#last doodle now time for answers from simon

[alkalineapparition]

Jaws

Simon Ghost Riley x Hybrid!Reader|Full Chapter

Part 12– Basking in the solace of regret

"RIPPER, NO!"

This is the moment that will stay with Simon for the rest of his life. Someday, when he's watching his mistakes play in frantic strokes of color on the canvas of his eyelids, this is what will haunt him most.

You, for all your ferocity, gift him one last look. Soft, apologetic. No intention of heeding his command. When he reaches for the handle on the back of your vest, you slip through his fingers like water. Gone.

Just. Like. That.

You'd both been pinned for a while now. The others were farther behind, providing rear security so you could retrieve what they came for. They hadn't known, couldn't see past the smoke clouding your positions. And he hadn't had the time to tell them, between returning fire and holding position, before a close call shot his comms to shit. He hadn't had the time...

He should have made the time.

And now there would never be more time. The clock had stuck twelve, the hour glass run out of sand.

Because you had decided your life mattered less than his. Mattered less than the mission. Goddammit.

He no can no longer see you, he's lost sight and all he can think is how he'd rather become dust and smoke himself than come home without you.

Leaning back against the small outcrop of rocks you'd been taking cover behind, his eyes close. Then, he does something he hasn't done since he was a child.

He prays.

He prays to the bastard that's never bothered giving an answer before. Teeth gritting down to the nub, he wills the asshole to hear him.

Bring her back to me.

In this moment, Ghost hates himself. He's never been more useless—he can't just charge in after you, the lack of vision would make it suicide. Perhaps you'd been able to see what he couldn't. But then why did you go alone, if not to save him from whatever it is you saw? If he got up and charged after you now, would he find you grinning in triumph, or be faced with a wall of enemy soldiers riddling his body with bullets?

Some fucking leuitenant, huh?

As if he could summon you by mere thought, his mind drifts, one final goodbye.

—

You stand before him, head cocked, mouth curled in mischief. His skullplate sits on the desk after having gone missing for a few days (during which you swear you haven't seen it, of course not Lt!), now doodled with little pink ghosts. "Y' little shit." His hand snaps foward to snatch your collar, but you duck, snickering as you make for the door. [It washes off Lt! No, please! Uncle, uncle!]

—

[Ghost.]

"Hm?"

[Why do you wear the mask?]

He looks up, watching your face as you gnaw your lip. His tug up in a smirk. "To hide my face."

[Are you ugly?] The bluntness of your question almost makes him laugh. [It's alright if you are.] Sweet girl.

"Quite the opposite, love."

Something in his stomach flips at the sight of your face going red.

[Oh.]

He can't resist. "No' as pretty as yours, mind you."

You sputter as expected, and he does laugh.

[What do you look like?]

He pretends to think it over.

"Got a tattoo of the queens arse on m' left cheek," he says solemnly.

You choke, eyeing him and his inked arms speculatively before deciding he's full of shit.

He lets you believe what you will.

—

The dove-grey light of Sunday mornings filters through the blinds. Your eyes are filled with tears, body trembling with the force of your sobs. Simon wraps his arms around you, cheek pressed to your hair.

[I don't even have a name. I am nothing, it's like I don't exist.] He closes his eyes, searching for the words that will soothe this ache.

"Your name's Ripper. Ya ain't nothin', either. You're our best girl." It's the best he can do, offer placations, even if they are true. He hates that he can't do more.

[That's a not a name, Ghost, it's a callsign! I don't... I don't even know what my mother named me.] You're still for a few moments. [I... don't know if I have a mother.]  Simon rattles his brain for a way to make this right, something that can be a salve to your pain.

"How about... I give ya a real name? Somethin' other than what that bloody scot came up with." He doesn't think this will be enough, it's a stupid idea–

[What... would you name me?] Your eyes are on him, curiosity shining through the tears. Seems it was enough to distract you, for now atleast.

Humming, he contemplates. "I'll find somethin' that fits. Wait for inspiration an' all that."

[How will you know it's right?]

"I'll know, Rips. Promise."

—

Simon never did pick out that name.

He wonders what they'll put on your headstone.

[fiftyfiftyfinchy]

Pub Quiz Imagine (ArthurTV)

The pub was buzzing with chatter, the kind of hum that made everything feel alive and a little chaotic. Cameras were perched on tripods around the cozy room, capturing every angle of the action. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the ceiling, giving the space a warm, golden glow. A large chalkboard behind the bar displayed the words “Pub Quiz Extravaganza,” with doodles of question marks and pint glasses sketched around the edges.

Simon stood in front of the quiz table, wearing his signature cheeky grin and holding a stack of question cards. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the ultimate test of general knowledge. The stakes? Bragging rights and maybe some dignity.” He paused for effect, earning a chuckle from the group.

You stood behind one of the cameras, adjusting the focus as Ethan loudly proclaimed, “Mate, you’re looking at the winner right here.”

“Winner of most overconfident,” Harry quipped, earning a round of laughter.

Arthur sat across from Ethan, leaning back in his chair. You caught him glancing in your direction, quickly looking away when your eyes met. His ears turned a faint shade of pink, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you adjusted the angle again.

“First question,” Simon announced, holding up a card. “What is the capital of Canada?”

“Easy! Toronto,” Ethan declared confidently.

“Wrong,” ChrisMD said immediately, shaking his head. “It’s Ottawa.”

“Correct!” Simon confirmed, tossing Chris a small plastic trophy. “One point to Chris. Ethan, it’s a miracle you know your own name.”

George laughed, throwing a balled-up napkin at Simon. The room erupted in playful chaos for a moment before Simon regained control.

As the quiz went on, you moved between cameras, checking angles and adjusting sound levels. You’d spent the night before scrolling through Arthur’s Instagram, nervously trying to get a sense of what he was like. His smile in those pictures had been disarming, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of nerves at the thought of working with for the second time. Now, seeing him answer science questions like it was second nature, you found yourself even more intrigued. It quickly became clear that Arthur had a knack for the science-related questions, answering them with an ease that left the others groaning in defeat. His quiet confidence shone brightest when Simon pulled out anything involving chemistry or physics, earning him grudging admiration and playful jeers alike. Every now and then, you caught Arthur’s eyes drifting toward you. Once, when he thought you weren’t looking, you saw him lean over to whisper something to Bach, who immediately grinned and gave him a not-so-subtle nudge.

Simon’s voice cut through the noise again. “Next question: What year did the Titanic sink?”

“1912,” Ethan blurted out before anyone else could answer.

“Correct! Point to Ethan.”

“See? I told you lot I’m a genius,” Ethan said, throwing his hands up triumphantly.

“A genius who thought Canada’s capital was Toronto five minutes ago,” Becky teased, earning another round of laughs.

By the final round, the scores were close, and the energy in the room was electric. Simon set down the final question card with a flourish. “Last question: What is the chemical symbol for gold?”

“Au!” Arthur shouted, almost jumping out of his seat.

Simon nodded dramatically. “And we have a winner! Arthur takes the crown.”

Arthur looked genuinely surprised, his mouth dropping open before breaking into a shy smile. “Wait, really? I actually won?”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Harry said, pretending to sulk. “Next time, you’re going down.”

The group dissolved into cheers and groans, the sound of their camaraderie filling the room. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride watching it all unfold, knowing you’d captured every hilarious moment. As you began packing up your equipment, you noticed Arthur standing awkwardly to the side, his gaze darting between you and his phone. He took a deep breath, clearly summoning some courage, before walking over to where you were organizing cables.

"Hey it’s nice to see you again," he said quickly, as if rushing to get the words out. "I just wanted to say, you’ve done an amazing job with all this. Everything’s so... organized. It’s impressive."

You smiled at his awkwardness. "Thanks, Arthur. That really means a lot."

He fidgeted, his cheeks turning pink. "Right. Well, um, if you’re not busy, maybe we could grab a drink sometime? Not like a work thing, just... you know, a drink," he mumbled, clearly nervous.

"A drink sounds good. But I warn you, I’m probably better at camerawork than small talk," you teased.

Arthur’s eyes widened. "Oh, well, that’s actually a relief because I’m much better at trivia than I am at flirting," he said with a nervous laugh.

You chuckled. "Sounds like we’d make a good team."

Arthur’s smile grew more confident. "So, um, could I get your number? So I can text you and arrange a time to get that drink," he asked, clearly eager but still a bit unsure.

"Sure," you replied with a smile. “I’d really like that."

Arthur’s fingers moved a little faster as he added your number to his phone. "Okay, well it was great chatting with but unfortunately I have to leave," he said, seeming slightly apologetic. "I’ll text you soon."

You smiled back. "I’m looking forward to it."

As Arthur walked away, you noticed the spring in his step, a quiet confidence replacing his earlier awkwardness. The pub was nearly empty now, and you lingered, wondering when he might text you to set up that drink.

[1u11ablues]

All I Have Left Of You (Simon Riley X You)

WC: 900+

Warning: Angst, Character Death, Mourning

You received a box of Ghost's belongings.

"This was what he'd left for you."

The object of said statement; a presence pounding its fist as if it was begging for your acknowledgement. Two weeks had gone by after Price had dropped the box off into your lap, with a bullet-marked dogtag belonging to Simon Riley lying mockingly atop it; the one news you had begged Simon to never let reach your ears.

You weren't strong enough to mourn. The day before he went out on his last mission, you were begging on your knees for him to reconsider going. He knew it'd likely end this way, but he went anyway. Your last day together, spent fighting.

The box had remained sealed and hidden under your bed for the two weeks you'd spent in it, keening until your throat was raw. Until there were no tears left to cry. A fuzzy emptiness was all that was left as you stared at the brown cardboard taped neatly down the middle. 

Simon's dog tag, unmoving from the top of your dresser, right next to the picture of you and him together, in bed; one of his rare smiles captured in that flimsy piece of rectangle. A memory, now. One you'd sooner cease to remember even if you tried to make your favourite expression of him last.

Price had offered to comfort you when he'd brought Simon's belongings to you, in case you wanted to open it then and there. You told him you were too busy to be grieving that day.

Now, you're alone, sitting on the edge of the bed, pieces of Simon strewn all over the bedroom, untouched. His shirts. Packets of cigarettes. An iron lighter with your name doodled on the bottom in his handwriting.

And the box. Pieces, still, for you to remember him by. It can't stay buried under your bed forever.

You leaned down, your knees parting so you could drag the box out from its shelter. With not much effort, you lifted the box and placed it by your side, at the foot of the bed—its size as big as those moving boxes.

The pocket knife glides smoothly through the tape. Another of Simon's belongings. The lid popped open ever so slowly as you took a bracing breath. You reach into it with knowledge of what it contained already; Simon Riley was a man of few needs.

His skull balaclava greeted you first. Washed, thankfully. You don't know if you'd be able to go on if you spot dried blood crusting over its fabric, knowing it was likely his.

There were still tears to be cried, after all. The balaclava hugged tight over your chest, you let yourself finally start mourning his loss, inhaling the scent of him from the headwear at every sob. Your lips trembled as you whispered a quiet 'why', as if the universe would be there to answer you. 

Why did you have to go? Why did you have to die? Why do I have to fall in love with you?

Until you're hoarse. Lost your voice in the song of the grief-struck spirit.

You placed the balaclava aside gently after you'd gathered yourself again, sobs still wracking your body as you reach back into the maw of the cardboard before you.

Some of his clothes, which was expected. Some Simon-related knick-knacks: combat knife, a journal full of tactical notes, two trusty pens bearing ink both black and blue. And then, a small box. A small, velvet box.

You managed a brief huff. Stunned. Aware that—if you were right in your assumption of its content—the object you're staring at was now a possibility frozen in time, for the path your life had taken would not permit you to choose 'yes' to its question ever again.

Under it, a letter. Crisp, white paper, folded in half, black ink ghosting on the other side.

Without opening the velvet box, you reach for the letter. Simon's voice is clear in your head as your eyes move to his script.

Love, If you receive this, it means I'm no longer here. Thank you for keeping my head above water, you're my reason for everything. All of mine are yours. Even my heart, however dead it may seem.  I have plans for us. Should I retire from life before those plans are realized, I want you to still find yourself there, even with the changes. Keep your head straight, like we practiced.  I'm sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting. If we part sourly, I don't want that to be your last memory of me. Remember me when I was trying my best at loving you. You have permission to yell as much as you want at my tombstone, as long as you promise not to linger. Do whatever you want with the ring, it's yours. A shame I didn't get the chance to see you in white. I love you. Knowing you love me makes it all worth it. S.R.

A droplet, two. You wiped the tears from his letter quickly in case the ink was not waterproof.

The velvet case stood lonely at the center of the cardboard box. Your ring. An unrealised proposal. Like an axe cleaving you in half; his death took pieces of you with him even if he didn't intend it to be that way.

You place the ring box by his dog tag. Cleaned everything up on autopilot before settling in your bed with his balaclava in your arms.

There will be many nights like this before sunrise comes.

Buy me a ko-fi?

[anonmousegosqueak]

TODAY IS TOTALLY WEDNESDAY- DONT CHECK THE DATE.

Now onto our irregularly scheduled Mouse's hybrid 141 :3

If you missed the previous parts- Soap Ghost here, Price Gaz here, bonus Roach here.

This is Nikolai and Kate Laswell addition! (Bonus doodles at the end)

+ new poll! If your silly war criminals didn't win last time, fear not. I have removed the winning group, aka making sure *your* glorbo wins for sure I promise 100% no lies-

Nikolai:

Daddy Russia is an Albatross.

Specifically a Laysan Albatross!

My reasons-

Albatrie (definitely the plural of Albatross, don't look it up) are sea birds, known for having large wings and flying for *hours*

Mans does not touch the ground for days, he's flying.

Except- what if he never learned to fly?

Not because he doesn't have wings or anything, no it's because he's too HECKIN BIG

Something about his hybrid lineage got messed up, leading him to not have the hollow bones necessary to fly.

Doesn't mean he doesn't want to though.

Hence why the helicopter :)

His wings are big and annoying, doesn't mean he doesn't flaunt them for his birdy husband

Speaking of bird husbands- Nik has always loved watching Price fly.

Something about the grace, the way his lovely spouse can so easily take to the skies in a way he never could...

(Simon is his bird son, thanks for asking)

All in all, he's a big, burly, sometimes cocky bird who (now that he has his flock) finally feels at home.

Kate Laswell:

Lioness

I struggled a bit with Kate. I love her dearly but she's just... Too complex? Like baby girl, I need you to be a bit more one dimensional and basic so I can make you a fursona- please 😭

My reasons-

Kate is a fighter

Aperently, when she first joined she wanted a powerful woman to look up to. When she didn't find one she just kinda... Became one? (I got this from the wiki, please don't smite me if I'm wrong)

Nowadays she's proud, not bowing down to anyone. Not even men who seem to think they're better than her. (COUGH-shepherd-COUGH)

When I was looking at pictures of her, I noticed she wears scarfs or other neck coverings

A lot

ITS HER MANE OMG IM SO SMART

Anyways-

Also yes, she does try to teach Soap how to be a big cat. It fails of course, this man is a big-orange-stupid for life, but she tries.

Actually, she found more luck in Gaz, him being semi-related to cats helped a lot.

Idk man, she's just a lion. What do you want from me?

My goofy doodles! I don't necessarily like the art but whatever, I gotta get this out and so I'ma just settle on decent.

[soapppp]

CW: obsessive behaviour, Yandere au

Graves was a smart man, especially when it came to people. He had a good judgment and was quick to figure what made people tick, what they valued and treasured. Though it was only in his military career that he used these things to manipulate, he was an expert from day one.

So, when he saw Sargent Soap Mactavish… while Graves didn’t believe in supernatural empathy, he could feel something wrong with the Scotsman instantly. He was unnatural. His laughs were light and floaty, to the point it seemed practiced. His movements were gentle but firm, trained for combat and something else.

It was the drawings that gave it away. Soap drew whenever he had the chance and even painted when able. He was good at it, patient and steady in ever stroke and line. But sometimes he was messy, frenzied and rough like he was desperate to get something out of his head. All prices of art that had this sort of movement to them were of none other than the Ghost. Most, at times all, of Soap’s books would be filled with drawings of the older man. Painted, sketched, doodled and at times photographed.

The notes around the outside of them were cute and sweet, talking about what the two had done that day. Some were odd, talking about what Ghost had eaten that day, how he had spent a lot of time with or near certain people, what he wore, what he said, every point of physical contact between the two. Then, it became depraved and disturbing, talk of sex, forced and not, as well as long lives together with a big wedding and bigger house. Some ramblings talked about not allowing kids, because Ghost wouldn’t want to waste time on anyone else….

Graves knew all of this because he read Soaps journals. He knew this, because he approached Soap late one night and asked him what he would be willing to do for his one true love. He took Soaps answer in stride, even as the other grew more comfortable and became more honest, acting as if him wanting to tie his lover up so they wouldn’t leave was completely normal.

It took nothing more than a photo of an old mansion that Shepard had allowed Graves to obtain for Soap to agree to his plan. He took him to the house, showed him the security system and open space, perfect for a couple looking for isolation. Graves assured him that food and other necessities would be bought to the house so he would never have to leave his lovely Simon.

Soap was the one who drugged the mighty Ghost. He was the one who stripped him of his clothes and requested numerous drugs, aphrodisiacs and ecstasy, so he could better help his partner settle in. He was the one who used money from Shepards account to buy a dozen different dresses and lingerie for his partner.

Soap was the one who shot Gaz in the throat.

Soap was the one who disabled the alarms to Graves men could sneak in.

It was Soap who gutted several men in order to get him and his unconscious lover out, shamelessly sitting in his lap and giggling like a child the whole drive.

All Graves did was give him the opening, Soap did the rest.

After two years he visited the couple, excited to see a beaten down Ghost being tortured by his inferior. He wasn’t surprised to see the amount of hickies all over the man who was once a giant towering over them all, now with a chub to him and little muscle. He was weak, knees having some kind of wrap around them that was visible through the 70’s style dress he was wearing.

Graves was a little disappointed to see that Ghost had succumbed to Stockholm Syndrome, blind to the electric collar around his neck, but as Ghost acted like a servant and didn’t speak a word unless Soap said to… he couldn’t help but laugh and tell Soap he did an incredible job truanting him.

Soap beamed and thanked him, even giving him a long kiss on the cheek and telling him that without Graves, he would never have the love of his life.

Graves smiled back, teeth showing as he saw got the pleasure of seeing the last bit of hope leave Ghost eyes.

[babygirl-riley]

Hardcore Bangers*

You have been best friends with Simon Riley for years now. You didn’t know that he was singing up for the military. Once he tells you both you listen to both of yours favorite band, leading into some tension you both needed solve.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Male Reader

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, blow jobs, hand jobs, smoking, and non established relationship

simon x reader guide

simon x reader smut list

Both you and Simon had been friends for quite some time. Ever since the 6th grade, you both were now in your last year of high school. You have seen all sorts of colors of Simon, from his laughter of the stupid shit you two would do, to him crying from what his father had done to him. You hated his father, you told him when you held him that both Simon and you would leave this place. He would just nod and not say anything.

Today was on of those days that he came over throwing his bag across your room. He rarely cried at this point, just was angry all the time. Which to be fair you would be too, he tells you all the time that he was jealous about your family, how they were so happy.

“Ya know we could just leave.” He said as you both listened to the Metallica song playing in the background.

You scoffed as you drew on your paper pad. “Leave? To where Simon?”

Simon strolled to you plopping himself on the bed. “Anywhere y/n, anywhere but here.”

Simon was a big dude for the grade that you all were in. He started to hit the gym the older he got. Getting himself big and hell considered playing for the local football team. So watching your bed mold with him as he laid down wasn’t a surprise however, the way your bed squeaked made you feel odd.

Lately your feelings towards Simon was developing into something bigger, not just friends but something else. Which scared you cause at this time, gay wasn’t really the trend. You didn’t know how Simon would feel about you liking him that way let alone any other man. So every time you felt something come up you pushed it down, usually hide it well.

Simon looked over at you as your face went bright red. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just don’t think it would be smart, I mean what about school?” You stated trying to move pass it.

Simon scoffed looking away up to the ceiling. “You care too much about school,” He paused. “We can go after, once we throw our dumb caps up we can head away.”

“What about your mom or brother.” You said trying to think logical of the situation.

Simon paused thinking, you could tell at least. “They can stay with pops.”

You went quiet knowing that the night before Simon was beaten, you could tell by the fresh new bruise on his face. Simon told you it was just him rough housing with Tommy but you knew better. “Why me?” You asked not thinking about the question.

It didn’t come out rude, no more of finding the answer. Simon sat up and looked at you. You stopped doodling and looked back at him. You both sat there just staring at each other, you tried to look through his eyes to see what he was thinking. “Why does it matter?” He asked almost whispering.

You glared for a moment before chuckling. “I mean you could ask the girl you’ve been walking around with at school.” That came out harsh.

Simon rolled his eyes. “Beatrice,” He stood up at that point. “That’s nothing, plus you’re my mate, so I rather take you.”

That was a couple months ago, now both of you and Simon were listening to your favorite band. While the song changes he cleared his throat and turned it down. “Hey,” You turned to him from your desk having your attention. “I have to say somethin’.”

You turned your chair fully towards him. “Yeah?”

Simon sat there on your bed for a moment looking at you. He looked like he would have dropped dead or wanted to. Simon’s leg bounced before he inhaled deeply. “I signed up for the military,” It went deadly quiet. Military? You blinked blankly at him. He sighed before standing. “I don’t want to be here anymore. The best thing is to go and fight ya?”

“And get yourself killed?” You snapped turning the chair away from him. “Sounds suicidal.”

Simon scoffed. “Come on y/n,” You heard his eyes roll. “It’s basically suicide staying here.”

You knew deep down he was right but fuck it made you so angry. You would have left with him, just school, your family. “I would have left with you.” You mumbled.

Simon sighed again, you heard his steps come behind you before turning you to him. “I’m sorry mate, I knew you would have but it’s a now solution.”

You sat there and thought for a moment before frowning. “When do you deploy?”

Simon frowned and looked away. “A week after graduation.”

You sighed before nodding. “Alright we have to make these last weeks worth it then.”

Simon nodded before laying on the bed. You turned the music up as you both jammed out to the song. It was both your favorites. One that you always played after school, during, before.

You don’t remember how you joined Simon on the bed. You felt his eyes on you, it was like a sixth sense feeling his stare. You looked over for him to be staring. “What?” You whispered.

Simon shook his head adjusting himself before moving to lean on his side. His arm supporting his head. “I wanna try somethin,” He began. “And when this happens I don’t want any thin’ to change yeah?”

You have him a confused look, he had a solid scare in his eyes. You just couldn’t pin point on what. “Okay?” You said doing the same motion.

He swallowed before nodding, his other hand grabbed your chin, with his index finger and thumb. Your eyes widened as he leaned in closer. You didn’t move, you couldn’t, all these years you dreamt of this. It was frown upon during this time, so you didn’t act on anything but here you are. About to kiss your best friend.

When he was inches from your lips, you could feel his breath hitting your lips. “I can stop.” He whispered as he looked at your eyes.

You didn’t say anything but crashed your lips to his. Simon was taken a back before he moved his lips with yours. You hummed into his mouth as both of your hands roamed each other, the music drowning the noise as your lips made noise. Simon pushed you down more into the bed as he straddled your hips, lips not leaving yours. You followed his actions playing with the hem of his shirt.

Simon groaned as he grind down into your pelvis. You felt his cock half hard and you knew damn well he felt yours. He moaned and stopped kissing you. “I-We can stop.”

You shook your head as you lifted your hips grinding back on him. His eyes rolled back and dropped his head. “I have been waiting for this Si.”

And just like that his lips went to your neck. It was like rabid teenagers (which you were.), you both ripped each others clothes off as he reached down to your cock, playing with the tip first. You moaned leaning in more, more friction.

“Needy aren’t ya,” Simon whispered his voice dropping another octave. “Didn’t know that you would be a needy one y/n.”

You glared up at his brown eyes, full of lust. You smirked. “Oh shut it,” He gripped harder and you sighed. “Please Simon do something.” You begged. BEGGED. You didn’t expect the whine that came out.

Simon chuckled. “Alright.” He kissed down your neck then your chest bitting and nipping as he went down. He licked your abdomen, staring right into your eyes. Your heart jumped more and more as he got closer and closer. Once his mouth was near your cock you held your breath. Are you both really doing this? This has to be a dream? This-

All the thoughts left as his mouth engulfed the tip of your cock, you sighed out as you watched him play with it with his tongue. You reached down to his blonde locks and rocked a small bit. “Fuck Simon.” You whispered as he hallowed his cheeks sucking more and more of you.

You never thought you would see Simon like this. Mouth full of your cock as his head bobbed up and down in a slow AGONIZING rhythm. It made you want to fuck his face, make more of a faster pace. His tongue flattened as he went up one last time before the rhythm changed. He light grabbed your balls as he set the pace.

You gasped your back arching. “Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!” You said loudly bucking your hips up. His large arm snacked around your hips and he snapped you back down.

The noises were god amazing, anything you could have imagined. The ‘O’ that was made, you saw his silva and your cum mixed and it shot some fire twist that built in your stomach. You started panting hard as he moaned watching you squirm beneath him. “I’m gonna—.” You didn’t have to finished the sentence as he stopped shoving your cock down his throat. You dick twitch and your whole body felt tingly as your spurts of cum went down his throat.

You heard him growl. Growl with approval. Your body started to relax as you stared up at the ceiling. You felt him give one more suck, having you close your eyes and hiss. You felt him kiss up to you, you stared at him smiling. He smiled back kissing you. You tasted yourself on his lips.

You broke the kiss. “Mine turn.”

He froze before red plastered his face. “Uh,” You looked down and smiled. He came all over your bed. “I was rutting against you bed. Once you came I couldn’t hold back.”

You laughed as you kissed him. “There will always be next time. Right?”

Simon smirked kissing your cheek. “Well I don’t get deployed for a moment. So I think we have plenty of time. Got plenty of room to see how fast you can make me cum.”

Your face blushed and you rolled your eyes. “It’s on.”

Of course both of you would sometimes time each other to see how fast the both of you would cum faster. It was the best memories from high school that you would never forget. You may have never saw him again, even after he came back. However you’ll never forget your first time with Simon Riley.

[suekreandtheidiots]

Vacation Gossip Circle Location // Characters: Palma de Mallorca // Cal, Tim, Mark and Fozzy June 2006: The lads (minus Lance) are on their well-deserved after-school-vacation, and Cal brings up his favourite subject. Status/Notes: unfinished/I always wanted to write a bit of dialogue going along with this doodle. Also kinda inspired by my unhinged friendship rambling with Teo aka @teo-s-art-corner, who is a terrible enabler and makes me want to write certain wee shitheads. 😂 Warning: I wanted to keep the tone of that time at least somewhat authentic, so there are offensive phrases and questionable stances on romance matters. It's 2006, these boys were stupid, and society wasn't very sensitive in general back then.

***

"I'm just sayin' I have a good feeling about this now. About me and Hallie."

Cal looked around the table, into his friends' faces, hoping to see at least a hint of affirmation in their expressions, but they all just kept staring at him like he was completely out of his mind.

It was Mark who deigned to answer after a few moments of silence. "Mhm." he made, sounding not at all convinced and earning himself a few chuckles from his peers.

Cal decided to pay no attention to the less-than-encouraging reaction. "I mean, it's not like there's any competition now?" he said. "Aside from that guy last year, what's his name again- Simon Pearson. Oh, and that other bampot, Julian Sparkles." "Is that really his name now?" Tim frowned. "Always thought that it was a fuckin' weird family name." "Nah, his name's Sparks. Lance once called him Sparkles, though, and we just kept that up behind Hal's back." Cal shrugged. "Anyway, those guys've been long out of the picture, and I'm now in the picture, if you catch my drift-" "So you're counting on being the last resort. Nice." Fozzy cackled. "After all those months you've been pining for her - quite pathetically, if I may say so - there's no one else left now, and she can finally consider dating you, is that what you're sayin'?" "That is not what I'm sayin', idiot." Cal rolled his eyes. "And what's not to love about me, anyway? Hm?" "I don't know how to answer that." Tim said. "I don't even want to answer that, even if I knew how." Mark agreed and made a face. "I'm tall, I'm smart, I have great taste in music, and I'm hot." "So modest, too-" "Don't you think I'm hot? Come on. You know I am!" "Again, no one cares to grace that with an answer."

"Alright, so if it's not about you being the last dick on earth…" Fozzy took a deep sip from his straw before he went on. "What exactly makes you so confident now?" "Well, if you have to know, it was the way she looked at me when we said goodbye." "… uh, what now?" "She gave me that look! She hugged me, told me to take care and watch out for myself and… and she gave me that look. I don't know, it's hard to explain, but it was a look that has never been there before!" "Good grief, a hug and a look, I hope she's not pregnant now." Fozzy said dryly.

The lack of enthusiasm from his closest friends irritated Cal and at this point he deeply regretted filling them all in about his feelings for Hallie Henderson. All that confession had done for him was make him the laughing stock of the group, almost any time the subject of dating came up. Why couldn't they be more supportive? Why couldn't any of them see it, even remotely imagine it?

"That's more your thing, isn't it?" he hissed. "Watch it, prick." Fozzy snarled back. "Oh god, stop that." Tim groaned. "Look, Cal, it's not like the idea of you and Hallie is completely far fetched, it's, uh, more that she's has always been so vocal about her random crushes, so we just think-" "But that's the point, isn't it? Random crushes. Anyone is vocal about random fuckin' crushes. I'm not random, though. I'm her friend and I assume she has the same second thoughts about all this. It's not that simple. Would you tell a friend of yours about your feelings, just like that?" "I guess not, but still. I mean, it depends! The reason we don't see it is because we think nothing's there to see, Cal-" "What Timothy is politely trying to say is that you act like an idiot around her and she doesn't act like an idiot around you." Fozzy said. "If she had given you any hint whatsoever, even you would've dared to make a move but she fucking hasn't given you anything, and you know it, and that's why you-" "I am not taking dating advice from you, shitface?!" "I dated more than you?!" "You fuck around, you dump the girl, on repeat, that's not dating." "Maybe you should try that at some point. It's liberating. Makes you less whiny and pathetic, y'know-" "Jesus Christ, you two, shut it!" Mark groaned. "We're on vacation!" "Lance would back me up?!" Cal tried again. "Lance? Lance Abbott; our Lance?" Mark asked. "Do you know another Lance?" "No, but apparently you do, because the one I know isn't exactly a hopeless romantic who sees weird things." "At least he has never ruled the possibility out on principle. Seriously, you're all such wankers about this, I don't even know why I told you in first place." Cal groaned and slumped back in his chair. Fozzy chuckled. "We never really got that either, to be honest, you know we're wankers about everything. At least I am." "So, what should I do, according to you experts?" "Tell her." Tim shrugged. "Once we get home, tell her. No matter what. You've got nothing to lose, we're each about to go and do our own thing anyway." "He's right." Mark agreed. "If she feels the same, you could laugh in our faces - a benefit, right? - and you and Hallie could try long distance. If not, well... you'll live? There's plenty to do in Los Angeles to distract yourself with." "Good thing you're rich, bet those Hollywood Boulevard tarts are expensive." Fozzy mumbled while lighting himself another cigarette. "Who said anything about- that's what you think of first? Really?" "What else is there in LA, then? Palm trees and a few big white letters, woo-hoo, big deal." Mark squinted. "You're awfully small minded for a guy with your background." "What can I say, I like what I have."

(... to be continued.)

[bugmansimon]

I want to hold you close.

[greyeyedmonster-18]

heyy greyy

how are you?

i have slept maybe three hours I'm surviving purely on coffee and my mind's going in 15 different directions and the usual shyness that keeps my thoughts locked has left me stranded so uhh i may be asking these very important questions that you definitely don't have to answer but anyways here they are

1. besides taylor what are your favourite artists /genres to listen to ( a song in currently obsessed with is sidelines by pheobe bridgers 10/10)

2. what are you favourite cuisines to try out? (this is inspired because of my friend making red thai curry for me bless her I'm not an adventurous eater but it was so good 15/10 recommend)

3. sirius in your stories loves maths, is it something inspired by you or just a hc for him? god bless y'all who enjoy maths I'm gonna cheer on you guys while i work with biology

4. ooo do you love nail paint/ nail art ?

5. see this is my kinda think but when I'm bored or just sitting idly is i have a pen I'll just draw stuff on a paper (can call them doodles but they aren't really) but yeah these days i gravitate towards making an eye or fingers for some reason ( like those witchy creepy cartoony ones)

6. its an imaginary world with no responsibilities and not considering logical housing situation then what animal would you have as a pet ( i once was in a lengthy discussion with my mom how hypothetically giraffe would be a good pet- they could carry all your groceries to you apartment floor with no issue but then i saw them fighting and I'll stick to cat and dogs for now)

uhh yeah these are it for now- i have more but i dont want to overwhelm you (too much)

-ash

(if these weirded you out I'm so sorry but uhh yeah bye i find you very cool and Inspiring and uhh you give me hope that the clusterfuck of bad desicions and noooo why did i think this was a good idea that is your early 20s work itself out in the end )

also if you ever want to see badly drawn witchy fingers that i have no idea why i have started to draw pls ask :)

friend! hello! please sleep. these are all very sweet, very cute, and I'll happily oblige answering sleepy silly questions, and here is more information than you ever wanted to know!!! but also, this is the third time this week i have been called cool and i just....i promise i'm not. i promise i am just a Big Dork who Does Her Best. But also...not mad that i give off a vibe that i made a bunch of bad decisions in my twenties, which i am still technically in. Not mad at all <3:

-music genre besides taylor swift: i tend to have either the music taste of someone...much older, or much younger. like i went to a josh groban concert, sat VERY close when i was 23? and was the youngest person in the crowd who wasn't forced to go with their parents by a long shot (made friends with an older woman who wore a fur coat and pearls and i decided im going to be her when im older)

but to name a few-- one direction stan (and zayn, harry, and nialls solo careers only), sara bareilles, josh groban, ariana grande, billy joel, elton john, paul simon/simon and garfunkel, and then i also listen to a lot of instrumental stuff...like...film scores (the film score to Much Ado About Nothing is my favorite ever).

-cuisine: i am not a picky eater at all, i will eat dry wall if it has a dipping sauce and tell you its the best thing in the world. and im a latinx household, so a lot of my daily cooking is...that. but when i venture away, i tend to take inspo from my friends/their recipes (made sushi pizza last week? very good, 10/10 recommend), and try out what THEY eat regularly.

-maths: while i do like maths, this HC wasn't inspired by me. sirius is a very black and white thinker. he is pragmatic, and logical by nature. this is canon. he's also....canonically very smart, and provided the black family has a lot of money (and a lot of paranoia, i don't think Orion Black and his predecessors would've let anyone else touch the books other than family, i wouldn't be surprised if they were charmed either) and its just a HC of mine that sirius had to learn about managing money and numerology and maths from a very young age to prepare for... heir-hood. (i do like doing math, and i am good at it, however its not something i would ever make a career out of...exclusively.)

-nails: this might be disappointing, but i don't do my nails. they wouldn't last a day. the only time i do is when im obligated to for an event/wedding, and they literally barely make it through the ceremony. nails are kept short, unpolished.

i love witchy hands!!!

pet: i would hands down have flamingos in my front yard. like a cute little pond and they would just stand there on one leg like Misty Copeland and be cute and pink and mind their business <3

[antisocial-af]

Day 1: Clizzy

Title: Lightwood Gifts

25 Days of Pairings: Day 1 Clizzy 

Rating: G

Wordcount: 1076

No Major Archive Warnings

SFW, Holiday Fluff.

Summary: 

Isabelle gives Clary a gift.

Read on Ao3

Story:

“Yes, trust me,” Isabelle sighed again as she kept speaking into the phone. “Hermano, just give him the damn thing. We spent all of last week looking for a perfect gift. Don’t chicken out now.”

She kept walking down the New York Institute hallway, sometimes stopping to admire the snow falling outside the windows.

“Alec, he will love it,” she kept assuring. “You could give him one of the standard Shadowhunter uniforms, and he would treat it like you had it specifically tailored just for him and one of a kind.”

She listened as her brother kept on explaining his worries. She had been trying to talk Alec down for almost twenty minutes now.

She kept allowing the Inquisitor to ramble on till she reached her bedroom door.

“I have to go, hermano,” Isabelle cut him off after the latest reason why the bracelet wasn’t enough. Isabelle didn’t know how a charmed bracelet that had runes carved in for protection wasn’t enough, but apparently, his brother had higher standards on gifts for his loved ones.

“No, I’m okay,” she assured him when he jumped to conclusions. Always the big brother, she thought. “Just got to my room, and I have my own holiday plans.”

Isabelle listened to his warm wishes of luck and happiness before they both finally said bye.

As she entered the shared bedroom, Isabelle heard the soft hums coming from the bathroom. Clary must’ve just finished painting and was cleaning up.  

Isabelle entered the art covered room to where Clary’s paints and brushes still laid scattered.

Izzy would often come back from a long day at the Institute to her girlfriend doodling, sketching, or painting something.

“You’re back early.”

Clary entered the room from the attached bathroom and smiled as she adjusted her towel, looking at Isabelle.

“I couldn’t wait till I got back to you.”

“Mhm,” Clary accepted and made her way to Isabelle. “Welcome back, Izzy.”

Izzy pulled the redhead closer and smiled as she stared down into those stunning green eyes.

“You’re staring again,” Clary teased and leaned up to kiss Izzy’s cheek.

“Can you blame me?” Isabelle smiled. “Out of all the art in here, those two orbs hold my attention every time you enter the room.”

“Oh my god,” Clary broke out in a laugh. “Have you been listening to Magnus and Alec flirt again?”

“That bad?”

“No,” Clary tried to keep her laughter contained and leaned up for another kiss, this time claiming Izzy’s lips.

“I wasn’t lying. I did miss you,” Isabelle defended herself as she continued the kiss. She moved her hand up to tuck damp red locks behind freckled ears.

“How was your day, baby?”

“Long, but I finished up a few paintings,” Clary answered, leaning into her girlfriend’s hand. “What about you?”

“All good, just a few hives here and there,” Izzy explained as she moved to pull Clary on the bed with her. “Are you done for the night?”

“I still have to put everything away, but yeah.” Clary allowed Izzy to pull her down and smiled, sitting somewhat on her girlfriend in bed. When she snuggled closer to Izzy because of the winter cold, Clary felt an uncomfortable rectangle in Izzy’s leather jacket.

“You’re not comfy,” she complained with a pout.

“Excuse me?” Izzy blinked down and remembered what she was hiding. “Oh, your gift!”

Izzy pulled away a bit before she reached into her front pocket and pulled out a neatly wrapped package.

“Simon said you both would always open one on Christmas Eve.”  

Clary’s face broke out into a wide smile as she kept looking between Isabelle and the gift.

“Izzy, you didn’t have to,” she started before Isabelle’s finger was on her lips.

“I love you, and I wanted to do this,” Izzy explained and kissed the top of Clary’s head. “Plus, have you met Alec? Us Lightwoods love showering our partners in gifts.”

Clary smiled as she took in Izzy’s words, knowing them to be true. She would often have to watch what she said around the New York Institute Head, or else Izzy would go off and get it for her. Clary had once seen an ad while patrolling for an expensive art set and commented on how it would be nice to own it. Two days later, Isabelle had shown up in their room with it.

“So I can open it now?” Clary asked, making grabby hands at the gift. If she couldn’t talk her girlfriend out of spoiling her, then she might as well enjoy it.

“Hmm, it depends. Do I get a gift back?” Izzy teased. She knew she would be giving Clary her present no matter what, but she could at least have some fun first.

“I thought you said last night I was the best gift ever?” Clary smirked and leaned over to claim Isabelle’s lips. “You said my tongue was a gift from the Angels, remember?”

Izzy groaned into the kiss pulling Clary closer by the loose towel she was wearing still.

“That’s not playing fair.”

“I learned from the best.” Clary nipped Isabelle’s bottom lip before pulling back and once again making grabby hands. “I win, right?”

Isabelle handed her the rectangular package with a mock glare.

Clary carefully started to tear the tape, holding the brown package together. As she began to peel away brown strips, she saw black, red, and gold. She didn’t know what exactly it could be, but the feel and shape said it was some sort of book.

When Clary finally pulled off the last part of the wrapping, she gasped. It was a black leather-bound book with three different colored cloth bookmarks sewn in. There were golden runes carved into the cover, and the pages were dyed a washed-out red but not quite pink yet.

“Don’t worry, it’s just the edges,” Izzy explained, snapping her out of her exploration. “The pages are white, so you can still sketch it in with color pencils just fine. It’s just the edges that are dyed that color.”

Clary digested the words, opening the book to confirm Izzy’s statement. The page’s felt soft and bumpy under her hands.

“I asked Simon what types of paper you used. I didn’t know there were so many diffe-,”

“Thank you,” Clary cut her off as she lunged herself at Izzy and hugged her tightly. “Thank you for this.”

Isabelle smiled and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend.

“Merry Christmas, Clary.”

[roseofithaca]

She Will Be Loved

[Quick drabble on Michael’s POV in Pandemonium]

You watch. You always watch.

You watched her for three hundred years. You tried to get inside her head, that freaky little noodle, you wanted to untangle it and straighten all the pieces out in a neat little pattern. Every time you came close, the strands would jump up and strangle you before tying themselves up in knots again. She was the ultimate puzzle that could never be solved. One that frustrated you to the point of fury at first, then amusement, then intrigue, then fascination, then admiration, and finally...Well. Here we are.

You watched her when you should have been watching your professor at the chalk board. Instead of listening to Chidi talk about Hume (boy was that a fun one to torture, oh how he hated dancing nuns!), you had your head turned to the side, watching her doodle stick men in the corner of her notepad. You flicked your wrist and made the drawings come to life, fighting each other on the page and then making out in that ‘hate sex’ humans find appealing, until she broke out into giggles that disrupted the class. You learned ethics from Chidi, but you learned how to be human from her.

You fell in love with humanity by falling in love with...

You watch her be impressed by you. You watch her see through your charade. You watch her believe in you. You watch her be disappointed and then forgive you. You watch her as the two of you walk into Hell together, back behind the rest, your hand on her waist while your eyes stay forward (no, don’t get distracted thinking how hot she looks in that forties style dress, the kind she would have worn if she were a real demon and had been with you all along). 

You watch her as you solve one of the trickiest moral thought experiments - screw you, egghead, it turns out there is a right answer after all! And it’s called sacrificing yourself. You watch her as you push her through, not risking another second you wish you could steal to kiss her goodbye. You wish that could be the last you saw.

You watch her smile as you come back to her...And the one she loves, the egghead, suddenly grew a pair while you were gone and did what you were too cowardly to attempt. All those little study groups, all those private moments at the beach or chilling near the lake or eating frozen yogurt in town at night - you had plenty of chances but you were too busy learning to get over yourself and accept how much you forking loved these humans instead of being disgusted by them.

It’s stupid. It’s unfair. You trapped yourself in Hell for her but that can’t compare to a damn kiss. If it weren’t for the light in her eyes and the smile on her face...Fork. How can you be mad at anyone for making her that happy? Well done, egghead. You know when you’re fairly beaten. And both these two humans will always win, their love is stronger than you, just like she said all those years ago.

You’re happy for them...Fork, you’re happy they’re happy. And that’s the same thing.

Right?

In less than five minutes, it barely matters, because you’re right back to watching.

You save her but you can’t speak to her. You can’t even look. And yet you watch her for a year. You literally hold her life in your hands, clutching it like a precious golden thread, and yet you’re lightyears away from her. You watch her wake up every day, trying to be good, to be better, and you can’t remember ever being so proud of how well she does. And then when she slips and falls, you can only keep watching, hands shaking with anger that you can’t rush to her side to pick her up back up. When you do see her, when she’s right in front of you, it’s like seeing the sun after a year in the dark - but she doesn’t see you. 

But that’s okay. Because you’re not the one she wants...not the one she needs. You push her towards him. And you keep on pushing, on and on, even when she sees you and starts to know you again, you don’t matter, nothing you had with her matters, at least not in the grand scheme of things. You want nothing but to see that joy in her eyes again when she finds her true love. You want nothing but for her threat to you that she made when she sat, hand in hand with him, in front of you before to be come true. 

When she says she’s incapable of love, you don’t tell her about how her compassion and friendship saved a demon’s soul. You don’t tell her that she inspired you to give up everything to save them all. None of that is worth mentioning. Just keep on pushing, Mikey. 

Push and meddle and scheme like the imp you are until....Finally!

They’re back together! 

And, fork, there’s Simone. There’s Shawn’s little game, as if telling you about the suit wasn’t enough. Not only do you now have the crippling worry of your friends thinking you’re torturing them if you lose on your shoulders...but her heart is about to be broken.

Because of you.

You watched and you pushed and you brought them back together. You refused to let fate play its own course. They wouldn’t be sat there in tears if not for you. She wouldn’t have to suffer losing him had it not been for you pushing her back to him. You set her up for the greatest fall, just like you did at the start, when all of this began. Back when she was nothing but a cockroach. But that little cockroach always managed to slip through your fingers, always wriggled out of those tight spots and got away from you or saw through you. You were never able to break her.

Until now. Right now, all these years later, when it’s the last thing you ever wanted.

You watch as they watch the montage you made for them. And was this an extra twist of the knife, Mikey? Was this more torture wrapped up in disguise as a ‘present’? What good is it doing? It’s not making it any easier. If anything you’re reminding them of what they’re losing.

Maybe you never changed. Maybe you never will.

Does Shawn even need a Michael suit? You’re doing a good enough job letting them down as it is. 

You watch her as she touches his cheek. You watch as she says goodbye.

You remember saying goodbye to her...

You could tell her how much you understand what she’s going through. You could commend her for the sacrifice she’s having to make here, not just Chidi. 

You could steal the opportunity while she’s broken and vulnerable. Tell her that you would never leave her. Tell her that you would rather be retired than forget about her. Tell her how every one of your actions has revolved, primarily, around her, and that there hasn’t been a single second for the past two years you haven’t regretted kissing her in front of that portal.

You could...You would have...Once...

But you won’t. Because you’re not that demon anymore.

You watch as he leaves and goes to find you. You stay there, just for a second, your eyes still on her. You’ll continue to watch her, while he’s ‘away’, going on a long trip as it were. You’ll always watch her and you’ll always be there, even when he comes back, even when she no longer sees that you’re there.

You’ll always watch to make sure that she’s loved. Even if...especially if not by you, Cyrano, not in any way that she’ll ever notice. That’s your penance for doing this to her, whether you meant to or not, Janet told you to leave well enough alone and you should always listen to a being that knows forking everything, idiot.

You’re sorry. What good is that now? It’s time, Michael. Time to take him away from her again. Time to break her heart when all you want is to wrap it up and keep it safe but your stupid hands are too clumsy to be trusted. Only his are worthy to hold it. To reside within it. Only he can make her smile the way you could only dream to. She’ll be loved by the one who is worthy of her.

And you...Well. You just watch.

[thesmalltowngal]

Snowbaz 30- Daydreams and Doodles

OTP Prompt #30: Baz gets caught doodling. 

~ Enjoy! ~

*Baz’s POV*

I can’t say I’ve never zoned out in class, doodling the name of my arch enemy. (Can’t we all say the same?) I am a vampire and a mage. I have no soft spots. Except for the days when I can feel the constant heat of Simon’s eyes on the back of my neck and it’s as though he’s paying me extra attention. Then my (one) soft spot is, of course, Simon Snow. Although I’m not completely daft- I never write out his full name. Just S in big loopy letters. 

And I’ve fallen prey to doing just that today in Greek. Snow sits next to me, making my little doodles and daydreams all the more dangerous. (Something about being so close to getting caught… well, it’s right exciting, innit?) Although Snow is sitting right by me, he hardly ever looks my way, thank Merlin. So while we’re going over conjugation that I’ve known since I was an ankle-biter, I find my mind wandering. Wandering over to Snow and his moles and his constant heat, and how I wish it was mine. I imagine all sorts of things- all of which I won’t delve too deep into elaborating on. I’m scrawling S+B on my paper in the corner when the devil himself nudges me with his elbow. When I look up, he’s (attempted) at cocking an eyebrow how I do, but instead, both of his raise in a face that makes me want to write sonnets. (I wouldn’t put it past me.)

“Baz, I wasn’t listening. D’you know what-”

“No.” I probably do know whatever he was about to ask, but I’m not interested in the real Snow interrupting my daydreams of the fantasy one. He growls and then looks down at my paper instead, thinking he’ll get more answers there. (If anything he’d get more questions.) I move to cover up where I’ve been scribbling in the corner of my paper, but it’s too late. I’ve been caught like a regular school girl in love. Fuck it all. He looks back up at me, flushing. (Snow is inherently daft, but even he couldn’t mistake the S for anyone else. Didn’t think this was how I was going to die, but oh well.) 

“Baz! Have you got a crush?!” He says it too loud and half the class (not the teacher, thank Crowley) looks our way. I glare at them, which gets them back to their tasks right quick. If I had fed recently, I’m sure I would be blushing now, but as luck would have it, I haven’t fed any time recently. 

“No, I just-”

“Really, because,” He maneuvers around my arms and snatches the notebook right out of my hands. (I would’ve been able to stop him, but the studious part of my brain tells me not to make a ruckus.) “It sure seems like you do.” He points to the doodles of S+B and flips through past pages only to find more. It just spurs him along, and soon he’s trying to stifle his laughs to no avail. 

I grab the notebook back and say, “Enough of that now, Snow.” This is almost friendly. Not like the arguing we usually do. This is more like teasing between mates, and I can’t say I mind. (Of course, that’ll all be over once he inevitably figures out S stands for Simon.) He eyes my and my protective hold on the notebook he just chuckles and goes back to writing. 

Just when I think he’s done pestering me, the insufferable twat turns back to me in a rush. “So who is it?” He’s asking me about this like it’s some crush and we’re mates. We’ve never discussed anything like this, and I’m torn between telling him to fuck off or indulging myself a bit longer. 

I run a hand over my face and exhale in annoyance. “No one-”

“Well obviously not no one if you’ve got doodles of her initial all through your notebook!” Oh. Oh. This is why he doesn’t know it’s him. He doesn’t know I’m gay. 

“Actually, um-”

“Is it… Samantha? No, I s’pose not- she’s a pixie. Oh! Maybe Sarah? She’s quite nice, though she is a fourth year…”  (He keeps listing off girls’ names, and he knows all of them. I swear, he’s like a dog, he’s so bloody friendly.) Oh, Snow. The oblivious dolt.

*Simon’s POV*

While I list off more names, Baz looks at me like I’ve grown another head. But this is nice- teasing like we’re mates. (It won’t last of course. S’nice to pretend, though.) When I saw Baz doodling in his notebook about someone he fancied, something in my stomach twisted. I think it was just the fact that my enemy was capable of liking someone. That Baz was capable. I thought he didn’t like anyone. I’ve never even seen him be nice to anyone, before. Maybe being an arse is his way of flirting? (No, certainly not. If that was the case, then that would mean that he’s constantly flirting with me, and that’s, well. That’s right crackers, innit?)

He cuts me off with another exasperated sigh when he says, “Snow! I am not-” He grunts a little and looks around, uncomfortable all sudden. He takes a deep breath. “I’m gay, you dolt.” Oh. So who he fancies… it’s a bloke. Right. Well that was… unexpected. It’s like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. (Because that means he doesn’t fancy Agatha, after all.) This information shouldn’t be sending me into hyper-drive, but I get the familiar feeling of magic bubbling over, and something white-hot coils in my belly. How did I now know that my roommate was gay? I s’pose, being his enemy and everything, we’ve never really been chatty. I’ve been quiet a long time, and I’m just now realizing that he probably thinks I’m homophobic. 

I bluster and then compose myself (as much as I can, anyway) and continue naming names. “Right then. So… maybe Seth? He’s a solid bloke, though he’s in fourth year, too. So maybe Stuart? But I can’t really see you with a Stuart,” I keep listing off names and then immediately writing them off, because who the bloody hell is good enough for Baz? I feel myself working into a nervous bluster again, and I hope to Crowley no one else in the class is watching this interaction. Baz’s gaze along with his shaking head is scrutiny enough. I continue, even though everything in my body is telling me to stop. “Maybe more of a Roy, or p’raps a Simon-” 

I didn’t just say that. 

*Baz’s POV*

He just said that. 

*Simon’s POV*

We both go quiet and Baz is staring at me with wide eyes, and I’m overflowing with magic, and I hadn’t realized it before, but I’m sporting a half stiffie. (I never think before I talk. If I would just think-) Before I know what’s happening, I’m stumbling over an apology/excuse. 

“Baz, I didn’t mean- well s’just that I, erm- I didn’t mean to, and I’m so sorry, and I think that I’ll just go die now, an-” He cuts me off and puts his hand over mine. (I think I’m going to bloody implode. Any second now.) His cool hand is cooling my oh-so-hot-one down and he bores his eyes into mine, telling me to shut up. 

“Simon, bloody calm down. You’re going to explode the-”

“Wait- go back.”

“Pardon?” He cocks that infuriating eyebrow of his. 

“What did you just call me?” He rolls his eyes.

“I hardly think that’s of importance right now, Snow.” My name from his mouth is on repeat in my head. “Just calm down. Breathe. It’s okay.” I nod and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down and take other people’s eyes off of me. 

When I’m calm, I try again. “Baz. What does… what does that initial you’ve been doodling stand for?” It’s his turn to take deep breaths. I realize he’s not let go of my hand, and he’s tracing a pattern there. S+B, over and over. 

“Simon Snow, obviously.” Crowley, I’m daft. He looks at me, and I’ve never seen Baz this unsure in my years of knowing him. “Is that… okay?”

I don’t know how to properly convey with my words how okay that is. So I go for the next best thing and use my mouth to tell him. I lean in to snog him properly, and he smiles against my lips, earning a smile of my own in return. 

Now we’ve got the class’ attention. 

[madness-within-the-mirror]

Just saw the answer you gave me, and... Are you saying your other characters are ✨goodn't?✨ Also to answer THAT one, I say.. "Understandable, have a nice day" but, apologies. I had small curiosity on how that would work- On a lighter note, how is Chris doing? - Mod Simon

{Since Christopher’s been asked the same question three times now, I’m just gonna answer the ooc question instead.}

{It’s not that I think the AUs are terrible, it’s just that I’ve put considerably less work into developing them compared to MWTM!Christopher. COLOR-TV was a spur-of-the-moment fanfic, with the first chapter literally written in the span of two days. Vampire AU, which was influenced by MWTM, really only came from a one-off line in an rp thread and a few joke doodles. The Role Swap AU exists because of a single ask; I had never thought about swapping Christopher and Kennith’s roles before then.}

{Meanwhile, I took. A month. To prepare myself before starting MWTM. I spent time doing research, writing and rewriting Christopher’s character outline over and over, and drawing art for the blog before even making the first post. And after I started answering asks? I continued researching. For another two months. All because I’m so damn paranoid about portraying his character incorrectly.}

{So, suffice to say, MWTM!Christopher will never interact with my AUs. I mean, yes, technically I’ve also done research for COLOR-TV, but it was never for the characters themselves. I just don't want all of the time and effort I had spent last year to go to waste.}

[tracle0]

happy sts!! (?) or maybe just a happy saturday? nonetheless, question time! since I got to read recently about the inspirations behind the wip4 main characters' names, I was wondering what the motivations were behind the names of the main characters of your other works! maybe both from your perspective as a writer and from an in-story perspective? and how do they feel about their names?

Happy?? STS?!?! Saturday is good and happy and it is STS, whoop! I like this question but it’s gonna be a very underwhelming answer and I apologize for that. 

Sonder was. Very dull, not gonna lie, it’d just be looking for mostly generic names that seemed to fit the brand haha. The most notable backstory names are probably Andy and Atlas. 

Andy came from an inside joke with a friend that no villains can be named Andy. I wanted to prove her wrong, so Andy was named Andy and now I do not trust Any Andy’s. Full name Andrew Peep, which he does not like and prefers Andy. Probably a family name, which is sad because he does not see his family. 

Atlas came from me being like ‘wait shit I haven’t named this character yet’ and asking a friend for a name. She spat out Atlas Barnabus like it wasn’t the best name in the world, and I was in awe. Definitely named after the Greek Titan, was not aware of that at all, very much likes their name. 

Collateral - hhhh okay listen. Listen Collateral and names give way to one of my dumbest Collateral stories, you’re gonna have to hear this out. 

So when I was first writing Collateral, I’d already found both Cain and Theo their names that fit - Theo cause it sounded nice, Cain named after the Caine in the Gone series. But they didn’t have last names, which was an issue, so I was looking for a last name for them. I knew I wanted Cain to have a last name starting with either C or K, cause alliteration, and pulled Kavon out of thin air. I liked it, so it stayed. 

A few weeks later, in film studies, we were learning about Kim Novak, and I liked the name Novak, so stole it and gave it to Theo. 

I did not notice their names were the same forward and backwards for a year and a half, until a friend pointed it out to me. This was not deliberate at all. It Just Happened and I plead ignorance to that tomfuckery. 

Anyway, they both are alright about their names. Theo prefers Theo to Theodore cause no-one got any time for all those syllables. Cain once found out about Biblical Cain and spent about three hours going down that rabbit hole before going ‘alright whatever’ and moving on.

Speaking of moving on - DIAS. I can talk a bit more about that cause that was recent. 

Ant comes from the word ‘antagonist’ actually - I wanted to write about someone who saw themselves as The Bad Guy, which Ant definitely does a lot of the time. It’s a nickname, and I have no idea what their real name is, nor where the nickname comes from, but they like Ant. Their last name - Carnell - is a family name. Not my surname, but someone in my family somewhere had that, and I liked it so yoinked it and gave it to Ant. 

Leon! Leon went through a lot of changes in his name - originally he was Tag, which also comes from ‘antagonist’ but I hated that, so changed it to Tad, which I also hated. So he was without a name and it was getting closer and closer to Nano and the time I’d write his story and I was like ????? what do. 

What I did was drew him a bit. A friend in film class (man, film class really helped to name my characters huh) saw the doodle and was like ‘ooo who’s that’. I told her it was a character in my book, and no, he doesn’t have a name, you should give him one, and she spat out Leon. And hey it actually really works, he can keep that, except wait, he’s Jewish, needs a Hebrew name and I’d like to give him a specifically Jewish surname. Some looking on Jewish name websites gave me Tzalka, and some more looking gave me Cohen, cool, done. 

In-universe, Leon’s name came from his grandfather - it was DIAS Leon’s middle name, and when he left home, he wanted to leave That Part Of His Life behind as well, so swapped from Tzalka to Leon, which he definitely prefers. 

Uhhh other characters - Vincent came from a fandom (which I’m about 90% sure is FNAF ngl) and I went ‘okay well I like the name so shall associate it elsewhere’ and gave it to Vinnie. Last name had the same deal - Scullary came from... 

Phew, okay, side tangent. One of my first characters I made was named Skullary, which came from the play ‘The Road’ which I watched when I was younger. The person playing that character had a really bad cold, so had to use a microphone to make her voice heard, and she fucking killed it, and the voice was so interesting I wanted a character who used it, so stole the name, except I misspelt it as Skullary instead of Scullary oops. Anyway, I wanted to re-use that name, so gave it to Vincent. He likes his name well enough but Definitely Does Not Like Going By Vinnie, so definitely don’t call him that. 

Simon came from the game Simon Says, because it is The Most Silvertongue Game and it made me laugh that his name is such an obvious pun. 

Bonus: wip4 obviously mostly came from filmmakers, because the obsession of that book is filmmaking, as you know. Buster Keaton and... Just Mika the musician, he’s the odd one out. Lynne Ramsay and George Lucas gave a lot of characters a portion of their names. 

I am, however, gonna go on a tiny tangent about Keaton’s last name because it delights me, and then also probably Percival’s name because that amuses me. 

So! Keaton is Spanish - his family comes from Spain and he speaks Spanish as well as English. I’m sure his deadname is probably something very Spanish, but it’s a deadname so we don’t talk about it. I wanted to find a Spanish surname for him, cause like... obviously it doesn’t have to be Spanish, but I wanted it to be, so I was scrolling through Spanish surnames for a while. 

Palomo is a legit Spanish surname in use, and it means pigeon. Keaton likes pigeons. So I was delighted and I always forget it but that’s his last name.

Percival! Percival’s name is actually a fill-in. In a Discord chat I’m in with my friends, I sometimes join the voice chats but cannot talk cause Anti Microphone. So I type instead, and sometimes get bored and just spam words. And the name Percival was very funny to me so I spammed that. 

So, when I needed to name the Bad Guy of wip4, I gave him the name Percival as a joke, and it. Seemed to work. I no longer spam Percival in the chat. 

Anyway there you go, the entire history of where names in my WIPs come from. Spoilers; not the most interesting, but it is long and I hope you found some bits funny or enjoyable. 

[snow-pitch-grimm]

Better Than Any Fantasy

Summary: Simon finds some of Baz's sketches of him. His reaction isn't what Baz had expected.

SIMON

I didn't mean to see it.

I've seen him write and doodle in his notebook before, always with it turned away from me. I'm curious as to what he's doing, but even I have my boundaries. No matter how much I'm convinced that he's plotting, there are some lines I wouldn't cross.

Going through someone's private diary is too much, even for me.

So, I really didn't mean to see it.

I'd been looking for a paper of mine through all the clutter on my desk when my elbow had knocked over Baz's neat stack.

I curse as I quickly pick up his things. As I pick his leather-bound journal, a pape slips out.

It was a drawing, a very familiar drawing.

It was me.

In the picture, I was shirtless and lying renaissance style on the sheets, with the sheets covering my waist to my mid-thigh.

I looked...I looked good.

Why would Baz draw me like this? Was it a trick? No, it couldn't be. He's always hidden the contents from me.

Despite my better judgement, I opened the journal. Skipping over the writing I only looked at the drawings. Specifically drawings of me. There I was, writing, laughing, smiling and generally just doing normal things. There was even one of me stuffing myself with scones. Baz somehow made me look beautiful doing that too.

It didn't make sense. Could it be that he liked me? That didn't make sense either.

The last collage of pictures answered the question for me.

It was the only page that involved him too. In one corner, we were holding hands, at the bottom edge we were looking at each other with smiles on our faces. At the side of the page, he as leaning against a brick wall with him leaning over me. At the bottom, we were lying together in the grass.

Framed by all these doodles is a picture of us kissing. It was just our faces and my hand. Our lips are carefully melded together, and my hand is cupping his cheek, the one not turned toward the viewer.

The pictures have a soft, wavery quality to them like they are from someone's dream.

Did Baz dream of this? Is this his fantasy?

I was still trying to figure it out when the door clicked shut behind me.

Turning around, I came face to face with a shocked and angry looking Baz.

BAZ

He found it.

Of course, he found it! Snow has no concept of privacy!

I stomp forward and grab the things from him.

"You couldn't leave it well enough alone, could you?" I snarl

"Baz- no. I didn't-" he starts, waving his hands and looking at me beseechingly, "I don't-"

I don't want to hear the rest of it. I turn around and stalk out of the room.

I walk and walk until I'm at the edge of the woods. There I sit down on the rocks and let my head fall into my hands.

What's he going to do now? Would he tell people? Would he make fun of me? Or would he just ignore it? Which one's worse?

"Agh," I grunt and throw the journal on the ground.

This was a disaster.

I had fantasies of him finding out and telling me he felt the same way. I would bring him flowers, and he would thank me with a small kiss. Or we would finally snap and kiss each other, ending up together in bed. There was one where he confessed and asked me out on a date.

But they're only fantasies. I know he's never going to love me the way I love him.

And now he knows exactly how much I love him.

Tears gather in my eyes as the severity of the situation finally hits me. Simon knows now. He could tell anyone. He could decide to finally make my life miserable. He could-

"Baz," says a hesitant voice from near me.

Snow's standing there, a sheepish look on his face. His hands are shoved into his pockets and he's fidgeting on his feet.

"What do you want," I ask, sounding as defeated as I feel.

He's silent for a moment before speaking.

"I really didn't mean to see it," He says softly, "It fell off your desk when I was looking through my stuff. The loose one fell out and well...after seeing that how was I not supposed to be curious,"

I snort but keep quiet. He did have a point.

"And I didn't read or look at anything else," he continues, "I only looked at the pictures you drew of me...and you,"

"Right," I say

There's silence again and Snow comes to sit beside me.

"What are you doing," I ask him

"Sitting," he answers

"Snow-"

"You like me?"

He's looking at me with curious eyes. I look for any malice but his eyes clear.

"I think that much is obvious,"

"You know I've never thought of you that way," he says, "But it's kinda sweet. Do you really think I'm that pretty? Because honestly, I don't look as good as in the mirror as I do in those drawings,"

All I can do is stare at him.

"Snow I can't tell whether you're letting me down easy or-you know what I have no idea what you're doing,"

Snow smiles at me, that bright smile that makes my heart beat fast.

SIMON

It hadn't taken long to make my decision. Only five minutes to be exact.

Five minutes is all it took to look at my feelings and think if the conclusion I wanted to this whole event.

The fastest decision I have ever made, and it still feels right.

Poor Baz, though. He looks so confused.

BAZ

Snow is still smiling when he answers and nearly stops my heart.

"What I'm trying," he says, "Is to get you to ask me out on a date,"

My jaw drops open and I'm left speechless.

SIMON

I think I might have broken him

BAZ

"Hey Baz," says Simon, waving his hand in my face, "Are you still here? Do I need to take you to the infirmary?"

I snap myself out of it and stare at him incredulously.

"What do you mean, ask you out on a date? You're not gay. What about Agatha? And where would we even go on a date here?"

Simon smiles, "I mean, ask me out on a date. I'm not gay. I'm bi. Figured it out when I first saw you shirtless. Agatha and I broke it off, mutual decision and if you're smart enough to be head of the class, you're smart enough to figure something out for a date,"

I stare at him, once again rendered speechless

SIMON

Did I break him again?

"Did I break you again?"

"I'm still stuck on me shirtless being your bisexual awakening,"

"Trust me I was surprised too," I tell him

"You really want to go on a date with me," he asks, looking a little shy

It's unusual and adorable, solidifying my decision to give us a chance. After all, its not every day you find a boy that spends his time doodling you in his secret notebook, all because fo how much he likes you.

"Yeah," I tell him

His face brightens, and my heart skips a beat.

Without intending to, I slide my hand in his.

BAZ

I'm holding hands with Simon Snow.

Merlin Above, I'm holding hands with Simon Snow.

I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming again.

Nope, Simon Snow is definitely holding my hand right now.

"We should probably head back," he says

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

We walk back together, still hand in hand, and surprisingly we don't run into anybody on the way back to our room.

When we get back, we spend some more time sitting on my bed and talking. Simon tells me about some of the mischiefs he and Penelope get into, and I tell him about my family and my the little terrors that are my siblings.

We finally decide to go to sleep when the clock strikes midnight.

As he gets off my bed, Simon bends down to kiss my cheek, making the skin tingle under his lips.

This is definitely better than any fantasy I have ever had.

[ducktracy]

137. i love to singa (1936)

release date: july 18th, 1936

series: merrie melodies

director: tex avery

starring: tommy bond (owl jolson), billy bletcher (fritz owl, penguin), martha wentworth (mama), bernice hansen (fat chicken), joe dougherty (stuttering bird), tedd pierce (jack bunny)

a certified classic that almost everyone has either seen or at least heard of, and for good reason! tedd pierce, writer for mckimson, freleng, and jones, as well as inspiration for pepé le pew, makes his vocal debut as the voice of jack bunny (a very obvious take on radio show entertainer jack benny, who’d be parodied as jack bunny in a handful of cartoons such as slap happy pappy and goofy groceries.) the father owl was originally going to be voiced by bert lahr, who you may recognize as the cowardly lion from the wizard of oz, but was changed to bletcher instead. a parody of the al jolson movie the jazz singer, little owl jolson is born into a musical family that forbids any jazz. kicked out for breaking the strict family rule, owl finds solace in jack bunny’s radio show, where his talents shine—much to the bewilderment of his parents.

pan into a lovely shot of a quaint little home in a tree trunk, trees creating a framing in the foreground as butterflies flit along. a serene home that can do no wrong. a sign in the shape of a violin is posted just above the door: prof. FRITZ OWL teacher of “VOICE, PIANO, & VIOLIN” BUT— pan down to a sign below it, painted in all red letters: NO JAZZ!

tex playful as ever with his transitions as we peer through the keyhole of the door. professor fritz (not friz!) owl himself paces nervously in front of his wife, nesting on eggs while observing her anxious husband. the underscore is a fitting medley of solfeggios. fritz approaches his wife solemnly, who stands up and checks to see if her eggs have hatched yet. nothing but a sympathetic shake of the head.

time lapses, as we see from the rug below fritz’s feet. he’s paced so much that he’s worn it into the ground and then some—tex liked to play around with simple time lapses, a changing background the only indicator of passing time while the animation itself stays the same. once more, fritz returns to his wife. this time, we hear faint knocking. they both observe, and his wife is now beaming and nodding expectantly. the big moment at last! she crawls out of her nest, and fritz takes a conductor’s wand, tapping each egg gently. each makes a strong, reverberating ring of a bell. music to his ears... save for the last one, who creates a jangly dissonant sound instead. fritz and his wife exchange bewildered looks, fritz tapping on the egg again for confirmation. still a dud. very clever use of sound effects by treg brown.

before fritz can mull on his dud for too long, the first egg hatches. a mini owl version of himself dons a sharp suit, singing a beautiful rendition of “chi mi frena in tal momento” from the opera lucia di lammermoor. fritz is absolutely delighted, cooing “ah, what a fine voice! a caruso!” (of course referring to italian tenor enrico caruso) the next egg is set to hatch, this time the owl playing robert schumann’s “traumerei” on violin. he too is met with praise: “what sweet music, a fritz kreisler!” third egg hatches, the owl touting a flute and playing felix mendelssohn’s “spring song”, fritz appropriately commenting “a lovely melody, a mendelssohn.”

and, of course, the final egg. wonderful incongruity and juxtaposition as owl jolson pops out of the egg, blaring red suit and all, informally greeting “hullo, strenza!” “hello, strenza!” was a popular catchphrase at the time and yiddishism for “hello, stranger!”, originated from jack benny’s character schlepperman. appropriate considering jack bunny serves as an important character in the cartoon. owl thusly launches into the eponymous “i love to singa”, written by harold arlen and e. y. harburg (who both worked on the music for the wizard of oz) and featured thrice in 1936’s the singing kid. criminally catchy and a lethal earworm to all... except father fritz.

“ach, a jazz singer! a CROONER! stop! STOP! STOP!!!” fritz is horrified, tearing his feathers out in agony, only pausing to catch his wife, struck unconscious from the horrible thought of her child becoming the next bing crosby. fritz fans her awake, desperately reassuring “listen mama, if he must sing, we will teach him to sing like we want him to.” a sensible plan, right?

apparently not. owl is desperately uncomfortable and unhappy as he begrudgingly sings “drink to me only with thine eyes”, his mother oblivious to his plight as she accompanies him on piano. she pauses to turn the page, and owl gives a quick, hurried, whispered rendition of “i love to singa” behind her back. haven’t we all done that before? personality is very strong in this cartoon, and that’s what sells it, even more than the song itself. mama resumes her playing, and owl resumes his torture session. fritz walks in the doorway to admire his converted son, beaming. owl is unaware of his father’s presence, and as his mother pauses to turn the page he sings some more jazz, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

bob clampett animates fritz kicking owl out of the house, groveling “enough, it’s too much! out of my house, you hotcha, you crooner! you falsetto! you jazz singer! you... you...YOU..!” fritz is red-faced, sputtering and struggling desperately to find the perfect insult. instead, he opts for slamming the door shut. a pause. he opens it back up and quips “PHOOEY!” before slamming it back shut. perfect comedic timing for a gag that will be used in many a cartoon.

owl is frustrated at first, sardonically introducing to the camera “that’s mein pop.” nevertheless, his mood changes in an instant as he realizes he’s free to sing all the jazz he wants. he strolls along, happily singing his favorite song. a much happier scene than indoors, where mama tearfully suggests that fritz was being “a bit too hasty.” back outside, where owl is strolling along gaily as ever, whistling all the way. there’s a beautiful pan with trees and scenery overlaying in the foreground. you get the sense that everything is going to be just fine, that the world is worth singing about. a very positive and upbeat yet subtle scene. inside once more, where mama calls the police in tears to search for her missing child.

the happy go lucky expedition of owl jolson is put to a halt when he hears a harmonica. it’s coming from a building with a line in front of it: RADIO STATION G-O-N-G. below it: AUDITIONS TODAY. various people are given the boot, the telltale gong sounding as they’re plummeted down a slide and out into the cruel world. owl is enticed, and hurries to join the line.

a few animals perform their failed auditions: a few birds on a flute and saxophone each, another on the accordion, a penguin singing “laugh, clown, laugh” (which daffy would sing in both yankee doodle daffy and duck soup to nuts, both freleng cartoons), a fat chicken singing “i’m forever blowing bubbles” (which was featured in sinkin’ in the bathtub! shows you how far we’ve come)... all of the potential candidates get gonged by a caricature of jack benny (jack BUNNY), and they’re all sent plummeting through a bottomless chute. the fat chicken is so plump that she gets stuck in the chute, and bunny has to give her an extra thwack on the head to get her to go down. very amusing timing.

back at home, mama and fritz are both listening to the radio for an update on their son. mama exclaims tearfully, “i wonder if they found my little boy...” and in a bit of tex avery genius, the radio announcer answers in a deadpan voice “no we didn’t, lady.” a staple that would be used in many a cartoon!

at the radio station, joe dougherty voices a hayseed, stuttering bird with an overbite (a parallel to his role as a hayseed, stuttering dog with an overbite in into your dance) struggling to recount the tongue twister of simple simon. after awhile, the bird gets tired of his OWN act, muttering “oh well, shucks.” and hitting the gong himself and tugging on the rope that would send him into oblivion. elsewhere, a bird reads a telegram out loud, delivered by the telegram boy. she pronounces each “stop” (as i mentioned in my last review, since there is no morse code equivalent to a period, telegrams would use “stop” instead), and we pan over to owl jolson and jack bunny. however, the bird continues to read each stop, growing louder and louder, and we pan back over to see the telegram boy repeatedly attempting to hug her while she keeps shouting “stop!” ain’t sexual harassment funny??? in terms of technicality, it’s a very well structured gag, but is in poor taste and doesn’t feel as funny as it should.

nevertheless, jack bunny asks “well, what’s your name, son?” owl eagerly hands him his very own card, proudly displaying the words “owl jolson” in red ink. he gives a happy salute, and thus formally starts the musical number. it’s been rumored that singer johnnie davis provided the singing voice, but i don’t think that’s true. it still sounds like bond to me, and even when i heard him singing in my green fedora as peter i knew he voiced owl jolson right away, connecting it back to this scene. i could be wrong! but i doubt they hired a separate person for singing. nevertheless, as i’ve repeatedly mentioned, the song is criminally catchy and the animation is cute and fun. bunny is immediately impressed, his defensive glower melting into a gleeful grin.

mama catches wind of her own son back at home, hearing his voice singing on the radio. once more, bob clampett animates mama dragging her entire family outside, happily declaring “it’s him at the radio station!” owl has clearly won bunny’s heart, already displaying the hearty first prize trophy on his desk while he dances along ecstatically to the music.

at long last, the owl family arrives at the station, and they can hardly believe it. everyone crowds around the window outside, peering inside with awestruck disbelief. just as owl as surely clinched the award, he catches a glance of his family and freezes up immediately. now terrified and fearing the worst, he reverts back to his nasally rendition of “drink to me only with thine own eyes”. bunny can’t believe it, even pausing to take his cigar out in disbelief as he ogles at his star pupil. he shoves aside the first prize trophy, ready to pounce.

thankfully, the owl family notices this and they all rush inside. just as bunny is about to call it a day, raising the faithful hammer, fritz cries “STOP! STOP! STOP!!!” he rushes to his previously disavowed son, once more repeating “enough, it’s too much!” but in an entirely different context. a very clever parallel. slowly he attempts to coerce owl back into his song, urging him that it’s okay. “you want to singa! about your moon-a and your june-a and your spring-a, go on and singa!”

hesitant at first, owl picks up his rendition, and in no time things are back to normal. a relieved and ecstatic jack bunny snags the first prize trophy and hands it to owl, shaking his hand. a very endearing, happy, ultimately feel good scene as the entire owl family dances behind their star, the entire family giving one last chorus of “we love to sing!” iris out... leaving the first prize trophy on the black screen. owl pries the iris open and collects his prize, irising out for good (a gag that would be recycled in another avery cartoon, porky’s garden, though porky angrily pries his cash prize away from the clutches of a greedy gardener instead).

a lot to unpack, but all you need to know: a great short that is absolutely worth the watch. if you haven’t seen it already, watch it! if you have, watch it again! one of those cartoons that everyone knows or has at least heard of. do i think this is tex’s best cartoon? probably not. but i DO think this is a major turning point for warner bros. tex saved the studio by shunning the disney attitude instead of adopting it, and this cartoon reflects that. a strong, solid plot with amusing gags (such as the radio bit) would eventually become the norm for the upcoming cartoons. the songs were really beginning to be put on the back burner, and eventually dropped altogether—i don’t have an official date for the last merrie melody to feature a song, but probably anywhere from 1938 to 1939.

i argue that the success of this cartoon lies in the personality moreso than the song. absolutely the song is a big contributor. very catchy, fun to sing, and one that everyone knows. but i don’t think the cartoon is great just BECAUSE of the song. many of the merrie melodies have a lot of great songs, but have faded into obscurity because of weak plots or personality. when was the last time you saw someone lauding harman and ising’s we’re in the money? a very popular song no doubt, but it isn’t held to the same candle as i love to singa because the personality is so staunch. no memorable characters or emotions or motivations or what have you.

all of the personalities are strong, subtle or not. owl has a strong personality, even though 90% of his dialogue is singing. where he begrudgingly sings “drink to me only with thine eyes”, glaring and moping, kicking his feet or making mocking expressions, pausing to give a few breathless verses of “i love to singa”... strong personality. fritz owl has a very strong personality, if not overbearing. 10 seconds into the cartoon and you already know he hates jazz, holding so much contempt for it that he has a sign outside of his house to advertise it. the mother another strong figure, caring deeply for her son and even calling the police to get her son back. even jack bunny, who only says one line in the entire cartoon. it’s obvious he’s fed up with listening to the same old amateur hour acts, and his genuine glee at the freshness of owl’s act feels real and relatable. pair all this with a catchy song and you have yourself a deal.

i think, at the same time, this follows the formula of a lot of tex’s merrie melodies at the time, and i suppose it may be just a bit (for lack of a better term) overrated. not in a bad way, but it isn’t STAUNCHLY different from other merrie melodies tex has been pumping out. but with that said, it’s still a classic and a great short that you certainly need to watch. it’s definitely a spirit raiser.

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