#drunk monkey scrap

[scrapocstory]

pen + ink

I LOVE MY LITTLE GUYS THEY FIGHT IN A WWE-STYLE ARENA AND THEY'RE A TRIO BASED OFF OF THE MOMOTARO STORY (Monkey, Pheasant, Dog)

[cryingpariah]

Alright, palate cleanser time.

It’s very hard to get Dragon to laugh. Like really, really hard.

Is it because he’s a humorless old fuck? No. It’s because his flavor of Monkey D. Goofiness is stone-faced sarcasm and commitment to any and all bits (the World Government made a HUGE mistake with a number of smear campaigns due of this).

Now before the assassination attempt that messed his throat up, he already laughed like a whole murder of crows, but after?

Trixie Mattel with a tea kettle.

He didn’t particularly love his new laugh (read: he hated it) so he refrained whenever possible. Though he isn’t perfect so he naturally slips up.

It’s during a little party to celebrate another successful mission, another piece of the delicately placed corrupt bureaucracy dismantled by the people’s hands and another safe return with the worst damage being a couple of nasty scraps. All in all, a rousing success, which in the long-lashed eyes of Iva calls for a party.

Parties, as most may know, contain alcohol, revolutionary parties were no exception to this. Half a shot in and Dragon was feeling it. Then he heard it: Lindbergh making one of his jokes. A sober Dragon wouldn’t have batted an eye at it and just smiled and nodded his way out of it.

But Drunk Dragon? A complete different beast free of his inhibitions.

So he laughs. Loud and disrupting not unlike slamming a hand on an out of tune piano. The room didn’t comically cease all other noise but it was clearly heard based on the looks of delightful shock on his friend's faces.

Before he could properly stop and explain himself, they started laughing too. Really laughing, leaning on tables and each other for shaky support.

A lifetime of dirty looks and bullying tells Dragon they aren’t laughing at him but rather reacting to his own joy and responding with their own. It made feel lighter which in his drunk state was funny which cause even more laughter from him!

It takes a while for anyone to regain breath, flushed faces come up for air but that night remains on Dragon's mind.

[mega-punani]

Can we have more of the hotel au? I’m in love with them😍😫

Sameee I fuckin LOVE the hotel au (even though I only have scraps-) (Context)

Hotel Au! Tit-Bits:

-Sans is sooooo two-faced when it comes to you. He's all smiles and charm when you are around, but when you leave he's super passive-aggressive and sassy. -Papyrus has a bunch of pins from all sorts of different things that he likes to put on his hat and his vest. He also fuckin loves epaulets, makes him feel professional and fancy! -Blue is always chipper and kind to guests and gets hella tip money. He always ends up spending it on you or a new set of wheels. -Stretch is hella good with his hands and is a beast at various gambling games. He's also incredibly lucky and can let it get to his skull at times. -Red laughs every time drunk guests make a fool of themselves. He thinks it's fucking hilarious and will full-belly laugh if someone stumbles or tries to get violent with him. But when you get drunk, he adores it and will carry you around. -Edge is like the strict manager who makes everyone turn in their invoices and stats at the end of the month so he can crunch numbers. Bro has a super serious face when he presents paperwork but he's wagging his imaginary tail when you thank him for his hard work. -Wine is such a fucking girl boss, gatekeep, and gaslight. He will be so fucking blunt about tasteless things and will spend hours picking or making an outfit for you. -Coffee spends a lot of time staring at the cameras like that scary monkey from Toy Story 3. Literally looks like he's gonna fall asleep anytime, but in reality, bro is making sure nothing is goin on. Bro has Red on speed dial. -Black is like the Gordan Ramsey of hospitality. Sure he's super blunt and an asshole, but he is actually impeccable when it comes to customer service. He has a sharp grin and a fake ass voice, but people will eat it right up. -Russ makes you so many cocktails. SO MANY COCKTAILS. Bro will make it all fancy with dried lemon peels and ice balls. Will set your drink on fire for the oohs and ahs. Will also hella gossip with you. -Bear makes a dish based off of something that made him happy this week. Without him realizing it, all of his specialties were inspired by you. -Cinnamon is probably one of the only skeletons that actually like dealing with people and their bullshit. He is always kind and speaks carefully so as not to insight any rage. But also, he is so lanky and tall that he looms over everyone. Probably why people don't tend to test him.

[mjrtaurus]

When Crocodile was eight years old and only just starting to grow a fondness for the creatures who he shared a name with, he would throw scraps of meat and rats to any alligator or crocodile he met. If he was lucky enough, they would follow after Xebec's ship and he would continue to feed them in secret. When the Rocks Pirates were getting drunk on the deck, he would beg for some of them to trip into the sea because as far as Crocodile was concerned, his new friends were the only one who deserved to eat.

He got his wish at God Valley when he got to push a few of the less powerful members of the crew into the jaws of a wani while making his escape from the ship. He wished more than anything he could do it again and again.

Xebec’s death was not the glorious thing the man wished it to be. No, far from it.

It was the death he deserved.

In chains and on his knees, his long list of crimes recounted by Monkey D. Garp and his head taken clean off his shoulders by Gol D. Roger. It was an execution.

His head was sent to Marineford in a burlap bag as proof of a finished job, and his body? It was thrown into the sea.

Crocodile remembered watching the wani converge on the corpse, the water hardly rippling as they silently paddled over. The first bite and roll took off an arm.

He remembered a large hand- Whitebeard’s, most likely- trying to turn him away from the sight, but he shrugged it off. He needed to see. No matter how gruesome the sight, he needed the closure. He needed to know Xebec was gone for good.

[solfirafira]

【✨Acapella VTuber Magazine May Issue✨】 Selected Pages: Cyclethon 4

Full magazine can be read here!

This one's longer than expected, so strap in!!

Article: Connor & Mousey's Cyclethon 4

Role: Designer Writer: snakeeatingmouse Program: Adobe Illustrator

When I was informed that I'd be in charge of the Cyclethon spread, the first thing I did was to start sketching out ideas into my Rhodia dot pad.

P.S. I swear by Rhodia's products and have been a customer of theirs all throughout my design career lol Sponsor me please Rhodia!! I have the fountain pens and inks to show off how durable your paper is too if you're into that kinda thing!!

I typically like to sketch out a rough idea of where I want to position the main things, like the title/logo, the article text/copy, and any sort of assets I want to include.

I also use the space to sketch out my design fundamentals, such as marking out the spaces I have available to me in the title so I can see where I can fit certain words together in a nice way. I play around with the words and try to form some sort of cohesive title layout with this method. I took inspo from Ironmouse's logo with this one!

I was drawing direct inspiration from a social post from Connor so I noted down design elements that I wished to emulate, and also any other ideas I had. For example, I noticed the cute little monkey iconography in the background and tried my hand at expanding it into all the members that participated in the Cyclethon, however as I found out more and more people were a part of it, I realized the scope creep wasn't going to work in this case so this idea was scrapped. I do think the team look cute in this chibi style tho haha!

After that, it was simply off to the races as I opened Illustrator and started working on the various design elements. For me, the key is to plan out the copy first, and then form the elements around it. There's no point in doing all this work if the article is cut off or isn't the main focus, at the end of the day the copy is the most important element, and everything else serves as a support character.

Slowly, things started coming together. I made the title element by dragging my sketch into Illustrator and forming it out of vector elements. You'll notice the accent colour ended up changing due to the influence of the pink in the title element!

Finally, I sorted through all the images I had available to me from the various posts and pictures posted by Connor, Mousey, and the Cyclethon team, and pulled the ones that best chronicled their journey. I also added a lot more decorative elements since polaroids are a very popular form of fan item within both the vtubing community and the idol space and so I wanted to establish a vibe of scrapbooking with decorative stickers and little comments and arrows and hearts.

All in all, I think the design process was relatively straight forward and I credit a lot of it to the initial sketching page that I did. I don't do all this all in one day, but rather spread out into multiple days and so it can be tough to hold onto a really good idea if you don't have something visual to serve as a foundation. I highly doubt that when it's nearing the deadline and I'm rushing to finish a spread that I'd be able to have the mental capacity to be creative when the stress and pressure to finish is building.

I think it's crucial for a creative to allow those first few days/week to be as free and open as possible to allow for the most creative of ideas to come to you, and not have to worry about the details. This is when thinking about the big picture comes into play, you don't have to sweat the details. Just draw, just sketch, just go crazy and throw everything -- no matter how insane -- onto the page. Afterwards, with a goal in mind, assess the ideas and pull the ones that make sense within the timeline you have, and the skills that are required to pull it off. Sort of like the "write drunk, edit sober" mentality!

—————————————

Hmm ok so this got long lol, I think I'm gonna split this post and talk about the other pages I made in a separate post. Until then...

Go read the magazine!

The Acapella team and I worked really hard each issue, and it would mean a lot to us to know people are reading it.

AFTER ALL, IT'S FREE ! ! !

There are so many talented designers and writers and editors and proofreaders on staff and I adore working with them all. They're all so supportive and lovely to work with, and I'd love for them to be able to enjoy the fruits of their labour via more views and more readers.

Also!!! You may have noticed that I've started crediting the writers. We've begun to start crediting the writers whose hard work should be recognized as well, so keep an eye out for that in my future posts :D

[naviculariis]

to: shanks BABYSIT :  for one muse to help the other home while they’re drunk. or STOWAWAY :  for one muse to find the other hiding on the same ship. (kid luff)

STOWAWAY: from x.

ㅤ⠀It felt good- no, right to be back on the open sea once again. The East Blue had been good to them thus far, but adventure awaited, and really- how long could the infamous Red Hair Pirates remain in port at Foosha Village? The Goa Kingdom wasn’t good to remain in for much longer, too much attention was being given towards them. Once goodbyes were said, the sails had unfurled- and away they’d gone, taking to the sea. Shanks hadn't planned on remaining in Foosha for so long, but after losing his arm protecting Luffy- well, things got sidelined. He had to heal before leaving, had to relearn how to use Gryphon and how to keep his balance on the ship.

ㅤ⠀Important things, you know?

ㅤ⠀They’d been sailing for nearly ten hours by the time evening swept across the sea. The winds were dying down, which meant they’d be moving slower through the night. Perfect for their first night back! Roux was cooking for them, Benn was the wheel, Yasopp in the Crow’s Nest. Things were good, back to normal. Shanks chuckled to himself as he made his way into the Captain’s Quarters, not noticing the little figure tucked away behind his trunk at first. In fact, it took quite some time-

ㅤ⠀Before movement caught his ear. They didn’t have rats on the ship- no they had Morag, a fat orange cat, to take care of any rodents that snuck on board. And she was currently bugging Roux for scraps, so what…? Gaze narrowing, he stalked over to the trunk that held his personal belongings and pushed it aside, revealing-

ㅤ⠀❝MONKEY D. LUFFY, WHAT ARE YE DOIN’ ON ME SHIP?!❞ 

[nyxoz]

When you and Eddie are 9, he falls off the monkey bars at school and breaks his arm. You sit with him and hold his good hand while the teachers call an ambulance. He looks up at you with big brown tearful eyes and a sniffle and says “Don’t leave me.” You hold his hand tighter and shake your head, “I won’t.” You say.

When Eddie gets his cast on you’re the first person to sign it. You write your name with a little heart next to it in red marker. “Do you think I can get Stacey Carmichael to sign it?” Eddie asks. You frown a little and your tummy feels weird at the thought. Stacey is in the grade above you and she’s the coolest girl in school. “Dunno” you shrug before Mr. Munson calls from the living room to tell you your parents are here to take you home.

When Eddie is 11 he starts a band called Corroded Coffin. You think it’s a funny name but Eddie tells you that it’s really metal. You tell the boys they should enter the middle school talent show and they do. They come 4th but Eddie is so happy that he picks you up and spins you around even though you’re taller than him. “You didn’t even win!” You laugh as he spins you, “I don’t care, that was so fun!”

When you and Eddie are 12, you fall off your bike riding down the big hill near the trailer park. You scrap your knees and chin and you’re crying all messily. “Eddie! It hurts!” You sob as Eddie holds your face in his little hands to look at your chin. “I know. Let me go get Uncle Wayne!” And then Eddie runs as fast as you’ve ever seen back to the trailer to get Mr. Munson who comes speeding down with Eddie and a first aid kit in hand. “Okay, little miss, what have you done to yourself, hmm?” Eddie holds your hand while Mr. Munson patches you up.

When you’re 13, John Baker kisses you at the snowball dance while you’re slow dancing to a song you don’t know. It was okay but your mom’s lipstick you stole gets on his lips and he has to go to the bathroom to clean it off. “I kissed John!” You tell Eddie who is sitting on the bleachers looking bored. Eddie screws up his face “Yuck.” You frown, “I didn’t say it was yuck when you kissed Jessica Thompson!” You argue. “Did you use tongue?” Eddie asks. This time you screw up your face. “Gross! No!” Eddie shrugs, “Then it wasn’t a real kiss.” You don’t think that’s true.

When you and Eddie become freshman’s he joins a club called Hellfire and it’s all he talks about. “Our DM is so cool! He listens to Judas Priest just like me!” “The campaign is so fun!” “Look at the shirt that they gave us! I’m never taking it off.” He can’t hang out at lunch anymore because he sits with the Hellfire club and that makes you sad but you don’t tell him that. You’re just happy he’s happy.

When you reach sophomore year, you and Eddie agree that Friday nights are your dedicated nights to hang out. Eddie came to you at the end of freshman year saying he missed you and you were so happy you almost cried. You barely saw him anymore so now that you have a night just for you, you couldn’t be happier.

When Eddie turns 16 you surprise him with an audition at the hideout for Corroded Coffin to play every Tuesday night. It might just be a few drunks that heckle at them every gig, but Eddie literally tackles you onto his bed and almost squishes you in thanks. He’s bigger than you now.

When you and Eddie are 17, you’ve become somewhat of the band manager. You help them unpack and pack every night and Eddie usually drops you home after. The rest of the band have left and it’s just you and Eddie hauling the last of the equipment in the back when you almost fall out the back of the van. Eddie is underneath you in an instant, catching you bridal style. “You saved me.” You laugh as you hop down to your feet. Eddie doesn’t laugh, he just looks down at you “‘Course I did. I always will.” He says. It makes your stomach flutter and before you know it you’re leaning up and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. You pull away and stare up at him nervously watching as Eddie’s face breaks into a smile. “Y’know, it’s not a real kiss unless there’s tongue.” He says. You slap at his shoulder.

When you’re 17 and 6 months, you’re at Eddie’s trailer and Mr. Munson isn’t home. You’re in Eddie’s bed and you’re both in your underwear and under the covers. Eddie is kissing all over your face, “You sure you wanna? We don’t have to.” He asks for the millionth time. “Yeah, I’m sure.” You reassure him.

When you turn 18, Eddie gives you a little box. You open it and find his guitar pick necklace curled up in the soft velvet. “Eddie,” you gasp, “I can’t accept this. This is the most important thing to you.” Eddie pushes a piece of hair behind you ear and leans in close, “You’re the most important thing to me.”

When you and Eddie are 20, Eddie finally graduates high school. He runs up to you and Mr. Munson (‘Call me Uncle Wayne’ he told you a million times before) and picks you up and spins you around in his cap and gown. “You did it!” You cheer, giving him a loving kiss. He holds your face in his hands “I fucking did it.”

[strangesmallbard]

okay here are my not-drunk thoughts on the hdm premiere eps:

stelmaria possessing all of asriel’s fatherly brain cells is still a very good choice, but it was hysterical to have Everyone including his daemon go “lyra is the most important person right now” and he’s like “pfft. what’s a lyra.” like okay.

i wish they’d kept the dual images of marisa brooding over her double decker mommy issues while the monkey rips apart bat wings. i’m always concerned about the show de-fanging mrs c to show her motherly side, and i think that imagery would have helped.

nevertheless: ruth wilson flambéed me again. when she said “don’t look at me like that” and visibly shattered when ama hugged her i was weeping into my can of trulys pineapple seltzer. she GETS it. also i love her tentative bonding with the monkey, who carries all her softness and rage.

i think the ogunwe plot was interesting and i’m glad he gets more character development than in the books, but it’s also clear this was a scrapped storyline from s2 before james mccavoy was unable to appear. as a result, those scenes feel both rushed and boring when compared with others that include lyra + marisa or will—especially since lyra’s rescue mission is so time sensitive.

BARUCH AND BALTHMAOS. SMOOCHED!!! GAYNGELS. take that philip

however, i wish balthamos got to be funny like in the books. the change worked tone-wise, but the comedy factor of two ancient angels babysitting a 12 year old who can kill god would have added some great levity to the show.

i love mary malone and her sensible shoes for traipsing across the multiverse. she is on the adventure of her life. everyone she meets knows this is the nicest woman in the world. she has the best smile. if she’s not a lesbian i’m going to eat my foot.

the magisterium scenes are boring as hell, but i might have just been 1) drunk at the time 2) a lesbian, unable to appreciate father gomez. so who’s to say. can’t wait to see father-president macphail get slam-dunked into hell, however.

dafne keen looks even more like ruth wilson now and i’m crying about it. jack thorne & co making them the heart of the adaptation was so correct actually. i was slightly disappointed they didn’t include mrs c pleading with lyra to stay, but i think the scene still really worked for this version of the characters. i’m also nearly convinced marisa and lyra will talk again before [REDACTED].

[corpsebasil]

Easily Replaced | part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Kaz Rietveld didn't need a reason.

You knew this, of course, as you always had, but it was most clear the day you, Jordie, and Kaz stepped foot into Ketterdam. The two brothers were, as long as you’d known them, ambitious. Ketterdam would fuel that ambition.

"For you, Sankta." Jordie Rietveld laughed, and covered your eyes with his hands.

He was thirteen—much too old for you, as you were only eight, and though you were teased back in southern Kerch for hanging around with him so much Jordie was something like a brother to you. Your own parents were gone—your mother a woman who died too young and your father a mystery.

"I thought you were getting me food." Kaz scoffed, plucking the wrapped omelette out of your hands before you even had a moment to see it.

"Kaz!" You shrieked as you tore out of Jordie's grasp, lunging for the food, but Kaz simply laughed in return, looping his arm around your shoulders and tugging you along, sharing the omelette between them.

The omelette stands in Ketterdam were Kaz and your favorites.

"(Y/N), wait." Jordie called and you paused, turning to glance over at him. His expression was wide and happy—the happiest he'd been in a long time, since he and Kaz's father had died. "Welcome home." He said, and you smiled.

"WAIT!" You yelped, lurching into sitting position so fast your head spun.

He was there, you thought, still blinking away the image of Jordie from behind your eyes.

Your heart raced and your eyes stung as you stood, scanning the streets several stories below you. You’d fallen asleep on the window pane after sneaking into your room at the Slat—if Kaz wanted you gone that night, you’d be gone by morning just to spite him. If only so you had more time to snoop around.

You weren’t expecting the dreams again.

You wiped your hands over your face and sighed, blinking away the remnants of sleep and forcing Jordie to the back of your mind. Jordie Rietveld would always stay in the very back of your mind, in the dregs; you’d think about him only during your last breath, and wouldn't let yourself do it one moment before then.

You crept out of your room and glanced around its interior once more, hefting your satchel over your shoulder. You’d miss this place—you’d miss Ketterdam, but if leaving helped keep certain memories at bay and kept a certain someone from bashing your head in it was worth the risk.

Your feet were silent when you finally dropped to the streets outside and ran, taking back-ally's and fire-escapes and rooftops as you traveled across Ketterdam on a route few knew. Your mask was pulled up and your hood rippled behind you, your shape merely a black speck against the moonless sky.

When you reached the Crow Club you ducked the guards and snuck through a window at the top. If there was anything to be known about the heist for one million kruge the Dregs had been murmuring about, Kaz would know about it. And if you were anything you were vengeful, and you’d get that prize to earn your freedom or you’d die trying.

"The Orchid isn't Dime Lions turf." Kaz's rock salt voice reached you and you paused, one foot sinking into the plush carpet of your old friend's office.

"Well, it's a new acquisition." Another voice purred, and your blood ran cold.

You knew that voice.

That voice had haunted you for years.

"You heard it here first." The voice continued, and you dropped into a crouch, tugging your hood over your head as you crept towards the office.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Kaz was being held on his knees by a nondescript man with a sneer on his face while Pekka, Pekka Rollins, clutched Kaz's cane like he owned it. Your stomach rolled as you took in Pekka's face and you barely stopped yourself from gagging.

It was him.

It was the man who killed Jordie.

"Now, I know you saw Dreesen," Pekka continued, oblivious to the assassin hardly ten feet away who was contemplating his inevitable death. "You got the jump on whatever job he has. I don't know the details...obviously, just that you have a little travel hazard ahead of you. So. Here's the deal: you can do nothing—walk away from it. I'll tell Dreesen I'm taking over for you." He paused, a cruel smile on his face. "Then we're even."

"Not even close—" Kaz began, and you tensed. You knew the man holding him, touching him, was causing him agony.

You had to stop it. You had decided long ago that Pekka Rollins' death would be slow. You could make it last for hours—could make blades sing until he was nothing left but a scrap on a table, but something fast might have to do.

"The other option is..." Pekka began, leaning forward to press the beak of Kaz's cane against his jugular, and you lunged. "I'll cave your head in with your own—"

"Let go of him." You snarled and, quick as an asp, had one of your many blades nestled dangerously against Pekka's throat.

Kaz let out a sharp breath and tensed as the man holding him pulled out a gun, pressing it to his temple to balance the odds.

"Sankta Riipka," Pekka mused, seemingly unaffected by the knife against his neck. "it's nice to finally make your aqu—"

"Shut up, pig." You spat and dug the blade in deeper, your eyes snapping up to the man next to Kaz. You felt steel against your head and froze—

—you’d forgotten about the other member of Pekka's trio.

"By the time you kill me," Pekka began, oozing calm that made to your blood boil, "my friend here will shoot your friend. And then you." He made to twist in his chair and you tightened your grip, stilling him. You knew you were drawing blood. "You ought to make the wise decision here, Riipka."

"Let him go." You repeated, heart pounding violently, refusing to look at Kaz even as you felt the gun against the back of your head push harder. "Let him go or I swear on all Saints I'll slit your throat right here."

The room was quiet for several beats before the man holding Kaz shoved him, knocking your friend—was he your friend?—to the floor. You made no move to remove the knife—your chest was tight and your breathing uneven. Jordie's face was flashing behind your eyes and this moment, this moment, killing Pekka, was what you had been waiting for.

You could do it.

Why couldn't you do it?

You could—

"Stop." Kaz breathed and you froze, meeting his stare. His face was serious but his eyes—they were filled with pain. "Just stop."

"You should listen to Mr. Brekker." Pekka crooned and your gritted your teeth, biting back a snarl as you removed the knife and swung, knocking the gun out of the man behind you’s hands.

     He threw his arms up and froze but Pekka simply laughed, eyeing you like you were a monkey at a circus. You felt small and, for the first time in a long time, like you were eight years old again, sweating with a burning illness and being sheltered by a widow who had no kids of her own.

     You felt like you were eight years old, managing to survive the plague and stumbling down to the docks, half-drunk with a barely broken fever and finding Kaz laying drenched in sea-water on a dock, screaming at you in agony.

It was Pekka's fault.

It was all his—

"No one has to die today, Riipka," Pekka smirked at whatever he saw in your eyes and brushed past, chuckling to his accomplices as they left the office and slammed the door behind them.

The room was silent for several moments before you turned, watching Kaz as he stared at the floor, making no move to stand.

"Let me help you—" you began, reaching out to offer a gloved hand but he jolted, deer-in-headlight-eyes flashing to yours.

"Don't touch me." He snapped, face flushing, and the knot in your throat threatened to burst.

     He pushed himself awkwardly to his feet and scrambled for his cane, one hand absently on his leg as he winced. It was terrible to watch—he was strong all the time, and so serious but this...

...this was him broken. And you weren’t sure if you could handle seeing it.

"I should've killed him," you started over, hands trembling as you resisted the urge to reach out to him. You didn't know if you wanted to help or if you just wanted, needed, his touch. "I should've—"

"You should've been gone by now." He swallowed roughly as his cane hit the floor with a thud, eyes snapping back to yours. "I had it handled. We all could've died tonight because of—"

"Don't you dare blame me for—"

"Well if you had just left when I asked—"

"I'm not leaving you!" You shrieked, yanking off your mask and hood so that you could breathe better. "You can boss me around and yell at me and treat me like Jordie was my fault all you want but—"

"I don't think that," he interrupted, his face stricken as he stared at you. "Saints, (Y/N)." You were silent for a moment, both breathing heavily, before he shook his head and turned away. "If you're not going to leave me alone, at least leave the Club. I can't—" he paused, sighing exasperatedly. "I can't deal with this tonight."

     Without waiting for a reply he strode out the door and shut it, locking it behind him so you’d have to leave out the window. You waited for several moments until you were sure he was gone, strode over to the spare couch around the corner and screamed into the pillow until your throat hurt.

@iamnoobmaster69 @emil7y @balmasedas @euphoniumpets @subjecta13-thefangirl @itisroe @thefandomplace @ambrosia-v-black @i-padfoot-things @kaitlyn2907

hiii sorry I know this one was kinda angsty but it’s gonna spice up soon HA

[hb-writes]

My Person

Some people have been asking for some Clara and Isiah and a little something came to me while listening to ‘Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?’ by Arctic Monkeys. Once I started writing, it strayed from that a bit and I’d still consider this very much platonic but I hope you like it!

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe. It’s 1925. Clara and Isiah haven’t talked in weeks but after a drunken night filled with a break up and scrapping in Small Heath, Isiah insists on going out to Arrow House to see her. 

Featuring: Clara Shelby, Isiah Jesus, Tommy Shelby, Finn Shelby, Charles Shelby

-----

Because Clara was awake far later than was wise, reading by the light of the small lamp on her bedside table when she should have been asleep, she heard the rumble of a car engine out on the front-drive, the sound distinct and seemingly louder because of the quiet that descended upon Warwickshire at this time of night.

She’d made it down only two steps when Tommy crossed the foyer, giving her a quick glance as he kept moving to the door, Clara’s eyes drawn to the gun in his hands.

“Go back to bed.” 

“Who’s—?”

“Clara, get up the fucking stairs,” he answered, the words inching towards a shout. 

Tommy kept walking, turning his head towards Clara once again, this time only long enough to see her lift her foot, finding enough satisfaction in that small movement that his sister would cooperate with his command.

Clara couldn’t see anything from the foyer, the hall leading to the front door much too dark, and in Tommy’s absence, she drifted down a few more steps, leaning over the rail for a better look.

She started when the front door slammed against the wall and Tommy stalked back into the room, locking eyes with Clara for a moment, shaking his head as he went to put the gun away. Clara took a few more steps before Tommy came to the bottom of the staircase.

“Who’s—?” she started.

“Is that upstairs, then?” Tommy asked, hand extended to gesture towards the spot where she stood.

Clara glanced at the placement of her feet and then back to him, shrugging. “I’m up the stairs from you.”

Their eyes pulled from one another to the boys, to Finn and Isiah, as they came through to the hall, stumbling a little, the both of them clearly a bit drunk.

“See, Finn, told ya she’d be awake,” Isiah said, pointing up to her and leaning an arm over Finn’s shoulder. “Put us off for a night with your stories, eh Clara?” 

They were the first words Isiah had directed at her in weeks and Clara wasn’t sure how to respond. She had indeed passed the evening after her nephew was asleep alone in her bedroom with a book, that much was true, but it wasn’t why she’d declined Finn and Michael's invitations in the first place.

Clara cleared her throat and settled her eyes on Finn, decided on speaking to him rather than Isiah. “You two idiots had a cup too much an—”

“Enough. Charles is asleep. Get the fuck to bed,” Tommy said. “All of you.” 

“We came for dinner, Tom,” Finn said. “We’re fucking starving.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow as he glanced at his younger brother. “Well now, you’ve missed that by about nine hours, Finn.”

“Chef’s probably left something,” Clara answered Tommy, taking a step. “At the very least there’s a bit of chocolate cake. I could—” 

“They boys can feed themselves,” Tommy waved them on before turning to his sister. “You go back to bed. And actually do it this time, eh?”

“Why have I got to go to sleep if they haven’t?”

Tommy was growing impatient with the kids, impatient with this particular interruption to his evening because even being as close as it was to two in the morning, and regardless of whether he was usually awake at this time or not, these hours were the hours he filled with distractions entirely of his choosing. And he’d certainly not chosen to be dealing with his sister’s smart mouth and the boys’ whiskey addled brains. 

He was about to give her an answer, ready to tell her that his giving an order didn’t require her to ask any questions, but they were saved from the shouting match it would have quickly devolved into by Charles’s arrival at the top of the stairs. 

“Dad?”

Tommy took a deep breath, rubbing his face with one hand as he beckoned the boy forward with his other. “C’mere, my boy.”

Charles came down a few steps but never made it to his father, stopping to hug Clara’s side, her arm fitting over his shoulders.

“Who’s here?” Charles mumbled as he settled his head against her.

“It’s just Uncle Finn and Isiah,” she answered.

Charles glanced around her looking for the older boys. “Why?”

“Well, my sweet sleepy boy,” Clara squeezed him a bit as he yawned. “They came to spend the night because they want to play with you bright and early tomorrow morning,” she said. “You should wake them extra early. Lots of shouting and jumping, eh?” 

Charles grinned as he looked up to her. “You think they’ll want to ride horses?”

“Hmmm, you know, I think they’d love that, Charlie. A brilliant idea.” 

Charles looked to Tommy. “Can we, Dad?” 

Tommy glanced at his sister, snorting a bit at her smirk, the small bit of devilment she’d shown in planting the seed in her nephew’s head, the seed which would result in a bit of hell for the boys in the morning when Charles called on them. 

“We’ll see about that in the morning,” Tommy answered. “Let’s get you back off to bed.” 

“Can Aunt Clara come for a story?” Charles asked. 

“One story,” Tommy answered, grateful his sister didn’t fight when Charles tugged on her hand, grateful she left her arguments and defiance on the staircase. 

-----

It had taken two stories to get Charles back to sleep and though Clara wasn’t tired, she hadn’t gone back to her book, instead electing to lie awake in her bed and stare at the small sliver of moonlight passing through her windows while she listened to the boys come down the hall, finally finding their way to their rooms after several moments of hushed chatter.

She was unsurprised when her door was pushed open though it was nearly an hour later. It was why she was so intent on resisting sleep, because she wasn’t just lying there with no purpose. She was waiting. 

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she said as Isiah came through, his eyes immediately finding hers in the dim room.

He didn’t seem so drunk now, the couple of hours and the food he’d probably consumed settling him a bit, the effects showing on his composed features.

“I want to talk.”

Clara snorted. “You came all the way out to Warwickshire for a chat?” she said. “Doesn’t your girl talk to you, Isiah?”

“She’s not my girl,” he answered. 

Oh. The word was only a thought in Clara’s mind but Isiah read the understanding in her face, her lips subconsciously taking the shape needed if she were to voice it, and he twisted the knob before pushing the door closed, nothing more than a soft click sounding off as he did it.

“Well, I’m sorry to hea—”

“You’re not,” he answered. “You never even tried to like this one.” 

Clara shrugged. “Either way, no reason for you and Finn to drive out here drunk. We could’ve waited, chatted about your woes with the girls of Small Heath without endangering your life and risking one of you getting arrested.” 

Isiah sat down on the edge of her bed. “One of the new boys drove us.” 

“Well, good. I’m glad to hear it.” Clara nodded, pulling her robe tighter. “But you really shouldn’t be in here. Tommy’ll kill you.” 

“Will he?” Isiah asked. 

Tommy hadn’t yet, though he hadn’t ever really come across Isiah and his sister together in quite that way either, every instance of them being caught together someplace her family would probably kill any other boy for being had been so innocuous that the Shelbys had nearly come to believe what the pair consistently insisted, that there was little more than a close friendship between them. 

“Why is it whenever you can’t find a girl to bring home from the pub, you come find me?” 

“We needed to talk.” 

Clara met his eye and took a deep breath. It had been a long couple of weeks without talking to Isiah. She slid across the bed, offering him some space by the headboard. Slipping off his boots and dropping them to the floor with a solid thump, he joined her at the head of the bed, picking up the book on her nightstand and glancing at the title in the small bit of light through the window. 

“So this is why you couldn’t come out with us, then?” 

Clara shrugged, focused on the braid over her shoulder as she sat cross legged facing him. “Didn’t think you’d really want me there.” 

Even before they’d rowed, Clara hadn’t wanted to be around the boys so much, not when all they wanted was to go out with the girls from the factory, with Millie and her friends. She’d been avoiding Isiah in general, claiming an extra bit of school work and Tommy’s insistence that she spend more time with Charles was keeping her home at Arrow House when in truth, she just wasn’t feeling up to facing him. 

Clara wasn’t often like that after an argument with him, wasn’t often distant or aloof after the initial flare of emotion subsided, but then again, she was often the one who did the shouting, the one who left the other person a bit peeved or hurt, the one who needed to take the first step and do the apologizing. 

And though she’d done her fair share of shouting the last time they spoke, it was Isiah’s words that stung and it was Isiah’s tone that left Clara’s heart a bit melancholy. 

“You were right.” Isiah glanced at her. “What you said about Millie.” 

The tightness in Clara’s chest released a bit as she took a breath. 

“You won’t believe me but I am sorry, Isiah,” she said. “I know you liked this one.” 

Isiah shrugged.

“Not like it’s your fault,” he said. “You tried to warn me off of her. I should have listened when you told me there was someone else. Would’ve saved myself from this.”

Isiah flexed his hand and Clara caught sight of his knuckles. 

“Christ, Siah.” She leaned over him to switch on the lamp and pulled his hand into hers, looking it over.

“They’re just bruised,” he said, nonchalant, his hand left there, the fingers of his right hand draped over her palms though he flinched when she drew her thumb over the tender skin. “You should see him.” 

Clara glanced up and saw the red mark on his cheek. “I hope he looks worse than you.”

“Of course he looks worse than me.” 

“You shouldn’t go picking figh—”

“I didn’t,” he said. “Not that it wouldn’t have been deserved, but it was actually Millie who brought it all about. I was ready to let it be.” 

“It’s good I didn’t come, then.” 

Isiah raised an eyebrow. 

“We’d both have bruised knuckles,” Clara answered. “I don’t know I’d have been able to stop myself.” 

A light snort escaped before Isiah sucked in his bottom lip, tilting his head a bit as he met Clara’s eye. “You know, I didn’t mean what I said that day, right? I was just mad.” 

“You did mean it,” Clara answered, looking away from his face, down to the hand she was still cradling in her lap. “And you were right, I suppose… Well, half right, at least. I said what I said because it was true and I didn’t want you hurt but...”

Isiah smiled. “Miss Clara Shelby, are you in love with me?”

Clara pushed his hand away and glanced up to him at the end of her eye roll. She’d wanted to say something clever in return but instead found herself just missing the warmth of his hand as she mumbled. “Siah, you’re my…”

They both struggled to find a word to describe what they were to one another, even after all this time, a decade or so of various labels unable to do them any proper justice because nothing seemed to catch all of the different elements, all of the moments, all of the meaning. 

“Person?” Isiah finally said and Clara gave him a small smile. 

“I suppose,” she answered, because she did suppose that was it. Isiah was her person, a little bit of everything to her, as he always had been, a bit beyond her best friend, not quite like a brother though she considered him family in every way that mattered. “Even when you’re so infuriating I’d like to have one of my brothers chuck you in the cut.”

“You’d miss me if you did,” Isiah said. “Just like I miss you when you decide to hole yourself up all the way out here.” 

“You were avoiding me too.” 

Isiah shrugged. “I shouldn’t have said it. Shouldn’t have yelled at you.” 

“I was jealous though,” she answered. “Always am when you find yourself a new girl, a new...” 

Clara focused on picking at the covers of her bed.

“Person?” he said, guessing again. “You really think one of those girls could push you out?” 

Clara shrugged. 

“I imagine someday one of them will,” she said. “I just hope it’ll be the right one when it happens. Someone I can get on with well enough. A nice girl who’ll help keep you in line and let us stay friends.” 

“Christ, Clara,” he answered, grabbing for her hand, squeezing once despite the pain it caused. “Don’t be worried about that.”

He had been annoyed when he called her jealous, put off by her constant derogatory nagging about Millie Clarke, a bit triggered by her telling him she was seeing someone behind his back.

“I never should’ve said it.” Isiah tugged on her hand. “Come here.”

Clara shifted so she was sitting beside Isiah against the pillows, her cheek resting against his chest as his arm fit over her shoulders. 

“It will happen someday, Siah,” Clara said. “And it should. You’ll fall in love and things’ll change.” 

“Yeah, well, whatever happens with that doesn’t change this,” he answered. “It’d be a bit of a waste, yeah? To let some girl push you out after all the nagging and sassing and trouble you’ve put me through?” 

Clara elbowed him. “Don’t be a prat, Siah.” 

“See what I mean?” he continued. “Why would I just toss out ten years of elbows to the stomach for a girl who doesn’t even know how to properly push me about?” 

Clara glared up at him but took thing no further, settling against his chest once again. 

“And I can’t imagine there’s another person on the face of this earth who looks at me like you do.”

“Like you’re an imbecile I can’t believe has made it to the age of nineteen on his own?” she answered, though that wasn’t right, not nearly close to being it, because the way Clara and Isiah looked at each other, whether it was a glare or accompanied by a laugh through crinkled eyes or with a pooling wave of tears, was something different altogether. It communicated something that no one really ever put words to, something neither of them ever really tried to describe. 

“Like you’re my person,” he said. “A right pain in my arse, but my person, nonetheless. and I’m sorry for shouting at you and for not properly hearing what you were trying to tell me.” 

Clara didn’t answer him right away, thinking over his words, contemplating the relief she was feeling for the first time in weeks.

“I think I’m meant to be comforting you,” she finally mumbled, her head still there against his chest. “You’re the one who’s been dumped.” 

Isiah’s body rose and fell beneath her as he took a slow, deep breath and Clara looked up to watch his face though he was deliberately looking to the ceiling. Isiah played at being the cheeky womanizer, played at wanting nothing more than fun and chaos and lust but Clara knew there was a bit more to Isiah than that.

“I’m alright, Clara,” he said.

“You’re not. You’re upset. You want to talk about it?” 

Isiah finally met her eye and shook his head. “Not right now. How about we just read a bit?” He reached for the book on her nightstand, holding it open between the two of them. “You can go first.” 

“I don’t think you’ll like this one,” she offered. “It’s a bit romantic.”

“What’s wrong with a little romance?”

“Nothing. I just thought what with Millie and all, it might not be the best choice of material,” she said. “Seeing as you’re a bit-”

“Enough deduction. Just read to me, eh?” 

“Fine, but you’ll let me know if you want to talk about it?” she asked. 

Isiah nodded, shifting a bit to get more comfortable against the pillows. Isiah closed his eyes as he settled, resting them for a moment, and Clara still studied his face, continuing with her investigation in peace now that he’d closed his eyes.

Isiah squinted an eye open at her. “You gonna read that book or just sit there staring at my beautiful face all night?” 

He coughed as her elbow once again found his side.

“So much for you comforting me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you liked me throwing elbows and pushing you about.” 

“I never said I liked it, just that I’m too invested at this point to go tossing you out.” Isiah sighed, rolling his eyes. “Though maybe I should reconsider, let Mickey and Finn fight it out to be my best mate. Michael’s probably as good of a reader as you, probably got more better taste in books anyway.”

“Give me that.” Clara snatched the book from him and started reading without offering a rebuttal, the two of them falling asleep atop the covers before the chapter came to a close.

-----

Read more Little Lady Blinder here.

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@midnight-dreams-23

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@unicorndetective22

[bitchapalooza]

Things Austria has said while raising Veneziano and HRE

"He won't stop cr— WHERE IS THE OFF BUTTON!?"

"Why am I maintaining eye contact with the kids as I eat? To show them just how creepy it is. HEY! STOP LAUGHING, IM TEACHING YOU A LESSON! I'LL STARE MORE! I'LL DO IT, DON'T TEST ME!"

"Babies.. Um. They come from. From... Toes? I don't know, humans are disgusting. I wouldn't be surprised if the toe thing were true."

"If you don't be quiet I'm going to sing off key until you beg me to stop."

"There are no monsters under your bed. Yes I checked twice. Look, kid— if you don't go to bed now I'm going to call up a real monster and tell him there's a child buffet here. Put that head on that pillow. Go on. Do it. Oh, I think I hear the claws of a big scary monster. Hurry, go to sleep of he'll get you!"

"Hey Holy Rome. Vati said I was his favorite. You were his least favorite. Oh stop crying, its the truth. Wait— NO DON'T GO GET PRUSSIA! I WAS LYING! YOU TATTLETALE!"

"Hey Spain, want to see an angel's smile? Watch this; Veneziano, you are doing amazing sweeti— PUT THAT FINGER DOWN, YOU GREASY LARD MONKEY! I WAS TELLING THE TRU— YOU LITTLE— THAT'S IT, YOU'RE GETTING THE SOAP!"

"You're both grounded. Oh you didn't do anything. I just want a nap without two hooligans running around screaming."

"Okay so puberty is like when you get kicked in the groin. But you're on fire. And the water in on fire. Everything is on fire. Death isn't even an option. Stop crying Holy Rome, you asked and I'm only being honest."

"How much do you think I can make for biweekly toddler wrestling shows? No I'm not being serious. But for real how much?"

"Good night, don't um... How does that saying go? Oh right! Don't suffocate on the spiders that crawl into your mouths in your sleep, kids."

"You are my brother and I love you. But I'm going to fucking bite you if you don't stop humming in my ear, you little bastard."

"Hungarrrrrry! Veneziano is bugging me! I know I'm lovable but I just don't care about a stupid scrapped knee!"

"I don't care if you made the roach your pet. I'm not feeding it."

"Toddlers terrify me and Veneziano, no matter how sweet, is no exception. If that little bastard says one more thing about dead people I'm going to break a window."

"If I buy you this toy will you do me a favor in return? Good. Leave me alone."

"You can't have wine. Its for adults only. Because I said so. YOU PUT THAT BOTTLE DOWN RIGHT NOW! THERE IS ONLY ROOM FOR ONE ALCOHOLIC IN THIS HOUSE AND HE'S YELLING YOU!"

"Vene, put the snake down. Yes I know it looks like a pasta noodle. No you can't eat it. Stop. Don't you dare put that thing into your pocket. If you do I will tell the monsters to come gobble you up."

"Holy Rome, an empire with a lot of potential, just ate his own booger and told me it tasted like salt. If you need me I'm going to go get drunk and wish I wasn't related to that little weirdo."

"Vene dressed up in my clothes and pretended to be me. Now one would usually go 'awww how adorable' but frankly I'm offended. The mole was drawn in the wrong place. So I grounded Vene. No, this is a serious issue. Yes I'm pissed. This mole is my trademark. Vene insulted me."

"Goddammit.. Oh nothing, the kids just set my wardrobe on fire again."

[justjessame]

Not A Loser Anymore Chapter 2

Morgan felt pretty damn pissed that she hadn’t followed Clay when he left the bar. She stood looking up at the burnt remains of his hotel. Fuck, she’d spent months watching him and his fellow assholes. Watching to make sure something idiotic and news catching like a fucking hotel catching fire. Shit. Oh he had made absolutely good on his promise that his team were responsible, she groaned and walked back to her own small hotel.

Where would they end up next? She had to think that they wouldn’t stick around after something this massive happened. After all, if they were found faking their own deaths, then they’d be up shit creek without a paddle. She was always their paddle in shit creek. Keeping their lifeboat above the rushing water, until they truly needed her.

She sat down on the crappy bed that her hotel provided. At least there weren’t bugs, she thought, holding her head as she considered what had gone so horribly wrong that she was sitting in fucking Bolivia doing recon to keep her former team safe from themselves.

WEEKS BEFORE THE OP IN BOLIVIA

“Fuck you, Clay!” She’d screamed, slamming the door of his bedroom as she stomped out to the main living area of their base. She didn’t pay attention to the open mouthed stares that the rest of her team were giving her. She wasn’t aware that she’d left every piece of her clothing behind with Clay and was stalking to her own room in nothing but her bra and the briefest scrap of lace that could barely be called panties covering her.

Morgan hadn’t wanted to be unprofessional. She fought against ever repeating their first meeting. He was her superior officer. Her BOSS for fuck’s sake. She’d left the note, as impersonal as it could get, and scurried from her apartment the morning after simply because that wasn’t her. She was a fucking doctor and a professional. So waking up next to him, even if he was the best sex she’d ever had, was a nightmare. She would have blamed the booze, but she hadn’t felt that tipsy when she pushed him against the building steps away from the bar. She definitely wasn’t drunk when he slammed her against her front door and fucked her senseless. Or the multiple other times they came together that night. When the light of dawn woke her, she’d been pressed against his chest, his arms holding her tight, and his head pressed against hers.

It felt good, but it was wrong. Wrong, wrong, and dangerous to her career. She booked it after jotting down that fucking note. The note they just fought over, again. After another slip off the wagon that she was on trying to keep from fucking her boss. Again. And again. And again. Worst recovering addict ever.

And every single time after that first night, Clay had to remind her that she ran. That she didn’t trust what they felt enough to stay and talk to him. Usually he waited until they were naked and at least partially sated, but tonight he started as they were taking their clothes off. And ruined it by making her feel like an idiot. Reminding her early the reasons she had rushed out that first morning. Reminding her how wrong their screwing around was, and as it was, how wrong this whole fucking situation was for them. For the team. For him and for her.

She was clothed and packing when she heard a knock on her door. Fuming, but certain it wasn’t Clay she grunted her assent for her visitor to come in. It was Jensen. Tech geek, and sweetheart, even if he was the most awkward human on the planet. Shame really, because he was very attractive.

“Mo,” he started, seeing her bags being filled with her shit. “Come on, Mo, this too shall pass.”

She rolled her eyes and glared at him. “No, Jensen, it won’t. That’s the problem. It never passes, not for long.” Morgan sighed and tossed the last of her possessions in her duffle. Zipping it up, she sat down on her bed and tried to smile at the computer nerd with arms of a Greek god. “Look, I can’t stay, not anymore. Cougar is a great medic, you guys don’t need me.” She forced herself to stand. “I have to go, fuck this stress is worse than putting aloe on the burned ass of monkey.” Grabbing her duffle and suitcase, she walked to the door of her room. “Don’t worry, Jen, I’m sure I’ll see you again.” He leaned down and she kissed his cheek. “Tell the others bye for me, would you?” He nodded and she was gone.

A WEEK AFTER THE OP WENT WRONG

Morgan could still see the commanding officer coming to her door. She couldn’t understand why they came to her, until he told her that Clay had named her as his next of kin. The officer stood in front of her saying all the usual platitudes that came from informing someone their loved one was dead in the line of duty. Even if it was unsanctioned. Even if it was a fuck up of massive proportions.

She had stopped the man, just as he was telling her that she would be given the folded flag, “What did they find?”

“Ma’am?” The officer asked, trying to understand her question.

“Of the bodies, what was found?” She asked, watching the man’s face. He looked uncomfortable. “They did find bodies, didn’t they?”

“It was a helicopter crash of sorts, ma’am.” He looked down at his shiny boots. “There wasn’t much left of anything, they found the dog tags of the team.”

She nodded, feeling that Clay and the team weren't dead at all. And she’d make it her mission to find out just what the hell had happened.

It had taken months. Months of bureacratic red tape and calling in every favor she’d ever made over her years of saving lives, or at least saving the shame of some idiotic decisions. She struggled, and fought against giving up, but in the end it had paid off.

The OP was requested on the behest of some shadowy figure called “Max.” Morgan couldn’t find much to prove Max was a human, but clearly he had to be. It wasn’t a mission she’d known about when she left the team, so it had to be one that wasn’t given much planning, which didn’t sound like Clay at all. The man was an asshole, but he was careful with his people.

From what she could gather, it was supposed to be a simple in and out type of job. So why were so many people dead? And why did Clay take the team underground? Morgan had realized that she’d have to go to Bolivia. Finding out information on the ground would have to be easier than pulling teeth in the U.S.

Finding them was easier than she’d expected. She had set up her headquarters in a small rundown, but clean hotel on the edge of town. Walking down the main street the first night, and there he was. Dressed in that damn dark suit of his, with the white shirt gleaming against his tanned skin, she nearly tripped. He walked into the very dive bar she watched him in the night of the fire, and every night after.

She didn’t only focus on Clay, though she was itching to find out why he’d choose her of all people as next of kin. No, she found Jensen and Cougar working at a baby doll factory, of all places. Jensen was always easy to pick out of the crowd with his loud t-shirts that barely held together under the strain of his muscles. Cougar was also fairly simple to pick out of a crowd. Women flocked to the sniper who didn’t use many words. And eventually she’d seen Roque and Pooch, too.

Confirming they weren’t dead, she wondered about Pooch. His wife was due to have a baby, and soon. That had to make this self imposed “death” difficult on them both. She’d checked in on Jolene before making the trip. She found the pregnant woman as disbelieving as she was that they were dead. Her reason? Pooch’s wedding ring wasn’t with his dog tags. Why would he suddenly take it off the chain if he hadn’t been alive to keep it?

Morgan agreed with Jolene, and Jensen’s sister when she checked on her before leaving for Bolivia. Same story, with less proof and more of a feeling. Funny how only the women seemed to realize that the story didn’t mesh with the men they knew.

And so, Morgan kept watch. She knew her former team. Knew all of them well enough to know that one of them would fuck up, and she had hoped that she’d be able to swoop in and make sure the fuck up wouldn’t end up with them actually dying.

A WEEK AFTER THE HOTEL FIRE

Morgan was on her cell phone, rolling her eyes at the dickhead on the other end. “No, I don’t want to know about the endangered animals being smuggled into the United States. I’m sure it’s a terrible and horrifying situation, but what I TRULY need to know is whether there have been any strange shipments scheduled to come into the states that don’t seem ‘right’ to you.” She sighed, “Look Skippy, I’m sure that the plight of the average custom’s agent is just fucking the most stress a human could possibly experience, but if you don’t tell me what I want to know, the stress you’re feeling is going to be raised by one hundred percent.” She listened as he described the plane. The caskets. The number of caskets. Nodding, she jotted the information down on a napkin. “Well, thanks Skippy. I’m glad that we don’t have to meet face to face after all, but I promise, you and your team can expect a nice surprise for lunch.”

Guess I’m headed to Florida, Morgan sighed to herself. She’d been surprised when she learned that the team was coming back to the states. It wasn’t that difficult to get some information, but the U.S. isn’t exactly a shoebox, so she had to finagle more information, and Skip with US Customs was one of the tactics she had to use. Grabbing her duffle that she kept packed and lived out of, she was calling using it to find a flight as she rushed downstairs and into the open.

She hadn’t taken two steps before colliding with a wall of muscle. Damn it. Looking up she literally groaned out loud. “Roque.” She said, glaring up at Clay’s second in command. “What a pleasure.” She glanced down at her phone, locking the screen so he didn’t have a chance to see the flight information.

“You don’t sound surprised to see me,” Roque said, stepping back and crossing his arms across his chest. “In fact, you don’t seem shocked that I’m in this pissant town.”

Morgan bit her lip and looked up at him. “Did you guys really think that people who KNOW you would believe that a helicopter crash without the right number of bodies and just your dog tags left behind would be proof that you were dead?” She scoffed. “Pooch kept his wedding band. Jensen’s sister said the online view of the Petunia soccer games is showing someone watching faithfully from BOLIVIA of all fucking places. And Clay? He was dumb enough to name me his next of kin.” She unzipped her duffle and pulled out the folded flag and handed it to Roque. “I thought he’d like to have his flag.”

“Mo-” She shook her head, stopping him. He held the flag loosely in his hands. He knew that Clay and her relationship was complicated at best, and screwed from the beginning at worst, but this, her here?

“Look,” she said, another sigh and tipping her head back to look up at him. “I got used to keeping all of you in one piece. I had to make sure you were all alright. I-”

“Had to see him again for yourself.” Roque finished, pulling her into his arms. “Fuck, Clay and you, never quite understood it, but he shouldn’t have put this on your shoulders, Mo.”

She shrugged in his arms. “I wanted to be sure that all of you were safe. I know-” she stopped, giving up intel would suck, but she had to know their plans. Or at least something to keep her sanity about them staying safe. “I know you’re heading back to America. I know you won’t tell me anything, but-” She closed her eyes, pushing away the pain of not being with them, with HIM. “Tell me you’re going to be safe. Tell me that, and I’ll happily go back to my house. I’ll start up with the hospital that wants me so badly they can taste it, and I’ll move on.”

Roque’s arms stiffened around her. He heard her pain. The pain of being apart from Clay and from their ragtag group. Mostly, he thought, from being apart from Clay. He didn’t trust the new girl. He didn’t believe her story or her insistence about what she wanted. Clay could be completely fucking ridiculous, but this chick? She was going to bring them low. How could he promise Morgan that they’d be safe when he didn’t believe it himself. “I’ll promise that we’ll stick together, Mo. I’ll promise that I have their backs and they got mine. That’s all I can promise.”

She nodded and drew back. “Guess that’ll have to do, won’t it?” Her eyes were glassy and Roque realized he’d never seen Morgan cry. Pissed, screaming, and bossy he’d seen all that with her, but this? She was broken. He tried to hand her the flag, but she shook her head. “That’s Clay’s. Give it to him. Tell him goodbye.” He watched as she got in a waiting cab and drove away. He remembered the night she left them all behind. Remembered how it changed Clay. This? This was going to be the reckoning.

Clay looked up from the intel that Aisha had given them about the plan to be smuggled back to the states. He heard Roque walk in and was about to call him over when his second thumped a folded triangle of the stars and stripes down on the table in front of him. “What the fuck?” Clay asked, looking up at the glaring face of a man he’d count on anytime in his life.

“Mo thought you’d like your flag.” Roque growled, throwing himself into a chair nearby. He looked up at Clay’s startled face. “Don’t worry, she’s gone.” “Gone?” Clay was afraid to touch the carefully folded flag, afraid he’d smell her on the fabric. “She was here?”

Roque nodded. “She was checking on a feeling she had about us. Mo knew we weren’t dead, Clay.” He glared up at his commander. “She saw us, all of us. And she wanted to know why you named her next of kin.”

Clay closed his eyes and fought the pain in his chest at the memory. He’d completely forgotten about that. He’d changed it when she joined them. He knew she’d be the only person on Earth he’d trust with his body, living or dead. “Fuck.” He gritted through his teeth. “What else does she know?” He had to force himself to the task at hand. Killing Max, hopefully getting their lives back.

Roque shrugged. “Not much, that she’d tell me anyway.” He pulled out one of his knives and rolled it between his hands. “She wanted me to tell you ‘goodbye’. She said it was time to move on.”

“Move on?” Clay growled. “Move on? Is that a fucking joke? She’s the one who walked out on us, Roque. Her, not me. She walked out and told Jensen to tell us goodbye the last time. Morgan fucking Dean has walked out on me more times than I can fucking count. Move on, well fine let her fucking move on.” He pushed the flag out of his way and went back to the plan. “Aisha wants to have us unloaded here-” He was showing Roque the plan, but in his mind he was remembering that night. The last night he’d seen her in the flesh.

Morgan had worn a dress that would make any grown man fall to his knees. Then, as though she wasn’t a fucking walking wet dream already, she’d started stripping for him. Baring her shoulders, that fucking blue lily tattoo on her right shoulder blade shining against her pink skin, he’d watched mesmerized.

She got down to the wisp of lace she jokingly called panties, and a bra that barely held her breasts. And what had he done? He opened his fucking mouth and ruined it. Again.

“You aren’t gonna run away as soon as we’re done, are you?” He’d been teasing, that’s what he told himself, but he didn’t believe it anymore. He was harboring the pain of waking up in her bed that first morning with the stupid note. He watched the pain flit across her face at the reminder. A reminder he gave EVERY goddamn time she gave herself to him. EVERY fucking time, but this time they didn’t even get to the giving part.

She glared at him, hands on her hips and feet shoulder width apart. A soldier, through and through. “Every time, Clay, every time.” She shook her head as he tried to tease the stupidity of his own fucking mouth away. “You know what, Clay?” She started for his door, and turned back long enough to give him that heated look that could either ignite his fire or douse it. “FUCK YOU, CLAY!” She slammed the door behind her.

Clay had sat on his bed, back against the wall, waiting. Usually she’d force herself back, to have even more of a verbal match, but she never came. He fumed that she’d just walk away, again. She always walked away. Always. It wasn’t until morning, when Jensen gave him a sad, but terrified look that he knew. She was gone. This time she wouldn’t just walk back in and get back to work.

His team had looked at him like he was the biggest fucking loser of them all. And for a while, he had to agree. As the other men joined Roque and him at the table, he tried to convince himself that he didn’t agree with the feeling like he’d ruined something. That he hadn’t pushed her right out the door that she’d slammed. That it wasn’t his butthurt pride that ruined his last time with Morgan. That looking at the flag they’d given her upon his death didn’t pierce right through him. Because that flag meant what words and screaming matched never did. She was done. Finished with him. And he had to blink away the pain, because she was his medic and she wasn’t here anymore.

[maevesdarling]

The Terror/His dark Materials AU

I'm too busy to finish this right now but I thought I'd post some small scraps of what I wrote in the past few days about this AU. If you want a detailed list of everyone's daemons please say so. Let's be honest I'm gonna post it either way...

Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier had forced a smile on his face as he watched the people on the pier waving after the two ships. Some women were openly weeping after their husbands or sweethearts, their daemons pressed tightly against them in comfort.

Next to him, Meabh made a small boof sound in the back of her throat. Her dark gaze was fixed on the two women in the middle of the pier. Lady Jane was holding herself together as best as she could, her monkey daemon sitting on her shoulder, occasionally tightening the grip on her clothes when he felt himself slip on the fine satin. Francis didn't needed to see him to know that Sir John was watching her from the rear, his wolf daemon, Anthea, sitting dutifully at his side.

Next to Lady Jane stood Sophia, as beautiful as the day they had first met, dressed in an azure blue dress, her humming bird nestled into the crook of her neck.

He had loved her, once. Still loved her, in fact, and the sight of her fading in the distance made his heart clench in his chest.

"Let us talk to the lieutenants, Francis." Meabh insisted, stretching her elegant white paws. She could feel his growing melancholy. Francis tried to ignore her, he wanted to keep watching until the pier would vanish in the fine mist and all that was left of Sophia was the memories he kept with him. But the arctic fox wouldn't give up. She head-butted his knees softly, moving him along the rail. "Dwelling won't help us, Francis, you need to focus on the journey ahead instead of looking back."

She was right, of course. "Fine. Then let's go."

⚓⚓⚓

You could cut the tension inside the captains cabin with a knife. Francis was brooding, his form hunched over the small desk as he studied the papers in front of him.

Meabh was lying comfortably in the little basket Jopson had placed inside Francis berth. Normally she wouldn't use it and opt to sleep in Francis arms instead but she had been distant for a few days now. He had asked her repeatedly why she refused to talk to him but to his own surprise, did not get any answers.

The captain shook his head and downed the rest of the alcohol in his glass before focussing on the papers again but his vision was swimming.

"Argh, to hell with it." He mumbled before calling for his steward. "Jopson!"

Seconds later footsteps approached the cabin and Jopson stepped through the door, dutifully. His dog daemon, Maud, a beautiful black Borzoi dog, hot on his heels.

"Fetch me another drink, Thomas." He demanded, holding out the empty glass. Jopson looked sceptical towards his captain, he worried his bottom lip between his teeth as if he was contemplating about telling his captain to stop drinking, but decided against it.

"Very well sir." While he gathered the glass in his hands and moved to fill it, Maud stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking back and forth between Francis and Meabh. "You need to stop drinking, it's making her sick." The dog murmured which earned her a shushing from Thomas.

"Please excuse her, captain, she always speaks before thinking. She means no disrespect." He quickly set a full glass of whiskey in front of the Irishman before motioning the dog to his side. "Is that all?"

Francis nodded, dismissing the pair. Maud's words echoed through his head. Was Meabh really this sick? It was only a few glasses and he could hardly remember a time when he wasn't drunk in the past few months, surely she was used to it by now?

Squinting his eyes, he tried to get a better look at his daemon. She did looked quiet thin and some of her hair had fallen off on her flank but he couldn't feel any pain through their bond. A cold shiver ran down his spine when he realized he was in fact, not feeling anything, it was like she had blocked him out of her mind. Francis hands shook when he carefully traded them through her soft white fur. The arctic fox made the tiniest sound of pleasure in her throat. "I'm sorry old girl."

He inhaled audibly. "But I feel like it's too late for us to turn back now. I- I'm not strong enough. I tried, really I did." And with that he grabbed the whiskey and downed it in a single long gulp.

⚓⚓⚓

"Mister Jopson, can I talk to you for a second?" Lieutenant Little asked, knocking against the steward's door. Jopson was on his feet in a matter of seconds, fastening his coat over his night clothes. "What is it, lieutenant? Is something wrong with the captain?!" He asked hastily.

Maud had jumped up from the blanket she had been lying on, her ears poking up.

Lieutenant Little looked exhausted in the lamplight, his usually pristine uniform was crinkled in places and his hair looked unkempt. "No, Lord no!" He quickly said, holding up his hands. Bryony was perched on his shoulder.

Sometimes Jopson wondered what she must feel like sitting on the lieutenants shoulder like that. He had once seen a man with a trained parrot in the streets of London. The parrot was no daemon but merely a tamed animal. The man allowed people to pet him or put them on their own shoulders for a moment. It had looked uncomfortable through. The parrot's long claws would catch onto hair or pieces of clothing and he could see that especially children had struggled to carry the bird.

Was Bryony heavy? How did her feathers feel when they brushed against the lieutenants throat?

A small coughing startled him from his thoughts. "Excuse me, lieutenant. I was- caught up in my own thoughts."

Little waved him off, his posture relaxed ever so slightly. "I come to tell you that doctor MacDonald has asked you to take the morning off. He said the captain is feeling well enough that he won't need to be constantly overseen by the two of you. You should get some rest."

Thomas could feel a heavy weight lifting from his chest that has previously been pressing down on him. If the doctor said the captain was feeling better they were finally making some progress.

He had spend the last two weeks constantly by his captains side, cleaning up sick and spilled drinks, dabbing away the sweat from his feverish forehead and feeding him watery soup, Maud pressed tightly against Meabh's side, liking affectionately between her ears. She was fed a mixture of water and cedarwood to help her sleep even when Francis was awake. Doctor MacDonald had been worried about the captain and visited every hour, even during the night. Sometimes he was only half dressed, Seonag poking out of his pocket. Her spikes causing the fabric to bulge funny.

They had both lost a lot of sleep during the process.

"Thank you, lieutenant, but I can manage. Please tell the doctor I would rather spend my morning by the captains side."

Before he could finish his sentence, Little was already shaking his head. "Please, Jopson, just this once, allow yourself some rest. You earned it. Terror would be nothing without you." Bryony made a surprised caw noise and fluffed her feathers up, both of them looked extremely embarrassed.

"I- I mean-"

"Thank you." Jopson quickly said. "I mean it."

They both stared at each other for a moment, Jopson could feel his heart beating in his throat. "… Would- would you like to come inside to talk, lieutenant?" He asked, feeling bold all of sudden.

Little blinked in surprise. Bryony cawed and hopped up and down on his shoulder. "I would like that very much."

⚓⚓⚓

The first time he had touched Hartnell's daemon was after one of their many Bible studies. The kestrel was still sitting on the table, dangerously close to his own pidgeon daemon, Mhairi, and fluffing her feathers.

"She-" He cleared his throat. "She is quite beautiful." He said honestly, watching the kestrel in awe. Hartnell stopped in his tracks and watched the two daemons sitting next to each other but not quite touching. "Thank you." The AB said in a voice so low it could have been mistaken for the wind sweeping through the ship.

"I hope these lessons bring the two of you some peace." Irving said honestly, holding his hand out for Mhairi to climb on. She refused, tilting her head from one side to the other.

"They are, I feel a great peacefulness whenever I am around you- I mean whenever I am reading the- the Bible!" Hartnell spoke quickly, his face going beet red. Irving just stared at him, mouth opening and closing repeatedly.

"I am sorry." He finally said after a long pause, tears welling up in his eyes. "I am so, so sorry, mister Hartnell." The lieutenant sunk down in his chair pressing the backside of his hands against his eyes. He was so tired.

"What for, lieutenant? I don't understand?"

"I have misused your trust! You came to me in a moment of weakness and I wanted to help you, I thought the Lords words would help you with your pain, I thought if I only prayed hard enough the Lord would help both of us! But I just can't- I can't live with this feeling inside me any more, it feels like I'm being torn apart from inside!" His breathing was laboured, Mhairi tried to calm him down by flying up to his shoulder and nuzzling her beak into his neck. "Shhh, John, you need to calm down!"

And then there was another, featherlight touch against his face, where the kestrel sat on the other side of his shoulder. Both he and Hartnell took in a shaky breath, the younger man's eyes fluttered close for a short moment.

Touching another person's daemon was practically a taboo. The only people who would touch the other part of your soul were either family or partners and yet Hartnell looked pleased with the unfamiliar touch of Irving's shaking fingers in his daemons feathers, not humiliated or afraid. Was he really trusting him this much?

"It's alright, John, I wouldn't have come to you if I didn't wanted to be touched." The older man couldn't remember if he ever heard the kestrel speak before, he was kind of dumbstruck at the moment and so, instead of replying he carefully stroked the soft feathers on her underside, marveling at the feeling.

"We trust you, lieutenant. You won't hurt us. Please, if I can help you with the pain, I- I want to try." Hartnell tried, holding out his hands like Irving was a scared animal.

"I don't think you can help me with this, mister Hartnell." He said honestly.

By now Hartnell was right in front of him, filling his entire vision. "Are you sure?"

He ask, coming nearer and nearer. Irving couldn't help himself. A stronger man might have pushed the AB away, returned to his Bible studies and never spoken of what had just happened again. Irving was not a strong man. Or maybe he was for giving into the urge and allowing the younger man to press a light kiss to his lips.

They both moaned slightly into the kiss, Hartnell tipping forward and almost landing in the older man's lap. "Sorry- I'm so sorry, sir!" He apologized in horror but Irving stopped him with another kiss.

"No. Please. I've never felt this much clarity in my entire life. I- I'm happy."

Thomas smiled down at him. "Good. All I wanted was to make you happy."

Next to them, the pidgeon and kestrel were huddled together, so close their shapes seemed to become one.

[soulinisolation]

Facts about marcel dušek because I’ve gotten attached to him

He’s an older brother by seven years to Berta.

He dropped out of school at 16. By then he’d had a part time job since his dad died. He currently works at a fancy restaurant which he hates but they actually - miraculously - pay more than minimum wage.

He likes to find bad books on purpose. He has probably read fifty shades just to take the piss. Don’t get me wrong, erotica is a valid genre, but when it’s bad it’s absolutely hilarious. He keeps up with that literary bad sex award because that’s his exact brand of humor.

If he was in a not hell world he would be a YouTuber. Something along the lines of drew gooden and Danny Gonzales, And also strange aeons and Jenna marbles.

He named his niece Evelina. Berta of course wanted to choose the name of her own kid, but he suggested that and she just was like “....goddamn it I really like that.”

His personal welcoming the new baby present was one of those baby costumes of an octopus.

He bought himself tons of tat with WORLDS BEST UNCLE on it.

He mostly shops at the thrift store and will wear the most ridiculous outfits known to man. His favourite are t shirts with bizarre/overly specific slogans. You know the dude on queer eye who had a “happy 90th birthday grandma” shirt? Him.

He gives Berta a lot of his old clothes but she wears them because neither care about gender roles.

He probably has ADHD. As well as an underactive thyroid. If he isn’t working or on the sesh he’s asleep, and he always wears 3 layers minimum of clothing. He definitely has C-PTSD after his childhood.

He had a emo/scene phase, big time. He used to straighten his hair and brush it over one eye. That’s the only aspect of it he doesn’t really still do. His music taste hasn’t changed that much.

He stopped straightening it and embraced the curls for a while, not heat it sulfates silk pillowcases and everything. But the chronic illness is a binch and turned his hair really dry and brittle so he keeps it really short so there’s not much curl these days.

He likes emo bands still but has been listening to punk bands a lot more as he’s gotten older. He also likes bands like arctic monkeys and kasabian and bloc party.

He paints his nails black but still can’t do it neatly. He has a denim jacket with so many buttons and patches you can’t really see any denim anymore. Same goes for his bedroom walls with posters.

When his dad died he didn’t cry. It’s not a happy memory exactly but mostly what he felt was relief.

His greatest fear is dying or getting too ill to look after his family.

When he was younger, like, single digits, he had serious anger issues and got into a lot of scraps. His school just punished him without actually examining where any of it came from.

He tries too hard to be the responsible older brother. “No Berta I have never drunk an alcohol or smoked a drug in my whole life. Because you don’t need them to have fun. butifyouevertakesomethinganditisntgoingwellyouknkwwhereiam.”

He wants to have children of his own one day.

He always took the blame for everything Berta did if possible. Obviously when she was pregnant he couldn’t but kept it a secret as much as possible.

He just would do anything for his family.

He’s a sweetheart ok

[i-rove-rock-n-roll]

I just found my writing from elementary school. (Ages 6-10 mostly, though some of this came later)

Such hits as

Raindeer Trouble (corrected by the teacher as Reindeer Trouble) a one page story where Santa’s reindeer are sick, then have a miraculous recovery, all taking place a week before Christmas. I wrote it in either first or second grade, if memory serves me correctly (which I doubt it is)

Monkey Madness-written maybe a year later? Basically there’s this witch that hates the superhero Underdog’s guts (I had just seen the live action movie and loved it) and her plan was to make a super powered monkey to hypnotize to do her bidding. Her end goal was to become world leader and have everyone dress up as scary monsters for Halloween, rather than superheroes and “something else good and sweet”. Whatever that means. Then she started kidnapping people with the monkey’s help and turning them into real monsters. Eventually the monkey starts asking questions, like, “can you carve carnivorous cotton candy into kittys (kitties)?” (Idk wtf that even has to do with the rest of the plot but he gets sulky cause she doesn’t make him a cat at one point) There’s more gems in this one, plus a really wacky fight scene. This one was most definitely second grade, since a few words are in cursive, which I had just started learning. I also remember drawing a “cover” to this one, but idk where it is now.

The next one is Super Horse Heros (Heroes). I basically wrote down the stories my gram used to tell my sister and I when we demanded bedtime stories. An old horse wants a new life, and has to do 3 good deeds before his fairy god horse will turn him into a ‘“unisus” (unicorn/Pegasus combo). After that, the unisus saves a bunch of horses who were kidnapped and shipped to a glue factory. Then they became the Super Horse Heroes, saving children lost in cornfields (aka my sister and I) and flying off into the sunset.

I also found 2 essays in this folder-one about The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand, and the other a 12 page paper on the possibility of life elsewhere in the universe which I used to apply to college.

Also a drawing of the Moirae and a spinning wheel that isn’t half bad.

Back to the writing!

Let’s see...a type written version (I used to have a typewriter before SOMEONE broke it one time when I moved) of Reindeer Trouble.

Oh! Here’s a gem! It’s titled: A Bad Toddler Finds a treasure at a popular amusement park. He finds literal treasure, fame, fortune, and an old boot.

The Adventures of Pretzel Man! With a little drawing in the corner. (I used to have a Nabisco pretzel looking doll, that was the inspo) He sells pretzels by day apparently and also fights crime. His enemy in this story is creatively called Taffy Laffy, who turns people into Taffy Zombies, and—

This story is unfinished. WHAT? I was actually wanting to know the end!

Ugh. Anyway, let’s continue

This next one is called Turkey Terror: a turkey’s life from my point of view. Basically this kid gets turned into a turkey (but they still have their own head??) it’s also 2 days before thanksgiving. The turkey kid’s name is apparently Sheldon, who makes friends with a chipmunk named Chippy...who is a total backstabbing liar leading Sheldon to an ambush in a cave, where he gets a bullet to the head, only to wake up and find it was all a dream...

WTF PAST ME?? WHAT—

More drawings in here, terribly proportioned gangster from the 20s...some drawings I did of phantom of the opera (I, uh, copied some drawings I liked by other artists at the time with the sole intention of just sticking them on my wall because i apparently forgot what a printer was)

Drawings of flowers...drawing of my dog’s eyeball for whatever reason...

Heaven or Hell: Gateway to Another World (keep in mind I was going based off of cartoons but I think my complete lack of understanding of religion is why I would up majoring in it)

More writing, some based on the imagery I got from songs I was listening to... one page thing I apparently wrote about the death of Jesus (???) once I had seen and been awestruck by Michaelangelo’s Pieta (on screen unfortunately, I’ve never seen it in person)

A paper with only one line on it saying “Mrs. Jenelle Hartson née Deveroux was always the first to tell anyone she was a crazy old bat”

Okay.

Oh no! Well, not no, but well—

Basically scrap paper bits of To Kill A Mockingbird from Boo Radleys POV. The whole thing would up being like 15 pages and was turned in for a school assignment. I think I scared the teacher with how long it was since he only asked for 2-3 pages. I have the whole thing on here somewhere in all it’s terrible glory if any of you want....

Bingo! Found a bunch from a wip I really liked like, 6-7 years ago! (So early high school) Scientist named Phineas Lancaster develops a way to jump between universes, is being pursued by the government, and winds up running into himself, but a deadbeat version who dropped out of college after a horrible accident. Let’s see what gems are in here....

“Phineas Lancaster, resident bum and professional alcoholic of the sprawling town Rock Falls, woke up feeling as if he had been slammed into by a bus. He hadn’t, but for a minute he’d thought he’d wandered into the middle of 32nd Avenue during Rush hour. Again.”

(Phineas, realizing he was kidnapped by a dude he doesn’t realize is himself from another universe) “His captor smiled at him in what he must have thought was [a] friendly way. Phineas was now more irritated than before when he noticed the flashing white of his captor’s teeth. ‘no way those are real’. He scowled at the man. ‘He looks like he popped out of a freaking toothpaste commercial’ he’d been abducted by a real like infomercial buffoon. Lovely.”

“I love your place.” He hated it. “Very homey.”

“He’s even got a nerdy voice, Janine. I can’t have a nerd for a twin.”

“Say hello to the guy that decided to kidnap me. He had some sort of weird spaz attack and, being the kind and loving soul I am, couldn’t just leave him in the middle of the desert to die. Ergo, he’s here.”

“I got us a lift from a very nice gentleman who is currently searching for Glenn Miller. He gave me his card in case I either found Glenn or if I need another lift, since he’s going to be in town for a few days.”

“I bet you’re a dentist. Dentists are evil.”

(When drunk Phineas not smart phineas is abducted by agents)

“All I wanted to do was stop by the Dollar Store for some Gummy Bears. I just had to get kidnapped again. Yay me, I could set a record.”

“Aaaand cut! Try it again, maybe with some more threatening looks this time, you might make me wet myself if you try hard enough.”

“Gee, i don’t know, I think I was too busy running for my life to ask, ‘I’m sorry, do you want to exchange numbers so we can do this again sometime? Maybe meet for tea?’”

“How ever did you make such a realistic looking doohickey?”

(One Phineas to the other)

“I totally got mom’s humor. You got dad’s shitty ability to make a person die of boredom.”

Road tripping to Golden Earring (and trying not to murder Phineas when he starts singing)

...guess I got a lot of stuff to play with now! Happy early birthday to me!

[what-if-rpg]

Welcome to the family, B! Your application to COOPER ANDERSON was accepted, as well as the changes. I am really happy to have you around! Make sure to read the beginners checklist, and remember, have fun! I can’t wait to roleplay with you! Have fun!

IN CHARACTER

CHARACTER NAME: Cooper James Anderson. CHARACTER AGE & DATE OF BIRTH: 27 / 18th January 1992. OCCUPATION: Actor and Musician. (Broadway) FACE CLAIM: Brendon Urie. HOMETOWN & CITY WHERE LIVES NOW: Boston MA, New York City. SEXUAL ORIENTATION & GENDER: Bisexual and Male. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: In a Relationship. POSITIVE TRAITS: Loyal, Caring, Passionate. NEGATIVE TRAITS: Hot-tempered, Impulsive, Arrogant. CHARACTER QUOTE/LYRIC: Now I’m gonna fuck up a hotel lobby. ANYTHING ELSE?: FC change please!

HEADCANONS

Cooper has always dreamed of the arts after growing up with his passions fuelled by his mother. He is a multi-instrumentalist who writes music as a hobby. The man has a band named Saint!California who regularly releases music. Cooper makes appearances as a singer but is torn on where his loyalties lie in his career. He feels tied to Broadway by more than one thing but often thinks he should move away from it and pursue music full time. The band seem to be in demand and he is proud of the work he has created, leaving him with guilt over the lack of attention he gives it. Cooper has become rather fond of the stage, escaping as someone else for a few hours each night can help with the confusion he finds himself clouded by, it’s a good compromise…. for now.

As a child, Cooper shined in a local stage school he attended on weekends. The boy was picked up for multiple commercials and his acting resume grew more and more. When he reached High School, he had an arrogance and ego around him though being turned down for a role in the school’s production of Grease had him swear off musical theatre. Cooper went in a mood with all things musical, including Broadway. After graduating, he left Boston for Hollywood and spent six long months scrapping around for work. His agent then turned his attention to New York with an audition as a swing in Newsies. The nineteen year old turned his nose up at the offer immediately, though after long conversations with his mother and agent, they suggested he bite the bullet and try it out. It would give him a step into the industry as his mother said, he was “only nineteen, he had time to be in line for the next Oscar.” Now, Cooper feels like he’d gotten lost in Broadway. He does enjoy it though he also wonders What if? What if something else had happened instead?

Cooper has a few different ticks about him. He’s a bit of a mess when you look close enough. His biggest fear is not being able to escape situations. When in the middle of an argument, Cooper will often storm out of a room and leave for a few hours. He needs to feel as though he can remove himself from a situation otherwise it sends him into a flurry of a panic. Paparazzi is one thing that Cooper internally struggles with. On the outside, he’s all smiles and cheery tones though he’s battling a fight inside him. Cooper is very open with his fans and they usually hold great respect for him. The paparazzi are ones who care less about his personal space and more about capturing the right photo. It’s a part of his life that he tries to avoid as much as possible, if and when he can.

You’ll be pushed to find someone who loves their fans more than Cooper does. With an addiction to Instagram, his fans are never shy of content and the latest smiling selfie. The man also takes a great fondness to Instagram Live where he will sit and talk to fans while cooking or waiting in his dressing room. Cooper is one to hold free signing events and concerts when possible, which he funds himself. Though raised in a middle class, it’s his mother’s roots that bring him back down to that humble level. The eldest Anderson holds great appreciation to those around him and does his best to give back as often as he can, whatever the cost.

CONNECTIONS

PARENTS: Pamela and Richard Anderson. Born to middle-class parents, Pam (a children’s book author) and Richard (a renowned lawyer) Cooper is probably the biggest Momma’s boy you’ll ever come across. After the family struggled to conceive, the news of their first child brought them so much joy. Pam always had a soft spot for the eldest who adored her more than anything. Pam is someone Cooper will often turn to for advice or comfort but his father and he hold a tense relationship. Richard has always pushed a lot of high expectations on his eldest and when he grew less and less like the young lawyer his father dreamed of, he became cold towards him. Though his father and he don’t get along, the only joint interest the two share are working lazy Sundays in the garage on old cars. Cooper became a bit of a grease monkey during the summer and when he was fourteen, he fixed up his grandfather’s old 1965 Ford Mustang. Even though he’s moved out of the house, he’s still close to his mother and always go home for the holidays. Christmas isn’t the same without his family. SIBLING: Blaine Anderson. The two Andersons have always held an interesting relationship. Cooper truly does care about Blaine, maybe a little too much that he often pushes his little brother to achieve his potential. Ultimately though, they hold a true brotherly relationship. Cooper loves nothing more than winding up his younger sibling and teasing him. At the end of the day, Cooper will jump into a fight to defend his brother in a heartbeat. Family is important to him. BOYFRIEND: Jesse St. James. Broadway was a daunting place for the new actor and starting a big show such as Les Miserables couldn’t be more than intimidating. Befriending an experienced actor hadn’t been his worst idea. That was until one night at a cast party, six months into their friendship and the show, the two shared a drunken kiss. He can’t really tell you when they started ‘dating’ behind closed doors but he knows he’s conflicted. Giving into Jesse’s advances, he finds feeling like a dirty secret eats away at his conscience, as well as the drama happening in Jesse’s life, he never knows where he stands. After Jesse’s divorce was filed, his cast-mate moved in with and within months they became official. It was a relationship the fans generated and they melted into. Cooper knows he has at least some feelings for his cast mate who have become something of a Broadway Duo, appearing regularly in shows together that only appeals further to the fans. Now eleven months into dating officially, he finds himself bickering with his boyfriend with a few treasured moments in-between. Cooper can’t decide if he wants to get out of this relationship but he finds himself falling back into that man’s life, even if it’s not a completely happy one. BEST FRIEND: Ellie Weeks [NPC]. A friend he grew up with after she moved to Boston from London. He attended school with her and the two are incredibly close. She’s someone who has seen every side to him; giggly; upset; moody; or blackout drunk on the floor. Cooper runs most of his big ideas past her and she’s more often than not, the one to intervene on his impulsive ideas. She knows him inside out and adores his friendship, he’s like her adopted American brother. Ellie is one of the few people who sees through the lines with Jesse and Cooper’s relationship. She is not fond of the other man by any means but holds her tongue for Cooper’s sake. She has warned him enough but trusts when he tells her “I’m fine, El, trust me.” She can’t help but worry about him getting hurt. RIVAL: Wanted Connection [UTP]. Someone Cooper can’t stand. They know how to get his back up and provoke the hot-tempered attitude in him. The mention of their name can draw a scowl to his face and he will easily rise to the bait. The two often find each other by chance and there’s always some sort of tension or altercation when they’re in the same room. As of late, they’ve ended up seeing more and more of each other and Cooper can only grumble about it.