#also I need a cleaner art tag

[arovalentines]

watch it all go by

[lexicog]

some doodles from recently

[lesbxdyke]

Decided to steal my own tags from This Post because I didn't want to detract from the very good points being made about wheelchair accessibility in the art

So I'm disabled. And I often have to use crutches as a mobility aid. Sometimes one, sometimes two. And even with that, I still sometimes can't get around.

There have been numerable occasions in my life where something has been marked as 'accessible' that is not accessible to me, because it was made with ONLY wheelchair users in mind.

And like I said in my tags, it's a genuinely great thing that things are now being made with wheelchair users in mind! I am genuinely heartened and happy that wheelchairs users are being recognised in public spaces and accommodated for!

But they are not the be all and end all of physically disabled people.

I need the extra space of a disabled bathroom. Especially as another physical disability of mine causes me to often require space to change underwear or clothing.

However, if I'm having a bad pain day, I can't wash my hands. Because the only sink is at the height for a wheelchair user. So my options are to eschew hygiene and pray that a cleaner wipes down the door handle regularly so others aren't interacting with a thing that I have touched without washing my hands, OR risk furthering my own pain by bending to reach the sink, which could end in me stuck in the bathroom as my back seizes and I cannot move.

As I'm sure you can imagine from reading that, neither option is a good option, but one is a safer one for me. And I hate it. I'm 'lucky' in that I have to always carry baby wipes with me anyway so I'm somewhat able to mitigate the hygiene issue, but what if I didn't? What if I didn't have the extra disability and just had the back problems that required the extra space of the disabled bathroom for my mobility aids? What then?

I also have a radar key (for those not in the UK: disabled bathrooms are often locked. A radar key is a skeleton key for disabled bathrooms all around the UK) so I can always gain access to the disabled bathrooms. Except... I often have to find staff to help me open them anyway because the door handles are low and I can't bend to press them.

Now this post isn't me saying that the world should be built only to cater to me in particular (tho gods it would be nice!)

This post is talking about competing support needs and how my experience as a disabled person, struggling with how so much 'accessible' stuff is only designed for wheelchair users is just as valid as a wheelchair user celebrating that they can use an ATM and a public bathroom without needing the aid of a stranger or a carer.

I've seen quite a lot of people, in real life and elsewhere on the internet, want to call it Ableist when people ask for there to be a different option that would be inaccessible for a wheelchair user to use within an accessible area like a bathroom. They think it's able bodied people, or parents (since often in the UK, disabled bathrooms also double as baby changing, which is a whole different kettle of fish) demanding we take away the accessibility that the bathrooms are there for. They don't think about people on crutches, or canes, or with mobility that changes by day, or who can walk unaided but cannot bend, or, or, or.

Two sinks in a disabled bathroom would change my life. One wheelchair accessible, one not. I could wash my hands. Other people who needed the bathroom could wash their hands. Everyone could be hygienic in an accessible way!

Two ATMs, side by side. One lower, one higher. I can access my money. Wheelchair users can access their money. Everyone can withdraw their money safely in an accessible way!

Maybe there's no solution for some (like the door handle) but if others were solved, then the remaining ones would bother me a lot less. It's a lot less frustration and humiliation inducing to say "Hey, can you open the bathroom for me?" When you know you'll be able to wash your damn hands once inside, yknow?

[quintessenceofdust88]

Tease (Tid)bit Tuesday

I was tagged by my darlings @typicalopposite @bidisasterevankinard and @laundryandtaxesworld, and I decided to post a little more of Nonna Rosa meeting Buck cause I love how it's coming off! Hope you guys had a lovely Tuesday and that you like it! ♥

“Maybe I will, Nonna”, Tommy says, a wistful look in his eye as he looks at the forest landscape and the other painting. Buck is already low-key planning to find the best art supplies stores in LA and surprising Tommy with a kit of brushes and oil paints, maybe one of those fancy little holding things he’s always seen at cartoons, and a painting coat (although he’d rather have Tommy painting shirtless, but that’s not a vision he wants to dwell on in front of his boyfriend’s grandmother).

“That’s a good boy”, Nonna says, her voice filled with pride, and then she looks critically at the bags still on his hand. “Now off you go, take these bags to the bedroom before our merenda runs cold, hm?”

“Sí, Nonna” Tommy easily agrees, kissing Buck’s cheek as he passes by him towards a dark wooden door, that from what Buck can see leads to a hallway where the bedrooms probably are. 

“Do you need some help, babe?” Buck asks, the pet name slipping out before he can stop himself, but Nonna doesn’t even bat an eye, she just smiles cheekily at him, playing with the tip of her braid. 

“Oh, Evanino, I���m sure Thomas will be very glad to show you the bedroom, but later, hm? I just said I don’t want the food getting cold”, she says with a wink, and both Tommy and Buck are left spluttering, blushed to the tip of their ears. 

“Dío, Nonna, you can’t say things like that, you’ll scare him off!”, Tommy says grumpily, sounding just like an embarrassed teenager as he rushes towards the hallway, grumbling under his breath. 

“Non-sense, Tommaso, he’s a firefighter. It takes a lot more than a mouthy old lady to scare you, doesn’t it, Evanino?” She pokes his arm, and Buck can’t help but laugh, nodding at her. “Now come, it’s time for you to meet the heart of any house”

“The kitchen, right?” Buck asks, and Nonna smiles, clapping her hands together.

“Sí, la cucina! Did Thomas teach you that?” She asks curiously, and Buck shakes his head, a small smile showing up on his face. 

“Actually, my captain, Bobby. He’s recently moved, and he kept telling us that a house had to be chosen by the kitchen, cause that’s where the heart of the house beats” Buck tells her, and Nonna nods approvingly.

“Ah, a wise man! I like him already!” She exclaims, and then motions Buck with her hands. “Now, follow me before my cake burns in the oven, hm?”

Buck follows Nonna through a worn white door. If the rest of the house looks well-loved, the kitchen brings it up to eleven. The floor is made of honest-to-God white and black checkered tiles, something Buck has only seen in cartoon kitchens, and they match perfectly to the light yellow walls. The walls here are cleaner than in the living room: Buck can only see one painting: a replica of The Last Supper (and he’s pretty sure Tommy’s not the artist of that one) placed over a wooden table, covered in a flowered tablecloth. 

On the opposite wall, he can see a black-and-white wedding portrait that looks at least fifty years old. It shows a young woman with a scrunchy smile and a man who looks so much like Tommy that Buck’s heart skips a beat, the resemblance almost jarring. Near an old cuckoo clock, there’s also a calendar hanging on the wall, its date marked in red and an image of a saint peeking from the top.

The counters, however, are a completely different story. Most of their surfaces are covered by small vases containing herbs that make the kitchen smell like a farm market, and Buck couldn’t name even half of them. Most of them are crammed in the counter closest to the large wooden-paneled window, but the rest of the surfaces are covered in jars, pots and pans, put together in a chaotic way that, somehow, looks like it follows its own system. Closer to the sink, where there’s a clean space lightly dusted with flour, Buck can see a mushroom-printed glass jar holding at least a dozen wooden spoons, and proudly displayed beside it, a rolling pin that looks a hundred years old. 

The gas-burning stove is painted red, though its side is chipped, and the light blue fridge hums loudly in the corner, its surface a mosaic of photographs. Most are of people—friends, family, loved ones—and Buck’s chest tightens when he spots a photo of himself and Tommy, taken just a few weeks ago, placed proudly at eye level. The sight warms him in a way he wasn’t expecting. It’s so different from the spotless, minimalist kitchen his mother kept—so far from his own, with its modern appliances and practical, clean-cut utensils. Nonna’s kitchen looks old, and messy, and lived-in.

And Buck loves every inch of it.

Np tagging @weewookinard @perfectlysunny02 @littlepaws9 @silversky9 @mmso-notlikethat @30somethingautisticteacher and whoever else would like to join! ♥

[cyberphuck]

The Patreon Post

SO HERE'S THE DEAL: I do not want to make anyone have to pay to see my art.

Let's be real: there are like fifty bajillion other, more skilled, and better-known artists on Patreon putting out more detailed, more unique, more in-demand, and just more art than I am (or want to). I'm a self-taught, frequently distracted amateur who's had an iPad for a year. I'm not gonna pretend that I am going to be able to pull in more Patreon subs-- or keep them, for that matter-- on the strength of my random doodles alone. I have never really thought or even hoped that I could do that, because it would mean Doing Art As A Job, and I absolutely do not want to associate "drawing" with "work." (I also don't have the means, time, motivation or experience to self-promote and/or keep a small community of followers entertained, and even the thought of having to do all that on top of having to Draw For Work is terrifying.) There's the self esteem-destroying gutpunch that someone with BPD (me haha!) receives when they ask if something they created is "worth" a certain amount and are answered with silence. (If you have BPD, you know that 'silence' is so much worse than 'no.') I don't think that anyone is actually saying my work is worthless any more than I think stairs were invented to fuck over people with bad knees, but I want to avoid one for the same reason I avoid the other: hurts and bad for healing. And also, maybe most importantly, most of the fans of my work are my friends, and most of my friends are poor people. I do not ever want someone to have to choose between "Eggman weeping as he cradles a slain Speedy Gonzales" and "rent." Lots of people I know just don't have any money to spare even for professionally made entertainment, or, like me, sometimes they have money (yay, beginning of the month!) and sometimes they don't (booo, end of the month). I'm not gonna put a paywall between my friends and my art. So, as always, you can view all of my art on Patreon for free, without an account*. (*you will have to have an account to view NSFW stuff but this will be in the 'free' tier as well.) H O W E V E R. You guys I am so fucking poor. If you follow my blog you know the whole story already-- mental illness, chronic illness, chronic mental illness, surprise rescue puppies, surprise fines from the city, the fukken recently concussed clown show that is social services in my area-- and you've seen me having to crowdfund for everything from food to gas to dog emergencies. We budget down to the cent and have cut out so many things (like the meal replacement shakes for my eating disorder lol) and we're still not making ends meet. I've got friends who help, and they help a lot, but I hate the miserable, humiliating task of asking for help every single month. (You guys also know that I don't have family that can help me, even if shit goes critical. I was on my own while I was a homeless sex worker, on my own when we lived in a shed with no windows, on my own when we were in a house with no heat and only one source of running water, and definitely on my own now, in desperate need of mobility aids, house cleaners, and a god damn break.)

So here's where I'm at: I can't ask a few people for a lot of support, but I can ask a bunch of people for a little bit. If you like my art and want to help me keep making it, want to help me make shitpost replies to people on the internet, want to help me do free askbox art challenges: Put your doodle prompt requests in the askbox. You can even request stuff anonymously! Participate in polls about what prompts you wanna see. Reblog the art you like, show off the doodle you got, leave keysmashes in the tags. The more people see the post, the more statistically likely it is we'll find the one person on Tumblr with disposable income. Also, people should know they can get free art when the prompts are live! Sub to the Patreon if you can spare three bucks a month (you can also do Ko-fi if you don't want to make a Patreon account). Ko-fi is also a good place to just plunk something into the tip jar once in a while. There are Artcards and Monthly Sketch sub tiers on Patreon for a little bit more, but I will send an Artcard to pretty much anyone who asks as long as I have some left. The art is free, it will always be free. But if you can, spare a dollar (or three).

[kaiowut99]

ARC-V “Dub-Uncut” Series Masterpost - A Lance99 Project

Ladies and gentlemen! (And all in between!)

Thought to get a little masterpost going for this [mini?-]project and compile stuff as more ground gets broken on this, lol. As mentioned in my release of episode 1, this is a project that's been on the backburner for a while as I worked on other things (and dealt with a drive failure in '22 that made me have to restart)--the original catalyst being an attempted Dub/JP OST edit years back with episode 10 [being a fave of mine] that I got up to the eyecatch with prior to stuff like UltimateVocalRemover providing much cleaner vocal isolation--and after working on/off on it for a while, I dipped into it more over the past few months to finally get it polished and finished up.

If you were around for my little 5D's "dub-uncut" mini-project working off the erroneously-uploaded-without-music episodes uploaded to the official Spanish YGO YouTube channel a few years back (and if you weren't, do feel free to check it out!), the concept here is pretty much the same: I find that there's some potential in the 4K/KCM dubs, but overall it's usually hampered by the dub's music [which especially hurts for ARC-V given the solid Japanese score by Kotaro Nakagawa], some writing/voice-direction choices, and other little oddities/cuts; the goal is to re-score the dub with the Japanese soundtrack, while also modifying the dialogue in spots to be closer to the Japanese dialogue while editing it to the Japanese footage (using either dialogue from other episodes or Duel Links/Cross Duel voicelines as needed)--oh, and also fixing "Zuzu" back "Yuzu" bc why. There may be some scenes where I'll have to use the Japanese audio with subs if 4K cut something and I couldn't quite work enough editing magic to make something work, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there. And I'm hoping to do a fair amount of episodes, but would love to work on the whole series if able.

Along with the more accurately-paced dialogue, I’ve also translated the OP/EN (using the singable translations I've worked on for the lyrics), the title cards, and previews (where I also threw in the corresponding lines to the Japanese preview from the next episode, if able) to give this an actual “What if they actually did this uncut” feel, along with some visual translation edits to that effect as feasible. I also commissioned voiceover artist mattsindt over on Fiverr to provide narration for the pre-OP prologues used throughout ARC-V that weren't dubbed, and I love how they all came out. I'll be going into more of the specifics with each episode’s own release post, as I did with episode 1's, so check out the tag here to see what I’ve done with them! If you’re curious about how things look/sound as I edit everything, check out the work-in-progress videos and posts I’ve done here.

Footage-wise, I chose to work off the raw DVD video I've had for years (encodes for episodes 1-4 provided by GX_ST), largely because they have touchups done to the art/animation after the episodes' airings on TV that aren't used in the CR/Amazon TV masters that make up the 1080p downloads available. (I do think the dub itself works off the DVD masters overall, and I may see if it's feasible to try and splice that footage as needed with the 1080p downloads, since the DVD masters are unfortunately not at their total best for a show that aired in HD... pls save us Discotek].) (That said, I might shift to those in mid-Synchro since that's about as far as the saved DVD footage I have goes, so... we'll see, lol.)

I'll also be posting these over for download over on NeoArkCradle (where I also share my GX subbing work), with both a) the more hardsubbed video using the translated OP/EN and visual translations and b) dual-audio .mkv files using Crunchyroll's subs as edited by me for the JP audio (funny how I said years back I wouldn't sub ARC-V since CR took the wheel on it, but with the revisions I made/will make to be more faithful, I guess I am in some way lol), along with "Signs/Lyrics" subs for the dubbed and Japanese audio, which may also contain dub corrections as needed depending on how later episodes go.

Anywho, the show must go on, so check these out below! And always check this original post as episodes are added or in case any of the links break! Note that season breaks are denoted like this; arc breaks are in italics.

Current Update (11/27/24): Project launch! Episode 1 is now live below.

Pre-Maiami Championship Arc

A Trail of Light -- The Pendulum Summon (Swing Into Action)

[ashen-vulture]

A Vulture In Therapy

It’s Never Been About Death (But It Is All I Think About)

-

The hospital was like a labyrinth. I remember having an anxiety attack the first time I went to inpatient therapy here, and the nurses who were talking to me were absolutely useless. They sent me to the wrong floor and were really pushy and suffocating even as I was starting to twitch and cry and hyperventilate.

Now I wore the same sticker tag every day and knew the route. Why did it require two different elevators to get to this floor? I have no clue. I didn’t build it.

My therapist and psychiatrist both wanted me to attend outpatient therapy, saying that it might help me develop some healthier coping strategies, and determine if further treatment would be worth pursuing. I think they were worried about how my suggestion for treatment overlapped with my obsession with death. People get concerned when I talk about how often I think about death. I have to reassure people over and over again that I don’t want to die. It’s a macabre and spiritual fascination. The historical, chemical, spiritual, emotional, and biological process fascinate me. Everything dies. It's one thing all of us animals of planet earth truly have in common.

And death feeds life. That has been the case almost since life has been.

Today was my next to last day. It helped to see other people who were struggling like me, especially when we helped each other with wisdom for our own lives. I made some friends I would never see again. I shared some good moments and some uncomfortable ones. Today was going to show them this other side of me, though.

Today we also ended up, intentionally or otherwise, with death as the main topic of discussion.

When you live in the south it’s hard to find anything that is secular. Even things explicitly said to be secular make sure that there is all the space for religious talk that people could possibly want. I mean I suppose it’s fair, we were talking about death and many people process death through religion.

Still, people kept trying to include me specifically in their religious talk, so when it was my time to speak…

Well…

“I’m not a religious person.”

Several people’s faces got awkward as they realized they had been trying to rope what they assumed was the only atheist in the zipcode into their church talk.

“I am spiritual though. I think about death a lot. I never learned how to mourn correctly. My family tried to hide death from me. I was never allowed to feel or express negative emotions, so even when someone died, I didn’t know how to cry anymore. I would just go numb. Besides, other people around me needed me, and I have a chronic need to be there for other people when they need me. I am a person who can reschedule grief. A month or two months or three would pass and then suddenly that grief would come knocking. My grandmother passed last year. It took me two months of time and three solid days alone to break down and cry.”

I tastefully edited out that the bourbon helped too, because two of the people there were recovering alcoholics.

“To me, the vulture is a sacred animal.”

I held up the painting I’d worked on during art therapy. It was of a swarm of black birds ascending into the sky. I know it looked grim and ominous to other people, but as I talked I could see them begin to understand.

“It doesn’t waste. I love scavengers in general. Creatures that take up the unwanted or lost. I see vultures and I see the grim cleaners of the world. Many people don’t see the value of the scavenger, but we’re far better off with them in it than without. Did you know that in areas with low vulture populations, rabies is more common? This is because without flocks of vultures to break down carcasses quickly, they are instead visited by feral dogs, coyotes, foxes, racoons, and many other mostly mammalian opportunist. This makes carcasses a disease vector. Parasites and disease can spread from conflicts over a carcass,” I realized I was beginning to overshare one of my hyperfixations. Time to wrap it up. “They rarely kill. They consume the rotten and undesirable. They prevent disease. I love seeing them because to me they are not just symbols of death, they’re life. There is no real death here, only the cycle of life reusing its building blocks to make more life. I don’t want to be embalmed when I die. I want to be put in the earth to rot, that way the molecules that make up my body can be where they belong. Everywhere. Death as a continuation of life. Everything that consumes me, I will be.”

I was used to creeping people out. The room was quiet for a bit, digesting the condensed documentary I had just unloaded on them, punctuated with my funeral plans.

What do you see when you look at me? I don’t look like a monster, not until you interact with me. My way of talking has never been quite human. I am physically the human animal. I don’t like that many humans don’t see themselves as animals. We are. We’ve tricked ourselves into thinking we aren’t, that we are something separated from the animals and plants and dirt, and that’s not healthy.

So I refuse to act. It unsettles people.

I am an animal of the dirt and sky and rain.

I just happen to wear human skin.

The conversation moved on.

The day’s session came to a close.

There was a new respect for vultures in that room. I walked away feeling lighter in mind and body. I stood on the 3rd floor of the parking garage and looked out over the streets.

I opened discord on my phone and scrolled back through a conversation with a friend.

-

tigergirltail - 06/06/2024 9:50 AM

Maybe wanting to be a therian is a symptom of being a therian. It didn't occur to me until last night that wanting to have the dreams was a sign.

ashedink 06/06/2024 9:51 AM

That’s a good point.

Kinda like how some people figure out they’re trans, not because of a presence of gender dysphoria, but by the absence of gender euphoria.

tigergirltail - 06/06/2024 9:55 AM

Wanting it is that first symptom.

Yeah, literally how I awakened.

-

We’ve been friends for so long, and we’re still finding new bridges to cross together.

Maybe I will follow you over this one too, if my therapist is satisfied with how outpatient therapy went.

Is it arrogant to try to become that which I hold in such high spiritual regard? Maybe that’s just human greed want it. There is no dysphoria here, I simply exist as I am regardless of my vessel.

But maybe I should try it. Maybe euphoria is waiting for me in an unexpected shape.

I mean, I’ll be an animal either way.

Maybe I'll be a happy animal.

[chocodile]

Found your work through desperate searches for sylvanian family customisation or recolour resources and WOW your art/characters/worldbuilding are also astoundingly good... gonna be scrolling here a while. Out of curiosity do you do custom/commissioned sylvanian figures or do you have a tutorial/materials list someplace? Thanks for reading!!

Aw gosh, thank you, Anon!

I did one custom commission as an experiment (which I'm sure you've seen if you looked through the tag) and it was pretty fun, but man are these things a time suck! I tried to do too many dolls in too short of a time, got kind of burned out on them, and haven't touched them in months... I'm currently trying to work up motivation to get back into it and finish the projects I have materials for. If I do, I'll take pictures this time and put together a proper tutorial.

Unfortunately I can't take any commissions right now, but I'd be happy to share a materials list! It's under the cut:

The paint used is basic acrylic paint, like the kind you can get from Walmart or craft stores for under two bucks. There's a bit of a trick to painting them without making the fur clumpy, I described the painting process here!

For the hair, you'll want doll hair ("My Little Pony" size is way more than sufficient), a hair rooting tool/kit, and either a heat gun or blow dryer. I wrote some notes on hair rooting Sylvanian Family dolls here.

For the clothes, you can use a number of different fabrics, but you want it to be very, very thin. That super cheap, thin cotton fabric you can find at Joann Fabrics is pretty perfect and comes in a wide variety of colors and patterns, though some stuff like doll-sized flannel you might have to look online for (or DIY--you can use acrylic paint on fabric, it just makes it stiffer). I use ribbon for trim. Other accessories like jewelry, buttons, chains, crystals, and belts can be sourced from craft stores, too... I usually just bring my WIP doll with me in my pocket and hold it up next to anything I'm interested in buying to check if the sizing is right (the lady at the fabric cutting station was incredibly charmed by them, hah). For more specialty items, like tiny hats and replica firearms, you will probably need to look online.

If you can't find a specific accessory, or need to sculpt something like armor, you can try making it out of epoxy clay and painting it with the same acrylic paint you used for the figure. Mod Podge will help seal it and give it a nice glossy finish. (Do not use Mod Podge on Sculpey--it makes it sticky!)

Tails are generally pipe cleaners or occasionally pom poms. Cut the original tail off with wire cutters, digging out as much of it as you can, and super glue the new tail in the hole.

Horns are done with epoxy clay. For big horns on the head, I use wire cutters to cut the pointy part off a pin, embed that in the clay horn, and then stick the end of the pin into the plastic head to more securely anchor it.

Bat and dragon wings are done with leather sheets you can buy from a craft store.

Other essentials: Super glue, sewing kit, Dritz fray check. Super glue is essential for both tails/horns/etc and clothing (it's often better for ultra-fine detail than sewing). Sewing kit is needed for clothing. You will not have much success with clothing without Dritz fray check. It keeps the edges of the fabric from disintegrating, which is a major concern when working on such a tiny scale.

Also this isn't a material so much as a tip: I often use the pointy end of a pin to do fine detail painting. It's also useful for sculpting miniatures.

Hope that helps! Good luck on your customization ventures, and feel free to ask if you have any more questions!

[thegrimreaperisanerd]

hi :) binge read your de fic that you have posted on ao3 last night and really enjoyed all of it! excited to see any updates. was wondering if you have any rec for other fic youve read and enjoyed-- i am not god's bravest soldier and do not enjoy trudging through tags and was wondering if you had read anything yourself that you really enjoyed lolol

Hey, thanks so much!!! Sorry it's taken a couple days to answer this, I'm poor as shit and have two jobs now wah... capitilism...

I'm working on the next 46' chapter, It's about 70% complete and I generally let it sit for an evening once it's done then re-read it the next day to catch the vast majority of mistakes (I edit everything myself) so I'd say expect that in the coming days.

I have some thoughts! I... Have never been asked for fic recs before so I'm gonna list a bunch in no particular order that I enjoyed, and reasons why. I will note that I tend to enjoy meaty plot-based works over fluff, so that's what I'll be recommending. Anyway!

Paddling Out (THE REPEATER CORPSE CONUNDRUM) - @transhitman - So this is the first DE fic I read and it set the bar pretty fucking high. YOU'VE GOT: a very cool and insular setting (don't get me wrong I like fics where they travel around Revachol too, but there's something to be said for building a set and living in it for a while) YOU'VE GOT: extremely harrowing tension and pale-fuckery YOU'VE GOT: some genuinely beautiful, heartfelt moments (I don't want to spoil anything but "people don't need your permission to care about you" kinda undid me) YOU'VE ALSO GOT: Amazing art?! Always a bonus, I wish I could draw people lol

Have You Heard The News That You're Dead? - Wizardlover - Time Loop shenanigans hell yeah! Basic premise: Kim is *unable* to save Harry's life after he's shot at the tribunal, each time he dies he Reawakens in Martinaise on the first day and desperately has to try and find a way to either prevent the Tribunal entirely, or survive it. I think the major draw to this one is how well it's characterised and how well that lends to the major source of tension: trying to convince THE WORLD'S BIGGEST SKEPTIC that you *a man he 'has only just met'* is actually stuck in a time loop. Juicy shit.

The Case Of The Man Who Two-Thirds Wasn't There - @glisteningceruleaneyes - We got another case fic here, gang. This is one of those "they travel around Revachol" numbers I previously mentioned. A lot to love about this fic; the minor OCs are all loveable (or at least well-written, looking at you Mr. Bigot-All-Rounder), the elements of writing in the game's style (particularly use of Harry's 'to do' list that you find in the ledger, you don't see that as often!) are all fantastic. Also without spoiling too much I'm a sucker for hurt/ comfort :) I like when bad things happen to our specialist guy :) ALSO! alternating chapters, Kim vs Harry's perspectives contrast REALLY well! Just a super enjoyable read. - On that note I also wanna include a special mention: there's a podfic for this one and since I mentioned my two jobs, I've been listening to audiobooks at work (I'm a cleaner. It's very boring) and that was a fun change of pace!

The Emergent Causeway - hal_incandenza - Now you KNOW this one is good because it's the only *unfinished* fic I'm recommending. Again, We've got art! We've got a brand new (non-Revachol!) setting that still feels excellently Elysium! We got that excellent balance of humour and misery from the get go! EXCELLENT murder mystery so far, I am intrigued AND also there's a fucking puppy. Hell yeah. This one's from Kim's perspective and does a really good job of it, nothing like a man being begrudgingly sent on holiday and being somewhat relieved to have a corpse to deal with.

A Spilled Kaleidoscope - @spilledkaleidoscope - I'm actually recommending a series here. Real definition of "came for the art, stayed for the writing" I mostly have a soft spot because I got to watch a few "haha, what if-?" musing text posts become a series of written chapters and INCREDIBLE DRAWINGS HOLY SHIT. Like, you really just draw hands for fun, huh? This person made a pact with some sort of devil beasts to draw hands very good, at the bare minimum we can read their fiction.

Nothing To Lose But Our Chains - Lepak - I almost forgot this one and I honestly can't believe it because this is one of these ones that you need a cigarette afterwards. Good fucking god. This is probably the best fic I've ever read in terms of not shying away from the heavy themes that make Disco Elysium such a beautiful, moving game. It tackles a racism in many forms, particularly how people like Kim (in working for the RCM) and immigration laws do their part in upholding racist systems, despite the way it hurts him too. Of course, it's also excellently written with tense scenes and some real funny moments. A real good'un here.

The Catacomb Killer - SupposedToBeWriting - Give Harry more memory loss. Make him convinced he killed a kid. Make *Kim* convinced he killed a kid... Then the plot thickens. I won't lie I can't remember fuck all about this one because I was mostly drunk when I read it, but if it was good enough that I kept reading instead of smoking a spliff or something then it must have been excellent... I will re-read it when I have the time, lmao.

MURDER ON THE AIRWAVES - @randomisedmongoose - I'm just a really big fan of murder mysteries and gore. You show me somebody with brain matter pouring from their earholes and I'm like "yum yum, more of that please." I am a sucker for curious methods of murder and this one's good for that. Lots of trekking back and forth like in the game again. More ACAB - always good.

I did not mean to include this many...........................

Oh well. Here's my list, there are plenty of others I've enjoyed but these are just the ones that came to mind! Thanks again for reading my fic! Always makes me happy when people let me know they enjoy my writing :3

[denimaww]

New Contractum ad Solid et Carnis chapter out now!

Chapter 7: Ex Delicto of Contractum ad Solis et Carnis is out on AO3 now!

I really hope you're ready for some OC, plot and intrigue because it's coming at you quick in this chapter. The incredible art is of Lord Sade Aksartova, younger brother of Lord Cassian Aksartova and one of my OC's for this fic. It was painted by my dear friend @ae-llish, who's also the biggest supporter of this fic <3

Tags for this chapter Guilt, Introspection, Astarion needs a break, Bathing, Blackmail, Involuntary Bodily Contact Chapter summary Astarion recalls his last encounter with Raphael and reflects about why he did what he did - and what that makes him. He goes to the Upper City Bathhouse to relax and feel cleaner, but gets rudely interrupted by a certain Lord Aksartova, the very same lord who's case and inheritance claim he is currently working on as a lawyer. Draft “My dear, you say you tried out the life of the Lower City - and I can only say that I did the same. You’ll forgive me for not remembering one encounter.” Astarion said, hoping that the young noble would drop the matter. But he hoped in vain.

Sade Aksartova looked next to furious for a moment, like a flash of darkness possessed his eyes. But a second later it was gone, and he looked down in the water with a pained smile.

“Yes.” He laughed. “One of many, I suppose.” He looked up at Astarion again, a new determination forming behind cold green eyes. Astarion was unsure whether his remark was meant to be a slight, or if Aksartova actually knew something. But before he could respond, the lord shifted in the water, inching closer to Astarion, to where one of his knees touched Astarion’s beneath the surface. Aksartova leaned in, one hand gliding across the edge of the marble pool, closer to Astarion’s shoulder. The human smiled.

“I looked into you, after we met in the court building that evening a while back.” He began. “So strange too, by the way, to request a meeting after dark. ‘Oh, that’s simply his way’ they said when I asked about it. ‘He only works at night’, another claimed. Now, night owls are not unheard of, I myself get a lot done during the dark hours.” He laughed, like they shared some inside joke. Again, he continued before Astarion could open his mouth.

“And one should know his potential lawyer, no? Since the inheritance is mine by right, you will be representing me in court when the time comes, will you not?” He slid his knee past Astarion’s and moved his hand behind Astarion’s shoulder, a finger lightly brushing his skin.

[waywardrose-archive]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY | 12

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

9.2k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

fem/witchy/goth!reader, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, consensual pursuit and capture, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird?

Weird weird?

He shrugged. He liked weird.

In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: Added two more songs to the playlist. Also, heed the updated tags for this chapter. If you need spoilers, DM me.

“Of course, magic’s real,” you said.

He sat back on his heels with hands on his thighs, his limp cock hanging between them. He sighed and stared at the floor.

Only the nearest candle-flame had survived the rush of magic. The scent of incense lingered despite the heating blowing new air into your room. The floor was cool enough to feel clammy.

You followed his attention. Thick spurts of come striped the smudged chalk. One spurt lay close to your knee.

Now that the spell was complete, you felt different, though not as expansive as you once had. You couldn’t feel Eddie like you had in Chicago. Even though he was in contact with the sigils, you couldn’t feel him like you’d expected. Something had changed, though, and that was a start.

You concentrated on sparking a flame for a blown-out candle. Lighting a candle had been easy just weeks ago. You thought of the purpose of a wick, of the tiny fire, of the heat, of the illumination—

But nothing.

You slumped onto your calves.

“It didn’t work, did it?” he asked.

“No, it worked. I’m just... Not the same.”

“Hey, maybe that’s a blessing.”

“Why?”

“Well, if I was a wizard and wanted more power, it would be convenient to drain the same person of the same magic again.”

“You think with different magic, they’ll leave me alone?”

“Maybe like this you’re off their radar.”

You nodded, hoping that was true.

“Shit, let’s get off this floor.”

He rose onto his knees, appearing at ease with his nudity. He had nothing to be embarrassed about. Especially not in front of you. He’d helped you when he didn’t have to. He was brave to stay by your side.

And damn if he wasn’t beautiful to boot.

You grabbed his wrist as he leaned to the side to bring a foot forward. He paused to study you. Some mix of emotions must’ve colored your features, because he shuffled closer.

“What?” he asked, frowning.

You shook your head as you got to your knees.

“Just... thank you.”

You placed a hand on his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss. His features softened as he bent to meet your lips. You closed your eyes and sunk into it. His soft lips dragged across yours when he tilted his head. His nose pressed alongside yours as his free arm wrapped around your back. The memory of pain and nightmares you’d begun to associate with magic dissolved.

Magic was with Eddie. It was what you shared with him.

You knee-walked a little closer to him. Something cold and slick squished under your knee. You pulled away to look down. You’d knee-walked into his come. You laughed, grossed-out, but still giddy. His face scrunched as he laughed.

“Shit, let me...” He floundered for something to use to clean you. “You got tissues or something?”

“It’s okay,” you said and stood.

You’d stashed a fresh roll of paper towels and glass cleaner on the desk chair. If glass cleaner would wash away chalk, you were sure it would do the same for cooling spunk.

You went to the desk, sprayed a paper towel with the cleaner, and wiped off your knees and shins. After folding the towel, you sprayed it again and offered it to Eddie, who looked bashful. He cleaned his dusty, pink knees, then threw the towel in the wastebasket nearby. It landed with a splat.

He barked a laugh. “Can’t believe my jizz ruined the moment.”

Amused, you shrugged and stepped to the bed for your robe, asking, “You plan on leaving?”

“No, but... ya know...”

You slung on the robe before handing him his boxers.

“We’ll get another one.”

He said nothing as he pulled on the boxers, appearing disappointed. You gave him his Metallica t-shirt before asking if he was thirsty. He nodded, saying whatever you were having was fine. He followed you to the second floor only to separate to use your bathroom. You continued to the kitchen, where you took two cans of Slice from the fridge and a bag of BBQ Fritos from the pantry.

You met Eddie on the second floor. He studied the framed print of Rothko’s Yellow, Blue, and Orange that filled the space between the bathroom door and the guest bedroom. The canvas edge was a vivid, fiery orange that was nearly red. The top two-thirds was a rough-edged square of butterscotch yellow with the bottom one-third a rectangle of true blue. Orange leached into both top colors, adding depth and texture.

You stood beside him, your fingers cooling from the icy cans.

With the tone of someone in a museum, he said, “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

You hummed. “I feel different things each time I look at it.”

“Yeah, at first I saw a calm ocean. Now, there’re ruins on the horizon.”

“Do you like it?”

He nodded, then asked, “What do you feel now?”

You tilted your head as you thought.

“Floating and warm? Like feeling the sun? I see waving grasses in the blue. It’s like a meadow.”

“I can see that.”

After a quiet moment, you said, “Here,” and gave him the cans and bag. “Bathroom break.”

When you finished in the bathroom, you ascended to your bedroom. The desk light was on. Eddie stood at the edge of the chalk circle, blue boxers billowing from his thighs. The bottle of glass cleaner was in one hand, a few paper towels in the other.

“Didn’t know if it was cool I clean or not,” he said as an explanation.

“No, it’s cool.” You pointed to the roll of paper towels lying at the far corner of the bed. “Let me help, though.”

He fetched the roll and handed it over. You tore off a few sheets as he sprayed the cleaner on the circle.

“I guess that makes sense,” he said, throwing you a smirk. “Since we both made the mess.”

You grinned and knelt, placing the roll to the side.

To tease, you said, “Some more than others.”

He made an offended noise, yet knelt across from you to begin wiping away the chalk.

“Are you implying one of us is culpable for this untidiness?!”

Your grin widened to a smile. You hid your face to school it and cleared your throat.

“I’m more than implying, sir,” you said, swabbing the floor.

“Why, I never.”

“Judging by the state of your room, I call bullshit.”

He lobbed his used towels to the side.

“You wound me, milady!”

“Say that about the full ashtrays in your room.”

“How do you know I haven’t emptied them?”

You raised an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes, conceding the point with a grin.

You returned to cleaning until you met him in the middle. After tossing the last of the used towels in the pile, he starfished across the floor and touched your knee.

Giving you an upside-down grin, he asked, “Soooo, what now?”

“Now, we feast and test my magic.”

“And have a smoke?”

He gave you an imploring-puppy look.

“You did this just to get at my Djarums.”

He placed a hand on his chest.

“Guilty as charged.”

You twisted around to give him a crooked kiss. He purred into it, his hand going to your nape.

An inch from his lips, you said, “I think you’ve earned it.”

“I concur.”

You awarded him a couple of quick pecks before standing. He groaned as he rolled onto all fours while you brought out the heavy — and clean — ashtray you used to burn spell components in. Together, you righted the room and gathered what you needed on the window seat. Before settling, you lit candles the mundane way and clicked off the desk lamp. You sat in the opposite corner of the window seat from Eddie, tucked the afghan over both your legs, and cracked the window.

He opened the cans of Slice as you lit two Djarums. You traded a cigarette for a can and toasted to a successful spell.

After taking a sip of soda and a drag off the Djarum, you asked, “Did you feel anything when the circle glowed?”

He thought for a moment, exhaling smoke towards the sliver of chilly night air.

“It felt warm. Good.” He hummed, lips pursing. “Then again, getting off always feels good.”

“So, nothing beyond getting off?”

“No, I felt the warmth in my chest. It was different than heating up from being turned on.”

You nodded.

“Maybe you have a spark of magic.”

“Me?” He shook his head. “Nah. No magic here.” He winked. “It’s all you.”

You nudged his knee with a toe and scrunched your nose at him, which made him grin.

As you both ate and drank and smoked, he told you about the D&D campaign he hoped to finish before Christmas break. It was his take on the Scourge of the Slave Lords module. He’d changed the creatures his players had to fight and the species the slavers were targeting. He wanted his players to question their own morals and argue amongst themselves. As a DM, he said, it was entertaining — though the arguing prolonged the campaign.

You asked after the newest members of Hellfire. He replied Sinclair had unofficially dropped out by sacrificing his character in the labyrinth, thus saving the party. Since basketball season was gearing up, Sinclair could no longer split his time between practice and Hellfire. Eddie, of course, saw through the excuse. Sinclair wanted to run with the popular crowd.

“Then let him,” you said. “That’s his choice.”

“Yeah, fucking sucks, though.”

“Hey, my offer to join Hellfire still stands, you know.”

“Let me think about it. If you join for a module, I want it to be epic.”

Headlights flashed at the end of the driveway. You pulled down the window’s roll shade to block the view. Eddie froze, eyes wide. You hoped the candles weren’t strong enough to throw sharp shadows on the shade. The garage door rasped open as the low rumble of your father’s sedan grew louder.

“Should I hide?” he asked.

“No, they won’t come up here.”

The garage door closed. The house was still.

You closed your eyes, thinking, ‘Here goes nothing,’ and reached out. The mental image of your parents wasn’t distinct. You had a sneaking feeling you were pulling from memory. You felt their drunkenness, though. You got the impression your father was feeling pompous, like he’d gotten to show up a snooty waiter. That sort of stunt always made his night.

You opened your eyes to meet Eddie’s gaze. He looked expectant, with eyebrows raised and dark eyes round. You shook your head, unworried. Your father never wanted to see you after a date. Mom was probably too tipsy to manage the extra set of stairs to your bedroom.

As you sensed their proximity, you whispered, “They’re coming up the stairs now. Listen.”

The lush carpet muffled their footsteps. Your father’s voice was a wordless grumble. Mom giggled like a schoolgirl. You couldn’t discern the click of their bedroom door, but you knew it had. Luckily, noise didn’t travel far in the house and your bedroom was isolated.

“They sound...” Eddie’s brow wrinkled. “Happy?”

You shrugged.

“They’re drunk.”

“That’ll do it.”

You grinned, opening the window’s roll shade enough to close and lock the window.

“You felt them,” he half-asked/half-stated.

You wagged your head as you said, “Pretty much.”

“Could you do that before?”

“Yeah, but it used to be clearer. This’ll do until I can find another way. Or the person that drained me dies.”

Eddie’s eyes rounded again.

“What?”

“They stole my magic,” you said. “If they’re not alive to keep it, I’m pretty sure it’ll come back.”

“Planning a murder now?”

You looked over your room, mulling over options. It hadn’t occurred until now. You’d been too shaken and too focused on recovering magic to think about revenge. On top of that, you didn’t know if you were powerful enough to do it. If you fucked up a curse like that, it would mean your death.

“Not yet,” you said.

Alternatively, tracking your attacker with magic and hurting them the old-fashioned way was an option. Your father had a pistol he’d inherited from his father locked in the safe in his office. It was unregistered. The bullets were in there, too. It didn’t take a genius to work out the lock combination, either. It was your parents’ wedding date or his mother’s birthday.

“So, that’s possible?” he asked.

Distracted, you nodded and murmured a ‘yeah.’

“Shit, what else can you do, sweetheart?”

You blinked as his question registered. It was an interesting topic. There were things you’d been good at, but you didn’t know if you still were. Perhaps it was sensible to start with something you’d always struggled with. Your expectations would be low, then.

“I was never very good at psychometry,” you said, and held out a hand to him, palm up. “But I’m willing to give it another shot.”

He looked at your hand, saying, “Psych equals mind, -metry is for system, but I don’t get it.”

“It’s learning things or seeing events through touch.”

“You want to learn things about me by holding my hand?”

“Well, I mean, I wasn’t good at it. It might not work.”

“You could just ask.”

“But that’s not testing my abilities.”

With a guarded sigh, he took your hand.

“You don’t have to,” you said.

“No, let’s do this.”

“Okay then, just relax.”

Wryly, he asked, “No breathing exercises?”

“No, just trust me.” You stuck your empty Slice can between the window and your hip, then held out your other hand. “And close your eyes.”

He leaned to the side and dropped his empty can in the wastebasket. He got comfortable, took your hand, and closed his eyes with a deep breath. You gave his hands a tender squeeze, which he returned.

You’d been honest when you said you weren’t good with psychometry. Typically, you’d gotten a fragment: a phrase, a snapshot, a passing feeling. It never amounted to anything. Then again, you’d gotten more than a fragment from Eddie’s carving on that picnic table. Maybe you could read him better than others — or had been able to at one point.

Inhaling deeply, you closed your eyes and let your shoulders loosen. You focused on the feel of Eddie’s hands holding yours, their weight and warmth, his skin texture. Images came one by one:

A plaid bookbag open on his small bed.

Running through the woods and dueling friends with sticks.

Getting black grime on his hands, under his nails, as he fished through a tray of lug nuts at the garage where Dad worked.

Watching Momma clip coupons at the kitchen table.

You paused. His mother was pretty, with wavy, caramel-blond hair and a heart-shaped face. Eddie had inherited her eyes, lips, and bone structure, though his jaw was squarer. However, there was a weariness about her that Eddie lacked.

While all that was interesting and painted a picture of Eddie’s childhood in broad strokes, it didn’t tell a story. He’d revealed his father was dead, but never anything about his mother.

In a flash, you sit on sun-warmed concrete stairs. The metallic clank-clank from the school’s flagpole counts off slow seconds. Your bookbag full of that week’s projects and graded homework leans on the stairs next to your scuffed sneakers. You play with the mend at the knee of your corduroys.

From behind you, an adult voice says, “Eddie? It’s almost five. What are you still doing here?”

You pivot on your butt. Breeze from the passing cars ruffles your hair. Mrs. Russell stands at the top of the stairs. The flared hem of her tan slacks undulates in the breeze.

You shrug.

Mrs. Russell descends a few stairs. The corners of her mouth turn down as a wrinkle mars the skin between her thin eyebrows. Her expression makes you feel squirmy in the worst way. You’ve seen that look from adults before.

“Did you miss your bus?” she asks.

You open your mouth to answer, yet swallow the reply.

This morning Momma said she was going to pick you up after school and take you for super-secret ice cream. That’s the best kind of ice cream, in your opinion. You threw your arms around her waist, telling her what flavor you were going to get today. She shushed you repeatedly and combed through your hair with her red nails.

“Eddie, did you miss your bus?” asks Mrs. Russell again.

You nod, because something tells you Mrs. Russell shouldn’t know Momma forgot about super-secret ice cream.

“Do you need a ride home?”

You shake your head, because something tells you Dad wouldn’t like Mrs. Russell there.

“No, I can walk home.”

You grab the handle of your bookbag and stand.

As you walk down the stairs to the sidewalk, she says, “Have a good weekend...”

You cross street after street, looking both ways twice each time. Barking dogs in backyards turn into barking dogs chained to front stoops. Some sound more friendly than others, but you want to pet them all. The old lady across the street with fake flowers planted in pots on her front porch watches you. She doesn’t like Dad and won’t talk to Momma. Dad calls the old lady an old bag, which is a silly thing to call a person. She doesn’t look like a bag at all, but you understand it’s an insult. You hope no one ever calls you a bag.

You walk around the side of your house. Only the car Dad works on is parked in the backyard. You open your bookbag to unpin the house-key from the lining and unlock the backdoor. Inside is dark and quiet. Cooking smells linger in the kitchen.

Going to the threshold of your parents’ dim bedroom, you call for Momma.

No one answers.

You’re not allowed in their room unless they’re home, but sometimes you sneak in anyway. You usually smell Momma’s perfume or Dad’s cologne — both are harsh until it’s on them — and look at their clothes hanging in the closet.

Maybe Momma is getting ice cream from the grocery store.

It’s not as good as the super-secret variety, but you like it all the same.

You go to your room to continue building your racetrack castle with Lincoln Logs and the pitted Erector set. After a while, you get bored and lay on your side.

The slam of the front door wakes you. Footsteps clomp through the kitchen, too heavy to be Momma’s. You sit and return to constructing, because Dad doesn’t like it when you’re lazy.

“Hey,” Dad says from the doorway. “Where’s your mom?”

You straighten your back and look him in the eye how he likes.

“I don’t know.”

Dad grunts and leaves the doorway. You creep to your bookbag to clean it out before Dad notices. You cram all the papers with the other school stuff in the bottom drawer of your desk. The drawer is close to overflowing, seeing as the school year is almost over.

Your parents’ bedroom door closes with a bang. Though you’re sure you’re not supposed to hear him, Dad talks to someone on the phone. His voice gets louder and louder until something thuds a few times across the floor. He yells some bad words before something else smashes into the wall.

You stand by the desk as silent, tense minutes tick by. Nothing makes a sound, not even the fridge. Once you’re sure you won’t get in trouble, you crawl to the racetrack castle. You sit in front of it, a Lincoln Log between your fingers.

Too many thoughts zoom through your head. You don’t want to think about anything. You want to switch on the radio and crank the volume until music beats away the thoughts. You want to escape outside and explore in the alley behind the house. There’s always something to see back there.

Eventually, it gets dark. You turn on the desk light. Your stomach grumbles, but you don’t risk leaving your room. Instead, you sit at your desk and read Where the Sidewalk Ends until Dad calls you for dinner.

Dad doesn’t mention Momma during dinner. He doesn’t mention her on Saturday or Sunday, either.

On Monday, you take the bus home.

With your heart aching, you withdrew from the memory. You didn’t need to see more. Abruptly, the world blurred. It spun so fast everything became strings of color. You couldn’t pull away. Then the strings wove together to make a tapestry you understood.

Eddie stands next to his van. He doesn’t look much different from what you’re used to. There’s a healing zit on his chin. Sunlight catches the gold undertone of his wind-blown hair, which is about the same length as it is now. Though, his over-grown bangs obscure his eyelashes.

It’s late spring. Last day of school for seniors. The birds chirp and flitter in the trees at the edge of the trailer park. He watches them with angry, red-rimmed eyes. Wayne watches him from the front porch.

Principal Higgins summoned Eddie to the office to inform him summer school wasn’t an option. Wayne sat in the other guest chair next to Eddie, missing sleep before his second-shift. Higgins continued, saying there was no way to make up the missed tests and homework. Besides, Eddie had too many absences. He’s a problem student, disruptive in class. He antagonized fellow students (see: Meathead Jocks). Wayne protested the assessment while Eddie tried to explain the absences. Higgins wouldn’t hear it, advising Wayne to withdraw Eddie from Hawkins High and have him take the GED test somewhere else.

Eddie’s grin was full of malice when he stood and declared Higgins would see him next year. Higgins’ fat face reddened, but Eddie hadn’t stuck around to hear more. Actually, he left school while the rest of the seniors were in the gym for commencement rehearsal.

He was going to be a super senior, and he was going to make it everyone’s problem.

“Don’t you fucking talk, boy,” Dad yells as the cop walks him out of the apartment. “You keep your mouth shut!”

A big hand lands on Eddie’s shoulder. He wants to shake it off, but knows better. Adults don’t like it when you reject their touch. The flashing lights on the patrol cars hurt his eyes, yet he refuses to look away from the frosty living-room window.

“Where’s your mom?” the second cop asks Eddie. “Can we call her? Or another family member?”

He thinks of Uncle Wayne. Though Uncle Wayne lives in town, he’s never home. Eddie doesn’t know his number, anyway. And no one’s heard from Momma in years. He tells people she’s dead if they ask, because she might as well be. Not like anyone asks at his new school. It’s a small school — just like the town they moved to. Dad says the town — Hawkins, Indiana — is the Munson family hometown.

None of the students recognize his last name, though. They think he’s a weirdo because he wore a Kiss t-shirt on the first day and only ate a squished peanut-butter sandwich at lunch.

“I don’t know,” he says as he watches Dad get hustled into the back of a patrol car.

The second cop sighs. “Pack a few things. Get your school stuff.”

“Where am I going?”

“To the police station.”

“Am I in trouble?”

The cop snorts. “No. We just need to keep you safe.”

“I’m safe here. I’ll go to school tomorrow.”

“With who your dad was selling to? No, kid. We need to know where you are until we can find your mom or a family member.”

He doesn’t know who Dad sold the cars to, though he knows Dad drove them to a warehouse an hour away.

Sometimes, he was the lookout. That was always exciting. They were like Robin Hood. The other week, Dad finally let him hot-wire on his own. Dad said he’d done a good job since the steering column wasn’t scratched.

He turns to the cop. His gaze has to travel up and up and up. The cop is taller than Dad, with deep-set eyes and a big jaw. He looks gruff, but not mean. However, Eddie knows not to trust him. He’s a cop. Dad said never ever trust a cop.

“Go on,” says the cop. “Get your stuff.”

Eddie packs some of his clothes, the library book he’s reading, and a toothbrush in an old gym bag. His school books and folders are scattered over the coffee table since he was doing homework when the cops barged in. After he packs all that in his backpack, the cop takes it and asks if he has a key. Eddie shows him the one on his necklace, which he only takes off when he showers, and slings on a coat.

Together, they turn off lights, lock the front door, and walk to the remaining patrol car. The cop deposits his backpack and gym bag between the crates of official gear. Eddie wants to rummage through the crates, but the cop closes the trunk before he can. He sits in the front seat for the ride to the town’s lone police station and studies all the extra equipment bolted to the dash.

Once inside the station, the cop takes him to a wood-paneled room with two military cots and promises him snacks in an hour. Eddie finishes his homework. He explores the room to find nothing interesting. He hula-hoops the necklace around his neck, then twirls it around his finger. It sails across the office behind the other cot.

The cop returns to find him crawling under the cot. Eddie pops to his feet, covered in dust-bunnies, his heart in his throat.

“You got a little—” The cop gestures to his head with an unopened can of soda. “—in your hair.”

Eddie bends and swats at his buzzed head. It rains gray dust.

When he straightens, the cop nods. He hopes the cop won’t tell Dad he was embarrassing himself.

“We got in touch with your Uncle Wayne’s dispatcher. He’s in Arkansas right now,” says the cop. “They’ll have him back soon.” He thumbs behind him. “You can come out if you’re bored.”

Eddie shakes his head.

“No, thanks.”

The cop hands over the soda and a little bag of pretzels without comment. He tells Eddie he’ll find him a blanket and that the bathroom’s to the left. The cop comes back with a felt blanket and leaves the door open.

They don’t take him to school in the morning. Instead, the secretary makes him a bowl of Frosted Flakes with sliced banana and calls the school to get his assignments for the day. The cereal becomes gross mush in his mouth when he realizes with that one call, everyone will hear about Dad’s arrest.

He says nothing as she sets up a tray table for him to work at by her desk. It’s difficult to concentrate with the phones ringing and the clack of typewriters and the cops across the hall talking or walking to the break-room. He can’t cover both ears and work, but he covers his left and lays his right on his shoulder. It helps — a little. It still takes him all day to finish his schoolwork.

The same cop from last night brings him a cheeseburger and fries from Benny’s for dinner. They eat together in the break-room while other cops stop at their table to gossip. One of the county judges bought land near the Eno River for a new house. The cops share a look that Eddie takes to mean the judge is corrupt. Annie Roark kicked out Earl again. Bradley’s is running a five-for-five deal.

After dinner, Eddie retreats to the quieter cot-room to wait. He reads his book. His mind strays. He reads another paragraph. He wonders where Dad is. He walks to the big room by the front door where all the cops hang out to ask just that.

The closest cop doesn’t know, but calls for ‘Hop.’ The cop who brought him dinner perks and swings his crossed feet off his desk. Hop explains Dad is still in jail, but his case was already heard by the judge, who ruled Dad remain in custody. Eddie bets it was the corrupt judge. Hop says Dad will appear in court in a couple of days. In the meantime, Eddie will stay with Wayne.

Eddie returns to the cot-room to wait some more. He lies on a cot with his book winged across his chest, tapping a rhythm on the cover as he thinks. There has to be a way to overrule the judge, or to explain, or conceal evidence, or pin it on someone else. He’ll say Dad didn’t do anything; he was with him the whole time. He has to think of some scenario where Dad couldn’t have done it.

He mulls over the situation until his eyelids get heavy.

A knock on the doorjamb wakes him. It’s Hop, who says Wayne is there to pick him up. Eddie dumps the book on the floor and runs for the front of the building. Wayne will know how to get Dad out of jail. Wayne is smart. Dad said the Army wouldn’t let Wayne be a grunt during ‘Nam because he was that smart.

Like a movie, Wayne turns to him right in time and opens his arms. Eddie tackle-hugs him. Wayne ‘oof’s and doesn’t scold him for running inside or being a wuss.

An arm wraps around his shoulders while a warm hand cups the back of his head. Wayne’s coat smells like cigarettes and cold-night air.

Voice rough, Wayne asks, “How you holdin’ up, kiddo?”

“I’m okay,” he says against Wayne’s coat.

Wayne hums and rubs Eddie’s shoulder.

Hop tells Wayne what he told Eddie earlier, though he adds Dad’s scheduled court appearance. Wayne thanks Hop before giving Eddie’s nape a squeeze and asking if he’s ready to go. Eddie is so ready to go. He’s been ready since he had to leave home, and he almost says that.

He releases Wayne as he nods. Wayne juts his chin towards the cot-room and tells him to pack his gear. Eddie salutes as a joke, then runs to the cot-room. He reloads his backpack and gym bag, and pulls on his coat.

Wayne ushers him out of the station and to his regular truck. Eddie had hoped to ride home in the big-rig, but Wayne had explained the first time Eddie saw it that it wasn’t his exactly. They stop by his home to pick up more clothing, bathroom stuff, and his pillow.

The air in Wayne’s trailer is stale, but it’s clean. Wayne flips on some lights, runs the kitchen faucet, and turns up the thermostat. Eddie studies Wayne’s mug collection, trying to pick out the latest addition. He squints at the mug from Minnesota as he racks his brain if it was there the last time. Unfortunately, Wayne breaks his concentration by telling him to get ready for bed.

As he and Wayne make the couch up for Eddie to sleep on, he asks when Dad will get out of jail. Wayne replies that it’s up to the judge. Eddie tells him what he heard about a corrupt judge. There has to be a way to use that to get Dad out of jail for good.

Wayne gives him a considering look that’s a little stern. Eddie picks at the hem of his sweatshirt.

“Edward,” Wayne says, and Eddie knows he’s going to refuse. “That ain’t practical.”

His shoulders slump, but he nods.

“I understand your loyalty, though. I got it, too. I don’t want your dad in jail, either.”

Eddie opens his mouth to further argue his point, but Wayne holds up a hand to stop him.

“We can’t do a thing about that right now. He got caught again — and everybody knows he did it.”

Tears burn at the corners of his eyes. He ducks his head to hide them. Boys shouldn’t cry.

Wayne’s gentle ‘hey’ has his tears overflowing the banks of his eyelids. He doesn’t know why he’s crying. It’s just everything all at once. Dad’s gone and so is Momma and he didn’t stop it and he could’ve. He knows he could’ve stopped it all, but he doesn’t know how. Maybe by being a better, smarter person.

Wayne gets on one knee in front of him and pulls him into a tight hug. It’s a little awkward, because Eddie’s a little too tall to snuggle into Wayne’s chest. He drapes his head over Wayne’s shoulder, letting his tears wet Wayne’s flannel shirt, and snuffles back snot quietly.

They stay like that for a long time.

He doesn’t go to school the next day. Wayne takes him out for breakfast, then grocery shopping. He helps him with his school assignments at the kitchen table. They eat chicken pot pies in front of the television.

He goes to school the next day. People avoid him. Teachers don’t call on him. He sits alone at lunchtime until a boy in his class — he thinks his name is Johnny or Joe — swings into a chair across the table. Eddie bets his friends dared him.

“Is it true you were arrested?” asks Johnny-or-Joe.

Eddie nearly laughs.

“No,” he says and takes another bite of his ham sandwich that he stuck potato chips in.

“Everyone said you were.”

He tongues the food to the side of his mouth to say, “Well, they’re wrong.”

“What happened then?”

Eddie narrows his eyes.

“Why do you wanna know?”

Johnny-or-Joe shrugs.

“Just wanna.”

Eddie swallows and leans in with a lie brewing in his mind. Johnny-or-Joe leans in, too.

“My dad uncovered a huge conspiracy.”

Johnny-or-Joe’s eyes widen as his lips part in shock.

Eddie whispers, “There are mind-controlling aliens in the government. They’ve taken over the country. They’re here in Hawkins, my dad swears. And there’s only one way to stop them: playing rock-and-roll reeeeal loud. It makes their brains—” He hovers his hands on either side of his head, then throws them out. “—explode.”

“Bullshit,” Johnny-or-Joe says, though he looks shaken.

“Swear to God, man. You play that music near a government building, and they’ll have you surrounded in minutes.”

Johnny-or-Joe stands and shoves the chair in. One of the legs plows into Eddie’s shoe. He leaves with a grumble.

“Play that music and keep ‘em out of your head!” Eddie says to Johnny-or-Joe’s back.

Johnny-or-Joe flips him the bird.

Eddie smiles and takes another bite of his sandwich. Fuck these asshats.

On Monday after school, Wayne sits him down on the couch and tells him the judge convicted Dad of a felony with two years in prison. Eddie curses for the first time in front of an adult. Wayne doesn’t admonish him.

“You wanna keep on with me?” Wayne asks.

“Like there’s another option.”

“You can go live with your granny in Ohio.”

They’d visited Granny a few times. Dad and Wayne called her Mommy. Her assisted-living apartment was tiny, too warm, and smelled weird. All the windows looked onto a dull courtyard. He’d be the youngest person in the whole boring building.

No, he doesn’t want to move to Ohio. Besides, he likes Wayne.

“Can I stay with you?” he asks.

“‘Course you can.” Wayne nods. “We’ll bring your things here and go visit your dad when he’s settled.”

Eddie nods as his stomach growls.

Wayne smirks around the cigarette between his lips.

“You want some supper?”

Eddie nods again.

After two years, they release Dad on an unseasonably warm autumn day. Wayne picks Dad up from Plainfield Correctional while Eddie’s in school. By the time he gets home, Dad’s a few beers into a twelve-pack and has sprawled across the couch on the porch.

Dad greets him like a buddy from work, offering him a beer. From the grill a few feet away, Wayne pointedly clears his throat. Dad laughs it off and tosses the can in the cooler, but gives Eddie a wink. He then cheerfully demands Eddie put away his school crap and bring out his guitar.

“Which one?” Eddie asks.

“What?” Dad asks.

“I have two.”

Wayne bought him an acoustic and a few instructional books for their first Christmas together. It hadn’t been out of the blue. Eddie always mimicked guitar solos in songs. Wayne took the hint. When Eddie zipped through the books, Wayne bought a few more. With some of the money from Granny’s estate, a second-hand Stratocaster and Fender amp.

“Well, shit,” says Dad.

Wayne suggests the acoustic since it takes no time to set up. Dad tacks on he doesn’t want to hear anything ‘fruity.’ Eddie plays him some AC/DC and Led Zeppelin. It’s a little rough. He’s better with AC/DC on the Stratocaster.

During supper, Dad talks about moving to Indianapolis and Eddie coming with. They’ll pal around and get to know each other again. Dad will get a job. Eddie will go to school. It sounds like the good old days until he remembers the hollow feeling of watching Dad being driven away in the back of a patrol car. It’ll happen again, he knows it.

Eddie’s face must show the realization, because Dad’s smile disappears and his face goes red. Eddie looks at Wayne, who has the best poker face he’s ever seen. He knows Wayne will support his decision — whatever he chooses.

It’s not as though he’s thrilled about living in Hawkins. He doesn’t like that Wayne had to give up his trucking career to take care of him...

Dad’s elbow clunks on the kitchen table as he points an accusatory finger at Wayne.

“You turned him against me!”

Calmly, Wayne says, “That ain’t true.”

“My own goddamn son!”

“Now—”

Dad snaps to his feet, almost upending the kitchen table. Glasses and deli containers topple. Their drinks flood the tablecloth. Dad grabs Eddie by his t-shirt and swings him against the wall oven. He gets in Eddie’s face, yelling about obedience and loyalty and duty, and shakes him hard enough his head thunks on a dial.

Wayne shoves at Dad’s shoulder, gets between them. Dad tries to bully around Wayne, but he’s too drunk and uncoordinated. Spittle wets the side of Dad’s freshly shaved chin. His fists fly wild.

One catches Eddie in the jaw. Eddie’s teeth crunch into his tongue. He grunts and holds his throbbing cheek. His eyes water from the pain as he tastes hot iron.

Dad stumbles away, forearm knocking into the pendant light over the table.

Wayne pushes Eddie towards the hall.

“Bathroom, now.”

Eddie backs away as Dad stares at him with furious eyes. He’s never seen that look before. He doesn’t want to see it again and escapes into the dark bathroom. It’s the day Momma left all over again. He doesn’t dare make a sound.

With metal in his voice, Wayne says, “Get the hell outta my house.”

“But—”

“No, out.” It’s quiet for a beat. “Now.”

“Where will I—”

There’s a shuffle and crinkle of paper.

“Here. Bank of Hawkins. Your share of Mommy’s money.”

After a tense moment, the front door snicks closed.

They don’t hear from Dad for a year. When he finally calls, it’s collect from a Peoria, Illinois police station. He needs $500 for bail. Eddie doesn’t have the money, and Wayne’s already at work. Dad needles him about having a job, though he just turned fifteen. He can’t even drive.

Dad sighs, then asks about the rest of Granny’s money. It went to a new furnace for the trailer and a transmission in Wayne’s truck. Maybe he can pawn a guitar. The thought makes Eddie’s supper curdle in his stomach. Surely, Eddie has some money saved. He does, but not enough to make bail.

And the last suggestion nearly has him hang up: Take it from Wayne’s account.

So much for familial loyalty.

He says he’ll talk to Wayne when he gets home. Dad sounds annoyed, but gives him the station’s phone number and reiterates the bail amount. Eddie writes the details on a sheet of notebook paper and leaves it on the kitchen counter for Wayne.

Over a bowl of Fruity O’s in the morning, Eddie asks Wayne to not send the money. Wayne lifts a brow for clarification as he takes a drag from his cigarette. Eddie says if they send the money, they’ll never see it again. Dad will run.

Wayne nods in contemplation, ashing the cigarette.

“Think so?”

Eddie says, “Know so.”

“How’s that?”

“He never said anything about coming home or seeing us. Or even missing us. He doesn’t fu—freaking care. We’re a Get Out of Jail Free card to him.”

Wayne hums. “You wanna let your old man cool his heels in jail, huh?”

“We don’t have the money, anyway.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Wayne scrutinizes him over the rim of his mug. “Ya sure? He may be in there a while before his trial.”

He nods while ignoring the pangs of some ugly assortment of feelings. He spoons cereal in his mouth and chews like it insulted him.

“Edward... Eddie—” Wayne inhales through his nose. “Son, what my brother does ain’t no reflection on you, ya hear? Same with your momma.”

He stares at the bloated rings of cereal drifting in the milk.

“You’re a good kid. Always have been.”

He can’t look at Wayne’s face as he says, “You’re the best uncle I could ask for.”

Wayne ruffles his hair. He evades with a laugh. He meets Wayne’s eyes to see them glassy for the first time. Wayne holds his gaze for a second before fishing another cigarette from the pack.

Eddie is seventeen — and high as shit — when the phone rings on a rainy Thursday evening. He answers on the third ring, positive it’s a local looking for weed. However, it’s a chaplain with Greenville Federal in Illinois. They ask for Wayne. As per usual, Wayne’s working second shift. He typically wouldn’t identify himself on the phone, but he does this time.

Like ripping off a bandage, the chaplain breaks the news that Dad passed away less than an hour ago. Eddie stares at the basket of clean clothes on the washing machine. The chaplain reports Dad had a cardiac incident while out on the unit floor. They took him to the medical ward, where he stabilized. Shortly thereafter, he went into cardiac arrest. Staff did their best to resuscitate, but all attempts were unsuccessful.

Eddie blinks. Dad is dead. The floor disappears. Or rather, he can’t feel the floor under his feet. Dad is dead. He looks down. His socked feet are still on the brown linoleum.

Dad is dead.

The chaplain calls him Mr. Munson.

He nearly laughs.

He isn’t Mr. Munson. He’s Eddie. Just Eddie. And his dad is dead.

Words come out of his mouth that aren’t his. They feel like Wayne’s. He asks what he and Wayne need to do. He finds a pen and the closest piece of paper as the chaplain speaks. Being out-of-state makes claiming the body of the deceased more complicated. Fax machines are involved. He doesn’t know anyone who has a fax machine. He writes what the chaplain says, though.

After the conversation ends, he places the phone handset back in its cradle and sits on the couch. He needs to call the plant, get Wayne on the phone. A commercial for Wheaties plays on the TV. He takes a couple of deep breaths and closes his eyes. His mouth is dry — as are his eyes.

He waits for tears to come. When they don’t manifest, he figures he’s too high.

The days after Dad’s death blur with trips to the library to fax documents, calls to officials and relatives, and leftover pizza for breakfast. Wayne opted for a direct cremation in Illinois and the remains sent to Indiana. There are fees on top of fees, and Social Security is being a big bastard about everything.

Eddie pauses in the middle of scrubbing the bathroom floor — because, you know, he cleans now — and remembers he forgot to remind Wayne to call school on Monday. It’s Thursday afternoon. He flings off the pink rubber gloves and runs into the living room.

Wayne is on the phone with family in Kentucky they haven’t heard from in years.

He waves his arms. Wayne holds up a finger for him to wait. There can be no waiting with this. He grabs his notebook, turns to a fresh sheet, and writes ‘school’ in capital letters. He holds the notebook in front of Wayne, whose eyes round.

“Aunt Virgy, lemme let ya go,” Wayne says. “Yes’m— Yeah, my boy— Yeah, our Eddie— He’s doin’ fine, thank you for askin’—” He smiles. “Yup, growin’ like a weed.”

Eddie smirks to himself about the idiom.

Wayne continues, “Yes, ma’am, we’ll do that— Thank you for the invitation— Yes, sometime this summer— Okay.” He nods. “Talk with ya soon— Alright, bye-bye now.” He hangs up the phone. “Shit.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“No, that’s not on you. With all this goin’ on...” Wayne shakes his head. “I’ll call ‘em right now.”

Eddie brings him the school calendar from the fridge. He stands on the other side of the coffee table, gnawing at his cuticles. They taste like rubber. He doesn’t know why he cares. School is bullshit.

As Wayne talks with a secretary, his expression gets darker. Eddie doesn’t have much hope when he overhears all his absences — regardless of reason — have been considered unexcused this school year. That’ll affect his class standing. Wayne speaks to Principal Higgins, who puts off a meeting until the end of the school year.

Eddie knows what that means: Higgins is going to screw him over.

It’s like the universe is conspiring to keep him in Hawkins. Maybe he should’ve left when Dad was released and wanted to move to Indianapolis. He could’ve helped with money, so Dad wouldn’t have gotten caught again. He could’ve learned to cook some healthy meals. He could’ve started a band in Indy, too. He probably wouldn’t have the Warlock guitar, but he’d be out of this shithole.

Not anymore, though.

He leaves the living room with a clenched jaw and prickling eyes.

It’s been one bad decision after another. Staying with Wayne wasn’t one of them, of course. Not really. It wouldn’t have been better in the foster system or with another relative. It would’ve been different. Likely worse. He’d probably be the cremated remains Wayne is having shipped.

He shuts the bedroom door, lifts the Warlock from its wall mount, finds a random pick, and sits on the corner of his bed. It’s just the two of them. He goes through a few warm-up exercises. His fingers are stiff from scrubbing, but loosen with a few legatos and rolls.

He inhales and begins playing Metallica’s “The Call of Ktulu”. He rocks with the rhythm. Tension in his gut melts. His chin wobbles, yet he won’t stop. He won’t resign himself to whatever role Higgins — or any other asshole — wants to assign him. Fuck them all.

Tears burn their way down his cheeks. He wipes them on the shoulders of his t-shirt. His breath stutters, yet he continues.

You gasped to the present. Eddie watched you, concern evident in the crease between his brows. His thumbs stroked the backs of your hands. You glanced at the bedside clock. It had only been a few minutes. It felt like months.

You met his gaze, having no words. Psychometry had never been like that, and you weren’t sure it was supposed to be.

“What did you see?” he asked.

You shook your head while squeezing his hands.

“That bad?”

“No,” you said. “I just... I didn’t know— I mean, of course I didn’t know. I—” You sighed. “It’s never been like that.”

“Like what?”

“You showed me all these things. Like, these pivotal things.”

He frowned.

“I didn’t think of anything.”

“What?”

“I didn’t think of anything.”

It was your turn to frown.

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, what did you see?”

“I know about the last time your mom promised you super-secret ice cream.”

“Jesus Christ.”

He released your hands and tripped off the window seat. The afghan went with him. You pivoted on the seat to watch him pace around the room. His elbows winged out as he put his hands on the top of his head.

“What else?” he asked.

“I...”

“No.” He stopped and faced you. “No holding back.”

“I know you hot-wired cars with your dad, but he got caught. You spent the night at the police station.” You tried adjusting the lower half of your robe to cover your thigh, but you’d have to stand to do that. “I—uh...”

“What else?”

“Wayne picked you up at the police station the next day. You spent the night there.”

With a gritted curse, he resumed pacing.

“Your dad died in prison. In Illinois.” You gnawed on your bottom lip. “You missed too many days of school and had to repeat senior year.”

“Yeah, the first fucking time.”

“I don’t know about the second.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“That all?”

You stood and adjusted your robe, because you didn’t want to tell him.

Eddie said your name like a doubt.

Here you were again with him distrusting you. It had been stupid to get magic back. It was going to cost you Eddie. He’d never be able to look at you again without remembering you knew. And you knew some things were better left in the past.

You braced yourself and said, “I don’t want to lie by saying yes.”

“Then don’t.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

“I can take it.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

“So, you get to know whatever it is, but I don’t get to know what you know about me?”

You paused, because he was right. It was his past and his memory. He’d lived it. You’d been a mere observer.

You wiped your palms on your robe and inhaled deeply.

“I saw your dad hit you.”

His face went blank and bloodless. He blinked — once, twice.

“Eddie, I—”

“Nope,” he said, and darted for his clothes on the bed. “I’m out.”

“Please, don’t.”

You grabbed one leg of his jeans as he took hold of the other.

“You think I won’t leave here without pants?”

“Don’t go.”

“Why? So you can have a little pity party for me?” He yanked the jeans hard enough for you to put a knee on the bed. “Let go.”

You didn’t.

“I don’t feel sorry for you.”

“Yes, you do. I can see it. ‘Oh, poor trailer-trash kid got knocked around by his felon of a father.’”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, ‘cause that’s not what I think.”

“Sure you don’t.” He released the jeans and went for his flannel. “I was too much for my mother, and my dad resented me.”

You didn’t seize the flannel for fear of ripping it. Instead, you climbed onto the bed and caught his forearm. He glared, but there was no malice behind it.

“You aren’t too much,” you said. “You aren’t.”

He stilled, as though waiting for you to contradict yourself.

You reached for his jaw, giving him enough time to back away. When he didn’t, you touched where his father had punched him. He allowed it, despite his mouth tightening.

“I don’t feel sorry for you, okay? You’re the strongest person I know.” You scanned his expression to spot any softening and found none. “There’s so much to love about you, and it’s a shame your parents didn’t see it.” You cupped his jaw. “But Wayne sees it.”

“Wayne has a big heart.”

“So do you.”

He swallowed and averted his gaze. Beneath your hands, his muscles unwound.

Softly, you said, “You know, I didn’t expect to find someone like you.”

The corners of his mouth turned up as he placed his hands on your hips.

“A super senior with—” He gave you a self-deprecating grin. “—all the issues?”

You rolled your eyes.

“No, dillhole, a person I really care about.”

He gave you a sly grin.

“You wanna kiss this dillhole.”

You shuffled forward, pressed your front to his, and twined your fingers behind his head. His hands slid across your lower back.

“So what if I do?” you asked and wet your bottom lip.

“Well, I’d say you better hurry up. There’s quite the demand for dillholes in this town.”

You swayed him with a smile, even though a seed of uncertainty of how he felt remained. He might be open to being physical with you, but that didn’t mean he wanted anything beyond that now. Regardless, you needed him to know nothing had changed for you.

“I’m sorry for...” You shook your head. “Everything? I didn’t know that was going to happen. I mean, I figured I’d see what you had for lunch or something.”

“More than you bargained for, huh?”

“Yeah, but I’m glad I know more about you.” You toyed with the hair at the back of his head. “I still want to know all about you.” Lifting a shoulder, you said, “I still want you.”

He whispered, “Yeah?”

“Of course, honey.”

His dark eyes glanced down.

“I want you, too.”

You quirked an eyebrow.

He grinned, rolling his eyes at his wording.

“Like that, yeah, but I want you in my life, too.”

You hummed. “Sweet and horny.”

“Two great tastes that taste great together.” He smiled, big and bright and genuine. “Who’d be the sweet?”

“Let’s see,” you said while moving in to kiss his jaw.

With an inhale, he tilted his head. You placed a delicate kiss on his jaw, then kissed under it. You mouthed down his neck until reaching his collarbone. His hold tightened. You nipped at the silky skin there before sucking at it. He gasped as his hips jerked forward.

You held his nape with one hand as you left a hickey. With the other hand, you trailed fingers down to find one of his nipples. He breathed a ‘fuck’ as you stroked it with a thumb.

You kissed the hickey before pulling back. The skin was red and splotchy. It would turn into a nice, dark bruise before morning — and a good reminder he was yours now.

“I don’t know about sweet,” you said. “But you’re certainly delicious.”

-

You can see Rothko's Yellow, Blue, and Orange here, and listen to Metallica's "The Call of Ktulu" here.

[iam-lnt]

about time this account gets an intro

[will update if needed]

🙋🏻‍♀️Eng/中👌; bit of a nerdy fangirl; yeah i drop a r t (tag #doodle dump)

i *used to* do rant posting here (tag #random otter rattles) ; am trying to make this main blog of mine cleaner with arts-centered posting, so current side-blog for rambling here @iam-lnts-rants welcome to chat!!

⬇️fandoms

(below: main area for doodling/brain rots…✍️)

hetalia & hetamyu

star wars

(below: occasional doodle drops and/or rant post…🗣️)

french musicals (and obviously the classical ones)

history (frev/bbc Versailles, and typical old jokes)

avatar the last airbender｜legend of korra｜the dragon prince｜voltron｜she-ra｜arcane

percy jackson/heroes of olympus series (also trials of apollo and magnus chase)

tv series: good omens｜our flag means death｜hannibal｜bbc sherlock｜brooklyn 99

some anime and other stuff I forgot I know or sth, may suddenly unlock a hidden fandom of mine lol

🤔you may ask:

ships/otps/fav characters❓: i have my otp/ships i like, but essentially I'm just a multi shipper jumping in for the dynamics

commissions/requests❓: you can try. no guarantee of actually finishing those but i still like getting random ideas from coms lmao;

specific fandoms/thoughts❓: askboooox

🫵before scrolling away

hey I like to be friendly to ppl who are nice, and i'm open to making mutuals/friends, so if u wanna come and chat or sth, pls be welcome to :D!!!!!

ofc other basic lines are just typical basic lines 🫡 trusting homies to be nice ppl

soooo anymore qs, just askbox or scroll

have a nice day my bros ☕️

[ahedderick]

Running around

   Yesterday I had quite a few errands spread across two towns. And then an evening meeting with a prospective art client. The day did not . . entirely go well.

   For whatever reason, the high school did not receive yearbooks until after school was completely over? The seniors last day was May 19th, and the rest of the kids got out unusually early on June 2nd. They didn’t have snow days to make up this year, which helped. I went to the school to pick up K’s yearbook. There was a student at the door right in front of me, so we were buzzed in together and walked to the office together. She asked the secretary where the yearbooks were, and was told that they were across the hall beside the guidance office. I didn’t ask the secretary anything - because I had just heard her give the answer. Silly me. I followed the student and we quickly found the teacher giving out yearbooks. ‘Amy’ got hers, and I asked for my daughter’s. Ms. M couldn’t find her on the list. “What grade is she in? Oh, senior’s yearbooks are in the office.” Where I just was. Of course they are. I went back and asked the sec’y for a senior yearbook. They are alphabetized and it still took her a while to find it - but eventually she did.

   Off I went to find Mackie’s Sewing Center. It’s been a couple years since I had a machine serviced. I checked Mackie’s out online to be sure of their hours and double check the address. He shares space with a vacuum cleaner store, which by good luck I also needed. My husband bought a new vacuum last year, and I needed more of the (outrageously expensive) bags. I’ll get two things done at once! Yay!

   Nope. Mackie’s and the Vacuum store - closed. Sign still out, webpage still advertising - store locked and empty. A random passerby, seeing me standing with a sewing machine in my arms and a puzzled look on my face, informed me that they were - maybe? - a couple miles away near D’s Sporting goods. I sighed. Trudged back to the car. Mackie’s isn’t really in the plaza near D’s. However, if you walk around long enough, you might spot a little poster in the window of the FED-EX store (?!) that says Mackie’s. I went into the Fed-Ex and asked the lady behind the counter. She said I could drop off my sewing machine on a little shelf in the corner, fill out a service tag, and it would be fixed and brought back there. That does solve one problem, but I had also hoped to be able to show him some of the antique machines I want to sell, and get ideas about value and where to sell them. I sighed, filled out the service tag, gave up completely on buying vacuum bags, and slumped dis-spiritedly out of the store.

   Off to Staples to get a photo printed. My printer will only print black and white. Since they seem to have a lifespan of 6 months as far as printing full-color photos is concerned, I’m just going to keep the half-functional one that at least prints text and not print my own photos anymore. I asked the lady behind the print desk to print me an 8x10 of this

for my son to enter in an art show. She printed it and the price was quite reasonable. I left and drove home, turning up Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock and Roll" to nearly lethal volume as a form of therapy.

   The photo turned out to be a bit bigger than 8x10, and will not fit in the frame we have for it.

[ouidamforeman]

Tag Game!

Rules: have fun with the questions and tag 5 people to pass it on

thx to @6-and-7 for tagging me!

Three songs you've been listening to a lot lately?

Germayne (Like a Cathedral) by the Cleaners from Venus

Tam Lin (Child 39) by Anais Mitchell

Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood by the Animals

bonus I keep putting on Crown of Creation by Jefferson Airplane to figure out which of my playlists to add it to

A food you've been enjoying lately?

im excited to eat the white cake with vanilla buttercream and fresh strawberries i bought myself for Ostara

What's a book you'd recommend at the moment, and why?

Read Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer! It's very kind and intelligent and enriching so far. Also I am working through All Good Things: A Treasury of Images to Uplift the Spirit and Reawaken Wonder by Stephen Ellcock, which is part of my collection of strange and interesting picture books. I think anyone could get something out of a book like this, just looking at the pictures and their sources. I've been reading The Complete Book of Erotic Art by Drs. Phyllis and Eberhard Kronhausen as well, which I found in a university thrift store and have been enjoying and thinking about a lot, especially the sections on censorship and freedom and how interesting hearing perspectives from the 70s sexual revolution is while we're having our own modern censorship crisis lol

Also all of my followers read the Good Omens novel if u haven't yet have u read the Good Omens novel it's my favorite book :)

What's a hobby that you really enjoy, that you don't talk about much?

I've been learning embroidery lately and am really enjoying it! I also make jewelry (mostly earrings) quite often. Working with little trinkets has been one of my favorite things for a long time. A non creative non fandom hobby I'm also really passionate about is collecting vintage illustrations and prints, and strange picture books!

Have you seen a really good movie or tv show lately?

I watched the new Percy Jackson and the Olympians show with my mom and I liked it a lot! We read the books to each other with my brother when I was a kid :)

What's a podcast that you think everyone should listen to?

I literally don't listen to podcasts lol

But I have been enjoying Mythillogical on YouTube which I just realized is actually a podcast lol

What book/movie/show have you always wanted to finish, but haven't been able to yet?

I need to finish the Eighth Doctor Adventures books. I only have 9 left ouggggg

What book/movie/show/podcast are you looking forward to reading/watching/listening to soon?

Not one thing in particular but my friend and I have a list of old horror movies I'm excited to work through with them. So far we've watched 2 Hammer ones lol

I tag my friends @moveslikebucky and @fenrislorsrai :)

[pastelalleycat]

My Ko-Fi link 🧡

Pfp is a traced screencap from WOY pilot! Banner by me!

Howdy! I'm Liz, and I use they/fae/she pronouns! Welcome to my main Tumblr blog! You'll find all range of content here including multifandom, my art and musings, and random silly stuff, and posts by my headmates! I hope you enjoy your stay!

Headmate intros:

⚡Alastor 🎩 Wander

Please blacklist the tags #tw vent , #unusually angry mint , and #personal if you need to. I try not to vent too much, but I may occasionally. My format for general trigger warnings is #tw [trigger].

Side blogs:

@lizscheerfulcorner || aesthetic

@pastelalleysplat || art / writing

@friend-or-fo || comfort character blog

Gender: Genderqueer; neutral-fem

Orientation: Bi ace-spec

Personality type: INFP 2w3

Zodiac (just for fun): Pisces; Leo rising

Political affiliation: Moderately liberal.

Very specific likes: Socks on at all times; having very fluffy hair; left-handed and accessibility options in games

Very specific dislikes: The sound of a vacuum cleaner; Japeth's characterization and fate in Hoodwinked 2; stoic audiobook announcers

About this blog

I post/reblog a lot of stuff relating to my hyperfixations, which are most often cartoons and other kid-friendly shows, but also include more life-long special interests like plushies, silly cats, and random VeggieTales quotes. Some of my top posts include audio rips of the Welcome Home phone calls, a Charlie and Lola outtake, a poll about the TSP female narrator, and a Sanrio lamb in a disco costume. Honey, you've got a big storm comin'. (/ref)

I have autistic traits, ADHD, and am non-DID/OSDD plural. If you see an emoji with a name next to it, that's one of my headmates! They can't front much due to our irl situation so please be kind to them!

I try not to vent too much here and limit discussions of more heavy topics, but sometimes I do lose my cool, especially if people I care about or myself are being hurt.

Palestanian hate and anti-semitism alike will not be tolerated here. Genocide is inexcusable. People first, always.

Trans rights are human rights. Aros and aces are part of the LGBTQ+ community. Love is love, and loveless people deserve respect and care, too. Humanity is worth fighting for. Children need places to reach out for support. It's okay for adults to ask for help.

[mellowstory]

3 Beautiful Ways to Use Pressed and Dried Flowers | DIY Crafts You’ll Actually Keep!

I started working with dried flowers and pressed botanicals a few years ago, and it has taught me a few things.

Delicate dried flowers can burn or disintegrate in epoxy resin.

Glossy Mod Podge however much we love it, can make you cry (and even ruin your floral project).

Depending on your project, pressed flowers MUST be chosen as carefully as you would choose fabric, paper, or paint colors.

So how can you still work with these lovely mediums and create long lasting, archival art that you can be proud of? Read more to learn about 3 of the most botanical-friendly crafts.

Framed Glass Art

What you’ll need:

Double sided glass frame. (any size)I buy mine on Aliexpress or Amazon.

Clear glue, glossy mod podge, or a tape runner.

Pressed flowers

Scissors

How to make it:

Start by selecting your botanical specimens and arranging them in your frame. Use scissors to trim and refine your arrangement until it is to your liking.

Remove all of the flowers, and strategically place dots of clear glue on the inner glass. Wait until your glue becomes tacky. The time will depend on the type of glue that you’re using.

Tip: Test out the cure time by placing a few different sized glue dots on a plastic surface. See how long it takes for the glue to become more viscous and less runny.

Place the flowers onto the glass. Make sure to tack down all specimens with glue until they’re difficult to move. Allow the glue to dry completely before closing the glass frame.

Once dry, display your beautiful arrangement!

I love making smaller arrangements for office spaces and display shelves. These also make adorable secondary gifts in care packages.

Glass offers a more eco-friendly alternative to epoxy resin. Though I love working with resin, I’ve started to become more conscious and selective of my usage to creation ratio.

2. Floral Bookmarks

What you’ll need:

Pressed flowers. Preferably long stem flowers that press very flat such as fleabane and daisies. You can also use small flowers without stems.

Self or thermal laminating sheets.

Thermal laminator. (If using thermal lamination)

Scissors

Cricut Cutting Machine (highly recommended for a cleaner result) However, you can also create your own frames. Simply use two gift tags or rectangular pieces of paper. Measure and cut out another rectangle of your preferred size in the center of your paper. Use an X-Acto knife to make the cut out.

Kraft paper cardstock

Glue stick, or my personal recommendation, Kuretake Glue Pens. They will make less of a mess, and create a longer lasting bond on kraft paper.

How to make it:

If using a Cricut machine, start a new project in Cricut Design Space.

Search for “bookmark frame” in the “images” section.

Select a design you like the shape of. You can also create your own by “slicing” new shapes into existing templates.

Resize your design. Choose whatever size will accommodate the shape of your flowers.

Cut out your frames out on kraft paper.

Once you’ve cut out your design, remove half of the frames from the mat. Leave the other half on the mat. This will make keeping them flat easier once you’re ready to assemble everything.

Laminate your flowers. Be sure to use your frame as a guide to arrange them within the window. Leave an inch of space between each arrangement for cutting if you’re making more than one bookmark.

Cut around the flowers, leaving a bit of allowance for gluing them onto the frame. I never measure like I should. Just use the frame as guide to avoid cutting off too much laminating plastic. We will hide the ugly jagged cutting job later. 😅

Return to the mat and apply a generous layer of Kuretake glue to the entire surface of the frames still stuck to the Cricut mat.

Carefully place the laminated floral arrangement on the frame.

Apply another layer of glue around the edges of the lamination, and also on the other frame.

Place the second frame over one of the mat frames, and press down firmly. Tip: You can also place a book on top to keep them flat.

Let your bookmarks dry for about 20 minutes before adding your embellishments. I love using key charms, grommets, ribbons, or tassels.

Check out my inspo photos below! Get creative with decorating.

3. UV Resin Pendants

Before I started working with UV resin, I was told that it isn’t light fast. Which is true for most resins on the market. I’ve also heard that it yellows over time and that the UV light burns flowers.

These are all things that I’ve experienced working with flowers in UV resin. However, I’ve managed to make projects that have stayed glossy, clear, and beautiful for over 2 years now, and I want to share my tips and tricks!

Tip #1: USE a high quality UV resin such as the one from Counter Culture DIY.

Tip #2: AVOID using delicate flowers such as forget-me-nots, hydrangeas, larkspur, etc. If the petals are thin and delicate, they WILL become distorted or burn. Think florets, spaced petals, and small leaves.

Tip #3: USE opaque, strong, and VERY flat flowers such as pressed Violets, Chamomile, Fleabane daisies, Rosettes, Queen Anne’s Lace, and Baby’s Breath.

Tip #4: AVOID flowers with too many overlapping petals. These will trap air bubbles inside of your resin layers that tend to express during curing. They tend to cause very large holes and gaps.

What you’ll need:

Very high quality UV resin (My suggestion: Counter Culture DIY)

Cabochon bases or frame pendants

Barrier tape (if using a frame instead of cabochon base.)

Toothpicks to pop bubbles (I actually prefer using a sewing needle)

Light Curer such as a nail lamp. I use the Melody Susie 36W nail lamp from Amazon. Counter Culture DIY sells one specifically for their UV resin as well.

Pressed Flowers (My favorite seller on Etsy)

Optional: Colorants. I use mica powders, acrylic paints, and black and white resins from Counter Culture DIY (not sponsored, I wish!) These give your resin a background to stand out against.

Nitrile gloves

How to make it:

Start by applying a thin layer of UV resin to your base or taped frame. This will be the layer with color (if using pigments).

2. Pop any visible bubbles with a toothpick and cure the first layer for about 1-3 minutes.

3. Apply a thin dot of clear resin to the first cured layer. This will give your flowers something to stick to as you arrange them.

4. Once your flowers are arranged, apply a few strategic dots of resin around them to keep them in place. Cure the first thin layer without covering the flowers completely. Remember to pop bubbles!

5. Continue to add thin layers. Cure each layer for 1-3 minutes each. Repeat this process until your flowers are covered and your top coat has a domed appearance.

6. Finished! Avoid touching your project for several minutes until fully cooled. You don’t want fingerprints in your shiny top coat!

For more floral project ideas, check out my Pinterest below!