#ANYWAY i had a blast doodling a space car....

[pikkissis]

Okay... bunch of lore dropping - fast forwards the tape until Io and Collin are married with a little family... thought about them having a "mom van" back on Giya Io named the "Mothership"!

cough not a dance gavin dance reference cough cough word just cant exist on its own no

God Bless!

ARGH Very happy to share their other kiddo, Orchid!! (and the secret third baby) Orchid's like... shy, intuitive...sensitive (complete opposite of his sister lol) and!!!! ALSO!!! MARSTHA!!! Io's very own spacepup buddy!

Dropping this in... I added this song to their playlist due to this one idea that... much to Collin's dismay (so don't tell him) Io and Little Peony sing song this song together during their little drives...

[violetwolfraven]

Willie Headcanons

So I actually came up with this like a month ago and forgot to post it. Anyway enjoy my headcanons about our favorite sk8er boi. Be ready for feels.

Tw: death, car accident mention, emotional manipulation.

...

In my mind, Willie had a good relationship with his parents. They were supportive and everything. They both loved Willie very much.

And Willie has youngest child energy so I’m saying he has a sister who’s 2 years older and a brother who’s 5 years older. Their names are Delilah and Austin.

AND ALL THREE OF THEM ARE ADRENALINE JUNKIES.

Seriously imagine the worst possible combination of head empty only skateboarding and you’ve got Willie, Delilah, and Austin.

Austin started skating when he was 7 and got Delilah hooked on it a year later.

Their parents kinda didn’t like the idea of it but those two had already started teaching Willie basic stuff by the time he was 3.

But... the other two had other interests. Delilah was into art (painting) and Austin played piano (like, really well).

For Willie, skateboarding was his thing. And it always was.

He had fun with it when his big brother would put his hands on his and teach him to play a bit, or his sister would give him some paint and a spare canvas and they’d doodle together, but it wasn’t like skating.

As far as I’ve seen (which admittedly isn’t that far) it’s widely accepted that Willie has ADHD so I’m leaning into that here.

And Willie inherited his brain from his dad, who had a bad experience with meds and so wouldn’t let any of his kids go through it.

So Willie grew up unmedicated but probably better off for the time period. His dad taught him coping mechanisms. Him and Austin. Delilah didn’t inherit it but she was taught to empathize with her brothers and recognize when they needed her help with something.

She’s a badass who can and does beat up anybody who’s mean to her brothers for missing social cues.

But anyway while Austin had piano (and skating as a side thing) Willie got even more hooked on skateboarding than either of his siblings because his brain latched onto it from a young age and couldn’t let go.

We all have our outlets. The chaos in our brains has to go somewhere. For Willie it goes into skating.

When he’s young he and his siblings will skateboard to school and then after school they’ll skate all around Hollywood for hours.

They do their homework in random McDonalds and Denny’s and tbh become local cryptid customers. Like they’re just these 3 super friendly skater siblings who tip really well and visit every fast food place within a 20 mile radius of their house with varying frequency.

They also find e v e r y skatepark, empty pool, and vacant lot in that 20 mile radius that they can possibly find.

Their parents have to bail them out of jail for trespassing and the occasional vandalism every so often.

Sometimes one of them has stuff to do and it’s just two of them out skating but if two of them are busy the other one never goes out alone cause it’s dangerous. We’ll get back to that later.

So anyway when they’re 17, 14, and 12, Delilah comes out as a lesbian.

And the family is supportive of course because they’re a good family.

But her coming out gets Willie thinking. About how some of his friends have crushes on girls but he just... doesn’t see the appeal.

Like he has a couple friends who are girls and they’re great and he likes hanging out with them at recess but he doesn’t get the hype. They’re just more friends. So he doesn’t really see what his big sister is so interested in either.

In my mind Willie actually is from around the same time as the boys (dying in like 1999) so one day while nobody else in their house is home he and Delilah are watching Star Wars: Return of the Jedi and Willie’s again wondering why people think Leia is so hot cause she’s cool and all but Luke is right there and he looks really good and—

Willie: I think I might be gay.

Delilah: Yeah I know.

They talk about it and Willie does decide to tell the rest of the family but he’s a bit wary about anyone else because he saw how some of Delilah’s friends turned on her after she came out. He doesn’t want that to happen to him.

He does end up telling a few of his friends but he doesn’t quite not care what people think of him the way his big sister does.

Austin is the only straight one and he’s like. So awkward about it but in a sweet way.

Austin: So, Britney Spears is hot, right?

Delilah: Stop.

And

Austin: So I saw you hanging around Chris the other day are you two..?

Willie: ...no...???

Austin: Cool, yeah I didn’t think so. Just had to make sure. Not that I’m doubting your ability to get boys but I’d have to shovel talk him if you were.

Willie: If I ever do get a boyfriend, please don’t.

He tries. He’s a himbo if that wasn’t clear. Where did you think Willie learned it?

So anyway fast forward a couple years and they’re 22, 19, and 17. Austin and Delilah are both in college and Willie’s the last one left at home and things between their parents start getting... tense.

Like they don’t fight exactly but they’ve fallen out of love and things are awkward.

Even Austin and Delilah can tell and they’re only home on breaks and some weekends but for Willie it’s right there and he’s watching it happen. He has no option but to see.

They used to have a rule that they don’t go skating alone because it’s dangerous but Willie just can’t make himself stay home so he goes out skateboarding.

At first it’s never too far from home or anywhere where there’s too much traffic but as things get increasingly awkward at home he goes out farther and farther, chasing the adrenaline high he used to get from going anywhere and everywhere every day after school with his siblings.

Then his parents officially tell him they’re getting divorced and

And it’s not like he couldn’t see it coming, but... it still hurts.

And neither of his siblings are coming home any time soon so

So he goes out skating on his own, way too far from home. He keeps going until he doesn’t even know where he is anymore.

He isn’t really paying attention the way he should but that’s not why he runs into trouble.

The driver of that red pickup is drunk and he rounds the corner out of nowhere.

If Delilah or Austin had been there they could have yelled for Willie to jump out of the way, or maybe up on the hood so the impact wouldn’t be as bad, but he’s alone.

So he gets hit, and the car was going fast enough that he’s dead before he even hits the pavement.

After that there’s a lot of confusion but once Willie figures out he’s a ghost... it’s too painful to think about going home, so he just... doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to see his family mourning him, so he just distracts himself, skating everywhere he couldn’t before without getting busted.

Plus some old routes where he used to go with Delilah and Austin, just for something that’s familiar but not too familiar.

He’s on one of those more familiar routes a few weeks after his death when he’s skating down Sunset Boulevard one night, singing along to Toxic by Britney Spears blasting from a nearby club and a man dressed in a purple suit comments on how he’s got a good voice.

Honestly Willie is just so relieved to have someone to talk to that he forgets about stranger danger completely.

Plus he recognizes an Elder Gay in Caleb and assumes he can trust him because the Elder Gays he met at pride that one time he went with Delilah were so nice and understanding of how reassuring it was to see queer people of older generations who got a happy ending.

Caleb barely even has to try. He just lets this 17-year-old obviously-queer ghost rant at him for a few minutes, asks a few questions and finds out that he also can play piano, and convinces him to come to the Hollywood Ghost Club the next night.

From there it’s not like Willie has anyone to save him so of course he has to join the club.

At first he’s completely alone because the other performers scare him almost as much as Caleb does.

Then slowly, he sees how they give him space because they know he’s scared of them. How they turn a blind eye when he leaves the club without permission. How they don’t critique his mistakes with the same sarcasm they show each other.

Willie starts to realize that the other performers are doing their best to look out for him, and he starts being less afraid.

They’re all too concerned with their own survival to really protect him but if they draw some attention to themselves occasionally so Caleb doesn’t notice Willie being slow to pick up some tricky choreography, that’s not too risky.

The others are all like 21 at the youngest and they really don’t appreciate Caleb tricking a literal child into working for him no matter how talented said child is. (Cause Willie is good at singing and piano. It’s just not his passion.)

The twins are 22 but they died in 1925 and before that they were performing to support a younger brother who they never got to say goodbye to so maybe they see Willie as a kind of second chance.

Lyssa (what I decided to name drummer woman because I don’t know her real name if she has one) is 25 and she died in 1984. She had a daughter who’d be about Willie’s age now and... who knows? Maybe they were friends.

Fuego is 24 and from 1951 and he had a childhood best friend who enlisted and died in WWII that he thought he might get to see when he died but that boy moved on and so... well, Willie’s just a little younger than his friend was the last time he saw him.

In short Willie becomes everyone’s baby brother and they do what they can to look out for him even if they’re just as scared of Caleb as he is.

And the better adjusted Willie gets to (after)life at the HGC and the better they get to know him, the guiltier the others start to feel about him being stuck there.

Eventually a combination of guilt and worked-up courage leads Fuego tells him about the whole unfinished business thing, in hopes maybe he can figure his out and get away from Caleb.

It doesn’t take Willie long to think of his family, how hopeless he felt about the divorce, how worried he was it would change everything and then how scared he was to see his family in pain because of his death.

He realizes his unfinished business is probably seeing them. Letting himself say goodbye.

He almost gets away with it.

Caleb catches up and stops him in the driveway of his house and poofs them back to the HGC.

He convinces (gaslights) Willie into believing that saying goodbye was never his unfinished business and even if it was it’s not like it would matter because Caleb wouldn’t let him do it.

The next morning he ships the HGC out to Tokyo. They stay on the move for a long time and when they are in town, Willie is basically locked in his room.

The next time he’s allowed out in Hollywood, his parents don’t live in their old house anymore and he has no way to find them.

As a coping mechanism, he just starts making the best of a bad situation. Becoming better friends with the other ghosts. Helping soften the blow whenever someone new comes along.

None of that means he stops checking the faces of passing skaters or keeping eyes on restaurants his folks used to like, but it does mean he more or less gives up hope.

That’s what he’s doing when he bumps into Alex.

Look, Willie loves his friends at the HGC. He really does. But there’s a big difference between 17 and 20-something. Like the others will drink alcohol some nights and technically Willie was born over 21 years ago but he still feels weird enough about it that he doesn’t drink.

He hasn’t talked to anyone his age in a long time so Alex is a breath of fresh air.

Also he’s like. Really cute. And sweet. And funny. And shit, Willie’s fallen for him before he even has time to think about it.

He keeps thinking about how Alex doesn’t seem like he’d be physically capable of hurting someone on purpose so Austin would approve and every once in a while there’s that sarcasm that pops out which means he’d get along great with Delilah.

In general Alex is the kind of guy he would’ve loved to take home to meet the family. Them not included, he’s kind of... everything Willie’s missed about Hollywood in the form of one person.

Then they hang out more and Alex is still everything he’s missed but he’s also so much more than that and...

It almost feels like a part of Alex is still alive. And for the first time in years, a part of Willie feels alive, too.

They’ve known each other for like a week tops and Willie is already in love.

Not that he’s admitting that to anyone, because he’s learned the hard way that anyone you care about can be used against you.

Still... when Alex asks for help getting revenge on Bobby, he can’t bring himself to say no because he needs to keep Alex in his (after)life and the only way he knows how to do that (or to make people be nice to him in general) is to be as useful as possible.

That turns out to be a big mistake, because Caleb sees right through him in an instant, targets Alex to confirm it, then immediately starts the process to trick the boys into committing to eternity at the HGC.

Willie feels like an idiot for thinking he could actually get away with it. Doing something good for someone he cares about.

He hadn’t thought Caleb would be interested in them because he’d never actually heard them play. The assumption was that he’d make them do some small favor and then let them talk to their bandmate for 5 minutes. A clean deal where they never have to commit to anything. Willie forgot to take magic into account.

He almost manages to convince himself it was all a bad dream, but when he seeks out Alex and his friends to check on them, he can almost feel the jolts himself, and seeing Alexthem in pain feels terrible.

Willie knows that theoretically they could figure out their unfinished business and cross over, but that all depends on finding it and doing it fast enough and if they failed...

People you care about can be used against you. And Willie does not want to be used against Alex again. He doesn’t want to see Alex used against him.

So he keeps his distance, in hopes Caleb will think he lost interest. He’s pretty sure once the boys find out about the stamp they��ll hate him, anyway.

And plus, as he’s been taught by his friends at the HGC, you have to look out for yourself because no one else will do it for you. Maybe you hurt somebody by not standing up for them, but you can apologize later and hope they forgive you. You can’t apologize if you’re gone, and it’s not like it would make a difference anyway because Caleb is too powerful for anyone to beat.

The thought of how spending eternity with Alex might not be so bad even if it has to be at the HGC does come up, but ironically that’s what makes Willie decide to screw his courage to the sticking point and tell them.

Because he has seen what decades at the club has done to his friends.

They’re all great performers, and they perform happiness well even to each other, but Willie knows them enough to know how tired they all are. How they have been doing the same thing over and over again for decades and they are sick of it.

They’re young, talented tragedies lost to drug overdoses, or AIDS, or accidents, or suicide, and they should’ve gotten to rest after everything they went through in their lives. Instead, they got a curse disguised as a blessing. They got to stay on a stage, got to keep performing and soaking up applause, never got to stop.

Willie has been there a shorter time than most of them and he feels it. The exhaustion, because ghosts are supposed to haunt for a few years then figure out their unfinished business and move on. They’re not meant to be trapped for decades, used as party tricks.

A part of Alex still feels alive and being trapped in the Hollywood Ghost Club for years on end would kill that part of him.

Willie can’t let that happen, so as hard as it is...

He tells the boys what’s wrong with them. And by that hurt, betrayed look in Alex’s eyes, he’s honestly expecting him to never forgive him.

But then Alex does. And that almost hurts worse because whether he figures out his unfinished business or not, Willie doubts he’s ever going to see him again.

He honest to God almost cries when Alex hugs him because... shit, he hasn’t gotten a hug since he was breathing.

He goes back to the HGC and tries to go about his day, and keeps replaying how good it felt to have Alex’s arms around him, hoping that memory will get him through the next few decades on his own.

The ghosts at the club do actually gossip a fair amount and by this point all of them know about the 3 dead members of Sunset Curve.

So when Willie admits to Helen (what I’m calling one of the twins) that Alex hugging him was the first time he’d gotten a hug since he died, she hugs him tight for a good 20 seconds, telling him she’s sorry he has to lose him, and if Willie closes his eyes he can almost pretend it’s Delilah.

The next thing he knows, he’s locked in a closet.

Caleb comes to talk to (intimidate) him a few hours later, saying he knows what Willie did.

He’s magically locked in his room alone for a couple weeks after that and it’s essentially psychological torture.

Helen, Anna (what I decided to call the other twin), Dante, Fuego, Lyssa, and everyone else tell him not to test Caleb for the next couple years, but Willie has a heart full of love and a head full of fuck it, so he doesn’t listen.

He gives it exactly one day of being/acting scared and obedient, then goes out without permission again, fully intending to scream in a museum alone to let out all his feelings.

Remember: Willie didn’t see the Orpheum performance. He doesn’t know the boys didn’t cross over but by Caleb’s mood he has a feeling the outcome of that scenario was not in the magician’s favor.

He gets there and it’s literally this comic by the very talented @williessweatycherrysocks

He can’t stay long but he and Alex scream in each other’s faces, talk a bit, maybe sing a duet.

After that, they sneak to see each other when they can but don’t get to see much of each other for months.

It’s hard on both of them but they don’t give up on their relationship.

Through long and complicated events which I will outline later, Willie eventually gets free of the HGC, hugs his friends goodbye already making plans to take down Caleb for good to free them, too, and promptly declines an offer to stay in the Molinas’ garage.

As much as he wants to be close to Alex he’s done being confined to one place.

He still comes and visits like every day tho.

He knows a lot more about ghosting than the other boys do so he and Carlos get along amazingly like:

Carlos: So do you know who Jack the Ripper was?

Willie: No? How old do you think I am?

Carlos: I dunno but I thought it might be Caleb cause that would explain how he never got caught.

Willie, taking notes in his Things To Potentially Use To Take Caleb Down notebook: You’re a tiny genius.

No one was expecting it but everyone is in awe of how well he and Carrie get along. Between the two of them they know so much celebrity gossip. (and it’s definitely a good thing he’s on good terms with her cause she and Alex are close)

On the angsty side, Willie also bonds with Nick over how they both know how it feels to be manipulated and used by Caleb.

Also it takes a long time before he’s able to trust him, but he does get adopted into the Molina clan by Ray.

Ray reminds him a lot of his own dad, once Willie’s able to see that he’s nothing like Caleb.

Ray’s honestly just 100% happy to Dad™️ anyone who needs a dad so it works out great once Julie and the boys figure out how to make Willie visible.

But anyway back to important stuff.

Now that they don’t have to hide for any reason, Willie and Alex can both breathe a little easier. Or... they both feel better. Ghosts don’t really breathe.

Willie can finally let himself get used to feeling alive again.

The whole ghost gang goes (invisibly) to the Los Feliz Homecoming dance and maybe it should make him feel a little on-edge with the kind of club-like environment but...

He’s got Alex there, and they’re dancing to some corny pop love song from the 90s that Flynn probably put on because she knew the ghost boys would be there so how could he feel anything but safe?

For a minute it almost feels like actually being alive and there’s yellow and pink and blue lights coming from everywhere reflecting in Alex’s eyes and Willie is suddenly very aware of the fact that though they’ve been together for a long time now, they haven’t had their first kiss.

Then the Cha Cha Slide starts up and the atmosphere switches and Willie totally forgets about the whole romantic tension thing because it’s the Cha Cha Slide everybody has to dance along.

Dirty Candi performs towards the end of the night and the ghost boys cheer the loudest despite how Julie’s laughing at them. They don’t care that Carrie can’t even hear them, they’re being supportive!!!

Everybody screams even louder when Flynn runs up on stage and kisses Carrie and Willie feels a big burst of affection at how Alex shouts ABOUT TIME!

Then he gives Willie a quick hug and leaves cause he and the rest of Julie and the Phantoms have to go get set up for their performance.

Since Alex was able to flip Carrie’s hair in All Eyes on Me I’m saying that ghosts can touch lifers if they focus and believe it will happen hard enough, so the ghost gang has developed a system for alerting their non-Julie lifer friends to their presence.

So while they’re waiting in the crowd Willie taps Carrie on the shoulder like: • - - one short tap, two long taps, a Morse code ‘W’ and Carrie lets Flynn know that he’s there.

(Nick can see him too but Nick’s off somewhere with his date {one of his lacrosse teammates you know the one})

Anyway so Julie goes out and starts up the song and then the rest of the band poofs in but

Something’s unusual.

Cause it’s not Luke on the lower main vocals.

It’s

Alex

Singing while he plays the drums and fucking killing it.

Willie totally bluescreens for a second but then when he actually focuses on the lyrics...

It’s a new song about beating the odds and being with the person you love in spite of the challenges that come with them.

And yeah there are Julie elements in there, (and she’s definitely making heart eyes at Luke even as he sticks to backup vocals) because of course there are since she has to start the song up, but

But Willie might not have any formal music training, but he was at the HGC long enough to know his stuff about music and recognize different artists’ styles.

And there’s a time signature switch on the bridge that’s a little off from how Luke would write it. There’s a swing to the melody that’s a bit more ‘pop’ than the band’s usual songs. Julie’s harmony doesn’t go as high as it normally would, as if whoever wrote the song didn’t have as high of an upper range to work with as she does.

The song is so unmistakably Alex that no one else could have written it.

Flynn and Carrie are quietly making smug comments on what they bet his face looks like right now but Willie’s not listening to them.

On the last chorus, Alex fucking winks at him right before poofing out.

Willie has whiplash like how did they go from him having to psych Alex up to break into a museum even when there’s zero chance of getting caught to Alex openly flirting with him from the stage?

He poofs backstage right as the boys get back from dropping their instruments back in the Molinas’ garage and he honestly doesn’t know what he even wants to say to convey how amazing that performance was.

Then Alex just smiles at him.

Alex: So I take it you liked the song?

Willie: Can I kiss you right now?

They both kinda freeze after he blurts that out and Reggie goes wow really quietly before he and Luke poof out to give them some privacy and whoops now they’re both flustered but

Alex: Wow, didn’t expect that. That’s... um, wow. But yeah.

They kiss and it’s a total romcom moment.

And the story’s far from over, but to Willie this definitely feels like happily ever after.

[zahra-kha]

Dear Diary 32

The weekend was a blast! Well, up until I nearly bled out in the middle of the forest.

I was late to Hanami so I missed out on the fortune-telling which was sad about, but I did manage to get a good luck charm. I’m not sure how well it’s working, but I didn’t die, so I guess it’s doing something. I was really hoping to get my fortune told, I enjoy that sort of thing, but I guess I’ll have to wait for another festival.

I ran into Tamala, Nivaar, Vivien, and Arashi while I was there, oh! Before that though, a strange person bumped into me and handed me off a letter from Lord Thiji Higuri from the Regalia sending his regards. I responded to her giving a formal greeting from house Kouris and infomed her that I’d try to visit the Regalia to give proper respect and greetings to the Mythrite Sultan at some point. It’s not exactly often or common for someone of his standing to reach out to someone of my position, so I should at least give him due respect.

Some of the folks from Ebonheart were there and I chatted with them for a bit before I gave them space to enjoy the festival. I didn’t want to crowd them.

So there was a ritual and a blessing sort of thing. I didn’t really understand it, but it involved lining up to drink sake. I wasn’t sure if that was a religious thing or not, but I didn’t feel very comfortable jumping into something like that when I have my own beliefs and I pray to my own gods. That’s not to say accepting blessings from another belief set is bad, it’s just that I’d like an understanding of what I’m accepting before I accept it. I’m probably overthinking it, I doubt the priests would have offered a blessing to all if it was harmful or insulting. I’m not sure why I felt so apprehensive about it.

After everyone went up to accept the blessing, it was time for the performances. Everyone was so amazing! There was such a variety of performers celebrating the beauty of spring and from different cultures too!

I was performing as well. I did two songs, one on the blossoming of a new love after heartbreak (Yes, it was a personal song, and I don’t often sing about my feelings, but I also feel my songs won’t reach anyone if I don’t try to reach out and touch their hearts with my own). The other was about the powerful bonds of an unshakable love, and I think that moved some people. I really tried my hardest with that song.

The Sword Princess Zenos one was inspiring, I wanted to go home and write some friend fiction featuring Trystan as the warrior of light and Vin as Sword Princess Zenos. I wonder how badly I can bastardize this? I won’t be satisfied until I’ve upset some people (in a good/bad/funny way!)

After the performances, someone named DJ CARVI came out. He had this amazing car thing and started playing this awesome music while playing on the guitar! We danced and danced until we nearly passed out! He looks so cool, and I love his personality! The music was unique and flowed well and just....

[There’s a series of hearts and little doodles of CARVI’s helmet along with little notes saying ‘I ♥ DJ CARVI’ written on the margins. Zahra is clearly a fan]

I tried to see if Tamala could get me an autograph but she already had one so I politely asked if he had signed autographs after his show. He did us one better and give us illegal copies of his album and signed them! I’m not supposed to listen to it but that’s okay! I’ll just try and check out another showing of his and see if I can find places where there’s orchestrion scrolls of his work. And maybe some posters. Or other merchandise.

He was really cool.

So anyway, the next day was Lucky Sparrow’s 4th anniversary! We had a wonderful turnout, so many showed up in green and gold. That was so nice to see, I loved the support, it just goes to show how much people love Lucky Sparrow and how much they’ve given to everyone. I’m proud and honored to be a part of them.

The performances were ama-zing! We practiced and practiced and everything turned out well! Suki and I got to do our solo acts, and I even saw some familiar faces in the crowds! I think I heard Kaito, Vel, Koh’a, and S’aeil out there! I think one of them was celebrating their own anniversary! Scorpius showed up too and wished me luck, that was kind of him.

We all got a bit sappy after, which made me happy. I love the environment with the troupe, it helps me feel a little less alone. It’s warm and comforting, which I think I needed after everything that’s been going on.

Speaking of...

After the show I went back to the encampment and found it empty. I thought it was going to be my best chance of investigating everyone so I tried to hurry.

I went through Sahrin’s things first. I admit I was still upset Cecilia even insinuated that Sahrin may have tried to kick her out. Even if we cleared the air on it, I wanted to prove his innocence. I didn’t find...much? A locked jewelry box and a bunch of really raunchy letters to Fitaan. Gross.

Fitaan’s tent was...strange. It was like going into a room felt like someone was trying too hard to show it’d been lived in. Things that looked normal upon first glance, but then didn’t make sense as you really thought about it. A bedroll but no pillow, sheets or blankets to be found. Cooking utensils but no traces that food had ever been in the room. Not even dried herbs or meat. Thrown away parchment in a trash bin, but no writing utensils to shown he’d been writing anything. Sure, he could have taken some of the items with him to track down Armand but...the room feels too neat, clean, and off for that. It’s like it has the appearance of a normal room but there’s enough bits and pieces once you look around to know otherwise.

Esila’s tent was normal. Smelled of metal and polish but that’s likely from all the blades she has laying about. She has a hobby of collecting axes and swords. I tried to be careful, but she really didn’t have anything that I could find.

Armand’s room had been cleaned out by Sahrin already, he took everything of relevance with him. I didn’t find much of anything outside of letters he’d saved from old lovers and a letter from Sahrin congratulating him on job well done on his first solo performance at a village he was at in Thavnair.

It was when I went to Sai’s room that everything went downhill. I’ve been to her tent countless times. She’s been training me with how to use daggers, she’s taught me how to be a better songwriter. Sai is...the calmest of the group. The quietest. But when she speaks she always has kind or profound things to say.

I’ll be honest, there was a part of me that didn’t believe Cecilia, either. She’d just come to the troupe and suddenly she disappears and then reappears and starts saying Sahrin kicked her out, then that Armand was behind it, and suddenly I’m just supposed to believe the people I’ve cared for since childhood are trying to hurt me?

I went to the encampment to...

I wanted to prove everyone wrong. Myself wrong. I didn’t want to believe my family would betray me. Sahrin. The troupe. And I was angry with myself for doubting them. Angry for not doubting them more. I was angry at my friends for doubting my family, and I was angry at myself for being unreasonable about it. I just wanted the truth. Mostly, I was angry that this was happening at all.

So when I heard something click after finding a letter in Sai’s drawer, I think my mind went completely blank. I stopped thinking, I didn’t move, everything just went white.

I don’t remember too much of what happened, only that instinct told me I had to go. I had to leave, I couldn’t be found. I don’t know if that was out of fear or just a sense of survival, but it started raining heavily so I lost my bearings quickly. It’s fuzzy, but I don’t even think I realized the trap had been a knife until I finally found a spot to sit down because I felt really tired suddenly.

I needed a healer, and I could only think to call Gail. She came and I don’t remember much of our conversation after she arrived, but I think she brought me to her apartment somehow and I got shoved into her bath. I told her as much as I could as I tried to warm up, I don’t remember how long I was out in the rain, and I didn’t feel much pain, just exhausted.

Oh, but after she healed me and got some food in me, godsdamn did the pain come in full force! I think the blade had been poisoned, because after I got back to my apartment I felt feverish and weak from the after effects. I’m still recovering, the fever is gone and I was able to take a look at the letter.

Gail got a good look at it too, seems like it was a letter from Sahrin to Sai, a really old letter too. I guess from the days before the troupe was formed. I know Sahrin is very anti-Imperial, but I guess Sai is too, looking over the letter’s contents. I’m not sure what this all means, but I guess when Sahrin was thinking of making the troupe, he had some grand designs and made some promises to Sai about it. I wasn’t able to find out much else since I triggered the trap, but the letter was well taken care of even after all these years. It must have been important to Sai.

Sai, was it you? Did you put Armand up to killing me? Deceiving Cecilia? How much of everything going on is you? You were like a sister to me, I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

[jankyunsolved]

Title: Find Balance [in your life] Summary: Who knew Steven Lim could inspire Ryan to go home to his two favorite people?

Or: Ryan Bergara works too hard and neglects what’s important, but his partners welcome him home anyway.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21983251

Sara 💓: The bed is cold without you.

Ryan glanced at his phone and did a double take when he saw it was a text from his group chat with Shane and Sara. He picked up his phone with shaking hands, the coffee he just finished still rushing through his veins, and opened the text.

When was the last time he saw Sara? Shane, he saw almost every day, but Sara? He hadn’t slept at their place since they announced the launch of Watcher, and that was weeks ago. He slept at his much closer house, or as of late, on the floor of the office for cat naps.

He’d been working nonstop on getting videos edited, checking Instagram, Snapchat, YouTube, and Twitter, meeting with sponsors and completing paperwork; creating their own channel was a never ending job.

Shane’s been working from home for almost a week and a half due to a minor disagreement between them (first big fight since he began dating Shane and Sara, and Ryan couldn’t even remember what it was about, so he tripled his workload instead of dealing with it) and Steven left for the night a few minutes ago, so Ryan was alone, frantically working on edits and posts that could probably wait until Monday.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. It was already 9:53, and if he could just finish this final edit, he might be able to leave and sleep in his own bed by 1:00AM before coming back to the office bright and early on a Saturday to try and get ahead. “Sorry,” he started to type. “Work calls.” He almost hit send when he got a notification that Steven posted a video on Instagram.

He watched the video. It was Steven in that very office, and Ryan must’ve been making coffee when he made it, because his workstation was dark and empty.

It was just Steven, sitting in a chair in an empty room, talking. But what he had to say was more inspirational than Ryan was expecting. Taking care of yourself, fostering your relationships, finding hobbies, leaving work when the temptation is there to keep working.

Ryan felt like he couldn’t breathe, one phrase echoing inside his head: “My identity doesn’t only live in my work.” He looked around his small space, at his open laptop and desktop, at the lack of pictures, doodles, little knick knacks that would usually surround him as he worked. Plain white. And he knew that they were moving to an even bigger office soon, but that didn’t stop Steven or Shane from decorating their small space.

He pushed himself away from his desk, ducking his head between his knees. Anxiety rippled through his body. How much has Watcher taken over my life?

After breathing and waiting for the wave of nausea to leave, he opened his texts and flinched at what he almost texted Sara. “God, what a fucking fool,” he whispered as he erased what he typed and simply wrote, “I’m coming home.” He hoped that not only would Sara welcome him this late, but that whatever happened between him and Shane could be squashed as well. “Wishful thinking,” Ryan said, pulling himself back to his desk. “I don’t even know what we fought about.”

He saved what he was working on, turned off all the tech in the small office that they were temporarily occupying, and glanced at the board. 80,000 subscribers. 20,000 away from the goal their sponsors were expecting to be met by January 10th. How to get 20,000 over a holiday…

“Stop,” Ryan said out loud. “Business can wait until Monday. Sara is waiting for you, and maybe Shane too.”

He put on his backpack, turned off the lights, and made his way to the elevator, waving to the security guard who was stationed on the floor. With laser focus, Ryan pressed the down button, got on the elevator, and went to the parking garage beneath the building.

Keys in hand, Ryan ran to his car. The quicker he got in his car, the less likely he was gonna turn around and go back to work. He blasted music in his car, a mix of local LA rappers and the metal of his youth, to make sure he stayed awake, and then he made his way to Shane and Sara’s apartment.

Traffic was terrible, as always, and he made it to their apartment a little after eleven. He parked his car in the last available parking spot and then grabbed his bag, hesitating for a moment. He looked at his phone and saw that Sara responded.

Sara 💓: I’ll reheat a snack for you.

He didn’t know what to say. How could he thank her when he was being the worst? He took a shuddering breath and opened his car door.

 It’s now or never.

He had keys to their apartment, so he didn’t waste time by knocking on the door. He just unlocked it and stepped inside, quietly closing and locking the door behind him. He slipped off his shoes and lined them up with the others that were in the entryway and dropped his bag by Sara’s.

There were few lights on in the apartment. The Christmas tree was lit up, and Ryan saw Obi curled up beneath it, watching him. The light was on in the kitchen, and Ryan went there first. Standing at the microwave was Sara, in an old t-shirt that she usually slept in. She turned and looked at Ryan, and the genuine smile that graced her mouth brought tears to his eyes.

“Hey,” she said softly, as if she could see and feel his fragility. “We had Chinese and we got all your favorites, which you can eat tomorrow.” Just before the microwave beeped, Sara turned and opened it, taking out two egg rolls on a small plate.

Ryan beamed and stepped fully into the kitchen, reached for Sara and kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stood in silence, Sara leaning into Ryan as he devoured the eggrolls, his hands shaking as he consumed something that wasn’t a granola bar or coffee. She had her arm wrapped around his waist and her head resting on his shoulder.

When he was finished, she took the plate from him and washed it and Ryan dried it before putting it back in its place. Then he finally looked at Sara again and blew out a heavy breath. “Shane?” he asked, not sure what he was asking, not sure what he was wanting to know.

“Downstairs, getting some sheets from the dryer.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulder and looked up at him. “You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted.”

“Bed?”

Ryan shrugged. “I just had coffee and I need to shower and my mind is just running running running—“ Ryan froze when Sara interrupted him with a kiss, sensing he was on his way to a rambling frenzy.

“Shower. Sleepy Time Tea. Bed. I already set out clothes for you in the bathroom.”

“Oh Sara,” he kissed her softly and she sighed against his mouth. “What did I do to deserve you?”

-----

Ryan turned off the water and pulled back the shower curtain just as there was a knock on the unlocked door. “Yeah?” It opened slowly, and there was Shane with a towel folded over his arm.

“Hey,” he said softly, and Ryan smiled, stepped out of the tub and onto the mat.

“Hey.” He reached for the towel that Shane had, but paused when Shane closed the distance, unfolded it, and began gently drying him off with the still warm towel. He must’ve dried it with the sheets. Ryan’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but he found he couldn’t even say anything.

Reverently, Shane made sure that Ryan was dry, starting at his head and moving down, even kneeling at his feet to dry his legs. Once again, Ryan felt fragile, as if his very core was made of glass. He looked down at Shane, his vision swimming in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, needing to apologize, needing to say something, “I’m sorry I’ve been so impatient and stressed and I took it out on you.”

Knelt at his feet, Shane looked up at him, and Ryan’s knees trembled as Shane opened his mouth and paused, before saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t try and talk to you sooner.” Shane then pressed his forehead against his hip for a moment, hugging his legs. Ryan shook harder as he ran his fingers through Shane’s hair.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, Ryan trying to stay upright, and Shane holding him. A few tears finally escaped his eyes and he swallowed thickly; Shane just squeezed him tighter. Ryan was thankful Shane didn’t try and talk him through this, giving him a few moments of peace that he didn’t even know he desperately needed.

When Ryan finally stopped sniffling, Shane kissed his hip and pulled away. “Sara made some tea.” His thumbs rubbed soothingly as Ryan still trembled.

“Okay.”

“You think you can drink it?”

“I—I don’t—I don’t know.”

“Let’s try.”

Shane stood up, groaning as his knees popped, but he just smiled and shrugged at Ryan, as if to say, “What can ya do?” He hung the towel up and went to the still open door, pausing as Ryan slipped on pajama pants and a t-shirt. They linked fingers and Ryan followed him to the couch where Sara was nestled in the corner with her own cup, and another one was on the coffee table. Obi had moved from the tree to nestle in Sara’s lap.

Ryan sat down next to Sara, easing himself until he was pressed against her side. Sara cradled her cup in one hand and took Ryan’s in her other. Shane draped a blanket over his lap, and then handed him his tea.

Ryan sipped at the perfect blend of chamomile and vanilla as Shane fiddled with the remotes until a roaring fire appeared on the TV. Ryan grinned; Shane and Sara went absolutely wild for this kind of stuff. When the fire was on, Shane finally settled on the couch, sitting on Ryan’s other side and resting his arm behind him.

Halfway through his tea, as Obi went from Sara’s lap to his and was making biscuits on his stomach, Ryan’s eyes began to close and his head rocked forward.

“Let’s get you to bed, Little Guy,” Shane said softly, collecting his mug. Sara picked up Obi and Ryan stretched and stood up, folding the blanket and leaving it on the couch. Sara took his hand and led him to the bedroom, where it was nice and cool. Obi jumped from Sara’s arm and made his way to his little cat bed in the corner.

“Wanna be in the middle?”

“God, yes,” he said, around another yawn. He crawled onto the bed and Sara pulled the blanket up and over him before getting in on her side and snuggling up to him. The sheets and blanket still held some warmth from the dryer, and Ryan burrowed deeper into the bed, making himself comfortable. He could hear Shane moving around the apartment, turning off lights, the TV, and double checking the door.

Ryan shivered when Sara slipped her hand into his hair and began massaging his scalp. “Ooooh fuuuuuuck,” he swore, his entire body going limp as she giggled. He didn’t even notice Shane coming into the room until he felt warmth at his back and an arm on his waist.

His eyes slid shut and he felt Shane lean over him and kiss Sara, whispering, “Goodnight, babe.” Then he felt Shane’s lips on his own cheek. “Goodnight, Ry-babe.”

Ryan tried to say goodnight, and he must’ve said something because he could hear Sara giggle and he felt Shane’s huff of breath against his cheek, but he was already falling fast asleep, nestled between his two favorite people

[williamsockner]

LGBT+ Identity in the Time of Mindless Self Indulgence

Mindless Self Indulgence isn’t an act that could have flourished at any other time. The emo/pop punk wave was gathering steam; hip hop was still a novelty one could distinguish themselves from the flock by cribbing. “Random” Invader Zim-style humor was in the decline, while “edgy” no-limits humor was skyrocketing. Nerds hadn’t become the dominant force they are today, but due to the internet and the rise in manga and anime sales in the United States, they were able to access nerdy content much more easily. Youtube was taking off, music piracy was booming, and reliance on both radio and local record-store gatekeepers was at a low for young music fans.

Perhaps most critically, our national understanding of politics and identity at the time, particularly LGBT+ identities, was in a different stage of development than it is today. “Punching up” vs. “punching down” was not a concept that most people considered in their comedy. “It’s just a joke” was more widely accepted as an excuse for transgressive entertainment than it is today. “I’m an equal opportunity hater” was a common refrain.

Early in their career, the band released multiple tracks where Jimmy Urine, a man who was certainly not black, used the n-word. The “Pantyshot” cassingle was a treasured possession among MSI fans, featuring an early song that supposedly lost them a record deal due to being about lusting over a 5 year-old. Little Jimmy Urine sold kisses for a dollar to fans after shows, including to the teenagers. As a whole, the band made punchlines of racial and sexual slurs, rape and child abuse, school shootings, prostitution, drug use, incest, and just about every other taboo under the sun.

The understanding was that none of it was real and that none of it had any real consequences. Calling someone a faggot didn’t matter if we were all in on the joke, that homophobia was stupid. Words were just words. The identity of the speaker didn’t matter so long as their ideology was clear. It was something of an inversion of the way we publicly navigate comedy now, in that their identity determines where on the ladder they are to punch up or down, and the contents of their ideology is of minimal consequence compared to the text of their words. The context of a joke is not a matter of what the audience believes, but of the many complexities of hierarchy that society as a whole believes.

“Who cares?” asks 2008. “It’s just words.”

“How could it not matter?” answers 2018. “Words create culture.”

So LGBT+ identity in the era of Mindless Self Indulgence.

Describing the difference between 2005 and 2018 to young queer people is a source of anxiety for me, because I feel like the old woman talking about how she walked uphill both ways to the library if she wanted to read a book. It’s difficult, however, to put in perspective how quickly the culture around LGBT+ identities has changed. As dangerous as it is for queer kids today, they have much freer access to information about their resources and history than we did, and far greater representation in all forms of media.

When I was a teenager, I was the first person openly LGBT at my school, and my only point of reference for LGBT identities were Rosie O’Donnell and Elton John. There was no “Born This Way” yet, no Halsey and Hayley Kiyoko and Ellen Page, no Troye Sivan and Adam Lambert and Frank Ocean, no Miley Cyrus, no Laverne Cox. There were no empowerment ballads.

Which was fine, because I didn’t want empowerment ballads anyway. I felt disgusting. In reckoning with my LGBT+ identity, I felt small, broken, repulsive, confused, discarded and doomed. I was sickened in my own skin and filled with self-loathing because of my sexual orientation. Sometimes I still am. When I was 15, I drew a map of my heart, and in between the “fields of sexual insecurity” and “possibly irreparable damage” I had written “guilt!” several times and underlined it.

“You’re beautiful” didn’t only feel false, it felt invalidating. I was fiercely defensive of my self-hatred. I was working so hard at it, spending so much time and energy convincing myself I deserved the beating I was giving myself. To this day the barriers I’ve put up against generic bromides persist, and songs like “Scars to Your Beautiful” or “Roar” make me cringe. Maybe someone gets something out of them, but I can only think of the teenagers like me who used that sort of sentiment as fuel for their own self-abuse. I remember once bursting into tears at a “Jesus Loves You” sticker because it served as proof that the whole world was playing a joke on me, telling me that someone so unlovable should have some hope.

It was impossible to internalize that queerness was not dirty, unnatural and loathsome. Any attempt to break that association was drown out by the rest of the messaging we were receiving and our own tried-and-true mental gymnastics. Reassurance could not reach us at the bottom of the well.

At the time, I was obsessed with Mindless Self Indulgence with the kind of all-consuming adoration that only teenagers can possess. I aped frontman Little Jimmy Urine’s fashion, writing slogans across my coats with white tape. “What Do They Know” and “Cocaine and Toupees” were my ringtones, much to my mother’s chagrin. I had catalogues of bootlegs, lovingly sorted and pressed to CD. Mindless Self Indulgence populated my artwork, both in classroom doodles and in art pieces for my portfolio that I labored on for weeks. They were the subject of my college application essay. I met my first love on an MSI forum (which I moderated) and lost a few romantic relationships over my inability to talk about anything else. I owned every shirt. When I was hired on at Barnes & Noble’s music section, I would nominate Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy for the staff recommendation shelf every single week, and whenever it inevitably got recalled to the warehouse for lack of sales, I’d order it right back.

Sometimes my friends and I would go to the mall parking lot at night and blast Mindless Self Indulgence from my car, dancing around the empty lot with our striped stockings, fingerless gloves and Hot Topic trip pants.

This band kept me from killing myself.

“I’m filthy, disgusting, horrible, irredeemable,” we’d say. “People tell us we’re beautiful and we know they’re lying. I’m a freak.”

“Yeah, you’re fucking ugly,” the music said. “So what? So’s everything else. Have some fun with it.”

Despite the fact that Jimmy Urine has never publicly labeled himself with an LGBT identity, we young LGBT MSI fans claimed him as our own. We enshrined the article where he described being sexually attracted to anyone regardless of gender. We imitated and revered his gender fuckery onstage, the skirts, the pink suits and tutus, the eyeliner, his yelping falsetto leaping up from the masculine shouting, the way he danced. We pored over lyrics - that we transcribed ourselves in many cases, through multiple listens and endless debate - for those nuggets of same-sex attraction and gender ambiguity.

“I make a good girl but I make a terrible boy,” went one song. “These things in my pants that we’re all waiting for, I never really knew what that thing down there was used for,” went another. And the most sacred text of all was “Faggot”, off Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy, the most beloved record of the vast majority of hardcore MSI fans.

“I played that shit straight / blowing suckas to the side hopin' I get laid / now everybody knows / no way in hell I can ever live it down”.

Shit was a revelation.

Kitty, the drummer of Mindless Self Indulgence, once said of the band’s LGBT fans that listening to MSI’s music was like vomiting: it hurts at the time, but then you feel better. You got it out. And the band always cultivated their relationship with their LGBT fans. Gay marriage was one of the few political issues they openly took a stance on, in a time when states like my own were amending constitutions to protect themselves from Massachusetts’ same-sex marriages.

Thus, we had a place where we felt simultaneously seen and valued by the band, and unseen amongst the chaos surrounding us. The irreverent humor of the band created a safe space where homosexuality could be disgusting, but so was everything else. There was no shame at an MSI concert. You were listening to a man famed for drinking his own urine sing about whipping his meat out, who cared if you liked to kiss girls? That’s old news. We’re all freaks down here at the bottom of the well.

I’m 28 now, and I don’t know if the kids these days have an equivalent band. I don’t know if there’s a market for it anymore; I’m sure there will always be queer kids who have internalized the awful message that they are inherently unlovable, but I’m not sure if they can’t find more accessible and more inherently positive panaceas. I see mutations of the same style of humor in Willam from RuPaul’s Drag Race and in some of the undercurrents of Tumblr’s teen humor. “We’re goblins, trash, garbage babies.”

“Yeah,” my inner child says. “I fucking feel that.”

The paradigm of humor has changed since 2008, at least in my circles, and the reasons for that are manifold, political, social, capitalistic. In many ways, it’s been a good thing: bigotry can be exposed rather than cloaked in excuses. A basic understanding of social inequality is presumed of most audiences. People are responsible for the impact of their words, not the intent. “Equal opportunity hater” is seem for what it is: intellectually lazy and blinkered, the refuge of white guys who don’t want to own up to the fact that some jokes aren’t funny.

But I’ll always have a place in my heart for comedy that meets people where they’re at. Where we’re at isn’t always beautiful or acceptable or healthy, but sometimes it’s the place where we need the laugh most.

[atmilliways]

More tattoo AU

I didn’t expect to write more of this so soon, but I woke up this morning and my brain was already composing specific sentences so I went with it. May or may not have accidentally the last line from something Obama said to someone in a dream, but I can’t actually remember. 

SEVERAL YEARS AGO

Skwisgaar only met Charles Offdensen because a professor paired them up for a class project. He sized him up and came to the conclusion that Charles, several years older and bespectacled and very serious, was the type to shoulder any slack in an effort to still get an A on the assignment. That was good, because Skwisgaar was getting a D in the class so far and could use the boost, but he didn’t actually have enough ambition to get it by, you know, actually studying or anything.

He did not expect Charles to actually show up at his house the next day, expecting to actually get work done. For one thing, he hadn’t even given the guy his phone number or email, let alone his physical address.

“Are you fuckings serious? You can’ts just fuckings shows up at places,” Skwisgaar hissed as he hustled Charles back out to his car before Servetta saw him... Sometimes he suspected his mother had only insisted he enroll in business school so she could hit on his more successful peers — which managed to take first place in his embarrassment hall of fame, just ahead of how shitty their craphole apartment was.

“I’m very serious,” Charles replied stubbornly. “You have to put some effort into this, at least for the, ah, oral report.”

Skwisgaar winced. He hadn’t really been paying attention when the professor explained the assignment, and public speaking wasn’t amongst his strengths. Had Charles ever shared a class with him where he had to do one of those, or...?

“And I’ve seen you try to present reports to a class. I’m not prepared to, ah, risk my GPA on this.”

Apparently yes. Skwisgaar groaned and gave his classmate a push towards his car. “Fines, fines! Let me gets my stuff, we can studies at your place.”

The car ride was awkwardly silent. Charles was just the kind of guy who didn’t automatically reach for the radio, which Skwisgaar found incomprehensible. If he could afford to have a car of his own instead of riding the damn bus to school every day, all silence would be eradicated by heavy metal blasted through all available speakers.

Studying with Charles turned out to be just as boring as a car ride with him. The longer they tried, the more frustrated and monosyllabic Skwisgaar became, until Charles finally snapped the textbook closed. There was a frown on his face, but it wasn’t the expression of someone about to give up and shoulder the workload himself — which was what Skwisgaar had been aiming for. No, here in his own very practical and neatly kept apartment full of second-hand but perfectly serviceable furniture, Charles seemed to be in his element, more in control than before. The almost-stutter of pauses and ah’s had lessened, and he looked, in fact, like a man prepared to tackle a difficult yet interesting challenge.

“What would help you concentrate on this?” he asked. “What do you usually do while the professor is lecturing?”

Skwisgaar shrugged, nonplussed. “I don’ts knows.”

“Can I see your notebook?”

Reluctantly, Skwisgaar handed it over. He always had it with him in class, always had it open while the professor droned on about risk management and investing or whatever, and he did take some notes... Mostly, though, he doodled. On each page a sparse collection of words was encroached on by a thicket of sketches, winding and twining and overgrowing the margins to take over most of the available space.

Charles flipped through that for a moment, then put the notebook down and looked at Skwisgaar over the top of his glasses like a damn librarian. “So... I’m, ah, guessing that most of the material goes in one ear and out the other?”

Skwisgaar could feel his face heating slightly as he shrugged noncommittally. It wasn’t his fault, he wanted to protest. He had never wanted to go to business school, but his mother had scraped and saved and enrolled him anyway, and never let him forget that he was why they couldn’t afford a better place to live. In Servetta’s opinion, she had made her investment in him and by the gods it was going to pay off in her old age.

“Okay,” Charles said. He gave Skwisgaar a thoughtful look. “What do you want to do with your life, really? Because it’s not business.”

It was as if the guy had read his mind. Skwisgaar, somewhere between startled and weirdly grateful, blurted out, “I wants to be the world’s greatest tattoo artists!”

“Hm.” Charles opened the notebook again and seemed to examine the sketches more closely. “Have you ever practiced? Drawing on a person, I mean.”

An hour later, Skwisgaar was sitting cross-legged on the couch facing Charles’ back, using a permanent marker to fill the reaching branches of a massive tree with dark, thick foliage. His classmate had handed him the marker and gave him some very simple instructions: don’t draw anywhere that would be visible with a shirt on, and pay attention.

And it was working.

“That was good,” Charles told him after Skwisgaar’s most recent attempt at reciting his part of the report. “You’re starting to sound more natural.”

“That ams because I thinks I kinda gets it nows,” Skwisgaar replied, a hint of amazement in his tone. “You would makes a good teachers, anyones ever tells you that?”

Charles shrugged, and the drawing of the tree rippled slightly as if caught by a breeze. “Yes. I could’ve paid my way through undergrad just by charging for tutoring. But that’s not what I want to do with my life.”

“What does you wants to do?” Skwisgaar asked.

He found, to his surprise, that he was actually curious. That never happened. Typically, he floated through life in a haze of apathy, and the only thing that made the clouds thin was being free to draw or paint — a solitary exercise that didn’t encourage a lot of connecting with other people. When he connected with other people, it was usually by having sex with them. Bodies, he’d always thought, were much more interesting than the random collection of thoughts and feelings that lived chaotically inside them.

Charles glanced over his shoulder at him. The massive World Tree that Skwisgaar had drawn on his back stretched the full length of his spine, branches and roots stretching in either direction to take up as much “canvas” as he’d been allowed. And Charles had good skin for it, smooth and unfreckled and firm with underlying muscle.

“I want to be a lawyer,” Charles told him.

Skwisgaar’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “The world’s greatest lawyer?”

“Ah, sure.”

The next week, they got an A- on their presentation. A few months after that, Skwisgaar dropped out of business school to start an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor owned by some crazy, pot-smoking redhead he’d met at a bar.

~

SEVERAL YEARS LATER

If he was being honest with himself, letting Nathan move in with him had not been high on Skwisgaar’s list of priorities. He hadn’t had a roommate since he’d moved out of his mom’s place, and very much relished his privacy. But Nathan wasn’t very good at keeping jobs and the burger place down the road had finally fired him for general incompetence and he couldn’t afford his own apartment... and Skwisgaar had found himself offering his spare room to the kid. After all, if Nathan had to give up on independence and move back to Florida to live with his parents, Skwisgaar would lose access to his dark and twisted imagination that churned out such powerful imagery. He paid a commission whenever he used one of Nathan’s ideas for a tattoo of course, slightly bargained down for now in lieu of rent.

The thing was, on more serious projects where they really had to talk over how to best translate a particular sketch onto a human body, Skwisgaar had started to find he actually enjoyed the collaboration. It was like when Pickles had first started teaching him how to tattoo. There was a certain wavelength that Skwisgaar functioned best at, and both Nathan and Pickles were capable of tuning in and matching it. They were, for want of a better phrase, his best friends.

Nathan had just texted to let him know he had a decent shot at getting a job in some coffee shop nearby, which meant actual rent money in the near future, when the bell over the door jingled. Skwisgaar glanced up, totally not intending to actually greet the person or anything — they had hired some gap-toothed idiot to do that these days, because nothing scared the riffraff off like being sworn at and sprayed with spittle at the same time — but he caught sight of vaguely familiar glasses and paused for a closer look.

“Hey Charles, ams that’s you?” he called.

Charles gave an awkward little wave. The man looked basically the same. Hairline a little receded, maybe, and a few more lines on his face, but other than that...

Willy, up at the front counter, spun around and glared suspiciously at Skwisgaar. “You know thisch guy? Scheriouschly? He’sch wearing a schuit.”

“Ja ja, says it don’t sprays it,” Skwisgaar shot back, striding up from his work station at the back of the room. “I haven’ts seen you in years,” he said to his old classmate, the first person to ever encourage him to go for the career he actually wanted. “What brings you to’s a place like this...” He raised an eyebrow, because Willy did have a point about the suit. There was even a tie. “...Dressed like that?”

“I, ah, just came from work. I’m a lawyer now.” He held up a sleek briefcase, then to the surprise of both men watching he put it on the counter and opened it with a click. From it, he produced a manila folder full of papers, which he held out to Skwisgaar.

Immediately, Pickles was at the counter too. “Hey mister lawyer dood, I’m the owner here. If you’re serving the place with a lawsuit or something, you gotta give that to me.”

“Ah... no, it’s not a lawsuit.” Charles looked flustered. “I, ah, just brought in some, ah, references that I wanted to talk to Skwisgaar about. For a... potential tattoo idea.”

Willy snorted loudly. “You want a tattoo? Gimme a break...”

Discretely, Skwisgaar kicked him in the shin. Or it would’ve been discreet if not for the idiot hopping around clutching his leg in exaggerated pain and cursing a blue streak at him. Skwisgaar and Pickles just ignored it in favor of the folder’s contents.

“This is all your work, innit?” Pickles asked Skwisgaar.

“Ja,” Skwisgaar replied absently, flipping through the prints of various pictures. There were sleeves and chest pieces, big tattoos and smaller ones, some that fanned out and some that knotted in on themselves. For anyone else it might have been hard to spot the connection between any of them, let alone all, but he knew at a glance that these were all projects he’d collaborated on with Nathan. He glanced up at Charles. “There ams a lot of stuffs here… Do you know whats you wants, or you just like the styles?”

“The second one,” Charles confirmed. “I saw them and… Well, I asked around. Someone gave me your card, so, ah, here I am.”

It was still flattering, of course. Sure Nathan came up with the concepts, but Skwisgaar was the one who made them a reality, embellished a little here or there, and made sure each tattoo came out absolutely perfect. He decided to take his former classmate’s sudden appearance as the compliment it was.

“All rights, I have some times before my next appointkints,” he said, waving at Charles to put the folder away and come around the counter. “Come sits back heres with me and looks at what I haves.”

“Dood, you think he’s going to be a custom job? And maybe really big?” Pickles murmured excitedly. He didn’t wait for Skwisgaar to answer, just drifted off with dollar signs in his eyes back to the customer he’d been working on before the interruption. They needed up upgrade some of the older equiptment, and Charles definitely looked like he could afford to sponsor that.

What Skwisgaar had was, essentially, pages from Nathan’s sketchbooks in a three ring binder of plastic sleeve protectors. He tugged an extra stool over for Charles and handed him the binder, then settled down to start mixing the colors in preparation for his next appointment. As he did so he commented, “You seems to has done pretty wells for yourselve."

“I was going to say the same thing,” Charles replied with a reserved smile.

“And… I seems to remembers you saids way back thens that you didn’t thinks you wants a tattoo. Somethings about it was ams too pourminents?”

“I did say something like that, didn’t I?” He turned a page, studying the drawings intently. “I don’t know, I could never, ah, picture anything I’d actually want. Your drawings were always very well done, of course, but they weren’t quite my style. But when I saw these… and especially when I found out you were the one who did them, it just, ah, seemed like a sign.”

Skwisgaar mixed an extra dab of blue into a very pale shade of indigo. “So this ams to be your first tattoos, huh mister bigs lawyer mans?”

“Yes, why?”

“Just wonderings if you ams still not the types to shows it offs, since I couldn’ts sees any,” he replied with exaggerated innocence. Then, after a moment, he added, “Virgins, heh.”

Charles glanced up at him over the top of his glasses and replied, dryly and with a very, very faint smirk, “Bold of you to assume.”

[glowstickia]

Hunger Waits For No Witch

[AO3]

The booth is still open, however the witch is away. Dark powers or no, witches have to eat too you know.

The halls were crowded with amass of children, classmates. Lisa strolled through, ignoring the sickeningly sweet smells of caramel and neon wooden booths beckoning kids to play games and win prizes or buy snacks. She squeezed past the pack of face paint, fake limbs, and cheap fabrics and wove through the labyrinthian hallways until she stumbled across yellow tape. Her lips twitched a grin as she adjusted the black book in her hands.

DO NOT CROSS

CRIME SCENE

The yellow tape stretched over the entrance to the art hall. No booths were set past them. None planned anyways, yet, past the tape she could see the murder scene. Tiled floors and lockers were splattered in red. She looked up and snorted. Some specks of the fake blood were up there too. They were on the hit list, in more ways than one.

The flickering lights farther along the darkened hallway struggled along with the low hum of the florescent lights. Lisa patted the wall slightly beyond the tape, as if to apologize for the rest of the school for not using it's perfectly spooky atmosphere for this occasion. She had noticed the classroom Haunted Houses while under construction earlier that week. Neither compared to this hallway.

She slowly moved her hand back as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck raise. Chills sent goosebumps down her arms. She stared forward, half lidded eyes slowly moving to her peripheral. Movement to her left as someone's sneaker squeaked against the tile floor had her head snap towards the sound. Her eyes narrowed. The shadows had changed. The distinct primal warning of someone watching churned in her gut. Her lips twitched a grin. So this was the game they were going to play, hm?

She spun on her toes and continued to her en route: the cafeteria. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation and slight impatience as she returned to the more populace halls. Vendors yelled out, beckoning hungry customers with their call. Kettle corn, candy corn, peanuts. Her mouth watered at the looming smells of snacks. She kept her eyes forward and hands wrapped around her book. Substance first. Snacks, later.

Her focus drowned out the idle chatter and zeroed in on faint music blasting from the double doors she was weaving towards. An organ trilled before the notes started crescendoing and moving, faster and faster. The jumble of notes pulled at her, tugging her along as she entered the cafeteria.

To the right, off to the side was an organ resting on a large flatbed cart. The shining metal of pipes squeaked as a man wearing a thick cape hunched over the keys. His arms raised and slammed dramatically onto the ivory, the pipes spewed a mash of notes into the air. She wandered over to him as he finished Toccata and Fugue in D minor. His head rose before he spun around on his stool. A white half mask greeted her. He bowed at her. She bowed back.

"Evening Mr. Capriccio," she said to the band director, "wonderful to hear your haunting display as always."

Mr. Capriccio pulled a water bottle out from the hammer space of his cape and took a long swig. "Ah, yes, good to see you too." He cleared his throat and gestured to the organ. "Any spin chilling requests?"

Lisa grinned. "Hall of the Mountain King?"

He rolled his shoulders. "Finally, something other than the Ghostbusters theme and Wonderwall." He cracked his fingers and spun back towards the organ. 

The organ started soft as Mr. Capriccio started repeating the notes, louder, and louder. Lisa turned towards the cafeteria. Fake cobwebs and plastic spiders hung over the windows. Orange and black streamers held up only by clear tape dangled from the white tiled ceiling. As she moved towards the line amassed with kids dressed in colorful costumes, the music shifted slightly.

Lisa shook her head and scratched her raven's chin. She tried at least. She shifted her book to her other arm as she opened and closed her fist reworking the blood back to her hand and save her straining arm. The doors leading outside were closed, locked. Rain gently pattered against them. Her eyes shifted to the tables filled with kids. Flaming red hair caught her eye. Farthest from the line sat a dragon, a princess knight, an alien with an aluminum cone hat, Rorschach, and a body guard. The dragon laughed loudly, pounding the table with his fist as the princess knight next to him punched his arm.

Under all the chatter and organ music playing in the background, Lisa heard someone's soul leave their body. Her eyes shifted a few tables over to the blonde curls dressed in more pink than usual. Across from Glinda the (Nosy) Witch was Max, his face resting on the table. Next to him was Mr. Bathrobes, patting his back.

Dimitri's eyes moved, and locked with hers. Lisa winked at him. Dimitri removed his hand and turned back to Suzy whose flailing arms suggested a battle strategy was being put in place. Beside her, her flying monkey was jotting notes and looking thoroughly unamused. He kept his eyes on his yellow notebook, possibly doodling ways to off the "good witch". Suzy hands smacked one of his feathery blue wings. His eyes narrowed at her before he jotted down another idea.

"LISA!!!" a voice shouted across the cafeteria.

Lisa turned her attention to the rapid movement of Jeff's arms as he waved at her from his seat. He wore a neon green suit with a white, puffy chest plate. Two green triangles stuck out from his untamable orange curls. He grinned at her as he practically bounced out of his seat. She returned the smile and waved politely with her fingers.

The line moved. Lisa's attention pulled back to her stomach as it angrily gave its two cents. She grabbed a tray and the cafeteria's special. Sloppy Joes with a choice of potato chips, an undescribed veggie, and a can of fruit juice. She wandered over to Jeff's table, her smile returning on her lips upon noticing the grimalkin across from him. Violet looked up from her tray. Her hair was pulled back by braids and a headband with cat ears stuck to them. The rest of her outfit was black. As Lisa grew closer she noticed the dab of pink paint covering part of Violet's nose. Black painted whiskers were also drawn on her face.

"Hello Gundamn and Grimalkin," Lisa said, sitting next to Violet.

Jeff's face turned down. "It's uh....an eva suit." His voice quivered.

Lisa's hand immediately reached over and patted his. "I mix those up. I'm sorry."

Violet moved her lips away from her straw. "We're not as knowledgeable with anime as you and Cody are, Jeff."

Jeff raised his hand, finger trembling as he opened his mouth. "But, you watch Sailo-" Violet stared at him. Her juice box slowly crushing in her grip. "But you do..." his voice was soft.

"Ah, I'm sorry." Violet's shoulders relaxed as she immediately reached over to pat his hand. "We don't speak of it in public."

Lisa stabbed her sloppy sandwich with a spoon and took a bite. She swallowed. "So, how's the festival life treating you?"

Jeff brightened. "Oh! You missed it! There was a fight and fake blood was everywhere. The hallway looks like its from The Shining."

Violet snorted. "I'm sure she had a hand in it." She sipped on her juice.

Lisa faked a gasp. "Whatever do you insinuate Violet?" She stabbed her sandwich again. "Me? Starting fights? I run a business. Speaking of which," she leaned forward, "when are you two going to visit me?"

Jeff sniffed a bit. "I still haven't won Starchman's Sentence Stars yet."

Violet shrugged as she sipped the air remaining in her juice box loudly. "Hate to tell you Buns, but your prices are steep."

Lisa leaned next to Violet. Their shoulders touched, her face only centimeters from Violet's. Lisa curled her index finger under Violet's chin. "Pretty girl's get a free palm reading." She winked, slinked back to her tray, and continue eating, ignoring the red blooming on Violet's face.

"Aw," Jeff said, crestfallen, "why does she get a free palm reading."

"If you have a star," Lisa said between bites, "you can have your tarot read instead."

His lips thinned as he contemplated. "Friend discount?"

Lisa shrugged her shoulders. Her eyes never straying from her tray. "Only for crystal ball readings."

Jeff grinned. "I'll take it!"

"You'll have to swing by my tent though with a few stars." She looked up, "The crystal is not to be moved." She patted her lips with a napkin. Her eyes shifted to the empty spots next to Jeff. "Strange, we appear to be missing a couple...friends."

Violet inhaled sharply. "Cody mentioned something about meeting someone at a car. Ed's with the club of weirdos." She turned quickly to Lisa, her braid swung wildly behind her. "And," she leaned close, "don't do that again."

Lisa grinned. "I won't," she dug her spoon into her waterlogged veggies, "in public." 

[themurphyzone]

All Time Travelers Go to Heaven Ch 6

Okay, okay, I know y’all are screaming for a certain someone but after several plot heavy chapters I gotta slow down a bit. Well this really isn’t filler but at the same time there’s less exposition. 

Ch 6- Road to Madness

Balthazar didn’t sleep well last night. He’d spent it tossing and turning, throwing off the thin blanket he and Vinnie shared, only to roll back under it in a few minutes. It was the watch. It had to be. It ticked loudly, overpowering the sound of the leaky kitchen faucet and Vinnie’s snores. 

It hadn’t been this loud when he was in the limo. Unless the voice inside counted....

That was ridiculous. Clocks don’t talk. It was a figment of his imagination. Yes, just a product of a paranoid mind. 

He was losing it. Vinnie stared at his partner in disbelief. “But you don’t even like coffee.”

“Now’s not the time to question me, Dakota. There are...extraordinary circumstances,” Balthazar said, stabbing a grape so harshly with a fork that it skidded across the table onto Vinnie’s plate. 

“I’ll say. There’s still plenty of jasmine tea packets if you change your mind.” Vinnie poured two cups of steaming hot coffee, setting them on the table. Balthazar immediately tried to take a drink, flinching when the scalding liquid spread bitterly across his tongue.

Balthazar glared at his mug, which mocked him with a child’s doodle of a sun and rainbow. “This mug is entirely too cheery,” Balthazar muttered, dumping the contents down the kitchen sink. 

“We can’t all be sourpusses,” Vinnie shrugged, still polishing off his scrambled eggs. “And I coulda drunk that for you if you didn’t want it.”

“The caffeine isn’t good for either of us,” Balthazar growled, opening the Jinx’s folder to a random page.

The Jinx is dangerous. His ancestors have caused many of history’s greatest calamities: the Great Fire of London, the Great Molasses Flood of 1919, and the Hindenburg Disaster to name a few. I theorize that if we track down the members of the Murphy family throughout the timestream and remove them, we can avert these tragedies. 

Balthazar flipped to a different page. That theory wouldn’t get off the ground. He doubted the Bureau had the resources to track down every person with the surname ‘Murphy’ throughout the time-space continuum. 

Experiment #65: Gauging Reactions to Disaster

For this experiment, we have selected the 14th century, specifically the year 1348. It is important to note that everybody from the Bureau of Time Travel involved, including the Jinx, have been vaccinated against the bubonic plague as a precaution. In addition, we are all wearing special full bodysuits that bacteria cannot penetrate. These will appear to be peasant clothing to outsiders in order to deflect attention.

We will be monitoring the Jinx’s reactions to the scene around him as the Black Death haunts a small Italian town. 

Hour 1: A plague doctor has dropped several flowers after making a house call. The Jinx wants to gather them, but we remind him that nothing is to be touched. He’s disappointed that the doctor doesn’t have his flowers. A gust of wind has blown the flowers out of his hand. A goat has scarfed them down in the middle of the street. A horse and his rider have passed by, and the goat spooks the horse, making the equine rear up and throw his rider to the ground. The man has a broken arm now.

Hour 2: We pass a woman in the beginning stages of the disease, clutching the corpse of a young child whose skin is blackened and blotched. She screams incoherently at the man who is trying to persuade her to add the child to a carriage full of many other corpses, and the Jinx is visibly uncomfortable. 

Hour 3: It appears that Murphy’s Law flares up when the Jinx experiences certain emotions. Further testing needed to determine if new theory is true. We will leave the time period shortly and return to HQ. 

Balthazar didn’t bother reading the conclusion of it. The experiment was complete rubbish anyway. By the standards of the 21st century, it was unethical to deliberately expose a test subject to distressing material. 

He closed the folder and set it in the middle of the table, moving to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink that had built up over the past few days. 

Perhaps busying himself with chores for the next two hours before they left would help keep him awake and occupy his mind. 

Turned out that even dusting the counter, doing laundry, and cleaning the shower wasn’t enough to stop the intrusive thoughts. He worried about the watch. He fretted about the mission. He wondered if Vinnie continued to blame himself. 

“Balthy! I’m ready to go!” Vinnie yelled. “I just-ow, my elbow, gotta get this shoe on. I’m shooing it on. Get it? Cause it’s a shoe, and I need to put it on and-” 

Balthazar sighed. Was Vinnie at least trying with his awful puns these days? He’d heard better jokes from amateur stand-up comedians at a cheap pub. 

“I’m coming!” he called. He was back in his regular outfit, freshly washed that morning. Though he would likely have to change his style later to avoid recognition from any agents that might be searching for him. 

He fingered the watch, debating if he should leave it in the room. A small voice in the back of his head warned him not to lose the watch. Not to let it leave his sight. The consequences would be dire. 

He left the watch on.

Vinnie had been waiting for him by the couch. He adjusted his collar and bow tie, frowning. Balthazar had explained to him that his tracksuit would draw attention from the locals of that time period, and they could possibly be tailed by the Bureau if they saw something out of place. 

“So explain how men in the early 20th century dealt with the heat in these things,” Vinnie complained. “Cause I haven’t worn something this fancy since my great-grandfather’s funeral.” 

Balthazar placed the derby hat over Vinnie’s head and smoothed out the wrinkles of the suit. “Why don’t you ask them?” he suggested, inputting the coordinates in the Transporter. 

A portal materialized, a long street lined with houses on the other side. They stepped through quickly, checking their surroundings to make sure nobody saw them. There were several young boys having a play fight with long sticks, but they were too engrossed in their game to pay attention to Balthazar and Vinnie. 

“Of course it wouldn’t drop us off directly in front of the building they’re at,” Balthazar muttered. “They’re conducting the experiment in this town’s abandoned asylum. Be prepared to ask the locals for directions, Dakota. We are not wandering around this place like a pair of hoodlums.” 

“Or we could just use that,” Vinnie pointed to a comically oversized billboard behind a row of houses. 

Balthazar gave him an unimpressed look. “An entirely too saccharine and sugarcoated advertisement for the American Dream. Really?” 

“No, below that! Directions to the asylum are below that ad,” Vinnie said. “As well as directions to a diner. Maybe we could go there before we return to the 21st century.”

“Head three miles straight down Cambridge, turn right on Windbrook and go straight one and a half miles, and the asylum will be at the top of Jules’ Hill,” Balthazar copied the directions onto a sheet of paper, folding it neatly and stuffing it in a lapel. “Seeing that we cannot walk that far and make it in time, we shall have to steal a car.”

Just as he was wondering how they could pull that off, a black buggy turned from the main road into the neighborhood, then parked on the left side of the street. Balthazar straightened his tie and walked up to the car as the driver’s door opened, a man in a business suit stepping out. Upon seeing Balthazar and Vinnie, he frowned. 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around before,” the man said. “Who are you?” 

“Ah yes, we are representatives from a car manufacturing plant,” Balthazar lied, tipping his hat and shaking the man’s hand, though he still didn’t look convinced. Balthazar coughed to get Vinnie to pick up the elaborate fabrication.

“Oh, oh, gotcha,” Vinnie winked. “That’s a nice car ya got, but we’re gonna have to do an inspection to make sure everything’s running smoothly. You know how corporates are. Don’t wanna lose money over a recall.”

“I just bought this car two weeks ago, it doesn’t need an inspection-”

Balthazar caught the driver’s door to peer inside before the man slammed it shut. The tank was full. Good. They wouldn’t have to waste time with the upkeep of the car. 

Vinnie walked around the buggy to the passenger’s side. “Nicest bumper I’ve ever seen. The workers did a good job with this one.”

“Get away from my buggy now!” the man demanded, shoving his face close to Balthazar’s. “Who the hell are you people?”

Balthazar grabbed his shoulders and twisted the man around, shoving one arm across his neck and pressing down against his throat. He could tell this man had likely never been in a fight in his entire life. In his surprise, he could only flail his legs helplessly as he was overpowered. “I shall let you go in a bit, but business first,” Balthazar whispered. 

The man gurgled pathetically, nodding. 

“Your keys.”

He offered no resistance, a trembling hand reaching inside his pocket and drawing out the keys. Balthazar grabbed it and released his hold. The man dropped to his knees, gasping for air. 

“Thank you for your time, sir,” Balthazar said pleasantly, hopping into the driver’s seat. He plugged the keys into the ignition and started the buggy, leaving the poor man eating dust within seconds.

“That’s strange,” Vinnie commented. “Usually the corporate cover story works.”

Balthazar pulled the directions and the Transporter out and tossed them into Vinnie’s lap. “Focus, Dakota,” he said. “Which direction is Windbrook in?”

“Three miles down Cambridge,” Vinnie replied. 

“I know it’s three miles down Cambridge,” Balthazar snapped. “Am I supposed to turn right or left on Cambridge? That blasted sign didn’t mention that part.”

Vinnie shrugged. “Just pick a direction. You got a fifty-fifty shot at picking the correct one.” 

“We will be wasting precious time if I pick the wrong one!” Balthazar complained. “And we need to get there as quickly as possible, because I don’t want to be tailed by any cops. I knew I should’ve knocked that gentleman unconscious. Isn’t there a GPS function on the Transporters?”

“Okay, okay, calm down. FYI, that feature doesn’t work,” Vinnie said, holding up the Transporter, which displayed an error screen. “Satellites haven’t been invented yet. And neither have cake pops, which I’ve been craving lately. It’s both a cake and a lollipop in one. Seriously, whoever invented those was a genius.” 

“Fortunately for you, we haven’t gone back far enough to avoid the American staple of hamburgers and fries,” Balthazar muttered. “Approaching Cambridge. I’m going right.” 

“Personally I would’ve used the maze approach and stuck to the left wall,” Vinnie said. “But, hey. Whatever floats your boat. Or car in this case.” 

“I’m sticking to the right lane,” Balthazar said. “Keep an eye out for Windbrook and the police.”

Vinnie nodded and rolled down the window, letting his arm hang out. Five minutes later, he tapped on Balthazar’s arm. “There’s a cop. But his light isn’t on.”

Balthazar checked the side mirror, and sure enough, there was a cop behind them. “Okay, so there’s a cop,” Balthazar nervously adjusted his collar. “No big deal. He’s probably just out on patrol. Not gonna arrest us for carjacking or anything.” 

He sped up slightly, though he was still within the speed limit. His foot was itching to push down on the pedal and try to lose the cop, but he had enough restraint. It wouldn’t last long. 

He was not going to be arrested again on a mission.

A car zoomed by on the left lane, startling Balthazar out of his thoughts. They were driving well over the speed limit. 

The police car’s lights flashed, a loud alarm piercing the air. 

“Uh, maybe you should hit the gas,” Vinnie suggested. “Getting kinda hot in here....”

Then the police car pulled into the left lane in pursuit of the speeding driver, leaving Balthazar and Vinnie behind. 

They breathed a sigh of relief. 

“So I’ve never seen such a huge cop out before,” Vinnie said, grinning. 

Balthazar groaned. “No bad puns when I’m driving, Dakota. I always feel the urge to let you walk to our destination afterwards.” 

Vinnie smirked, unapologetic for his pun. “Oh, we made it to Windbrook after all! Turn right here and it will be another-uh, let me check the paper real quick-one and a half miles to Jules’ Hill.”

Balthazar turned right. The road contained more dirt and gravel than the previous did, so the ride was more bumpy. The buggy held up rather well. Then again, they’d lucked out and managed to steal a car in brand new condition. 

“There’s Jules’ Hill!” Vinnie exclaimed. “And I can see the abandoned asylum from here. Oh wow. I can see all the broken building materials too.”

“They don’t call it abandoned without a good reason,” Balthazar said, his mind wandering to the horrible treatment of patients in asylums he’d read about. Where people like the Jinx were just another statistic. A relic of the past. 

Or perhaps, the technology had evolved. The methods had not. 

Balthazar parked the car next to the rusted, iron gate. They climbed out of the car, standing back to survey the massive, broken down building. A metal sign had been torn off the top, lying in a massive pile of dead leaves. 

Vinnie reached out to touch the gate, and the doors fell apart with a loud crash, now a broken heap. 

“The Charles Jules Asylum,” Balthazar murmured. “We’re here.”

[quinnyandco]

I tried to put the questions in instead of just numbers but alack, too many questions, too little space. 2, 3, 8, 13, 14, 15, 19. And -- *copycatting*-- FOR ALL

THANKS THIS IS GONNA TAKE TWELVE YEARS 

2. Say your OC made a playlist on Spotify. What bands would be on that playlist? Any specific genres?

Berlin - He’s this weird mix between folksy stuff like Fleet Foxes and indie rock like Bastille. Lark - She would be blasting the Maroon 5 and Halsey through her car speakers, but also listening to stupid stuff like Bad Lip Reading songs on the down-low. Kes - 10 hours of Latin prayer chants, and her side playlist of random Florence + The Machine/Lana Del Rey/Daughter stuff that she listens to on private mode.Arthur - half his playlists have like one song in them, and it’s always something that you’d never actually figure that he’d listen to, and you’d be right because he hasn’t clicked on that playlist in 4 months. he makes his own music more than he listens to it. the playlists he does regularly use are for parties. lark also made him a playlist that he keeps meaning to listen to but somehow every time he clicks play, he never hears anything and then it’s over. Amber - doesn’t know what a spotify is, doesn’t care, has better things to do |Sitara - like, I WANT to listen to her playlist. because she’s one of those people who loves music but gets tired of it quickly, so she’s always finding new stuff and her playlists are a total mess. Every genre. It doesn’t matter what it is, she can find an occasion for it. Edward - a playlist containing nothing but “Be a Man” from Mulan on loop3. What kind of video games would they play? Any specific titles?Berlin - Lol okay, he was MADE for first-person shooters. But is he actually playing them? No. He’s playing those cute little flash games with bunnies hopping onto logs or something. Lark - Overwatch, because of the team-building element. She’ll usually only play video games in general if she’s with other people, except for the Sims which she’ll play alone if she needs character inspiration.Kes - Is somehow ridiculously good at the first-person shooters. This freaks her out. And she still doesn’t *get* the Sims but she plays it sometimes anyway because it’s fun to pretend to have a happy familyArthur - he will be HORRIBLE at anything he tries, unless he hyperfocuses on it, and then suddenly he is champion at everything and people refuse to play with him anymore. Amber - she’s really good at portal and she doesn’t even try to be. it just kind of happens. also she finds surgeon simulator to be horrendously inaccurate and she refuses to play it. Sitara - why on earth would you kill people in a video game when you could do it in real lifeEdward - DITTO. but he’s like, super good at tetris and doesn’t tell anyone. 

bonus: Nick plays Crossyroad. Don’t ask. he just does. 

8. How does your OC keep track of time? Do they have a planner? A calendar?

Berlin - He has a lot of people barking instructions at him, so he never really has the chance to forget what he’s doing or when he’s supposed to do it. But he’s naturally really organized so he’d probably have a planner otherwise. Lark - She’s usually on time because she hates to be late to the action or disappoint anyone counting on her. But sometimes she gets distracted by like, people on the street during her commute. Kes - time is a human construct, who needs it? the goddess will tell us when to leave and when to arrive. the moon spirits speak her truth into the ears of those who will listen Arthur - has owned approximately 500 planners in his life. it doesn’t matter how much he writes in them. he forgets they exist and is late anyway. Amber - has owned approximately 0 planners in her life. she is a perfect piece of ENTJ timekeeping. she doesn’t need a watch, or the sun, or you, probably. Sitara - has neatly plotted out her day, or hired someone to do it for her. Usually on time, but if she’s not, it’s because she decided it wasn’t worth her time to be there in the first place. Edward - is honestly more of a diva than sitara most of the time. he shows up if he wants to show up. you can’t tell him where to be. 

13. If you are an artist, and if your OC can draw as well, could you replicate what their artstyle looks like? Or, if you can’t, could you describe it?

Berlin - once he smeared some blood on a rock and called it art Lark - doodles on the margins of reports and discarded typewriter pages. Is better than she thinks she is but’ll never do anything with it. Kes - paints and writes all over the walls of her shed. No specific style; she’ll try anything you’ll teach her. Arthur - Cannot draw, doesn’t try Amber - wouldn’t actually be bad at it if she’d just sit down and learn for like five minutes Sitara - Has developed her skill over the years and is probably the only character I have who could actually paint your portrait and would gladly do it. Edward - what is paint. it has the word pain on it. is it like that 

14. If your OC owned a Tumblr blog, what kind of content would they post?

Berlin - I actually have a private blog for Berlin and it is entirely pictures of snakes, jackets, bunnies, and depressing quotes. Lark - She has two blogs–one for her professional stuff, and the other for maximum memeing and opinion pieces. Sometimes she mixes them up and her professional people get a horrible wake-up call as to her sense of humor. Kes - Meditations, uses it as her personal journal, a little bit of a SJW when she’s tired. accidently follows a NSFW blog because she thought they just wanted to be her friend and she didn’t look at the content first.  Arthur - if there was ever a theme, it died long ago. also he might still be confusing facebook with tumblr because the colors are too similar. forgot his password. Amber - queen of throwing shade to people. has 2000 followers and she doesn’t know why because she didn’t ask them to be there. why are 2000 people following a blog about sutures. surely they have lives. leaves arthur to answer her hate mail, and answers serious asks from medical students if she feels generous. Sitara - KITTY PIX Edward - I tried to ask him what he’d have on his blog and he just looked at me really scarily and i stopped asking. 

15. How do they type? Do they use emojis? Do abbreviate and shorten words?

Berlin - if he likes you, he doesn’t care. you’re getting whatever he’s dishing out at that particular moment (this includes random bouts of existentiality that you never asked for). Lark - Always has the perfect word for every situation. Understands emojis and internet speak the day it emerges on Tumblr. probably started the “me, an intellectual” meme. gif queen. Kes - doesn’t know why you’d type when you could just….talk to people?Arthur - Autocorrect is NOT his friend. But he never corrects autocorrect because by the time he realizes his mistake he’s already forwarded it to you and your boss and your aunt. He and Lark have gif wars.Sitara - Doesn’t even have a phone because someone would probably find a way to hack it and she is NOT being taken out by a camera phone scandal. Amber - Only answers texts at 2 AM. Perfect grammar. Has never used an emoji in her life. Deletes them if they automatically show up. Edward - you texted him once, and he replied telling you exactly where you could stick your texting. you were never brave enough to contact him again.  

19. Does your OC like to collect things? What kind of things do they collect?

Berlin - he picks up rocks sometimes, and then puts them back because they might be some convict’s soul and he’s not in the mood to cart around convict souls in his pockets.Lark - she has an entire drawer full of feathers. she picks them up off the sidewalk every time she sees one while she’s out walking. she also has a pen collection and a playbill collection from all the shows she’s been to. she draws mustaches on the ones she didn’t like. Kes - hordes books. also doesn’t really have any books. but if she had money and a house she’d have a lot of books.Arthur - he’s got a touch of kleptomania about him so he’s inadvertently stolen every pen that anyone has ever given him. I guess that counts. (Some of them are from Lark’s collection, and if she’s noticed, she hasn’t asked for them back)Amber - does not see the point of useless junk hanging around. just clean up your life. Sitara - she has a collection of pawprints (ink pressed onto paper) from every cat she has ever owned/cared for. they’re in a little drawer in her room and she looks through them whenever she misses them. Edward - do scars count because he has a lot of those and they don’t seem to be stopping. 

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