#and him and the lads were JUST reading that little magazine about how their hobby makes you A Bad Person like. the wound was Fresh.

[worstsequence]

just shot up from bed as though waking from a prophetic dream cuz it hit me that eddie didnt even say like. basketball is bad. in the cafeteria speech. he just said jocks are socially accepted. which is just a fact. so everyone whos made a 'and yet eddie participates in society' style post about hypocrisy for saying conformity bad now play dnd or die owes me Ten Dollar. because he did not say that. and i think sinclairs been taken in by the dark side has more to do with him being friends with jason and co and not how dare a hellfire member play sport. hes mad at being asked to reschedule a group activity Day Of. anyway shoutout to the basketball in eddies room he calls it balls in laundry basket game cuz he plays like that in his room. peace on earth.

[regrettablewritings]

Fluff alphabet for Tadashi Hamada if you're stil writing for him, please. B, c,s w?

Indeed, I do still write for the lovely lad. Stuff is below the cut

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?):

Oh, most definitely. Tadashi is a very family-oriented man. Always has been, always will be. So it’s no surprise that he looks forward to the day he can start his own little branch of the Hamada family tree. We’ve already seen how he is with Hiro: He’s protective, he’s encouraging, he’s inspiring, he’s good at getting him to do things he may not want to do even if it’s for his own benefit -- imagine what wonders he could do if those traits were applied to a little mini-him or mini-you or mini-you-both!

Honestly, the subject goes more or less unspoken between you two because it’s kind of a given that Tadashi wants kids. You two would be taking a walk in the park or going to the mall and the moment a stroller passes by, he’s barely playing off how much he’s trying to crane his neck to gaze upon the chubby wonder resting inside. You can see the disappointment in his eyes when he fails. Some days when you’re just at the Lucky Cat trying to get some homework done, you’ll glance up and see him at a table with a baby at it, speaking all kinds of sweet words to them. You’ve seen his favorites playlist on Youtube -- it has a decade-old commercial for Legal Zoom on it. When you questioned why it was there in the first place, you had to witness your adoring boyfriend sheepishly admit that the baby in it was just too cute. And also he liked the pale purple walls and thought it’d make for good inspiration.

“Good inspiration for . . .?” you led, knowing exactly where it was headed. You watched at Tadashi’s eyes wandered and his cheeks and ears reddened.

“For . . . a nursery . . .” he responded. It was a mumble, but you heard everything you needed to know loud and clear.

Well, not everything, of course: You asked him what exactly he envisioned for the future.

He admitted he wasn’t exactly particular about whether he wanted a boy or a girl, let alone first or second -- he just knew he would like at least two children so neither one would be lonely. Corny and cheesy as it was, he would’ve preferred to live somewhere a little closer to the suburbs (“Hey, at least I don’t expect a white picket fence!” he justified). His reasoning being that he’d like a nice, quiet area in which many parks and libraries and schools can be accessible, and so any children of yours have room to grow. However, given the structure of the area, he knew that this was going to be a tough call for a multitude of reasons.

Bottom line, though, he’d be okay with living in the city if it meant he could still provide for you and your hypothetical kids the best he could. He just wants to make sure everyone is happy and healthy. But for now, he’s content with it just being the two of you . . . Emphasis on “for now.”

C = Cuddles (How do they cuddle?):

Usually with a prayer that Hiro doesn’t barge in. No, seriously: That bedroom of theirs offers only the most courteous of privacies by way of a tasteful but otherwise unpersuasive shoji. You want Hiro to see you guys trying to get cozy about as much as Hiro does -- which is not at all, given how he pretends to throw up every time he’s walked in on you two. And how he’s voiced his dislike of it.

Given that Tadashi is ever the caring brother and roommate, he can only get away with so many dry, “You don’t have to be here”s before he just feels bad about it. As a result, the two of you have actually had to create a cuddling schedule built with Hiro’s course times, your availability, and Tadashi’s availability in mind. And God forbid Hiro ever finds out about that schedule because all he needs is one more reason to call the both of you Ultra Nerds.

Worse-case scenario, you two get booted out and have to make do with the couch in the garage, cramped as it is. But you don’t mind: Usually, the reason you two are cuddling is because you’re so butt-tired from coursework that you need to relax and zonk out for a couple hours. Besides, for as lanky and more muscle-based as a guy like Tadashi is, his arm wrapped around you is unfairly warm and comforting. You’re bound to be conked out before you can even utter a complaint, or at the very least you’re way too relaxed to register the fact that you’re both awkwardly strewn about the furniture.

So if it had to be put in a different way (and less about worrying somebody might barge in), you supposed you could describe your cuddling as being the snug equivalent to how a college student eats, sleeps, or lives altogether: You both take what you can get when you can get it and try to enjoy it before it’s time to go to your next “adult obligation.”

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?):

Tadashi is a pretty optimistic person so it’s actually hard to get him completely down, let alone long enough for him to actually require a pick-me-up bigger than a brief inner pep talk. Normally all he needs to do is have a quiet moment to himself, some time to cool down, maybe remind himself that things can and will get better. But in the odd moment where this isn’t enough, Tadashi will often turn to his interests.

However, don’t assume this means he’ll hunker down in his lab and focus on one of his projects: He’s long since learned that it’s best to not robotically engineer with sad or frustrated -- way too many power outages have occurred from that.

Instead, he turns to his other hobbies: Living with Aunt Cass means he’s been knowing how to bake for years, albeit the baked fruits of his labors don’t always come out prettily; depending on how free his schedule is (read: not very at all anymore), he may go find a location to go surfing; or he goes to a park to get, like, a cart crepe. Usually being outside in a sunny place (with plenty of puppies and babies around) zaps him back to normal.

Which leaves him with plenty of time to figure out how to cheer you up!

Given his nature, Tadashi has become a wiz at cheering others up. He’s just got this nearly contagious brightness about him. And even if you don’t find yourself as readily bright as he, don’t worry: He’s not afraid to pull old tried-and-trues on you. Being an older brother/almost fatherly figure has allowed him the perfect position to perfect his trade: That is, the art of being goofy for the sake of cheering up his loved ones. He will easily pick you up and jump around with you, hollering about how he’s going to “turn that frown upside-down” -- by actually holding you upside-down.

Not your cup of tea? Then be prepared to witness the most tragic case of Dad Dancing ever recorded in a man below the age of 30, complete with cheesy disco music. You will be forced to witness his arms flailing, head bopping, mouth performing what you had once heard being referred to as “The White Man’s Overbite”. You will beg that he stop “for the love of Mochi.” You will try to have your pleas be heard over the speaker blaring “Got to Be Real” by Cheryl Lynn, only to be further drowned out by your boyfriend’s tone-deaf singing.

But the man will not stop: He must dance in your honor.

And once you’re done wiping away the tears left from cackling, he’ll treat you to some froyo.

If this still doesn’t work, there’s the slightest chance he might pull out the big guns: Tickling. It’s reserved strictly as a worst-case scenario, but he’s going to dance until his feet bleed if he can help it before he has to do that again. The last time he resorted to tickling a little too eagerly, it . . . didn’t end well.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?):

When? A balmy evening in May. How? With a bit of difficulty. Mind you, Tadashi is a generally organized man on the average day. But on the day he proposes to you – heck, the days leading up to it? He’s a bit of a mess. And it’s in no small part due to how incredibly involved his friends and family had tried to be the entire time.

Make no mistake, he’s very glad that he has such supportive loved ones. However, he found himself constantly fighting off a heart attack every time one of them treaded the line a little too closely for his comfort. (Sure, there’s little suspicion in Honey gushing over wedding magazines with you or Aunt Cass asking you to sample a “brand new wedding cake flavor” she was planning to use for some pastries, but Wasabi asking about your ring size and Fred talking about how kaiju costumes were better than tuxes until GoGo had to slam him down really wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.)

Hiro might’ve been the closest thing to normal throughout it all, much to the elder Hamada brother’s surprise. But even then, he was more of less gesturing for Tadashi to just go ahead and pop the question – albeit, at the most inopportune times in the latter’s honest opinion.

“I can’t propose to my girlfriend in the campus library!” Tadashi rejected Monday.

“There’s nothing romantic about being in the middle of a pizzeria and going, ‘Hey, will you marry me?’” he scoffed on Wednesday.

“Hiro, if you ever propose to somebody in front of a mall fountain, then I’ve failed you,” came his dry response Saturday. He knew his younger brother meant no harm by applying the lightest of pressures; he just wanted all the anxieties over with! But this was you Tadashi was proposing to: You deserved only the best. Only the most heartfelt . . . Which was why, in the end, the where of it all was the Lucky Cat Café. Was it the fanciest establishment he could have done it in? Not really. Thankfully, Aunt Cass was all too eager to oblige his request to have the café to yourselves one evening; it allowed him to properly decorate your favorite table with a tablecloth and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. It was admittedly a tad cheesy, but you certainly didn’t mind it.

But this was where Tadashi had grown up. It was where his family – the core of his being – was, where his friends congregated to relax. This was his home in so many ways and if he was to invite you into his family, he wanted it to be done here. Even if it meant Aunt Cass and Hiro were not too discreetly peeking out from the back. Or that the entire time Tadashi was trying to recite his proposal speech, he kept getting distracted by your friends, whose faces were mashed against a window behind you, waiting to bear witness to this milestone.

Suffice to say, it was a very group-oriented situation. But neither you nor Tadashi would have had anything less.

Thank you for your patience!

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: A Balmy Tuesday in Hell

Taking a break from the prompt requests to wish a very happy birthday to @snailbutters! Tbh I like this idea a lot and I’m tempted to expand on it more. Cross posted on AO3. 

xxx

When Mike went looking for a part-time job to earn some spending money, he had a hard time finding one that worked around his college class schedule. All the good on-campus jobs were taken, and most of the ones he found offsite required him to be up way too early or way too late with very little flexibility. 

The front desk position at the Beelzebob, a local hair salon advertising an array of “wicked styles” for any occasion, was not the most glamorous position, but it welcomed part timers and offered flexible schedules to be discussed on a case by case basis. It was at the tail end of a long week of job hunting with little to show for it, and Mike was tired. Still, he dragged himself all the way there after his three-hour Friday seminar and put on his best retail charm for the interview. 

One of the stylists told him to wait in the lobby while she grabbed the manager for his interview, and so Mike sat in a plush, purple chair and eyed the stack of magazines on the coffee table—HJi, Professional Beauty, NHF, and others he recognized from Googling “how to work at a hair salon” last night. A playlist that seemed to consist entirely of K-pop pumped ripples of bubblegum bass through the speakers and had Mike tapping his fingers on his hip. There was no one behind the sleek, glass reception desk, so Mike got up and wandered over to it. He tried to imagine himself with the headset on, fielding phone calls and helping customers pick out one of the many luxury hair products on the walls behind the desk. He touched his own brown hair—plain and getting a bit long, but styled with a little wax for the day—and worried about whether he should have tried a bit harder for this interview. Would he be judged on his own hair? That seemed reasonable enough—

“This simply won’t do.”

Mike startled at the lyrical voice and turned around to find a seven-foot, red-skinned demon in Lululemons appraising him over an enterprising nose. Which would have been a cause for mild to moderate alarm even in Metroville—a hub for lowlifes, Supervillains, and the occasional monster on a mission out of Townsville farther north—except that Mike recognized this particular demon. At which point he got the pun in the name of this place and smiled. 

“Him,” he squeaked. And then, remembering his high school retail training: “I mean, Mr. Him.”

Him—Prince of Pestilence, Duke of Depravity, Earl of Evil, et cetera—blushed the color of an open wound. “You’re house trained, I see. All right, this way.”

Him turned on his Louboutin heel and headed into the salon. Mike hurried after Him, unsure whether this was good or bad. Him led him to a styling chair and sat him down. A purple salon cape made its way around Mike’s neck with a flamenco flourish, and Him leaned over his head in the reflection. 

“What are we thinking?”

Mike eyed his potential future employer from perfectly curled goatee to artificial mink lashes and hesitated. 

This is a test. 

It had to be. Surely, anyone manning the phones had to know something about haircare in general. If he was to be the vanguard, the watcher on the Wall, he would have to be able to alert his colleagues of the incoming threats and answer questions about how to fend off anything from tangles to split ends. Mike tried to remember the last time he got a haircut; Boomer had been with him, his eye far more discerning than Mike’s. 

“Comb over,” Mike said. 

“Quiff?”

“More faux hawk.” He tried not to think of the heat on the back of his neck, and instead of the sly grin on Boomer’s face the last time he’d been under the scissors. “With a low fade. Um, please.”

Him’s fangs gleamed when he grinned. “Good choice.”

For a demon with claws the size of dinner plates, Him was surprisingly adroit and precise to a literal razor’s edge. In fact, Mike was certain Him must sharpen his claws to get them sharp enough to shave the hair from the nape of his neck, which seemed like a sensible time-saver. Blackpink’s Pretty Savage blared over the speaker as Him coifed and styled the thicker locks that remained on top of Mike’s head, combed to the left in enviable, anti-gravity perfection. 

“Wow.” He touched the side of his head, marveling at the close but generous cut and the perfect blend. “This has to be the best haircut I’ve ever gotten.”

He got up and removed the cape, only to find Him with a broom in his claw. “I run a clean salon, Michael.”

Mike accepted the broom without question. “Yes, sir.”

Him preened. “Good lad.”

“Does… Does this mean I got the job?”

Him flipped his claw. “There will be a trial period. You young people are so used to texting that I’ll have to determine if you’re fit to answer a phone. But, considering your manners, I have a good feeling about you.”

Amazing! “Thank you so much! When do I start?”

“Honey, you’re already late. I have customers waiting.” Him snapped his claw. “Chop chop.”

Mike swept up his shorn hair and the hair around the chair next to his, dumped it all in a bin labeled “Hair,” and ran to the front desk to answer the phone ringing off the hook. The stylist who’d greeted him, Marisol, helped him with the computer login so he could manage appointments and checkout. It was easy enough, a Square card reader and a cash register and a huge logbook of every sale. 

“Middle finger up, F-U, pay me,” Mike whisper-rapped along with Lisa. 

A couple hours later, Him handed him a check for the time worked and told him to be back here tomorrow at 3 p.m. Mike accepted the check, but he didn’t pocket it. 

“Sir, I should tell you for the sake of full disclosure.”

Him peered down at him with his claws on his hips. “Oh?”

This should not be so hard.

“I’m, well, I’m involved. With your son. Boomer.”

Him clicked his claw, and Mike held his breath. 

Boomer had spoken about Him—Baron of Brutality, King of Chaos, Emperor of Enmity et cetera—on just a few occasions throughout their acquaintance. Raising souls from the dead was a hobby of Him’s, apparently, but often his necromantic offspring ended up rotting and were no fit candidates to promenade in civilized society that wasn’t eternally damned and burning. Chemical X cut out that inconvenience, and thus the perfect little boys were reborn, or something. According to Boomer, Him was evil on Sundays, a prolific genius on Tuesdays, and crocheting with his kobolds on Fridays. The rest of the time he was just a normal demon trying to survive in this capitalist post-modern society like everybody else. Anyway, Sunday wasn’t in Mike’s work schedule, so that seemed safe enough.

“I know,” Him said. “You don’t expect me to believe you’d Googled the most flattering hairstyle for your bone structure without help, do you?”

Mike was pretty sure there was a compliment in there, even if it wasn’t for him. “I guess not.”

Him beamed. “Don’t worry. I would never let my favorite son’s romantic life influence the culture at Beelzebob. You’ll be judged before an impartial tribunal of incubi, like everybody else. Now, before you go, I’d like you to dispose of the waste, please.”

Mike learned the value of separating trash that day. Discarded receipts and candy wrappers dumped in the waste bin went into the trash, lunch leftovers went to compost, and cut hair went to sacrificial offerings. 

“Sacrifices reduce our carbon footprint and offer protection against flat Earthers. It’s a proven science, you know.”

Mike supposed it would be poor manners to argue with an ancient evil on his crochet day.

xxx

Boomer was all sly smiles and discreet hand touches when Mike treated him to dinner at their favorite Thai place later that week. 

“So, your job seems to be paying well,” he said. 

“Well enough to take my boyfriend out to a nice dinner now and then.”

“Careful. Spend too much time with Him and your tastes will get really expensive.”

Mike laughed. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll switch majors to cosmetology and join the family business.”

“You know what? He’d probably love that. He tried so hard to get Brick to follow in his footsteps, but Mojo let him mess around on his E-Shares account once when we were eleven and Brick was lost to the finance track forever. I’m pretty sure Mojo did it on purpose.” Boomer leaned in and clinked his wine glass to Mike’s. “Anyway, buy me this dinner before you jump to joining the family business.”

Mike flushed. “I’m—I didn’t—”

Boomer laughed. “Chill! I’m just messing with you.”

The playlist at the restaurant began playing Blackpink’s Kill This Love, and Mike burst out laughing. 

“What?” Boomer asked. “You like this song? You know, Him is really big into K-pop lately. Butch thinks someone must have sold a bunch of souls and made a killing.”

“I know.” Mike kissed Boomer’s hand. “It’s just funny how things work out.”

Boomer smiled. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Their food arrived, and Mike happily ate his meal across from Boomer. And in the back of his mind, he said a little thank-you to Him and whatever chaotic forces he controlled for reviving Boomer all those years ago. 

It must have been a balmy Tuesday in Hell.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

[hpdabbles]

The Difference Between Living and Not Dying

Draco Malfoy wakes to the sound of running train tracks and jerking seats. He picks his head off of the window glass, blinking owlishly around. He studies the little compartment in bewilderment, ignoring the other young boys who are looking over a magazine opposite of him, trying to understand why he was in Hogwarts Express when a few hours ago he was tucking himself into his bed- oh.

Oh. The ritual!

Draco could have kicked himself but honestly, this is what he gets for trying any of the spells in the Black Forrbiden Family Vault. He should have known that Potter missed something up, despite the other man insisting nothing would go wrong. If only he was strong enough to resist studying time travel, then maybe the Slytherin wouldn’t have followed Potter into that section.

He just wanted to finish his last year of Magical Uni, was that too much to ask? So what if he was able to score the only undergrad research position with the Wizarding Savior himself in order to do something that was technically blasphemy. Honestly, who in the right mind opened the family knowledge vault of an Ancient and Noble House to the public like this?  

It worked out for him since Potter didn’t realize only main branch family was allowed in there (seeing as Sirius willed Potter into it he was now considered the main branch), plus the fool also let Draco into the Potter Archives.   

Granger had been melting in jealousy when Draco’s name was called out as the winning essay. Potter had wanted the entries to be anonymous so the competition would be “fair” and go to the “most deserving”.

He had looked like he bite into a lemon when Draco reported on the first morning but he opens the vault and archives none the less and let the student alone to do his work. Honestly, did he just not care about any wizarding traditions? He hadn’t even restricted him from areas!

The only thing he asked was that Draco allows him to attempt one of the rituals and picked the one to less likely work. Potter had the audacity to even whine “Come on, Malfoy think about how well this will boost your thesis paper!”  

 Draco’s thesis paper was not worth this. He was sure. But nope, here he was, stuck in the past inside his child’s body with all of the said child’s skill set. Which was quite frankly almost nothing.

Marlin, he can’t even do the ritual in reverse. He was stuck here, wherever year this was, and all only a few months away of his last year of Uni! He was almost done for crying out loud! Now he had to do even more years of schooling!

 “Draco, did you hear? Harry Potter is onboard, a first year like us.” A squeaky voice interrupts his mental swearing. He focuses on the face and almost gapes. Did Crabbe always look this squishy? He was a cute kid.

Then his mind processes the words. 

“What?” A first year!? He’s a bloody first year!?

“Harry Potter!” Crabbe repeats, his adorable eyes sparkling. Draco wanted to tell him not to be so excited since Potter was going to hate him but he didn’t want to watch that sparkle in his eye die. “He’s on the train! Marlin, can you believe it? We should go look for him, maybe he will sit with us!”

Oh right, this was when the three of them, Goyle included, were small little fanboys of Potter. Wow, how time has changed them. 

“No, I don’t want to waste our first ride together to Hogwarts chasing the Boy-Who-Lived. ” He tries to say casually. He watches the confusion on Crabbe face and wonders what he’s done wrong. His word choice maybe? He used to try and pepper in bigger words to seem smarter when he was young, so maybe the lack of them was strange. 

“Why’s that Draco?”  The young boy asks.

“I just want to spend the time with you and Goyle. You’re my best mates after all.” Draco says and he watches the eyes of both boys across of him go wide. Crabbe flushes but he looks pleased, curving around the confusion in his small tiny squishy face. 

“That’s-” he clears his throat. Crabbe attempts to use his aristocratic mask to conceal his emotions. Marlin why did he ever think it was okay for a child to do this? Emotions should never be smothered. “That’s the first time you ever called us best mates. What change?” 

You died.  He wants to say  You died by being burn alive and I wasted the friendship we could have had. 

“It’s just...I got thinking. Our fathers aren’t here. We can be friends without them making us.” He looks out the window, mourning the future they will have due to the choices of their parents. Mourning what he left behind. Mourning the innocence they all lost. It’s a very visited thought but the jaded feeling never eases no matter how many times he thinks about it. “I want to be friends with you for who you are not for your family name....if you like?”

When he composes himself better he glances over the boys. Two sets of eyes are suspiciously glossy but the smiles are brighter then he’s ever seen on either face regardless of age. Draco knows this change here will be the first of his new chance and maybe...maybe he can get used to it. It hurts to think about what he lost, but honestly, he didn’t lose much. Draco has lived in a daze for years, he never feared it ending. 

His life wasn’t all that grand, he was content but not really eager to see a new day. Depressed is what Pansy called him, but she spent most of her days staring at the bottom of a bottle so he didn’t count her words as true when it was obvious she was far more depressed then he.

“So let’s start anew. Let’s talk about our likes, hobbies, dreams of the future without our folks breathing down our necks. Let’s be kids”  He says sitting back to get comfortable as Goyle starts to cautiously tell them about his hobby of drawing. He pushes the thought of Harry Potter out of his mind. He doesn’t need his hand of friendship to be rejected when there are two people more than willing to grasp it right here.

The train ride is the most fun he’s ever been on despite being more charmed by the tiny tots. (He always adores children. Precious little monsters). By the time they arrive Draco is smiling so hard his cheeks hurt and he feels closer to the other two boys then all seven years of friendship. Isn’t that just sad?

He isn't awed by the castle, he’s seen it much too many times but he does think it charming to see the other eleven-year-olds’ look of wonder. His class was full of tiny tots who just impressed with the simplest of things honestly. 

Draco didn’t jump when the ghosts arrive, he barely paid attention when Professor McGonagall lead them into the Grand Hall, but he did notice when he ran into a child’s back. He was daydreaming again, zoning out when he should be paying attention.

“I’m terribly sorry,” He says on reflex helping the poor lad from the half stumble he took. Draco’s hand is gripping his arm to keep him from face planting. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was...distracted by the ceiling.” 

“It’s..um it’s okay.”  The boy says blinking green eyes at him.  Oh, bloody hell. It’s Potter.  “I meet you right? Before...”

Draco has long perfected social acting. He makes his face pull a pleasantly surprised expression with ease. “Oh yes! We meet at Madam Malkin’s. How are you?”

“How..am I?”  Potter repeats slowly, almost confused. What? Did the boy not know what a conversation is? He looks so baffled by Draco’s manners. 

Honestly, did he lack his own so much he didn’t know what they looked like at this age? He keeps the friendly smile on his face and is beyond grateful Professor McGonagall cuts in before Draco can answer. It would have been a sarcastic remark, the blond is sure of it.

He knows himself too well. 

The sorting goes as it did last time. Until it’s Draco’s turn. He walks up to the stool in a bored strut, not thinking about someone going into his head until the thing is actually in his head.

The same one that had future knowledge ripe for the picking. He should put up some mental shields from now on. Thank the stars the Blacks were a paranoid sort and he had a practical fortress.

Too bad he pulled them up after the sorting hat walked into his mind.

Hmm, a child who was already sorted. This is very interesting! The hat says causing Draco to jump. He didn’t know the thing could hold a conversation. You have grown. Learn what it means to be truly loyal. Already choosing your bonds over your own benefit. Yes, I know the perfect house for you

“HUFFLEPUFF” 

 There is a moment of stun silence, where Draco is still under the hat wondering if the charmed piece of cloth actually did what he thinks it did. No. No, he’s a Malfoy! He could not be-

“Move along now Mr. Malfoy”  Professor McGonagall instructs taking the sorting hat back, sounding like she’s restraining from demanding why on earth he’s a bloody Hufflepuff and nudging him into the crowd of gapping people. Only one person claps for him. It’s Potter. 

Draco sends him a grateful smile and the boy stumbles in surprise. He returns it shyly though and oh no, Potter is a cute kid too. That’s not fair. 

He risks a glance at Crabbe and Goyle, heart falling when both boys turn away. So much for meaningful friendships....oh well life was meaningless anyway. With a mental shrug, he trots off to the yellow and black table taking a sit. 

He is barely aware of the other children shrinking away from him, far too used to it in the future. Instead, he zones out, thinking of a book he read a few days ago. He almost misses the food appearing before him, had it not been for the little wave Potter sends him from the Gryffindor table. Draco returns it on instinct while munching on his buttered toast.

Much later Draco tucks himself into bed, not speaking to the rest of the Puffs that eye him warily. He just wants to take a sleep, exhausted by the amount of talking he did. He’s forgotten how draining social interaction can be.

The next day, Draco somehow finds himself leading some first years to class. He didn’t mean to, but when he stumbled across lost children he didn't have the heart to leave them. It took a bit of convincing but soon he has a group of Ravenclaws following him like ducklings. He looks over their time tables making sure to walk them all to the door of their classes.  The looks of gratitude are downright adorable.

By the time he stumbles into Potions he’s twenty minutes late and feeling lighter. His godfather surprisingly-or not-  goes easy on him, only ducking five points for his tardiness. Draco wants to say seeing Snape was easy but it wasn’t. He spent almost all of the class trying not to break down in tears.

Thankfully when the bell rings he is out before the professor can stop him. Outside he finds some of his new housemates lost and offers to lead them as well. He somehow gets a group of Gryffindors on the way back, who all ask him where to go, having heard he’s been offering.

When he stumbles across Potter later, he has a herd of Firsties babbling about how scary the first night was. Draco tries his best to offer advice on how to handle it when he notices Potter staring.  He politely dismisses himself from the kids, walking over to the one boy that seems oddly lonely.

Where were the Weasleys (or would they be called Weasley and Granger now?) Shouldn’t the Golden Trio be together doing....something golden? 

“Are you alright?” He asks wondering why the kid looks so scared suddenly.

“Um..yes.”  A nervous hand goes up to ruffle his hair, flashing that damn scar. Green eyes locked with his, briefly, then the boy looks away.  Draco frowns. Something is obviously bothering the kid.  

“I’m Harry Potter,” He says at last one hand held out uncertainly. My how the tables have turned. 

Draco nods sticking out his own hand  “Draco Malfoy.” 

The boy looks relieved, taking the offered limb into a jerky shake.  Suddenly in a rush of words, he blurts out “Want to sit together at dinner time!? Ron said you could.”

Draco blinks slowly  “Okay”

“Okay?” A young face brightens, cheeks pink.

“Okay” 

“Great! I’ll see you later..I’ll save you a spot!” Potter all but skips down the hall and Draco wonders what the heck that was about. It’s not until he’s gently wiping some tears off a terribly homesick first-year girl with his family handkerchief about thirty minutes later that he realizes what he’s become.

Why Potter looked so eager to sit together. He leaves her once she’s calm down, hands curled around some hot chocolate he asked the castle elves to make and watery smile grateful.

Draco ducks into the first male bathroom he can find and splashes his face in cold water. He stares at his reflection in the mirror with horror  “You’ve become the Mum. Your love of children made you the Class Mum. How far have you fallen Malfoy? Rock bottom.”

He still sits with Potter. The kid is too cute for his own good, though he should do something about that sunburn. His poor cheeks are far too red.

[challengerbmxmag]

Sam Waller Interview

Sam Waller co-runs, the UK based Central Library, “a shop in the North West of England that sells zines, DVDs and other interesting bits and pieces.” He’s also part of the current resurgence of quality independent BMX media with his Red Steps magazine. In addition to that he finds the time to contribute to Challenger with his quarterly column, ‘Notes From A Fancy Island’ and of course, ride. And, when you talk to Sam, you can tell that riding reigns supreme.

Sam and I email back and forth fairly often because of the column but also about other random stuff like old spots, concrete skateparks, music, etc. It’s fun to email with Sam so I figured it would also be fun to ask Sam some more in-depth questions. Hit the link below for the full interview.

All photos by Gaz Hunt. Thanks, Gaz!

I know you live in Manchester, England now but where did you grow up and what is your BMX origin story? I grew up in the complete middle of nowhere in a place called Colton in the south of the Lake District. Whilst the countryside in film and television is often shown as a tranquil, quaint place, the reality is a fair bit different, and Colton in particular seemed like a hotbed for strange stuff going on. Only recently a large farmhouse was burned down by a wild woman who owned loads of pigs. She was exiled from the county, but the pigs remained to cause havoc.

Anyway, my older brother has played guitar since he was six or seven, but as I was a useless at it and couldn’t get my hands to move properly, I felt obliged to find a similar all-encompassing past-time.

I was mad on Formula 1 racing for a while (thoughts go out to the Schumacher family), and I went to a karate lesson once (a hobby quickly scrapped after the whole hour was spent being taught how to bow honourably), but up until the age of 12 or 13 it just felt like I was dawdling about.

All of this changed when, for some reason I’m not entirely sure of, me and my friends decided to make some jumps and drops and stuff to ride on our mountain bikes in some woods near a dual carriageway.

One of my friends knew some older lads from nearby who had proper bikes and Little Devil hoodies, so I think they must have planted the seed of raditude with him, but I think at that time I was just happy to be out the house and not playing Tekken 2. We later found out that the woodland we’d chosen was a popular dogging site frequented by truck drivers (I'm not sure if 'dogging' exists in America - maybe look it up), and quickly moved our spades and everything into another forest. By that point the damage was done and my mind was snagged.

After a bit of bouncing about on a mountain bike, I then splashed out on a second hand Standard that someone had painted post-box red, affixed some stunt nubs and never looked back (or lookbacked, for that matter).

The nearby town of Ulverston had a pretty big riding and skating scene, but thinking now about us lot trying to lay down ‘street style’ in this small historic market town, we may as well have been the Jamaican bobsleigh team — the rough ledges were strictly for stalls, and the closest thing to a flatbank was a grass verge round the back of a Texaco garage.

What were some of your biggest inspirations as a kid and what about now? I always think about how the 16 year old me would probably make fun of some of the things I'm into now. Is that the case with you at all? Apart from the receding hairline and the slight increase in responsibilities, I think I’ve stayed pretty much exactly the same since I was 16. Back then I think my favourite film was probably Natural Born Killers, and my favourite album was maybe something like Bad Moon Rising by Sonic Youth. Whilst I’ve maybe expanded my interests a little, I’ve pretty much been in a rut since then.

I’m not into memes or internet humour in the slightest, but I remember someone once showing me a video of a wrestling fan in America crying and shouting, “It’s still real to me, dammit.” That’s how I feel about a lot of things I was into back then. A lot of people who I went to school with moved on from being into music and films and pissing around on bikes, whilst I’m still snagged on it all, listening to The Minutemen and wearing check shirts. It’s pretty stupid really.

What's The Fancy Island? Good question. Just next to Strangeways prison and only a mere stone’s throw from Manchester’s slick centre, lies a true rat-pit of questionable activity. I’ve seen loads of stuff happen here, such as an aggressive man chase a prostitute with a two-by-four and a creep lying in an alley trying to lure small boys into his lair.

In amongst all this, there’s loads of naff wholesale shops that sell everything from low-end Halloween costumes to fake Air Jordans made out of cardboard and fuzzy felt. All these shops have mad names like EEZZEE and Vibe Centre.

Getting to the point now, coming up with titles for things is pretty difficult, so a few years ago when I was cobbling together a zine, I nicked the name Urban Mist from one of these shops, and then, when I went to set up a Tumblr during the carefree pre-Instragram era, I nabbed ‘Fancy Island’ from a similar establishment.

I think Fancy Island has closed down now, but it’s no doubt been replaced with yet another shop with a daft name selling cheap batteries and t-shirts with swear words on the front.

Whilst I’m explaining names, I’ll state that Red Steps is a classic spot in Manchester that I ride past on my way to work every day. It boasts a rusty, needle-thin flatrail, a few small stair-sets (that are indeed red) and a large flow of gormless students to crash into. I’m not too sure why I named a magazine after it, but it just struck me as a funny name for a spot and I was struggling to think of anything else.

One thing I struggle with is balancing how to take BMX seriously while balancing a sense of humor about it as well; i.e. it's pretty goofy but is also this amazing vehicle for new experiences, ideas, and a pretty incredible community. Do you ever think about this? Like with most things in life (except crucial necessities like eating and breathing), riding bikes is pretty stupid and abstract if you try and think about it too hard. That said, I don’t see why bike riding should look goofy (apart from actual goofy-footed grinding - as a self-confessed goofy grinder myself I’ve got a lot of time for George D, Ralph and Dave McDermott) — riding is loads better than pretty much all other activities, but it’s constantly being made to look daft, when it could so easily look dope.

I think to stay juiced and not turn sour, you’ve got to completely ignore most things going on with riding and stick firmly to the bits that you like. I treat riding like music or films or anything else. In the same way I don’t go to the cinema to watch big summer blockbusters, I don’t spend my free time watching Corey Martinez edits or endless hours of footage from some zany mega-comp.

I’m a simple man. As far as riding is concerned, I like smith grinds, bottles of Heineken, Galaxy chocolate, black and white photos, sitting on benches and talking complete nonsense. The rest of it is irrelevant to me.

I constantly hear/read people complain about the lack of BMX magazines but there's so much cool stuff being printed right now. We've discussed this in email a bit but it seems weird that people are complaining. It's almost like people just have an idea of what they think a magazine should be and if it doesn't have look or read a certain way they are just confused. How do you feel about all of this? A solid group of people do buy things and support these independent projects and whatnot, but I think it’ll take a while for the loud-mouthed Instagram warlords to come to terms with the fact that the new magazines around might have different names to the ones they used to subscribe to 15 years ago. I suppose it’s maybe easier to talk about the lack of magazines out there than actually go to the effort of seeking them out, but having said that, it’s not exactly hard to find stuff these days.

I remember years ago hunting down anything beyond Dig or Ride was an absolute hassle involving a lot of e-mail mither and blind faith - but now with yourself, Berks St. and 90East stocking interesting stuff in America, me and Clarky doing Central Library over here and the newly formulated Wiretap down under, it’s easier than ever for anyone to get their hands on zines and DVDs and all that.

The new stuff that’s coming out now is ten times better than Dig or Ride ever were anyway. Endless contest reports and dull bike checks have fallen by the wayside, and I haven’t seen a photo of Jimmy Levan’s zebra-print leggings in years. Things are really looking up.

What do you do for work? Thoughts on pursuing money via BMX and also what's the best job you've ever had? By day I work in an office writing stuff for a clothes shop. As you can imagine, trying to come up with an interesting way to talk about the 659th blue shirt you’ve seen this week can get a bit tough, but I can’t complain too much really. The office is fairly warm and there’s a kettle in the kitchen.

As for pursuing ‘serious wonga’ via riding, I’m one step ahead of you. Central Library has just received big investment from Duncan Bannatyne and Deborah Meaden (of Dragon’s Den fame), meaning we’re finally able to stock all those bizarre Caramac-coloured tyres that real bike shops seem to stock. We’re also expanding our print line to offer crime fiction and the Goosebumps novels. My main aim in life is to become one of those creepy industry characters who spends their time sniffing around young and naïve talent in the hopes of flogging a few ‘dad caps’.

My finest job was probably working for my dad in the family trade of dry stone walling (which explains my surname). I’m not sure if dry stone walls exist in America, but they’re those fairly humble looking stone walls you see dividing up the fields and forests around the English countryside.

Anyway, building them isn’t too bad as far as manual labour goes. When it’s raining and you’re miles up some hill wallowing in the mud lugging big stones around with nothing more for lunch than a chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle and a Penguin biscuit, then it’s a little miserable – but on a good day when the sun is shining and you’re working with ‘good stone’, it’s hard to beat.

The best days were when my dad would fall asleep just a few minutes before the end of the lunch hour, basically extending the break for at least another 45 minutes. Thinking about this job now, I’m not sure why I ever gave it up.

Do you have any other hobbies besides riding? Yeah, but I’d say the lines were pretty blurred. This is maybe a pretty boring answer, but I suppose riding lends itself to other hobbies pretty well. I might be wrong, but I don’t think keen swimmers or budding javelin-throwers get into photography or making videos in quite the same way. It’s sort of like the ‘pillars of hip-hop’ or something – riding, taking pictures, messing round with video stuff and generally snooping around all fits together nicely (or at least it does in my peppered mind).

It’s not like I’m slipping on my Etnies t-shirt for my weekly two hour power sesh and then the next night I’m wearing some short-shorts down at the climbing wall. Even when I’m on holiday with my wife, I’m still just snooping around the same way - we’re not buying tickets for some naff rollercoaster or dining out at exclusive restaurants with Abe Froman.

Are you able to take time off of riding and not feel like you're missing out or feel guilty? I have one friend who really goes in on the guilt tripping if I don't ride. Related: You said you like sitting on benches. Can you do that on a nice day? At the age of 28, I’d like to feel like I can just about deal with a few missed sessions. Obviously I still need a comprehensive run down of spots seshed and feats accomplished when I’m away, but it’d be mad if I was out all the time. The human body can’t handle that much raditude.

Fear of things going un-photographed does creep in sometimes, but Clarky will have filmed it anyway, and Gaz and Wozzy are better photographers than me, so if they’re about then hopefully someone caught the action.

Moving onto the subject of benches, these babies really come into play during my dinner break at work. I get on fine with everyone there, but when the clock strikes twelve I’m not going to be sat in the office spilling reheated chilli over my keyboard… I’m straight out into the city centre on full sit-off mode – hopefully getting into some daft conversation with one of Manchester’s many vagabonds.

A few months ago I was sat in town when I was approached by a fairly scruffy gentleman who was bleeding loads from his forehead after someone kneed him in the skull. The rest of my lunch break was spent trying to sort him out a bit. One meal deal, some wet wipes and a pack of king-skins later, he seemed alright. You don’t get these hijinks sat inside all day.  

I was just thumbing through the new Red Steps (nice job) and I just realized how much I enjoy your interviews -- what is it that you like about interviews? Not trying to stroke the ego here but you are really good at it... Cheers. Any ego strokes are much appreciated. This maybe sounds a bit daft, but I want to know everything. This is probably evident to the people who know me, but I’m a complete mither, completely hassling everyone with questions all the time.

This pesky nature extends into everything, meaning that I spend a lot of time reading a lot of interviews about the things that I’m into. I buy a lot of old copies of magazines like Wire, Ray Gun and Sidewalk on eBay, and even though the interviews contained within those pages might have been conducted in the corner of a pub maybe 25 years ago, they’re still worth reading today.

A proper interview with a little intro and some photos laid out nicely on a page… it’s mint – it’s a finished thing – sort of like a well-edited video or something. I know a lot of people are into ‘podcasts’ these days, and that’s fair enough, but to me – they’re not complete enough. I don’t want to hear people say ‘um’ and ‘err’ all the time, and I want something sick to look at (and by that, I don’t mean a load of pundits sat around a table with headphones on).  

I’m going to rattle on here whilst I’ve got the chance. Anyone reading this who gets the opportunity to answer questions for an interview, a ‘bike check’ or anything else…don’t just write a lazy sentence for each answer – go mad. Tell some funny stories. Or if you’ve got nothing to say, just make something up. No one cares about how responsive your headtube angle is or how you ‘usually just cut the bars down’. This could be your only chance to air your thoughts into the wider world, and you’re going on about what PSI you put in your tyres? COME ON PLEASE TRY HARDER YOU BORING GIMPS.

(above) Spread from Sam’s zine, Latvia Photos. (below) Cover of Sam’s zine, Around Town.

You also make photo zines/books not related to riding. Do you have any high art aspirations with this stuff? No real aspirations I’m afraid. Wine gives me bad heartburn, so I generally try and swerve anything resembling a gallery opening schmooze-off. As I was sort of saying before, making photo zines is just an extension of everything else. I like taking photographs, so it makes sense to put them together. It’s all pretty small-time really – it’s not like I’m getting thousands printed.

To be honest, it’s all a complete faff that I could easily avoid by not bothering and just sitting around watching American power-dramas, but it’s good to have stuff to look back on – even if it’s just a 40 page zine that nine people will see.

Crouching under a tattered old curtain processing rolls of film every night whilst being mithered by my cat isn’t particularly glamorous and I’d imagine there are probably easier ways to get cosy with the artistic elite.

What's your favorite slang word? Going back to my walling days, my dad uses some pretty intriguing slang terms. Unlike inner-city slang, which will usually be documented in music or useless BBC3 comedies, these more rustic words don’t get much recognition. I don't use these terms myself, but I certainly respect them. Here’s a few choice cuts…

“A few skins on the job” – a large workforce “Keitel” – a fairly humble work-jacket “Bait” – lunch “Bray it – hit it “Kessen” – when an unclipped sheep falls over onto its back and can’t get up due to its weight. This happens more often than you’d think.

You can buy scoop up a copy of Sam’s magazine, Red Steps, in the Challenger web shop here, look at the online shop, The Central Library, that Sam runs with Clarky here, and check out some of his other photo zines/books here.

[mojave-misfit]

1OO IMPORTANT CHARACTER QUESTIONS

original by @belomihelps

taken from beth kinderman and nikki walker’s the 100 most important things to know about your character. a good list to help develop a character’s background, personality, and general aspects.

PART 1: THE BASICS

What is your full name?  Charles Merle Quinn

Where and when were you born? Boston Massachusetts, October 13, 2050

Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.) Mother: Carmilla Quinn nee’ Merle. Occupation: None, Personality: Easily agitated, kind, and somber, Father: Malcolm Quinn. Occupation: Photographer, Manager. Personality: Distant, Workaholic, Kind

Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like? No

Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people. I live in Red Rocket Truck Stop with two robots, Ada and Winston, and Dogmeat. 

What is your occupation? Railroad Agent, Mercenary, and General of the Minutemen

Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks. 5′7″, 145 lbs., Caucasian and Pale, Jet Black Hair, Pale Blue eyes, Whatever isn’t too bloody, scar on lip and right eyebrow.  

To which social class do you belong? The living one

Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses? Easily tired

Are you right- or left-handed? Right-Handed

What does your voice sound like? (see Male Sole Survivor voice on YouTube)

What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently? Sorry

What do you have in your pockets? Candy and a knife

Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics? Always picks up random things to build with, always having to have 5 packs of fancy lads snack cakes on hand, and never throwing away nuka cola of any variety. 

PART 2: GROWING UP

How would you describe your childhood in general? Lonely. 

What is your earliest memory? Meeting my mother at 5 years old. 

How much schooling have you had? Bachelors Degree in Engineering

Did you enjoy school? No

Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities? Military

While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them. I always looked up to detectives. Basically anyone willing to provide justice to the world. 

While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family? I didn’t have any other family other than my mother and father. The neighbors kept me whenever my dad was gone and passed me around like potato chips. 

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to be James Bond. 

As a child, what were your favorite activities? Petting cats and Reading

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display? Quiet, Pyromanic, and Loner

As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like? No. I had a cat. That was it. 

When and with whom was your first kiss? It was Nora on December 24, 2066

Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity? No, I lost my virginity on my wedding night on...August 25, 2072. 

If you are a supernatural being (i.e. mage, werewolf, vampire), tell the story of how you became what you are or first learned of your own abilities. If you are just a normal human, describe any influences in your past that led you to do the things you do today. Military training and the genuine will to live?...and my desire to avenge Nora and raise Shaun in peace. 

PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far? Shaun being born. 

Who has had the most influence on you? My mother. 

What do you consider your greatest achievement? Being alive. 

What is your greatest regret? Er...I try not to regret much. I guess..Never saying goodbye to my mother. 

What is the most evil thing you have ever done? Other than killing a man for a pair of ugly sunglasses or burning my home down? Not sure. 

Do you have a criminal record of any kind? I set a man and then a house on fire. 

When was the time you were the most frightened? When I was seven and my mother tried to strangle me. 

What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you? Existing

If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why? I would live happily with my mother and father. That was my only wish as a child. 

What is your best memory? Either marrying Nora, Shaun being born, or meeting Hancock.

What is your worst memory? See most frightened above. 

PART 4: BELIEFS & OPINIONS

Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic? Realistic

What is your greatest fear? Another apocalypse

What are your religious views? Christian views, but I’m not very religious in general

What are your political views? Government in general holds too much power over people and too many corrupted individuals have held that power. 

What are your views on sex? *turns red* Er...well....only the 18 and consenting. 

Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable? *gestures to wasteland with a raised eyebrow*

In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do? Enslave others

Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love? Depends on how hopeful and/or drunk I am. 

What do you believe makes a successful life? Good friends, family, good food and drinks, and an unholy amount of turrets

How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)? Depends on who I am around. I’m a fairly honest person, but I can hide emotions when needed. I am who I need to be. 

Do you have any biases or prejudices? Dogs are always better than people. 

Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it? Enslave another person. Everyone should be able to decide how to live their own lives. 

Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)? I’d die for the Railroad’s goal and for the people I care about. 

PART 5: RELATIONSHIPS W/OTHERS

In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how? I treat everyone with polite distance at first. If they are rude to me, I tend to be even more distant. If they are nice, I’m less so. 

Who is the most important person in your life, and why? Shaun. He’s my son. 

Who is the person you respect the most, and why? I respect Nick Valentine the most. He is just a genuinely nice person when he has every reason not to be. 

Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe these people. Rosa Stellata: Wonderful, Crazy, and Kind. Deacon: Sneaky Egg, Sad. Cait: Irish, Tougher than nails, Will kill you, Sad. Glory: Glorious, enough said. Drinking Buddy: He gives me Ice Cold Nuka-Cola I love him. Nick: Cool Synth Detective, Not a dick. Hancock: Perfect, Handsome, Funny, *goes on for about an hour*

Do you have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person. Nora was my wife. She was..wonderful, smart, beautiful, kind, and strong. Hancock..*blushes* He’s a force of nature. I’ve never met anyone who made me so happy to simply be alive. 

Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened. Yeah. I've been in love with two people: Nora Cunningham, and John Hancock. Nora is in a better place, and John and I are still together.

What do you look for in a potential lover? Expressive eyes, a kind heart, and natural confidence. 

How close are you to your family? I was very close to Nora and Shaun. My parents? Much less so. 

Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If not, do you want to? Why or why not? Yeah...Nora was my wife. I already described her, so...My son is an innocent child.

Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help? No one. I don’t want to be a burden. 

Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why? Whoever I’m traveling with. 

If you died or went missing, who would miss you? I hope no one will, but maybe the rest of the Railroad and Hancock, at least a bit. 

Who is the person you despise the most, and why? The raiders at Nuka-World. They enslaved so many people...and that is something I can't forgive.

Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict? I avoid conflict when I can. 

Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations? No, but sometimes it just happens. 

Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not? No. too many people working for the same thing is dangerous. 

Do you care what others think of you? To a certain degree. 

PART 6: LIKES & DISLIKES

What is/are your favorite hobbies and pastimes? I still love reading and petting animals. 

What is your most treasured possession? My wedding ring. 

What is your favorite color? Blue

What is your favorite food? Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. 

What, if anything, do you like to read? Magazines, books, blueprints, etc. 

What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)? Watching other people try to kill things, reading, exploring, burning things, and the Red Menace game. 

Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit? I take med-x and psycho in emergencies and drink Nuka-Cola Dark on occasion. I have no desire to quit as I want to live a little on both occasions. 

How do you spend a typical Saturday night? Sorting through weapons, ammo, armor, and/or supplies. 

What makes you laugh? Something funny. 

What, if anything, shocks or offends you? Entitled people who think they are better than others due to money or status. 

What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself? Red Menace or rereading magazines

How do you deal with stress? Holotapes. 

Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan? Spontaneous

What are your pet peeves? Everything has to be sorted into a certain container and I have to have 5 snack cakes with me at all times. 

PART 7: SELF IMAGES & OTHER

Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when this routine is disrupted? Check ammo supply, go kill things, go kill more things, sell extra ammo and get usual ammo type, repeat until tired. Interruptions are welcome. 

What is your greatest strength as a person? Being okay with violence

What is your greatest weakness? Everything else

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? I would forget a lot of things. 

Are you generally introverted or extroverted? Introverted

Are you generally organized or messy? messily organized

Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at. Good: Building things, Modding weapons/armor, Shooting things. Bad: Explosives, killing mirelurk queens, dealing with people. 

Do you like yourself? No

What are your reasons for being an adventurer (or doing the strange and heroic things that RPG characters do)? Are your real reasons for doing this different than the ones you tell people in public? (If so, detail both sets of reasons…) I want to help people. I want to see others happy. 

What goal do you most want to accomplish in your lifetime? Destroying the Institute, Marry Hancock, and see Shaun grow up to be smart and kind. 

Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Hopefully alive. 

If you could choose, how would you want to die? *shrugs* Burn to death? 

If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left. Spend the day with Hancock, say goodbye to the Railroad, and bury Nora. 

What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death? Being a decent person/father. 

What three words best describe your personality? odd, shy, and kind

What three words would others probably use to describe you? odd, shy, and kind

If you could, what advice would you, the player, give to your character? (You might even want to speak as if he or she were sitting right here in front of you, and use proper tone so he or she might heed your advice…) (Forgive him.)

((Edit: Minor changes.))

[escailyyy]

Sweeter than fiction (SherlollyFicExchange2017 @darnedchild)

Mary would be the first one to admit that motherhood softened her embarrassment threshold, that was one explanation for it, domesticity had apparently made it mentally acceptable for Mary to indulge in the hobbies of middle aged housewives that Sherlock would roll his eyes on. (Joining the ranks of the type of women that made fifty shades of Grey a best seller) so she couldn’t exactly share her new hobby with him.

So when Molly Hooper caught Mary reading something called ‘Warstan gets Naughty’ by username: WhatzonDkink, Mary not only was way too eager to talk about her latest obsession but also had no shame in admitting it was an obsession. Sherlock probably would have expected more from Mary! She blamed this on Rosie, if as a woman she no longer had an issue with having baby vomit on her shirt when she went grocery shopping, then obviously she wouldn’t have it with sharing her smut preferences with a friend during girls night either.

“Let me get this straight, people write about you and John, just because they saw you on the telly and mentioned in John’s blog” Molly hummed over her second glass of wine “they write about you the way people write about Clara Oswald and the Doctor, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley kind of thing?”

“Like Posh Spice and David Beckham” Mary nodded “I found this site dedicated to real people fanfiction it’s quite big, there’s a section for royalty, politicians, sports players, celebrities and crime fighters, people consider us the second best pairing in that category, they write all sort of thing featuring John and me” she grinned proudly while Molly giggled

“Let me see” Molly peered at Mary’s tablet while reading out loud “ this one is called "Make me scream” by username Bby8R2D2, John Watson comes home from a day chasing a serial killer to find his wife wants to leave him, unless he can prove to her why he was nicknamed 'Three continent Watson’ ….“ Molly burst out laughing opening the link and skimming over it "Mary I’m not sure paragraph five is anatomically possible”

Mary nodded scrolling down “just wait, paragraph ten defies the laws of physics and some of chemistry’s” feeling emboldened Mary opened another file and pushed it into Molly’s eyes “this one is a particular favorite of mine”

The fan fiction was called “Duty to Love” by LaD-GG-romnuv,and Molly read out loud “ An: I wrote this while sleep deprived working through rocket science and assembling an IKEA bedroom set, John Watson is Captain America and Mary Morstan is Black Widow having a hot affair, their love will be put to test when John has to choose between his love for Mary and his duty to Rehabilitated Winter Soldier Sherlock Holmes” Molly perked up with interest opening the first chapter and reading through “wow this is…this isn’t bad, you’re..very in character, oh look I’m in here too… Molly Carter-Hooper agent 221” this brought a smile to Molly’s face, then she let out another gasp “Oh John how could you!…Mary, you know him better than this….No, Sherlock, that’s a bastard move”

“I know right, the writer hasn’t updated in ages” Mary groaned putting her hands to her face “I have half a mind to track down their IP and ask them if I John will ever see me again now that he joined the group fighting Lokiriarty in Asgard and I am single-handedly heading S.H.I.E.L.D” she also didn’t mention that special Agent 221 and the Winter Soldier were also having awkwardly adorable encounters as a ‘side pairing’ and that she wanted to know how it ended, but that was neither here nor there.

“Aaaand thanks for the spoilers” Molly glared at Mary who shamelessly raised her glass, surreptitiously closing the link

“Some people write things that you wouldn’t believe in the NSFW rating…let’s just say I’ll spare you the details of 'Watson Gang bang’ and 'Blood kink Mary’ because you’re not ready for that type of darkness”

“ what? Really?” Molly’s finger hovered over the rating button but Mary stopped her with a glare

“Yes, really, but back to my favorites, there’s an angsty one that’s very on demand recently. "Bone Marrow,” I think, apparently John met me as a patient, we had a collection of one night stands turned dates and now I only have weeks to live because the writer of that fanfiction is a sadistic ass"

“Do you end up together though?”

“I have no idea!” Mary groaned “ I swear Nick Sparks could use a tip or two from the hyperactive teenage girl that’s writing about my imaginary terminal illness”

Molly snorted patting her hand “speaking about angst, does John know about this?” She motioned to Mary’s tablet

Mary rolled her eyes and shook her head “He doesn’t want to hear about our fictional sex life, apparently it’s not fair that his fan fiction persona is better stud than he is, and a better doctor, actor, polo player, international pilot, astronaut” Mary ticked off her fingers “You don’t see me complaining about the superhuman professional skills that those fans give me” “That’s actually kinda…sweet, if a little disturbing” Molly settled in comfortably in her lounge seat while she ordered another round of margaritas when once again Mary’s tablet beeped with a notification

“Hey Mary what’s "Sherlolly finally does it” about? It’s by username Sherlicks-lollies and it looks promising….“ but Mary had already grabbed the tablet out of Molly’s hands

"Yeah no you can’t read that, nope not at all” Mary as a rule never looked nervous unless she wanted people to think she was nervous, but the face she made at the very mention of that fan fiction was…actually the same face Mary made whenever something unexpected happened to Rosie’s nappy

“Mary” Molly eyed her tablet suspiciously “what is in there?”

“Nothing, just more tawdry things about me and John….if you’ll excuse me I need to leave a proper commentary review on this work of art” her face was turning a bit red and as far as Molly was concerned, Mary’s face had just passed dirty-nappy territory straight into buying-condoms-for-Mrs Hudson level of uncomfortable.

“You do know that I also have Google on my phone don’t you?” The tiny pathologist said in a threatening tone taking out her serviceable smartphone and waving it in front of Mary’s face

“You wouldn’t dare” her friend replied as nonchalantly as someone hiding smutty fan fiction could

“Google it is”

“Molls you’re not ready for the world of RPF, trust me”

But Molly Hooper was a brave soul, a brave, intrepid and possibly drunk soul who was capable of sawing through the rib cage of a dead body without batting an eyelash and also once gone on a date with Moriarty, she hung out with Sherlock! and somewhere, one day if she ever needed to change jobs, those things were going to be stamped in her CV under 'work experience’. So she wasn’t afraid of fan fiction.

Or so she thought “You don’t intimidate me Mary Watson” Molly whispered ominously

Finally as if hit by a very mischievous idea Mary’s face did a 180 and a rather creepy smirk graced her face “Fine, Google the word Sherlolly, go ahead Hooper, I dare you, I’ll let you read this if you do” And so Molly did.

Mary who was now shamelessly enjoying herself again covertly turned on her tablet’s camera and carefully took pictures of the progression of emotions crossing Molly’s face, shock, disbelief, despair, embarrassment, flattery, embarrassment again, and finally plain mortification.“Mary I’m in the dictionary”

“I know”

“Sherlock and me…we’re in the bloody Oxford dictionary”

“Next to the definition of Shipping, yes” Mary passed Molly another margarita in mock sympathy “Oxford, but only the updated version, nobody over twenty reads the updated version anyway”

“Sherlock and Molly” More disbelief “Sherlolly…”

“I warned you” Mary nodded, then since she might as well rip off the band aid completely she added “there’s fanart too”

The horror dawned “People draw…people draw Sherlock and me together”

“And they’re quite talented at it too, all sort of situations, oh don’t look so terrified Molly, the fan-art isn’t that bad, the fandom thinks you’re both Kawai or something, not all of what they draw is porn”

Molly cursed something so colorful it made Mary feel proud “tell me Sherlock doesn’t know”

“Oh he knows it exists, he probably just hasn’t thought about it very deeply” Mary shrugged “Like Greg’s name, fan fiction is probably not relevant enough for his nibs”

“And thank God for his little mercies” Molly hissed “Someone drew us sailing with the Queen!”

“must be a new member, usually your shippers are more into drawing the insides of St Bart’s or imagining what your flat looks like” Mary was enjoying herself Furthermore she wanted Molly Hooper to enjoy herself so she tried a new approach “hey don’t be so shocked, the shippers love you, they buy any science magazine you’re mentioned in, it’s not all about Sherlock for them”

“They like an imaginary version of us” Molly was not appeased

“And we liked the airbrushed versions of Prince Charles and Princess Diana when they were a thing so I don’t see how it’s any different, cheer up Missus Pathologist” Mary encouraged in her best 'mom’ voice trying her best to make her friend see the bright side “Carpe Diem and all that”

And that’s how Molly Hooper discovered the world of Real Person Fanfiction, at first Molly was reluctant to see the website again, after all any sane person would be a bit miffed if they found out that other people played around with the details of their life like grown children with action figures. But curiosity won out, the next time she felt bored in the tube she pulled out her phone and decided to give them the benefit of the doubt.Soon she came to realize that the so called shippers were not really malicious or ill intentioned. In fact, most of them had in one way or another become interested in her romantic life because they’ve been previously impressed with something during the course of her career and looked her up online.It was somewhat ridiculous, these people knew nothing about her life (or so she thought) but apparently, they decided over the course of who-knows-how-long-this-had-been-going-on that she and Sherlock Holmes were either going to make a good couple or were already a good couple behind the scenes.

Anderson’s crazy conspiracy group had probably only proved these people right when Sherlock was gone and….. Oh damn, it got worse.

There were fanfics about that too. (Username ‘Notr3a11yAnderson’ wasn’t even subtle when it earned the website’s award for reviewer of the month)

“How many variations of Sherlock snogging me after falling from the rooftop can exist?” Molly muttered to herself glaring a bit at her phone, a quick refinement in the ‘advance searching’ gave her an answer that had her cursing again.

Ten million? Really?.

But Molly couldn’t find it in herself to hate them, when her mortification died out over the weekend amusement replaced it, after all, if she was allowed to silently wish Mycroft and Anthea would snog already, then why judge the shippers for romanticizing her extremely ordinary life in their heads. Mary was probably right in taking a relaxed approach.Outrage would serve her for naught, it wasn’t as if these people were like Kitty Riley or her ilk, fan fiction was still considered a widely taboo hobby in most places and the so called 'shippers’ didn’t seem to be doing it for personal profit. To these perfect strangers imagining her and Sherlock together was just…fun, so they kept doing it.

A phone call from Mike interrupted her musings and when she went back to her phone like most Internet browsers hers allowed a pop-up ad on the fanfiction website latest updates to blink on her phone screen.“Sherlolly Saves the endangered Koalas” Molly hummed reading through one of the fanfics suggested by the pop up, apparently the Sherlolly shippers were very dedicated fans, of course there were other suggestions, an N-sync fan fiction that featured the band’s most popular members getting together and someone wrote Tiger Woods and Serena Williams having a super powerful tennis playing golfer baby. Mary and John were popular too with a multitude of different scenarios straight out of a Hospital Soap being the favored fanfic inspiration. Molly bookmarked the one marked as a ‘Letters of love in Afghanistan’ because it sounded like something she wouldn’t mind reading, even if the author’s bio made Molly think he really needed a hug.

But the fanfiction about the endangered Koalas taunted Molly again, it wouldn’t hurt to click it just once.

How bad could something tagged #fluffy-super-fluffy be? The summary promised two people in a Koala rescue, really it wasn’t as if she’d be reading anything rated NSFW. The tube wasn’t going to get any faster and she was curious.

One click became another, then another and before she knew it Molly was making BogusRPFwebsite.notcom part of her daily routine in the tube and slowly started replacing her paperback novels during her relaxing time. Sometimes she could even ‘deduce’ who the writers of certain stories were but she tried not to, things might get weird in real life if they turned out to be people close to her (She was pretty sure leg-in-a-cast Polly Turner and Nurse Roberts from upstairs were writing that collab, where Sherlock and Molly had a host of quintuplets and labor, was a sneeze for Molly’s vagina).

Also, the more she read, the more questions she had, like:

Why were her first borns always either girls or twins most of the time? Were the authors aware that little boys made cute fantasy babies too?.

What was the obsession with Sherlock’s hair? I mean yes Molly knew that his curls were unusually perfect and had fantasized about pulling them as much as the next girl but really, they all made it sound as though he used unicorn blood in his shampoo and it was starting to get to Molly in real life.

Why did every girl that liked him with the exception of Molly turn out to be a serial killer or a criminal of some kind?.

Also, why was everyone in fan fiction always extremely attractive? Had the ugly people been abducted by makeup scientists?.

Why was Sherlock’s shirt always open during his fictional interactions with her?.

How exactly did time work in fan fiction? Nobody ever seemed to own a clock in fictional London.

And with these type of questions in mind, Molly pretended that it was someone else in those pages, someone else who was pretty, witty and adorable who was in love with another Sherlock who definitely wasn’t her Sherlock because this was all fan fiction and it didn’t count as real life.

Some writers made it really easy for Molly to compartmentalize her denial, writing either Sherlock or her out of character was a sure fire way for Molly to keep her plausible deniability while enjoying a bit of escapism, it didn’t hurt that Sherlock was in France for an overnight case with John and wouldn’t be back until he solved another seemingly impossible puzzle and Molly didn’t have to SEE him.

Sure he texted her with crime scene pictures and called her every once in a while to talk about incompetent French coroners but so far so good Molly was keeping real life Sherlock out of sight and out of mind while the multiple incarnations of RPF Sherlock gave her a good source of amusement and that was fine with Molly Hooper.

It was hard for embarrassment not to turn into flattery after some days swimming through the #fluff and #morefluff tag, I mean what woman didn’t like the idea of being cool enough to inspire people to writing glorified romance novels in obscure corners of the internet, Molly didn’t think either Sherlock or her deserved half of the unspoken admiration these writers had for them, but nevertheless it was…sweet (if a little disconcerting).

Fanfiction was one of those things that were ignored when one saw another person doing it, like reading the newspaper, people never paid much attention to another’s reading materials unless the topic was broached and as such Molly’s new pastime could have gone largely unnoticed had it not been for one thing: Sherlock Holmes did not like it when Molly didn’t pay him attention and Two weeks later when he got back from France, Molly Hooper knew she had a problem.

“Molly, I need access to a good set of kidneys, before noon if you please" was the first thing Sherlock said when he got back from his case, John at his side rolled his eyes, expecting the pathologist to at least greet him with her usual bright smile, but Molly surprisingly didn’t even lift up her head from her computer.

“yes Sherlock, I’ll get it to you later”

“and a good femur, for some reason Mrs. Hudson threw away my last one"

Molly who was still clearly engrossed in whatever she was doing barely managed an “of course Sherlock”

“And some eyes, preferably without much cornea damage" Sherlock frowned at her “Molly are you even listening or is the usual game of Solitaire taking up too much of your time?”

But even then he only managed to make Molly separate herself from the computer long enough to pull a notepad from her desk drawer and slide it in his direction “write a list of the body parts you need and I’ll deliver them at Baker Street after my shift” and then she was back to what had her so busy.

Molly tried to ignore Sherlock’s presence, easily opening the tabs for a couple of vaguely interesting autopsy reports to justify herself in case he decided to snoop in her files and went back to reading more fanfiction completely tuning out the real life consulting detective of her dreams.

The fanfiction that had her giving Sherlock auto pilot responses was titled “Celebrity Romance” in it Sherlock was written as an actor in a BBC series called ‘Benedict’, the TV show he starred in followed the life of fictional Hollywood darling Benedict Cumberbatch ( Sherlock apparently had been at it for five seasons) who was married with kids and held a demanding life as a sought after celebrity, and Molly, in turn, played a secondary role in his show as one of Benedict’s equally famous friends, progressive feminist actress Louise Brealey. What had Molly intrigued was that in the fanfiction despite the fact that on screen Sherlock and Molly’s characters were only good friends, with story lines that rarely overlapped, off screen they were actually falling in love and bonding over Starbucks coffees. (privately Molly rather liked Loo’s minor suffrage-style story line just as much as she liked Ben’s love story with his wife Sophie, but that was just her)

The point was that Molly was really invested in the plot of that story, the author was making his characters jump through rings of fire to get that happy ending…..Aaaand “Excuse me Sherlock did you say something? I was a bit distracted with this autopsy report” Molly said, eyes snapping out of her reverie to catch the tail end of one of his deductions on the state of Lestrade’s NSY passwords.

Molly saw a muscle in his jaw twitch with exasperation “Yes, I can see that” Sherlock said with narrowed eyes “if you tried to get any closer to the screen you would be in danger of merging with it”

Molly nodded distractedly making the same face Sherlock usually did when he was texting behind his back “Of course Sherlock, merging, that’s great for the victim” in response Sherlock calmly walked to the power outlet in the corner and unplugged her desktop “HEY” Molly snapped glaring at her blank computer and turned her whole attention to Sherlock Furiously, now she would never know what Happened after fictional Molly tweeted about how her character Louise needed to get more screen time.

“Body parts? Assistance in the lab?” Sherlock said without flinching watching Molly’s petulant glare melt into her usual friendly smile

“I gather you brought a sample of evidence with you" She replied easily getting up as though she hadn’t been not paying him attention for the last fifteen minutes, privately she resolved to find that fan fiction again when she got home “let’s see it, if it was worth bringing here it must be something big”

Sherlock handed over the evidence bag and for all intents and purposes that should have been it, she was back to the usual, except it wasn’t.

Because that week was the week Molly ventured into the deep dark hole that was the smut rating. And Sherlock being Sherlock, noticed the change immediately.

Molly began distancing herself from him and he didn’t like it.

She was distracted almost disinterested in him every time he saw her, she answered his questions in sentences that might as well have been recorded on an answering machine and had started spending too much time on her emails. To everyone else, she looked and acted like the normal Molly but Sherlock knew that something was going on in her life.

Normally this kind of behavior would lead him to deduce some new sort of paramour in her life, but a deeper look at the details of her social life showed no variation in patterns, her flat showed no sign of new visitors staying longer than what was considered appropriate and a quick call to Mycroft reassured him that she hadn’t been anywhere else in the past month.

Browsing through her phone and computer gave up similarly uninspiring results, other than a mountain of random pages and articles on things he didn’t care about Molly hadn’t logged on to any new dating website or media equivalents.

The only detail he could see was that Molly’s strange behavior coincided with the recent scheduling of her weekly nights out with Mary and like a dog with a bone, Sherlock had to investigate further. So using his master detective skills he roped John into trying to spy on his daughter’s godmother and on his wife (John was naturally against it citing that for very obvious reasons spying on a retired secret agent like Mary was almost impossible, also according to him spying on girls during their girl time was something teenage boys did, not men) but Sherlock eventually managed to convince him .

Meanwhile, Molly felt she couldn’t be around Sherlock anymore and it was all Mary’s fault.

“I ran away Mary, I said I needed to wash my hair and ran, like a coward” Molly complained bringing her hands to her face “ I can’t look at him in the eyes, I’ve tried!”

“I hate to say it, but: I told you so” Mary chuckled patting her hand “tell me again how bad is it?”

“On a scale of one to ten, eleven, I can’t seem to stop reading them" Molly wailed not daring to take her hands off her face “maybe I’ve turned into a pervert”

“you’re not a pervert Molls, people that send pictures of their privates to unsuspecting strangers on chat rooms are perverts, you’re just you know….sexually frustrated” the chuckle turned into a full blown giggle.

“Thank you for stating the obvious Mrs. Three Continent Watson" Molly grumbled “They like Sherlock’s penis! A lot and my breasts, just look at them Mary” Molly pointed to her modest chest “They are not a big deal, but out there in the big wide internet there are strangers that…have a very artistic view of my breasts”

“And of Sherlock’s penis,“ Mary reminded her laughing

“Stop laughing this is serious, I need help” Molly then pulled up her phone “hear this one” Molly cleared her throat “Prince Sherlock wasn’t supposed to be fucking his niece’s Fairy godmother, but he couldn’t help himself, the christening was almost over and he just had to know what it was like to taste her dewy pussy, to be inside her and hammer his member so deep she cried with pleasure, his manhood was made for her, hard red and angry his shaft was painfully aware of how beautiful she was and he just wanted to rip off every single item of frothy fabric covering her and her, gloriously hard nippled small breasts, see his little fairy naked and open just for him, while he made her miss the christening of Princess Briar Rosamund”

“Oh wow, what talent”Mary was holding her sides in laughter “Remind me to invite whoever wrote that to the christening of my next baby”

“MARY” Molly almost started crying “that one had a plot I enjoyed and now I can’t stop thinking about…”

“Sherlock’s rock hard penis?”

“STOP SAYING IT” Molly hissed “this is all your fault”

“Hey my friend I told you not to do it, you didn’t listen"

“you knew I would do it anyway" Molly wailed “Now I can’t stop thinking about how it would be like to actually have sex with him, not that I didn’t before, but these people are graphic Mary, VERY, graphic, now every time I look at Sherlock I wonder which one of these people hit the mark, is he rough in bed, does he take it slow, does he like his hair pulled, or does he do the hair pulling, is his penis as big as they claim it is or is that just normal smut exaggeration” Molly began ranting while Mary kept trying not to spill her drink with her giggles “I mean I’m pretty sure some of these people have access to his medical records from his druggie days so one has to question if it’s true, I for one like to be dominant in bed and now it’s affecting my relationship with Sherlock because I can’t look at him in the eye without wondering what it’s like to spank his perfect ass with that bloody riding crop he likes so much”

“Oh Molly, you really need to have sex and soon" Mary advised wisely patting the petite woman’s head, then she turned around on her stool and looked at the pair of old men that were sitting at the table behind them “By the way, John, why don’t we head home and leave Sherlock and Molly alone, I think you’ve heard enough”

“Mary Watson that move just cost you a friendship” Molly looked genuinely betrayed but Mary didn’t look one bit regretful

“You need him out of your system and you Mr. Clark Kent…“ She said pulling Sherlock up and divesting him from the trey wig and bad prosthetics "need to stop being a tosser over the fact that Lois Lane likes Superman better” and with that Mary swanned out of the pub with an apologetic John in tow, leaving Sherlock alone with Molly

minutes ticked down.

Another minute.

Sherlock still was looking at her like he’d never seen her before. “So it was fan fiction all along”

“Yes"

“That might present a problem for us” Sherlock said awkwardly

“I’m aware”

“Molly I….”

But she cut him off deciding enough was enough “Just say whatever you need to say Sherlock” Molly glared at him “I’m tired, I’m hungry and extremely sexually frustrated so if you’re going to be a bastard about this get it over with, I need to find a stranger to shag tonight preferably”

that got his attention really fast, no, the only man Molly was going to take home was going to be him “you’re embarrassed when you shouldn’t be, I was merely thinking about the next course of action one should take when a woman one has fantasized of fucking confesses the same thing”

“I was not expecting that" Molly eyed him suspiciously before downing whatever drink she had in hand before shrugging and eyeing her phone “you know what Sherlock, any other day I would be very accommodating talking about what you want and why this isn’t a good idea, but right now, I can’t think clearly when your shirt buttons look like they want to pop out so here is what will happen” She stretched to her toes and grabbed him by the collar watching his eyes grow dark with want, taking his hand and pressing it to the waistband of her skirt “I have questions about how we would be in bed, you have answers, it ends tomorrow and it absolutely doesn’t mean anything”

“we could start with those fan fictions you were reading, you seem to want to investigate which ones are accurate and which ones are entirely poppycock" he murmured in her ear making her shiver, desire pooling in her belly

“I have a long list”

turns out that Sherlock was in fact not as disgusted with Molly’s fan fiction problem as he’d been with Mary’s, he was positively pleased by it and it was a frequent source of both amusement and role-play ideas any time he went to Molly’s flat or had her over in Baker street.

The flowery language in the smut section only made Sherlock more aware of the tiny details of Molly’s body that he could use to his advantage, it was like having a cheat code on how to sexually please Molly.

And in turn, he found himself pleasured by her in many wicked ways.

“I think we might have to extend this arrangement” Sherlock murmured into Molly’s hair for the umpteenth time, he was sated and she looked happy, he wasn’t going to ruin a good thing.

“An Extension?” Molly replied with a yawn cuddling into his chest “How big?”

“Depends, these people publish stories every day, how about until they stop writing?”

“That could take forever"

“Good thing I’m a patient man then" He replied kissing her lips.

And yes it turned out that Sherlock, was so much better at everything he tried in real life than he was in fiction, especially when it came to Molly.

[ulyssessklein]

Brotherhood of the Guitar: Jacob Reese Thornton

Interview by: Rick Landers

Jacob Thornton Reese: Image courtesy of Robert M. Knight.

With hot young talent waiting in the wings, like Jacob Reese Thornton, it won’t be long before a new generation of guitarists will rearrange the musical landscape from theatrics and synthetic musical hype, and take it back to gut level guitar work grounded in traditional roots, but with a willingness and a drive to explore more than the pentatonic scale.

With a nod to tradition and a bent toward split second riffs, Thornton reworked some Chuck Berry terraforms into a heavy fueled Christmas romp of his own making, “Run, Rudolph, Run” (Marks & Brodie).  And even that’s a grab at tradition that was explored by the likes of The Beach Boys, The Beatles and others who couldn’t resist Chuck’s foundational licks.

Jacob Reese Thornton is a 15 year old songwriter and guitar prodigy based in South Florida. Jacob writes and plays rock and blues with precision, depth and a passion that belies his age. Jacob first picked up the guitar at age 9, and has hardly put it down since. Check out Thornton’s track, “Bombs Away” to get a fix on the lad’s guitar skills and talents, as well as his ability to capture center stage as well as many well-known front men.

Thanks to a number of outstanding musical mentors, Jacob quickly developed a reputation as a gifted up and coming young artist. Jacob has traded licks onstage with blues legend Buddy Guy, and his remarkable live videos have collectively received nearly 1 million views on social media.

Jacob’s varied influences include Stevie Ray Vaughan, Elmore James, the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, Chuck Berry, Dire Straits, Neil Young, Foo Fighters, Cheap Trick, Joan Jett, the Ramones, Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, the Allman Brothers Band, the Clash and Miles Davis, among many others.

******

Rick Landers: Well, here comes Christmas and I see you’ve covered those snowy tracks with a Chuck Berry laden romp, “Run, Rudolph, Run”.  I dug the spirit of your song and your break crunched along with great angst, but really mostly a fun romp. What brought that on and were you able to pull that lead In during the session or did you have it in your hip pocket already?

Jacob Reese Thornton: Thanks! I’m a big Chuck Berry fan and Rudolph is a fun song I used to throw into my live set around the holidays.  It was a blast to make. My friend Bryce Kretz did an amazing job on the drums, and I pretty much did everything else.  The solo was mapped on the fly. I just went with what felt right. What I like most about the track are the rhythm parts. The main riff is two guitars blended and panned, one of which is in an open tuning.  It gives it a chainsaw sound, which I love. I’m stoked it’s gotten a good reception and even some radio airplay.

Rick: Learning guitar has come a long way from dropping the needle on a 45 over and over again until you figured out the licks to today, where there’s Youtube, in-person lessons, figuring out licks with friends and more. What and who were you able you able to draw from to figured out how to run up and down the neck?

Jacob Reese Thornton: Yeah, there are lots of options for learning.  When I started, I would play along with my favorite songs and first try to figure it out myself. It was a challenge.  If I couldn’t, then I would go to YouTube. I listened to lot of different stuff like Green Day, Lindsey Buckingham, Eric Clapton, Neil Young, etcetera.  

Billie Joe Armstrong is a great place to start with guitar because a lot of his songs are just three power chords and the truth! I also began playing live at a young age, with older musicians who taught me a lot.  I learned that what not to play is just as important, and to seek tone before speed. I see a lot of young players hide behind distortion or expression pedals. My teacher, Fritz Dorigo, always emphasized tone and precision. If the note sounds great let it hang a little longer, you know?

Jason Reese Thornton – Image courtesy of Robert M. Knight.

Rick: Were any members of your family inspirational or helping you follow your dream to make a hobby a profession?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  My parents have a massive music collection. I went deep into that at a young age. My great grandmother owned a recording studio and small indie label in Nashville in the late ’60s, and my great aunt was a Nashville based musician in her day.  So, I guess it’s running around in my DNA somewhere. My family are all extremely supportive.

Rick: There’s a whole world of music out there to draw from, as well as music from the past hundred years. African, Ukraine, Navajo…all kinds of music, and then there’s classic rock. Have you explored or considered where you might find inspiration, in places that are culturally different from your own roots?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  I like accessible classic jazz, like Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue and John Coltrane’s stuff.  I’m not a big fan of experimental jazz or fusion. Basically, I love rock and roll music. Big drums, guitars, and sweeping melodies. That’s what appeals to me. I’m into open tunings these days and discovering those possibilities.

I’m also a blues fan.  I am always searching for a song that grabs me right away and makes the hair on my arms stand up. Noel Gallagher does that for me. He is my favorite songwriter right now, especially his recent High Flying Birds stuff. Lindsey Buckingham does that for me too with his guitar playing. He’s from another planet.

Rick: How did “Bombs Away” come about and how did you meet Bob Kulick and Bobby Ferrari – What have they been like to work with? And how’s the song doing – getting a good reception and good air play?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  “Bombs Away” is the oldest song on the record, and one of the first tunes I ever wrote. Stylistically, it is kind of a nod to Joan Jett, who I also love. That’s the “in your face” cut on the record. It’s about being brave enough to suffer the consequences of sharing hard truths. Sometimes things need to be said.  

I met Bob and Bobby through rock photographer Robert M. Knight. They were both so supportive of my writing and took off the kid gloves. It was hard work but I learned a ton from them. Even though I’m a lead player, one big take away from my time with Bob was rhythm guitar dynamics. He taught me a lot about that, and it changed the way I approach things. I will always be grateful for that experience.  

Rick: Let’s talk a little about gear. What’s your “go to” guitar at home and what are you using on stage? Amps? Effects? Cowbell?

Jacob Reese Thornton: Cowbell is obviously my go to instrument! [Laughs].  My main guitar for writing is a 2012 Martin EC28 acoustic, which I modified with a Fishman pickup.  I do all my writing with that guitar, and use it live and in the studio. That guitar is rarely out of reach and will be with me for life.  Almost lost it recently though. Someone broke into our car on the way to a Nashville gig. They stole an iPad, but overlooked the Martin, thank God!  

In terms of electric, I have several main ones set up for different songs. Most of the Different Times LP was cut with an Ernie Ball Music Man Cutlass HSS.  I am also a big fan of P90 pickups and have a few Les Paul, Jr.’s. I’ll reach for those when I want something that roars, and sometimes will use those for slide.  I like the Telecasters for open tunings or a bit of twang.

As far as amps, it depends. I actually love the Kemper Profiling Amp. My live set requires a number of different tones, which I profiled through the Kemper.  It makes it easy to quickly shift between them. If I am pushing air, I’ll use either a Marshall Jubilee reissue or an old Fender Deluxe blackface. As for pedals, I mostly get by with a Boss Blues Driver overdrive, a Boss delay and an MXR flanger. Acoustically, I am a big fan of the Fishman TonedEQ.

Rick: How did you wind up working with rock photographer and co-founder of the Brotherhood of the Guitar, Robert M. Knight?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  Robert is the dude.  He reached out to my Dad when I was 13, after he put up a video of me playing a Stevie Ray Vaughan instrumental. The clip got some attention from the social media rock magazines, which is how he found us.  Robert is an amazing person and, of course, a legendary rock photographer. And the stories! He has had a front row seat to so much music history. He continues to help so many young musicians like me.

Robert recently introduced me to Slash and Steve Lukather, and it was obvious how much both of those guys like and respect him. He has opened doors for so many players.  If you have not yet read it, get Robert’s latest photography book, Rock Gods, Vol. 2, which just came out. It’s incredible.

Rick: The music business is a lot about connections and Robert has those, but I found if you don’t have the talent, you need to up your game to become a “Brother”, or “Sister” of The Brotherhood. How did you prove yourself to Robert to get on board?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  I guess you would have to ask him that. I keep trying to do what I do to the best of my ability.  The level of talent in the Brotherhood roster is humbling, to say the least. I’m just grateful to be a part of it. It provides a way for younger more players around the world to find each other and even collaborate, which is really important.

  Jason Reese Thornton – Image courtesy of Robert M. Knight.

Rick: Did he pull you out of oblivion or were you already working on some kind of heavy fueled ambition and strategy that was working for you?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  Well, Robert has obviously opened some doors.  He also introduced me to my amazing manager, Michelle Bakker, who is super connected herself.  I’m super grateful for both of them, and for all of the mentors I was blessed to have an early age who helped and encouraged me.  I knew early that playing guitar and writing songs inspired me more than anything else. I do this first because it’s what I love to do.  As long as it comes across as honest and authentic – even if it’s not for them – then I’ve succeeded.

Rick: Your career seems to be moving at a solid fast pace, have you been surprised at anything about the industry that you’ve found very surprising or interesting?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  Well, I think everyone knows there is a tidal wave of B.S. to navigate, even at a local level.  I saw that early on. There are people with agendas who tell you what you want to hear, then twist a knife when you aren’t looking.  So many people are struggling to be seen and heard in this business; to be recognized. I’m not always comfortable with the self-promotional stuff you have to do either.

But, musicians live and die by social media these days. The most disappointing thing is that the industry doesn’t seem to invest in developing new talent. And it abandoned guitar based music in favor of music made by computers. I never understood how a DJ could make 10,000 people scream with a laptop. I believe art must be made by human hands. Its okay if it is not perfect, because people aren’t perfect.

Rick: I suspect it’s easy to let one’s ego get ahead of you when others are telling you you’re phenomenal. Do you believe them straight away or are you cautious to keep things grounded, and real? Tough to do?

Jacob Reese Thornton: I definitely wouldn’t believe anything like that at all.  It’s easy for me to stay grounded, because I know what my strengths and weaknesses are.  I have a solid team, a great family and friends who keep me smart and push me to strive for the next level.  

Rick: From what I can tell you’re getting some experience-based mentoring from top performers, producers, and a solid management team. Do they ever suggest you take a breather or go slow sometimes to let some things grow organically or are you wanting to be on a fast track?

Jacob Reese Thornton:  I’ve been lucky that way and am thankful for them.  I’m just doing what makes me happy and inspires me. We are not trying to chase anything too much.  What’s meant to happen will happen in its own time. Of course, I would love nothing more than a life of creating music that people relate to.  To make a decent living doing that would be such a blessing. That’s a dream that I share with a million other young musicians [Laughs]. It’s pretty crowded down here!

Rick: Okay, you’ve gotta tell us what it was like hanging with the legendary Buddy Guy, assuming you two had the chance to trade licks or just chat and chew a bit.

Jacob Reese Thornton: When I was 12, I went to a concert of his.  During a quiet moment from the front row I asked if I could play.  He stared at me for a second and said “Come on up here young man.” A crew member handed me a spare Strat. The next thing I knew I was on stage trading licks with him. It was a intimidating because I had only been playing for a few years at that point. But, it was an awesome moment I will never forget.  

Buddy split pretty quickly after the show, but he chatted with us briefly and was very kind and encouraging. I wish I could do it again now!