#isadora crane

[bumblesimagines]

seeing you with them... it made me so mad. i can't explain the feeling.

Ivan

seeing you with them... it made me so mad. i can't explain the feeling.

Pronoun: they/them/theirs, gender neutral!reader

trying to clean my drafts so the next few starters are kinda old

"This isn't a good idea, Menci." You sighed into your glass of whiskey, watching the youngest Blanco scan the club for her... girlfriend? Ex-girlfriend? Fling? You hardly knew what the two girls considered each other now but the longing looks, teasing, and Mencia's clinginess spoke volumes as to how they felt about each other. Mencia kept a hand on your bicep, digging her nails into the fabric of your shirt in frustration from time to time. "I'm telling you, Menci, you need to-"

"There she is!" Mencia grinned widely, snatching the cup from your hand and swiftly drinking the contents. Her nose crinkled slightly and she wiped her lips with the back of her hand, her lipstick miraculously staying perfectly put. She set the cup down on the counter and slipped her hand down to your wrist, practically dragging you off the barstool and toward an area on the dancefloor where Rebeka could easily spot her in your embrace. 

"Doesn't Rebe box in her free time? I don't want a black eye-"

"You'll be fine," Mencia assured you, setting her hands on your neck and glancing back in Rebeka's direction. Her smile widening informed you the girl in question had likely noticed you and Mencia, and you sighed internally, wondering how you'd let Mencia wrangle you into helping her make Rebeka jealous. It was childish and impulsive, but things always were when Mencia was involved. You pursed your lips at the girl and she clicked her tongue, giggling softly as she planted a kiss on your cheek. "If anything happens-"

"Mencia."

"If anything happens, I'll tell her it was my idea. Nothing's going to happen to you, okay? I promise." Mencia bit the tip of her tongue, more giggles leaving her. An unamused huff escaped you, the buzz of everything you'd drank throughout the night finally beginning to take effect. You pressed your forehead against hers, taking in the glittery eye makeup she'd chosen for the night. It wouldn't be the first time you'd made out with Mencia, hell, it likely wouldn't be the last either. So, with one last sigh, you nodded.

"Fine. But if I end up in the hospital because of you, you'll owe me." You murmured, pressing your forehead against hers and feeling her body shake with airy laughter. Mencia made a hum of acknowledgment and placed her hand over your cheek, pressing her lips against yours. She tasted of cold whiskey and bad ideas. You slipped your arms snugly around her waist and felt her nails lightly scrape the back of your head.

"Babes!" The voice in your ear startled you into pulling away, your head turning to look at Isadora and Ivan. The platinum blonde stared at you with slightly widened, annoyed eyes, her shiny lips slightly curling. Ivan's gaze flickered between you and Mencia, his fingers curling and uncurling before he broke away from Isadora and made his way through the crowd toward the bathrooms. Isadora turned toward you with a scowl, snapping her fingers in your face. "What are you waiting for? Go after him!"

"Why-"

"Go!" 

"Alright, alright," You pulled away completely from an equally puzzled Mencia, weaving through the groups of dancing club-goers until you reached the bathroom, spotting Ivan slipping into a stall and closing it in Patrick's face. The sight would've amused you if it weren't for how distressed Ivan had appeared. Patrick craned his neck to look at you over his shoulder, a scowl appearing on his face at the sight of you. 

"What'd you do to him?" He asked accusingly, turning around to face you and pressing his back against the stall door. One might've viewed it as a protective stance, a friend wanting to keep another safe, but you knew Patrick's 'overprotectiveness' was only due to his painfully one-sided feelings toward the boy in the stall. You might've found it pitiful if you hadn't hated the guy's guts since he ruined your best friend's relationship by inserting himself into it shamelessly. Patrick had been indifferent toward your distaste until Ivan stepped foot on campus and seemed more keen on being your friend over his. Watching his face fall each time Ivan brushed him off was a hit better than any drug.

"Bite me." You snapped at him. 

"Hey," Ivan sniffled. "Don't fight. I... I want to talk to (Y/N), Patrick."

"But-" 

"You heard him." You smirked and Patrick's jaw clenched, his shoulder roughly colliding with yours as he stormed by you. You rolled your eyes at his retreating form, one hand rubbing your shoulder and the other reaching for the stall door. You tugged it open just enough for you to slip inside before closing it behind you and facing the sun-kissed boy. 

"Hey." Ivan greeted weakly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffling at him. He cleared his throat, uncharacteristically timidly fiddling with his fingers. If you'd learned anything about Ivan Carvalho in the few months you'd known him, it was that he was anything but timid. He was confident, cocky, yet overall a sweet guy. 

"What's wrong, Ivan? What happened?" You asked him softly, taking slow steps toward him until you stood in front of him and gently took his hands into yours. Ivan chuckled softly, his fingers curling around yours. He inhaled deeply and tilted his head up to look at you, his adams apple bobbing when he swallowed thickly. Your brows furrowed at his nervous demeanor. "Are you oka-"

"I think I love you." The words tumbled out of his mouth, forcing you into stunned silence as your ever-growing tipsy state rendered your brain into a confused mush. Ivan laughed forcibly, his gaze flickering away nervously. "I... I've liked you since I first saw you in class. I- I thought you knew. I thought you knew and- I... seeing you with Mencia... it made me so mad. I can't explain the feeling. It hurt. I guess this is how Patrick feels like, huh? Must be karma."

"Ivan-"

"Can I kiss you? I... I just want to know what it feels like."

[tendertenebrosity]

Masterpost for the Hollow is here.

The bag that had been over my head was removed, and I blinked around in the light at the room I’d been taken to.

Dusty. Looked like… a warehouse? The ceiling was high and echoing over my head. You could see the square outlines of crates in the chaff and dust that nobody had bothered to sweep up. It was half full of people. Some of them in workman’s clothes, some of themin nicer street clothes or what were potentially uniforms. Whatever was going to happen here, the boss apparently wanted it to have an audience. My stomach flipped.

The hard thing I’d been set against seemed to be a support post, my hands pulled around behind it.

“Finally,” the foreman of the logging camp said, stepping out of the crowd. He put his head on one side as he examined me. “You’re a lot of fucking trouble, you know that?”

“I try,” I said. I tested my strength against the rope; not much give there. “You didn’t even let me get a word in this time.”

The foreman snorted. “You should have taken the hint, kid. I don’t go for this kind of thing as a first resort.”

“Principles. Nice,” I said, scanning the room. No shortage of exits, but people in front of all of them. Nobody in the crowd looked likely to help; some of them were leaning on walls or furniture casually, like they'd been talking before the boss got here. No sign of Isadora; this wasn’t really her crowd. I couldn’t expect help from that front again. “Hey uh…”

“Look, there have been enough stories about you coming back from the dead and it’s starting to piss me off,” the foreman said, conversationally. He rested a hand on the post I was tied to, looking down at me. “You have the devil’s own luck, and apparently I have some very incompetent employees. The river thing is a bit of a mystery to me, still don’t know how you managed that one. But it’s not going to happen again. You know what they say, if you want something done right, eh?”

“Yeah - no - wait,” I said, something like a nervous laugh bubbling up in my throat. I fought with the ropes. “Wait, you don’t want to -”

“So I’m not leaving any room for credulous stories or folk tales or incompetence,” the foreman said, over the top of me. He stopped leaning, and went down on his haunches in front of me. He gave a smile, mocking and insincerely rueful. “You’re dying today, here and now. And all of these good folks can watch and vouch that you are, in fact, a human being, and very dead. Maybe we’ll put the body up somewhere conspicuous for a few days, but that’s a bit gruesome.”

He had something in his hand - a knife, I realised after a second of craning my neck. No. Fuck. I was really bad at playing dead and there’d still be these ropes. What if they threw me in the river again when they were done? How sure was I that I couldn’t be killed? Nobody had ever tried burning me. What if they…

“The higher ups won’t like that much,” one of the other people in the room said, a woman in secretary’s clothes, not as fancy as Isadora’s. There was a nervous note in her voice, but when I tried to twist my head to make eye contact, she slid her gaze away.

“Well, what they don’t know back home won’t hurt’em,” the foreman said.

“No! No, we can talk about this!” I protested. How was this going to play out? I tried and discarded scenarios in my head at break-neck speed. All of them were ugly. “All I ever wanted was to -”

“Talk and talk and talk,” the foreman said. “I fucking know.”

He grabbed my hair, fingers twisting into it to hold me still. The knife came up, as the word I’d been saying caught and choked in my throat, and he stabbed me. Into the soft part under my chin, to the left; and then dragged to the right with a horrible wrenching movement.

He was doubtless expecting a truly appalling amount of blood. So was I, despite myself; I’d seen animals slaughtered before.

There was some blood. Not as much as there should be.

Not enough to slump over and pretend. As established, I was shit at that anyway. He let go of my hair and I was too shocked at the pain to prevent myself from leaning back from him, pulling the knife out with a horrible sucking empty feeling.

I met his eyes with mine, probably as wide and horrified as each other.

He recoiled, holding the knife awkwardly against his chest.

“What the fuck,” he said, slowly, quietly. His eyes moved over my chest, over the blood that was soaking slowly into the front of my shirt but no further. Like I’d had a nosebleed instead of having my throat slit. It seeped from the wound as slowly as tree sap.

I wanted to touch the wound, radiating white-cold-aching pain, but the ropes prevented me from doing more than twisting and wrenching my shoulders.

Damn it. Damn it. What now? I should try for intimidating. Nowhere else to take this, right?

“Yeah, about that,” I said. Something wasn’t right with my voice; it came out hoarse and whistling and the wound felt awful. I met his eyes again, this time on purpose. “You might owe your employees an apology.”

He jerked upright, to his feet and away from me, as if someone was pulling him. He backed away, and I could see his fingers shifting position on the knife handle, slippery with blood.

The audience he’d gathered seemed a little slow to catch on - maybe they didn’t know how much blood there was supposed to be, or they hadn’t seen what he’d done until he moved away. But as he backed away, the cries of shock and disgust started up.

Dread twisted in my stomach. I felt sick. The coppery smell of blood went to the back of my throat. The foreman was right about one thing, there wasn’t going to be any explaining this one away.

I had a reputation already in the settlement as a fanatic, a crazy radical. Maybe a political agitator or a cultist nutcase.

Well, I was about to gain a new one.

Revenant. Monster.

“What are you?” the foreman demanded. Somebody pushed their way up front to stand beside him and see what had the boss rattled; he saw me, upright and looking around with my throat a gaping wound. He backed up an involuntary step, reaching for the weapon at his belt.

The secretarial woman was white as milk; the man beside her looked like he was about to throw up.

“A servant of the forest,” I said, and coughed. “Like I said.”

Come on. Intimidating. I tried to make my voice light and unconcerned, as if I still had the upper hand. Tried not to give away the fact that I was dizzy, my whole body buzzing with fear and pain, probably as close as they were to losing my stomach contents on the floor.

“I told you that you were messing with…” I had to take a deep breath. “… with things that you didn’t understand. You can see…” I pulled harder on the next breath, and something bubbled weirdly in my throat; one of the people in the room made a tiny stifled upset noise and kicked a chair aside in their haste to put more distance between me and them.

“I’m not a trick,” I told the room, forceful. “And I’m not a folk tale. I’m very real. Thing is, I didn’t come here to…” Pause for a whistling breath. This was messing with my momentum. “To be your enemy. The forest is angry… but I’m not. Yet.”

The room was silent; I looked past the foreman and addressed everybody else. I shrugged my shoulders, trying to lift my hands in invitation to cut the ropes. “So how about this. You can - hh - loose the ropes, I’ll let bygones by bygones. Water under… under the bridge. And we can… talk, like I wanted.”

For a second I thought it was going to work. The foreman was just standing there, knife hand slack by his side, looking at me in disbelief. One of the workers was even standing and starting to edge towards me.

Then it all went wrong. More wrong.

The foreman snapped his hand out to prevent anybody from going near me. “Nobody touches that thing until I say so,” he said.

That thing. Oh, gods.

“What is it?” somebody asked. “Boss, what do we do? He can’t be… How can he…”

“I don’t know, give me a second,” the foreman said. He came closer, his mouth set and determined, steeling himself to get closer to me. I threw myself to the side in my bonds.

“Hey, no, no, don’t - ”

He went to one knee, pinned my shoulder against the wood with the heel of one hand, and with the other plunged the knife into my chest, up under the breastbone.

It hurt like being punched or kicked by a horse. I yelled, or tried to; I couldn’t get enough breath. The foreman pulled the knife out, looked at it and then at me with his brow furrowed.

“Stop! What the fuck!” I yelped. “What was that supposed to - Y-you don’t learn quick, do you?! Get off - ”

Almost calm, experimental even, he did it again. Lower this time, halfway down my abdomen; I felt things tear. He lifted his hand again, and something in the fixed expression he had, horror but curiosity, that almost exploratory intent - oh, fuck, I can’t do this.

“Stop,” I said, frantic - and I knew I’d lost it. People with the upper hand did not plead. “I - stop! That’s pointless! If you - if I - you shouldn’t -”

“Shut up,” he said, almost absently, his mouth twisted in distaste, flecks of my blood on his face. “If you could do anything to stop me, you’d have done it by now, wouldn’t you?”

I panted, tried to wriggle away from him. “The forest will -”

He put his hand over my mouth, shoved my head aside so he could look at the wound in my neck. I felt rather than saw his fingers probing the wounds, making sure they were real, making sure it was exactly what it looked like. I shuddered convulsively at the pain and revulsion, his hand stifling and horrible over my face, fingers jabbing painfully into my wounds. Air touched the moss in my chest, cold and drying and deeply uncomfortable as always.

I contemplated trying to bite him, trying to kick - maybe I could damage my wrist enough to get my hands out of the ropes? The time to try that was some time ago, when I was still trying to sell myself as the intimidating monster, before I’d let him see how afraid I was.

The experimental look in his eyes terrified me. Maybe he couldn’t kill me, but what was he going to do in the attempt? And what was he going to do when he concluded he couldn’t?

He made a soft noise of horrified surprise. “What the fuck,” he repeated, quietly. I squeezed my eyes shut against tears, but I could guess what he’d found; I was probably leaking moss and leaf litter like a mauled stuffed toy.

He let me go, finally. I pulled myself as upright as I could against the post, shaking my head. I spat out a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva on the ground at his feet.

He was wiping his hand on the thigh of his trousers, looking down at me with fascinated disgust.

“You’ll regret this,” I said, a hoarse whisper, wishing I sounded more intimidating. “I’m your first warning. You may not get another. The forest - ”

“The forest is out there,” he said. “You’re not. Joyce! How fast can we get a message to head office?”

Someone answered, hesitant.

“I don’t care how much,” the foreman said. “I don’t know how long this thing’ll keep moving, and they’re going to want to see it for themselves.”

[voidstilesplease]

i guess you're in london today

The creators of Elite can burn to the ground. They did Patrick and Ivan dirty. This is the only way to fix me a little. Another fic done on a whim. I'm sorry. I tried not to, but I need release. I'm not proud of this one, this isn't particularly special, and I actually don't like how short it is, but if it gets me going, whatever right?

"And we… we deserve a chance, Patrick and I. We were very good together, you know? It wouldn't be anything near what we had with anyone else. I would only be fooling myself."

“Has anyone seen –" Rocio craned her head, sweeping her gaze across the club of party-goers. Isadora House was packed with students from Las Encinas and their friends and family who came to celebrate the end of their high school days. She failed to spot the person she was looking for among the crowd, so she looked back to her friends. “Has anyone seen Ivan?”

Nico sipped from his glass and put it down with a frown, “Yeah, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen him since the ceremony.”

“Isa?” Didac prompted when everyone shrugged and shook their heads while she remained thoughtfully quiet.

Her fingers played with the straw of her drink as her mouth curved into a smile. “He’s probably 30,000 feet off the ground right now.”

All their faces displayed confusion. “What do you mean?” Sonia asked, laying her chin on Nico’s shoulder, hugging the boy from behind.

But Didac spoke up from the bar, mouth agape and eyes alight in realization. “No way,” he said in astonishment, looking at Isa in disbelief. “He actually did it?”

“Did what?” it was Bilal who asked, appearing beside Didac after pouring drinks for other patrons.

“What he’s been dying to do all this time,” Isa answered, eyes sparkling with pride. “Go after his first love.”

Their confusion gave way to surprise, then joy. Rocio gasped and giggled while Nico and Sonia clapped their hands. “So you caved, after all?” Bilal questioned, looking curiously at Isadora. “Ivan almost buried your friendship to the ground for an address and a phone number that you refused to give. I remember all the broken glasses I had to clean. But in the end you...?”

"Oh no," Isa cut him off, shaking her head. “No, no. No, sweetheart.” She smirked. “It was all Ivan. He found a way somehow.”

Rocio laughed, “My god,” she leaned against the bar, wrapping her head around the new development. Ivan had been miserable since waking up alone after the accident to find out Patrick was gone. Then the whole car arson situation, the countless talks with the detectives, Sara's confession, Isa's adamant refusal to budge, and there's also the case of Ivan's girlfriend... Well, not a girlfriend. Ivan never called her that. After a moment, she turned back to the group to ask. “Does…she know?”

“If hisfriends are only finding out now,” Sonia pointed out after they all exchanged knowing looks, “Then I can’t imagine how she would know before us.”

"True," Shrugging, Rocio added, “Besides, we already warned her not to get her hopes up,” accepting a refilled glass from Bilal and whispering a thank you, they exchange a brief smile before she continued. “She said with absolute certainty ‘Patrick Blanco is not here.How hard could it be to replace him? ’ Well, now she has her answer.”

Didac nodded, then asked, “But how come he didn’t tell us?”

"Hm! That reminds me," Isadora pushed away her straw, licking her lips, as she hurried to reach for her phone. “You have to listen to this,” she said, opening her inbox and clicking on the last audio message Ivan sent 3 hours ago.

“Hey, Isa.” The record began. “Sorry, I wasn’t able to say goodbye in person. It all just happened so quickly (laugh). I know where to find Patrick in London. I swear, I didn’t obtain the information illegally or something. But I have it. And, uh, I understand why you didn't give it to me. You were trying to be a loyal friend to Patrick. Anyway, I feel more victorious that I got it myself. It is true what they say: if you love someone strong enough, you're willing to go to the ends of the world for them. That's so sappy, no? (Chuckles) I’ll explain when I get back. (Pause) Well, if things go well, I might not be back soon, but I will be, okay? Even if... by chance, he doesn't take me back, and I would understand, I'm still staying. I'm not going away without a fight. So, yeah, I'll be gone a while. I feel bad for leaving like this, but I just couldn’t wait. (Sigh) Isa… I really miss him. You know that, right? I tried to make things work with… (swallow) but I can’t. I feel like I’m betraying Patrick when I’m with her… and I’ve betrayed him enough, you know? When I hold her hand, I imagine they were as big as mine. When I’m with her, I imagine a different smell, a deeper voice, and a harder body. I imagine green eyes. (Exhale) Whatever she did, whatever she said, she still deserves better. And we… we deserve a chance, Patrick and I. We were very good together, you know? It never ceases to amaze me how well we fit together. It wouldn't be anything near what we had with anyone else. I would only be fooling myself. And I don't want all of that to be just memories. I want to get it back. (Flight announcement in the background) Hey, that's my call. (Pause) Tell the gang I’m sorry for not giving prior notice, okay? I just… my heart could burst with how much I miss him. I couldn’t breathe from the feeling. And now that I know where my compass leads, I have to follow it. I need this. I need Patrick. Wish me luck.”

“Wow,” Sonia breathed in wonder when the recording finished. The rest nodded, beaming with pride. “Is it just me, or was that really romantic?”

Didac chuckled, raising his glass. “To our friends. May they find their way back to each other."

“To Ivan and Patrick,” Isa echoed, lifting hers, too.

Together, glasses clinked as they toasted for the long-awaited reunion.

---

I put it on AO3 too because why not.

Also, who's the unnamed "girlfriend" in the fic, you ask? I'm assuming they're going to give Ivan a new love interest in season 7. So, this is how I want the little bitch to know that there's no replacing Patrick. Fuck what the creators of Elite say.

[scifipoetry]

RETÁBULO DE HARRY CROSBY, SACERDOTE DO SOL

ÁRIES

QUAL CARRO, Sr Crosby, devemos utilizar para cortar o caminho para o Gênio via Loucura? Se é que o carro importa, é isso que você quis dizer? Champagne sim, filosofia não? Não?

Um carro, um avião. Uma bacannalia grande o bastante para ser uma grande procissão da Morte Solar, caindo na floresta mais selvagem em uma explosão de glória. Milhões de amantes brilhantes em uma vida que é o risco de um cometa no céu, um cometa cuja cauda ejacula champagne e paga seus artistas em ouro. Em seu levantar das estrelas dança a Era da Beleza, da qual ela é a última celebrante. Não apenas a transgressão total de todos os cânones e a GUERRA ALQUÍMICA contra o tédio, o comum, a vida mesma. Mas também o sentido dessa transgressão em um mergulho ritual e cerimonial nos céus ensolarados de sua própria morte, isto é, o processional de sua morte, a forma como a vida se entrega nas mãos do mal completamente desejante, pulsante, latejante. Onde o doce estofado celestial toca a pele daqueles que amam rapido, se queimam e morrem muitas vidas e muitas mortes em uma. Onde se sai e se entra na atmosfera, tornando-se fogo no processo. A pele formiga.

O coração se queima.

Que um homem assim tenha tido a paciência necessária para editar os mais belos livros trabalhando incessantemente na tecnologia da beleza, na maciez e no perfume dos papéis, nos mais belos filigranas de ouro e na aniquilação total do mundo antigo, em sua fé arcaica no moderno, transformando assim o destino da literatura, sendo o primeiro a publicar Joyce, trancafiado Hart Crane em sua torre com uma caixa de Cutty Sark para que ele fosse forçado a terminar sua obra prima, escrevendo os primeiros poemas telefônicos quando Andrew Warhola era ainda apenas um sonho prateado no Cosmos...

TOURO

Foi um assassinato brutal ou o pacto suicida de dois amantes? Em uma era de excessos e de velocidade, como julgar vidas secretas em seu último segredo? Eles eram aqueles que queriam fazer amor com a Morte. Como entender sua solenidade, a ternura de uma flor eternamente morta expressando seu simbolismo funerário em um último gesto delirante?

Ele desejava morrer em um acidente de carro. Mais tarde decidiu que queda de avião fazia uma morte mais solar. Pular de um arranha céu também: arranha céus são santuários do falo e tudo que é falico é também solar.

Mas no final eles usaram apenas uma centelha. Através do revólver, seus corpos permaneceram intactos, suas belezas uma runa para os detetives e legistas. O primeiro legista na cena ficou hipnotizado pelo aspecto visual e pela ritualística daquele suicídio. Símbolos pagãos. As unhas dos pés de Harry pintadas em esmalte vermelho. As solas dos pés tatuadas. E ele também estava fascinado pela beleza dos dois. Uma encarnação preta de pano em sua lapela, uma orquídea nos cabelos de Josephine.

E uma marca de bala atrás da orelha de cada um, o ato final, a flor de sangue.

GÊMEOS

Os sentidos de seu mito transbordam para mim. Eu vejo os cometas, os fantasmas de um século atrás, dirigindo calhambeques conversíveis pelos céus em alta velocidade, fazendo pausas nas proximidades de Castor e Pollux para picnics à luz dos faróis, trocas de beijos com cônjuges alheios, champagne e caviar em cestinhas de vime. Eles dirigem rápido e sempre querem colidir mas nunca conseguem ir rápido o suficiente. Esse é seu inferno.

Nós vivemos em uma época lenta e pálida e quando vemos seus traços nos céus é medo que sentimos mais que qualquer outra coisa. Eles inventaram o nosso mal, a cartilha do mal que temos que seguir. Seus corações estavam cheios de Baudelaire e Maldoror e outras coisas horríveis. Sua religião das Artes os tornava magos poderosíssimos, e sob a sombra de seu mundo de luz nós nascemos, as crianças da noite. Nós ouvimos falar de suas festas na mitologia. O Baile Orgiástico da Escola dasQuatro Artes, em Paris. Venha Como Sua Loucura, A Inauguração do Domo do Prazer... Isadora enforcada em sua própria echarpe, seu espírito saindo do corpo rodopiando em uma dança com a cabeça de Orfeu...

O mar brilha límpido por detrás de suas loucuras, a eterna noite é suave com certeza. Mas seus fantasmas não são, nem são os que os vêem.

CÂNCER

A Deusa da Morte é Preta e Rosa, como Elvis. O rosa vem do artificial em seus lábios, todo o açúcar de um pirulito envenenado, a bala em forma de coração, o desejo da Vulva de também sobrepujar a natureza. O rosa vulgar do desejo explodindo em milhões de novos corpos inúteis, das milhões de novas sacerdotisas do Sol Negro, cada vez mais baixas e mais deliciosas. A fonte deste mundo de corrupção, a Mãe das Abominações original, esse rosa do pecado pelo qual Elvis Presley era apaixonado.

Um encontro com Elvis. Pílulas, champagne, junk food e a Bíblia. Todo deus solar é um deus sacrificial. O falo morre dentro da Vulva e assim o boy solar, o lindo menino feito da urina do Sol, ele é sugado pela Deusa Cadela do Sucesso.

(Por ser lunar posso me apaixonar por essas imagens à distância. Cultuo esses deuses porque eu mesmo como deus sou profundamente entediante. E lento.)

Do negro ao rosa em um sentido alquímico: a perversão que nasce do encontro com o Sol Negro, do processo de nigredo e calcinação que miraculosamente gera um prazer. O prazer nascido da dor e por isso torto, cruel e maligno. Ou simplesmente desviado. O rosa como sublimação impossível do vermelho, frivolidade maníaca, que desbota justamente porque queima.

O rosa é o sangue alienígena corruptor. O negro é o Sol que nasce na nossa mais profunda noite, e que brilha como um abismo dentro de um abismo.

LEÃO

Talvez a mitologia da fascinação pela morte tenha nascido em estados intensos de orgasmo drogado. Dissoluções épicas do ego na substância solar do amor que escorre como os líquidos, os fluidos do corpo dos amantes. Quão comuns na Era da Beleza eram as trocas de talismãs fluídicos: pequenos pingentes com sangue, saliva, cartas tingidas com sêmen, recortes de tecidos onde amantes suaram suas almas em loucas cavalgadas. Toda uma cultura cuja tecnologia mágica era o corpo e a dissolução da consciência que prende esse corpo pelo uso de velhas ferramentas pagãs de transe.

Mementos. "Lembre-se que você vai morrer."

Porque são os loucos da Morte aqueles que mais profundamente amam a vida? Àqueles que amam até o seu desperdício e seu absurdo, a dor do seu abandono no próprio ser é um sinal, uma marca de Caim, uma Fome do Cão. A extensão de seus atos gera vítimas. Seus delírios criativos destroem a ordem estabelecida. Seu moto perpétuo é o Caos. Criador e destruidor.

A marca da vida de Harry Crosby é que ele não se importou com ninguém, nem consigo mesmo, apenas com os pensamentos que levavam ao extremo da loucura. Tomar o poder sobre a própria morte gera um vórtice de energia, viver a vida como uma procissão para ela, sem medo, com desejo, faz com que a vida se inflame. Não o suicídio, mas a ideia de suicídio, faz com que tudo se torne possível. Faz com que os medos mais arraigados morram. Antes de sua morte, que para ele com 31 anos já foi tardia, Harry e os seus fizeram tudo que é possível em termos de prazer e hedonismo, se entediaram com tudo e passaram a se dedicar de corpo e alma ao culto da literatura onde novamente envenenado, e enlouquecido por um prazer eternamente inacessível, a Morte se torna um ritual real, toda sua obra poética uma carta velada de suicídio.

VIRGO

Voltemos a Rimbaud, outro de seus favoritos. É preciso necessariamente que o artista seja aquele que olha para sua luz até ficar cego, a sua própria luz, aquela que ninguém mais vê. Não importa que os outros finjam que ele finge. Em seus estômagos paira a fria lâmina da desconfiança. E se for tudo verdade? Se a vaidade das vaidades for o valor supremo desta vida, se como eles dizem a vida é vã? La vida no vale nada?

Somos meros agentes da biologia. Usados pela natureza para um propósito que não é nosso, nossas trevas pululando de sonhos, girinos, embriões dionisíacos. O nosso grande terror é essa auto consciência pesada e que não se lembra porque pesa. Daí que certos artistas nos ensinaram a emboscar essa consciência. Catapultar, guilhotinar, afogá-la em absinto. Explodir essa consciência não por mero apego ao mal, mas porque essa consciência vem do universo e no universo tudo explode.

Ó Fogo da Mente. Ó Deus que Produz o Fogo na Cabeça.

A sombra desse Fogo somos nós. Em nossas peles de luz nós nascemos e iluminados por dentro nós cultivamos, como sombras, todas as doenças da Luz. Elas são magníficas. Os desvios, as estradinhas campestres, a Rosa dos Esconderijos. Nós inventamos muito poucas virtudes. Mas para essas virtudes há infinitas perversões.

LIBRA

E agora é a hora de parar, como disse um amigo poeta a Harry, com esse exagero na decadência, esse mono-tema da perversão. Em múltiplos amores não há apenas promiscuidade mas também a leveza que compõe a palavra leviandade. A paixão da beleza, pela beleza e para a beleza, um bálsamo de leveza em um mundo de chumbo. Certamente que vidas regidas pela beleza, pela cultura, pela arte, serão múltiplas. Múltiplas em inúmeros detalhes que passam ao largo dos olhos apagados. Os olhos apagados vêem o mundo com a película bege ou cinza de seu próprio estofo. Não vêem o brilho, as operações, as propriedades das coisas. E assim também, seu conceito de amor é dos mais obscuros. Não há nele nuances e infinitos campos harmônicos. A curiosidade do cientista ou a mania do sacerdote passam longe. Sequer percebem o quanto o canto das cigarras é sexual e sinistro.

Leviandade. A ausência de culpa após inúmeras situações de prazer que levam ao costume da alegria. O verdadeiro pagão é um animal satisfeito que quando o Sol se põe deita feliz para ter sonhos felizes. Se ele se aventura pela ansiedade das trevas e do medo é pela própria vontade. Pela curiosidade, pela invenção.

Harry Crosby se tornou editor daqueles que faziam isso em uma esfera puramente abstrata, literária. Por maior que fosse a intensidade da sua aventura de vida, ele sabia que nas palavras dos poetas ela era maior. Ele sentia a vertigem da poesia moderna como se estivesse a ponto de se jogar do topo dela. O problema era esperar porque o topo ainda não havia sido definido. As alturas eram vertiginosas até mesmo para aqueles que cantam Hosannas nas alturas... E o que fazer durante a espera?

Mulheres. Mulheres. Mulheres. Meninas. Meninas. Meninas. Deusas. Deusas. Deusas. Flores. Flores. Flores. E champagne.

Enigmas: A Rainha Louca. A Carícia (Rainha Cremosa?) A Princesa do Fogo. A Feiticeira. A Senhora do Cavalo de Ouro.

SCORPIO

Meu amor, nos pináculos das pirâmides da sua pele eu arrancaria meu coração e caminharia com ele em minhas mãos erguidas até que a doce Morte me unisse a tua eternidade para sempre.

Em um obelisco de vidro lambido pela luz do Sol eu te amaria em névoas de ópio, em infinitos rios de nudez e fluidos corporais servindo de canal para as embarcações eternas passarem por nós e nos inundarem com seu ouro ancestral.

Em uma estrada rural em alguma parte bruxa da França em uma capela abandonada nós dessecaríamos o Cordeiro com nossos gritos e nosso abandono, e nosso fetiche por roupas.

Em uma festa rica de artistas nós faríamos amor debaixo de uma mesa no por do Sol quando todos estivessem em outro lugar e depois daríamos risadas verdadeiras.

Em um acidente de carro nós tentaríamos beijar nossos últimos suspiros.

Em um acidente de avião nós gritaríamos FOGO. E talvez LOUVADO SEJA O SOL se desse tempo.

No acidente de nosso amor nós dois perderíamos a nós mesmos porque isso é o amor.

Em uma cama de palha na floresta nós pediriamos o mais doce veneno e morreríamos com os lábios colados e a luz do Sol escorreria para dentro de nós para sempre e sempre e sempre.

No interior da Pirâmide de Giza nós proclamaríamos os mais doces suspiros de amor e o eco os devolveria a nós como se tivéssemos nove corpos cada um se sobrepondo sobre o outro em ondulações extasiadas.

Em um cenote no México seríamos como uma orgia de enguias elétricas e acenderíamos luzinhas nas árvores sem lâmpadas.

No andar 270 de um monumento ao falo em NY eu te convidaria a caminhar sobre o arco-íris e trocar de corpo comigo.

Em um Verão Assassino em qualquer ano da era do apocalipse nós testaríamos o limite da metáfora que relaciona o Orgasmo com a Morte.

Liquefeitos em uma piscina de suor nossos corpos brigariam como ondas em um mar dourado, nossas almas como névoas dançando bem acima do horizonte.

SERPENTÁRIO

Eu sou como a tinta da caneta do Sol esguichando bilhões de raios para dentro de bilhões de cinturas eletromagnéticas que brilham como estradas tocadas pelo orvalho.

Eu sou como as serpentes gêmeas do Sol se entrelaçando em um incesto urobórico.

Meu sangue é como o arco-íris do Sol, e poucos são capazes de ver todas as suas cores.

Meu semen é como o magma do Sol sendo ejaculado automaticamente por bilhões de metralhadoras brilhantes no espaço sideral nos braços de bilhões de meninas berberes dos desertos galáticos em êxtase.

Meu espírito é como um homem de palha do Sol gigante em chamas, um Elvis do Inferno rebolando conforme rotações gravitacionais precisas e malévolas para as deliciosas estrelas do Universo.

Meus olhos são como dois abismos negros sugando a vida para dentro de um coração ainda mais abismal em uma noite infinita e infinitamente suculenta.

Minha pele é como um gramado onde o fogo do Sol é a grama, e não é à toa que dizem que minha cor é a cor do pecado porque com o Sol minha pele pecou e seu fogo permanece dentro dela.

Meu calendário é como uma dança do Sol e cada parada em cada feriado solar é o convite a um novo pecado delicioso.

Meu esqueleto é como o Sol que os olhos vêem no céu, e atrás dele um outro Sol vermelho como o sangue na boca de uma tigresa é o sexo que vive dentro dele, o sexo do Sol.

Meu amor é como a luz do Sol no Verão Assassino, como uma facada que sai detrás de uma nuvem, quente, fervendo, e que ferve ainda mais quando penetra a pele e transforma em fogo o sangue.

Meu amor é como o Trem Negro do Sol, cujo destino é a perdição completa, a aniquilação em um lago negro repleto do sêmen de estrelas que ainda não nasceram e uma noite deliciosa de onde ainda podemos nos lembrar de antes de nascermos.

Meu amor é como um gole de gasolina.

SAGITÁRIO

"Eu pedi um gole de água, ela me deu gasolina..." "Eu barganhei por salvação, me deram uma dose letal..." Os poetas estão cheios de falas sobre como a vida é um bagulho cabuloso. É preciso estar aqui como um exército invasor. É preciso temer os vivos, não os mortos. É preciso fazer os vivos temerem você.

Conhecer o medo e pouco a pouco aprender a amar o medo, um pouquinho por vez. Qualquer viajante é uma legião. Quando em Roma não faça como os romanos, eles fazem isso mil vezes melhor que você. Sempre ultrapassar uma fronteira como se ela fosse o último sacrilégio, o pecado mais mortal. Sempre queimar as pontes e nunca olhar para trás.

"Velocidade total, direto e reto, psico-morto!"

CAPRICÓRNIO

Qualquer homem que tenha praticado magia sexual sabe que o sêmen é um carregador poderoso, e que quando usado como uma tinta ou verniz sobre papel, quando se olha contra a luz do Sol ele parece conter um pó de estrelas, uma mica, pequenos pontinhos brilhantes que lembram o Cosmos.

Harry Crosby se masturbava pensando no Sol, fazia amor com o Sol em seu ser. Se esse Sol era macho, fêmea ou andróide é irrelevante. Ele mesmo se tornava todas as coisas para receber seu amor, seu deus, seu fogo do céu.

Seus poemas estão repletos do sêmen do Sol. Repletos de Princesas do Fogo, danças ferventes no deserto, carros fumegando que são símbolos de sua própria jornada e de seu próprio corpo. Estão também repletos de uma beleza arcaica, como se tivessem sido gravados em madeira símbolos e selos solares depois preenchidos com ouro por um escriba dedicado e virtuoso.

Seus poemas são magia sexual e magia de morte. Como bom geminiano ele conheceu ambas profundamente. Ele sabia que uma era a outra e vice versa. E que há um tipo de amor que só pode ser consumado no êxtase final.

AQUÁRIO

O Sol se põe sobre nossas cidades horríveis e nossas pessoas horríveis, sua lamentosa luz faz parecer que é beleza o que vemos, essa praga por cima dos montes. Eu passo diante de um bar. É como um pesadelo. Todos os homens que estão lá são horríveis, pesados, cinzentos. Insensíveis e indiferentes à majestade de luz sobre eles, e eu quero escapar voando para esse céu de sangue.

Eu costumava amar as luzes das cidades distantes na noite mas agora tudo que consigo ver é a praga da luz crescendo por toda parte. Viajar à noite era um bálsamo de romance, agora eu viajo como um soldado. Medo e atenção em doses heróicas no meu sangue, eu espero para invadir a cidadela do Sol e matar todo mundo que vive lá.

Eu costumava ser ensolarado mas quando a Rainha Louca me sagrou cavaleiro, eu era o Cavaleiro Enluarado. Minha tristeza era justiça e minha dor era beleza em meu rosto. Minha pele queimada pelo Sol era como a noite reluzente. Eu andei pela noite e quando Harry Crosby se sacrificou eu me tornei um dos meninos bonitos de sua viuvinha, doce Caresse, deliciosa Caresse, porque eu não reverenciava o Sol mas sua luz. Ela era essa luz, e ao se sacrificar ele a poupou. Ele a preservou de seu próprio buraco negro.

Caresse Crosby escolheu a vida. Escolheu exorcizar a dor trepando. Como a Lua recebe os raios do Sol, seu corpo recebeu os corpos de centenas de amantes. Como um Sol ela manteve em sua órbita os poetas e os loucos, os músicos e os mágicos, todos aqueles que buscavam santuário em uma cela do Sol feita apenas para os desviados da sociedade. Seu amor alimentou a arte de multidões. Sua fé no êxtase não foi traída.

PEIXES

Nós somos as sombras do Sol. As centelhas perdidas em uma selva biológica. Sophia implorando para ser resgatada. Sonhos e sopros da Lua. Nossa água é mais antiga que nosso planeta. Nosso ferro mais doce.

Nos mitos que nos despertam, nas sensações que nos devolvem a nós, nos ritos que fazemos para acentuar a vida, a loucura nos espreita do outro lado do espelho. Ela tem o nosso gosto e é enjoativa. É preciso ser muito forte para dar um gole nela.

Harry e Caresse Crosby beberam a garrafa inteira. Que cada um de nós beba a garrafa inteira e tatue o rótulo em nossos corações. É um lindo rótulo. Sobre um punhal estão gravados os dizeres:

"Morte aos burgueses!"

[barbossas-wench]

My ocs

Briella Jin (Endeavour)

Dahlia Lascelles (my own oc from The Manor of Enchantment)

Isadora Crane (Descendants/TLOSH)

Katy Bones (Descendants/TLOSH)

Rosabel Gracey (Descendants/Haunted Mansion)

Savannah Mendoza (Joker 2019)

Annika Crane (Descendants/TLOSH)

Sonya Gracey (Descendants/Haunted Mansion)

Ofelia Reyes (Gotham)

Maisie Riverstone (Gotham)

Picrew by @ummmmandy

[100yearoldcomics]

May 7, 1922 Krazy Kat by George Herriman

[ID: Joe Stork stands on the edge of the Enchanted Mesa, reading the newspaper. He holds it close to his face, but his long beak pokes a hole through the middle of the paper. A bag labeled "Special Delivery" sits at his feet. /end] Caption: "Joe Stork," of the "Enchanted Mesa" lays a listless eye upon the daily line up of "Victims," and finds it good to look upon. Joe Stork: Ah, this looks like a propitious day for me. The list of "Victims" is very satisfying.

[ID: A clipping torn out of the paper. An arrow labels it with the phrase, "Look 'em over yourself." /end] Clipping: Entries for today's Connubial Complications - Are - Mr. Wuff Wough Wuph married to Miss Ruff Rough Ruph. Mr. Phlegm Ingo married to Miss Ingomar Krain. Mr. Khanga Rhew married to Miss Isadora Dingo. Mr. Jim Pannzi married to Miss Auranga Tangue. DIVORCES [clipping cuts off]

[ID: Joe flies off the edge of the mesa, his Special Delivery bag in his beak. /end] Caption: With these sweet words between his beak, "Joe Stork" flutters himself away. Joe Stork: I feel that I shall have no difficulty in finding a "customer" today.

Caption: Mr. W.W. Wuph's reception. [ID: Mr. Wuff Wough Wuph ZIPs a brick at Joe Crane in mid-flight, hitting him on the head as he sails over the Wuph house. /end] Mr. Wuph: Git away from that chimbly, "Stork." Git away, or I'll knock you so flat, you'll look transparent.

Caption: Mr. Phlegm Ingo declares himself. [ID: In case you couldn't parse, the pun, Mr. Ingo is a flamingo. He sticks his long neck up the chimney and out the top to confront Joe Stork. It's late at night, a crescent moon hangs in the sky. /end] Joe: But it's a nice one, "Phlegm." Mr. Ingo: Take it to a beauty parlor. You can't park it here.

Caption: Mr. "Rhew" shows some slight vehemence. [ID: Mr. Khanga Rhew, a kangaroo wearing boxing gloves, climbs a ladder to menace Joe Stork on his rooftop. Joe hides behind a chimney, terrified. /end] Mr. Rhew: You drop anything down that smoke stack, and I'll jolly well clink y'r blinking winkers for ya. Y'stilt legged wagabone.

Caption: Mr. Pannzi gets stubborn. [ID: Mr. Jim Pannzi, a chimpanzee, throws himself over the opening of his chimney to cover it up. He glares at Joe Stork, staring directly into his eyes. /end] Mr. Pannzi: Try it, that's all. Just try it. Da-a-ag-nabya!!!

[ID: Joe Stork sits, not knowing what to do, on a park bench under a tree. /end] Joe: S'no use. This "stork" business is sure bum these days.

[ID: Elsewhere, Krazy pops their head over the horizon and looks quickly between two dogs, a man and a woman, sleeping on opposite rocks in the same position. /end] Krazy: ? ?

[ID: Krazy steps in between them and grabs their attention, bent over at the waist to stare at the ground. The two dogs wake up and, intrigued, stare at the same spot. /end] Krazy: Ooy, my gooniss!! Look wot I'm looking at!!! Dogs: ? ?

[ID: The dogs rush to Krazy's place and do like he does, bending over at the waist to stare at the ground, curious. /end] Mr. Dog: What? Krazy: Nothing. Ms. Dog: What?

[ID: They stand up and stare in each others' eyes, startled. Krazy presides over them like a priest laying on hands. /end] Krazy: You ain't my children, but bless you just the same.

[ID: The new couple sit together on a log, thinking of two hearts pierced by an arrow. Krazy whispers conspiratorially to a dog with a top hat and glasses. /end] Krazy: You are just in time, Parson. Parson: Ah-h, yes.

[ID: A despondent Joe Stork talks to Krazy, who leans casually on the park bench. /end] Joe: Tough customers, are they? Krazy: Na-a-a. Easy.

[ID: Krazy struts down the street proudly, singing to themself. Ignatz lies in wait behind a bush, aiming his brick. Officer Pupp stands behind him, hiding behind a tree, also lying in wait. /end] Krazy: There is a heppy lend, furfur a-wa-a-ay Ignatz: Ah. Pupp: Ah-h.

[seanfalco]

Under the Moonlight

Nikolai x f!Reader

Prompt: I wish you'd write a fic about Nikolai shagging that chick from the bar. Bonus points if it's on the dock! Word Count: 2.6k a/n: I ended up tweaking the prompt slightly to make it a reader insert, I hope that’s alright!

You’d come to Sway Lake to write your novel, thinking like any writer would, that the quiet romantic ambience would be rife with inspiration, far from the distractions of the city and all your past mistakes, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.  A year later, your novel was at a standstill and your inspiration, much like your savings, was dwindling.  Soon you were either going to have to pack up shop and move on, or find another part time job just to make ends meet.

That night when the sun sank below the horizon, you decided to walk to the bar, wanting to stretch your legs after a long day spent in front of your laptop, only managing a couple hundred words, and most of them garbage.

Settling at the counter, you ordered your drink and looked around; a small group of local girls tittered over in the corner, but you ignored them, thanking the bartender and tipping back your glass as the door opened once more.  Two young men you’d never seen before entered, already looking rather tipsy as they plopped down nearby, ordering drinks and talking conspiratorially, their heads close together before the short haired one straightened, turning to you with a rather charming smile.

“Hello there!” he exclaimed, taking you aback with his thick Russian accent.

“Hello…” you answered warily, though he seemed friendly enough.  “Are you… wearing a cape?” you asked, finally noticing his and his friend’s strange attire.  It looked as if they’d been playing dress up.

“Oh, you like my cape?” he asked, giving it a dramatic flourish as he threw it over his shoulder.  “Is family heirloom, very old, part of famous theatrical wardrobe!” he boasted, thought you were fairly certain he was full of shit.  Still, you found yourself grinning anyway.

“You just go about wearing priceless family heirlooms?” you countered with amusement, swirling your drink in your glass.

“Well, maybe is not heirloom, but is old none-the-less,” he backtracked, and you huffed a laugh as you finished off your drink.

“This is pointless, I wanna find Isadora,” the Russian’s friend bemoaned, his words slurring slightly.

“What?  No, my friend, there is a bevvy of beautiful women right here!” the Russian exclaimed, gesturing to the group of girls at the other end of the bar, though his eyes never left you.  “I have never been turned down in my life!” he boasted, the look in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine.  “Watch and learn, my brother,” he continued, letting out a shrill whistle.  “Girlies!” he called, grabbing their attention.  “Come over!” 

You rolled your eyes as you watched the group look at each other for a moment, giggling amongst themselves before heading over.  One stepped forward to assess the Russian, twisting a lock of hair between her fingers as she batted her eyelashes at him.

“You look like Luke Perry,” she exclaimed with a flirtatious giggle.

The Russian looked at her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face before he jumped to his feet, grabbing your wrist in the process, dragging you with him as he strode to the door, his cape flaring out behind him.

“Come girls!  Ollie!  The night is young!” he announced.  “Is this your piece of shit?” he asked as he approached the car parked out front and you were slightly surprised to find the others following you, the Russian’s friend nearly tripping down the stairs.

“No, I walked here,” you answered and a pleased grin spread across the Russian’s face before he turned to address the others.

“Ollie, show them the way!  I will take the guide boat and meet you there,” he exclaimed, pulling you with him toward the dock.

“Wait, where are we going?” you demanded, unsure exactly when you’d decided to go with him.

“Back to Sway House on Crane Point,” he answered, jumping into the sleek wooden canoe.

“Sway House?  But that’s private property—” you exclaimed.  Following the mad, drunk, rather alarmingly charming and handsome Russian into the night was one thing, but breaking and entering was quite another and you weren’t in the mood to get arrested.

“Yes, and my comrade, Ollie, is a Sway,” the Russian explained, holding out his hand.  “Will you come with me?”

Hesitating only a moment, you took his hand, letting him help you into the boat before he quickly sat and reached for the oar, just as you were taking your seat across from him.  He slipped the end of the oar into the water and you watched his arms as he began to row smoothly, his muscles stretching and flexing under his tanned skin, visible still under the light of the moon.

“What is your name?” he asked suddenly, snapping you from your thoughts, and you tore your eyes from his arms to focus on his equally as distracting face.

“It’s [y/n],” you answered, dazzled by the smile he directed at you.

“[y/n]?” he repeated, tasting your name on his tongue.  “A beautiful name, suited for screaming to the heavens while in the throws of passion!” he declared boldly, throwing his arms wide, his words making you flush.

“I don’t know about that…” you argued faintly, briefly imagining what your name might sound like on his lips in such an instance.

Grinning coyly, as if he knew what you were thinking, he suddenly, thankfully, changed the subject.  “So, [y/n], what do you do?” he asked as he rowed.

“I’m a writer… or well, more like I fancy myself one,” you answered with a grimace.

“What do you mean?  You either are one, or you aren’t,” the Russian exclaimed, wearing a small frown.

“I mean, I came here to write a novel, but now that I’m here, the words won’t come,” you explained, feeling rather vulnerable venting your frustrations to a complete stranger.

“Then you must grab the words by the scruff of the neck and make them submit to you!” 

“That’s easier said than done,” you pointed out wryly.  “I’m starting to think I’m wasting my time.  Maybe I just need to get my head out of the clouds and get a real job.”

You felt the boat bump gently against something and realized you’d reached your destination, your companion jumping up onto the dock and offering you his hand.

“Or maybe you just need to live a little first.  How can you write about life if you have not experienced it?”

Unsure how to reply, you merely took his hand, letting him lead you up to the house.  Inside, you were met by a chorus of drunken voices, the three girls from the bar trying to play the piano while the Russian’s friend, Ollie, put on an old record, trying to tell the girls about the singer, though it was sadly obvious they weren’t paying attention.

Circling the room, you let your gaze wander over the faded photographs and dust covered knick-knacks, finding yourself wondering about the people in the photos.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?  Elegant,” the Russian mused, startling you, and you turned to find him standing at your elbow, offering you a shot of clear alcohol, vodka if you had to guess, and you took it from him.  “People just aren’t like that anymore,” he said, frowning slightly, and you glanced over at the boisterous girls before focusing on him once more.

“I dunno about that… I think it’s a little unfair to judge a whole generation of people against an over romanticized version of the past,” you murmured, bringing your glass to your lips, downing the shot.  “Don’t get me wrong, there are definitely certain things that were incredibly beautiful about the past, but that’s the thing about nostalgia, you have to be careful, because it’s usually rose tinted, blinding you to the things that weren’t so beautiful.”

For a moment he studied you, looking at you as if you were a puzzle to solve and you could feel your face warming once more.

“Sorry,” you exclaimed, shaking your head ruefully.  “Look at me ruining the mood.”

“No, no,” he insisted quickly, “you are… insightful.  It is refreshing,” he said, holding up his shot glass and you did the same, hooking your arm around his to take your shot.

Soon, you’d lost track of how much you’d had to drink and you found yourself following the mysterious Russian back down to the water in the dark, laughing as you ran, his hand warm in yours.

“What are we doing?” you asked, laughter still tinging your voice and he turned back to you as your bare feet hit the wooden planks of the dock.

“We are going for a swim,” he answered, letting the ridiculous cape fall from his shoulders and pulling his orange polo over his head.  “You do know how to swim, da?” he asked, but you were too busy staring at his smooth chest to answer.

“[y/n]?  You can swim, can’t you?” he repeated and you finally nodded, your eyes quickly flicking skyward as he shamelessly dropped his trousers, diving gracefully off the end of the dock into the lake.

“Yes, I-I can swim,” you answered, suddenly feeling shy.  You’d never done anything like this before, and certainly not with a handsome stranger you’d just met.

“Then come on!  The water is perfect!  I’ll even turn my back while you undress,” he offered, noticing your reluctance and promptly honouring his word, giving you some privacy to strip.

The water was slightly bracing as you first dove in, but after the initial shock, he was right, the temperature was quite perfect and as your head broke the surface you found him waiting for you, treading water as he moved closer.  The moonlight reflected off the water caught in his long lashes and for the umpteenth time that night, you found yourself distracted by his beauty.

“See, what I tell you?  Perfect!” he exclaimed with a laugh and you kicked your legs lazily to keep your head bobbing above the water.

“You know… it just occurred to me, I don’t know your name,” you said, slightly surprised you’d gone almost the whole night only referring to him as ‘the Russian’ in your head.

“It is Nikolai,” he answered with a grin and a sudden burst of impulsiveness overtook you, his words from earlier ringing in your ears — you need to live more, how can you write about life if you have not experienced it?

“Nikolai, I really wanna kiss you right now,” you admitted, your heart pounding in your ears.  If he could be spontaneous and exciting then so could you.

“What a coincidence,” Nikolai drawled, swimming closer, his eyes finding yours.  “I really want to kiss you too, [y/n].”

Before you could respond, you felt his hand brush against your waist, pulling you against him and your breath hitched as your lips collided.  He tasted of vodka and your head swam as his tongue found yours, and you opened your mouth wider to him, a moan slipping out only for him to swallow it.

Wanting more, you snaked your arms around his neck as you kissed him eagerly, hungrily, spurred on by his wandering hands, heat pooling between your legs as you felt his cock press against your hip.

“Nikolai—” you gasped, pulling back to find him wearing a pleased grin.

“Yes, malyshka?” he asked, though the way the moonlight danced in his emerald eyes, you could tell he already knew what you wanted, he just wanted to hear you ask for it.

“I want you,” you exclaimed, your skin aflame with your desire.

“I want you too, [y/n],” Nikolai replied, pulling you back up onto the dock with him and spreading his cape out to lay on.  “Have you ever made love under the moonlight?” he asked, rolling you under him.

“No, I-I can’t say that I have,” you admitted breathlessly, anticipation coursing through you.

“Then I will make this special for you, katyonak.”

The rest of your inhibitions fell away as Nikolai’s mouth found your neck, laying open mouthed kisses along your throat and down your chest as he parted your legs, slipping his hand between them to tease you.

“[y/n], you are so wet for me,” he drawled against your skin and you sighed, biting your lip as he replaced his hand with his cock, filling you slowly, letting you adjust.

“Oh, Nikolai!” you gasped, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he hovered over you, blotting out the stars.  The moon overhead shone around him like a halo, and as he moved in you, you let go, embracing your desires.  Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, like the tide lapping at the shore and Nikolai’s soft grunts and moans filled the night air, mixing with your own sounds and the sounds of the night as if they were meant to be there.

For someone who seemed to be filled with such exuberance and energy, Nikolai was a surprisingly gentle lover, attentive to your needs and receptive to what made you moan the loudest, and soon your bodies moved together in perfect harmony.  Your hips eagerly met each smooth rolling thrust, his cock hitting you just right and when you felt that warm light sensation just out of reach, you threw yourself at it headfirst, writhing beneath Nikolai like a woman possessed, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he rode you through it, your cries echoing over the lake, but you were past caring, caught in the throws of pleasure and you never wanted it to stop.

“Oh, [y/n]!” Nikolai cried, and you felt his body tense, his muscles going rigid beneath his warm skin as he came, his seed filling you, spilling out as he pulled out to collapse next to you on the dock, pulling you into his arms once he was spent.

“Oh, you beautiful creature, you absolute goddess,” he breathed, caressing your cheek with his fingers.  “You were magnificent, heaven sent,” he murmured, laying kisses to your shoulder.  “How was that for living?” he asked cheekily, pulling a smile from you.

“Is that what you were doing?” you asked, your eyes roaming his face, the boyish charm in his earnest gaze filling your heart, sending it fluttering.

“Maybe,” he teased, capturing your lips once more.  “Maybe this will inspire you, my writer, coax the words out of hiding,” he exclaimed.  “Maybe you will go home and write of this, but I warn you,” he continued in playful seriousness, holding your gaze.  “Once you get a taste for living, you will want more, it will never be enough.”

Somehow you wondered if he were talking of something else as well.

“I think I already want more,” you whispered, entwining your legs with his.  You knew the night would have to end sometime, but laying on the dock in Nikolai’s arms you never wanted it to.  And though you knew almost next to nothing about the man in your arms, you wanted to, but you had no idea if you’d even see him again.

“Nikolai?” you asked softly, looking at him as he pushed up to his elbow next to you.  “How long will you be at Sway Lake?”

“Until Ollie finds the record he is searching for,” he answered, running his fingers gently over your frown, grinning softly as if he could read your thoughts.  “Don’t worry, malyshka, we will see each other again.  I must find out how your novel progresses,” he assured you, his words putting you at ease and you relaxed in his arms, watching the stars until the chill night air over took you.

Once back home, unable to sleep, a pleasant ache still filling you, you found yourself writing til dawn, the words spilling forth like water, but all you could think about was the way he looked under the moonlight.

[cursedcorn]

@king-crane from [x]

She will only ever remember in flashes. In nightmares-cum-memories, so ingrained with blood and adrenaline that they’re as real as any other fever. Now, now, Lexi howls with horror as the wolf at her door lunges for her throat.

Its jaws close around her like a vice. Lexi’s muscles seize with it, a jolt that might have sent her from Jonathan’s arms if he weren’t gathering her close so carefully. If she notices the movement, she doesn’t let on. The world is already streaks, brushstrokes, melting impressionist bullshit. Red rain, red room. Red settling around her shoulders. Shivers bleed into twitches.

The strike to her sternum knocks a beat from her heart. They look at their mentor with blown-black eyes, wide and roving. Name? That they are a being seems so far away. Underwater. A being with a name. A cancer. Who do you think you are?

“Alexandra Poppy,” she gasps out, chest heaving, a coin on one edge. Truth and a lie. It’s been a long time, but the gift your mother gave you runs deep even when you try to hand it down. “Isadora, Ceres, she didn’t mean it didn’t mean it didn’t leave me--”

One hand, scrabbling blindly at him--violence, defense, or desperation?

[warped-historian]

Warped Tour, 2005

Dates:

June 18: Columbus, OH

June 19: Milwaukee, WI

June 21: Maryland Heights, MO

June 22: Bonner Springs, KS

June 24: Dallas, TX

June 25: Houston, TX

June 26: Selma, TX

June 28: Las Cruces, NM

June 29: Phoenix, AZ

June 30: San Diego, CA

July 1: Long Beach, CA

July 2: San Francisco, CA

July 3: Ventura, CA

July 4: Fresno, CA

July 6: Pomona, CA

July 7: Wheatland, CA

July 8: Nampa, ID

July 9: George, WA

July 10: Saint Helens, OR

July 12: Vancouver, BC

July 14: Calgary, AB

July 15: Bozeman, MT

July 16: Salt Lake City, UT

July 17: Denver, CO

July 20: Noblesville, IN

July 21: Cleveland, OH

July 22: Cincinnati, OH

July 23: Tinley Park, IL

July 24: Minneapolis, MN

July 26: Corfu, NY

July 28: Quebec, QC

July 29: Montreal, QC

July 30: Barrie, ON

July 31: Pontiac, MI

August 1: Burgettstown, PA

August 3: Atlanta, GA

August 4: Jacksonville, FL

August 5: Tampa, FL

August 6: Pompano Beach, FL

August 7: Orlando, FL

August 8: Charlotte, NC

August 9: Virginia Beach, VA

August 10: Bristow, VA

August 11: Scranton, PA

August 12: Camden, NJ

August 13: New York City, NY

August 14: Englishtown, NJ

August 15: Northampton, MA

Lineup:

Alexisonfire (Played 7/12-7/14)

Atreyu

Billy Idol (Played 7/6-7/8, 7/10, 7/16, 7/20, 7/22, 7/23)

The Dillinger Escape Plan (Played 7/26-8/1)

Fall Out Boy

Good Charlotte (Played 7/28)

Hawthorne Heights

My Chemical Romance

Relient K (Played 7/6-8/15)

Senses Fail

Simple Plan (Played 7/15-7/17)

The Starting Line

Story Of The Year (Played 8/3-8/15)

Thrice

The All-American Rejects (Played 6/18-7/10 and 7/15-7/26)

Avenged Sevenfold

Billy Talent (Played 7/12-7/14)

Dropkick Murphys

Gogol Bordello (Played 7/3-7/8 and 7/15-7/23)

Matchbook Romance

Mest (Played 7/4-8/15)

Millencolin (Played 7/28-8/14)

MxPx

No Use For A Name (Played 6/18-7/23)

The Offspring (Played 6/18-7/12 and 7/15-8/14)

Strung Out

The Suicide Machines (Played 7/31)

Transplants

The Bled

The Explosion (Played 6/18-7/17)

Funeral For A Friend (Played 7/20-8/15)

Horrorpops (Played 7/14)

Hot Rod Circuit (Played 8/3-8/15)

The Kinison (Played 7/20-8/15)

Mae (Played 7/20-8/15)

Motion City Soundtrack (Played 7/6-7/12 and 7/15-8/15)

Over It (Played 7/28-8/15)

Rufio (Played 7/2-7/12 and 7/15-7/17)

Reggie And The Full Effect (Played 7/7-8/15)

Saosin (Played 7/21-8/15)

Silverstein (Played 6/18-7/17)

Strike Anywhere (Played 6/18-7/2 and 7/14)

Tsunami Bomb (Played 6/18-7/1)

Underoath (Played 6/18-7/17 and 7/28-8/14)

The Unseen (Played 6/18-7/17)

The Academy Is... (Played 7/26-8/7)

The Actual (Played 6/18-6/30)

Amber Pacific (Played 7/20-8/1)

Another Damn Disappointment (Played 6/18-6/29 and 7/26-8/1)

ASG (Played 7/1-7/12, 7/15-7/17 and 8/3-8/15)

Bedouin Soundclash

Bleeding Through (Played 8/3-8/15)

The Briefs (Played 8/3-8/15)

The Dead 60s (Played 8/8-8/15)

Dorothy Sanchez (Played 7/20-8/1)

The Fight (Played 7/26-8/15)

From First To Last (Played 7/6-7/12 and 7/15-7/17)

Go Betty Go (Played 7/26-8/15)

Gratitude (Played 8/1-8/15)

Gym Class Heroes (Played 7/6-7/24)

Halifax (Played 7/6-7/24)

Hidden In Plain View (Played 6/18-7/17)

Horrorpops (Played 7/6-7/12 and 7/15-7/24)

Lost City Angels (Played 7/20-8/1)

The Matches (Played 6/18-7/17)

Near Miss (Played 7/24-7/31)

Opiate for the Masses (Played 7/14)

Plain White T's (Played 6/18-7/4)

The Riverboat Gamblers (Played 6/18-7/12, 7/15-7/24 and 8/3-8/15)

Rufio (Played 7/14)

Skindred (Played 7/20-7/24 and 8/8-8/15)

Stutterfly (Played 6/18-7/4)

Street Dogs (Played 8/3-8/15)

Throw Rag (Played 7/20-7/24, 8/1)

The Twenty Twos (Played 6/18-7/2)

Valient Thorr

A Change Of Pace (Played 7/16-7/30)

A Thorn For Every Heart (Played 8/1-8/15)

A Wilhelm Scream (Played 8/15)

Acceptance (Played 8/10-8/15)

Amber Pacific (Played 7/14)

Armor For Sleep (Played 6/18-7/17)

Before Today (Played 6/30)

Between Home And Serenity (Played 6/18-6/21)

Boys Night Out

Cartel (Played 7/31-8/1)

Darkest Hour (Played 8/13-8/15)

Day Two (Played 7/1-7/12 and 7/15-7/17)

Emery

From First To Last (Played 7/14)

The Fully Down (Played 7/14)

Gatsbys American Dream (Played 6/18-7/4)

Glory Of This (Played 8/7-8/9)

Greeley Estates

Hopesfall

June (Played 7/23-7/26)

The Junior Varsity (Played 7/20-7/22)

Mewithoutyou (Played 8/1)

Roses Are Red (Played 7/4-7/10)

Scary Kids Scaring Kids (Played 6/24-6/29 and 7/28-8/9)

So They Say (Played 6/18-6/22)

The Spill Canvas (Played 7/20-7/24)

This Day And Age (Played 8/10-8/15)

This Providence (Played 7/8-7/10)

Waking Ashland (Played 6/30-7/4)

The Working Title (Played 8/3-8/6)

Yesterday's Rising

A Change of Pace (Played 6/29)

A Thorn for Every Heart (Played 6/29-7/7)

A Wilhelm Scream (Played 7/20-7/30)

Aiden (Played 7/9)

As Tall As Lions (Played 7/26 and 8/1)

Big D and the Kids Table

Bleed the Dream

Circa Survive (Played 8/8-8/15)

EchoValve (Played 8/3-8/6)

Ethos Music Camp Band (Played 6/30-7/2)

The Feds (Played 6/18-6/28)

Her Candane (Played 7/16)

Kane Hodder (Played 7/8-7/18)

The Malcontents (Played 7/20)

Monty's Fan Club (Played 7/8-8/1 and 8/10-8/15)

Mr. Brown (Played 8/3-8/7)

Much the Same (Played 7/23)

My American Heart

Nonpoint (Played 8/3-8/9)

Opiate for the Masses

Poopan (Played 6/29-7/7)

The Receiving End Of Sirens (Played 6/18-6/28 and 8/1-8/15)

Sargent (Played 8/14)

Scary Kids Scaring Kids (Played 6/18-6/22)

The Silence (Played 6/29-7/7)

Slavic Souls Party (Played 8/11-8/12 and 8/14)

Sophomore (Played 6/22)

Split Habit (Played 7/21-7/24 and 7/28-7/30)

The Swellers (Played 7/21, 7/24)

Thin Dark Line (Played 7/26)

5 Stars For Failure (Played 7/24)

15 Minutes Late (Played 6/19)

5606 (Played 7/2)

A Day in Africa (Played 6/22)

A Day to Remember (Played 8/5)

A Sense of Belonging (Played 8/12)

A Textbook Tragedy (Played 7/12)

Abacus (Played 7/28)

Abbington (Played 6/22)

Acitone (Played 7/24)

Ahimsa Sunrise (Played 8/11)

Alivia (Played 7/14)

Amber Sky CA (Played 7/6)

Amora Savant (Played 6/19)

Animal Suit Driveby (Played 8/15)

Antagen (Played 7/1)

Ashwin (Played 8/8)

avarice.to.lace (Played 7/14)

The Awkward Romance (Played 8/3)

Bad Larry (Played 8/15)

The Belmonte Academy (Played 7/10)

Bennington (Played 6/25)

Bensin (Played 7/26)

Blank Logic (Played 7/4)

TheBleedingAlarm (Played 7/12)

BlueTurnsWhite (Played 7/10)

Boldtype (Played 7/17)

Brookside (Played 8/13)

Burning Bright (Played 7/23)

Camera (Played 7/4)

Carter Beats the Devil (Played 8/6)

Casual Drama (Played 7/15)

Catherine (Played 7/7)

Ceremonial Snips (Played 7/29)

Chasing Victory (Played 8/4)

The Classic Crime (Played 7/9)

ClearviewPA (Played 8/1)

Crane (Played 7/28)

Crashing By Design (Played 7/24)

Crooked Edge (Played 8/5)

Cute is What We Aim For (Played 7/26)

Danny Wynn and the Earthlings (Played 6/28)

Dead Letter Diaries (Played 7/1)

Dear Whoever (Played 7/10)

December Lies (Played 8/12)

Deciding Tonight (Played 8/13)

DelsonDrive (Played 7/29)

Divide the Day (Played 7/1)

Divine Endings (Played 8/9)

Don't Let Go (Played 6/29)

Drama Summer (Played 7/21)

Drawback (Played 7/26)

Drive By Romance (Played 6/24)

Dystalis (Played 7/20)

Exhaustra (Played 8/4)

Fall of Transition (Played 8/9)

Falling Closer (Played 7/10)

The Famed (Played 6/22)

Farewell (Played 8/8)

Farewell To Twilight (Played 6/19)

FATE (Played 7/7)

The Felix Culpa (Played 7/23)

Femme Fatality (Played 6/21)

FIAD (Played 8/9)

Finish the Fight (Played 6/28)

Fire At Will (Played 8/7)

Five Style Fist (Played 7/17)

Flight 409 (Played 7/4)

Flip the Switch (Played 7/7)

The Flipside (Played 6/24)

Fly By Night (Played 7/3)

Forever Changed (Played 8/7)

Four Alarm Fire (Played 7/1)

The Fully Down (Played 7/29)

Gas Can Pickup (Played 7/23)

The Ghost Cried Murder (Played 7/14)

Girl in a Coma (Played 6/26)

Glass Intrepid (Played 6/25)

Glory Nights (Played 7/12)

Gone Baby Gone (Played 8/15)

Haffo (Played 6/29)

Heavy Heavy Low Low (Played 7/2)

Heist At Hand (Played 6/25)

High Flight Society (Played 8/3)

The Hint (Played 8/10)

His Red Letters (Played 7/16)

Hit the Lights (Played 6/18)

House Of Heroes (Played 6/18)

In Camera (Played 7/16)

Inept (Played 7/23)

InMemory (Played 7/3)

Isadora (Played 8/1)

Ismada (Played 8/13)

Ject (Played 8/6)

The Josephine Love Letter (Played 6/22)

Junior Revolution (Played 7/22)

Kandace Ferrel and HeartsAcrossAmerica (Played 7/6)

Karmellas Game (Played 8/10)

Kid Innocence (Played 7/2)

Kill What I Adore (Played 6/18)

Langley (Played 7/8)

Larger Than Life (Played 6/30)

Last Tuesday (Played 8/11)

Lenore (Played 7/17)

Love Equals Death (Played 7/2)

Lowercase (Played 6/21)

Lucky For Nothing (Played 7/9)

Mercury Bullet (Played 7/4)

The Mercy League (Played 8/6)

Midnight Aria (Played 8/7)

The Mile After (Played 8/8)

Mint 6 Ten (Played 7/22)

Minus My Thoughts (Played 7/15)

Monet Madrid Madagascar (Played 7/21)

Moraine (Played 8/12)

MOTH (Played 7/22)

Motionless in White (Played 8/11)

My Hostage (Played 8/4)

My Life Story (Played 7/3)

The NAOS Project (Played 6/26)

National Product (Played 6/30)

Nikki Hurst (Played 7/12)

Novella (Played 6/21)

Off Track (Played 6/30)

One Amazing Kid (Played 8/8)

One For Hope (Played 6/28)

Otenki (Played 6/25)

Out of Options (Played 7/30)

Panic Division (Played 6/26)

Pensativa (Played 7/3)

The Pinstripes (Played 7/22)

The Pirkqlaters (Played 7/8)

Point One (Played 7/9)

Post Break Tragedy (Played 8/14)

Potty Mouth Society (Played 7/9)

Queen City Knights (Played 7/26)

Race the Sun (Played 8/9)

Radio (Played 8/6)

Ready to Fall (The Hydra Melody) (Played 6/26)

Red Knife Lottery (Played 6/19)

Red Lipstick Letter (Played 8/4)

Red Wire Morning (Played 7/6)

Redfield (Played 6/29)

Rottin Youth (Played 7/8)

Royden (Played 8/13)

Rushmore Academy (Played 6/21)

The Sainte Catherines (Played 7/29)

Saravain (Played 8/10)

The Scene (Played 6/18)

Select Start (Played 8/5)

Shift D (Played 7/30)

Shining Through (Played 6/30)

Sick City (Played 7/14)

Side Dish Sydney (Played 7/30)

Sleeper Set Sail (Played 7/30)

Sloppy Meateaters (Played 8/3)

Someday Never (Played 8/14)

Steal The Air (Played 8/14)

Straight Line Stitch (Played 8/3)

The Superspecs (Played 8/14)

Synthetic Elements (Played 7/17)

Take The Fall (Played 7/16)

The Temptation of Saint Anthony (Played 7/8)

This Awkward Silence (Played 7/21)

Throw the Fight (Played 7/24)

Tooth Fuzz (Played 7/21)

TraceMyVeins (Played 7/15)

Trackfighter (Played 7/7)

Tripleshot (Played 6/24)

Truly Changed (Played 8/7)

The Two Bit Terribles (Played 7/20)

Upper Class Trash (Played 8/5)

Uptown Stomp (Played 8/10)

Urinal Mints (Played 7/20)

Useed (Played 7/28)

Valencia (Played 8/12)

Vera Lynn (Played 6/29)

The Victory Year (Played 8/1)

The Waiting Room (Played 6/24)

We Are Lions (Played 7/6)

W.E.T. (Played 7/15)

WhenManMeetsHisMaker (Played 8/11)

Wings of Azrael (Played 8/1)

Your Name in Lights (Played 6/28)

Zox (Played 8/15)

33 West (Played 8/9)

A Void (Played 7/17)

Abrasive Wheels (Played 6/18-6/22)

Action Action (Played 8/4-8/6)

Adair (Played 6/21-6/22)

Adelphi (Played 8/9-8/10)

Adrenokrome (Played 7/3-7/4)

The A.K.A.'s (Played 7/23-7/26, 7/31-8/5 and 8/15)

Alucard (Played 7/31)

Amateur Musician's Fund (Played 7/30)

A.N.I.M.A.L. (Played 6/24-6/28)

The Art of Safecracking (Played 6/30-7/2)

Backside Slappy (Played 8/9)

Baghead (Played 8/11)

Bedlight for Blue Eyes (Played 6/18-6/19)

Beerzone (Played 8/11-8/14)

Bella Morte (Played 8/9)

Blackbird (Played 6/29)

Blue Sky Goodbye (Played 7/20)

Bob's Kitchen (Played 7/21-7/22)

Boink (Played 7/31)

Bombs Over Providence (Played 7/12-7/14 and 7/28-7/29)

Brain Failure (Played 8/8-8/11)

Brat Attack (Played 7/12-7/14)

Bricks For Shoulders (Played 7/21-7/22)

Brigands (Played 6/28)

Brutally Frank (Played 6/21)

Bullets and Octane (Played 6/30-7/3)

Burning Bright (Played 7/23)

Burns Out Bright (Played 8/8)

Butane (Played 7/23)

Buttonhead (Played 7/20)

Cartel (Played 8/3-8/4)

Cofelon (Played 7/17)

The Chaos Theory (Played 7/24)

Charlize (Played 7/17)

Chasing August (Played 8/8)

Chasing Victory (Played 8/3)

Chesterwhite and His Orchestra (Played 7/21-7/22)

Cigarette (Played 7/15-7/16)

Close to Home (Played 7/15-7/17)

Co-Exist (Played 7/4 and 7/7-7/8)

Comfortable For You (Played 7/2)

The Commercials (Played 7/21-7/22 and 7/26)

Coppermine (Played 6/21-6/22)

Corey Versus Corey (Played 6/24)

Closed For Mondays (Played 6/19)

Cranked Up! (Played 8/12)

Crush Luther (Played 7/28-7/30)

The Culling Song (Played 6/18)

Custom Made Scare (Played 7/3)

Damien's Day Out (Played 8/10)

Darkbuster (Played 8/10-8/11 and 8/13)

Day of Contempt (Played 7/4-7/7)

Daze (Played 7/26)

Deadbeat Romeo (Played 7/12-7/14)

Dead Poetic (Played 6/18)

Defiance of Authority (Played 8/8)

Defining Moment (Played 8/6)

DEK (Played 7/9)

Delux (Played 6/26)

Denver Harbor (Played 7/3 and 7/6)

Destruction Made Simple (Played 7/2-7/3 and 7/6)

Dexter Danger (Played 6/26)

The Dog and Everything (Played 7/21-7/22)

Diffs (Played 7/1-7/2)

The Disease (Played 8/8)

Disorient Express (Played 6/28)

Divided They Fall (Played 6/29)

DKLIMB (Played 8/4-8/6)

Down to Earth (Played 8/8 and 8/10)

Downtown Brown (Played 7/31)

Downtown Singapore (Played 8/10)

Dr. Neptune (Played 7/16-7/17)

The Drapes (Played 7/8)

Dub Trio (Played 8/13)

Echo Screen (Played 8/14)

Echovalve (Played 8/7-8/9)

The Eight Bucks Experiment (Played 7/17)

El Centro (Played 7/6)

El Pollo Diablo (Played 7/15)

The Escaped (Played 7/10)

E.W.I. (Played 7/9)

The Fabulous Rudies (Played 6/24-6/26)

Fail to Follow (Played 7/16)

Fakeknife (Played 8/14)

Fear Nuttin' Band (Played 8/9-8/15)

The Fenwicks (Played 8/4-8/6)

Fight Paris (Played 8/3)

Fight the Locals (Played 7/31)

The Firebird Band (Played 7/20 and 7/22)

Firecracker 500 (Played 7/6)

First on Mars (Played 8/1)

Five Minutes to Freedom (Played 6/30)

Flight 409 (Played 7/9)

Forever Changed (Played 8/4)

Forgetting April (Played 6/24)

Fred Savage & the Unbeatables (Played 7/24)

From There for Tomorrow (Played 8/4)

Fu Manchu (Played 7/1)

Fully Loaded (Played 7/15-7/16)

The Gasrats (Played 6/19)

G.F.I. (Played 7/8)

Gone All Summer (Played 7/23)

Grand Buffet (Played 8/12)

Grave for the Fireflies (Played 7/10)

Grayson Manor (Played 8/3)

Griz (Played 7/23-7/24)

Guff (Played 8/3)

He Is Legend (Played 8/3)

Hellogoodbye (Played 8/5-8/7)

Hence Reverie (Played 8/12 and 8/14)

Hidden By Authority (Played 7/2-7/3)

High Deafinition (Played 7/28-7/30)

Hitchers (Played 8/12-8/14)

Honchie (Played 6/25)

Hopesick (Played 8/5)

Hot Like (A) Robot (Played 7/20-7/22)

Hurry Up Offense (Played 8/1 and 8/11)

The Huxtables (Played 7/7-7/8

I Am the Avalanche (Played 7/26 and 8/13-8/15)

I Voted for Kodos (Played 6/19 and 6/22)

Idiom (Played 7/3-7/4)

illScarlett (Played 7/28-7/30)

In Memory (Played 7/1)

Inspect Her Gadget (Played 7/2, 7/4 and 7/7)

Introspect (Played 7/16)

Irradio (Played 7/6)

Issue 10 (Played 7/8)

It Dies Today (Played 8/11-8/13)

J4 (Played 6/24-6/29)

Jenoah (Played 6/19-6/22)

Jupiter Sunrise (Played 7/15)

Kaddisfly (Played 7/3, 7/7, 7/9-7/10 and 7/15)

Kairos (Played 8/1)

The Keep Always (Played 7/24)

The Know How (Played 7/20 and 7/22)

Last Great Hope (Played 8/7)

Like Yesterday (Played 7/26 and 8/13-8/15)

The Lingua Franca (Played 7/31)

The Look (Played 7/9-7/10 and 7/15)

Lorene Drive (Played 8/3-8/7)

Los Creepers (Played 7/7)

Los Furios (Played 7/12-7/14)

Los Kung-Fu Monkeys (Played 6/28-6/30)

Loser's Luck (Played 6/21-6/22)

Losing Team (Played 7/4)

Love Equals Death (Played 7/10)

The Lucky Stiffs (Played 7/7-7/9)

Ludo (Played 6/21)

The Madd Agents (Played 8/7)

The Mansfields (Played 7/17)

Maryz Eyez (Played 7/31)

Max Cady (Played 6/25)

Mentally Ill (Played 7/15)

The Miasmics (Played 8/9)

Midnight Aria (Played 8/4)

Mike Got Spiked (Played 7/28-7/30)

Mike Watt & Peter DiStefano (Played 6/30-7/4)

Milton (Played 7/21-7/22)

The Minor League (Played 7/31)

Minority (Played 6/24-6/26)

Morning Call (Played 7/12-7/14)

Most Precious Blood (Played 6/21-6/22)

Mourning Maxwell (Played 6/25-6/29)

Murdocks (Played 6/25)

My Finest Hour (Played 6/18)

My Former Self (Played 7/6 and 7/9)

My So-Called Band (Played 8/8)

Name Taken (Played 6/29-6/30)

Narcoleptic Youth (Played 6/30 and 7/3-7/6)

National Product (Played 7/1 and 7/15)

Near Miss (Played 7/20-7/23)

Neglected Superhero (Played 8/7)

Never the Better (Played 7/20)

No Name Charlies (Played 7/21-7/22)

The New Transit Direction (Played 7/16)

No Comply (Played 7/28-7/30)

Noise Attack (Played 7/2)

Notwithstanding (Played 7/24)

Nuts and Bolts (Played 8/4)

O'Doyle Rules (Played 6/24)

Off Track (Played 7/10)

One Eyed Jacks (Played 7/12-7/14)

OneWorldSolution (Played 7/7-7/8)

Onset of Effect (Played 6/28-6/29 and 7/1)

Open Hand (Played 6/18-6/19)

Ordinary K (Played 8/13)

Oreon (Played 7/20-7/22)

Outlett (Played 7/4)

The Paperdolls (Played 7/8)

PBM (Played 7/31)

Peachcake (Played 6/29)

Playing With Matches (Played 6/21)

Pluto Gang (Played 8/11)

The Preps (Played 8/1)

Preston (Played 7/16)

Protest the Hero (Played 7/12-7/14 and 7/30)

The Randies (Played 7/4-7/6)

The Real Deal (Played 7/28-7/30)

Remedy for Ruin (Played 7/26 and 8/13)

Robby Roadsteamer (Played 8/11 and 8/13-8/14)

Roses Are Red (Played 6/18-6/19)

Roundabout (Played 7/9)

Roundeye (Played 7/23)

Royden (Played 8/14)

Sakura (Played 7/20)

Same Day Service (Played 6/22-6/26)

Saving Verona (Played 7/17)

Say They Exist (Played 8/7)

Select Start (Played 8/4)

Seventh Echo (Played 6/18)

Shoreline (Played 7/23-7/24)

Silent Army (Played 7/15)

Simple & Supreem (Played 8/1)

Single File (PLayed 7/16-7/17

Singled Out (Played 6/29)

Six Hung Sprung (Played 6/21)

Skint (Played 7/16)

The Skulls (Played 6/30)

Sledgeback (Played 7/9)

So Abused (Played 7/8)

Somerset (Played 7/24)

Sophomore (Played 7/30)

Southcott (Played 7/26)

Split Fifty (Played 8/9-8/10 and 8/12)

Still Not Sexy (Played 7/23)

Stolen Babies (Played 6/30-7/2)

Straight Outta Junior High (Played 6/22)

Strawmen (Played 8/10)

The Stranger's Six (Played 6/30)

Subseven (Played 6/22-6/24)

Summerhero (Played 7/28-7/30)

Sunday Driver (Played 8/5-8/7)

Switchblade Kittens (Played 6/28)

Tanya Janca (Played 6/28)

Ten Second Epic (Played 7/12-7/14)

Third Estate (Played 7/26)

Third to None (Played 7/26)

Thirty3 (Played 7/10)

The Thornbirds (Played 7/10)

Through You (Played 8/5)

Tied For Second (Played 6/24)

Time Again (Played 7/1 and 7/7)

The Timmys (Played 7/23-7/24)

Tommy Coma (Played 8/11)

Tomorrows Too Late (Played 6/26)

Toothless George & His One Man Band (Played 8/1 and 8/12)

The Track Record (Played 8/8-8/10)

Transit War (Played 7/3)

Ultimate Power Duo (Played 7/12-7/14)

The Uncertain 5 (Played 6/18)

The Underwater (Played 8/12)

Unit F (Played 6/30 and 7/4-7/7)

Uptown (Played 6/29)

The Valley Arena (Played 6/30-7/2)

The Valley Kids (Played 6/28)

Versus the World (Played 7/4)

Waiting for Darryl (Played 7/8 and 7/10)

Waking Ashland (Played 7/1 and 7/9-7/10)

Walls of Jericho (Played 7/31-8/3)

Waving at Strangers (Played 8/3)

The Weakend (Played 7/31)

The Western Front (Played 6/19)

Westbound Train (Played 8/8-8/10)

Westshore (Played 8/6)

Who Needs Shoes? (Played 7/28-7/30)

Whole Wheat Bread (Played 8/5-8/7)

Wicked Wisdom (Played 7/10)

Witroy (Played 7/20)

Words Now Heard (Played 8/6-8/9)

Your Best Regret (Played 8/12)

Youthinasia (Played 7/28-7/30)

Zach Lost (Played 8/14)

Zero Syndrome (Played 6/25)

2 Mex (Played 6/29-7/10)

360 Degrees (Played 7/31)

Arcane (Played 6/18-6/28, 6/30-7/9, 7/12-7/28, 7/30-8/5 and 8/8-8/15)

Astronautalis (Played 6/24-7/7, 7/15, 8/3-8/7 and 8/13-8/15)

Asylum7 (Played 7/31)

Awol One (Played 6/29-7/10)

Bad Feathers (Played 6/18-6/22)

Blestenation (Played 8/8-8/15)

Bomb Sqwad (Played 8/8-8/9)

Braille (Played 7/10)

Breathless (Played 6/18-6/26, 7/1-7/2, 7/8-7/10 and 7/15-7/17)

Chief (Played 7/31)

The Chicharones (Played 7/3-7/15 and 7/20-7/24)

The Crest (Played 6/19)

Dark Starz (Played 6/18, 7/21 and 8/4-8/7)

Ecleptic Blue (Played 7/31)

Educated Consumers (Played 8/10)

Eibol N Knobs (Played 7/26, 8/8-8/11 and 8/13-8/15)

Eternia (Played 6/18-7/1, 7/3-7/22, 7/24-8/4, 8/6-8/8, 8/11 and 8/13-8/14)

Eye2Eye (Played 7/28-7/30)

Generik (Played 6/30)

Glue (Played 6/18-6/22, 7/20-7/24 and 7/31-8/1)

Greans (Played 6/18-6/28, 7/2-7/3, 7/14-7/17, 7/26, 8/3, 8/5-8/6 and 8/11)

Green Tara (Played 7/12)

GreySkul (Played 7/9-7/10)

Hangar 18 (Played 6/18-7/12 and 7/15-8/15)

Howl (Played 7/28-7/30)

Ismalia (Played 7/15-7/17, 7/24-7/26 and 8/1-8/3)

Joe Bean (Played 8/3)

Keith Concept featuring The Ketchup Samurai (Played 7/26)

Krush Unit - Solid Ground Reggae Band (Played 8/1 and 8/12)

Longshot (Played 7/16-7/23)

Ltoka (Played 7/4-7/7 and 7/16-7/17)

Minamina Goodsong (Played 8/1-8/7)

Mr. Brady (Played 6/30)

Mr. Dibbs (Played 7/20, 7/22 and 7/29)

Natives of the New Dawn (Played 6/18-6/22, 7/20-7/26 and 7/31)

Now On (Played 7/31)

Omni (Played 6/24-6/28)

One Be Lo (Played 6/21-6/29, 7/9-7/10, 7/28-8/5 and 8/7-8/10)

Paws (Played 7/12)

Phil Harmonic (Played 8/8-8/15)

Pigeon John (Played 7/1-7/2)

P.O.S (Played 7/24)

Psalm One (Played 7/20-7/24)

Q Unique (Played 8/9-8/15)

Quese I MC (Played 6/28-7/8 and 7/12-7/14)

Rachel Flood (Played 7/12)

Radiax (Played 8/13-8/15)

Red Tide (Played 8/6-8/7)

Roosevelt Franklin (Played 8/8-8/15)

Science Non Fiction (Played 8/4-8/7)

Shankhini (Played 7/30)

Sign1 (Played 7/31)

Solila (Played 8/4-8/7)

Subliminal Orphans (Played 8/12)

Tabularasa (Played 6/24-6/29)

Tasheer (Played 7/31)

TNA - Jam One (Played 7/23)

Verbal Kent (Played 7/23)

Xtra Credit B Girls (Played 6/25 and 8/5)

Brother Reade

Fivespeed

Lordz of Brooklyn

The Nillaz

Supreeme

8 Bit (Played 7/6)

Adrien and the Sickness (Played 6/26)

All or Nothing HC (Played 7/1-7/2, 7/7-7/8 and 7/16-7/17)

Allison Model One (Played 7/26, 8/11 and 8/15)

AlterBois (Played 8/12)

Anadies (Played 7/17)

Anti-Hero (Played 7/30)

The Applicators (Played 6/25-6/26)

Arden (Played 8/9)

Audio Dischordance (Played 8/8)

Beyond the Torchlight (Played 7/17)

Binky (Played 7/2)

Bogart (Played 7/14)

The Break Up (Played 7/4)

Calentura

Candy From Strangers (Played 7/10)

Careworm (Played 7/12)

Centric (Played 6/19)

Chumley's Toy (Played 8/4 and 8/6)

Con Amore (Played 8/14)

Curse of the Highride (Played 7/7)

Daimon (Played 6/28-6/29 and 7/1)

The Dead X's (Played 7/9)

Del Cielo (Played 8/9-8/10)

The Dents (Played 7/29)

Dirty Mary (Played 7/15-7/17 and 7/21)

Dirty Pink (Played 7/16)

The Dollars (Played 7/23)

The Dollyrots (Played 8/4-8/6)

Dynamite 8 (Played 7/8)

Elsie Major (Played 8/10)

Fabulous Disaster (Played 7/2)

Fall River (Played 6/18)

Fallopian (Played 7/3)

The Ferals (Played 7/4)

The Feverfew (Played 8/14)

Five Star Affair (Played 7/14)

Flyleaf (Played 6/22)

Full Minute of Mercury (Played 8/8 and 8/10)

GDB (Played 7/16)

Gina Young

Girl in a Coma (Played 6/22-6/24)

GirlParts (Played 8/3 and 8/8)

The Green Lady Killers (Played 6/28-6/29)

Handcuffs and Heels (Played 7/31)

Hidden (Played 7/6)

Hydraulic Sandwich (Played 8/15)

Jaymie Gerard (Played 8/14)

Jen Urban and the Box (Played 8/13)

Jerra (Played 6/30, 7/3 and 7/8-7/10)

The Juliet Dagger (Played 7/26 and 8/1)

Jungii (Played 7/26)

Keen (Played 7/8)

Kievan Rus (Played 7/21 and 7/26)

Killbourne (Played 7/12-7/14)

Lady Unluck (Played 8/13 and 8/15)

Ladymilk (Played 7/30)

Last To Fall (Played 7/9)

Leaving The Scene (Played 7/10 and 7/15)

Lia Fail (Played 6/29-6/30 and 7/7)

The Lorrainas (Played 7/31-8/1)

Lourds (Played 8/13)

Mad Marge and The Stone Cutters (Played 7/3-7/4)

Midway (Played 7/6 and 7/23-7/24)

Miss Pie (Played 6/21 and 8/4-8/8)

The Misses (Played 6/21)

The Motorpsychos (Played 7/31-8/1)

Mr. Guy and a Few Good Men (Played 7/22)

Naked Aggression (Played 7/6)

New Years Day (Played 7/3)

One Way Letter (Played 8/3)

Ouija Radio (Played 7/24)

Overated (Played 6/18)

Paramore (Played 7/22-7/26, 8/3-8/7 and 8/9-8/10)

Pretty In Stereo (Played 7/1)

Princess Riot (Played 7/28)

Punk Bunny (Played 7/1)

The Rabits (Played 7/21)

Rachel Jacobs (Played 8/9)

Rachel Kann (Played 7/3)

Raging Hormones (Played 6/22)

Rags To Bitches (Played 7/29)

Ramona Quimby (Played 8/5 and 8/7)

The Red Flecks (Played 7/22)

Red Knife Lottery (Played 6/19 and 7/24)

Revenge of the Bad Apples (Played 6/24-6/25)

The Rumours (Played 7/12)

The Sadder Days (Played 7/4)

Secret Cervix (Played 8/11 and 8/14)

Shall We Dance (Played 6/21)

Sherry (Played 7/28)

Shiragirl

The Shocker (Played 7/2 and 8/9-8/14)

Side Effects (Played 8/11-8/12)

So Unloved (Played 6/26-6/28)

Sputterdoll (Played 7/2)

Sugarpuss (Played 6/30-7/1)

Sunset Grey (Played 6/24-6/25)

The Swear (Played 8/3)

TamarKali (Played 7/28)

TAT (Played 8/12-8/15)

Traeh (Played 6/30)

Tuuli (Played 7/30)

Two Bit Terribles (Played 7/20)

Unsensored (Played 7/29)

Velvet Fury (Played 7/7)

What The Kids Want (Played 7/20)

All Too Much (Played 6/29)

The Dames (Played 6/29)

John Denvers Last Flight (Played 6/29)

Johnny Blood & The Transfusions (Played 6/29)

Line of Fire (Played 6/29)

The Revenge (Played 6/29)

Sigma (Played 6/29)

Swing Ding Amigos (Played 6/29)

33 West (Played 8/8 and 8/10)

A Wilhelm SCream (Played 8/9-8/14)

AKA (Played 8/6)

Body Part Trophy Case (Played 8/11)

Break the Silence (Played 8/4-8/7)

Crash and Burn (Played 8/11-8/14)

Deagle (Played 8/4)

Driving East (Played 8/9)

The Esoteric (Played 8/4-8/14)

Fall of Transition (Played 8/7 and 8/10)

Flat Stanley (Played 8/5)

High Speed Chase (Played 8/14)

It Starts Today (Played 8/4-8/7)

Just R Luck (Played 8/8)

Last Great Hope (Played 8/5)

Longspur (Played 8/4-8/14)

Mourningstar (Played 8/4)

New Crash Position (Played 8/4-8/7)

None More Black (Played 8/12)

The Ratchets (Played 8/12-8/14)

River City High (Played 8/8-8/11)

Rude Buddha (Played 8/9)

The Spacepimps (Played 8/11)

Split Fifty (Played 8/4-8/14)

Stradlatter (Played 8/13)

Time Tells All (Played 8/10)

[lovelylogans]

the danes family christmas

or: the danes-sanders-prince-tamura-cabrera-key-bowes christmas. but danes family christmas flows a bit easier, doesn’t it?

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, mentions of divorce, mentions of sickness, alcohol consumption, please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairings: patton/virgil, logan/roman

word count: 5,876

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic. happy christmas, a belated happy hanukkah, and a happy early kwanzaa! if you don’t celebrate any of those, then happy friday! this is essentially a “where are they now” snapshot of the danes family, who were all introduced in last year’s christmas fic. i hope you enjoy!

⁂

it starts when virgil hangs up the phone at the diner—the landline against the wall right by the entry to the kitchen, not his cellphone—looking strangely happy. and, considering there were only ever two kinds of phone calls that phone received, one of which being business calls—

“mom or dad?” patton asks, as he sits at the counter.

“my mom,” virgil says. “freddie finally got the flights finalized, they’re coming for christmas.”

patton claps in excitement. “that’s great!”

“so that’s everyone,” virgil says brightly. “all five of us, plus spouses and partners and kids, ‘cept—”

and then he stops himself, tilts his head, and asks, “hey, what are your christmas plans?”

⁂

and so it begins—patton negotiates them out of attending any sanders’ christmas celebrations, in exchange promising to bring himself and logan and the new beaus (as his mother had called them) to a cocktail get-together on new year’s eve. 

and then virgil had caught on to the fact them all leaving would leave roman and isadora as the only ones in their little cobbled-together family in sideshire for christmas, and freddie had, too, and immediately gotten on the phone to beg isadora to come along, so that meant crafting an elaborate plan for a road trip on christmas after the matinee christmas morning performance of the nutcracker, which is where they are now: all five of them in virgil’s car, suitcases packed away in the trunk, on their way down to the elder danes’ family home.

oh, and in the middle of all these preparations, not one but two romantic unions were formed, so. it’s been a bit of a busy couple of months.

“okay,” roman says, from where he’s stuffed in the middle seat between logan and his mom, virgil driving and patton attempting to play at navigator, “run me through the entire family tree again, it’s been a minute since i’ve seen everyone.”

so logan opens his phone, scrolls for a little bit, then clicks on a photo they must have taken the last time they were all together in a big group, and zooms in before he hands the phone over to roman to hold. roman’s mom peers over his shoulder.

“so, we’ll start with the danes’,” logan says, and taps each of their faces as he goes—”meredith, mark, wyatt, esther, silas, winifred, and of course, virgil.”

“right.”

he then proceeds to tap the woman and man flanking wyatt. “adam bowes and alexandria cabrera, but she goes by lexa—”

isadora tilts her head at lexa. “i remember her. isn’t she colombian?”

“her parents immigrated from ecuador,” virgil corrects, “but she studied abroad for a bit in colombia, so you’re probably remembering that.”

“—they’re wyatt’s partners,” logan continues, and points to the children in front of them. “nicola’s oldest, she’s fourteen. then there’s wesley, who goes by wes, he’s twelve. is their dad going to be there?” he asks virgil.

“no, he’s off with his girlfriend,” virgil says, and scowls a little. patton thinks he's clearly about to say good riddance—he isn’t particularly a fan of lexa’s first husband. none of the adults are, really, but none of them ever breathed a word about it in front of the kids.

“all right, so i don’t have to find a picture of him,” logan says. “then there’s elizabeth who goes by ellie, eight, and abigail who goes by abby, five.”

roman mumbles names under his breath, tapping each of their photos, before he adjusts the picture. “right. so, essie.”

“you know annabelle, her wife,” logan says, pointing to the black woman with her arm slung over essie’s shoulders. “they were foster parents for a time, so they adopted michael who goes by mike or mikey, he’s twelve, and his sister sophia. she’s seven. and they also adopted theodore who goes by teddy, he’s eight—”

“—nine,” virgil corrects, “his birthday was last month—”

“right, he’s nine, they adopted him three years ago.”

more repetition of names to himself, and then roman adjusts the photo.

“silas,” he prompts.

“his wife, moira,” logan says, pointing to the redhead beside him. “and the twins, emma and devon, they’re ten.”

“they just had a baby in august, too,” virgil says. “meredith junior, but they’re calling her red, for now, so that no one confuses her and my mom. you can guess why, it’s pretty obvious she’s taking after moira already. it’ll be easy to spot her, she’s the only baby.”

“and freddie,” isadora says, craning her neck to look at the photo. “how long has it been since she’s come back for christmas?”

“at least a couple years just for christmas, but she’s visited a couple times,” virgil says. “still, it’ll be nice to see her and ryu and the kids.”

“akira who goes by kira, and nikko,” logan provides for roman. “they’re twins, age six. and sayuri, but she goes by lily sometimes—”

“how’d that happen?” roman says, looking to virgil for help.

“sayuri means ‘lily,’” virgil says. “‘little lily,’ i think, but i can’t remember the exact translation. she’s three.”

“and—where do they live?” roman says.

“tokyo,” patton says, twisting to look at virgil. “they moved last year, didn’t they?”

“that’s right,” virgil confirms. “they lived in kyoto for a while, but freddie got a pretty good job offer, so. tokyo it is.”

“and then there’s us,” logan says. “i assume you don’t need a photo, name, or age breakdown for any of us.”

roman snorts, and says, “no, i guess i not.” he blows out a breath, before he scrolls back over, and says, “right, okay. remind me what everyone’s jobs are?”

and so the rest of the car ride passes, recalling the last times they’ve all seen various members of the danes family and passing on stories of visits past.

it’s about to be a marathon of a christmas.

⁂

by the time they’re pulling up to the danes’ house—windows down, because the elder danes’ live in a much warmer state and everyone seemed to have a simultaneous, unspoken agreement on the need to thaw from the brutally cold and snowy winter they’d been having so far—virgil’s leg is bouncing in excitement, and patton reaches across to put a hand on virgil’s, smiling at him.

“are we the last ones getting here?” he asks.

virgil nods his head. “miraculously, even wyatt and adam’s weird hours have lucked out, but adam’s exact words were don’t hold your breath—”

“of course, of course,” patton murmurs, because he probably should have guessed the orthopedic surgeon and the spinal surgeon would have some funky hours.

“—but i think everyone should be here? at least i didn’t hear that they got delayed, so.”

“please tell me we’re almost there,” roman groans.

“we’ll get there when we get there!” virgil and patton say simultaneously, and they both laugh at each other quoting the incredibles as roman groans louder.

patton’s glad to have the brief distraction of a pixar reference; as they’ve gotten nearer and nearer to the danes’ house, he’s felt a knot in his stomach grow bigger and bigger.

he’s been spending holidays with the danes’ since logan was born, usually seeing at least one of them once a year—christmases, easters, family get togethers, he and logan have tagged along for years and years. 

he has a feeling that virgil and his parents would argue with the phrasing of tagged along, but he can’t help it—even if he knows he’s uncle patton to all the kids, and he knows logan refers to all the various danes progeny as his cousins, and he knows he and logan have long since received the food-based nicknames everyone in the family receives upon being born in and growing up in the family and at marriage, but—

well. he can’t help it, sometimes.

but now, he isn’t just tagging along. he’s the latest romantic partner in the family. he has started dating their youngest son, their baby brother, their beloved bachelor uncle. 

he can’t help but wonder if it’ll be like an entirely new dynamic. because he’s seen the way the latest romantic partners are introduced—he’s long since gotten used to the danes’ fond squabbling with each other, but it turns into a whole new level of teasing when they bring along a date.

“we are,” logan says, and points. “there it is.”

virgil examines the number of cars—he probably should have expected the full driveway—and pulls over to park on the side of the road, roman immediately demanding that either logan or his mother get out of the car right now or else he will crawl over them—

virgil and patton’s eyes meet, and patton smiles at him before they both turn to open their own car doors, roman getting out of the car hot on logan’s heels.

and then the danes’ front door opens, light spilling onto the lawn, and children barrel out of the house, almost all of them yelling at the top of their lungs, and virgil says “oof!” as he’s plowed into by three little girls, clinging at his legs, and virgil immediately swings the nearest up into his arms.

“oh, hello, everyone!” virgil says, beaming, looking years younger as ellie clings to his neck, and patton grins at him even as abby notices he has a free set of arms and immediately demands a hug, and patton can’t help but oblige, lifting her up onto his hip, distantly pleased that he still can carry her, because goodness, she’s gotten so tall!

“girls!” someone at the door calls, and patton looks up at lexa in the doorway with a grin. “let your uncles get inside before you tackle them, please!”

“aw, mom!” ellie grumbles, even as virgil’s setting her down and grinning apologetically at lexa, a hand resting on sophia’s hair.

“sorry, lex!” virgil calls, and pats ellie on the shoulder, murmuring something quietly to ellie and sophia ear that makes them both grin, brown eyes sparkling; patton follows his lead, setting abby down.

“uncle patty—” she begins to whine.

“i know, i know,” he says, crouching down to tug lightly at her braided dirty blonde hair, to make her giggle. “but, tell you what. if you listen to your mom, how about you and me sneak some cookies from your grandma, huh?”

abby brightens, and immediately rushes off, right on her sister’s and cousin’s heels. 

“do you need any help?” adam says, his head popping out from behind lexa.

“no, we’re all right, thanks!” roman calls, isadora already shutting the trunk, all of their bags unloaded and just waiting to be carried inside—patton doubles back for his, but virgil’s already swinging his bag over his shoulder before patton can do anything about it.

“i could—” patton begins, but virgil leans down and kisses him before he can say anything about it. virgil grins even wider when patton just blinks at him, half-forgetting what he was saying.

“i got it,” virgil says reassuringly, “honestly, we’re gonna need someone to open the door, so,” and patton huffs.

“fine,” he grumbles, pretending to be put out, as the part of him that was raised with things like gentlemen should open the door for you, and carry things that are heavy, and care for you in general is sending butterflies fluttering in his tummy. because, one, virgil is being a gentleman, but also, patton has an opportunity to be a gentleman.

the things that give him gender euphoria are so weird, honestly.

but patton trots ahead and opens the door for virgil (and his son, and isadora, and roman) and is nearly bowled over by a wave of noise.

the sound of about twenty-four people all calling hello to their brother slash in-law and his weird little accrued pool of family all calling their hellos back tends to do that, patton guesses.

but once everyone’s funneled their way through the door, patton tries to close it; before he’s even fully shut the door behind them, though, abby’s clinging to his leg, grinning up at him.

“cookies now?” she asks.

patton tousles her hair. “gotta set up our alibi, squirt. we’re doing this secretly. it’s a mission.”

abby’s eyes brighten. “like spies?”

“exactly like spies,” patton says, in a hushed tone as if he’s being very quiet and secretive, as if he isn’t fully aware that her mother is keeping an eye on them and folding her lip under her teeth to keep from laughing, even as she’s hugging virgil hello.

abby scuttles off, though, as one of her other parents approaches to give patton a friendly, one-armed hug, seeming to fear the potential of revealing their secret mission.

“hey, patton,” adam says easily. “good to see you’re recovered from the pneumonia, congrats on romancing virgil,” patton blinks rapidly and attempts to come up with a response to that, but adam’s already continuing, “and try to keep her from taking too many, yeah? she’s already been spoiled rotten by her gramps today.”

“can do,” patton says, and so begins the shuffle around the room of saying hello to everyone; the kids are all in one section, already, seemingly preoccupied by various board games, but nicola’s unfolded herself from the group to go up to logan already; the pair of them are closest in age, and they’re also quite the pair of brainiacs, so they’ve been close ever since lexa and the kids came to the first family gathering years ago.

“i despise operator algebra,” she’s telling him.

“well, good thing you aren’t planning on going into quantum field theory, then,” logan responds, and patton loses the plot of that conversation because he’s nearly bumped off his feet.

“sorry!” freddie squeaks, red high in her pale cheeks and a glass of meredith’s near-lethal spiked eggnog in her hand; he suspects it to be the culprit for any uncharacteristic clumsiness and he pulls her into a hug even as he’s laughing out forgiveness.

“heard about you and virgil,” freddie says, “finally.”

“oh—um,” patton stammers, trying his hardest not to blush.

“thrilled to have you, really,” freddie says, bumping into him again, this time purposefully. “and, hey! heard you got sick, you’re all better now, right?”

“right,” he says, then, curiously, “um, how was the trip?” 

“have you ever had to handle six-year-old twins on a trans-pacific trip?” she says, and patton winces in sympathy; as polite as the twins are, being raised with the japanese code of etiquette, they are still freddie’s kids, and therefore also incredibly rambunctious.

“my condolences,” patton tells her, then, to her husband who’s hovering silently over her shoulder, he attempts to get his way through saying long time no see in japanese to ryu, who’s been trying to teach them all conversational bits of japanese for years (mostly because they’d all insisted; they did the same to lexa, too. meredith’s parents had learned to greet mark’s family in their native italian, so it had become something of a family tradition to learn at least a little of the language of their spouse.)

“ohisashiburi desu,” ryu enunciates for him, and patton groans. 

“i thought i had it this time!”

“you were close,” ryu says, which patton thinks is mostly out of politeness, but he’ll accept it anyways. “sayuri, say hello!”

he glances down, then, in time to notice a three-year-old clinging to ryu’s pantleg, just barely peeking out from behind him, the most visible thing being her near-black eyes, shiny and wide.

sayuri ducks out from behind ryu to bow to patton.

“and hello to you too!” patton says, keeping his voice as soft and friendly as he can.

sayuri looks up at ryu, who nods in approval, murmuring something to her in japanese, and she scampers back behind him, clinging once again to his pant leg.

“sorry,” freddie says, not sounding very sorry at all. “lily’s the shy one.”

“oh, it’s all right,” patton says. “it must have been a big day for her, traveling and seeing everyone again and all.”

“that it is,” freddie says, then, to ryu, “d’you think she needs a nap?”

patton takes that as his cue to resume greeting everyone else; he ducks briefly into the kitchen (where abby is, very unsubtly, eyeing the platter of cookies on the counter) and can’t help but coo at the sight that greets him.

“aw, hello,” he murmurs. 

moira, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail and a smidge frizzy, looking haggard in a way that only parents to babies ever seem to look, smiles up at him. “hi, patton.”

“hi, patton,” silas echoes awkwardly, from where he’s washing dishes at the sink.

“hi, silas, hi moira,” he says; usually, he’d be all caught up in the amount of fondness he has for moira, distinctly unbalanced in comparison to his relationship with silas, which is still a touch thorny, even after all this time, but, well. there’s a new member of the family to introduce himself to. 

“this must be meredith junior!”

meredith junior is preoccupied with drinking from a bottle, and does not respond to him, her eyes half-lidded and sleepy.

“that she is,” moira says proudly. 

“oh, she’s beautiful,” patton says warmly, looking at her and feeling all warm and happy because Baby Feelings, and it reminds him of logan when he was at that age; meredith junior (red, he remembers virgil saying) is also a small baby, like logan was, her hair downy and just as red as her mother’s. 

moira smiles at her. “yeah, she is. you wanna hold her later?”

“later,” patton repeats, putting up his hands. “i know how important feeding time is. i was just ducking in to say hi, get a drink,” he directs a wink at abby, who attempts to wink back at him, but she hasn’t really gotten the hang of that yet and so she just blinks at him with extra emphasis.

“eggnog’s in the fridge,” silas mutters. “solo cups should have a sharpie next to it, for names.”

“thanks, silas,” patton says, and ducks around him; he ends up pouring himself a bit of cranberry punch, instead, and obligingly writes PATTON on his cup in large letters. then, with a level of slightly overexaggerated sneakiness that goes unnoticed by moira, preoccupied with the baby, and silas, preoccupied with the dishes, patton snatches a stack of ginger snaps, which are just as good now as they were sixteen years ago. abby jumps up and down, pressing her hands over her mouth to keep from making any noise. 

“well, i’m out of your hair.”

“we’re talking later!” moira calls after him, “i’m thrilled, i want to hear all about you and virgil!”

patton tries his very hardest not to blush, and ducks out of the kitchen instead. he splits the cookies in half, handing the other half to abby.

“thanks, uncle patty!”

“you’re welcome,” patton says. “hey, go give one to your sister, okay?”

“okay!” she says, and speeds off across the room. patton spies her handing a cookie to ellie and briefly tugging at nicola’s jeans to get her attention, giving her one too, and patton smiles after her, before he turns to scan the rest of the room for people he hasn’t said hi to yet.

he is immediately face-to-face with essie and annabelle, who beam at him in unison.

“patton!”

“annabelle, essie!” patton says, hugging the pair of them. “it’s great to see you!”

“great to see you too!” essie says. “we’ll have to get together sometime soon, you and virgil and us—”

“—we can do a double-date!” annabelle adds excitedly.

“—we can come to you, or you can catch the train down to us,” essie continues. 

“oh—” patton says, a little flustered. “um—good! that’s good! that sounds—”

“good?” annabelle says, grinning, clearly very close to laughing at him.

looking for something in the room to change the subject, he glances around and notices, for the first time, two missing members of the family.

“where’s mark and meredith?”

“oh, mom ran out to the corner store for something, i think dad’s on the porch showing off the grill he got for the neighbors,” essie says dismissively, before she reaches over to squeeze his arm. “seriously. so thrilled for the pair of you, we have to do dinner soon.”

“sounds good,” patton says honestly, because it does; getting together with the pair of them, plus mikey, teddy, and sophia, sounds really good.

“i’m gonna go say hi to the kids,” he adds.

“okay!” essie says.

“we’ll catch up later,” annabelle says. it only sounds a little bit like a threat.

he doesn’t even really need to step too far to encounter the kids corner.

“hi, kids!” he says.

“hi, uncle patton,” the kids all drone, not tearing their eyes away; it seems the other board games have fallen to the wayside, the lot of them watching what seems to be the main event with bated breath.

“hello, patton,” wyatt echoes serenely, a pair of tweezers in hand as he observes the operation board. “i congratulate your immune system on its strength in overcoming the pneumococcal pneumonia, and i congratulate you on entering courtship with my brother.”

patton fails, this time, in trying not to blush, which probably wouldn’t be seen by any of the kids, anyways—“c’mon, uncle wyatt!” teddy urges from the sidelines—and wyatt flawlessly maneuvers the tweezers, and very slowly, very carefully, removes the wishbone without bumping any of the walls, and half the kids groan.

“i should have known better than to start this,” wes mutters under his breath, accepting the tweezers from his stepfather. “hi, uncle patton.”

“hiya, wes,” patton says, amused; at least once a year, someone challenged either of the surgeons in the family to a game of operation, and it always ended up with a crowd gathered around like this. “doing okay so far?”

“i’ve buzzed twice,” wes sighs, and squints at the card. “oh, great. i’ve got the funny bone. okay—”

he readjusts his grip, and patton takes a few steps back, so as to not distract him any more than he needs to be distracted, taking a second to look in on nicola and logan—who are deep into conversation about something called hermitian adjoint with excited expressions on their faces, and roman looks as confused as patton feels—before someone taps him on the shoulder.

“doing okay?”

patton turns to smile up at virgil.

“doing fine,” he promises, and sets his cup down on the nearest surface so he can reach out to correct virgil’s collar. “have you said hi to everyone?”

“yeah, just about,” virgil says, then, “um, they haven’t said anything to you about—?”

“oh, y’know,” patton says with a jerk of his head. “moira says she’s thrilled, essie wants to get all together for dinner, freddie said finally, wyatt congratulated the strength of my immune system and my success in courting you, et cetera, et cetera.”

virgil snorts, ducking his head and rubbing sheepishly at the nape of his neck. “guess i probably should’ve warned you ‘bout that, huh?”

“nah, i knew it’d probably happen,” he teases. “you’re forgetting i was at dinner when freddie brought the news of her elopement and the brand-new husband none of us had ever heard of before.”

“still can’t believe she did that,” virgil says with a disbelieving shake of his head.

patton laughs a little, too, before he says, “i was expecting it a little, i guess—i mean, you’ve got four older siblings, i was a little nervous there’d probably be a bit of hazing to go through, now that i’m a boyfriend.”

“you didn’t mention that,” virgil says with a frown. “i can tell them to lay off, if you—”

patton waves him off, even as he still feels the tight knot in his stomach.

“it’s okay,” he says, and it is okay, it’s just nerve-wracking, “i’ve gotten through the first of it, it’s okay. just, y’know. i’m a little nervous to talk to your parents, i guess.”

“they love you,” virgil says immediately. “they’re delighted about this, i promise, they told me so.”

“virge?”

“yeah?” he asks, a protective expression still on his face. patton takes both his hands in his own, looking up at him with a very serious expression on his face.

“remember your siblings teasing me when you have to sit through an emily-and-richard dinner,” he says, “and then we can say we’re nearly even.”

virgil’s lip quirks up. “nearly?”

“well,” patton says, “you’re probably gonna have to go to a few friday night dinners, so i’m definitely gonna owe you for that more than you owe me for this.”

virgil grimaces at the mention of friday night dinners looming in his future like the ghost of christmas yet to come.

“think happy thoughts?” patton offers, with an apologetic grin on his face.

“what thought is happy enough to get me through that?”

patton pretends to think about it, tilting his head back and forth, before he offers in a faux-innocent tone, “egging their car on easter?”

a slightly goofy grin breaks out on virgil’s face, and patton laughs at the sight of it. 

“well, if i must,” virgil says. “might even have to refresh that memory with a repeat performance.”

“don’t you dare,” patton says, in a tone entirely too sappy for what he’s saying.

“or what?” virgil says, grinning down at him, and he’s so stinkin’ cute that patton can’t help but rise onto his tippy toes to kiss the grin right off his face.

their lips barely brush before the hollering starts—there’s a wolf-whistle in there somewhere, but mostly things along the line of “EW, uncle VIRGIL, kissing is GROSS,” and “hey, hey, hands off my baby brother!”—and patton breaks away from virgil with a nervous giggle, blushing, fully aware that if most of the people in the room weren’t looking at him before, they certainly were now. patton finds himself unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

“oh, c’mon,” freddie says, grinning, sayuri in her arms and looking quite close to nodding off to sleep, “it’s about time, now that they’re dating.”

“finally,” essie adds, not quite under her breath, then—

“wait.”

patton turns, then, to where the kids have gathered in the corner; mikey, essie and annabelle’s oldest son, is staring at them with large brown eyes.

“wait,” mikey repeats, “what do you mean, now they’re dating?”

“you weren’t dating before?” his brother teddy says, sounding equal parts confused and indignant.

“no, we weren’t dating before,” virgil says. “but we—we are. now. so.”

teddy still looks puzzled.

“well, we loved each other for a very long time,” patton explains, because for as smart as all the kids are, teddy is nine years old, and therefore not quite fully aware of the complexities of adult relationships, “and we told each other that recently. so. now we’re dating, but we’ve loved each other for much longer.”

“well, that’s okay then,” teddy decides, and patton can’t help but snort.

anyone still staring at the pair of them gets distracted by the sound of a door stuck in its lock, before it suddenly bursts open, bringing with it a rush of warm outdoor air and the clunking of a cane hitting the hardwood.

“damn door keeps sticking,” mark grumbles under his breath, looking up and taking a moment to scan the room before his eyes brighten. “virgil! when did you sneak in, bunny?”

meredith pokes her head around his shoulder, eyes bright; she's carrying a shopping bag in one arm that emma and devon, silas' girls, scuttle up and take off her hands, ferrying it to the kitchen for her.

"ten or so minutes ago," virgil says, crossing the room, grinning; unspoken, both patton and logan fall into step behind virgil, approaching the danes family patriarch and matriarch together.

mark is already pulling his youngest son into a hug, squeezing virgil tight, and patton can't help but smile at the way virgil grips his father just as tightly; mark's had a bit of trouble with his health over the past couple years—primarily struggling with his knee, which had been replaced a month before thanksgiving this year—and patton knows it had scared him, at the time, and it made him all the more appreciative of the time he gets to spend with his father. 

"good to see you, son," mark says warmly, patting virgil's back roughly a couple times for emphasis.

"snap," meredith says warmly, and patton grins—the ginger snaps he ate his weight in at the first danes christmas celebrations he'd ever attended have become his nickname namesake—before he approaches and pulls her into a hug.

"welcome," meredith says, pulling away, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "and congratulations are in order, aren't they?"

patton flushes, but before she can tease him anymore, mark's eyes land on logan.

"god, look at you!" mark says. "you're tall! how much have you grown? a foot? more? what on earth are you feeding him, virgil?" mark asks, turning to him, and virgil puts his hands up, smirking.

"i think i've grown four and a half inches, since the last time i saw you," logan says, before he steps forward and hugs mark, adding quietly, "it's good to see you, nonno."

patton's smile widens at that. emily and richard have always been grandma and grandpa, to logan, and maria, the previous manager at the inn who had taken in patton and logan, has been nana, but mark and meredith have always been nonno and nonna; grandpa and grandma in italian, where mark's family had emigrated from before mark was born.

"and it's good to see you, jammy," mark says, equally warmly, before he draws back, making eye contact with logan, and not having to tilt his head downwards anymore; they're almost on the same level now. "goodness. it'll take some time to get used to that. hit your growth spurt with a vengeance then, just like your dad—"

and then mark's eyes fall to patton, and patton smiles a little nervously, twisting his fingers together.

"hi, mark."

something in mark's eyes go soft, and he steps forward to hug patton just as tightly as he had hugged virgil and logan, to hold patton just as close, and patton isn't sure why his eyes are suddenly stinging, but they are, and he squeezes them shut and takes in a deep breath as he hugs mark back.

"we're overjoyed," mark says quietly, and draws back to look at patton, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes growing more pronounced with his smile. "oh, patton, we're so thrilled for the pair of you, truly we are. you've always been part of the family, but now—well," he says, and looks between virgil and patton.

"the pair of you, making each other happy," meredith says. "it's everything a mother could want for her boys."

patton struggles to swallow, and he can only smile guilelessly at them both as he waits for the lump in his throat to pass.

"now, we heard about your health scare after thanksgiving," mark says, frowning. "you're too young for such things. you're all better now, aren't you? all fixed up?"

"doctor says i am a-okay," patton manages to croak out.

"wonderful," meredith says, "and no more of any of that."

"you should remain hale and hearty, or else," mark adds, finishing her sentence; they've been married for so long, it's almost like they've become symbiotic.

"or else what?" patton says, achieving something close to his normal tone and not sounding like he's about to cry tears of happiness anymore.

"or else i'll set my wife on you," he says, before he claps logan on the back. "now, i hear that you have brought your boyfriend to meet the family!"

"you've met," logan says, beginning to blush, but he goes to get roman anyways; nicola coos "oooh," after the pair of them with all the teasing in her tone that one would expect from a younger cousin.

roman holds logan's hand as they approach.

"sir, ma'am," roman says respectfully, the picture of a proper young man; isadora looks on approvingly from where she's holed up in a corner with ryu, freddie, and a now-sleeping sayuri.

"this is roman prince, nonna, nonno," logan says, squeezing roman's hand tight and leaning into his side. "i love him very much."

mark's smile goes even softer at that; patton leans his head on virgil's shoulder, his cheeks aching.

"aw, shucks, specs," roman says, grinning at logan, "i love you very much too."

"well," mark says gently. "what grandparent doesn't like to hear that? we are very happy to have you and your mother, roman."

"come and sit," meredith says eagerly. "indulge two old crones in some conversation; i hear you want to take after your mother and go into ballet?"

and so mark, meredith, logan, and roman settle on the couch, logan still clinging to roman's hand and looking the most outwardly fond that patton has ever seen him look. it's enough to have the lump in his throat come roaring back with a vengeance.

virgil touches his shoulder, a silent question—you all right?

patton smiles at him and nods, before someone taps him on the arm, and he looks up.

"spouses club meeting," annabelle says, hooking her arm through his.

"what?" patton says.

"spouses club meeting," lexa repeats.

"i'm—i'm not a," patton says, blushing. he isn't the only one—he sees virgil going red, too. they've been dating for barely a couple weeks, that's very far off from—well—

"i'm not a spouse either, technically," lexa points out, "but that's what we're calling it anyways. virgil, we're stealing your boyfriend."

"do i have a choice in the matter?"

"nope!" lexa says cheerfully. "you, patton sanders, have gossip for us."

"goss—" patton repeats, frowning, before he looks to virgil. "oh—oh! lex, it isn't gossip, really—"

"not gossip, sure," annabelle scoffs. "it's only been ten years, we're getting the story—"

"steal him," virgil says immediately.

"traitor," patton cries out, softly enough so that it doesn't attract the attention of anyone else in the room; he'd gotten enough of that when he'd tried to kiss virgil.

"you aren't automatically immune, you've got siblings to deal with," annabelle tells virgil sweetly, and laughs when virgil pulls a face, suddenly looking younger, like the man in his early twenties that he had been their first christmas all together like this.

and so patton is tugged off into the kitchen, where adam, lexa, annabelle, moira, and ryu all sit, ready to hear the story of how they got together, and patton knows that the rest of their trip will be spent like this—being pulled off into subgroups, whether it be spouses, or kids, or siblings, or other arbitrary combinations that would happen on the fly. patton knows he'll spend the rest of the trip eating his weight in ginger snaps, and coming up with fun activities for the kids, and having a million different conversations with everyone, trying to organize how they'll be able to gather in smaller groups during the new year, and— 

—and patton knows he's in for a very chaotic, very merry christmas.

[mozelledeliond]

Defining Deliond

(art by Noirsnow)

Name:: Mozelle Isadora Deliond Alias/Nicknames:: Katrina Inkwither; Veronica Jaspers; Mozzarella Pronouns:: She/Her or They/Them Age:: 27 (December 17th) Western Zodiac:: Sagittarius Eastern Zodiac:: Water Rooster

Abilities/Talents:: Archery; Medicine (Battlefield, Wilderness, Toxicology); Leatherworking; Occult Knowledge; Trivia.

Alignment:: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true Religion:: N’Zoth, God of the Deep; publicly a follower of Aviana. Sins:: envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath Virtues:: charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience Languages:: Common (Fluent); Orcish (Conversational); Shath’Yar (Liturgical)

Family:: Samantha Valarie Deliond née Rhoden (mother, deceased);  Avendral Deliond (father, deceased);  Elsa Helene Deliond (older sister, deceased);  Seth Jasper Deliond (twin brother, deceased) Friends:: Karthe Surick;  Mary Foxglove;  Avannaril Violetbirth;  Tavarres Stagheart;  Sarah Hadley;  Willaude Pratchett

Sexuality:: heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / (gray) asexual / unsure / other Relationship Status:: single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating / it’s complicated Libido:: sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

Build:: slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other Hair:: naturally black; dyed deep ultramarine. slight messy wave. Eyes:: sky blue, too reflective of light; to those who can see the Gift of N’Zoth, Mozelle’s manifests as a replacement for their missing left eye. Skin:: ashen-pale, veins visible beneath the skin. Height:: 5′3″ Scars:: a novella’s worth. aside from what is plainly visible on the face, there are claw marks going from the top of the scapula to the collarbones on each side of Mozelle’s shoulders; a silvery stabbing scar over their solar plexus, the skin around it mottled as if bruised; mild acid burns on left arm; ghoul claw scars on right forearm; a sizeable gash across the abdomen from multiple passes of a blade.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

Five songs that remind you of them: i.   Hollow — Cloudeater | ( and I’m ill with all that I know / ‘cause it shows what little I know / I want sacred / I want final ) ii.  Metaphor — The Crane Wives | ( I’ve gotten good at making up metaphors / I’ve gotten good at stretching the truth out of shape ) iii. The Wall of Sleep — Aviators | ( what horrors have I dreamt of? / will I shudder if I stare? / am I strong enough to transcend? / am I brave enough to dare? ) iv. Fly By Night Only (Yaarrohs Cover) — The Glitch Mob | ( feel the wind brush back the road and clean you of your lies ) v.  In This Twilight — Nine Inch Nails | ( night descends / could I have been a better person? / if I could only... / do it all again )

Tagged By:: @longveil​ Tagging::  @ms-winford​ • @cerusaniduskbinder​ • @opliscadumere​ • @aldoreth​ • @merelliahallewell​

[bumblesimagines]

you were a waste of my time.

how long have you known?

Ivan Carvalho

you were a waste of my time.

how long have you known?

pronouns: they/them, gender neutral

i am a patrick hater first and human second

It'd been silly to think Patrick Blanco would ever keep a promise. He'd assured you time and time again that he and Ivan were over, that the spark there had died and he no longer viewed Ivan as anything other than a friend. In retrospect, you should've seen it coming. Patrick had happily pursued Ander despite knowing Ander was in a happy relationship and he'd blissfully pursued Ivan even after repeatedly being rejected. So, when you stumbled across him kissing Ivan and your boyfriend leaning into it, the surprise had been momentary and easily replaced with numbness and indifference.

Scribbling down some notes from class, you hardly noticed the footsteps approaching you from behind until someone swooped down and planted a kiss on your cheek. Cologne invaded your nostrils and you recognized it quickly, a prickle of annoyance flooding your veins as you craned your neck up to look at Ivan. Taking it as an invitation, Ivan leaned down to kiss you again but when you turned away, his lips met the top of your head. A quiet huff left him and he hooked a ringed finger under your chin to tilt your head again.

"How's Patrick? Did you have fun at his place?" Your words made him pause, doe eyes blinking rapidly and puckered lips contorting.

"What?" He nervously laughed and pressed his thumb into your chin, affectionately rubbing your skin. "Love, I was with Isa. She needed some help choosing what outfit to wear to the party tonight, remember?" 

"The more you lie, the stupider you look, Ivan." Your words made him reel back, a look of hurt flashing over his pretty features. If only he'd taken time to check his social media, he would've seen the countless posts Isadora had made with Cayetana throughout the day. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, turning your attention back onto the notes. "Aunt Sandra was right. You were a waste of my time."

"How... How long have you known?" He asked quietly, slumping down on the seat beside you with downcast eyes. 

"Since my birthday party when you snuck off to make out with your ex." He winced and you nearly rolled your eyes again when his own eyes suddenly flooded with tears. Ivan reached out to carefully take your hands into his, pulling them toward his face and kissing your knuckles. Anyone else might've melted right then and there, but Sandra had raised you and Rebeka right. If only she could see it now, she'd have a laugh. 

"Sinto muito, meu amor." Ivan murmured, voice soft and gentle. You snatched your hands out of his grasp and he released a shakey breath. "It- It was a mistake. That night Patrick said he wanted to talk and I thought nothing of it-"

"Sounds like he's been wanting to talk a lot recently. You've been blind to Patrick's behavior since you met him. You don't see how he operates, how works toward making everyone around him miserable just because he is. He messed with Ander and Omar until the two couldn't be together and he's doing it again now. Patrick doesn't care about what you want. He only cares about himself." You flipped the notebook shut and rose from the chair, listening to it scrape against the tile. You shoved the notebook into your bag and slung it over your shoulder, taking one last look at him.

"Patrick will only let you go once he's taken every ounce of happiness from you. Have fun with that."

[cbraxs]

Warped [Time Warp Trio Fanfiction] - Chapter 12

A chill slithered through the warm night air. All color drained from Cleopatra’s face. The Pharaoh’s stony expression turned dour. He commanded Ahmose in a stern whisper, “Have soldiers out searching for her and guarding all entrances to the palace. We are going to handle this swiftly and silently. Alert no one.”

Ahmose bowed, and the two hurried away. Cleo stood still, fisting the fabric of her chiton, eyes tense in terror as she shook.

She exhaled and fixed stoic eyes on Izzy. “Priestess. Come with me.” And without another word, she left, not even looking behind to see if Izzy was following her or not.

What did she want with Izzy, Joe wondered. Maybe protection? But she didn’t know Izzy’s capabilities. Besides, Cleo had ancient Egyptian Dolph Lundgren as a personal bodyguard. Maybe she wanted company while getting some fresh air, but why not bring one of the girls? She’d known them longer.

Izzy stood, her gaze on Cleopatra’s retreating form. “I should go after her.”

“Is that really the safest idea?” Sam asked.

“It’s not like I can refuse an order. She outranks me.”

Sam pinched his nose in disbelief. “She’s… You’re not a real… you’ve been around Fred too long!”

Freddi pitched in, “I think she means is it’s better to go and not upset Cleopatra.”

“Go ahead,” Joe assured Izzy. “We’ll catch up with you two soon.”

Izzy nodded and jogged after Cleopatra. Once both girls disappeared into the crowd, Fred stood and brushed crumbs off his robes. “Well, this has been great, but it’s time for us to leave.”

“I’d love to, really,” Jodie said. “There’s just one thing. The Book is still broken!”

“You guys were the ones who insisted we stay despite The Book being out of order!” Sam said. “Now we’re stuck in the past with a crazed killer on the loose! Where’s that grape juice?”

Samantha snorted, but there was a twinge of nervousness. “Berenice wasn’t exactly Elizabeth Báthory.”

Joe stood. “We should trail them to be safe.”

The others agreed, and with that, they headed out to find Izzy and the princess.

~*~

Berenice was no fool.

She’d been quick to eliminate the obstacles in the way of her coveted position as ruler. She’d dealt with those who posed a threat to her throne Berenice had won this war and nothing was to get in the way of her luxurious station in life.

And yet… something had. That “something” being a Roman invasion, lead by her pestiferous father. In rapid succession, Berenice lost everything: her power, her throne, her affluence, her dignity. All but her life, which was due to be taken from her as well if not for the mysterious strange man escorting her through the night.

She trudged behind the man past the countryside. The glow of his cane lit a green path for them to follow. Her feet ached more than they ever had, her bones throbbed in the cold, and her throat burned from thirst. Despite this, Berenice hadn’t complained, not once, even though she had every right to. She’d learned quickly to not irritate the stranger.

He was… off. Off and choleric. The smallest thing could fly him into a fit of rage, going into diatribes about things she didn’t understand. It was clear that this man was mad, and Berenice wasn’t about to upset him. She didn’t know if she could trust him, but she understood he was powerful.

So she followed. Through clouds of dust, confusion, and mosquitos, she followed.

After what felt like hours, they settled in an empty hovel in the middle of nowhere. Not only was it devoid of residents, but of furnishing. Sand and beetles acted as their company.

“Sit,” the man commanded.

“On the dirt?” Berenice asked.

This innocent question did not please the man. He glared, and the glow on his cane flared, and he shot green lightning at her. She flinched and shut her eyes, expecting to be destroyed instantly, but no harm befell her.

“Is that better, you spoilt Ptolemaic wench?”

She opened her eyes and looked where the spot the man motioned towards. At the place where his magic struck, there was now a simple table with two chairs.

Berenice stared. She knew he had magic. Powerful magic. The kind she'd only ever heard about in stories and drunken retellings. That’s how he was able to bypass the soldiers guarding her and set her free. Still, it was incredible to behold.

The man stomped his foot like an impatient child. “Go ahead and sit! We don’t have all night.”

She did as she was told. He sat across from her, and stuck his cane into the ground, the unusual adornment acting as their candlelight.

The green glow illuminated every crease and frown line across his face. He had dark, unruly hair atop his head, above his mouth, and on his chin. A crystal disc hovered in front of one eye. His skin— and attitude— reminded her of the sands of Deshret: golden red and hostile.

Berenice fidgeted with the golden Wadjet amulet around her neck, the one thing those savages didn’t take from her. Perhaps they thought there was no need to take it when it would fall from her neck soon enough. Or maybe her father thought it would be funny to let her keep her jewelry while she was due for execution, a horrible reminder of what she’d lost in his victory.

After an eternity, the man spoke. “I bet you’re wondering why I freed you.”

“The question had crossed my mind,” Berenice admitted.

“You have something I want, and I possess the abilities to give you what you want.”

“You presume to know what I want?”

“Of course, you imbecile. You want the throne. Revenge. Complete impunity. Blah, blah, blah! I will destroy the Pharaoh and all others who stand in your way. And in return, I want your amulet, the Eye of Horus.”

“My amulet?” she asked. That’s all? “You could’ve taken it without struggle. Why go through the trouble of freeing me?”

“The Eye of Horus is a symbol of protection. For my purposes, it can’t be simply stolen, it must be given willfully.”

“But why my amulet? Surely you could get it elsewhere or even make your own—”

“My motives are none of your beeswax!” he said with a sniff. “Anyway, it won’t impact your mission.”

“My mission?”

“Of course! Do you expect to get your throne back with no work you lazy Prinzessin? No, I need for you to do this one thing for me.”

She nodded hesitantly. He was hiding something from her, that much was obvious. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the throne, and disposing of her bastard of a father. The thought of revenge was pure honey cake to her.

“In the palace, there is a group of kids with your sister, seven in total: three boys. four girls. I need you to capture a girl for me and bring her here.”

“Why can’t you—”

“Because I can’t! I didn’t free you from your pathetic fate to ask me idiotic questions. I freed you to kidnap a teenage girl for me!”

“All right! All right! My apologies. Which girl do you want me to bring to you?”

“The one with the silly pigtails.”

“Pigs’ tails? You need her to make you a healing potion?”

A beleaguered sigh from the man. “It’s her hair! Her name is Isadora. She has brown skin, brown hair, green eyes! Get the picture? Should I have prepared an elaborate trifold poster? Brought a projector to show you a PowerPoint presentation? Just bring me the girl.”

Another snap of his fingers and a cup full of clear liquid appeared.

“Hurry up and drink!” the man demanded. “You’re useless to me dehydrated. We need to iron out the details.”

Berenice sipped her water as he explained the plan. Once he finished, he snapped his fingers once more. In a flash of green, two wooden trinkets appeared in his hands: One shaped like a crocodile and the other shaped like a smaller version of the ornament on his cane.

“This,” he handed her the crocodile, “will help you out of any trouble you run into. And this,” he gave her the other item. “Will transport you back to me once you have the girl.”

Berenice looked over the items. They felt as real and smooth as they looked.

“You... truly have this power?” she asked, mostly to herself.

His creeping smile was as dry as the desert and his eyes just as unforgiving. “You haven’t the faintest idea.”

~*~

Izzy hadn’t seen her day going like this at all. She planned on seeing a movie and hanging out with friends. Maybe she’d even get a little risque and drain ten dollars at the crane game to win a cute plush she didn’t need.

Now she was pretending to be a priestess comforting a princess. Not just any run-of-the-mill princess, but Cleopatra. The Cleopatra. The beautiful, smart, charming last Pharaoh of Egypt.

Izzy’s parents would read her stories about Cleopatra, and she was as captivating as described. She had an aura of zeal around her that drew you to her and made her fascinating. She was genuinely excited to meet new people and show them the country she loved. Her energy was contagious and Izzy couldn’t help but feel what she felt.

And then there were her looks. There was a lot of speculation about whether or not Cleopatra was the drop-dead gorgeous beauty of legend, and Izzy always found that super boring. Cleopatra accomplished so much in her lifetime, it was annoying when people downgraded her to a mindless, evil sex-ductress.

Still, Izzy appreciated Cleopatra’s offbeat beauty. Her tall proud nose, which looked a bit like Joe’s, reminded her of a Greek statue. Her smile was always confident, her eyes sparkled, never wavering.

All this to say it was no wonder Izzy felt as nervous as she did as she silently followed the princess through echoing palace and looming pillars into a garden of flowers and trees.

The night buzzed with fireflies, the din of the party as soft as white noise. A light breeze rustled through the palm fronds and carried air that smelled faintly of flowers and smoke.

Cleopatra sat at a pond, her eyes cast down at the catfish darting about. Izzy followed suit, unsure of how to break the silence. She didn’t know if Cleopatra wanted to talk, but Izzy would be here if she decided to do so.

After a moment, Cleo said in a shaky voice, “I am… afraid, priestess. Irrationally, I admit, but I fear for my life. I fear for my father. If there’s a chance to regain her position, I know Berenice will jump at it. She is ruthless.”

“It’s okay to be afraid. Don’t be too hard on yourself for feeling your feelings.”

Cleopatra looked at her in… surprise? Confusion? Izzy didn’t know how to place her reaction, but she continued. “You have your father, his soldiers, and us. We won’t let anything bad happen to you. So don’t worry.”

A sigh from Cleo. “Thank you for the reassurance, priestess. I pray that my father’s men find her soon, and we can move forward with the execution.”

Izzy winced. “I know she’s awful and all, but she’s still your sister. Don’t you feel bad about… y’know?”

“My sister a threat,” Cleopatra said. “To allow a threat to linger is to allow your downfall.”

“But execution...” Izzy shook her head. “It just doesn’t feel right—”

“You clearly have no idea what Berenice is capable of!”

Izzy jumped at her sudden outburst, mouth agape, unable to respond. Not that Cleopatra gave her much of a chance to anyway.

“You have no idea what she’s done to her family, my family. To Egypt! Berenice is foolish and lazy and... selfish! She was a horrendous queen and cared nothing for the responsibility of ruling a nation.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes and threatened to spill down her reddening cheeks as she ranted. Her fist balled as if she was ready to clock the next person who questioned her.

“Egypt is weakened. We need allies. That is why I’ve been especially kind to your King Fred. After my father hands the crown over to me, I will have the weight of Egypt on my shoulders. I will have to undo all the centuries of damage that my ancestors caused neglecting my country. If Berenice must be executed to save my Egypt, then so be it!”

Cleopatra panted as she finished her speech. A shiver ran through her.

Izzy averted her eyes back to the pond. She hadn’t meant to upset her, but she couldn’t help but speak her mind.

She couldn’t blame Cleopatra for reacting this way. Berenice killed her own mother and had her husband murdered. If she were to overthrow the Pharaoh again, she’d no doubt have Cleopatra and her father killed. That’s a lot to put on any fourteen-year-old.

Izzy wasn’t ignorant of who Cleopatra would become. She did many amazing things during her rule, but there was also a lot of ugly stuff. Cleopatra would do to her siblings what Berenice did before her. It was easy to overlook that stuff when she was just a historical figure, a character in a book, a role in a film. But now, having gotten to know Cleopatra today, it was harder to reconcile the actions with the person.

Joe and Anna’s spat was so much easier to deal with compared to this. The Ptolemy dynasty was full of corruption and betrayal. They valued power over family. Cleopatra grew up seeing all this familial betrayal, so it’s normal to her. It was what she had to do. It was harsh and difficult, but necessary for her. Izzy didn’t agree, but this was above what she could handle.

Cleopatra sighed and wiped away tears. “My apologies, priestess. I should not have lost my temper at you like that—”

“Spiders and flies!”

Cleopatra looked at her liked she grew a third eye on her chin.

Oh. She should probably explain what the heck she was talking about so she didn’t look like a loon. “Spiders and flies. A spider’s life appears crazy to a fly. They stay in one spot instead of hunting for food, devouring every fly that falls into their web. But that’s just the spider’s way. It seems monstrous and disgusting, but that’s just the spider surviving.”

Cleo gave her a strange look, like the third eye had sprouted wings.

Izzy rubbed the back of her head. “What I mean is, we’re from different worlds. I can’t convince you to see things the way I do.”

The princess grimaced. “And you say this by likening me a spider, priestess? Perhaps you have confused me with Arachne instead of Aphrodite?”

“I-I— That’s now what I meant!” In hindsight, that wasn’t the most flattering comparison. Maybe she should have thought of cuter animals, like bunnies and foxes. No, wait… that’s way more gruesome...

But to Izzy’s shock, Cleopatra giggled. “You are most unusual, priestess. I appreciate you letting voice my discontent. I feel a bit better now.”

Her smile made Izzy’s cheeks warm. “T-to be honest I’m not sure I did much, but I’m glad you feel better.”

Cleo eyed Izzy with a curious look. “Are you perhaps the fly in this scenario? Buzzing around aimlessly until trapped in your demise by your own thoughtlessness?”

Izzy frowned and thought about it. “I… really really hope not.”

Cleopatra laughed again and Izzy couldn’t help but grin.

A rustling behind them made Izzy whirl around. Her friends stumbled upon the garden, frozen like statues that got caught moving. Izzy waved them over to join them at the pond. “How’d you guys find us so fast?”

“We weren’t stalking you!” Freddi squeaked in a way that made Izzy think they might have been stalking them.

Joe looked from Izzy to the laughing Cleopatra in confusion. “What did you do? Arrest Berenice yourself already?”

“Ah! My guest!” Cleo stood and clasped her hands. “My apologies for keeping you waiting. Let’s return to the party shall we?”

~*~

After the party wound down, the eight of them decided to retire back in the rooms. Cleopatra insisted on spending the night with them. The Pharaoh wasn’t too thrilled with this, but eventually, he gave in with the caveat that Ahmose and another soldier stand guard outside the rooms. As if Joe and the others planned on kidnapping her or something.

A small hallway separated the bedrooms by gender. Joe expected Izzy to be nervous to bunk with strangers, but she didn’t seem too bothered, which was a relief. In fact, she and Cleopatra were pretty attached to each other. Cleo hooked arms with Izzy and practically dragged her around everywhere, not that Izzy seemed to mind.

The boys’ room was more extravagant than their usual time warp related accommodations. A great window overlooked the dark glittering waters of the great bay, allowing the moon as well as candlelight to illuminate their sleeping quarters. A tray of plums, grapes, palm nuts, and figs, and a pitcher of water sat in the center of the room. Brightly painted geometric shapes and pictures of Greek heroes and gods decorated the walls. And good luck getting out of bed once you got in. The fluffy, chaise lounge chair like beds were heaven, especially compared to the jail cells and barns they were used to. Their beds were placed equal parts away against the walls with Joe’s bed the closest to the door.

Fred flopped on the bed. “These digs are awesome!”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “except for the murderer running around.”

“Would you relax, Royal Geek? Unless you’re gonna marry Cleopatra, you have no reason to worry.”

“No, but you might, Fred,” Joe teased.” Cleopatra’s real flirty with you.”

Despite Joe’s tone, Fred puffed up his chest. “What can I say? The Queen of the Nile has excellent taste.”

Sam laughed at that. Fred glared at him and asked what was so funny, which made Sam laugh harder.

“You might not have to worry, Fred,” Sam said. “Cleopatra looks more into Izzy now than you.”

Fred tossed a pillow at him, and all three of them laughed.

A knock on the door interrupted their laughter. Joe turned to see Jodie stood at the entrance, Book in hand. “May I come in?”

Fred rolled his eyes. “Why bother asking? You’re gonna come in anyway.”

Jodie waved away his comment. She marched in (pretty much proving Fred’s point) and sat at the foot of Joe’s bed.

Joe motioned towards The Book. “Any luck fixing it?”

Jodie shook her head as she flipped through the pages. “I’ve never had to fix a problem like this before. It’s happened plenty of times, but never while I owned it.”

She looked helplessly through the glitched, buggy pages. Joe couldn’t help but feel for her. To say Jodie was prideful would be an understatement. She prided herself on her appearance, her accomplishments, but most importantly she prided herself on her handling of The Book.

She’d gotten The Book at ten, the same age he did, but had been warping since she was little. At the age of five, she was appointed to Time Page by her uncle Sid, the uncle who passed The Book on to her. Her warp record wasn’t flawless but she’d never once lost The Book on a warp (excluding any Fred-based excursions). She was a stickler when it came to interfering with history, even more so than Sam. Joe knew how important time traveling was to her.

“Would it help if I tell you what happened?” Joe asked.

Her brows scrunched in thought but didn���t look at him. “Possibly.”

He explained what happened with Izzy in ancient Egypt. Joe told her it was an accident, which was true, but didn’t mention that they were trying to find her dad. He’d tell her eventually, once they were home, but for now, fixing The Book was priority number one. He didn’t want to distract Jodie with that can of worms.

When Joe got to the part when Mad Jack shot at The Book, Jodie’s jaw hit the floor. “He shot The Book?! I know he’s crazy but even he’s not crazy enough to do that.”

“I don’t think he did it on purpose. From how Izzy described it, she shielded herself instinctually.”

“Of course she would,” Jodie muttered. “Thanks for telling me, but I don’t think it’ll help us. Not unless you can shoot magic beams at it.”

He couldn’t, but not for lack of trying. He’d practiced shooting lasers from his fingers many times in his room just to see if he could. Of course, he wasn’t about to bring that up in front of Jodie. Or anyone for that matter.

“So what now?” Joe asked.

“It’s not an exact science, but whenever The Book gets damaged, similar damage usually does the trick. Remember when warrior king Fred oh so expertly stabbed The Book with a spear. Twice.”

“Saved your butt,” Fred piped in.

Jodie rolled her eyes but struggled to hide a small smile. “Anyway, in lieu of magical energy bolts, we’ll have to find another way.” She closed The Book and held it reverently in front of her. “I-I hope this works.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled. Her fingers glowed where they touched The Book. She muttered words under her breath over and over until The Book rumbled in her hands like a mini thunderstorm was going on between the pages. The glow died and Jodie flipped through the pages to find that it was… still jumbled. “Shoot!” Jodie slammed The Book shut. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

“What was that?” Joe asked.

“It’s hard to explain... but it’s sort of a soft reboot.”

Joe waited to see if she was kidding, but Jodie didn’t exactly inherit his sense of humor. “Riiiiight. I get it, but maybe you should explain, so Fred and Sam get it.”

Another roll of her eyes. “The Book is like an ancient supercomputer made by people who didn’t quite understand how to make a computer. It’s a patchwork of pieces and features added over time, which is why it’s powerful but volatile. Right now, it's like an iced computer with a single living aperture.”

“Come again?”

“I think she means,” Sam said, “that it’s like a frozen computer with a working window.”

“Oooooh.” It was times like this that reminded Joe that Jodie was from a future with wildly different technologies than his own time.

But what she said made sense. The Book did sort of function like a computer. It had search features and keyboards on some pages. He wondered if it's always worked like this or if adapted to their modern way of doing things. “So do we need to turn it off and on, or is it there some type of control, alt, delete ritual?”

“It's not as easy as pushing a switch.”

“Not how computers work—”

“However they work, this requires real magic. More than the two of us have.” Jodie’s lip curled, her golden-brown eyes narrowed in thought. “I hate to say it, but I think we need Isadora's help.”

Joe wanted to ask why she hated to say it, and what her deal was with Izzy anyway. But something she said didn’t sit right.

“How… how did you know Izzy could use magic?”

Jodie bit her lip. “I-I just assumed she was the one who taught you that annoying levitation trick. I mean, how else would you have learned that?”

“Oh. Right.” He almost forgot about showing off his new tricked. It made sense she’d assume Izzy taught him.

Jodie groaned. “I guess we have to go get her.”

There it was again, her annoyed attitude towards Izzy. “How come you don't like her?”

Jodie looked at him like he just spoke backwards. “Don’t like who?”

Was she for real? It was obvious who he was talking about. He fixed her with a look and she faltered under the glare. “It's not that I don't like her. It's just... I think you should stop hanging out with Isadora. She’s not—”

Suddenly, Jodie shoved The Book back in her satchel. Her face paled and she stared at the floor as if she was afraid if she looked away it would vanish. Joe was about the ask what was wrong when heard a shuffle behind him.

Izzy stood in the doorway. “Uh, h-hey guys. Cleopatra was going to teach us how to play Senet. I wanted to ask if you’d like to join us, but now I realize that might be really boring so forget I was here.”

“Are you kidding?” Sam jumped out of his bed. “The rules of Senet are lost. No way I’m missing that!”

“Count me in.” Fred stood and stretched. “Beats lying around here with no wifi.”

“Did you really expect to have wifi here?”

“No, but it would’ve been nice.”

“We’ll join you guys in a bit,” Joe said. “Jodie and I are finishing up here.”

Fred and Sam nodded and headed off to the girls’ room. Izzy glanced back at them. Concern flashed across her face before disappearing into the hall.

Jodie groaned and faced palmed. “She heard me, didn’t she? Darn it! This is the worst.”

Joe was beyond confused. Jodie wasn’t one to hide how she felt about anything or anyone. If she hated Izzy, why would she care if she knew?

“I don’t know what your deal is with her,” Joe said, “but you should give her a chance. Yeah, she can be a little weird at first but she’s pretty cool and fun. I think you two would get along if you apologize. She’s actually surprisingly forgiving—”

“I don’t hate her!” Jodie snapped. “It’s just…” A heavy sigh. “She shouldn’t be here. Not now. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Okay, that didn’t make any sense. Before he could ask her to elaborate, a shriek followed by a crash echoed through the hall from the girls’ room. Joe and Jodie jumped and rushed to the room, not knowing what was to come when they got there.

[alexey11226]

Today Californian port city of Oakland has pretty questionable reputation, suffering for decades frim high crime rates and homelessness. At the same time, it is very popular city among street artists, musicians, painters. Oakland is a native place for many big names such as Tom Hanks and Bruce Lee, Isadora Duncan and Clint Eastwood. There is also an urban legend that its port cranes inspired Lucas for his Imperial Walkers (and I have to admit that they are really looks like the Walkers).

One of the most notable people born in Oakland was Jack London. Before he became a famous writer he tried himself in different careers such as sailor, or a gold miner. He used to live in Alaska in a cabin very similar to this one, where he created a series of his naval stories and a novel about White Fang.

[huffleporg]

Chapter 4 - Everything in the Kitchen Sink | T | Ao3 from the beginning 

Down in the Beverage District, a work of investigative journalism into the rivalry between two coffee shops leads to four calls to the City Health Inspector's office from J.S., three detentions, two fires, and one broken sugar bowl.

Characters: Isadora Quagmire, Olivia Caliban, Duncan Quagmire, Jacques Snicket, Count Olaf, Kit Snicket, Violet Baudelaire, Lemony Snicket, Beatrice Baudelaire, Quigley Quagmire, Dewey Denouement, Jacquelyn Scieszka, Larry Your-Waiter, Klaus Baudelaire, Fiona, Bertrand Baudelaire

"at”s for those who have expressed interest in the past since the tags on Tumblr have been weird: @badasouefanficideas, @bxxkish-sister, @pretentiouslisp, @veryfierceduchess, @myqueenoliviacaliban, @abbie0007, @catatonicallyeuphonic, @whattheactualfuckuniverse, @citatious, @esme-squalor-is-bae, @catlovermeow11, @alerin-layent, @itsteddylupxn

And without further ado, the chapter:

The jeans weren’t even hers. After a quick assessment of her closet the night before, Isadora had realized that her wardrobe was woefully lacking in clothes that looked like they would suit or even could survive an afternoon working amongst the dirt and grime that was The Firebrand. Duncan had readily supplied her with a pair of his jeans, and Isadora had decided that the oversized Lachrymose Leech tee-shirt she had gotten as a joke last summer could be sacrificed for the sake of Duncan’s project.

Quigley had looked much more excited than Isadora knew she had looked when they had parted ways to head to work. With each step closer to The Firebrand, Isadora could feel her muscles tensen more, bracing for whatever was in store for her and Duncan on their first day of work. She wondered if it was normal to feel such apprehension before going into work on a first day anywhere or whether the anxious quickening of her heart was exclusive to approaching The Firebrand.

At least she had Duncan to enter the dismal cafe with.

“You’re late,” came an accented voice from a darkened corner. There was sound of a chair being scraped across the floor, and then their new boss emerged from the shadows, tucking something into his apron pocket.

“You never told us what time to come,” said Duncan defensively. He glanced over at Isadora as if to confirm, and when she offered him a nod, he continued, “We can’t be late if you didn’t give us a time to be here by.”

Using the same accent that he had the other day, Count Olaf continued, “The Prufrock Prep dismissal bell is at 2:05. The trolley ride takes 35 minutes. It’s five past three. You’re late.”

Confused, Isadora frowned, wondering how and why this man would know exactly what time school let out. “We had to change, like you told us to do,” said Isadora. “That meant that we missed the trolley and had to wait for the next one.”

The man gave the triplets an evaluative glance. “You should have changed faster.” He took a few steps closer to the twins. “I’ve done more complicated costume changes in less than a minute. Five minutes is more than enough time to get out of those uniforms and walk to the trolley stop. It’s less than a five minute walk from the academic building. Don’t miss the 2:15 trolley next time.”

The way he spoke to them, Isadora was tempted to tell him there wouldn’t be a next time and storm out, but she held her tongue.

Ever the journalist, Duncan seemed to have other matters on his mind. “Did you go to Prufrock?” Duncan asked.

Count Olaf blinked. “What?” He seemed to be just as surprised Isadora was by Duncan’s question.

“Just, you seem to know an awful lot about Prufrock. Stuff that only students would know like the time it takes to get to the trolley stop from class,” Duncan explained. “So, it would follow that you went there.”

A grin quirked on Isadora’s face. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t put it together, but her brother was right.

“I don’t see why my educational past is any of your concern,” sneered Count Olaf.

Duncan shrugged his shoulders. “Only curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“And satisfaction brought it back,” Isadora said finishing the adage.

With an exhausted huff, the man fixed the two with a cold stare. “No, last I checked, the cat is dead and buried, but there are still posters the owners put up thinking puss will come home,” he said, his voice low.

As if a cold wind had blown through the shop, Isadora shuddered.

“Now you have wasted enough of my time,” Count Olaf continued. “So let’s begin your training.” And like a switch had been flicked, a genial smile bloomed on the man’s unshaven face. From the glint in his eyes, though, it seemed impossible for the expression to be anything but a mask. “Shall we begin your grand tour?”

The triplets knew that it wasn’t really a question, but still they both nodded.

Count Olaf spread his hands out and gestured around the empty cafe. “This is the shop.” He walked to the counter, the Quagmires following behind him. “It’s where we serve the stuff that is brewed. Coffee. Tea. Various foamy drinks. What you would expect.” He led them behind the counter, onto a mat caked and stained with sawdust and coffee. “Cash register. Not for you to touch.” He gestured to the space below the counter to where several mugs and plates were stored. “Some fine china for those who decide they want to dine in.”

Duncan bent down to pick up one of the greyed and chipped ceramic mugs. As he pulled it away, dust and strands of cobwebs came up.

“People very rarely want to dine in,” said Count Olaf, as if that excused the state. “That’s why we are fully stocked with paper and styrofoam cups.”

Duncan set the mug down on the rough wood counter and brushed the dust off onto his shirt.

“We’ve got the coffee maker, filters, beans, coffee grinder, pots…” He glanced around at the numerous instruments on the shelf against the wall. “Filters, decaf pot that no one ever orders from.” He grabbed the orange handled pot and turned it upside down over the sink. Rather than spill out, the coffee - or rather the sludge - oozed out. Too impatient to wait for the molasses-like mess to dribble into the sink, Count Olaf set the pot down. “We leave anything that’s dirty in the sink.”

Both triplets craned their necks to see into the stained and crowded sink. Mugs with crusts and discolored pots waited amongst the detris of so many cups of coffee and mugs of tea. Isadora wrinkled her nose reflexively.

“I will show you the back now.” Count Olaf strode to the dingy sheet acting as a curtain and pulled it back. Leaning forward, he called out, “Ladies. You’re needed.”

Isadora heard the sound of footsteps, and then two short women emerged from the back. The women both had identical hunches and both wore thick cat eyed glasses. For a triplet, identical twins wearing matching glasses and very similar clothing was hardly remarkable. What made Isadora almost stare at the women - before she realized what she was doing and then pretended to be fascinated with the display of tea boxes and tins - was the white makeup on their face. Isadora had seen pictures of geishas and paintings of women from the 18th century with a similar cosmetic aesthetic, but never before had she seen it on a real person, much less two.

“Twins, meet twins,” Count Olaf said.

The women stuck out their hands at the same time.

“Pleasure to meet you,” said the one on the right as the one on the left nodded.

“We’re actually not--” started Isadora, but as Duncan gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow, she fell silent.

“Not what, dear?” asked the one on the left.

“Not going to shake our hands?” the one on the right said.

“That’s rude,” concluded the left one.

“No, um…” Isadora reached out to shake the closest woman’s hand. “I misspoke. Sorry. It’s very nice to meet you both.” She then shook the next woman’s hand, Duncan quickly following suit and offering his own greeting.

Count Olaf cleared his throat, “Old twins, I’m going to need you to watch the front while I show the new twins around.”

The glances exchanged between the four employees conveyed a distinctly unanimous opinion that absolutely no one needed to watch the cafe.

“Doug and Isabelle-”

“Duncan and Isadora,” Isadora corrected her boss sharply.

The man froze and did a double take. “Seriously? Your parents named you after the dancer?”

“Your parents named you ‘Count,’” retorted Isadora.

Not at all phased, Count Olaf said smoothly, “Nobody questioned Duke Ellington’s parents when they named him Duke. Or Earl Grey’s-”

“I don’t think Earl Grey was his actual name,” interjected Duncan. “And I don’t think he had anything to do with the tea.”

The man stood silently, considering. His pause made Isadora’s stomach begin to twist into a nervous knot, but finally Count Olaf said, “I no interest in or use for history. It’s caused enough trouble already, and I’m not paying you to discuss it. You’re here to clean. Now, let me show you the rest of The Firebrand.” His voice was soft, still in the flat, nasal accent that he had been using the day before. “Any objections.” His voice didn’t rise at the end, as it was not really a question.

“Lead the way,” said Duncan calmly.

Count Olaf lifted up the stained sheet, revealing a very narrow corridor with dark wood panels. A door stood just ajar enough for Isadora to see a cramped bathroom with a yellowed porcelain bowl and the green tank mounted high up on the wall with a chain dangling down. As her brother and her were ushered into the cramped hallway past the smelly “curtain”, she saw that there was another door.

“What’s in there?” asked Isadora.

Wordlessly, Count Olaf turned around and leaned forward to reach for the glass doorknob, and Isadora found herself holding her breath to prevent the stench of stale cigarettes radiating from her boss from overpowering her. The moment was brief, luckily. As Count Olaf drew back, Isadora could see the shadowy outline of a broom, a mop, a few buckets, a sink, and several cleaning products. Without the light in the closet on, she couldn’t be sure, but she was fairly confident that several items had spiderwebs and dust attached to them.

“You’ll find a lot of your supplies there,” Count Olaf said, boredly. He shut the door with a click.

The trio proceeded down the hallway, and with each step, the air seemed to grow hotter and stickier.

“This is the kitchen,” Count Olaf went on as they emerged into a steamy room. “It’s Friday, so the ladies are boiling the bagels they made yesterday and baking them.” He gestured around, though it was hard to see just what he was trying to indicate in the mist. “Once they’re done, you’ll clean the pots and tools, and whatever else those two tell you to clean.”

Isadora took a couple of hesitant steps forward. Squinting, she could make out the shape of an oven with a large vat on top of it. Several trays were on the counter, and even more had been piled up in the sink. Another couple of steps, and Isadora was able to make out the shape of sweaty, anemic bagels waiting to be boiled and baked sitting in trays on the countertop. With disgust, she took in the rest of the counter space in the kitchen that was occupied by at least a week’s worth of dirty mixing bowls, measuring cups, baking sheets, coffee cups, plates, and more, all stacked up so so precariously that Isadora wondered if her breath would send the whole messy pyramid crashing down to the floor. Or else one of the numerous flies that were buzzing around the sink would upset the whole balance.

“That’s a lot of bagels,” said Duncan, only a couple steps behind Isadora. “Do you really sell that many in a day?” The incredulity in Duncan’s voice was painfully obvious, but as they had never seen a customer here, it was impossible to avoid.

Count Olaf let out a sound that was halfway between a snort and scoff. “Of course not. People don’t come to The Firebrand for the bagels. They come for the coffee. No, we make batches of whatever type we’re running low on and then freeze them. Every night we leave a couple to defrost, and then the next morning you’ve got them ready for the four or five people who decide to order one. We do the same with the muffins. A batch of onion bagels can last us almost two weeks.”

Isadora frowned. “They can’t be particularly good.”

“No one comes here for the baked goods,” repeated Count Olaf. He motioned them to follow him further, and the steam began to clear, allowing the triplets to see a grey door. Rust trailed from each nail and facet, and something dark had been splattered across the front. Years of greasy handprints seemed to be smeared across the handle. “This is the refrigerator. You go in it to get to the freezer.”

“Where you keep the bagels and muffins,” said Duncan, as if he was still having trouble accepting the fact that everything baked fresh here wound up frozen.

“Oh, and scones,” remembered Count Olaf. “The twins made some scones a few weeks ago and we still haven’t sold all of them… we’ll have to defrost some for tomorrow.”

Duncan and Isadora exchanged looks of disgust at the thought of eating a weeks old scone.

The tour, unfortunately, continued as Count Olaf showed them a store room further down the hall. It was so packed with fragrant bags of coffee, boxes of tea, and the materials that were needed to make and serve them that the three of them had had to stand nearly shoulder to shoulder. As Count Olaf had gone on about his wares that people actually came for, Isadora had been aching to escape the cramped claustrophobic space. As soon as Count Olaf opened the door to the alleyway from the corridor Isadora wished that she were back in the aromatic cupboard.

Instinctively, Isadora held her nose. “What the-- what is that smell?” she asked, her stomach turning. She didn’t need to look too hard to find the source - a grimy and overflowing dumpster.

“Spoilt milk,” said Count Olaf lightly. “I would recommend holding your breath while you take the trash out, especially as the weather begins to warm up.” He stepped back inside the shop, and the triplets were all too eager to join him and shut the door behind them with a loud bang.

As the three of them went deeper into the back of The Firebrand, Count Olaf kicked along a cracked and stained ant trap, as if it were a stone and he were a young boy walking home from school. He even put his hands in his pockets as he spoke, “When you come in after school, business will be slow, but tomorrow morning when you come in, you will see what it’s really like here.”

With the safety of Count Olaf’s back to the two of them, Isadora and Duncan looked at each other.

‘Tomorrow?’ mouthed Isadora.

‘Sorry,’ said Duncan.

‘You owe me a Saturday morning.’

‘I know.’

Only Isadora didn’t catch what her brother was mouthing. Instead, she had stopped, staring at the wall past her brother. There had been many doors off of the hallway that ran the length of the coffee shop, and all of them bore scars and peeling paint that any old and not well kept building would have. This door, however, seemed to have been attacked. Splinters of unpolished wood stuck out from long, scraped out channels, as if a monster had dragged its claws down the top panel.

Duncan stopped beside her.

Before she could ask Duncan just what he thought had happened, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Isadora jumped and turned around to see Count Olaf glowering down at the two of them, his eyes shining even in the shadows of the hallway. “I think,” he said in a dangerously low voice that was almost like a rumble of thunder, “that it’s time you began your duties as employees.” He began to steer the triplets back towards the front of the coffee shop.

Knowing better than to protest, Isadora walked back the way they had came, dreading just what sort of task was waiting for them.

[barbossas-wench]

My ocs list

The Manor of Enchantment (my own)

Dahlia Lascelles

Annerose Lascelles

Eugene Pakenham

Others:

Rosalie Talbot (old self insert)

Leonard de Remi

Fandom ocs

Annika Crane (The Legend of Sleepy Hollow/Descendants)

Isadora Crane (The Legend of Sleepy Hollow/Descendants)

Katy Bones (The Legend of Sleepy Hollow/Descendants)

Rosabel Gracey (Haunted Mansion/Descendants)

Sonya Gracey (Haunted Mansion/Descendants)

Savannah Mendoza (Joker)

Maisie Riverstone (Gotham)

Ofelia Reyes (Gotham)