#I just thought it would be funny for him to make Weh sounds

[cruilty-ink]

Something something, bill makes Weh sounds like king

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Deuce, Sebek: Like a Flower, Forever Blooming

Why does it look like Deuce is proposing to you with a tray of donut rings— WEH 😭 The birthday boy looks so handsome and gallant!! (Not usually the kind of comment I make for Deuce cksbsksnw) For some reason I tend to really like Deuce’s birthday cards…

His groovy is kinda funny too; Deuce looks like he wants to fight Alice… Interesting, because Ace acts in Alice-like ways, and he and Deuce are constantly bickering www

A Tale as Old as Time.

A girl found herself wandering into an enchanted garden. She was a tiny thing in her blue dress and pinafore, smiling sweetly at the colorful blooms surrounding her. They bore faces, those flowers—eyes, noses, and mouths, their expressions varying from curious to snarky.

The sunshine of the girl’s long locks, a youth sparkling with sensibility. They were a familiar sight.

It’s something straight from a story back home, Deuce thought.

He scrounged around for a smart comment to demonstrate his wit, his maturity. At last, he settled on: "I had no idea there were so many different looking flowers. I can barely name a few kinds.”

A dismissive grunt sounded.

"Hmph! You hail from the Queendom of Roses, don't you? And Heartslabyul is famous for its roses as well. You should be more familiar with the flora!" Sebek scolded him with a frown. "Have you no pride for your country or dormitory?! Truly, your behavior is beyond the pale!"

"I just never really paid much attention to the flowers before... I'm not the kind of guy with a green thumb. The most I do is paint the roses when the dorm leader tells me it's my turn."

"Unbelievable!! You disparage the noble perennials with that flippant attitude of yours!" Sebek shook his head. “Were you to lay your gaze upon Briar Valley in the springtime, you would surely come to appreciate them."

“Pere-what?”

“Perennials!!” Sebek folded his arms. He lifted his chin. “Don’t tell me you’re unaware of what they are! You must not be very well-read, human!!”

“O-Of course I know what they are!” Deuce stammered. “Wh-Who hasn’t heard of a para-knee-old before?!”

His fellow first year casted a doubtful look at him.

“… Okay, maybe I don’t,” Deuce admitted. His shoulders deflated along with his defiance.

“Perennials,” Sebek smirked triumphantly, “are flowers that return year after year. Roses are among them, but there are many others that fall into the category.

“When they bloom in the warm season, it is a scene to behold, a feast for the eyes! Then, come fall and winter, they wither and fade… and in spring and summer, they are born again! It is a most glorious, never-ending cycle.”

“Ah, so they live and die, then they’re brought back to life. Over and over… Endlessly?”

The gears in Deuce’s head slowly turned. Their teeth clicked into place, sparking a realization, a light in flickering on in his face.

“Oh?" The smugness in Sebek's voice was front and center. "Have you been swayed already? It certainly didn’t take much to persuade you.”

“I think I get it now, Sebek. Flowers are cool after all!” Deuce slammed a fist into an open palm. “Growing, getting older, dying, and coming back to life again… They’re like phoenixes!”

“In what way are flowers like phoenixes?!” Sebek bellowed, his volume shaking the paintings lined up on the walls. His words, however, seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“I wanna be like that too!! As tough as a flower that bounces back year after year!” Deuce passionately declared. “If I get knocked down, I’ll just get back up again! There’s gonna be no stopping me!”

He paused. "... Do you think I should add some flaming flower decals onto my Magical Wheel?"

"You've failed to take to heart a single insightful thing I've told you!! I would hardly consider this a revelation!" Sebek groaned, a hand upon his temple.

Typical foolhardy human, he surmised with a scoff. But still, he could sense a fighter when he saw one. The determination in Deceus's eyes was unmistakable. A blue-green as sharp and as clear as a cloudless summer's day, like a sword cleaving the heavens in half.

He had seen it many times over.

It was the look of a warrior.

"Listen here, human! There are a great many number of opponents in this world whose power may rival or even exceed your own. When you should encounter such strong foes… I hope you stand your ground. To betray your own promise would be disgraceful!”

“You saying I’d go back on my word?! No way! I definitely won’t run. That’s a coward’s way out.” Deuce grinned daringly—dangerously. “No matter what comes my way, I’ll own up to it. I’ll take it all on!”

[mr-voorhees-husband]

Hello, good sir 🤝🏻 I am here for more 2004 Ozzie content 🛐

Okay okay so

I was thinking about a scenario or headcanons (whatever you feel writing for the most!) of Oswald meeting reader and it's instant mutual pining. They make accidental eye contact and reader smiles instead of looking away not wanting to be rude and lowkey hoping he will approach them even if they are awkward af but under all that shyness they are very sweet! It would be very nice if you could drop some Oswald making reader flustered by flirting with them 👉🏻👈🏻

Thank you again! I'm so glad I finally found someone who writes for my baby and does it so well 🥹♥️

- Pengy Anon

YES YESYEYSYRYSYEYYDHEHEHEHEH (also i made reader a villain + slightly awkward because yea)

Warnings: none other than pinning, fluff, and flirting

Reader: gender neutral, polite, shy, slightly awkward, and a villain

God you two are so obvious about your crushes its not even funny. It makes everyone upset, even riddler, which is surprising considering he usually doesn't care about other villains

You most likely met on a team up, probably from knowing Ragdoll or Firefly. Either way, the second you saw eachother it was like a rom-com cliché. If someone squinted enough, you'd probably see hearts in Ozzy's eyes.

"Oswald Cobblepot," He stuck out a hand, grinning as he showed off his sharp teeth, "and you are?"

"A lot more [sexual orientation] than I thought..."

"What?" Oswald's face heated up, eyes going wide as the tips of his ears turned pink. For a penguin, he sure looked like a cardinal right now.

"What."

It doesn't take long for the flirting to start up. Oswald, while a bit sleazy at times, can be quite the gentleman. Seeing you get all flustered, giggling and smiling at just the smallest compliment makes him go wild.

Though, he's sure to make sure to ask if you're alright with it all the time. As I said before, he only acts sleazy. He's a gentleman at heart.

"This is.. This isn't making you uncomfortable, is it?" Compared to his earlier words his voice was shockingly meek. You blinked, before letting out a chuckle.

"Not at all.." You were a bit embarrassed to admit it, but the last thing you wanted were for the compliments to stop. Oswald beamed, letting out a laugh that sounded exactly like a penguin.

You couldn't help but laugh with him.

For a while it's just pinning, though. Not that his feelings for you aren't honest. You're just one of the few things good he has going for himself, and you both being villains arise some.. issues. To say the least.

Though, when he does confess, everyone expected it.

"Weh-! Dove-? I didn't- didn't know you were here.." He squeaked out, hands fidgeting as he tried to look up at you without turning red. You shared the sentiment, tugging at the hem of your shirt. He seemed uncomfortable and it bother you.

"Ozzy... is everything okay?" Subconsciously, you shifted on your feet, voice embarrassingly small for such a feared villain. That's what he liked about you, though. How one minute you could be a horrifying villain capable of fighting head-to-head with the bat, and another you'd be shy and polite. The duality of a person he supposed.

"I.. Well- you see-" Oswald squawked angrily at himself, rubbing his face with a sigh. "Could, I, possibly as you... out on a date?"

"If you did," you sheepishly smiled, crouching down to kiss his cheek. "I'd gladly say yes."

[ducktracy]

188. porky’s poppa (1938)

release date: january 15th, 1938

series: looney tunes

director: bob clampett

starring: mel blanc (porky, porky’s poppa, narrator), bob clampett (duck)

it’s safe to say that 1938 was porky’s best year. speaking in terms of solo cartoons, that is. his cartoons were genuinely funny, stimulating, and he looked great appearance wise. 1939 the porky burnout started, and he was slowly reduced to a smiling stock character whose adversaries and costars were much more alive than he was.

as daffy (and later bugs) rose to popularity, porky slipped into the sidekick role, paired primarily with the duck. with that said, the porky/daffy cartoons are some of the funniest around, and i firmly believe the best cartoons for the both of them are the ones where they’re paired together—with a few exceptions, of course.

however, let’s not get ahead of ourselves: a great year of pig stardom awaits. porky’s father, who made a few appearances during the joe dougherty era, makes his final return. in a story that has loose similarities to the premise of porky’s railroad, porky struggles to convince his father that their cow, bessie, is a much better fit for the farm than the newfangled mechanical cow his father has his eyes on.

the introduction is one of the funniest aspects of the cartoon itself. a hand erases the title credits, scrawled on a blackboard, and fills in “PORKY’S POPPA... HAS A FARM”, mirroring the underscore of “old macdonald” (with substitute lyrics) below it.

a layout of the farm cuts to our pint-sized hero, grinning at the camera as the vocals sing “...and on this farm he had a pig: porky pig, you know.” bobe cannon animates porky struggling to sing along with the lyrics, his “oh buh-beh-boy!”s lagging with the beat. the music halts just in time for porky to pump his fists in frustration, not stuttering once as he grumbles “oh, skip it!”

repeatedly cutting back to the layout of the farm in conjunction with the lyrics is practically a gag within itself. the song grows increasingly absurd, with a goose honking horns, a cow showing off her legs as the vocals sing “with a little calf here, with a little calf there...”, struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of the song. bob clampett lends his own voice to a random duck (no relation to daffy!), following a hand pointing at certain areas of the farm and quacking (”with a little quack here, with a little quack there...”) 

finally, the duck in his psuedo-donald duck voice instructs “EVERYBODY SING!”, complete with some fun and unique typography. the entire song falls to pieces--before, the cutting back to the farm’s layout added an incongruous feeling of calm to balance out the wacky antics of the animals and the song. now, everything happens at once. the duck zips across the screen in a quacking frenzy, the mother cow shows off her baby calves, thrusting them to the beat of the music, the goose is a one man band of assorted horns, etc. blissful chaos.

things slow down as we cut back to porky, who smugly whips out a phonograph behind his back. the record is just him saying “oh boy!”, playing correctly to the beat of the music. he’s got this song number figured out... or does he?

even technology can’t conceal his stutter. the record begins to skip, mimicking the sound of his stutter, and porky smashes the phonograph to pieces as he slams it against the ground. the wordless yet furious stare he gives the audience as the dying record croaks out a distorted “oooooooh..... boooooooooy....” is nothing short of priceless. though he didn’t say a word himself during this scene, his motives, thoughts, and emotions are clearly visible. you can FEEL his pride at his solution, as well of the subsequent fury of his solution blowing up in his face. a wonderful end to a hilarious song sequence. 

“but on his farm, he has a mortgage... woe, oh woe, oh woe!” the score turns in to a mournful, minor key dirge, with anthropomorphic mortgage papers posing proudly on the farm. some very clever posing and metaphorical play as we fade to porky’s dad, moping around on the farm, the mortgage aligning with his silhouette and becoming a physical weight on his back. more playing with typography as the narrator reads aloud the words on the screen:

this is a parody of the march of time, a radio program who would often announce the death of a notorious person by declaring “and so, today, as it must to all men, death came to [name], [age].” even without the context, the gag is rather amusing, bringing a different change of pace to the cartoon with the addition of a narrator and the typography. knowing the source of the gag makes it hit just the right spot.

porky’s dad mutters about ruination, how he has no milk and no money, etc. mel blanc does a fine job of mimicking joe dougherty, maintaining the stutter and the low voice--in the dougherty cartoons, porky’s father was just dougherty’s natural speaking voice, whereas porky was sped up considerably. you can hear both at once here for comparison. 

we pan over to the cause of one of these stresses: their cow, bessie, has been quarantined (how timely!) for “hoof ‘n mouth trouble”, a play on hand-foot-and-mouth disease. clampett opts to take things just a step further--we truck inside the stall to see bessie posing for the camera, grinning with her foot INSIDE her mouth, batting her eyelashes and all. the “bull bontana” (bull montana) poster  plastered inside of her stall is a clever touch. 

after seeing that bessie’s production chart has dipped overwhelmingly into the negatives--a roll of paper unfurling at porky’s father’s feet, indicating just how poor the farm is doing--he places an “out of order” sign on the stall door.

suddenly, porky’s father grows aggravated. “i need to send you to the hamburger factory!” cue a close-up of bessie tearfully picturing her fate--a pile of burgers and hotdogs make up her figure. clampett would reprise this gag (albeit in a much more cruel manner) in porky’s last stand 2 years later, where daffy eagerly envisions a steaming hot hamburger in place of an innocent little calf. 

this is the second cartoon to make an ACME reference, the first being buddy’s bug hunt back in 1935. porky’s father phones up ACME mail order company, asking for “one cow--airmail”. context clues are just as important to the gag than the reveal itself: porky, his father, and bessie all become alert to the sounds of an airplane making a cacophony overhead. suddenly, a package bursts through the barn ceiling, floating to the ground with a neatly tied parachute. the animation appears to be the work of john carey, from the tall, pill-shaped eyes to the slow, drawn out way that porky blinks.

norm mccabe takes over to animate the grand reveal. lots of wonderful little subtleties: porky and his father are timed slightly differently, giving them both a natural sense of interaction and movement. there’s a lovely little accent on porky’s father opening the package by pulling a string--he jerks his head up slightly as he plucks the string, allowing the audience to feel the physical impact and snap of the pluck. it’s subtle, but very well done. 

instead of a flesh and blood cow, a mechanical hunk of metal slowly unfurls to life as the package opens. as porky’s father reads the label (The New 1938 CREAMLINED COW), porky himself objects to the new addition. “aww, eh-the-there ain’t no such animal!”

indeed there is: porky’s father loads a pile of hay into a chute, pressing down on the cow’s paintbrush tail. the cow pumps along to a brassy score of “old macdonald”, churning out milk from its metal udders, the milk pouring straight into an assembly line of bottles below. bob clampett’s puns are plentiful in this cartoon (notice how there’s no writer’s credit--he often said that he would write some of his earliest cartoons himself. i assume he wrote this one as well? i wonder how much input chuck jones had in the story?), but delivered nonchalantly, so they can actually be enjoyed. the cow caps the milk bottles by putting literal newsboy caps on top of the bottles, the paintbrush tail painting “cream paint” to the outside of the bottles and forming the illusion of cream. interesting business practices!

bobe cannon animates a delightful scene with porky. fun animation and fun dialogue make for a great combo. some very fluid, light, and fun animation of porky giving his pep talk as he hops around, swinging his arms, nonchalantly pushing his hat out of his face after getting so excited. “c’mon, eh-beh-beh-beh-bessie! we won’t let that old eh-neh-nuh-new fangled eh-ceh-co--heifer beat us. you just eat your uh-wuh-wee-weh-whea--eh-ha-hay, and show that eh-teh-eeh-eh-tin-can cow who can make the most...”

porky lowers bessie’s foot from her mouth by climbing on it, preparing to shovel a forkful of hay into her mouth, however, she shoves her foot right back in it, much to porky’s annoyance. “aww, every time you open your muh-mee-muh-me-eh-mou--kisser, ya put your eh-feh-eh-foot in it! eh-bee-bessie, you gotta eat! you eh-deh-dee-eh-don’t wanna be eh-seh-seeah-seeah-smothered in onions, eh-do ya?” 

treg brown’s sound effects of doors creaking as her leg is lowered is the perfect touch to the gag. porky struggles to feed bessie, eventually getting stuck in her mouth himself as he attempts to hold both legs down to no avail. he frees himself, just in time to hatch an ingenious idea.

his plan works: porky places the entire pile of hay onto bessie’s legs, who swallows it up whole, her mouth comically huge as she attempts to swallow it. porky is overjoyed, clapping at her efforts before rushing off to give her some privacy.

instead of porky just milking her like a regular farmer, clampett pushes the entire scenario further. porky paces around in the manner of an expectant father, accompanied by a soft score of “lullaby on broadway”. the sound of a baby crying prompts porky to do a gorgeously animated head shake of surprise--bessie hands him a milk bottle, which porky carefully swaddles and places in a basket. 

the charade continues, with clampett lulling us into a false sense of security with an already absurd gag. cue a gag that would have been incredibly risque in 1938: at about the fifth bottle, porky reaches out and finds that bessie hands him a bottle labeled “CHOC. MALT”, accompanied by an underscore of “i wish i was in dixie”. porky and bessie both grow bashful, but porky’s nonchalant whistling is cut to a half as bessie delivers yet another bottle. “gosh--eh-ceh-ceh-quin-eh-qui-eh--quart-tuplets!”

porky rushes over to his farther to share the good news. however, dad is too preoccupied with the fancy mechanics of the cow to pay bessie any mind. he shows porky a barrage of dairy-related puns churned out by the creamlined cow:

cottage cheese (cheese in the shapes of houses--and an outhouse for good measure--don the conveyer belt), limburger cheese (cheese slices with clothes pins pinned to their “noses” to ward off the stench), and swiss cheese (a cuckoo bird pops out of the cow’s mechanical side and sprays the cheese wheels with bullets, which turn into yodeling mouths). interestingly, mel’s voice for porky’s father changes in this scene--it’s still him, but the nasally undertones are absent. i wonder if he did this on a different day?

nevertheless, the staging of the next gag is genius. the majority of the screen is black, save for a small window revealing porky holding onto bessie’s udders. “c’mon, eh-beh-bessie! hurry eh... hurry eh... step on it!” the window expands to reveal bessie pouring a bucket of milk into a line of funnels (rather than udders), which are then evenly distributed to the bottles. “’ats a guh-geh-gee-eh-girl!”

mechanical cow seems to be doing just fine, plopping cherries on top of elaborate ice cream sundaes and milk shakes. the only fault in the system is the cow’s own personal whiskey bottle rolling down the assembly line, which it confiscates promptly. 

porky, on the other hand, is making do. with an ice block on her head, bessie churns out ice cream cones to the best of her ability. as the cones grow smaller and smaller in size, porky orders her to eat more hay, which she happily does so.

now, it’s cow vs. cow. the mechanical cow opts to play some dirty tricks on bessie, pouring a jar of vanishing cream it produced onto the hay bessie is eating. and, thanks to the law of cartoon physics, the milk bottles she hands porky disappear by the minute. though the effect of the bottles disappearing may not seem like much today, for 1938 the ink and paint department did a wonderful job of demonstrating the illusion that the bottles suddenly disappeared.

with the rest of the hay now gone thanks to a hefty glob of vanishing cream, porky and bessie engage in a wild goose (cow?) chase to find more hay. the mechanical cow gobbles up every square inch of hay in sight--at one point, bessie heaves a dubious shrug to the audience. i love how they made her hooves look like hands, but still remain identifiable hooves. the scramble animation she does as she dashes out of frame (with porky clinging to her like a horse) is wonderfully done as well.

both porky and bessie and the creamlined cow exit the barn, chasing each other around the farm. the mechanical cow physically turns into a vacuum cleaner, threatening to suck up the last remaining pile of hay. in a gag that’s reminiscent of the harman-ising days (is it the inclusion of the outhouse?), the cow-turned-vacuum rushes into a shed filled to the brim with hay. the audience merely watches the shed itself shrink in size as the cow gobbles up all of the hay, the final result a puny little outhouse. 

at last, the enemies reach a face-off. the last pile of hay--or, as porky puts it in his punny little way, “eh-thee-the-thee-that’s the last straw.” in a relatively tashlin-esque maneuver, clampett makes some fast cuts to heighten the suspense of the action. cut between porky and bessie to the mechanical cow to the pile of straw (facetiously labeled “MILK WEED”). the cuts grow quicker and quicker, the music crescendo-ing... 

until BLAM! in a loose parallel to the finale of rover’s rival, everything explodes at once. nuts and bolts rain in the sky, as do neat little bundles of hay. however, clampett doesn’t allow the audience to rest just yet--with bessie nowhere in sight, the mechanical cow continues to charge forth, seeking refuge in a hay to release a humongous pile of milk bottles. so high, in fact, that the shed (and cow) are elevated several feet into the air. porky’s a goner.

porky’s father, who had been absent for the past few minutes, reappears to declare the tin-can cow a winner, much to porky’s visible dissatisfaction.

yet it’s not a clampett cartoon without a twist! bessie pokes her head out of the mechanical cow’s mouth, mooing the ever popular catchphrase from the ken murray show: “mmmmmmwooooooooooah, yeeeeaaaaaah!” porky gives a celebratory “oh, boy!” as we iris out--the goose and duck from earlier poke their heads into the scene just before the iris fully closes.

this is an early porky cartoon that’s just plain fun. bobe cannon’s animation of porky serves as one of the many highlights, from porky getting aggravated with his phonograph to his excited pep talk towards bessie. corny as the opening number is, it’s a lot of fun at the same time--the intensity in increasing chaos is a prevalent theme to clampett’s cartoons. just look at the climax/ending of baby bottleneck!

i don’t have many complaints towards this cartoon, if any at all. it’s not my favorite porky entry, sure, but it’s most certainly an enjoyable watch and one of his better cartoons of the ‘30s. the visual puns aren’t nearly as hamfisted as ben hardaway’s (as we’ll soon discover), making them more enjoyable than some of the jokes present in, say, daffy duck & egghead. regardless, there are a lot of unique gags, fun animation, and amusing dialogue to constitute a watch.

the cartoon is up on HBOmax, but you can also watch it here!

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Crossover Episode 1 Part 3

Hey, once again, Crossover time, with your host, me! Everybody clap your hands!!!

Lightning crashed, and thunder rumbled outside the ominous spire of stone and lost hope that was the Conformatorium. As Luz took in the sight before her, she turned a flat stare towards the smirking Witch next to her. “What was that you said about this place being super fun?”

Ignoring Eda’s chuckle, Luz panned her vision across the area, giving herself a rough idea of the layout for the building, before her eye caught on a poster tacked to a nearby wall. Walking up to it, she yanked it down to see an artistic representation of Eda and King, complete with Bounty. She let out a low whistle at the figure. “Wow, these guys really got the hots for you.”

“Yeah, but they’ve never caught me.” Eda preened with pride, deftly stuffing the flyer into her hair. “King’s got some moves of his own when it comes to giving people the slip.”

“Yeah! Just try and catch me when I’m greased,” King cheered, eager to talk about his skills. “I’m a squirmy little fella!”

“Heh, I’ll take your word for it.” Luz grinned.

Eda smirked, gesturing for Luz and King to come in closer. “Alright, I’ll make a distraction to keep Wrath and his goons preoccupied. You two will make your way to the Vault from above.” She paused to conjure up a platform, the transport they would use to ascend. “I’ll do my best to keep Wrath and the Guards from getting to you, but for that to work, I’ll need you guys to keep your heads down in there. Can I count on you?” She turned a solemn face towards Luz at her question.

Luz made a small show of mulling it over, before grinning brightly. “Don’t worry about it. This isn’t my first time sneaking around somewhere I’m not supposed to be, after all.”

“Ugh, enough with the emotions, let’s just go already!” King complained, eager to get inside.

With a huff of amusement, Luz leapt onto the platform, scooping up King with an indignant squawk, before signalling Eda to send them up. As Luz rose through the air, she calmed the giddy excitement bubbling up inside, letting her face and emotions go blank. She needed to focus, to prepare herself for the fight her instincts were SCREAMING was coming their way.

As the platform reached its apex, just short of the window they needed to get to, Luz dully noted, she once more picked up King, this time with only a slight grumble of protest, and launched them both upwards. As they soared through the window, Luz caught herself in a three-point landing, fist planted in front of her chest, legs spread to catch her weight, a practically superhero-esque look… and then King slammed into the ground next to her with a grunt.

Chuckling sheepishly, Luz pulled the small demon up. As they walked towards their goal, Luz couldn’t help but marvel at the interior; this place may have been an evil den of corrupt tyranny, but she couldn’t deny the place was stylish, in a “step out of line and get wasted” sort of way. One thing that bothered her, though, was how empty it was. Luz had been around the block more than once, and she was fully aware of how much crime could get up to in any civilization, especially one that cared more about preserving things a certain way than helping the people, so the sheer barrenness of the cells was… unsettling to see.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Hey King, where are all the prisoners?”

“Weh? I don’t know. Why do you ask?” King replied. He wouldn’t openly admit it, but he was kind of weirded out by how empty this place was himself.

Luz’s curious look gained a more serious edge. “Because, no prison, whether the prisoners deserve to be in it or not, should be this level of empty unless it’s abandoned.” Luz’s scanning of the surroundings gained a hint of nervousness at that point. “I just can’t shake the feeling that something bad goes on here. You know, besides the whole “imprisoning for failure to submit to societal norms” thing.” Her frank bluntness would’ve been funny, if the situation hadn’t been so grim.

King glanced around, now feeling far more nervous about being here. “Now that you mention it, a lot of people get dragged here, but you don’t really hear much about them afterwards…”

“Hey kid, how did you get out of your cell?”

Turning their heads in surprise, both King and Luz were mildly surprised to find actual prisoners ahead of them. The one who had called out, a Witch-girl with dusky skin, two prominent canines that bordered on fangs, and an almost sleepy look to her, was beckoning them closer. It made sense, no one liked being in prison, and Luz’s gut wasn’t giving her any warnings about her. So, with that in mind, Luz sidled up to the bars.

Luz cleared her throat. “Not a prisoner actually, also, not technically a criminal.” She ignored King’s shout of ‘Not Yet Your Not!’ “Mind if I ask how you all ended up in a dump like this?” Okay, maybe it was cheesy, but Luz wasn’t gonna not ask how a group ended up in prison; what other time would she get the opportunity?

The prisoner chuckled, a bitter sound, the type you hear from someone who doesn’t really expect to be happy ever again and is just going through the motions. “Never thought someone would have the time or desire to ask me that. I got stuffed in here for writing stories about food falling in love with each other.” She held up a notebook with an image of two vegetables kissing on the open page. “And I know you didn’t ask, but the name’s Katya. You’re the first person to actually care about me in a long while.”

“Same with the rest of us.” Commented the prisoner next to the now-named Katya, a pale-blue fellow with multiple eyes. “I got put in here for eating my own eyes.” He then demonstrated, preempting Luz’s question, popping out one of his eyes, swallowing it whole, and then regrowing it perfectly. It was as fascinating as it was disturbing.

A muffled thumping came from the last occupied cell. Turning to it, Luz saw a small, white, ball-shaped creature that seemed to be a head with arms and legs sticking out of it. A cloth gag was tied tight over what Luz assumed was its mouth, the thumping coming from the creature slamming against things as it furiously clawed and yanked at the gag.

Turning a questioning stare to the others, Luz asked, “What’s going with that one?”

Katya snorted, a tired humor in her eyes. “Yeah, she’s big on conspiracy theories. She ended up annoying the guards so much they gagged her to keep her quiet. Which I thought was kinda lame, she had some fun stuff to say. Also, she really dislikes the government, which probably didn’t help her either.”

Luz was furious. No, scratch that, she was beyond furious. She was so angry, all she could show was calm. King could physically feel the rage seeping off of her. Speaking in a voice so coldly furious, Luz bit out. “So, what you’re telling me, is that you guys haven’t actually committed any crimes, and got thrown in here for being different?”

Katya let out a sad sigh. “Pretty much kid. Wrath really likes throwing anyone he considers “unsuitable” for society in here. And we happen to fit his definition of unsuitable.” She gave a soft grin towards the still irate human. “But hey, at least we got the chance to tell someone, right? Not many get that chance.”

Luz hyper-focused on that last part, instantly trying to process that statement alongside her concerns from earlier. “What do you mean by that?”

Katya gave an ominous stare. “A lot of people come into this place, but it isn’t much of a prison. It’s more a waystop before they get shipped off to the Emperor’s Castle; whatever goes on in there, we don’t know, but some people come out, utterly broken… and others don’t come back at all. Because so few people are actually here at any time, there aren’t many guards, but considering how tough Wrath himself is, it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

Luz's blood ran cold. The details may have been sparse, but what little she had been given painted a rather… ugly picture. There was no way she could leave these guys here. Glancing around, she spotted the lever that would release the cells (she honestly wondered how she missed it at first), and started tugging on it. At the slight motion of the heavy piece of metal, Luz was torn between frustration at how slow-going it was, and satisfaction at being able to move it at all. Just as she felt she was making progress, she paused, the sharp rumbling of heavy footfalls approaching in their direction.

“What are you fools yammering about?”

The voice that spoke was sinister, rumbling, and had a grating edge to it that set every nerve in Luz’s body on fire. Just as the figure was about to enter visual range, Luz gave a leap, clinging to the shadow-cloaked walls above. The amazement the prisoners felt at watching her feat was quickly squashed as the source of the voice pulled into view. A hulking, muscular figure, what little of his body could be seen having a purple tone to it. His body was clad in a white tunic, a triangular badge displayed proudly across his chest; the plague doctor-like mask sent chills up Luz’s spine. There was no doubts, this was the infamous Warden Wrath.

The Warden loomed over his prisoners, an almost palpable ruthlessness bleeding off of him. Glancing down, he spotted what he assumed was the topic of their discussion. “Ah.” He pulled up what Luz could see was a copy of that same wanted poster of Eda she had seen before. “The Owl Lady.” He brutally crushed the paper in his grip. “She escaped me before, but soon, she will be within my grasp.”

Alarm bells began ringing in Luz’s head, and as she looked down and saw King, hidden in the dark corners of one of the cells, the blind panic in his eyes made it clear he felt that fear too. Suddenly a sharp gasp drew their attention. “Aiw!!! I can bweathe again!!” It was the last prisoner, having finally managed to work the gag off of her face. Refocusing on the present, the tiny inmate began a tirade at the sight of Wrath. “The voices of independence cannot be silenced!! We will suwvive, we will enduwe, we will cast off ouw oppwessows!! We will neveh be afwaid of you, you big old cweep!!!”

Speech impediment aside, Luz couldn’t help but feel impressed at the courage it took to speak your true feelings, even in such a bleak situation. That admiration turned to dread, however, when she saw the Warden move towards the lever to the cells. While he didn’t see her, she could feel the air hum around him as he easily lifted what she struggled to even budge.

As the doors to the cells opened, the smallest prisoner gasped in delight. “Hooway, I’m fwee!” Eager to take advantage of her apparent freedom, the conspiracy theorist took off like a bullet, only to be effortlessly snagged by Wrath. As Wrath ruthlessly pulped the prisoner in his hand, the resulting squeak more menacing than humorous as he laughed over it, he calmly stated something that would forever infuriate Luz, even years later: “Remember, there is no place for you in society if you can’t fit in.”

As Wrath wandered off, to where Luz didn’t care, still clutching and tormenting the small prisoner, Luz leapt down as silently as she could, King rushing to join her. As she opened her mouth, hoping to say something, Katya raised a hand to stop her. The light that had been in her and the other prisoner’s eyes? It was gone, that little spark of hope had been snuffed out. Still, Katya tried to pull off a smile. “Just go kid. Go and enjoy freedom for us.”

Luz and King traded sad looks, before walking off. King, he didn’t know what to do with this. He was used to feeling unstoppable, weakened form notwithstanding, so feeling… bad for someone was new to him; he didn’t like it. Luz, she was angry, furious, apoplectic, basically every word you could use to describe being angry she was feeling right now. Before everything happened, she was used to feeling like an outsider, like people didn’t want to be around her because she was different from everybody else, but even at her lowest, she was never made to feel as if being herself, that being weird, was unacceptable on par with the worst of crimes. Luz knew one thing; when this heist was over, she was going to bring this place crashing to the ground.

As Luz and King mulled over their conflicted emotions, Eda ran up, a mischievous grin stretched across her face. “Alright gang, the Warden’s distracted tormenting some tiny creature and- what’s with the long faces?” Her grin wiped itself away at the depressed aura surrounding the two.

Luz turned a nervous eye towards Eda. “Hey, Eda? How often do people get sent to this place?”

Eda blinked, a little confused at the question. “Fairly regularly, at least once a week I’d say. Why do you ask?”

Luz gulped, not liking what she was about to say. “Well, how often do people come back out? And, if people come here so often, why are there so few prisoners?”

Eda paused, considering the question. As the possible answer, or answers, dawned on her, she grew grim, face pale. “Okay, yeah, that’s something I hadn’t thought about before. We need to get that crown, and get out of here as soon as possible.”

Luz nodded, a look of concentration upon her face. “Yeah. We overheard the Warden earlier, and the way he was talking? I think this may be a trap to lure you here.”

Eda blinked at that, then facepalmed. “Ugh! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that! Well, we better make this quick then.”

King piped up at that. “Then we better get going! The sooner we get my crown, the sooner Wrath stops being our problem!” With that said, he stomped towards a pair of very impressive doors.

[connan-l]

Flower Person

Fandom: The House in Fata Morgana

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Maria Campanella/Iméon

Summary: Iméon wasn’t the kind of person to care about flowers and she never liked receiving these as gifts, but could she really refuses it when a pretty blond woman she doesn’t know show up on her doorstep with a bouquet of lilies? [Femslash February 2021 Day 24: Lily]

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Link on Archive of Our Own

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Notes: So, I admit I actually tend to headcanon Iméon as being nonbinary/trans masc, which wouldn’t really fit a femslash event, but well as far we know in FataMoru canon she still identifies as a woman. Another headcanon of mine is that Iméon does remember her past life even after being reincarnated (which is what happens in the short story ‘Tír na nÓg’), and I wrote the fic with that in mind. Also I know Iméon likely just goes by ‘Noémi’ in the modern era, but… weh, I’m too used to refer to her as ‘Iméon’ lol.

This takes place after Reincarnation so spoilers for all the games, and there are also brief references to the short story ‘Girl Hunt Girl.’ (If you don’t know about it, it’s just a very short post-Reincarnation story where Iméon meets Ceren in Paris by saving her from a conman.) And warning for slight drinking/alcohol, I guess.

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Iméon had never been a flower person.

It wasn’t like she hated them or anything, but she couldn’t really unsderstand what people found so captivating or pretty about these plants. They smelled nice, sometimes, she supposed — but that was the extent of the qualities she’d gave them.

She had told as much to Michel once when they stopped by a flower shop so he could buy a few roses for his wife — the fact this guy ended up getting married was still mind-boggling to her even months after she’d learned that fact — and he laughed, saying he used to think the same ‘back then’ but that now he couldn’t help but love them. He hadn’t explained to her how this change of heart happened, but Iméon could guess pretty easily it was also a courtesy of Giselle.

In any case, that was also why people never offered her flowers as gifts, either — the only time she could remember this happened was when she was maybe eight or so and her grandma had given her a bouquet of hydrangeas. Iméon had never been able to tell the absentminded sweet old lady that she couldn’t care less about those flecks of blue-purplish petals and she’d unfortunately had to keep them in her room against her will until they withered.

Tonight, however, would mark the second time of flower-offering she’d received in her life, because the first thing she saw upon opening the door after it rang twice was a huge bouquet of lilies, followed by a turf of messy, short blond hair and a pair of clear green eyes that popped out just barely above the white bell-shaped plants.

“So, okay, here’s the thing,” her visitor started, trying to speak clearly in spite of the enormous gift in her arms that was camouflaging almost all of her upper body. “That’s kind of a long story, but bear with me. There’s this dude where I work — a client — who sort of got a crush on me. Not, like, the creepy kind, but still pretty annoying. He hit on me a few times, and despite me trying to fucking tell him subtly, ‘Hey, dude, not interested, let it go,’ he brought me this tonight upon seeing me. I thought at first about throwing it away in the trash cause flowers are not my thing, you see? But then my boss — I mean Giselle, you know her too, right? — threw a damn fit, ‘bout how it wasn’t nice for him and those were such beautiful flowers or something, so I was like ‘then take them cause I don’t want this’ but she refused cause Michel is allergic to lilies or something and — who the fuck even is allergenic to goddamn lilies? Anyway, after that I—”

Iméon blinked incredulously, trying to makes sense of why there was a short irritated blond woman with a thick Italian accent she didn’t know in front of her who kept rambling on and on at her at eight in the evening. She seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t recall why — where had she seen her before?

“—asked my stupid childhood friend cause of course she’s the kind of gal who’s into flowers and stuff, except I forgot she was in Amsterdam to introduce her creepy boyfriend to her parents, but as a result the only person left was fucking Jacopo and I sure as hell wasn’t going to show up to this dumbass’ door to give him some lilies — and then it hit me; ‘Oh, there’s this chick who’s friends with Michel and Ceren and doesn’t live far away, so why not check her out!’ And so here I am.” She finally stopped and breathed in deeply. “So. Yeah. Want some lilies?”

The names of Michel and Ceren awakened Iméon’s memories and she realized it was, indeed, because of these two that this woman was familiar to her. More than a year ago, she had met Ceren by coincidence and helped her out of some trouble and since then they’d become good friends, and she managed to meet Michel again a few months later. Seeing her old friend from a past life neither of them should remember had been quite a shock — though a pleasant one — but discovering that somehow he’d gotten married to a bubbly lady and now lived in the same building as the goddamn little witch who’d messed around with them had been quite confusing. And to top it off, apparently Michel also knew Ceren because she herself was friends with said little witch. Fate really was a funny thing.

In any case, about three weeks ago she’d briefly gotten introduced to this woman by Giselle, but it had been a five minutes meeting so the encounter had quickly left her mind. If she recalled her name was… Martha? Marianne…? Mar—

“Oh, Maria,” she suddenly said out loud, snapping her fingers, and the woman frowned at her.

“What?”

“Your name. It’s Maria. Right?”

“Wait, you only now remembered who I was?”

“Yep.”

“Maria is like, the less forgettable name in the world? How did you do to forget that?”

“Sorry. I’m just not good with names. And faces. And people.”

A big silence propagated between the two of them, and then Iméon cleared her throat.

“You know… if you wanted to ask me out on a date, you could’ve just… said that. Or ask Michel my number or something.”

Maria arched an eyebrow at her, looking genuinely surprised. “What? Wait, no, that wasn’t… it’s not what it’s about.”

“No?”

“If I wanted to ask you out, I’d just do that. I’m not the kind of person to make excuse or beat around the bush.”

Iméon literally knew nothing about this woman, but somehow she could believe that.

“Oh. Okay. So it’s… really just about the lilies.”

“Yeah.” Maria marked a pause. “It did sounds less weird in my head when I thought about coming here. But I’m just, uh… a bit desperate to get rid of these.”

Iméon hummed thoughtfully and crossed her arms. Desperate was indeed quite an apt descriptor — her hair was all disheveled, her clothes unkempt and she appeared out of breath, as if she had run left and right for a long time to try to get someone who’d agree to take in the huge bouquet.

Iméon wasn’t a flower person, but… she didn’t mind accepting a few lilies for this one time.

“All right. I’ll take it,” she conceded, and Maria seemed so relieved to hear that it was almost comical.

Iméon gathered the flowers into her arms, the soft perfume tickling her nostrils and the petals brushing her cheeks, and then she turned around towards Maria once again. She was clearly about to leave and go down the stairs, but somehow Iméon felt a tinge of pity for her to have to yet again hurry to go home, so she grasped her wrist.

“Hey, no need to rush out of here. I was just about to eat something, so… Wanna have dinner with me?”

“What? Really?”

Iméon flashed her a smile. “Sure. I mean, you’re a friend of Michel, so I’d feel bad to just let you go home like that.”

Maria stared at her in silence for a while, as if hesitating, then returned her smile. “Oh well. Not like I had anything else to do anyway.”

And so the both of them stepped into the small two-room apartment together — the inside was a mess, to be honest, with various clothes and papers laying around, but Iméon didn’t care in the least and neither did Maria apparently as she threw herself on the couch without eve asking. Iméon somehow managed to install the lilies in an empty jar on the table, then tranquilly started to prepare their meal. The dinner only consisted of a quick reheat from yesterday’s leftovers and Iméon had always been far from being a super good cook, but it didn’t matter much as the room quickly got filled with cheerful chats and laughters. They talked about their common friends and then their jobs and movies and Maria’s home country, and while Iméon wouldn’t reveal too much about herself and was careful to keep her walls up even once they added a few beers in the mix, she had to admit she felt quite comfortable with this woman whom she couldn’t even remember the name a few hours prior.

Maria was a fun and easygoing person to talk to and despite her crude words and rough attitude she had a smile as bright as the sun, and it just felt nice to be around her.

“So you’ve only moved in here recently?” Maria asked.

“I don’t like to stay in a same place for too long. That’s just not in my blood. I travel a lot too, went to a bunch of different countries…”

“Hmm. I get that. I traveled around quite a bit too before coming to Paris.” She sighed, then stared vacantly at her beer. “I wonder if I should try going moving somewhere else again. I mean, I like it here, but…”

Maria fell silent, suddenly looking surprisingly melancholic. But in a way, Iméon felt she could understand that. She herself had spent most of her life jumping from a place to another ever since her parents kicked her out of the family house, and she liked living that way, but occasionally she wondered if it wouldn’t be best to find somewhere to truly settle in and call home. Maybe she envied Michel’s stable life a little bit for having this, or Ceren’s airheadness for never even questioning what the future might held in for her.

In that sense, she got the feeling Maria was more similar to her because of that. Weird, given she’d basically been a stranger to her only a few hours ago.

As Iméon was still lost in her thought, Maria abruptly rose up from her chair, almost knocking over the lilies from the table. “Oh, wow, fuck! I didn’t realize it had so damn gotten so late! I should go now.”

Iméon looked at the clock, and it was indeed already past three AM. She also had not noticed the time flee at all.

“You sure you don’t want to spend the night here?” Iméon asked while Maria hurriedly put on her coat. “I mean, we did drink quite a bit, and there’s no metro at this time…”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll call a taxi or something. Ugh, and tomorrow I have to work… I’m going to be a fucking mess and Giselle’s gonna have my head.”

“Giselle?” Iméon repeated, because she didn’t know Michel’s wife all that well but somehow she couldn’t picture her as the kind of employer who’d got angry at anyone.

“Yeah, she seems all cute and sweet like that, but she’s actually fucking scary and ultra perfectionist at work. Don’t let her fool you.”

“Huh… I’ll remember that.”

Maria grabbed her last beer and gobbled up all that was left of it in one shot, before quickly heading towards the door. She stopped her pace on the doorstep, however, and turned around towards Iméon.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said, smirking. “It was fun. Let’s do this again.”

“Sure. No problem.”

Maria stared at her, seemed to hesitate, then finally leaned forward and kissed her. It was a pretty brief kiss, lips only brushing against each other, but Iméon still hadn’t really expected it and she blinked back at her when she pulled back.

“I thought the bouquet wasn’t an excuse?”

“It wasn’t,” Maria argued. “That was just as thanks for the meal. Now, I really have to go, so see ya!”

She waved at her with a smug smirk, as if she was quite proud of herself for what she had just done, and then disappeared in the stairs. Iméon still felt pretty confused, but she was much too tired to try to think more about it.

So she got back inside her place, locked the door, and found herself face to face alone with the big bouquet of lilies.

For a brief second, she felt kind of bad for the guy who’d bought it for Maria in the first place, and it was kind of annoying she’d have to keep that bouquet until it wither away like her grandmother’s hydrangeas, but…

If it meant she’d get to have a fun evening dinner and a kiss from a hot Italian woman, maybe it had been worth it.

[floatservices]

wrong numbers/right answers

iwaizumi hajime/reader wc: 3.9k 

When Hajime had started catching feelings for the mystery number, he'd rationalised that it could never be you. Slowly but surely, his mystery texter had been getting him out the slump Iwaizumi had been feeling over his unrequited feelings, and instead of wondering about you, he was wondering when the next mystery number text would come.

But now you're her and she's you and his brain is going to explode. He doesn't have enough brain cells for this.

Curse this stupid, stinking crush.

“You've been on that damn phone for, what, 30 minutes now?” Iwaizumi growls, waving Oikawa's less than impressive test score across said boy’s face. “What are you, texting a new girlfriend?”

“Iwa-chan, I'm flattered you think I have a new girlfriend!” Oikawa’s ecstatic, typing with one hand and snatching away the sheet away with the other. “But no, I'm just trying to have a good time with our favorite classmate,” Oikawa metaphorically dangles you in front of him, and smirks as his friend’s eyes widen. “Oho, I’ve got your attention now, have I?”

Iwaizumi wrinkles his nose, trying to get the test back. “Shut up, shittykawa. If I knew her better, I'd apologize to her because she has to deal with the likes of you.”

The spiker makes a wild lunge for the test paper, because they came to his house to study, not so his disgraceful excuse of a best friend could tease him about a girl, but Oikawa leans just out of reach, his long arms stretching as far as they could.

“You wound me, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa chuckles, shuffling the paper under the cushion he was sitting on. “My test score wasn’t that bad, anyways-“

“You call a 52% a good grade?!”

“Well, it's a pass, isn’t it? I have more important things on my mind, anyways, like beating Ushiwaka, texting my favorite girl in class, don’t you have something to do? Oh, wait! I forgot that you were-”

“Shittykawa," Iwaizumi cuts in, a seething expression on his face, but Oikawa pays no mind. "If you finish that sentence-“

“-Socially awkward! You can’t even talk to her without blushing! But funny how that doesn’t happen when you talk to anyone else like that, hmm, Iwa-chan?”

Hajime gets up and launches himself across the chabudai, tackling Oikawa, a fist raised.

__

It’s 8am when Iwaizumi gets a text.

From: ??? To: You rinrin this is you right!?? buddy???!! pls send me ur jpnese lit hw I NEED HELP otherwise tatsuya-sensei will have me impaled bro my entrails will be sacrificed to whoever the hell Yamada Kai was, helpppp!

There’s a string of different crying emojis after that, which Iwaizumi finds adorable. He doesn’t know who this is, but it’s obvious that the poor guy went to Aoba Johsai. The woman who taught Japanese Literature was famous around the school for being a harsh marker and a harsher teacher style. They’d been studying Yamada’s works so far, and Iwaizumi expects whoever sent it was panicking- it was 8, school started 8:30, and English was their second lesson of the day (or it was for tomorrow, because Classes 3-4 didn’t have Literature today, but Iwaizumi assumes it’s today, otherwise they wouldn’t be this distraught.)

He glances at his watch- he had a few minutes to spare. He fishes his work out his bag, and he thanks God he's used his best handwriting (Tatsuya-sensei had caused quite the scene photocopying his work last time, showing off to the entire Class-2 how “insufferably illegible” his print was,) hoping whoever was behind the screen could read it. He takes a quick picture of it, making sure it’s not blurry and the script is clear before sending it off and hurrying out of his house.

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You [sent: IMG20151219] you’ve got the wrong number but i’m from seijou too. this is the worksheet you mean?

From: Crying Emoji lmao To: You aaa i’m so sorry for sending it to the wrong number!

but yes, it is the right one! thank you so much, i owe you one, mystery man!

Oikawa’s waiting for him outside as always, and Iwaizumi deliberately speeds up so he can walk past. Behind him, Oikawa makes a sort of whine from the back of his throat, quickening his pace to fall in next to him.

“What’s gotten you so cheery?” Oikawa asks, and Iwaizumi realizes he’s been smiling. He replaces it with a scowl, quickly shoving his phone in his pocket so Oikawa can’t get anymore curious.

“It’s no thanks to you.” Iwaizumi quips, and Oikawa pouts.

Iwaizumi only risks a reply when he gets to school, because Oikawa Tooru will never shut up if he sees him texting someone that is so obviously a girl.

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You how do you know it's a guy..? for all you know i could be a girl, you know.

He gets a reply soon after.

From: Crying Emoji lmao To: You well, if you are a girl, i'm sorry!! i didn't mean anything  by it... also i kinda assumed you were a guy because of your handwriting.

He should be offended by that, right? Right. He’s offended by it. He's about to defend himself when his phone buzzes with another message.

From: Crying Emoji lmao To: You SHIT I'M SO SORRY THAT WAS RUDE TO SAY!! I BET YOU WON'T TALK TO ME ANYMORE

IT'S UNDERSTANDABLE IF YOU DO...

He blinks, an ungraciously amused smile making it's way onto his face. He leaves his phone alone for the school day, because his teacher has just walked in. He figured he'd reply to you after school, just before volleyball.

It's kind of a mistake, because he comes back to 12 more messages, each message reading a variant of "I'm sorry," the amount of sincerity in each message growing as the hours passed by. He figures it's time to ease the stranger out her misery, and begins typing his reply.

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You no need to get worked up on it, lmao   you planned on talking to me again?

While waiting, he has enough time to go to the clubroom early and change out of his school uniform to his jersey. He's halfway through fixing one half of his laces when his phone pings.

From: Crying Emoji lmao To: You it's because i thought i owed you one.... but i guess if you don't want to talk it's okay lol

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You i hope it's not me that offended you this time. i do want to talk. you seem... cool?

He hits the send button, rereads it, and recoils. That sounds awkward.

Iwaizumi starts typing more.

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You besides, you don't know me. how are you gonna give back (whatever. i don't know how! you're the  one that wants to owe me.) if you don't even know me?

From: Crying Emoji lmao To: You won't it be funner if it's a mystery?

i guess... we could help each other out! anytime we need hw help we just call each other, like a private help line.

(also, why the question mark? of course i'm cool!)

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You i think that sounded less creepy in your head.  

(sure, you're cool. [heavy sarcasm, if you can't tell.])

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao

is that a no?

(rude!)

Iwaizumi stares at the screen. Well, he didn't really mind. And whoever this was sounded pretty trustworthy, and not a random creep that pretended to be a Seijou student in their free time. His time to deliberate is cut short, because Oikawa slams the clubroom doors open, singing a Christmas carol Iwaizumi didn't recognise, along with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, who were discussing what kind of forfeit Oikawa had to pay today if he didn't set as well as he should; ramen or oden?

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You fuck why not

i'll be looking forward to... being helped out? bye.. i'll talk later.  

my best friend is here and i'm not ready for him to annoy me straight to satan's asscrack.

Iwaizumi whips the phone away from Oikawa's line of vision, only letting him see his asscrack remark. (It backfired, because Oikawa spends all of the time from putting his shoes on to the start of practice whinging.) The boys slowly file out of the clubroom, Kunimi shutting off the lights as the door softly clicks closed.

Iwaizumi's phone lights up in his blazer pocket, a simple "see you later!" on the screen that brightens the whole room up.

___

It's two weeks later when Iwaizumi needs the help he's been promised. He opens up his chat- they'd just been talking last night about Seijou's annual fair, and what they each were going to do.

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You hey english is kicking my ass

can you help a me out please

To: You From Crying Emoji lmao ofc !! what do you need help with

i would let u copy my answers but i feel like you actually have to learn english at some point phone-chan lol

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You the english were on crack when they

made up their language i swear

does the sentence "the star shine brightly" work

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao

LMFAO

weh that's a trick question

"shone" is for no object and "shined" is for when here's no object. so like shone works for 'light' and shined can be for like

a car headlight

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You what the hell

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao ikr english is crazy

you also forgot the "d" at the end lol

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You that one is on me that's simple

but the other thing isn't. aren't the both shining anyway? what's the point in having two. i hate this devil language i swear

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao

if it helps no one really cares and i think

you could get away with either english has a lot of rules and no one follows them sooooo... it's whatever!!

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You

try telling that to fukuoda-sensei i swear that guy has a grudge against me or smthn

To: You

From: Crying Emoji lmao WAHAHAHA i had him last year.... he literally hates fun i don't think i've ever seen him smile

good luck with that phone-chan :P

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You

one last question btw

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao

ooh okay shoot!

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You what's 好きな食べ物は揚げ出し豆腐 in english

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao ...

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You don't tell me you don't know :(

To: You From Crying Emoji lmao phone-chan, if i say i'll make your agedashi tofu for the festival tmrw will you please stop making vague hints  towards it for the rest of the night?

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You :)

To: You From Crying Emoji lmao the things i do for you, phone chan!

___

"Iwa-chan, don't eat too much." Oikawa says, blinking as he tries to process the sheer amount of beancurd his friend is wolfing down.

"Says the person who hogged all the milk bread once." Iwaizumi retorts, rolling his eyes. "This is one plate of tofu, unlike when you once wasted 2000 yen to buy the school's entire daily stock of milk bread so you could eat it." He pauses to finish another cube of his favourite food. "And school milk bread doesn't even taste that great."

"It was cheap, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa tries to defend himself. "Makki, Matssun, help me out here!"

Matsukawa only shrugs, and when prompted by Oikawa to give a 'real' answer, he sides with Iwaizumi, apologizing sheepishly.

"Sorry to admit it Captain," He chuckles, "But I don't really like school food anyways."

Iwaizumi shoots Oikawa a teasing smirk, and Oikawa's just about to say something when Hanamaki pipes up.

"I like it," Makki makes a non-committal gesture, and Oikawa looks happy with that. "I mean, sure, school food isn't that great but I think the milk bread is the only good thing about it."

"Like striking gold in a coalmine!" Oikawa nods his approval, and Iwaizumi just sighs. Looking around, he spots you out of the corner of his eye, looking as good as usual and serving a few parents and students. He knows he can't call you because he'd end up sweating through his blazer, so he asks another classmate instead.

"Okuhara-kun," He calls, waving to a boy in his class. "Do you know who made the tofu?"

The boy shakes his head. "Whoever it was came early to drop it off. It had a note with it though."

This gets Iwaizumi's attention. She'd left something for him? "Oh? What did it say?"

"Uh- this is an exact quote, by the way- 'Phone-chan, don't you dare!'" Okuhara replies, drawing out quotation marks in the air. When Iwaizumi lets out a loud laugh, he takes it for disbelief.

"Is it... really that funny?" He questions, looking bemused.

Hajime grins. "Not really."

____

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You you didn't even drop any hints!

all you gave me was a note that told me to go away

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao i knew you'd go looking, phone-chan! my intuition is as good as ever!

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You unfair. that was like, my best friend's level of unfair.

so unfair that i'm thinking about moving my best friend back to the top of my favourites list :/

That was a bold faced lie. Oikawa had never been on the top of his favourites list: that was reserved solely for Makki.

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao you wound me!

who is this best friend?

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You

not telling lol

you'd know who i was then

To: You

From: Crying Emoji lmao spare hint ma’am?

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You you didn't give me any!

and you're the one who wanted to keep it a secret in the first place :/

...but fine.

he's on the volleyball team

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao oikawa!!??

To: Crying Emoji lmao

From: You ... :( yeah

see i told you!

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao actually, i don't know the vb team that well. oikawa's one of the only guys i know  because he's popular. and loud 

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You oh so i’m not popular?

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao aww phone-chan it’s not like that <3 ur popular in my heart :)

Iwaizumi curses at the blush that follows reading that. He will not allow himself to get flustered over that, it was a joke!

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You gee thanks 

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao besides i still know the third years! i'm just saying i don't know them that well!!

hanamaki, matsukawa and iwaizumi. they're a close friend group, so i expect one of then is you

When he reads his name, he doesn't know whether to deny it completely, or confirm that it's him. Hajime puts his phone down and paces for a bit, wondering if he's fucked up. When he checks his phone again, chewing on his lip, he guffaws at the message they've left.

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao ...judging from how you're not replying, you are.

but since i don't know which one, i'll decide on calling you phone-chan, yeah?

When Iwaizumi met whoever they were, he was gonna give them a lecture of a lifetime about not being a smartass.

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You fine, yeah. i am one of them. but now you owe me a hint too!

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao

well, i suppose i do!

i'm one of the girls in the class that actually has oikawa's number. he half forced me to give it to him, actually, but it's still been fun talking with him.

(not as much as talking with you, phone-chan!)

and i also totally get why he's annoying.

Iwaizumi feels a tiny bit of jealously bubbling up- irrational, because he's only been texting them for about half a month. His friend's statement about liking talking with him more than Oikawa makes him a little pleased, because people didn't usually pick his pretty best friend over him (selfish, yeah, but he's tired of girls asking him to deliver chocolates to the setter and befriending him in hopes of getting closer to Tooru.)

But girls who had his number? Only the ones Oikawa actually had an interest in.

The grand total of the people in his class with the brunet's number was three, because as courteous and as flirtatiously he acts, he accepts and turns down people normally, and doesn't like hurting girls as much as his playboy rep boasts (Iwaizumi's always liked that about him.) The three girls he knew of consisted of Aoi, his ex, Reina, who unbeknownst to Oikawa at the time, swang the other way, and...

You.

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao i know that aoi, reina and (name) has his number...

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao well, one of them is certainly me!

we're both down to three, phone-chan. even ground!

Iwaizumi feels the world cave in on himself, reading the message over and over. Aoi was a nice guy, but he was also the same brand of pompous that Hajime disliked and Oikawa had found cute. They’d ended it horribly, so Hajime was decidedly not looking forward to the possible outcome that it was him, so he casts away the thought before it can solidify in his mind’s eye. Reina didn’t even like guys, so if you were you…

Huh. His mouth’s gone dry suddenly.

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You cool cool

 hey i'm gonna head to bed i gotta emotionally prepare for voluntarily walking into japanese lit class with tatsuya sensei on my ass

sorry to cut it short

To: You From: Crying Emoji lmao aw don't worry about it phone-chan <3

good night! and see you tmrw, whether we know it or not!!

To: Crying Emoji lmao From: You sleep well

Iwaizumi curses during the 5th hour of trying to sleep. Curse this stupid, stinking crush.

___

He wishes he hadn't asked. He's fine with his favorite crying emoji user knowing who he is, but knowing that it's you sort of struck a pang in his heart that couldn't be undone. He can't concentrate in class, and though he fights it because Oikawa's caught on to this habit, he finds himself staring at you instead of listening to the teacher. The whole situation was annoying!

First he thinks you're cute but he'd chalked it up to never working out because Oikawa had managed to snag your number. Then Oikawa assures him that it's platonic and they only talk about school work which is, to say the least, bullshit, because Oikawa can't actually text without getting distracted. His best friend has a tendency to rant about volleyball or start gossiping when his phone is within reach, and it's why his study sessions happen with Hajime next to him (and even with him, Oikawa still manages to get his grubby hands on his phone.) His best friend was absolutely up to something, and it had been killing Iwaizumi that he didn't know what it was.

And then he'd gotten that cute, fated, statistically impossible text from a wrong number, and fallen into a cute flirting-but-not-really routine. They were kind, sweet, and willing to help him with trivial things like homework and make him his favorite food.

It was easier not really knowing who it was! That was mean to admit, sure, but even when Hajime had started catching feelings for the mystery number, he'd rationalised that it could never be you. Slowly but surely, his mystery texter had been getting him out the slump he had been feeling over his unrequited feelings, and instead of wondering about you, he was wondering when the next mystery number text would come.

But now you're her and she's you and his brain is going to explode. He doesn't have enough brain cells for this.

Hajime sighs, looking away from you and back to his worksheet. Algebra stares back at him with no mercy. "I have no brain cells." He mutters, amending his thoughts. In the seat next to him, Oikawa chuckles lightly.

"You've got enough to stare at her, though." He whispers, and Hajime feels his blood boiling. "I swear, when the bell rings, I'm going to-"

The teacher clears her throat loudly. "Iwaizumi-san, if you could refrain from speaking until I've finished..."

Iwaizumi feels his hot rage flood into his cheeks as embarrassment instead. "Of course, sorry sensei."

You catch his eye as he averts his eyes from the teacher, and you smile encouragingly. Hajime thinks the knot in his forehead gets worse. He feels himself go hotter, somehow, and quickly goes back to looking at his math equations. Oikawa's still fucking smirking.

"Denial, Iwa-chan."

There's something fishy in the way that Oikawa texted the group chat about getting lunch. Firstly, Oikawa liked western food for whatever reason, and whenever he asked to go out, he would picked a pricey French place. The rest of the team would debate for about 8 minutes before usually settling on a cheap soba place near the town centre. He'd claimed it was for a post-midterms celebration, and since the Christmas holidays had started, they might as well go somewhere altogether, as a team.

But Oikawa's suggested this expensive ramen place (which... alright, it's not like Oikawa never eats Japanese. But he doesn't prefer it, and Hajime is paranoid about whatever plan his best friend has hatched) and instead of shouting at him to lower the price, Makki and Mattsun agree immediately. Iwaizumi knows Makki is broke this week, after having to buy a replacement volleyball for the one they popped while roughhousing, so he doesn't understand why he'd agree to blowing 2000 yen on a single bowl of ramen.

The rest of the third years decline or agree. Iwaizumi thinks this is for plausible deniability, to make him think it's all alright. But when Oikawa @'s him in chat to confirm for the coming Thursday, he grudgingly agrees. He's wanted to try that ramen place for a while, anyway, and he's putting too much thought into this. It was just lunch with the team. It's fine.

Then the coming Thursday rolls around, and he's been standing outside the ramen place for 5 minutes and no-one is here and he's going to kill Oikawa-

To: [crying baby noises] From: You oikawa i swear to god where the fuck is everyone. i'm going to aim every spike in practice to you i swear. yahaba would help me

To: You From: [crying baby noises] WAHAHAHA it's okay iwa-chan, someone else you like much better than our sweaty volleyball team is coming ☆⌒(ゝ。∂)

To: [crying baby noises] From: You die in a ditch

To: You From: [crying baby noises] you won't be saying that after ur first date! (☆ω☆)

here's her number, since ur gonna need it!

[CRYING BABY NOISES] HAS SENT YOU A CONTACT

Iwaizumi grumbles the entire time he's punching in the number, intending to tell you that you've been set up and you don't need to bother coming, but his phone shows up with an error that he's already got the number saved. He stares at the notification, blinking once, twice, before the elation sets in and-

"Ah, Iwaizumi?" You call his name, walking quickly towards him and giving him a bashful smile. "Sorry I'm late. I wasn't worried because I thought it was just going to be Oikawa talking my ear off, but he texted me to say... well."

He just says your name, blushing but still grinning. You chuckle, and the little display of happiness pushes him to at least try and say something, "Oikawa gave me your number, but..." Iwaizumi trails off.

"He sent yours too." You explain, pulling your phone out and, at last, he's given proof that you're the mystery number and his grin manages to get wider. The cool winter air bites less than it did before. "But I already had it saved."

"Me too." Hajime says, taking a step closer to you and taking a hand tentatively. Your fingers slip between his, and your cheeks are pink from more than just the cold.

"I had a feeling it was you." You admit, still looking at him the way you do in his dreams. "It's nice to finally meet you properly, Phone-chan."

[feargender]

hey kid......hey could i get a 'things you said when you were drunk' for azcrow....

send me a ship and one of these prompts

Aziraphale is not entirely sure about all of the things that make a six-thousand year friendship work. It’s a complicated thing, full of unspoken agreements and compromises. He knows this though: in order to make an immortal friendship between an angel and a demon work, there are just certain things one doesn’t bring up. This made a lot of sense to him about five or six glasses ago. 

However, things have gotten rather fuzzy since then, and not just because he misplaced his spectacles around glass number three. 

They’ve known each other this long, and Aziraphale has never really managed to insult Crowley before. So why not? 

He attempts to gather his thoughts, fails, and then goes on anyway. “Crowley,” he says, cutting the demon off mid-monologue about... something. He had been listening rather intently a moment before, but he can’t exactly remember what it was they were discussing. Crowley trails off, making a noise that is both an affirmation and a question, which ends up sounding a bit like “Weh?” 

“You never really told me. Why, exactly, did you Fall? What did you do?” Aziraphale asks. 

Crowley’s face does a number of funny things, and then eventually he lets a long, loud sigh escape his mouth. “Well, y’know I just,” he gestures widely with his hands, “misbehaved, I s’pose. Asked questions, I think. It’s a bit muddled, before the Fall.” 

“Surely you remember some of it,” Aziraphale presses, pouring wine liberally into Crowley’s glass. 

Crowley gives him a bland look. Aziraphale looks back with an expectant smile, only realizing that perhaps he should have backtracked and changed the subject after Crowley opens his mouth to speak again. He’s got a serious, rather grim look on his face. His jovial drunkenness from a moment before is gone. His cheeks are still red, speech slightly slurred, but all the enjoyment has gone. 

“I just told you, I asked questions. About Her motivations.” Aziraphale sucks in a breath through his teeth. If there were an angel rulebook (which there isn’t), he’s fairly confident that Rule One would be “Do not question God’s motivations.” 

“I wanted to know! Why did She make the things She did? And why did She make them only to discard them for something newer after She’s had her fun? Could She never be satisfied? Make the angels, but nah, they’re no fun anymore. Galaxies, sure, pretty, but couldn’t there be more? Humans, which She supposedly cherishes, but it seems to me all they’re really meant to do is suffer in the name of Her love,” Crowley snaps out, each word harsher than the one before. 

Aziraphale swallows, an apology on his lips, but Crowley just shakes his head. “Best be getting on, angel. It’s late, and I have a whole day of nefarious wrongdoing planned for tomorrow,” he says, staggering awkwardly to his feet. Aziraphale chokes out his name, but Crowley ignores him. 

He stops at the door, and turns just enough to look at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye. “And you know what the worst part is? She never actually answered any of them.” Then he’s gone, swinging out into the damp London night. 

[alliveverknowns]

In a generation where there is a constant obsession with using the word “flex” and “goals” in social media to refer to their “jowa” (boyfriend/girlfriend), many of us have been uttering the phrase “sana all” non-stop. When I say “many of us”, I am including myself. As an 18-year-old who is surrounded with people the same age as I am, I’m one of those typical girl who wishes to have a “jowa”, maybe because I want fun, or I just want to be like everyone else, or maybe, I want to be loved. The problem is, when “love” (Yes, I am adding a quotation mark, don’t ask why.) meets you halfway and comes unexpectedly, we tend to run away. Sorry, I run away. I have known (Weh?) what it’s like to be in love probably my whole life. As a self-proclaimed bookworm who has an affinity for books and binge watching TV series with its cheesy long overdue speeches, I’d like to think I am an expert at that department. I can advise my friends whenever they’re being stupid in their relationships, (Coaches don’t play, right?) but, oh boy, I was wrong. Love, relationships, and dating in real life are all nothing from what I have seen in movies and read from books. No, you will not find someone like Patrick from Silverlinings Playbook who will kiss you under the freezing cold and whisper, “I think I need you too,” nor will you find yourself a Derek Shepherd (who was a fucking asshole, at least for me.) who will stage an impromptu post it wedding for you and will vow to you that even if you get Alzheimer’s, he will remind you who he is every single day. Guys like Patrick Verona don’t walk in our high school fields, and no guy like him will ever try to hack the school’s sound system and try to serenade you with “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You”, and worst! The worst part is that I doubt that there are guys like Michael Cordero Jr., someone who will make you an apology playlist when he fucks things up and give you an eskimo kiss. He won’t whisper a sappy “Wherever you are is home to me.” in your ear as you search for your future home, and he certainly won’t kiss you while fake snow bursts out and Natalie Taylor’s “Surrender” is playing in the background. Here’s the thing, when you grow up with books and movies surrounding you, you quite have an unrealistic point of view on what relationships are. I am guilty of this, I’m not gonna lie. As a girl who daydreams a lot of finding the “perfect guy” (who probably looks like Harry Styles, or even Niall Horan), even at 18, I have given up on this quest because there’s no such thing. Maybe when pigs fly I would find that “perfect guy”. Out of all my favorite female characters, I would like to think I am the perfect mix of Meredith Grey and Amelia Shepherd. I am not a doctor, nor do I have ambitions of being one, but this I know; these two women, when shown affection, they run away. So do I. It’s funny because I am someone who has spent her entire childhood and 2013 teenage phase obsessing about love, but 7 years later, almost an adult, I still do not know how to properly accept affection that does not come from my family and friends. Yup, I listen to Taylor Swift’s Lover almost everyday, and I’d get thoughts such as “Ang sarap siguro mag mahal.” (It must feel great to love someone.) but I’d laugh on the inside, and say “Eh diba, takot ka.” (You’re scared, right?) I laugh on the inside because I know what you’re thinking, “Takot ka siguro mag commit!” (You’re afraid to commit yourself in a relationship). I laugh even harder, because at this age, at this time of my life, do I really need to commit myself to someone? I would be a big liar if I haven’t had moments where I am “jowang-jowa”, but is it really needed right now? As a person who watched too much romantic-comedies and read a lot of YA books, you would say that I have unrealistic expectations on what relationships should be, but if there’s one thing I truly know about what it is amidst all the long, gawky, and sappy declarations of love and non-stop fluff; it’s that everything comes at the right time when you are really, really ready. As I mentioned earlier, I am still someone who is scared and doesn’t know how to handle affection (still), but these walls will come back down when the right person (CHEESY!) and time comes. And you know what? I’m perfectly okay with that.

[petshopboyss]

pet shop boys share their favourite things interview

‘Lowe says nothing, just carries on eating his chocolate bar. He has the benign look of a dog who's just had his dinner. I begin. “Okay, well, this Favourite Things piece is just a bit of fun,” I say. There is a short pause. 

“We don’t really do fun, we do ranting,” deadpans Tennant. Lowe chirps up: “Neil's only done two rants today.” And Tennant bats the ball straight back: “I’ve done being gay and politics...”

This, then, is the essence of their double act: one serves, the other returns. Let the games begin.’

WHAT WAS YOUR FAVOURITE CHILDHOOD TOY? Neil: Train set. Actually it was my cousin’s train set, it was passed down to us. It was on a green board. Potter’s Bar station. Even now when I get the train to my house in Durham and I go through Potter’s Bar I think of it. It didn’t even occur to me it was a real place until I moved to London.  Chris: I had, it was like a Scalextric but it wasn’t. I think it was called Minitrix, but it was made by Hornby and the two were linked together. My brother had a train set so you could have a level crossing and you’d have to stop the car to let the train go past. It was fantastic.  Neil: The train going round the villages and little plastic cows… I would have fantasies about where it was. I still would now. I have a very strong fantasy life, which is probably why I do what I do. I could look at this coffee table and imagine it was a country.

  SUBJECT AT SCHOOL Neil: History. Still my favourite subject. My history teacher, Frank Keegan, [goes into hysterics] used to be known as Underpants Frank because he wore big Y-fronts and he tucked his shirt into them. He was actually ahead of his time … underwear above his trousers in the 1960s.  Chris: [A little nonplussed] That is weird. I didn’t have a favourite subject. I was a bit of a swot but school was just a means to an end, so I could get to university to do architecture.

  WAY TO WASTE TIME Chris: Well, I spend a lot of time comatose in front of the telly…  Neil: Going through my iTunes finding artwork for tracks I haven’t got artwork for.  Chris: …I’ll spend hours flicking through the hundred-and-odd channels on Sky. Just going round and round and round. I really like doing nothing. Literally nothing.  Neil: What do you mean, literally nothing?  Chris: Watching the television. Flicking.  Neil: Chris has always liked watching television. I was reading this book about John Lennon and I’m thinking, “Who does this remind me of…?” Chris! John Lennon is just at home all the time watching the television and sleeping!

PLACE IN THE WORLD Chris: I’m very happy in a very nice hotel room. Anywhere. 

Neil: You’re probably in your bathrobe.  Chris: Luxuriating in the bathroom, with all the products. You switch your phone off. No one knows where you are. You’re lying on fantastic Frette bedding… Maybe you’re in Miami, or something like that.  Neil: And you’re filling out the card for breakfast. [Laughs] I only learnt to drive last year. I passed my test on the first attempt. There’s this big moor close to where I live near Durham, where I love driving. I have my dog in the back of the car. He’s a Lakeland terrier called Kevin. So, Kevin’s looking out of the back and he’s hoping he’s going to get a walk. And I might stop the car and just smell the air, which is really peaty and fresh…

TIME OF DAY

Neil: Breakfast. First thing in the morning the day is full of expectations.  Chris: Lunchtime.

TIME OF YEAR Chris: Spring, because you can sense the season’s change and you think, “Great, we’re back” and you feel “Weh-hey” and you can see all the buds and leaves growing.  Neil: Mine’s ruled by hay fever. I had a hay fever injection this morning. I’m allergic to trees. The beginning of summer; although it’s all a bit sad because you think it’s going to end. And at the end of autumn, I love walking home at half-past-four and everyone’s got their lights on and they haven’t shut their curtains yet. It’s cold but you’re going to have a nice cup of tea when you get in.

ANIMAL Chris: Dog. I love dogs. I just find their faces so funny, they crack me up. They always look so happy when you’re all in the room together, it’s like “Ah, we’re all here.”  Neil: Mine’s a dog as well. But I like guinea fowl.  Chris: Because you can eat them?  Neil: I had a load in my garden. The only thing is they make a bit of a mess, they shit everywhere, and they make a lot of noise. They’re not that favourite actually. But they look so funny because they have tiny little heads and these great big bodies. And they walk right round the garden, round the perimeter, and it takes them all day. They look like dowager duchesses.

  FLOWER Chris: Well, the other day I bought a load of tulips.  Neil: Tulips! That’s mine. That’s my answer.  Chris: They’re such gorgeous colours. They are like a pink.  Neil: I will buy, like, just white ones, and I like them crammed in one vase. I like arts and crafts furniture and the tulip is often a symbol in them because it’s a very beautiful shape.

COLOUR  Neil: I don’t have a favourite colour. But I always buy everything black.  Chris: I think the colour I would go for most would be blue.  Neil: Blue for a boy.  Chris: Although I do like wearing outrageous colours as well. Like cerise.

  SMELL Neil: I think I am one of those people that likes the smell of wet grass in the morning.  Chris: I used to love - I still like - the smell of the London Underground.  Neil: When I first came to London I used to get the Northern Line to Kentish Town and recently I got the Northern Line and I thought, “God, It smells exactly the same.” It smells different from the Circle Line. And the Victoria Line still has a slightly new smell; when I first came to London it had just opened.

HOUSE YOU’VE LIVED IN Neil: I had a house in Rye in Sussex for ten years and in some ways I regret selling it. I sometimes think about it, and mentally walk around it. My bedroom had a bay window and you could see the harbour.  Chris: I liked this bungalow that we all lived in when we were kids in Blackpool, and there was a big field opposite and a rose garden, and a bit round the back where we could play on this big tree.

POSITION TO SLEEP IN  Neil: I sleep on my right side.  Chris: I toss and turn a lot.

JOB BEFORE MUSIC Neil: Smash Hits. I was the Assistant Editor at Smash Hits in a great period of pop music, 82-85.  Chris: I went from being a student to this. But I always had summer jobs in Blackpool, and I think the most fun one was being a ride operator on the Pleasure Beach. It was a bit - what was that film?  Neil: That’ll Be The Day [1973 cult hit in which David Essex and Ringo Starr pick up girls on the dodgem cars].  Chris: It was all a bit like that [belly laugh].

FILM Chris: I can’t keep saying The Sound of Music. What else?  Neil: John Waters?  Chris: What are you going to say?  Neil: I always say The Servant. Although actually it tails off, the last half hour is not very good.  Chris: Actually, the last half hour of The Sound of Music’s not brilliant.  Neil: There’s a very strong argument for The Sound of Music finishing at the wedding.

MOVIESTAR Neil: I very much like Marlene Dietrich. I like that icy glamour. The thing about Marlene Dietrich is that she’s not really that good-looking. Truly glamorous people are not normally beautiful. Jackie Kennedy is not beautiful - she’s funny-looking.  Chris: I’d probably say James Dean.  Neil: [Aghast] Do you like his films?  Chris: That wasn’t the question. Didn’t say the films had to be any good.

DAYTIME SHOW Chris: I could run you through my viewing: I get up at nine o’clock to watch the papers being reviewed on The Wright Stuff, then I switch to This Morning. Then there is the joy of Loose Women. Then it’s Countdown, then maybe Neighbours and Home and Away.  Neil: It’s a whole day’s work.  Chris: I don’t like the cooking programmes, got no interest in them.  Neil: I’m afraid I simply don’t watch the television. I live in Chelsea in a late-Georgian house and my television is in the basement.  Chris: I’ve got a television in every room. [Laughs] I never want to be far from a telly.

THING YOU COOK YOURSELF  Neil: Well. It used to be the notorious Neil Tennant grim stir-fry, which is brown rice, broccoli and soy sauce. That’s it. Surprisingly tasty. It’s all about the soy sauce. However, I now cook roast chicken. But to be perfectly honest, in London, when you live near Jenny Lo’s Tea House, There’s no reason to cook for yourself. The only reason I don’t have it every day is that it’s the same guy who delivers it and I get embarrassed. I always give him a massive tip. It always costs £15 and I give him £20.  Chris: None of my dishes are favourite, or anything I like that much. They’re just functional, eating things. So maybe Penne Arrabbiata. I always cook the same things. I often get pre-prepared chicken pies from Marks & Spencer - they only take 30 minutes. I should really go the whole hog and get a microwave: dinner in six minutes.  Neil: You love your chicken pies.  Chris: Chicken pies. Chicken kievs. [Laughs] They do good breaded chicken. What I like is everything is ready to put in the pan, all washed and everything.

TIPPLE  Neil: Red wine. I only drink red wine and champagne. Very occasionally I drink beer in Germany because it’s very good. And if I was in Russia I might have a vodka.  Chris: I like all of them. Depending on the time of day. Sometimes there’s nothing better than an ice-cold beer, is there?

COMEDIAN  Chris: Steve Coogan. I was really honoured - I went to see him recently at the Hammersmith Apollo and he made a very cruel joke involving the Pet Shop Boys and I was thrilled.  Neil: Who’s Mr G, what’s his real name?  Chris: Oh. Chris Lilley.  Neil: Chris Lilley. Summer Heights High. My favourite character is - Chris: Ja’mie.  Neil: Ja’mie! [They both laugh]

COLLABORATION  Neil: Dusty, I think. I can’t believe it’s ten years since she died. And she’s now a genuine legend.  Chris: Yeah. Dusty. I’d agree with that.

ITEM OF CLOTHING  Chris: [Camping it up] Oh I never have anything to wear! I wear these Y3 trainers all the time because they are incredibly comfortable. If I like something I tend to wear it to death, until it has to be thrown out.  Neil: I have a pair of boots that I like. Which are not these. I actually don’t like these very much. [Sticks out his foot over the coffee table and inspects it] I’m wearing these Yamamoto Dr Martens and I think they’re too clumpy. I made a decision at lunch not to wear them again.  Chris: [Teasing] It’s good that they were really cheap then, isn’t it?  Neil: These were 230 quid.  Chris: [To me] Can you imagine? For a pair of Doc Martens!  Neil: I’m going to take them to Durham and use them for walking in… Um. I’ve got a pair of Patrick Cox - when Patrick Cox was still Patrick Cox - boots that I wear all the time. But I’ve stopped wearing them recently because they have become part of my official outfit. I wore them at the BRITs, with that Gareth Pugh coat. I was wearing the Patrick Cox boots with the trousers tucked in and the stylist said it looked great so suddenly they went, “Hello, I’m now part of the Pet Shop Boys’ wardrobe, hands off me!”

SONG BY ANOTHER ARTIST  Chris: Oh, That’s too big.  Neil: I can’t think of any songs at all now, of course.  Chris: Ain’t No Stopping Us Now by McFadden & Whitehead. That is my default position.  Neil: My default song is I Don’t Want To Hear It Anymore by Dusty Springfield.  Chris: [Jokes] Well, don’t listen to it then.

SONG Of YOURS  [Long silence]  Neil: It changes. I don’t think about it very much. We are writing this ballet. There’s a piece of music, the duet, but I can’t remember what we’ve called it. It’s Scene Six.  Chris: Last night I was going through iTunes and I listened to The Survivors by us, which I thought was really good.

SIN  Neil: They’ve all got something going for them… actually my least favourite is envy.  Chris: Envy, lust are bad ones, because going through life being lustful is just obscenity. Sloth’s pretty good. [Laughs]  Neil: You’re definitely more slothful, I’m more gluttony meets - what’s drunkenness called?

SAYING  Neil: You can’t make chicken soup out of chicken shit.  Chris: [Laughs] It’s Tom, our old producer [Tom Watkins was the Pet Shop Boys’ manager from 1985 to 89].  Neil: It’s completely stupid, it sums him up. We still say it though.  Chris: We just tend to repeat people that we know’s catchphrases. We had another manager and she used to say, “Well, you’ve had a good go.” [Laughs] Old Mitch [Mitch Clark, 1998-2003]. She was “Upwards and onwards as well”

[ittookthelightforever]

C’est horrifique - part 4

Hi,

Remember how I said this would have 3 parts? You can expect a fifth one in a few days...

This part is more of a filler because I really didn’t want to rush the story too much, although the 5th part is the mushy-est this one is proof that I am a romantic at heart. And I like the syrup sweet stuff too. A lot. 

Love, Lina

(Part 1) -- (Part 2) -- (Part 3)

Source

It’s too bright in here. That was your first thought you had when you opened your eyes for the first time in three days. Alex had sat by your bedside for the length of your transformative slumber, soothing you whenever there was any discomfort and caring for you, not letting anyone near. Not even Camille. All he did was have someone bring a turntable and a few of his favourite records for him to hear, but besides softly singing under his breath, all Alex had done was wait for you to wake up.

“W-Where am I?” Alex had been drifting inside his own mind when he heard you speak and your voice set him into motion. In a split moment he had kneeled next to you, “ ‘ello love, how are yeh feelin’?” You were surprised by the sight of Alex and propped yourself up on one hand, shielding your eyes with the other, “What’s happening? Did I faint? Oh goodness, please tell me I didn’t faint and hit my head in front of you.”

Alex chuckled and helped you sit up against some pillows, before walking over to the windows and closing the curtains, “Yeh didn’t, love. Can you tell meh yehr name?” He had sat back down next to you on the bed and you looked at him as you told him your name, “Beautiful, just like yeh.” You bowed your head down, thinking he was probably only trying to make you feel better because you definitely looked like a mess after sweating away at his concert.

“Love, look, there’s no easeh way to say this.” Alex placed two fingers under your chin and raised your face so you looked right into his brown eyes. Pupils blow, blood shot eyes. The image flashed in your mind and Alex looked at you funny, “Yeh remember?” You squint your eyes and tried to place that image in your life, “I-I, I don’t know?” He gently brushed your hair behind your ear and the moment he touched your skin again you get another sliver of memory. The feeling of his face as you held it between your hands and kissed him.

The moment was broken by a strong knock on the door, “Alex, let me in!” Alex growled at the door, “Don’t yeh dare, Camille. I am the one doin’ this.”

“You don’t understand, Alex. She wasn’t supposed to have had the energy to survive, much less have sex. There is something wrong, I have to alert the Society!” Alex waived her off, “I don’t care, yeh’re not tellin’ anyone about this until she wakes up and I tell ‘er, my way. No Society involved.” Camille shook her head, feeling like ripping her own hair out, “You don’t understand, it’s my job. I need to report this.” Alex got tired of her complaining, he got up from his seat by your bed and took Camille by the neck, pushing her up against the wall.

“As far as I’m concerned yeh work for meh, yeh make sure I get what I need after tha Society decided to turn meh. So yeh do as I say, gotcha?” He gave a squeeze on her neck to make sure she understood, Camille nodded and scrapped at his fingers for him to let go. Although they were both vampires, Alex was a stronger breed, due to some of his background, and that meant he had a physical advantage vis-a-vis Camille that came in handy when he needed to get his point across.

Alex released his hold and she scrambled on the ground, “Alex, I may not tell them now, but they will know and when they do, the Society will still have the power to kill her if they wish to.” He simply turned his back to her and sat back down next to you, “We’ll see about tha’.”

He turned his full attention back to you, “Darling, I’m so sorreh… Yeh see, I-I… I’m a vampire. A-And I, I turned yeh into one too. I am so sorreh.” Feeling his fangs as you kissed him. You looked at him confused, incredulous, “W-What?”, Alex tried to touch you but you pushed him away and ran to the bathroom, locking the door,

Alex followed you, sitting on the other side of the locked door, “I’m sorreh...” You ignored him as you looked at yourself on the mirror. The first thing you noticed was that your skin had cleared completely, your complexion softened to a lighter tone but still yours and your hair was soft and shiny, like you had always wished for. Alex probably was telling the truth, as you doubted someone had given you a makeover while you were unconscious, but the telltale sign and what sealed the deal was the sight of the pointed teeth that showed themselves when you opened your mouth.

Despite your internal turmoil of emotions there was a calm that maintained itself like a blanket over you. As you inspected every inch of your new body, the realization of what happened to you sunk further into your mind and you couldn’t bring any anger or fear out of yourself, for once you felt in control of your own self. Even if you had no idea what you had been thrown into, there wasn’t a part of you that didn’t feel like you belonged in that moment.

You moved toward the door carefully, sitting with your shoulder against it, “Alex…?” Alex perked up at the sound of your voice, “Yes love.” You stroked the door, holding your palm against it, “I-I, I don’t know what’s happening… I feel like I should be scared, but… I am not.” He sighed in relief at your words, “Can I come in, love?” You got up and unlocked the door, finding him standing in front of you, “I’m a vampire…?” He nodded solemnly and you took a step forward, pressing one hand against his solid chest, “What the hell happens now?”

“I can answer that for you, dear.” You and Alex turned to the door to find Camille, “Figured I’d given the two of you more than enough time. We need to get going.” Alex growled at Camille, starting to move towards her but you reached out a hand to hold his arm and halt him, “Alex.” The moment his eyes fell on you Alex’s face instantly softened, “I’m sorreh, love. Camille ‘ere is… She’s annoying but she is unfortunateleh right. We need to go, is tha’ okeh?” You hesitated, looking from Alex to Camille and back to him.

“I wish I ‘ad more time to explain everyfing that this new life entails, but weh are on borrowed time as it is and I can tell yeh more on the plane ride.” Alex extended his hand to you and you took it. None of the normal bells and alarms were ringing as you followed Alex and Camille to the rooftop where a helicopter was waiting to take you to the nearest airport.

Halfway to the airport you realized you were only wearing a white nightgown and slippers. Alex must have dressed you in after you two had slept together… You had slept with Alex Turner of all people, who had turned you into a freaking vampire. “Is everyfing alreyht, love?” You heard Alex’s voice through the helicopter headset and that snapped you out of it, “I-I don’t have my things and I am wearing this…” And you gestured to your body, “Don’t worreh, Camille sent all yehr stuff to the plane alreadeh and ‘as a change of clofes readeh.”

You nodded and tried to enjoy the rest of the ride, you had never ridden a helicopter before and Alex had lent of you a pair of sunglasses, so you took in your city from above and wondered when you would be back, and if anywhere would ever feel like home again after this. “We’re here, let’s go people.” Camille ushered you and Alex from the chopper to the plane. Alex helped you board the plane and you stood amazed at the private cabin. Where flying coach felt like a nuisance just to get where you needed to, this was the prime of luxuries, with spaced out leather seats and plush clean carpets, and you felt so out of place.

“Dear, I set out an outfit and some toiletries in the bathroom. As soon as we depart and are stabilized on air you can go and change.” That was the first time Camille had talked to you directly, she was very sweet still Alex had wrapped an arm around you and lead you to a pair of seats further into the plane. “I kno’ this is ‘ard. But I promise yeh I’ll always be ‘ere for yeh.”

With everyone on board the crew prepared for departure, “Can I offer you a drink?” You look at the stewardess holding a tray with two glasses of what you assumed was blood and froze, your few remaining human instincts fighting your new ones, “Yeh can leave tha’, fanks.” The blonde nodded, leaving the tray on the table in front of you and scurrying away, “I kno’ this is the most… Bizarre part. But yeh can no longer sustain yerhself on food, even tho yeh can eat it, blood is tha’ fing that will satisfeh yeh.”

The glass in front of you seemed daunting at first, but as Alex picked his up and held it in his hand, taking a small sip, it suddenly seemed more normal and you picked yours up, “Cheers.” Alex held out his glass and you clinked yours against it before both took a drink. Despite your worries the blood tasted delicious and your body responded automatically as you drained the glass in seconds, “There yeh go, worst part done wiv.” Alex smiled and cleaned some blood that had stuck to the corner of your lip, sucking his thumb clean, “Delicious…”

The ping of the seatbelts lights turning off was the perfect excuse to hide in the bathroom, trying to fight the urge to jump Alex’s bones right there, that teasing man was giving you the dirtiest of thoughts and you didn’t even know where you stood with him. In the quite spacious bathroom you found a garment bag on a hook and a box of shoes, as well as the promised toiletries. You washed your face first, noticing the lack of dirt and oils, and applied some very light make-up, then moved to the clothes.

Inside the bag there was a very modest black dress, tea length and with ¾ sleeves, and the shoes were low heels in black patent leather. As you came out of the bathroom in your dark ensemble Alex’s smiled widen and you sat back in your seat, “I’m sorreh for the somber dress code. Weh are meeting some vereh important people and they are strict about this stuff.” You nodded, still clueless as to what would happen next. Alex half smiled, gently pushing your hair away from your face and behind your ear, “So beautiful…”

“Love, these people, the Society, they’re tha ones that control this world of vampire fings. And when I turned yeh I-I, I didn’t exactleh followed their rules. But I promise yeh I am ‘ere protect yeh and yeh’re going there to fix this and move on wiv our lives.” You couldn’t help but felt reassured by his words, laying against his chest as he held you for the reminder of the journey.

[charissenicolette]

Harry Styles, indeed: an artist appreciation post

“Does it ever drive you crazy/Just how fast the night changes?” So much can happen in ten years. Okay, so I’ve got a confession to make. 10–11 years ago, I didn’t really care for One Direction, and I didn’t get the hype around Harry Styles. I was 16 years old (3rd or junior year of high school) when 1D’s debut album came out, and I thought that it was kid’s music. I started listening to alternative rock during my high school years. I was into pop punk since freshman year, but then during the latter half of high school, I started listening to indie bands like Death Cab for Cutie and The Strokes.

Anyways, let’s fast forward a bit. We all know that 1D announced their hiatus, and the boys would go on to pursue solo music careers. I remember Harry Styles coming out with Sign of the Times. I remember this being somewhat intriguing because it had no traces of the type of music 1D did and because of its music video with Harry flying. I wasn’t the type who was into boy bands, so I also didn’t care about solo material from former boy band members.

Before I started listening to Harry, I wasn’t familiar with the rest of his music. I remember hearing a bit of Adore You once on the radio, but I really didn’t pay much attention to it. This year, I began listening to him a few months ago. Two of my maternal cousins like his music. I remember one of them posting her Spotify stats from 2019 as an Instagram story. Her most popular artist of the decade was One Direction. I was shocked because I had no idea she listened to their music. She said that she finds Harry impressive.

Fast forward again. Let’s talk about 2022. It was in June when my brother was playing his favorite 1D singles (LOL, he only cares about singles; he’s not an album listener like I am). I suddenly started to appreciate You and I. I messaged the same cousin about it. She mentioned Watermelon Sugar as a good Harry song. Another cousin posted Harry’s House on her Instagram story, saying that she liked it.

So I decided to check out Harry’s songs. To be honest, I didn’t like them at first. I thought they were lacking something. When I first listened to Watermelon Sugar, I thought that it sounded interesting, but I didn’t like it enough to consider it a good song. Matilda was the first song I liked, but I still didn’t like the rest of his music yet. I forgot the exact moment I considered myself a fan, but it eventually happened. His music basically grew on me.

If someone had told me six years ago that Harry would be making great pop or rock music, I wouldn’t have believed them. If my 16-year-old self found out that my present self loves Harry and his music, she would’ve been in disbelief (maybe she would’ve laughed). She’d probably be like, “What?” or (if you’re Filipino, you’ll understand) “Weh?” Yes, I’ll say it. I never knew that Harry could be capable of coming up with awesome pop or rock music. I remember listening to Kiwi as I was going through his music and being pleasantly surprised. I really loved the spunky rock vibe that it gave off and the lyrics, “I think she said/’I’m having your baby! It’s none of your business!” being funny “in a cool way.” I was thinking, "If I had heard this on TV or the radio in 2017, I would’ve instantly loved it, and it would be the song that would turn me into a Harry fan.” Someone correct me if I’m wrong, but Kiwi wasn’t a popular single in the Philippines; Sign of the Times was.

He’s the “main pop boy” now, and I understand why. He’s a versatile singer dabbling with several genres such as pop, rock, folk, indie, soul, and funk. He can really sing (of course I checked out live videos), and there’s just something about his music that reels you in. I told a friend, “Harry’s music is aesthetic.” (To be more accurate, I said something along the lines of “Harry’s music is an aesthetic in itself.” — I don’t know if it makes sense, but you get the gist.

His first two albums are influenced by several of his favorite artists such as The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Elton John, Led Zeppelin, and Fleetwood Mac (60s-70s sound) but they don’t sound like a copycat attempt to me. Harry’s House is 80s influenced but I bet you’d be surprised to find out that he only listened to classical and instrumental music while making it. He's a retro influenced artist, but he’s got his own style (yes, pun intended).

[felinehypocritical]

fic request: bill and stan sleepover and their nightly routine (fluffy....if you would :)) thanks!!

“Yuh-you okay?” Bill stood behind his tiny boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his waist and setting his chin on Stan’s head. “Doh-hon’t think y-y-ourself to d-death.”

Stan looked up from his satchel, hands raised in surprise from his clothes. “What?” he asked quickly, his hands automatically floating to Bill’s. “What, Bill?”

That was one thing Bill appreciated about Stan- he didn’t resort to nicknames. He rather disliked them, actually, and rarely ever called Bill anything other than his given name. No ‘sweetie’s, no 'babe’s, no nothing. Just Bill. Short and to the point, just how Stan liked things.

Not to say he wasn’t funny- Stan was hilarious when he wanted to be and made Bill laugh all the time.

Stan wasn’t prudish, either, or necessarily strict; he just disliked babysitting his friends. He didn’t really understand that other people weren’t as mature and straightforward as he was, and expected everyone to have the same standards and reasoning as he did. Goofing off made him titchy and, though Stan looked cute with his hands on his hips and his foot tapping as he parented the other Losers, Bill preferred his partners happy and so always made sure he knew what to do.

His cynicism didn’t come from a place of hate or contradiction- Stan simply had a straight and ordered and mind, and if something misplaced one of his volumes of reasons, he would rush to jam it back into place, and could usually make it fit back in, which was nice.

The only problem with that was, he’d miss the spots in other parts of his imaginary library of reason that would fit the volume much better in his desperation to keep his world in constant order.

Temporary moral chaos was not an option for Stan. If he couldn’t immediately explain something with logic and reasoning, he didn’t want to think about it. All of these things were one of many things Bill loved about Stan, his scientific, mathematical little boyfriend.

“Nuh-nothing,” Bill replied. “Don’t wuh-worry about ih-it.”

“What?” Stan pressed, hating to be kept in what he thought of as the dark as always. “What did you say?”

“N-Nothing!” Bill rolled his eyes at the back of Stan’s head. “Stan, suh-seriously. I j-j-just wanted to know w-why you wuh-were so i-ih-nvested in your buh-buh-b-”

“Bag,” Stan finished for him. “I was just thinking about all the tests we have coming up.” Bill chuckled a bit at that. Of course Stan was thinking about tests on spring break.

Bill plugged his fingers into Stan’s sides, making him yelp and push him off. “Luh-het it go. That’s noh-hot impuh-puh-portant right now.” He kissed the stop of Stan’s head, inhaling sharply to smell the expensive shampoo the black-haired boy used in his hair. It smelled a little like rosemary, a little like campfire from the trip Stan just got back from. Most importantly, it smelled like Stan. “Juh-just focus on the /muh-moment/, Stanley.”

Stan pushed him off again, sitting on his bed and crossing his legs in his usual way; one ankle on the other leg’s thigh, hands bracing against the lower calf of the leg that was up, back almost stick straight. Very precise. Very Stan.

“Whuh-where are your p-p-parents?”

“Out,” Stan said shortly.

Bill grinned, striding towards Stan before taking his hands, nudging Stan’s long legs so they were both on the ground and pushing him back so he was laying flush against the bed on his back. “Yuh-you know what huh-h-happens when parents ah-aren’t home, don’t you, Stanley?”

“I do,” Stan agreed, twisting his hands so he was holding Bill’s wrists and rolling them over on the bed so that he was now on top of Bill. “What happens is that we watch a movie in my living room on the new television you desperately wanted to see and then take showers and go to bed.”

“/Showers/?” Bill said, laughing and scooting the two up the bed so that they were in the middle of Stan’s large, full-size bed. “Yuh-you take showers at sluh-sleepovers?”

“Yeah,” Stan said meekly. “I mean, I don’t get invited to many, and the ones I do go to are with Richie who doesn’t care. Is… is that not normal?”

Bill shook his head, propping himself up on his elbows and pressing a kiss to Stan’s lips. “Nuh-no. It’s not. B-b-but you’re nuh-not normal either, Stan U-Uris.” He made a sappy face at Stan. “Yuh-you’re eh-exceptional, b-buh-baby.” Stan could tell he was being purposefully cheesy, but he frowned anyways at the over-the-top sweetness, and Bill added quickly, “we c-can do whatever yuh-y-you want, th-though. We can t-take showers if y-you need.”

Bill knew, of course, about Stan’s obsession with cleanliness- anyone who cared about Stan did. But he also knew how important Stan’s routines were to him. Everything must be done in a certain way a certain amount of times, or a world-shattering catastrophe would happen, or Stan’s mother would drop dead, or Bill would get sick, according to Stan himself. He felt a quiet desperation to have everything just right, and nothing mattered more than that. For most people, cleanliness was next to godliness.

For Stan Uris, cleanliness /was/ godliness.

“That’s what we’ll do after the movie, then.” Stan finished the conversation promptly, detaching from Bill and standing up, heading downstairs. Bill had grown accustomed to this part of Stan, even to appreciate it, but many people thought it rude, he knew. When Stan was finished talking about something, he never changed topics- he simply walked away or picked up a book. He wasn’t ignoring you when he did it. He was simply finished. 'I’m finished talking’, it seemed to say, 'and I’m going to go away now.’

Bill pursued Stan down the stairs, looping an arm around the smaller boy and leaning into him a little at the hip. “Whuh-hat movie is it?”

“Buffalo Bill,” he replied, a faint smile splitting his lips. “I thought it was fitting.”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “Yuh-you hate Weh-hesterns, Stanley.”

“I know.” Stan smiled. “But Ben gave it to me, and I might as well watch it with someone who /does/ like Westerns.”

Stan was right- Bill did like Western movies. He liked the accents and the costumes. He sometimes thought about his friends as Western stereotypes- Mike the lone ranger, fingers hanging off of his huge, shining belt buckle. Ben the smiling sheriff, with his friendly gut hanging over his pants in his gingham shirt, his cheeks and face well-dimpled from grinning at strangers. Richie the drunkard in the saloon. Beverly the cowgirl. Eddie would be the young woman tied up on the train tracks, he thought with a smile. He himself would be the handsome lead, as people constantly told him he was. He never could figure out what Stan was, though. He couldn’t place Stan’s personality in Western tropes. He wasn’t a villain, but he wasn’t a hero either. Strange.

Bill gave Stan a quick, smiley kiss on the lips, leading him to the couch and pushing him into the cushions of the couch. “Thuh-that’s v-very juh-juh-generous of you. Th-thanks, babe.” He tried the pet name out, liking the way it sounded on his tongue. “I'l guh-guh-get your blankets.” He waited for Stan’s okay, and bolted upstairs to grab a fleece or two. He came back with a few, piling them all on Stan so that only his small face peeked out and his feet poked from the bottom, his wiry curls sticking through the woven quilt.

“Gee, thanks, stud,” Stan said sarcastically. Bill froze, looking up from where he was arranging the blankets.

“Huh?”

Stan rolled his eyes lovingly. “I said, thanks for the-”

Bill shook his head. “Nuh-no, I kn-know… What d-d-did you call me?”

“I- It was just a joke…” The boy looked at him carefully. “Why?”

“No, nuh-no, s-say it again.” Bill smiled toothily. “Juh-hust for fun.”

“I called you a stud.”

“Mhm.”

The two looked at eachother, before Stan rolled his eyes and scooted over to put his head on Bill’s shoulder. “You’re really something else, Bill Denbrough,” he said quietly, watching as the opening credits began to play.

“Buh-hut am I a st-stuh-stud?” Bill asked mischeviously, a glint in his eye that Stan recognized all too well.

“Bill Denbrough, don’t you even dare tickle me,” Stan said frantically, scooting quickly away from his boyfriend.

“I’m going to tuh-t-tickle you,” Bill responded, his voice firm and light.

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am!” Bill pounced, grabbing Stan’s hips and pinning them down, tickling all over Stan’s chest and torso until he was gasping for breath between laughs and twisting his hips to get Bill off of him. “Yuh-yes I am, yes I-I am!”

“Stop, oh please,” Stan gasped, tossing to and fro in his attempt to free himself. “Get off, I can’t breathe, Bill!”

Bill finally relented, dragging Stan so that his shoulder was, once again, Stan’s pillow. Stan slumped over, letting his head drop into Bill’s lap so he was glare-smiling up at him.

“You’re not a stud anymore,” he accused. “You’re a bad boyfriend.”

Bill pretended to flex his arm, trying to look ridiculous and ending up looking a little smug. “H-hey. Yuh-you can take th-the boy ou-ou-out of the st-stud, but y-you can’t take th-the stud out uh-of the boy.”

Stan snorted, lifting his arm to push Bill’s face away from him. “That doesn’t even make sense, jshut up.”

Bill pretended not to hear, pressing a finger to his lips and shushing his boyfriend. “The muh-movie’s starting, sh-shush!”

Stan complied, and they watched the movie in a lovely silence. Bill’s hands danced through Stan’s hair, winding his fingers through his coils and waves. Stan’s hair was thick, and curly, and a beautiful dark brown. It was beautiful, in Bill’s opinion. It went well with his olive skin and brown eyes. He loved running his hands through it and detangling the back for Stan, since he wasn’t flexible and didn’t ever quite reach the back of his hair. Everything about Stan was beautiful. Sculpted, even. He looked like a fashion model to Bill. Stan occasionally turned over or snuggled deeper into Bill’s lap, pulling the covers over his nose and sighing at the screen.

When the movie ended, Stan was sound asleep in Bill’s lap. The redhead smiled gently down at the snoozing boy, moving gingerly out from under him and sliding his arms under Stan so that he could pick him up.

He carried Stan to the bedroom, and no sooner had Bill set him down again then Stan woke up, sitting back and stretching. Bill looked at him in a mix of exasperation and love.

“Of c-course, the minute I puh-put you down you wuh-w-wake up.” Bill tutted, wagging a finger that Stan grabbed and used to pull Bill in so he could wrap his arms around the taller boy.

“Yep. It was my plan all al-long.” Stan punctuated the last word with a yawn.

Bill hummed into Stan’s forehead, leading him into the bathroom. “You b-big baby. Huh-how are you tired?”

“Westerns are boooring,” Stan complained, working on brushing his teeth and putting mouthwash in his cup at the same time.

Bill watched from the doorway, suggesting, “duh-did you forget about sh-showering?”

“Oh, shoot, I did forget!” Stan looked at Bill with the look of a caught rabbit. He HAD to take a shower. He HAD to.

The redhead took Stan into his arms, kissing him three times all over his face and looking down at him. “H-hey. Ih-it’s okay.” Bill rubbed the small of his back, trying to help him calm down. “Yuh-you took one th-this morning, didn’t yuh-you?”

“Yeah,” Stan said uneasily, “are- are you sure it’s okay?” he looked at his boyfriend with something akin to caution, begging Bill to not just say it was okay, but to make it okay.

Bill smiled reassuringly. “Y-yeah. We’ll be fine. You d-don’t have to wuh-w-worry quh-quite so much, Stuh-hanley.” Stan opened his mouth to object, but closed it quickly when he saw Bill’s sympathetic eyes. He was right, Stan knew, but worrying was safe. You didn’t get hurt quite so much if you were prepared for the worst.

But Bill was here, and he never got hurt when Bill was around, so he gave it a rest and stepped out of his small bathroom, shutting the door and letting Bill trail after him as he began to pick up his room, before hesitating and beginning to change into pajamas, seeming to change his mind about something.

“Whuh-hat’s that about?” Bill asked, referring to his boyfriend’s stop and start of cleaning his space. As we’ve already stated, Bill knew how much clean space meant to him.

“Don’t worry about it,” came Stan’s reply. “Just deciding not to do my routine for now.”

Bill shrugged. That made no difference to him; if Stan needed a break from routine, that was fine, because whenever Stan wanted a break from routine it meant great things for Bill.

As Stan changed, Bill took out his portable radio and began fiddling with the channels. Finally, he came upon the one he always listened to- the Bangor music station- and as Annette Funicello and her gaggle of backup singers started lilting 'Tall Paul’, Stan smiled and laughed a little.

“Whuh-what’s so funny?” Bill asked, turning to Stan happily as he snapped his fingers. Bill wasn’t much of a dancer.

“Nothing,” Stan said absently, beginning to make the bed into a two-person affair instead of the usual one. He moved his numerous pillows into different configurations as he said warmly, “this song just reminds me of you.”

“Thuh-this song?” He raised an eyebrow, thinking about the lyrics before grinning wide. “Juh-gee, that’s swuh-sweet.”

Stan ignored him, singing softly, “Tall Paaaul, tall Pau-aul, tall Pau-aul- he’s-a my all.”

Bill smiled at Stan’s back, walking up behind him and wrapping his arms firmly around Stan’s waist. He swayed back and forth a little, letting Stan hum and sing as he did so and kissing his cheek when he finished. “It’s guh-good to knuh-know you think uh-of me from time to tuh-tuh-time.”

“I think about you all the time,” Stan said earnestly, “so don’t think I don’t, Bill Denbrough-”

“I wuh-wasn’t saying that,” he said soothingly. “Luh-luh-love isn’t a cuh-contest, S-S-Stan.” Bill pushed Stan’s tensed shoulders down, leading him to the bed and sitting him down.

“Oh, I-” Stan cut himself off, thinking better of whatever he was about to say. “I know,” he said finally. “I love you, Billuick,” he began again, using the nickname just once for their special thing.

“Luh-luh-love you too, S-Sedanley.” Bill held up one half of a heart that he made with his hand, and Stan held up the other. They clicked them together- Bill with tempered excitement, and Stan with a noncommittal affection- and then let their hands fall into each other’s. Cheesy, they both knew and agreed, but it was something they’d always done. Like a secret handshake, but less… handshakey. More of a password, maybe.

Stan did it again, his little thing of walking away from conversations he was done with, and started to get into bed. He turned on his own, much nicer radio, letting the dull drone of Derry Public Radio wash over him. Stan always listened to things to help him fall asleep, and he supposed tonight was no different. Constant noise seemed only useful to Stan at one time- night. Bill wondered why that was.

“You coming?” Stan asked, patting the bed beside him. “There’s plenty of room.”

Bill grinned again, sliding onto the bed eagerly and letting Stan tease his way into Bill’s arms; hesitant at first, as he always was, before warming up to it and letting himself relax just a little. It used to bug Bill that Stan wasn’t ever comfortable with him, but he’d since realized that this was just the way it has to be.

They lay like that for a while, Bill separating and making little twists in Stan’s hair, Stan listening intently to the radio as he drowsed off. He occasionally would say something random or ask a question, one of the questions leading to a conversation that Bill would remember somewhere in the back of his mind for years and years to come.

“Bill,” Stan had asked, “do you think you’re ever gonna forget about me?”

“Of course not. Why do you think that?”

“I dunno… it’s just a feeling, you know? I mean, Eddie barely writes us anymore, and we hardly see Mike. I just… I feel like we’re all forgetting the same something. Something important.”

“Stuh-tan, you’re m-more important th-than anything to me. I cuh-c-could never forget y-you, okay?” Bill rubbed a circle into Stan’s back, his hands sure and strong.

“But what if you do?” Stan exclaimed, not sated, not satisfied. “what if I move and you forget about me, until you dont even remember we dated? And you wonder where your letterman’s jacket is? Bill, it scares me so bad, I- I never want to forget you.”

“You wuh-won’t.” Bill proclaimed this with perhaps too much confidence. “Stan, pluh-please, you’re oh-only working yuh-yourself u-u-up.”

Stan drew in breath, but didn’t say anything. “Okay,” he said, pained but agreeable, as always.

Bill’s stutter seemed to leave him for a moment as he focused on cheering Stan up. “And b-besides, I don’t think I’ll be able to forget you whuh-when you’re my lih-hittle house-husband.”

“Shut up,” Stan grumbled, hating the idea of house husbandry.

“Okay.” Bill mimicked Stan’s earlier tone, earning a kick from the annoyed Stan. “If you can make me.”

The rest of whatever they said is lost now- lost amidst the whispered 'I love you’s that Bill whispered into Stan’s ear as they did what any two teenage boys would do in an empty house. Lost amidst the quieter 'you too’s from Stan. Lost amidst the chatter of the radiohost and the whisper of sheets and the sound of sewers dripping in a slumber what would last another quarter century, and amidst car doors on the street slamming. But most importantly, lost in the infinitely changing winds of time, a small memory of no significance that almost no one would consider important, least of all the owners, until they lost it. Memories like those gave way to more adult worries, and slowly, they did end up forgetting.

Teenagers would always be wrong about what’s important, though, right?

An excerpt from the end acknowledgments in Bill Denbrough’s novel 'The Fallen Tree’, page 597:

’…And lastly, I’d like to acknowledge and thank the people I’ve forgotten indefinitely. I struggle to remember your names, I could not put it to a face in a crowd of two, but thank you. Your support has brought me here, brings me to new places.

One of you in particular eludes me, and I feel as if I have lost a part of myself whenever I remember you existed for me, in my minuscule universe. You helped me in ways I can neither remember nor imagine.

I loved you.

I loved you so much.’

[ceruleanvulpine]

re-rereadening the second

i got a knobbly old cat and a nice evening, it’s time for..... THE REPTILE ROOM.  aka, Sorry About How Much I Talk About The Netflix Show In This One. 

TV!Monty, with his increased competence, situational awareness, and being-played-by-an-excellent-actor-ness, is my favorite guardian so far. Book!Monty is..... harder to like..... but he does his best

i guess. 

Also WHAT is going on with Helquist’s Monty. 

.. I’ve just realized this PDF is just photo scans and not text, so I may be a little less quote-heavy with this one. >.> (Fake edit: wow it has copy and pasteable text despite appearing to be photos! Isn’t technology wild.)

...a handful of scraggly trees produce apples so sour that one only has to look at them to feel ill. [...] it encircles a horseradish factory, so the entire area smells bitter and strong.

I don’t remember if this is later #confirmed to be related to the happles, but I would be surprised if it wasn’t.

Count Olaf was so obsessed with getting his filthy hands on the money that he hatched a devious plan that gives me nightmares to this day.

Poor Lemony! ... “To this day” brings up the question of when he’s writing. The thing is, right, that Kit assigns the first few books to her class at Prufrock Prep, and that’s definitely before the events of the last two books even HAPPEN, so ... “to this day” might not be that dramatic. 

Mr. Poe, a family friend who worked at a bank and always had a cough.

At least he’s no longer claiming it’s a cold?

To each side of the door were lights in the shapes of torches,

Monty, I am baffled by your decorating sense. Snake hedges are fine by me, but what are theeese 

"Hello hello hello!" a loud voice boomed out, and from behind the door stepped a short, chubby man

Monty, I am also baffled by why you were standing BEHIND your front door AFTER it swung inward.

Uncle Monty winked at the children. "If you like, you may call me Uncle Monty as well, Mr. Poe."

"Thank you, Uncle Monty," Mr. Poe said stiffly.

I forgive Monty for being baffling, though, because it turns out that even in the book he’s messing with Poe. Good.

And somebody has to slice an enormous length of rope into small, workable pieces.

I love whenever there’s a contrived thing for Sunny to be helpful at...

The three Baudelaire children, who had been so anxious when they had walked through the snake-shaped hedges the first time, raced confidently through them now as they escorted Mr. Poe to his automobile.

[...]

"He doesn't seem intimidating at all," Klaus interrupted. "He seems very easy to get along with."

JUST LET THEM BE HAPPY... They also warm up to Monty much faster here than in the show! Which is sweet, but does take away the opportunity to have Monty give that heartwarming speech about dangerous reptiles and then have the moment IMMEDIATELY undercut by the revelation of his impending death, and you know I love to suffer. 

... page 19 is just missing. oh well, I can’t complain. ... I actually think I own this one, I’ll have to go look for it later. 

"Count Olaf sounds like an awful person. I hope he is torn apart by wild animals someday. Wouldn't that be satisfying?“

I mean, I agree, but UHH MONTY WHAT

Uncle Monty had reached a very tall wooden door with a large doorknob right in the middle of it. It was so high up that he had to stand on his tiptoes to open it.

I will take this opportunity to say that the fucking absurd door in the Netflix show was A+. 

a toad that looked just like a church, complete with stained-glass eyes.

???????

I am very, very sorry to leave you hanging like that, but as I was writing the tale of the Baudelaire orphans, I happened to look at the clock and realized I was running late for a formal dinner party given by a friend of mine, Madame diLustro. Madame diLustro is a good friend, an excellent detective, and a fine cook, but she flies into a rage if you arrive even five minutes later than her invitation states, so you understand that I had to dash off. You must have thought, at the end of the previous chapter, that Sunny was dead and that this was the terrible thing that happened to the Baudelaires at Uncle Monty's house, but I promise you Sunny survives this particular episode. It is Uncle Monty, unfortunately, who will be dead, but not yet.

Hi... yes... this is still a classic. The equivalent, hilariously calm moment in the show, where Lemony pronounces this and takes a drink of tea before returning to the main story, has produced outraged sputtering from everyone I have seen watch the show. 

every poisonous snake known to people,

To people! That is a charmingly awkward way to get around “known to man.” 

He taught them not to give the Green Gimlet Toad too much water, and to never, under any circumstances, let the Virginian Wolfsnake near a typewriter.

I had got the Virginia Woolf joke previously, but I only just discovered that the green gimlet is a cocktail! Someone please tell me if the Alaskan Cow Lizard, the Inky Newt and the Irascible Python are also puns.

"Remember that time," Klaus said wistfully, "when we were bored one rainy afternoon, and all of us painted our toenails bright red?"

Weh. 

"I'm not going to give you a tip," the bearded man was saying to the driver of the taxi, "because you talk too much. Not everybody wants to hear about your new baby, you know.”

Putting a button in this because of the possibility it’s TAXI-RELATED ARC PLOT and not just a demonstration of Olaf being a jerk.

For instance, sometimes when I am walking along the seashore, or visiting the grave of a friend, I will remember a day, a long time ago, when I didn't bring a flashlight with me to a place I should have brought a flashlight, and the results were disastrous. Why didn’t I bring a flashlight? I think to myself, even though it is too late to do anything about it. I should have brought a flashlight. 

I don’t know that we ever get more details about this incident?

"Futa!" Sunny shrieked, which probably meant something like "I agree!"

.. See, some of Sunny’s baby-talk dialog is clever references, but thankfully I don’t think this is one of them. 

The Baudelaires were terrified. Violet put her hands over her face and leaned against one of the reptile cages. Klaus sank into a chair, trembling so hard that his feet rattled against the marble floor. And Sunny curled up into a little ball on the floor, so tiny you might have missed her if you walked into the room. For several moments, none of the children spoke, just listened to the muffled sounds of Stephano walking up the stairs and their own heartbeats pounding in their ears.

WEH. 

Over dinner, Stephano told funny stories and praised Monty's scientific work, and Uncle Monty was so flattered he didn't even think to guess that Stephano was holding a knife under the table, rubbing the blade gently against Violet's knee for the entire meal.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

“Before we know it, the Incredibly Deadly Viper will be called the Stephano Snake, or something dreadful like that.”

the worst outcome imaginable!!

"Really, Klaus," Uncle Monty said, standing up and handing him the lamp. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that the lamp danced over to the window and leaped onto my shoulder? Please put this back in your room, in a safe place, and we'll say no more about it."

monty being suspicious of stephano but believing he is a herpetological society spy, instead of count olaf, and then refusing to realize that his suspicious behavior (including attempted murder by lamp) is suspicious, is.. so... frustrating. and i know it’s frustrating on PURPOSE, it is well-executed and the frustration is very much in line with the tone of the series, but i like tv monty (who at least knows the lamp is suspicious) better anyway. 

It was Stephano, or, if you prefer, it was Count Olaf. It was the bad guy.

I need a “Thanks Lemony” macro. 

In the final scene of the movie, the zombies and villagers celebrated May Day together,

@luckydicekirby LOOK.. WHY WASN’T THIS IN THE SHOW

"Thank God that didn't work," Klaus said, shivering. "Then Count Olaf would be my brother-in-law.“

Don’t know that that was the main problem, Klaus. 

"This is my knife. It is very sharp and very eager to hurt you almost as eager as I am. If you don't do what I say, you will suffer bodily harm. Is that clear enough for you? Now, get in the damn jeep."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

It is, as you know, very, very rude and usually unnecessary to use profanity, but the Baudelaire orphans were too terrified to point this out to Stephano. Taking a last look at their poor Uncle Monty, the three children followed Stephano to the door of the Reptile Room to get in the damn jeep.

Lemony’s narration making me laugh even though this is a serious scene, as usual. 

Its entire front had pleated itself together, like an accordion, and one hubcap was spinning noisily on the pavement of Lousy Lane, making blurry circles as if it were a giant coin somebody had dropped.

Somewhere in the cosmos, Terry Pratchett is pleased. 

"No. Dr. Montgomery—oh, excuse me—” Stephano turned away and pretended to dab at his eyes as if he were too sad to continue. Facing away from Mr. Poe, he gave the orphans a big wink before continuing.

You know, I was giving the show shit for Olaf being, like, too self-awarely funny? But.. uh... hm.

Page 107 is also missing! >:T

It looked like there was nothing he wanted to do more than scratch out Violet's eyes. "I misspoke," he said finally.

AAAAaaaAAAAaaaAAAAAAaaAAAAaaAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAA

“I have placed Dr. Montgomery's body in my car, which only leaves room for two more passengers."

SOMETIMES I THINK ABOUT HOW MONTY’S BODY WAS CARRIED OFF BY OLAF’S HENCHMEN, AND THAT’S UHH UNFORTUNATE

"Ackroid!" Sunny said, which probably meant something like "Roger!"

snicker snicker snicker

"I'm afraid that won't work," Dr. Lucafont said gravely. "The city laws won't allow anybody else to drive my car."

YOU’RE NOT A REAL DOCTOR..

There are two basic types of panicking: standing still and not saying a word, and leaping all over the place babbling anything that comes into your head. Mr. Poe was the leaping-and-babbling kind.

(Mr. Snicket is the first.)

"Aha!" Sunny cried, disentangling herself from the Incredibly Deadly Viper.

Sunny yelling “Aha!” in this scene is clearly evidence that she’s named after S. Theodora Markson, who was in the habit of yelling “Aha!” whenever basically anything happened, whether or not it was actually shocking. :P

I confess that if I were in Violet's place, with only a few minutes to open a locked suitcase, instead of on the deck of my friend Bela's yacht, writing this down, I probably would have given up hope. I would have sunk to the floor of the bedroom and pounded my fists against the carpet wondering why in the world life was so unfair and filled with inconveniences.

Instance the second of Lemony unfavorably comparing himself to the Baudelaires! Also, he’s on a yacht now? 

If, however, you were looking for anything in a haystack, that wouldn't be difficult at all, because once you started sifting through the haystack you would most certainly find something: hay, of course, but also dirt, bugs, a few farming tools, and maybe even a man who had escaped from prison and was hiding there.

The thing about playing “is this just a hypothetical situation or is it something from Lemony’s life” is that it’s almost always the second, but I don’t thiiiink he’s actually been apprehended yet. So. Maybe it’s from the past. 

He put the book down, and turned to Mr. Poe. "'Strangulatory' means—

"We know what the words mean!" Stephano shouted.

This is the SECOND time this joke has been reversed... apparently some VFD-member vocabulary stuck despite Olaf’s determined attempts to ignore it.

If this were a book written to entertain small children, you would know what would happen next.

(suspicious squinting)

"Gustav didn't quit," he said in his wheezy voice. "Gustav is dead! One day when he was out collecting wildflowers I drowned him in the Swarthy Swamp.”

RIP Dr. Sebald.

"You shouldn't tell lies, orphans," Count Olaf said.

"I don't think you are in a position to give moral lectures to children, Olaf," Mr. Poe said sternly.

This is just an encapsulation of the moral arc of the whole damn series, huh?

"But they're Uncle Monty's collection!" Klaus cried. "It took him years to find all these reptiles! You can't just scatter them to the winds!"

(for oblique reasons, waves tiny BEATRICE LIVES flag again, although I have now added an asterisk and the footnote “*just through the initial fire and then died anyway”)

LEMONY SNICKET was born in a small town where the inhabitants were suspicious and prone to riot. He now lives in the city. During his spare time he gathers evidence and is considered something of an expert by leading authorities.

This is the same description as the last one! (exasperatedly) go on the run already, lemony

[diary-iguess]

wahppn

J: nothing bad it was just really hot and i changed clothes twice

wake up 7 o clock for my interview, eat one piece a bread and some orange juice

ace di interview

dem tell me fi fill out the application twice

some yout try sell me a jelly candy

it cant open, but eventually does

Monique forwards

i meet her friend in the painting studio and we go get a box lunch

i sit down and eat the food

im sweating my life away

R: pepper?

J: before meeting the hustling yout, i left my portfolio in the hr office so mi did have to go back for it

no it's just hot af inna kingston

and i was wearing a long sleeve shirt

Paige seh him nah fwd fi di shoot

Thevrtistisjvmvicvn is sitting next to me, but i'm talking more than he

me a wonda how he can go school in full business attire and not become a puddle of sweat

Yanah appears and asks if she can have something nutritious

on campus

like a shake

Juice immediately says no dawg

Juice is working on a mythological drawing, but the paper he's using is trash and i tell him so

he says something about how it will still sharpen his skills and i said he needs watercolor paper if he's going to mix it with watercolor

is my story interesting?

i'm interested in telling a good story

R: I'm more interested in your friend's names

J: thevrtistisjvmvicvn said he wants to be a curator, but hasn't curated any shows yet

i tell him do that shit

lmao

R: Thevrtistisjvmvicvn, Yanah, Monique and Juice

I actually fucking love Juice

Now i know there are places I can't say that out loud

J: i ask my father if he can pick me up because Paige nah forward

he replies hmm

lmao have you seen the film?

my phone is dying and i have no credit because the tuck shop only selling $500 credit today

*back to the story*

i'm telling you this from my laptop

R: What parent says "hmmm"? was this a text?

J: yes

i knowwww

like

can't even K me

wtf

my shoes too big for me, so i stand on them instead of wearing them for a bit

Juice is playing music on his phone and one of the songs is from frank ocean's second project that he released the same time as blonde

my mind is blown

R: That must be some song

J: Yanah returns from the tuck shop with water still disappointed that there is no health food available

more mindblowing that he released two projects at once

i tell theartistisja that i like doing projects with many layers of meaning and process

i talk about my ananse storybook thesis and how i want everyone to know ananse is a deity and amina blackwood meeks taught me that

i say something like "yea, she's rad"

i talk about how the first time i met easton lee, i believed someone when they joked that he was 100 years old

and hoped that he didnt remember when i asked him if it was true

im dying laughing rn

my cousin invites me to sit and do work together at starbucks later

my father sends me a message "M is here, please call her through K-dollasign"

R: googled Easton Lee

J: lmao what did you find? he and my grandmother are friends

they're both legendary chinese-jamaicans

R: I can see he's definitely chinese-jamaican

J: yes and so is my grandma lol

R: author, poet

not bad

1931

J: but no doubt their swagger is enwrapped in their proximity to afro-jamaicanness

wow he's 87 this year

or 86?

M is my grandmother

i message K-dollasign

"i heard grandma M is here"

he replies "makes sense"

but intonates that he was not previously informed

i try to decode my father's message and K-dollasigns response

"makes sense"

he must be referring to Shutterbug's wedding

the same one i wasn't sure i was invited to

R: LOL

wow

are you going?

J: wait nuh man

R: lol

J: okay so i reach home, turn on my laptop

charge my phone

i frantically whatsapp my relatives

fb message uncle Macbook to get in touch w grandma

i try to search the internet for clues as to when this wedding will be

my sister says i should just ask Shutterbug if i can come

so i do that

uncle Macbook replies me with a different number to call, i call, get grandma

she says "no, no, no, you can't come to the wedding, the guests have already been counted and there's too many"

my heart sinks

i say, okay, well i can still see you today?

my cousin Carlton who wants to go to starbucks has arrived at my house

R: woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooow

J: i try to devise a plan with Carlton and grandma and my dad all talking at once to pick grandma up and she says something about not wanting to be stranded and i say we would never let that happen to her

the phone isn't working very well and at some point my father has the phone

i return to my whatsapp messages on the laptop and Shutterbug has replied!

"hey, we were overcapacity a few months ago, but there's some space now. if you can make it on sunday, please come"

i tell grandma what she said

"okay, but how are you getting there? and where are you going to stay?"

i had not thought of this second part

the wedding is in mobay

R: MUFUFUFUFU

on a beach

duh

just sleep on the beach and get dressed in someones room in the morrow

J: i quickly say "aunty Rose's"

and she has already said she's very busy today and the plan to see me nah work out

"see you in mobay then!"

okay bye grandma, i love you!

"i love you too sweetheart"

now i have to whatsapp aunty Rose and see if she will shelter me

and K-dollasign to see if i can drive with him

R: funny at points but not a bad day

J: Carlton still deh yah a try reach liguanea fi get some food

the story did not get resolved yet

lol

it wasnt a bad day just long af

R: wait what

J: let me try summarize

R: Well I mean, between Yanah's Healthy snack Crisis and the Wedding Snafu, I thought the day was sealed with you tryna get aunty Rose

J: I was also supposed to meet Pearl at starbucks for 3pm

when Carlton and i pull up to starbucks, Rose a walk up deh too

synchronicity

R: 'the hell? Starbucks is a spot now?

J: that's the culture of the company

im like baffled as to both my grandmother and father asking me if starbucks is an appropriate place to link and do work together

that's how they've been selling the place for at least the last ten years

i order a tall strawberry and cream frappe w coconut milk and Carlton is very excited to get a pumpkin spice frappe, no latte because he doesn't want to burn his tongue

yesterday Pearl showed me a video she edited featuring this black guy with ginger hair, Souffrant

Souffrant appears before us in starbucks and sits at our table

i'm supposed to edit my own video with Pearl's color correction advice, but i'm still trying to figure out my travel situation

before we went to starbucks, we walked to tastees and my mom replied to my frantic messages about grandma and the wedding with "ur not paying attention to what i tell u"

there's like a whole thing where i'm trying to get my cousin Jazz's number to ask if i can go from kingston to mobay with him because K-dollasign is unavailable.

aunty Rose says of course i can stay with her and of course she has Jazz's number

resolve dat, so mi have a place to stay and a drive

there are several unrelated phone calls that need to be made but mi still nah no credit, so i borrow Souffrant's phone

then the next chapter is me, Carlton, and Pearl trying to walk to sov after i finally finish editing my video.

i take some really dope shots of the sunset

pause for incoming illustration

R: i mean

sure

make hay

all of the birds with 1 stone

J: -picture of sov-

R: this is sov

dark

but its sov

J: it's the golden sunset reflecting off the walls

then we all go to kfc and then i try look for some shoes to wear to the wedding, but then mi nuh even know if it's really a beach ting, but never fear, my likkle sister is here to whatsapp me the link to the wedding info website the couple set up!

it's a garden brunch affair ting

so we think to go to lee's instead of payless and when we reach back in fronta payless di people dem close

so now i will go to the thrift store tmrw to cop a whole new fit from the dress to the shoes.

when i reach home my father is going to the airport and grandma (dad's mom, not the one i was tryna see earlier) asks me to come with them which i would have done anyway.

driving back from the airport, grandma's bajan soca music continues to play in the car, but it seems louder now without dad's voice. i try to talk to grandma about herself. i ask about high school. she says, "do you expect me to remember 50 years ago"

i'm like yes of course

she said

"well

i was head girl"

of course! i say

and she was also in charge of sports such as running

the drive back home is very slow because grandma cant really see in the dark

when we finally reach home and i lay inna mi bed, mi wonda why mi so tiyad

and now i know why

thanks for tuning in, this has been an appreciation for the life we live, by Jeana like jeans pants

totes forgot the best part where K-dollasign pulled up on Carlton and me in traffic when we walked back to the plaza to get to the car

then another man pulled up on us and Carlton cuss me jokingly bout how i know everyone and we probably see someone else weh mi know

#fabulous

R: like bloodcleet jeans pants

yea, cause clearly you're a superstar

beer people, links and visits

J: