#I don’t call my blog the recycling bin for nothing

[cosmixzpunk]

[2022 old art dump]

If I post enough of these, I can convince myself to redraw them. Lots of eggs in this dump today.

Old art is so funny....first one is Modias, second one is Amara, third one is young Cori getting her free piercing from a salamander she found. Some of these dynamics are still accurate, some not so much. All of these were in the protype stage of StarPoint. When I was just throwing stuff at a wall until out of the depths of the void, I grabbed it all an edited it to something new.

[svtskneecaps]

Number 17

Vernon Chwe x (gender netural) reader

Words: 5048

Genre: fluff, some pining (does pining count as angst?)

neighbor! childhood friend! aus

you’re feeling the summer listlessness. vernon helps you find something to do

day 35 of a tct summer collab

(holy shit guys i’ve been excited to post this since like, MAY holy shit i hope y’all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it)

(my masterlist)

You shot him a text. Very simple.

vernon i’m going crazy

He shot a text back. Very simple.

why

why do you think? you ask. i don’t know what to do

it’s summer, he says, you can do anything. for example, i’m lying in bed enjoying myself

it’s 1 pm

it’s summer

Who are you to argue with that?

i’m still going crazy. you might be able to stay in bed all day but i’m gonna go insane

so find something to do

i can’t, you say, because it’s true.

all year you were listing hundreds of things you would do when you got the time

i know, you say, i know. but it’s like, now i have the time, but i just feel paralyzed. i don’t know what to do

And you wait for a response and none comes for long enough that you worry you said something that was too weird even for him, but then your screen goes dark and your phone buzzes and his contact is on screen. You answer and his messy bedhead fills your screen.

“You want me to decide?” he asks, and his voice is rough like he just woke up.

“Sure,” you say.

“Try baking something,” he says. “Like chocolate chip cookies or a pie or something.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to eat it.”

“Absolutely,” he mumbles, face still half buried in his pillow. “I can grab a quick shower and come over just in time for the taste test.”

You snicker. “No way, you don’t have the palette for a taste test.”

“Alright, then I’ll put them in the oven and we’ll hit up a couple friends and force them to try it.”

And. . . honestly that doesn’t sound half bad. It’s been five days since you saw anyone outside your immediate family--which is suffocating in its loneliness, after the routine closeness of the year--and maybe that’ll make you feel less paralyzed.

“Okay,” you say.

True to his word, Vernon’s over within thirty minutes, leaning his bike up against yours in the garage. He handles the oven for you, although not without teasing you about the time you burned yourself on the top of the oven while taking out your grandma’s angel food cake at Christmas.

“Well at least I helped you remember how coordinates work,” you say, because you both knew that was the reason you two learned whether to move on the x or y axis so much faster than your classmates.

“At least I know how to keep my skin intact,” he shoots back.

While taking the tray out of the oven he very nearly blisters his thumb and drops the tray; after securing the tray’s safety and running cold water over the blister, once your heartbeat returns to something acceptable, you inform him that instead of cookies he’ll be eating his words, to which he responds with, “At least my words taste good,” and you snap him with the towel. He flicks water at you, and only the fear of having even more to clean up keeps you from starting all out war. You tell him to bring his swimsuit over tomorrow, though. There’s mischief in his eyes as he agrees.

You each balance a tupperware of cooled cookies on your handlebars as you coast through the neighborhood, knocking on doors and handing them out to friends and friends’ parents. Minghao takes three. Seungkwan’s mother trades you two bottles of water, fresh from the fridge, for a cookie and first dibs on the next batch. She takes another one and says it’s to give to Seungkwan when he gets home from acting camp, but winks when she says it. You snap Seungkwan the picture of his mom with the cookie, and he snaps back a picture of himself and Jun making dorky faces demanding you save a few for them because make no mistake we will be swinging by your house when we’re done for the day and we expect cookies you two!

Jeonghan and Joshua aren’t home, but you find them all hanging out in Seungcheol’s pool. Jeonghan asks why you aren’t selling your cookies. “Because this is the taste test,” Vernon says. “We’ll be getting you hooked on this batch and then start charging ten bucks on the next round.” Jeonghan praises your business sense and takes a bite out of Seungcheol’s cookie while he isn’t looking. Seungcheol tackles him into the pool and you leave before the ensuing splash fight can get the cookies wet.

True to their word, Jun pulls into the driveway with Seungkwan in the passenger’s seat and Mingyu in the backseat (they must’ve agreed to carpool with Mingyu after his cooking workshop), and you get nervous because Mingyu’s going to college for baking and everyone knows that out of the group Mingyu is the best cook, but Vernon presents him with a cookie no hesitation and Mingyu tells you they’re amazing, and Vernon gives you this smile as if to say, see, nothing to worry about.

Wednesday, Vernon comes over with his swimsuit and you make a pair of rudimentary signs for a car wash out of an old cardboard box. His is very simple, bubble letters with the address and CAR WASH in all caps. You tried to get a little creative with yours.

“I love it,” Vernon says, crouched next to you as you hover over your sign. “You can almost hear the cloud cow saying ‘graphic design is my passion’.”

You push his shoulder hard enough that he topples over, laughing. “It’s supposed to be a soapy car!”

He’s so proud of himself for that joke that he suggests you start a car wash company instead of going to college. “You can call it Clean Mooters,” he says, as you’re filling your buckets.

You blast him with the hose and he laughs so hard he snorts.

You spend the day covered in soap and water, spraying Vernon with the hose if there isn’t a car to wash and shrieking and trying to dance around behind him every time he gets the hose from you. When the cars stop coming you pack up shop, uprooting the signs and taking them inside, tossing them in the recycling bin.

Thursday it’s raining outside. Vernon comes over anyway. You call him an idiot. “Don’t you know the rain’ll rust your bike?”

He shrugs with a half smile, shrugging off a raincoat that now has a strip of mud up the back where his tires kicked up the dirty street water. “There’s only a hundred and four days of summer vacation,” he says. “I didn’t want to miss one.”

You seize his coat and toss it in the sink, bowing your head to scrub off the mud so he doesn’t see how red your cheeks have become.

You play Mario Kart on the Wii for most of the day (Vernon hits you with a red shell right before you cross the finish line; you hip check him off Rainbow Road), and even as out of practice as the both of you have become over the school year, you’re still pretty well matched. By the time you get bored with that, your mom has texted to say she’s going to need to stay at work a little longer and you might be on your own for dinner. That’s fine, you and Vernon try out a recipe for lasagna that you found on a food blog (buried under the woman’s lengthy story of the time her husband nearly got stomped by a cow. “It’s a sign,” Vernon says, “Clean Mooters is your true calling.” You’d hit him if you weren’t very carefully adding a layer of sauce).

It’s still raining when Vernon has to leave. You stand there, just outside the cover of the garage, watching Vernon shrug on his raincoat.

“You’re gonna get soaked,” he says.

“You say that like I care,” you say, rain beginning to drip down your hair.

He steps out of the garage then, too, standing next to you. You turn your face to the sky, closing your eyes against the heavy drops that splatter against your cheeks.

“You’re gonna catch your death.”

“Says the guy who’s wearing a raincoat with the hood down.” You shove his chest without looking. He catches your hands. You look down.

Your eyes meet.

Vernon drops your hands and coughs. You reach up to brush the water from your forehead, gaze on the ground as your face burns, despite the cool rainwater still sliding down your cheeks.

“I, um, I should go,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say. “See you.”

He hops on his bike and rides away. The rain falls so hard you lose sight of him before he rounds the corner.

Saturday the whole team gets together at Jeonghan’s house, because he has a firepit. Seungkwan is standing on the picnic table when you ride up, in the middle of a dramatic retelling of some odd thing that happened at acting camp. He appears to be fencing Vernon with an imaginary sword, and you can only imagine the context of that story. You don’t announce yourself, for fear of making one of them fall off, and help Wonwoo get the food from the kitchen. Mingyu is already getting set up at the grill (despite being one of the youngest, he’s the only one any parent trusts near the grill; previous block barbeques have ended in disaster that no one’s eager to repeat). Minghao is by the firepit, holding the lighter very tightly, either to keep it away from Soonyoung or to ensure he’s the one to start the fire.

Seungkwan jumps down from the table when Jihoon tells him to, although he continues telling his story in an enthusiastic yell. Vernon meets your eyes and grins, flicking his eyes at Seungkwan like you’re sharing an inside joke like normal, and you can almost forget that moment in the rain ever happened.

Nearby, Jeonghan is filling a plastic baby pool with water. You ask him what it’s for but he just grins and tells you it’s a secret. When it comes to Jeonghan that’s usually cause for concern, but also you’re itchy inside your skin and all you did Friday was pick out a couple songs on the old piano your great grandmother left your family and no matter what the adventure you’re down for it, so you leave him to it. It’s the first bonfire of the summer. You can handle anything.

They get the fire started before Mingyu finishes grilling, the smell of the meat wafting over the yard and making your stomach rumble. Unfortunately, they misjudged the wind direction and half of the chairs are directly in the path of the smoke. There’s a lot of complaining as people rush to shift their chairs out of the way. Vernon ends up next to you in the scramble. You aren’t complaining; now you get to tease him about the way he seasons his food and he’ll tease you back about your tendency to drown your burgers in ketchup.

(except you don’t; you eat quietly and neither of you bring up the other’s habits and somewhere deep down that scares you)

When the sun goes down, Jeonghan and Joshua bring out the alcohol, and everyone who’s old enough drinks.

The baby pool, Jeonghan says, is for the losers of the tournament. The tournament, he says, is simple. And for pairs.

The first challenge is a wheelbarrow race down the street. You thought you and Vernon had a pretty good chance of winning, but then, by some divine magic, Jihoon and Mingyu shoot off and cross the finish line miles before everyone else. Half the group calls bologna because come on they’ve got just about the biggest height difference between them, out of everyone, but Joshua was reffing the starting line and didn’t see any false starts; they won fair and square.

The second challenge is hula hooping. You don’t have much hope for your score, not because you’re bad at hula hooping, but because you’re bad at hula hooping when Vernon is right next to you and also hula hooping. You end up laughing so hard that you lose your hoop within three spins, but in the end it doesn’t matter, because Vernon can carry the team score to victory.

“Who needs eight years of gymnastics?” he asks, and you beam.

The third challenge is a ‘who knows their partner the best’ challenge. Jeonghan put together a list of questions, which he and Joshua list off and give time for each partner to write down both their answer and what they think their partner put. You’re a little scared; you’ve known Vernon for as long as you can remember but sometimes you wonder if you really know him like you think you do. The questions aren’t so bad, simply asking what your partner’s favorite clothing brand is, or what time they get up in the morning, or what they think of pineapple on pizza. You breeze through the questions, until the last one. Joshua lists the final question, which member of the group is their favorite?

Your answer is simple enough, but you aren’t sure of his. Sure, you partnered up, but Seungkwan had all but thrown himself directly at Wonwoo when Jeonghan sent you off to partner and you knew Vernon and Seungkwan had known each other long before you had talked to anyone in the neighborhood or gone to a barbeque or slotted yourself into the dynamic of the block, and you knew he and Joshua had a special sort of friendship because of their similar heritage and you just didn’t know for sure what he would put (especially after the strange moment in the rain; you weren’t sure what it meant and you weren’t sure you wanted to know).

Eventually you write Seungkwan’s name on the sheet and hand the paper to Jeonghan when he comes around to collect. You fidget with your fingers as they tally up the scores. Next to you, Seokmin hops up to either get into a passionate debate with Soonyoung over what his true favorite movie is or to maybe just tackle Soonyoung into the grass. Either way, Vernon slides into his empty chair.

“So what’d you put for number seven?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he means. “Clean Mooters,” you say.

He pumps his fist. “I knew you’d see the light eventually!”

“Well I did get the most tips,” you tease.

“Well of course,” he says, “you’re the best looking, it’s only natural.”

Jeonghan calls out that they’ve tallied up the scores before you can process the full implications of that sentence.

You win that round too. Joshua hands the sheets back, and you carefully fold yours and shove it in your pocket.

You play a few more rounds: the chubby bunny challenge (Mingyu crammed an ungodly amount of marshmallows in his mouth, you almost wanted to go to church after seeing that; he kept going even after he won, until he almost choked and Joshua shut him down), the perfect s’more challenge (which you suspect was just an excuse for Jeonghan to get s’mores without having to make them; Mingyu’s first marshmallow slid off his stick, and the second caught fire; Seungcheol and Chan ended up winning and Seokmin called nepotism), the long jump (Soonyoung got overexcited and misjudged his landing; he landed hard on the cement and although he was totally fine, he would ask Jeonghan at random intervals for bonus points because of his injury with a shit eating grin all the while), and finally, a game of hide and seek.

The hide and seek rules are simple; they’ve been the same since you were old enough to be outside after sunset: don’t go off the block, don’t go inside, don’t leave your partner, and don’t use a light. The tournament judges give you thirty seconds head start. You and Vernon take off down the street and the thrill of the game sings through your bloodstream.

“Think they’ll think to look for us up Mrs. Boo’s tree?” Vernon asks as you run.

“Yeah, you remember Seungcheol did that once and Jeonghan’s never forgotten it, it’s the first place he’ll look.” You pass Chan and Seungcheol as they try to conceal themselves behind the Christmas decorations that Mr. Wilkinson still hasn’t taken down. “Mrs. Kim’s porch?”

“No, she’s got her light on.”

You skid to a halt at the end of the street, chests heaving, both casting around for a hiding space. Down the street, Joshua is beginning to yell, counting down from 10. Vernon tugs your sleeve, and points.

You grin.

Moments later, you resettle the plastic lid onto the box, burying yourselves carefully under the tarp inside and setting a few bricks on your backs for good measure. Mr. Lee is upgrading his yard this summer, and one addition is planned to be a brick footpath, and thankfully he left the tote of bricks out where you could get to it. Holding the tarp firmly in place, with the bricks above you for insurance, if they open the tote and decide to slap the tarp, you would just feel like a full box of footpath bricks.

Perfect.

Of course, it’s a pretty small space and you and Vernon have to lie pretty close to one another in order to fit, and your foot presses against his shin and his elbow is in your stomach, but if you lay there and don’t breathe, you’ll have the game in the bag.

“So,” Vernon says, voice so soft it’s sometimes hardly more than a breath, “what’d you put for number seventeen?”

You think back. “Vernon there was no number seventeen.”

“No?” he asks, with a tone like he’d always known. “Guess I’ll have to make one up.”

You snort, very softly. In the distance, yelling breaks out; Soonyoung and Seokmin just got found.

“How do you feel about long distance relationships?” he asks, so softly you nearly miss it.

Your heart skips a beat. You’re pretty sure he’s implying something but you aren’t sure if it should scare you or not. “I think they’re hard,” you say carefully. “Not impossible. But it takes work from both sides. So it’s hard.”

You hear him inhale like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t, and you feel the breeze from his exhale on your face. Neither of you speak, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re listening hard for the seekers or because you have nothing left to say.

The lid of the tote scrapes. You stop breathing. Jeonghan says something above you, drowned out by the beating of your heart. He pulls the lid off, and the moonlight filtering through the pinholes in the tarp might as well be a searchlight after the darkness.

Vernon’s face is inches from yours.

You blink, feeling like your eyelashes will brush his face with the motion. They don’t. Jeonghan pokes the tarp, hitting one of the bricks lying on your side. Apparently satisfied, he closes the lid. His footsteps recede.

Vernon’s face is still burned into your eyes like a sunspot.

He was staring at your lips.

You end up losing hide and seek, despite your perfect spot, because Minghao and Jun somehow managed to get onto Jeonghan’s roof (nobody’s managed to guess how and the pair smugly refuse to tell). The tournament ends with only Seungkwan and Wonwoo having not won any challenges. They change into swimsuits and dunk themselves in the baby pool, and then sprint back across the lawn to their towels yelling about the cold (you put a finger in; it wasn’t nearly as bad as when Jeonghan had filled it).

Vernon stops you before you get on your bike to get home.

“I’m. . . gonna be out of town for a couple weeks,” he says, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I can still facetime, but probably only in the mornings and evenings.”

“Okay,” you say, even as your heart sinks (he’s never been away this long).

“Yeah,” he says, and you stand there beside your bikes, looking at each other, like you’re both a little lost in what to do. His eyes keep flicking to your lips.

“So what’d you put for number seventeen?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t hesitate. “I think it could work,” he says, voice as soft as it was in the tote, and you find yourself leaning in to listen. “Easily, even, if it was someone as special as--”

He goes quiet. “As?” you prompt.

He shakes his head. “Someone special,” he says.

You haven’t drank at all but something still buzzes in your veins. It’s the first Saturday bonfire of the summer, and moon floats above the horizon like a glowing balloon, and a warm breeze caresses your skin, and you don’t feel afraid of anything.

“I guess it could work easy,” you say, “if it was someone like you.”

He stares at you long enough that you think maybe you overstepped and your cheeks start to heat and you duck your head and step back with something like an apology and--

--his lips crash into yours.

You don’t know if the kiss lasts for three seconds or three hours. All you know is when you break for breath, you find yourself caught in his eyes, the same familiar deep brown as you’ve seen for years growing up through schools and summers and camps and sleepovers, lying on the floor of the living room and whispering about movies and grades like they were the most important thing in the world.

And then you blink and the world unfreezes and he mumbles something about a curfew and you mumble something about your mom and as if pulled by the same strings you mount your bikes and pedal off in opposite directions.

You lie awake for hours, thinking about his eyes.

You facetime at any and all available hours. You find yourself staying up later to be able to catch him on a lunch break. And it’s hard, but you do it. Because, look, everyone on the block has known that his parents want him to go to Korea for college, and that he wants to go to Korea for college. For years you’ve known this moment was coming. And he’s only going to be there a couple weeks for some kind of tour he landed because his grandmother knows a guy who knows a gal who’s related to a guy who used to babysit for the guy on the school board, or something, and then he’ll come back and you can spend the remainder of the summer doing whatever.

Until then, you’re content to wake up earlier just to get an hour chatting with him before he goes to sleep. You show him all the pages you’ve marked in your mom’s old recipe book and tell him when he gets back you’ll make a couple and sell them for profit. You draw an official logo for Clean Mooters, and he suggests you add a restaurant as a side business that you two could run for extra profit. “Clean Mooters and Good Burgers,” he says, and then says, “No that’s terrible. I’ll keep thinking.”

“Are you the whole Clean Mooters marketing team?” you ask.

“Of course,” he says. “We both know all the business sense went to me.” And he smiles and you forget how to breathe.

You don’t talk about the kiss.

One time, he calls you, and your eyes swoop to check the time, because you know it’s crazy late where he is. You answer.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says before you get a word out, and his voice is hoarse and it twists your stomach. “Can you-- just tell me about your new project?”

And you do; you’ve taken up crochet this week and your grandma gave you a couple pointers and you do your best calming ASMR voice as you repeat her pointers and what you plan to do to build your skill, and then end up going off on a tangent on whether Clean Mooters should have a gift shop selling cow merchandise (“It would make sense, there are a lot of cows around here.”) and when you pause to recollect your thoughts, all you hear is his quiet breathing.

The day Vernon’s set to return is a Thursday, which is perfect, because it gives him time to recollect himself before the Saturday bonfire, which will be the real welcome back party. On Thursday, you and the other kids on the block draw all over the street and then, when his flight is late and the sun goes down before he gets to the street, assemble to hold flashlights over the really good stuff. You only see his smile for a few brief seconds as the car goes past, but it’s enough to make your heart swell.

Friday you wake up to a knock on your bedroom door. “Hey, up and at ‘em, it’s noon!” Vernon calls through the door.

You groan and throw an arm over your face. “Says the guy who was still in bed at one pm that whole first week!”

“Yeah, and it was heaven. Come on, you get up fast enough and I’ll buy you a donut.”

You get dressed and meet him downstairs. “Try that again and I’ll convince my mom to rehide the spare key,” you threaten.

He just grins. “I’d be able to find it.” He picks up your bike helmet. “You want to get out of the neighborhood with me?”

You’d rob a bank if it was with him. “Absolutely.”

It’s a rush to be back on your bike, both of you pedaling faster and faster to try to be in front, weaving around the cars parked on the streetside and hopping the curb just to prove you can. Last week’s project was learning to ride a bike no handed and you show off the new skill as often as you can.

You go everywhere and nowhere. You hit up the mall and he buys you a donut and you wander the halls window shopping, and he buys a whole rainbow set of tinted glasses just because they looked cool; you break open the package the minute you own them and check out your reflection in the store window.

“We look ridiculous,” you say, adjusting the red pair so they sit better on your face.

“Speak for yourself,” Vernon says, turning to see himself from different angles. “I think purple’s exactly my color.”

You shove the blue pair on over the red, even though they barely fit on your nose, and stick your tongue out at him. “There, now we match.”

He puts on another pair of glasses and it turns into a competition of who can wear the most, and then into who can wear the most without getting a headache. That second winner was Vernon, but you won the first half.

You hit up the McDonalds in the food court and get the large cup for a dollar, and then go down the drink machine and hit it with just a quick blast of each, repeated over and over until the cup was full. It tastes like a mess of conflicting sugars and syrups. You drink the whole thing through separate straws. You can’t stop glancing at his lips. Your faces are so close.

You get ice cream and sit under the bridge over the creek to eat it, watching the sun go down somewhere downstream, listening to the cars whizzing past overhead.

“I missed you,” Vernon says.

“I missed you too,” you say, even though that doesn’t convey the half of it.

“During the school year--” He stops, and you glance over to see him staring into the sunset, his ice cream melting toward his fingers.

You take his free hand. “It’ll be hard, not being close for so long,” you say. “But-- we could do it. I’m not just going to stop talking to you because I have classes and-- you know how my sleep schedule gets during the year.”

He laughs, softly, lacing your fingers together. “I’ll be able to call and tell you to go to bed without you turning it on me.”

“Damn.” You scowl at your feet. “Didn’t think about that. You sure you can’t just go to Europe instead?”

“Nope,” he says. “You’re going to have to find a new defense.”

You sigh. “But Vernon that one’s worked since we were fourteen.”

“It never worked!”

“Yes it did because then it got you on the defensive instead!”

“But you still went to sleep when I hung up, didn’t you?”

Double damn. He’s right and you know he knows it, from the raised eyebrow look he’s giving you as he catches the ice cream that’s melting around the edges of his cone.

“. . . That’s entirely beside the point.”

He just grins. You bury your face in your ice cream cone, trying to devour the rest in a single bite to avoid the urge to pout. Of course, all that really does is get ice cream all over your face, but whatever. When you look back at him, he’s still looking at you, his eyes soft and fond and damn but you’re going to miss him like a lung when he’s gone.

“You’ve got a little something there,” he says, and you make a face at him to maybe hide how very obviously whipped you are and do your best to wipe it off with the pile of napkins you snatched.

“Better?”

“No, it’s still--” and he scoots in, and you both go really quiet as he wipes the ice cream from your cheek. His thumb traces your lip.

“You know,” you say, very softly, “if you wanted to kiss me you could’ve just asked.”

His eyes blink up to meet yours, and red tints his cheeks, but he still smiles. “Okay,” he says. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

Your ice cream melts. (“It’s okay,” Vernon says, “I’ll buy you another.”)

[solesurvivorpaigeargot]

Loving Stupid - Chapter One: Sanctuary [Fallout 4 Fanfiction]

HELLOOO Tumblr! Now that I’ve got this blog up and running, I wanted to do what I could to expand the exposure of my fic and get it around to new readers. While it’s already up on Fanfiction.net , it seems to me that the majority of the community prefers Ao3 or reading directly here on Tumblr. So, I figure why not post it over here as well? 

Though a heads up that this first chapter was first written entirely for personal enjoyment, and then a friend I showed it to encouraged me to expand upon the story cause they wanted to see more of the ship. XD It’s uh... lil spicy. Or lemony, depending on how old you are and how far back your fic vocab goes.

Story Title: Loving Stupid

Story Summary: Paige [Sole Survivor] and Hancock venture into the Glowing Sea in pursuit of a lead on the Institute, when a catastrophic equipment failure forces them to separate. 

Rating: MATURE

Content Warnings for this Chapter: Sexual content, drugs, alcohol, cursing

Content Warnings for story overall: Sexual content, drugs, alcohol, cursing, violence, blood, injury, needles, limb mutilation

Genre: .... erotic romance-adventure? IDK shit goes down and there’s some spicy scenes, but also a lot of character building and relationship stuff. I’m bad at genre assessment. Open to suggestions XD

.:_Sanctuary_:.

“So these are your digs, huh? … can't say it's my speed.”

“Not historical enough?”

“Nah, it's...”

Paige watched Hancock's face twist as he struggled to pick out what word fit his distaste, ghoulish features creating sharp valleys along fault lines in leathery skin while the shiny dark of his eyes appraised the home she'd built atop one of the empty foundations of Sanctuary Hills.

It wasn't anything special, wooden planks coaxed together into floors, walls, and roofing with nails and elbow grease. This was the only settlement where Paige had a place that was specifically hers, where she kept the little knickknacks and oddities she collected; all dutifully looked after by Codsworth-- ever dedicated to his task two centuries after it had been assigned to him. She'd given some life to the wooden bones of the shack, however; recycled fabrics became rugs and curtains with only mildly clashing patterns, and she even managed to cobble a number of worn out flannel shirts into a workable set of sheets for a double-wide bed that was, in truth, just a pair of smaller mattresses pushed together to pretend they were a queen size.

What could she say? She liked to sprawl.

Generators lit up Sanctuary at night with bare bulbs, and her little shack was no different. It brought yellow light against the dark, and reflected off a multitude of glass bottles, lined up on the shelves of a bureau she'd rescued, mostly intact, from the home of a long-dead neighbor. Whiskey, vodka, wine-- she jokingly called it her liqueur cabinet, despite the thing not having doors to lock the alcohol behind.

She'd done her best to make this a where place she could sleep soundly, when she was in the area. It was little more than a bed, a roof, and a lot of junk on shelves; insulated from the outside world with some sewn-together fabric scraps... but stepping over the threshold always made her feel like she'd entered a sort of... bubble. Not safe-- nowhere was safe-- but... quiet.

She could pretend, here.

“Comfortable.” Hancock decided, grousing out the word. “Damn near cozy-- you put this together?”

“With my own two hands.” She informed him; trust Hancock to find an issue with comfort-- then again, she couldn't blame him. Comfortable people had a habit of being complacent people, and they both knew that was where a lot of ugliness could happen... but his opinion didn't stop her from stepping inside and divesting herself of the pieced together armor that she layered over a set of somewhat over-sized army fatigues, reclaimed after clearing an old base of ferals. There was a wooden bin by the door for that stuff; she'd have to strap it all back on in the morning... but for now she was grateful to take a load off, starting with an enameled metal helmet.

“I've watched those hands beat faces to a bloody pulp. I didn't figure they could sew.”

She scoffed at him, rolling her eyes as she heard him trudge inside anyhow, metal door closing behind him, and set herself to the straps that kept her secured within the bits of metal and leather that frequently kept her alive on the road. Left arm first, a metal shoulder piece coming loose, and the whole ritual making her feel as if she were shedding skin.

She didn't tell him that she might have been a housewife a few centuries ago-- that was a different life. The idea that someone could live so cushy as to devote themselves to home-making and nothing else was a fever dream in this age, and while Hancock probably had enough chems in his pockets to attempt imagining it, she didn't feel like trying to paint the picture for him.

She didn't want to know what he'd think of her, knowing just how... comfortable she'd been.

“I'm a woman of many talents.” She snarked instead as another heavy piece of metal thumped into the bin, freeing up the shoulder beneath to roll and stretch. “Don't worry about getting used to it-- this is a one night stop. First thing in the morning, I'm seeing to the upgrades on the armor, and then back on the-- ah--”

Hands-- surprisingly strong hands despite withered skin that clung to spindly bones. She didn't know how that worked-- Hancock wasn't a big man, and the ghoulishness made her think he'd be frail... instead he'd hefted a flamer onto his back when he set out with her, and carried it from one end of the Commonwealth to the other without complaint. Finding those hands suddenly assisting with undoing the straps at her sides so that her chest piece could come loose was a surprise; simple and sure movements causing the scavenged military combat armor to come loose and slide forward. Without an anchor, it slid forward until the hard edge of the back plate caught on her neck and stopped it from simply falling to the floor. Meanwhile, Hancock's hands had slid in along her ribs, pressing firmly into the rough fabric and reminding her that they were, for the first time in a while, blissfully alone.

“I'm aware of that.”

Her lips pressed together-- a low sigh was expressed with his rough whisper in her ear. She swore he knew how much that got to her, despite her very deliberately not telling him. It was a struggle not to react, not to lean back as he reeled her in, those spidery hands easily finding their way upwards beneath the hanging breastplate and his chin perching on her shoulder. He'd pulled them together, his body against hers, and punctuated the move with a mischievous chuckle.

“Sometimes a little too talented-- doin' everything yourself, despite having a public servant waiting in the wings.” He teased her. “Let a ghoul help, eh sister?”

It wasn't entirely unexpected, nor unwelcome, but his eagerness was something that caught her off guard. She usually had something to say, something sly to come back with, but for some reason all she could focus on was the ticklish clutch of her gut as his fingers gathered up the material of her shirt in their traveling to her bust, squeezing fitfully enough to expose an inch of skin at her belly.

“Hancock--” She muttered, squirming slightly, but not in earnest. “C'mon, we've got the whole night--”

“That's right.” He agreed, but it was with an entirely different tone. One hand remained up, keeping her tight to him, while the other traveled down. The thin ribbon of skin that had been exposed was soon graced with the specific texture of his skin; rough, but not terribly so. Like callous, only it was all over; somewhat leathery and unique. His entire palm invaded through that opening, hard against her belly as fingertips sought out a path further south. “We've got the whole night-- and I didn't plan on wastin' any of it...” His fingers were ruthless once they found purchase, shoving past the tight fit provided by a belt she was wearing. “Did you?”

Her breath shuddered. No part of her wanted to tell him no-- the rush was enough to make her ignore the metal edge digging into the back of her neck, and forget how doggedly exhausted she'd been after their long trek here... particularly lugging her own weight in lead along the way.

In her hesitation, he'd gotten far enough to make a more intimate contact-- damnably persistent, like ivy finding the cracks in brickwork to wheedle its way in.

He pressed in against her, too certain to be deterred by straps and clothes. Barriers had been passed without any show of manners, knowing her well enough that if he was unwanted she would have thrown him off by now... and getting a sweet gasp as his reward.

“There we go.” His smile was evident in his tone-- no, not a smile, a grin-- a smug, shit-eating grin. She could imagine how it looked on his face, and knew he'd be wearing it for hours just to make her glare at him.

It didn't matter. Everything he'd done so far was just testing the water in his puckish, incorrigible way. Now he had her, and his wrist twisted as he worked that hand just a little further into her pants before slipping a fingertip against soft flesh. The motion was a sort of rocking of his hand, sliding the single offending finger down between sensitive lips before drawing back upwards with the tip pressed in, working up a little warmth in general and offering up a little tantalizing pressure to wake up the sweet spot for later, stroking her like that as his hips pitched against hers to turn her away from the bin next to the door and instead face her against the closed portal they'd entered through, reinforcing that he had her.

Without thinking, her right hand came out to brace against the door. Cold metal barely registered, just that it gave her something to push back against as he leaned in harder against her back, idly kneading her breast as he stroked her beneath restrictive layers of cloth and leather.

“O-oh... damnit, Hancock--”

“I was thinking fuck it, actually.” He smirked, still right by her ear for that quip before finally leaning back the necessary inches and releasing her breast to help her get her armor the rest of the way off, falling to the floor with a hard thud instead of getting placed in the bin. Pitching his shoulders back, hips pressed forward, grinding against her to advertise himself against her rump. “... just like this...” He added, losing a little breath as he suggested it, that free hand of his coming right back as if magnetically drawn, this time landing at the top of her hip and sliding upwards to expose a few more inches of skin-- his palm on her back, pushing with his surprising strength to encourage her to bend forward.

Bend over, actually.

She got his meaning, groaning softly as his stroking remained steady. She didn't resist the push, her hand shifting against the wall as her body dipped lower and her own free hand fumbled with the latch for her belt. The strip of leather resisted her, frustrating her fingers for a few agonizing moments as the sensation of his hand brought on another faint sigh, slipping against her with more ease as her body reflected her own eagerness; building with the anticipation. Then, finally, she managed to yank it just the right way for the latch to loose, the pressure of having his hand shoved in where it was such a tight fit relived, and further tugging releasing the subsequent button and zipper before they became obstacles... and before her hands became utterly uncooperative.

The loosened hem could be yanked down on his side, exposing more precious skin to the evening chill that crept in through the walls. Gnarled knuckles hooked on the hem, and fingertips got her underwear in the same dragging motion that demanded quick access. The lower she bent, the more he leaned against her, miming what would come in due time. It wasn't until he had her ass bare, pants and underwear drug down below the swell of her hips, that he finally pulled his own body back the inches necessary to attend to a few layers of fabric himself... but he didn't let off touching her as quickly. The hand that exposed her lingered, fingertips ghosting the sensitive skin just below the curve of her rump and sending a tingle across her skin, before his weathered palm pressed up and squeezed hard, his thumb sliding up to the top of her hip while his fingers rotated down. Finally, he finished up the groping with a light swat, chuckling behind her.

“Fuck you look so good like this...” He marveled, and she could hear layers of fabric moving against each other. “I just wanna wreck you.”

“Shut up and-- nnnnnnnh--”

She couldn't see him, but she felt him; hard and hot against her skin, pressed first between her thighs before he adjusted himself upwards. His finger's rubbing of her had paused, that hand simply anchored there as, from the rear, he worked himself against her, dragging the tip of himself this way and that until he found just the right angle to slick himself up with her excitement... and making her crave him in the process as she flexed her hips back towards him, trying to make it easier for him.

Somehow, some fucking how, she'd gone from exhausted to needy in the span of only a few minutes. It was the kind of eagerness that usually belonged to the young and dumb-- insanity she thought she'd left behind in her teen years, but he always found a way to draw it out of her.

She had no idea how he did that, but she never wanted it to change.

“Yeah?” His voice had dropped, the word barely differentiated from the heavy sigh it was carried out on. “C'mon, you can moan for me... no one's gonna hear you this time...”

More of him, pressing between wet lips-- and then more; there was resistance, going for it quick like this always meant it was a little rough, but it was the kind of sensation that left her gasping aloud as she went from craving that feeling of him to having him sink into her and remind her just how good it felt. Imagination, memory-- it always fell short, not quite living up to what it was in the immediate reality of the moment. Friction and heat, bound up in an intimate need-- just as addicting as any of the chems he slipped into her pockets whenever he thought she looked strung out.

Out of reflex, her jaw clenched tight, denying the urge to moan aloud and her body clenching around him instead. Both hands had applied themselves to the wall, and her breath shook as teeth ground together, resisting.

“Oh shit-- fuck-- if you squeeze me like that, I'm gonna...”

His hips bucked forward after a short draw back, the hand he'd been using to guide himself against her now finding its way to anchor at the crease that formed between her hip and her body as she bent against the wall, yanking her tight against him with the same motion before coming to a sharp stop. She could feel him inside, throbbing and thick, and the jolt made her jaw drop open for a short exclamation to escape her.

Buried, he began to rub her from the front again, abandoning the long strokes he'd used to warm her up and instead zeroing in on where she was most sensitive. Where his opening moves had all been about pressure with maximum contact, he changed tactics to only flick across her with the tip of his finger, instigating another tightening of her body as her resistance to making noise produced a shudder instead.

“D-don't--” She finally managed to murmur. “Oh God-- Hancock, you don't have to--”

This was a quickie-- an opener. She didn't expect this kind of attention; he always made up for it later, after a little Jet got him going again. This was usually the part where he took her by the hips with both hands and went to town, but instead he held her to keep them both tightly together, all while--

“F-fuck--” A whispered curse, kept lower than a murmur, followed by a greedy breath. He wasn't letting up, despite her telling him he didn't need to bother. She tried to push herself back against him, to antagonize him, but his fingers only tightened their grasp on the side of her hip as he leaned forward over her, ensuring that he was the one in control.

A defined clutch passed through her, centered at her core.

“Oh fuck-- mmmm--!”

“There you go... c'mon, let it out...” He coaxed her, rocking himself back in another short motion before jolting back into her again, letting out a guttural sound of his own as he did so. “Lemme hear you...”

It was an old habit to hold back, to grit her teeth and hold her breath-- anything to keep quiet. Her own fingers, once splayed open against the metal door, curled inwards into fists as the sensation built up, deep and desperate gasps getting drawn in through her nose as her jaw remained tightly closed, lips pressing hard against each other as she hummed and swallowed. Her head dropped down, his touch taking more and more of her focus.

Old habits were hard to break, but he was a new habit. One that liked to push at her old habits and see how long they'd stick.

Toes curled inside her boots, eyes closed without thinking. There was no thinking-- no, just her perception of him; the weight of his body against hers, the grip of his hand, and sound of his breath, all as her body underwent jolts that made her hips continue to try and rock back against his, one of her hands eventually lifting and banging back onto the door as the sensation turned briefly sharp, jaw loosing for a raw gasp between her lips and a guttural groan. “F-Fuck Hancock, you're gonna--- oh-- oh-- shit--”

“Rub you raw?” He completed the thought she was trying to articulate, drawing in a heavy breath of his own. His own hips rocked now, a minimal motion of a man that could barely help himself. “Wouldn't... wouldn't dream of it... just love the way you squeeze...”

The rocking changed things, introduced that delightful sensation that scratched the ineffable itch he'd aroused in her. Pressure and friction as he kept up his assault on her sensitivity made her knees wobble with a threat to give out, breath viciously driven out of her lungs in a single erotic moan.

“Fuck...” He murmured emphatically. “Sing for me babe... it's so pretty...” He encouraged her, pressing his face against the back of her neck as he kept a steady tempo. He was fully against her, laid over her back and abandoning his grasp on her hip to reach forward, those thin fingers of his stealing beneath the buttoned blouse of her fatigues and taking a demanding grasp on her breast; stalled only momentarily by the worn elastic band of her bra. The heel of his hand ground upwards at first, pressing in against her ribs, before he was pulling on her again, ensuring she remained anchored against him as he kept up the rocking motion he'd adopted over more conventional thrusting.

“Ah... ah shit... shit- shit-- J-John, oooooh... oh fuu...”

She lost the thread of why she'd been protesting in the first place. Her jaw fell open, and another moan came out; louder as everything began to come together. The movement, his insistent grasp, that very specific sense of fullness within her body and the craving it both satisfied and aggravated at the same time--

“Yeah?” He breathed against her ear. “You gettin' there, sweet thing? … good... I wanna feel it... And once you're over the edge, I'm gonna rail you until I burst.”

A thrill ran through her, like electricity that danced along her spine. Now that he'd articulated his intention, she wanted it, too.

“C-close...” She whimpered, nodding her head faintly. “J-just like that... l-little higher... rub a little higher... little circles around my-- oh- oh god- there- fuck yes-- there--!!”

Feverishly murmured coaching that directed his stroking where the craving was strongest sent her further than she expected to go, her head and chest dipping lower as her elbows bent and her forearms joined her hands in being braced against the door, a defined shaking running through her person as she went up to her toes and the rubber soles of her boots dug into the floor, further flexing her hips back in the desperation to have that sense of fullness as her body seemed to anchor itself on where they were intertwined. More than just laying open, her jaw stretched for her cry out with the rush.

His grip on her changed. He wasn't leaned over her anymore, but pitched back as both of his hands found their way to her hips.

God, she could feel him; the meeting of their bodies dominated her brain as she felt him throb within her shortly before he changed to much more active motions. There, again, was that surprising strength as he drew back and adjusted himself just low enough to begin taking her roughly, groaning between sharp breaths as his hips shocked against her rump with every thrust.

Her body was still squeezing, still rippling from what he'd just put her through, aware of the force in his every motion as he drove into her tightly clenched core.

“A-aah... aaanngh--!!”

A hitch, and his voice gave out for a more primal noise, his motions growing more hurried as she felt his nails digging into her hips. There'd probably scratches to attend to later-- not the first time. His breath juddered, followed by a gasp before it was held a moment. All at once, everything came to a halt, a shuddering swell moving up through his flesh that came shortly before a certain warmth spread within her; passed from him to her.

He claimed a sharp breath after, followed by a relieved exhale as his hands loosened. He didn't release her just yet, but he wasn't clutching quite so hard anymore.

“...shit that felt too good...” He muttered faintly as she tried to regain her own breath. One hand and forearm remained braced on the door, but the other had released to reach backwards for him, flexing her fingers to show she desired another kind of contact, and getting one of his hands in return for the non-verbal gesture. Once intertwined, she squeezed him, and let out a faint and almost girlish giggle.

“Too good...?” She quested, surprised he'd ever entertain the concept.

“Damn right.” He lobbed back, squeezing in return. “It's the kind of good a guy gets addicted to... Gotta find us some privacy a little more often.”

Don't have to tell me twice.

This was about the point where bodies needed to come apart; signaled by their hands drifting away from one another after that comforting squeeze... but that process was interrupted.

There was a knock at the metal door Paige was braced up against.

“General? Do you have a moment?”

… Preston, your timing is a disaster.

She recognized the voice in a heartbeat, and it was exactly the sort of person who had previously voiced his disapproval of her and Hancock's partnership... and he didn't even know about the more intimate details of said partnership. There was a shock associated to hearing his voice at this particularly compromised moment, one that made her face flush as she was excessively thankful for the solid door between them.

More thankful that he hadn't shown up a few minutes ago, when he might have heard a thing or two through that door.

Behind her, she more felt than heard Hancock's muted chuckle.

“I'm a little occupied at the moment, Garvey.” Paige answered back through the door; not entirely a lie. “Is it urgent?”

“Just a couple questions I'd like to ask, that's all.” Preston's voice answered back. “Security concerns.”

That was code for yes, it's urgent to me. Preston had been very particular about security ever since she assigned him to it. Making him wait would prompt more questions later, and possible lost trust with him and his group.

Despite very much not wanting to, it sounded like she was going to need to put her clothes back on for a little while.

“Just a minute, I'll be right out.” She informed him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Awee...” Hancock quietly cooed, easing himself away from her. “No cuddle time?”

Finally able to straighten up, she shot a look back at him that encouraged him to shut his face before she broke some part of it in lieu of his mostly missing nose... before cracking a smirk. “There's a bathroom behind that partition--” She directed him quietly, muting her voice to lower the chance it would carry. “No hot water, but it's clean.”

“Heh, ritzy.” Hancock smirked back. Looking at him, she was able to see exactly how ruffled his coat and blouse had ended up, with trousers only shifted just enough out of the way to get away with what they'd just done. He hadn't made any motion to arrange himself back into those trousers, though, appearing all too comfortable to just let it all hang out. “Is that your way to telling me to put it on ice? Cause if anyone needs cleaning up right now, it's you.”

He was right; she was a sticky mess between the thighs, and standing upright allowed for dripping between her legs. Usually she would have insisted on some clean cloth and water to manage that with, but at the current moment? She reached down and simply pulled pants and underwear back up, zipping, buttoning, and straightening both bra and blouse until it was impossible for anyone to know what they'd been up to by simply looking at her... and with only him aware of the specific nature of what was probably going to end up staining her undergarments.

“I'll make you clean it up, later.” She informed him playfully. “It's your mess.”

“Oooh... dirty.” He chuckled. “Don't threaten me with a good time.”

Her look hardened, making a motion at him that encouraged him to shoo-- the last thing she needed was to open the door and have Garvey catch a glimpse of her companion with his dick out. Hancock pouted at her, but ultimately obeyed.

With a sigh, she turned herself back towards the door, hesitated a moment, and then finally grasped the handle to push it open and head out.

Doing so was not unlike a splash of cold water to the face. Twilight was a good hour past, and the night sky was filled with stars without a single cloud to obscure them. There was a stiff wind tonight; enough to snap Garvey's trench coat against his legs and make the man pull up the swell of his scarf a little more to protect his nose and cheeks.

Going from the relative comfort of her little home-made haven, as well as the heat of her recent encounter, into the abrupt chill of the night with a sharp wind in her face could have only been more of a shock to the system if it had been raining.

As she emerged, Garvey looked back to appear in profile to her. The man was always at the ready, laser rifle held upright over his chest and his eyes brightly aware despite the dark of the night. Paige's shack was at the far end of Sanctuary; away from where she'd built housing for the other residents, as well as where she'd set up crops, power generators, and water. Looking down the slight hill her shack sat upon at Preston meant also seeing the lights of the settlement beyond him; the faint yellow glow of something that could almost be called a town as the back-drop to his silhouette and shining gaze.

“Garvey.” She greeted him by his last name; it felt more professional, what with him always insisting on calling her General since she'd helped him revive the Minuet Men and retake their old headquarters. “What can I do for you?”

“Like I said, I just had a few questions...” He answered, peering further up and towards the shack. She couldn't see his face; her abode featured no outdoor lights, and with the glow of the settlement behind him his features were cast in shadow. “... where's the ghoul?”

The ghoul. She could practically taste the disapproval on that one.

“Hancock is taking this chance to wash some of the wasteland out of his clothes.” She responded. “Is your security concern about him?”

“No, no, of course not. If you trust him, that's enough for me.” Preston assured her. “But, uh...”

“Out with it, Garvey.” She ordered sternly.

“I was manning the watch when you came back to Sanctuary, General-- I saw you brought back your power armor, and it looked like you were carrying a heavy load of supplies. I know you'd tell me if anything were coming for us here, but... I didn't see any of it go out with the traders, and that made me worry. So, I've gotta ask; do you think something nasty is coming up this way?”

She blinked. Preston thought she was stockpiling for an incoming threat. She almost wanted to laugh aloud, but couldn't manage it. Instead, she stepped down from her place above him on the hill, coming to stand at his side while still looking out at the settlement.

“No,” She answered him. “Nothing's coming here. I'm preparing for a journey into dangerous territory... I need to upgrade my armor before we head out, and we needed a safe place to rest our heads before we committed. I want every advantage we can get under us before we go.”

A pause. Whatever he expected to hear, that wasn't on the list.

“... General, you know all you'd have to do is say the world, and I'd--”

“I'm going somewhere you can't follow, Garvey.” She responded flatly. Of course he wanted to go with her, probably wanting to convince her to take him instead of Hancock. He considered himself more capable, more trustworthy; the better choice on all fronts.

She'd disagree with him outright, but Hancock also had a very specific advantage over Garvey that would leave him no grounds to argue on.

“I'm going into the Glowing Sea.”

Silence. The pause stretched out for several beats, no doubt as Preston processed what exactly it was she was saying.

“... I see. The armor will protect you from most of the radiation, and your companion is immune.” He observed. “... smart choice.” He added, begrudgingly, before asking, “But why are you going in there? Even with the armor, you're going to need to be carrying your weight in medicine to even have a hope of making it back alive...”

“It's important. That's all I can say right now.”

A month or two ago, she might have told him. Before getting involved with the Underground Railroad, before encountering a synth and the person they were trying to replace at the same time and very nearly killing the wrong one during the confrontation, before learning exactly how the institute dealt with people they didn't want to have around anymore... But now? There was doubt in her mind, about almost everyone. Was Preston really Preston? Or was he just another set of eyes and ears for them? If she mentioned a defector, hiding out in the Glowing Sea, would they somehow beat her to that defector and kill them?

She couldn't risk it. This was her line on Shaun, on her son. Right now, the only person she trusted was the one who was going with her; Hancock... and even he didn't know exactly why they were going.

Granted, he hadn't asked.

“... You're sure about this?” Preston quested quietly.

She scoffed. “... barely.” She answered back. “But it's the only way forward I have right now.”

She'd already decided on a direction. Her doubts didn't matter anymore.

“Then I suppose the only thing to do is wish you luck.” He sighed, turning to face her and taking a hand off the stock of his laser rifle to offer it to her. She, in kind, turned to him and took it, sharing a firm shake. “Whatever you're facing, if there's anyone who can survive it, it's you. You already provisioned?”

“Been buying out all the Rad Away and Rad-X I can find.” She confirmed. “Cleaned out every trader between here and Diamond City. Tomorrow morning I take all the lead I've collected and upgrade the power armor to withstand the radiation... and then we'll be suiting up and heading out.” She paused, withdrawing her hand from his. There was something else that had to be said; something she'd been hoping to save until they were on their way out, so there'd be no space to argue about it... but now was probably the kinder time to say it. “Garvey, if I don't come back--”

“You're coming back.” He interrupted.

“If I don't,” She pressed. “You'll be back in charge of the Minute Men. You can't hesitate from that. We've got enough supplies to last a day out there-- maybe two or three if we find a place to shelter that's not soaked in rads, like a cave or a pre-war bomb shelter that's somehow intact. If I don't come back to Sanctuary within that time? You need to take over properly and keep up the fight.”

He was quiet. He didn't like it.

“... I don't know if I can live up to what you've done for us, Paige.” He admitted, softly. “But... if it comes to that, I'll do my best by you.”

“... that's all we can do out here, Preston.” She affirmed in kind. “I know you're the man for the job.”

“Let's try not to find out.” He rebutted.

That time, she let out a faint laugh. “Don't worry.” She told him. “I'll be doing my best, too.”

__________

Chapter One: You are here Chapter Two: [hasn’t been posted to Tumblr yet, will add link when I’ve got it up... oor you could just go read the story so far on Fanfiction XD]

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider reblogging it to help me find a wider audience! <3

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

to ashes, where the heart was

Clint Barton x Reader

To Ashes, Chapter One

Chapter Summary: you visit the barton farm in hopes of figuring out where clint has gone. (slow burn fic)

Characters/Pairings: reader, natasha romanoff

Warnings: light angst

Word Count: 1,402

marvel masterlist or CHECK OUT MY fanfic dedicated blog

prologue - 1 -

Days Since the Decimation: Fourteen

“This is Clint Barton. Leave a message.”

“Right then,” you sighed heavily, unbuckling your seatbelt and leaning over in your seat to fish the keys Natasha had given you out of the glove compartment. You’d heard the outgoing message about eight times since you’d left upstate New York, and while you hadn’t expected an answer, you took it as promising that he hadn’t disconnected it completely. “Here we go.”

Gravel crunched under your boots as you stepped out of the SUV you’d borrowed from the small fleet of cars Tony had provided the team with when he’d opened the upstate Avengers facility. It’d taken you a couple of hours to pack a bag and load the equipment Rhodey and Steve had gathered for you, but you’d still opted to head out that night for the Barton homestead in Missouri. It was almost four in the afternoon by the time you’d arrived, and the cool air of a late spring evening had you zipping up your jacket.

It was disconcerting being there. You hadn’t returned to Clint’s family home since you’d first visited, regrouping with the rest of the team after the incident in Johannesburg. Now, the warm wood of the front porch seemed dull, like the life of it had been snapped away with the rest of them. You paused as you reached the top of the steps, a kind of sickness settling in the pit of your stomach.

Your brow furrowed as your eyes settled on the front door. It was ajar, ever so slightly, as if it hadn’t been pushed hard enough to click closed. You glanced behind you; there was no other car in the drive. Still, you pushed open the door with your foot. “Barton? You here?”

Nothing. You summoned up a flicker of psychokinetic energy around your hand, blue sparks dancing down your fingertips. Just in case. You stepped into the entrance.

“Clint?”

Slipping your phone back out of your pocket with your free hand, you pulled up your contacts without really looking, eyes darting from the living room to the stairs. Your stomach dipped as you took in the shoes lined up by the door. You dialed, holding the phone to your ear. It rang three times before it was picked up on the other end.

“Romanoff.”

“Hey, Nat,” you said quietly, making your way slowly through the bottom floor of the Barton house. “How’s it going?”

“Y/N, that is not why you called.”

“True.”

“You make it to Missouri, okay?”

“Yeah. Caught a few hours sleep in the car somewhere in Ohio, but I’m here now.” you slipped past the dining table. Plans for renovations to the living room were still laid out on the wood. “When you came out here, you locked up after, right?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Someone’s been here.”

“Barton?” her voice was level in a way that only Natasha could maintain.

“I don’t know. Lock wasn’t busted, so my guess it wasn’t looters.”

You paused in the kitchen, opening the fridge. No milk, but the orange juice in the door was beginning to mold. If Clint had been here lately, he hadn’t been eating here. You wrinkled your nose, but after a second, you tucked the phone against your shoulder as you took it out and poured it down the sink. You tossed the bottle in the recycling bin by the back door.

“What are you doing?”

“Recycling,” you said simply, and Nat gave a small, bemused chuckle. She sounded tired. You turned, heading up the stairs. “How’s things there?”

“The same.”

“You get an update from Wakanda yet?”

“Okoye called in this morning.” Nat replied. “With the Wakandan princess gone, it’s taken a little longer to get their emergency response protocols online at a global level. Rhodes has been working with Friday to combine their system with Stark’s crisis network.”

“Tony set up a worldwide emergency system?” you asked. “Where was I?”

“It was after Ultron.”

You swallowed. “Oh.”

“It’s slow going, but we’ll get there.”

You hesitated a moment outside Lila’s bedroom; the door was firmly closed, but the sign hanging on it spelled out her name in bright cheery lettering. There was a paper flower stuck to the corner, and you vaguely remembered seeing Clint fold similar ones during debriefings to keep his hands busy. You exhaled, squaring your shoulders and headed to the master bedroom.

“Any idea where our new mystery friend shot off to?”

Clint and Laura’s bedroom was as untouched as the rest of the house; there was dust settled on the duvet, and a film of it over the dresser. Whoever had been there had either touched nothing, or they’d been gone long enough for the dust to resettle completely.

“Hey, Nat, where did Clint keep his passport?”

“Bedside table. Third drawer.”

“It’s so weird that your memory does that.”

“What?”

“Actually remembers important stuff. Best mine can do is replay theme music from nineties cartoons I don’t know the name of.” you frowned as Nat breathed a quiet laugh into the receiver; Clint’s passport was still tucked in underneath Laura’s. “Here’s another one for you: if Clint had files left over from his SHIELD days, where would he keep them?"

“Not sure, but he tends to go old school. Why, what’re you thinking?”

“I… I’m not sure yet.” you told her distractedly. “He got a home office somewhere on the property?”

“Clint?” Nat almost scoffed. “Hardly.”

“I’ll call you back. I’ve got a hunch to follow up on.”

“Okay.” One of your favorite things about Nat was that she always rolled easily with abrupt changes to conversation. “Talk soon.”

You tucked your phone back into your pocket, biting your lip as you surveyed the room. After a moment you shrugged and opened the closet. You stretched up on your toes to grope blindly along the top shelf. Your hand met cardboard and you smiled, pulling down a storage box. You slung it onto the bed and tossed the lid aside, smiling proudly. “What is it with men and hiding their secret stashes in the closet? Thank god it isn’t his old Playboy collection.”

There were old SHIELD files stacked haphazardly together, like they’d been thrown back in without much regard for their organization. You could see a few handwritten notes scrawled on the file folders and flipping open the top one showed a similar treatment in a few margins.

Deciding this was going to take more than a few minutes, you tossed everything back in and replaced the lid, hefting the box up against your hip. You paused on your way out as you noticed Clint’s phone on the dresser; the battery was dead, but you still pocketed it on your way out of the door.

You were careful to lock up the house on your way out, casting your eyes to the barn on your way to the car. You worried your lip as you dropped the box and Clint’s phone on the backseat, sighing as you closed the door with your hip. “Fuck it.”

You strode across the lawn; you’d come all the way out here, you might as well do your due diligence in case the old SHIELD files didn’t pan out the way you hoped they would. The door stuck when you tried to open it, so you threw your shoulder against it.

“Ow.”

Any further complaint you were going to make died on your lips as you took in the scene in front of you. While the house was almost unsettlingly untouched, the barn was trashed.

The tools and half-finished projects from Clint’s work bench had been swept off onto the floor into a pile of metal and broken wood. The toe of your boot met an empty bottle with a clink as you stepped forward, and you bent down to pick it up. Whiskey. Expensive whiskey… it was the bottle of Macallan Tony had gifted to Clint a few Christmases back. The one Clint had declared he wasn’t opening until Lila’s high school graduation.

You straightened, tossing the bottle aside; there were a few more bottles littering the floor, and there was a mattress on the floor in the corner, most likely the one you and Natasha had shared the last time you were here.

And on the floor, half hidden by the tractor was Clint’s bow, string broken and bow bent.

.

.

.

.

tags: @lovely-dreamer19​  @spacesuitsforemergency​ @wittyforachange​ @wefracturedmotivation​ @january-echoes​ @glossyloner​ @lol-you-thought​ @ruderavenclaw​

[abbiken]

Garbage is a concept perpetuated for convenience. It eases the mind to put “disposable” items in a bin and eliminate the sense of any additional responsibility to what becomes of them. I remember an awakening moment as a kid, passing a FedEx truck on the interstate and thinking, “Why do they drive the mail around? Why don’t they just mail it?” before realizing that a mailbox isn’t some contraption that transports mail using magic. People deliver mail. I had a similar wakeup moment the first time I ever saw a landfill: “Why is there so much litter on the ground, why don’t people pick up that trash and throw it away?” This is away. This is what throwing away is. 

“Garbage” is a name given to objects whose usefulness isn’t immediately apparent. Finding new ways to extend the life of single-use objects requires active thought and problem-solving, and maybe practice, but it is far from impossible. Everything can be repurposed, and a positive side-effect I’ve experienced in my efforts to use everything and throw away nothing is that I’ve been consciously accumulating less, or taking in only things that are worth the trouble to reuse. I feel responsible for everything I invite into my life. (Another side effect is that I resent any kind of superfluous promotional mail or gift I receive with excessive, non-recyclable wrapping paper or confetti. A local business recently sent me a flyer that said “WE WANT YOU BACK!” and they included a cheap plastic boomerang as a cutesie gimmick. The flippant frivolity makes me not want to return to that business. The idea of drilling crude oil made of ancient prehistoric animal and plant matter for the purpose of making cheap toys and disposable packaging is...what???? The complete lack of humility for nature that’s being displayed here is, uh, staggering.)

I’ve been steadily accumulating fabric scraps for almost 10 years, ever since I started making clothes. My collection of scraps predates my new philosophy on garbage by roughly nine years. The reality is, I’ve never been able to discern fabric that has value and fabric that is “trash” based solely on its shape or size. The byproduct scrap of a handmade garment is the same cloth I find worth wearing; why shouldn’t I keep it? A dandelion in the yard we call a weed is a delicious treat to a bunny. I have more scraps than I can possibly use as cleaning rags or for patching holes in jeans, but having it around me in my work space has been both a fun reminder of all the projects I’ve done and a constant reminder that fabric waste is an enormous environmental problem that needs a solution. I am overwhelmed by the volume I’ve amassed in 10 years. And I’m only one person. Keeping it in my life, storing the waste I myself have created, has kept me actively ruminating on a way to use it and repurpose it that doesn’t just put it into the ground. I’ve researched what’s recyclable and compostable (wool composts!). I’ve sought out waste facilities that take fabric and don’t just airdrop it into a different country so they can deal with it (so far, I’ve found none). I’ve read blogs on different craft projects using scraps (pillow stuffing is an okay solution, I’m medium on the pillows I’ve made). I’m not a quilter, I’ve tried. It does not spark joy. Finally I feel like I’m honing in on some things that work and I’m really getting excited. Calmly, slowly, steadily.  

I won’t belittle this endeavor by calling myself a hoarder, even as a joke; I don’t need to justify my keeping these things with phrases like “it comes with the territory” of being a crafter. I simply don’t believe in garbage. 

[banjodanger]

X-Men Origins: Wolverine(2009)

I’ve got a lot to talk about, so I’m going to jump right in with a very unpopular opinion. This may SHOCK and OFFEND certain readers, but I’m not one to shy away from speaking my mind. More sensitive readers should beware, however, because I’m not going to shy away from rattling cages and saying what NEEDS to be said!

So, ready yourselves, because...

Origins is not the worst X-Men movie.

There. I said it. PBBBBBBTTTT!

I’m not arguing that this was a good movie, hell, there’s a good argument that this isn’t even a competently made movie. But this movie is also responsible for some of the absolute best movies to come from Fox’s X-Men. First Class and Days of Future Past are two of the absolute best movies of this series, and it’s doubtful the other two Wolverine solo movies would have aimed as high as they did if this movie hadn’t been so widely mocked. If you go back to watch this movie, try to keep in mind eight years later this series would get nominated for a screenwriting Oscar. Whatever your opinion of awards, that’s a hell of a turnaround, considering the story this movie tells is like three separate stories stapled together. Finally, however much this movie misunderstands Deadpool, it was right on in casting Ryan Reynolds and eventually gave us better Deadpool movies than we could have hoped for. It shouldn’t go unnoticed that both of those movies use Origins as a solid foundation for jokes. I’m not going to talk too much about Deadpool in this movie, because I plan to cover it in more detail when I get to the first movie.

But I’m not discussing those movies, I’m discussing Origins, and Origins is not very good. The CGI looks cheap and outdated, not just by the standards of the time it was released but by the standards of five years previous. And the movie makes said terrible CGI hard to ignore because, to quote the philosopher Michelle Branch, it is EVERYWHERE. Most people are quick to bring up Wolverine’s claws effects, and they should because they somehow look worse than any of the three previous movies and it’s the most easily noticeable. I’m not expecting them to have Hugh Jackman actually fighting and jumping around on top of a nuclear vent but it looks like they’re doing it in front of computer wallpaper. That hill outside the Hudson’s farmhouse literally looks like the default Windows XP desktop. I’m surprised Agent Zero isn’t hiding behind the recycle bin. This isn’t to say I don’t expect lots of CGI in my comic book movies,but I expect better when someone is dropping over one hundred million for a guy with metal claws to fight a mute with impossibly long sword fists.

I could ignore all the bargain basement effects if there was a good story, but there isn’t one. There’s about two or three stories and they’re all bad. Gavin Hood wanted to make a throwback sevnties-style revenge movie, completely self-contained and R-rated(Hey, does that sound familiar?), but the producers wanted extra characters they could spin off into their own films. And as much as I want to excoriate them for that, I can only get but so mad. This was a big franchise that was approaching ten years since its first film. They were looking towards the future and that’s what their job was. The problem is that failure to find a common ground comes through on the screen. Some of the strongest scenes are between Logan and Victor, to the detriment that most of the other characters who come off as unnecessary cameos. That boxing scene between Logan and Fred Dukes could be a thirty second phone call without really losing anything.

It’s disappointing, too, because a lot of the performances in this movie aren’t bad. Believe me, I wanted to hate Will.I.Am. I was going to drag him and talk about all the terrible music he made but...he’s not bad in this movie. I’m not going to say he missed his calling by not becoming an actor full-time, but I enjoyed his performance and wish the movie had used him a little bit more.

My humps is still one of the worst goddamned songs ever.

Gambit was great in this movie too. Taylor Kitsch had this bizarre run of putting in good performances in hated movies. After this, he did John Carter then the second season of True Detective. That’s a shocking run of bad luck, and too bad to, because he’s good in all three. We missed out not getting at least one more movie with his take on Gambit, because he gets maybe fifteen minutes of screentime but he manages to be memorable, charismatic and charming.

Helicoptering with a bo staff still isn’t part of his goddamn power set though.

And I’m not going to forget Liev Schrieber, who makes an absolutely compelling villain. The only problem with his character at all is that he puts such a great performance that it stretches belief to imagine this is the guy that becomes a silent henchman in the first movie. There’s simply nothing in his performance to suggest they’re the same person. It would be like if the twist of Phantom Menace was that Darth Vader was originally Jar Jar Binks, or if they hired Nora Ephron to write a Hellraiser prequel. 

Even the Scott Summers we get in this movie is pretty good despite looking like a guy that steals copper wiring out of abandoned gas stations. Although I really question why Gambit watches them run off and I guess just assumes they’re being abducted by a good guy.

That leads me into the whole problem with prequels. Things happen in this movie and characters seem to live simply because earlier movies dictate that we have to see them again. It simply does not make sense for Kayla to leave Stryker alive. She has every reason to kill him, but she doesn’t, because he needs to be the villain in X2. Gambit doesn’t chase after the kids because they didn’t want to have him interact with Professor X. Sabretooth survives because he has to fight Wolverine on top of the Staute of Liberty while making no reference to their apparent relationship as siblings, or any words of any kind. This movie is awkwardly shoehorning itself into the lore established by the previous movies and it results in characters saying and doing things that go against what this movie seems to lead up to. The ending of most of those seventies revenge flicks was a bloody murder. Here, Stryker hurts his feet a little. It’s just not the same thing.

Ok, are you ready for the problematic parts?

Let’s start with Native American representation, because it ends up being a pretty big part of this movie. Lynn Collins’ Wikipedia says she claims Cherokee ancestry, so I’ll give the movie credit on that, but as near as I’ve been able to suss out, the myth she tells does not exist outside of this movie. First off, Wolverines do not howl. At all. They’re not wolves, they’re related to weasels. They’re small, vicious bastards. That information was readily available in 2009, by the way. Furthermore, the information I can find says that the moon in Native American mythology is predominantly gendered as male. Now, that’s not a blanket statement. This was the research I was able to conduct, and mythology, as with a lot of oral traditions, are a pretty mutable thing. Given that I was unable to find any mention of this myth that didn’t quote it from the movie, I feel pretty comfortable calling this myth nonsense.

Hey, what’s your tolerance for fatphobia? Because that’s going to impact how you feel about Blob’s character. Look, from his very first appearance he’s been a fat joke. That’s it. He’s a rude fat guy whose mutant power is being fat, hell, part of his power set is described as a “personal gravity field.” So while I can’t blame the movie entirely for this character being problematic, you’ve got to ask why they chose this character as the one that had to stay true to the comic book. He was in poor taste when he was created, when this movie was made, and now. And I absolutely can blame the movie for making him a fat joke.

At least they didn’t go the Ultimate comics route and straight up show him eating another character. Small blessings.

On a more final note, there’s that very strange character choice in the beginning credits. I know that they want to illustrate early that Wolverine doesn’t view violence the same way Sabretooth does, but why would they choose nazis as the villain in that moment? Even if they weren’t the most enjoyably killable villains in history, the last three movies have made the atrocities of the Holocaust a huge emotional linchpin of a major character. So it comes off as a genuine shock that this movie would use, in its introduction, a moment of sympathy for these very same villains. So you needed to show Wolverine with sympathy? Have a bar fight in France after liberating the country. Have them fight in the Korean war. Maybe Wolverine mourns a kid shot on the front lines. There’s a hundred choices that don’t involve Wolverine getting sad over a bunch of nazis.

So, why don’t I think this is the worst X-Men movie? I’m clearly not calling it a forgotten classic, and I’m not recommending you watch it unless you’re a weird completionist blogging about your arrested development on Tumblr. Sure, there’s some forgotten performances in here that deserve some consideration, but the movie is mostly a mess, a result of too many cooks with diverging visions. There’s a good revenge flick here, but it gets buried and muddled by a desire and knowledge that this movie has to simultaneously explain the past that led to the first movie and set up future installments. It tries to do too much and ends up not doing much of anything. I followed up on some of the people involved in this movie. Obviously Ryan Reynolds had the last laugh, but it still took seven years and a leaked teaser. Hugh Jackman learned from the mistakes in this movie and the rest of the Wolverine movies are pretty great. Gavin Hood, who got this job after being nominated for a foreign language Oscar, directed another big-budget flop with Ender’s Game. However, earlier in 2020 he apparently bought a four million dollar house so I don’t feel bad for him. Also, the flop of Ender’s Game could possibly involve Orson Scott Card being a vocal and unapologetic homophobe. Seriously, what is it with beloved fantasy authors and hate towards LGBT groups? You can conceive of wild, uncharted space and magical realms but the idea that two guys love each other is too far out?

Next in the series, from failure comes success, as we meet Xavier and Erik as frenemies and launch a million slash fictions.

[literallyusuk]

Eagle (USUK) Part 6

Notes: Sorry that it’s been so long! But hopefully the next chapter will be out sooner. Link to my AO3 is on the side of my blog! ^0^

~~~~~

Arthur didn’t even know how to react when Alfred stumbled and almost fell over. He was still frozen, still shocked, and all he could do was watch as Ludwig and Feliciano bundled Alfred away into the same room he’d been in. His mouth was dry, and he couldn’t concentrate on either his food or the television. Alfred. Alfred was here. Alfred was alive.

Alfred…still didn’t remember anything.

He wanted to cry. He did, face buried in the kitten pillow and chest aching. He’d just about managed to move on. Most of Alfred’s stuff was gone, except a box of things that Arthur couldn’t bear to donate. Coming home was no longer painful. His heart didn’t jump when someone on the street happened to have a similar hair colour or style. So of course Alfred had to come back now, complicate everything again.

“Arthur?” Feliciano was stood at the edge of the couch, his eyes soft and sad. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur muttered. “I don’t know what to do, what to say. I love him, of course I do, but am I even in love with him anymore? We’re both different people now.”

“Hmm.” Feliciano sat down next to him, but made sure to keep a few inches of space between them.. “Luddy and I are different people now too.”

“You became different together. You grew and changed alongside each other. Alfred… Alfred all but came back from the dead and the first thing he did was point a gun in my face.”

“That’s true. Are you scared, Arthur?”

Arthur sighed and loosened his grip on the pillow. “No. Yes. Well… A little. How can I not be? But I hate that I am, because I- I can’t help but hope that my Alfred is still somewhere in there.”

Feliciano reached across the distance between them and pulled Arthur into a one-armed hug. “You won’t know until you talk to him. Don’t worry so much. I know that’s a silly thing to say, but really. There’s nothing you can do about it now except take care of yourself. Eat. Drink. Cry all you want. I can bring you your phone if you need it, but you should probably use mine if you’re going to call someone.”

“Why?” Arthur frowned at him.

“Well, if Alfred was sent to kill you and you’re alive and in hiding, you should probably be dead by now. So you shouldn’t use your number anymore.”

Arthur swallowed at the reminder. “…Yes, I suppose that’s true. Thank you.”

Feliciano smiled brightly. “Of course! I’ll go get it for you. Eat, please.”

While the Italian was off fetching the device, Arthur turned his attention back to the lasagne. His stomach was feeling touchy and tender, but he thought that with small bites and plenty of breaks, he could manage to keep some of it down. The pasta was delicious, and the herbal tea helped settle his nerves somewhat. He was even able to focus on the television better, though his shoulders were still tense. His body was hyper aware that Alfred – AlfredAlfredAlfred – was just in the room next door. They were only separated a wall, instead of the Veil.

Please let him be in there, he thought, and shoved more lasagne into his mouth.

“Here you go,” Feliciano said a few minutes later, placing Arthur’s phone and another unlocked smartphone onto the table.

“Thank you,” Arthur murmured. When he unlocked his phone, the message thread between him and his co-worker/manager popped up. He frowned, especially when he noticed the last three texts. One that he’d definitely not written, making an excuse for himself, and two from Elizaveta. The last one was just from half an hour ago.

Are you okay though?

His stomach twisted. Alfred had for sure been thorough, but the fact remained that the other man had gone through his phone. He checked a few other places, his internet history, his recycling bin, his photo albums, but nothing else strange came up until he looked at his call history. A strange number, and a six minute call. Arthur glanced around to make sure he was alone before double tapping the number to call it back.

It was picked up after four rings. “Alfred?” an accented voice asked. “What the hell man, it’s the middle of the night.”

Arthur’s hand tensed its grip on the phone. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” The voice suddenly sounded more awake, and more serious.

“I asked first, and besides that I want to know how you know Alfred and why Alfred called you from my cell phone.”

“Oh…” The man drew out the sound. “Are you Arthur Kirkland, by any chance?”

Arthur further stiffened. “How do you know my name?”

“Relax, I’m not the enemy. My name’s Gilbert Beilschmidt, I’m a friend of Alfred’s from the program. Ludwig’s my little brother. You two still at his house?”

“Y-Yes. Alfred is asleep now. What program do you mean?”

Gilbert was quiet for a moment. “Information is dangerous. It would be better, and safer, if Alfred explained it all. How did you even come across this number? Did Alfred not delete the call from the phone’s history?”

“No.”

“Bastard. Well you delete it. Both of the calls. And here’s some advice: get a new phone and number asap. I have to go. Tell Alfred to call me early tomorrow morning.” The connection went dead.

Slowly, Arthur lowered the phone to his lap. After a moment, he wiped the call history entirely, then cleared the recycle bin and phone’s memory. He swallowed again, so worn out, and more confused than ever. ‘Eat. Drink,’ Feliciano had said, so he did. The lasagne was barely heated anymore and his tea lukewarm, but he managed to finish both the plate and the mug. Only then did he feel ready to pick up his phone again and open Elizaveta’s contact profile. Feliciano’s phone was luckily still unlocked, so he typed her number into the dial screen on it.

“Hello?” she picked up after a few rings.

“Hi, Liz.”

“Oh my god, Arthur, are you okay? What number is this?”

“I’m shaken, but alright for the moment. This is…a friend’s phone. Mine is out of commission.”

“Out of- Arthur, you’re not making any sense. You’re ‘alright for the moment’? What’s that supposed to mean? You’re being really evasive, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Ar-”

“I don’t know, Liz,” Arthur snapped. He then sighed and pinched his nose. “Something happened with someone I love. I’m still mostly in the dark myself, so I can’t tell you everything. But I’m physically alright right now. I’m…sorry I raised my voice at you.”

“It’s okay,” Elizaveta replied. “It sounds like you’re under a lot of stress.”

“I really am. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more at the moment.”

“I’m just glad you’re safe. I’ll cover for you at work no problem, you just focus on yourself and the situation. And let me know if I can do anything to help.”

Arthur smiled. “Thanks, Lizzie. You’re the best.”

“You know it.” Elizaveta chuckled. A muffled call grabbed her attention for a moment, and she was apologetic when she returned. “A last minute customer’s come in, so I have to go. I’m glad you called though, Art, I’ll see you later.”

“See you,” Arthur murmured, and hung up. He hoped he would be able to see her again, though with how Ludwig didn’t even let him look out the window, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

He was still alone in the room, so after a moment he took the empty dishes to the kitchen and started washing them. The sound of running water must have alerted Feliciano, because he came through the doorway a few minutes later.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that!” He tried tugging Arthur away from the sink, but the Brit was having none of it.

“It’s better than just sitting around and waiting,” he said, gently shaking Feliciano off.

“I guess that’s true,” Feliciano replied with a little laugh. “I’ll dry.” Together, they started working through the rest of the dishes in the sink. Feliciano watched Arthur carefully, and after another moment spoke. “Alfred’s probably going to be out for the rest of the night. Luddy thinks it’d be too big of a risk to move him, though, so we’ll set up a cot for you okay?”

“Okay, yeah. That’ll be fine. Thank you so much for everything, really.”

Feliciano’s face grew pensive. “It’s…scary. When Luddy’s brother Gilbert got out of the secret program, Luddy and I had to go away to Finland for a few months to make sure we’d be safe. Gil told us his friend Alfred helped get him out though, so if we can help Alfred and you now, that makes me happy and I want to do it, no matter how scary it is.”

“…You’re very brave,” Arthur told him softly.

“I’m not,” Feliciano said with another chuckle. “But having Luddy and Gil looking out for us helps me feel safer.”

“Do you think…” Arthur shifted from foot to foot. “Do you think you’d be able to tell me about what it was like? When Gilbert returned.”

“Oh! Oh yes, of course!” Feliciano smiled and got down two fresh mugs. “Do you want some more tea though?”

Arthur huffed out a laugh. “Well I can’t refuse tea,” he said as he filled the kettle with water and turned it on. A few minutes later, they were both settled on the couch again.

“Luddy thought Gil had died in a car accident. That’s how Gil told us they – the program, that is – recruits people. Oh, and the program is this secret thing that creates super skilled assassins? So they can kill people in governments they don’t like. Or something like that. Gil didn’t really want to talk about it too much, so Luddy and I didn’t ask.”

“Did… Was Gilbert sent to kill Ludwig?”

Feliciano looked momentarily horrified, but he then gave a loud laugh. “No, no. From what we know, Gil just wasn’t good at following orders and it was really hard to brainwash him and one day he did some digging and found his file. Then, with Alfred’s help, he was able to get out. I don’t know how it happened, though.” He looked down, smiling sadly at the table. “He just showed up at our door one evening. Ludwig cried a lot. It was…hard. Gilbert didn’t remember anything at first, which made both him and Luddy sad and frustrated. Luddy had his brother back, but not really, and Gil wanted to be normal but he just couldn’t be.”

Arthur knew Ludwig’s feelings well. But the question was, did Alfred want to be ‘normal’? Did he know what normal had been? “Did it get better?”

“Yeah, but slowly.” Feliciano’s fingers tapped away at the rim of the mug. “And there were lots of tense times too. Gil had bad nightmares, and Luddy didn’t let me be alone with Gil for a while after he found Gil’s guns. But the more they talked and spent time together, the more they understood each other again and some of Gilbert’s memories came back too.”

“Some, but not all?”

“Do you remember every single thing that’s happened to you? The important ones came back, and some really small moments keep coming back even now.”

Arthur nodded. “Thank you for telling me all of this, Feliciano. It’s helped put me at ease a little bit.”

“I’m glad.” Feliciano beamed. “It makes me so happy that I could help! I really hope that things work out with you and Alfred.”

“Thank you. I…I really hope so too. Someone out there has given us a second chance.”

Feliciano glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Alfred did. Alfred gave you a second chance even when he didn’t remember much. I know you’re hurting, but so is he. And you’re both allowed to. But try not to take yours out on him, because he’s a victim too.” When Arthur shot him an almost scandalised look, Feliciano chuckled and waved a hand. “I was getting a feeling you might get uh…accusatory? With him.”

Arthur pursed his lips and thought about it for a moment. Eventually, he had to concede that yeah, it was likely his own hurt would have caused him to get aggressive with Alfred. “…Perhaps.”

“It’s understandable. You were really hurt. You both were.”

“…Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence after that, with Feliciano giving Arthur some time to think over the new information and re-process his feelings. Arthur sipped at his tea, and though his chest still felt scrubbed raw, he didn’t think that he would cry so easily, or pass out again. His mind was racing through possibilities instead; what Alfred might say, what he might do, and where they would both go from here. Would he even be able to go back ho-

His eyes widened. “Vicky.”

“Hm?”

“Feliciano, are you or Ludwig allergic to cats?”

“No.” Feliciano’s eyes lit up. “Do you have one?”

“Yes. Would my friend be able to bring her here? She’s an older lady, so she won’t cause any fuss.”

“Mmm, I don’t see a problem with it, but Luddy might want to drive over and get your kitty himself, for safety and stuff.”

“I don’t mind. As long as I can get my Vicky.”

Feliciano smiled and slid over his phone. “Call your friend. She can at least check on your Vicky until you can be reunited. Does Alfred know her?”

Arthur’s gaze lowered. “We adopted her together. He should remember, but she’s just a little cat, so it’s quite unlikely.”

“How about her remembering him?”

“It’s been so long, I’d be very surprised, but maybe…”

“Well it’s possible! I’m gonna go check on Luddy, see if he needs anything.” With a reassuring grin towards Arthur, Feliciano stood up and vanished into the guest bedroom.

Arthur stared at the phone for a few seconds, and sighed before tapping on the most recent call in the history.

“Arthur?” Elizaveta sounded worried. “What’s up, why are you calling? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing serious. I just remembered that Vicky’s home all alone. Would you be able to take her to your place for the night?”

“Oh, sure! Poor thing, I bet she’s worried since it’s so late and you haven’t come home yet. I can take her for a few days, if you need it.”

Arthur hesitated, his grip tightening on the phone again. “No, no… My friend will come pick her up tomorrow. From the store, in the morning.”

There was a silence from Elizaveta’s side of the line as well. “Arthur, you know you…you can trust me, right?”

“I know.” Arthur was glad no one could see his flinch.

“Then why won’t you tell me-”

“It’s not a matter of trust, Liz. It’s a matter of safety. Keep your head down, don’t go poking around, don’t ask questions, don’t answer questions.”

Another silence, then, quietly, “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Something very scary. But please, just- Vicky.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I’ll go grab her.”

“Thank you. Either Ludwig, a big blond or Feliciano, a small brunet, or both, will come by the shop to pick her up tomorrow.”

“Alright. See you soon?”

“See you soon.” Arthur ended the call and watched the screen fade to black as he locked the phone. “I hope.”

Both Ludwig and Feliciano emerged from the guest bedroom a few minutes later, and bustled about to set up the cot. Feliciano also gave him a change of clothes for the night, which were a tiny bit snug but overall fit when Arthur changed into them. He helped them with the duvet and blanket, though he couldn’t help occasionally peeking over at the closed door to the guest room.

“Alfred is still asleep,” Ludwig told him.

Arthur couldn’t help jolting a little bit. “Oh- yes, I figured. That’s good, I suppose. I’m just a bit nervous. He’s right there.”

“And yet he isn’t.”

Green eyes turned to meet pale blue, full of understanding. “And yet he isn’t.”

“He will come back. Just like Gilbert did.” Ludwig clapped him on the back.

Arthur gave him a small smile. “I hope so. Thank you again for your help, really. It means so much to me.”

“Of course. Now go get some sleep. Lots of important conversations will happen tomorrow.”

The smile became somewhat strained. “Yeah.” The rest of their lives would be decided tomorrow, and the day after. “Thank you. Good night, both of you.”

Feliciano gave him a little wave, then tugged Ludwig off towards the master bedroom, Ludwig’s arm wrapped protectively over his shoulders. That door clicked shut seconds later, and Arthur was left alone again. He couldn’t help himself and crept over to the guest bedroom, cracking that door open.

A shaft of light spilled over the floor towards the bed, providing just enough brightness for Arthur to be able to see Alfred’s face. Alfred was laid out on his back, a cloth covering his forehead. His arms were on top of the sheets, hands fisted tight with tension. Arthur’s heart squeezed again. The man in the bed didn’t look very different. His old heartbreak from Paris roared through him again, and was slowly replaced by tentative euphoria at the sight of Alfred’s breathing. Alfred was alive.

And as he watched, Arthur knew that he was still attracted to him. Still loved him.

Fingers trembling, he closed the door again and shut the lights off before sitting down on the edge of the bed. His heart refused to slow down, and new butterflies hatched in his stomach each second. Alfred was alive. Alive! Briefly, he imagined kissing Alfred again. Holding Alfred again, loving Alfred again. He shuddered with pleasure at the thought, and longing filled him. Alfred hadn’t killed him, hadn’t hurt him. So while it was all a fantasy at the moment, there was now a chance Arthur’s deepest desires could become reality again. He just had to wait.

Arthur fell back against the pillows and eased himself under the covers, curling up with one of the extra pillows in his arms. He fell asleep minutes later, his mind still fixated on the possibilities.

It was dark when he jerked awake, his body tense. There was someone at his bedside, and before he could scream they pressed a hand over his mouth.

[escapedchickens]

The Soapiest Moment

A prompt I wrote for @gavimp and I thought it would be fun to add here since it relates to the light side of the AU. The above picture is from me, while the other is from her. This is also the last DBH related post of this blog, as future ones will be on the side blog @yorkshire-androids-au

The Soapiest Moment Ever

By Canuck

Today is Sunday, and it is Babs’ turn to wash the bathroom. Willard tidied up the washroom out of habit, but drops it when he sees Melisha walking by the Hallways with an AX 0017 model. He looks back at the washroom before fetching Babs from the living room. The android waits patiently at the living, eyeing her little knitting projects. Humming a positive tune and looking around in a flighty look before seeing Willard approaching her. “Morning Willard, did you and the Missus have a good breakfast?”

“That I did, Babs. Are you ready for today’s chores?”

“Oh, I am more than ready, Willard,” She says happily as she stuffs the knitting project in her apron and picks up a basket of cleaning supplies. “What area am I cleaning first?”

“You will do the East wing today; it comprises one of our Bathrooms, the guest room, the den and reading area. If you can start with the bathroom, that will be ideal. You think you can be alright cleaning it?”

“Of course, that is what I am programmed to do: sweep here, wipe there, just making sure the house is a home.”

Willard nods as he guides her to the washroom. The washroom is not too messy, as he tidied up a bit earlier today, but he cannot help but feel guilty for leaving it in a state. “Some places could have been better but a little help would do. Perhaps you would like some help as well?”

Babs bobs her head to the side and enters. “Oh no thank you, I am sure I can get it done soon. What is life without a little challenge? I will let you know if I need something.”

“Of course, I’ll let you to it.” Willard nods and continues on the rest of the East wing of the mansion. Out of habit, he picks up any bit of papers lying around and place them in a bag for recycling. Next, he goes to the broom closet and neatly set the vacuum at the corner of the den, and a broom and dustbin at the reading area. It should be enough to make cleaning a little easier. He more or less feel accomplished at his part of the task, as he feels more involved in his androids tasks than just doing nothing. He hears a high-pitched yelp from the bathroom and runs to the room. Here, he sees Babs’ frilly dress sticking out from the edge of the tub while her feet are kicking up in the air.

Willard leans over to grab Babs by the hand and pulls her to her feet. He feels a slight slip under the floor and grabs onto the counter. Babs looks down and up at Willard, already with an apologetic look.

“Oh, I am sorry, Willard,” says the android. “I thought I was done with the bathroom until I noticed the grimy ring around it. It would be wrong to leave it. I really tried to scrub, but the thing is just so stubborn. I may have used more soap and chemicals than intended.”

Willard shakes his head and pats her hand “No worries, love, you were simply doing your job. The bathtub can be hard to keep nice and polished. But don’t fret, I could barely see it, you did quite well in the bathroom.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, Babs,” Willard place some paper towels on the floor and guides the AX 0017 model to the hallway. He picks them up and place them in the trash. “There you go, all clean. Now, how about we go to the next room?”

“I like that.” Babs goes to the corner of the den starts the vacuum. Willard watches the bot cleans with ease, taking up all the little bits of specks to her vacuum in one setting and turns off to empty the filter into the trash bag. She places the filter back to the vacuum and sweeps off the remaining dust with a small brush. From the shelves, to the floor. She notices Willard chuckling and gets up with a smile, laughing along with him. “What is it, Willard?”

“It’s just, seeing the soapy floor all over reminded me of something I did with Jack and myself.”

“Oh, what thing?” She picks up the trash and recycling bin to the next room. “Did he get clumsy with cleaning too?”

Willard laughs and picks up one bin. “Not really, but a lot of cleaning was involved, I’ll tell you while you clean the next room.”

“Sure thing!” Babs replies in a chipper tone. She enters the reading area and sweeps the floor. Willard smiles and grabs a cloth the wipe the shelves. “Soap on the floor reminds me of a time Jack and I attempt to do this silly thing with bath bombs.”

“Bath bombs? Oh, those little ball thingies that dissolves and makes the bathtub all colourful?”

“Yes, yes, those things. When Jack was around, he and I were getting into those things and enjoy watching them dissolve whenever we have some bath time. It feels like watching art in the bathtub. We were so into them, that we had the bright idea to see what happens if we release them all at once.” “All at once?” Babs pauses and looks at Willard in confusion, tilting her head to her right. “Won’t it make the bathtub messier than a faint ring?”

“Yes, I know, I know, but we let fun got in the way of common sense. That is not the craziest part though….”

The date was, June 28, 2027

We have a big box of bath bombs around the bathroom, and being silly young lads, we thought it would be interesting to see what happens if we have them dissolve all at once?

We had the water running to fill in the tub while Jack strips off his shirt and playfully shows off himself into black trunks before getting into the tub. He sinks in, taking into the warm water of the bathtub, when he looks up to me and asks: “Are you getting in, Willard? The water is nice.”

“No thanks, Jack. Someone has to be the dry party.” I laughed, watching him relax at the tub. I was wearing some grey trunks and an old t-shirt to keep me warm as we cranked the AC up. Next to Jack was a box full of colourful bath bombs, letting off a strong scent that combines flowers and citrus fruit. The scent was overwhelming but a simple wipe of my nose should help with that. Jack was just smiling widely, waiting for the time to spill in the bathtub. He was way too happy for this experiment. I turned on the camera and pressed record.

“Afternoon world, and family. I am Jack Tweedy and this is my brother, Willard Tweedy holding the camera. Say hello, Willard.”

I turned the camera to the mirror so I can see myself waving hello to it. I turn back to see Jack sitting up and holding the box already.

“We are going to do a small test on what happens if we place hundreds upon hundreds of bath bombs all at once. Before that, I should let you know that we have taken precautions and prepared our tub. Why don’t you show everyone what we did?”

“We place lots of towels and bath mats around the tub, we made sure no wires were around and no holes.  The caulk is very secure so no worries about leaks and mold. And more towels in case it got out of hand.”

“That’s right, Willard, safety is first.” Jack sits up and rattles the first box over his head. “Are you ready, Willard?”

“More than ready!”

“Last call to get in with me.”

I pondered for a bit, wondering if I should. I want to get a good shot of our first experience with this. It sounds silly to overthink this, but we are less likely to do this again. I have the camera sitting on the counter where I know it won’t fall on to the possibly wet floor and gently get inside the tub. The water became lukewarm, but it was a good temperature for me to get in. Having him in the tub certainly helps. We both counted down to the three and watch him pour all the bath bombs in the water.

It went as well as it imagined. All the bath bombs diffused, and it became a colourful bomb in the water. It was pretty to see all the colours spread out like a mosaic, hear that satisfying hiss of the balls getting smaller and smaller. It was fun to watch… for a while. Before then, we noticed that the bathtub was starting to flood the bathroom. Watching the foamy colours spill over the tub went from beautiful to surreal real quick. We anticipated the washroom floor getting wet, so we have some towels on the floor to soak up the water. But we did not intend for the water to over soak the towels to the point where it looks like the whole area is soaked. Next thing we knew, we watched the carpets getting soaked with water and rainbow foam. We grabbed all the dish rags, towels, and paper rolls available to stop it from getting all over the halls. But alas, it was moot, and we found ourselves in a soapy situation. The whole carpet was just soaked, it was squishing underneath us. But that is not the crazy part.

We go downstairs and see tiny drips going to the living room. They may be tiny but we will not risk having those little holes get any bigger so we have to grab any available container and get cleaning. We wiped them out as fast as possible while the bath drains. It took only two hours, but it felt like it took all day. Nonetheless, we had a good workout getting the place dry and a laugh about it. As for the holes, I did not want to risk getting mold in between the cracks, so we called a professional to help us out. As long as we don’t overflow the bath again, it should be fine. After a two weeks of just showers, we can finally enjoy the tub as we did as lads: relaxing side by side and drinking ciders.

“Aah, so, you can take baths again after you got your floor and ceiling all fixed?” ask Babs, mindlessly knitting away at this whole story.

Willard giggles and feels the soft wool project from his maid. “I do, just not as much. Baths became more like Melisha’s thing. I do enjoy it, it is just not just the same without Jack. We just chill, talk, have cold ones. With Melisha, it is different. Even with wine at our hands, we just sit there and talk about our day like business partners, not a couple. But hey, we worked together to get you this nice farm, right?”

Babs pause her knitting and looks over. Her LED circles yellow and taps her needles against her shins before resuming her work and the LED going back to blue. “Yes, yes, it is. Some things improved but I can’t help shake it off that things can be… different. I like my role and this farm, it's just something about it I can’t think off.”

Willard eyes the android, suspecting of her deviating. He cannot really tell since Babs’ chipper attitude and work ethic is part of her program, but the little things about something not right with them seems off. Perhaps she did deviate but it is not as abrasive as how Ginger or Bunty did. Just how many of his androids deviated? Five, twenty, forty? Maybe more than that. He rubs the bridge of his brow as he hears his wife’s berating him at the idea of them scheming.

“They’re only tools that look like people. They don’t scheme, they don’t organize or form unions. They can’t do anything! All they did is work day in and day out with little to no complaint. Get it to your head, Willard!”

Willard shakes it off and pats Babs’ shoulder, “We’ll see what we can do. If anything, just feel free to let me know. I promise that will take it to consideration and see what we can do. How about you finish the last room and go downstairs, yes?”

“Yes, Willard,” Babs have the farmer lift her hand as she stands up and picks up her cleaning tools to the last room. “You know, those little moments makes the silver lining a little brighter. Like, how the light seems shinier behind a cloud, making it easier to see than if it is just one big sun? Because you can’t look at the sun. It will damage both a human and an android’s eyes. Funny how we keep finding little things that we have in common.”

“I think it’s funny in a cute sort of way. Nothing to brash, right?” Willard hears a text from his phone and looks at it. He sighs and puts it away after a quick text. “Will you be okay doing today’s work by yourself?”

“Yes, Willard.”

“Good, I have to meet with Melisha for a side project. You take care now, okay?”

“You bet, see you later, Willard.” Babs says, waving goodbye, watching Willard going downstairs and out the door. She continues of the last room with her cleaning supplies handy and watches the water turn into a colourful soapy texture, as it reminds her of the story.

[anne-iero-way-blog]

Domestic Frerard One-Shot #1 (Actually the first Chapter of a Fanfic I’m Writing)

Um, hi. I guess. I mean, that's how you talk to someone, right? Start with a simple "hi".

I'm Anne Iero-Way, and my dads are gay. Wow. It rhymes. But I'm serious. My dads are Frank Iero and Gerard Way, members of the world's greatest band, My Chemical Romance. Somehow, Frank got Gee pregnant, and I was born.

Anyway, I'm twelve, I have bright red hair (which I dyed without permission), hazel eyes, pale skin, and my locker is #708, so if you find this, you better give it to me or fucking tape it to my locker before I set all of my family's dogs on you. Trust me, we own A LOT of dogs.

Today has been a normal day so far. A few pricks here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary, though I did get a few dirty looks since I missed school for a week.

Anyway, I want to bitch slap this girl in my history class. She showed her friends some pictures of an older guy she thought was hot. She found his profile on Instagram. At first I was uninterested, but I eventually went to see who she was talking about.

I was so fucking shocked. She was talking about my uncle Mikey. My uncle, who she talked shit about simply because he was my uncle. My uncle Mikey, who I had gone to visit for a week. Oh, right. I forgot to tell you that's the reason I wasn't at school.

Since my dads and I are currently in LA, I've been able to see my aunt Avril more. Well, she's not really my aunt, but I got lost in one of her concerts when I was seven. I met her, and she was really nice. She even helped me find my dads. I'm going to a magic shop with her tomorrow.

You know what, it's weird to say my dads' names. I'm going to start calling Frank dad, and Gerard mum. Well, when I'm not around him, anyway. I don't think he'd like it very much.

Here's for hoping I find something cool tomorrow.

xoanne

Anne set both her pencil and her paper blog thingy on her bedside table. After that, she read a few fanfictions on her phone before turning it off and plugging it in to charge.

She checked the time before crawling back into bed. 3:28 in the morning. She'd be getting only about two hours of sleep. Two and a half if her brain decided it wanted a break, which probably wouldn't happen. Oh well. She could always grab some coffee before school.

Anne hardly ever drank coffee, besides frappuccinos, because damn that shit was good. But relying on caffeine for a day couldn't be too bad, could it? She already drank energy drinks on a regular basis when her dads weren't there, and Gerard did it all the time. She closed her eyes, hugged her Super Sons pillow (she loves DC, deal with it), and slept.

~

"AC, time for school!" Frank called from downstairs. AC was what Frank and Gerard called Anne, since her name was Anne Crimson, but none of Anne's friends knew her middle name. The nickname was also used by the adults she normally associated with (Mikey, Ray, Avril, Brendon, Melanie, etc), but it was mostly used around the house.

Anne hurried down the stairs, her black backpack slung over her right shoulder as she pulled on some leather fingerless gloves.

Gerard and Frank were subtly flirting and making breakfast together when Anne got to the kitchen. Once they sat down, the family of three talked about the potential MCR reunion. Gerard had pancakes with a side of egg whites, while Frank ate a spinach omelette and Anne practically devoured a Parmesan bagel. What? Cheese is good.

"Well, I gotta go. I need to talk to the UA crew," Gerard said, standing up from his chair. He grabbed his bag and hugged Anne before going up to Frank and kissing him. He was about to pull away, but Frank wouldn't let him, and the kiss quickly turned into a full-on make out session.

Anne slowly backed out of the dining room and went into the room where her dads kept the alcohol and all the drinks she wasn't allowed to have. As she reached for a can of Monster, she heard Gerard moan, and was grateful she had an excuse to leave.

After spending a good ten minutes drinking the can, she tossed it into the recycling bin in the corner and headed towards the back door. By the time she got there, Frank and Gerard had ended their lip war. Gerard was running a hand through his messy red hair, trying to smooth it down before he left.

"Goodbye, m- I mean, dad. See ya later. Oh, and remember, I'm going to the magic shop downtown with Avril later," Anne told Gerard as he opened the door. Gerard put a quick kiss on her forehead before exiting the house.

"Bye, AC. Don't do any stupid shit, alright," Gerard said with a giggle as he climbed into his black car.

[galacticbugman]

Costuming on a budget

Hi everyone Galactic_Bug_Man here now for most of us there is a lot of nerd and geek conventions going on in a lot of areas around this time of year and other parts of the year. So here I am going to give you some of my tips and show you a few of my costumes that I have put together on a budget. Starting with my Star Trek one as you see here. 

This costume comes from my Star Trek fan fiction Captain’s character. This was a very cheap one to make for me because most of the stuff I already had but I did go along and buy a lot of the pieces. This was taken outside my old house during the 2016 Dallas Fan Expo before with left the house to go on this day (Above)  

Now for this costume I used an old pair of black jeans, my brother’s old orchestra slip on dress shoes, the Phaser I bought online for about ten dollars or so it was very inexpensive, the rank pips on the right side of the shirt are not really official ranks pins at all they're actually rare earth magnets held on to my shirt with my Texas Master Naturalist badge backing. Sometimes you just have to be creative and use what you got not to break your bank. I got the communicator badge for about 20 bucks at my first comic con. The shirt I bought at a clearance rack at Kohl’s for about a few dollars and it is really comfortable. So many of these things you can get for under ten bucks if you know were too look. As you can see I didn’t add the red shirt to do my division color which for this character it is red like TNG or DS9 or Voy. this is shirt is very close to the off duty uniform that Captain Jean Luc Picard would wear sometimes in scenes where he is playing is Rusikan Flute and sometimes he would wear an open jacket on the bridge and underneath he would have this style of shirt. The red shirt is absent in the first shot but in the shot below I have it. I got this shirt at Michael’s for a few bucks on their DIY tee shirt aisle. In the shot below I am wearing a pair of slacks I bought in between events. The belt was found during holiday Christmas clearance at Target for a few bucks. How I made the latch buckle look like a Starfleet belt was I printed off a small Black and White emblem which I made myself on Power Point and printed it off and then used some really good clear tape to put it on there. The one above was colored but the one on the bottom was back and white. 

Sometimes it is just knowing where to look. Always check out clearance items or discount stores you get really lucky sometimes. My brother went to an old store once last year to make a costume for our high school pre-graduation party which was called Bahama Bash. I graduated a long time ago but he was just about to graduate and he went as Donkey Kong. They had a jacket that was brown for about three or four bucks, they also had a nice pair of brown pants for a little more I think. The most expensive things we had to buy were the material for his gorilla chest, and the batting for his muscular look. I don’t have pictures of that costume because it is all packed away but just getting setting a budget can really help you if you are a nerd that is tight on money. I prefer using what I have but sometimes you have to try and make it look good. That is why I bought the Combadge at full price but the Magnets I got with coupons. Sometimes coupons to craft stores and things are great and that is what a lot of us cosplayers do. No I am not a sewer but I have made a prop for this costume from some of the leftover fake fur we used for my brother’s DK costume. 

I made a Tribble to go along with my costume for a couple of events. We had a halloween event on our campus that I went to. We had a costume contest and I just decided to put this puffball together one night. It was kind of fun to make it and it was a good use of some of the left overs. If you are doing a Star Trek costume and have stuff like this you can easily make it yourself. For tribbles there are tons of templates online and sites that give you instructions. I made this one using another blog site. Instructables also has stuff like this and looks really fun to put together. 

So clearance, coupons, using leftovers, sometimes just using what you have are great ways to get started on you cosplay journey. There have only been a couple of costumes that I have had that were fully sewn and that was my first Luke Skywalker Costume when I was younger. My grandmother made the Jedi shirt, belt, and pants for me as well as the shoe covers to make them look like boots. So that was pretty costly to do. I also had to by a lightsaber which didn’t cost me too much it was just one of those hold down and flick out ones it was not one that lit up or made noise even though I did have one of those but I didn’t have one at the time. 

For the last few years now my campus has had an Anime Convention and Nerd con of sorts so this year my brother and I are going to check it out. And this year I am going to go as a Starfleet officer again but I am also going to go as one of my favorite characters from one of my favorite cartoons. 

Since Animaniacs seems to be coming out with a couple of more seasons in an updated form coming to Hulu in 2020 I decided to make a Yakko Warner Cosplay. It seems to be the road less traveled I don’t see a lot of Animanicas at cons but I have seen a few people cosplay as them so I deiced to try and do my own style while trying not to break my bank fully. Still using coupons and things but I also had a few items that I had in my possession and somethings I bought on the cheap end. 

Okay so here we have the red nose, the belt buckle, and the headband with ears. The headband I got at the Dollar store. On it I bought some enlarged pipe cleaners to make the ears and they were on the kid’s craft Aisle at Michaels. I buy a lot of my stuff from either Jo-Ann’s or Michael’s depending on who has the best deals at the time. The red nose I had when I had to have my kidney operated on I got a red nose from one of the volunteers at the children’s hospital when I had my left left kidney operated on after years of scar tissue built up after being born with an enlarged kidney and after years of chronic infection. It is okay I got that taken care but that is where the nose came from so it was free. The belt buckle was made from foam board and I colored it with a yellow sharpie. 

Now you might be thinking where is the hair for my costume. It is kind of funny but my hair line is receding just a little bit and when you put the middle part down my hair does what Yakko’s and his siblings does. It is kind of funny but hey that means I can just go with my natural hairline and natural hair. Sometimes you have to go with it and have fun. Me I am one of those that likes to roll with it and laugh at myself. That is all you can do sometimes. 

These are my slacks and tail. As you can see I used the pipe clearer to make a tail too. The slacks I got a JC Penny full price because I needed to get some slacks for some function. So I recycled those for this cosplay. I tied on the tail to the back belt loop. I can already tell you this part is going to be tricky so I am hoping that if I have to leave a panel to do something that I don’t shut my tail up in a door. I probably wont but sitting down will have to take some adjusting. Always try to make your cosplay as easy to maneuver as possible. It will help a lot by knowing just what events you will be doing and what it calls for. I am thinking it will not be all that bad but still I just got to make sure that I don’t get it caught in anything. This part of the costume was really fun to put together I was laughing at the end result because of the way it looked. I thought it looked pretty good and silly. I am a pretty fun guy so this cosplay will be really neat to do. I have never gone as a Toon before so this is something I have been wanting to experiment with for a good while now. 

Next up the Iconic feet of the Warner Trio. These are nothing more than painters shoe covers with toe marks on them. I got these at the Home Depot for about four bucks. I also bought some heavy duty white duct tape so that way I can make them somewhat wear and tear resistant from being on the concrete all day or the tile or carpet. I am going to wear some tennis shoe with these over them. I can already tell you that with this part you are going to need to tape the part that is not going to be to be the front of the foot down or it will look all funny looking. I have not wore the costume yet but I am already seeing somethings I am gonna have to do to make it look good. So yeah even your local hardware store is a good place to get some stuff for costumes if you have the right idea. 

I bought this black long sleeved shirt on clearance at Jo-ann’s they were getting rid of their long sleeve shirts for the season so I was able to get this fairly cheap. So yeah this was a pretty good deal. I am just saying things can look really good. This is one of the easier ones to make. The Star Trek costume took me a while to make. I had to find a combadge that was not sky high in price and where I didn’t have to pay for shipping and handling. 

And of course I got the gloves too at Jo-ann’s these were on their winter clearance and they had a whole bin of them and they were only a few cents so we got a few. It is not in here but I also have an all black belt so I have all the pieces finally to this costume. 

I love making costumes but sometimes it just have to play it really cheap. When I met Sylvester McCoy from Doctor Who I did a Doctor Degeneration theme where what would he look like if he was dying or something. So I have the scarf from four, the fez from 11, the sonic from nine and ten, I bought a Doctor Who Tee that looked like 12′s suite. and I had a my black jeans so I looked like that. that was actually more expensive than what I had for the other two costumes because I bought all that Doctor Who stuff online. So it just depends on what you want to do. Many of you know this but some of you may be new to cosplay. This is just showing you the way I do it. I am sure we all have our preferred method of doing our cosplay. 

I have to tell you that the Animaniacs cosplay is something that I am looking forward to wearing at our Campus Convention. I am very excited to see how it goes. Like I have said I am a huge Animaniacs fan and with this cosplay I am going to do something I don’t do a lot. I have a real knack to doing voice impressions and want to be a voice actor when I get out of college as well as a nature photographer and I can do both Yakko and Wakko impressions so I will be talking like Yakko most of the time at the con just to be silly and play the part. Sometimes if you dress the part you have to play the part. So I think that would be really funny and be worth some laughs. So until next time be safe at your conventions and have fun. I will see you next time on the trail of life. 

[wannawrite]

sweet crazy love [ pt.2 ]

who?: Wanna One’s Ong Seongwoo genre: 🌸🌺 type: bullet point - bc fic would be too long TW: blood, biting, fights, mention of PTSD, depression and psychiatry, supernatural experimentation - poison

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part two / two

part one

• vamp! AU • experiments don’t always work out…. and when they don’t, they go to the psychiatrist

HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR TO THOSE WHO CELEBRATE!! Wishing you and your families a healthy, prosperous and fruitful year ahead. Also, HAPPY BELATED VALENTINE’S DAY!!! hope all of you spent it well with your loved ones :”)

- Admin L 

disclaimer: pictures used do not belong to me and credit goes to their original owners everything written here is purely fictional.

• ‘You look awful.’ The words spilt out of Minhyun’s mouth before he could stop them. The Tiffin he brought over began to unpack itself, settling into a nice arrangement in front or Seongwoo • ‘New power gained?’ He gestured to Minhyun aiming his fingers at each plate. • ‘yup. Discovered it while messing with Jaehwan’s shampoo yesterday.’ • for more vampire adventures with Minhyun and Jaehwan click here • Seongwoo felt slightly left out. He couldn’t drink real blood, depended mostly on human food and couldn’t build his powers up • ‘Did you go last night?’ Minhyun asked, handing Seongwoo a pair of chopsticks • shrugging and shoving rice into his mouth, Seongwoo directed Minhyun’s gaze to his veins that were coursing with blue coloured blood • ‘Asshole,’ Minhyun cursed. ‘I knew you shouldn’t have. He’s only testing more dangerous substances on you now.’ • Seongwoo’s recycling bin was overflowing with cartons of plasma juice • Minhyun nearly bumped into it and knocked it all over • ‘You need a new shipment.’ • ‘That I do,’ Seongwoo agreed whole-heartedly. He munched on his lunch while Minhyun dialled the supplier, The Middleman. • ‘I need a favour.’ • Seongwoo broke the silence, looking hopefully at his friend. • ‘Depends....’ • Minhyun looked slightly flustered and panicked, his mind working hard to figure out what Seongwoo could possibly need help with. • It seemed that his friend had a split second of deep thinking and consideration. Minhyun already knew he would agree with Seongwoo’s idea • ‘we need to expose Doc.’ • #Docisoverparty • ‘Dad?’ you called out into the darkness, pushing open your front door. ‘Dad I’m home. Mum?’ • ah, what the hell, Mum won’t be back so early from work. • Dad said he would be in though...but the house is drenched in darkness, not even the night lights are on • you had been meaning to come home for the weekend to tell your parents about your exciting internship, even though your father mentioned that he had the night off, no one seemed to be around • leaving the living room lights turned on, you ventured up the stairs to where your Dad’s study lay • usually, it would be padlocked - for no apparent reason - yet today, the door was ajar, light streaming out from the gap • you supposed your father was inside, probably hidden away in his material to notice your arrival • just as you were about to knock the door, your dad appeared. His eyes widened, startled by you. • ‘oh! hi dear.’ The sound of the heavy wooden door slammed echoed off the walls. ‘Didn’t see you coming in. I was just finishing up for the night.’ • your eyes rolled far back. ‘That’s what you constantly say and Mum will find you still working when she gets back at 11pm.’ • ‘see, this is why you’re such a huge inspiration to me Dad, you always work hard.’ • a look of guilt crossed your dad’s face before it diffused and was replaced by a contented smile • ‘enough about me, I’m anticipating hearing all about your internship over dinner! Follow me.’ • you walked down the staircase after your dad. Somehow, your heart seemed heavy and your feet seemed to want to lead you to whatever lay behind those birchwood doors • never once had any family member stepped foot into your father’s study • of course, when you and your cousins were children, he kept it locked, going on and on about how there were many dangerous types of equipment inside • it was for your safety • yet here you were, on the brink of graduating and becoming a doctor yourself, still kept in the dark of what Dad really did in there • strange • there was a stab in your chest, willing you to find out what kind of medicine he kept in his study • wow don’t we just love thickening plots I can’t believe I’m writing a BULLET POINT on this....it would be a two-part scenario if I was on holiday :”) • ‘When I said get help, I didn’t mean call every single one of our brothers....’ Seongwoo muttered to Minhyun in a hushed tone, looking out at his crowded living room, his blood brothers filling the place • ‘Oh come on.’ Minhyun smiled charmingly. ‘It was due time for a family gathering anyway. I still have yet to call the rest of them..... Besides, we’re going to need all the help we can get.’ • Seongwoo shot his best friend an unamused look, biting down hard on his lower lip. • ‘You really think exposing Doctor’s work to his family is going to be an easy feat? We may have natural-born abilities but they have technology on their side.’ • he let out a won-over sigh, nodding in agreement. ‘Well, everyone’s here already, what are we waiting for?’ • Minhyun’s lips stretched into a cheery smile. ‘Nightfall, my dear brother.’ • *NIGHT FALLS* • Dad: I’ll be at the office late tonight. Eat dinner without me. I’ll make sure your mother gets home sooner to accompany you • at that moment, you wanted nothing more than to throw your phone against the wall. • you were back for the weekend and although your parents claimed to miss you, they weren’t the best at showing it • yes, work was hard but couldn’t they spend more time with their child? • haven’t been to Dad’s work in a while,,,I should surprise him with dinner • perfect! • so you got pizza, called and Uber and rolled down to your dad’s office • an institute called Jowa Medical and Science Research Facility • I’m so uncreative rip • ‘Hi, I’m Dr ____’s family member. May I know which office he’s in right now?’ You asked the front desk cheerily • the man sitting behind wore a mask, but he was clearly grinning behind it. ‘Just a moment please.’ • hmm probably a newbie or intern • his name tag read Lee Daehwi • ‘ahh, he would be working right now in the Biomedical Research block. I’ll get someone to lead you to his office.’ • then, he proceeded to make a phone call, all too happily if you were serious • next, a man came to escort you. He too looked young and bright. • Name tag: Lai Guanlin • ‘hmm that’s as far as I can take you, follow my Professor, he’s better at negotiating with your dad.’ • again, something seemed...off with the teeth of these people • ‘you’ll need this.’ A man whose security pass read Park Jihoon handed you a white coat. ‘There are a lot of hazardous chemicals in the research facilities.’ • bye bye pizza you left in the hands of Lai Guanlin • who would devour the entire box by himself in a few seconds • everything seemed a little out of place today • uh...isn’t security a bit lax? • who are all these new young doctors? • whatever • can’t get killed anyway can I? • walking down a dim and silent corridor with an unfamiliar professor was something you didn’t plan on doing • ‘oh,’ he said, approaching what seemed to be a laboratory. ‘Looks like Dr _____ is in the middle of an important procedure.’ • he pointed to the flashing red light outside the door • ‘you’re welcome to wait in the observation room though.’ • huh? • wordlessly and with your heart HAMMERING against your chest, you followed him into a room next to the lab. It seemed to be separated by only a black screen. You figured it was meant for students to watch without distracting the professionals • WHY AREN’T YOU RUNNING FOR YOUR LIFE • at the same time, it was thrilling to see your Dad working • however, his laboratory seemed a tad bit peculiar as well • there were jars and jars stamped with ‘TOXIC’ labels, everything seemed to be kept in pristine condition and carefully placed • many items seemed unfitting for a science lab. Explain the weird dentist reclining chair and were those torture devices ??? • what the hell? • Jihoon could hear all your thoughts and he was sending messages to all of his friends • vampires in clean white coats boasting stethoscopes were not a sight to be seen everyday • THERE WAS SOMEONE SITTING IN THE RECLINING CHAIR • ‘hey, isn’t that a person?’ you whispered to Jihoon. ‘Professor, is he okay? What is my dad going to do?’ • Professor Park kept silent and gestured for you to keep watching the procedure • every single cell in your body was telling you to leave • get out • but your eyes were trained on your father, hunched over a counter, drawing a strange orange liquid from a bottle reading ‘POSION’ • the syringe was the perfect size for a flu injection • but POISON? • ‘Professor Park! He’s going to poison that man! He’s going to kill him!’ You screeched, unable to believe whatever you were seeing. Your heart reeled, head spun. It felt as if someone had cracked your heart opened, maybe your brain • jihoon didn’t dare to say a word. • ‘STOP! DAD, STOP!’ • hmm, soundproofing was good down here • suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a digitalised screen with information written on it • it looked like a data document of some sort • Name of experiment: OSW • Supernatural type: Higher Vampire • what? • what the hell? • was this some kind of sick joke your Dad arranged? • what hidden camera show were you on? Candid Camera? • Drug Dose: 37ml of Ricin • ‘DAD, STOP! YOU’LL KILL HIM! HE’LL DIE!’ • by now, tears were flowing and gushing down your face. Your brain throbbed like blood flow had been paused, your chest ached. Ragged breaths began to replace your normal intake of oxygen • ‘HE’S GOING TO DIE!’ • the last thing you remember was the needle being stabbed into the man’s arm and the screen flashing red to read • Victim: ONG SEONGWOO, 122, HV • night night • Results: OSW has survived, heartbeat detected • when you woke up, you were still in your dad’s office, just in the medical side now • in an A class ward to be specific • but you were convinced it wasn’t any of your family members who put you here • Seongwoo was comfortably seated in one of the armchairs, flipping through the newspapers • he had a small bandage over his upper arm; proving that he had in fact gotten Ricin injected into his blood stream • and he survived from it...which next confirms the fact that he was a higher vampire • ‘Wakey wakey,’ Seongwoo chimes like an angel. • he’s far from it • ‘how are you alive? I saw my dad inject Ricin into your blood stream. Am I hallucinating?’ • A chuckle leaves his lips as the door opens and someone else slips into the room • ‘Hyung, Doc’s gone now. We’ve made sure of that,’ the voice announced. • ‘Thanks, Jinyoung.’ • you glared at Seongwoo as Jinyoung slipped out of the room. ‘What do you mean by gone?’ • ‘I mean, back home, safe and sound. He assumes you’re back in your dorm by now.’ • this didn’t seem like a man who just recovered from fatal poisoning • ‘You want to know what you father cooks up in his lab? Follow me.’ • it looked like you didn’t have a choice not to • never did you imagine the first time coming into contact with your dad’s work would be with a vampire and behind foreign doors • and breaking into a medical institutions well-guarded and somewhat hidden experiment laboratory • the lab smelled of burnt Sulfur, maybe hints of silver and wolfsbane. Jars stacked on tall shelves were filled with murky liquids and gooey objects sticking out of them • you shivered at the mere thought of it all • ‘your dad,’ Seongwoo began cautiously. ‘Likes to hunt and experiment on the supernatural.’ • I must be absolutely bonkers by now. • ‘I’m just one of the few living specimens he got his hands on.’ Seongwoo caresses a manila envelope tucked under a black binder • ‘There’s a whole list. Most of the higher vampires are my family.’ • my dad? supernatural? destroying someone else’s life? • doesn’t sound like it • ‘That’s impossible,’ you scoff in disbelief. ‘Supernatural don’t exist. You’re mocking me, Seongwoo.’ • you regret turning around to face him because he changed from a college kid Seongwoo to a bloodsucker within a matter of seconds • his fangs elongated, his eyes a crimson vermillion • ‘ugh, I need another plasma juice box.’ • you fought giggles. It was hard to keep a serious composure after seeing your batch mate glow in his true form and then sipping from a tiny carton of juice that resembled the ones your baby cousins drank from • ‘anyway, my point is that your dad has been testing on me and the side effects are so severe that I have to see Dr Im and down plasma juice by the shipments.’ • ‘uh, real blood would mess up his test results and he would beat me up with one of his torture devices,’ Seongwoo answered your unspoken question • ‘I just can’t believe any of it...’ • who could • my ass would have zayned right away good bye zai jian • ‘give me a week....’ • black water melded to fill your pools of vision • *a week and many messy thoughts later* • shrieking was the first thing Seongwoo’s ultra-sensitive hearing picked up when he entered Dr Im’s clinic for the third session • the voice was distinctly yours so he decided it would be good to tune in • ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KNEW AND NEVER TOLD ME! DR IM!’ • ‘I HAVE TO HELP HIM! I’VE KNOWN HIM SINCE HIGH SCHOOL EVEN THOUGH HE HATED ME BECAUSE HE KNEW I WAS PART OF MY DAD’S FAMILY! IT STILL HURTS.’ • ‘I can’t let him just waste away like this.....’ • ‘I just can’t....I’ll never forgive myself if I do.’ • by the way, the screaming and throwing of tissue boxes was enough for Seongwoo’s ears to hurt but he was happy he caught your exclamations • you care about him :D • how cute • WAIT NO I CAN’T BE CATCHING FEELINGS • eveN IF THEY FAINTED IN MY ARMS I CAN’T • Minhyun shoots him a smug smirk • ‘oh shut up.’ • ‘never said anything.’ • ‘IT’S CALLED AN INVASION OF PRIVACY!’ • ‘Dr Im is ready to see yo- SEONGWOO NO YOU CAN’T STRANGLE MINHYUN HERE.’ • *break bc i won’t really touch on the sessions* • from then on, Seongwoo tried as much to avoid your father and you tried to occupy your dad’s time • making excuses for family outings • hiding and throwing away his syringes • calling his work to turf him out of there early so that Seongwoo wouldn’t have to face anymore poison • it was a hard feat to convince him to stay away • because for every session he attended, he was sparing a life of his family member • your dad threatened to harm an Ong if Seongwoo didn’t comply by the rules • there was always a different excuse you had to cook up to get your dad home and out of his study • once, you even went to the extreme of changing the padlock on the door by stealing the key from your dad’s briefcase • you made about a 100 carbon copies before changing the lock back before he noticed • you just NEEDED Seongwoo to be safe and sound • the odd case he did go for an appointment, you would have to attend to a half-dead looking Seongwoo at 2am on the middle of your dining table • ‘sorry for the lack of operation table, I’m a psychology student.’ • sometimes, you had to rip away parts of his shirt to access whatever wound or vein affected • you lost count of the number of times colour suffused into your face • or the number of times you threatened to stab Seongwoo with a scalpel whenever he teased or complimented your blush in his drugged state • you wished you could dose him with anaesthetic so that he would shut up • Seongwoo was too playful for his own good • he just liked to tease and joke a lot, especially under the influence of whatever your dad was dosing him with • ‘you’re so cuteeeee when you blush. I love it.’ • and he would pout sulkily when you don’t respond • ‘are you ignoring meeee? Don’t you have feelings for meeeeeee?’ • annoying vamp • you would tell him to keep quiet unless he wanted a dead vein • catering to his supernatural needs was another thing • hiding a stack of plasma fruit juice under your bed was a different affair altogether • you also had to receive shady shipments in the middle of the morning so that none of your flatmates would get suspicious • they were like family to you but you would get suspicious if something with the label of ‘100% REAL PLASMA JUICE’ appeared at your doorstep • there was also an unholy amount of poison reversals stashed in your locked drawer • hmm your friends in the medical sector were beginning to get suspicious • all you needed to do was call a vampire over, hypnotise them, get your goods and hack into the security system to remove any footage • damn aren’t you glad you have royal and senior vampires like Yoon Jisung on your side to help with that? • ‘shut up Guanlin all you did was carry the bags of medicine and eat my pizza.’ • you often complained about Seongwoo’s younger brothers but they were an added joy in your life • ‘JINYOUNG I SAID PUT THAT SYRINGE DOWN NOW.’ • what a pain • sometimes Seongwoo would murmur incoherently in his dozy state and all you could catch were things along the lines of ‘pretty’, ‘I want to go to The Middleman’, ‘I want to kiss someone’ • uh yeah which made you a tad bit pissed off and receptive • ‘seongwoo, you better shut up before I stab you with this anaesthetic.’ • what are your feelings? • it’s like you hate him but you can’t seem to stop loving him? • it gets really intimate since you see him every single day and most of the time it is when he’s at his most vulnerable ??? • sessions with Dr Im • late night therapy while you’re fixing him up • texting him that you got your dad fixated on something else for that time • texting him to ask if he’s been taking the prescribed pills • you just...suddenly found yourself gaining a close friend and maybe some new feelings • why not? • seongwoo was dangerous, sometimes annoyingly loud and cocky with a devilish glare yet he was funny, playful, open with you and genuine • every night you got your dad’s tools away from him, there was a cup of your regular order from the cafe you first met waiting for you at Dr Im’s office • she wouldn’t say who brought it >:( oh ho ho but you knew all too well • he was TOO KIND for his own good • even if he was a jerk sometimes haha • you just started to like him...more than a friend • so when he started saying stuff like that, you just felt like crying and stabbing him with a needless syringe • like why? aren’t I the one who is always holding you close and protecting you? Isn’t it my apartment you run to? Why? • it’s just super pressing and irritating, heart-wrenching even • who was the one printing out his lecture notes and delivering them to his dorm? who was it tracking his mental health progress? • one night, Seongwoo texted you to open the door,,,even when you knew there wasn’t anything scheduled • he just stumbled into your arms the moment you peeled open the door. • hmm no traces of alcohol • ‘babeee,’ Seongwoo drawled out, completely oblivious to the words that came out of his mouth. ‘Guess what?’ • ‘I don’t want to. I’m calling Minhyun, just hang in there.’ • I DON’T KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH THIS • ‘I got my first taste of real blood. It was from a blood bag of course and it was from an animal, I think I’m allergic to human blood.’ He suddenly frowns. ‘Besides, I won’t want to upset youuu.’ • oh god is he tipsy because all he’s been living on are these fruit juices • ‘why not?’ you challenge, your fingers stop punching in Minhyun’s contact • Seongwoo wraps his arms around your shoulders with a giddy smile on his face. ‘I looove you! I do! Ever since graduation when you found out my secret but never told anyone.’ • your cheeks redden and you send Seongwoo straight to your bed, tucking him in tightly so he can’t escape • he’s worse on blood than on poison...what is this logic? • ‘nooo!’ he whines, grabbing your wrist. ‘Don’t leave me. You’ve never have and you won’t now....will you?’ • oh man look at this baby even his fangs are beginning to show someone help him • you’re helpless against his iron-grip so you settle with him, cuddling until he shuts his eyes • phew, I can leave to call Minhyun now • ‘I also like you...’ • huh ??? • there’s a yearning in your heart, you want to know why • so you grab his hand and stick by his side • like you always have • ‘You’ve always been there for me. No matter what. Even though I’m technically not supposed to exist at all.....’ • your heart melts into a puddle, you can’t handle all your pent-up emotions • ‘I told Minhyun I would marry you when we’re ready....’ • SLEEP TALK IS THE BEST TALK • are you crying or are you crying? • ‘w-when w-we were young....we swore that we would marry the person who was there for us even in the most difficult of situations.....’ • SOB SOB SOB • IDK WHY MY EYES ARE SWEATING RN • SEONGWOO STOP • ‘you helped me so much.....’ • he gets sleepier and sleepier, dozing off into oblivion • a small smile stretches across his face when you kiss his forehead and run a hand through his hair • WHO WOULDN’T • ‘you are here for me even when the night falls.’ • and he’s out • you can’t comprehend it now, perhaps not ever • it’s just his secret love that’s bloody sweet and would drive anyone else but you absolutely crazy • okay this isn’t meant to be dark or anything like that and I spent a whole WEEK on this no joke I’m crying • but basically, we should accept and love each other’s flaws and differences • I don’t believe supernatural exist in real life so please don’t be scammed friends ahaa • see y’all next week! • 💖💕💓

[garbagebinrentals]

Where Can I Throw Out My Garbage in Toronto – read here!

The end of your driveway. Simple. An easy answer to the question, where can I throw out my garbage – if only.

If you have electronics, hazardous waste, construction materials, a whole lot of garbage, mattresses, or furniture, municipal waste management isn’t picking it up.

There are a lot of situations where it might not be clear where you can put your garbage in Toronto.

Let’s clear up any confusion. Here is a breakdown of how waste pickup works in Toronto and what options are available to you.

The three-bin system

Toronto waste disposal and garbage pickup use a three-bin system. With this organization, the City manages more than 500,000 tonnes of garbage. Here is what is allowed to go into where.

 Your garbage bin is where general waste and non-recyclables go. These include food containers, disposal cups, food boxes, plastics, foil wrappers, straws, pet hair, and more.  Blue bin recycling accepts specific items in the categories of plastics, metal, paper, cardboard, and foam polystyrene. It can take some time to learn what’s recycling and what isn’t. This is perhaps why over 30 percent of Toronto’s total blue bin recycling is contaminated.  Your green organics bin is for fruits, vegetables, meat products, pasta, bread, rice, dairy, animal waste, house plants, coffee grounds, diapers, sanitary products, soiled paper including food packaging, and paper towels.

Where can I throw out electronics in Toronto?

Drop off old electronics at a Toronto drop-off depot. They can also be donated if they’re still working. Even if there’s no value to them, the City will take them off your hands for nothing. This includes the following:

 Smartphones and home phones.  Computers and accessories.  VCR/DVD players  TVs, flat-screens, and monitors.  Printer and fax machines.  Cameras.  Speakers.  Turntables.

Where can I throw our hazardous waste in Toronto?

Hazardous waste is tricky. If it’s generated by a business, commercial, industry, charity, or institutional stakeholder, Toronto won’t accept it anywhere. If it’s from your home, you have options.

You can throw out hazardous waste in Toronto at Household Hazardous Waste (HHW) Depots and/or on Community Environment Day. The following is considered hazardous waste:

 Car and garage products like antifreeze, car batteries, motor oil, fuel, and windshield washer fluid.  Personal care products like alcohol-based lotion, medications, vitamins, nail polish, syringes, and non-empty aerosol cans.  Household cleaners, abrasive powders, bleach, drain cleaners, floor and furniture polish, and disinfectants.  Pesticides and garden products, including insecticides, fertilizers, and weed killers.  Paints, solvents, and glue.  Propane tanks.  Helium tanks.  Lighter fluid.

Where can I throw out construction or renovation waste?

Installing a new roof. Building a deck or patio. Completing a demolition. Renovating your washroom.

These are all examples of jobs that create a lot of waste. Where you put your renovation waste is inside a dumpster or mini bin rental. Believe us when we say this is the easiest way to manage construction waste. This type of waste includes:

 Wood.  Concrete.  Drywall.  Metal.  Bricks.  Tiles.  Ceramics.  Glass.  Plastics.  Cement.  Paint.  Adhesives.  Sealants.  Roof shingles.

Services like Toronto’s Core Mini Bins even offer same-day mini bin rental or dumpster rental service. Just call us and we arrange drop-off. From that point on, the process is easy. Put your waste in the dumpster. Call for pick-up. Get the waste hauled off, no questions asked.

Where can I throw out office or business waste?

Moving offices or moving out old office equipment is a lot of work. A dumpster or junk removal service for office waste is a great opportunity to keep it simple for yourself. The process works similarly as a mini bin rental for a renovation. Just give us a call.

If your business requires ongoing waste management on a weekly basis, arrange a weekly dumpster rental. The cost is yours. The labour, transportation, and responsibility are on the waste disposal company. Here are some examples of office waste that will need a dumpster or junk removal:

 Computers.  Printers and fax machines.  Chairs and tables.  Cubicle dividers.  Binders.  Old office furniture.  Metal file cabinets.  Telephones.

Business waste isn’t exactly the sort of thing you can ignore or manage on your own. An appropriately sized mini bin is your best bet.

Where can I throw out old furniture and garbage from my condo?

Toronto is filled with thousands of condos. Every month, people move in and people move out. Old furniture needs a place to go. Some condos will want your waste moved quickly. A junk removal company is your answer.

Junk removal services are perfect for students, seniors, and condo owners. Get old furniture moved quickly. You don’t have to lug it down to the road or go against your condo rules. A representative will be there, often same day, to help.

Where can I donate furniture, electronics, and reusable items in Toronto?

A lot of organizations are willing to accept your old electronics and furniture as long as they continue to be functional.

If you aren’t able to lug your items down to a local charity organization, allow the best junk removal service to do it for you. Specify you want something donated and to where. In many cases, garbage pickup can help. Environmentally-friendly waste management is key to junk removal. Anything that can be recycled should be recycled. The same goes for reuse.

Can I throw out my garbage in Toronto without hiring a company?

Toronto does have drop-off depots to collect and sort the city’s waste. Any Toronto resident can throw out unwanted items here 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. This isn’t without convenience though.

During peak periods – 11 am to 1 pm and 3 pm to 5 pm – priority is given to City-operated vehicles. You might have to wait if you arrive at these times. You also have to lay down a $40 deposit, regardless of the size of the load. Some items are accepted. Others aren’t. There are fees for some materials, of course. There’s a long list of materials that aren’t accepted at Toronto garbage depots, ranging from hazardous materials to construction and renovation waste, farm waste, tires, yard waste, liquid waste, soil, and more.

Do you need to throw out some garbage in Toronto – you don’t have to look far. Contact a representative at Core Mini Bins today. You don’t have to go through the hassle of DIYing it. Toronto dumpster rentals, mini bin rentals, junk removal, weekly rentals, waste donations, or whatever you need! Core Mini Bins is your resource.

Source: https://www.garbagebinrentals.ca/waste-collection-removal-disposal-blog/767-where-can-i-throw-out-my-garbage-in-toronto-read-here.html

[prettythoughtful]

We’re well into the month of January now and for some Veganuary is coming to an end. For others, Veganuary might be stretching out for a bit longer, for a lifetime perhaps? (Let me know in the comments if you’ve decided to stick with it).

Either way, there are super easy ways for you to change up some of your home habits to become a little bit more ‘vegan’ in your day-to-day, or, what I’ll actually call sustainable.

There are many small things I have implemented in my life since becoming vegan, that I never thought about before so let me give you a quick run down of the changes per room in my house!

The Kitchen

Coffee making at home instead of take out coffee – honestly so much more fun to make coffee at home. You can fork out some money for a machine or else get a cheaper alternative such as a pour-over, an Aero Press or an Espresso Pot. I love coffee a lot. I’ll be writing a blog post about it very soon! 

Using a Keepcup or other variation instead of take out cup – If you do enjoy a take out coffee and you get them on the reg try using a reusable cup instead! You often get a discount from the coffee shop as well, which is a plus!

cleaning recycling items – Ah, something not a lot of people seem to realise (if you live in my apartment building that is), is that you can’t just throw EVERYTHING in the recycling. A lot of items you might think can be recycled can’t (see this list for some great tips) and anything containing food has to be cleaned out before it’s popped in the bin. 

Try to reduce your waste – Another topic I’ll be covering later this year as I embark on reducing my waste but if you’re a newbie to the concept try avoiding things in plastic that don’t need to be in plastic! Fruit and veg doesn’t need to be shrink wrapped and it adds up if you buy a lot of it – use reusable bags if you want to bag loose veg in the shop or, if you realise that that’s pointless, like me, you can just bung veg into your basket or trolley sans wrapping. It’s FINE. 

non-chemical cleaners – This is something I’m just getting into. I use essential oils for as much as I can but supermarkets have started selling cleaning products that aren’t jam packed with chemicals. How does this help, you ask? Well the chemicals in cleaning products are carcinogenic and can lead to really bad healthy, I know that when I use them my asthma gets REALLY bad. Now I use a natural spray and it’s so much better and, guess what, even cleans stuff! Plus most of the household names test on animals which is horrendous. 

composting – 2020 is my year for composting. I live in a very small flat and we don’t have space for a compost bin but our local council are actually giving us some bins specifically for food waste – which is mostly what I throw away (not food I haven’t eaten because I’m not a left-overs person); vegetable cuttings! So many it hurts my soul! I am also getting an allotment (a patch of land in a community garden) so I might start a little bit of composting there as well. If you don’t have space why not contact your local allotment or a farm and see if they want your veg cuttings! You might even have a neighbour who could use it!

lunch box – I think we all know the years of plastic are over but how many people still buy lunch or use plastic lunchboxes on a regular basis? Yikes! One of my favourite purchases of last year was a metal lunchbox with a bamboo lid which doubles as a chopping board! Things like bento boxes and the like are becoming a lot more popular but watch out for the plastic ones. Yes, they’re going to last longer but they’ll still end up in a landfill more than likely so try picking sustainable materials and go forth! 

The Living Room

Picking a sustainable energy provider – I’m popping this in living room because this is where we blast our heating the most but MOST energy providers are still burning those fossil fuels and it’s time we moved to renewable energy so do your research and pick a provider who is backing sustainable energy. I personally use Ecotricity who are the worlds first green energy supplier and they use their profits to build windmills and the like – investing in the future is A OK in my book and they might not be the cheapest provider but I’ll take the financial hit if it means I’m putting money into something good. 

The Bathroom

Banning plastic shampoo – I made a decision a while ago to stop buying shampoo in bottles and I’m glad I did. Buying shampoo was starting to be one of those boring purchases, like buying toilet paper. When you start buying shampoo bars it starts to be a bit like buying makeup and other fun things! There are so many new products out there these days so you can shop around and find something you love without having the throw plastic into a landfill every month or so. I have two shampoo bars at the moment; one Lush bar which is nice and foamy and one LJ Natural bar which is less soapy and more clarifying. You might worry that a shampoo bar won’t last but they really do, trust me! 

Soap bars – Much like shampoo how many of us buy shower gel? Or even soap pump bottles for besides the sink? The easiest switch is buying soap bars – they last and at the end you’re left with… nothing. Except maybe a bit of paper to pop into recycling! 

Bamboo toothbrush – How many toothbrushes do you think you go through a year? Now times that by your age, then think about how long you’ve still got left to live (a while, hopefully!). Now think about how many people there are in your town… your city… the world! From what I’ve gleaned from my research just chucking your toothbrush into your recycling bin doesn’t do anything. You need to POST your toothbrushes to a specific company to do the job. Um.. What? That’s insanity! The easiest thing to do is switch to a bamboo toothbrush if you like the manual method. I’m not sure about electric toothbrushes so you might wanna look into that if you’re interested in switching up. 

The Bedroom

Not having ‘down’ pillows an quilts – Are you a fan of feather pillows? Erm… maybe try not to be! Feathers are plucked from LIVE animals a lot of the time so it might not be a good idea to support that industry. If you do some research and you’re happy using companies who ‘gather’ (pick up feathers naturally shed) then do some research and find out which companies do that but definitely do the research! 

  These small changes are easy ways to implement vegan sustainability in your daily life!

Let me know if you happen to do any of these already or if this has given you any ideas of other changes you can make!

Sam

I've written a new #veganuary blog post covering a few easy ways to be more sustainable at home - check it out! We're well into the month of January now and for some Veganuary is coming to an end.

[yourmandevine]

‘What can I get you?’

I was 15 when Norm Macdonald got yanked from his spot as the anchor of “Weekend Update” on “Saturday Night Live.” I didn’t know why he had; all the stuff about Don Ohlmeyer and O.J. Simpson was a little over my head. All I knew was that this really funny, really dry, really different and really talented guy I’d come to enjoy wasn’t hosting the fake news anymore, and that Colin Quinn was.

I’ll never forget how Quinn opened his first run at the anchor desk:

You know how you go to your favorite bar, and your local bartender isn't there? You ask, "Where's Jeff?"

"Jeff no longer works here. I'm Steve."

And you're thinking, "Hey, who's this idiot? I like Jeff."

But you still want your drink? And even though Steve doesn't mix your drink the same way you're used to, like Jeff, you still like the same bar. You don't want to have to go to a different bar.

And even Steve might feel kinda bad, because Jeff trained him. Jeff showed him how to work the cash register. Where the tonic was on the soda gun. Who tips, who doesn't.

Well ... I'm Steve. What can I get you?

For the past month, I've been feeling a lot like Steve.

One month ago, the company I work for got acquired by another company and merged with a third company. (I’m pretty sure I have that right. I am bad at business.) This had been in the works for a while; I expected that some things would be different once it all finished. I did not expect that the significant layoffs would include Kelly Dwyer and Eric Freeman, two of the best basketball writers in the world and my co-workers of many, many years. Kelly’s last day was June 14. Eric’s last day is today.

Kelly’s last post was a corrective/history lesson. Eric’s last post was about how failure can be beautiful and spectacular. I take a small amount of solace in knowing they went out strong, and as themselves. Cold comfort is better than no comfort at all.

Lots of people lost their jobs in this deal, in all aspects of the workforce, because it is my understanding that that’s what happens when gigantic companies become parts of other gigantic companies. Every site, department, office, etc., lost smart, capable, valuable and talented people. I know that, and don’t mean to come off as overly selfish or maudlin. I just miss mine, is all.

Kelly’s one of maybe three or four people who can lay legitimate claim to having defined the way people write about the NBA on the Internet. His Behind the Boxscore columns helped teach so, so many of us about the teams we never saw, about history and context and how to watch what happens, about something called “efficiency” and “pace-adjusted stats” ... about everything. (Oh, and about Queen. And Steely Dan. And Alex Chilton, and “Alex Chilton.” Kelly's columns never traveled far without a little Big Star.)

Even after he shuttered BtB -- as it turns out, not even the dude who’s the best at this can watch 15 games a night and write 4,000 digestible and insightful words about all of them for 10 a.m. Eastern the next morning, every morning, forever -- and stepped into the editor’s chair, he worked his ass off to bring that expertise and attention to detail to everything he wrote. Libraries full of NBA writing have landed in KD’s recycling bin because it wasn’t good enough if it didn’t get the words right, even if it might’ve been better than 75 percent of the stuff the rest of us write. Kelly loves the NBA, and loves writing about the NBA, in a way that has frankly made me question many times over the years if I even like the NBA. His enthusiasm was obvious from the outside, way back when I was commenting on BDL live blogs and writing about nothing on my own independent blog, and only grew clearer when I spent seven years engaging with it every day.

Eric joined the team in 2010, bursting through the screen like Monta. Eric had been great for FreeDarko and The Sporting News’ The Baseline -- his clarity of expression and sense of humor made him so much fun to read, and so daunting to compete with, even at a time when the burgeoning corporate basketball Internet felt less like competition and more like a great broad swindle we couldn’t believe we were getting away with. And then, Sporting News shuttered its blogs and laid people off, and all of a sudden Eric was available, and then he was with us. I felt so unbelievably lucky. I still feel that way.

Eric could write work-a-day blog posts like serious art criticism, but he also really wanted to do stuff that straddled the line between dumb and brilliant, like writing about robots playing basketball or writing fiction about journeyman center Earl Barron that presupposed he was an actual earl. He could be incisive and ridiculous, in-depth without feeling overbearing, polished without being precious. I have always felt smarter about something after reading Eric’s perspective on it.

He’s also possessed of such generosity of spirit that he used his favorite baseball team winning the 2010 World Series to let me know that he wishes good things, and only good things, for me and for mine:

There’s still a website, of course. Ben Rohrbach and Henry Bushnell are working their asses off, and I’m trying to steer the ship. We’ll keep trying to do things that are good-and-smart and good-and-dumb as best we can, because that’s all you can really do. It’ll be different, though. It is different.

The seven-plus years I worked with Kelly, and the six-plus I worked with Eric, weren’t perfect, because no long-term relationship ever is. Everyone has his off-days. But I never took for granted how much they cared, or how goddamn good they were, or how rare it was for any group of dopes on a website to get to work together for as long as we had.

Ball Don’t Lie has been a special thing on the Internet for a long time, thanks in large part to Kelly Dwyer and Eric Freeman, two unbelievably talented people who gave me support and instruction and friendship. They made our site better, and they made me better, too. I look forward to them doing the same for someone else, someplace else, very soon.

[immykidsmanager-blog]

"Some Day It Always Does"… (The start of an Actor's Blog)

The agents are back in their offices on Monday. How is this year going to be different from any other year? A few days will pass…you’ll get submitted for a few parts…the auditions will start to roll in…you’ll go to a few castings… you won’t hear anything about most of them…ho hum… I guess I’ll just keep rolling along. What?! NO! Do you know how lucky you are to even get that audition?! This is a huge opportunity! This doesn’t happen to everyone and YOU get to do this!

So how is it going to be different this time? A good story is made when the writer shows us that this day or this year is going to be far different than any other. When the routine of what’s expected gets thrown for a loop. If you’re the writer, the director, and the actor of your own story how is this Monday going to stand out?

Now let’s go back about 40 years. Legend has it that Madonna takes a cab from LaGuardia with $35 in her pocket and says “Take me to the center of everything!” Now that’s the first line of a great story! We’re already hooked and we have to find out what’s next. Ok we know what happened to her but now let’s take yourself back to the first day you arrived in New York City. What made it “shiny and new” for you (to borrow a familiar line)? When were you an NYC virgin? You got off the bus or the plane and…What happened next? Was it a great story or was it just what everyone expected? How did you get to this point? What went right? When were/are you the happiest? When was it exciting? How can we harness that successful feeling again?

I started acting before the digital age just as the internet was dawning. I came to the city armed with my MFA from University of Cincinnati College-Conservatory of Music - CCM, one of the best theatre schools in the country, Right? or so I thought or at least I was cocky enough to think that was all I needed. These were the days when the big corporate agencies only represented stars, and if you were a working actor or just a struggling one your agent probably worked out of a dusty old walk-up office somewhere in the theatre district. They were usually older gals with names like Lucille or Claudia. They’d have a couple rotary phones on their desk and they’d use their long nails to flip through rolodexes and open filing cabinets. The only time you would ever hear from them was if they called you. I would check my answering service like 20 times a day to see if any new opportunities came in. It was so exciting when my voice would pick up immediately before a ring. That meant there was a new message!!! One time it was this dirty old man I had been freelancing with. He left me a message saying he didn’t have any auditions for me and probably wouldn’t for the foreseeable future, but if I wanted I could come by and he would watch me clean his office. Nice. My face dropped.

So obviously I didn’t have an agent for very long. I had a few managers though, nothing too notable, but I did have one called Down Right Talented Management. He liked to be called D.R.T. for short. D.R.T. represented African American rap artists of which I was neither, so in other words I had to submit myself for everything I wanted to do. I used to run down to the news stand after midnight to grab my copy of the Backstage newspaper when it was still tied up in a large bundle on the sidewalk. I’d stay up all night licking envelopes, stapling headshots to resumes so they would all be sent out before the mailman collected them the next morning. I’d buy huge packs of preprinted labels with agents and casting director addresses on them from Drama Book Shop. OMG I wasted so much postage and not to mention paper, since I’m sure most of these envelopes were never even opened. An office assistant at a big agency assured me once that they did actually open every single actor submission…in order to separate the cover letters and resumes from the headshots for the recycling bin.

All this sounds like a shit show, and it wasn’t all hard knocks. It was a nostalgic time. I would never go back but I look at it fondly now. Without the lean times I wouldn’t be where I am. “I’m my kids manager,” and they are totally D.R.T.! More D.R.T. than I ever was and they’re only 10. CCM taught me to act and I “have been” and “can often be” brilliant when I do, but in the old days I didn’t have many opportunities to show how great of an actor I could be. CCM didn’t teach me to audition or really anything about the business of acting. They did teach me to access my real emotions in order to apply it to a character… and (as I’ve said) I’m absolutely amazing at it!!!

When I got off the plane back in 19-blah blah blah…I knew nothing about the business that I was about to start. I had to create opportunities for myself and I wasn’t always motivated or disciplined enough to figure out how to do that. I eventually learned and now I’m making sure my children understand the full scope of the business they’re in. I used to wonder “what was it all for?” now I finally get it and can apply it to the their business and mine. I can help my kids find the opportunities then know how to access their real emotions in order to get the role (or at least have a good audition) and then understand how to be a productive part of a professional setting. Imparting on them what I have learned is so thrilling…to be prepared for success, being accountable, and then rewarding yourself for the little achievements. Not that they always listen. I am just their parent after all. One time when our twins were about 4 years old we went to a casting with them because the commercial wanted the kids to have same-sex parents. My son was so embarrassed. “You are NOT an ACTRESS!! You are a Daddy!!!” He never realized until this moment that the whole reason he is in this business is because we are in this business too. So at 4 they quickly realized that some audition fairy doesn’t just wake you up and sprinkle you with acting opportunities. It’s this “Fairy” right here, and my name is “Daddy Chad!”

That’s what can make this Monday different from any other! Just getting the opportunity is an achievement in itself and should never be discounted. Out of all the actors in this city the casting director wants to meet you! That’s amazing! When I see actors being so “Ho Hum” about another audition (EMAILED to them personally from their agent BTW) I just want to shake them awake! Don't worry I don’t shake my children.

My father-in-law is retiring this year and over the holidays we were trying to help him figure out “what’s next?” What does he like to do…where is he happiest? So I asked myself the same question “When am I the happiest?” Instantly the answer came to me: “When I’m on a set with my kids.” The world could be blowing up around me and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Incidentally guess where I was on 911? I was shooting a commercial, which actually never finished filming, but even on the worst day in American history I knew I was right where I was supposed to be. Especially since I often had a recurring temp job which would place me in the twin towers. I should have known back then THIS WAS A SIGN!!! But of course being the dummy that I was I kept on temping and doing the support jobs until I was totally distracted enough so that the support jobs became real jobs and I totally forgot the whole reason why I moved to New York in the first place!

I’m a dumbass, but there’s good to find in that version of the story too. If I had kept on doing extra work and thankless Shakespeare productions that no one ever saw (don’t worry I never went to your shows either) I’d probably still only have $35 in my pocket saying “take me to the center of everything!” If I hadn’t done those real jobs I may never be financially stable, debt free, or married with children! These aren’t little achievements these are huge and all that really matters. But for some odd reason…when I realize these accomplishments weren’t the result of becoming a famous pop diva, or winning The Academy Award, I sometimes forget to count them as successes. I’m trying not to focus on the things I’ve done wrong, but that is shameful of me.

So how do I get more of that…Not armageddon or millions of records sold, but just more life on a film set? So I can post #setlife on Instagram, because if it’s not on Instagram it never really happened right? How can I make sure that I don’t forget the art this time around? How can we approach it differently and not focus on our failures but embrace the good parts of the story? For 2019 in order to access my happy place I’m going to immerse myself further into this business and keep on writing, reading, and learning. An old friend posted on Facebook that she was going to start acting again. She said it’s time to blow some air through this old horn and see what happens. That’s all we can really do I guess and hope that the prep eventually meets the opportunity.

Some day it always does…

I’m My Kids Manager

[aion-rsa]

Sherlock Designer Arwel W Jones: ‘There’s a Magic to Set Design’

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It’s summer 2011 and Arwel W Jones is causing a commotion in the Brecon Beacons. Cars overtake his forklift along the narrow country road, puzzling at the sight of a living room wall travelling solo past hedgerows and moorland. The wall belongs to Irene Adler, sometime adversary/paramour of Sherlock Holmes. It’s on its way to stand behind Benedict Cumberbatch, Martin Freeman and Lara Pulver in the series two opener of Sherlock, to help to tell their story and to make them look good. 

Storytelling and making things look good are Jones’s job. As Sherlock’s production designer, his art department conceived, created and dressed the spaces where it all happened. Take design out of the mix and the actors would have been delivering their lines in an empty studio, like the one Jones posted a picture of in early 2011. That picture took him from 200 to 5K followers in under a week. It was the moment Jones realised that Sherlock was on the brink of something big. 

‘It was a surprise, shall we say! We were amazed by the series one viewing figures but I wasn’t really aware of the attention to detail people took to it until we were in prep on series two.’

I’m speaking to Jones in July 2020 at the end of a three month industry shutdown due to the global coronavirus pandemic. The Doctor Who and Dracula designer has just re-started work on one of the first UK TV projects to return to production. During the enforced hiatus, he built himself a garden room and inside are a few items fans will recognise from his TV work. ‘I have a couple of Baker Street signs, one of the little dragons from either side of the fireplace in Dracula outside the door, a sign we didn’t use for the TARDIS, a little bit of wallpaper…’

The cut of wallpaper he’s framed is the gloriously named Devil Damask Flock by Timorous Beasties. Sherlock fans will recognise it from the walls of dominatrix Irene Adler’s bedroom. It’s Sherlock’s second most famous paper, the first being the Zoffany’s Navarre fleur-de-lys used in the living room of 221B Baker Street. 

A decade ago, the now-famous print was neither an obvious nor universally popular choice, Jones tells me. ‘A Study in Pink‘ director Paul McGuigan and former Doctor Who production designer Edward Thomas both walked past the decorator while it was going up and were heard to express doubt. ‘I hope he knows what he’s doing’ was the consensus opinion, the fear being that the dark pattern would look too busy on screen. ‘Then on that first day on camera it worked, and that was a sense of relief. For that to become an iconic part of the show, it’s a bit of vindication,’ he laughs.  In the years since, the pattern has appeared on fan walls, been tailored into clothing and recently – a mark of our times – printed onto Covid-19 face masks. 

Jones is reluctant to claim responsibility for the explosion in print wallpaper sometimes called ‘the Sherlock effect’ in real-world interior design. ‘These things go in circles. It could have just been the time for that eclectic pattern thing to come back after so many years of paint effects.’ That said, he did notice there was a lot more patterned wallpaper on television after Sherlock. If he did kick start a trend, he didn’t see any benefits, he laughs. ‘I didn’t even get a reduction on the price of the Navarre paper. We got a trade discount, but nothing more than that. It’s been discontinued now.’

The frisson created by that first empty studio photo developed into an ongoing dialogue between the designer and Sherlock fans. Throughout the show’s four series, Jones gave the fandom behind-the-scenes glimpses, teasing props and pointing out design details that may otherwise have gone unnoticed. Considering the level of devotion Sherlock inspired, the latter is unlikely. Very little was missed, says Jones. In fact, quite the opposite. Fans were so dedicated to spotting Easter Eggs and symbolism in the set designs, sometimes they saw messages where none existed.

Credit: Arwel W Jones

One Tumblr blog, says Jones, had painstakingly searched through the cluster of pictures on the wall of Kitty Riley’s flat in series two finale ‘The Reichenbach Fall‘, ‘and found a link to something in the backstories of the canon of Sherlock Holmes stories for every single image.’ The truth was, the pictures had come with the location. ‘We’d papered the wall, but we put all the pictures back where they were because I quite liked what the owner of the flat had done. I really wish I had the time to get into that much depth and detail with every element of sets and dressing, but you just don’t.’

A few set design details did escape fan attention when the series first aired. Scantily clad women painted into the wall behind Adler’s staircase were only noticed by a few, says Jones, but that’s all part of the plan. ‘You do something like that for a subliminal thing. People might not have gone ‘ooh, look at that!’ but it was registering somewhere that you were in a naughty space.’ 

The same goes for the set of drawings in the restaurant in ‘The Empty Hearse‘ in which Sherlock first meets John Watson after faking his death at the end of series two. ‘That whole sequence had resurrection to do with it. There were the pictures of a phoenix rising from the ashes in the first restaurant, and I can’t remember what was in the café now, but the name of the kebab house was also a resurrected god.’ 

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More personal nods to cast and crew found their way onto the sets. Since the birth of Jones’ son, his initials have popped up in some form on every show Jones has designed, in Sherlock as graffiti on the wall of a drug den in ‘His Last Vow’. In Dracula, the Tsar in the painting on the Demeter ship shared a face with his art director. In Sherlock Victorian special ‘The Abominable Bride‘, a pub sign bore the head of director Douglas Mackinnon. 

Fan attention to detail was always appreciated. ‘It’s gratifying to know that the work you put in is worth it, but equally that adds a level of nervousness because you know that it will be picked apart and looked at.’

Jones’ one regret in his dialogue with Sherlock fans, he says, was a misunderstanding about hidden messages in the set design. ‘That was a little bit unfortunate. I put certain elephants in set dressing and then people started referencing #arwelephant. I’d kind of missed the link to the ‘elephant in the room’ [the term some fans had given to the homoeroticism of Sherlock and John’s relationship].’

‘I’ve always had elephants on numerous sets, to be honest with you. It was kind of an engaging thing with the fans, if I came across elephants in a prop store or something like that, I’d send a picture out and then I’d get a lot of replies, so I’d carry on, just as a little nod to them. I referenced the bullet-proof glass in Eurus’ cell as ‘Elephant Glass’, that was just a little nod to all the fans that I’d had that kind of relationship with, which I thought was quite funny.

‘I knew the link to ‘the elephant in the room’ in the script, but I hadn’t quite realised how certain people had taken it to heart. That was my one regret really, is that people thought I’d been queerbaiting, which I hadn’t at all, that would be the last thing on my mind.’

It’s the only short note of sadness in a conversation filled with laughter, pride and appreciation for Sherlock’s fans. ‘The greatest thing about the Sherlock fandom is their grace and how much reverence they have for everyone that’s worked on the show as well as the show itself.’ 

‘Even when we were shooting, when we had thousands of people turn up to watch the shoot and they were brilliant, they would go quiet when asked, they would move out of shot when asked, they would clean up when asked! That was always a fantastic side of it.’ The creativity of fans inspired by the show has been humbling, says Jones. ‘I’ve seen clothing, miniatures, people do their own houses, coursework for college courses, cakes! I saw a cake of John’s chair once, it’s incredibly flattering.’ 

Credit: Arwel W Jones

The question he’s most often asked about Sherlock is when it’s coming back for series five. ‘And I have to let everyone down every time!’ Were the call to come to dust off the original sets for a return, does he have the materials to do it? 

‘Technically speaking, no.’ The 221B wallpaper around the fireplace was a period piece Jones found in historical salvage. He bought the lot, ‘about 20 rolls, which I thought was more than enough. But then you don’t really expect to be still going four seasons on.’ He doesn’t have a full roll left. ‘We did dismantle that wall very very carefully to keep it, but it does still have to be cut in certain places. It depends how that comes out of storage.’ 

221B Baker Street is the only set currently in storage, packed away safely at production company Hartswood Films. Everything else was either recycled or binned. ‘Some of it is irretrievable, so that all goes in a skip, but anything you can gets recycled.’ Surely not everything ended up in a skip, I ask. What about the paintings of Mark Gatiss and Benedict Cumberbatch as their ancestors on display in Mycroft Holmes’ house in ‘The Final Problem’? Mark’s got the one with the bleeding eyes, says Jones. 

Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat, series creators, weren’t necessarily hard to please when it came to the Sherlock sets, remembers Jones, who also worked with Moffat on Doctor Who and the pair on BBC One’s sumptuous Dracula. ‘They’re massive, massive Sherlock Holmes fans, so you’ve got to be careful really, because they’ll be happy with most things you do for them because they love the show so much. It’s still got to do the right thing on camera, and it’s still got to tell a story.’

‘If they’re not happy with something, you’d know instantly, so it’s always a nervous moment when they walk on.’

Does he remember the first time Gatiss and Moffat walked onto the newly designed set of 221B after the unaired pilot? ‘Like it was yesterday!’

‘It was the same for that original TARDIS set, Christopher Eccleston going into David [Tennant]’s era. When you took someone onto that set – and when I was art directing that, I would quite often be the tour guide – you’d be talking about it and you’d see people stop listening to you and they’d wander off and pick things up and touch things, and that tells you a lot. When I took those two onto the 221B set for the first time, the same thing happened. They started ignoring me and were going around, sitting in the chairs, picking up props, touching things. There was definitely the same kind of vibe. They were just happy. A set that works,’ he explains, ‘that has an aesthetic to it, you get some satisfaction from being in the space. There’s a magic to it.’

Go behind the scenes on 10 Sherlock sets with Arwel W Jones.

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