shook your head and opened the door. 

“Surprise,” Kie said. “We were just changing you perv.” 

John B showed up a few minutes later and the smile that had graced Kie’s lips was gone.

“So, do you have a membership card?” Pope asked, tucking his hands behind his head. You helped Kie pass out a few drinks as John B sat down. 

“I don’t know, Pope.” You could tell he was exhausted.

“Does it come with a free sweater vest or do you have to buy one on your own?” 

You scowled to yourself, sitting at one of the open chairs. JJ leaned his hands on the back of your chair. 

“Look, you promised,” Kie said, staring down at John B. “You said you weren’t with her.” 

Even though you understood Kie’s concern, you weren’t sure why they weren’t happier for him. He got around the foster system, wasn’t that a good thing? Maybe since you were the only other one at risk of the foster system, you were the only one who really understood how terrifying the idea could be. 

“Bro, just own it,” JJ said, taking a sip from his cup. 

“If you want to hang out with her, that’s fine. But I’m letting you know now, I’m doing anything with her,” Kie said. You let out a heavy sigh. 

“Do you guys see her here?” John B asked. “No? Right. A little focus would be fantastic.” 

The switch was almost instant. John B pulled out the map, the conversation switching from Sarah. 

Thirty minutes later, you were sitting at the remains of Battery Jasper, staring out at the ocean. Pope had the map spread out across the wall. You leaned in close to get a good look. 

“Parcel 9,” you said, pointing at it. 

“Right, so it’s northeast of here,” he said and you nodded your head. 

“Somewhere over that way.” Kie pointed out over the land. 

“That’s not Tannyhill, that’s a subdivision,” JJ said with a shake of his head. 

“Tannyhill used to be the entire island.” 

“We need another marker,” Kie said, walking over. 

“What about that?” You pointed a thick line right in front of Parcel 9. 

“That’s a wall,” Pope said. “Perfect, Elm.” 

Back on the road, Pope sat in the front of the seat with the map. He navigated for John B. You felt your pulse spike. You were actually doing this. And it might actually work. 

But then you pulled up to the Craine House and your heart sank. You remembered the story that JJ had told Kid about Mrs. Craine and her husband. You felt sick to your stomach as the five of you hopped over the wall. Barely listening as JJ retold the story he learned from Hollis, you looked behind every tree as if expecting to see the old lady jump out and chop your head off. 

Chills ran up and down your arms as JJ recounted the story. 

“JJ, stop it. You’re freaking me out,” you said, peering behind another tree. 

“You’re so full of shit,” John B laughed. 

Pope asked a few more questions, feeding into JJ’s story. You stood closer to Kie, who clearly didn’t believe anything JJ was saying. John B rolled his eyes and started to walk away. 

“Dude, wait!” JJ called after him. 

“What?” John B snapped, turning back around. 

“You sure you wanna do this? She’s an ax murderer. You got a cast on.” 

“I don’t give a shit if she’s an ax murderer, okay?” 

“I do,” you piped in. “Just a little bit.” 

“I got nothing to lose,” John B continued as if you said nothing. “You coming or what?” 

Kie was the first to follow him and Pope went after her, but JJ stayed back, scratching his arm. 

“You want me to walk behind you?” You teased, walking up to him with a smile. He looked around. 

“We’ll go together,” he said, taking your hand. You were glad for it. You didn’t really want to walk behind him, afraid that the crazy murderer lady would creep up behind you and cut your head off, but if JJ asked, you would have. His hand in yours made the fear fade. 

You snuck through the tall grass behind Pope until John B called for you to stop. 

“You scared, JJ?” Kie asked with a playful grin, looking down at your interlocked hands. 

“I was,” you said, squeezing his hand once. “Call me crazy, but talking about ax murderers doesn’t entirely make me feel safe.” 

“Fair point.” 

“Okay,” John B interjected. “Here’s the plan. We need to look for the wheat near the water like it said in Denmark’s letter.” 

“What kind of water?” Pope asked. “Like...pond water?” 

“Bong water?” JJ suggested with a laugh. Both Kie and Pope turned to look at JJ, eyebrows raised. You closed your eyes, breathing steadily through your nose. 

“No, it just said look for water, okay?” 

“That’s the shittiest secret message ever,” Kie said as she started to walk toward the house. 

“You wanna complain a little more, Kie?” John B asked after her. “Nobody said it would be easy.” 

“I’ll search the northeast, you guys search the northwest quadrant,” Pope said. 

“The decapitation quadrant?” JJ asked as Pope walked away. You let out a deep sigh. This was going to be a long day. 

***

There was little to do as John B and Kie slapped skeeters off of each other. All you could really find to do was lean up against the wall and swat bugs away from you. 

“Can we leave?” JJ asked, looking around the small basement. 

“Don’t you think it’s weird there are so many bugs?” Pope asked you. You pinched your eyebrows together, but then nodded her head slowly. 

“There aren’t usually so many, unless they’re by-”

“Water.” 

Realization hit suddenly. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to where Pope was, eyes scanning the floorboards. Flashlight scanning the floor, you froze when you heard the ground beneath Pope creak. He looked up at you and you felt your lips twinge upward. You shuffled a few of the broken pieces of wood out of his way as Pope plucked a small rock off the ground and crouched down. You knelt beside him. 

“Hey, I think I found Mrs. Craine’s voodoo doll,” JJ said. Kie and John B continued to slap each other. 

Pope took the rock in his hand and dropped it through the floorboards. You waited, straining your ear. You heard the splash and a grin spread across your face. The same smile grew on Pope’s face as he looked up at you.

“The water,” you breathed. He nodded and the two of you started to move the rest of the junk. 

“Hey, guys!” Pope whispered. 

“Hey, Pope,” JJ replied. 

Kie shushed the two of you, turning away from John B. 

“Hey, help us move this,” Pope said, standing straight. He grabbed John B’s arm. “We need to move this.” 

“Okay.” John B lifted his hands. “Just...quietly.” 

With all of the hands working together to move the trash, it went a lot faster. Then, moving the boards, you found yourself staring down into a deep well. 

“Well, well, well,” Pope said. You almost laughed. 

“They built this part of the house right over it,” Kie said, squatting down. 

“This is where she hid the bodies.” JJ stared into the well. You shook your head. 

“Dude, c’mon.” Pope tapped his fist against JJ’s arm. 

“No, I’m dead serious.” 

“Yeah, you will be dead if you don’t stop talking about Mrs. Craine,” you said, nodding toward the well. 

“She probably doesn’t even know it’s here,” Kie added, shining her flashlight into the well. It was too deep to really see anything. 

“So, we found water,” Pope said, turning the attention back to the object at hand. 

“We’re gonna need a really big rope.” 

***

Once you got back to the Chateau, your nerves abuzz with excitement, John B took off on some unknown trip (but you guessed that it had something to do with Sarah). You elected yourself to go and pick up some groceries. 

In doing so, you managed to miss the entire Kie vs. John B and Sarah debacle. You walked up to the Chateau, bags hanging off of your arms, a smile still on your face. You had found the water where the “wheat” was. The gold was right there. All you had to do was get down a really deep well and find it. No biggie, right? 

But then you saw JJ and John B sitting in the kitchen. Glancing around, the skip in your step slowing and your smile fading, you saw Pope and Kie down by the docks. Something about the separation didn’t feel right to you. 

“What did you two do?” You asked as you walked inside, setting the groceries on the counter. 

“Wasn’t me,” JJ said, putting his hands in the air. 

“I tried to pull Sarah in but Kie wasn’t too fond of that idea,” John B said, hanging his head. 

“And by ‘not too fond’ he means that Kie wants him to choose between the two of them, but he won’t.” 

You pursed your lips and started to unpack the bags. 

“That’s not really a fair ultimatum,” you said, tossing JJ a bag of fresh bread. 

Pope walked back in with a deep sigh. 

“What’d she say?” John B asked.

“That you’re an idiot.” 

You wished that you could shrink away from this entire conversation. It felt like a Pogue thing. The boys argued back and forth for a moment as you passed out apples and set out some grapes. Maybe they were all just hungry. If they just ate….

“I’ve got a plan,” John B said, which pulled your attention back. “And you three are going to help me out.” 

***

You were assigned to Kie duty with Pope. It felt wrong to be lying to her about what was really going on, but you knew that it was for good reason. Hopefully, she would understand that, too. 

“Can’t you guys do anything without me?” Kie asked as you pulled up to the boat. The sun had slowly started to set, getting closer to the horizon. 

“Definitely not,” you breathed as Pope pulled up to the HMS Pogue. You leaned back against the side of the boat while Kie climbed into the Pogue. As soon as she was off, Pope turned his small boat around. 

“They’re going to kill us,” you said, squinting your eyes against the heavy glare of the sun. 

“Most definitely,” Pope agreed. 

You sat up when you heard the sound of hollering and two large splashes. Running to the front of your small boat, you offered your hand to the boys as they neared. 

By the time they were back on, Sarah and Kie were both leaning off the edge of the Pogue, shouting. You grimaced and gave a wave. 

“Get your assess back here!” Kie called. 

“Can’t. Not until you two figure things out!” John B said. 

“I will kill every single one of you!” 

“Don’t let her mean words scare you,” JJ whispered, grinning like an idiot. 

“You can’t just leave!” Sarah cried. 

“There’s food in the cabin and JJ rolled a blunt,” John B said, waving his hand. 

“Hydroponic!” 

The boat started to splutter away, leaving Sarah and Kie behind. 

“Love you guys!” John B called one last time. JJ gave a whooping laugh. 

As you made your way back toward shore, you wondered if this was really going to work. After all, Kie was probably the most stubborn person you had ever met and if she was dead set on something, she wasn’t about to let it go. Then again, the boys did know her better than you did. 

“So, what now?” You asked. 

“Now we wait until morning,” John B said. By the grin on his face, he looked rather pleased with himself. 

“What do we do until then?” 

“I could think of a couple of things…” 

“Really, JJ?” Pope rolled his eyes. “In front of my boat?” 

JJ shrugged, leaning back as he draped an arm around your waist. 

“If you wanted,” John B said, fiddling with his fingers. “Pope and I could get out of the house if-”

“God, John B,” you cringed, covering your eyes with your hands. 

“I mean, you’ve….” John B waved his hand through the air. You felt your cheeks burn hot. Once again, you wanted to be anywhere but here. 

“Is this what you boys talk about on a daily basis?” You asked. 

“Only sometimes,” Pope told you, not taking his eyes off of the water in front of them. 

“No, John B,” JJ said. “It hasn’t really come up.” 

“It hasn’t come up?” John B scoffed. “Why don’t I believe you?” 

“Ellie isn’t a fan of sex.” JJ shrugged. You turned to look at him, eyes wide. This wasn’t really a conversation you wanted to have right now. “I can’t push her.” 

“JJ,” you said quietly, trying to smile. “Please stop talking.” 

“You don’t like sex?” John B asked, somehow surprised. You turned to look at him, trying to keep your smile, but it was obviously forced. 

“Not really, no,” you told him. 

“Any particular reason or-” 

You almost considered telling them. There weren’t supposed to be secrets among you, but this was a secret that could cost you your life. If the beating you got from your dad was just after he found out that you had been sneaking around, there was no telling what he would do if he found out that you told them what he had done to you. 

You shook your head. 

“Just not a fan.” 

“Hey, you know what?” John B said, handing you a beer. “That’s valid.” 

You felt yourself give a real smile as you accepted it. You popped it open a took a long drink, feeling the familiar taste on your tongue. In recent weeks, you found that that feeling of calm it brought you could be found somewhere else. 

You put your head on JJ’s shoulder, letting your eyes close. The wind drowned out the cries of Kie and Sarah, rapidly disappearing behind the small boat. 

With the alcohol in your system and the smell of the ocean filling your nostrils, the craziness of the world didn’t seem to be able to touch you. 

[written-on-the-trees]

You’re A Lovely One Mr Grinch - Ryan Sitkowski Fan Fiction

Prompt: Christmas Decorations.

Warnings: Mentions of hatred of Christmas (I know, shock horror!)

Word Count: 1600 words

Summary: Ryan hates Christmas, so much so that his girlfriend is missing out on celebrating her favourite holiday...and Ryan can't have that.

Ryan was sick of Christmas - and the fucking day hadn’t even arrived yet.

 He still had more than a week of this shit left to deal with - all the people rushing about like headless chickens, the terrible Christmas songs, everyone he came across asking him what his plans for the holidays were - and it was pissing him right off. Why did people have to get so worked up over what was, for most of them, just another day? Ryan didn’t understand why people who weren’t involved in the religious side of things got so wrapped up in all this shit. He got that America was a Christian country, but it wasn’t as if people went this crazy for Easter.

 It was, frankly, baffling - and Ryan hated it. He knew that made him a grouch in some people’s eyes (if Chris called him the Grinch one more time, Ryan was going to deck the lanky fucker) but he didn’t care. He hated Christmas, and that was the end of it…

 …At least, he’d like it to be.

 But it wasn’t.

 Normally, it was fine that Ryan hated Christmas, because he could just to retreat to his apartment and ignore it all until the twenty-seventh and things started going back to normal…but this year Ryan couldn’t do that, because this year he was spending his time off (which just happened to coincide with the Christmas season) with his girlfriend Faith. And Faith loved Christmas.

 More than Valentines Day, more than Halloween, even more than her birthday: she loved Christmas more than them all. Usually, Ryan would dump someone for that shit - he could not stress enough how much he hated Christmas - but the way Faith was approaching the season made him feel like enough of a dick already without even thinking about breaking up with her at her favourite time of year.

 Because were other people - Chris - tried to foist their love of Christmas onto Ryan, Faith was trying her hardest to hide it from him, even though it was making her sad. She wasn’t asking for them to do anything Christmas-y - they hadn’t even decorated their apartment. She didn’t say anything about it, hadn’t brought up the situation at all, but Ryan could see it every time they walked past a Christmas-y window display, or in the split second before they changed the channel away from some terrible Christmas film, or whenever she put another wrapped present, for one of the hundred people she’d gotten one for, away: out of his (and her) sight.

 Faith was sad, and Ryan felt like a complete dick.

 Which was how he found himself carrying boxes of decorations through his apartment, with Vinny and Ricky carrying a tree through his front door, while Justin was putting fairy lights up in the kitchen window, and Chris stood in the middle of the living room, looking at all the Christmas bullshit Ryan had bought and wearing an expression that was usually reserved for when he was trying to get the lyrics for a new song just right while his girlfriend, Holly, was carefully unwrapping even more fairy lights.

 Holly was the only one to look up to smile at Ryan, the expression sympathetic but somehow supportive. She was, right now, Ryan’s favourite person in the apartment; she might love Christmas almost as much as her insane boyfriend, but she was a lot more reserved about it, and she was the only one not making a big deal out of him asking them all for help decorating the apartment for Faith. She was also the only one he trusted not to cock this up…

   Speaking of which…

   “Justin, you better not be drawing a fucking dick out of Christmas lights.” Ryan shouted, seeing Vinny standing in the kitchen doorway and snickering.

 “I’m not!” Justin shouted back…before it was followed by a quiet: “Anymore.”

 Ryan sighed, already regretting this whole idea, before Holly consoled him with a hand on his shoulder: “I can go supervise them, if you can handle Chris.”

 Looking over to where Chris was now pulling out tree decorations with the intensity of a serial killer, Ryan shook his head: “I can’t handle Chris.”

 “Then go and take over in the kitchen, and send Justin in here. I’ll keep him in line.” Holly promised.

   And Ryan believed her.

 Justin went meekly when he was told Holly had summoned him, and honestly Ryan kind of had to laugh at how much control the British woman had managed to exert over the band since she’d meet Chris around this time last year. It was a good thing she only used her powers for good, otherwise they all would have been majorly fucked.

 As it was, Ryan was only minorly fucked as he and Vinny set about picking up where Justin had left off, with Ricky directing them from where he was leaning on the counters nearest the door.

 He was the person Ryan had the second most about of belief in. Ricky didn’t really give that much of a fuck about Christmas, but he had an amazing eye for detail, and with his instructions, soon the kitchen was looking like something out of a Christmas magazine.

 A thick pine garland ran the length of the windowsill, dotted with warm white lights that echoed the string of lights tapped around the window. Three gold candle stands were arranged in the center of the windowsill, all with a glittering gold pillar candle on top, matching the golden stand in the middle of the kitchen table, with its own glittering gold candle on.

 The living room was looking similarly amazing. Holly had taken his vague request of ‘blue’ (the only thing he could think of when she’d asked if he had any ideas) and somehow managed a full-on Christmas miracle by turning his living room into something out of a film. And not just any film - the most high-budget, best-put-together Christmas film anyone had ever put together.

 Blue fairy lights were neatly tapped around both windows, and on the one not taken up by books and the bowl Ryan and Faith threw their keys into, there was a gold battery-candle menorah that was throwing out warm yellow light.

 Candles of all shapes and sizes filled the grate of the fire place, from small tea-lights to votives to chunky pillar candles, in all shades of blue, teal, and gold, next to a dark blue reindeer statue that had glittering golden antlers.

 It was beautiful - and, more importantly, Faith was going to love it.

 Ryan, for the first time since he was a kid, felt like he was starting to feel something like the joy of Christmas…especially when Holly pointed him to the tree they’d placed in one corner of the room, wrapped in the same blue lights as were in the windows, but otherwise bare.

   “We thought you and Faith might like to decorate the tree together. I know you said she loves Christmas decorating.” Holly explained gently.

 “I still think we could’ve - ” Chris was cut off by a whimper and a pained look, while Holly - who had just stamped on his foot like she would a spider running towards her - continued to smile sweetly.

   She really was Ryan’s favourite person in this apartment…at least until Faith came in.

   Which would be any minute now…

   Ricky, continuing to live up to his status as Ryan’s second favourite person in the apartment, started ushering everyone out. He and Holly had to all but drag Chris out, but they managed it, and soon enough Ryan was left alone in his and Faith’s home, waiting for her to get home and see her surprise.

 He hoped she liked it.

 There was no doubt that she would love the decorations; Chris, Holly, and Ricky really had put together something that managed to look both professional but still personal, and Ryan knew Faith would adore it…but he also hoped that she didn’t mind not being able to decorate herself. He knew she loved that aspect of getting ready for Christmas, but he’d also really wanted to surprise her with a decorated apartment.

 It had seemed like a wonderful idea at the time, but now he was feeling nervous about it.

   The look on her face, though, when she walked in a moment later, made those nerves melt away: “Ryan…”

 “Surprise.” he replied softly, unable to help the smile that curled at his mouth.

 Faith was still looking around the room in shock - jaw dropped but eyes sparkling in the reflection of all the lights: “But…you hate this kind of thing…”

 “You don’t, though. And…maybe I don’t hate it.” Ryan admitted, closing the distance between them and wrapping an arm around Faith’s waist, pulling her in to drop a kiss on the crown of her head: “Not when it’s with you, anyway.”

 “Oh, Ryan…” Faith breathed, her face still painted with shock and awe…but slowly turning into a smile that was wide enough to make Ryan’s cheeks hurt in response…or maybe that was just his own smile over seeing her so happy: “Thank you, Ryan. I think this is the sweetest thing someone’s ever done for me.”

 Ryan just leaned down to kiss her, taking his time before pulling back only enough to say: “I love you so much that I don’t think I hate Christmas anymore. I don’t know what I’m going to do without my Grinch status anymore.”

 “We’ll just have to tell everyone that you’re a lovely one, Mr. Grinch.” Faith teased.

 “I think I can live with that.”

[idolish7rabbitchats]

Yuki: Wonderful Octave Rabbit Chat Part 3

Gaku: Sorry to take up time, it’s fine now!

Tsumugi: Yaotome-san, is your smartphone okay?

Gaku: Sorry to make you worry. It went back to how it was so there’s no problem.

Yuki: How it was?

Gaku: Earlier, I added the fortune-telling palmistry app that Nanase talked about. I was looking at palmistry with that, then the phone froze, so I deleted it immediately.

Gaku: Nanase, that app is too heavy!

Riku: Eh?!

Riku: B-But, maybe ... coincidentally right?!

Yamato: Oh yeah, Riku weren’t you saying your phone got heavy earlier?

Tenn: Riku, delete it.

Iori: If you don’t know how, I’ll do it. 

Riku: I know how to delete an app!

Tsumugi: Maybe it was an app with a large amount of data..! 

Mitsuki: Maybe all the palmistry information in the world was in the app?!

Yuki: But it doesn’t work right?

Sogo: If you delete the app, how about going to buy that palmistry book for the request? I’ll come with you.

Riku: Sougo-san, you’re nice!

Riku: [Sparkling Kinako Stamp]

Tsumugi: I’m glad that Yaotome-san’s smartphone is fine again! So then, I’ll start the requests again.

Tsumugi: Mitsuki-san, please give your request for Yuki-san!

Mitsuki: Yes! From me it’s, “Guess the hidden flavor quiz!”

Mitsuki: I’ll make vegetable sweets so please eat them and guess what hidden flavor I used!

Yuki: Oh. A showdown huh.

Mitsuki: A chef showdown lol

Tenn: Izumi Mitsuki is diligent. When it was my time, you made donuts right.

Mitsuki: It’s for the radio too but it’s also because I like making them. Cooking is fun!

Mitsuki: And, it's a nice refresh between work!

Ryuunosuke: Yeah, yeah! It’s funny because I always want to try a recipe that takes a lot of time and effort when I’m busy.

Yuki: You can empty your mind while you are concentrating on cooking so maybe that’s good.

Yuki: You feel refreshed when you’re cutting and frying and such.

Mitsuki: Yeah, that’s right! Like I feel soothed…!

Ryuunosuke: I get it…!

Riku: You three seem like you would become good mothers!

Momo: They’re big moms huh?! lololol

Gaku: Aren’t they reliable and nice (Lol)

Yamato: One person is small tho.

Mitsuki:  Shaddup, old man!

Nagi: Cute and reliable, Mitsuki is perfect :-))))

Yuki: I don’t know what you would make but I’ll definitely try guessing it.

Mitsuki: I’ll work hard on this end so I won’t lose!

Tsumugi: A showdown between two people who like cooking, it seems like it’ll become a fun game!

Tsumugi: Next is the request from Yamato-san please!

Yamato: How about a talk about which role left the most impressions on you out of all the roles you’ve played?

Tamaki: Oooh. It’s a proper request huh. 

Tamaki: Like So-chan.

Gaku: Certainly, Nikaido is also good at acting, so you want to seriously listen to him huh.

Yamato: That’s not it. Yuki-san has a lot of fans as an actor so I just thought the listeners would also be interested.

Yamato: If it’s not requested, he won’t talk.

Yuki: You don’t need to explain it.

Sogo: It feels scary to hear from your big senpai huh... I can understand those feelings well too.

Yamato: Like I said, it’s not that…!

Riku: Yamato-san, are you embarrassed..?!

Nagi:  Yamato, why are you embarrassed?

Mitsuki: Well, well, leave him alone for now guys.

Yamato: Somehow I’m pissed off...

Iori: But again, Yuki-san’s skill width is amazing… He’s good at composing songs, performing, and acting, he has no fault as an entertainer.

Yamato: He has a gap that he’s whimsical.

Momo: Tch tch tch! His whimsicality is also Yuki’s charm~ \(●´ε｀●)ノ

Yuki: Everyone’s praising me. 

Yuki: The request corner was a good plan. 

Yamato: I’m not really praising you tho. Please take care of it if you pull my request.

Yuki: I’ll answer even if I don’t pull it so let’s go drinking with Sougo-kun.

Sogo: Thank you. Please take care of me..!

Yamato: [Sunglasses Pudding Stamp]

Sogo: Yamato-san, please take care of me!!

Yamato: I’ll go! You push me hard… (Lol)

Yuki: ^ ^

Tsumugi: Yuki-san’s theory as an actor, it would be really useful…!

Tsumugi: Then, next is Yaotome-san, please give your request.

Gaku: My request is also a little similar to Nikaido.

Gaku: From me, “Please do an impromptu play.”

Yuki: You mean an etude?

Gaku: It’s kinda like that. I’ll prepare cards with situations and roles, so I would be happy if you would pick cards and act with the cards’ settings!

Gaku: Nikaido said it too but, Yuki-san’s acting is a good lesson for us. Since it’s the radio, it would only be your voice but I want it to be a reference.

Yamato: I didn’t say it. 

Gaku: Eh? Is that so?

Yuki: Gaku-kun’s honest huh. Do you have a role that would be good?

Gaku: I haven’t thought about it yet but, a role that’s totally different from the usual Yuki-san seems interesting!

Gaku: Like a hot-blooded tennis coach with a fighting spirit.

Tenn: An Italian mafia boss also seems fitting. 

Riku: A pilot also seems cool!

Okazaki: I see… I’ll use these as references for next time.

Momo: Okarin’s seriously taking a memo. lol 

Gaku: I’ll watch other movies and think of various things. 

Yuki: I’m looking forward to what roles will come out.

Tsumugi: It seems you would act wonderfully as any role so I definitely want to see!

Tsumugi: Next, how about a request from Tsunashi-san?

Ryuunosuke: My request is, “Please tell us what had the most impact from your recent shopping.”

Ryuunosuke: It doesn’t need to be expensive things, it can be anything like some fancy things!

Yuki: What did I buy huh.

Yuki: I don’t have any memory of me shopping recently.

Momo: It’s close to the year end, and your schedule is full huh…! （ノωノ）

Mitsuki: It’s a great thing, but it’s so busy during this season that you want to sleep if you have time huh!

Ryuunosuke: Then not recently, how about we do about a year lol.

Yuki: Did Ryuunosuke-kun buy something interesting?

Ryuunosuke: Me?

Ryuunosuke: It’s not like I bought it but, I have something I want to buy!

Ryuunosuke: For my father, I want to buy a new boat someday. Even though it’s a long term goal...

Gaku: What are you saying? You can buy 10 or 20 boats soon.

Tenn: If it’s with three of us, it won’t take too long. We will definitely realize it. 

Ryuunosuke: Gaku, Tenn, thank you..!

Yuki: Wanting to buy something for someone is somehow nice. 

Yuki: Then, maybe I’ll buy something for Momo and Okarin.

Yuki: You want a car?

Momo: A car lololol. I’m fine with what I’m using now lololol

Okazaki: No thank you but I appreciate your kindness.

Yuki: Really? Giving presents is hard huh.

Yuki: Well, I’ll try to remember what I bought.

Ryuunosuke: Please take care of it. 

Tsumugi: Because it’s a present for someone you care for, it’s hard to think of huh…!

Tsumugi: Next can we hear a request from Momo-san please?

Momo: Okay ー(>ω<)ノ

Momo: From me, “Request me what you want me to do on Christmas Eve☆”

Momo: Because it’s Yuki’s birthday right! It’s your reverse request for Momo-chan! \(*´∀`)/\(´∀`*)ノ☆

Yuki: Momo...

Yuki: But I’m not in that mood.

Momo: Eh?! What mood?!

Yuki: I want to do something to Momo.

Yuki: So if you say you want to do a reverse request to me, I would request a reverse reverse one.

Nagi: A reverse reverse? That’s complicated :-(((

Iori: You mean, you want Momo-san to request something no matter what...?

Mitsuki: It’s seems like pushing each other’s request lol

Momo: Ehh! Even though it’s Yuki’s birthday! \”(○ ﾟДﾟ○)/”

Yuki: Because it’s my birthday, I can’t concede that.

Yuki: Or I would be fine if you’ll receive my car.

Momo: A car lololol. You were serious?! lololol

Momo: They’re all transportation but, something like a bike or skateboard I could understand tho!

Yuki: Then I’ll choose that ^^

Anesagi: So you are fine with anything if he receives it huh.

Okazaki: Why do you want to give something to Momo-kun so badly?

Momo: You mean you want to play with me…? If so I’m really happy!

Tamaki: A skateboard seems interesting.

Tamaki: Momorin, I want to ride one together.

Momo: Of course! With Yuki too!

Yuki: I’ll watch you guys from my room. 

Yuki: It’s cold outside.

Momo: Yuki won’t play huh lololol. Seriously what kind of present is that?!

Tsumugi: Maybe he meant it as a Christmas present…?

Tsumugi: Lastly, Yuki-san, please have a request to yourself.

Yuki: Right.

Yuki: I’ve thought about various things. 

Yuki: I’ve decided what I want to do, but now I’m thinking if another request would be nice,

Yuki: I’m still hesitating a little..

Tsumugi: Speaking of, the other time, you were saying that you had an idea for the request.

Tsumugi: If I’m right, you said it’s a drastic request that would stop our hearts…!

Riku: Eh! Is it okay to have such a huge request…?!

Yamato: Why did you choose such a hard request for yourself…?

Ryuunosuke: Even though it’s for the radio, it’s amazing to go that far...

Yuki: It’s not like it’s for the radio.

Yuki: But I thought I could force myself if it’s a radio project.

Tsumugi: By the way, what is the request about…?

Yuki: Tell my partner Momo words of gratitude.

Yuki: Is what it’s about...

Yuki: Ah, oh no

Yuki: I want to delete the log...

Yuki: Aaah, I really don’t know what I should do.

Yuki: Momo froze.

Okazaki: Momo-kun is shaking while holding his phone...

Banri: I see… I understand why Yuki wanted to give Momo-kun a present.

Gaku: He wanted to tell him his everyday’s gratitude huh!

Yamato: Even though the way he chooses the present is sloppy. (Lol)

Yuki: It doesn’t matter right.

Iori: But, isn’t telling gratitude on the radio harder than telling him normally?

Yuki: I just thought of that now...

Yuki: Well, it’s 1 out of 12, so I won’t pull it huh.

Yuki: I won’t pull it right…?

Momo: You don’t need to pull it.

Momo: I don’t need a present too. It’s enough that you thought about this request!

Momo: If I receive more than this, I’d explode from an overwhelming capacity...

Mitsuki: Momo-san, you are back!

Tenn: Even though he’s saying he’d explode...

Momo: ( ((≪☆★BOMB!!★☆≫ )) )

Mitsuki: He exploded!

Momo:。°.+。*.°（ﾉω・、）°.+。*.°。+。

Tsumugi: I’m also moved by Re:vale’s san’s love. Yuki-san, thank you for the wonderful request!

Tsumugi: So then, that will be all of the requests. Thank you everyone!

Yamato: Next is for Yuki-san to give a request to all of us huh.

Momo: This time, Yuki requests from us please....!

*Tsumugi: Do you have a request for us?

Yuki: I don’t. If I have to say something, please be friends with me from now on. Next time, let’s eat with everyone. 

Yuki: Take care of me.

Momo: Yukiiii! You’re coooool. 。・゜・( /Д‵)・゜・。

Tamaki: Momorin’s emojis have been crying since a while ago lol

Tamaki: [Confetti Pudding Stamp]

Gaku: We are finished with collecting the requests, so let us celebrate your birthday too.

Gaku: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Yuki-san! I rely on you all the time. we’ll keep moving forward so we won’t lose, so please take care of us from now on!

Riku: Happy Birthday, Yuki-san! I’m looking forward to what kind of request it’ll be!

Mitsuki: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Yuki-san! As my idol senpai and cooking friend, please take care of me for this next year!

Anesagi: Happy birthday. Please take care of TRIGGER from now on.

Tamaki: Yukirin, HBD-----!!!

Iori: Happy Birthday. I appreciate that you always take care of IDOLiSH7. From now on, please take care of us.

Ryuunosuke: Happy Birthday! I’m looking forward to the on-air radio!

Nagi: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Please have a wonderful year.

Tenn: Happy Birthday. We’ll continue to stand on-stage with all our might so that Re:vale can rely on us.

Sogo: Yuki-san, Happy Birthday. I wish this year will be a great year for you.

Yamato: Happy birthday. Let’s match our schedules for that drinking day.

Okazaki: Yuki-kun, happy birthday! Let’s work hard on “Twelve Hits!” together.

Banri: Happy birthday. Please take care of MEZZO” and IDOLiSH7 from now on.

Tsumugi:Yuki-san, Happy Birthday!

Yuki: Thanks. I thought the requests were good but I also think my birthday is a good thing.

Yuki: I celebrated, and I got celebrated; I feel good.

Yuki: Because I have the on-air radio before my birthday. I’ll work hard without pushing myself too much, so everyone please listen to it.

V2:

Momo: This time, Yuki requests from us please....!

Tsumugi: Do you have a request for TRIGGER-san?

Yuki: Please rely on us more. This is why we are carrying the reputation of being top idols.

Yuki: Take care of me.

V3:

Momo: This time, Yuki requests from us please....!

Tsumugi: Do you have a request for Momo-san?

Yuki: Let’s continue singing together as a pair from now on too.

Yuki: Take care of me.

[inkribbon796]

The Boy in Blue

Patton Birthday post.

Summary: Patton is used to having weird dreams. Fighting marshmallows, and traversing mountains made of fudge. But lately he’s been having some weird dreams. Ones that seem like memories that he doesn’t remember having. Memories of a childhood that never could have happened. It doesn’t help that the more stones he uncovers, the stranger things get.

It was a well-kept secret that while, Patton loved naps and comfy blankets, he hated dreaming. He, of course, kept it to himself. After all, telling other people would make them worry, and there was nothing anyone could do about his dreams.

Patton found himself in a hallway, eerie and unnatural shadows cast on the walls as he tried to find the kitchen but wound up in the living room for the third time in a row. He wanted to cry, all he wanted a midnight snack.

“Patty,” a lyrical, feminine voice called out.

“Mom?” Patton heard himself call out.

That’s not my mom! The rational, lucid-dreaming side of Patton’s mind reminded him. This isn’t my house. I like being Patton, but I wasn’t Patton when I was a kid! Where am I?

Still Patton turned around and saw Mayor Damien, looking exactly like he did when Patton had seen him four days ago, was smiling down at him in the middle of the hallway.

“Got lost looking for the bathroom again, Patty?” Damien walked over to him.

Patton felt himself start sobbing in relief and he rushed towards him. “Daddy!”

Damien frowned, but he knelt down and scooped little Patton up into his arms. He sighed, “You’ll get used to it. Kay and the others are adjusting too.”

Before Patton could be calmed by Damien’s words, or further driven into a panic that his father certainly wasn’t named Damien either, Patton was suddenly woken up from a dead sleep by a loud argument.

“Well it’s not my fault dude! How was I supposed to know he’d built a railgun?”

“Ye could’a looked, ye prick?”

Patton looked around, disoriented, his mouth dry and the Side felt like he’d been set on fire. “Who? Where?”

“Dude, you woke him up,” Bing told Marvin. The magician already storming off to fix his singed clothes, flipping the android off as he left.

Patton rolled off the couch, groggy but suddenly filled with adrenaline after his nightmare. He rushed towards Bing, grabbing the front of his shirt. “Where’s Logan and Roman?” Patton demanded desperately.

“Whoa, hey little buddy, calm down,” Bing tried to tell him. “Logan is off doing whatever the hell he does for the Host, and Roman isn’t back with Rey and Silv yet.”

Patton felt something inside him break. His whole body started shaking, he just curled into Bing, who was about as comfortable as trying to cuddle a steel wall. He felt like he was going to start crying.

“Hey, uh,” Bing tried to calm Patton down, but obviously didn’t know how to do it.

Patton was already pulling away, trying to smile and hold himself together. He had to. Patton didn’t have a choice. He’d just have to make do while they were on their missions. Patton couldn’t fuse with Virgil either, the emotional Side knew that Virgil wasn’t ready or willing to fuse with anyone of them. Especially when he tended to avoid them most of the time.

Dragging himself back over to the couch, Patton was about to sit down. He was stopped when he saw a small card on top of where his head had been laying. On one side it read:

That house takes and swallows whole,

Those that should not pay its toll.

NE 1085 Downwich Road

Patton visibly tilted his head at the note. On the other side was a quote, also printed: “You don’t speak of dreams as unreal. They exist. They leave a mark behind us.”

“Hey, Bing,” Patton called back to Bing who was eyeing him in concern. “Did you slip me this?”

Bing walked over, taking the card, “Nah, too cryptic for me.”

“Where’s it from?” Patton asked, his grogginess quickly fading away.

The android lifted his sunglasses and his eyes glowed green, scanning the card. After a second or two he answered, “It’s a quote from The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K. Le Guin. It’s a book.”

“What’s it about?” Patton studied the card.

“A man that can change reality through dreams, altering both the past and the present,” Bing answered. “You want the spoiler review?”

“Nah, I’m good without the play-by-play,” Patton told him, a pit forming in his gut. “I have to make a call.”

“You going out?” Bing asked.

“Yeah, I need to find the address?” Patton slid the card into a well-hidden flap in his phone cover.

“You mind if I tag along?” Bing took a step to follow him.

Patton almost shot him down, the need to not worry anyone around him almost too much for him to bear. But he shrugged, “Sure, if you want.”

“Thanks, I need to get outta here, and Host is still in,” Bing excused.

“Okay, I need to go in plain blues,” Patton told him. “Just let me make a few calls.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Bing saluted, and dimmed all his LED lights that accented his body.

Patton rolled his eyes, and began dialing a number that all the Sides, Dark or Light, had memorized.

“Joan,” Patton began after the phone picked up. “This is Patton, I need you to meet me at the Patisserie on 5th St.”

~::~ ~::~ ~::~

Patton didn’t like to dwell on the negative things in life. Life was too short, and he was too busy. But he’d always felt more like an observer, a trapped prisoner. Almost like a jigsaw piece from a sunny beach kid’s puzzle, trying to be crammed into a 1000-piece cityscape.

Patton and Bing calmly headed over to the pasty bakery on 5th st. It was a place that Patton liked to frequent, and right now Patton needed something familiar . . . and maybe some blueberry scones or some raspberry cheesecake.

Outside of the patisserie were Ethan, Robbie, and one of Patton’s old friends: Joan. All of them in ordinary clothes. Even Robbie was looking normal.

“Joan,” Patton cheered, racing over to give them a hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Why’d you chose here?” Ethan asked as Bing went to go sit down next to him. “We could have done this in the base.”

“You know,” Patton smiled with a huge grin, and motioned. “This place practically has my name written on it.”

Ethan cursed and smiled, Joan broke out in a laughed. Even Robbie and Bing were laughing.

“So we’ve got a couple free evenings,” Joan smiled.

“Want to help,” Robbie told all of them, his tone its normal slow and languidness, but no less excited.

“Okay first, I need some cheesecake,” Patton promised.

Joan held up a brown paper bag with the shop’s logo stamped onto it. “Way ahead of you.”

“Oh,” Patton sat down. “Thanks, Joan.”

Joan passed the compassionate side the bag, “Hey, what are friends for? B-team or not.”

“There’s not a B-team,” Patton scoffed as he dug out a small case for a large piece of cheesecake.

“Try telling that to the news,” Ethan scoffed, digging through bag of cookies.

“There’s not a B-team, and if there was, most of us would be on it,” Patton corrected. “Anyways, so I need you guys not to laugh.”

“No promises,” Joan gave Patton a wide smile.

“I’ve been having some weird dreams,” Patton kept going, Joan’s smile falling. “Really weird dreams. The kind that seem more like memories, but I don’t remember having them and they’re impossible.”

“Okay,” Joan point a finger at Patton, looking slightly concerned. “Not what I thought you were going to say.”

Immediately distracted, Patton looked at them. “Like what?”

“That you were going to confess to us,” Joan smiled. “You know, about you and Logan, and Roman?”

Patton looked at him in confusion for a bit, then got a little red. “I— Anyways! My dreams.”

“About boys,” Joan waggled their eyebrows.

“Stop,” Patton went fully red on the face. “I’m trying to be serious.”

“Hey, someone has to be overly invested in your love life, and Roman’s not here to pick up the slack,” Joan grinned, resting their chin on the palm of their hand.

“Patton about to explode?” Robbie asked in concern.

“If he’s lucky,” Joan answered

“Stop,” Patton putted Joan little. “There are kids here.”

“What kids?” Joan moved their whole head while rolling their eyes. “Ethan’s only a couple years younger.”

“My ears,” Ethan goaded, his voice going a bit high pitched. “They burn.”

“So what’s these dream about, besides a hot guy you haven’t gossiped with me about?” Joan segwayed.

“Celine is working with Dark, but I can’t prove it,” Patton confessed.

“Who Celine?” Robbie asked. “Nice?”

“I don’t think so,” Patton decided.

“She’s the person you ran into with Jack and Silver, right?” Ethan asked. “I remember Mark saying something about Damien having a sister.”

“Yeah, and I don’t think he lied about that, but she just seems really . . . I don’t know. I’ve seen her before, I know I have,” Patton didn’t know how to say how he felt without sounding like he was completely crazy. “And then I had another weird dream and I found this.”

Patton pulled out the note. “It’s an address in town. It’s an abandoned building in the Althone section of town.”

“Can I see that?” Ethan asked. Patton passed it across the table. Using the opportunity to take a couple bites from his cheesecake.

Ethan turned it over, Joan leaning over to look at it as well.

“Hey, I know this place,” Ethan commented, turning the card over a couple times. “I used to live close to there. It’s an old orphanage.”

“Really?” Patton leaned in.

“Well it’s not anymore,” Ethan corrected. “Shut down some five years ago. Don’t know why, but no one’s bought it since and squatters come and go through the place all the time.”

“So the place isn’t under Dark’s control?” Patton questioned.

“Not to my knowledge,” Ethan answered. “Do you think you’ll find something about Celine here?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going,” Patton decided, wolfing down the rest of his cheesecake. “You guys can come with, or head back to the base.”

“With,” Robbie decided.

“Like we’d leave you hanging,” Bing said.

Joan and Ethan quickly agreed, and after a quick plan, the small group made their way to the old building. At first, if not for Bing they would have missed it.

Patton, still in his street clothes, looked from the card to the rundown building. A sign that would have probably advertised the orphanage in complete disrepair. “This place used to be an orphanage?”

“Yeah, something about poor maintenance,” Bing answered. “The kids were moved somewhere else.”

“That’s really sad,” Patton said.

“I doubt there’s anything in there for us,” Joan decided.

Patton’s brow furrowed and he walked up to the front door, seeing a giant padlock on the front and warning to stay out. “There has to be something.”

Bing tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a broken window. “Prolly should check there first.”

It took some effort and some careful climbing, but the group snuck in. They didn’t see any people hiding out in the building. In fact, they didn’t see anything other than rubble and broken glass.

“You said people lived in here?” Joan asked Ethan.

“I haven’t lived here in awhile, maybe they cleared the place out,” Ethan defended.

“Bing?” Patton looked over at the android.

Bing’s eyes flashed orange for a couple seconds, “There’s no records of governmental activity in the area.”

Patton and Ethan took the lead as they started to go through the empty rooms, any remnants of furniture or beds had long since been either taken or destroyed. But in the back was a small office. An empty office.

“Well this place was a bust,” Joan commented.

“No,” Patton groaned.

Bing however walked towards the back of the room and started tapping his foot on the floor in random places, his eyes glowing orange.

“Yah find something there?” Ethan asked.

“Maybe,” Bing knelt down, and then used his enhanced frame to punch a hole through the floor and pull out a dusty box.

The air was quiet, still, and then a piercing siren wet off.

Bing’s censor went off.

“We need to get out of here,” Ethan said.

“I’ve got five heat signatures on the way,” Bing warned, holding the box to him. “In bound in five minutes.”

“Get to a corner,” Ethan ordered, shoving Joan and Patton towards the closest corner. “Bing, behind me, now.”

Everyone followed his orders, and Ethan stood in front of them. The light in the room began to dim as color began to leech out of Ethan’s body. He didn’t quiet turn grey but it was close.

“Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t even breath if you don’t have to,” Ethan whispered, clearly exerting himself to cover than many people all at once.

After a minute, the door was kicked open as three guys in suits walked in, all of them with guns. They began to look around the room, glossing over the group as if they weren’t there. Patton could only guess they were some of Dark’s enforcers.

“Clear,” one of them called out of the room.

“There’s no way it’s clear,” Ed’s southern drawl barked at them, walking over to the hole in the floor, and starting to root through it. “Shit! How long has this thing been here?”

“Maybe they climbed through the window?” one of the enforcers gestured to it.

Ed turned on him, “Then you best figure out if they got away with anything before Dark kills us both.”

Sweat started to bead on Ethan’s face. Patton tried to hold his breath as Ed looked around.

“Evacuate the whole place,” Ed decided.

“But Dark,” one of the enforcers cut in.

“Will thank me later,” Ed snapped. “It’s compromised, an’ he said if it does to wash the whole place. Get a demo crew in. I don’t care, we’ll trash the whole place. L.O site be damned.”

Then he stomped out, the enforcers looking between each other before following after him. Ethan held on for an extra half minute to be sure they were gone. He almost crashed to the floor panting heavily.

“Thanks,” Patton whispered.

“Let’s just get out of here, we can call the cops a couple blocks away,” Ethan rasped.

“Good idea,” Joan agreed. “Who knows how many there are here?”

Quickly and quietly, the team just left, Bing helping Ethan out the window. They snuck down a couple blocks as Bing called in the police. Patton quickly taking the lockbox in Bing’s hands.

They were still trying to open it as Logan and Marvin came in to help the police search the building. After giving some testimonies, Logan took one look at Bing and box and just told them to head back to the station to investigate it.

After a quick trip, Bing and Robbie staying to help with the hideout, Patton was finally able to get the box open. All of them now in costume. Inside were a couple files. Some invoices of expenses that Patton quickly turned over to the police. But there were also a file, looking like it’d been hastily shoved inside the box.

Joan pulled them out and started reading through it.

“What it is?” Ethan asked as Patton was helping to separate out invoices with another detective. The Side looked over at what Joan was holding.

“They’re just some record files,” Joan answered. His brow furrowed in confusion.

“Who?” Patton asked.

“Patton Elijah Sanders, and an Arthur Stephen Isaacs,” Joan read off in confusion. “Wait a minute.”

“Let me see that,” Patton rushed over to him.

“That’s you right?” Ethan asked, leaning in. “Didn’t know you went to this place.”

“I didn’t, my folks are still alive,” Patton stared at what should, by all rights, be a picture of a very young Thomas. Probably around four or five at best. “My name’s not really Patton, and my middle name doesn’t even begin with an ‘E’.”

Ethan stared at him. “What?!”

Patton startled. “Long story, but my name’s Thomas.”

“Then why did you tell us your name was Patton,” Ethan asked, looked more than a little hurt.

“Because it,” Patton looked away, uncomfortable. “It’s super hard to explain. And I really shouldn’t get into it here without talking to Logan and Roman. The reason I became Patton, made it so I can fuse with Roman and Logan. We’re like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and my piece is named Patton.”

Patton just stared at his file. “I need to have a talk with Dee,” the Side decided. “He’ll probably just talk me in circles, but at least I can figure out if he knows something.”

Patton was already starting out the door to the room, and crashed into Logan.

“Any luck?” Logan demanded.

“I need to fuse, now,” Patton grabbed him by the arms, the clawing desperation from earlier in the day returning with full force and Patton didn’t think he could bear another second on his own anymore.

“A botched raid is hardly an emergency,” Logan told him.

Patton gripped onto the logical side tighter. “Fine, I’ll just ask Roman then.”

“Wait,” Logan said right before Patton could force himself to let go. “You’re— You—”

He took a deep breath and took off his visor. “Explain to me what’s going on and if you still want to fuse I will, I promise.”

Taking a deep breath, Patton nodded and walked back over to the files, Logan taking a look at them and the contents of the box, looking just as worried as Patton did.

Patton and Logan didn’t wind up fusing that day, but he did get enough cupcakes to go into a sugar coma and sleep off his troubles. Marvin and the Host helping this sleep be dreamless. Logan and Roman watching over him as best as they could.

[matildainmotion]

Letters in Lockdown: an invitation to take part in an art exchange

May 1st 2020, Sussex

Dear You,

I want to write you a letter for the month of May – an analogue antidote to our intense online digital lives. Of course, for now, you will be reading this on a screen but my hope is, as you’ll see if you read on, that some offline letters will follow between us. For the time being I will write this in the style of a letter, thinking of the quality of one.

It was my birthday last week and I received two fountain pens and three bottles of ink as presents (my mother and husband both had the same idea), so whilst I am typing this, using squares on a keyboard, I am dreaming of ink on paper. I think what is special about a letter, the real kind that you can hold in your hands, is that it foregrounds my particular moment of writing, and then yours of reading. It grounds me in the physical, sitting now in the living room, the cold metal of the laptop on my legs, while the children watch a Toy Story short on Disney Plus (a new lockdown addition to our lives). It makes explicit the incredible thing that writing does, bridging gaps of time and space, and of people- the gap between you and me. It does physical distancing yet social bridging like nothing else, and I need that kind of bridge right now.

This period in lockdown has been reminding me of the no-time time between Christmas and New Year. As a child I used to find it strange and fascinating to walk down our street on December 25th and to know that behind every door a different version of the day was taking place. I knew the insides of some of those houses well enough, but I didn’t know them on Christmas day. It was like the doors that said ‘Staff only’ on them in cafes and shops - suddenly, at that time of year, everyone disappeared behind doors like that, doors that seemed marked with a backstage, behind-the-scenes sign, the place you can’t see, but you know that stories are unfolding there.

In lockdown this is happening everywhere, for much longer than it does at Christmas time. I think of the twenty-four other families of the children in my son’s school class, how there are twenty-four different versions of this time happening between us. We live close by to one another but do not know how it is for one another in any detail. So I thought I would write you a letter to tell you a little about what it is like here, behind our door, and then perhaps you can reply.

There are five of us behind our door – me, my husband, my mother, my son and my daughter. We are 46, 56, 78, 8 and 3 – ages seem important now. We live in a village in Sussex, in a two bed house, but there is a little studio-shed in the garden that my mother, ‘Granny,’ uses as a bedroom. It is a small house for five people. Usually my husband is not here during the week – he is in London, working. Usually my mother is not here during the weekends – she goes back to my brother’s house in Oxford. But during the lockdown we have all been here all the time, five people, holding, between us, at least twenty-five different roles. Not just the husband, mother, son, sibling, in-law roles – the family ones you might expect to find together in a home – but also the student, teacher, director, facilitator ones. Because usually my husband doesn’t have to be an Artistic Director of a theatre company in the attic, a tiny triangle of space under the roof; I don’t have to facilitate Mothers Who Make sessions in the bedroom; my son doesn’t have to learn his times tables in the kitchen. Usually we go out to be in other buildings for these roles. And these are only the worldly ones. There is a whole raft of other dreaming, feeling roles – the carer, the cleaner, the teaser, the pleaser, the critic, the grump, the clown, the aggressor, the sulker, the button-pressor, the one with the button pressed…..that list goes on to reach many multiplications beyond the times tables that I know. We move through them every day, thousands of roles, ricocheting off each other as we manoeuvre round the kitchen: my daughter running up and down, refusing to get dressed; my son reading comics, strewn across the floor; my mother, holding the pants my daughter won’t put on, trying to keep out of everyone’s way; my husband wanting to make a cup of coffee; me looking for the toothbrushes that I thought I had brought downstairs, but maybe I didn’t.

Letters can feel confessional and I think I have reached that point in this one. I know the thing that I am meant to do, for everyone’s wellbeing, is to create a clear structure and rhythm for the days, and yet it is the thing with which I struggle most. My son is not asleep till after midnight. This means we get up late – nine, half nine. The first thing he wants to do, as soon as he wakes, is use up his screen-time allowance for the day (currently this means two episodes of My Little Pony). I let him because it means I get my moment of writing time at once, and this helps me accept the cramped-ness of the rest of the day. So by 10.30am, we are undressed and un-breakfasted. Some days we manage to achieve breakfast and clothes just in time for lunch. And then I realise I haven’t done the tooth-brushing….And then there is school work to fit in, and a walk, and the hens need visiting on the allotment, and perhaps some supplies need to be bought or ordered, and several Zoom calls have to happen, and then it is supper, later than it should be, and a bath and I am typing this again, past midnight with the children asleep at last.  

Meanwhile, behind the worldly roles, and the dreaming, feeling roles, pressed tight together in our two bed house, there lie things that are larger than any roles or rooms: the big picture thoughts. The what-will-become-of-us thoughts. The what-will-happen-to-the world questions. What will my children’s lives be like? Will everything get better, worse, or both? Another confession coming up, a confession about prayer. My mother brought us up Catholic – I’m not religious now but I still find myself praying. It feels like writing letters to the air. I still imagine angels, spiritual postmen (but transgender), with huge diamond-shaped wings, like kites, straggling across the night. I pass them messages, requests for health, safety, joy, care – the big things – and they take them up as they fly by.  

           And because I cannot hold everything – all the toothbrushes, the meals, pants, melt downs, cups of tea, the roles, the feelings, the big thoughts and prayers – I write, and the writing does some of the holding for me. So, as well as this letter I also wrote you a story, which I will share in a moment. But before that I’d like to make you an invitation. Usually, I write a question for the month. This time, my question is this: would you like to write me a reply? Would you like to join me on a project of which this blog is the beginning, called Letters in Lockdown? If so, here’s how…

Write a letter, a poem, a song, a story. Or don’t write, draw. Draw a doodle, a sketch, a cartoon, a painting. Or do both. Or fetch the scissors and cut out some paper dolls of all the people in your house. Or find the glue and make a collage of your lockdown lives. Write or draw to me and/ or to another mother and maker behind another door somewhere in the world, within this locked down time. Write or draw about how it is behind your door. Write a letter, make an image, such as you would like to receive. Your children can join you in this. They can write their own letter or draw their own drawing. Or you can make one huge messy image altogether. It can be about the big picture, or the tiny details of your days, or both. About the joy, or the fear, or the grumps, or the grief, or the roles, or the toothbrushes, or the angels. Then post it to me. Include a self-addressed, stamped envelope (SASE). I will put what you send me into another maker’s empty envelope and send it out to her. I will put another mother’s/ child’s letter/ artwork into your envelope and send it back to you. In this way, you will get a reply. It will be like putting a message in a bottle and not knowing what message will come back, or from whom, but knowing, for sure, that one will. Nor will you know exactly where your message will end up. That’s the game. We will all be writing to each other, and all receiving from each other, lots of lockdown letters and pictures, the kind that involve ink on paper, the kind you can hold, made behind another door, posted through yours. And, with your permission, I will keep a digital record of what you post too so that one day, maybe, when this is over and we can walk out into the new world, there will be a book by you and me and many other mothers and makers, called Letters in Lockdown – a record of this time.

           If you want to take part in this art exchange, then email me at matilda@motherswhomake.org and I will send you the address to which to send your letters/ artwork and other details. If you want to take part but you cannot get to a post box, then email me also and I can do the paper and ink part and the posting for you. I look forward to your post. Consider it a commission you are receiving from Mothers Who Make.

Now, below, enclosed within this letter, is my story for you. I am sharing it, though I feel shy and nervous about doing so, because I want to show you that it is possible to share different things – not just letters but things that you might not usually put into an envelope and post out to the world. This story is part of a longer series of unpublished flash fiction pieces I am working on called ‘Other Peoples, Other Worlds.’ This one, lockdown-inspired, is called ‘The People Apart. You can go here to read it: https://matildainmotion.tumblr.com

But first, let me sign off from letter-writing. I hope to hear back from you.

With love, and healthful wishes to you and everyone within your home, behind your door.

Matilda xxxxxx

[dr-astormylasthurrah]

questions and answers...

done over discord, collected here for archives!

(also, a reminder that the askbox is always open~)

“Does anyone like to collect or hoard things?”

CHIYO: I really, really like collecting headbands!! I’ve got a frankly embarrassing collection at home, from Hello Kitty styled ones to more “mature” looking ones. My grandma gave me a lot of my collection, so they’re really important to me! AMAL: I don’t really have time to collect things. Collecting postage stamps would be a nice hobby if it didn’t get so expensive with limited runs or whatever. TATSUMARU: ... Why would... why would I want to spend money on things I don’t need or want? SENTAROU: I collect interesting yarn. But you didn’t hear that from me and if you ever tell anyone I’m legally obligated to kill you. IRIS: Um... hair clips? I have a few sets depending on what I feel like doing! And I buy more every year for my birthday. It... might be a problem. ASTER: Bold of you to assume I know anything about myself, let alone what I have at home. Bold of you to assume I know where my home is, too. I hope past me collected rocks. Not gemstones or anything, just funky rocks. CLAUDE: If it exists in collectible form, I have a few. Don’t even ask me to pick a specific thing, ahaha. My room’s a mess. Wait, Kinder egg toys! Those are fun. HIRONO: I don’t really collect things, but I do keep a lot of physical photographs of places I’ve been to and people I like. Photography reminds me of Megumi, so I like doing it! ALEXEI: Feathers. Call me predictable, but I prefer “dedicated” or “has a very clear idea of what I want in life”. RIRIKA: I collect anime girl PNGs. Never, ever play gacha idol games. Don’t make my mistakes. TSUKINO: I have a TON of plane tickets!! Well, most of them aren’t mine, and sometimes I just beg them off people at airports and they look at me weird. It’s so neat knowing that these little papers can take you anywhere and that they’re from so many cool places, too! BRENDAN: I hoard anything I can fit in my toolbelt and save for later. So like, odds and ends. I, uh... may have a problem with never throwing things away. TIANA: A lot of my jewelry is from lot sales conducted by my aunt. I suppose most of the reason I have so much of it is to feel closer to my family, though I make some of it myself, too. RYOUJI: I collect... what do I collect, actually? I collect dust from sitting in one place for so long. Haha. I’m kidding, I’m always on my feet, please god send help I just want to sleep. TRISTAN: I don’t see the point in keeping so much stuff. Not to sound like a cleaning show host, but collecting things is such a waste of time, space, and money. No offense. KANEMORI: I don’t usually care about things but I got one of those little, what are they called, aquabead bracelets? From a sponsor? And suddenly my house is full of cheap bracelets. Especially those thin vinyl ones, those are the best. Why has my life come to this though.

“Do they dress for looks or comfort? What’s their fashion angle?”

CHIYO: I’d say looks are... most of it? I mean, of course I want to be comfortable, but ultimately I don’t think I’m ever going to stop worrying about passing. It does help that I genuinely like skirts and dresses and stuff, although I’m still kinda insecure about showing too much skin. I like the aesthetic of Howl’s Moving Castle, so I think that’s the kind of fashion I’d like to wear - something simple and crisp. AMAL: For me, fashion is definitely comfort over appearance. I haven’t really thought about what I wear in a while. Bates says I look like a wannabe TA who’s currently sucking up to the professor and I am ACTIVELY CHOOSING to view that as a compliment. Fuck you, Bates. TATSUMARU: In all honesty, what I wear every day is only a slight modification of what I wear onstage. I haven’t even thought about what I would wear if not this. Although this cloak is nice. SENTAROU: Are you kidding? Comfort all the way, but because of my stupid job I have to look at least somewhat professional. Hence, the tuxedo jacket. This is my life hack or whatever, I just toss it on if I need to look fancy. If I had my way, I’d be wearing T-shirts and jackets all the time. I’m not interested in looking nice for other people’s enjoyment, thank you very much. IRIS: As much as I’d love to dress up, I don’t leave my house very often, so there’s really no point in wearing anything fancy. I guess off the shoulder tops would be cute? I don’t really know. Oh, but if societal standards weren’t a thing, I’d love to have a pair of those kiddie butterfly wings! ASTER: ... I mean assuming what I’m wearing right now is close to my normal clothes, I guess this is looking a lot like function over form. But given the option, I think I’d wear more patterns. Like, yeah, I like simple clothing items, but I also want to wear some kind of personality, y’know? I’d keep this jacket, for example. But I want patterns on my pants. CLAUDE: It’s a mix of both for me! Just, y’know, my idea of “comfort” doesn’t exactly match with other people’s. I try to go for an approachable but fashionable vibe! Thin, large sweater tops, scarves, I’d basically be the poster child of every men’s fashion catalogue if I could be, ahaha. HIRONO: Definitely comfort. I’m used to being overlooked, so I may as well be comfortable. Though I’m told if I dress in a suit and fold my arms, my glare is impressive enough to melt holes in steel. I guess that’s kind of cool, but I’d still rather have people to talk to, y’know. ALEXEI: Comfort. Yes, this includes the cape. The cape is comfort. I am comfortable being dramatic and unknowable to man. Fuck off if you have a problem. RIRIKA: Looks, of course. It’s a little hard for me not to be detail oriented, considering my talent and everything, and besides, dressing nicely makes me feel more confident. I like layering things and using repetitive colors or patterns to tie outfits together. Sometimes I’ll focus all of my energy into an outfit in order to kill God or something. I don’t know. TSUKINO: I don’t know what this is! I wish I could be more punkish when I’m flying with like spikes and everything but noooo apparently that’s a “safety hazard” and “a distraction to the instructor”. Well, joke’s on you, safety instructor, but my normal flight clothes have studs on them ANYWAY. I’m gonna fight the establishment in every way, bitch! BRENDAN: It’s comfort. It’s absolutely just for comfort. I’ve had this jacket since I was 12, 13...? I bought it two sizes too big and it’s so worn out now that I’ve had to sew patches into it, but I hate throwing anything away so I just keep it. So I guess my fashion sense is just... “shabby”. I don’t mind, though! I think it gives me character. TIANA: Looks are MUCH more important than comfort when it comes to clothes. A good outfit can make or break someone’s perception of you. Though I don’t like to wear full business attire every day and I can’t imagine doing so at this time, I think it’s wise to at least have a decent collared shirt at all times. As for my shorts and socks... I think I just have a look going on here. Besides, gyaru fashion is quite cute. So roll with it. RYOUJI: Uh... At this point, imma keep it real with you, my fashion sense is a game of “how androgynous can I go without my parents suspecting anything”. I’m kind of dying in this, considering the heat of wearing two layers and a binder, but I also don’t care anymore. I guess I’m okay wearing T-shirts and stuff if I don’t have anywhere to be, but I’d like to at least LOOK competent, you know? TRISTAN: I’m wearing socks and sandals as we speak. So take a guess. I look exactly like a stereotypical gamer because it’s true. KANEMORI: Weird as this is to say, I favor both. I’m never far from a spotlight, between me and my parents and everything, so I have to look at least kind of presentable at all times. Which sucks, but it’s what I grew up with, so I guess that’s just how my life is. I’m used to just wearing T-shirts and stuff. If I had to wear a tie I guess I’d just choke or something.

For Hirono: What's your favorite genre of music?

EKYOU: Uh... anything, I guess? I have what’s described as “eclectic” taste. But I promise I’ll listen to anything people show me, and I’ll do my best to like it!

Uhmm for Iris: How would your ideal romantic date be?

SUMITAMA: E-eh?? This is super cheesy, but... I like the idea of a traditional date! A fancy dinner with candles and everything. SUMITAMA: Oh, but outside of that, I’d really enjoy a date where I can do things I love with someone I love! Walking around a botanical garden, or having a library day... As long as it’s free. I need to save money for textbooks. College courses are evil, don’t do them.

for ryouji: do you keep your room as clean as you keep the kitchen?

ATSUI: HAHAHAHAHA no I wish. ATSUI: The kitchen thing isn’t so much my rules as my parents’ rules, but it’s good to follow - if your kitchen is a mess you’re going to knock something over and regret everything. This may or may not be from personal experience. ATSUI: But my room?? That’s my HOME. That’s my PRIVATE AREA. I’m going to trip over everything in it and no one can say shit. ATSUI: I should probably start picking up all the laundry though.

Alexei, what is the most beautiful bird you have ever seen and why do you think is the most beautiful?

BAZHANOV: Pigeons are underrated. They have iridescent feathers and yet we as humans still consider them nuisances. It’s a shame. BAZHANOV: I would say something real deep about the nature of humanity to ignore beauty but I’m pretty sure that people hate them because they shit everywhere. Which is fair enough, I suppose.

For Chiyo: This is going to sound really dumb, but do you like to read? If so, what sorts of things do you like to read (genre-wise)?

CHIYO: I like kids books a lot more than young adult stuff. You know how young adult novels these days are always either “gritty sci-fi suspense” or “vaguely Eurocentric fantasy” or “heartwarming realistic fiction”? Kids stories are a lot more creative. And with a lot less pointless death. CHIYO: As for what kind of stories, I think fantasy/sci-fi is nice! Especially books that lean on fairytale elements and mythology, it’s like a history lesson and story at once! CHIYO: But, uh, I don’t understand that series with the talking cats. I tried to read it a few times but I think that’s just something you have to get into as a child.

(This is going off Western genres I don’t actually know shit abt Japanese novels)

Tsukino, do you have a celebrity crush?

CHISAKI: THE LEAD SINGER OF R3BELS OBVIOUSLY.

Does Alexei just have the one mask or does he have multiple for different outfits/occasions

BAZHANOV: Just the one. It’s surprisingly hard to track down decent and inexpensive masks for dramatic occasions. I wish I had more, but it’s also not as if I have the money to procure them. BAZHANOV: ... Unrelated, how feasible is it to break into a bank?

hirono, how did you start ōendan?

EKYOU: After... well, after some family things happened, my oldest brother Rousei thought that I needed something to do. He said ōendan would be good because I’m good at cheering for people, and he said it’s what he did in high school, too. So... I guess I gave it a shot? I’m glad I can encourage people to do their best!! But it’s just not something I’m super into for the sake of myself. But I’m at HPA now, so I shouldn’t be ungrateful, it’s just.... Yeah. EKYOU: Plus, I haven’t had time to pursue photography... It’s kind of driving me up the wall.

If tsukino could do anything other than her talent hat would she do?

CHISAKI: It would be my GOD GIVEN RIGHT as an individual to join some kind of band and go break some hearts and make like ten million dollars! But I’m kinda tone deaf! ... Not like that matters for the kind of music I’m into but hey!!

[zumpietoo]

Ummm....noooo, it’s utter bullshit, one entitled bourgeois princess defending another and shows how little you grasp of anything.....and I shall now trash the “article/writer”:

https://defector.com/the-money-is-in-all-the-wrong-places/

She begins, OFC, by leaning into Syd’s bootstrapping/rags to riches narrative, while ignoring/failing in due diligence: Sydney’s mommy was an attorney, it appears they somehow lost all their $$$ and/or chose to be stage parents and give up the house and land that had been in their family for five generations and move to LA with, apparently, no plan whatsoever. That’s just irresponsible. 

The whole “nepotism” thing was, again, her sounding like a brat and clear aimed her co-stars like Maude Apatow (who, BTW, is a better actress than SS) and just came off as whiny and petty. Duuudeee, there will always be peeps who have moar advantages, etc than you....meanwhile, you’re 24 and just bought a $3mil house because you shake your tits on an overrated show. STFU. The backlash got it right.

It was neither of those, it whiny and self-pitying.....and her team, ostensibly, THOUGHT the bootstrapping narrative would help with her image. It apparently failed. The 20% of her income is what gives that income to begin with----and, again, don’t buy a $3mil house at 24 if you really can’t afford it. 

Again, while I’ll freely agree our maternity leave, etc sucks ass....most people can’t afford to take off 6 days without pay, some losing 6 hours would hurt for weeks----6 weeks is luxury many families struggle to manage and 6 months is unheard of. Additionally, if you WERE to make this about it being government funded, that’s fine---but it means it’s paid by tax dollars, so, really, SS would still be footing the bill, because her income makes her a one percenter...AND I really doubt she’d be compensated at the rate.

Additionally, she’s fucking 24 and not yet married...she has plenty of time to be a mom and given what a whiny pissbaby she’s outed herself as, I don’t think she’s remotely mature enough to parent at this juncture. 

OMG....this has fucking NOTHING to do with our social safety net----which, again, yes, is weak and flimsy....but try being any one of the people denied UI benefits during Covid in Oregon (or who waited months in adjudication)---I was and as awful as it was, it palled in comparison with actual moms who could only offer their kid a birthday cake (no presents) because they used their food stamps). Or the family of seven who went months without benefits, all because of an antiquated computer system. 

Dumbass, the social safety net was never created so a pampered millionaire could have moar leisure time and take fewer side hustles to redecorate her mcmansion. It’s gross that you even attempt to equate it, thusly.

Actually, SS doesn’t have to even LIVE in LA, she’s established enough and most projects film elsewhere....she could live in a much cheaper location and certainly in a much cheaper house (that she’ll ultimately profit from should she choose to sell).

There are few paying jobs in “the arts” period----and it’s always been the case. At least she’s an actual working actor. Why don’t you look at the lives even PP’s dullard friends lead? Poor SlaveTay is literally an internet prostitute....and owns nothing besides her cutoff booty shorts. 

Plus SS was her family’s breadwinner and, again, only recently “broke out”. She’s also chosen her projects and plenty of them have been ones that clearly wouldn’t offer as much $$$. She is literally sulking that she isn’t as rich as other people. That’s greedy, pathetic, gross and unspeakably materialistic.

Again, this was never an “old people problem”, wealth disparity is always a thing.....and championing somebody who has it, at 24, essentially for shaking her titties, isn’t quite addressing the class wars, dude.....

Sweeney was paid $350K for season 1 of Euphoria, which was 8 eps (the other reason she doesn’t make as much, she takes on series with shorter episode counts and no commercials, reruns, etc....)----so she made over $40K an ep and probably filmed for maybe 4 months? IDK.....how many other peeps make $350K in a third of a year....

Oh good lord.....her costar Zendaya is similarly aged, a woman of color and could easily do just that. Also, this is legit crying “no longer will we get to be billionaires of leisure, only millionaires....sob....sniffle.....sob...”

Ummm.....I don’t even remotely LIKE Hemingway, but he was a best selling author, something you aren’t (nor, clearly, should you be)---in fact you’re here writing a poorly researched, abysmally flimsily argued piece of clickbait, so maybe THAT’S why....

Consider 25 years ago, JK Rowling was a single mommy on welfare, now she’s a billionaire.....and while, obviously, a fair percentage of that does come from the movies, etc....I’m sure her “per word rate”, is a lot closer to Hemingway’s. Ditto for Stephenie Meyer and any other number of modern writers. 

Plus again, you’re paid to write....there are plenty of peeps who don’t get that. 

Dude, neither of you even approach “art”, on any remote level. Get over yourselves. 

This is not a new concept.....actually, it’s the same way in most cases the peeps who got rich from gold and oil weren’t the peeps digging or drilling, but the peeps setting up shops or later selling land.

Actually, if Sydney took projects with an option for the profits, etc, instead of merely a flat salary, she’d potentially boast those numbers, too. Plus options are frequently mere paper and entail forestalling any compensation for years. Your lack of business acumen (and, again, dreadful researching skills) is laughable. 

And I fucking haaattteeee defending rich people.

Additionally, these are all much older peeps, who have worked at all this for a LOT longer. And, in the case of Iger, he heads sooooo many moar enterprises than just one series or even one teevee network or studio. 

Dude, if you were arguing for crew, I’d be right there with you---instead, you’re again saying that a pampered princess needs to make moar because she whined about it.

Except you are doing just that.....and apparently you DO want to. 

Ummm....who says being the CEO of a huge, multinational company is “less demanding” than filming a series for 4 months in which you mostly shake your boobies or roll your eyes? And then go take a nap in your trailer.....I tend to imagine they definitely have to do a fair amount of work themselves. In fact, now you sound like you’re 10.

Dude, again, go champion people who actually deserve it. And stop jumping all over the place with ridiculous analogies....

Again, that’s a luxury, she could if she hadn’t bought a house she couldn’t afford.....and, as example, Cole’s earned every dime himself, in the arts and he could. Oh good lord....shurt the fuck up. This is such a white person’s whine. Go see what life is like for migrant farm workers maybe. THAT should be “the world you don’t want to live in”.

Plus, LBR, at its core, this is actually pro-$$$ and bourgeois greed. 

And, again, why are you fucking worried that SS will have to actually work at her well paying, privileged celeb jobs, versus the family who are homeless and can’t afford food?

Most people don’t, moron....I don’t think that’s entirely true, I think you’re feeling sulky, yourself. And yeah, she is....she’s a millionaire who can’t afford to do this cuz she overspent. And, frankly? I’m pretty sure if she really wanted to, she could. Fact is, if she takes off 6 months? She slides into irrelevancy...

And I’m pretty confident SHE isn’t taxed like the rest of us, either. Because, again, she IS a rich person. 

Now STFU

[veuveperdue]

November 2, 2009-- Los Altos, Arroyo Seco, NM

I woke early—far earlier than I thought—as I had forgotten to change the clock by the bed.  

I still have not had dreams of Nicholas since I got here… it’s been a while.  I miss him, though I don’t like dreaming of him ill, which still happens—it’s as if there are dreams where I know it’s my subconscious dealing with losing him, and the other dreams where I hope it’s something other-worldly, messages from beyond.

I woke and called Mom for her birthday and she mentioned it was terribly early for me, and I was near the coffee pot and looked at the stove and saw that it was in fact 8:30 not 9:30.  I had her go to my closet in the bedroom for her birthday present—she got a kick out of the card I had left her, and I explained that I had also sent another one that may never reach her since I believe it left my hand without a stamp.

I had the TV on as I drank my coffee and talked to her, and Kung Fu Panda was on HBO and after I smiled at the “He’s a panda!  You’re a panda!” line, I ended up sobbing here on the couch…  Nick got such a kick out of this film; I remember telling him about it when Hope, Coca and I saw it in theatres and when I arrived back in Malta he already had downloaded a bootleg copy and had been watching it over and over.  Which he would do so often while I was gone, and we would watch again whenever we needed silliness…

I went to the public library to use their wifi to collect my emails, and Graz was online; it’s difficult to tell her how I am because I know I upset her by telling her my thoughts and she in turn focuses on her own pain, so together we’re just raw pain… different pains, different approaches.

I came home to drop off the computer and to have a quick bite to eat before heading off to the museum which ended up being closed—winter hours.  So I drove around a bit and headed to some shops on Kit Carson Road.  I ended up at a shop with lots of pottery and a few other items I thought would make good gifts… the only thing I have bought myself I purchased there—a tiny 1 inch by 1 inch tile of two sunflowers against a blue background.

I’m not sure how the conversation began, but the woman who was running the shop began something about being an artist, a poor one leading to have to have several jobs; she told me she had a job in California, that she led a different life but decided she “wanted to come home” that living here and doing what she wanted.  I said I understood as I was a photographer, to which she responded that I must enjoy the lighting here and all there is to photograph.  I answered honestly that I have been in a rut and not working as I would like.  It was then that she began saying things that were—shall I say uncanny.

You’ll find your way.

These mountains have a way of healing, it’s what they do.

I send you all good spirits and positive energies to find your way.

I walked a bit further up the street and into a photographer’s shop, oddly not attracted by his work but by the leather notebooks and bags displayed on the window sill.  I walked in and the photographer, Tim, was playing with a new Sony digital—some newest toy with a bajillion megapixels.  He said he had just traded in his D300 for this, and he talked shop for a little while after I told him I, too, was a photographer and introduced myself.  He is a former teacher and has just moved up here from Texas to see if he could make a living as a photographer.  He’s obliviously loaded as he mentioned his Hassleblad and he has printers that cost small fortunes.  While he has the space and the machinery and the money to make massive prints, his work was… rather lackluster.  Other photographers displayed in his atelier, however, were far superior to his work and mine.

∞

I came home for a little while then bit the bullet and decided to go to dinner at Sabroso’s.  When I arrived the hostess asked if I wanted to eat in the dinning room or the lounge, and said they had a fire going in there.  I decided it would be cozier to be in there, but later I began to wonder if they put singles in there—out of the dinning area—where have I heard that people eating dinner alone considered bad business?

[magnuslightwoodbane]

like gold through trees

it’s their 50th wedding anniversary, and magnus has a gift for alec

3.2k words

(warning for minor character death)

[read on ao3]

The sun rose on their 50th wedding anniversary just as it did every other day, but Alec would have sworn it shone extra golden for them alone – as if the sun itself wanted to congratulate them, and convince them that a few more minutes in bed wouldn’t hurt now, would it. Not that Alec needed much convincing. He had all the time in the world now, and he intended to spend it with his husband.

He also wouldn’t put it past Magnus for the sun to personally owe him a debt, somewhere along the line, and be repaying it thus.

Many things had worried Alec when he’d first become immortal; very briefly, he’d worried about whether things would simply stop surprising him after a while, until other things swiftly jostled their way to the forefront of his mind, for him to concern himself with.

He needn’t have even wasted time on the thought, it turned out. And in the decades since, Magnus – no matter how familiar, how safe he became - still surprised and delighted Alec in the best of ways. Much to the (performative) chagrin of his siblings and children – Alec knew that they were truly happy for him – they still acted like newlyweds, passion still burning hot over the slow and steady current of a love like lava.

As the golden sun of their golden day crept over golden sheets and bodies, Alec breathed in deep. He was curled at Magnus’s back, face buried between shoulder blades, runed and scarred arms wrapped around his waist, and legs tangled with each other. Fifty years of waking up with his husband, another five before that, and Alec’s first thought was always about how damn lucky he was. Five hundred years could go by, Alec thought, and I’d still be thanking the stars that he’s mine.

They hadn’t fallen asleep together, but at least they’d woken up together. It was hard to pull Magnus away from his work generally, even harder when he was brewing up a potion or something equally time-sensitive or –restricted (a sight restoration balm, this time); it was a trait Alec had always admired, and even if it did sometimes piss him off he loved Magnus for it. He knew he could be the same, sometimes. He often tried to stay up for Magnus, to end the day together, but clearly this time he’d failed.

He still had this morning, though.

They had plans for their day of celebration, but not until this evening, so Alec had no qualms about pressing soft kisses to Magnus’s neck, fingers running down his torso, teasing. Magnus was particularly fond of being woken up this way, and Alec was grateful that they both still retained the stamina of younger men, so that morning sex didn’t derail the whole day the way he heard it did for others who aged.

Magnus hummed contentedly, stirring from sleep with a smile on his face. “Mm, good morning Alexander,” he said softly.

“Good morning, Magnus. Happy anniversary,” Alec replied, the same gentleness in his voice.

Magnus turned over to face Alec then, smile and eyes as golden as the day – Magnus frequently left his eyes unglamoured around Alec. “Happy anniversary,” he pressed a kiss to Alec’s mouth. “Wait here.”

Magnus rolled out of bed with an easy grace for someone that had just woken, and Alec watched him go, confusion written on his face. He headed over to his concealed safe, unlocking it quickly and withdrawing a small, black book. Magnus turned, winked at Alec and made his way back to bed, sitting on the edge as the safe locked and disguised itself behind him.

Alec was still confused, the safe generally being for items that held great personal significance to Magnus. Some of the things in there were reaching nearly 500 years old.

“This is for you, hatiku,” Magnus pressed the little book into Alec’s hands. It was covered in a black leather, pages crinkled through use and gold letters stamped on the front proclaimed “People I need to remember”.

Alec panicked a little. “I thought- we agreed we wouldn’t do presents.”

“I know, I know, love, and this isn’t really a present,” Magnus soothed. “I bought this in the early 1980’s, as a way of keeping record. All the people I’ve known have shaped me in some way, so this book is representative of me and my history.”

Magnus took a breath. “Alexander, you may be part of my past, but unlike anyone before, you are my present and my future. I want you to take every part of me with you, so. I’d like you to read this.”

Alec looked at him, soft smile painting his features and heart aching with affection. He covered Magnus’s hands with his own, and slowly took the book from him.

“I’d love to read this, but- every part of you will always be with me, Magnus, you know that, right?”

Magnus nodded, smiled the smile that was reserved only for Alec. “I know. I’ll go make some coffee.”

 Alec opened the book to the very first page, ink from ninety years ago still clear and dark on the page.

 Mama. I don’t even remember her name anymore. I remember her hair though, her lips kissing my forehead goodnight, the way she smelled, even. But not her name.

If someone’s name is lost, does that mean they’re truly gone? Are my memories enough?

Catarina Loss, Warlock. I saved her from being burnt at the stake in the 1640’s – or was it 50’s? 30’s? It’s foggy. Although I remember the day being bright – this was in Spain, after all. Even facing certain death, I could see how kind her heart is. We’ve been good friends ever since.

Ragnor Fell, Warlock. I first met Ragnor when I was in my early teens, when he’d come to meet the Silent Brothers for some reason or another. I forget what led to this, but he called me a fool and I, surly and hormonal, called him a cabbage brain. I thought that would be it until he showed up again to help me save Catarina. He called me a fool. I called him cabbage brain. We’ve been friends ever since.

I’m eternally grateful to have had Cat and Ragnor with me throughout the past nearly four centuries, and with them, I’m excited to see what the next four have for us.

Galileo Galilei, human, Italian polymath. I was a young man when I first became aware of his work – I was in my early twenties when he published Il Saggiatore and I found his written tone immensely entertaining. However, it wasn’t until 1632 with Dialogo sopra i due massimi sistemi del mondo that I had to meet the man, and in 1638, I travelled to Florence in order to be the one to give him medical advice. We spoke briefly, and I got the chance to test out (with his permission) an experimental potion I’d been working on to cure his blindness. (Unfortunately, no results and I had to abandon the idea. One day, though.)

Magnus returned with their two favourite mugs – he’d gotten into the habit of actually making it after Alec insisted decades ago, using the very same coffee machine Alec had first bought (and if it’d been enchanted to work a little more efficiently, live a lot longer, well). Alec accepted his cup with a smile, and as Magnus sat back against the pillows, Alec settled between his legs, back and head resting against Magnus’s chest.

He read in silence, Magnus watching him, the only noise that of pages turning and coffee that never got cold being drunk. There were names he knew, like Raphael Santiago and Dorothea Rollins, ones he recognised even if he didn’t know the person (Will Herondale, Marie Antoinette, Axel von Fersen) and those he couldn’t recall Magnus ever mentioning, even though he may have done – Alec thought Aldous Nix and Imasu Morales rang a bell.

Alec turned the page following Clary Fairchild – the first child I’ve ever seen grow up, like he had so many before already, only to be met with a rough sketch of… himself? He looked up at Magnus, as though seeking permission to read. Magnus nodded.

 Alec Alexander Lightwood, Nephilim. Early 20’s? Tall, around 6’3, not sure he quite knows what to do with all that length when he’s not fighting. Hazel eyes and a bone structure to die for. Probably Maryse’s son, the one she mentioned in passing years ago as though it justified what she was doing. I believe I called him a brat. I was wrong, I think.

I only met him today, and yet I feel as though he may be important.

 “You called me a brat?”

“I think the exact phrase was “doubtless repellent brat.”

“I don’t know if I should be retroactively offended by that.”

Magnus snorted, and Alec read on. There was an entry for Isabelle, a brief one for Simon and a briefer one for Jace following his entry, and also preceding it.

 Alexander Lightwood (I guess he gets 2 entries)

 He’s 23.

Oh, this poor boy has such a loving heart behind so many chains, I can’t help but relate. Without a second thought, he gave me all he had to help me, someone he barely knows, help someone else he barely knows. We spent yesterday evening together – I thought he would want to stay, after he said yes to drinks the day before. Duty called, but I offered him a choice and he took it, waiting until the morning to run back to that Institute. He’s so… intriguing. I’m concerned about how much I like him already.

Also, I don’t think he knows that I know it was his birthday. Happy birthday, Alexander.

  Already, he’s breaking my heart. Was she right all along?

  God, I despise how ass-backwards Nephilim culture is. I won’t deny that yes, I want Alexander, but this isn’t about that. It’s not about me. I’ve seen a hint of the capacity for love that man has, especially after Isabelle’s trial, and to lock it away because he’s not allowed to love men is – well. It reminds me of my youth. Not that I’ve ever cared particularly what strangers thought of me, but tolerance has ebbed and flowed over the centuries and I’ve had to spend some decades hiding from interfering people with sticks up their backsides, mundanes, downworlders and shadowhunters alike.

The point is, I get it, I do. But Maker, I’m so fucking mad. If it’s not me, I’ll get over it. But he deserves to know love.

 Alec leaned up and pressed a kiss to Magnus’s cheek, and kept reading. The rest of the page was blank, and the page that followed only had one line in the middle.

 I lost my cabbage brain.

 Alec knew about Ragnor, had heard countless stories of their adventures, and knew how Magnus still missed him.

“I wish we’d met.”

“Me too, darling.”

 Alexander kissed me today. He walked away from the altar and kissed me in front of everyone he knew. I don’t quite know what I was expecting when I got there, not really, only that Isabelle had invited me because she, too, was unwilling to compromise on her brother’s happiness.

I’m proud of him.

We agreed to take things slow, especially after Camille crawled her way back in to my purview. She’s still a snake, and I thought she might have scared Alexander off – I would have been disappointed, but certainly not surprised, were that the case. But he didn’t go anywhere. He pulled me closer.

I don’t want to get my hopes up, but what if this is it?

 “I guess I couldn’t help getting my hopes up,” Magnus commented into Alec’s hair.

“Well, I hope I didn’t disappoint,” Alec smirked.

“9.8 of 10.”

Alec twisted around to look at him. “Oh? What deducted the point-two?”

“You’re talking instead of reading. Also I still think you should wear a shirt less. But we can work on that.”

Alec laughed softly as he turned to continue reading.

 We had our first official date yesterday. I found out he’d never had any kind of relationship before. He found out I’d had many, of varying degrees of intimacy. I couldn’t help but read his panic as a comment on my past. I won’t apologise for it, but it still hurt.

Of course, it turned out he was panicking because he thought that his lack of experience would put me off.

But we talked it out, and even though his damn brother came in and killed the mood stone-dead, I feel relieved.

And we’ve finally been on a date. I think we’re officially boyfriends now.

 “He was so good at coming in at the wrong moment, wasn’t he?”

Alec smiled. “Until the very end. Still, him blindly following Clary led me to you, so. I almost wish he could do it again, one more time.”

“Yeah,” Magnus whispered, kissing the top of Alec’s head as he took a moment to breathe.

 He thinks my eyes are beautiful. He told me my eyes are beautiful. That I am, too.

And for the first time, I think I believed him.

 We had sex, officially, for the first time, and he made me lose complete control. Is it morally right to dedicate pages to describing his body? What a work of art.

 I was terrified when the glamour dropped and I couldn’t get it back. So many have looked on my eyes with disgust, turned me away, even my mother… I don’t know. I know Alec’s different to most anyone I’ve met, but I was gripped with this paralysing fear that he’d get up and leave me. And he surprised me yet again.

He thinks I’m beautiful.

I think I’m in love with him.

  I’m definitely in love with him.

  He told me he loves me.

He told me he loves me and I do not feel I deserve it, not yet, but I’m getting there. The fear when I hadn’t heard from him, the fear that the worst had happened and the shadowhunters didn’t care enough to tell me was palapable. I had to try and hide it from Madzie, who was telling me that I was just as big as her tall friend Alec, and how she didn’t want to hurt him. I had to hide my flinch at her words, but Catarina saw. She told me to go find him.

I found him and told him that I love him.

  The male High Warlock of Brooklyn dating the male (now, finally, official) Head of the New York Institute. Whatever would the Clave of centuries past think?

I find I care even less than I do about the current Clave, which I thought was impossible.

Alexander has set up a Downworld cabinet, designed to meet regularly and discuss issues relating to the Downworld, and remarkably, he’s the only shadowhunter on the thing. Each faction is represented.

I’m so proud of him, and I’m so elated to finally begin to see change. We live in dark times, yet I can’t help but see my Alexander as a shining beacon of hope. We’ll all overcome horror together.

 I told him about my mother and father today, and he still hasn’t decided I’m too much. Can Raziel himself be summoned somehow, so I can thank him for Alexander? I’m pouring out the worst parts of me to this wonderful man and he still thinks I deserve his love.

 “You deserve the world, Magnus Lightwood-Bane,” Alec said. Magnus’s breath hitched, and his fingers stilled where they were playing with Alec’s hair, momentarily. Magnus didn’t think he’d ever not feel a surge of amazement at hearing their joint name.

 Oh, this hurts.

 Another blank page, followed by this in the middle of the next. Alec knew exactly what this referred to.

“I didn’t write any more than that about it,” Magnus explained, “because I was furious with you, I wanted to be furious with you, but I knew if I read any of this back I’d realise how much I love you.”

“You deserved to feel that anger.”

Magnus hummed. “Yes, I did. And I still loved you at the same time. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

 He came back.

“I don’t think I can live without you” he said. I don’t think I can, either.

He’s been on my mind this whole time. We fought because I felt like I couldn’t fulfil my duty, protect my people, with him, yet without him I could only just about keep it together.

Kissing him felt like coming home.

Valentine is dead, but I feel like this is the end of one awful chapter and the beginning of a new, worse one. I’ll stay on my guard, but for now, I’ll appreciate my time with him.

 Alec laughed at the understated accuracy of Magnus’s prediction, quickly reads and absorbs three years’ worth of recollections and commentary, dwelling on only a few paragraphs here and there.

 I know I’ll never forget him as long as I live, but I have to remember it all. The way his eyes sparkle when I show him something new, the gruff way his voice is in the morning (he never remembers to bring water to bed), the way his body curls into mine like we were made to fit each other.

Were we?

If this book ends up just being filled with Alexander, I’m okay with that.

 He turned over, to find he was already at the very last page. Alec felt anticipation, and sorrow, at reaching the end, not sure what part of their story the book would close on.

 Alexander has been granted immortality. Gifted or cursed, I’m still not sure, but in the most selfish of ways, I’m delighted. He’s not going to leave me. (Of course my anxieties are telling me he may choose to leave, and I’m not sure I’d be strong enough to stop him if he wanted to, but I don’t think he will).

 We’re engaged, for fuck’s sake. He wants to marry me, I want to marry him. My anxieties can be quiet for once.

Technically, he doesn’t need to be in this book.  I’m never going to forget him, I’ll never have the chance. But nonetheless, I’m grateful for this record of before he was mine, and before he was mine forever.

 I’m so happy. Before now, I’d never been able to have someone I could really, seriously, consider marriage with, consider starting a family with. And now I have him, my fiancé.

 I’m going to start another journal, just to chronicle him, us.

Magnus & Alexander Lightwood-Bane.

 Alec breathed out slowly, eyes and heart full of love. He remembered everything as though it were weeks ago, not years, felt the trepidation of a crush, the sting of heartbreak, the validation of love, as though it were new and raw.

“Thank you, Magnus,” he breathed. “Did you ever keep that other journal?”

Magnus’s eyes sparkled. “I guess you’ll find out on our 100th anniversary, my love.”

Alec grinned. He could wait, if it meant another fifty years of being Alexander Lightwood-Bane, wildly in love with Magnus Lightwood-Bane.

[izzy-b-hands]

Sick with a cold or something, but had some Dethklok fic rattling about in my head that won’t go away. Might not be too long since my brain is fuzzy right now though. 

A quick summary: Charles/Pickles, Charles proposes and it is in exactly as fucking dorky a fashion as you might assume of him. Toss it in an au sometime pre-Doomstar. 

Charles had his vices. He could drink as much as the band, and Pickles had gotten him to indulge in the occasional joint since they’d started dating. 

New Contract Day, however, was his worst vice of all. 

The table rattled under Pickles’ hands as Charles thunked the stack of contracts onto it, grinning like he’d won the lottery (not that would make much of a difference, considering the money Pickles knew he got from managing them.) 

“New contracts are here! I hope everyone’s ready to sign--oh, and I brought new pens, if you didn’t bring your own,” Charles said. Five boxes of pens clattered onto the table as he spoke. 

“So, you definitely can’t just do all the signing for us, huh?” Pickles asked. “There’s just...no way at all. I mean, do they even check the signatures, really?” 

“Yes, they do. Especially since only one of you knows how to sign in cursive,” Charles replied. 

Skwisgaar grinned, and Pickles wished the table was small enough that he could kick him under it. As if cursive was that great. As if he was that fancy for knowing it. That didn’t matter--what the suits wanted was their names on paper, in any form, to keep making them money. 

Charles slid contracts and pens down the table, or at least attempted it. The pen boxes flew, but the heavy contracts barely moved. 

There was a sad silence.

“How manys times does we haves to signs?” Toki asked, staring at the contracts like they would crawl over and bite him. 

“...Approximately two hundred, but--” Charles replied quietly. 

Their roar of disapproval interrupted him. 

“Five times. That’s it, after that I’m done,” Nathan said. “This is stupid; they should have like a...uh...whatever the thing is, that has our signature on it.” 

“A stamp?” Charles asked, and Pickles could tell he was offended, even if his face didn’t show it. “This is a legal document, you can’t just--”

“Why not though?” Murderface protested. “I mean, do you know what thisch is gonna do to my bassch-playing hand? What if I can’t play for weeksch?” 

“Then I woulds gets a credits for playings your bass parts on the new albums,” Skwisgaar scoffed. “Obviouslys.” 

Murderface started to fume, but Charles halted it all with a drop of one of the contracts onto the table. 

“Enough! You all have to sign, and I can’t help how many times. Crystal Mountain decides that. You shouldn’t complain anyway; do you know how much money all these signatures are going to make for you?” Charles said sharply. 

Again, silence. 

Pickles kept quiet, but he was running calculations in his head. Bad calculations, he figured, but probably near enough to what the amount actually might be. And it was a big number. A really fucking big number. 

He couldn’t say it out loud, since none of the guys would back him, but Charles was right. Two hundred signatures and a hand cramp or eight was nothing compared to what they would get in return. Not that that made it suck any less, of course.

They took their contracts in continued silence after that, the only noise that rose being the scratching of pens on paper. Which would have been fine, if Charles wasn’t acting so damn weird.

He always stayed in the room while they signed, mostly to make sure they actually continued signing. But he usually had a book, or a contract of his own to run through. 

Not this time though. He kept his eyes on them, and Pickles could feel when his gaze got to him--it felt like he was waiting for something. If it was for them to be done quickly, that was a goddamn mistake. Pickles could feel his hand starting to cramp, and he wasn’t even halfway through the thing. 

Somehow, his seemed thicker than everyone else’s too. Not by much, but it still kind of pissed him off--after all, what extra signatures could they need from him and not the rest of the guys?

He flipped through the pages, and heard Charles gasp. 

Everyone raised their heads, and Charles blushed. 

“What? Does this thing explode if I jump ahead?” Pickles asked. 

“No, no...just uh. You want to be careful none of the pages fall out,” Charles stuttered. 

Pickles picked the contract up by the clip that held it together, and shook it. As if on cue, a page dropped out and hit the table with a clunk. 

“There ams a prize in it?!” Toki shouted, shaking his contract like it owed him money. But nothing fell from his. 

Pickles felt everyone’s eyes on him as he dropped the contract back to the desk, and picked up the page. 

Handwritten. Probably using one of those seventy dollar fountain pens Charles loved so much (not the thousand dollar one Pickles had bought him for his birthday--he knew that one sat on a shelf in a special display case in Charles’ office.) In that perfect flowing cursive, 

‘Will you marry me?’ 

And a ring, attached to the page via a red ribbon that was stapled just underneath the words. 

His heart stopped for a minute. They’d talked about it. Joked about it, in a loving way. But this was it--and even though he had his answer more than ready, his tongue was stuck. 

He set the page down, and ignored the gasps as everyone leaned over to read it for themselves. 

Instead, he met Charles’ very blushed, very scared gaze, and willed his tongue to work again. 

“You defaced a legal document for me,” he said.

Charles nodded quickly. “I did. Is that a...” 

“Of course it’s a yes, holy shit! I mean...look at what you did! You would never, ever--” Pickles laughed. “This is fuckin’ wild, for you!” 

“It is,” Charles replied. “Also, did you ah, see what page came before that one?” 

Pickles looked to the contract, still shuffled and open to where the page with the ring had fallen from. He peeked at the page number before it, and started to laugh. 

“What ams he talking about?” Skwisgaar asked. “Whys does that matter?” 

Pickles was crying with laughter, but gathered himself just enough to tell them. “69! He proposed to me on page...I’m so proud...oh my god I love you.”

There was a chorus of snickering as Pickles grabbed the page and went to drop himself in Charles’ lap.

“I can’t believe you did that just to propose to me. Bet you were sweatin’ bullets the whole time,” he said as leaned into Charles’ arms. 

“Possibly. But it was worth it surprise you,” Charles replied. 

“Gay,” Nathan smiled. 

“I take it you mean, ‘congratulations’?” Charles asked. 

“Yeah,” Nathan said. “Pickles, you better put the ring on. Make sure he didn’t fuck up the size.” 

There was no way Charles would have done that (he almost definitely had full genetic profiles on all of them, along with ring sizes and god knew what else), but Pickles was more than happy to put the ring on. Simple, silver, and if he had to guess one of likely fifty Charles had made in the case that this one would get lost or fucked up during a concert in one way or another. 

“You knows, wes really shoulds go celebrates,” Skwisgaar said, quickly shoving away his contract. 

“Yeah, we gots a weddings to plans,” Toki said, already out of his chair and creeping towards the door. 

“Oh yeah, schuits to get measchured for, very important,” Murderface added. 

“Whatever, you two probably wanna go fuck. I just started drawing dicks instead of my name anyway; see you guys later!” Nathan said, and with that they were all out of the room like it was on fire. 

“Yer still gonna make us come back and sign everything, aren’t ya?” Pickles murmured. 

“Only the last fifty pages or so,” Charles replied. 

“How...I didn’t even get that far--” Pickles said. And he certainly wasn’t going go sit back down and do any more signing right now. 

“Consider it a wedding present. It’ll have to be done carefully, and I personally would never, but...I’m making the stamps for all of you,” Charles said. 

And that was it for the happy, sappy, utterly overwhelming tears to fall. 

“Pickles? Are you--” Charles sounded concerned, and Pickles imagined he looked it too, but he was too busy crying and pressing kisses to Charles’ face to look. 

“You love me so damn much, don’t you?” Pickles asked through his tears. Maybe it wouldn’t seem like much to anyone else, but for Charles--these were all big, wonderful gestures. 

“Yeah, I do,” Charles whispered. 

“I love you too, you fuckin’ nerd,” Pickles replied. “We gonna go take Nate’s suggestion and go celebrate, or...” 

“To start,” Charles said. 

Pickles hopped off his lap and led the way to the door. “To start?” 

“I’ve got Ikea lamps we can break, some good Scotch to drink, and I might be willing to try cocaine again,” Charles mused. “And I know you have a monthly prank call to your brother that hasn’t been done yet...” 

Pickles could only smile. Was some of it silly and dumb? Sure. But it was all perfect for them. 

[talkingboards]

On April 1st I woke up to a reply from a post I made almost a year ago, and the joke was clearly on me. It was from John Tanzella, a former Parker Brothers employee 1974-1991 who among other things worked there as a printer. When Hasbro bought Parker Brothers and shut down operations in Salem in 1991 most of Parker Brothers archives and pretty much everything in the building was thrown out. A lot of employees went dumpster diving, saving what they could and John salvaged what was most important to him, some printing stuff. Makes sense, right? Well, after instant messaging, emailing, and talking on the phone, it turns out John not only had an amazing experience at Parker Brothers he was willing to share, he also had a few incredible pieces of lost Ouija history. He had an original printing plate that made Ouija boards at Parker Brothers, a print run ticket covering the very first run they made of Ouija in 1966 through 1968, a 1968 printing proof sheet, and a brick from when the factory was torn down in 1996. Yep, I was pretty blown away. From all accounts, Parker Brothers was an amazing place to work. And like every other employee I’ve interviewed, it left a mark on John. He told me he’d had a dream of opening a Parker Brothers museum, but like so many other things, life got in the way and years passed. He Googled me and so he knew I was seriously obsessed with this stuff. I showed him what was I doing, making a Ouija museum of my own and he was so affected with my passion and dedication for preserving Ouija’s history, he wanted to add to it, send, and donate all the Ouija stuff he’d saved from trash 26 years ago so I could document them, preserve them, and share them with the rest of the world. Pretty mind blowing, right?! As it turns out John Kozik, one of my best friends and the Talking Board Historical Society’s Treasurer, lives just a few towns over from John Tanzella. I asked Kozik if he would meet Tanzella, pick up the items he brought, and mail them to me and he was more than happy to oblige. John and John texted and on Tuesday met at my favorite place in the world, Dunkin Donuts! Seriously, Murch runs on Dunkin. They chatted and history changed hands. Tanzella’s story is now part of recorded Ouija history. The next day Kozik carefully packed everything up and mailed it off Priority Mail with tracking. For collectors, historians, and anyone who’s ever waited for something in the mail, time slowed to a crawl. The next few days were Hell. While the package made its way across the country, I interviewed Tanzella and recorded every word. He explained in detail the printing process, how Ouija was made during his years, and told me some great Ouija stories at the factory. Once I’m done editing it, I’ll post for everyone to hear. His record fills in some major holes in Parker Brothers history but more importantly, I made a new friend. One that also cares about preserving history. The package should’ve arrived on Friday but was delayed. I kinda figured with the holiday weekend I wouldn’t see anything until Monday. So, on Saturday Gary and I got up early to run errands. I signed up for text messages from the Post Office and while at a Dunkin Donuts, my phone buzzed. It said “Out for Delivery”! We raced home and ran smack into a Church event at the park near us which closed off part of our street. I thought “Oh crap…” I went down to the basement to work on the museum and after an hour or so the doorbell rang. The dogs started barking and I heard Gary get the door. It was here! I slowly opened the package, not wanting to damage anything and there they were. Some of the most beautiful Ouija artifacts I’ve seen in a long time. There’s no denying the printing plate is stunning. It incredibly still has ink on it from printing boards! You might be asking why it's reversed? Well, it's like a stamp so when it prints, the reverse design on the plate is reversed again making the correct Ouija design. I learned from Tanzella there was a new printing plate made for each run. The plates were fabricated on site and thrown out after, they didn't last long. Since this plate printed the large version, we know it dates from 1966-1972. After some digging I figured out that these plates were made from magnesium and there was some magnesium corrosion that needed to be treated. After consulting with restoration experts, we came up with a treatment process and after only one treatment, it’s already coming back to life! Why clean it at all? The corrosion will eventually spread and eat the entire sheet. Plus, part of the process will keep it from deteriorating further. Once I’m finished it will be framed and hung next to the 1897-1901 Ouija stencil the Fuld family gave me for a birthday present many moons ago. The print ticket blows my mind. It contains something lost a very long time ago. It lists each run of this Ouija model from 1966-1968 which covers the very important year of 1967. That’s the only year Ouija, or any game for that matter, outsold Monopoly. This what we have been waiting for! It also lists the date for Ouija’s very first run at Parker Brothers 3-3-1966. I couldn’t make that up if I tried LOL The print proof sheet matches one I was given by the Fuld family when they were making Ouija boards before they sold to Parker Brothers in 1966. It’s also for the large model, and in hand at the bottom says “58,000 sheets – Offset #1 – Dec. 6, 1968 – 10 lles. #9661”. The brick was given to Tanzella in 1996 when the old factory was demolished. What’s so weird about this is I collect bricks from every remaining building that made Ouija boards. The one I was missing? Parker Brothers. John Tanzella, I can’t thank you enough for responding to a year-old post, taking the time to answer all my many questions, tell your Parker Brothers story, and entrust me with these amazing items. Once I’m done restoring them, I’ll take some high res pics and post to make sure these lost items are available to everyone who wants to see them. Your generosity and friendship have made this entire experience amazing. They will be prominently displayed in my museum and I can’t wait for you to come visit. I want to make you proud. I am forever in your debt and hopefully I’ve already started repaying you for everything. Thank you for caring. You have an open invitation but don’t wait too long. I can’t wait to meet you in person! John Kozik, thank for driving to meet John Tanzella in rush hour traffic and on a work night to boot! You’re an awesome friend and I have something equally amazing for you when you get out here next month. It couldn’t have happened without you. Love ya dude :) Another Ouija memory made. To put this whole thing in perspective, John Tanzella is chapter 3 of a much bigger Parker Brothers story. The Parker Brothers prequels - Thanks to Jason Hawes, just before I left Boston for Denver last fall in 2016 I connected with two other former Parker Brothers employees and picked up two printing plate proofs which led me to meeting John Tanzella. Before that, in 2014 I connected with Steven Strumpf a graphic designer at Parker Brothers who also saved and gifted me an original 1938 piece of Ouija artwork he saved from the 1991 Hasbro cleanout. These people are the real heroes, without their pieces of the puzzle, so much Ouija history would be lost. Thanks to them is hasn’t! #Ouija #ParkerBrothers #Hasbro #DunkinDonuts #ouijaheroes

[onlymorelove]

Fic: I Barely Knew I had Skin Before I Met You (1/4)

Title: I Barely Knew I had Skin Before I Met You (1/4) Relationship: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston/Wyatt Logan  Summary: Sometimes love is found in unexpected combinations. Lucy wakes in the middle of the night to find one less man than there should be in her bed.  Notes: This takes place in the same universe as Your Hands Can Heal; Your Hands Can Bruise. You DO NOT have to read that first in order for this to make sense. All you need to know is that this is set sometime in the future, when Lucy, Garcia, and Wyatt are in a polyfidelitous relationship. Translation: the three of them are romantically involved and are faithful to each other. They also live together.  Word Count: 2259 Song Suggestion: Walnut Tree by Keane  Rating: T Chapter Title: Your sorrow, your beauty, your war—I want it all (From Phillip Phillips’ Unpack Your Heart.)  Warning: Nothing graphic, but don’t read if you object to the idea of three adults being romantically involved. 

Read under the cut, on AO3, or at FF.net.

Tagging @gwennieliz and @qqueenofhades . (If anyone else wants to be tagged for future updates, just let me know.)

If you read this, thank you. Feedback is treasured.

[Part 2]    [Part 3]    [Part 4]  

I Barely Knew I had Skin Before I Met You (1/4)

“Aren’t we all waiting to be read by someone, praying that they’ll tell us that we make sense?” - Rudy Francisco

When her eyes first opened, Lucy didn’t know what had woken her. Soft snores rumbled next to her, and she stifled a laugh. “Wyatt,” she whispered in the dark, “roll over onto your side. You’re snoring.” Her words were met by another snore, this one significantly louder than last. Shifting closer to the warm man sleeping next to her, she nuzzled the curve of his bare shoulder, then skimmed a hand over his stomach. “Honey, you’re snoring. Turn over!”

The man slept like he’d taken horse tranquilizers. “Mmmph. Luce,” he murmured, sleep slurring it all into one nonsensical word. He exhaled a snuffling sort of breath she vowed to tease him about in the morning and then turned onto his side so they now lay with her chest pressed to the steady heat of his back. His skin invariably ran hot, so he usually slept in just a pair of boxers on the left side of their bed. That way if he felt uncomfortably warm, he could stick an arm or leg out from under their blankets without subsequently freezing Lucy, who always felt cold.

Come to think of it, her back felt chilled. Frowning, Lucy turned onto her back and reached out her left hand to pat the bed. On that side the sheets were cool to the touch, as if they hadn’t been slept on for hours. She moved onto her elbows and peered at the bedside clock, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The clock read 3:35 - far too early for any of them to be up for any good reason.

Moving with as much stealth as she could muster at that early hour, Lucy slipped from their bed to go search for the other man who should’ve been asleep behind her, playing the big spoon to her little spoon. A faint sliver of light gleamed from under the closed bedroom door. Their room enveloped her in a pre-dawn chill; goosebumps prickled on her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself and tiptoed out of the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her. It squeaked loudly. In the morning stillness, the sound blared like a siren. Lucy winced and made a mental note to oil the hinges later that day.

Yawning so wide she felt her jaw crack, she padded downstairs, making sure to avoid that one spot on the fifth step that always creaked. She followed the glow of light like a trail of breadcrumbs. The lights shone on a dim setting, casting unsettling shadows in the room. Lucy shivered.

He sat at the kitchen table, facing away from her, body hunched, head bowed, leaving the back of his neck bare and vulnerable. “Garcia,” she said, voice hushed, not wanting to startle him. Her whisper cracked the surface of the early-morning tranquility. The muscles in his back stiffened, the sudden tension there the only sign he’d heard her speak. His silence and tense posture worried her, but she forced herself to remain calm and not smother him with an excess of concern - concern he might not welcome.

The three of them loved each other, true, and Garcia had lost most of that desperate- wild-animal-caught-in-the-jaws-of-a-steel-trap look that used to be de rigeur for him. Still, sometimes his thoughts and feelings remained as opaque to her and Wyatt as they had in the past. Fortunately, she liked puzzles; he was her favorite.

She touched the back of Garcia’s chair. “Is it OK if I sit with you?”

His head dipped nearly imperceptibly.

She pulled out an empty chair to his right and sat with her feet tucked under her, wiggling a bit to get comfortable. She snuck a glance at Garcia from under her lashes, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he seemed to be completely focused on the paper napkin he was tearing - first into long strips, then smaller pieces. His hair hung loose and ruffled over his forehead in an inky fall, longer than he usually let it grow. It shone black in the dim kitchen; she knew sunlight, however, would coax forth a dozen shades of brown and even red.

His lips twisted down in a faint frown she ached to kiss away. She clenched her fists in her lap and inhaled deeply to avoid reaching for him. He would talk when he was ready. They’d all had too much stolen from them already; she would not be the one to steal one more thing from him - choice. Vulnerability was still difficult for Garcia. For all of them, really.

A small, white pile of napkin confetti grew in front of him. A tremor shook him, and Lucy noticed the dark hairs on his arms standing up. He must be cold. That she could fix. She shuffled to the living room, trying not to stumble over anything, and snagged the fuzzy, gray throw draped over an arm of the largest sofa. When she returned to the kitchen, she found Garcia still tearing up napkins and showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. Without a word she tucked the throw around him, letting her hand linger on his neck for a half-second longer than it strictly needed to.

“Your skin feels like ice,” she said, starting to move away. “I’ll make some tea to warm you up.”

His hand shot out to capture hers. He brought it to his face and held it so her palm curved over his cheek. “Thank you, Lucy.” The steel-string rasp of his voice made her shiver.

“You’re welcome, Garcia.” She smoothed her free hand over his hair and cleared her throat. “Will you tell me what’s bothering you? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but-”

He nodded and brushed a kiss over her knuckles before releasing her hand with a soft sigh. “I’ll tell you. Do you mind making tea?”

“Of course not.”

Five minutes later she handed him a steaming mug of chamomile tea before sitting down next to him with her own cup. Garcia turned his mug so the writing on it showed. He huffed a little laugh. “I don’t have an attitude. I have a personality you can’t handle,” was stamped in large black bubble letters. Wyatt had given the novelty mug to Garcia a month or two ago. They’d all had a long laugh over it. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Garcia had asked with a sardonic lift of his eyebrows and a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Hell yes,” Wyatt had retorted, laughter gleaming in his blue eyes, taking any sting out of his words with a hearty clap on the other man’s back and what probably would’ve been a quick kiss to his lips - if Garcia hadn’t twisted his hands in Wyatt’s shirt to hold him in place, chasing his mouth with such diligence that Lucy felt her body heat. She’d smiled so hard her cheeks had hurt, then let loose a piercing wolf whistle. They’d broken apart at the shrill sound, both panting, a hectic flush painted high on their cheeks.

She loved Wyatt and Garcia all the time, but those moments were among her favorite: when their sharp edges were filed down to kiss-dazed eyes and soft, swollen lips.

Garcia’s fingertips drumming an irregular beat on the tabletop brought Lucy back to the present. She stilled his hand with one of her own. “Tell me, please.” The words rang out as a plea, not a command.

His gaze dropped from hers, shuttering - and Lucy let it - but she kept her hand where it was, skimming her thumb over the top of his hand, anchoring him while he composed his thoughts.

“My daughter would be ten today…If she’d lived.” His voice wavered on the last word; he pulled his hand out from under hers and wrapped it around his mug. “It’s Iris’ birthday - October 19th.”

“Of course. I’m so sorry.” The words sounded hollow. Lucy leaned back in her chair and shoved her hair behind her ears. “Oh, Garcia, I should’ve known.” That certainly explained his middle-of-the-night melancholy.

He shook his head and waved off her apology. “Why would you?” he countered with a quizzical smile that didn’t reach his shadowed eyes.

“I’ll remember next year.” Disappointed in herself, she sighed. “I promise.”

“I believe you. If you say you will, you will.” He patted her knee. “But Lucy, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.” She shrugged and bit her bottom lip. “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

The throw around Garcia’s shoulders gaped open, exposing the plain, white v-neck he’d worn to bed. Lucy’s gaze flicked to the simple gold chain he never took off; he’d bought it to hang his wedding ring upon when the three of them had finally admitted their relationships were changing. Now Garcia worried the gold band with his hand - until their gazes met. When he seemed to realize what she’d been looking at, he tucked the necklace and ring underneath his shirt, shielding them from her view.

“You know, you never talk about them.” Lucy pitched her voice low and calm. “Either of them.”

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “What is there to say? Rittenhouse murdered them.” His tone sounded placid and unruffled, but his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. “The rest,” Garcia continued, and his mouth, the same mouth she kissed every night before she slept, twisted in a sneer that made her stomach hurt, “as they say, is history.”

“Don’t do that.” She didn’t bother concealing her frustration.

“What?”

“Don’t minimize what you’ve lost.” She stabbed a finger in the air in his direction. “Who you’ve lost.” She scrubbed a hand wearily across her face. “Own your grief.” This time the words came softer.

“Own my grief,” he repeated, eyes widened almost comically, and disbelief written across his features.

“Yes.” She nodded once. “Own. Your. Grief,” she got out through gritted teeth.

Garcia slammed his fist on the table.

Lucy jumped in her seat, hand flying to her throat, and heart pounding so fast she could almost taste it. Though she knew he would never hurt her, the sudden movement and noise had startled her.

“They fucking murdered my family,” he said, his accent growing thicker and heavier, as it always did when he was stressed or emotional. “They stole everything from me.” He tunneled both hands into his hair. “My beautiful girls…slaughtered…” He bent nearly double in his chair, arms folded over his head as if he was shielding himself from something. “Their blood,” he moaned, “there was so much of it. So much blood…”

His voice broke on the last word, and so did Garcia Flynn.

The sobs came then - great, heaving sobs that tore through him with the force of a bullet. Cowering in his chair, he rocked back and forth like a child trying to comfort himself. Lucy shoved her chair back and enveloped him in her arms. Seeing this formidable man brought so low by his grief made tears spring to her own eyes, but she sniffed them back, determined not to make this about her, and held on tight as he shuddered and cried through a storm of mourning.

She didn’t bother shushing him. “Own your grief,” she’d told him. He’d probably never even had a chance to properly grieve his wife and daughter, since he’d had to run as soon as Rittenhouse had framed him for their deaths. He didn’t need to be quiet; he needed to grieve, even if seeing him this way made Lucy feel like she was being flayed alive, one tender strip of skin at a time. She swore she would bear the weight of his suffering ten times over if it helped him.

He clutched her like he was afraid she’d leave him if he didn’t. He clung to her like his world was rupturing all over again.

His tears soaked Lucy’s sleep shirt. Her back and arms cramped from bending over and holding him so tightly for so long.

Still, she held him, saying nothing.

Except her hands stroking up and down his back said, “I’m here.”

And the kisses she feathered over his hair said, “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Minutes or maybe hours passed. She had no idea. Her world had narrowed to the man fracturing in her arms. Muted footsteps sounded on the stairs; Lucy glanced up to meet Wyatt’s concerned gaze. Before he could speak, she lifted a finger to her lips, gesturing for him to stay silent.

With a nod of understanding, Wyatt settled on the second to last step, leaning an elbow on his knees and propping his chin in his hand. “I love you,” he mouthed. “Both of you.”

Lucy smiled and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. He’d just gotten up from bed and stumbled on this scene in the kitchen. How did he know just the right thing to say?

Garcia wasn’t sobbing anymore, but his breathing was still choked and uneven. She knew he was trying to wrest back control of himself when his arms and hands loosened their grip and then finally released her. He inhaled and exhaled slowly through his nose, avoiding her gaze. She let him go but retreated only a few inches.

“You should let me go, Lucy,” he said in a voice like gravel. He sniffed hard and stared at the floor. “You and Wyatt, you know, you could be happy together. Without me. You both deserve better than me.”

“Hey, man,” Wyatt called, standing and waving from the stairs. “I’m right here.” In five strides he stood with them. “Want to fill me in on what I missed before you start making major life decisions for me?”