#sticker and trinkets of these two up on my shop now

[fizztapp]

iDog iZ iPwn iSmack

[chamomiletealeaf]

Olderbf!/kinda Sugardaddy!Price brainrot

Thinking about olderbf!/kinda sugardaddy!Price who buys you anything you could ever want. You grew up in a pretty money-tight household, feeling guilty when anyone spent money on you because you were so aware of how much things cost at such a young age.

But if you look at those shoes on sale you thought were cute for a little too long? It's wrapped up all nice for you by your door the next day when you get home from work with a cute lil note on the box.

"Saw you looking at these <3"

You mention craving your favorite food? He's taking you out immediately.

"Ugh __ sounds really good right now." You say as you walk into the kitchen to try and find food already in your fridge.

"Take out or dine in?" Price asks.

"What?"

"Do you want me to order it as takeout or do you want to eat there?"

You pause and look at him hand still on the open fridge door, taken a bit off guard. "I-"

He's already picking up his phone and wallet waiting for your answer. And when you don't answer, he does for you.

"Put some shoes on, let's go out hm?"

You try to hide your smile and blush as you make your way to the door where your shoes are, and where your boyfriend stands too, helping you put your jacket on.

Or when you two go shopping together and you get distracted by a section with CDs and vinyls as you see a deluxe vinyl of an album you've been wanting to get for your record player.

"Oh John look! Wow I didn't think they'd have this here! I've been meaning to try and get around to buying this!"

You pick up the deluxe album and turn it over to check the price, and your giddy smile fades a bit seeing it. You put it back, visibly a little upset as you furrow your brows a little and go for the regular album that's a little bit cheaper, which you note as you turn that one over and see the price.

"Hm. This one's a little cheaper." You say to yourself quietly, not thinking Price can hear as you go to put it into the cart, but he stops you.

"No." He grabs the album from your hands before you can place it in and you look up at him wide eyed. He doesn't make eye contact with you as he swaps the regular album for the deluxe one you wanted and replaces the empty spot in your hands with it.

He looks down at you and sees you cutely staring at him with wide curious eyes.

"I'm getting you the one you want bunny." He says with a smile. "Plus the deluxe version has more songs that I can watch you dance to in the kitchen so it's a win win." He says with a wink and your wide eyes fail to conceal the love for your boyfriend in that moment as it lights them ablaze.

Or on one particular bad day when you come home and do some online window shopping on your couch in your cart on Etsy to make yourself feel better. Your cart is filled with cute stickers, jewelry, fanmade merch for your interests, and cute trinkets to decorate your house with that you look at hoping one day you'll be able to afford to get them all. You definitely had money, but it was just enough to get you by with little left over. As you log into your account, you realize that your whole cart is empty.

"What?" You try and refresh the page, panicking a bit as you had so many things in your cart that you don't really want to go searching for again. It took a while for you to find them after all.

ding!

your laptop makes a noise as an email notification comes up

"Thanks for your order!"

You panic, thinking maybe you bought everything by accident, which you can't exactly afford right now, until Price comes up from behind you, leaning over the couch to nuzzle his face into your neck.

"Surprise bunny." he whispers into your neck smiling.

"John, what? what did you do?"

"You're always on that website looking at those things. Got tired of seeing you not have them. Plus, I'm always looking for a way to spoil my little bunny hm?" He smirks into your neck, bringing his hands around to grasp yours.

"How did you-"

"Shhh don't worry about it. I got you express shipping too. You'll get everything this week." He places a hand on your chin and gently turns your face to him and he kisses you, making you feel a warmth that no fire could ever provide nor compare to.

You're not selfish, both you and John know that. You don't need the little or big things he buys you, but boy does he love spoiling you with them, as it helps to heal the part of you that always felt guilty as a child when it came to spending and saving money on you, as your family never had much.

And there's nothing else John would rather do than spoil his pretty girl rotten just to see her smile.

[huntinglove]

How about Apple Cider, Espresso, and Glitterbug for whoever you feel like talking about rn?

Hi hi!! Thank you so much for the ask!!

Apple Cider: What was your relationship with your F/O before you got together romantically? How did it change once you got together, and what were the most significant changes? (Also, what’s your F/O’s favorite flavor of juice? What’s your S/I’s?)

Alma and I were friends for a couple of months, before we decided to get together and go through with the possession ritual!

After they rescued me from the broken elevator, I started to stay late on campus on purpose, so they could show up and hang out with me!

We'd spend most of the night talking about random things and getting to know each other. They didn't keep many memories from when they were alive, so they were also re-learning a lot of things about themselves too!

Charlie and I clicked almost instantly, so it was a bit of love at first sight! I had just moved into town and I was looking for some friends, I ended up getting a dating app to see if I would meet any cool people, but I forgot to add "just looking for friends" to my bio and I'm honestly glad I did!

I remember Charlie passing out after I told him that I already loved him, but thankfully I was able to catch him before he hit the floor... I guess it was a very intense day for both of us!

Mychael and I became friends after he rescued me from the forest! I spent a few days in his cabin; and those days turned into weeks, and now a month!

We both ended up getting a crush on one another and we actually ended up confessing at the same time, which was a pleasant surprise! I was a bit nervous because I wasn't sure if he'd be into humans or not...

Espresso: Which one of you hears about anything the other one wants and immediately gets it for them? (Or is it both/neither of you?)

Alma can't exactly get me anything unless we're bound, so no surprises or anything, but while they were haunting the campus building they'd get me little trinkets, coins, snacks, doodles and anything else students left behind!

When I told them that I collect keychains, they started looking for those specifically, which I think is really sweet!!

I like to give them little mementos every now and again! I know they don't need to eat, sleep or anything like that anymore, but I'm still happy to "share" my food with them and offer for them to lean on me while they nap!

Charlie loves to bring me snacks and little keepsakes whenever he has the time to do some shopping!

He usually gets us matching stickers (he puts them on his shoes and I put mine on my phone case) and he always brings me a little bit of anything that he buys to eat while he's out and about!

I usually enjoy giving him stuff that's a bit more personal, like drawings or love letters! I also gave him a little plushie with a recording of my voice inside too!

Mychael only ever goes to the store for essentials, but when he visits the library he always brings back a couple of books that he thinks I'll enjoy, he loves reading them together!

He also collects flowers and berries for me whenever he goes on walks or wants some alone time. I keep as many of the flowers as I can, pressed inside my sketchbooks!

Whenever I go relax by the river, I usually draw any critters that come by, usually giving Mychael the finished sketches once I get home! I also bring him any and all pretty stones and crystals that I find on my way back!!

Glitterbug: What are things that the two of you do better together, or that you do for each other when one of you can’t?

Alma says that just being together is way better than haunting the campus all by themselves, things get pretty lonely most of the time and not everyone is patient or kind with ghosts...

They also enjoy eating and napping whenever I allow them to take over my body, little pleasures that just make them feel more connected to me, plus they're always very kind and praising of my body whenever they take over!

Charlie says that being in public altogether is a lot easier when I'm around. We both tend to overthink and worry a lot, but all that chatter in our brains goes away when we're next to each other!

It's also a lot more fun to play games when we're together! Even if it's not a multiplayer game, we're still cheering each other on and helping each other get better at it!!

Michael says that taking care of the garden and the hens is a lot more fun with me around! He says that the plants enjoy it when we talk and sing to them, so I guess hearing our little conversations have been making them thrive!

I personally really enjoy drawing while he's cooking or knitting, even if we're not saying anything out loud, it's nice to have his company and feel that warmth all around both of us!

[denniswilsonzine]

Made a thing - anyone want a sampler/test print preview copy of the zine?

Sent some stuff off to mixam (UK) to see how they looked like in print versus just being on my screen, mostly came out really good. One of only three copies to exist - ordered one test zine & they sent me two extra copies. Got one copy plus some promo merch on ebay right now ... * eta: somebody incredibly cool actually bought it omg squee

[and an almost identical copy is on ko-fi or available to trade. *** message me if you're interested in trading **** ]

*(sorry this took a ridiculously long time for me to finish writing and uploading all the images thanks to exhaustion & shitty internet - the ebay copy'll probably have sold by the time you see this post / it escapes being stuck in drafts, and I still haven't added image descriptions.)

...with not quite world wide postage via ebay's Global Shipping Programme, I'm keeping the best quality one & was thinking of doing a giveaway of the other* when I finally write the review of mixam's print quality I promised months ago, unless anyone wants to trade? - fake edit: *scratch that, copy #2 of #3 is now up in my ko-fi shop & I'll probably stick it on etsy, now I've seen people are actually interested in the ebay copy.(eta: somebody incredibly cool actually bought it omg squee)

https://ko-fi.com/s/483109b440 *** message me if you want to trade **** copy #2 has the same content as #3 shown below, just slightly different margin/bleed printing & Copy #2 of #3 written on the front cover. - it's 44 pages of a couple of articles and extracts of bits of issues 1 & two plus spreads from possible future issues (mostly graphics) inc. rough drafts etc.

Thoughts Of You a Dennis Wilson fanzine Mixam Zine test print no #1 Sept Nov 2023 Stapled, bleed recycled silk 130 GSM 44 pages #1 of 1 #3 of 3 by Jenna Appleseed (me)

https://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/226162925472 includes coverage of virtual zine fests, inc KC Zine Con; earlier issue's cover art; collages by Valarie Simadis; zine promo; being featured on De_ziners instagram; Dennis performing Angel Come Home on The Midnight Special; a Dennis t-shirt, a Dennis song recommendation from The Horrors & tributes and art by Gino Dal Cin. Some of this is reprinted from pdf issues 1 & 2 and/or going to reappear in a proper print issue/future digital zine, revised/updated or with a better layout.

Colours are richer in print than they look in the photos. (it's impossible to get decent photos without glare or off colours) Promo stuff:

sticker is a 10cm x 3.3cm vinyl sticker showing the fanzine logo/header with a white border. (done with a stickermule discount before I realised they were as dodgy as fuck, sorry.)

Business cards are printed by Moo on card made from recycled cotton t-shirts & have three different designs on the front & fanzine info on the back.

Designs are: the zine logo, issue one's front cover, and a photo of a silver heart trinket engraved with Forever.

Three million photos showing all pages incoming, click keep reading to see them: One or two pics are NSFW for swearing

10 page feature from issue 2 about virtual zine fests inc. KC Zine Con & zine merch. (lots of trash pandas reading zines).

Two variations of a layout with a song recommendation from The Horrors, one'll end up in a zine when I work out which looks best. (background taken from the cover art for their album Skying)

A couple of Dennis image edits/layer blends & layout I designed. (these'll probably eventually appear in a proper finished zine)

Collages by Valarie Simadis from pdf issue 2. (background added by me from a stock illustration).

Zine links page & call for submissions /promo art - also from digital issue 2.

Two page feature on being featured on De_ziners instagram (from pdf issue 2)

Preview of a double page spread layout/graphic design/digital art/image editing for a future zine feature / themed issue on Dennis singing Angel Come Home on The Midnight Special.

Another couple of pages with added swearing - just need to make the text make sense and write the bloody rest of it.

Another double page spread layout design with a pull quote and a digital collage/image manipulation of Dennis singing Angel Come Home.

Page layout design experiments for Pacific Ocean Blue & Bambu that may eventually appear in a zine.

Double page spread of my photo of Dennis & Venice Surf (Dennis tee's from Bathroom Wall & Venice Surf tee was from Pep & Co at Poundland) - extract from an unofficial t-shirts feature in pdf issue 1.

Two different heart themed page designs from two different features in pdf issue 1.

A couple of digital collages/image manipulations based around Dennis' performance of Angel Come Home on The Midnight Special + lyrics from the Manic Street Preachers song You're Tender & Your Tired, that just seemed to fit so fucking well.) Probably need to rework/improve one of them if/before including in an actual issue.

Double page spread with a quote on the song + a screenshot of Dennis from youtube. (needs a little bit of tweaking before it's ready for a finished zine)

Sample credits page from issue one about Forever inspired art by Gino Dal Cin, & a sarcastic fanzine promo graphic I made.

Two versions of the same page so I could see how much of a difference the image resolution actually makes (remade the second one from the original photo - the higher res really does make it look better quality when printed) - the dpi notes won't be on the finished version (fucked up and had to replace a page in the files I'm sending to mixam to print a real physical issue one of the zine cos I got so used to having the dpi note over a lower res graphic I accidentally forgot it wasn't permanently meant to be there).

So i'm goin' away but not forever"

Back cover art by Gino Dal Cin, blue & silver (& pink) star background from a scrapbooking site.

[theboardwalkbody]

Last night I had a dream that I and a few people (they were friends but I don't recognize them) were messing around with some magic but after trying something way too powerful we accidentally broke time and space and ended up in the Q Continuum.

At first it was just light and color and blackness and something yet nothing at the same time as the way of the universe as we knew it disintegrated. Q appeared briefly in his judge robes and chair. Then everything came back into focus. The Continuum was laid out as an indoor flea market. Different Qs running different stands, every time there was a photo or such it was a different Q in the image. I and my group saw hundreds of different Qs in person and in image.

We were supposed to touch nothing. There was an air of distain and threat from the Q. We were intruding and were seen as lesser and one misstep would be the end of us as they worked out how to fix the consequences of our destructive mistake. Our group stuck together. Except me. I went off to explore. Deep down I was also looking for Q. Our Q, that is. I wanted to find him and meet him in the flesh. I wanted to feel his aura. I wanted to to feel the weight of his presence.

So off I went. I was not at all following any sort of rules. I touched nearly everything. How could I not? Trinkets everywhere caught my eye; rings, knick knacks, photos of strangers whose image I was drawn to, oddities and unique crafts. Yes, I let the curiosity get to me.

The second worst thing I did was drink. I came across a shelf holding a cup and a sign. In the cup was a clear liquid. No smell. No bubbles. It was water. But it also wasn't. The sign above it said "Take a drink and discover your true favorite flavor". Who wouldn't be intrigued. So I drank. I tasted nothing. It was probably some gimmick. Trick the unsuspecting into wasting their time. I took the cup and kept drinking anyway, why not? Even if there was no taste I was still thirsty and already drank from it anyway.

I found myself blinking back into the reality I knew before the Continuum. Like the flicker of a faulty light in a dingy gas station at 4am. I didn't want to go back. I wanted to stay. I wanted to explore more and see things and I still hoped to find Q but, honestly, the draw of the Continuum was becoming overpowering.

So I held on as tight as I could. Vowing I would re-break reality to come back if that is what it took. I found myself back in Reality for what had to have been 30 seconds but it was unbearable. I still had the cup, and stressed out now, I finished the cup.

I was back. But I was desperate to explore as much as I could as quickly as I could. It was unstable and I wanted to see everything but it went on forever. So I ran. I ran through isles of stands and into an adjacent building with more shops and stands inside. I stopped when I ran into the back of a small shop and hit the back wall.

Then I did the worst thing I could have.

There were two cups now. Styrofoam. White. Small. On one cup was a sticker with H written on it. On the other another sticker with a Q. I grabbed a cup and tilted it to look inside. There was a capsule inside. Small and clear. An identical one lay inside the cups partner.

I became scared suddenly and put the cup down and then backed away. I started running. I ran as fast as I could for as long as I could but found myself right back in front of the two cups and I stopped.

I felt a presence now. I was being watched. By someone or someoneS I couldn't figure out. But I was definitely not alone even if I could not see who my watcher or watchers were.

My heart was pounding as I looked at the two cups. I reached out and grabbed one without looking. Despite not reading which cup I grabbed I knew, somehow, the one I grabbed had the H sticker on it.

I was overcome by a sudden wave of calm, then. The fear subsiding enough for me to catch my breath and my heart to steady. I felt the whispers from the presence around me but could not hear it.

I tilted the cup to my lips and let the capsule inside roll into my mouth. It was surprisingly easy to swallow despite not having anything to wash it down with. It felt... Natural.

I stopped being able to feel my surroundings then. I felt like I was floating. A voice spoke into my thoughts, "good choice". Yet I instantly regretted not taking the Q labeled capsule. I wanted to undo my choice. I couldn't fight against the weightlessness I felt but I wanted to. I wanted to try again. I wanted to make, what I felt, was the right decision despite what the disembodied voice had told me.

Things went fuzzy. The light increasing until it engulfed everything. And just before I could see nothing but white I felt a new presence. He appeared very close and yet far away. Bathed in the light he was so hard to see clearly. But it was Q. Our Q. It was only a second that I saw him before I found myself waking up in a bed in a house I haven't lived in for almost two decades.

And then I woke up IRL.

[tres-fidelis]

"Senpai! You in here?" Yosuke stopped by the car shop with a bag in hand. Since he couldn't find any neat little trinkets she'd like, his mom told him that one could never go wrong with some sweets. It's a box with sweet mochi inside that even Yosuke liked. Once he got in and looked around for her, he beamed and handed it over to her.

"Happy birthday! I owe a little aromatic tree to hang in your car for next time. I hope you like mochi."

This was her territory. The place where Rin's creativity, skills, and hard work shined the best. No amount of schoolwork, extra credit courses, or after school tutoring came close to the amount of effort she set upon herself in the crowded space. Various tools decorated the workbench against the wall, beaten and dented in certain sections, but solidly sturdy.

The girl of the hour hadn't been seen just yet, but signs of her presence were seen nearby the parked car. Dirty rags, for instance, haphazardly tossed into a small pile. Very few seconds passed until footsteps thundered from a nearby door.

"'Ey! Sorry, is someone 'ere fer-" Never mind the customer service talk. The blonde locks of hair and goofy smile told her all she needed to know. "Weeeell, I see someone ain't workin' 'dere ass off at Junes. Don't tell me ya skimped out jus' tah visit dis side'a town." She'd be proud if it were true. But Rin wouldn't say it out loud, and not with her aunt lingering somewhere inside the house.

"I figured das 'y ya came out 'ere." Rin accepted the present, immediately throwing the lid off and pick up two pieces to shove in her mouth. At least her hands were clean now. Not greasy and covered in oil. "'eeeeey, no sweat Yosk. If ya really wanna owe me 'dough, how bout'sa bumper sticker I can slap on my baby ova' 'dere. And no! Not a Junes one, 'fore ya decide tah say it~."

[lyreleafblog]

A Personal Account of OCD and Hoarding Behaviors

Hi! I have OCD, and not the fun kind! Let’s talk about my experience with hoarding behaviors. Hoarding runs in my family and I’ve had two living relatives who very clearly struggled with the compulsion to continue bringing stuff into their homes without removing any of their old stuff. My experience has never made it far enough for my collections to, in any meaningful way, impair or otherwise affect my living space— but I’ve felt the obsessive need to collect since my earliest childhood memories. With many professionals agreeing that hoarding behaviors can be linked to OCD, I wanted to share my experience with this vastly under-discussed presentation of symptoms.

My hoarding behaviors began in very early childhood, when financial scarcity set in after a divorce. I won’t call this “true hoarding” though because by most accounts it’s more of a obsessive collecting behavior due to how organized I have always been with my objects. But I had a drawer of shiny objects. I know, shut up, yes I have fucking autism now leave me alone on that. This is about hoarding. My shiny object drawer was definitely a fun box of stimming for me, and I would open it and just scratch my brain itches with the glitters and sparkles and shines of all the stuff I had. No object was disallowed from this drawer— if it made my brain feel good, it was going in the drawer.

Some of the things I collected in there included:

Stickers

Sea Glass

Any piece of paper that was shiny or glittery

Shiny or sparkly wrappers

Polly Pocket or Barbie clothes (again, ONLY shiny or sparkly ones)

Tubes of glitter either discovered or outright stolen for the box

Most importantly of all, I collected innumerable numbers of rocks.

Thankfully, my grandpa eventually convinced me to store my rocks properly, wrapped in papers and in organized boxes.

Eventually my drawer was emptied when I moved homes during a chaotic time in my life. I was living with someone else at that point so I didn’t have any besides a bag or two worth of my old possessions. I also didn’t have that much of my own space so I couldn’t collect things elsewhere.

As a young teen, I realized that I didn’t like having a ton of stuff, but I did like having access to tons of stuff. Once I had my own bedroom and a stable living situation again by 14ish, I designed areas to hoard art supplies and paper craft supplies. Admittedly, while I call this hoarding, in reality I was super crafty and always cutting and pasting and drawing, so it was more of a stash than a hoard and I did regularly go through and look at, cut up and use the materials I saved.

To this day, I have one such box, as I love making mixed media art, especially out of pieces of things pertaining to the subject. For example, I did a marker and water drawing of one of the Florida springs that included a thread of a braided bracelet I had worn there. Today, however, my box is very strictly regulated, and only highly specific trinkets or pieces end up inside of it— and, it’s all kept alongside my normal art supplies so that it’s never mistaken as junk.

Around the same time is when I took up a new way of hoarding— a way that didn’t feel suffocating and didn’t, in any way affect my surroundings— digital hoarding!

I would say my collection of Sims custom content counts… but then again, “CC shopping” was a normal activity of players at the time and many players bragged about their massive hoards of downloads.

But there was something else that caught my attention eventually. I got into digital art. I have hand coordination problems and at the time was friends with people who didn’t, so I felt very isolated from a lot of traditional art communities since conforming to conventional methodology is genuinely impossible for me. Even digital art was hard… but my laptop pad was, while a massive frustration to artists who *can* use their hands, a viable tool for me. Eventually, I became able to do pixel art. I even eventually made pixel animations!

But then… the pixel collection folder began evolving.

A little innocent looking file on my desktop that said “Pixels” —

You could click it and a window would open with two more files listed:

My pixels

Not my pixels

“My pixels” contained, you guessed it, pixel art that I made myself. It was very often just pretty ladies or food. In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, it may have been entirely pretty ladies and food. But I did make sure to section each type of food and each type of pretty lady into even more categories.

Then, there was the unforgiving behemoth of my “Not my pixels” folder. I would spend hours scowling the internet for pixel freebies.

If you’re weren’t chronically online at that age, allow me to enlighten you. For no clear reason, in the mid 2000’s and early 2010’s, every game had a forum and every forum had an art shop section and every art shop section had threads that were entirely operated as pixel art shops. I traded gold, gems and whatever other virtual currencies I could earn for free for pixels, and made pixels for others, too.

The best part about the pixel art shops were that they all had a list of freebies.

Ten pixel bobas, each a different color

Or perhaps it was pixel bagel sandwiches— a selection

Pixel cakes were always my favorite

Pixel objects were also a favorite— pixel cellphones and computers and other toys all on transparent backgrounds.

I took them all.

Years passed but my pixel hoarding persisted. At one point, the files were so overwhelmed with the photos that I would save dozens of at a time that my computer struggled to open it.

Then, my laptop broke, destroying my pixel empire. I ended up unable to salvage any files. They were all permanently gone.

After that experience I was slightly disappointed upon realizing the overwhelming amount of labor restoring my collection would take. I was also gobsmacked realizing the hundreds of hours I had spent achieving nothing other than a collection of low resolution images of food. I decided it was probably best to leave that little.. hobby.. in the past.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve kept a tight lock on how much stuff I have both virtually and in real life, mostly because I’m not willing to pay for storage on both accounts. But from time to time, I catch myself holding something shiny and wishing I could stuff it in my pocket and keep it forever. Or, I’ll run into pixel art in the wild, and have to remind myself that it’s not worth starting up again.

While I don’t “hoard” anymore, I do think I still have a unique relationship with “stuff” in that I explode if I see something go to waste, especially textiles or technology. I will keep objects until I have a convenient way to donate them en masse. I don’t like to destroy even the cheapest of furniture, I’d rather preserve it even if it’s flimsy, and give it to someone who might need something temporary.

I struggle to differentiate values like environmentalism, the will to circulate goods as a way of practicing mutual aid and combating poverty, and a rightful scarcity-mindset from what might be the same pure compulsions I had as a child. Is it /really/ about giving something away, or is it about ensuring that these generally worthless objects I’ve deemed value are are cared for? Is it about practicality or obsession?

Since it doesn’t really affect my life in any meaningful way now, it’s not a cause of stress, just reflection. I think it’s critical to generate reflective dialogues about these more taboo aspects of common mental and physical conditions and neurodivergences so that, together, we can create a more educated and accommodated world.

[seekingseven]

All I would like to request is Legend and Sky hanging out, maybe being friends. Also, love you lots Seeking! Hope you're taking care of yourself and having a good day. It's what you deserve ^u^

Linked Universe Prompt Requests #3!

First of all, I appreciate you so much, Silver! And second, here you go!

(You can also read the fic here on Ao3)

~~~~~~

Legend leaned against his kitchen counter, chin in his palm and nose scrunched against the breeze leaking through the window.

"Foul ball, that was a foul ball!"

"Wha- no it wasn't! You can't call a foul ball whenever we score!"

Warriors and Twilight glowered at each other. On the far side of the backyard, Wind dribbled a spotted ball between his ankles and made small talk with Wild, who was trying to wipe away the sweat pooling under his arms with the end of his ponytail.  Legend scrunched his nose in disgust. Apparently the champion's bright idea to host a ball game in the hottest hour of the afternoon had come back to bite him.

His focus drifted over to the other side of his backyard, where Hyrule stood forlornly between two wooden posts. His team's poor excuse for a goal, most likely.

"You tried to trip me!"

"I did not! Stop whining, would you? If you wanted to win you should have learned the rules of the game beforehand."

"Cut me some slack, Twi. It's my first time playing!"

"Not an excuse. If you wanted to learn you could have just stayed inside with Sky and Legend or gone to the market with Four!"

Warriors took a few quick steps forward. Twilight stood his ground and puffed up his chest.

"That's enough, you two." Time said, voice snapping from his spot on a nearby bench. Legend grunted. What kind of referee watched from a bench? This was why there was an argument happening in the first place.

Behind him, the kettle began to whistle. Legend pushed himself off his elbows and turned to shut off the stove top, only partially ignoring the sounds of athletic revelry from the backyard. Porcelain clinked as Legend pulled a cup off the drying rack, then, glancing across the room, pulled off another.

If Sky was bothered by any of the commotion outside or the domestic ambience inside, he didn't show it. Instead, he sat at a table by the porch window, filing idly through the mounds of miscellaneous letters and trinkets piled around him. An overhead cuckoo clock wheedled out a dinky tune as Sky scrutinized an oddly-shaped mask.

"Coffee?" Legend asked.

Sky looked up from the table, then smiled.

"Yes, please!"

"Wrong, it's tea. What kind do you want?"

Sky's eyebrows furrowed for a moment before he caught on.

"Oh, haha! You got me. Uh, I don't really know. Surprise me."

Legend nodded to himself as he poured the kettle into the two cups. "You like sweet stuff?"

"Yeah, big fan. Can't drink anything too hot, though. Hurts my face. You got any iced tea or something?"

Steam plumed from the cups. Legend let out a small snort.

"Would have been nice to know that earlier."

Sky scratched the back of his neck and had the decency to offer up an apologetic smile. With a roll of his eyes, Legend set the kettle down and hoisted himself onto the kitchen counter.

He knew he stored the ice cubes in one of the overhead cabinets, but which one? Cabinets opened and closed as Legend balanced precariously on the countertop. Where was it? Had he really been gone so long that he didn't know where his own things were?

"Hey Legend, what's this?"

Paper rustled. The legs of Sky's chair squeaked as he leaned back, and in the corner of his eye Legend saw his companion hold something up to his face.

"Little busy here," Legend mumbled, closing yet another cabinet full of pots and pans. Maybe he should give some to Ravio; the guy needed some things for his new place, anyway. "Can you describe it to me?"

A snicker, then a stifled sound of agreement. Legend would have turned around to glare at Sky if he wasn't busy gloating over his find; the ice, at last! The countertop groaned as Legend plopped the bag of ice atop it and hopped onto the floor.

"It's a letter," Sky began, his voice uncharacteristically suave. Legend's eyes narrowed. "It's in this little pink envelope, and there's a little heart sticker on it. Says on the back....'from Elise.' Oh ho ho! Who's Elise? And there's another one here! This one's white, and it has a flower sticker on the lip. Very, very cute. Is this from Elise, too? Let me see...oh goddesses! 'From Carmen!' Carmen! Now tell me, does Elise know about this Carmen?"

Sky looked up at him with an impossibly smug grin. Legend pressed the corners of his lips down as he pulled out the rest of the ingredients for the tea.

"They're just girls," Legend began. "Just-"

"Just girls? What kind of philosophy is that? And to think you criticize Warriors for his womanizing tendencies..."

"You didn't let me finish! They're just girls who work at the bakery in Castle Town. I don't know how they got my address, but one day they all started sending me letters like that."

Sky's eyebrows piqued upwards. It might have looked innocent if not for the devious smile on his face.

"Oh, I see. So why did you keep them? Elise and Carmen must have been very sorry to have not received any response," Sky said, rifling through the stack of pink and red and crème colored letters and flipping them over to read the names on the back. Legend pretended he didn't see Sky's grin widen. "And I'm guessing the same is true for poor Lisa...and Donatella...and Trish..."

It was a good thing that Legend was preoccupied with measuring out sugar and honey, because if he had been any closer to the ice cubes, they might have melted from the heat radiating off Legend's face.

"I'm serious, Sky! I don't know any of them. I don't know why they kept sending the letters -- I never even gave them my address! I mean, I'm sure they're all really nice girls, but I'm just not, you know, in the position to be in a relationship right now...with the traveling and heroics and all that..."

Silverware clattered as Legend pulled open a drawer and retrieved a fruit knife. The sound of shouting and running echoed from outside. Light streamed through the kitchen window, and the breeze pushed along dust bunnies on the floor. Sky studied Legend, watching with unusual intensity as the latter skinned and diced a peach, then folded his hands behind his head.

"Fine, fine. But one more question, then."

Legend made a vague sound that could have been read as either grateful or irritated; most likely, it was a combination of both. Sky pushed forward anyway.

"Why'd you keep them?"

"What?"

"The cards. Why did you keep them? Did you just not have a chance to throw them away or something?"

"Throw them away? Of course not! Did you see the paper they're made of? That sort of high quality cardstock doesn't come from just anywhere! If I can find a way to bleach the paper without damaging it, I can use it for all sorts of things!"

Sky snorted, smiled, and tossed a handful of pink cards back onto the table. Hoarder, indeed.

"I think that Ravio friend of yours is starting to rub off on you."

"He is not," Legend insisted, placing a spoon and straw in both cups before walking over to the table. Only after Sky brushed away the cards in front of him did Legend hand him his tea. "He would have tried to sell them off as antiques or something. Guy wouldn't know what a real antique was even if it was staring him in the face."

Sky hummed. The sound bubbled into his tea and set little capsules of air drifting across the frothy surface. "Hey, did you put peaches in this?"

"Yeah, you like it?"

Outside, Warriors cried foul and Hyrule said something about headshots. Sky sipped his drink again, then grinned. "Mmmm, delicious. Yeah, I love it! Give me the recipe sometime, huh?"

"Heh, will do. Glad you like it."

"And speaking of Ravio, where is he? Didn't you say he used to squat here?"

Legend nodded, hands cupped around his drink and goosebumps flaring from its soothing coolness. "He did, but he just moved out. Got his own shop by the castle, with a big nice sign out in front. Professionally made. It looks pretty good, honestly. I haven't seen him in a while, but I might drop by sometime to say hi."

"Ah, I see," Sky said, absently threading one of the love letters through his fingers. Legend shot him a dirty glare, but he paid it no mind. "Hey, you said that these girls somehow figured your address, right? Do you think Ravio might have given it out? Maybe while you were gone or something?"

"Ravio? That's ridiculous. He's not the sort of guy to do that. For the longest time he's been telling me to...to..."

Legend's eyes widened. The goosebumps along his arms grew more pronounced, and this time it wasn't from his chilly drink.

"He what?" Sky prompted.

"He's been telling me to get a girlfriend for the longest time and...he...he set me up. He set me up! He gave out my address to those girls. I know it! He...this is his fault!"

Sky burst into laughter. Tea sprayed across the table, splattering across rose-colored envelopes and sparkling cardstock. Legend punched him in the shoulder, hard, but Sky didn't stop.

"Ravio! Ravio as your wingman, I would have never thought! Doing the goddesses' work, he is!"

"Oh, shut up, would you? I'm not going to make you tea again!"

Their punching and tousling cooled when the front door swung open. A moment later, Four stepped inside, arms laden with groceries and a peculiar grin on his face.

"You're back!" Sky said. Legend mumbled something about Sky stating the obvious before placing his cup to his cheek, trying to smother his burning blush.

"Sorry to interrupt whatever was going on here," Four said. That odd smile was still on his face. "I’m just about to put all these groceries away, but there's something I need to give to Legend first."

"Me?" Legend asked. Four's grin widened; it looked unnervingly similar to the one Sky had worn just minutes ago.

"Yes, special delivery. From a certain 'Amelia'. It's the red box, yeah, that one."

Legend picked up the box gently, sandwiching it between his forearm and bicep, and shuddered. Sky and Four traded a sidelong look before the latter darted off into the kitchen.

"Well? What do you think it is?" Sky asked.

"I don't want to know," Legend whispered. He took a seat by the table before tossing the box by his cup. Something rustled inside.

"Open it..."

"Open it!" Four chimed from the kitchen. His voice was unusually high.

With a world weary sigh, Legend edged his fingers under the box cover and slowly lifted it upwards.

"Well? What is it?"

"Wait, would you? I can't tell..."

Legend leaned forward, squinting.

His eyes widened.

With an undignified BANG, he slammed the box shut and launched it across the room. His face was stained a dangerous color of scarlet.

"...well?" Sky repeated, "what was it?"

Legend let out a short breath, then leaned over to cradle his head in his hands.

"...remind me to kill Ravio the next time I see him," he growled.

Sky and Four burst into laughter, and even Legend couldn't fully stifle a smile.

~~ Fine ~~ I hope you enjoyed! Thank you so much for reading! [Previous Request] - [Next Request]

[midasinc]

modern era marius hcs:

-before he moves in with courfeyrac he is so fucking broke. his entire diet is pasta with butter and garlic. like, three meals a day. even after he moves in with courfeyrac it's still routine for him to boil a cup or two of rotini in the mornings and courfeyrac will walk into the kitchen at 7am to see him doing so like ??? okay

-he knows a lot about cars. a weird amount. he and courfeyrac went to the bmw museum one time when the entire group went to münchen for a protest and he could go on the entire time about the history and anatomy of the cars without needing to read the plaques. even so- marius cannot drive. at all. he can't even ride a bike.

-marius dresses like a schoolboy in ww2 era england. one day during a meeting, grantaire leaned over to point it out to bossuet and bossuet laughed so hard that he cried and had beer come out of their nose because oh my god it's so true

-he also smells like a grandma. in, like, a nice way. it isn't a conscious effort that marius makes, but his cologne makes him smell like a very kind old lady who likes to grow her own herbs

-marius is left handed and whenever he writes anything, his hand gets all smudged from ink for the rest of the day

-oh he's such a sweetie. he get's very empathetic during movies and he'll cry so easily at them. it's just like "marius it's a happy ending why are you crying" "they- they just- they just deserve happiness so much!" and courfeyrac will have to pat his shoulder and tell him it's okay

-MARIUS DID GYMNASTICS WHEN HE WAS YOUNGER! he is VERY flexible and bendy and has never lost at twister. ever. he can also do flips into a pool which all of les amis find very cool and they make him do over and over again bc YOOOOOOOOO- BACKFLIP!

-he's also really good at puzzles! marius is essentially just a grandma. he likes to sit down and hum and put together 1000 piece puzzles and then take a picture to send to his friends when he's done. for his birthday, joly got him a puzzle that was a picture of all of them together. when he finished it yes he did cry and it is framed and hanging in his bedroom

-marius was raised with very traditionalist views. he struggles a lot with fixing them when he first meets everybody, but over time it really helps to have them around because he can unlearn what he used to know and join them in on what's right. he also finds out he's bisexual in this way and it's really emotional for him when he does realize who he is and he comes out to everyone (and they're vv supportive bc <3)

-he and courfeyrac like to go out and play tennis on weekends. marius is pretty good and courfeyrac is a really bad sport and makes up rules as they go along. it always gets super intense and they shwack the balls way harder than they're supposed to because it's fun and it will go on and on and they're not really being careful and- that's how marius gets a black eye in the shape of a tennis ball

-marius is really fucking good at super smash on the nintendo switch. he can play any character and just smush buttons in no particular order until he wins and he doesn't really have any strategies and it pisses feuilly off so much. feuilly fucking hates how good he is and they've played together a lot before and occasionally feuilly will rage quit and have to step into another room for a moment

-he was a history major and now he works in the archive and labeling labs of a museum and he really really really likes his job. his name tag has a little neon pink smiley face sticker that courfeyrac stuck on before his first day and marius never took it off because he thinks it's cute. anyway, for every holiday and birthday he'll get people trinkets and books and shirts and stuffed animals from the museum's gift shops. enjolras has an impressive collection of museum pens from over the years, because marius is still mildly terrified of him and doesn't know what else to buy him

-nobody tell him, but bossuet and joly are getting him and courfeyrac an air fryer this year because the butter noodles situation is too much to not address

[ichigo-daifuku]

Ruffled Feathers

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Pairing: Hawks/Todoroki Fuyumi Genre: Fluff, (Attempt at) Humor, Secret Relationship Word Count: 2.1k | AO3 Link

Synopsis: Fuyumi receives a plush toy of a certain Pro Hero as a gift from her students. No, it isn’t Endeavor. It isn’t her secret boyfriend, Hawks, either. Much to Keigo’s dismay, her students picked someone else, and it’s Edgeshot.

It happened on a Friday evening.

Keigo and Fuyumi agreed to meet for dinner at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant he frequented when he dropped by Musutafu. No one knew of their relationship yet, and it was the perfect location for a date night. The restaurant was quaint, unassuming, and situated in a discreet street mainly those who resided nearby visited. Fuyumi had loved it at first sight. She was surprised at how Keigo knew of it when she didn’t—she was the one who grew up in Musutafu while he was from Fukuoka! He explained how it was all thanks to his excellent sense of direction, and that led from one subject to another. Soon, it became a regular spot for their secret rendezvous. The food was outstanding, and it came to be their goal to try every dish on the menu.

Tonight, that would be karaage, which Keigo had been looking forward to all week.

The two of them sat in front of each other, waiting for their orders. As they chatted about the recent happenings in their lives, the item on the extra seat, resting beside Fuyumi’s bag, piqued Keigo’s interest.

“Hm? What’s that?” he asked, his eyes trained on the object in question.

“This one?” Fuyumi’s eyes lit up at the mention of the gift bag. She placed it on the table and explained, “I was quite surprised, but it’s a gift from the kids in my class.”

She unfolded the card attached to the handle and showed it to him. The message inside, scribbled by the class president, said: Todoroki-sensei, thank you for everything! We hope you like it! Signed at the bottom was the name of her homeroom class with a happy face beside it.

“Cute,” Keigo noted with a pleasant smile, mentally taking a guess why her students would give her a surprise gift. “Was there an occasion?”

“We had a talent show last week. I guess the kids had a lot of fun.”

“I’m sure they did,” he said and meant every word. He knew how much Fuyumi enjoyed teaching at the elementary school and thought it was nice to see her receiving love from her students.

“I’m curious to see what’s inside.” She began to unseal the washi tape on top of the gift bag. “It’s from the kids, though, so I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Keigo, who had received training provided by the Hero Public Safety Commission instead of formal education during his younger years, wondered what kind of presents school kids gave their teachers.

It was, however, the last thing he expected it to be.

Fuyumi peeked inside the bag and exclaimed, “It’s Edgeshot!”

His eyes widened in shock and alarm, taken aback. “E-Edgeshot?!”

“That’s right.”

“No way! Haha! You don’t mean that Edgeshot, right?”

“There’s no other Edgeshot other than Pro Hero Edgeshot, I think.” She laughed at what she thought was a joke he made and pulled the item out of the gift bag, showing it to him with a sunny smile. “Look! Isn’t he cute?”

He did as she asked and stared at it, unable to believe his eyes.

It was truly Edgeshot—in his chibi plush toy form.

And he, most definitely, was not cute.

“Fuyumi,” Keigo began with feigned nonchalance, except if his laser-like gaze could burn a hole through the plush toy, it would already have one. He wondered why, out of all the Pro Heroes in Japan, her students picked Edgeshot. The strain in his voice betrayed his bluff as he asked, “Do you like… Edgeshot?”

“He’s great, I guess? I mean, he is the Number Four Hero. The kids are fans of him and—”

“I’m Number Two, though,” Keigo bragged, puffing up his feathers. “Between the two of us, I’m the cooler guy.”

She nodded, chuckling. “Why, yes, of course. That’s right.”

He grimaced, unable to confirm if she agreed a hundred percent with him when she sounded as if she was placating a hatchling. A certain thought popped inside his mind, uncovering a silver lining in this dark cloud. 

That’s it! Keigo thought. That’s the reason why her students chose that as a gift!

“I see,” he declared with a clap of his hands, pleased with his epiphany, “do you, perhaps, collect Pro Hero merch?”

“Not really,” she replied, creating a fracture on his optimistic fantasy, “Well, I do have a few of Dad’s, of course.”

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“Huh?” He leaned back, startled, but refused to let go of his last shred of hope. “How about the merch of a certain Wing Hero?”

“Er, about that…” Fuyumi fidgeted in her seat, finally understanding what he was getting at. She returned the Edgeshot plush toy back inside the gift bag and reluctantly admitted, “I… don’t have any.”

Keigo felt as if someone had poured cold water on him. 

“Oh,” he muttered lamely. Wings fluffed up, he sent one of his feathers into his hands and preened it while staring into space. Yes, Fuyumi didn’t look like the type of person to collect Pro Hero merchandise. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen her with one, either. He was reluctant to admit it, but he was jealous. How come her students thought an Edgeshot plush toy was a more suitable gift for Fuyumi than a Hawks one?

“Here’s your karaage!” the waiter chimed in, set their orders in front of them, and refilled their tea.

However, even the karaage, which Keigo had been eagerly anticipating, did nothing to cheer him up.

“I’m so sorry, Keigo,” Fuyumi lamented, rousing him from his reverie, “It just… never crossed my mind.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not your fault,” he replied, internally reproaching himself for making her feel responsible for his silly reaction. “Besides, even if you aren’t a Hawks fangirl, you’re my girlfriend.”

“That’s right, but I am a fan of you, though.” She picked up her chopsticks and placed a piece of chicken from her plate between them, lifting it near his lips. “You’re my number one. Don’t be sad, please?”

Ugh, how come she knew just what to say to raise his spirits? His lips twitched as he opened his mouth and received her peace offering. The karaage was delicious. Most importantly, she said he was her number one. Nothing could top that. His bleak mood dissipated, and his face broke into a genuine smile, one that she returned with a relieved one of her own.

Still, Keigo couldn’t help but think about it later that night. Fuyumi had Endeavor merchandise, which was to be expected. As a matter of fact, he thought it was great how they had another thing in common. Now, however, Fuyumi had Endeavor and Edgeshot goods, but zero Hawks collectibles.

That couldn’t be. He had to do something about it.

A few days later, a package was delivered to the Todoroki abode. It was a large box sealed with ‘fragile’ tapes and addressed to Fuyumi. Written in the sender’s address was the Hawks Hero Agency in Fukuoka.

Truth be told, Fuyumi expected something like this to happen and had an inkling of what the contents of the box would be. Although it was unintentional, a pang of guilt remained within her mind for making him feel dejected during their long-awaited dinner date. When she arrived home that night, she did her research on Hawks’s merchandise and found out they were some of the most sought-after and top-selling products. The ones she had her eyes on would be a challenge to obtain. She was planning to hunt for a few, but if her hunch were correct, it would seem he had beaten her to it. He was a man who was too fast, she had to agree.

She transferred the box to her room and sat on the tatami. With its size, she believed it would take a while to get to each item Keigo included. Carefully, she unsealed it and was welcomed by the sight of bubble wrap—lots of it. Her suspicions were confirmed; the package was filled with Pro Hero merchandise—all of them the Wing Hero’s. They came in different shapes and sizes, and several of them even had their own boxes.

Fuyumi picked a random box and gasped. It was one of the items she was planning to scour the shops for: a Hawks Nendoroid. Beside it was a Hawks Pop! Vinyl Figure, a prize figure, and another box which had a shiny ‘limited edition’ sticker in front of it. He sent her a set of socks, too. She couldn’t decide if the pair based on the colors of this hero costume or the pair with red wings as its pattern was the cutest. There was also an oversized t-shirt with the characters for ‘Fierce Wings’ in front and an illustration of red wings at the back. In a smaller container, she came across various rubber keystraps, a few acrylic standees, and other small trinkets. The item that stood out the most to Fuyumi and made her laugh was the Hawks chibi plush toy, which she recognized was from the same line as the Edgeshot one she received from her students.

If anyone saw these, she had no doubt they would take her to be a diehard Hawks fangirl, but Fuyumi found she wouldn’t mind it. As Keigo told her last time, she was more than that—she was his girlfriend. The memory of him stating it with such conviction made butterflies flutter inside her stomach.

Soon, Fuyumi was down to the final product in the package which was a long black rectangular box. She untied the ribbon, lifted the lid, and set them aside. Cushioned inside it was a single crimson feather.

“A quill?” she murmured, twirling it between her thumb and index finger in scrutiny. “Wow, it looks so realistic!”

The quill, however, was untapered and unprepared for use. Perhaps, this product was one of those ‘do-it-yourself’ projects? Upon double-checking the package, though, she found no ink pot to pair it with. Even so, she had no complaints, especially since these were gifts from Keigo. Confused, she typed the words ‘Hawks Quill’ on an online search engine but found irrelevant results. Did Keigo send her a product sample to try out in exchange for an honest review?

Unless…

Fuyumi raised the feather in her hand closer to her face and blinked.

Would he really do something like that? She mulled over the question for a moment, her cheeks setting aflame when she came to the conclusion. He would.

“Can you hear me?” she whispered into the feather, suddenly feeling silly, “Or maybe not?”

The vane close to her lips swayed. It tickled her cheek the way his finger would when he caressed her face.

“Keigo, I just wanted to say thank you,” she paused, certain he was able to sense her, at the very least, “See you soon.”

Before cold feet could set in, Fuyumi pressed a soft and quick kiss to the feather. Her heart raced as she rushed to return it to the box. Overtaken by shyness, she covered her face with her hands and turned the other way, wondering if he felt it.

Endeavor and Hawks made their way to the entrance of the Hero Public Safety Commission. They teamed up for a short mission a few days ago and were back to report to the higher-ups.

Hawks, who had been chatting incessantly about pigeons, stopped in his tracks all of a sudden, causing him to lag behind.

Endeavor had grown used to Hawks’s odd behavior and antics, but he was, nevertheless, still vexed. He spun around and snapped his fingers in front of the younger hero’s dazed and flushed face. Hawks practically had hearts in his eyes, and he had spread his wings without realizing it.

What a distasteful sight, Endeavor thought. “What are you staring into space for?! Focus, boy! We are going to an important meeting!”

“I can’t.”

“And why the hell not, you fool?”

“I just got a kiss from Fuyumi.”

“What does that have to do with—” The words Hawks uttered registered in Endeavor’s mind. “Fuyumi?”

“My girlfriend.”

“You got a what from who? Which Fuyumi are you talking about? Answer correctly, or else!”

“I just got a kiss from my girlfriend…” Still in a daze, the gravity of the situation failed to strike Hawks’s mind. If it did, he didn’t seem to mind it much, having the nerve to smile at Endeavor as he continued, “Todoroki Fuyumi.”

The flames on Endeavor’s mask and hero costume flared. He grabbed the lovestruck Hawks by the collar and roared, “WHAT?!”

Notes: I wrote this because of what happened in Chapter 303. If you know, you know! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

I hope this made you laugh—or smile, at least. Thank you for reading!

BNHA Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[shinesurge]

A quick announcement regarding the shop!

We made a business decision and bought a Glowforge in 2019, which was pretty spooky but has been INCREDIBLY helpful with the variety and sheer amount of Things I've been able to make for comic merchandise.

Unfortunately, Glowforge has done the predictable thing and now charges people for using the machines they already purchased. I bought mine before this idea was even suggested so I was SUPPOSED to be grandfathered into, like, retaining basic functionality for this item I paid 3,000 dollars for, but apparently they're not very organized over there since my entire design library cleaned itself out a couple weeks ago because of the new "designs that aren't opened in more than 30 days are deleted" rule.

All the items I designed for conventions and the online shop over the last two years are gone! I do save the actual art files myself of course, but Glowforge doesn't allow users to keep any of the data like cut settings or piece sizes outside their online program, so I'm basically going to have to start completely over doing all the testing and polishing I do to make Everything.

I know the audience for these messages is incredibly small (people who spend money on my comic or people who could afford to even consider buying a goddamn home laser cutter) BUT I felt like I should say something about this anyway.

First: Everything that involves the cutter that I don't already have some stock for has been taken out of the shop for now, but they'll be back! At Some Point. If you wanted one of the little Lucky Noons or the traveler tokens you'll still be able to get one as soon as I'm able to do the work involved in redoing fucking everything lmao

Second: Glowforge isn't unique here. I and many many other small business owners who handmake all our merch use Cricut machines to do damn near everything and they pulled the same shit recently. I know I'm an old man yelling at a cloud about how I don't trust any kind of service that doesn't let you hold the product in your hand, or in this case keep it on your own computer rather than logging into an online system, but this is exactly why. They WILL fuck you over if it makes them more money. There isn't a whole lot we can do in cases like this since the whole reason indie creators invest in these kinds of things is BECAUSE we can't afford to go through mass production options, this is the only way we can do it ourselves alongside all the other jobs we do. I don't make enough profit to afford to regularly stock fifty sticker designs with a minimum order quantity of 200, but I CAN drop a chunk of money on the means of production One Time and be able to make any stickers whenever I need them, you feel me

We're such a tiny outlier group that, understandably but frustratingly, nobody is really talking about these niche issues or advocating for us. When I looked around the Glowforge community the response to the completely disastrous premium model was mostly positive because the only people buying these machines are rich dads who can afford to drop thousands of dollars on a hobby; I went around in circles with tech support for two weeks and they still don't understand what my issue is with suddenly being unable to stock two years' worth of items.

But there aren't a lot of other channels to go through ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It's still pretty new to have fabrication options at home that are accessible to people who aren't already familiar with specialized equipment, there isn't any legitimate competition out there and that's why the two or three options we DO have are able to pull shit like this. Out of that already small user group, people like me who are using the equipment for producing our own things for business purposes are an even smaller subset. But I would just like to suggest, if anybody out there is working on fabricating their own Stuff for conventions or comics or whatever, please be very very aware that the companies making our equipment are not our friends, expect anything you NEED an app or something to use to disappear at a moment's notice, and make sure to keep as much data (art assets, dimensions, any tiny weird setting you can think of) in offline personal files you manage yourself. Whenever you can, make sure you can find the raw materials outside of the company itself so when it stops being profitable for them to make it available you can still make things.

in conclusion I Am Tired thanks for reading all this and for your support i will have the anime trinkets back up as soon as i can

[foreficfandom]

Mystic Messenger - Their Favorite Gift From MC

-- Zen: Customized Bracelet --

Zen’s sort of an excessive person so he’s almost always the one giving you gifts. He doesn’t want for much and the stuff he does - like skincare products - you used to buy for him but he eventually convinced you to buy it also for yourself so you could do sheet masks together.

When you do buy gifts for him, it can be a bit difficult. His fans send him a bunch of stuff all the time, like baked goods, or fanart, or neckties. He, of course, is a lot happier when you decide to hand him something, but it’s almost never something he’s ever gotten before.

You have to outsource. So you order a custom-stamped leather bracelet from an indie crafter, something he can wear while rehearsing without worrying about it falling off. On the outside, you have ‘I love you’, and on the inside ‘Zen x MC’. 

You give it to him for Valentine’s, his favorite holiday. Zen dedicates the entire day to you and him, and pushes aside the many packages from his fans for later. 

You hand him a little box, and he opens it to gasp dramatically at the bracelet, immediately putting it on and exploring the texture of the leather. The lightly-colored tan matches his complexion perfectly.

First, a kiss for you, then its 904709 selfies with him proudly modeling his gift. It goes on his social media to a slight ruckus, because Zen’s never shown off any gifts he’s gotten before. 

“My love is so thoughtful!!! Such a beautiful bracelet <3333″

Your name isn’t on the outside to maintain privacy, which proves to be a good idea since that picture is circulated like crazy to mixed reactions.

Zen doesn’t care, this is by far the best gift he’s ever gotten. He hugs you tightly and promises to wear it always.

-- Yoosung: Vinyl Laptop Stickers --

You like to buy knick-knacks for each other on occasion. Yoosung’s wallet isn’t packing so he can only get you stuff once and a while, and you return the favor with other little things.

And Yoosung is also kinda already surrounded by little trinkets and other stuff he’s collected on his own. Little figurines and toys from vending machines, plastic reward favors from convenience stores, character-themed pens and mugs and phone charms. 

It can get a little cluttered. His backpack alone is heavily decorated with pinback buttons and enamel pins, and you know he’s home just by the jingling of the many charms hanging off the zippers.

He’s also of a romantic and ‘cute’ mind, so when you give him practical gifts of a headset holder for his gaming desktop, he’s pleased but ... he prefers it when your gifts aren’t quite so banal.

You eventually do some deep surfing for his upcoming birthday, and find this adorable pack of laptop stickers based off of LOLOL characters. These wouldn’t take up anymore of his space, and he could still carry them with him. So during his birthday dinner, you give it to him over cake and he opens it with a gasp. 

“It’s ... oh, it’s so cute! It’s perfect, MC!” He hugs you tightly and immediately has you help him stick them on. 

He uses this laptop for school, bringing it with him on most days, so it was the perfect gift to remember you by. Whenever he opens his laptop in the student lounge, or in class, he sees all those bright colors reminding him of his favorite pastime, but also he thinks of you and how much you love each other.

-- Jaehee: Promise Ring --

You’ve gotten her spice giftboxes for her cooking, a set of cozy loungewear for the both of you, and other cute things she absolutely adores.

But her true favorite? Her engagement ring. A dainty little band that matches yours perfectly. You had proposed to her during a beautiful evening in the park, making her tear up. 

“We’re partners, now,” you said. She gave a watery smile and put her ring on proudly.

South Korea wouldn’t allow marriage between you two, so these rings promised more than a union. It promised a brighter future in the face of adversity. It promised progress in the name of love and equality. 

Jaehee struggles with societal expectations for a woman like her. This ring was like a shield against the worse thoughts, or an anchor during the more tremulous times. She had chosen to pursue you against the world’s wishes, and it was the best decision she’s ever made.

You and her wear the rings 24/7. To an onlooker, it just seemed like the two of you were separately engaged people. But she knows differently. A proud little secret. 

Customers sometimes make comments about them. She’d be ringing them up, and they’ll notice the brilliant white sapphire. “When’s the date?” some have asked. She stammered,  “It’s in the making.” The customer nodded, and wished her a happy union. 

She twists the ring around her finger, looking at you wistfully. It will be a happy union. One day!

-- Jumin: Custom-Made Cologne --

What the heck do you gift the man who could have anything he wanted? Material possessions are never a strain for him. He grew up knowing that any toy, any trinket, any new technology or experience he desired, he would get. He’d ask for ice cream and his father’d purchase an entire chain. 

His current self rarely buys indulgences. He’s had years of being fulfilled already. But he definitely buys gifts for you, almost to ridiculous levels. You can see from the diversity of gifts that he has a reach for any product or merchandise, anywhere at any time. 

When it came time to get him a gift, you had asked the RFA for advice. And everyone was as clueless as you were. Even Jihyun wasn’t sure; the two of them have almost never exchanged gifts throughout the long years of their friendship, since they knew the other was showered in generosity already. 

“You’re gonna have to go custom. Something that can’t be bought,” Zen suggested. So when Jumin announced that he had to go to Birmingham for a business meeting, you came along with him. Which you seldom do, since it’s two days of Jumin being stuck at meetings leaving you to your own devices. But you had a plan.

You looked up a luxury custom perfumery, and with the help of an expert nez you crafted a bottle that would complement him perfectly. On the bottle was a label that said “Love Forever by MC”. 

So for his birthday, he accepted his gift with grace and asked where you bought it. “This bottle doesn’t look like its from Clive Christian, is it? Maybe it’s Dior ...” 

You explained where you got it, and giggled when his mouth dropped open in surprise. He opened it, sniffed, and his smile grew bigger ‘cause it was so much more special now. It was made under your hand, something that will never be replicated. His and his only. 

He loves wearing it to work. It’s so wonderful to be surrounded by a smell that reminds him of you. 

-- Saeyoung: Fingerprint Charm --

He’s a surprisingly complicated man to gift. Like Jumin, he neither lacks nor wants for material needs. Sometimes you’ve given him cute candies or hand-knitted mittens for winter, and meanwhile he’ll give you ridiculously advanced robot cats or he’ll bust out his packing wallet and boom, you’ve got a new Gucci clutch bag.

He kinda knows that he’s hard to gift. So whenever you shyly hand over a six-pack of gag-flavored soda for Christmas or something, he makes a big show of loving it and thanking you with kisses and nuzzles. And he does love it! He’s never had gifts before, not from V or Rika or his co-workers, and definitely not from his mother. Just the thought that someone cared enough to surprise him with trinkets is so heartwarming.

But your anniversary was coming up. It marked the day that Saeyoung’s life turned around a complete 180 for the better. A very important day, one that you couldn’t mark with an exotic beef jerky bouquet or whatever.

One day, while touring a small art fair, you found an indie jeweler who offered custom fingerprint charms. You set up a date to come in and make a mold by pressing your thumb into a block of sand, which was cast into a mold and into which steel was poured. 

You gave it to him over a late-night car ride date. He took the charm out of the little bag and stared at it, you explained what it was. “That’s my very own fingerprint right there. I hope it’s something you can carry with you, and remember me by.”

He was silent for a few long seconds. You saw that his hand was shaking. So you reached over and kissed him, he embraced you tightly and said with a wavering voice, “Thank you.” A sniffle, and he was back to his cheery self. You helped him put it on his keychain, next to his car keys. 

He loves it dearly. Especially when he fingers the print and feels the groves, imagining your hand.

-- Saeran: Sweater --

For a long while, Saeran couldn’t live a proper civilian life and spent many days holed up at home, stuck in an anxious and depressive slump. Any venture outside was an ordeal for him. Bit by bit, through therapy and medication, he regained his confidence.

You found this sweater online, and you knew how much he liked wearing sweaters at home. It had this quote on it that the both of you were familiar with. It had been one of the repeated self-forgiving phrases his therapist suggested. Saeran took to that phrase particularly well. He repeats it in his mind when he feels himself on the verge of a breakdown, and it helps de-escalate. 

You knew you had to buy it. But keeping it secret from Saeran was kinda a challenge because he likes to tour around your internet history when he’s bored. Not for malicious reasons, he’s just curious and wants to know what kind of stuff you like to re-tweet, or what shops you frequent. 

So with Saeyoung’s help, you ordered the sweater under a guise Saeran wouldn’t be able to crack without some effort, and it ended up being a legit surprise when you handed Saeran his gift. 

You watched his eyes trace the quote carefully, and at his fingers tracing the screenprinted flowers. He was quiet for a long while, just exploring the sweater thoroughly.

He can’t remember the last time he’s gotten a gift. Maybe it had been never. His eyes teared up.

You hugged him close and stroked his hair like he said he enjoys. It was almost hard for him to accept this from you; he’d spent years trying to approve others under threat of violence, and he’s rarely gotten to experience true generosity. 

He wears it at least once a week. It’s his absolute favorite article of clothing forever and ever. 

-- Jihyun: Filled Scrapbook -- 

For the holidays, Jihyun had given you a beautiful set of jewelry over dinner, along with a framed photo of yourself that he had taken some time before. He rarely decides to spoil you with his riches, but sometimes the occasion calls for it. 

How can you match up with his generosity? You knew Jihyun would be charmed with whatever you gave him, but you wanted your gift to mean something. 

Once your anniversary began to creep up, you had an idea and began working on your project two weeks in advance - it was going to be a beautiful scrapbook of not just Jihyun’s photos, but also little momentos and decorations on every page, detailing particular moments of your life together up to this point. 

You scoured his instagram, printing out copies onto photo paper and cutting and pasting. You folded within old plane, bus, and boat tickets. There were sightseeing brochures from trips abroad, old restaurant menus, stamps from envelopes he had sent you. You wrote messages and captions with multicolored ink. 

Extra special were the pages dedicated to when the two of you moved into the new apartment together, and when V was officially recovered from retina surgery, and also the first RFA party he co-hosted with you. Some pages touched on more sad subjects.

Finally, you finished the scrapbook just in time for the anniversary, and it was all worth it to see Jihyun completely blown away by the effort you put into it. He spent several minutes on every page, talking them over with you and reminiscing. 

He managed to hold in his tears until the last page, which you kept empty except for a calligraphy script that said, “... and into the beyond.”

[inevitablesurrender]

By the grace of @ryuaka​ and apparently years of collecting little things at conventions... fhdhgdjhgjk.  There is.  Not enough thank.  But thank you.

Let us explore the things that are still partly on my floor but that is because trying to be good about properly arranging things takes energy, alright.  Slowly, here.

Zack mouse pad.  Listen, my last mouse pad disintegrated (yes that is the entire story) and sometimes my wrist demands that I have my mouse in my lap so this is incredibly helpful for the times when I a not wearing pants with easy textures to laser-track.  And a little brightly-colored Zelda zip bag because look at it.  ...Surprisingly soft, and at least for now it’s going to hold all of my (way too many) USB drives in one place so I can stop just.  Moving them around my desk.  In theory.

STICKERS.  How utterly unfair to only have one Jenova sticker.  I will need to use this wisely.  ...And I wanna use a 7th Heaven sticker on the cabinet with the wine/beer/teaware for obvious reasons.

It’s a little puppy LOVE mirror in the upper left corner which I... do not have.  Something tells me this may be helpful.  Also of course chocobros, and angtsy Cloud next to ready-to-fight Zack and a SHIINY button and--

Two pieces of official Tron merchandise that I did not get around to picking up.  khfksfhdf  Extra thank.

The Pusheen ornament is potentially more adorable in person than it was in pictures.  There’s a surprisingly heavy plastic purse, a couple of puppies with food (Littlest Pet Shop on the left?), SHADOW HEARTLESS, and then...

The tiny Sega Master System was such a surprise.  The fact that I immediately loved it was also a little bit of a surprise too, but.  Just.  The cartridges come out and the controllers, which still need stickers applied but that’s always a terrifying prospect.  I’ll have to dig out the beading tweezers for this.  The things we do for toys.

As for the Heartless on the left... officially Squishy.  Floppy rubber Heartless.  Why is this so funny.  (The one on the right is a sticker btw.)

Again, just.  fkjdsldsf  Thank you so much for the... EVERYTHING and I just discovered that the chocobros keychain has a back side and.  Yes.

Hap New Year, everyone, may everyone get lots of awesome little trinkets.

[boimgfrog]

Spoon facts + backstory

(This is rly long I'm sorry)

Spoon was born into old money as Augustus Whitemire

Spoon uses he/him and they/them pronouns. His preference between the two switches, but he's mostly indifferent.

Spoon is pansexual and very flirty. Not because he's pan, just because he doesn't know how else to show affection other than shitty pickup lines

Spoon was tutored privately until he proved too much of a "challenge" for private education, leading to him boincing between various private and charter schools, until he ended up at WV Academy for Boys (a name that doesn't apply to him because he's not a fucking boy mOm-), right outside of Kepler.

Spoon spends a lot of time in the forests outside of the campus. He skips class and sneaks out most of the time (what are they gonna do? Expel him?)

He likes the quiet, and he also likes stacking toads on top of each other

Besides climbing trees and making up ghost stories, he also likes pretending to be a swashbuckling adventurer, ridding the woods of scoundrels and naredowells

Even though he'd never show it, Spoon craves validation. Show him even the slightest bit of pride and he'll be glowing for days.

Spoon is dyslexic

Outside of his school uniform, Spoon doesn't really have much of a wardrobe. His parents send him new clothes every few weeks, but they're all fancy or hard to move in. (Basically I'm saying TAKE THIS KIDDO SHOPPING LET HIM TRY ON DRESSES AND SHOPLIFT FROM HOT TOPIC)

Spoon has a little doggy (a fact that came from my own little doggy repeatedly interrupting me while i was filming for this nerd)

Spoon decided they wanted to join the Hornets after stumbling upon the gang doing stunt practice out in the woods

Spoon planned for a solid week how he was gonna convince Hollis to let him join,, only for the plan to go out the window the second he realized how intimidating a beautiful biker can be

Instead, he stole a motorcycle parked out front (a vehicle he DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO OPERATE SPOON WHAT ARE YOU DOING-)

The motorcycle was Keith's

After being chased into the woods, crashing the bike, and being interrogated by Hollis while being held up against a particularly uncomfortable tree, Spoon was finally able to state his case

Except that he was mildly concussed and full of adrenaline at this point, so while he MEANT to say, "I'm sorry, I know, please let me join your cool gang!!"

What he actually said was: "I know,,,join,,, me? Me gang???"

Hollis was extremely confused

It was as this point that Ronnie, who'd been holding back their laughter, doubled over and stumbled onto the ground, hardly able to breathe from how hard they were laughing

Bow was recording the whole thing, also laughing

Bee was, and still is, impressed that Spoon managed to say anything at all. (Also she was laughing)

Hollis was not pleased at all with this situation, but this was also the first time they'd seen Ronnie laugh this hard, and it was nice to see them smile.

Plus, they saw a little of themselves in this stupid, rowdy teenager. Being a part of a team had helped them shape up, maybe it'd help this kid as well?

With a sympathetic look at Keith (it was his bike that Spoon had crashed after all) Hollis announced that Spoon was on a trial run. If they could prove themselves a useful and productive member of the team, then they could stay.

Ronnie is kind of Spoon's nest-mentor, as they're part of the reason he got accepted in the first place

Bee and Spoon are fucking chaotic after Bee teaches Spoon how to use a butterfly knife

Bow and Spoon like to vibe and gossip abt the other Hornets. Sometimes Bee will drag Ronnie to their slumber parties and they spend the whole night playing truth or dare and placing bets on who Hollis likes

Spoon always has some kind of injury. Bee starts giving him cutesy bandaids and stickers to cover up his smaller cuts and bruises and it's honestly life changing for him

He likes to follow Ronnie around like a duckling when he's bored, asking them questions about their life, telling them about his own, bragging about the cool kickflip he did earlier that day.

It's sweet and intensely annoying, he knows that, but he doesn't stop because Ronnie's cool and they let him ramble about his childhood

Spoon has ADHD

Spoon is a horrible cook, absolutely shit at it. (He grew up with private chefs, he never needed to know how)

Despite being the sole heir to a vast family fortune, he doesn't have a whole lot of spending money. His parents started cutting his allowance after he spent $5,000 on white claws for a secret party he hosted at one of his old schools.

Speaking of old schools, Spoon's been to a lot of them.

His favorite was a private school he attended in Georgia. Turns out there's a lot of really repressed, really gay students in Georgian private schools.

By the time he left, he'd kissed half the boys in his dorm and 1/3 of the girls in the other one, it was a fun year.

Spoon is also demiromantic. He's only had a crush on one person, a girl who used to attend his parent's parties when they were younger

They haven't spoken in a while, but Spoon still regards her with fondness, even if he doesn't like her like that anymore

Spoon stims by bouncing and punching his fists together

He also licks things he shouldn't a lot, nearly gave Hollis a heart attack when he tried to lick Bee's open butterfly knife

He's got annoying youngest sibling vibes, but he's also really eager to please (even if it's hard to tell sometimes)

He likes hiding in small spaces

He also like climbing things

He sprains a lot of ankles by jumping off said things

He's baby

He's freakishly good at claw machines

Seriously how is he so good at claw machines

He hoards the stuffed animals and trinkets he wins, (they're the only thing he rly has that are his) but if he thinks you're worthy, he'll give you one

He has echolalia

(Ronnie and Spoon doing the Hannah Montana Woahs as a Marco Polo call signal)

He likes playing silly kid games like four square and kickball cos he never had that growing up

He loves audiobooks and podcasts, especially the spooky ones like nightvale and tma

Spoon lovessss spooky stuff, cryptids, ghost stories, unsolved murders, it's his favorite thing in the world

He has and will continue to hyperfixate on true crime podcasts and buzzfeed unsolved

Spoon bites his nails

Spoon likes small things, tiny objects, trinkets, jewelry, anything that he can easily carry and travel with. (Also he thinks they're cute)

He gets along well with most people (he was raised to be charming and polite and it shows) but he refuses to befriend his roommates

He's tall, but he's also lanky. Ronnie likes to joke that he'd blow away if they attached a sail to him

Gosh Spoon loves animals so much

If Spoon were to ever discover cat ears, it'd be over for you hoes

He really likes being part of the Hornets, even if he has to actually study at school now so he can stay in WV

One time Ronnie crashed one of the fancy dances his school has, smuggling him out and taking him for ice cream. They spent the night poking fun at Spoon's dumb outfits and throwing things off high surfaces. It's one of Spoon's fondest memories.

[thenightling]

Friends in the Dark (A Sandman fan fiction)

Friends in the Dark:

Disclaimer:  This is a Sandman fan fiction.  The Sandman belongs to Neil Gaiman and DC Comics.

This fan fiction is inspired by the currently circulating idea of Hob actually being the one to rescue Morpheus from his imprisonment after Morpheus misses their centennial meeting.   In the new Netflix Sandman series Morpheus’ captivity has been extended from seventy-two-years to about a hundred and ten years.  That means Morpheus would have missed his annual meeting with Hob Gadling.

  Art work by @artwinsdraws​​ 

  This fan fiction may be read as a pseudo-sequel to the fan fiction titled “Time will Crawl” however, this fan fiction can be read completely on its own without any difficulty.  

 The title is from a song that technically doesn’t exist yet except in the dreams of Aurelio Voltaire.  The lyrics are currently housed in the library of The Dreaming but should reach The Waking World within the next year.  I know them because I heard a short live version of the refrain on Youtube.  

 “You can sit in the cold dark night, And just hope for a spark. You might make your way in the day, But you’ll need friends in the dark.” – Lyrics by Voltaire.  

   Friends in the Dark

 Friends in the Dark

  Chapter 1:

 Friends will be friends:

               “What do you mean you can’t find him?”

           “I mean... If he is who I think he is, he will only be found if he wants to be found.” The old man replied in a tone that sounded like an effort at gentleness.  

           “I didn’t tell you he was anyone other than my friend.” Robert Gadling said in exasperation. He was tired and frustrated.   The man he was talking to was supposed to be the best in his field.

           “Look, the man you described…  He’s not quite a man.   He’s… How do I put this?  He’s the Oneiromancer.  He’s Morpheus.   King of Dreams and Nightmares.  And if you angered him-“

           “I may have wounded his pride but I know him.  I know he would have come.”

           “How can you be so certain?”’

           “I told you, he’s my friend.”

           “Creatures like that don’t have any friends.”

           “If you can’t help me just say so and stop wasting my time.” Robert said in annoyance.

           The man sighed.  “You don’t have anything that belongs to him.   If you had something maybe we could cast a tracking spell, but he could obscure himself against things like that if he doesn’t want to be found.”

           The man’s expression changed.  It was subtle but it was troubling.

           “What?  What is it? There’s something you’re not telling me.” Robert said.

           “No one’s seen The Sandman in over a century…  There are rumors from The Underworld that something may have happened…”

           Robert was growing impatient and now worried.  Few things could really surprise him and right now he felt like he could be told anything and handle it in some stride.  He reached into his old coat and pulled out the torn fabric of dark velvet Victorian Jacket.

           “What is that?”

           “I accidentally tore it from his coat when he was having his little tantrum the last time we spoke.  Is that enough to track him with?”

           “And you kept it all this time?”

“At the time I worried I’d never see him again.  …I thought it might be the only memento, proof he was real…”  He felt silly and sentimental.  

“So there is a chance he’s deliberately avoiding you?”

Robert’s face was reddening.  “Look, I haven’t survived seven-hundred-years purely on my good looks.  I trust my instincts.  If he doesn’t want to see me, fine, but I have to see him first.  I have to know for sure.”  

Saying something like that to anyone else might have looked completely insane but Robert Gadling knew the old magicks.  He understood sorcery and he knew the old man was aware of his true age.  

Robert (Hob) Gadling had been born in the fourteenth century of England.  He looked like the average middle aged man but he had long ago decided not to die and had somehow succeeded in this endeavor, whether by sheer will, or the invention of Death herself, it was hard to say. But he believed it was by his own will that he refused to die.  At least that was the explanation that enabled him to sleep easily at night. Death, on the other hand, knew better…

 Currently Robert was clean shaven though he had worn facial hair in the past.  He had light brown hair and brown eyes.  He was light skinned as many English men of his original time were.  He figured he was a little short by modern standards but that didn’t bother him.   He had been tall by common standards in his own time.   He wondered how strange he’d seem in other people the centuries to come.  

Robert (or Hob as he was sometimes known by those old enough to remember Hob as a nickname for Robert) was wearing fairly mundane clothes.  He had a plain button down shirt and blue jeans. The clothes were generic enough that he could have been wearing them in the nineteen sixties or nineteen nineties and no one would have questioned it as being out of place.   You live long enough and you learn what fashions will survive multiple decades without too much scrutiny.  And it becomes far, far easier to do simple clothing shopping.  

 During Hob’s last encounter with his friend, Hob had made the bold move of admitting to Morpheus that he knew the reason they met every century was because he (Morpheus) was lonely.

  Morpheus had not taken that well at all. In fact Morpheus had taken offense to that notion.  With his pride wounded, Morpheus had said “You dare?  You dare imply I might befriend a mortal? That one of my kind might NEED companionship?  You dare to call me lonely?”  

Hob was not technically mortal.  He had not been mortal in a very long time but his friend had a way of looking at anyone who had been born human (even if they became something else, or gained immortality) as “mortal.”   His prejudice was showing along with wounded pride.  

Hob had stood his ground.  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

As Morpheus had stormed off in his anger Hob had called after him.  “Tell you what.  I’ll be here in a hundred years’ time.   If you’re here then, too-- It’ll be because we’re friends.  No other reason.  Right?  …Right?”

 At the time he had feared Morpheus might not return for their centennial meeting. He hoped he would return.  But Hob had also feared Morpheus would not.  

 Hob felt foolish and almost like a stalker in wanting to track him down now but his seven-hundred-year-old instincts were telling him that something was wrong.  And if Morpheus was avoiding him he would apologize and they could go their separate ways once and for all but if there was another reason…  He had to know for sure…  He needed… closure at the very least.

       The older looking man was starting to look thoughtful.  “You keep things like this and out-right say the Lord of Dreams was having a temper tantrum?” The old wizard let out a wheezing laugh.  Perhaps he was reading Hob’s thoughts, his very memory of the last time he and his friend had spoken and parted ways.  

“If you’re not his friend you’ve got balls.”  He shook his head.  “Even if you are his friend you’ve got balls…   Follow me.” He seemed to admire Hob on some level and this shifted into respect.

             Hob and the old wizard walked from the dimly lit, and very cluttered, occult shoppe’s main room.  They entered a private back room that served as a magical laboratory.   The laboratory was no less cluttered than the main part of the shoppe.  There were books in chaotic little stacks and piles.  There were bottles of potions and powders on the shelves in a variety of colored jars and containers.  Some glass, some modern plastic Tupperware and labeled with white tape or stickers with writing done in black, felt-tip, marker.  There were odds and ends of magical trinkets and crystals.   And on the far side of this room was a small “hot plate” device plugged into the wall with a rather large cooking pot on top of it.   A make-shift modern cauldron.

           The old man carried the torn, old, velvet over to the cauldron and took up a crystal that was wrapped in a black cord.  He set to work on the tracking spell.   The contents of the cauldron, which was murky and brown, began to bubble from the heat and then the bubbles began to rapidly and probably unnaturally increase.   The crystal was spinning, spinning faster and faster as it dangled from the black cord.  

           Something was reaching its crescendo.  

             The old wizard set down the crystal on the edge of the cooking pot with the cord it was attached to.

           He grabbed Hob’s arm. “GET DOWN!”

           Hob had lived long enough to not question the command and instead, by pure reflex, descended into a crouch under the wooden table with the old man.  There was a crashing sound as bits and pieces of crystal went flying everywhere.  

           “Gadzooks, Man!   ...That’s not good, is it?” Hob asked, stating the obvious as he slowly lowered his arms from where they were over his head to protect against crystalline shrapnel.

           The old man shook his head and politely seemed to ignore the near-comedic use of an archaic exclamation.  “He’s either blocking the spell or-“

           “Or someone’s blocking it for him…”

 __________________________________________________

  Chapter 2:  

 Time:

             Time will crawl…  And crawl, and crawl, and crawl…

 Come!  Come! Come!  

 Morpheus had felt the words as surely as he heard them, faint and echoing in the void. Old magick.  It had felt it like a tugging at his very soul.  He was too weak to resist the pulling that dragged him down, down, down…  Forcibly pulling at his essence.  

 He had fallen forward and slammed into hard flooring.  He had been disorientated at the sudden presence of gravity.  He could feel the magick of the binding circle sealing him in, closing him off from all those who had a psychic link with him within his realm.  He saw them, the mortal occultists, in their dark robes, as they moved to get a closer look at their prisoner.  They moved like a swarm of insects.  He blinked his completely-black eyes behind the tinted lenses of his helm. The tiny star pupils being the only hint that there was more than mere darkness to be seen in his eyes.

  He lay there, stunned and …and so very tired…  He had never felt so weary in his long life…   He had struggled so hard against the summoning magick and after that he could barely keep his eyes open.  Someone had grasped at the helm he wore.  Someone grabbed at it with both hands. Someone tipped his head, against his will, to carefully remove the helm.  They took full advantage of his weakness and disorientation.  Someone pulled the helm free from his head.  He had felt his own dark fall around his bone-white face. His cloak was taken. Without the cloak he actually felt the cool, damp of the cellar in English summer time. Never mind about the cloak.  That could easily be replaced.  He could conjure another… as soon as he was free he could conjure another...  

 He blinked.  The ruby amulet was snatched and finally the pouch of infinite dream sand was snatched away. The pouch was something he loathed to be without.  He felt more naked without that pouch than without raiment.  That he could not allow.  He summoned what strength he had left and sat up to reach for the pouch. He stopped as if there was an invisible wall in front of him.  He could not pass the edge of the magical binding circle, which was on the ground around him, and he knew it.  His belongings were just out of reach…

The attempt to cross the circle was as impossible as asking a mortal simply leap over a building.  It was just impossible for him.  

 So tired… So very tired… The room was growing dim and the floor was strangely inviting.   He fainted…

    That was as close as he had ever gotten to true sleep.  He did not, by nature, sleep…    

 Trapped. Observe.  Threats.   Patience.   Patience…   Patience…

 It had been many years since that first night in nineteen sixteen…

 When Roderick Burgess had died not much had changed for Morpheus.  Roderick’s son, Alexander, was the one holding him captive now.

  At some point, relatively recently, he had over-heard someone mention the year as being twenty nineteen.  

  Morpheus made no show of his feelings to his captors. He simply sat there on the floor of his crystalline cage, staring out at the two guards.

           In nineteen sixteen The Dream Lord had been drawn down, summoned and trapped with their (as he saw it) “petty hedge-magicking.”   What year was it now?   Close to twenty-twenty, he suspected.  It was hard to tell.  

 Mortals tend to have this naive fantasy that time moves differently for creatures such as himself, being ageless and (for all intents and purposes) immortal. Unfortunately that was not the case.

If only he could just blink and it would seem a century had passed.   No. Sadly, this fantasy was merely that, a fantasy.  As mortals age they perceive time differently from when they were children.   In childhood summers would seem to go on and on. As adults, however, whole decades seemed too short and so they imagine that is how time must be for immortals, an ever increasing sense that this or that passage of time was too short and so nothing to them.  If only that was the case…

 No. He felt time. He felt time the way mortals do.  Time moved no differently for his kind as it does for mortals.  And in prison it crawled at a snail’s pace.  Perhaps it was even worse for him because, as the living embodiment of dreams, he usually did not sleep.  That meant the third of the day that human prisoners could escape their bonds by entering his realm, he could do no such thing.  There was no relief.

             Imprisoned time moved agonizingly slow, like the crawling of a snail.  And unlike mortals he did not have that blessed release of sleep.  He was, after all, the lord of Dreams.   He never dreamed, himself…  

           No. He never dreamed.  All he could do was remember…

             He remembered his own wounded pride on the night he stormed off from his friend. How he longed to set that right.

         He sat on the floor of the crystalline cage that they had long ago placed around him.  The curved glass of his crystal prison reminded him of a fortune teller’s crystal ball only just big enough to hold a full-sized human man.  How menacing the mortals managed to seem when looming over him, just outside of the crystal, where light and size were distorted from his quartz-crystal prison and shadows hung heavy over the glass.  

 Quartz crystal has innate power.  It could contain and confine magick.  It held him as surely as the binding circle around his cage- as firm and unyielding as stone or steel to a mortal’s prison.  

 The mortal captors had been clever to make his cage out of crystal.  Everyone knows most mineral and glass come from sand. Burnt and reshaped sand.  The thing that he used to sculpt dreams now worked to trap him.  

The binding circle that they had drawn on the floor held his spiritual essence while the crystalline prison held his physical form.  Both of these traps would need to be broken or opened for him to be able to truly escape.

 He was hungry.  They had never thought to feed him in all the years he had been their prisoner.  They just assumed that he did not need food. And he did not need it per se.  He would not die without food but he still felt hunger, nevertheless.  A great and terrible, gnawing hunger.   And he was not about to ask for food.  He was far too proud for that.  And he would not give them the satisfaction to show them that he suffered for not eating. It would not kill him but he still suffered for it.

He tried not to think about the hunger, that aching, hollow feeling chewing away within himself.  Eager to eat just about anything.  Even a baked potato would have been nice.  Do the English still bake potatoes? He wondered.

He could imagine the taste.  The potato’s skin cooked so thoroughly that it was like parchment around the soft white inside that could be crushed by the pressing of a fork.  Flavored with salt, pepper, butter, sour cream.  Perhaps some mild cheddar cheese and crushed bacon…

He wasn’t one for heavy meals but this simple one that he imagined seemed divine.  He could practically taste it.  No.  He would go mad if he let himself think about the hunger too long.   Try to think about something else…

 He thought of Hob.  He thought of the smell of the Kerosene lamps and the candle wax in the late Victorian pub. The strange sense of warmth and that feeling that was the direct opposite of being lonely.  He missed that warmth.  That sensation of… not-lonely.  

He missed Hob…  

He thought of his own wounded pride.  The anger he had felt when Hob had suggested that they (Hob and Morpheus) were friends.   How foolish he had been to not return to Hob sooner.  Would he ever see his friend again?  

He longed to set things right- to do or say something subtle to admit to Hob that he was right without actually saying the words that his pride did not want him to speak out loud.   He thought of the clever ways he could perhaps acknowledge that yes, they were, in fact, friends without uttering an apology or acknowledgement of being wrong.   He couldn’t dare admit, even to himself, that he was wrong.  And it was Hob’s own fault, wasn’t it?  He was the one who had to spoil things.  He was the one who had to go and poke at the situation and demand confirmation.  Why did he have to spoil it by making him have to call their situation a friendship?

He missed him so much…

  Morpheus blinked.  He was no longer in the pub, storming away from Hob.  He could no longer taste the discarded wine still on his lips.  His memories were as vivid and real to him as dreams are for most people.  It was as close as he could get to dreaming… remembering…

He was back in his cage.  Staring at the two guards just beyond the glass.

             What time was it?  Guessing from the two particular guards and the wrist watch that one of them wore, it was close to three in the afternoon.  It was hard to tell from his little prison.  He had not seen the sun (or stars) in over a century.      

           If only he could sleep as mortals sleep.   If only he could experience that sweet, temporary release, just once. To simply know what it was like to lose oneself to a third of the day in The Dreaming…  Mortals had no idea of the treasure that they had, the gift that he, himself, usually provided.  A gift that he, himself, could never know… had never known… ________________________________________________

  Chapter 3:

 What Dreams may come:

 Hob Gadling pulled to the side of the road, in the red nineteen seventy-three MGB convertible.  He had owned this particular automobile since the days when it was new.  Today he figured it would be considered a classic. Yeah, a classic, all right… Polished up nice but rusted in all the important areas and a serious petrol guzzler.   The car looked nice but it was about as functional as any old jalopy or puddle jumper.   He only chose it today because it was a car he wouldn’t mind abandoning in a field if he had to.  

             He was parked about a quarter of a mile from Fawny Rig in Wych Cross, Sussex England.  The paperback copy of an occultist’s memoir sat on the passenger seat beside him.   It was some self-published nonsense about The Order of Ancient Mysteries but it was Hob’s first real clue about what happened to his friend.

             For over thirty years he had searched.   And he had found one dead end after another, including a few attempted cons and scams from people who thought they could take advantage of a mad man trying to find a character from a faery tale.  

             The book had been the first major clue.  It had been written by some dead occultist who had claimed that he and the rest of his order had succeeded in invoking and trapping the King of Dreams.  The book had been vague and full of strange claims about archaic powers and curses and nonsensical and far-fetched boasts about demon invocations and boogeymen.

He would not have believed any of it until he had read the description of the creature they had caught. The bone-white flesh, the solid black eyes, the messy dark hair.  It had to be him.  It just had to be.

              The book hadn’t said where they had captured the being (whom Hob angry noticed they kept calling “it” when referencing the capture) but Hob had learned that The Order of Ancient Mysteries was once run by a Magnus Roderick Burgess and this had been his home estate. It now belonged to his son, Alexander Burgess, whom he had fathered very late in life.  Alexander would have been quite old by now, himself.  

If they had him, his friend- if they had Morpheus- what were they going to do to him? Pass him along through the generations like some strange inherited pet?  Who would get him next?  The butler? As far as he knew Alexander Burgess had no children of his own.  Would they seal up whatever dungeon they had him in and leave him to rot?

           This was still a long shot but Hob had to know.  If he was there he couldn’t just leave him at the mercy of these charlatans.  And if Hob got arrested for this- well, breaking-and-entering was not the worst crime he had ever been arrested for.  He could handle it.  

Hob took the old colt revolver out of the glove compartment.  This was also an antique and would have been difficult to smuggle into England today but he had brought it into the country in eighteen ninety-one, so it was long before modern firearm restrictions, and back when smuggling was far easier.

 Hob had lead a very colorful and long life.  At one point he had even been a slave trader, something that Morpheus, himself, had chastised him for.   Hob regretted that now.  He regretted that more than anything. He would spend the rest of eternity making reparations for that if he could.  How could he have ever been so callous to another human life?  

Morpheus had seemed so revolted.  “You take pride in treating your fellow humans as less than animals?” he had him.

Hob had tried to shrug it off with “Like I said, it’s a living.”

But Morpheus would not let it be.  “It is a poor thing, to enslave another.  I would suggest you find yourself a different line of business.”

Morpheus was right.  It was wrong to hold another like that. And if Morpheus was in there he had to get him out now.          

           Hob checked to make certain the colt revolver pistol was still loaded.  Each chamber of the six shooter held an old bullet. He had tested it only the night before to make certain it still fired.  He loathed the idea of having to use it but he knew it would be stupid to go in unarmed, especially since he didn’t practice magick, not really.  All he could do was hope a pistol was enough.

               _____________________________________________

 Chapter 4:  

 Locked within the crystal ball:

              It was early evening.  It was hard to tell from where he sat on the floor of his cage but he knew it was early evening.  One guard was reading a newspaper.  The other had a Stephen King novel.  Though Morpheus knew nothing of the technology, the men knew that their wifi devices would not work down there.  The rural setting combined with the thick stone walls made it impossible to get a good signal in that dungeon of a cellar.  

           There was also the concern of the residual yet powerful magick in the air, which by its very nature, interfered with sensitive electronics and could even cause them to short out.  They had been specifically ordered not to use their mobile devices down there and so they had to kill time through other means.

             Morpheus watched them with cold contempt.  He was measuring how long it took for the one with the novel to turn his page.  The other occasionally fidgeted.  Morpheus could tell by the man’s eye movements that the fidgeting one was not actually reading the newspaper.

The man was just seeking out a long word to play a childhood game of seeing how many smaller words he could make with the letters of the longer word he found. It was some kind of time-killer he had learned from spending too many childhood hours in doctor’s offices before wide-spread cellphone and Internet service.  

             Morpheus understood nothing of Internet, or mobile phones, but he understood the restlessness of a bored mortal.  How often did these restless people eventually drift into his own realm when they got like that?  He almost felt jealous of the bored mortal.

             There was a noise from above.  It was faint as the walls were designed to be soundproof but even in his magick resistant prison Morpheus could hear the scuffle.

           “Hey!  You’re not supposed to be here!  What are you doing!?”  Came one voice.   There was a sound of crashing furniture.

           “Someone get Maguire!”

             The two guards finally realized something was amiss when the door to the hidden room opened with a heavy creaking sound.

           The one set down his paper, the other- almost in unison-set down his novel. They stood up from their folding chairs.

                         At first Morpheus thought he had been psychically touched by his youngest sister, little Delirium, and madness was finally upon him or perhaps his memories were somehow seeping into reality, confusing past for present like psychic imprints and echoes of long ago events.  

He stared in wonder at the familiar yet disheveled appearance of Hob Gadling.

            Hob was wearing a casual suit and open, light colored blazer jacket.  It was slightly rumpled, as if he had been wearing it for more than twenty-four-hours and rather restlessly.

           Morpheus was not aware that the suit was over thirty-years-old and very likely the suit Hob had worn to the pub for their centennial meeting that he was now extremely late for.  

Whether consciously or subconsciously, Hob had (on some level) chosen to wear this suit on purpose now.  

 Morpheus hadn’t even noticed that he, himself, had risen to his feet.  The guards rushed toward the man who seemed both frightened yet determined.

 _____________________

  Chapter 5: The Rescue:

 As Hob had raced down the stone staircase, hoping his gut instincts were right, he nearly couldn’t breathe once he entered the dimly lit room.  He was panting for breath but then the shock of what he saw caused what air was there to get caught in his throat.

There were two men rising from folding chairs to meet and / or attack him- more likely the latter.  And behind them, just barely in view… There he was!  Naked and locked inside what looked like a ridiculously over-sized, novelty, snow globe paperweight.

 Hob couldn’t hold back a gasp when he saw him.  “Gadsbudikins!”  He was glad no one was there to comment on the archaic exclamation that had worked its way into his, proudly modern, vocabulary.  

He had never seen Morpheus in such a state.  He knew his friend was skinny and pale but to see him like this was something all-together different.  

Morpheus was emaciated.  The ribs protruding so that he could see each one incased in milk-white skin.  He was entirely naked.   He knew his friend’s pride.  He could only guess at the humiliation that, alone, must have brought to him.  How long had he been in there?  Whether a day or a century, ether was too damn long.        

            He was distracted briefly by the pitiful sight so he was caught off guard by the punch from the first guard. The other guard was trying to grab his arm.  

           Morpheus was barely aware he had placed a hand to the cold, crystalline, glass. When was the last time he had actually touched the wall of his cage?  He didn’t leave any fingerprints as he did this.  

             In the struggle the first man, the one who had thrown the punch, pulled a knife.   Morpheus’ own expression had shifted to one of genuine fear for Hob.

             He watched helplessly as the knife pierced the belly of his friend.

           There was a clanking sound as the bloodied weapon fell to the floor.  

Hob doubled over in pain.  For a brief moment Morpheus thought he was witnessing his friend’s corporeal end from this extended life- but no.  His older sister, Death, had seen to this long ago.  

           Hob was in considerable pain but he struggled his way free and staggered back into the mouth of the entrance into the hidden chamber.  One of his hands held his wounded belly, the shirt slowly becoming saturated in his red blood.  

           A well dressed, older looking, man was coming down the stairs, following the same path Hob had taken.  The two guards were readying the next assault when Hob turned, and fumbling, he drew out his pistol.  His hands were shaking but he managed to steady himself.    

             Paul Maguire (husband to Alexander Burgess, Morpheus’ owner…) raised his hands slightly and took a step back. “Sir, I don’t know what you want but the police have been called.” Paul bluffed.

           “With what you’ve got down here?   Yeah, right.  Tell me another one.   I’m taking him out of here.  If anyone tries to make a move…”

Hob was improvising.  He grabbed Paul and drew him close, holding the pistol to the side of Paul’s head, maneuvering to separate himself from the guards by using Paul as a shield.  Hob had lived many lives, not all of them honorably, and this was not his first unfair fight.

           “You’re going to open that…  Whatever the Hell that is.   And let my friend out.”

           “Your friend…?” Paul asked in confusion.

           “Did I stutter?!?”  Hob had always wanted to deliver that line, or at least he had ever since he had seen it written on a meme on Facebook.  “YOU HEARD ME!  Now!”

                Paul carefully, slowly, drew out an antique looking key from his pocket, moving very slowly to show he was not armed, and with trembling hand passed the key to the second guard.  The one that had not punched or stabbed Hob.

           Morpheus took a step back.

The guard walked to the crystalline cage and put the key into the discrete lock in the base.   The crystalline glass slid away at a near invisible seam, creating an opening.  Hob shoved Paul, forcibly, back against the first guard.   He walked to the cage’s opening.  He saw Morpheus just standing there.  He took off his own jacket for modesty’s sake.  “It’s all right.  I’m getting you out of here.  Come on.”

           Hob’s foot lightly brushed over the binding circle.  It was hard to tell if it was deliberate or not but the deed was done, the circle was breached.

           Morpheus stepped toward him.  And for the first time in over a century he spoke out loud.  His voice partly psychic, heard in the mind and audible at the same time, seemed feeble and weak from lack of use.  “Hob…?  Hob Gadling?” he asked as if not entirely certain he was really there.

           “Yeah.  It’s gonna be all right.   Come on.”

             The two guards and Paul seemed uncertain of what to do next.  They hadn’t exactly fully prepared for anything like this despite the years of meticulous care to make sure the prisoner did not escape.

           As soon as Morpheus was out of the cage and past the edge of the binding circle, Hob draped his jacket over his narrow shoulders.  

“Cheese and crust!  What did they do to you?”

           Morpheus opted against answering but he held the offered jacket tightly over himself.

Hob, holding the pistol in one hand, placed his other arm around Morpheus, escorting him up the stairs and outside the house, no one tried to stop them. Morpheus stumbled weakly but he steadied himself each time this happened.

             As soon as they were off the Fawny Rig grounds, just past the old iron gate, Morpheus stopped in his tracks, barefoot and mostly naked, but oblivious to any chill.  

He was staring up at the stars.  He hadn’t seen them in over a century.  Hob simply let him look.  They certainly were beautiful.   The stars gave the illusion of permanence.   But for all the change that might happen there were still stars in the darkness, even if one burnt out and another was born, there they were- always and forever.  Maybe that’s what immortality really was, the willingness to be ever-changing and yet ever constant, like the universe itself.      

           After some time Morpheus spoke, his voice still weak.  “I have to…   I have to return to…”

            Hob looked down at the weak, semi-skeletal figure that he was supporting.  “Return to where you originally came from?”

           He nodded.

           “Okay.  How do we do that?”  

           “You must sleep.”  He said simply, clutching the jacket around himself.

  _____________________________________________

 Chapter 6:             Rest:          

             They walked for some distance. Every so often Morpheus lost his footing and almost toppled but each time he stumbled Hob caught him.

           At one point he was certain Morpheus was looking at the blood on his shirt in concern at the stab wound.

           “It’s nothing.” Hob assured him.  “I’ve had worse.  I don’t think they’re chasing us but we really need to keep moving. ”

             When they finally reached the convertible, Morpheus stared at the automobile blankly.

“Oh, that’s just a horseless carriage.  We call them cars now.”

“I see…”

Hob opened the passenger door for him and pushed the book off the seat.  Morpheus understood to climb inside onto the seat. After he got in, Hob shut the door behind him.

Hob went to the driver’s side and climbed in, seating himself.  After shutting his own door he started the engine (which took several tries, as the car looked pretty but lacked functionality) but soon they were on the road away from Fawny Rig.  

Hob didn’t bother to tell his companion to put on a seat belt.  Any sort of restraint seemed like a bad idea right now, as if it was something that could potentially trigger post traumatic stress.  He already half-imagined that Morpheus would develop some kind of permanent claustrophobia after that long captivity and that seemed perfectly reasonable to him right now.  So he didn’t ask him to put on a seat belt.   And it was not likely either of them were about to die from a car crash.  

 After a quick stop at small convenience store they continued on the road for some distance and finally they reached the hotel parking field.

             Hob looked at his friend, trying not to show the pity he felt.   Instead he reached into the glove compartment and took out the small bag with the new bottle of extra strength Unisom sleeping pills he had just purchased at the convenience store.  

           He aligned the arrows on the child safety cap, removing the cap easily, and then punctured the seal with his thumb, taking out several small capsules into his hand.

He then removed the cap from the small bottled caffeine-free Coca-Cola he had also purchased and had been in the bag as well, with the bottle of Unisom sleeping pills.

“Well, bottom’s up.”  He raised his bottle as if it was a wine glass and then gulped down the five or so pills he had in his fist with a healthy swig of the soda.  

 Hob wasn’t certain if the amount of sleep aid capsules he had just swallowed was enough to potentially harm an ordinary man, but he knew he was not an ordinary man.  And his adrenaline was too high right now.  There was no way in Hell he was going to sleep without chemical assistance.  

 “Hob?” Morpheus looked as if he wanted to say something.

“Not now.” Hob said. “I’ll never get to sleep if you start chatting.  Save it for when we get you home.”  He said this as if Morpheus had ever been the talkative one. He knew he wasn’t.  

 There was a trace of a smile on Morpheus’ face.  “Thank you…”

“No problem.  What are friends for?”  He half expected the old tantrum to flare up but there was not the slightest hint of that now.  Morpheus leaned back in his own seat to wait.

 “I’ll… Turn on the radio while I wait for this stuff to kick in…” Hob said this to break the awkward silence that was threatening his drug-aided nap.

  By some twisted irony the song Mr. Sandman by The Chordettes was playing.  Hob gave an uneasy laugh. “Bet you hate that song, don’t you?”

The sudden music with vocal accompaniment seemed to startle Morpheus at first but his tension faded with Hob’s own nonchalantness about it. “Actually… I have never heard it before…”

“It’s about you… I think…”

“Is it really?”

 _________________________________

 Chapter 7:

 Home:

   The song wasn’t even over yet when Hob found himself standing in a dimly lit pub in the fourteenth century.  And there was his friend, quite naked, and seemingly indifferent to his own nakedness. Hob figured Morpheus must have left the jacket in the car.

 His friend was crouched in front of the fire place, tearing into a leg of mutton from someone else’s plate.  Curiously the tavern was empty except for the two of them, and yet several tables were loaded with untouched drinks and dishes of food.    

Some of the food didn’t really belong in this time period as they had not been invented yet- like chimichangas, New York style pizza, Kentucky fried chicken, and Twinkies.   These anachronistic snacks and meals were the first give-away that he was dreaming.

 Morpheus helped himself to the diverse array of strange foods.  A little of this, a little of that, he was gobbling as much of it up as he could. He seemed famished, eating as much as he could, as fast as he could.

 “Hey… Maybe you should take it easy?” Hob said in concern.  “You know when humans are starved for a long stretch of time they have to slowly reintroduce their body to solid foods.   Maybe start with some soup?  …Or you could just eat the entire bucket of KFC… Sure.  Why not?”                  

 After he had his fill Morpheus stood and seemed to be concentrating.  Slowly something swirled up around him like dust… or sand.  Yeah, it was glittering, golden sand.  

From that sand dark robes were taking form on his body.   Seamless and not quite stylized in any particular way.   Hob felt that at the moment the feebly conjured clothes vaguely resembled a black Snuggie.  

 With some cold determination Morpheus walked out the door of the pub and into a surprisingly beautiful night, with a sprawling nebula smeared overhead like oil paint.  

Hob hastily gave chase “Hey!  Hey, where you going?!”

 Outside the pub there was a beach.  Funny.   There was never a beach so close to the pub before but then Hob remembered this was a dream.   Morpheus was kneeling in the sand, gathering some of it.

“Hey, what are you doing?”  He caught Morpheus’ wrist.

Morpheus did not shrug him off.  “I have to get my revenge.”

“Revenge on who?  Roderick Burgess and his crew are dead!”

“His son yet lives.”

“His son?  You’re going to go after his son?!”

“You disapprove?  His son could have freed me.  I would have shown him mercy if he had let me go.  Instead he kept me as his father had, threatened, insulted, and tormented me. He must pay.”

“He didn’t know!   He didn’t know what to do and you probably scared him.  I’m not justifying it but I’ve lived long enough to know revenge isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

“But I… I waited so long…” He sounded uncertain.

“You’re sick.   You could barely stand.   You’re still recovering.  I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be wandering around in a half-finished Snuggie. You’re going to waste what little strength you have getting revenge on someone whose biggest crime was apathy and being a jerk?”

“What is a Snuggie?”

“Never mind that.” Hob said with a shake of his head.  “Revenge isn’t worth it.  You’ve got to forgive him.  You know as well as I do revenge isn’t going to bring you any real satisfaction.”

“Who are you to tell me what will satisfy me or not?”  Morpheus said angrily.

“The man who just saved your life!  That’s who! You can listen to me or not, that’s up to you.”  Hob let go of Morpheus’ wrist. “But the way I see it...  You need rest.  You need to recover.  And you need to learn to forgive.  Going after Burgess’ kid, who inherited you like a pet parrot, isn’t going to make you feel better.  You’re weak and you need rest.  Is there any where I can take you where you’ll be able to do that?”

“You’ll be waking up soon…”

“So hurry up then and tell me.”

 Hob walked beside his friend, down the twisting. dark path, surrounded by gnarled old trees.  Up ahead was an old house, probably eighteenth century or early Victorian.   And next to that house was a graveyard beside a similar, somewhat larger house.  “You sure this is where you want to go?”  Hob asked.  

Morpheus nodded.

“It looks like The Crypt Keeper lives here.”

“Something like that…”

 It was the pudgy one, Abel, who opened the door to the house of Mystery.  The thinner one in the pince-nez spectacles, Cain stood behind Abel.  Both looked stunned at who was at the door.

 Hob stood with the weakened Dream King leaning on him.   Behind them was the dopey eyed, dog-like, big, green, gargoyle that had followed them as soon as they entered the gate.

“Can you two look after my friend?  I think I’m starting to wake up….”

 Before Hob could get an answer he found himself back in the driver’s seat of the parked car.  He looked to the seat next to him. It was empty except for some glittering dust and his jacket.

He noticed something else too.  The pain in his stomach, where he had been stabbed, was entirely gone.  He would have healed on his own, mind you.  A wound like that couldn’t kill him, but it took hours, if not days to recover from such an injury.  Now it was as if the wound had never happened at all.  

Morpheus had heeded him about not wasting his energy on futile and cruel revenge. Instead he had spent his energy on something far more important.  He had used what little strength he had to heal his friend…

 ______________________________________

 Chapter 8:

 You’ll meet friends in the Dark:

  The funny thing about having a friend who is the King of Dreams is it’s hard to tell when something really is just a dream.  He worried that the part about delivering Morpheus to that old Haunted House to be tended to was just in his own mind, a fevered and addled dream from injury and over-the-counter sleeping pills.  

             Hob sat nervously at the pub.  The meeting was now some decades late.  He sincerely hoped the part of his recent adventure that took place in dreams was real.   That sounded silly to him upon reflection:  “the part that was in dreams was real...”

 Nervously he sat, worried his friend was not coming.  And then he saw him as if he had been there the whole time.  Morpheus stood in a modern, long, leather jacket. His messy dark hair slightly more stylized.  His skin still bone-white, his look still improbably slight, features still gaunt, and thin. The eyes were black but the tiny star-like pupils in the middle of that blackness seemed more alert, twinkling with old power.

“I- I wasn’t sure you’d be coming.”  Hob said.

“Really?”  Morpheus was smiling.  It was a small smile but it was there just the same.  “I have always heard it was impolite to keep one’s friends waiting. Would you like a drink?”

    The End

[simplythingsilikekindoffiltered]

I know that my last fantasy detailed my ideal life living in a little beach house, but a girl's allowed to have several fantasies so here's another one.

I want to own a cute little bookshop.  It has a cute little store front downtown.  It's painted a soft pink, but has a vintage, older look to it.  It has two large windows and a glass door situated between them.  They have glass etchings that bear the shop's name.  Behind each window is a large table that shows off some books that I really enjoyed reading.  The door opens, and a small bell rings alerting me that someone has entered the store.  The floors are wooden and worn from years of people walking across them.  Off to the left of the store is a counter where I do all of the sales.  On the counter are bookmarks, postcards, buttons, charms, stickers, and pins for sale. On the wall behind the counter I hang paintings, mine and others that are for sale.  This is the only part of the wall not covered in books.  To the right of the door, there are several vintage armchairs that customers can sit and read in, sitting on top of a vintage rug.  There is a lamp next to each armchair to provide additional light for reading.  The store doesn't go very far back, but the area is stuffed with as many shelves as it can fit.  The books that fill the shelves are both used and new.  The books are organized in a way that only I can understand, and changes every time I feel like it.  Customers are always confused when they search for a book that saw on a shelf near the front of the store only to learn that I've now moved that book to the back corner of the store.  In one corner of the store is a door.  Opening the doorway reveals a small hallway that contains several more doors.  One of the doors reveals a small bathroom, the tiles pastel and mostly pink, and has a toilet, sink, and mirror.  There's also a large faux plant in the bathroom, because I can't keep a plant alive, but it needs some kind of decoration.  Another door reveals a small little area that looks like a breakroom.  There's a small counter that holds a sink, an electric kettle, a coffee machine, paper cups and sleeves and a decent selection of tea and coffee, and sweetener options.  There's also a small fridge that holds milk, juice, and cold water.  There's also a small table that holds a variety of baked goods.  Some baked by me, and others brought in by regular customers.  Another one of the doors is locked, and is my office, which is organized most of the time, but sometimes I'll go a while without organizing everything.  The final door in the hallway is also locked, and behind it is a set of stairs.  At the top of the stairs is another locked door.  Behind this door is my apartment above the shop.  The apartment looks similar to my house on the beach, but take the coastal vibes and decor and replace them with some cozy, vintage, city vibes.  So basically, a little less pastel and airy.  A bit darker, and warmer, and more blankets.  No more shell, glass, and rock decorations, but little trinkets that relate to books.  A little bit less of the space is dedicated to art, instead it's dedicated to books.  The shop always smells like paper, coffee, tea, and baked goods.

The shop acts a bit like a library, in the sense that customers can come pull a book off the shelf and just start reading.  One of the customers comes in all the time to read and talk to me about books.  Over time the conversations grow more personal and we start to learn more about each other's personal lives.  When the shop grows more popular and becomes too busy for me to handle by myself they are the one that I hire to work with me.  As we work together we spend more time together and become closer than ever.  Pretty soon we're making out against the shelves and in the office.  I know that we're in love with each other when we can figure out how the other organizes the books, and can tell the customers where the book that they're looking for is located.  Eventually they move into the apartment with me, and maybe we get married.  Maybe we have or adopt children and the mark of a child is more apparent around the store.  We raise our children and when we grow old and maybe one of them takes over the store when we pass on and starts their own story.

This fantasy doesn't go into detail as much as my house on the beach, but I had been sitting on that one a lot longer, and typed it up on my computer, and typed this one up on my phone.

I tried to find my post about my house on the beach but tumblr is convinced it doesn't exist right now. So I'll link it when I can find it.