#Pitchin OH

[larryshapiro]

Used rescue squad in Pitchin, OH served at Ground Zero

[gilly-moon]

Pitch & Alora from Shattered Pieces ♡

[charleslee-valentine]

Flesh and Blood need Flesh and Blood

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Month event: Day 6- Underestimated

Word Count: ~3,100

Warnings: Blood and violence. Accidental killing. Period typical ableism & ableist language. Mild panic attacks. Domestic abuse. Religious aspects.

_________

“Take him home. Now, boy.” Drayton Sawyer barks in his middle brother’s face, keeping his yelling hushed to avoid causing a scene.

“Y-Yessir.” Nubbins, for his part, gives a nod and takes off running, only stopping when his clammy hands wrap around the handles of a wheelchair.

Franklin’s wheelchair.

It’ll be a long walk from here, takin’ the road shoulder all the way from the gas station to home, but Drayton’s got a mess to clean and customers to serve that oughta take priority over drivin’ the boys home. Couldn’t be arranged unless it was planned, and nothin’ about today had been goin’ in that sort of direction.

The boys were all together in the station’s yard, running not wheeling or wobbling to the best of their abilities. Using whatever toys they could scrounge together they’d made a game, pitchin’ crushed soda cans, wads of dry gum, a bouncy ball, and so so long as they could smack it around with a bat. Ain’t no objective, though eventually they started trying to catch each other’s swings.

Bubba’s only nine still and learnin’ to upkeep all the things he’d been taught. It’s harder work for him to retain things in his brain, so he stumbles when he walks and struggles to hold a fork at supper, but that’s just Bubba. Mangled little face and all, that’s the Sawyers’ kid brother and he’s goin’ to be included in their play.

Ain’t up to no yuppie scum t’ decide who’s doin’ what and where. Don’t stop them from sharin’ uncalled for opinions.

“That boy out there, you ought lock him up ‘fore someone gets hurt. Teenaged, child, whatever. Don’t matter to them like that. Those are freaks of nature, ‘n whatever they are, they’s goin’ ruin it all the same. Comin’ after the comfortable. You know what I’m sayin’.”

The man wouldn’t stop lecturing Drayton about allowing Bubba to play in the yard with his brother and a friend, like that was the worst option. Like he had any clue of when Mama was perfectly willing to let the state take Bubba for a price, just before her disappearance from the picture. Had a lot of nerve bein’ so ignorant out loud.

Well thing is, Franklin was playing batter, and the man was storming over to lecture here too, and Drayton wasn’t quick enough comin’ ‘round the counter to stop it, and he just reacted. Swing the bat.

Broke the man’s nose on the first swing, saw blood and panicked. Kept swingin’ and jabbing with the bat ‘til his instincts told him the threat was gone and he could stop. Just like swatting a bug.

Except a man’s skull was spilling its contents all over the ground, and nobody even said a word. Nubbins went straight to helping his big brother carry it, Bubba took the bat and ran it inside. The practiced nature of what they were doing, hiding the evidence, didn’t really occur to Franklin just yet. His mind was focused on the trouble he’d face from the law or his parents or even God for this, nevermind if the Sawyers didn’t care.

Now Nubbins is just pushin’ him along like it’s not an issue in the world, and Franklin can’t help but worry out loud, “Oh Lord, why’d I do that?”

“D-Do what?” Nubbins tilts his head and leans down into Franklin’s line of vision, slowing their forward progress from leaning on the wheelchair so heavily.

“You saw me! I killed that man!” Franklin’s voice cracks harshly, his cheeks tinging pink from the embarrassment of that, as if that’s worse than homicide.

But Nubbins straightens out some and casually reminds him, “He was mean.”

Franklin blinks away the surprise of his casual nature and sputters, “Lots of people are mean! But I hit him ‘cross the head with a steel bat! That’s mean too, dontcha think?”

“Nawh.”

“Naw?! Nubbins I'm goin’ to prison. I beat a guy to death and my fam’ly gonna hate me, they ain’t never gonna let me back! Not even God’s gonna want me, it’s gotta be a sin to kill another man. Oh Lord I’m goin’ to Hell Nubbins!”

With Nubbins behind him and nobody around for miles, Franklin won’t deny he started crying.

Nubbins shocks him out of it again with a curious comment, “Wh-What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Franklin sniffles, picking at his nails nervously.

His friend downright giggles, “Hell. What’s Hell l-like? I-I never been there.”

Sometimes he forgets the Sawyers aren’t of the faith, seeing it’s so common in his own life. Had to lie downright and tell his mama that they’re church goers alright, just a different sect so they’ll never see them on Sundays. Think he said they was witnesses or somethin’. Sometimes it felt like God was more important to them than even he was, a lonely child ignored for the sake someone they don’t even know’s grace.

Now ain’t the time to be doubtin’ his beliefs, so he sticks to them, and explains, “Hell is where the bad people go when they die.”

“You isn’t a.. a bad people. That other guy was. H-He was mean to Bubba. Anyone m-mean to Bubba gots to sp-splatter.” One of his hands comes down on the rubber lined handle of the wheelchair, making a dull thud that rattles Franklin’s bones. Almost worse than his comment, “H-He smashed up r-real good too, Frankie!”

“Oh God, I’m gonna be sick..” Franklin gets overwhelmed until it tightens in his stomach and feels funny in his throat. He covers his mouth, “You got a bag I could throw up in?”

Despite Franklin’s urgency, Nubbins sounds so casual, “Jus’ lean o-over.”

“My spine is paralyzed silly, I cain't just lean any way I wanna.” Correcting him works to calm Franklin down some at least, staying level headed so he don’t yell at Nubbins over forgetting a good excuse to breathe normal.

“Oh. I c-can help lean ya.” He offers patiently, impressive for Nubbins.

Franklin decides a few deep breaths’ll do. “It’s alright- No I don’t think I’m gonna be sick no more. It’s alright.”

“My sick lasts a.. a l-lot l-longer than that!” There’s something like admiration there in his voice. Like it’s got nothin’ to do with Epstein-Barr and it’s just some talent Franklin has that makes him feel better.

He laughs softly, “That’s ‘cause you got a condition.”

“Nuh-Uh.” Nubbins argues, even though it isn’t true.

“Oh, alright.” Franklin just agrees ‘cause that’s easier. And things are good for a while, pleasant. ‘Til his worries come out again and the reality of running away from murder with Nubbins sets in, “You think your brother is mad at me?”

“N-No. Not you. H-He don’ hit no o-outsiders.”

“I ain’t an outsider. I’m your best friend.”

Switching to pushing the wheelchair with only one hand, he shakes out the other, happy from hearing Franklin say that. Nubbins wants Franklin to be happy too, “That’s true. B-But.. I won’ let him hurt ya! I-I’ll take the beatin’. It’s no t-trouble.”

Somehow, that brings more dread into Franklin’s heart, “Critter, that don’t make me feel better.”

Not knowing a better way to settle it, Nubbins just shrugs and keeps down the path towards home, imitating buzzing car engines as they pass, or the crunch of Franklin’s wheels along the cracking road. Ain’t all that worried honestly for the crime scene they’re leaving behind.

That’s when Franklin remembers that the second he had swung the bat, Bubba got overwhelmed by the confrontation and run off towards home. Can tell he’s in there from the curtains being drawn up tight when he knows for certain they was open when he got dropped off this morning.

Nubbins seems to remember about the same and takes off jogging a little faster down the rest of the drive, shaking Franklin’s wheelchair around accidentally. He lets it slide since it’s a big brother’s concern for his sibling causing the rush and don’t ask him to slow down.

After dragging him backwards up the stairs, Nubbins shoves the door open and calls out, “B-Bubba, you home yet?”

If they’re quiet, they can both hear a quiet chuffing noise deep in the house somewhere, Bubba making noises like a pig to soothe himself.

“C’mon L-Leatherface, answer me if- if you’s here!” Nubbins raises his voice some impatiently while pulling Franklin inside after himself.

This time they get some babbling in response, and though Franklin wishes he understood the little Sawyer’s language, he’s not a master yet.

It’s a good thing Nubbins answers his question just fine, “Yeh, I-I got Frankie with me. You c-come out. I need- I need helps with supper.”

Out of the basement he emerges, no sign of the distress beyond an extra layer of clothes, a soft jacket he wears when he needs the comfort. Don’t know who it belonged to for it to be so large, hanging down past his curled up hands and almost to his knees, but he loves that thing. At some point, Franklin realized it was a woman’s robe and thought it might belong to his mother, but she’s a mystery to Franklin too.

“Cook gonna be o-ornery when he gets home, so’s I-I want you to help make s-somethin’ good!” Taking on the big brother role, Nubbins bosses him around, “Me ‘n F-Frankie, we gonna clean up and get- get the house nice, s-so you gonna cook!”

All together they get it presentable, sweeping the floors and wiping down the counters. Franklin is assigned to the dining room only since he’s never been in the kitchen, setting up a fancy table cloth and some plates. Never seen the place look so tidy before, wonders if they only do cleaning up for the holidays or guests.

Somehow it all feels like he’s preparing for the gallows, sentenced to a hanging the very moment Drayton gets home and subjects him to whatever punishment he’s got to face. An eye for an eye, killed by the same bat maybe? The police called on him and shooting him blank in the head when he cries. Hopefully not one of the oldest Saywer’s signature beatings, he’d almost rather one of the other choices.

He’s shaking like a leaf by the time Drayton cracks the door open, talking to them at a low tone ‘cause he knows they’d be close, not stupid enough to hide after this.

“Boys. Today’s uh- been a big day, huh?”

Draytons words trail off into a chuckle, but everyone else stays silence. Franklin gives a wet sniffle, on the verge of tears again.

Putting his hands on the back of the master chair, he leans forward and glances down the table, showing a crooked smile. “Supper don’t look too bad. Uh. I brought you uh- somethin’ down from the station-“

Over his shoulder, he gestures to a grocery bag he left by the door.

Nubbins starts bouncing in his seat, drumming his palms against the table, “I-Is it the beeve!?”

“Don’t you go ruinin’ the surprise!” Drayton kicks the seat of his chair, all that modest cheer melted into fury in the literal blink of an eye, “Did you tell him?!”

Franklin swallows thickly, “Tell me what, sir?”

“About the meat!”

“No.. I.. No sir. I don’t got a clue what you’re talkin’ about. Either of ya.”

“In that case-“ He goes off to retrieve the bag and brings it to the table, raising it up along with his eyebrows at the same time, nudging it forward until he unveils what’s inside. Butchered meat, it seems, but the third piece comes out with lightly burnt skin left on, and a tattoo. “Congratulations, Franklin! You’re one of us now!”

“My- My firstie t-time was a long time ago. You’s jus’ a l-late bloomer like Bubba!” Nubbins adds, clapping Franklin on his shoulder over and over, like he’s petting a dog.

Franklin who’s mouth has gone so dry he’s got to down half his whole glass of sweet tea, “You’re talkin’ about killin’.”

“Uh-huh! Mine was a.. Bank man! B-Bank man come to take Drayton’s truck away, h-he put his hands on me, a-an’ I slashed his ugly neck r-right open!” Nubbins excitedly imitates an over-exaggerated spraying of blood by pushing air between his teeth and making the splatter with his hands.

It’s amusing, but the gravity of what they’re telling him holds Franklin’s joy down deep inside, “I jus’ don’t understand why. I never known anybody in the whole world to be like this. Killers this way.”

“We gots to eat.” Clearly repeating what somebody else told him, Nubbins gives a noncommittal shrug, “D-Dogs in the world ‘an stuff, w-we gots to eat each other.”

Ah. So he is right about that. Drayton cooked up the man he killed on accident and brought it home as some kind of treat for the boys.

Franklin tries to avoid havin’ to do the act by bringing up his own condition, diabetes type one, “Surely that ain’t good for my blood sugar. I got that disease you know, makes my sugar go up and down and I gotta watch it real close-“

“B-B-But you been eatin’ it j-jus’ fine all this time!” Nubbins interrupts him.

That’s when it clicks. He’s been doin’ what they do. Gettin’ so close to the Sawyers, the town loonies, was gonna end in somethin’ like this he s’posed. Everyone who said he’d always be a weak little baby, well they just didn’t know that he had it written in the stars he was gonna be a killer.

“Sally said the meat tasted rotten.” He comments vaguely, realizin’ he really is special this time.

Nubbins scoffs, never the biggest fan of Sally. “Sh-She would.”

“Oh hush. You aren’t to lay a hand on her, you hear?” Franklin scolds, but it’s just gently, just to make sure he isn’t doin’ the wrong thing by sittin’ at this table and not running.

Well, wheeling. He’d probably not outwheel Nubbins’ run, even if he’s got the arm strength to cave in a human skull.

“Never ever.” Making a cross over his heart, Nubbins declares it to him, “I swears, o-on my s-sick Granny.”

Dead granny. Franklin knows the woman ain’t still kickin’ no matter how much Nubbins insists she is. Though with this revelation he’s goin’ through lately, it prob’ly ain’t a lie that she’s in the upstairs of their house.

“Jesus. Well alright.”

The rest of the agreement is eat the evidence of his crime with the boys, then he’s free to go home. Seems so simple, it gets Franklin’s heart just pounding in his chest.

“I don’t.. Gotta keep up the killin’ now, do I?” He asks, on his way out to get driven back next door.

“Wouldn’t imagine.” Drayton is the only one out here yet while Nubbins runs around like a madman packing back up a bag of toys he’d scattered all around, forgetting Franklin wouldn’t get to stay forever.

“And I’m allowed to go home?” Franklin keeps asking, sounding feeble and scared.

This time he gets a scoff, like he should find that obvious, “Don’t do kidnappin’. Never let the boys keep one longer than a single night. After that- Lights out.”

One more, “And you really won’t hurt my family?”

“Not the girl, anyhow. No promises on your old man.” Drayton cackles, downright, like some kind of witch.

Franklin knows the bastard ain’t kind, certainly not to his own uncle Lefty or his wife, or actually his kids now that he thinks about it, but he’s not sure his Daddy deserves death over that. “That ain’t funny.”

“Wasn’t joking.” The oldest Sawyer assures him, cold smile dropping away again. “Siblings, they mean a lot more to the heart. You’ll understand that someday way I do.”

He extinguishes the cigarette he’d been smoking right in Franklins face by crushing it against a window sill, “That’s your little sister an’ I’ll respect it. Not a hair outta place on little Sally’s head.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“In exchange for that you keep your damn yap shut.”

Eagerly, to show he ain’t gonna two time, Franklin nods his head, “Yes sir! This stays between me and y’all and the Lord.”

He gets a disgruntled comment under Drayton’s breath that he doesn’t even hear, “Shit, you’re jus’ like your uncle, boy.”

His faith been tested today, but he oughta lean into it while he can. Keep himself from goin’ completely off the edge. Somehow the Sawyers seem to have managed that much, though, like Drayton said, they’ve got each other. God is so far away, nothin’ at all like a sibling he can hate or hold in his arms, depending on the day.

God severs the spine of a little baby and leaves him to die with prayers and prayers from his family that never quite reached him. Little babies grow up into boys in wheelchairs, who can’t even eat a handful of sweet berries without his body threatening to give up on him. Grow into killers, given the right support. Ain’t gotta let himself lose now.

Drayton seems to hear all that thinkin’ somehow, some twisted way of his, and goes back on his word on the truck drive. He waves Franklin away, “Go on and get. Nubbins’ll get ya back home. Tell ‘em I needed your help handin’ me tools down the station and lost track of time. They’ll believe that.”

A test of will or an alibi, he ain’t quite sure, but he nods his head. Just one thing he’s worried about, “If they don’t?”

“You tell me. We’ll do what needs done.” Drayton says it like it’s simple, and clenches one hand, bringing it up in the air and then back down. Franklin realizes he’s miming stabbing someone or beatin’ ‘em with a hammer.

“Um… Thank you Mr. Drayton. For not killing me too.” They both flinch when Nubbins finally slams the door open so hard it clatters against the wall, earning him a quick slap before they can continue on their way. “Um. Goodnight, sir.”

Halfway down the trail, Nubbins glances back at the shrinking house light.

“You scared of big brother, a-ain’t ya?”

“A little.” Franklin confesses.

Makes him a little sad when Nubbins whispers, “Me t-too..”

It’s them two that’re bonded. Theres bad on both sides, from a rotten temperament to a lack of care, to stuck up Sally and mean old Drayton. His home is with his best friend, in his heart, just as Sawyer as any of the others. That’s his comfort for a long time, knowing he’s capable, got backup when he needs it, and a dead body under his belt. Ain’t no invalid.

[hornyhornyhimbos]

𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨: 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐲𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨𝐬'𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

What is up, my fellow sluts and whores? Well, other than the obvious 😉

Sorry, anyway, it has been a hot minute since I have posted on here (apologies on my end, my brain is fried lol) but today I'm here to change that! I have put together some good ol' slutty fanfics for you guys to indulge in. Candy's not the only treat you're getting this year 😌

As always, this celebration is not limited to just this account. There will of course be SFW fics on both @reidsaurora and @honeysuckleharringtons if those tickle your fancy as well!

▪︎ October 25th:

Steve Harrington 🕯 Pitchin' A Tent?

In which Reader and Muse try on their old scouts uniforms in hopes of using them for Halloween costumes.

▪︎ October 26th:

Aaron Hotchner 🕯 Michael Myers and Chill

In which Reader and Muse completely abandon their horror movie in favor of more desired activities.

▪︎ October 27th:

Jonathan Byers 🕯 Love Potion No. 9

In which Reader and Muse accidentally consume a serum of desire and have to find some way to rid themselves of their pent up feelings.

▪︎ October 28th:

Luke Alvez 🕯 Seven Minutes In Hell

In which Reader and Muse are paired for a game of 'Seven Minutes In Heaven' at the office's annual Halloween Party.

▪︎ October 30th:

Eddie Munson 🕯 Oh, Bite Me!

In which Reader proceeds to tease Muse in a haunted house.

▪︎ October 31st:

Spencer Reid 🕯 It's A Scream!

In which Reader and Muse simply cannot wait long enough to take off their costumes after a long night of keeping their hands off each other.

mutuals! feel free to share the sluttiness!

@dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @reidsbookclub @writer-in-theory @serenity-lattes @foxy-eva @reidselle @battymunson @reputationmunson

celebration post art: me!

halloween dividers: @firefly-graphics

[the-gateway-to-madness]

Pitch Black Headcanons/Analysis/Ramble/Nonsense?

Never ask someone who made a Pitch Black kid rotg oc for their Pitch headcanons.

(Jkjk party time)

This one's gonna be less of a list like the Jack posts and more of a ramble so let's gO

Alright, so first of all, there's two different origins for Pitch- one in book canon and one established for the movie canon in Johanne Matte's (one of the movie artists) unofficial comics. The book one is the one most people use, where Pitch was once a man named Kozmotis Pitchiner and was possessed by fearlings or shadows or the like.

Very neat, but I actually am much more intrigued by the characterization found in Matte's comics. These indicate that Pitch is a somewhat cryptid or eldritch sort of monster, pure primal fear, and existed before humanity; it also establishes that Pitch and some other primal, pre-humanity spirits became fascinated by and drawn to humans' imaginations.

If you want to create or justify a Pitch kid oc, both this backstory and this weakness for storytellers could do it without trying to weave in book canon to make Pitch a character that would have children. Just say he met a particularly enchanting storyteller, and bam, you have a basis for your Pitch kid oc. That's what I did. (You're welcome- lol jk)

Now, you could argue this is semi-canon, or canon-adjacent, and not a headcanon of mine. HOWEVER, this and one other comic Matte did (wherein Jack meets an ancient, wild spirit called Old Hills) DO lead to a headcanon of mine, which is this:

There are two types of spirit. The first kind are deeply tied into the essence of the wild and the world, like fear, forces of nature, and death. Pitch is a Primal spirit. The second kind are Chosen spirits, given power by the Man in the Moon, who coexist with humanity and represent their legends, their stories that make them so unique and powerful, and the ways that humans perceive the world and natural phenomena. Mythological figures that explain weather, or folk tales like the Guardians, are Chosen spirits.

Oh hey look I do actually have a list for y'all-

If a spirit and a human have children, those children are mortal until they earn their own powers.

Primal spirits and half-Primals have scent glands for marking their territory all over their bodies. I.e., Pitch is actually a cat.

Pitch's teeth grow back in rows, like a shark's. The back rows are very small.

Pitch likes to enjoy a cup of warm apple cider and a good book now and then. During spooky season, especially, he gets to relax a bit because humans are doing a chunk of his work for him.

Pitch likes mystery novels.

Pitch's greatest worry, if not fear, is people who become so numb that they no longer have any solid, deep fears themselves.

Pitch finds human psychology genuinely fascinating.

Pitch is a good artist.

Pitch is a dog person.

Pitch really likes seafood.

Citing my sources here:

[sylphidine]

[NDU] Scratch Spins And Shadow Dances

Written for the annual Rise of the Guardians Stocking Stuffer event for 2023.

@rotgsecretsanta

Prompt 30 - NDU Verse (Pitchiner and Pitch)

________________________

“Skiing?” “Good God, no.”

“Ice fishing? Snowshoeing? Tobogganing?”

“I haven’t a clue what that last one is, but it sounds truly vulgar.”

“Oh, come ON. It’s like a long flat sled that’s got a big curl up front, but no runners. You can fit like four or five kids on it, you shoot down the highest hill you can find, and you all jump off before you fall into the ravine or hit a tree.”

“Then I certainly haven’t participated in such a thing.”

“Seriously? Nobody ever did winter stuff with you when you were a kid? That’s just sad.”

“Winter weather out-of-doors involves getting cold and wet. I would think you would know me well enough by now to realize that being cold and wet irks me."

Pitch leaned forward from where he was perched on Coz's lap and gave him a rare, affectionate cheek nuzzle instead of a spiteful ear nip. He continued, "If you can keep your mind out of the gutter, I'm sure you can guess my OTHER favorite indoor winter sport, by simple process of elimination."

Coz gave him a shit-eating grin back. "Hmmmm… pickleball?" 

That earned Coz a hard smack on the shoulder as Pitch hissed like a scalded cat. “Do you really think my mother would allow such a pedestrian, uncultured, NOISY pastime in her house?”

“Nah, I guess not. Alright, Mr. ‘I’m too sexy for my pickleball’, I give up.  What indoor winter sport does the lofty Black family approve of and you call your favorite?”

With the air of one conveying a secret for the ages, Pitch replied proudly, "Ice skating!"

Coz mulled that over, confused for a minute until he figured out that by "indoor winter sport", Pitch was referring to an actual skating rink. He responded, "Huh. We finally have something in common."

“You skate?”

“Of course I skate.  You can’t grow up on the border of The Great White North without learning how to ice skate.”

“I’m not talking about ice hockey, you oaf.”

“Neither am I! Not to mention being part Russian. It's in the blood. You’d be surprised at what I can get up to when I’m bladed up.”

“Hmmmph.”

“I’m guessing that you and Piki grew up with little silver blades on your feet, to go with the silver spoons in your mouths.”

He'd meant that to sound banter-y, but it was apparently the wrong thing to say.

“If you’re going to be rude, I’m going to skip this line of inquiry.” Pitch started to wriggle off of Coz's lap, but not before Coz saw a flash of hurt quickly cross his bedmate's sharp-featured face. He shot out one beefy arm, circled Pitch's slim waist with it, and hauled him back in, holding him close to his chest.

"Hey. Hey, hey. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I was only trying to say you must have been really cute on skates when you were a kid."

"Hmmph," Pitch groused again, but sounding less annoyed this time. He relaxed a bit in Coz's grip.

"My Russian great-aunt ran a skating concession stall up in Malone when I was little," Coz continued, "and she was really patient with the kids. If I close my eyes, I can see you there, too."

"Maybe in another lifetime," Pitch said musingly. "I doubt that my parents ever wintered  north of Saratoga Springs."

Coz wisely held his tongue this time, resisting the urge to scoff at the notion of rich people “wintering” in spots that saw not even half the snow he was used to. He said instead, “So. You. Me. Ice skating. Interested?” 

“You’re on. But ***I *** get to pick where and when.”

“Anything you say, dear.”

_____________

“You do know we could have just driven down, parked at my grandparents' place, and taken the subway here, don’t you?” asked Coz a week later from the backseat of the town car he and Pitch were currently riding in.

“Yes, we COULD have,” replied Pitch smugly, “but I wouldn’t want you all tired out and stiff before we even got to the rink.” Pitch couldn’t help grinning at the double entendre he’d slipped in there, and from the grin and the “oh HO” he got as an answer, Pitchiner hadn’t missed it. 

He gave himself a pat on the back. Had this been his twin brother trying to impress Jack Sickle, Piki would have sprung for buying a VIP package with unlimited skate time, never thinking to ask if Jack even LIKED ice skating, finding out the hard way about Jack’s traumatic past experiences with frozen water, and then flailing around for the rest of the date while Jack fell apart emotionally.

Pitch had more awareness of others’ sensibilities than Piki did, or ever would. [Never mind that it had been PROTO who’d told Pitch about how Jack’s sister died.  Information was still information.] He gave himself credit in finding out what Pitchiner considered fun, and had planned this outing accordingly. 

And no, this was not a date. He wasn't in love with dating Pitchiner.

Yes, it was Rockefeller Center. But no, he wasn’t trying to make a splash with money the way Piki would have.  Pitch’s current intent was to rent some skates and to do two 40-minute skate sessions with food and hot beverages in-between. Even the round trip limo service that he'd arranged between the NDU campus and midtown Manhattan was a practical concern, not meant to be flamboyant.

Nothing extravagant, therefore. Just something that normal people did at Christmas time.

Not a date.

He promised himself he wouldn’t laugh… much… at Pitchiner’s skating. After all, The Rink at Rockefeller Center was not some glazed-over puddle in the backwoods. Indoor ice skating required thoughtful panache, not mindless brawn.

An hour later, Pitch found himself taken aback.

He was used to looking at Pitchiner with attraction and lust. And quite frankly, who wouldn’t? He was muscled in all the right places and had a handsome face, even with the crooked nose.

Pitchiner in bed with Pitch was one tasty feast of a man.

Pitchiner on the lacrosse field was an unstoppable force of nature, one Pitch had to admire even if he didn’t understand the rules of the game. Not that Pitch would ever admit to such admiration out loud. 

But Pitchiner on ice skates… well, “beautiful” was the first word that leapt to Pitch’s mind, and once having leapt there, the word “beautiful” refused to be dislodged.

Somehow Pitchiner managed to convert his formidable muscle and sinew into something tight and focused. He wasn’t showy with his axels and spins. But he stuck every landing, pulled himself into and out of crouches and slides, and dammit, his sensual movements made Pitch regret his extra layers of clothing.

Pitch had at first restricted himself to circling the outer perimeter of the rink, with occasional twirls when he could be sure not to crash into other skaters. Having seen Pitchiner in action, he made up his mind to let loose, just a little.

He put on a bit of speed and caught up to Pitchiner, pulling just ahead of him in the circuit. Wordlessly he held out one gloved hand and was relieved to have Pitchiner reaching back.

Together they skated in silence, hand in hand, keeping pace with each other, complicated feelings on both sides expressed in motion, without words.

[askthestans]

Stan and ford pines do you aware that you had fandon of your own who like making fanart about you and do you aware of fanfiction

Stanley: I dunno, ya might not wanna bring up fanart and Stanfiction in front of Sixer here. Not after the... incident we had a few days ago.

Stanford: I’ve seen many disturbing things in my life, but that horror we witnessed was beyond even what the nightmare realm could conjure. That’s why I destroyed it.

Stanley: You’re tellin’ me that you, Dr. Dorktron 3000, who built a portal because ya wanted ‘girls to start talkin' to you finally’, is offended that folks on the internet drew you in a rather generous light, some of them likely including girls? And not just pictures! They write stuff about you, too. I know we skipped out on nearly forty years together, but the Ford I knew as a kid woulda been overjoyed to get that much attention.

Stanford: Yes, but I want adoration for my mind, Stanley! For my contributions to science. My body is merely a vessel for me that I have to maintain on occasion so that I can continue to pursue this world’s mysteries. What use is attention for something I can’t control? I’d rather I be lauded for what I’ve achiev-

Stanley: There it is.

Stanford: What?

Stanley: *raises voice* Oh internet, don’t make pictures of me! I may be a silver fox and can’t control my studliness, but please notice my big sexy brain instead!

Cut the bull, Ford. Also, you look like me. I don’t mean to brag, but there’s a reason they call me Hunkle Stan. And if the internet can love a chubby old conman like me, well... you’re like the fitter version of that. Put two and two together and it just makes sense.

*Ford opens his mouth to argue, but pauses. His brown eyes widen and his brows raise, as if realizing something for the first time. The expression quickly leaves, though, replaced by a neutral face. Though anyone looking closely would notice that he is fidgeting with his hands, at first behind his back, then brings them forward and rubs one of his sixth fingers.*

Stanford: *sighs* Alright, fine. I won’t bring out any more nuclear weapons if the internet continues to make art of me... for whatever reason. But it better be fanart that emphasizes my dedication to knowledge, my skill with advanced weaponry, and most importantly, my bold sense of adventure into the world’s greatest - and weirdest - unknowns.

Stanley: A badass, then?

Stanford: A smart badass, to be exact. A scientist who’s as willing to investigate the strange as he is to protect those he loves from it. Something along the lines of this:

Stanley: Well, internet, you heard the man. Ford wants pictures and stories about being a sci-fi sideburn badass. No more speedos. Though if some were to just happen to show up in my mailbox...

Stanford: Nukes, Stanley.

Stanley: Hey, ‘til you start pitchin' in towards the electricity bill - which is ridiculous thanks to your nerdamagookery downstairs - I’ll do anything I need to to keep this place running. Just think of all the hunkle art and merch we could sell to hordes of fangirls in the gift shop!

Stanford: Nukes.

Stanley: Pfft, alright, fine! Wet blanket...

---

*That night, Stan walks down the Shack hallway to use the bathroom. However, someone’s inside. Stan is certain it’s Dipper, as he’s the usual culprit when the bathroom is occupied and music is blasting within. However, there’s no BABBA to be heard. Instead, synths and distorted and glitchy sound effects can be heard, as if someone is listening to a science fiction movie soundtrack. A little quieter are the small ‘pew pew’ and explosion noises, obviously made by someone’s mouth.*

Stanley: Hey, Dipper, quit nerdin’ out in there! All that Pitt Cola I drank is kickin’ in and-

*The music stops. Pure silence.*

Dips!?

*The twins peer around the corner.*

Dipper: Grunkle Stan, I’ve been in the living room for hours.

Mabel: Yeah, we’ve been watching this cool new show called Things are Strange! It’s about this little town in Indiana and there are all these mysteries and hot teenage boys and this cute monster called the Demogorgon!

Stanley: What? Then who...?

*Stan narrows his eyes and puts his fists on his hips.*

Ford? Ford, I know it’s you in there!

Stanford: I’m busy!

Stanley: Even with that permanent stick up your rear I know it doesn’t take ya that long to finish. And what’s with the nerd music? Look, Poindexter, you’ve got to the count of three...

Stanford: Stanley, this is my house! I can stay in my own bathroom for as long as-

Stanley: Two... I’m pullin’ out a bobby pin!

*A loud bang sounds as Ford puts himself up against the door. Stan takes out a bobby pin and unlocks the door faster than what seems physically possible.*

Alright, what are you doin’ in...?

*Stan manages to push the door back to reveal Ford in the bathroom, shirtless but wearing the pants, boots, and oversized goggles he wore when he walked out of the portal a year before. His scars and burns and healed wounds from the other dimensions are on full display. The rifle he had carried back from the portal is wrapped in his arms, as are two of his pistols, latched into hip holsters. His turtleneck and trench coat are nowhere to be found. The only tell of what might have just been going on is that the steam in the mirror from an earlier shower has been wiped away.*

What in the absolute- Ford? What the hell were you doin’ in here?

Mabel: Grunkle Stan, don’t be so rude to Grunkle... *Peers in alongside Dipper.* 

Stanford: *Cheeks turn beet red.* There... there was an eldritch beast that wandered in here. I had to make sure I killed it.

Stanley: Why were you playin’ music, then?

Stanford: I... I needed to distract it.

Dipper: Why’s the mirror cleared off?

Mabel: Wait, Grunkle Ford, were you posing in front of it?

Stanford: N-no! I told you, there was an eldritch abomination in here! Now, clear out while I continue to look for it. If it harmed any of you, I don’t know what I’d do.

*Stan, Dipper, and Mabel glance at each other silently. Stan and Mabel burst out laughing, meanwhile Dipper's eyes get nearly sparkly as he glances at Ford’s guns and scars.*

Stanford: I’m telling the truth! *Pushes them out and shuts the door and locks it again.*

Stanley: Oh sure, Ford. Be sure to put the sci-fi doofus track back on before you continue your epic nerd adventure!

Dipper: For what it’s worth, Grunkle Ford, you look cool!

Stanley: Quit kissin’ his butt, Dipper. Yeesh, keep talkin’ like that and I’ll start thinkin’ you write fanfic for Ford like Soos does.

Dipper:

C’mon, you don’t think I’d write fanfiction about my own great uncle, would you? What would I write about, anyway? How cool he looked coming out of that portal? How much I hope I turn out like he does someday, all buff and smart and awesome and battle-scarred?

Stan and Mabel: *Raise a brow.*

*Eventually, all three walk away from the door, Stan grousing about having to use the outhouse this late at night.*

Stanford: *Looks at the CD player by the sink.* Sorry old friend, looks like I’ll have to go without you from now on.

*Ford puts one boot up on the closed toilet, adjusts his goggles around his neck just so, then holds up his rifle with one hand somewhat behind his torso, the other angled so that his bicep is flexing. It’s at least another hour of him going through different poses in front of the mirror, some with the rifle, some with only one pistol, a few times with both pistols out. Through it all, he makes pew-pew and explosion noises.

When he hears that the Shack has become quiet, he finishes, nods at himself in the mirror, then heads out to go back up to his room. But first, he decides to go down to his lab to put the large rifle back.

He walks into the Gift Shop to find someone is there. He lifts his pistol and cocks it at the figure.*

Soos: Dood! Put it down!

Stanford: Soos? *Puts pistol down.* What the hell are you doing here this late at night?

Soos: Well, what are you doing here, in the Gift Shop, late at night, looking so... hunky?

Stanford: ...

Soos: ...

Stanford: Put that down! Wait, hey-

*Soos runs out of the Shack, screaming something about doing it for the internet’s sake. Also, because Stan said he’d pay him for any and all shirtless Ford pictures he could scrounge up.*

[raitou-otcha]

'Oh! I'm too young! I'm only thirteen million years old!' - de-aged Kozmotis pitchiner black. They thing its a young pitch black but it ain't.

[bowlingforgerbils]

octonewton 👀 wywutmsequel 👀👀

octonewton is a Pacific Rim fanfic in which Newton is a merperson, but with an octopus lower half instead of a fish. He saves Hermann after a fall on the beach and romance ensues. I unfortunately never got farther than the little flashback scene at the beginning in which Hermann and Newt briefly meet as children. Here's a snippet:

He bends down to examine the pearly underside of a mussel shell. When he straightens, there is a boy in the water, waist-deep.

The boy smiles at him and waves. He doesn’t look any older than Hermann. “Hi!” He calls out. “What’s your name?”

“Hermann,” the boy on shore answers automatically. He doesn’t think to ask the same question.

The boy smiles wider. “That’s a funny name. I like it. Are you collecting shells?”

Hermann looks at his little bucket and hugs it to himself protectively. He has to share nearly everything with his brother, and the shells are his alone. But the boy is far away, and it isn’t nice to lie, so Hermann finally nods. Yes, he is.

“What’s your favorite kind?” the boy in the water asks.

Hermann loosens his grip on the bucket slightly. “Sea snail.”

“They don’t taste as good as oysters,” the boy in the water says.

 Hermann wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want to eat them, I just like the shells. They follow the golden ratio. That makes them prettier than oysters.”

Even from the shore, Hermann can see the boy roll his eyes. “Well, oysters are cooler because they look like rocks but they’re alive.”

“What’s so cool about a rock?” Hermann demands, but the boy just sticks out his tongue.

Then he dives under the water and disappears.

Hermann frowns to himself and listlessly sorts through his shells. He didn’t mean to pick a fight with the other boy, and now he wishes that he hadn’t. 

wywutmsequel is the sequel to When You Wish Upon the Moon, a sequel that I have been plotting for ages and writing draft after draft and throwing each one away. I don't know what my problem is, probably I have put too much expectations on myself. Anyway, here's a snippet that is just as likely to be thrown out as every other iteration I have written, so don't get too attached:

They had been wandering the Gettysburg Battlefield, a site purportedly haunted by its many fallen soldiers. Pitch loved visiting “spooky” places and watching the humans make fools of themselves trying to get proof of ghosts with their phones and cameras. Sometimes Pitch would give a paranormal enthusiast a jolt of fear, and Sandy never protested because they were adults, not children, and it was admittedly a little funny to watch someone jump in the air and scream.

But on this particular night, Pitch had been more pensive than mischievous, his gaze wandering over the monuments, shadows trailing behind him. He paused to look over a statue of a man on horseback, his wide brow creasing in thought. “Sandy… when you were a star pilot… did you ever meet him? The General?”

Sandy blinked and read the monument’s plaque in confusion. <i>Winfield Scott Hancock?</i>

“No,” Pitch hissed, before recomposing himself. “No, I meant me. Him.” He looked away, as if embarrassed. “Kozmotis Pitchiner.”

Oh! <i>Only once</i>, Sandy replied quickly, turning his attention to Pitch. <i>I was a cadet out on patrol when I spotted a large fearling. I tried to take it down but it was too big for my ship and likely would have destroyed me if it weren’t for General Pitchiner. He swooped in and saved the day.</i> Sandy gave a little smile at the memory before adding sheepishly, <i>He chewed me out afterwards for being reckless and taking on more than I could handle.</i>

Pitch snorted. “Sounds familiar,” he murmured, half to himself, but his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

<i>He also told me that I had some of the best moves he’d ever seen for such a young star pilot. I was so starstruck that I could barely thank him afterwards. We helped one another out a few times over the years in battle, but that was the only time he ever spoke to me.”

“I see…” Pitch turned away, as if disappointed, and added acerbically, “Must have been devastating to lose such a heroic figure…”

Sandy floated up so that Pitch could see his sand writing. <i>It was. But as much as I admired him, I didn’t know him. He wasn’t my friend.</i>

Something warm and vulnerable flickered in those tarnished silver eyes before something past Sandy’s shoulder caught the dark spirit’s attention. “I can’t believe it. That idiot over there brought a <i>ouija board</i>.” Pitch’s mouth curved up into a nasty grin. “A moment, Sandy, while I give him a little lesson in spirit etiquette.”

And that was that. Pitch never brought up the General again.

[smolbluebirb]

I've been playing around with a Mungrove concept for a Rise of the Guardians AU and I wanted to ask, if y'all don't mind helping me out:

It occurred to me that... Billy Hargrove was possessed by an alien hivemind that used him to destroy his home... and Kozmotis Pitchiner/Pitch Black was possessed by an alien hivemind that used him to destroy his home...

If you have no idea what I'm talking about and have read this far, a popular fanon redemption arc for Pitch Black, the villain from the Rise of the Guardians movie, pulls on his backstory from the Guardians of Childhood books and would have Jack Frost go looking for Pitch Black after the events of the movie, realize he was just a dude who'd been possessed by an evil hivemind, and try to save him.

I really like the idea of slapping the Stranger Things cast into this AU and giving Billy this redemption arc - and Eddie Munson would actually be a fucking perfect Jack Frost. He has no idea what any of these people's backstories are and honestly wants nothing to do with any of this, but he can't make himself stand by when his kids are being threatened.

So basically I really want to write a Mungrove twist on BlackIce but I don't know if Mungrove fans would have any idea what's going on if I set the story after the events of Rise of the Guardians and just alluded to them, or if I'd need to do a movie rewrite and then hop into the Mungrove in a sequel.

If this idea sounds cool feel free to comment or tag and tell me that, because that would make me 110% more likely to actually write this!! If I'm the only person who's interested I will probably just write it in my head lmao.

[windlion]

Trick or treat!

Happy Halloween! :D Thank you for coming by--

"Or better yet, ask him. You'll find Jamie is . . . uniquely positioned to advise you on the rewards you reap for being a strong believer."

"It's like. . . the brighter you are, the darker the shadow you can cast. It wanted to take me over because I was good, good enough that it could be really strong." Jamie suddenly swings his head up to stare at Pitch with dawning horror, "That's what happened to you, isn't it? You . . . you were really good. That's why you could hold it, no matter how strong it was."

Pitch drawls, "General Kozmotis Pitchiner, hero of the Golden Age. Nothing but the best. Forgive me for not clapping."

"You're still him, aren't you."

"No," Pitch snaps sharply. "That would be a mistake. I am every bit as much the fearlings that consumed Kozmotis as I am him."

"But . . . that means Kozmotis is still part of you."

"Exactly how much a part of the dragon were you, Jamie, when it was terrorizing your friends and knocking Frost out of the sky? Fearlings tend to go after what was most important to their mortal selves."

"Oh. Shit. What did you do?"

"Let's just say there was a great deal what was important to Kozmotis, and it makes your episode here look like a minor argument. Not even a tantrum."

[askamykruber]

Has anyone ( like maybe former staff) ever threatened to expose the fact your kids were puppets to blackmail. I mean, I’m sure there are people crazy enough to do that. Or even kidnap the kids ( though I’m sure they would give scout back immediately if they tried lol)

Hiya, Annon!

That's a very good question and I do have a couple humorous stories to share with my answer to your dear question. It does sure bring back some fun memories

"Dealing with Rachel was not a fun memory"

Owey, we talked about breathin' in and out. Rachel has a short temperament with things.

Anyways! The answer regardin' former staff members did happen. I think they were some former puppeteers who wanted to get back at Owey and the puppets for all the shenanigans that occurred over a couple of years.

They tried to reach out to Rachel about this, and she was as mad as a wet hen!

Pitchin' a hissy fit she told them livin' evil puppets were not a thing and that maybe they should have considered maybe workin' with Owey for a long time may...have affected their brains

A very unwelcomed and crude comment, but Owey and I couldn't help but smile at the sass

"Or the look in their faces!"

"Gotta agree with Gubberson in this. It was surprisingly a close call."

Thank you Owey and Jake-y pops

They did try to threaten us with the police but...let's all be real here. Who would believe real puppets came to life-

"You know Vox Veritas is a thing, right? I mean Anthony and I do believe in the supernatural stuff and-

Beth, darlin' I'm talkin' about the others.

"Oh, sorry. Do continue"

Thank you

Like I was sayin' there was no way the police would believe them, so we are safe for now.

Now regarding the kidnapping?

Thankfully nothing like that happened

"Because they would find Scout to be an annoying little goblin that they'll return her or send it to China!"

NICHOLAS!

"He's not wrong for once."

RILEY!

"Now, now, can we all be nice to our little sister?"

Thank you, Daisy...

Anyways.

The "closest" thing to that subject, was that time we accidentally lost Scout while visitin' the Jim Henson studios for a possible crossover.

Mr. Burlington love the idea of our show extendin' to new horizons, but that's another story for another day

Now, Scouty decided to wander off and we nearly left without her until I realize there were four members and not five.

Thankfully Gonzo was kind enough to help us find her

She was having cookies with the Cookie Monster.

I suppose puppets bond with other puppets *snorts*

-Amy

[ustalav]

CHARACTER SONG MEMES TAG

Game Rules: Choose one of your characters and list songs that fit them.

tagged by @honeysofte tysm

going to do this for my angry angsty farmer boy grant hawke bc thats who is on my mind currently

dam, damn - päter I'll have all my demons stuck behind a dam / damn / on the other side is all i am / man / i hope the sticks are strong / the structure sound

pitchin' fits - drayton farley tell me, can you save me? / i think i've fallen sick / i've grown to be so angry / and i just can't call it quits

northern attitude - noah kahan if i get too close / and i'm not how you hoped / forgive my northern attitude / oh i was raised out in the cold

a better son/daughter - rilo kiley but you'll fight and you'll make it through / you'll fake it if you have to / and you'll show up for work with a smile

growing sideways - noah kahan but i ignore things and i move sideways / until i forget what i felt in the first place / at the end of the day i know there are worse ways / to stay alive

tagging: @couslande, @motherofmabari, and @deedeemactir and honestly anyone who wants to show off their playlists lol

[motherednature]

listening to the devil & the daughter off the k/ing arthur soundtrack inevitably makes me think of pitchiners ofc, but also just the fact that the guardians...simply do not fuck with mother nature. like of course, the king of nightmares is evil and scary but he has an agenda that everyone knows about and can predict what the mf is going to do bc that’s just. his gig. it’s a very clear-cut good vs. evil kind of thing, so its like. easier to control? i guess?

the book outright states that mother nature has a) her own agenda that they know fuck all about b) is unpredictable as hell. and i don’t think they say it outright but i TRULY do get the vibe that they are way more scared of mother nature for that reason. like she’s offering to work with us? oh great! that’s great! ....do not question it just smile and nod.

[sylphidine]

[NDU] Deal The Cards

“I can’t believe it’s SNOWING on Halloween,” complained Emily Sickle-Black as she lay on her back on the rug in the middle of the living room.  “It’s all Sera’s fault.  It’s got to be.”

Seraphina Pitchiner shot back from her perch on the window seat with “Hey, what did I do?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure it was one of those ‘if a butterfly flaps its wings and causes a hurricane halfway around the world’ things you’re always talking about.”

“Uncle Piki, tell Emily to stop teasing me.”

"Dad, make Sera stop causing natural disasters."

From where the two men sat together on the loveseat, Jack held his hands up in surrender and replied lightly, “Who am I to question such a mighty force of nature as my niece?”, while Piki dutifully parried with “Darling daughter, please stop teasing your cousin, lest we all find arachnids in our sheets.  Again.”

“That was only one time!” Sera protested.

“Ugh. Once was bad enough,” Emily muttered.

Sera saw motion outside the bay window and got up, tossing a rejoinder over her shoulder as she opened the outer door. “It’s too cold outside for spiders, anyway.”

Thank God, Piki mouthed to Jack behind Sera’s back and over Emily’s head.

Her father and Pitch stamped snow off their feet, first on the front porch’s doormat, then again inside in the foyer.

“Bless whichever of you did the shoveling, but I’m afraid it was a wasted effort,”  Pitch said as he hung up his black peacoat and came into the living room. He claimed a seat in the oversized armchair, not coincidentally the seat nearest the radiator, and continued, “We’re bound to get another foot of snow before morning. This storm is supposed to rival the Snowpocalypse of 2011. I doubt that we’ll see a single trick-or-treater.”

Coz chuckled at that as he hung up his own coat. “More candy for us, then. And since I made sure to stock up at Tony Chocolonely’s on Pitch’s and my last trip to California, you can all indulge in fair trade chocolate without feeling guilty. Nothing too good for my birthday boy. And for my birthday brother-in-law,” he hastened to add, with an arched eyebrow at Piki. 

“Good save, Coz.” Jack stretched and stood up. “I think we should get our birthday husbands some solid food before we stuff them full of sugar.”  He headed into the kitchen behind Coz, and both girls followed them, sniffing the scents of good Italian cooking appreciatively.  

The Black brothers gave significant looks to one another across the room. 

“Cossimo would celebrate your birthday each and every day, if he could,” Piki commented. “Oh, let him have this,” Pitch replied. “I didn’t make it easy for him all those years ago when I wouldn’t let him fuss over me.”  

“True. And it’s not like I was any better with Jack back then, although for vastly different reasons.”

“I can concede that you’ve definitely improved in that regard.  The old Piki would never let Jack out of his sight.The old Piki would be hovering in the kitchen doorway gazing daggers at Coz for the effrontery of breathing in the same air as his precious Jack.”

Piki made a face, but didn’t bother to deny the truth of his brother’s words. He replied, “Hmmmm.  If you and I were to get up and hover in that doorway now, do you think we’d get pressed into service setting out silverware?”

“Nonsense. We’re the birthday guests. They wouldn’t dare put us to work.” Pitch leaned forward and grinned fiendishly at his twin.  “But if we are very quiet and they don’t spot us, we may get a chance to sneak a nibble of the dessert that Coz is planning to surprise us with.” “How old are you, anyway? Five?” Piki scoffed half-heartedly, but his eyes twinkled.

.”That was great, Dad,” Seraphina said as she got up to help Emily clear away dinner plates, while her father and her uncle brought in the dessert dishes.

Assorted voices around the dining room table agreed with her. 

The snowstorm outside seemed to be intensifying, if the sound of the wind picking up was any guide.

The bulbs in the overhead light fixture dimmed and flickered twice, before going out completely. The flameless pumpkin-shaped “candles” decorating the table gave some illumination, but not much.

“Uh oh, looks like my advance planning is gonna pay off,” Coz commented. “Everybody stay where they are, and I’ll get the camping lanterns.”

“They’re in the china hutch,” Pitch said drily. “You’re not the only one in this house who’s got a modicum of foresight.”

“Thank you, dear.” 

In a few minutes numerous light sources let the six in the dining room see enough to eat their tiramisu.  Sera had found more battery-operated candles to put on the sideboard, to go with the glow from the two lanterns at either end of the table.

After everyone finished dessert and had brought their plates to the pantry, Jack stated the obvious. “Well, the spooky movie marathon will have to be put on hold, until the power comes back on.”

“How dreadful,” drawled Piki. “We might have to revive the art of conversation.”

“Oh Papa, don’t be mean,” chided Emily. “I know!  How about a card game? Uncle Coz? Uncle Pitch? Hmmmm?”

“As long as it’s not UNO,” Pitch replied.

“Six players rather limits us to something in the rummy family,” Piki pointed out.

 “Honey, dig out three decks of cards.  It feels like a canasta night!” Coz rubbed his hands and grinned.

“Already on it, Dad,” Seraphina grinned back at him.

They split into two teams of three… Jack, Pitch, and Emily on one team, Coz, Piki and Sera on the other. Emily won the draw to be dealer first, with Pitch advising her as far as the rules of the game and how it differed from the gin rummy she was used to. Piki was chosen to be the scorekeeper. The goal was 10000 points, and Coz and Jack as team captains determined that 7s and aces were wild, with red 3s as the bonus cards. 

Jack’s team won the first two hands, but soon the battle for points became more even, and the two partnerships were often neck-and-neck. There was a lot of laughter around the dining room table, and the hours flew by.

At different points in the evening between hands, either Coz or Pitch would get up to check outside to see whether Con Ed had restored power to any of their neighbors, but up and down the block and across the street remained dark.   It was obvious to all that no one was going to school or work tomorrow.

“This setup and the weather reminds me of that time with Uncle Rico,” Coz said casually on his latest return to his seat. “You remember, Pitch?”

“How could I forget?” Pitch replied.  It was his turn to deal, and the cards flew smoothly from his elegant long-fingered hands, thirteen to each player. “It was New Year’s Eve, but it made for just as good a ghost story as if it were Halloween.”

That statement made both girls take notice; they’d been starting to fade a bit after sitting in the dark for so long. 

“You saw a ghost, Dad?”

“Who’s Uncle Rico?”

Sera and Emily spoke nearly together, while Jack and Piki looked at each other in confusion.

Coz laughed. “Let’s play this last hand, then tell the ghost story.”

Piki snorted. “Trying to distract the other team, Cossimo?”

Pitch gazed loftily down his nose at his brother. “We will not be swayed.  The cards are dealt. Draw and discard, Piki.”

“Fine.”

Play continued through various melds by both teams, and though it was still fairly evenly matched, Jack’s team hit the 10000 points first.

“Victory!” Emily pumped her fist in the air.  “Great job, Uncle Pitch! Great job, Dad!”

“Now, Emily, it’s not nice to gloat,” Jack chided her.

“No worries, Uncle Jack,” Seraphina reassured him. “It was a fair fight. And fun. But,” she turned to her father, “I want to hear more about Uncle Rico’s ghost.”

“Okay,” Coz said. “But why don’t we shift to the living room, where it’s warmer.” He was watching his husband trying not to shiver; Pitch’s poor circulation was still an issue even after all these years.

They all got up and did as Coz suggested. The radiators in the house ran on natural gas and were separate from the electrical system, and the big one in the living room was clanking away.  The wind outside was still whistling, and the windows were coated with blizzard-blown snow.  It made for its own eerie light along with the two camping lanterns that the girls grabbed from the dining room table.

“Ah, that’s better,” Pitch said, huddled on the loveseat with Coz under a pile of bright-colored knitted afghans. Jack had pulled Piki into his lap on the recliner, causing their daughter to hold her nose in fake disgust at her parents’ public display of affection. Emily sat cross-legged on the floor with her back to the radiator, while Sera stretched out on the window seat under a quilted blanket.

“Everybody comfy?” Coz asked, and got a chorus of “yes” and “mmm-hmmm” in reply.

“Okay. Uncle Rico was really my great-uncle, your great-grandma’s brother. He came over from Italy about five years after Mama Michelina and Papa Andy settled here, about seven years after they got married.  He was one of a whole crowd of relatives and friends that came to play cards here on Saturday nights… Antonette Marchione, Mary Ciancculli, Anna Piano, Charlie Castiglia, Solly Salvatore… it was either rummy or blackjack, penny a point.”

He laughed, remembering. “But those Saturday night sessions were NOTHING compared to the annual New Year’s Eve card parties. THOSE card games went on for DAYS. I got to play with the grownups and my cousins every year after I turned five.  Uncle Rico got along real well with my dad, and they both called me a card shark.”

“And you still are,” Pitch pointed out.

“Yeah, some things don’t change,” Sera added. “So how did Uncle Rico end up being part of a ghost story?”

“Who said he was part of a ghost story?” Coz teased.

“You did!”

“No, sweet child o’mine, I did not. YOU jumped to that conclusion.  Maybe it’s a ghost story, maybe it’s not.  Can I continue?”

Sera blew upwards at her overgrown bangs, making a frustrated noise. “Fine. But get to the point, already!”

“Yeah, Uncle Coz,” Emily chimed in.

“Yeah, Coz,” Jack added saucily. “I’m with Em and Sera. Keep going with the story.”

“Hey, no more potshots from the peanut gallery!”

“Now, now, children,” said Piki, including his husband as well as his daughter in his sniffy admonishment, “mind your manners when we’re guests in this house…”

“THANK you, Piki.”  

“But, Cossimo, if you could leave us in a little LESS suspense…”

Coz mimed being shot in the heart.

“Fine. Geez, tough crowd.” He shifted on the loveseat and put his arm back around Pitch, who snorted but couldn’t quite disguise a smile. “Anyway, by the time I was in high school, my Aunt Mary, Rico’s wife, had died, and Rico moved down to New Jersey to live with his oldest kid.  But he still insisted on driving up the Garden State Parkway to get to Mama Michelina’s and Papa Andy’s for every single New Year’s Eve.” 

Pitch gave one of his rare teeth-showing smiles in reminiscence and offered his input. “Our senior year at NDU, Coz’s parents invited me along on their trip to spend New Year’s Eve at the grandparents’ house…. This house.  We got here about 3 in the afternoon, just ahead of the snow, and the diehard players were already here… It was quite impressive. The game was blackjack, not rummy, and these people were SERIOUS about it, even the youngest kids and grandkids from the neighborhood. I was outmatched in the ruthlessness department.”

“Awww, poor baby,” crooned Coz mockingly.  “Anyway, we all got settled in for the long haul. Papa had made sauce and meatballs in the crockpot, just like we had tonight, and Mama had made like six different kinds of pasta and had bought out the deli counter for cold cuts, so everybody could just get up and grab themselves food between dealing themselves in and out of the game.  Nobody noticed until around six o’clock that there was suddenly two feet of snow on the ground and Uncle Rico hadn’t arrived yet.”

Sera sat up and swung her legs to the floor. “Ooooooooh!”

Emily, too, was suddenly a lot more attentive.  

Coz continued, “We all figured that he was just taking it slow, or that there was some kind of detour off the Garden State. Mama decided she’d wait until seven, and then call Rico’s son Jimmy to see when Rico had left, or if he’d decided not to come…” Pitch interrupted, “I think I ventured something like being surprised that no one had called him earlier, or surprised that they’d wait to call him, but everyone around the table started in with their own theories, punctuated with words like ‘stoo-nad’ and ‘testaforte’..”

“The term is testaduro, dear. Literally ‘hard-headed.”

“Very well. Testaduro.  But it seemed odd to me that no one was worried about an older gentleman driving in a blizzard.”

“You hadn’t spent enough time with my family by that point,” Coz parried with a laugh. “You gotta realize that even if Uncle Rico was 82, he was still sharp as a tack and as independent a cuss as you’d ever find.  He’d take it as the worst insult if someone tried to coddle him. No blizzard would ever get the better of him.”

Both girls were sitting forward, entranced by the story.

“So seven o’clock comes and goes, The card game’s still going on.  Mama calls Jimmy and hears that Rico left New Jersey at two-thirty, so normal traffic would get him into the Bronx at about eight o’clock.  No biggie.”

Jack and Piki exchanged dubious looks, but they too were enthralled.

“Nine o’clock comes and goes. Ten o’clock comes and goes. Eleven o’clock comes and goes.” Coz paused  before intoning seriously, “And at five minutes to midnight is when Papa Andy decides to call the police.”

He turned his head to gaze solemnly at each of his eager listeners and then pointed dramatically at the cuckoo clock above Pitch’s head. “Just as Papa hung up the phone, that clock right there… that clock struck midnight, and the kitchen door blew open, and Uncle Rico stood in the doorway, and the first thing out of his mouth is ‘Wadda you all starin’ at?  Ya look like you seen some kinda ghost.’ He dumps his coat on the floor, takes a seat at the table, and growls, ‘Deal the cards’.”

Those words had barely left Coz’s mouth when three things happened at once.

The cuckoo clock above Pitch’s head struck the hour.

The outer door banged as though the wind wanted to rip it off its hinges.

The power came back on.

Later, Piki would swear to Jack that he didn’t blame the girls for screaming in unison at that point, since he had come close to screaming as well.

Pitch gave a cackle of glee.  “You tell that SO WELL.  I’ve got to film that some time.”

Sera found her voice first. “DAD!!!  Was he a ghost, or wasn’t he?”

“Sorry, punkin, Uncle Rico lived to play cards for at least five more New Year’s Eves.”

“AWWWWWWWW!!!!” was Emily’s disappointed reaction.

Jack stretched his arms over his head.  “Well, on that note, THIS old man is tired and needs his beauty sleep.  And I’m sure some young folks should be heading upstairs .”

Halfhearted grumbles from Emily and Sera greeted this announcement, but as Piki got up from Jack’s lap, the two girls scrambled to their feet as well and gave Coz and Pitch cheek-kisses.

Good night greetings were exchanged all around, and everyone else went to their rooms, leaving Coz and Pitch downstairs to finish the clearing up.

“You’re not going to tell them, are you?” Coz asked as he closed the dishwasher.

“Not going to tell them that I’ve seen your Uncle Rico sitting right there?” Pitch pointed through the kitchen doorway into the dining room. “That I’ve seen him more than once at that table, shuffling cards like a Vegas casino boss, years after he died?” He grinned wolfishly.

“Of course I’m not going to tell them. They’ll find out some New Year’s Eve when they hear 'Deal the cards' from a spectral voice they've never heard before."

[racetobachelorisland]

im so excited for bull durham musical return next year i may not show it but wut the hell do they know they aint never done this workin like a farm boy aint a lot of fun this different back in highschool different back in my school i was such a big deal jesus this is unreal catcher with a big mouth woman talkin voodoo salamanders have nostrils rlly ill be who knew OH BUT I CAN DOOOOOOO THIIIIIS PITCHIN MY WAY THRUUUUU THIIIIIIII