#➤ | letters postcards and thank you notes ; ask

[chinolondoner]

Author looking for readers

I'm not sure of the best way of getting people interested in the work of an unknown writer...

Plopped down in the middle of a tropical, Latin American setting, Lullaby for Bishop is set to be a hard-boiled detective series with four main characters: a veteran private investigator in the twilight of his career; a muscle-bound professional wrestler fulfilling one of his pivotal, childhood ambitions of solving strange and wild mysterious; as well as a pair of rumbunctious, teenage, high school girls constantly causing a scene and tagging along for the thrills.

You can preview the first half of chapter one further down below and catch up on the remainder, along with the totality of chapters two and three, all completely for free if you visit my Patreon. It's going to be a little while before this first book in the series is actually finished and officially published, but I feel the smarter move would be to try and elevate as much of a buzz for the featured world and characters before then as possible. I also plan to put out additional pre-release chapters in the near future (likely three at a time). If I have somehow managed not to bore you and you're still eagerly reading, then I do hope you enjoy the launching meta in this tender work in progress and stick around for future updates. Thank you for your interest!

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Chapter One

Nervously, Donny Boy had begun rubbing his fingers on the back of his neck, seated patiently a narrow foot away from the front of the desk while waiting for our bastard detective to stumble back into his office, suddenly realizing that the price tag had not yet been plucked away or removed from the fanciful hat he was wearing and was still dangling off the rounded edge of the brim.

Looking around the room for a trash bin he could use, Donny Boy's eyes gradually panned across the office, taking note of a few of the usual mosquitoes left splattered on the frosted, scarlet-lettered glass on the door. Dizzying groves of zigzagged patterns tying in the décor on the wallpaper, he spotted an old, unused desk tucked-away in the far, opposite corner of the room, heavy with dust and weighed down by sprawling stacks of postcards and unrecycled newspapers.

His wandering eyes glancing up the rearing rays of shattered sunlight filling in through the narrow, broken blinds on the window, Donny Boy had noticed the row of fancy kettlebells neatly arranged across a flat and sturdy, iron bench scooted against the wall, a dirty, rolled-up yoga mat, along with this stationary, exercise bike for the purposes of one's daily, cardio workout.

Looking up at the rougher dust build up over the years along the edges of the blades on the ceiling fan, Donny Boy was suddenly lured back from his current distractions after Detective Howl Bishop slid back into his office, tossing a used washrag onto his desk after wiping his face and smelling of minty, nicotine gum and aftershave.

“So, what do I call you, kid?” Howl had asked while taking a seat in his chair behind his desk.

“Don should be perfect. Growing up, my next-door neighbor used to call me Donny Boy.”

“Donny Boy, huh?” Howl fought against his urges to fidget with a stack of papers in his drawer. “Sounds good to me, kid. So… are you some sort of circus performer or something?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean…”

“Your arms… They're freaking huge!”

“Oh… Yeah… I do struggle at times finding clothes that can fit me properly. Also, I wasn't really sure whether or not I should've worn a suit jacket.”

“Yes…” Howl would peek over the top of his desk and study Donny Boy up and down, a salient tone of fascination in his voice. “You really are quite the physical specimen, aren't you?”

“I suppose I do enjoy a good workout,” Donny Boy replied, a little bit bashful.

“You do have a basic understanding of the type of job you're here applying for today, don't you?” Howl asked.

“I believe so… The ads in the newspaper said Experienced private investigator in search of young and capable partner…”

“That's right. And being a private eye, it's important to have a plethora of tools at your modest disposal. One of those tools being the ability to effortlessly mesh into your surroundings. It's important not to stand out too much when in a public crowd or when casually photographing somebody's license plate from across the road. At the moment, I'm having some doubts on that possibly being a strong suit of yours given your current… how should I say… physique.”

“Oh… Well, to be completely honest with you, Mr. Bishop, I haven't even paused to consider that as a possibility.”

“Yeah, well, thinking a few steps ahead is also an invaluable tool to have.”

With more than a quarter of a century of busy detective work under his belt, his hair having grown white as Winter's ashes and the once buoyant Spring in his footsteps having lost some of its feather throughout the years, Howl Bishop was originally from the lands of sunny, Southern California, born on a weekday in a rushed and overcrowded hospital in the blighted city of Los Angeles.

Brought up in a bohemian household, Howl's anxious mother was a failed, Hollywood actress turned “new-age” healer and father was a meddling screenwriter that had spent more of his time obsessing over the quality of the ink in his typewriter than ever inundating his children with any orderly grants of wisdom.

Standing at six-foot even in height, a strong, conquering jaw and with an even tan across his arms and facial features, Howl was one of the many foreign expats sailing over from the States in purge of more permanent roots in Pan de Leones. Old, brown, leather belt holding up his wide, beige-colored slacks, Howl always wore floral, Hawaiian shirts when in settled eye of the public, mixtures of white and pink and with a couple of loose buttons up toward the collar.

With his sharp, Anglo features and light attire, it was entirely common to mistake Howl Bishop for a possible tourist visiting Latin America for the first time, sightseeing across the country and falling for obvious scams at the nearby market. That is, of course, until one caught an initial glimpse of Howl's encyclopedic knowledge of the city's urban layout and sprawling geography, along with his ease of verbal fluency when communicating in Spanish, often conversating with local barkeeps and store merchants on objects ranging from the wise and esoteric to the lurched, mind-numbing, and trivial.

“I would like to procure a general gauge on how comfortable you might be interacting with the more unsavory avenues of human society,” Howl would lean back into his seat and ask, clamping his hands together and placing his palms over his stomach.

“Could you be more specific?”

“In such line of work, one all too often will find themselves having to calmly intermingle with unrested eyes of broken glass and scoundrels. Do you possess any real-world experience dealing with scum and the morally compromised?”

“Uhm…” Donny Boy appeared curtailed by Howl's question, unsure of how to respond. “I once dated a girl that refused to pay off her parking tickets,” he said.

Without managing to reply, Howl simply stared in confusion from his seat across the desk, reevaluating his initial impressions on the kid. Then, squinting his eyelids a little, he felt inclined to change the current subject and asked, “I don't mean to suddenly swerve off topic, but… have we met before?”

“What?”

“Well, I'm looking at your face, right now, and… I can't help but get the feeling that this isn't the first time that we've been in the same room. Do we know each other?”

“I do not believe we have ever met, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy was quick to point out in response, laughing out loud a little to himself while nervously shuffling around in his seat. “I've always done alright remembering faces and my mother had always told me it was rude to forget someone's name.”

“Hmm… I guess in my advanced age, my average perception of things has grown a bit muddy. I suppose I simply must be confusing you for somebody else.”

Wide, rugged shoulders, preposterous arms, and with a large, outward, and muscular chest, Donny Boy was young and handsome and had shaded, bronze-colored skin. His lightly brushed hair was a wild, sunflower-blonde of which he maintained in perfect tinge and kept the darker shadows of his roots regularly dyed. Along with the fancy, finely tailored fedora resting on his head, the crumpled price tag of which he had just recently stuffed into his pocket, Donny Boy wore a normal pair of rectangular, blue-framed eyeglasses, granting him a bit of a barbarous librarian kind of a look.

Dark eyebrows and with the small patch of facial hair on his chin routinely trimmed, Donny Boy had entered the office wearing a short-sleeved, white, button-up shirt, the generous, overfed muscles of his upper body appearing to want to tear through the clothing and with a clean pair of ruby-red suspenders attached to the waistline of his denim-blue slacks, tugged and strapped-up over his mountainous shoulders. He also had on a dorky, red bowtie for the occasion.

“How old are you, Donny Boy?”

“I'm twenty-eight years old, Mr. Bishop.”

“And what's your sleep schedule like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your sleep schedule. Have you developed the habit of going to bed around the same time, every night?”

“I believe so. I've never been one to indulge in any late-night festivities. Why do you ask?”

“Well, when living the demented life of a private eye, it's not uncommon to have to commit to some later hours on the unplanned occasion: car stakeouts after midnight; navigating the craze of urban nightlife on foot; purchasing some nefarious lawyer a hundred shots of overpriced vodka at the stripclub just for a few layers of common information. Do you drink coffee?”

“I've never been much of a coffee drinker, no.”

“Well, you definitely should be. Sugar highs and caffeine are going to be your most reliable friends on those late nights when you most need them. Either that or… well… you know…” Bringing his hand up to his face, Howl used his finger to tap the side of his nose.

“Oh, no way, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy immediately replied. “I wouldn't even think of touching that stuff. I've always had a firm stance against any illegal drug use.”

“That's good,” Howl said. “I've noted my fair share of innocent souls throughout my time wasting away from drug addiction. A found sense of longed-for excitement is what initially lures them in. And then, after enough restless days turn to night, enough sleepless nights turn to chaos, suddenly they look up and… the neon lights on the street don't seem as vibrant as they once used to…”

Donny Boy would look at Howl with a sort of strange sense of wonderment, our detective's eyes having slowly migrated across the room toward the window, perceiving what, to him, had appeared to be an expression of profound fatigue captured on his face.

The sound of the vehicle screeching to a halt could suddenly be heard outside on the street, trashcans tumbling over and followed by the angry voice of a young woman shouting profanities.

“Oh no…” Donny Boy muttered underneath his breath, his eyes suddenly wandering over toward the window.

“What about your relationships?” Howl asked. “Do you have a wife or girlfriend? One of the more unfortunate aspects of being a private investigator is the difficulty you might experience maintaining a healthy inner circle. This is often a critical detail that turns the most people away.”

Donny Boy was completely distracted and had failed to pick up a single word, a growing look of nervousness on his face.

“Donny Boy, are you listening?”

The frantic sound of sudden footsteps quickly marching up a flight of stairs could be heard just outside the door to the office, followed by the reactions from Howl's trusted secretary demanding an unknown grouping's identification and honest proof of appointment.

“Move aside, lady! You don't want to have to get injured!” a young woman's voice hollered in response.

“How have they managed to find me?” Donny Boy wondered out loud to himself.

“We have you outnumbered and we're very upset!”

“What the hell is going on out there?” Howl began to react.

Suddenly, managing not to completely fly off its hinges, the door to the office was viciously kicked open, creating a sudden gust of wind that would travel across the room, knocking over a slanted stack of printed papers off the corner edge of the desk.

Standing in the open doorway, visible tension throughout her arms as her hands were forged into concrete fists, a young, teenage girl had a rancid look of anger on her face. A dark, navy-blue blazer over a knitted, bright, yellow skirt, the young woman was dressed in a traditional, school-girl's uniform and had her hair cut down short, visible scrapes and bruises on her knees giving out impressions that the girl was perhaps a bit of a rowdy tomboy.

“Nayaiko! I found him! He's in here!” the young girl shouted back over her shoulder.

She would then come into the office, and shortly afterward, her thin silhouette appearing in the doorway, an additional and secondary, young woman showed her face and seemed equally upset at the current moment. Dressed in an identical uniform as the first, this second girl had her hair much greater in length and stood with long and beautifully braided pigtails poking out the sides of her head.

The second girl entered the office and shut the door.

Standing over Donny Boy who seemed to be trembling in his seat a little, the first girl snarled out of her nostrils and said, “This is the second time this week you tried to ditch us…”

“This honestly isn't the best time, girls,” Donny Boy said, his voice a bit shaky.

“You know, we were standing outside the changing booth for thirty-five minutes before we realized you weren't there,” the second girl would report. “You told us you were trying on some hats!”

“I did! Look!” Donny Boy then lifted the hat up off his head to showcase. “I ended up purchasing this really awesome fedora for myself. It's really cool, isn't it?”

Neither girl seemed to want to take the time to respond. They simply crossed their arms in defiance and stood with a pair of inconsolable scowls on their faces.

Continue...

[toournextadventure]

our little secret pt.v

Summary: Letters to you.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing, mention of possible suicide (slight mention, nothing happens), mental instability, mental spiraling, religious talk (Southern Christianity) Pairing: Lorraine Day x Reader (Masterlist) A/N: this is like a little filler, just having fun trying out something different. Don't worry, there's still a giant chapter left! Also? When Lorraine signs the letters to you, she puts a little heart over the i <3

June 15th

I thought you said you’d always be waiting. But I come home to hear from your momma that you’re on a vacation with Roy? Why didn’t you tell me before I left? I would have given you a proper goodbye.

It’s probably a good idea, though. Roy could definitely use the break and I’m sure you can too. I know the past few weeks have been… rough. I’m sorry. I didn't know it was going to happen. But we can talk more about things when you get back. For now, make sure you have some fun, okay?

Your momma said y’all went out West. If you could write me back and let me know where, maybe I can meet up with you. We can have a proper vacation for once. Do y’all have any real plans, or are you just traveling? I’m sure either one will do the job. You always did want to get out of town for a bit.

Our shoot went well. Max and Bobby-Lynne asked about you the whole time. It doesn't sit right with me when they're constantly checking up on you. Maybe I'm just jealous. It's probably nothing compared to how you feel. At least they mean well, I suppose. They send you their love. Maxine sent… a little more than love, but I’m not telling you about that.

By the time you get this letter, it shouldn’t be too long before you’re back home. I’ll be here waiting for you, okay? Don’t forget to send me some postcards. And if you find anything cute, don't forget to buy it for me! I'll pay you back, I promise.

I'll see you soon.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

June 29th

Having too much fun?

We all thought you'd both be home by now. The 4th is next week, you know. We never miss the 4th. Daddy said he would cook out this year. He's making your favourite and Beau and Huck got the good fireworks. We can take the truck out and watch the show, just you and me. RJ will be out so we can be free for a bit. That’ll be nice, right? A nice little break. So you better not miss it.

Speaking of, Beau isn’t too happy that you’re not home yet. He’s been doing a lot of pacing and mumbling a bunch of nonsense. I think he’s being a bit dramatic. He’s not happy that you left without letting him know. Said he could have told you a few places to go to be safe. I think he just misses you. We all do.

We haven’t been out to a shoot for a while. I’m glad. It hasn’t been the same since RJ proposed. Nothing has, really. Things just don’t feel the same. There’s guilt in everything I do now, I don’t know how to explain it. I just don’t feel comfortable with anything, even daily chores. Did you ever feel that guilt? The one that sits deep in your belly?

On a brighter note, Jimmy and Liz are back in town. They seem to be doing good. And no, they’re not pregnant, thank God. It’s a modern miracle. They had hoped to see you before the summer is over. Of course they will though, it’s not even July yet, the summer is still young. Besides, I know no vacation is more fun than hanging out with us, right? Even Roy would agree, I know it.

Momma is calling me to dinner now, so I’ll wrap it up. I’ll see you on the 4th, okay?

Yours, Lorraine

—---

July 23rd

Hey darlin, I think it’s about time you came home. You’ve more than missed the 4th, and Lorraine ain’t too happy. It’s the first time you’ve missed a holiday, you know? It ain’t like you. I know this ain’t the happiest place for you right now, but your family is here. We’re all here.

Where’d you go anyhow? You and Roy are homebodies, y’all don’t know anybody out West. If you really wanted a vacation, you could’ve waited for us to get home. We would’ve taken you. I’m sure Lorraine would’ve been happy to go too. We could’ve had a double vacation, you know? Like we always talked about?

Huck and I won our competition the other day. Wish you had been there to cheer us on. We wiped the floor with everybody. Best team ropers in the South, just you wait. You’d best come home for the next one. I’d hate to get too popular for you to notice us, you know?

I’ll keep Lorraine calm and happy, but I really need you to get home, darlin. It’s a bit past time to be concerned. At the very least, send us a letter back. I can handle you being gone for so long if I know where you are. I know this isn’t a happy place, but we’re still worried about you. We can make it a better place again, I promise.

Just send me something back, okay? I’d appreciate it.

Love you, Beau

—---

August 12th

Hon, I really think you need to come home. Lorraine and Beau are losing their minds. No one has heard from you or Roy since you left, and your parents don’t seem worried at all. Your momma seems the slightest bit concerned, but your daddy isn’t. Everyone is just acting weird, so you need to come home.

Jim and Liz left for seminary again last week. They were mighty upset they didn’t get to see you before they left. It’s been about since Christmas since y’all were together, right? They miss you both. Y’all are family. Maybe try to write him while y’all are gone, I’ll write his address at the bottom in case you don’t remember.

If I have to listen to Beau and Lorraine ask where you are one more time, I’m going to lose my mind. You know neither one of them knows how to be patient or think logically. They have a single bad thought and run with it. I need you here to help me calm them down, because you’re fine, just taking a break from everything.

No one blames you for taking a break. After everything… it’s the least you deserve. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Lorraine asked the other night if this is her fault. I told her it wasn’t. We all know that girl loves you to the moon and back. And we all know you love her back. Things can be worked out, but you’ve got to come back home first, okay?

After all this, you had better be having the time of your life, darling. I’m going to assume as much since you’re not answering anybody. Hey, if you can’t write back, can you at least give us a number to try and call you at? Beau said he’d pay any long-distance charges, he just wants to make sure you’re okay.

He’s playing the part of a dutiful boyfriend, you know. Everyone thinks it’s romantic. I know he’s just worried about you, but it’s weird to hear everyone giving him their sympathies. Is this how you feel when everyone talks to Lorraine about RJ? Like you’re in second place in a race you hadn’t wanted to compete in? Because if so, then I think I understand you a bit. It’s… not a nice feeling.

Ah, I won’t get sentimental. We can talk more when you get home. I think I understand you a little better. That’s kinda sad, isn’t it? Took you leaving for me to get a better grip on your feelings? Well, just come home soon so we can talk. As I’ve made clear, Beau and Lorraine miss you. But I miss you too, darling. Enjoy your trip, but please come home soon safe and sound.

With love, Huck

—---

October 9th

This ain’t funny anymore, you know. It ain’t funny, and you need to get home now. You can quit ignoring all our letters, we get it. You’re hurt, you’re upset, you wanna teach us a lesson or somethin. We get it, we understand, just come home.

Lorraine is losing her gotdamn mind, and quite frankly I am too. No one’s heard a peep from you or Roy. You didn’t even like the West, you had always said it was too different. Never liked how they did their food either. So why would you even go out that way anyway?

You’re probably out drinking those fancy beers they try to peddle up there. They’re not as good as ours and you know it. Or you’re out doing those stupid hikes that you never cared for, getting more blisters on your heels because you don’t even like walks. There’s nothing good out there and you need to come back.

You should’ve left us a note before you left. That ain’t like you, you know. You always let us know where you’re going. You couldn’t even go to church camp back in the day without leaving a personalised letter for each of us. But now you just up and leave in the middle of the night? No warning? That ain’t right and you know it.

People keep asking me where you are and I don’t have any more answers. I can only say “she’s on vacation” so many times before people realise it’s a lie. And it is, isn’t it? It’s a lie. You’re not on some damn vacation. If you ran off, just let me know. I’ll leave you alone as long as I know you’re safe.

Did we make you that miserable? Was being around us so awful that you had to leave? You could’ve told us first. We could’ve come up with a plan, something that wouldn’t hurt you so bad. I don’t know what we could’ve done, but we could’ve tried something. Anything at all.

I need you to answer my letters, honey. I really need you to let me know you’re safe.

Please be safe.

Love you, Beau

—---

December 17th

You missed Halloween. And Thanksgiving. Are you going to miss Christmas too? And New Year's Eve? Am I going to have to jump into the new year without you? Please let me know if I am, because I need to be prepared. I’ve spent holiday after holiday waiting for you to come back, for you to spend it with me again. I get my hopes up every single time just for you to not be there.

RJ keeps asking me what’s wrong, and I’m honest with him. I miss you. I miss you so badly my chest aches. But he doesn’t understand. He thinks I just miss my best friend. And I do, you’ve always been my best friend. But you’re so much more than that, and I can’t explain it to him until you get back because I need someone to hold on to while you’re gone. When are you coming back?

Are you waiting for an apology? Because I’ll give you one, I’ll give you as many as you want. I’m sorry about RJ. I’m sorry about the proposal and that I didn’t say no. I’m sorry about Mr. Dylan, he never should’ve touched you. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye properly. I’m sorry I avoided you after the proposal, I was just scared and didn’t know what to do.

I’ll say sorry for anything you want or need. Just please answer me. Please come home. I don’t want anything else for Christmas, I don’t want any other miracle, I just want you. Please come home.

I miss you.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

January 24th

We searched Roy’s room and found all his guns gone.

I’m done asking, darling, you need to call us or send us a letter. Now. Now, I don’t believe Roy would do anything to you, but your daddy is on a kick about how unstable he was. How he’s still sick from the devil and all that nonsense he would always preach. I know he wouldn’t touch a hair on your head, but I really need you to answer me.

Lorraine has been losing her patience with RJ. She yelled at him the other day just because he tried to hold her hand. Told him not to touch her. It was quite the show. And it’s going to get her in trouble. She needs you, you know? You’re not the only one who has to hide.

I’m sorry, but I went through your room. It’s been long enough, your momma practically gave me the go ahead. You didn’t take any of your letters from Lorraine. Did you mean to leave them? I hope you didn’t. I hope it was an accident, and you didn’t mean to leave us behind.

Beau has a letter for you too, but he’s not done with it. I don’t know how to help him. He’s got himself convinced he should’ve done more. I don’t know what he should have done. I don’t know what he could have done differently. Did you want him to propose? The three of us could’ve moved off somewhere, you know. We could’ve made it work if it’s what you wanted.

Everyone wants you home. They need you to come home. No one is complete without you, it’s like a big part of town is missing. Stevie from the bar finally pulled me aside and asked about you last weekend. I couldn’t even give him an answer. He said he’d pray for you. Said he’d keep a shot of the good stuff saved for when you get back.

Fuck it. I miss you too. You’re one of my very best friends, hon. You’re the one who’s been with me through everything. Hell, you introduced me to Beau. You’re the only one I can truly talk to about things. I need you home too, okay? You’re part of my home, so I need you to come back.

I need you to write back.

With love, Huck

—---

January 30th

You’re an absolute bastard. You know that? You’re a fuckin bastard. A vacation? Give me a fuckin break, you didn’t go on no gotdamn vacation. Where’d you go, huh? Somewhere we’d never find you? Did Roy convince you to leave? He probably did, the prick. Ain’t no way you would’ve left on your own, you’re not stupid.

What the hell were you thinkin? Just up and leavin like it ain’t nobody’s business. Well it’s my business. It’s my fucking business and you should’ve told me. You’re supposed to be my girlfriend. I don’t care that we’re pretendin, I still fuckin care about you and you just fuckin left? Did I mean that little to you?

We had a pretty great thing goin, you didn’t have to leave and ruin it. I don’t care that it was a lie, we were happy. I still had Huck, and you still had Lorraine, and we were happy. You didn’t have to pack your bags and leave like a thief in the night to, what, prove a point? Well I get it now, you weren’t as happy as I thought. You could’ve told me instead of doin all of this.

You’d better answer the gotdamn letter this time. I ain’t playin around anymore. You better answer the letter and get your ass home. And if Roy is readin this, then you better get her home. You’d better have kept your gotdamn hands and your guns away, and you better get her home. Now.

Beau

—---

February 15th

Hey, momma said I should try to send you something. She said you might answer me since I’m your baby brother. Are you and Roy okay? I don’t care what Pap says, I know y’all aren’t dumb, y’all didn’t go do something stupid. Roy probably just grabbed his guns to keep you safe. He’s not crazy.

Gramma came down with something nasty. The doctors think it’s pneumonia, but we’re still waiting for tests to come back. You both should probably get back just in case it’s bad. She misses you. She prays for you both twice a day. It’s really sweet, she just wants you both safe.

Seminary has been alright. Boring. You would’ve liked it more. Heck, you would’ve been better at it. No one knows the bible quite like you, I don’t care what Pap says. If any one of us should’ve gone off to study, it should’ve been you. Maybe once he sees how bad at it I am, he’ll change his mind. Think so? Probably not.

I’m waiting to propose to Liz until you both get back. I’ve got it all planned out and everything, even bought a ring. You’d like it, I think. But I can’t get married without my big siblings, right? Don’t worry, I can be patient. Y’all just get home safe and sound, you hear?

We love you. The both of you. We’ll see you soon.

Jimmy

—---

February 18th

Your Gramma passed away today. The funeral is in two weeks. That should be more than enough time for you to get back.

We’ll see you soon, love.

With love, Huck

—---

March 4th

Your Gramma’s funeral was today. You weren’t there. Why weren’t you there? You meant the world to her. She meant the world to you. You were the one she wanted to see, and you weren’t even there to see her buried.

She would have wanted you to be here.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

April 4th

A police report came in that they found two bodies in the river a few hours away from here. The bodies are decomposed too much to make identifications. I swear to god, hon, it better not be you. I know things were hard. For the both of you. But you didn’t have to go and do that.

It better not be you.

With love, Huck

—---

May 26th

Your daddy practically declared you both dead at church this morning. I guess after almost a year, he’s tired of worrying about it. He was never a patient man. I don’t think anyone really believed him, but who’s going to argue with their preacher? No one in this town, that’s for sure. Momma and daddy said you’re probably fine, just got sick of your daddy. No one would blame you if that were the case.

After church, Mr. Dylan told your daddy you and Roy had tried to kill him the night you left. If that were true, I don’t know why he didn’t bring it up when everyone was asking where you were. Don’t know why he saved it for now, but he did. Said you had both tried to kill him in the church.

He told your daddy you were a queer. Said you were a queer and you were going to infect the town with your sin. Huck hit him. Square on the jaw, knocked him out cold. I had thought it would be Beau. I hope he gave Mr. Dylan a concussion.

Did he really find out? Because I didn’t tell anybody, I swear. We always kept things a secret. At least I think we did. No one was ever around that didn’t already know. I know none of my crew told, they wouldn’t dare. I promise I didn’t tell anyone.

Momma asked me this evening if you really were queer. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what her reaction would be. She has always loved you, I didn’t want her to think any less of you because of what Mr. Dylan said. Daddy said we shouldn’t talk about it while you’re not here. Said it wasn’t right to talk behind your back. I don’t want them to hate you.

I won’t ever let them hate you.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

June 1st

I hate you. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I hate you. I hate you, and I hate Roy, and I hate this fuckin town and everyone in it.

You were supposed to be here, gotdammit. You were supposed to be here, and we were all supposed to grow old together. What the fuck were you thinkin? Don’t you know how much you’ve hurt me? Don’t you understand? We might not have been in love, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love you. I loved you, and you went and broke my heart like this?

We were all supposed to be together, you know. No matter what, remember? I thought you were my Huckleberry. Well what are you now, huh? A coward. You’re a fuckin coward. What, times get hard so you leave? You just pack your shit and leave with your crazy fuckin brother?

What were we to you? Were we just a means to an end? Nothing more than a toy for you to play with? Cause you were never that to me. You were never anything less than my best friend, the only girl I ever loved. And you just fuckin left me. Was I not good enough for you?

If that’s how you feel, then good fuckin riddance. Stay away. We don’t want you back in this town anyway. Go stay with your new fuckin friends that won’t ever fuckin know you or care about you the way we do. No one is ever gonna understand you like we do.

Don’t even bother comin back.

Beau

—---

June 2nd

Please come back. I can’t do this without you.

Beau

—---

June 4th

I broke off the engagement today. It’s all just too much. I can’t even stand looking at him anymore. Every time he looks at me makes my skin crawl. I can’t even stand being in the same room with him anymore. Each time he touches me makes me feel like a piece of my soul dies.

Did I do this to you? Did I push you to leave? If I did, I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. If I had been smarter, I would’ve suggested dating Huck instead. Then none of this ever would have happened. The four of us would’ve been together and no one would have ever known. We could’ve been happy.

Were you that unhappy? I never wanted you to hurt. All I ever wanted was you. Every time I had to fake a smile with RJ, or play nice, I always thought about you. I didn’t care about him, he was just a good distraction so no one would know about us. It was stupid. I never should’ve been afraid of how I felt.

I need you to come home. I need you to come home and tell me everything will be okay. Nothing feels the same without you. Foods don’t taste good, the sun isn’t as bright, nothing is fun. Most days I don’t even want to get out of bed anymore. I would rather rot away than go another day without you.

I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for everything. I’ll take everything back, I’ll tell the whole world that I love you. I’ll hold your hand at the store. I’ll sit in your lap at the bar, and pull you to dance with me. I’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want. I just want you back. I need you back.

I love you. You’re my home. I need you here with me.

Please come back to me.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

July 1st

You took my heart with you, you know. No one else is ever going to have it. Please keep it safe.

Yours, Lorraine

—---

The bonfire was hot against Lorraine’s skin. Far too hot. Combined with the sweltering summer heat, it was painful. She didn’t care. Painful at least felt like something. It felt like something real, something she could focus on. Almost as real as the pile of letters in her hands, all stamped with the same thing on the front in red.

Return to sender.

“I’m sorry,” Max said softly. Her hand was surprisingly cool against Lorraine’s upper arm.

On the other side of the fire, off in the distance, she could hear Beau yelling. Drunken, incoherent rambling that no one could really understand. Huck had given up on trying to console him. After all, how could he console him about something that they couldn’t fix? What would be the point?

Another beer bottle shattered against the hard ground.

You were supposed to come back. You were supposed to be there waiting for Lorraine when she got back from filming. Then you were both going to talk, and you were going to come up with a plan to get out of the engagement, and then everyone was going to be happy. Maybe you could’ve gone out East for real, like the four of you had always talked about.

The letters in her hand felt like lead.

“Do you want us to give you a minute?” Bobby-Lynne asked. She squeezed Lorraine’s shoulders. It was comforting. Grounding.

“No,” Lorraine said softly. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.”

The letters were the last connection she had to you. Your daddy had quickly emptied out yours and Roy’s rooms, labeling you both as sinners and traitors. She had been lucky enough to grab your hat before he had thrown everything out. It sat comfortably on her head right at that moment.

Her last remnants of you.

No tears came as she held the letters over the fire. The flames licked the skin of her damaged fingers. She knew, logically, it should have hurt. It didn’t. Maybe, if she kept her hand there long enough, you would appear and pull her back. You would scold her for doing something dangerous, and then you could both go to bed.

That’s all she wanted. She just wanted to go to bed.

Her fingers pried themselves away from the letters, and she watched them fall onto the bonfire. One by one they caught a spark, turning a dark brown and curling around the edges before igniting. She could see the different handwriting on each page. Beau, Huck, Jimmy. Her own. All filling the pages with their thoughts, their concerns, their feelings. Things they would never dare tell each other.

She watched the fire until the very last letter burned. Your name faded away into the orange flame. You faded away into nothing, and when your name was no longer legible, Lorraine felt her own heart go with it. There was a space shaped exactly like you within her chest. No one would ever fill it, and she didn’t want them to.

You were her heart and soul. Her home.

She would never find anyone else for as long as she lived. And then, she would find you in death.

She would find you in every lifetime. No matter how long it took.

[ww2yaoi]

[here's a little taste of a multi-chapter clegan post-war fic I've been working on. note: I've taken creative liberties with the timeline and John and Gale's post-war lives. it's very much intentional]

Winter 1948

Marjorie Cleven dies on a Tuesday in December, two weeks before Christmas Eve.

John gets the call a few days later. Gale’s voice is steady on the other end of the line, but John knows his heart is broken. It’s the first time they’ve spoken since Marge got sick. After the wedding, there had been some letters exchanged, few and far between, but John has always been a crummy pen pal. There were reunions, but those were annual at most, and John rarely stuck around past a couple of drinks and a war story or two. When they got back stateside in ‘45, he thought the distance would be good for Gale, thought it would help put their past far behind them.

Now, in hindsight, it seems futile. John feels it all rushing back, like VE Day was just yesterday and Gale’s boots are still underneath his bed.

It’s warm in southern Florida. The sun beams down on the tarmac, hot enough to fry an egg on the airfield, sunny-side-up. John watches from the control tower as planes taxi below him. His trainees will be on furlough soon, but he won’t be going home for Christmas this year. Any excuse to maintain the two thousand miles between him and Gale.

It doesn’t last. John should’ve known he could never keep away for long.

Spring 1949

The back of the cab smells like menthol cigarettes and cheap cologne. John drums his fingers against his thigh, feeling suddenly restricted by his uniform now that he’s been let loose in the civilian world. Laramie, Wyoming passes by his window, a cluster of shops and banks and schools on a stretch of agricultural land bisected by historical railways and boxed in by mountains on all sides. The air is thinner here than in Manitowoc, and there are no waterfronts to be found. The terra firma is dusty and brown, the sun a sepia pinprick hanging low in the sky.

The cab weaves through neighbourhoods of modest-looking houses. John had handed the driver the address on a slip of yellowy paper, which Gale had relayed over the phone. John doesn’t know how close they are to his destination, but he can feel his anxiety rising like bile in his throat. He makes nervous conversation, the driver mentioning the geology museum, the fact that the town was named after a French fur trapper who disappeared somewhere in the mountains. It doesn’t do much to calm John’s nerves.

“What brings you to Laramie?” the driver asks, glancing up at the rear-view mirror to get a glimpse of John.

He’s young, probably around Gale’s age. Young enough to have served at least, but he doesn’t comment on John’s uniform. He just peers at him curiously, eyes darting back and forth from the road.

“Visiting an old friend,” John says and tries not to squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. “He goes to school here.”

A moment later, the cab slows to a halt outside of a quaint-looking bungalow. John regards it from his window: white siding, yellow door, slate roof. Rose bushes line the walk-up, not yet blooming, and the grass has recently been mowed.

“Thanks,” John says, fishing a few bills from his pocket and handing them to the driver. “Keep the change.”

The driver smiles at him, close-mouthed, and pops the trunk. John slowly gets out of the car, like he’s trying to delay the inevitable, then fetches his suitcase from the back. He rests it on the sidewalk for a moment while the cab speeds away, looking at the house once more. A gaggle of kids darts down the street on bicycles. A few doors down, a lawnmower springs to life. It’s picturesque, like a postcard Gale might’ve sent him a few years back. John immediately feels out of place, still used to Nissen huts and crowded mess halls and military time. If he wants to turn back, now’s his chance, but he picks up his suitcase from the ground and forces his feet forward, climbing up the porch steps.

He thumbs the doorbell and it chimes. A dog barks gruffly inside the house. John removes his cap from his head and smoothes out his hair. He feels ridiculous, like a socially awkward teenager picking up his sweetheart for prom. His heart is in his throat as the door opens gradually, almost startling as a golden retriever pokes its head through the opening. It squeezes outside and dashes into the yard, yelping happily.

“Archie, get back here!”

John recognizes that voice. The door opens all the way, and suddenly, Gale is standing in front of him. Everything John had thought to say on his way over dies on his tongue. Gale looks practically the same, if not a bit filled out in his middle than he was during the war. His cheeks are smooth and shaven, flaxen hair styled off his forehead in a coif. John could never get used to seeing Gale in civilian clothes, but that’s how he appears in front of him now, crisp, white button-down hanging off his shoulders, navy slacks belted around his waist and brown cap-toe shoes on his feet.

They look at each other for a moment, unspeaking, then a smile splits Gale’s face in two. “Hello stranger,” he says.

“Gale.” John can’t help but return his grin. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

He holds out his hand for Gale to shake it, but Gale takes one look at his outstretched palm and instead, pulls John into a hug. It surprises John, so much so that almost all the air shoots out of his lungs at the contact. Gale’s fingers meld into the muscle of John’s back. It takes John a moment, but he eventually returns the gesture, squeezing Gale gently. They part and Gale turns his attention towards the dog, Archie, who’s taken it upon himself to start digging around in the garden.

Gale whistles. “Come here, boy,” he shouts, clapping his hands, and Archie bounds over.

He pauses to sniff John’s shoes. John crouches down and pats the dog, rubbing his ears, and is instantly reminded of Meatball.

“He’s usually not so ill-behaved,” Gale says. “He gets excited around visitors.”

“I don’t mind,” John replies, smiling down at the dog.

Archie pants, long, pink tongue hanging from his mouth, then he retreats back inside the house. Gale reaches down and picks up John’s suitcase from the porch. John straightens. They look at each other again, a bit too long without words to be comfortable, but John knows they’re both adjusting to being in close proximity again after so long.

“Lead the way,” he says, motioning towards the open front door.

Gale seems to snap out of it. “Of course, come on in.”

John steps inside the foyer and closes the door behind him. The interior is small, but well-decorated and tidy. The ocean blue walls are hung with artwork, the hardwood floors carpeted with rugs. John sets his cap down on a table peppered with framed photographs but doesn’t stop to look at any of them. He follows Gale past the dining room, down a hallway, and through the kitchen to another hallway at the back of the house. Gale opens one of the four doors that line the hall and carries the suitcase inside. John peeks his head into the guest bedroom. A double bed sits against the far wall, night tables on either side of it that host brass lamps with cream shades. On the other end of the room is a cherry wood wardrobe and an armchair to its left, upholstered in a muted green. Above it lies a square window, lace curtains pulled together to drown out the harsh afternoon light. The bedroom is sparse and unlived in, like most guest bedrooms are, but John appreciates it just the same.

“Hopefully this suits you alright,” Gale says, setting the suitcase down beside the bed.

John nods. “Suits me just fine,” he says. “Better than what I have back at base. That’s for sure.”

Gale looks at him. An emotion John can’t exactly pinpoint passes over Gale’s face, something like recognition, bordering on wistfulness.

They return to the kitchen, and Gale beckons John to sit down at a round table in the corner. Archie laps water from a bowl as Gale putters around the kitchen, opening cabinets. He appears tense, but not in his usual stiff, reserved way. His energy is almost jittery, nervous, and he taps a rhythm on the countertop. It’s not like him, at least not like the Gale John knew during the war. He pretends not to notice.

“So, how was your flight?” Gale asks eventually.

“Good,” John says and adjusts his uniform, crossing his legs. “Felt strange not being the one flying the plane.”

“I’ll bet,” Gale replies with a suggestion of a smile. “Do you want something to eat? Some coffee?” He reaches into the cabinet and produces a tin of Foldgers.

“Just coffee, thanks,” John says.

He looks around the kitchen as Gale spoons coffee grounds into the machine. His eyes trace the checkered red wallpaper, the white-tiled backsplash, the laminate countertops, the icebox in the corner. He’s never seen Gale in such a domestic setting, not even during the wedding. Maybe that’s why he stayed away for so long, even when he was invited time and time again. Perhaps he didn’t want to experience Gale so far removed from the world they both inhabited for so many years, a world where the only people they could rely on were their men and each other. Now, there’s no avoiding it. It’s all laid out for John to see.

The coffee maker beeps and steams. Gale rests his elbows against the kitchen counter and looks over in John’s general direction, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. John doesn’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t know how to fall back into the easy camaraderie they had at the beginning, before the stalag, before the march, before the end of the war. Seeing Gale has ushered back a slew of emotions John has been distancing himself from since they parted ways four years ago. He feels like an intruder in Gale’s home, looking for Marge in the corners of the room but not finding her. Guilt stirs in his stomach, and he asks himself again what the hell he’s doing here. This isn’t his place. This isn’t his life.

“How’s training?” Gale asks. “Are the boys following their orders, Lieutenant Colonel?”

John smirks at that, partly to hide his discomfort. It feels wrong that he should outrank Gale after everything they’ve been through, flight school, then serving together, then imprisonment.

“It’s busy,” John replies and drums his fingers against the table. “They’re good kids. Fucking caterpillars though. So damn young.”

Gale smiles softly. “Were we ever that young?”

“Maybe you were,” John quips. “I feel like my bones have been creaking since before our war even started.”

Gale laughs, and the sound hits John like a fist to his sternum. He realizes suddenly that he’s missed Gale’s laugh so goddamn much. It rings in his ears, out-of-reach and yet familiar, like a favourite song of his he hasn’t heard in years has come on the radio out of the blue. For a brief moment, John regrets denying himself this for so long, even if it was the only way he could get on with his life.

“How’s school?” John asks in turn. “Master’s coming along?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Gale says, nodding. “I like my classes. Lots of grading, lots of writing, some teaching. I’ve got a meeting on Tuesday with my advisor about my thesis.”

“Well, well, look at that,” John says, the corner of his lips twisting into a grin. “Professor Cleven.”

Gale dips his chin towards his chest, almost shy. “Not just yet, John.”

“You’re getting there,” John says. “Y’know Marge wrote to me about your thesis a year or so back, not that I understood a word. Astrophysics, not exactly my wheelhouse.”

Gale’s face falters imperceptibly at the mention of his late wife’s name, and John immediately feels apologetic for bringing her up without much warning.

“It’s not done yet,” Gale says flatly, his gaze falling from John’s face to look at his interlocked fingers resting on top of the counter. “You can read what I have though if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I might,” John says and grimaces at his own inadeptness while Gale’s eyes are elsewhere.

The coffee maker beeps and Gale goes to it, removing two mugs from the cabinet and setting them down beside it. He takes the sugar out of the cupboard and the cream from the icebox.

John bites the inside of his cheek, knowing what he needs to say but unsure if he has it in him to say it. “Buck?”

Gale’s head snaps up at the sound of the nickname. He regards John with a puzzled look, like he’s no longer used to being called anything other than Gale to his face. The name is a relic from a different time, John supposes, something that belonged to them only, and when John was no longer around to use it, there was no one else around to take up the task.

After a moment, the expression on Gale’s face smoothes out. “What is it, Bucky?”

John swallows, then pushes the words out. “I’m sorry, y’know, that I, uh, I couldn’t make it. To the funeral.”

Gale looks at him for a moment, then his face softens. “It’s alright,” he says. “Marge didn’t much like being the centre of attention anyway.” He pours coffee into the two mugs, then adds sugar to one and cream to the other. “My mother-in-law appreciated the flowers you sent.”

“Oh, good,” John says. “Azaleas were Marge’s favourite, right? I remember them from her wedding bouquet.”

Gale’s eyes grow heavy with sadness. He nods. “Yeah, they were.”

As if on cue, John hears a grumbly cry coming from one of the bedrooms down the hall. It starts off quiet, like a baby stirring from sleep, then gradually gets louder until it becomes a full-blown wail. Archie’s ears perk up before he quickly sulks away.

“Sorry,” Gale says as he grips the coffee with sugar and hands it to John. “I just put her down for her afternoon nap, but she’s in that phase where she’s rebelling against sleep.”

John says nothing, frozen in his seat as Gale crosses the kitchen into the hallway and slips inside the bedroom. John had been so caught up in seeing Gale again that he’d almost forgotten. He stares into the inky well of his coffee, too stunned to drink from it.

Gale emerges a moment later with a bundle in his arms. Now calm, the little girl clings to him, her head tucked into the crook of Gale’s neck as she sucks her thumb into her mouth. She’s wearing cream-coloured footie pyjamas with pink roses on them, her curly blonde hair tangled from sleep. Gale draws circles against her back, rocking her slightly from side-to-side. John regards her carefully. She must be at least a year and a half now, much bigger than she was in the pictures Gale had sent him however long ago.

Gale approaches the table where John is sitting. “Lucy, this is your Uncle Bucky,” he says, pointing over at John. “Can you say hello?”

Lucy turns her head and looks straight at John, and John sees the Marge in her face right away, the slight upturn of her nose, the fullness of her cheeks, the pink purse of her lips, but her eyes are all Gale, blue and round and yawning. She quickly looks away, hiding her face back in her father’s neck.

“Sorry,” Gale says again and rubs her back. “She gets shy around strangers.”

John doesn’t expect it to, but the comment stings. The fact that any child of Gale’s could be a stranger to him is borderline unforgivable.

[To be continued...]

[rkvriki]

things enha does for you !

hey guys!!! after tha one last fic im back to soft content lolz. i got this idea when i was in class so excuse me if its crappy tho! this one is a lil smoll :')

make sure to leave feedback. my requests are open and so is my talk box so let's talk!

WARNINGS ! undertones of being naked and sunoo watching its all sfw so dont worry!! might contain grammar errors!

word count: 1k

LEE HEESEUNG !

— makes you homemade gifts

heeseung is pretty good at everything, so once in his life decides to make good use of it outside of his job.

heeseung loves giving you gifts, most of them expensive pieces of clothing or even random plushies he wins when he goes to the arcade with the other boys, but is there anything more meaningful than a gift he made himself?

he makes so many handmade things but his favorite thing to do is scrap books. he tries to collect his favorite pics with you every month and he puts them in a scrapbook with cute and sweet handwritten messages.

he loves seeing your wide smile as you scan every picture he chose, remembering each day like it was yesterday.

PARK JONGSEONG !

— leaves you notes or flowers 

he does this almost everyday or at least when he stays over at yours and he even has special cute and decorated post its just for you :’)

sometimes he will notice that you might be feeling a little more down or stressed with school/work so he waits for you to fall asleep before he leaves after writing a heartfelt note and sticking it somewhere he knows you’ll see it.

or sometimes jay just feels like treating you nicely so he sends your favorite flowers with a postcard to your house or office.

it all just makes you feel so giddy and soft on the inside, you love how much he shows affection to you in all kinds of ways.

SIM JAKE !

— is present in the most important moments

being from abroad is hard and jake knows that because he also came from a different country, so when knows his s/o isn’t from korea he tries to make up for the fact you don’t have anyone like family members around to supporto you.

when you have important presentations he will be in the audience cheering for you with the biggest smile on his face.

most of the times he does this are surprises, you never know when to expect seeing him there and you would bawl your eyes out if you weren’t in front of so many people.

when you have your first job interview he will take you to where it’s going to take place and he will wait outside and when you come out will tell you that you did good no matter what results are gonna be.

PARK SUNGHOON !

— writes you letters expressing himself

i feel like sunghoon is really shy when it comes to expressing his feelings, although it doesn’t stop him from telling you he loves you every day.

every week he writes you a letter in neat and pretty handwriting, sometimes just telling you how he is feeling lately, other times talking about how much he loves you and how afraid he is of losing you.

he puts every feeling there is in him in the paper, always writing you more than one sheet of paper. After you read all of them you alway call him and you both talk about it, which makes him shy and his ears turn red.

you keep every letter in a box in a place only you and him know and you always read them when you miss him when he’s away.

KIM SUNOO !

— prepares you a spa day/bath

we all know sunoo is all about self care with all the skin care he does and the vitamins he takes and now it’s also a habit of yours thanks to him.

he loves taking care of you when he feels like you aren’t doing it, unable to do it either from stress or just being busy with your life.

when those situations happen, he never fails to surprise you when you come home with a warm bubbly bath in your bathroom, now candle lit.

he asks you to get in the tub as he leaves to get you more things.

he comes back with a huge variety of skin care for you to choose and prepares you your favorite light drink.

when you come out of the shower he will have you laying in the bed and will give the best back massage you’ll ever get, breaking all the knots in you, finishing off with kisses all over your back and face making you giggle.

YANG JUNGWON !

— takes time to celebrate important dates

jungwon loves planning things for you, especially your birthday. even though it makes him wanna rip his hair off he makes all the efforts to make it the best birthday party you could ever have.

literally no one can talk to him during the weeks he is planning it because he is so stressed that he will snap at someone unintentionally (he apologizes later, poor won)

he will plan it almost a month earlier to make sure everything is perfect. he look for the best bakeries around and tries to find the best rooftop to have the party.

he contacts every single one of your friends trying not to forget to invite anyone.

then the worts part comes, the present to give you. jungwon knows so much about you, almost every little detail, but one thing he doesn’t know is what to give you in your birthday, even if you reassure him he is the best present >-<

all the stress his worthy when he sees your teary eyes smile at the big party.

NISHIMURA RIKI !

— spends quality time with you

being an idol takes a lot of someone’s time and niki tries to use every second he had of free time to be with you since he’s always in and out of the country and he knows you hate being alone.

niki takes you everywhere you possibly can go. you go hiking, you go to amusement parks, to the movies, trying out restaurants, just anywhere.

he’s always up to try new things with you and sometimes he might bring the other boys along or you bring your friends, but it’s very rare to happen.

he always takes his digital camera, taking pictures of you when you aren’t looking, which he ends up showing you making you complain of how bad you look and he just glares at you.

sometimes you just go to quiet places and enjoy each other presence, like going to parks in the middle of the nowhere, where it’s just the two of you being two fools in love.

© rkvriki 2023, do not copy or translate my works, please.

[superman86to99]

A Wrong Righted! (A Baldy Award Tale)

by Don Sparrow

We don't often talk about the letter columns on the blog, but a feature of the letter columns from 1990 to 2001 was that one letter per issue that was deemed interesting, or who brought up a good point, or answered a trivia question correctly would be "awarded" a Baldy award.  In the DC universe narrative, the Baldy award was a nickname for Zenith Awards Banquet for Integrity in Journalism, which is hosted by noted bald headed man, Lex Luthor (as Max noted in his write up for Superman #44) but in the letter columns, it was similar to Marvel's "no-prize" prize, just kind of a neat little shout out you got for having a good letter. Or so I thought, until I started reading this blog.  I had always thought it was just a phantom shout out, for bragging rights only, at least as a kid.

There weren't a lot of rules regarding the Baldy award, but the big one I noticed over the years is that you couldn't get one if you asked for it--it had to be given unbidden.

Over the years as I'd read Superman comics cover to cover, I would pore over the letter columns, wishing that someday I'd earn a Baldy award.  This was a tough feat, as my collecting was piecemeal, and I'd often get the latest issue months after it was released, so even if I got it together to send a letter, it was well beyond the four issue gap they seemed to have.

It wasn't until college that reaching out to the Super titles became a little easier--in one issue they revealed the e-mail to which you could send fan letters, or sometimes they'd even publish comments directly from the DC Comics Message Boards.  I found that if you commented early enough, or wrote them right on release day, your chances were pretty good of getting published.  

The first letter I ever got published in a Superman comic came in Action Comics #770, in the year 2000, which was part of the "Emperor Joker" storyline.  Four issues previously, in Action Comics #766, the letter column asked what was the last time that Santa Claus appeared on a cover.  I quickly went to my long boxes to find the issue where Bibbo appeared as Santa Claus, Adventures of Superman #487.  (In that review, we actually tell a version of this story again, but now it has an ending!) and said so in my e-mailed fan letter.  When I bought my copy of Action Comics #770, I was shocked to find my own name in print, and even more shocked to have been awarded a Baldy for my Superman trivia knowledge.  I was thrilled to have the issue, fully believing that the Baldy Award was like the Marvel no-prize, and that being in print was "reward" enough. It wasn't until years later, reading this very blog that I realized that other winners had been sent a real physical postcard, bearing Eric Peterson's stunning (and Trumpian by design) portrait of Lex Luthor from his in-universe biography (and DC one shot).  While I would have cherished such a memento, I didn't feel too upset about it since it was all so many years ago, and, as discussed on the other post, the letter column was answered in-character by the Joker, so perhaps it was even intentional that they didn't send one out, as a Joker like prank (in fact, it's probably a lot safe for the Joker to not have my home address to send stuff to!).  

Cut to a few weeks ago, when I received a strange e-mail, asking if I was the Don Sparrow from Saskatoon who won a Baldy in 2000 (which I was!), inviting me to a private Facebook group, made up only of Baldy Award winners.  I joined the group, and was astonished to see they had a post with my name on it commemorating my Baldy win.  I made a comment on the page thanking them for my inclusion, adding that I didn't know back in 2000 that they even gave out physical awards, but that I was thrilled all the same to have won a Baldy.  There was some indignation on my behalf (again--I really didn't mind, not really knowing at the time what I had missed!), and someone on the thread tagged Mike Carlin, the legendary editor, jokingly or not-so-jokingly demanding to know why he had neglected to send mine (and a few others who had missed out) the award. I expressed again that I hadn't minded that I didn't win a postcard, but all the same, the wonderful Mike Carlin, architect of my favourite era of storytelling of my favourite fictional character, sent me a private message asking for my home address, which I gave him promptly.  Did I dare dream what this meant?  

Sure enough, only a week or so later, landing in my mailbox like a rocket in a farmer's field was a Baldy Award.  Beautiful, handwritten, and only 24 years late, but in my hands, as it was always intended to be. 

I messaged Mike to thank him, and am proud to share that you can consider this 24 year old wrong righted! 

[Max: I am insanely jealous, but also impressed that Mr. Carlin still has a stack of Baldys to give out in these occasions. Unrelated: ICYMI, we posted about the final chapters of the "Worlds Collide" crossover the other day!]

[promise-you-wont-write]

right or wrong i can't get along without you

Summary: Jackson Fuller disappears and everyone fears the worst - until he turns up in San Fransisco asking Tim for help.

Words: 2.8k (and counting)

Notes: This is part one to a multi-chapter fic...I'm guessing maybe 3 chapters, but who knows. It depends on how long it takes me to get these men from broken to...less broken? Thanks for joining me! This is written for a prompt from @promiseyouwillwrite on AO3 (see the notes on AO3 for the full prompt). I'll create a masterlist here tomorrow for all of the chapters to be kept in one place, but here we go...chapter one.

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Skippy, I need you. - Hawk

Tim didn’t get a lot of mail, not real mail anyway. An occasional letter from his mother to let him know how everyone was doing would pop up, but mostly it was political pamphlets shoved into the crack of his door or left dangling from his mailbox or the always dreaded bills. Seeing a postcard there in the stack of catalogs he had no interest in and fliers for political campaigns he had no desire to support was surprising. From the very first glance, before he even turned it over, he knew exactly who it was from. A panoramic view of the White House drenched in the bright blue of a spring sky and pastel pink of cherry blossom trees gave it away. For just a split second he considered how easy it would be just to drop it into the trash, right along with all of the rest of the junk.

But he couldn’t. He never could. Maybe it was the overly sentimental look of the postcard, the way it probably said more with the photo than it did in writing on the back. Maybe it was just knowing that he held in his hand something that had touched Hawk’s fingers only days before. He really wasn’t eager to dive into questions like that – he asked people to open themselves up to him all day every day, but he liked to keep his own thoughts private anymore.

“What’s that?” Arthur asked as Tim let the junk slide into the trash bin and held the little post card before him. He was afraid to look at the back. Arthur peeked over his shoulder, digging his chin in a little, nudging his throat with his nose like a puppy. He saw the photo and understood the sentiment immediately. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“He wrote. Isn’t that against the rules?”

Read the rest on AO3!

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

The Start of Something New (Silver/Gold)

Note: This contains Canon/OC and spoilers for Diasomnia Chapter 7. Possibly a bit ooc for Silver (restudying his dialogue/speech patterns currently)

“And that’s where I am currently.” Gold hopped over a root protruding from the ground as she walked along. “Thanks a bunch for the study guide you lent me - it’s gonna come in handy for finals.”

“Of course,” Silver - her friend and current strolling partner - replied. “Let me know if you need any more help with certain subjects. We can set aside time to review before your exams.” 

“Aw, you don’t have to! You’ve got your own studying to do; I’ve heard the exams for third years can be a real pain.” 

“As have I.” Silver sighed in mild exhaustion. “I’ve been told that Professor Crewel’s final project is especially taxing. Even the slightest mistake can cause the potion to turn…one slip and I either have to retake it or repeat my entire third year.” 

“I know you’ll do well,” Gold reassured. “From what [Name] has told me, you’ve gotten a lot better at preparing that stuff since last year. You’ll knock it out with little problem, I know.” She lightly tapped Silver’s wrist with her middle and forefinger. “Just be sure to show me the final product once you get it back from Crewel. I’d love to see it!” 

A small smile graced the fair man’s face as he glanced down in her direction. “I’ll be sure to.” 

For a couple minutes, there was silence between the two as they navigated through the woods and back to campus. Gold had needed to procure a flora sample for alchemy class; as she was still largely unfamiliar with that part of the island, Silver had offered to accompany her. It wouldn’t be right to let her get lost. Silver had come by to visit her at Ramshackle earlier to deliver her the aforementioned study guide anyway. As one of the housewardens at Night Raven College, it was his responsibility to help his underclassmen in any subject or area, no matter their dorm affiliation. That, and Gold was a very dear friend, so of course Silver would help her in any way he could. 

“Have you heard from your dad lately?” Gold asked, breaking the brief silence. 

Silver’s smile returned as he nodded. “Yes - yesterday, actually. I got a postcard in the mail, along with a letter and a few photos. Father and mother are visiting Port o’Bliss, at least at the time they sent the parcel. They also sent some souvenirs and snacks for Sebek and I.”

“That’s so nice!” Gold ducked under a low hanging branch as they approached a clearing in the woods. “I’m happy they’re enjoying their retirement.” A playful grin stretched across her face. “Or is it a prolonged honeymoon thing?” 

“A bit of both,” Silver chuckled. “They’ve made themselves at home in Red Long Country, but they’ll travel about from time to time. Father has seen most of the world, but mother has barely seen a fourth of it; Father wants to let her explore it before they truly settle down.” 

Gold let out a hum of agreement. “They deserve it after all they’ve been through.” As they stepped into the clearing, the sun above mildly shaded by clouds, Gold made another comment. “It’s also nice to hear you calling Persy your mom, too.” 

“It took some getting used to,” Silver admitted, “but she is married to Father, so that’s who she is.” He let out a brief laugh, “Though she was that long before then.” 

“I could tell. When Sebek told me last year, a little bit after I got here, that he and Persy weren’t married and she wasn’t your mom, I was surprised! You treated her like one from the get-go; at least now it’s official and doesn’t feel off anymore.” 

Silver nodded in agreement. “They sent Malleus a package as well. I delivered it to him shortly after I retrieved mine; I’m sure Sebek and I will find out what’s in it later.”

As Silver and Gold passed through the clearing and entered the woods again, they came upon a small pond, about Silver’s length and a half of hers. The sun’s rays that peeked through the leaves above made the clear waters glitter like diamonds. Birds chirped from the high branches; bushes rustled as wildlife went about their own business. There was little need to worry about any of them threatening the two - Silver’s uncanny connection with the fauna of the world decreased that possibility significantly. If they left them alone, they’d leave them alone. It wouldn’t be too surprising if one of those birds, maybe even a squirrel, came down from their perches to pay the young man a visit, however. 

“Did you see all those flowers that came in the carts today?” Gold asked.

“I did,” Silver replied. “They’re for the upcoming dance, I think. There were a lot of them.” 

“You think it’ll be bigger than last year’s?” 

“Possibly. As Malleus is spending his fourth year as a student teacher, he might have a hand in coordinating the event - Andromeda, too. I think they would enjoy something like that together.” 

“As long as they’ve got the budget,” Gold joked. “They might make the other professors’ blood pressure go up if they spend too much on it.” 

“Malleus isn’t above dipping into his own funds to make he and Andromeda’s visions a reality.” Just as Gold expected, a little red bird fluttered down and came to rest on Silver’s shoulder, chirping a greeting. Silver gave it his attention and petted its feathered head gently with his finger. “It’ll prepare them for what’s to come in their future.” 

Gold sometimes forgot they were all in the presence of a future monarch and his queen consort. The Draconias had more money than she could ever dream; by extension of a pending marriage, it was Andromeda’s, too. Just a tenth of their money would set Gold for life. Seven, the prospect made her want to vomit. Maybe one day she could earn enough to live comfortably similar to that. “Do you have your outfit picked out for it?” Gold inquired, changing the subject before she got too caught up in the what-ifs. 

“I do.” Silver watched as the bird took off back into the canopy of trees before he continued. “Father set aside funds for me to get a suit tailored to my measurements, among other things.”

Man, some people really were set, huh? 

“That’s good.” Gold stopped to lean against a tree, granting herself a brief respite beside the pond. “I’ve still got to come up with what I want to wear. I got the concept down, and I’ve made sure it aligns with the dress code. Now I just have to come up with the money.” 

“Will your paychecks from the lounge be enough?” 

“They should be…at least I hope. Most of the shops around here are pricey, which I expect from a college town. I could order one online, but it’s a little risky cause I won’t really know the fit, quality, stuff like that until it gets here. I’d like to try a potential dress on first before buying it, you know?” Gold sighed to herself as she thought about everything that could go wrong. “I don’t want to have to return it and risk a replacement or alternative not getting here in time for the dance.” 

“And if it comes to that?” 

Gold shrugged. “I guess I just won’t go. The dance isn’t mandatory, so…I could just hang out at Ramshackle until it was over.” 

Silver’s expression turned to concern, disappointment, at the prospect. “I’d hate for you to miss it. I know you want to have a good time with the rest of us. What happened to your dress from last year?” 

“I still have it, but…” Gold looked a little embarrassed to admit why she couldn’t wear the dress, but she didn’t want to leave the man guessing. “I’ve apparently gained a little weight somehow. It’s a bit too tight in my waist area now; it’d be too risky to wear, not to mention uncomfortable.” 

Gold didn’t look like she’d gained weight, at least to Silver. She wouldn’t lie to him though. With a determined look in his eye, he said, “If your checks won’t cover a dress here on the island, I’d be happy to give you the amount you needed to pick one you liked.” 

Gold’s brows raised, eyes widened, heart clenched in guilt and surprise. “Silver, no, it’s okay. It’s just a dance, I-” 

“A dance you really want to go to.” Silver to a step closer to her, now standing in front of her. “Please, Gold, I really don’t mind. I have more than enough left over for food and other things I need.” He mumbled under his breath, “Sometimes I wonder if Father spoils me for how much he gives me.” 

Gold overheard that and let out a small giggle. Silver glanced down at her and smiled - a soft, genuine smile. This guy really was the princely type, wasn’t he? Yeah, he was an actual prince from a kingdom long since passed, but still, he really seemed to have stepped straight out of a fairytale. Gold let out another sigh, this one of relent. “If I feel my checks won’t cover it and the stuff I need, I’ll ask you for a loan.” 

“You promise?”

Gold laughed this time. “I promise, I promise!” 

“Good.” Silver’s hand brushed the back of hers. “And it wouldn’t be a loan - it’d be a gift.” 

“You know, you really need to be careful with stuff like that. Someone could take advantage of you one day.” 

“Maybe,” Silver leaned in a little closer, “but I know you never would.” 

There was that odd feeling again. It always came up with Gold when Silver was this way with her. Not in this exact scenario, per say, but when he was kind and gentle towards her. The qualities a good few of her friends shared, but Silver was just…different, somehow. It was hard to look him in the eye without her heart skipping a beat. That handsome smile of his haunted her many a night, too. Gold wondered if this was the effect he had on everyone else; she should ask around later. 

“Well, whatever happens, I’m dreading wearing heels.” Her feet ached just thinking about it. “I know they look good, but they really begin to hurt your feet after a while.” 

“I don’t believe you have to wear heels,” Silver pointed out. “They’re not part of the dress code; I recall it only states you have to wear formal footwear.”

“I know, it’s just…a girl wants to look pretty, you know? Vil knocked everyone out of the park last year with his; while his are more downgraded, Riddle pulls them off like no one’s business.” Gold shifted her feet, which were nestled in her dark brown loafers. “Everyone who wears them just looks so good! And they look even better when you’re all dressed up. I just wanna look cute.” 

“You still would without heels.” Excuse her, what? Gold whipped her head around to look at Silver again, eyebrow raised. “I’m serious. I don’t believe heels are what make a person look good. If someone wants to wear them with their clothes, I think it’s fine - but it isn’t the thing that makes them look pretty or cute. It’s the person themselves.” 

Gold smirked and gently elbowed Silver. “Oh, so you’re calling me cute, huh? You think I’m soooo pretty?~” 

“Yes.” 

She could have choked. For a moment, her heart stopped. Gold forgot to breathe altogether for a few seconds. Silver was just going to say that out loud, so matter-of-factly and not expect her to balk?! Her cheeks were burning, she could feel them. Silver took a step back as his expression fell. “I’m sorry, did I offend you?” 

“No, not at all!” Gold protested. “I just…didn’t expect you to answer like that.” 

“Do you think you’re ugly?” Silver seemed shocked at the very idea. “You’re not, you’re-” 

“I know I’m not!” Gold interjected, as politely as she could. She really didn’t want Silver to explain how he viewed her and make her blush even more. “It’s just,” she let out an awkward laugh, “you’re so honest it’s almost unbelievable. You need to be careful saying stuff like that.” 

“Why?” 

How pure can one man be? Lilia really had to be doing something with his kids to make them this way. Was it the food? Maybe it was the food - it realigned some of their brain cells in a certain way. “Um, well…” Gold tried to find a good way to explain it without being weird. “I guess…I guess someone might think you like them.” 

“But I do like you.” 

“Well, yeah, as a friend, but I meant in a more…intimate way.” 

“Ah!” Silver gasped as he flinched. Was that…was he blushing? From embarrassment, clearly. “I…” He turned his head downward, Gold now unable to view his face. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.” 

“No no, you didn’t,” Gold giggled. She reached out to pat his arm. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it like that. Thank you for the compliment.” 

Silver didn’t respond, just kept staring at the grass. He was quiet for so long Gold began to worry. Then, just as she was about to ask if he was alright, he raised his head and faced her again. “Well, in any case, don’t feel pressured to wear something that hurts you. If you decide to wear heels and they begin to hurt your feet, you can take them off and I’ll carry them for you.” 

Gold laughed again. “And what would I do then? Just walk around barefoot?” 

“You could borrow my shoes, if you wanted.” 

Gold laughed a lot louder this time, imagining herself wearing Silver’s shoes and Silver wearing whatever heels she picked out. “Everyone would be staring at us!” As she calmed herself down, a lint of her laughter poked through her next sentence. “But hey, you look better in heels than I do, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.” 

Silver sniffed in amusement. “You think so?” 

“I know so! I remembered when you rocked it at the Fairy Gala. The heels weren’t too big, but you pulled them off really well!” 

Silver chuckled again. “Thank you. I’ve worn larger heels a time or two before then. They were father’s…I guess you could say I was curious about how they felt.” 

“Well, consider me confident in your heel-ing abilities.” Gold raised her arms above her head in a stretch. “Now if I can just learn how to dance properly, we’ll be golden.” 

It was Silver’s turn to raise a brow in question. “You don’t know how to dance?” 

“No, I do - you’ve clearly seen me dance a good few times. It’s just certain ballroom ones I have trouble with. I learned the foxtrot when I was little, and have danced a dramatic version of the tango once, but other than that it’s like I’ve got two left feet.” Gold flexed her fingers as she dropped her arms back down to her sides. “I’m going to watch some videos online and try to learn from there. Maybe I’ll drag [Name] and Grim into being dance partners.” 

Silver seemed to contemplate something for a moment as he stared at Gold. A few seconds later, he voiced his thoughts. “Father taught me how to dance since I was a child. I believe I’m pretty good - would you like me to teach you?” 

Silver, ever the man of charity. And with no ulterior motive in sight; aside from Kalim and [Name], maybe Deuce, that was quite rare. “Really? You wouldn’t mind.” 

“No, I don’t mind.” That fair smile of his returned to grace the world with its presence. “I’d love to dance with you.” 

Yeesh, at this rate Silver might as well be dubbed “Most Likely to Be Prince Charming” in his yearbook photo. Gold made a note to put a word in with whoever was in charge of that later. For now, she let her heart flutter once again as Silver offered his hand to her. “Here?” she asked, glancing about the forest area where they currently stood. 

“If you like.” 

Yep, definitely plucked from the pages of a fairytale. “Alright.” Gold took his hand, feeling the leather that fit snug around his palm and fingers. “Waltz me silly, housewarden, sir.” 

The man laughed as he pulled her to him and rested his other hand on her waist. “Just Silver is fine, thank you.” His hands were strong, firm, yet as gentle and soft as their owner. Silver handled her carefully, protectively, as he guided her on how to step and where. When he stepped back, she stepped forward. When he stepped right, she stepped right. And so on and so on. Round and round and round until there was nothing else in the world but the two of them. 

Gold was so caught up in the dance, in Silver’s hold and gaze, she didn’t notice he was humming until minutes later. She listened closely to the tune, smooth and soft, almost like a lullaby. Gold had never heard Silver sing before, let alone hum. It was…soothing. “What is that?” 

“What is what?” Silver asked, seemingly knocked from his own thoughts as he abruptly stopped. His movements stalled, too, and Gold immediately missed it. 

“That song, the one you were humming. I’ve never heard it before.” 

“Oh.” Silver looked flustered. Did he even know he’d been humming? “It’s a song Father taught me when I was young. Malleus knows it, too, as does Sebek. It’s a lullaby from Briar Valley - I believe Queen Malenore was its creator.” 

“It sounds really nice.” 

Silver made a small noise of amusement. “I’m not as good as father; sometimes I even find myself making up my own words.” 

“Keep going,” Gold urged. “I like it.” 

Silver’s expression softened to something like endearment. “You’re sure?” 

“Mhm.” Gold squeezed his hand, hers still safely held in his gloved one. “You sound nice.” 

There he goes, making her feel like she’s going to collapse under that smile. Somehow Gold kept her legs steady as Silver guided her back into the waltz, fluid and slow. The calm breeze, the occasional chirp of birds and rustle of trees and bushes, the sound of their feet stepping along the fresh green grass, were Silver’s orchestra. His humming slowly morphed into hushed lyrics, scarcely audible to Gold’s listening ears. It was beautiful - he was beautiful. She wondered if he knew. 

I know you

I walked with you once upon a dream

I know you

The look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam

And I know it’s true, that visions seldom are all they seem

But if I know you

I know what you’ll do

You’ll love me at once 

The way you did once upon a dream

The third time Silver repeated the last lyric, Gold nearly stripped over her own feet as she missed a step. She gasped out as she stumbled. Silver caught her before she could fall, wrapping his arm tight around her waist to steady her. The movement brought Gold against his chest. His hold and build was strong, as she knew it was, but…again, there was a difference to it than it would be with Jack or Sebek. Silver was so close now, the tips of their noses inches from touching. His warm breath cascaded over her lips, as hers did his. Likely in her scramble to find something to break her fall, Gold’s fingers were now laced with Silver’s in the hand she still held. 

For a moment Gold beheld the whole of Silver’s perfect features, handsome and beautiful. Then, at some point, her gaze solely focused on his aurora colored irises. They were like a brilliant sunset, just as the night was beginning to glimpse the sky. In seconds those eyes went from wide to hooded as Silver stared back at her, just as entranced by her pretty hazel pools. They reminded him of woods in the light of sunrise, browns and greens basked in a golden light. The beginnings of words danced across his lips, mumbled nonsense, until he finally found what he wanted to ask. 

“...Are you alright?”

It took a good minute for Gold to process what he’d said. “Y…Yes.” 

“Good…” For a few more seconds, they remained unmoving, locked in their embrace. Then, slowly, Silver relaxed his hold on her waist. He blinked a couple times to regain his barrings on the world. “Can you stand?” 

Gold nodded her head as she moved away from Silver’s warm chest. She shifted her feet once, twice, before releasing her hand from his bicep, which she’d apparently been holding. It didn’t feel too bulky under her fingers, but not too lean either - just right. She adjusted her school uniform as Silver straightened his dorm uniform. There was palpable silence between them once more, but not like others they had before. This one held an unspoken, unknown tension neither could place. 

Gold was the one to finally break it. “Sorry for using you as a break for the fall,” she said, tittering awkwardly. 

Silver shook his head. “No no, it’s alright. I wouldn’t have wanted you to injure yourself.” 

“Like I told you,” Gold quipped, “two left feet.” 

“You did well,” Silver assured, yet there was a muse to his tone. “With enough practice, you’ll be able to handle yourself just fine.” 

“I’m so happy I have a good teacher.” 

“And I’m happy to help.” 

Another pause in conversation. One simply gazed at the other, not a thought conjured. They only beheld the other and basked in the feeling of happiness that overtook them at the sight. Then Silver glanced up at the sky and said, “We should get going. From the sun’s position, it will be dinner time soon.” 

“Good, cause I’m starving!” Gold announced, trying her best not to feel awkward anymore. She peeked in the pocket of her jacket to make sure the flora sample she’d taken earlier hadn’t fallen out. Nope, still there! Thank goodness. She patted it as she added, “And I’ve gotta get this to the fridge as soon as possible. Crewel said it could spoil if it was out in the heat too long after being plucked.” 

“To Ramshackle, then?” Silver asked, though already knew the answer. 

“To Ramshackle,” Gold repeated. “And then to the cafeteria.” She paused, then looked up at Silver as he came to stand beside her again. “Do you…want to walk there with me? To the cafeteria, I mean.” 

His grin was radiant. “I’d be happy to.” 

Idle conversation filled their little bubble as they began to walk, all about nothing in particular. Though try as they might, neither could totally keep their thoughts from straying. For Silver, it was to how soft Gold felt in his arms; how she looked even prettier up close, and how nice she smelled. He thought about how wonderful it felt to have her compliment his singing. For Gold, her mind went back to remembering how strong his hold was; how handsome he was; how he found her pretty and cute and was willing to do so much for her for nothing in return. It felt so weird, yet so lovely how he made her heart soar whenever he was around. Each was so, so very happy to have the other in their life. 

Was it really just friendship? It was, of course it was, but…there was a certain sweetness that strayed from the norm. Who would make a move on the other to explore it? 

Silver. 

“Is there someone you’ve asked to the dance?” Silver asked, casually. 

“Nope,” Gold responded. “I just planned to hang out with our usual group. You?” 

“No.” 

“Well, I’d take the leap if I were you. There’s no telling how many would love to have you as their date!” 

“Yes…”

Gold stared ahead as she walked on, scanning the area for any possible obstacles she’d have to avoid tripping over or knocking into. When she turned her head to look back up at Silver, he was gone. Her brows furrowed as she turned around to search for him. There he was, a small several steps behind, crouched down in front of a small outcrop of pretty flowers. Silver looked over each carefully before picking one: a purple lilac. He stood swiftly as he examined the bloom in his hand. 

“That’s pretty,” Gold commented as she took a few steps towards him, expression relaxed, yet curious. “What’s it for?” 

Silver didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to face forward and walked up to Gold. His gaze was centered on her as he stretched out of hand, lilac gently clutched in his fingers. It was an offering - a silent question. Gold eyed the flower, confusion clear on her face as she glanced back up at Silver. The man felt his stomach tie itself in knots, his heart pumping in his chest, his nerves begin to buzz. Nervous, yet determined and sure of what he wanted. 

“Gold…Callidora.” The sound of her real name caught the woman off guard. She now certainly had his full attention. Silver lowered himself onto one knee, just like what he’d seen many a prince and knight do in many a storybook from his childhood. He kept direct eye contact with his friend…the one who held this intimate affection he’d been oblivious to for a long time. This is what he had to do. This was the first step to something new - he only hoped she returned the feeling. 

“Will you go to the dance with me?”

For a moment, Gold said nothing, body and mind held in stunned silence. Silver’s expression was sincere, serious about the entire matter. This was no joke, not something he was doing on a silly whim or flight of fancy. All possibilities of what this could mean flew about in the young lady’s mind. First a thought of a favor, then one of simple friendship, and then…once more, there was only him and her in the entire world. Callidora didn’t have to think to put a grin on her face. She slowly reached out and took the flower from her friend - her man of interest. 

“I hope you’re ready to wear heels,” she said between the beginnings of giddiness. 

[mrs-lockley]

wip wednesday - sabrina au

author's note: to motivate myself and keep myself accountable, i'll be participating in wip wednesday! here's a snippet of my current wip. the au is based on the 1954 movie sabrina, starring audrey hepburn and humphrey bogart. there is no moon knight in this au. the reader is best friends with steven and has an unrequited crush on marc. the fic will progress into a jake-centered pairing. pairing: platonic!steven grant x southeast asian fem!reader, marc spector x southeast asian fem!reader tagging: @soft-girl-musings @musing-magpie @writefightandflightclub @venting402, thank you so much for your supporting me along this journey!

“That’s amazing!” You told him. The two of you were cross-legged on the floor as you poured him another cup of tea. “I just know the kids are going to love having you as a tour guide in the King Tut exhibit at the Smithsonian.”

Your best friend beamed, a soft red dusting his smiling cheeks. “You think so? I start on Monday. I’m so nervous! I don’t want to mess it up or bore them with all the details, but you know how much I love Ancient Egypt.”

“You’re going to do great. You make history sound so fascinating and entertaining.” You smiled reassuringly at him. “I missed hearing all your schpeals while I was in Singapore.”

“Well, that just means I have to do some more research for you to get you up to speed,” Steven countered, and the two of you laughed. “I’m so happy that you’re back and that I get to meet with you again. We missed you so much.”

Once again, your heart skipped a beat at the thought of Marc missing you. But you quickly dismissed the thought as soon as it came— you and Marc were friends beforehand, after all. You already spent two years away from him, surely you should have gotten a grip over your unrequited crush on a man who had no romantic feelings for you whatsoever. 

Your face must have fallen. Before you caught yourself, you found Steven’s brown eyes washing over you with concern. “You know, love, Marc told me he missed you too. I know you didn’t keep in touch with him frequently like you did with me. Are you doing okay?”

You swallowed hard as the other shoe dropped. As much as you hated to admit, it was true. Compared to the handwritten letters and postcards you sent Steven, your communication with Marc paled in comparison. You reasoned with yourself that the distance would do you good, and the only times you shared any correspondence with him were through some texts and pictures you sent via email. Like Marc, you did not have much social media, and you preferred to keep your private life private. But in the texts you both shared, they were straight-forward. You knew Marc was not fond of communicating through texts, and it was difficult to keep track of when he fronted with the time differences between New York and Singapore. So naturally, he fell through the cracks. 

It’s been a few weeks since you saw Marc, and the last time you spoke with him was when he took you home after picking you up at the airport. You weren’t avoiding him per se, but you also did not trust yourself around him. One look at him, and all the feelings you tried to repress would suddenly rush to the surface. 

“Does he know?” You asked, your voice quiet and hesitant. “About my feelings for him?”

You watched as Steven’s eyes softened. Whether your best friend was telling the truth, or telling you what you needed to hear to avoid hurting you, you weren’t sure. 

“No, he doesn’t.”

[vaile-elenya]

hey friend! this is for the ask game:

🦋 Describe yourself in three words.

💎 What’s your most prized possession? 🌴 Desert island item?

Hi Angel! 🫶🏻 Thank you so much for the questions! 🖤

🦋 Describe yourself in three words.

I always struggle with these 😭 I'm going to share three words that I love for one reason or another instead (I keep a list in my notes app 😆): sacrilegious, to singe, and forlorn. I hope you don't mind! Feel free to come up with a theory why these words exactly 🤣

💎 What's your most prized possession?

Most prized as in expensive: my green velvet couch. I've always wanted a green velvet couch and I just needed to have it.

Most prized as in most important: I've got this box full of various keepsakes, like photos, jewelry, interesting rocks, and similar items that I've collected or been given. I keep all my letters and postcards there (I love postcards!!!), and I'd be devastated if I lost that box 🥲

🌴 Desert island item?

Can I say a notebook and a pen? I'd be spending all my time writing, I think!

(list of questions is here if anyone wants to ask me anything!)

[thezombieprostitute]

Pen Pals

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty​ this is my second entry for the Bingo card combining “penpals” and “bounty hunter AU”. Reader is implied to be female (”spinster”) but no other descriptors. Possible Triggers/Warnings: mentions of stalking? Please let me know if I missed any.

Hello Hunter,

Hope you’re doing well and that your job isn’t running you ragged. How is that push for higher quality office coffee going? The library has been talking about joining up with a local coffee shop but, in looking over the paperwork, I really think it’s a no-go. Maybe we can do smaller events for the Summer Reading programs or something for the college kids that come home during Summer/Winter breaks. 

Thank you,

Y/N

Hello Y/N,

Once again I’m afraid I’ll have to switch up to sending you postcards. My work is having me do a lot of travel so I will be unable to receive your letters from the PO Box. But I do appreciate having someone to share my adventures with. The postcards are likely to be infrequent but I will write you a full letter when I’m back home and am able to receive your letters again.

Best,

Hunter

True to their word, Hunter sent you postcards and other notes from around the globe. You weren’t sure what he did for work, just that they told you “it’s a lot of waiting for something, then running around like mad when it happens.” Part of you enjoyed the postcard breaks, it gave you time to build up more stories to put into your letters. Goodness knows you don’t have a very interesting life. Just a boring spinster librarian at a small town library.

Pretty much the most exciting thing you’ve ever done was join up with the pen pal program, just looking for something to look forward to. Many other pen pals had come and gone, losing interest in the program entirely, but Hunter kept at it with you. For five years now, you’d been sharing stories, complaints, hopes and tastes. You appreciated the distance, it helped you feel safer to share a lot of these things. And the postcards made you feel a bit of a thrill, you knew someone who had gone to all of these places that you knew you’d never be able to visit. 

Seemingly too soon you received a letter from Hunter indicating he was home and looking forward to reading your letters again. You fretted for days because there was simply nothing to write about. Nothing interesting, no new people, no new programs. It was same-old-same-old. You got so caught up in having nothing to write about that it was almost a month before you finally thought about sending something. 

Hello Hunter,

I’m so sorry for the delay in getting back to you. I wish I could say it’s because I was caught up in work or something but the fact is, there’s simply nothing to write about. I’m so sorry but, I fear I’m simply getting to that part of life where nothing interesting ever happens. I may need to space out my letters more, possibly even stop writing at all for a while. There’s just nothing worth writing about going on here. 

Apologies,

Y/N

It’s been almost three weeks since you wrote to Hunter. You feared that you’d never hear from them again and were starting to mourn the loss of the one exciting thing in your life. You missed the postcards, the letters, the hints at a world outside of your small town. It’s not that you don’t like your life. It’s quiet, yes, but you live with dignity and kindness and that’s what matters. In another world you’d very much be a Hobbit, but with books instead of food; helping educate others, instead of cooking for them or making them tea. It’s not a bad life. 

So you allow yourself to mourn by treating yourself to some breakfast at the diner. It’s nice to have someone else make the food and coffee as you allow yourself to feel sad. 

As you sit in the booth, lost in thoughts, you hear someone cough. You look to the source of the noise and see a tall stranger with short, dark hair, a stubble covered chin and dark blue eyes that seem to carry a permanent sadness to them. 

“Can I help you,” you ask. You just can’t help it, it’s almost a reflex to ask whenever someone looks at you.

“You do help me, Y/N. You help me a lot more than you know.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I’m Hunter. May I sit with you?”

Your jaw drops and you try to say something, anything, but all you can think to do is gesture to the seat across from you. 

As he sits, he tells you, “I know you can’t verify it’s me just from me being a stranger who knows your name. So let me show you.” He pulls a binder out of his bag and opens it to you. It’s full of all of the letters you ever wrote to him. 

“I…I don’t…what’s going on,” you stammer.

“You said you were thinking of not writing again because you felt there was nothing to write about. I can’t have that,” he replied. His sad eyes growing more intense as he spoke. “I need this, need your letters, need your contact. My work is dangerous. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. Writing to you calms me down, reading your letters helps me catch my breath. Please, don’t stop writing to me, Y/N.”

As you stared into his eyes you saw them brimming with sincerity. He was speaking to you in earnest and, while his intensity was almost overwhelming, you found yourself appreciating it. Trusting him. 

“You couldn’t have just written this,” you asked with a chuckle. 

“No,” he asserted. “I need you to know how important this is to me. I’m a bounty hunter who often sees the worst the world has to offer. I’m constantly on edge with no end in sight. You are the calm, quiet corner of my world that provides the only sort of stability I have.”

“Two things,” you quip. “One, you do realize how…scary this all sounds? Like a stalker/yandere kind of thing? And two, your name is Hunter and you’re a bounty hunter? This just adds to the potential scariness of the first thing, like you’ve been using a fake name with me or something.”

He blinks a few times. Clearly he wasn’t expecting this kind of response. He looks away for a bit and quietly says, “huh. I guess I didn’t think this through.”

The waitress brings out your breakfast at this point, looks at Hunter and asks, “Ooo! Y/N! Who’s your friend here?” You bite back a “not now” response, knowing that no matter what you say it’ll be all the gossip in town for the next month at least. So you reply with a simple truth, “he’s a friend of mine from out of town who’s just passing through.” You turn to Hunter and say, “order whatever you want for breakfast, I’ll cover it.”

“No, thank you,” he shakes his head. “I don’t eat before 8 AM.” The waitress looks a bit confused, but is clearly happy to have the start of some gossip for her later customers. She nods and walks away with a quiet, “enjoy your meal, Y/N.”

You nibble at your food as you each contemplate what to say next. 

“Let me start again,” he said slowly, not looking directly at you. “I think I panicked because I don’t want to lose this connection, this life line.” You nod in understanding as you take another bite. “You are right, that my name isn’t Hunter. It’s actually a name I chose based on my moniker because my real name is kept secret for good reason. I joined up with the pen pal program to get some information on one of my targets and that’s how you and I started writing. You weren’t the target,” he assured when he saw the surprise on your face. “Nor was it anyone you knew. It was completely by accident. But, I found myself really enjoying the peacefulness of your letters. The simple joys of trying a new recipe, or a new kid joining the story group, and just…It helped me slow down when all I knew was how to rush.”

“I was scared to write,” you confessed. “I know my life isn’t boring to so many people. I like it, but I know it’s not for everyone. So I just…I think I just stopped thinking of things to write because I got the feeling I was repeating myself and you’d get tired of hearing from me.” He turns sharply to look at you and you continue, “you wouldn’t be the first.”

“Give me their names and I’ll hunt them down for you.” You chuckle at that, getting the sense that he’s being completely serious.

“There’s no need for that,” you promise. “I’ve just never had a friendship last so long and I think it scared me. I’m sorry you had to feel the brunt of that, I honestly didn’t think you’d care. But now I know better.” You reach out a hand towards his, “is it okay if I hold your hand?” He nods and you gently clasp his hand and smile. “I promise, I will continue to write. I’m genuinely sorry that I scared you.”

Hunter nods and packs up the binder of letters. He moves to leave but you stop him, “I have to know either your name or your moniker that created the name that I know.” He froze for a second before looking you in the eyes and telling you, “God the Bounty Hunter.” You raise an eyebrow and he continues, “it’s because every time I showed up the target would say something along the lines of, ‘oh god it’s the bounty hunter’. Eventually it just got shortened and caught on.”

“Well,” you smiled, “that’s certainly not what I expected. But, I promise not to make fun of you for it.” He smiled at that and headed out.

Hi Hunter,

So I’ve been trying my hand at growing plants again, I’ll make sure to keep you updated on that but please don’t hold your breath. I’m horrible at growing plants, even with all the resources the library has to offer! Though it might be fun to create a seed library. I’ll have to look into that.

I want to thank you, again, for your visit. I’ve actually found it much easier to try some new things. New recipes, new shows, new teas. Nothing big, of course, I don’t need much. I think it’s because I have someone who’s excited to hear about these things. Doing things for me is nice, but it’s so much more when you have someone who wants to hear about them as well. Thank you for being such a good friend.

Thank you,

Y/N

[vanyafresita]

MUTUALS HEY pspsps mutuals pspspspspsss

it's been a while since i've sent any physical letters to anyone and i kinda miss it... SO, if we're mutuals and don't mind giving me your address, i'd love to send you a physical letter <3

you don't have to send anything back btw ! this is simply something i enjoy doing ^^

[more details under read more]

on the written letter i'll send, i'll talk about a random number of things and maybe gush about the media im most interested at the moment (tho if you know we share a fandom (no matter how old or dead it is, even if im not actively going crazy about it rn) and u wanna hear my thoughts on that specifically, please let me know !!)

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along with the letter, i'll send too:

a surprise recipe of something sweet or salty that i like (i'll modify the recipe if necessary in case of allergies, diets or ingredients dislikes)

a tea bag (i have quite a bunch of tea flavours, so you can pick one or i'll send a random one !)

a traditional drawing of anything you want ! (yes, anything !)

2 postcards + a few stickers and stamps

a friendship bracelet (lmk 3 colours you like !)

optional: if you want to send a letter back, but you're unsure what to write about in your letter, you can request me a list of questions so you can reply them and go off about anything else ^_^

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extra notes:

i'm currently living in europe, but i'll send stuff worldwide, wherever you are !!

this is completely free ! unless your country has some weird ass laws that make you pay for receiving packets (????), this should cost you nothing at all (if u're forced to pay to get the packet, i'll send u the money !)

along with your address, i'd advise giving me a phone number too (some countries require me to give a phone number, sorry u_u)

you do NOT have to send me anything back !! and if you decide to do it, it does not mean you have to send anything else apart from a letter !

even if we have never talked/interacted directly at all, you're very much welcome to ask for this !!!

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if you're interested, dm me ! we can sort out the details and i'll start right away ! :]

this will be valid until march 31st ! EDIT: closed ! i got more requests for this than expected and i can't really get to more people, so im ending this after one day !! lol i'll try to do this again by the end of the year in case someone missed it !! <3 thanks to those who reached out !

[blueguitar]

“FAME”

or DAVID BOWIE GETS A HEADACHE

          He's in the penthouse suite of a fine Manhattan hotel. Is 1990 palpably different from 1989?  Not at 3 AM, it isn't.  David Bowie wears a deep blue paisley sari, lounges on an enormous bed canopied like a tent in the desert.  He plays atonal minor key riffs on his saxophone while the film, “My Life As A Dog” plays soundlessly on the television. He has an excruciating headache.

     Headaches, these days, are an unusual occurrence for David Bowie.  He has long since kicked his cocaine habit and now only rarely drinks – an occasional well-chilled Stolichnaya.  The last time he smoked a joint, even, was two years ago with the jazz musician, Wayne Shorter, backstage at the Blue Note.  David's new regimen is Tai Chi, meditation, and a near-scrupulous vegetarian diet. (Though he finds it hard to say no to wild Alaskan salmon... )

     He gets up from the bed and walks into a frankly shockingly HUGE bathroom - all mirrors and black marble.  He opens the medicine cabinet and pokes around.  His favorite herbal remedy – some concoction of valerian root and kava-kava is not there to be found. He returns to the bedroom and digs through a leather satchel he always keeps near-by.  Inside, there are undershirts, briefs, some postcards from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, his notebook, an airplane bottle of Stoli, a copy of the I Ching and a slim volume of poems by Emily Dickinson, a broken Movado watch, CD's by Mingus and Coltrane, Lou Reed's latest (“Ehh.”), letters from Iman. And at the bottom of all this, he finds it.  A small blue bottle.  He opens it and shakes the bottle over his open palm, leaving nothing but a fine white dust that reminds him of years ago.  He licks his palm and mutters, “Damn.”

     His head is pounding, pounding, though and prompts a peculiar idea – an aspirin!  Why not?  It's not like he'd make a habit of it. Aspirin. It's for headaches, right?  He goes to the phone and presses “1” for the concierge's desk.  It's answered in two rings and David Bowie asks the concierge if there might be a bottle of aspirin that could be sent to his suite?  And the concierge answers, “I'm sure of it, sir.  Right away!”

     David flops back onto the bed and waits. Less than a minute passes and the phone rings back.  He answers and the concierge is telling him that he is very sorry, but that the hotel appears to be out of aspirin and that usually, he would run to the store just halfway down the block, but at this hour, he's the only man on shift and he can't leave his desk...

     David asks cautiously, “There's a chemist on this block?”

     And the concierge says, “Yes, sir! There's an all-night drugstore only two doors down from the hotel.”

     “Well, thank you, anyway,” Bowie replies and hangs up the phone.

     Well, that's it, then. I'll just go down to the store and buy a bottle of aspirin.  People do that sort of thing all the time, don't they? he muses.  He takes off his sari and puts on a pair of blue jeans and an undershirt.  He thinks of his leather jacket in the walk-in closet, but thinks it's a tad conspicuous. Besides, it's unusually warm in the city tonight.  He grabs this non-descript windbreaker he reserves for these occasions.  Heading for the door, he almost forgets his sunglasses, but he goes back for them.

     In the elevator, he presses “L” and then, his slender fingers to his temples and then, leans back closing his eyes.

     The walk to the store is uneventful.  Even in New York City, there are times when no one else is around.  As he walks into the drug store, he hears, surprisingly, his own song, “Fame” being mutilated by some orchestra on the Muzak.  He chuckles at that.

     He never fails to be amazed by American convenience – so completely unlike his native England.  Even in London, one would be hard-pressed to find an open chemist at 3 in the morning.  And here? They have everything! Food. Envelopes. Magazines. Umbrellas. Teddy bears. David wonders who might buy a Teddy bear at 3 in the morning?  Or a hammer and nails?  Then he wonders, where do you suppose the keep the aspirin...

     He wanders up one aisle, down the next.  In the magazine aisle, again, he has a close call.  A young man catches his eye and looks at him long and hard, the look says “Where do I know you from?” But then he picks up a copy of “Vibe” and heads for the register, without a word.

     There are a second row of aisles in the back he just now notices... and soon,he finds what he wants.  Row upon row upon row of it!  Bowie marvels at the choice! Tylenol, Alleve, Motrin, Nuprin, Orudis. Do they even still make aspirin? But, it's there! Slightly dusty boxes of bottles of Bayer Aspirin. He takes one and heads to the front of the store.

     And on the way there?  He grabs a couple bottles of cranberry juice, a copy of “Vanity Fair”, and a Teddy bear!  He's somewhat startled at first when he pulls it off the shelf, and it begins singing the first few lines of “Are You Lonesome, Tonight?” in a tinny, digital piping.

     He puts his purchases on the counter and says, “I'd like to buy these things.”

     And the girl behind the register, turns to him and says, “Wow! What an amazing accent!  Are you Australian?”

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Secret Springs postcard delivery!

Did you know Secret Springs has private yurts? Set way back from the crowds, it's the perfect place for isolated relaxation. Who takes you to the yurt and what adventures do you have?

Hello, fellow Secret Springs vacationer! I hope you're having the best time on your trip! Thanks so much for sending this my way!

So I actually won my trip to Secret Springs through a promotional giveaway on Instagram way back before the resort opened - which was wild, because I typically don't win things like that. Anywho, it was almost a full year ago when I found out I won an all expenses paid trip for two, and I decided to bring my sister with me because its been a while since we went on a trip together. We were both really stoked about it, especially when we found out we'd be there for Secret Springs' first annual Food & Drink Festival, and that we were going to get private personal tastings from some of the participating local vendors. Everything sounded amazing, but the one we were both looking forward to the most was a local winery called Green Wing Vineyards - run by a guy named Nico Calderon.

But then life happened - as it tends to - and my sister found out she was having a kid. So the trip was still on, but I was flying solo for the food & wine tasting portion. While I went and did that, she took a nap. (But she made me promise to describe everything to her in great detail using many adjectives when I got back to the room.)

So I went down to the lobby to find out where I was supposed to go for these private tastings, and the concierge directed me to go out onto a plank walkway that led to a few yurts that were completely set back from the pool and beachfront area. Typically they were available to rent for the day, but they were currently being used for the festival vendors. I got to try this amazing ceviche from a local seafood place, some fresh honey the and pressed olive oil from a specialty shop in town, and some basil and lemon sugar cookies from a baker who very heavily implied that he also baked with other types of herbs but that he wasn't allowed to give those out as samples. (I made a mental note to pop into his bakery on the day that we were planning to stroll around town.)

But my favorite by far ended up being the one that I was the most excited about from the start - Green Wing Vineyards. While the other yurts were set up with tables and chairs for the food tastings, this one was left more relaxed with pillows and cushions for seating. The wines that I got to sample were amazing (three whites and a chilled red - all perfect for the summer heat) the label was beautiful (gold lettering and a watercolor image of a macaw) but the owner? Nico? Getting to meet and talk to him was the true treat. Instead of standing back and conducting a formal tasting, he joined me on the cushions and even poured himself a glass to sip along with me, since I was his last private tasting of the day. He was charismatic and charming and dreamy in a way that I thought only fictional characters could be, and it was clear by listening to him talk that he was passionate about his vineyards and about winemaking, and that he truly loved getting to share that passion with others. I ended up staying there double the length of a regular tasting, and Nico ended up asking me to come see his vineyard in person - and I absolutely accepted that offer.

To see what happened at the vineyard, stay tuned for See, Stay & Do week in Secret Springs!! ;)

[harrisonstories]

Footage of George Harrison signing various things for the George Harrison Fan Club, run by Pat Kinzer, at his door in Kinfauns, Esher. The footage was shot by Kinzer's friend, Pat Simmons. (4 Aug. 1969)

From MeetTheBeatlesForReal: A Trip to England in 1969

Harrison Herald September 1969 By Pat Kinzer

[...] Here is the exert from my diary about the day we went to George’s: Monday August 4, 1969

Got up about 9:00 and ate breakfast. Mrs. Damon (the lady we were staying with in Surrey) took us to Kingston so Pat could rent another movie camera. From Kingston we took a bus to Esher, bought postcards and flowers and then went straight to George’s house. Since Pat and I had been there last year, we found it without any trouble whatsoever. When we got there, Terry Doran was out washing George’s Mercedes in the garage and politely tried to pretend we weren’t really there. Went to the door and Lynn rang the bell. Margaret (the housekeeper) answered. I asked her if George was in and she said he was but he was busy getting ready to go to work. I told her I’d sent him a registered letter and that I was his fan club president from the States so she said to wait a minute. She came back and said he’d see us for a few minutes and asked us to wait. A couple minutes later, George came out.

I introduced Pat and Lynn to him (I had forgotten to introduce anybody last year). He was wearing fared blue jeans, a sort of blue pinstriped shirt, a black jacket and black shoes. His eyes are just as piercing as they ever were! I asked him if he’d gotten my letter and he said he thought he did. We knew he was in a rush to get to work, so I started to give him all the gifts and letters from various people. I was about to hand him a note (without any envelope) from Pegi and he asked me if I had to give him small bits of paper because they get lost too easily. So I merely explained that Pegi wanted to write a book about him and Pattie, just as people, and she just wanted to have his permission first. He said she couldn’t write a book about him because she didn’t know that much about him. He said he couldn’t even write a book about himself let alone someone else trying to do it.

He took the gifts in the house. Lynn handed him the flowers we got, and he took them and asked her if they were for Hare Krishna. Then I said we saw them recording the Hare Krishna song the other day and he said they were just listening to the playback. He then commented that we were having good weather for our trip this year. I said that anything was better than last year’s cold wave. He then asked how we got the money to come to England every year. I said we saved all winter! All during this time we were taking pictures. I asked him if he’d mind signing a few things and he said he didn’t. I gave him a birthday card for club members that I had half-designed, and asked him to write the message on it, which he did. Pat gave him some postcards of Esher to sign and he took one look at them and said, "Esher???" and cracked up. He signed some pictures and scraps of paper for me and five Beatles Monthlies for Lynn. Pat took some movies of him which I’m dying to see. I only took about 5 pictures of him, but Lynn took 19 which is great since she’s our club photographer! George was really rushed for time (he was eating breakfast when we got there). We only stayed for about 15 minutes. When we took the last pictures of him, he said, "Now don’t come back next year and get me to sign the ones you just took!" We thanked him for his time, said our goodbyes, gathered up our junk and left. We walked up Claremont Drive taking our good old time and taking pictures. We were almost at the end of the road when Terry and George drove up the road real fast (rushing as usual) to the studio. We ate lunch in the Wimpy Bar and then went shopping before going back to Thames Ditton.

[frogwithhatto]

Froggo!! Can you post some domestic Vessel headcannons? Like what he would be like if you two were living together or something like that 🥺 (or just whatever you feel like!!)

Domestic Vessel

Pairing: Vesselxgn!reader

Summary: What it would be like to live with Vessel. It’s just a bunch of fluffy headcanons tbh.

Tw: none ?

Notes: This was literally written yesterday night and I only proofread it once bc I got so excited so I hope there aren’t any mistakes! Thank you for the request anon I loved the idea!!

- He’s not that good at cooking but he will try to make fancier stuff for you every now and then. He definitely taught himself how to make your favourite and your comfort food. Most of the time you two would cook together probably listening to some music while doing so. Get ready for silly dances and hopping around the kitchen with him but also if there’s a romantic song playing he would definitely slow dance with you.

- We know Vessel is a little science nerd so get ready to watch documentaries with him for hours! He definitely loves the serious super interesting ones but oh boy he’s a sucker for the trashy alien and/or gold digger ones. You know those really bad ones that never get to the point? Because those can get hard to watch you two would play Uno while watching!

- I also feel like he loves reading so get ready for sitting next to each other on your couch/bed your legs crossed over his lap sharing a blanket while either both of you read or he reads and you play nintendo (or whatever you like)

- If you’re not that big of a reader (or if you’re tired) he would definitely read his book to you. Like imagine you having your head in his lap as he makes funny voices for the different characters? He would be so cute!

- You’re the first to hear new lyrics and song ideas! „babe? Quick tell me if this slaps.“ (proceeds to play the most random thing you’ve ever heard but it does in fact go hard) He would also play guitar/piano for you if you asked him to. He definitely has recorded you a cover of your favourite song or even written you a song for a special occasion before

- He’s bath guy because I said so. He will bathe at least once a week if not more and he will ask you to join him not in a sexual way but more in a „let me wash your hair for you“ kinda way. If he has a bad day you would draw him a bath making sure to use his favourite bath salt and pick one of your oversized hoodies out for him to wear after it.

- Vessel is a big my clothes are yours and your clothes are mine guy. Will steal your hoodies, shirts and even jewellery.

- On the other hand if you had a bad day get ready for some cuddles and a comfort movie/show of your choice. (If you want to be alone he’s also very understanding but he will check on you from time to time asking if you need anything.)

- Lazy Sundays with Vessel would include sleeping in and after waking up you would start off the day by cuddling for as long as you wanted to. At some point you two would get up to make breakfast together and after it you either go straight to bed again to catch up on a show you’re watching or you get ready to go out (if you’ve made plans to go somewhere)

- „You wanna go take a walk in the woods??“ „Vessel it’s 10 pm… it’s super dark, cold and isn’t it raining outside?“

- He will leave notes for you around the apartment if he knows you will be home before he is. A little „I love you“ with squiggly hearts around it sticking on the fridge or maybe a random dad joke with a doodle on your dresser to make you smile.

- He will definitely send you postcards when he’s touring! Sometimes letters as well he’s a hopeless romantic which include the most random stuff. „The logo on this tag reminded me of you.“ „I thought you would like this flower I picked and pressed for you.“ You definitely keep everything he sends you though. Sometimes the letters will also include Polaroids of him and the other Vessels! (Maybe even a picture II took of him when he was writing said letter)

[guardianofrivendell]

GOR Milestone Celebration!

Celebration time! 

So it seems that I have passed two major follower milestones that I didn’t celebrate at the time because I wasn’t in the right mindset. But now I am so let’s celebrate together, shall we? 

First of all, a big thank you to everyone who has clicked that follow button (not you, p@rn bots!) and tolerated me enough to stick around. I can’t thank you enough for your support, your comments, your reblogs and your likes. 

This celebration is open to all my followers and there’s no limit on the amount of asks. Just send in as many hearts as you like! It will be up until Tuesday Jan 24 11 pm CET.

💛 - Change POV - Let’s shake things up in my masterlist! Have you read one of my stories and always wanted to see the POV of another character? Now’s your chance! Send me the title of my fic, the scene you want me to rewrite and the character you want to hear from and I’ll write the scene from their POV. For example “Water - Bilbo”, then I will write that drabble from Bilbo’s POV instead of reader’s. (Note: with oneshots or multichapters you need to pick a specific scene, drabbles I can do the complete thing)

🧡 - GIF requests - Send me an orange heart and a gif (this only works when you’re off anon, sorry!) and I’ll write you a little drabble (max 300 words) about it. You can find several gif requests from previous sleepovers in my masterlist as an example

❤️ - Valentine Baby - Love letters! They’re back :) Send me a red heart and a character, and maybe I can persuade them to finally confess their love for you in a letter! Please request these off anon so I can send them to your ask box! 

💜 - Drabble requests - I’m opening up drabble requests because all my WIPS hate me and I can use a little change. Send me a prompt from one of these prompt lists, together with a character and I’ll see what I can do! 

Trauma

Hurt/comfort 

Random prompts

Characters I write for: basically everyone from TH/LOTR (except for Gollem, Azog, the Master etc you know the type), I do not write for the Silm and RoP 

💙 - Postcards - Send me a character and I’ll send you a postcard based on your first date! Add which universe you want it to be in, ME or modern AU!

🖤 - Wild Card - You read that right! A Wild Card! Were you waiting for one of the old hearts to come back this sleepover? Or were you hoping for something else? Send in a black heart and what you want me to do and who knows... it might be your lucky day! Just remember, no fic requests please, you have the yellow, orange or purple heart for that purpose. 

Everything will be posted in the next few weeks, but please keep in mind that I do have a fulltime job, a family and other obligations to fulfill! 

Permanent taglist to get the word out: 

@roosliefje​ @kata1803​ @entishramblings​ @artsywaterlily​ @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose​ @marvelschriss​ @kumqu4t​ @the-banannah​ @dark-angel-is-back​ @the-fandoms-georgie​ @lathalea​ @xxbyimm​ @katethewriter​ @aredhel-of-gondolin​ @elvish-sky​ @moony-artnstuff​ @kirenia15​ @vicmackeybullshxt​ @hey-its-nonny​ @beenovel​ @cassiabaggins​ @shethereadinghobbit​ @justfollowtheroad​ @laurfilijames​ @fizzyxcustard​ @brokennerdalert​ @linasofia​ @naimadrawsstuff​ @errruvande​ @amaryllis23​ @enchantzz​ @narniaandthenorth @sketch-and-write-lover​ @blairsanne​ @ruthoakenshield​ @midearthwritings​ @alone19-24 @medusas-hairband​ @ren-ni​ @kyramaximoff @megnotfound​ @middleearthpixie​ @aduialel​ @tree0frog​ @trappedinlimbo15​ @brethil13