#it's just a weird ditty in my head

[sadhours]

We so need a little ditty of Billy talking dirty to himself while jerking off! Don’t post that in your head canons then leave us hanging 🤣

18+ minors dni!

Just some billy self love 🥰

It’s like eleven o clock at night. Lights off in the Hargrove house. But Billy’s sat on the edge of his bed, dull yellow light from his lamp illuminates his body in the mirror he’s staring at. Levi’s gathered at his ankles, white underwear with them. Soft button up completely unbuttoned and hanging at his elbows. A firm fist wrapped around his red, leaking cock and the fingers strumming his sensitive nipple. Looks at himself in the mirror, eyebrows knit and mouth hung open. Just gets a good look at himself as he strokes his cock.

“Yeah- oh yeah,” a whisper, hidden under the low volume of his speakers, rattling a Mötley Crüe cassette. “That’s right, fuck, just like that.”

Gets his balls tightening when he talks. It’s probably on the weird side that Billy dirty talks himself while he’s self pleasuring but hey, it works for him. Works his fingers up and down his shaft, squeezes himself and babbles out, “I’m so fucking hard, oh my god.”

And he is, torqued as much as he possibly can be. If Billy were to let go of his cock, it’d slap right up against his abs. Neglected porno mags in his nightstand drawer because this is better than those. Real. Billy moves his thumb over his slit, pulls it up and watches the way his precum connects in a string between his slit and thumb. Bites his lip with a smirk, “Fucking wet, too.”

Turns himself on more than anyone else has. And he won’t think about why— ever.

Billy pulls his hand away to spit onto his palm then works the makeshift lube over his pulsing length. Moans, softly at the feeling and licks his lips.

“Shit, that feels so good,” he compliments himself, twists his hand on the upstroke. “Fuck- ah, fuck!”

Moves the hand that was on his nipple down his abs, hooks his thumb at the base of his cock and starts jerking the other hand faster.

“Oh, yeah,” he gasps, “Fuck, just like that.”

Eyes trained on the way he’s fisting his cock in the mirror, watches the way his balls move with it. Up and down. Leans his head forward and spits again, glob of saliva landing on his shaft and his palm is quick to spread it around.

“I wanna cum so bad,” he whines, panting hard and then his hips start to thrust into his fist. “Fuck yes, oh shit.”

He squeezes his cock harder, strokes his faster and babbles out, “Yeah, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum, I’m gonna cum so hard.”

And he does, shoots all over. A mess to deal with later.

“Yes, yes, fuuuuuuck,” he moans softly, hips stuttering as his eyes roll back in his head.

[courtingchaos]

Anything with Steve! LOL

Dream Barista

Nightmare!Steve Harrington x Fem Reader

A/N: My dearest @bettyfrommars has let me borrow her Nightmare Steve for this little ditty. I’ve been thinking about the blurb she wrote for me during her prompt requests and I really just wanted to toss him in a situation. I’ve been suffering a bit in these first few weeks of summer so here’s a little spooky season for you.

No warnings!

18+ No Minors

“Do I know you?” You’ve been staring at the barista making your coffee for almost five-no…five minutes? Seriously how long has it been?

“Me? I’m not sure, I think I’d remember you.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” You frown when you say this, banter that feels weird in your mouth. Come to think of it your mouth just feels weird in general. Dry and cottony all of a sudden and a too big tongue. “I’m sorry, this is gonna sound stupid, but what did I order?” You’re eyes have not left this man but when he dips down to pull a container of oat milk out of the fridge there’s a flash of red, the back of his neck deep crimson under his fluffy brown hair.

He holds up a paper cup with your name scribbled on it. “Hazelnut Macchiato.”

There’s a huff behind you, a customer upset with their wait and the packed cafe probably, but you lean forward into the glass partition to get a closer look at the scribble. “I don’t usually get hot…drinks…” The black marks mean nothing. That isn’t your name and whatever has been written isn’t legible. Another huff behind you, closer now and you can feel the heat coming off of this person. “I don’t think that’s my drink.”

The barista suddenly seems nervous, eyes flicking behind you a few times before you catch his gaze again he smiles tightly at you. “This is gonna be stressful, I’m sorry.”

“I mean, it’s just an iced coffee.” You try to make a joke but it comes out more like a cough when one of those bodies behind you bumps you forward into the counter. Words knocked out of you in a puff you try to turn around to ask what their problem is when you notice the cafe is packed. Full to the brim, to the gills, with a crowd of black eyed anger. People in all states stare at you as their voices raise to yell about wasted time. Meetings they’re late to. Children they have to pick up. Useless employees who can’t move faster. Rooted to the spot you stare back at them and panic. This really is your worst nightmare when they start moving forward to press the counter and you do the only thing you can think to do; climb up and over the counter and partition, kicking the espresso machine and banging your knee on your way down the other side.

No other employees are there as steam wands continue to push steam and grinders pull beans. A clatter behind the register makes your head snap over and there is one barista, the brunette man that was making not your drink. He’s taller than he was a moment ago and you try to say sorry for climbing over the equipment and breaking about a hundred food safety rules but the flash in his fist makes you choke. Long bread knife pointed at you-no, past you, but he advances with an apologetic look pinching his face. That crowd that grew is suddenly climbing like you did and you decide to run for the swinging black door to the back, hoping that you’re not making a mistake. It’s cramped and twisted but the chaos behind you pushes you forward into the maze, especially when you catch sight of that knife behind you. The twists are sharp, too many to make any sense but you can’t think of that right now, you need to get to that back door. Find that cold air outside and the stretch of highway that has to be out there where you can run in the open and find someone, anyone.

Like a mirror in a funhouse that fire exit is right in front of you for you to slam your body into, hands grasping at the large push handle that won’t budge. Voices raise in a cacophony of accusations but one rings out clear with your name. Of course it would be the knife wielding possible red skinned barista but when he makes it to you it almost looks like he smiles at you. The handle pushes open suddenly with a hard slap of your palm and cold air fills your lungs just before you get taken out at the knees with the large trash bin. Tangled immediately in blue bags of grounds and paper cups you feel the bin roll. Fingers grasp for the edge of plastic that should be right there but instead you grapple with bags that try to drown you, right until they don’t. A large hand pushes through and grabs yours, pulls up hard and there he is.

“Time to get out of here, if you know what I mean.” He grins and suddenly it dawns on you as he looms over you with longer hair curling up behind his ears. Paper with string and then red skin and dark eyes. “Devil.”

“Yes! Devil!” He points at the enamel pin on his black apron, a little horned devil next to a grinning skull. “You do remember me.” He smiles even as the beating behind the heavy door continues, even when it bucks against his impossible hold on it. The bright joy takes over and you can feel yourself smiling too, right until you get a tingle up your spine. Hairs on the back of your neck stand upright just before the air smells of ozone and lighting strikes the blacktop next to you.

You barely scream before he’s pulling you out of the large bin and dragging you across a parking lot that seems to morph under your feet. The horde from inside streams out from the back door now but the asphalt buckles and craters as more of them follow. Somehow the two of you walk fine but these monsters seem less monstrous now as they fumble and fall, grasping onto one another for balance as the coffee house parking swallows them up in big black clouds of dust.

“Steve what is-”

“Hey, you remembered my name!” He turns back to you fast and you’re not sure if you see it right, if his eyes were black and then soft brown. They’re warm when they’re on you though, smile touching the crinkles in the corners.

“Of course, I just don’t…what is going on?” This has to be a dream. A nightmare actually when you think about the customers turned hungry mass and the thunder that has suddenly shown up. Before you can pull at him to slow down it’s like a switch is flipped. Rain falls in a sheet turning the world grey. “Steve hold on!” You have to shout over the din of the rain hitting the ground, spattering in the mud that your shoes are stuck in now and-

“Am I dreaming?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” It’s obvious now. Is this what lucid dreaming is? You look around to see the world has changed. Through the heavy rain you make out small hills around you, molding you and Steve into a valley wreathed in trees showing off their golden colors. Thick maple leaves cling to branches and wispy ginkgo flutter to the ground as the rain begins to lighten up. Your fingers still clutch at Steve’s but it’s only drawn him in closer, another shift in reality as he holds a leather jacket out to you from seemingly nowhere.

“Here, it’s gonna get a little cold.”

It’s warm like he’s been wearing it the whole time and he holds the collar up so you can slide your arms in. “I’m really confused.”

“I bought us a little more time.” He nods his head towards an incline and holds up an arm for you to fall under. “Not much, but enough for me to actually show you some stuff. No mermaids tonight though.”

“The face eaters?” You remember this suddenly, a motorcycle rumbling between your knees as you clung on for dear life before…before what you can’t remember that but it doesn’t matter right now. Steve is warm and he holds you against him as he takes you around a thicket of trees to a little set up.

“Did you make a picnic?”

“Kind of.” He’s bashful and you finger the pins on his lapel, nail tracing the raised edge of the devil horns. “More of a resting place.”

“Oh, morbid. I like it.” The flannel blanket is soft under you. The sunset burns oranges and purples in unrealistic hues and the trees around you drop endless leaves that tap lightly on their falls. Steve sits beside you, quiet and watching the side of your face, studious like you might disappear at any moment. If you’re right and this really is a dream, you suppose that could happen. Tonight though you’d taken some of those sleep gummies so maybe he’d be stuck with you for longer than planned.

“That doesn’t really have a lot of bearing on all of this.”

“Can you read my mind?” You ask with a laugh and sharp look. Steve shrugs and sighs before he winds a hand around your hip to pull you closer and back towards him where he falls backwards onto the blanket.

“A little?” He says it like a question but you find you don’t much care. Not with him it seems, not with this comfort you’ve found in sleep, something that has eluded you for most of your adult life. The sun isn’t setting like it should, it just hovers along the horizon and you watch little smudges of black flit across the light, either bats or birds or something other. Trying to get comfortable against Steve’s shoulder you realize your hair is still wet while the rest of you is dry like the grass around you.

“Sorry about that, I just needed a quick transition.” His smile is soft like his hair and his eyes and you feel lulled. Safe and comfortable like you’ve made a bed out of nature and him and dreams.

“I like the rain, it’s just sometimes the thunder scares me. Makes me feel like the world is gonna spin out.” You curl into his chest and catch a whiff of coffee for just a moment. Exhaustion pulls at your eyelids suddenly. “Were you…did you make me coffee earlier?” Sleep has caught you it would seem and you can feel how lax you go, fingers falling out of their places twisted in his shirt as his own grip tightens around your shoulders. Under the roasted scent there’s a latex smell, something sweet and aged with a hint of pumpkin. Cinnamon? God it smells like something you can’t put your finger on.

“Maybe. I do make a great a cup.” He’s quieter now as you seem to fade fast, his grip more secure as you relax further. “Next time I won’t chase you out with a bread knife, okay?” He whispers into the crown of your head and it gets a tired chuckle from you. “I’ll leave the thunder out too, I just needed you a little scared so I could get some more time.”

“No I liked the storm. Bring that back with you.” Another deep sigh before it feels like you’ve missed the last step into the basement and suddenly, you remember. “Halloween.”

“What?”

“Halloween boxes, decorations. It’s your mask.”

He feels your last words spoken into his shoulder as you mumble them against him and he can smell it now too. In your hair and his jacket, something sweet and warm that makes him think of aisles of masks and taper candles. Pumpkins that match the ever present deep sunset on this horizon and the dry leaves that stick to the damp, dying earth.

You’re gone before he realizes it and he slaps a hand down hard on the flannel blanket where you just were. The stage under him reverberates with his hit and the lights above him switch from warm tones to cool. He can’t linger for long, not when Ed has already brought more eyes down on this department, but he does linger. You remembered the mask and his name and next time? Next time you’ll remember the sunset and the warmth. When he stands and picks his jacket up he catches the fading scent you brought with you and he braces himself to leave the small sound stage.

Tomorrow night, he thinks to himself, tomorrow night I’ll bring you a sweeter sleep.

[theboywithburninghands]

So I pushed through my writer's block. Here's the newest Funnybunny thing. Uh, well, sorta. It's got shipping stuff in it, but most of it is just Jax and getting into his thoughts, and a really nasty encounter with something horrible. The... fun kind of horrible though. Yeah, word of warning, this is a pretty violent little ditty, so if you're squeamish, I'd say either sit this one out or don't eat while reading? I'm damn proud of it either way LOL T/W: Violence, gore, vomit, horror

The Dollhouse Part 2: Reap What You Sow

Jax slid down the tube slide with his hands behind his head. You fall through enough trapdoors and they start to lose their shock value. The slide dropped into a pit full of something cottony and plush. Jax crinkled up his face upon recognizing what he just landed in. Corn silk. The cloyingly sweet smell of corn made him queasy, and he’d be picking strings of silk off of his clothes for hours. 

Jax: Not scary. Just annoying.

Jax climbed out of the pit, doing his best to dust himself off. Silk drifted off of him like hair off a shedding St. Bernard. After he was reasonably clean, he approached the door in front of him and nudged it open with his food. 

Inside was what appeared to be a disused barn, or at least an imitation of one. It was divided into a ground floor and a hayloft. The ground floor had only two things of note, a door, which appeared to be locked, and a tractor. One of those old fashioned ones that curved in the middle and had big wheels that looked more like those on a kid’s wagon than farm equipment. It was caked with rust and would probably crumble into scrap metal if someone managed to start the engine. A rickety wooden ladder led up into the hayloft above. Jax hummed and gripped one leg of the ladder, shaking it. Seemed climbable enough. 

Jax went over to the locked door, finding some words scratched into it with what looked like a knife.

Jax: “In your eye, a promise kept 

Through my eye, a line is swept

I trace the day, a circle spun

A hole in skin, a scarf begun. 

But beware, do not guess wrong

Or they will find you before long.”

Jax sniffed at the poem. Riddles, huh? Cute. Caine must’ve spent a while finding rhymes. Jax examined the lock, pausing to pick another piece of corn silk off his glove. He tried a few of the keys he had in his pocket, but they were all too thick. It was a pretty heavy padlock too, no real way to pick it. 

So what was the riddle for? In your eye, a promise kept… waaaait a minute. He was surrounded by hay. What did you go looking for in a stack of hay?

Jax: “Stick a needle in my eye.” Alright, fair point, Caine.

He smiled a bit at his deduction,  but now came the actual needle in a haystack part. He sighed, cracked his knuckles and began to climb up the ladder. It squeaked in protest a bit at Jax’s weight, and the third rung from the top made an ominous crunch when he stepped on it. He’d have to skip that one on the way down.

The hayloft was full of… well, hay. It might’ve been in bales once, but now it was a big, messy pile strewn over the baseboards. The hay on top was the usual healthy yellow color, but the hay on the bottom was damp and brown. Jax caught a whiff of rotten hay, the smell almost indistinguishable from horse manure. He looked around for a pitchfork or a shovel to make his life easier, but no such luck.

He sighed again, then began to toss hay off the loft, two handfuls at a time. It would have been easier with the others around. Heck, he could have just made the excuse that he wanted to watch for monsters down below while the others dug around in the hay. 

…Nah, it probably wouldn’t go that way anymore, actually. Pomni would scold him for it, or worse, give him those sad, wet puppy dog eyes. And then he’d do it so she’d want to cuddle with him later. 

…That, and it did feel nice to make her happy. Weird how that worked. 

Jax: *sudden coughing fit* Ugh… *hocks and spits* 

Damn haydust… it was like inhaling sand. He was gonna be feeling the grit in his throat for the rest of the day too. Man, he would have pulled out one of his teeth for a bottle of water and a hot shower right about now… Caine probably would have just thrown boiling hot soapy water on him if he asked, then told him to drink said boiling hot soapy water. Idiot.

Whatever. Maybe after the adventure he could go swim in the lake. If he did, Pomni might tag along. Or maybe she wouldn’t, since Ragatha was a thing in their relationship now. …Nah, she could come too. He could play nice with her for a little while. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember a time when he and Ol’ Rags had ever actually hung out together. He wasn’t opposed to the idea. Other than Pomni she was probably the least annoying person in the circus. Sure, the overly smiley persona got annoying, but… it was… refreshing now and then. So sure. She could come with. Actually, thinking about it, could she even swim…? He’d never seen her in swimwear. 

…Not a terrible image to conjure up… 

Jax stopped to cough again. If Caine’s idea of an adventure had gotten to the point of just doing manual labor, the future looked bleak. He cringed backwards upon touching the rotten hay on the bottom, wiping his hand on his overalls. He wasn’t digging through that with his hands, Caine could sit and spin. He hocked and spat one more time to futilely try and get some of the grit out of his throat, then began to climb back down the ladder. Maybe the needle was in the hay he’d already thrown onto the floor. Even if it wasn’t, there had to be something down there to help him shovel the-

The pile of rotten hay shifted. Jax froze mid step down the ladder, watching the pile of rancid mush churn about, before a small patch of it slid off the greater mass with an unceremonious plop, revealing-

Revealing a-

Jax: What…?

A single red eye, the size of a beach ball, swiveled around from under the hay. Hateful, malevolent, and all too familiar. It was here. 

Jax automatically put his foot onto the next rung on the ladder, determined to leave Its line of sight and wait until It fell back asleep. His stomach squeezed into a knot when the third rung on the ladder messily snapped in two like a stale loaf of bread. His chin thwacked against the floor of the hayloft and he fell a good ten feet to the barn floor. The hay softened his landing a bit, but not much, and he felt a dull, ringing pain in his chin and lower back. He scrabbled to his feet, slipping a bit on the hay, and risked a glance up at the loft.

Its eyes, burning red like irons left in the hearth, leered down at him. Well, hello, little rabbit. How nice of you to come visit. And just in time, I’m famished…

Jax: I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming! Wake up, wake up! *slaps himself in the face# You got too hot in bed, that’s all, wake UP-

Jax yelled in frustrated terror as It lazily flopped over the edge of the hayloft, sending a shower of rotten straw clumps everywhere. Jax’s eyes darted around the area for anything that might help, something to use as a weapon or that needle where was the needle WHERE WAS THE GODDAMN NEEDLE-

Rowstalker: Gnnnnnnnnn…..

It snarled, peeling back Its lips to reveal Its irregular, shattered glass teeth and blight-blackened gums. Those teeth which hurt so badly in mere dreams were now real, and they could finally shred his skin off as easily as peeling an overripe orange. Jax scurried onto the back of the old tractor, desperate for any sort of high ground, not that it would help. It could do anything to catch him… 

Jax: Caine, this isn’t FUNNY! GET RID OF IT RIGHT NOW, DO YOU HEAR ME?!

It bellowed at him, and Jax felt nausea lurch in his stomach. The stench of Its breath was like 100-year-old corn cobs and pulverized animal carcasses rotting on a freeway. He felt his breakfast snake back up his gullet and leaned over the side of the tractor to vomit, a stream of black sludge with a rainbow sheen, like an oil slick. He could have sworn he heard It snort in amusement. “Poor thing, whatever will you do when you’re inside my mouth? Well, don’t worry, you won’t have to put up with it for long after I gnaw your head off and slurp your spine through your neck.”

Rowstalker: Gnnnnnn… CHRRR! 

It lunged for him, missing his leg by centimeters and plunging Its teeth into the left tire of the tractor. Air rushed out of it in an alarmed hiss and Jax fell backwards over the driver’s seat, his head colliding with the steering wheel. Through the smeary lights now dancing in his vision, he saw It pull Its teeth from the tire, air spouting out of it with an almost relieved sigh as the tractor sagged to the left. Jax dimly groped around for the steering wheel so he could hoist himself up before It lunged for him again. His hand slid across the dashboard, accidentally clicking a few powerless switches, and his glove nearly slipped when it ran over the slick, circular face of the odometer. 

Odometer. Something was important about the odome- 

This hesitation, coupled with the haze of hitting his head, led to him being unprepared for Its next attack. He jerked upwards a moment too late as It pounced for him, successfully plunging Its front teeth several inches into his right foot. Jax screamed, his voice raspy from the dusty air. In his dreams, this was where it ended. Once It had him, there was no escape. It would eat him now, immediately chewing him into a wet and mushy wad or worse, take Its time, snapping off his arms and legs first and saving his head for last so the pain lasted as long as possible- 

But… this wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t paralyzed in his bed by sleep. He could move. He could survive. If he didn’t survive, they would never go swimming. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something. He wanted to go swimming. He was going to go swimming. 

Jax: What big teeth you have…! *hoists himself up so he can reach Its mouth and punches one of Its misshapen teeth with all his strength*

It let out a garbled roar of pain and surprise, Its tooth snapping inwards at an odd angle, rotten fluid dribbling out of the partially exposed socket. It let go of Jax’s foot to recoil, shaking Its head around violently. Had It ever actually felt pain before..? No, It couldn’t have. It was against the rules!

Jax looked at the bloodless hole It had left in the middle of his foot. Light shone right through it, and it sparked and stuttered with a glitchy shimmer. Caine’s creations weren’t supposed to hurt them this badly, anything beyond typical “stars and birdies” cartoon nonsense. That could wait, though, he had an opening. 

Jax risked a quick glance at the odometer. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt that it was somehow important. The faceplate was marred and scratchy, so he could barely see the numbers or needle- 

Needle. Of course. 

Jax elbowed the faceplate, shattering it like sugar glass. He glanced back at It, which was still reeling from Its sudden dental luxation, and he stuck his hand into the odometer. Sure enough, he retrieved a long, thin silver key from inside, a fragile little thing no thicker than a sewing needle. 

Rowstalker: GNNNNCCHHHHH!

It made a full bodied lunge for Jax, the rabbit diving off the tractor and belly flopping onto the straw covered floor. The needle-key skittered across the floor and vanished into the hay.

Jax: Nononono-NO! 

Jax attempted to stand but cried out. The massive hole in his foot flared with pain as he tried to put weight on it, jolting with glitchy after-effects as he fell back onto the floor. He glanced over his shoulder and saw It climbing around on the now upturned tractor, no doubt priming Itself to pounce. He frantically climbed forward and sifted through the hay, rotten and fresh, to find the key. A faint glint in a small pile up ahead, there it was! Jax lurched forward and gripped the key, just in time for It to leap off Its perch and land right on top of him. 

Its body was crushingly heavy and Its skin was clammy and squamous, like a reptile or worm, but nauseatingly hot at the same time. It reared back and opened Its vile maw, infected drool, rancid corn juice and a few fat cutworms raining down on Jax’s face. It lunged forward, intent on closing Its jaws around Jax’s upper half, pulling it right off of his hips with one vicious tug. Jax, yelling right back at the creature, swung his left hand, clenched around the needle key, right at one of It’s bloated, scarlet eyes. 

There was a noise like a straw being jabbed through a plastic lid, and It stopped moving. Its maw hung agape in shock. Jax clutched the key, the blade wedged into Its right eye all the way up to the bow. Without a second thought, he cranked his wrist, cutting through the vitreous humor with a fetid, wet squelch. 

It yowled in agony as crimson jelly gushed out of its eye. It wasn’t supposed to feel pain! That’s not allowed! That’s-

Jax, using his uninjured left foot, pushed The Rowstalker off of him with all of his adrenal strength. It tumbled off of him with remarkable ease, still trying in vain to process the amount of pain It was experiencing. It thrashed about on the floor, red phlegm-like goo pouring from Its eye. Jax limped to the exit door, sliding in the needle key with a rather nauseating squishy noise, not bothering to look behind him as he slammed the door shut behind him, leaving him in utter darkness. There was the click of an automatic lock. It couldn’t reach him now. 

He… beat It. 

He slumped against the door. He panted hard and fast for a good five minutes. His foot bloomed with horrible pain, and he grasped it weakly. He probably couldn’t walk on it until Caine fixed him. Caine.

Oh, he was gonna KILL Caine… Later. 

Another door opened across the way, beaming a shaft of light across the dark area. Jax tried to scramble to his feet, but found himself unable to on account of the enormous gaping hole in his foot and how achingly tired he was. Pomni: …Jax? Is that you..? Oh my God, what happened?!

Jax relaxed and fell back onto his butt. Pomni. Pomni and someone else. But Pomni most importantly. His eyes hurt. 

Ragatha: Jax, your foot..! Wh-How did th- a- *coughs, covers her mouth and nose* Oh, you reek! Did you roll around in compost?! 

Jax: Speak for yourself, Rags.  The response came automatically, along with his usual cheeky grin, but it was shaky with  exhaustion. Pomni approached him and gave him a hug, although she held her breath as she did so. Jax savored the hug. Sure, they probably weren’t safe yet. But… he had fought off his worst nightmare. And it was thanks to her. He was… really tired. 

Jax: …I love you guys.

Jax closed his eyes.

[chongoblog]

Me, in the bathroom with an awful stomachache and headache: "Oh god.....oh....oh god I feel like garbage"

My brain, above the sound of agony: "Hey, Ryan, you busy?"

Me, gripping my head through the migraine: "Yes, incredibl-"

My brain: "So you know that one part of Polkas on 45 by Weird Al? That little instrumental ditty that plays right before Smoke on the Water? Specifically at 0:36?"

Me, enduring one of the trials of Hercules in my stomach: "Somehow yes, but please, can we discuss this when I'm not dy-"

My brain: "Thats just the Candy Mountain Cave song from Charlie the Unicorn, huh?"

Me, now with a headache, stomachache, and the Candy Mountain Cave song stuck in my head: "What the fuck?"

[lululawrence]

Sunday Snippet

Okay I was tagged by @kingsofeverything and @louisandtheaquarian to share a snip so since I'm editing and getting my big bang ready to go up next week, I thought I'd share a little ditty that I enjoyed enough to send to emmu when I read it lolol It's another Mitch and Harry scene... which isn't the entire fic, I swear lololol I'm just leaving the best stuff for when you actually get into the fic, right? lol ANYWAY... it's a bit longer, sooooo I put some of it under the cut just to be sneaky lollll

“You should join Louis and his friends at the pub tonight.”

Harry froze before looking at Mitch. “How do you know Louis and his friends are going to the pub tonight in the first place?”

“Nevermind that,” Mitch said, waving his hand at him. “I just think you should go.”

“I’m not going if I’m not invited,” Harry said, eyes wide. “I told you before and I meant it. I don’t want to be another red flag.”

“You don’t want to raise any more red flags,” Mitch corrected.

“Who even cares if I say it right?” Harry asked, irritated. 

Language and this style of communication was so complicated. Every time he thought he was getting it right, he was corrected again. He was tired of doing everything wrong and wanted people to just be able to understand him. 

“You know what I meant.”

“I did. And you were invited.”

Harry snorted. “Right.”

“You were,” Mitch insisted. 

 “It couldn’t have been Louis…” Harry trailed off before looking at Mitch hopefully. “Was it?”

Mitch’s gaze was sad as he shook his head. “No. It wasn’t.”

“No one else had your number, and as far as I know, you don’t know any of his friends. So how would I have gotten invited to the pub tonight?” 

Mitch held his eye contact and as his head tilted forward a little, Harry gasped. “Oh my god, it was Zayn!”

“I didn’t say that,” Mitch said, pointing at him. 

“You didn’t have to, I could read it in your eyes!” Harry cried, clapping his gloved hand over his mouth and therefore rendering it useless now. He’d have to replace it with another new one before he got back to work on the croissants. “How did Zayn get your number?”

Mitch looked at the ceiling as if he was begging for patience from someone above. “I’m not telling you that either.”

“Technically you didn’t even tell me it was Zayn in the first place,” Harry said, smugly. “Look at me and maybe I can read the answer to this question in your eyes again.”

“How’d you even do that, anyway?” Mitch asked, sounding incredibly annoyed. “If you can just learn anything you want to with your weird star superpower ways by looking in my eyes, then I’m going to lose all of my mysteriousness.”

“Oh, dear Mitch,” Harry said, walking over to him and squishing his cheeks between his hands. “You’ve not been mysterious to me from the moment I walked in here. You were the sweetest, cuddliest person I’d ever met, and that still hasn’t changed.”

“I hate you,” Mitch said, staring at his nose rather than his eyes.

“I love you too,” Harry said before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

With a sigh, Mitch answered, “Yeah, that’s what I meant, too.”

“I know.” Harry gave him a wide smile before prancing back to the counter and putting on another new glove.

hehehe!!! And now I tag... @disgruntledkittenface @2tiedships2 @londonfoginacup @voulezloux @reminiscingintherain aaaaaand @all-these-larrythings

[thomasschabot]

saw you in a dream

quinn hughes x non-binary!oc (she/they pronouns)

they were simply a figment of quinn’s imagination, until she wasn’t

word count: 3.3k

warnings: vivid dreams, cursing, not soulmates!au but kinda soulmates!au without being weird

a/n: hi @puckmaidens!!! it’s me, your fic exchange partner. really hope you enjoy this little ditty 🤍 original idea didn’t go as planned but i’m crossing my fingers this will suffice. a very large thanks goes out to @wyattjohnston​ for creating and managing yet another super successful fic exchange AND for letting me borrow daisy for a fun little moment!!! hats off to you dem. @matthewtkachuk​ gets a big shout out for proofing this love u babe (also as a reminder non-binary people don’t owe anyone androgyny! or anything for that matter. all my little enby babies you’re perfect as is 🥰)

⭑⭒⭑

They were laughing the first time Quinn saw them. 

It was the head tilted back, mouth agape kind of laugh, and it was the most beautiful thing the man had ever seen. Quinn couldn’t tell if any sound was coming from the prettily parted lips, but he also didn’t care. Just watching them was good enough, and if given the opportunity he’d do it for the rest of his life. Fate isn’t that kind, however, so Quinn resigns himself to the idea that this perfect person will have to reside in his memory. There was a split moment where kind eyes met his own guarded ones, and Quinn felt the world stop spinning for a millisecond. Every single feeling, look, thought, was heightened when they smiled and raised their glass in a silent toast, prompting him to follow the lead with a tentative look on his face. A split second later they were gone, pulled onto the dancefloor with friends to enjoy the long night ahead. Once sure they weren’t coming back, and didn't want to actually say hello in the way he so desperately wanted, Quinn closed out his tab with a sigh of defeat and exited the club, kicking himself the entire way home for not having any courage.

⭑⭒⭑

An alarm startles Quinn awake. It’s Sunday, supposedly a rare day of rest for the team, but he needs to put some time into the gym and bulk up ten pounds as fast as possible. The Canucks have been playing well enough, but the team is still below five hundred and has a tough second half of the season ahead. Quinn could stand to be more of a physical force to be reckoned with. He’s so focussed on the goals to complete during the day that it takes several moments to realize there had been no mysterious yet beautiful person at a nightclub last night. In fact, there hadn’t been a club at all — just his cold sheets and the same sadness that’s permeated Quinn’s house for years. 

The realization knocks all the air from his lungs. Quinn could swear up and down that he had seen them with his own two eyes, and tasted the whisky they’d sipped while maintaining eye contact. It was all such a vivid image that he has a hard time reconciling the knowledge it was all fake with how he woke up feeling. It was real to him. Brock would undoubtedly shake his head and rattle off a few statistics about the probability of meeting those found in one’s dreams, ever the pessimist about love and fate, but luckily he isn’t there as Quinn moves sluggishly about, trying desperately to remember everything about the person with kind eyes and the brightest smile he’s ever encountered. 

Quinn doesn’t even get both feet onto the turfed outer surface of the gym before a trainer finds him. “Hughes,” he says, syllables tense and over-punctuated in a way they appear only when ownership gets antsy about poor results. “I need you working today until it feels like you’re about to drop dead.”

“You got it,” Quinn sighs, feeling guilty for contributing to the man’s stress simply because he can’t maintain his weight. Being a franchise player at such a young age, Quinn feels pressure to make things as easy on the staff as possible.

Teammates are scattered about the levels of the facility, each working on their own weaknesses — it’s becoming more apparent to Quinn that no one in the Canucks organization understands the term rest day. Nils is hunched over on the floor doing an intricate warm up stretch routine, clearly in the same boat as him, and it makes Quinn feel a bit better. He doesn’t look up, just raises a hand in silent greeting, and the other man chuckles before pushing back the slight waves he hadn’t bothered to tame in the bathroom mirror and getting to work. 

Time flies by at a record pace, and an hour and half later Quinn has put in one of the most intense workouts of his professional career. It seems stupid to leave when so many of his teammates are still working, so he finishes a cool down and wordlessly stands behind Nils to spot. Neither of them acknowledge the favour Quinn is doing him, but it doesn’t matter. Just knowing he’s done something to make someone’s life easier is enough. Despite the intentions of making the work easier, Quinn lags behind, taking a few too many breaks to think about the person from his dream and how much he’d like to kiss them, to cherish them.

Always a fast dresser, he waits until his friend is heading down the stairs from the change room to tug the long discarded backpack over his shoulders and lowers the baseball cap onto his head. Quinn holds the door and emits quiet laughter as Nils recounts a recent failed attempt at romance. 

“You were a little spacey today, everything okay?”

It’s not so much a question as it is a prompt to spill his thoughts, and Quinn knows it. Nils Höglander may be a lot of things, including a dear friend, but subtle is not one of them. A breath filters through his nose and fills Quinn’s lungs with air that both calms and accelerates his heart rate. “It’s nothing. Just a dream I’m having a hard time shaking.”

“Was she cute?” This time it’s a leading question, one Nils has a sinking suspicion his friend will answer despite not really wanting to.

“Focus on your own love life first,” Quinn grumbles, picking at a thread on the hem of his sweater. A pause, then, “They were extremely cute.”

Nils quirks his eyebrow. Blushing slightly, Quinn continues. “I don’t know their pronouns, so I don’t want to assume anything. Plus, it’s not like they’re even real.”

“Always the gentleman, Quinner.”

The pair of men separate in the parking lot, walking to their respective vehicles with chants of genuine happiness at seeing each other in less than twenty-four hours. Nils swears up and down he won’t tell anyone else about the fascination with the dream person, but Quinn knows it’s bullshit. His friend has never been good at keeping his mouth shut, and the Canucks are like a tight knit family. Everyone will always know each other’s business.

⭒⭑⭒

They shouldn’t be there. 

The last time Quinn saw them, they had been in a dive in Vancouver, but now they’re  standing in line at a farmer’s market thirty-five miles outside Pittsburgh. Logically, Quinn understands that it was a dream, that the two of them could be transported anywhere occupying space in his brain, but this place specifically is sacred. It’s his safe space, discovered once on a solo road trip home from Michigan, has never appeared in dreams before, and Quinn wasn’t sure what to do about the intrusion. Their presence wasn’t necessarily unwelcome, just foreign. In fact Quinn was quite sure he’d like the person to be in every dreamscape if it meant he got to experience them over and over again.

A dainty red ribbon held their hair into its makeshift ponytail, but the locks threatened to spill out at any moment. They looked absolutely ethereal, denim overshirt blowing in the wind and legs encased by a pair of practical hiking sandals. Everything about them was easy and carefree — Quinn knew he had to experience the sunshine they cast at least once. A tote bag dangled from their forearm, encasing a plethora of apples that was undoubtedly too many for one person to eat alone. There was no one in line behind them, so without thinking Quinn grabbed the nearest item of produce and made sure to stand at a respectable but still close distance. Their hair smelled faintly of lemon and basil, and it took a godly amount of strength for Quinn to pull away once he caught a whiff. At the very last second the magical human with the red ribbon turned their head and caught the hockey player in the act. 

If they had been put off by Quinn’s interest in learning intimately what shampoo combination made the smell, they never mentioned it. “Aren't those the best this time of year?” they asked with a whimsical lilt. Damnit, even their voice felt like it wasn’t made for this world, but a mythical plane above it.

“Uh —” Quinn sputtered, unsure of what he was holding. A glance down proves he’d chosen to buy strawberries, the only fruit he was allergic to. “I wouldn’t know. Just stopping by on the way back home. I was out this way on business.”

“Well then, you picked the right time to visit. Late summer brings the best yield of strawberries, in my unprofessional opinion.” Their smile could have rivaled the sun at high noon, it was that bright and blinding, and Quinn was absolutely enamored. Before he could respond, however, the line lurched forward and the market attendant called the other person forward. “Enjoy them,” they said sincerely, and Quinn offered a thumbs up in response. 

With their back to the brunette and preoccupied with a conversation about the weather, Quinn knew he wouldn’t have gotten caught for leaving without the strawberries. Carefully he put them back on the table and walked in the opposite direction. At least this time he had been able to start a conversation. 

⭑⭒⭑

The hissing of air brakes jostles Quinn awake, and he opens his eyes to see the back entrance of the arena. Bus rides from hotels to rinks are incredibly short, but somehow the man managed to get a few moments of unconsciousness. Just enough to dream about the mystery person and wake with more questions that will forever go unanswered. Who are they? Why do they keep appearing in his dreams? Does repetition in dreams really mean anything? Quinn will have to remember to send a text to Jack’s girlfriend Daisy, since she knows about those sorts of things. 

Teammates shuffle off the bus in front of him, and Quinn quickly follows them, hoping not to seem too out of sorts even though his mind is swimming. Andi, one of the team’s photographers, is standing between the bus and the entrance to the rink, snapping away and making silly faces to make some other guys laugh, knowing that those sorts of candids bring more engagement for the team. 

“A-dog,” Quinn chirps, trying to seem chipper. “No pics of me today, please? After work beers on me if you say yes.”

Andi tilts her head in confusion but doesn’t probe. “You got it, boss. I want the best Guiness your expensive contract can buy.”

“Anything for you. I owe you big time. Thanks!”

Quinn quickly embraces the photographer and darts inside the building, knowing that not everyone will be as understanding as Andi. Normally he’s game to play the role of the Canucks’s social media darling, but tonight Quinn has enough to worry about without being followed around and scrutinized. 

Each professional hockey player has a different pre-game warmup routine, despite the game being a team sport. He’s always been one to do his own thing, only rarely joining in the games of two-touch, so no one blinks an eye at Quinn heading in the opposite direction of most of the guys. Nils gives him a quizzical look, mischievous glint in his eye, but before he can ask any questions Quinn turns the corner and takes the first flight of stairs he sees. 

Before he can think too much about the teasing that will inevitably come from the New Jersey contingent of the Hughes family, Quinn pulls out his phone and sends the text to Daisy. 

Not even going to bother to tell you to keep this a secret because you suck! I’ve had an unknown person appear in some dreams lately, and since you’re into all that manifestation shit I thought I’d ask if it means anything. Also, tell Jack and Luke I hope they lose tonight. 

The device slips into the pocket of his shorts and settles into a position that hopefully won’t allow it to fall out during his jog around the depths of the arena. Quinn doesn’t like to run with headphones, instead choosing to focus on his breathing. It’s an odd quirk, he knows, but relentless teasing from teammates has never stopped him before. He likes the ritual and knows it will probably continue long after he retires from playing professionally. 

Quinn rounds the corner, braces himself for a high sprint, and runs directly into someone instead of meeting a clear hallway. He isn’t the speediest on the team by far, but Quinn is fit enough that even his entry into a sprint could knock over an unsuspecting person, whom this clearly was. They fall to the ground, the momentum of an adult’s body weight and shock making it a hard one. In order to prevent more injury by landing on top of them, Quinn propels himself forward and turns mid-air in a quasi-front flip that he’s sure looked just as stupid as it felt.

“What the fuck, man?”

The voice, even in anger and resentment, is warm and welcoming. Quinn thinks the person has never been cold-hearted, not like him, and it befuddles him until he looks to see who his unsuspecting victim was. 

It’s them.

From the dreams. 

Standing right in front of him, looking for an explanation as to why they were knocked onto the ground with the ferocity of a barely-legal bodycheck. “Uh, sorry, didn’t see you there,” Quinn sputters, utterly failing to suppress his astonishment. 

A dry laugh, verging between a chuckle and a cackle, spills from their lips. “No shit. Help me up?”

Quinn wastes no time extending an arm and hauling them off the floor. He notices a lanyard sporting an official arena badge. ‘Logan Haynes (she/they), Public Relations’ is written in neat serif script, along with a picture of her wearing a bright smile. Trying to not be obvious, he gives her a once over, telling himself it’s just to make sure he isn’t hallucinating but really it’s because Quinn wants to get a better look. He isn’t as sly as he hoped because her voice once again comes into focus. 

“Do you have a habit of injuring arena staff and then checking them out, Hughes?” Logan asks, cocking their head just enough to let Quinn know the comment is mostly in jest. 

He isn’t surprised they know his name, especially if they work in sports. Still, he stammers an answer nervously. “Actually, no. This is my first time.”

“So you were checking me out?”

“I plead the fifth.”

This time a real laugh tumbles out, a hearty one with warmth of a sun-kissed afternoon and Quinn decides in that moment he will do whatever he can to hear that sound for the rest of his life. Neither of them make a move to go their separate ways, nor do they speak. Time stands still, but not in the awkward way that Quinn is accustomed to. It’s all-consuming, how sanguine the moment feels, how things almost audibly clicked into place when he saw Logan. Never one to believe in fairy-tales or the mushy feelings Jack and Daisy describe, Quinn finally gets it. 

“Uh, this is really weird, and I swear I don’t normally do this,” he begins, “But can I get your number?”

Logan smiles, almost devilishly, and Quinn is scared for a moment. “So I can send you the bill for my physical therapy? I think I might have seriously pulled a muscle.”

“Whatever you want.” The grin on Quinn’s cheeks makes them ache but he doesn’t care. He extends his open phone and they enter a sequence of digits Quinn decides to commit to memory. With nothing else to do the pair return to their original paths, and Quinn can only hope they want to see him again.

⭒⭑⭒

The game and subsequent activities pass by in a blur. Quinn was attentive, always on the puck and converting turnovers into scoring opportunities, but Logan was the only thing on his mind. The chances of her being real, of being in the same vicinity as him and getting the chance to meet is too serendipitous even for him. He gets knocked around more than usual due to his wandering mind, leading to some questioning looks from teammates and staff members. As soon as he can, Quinn is looking through the arena to find Logan, let them know he wants more than to pay for potential recovery from the injury that he caused, but he can’t find her. 

Dejected, he goes back to the bus. Quinn is a quick undresser and prefers to unwind at home or the hotel, so despite his detour he isn’t the last one on the bus. The win doesn’t matter much to him, too in his own head about Logan to care, so Quinn chooses to decline any and all invitations to celebrate with his teammates. He just wants to have a second shower and debate whether or not to text her. 

A gentle buzz comes from the inside of Quinn’s suit jacket, and he pulls out his phone with suspicious speed. The guys around him pay no attention, engrossed in their own phones or suspecting Quinn of hitting up someone on his roster like so many others were doing. He hopes it’s Logan, but then realizes that would be impossible seeing as the exchange was strictly one sided. It’s Daisy, finally answering his message from hours earlier. 

Nice to hear from you, Quinny! So glad you only reach out when you want my extra-special opinion on ur love life. Could mean nothing, or could mean you’re bound to meet the mystery person soon. Devs won 6-2, suck it. See you next week!!

Quinn thinks that if Daisy knew the events that transpired tonight she’d call it fate, especially given her text, so in order to keep his brothers from finding out and using the situation as teasing material he doesn’t respond. Instead, he opens the contacts app and scrolls until he finds the number he’s looking for. 

Still at the back of the bus, his fingers shake as Quinn types out a message.

Hi. It’s Quinn. Hughes. Ready to pay for all of your up front and continuing medical costs.

He hits send, then continues typing. 

I’m extremely sorry for earlier tonight, and just realized I never actually apologized. That wasn’t cool of me. I hope you’re okay. 

Before he can overthink it even more, Quinn keeps going. 

This is going to sound absolutely ridiculous and insane, but I swear I’ve seen you in a bunch of my dreams lately. Crazy, isn’t it?

Not wanting to sit and wait around for his potential embarrassment at his own hands, Quinn closes his eyes. However, he’s hyper aware of the rectangle in his pocket that feels more like a brick than anything. Sleep does not overcome him, just anxious thoughts, and he thinks he might explode if Logan doesn’t respond. No one will ever know except him, but the crushing weight of rejection and dismissal will sting for a long time. Quinn has never been one to put himself out in public this way, and if it blows up in his face on the first try he isn’t sure he’ll have the confidence to try again. 

One single vibration hits right below his breastbone. It takes Quinn a moment to realize it isn’t his rapidly beating heart, but instead his dreaded cell phone. A message appears on the lockscreen under the heading he’s been yearning for. When he opens it, Quinn sees four words that might just change his life forever. 

I’ve seen you too. 

⭑⭒⭑

enjoy this fic? give it a reblog :) <3

[sleepy-achilles]

We all know dear Drew-fus is the crazy cat dude. Maybe a little ditty about the entire family's reactions to him being a cat whisperer and how cats seem to just appear near him, like he's some sort of catnip in human form?

Catnip

Least creative name I know, but I want deon fluff and I aint feeling creative enough to make it. 😪

------------------------------------------------------------------

Leon was obviously the first to notice it. He's married to the man. Of course he noticed when cats who didn't even live in their neighbourhood started appearing in their house.

-

"Drew?" "Yes baby?" Drew hums from where he's making coffee. "Whos cat is in Luci's cat tree?" Leon questions from his spot at the kitchen island. Drew pauses. "What?" Drew turns to his husband. Leon just nods at cat tree. Drew glances to see a white cat staring back at him. "Aw shit. Not again" Drew huffs. Leon chuckles. "No wonder their all hiding" Drew looks to see there two German shepherd's and black cat hidden in the corner of the kitchen staring at the tree. "Ill sort it" Drew huffs. "Im sure the kids appreciate it" Leon smirks at the animals.

Drew leaves with the cat only for Leon to hear his name. "Yeah?" "Charlie's here!" Drew calls. "Fuck" Leon groans throwing his head back.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassie and rhea hold hands as they walk down the street. "We gonna stop for coffee?" Rhea asks. "I don't mind" drew hums. "Perfect! Need a coffee today" cassie smiles.

The trio pick up coffee before sitting outside to drink it.

This is when rhea and cassie find out drews weird...talent.

Cassie smiles as a cat wanders over. She watches as it avoids her and rhea and moves straight to drew, brushing against him and purring at him. Drew doesn't stop talking as he leans down and pets the cat. Cassie doesn't think much of it until other cats start approaching them and more importantly drew.

Rhea pauses. "What? What's wrong?" Drew asks confused. "Are you catnip or something? The fuck drew" cassie huffs. Drew looks down at the cats. "Ah" drew huffs. "And this isn't the first time" Rhea chuckles at his reaction. "Go on now, shoo, go" drew orders. Expecting the cats to stare at him stupid, the girls are shocked as the cats begin walking away.

"What the fuck?" "Howwwww????"

Drew looks at them. "I can't explain it. Trust me." Drew mutters. "Its kinda cool. You new nickname is catnip" "Oh my god yes! Changing your contact right away" the girls giggle as Drew groans. "Lets get back" he huffs. "Yes catnip"

------------------------------------------------------------------

John looks at the cat. "Howd it get in here?" He asks. "No idea" Randy huffs kneeling down. The cat hisses at him. "Ah fuck that" Randy mutters. "What is it?" Sheamus asks as him and drew approach. "A violent stray cat" Randy states. "Ah no such thing" drew smiles moving forward. "Ah drew I wouldn't" John warns as the man kneels. "Hey buddy" drew coos holding his hand out. The trio watch as the cat moves and brushes against drews hand, purring at him before trying to climb him. "What the fuck" Randy blurts out.

John watches as drew stands, holding the cat. "Lets say its a gift of mine" drew shrugs. "Your sister calls him catnip. I understand it now" sheamus tells John. "Catnip. Interesting." John mutters looking at the cat trying to snuggle against drew. "Ill take this lil guy out." Drew hums walking out. "You know, it probably followed him in here." Sheamus states. "Seriously?" Randy asks. "Yeah man, cats are just attracted to him. It's weird." Sheamus huffs.

"Yeah it is." John nods.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Taker yawns as he walks in the lockeroom. "Its cute." Finn states. "Whats cute?" Taker asks. "Leon and drews new cat" finn states. "Hes not ours. He's some random cat that followed me home. His name is snowflake and our animals hate him" drew explains. Taker pauses. "Animals often follow you home?" Taker asks. "Just cats." Drew shrugs. "Yeah? And your two cats are cool with that?" "Two cats?" Drew asks. "Yeah, luci and hunter right?" "Oh hunter ain't ours. He's just my most loyal follower. It's that bad we befriended his owners and look after him when they go away. They watch ours when we go away too" drew explains.

This grabs everyone's attention. "Hunter isn't yours????" Seth asks. "Nope. Someone got him first." Drew shrugs. "I thought he was" sheamus states. "I promise you we only have three animals. Two dogs, one cat. It's like Charlie." Drew tries. "Charlie?" "Charlie's is the kids childhood dog...that it scarily still alive and I'm quite frankly too scared to look into why. He just randomly disappears and I get phone calls from all three kids saying he's at theirs." Taker states. "Okay but drew attracts cats like catnip" sheamus states. "Can't explain that" Taker shrugs. "But you agree it's weird?" Seth asks. "It is. Very. Does Leon know?" Taker asks. "Yes. We only live together." Drew snarks. "Watch it catnip" Taker teases.

Why is his son-in-law a human catnip?

Weird. He'll speak to kane, see what he knows.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn of course was the last to find out. But he also got a lot more insight because of it.

He smiles at the young couple as all three walk through the streets.

It's when he looks back and sees the cats following drew that he grows concerned. "Uh cats" Shawn asks. Drew stops and turns. "Stop following me." Drew orders. "Please." He adds. The cats just meow before walking away. "Where did they even come from? This city does not have a stray cat problem" Shawn asks. "Can't answer that one" Drew huffs. Shawn looks at him. "And they listened to you. Like didn't even hesitate" Shawn adds. "Yeah" Drew chuckles rubbing his neck. "I reckon it's the body heat he lets off" Leon hums, eyes locked on his phone.

Shawn looks at Leon who's practically pressed against drews side, like the cats. "Well, it would explain a lot." Shawn smirks. Drew can't help but laugh. Because yeah, drew was a magnet for cats. But his husband? His husband displayed the biggest amount of cat behaviour he's ever seen.

"This always been a thing?" Shawn asks. "What your son being a cat or cats just being attracted to me?" Drew asks. "Rather be a cat than a snake." Leon mutters. "The cats following ya" Shawn answers. "Hmm don't think so. But I'm not too sure if I've just not noticed until others have" drew admits. "Interesting" Shawn whispers. "Interesting?" Drew asks. "Hes thinking it could be valley related." Leon states pocketing his phone and taking drews hand. "Could it?" Drew asks. "Possible." Shawn admits. "Not the worse thing you could get. I'm telling you, you'd hate to be john" Leon smirks. "Well. Enough cat talk, we better get going" Shawn claps. The trio continue their walk.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Drew stares at the ceiling as Leon nuzzles closer to him. His husband truly was a cat. "I didnt think I radiated that much body heat" drew states. "You are definitely like a furnace, atleast to those of us who got the body head of a dead man" Leon murmurs sleepily against his chest. "The cat thing, it doesnt exactly feel like body heat is the answer. You don't...like, I don't know, rub catnip on my clothes do ya?" Drew asks. Leon can't help but chuckle. "God no but I'll remember that next time I see John. Maybe you need to accept you are human catnip and get back to cuddling me." Leon smiles. "God if only the wwe universe knew how much of a cuddler their skeleton King is" drew jokes as he wraps his arms around Leon. "Mmm, don't think they'd blame me with arms this big" Leon, nips drews bicep to emphasis his point. Drew frowns and taps Leon's hip. "Ypu gotta stop biting me man, I got no way to explain it. No one's believing the whole, Leon generally just bites as love language anymore." Drew huffs.

"Tell them I'm part cat"

------------------------------------------------------------------

Notes

Betting Luci slips catnip onto drews back pocket every day.

Also yes, pets. I've been making the kids and their partners fake insta pages which I'll show eventually and well it involves pets. Rhea and cassie have a tarantula (pete) and a snake (noodle). Drew and Leon have two German shepherd's (Hades and Bear) (ignoring Leon's childhood let bear) and one cat (luci). Randy and John have a dog (V) and also end up with Charlie a lot.

[pumpkinupsidedowncake]

Expanding on my favorite question from the uquiz:

So picture this. You’re Parker Yang. You receive a fancy golden invitation to some baking contest. It’s weird enough to warrant investigation, so you ask the lady at the bakery a few blocks over for a recipe and practice it a few times so you don’t immediately blow your cover by being obviously terrible. I mean, Arkham detectives don’t just get invited to these things every Tuesday. Something’s up, and you’re going to find out what.

Day of, you’re running a little late. You enter the fucking british bakeoff ass tent and some guy in a tux hands you a cup of cider. Family recipe, he says, all smiles. The alarm for creepy bullshit is blaring in your mind. It’s fucking poisoned, isn’t it. You politely taste it as he leaves. Yep, that’s poisoned. So that’s how today’s gonna go.

You look around the tent. There’s some sort of occult being loudly feasting on pie dough. Whatever it is, it notices your gaze and its demeanor immediately morphs into a child’s idea of innocence. (What the fuck. What the hell.)

There’s a guy in the back making out with a knife. (Of course, why not.) If John’s not with Arthur, you see him scowling and whipping egg whites viciously. Regardless, you see your detective partner there too, staring at his ingredients like his life is on the line. And honestly, maybe it is. You’re getting rancid vibes from literally everyone in this room. Whatever’s going on here is incredibly dangerous and not worth the risk of further investigation.

You turn around to get the hell out of dodge, and the fucking knife guy is right there, grinning like a hyena. Swell. He says some bullshit and you realize you’re not getting out of here that easily. This close to him, your internal cosmic horror geiger counter is crackling at an all time high. Lovely. Great. This might as well happen.

Your instincts are screaming at you as you respond reasonably to the spooky knife bastard and then head further into the tent to start making the goddamn cake.

You have to stop the forces of madness from eating your strawberries more times than you have fingers. Somewhere around the halfway mark John and Arthur get into a screaming match over baking times that you might’ve intervened in if it was any other fucking day. As is, you make small talk with the guy who wants to stab you and the guy who tried to poison you and contemplate the life choices that led you here.

You’ve gotten into your share of messy situations over the years. This is by far the most ludicrous. A fucking baking competition wrapped in a suffocating aura of occultic bullshit. You no longer care who sent you that damn invitation. You’re getting out of here first chance you get, knife guy be damned.

Eventually your cake’s frosted and dappled with whatever fruit you have left after your battles with the horrors. The judges come out, and you volunteer to go first. You say a lovely little ditty about your cake and then ask nicely to go visit your dying relative you just made up. Baking reminded you of them, and you barely see them now, and yadda yadda heartstrings pulled successfully.

You walk calmly out of the tent with two slices of cake and a renewed interest in therapy. Knife guy winks at you as you leave, and you honestly felt safer before when he was flourishing a knife at you. Nothing seems to follow you as you walk away, though, and that’s better than you were expecting. Your horror radar is quiet once again, or as quiet as you can expect it to be in downtown Cultville, Massachusetts.

You head to the office, hoping that Arthur will meet you back there and kindly explain what the hell that was to the best of his ability. One plate of cake goes on your partner’s desk, the other on yours. You keep your eyes on the street below your window and dig into your cake, because you fucking deserve it after the day you’ve had.

[bre-meister]

I wrote a little prequel/add on to this little ditty a while back and just remembered that I never posted it so here y’all go!

He feels weird standing outside this stately house. He’s nervous and Butch Jojo is many things but nervous is not unusually found on that list. However in this case it made sense for him to be nervous. Butch was a high ranking member of the most notorious crime family in the city. He had a reputation and with such a reputation came loathing - usually from smaller gangs and wannabe criminals. However, no one in town hated him more than John Utonium. How unfortunate then that Butch somehow managed to fall in love with his daughter.

So here he was, nervous as he knocked on the door of the man who hated his guts more than anything. Here to… actually, Butch wasn’t exactly sure what he was here to do. Ask? Inform, maybe. At the base of everything he guess he was here for Buttercup.

He was still contemplating his reasons for visiting when the front door finally opened. The two men shared a look of disdain and for a moment, Butch thought the older man might slam the door in his face. The door stays open, but he doesn’t exactly invite him in either.

“What are you doing here?” He finally decides on.

“I’m here to speak with you sir. About your daughter,” Butch tries to sound as respectful as possible. He’s not a fan of the look of contempt on John’s face but showing his usual attitude back would only make things worse.

“Have you finally come to your senses? Are you here to tell me you’re going to keep my daughter out of the…business your family runs?” There is thinly veiled hope in the questions and Butch almost feels bad for the guy.

“Unfortunately, sir, you and I both know I’m not forcing Buttercup to do anything. She could leave me and my family at any point in time. She chooses to stay which actually brings me to why I’m here. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“Absolutely not.” The response is quick. So quick Butch had barley gotten the words out.

“Excuse me?”

“If you’ve come here to ask me for my daughters hand in marriage the answer is a staunch no! I do not want my little girl anywhere near you or your dangerous life. The thought of her marrying you is laughable!”

“Well sir if you think I’m here to ask permission to marry your daughter then you are sorely mistaken.” Butch is trying to be respectful, he really is. This man is making it hard as hell though. Laughing in his face? Who does he think he is?

“I’m only here to inform you of my plans out of respect.” Butch continues, “wether or not the marriage occurs is up to one person and that’s Buttercup.”

“Well, I suppose shes an adult who can make her own decisions.” John doesn’t seem too happy at the prospect of said decision however.

“I hope that she will say yes. I also hope that if she does… you’ll be able to accept it. Buttercup’s family means a lot to her, you mean a lot to her and if what you said about choosing between me and you is true? Sir I don’t think you understand how much this is killing her.”

“And I don’t think you understand how much this is killing me, Mr. Jojo. She may be an adult but she is still my daughter, my little girl. I’m supposed to protect her from anything that could hurt her and the largest danger to her future is you. I cannot stand by and allow her to throw everything away on some puppy love. I doubt you’d understand. Maybe one day if you have children - a daughter of your own- you’ll get it. Hopefully those children will be of no relation to me.”

For a moment, Butch is stunned. It’s not something that happens often and John Utonium should be proud that he was able to leave Butch Jojo speechless.

John takes advantage of Butch’s lack of words and adds,

“If you love her as much as you claim, you wouldn’t drag her down with you. Please never come to my home again.”

And with that, the door closes in his face. Butch stands there for a moment before turning around and heading down the block to his car. He’d parked a few houses over so John wouldn’t see him pull up. It gave him the advantage of surprise as well as extra time to think through what he’d say.

He was disappointed to say the least. He’d hoped that maybe the old scientist would change his mind. That he wouldn’t really make his daughter pick. But he was stuck in his ways and selfish.

But so was Butch. John was right about one thing, his love for Buttercup should have lead to him pushing her away for her own good. But that’s what good men did and Butch was not a good man. He had many people’s blood on his hands and he was selfish too. So selfish that he was - no is - willing to risk Buttercups relationship with her family if it meant keeping her for himself.

In the end it didn’t matter if he was selfish or selfless. Both he and her father would be fools to think that either of them could decide BC’s future for her. Only she would do that. And Butch has a sinking suspicion that If pushed, she would choose him over her father any day. Butch had to admit that a small, sick part of himself took pride in that.

He hates that it had to come to this but it seems the old man couldn’t be swayed. At the very least it seemed her sisters were coming around to the idea of he and Buttercup being together. And if they didn’t, then he would be her family now and they’ll make a new life out there, together.

[twistedtummies2]

What video games do you think the dorm leaders would play if our games existed in their world? Gimme specific titles! >:3

This has been sitting in my Inbox for a bit. I had to really think on it. XD I want to thank @belliesandburps for his help making some suggestions on possible games. I didn't take all of them, but it was good to bounce stuff off of him, and he did help me work out some options. :)

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

I don't really see Riddle as being much of a gamer. Indeed, he's such a perfectionist and workaholic that such things practically seem beyond his comprehension. That's a big part of Riddle as a character: he's extremely uptight, due to his upbringing and his own personal ideals and standards, often to a ludicrous and comical degree. Riddle playing video games just doesn't seem like something that would happen. HOWEVER, if I were to pick a specific game or franchise...I'd probably go with, of all things, the "Carmen Sandiego" games. Why, you may ask? Well, first of all, they're edutainment games; if someone can't convince Riddle to play them for their entertainment value, then suggesting them as a teaching tool or something might be a way to sort of weasel him into playing them. Second of all, they are games all about detectives trying to capture a master criminal; Riddle has expressed an interest in a career in law, in the past. And third of all...I think it's funny to imagine Riddle going into "OFF WITH HER HEAD!" mode because Carmen got away again. XD LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

Leona is a chessmaster, both literally and figuratively. Strategy is the name of the game for him; he likes finding ways to manipulate situations or seek out his enemies' weaknesses. He always has a Plan B, and he keeps his cards close to his chest. He's evasive, elusive, and much more intellectual and intelligent than his slothful, gluttonous demeanor would at first indicate. At the same time, Leona is a wild animal; he's ravenous, beastly, aggressive, and somewhat unpredictable. As a result, I think that stealth-action games would probably be his forte: they appeal to him as both a hunter and a strategist, offering him the thrill of the chase and combat, but also opportunities to flex his mind and work out the best way to approach a dangerous situation. I decided to pick "Assassin's Creed" as his game of choice. If I had to choose a specific game from the bunch, I'd go with either the very first game, or perhaps "Origins," simply because I feel like the environments in those games would appeal to him most. Other potential options are "Rogue" (because villain protagonist), and "Black Flag" (because Pirates, and see the Halloween Event). AZUL ASHENGROTTO

This choice might be a bit of a weird one. But I felt Azul needed to have a game a bit different from all the rest. Azul is greed incarnate, basically; he measures everything he does first by how much he can profit from it, and then how much pleasure he can get out of it, usually in that order. This idea is reflected in his hobbies, as well as in the games he plays; like Leona, he is a master strategist and a great chess player. However, while Leona sees things more like a hunter and perhaps as a soldier, Azul sees things more like a businessman or a mob boss: it's less about battle plans and more about economics. Therefore, when it comes to video games, I felt a resource management type game would be a good one for him to use. I chose a little ditty called "Turmoil": if you haven't heard of this game, it's an RM game where you actually play as a prospective oil tycoon int he days of the Wild West. The game has you try to build up your funds, drill for oil, claim stock prices, make bargains with the bank, and so on and so forth. It's all about economics and becoming the richest, biggest businessman you can possibly be. Tell me THAT doesn't sound like an absolutely perfect fit for Azul! ;)

KALIM AL-ASIM

Kalim likes to have fun and is generally a sweetheart. He likes to do things people can do in groups; he likes having a good time with his friends. My first initial instinct was to go with something DDR or Karaoke related, but I decided against it simply because I decided that would work better for another Dorm Leader, and I wanted to keep each of them separate from each other. So, instead, I decided to go with a little game I'm sure you've never heard of called "Mario Kart." A flashy, fast-paced, generally rather innocent kart racing game that you can play with friends sounds like just the ticket for the Baby Otter. He'll be laughing and cheering, even if you throw a shell at him. After all, tis all in good fun. ^^

VIL SCHOENHEIT

Just like Riddle, I don't really see Vil as much of a gamer. However, I DO see him as a performer, because...well...that is very literally what he is. He's an actor, a singer, a dancer, a model, a photographer, a director, a choreographer, a musical maestro, a fashionista...basically, just about everything that can pertain to such things, Vil has the talent and passion for it. So if he's going to play a game, it's going to be something that gives him a chance to strut his stuff and perform. I decided to go with the somewhat obscure title "Dance on Broadway." It's a pretty standard rhythm game for the Nintendo Wii that is most notable because, as the title suggests, it features songs from various stage musicals. The game itself is, by all accounts, sort of "meh" (I've never played it, myself), but it definitely seems like something up Vil's alley. We'll just ignore the fact there's actually a Disney song in the mix. :P

IDIA SHROUD

In the universe of TW, Idia is actually a canon gamer, and his tastes are pretty darn cosmopolitan. He likes a lot of titles, from space shooters to gacha games, and this makes it hard to determine what his actual favorites would be. If I had to choose games from our world, that I'm super familiar with, I feel like online games feel most close to home to what I imagine Idia would enjoy, since he's also a streamer. I decided on two classic titles: "World of Warcraft" and "League of Legends." In the case of the latter...for lack of a better way of putting it, it just feels like something Idia would enjoy. In the case of the former, it is specifically because of the Halloweentime Event for the game which features the Headless Horseman. We all know how Idia feels about "Creepy Hollow" and the "Pumpkin Knight," after all. ;)

MALLEUS DRACONIA

Once again, Malleus I don't see as a gamer, for probably very obvious reasons. But I think that if he were to play games, he'd want to have something he can play alone OR play with friends, given his issues in the story of TW. He'd want to have the option. He'd also want something he can understand pretty easily and can get a hand of quickly, so to speak. And he'd also want something that appeals to his rather Gothic sense of style. Putting it all together, I chose a specific title from one of my favorite franchises, "Castlevania." Namely, the game "Portrait of Ruin." Putting side my own bias towards the game (it's one of my favorites from the series), the fact you can either play it on its own or connect with other plays for co-op, and is available on a portable platform, makes it quite ideal for our favorite dark prince, in my opinion. The imagine of himself and the Prefect working together to take down Dracula and the Grim Reaper in the final boss battle (one of the BEST BOSS BATTLES EVAH!!!) is just a mental image that makes me grin.

[scout-company]

Stellar Acclimation—Chapter 8: Soundless Song

“Bewildered. A chamber?” Bronzemarch echoes midway through Scout retelling her excursion, “In space?”

“Kinda, yeah. Except not our space.” Scout has sat down on the bed by now, and her nod makes her bounce on the bedsheet slightly. “Like, the stars were different, y’know?”

Bronzemarch sits down on his own stool that he pulled out while Scout was talking. “Puzzled. You think that…door…teleported you to a different star cluster?” he guesses, one rectangle eye quirked taller than the other in the most confused expression Scout’s seen on him.

Scout shakes her head with a frustrated crackle. “No, not that kind of ‘different.’ Like…” she fizzles and grabs at the air as she strains for words, “Like they weren’t even in this existence at all or somethin’. They ain’t stars y’all could see anywhere else.”

“Wait, so you think you got warped to another reality?” Semyon gawks. His voice is much clearer by now, and he’s been trying to finally dust himself off until just now. 

Scout can only shrug. “Maybe?”

The sandstorm outside whistles for a moment, filling in the brief silence until Bronzemarch shifts slightly backwards on his stool and prompts, “Intrigued. So what was this chamber like, then?”

“…It was mighty cold,” Scout hums, “Reckon that was ‘cause of all them blasters in the ceiling. One got my foot; almost froze it solid. And…I guess the whole place felt like them stars? Dunno.”

“Prompting. What kind of space was it? Large? Small?”

Scout tilts her head, the wisps of her corona idly floating upwards as she thinks. “Kinda…tall and long? Like a tunnel: I started in one chamber, ended in another, with them blasters atwixt me an’ the end. Other than that, though, it was plumb empty. Save for this one chest,” she adds with a pop, suddenly remembering the loot in her pocket. She reaches her hand into one pocket and pulls out that weird stone disk, being careful to not jar the circuitry-like flakes on its surface. 

Both Bronzemarch’s and Semyon’s eyes grew wide with curiosity as Scout set the disk on the bed next to her. 

“What is that?” Semyon marvels, staring at the disk.

“Ain’t quite sure,” Scout shrugs, studying the disk for a moment herself before reaching into her other pocket. “Some sorta machine ditty I reckon, but I can’t quite tell. Looks mighty funny, don’t it?”

Bronzemarch glances at her briefly before studying the disk some more. “Fascinated. I don’t think I’ve ever seen circuitry like that. Thoughtful. I’m not even sure that is circuitry.”

“It’s a somethin’. I also found this thingy,” Scout adds, pulling out the dagger. Again it soundlessly sings that mysterious energy that resonates in her brand like the softest tuning fork—stronger when she holds it close to her brand, or even close to her own body, and softer when she holds it out for Bronzemarch to take. “Take a gander. It’s got the same energy as the chamber, somehow.”

“Curious. The same energy…?” Bronzemarch echoes as he gingerly takes the dagger from her hand. For a moment he holds it like it could go off anytime, but then he holds the cloth-wrapped handle more securely in one hand and lightly pinches the flat sides of the blade with the other. Slowly he twirls the blade, inspecting both sides. “Bewildered. Is this blade metal or stone?” he muses, tilting his head at the blade in his hands, “I can’t even tell.”

Semyon does his best to lean over and around Bronzemarch’s shoulder to peek at the blade, but eventually he holds out a hand and requests, “Can I see?”

Bronzemarch glances at Scout briefly, but when she shrugs lightly, he hands the blade to Semyon. Semyon’s hands are big enough he can almost fit the whole blade in one palm, but still he gingerly holds it in two. He grunts a curious sound as he slowly bounces his hands as if testing the weight of the blade. “I…think it’s metal. It’s just not polished.”

“It was in that funny chest for who-knows-how-long,” Scout points out with a bubble of a laugh.

Semyon quirks an amused smirk at her before handing the dagger back to Bronzemarch, who inspects the blade one last time before finally handing it back to Scout handle-first.

“Impressed. You should keep ahold of this until we can identify what metal it is,” Bronzemarch says as she accepts it back.

Scout idly acknowledges him with a hum as she holds the dagger. Once again the blade sings in her brand as if happily declaring its return to her. As she puts it away, she decides it sounds like a pixie. A pointy pixie.

But studying the blade and recalling the look of the chest she found it in prompts another question. “So…y’all never knew there was a door down there?”

Semyon shakes his head with a frown and wide eyes while Bronzemarch confirms, “Contemplative. I…can’t say we did.”

“And y’all have been here how long?”

“Informative. Only five years. Haven Valley isn’t very old.”

Scout tilted her head with a fizzy huff, her bob flicking at the ends. “Oh. So y’all never poked around them caves?”

It’s Bronzemarch’s turn to shake his head. “Reluctant. Not much, no. Instructing. However,” he adds, standing up from his stool to peek out the window at the whistling sandstorm outside, “Later on, should you chance upon another one of those doors, let someone know.”

“Right.”

Bronzemarch peers at the window as if he’s studying something for several moments, long enough that Scout turns around on the bed to look at it herself. But she doesn’t see anything except the fabric straining against its ties in the wind. What’s he looking at?

At length he finally turns away from the window to walk over to his work table. As he does he mentions, “Optimistic. But before you do any more exploring, Scout—once this storm passes I have something to show you.”

Scout perks and whips around to look at him, brightening and corona floating eagerly. “Really?” she whistles, “What?”

“Reminding. Once the storm passes,” he simply says.

Meanwhile Semyon’s eyebrows raise almost to his goggles on his forehead. Excitedly he starts, “Wait, are you going to show her the—”

Only for Bronzemarch to cut him off with a sly finger to his mouth. And somehow that makes Semyon grin even more. 

It feels like forever before the sandstorm finally passes. Semyon and Bronzemarch both clearly know what this “something” is, but despite Scout’s continued pestering, neither tells. Not even a hint besides Semyon assuring her that “it” will be awesome. What in tarnation are they hiding?

But finally the storm does pass, and as soon as it does, Bronzemarch grabs a few small things from his work table, including his own Matter Manipulator and a small tablet, then beckons for Scout and Semyon to follow him.

He leads them across town, past several hills and a few more shacks that Scout hasn’t gotten the opportunity to see yet. All the shacks have a new layer of sand dusting their roofs and filling the cracks between the bricks in their walls; all the fabric drapes are more beige than blue and yellow. Idly Bronzemarch cleans some of the sand with a sweep of his Manipulator, a motion Scout copies once or twice.

But as they approach a hill on the far side of town, with a cloth curtain similar to the one marking the entrance of Bronzemarch’s workshop, Bronzemarch briefly turns to Scout and Semyon and instructs, “Firm. Now, once we get to the Outpost, Scout, don’t wander off.”

“Outpost?” she bubbles curiously. Is that what they’ve been referring to?

Semyon beams, “It’s really cool, Scout. You’ll see.”

Bronzemarch nods, but then wags a finger at Semyon briefly as he turns back around and adds, “Reminding. That goes for you too though, Semyon. No wandering. I don’t want you getting lost again.”

Semyon’s expression instantly drops as he double-takes at Bronzemarch. His face and ears flush like they just got sunburned as he sputters, “T-that was once, Bronzemarch!”

Smoothly Bronzemarch pushes the curtain aside and ducks through as he points out, “Teasing. And you got lost for nearly 24 hours.”

“I was 14,” Semyon protests.

Scout can’t help but bubble a bemused giggle at how scrunched Semyon’s disgruntled face gets when Bronzemarch only replies with a wave of his hand. He shoots a look at her, his face squishing even more for a second before melting to resignation as he sighs and nods onwards. “Whatever. Let’s just get going.”

Scout just shrugs to herself as she follows them past the curtain, through a short tunnel only supported by the bare minimum amount of wooden framework around another pool of that shimmering healing water, and past yet another curtain.

She nearly staggers when she sees what’s waiting past the curtain.

A spaceship.

It’s huge, standing almost as tall as the hill it’s partially hiding behind despite being thoroughly grounded. Despite a thick layer of sand and scuffs here and there, its hull shimmers a golden white in the still-dusty sunlight, with the orange stripes tracing its chassis like speed streaks catching the same light as glittering copper. Cresting the thickest of the stripes, one that runs along the whole length of the ship, is some sort of writing in thick, blocky letters Scout can’t parse. But presumably it’s the ship’s name. And adjacent to the writing is a blocky, winged-horseshoe-like symbol, partially worn away by time but still standing strong.

Bronzemarch glances at Scout over his shoulder. “Proud. You like the ship, Scout?” 

“It’s amazin’…” Scout gawks, voice trailing off to a trill.

“Confident. Wait until you see the inside.”

~~~~~

<< Previous || Next >>

[ragefear]

Alright y'all I have been tagged by @radioactivecatboy to talk about music. Five songs, ten mutuals. So it's his fault that you're about to hear about a bunch of weird music and you can blame them and not my strange tastes.

1. Watermelon by Dan Paladin - The disadvantage of sharing this particular song is that I don't have that much to say about its lyrics. The lyrics are literally just "watermelon watermelon". It's a bright little chiptune song that absolutely destroyed my Spotify played songs in I think 2019. My brother tells me it's a song in battleblock theatre. I infected my dad with this song and now sometimes he just randomly says "watermelon watermelon". It's great!

2. This is Love by Air Traffic Controller - hey have you ever been in love but like, evil about it? This is the song for you! I pulled it off of a Hannibal kinnie playlist and it's such a perfect fit I sometimes wonder if it was written about Hannibal. The opener is "You're no good, you're no good / You could kill me and you should" and it makes me want to eat drywall. Violence!!!!!!

3. Have A Seat, Misery by Shafer James - a short little two-verse ditty about perpetual suffering. I've got an imaginary animatic in my head about a couple of my blorbos that just makes my heart crumple in the most delicious kind of way. I use this as an intro to one of my character playlists and it's such a good way to start it off. Big time "doomed by the narrative" energy which I enjoy greatly. "So have a seat, misery / And don't ever mistake me / Of all of my friends you know you are the one I like best."

4. Ultraviolet by big dog little dog - Rejoice, obscure Canadian artists be upon ye! I heard this song on CBC Radio's new classical music hour. It's a cello duo that does some really good kinda abstract stuff. This song has a kind of wavelike pattern to it, it's low and unsettling. I used this on a playlist for when my pirate party entered a mirror dream dimension where their captain (who they are currently trying to save) doesn't exist. I also genuinely love the song, I love its cadence. It feels sad and lonely and wanting and just a little bit creepy.

5. Promised Land by Semler - look, every queer exvangelical has heard of Semler at this point. While I did enjoy their album (Preacher's Kid) overall, it didn't catch me like it caught a lot of us. But this one did. There's something in this little outro that carries the grit and the anger and the defiance and the iron spirit of self-determination that you need if you're gonna survive as a queer person in hostile territory. And it's a rejection of the evangelical idea of what a queer person is. "I don't know who you think I am / but I belong in the promised land." It's a prophecy and a fuck you and a prayer all at once.

Okay uhhh ten mutuals to talk about music! @pyrogaynia @rogha @thornhasalife @piizunn @agengingeer @sapi-o-phobia @gnomebud @revans-rubber-duckie @wolfkat @godtiermeme

[loosesodamarble]

sup! for the new yr special,,can i have noelle with b3(platonic)? i luv ur writing so much u are one of my fav writers!

Hi there, Anon~! You can certainly have a scenario like that! I had so much fun writing my favorite little lady Noelle for this request. It might be my new favorite piece from this event so thanks for requesting!

I’m one of your favorite writers? 😳😳😳😳 I nebdidkmwhdidow!

Summary: Noelle stumbles upon you during a special ritual and while you’re both awkward, it all ends well. Genre: general Word count: ~900

..........

It was morning in the Black Bull Hideout. You had gotten up bright and early to prepare breakfast as per the chore assignments for the day. There was the smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes in the air. A platter of sliced fruit glistened in the morning light. Accompanying the soon to be devoured feast was the sound of you singing.

“Do the cooking song and dance! Do the cooking ditty prance!” you sang while scooping out a generous amount of brown sugar and plopping it into a pot of oatmeal. “Doo doo doo! What’s the point of food if it don’t make you feel good?”

You bounced on the tips of your toes and reached for the cinnamon.

“And you shake your little tooshy like you shake a little shaker!” You shook out the cinnamon over the oatmeal while stirring it. “Don’t be shy! You wanna lotta fun like you wanna lotta fl—!”

“What are you doing?”

You froze for a moment before whirling around to face your junior Bull, Noelle. Her brow was raised and her head was cocked to the side in curiosity.

“What do you mean, ‘what are you doing’?” you said, avoiding the answer. You were well aware of the embarrassed flush already on your face. Trying to hide your embarrassment, you smiled but you were sure it wasn’t convincing in the slightest. “I was just making breakfast, obviously.” Which reminded you to cut the heat and move the oatmeal so it didn’t burn. All while keeping your eyes on Noelle.

“Really?” Noelle raised her quirked up brow a little higher. “I’m pretty sure I saw you dancing.”

“Whaaat? Me dancing? Maybe I was just… Um… Swatting a bug away?”

“No. You were dancing,” Noelle insisted as she propped up her hands to stand akimbo. “And you were singing. What were the words? ‘Shake your little heinie—’”

“Tooshy,” you instinctively corrected before slapping a hand over your mouth. “You didn’t hear anything!”

“Aha!” Noelle pointed at you and smiled triumphantly.

“A-a girl like you should be saying such, um, sil—scandalous words like ‘heinie’ or ‘tooshy’ anyways,” you stammered while avoiding meeting Noelle’s gaze.

“Really?” Noelle’s pose deflated, likely from annoyance. “I’m sixteen, not six.” She stood up straight before asking, “So what was that all about?”

“It was about nothing.” Your face burned hotter.

“It didn’t look that way to me.”

“C’mon Noelle! Can’t I preserve my dignity, just a little?”

“You’re a Black Bull. You don’t have dignity.”

“Hah!” You clutched your chest with one hand and touched the back of your other to your forehead. “Oh such sharp, cruel words! From sweet, little Noelle of all people!”

“H-hey!” Noelle flinched as she turned red in the face. “D-don’t try to distract me with compliments! J-just tell me why you were singing and dancing like that!”

“Okay fine.” You took a deep breath. “I have a terrible medical condition where I—”

“Th-the truth, preferably!”

“Right… Truth…” You sighed and bowed your head. “So if I tell you the real reason, can you promise you won’t be weirded out?”

“Something tells me I’m gonna be weirded out regardless,” Noelle replied, still looking a little flustered.

Better than nothing.

“Well, I grew up in an orphanage like Asta,” you began. “I’m a lot older than all the other kids so I help take care of them a bit. That includes cooking. But the thing is that the kitchen at the orphanage is funky and cooking takes a long time so I… To make sure the younger kids didn’t get impatient for meals, I’d distract them.” You fidgeted with your hands as you explained the story. “At first I’d try to make up stories or tell jokes but I was pretty bad at that. So I started singing and dancing instead, and it worked! And now that I’m here… I do it sometimes because I just… Miss home sometimes…”

You looked up to gauge Noelle’s reaction. And you let out a gasp when you saw her tearing up.

“That’s… so adorable!” she squealed. She fanned her face with a hand. “You really started doing something so silly for those kids without shame.”

Well I’m glad she’s not laughing in my face. But she still thinks it’s silly. You shook her mind free of those thoughts. “Well since it made the kids happy, I had no reason to be ashamed. In fact, I’m kinda proud of my performances.”

Thinking about the kids cheering you on or even joining in brought a grin to your face. And thinking of Noelle’s compliment made the memories even warmer.

“So uh, were you done with breakfast?” Noelle asked, bringing you out of your thoughts entirely.

“Huh? Well…” You looked back at the incomplete oatmeal and glanced at the pancake toppings you’d yet to lay out. “There’s not much else to do…”

“L-let me help you then!” Noelle exclaimed, lunging forward with her hands balled into fists. “We can sh-shake out tooshies together, ya’ know?”

“Snrk! BWAHAHAHAHAAA!” You reeled back, overcome with joy and hysteria at Noelle’s enthusiasm.

“Do you want me to take back my offer?!”

You couldn’t answer, still consumed by laughter. Something about her offended tone was too cute.

[shimmerbeasts]

Tav banter and dialogue, 1-5 for both Ammit and Felicitas <3

Tav/Durge Banter and Dialogue||Accepting.

Felicitas

Combat/Movement

1. Clicking on them once (non-combat)

*the sound of a flute being played*

"Can't wait to tell Muriel about what I have seen."

"I can feel it moving again ... just under my feet."

"If I am entertaining you, I choose to do so because I want to. Not because you tell me to."

2. Spam clicking on them too many times

"Touch my flute - and you will lose a hand!"

"Oh, that's really motivating!"

"I fear it, but I merely tolerate you. So stop it!"

"Next Eldritch Blast's coming your way, I swear to Lolth!"

3. Directing them to attack/move in combat

"Oh, you are a real smart guy, eh?"

"Magic or words? I can hurt you both ways."

"Finding a better angle to strike."

"You reek of dead mouse."

4. Hiding/sneaking/hidden movement

"Just like old times..."

"Silent soles do the beast's work."

"Nadders and cats share the same bite."

"Let me just disappear in the dust."

5. Taking a short rest

"Alright, caught my breath. Let's go."

"The snarls in my head got louder. We should keep moving."

*the sound of a flute being played* "A little ditty always brightens my spirits."

*singing* "Lalalalala laa lalalala laa lalala."

Ammit

Combat/Movement

1. Clicking on them once (non-combat)

"My head may be empty, but my senses are sharp."

"Jingling purses are a Dragonborn's best friend."

*weird slurping sound* "Oh, this tastes lovely."

"Head throbs, blood whispers, muscles cramp, teeth ache..."

2. Spam clicking on them too many times

"Next time you knock, I peel you out of my skull and slice you open, worm!"

*a low threatening growl akin to a dragon*

"Suddenly, I am really hungry and your ribs look far too appetising!"

"You are gonna have a date soon! With my dagger and the nearest cliff!"

3. Directing them to attack/move in combat

"My claws itch to run and tear, my spit feels corrosive and my teeth want to bite!"

"Come from behind, and nobody will hear you scream."

"Time to cut some tendons."

"Make a run for it; I dare you!"

*heavy panting and growling*

4. Hiding/sneaking/hidden movement

"Patience is half the gambit."

"No, not yet. Try to breathe."

"Soft steps leave fewer paw prints."

*a low rolling Rrrrr sound*

5. Taking a short rest

*a pleasant purr*

"I'll sleep when I am dead."

"There is much left to be discovered."

"Alright, time to walk my shoe soles into oblivion again."

[theghostpinesmusic]

Wow, so I fell a little bit out of doing these jam posts for a few weeks...but it was for a good reason. Basically, the reason is that I haven't been watching as many jam shows as usual. Orebolo, which is Goose's three-man acoustic side project, played three shows at the Capitol Theater leading up to and over the Super Bowl weekend, and I decided to watch all three of them live.

I love Orebolo a lot, but they tend not to "jam" songs out, per se, because it doesn't fit the acoustic format quite as well, so there weren't any real "highlights" from those shows to share in the way I normally share here. If you're interested in what an acoustic Goose-adjacent trio sounds like, though, this might be a good start for you. I will not be writing 5,000 words about it.

After watching three nights of Orebolo in a row, I took most of last week off, though I did take my first step into Phish's summer 2023 tour, on the heels of rekindling my romance with their music earlier this year by watching their recent New Year's Eve run. I decided to start mid-tour, at the beginning of a seven-night run at Madison Square Garden (because the only places you can see Phish these days are New York City and Mexico, but I digress), with 7/28/23. And it was glorious. This was almost certainly the best Phish show I've ever seen via webcast (i.e., not in person at the venue). It totally blew me away for pretty much the entire show, and the only reason I'm focusing on the "Split Open and Melt" from the second set is because that's all the official YouTube channel shared from the show.

Let me geek out on a macro level briefly, though, before we zoom in to the micro level.

The show (and run) opens with "Evening Song," a short, weird little ditty from the band's most recent album, Sigma Oasis. While most "people" (by which I mean terminally-online fans of the band) have shat on this song since the first time it was played, I love it for what it is and, for a band that has had to continually reinvent their ability to surprise their fans for forty years without the effort to surprise itself becoming a parody, this is a neat, subversive opener call.

The following version of "A Wave Of Hope" is twenty of my favorite minutes of Phish improvisation since COVID. The following jam, out of a great cover of The Talking Heads' "Cities," is a perfect sister piece. We're not even halfway through the first set at this point and I could go home happy. The bluegrass of rare cover "The Old Home Place" segues neatly into a bombasstic (see what I did there?) version of "Free," then we finally get a breather, if a poignant one, with a gorgeous rendition of "Brian and Robert." "Stash" comes next, and even though it stays within the box, it's a really well-played version, with the band gelling wonderfully even if they aren't launching for deep space. "My Soul," a song I feel like I haven't heard in at least ten years, ends the set.

"More," a catchy, hopeful, Beta-Band-ish tune that also catches a ton of hate from "fans" for being any and all of those things, opens the second set. I'll be honest and say that this, like "Evening Song," really only works as a song choice with the right context, but man, that context is present on 7/28, as the brief pop-ish tune leads into a head-spinning near-hour of music that goes: "Ruby Waves" -> "Plasma" > "Simple" > "Mountains In The Mist." I won't weigh in on each of these individually, as the point of this post is ostensibly to talk about what happens after, but suffice to say that the jamming during each of the first three tunes gets more and more jaw-dropping weird and deep until, at one point in the "Simple," I reached that state of jam-listening bliss that I only really manage to get to via Phish shows: where I am simultaneously having the absolute best time listening and can no longer follow the beat of the song. That this suite of tunes lands in "Mist," which is hands-down my favorite Phish ballad, is just perfect setlist-building.

As a fan who loves this band to death but has also found their setlist-building a bit suspect since, uh, 2009, I fully expected this amazing set to end with a few short, tossed-off, supposedly celebratory tunes that nonetheless served more to kill the glorious vibe than anything else. This has, in my opinion, often been the band's way at least up through 2019. They've broken this habit a bit since COVID, though, and fortunately this set ended up serving as a great example of this improvement: post "Mist," instead of "Number Line" or "Show of Life," they immediately launch into "Split Open and Melt," a song whose composition has basically demanded that it be a consistently good, crazy, evil jam vehicle for the band since...1993?

And now we arrive at the point where, admittedly with the help of some mind-altering substances, music melted my entire skeleton and shot it into space.

I've written a lot already, so I'll spare you the song history and blow-by-blow regarding the composed part of the song. Suffice to say it is, to my mind, one of Phish's Phishiest compositions: it includes a little of everything that makes their original songs both great and so weird you might just give up partway through, and knowing that in all likelihood they are going to Summon The Aliens in a few minutes makes listening through it even more fun.

The improv starts at 4:35, and was also the point that, in the moment, I thought to myself "If I'd have known they were going to play 'Split Open and Melt,' I would have taken slightly fewer drugs tonight."

Mike and Fishman continue the rhythm of the song's outro for a bit early on, but Trey and Page immediately depart from it, both playing interlocking but dissonant-sounding melody lines. At 5:05, we are thirty seconds in and there are already multiple, incompatible rhythms happening. I lack the musical knowledge to really describe what's happening here in a technical sense, but Trey is using loops, Page's organ playing gets downright evil, and it feels like my brain is being pulled in two directions at once, but I like it, it makes going insane seem fun.

The laser light rods do not help.

I have a recurring note I sometimes include in my setlists when I'm watching shows as a fun little inside joke (just for myself, because I don't know how to make friends and this is how I cope), and it's to note times when Fishman is particularly bonkers on the drums. The note is "What the fuck is Fishman." The section of this jam that starts at 6:40, when the camera starts zooming in on him, was one of those moments. This is one of those times that, if it was still the 2010s, I would shout "I can't even!"

By 7:20, we have realized that the aliens aren't coming down to Earth because they've been here all along.

Trey asserts himself a bit more directly shortly after this, but only to scare us even more. I'm amazed at the crowd shot at 8:50: these people still look like they're having fun. I'm not sure if my psyche could survive experiencing this from the front row.

By 9:30, one of Trey's droning, heavy, looped riffs has come to dominate the space for me, making this whole thing into a demented mantra, a siren song that melts the wax in your ears and transfixes you while it eats you. Trey decides to play with the octave shifter here because why the fuck not.

Between Page's synths and Trey's completely distorted guitar, there's almost a glimpse of a melody at 10:10, something that almost sounds like "What's The Use?", but it's swallowed quickly by the whirlpool of sonic mayhem and crushed.

You have the sense of an eternal, ageless eye opening and looking at you, incomprehensibly. Are those ghosts wailing? Are you dead?

Nah, it's just a Phish show.

I will say that I honestly worried for anyone in the audience and on psychedelics at 11:20. The combination of the lights and the music are the stuff of nightmares, and I'm watching this with a relatively intact grip on reality.

Now, I of course love Phish jams, and the weirder the better, but I'll admit that when I was watching this for the first time "live," the moment at 12:35 when Fishman returns to the "Split Open and Melt" outro beat, I felt the relief of a man who'd been tossed overboard in a storm and had just found a life preserver to grab onto.

Shortly, everyone follows Fishman's lead and heads back into the song proper, but I love how some of the loops and distortion continue in the background for a bit, a reminder of our narrow escape from The Darkness.

The song's goofy ending, at 13:52, seems especially incongruous here, and made me laugh a lot.

Well, I hope you survived that listen. I had a lot more fun writing a bit more creatively about it and less technically than I usually do, but it felt appropriate for this particular jam.

While I've been off doing other stuff, Goose put out a second jam with their new drummer, so I'll probably cover that next. Maybe tomorrow! Cheers!

[noknownnoun]

India: *Singing a Fado suddenly during a meet.*

All Countries: ...

Portugal: wtf?