#anyway. will smith posing to show him off. here take him

[hide-in-imagination]

Paris & a Promise | Simbar Oneshot

The studio was pristine and cozy, with bright colors on the walls, white leather chairs, one in front of the other, and a big screen between them on the far wall so that the people in the audience, and of course, the host and guest occupying the two chairs, could see pictures and videos of the topic that was being discussed.

Behind the three cameras pointing at the studio (one on the guest, one on the host, and one holding a general view of everything), the floor manager, a woman in her thirties with a headset to hear and communicate the director’s orders, made a signal to the host, a charismatic man on his forties with black hair, wearing a suit and tie. In the guest chair in front of him, the blonde young woman, wearing a tasteful long-sleeve blouse and a mini skirt, listened to the countdown overhead until the ‘On Air’ sign lighted up anew, followed by a short rendition of the show’s theme song, and applause from the audience on their seats.

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen! We are here live with Ámbar Smith,” the host resumed the show with a big smile, facing the camera and then focusing on his guest. “Ámbar, once again, thank you so much for coming to our show. I hope you’re having as good a time as we are, but if not, do not worry, your torment is almost over now.”

Ámbar laughed along with the audience.

“Noo, don’t say that, of course I’m having a good time, I’m always happy to be here.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. Now,” the host leaned forward, “I’m sorry for deviating from your achievements but, we simply can not let you leave without talking about—” he pointed at her with his hand, “that huge rock weighing on your finger right now.” The audience started screaming. “Poor thing, she can’t even move her hand— Look how she keeps it on the armrest! Unbelievable!”

The audience whooped and laughed while Ámbar giggled, her right hand coming up to try and hide her grin and blushing cheeks.

“Ámbar, my sincerest congratulations on your engagement,” the host said now in earnest as the audience quieted down.

“Thank you so much.” The audience cheered again, stealing another giddy smile from her.

“Now, I know everyone already knows this, but in case anyone’s been living under a rock these last few years, you’ve been dating the Roller Band’s guitarist and vocalist Simón Álvarez for quite a few years now.” A picture of the couple posing together at a red carpet appeared on the big screen of the studio.

“Six years, yeah,” Ámbar said with a smile.  

“Six whole years, and he finally proposed two weeks ago, as we can see in this picture you two posted on Instagram, showing off the ring.”

A screenshot of their Instagram post showed on the screen. The photo depicted their hands together, Ámbar’s hand over Simón’s turned-up palm, the thick diamond ring front and center, shining on her finger, while the background showed an orange and red sky, with the Eiffel Tower blurry but visible in the distance. 

The audience cheered and a warm smile curled Ámbar’s lips at the photo.

The host looked at her again. “Tell me, Ámbar, did you see it coming? Did you know he was going to do it or did it take you by surprise?”

Ámbar made a complicated face. “Um, I kind of saw it coming, but no, not really,” she broke off with a laugh.

The host looked at her with intrigue. “What do you mean? Like, you did and then you didn’t? What’s the story?”

“Well. We were in Europe because the Roller Band was touring there, and they had stops in different cities, and Simón was like ‘You should come with me, you could visit Paris’ blah blah blah, so I joined them. He knows that Paris is my favorite city in the world, I’ve always loved it— In fact, I spent some months there when I was in university, as part of an exchange program for six months, and I just have very good memories of the city in general. So anyway, that got me thinking, you know… We’re going to be in Paris…” She started hinting. “He invited me to join… We’ve been dating for 6 years… So, on that front, I did have my suspicions, but I just— The timing didn’t make sense to me,” she said. “That was the problem, that’s what threw me off.” 

“How so?”

“Because we were only staying in Paris for one day,” she emphasized. “The guys were scheduled to arrive in the morning at the hotel, then they had their soundcheck in the afternoon, and then their concert, and that same night we had to go to Italy because they had their concert there the next day. So I was like… Yeah, no. No way.” She laughed. “Like, it was a lot in less than 24 hours. How could he even find the time for it? It’s insane.”

“He totally got you then.”

“He did. It took me completely by surprise, it was so sweet.”  

“It was like in some sort of balcony, right?” The host checked. “I mean, I remember from the photos you two posted— Those ones.”

New photos appeared on the screen. It was two selfies of the two of them standing close together on a black iron balcony with a view of the sunset, the city of Paris, and the Eiffel Tower. They were taken by Simón, one of his arms around Ámbar while the other extended beyond the frame, holding the phone. In one of them, they were both grinning brightly at the camera, Ámbar showing off the ring, her eyes glistening with emotion. The second was very similar to the first, probably taken seconds apart from each other, except in that one Simón wasn’t looking at the camera but kissing Ámbar’s cheek with his eyes closed. Ámbar was still grinning and showing off the ring like in the first picture, but she had her eyes closed in that one too, basking in the love. 

“Yeah, that’s the balcony of the hotel room we were staying at,” Ámbar answered, pointing at the screen. “Simón specifically looked for one that had a view of the Eiffel Tower for us.”

“He had it all planned out,” the host said, impressed.

“Everything,” Ámbar confirmed. “From the very first second. Cause— Look. This is how it all went down.” She leaned forward in her seat, entering story-telling mode, and the host leaned forward as well, giving her all of his attention. “We arrived at around 11 am in Spain. The first thing we did was sleep because we were all dead on our feet, and then around two, Simón asked me if I wanted to go out to eat, and I was like ‘Yeah, sure’, so we went to this restaurant I recommended to him, I knew it from my many trips to Paris, and we just, you know, had our meal, talked, walked around the city for a little bit after— Very normal stuff. Then, Simón had to go to his soundcheck, so he left, and I just kept walking around ‘cause, you know, I was like ‘I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back, better make the best of it now.’”

“Of course.”

“And that was all I was planning to do for the rest of the day really, but then, like an hour or so later, I get a call from Simón like ‘Hey, I’m done with the soundcheck, I’m going back to the hotel now, let’s meet up there’, and I was like… Why didn’t he just stay in the arena?” She said, bemused. “His concert was like in two hours, it would’ve made more sense. But anyway. I got back to the hotel, and I asked him how the soundcheck went, and he was like ‘Well, very well, everything good’— Which was a complete and total lie, by the way,” she pointed out, looking at the audience.

“What do you mean ‘lie’?” The host asked with surprise.

“He never went to the soundcheck,” Ámbar said. “I only found out about it later. The guys went to the soundcheck by themselves, Simón never joined them.”

“Then what was he doing?”

“I’m getting there,” she said. “So, we met at the hotel, and Simón was like ‘Hey, so, I only have like an hour and a half before I need to leave but, what do say if we order room service and eat a little something before I leave?’ and I was like, ‘Yeah, that sounds nice.’ So we sat at a little table there on the balcony, and we were just, you know, having like a regular dinner, when suddenly he says: ‘My love. I didn’t want to tell you before, but I have a surprise for you.’ And I was like.” Ámbar made a face of curiosity. “‘What?’ And the very instant— I have this so ingrained in my mind— the very instant the sun started setting, he got down on one knee.”

“Oh my god.” The audience cheered and clapped, joining the host’s excitement. “That’s crazy! So, he had it all timed down to the second.”

“He did! He totally did. I couldn’t believe it. And then he, you know, started saying all these beautifulthings, and once the shock wore off, I just started crying,” she laughed a little bit. “And just, you know, I said yes, obviously.”

The audience screamed. Ámbar laughed, radiantly happy, the camera capturing the emotion in her eyes. “Then we hugged and it was very sweet. I really couldn’t have imagined it a better way; it was perfect.”

“And then you two went to celebrate, right? We’ve got some pictures of you on a rooftop.”

“Yeah! That was the craziest part! We had just gotten engaged and Simón was like ‘I’ve got another surprise for you’ and he led me to the hotel’s rooftop, and the whole time I’m thinking, ‘What now?!’ Like, what else had this guy planned? Fireworks? I genuinely couldn’t put it past him by this point. And then we got to the rooftop, and my whole family was there.” The audience went aww. “With our closest friends too; it was like fifteen people up there. And I was like— ‘What are you all doing here?!’” The audience laughed. “‘When did you get here?!’ It was insane!”

“Simón got them all there without you knowing?” The host expressed with awe.  

“No one told me anything! I genuinely don’t know how they managed to keep it from me,” Ámbar said with disbelief. “And the rooftop was decorated with balloons, flowers, there was food— Well, you’ve got the photos there.” She pointed to the screen where the pictures from her Instagram were displaying. “So, like, it was amazing. It was truly amazing, and so beautiful. And our friends started hugging us and giving us their congratulations, and… What got to me the most was that, well, my mom couldn’t go,” she started explaining. “I don’t speak about her a lot publicly but, basically, she’s got a certain degree of blindness, so it’s complicated for her to move around on her own, she has to be accompanied— And honestly, good for her that she didn’t go, I would’ve felt terrible if she had made that huge trip just for me. But she did send me a video congratulating me. I watched it on a tablet. And I just… Well, if I had already cried, that was the moment I finished ruining my makeup.” The audience laughed with her. “But it was sweet. It was all very sweet and moving and just amazing. I had a very good time there with my friends and family until we had to leave.” 

“Sounds wonderful.” The host had a sweet smile on his face. “I bet it was a very treasured moment for you two, for your family, your friends—I have a question though,” he said, more serious now, “that I imagine all of us are wondering as well— What about the concert?”

Ámbar nodded like she knew exactly what he meant. “Yeah, you see, that’s the funniest part! Cause like— Just imagine: Simón organized this whole thing— When he was supposed to be at the soundcheck, by the way; he never did that, he was on the rooftop with everyone else getting everything ready— and in the end, he just like, stayed for half an hour and then he left.” The audience laughed. “Because he had his concert! You know?” She said over the noise. “So like. It was crazy. It was really crazy, he totally rushed to the arena. He must’ve put on his outfit and the microphone in record time, the poor thing. But he always tells me that it was worth it. So.” Ámbar shrugged with a little smile.

The audience went aww again.

A mischievous glint appeared in the host’s eyes. “Yeah, he looked very excited the night of the concert. There was even this video that went viral— You saw it, right?”

“I’ve seen many,” she deadpanned, nodding her head.

“Well, here we’ve got the one that made the most headlines on the internet; a little video posted by a fan.” A video of Simón taking the stage started playing on the studio’s big screen on mute. It was a vertical video, filmed from up close, maybe from the fifth row, or maybe using a lot of zoom. “This is the same night you were telling us about, when the Roller Band was playing at the arena.”

The volume went up and the screams of the crowd could be heard as Simón walked up to the front of the stage where a microphone stand was waiting. He had his guitar hanging from his shoulder, ready to play. For everyone watching at home, the video took the whole screen of the TV, replacing the image of the studio. 

“Paris, how are you doing tonight?!”

The crowd went wild in response to Simón.

Simón laughed a little and started talking again, so the crowd went quiet to be able to hear him. “You know, I’m the exact same way as you, guys, like, exactly. Because this next song,” he started leisurely playing the guitar as he talked, not a melody but just a simple, soft up and down of his hand on the strings, “is one I wrote about a very special someone to me, many years ago now. And since then, I’ve had the fortune, the pleasure, the utter privilege of having this gorgeous, amazing woman by my side. And this night is very special, Paris, because… This very, very night…” He started laughing and had to take a step back, unable to contain his joy. The crowd was screaming. Simón walked up to the microphone again and yelled out ecstatically.

“SHE SAID ‘YES’!!!!”

Simón began strumming the guitar as the rest of the band joined in, playing together the intro of ‘Tiempo de Amor.’

The studio came back on screen and the video continued rolling in a lower volume as Simón started singing the song, eventually going mute, and then pausing altogether. The audience in the studio was screaming excitedly.

“You do realize that because of this 15 thousand people knew about it before many of our relatives and acquaintances, right?” Ámbar told the host, making everyone laugh again.

“I can just picture them seeing this on Twitter or Tiktok and calling you up like ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED?’” The host acted out.

“It happened with more than one person,” Ámbar declared. The audience laughed.

“Alright but, putting all of that aside, the important thing is that you two had this magical moment and now you’re going to take this next step together,” the host moved the narrative along. “Tell me, have you set a date yet for the ceremony?”

“We don’t have an exact date yet, but the idea is to have a Spring wedding next year.”  

“Love that. So, that means you’ve got plenty of time to plan for the event then. I imagine you’ll need it. Are you planning for a big party?”  

“We’ll see,” Ámbar replied. “We’re still deciding whether we wanna do this biiig, over the top wedding or just a small ceremony with our closest friends and family. But, whatever we end up choosing, I think the most important thing is just, our promise to always be together. So,” a serene smile graced her lips, “the rest is just a complement to that and we’ll figure it out as we go.”

“That’s beautiful,” the host said. “Seriously, I’m so happy for you two, congratulations— Give it up for Ámbar Smith, ladies and gentlemen!”

The audience went wild.

“Thank you so much for being here with us today, Ámbar,” the host told her, starting to wrap up.

“Thank you for having me, it was lovely,” she replied with a smile.

The host turned to face the camera and the shot focused on him. “And to everyone watching us at home, you’ll want to stick around because our next guest is an artist who’s been trending all over social media, not only in Spain but in all parts of the world. We’ll be right back!”

…

..

.

. * ⋆ . · 　.╰──────༺♡༻──────╯. * * . 　 *

Okay so, originally, I had this idea in the context of my Actress!Ámbar x Musician!Simón AU. It was going to be, like, a second chapter where I mixed different interviews, some of Simón, some of Ámbar, as a way to tell how their relationship developed after the ending of chapter one. But then I thought—Why limit it to just that one context? I really loved the idea I came up with for this proposal, so I wanted it to fit as many different worlds as possible, especially canon for those who aren’t such big fans of AUs, so— Here it is! I really hope you liked it. It’s very different from everything I’ve written before in terms of format, but that’s precisely why it was so much fun to write. What would you even call this type of POV? Second Person or something? Sdfkjn. I don’t know, I don’t remember much of my high school lessons; it’s been too many years.

And speaking of years. It's been 6 years now since the show ended and this proposal took place 6 years into their relationship, so I think it would be sweet to imagine that Simón and Ámbar are engaged right now as we speak and that they’ll be getting married next year in 2025 <3

Our babies have grown up, and so have we.

See you all next time. – C

[fuckingfinwions]

Maitimo Nelyafinwe is the treasure of his grandfather's court

He sits there naked with no jewelry. His only role is to show the beauty and greatness of the one of whom he's but a reflection of a reflection.

Finwe was pissed about the name. It rather implies a lot of people (2) dying for Maitimo to be third on the throne. Instead he is "as third as well-made as the king"

Maitimo doesn't really like it, but he tries to do a good job anyway. Despite resenting how at majority he went from being his father's heir and second in court, to laying on a pillow decoratively and having his opinion completely ignored. Or how he doesn't see his immediate family much anymore. Or how the king and queen and high princes fuck him whenever they please in private.

Maitimo doesn't mind the nudity particularly. The palace is always kept at a pleasant temperature, and Maitimo has no shyness about his form. It would be nice if he could wear jewelry though, to show himself as part of Feanor or Finwe's household; rather than sitting here with no one's emblem at all, no braids or beads to show mastery at a craft. He's able to talk Finwe into letting him put his hair in a single braid, to keep it from blowing in his face or hiding his body, and ties it off with a simple black ribbon. Maitimo learns to adjust his pose only slowly, and no more than twice an hour, so he doesn't get told off later for fidgeting. He makes sure that his cock stays soft, his hair doesn't obscure any part of his face, the red marks from laying on one leg are not prominent in the next pose, and that any bruises or scrapes from the night before are hidden. The image of the king should be perfect, a sign of grace and nobility rather than sexuality.

Maitimo also wishes his father wasn't disgusted by him, but he tells himself he shouldn't be surprised. Feanor has long hated Indis for marrying King Finwe; of course he'd disapprove of Maitimo being the king's lover. Not to mention that Maitimo is committing incest - an abomination, though surely nothing the king wishes can be a crime. Feanor initially made eye contact with Maitimo sometimes across the hall, and would even rest a hand on his shoulder or murmur a greeting on his way to the throne. But since Feanor walked in on Maitimo kneeling taking Nolofinwe's cock, he hasn't even glanced at Matimo.

Maitimo has not asked if the right to his body is only granted to Finwe's younger sons, or also to the crown prince. He doesn't want to have sex his father, and whether Feanor is staying away because he's forbidden or disgusted makes little difference, surely. If Finwe has simply forgotten to make the offer however, Maitimo doesn't want to remind him. Though he does wonder sometimes, if Feanor would be allowed to visit and hold him and do nothing more.

(Feanor is horrified, at his father and himself. He loves Finwe so much, and has never thought of holding anything back from his father - but he had thought he was giving Maitimo up to a dull role of standing looking pretty with no power, not anything worse. He doesn't want to believe Finwe approves of this - but Feanor confronted him and confirmed it. Feanor is caught between love for his father and his son, and thinks himself weak for not exposing his father's deeds in court, or ripping Maitimo away and moving to Tol Eressea, or being able to trust Finwe that this is best.)

Feanor doesn't speak about having an heir anymore. He occasionally has one of his sons stand in for him at court, but Maitimo listens carefully and they're always introduced as "Feanor's representative for this session", nothing permanent. Who attends rotates as well, with Maglor of course being the first to stand in as the only one old enough, and then in time Caranthir argues the more detailed economic opinions, or Curufin speaks on matters of interest to smiths that don't need the full persuasion of Feanor. Maitimo wonders sometimes if he would have been friends with Caranthir and Curufin, who were only children when Finwe took him. He wonders too what the youngest twins are like, as they never attend council sessions and he can only recognize them at court events by the hair. It makes sense of course that Celegorm doesn't represent Feanor; he would hate sitting through council meetings, and can't be trusted to parrot someone else's words.

Maitimo does get the chance to occasionally speak with Maglor, for a few minutes at a time. Maglor is an expert musician, and at times will perform before the court. Maglor performs from the steps below the the throne, mere feet away from where Maitimo sits. Sometimes Finwe is in the middle of a conversation when Maglor is ready, and then Maglor and Matimo can chat as long they're ready for Finwe to cut them off mid-sentence for Maglor to perform. So Maitimo does learn a little bit more about his family than is announced for the whole court to hear, but not much.

[masked-marauder]

THE BARBER OF SEVILLE (1944)

Director: James Culhane

Story: Ben Hardaway, Milt Schaffer

Animation: Verne Harding, Les Kine, Emery Hawkins, Pat Matthews, Paul J. Smith, Rudy Zamora

Release Date: April 22, 1944

Ah, Woody Woodpecker. One of my favorite, yet also one of the most underachieving cartoon characters of all time.

Despite his appealing design and his fun, if a bit aggravating personality, Woody was never able to achieve fame and praise similar to the likes of Bugs Bunny or Mickey Mouse (Unless you're in Brazil), and I find that to be a great shame, as I find Woody to be a great character. However, it seemed nobody truly knew HOW to use him after the 1940s were over, as he became nicer, unfunnier, and more simple of a character, despite a few fun cartoons here and there. (Mostly 1954's CONVICT CONCERTO). It seems like they've been trying to return to his classic roots in the modern day and age, but they aren't really doing it very well, as the movie stunk and the Flash show is unbearably mediocre. So what made Woody tick anyway? Why do I find him to be such a great character? Well, look no further than The Barber of Seville.

The cartoon begins with Woody, reading the window of Tony Fig-Ay-Roo.... Figaro's barber shop. As he looks at the different haircut options, he decides to get a "V FOR VICTORY" haircut, because what can he lose with a victory cut?

As he thinks about the haircut, we get some great expressions from him.

As he goes into the barber shop, he finds that Figaro is out to get his physical. "Back soon? That's what he thinks." This cartoon shows its age very clearly with military references such as these, but I find them somewhat endearing.

Oh well. Maybe Woody can cut his own hair! He cuts his own teeth!

As he begins combing his hair, he does a dainty pose as he remarks "Looks like Harmonica Lake!"

This is a neat lil nod to the famous actress Veronica Lake. (Yeesh, check out that... creature next to her!)

Suddenly, a Native-American man walks in, unaware that Woody will be his barber. Despite the controversial nature of this whole sequence, weirdly enough, the official Woody Woodpecker youtube channel has this entire cartoon up with NO censorship. Not even a disclaimer or anything. This whole sequence is somewhat unnecessary to the cartoon, so I won't go into full detail about it.

However, one gag I DO have to bring up is one where, after Woody places a bunch of hot towels on his head, the man's war bonnet shrinks into a shuttlecock.

He takes great offense to this, viewing this as Woody "giving him the bird" (A great double entendre) as he pulls out an axe, threatening to give Woody "scalp treatment".

Woody backtracks on this, pulling out a mallet as he states "No. I give YOU scalp treatment!". He then knocks him on the head with the mallet. Just a great combo of jokes all packed into one big gag.

After this, we find a burly Italian construction worker, who goes into the shop. This is where the cartoon gets good.

As he sits down, Woody asks him what he would like. He asks for the "whole works", a decision he will most definitely come to regret.

As Woody begins the haircut, he holds down the man's helmet, the razor hitting it as both the man and Woody shake around, the razor makin a jackhammer sound effect.

"Remove the hat!.... dope."

As Woody attempts to remove it, we get another fun visual gag as Woody blow torches the man's helmet off, using his own hair as a nob controlling the fire.

Now, while all of the gags that I've mentioned are GREAT, it's all nothing compared to what you'll be seeing next. After removing the helmet, Woody begins SINGING OPERA (specifically Largo al factotum) while cutting the man's hair. He begins by slapping the man with a bunch of shaving cream.

He randomly places shaving cream on the man's shoes as well. While Woody sings, the man looks at him with an incredible expression of pure shock and horror.

He then slaps the brush for the shaving cream into the man's mouth.

He begins polishing the man's shoes with the shaving cream, which is standard barber practice.

Do I really have to say anything about this next part? He pulls out the razor as he points it at the man, resulting in the most iconic still from this cartoon. "V'e la risorsa..."

He then extends the seat to go up higher, to the point where he slams the man into the ceiling. He sticks on there for a bit due to the shaving cream.

He then falls off as a bunch of tools fly across the screen, including.. dentures? Maybe this is just an old-timey barbershop thing, I wouldn't know.

The man tries hiding from Woody in the bib, leading to a really satisfying looking gag where everytime Woody swings the razor, the man changes position, as Woody randomly phases over to that position, with no in between frames whatsoever.

As Woody swings the blade again, the man disappears. Woody begins calling out for him by saying the famous "FEE-GA-ROOOOOO.... FEE-GA-ROOOOO...." part of the song.

As he calls to him, he randomly clones himself as he looks around. A really simple yet genius gag.

As he calls out, we see the man, attempting to walk away, dressed as a stereotypical child from that era, complete with a little umbrella. He spouts "Coming, mother!" If I remember correctly, this is a radio show reference, but I don't remember which one.

As he tries running away, Woody turns like the way a bloodlusted animal turns when they hear a twig snap, dashing towards him.

This is where the cartoon reaches its peak. He begins swinging the razor at him again, now with a fencing stance, as they move across the shop.

After a RIGID haircutting session, the man finally escapes Woody's grasp, running out the shop as Woody laughs hysterically, but not before the man gets his revenge. As Woody laughs, the mangrabs him and chucks him through the window as he slams into a pole.

Now THIS is Woody Woodpecker. There's a reason he's Stanley Kubrick's favorite cartoon character. (That's entirely true by the way... look it up) And it seems many people agree on this being a great Woody cartoon, as it's usually ranked as the BEST one and was ranked #43 in the best cartoons EVER. Another huge selling point to this cartoon is that it was the first to feature Woody's design as we know it today, besides the blue neck (which I honestly prefer). Basically, what I'm trying to say is, if there's ONE Woody cartoon you should watch... it's this one. And you're in luck, because this time, instead of putting some shoddy Dailymotion link, I can send you the entire cartoon from the official Youtube channel! You can view it here!

All of the gifs used in THIS review come from animationfan69.tumblr.com. Give em' a watch!

[saphabee]

Intro for Vinny <3

Vincent Mailer (Pan, He/Him)

Introduces himself as Vince, though everyone just calls him Vinny immediately lol. A shy kind fisherman, who came from his snowy tundra home over to the nearby plains to work for a player, Corey (IE Me, in game.) Not the smartest, since he cant read, and not the strongest, but he tries very hard at his job and cares for his friends :D

That's the simplest intro I think I could give, but… To go into him as a Character, I'd have to write a lot more.

As a villager in-game, Vin's story is pretty cut and dry. My friend Ire had gotten a villager roomie not long ago and I already had plans to get one too- A farmer, probably? There was a village quite close to my house, so I went there with a boat, placed it, and pretty much let whichever jobless villager get in. Both the village and my house were close-ish to the sea, so it was easiest to take the boat down to the sea then around to my house's dock right at the shore, then lead the villager inside (which turned out to be an extreme faff defrjgthefrgth)

I however had no idea that barrels were a job block, and had them Everywhere. Right on the dock for my fishing loot, outside my house as my mailbox, and under chests on the inside - My new villager, planned to be a farmer, became a fisher instead. I fished a lot still anyway, so that was ok, we could still do business! Yes we were business partners nothing more thats why we lived together its fine-

Look when you live with a villager for a bit and start giving him Character, he gets really loveable okay?

Vinny (Vincent) became his name not only to have Villager names that started with V, but because its the kind of name I'd want to yell behind me at the counter at a business. "Ey Vinny?! We got this in stock???" kind of thing? dhghejsfgr

I think his character really started to show when he started getting in trouble. IE when he let a creeper hang out in the house and seemed utterly unphased, which was the most hilarious thing he did I think defrgth. The panic of "OH SHIT VINNY GET OUT OF THE GOD DAMN HOUSE WHILE I KILL THIS THING SO YOU DONT GET HURT" vs the hilarity of Vinny probably tilting his head like "Huh? Oh, this guy? I thought he was cool :0c"

I actually think this originated the idea that Vinny can't actually read? I thought it'd be very cute if Corey (who was just becoming a character himself instead of a self insert) decided to read him the mobeastiary to like. Inform Vinny of which mobs are Not Cool so he doesn't get himself killed. (We actually got that book in game, just the item Named and with a nice description, but still cute to have in the bedside barrels) Also imagined Corey reading the four minecraft bibles, those handbooks, since I have them myself irl <3

Vin's design came pretty easy just because I imagined him so cute… he's a self indulgent character okay? <:D

Long hair in a deep reddish brown (the ends became black later for backstory purposes) which he keeps up under his fisherman hat usually, green eyes with flecks of almost silver if you look close enough (a counter to Vill with gold), freckles all over (one specifically over his lip on his left), soft eyes. Strong enough arms for fishing, though he doesnt work himself too hard. Shorter than Vill, a quite average height. He'd look quite plain from a distance, he thinks.

I'm so happy with how far Vinny's come as a character… He has a whole life before the in-game stuff, a childhood in the snowy tundra village, his parents Anniah and Owen became a thing, he got an emo phase (hense the black hair. He dyed it with his dad's wool dye and it was patchy as hell defrgthy). He never clicked with any of the jobs the village had, being a hands on learner who couldn't read and was in a village without a librarian/bookshelf blocks with bookd TO read meaning the only jobs he COULD learn were those that already existed.

He didnt have the strength to learn armoury from Anniah, as proud as his mother was for him trying, and wool work was a mess so Owen's job was out of the running too. Any job he tried was a bust. He was on track to be jobless forever, or even a nitwit. Which wasn't great on his self esteem since he very much ties his worth to how useful he can be… He always helped his mom and dad when he could, bringing them stuff and running errands, maybe holding something in place while they worked. Other than that? He never thought he'd find his place.

And then Corey showed up. A little bee? Player? A bee man, asking if anyone would like to come around to his and his friends' home base nearby. It was very close, visible just on the next hill over, and they were very safe since it was their home too, they wouldnt allow danger near their own home base for sure. And the player, introduced as Corey, was asking for someone who wanted a Job. Any job really, and they didnt even need to be good at it at first, he was ASKING for a beginner! Food would be provided since Corey had a substantial farm, they'd be safe and even thrive since they'd be doing business, and all close enough to visit their home village whenever they'd like or need to.

It didn't take too much thought for Vince to go with Corey.

The house was bigger than any villager house he'd seen at home. Two stories, multiple rooms, loads of storage and huge windows… The upstairs had a whole row of beds in a rainbow, Corey told him for if his friends needed to sleep over, and so they could sleep in whichever colour bed they wanted, which was funny. It was pretty too… Hedges around the house, vines covering here and there, flowers and bees in the garden and a tiny pond to grow sugar cane. And the farm… It was giant! He'd only ever seen or heard of village farms, strips of farmdirt and water within a little log border. tiny, and manageable. This farm was enourmous. Like 18 by 18, 320 blocks of farmland enourmous. And it was strangely ALL potatoes? Which. Corey had mentioned, but seeing it was daunting (as was seeing the double chest filled with baked ones. My stars.)

Once they reached the dock he was so excited to learn a job and check out the new place he was staying, he didnt hesitate to look at the first job block he'd seen. He was just curious really, but looking in the barrel by the dock and seeing So Many Fish in there, he asked Corey if a fisherman was what he was looking for. He'd never tried fishing before, but he was sure he could learn! it'd probably be easy since its physical but Not like? You have to be strong already? And he was always curious why people fished so often, he'd heard fishermen sometimes went whole days out on the water? Which seemed silly to him when you can just get the fish out of the water in a bucket?

He seemed so excited Corey couldn't tell him he'd wanted a farmer. Besides, he DID still fish an awful lot, and could do with a way to trade off all his fish since he didnt eat them much himself… Plus the fact Vincent may not be cut out as much for farming, since Corey knew it could be hard work for a villager especially with a field as big as his was. Vince would be a fantastic fisherman! And so it was settled :D

It was so new, being around players with so much to do and learn and explore… He felt smaller sometimes. Simpler... Though he didn't dislike that. He liked that when Corey came home after a day out doing stars know what, he found Vinny comforting to return to. Like an anchor, almost? He liked the sound of that. Being part of Corey's home.

He met Corey's friends quite quickly.

Ire (not short for Irene or anything apparently? Just Ire! How cool is that :D), another player who looked much more like how he'd had players described to him. She was kind, and clever, and her buildings were so pretty when he was shown around the rest of the base, it was incredible. She really felt safe to be around. Strong, like there wasnt anything she couldn't face. Not that she had anything to face now, at their home base.

Her villager worker Vill (Villiam Snowdra, another Very cool name), a leatherworker and a good one at that, plus seeming to understand loads about other jobs too. He was clever too, though mainly since he read about things a lot? Vince envied him a little for that… He was funny too, and mischevious. Charismatic. Vince couldn't help wanting to be his friend, and it was easy to connect being the only two villagers here so far in a base full of players.

Lots of players, who all looked different and acted their own fantastic way. The most Player looking person Ever who seemed to enjoy scaring people, another who was hardly around for going on grand adventures just for the hell of it? Oddly, an enderman-looking player in a red hoodie and backwards cap? They were so mysterious and strong and Cool he didn't know what to say most of the time, yet so casual and friendly he liked just being near them anyway when they came over to talk to Corey.

(Until the fire happened. They confessed pretty quickly after that.)

Slowly but surely he started falling for him. It was hard to pinpoint when the feelings started… Seeing Corey farm for the first time, working so quickly it seemed impossible and with strength he could never expect from a bee? Seeing him come home and hearing about what had happened that day, about all these adventures and plans, and seeing how driven and ambitious and excited he was? Those expressive eyes, and how Corey liked being close to him quite soon when he was a little more shy with strangers, and the buzz his voice got when he was thinking hard… Things. built up over time, certainly… He was bright. Inspiring and warm and beautiful, like spring sunlight gently waking you up for the day, as flowery and poetic as that sounded.

Vin wasn't sure if he could ever tell Corey how he felt. They were close, but. He was far too nervous to actually try to confess…

That's pretty much where in-game left off, story-wise. There's future ideas of course, adventures to go on, people to see, a kid to have oops howd that happen-

But yeah! That's Vinny. My lovely Just Some Guy fisherman <3

God its nice to have this written down duhgwyudefrgt

Writing one of these for Corey would be harder. Corey has a LOT more backstory, plus tons of worldbuilding since he's a whole new species pretty much? He doesnt just LOOK like a bee he literally is a bee its nuts, it'd take a lot of explaining ^u^" For now, we got my boi Vinny, baby >:D

[denkamis]

bnha characters as cheesy valentine’s day tropes.

masterlist. | valentine’s day event masterlist.

warnings: none! some swearing, but a lot of fluff for the best boys

characters: shouto todoroki, denki kaminari, eijirou kirishima, tamaki amajiki

notes: dedicated to @nekomanagers / @meilbox ,, for being the most supportive human being in my life and undoubtedly the reason i have been posting so much of my work here on this blog. thank you for dealing with all of my shenanigans on and offline, and for picking me up when i felt like i couldn’t. <33 i love you.

shouto todoroki

flowers & chocolate as gifts

he’s one for the classics

he buys you the most gorgeous flowers, ones that are most definitely your favourites mixed in with an arrangement of others that all have particular meanings to them

he also got you expensive truffle chocolates, and also some cheaper ones that you really like to snack on

he’s so thoughtful, it makes your heart melt

literally so sincere as he gives it to you too, has a whole ass speech prepared

shouto came home after work a bit later than you had expected him to. perhaps he got caught up with some hero work, a report that needed to absolutely be filed today or a villain that just wouldn’t let up. either way, when you heard the front door to your shared apartment open, you came running over to greet him. as you turned the corner to see the front door, there stood shouto with the most breathtaking bouquet of flowers you had ever seen in your life. it was a myriad of colours and petals of all kinds standing out against the white of his suit. since when did he have time to change after work to surprise you like this? his usual aloof expression was replaced by a soft smile, one that was reserved for you and only you, “happy valentine’s day, my love.”

he strolled over to you, initiating a kiss that was slow and passionate. it made your heart melt right on the spot, your face erupting in nothing but pure warmth. “shouto, these are beautiful,” you told him as you took a moment to admire the different flowers that went into assembling the collection in his hands. “these ones mean gratitude, and this one here means love. truth is the white coloured one,” he pointed out, guiding you through the meaning of each individual one that made up your special gift.

he snuck a glance at you, your face radiant with how much you were smiling at his thoughtful present. “i also bought you a few of your favourites,” shouto gestured to the vanity you two kept by the door. you turned to see a very expensive box of truffles and a few hershey's kisses paired with more of your favourite corner store chocolates.

“it wasn’t too much, was it?” shouto asked quietly, watching as your jaw dropped at the sight of the truffles. didn’t you hear a rumour once about how those ones literally had gold integrated into their wrappers?  “no no, it’s wonderful. this is.. you’re so sweet,” you giggled, tapping his chest as a signal for him to lean down so you could kiss him again. no matter how many times shouto gifted you flowers and chocolate on valentine’s day, you got the same butterflies as you did when he first gave you these heartfelt gifts back in high school.

denki kaminari

fancy dinner date at an expensive restaurant

the entire bakusquad was EGGING HIM ON for something good on valentine’s day okay

he’s been talking big game about some kind of secret plan he had in store for the both of you

he bought you an outfit that not only suited your style, but was elegant and absolutely stunning as it complimented your figure

he pulled out all the stops for you

he wanted to be classy, so he reserved a table for two at one of those rooftop restaurants so you two could dine and enjoy each other’s company

“like grown ups” as denki says

you were sat at a candlelit dinner for two near the edge of one of the most highly rated restaurants in your area. denki had really gone all out, wanting to treat you like the resilient and beautiful partner you were to him with a night that would be unforgettable.

and unforgettable it was.

you two were arguably the loudest ones at the restaurant, laughing and overall just having a good time amongst such high class individuals. denki was making faces at you across the table, making you choke back on the red wine you were having. “and then bakugou slapped that dude! it was crazy, y/n, super fucking wild,” he laughed as you nodded your head in agreement. denki sure knew how to talk, filling in conversations with anecdotes and playful conversation topics sprinkled in with compliments for you. he loved you so damn much, he felt like his electricity quirk was on all the time with you from how much you turned his brain to mush.

he couldn’t get over how gorgeous you looked tonight, with your hair done and your outfit styled to perfection. like, that was all his? and a personality to match? damn! he felt like for once, he was doing something right in his life for you. he wasn’t the dumbass everyone constantly made him out to be. he was trying to be the best for you, and if he could make you happy for the rest of his life, then nothing else mattered to him.

your waiters came back with two platters in hand, with outrageously small portion sizes that could feed maybe a small cat at best. the two of you stared at each other with blank expressions. oh no, this would not be enough to appease your appetites. each of your plates were worth twelve thousand yen, so you really couldn’t get more. on top of that, denki had prepaid everything for tonight anyways. what was worse was that the food tasted like a rat’s ass, yet the two of you dined like kings regardless. well, you pretended to at least. as you were suppressing your disgusted expressions out of kindness to both the waiters and the other guests, denki couldn’t help but stare at you. you were his person, and although the dinner wasn’t exactly all it was cracked up to be, he knew that you dealt with so much more of him than anyone else was willing to. that meant more to him than words could even express.

that, and he immediately bought you apology mcnuggets after you two left. then you two really ate like kings.

eijirou kirishima

long captions to their s/o on instagram

this mfing SAP

he has everything planned, he made like 3 drafts beforehand and even had bakugou proofread it for him

he had all the different pictures he wanted to post too

this is a little unrelated but mans definitely showed up to your house with red roses and a suit

LIKE A GENTLEMAN

your phone buzzed, indicating that  you had received a new notification from instagram. after taking your phone off the table and entering in your passcode, you tapped into the instagram app and saw what had caused the tiny ping.

eijikirishima has tagged you in a post!

the first photo was an oldie, but a goodie. it was of you and eijirou at prom together back when you both graduated from ua. he looked absolutely stunning in the darkened suit he had bought, right beside you in a matching colour scheme. though the picture was in fact a meme in itself, as he posed like that one will smith picture gesturing to you with the goofiest smile. you remembered telling him that he was absolutely banned from wearing crocs that night to the dance. it was a good thing you had saved him from that utter atrocity.

the next picture was a photo of you with the puppy you had adopted together. you had named him bean, to which eijirou had expressed was the manliest name he had ever heard for a tiny pomeranian puppy. you were pressing a kiss to bean’s nose, the angle of the photo showing off your loving nature that he had fallen for.

the last was a picture of you sleeping against him during a long train ride for a mission. it wasn’t the most flattering picture eijirou had of you, but it was certainly one of his favourites. you looked so at peace, cuddling against his side with a tiny line of drool running down your chin. he was smiling in the picture, his eyes solely trained on you with the most wholesome look on his face. he was so utterly in love with you, and this picture couldn’t have showcased that look any more clearly.

the caption read as follows:

Hey bros! It’s Valentine’s Day, which means that it is my duty to post about the most amazing person I’ve ever had the pleasure of dating for about five years now! Y/N, we’ve been through so much together over the years, we’ve had ups and downs and everything else in between but I’ve been fortunate enough to remain standing here as the person you can confide in, much like you are that person to me. You’re my rock. I continue to find so much more to love about you every single day. I hope I get to spend the rest of my days with you, my best friend, my partner throughout everything. I love you so so much, pebble. I hope we get to stay just like this forever, and grow as we go along.

needless to say, many happy tears were shed that day.

tamaki amajiki

love letters in their shoe locker

for all the days leading up to valentine’s, tamaki put a different letter in your locker

mirio hyped him up asf to even get him to write what he was feeling towards you

and he was still nervous as hell and had mirio stand guard so that you didn’t accidentally walk in on him shoving weird notes in your locker

but unfortunately for tamaki, mirio isn’t a very good watchman

and so you caught him in the act, right on valentine’s day ironically

it was the end of a long, rather eventful day at school. you had gotten a few confessions from some other students, to which you turned down due to someone else being on your mind. for the past few days, you had begun collecting small letters in your shoe locker. the notes were short, handwritten with small doodles and even a recipe or two for you to try. it seemed like this person was reaching out to you to express their true feelings, their intimate and romantic feelings, towards you. and you couldn’t help but feel the same towards them, whoever they were. this admirer unveiled small details about themselves to you, yet hadn’t revealed enough for you to piece together a name. so here you were, sprinting down the hallway as soon as the bell went to try and catch a glimpse of this mystery individual who had been leaving you such sweet writings for you to cherish.

you rounded the final corner and there you saw him. before that happened however, you first you ran into your classmate and good friend mirio, who let out a tiny “oof” at the sudden contact. you apologized to him in a rush, explaining in a rushed tone that you needed to go meet someone. he nodded and waved to you before realizing that he had one job and tamaki was definitely going to kill him later.

only slightly out of breath, you saw a mess of indigo hair and shaky hands sliding your latest note into your shoe locker. as he turned to leave, his face drained of colour at the sight of you. he slouched further, retreating into himself. he looked around nervously for an excuse as to what the hell he was doing shoving letters into your locker. though, you beat him to speaking first.

“it’s you.”

tamaki’s throat felt scratchy and swollen, his entire form shaking as you slowly, calmly made your way towards him. “i- i can explain, y/n,” tamaki barely murmured, his nerves beginning to get the best of him yet again. “your words, they were so intimate. you were so well spoken on paper, i just had to meet you in person,” you confessed to him with a patient smile on your face. you stood a relatively safe distance away, not wanting to overwhelm him by your presence. you had just caught him in such a compromising act, after all.

“i read all your letters,” you went on, “every night before bed, i read them, tamaki. i even tried out the udon recipe you gave me and it was the best udon i had ever had. everything you said in your letters, the confessions and the other, more personal stuff… is that all true?”

tamaki, though he felt frozen beneath your warm gaze, had the courage to nod his head. “i didn’t know how else to tell you,” he admitted, hands now covering his face in shame. suddenly, gentle fingers grasped at his shaky ones as you uncovered his face to the light that was you. “i like you too,” you said finally. it felt like a chord had snapped inside of tamaki’s mind and all his feelings came crashing down in a deep crescendo of emotions all for you. it was all that he had ever wanted from you: a response.

all works © denkamis 2021.

tags:

@meilbox

want to be on the taglist? see this post!

[sada-siva-sanyaasi]

Stains - Part 9

Series Summary: An artist goes through a lot of things, sure, but having to deal with her ex on a constant basis wasn’t something she signed up for.

Words: 3,625 words.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern!AU)

A/N: Words under the cut. Also been a long long time, eh? I honestly had a rough patch these last few months, and also didn’t have my laptop with me to update even though I had written, so I apologise a thousand times. I am so so sorry everyone! Hope the next few weeks of updates and story can make up for my loss of inspiration! Love you always, and as usual, feedback of all forms is greatly appreciated!

Series Masterlist / Twitter Profiles | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

 Y/N watched Peter walk into the building and sighed to herself, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, this is it, you dropped your toddler now you go shooting.” She didn’t realise how long she was just sitting inside until she heard someone honking behind her, making her snap back and drive on.

Each step she took towards the studio was heavier than the one before, her heart racing and her hands shivering. Y/N stopped in front of the door and let out a shaky breath, cracking her knuckles. “It’s just another project, why am I getting so worked up? Fucking relax, Y/N, this is not a big deal. This is like every other project you’ve had with models.”

“Although I don’t mind the whole ‘talking-to-yourself’ thing,” Y/N jumped and turned around to see Loki stand there, a smile on his face, “do it inside the studio while you’re setting things up, won’t you? That way no one stares at you like you’re a weirdo.”

Y/N beamed and smacked Loki’s shoulder, a small yelp escaping his mouth. “Good morning, Loki. I was just giving myself a pep talk. It’s a shoot for Tony Stark, right?” Loki hummed, opening the door and ushering her in while they set their stuff down.

“Yeah, someone you already shot for if I remember. And you shot him too,” Loki added, making Y/N close her mouth and turn away with a scowl. “So I really don’t see why you’re getting so sweaty. Unless of course, it’s because your ex is coming here.”

Y/N stopped fixing her lens and turned to Loki, who looked busy setting up the lights. “How do you know so much?” Loki snickered and walked to his laptop, noticing more support staff walk in. “I just am very observant, my dear. Especially with your Twitter shenanigans, it’s hard not to know really. I think even Thor knows, I heard him laugh at your tweet for about ten god-awful minutes.”

Y/N grimaced and connected the main camera to Loki’s laptop, a hot red blush spreading across her cheeks. “We do not speak of my Twitter shenanigans, Laufeyson. It’s a dark subject.” Loki rolled his eyes and smirked, bowing in front of Y/N just as Thor walked in. “My humblest apologies, oh revered one.”

Y/N smacked Loki again and both of them laughed as they greeted Thor, settling down in their chairs. “When will the models get here?” Thor huffed, looking at his watch, and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“They’ll have to get here, set up, dress up, and pose. Oh it’s a long day, and it’s only day one. There’s five more days till we go back to shooting other things again.” Y/N frowned, biting her nails as she looked up.

“Wait, what are we shooting for again?”

Loki and Thor burst out laughing, Thor even leaning forward to ruffle Y/N’s hair. “Are you sure you’re the photographer and not just an assistant, Y/N? We are doing endorsement shoots for today and tomorrow while the rest of the three days will be personalized shoots of the models.” Y/N’s scowl deepened as she stared at the door.

“Oh God I’m regretting these shoots already.” The doors opened and her breath hitched, only to see people with makeup kits walk in, and she stood up angrily.

“Oh, they’re taking so long! I’ll go get a coffee, you want something?” The brothers shook their heads and she walked out, stuffing her hands into her pockets and humming under her breath.

As she walked into the Stark cafeteria and waited in the queue, she heard an all too familiar voice laugh. “Oh I know, Bucky has made it his life mission to screw himself up in front of the world. Now he bullshits about Tony’s work, what an idiot. Jesus, my head hurts whenever he decides to use his brain. Ow, what the fuck!” “I’m standing right beside you, asshole.”

Y/N bit her lip to stop the laugh from leaving her mouth and silently stepped towards the counter. “I’d like a chocolate cappuccino with two shots of espresso and extra chocolate please.” The barista looked up and smiled. “Long day ahead? It’ll be $3.50 please,” She said, and Y/N smiled, nodding.

“Almost never ending, and here you go.” Y/N’s smile widened when she got a sandwich along as the barista winked at her. “It’s on us, hope you a great day.”

She turned and nearly bumped into a person when two strong arms wrapped around her, holding her steady. “Easy there, coffee girl.” A smooth voice said, and Y/N froze entirely, her blood turning cold. “Don’t call me that, Barnes,” she mumbled, looking up, and Bucky smirked. “Why not, Y/N? Wasn’t that how we met?” She glared at him and gestured towards the drink in her hand. “Want to get drenched in something hot again?”

Bucky stepped back from her, still not letting go. “No, I don’t think you would voluntarily drench me in that chocolate-y coffee goodness. I know you enough to know you love your coffee a lot, and that it costed a lot too.” Y/N huffed and sipped her drink, her eyes closing momentarily when the hot liquid flooded her mouth.

“Yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t, but I would like to go now, so if you leave me.” Bucky hummed, his grip not faltering a bit. “No, I don’t think I will let you go, Y/N. you and I need to go to the same place anyway, and I like holding you, it’s been a while.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she noticed Pietro behind them, waving and grinning at her as Bucky ushered her to the studio.

“Fucking let me go, asshole!” She barked, not caring about how many people were looking at them, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Oh, hush child. We have the same destination, and so I’m making this journey along with you.”

Y/N mumbled a soft “what the fuck” as Pietro opened the doors and bowed down, allowing Bucky and Y/N to walk in. She finally shook him off and stormed over to Loki and Thor, setting her coffee down. Loki watched as she cracked her knuckles and bent forward, picking her sandwich and taking a bite of it.

“You said you didn’t want anything!” Y/N hissed and he shrugged. “With how that lady just ate our brains, I got a little hungry. I’m not sorry,” She looked around and her scowl deepened, fist clenched.

“The witch has already arrived, I see.” Loki nodded, his hand creeping towards her coffee only for it to be smacked away.

“Alright,” Y/N yelled, walking to the models in the middle of the room, “let’s get this show on the road. We got three hours today, and I want them to count. Get dressed, you’re having shoots with products.”

 --

 “No, I don’t like the shade of lipstick; don’t you think it’s too dull? How about blood red?” Dolores said, looking through the makeup as Y/N sighed out loud for the tenth time, sipping her coffee.

“How is your coffee still not over?”  Thor said, sitting beside her, and she glanced at him. “I’m trying not to finish it so that I’m busy till she decides to end our misery and just model. Jesus Christ, this is why I hate shooting with living creatures, such monsters.”

Thor coughed to cover up his laugh when Dolores shot a glare in their direction, and Loki leaned towards her. “When will you tell her this is a monochrome shoot?” he whispered, and Y/N turned to him, a coy smile on her face.

“I want to see how long it takes before she figures it out on her own.” Both of them grinned at each other and Y/N turned, only for her breath to be snatched right out of her lungs.

Bucky stood a couple feet away from her, his hairstylist fixing him up as he unbuttoned the top part of his shirt, checking himself out in the mirror. She didn’t want to admit it, but he looked like he dropped straight from heaven.

“He looks good, huh?” Pietro said, making her jump and turn to scowl at him. “What did you say?” Pietro smirked, “You heard me,” Y/N rolled her eyes and finished her coffee when Bucky said, “I heard that its monochrome today.”

She nodded, picking her camera and fiddling with it.

“Well, what colour is it, then?”

“What colour is the background, Barnes?”

“Black.”

“Your clothes?”

“Black and white.”

“Bingo.”

Dolores stopped applying her blush and glared at Y/N. “You’re telling me that after I spent twenty minutes trying to pick out the right shade of lipstick for this cream dress?!”

Y/N stared at Dolores. “Did you bother checking with me if you needed blood red lipstick and coral blush? He asked me, I told him. You should’ve asked me, Miss Smith. Would’ve saved you and us a lot of time.”

Dolores continued to glare at her as Y/N stood up and said, “I hope you’re ready. Your products have been placed there; we will be going with you first. Loki, I need you to set a diffuser over the light falling from the top and Thor, a reflector to the left please. Let’s get this done with.”

Bucky watched as Loki and Thor stepped away from Y/N while she knelt forward, looking into her camera. She adjusted the lens and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, scrunching her nose a little as she said, “Thor, move closer. Dolores, adjust your position a little to the left, chin higher in the air, thank you. And smile, don’t smirk.”

A smile unknowingly made its way onto Bucky’s face, his heart feeling light as he kept watching her. It had been three years since he spent so long with Y/N, and he was more than happy that he was getting to see her like this. Emotions and memories he kept buried for years resurfaced, his chest tightening as he remembered the little things about her.

Pietro watched Bucky, and scoffed silently. “Bro, you are whipped. I bet you even know what’s happening in her head.”

“She’s not happy with how Dolores is posing, she’s constantly correcting her but her eyebrows are still furrowed and her tongue is not sticking out yet. It shows she’s angry, not concentrating.  Y/N will stand up and walk to correct Dolores and her posture anytime now.”

Not long after the words left Bucky’s mouth Y/N stood up, walking to Thor and angling the reflector before murmuring to Dolores, moving her hands and adjusting her. Bucky’s smile turned smug as Pietro stared at him, shock on his face. “Did you fucking study this girl? How do you know so much after so long?”

Bucky’s eyes never left Y/N as she set Dolores’s hair, rambling about the position of the fans beside them. “Fall in love, Pietro. You won’t forget what makes them who they are that easily. Look, her tongue is peeking out, she’s finally satisfied and she’s concentrating.” Pietro turned to where Bucky was pointing and chuckled, noticing how he was indeed right about Y/N yet again.

“You really love her, huh.” Bucky’s smile softened and he sighed, nodding. “I do. I didn’t prove it to her then, and I don’t know if she’ll believe me now. But I won’t give up, not after I have her right in front of me.”

“For five more days, Buck. You don’t even know if you’ll see her again. And you can’t make someone fall in love with you for the second time in so little time.” Bucky frowned, looking down as his stylist walked over to him, checking his outfit. “I could tell her the truth,” he mumbled, almost a whisper. “And then what? She’ll magically let you back into her life?”

Bucky turned to Pietro, who stared right back at him. “I’m serious, Buck. You think she’ll just let you back? Do you remember the look on her face that day?”

 Flashback

 Tears made their way down Y/N’s cheeks as she took in the scene in front of her, Dolores on top of Bucky and her hands on his chest. “S-So all of this, whatever Natasha told me, it’s true? I thought she was doing it out of spite, Bucky.”

Bucky pushed Dolores off him and stood up, the stench of alcohol from him reaching Y/N immediately. He looked at her; eyes swollen and cheeks red as she struggled to contain her sobs. The fight seemed like it happened so long ago, neither of them remembered what it was really about, but it had gotten out of hand. The people around them faded, non-existent and not mattering. “Just tell me it’s not real, James. I’ll believe you. Not Natasha, not Dolores, nobody. Please,” she whispered, stepping towards him only for him to step back.

“I think you need to leave and stop assuming things, Y/N. I’m drunk, and not in my senses.” Bucky mumbled, loud enough for her to hear every word. “So, that’s it? It’s the end?” She laughed, the sound hollow.

“Did it ever begin?” Bucky hissed, and Y/N looked like she had been slapped. “A year, Barnes.” She croaked, her nails digging into her skin. “We were together for a year and friends for two years before that. And you tell me none of it was real? I was in love with you, for this? Fuck you, James Barnes. I don’t want to ever see your face again.”

“Oh, the feeling’s mutual sweetheart.” Bucky said, turning back to the counter and grabbing his beer. Y/N turned and left, slamming the door shut behind her and Bucky slumped into his seat, tears leaving his eyes. Dolores rubbed his shoulder in comfort only for him to swat it away harshly. “Get out, Dot. I don’t want you.”

Dolores scowled, biting her lip.

“Here?”

“Ever. Out.”

 End of Flashback

 Bucky rubbed his head as Y/N said, “Alright, we’re done here! You can go change, Dolores. If the boys step forward, it’ll be great,” and stepped forward, watching her thrust props into his hands. “Hold these and pose right,” she mumbled, turning to leave when he grabbed her hands.

“I’d rather hold you, if I’m being honest.” He tugged her closer and smirked when Y/N pulled away, blushing profusely. “Shut the fuck up,” she seethed, glaring at him, and he bent forward to her level, tilting his head.

“Make me, sweetheart,” Bucky’s eyes went to her lips and his smirk widened when Y/N stepped away, calling his stylist to set his suit. Pietro sighed and elbowed Bucky, shooting a sharp glare. “Stop being a flirt, you’ll scare her away, asshole.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and punched Pietro’s shoulder. “You shut up, Maximoff. Don’t teach me how to get my girl back.”

Pietro watched Y/N talk to Loki, pointing at the lights and camera and rolled his eyes, grumbling, “What a cocky bastard.”

 --

 “Today was a long day,” Y/N sighed, falling into her chair and looking through her laptop at the pictures taken. “Longer than we wanted, Dolores spent so long getting ready. Wow, all ladies like this?” Thor grumbled, chugging his coffee.

“Slow down Thor, that’s not beer.” Loki chided, shaking his head and sitting closer to Y/N. “We were supposed to finish shoot in three hours, took us four and half because Atomic Blonde kept complaining about her fat face and wrong angles, what a drama queen.” Y/N chuckled and went on to making basic edits in the pictures, before sitting back. “Be careful with your words, Loki,” she said, nodding towards the models walking to them. “I heard drama queens have powerful ears, especially around things they shouldn’t hear.” Bucky and Pietro got their chairs and sat down, Pietro beside Loki and Bucky squeezing in between Loki and Y/N.

Dolores spared Y/N a glance before dragging a chair and sitting down in front of her, as if trying to squeeze herself between Y/N and Bucky. Y/N cleared her throat awkwardly and said, “Uh, I need to see the laptop Dolores, and you sitting here is making it impossible to do so. I need to show the final results to the other two models too, you’re not the only one.”

Dolores shot her a glare before pushing her laptop back a little, and Y/N rubbed her face. She stood up and grabbed the laptop, setting it down in her lap and turning to Bucky and Pietro.

“Since these are mostly close up shots focusing on the products, not a lot of your face is in the pictures, and we will be shooting in colours as well tomorrow. I hope you’re ready for it.”

Dolores scowled and looked into the laptop. “Don’t you think my angles are bad? My face looks swollen in these.” Pietro snorted. “That’s because you got here hungover.”

Loki coughed in a poor attempt to stop laughing while Thor made no such attempt, making Dolores fume. “You talk like you look great, Maximoff.”

Bucky rolled his eyes while Y/N said, “Please, he’s a Maximoff. He’s hotter than you and five generations of your family.” “I’m sorry; I think I need a minute. Can I hug you, Y/N?” Pietro said, while Bucky shot him a glare.

“Not now Maximoff, see your pictures and then you can.” Y/N kept scrolling through her laptop as Loki raised his eyebrows, looking at the pictures. “Your pictures look fabulous, Barnes.” He remarked, and Bucky smirked, resting his head on Y/N’s shoulder. “I’ll have to thank the hot photographer for that. She seemed to have paid special attention to-” “-the product, that’s why the pictures look great. All of them do, and if you guys have any problem with how you look, go to Loki. He’s doing the editing. And get your head off my shoulder, Barnes.”  

Bucky stared at Y/N and mumbled, “I never noticed, you have a double chin.” Y/N’s hand crept to her jaw as she turned to Bucky, whose head was still on her shoulder. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get off me, please.” He shook his head, nuzzling closer to her and said, “I don’t want to.”

Y/N huffed, reluctantly settling into her seat to make it more comfortable for him. She didn’t know why she was doing it, but she did. Bucky smiled to himself, slowly wrapping his arms around her too.

Loki and Thor looked at them, and then turned to each other, eyebrows raised, before shrugging and standing up. “Who wants coffee?” Thor asked, and Bucky grabbed Y/N’s hand and raised it, while Pietro nodded and Dolores shook her head in disgust.

“I’d like a green tea; coffee is so bad for health.” Pietro scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, and getting shit-faced is not, Dolores. Come on, let’s go get coffee. What’s your order, Y/N and Bucky?”

“I’ll have a black coffee, Y/N will have a cap-” “I’ll have a café mocha, and I’m coming with you.” Y/N, with surprising gentleness, lifted Bucky’s head off her shoulder and stood up, brushing his arms off her.

She glanced down at him and bit her lip, before walking towards Loki. Bucky sighed and stood up, watching her. “Looks like some stuff did change in three years. She hated mochas before.”

Dolores rolled her eyes and glared at him. “You’re hung up on her even now? After three years?” Bucky stared at her.

“Well what else should I do, move on with you? I didn’t realise I had such a splendid option available.” Bucky pushed past Dolores and she scowled, stomping her feet. “Three years later, and nothing fucking changed.”

 --

 “See you tomorrow, gentlemen.” Y/N smiled and hugged Thor, before moving to Loki. “Send me one picture after editing it so that I know how it’ll turn out.” “Yeah I know, stop doubting my abilities.” He pulled her into a hug and sighed. “You know Barnes is trying hard, right?” He mumbled, and she pulled away slightly, her gaze unsure. “I know, and I also know what I saw that day. He didn’t stop her then, Loki.”

“And he doesn’t spare her a glance now, Y/N.” Her gaze hardened. “Once a cheater, always a cheater. Doesn’t matter how hard he tries to be different now. People don’t change, Loki.”

“But people change people, Y/N.” Loki sighed, rubbing his face. “You’ve known him for three years, and you’ve been away from him for three years. He must really miss you if he’s trying so hard even after you dumped whatever was in your hand on him.”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head, stepping away from him. “Whatever you say, Loki. Dolores is still stuck to him, see?”

Dolores was indeed stuck to Bucky, blabbering on as he stared at her with disinterest and discomfort. Pietro was watching their interaction and trying not to laugh, albeit unsuccessfully.

Loki rolled his eyes. “She’s trying to get you jealous, and you’re letting it work.” Thor nodded, munching on a cookie. “I’m sorry, where did you get that cookie from?” Thor grinned sheepishly, shrugging. “The barista found me hot.”

Loki nodded, pulling two cookies out of his pocket. “She gave me two.” He smirked, only for it to fall when Y/N pulled a croissant from her bag. “Complimentary goods from the chef, many more inside. Back down, peasants. Anyways, even if Dolores is trying to make me jealous, it’s not working.”

Thor patted her shoulder and shook his head. “You said her name and crushed the top of your bag. Like heck it’s not working.”

“Fine, she’s making me jealous and annoyed. What about it?”

Loki smirked and looked at his brother, who was wiping cookie crumbs off his face. “What are we here for?”

---

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[firelxdykatara]

I would love to hear your thoughts/headcanons for bi Katara! Bi Zuko I get because *Will Smith poses at Jet* but I can't remember her having any interactions with girls (at least in AtLA) that could be read as romantic/sexual. Not that that's a prerequisite, I'm really just curious to hear what sold you on it.

I’ll be honest, a huge portion of it is ‘I’m bi, and I love Katara, and as she is my favorite character I get to decide her energy is bi af and I’m valid’. Another big part is ‘these assholes have made “homophobic katara” such a popular and widespread headcanon that if I have to drown it out with a million and one KATARA IS UNAPOLOGETICALLY BI, SHE LOVES GIRLS AND SHE LOVES BOYS AND SHE NEVER THOUGHT IT WAS THE SLIGHTEST BIT STRANGE posts then I fucking will’, particularly in light of the fact that I absolutely despise how a couple straight men decided to inject institutionalized homophobia into a fantasy world where there was absolutely no need for it, and where there’d been no real hint at it before the sequel series comics where it was revealed, so I reject it whole-heartedly (along with most of the comics tbh) and everyone is queer bc I make the rules and I fucking said so.

But also?

That sentence could easily be written like this: “I can’t remember her having any interactions with girls her age who weren’t a) her brother’s love interests, or b) trying to injure/kill her.” Because she really doesn’t. And even if you expand that to include Toph (who, while younger, is the same age as Aang, Katara’s canon love interest), well, Toph likewise had a crush on Katara’s brother.

Katara gets singled out as the Token Straight, while Toph and Suki get to be queer in fandom, despite the fact that neither of them had any interactions with other girls that could be read as romantic either (which, again, is an issue with the show itself--it’s great that there are multiple amazing female characters, but the lack of interaction between them is a little telling; the only real female friendship we have an example of other than Toph and Katara is the snarl of abusive dynamics between Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee, none of whom get any real narrative focus other than Azula at certain points, because they aren’t main characters--meanwhile there are multiple friendships between male characters to choose from just amongst the gaang), and it’s hard to look at that and not see elements of racialized misogyny, particularly given the fandom’s clear disdain for katara during this recent renaissance. Why is the darkest-skinned girl the one the fandom comes down on, often derisively, as the Token Straight, and also the Token Homophobe? Why is Katara the one that fandom decided to hate for how often she mentions her mom, the source of her greatest trauma (and yes, Katara’s trauma here is worse than Sokka’s--he may have lost his mom too, but a) he didn’t see her dead body, nor was he saddled with the guilt of not having gotten back fast enough to save her, or the additional hit Katara took when she had it confirmed that her mom died to protect her, and b) he had Katara there to step up and take their mom’s place as family caretaker, a luxury Katara did not have), when Zuko is over there mentioning his honor even more often and fandom loves him for it, because even the jokes about it are affectionate?

Anyway, I kind of went off on a tangent here, but the bottom line is--Katara is bi because I said so. She just has that energy, a disaster bisexual on the opposite end of the disaster bi spectrum from Zuko. She looks at a pretty girl and thinks she wants to dance with her until their hearts are racing so fast she feels like she might explode, and then she looks at a pretty boy and thinks his lips seem like they must be soft and warm and his smirk makes her toes curl, and when she realizes she’s attracted to someone she goes bright red in the face and even the softest brush of their hand against hers makes her blood pound in her ears and she gets distracted every time their eyes meet and everyone else just knows, especially Toph who can always tell when her heart is racing.

Katara is a bi disaster and I love that for her, and I will never budge on this headcanon. Anyone who disagrees with me is simply wrong and that is that.

[lils-writes-stuff]

Divining Rod

spencer reid x reader

Best years part ten | part nine | part eight | part seven | part six | part five | part four | part three |part two |part one

Summary: The death of a serial killer rises another and the team must stop it.

warnings: normal criminal minds things,

A/N: based on season 7 episode 21

 “A row house in Demount Circle wow,” Penelope said, astonished at the news Emily just gave. 

 “I can’t believe I’m doing it.” Emily shook her head in disbelief at the news also. “I mean, it’s probably not gonna work out anyway, right?” 

 “That’s what I said before I found out I got my apartment so, you probably will,” Y/N said, laughing at the end of her sentence. 

 “Well, there are five other sealed bids, and I offered way below what the owners are asking,” Emily spoke, standing up from her chair and began walking. JJ, Y/N, Penelope, and Spencer stood up and followed her. 

 “Uh-huh, sounds to me like someone’s hoping they don’t get it.” JJ’s voice was filled with sass as she side-eyed Emily. 

 “Orthophobia, fear of owning personal property,” Spencer said from in front of the four women. He was intently looking over the case file in his hands as they walked to the round table room. 

 “No- I don’t have a fear of owning stuff, turn me loose in a shoe store, I’ll prove that,” Emily defended herself. “My fear is owning personal property that weighs three hundred tons.”

 “Actually, depending on materials used, square footage, and horizontal versus vertical construction, the average house only weighs sixty tons,” Spencer retorted, spewing off his knowledge without even a second thought. 

 “Well, thanks for that Reid, I feel light as a bird,” Emily said sarcastically. 

 “It’s okay Em, it took me months before I could even settle into my apartment because I couldn’t feel at home, it just takes time.” Truly Y/N felt uncomfortable because the last place she lived in by herself all her friends were tormented in, but Emily didn’t need to know or worry about that.

 “What‘ve we got, baby girl?” Derek asked, breaking up the conversation to bring it to the case at hand.

 “We have a killing in Enid, Oklahoma, and not the capital punishment one you are thinking of right now.” Penelope walked over to her chair and took a seat before she continued. “I’m talking about a woman named Cara Smith, who was murdered in her apartment minutes after the execution of Rodney Garret.” 

 “Neighbors saw her front door open and discovered the body,” Hotch added.  

 “Look Familiar?” Rossi asked directing everyone’s attention to the victim on the screen. Her appearance is the same as all of Garret’s victims. 

 “Young, pretty, short blonde hair,” JJ said, examining the photo.

 “And stabbed directly through the heart.” Y/N brought her pen up in the air, showing that she realized what Rossi was saying. 

 “That’s exactly the way Garret killed his victims,” Spencer said as he remembered back to the Garret murders. 

 “So are we looking at a copycat?” Derek asked looking at those around the table. 

 “Or someone creating doubt the right person was executed,” JJ countered, looking at Derek next to her. 

 “In Garret’s case there was no doubt,” Rossi corrected. “His guilt was the slam dunk of all slam dunks. Prints, DNA, a confession…”

 “He even led the police to where he buried two of his victims,” Spencer added to the list Rossi was creating. 

 “Garret killed 25 women before he was caught. If this new unsub is a copycat, the body count’s just getting started,” Emily said. 

 “Which is why we can’t waste time, wheels up in thirty.” 

----------

 “Firing squad? That’s new,” Y/N said after hearing Garret’s choice of execution. 

 “It’s definitely not something you see every day,” JJ agreed.

 “Well, Garret had the option of lethal injection, but he chose this instead,” Derek responded. 

 “Flair for the dramatic,” Rossi stated. 

 “No kidding.” Y/N let out a breathy laugh with her words. 

 “Initial reports indicate no forensic evidence at the crime scene,” Hotch said looking at the file in his hand. 

 “What about the ice pick?” JJ asked. 

 “It was generic, no serial number or unique metallurgy,” Derek answered looking at the paper that gave more detail on the pick. 

 “Well, now, it says here-” Emily pointed to a page in her file- “that there were water droplets and a half-filled flower vase on top of the chest drawers, but no flowers. Not in the vase, not in the garbage, nowhere.” 

 “Maybe the unsub took them,” Y/N posed, looking up from her folder. 

 A pinging sound came from the laptop as Penelope popped up on the screen. 

 “Hey, say it like you mean it, baby,” Derek greeted her. 

 “You know I’m gonna,” she replied before giving what she found. “So if you look in the dictionary, the word ‘normal’-” she held her hands up to show quotation marks- “you will see Cara Smith. College student, well-liked, straight A’s, English lit major- oh speaking of which I just got a transcript of Rodney Garret’s last words, hot off the press and a gold star to the first person who can identify the source of this: ‘She comes like fullest moon on a happy night, taper of waist-” 

 “‘With shape of magic might,’ it’s from the Thousand and One Nights, not the exact translation I would have used, but it’s got its own merits,” Spencer finished the last of the poem. 

 “And in a shocking non-upset, we have a winner,” Emily said, hopefully stopping Spencer before he would go on a spew of insight of the story. 

 “Garret was a sixth-grade dropout, an unlikely guy to be quoting from a Harvard classic,” Rossi said. 

 “The choice of material does make sense though,” Spencer began. “The book is all about how a Scheherazade forestalled her own death at the hands of the king by regaling him night after night with stories.” 

 “In the end, he won him over right?” JJ asked. 

 “Yes, the king found a love for her and decided not to execute her,” Y/N answered, looking at JJ. “Although I wouldn’t say that would be a strategy that would work with the Oklahoma Department of corrections.”

 “Another body’s been found half a mile from the first victim, same M.O.” Hotch had stepped away to answer the phone and was now relaying the information he was just given to the team. 

 “That's six hours later, this guy’s not wasting a lot of time,” Derek said.

 “We land in twenty minutes, Reid, you and Y/N go to the latest crime scene, Rossi, you JJ and Prentiss go talk to Garret’s widow. Morgan and I will go to the prison.” Y/N saluted Hotch at his order. “If Garret’s got a disciple, we need to find out who he is and fast.” 

----------------  

 “Such a beautiful day for such a terrible thing to happen.” Y/N’s eyes looked up to the sky, observing the blue of it and the bright sun. She wasn’t really thinking about the case until she walked up the steps, always trying to fit the last of the good in before she saw the bad.

 “I don’t think serial killers stop because of the weather, sweets,” Spencer said, raising an eyebrow at the thought. 

 “Hey, what did I say about nicknames at crime scenes,” Y/N said turning to Spencer who was slightly behind her.

 He laughed lightly. “Not to use them, because you’re afraid they’ll be ruined,” he answered her remark. 

 “Exactly.” She pulled her credentials out of her back pocket to show the officer at the door. Walking into the house, a tall man turned around to greet the two.

 “Hey, I’m detective Childers,” the tall man said walking up to Y/N to shake her hand. “You must be with the FBI.” 

 “Yes, I’m Agent Y/L/N, and this is Dr.Reid.” Y/N pointed to her right to the lanky brunette. 

 “Hi,” Childers said, holding his hand out for Spencer to shake. Spencer offered the man a small wave, as usual, opting out of the handshake. 

 Y/N offered a smile to the detective in hopes of trying to make the awkward moment go away. “How about you show us the scene.” Y/N changed the subject. 

 “Yeah, why don’t y’all follow me back here,” Childers said as he led the two over to the bedroom. “It’s unbelievable this is happening all over again.”  

 “Who is she?” Spencer asked as they entered the bedroom. 

 “Jodie Armstrong, single, works a cosmetic counter at a department store downtown,” Childers answered. 

 The body laid in the exact position it was found. Duct tape still on the mouth and wrists, and the ice pick stabbed into her heart.

 “Young, pretty, short blond hair,” Y/N said as she looked at the victim’s appearance. “That’s the same victimology as the others.” She turned her head to look at Spencer, who’s eyes had been wandering the room around them.

 “Who discovered the body?” Spencer asked. 

 “Apartment manager. A neighbor called to complain that a teapot in the kitchen kept on whistling,” Childers explained.

 “So he surprised her.” Y/N said, turning as she watched the struggle play out around her. She pictured the unsub pushing her down and tying her onto the bed. 

 The three separated as Childers went to go handle something out front and Spencer and Y/N stayed to look around the scene more. Y/N gloved her hands and squatted down next to the bed, looking closely at the victim’s head. Pushing her head to the side, she moved her hair to and fro as she examined the hair cut. She noticed it’s unevenness and well, basically, it was a shitty hair cut for such a pretty young girl to have.

 “Hey, Spence, come look at this.” Spencer looked over at Y/N who was across the room from him. 

 “What is it?” He asked, setting down the CD he had been looking at to walk over. 

 “This girl is young and she obviously cares about her appearance, she’s fit, her nails are done,” she said, laying one finger on top of the other as the listed off the things she’s noticed. “But her hair, look at it, it’s uneven.” She picked up the phone that had headphones plugged into the jack and turned it on. 

 “Could it maybe be a fashion statement, you know, look bad on purpose?” Spencer asked looking next to him at Y/N.

 She shook her head, looking through the phone in her hand. She began to look through some things in her photos before she found a selfie of Jodie and some of her friends. “Look at this,” she leaned over to show Spencer the photo. 

 With two of her fingers on the screen, she zoomed in on Jodie, who in the photo had very long blonde hair. “It was taken last night,” she said after pointing to the timestamp at the bottom corner of the photo. “The unsub cut her hair.”

--------------   

 In the station, the mood was serious. Two bulletin boards stood side by side with large maps placed on the. Spencer, Hotch, Y/N, and Derek sat in swivel chairs from desks in the area they were in. Behind them sat JJ, Emily, and Rossi, who were looking through letters that were sent to Rodney Garret’s home. 

 “This new guy’s hunting in a different neighborhood,” Childer’s spoke after looking at the map. 

 “He must be comfortable in the area, he knew the victims’ routines,” Derek stated.

 “His method of ingress and egress is quiet and unnoticeable,” JJ said, leaning back in her chair. 

 “Get a load of this one,” Emily began as she turned in her chair with a letter. “Dear Mr. Garret: It took a lot of courage to do what you did. Most people are cowards and don’t do what they feel inside them. You are an inspiration, and I applaud you.” 

 When Emily had finished the letter, Y/N barked out a laugh. “I’m sorry for laughing but ‘I applaud you’?” She just shook her head, the letter being very funny to her in a weird way. 

 “These are supposed to be the non-wacko letters,” Rossi said. 

 Everyone raised their brows in question. A computer beeping signaling the arrival of Penelope’s on a screen got everyone’s attention. 

 “Hey guess what, Y/N’s genius has struck again,” Penelope began as she popped up on the screen. “The hunch about the hair was right, I’m sending you an ATM image of Cara Smith. She’s the first victim, this was taken ten hours before her murder check it out.” 

 At that, everyone’s attention was brought to a screen. The video showing Cara walking up to the machine with very long hair compared to what was left on her body. 

 “The unsub cut her hair too,” Childers said as he looked at the video. 

 “You know, there could be a sexual element involved. Trichophilia is a fetish where one becomes aroused by the removal of hair,” Spencer said. 

 “Yeah, but, either way, this is starting to look less like a copycat,” Y/N said looking next to her at Spencer. 

 “The unsub’s deviating too much from Garret’s M.O., Garret never took trophies,” Derek said in agreement. 

 “He’s also choosing low-risk victims, Garret’s stayed with high-risk target- prostitutes, runaways--” Spencer said but was cut off by JJ. 

 “Garret also got sloppy and left clues that eventually nailed him, this guy’s careful and meticulous,” JJ said.

 “He’s not that careful,” Childers corrected. “He leaves doors open, teapots boiling.” 

 “I think it’s intentional. He wants the bodies found so we know when and where he’s killing,” Hotch said.     

 The room fell silent again, everyone getting back to their work. Little conversation was made, Emily or Rossi reading off an obscure letter or Y/N saying something about the geographical profile to Spencer. All conversation halted due to Childers getting a call that there was another body. 

 “Reid and Y/N, come with me to the scene.” Hotch stood up, Y/N and Spencer following his request out of the room and to the scene. 

 Walking into the house, Y/N took note of how it was kept and lived in by the victim. She did so in hopes of gathering something for victimology. After noticing she fell behind Hotch and Spencer, she quickly caught up to them as they entered the bedroom. 

 The blonde woman laid on her back, her arms duct-taped to the foot of the bed. Her eyes were closed, and she almost looked peaceful, but the ice pick in her heart told them otherwise.

 Hotch squatted down to the bedside and examined the side of her head that was exposed. 

 “He shaved her head,” Hotch commented. Y/N and Spencer stood on either side of him, looking over the body from behind their unit chief. 

 “That’s even more humiliation and disrespect,” Y/N said. She turned her head sideways as she looked at the poor and almost frantic shaved spot. 

 “He didn’t do it to the other victims.” Hotch stood up as he spoke, looking at Childers who was on the other side of the bed. 

 “Detective when was the body discovered?” Y/N asked. 

 “Half hour ago, the killer left the front and back doors open,” Childers responded. “And there’s no indication of any contact on the wine glasses swabbed for DNA.” He gestured to the CSI unit that was brushing the wine glass behind him. 

 “Not even the victims?” Spencer asked. His face doing its normal twist as he thought.

 “The unsub probably wiped it clean,” Y/N said. The upper half of her body turned to her left to look at Hotch and Spencer.

 “Has anyone found an open or empty wine bottle in the house?” Hotch asked, turning back to the detective after looking at Y/N. 

 “We haven’t found one yet.” Childers shook his head. 

 “He probably took it with him, like the flowers of his first victim,” Spencer commented. 

 “He’s killed at six A.M., noon, and now six P.M.,” Hotch said, looking between Y/N and Spencer. 

 “That’s not a long cooling-off period.” Y/N spook with a sigh as she stuffed her hands in her pockets. 

 “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not feeling so good about the stroke of midnight.” Spencer’s eyes bounced between the three in front of him. All of them nodding their heads in agreement at the comment. 

-------------         

 “We believe we’re looking for a white male between the ages of thirty and forty who is strong enough to subdue physically fit young women with minimum resistance,” Hotch said. The team stood in front of a crowd of local officers as they told the profile. Rossi and Emily had found out that the same man that wrote the letter Emily had read to them were some of Garret’s favorites. Taking that, they presumed that the man who wrote the letters was more than likely the unsub.

 “He’s forensically sophisticated and evidence-conscious,” Derek added. 

 “He targets his victims in advance and leaves no trail.” Y/N stepped forward as she spoke, coming into line with Derek. 

 “This person is also confident.” Emily paused, then continued. “He’s been taunting us by revealing his crime scene quickly.”

 “Because of his ability to plan and flawlessly execute his crimes, we’re looking for someone capable of holding down a job. Even though it’s probably menial and unfulfilling,” Rossi said. His hands stuffed into his pockets as his shoulder shrugged when he spoke.

 “The victims have all been young, blonde, and pretty. As such, they reflect a certain societal standard of perfection that may actually represent the type of women that are unattainable to this unsub,” Spencer explained. 

 “He cuts his victims’ hair, and then he takes it with him, this could be another way for him to possess a part of them,” Y/N said, bouncing off of Spencer’s statement.

 “Or to degrade these unattainable women, make them uglier,” JJ added on to Y/N’s words. 

 “The killer has been murdering in six-hour increments. He is, in effect, time-stamping his victims, there’s no reason to believe he will deviate from that now,” Rossi said. 

 “Which means the next kill will be at midnight.” Y/N emphasized her words as she spoke. 

 “The public needs to be alerted to stay off the streets for all non-essential activities,” JJ said. “Single women should not be in their homes alone,” she continued, her warning to the people relaying its importance.

 “Every available officer will be out in full force tonight, we need to blanket this city,” Emily commanded. The officer’s around the room nodding that they understood.   

 “We do have one advantage,” Hotch began. “A killer who uses this kind of precise timing and specificity is easy to disrupt. We can use his own M.O. against him,” he explained. The officer’s around the room were then dismissed and went to get ready for the night out.

 As the sunset fell over the city of Enid, the officers suited up and began to canvas the town. Emily and Derek joined them while the others stayed back and helped run point. While they waited, they had Penelope do some more digging into Garret to find out who the unsub might be.    

 “What you got, Garcia?” JJ asked as she answered the call from Penelope. 

 “I have found a thing of interest regarding these shanking attempts made on Garret in prison,” Penelope began. 

 “What is it?” Hotch asked, curious as to what she found. 

 “The timing, see, the first time Garret was attacked was May 25, 2008, the day before that, May 24, for those of you keeping score, Garret’s imminent execution date was postponed, right?” Penelope’s question was rhetorical so everyone stayed quiet as she continued. 

 “So then if you flash forward to the second shanking attempt of stabby-ness, that would be November 15, 2010. The day before that, his next execution date, also postponed.” When Penelope had finished her explanation everyone was basically one the same page of what was happening. 

 “Okay, so I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say someone decided to take matters into their own hands,” Y/N said. She crossed her arms across her chest and popped her hip to the side, the resting position she stood in when she thought. 

 “Thanks, Garcia,” JJ said, her finger hovering over the hang-up button on the computer. 

 “Ever welcome, my comrades.” JJ hung up the call and turned back to those behind her. 

 “Well, that sounds like what you would think of somebody on the outside wanting a little revenge,” Childers said, his head turning to Rossi and Hotch beside him.        

 “They wouldn’t wait five years, give it two tires, and then toss in the towel,” Rossi stated, his head shaking as he didn’t believe that theory. 

 “It sounds to me like someone just needed Rod Garret out of the way,” JJ said, adding in her own theory. 

 “But Garret was on death row, confined to his cell 23 hours a day. How was he in anybody’s way?” Hotch questioned, both theories not making sense now. 

 “Since we’re on the subject of things that don’t make sense, the unsub left the doors open after the murders,” Y/N said, bringing in a new topic in hopes of coming up with something new. 

 “Okay, that’s directed at law enforcement-- catch me if you can,” Rossi responded to Y/N’s thought. 

 “But the cutting of the hair,” Y/N said her voice trailing off in question. 

 “That’s for Garret,” Hotch finished, knowing what Y/N was thinking now. 

 Rossi nodded agreeing with Y/N. 

 “Well, what makes you think that?” Childers asked her. 

 “Well, Garret chose victims who were easy prey-- drug addicts and prostitutes. But this unsub has chosen more difficult targets but gone to the trouble of making them look like Garret’s victims,” Hotch answered, turning to Childers. 

 “That’s his way of telling Garret, ‘I can do better than you’,” Rossi elaborated. 

 “Okay, but why wait until after the execution to start killing? If the unsub really wanted to thumb his nose at Garret, wouldn’t he want him to be alive to see it?” JJ asked, not fully understanding this theory. 

 “Exactly, that’s the part that doesn’t make sense.” Y/N pointed as she spoke. 

 “Them we’re missing something,” Hotch said. 

-------------

 When the sun rose, the team had been at the station all night. In the early morning hours, another victim was found with a different M.O., stab wounds. Since the unsub could not kill his victim properly, this led them to believe that the killer could go on a spree. The unsub also removed her scalp this time, taking away most of her hair. 

 The clock on the table flipped to 9:44 A.M., and Y/N’s eyes were heavy. She laid on a bench, her head resting on Spencer’s thigh. His hand rested on his arm that was propped on the railing of the bench. The two sat peacefully, Y/N was not totally asleep, but her mind was in and out of full consciousness from the long night. She wasn’t totally sure if Spencer was asleep either, his body not moving which she was grateful for. His warmth was what kept her so at peace, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay like that for long. 

 “I never could do that,” Rossi stated as he looked at Y/N and Spencer who had their eyes closed. 

 “Do what?” Emily asked, her eyes following Rossi’s over to the sleepy couple. She let out a small ‘awe’ as she noticed the two.   

 “Take a nap, it never felt natural,” Rossi answered, not appreciating the cute moment.

 “I’m actually wide awake,” Spencer said, sitting up from his position. His movement stirred Y/N as she moved to get comfortable again, but never opening her eyes. 

 “But for future reference, polyphasic sleep is completely natural. Quite common in the animal world, and highly beneficial.” His eyes panned to Y/N who was still, he believed, asleep on his lap. “However, I believe Y/N is very much taking a real nap.” 

 “Shhhh.” Y/N reached one of her hands to her lips sleepily, placing her index finger on her lips. She sighed after a second and sat up, realizing she was now fully awake and there was no going back to whatever state of sleep she was in before. “Okay, I give I’m awake.” 

 “All right, six o’clock’s way come and gone, if our guys killed again, he’s not leaving the front door open,” JJ said after looking at the clock. 

 “Or he could just be taking a breather,” Derek posed the counter. “I mean, even the unsub has to realize he can’t keep up this pace indefinitely.” 

 “Maybe the last murder completed some sort of cycle,” Rossi said, saying his thoughts aloud. 

 “What do you mean?” Y/N asked, leaning her forearms on her thighs. 

 “A day and a night have passed, the sun rises for the first time in a world without Rod Garret,” Rossi answered, his hands moving as he spoke. 

 “There could also be a more mundane reason, our guys got a job, and yesterday was his day off,” Emily said. 

 “He killed his first three victims in their homes-” Hotch pointed to the markers on the map where the homes were- “But the last victims, Emily Sisk, he tried to but he couldn’t. SO he abducted her, took her somewhere else, and then brought her all the way back to dump her body in front of her apartment building.” Hotch’s voice got slightly aggressive as he spoke, irritated as to why he didn’t know how that happened. 

 “That’s incredibly risky considering all the increased police presence,” Y/N said, agreeing with Hotch.  

 “There’s gotta be a geographic component to the unsub’s design,” Hotch said turning back to the map on the board. 

 “Let’s connect the dots, literally.” Spencer stood up from his seat next to Y/N and walked to the board. He pulled a red marker out of his pocket and drew lines to connect all four homes. 

 The lines formed an upside-down arrow almost.

 “A tip of a spear,” Emily guessed, turning this into a game of Pictionary. 

 Y/N walked up to the board to get a closer look at the design. Her head cocked to the side as she thought. 

 “Maybe it’s an arrow pointing south? Could he be steering us to his next victim?” Derek asked as he pointed to the bottom of the arrow. 

 “It’s a quadrilateral, but there’s nothing particularly symbolic about a four-sided concave polygon,” Spencer said, pointing out the math of the shape.

 “Spence, can I?” Y/N said reaching for the marker in his hand. Spencer nodded, handing her the red marker. “Look what happens when you curve the lines.” She drew curves over the lines the Spencer drew, forming something in the shape of a heart. 

 “A heart,” Emily said, eyes trained on the drawing. 

 “Well, Garret and the unsub both killed their victims using stab wounds through the heart,” Derek said. 

 “And Garret was executed by a shot through the heart,” Rossi continued the theory. 

 Hotch then moved the clear map of all the roads and homes over the heart drawing on the board. In the center of the heart sat the home of Rod Garret’s wife, Helen Garret. 

 “Helen Garret,” Emily realized as Hotch put the map on top of the other.  

 “It’s all about her,” Hotch said, confirming the speculation Emily made. 

-------------

 After JJ, Rossi, and Hotch established that Helen was probably at the prison since she was not home, the rest of the team made their way there. When the others met up with them, all of them in their kevlar’s ready to take action, they met outside the gates of the prison to talk. 

 “So nobody saw what happened, but Helen’s car is still in the parking lot,” JJ said walking up to the group with Rossi and the warden. 

 “He’s got her,” Hotch said. 

 “The driver’s name is Dylan Kohler, he lives at 4488 Harmony Court,” the Warden said identifying the unsub. 

 “Did he work yesterday, Warden?” Y/N asked. 

 “No, he arranged for someone else to take his shift,” the Warden answered.

 “I’ll have Garcia check into Kohler, but now that he’s tipped his hand, I doubt if he’s going back home,” Rossi stated, pulling out his phone to call Penelope.

 “All right, Morgan, take Reid, Y/N, and Prentiss to the house of Kohler, see if they’re there just in case.” Derek nodded, then gestured for the three to follow him to a car to go to the home. 

 When they arrived at the home of Dylan Kohler, there was no sign of him or Helen. They headed out of the house to go back to the prison. 

 “Yeah, Hotch, they’re not here,” Derek said to Hotch when he answered the phone.

 “Where the hell could they be?” Y/N asked looking to Spencer next to her as she holstered her gun. He shrugged his shoulders, opening the door for Y/N. She climbed in hoping to the seat on the left and Spencer sitting on the one on the right.  

------------

 After finding Garret’s secret hideout, the team wrapped up the case, saving Helen Garret and were now on their way home. Y/N sat in the seat across from Spencer, eyes glancing at him every once and a while as he read. His finger trailing down the page, his steady breathing, and the curve of his nose entranced her as she looked at him. 

 She was sleepy, there was no doubt about it. Yet, her eyes couldn’t close as she looked at him, too caught up in his domestic feel to let it be intruded on by sleep that she desperately needed. 

 Tell him, the voice in her head whispered. Tell him how much you love him.   

 She couldn’t, at least not yet. Not until she knew that Caroline was out of sight, or if he said it first. But something in her told her that he knew she loved him. Simple acts like saying you need sleep or hold my hand was ways she was able to say she loved and cared for him without having to voice it. 

 Y/N’s thoughts were interrupted though by the beeping of a computer from behind her in.

 “Oh, hey, guys, hey,” Penelope said with a sleepy voice. Y/N turned in her chair to listen to the conversation. “I just wanted to see what was going on.” 

 “This better be important, Garcia,” Emily said irritated as she was woken from her slumber. 

 “Oh, it’s nothing.” Penelope was playing it off, the excitement in her voice giving it away. “It’s just that a messenger came by the office today with some papers from Escrow!” Her voice was sing-song at the end. 

 Emily’s face became very surprised. “No!” She said, astonished and not believing the blonde on the screen. 

 “Oh, yes, the house in Dupont Circle-- you got it! Whoo!” Penelope was throwing confetti at the screen in excitement. 

 “Oh my God, Em, that’s so exciting!” Y/N said happily as she sat on her knees in her chair to face Emily. 

 “Congratulations,” Hotch said with a smile.

 Then, Emily’s face fell and she looked like she was going to be sick. Y/N and Spencer stood up to sit on the couch so they could be closer to the conversation. 

 “Six seconds, fastest case of buyers remorse ever,” Rossi said, looking down at his watch then at Emily.

 “Well, I say the moment we land, we all head over to Ziggy’s and clear out the champaign inventory,” Derek said sitting next to JJ. 

 “And talk Prentiss down off the ledge,” JJ chuckled as she looked at Emily’s horrified face. 

 “Oh, my stomach doesn’t feel so hot.” Emily clutched her stomach. 

 They all let out a small laugh at Emily’s reaction. 

 “I was in the middle of the best dream,” JJ said changing the topic. “I dreamt that I was at this exclusive salon getting my hair done.” 

 The toll from the event of the last two days pressing themselves on her dreams. The thought of having a wig made of human scalp and hair placed on her head made Y/N shudder at the thought when she was told.   

 “Ah, the psychotherapeutic benefits of dreams-- purging unpleasant images and replacing them with good ones,” Spencer said, giving insight on to why we dream things like that. 

 “Yeah, ‘unpleasant’ is putting it mildly, bub,” Y/N said looking at Spencer next to her.

 “If someone put a bloody wig on my head, I would have ripped that thing off and kept it off.” JJ thought back to how Helen let the wig sit on her head when they found her.

 “Well, you’d think instinct would take over,” Derek said agreeing with JJ. 

 “Oh, hey, Rossi, I meant to ask you, what did Helen mean at the end when she said ‘daddy was right’?” JJ asked turning to look at Rossi across from her. 

 Rossi let out an annoyed sigh. “He once told her that she was a divining rod for the evil in men. That she could sniff it out when nobody else could.”  

 “There was definitely something a little strange about her,” Emily said as she recalled the time she and Rossi had to speak with her. 

 “It’s curious, one woman at the center of two serial killers.” Hotch’s voice was low as he voiced his thought. 

 “Yeah, what are the odds of that?” Y/N said, her question being rhetorical but she knew Spencer would answer.

 “Astronomical.” 

 Ah, there’s the answer, Y/N thought. 

 “Removing from the calculations serial killer groupies--” Spencer was cut off by Hotch lightly hitting her arm to have him stop. 

 “Y/N, why’d you ask?” JJ laughed. Y/N just shrugged, knowing she’d get the answer she kinda wanted to hear later. 

 “You know, whether she knew it or not, maybe Helen Garret did give Dylan something,” Derek said as he thought more into it. “I mean someone once said that every seed, even malignant ones, they won’t grow unless they get water from someplace.” 

-------------

 That night, after going out to celebrate Emily’s new house, Y/N walked into her home. Stumbling as her lips were connected to Spencer's. The impromptu makeout session starting at the door when Spencer started to say goodnight, but Y/N had a little too much champaign and really wanted a good ‘ole fashion junior-high makeout session. 

 She pushed him back to her couch, the two giggling like thirteen-year-olds as they kissed. She straddled his lap as they continued to kiss. It was childish and full of smiles and teeth as they giggled. Still, the kiss was full of love and tenderness as Spencer would caress the side of her face with his large hands. Or when she would grab the front of his sweater to pull him closer to her.

 “I really need to go home,” Spencer said. His lips brushing against Y/N’s as he spoke. 

 She didn’t listen and kept placing pecks on his lips before she let their lips mold together in bliss. 

 “No,” she protested quietly as she pulled away, then went back to his lips. 

 He chuckled, trying to pull back again to speak, but her lips chased his. “I’m not taking advantage of you, sweets,” he said gentlemanly. 

 She sighed, knowing that she was slightly drunk and he wasn’t going to keep going since she was. “Fine, but you owe me.” She poked his chest with every word. “Always a gentleman, even when I’m horny, but it’s fine.” Her words were a slur of mutters under her breath, but he heard her and laughed. 

 “Always.” He pecked her lips one more time as she stood up and led him to the door.     

 Once Spencer had given her one more kiss goodnight, promising her a coffee in the morning at work, she closed the door and turned to the inside of her apartment. A sigh of relief leaving her as she stepped further into her safe environment. She took her boots off and placed them by the door and moved her keys she dropped on the floor in the bowl on the table. She began to walk to her kitchen but stopped when her eyes caught glimpse of a letter. 

 She hastily pulled the wax seal back to open it, but became confused as she looked at the note. 

 Ashes, ashes, we all fall down. 

 She laughed, it was a pathetic line to spook her that wouldn’t work. She put the note back in the envelope and placed it with others. 

 She thought nothing of it. She didn’t think she would need too, but everything Caroline did had meaning. This too would show it’s meaning soon.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

@throughparisallthroughrome​ @word-scribbless​ @nintendumbfuck​ @confused-and-really-hungry​ @justine-en​ @andiebeaword​ @itsarayofsunshine​ @baby-i-am-fireproof​ @abitofeverythinggg​ @nanocoool​ @marceline-is-my-spirit-animal​ @fancyfaucet​ @im-a-raging-gay​ @atletino @mo-whore @peterparkersdestiny​ @bandsandjill​ @mbowles23-blog​ @sarcasm-n-insomnia​ @citrussirus​ @nerual222 @april-14-blog​ @reidloversisforever @heavenlyholland​ 

[midnight-inthe-kitchen]

“Hotel Potter” (Part 2)

Paring: Remus x Reader (Marauders Era)

Warnings: Fluff, kind of slow compared to the next part😎

Word Count: 2057

The Potter “Manor” was almost exactly what you were expecting... It appeared a little more humble from the outside, clearly trying to blend in with the other houses on the street, but was no doubt ‘the house to see’ on the block. The interior, which was filled and decorated with a million+ fancy, expensive, and delicately old items, was even more extravagant.

“Wow, James... I didn’t know your father was so wealthy,” Marlene joked as she brushed her feet off on the ornate outdoor mat. (Both Marlene and Mary, who was staying with the McKinnons for the rest of winter break, ran out to meet everyone when they saw them apperate outside. The Mckinnons and the Potter’s were next door neighbors... I checked ;)

James fixed his glasses as he opened the door for the rest of his friends. “Oh, I um- He just works for the Ministry, that’s all.” He knew Marlene knew full well of his family’s background, but decided to clear it up for everyone else.

“I think it’s lovely,” you mentioned, looking all around the front room. Your gaze was fixed on a stain glass window in the ceiling. Looking back down to the patterned tile, you watched the colors dance all over the floor as a swaying tree blocked certain beams of light from shining through.

Remus had started to wander to a large bookshelf in the entryway, skimming over the book covers, waiting for everyone else to enter.

“Okay James... Why don’t you show us where we’ll be sleeping before these two start drooling over your expensive things,” Lily guest wired to you and Remus as she defiantly strutted through the doorway.

James gave a low bow and pretended to tip an imaginary hat before practically dropping the door on Peter. (Mary somehow caught it before it could slammed into his face...)

“Of coarse, milady- But first...” He pulled out his wand and pressed it to his neck. After warning everyone to cover they’re ears in which everyone did except Sirius and Marlene, he muttering sonorus and followed it with “Alfred!”

Sirius cackled under his breath while everyone else flinched. “You’re still making him respond to that?” Sirius laughed, wheeling around to see James.

James just shrugged, “He can’t really hear when I call him anyways, so it just kind of sticked,”

“... stuck,” You corrected under your breath.

From around a corner, a very old, probably very deaf, house elf responded to his call. “Yes, master Wayne?”

You scoffed under your breath. Joining Sirius and James in the laughter, you realized you three were the only ones who got the reference. “Nice, James,” you smiled, giving him credit for such a golden muggle reference in such a pure-blooded house hold.

James shot you a quick grin before pocketing his wand again. “Alfred, my dear butler, have my parents left for Rome yet?” he asked respectfully.

Alfred-the-house-elf squinted his eyes before holding up a shaky hand to his ear. “Well, Sir, I saved Mr Black’s bone from his last visits, is that wha-”

Sirius’ eyes widened as James cut him off with a wave of his hand, completely confused as to what the house elf had thought he said. “No, no sorry...” He rested his hand on his wand, debating weather he should take it out again. He cupped his hands around his mouth instead. “...ARE EUPHEMIA AND FLEAMONT STILL HERE?”

The elf scrunched his face and waved his finger in the air. “Don’t try to fool me, Mr James, you and your friends are still to you to drink beer.”

James huffed, as he decided he’d look for them himself. “Stay here just in case they’re still packing...” he addressed the group of friends. “... They’ll want to see everyone before they head off.” He started down a hallway you had been eyeing with large portraits of what you could only assume were the many generations of Potters.

You walked over to “Alfie” wanting to be nice and ask such an old creature how his day was going. “Excuse me,” you started from behind the ancient potato sac. “Excuse me?” You raided your voice a little while taping on his shoulder.

He jumped a little, but smiled sweetly when he saw you. “What can I do for you, ma’am” he asked, completely opblivious to your previous attempts.

“Oh-” you stuttered at being called ‘ma’am’. “You can just call me Y/n,” you smiled. “O-or not if you don’t want to... Whatever you like,”

Suddenly realizing you were rambling and that Alfie probably couldn’t hear half of what you were saying anyways, you recollected yourself. “Sorry, but I was wondering how long you’ve been working for the Potters?” You tired to start up a friendly conversation but this time you bent down so that he could hear you better.

The house elf scrunched his face again trying to recollect the distant past. “Well,” he started, but before he could finish, Lily was bent beside you.

“Hi, I’m sorry,” she looked to you and then back to Alfred, clearly a little bit on edge. “... But do you happen to know what the sleeping arrangements are?” she asked ‘Alfie’.

He looked to her, smiled, and then went back to you. “... Masters Mr and Mrs Potter were so kind to have accepted me from the previous Mr and Mrs Potter, even after knowing of my poor hearing...” he whispered like it was a secret. “I always had a new master before Mrs Euphemia and Mr Fleamont... The whole Potter family would take turns passing me around for some reason, but I loved meeting all of them.”

He continued his life story for a few more seconds before you turned to Lily and smiled. “I don’t think he could hear you...”

“Oh,” she giggled before turning back to the house elf. “Excuse me?” she tried again, this time a little louder.

Alfred slowly tuned his head once he had finished his sentence. “Did James set up the beds so that I was with him by any chance?”

“On the conterary, Master Bruce Wayne made me wait to assign your bed so that you would be most comfortable...”

Lily heaved a heavy sigh before thanking him and walking around. You joined her because what could possibly be bothering her now?

“Okay, hey... What’s going on?”

Lily crossed her arms as she shifted her weight nervously. “This is nice,” she started.

You laughed because what a dumb thing to be so outwardly anxious about. “Yeah, I know, his parents must have loads of money to-”

“No,” she cut you off, squinting her eyes suspiciously. “This is too nice... I think he’s planning something— I mean why else would would he wait to pick the beds for-”

“BECUSE HE LIKES YOU AND WANTS YOU TO BE HAPPY!...” You whisper-yell in her face while throwing your arms up exasperatedly. “I can’t believe you can’t just accept you like him and make things easier for everyone...” Lily’s face betrayed her as it turned crimson.

Apparently you weren’t nearly quiet enough because before she could utter any kind of self justification, Sirius slid over from nowhere and leaned his elbow and her shoulder. “Talking about James and Lily’s love life?” he questioned nonchalantly.

Lily shrugged his arm off her. “EW, no.” she lied. “Just the... sleeping arrangements, you nosey pig.”

Sirius grinned as he looked slyly over to you. “Well... In that case, Y/n, I hope you like cheese or books because I just so happen to know the sleeping arrangements and James thought he’d give you the option...” Lily rolled her eyes as you blushed while trying to mentally run thought all the people in correspondence with cheese and books. Books had to be Remus, right?... So Peter must be cheese??? YiKeS... Um, I’ll take the books please.................That’s not what came out though.

“Whatever works is fine with me, I really don’t care,” you smile sweetly. Lily hits you in the arm but you ignore it along the stare you can feel boring into the side of your face. Sirius just watched you skeptically trying to decide wether or not he should step into your nonexistent romance and take matters out of your embarrassed, slow-moving hands. Apparently he has decided because a couple seconds later he shouted across the room, “Hey Moony?” You turn on instinct to see Remus look up from the book he was studying. “You wanna bunk with Y/n this weekend?”

Remus’ eyes darted from Sirius, to you, and back to Sirius.

Sirius gestured to you like a toned-down Will Smith “behold” meme and shot Remus an subtle “mate, this is the flipping chance you were taking about before your bag ripped on the train” face.

You just sat there awkwardly. Feeling the heat rush to your face every other second the three of you stood there in an undecided pose, you were about to mutter another, “it’s fine, really...” but was cut off by James sprinting back into the room.

He was pretty out of breath from running around the large property. “They’ve just left... I guess they were running late, but they wish everyone a good weekend,” he shot Sirius a very non-innocent grin. Marlene and Mary, stood up, not missing a second of they’re conversation while everyone picked up their bags.

You were a little upset that you never got an answer to the most important question of the weekend, but figured it was going to have to be answered one way or another.

You all followed James up the grand staircase and stopped in a long hallway racked with doors.

“Merlin, James, tell me again why you live in an actual hotel?” Mary laughed. James squeezed in front of her to get to the first door.

“Ha-ha...” he mocked half-heartedly, testing to make sure the door wasn’t locked. “Look, my parents are only letting us use the first five doors for some reason so I had to pair everyone up, sorry.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Oh yeah, and that means two people can have a room to themselves, so whoever wants it can have it.”

From the way he was taking, you assumed whatever his “sleeping arrangements” were, they were very loosely planned.

Alright, alright I think it’s safe to say, no parents; no sexist restrictions...” Sirius stretched his arm out, landing over Mary’s shoulder. Marlene’s arm came around to hit him in the abdomen.

James laughed as he finally got the old knob to open. “Um, I don’t think Mar— Sirius... Why don’t you just sleep with me, and then Lily and Mary and then-”

“I am NOT sleeping with the rat,” Marlene started. Peter started to protest but was cut off by James again.

“Fine! How about Mary and Marlene, Y/n and Remus, and then... wait no-”

“Oh for the love of Merlin...” you sighed, “Sirius and I, Remus and James, Mary and Marlene, and then either Lily or Peter can take the spare room. That way, no one has to share with someone they aren’t comfortable around and I can make sure Sirius don’t accidentally burn anything down.”

Sirius looked mildly offended, but still didn’t mind being able to share a room with a girl for once. You had to mentally tell yourself you were “taking one for the team” because in all honesty, the reason you weren’t with Lily was because Sirius was way more of a safety hazard, and wether she planned on it or not, her and James would need a bit more privacy if they were ever going to work out their blatant and blind emotions.

[ophidae-a]

Orochimaru and the political implications that have kept him alive and free pre & post war...

This has been a long time coming, I will try to word this as best as I can given that it will involve a lot of actual research but I was simply exhausted of seeing people’s bad takes. Anyway let’s begin.

Assuming you could implement actual real world logic into the naruto world, that would mean all the countries are/were probably influenced by many of the economic movements that influenced and shaped the real world. Since the series seems to be set in a mix between ancient and modern times, it is hard to place it in a specific moment in history, so I will only be addressing the more general theories.

We know that Shinobi villages get commissioned for their assistance by other villages, and that seems to be a big part of the Shinobi Villages’ income, which means trade is a thing in that universe. Shinobi villages seem to specialize in exporting services ( aka the Shinobi ), which probably means they have to import everything that the common villagers cannot produce. Being within a country, that means the Shinobi village is subjected to the laws imposed by the Daimyo —— which means that international trade is also probably a thing.

No country is 100% self-sufficient ; in the past, people argued and theorized for and against international trade, trying to justify its need and place certain standards on it. The law of comparative advantage came to explain why certain countries still engage in international trade despite being good at producing everything it needs (absolute advantage)  —— it comes with the premise that if you can produce a product in large quantities and efficiently ( low costs ), than that is your specialty, and you should export that and buy the products you cannot produce with the same efficiency for that will be more beneficial to you. David Ricardo demonstrated that if two countries capable of producing two commodities engage in trade, then each country will increase its overall consumption by exporting the good for which it has a comparative advantage while importing the other good, provided that there exist differences in labor productivity between both countries. Basically he says that this comparative advantage is what makes international trade possible, opposed to what Adam Smith alluded in 1776 when he spoke about the absolute advantage.

Here is an example to make things easier:

Hours of work necessary to produce one unit

Country/ Product         X         Y

Country 1                     100      120

Country 2                     90        80

For country 1 to produce one unit of both products it would take them 220 hours, for country 2 it would take them 170 hours to produce one unit of both products. Country 1 requires 100 hours to make one unit X, and Country 2 needs 90 hours for that. It is a difference of 10 hours. Product Y takes country 1 120 hours to produce a single unit, while it takes 80 hours for country 2 to make that.

That being said, country 1 is more efficient at producing X, while country 2 is more efficient at producing Y —— which means they should specialize in producing those products and buy the one they’re not as efficient from each other. And that will be financially beneficial to them. ( country 2 has absolute advantage, however even like that it is more beneficial to buy product x than to produce it themselves ).

Why is this important? Well, Orochimaru didn’t just leave Konoha and that was it, he founded a Village —— a Shinobi village in a land that previously had none. The land of rice is very small and probably lived off of exporting rice to the nearby villages and countries ; a commodity based economy is not very strong. That means Orochimaru not only opened a whole new industry in this country, but also brought with him intellectual property, in other words, technology. The land of rice now not only had a new economic pillar, it also has potential to join the big guys since with Orochimaru on the inside it means less importing more exporting.

Okay but what is Orochimaru producing Lua, I don’t get it! Not to worry, I shall explain. Orochimaru is a scientist, he produces what most scientists do : intellectual property —— vaccines, medication, anti-venom, research on treatments for a variety of illnesses, technology, industrial models, genetic research among others. All things that he can patent, and by extension patent to the land of rice. That is what he is producing, and that is what makes him so special and influential.

Throughout the series, we know of very few characters who are gifted in healthcare/science —— we have Tsunade, Sasori, Chiyo, Orochimaru, Shizune, Kabuto and Sakura. Those are the characters we canonically know are in this industry, however do you see where they are from? Land of Wind, Land of Fire, but what about the the other countries? It is stupid to think they do not have their own medically inclined people and industry, but given the fact that we know villages such as Ame and Kiri, the smaller villages, are heavily subjugated by the bigger countries, it is not absurd to think they’d turn to imports to supplement the fact that they might have a small or non existent industry for these areas. Even bigger countries must struggle to supply the whole population with things such as vaccines and medication, and that is where Orochimaru comes in.

Not only is he in charge of his own village, therefore doesn’t really have to worry about many regulations that might delay his production, he is also not bound by any other jurisdiction other than his own ( since it has been implied in canon that the daimyo is basically his puppet ). Orochimaru has absolute advantage when it comes to the medical industry, and that is what he exports to all the other nations —— I am talking mass production, with full control of the supply chain. This is what makes him so politically important, because a village in shortage of medication and vaccines is a village ready to die (healthcare crisis), especially when we talk about Shinobi Villages who are probably the ones that need these products the most.

And that is the reason Orochimaru hasn’t been hunted down and killed pre 4th war. The Kages and Daimyos know where these products are coming from, they understand the implications but they can’t do without them. No matter how much they’d like to deny it, they need Orochimaru alive. Otherwise they’ll have a huge problem in their hands.

Post war this need is even bigger —— they have just been through a war, a lot of people died, a lot of people are sick, need medication, vaccines, transfusions, surgeries and there aren’t a lot of personnel left. Not only that, but Orochimaru was a key factor on them winning this war —— without him, all of the current kages would have died, without him none of the previous konoha kages would have been resurrected therefore more death would have come.

That is one of the reasons after the war that he wasn’t imprisoned. It isn’t because Konoha is biased —- why would they be biased toward Orochimaru? It is because they know that if they lock him up, or kill him, they won’t have from who import the shit they need.

Throughout the whole series Orochimaru only really had beef with two major countries —— the land of fire, and the land of wind. Those were the only countries he really pissed off, and neither of those countries ever went after him with the intensity you would see if they actually wanted him dead. The other nations probably didn’t care about him other than his potential as a business partner, which probably influenced in him not being “held accountable” for the things he did.

When people mention the difference between treatments of Sasuke and Orochimaru, it kills me because they are not the same thing. Sasuke left the village and made himself a war criminal the moment he walked into that Kage meeting and tried to kill everyone to get to Danzo. Orochimaru is a villain, a criminal and in my opinion the best since he went ahead and made himself so important worldwide that he cannot be touched, and even managed to survive, however it is not comparable to what Sasuke did. Sasuke went ahead and made himself an enemy of the Shinobi alliance, not just one nation but all of them, Orochimaru did no such thing because he was at the time a fully grown man, not an angsty teen. Orochimaru knew what he was doing, Sasuke was fully controlled by rage. And it showed, that is why Sasuke wasn’t left off the hook, not only that but Sasuke doesn’t provide the nations with anything other than a threat —— Orochimaru poses a big threat but he also provides them with things they need to survive, so he is something that they have to manage, Sasuke? Not that much. Countries don’t like to feel threatened, that is why they rained down on Sasuke and not on Orochimaru.

Making yourself politically important can get you out of a plethora of situations, not only in naruto world. In the real world it is very much the same, it is why diplomats have immunity, why many politicians get away with countless bad things —— because their fall could impact a whole country or more.

[pappydaddy]

Ghost of You ii (f.w.)

A/N: Here is a part two for Ghost of You (Requested by the lovely @lovenonymously​!). I didn’t know which way to go with this so I kinda mashed up some of the suggestions in the request to create this! Hope you enjoy!! 

Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader

Movie/TV Show: Harry Potter

Trigger Warnings: Character death, angst, sadness, some fluffy memories, recovery, a mention of alcoholism (recovering).

Part One | Part Two - You’re here!

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation - my gif -

  His breath was taken away from him the second she stepped into the moonlight. The purple dress she wore was just an ordinary dress like she always wore but then again, she always managed to take his breath away. He could only manage a smile as their eyes connected, her making her way to where he was standing, the moonlight glowing against her skin like a goddess. “Hello, Freddie.” She giggled, her bare feet stopping to stand in front of him, her dress blowing ever so slightly in the spring breeze that blew past them. 

  “Hello, Love.” He was finally able to find the correct words in the hectic jumble that was his mind. The fact that he managed to find a girl as sweet and beautiful as the one that stood in front of him boggled his mind. Despite them being so young, he knew that she was the one and that he was truly and madly in love with her. 

  “I didn’t know what you had planned so I just threw a dress on,” She spoke in an apologetic tone, looking down at her floral dress bashfully. “I don’t even have makeup on or my hair done.” 

  “You look perfect to me,” Fred whispered, thinking he talked low enough that she wouldn’t hear him. When she snapped her head back up to look at his face, the redness in her cheeks evident in the pale moonlight, he knew she had heard him. He blushed himself, trying to recover from that slip-up. She was the only girl that left the infamous flirt Fred Weasley sheepish. “You really do look perfect.” He spoke these words firmer, stepping closer to her to close the gap between them, his hands settling on her waist. 

  “I look like I just rolled out of bed, which I did because you wanted to meet at midnight. I had to go to bed so someone didn’t rat me out of breaking curfew.” She smiled lightly, though she had felt like she was in no shape to be seen by anyone with her hair falling in her natural waves and makeup-less face, Fred made those pesky butterflies swirl in her stomach with every look he gave her.

  “You’re a Hufflepuff, nobody would rat you out,” Fred spoke over the silence of the night as he swayed them back and forth in a slow dance, turning in a small circle to the beat of the imaginary music in his head. “They’re all too loyal.“ She snorted at this, the sound beautiful to him, but a flaw to her. She slapped her hand over her mouth, embarrassed that she had done that in front of him despite how long they had been dating. 

  Fred laughed, pulling her hand away from her face gently, his fingers interlacing with hers while his other hand kept a hold of her waist, her hand falling back to rest on his shoulder. The pair swayed gently, the blades of grass tickling their feet but they didn’t mind. Suddenly, he spun her out - shocking her for a second before her giggles filled the night air. The image moved in slow motion in his mind. Her dress flaring up, her hair whipping around, the large smile on her glowing face. He pulled her back into him, her body clumsily pressing against his as she stumbled a little, her hand resting against his chest before sliding up to rest on his shoulder again.  

  Silence surrounded them as they just enjoyed each other's company. Enjoying the rhythm of their beating hearts, the feeling that crawled beneath their skin from their skin touching, the swirling in their stomachs, the sheer happiness they felt. “What do you think life after Hogwarts will be like,” She posed the question, her voice softer than anything Fred has ever experienced. “I hope we still have dates like this.” 

  “We’ll have dates like this and many different dates, I will never pass on an opportunity to take you on a date.” He gazed down at her as she laid her head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. 

  “And when we get married, it’s nice and intimate, not a big wedding that’s too crowded,” She continued to think of their future, not even doubting that they would be forever. “We will live in a cottage-style house that’s nice and cozy with a beautiful garden that our kids can play in. It won’t be too far from The Burrow so that we can visit your family easily and George won’t be too far either since it wouldn’t be right to not see him every day.” 

  “But we won’t live too close to Mum and Dad, will we,” He asked nervously. “I love my mum, but I don’t think I could survive with her dropping by all the time, a couple needs their alone time.” He spoke with his normal amount of cheekiness in his voice and she could basically see the wink he undoubtedly sent her. 

  “Not too close to your parents so that you can have alone time with me, got it,” She nodded, pulling her head off his chest to peer up at the tallboy. “I’ll write it in my new journal when I get back to my room.” She told him, barely getting the words out before his lips collided with hers, nearly knocking her over by the sheer force and urgency of the kiss. Once she regained her balance, she giggled against his lips, kissing him back in a way that made him melt. 

  Fred sighed as he slowly floated back into reality, his shaking hands picking up the journal he was staring at. The brown leather covers tied closed with a matching string. It was in the same pristine condition it was in when she first got it from her mother. It was intended for her to write about all the day’s activities to keep as a portal to her Hogwarts years, but it turned into her planning her future, writing it all down on the pages. The only thing that looked different about it was the edges of the pages were turning a bit yellow where she had accidentally spilt a bit of water on them. He didn’t dare open it, he was barely managing to move her things back into their rightful places. Instead, he slipped it into its place on her bookshelf in between her old school textbooks she held onto for reference sake. 

  “Fred,” George poked his head into the room as Fred turned his back towards the bookshelf. “Dinner’s ready, come sit and rest. You don’t have to put everything away tonight.” 

  “I’ll be right out, I just have to put one thing back in here.” Fred told him. With an understanding nod, George pulled his head out of Fred’s room to saunter back into the kitchen to prepare the table. He moved across the room to the dresser, picking up the old tube of strawberry chapstick she had left there, shuffling over to the nightstand on her side of the room. Opening the drawer, he neatly placed it among the other neatly placed objects that filled the drawer. With one last look around the room, Fred pushed the drawer closed before making his way out of the room to his waiting brother. 

  “How’d it go?” George asked when he noticed Fred rounding the corner. George placed the two full plates on the table next to the two glasses of water that were already placed in the spots. Fred shrugged, settling down in the seat George didn’t take, looking down at the plate George had prepared for him. 

  “Good, I’ve got everything where it’s supposed to be except the closet, but there isn’t much to do there.” Fred answered him, picking up his fork to eat some vegetables. George hummed, taking a swig of his water, nodding slightly. 

  “Are you going to do that tomorrow? I think you should, Dr. Smith said not to do too much at once,” George reminded him. Fred had taken so long to place the few things back to where they belonged in the bedroom. “And maybe I can help you with your bathroom, the shop is closed tomorrow.” He suggested, knowing that Fred wouldn’t want to do it all alone. 

  “That would be great, I could use the help to clean the bathroom anyway, it’s a bit cluttered.” He told George after chewing all his food. 

  “Then it’s settled, we’ll tackle the bathroom tomorrow and maybe my bathroom while we’re at it - it could use a good cleaning as well.” George slid that in there, earning a laugh from Fred. There had been only a few moments when Fred had laughed recently, once being when Ron had managed to slip on a sheet of ice three times and the others from little comments George has made that he never really thinks of. 

  “Your bathroom needs to burnt and rebuilt, you never clean it,” Fred pointed out, turning his nose up in disgust at the thought of his brother’s bathroom. “After we clean the bathrooms, maybe we could get some takeout? With tacking your bathroom onto the to-do list, we’re bound to be too exhausted to even think about cooking anything.” 

  “Sure, Fred, whatever you want,” George smiled down at his plate, the smile going unnoticed by Fred who continued to talk. His brother was finally acting more like himself. His footsteps were lighter when he walked, his lopsided smile could be seen on his face more often. He has even been able to come down into the shop and work for a few hours at a time, interacting merrily with customers. Fred had a while to go before he was fully back to himself, but he was slowly getting there. George couldn’t help but to wonder what the new Fred will be like. If he would find another person to love or if Fred having a certain amount of soulmates was real. Either way, he knew that Fred was going to be alright, no matter what being healed looked like for him. He knew that he wasn’t skipping out on appointments anymore to drink, in fact, Fred hasn’t even as much as thought of a drink for at least six months and George had aided his brother in his mission of sobriety - quitting drinking himself to stand alongside his brother in his path to recovery. George looked back up at Fred as he took a break in his story about a new product he thought of yesterday to eat some of his dinner. A loose smile played on George’s mouth as he took his brother in. “I love you, Fred.”  

  Fred looked up at George, chewing his food before answering. “I love you too, Georgie,” He replied, taking a drink of his water. “But anyway, I was thinking-” He launched back into his pitch, George nodding as he listened, happy to have his brother back. He wasn’t scared of losing someone without them knowing he loved them anymore, but he certainly made it a routine to tell the people he loved that he loved them at least once a day. 

  He still felt the ghost of you lingering around beside him, but it didn’t bring him sadness anymore. Your ghostly presence provided him with comfort and strength, knowing that you were still with him in spirit. He also knew that someday, when it was meant to happen, you two would reunite in some way. He hoped that you two would spend your days in the afterlife as ghosts, terrorizing people with pranks and practical jokes. No matter what would happen, Fred was sure that he was going to live his life to the fullest until that day for that was what he knew you wanted for him.                 

[romancandlemagazine]

An Interview with Al Baker

I first came across Al Baker’s photography whilst looking through an old copy of a magazine called Flux I’d snaffled from Manchester’s world-famous second-hand wonderland, Empire Exchange.

Hidden in the magazine’s pages, between an interview with Mark E Smith and a review of a newly-released sci-fi film called The Matrix, were two black-and-white photos, snapped from the window of an ice-cream van, showing kids lined up for a bit of frozen respite from the summer heat. Reading the fairly minimal bit of text below, it turned out the photos were part of a series called ‘Ice Cream You Scream’. 

I’d missed the exhibition by approximately 20 years, but thanks to the high-speed time-machine known as the internet, I managed to track him down. Here’s an interview about his fine photos, his time living in Hulme Crescents and the benefits of carrying cameras in a Kwik Save bag...

Classic ‘start of an interview’ question here, but when did you get into photography? Was there something in particular that set you off?

Like a lot of young people, I knew that I was creative but hadn’t quite found my place. I didn’t know whether I wanted to be a writer or in a band. I used to doodle, copy Picasso’s in biro, so off I went to art college and tried my hand at different things. All it really taught me was that I had neither the patience, technique or talent to become a painter. Photography seemed a much easier way to make images, a more instant result. Of course, the more you get into it you realise that whether you’re any good or not does rely upon patience, technique and talent after all.

Was ‘being a photographer’ something that people did in Manchester in the early 90s? Who did you look up to back then?

Not really. It was very rare to see another person wandering around with a camera back then. Even years later when I began photographing the club scene in Manchester no-one else seemed to be doing the same thing. Not at the night clubs I went to anyway. 

Now it’s very different. These days you see people with cameras everywhere. Club nights almost always have a photographer. People are far more image-conscious due to social media. Today most people are busy documenting their own nights out with their phones. Look at footage from any major gig these days and half the room is filming it. Back in the 90s no-one seemed to care about documenting anything like that. You were very unlikely to see the photos that someone might be taking the next day or, in fact, ever. People often used to ask ‘What are you taking photos for?’ with genuine surprise or distain.  

In terms of photographers whom I looked up to there are so many! There are great image masters like Cartier-Bresson or Elliott Erwitt. Photographers of war and social upheaval like Don McCullin and Phillip Jones-Griffiths. I liked Alexander Rodchenko and Andre Kertez, how they broke the conventions of their day with wit and invention. 

I loved the dark and dirty images of Bill Brandt, and his inspiring nude studies too. I loved the city at night recorded by Brassai. Paris in the 1930s definitely seemed to be the place to be. Diane Arbus, Jane Bown and Shirley Baker. American street photographer Gary Winogrand was a huge influence on me, as was Nick Waplington’s book ‘Living Room’.  

I was also quite lucky to be living in Manchester at that time. Daniel Meadows and Martin Parr had both attended Manchester Polytechnic. Denis Thorpe had worked for the Guardian in Manchester. I saw Kevin Cummins iconic Joy Division images, Ian Tilton documenting The Stone Roses. Both were regularly in among the inky pages of the NME. 

I also saw an exhibition of Clement Cooper’s photographs of the Robin Hood pub in Moss Side, which was another big influence. I was also very lucky in that my very first photography tutor was Mark Warner, who produced very beautiful images, did a lot of work for Factory Records. He shot The Durutti Column’s (1989) Vini Reilly album sleeve. He was probably the first person who ever really encouraged me.

I really like that series of photos you took from inside an ice-cream van in the late 90s. What was the story behind that? 

The initial idea for that project came from my friend Steve Hillman, who is an actor. At the time he was ‘between jobs’, which is an actor’s euphemism for being unemployed, so he was working an ice-cream round to help to pay the rent. I was at his flat one night, thinking aloud about where I might go next with my camera. I’d spent quite a long time following graffiti artists work around Hulme, and had my first exhibition based around that. But it only seemed to lead to offers of more work with graffiti artists, and I wanted to do something else.  

I’d done a 2nd exhibition based around portraits of my friends in Hulme. I’d flirted with some one-day projects, like Belle Vue dog track, Speakers Corner in Hyde Park. Anyway, while I was talking, not really knowing what I was going to do next, Steve simply stated ‘You should come out on the ice-cream round with me. No-one ever comes to the van without a smile on their face.’ And it just struck me as a beautiful & simple idea. So, one day we just set off. 4 or 5 rolls of film and all the free ice-cream I could eat, which I discovered wasn’t very much!

What was the logistical side of those photos? Were they taken from the same van? 

They were all shot on the same day, the same van, all around Salford. It was good fun, but actually very hard work. Trying to constantly find new angles, different framing and working on a hot August day in such a small confined space. By the end of the day I felt that I had enough strong images for my next exhibition. They were much jollier images than ones I’d made before. As a result, because it had more universal appeal, I got quite a lot of good publicity out of it, and Walls gave us hundreds of free Magnum ice-creams to give away on the opening night!

These days I could think of more than a few reasons why you probably shouldn’t drive around Salford photographing other people’s children without permission haha (in fact, I’m surprised that I wasn’t hung from the nearest lamppost!) but I was much younger and far more naive back then. Besides, that was something that I’d learned from living in Hulme. You don’t ask for permission. Someone will only say ‘No’. Just crack on and do it anyway.

You also documented the last years of the Hulme Crescents. A lot of people talk about that time and place in Manchester, even now—but what was the reality of it? What was a normal weekend there like?

It was quite unlike anywhere that I’d ever lived before. It looked like a fascist dystopian nightmare, only one peopled by Rastas and anarchists. Bleak concrete interconnecting walkways. No through roads whatsoever. A fortress feel to the place. The entire estate was earmarked for demolition before I arrived. Everyone else seemed to be busy moving out. But I was already spending a lot of time there, post-Hacienda, parties, friends, lost weekends.  

There were lots of young people living there. Families had mainly moved out as the heating didn’t work properly, flats were cold & damp, often infested with cockroaches. There were traces of old Irish families, the Windrush generation, interwoven with punks and drop-outs. 

There was a cultural & artistic flowering among the ruins. A Certain Ratio, Dub Sex, A Guy Called Gerald, Edward Barton, Ian Brown, Dave Haslam, Mick Hucknall, Lemn Sissay, all lived there at one time. It was the original home of Factory, where all the post-punk bands played. In turn that led to Factory Records, New Order, and the Hacienda. The PSV club later hosted raves and notorious Jungle nights. It was a good time to be young.

You lived there as well as shooting it. Do you think it’s important to be a part of the thing you’re photographing, rather than just an outsider with a camera?

I don’t know that it’s important to be a part of the thing you’re photographing, ‘embedded’ is what the war photographers call it, but you definitely capture different images. Certain things that might have been shocking to an outsider were commonplace, normal & every day to me. Boring even. On the other hand, I was much less likely to be robbed walking around. That meant I could take my camera places that other people couldn’t, or maybe shouldn’t!

I used to wear my camera beneath my coat so it couldn’t be seen, and I carried my film and lenses in a Kwik Save shopping bag so as not to attract unwanted attention. I got into the habit of handing that bag over the bar at the pubs I went in. I would collect it the next day if I could remember where I’d been the night before. Bless you, saintly barmaids of old Hulme.

If you look at my images of Hulme people they’re usually reacting to me and not the camera. Either that or they’re not reacting at all. They’re ignoring the fact that I’m taking a picture. That’s what gives them that ‘fly-on-the-wall’ feeling.

This is something that I put to greater effect later when I was photographing in night clubs, skulking stage side or hiding in a DJ booth. When DJs & MCs see you week in week out at the club doing the same thing they stop posing for the camera and just get used to you being there. You become part of the furniture. And when people stop being conscious of the camera, when they ignore that you’re even present, you can step in much closer. Put simply, you get better pictures. They’re much less performative and far more honest. It’s not often people can say they like it when they’re being ignored, but for photographers it’s a gift.

Do you think somewhere the Crescents could exist now, or was it just a case of the perfect accidental recipe for that kind of creative, DIY activity?

No, I don’t think anywhere like Hulme will ever happen again. I think the city council learned that lesson a long time ago. It was a dystopian utopia for us, but it grew out of failure. When I 1st went to university they warned us never to set foot there. I said, ‘But what if you live there already?’ and there was an embarrassed silence. They really hadn’t expected a poor boy from Hulme to be in the room. Now they own half of it and it’s all student Halls of Residence.  

The city centre has been regenerated, redeveloped & gentrified. We can’t afford to live there anymore, and people like me are pushed out. Hulme was a failed social housing experiment, an eyesore & an embarrassment to the people who had commissioned it. People like me moved in & we made it our own. They’re never going to allow anything like that to happen again. Every quaint old fashioned pub that closes becomes a block of flats. The footprint is too valuable to property developers. One day all we will have will be faded photographs to bear witness to a very different way of living.

Was it through the Crescents that you started shooting graffiti? 

When I first arrived in Hulme I’d just spent 3 years living with mates in a couple of houses elsewhere in the city. It suddenly struck me that that part of my life was over and I had very few photographs of that time. I’d been too busy learning photography, taking the kind of photos that every art student takes: Broken windows; abandoned buildings, and bits of burnt wood. I vowed I wouldn’t do that again. I began documenting the life that was around me.

I started with the architecture, as it was quite unlike any other place I’d ever seen. It had a desperate, faded beauty even then. The whole estate had been condemned for demolition before I arrived, but the city council had given up on the place long before that.  

I started to notice graffiti pieces going up, seeing the same names repeated. It was obvious that there was a small group of writers trying out their styles on a large canvas for the 1st time. Wanting to claim this derelict space as their own Hall Of Fame. I started to document them as they sprang up. Then I noted that context was crucial, and so I began to include the soon-to-be-derelict buildings in the images also. The shapes & colours of the graffiti looked positively psychedelic beside the drab monochrome of the setting.

With your graffiti shots, you show a lot more than just the pieces. Was it an intentional thing to show the act behind it a bit?

Because it was Hulme and no-one cared, these guys weren’t working in the dead of night like most graffiti writers do in the train yards and what-have-you. They were working during the day, right out in the open. So, documenting their work, it wasn’t long before I ran into Kelzo. He really didn’t trust me at first, but I kept coming back. So, I got to know them. They started to let me know where they were going to be painting next.

In 1995 Kelzo organised the 1st SMEAR JAM event (named after a young aspiring writer who used to come down to Hulme to learn, and had died suddenly from a nut allergy). That was such good fun that another event arrived the following year, another & another. Graf writers came from London, Edinburgh, Leeds, Sheffield, and as far afield as Spain. The local community came out to support and, as usual, it turned into a party that lasted all weekend.  

I got into the habit of taking 2 cameras. One loaded with B&W film to capture the event itself, and another with colour transparency to document the finished artwork.

Graffiti… hip-hop… kids getting ice cream… I suppose there’s a few different subjects there, but was there an underlying thing or theme you wanted to show with your photos? Maybe getting a bit philosophical, but they’re all quite free acts—is it about enjoying what’s there?

It was more about documenting the life I saw around me. Moving to Hulme was what led to me capturing graffiti, and graffiti led to hip-hop events. Once Hulme was demolished I moved my camera into the city centre and began photographing club nights. House and hip-hop turned into Drum’n’Bass, and then dubstep. Residents and warm-up acts have now become headliners in their own right. Manchester has always been a great city for music, and it kept me busy throughout the naughty Noughties. I’ve pretty much retired from all of that now. I’d had enough after over 15 years of it. I no longer feel compelled to document something as ephemeral as a club night anymore when half of the audience are doing it themselves anyway. Then coronavirus came & properly killed it all off. I don’t know what it’s going to be like now going forward, but it’ll be someone else’s turn to document whatever that is.  

What do you think makes a good photograph? 

You need to have a good eye. You need to notice & be aware of the world around you. You always see an image before you create one. You don’t require expensive equipment. Mine never was. And you don’t need to be trained. It’s one of those areas where you really can educate yourself. A certain amount of technique and technical understanding goes a long way but, again, you can pick those things up as you go along.  

There are different kinds of photography, of course, but for me it was always about capturing a moment. The Decisive Moment, as Cartier-Bresson so eloquently put it. It’s something that the camera has over the canvas. For me the camera has always been a time machine. Like an evocative love song on the radio, it can transport you back immediately to a time & place long gone. It also acts as a witness for those people who were not there. Images tell stories. And we all like to hear and tell stories.

A couple of years ago I was invited to talk at the University of Lancaster for a symposium on documentary photography, which is a tradition that I had always considered my photographs sat within. But oddly, as I gave my slide-show presentation, images that I have seen and shown many times before, and thought I knew very well, I suddenly saw in a brand-new light. I could see myself in every image. Almost like a self-portrait from which I was absent but my own shadow cast large. I realised that I haven’t been documenting anything other than my own life. 25 year old images suddenly had something new to say, something new to tell me.  

Do you still take photos today? What kind of things are you into shooting these days?  

I don’t really do a lot of photography these days. I teach and facilitate as part of my job now. I still do the odd event but night club photography is a much younger man’s game. I really don’t have the levels of commitment, energy or enthusiasm I once did. I feel like I’ve taken enough images. If I never took another photograph ever again, that’s OK. Maybe, perhaps, I’ll get into a different kind of image making in my twilight years … but for now I’m trying to reassess the images I made 25 years ago. People are far more interested in them now than they ever were at the time. Now they have become documents of a time and place which has gone. The graffiti and the walls that they were written on have disappeared. Many of those night clubs have closed. Time moves on. The images and the memories are all that is left.  

Over all those years, how has the art of photography changed for you?

Back when I started taking photographs, where I lived in Hulme, the kind of music that I was into, the magic of a night club moment, there were very few people I knew of who were doing the same thing. Now I am aware of others who were. Almost everyone is their own photographer now. Mobile phones & social media have given a platform for anyone to make & share images of their individual lives, whether it be their friends & families, holidays, public events or more private & intimate moments. Anyone can document their own lives now, so I no longer feel that I have to. I do still love photography, it’s still my favourite form of art, but I don’t feel compelled to capture it all anymore.

I suppose I’ve pestered you with questions for a while now. Have you got any wise words to wind this up with?

If you want to become a photographer you must learn your craft. Keep doing it, and you will get better. But you must remember to always be honest. Make honest images. Listen to the voice of your own integrity. Don’t worry too much if no-one sees any value in what you do. If you’re any good people will eventually see it. It may take years, it did for me, but images of the ordinary & everyday will one day become historical, meaningful & extraordinary.  

We live in a world today mediated by images, a Society of the Spectacle, but we still need photographers: People who have a good eye, an innate feel for the decisive moment; what to point the camera at and when to press the shutter. The images that you make today will be the memories of the future.  

See more of Al’s photos here.

[glorious-spoon]

The Light of Distant Stars [The Old Guard]

Or: the space opera AU that would not end, part 1 of who the hell knows how many

[Warnings: referenced character death (of old age), canon-typical violence]

On AO3

They leave Earth in the spring of 2340, six months after the dreams start. The irony of the interstellar age, Nile thinks, is that it makes finding each other almost as difficult as it must have been thousands of years ago, when humanity was bound by oceans and long stretches of land, the trek across the Atlantic every bit as daunting as the trek to Alpha Centauri today.

In this case, at least they know where they’re going. It’s getting there that poses a problem.

“I can get us passage,” Booker says. “That’s not really the issue.”

Nile doesn’t look away from the window, the scattered lights of the city reflecting in the dark water lapping at the base of the building. “What is the issue, then?”

Booker sighs expressively, which is fair, probably. She knows. It’s been decades since she’s visited her mother’s grave, her brother’s. But knowing that she could is… something, at least. Quynh is in the Caucasus, or at least Nile is pretty sure that’s where she disappeared to, visiting the unmarked place where Andy’s ancient bones are buried. She’ll make that trip herself soon. Right now, she just wishes desperately that she could talk to her old friend and mentor just one more time. That she could have her dry wit and unsentimental kindness and advice; that she could have someone else to make the call. It should be Quynh, as the oldest of them, or Nicky and Joe as the most stable, but somehow that duty has fallen to Nile. Andy called that right from the beginning.

Lucky her.

“Okay,” she says eventually. “Yeah, it’s a problem, but we don’t all have to go.”

Booker huffs, but it’s Nicky who answers, gently. “Yes, we do.”

“Hm,” Joe says. It wouldn’t be clear who he was agreeing with if Nile hadn’t known him for more than three centuries

She closes her eyes. The images from the dream are easy to call up: a young woman’s terrified face in the instant before the airlock failed and sucked her out into the black. She’s pretty in a West Asian sort of way that reminds Nile, with a sharp pinch to her heart, of Dizzy. Pretty until hard vacuum got to her, anyway. It didn’t take them that long to retrieve her, but she must have died a dozen times between that first death and her gasping and puking awake on the steel slab in the shipboard morgue.

It’s a hell of an introduction to immortality. No wonder Quynh has gone so still and distant in the past few months.

Since then it’s all been just flashes: the infirmary ceiling, a small cell. Doctors in PPE. Needles in her arm and rapid, relentless questions. It takes them at least a week of dreams between the three of them to get her name, though. Iesha Haddad-Smith. Joe barks out a laugh when Nile wakes to tell them after a flash of medical documents on an old hard-screen showed up.

“What?” she asked.

“Iesha,” he said. “She who lives.”

“Jesus,” Nile sighed. Sometimes, she can understand why Andy was the way she was, back when they first brought her in. Kidnapped her, whatever. The distinction seems less important now than it did at the time. “Poor kid.”

“She has us,” Nicky offered. “Or she will.”

So, yeah. Leaving her alone isn’t exactly an option, Nile knows that. Doesn’t make the choice easy.

It’s easier--a little easier, anyway--when Quynh comes in off of a trans-continental flight two days later and takes a ferry lift to the 300th floor loft that Nile keeps in Dubai, which everyone else has been using as a crash pad in the months since the dreams started. Nicky and Joe, at least, have their own place. Or places, rather, hideaways and cottages and stretches of untouched land passed down through generations of sons and fathers who might as well be twins on the identity records. Booker keeps an apartment in Paris, when he’s not off brooding darkly somewhere or crashing on Nile’s couch. Quynh does her own thing. They see less of her since Andy died, but she’s here now, stepping down from the landing pad in flowing gauze and beaded hair, sensor pads wrapped around her wrists and hands. Like all of them, she has no implants, a habit that’s becoming a quaint affectation these days.

Sooner or later, it’ll be dangerously strange. Another thing they’ve had to deal with over the years: their healing will allow no implants, not even something as simple as a piercing. Nile has earrings in piercings that she got at the Lake Meadows Shopping Center sometime around Christmas of 2002, slightly off-angle punch-piercings administered by some long-dead college student.

They’re becoming increasingly out of step with the modern world, she thinks, although that’s probably been true for centuries before she died for the first time. Quynh was born before the rise of the Roman empire and spent centuries trapped beneath the water; the twenty-first century must have been as foreign to her as the twenty-fourth sometimes feels to Nile.

Quynh accepts the hugs that Nicky and Joe offer, inclines her head to Nile, and tosses a wrapped package to Booker. He catches it catches with a smile.

“Koumiss?” he asks, unwrapping it and peering inside. “You shouldn’t have. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” Quynh says, with a rare smile. “On the condition that you don’t breathe anywhere near me after you drink it.”

“Who said I planned to drink it? I thought I’d keep it to a monument to Andy and her absolutely appalling taste in booze.”

Centuries ago, that might have stung. In this moment, though, a smile crinkles Quynh’s eyes as Joe lets out a bark of laughter. “I still remember the first time I tried it. Taraz, what was it--1250? I thought the hangover would last for a week.”

“She did warn you,” Nicky says, also smiling. “Quynh. It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” she said. “Nile.”

Nile shrugs, spreads her hands, and smiles. “I guess we got one more for dinner, then. Lucky for you, Nicky’s cooking.”

“The rest of you will have to learn sometime,” he calls back, retreating into the kitchen, from which a pleasantly savory smell is starting to emerge. Nile doesn’t know what he’s making, and isn’t even sure that the pots and pans were actually in there when he and Joe arrived; it’s completely possible that he looked at her kitchen, which is pristine in a way that can only be achieved by living exclusively on takeout, and ordered a full set of cooking implements to be delivered along with the ingredients.

“Now, why would I do that when I have you?”

“She’s using you for food, habibi.”

“As if you haven’t been for centuries.”

“At least I can cook.”

“Hey,” Nile says. “I’m a modern woman, and doorside delivery is a gift of the modern world.”

Booker snorts without looking up from his screen. “Ain’t none of us modern, kid.”

“Well,” Quynh says. “One of us is, now.”

That’s enough to turn the mood in the room serious. Nile rubs a hand over her head, then says, “Yeah. We were trying to figure out what to do about that.”

Quynh gives her a blank stare. “We go after her. Of course. Are we taking a vote?”

Booker laughs roughly, and Joe shakes his head. From the kitchen, Nicky calls, “I told you.”

“Okay, okay,” Nile says. “Yeah, I guess we’re all for it then. Let’s do this.”

[angelruel]

vintage pt.2

      summary: the reader gets into an accident which causes her to lose her memory. as Ruel begins to rebuild their relationship and recall the good memories between them, some bad ones are restored as well and might threaten their future. 

masterlist

Word Count: 4.4 k (kind of long, oops)

       “Soooo what’s my favorite color?”

       “Easy. Blue,” he retorted while reaching over to fill in a space on the tic tac toe board that Y/N had drawn on her empty lap desk. He was the x’s and she played the o’s. It was a bit difficult for Ruel to pretend to not know all of her tricks she played in this game, but he was a very convincing loser. She had also taken the opportunity of his return to test him on some trivia of her personal likes and dislikes. 

       “Okay, here’s a good one,” she said as she filled the left hand corner on the board with a perfect circle. Ruel learned a long time ago that her strategy was to fill two corners and the center spot of the board in order to have an upper hand on winning. He watched her play the same way over again. Ruel admired her predictability and he almost felt confident enough that her tic tac toe skills returning would somehow correlate to her feelings for him to return as well.

       “Well finally a good one. Lay it on me.” He gave her his signature soft smile that he always grants her when he’s being his sweetest version of a boyfriend.

       “What’s my favorite song? Or, at least one of my favorite songs.”

       Ruel scrunches up his nose in thought, “hmmm. I’m gonna need a little more context, bub.”

       “Okay so maybe my favorite song I like to hear on a road trip. Something that gets me energized.” Ruel found it funny that she was reaching for more and more clues to jog her memory. They both knew that couldn’t she remember the last road trip she’d been on, or any of them for that matter. He was proud that she was at least in a more positive mood about not remembering things. 

       “Wait a Minute! by Willow Smith. There’s one.”

       Y/N’s happy expression dropped to a confused one. 

       “Huh? I don’t listen to Willow Smith.”

       They both just sat there for a while. There was still an apparent wall that Y/N had built up to secure herself from being hurt by Ruel since she barely knew him. 

       But the truth was that she barely knew herself.

       “Well, I guess I did listen to her music,” she dropped her head down. “I guess I just can’t remember it.” 

       Ruel used the sleeve of his sweater to wipe off the marker drawings on Y/N’s desk tray so that he could lean over it to hold her hands.

       “Hey, how about we do something else? I brought back some stuff like you asked me for.” She looked up and gave him a soft smile when he let go of her hands to grab a blue shoebox from the floor.

       “Oh, you brought gifts! Yay!” she exclaimed while clapping her dainty hands over and over. He sat the box in front of her lap on the hospital tray and she stared at it for a minute. One of the things she did remember was that blue was her favorite color. And after having a few conversations with Ruel, she discovered that his was brown. So, she assumed that the color of the box was a little nod to her. She thought that was really sweet.

       “You can go ahead,” he encouraged her. “If you have any questions, just ask.”

       She hesitated to lift the flimsy lid from the top. Partly because she was afraid that seeing the contents wouldn’t help jog her memories at all, and also because she was still pretty weak from the constant dosage of pain meds she’d grown accustomed to. 

       The first things to come out of the box were some polaroids and a bunch of little papers she grabbed that were grouped together. One of the polaroids showed a group photo in front of a campfire with little writing at the bottom that said ‘new years 2020.’ There were some post-it notes with little messages written on them in pencil. They were fading but Y/N could still make out what they said. It was a girl’s handwriting, and there was a little drawing of a pond? Or maybe a lake. 

i drew you a pond since you wanna act like a silly goose all the time. bitch.

               -y/n

       There was another one filled with words instead of a cute drawing, and she assumed this one was a serious matter.

hi, love. i left to go watch the sunrise with coco around 4 am-ish. you probably would’ve wanted to join us, but you look so peaceful when you’re sleeping. and coco said that you’ve been smothering me lately and encouraged me to sneak out. anyways, i’ll probably be back before you see this, but just in case i’m not, don’t call the cops. okay that’s all. in case i never return, i love you. 

                -y/n (under the heavy influence of stella)

       Ruel chimed in to explain. “Yeah, you used to leave me little notes like that sometimes instead of texting like a normal person.” 

       “And you kept them?”

       “Of course I did. I’m not a monster.” He joked and she playfully hit his chest with the stack of notes. Ruel scooted his chair closer to the side of Y/N’s bed and leaned in. “Lets see what else we got in here.”

       There were movie tickets, receipts from restaurants, and even old wristbands from festivals. 

       “Is this what you meant when you said I grow attached to material things?” She laughed on the outside but in reality, Y/N was so infatuated in the idea that a boy would keep a box of things that reminded him of her and their relationship. 

       “Ha yeah, I guess it kind of rubbed off on me after a while.” Ruel reached his hand into the box as well and pulled out a little beaded bracelet. It had a simple pattern of ocean blue and brown wooden beads. He played with it in between his fingers.

       “I remember this. Your cousin made it for us when you brought me to Thanksgiving. She kept running back and forth asking us what our favorite colors were. It was so cute. And she said we had to share it,” he reminisced. 

       He gave her the bracelet which she carefully placed on the wrist that wasn’t connected to an IV. There were mostly pictures in the box. Pictures of Y/N and Ruel in different settings: kissing, posing next to venue signs with his name on it, cooking, etc. She picked up one of the pictures and examined it carefully. 

       “I remember this,” she said in a nonchalant matter. Ruel looked up at her, then back at the picture in her hand.

       “You do?” 

       “Yeah, I remember that whole trip. That was a fun trip. Hmm.” She hummed to herself in bliss with a grin on her face. 

       “Tell me about it,” he grinned back at her. “What do you remember?” She looked down for a while. It was almost like the times they spent together were in secret, and too precious to share with anyone else. She felt a deep connection to someone-whoever it was to make her feel such strong emotions in just the echos of the times they spent together. Y/N began longing for the person who made her experience this type of fondness. The person she was looking for was right in front of her. Why was she holding back?

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       “Okay, how do I say this,” Y/N’s hand snaked up to her head to rake through her hair as she paced in deep thought. She took in a deep breath and turned around to look at him sitting in the hospital chair across the room.

       “I-I want this to be special. I mean, you’ve been so patient and considerate with me. You haven’t tried to rush me into anything at all. But I see the way you look when you think I’m not paying attention. You’re hurting, and I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to finally give in. Well not, finally give in, but. You know, you know what I’m trying to say right?” She used every ounce of energy she had to walk across the room to face him. She picked him up and brought his face close to hers. 

       “I’m trying to tell you that I love you,” she whispered and smiled softly. Before she could say anything else, Y/N heard the doorknob rattle in desperation to open it. 

       She quickly threw the teddy bear back into the chair and tried to pretend that she was doing anything else. 

       Ruel leaned into the door frame and struggled to keep his balance as he carried a Taco Bell bag and two drinks in his hands. 

       “Oh, let me help you with that,” Y/N rushed over to him to grab the drinks and his eyes grew in shock.

       “Well, it’s nice to see you up and moving so much. The doctor was right, you really have been getting stronger every day.” Y/N smiled up at him with pride as they both settled the food onto her desk. “So, have you heard anything yet?” 

       “Anything about what,” Y/N mumbled in between taking bites of her soft taco. She knew exactly what he was referring to, though.

       “Oh, you know. Like when are you gonna get out of this place? I mean, with the way you’re up and walking now,” he brought his free hand up to rest on the back of her neck as he examined her face with concerned eyes. “It’s been, what, four weeks now? They said four to six weeks, but by the looks of it, you’re healing up really well. You’ve done so good lately.”

       She mouthed ‘thank you’ and gave him another wide smile. Y/N was happy that he was proud of her progress. He played a big part of her growth, though. Through the discomfort and the multiple procedures she had to undergo, Ruel was always there at the side of her bed to rely on. Whether she was up at 4 am crying because she couldn’t remember the names of her dogs or freaking out in excitement after being able to stand up on her own, he was there for it all.

       And as her strength developed each day, so did her trust and love for him. She assumed that it wasn’t the same as their previous relationship, but it was more than enough to keep them happy. He would always tell her that he loved her, but she didn’t say it back. He told her it was fine, that he knew she didn’t really know who he was and he wouldn’t hold it against her. But in return, he needed for her to accept that he still loved her as much as he did before the accident and to be okay with him loving her even if it meant that she couldn’t love him equally back for a while. 

       But after spending so much time with him, Ruel was hardly a stranger to Y/N anymore. He was a friend, a very understanding and attractive friend. She couldn’t ignore the burning sensation she felt deep in her stomach when he would cuddle up close to her on the bed during their movie nights. She couldn’t ignore the desire or the comfort she felt for him any time that he was around (which was very often because Ruel was always around). He told her that he would wait for her, that she should take her time to decide if she wanted to continue their relationship whenever she was ready. He told her that she’d just gone through a major trauma and that she needed to focus on getting better. He said he would wait for her, but a part of her feared that he was only saying this to make her feel better. She feared that he had already accepted that they were just friends, that maybe he’d already began a new romance with some skinny long-haired girl in Sydney and he was just waiting for Y/N to get her strength back so that he could go home to her. 

       “Okay, well I have to tell you something,” she finally came out with. Ruel sat up straight in his chair to give her his full attention. His eyes were fixated on her face and his hands rested in his lap. She found herself lost in thought trying to remember what she wanted to tell him but she couldn’t focus on anything but his beauty. 

       “Did they already tell you whether you’re going home or not?” he laughed a little as he went to grab his drink off of the desk. “Did I miss it when I went to get lunch?” He used the side of his jeans to wipe the water that got on his hand from the cup. His huge hand. The same huge hand that he then used to move the long strands of hair out of his face. He’d previously told her that she did not like the long hair look on him and always encouraged him to get haircuts and shave. In the moment, Y/N couldn’t figure out why the hell anyone would ever encourage him to change his appearance when he looked like that. The long hair and mustache gave him a much more mature look in comparison to the old pictures and videos she would look at of him. She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to cut the hair that she so desperately wanted to run her fingers through. She quickly snapped out of it and shut her eyes so she couldn’t look at the beautiful boy in front of her.

       “I really do have to tell you something,” she started and stopped because she was nervous. With her eyes still closed, she felt Ruel’s hand grab hers.

       “What’s going on, why are you acting so weird?” he let out a nervous laugh and Y/N realized that he was probably feeling the same anxiety as her in the moment. She knew that someone had to be the confident one in this scenario, and she decided that it would be her. She took one last deep breath and let go of it.

       “Do you remember what I told you when I first told you I loved you?”

       “Yes,” he laughed again, “Do you want me to tell you the story again?” She nodded quickly in a child-like manner and looked at him in adoration.

       “It was a little after a month of us dating and I’d just taken you home after we went out driving and just hanging out. I was almost back in the car when I saw you run out of the house, barefoot, yelling at me to wait.” Y/N laughed a little and felt the tension between the two of them begin to melt away. 

       “And then what did I do?”

       “You went into this whole speech about how you felt and how you were very scared to be vulnerable because you were afraid of being hurt. And then you said something that I’d never forget,” he looked up at the ceiling as if the answers were written on the tiles, “you told me that the fear you felt only grew as you fell more in love with me. You said you thought that it would never go away, but you didn’t want it to stop you from embracing the happiness you felt when you were with me. And then you told me you loved me, and that you were scared of me. You said that I made you wanna jump into the fear rather than run away from it. You said you knew that you loved me as soon as you felt scared. Because you knew you had found something worth cherishing. And if it ever went away, you didn’t think you’d survive it.” He looked down. After saying all of that, it still seemed like there was something he was missing. He looked as if he didn’t manage to not break her heart. He was scared too.

       “Ruel?” Y/N let her hands relax and gripped onto his tighter. 

       “Yeah?”

       “I’m scared.” She began to fiddle with his long digits and almost felt hesitation to do anything next.

       “What are you afraid of-” he began, but was interrupted by the connection of her lips onto his. He freed his hand and rose it up to the back of her neck so he could deepen the kiss. They kissed again, and again. They kissed until their faces were red and she broke away for a moment to catch her breath. She smiled at him and he looked back at her in disbelief. 

       “I love you. I really do, Ruel. And I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long but I don’t want to be just friends. I want you in my life like you used to be,” her eyes dropped to her lap and her expression changed, “before everything got so fucked up.”

       He grabbed her face again and began to pepper it with kisses. At this point, Ruel was halfway onto her bed. She brought up her dainty hands to cup his face and she gently pulled away again. Ruel hitched a rushed breath out as he pouted in confusion as to why she pulled away. 

       “Oh yeah, I’m going home today.” She smiled with her teeth and he laughed in pure bliss before grabbing her face again.

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       The boxes piled in the middle of the living room all started to disappear one by one. Y/N watched in awe as Ruel picked up every box and placed it in its proper area. Her legs swung back and forth in boredom while she waited on top of the kitchen counter where Ruel had placed her since she refused to wear shoes on the trip to her apartment.

       “You’re such a good slave,” she told him in a sweet tone as her eyes followed him across the area. He shook his head, barely giving her an ounce of the attention she practically begged for, and continued moving things around. 

        “Honey are you sure you’re gonna be okay on your own like this? You can stay back home a little longer if you’d like,” Y/N’s mother remarked. She looked at her daughter with concern.

        “I’m not alone, I have Ruel. And besides, I’ve already left the nest once before. I should be fine.”

        “Well I guess I’ll be on my way home now. Call me if you need anything. Anything.” Y/N pecked a kiss on her cheek and guided her mom outside.

        By the time she got back into the apartment, the living room was clear of boxes and she moved down the hall in search of her boyfriend. She found Ruel in her bedroom on the edge of the bed hunched over his phone. 

        “What’s so interesting?” She sat down beside him and rested her chin on his shoulder. Once she realized what he was watching, she pulled out one of his airpods so she could listen in. It was from her Youtube channel she started a few months ago. She had faint memories of vlogging herself doing normal things like grocery shopping or going to her brother’s football games. She’d only looked at a few of her storytime videos, including the one where she details how she met Ruel. This was a video she hadn’t seen before, though. It was of her and Ruel together in some resort. It looked like they were on vacation and he explained to her that they were in Amsterdam for some music festival and had decided to make an entire trip out of it since it was so close to their anniversary. They’d coordinated matching outfits for the first weekend and were posing in front of the bathroom mirror together like lovesick idiots.

        “Damn, I’m so jealous of us.”

        Ruel let out a low chuckle at her and skipped through the parts she’d recorded of his performance.

        “Yeah, most people are.” He fast forwarded to a portion of the video after they returned to the hotel. Ruel was in the shower and Y/N was laying on the bed, recently showered, detailing all of the ways she was proud of her boyfriend. He laughed when she poked fun of how he forgot his own lyrics on stage.

        “Well that was almost cute,” he added and locked the phone.

        “Hey, it’s still pretty cute,” she laughed, “You can’t be mad at me for telling the truth, babe.”

        “Babe, huh?” he questioned as he turned to face her.

        “What, is that weird? Or too soon? I mean, you call me ‘bubs’ and ‘love’ all the time,” she looked down and played with the details of her jeans.

        “It’s adorable. I love it. And I love you,” he reassured her as he cupped her face and pulled it in for a puffy kiss. She kissed him back, this time with more dominance. Y/N kissed Ruel like there was a pot of gold hidden somewhere in his mouth that she was determined to get.

        Ruel matched her energy right away. He kissed her back and gripped the back of her neck to guide her face closer into his. They adorned each other with open mouths and full hearts. As they continued, Y/N felt the urge to go further and further with him, exploring his body and getting to know him on a more intimate level. They were so good at making out, it seemed like they’d done it a thousand times before. It felt like she was kissing a lover from a different lifetime, like she’d replayed scenarios over and over which all ended with her loving him. She couldn’t remember ever doing this with him before, but her body remembered. Everything with Ruel came with such ease. Every time he touched her body, she was overcome with euphoria and only craved more. She craved being closer to him, kissing him deeper.

        “Mmm, take this off please,” she tugged on his shirt and he quickly pulled it off before resuming his actions. Y/N felt herself falling into an intoxicated state as she moaned against his mouth. He responded to her by wrapping his hand around her thigh and pulling it closer against him. They both began to move in sync with each other, both giving and taking as their bodies danced a routine they knew too well. Y/N was so distracted by Ruel that she didn’t even hear her mother walk back in through the front door. She only whined when he pulled his face away from hers.

        “Why’dyoustop,” she breathed out. She was out of breath and watched him with puppy dog eyes as he stood up.

        “Your mom is back,” he stated flatly. He was clearly out of breath too and he was trying to calm himself down so he could see what was going on in the front.

       “...so?” she gave him a blank stare and patted on his side of the bed to join her again, “she can let herself out.”

       “Don’t worry, bubs. We’ve got time,” he chuckled to himself and pulled his shirt back on over his head. Y/N sighed and jumped from her side of the bed to join Ruel in the living room.

       “I’m sorry, hun. I forgot the most important box: your things from the hospital.” Y/N’s mother placed a small box on the counter and tapped the top of it lightly, “This is what you had on you when the crash happened. There’s not much in there, just the clothes you were wearing, your wallet, your phone,”

       “My phone?” Her eyes perked up. So did Ruel’s. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. I bet there’s a bunch of clues in there to help jog my memory,” she picked up the box and skipped down the hallway to drop it off. 

       “I’m pretty sure it’s dead, so you’ll have to find a charger for it. You probably have the same kind.” Her mom gestured towards Ruel, who looked like he’d just seen a ghost. His eyes were fixated in thought, emotionless and dazed in a trance.

        “Huh? Oh yeah, probably. Sure.” He snapped out of his guilty state quickly and turned to see Y/N coming back from her bedroom.       

        “Was that it, Mom? Cause we were just about to go out and get some food before it gets dark.” They both said goodbye and hugged Y/N’s mother. Once the door was shut behind her, Y/N grabbed Ruel’s hand with a quickness. His worries were suddenly gone as she led him down the hall. 

        It wasn’t long before they’d continued right where they left off. Y/N was still indulging herself in him and embracing the comfort she felt in his arms. She gripped the fabric of his shirt into her fists to deepen the kiss and felt the vibration from his mouth into hers as he let out muffled moans. With each kiss, she found herself thinking about all of the things she couldn’t wait to do with him before another thought popped into her mind and snapped her out of the daydream. She pulled away from him and turned her head towards the box.

        “I’ve been wondering what was left on my phone,” she gestured to the dresser. “I need to plug it up so I can see what was going on before I lost my memory. It would be cool to see who I last talked to right before my life was ruined, right?” She laughed and began to sit up. Ruel grabbed her hand and lightly pulled it so she could come back down to him.

        “I thought you wanted to do this, yeah? I mean hey, this is our first official night together alone. We can look into the phone later, right?”

        Y/N nodded and laid back down next to him. “Hmmm, you’re right. This first, phone later,” she declared before connecting their lips once more. As Ruel rolled his lanky body on top of hers, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder why Ruel was so against her looking at her phone. Was there a dirty secret in there that he didn’t want her to find? She dismissed her paranoid thoughts and continued.

a/n: okay, so that’s that on that. ugh what is on that phone that he doesn’t want her to see???? i hope this makes sense, i’ve reread it so many times and it seems like crap but i’m still going to post it. thank you for the support of my page, and please send me asks with what fics you would like to see next ;)

[natromanxoff]

Freddie Mercury and the Wade Deacon/Halewood Connection (by Mike Royden)

...Freddie lived for music, and in August 1969 he seized upon the opportunity he’d been waiting for – to sing in a band. Too impatient to form one of his own, he did the next best thing and found himself a ready-made outfit. His quarry was Ibex, a Merseyside-base trio comprising Mike Bersin (guitar and vocals.) and John ‘Tupp’ Taylor (bass and vocals) and a drummer by the name of Mike ‘Miffer’ Smith.

...“We met the members of Smile at a pub called the Kensington,” recalls ‘Tupp’ Taylor. “We saw them play a couple of times and they were really good. They had a great vocal-harmony thing going. Tim Staffell, their bass player, was a really good singer, and Freddie was a mate of theirs. We’d all sit around and have amazing vocal sessions singing Bee Gees, Beach Boys and Beatles songs. We could do great harmonies because there was three of them in Smile, myself, Mike Bersin, who’d chip in, and Freddie, of course.”

At this point, it was common knowledge among the Smile crowd that Freddie was desperate to get into Brian and Roger’s band. Perhaps joining Ibex might be a way in.

“Freddie hadn’t quite persuaded Smile to take him on as a vocalist,” confirms Mike Bersin. “They thought they were doing OK as they were. So, he said, “You know what you guys need, and that’s a vocalist.’ He was right, too, as John Taylor recalls: “I wasn’t the world’s greatest singer by any stretch of the imagination.” And as Ken Testi reveals “Mike had never been confident about his singing, but had been pushed into it.”

Freddie first met Ibex on 13th August 1969. Such was his enthusiasm, that just ten days later, he’d learned the bands’ set, brought in a few new songs, and had travelled up to Bolton, Lancashire, for a gig with them – his debut public performance. The date was 23rd August, and the occasion was one of Bolton’s regular afternoon ‘Bluesology’ sessions, held at the town’s Octagon theatre. For Ibex and friends, it was the event of the summer. No fewer than 15 bodies, including Freddie, Ken Testi, and the band’s other roadie Geoff Higgins, Paul Humberstone, assorted friends and girlfriends, plus Ibex’s instruments were squeezed into a transit van borrowed from Richard Thompson, a mate of Freddie’s who’d previously drummed in ‘1984’ with Brian May and Tim Staffell.

...The following day, Ibex appeared in the first ‘Bluesology pop-in’, an open-air event on the bandstand in Bolton’s Queen’s Park. On the bill were local band Back, another called Birth, Spyrogyra, Gum Boot Smith, The White Myth, Stuart Butterworth, Phil Renwick and, of course, Ibex. In a report published the day before the Bolton Evening News wrote ‘The last -named act make a journey from London especially for the concert. The climax of the whole affair will be a supergroup, in which all the performers will play together. If the weather is fine the noise should be terrific”.

Remarkably, for such a relatively inauspicious event, Freddie’s first-ever public performance was extremely well documented. There were at least three photographers present, and the proceedings were covered in Bolton’s Evening News for the second time on 25th August. This even featured an uncredited photograph of Freddie, with the caption: ‘One of the performers gets into his stride’ If Freddie wanted to be a star, he was going about it the right way.” 

“Freddie really loved going up to Bolton to play with Ibex,” remembers Paul Humberstone. “He was really on form. The band was very basic, but good. They did very reasonable cover versions, and were very loud. That was his very first outing with the band, but Fred struck his pose. Remember him doing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’? He was like that only without the eye makeup.”

“Freddie was shy offstage,” recalls Ken Testi, “but he knew how to front a show. It was his way of expressing that side of his personality. Everything on stage later in Queen, he was doing with Ibex at his first gig: marching from one end of the stage to another, from left to right and back again. Stomping about. He brought dynamics, freshness and presentation to the band that had been completely lacking previously.”

Mike Bersin agrees: “As a three piece, we’d thought it was sufficient to play fairly basic music and not worry too much about stage craft. Freddie was much better at putting on a show and entertaining people. That was pretty radical for us. I thought that’s what the light show was for, you know, we make the music and the audience can watch the pretty coloured bubbles behind us, but Freddie was different. He was so wonderfully camp in that beautifully English foppish way. With hindsight, I recognise the determination to succeed that he had in spades. He demanded to be treated as a star before he was one. His talent and ambition made people react in very different ways, but it wasn't an unpleasant thing.

As the rest of us would wear jeans and trench coats, he was the fur-and-satin man and all the moves and poses he had with Queen, were already there with Ibex, he never imitated anybody, Freddie was Freddie from day one, he was entirely his own creation and a culture shock. He worked extremely hard to be something worth to look at and to listen to. He only had one pair of boots, one t-shirt, one pair of trousers, one belt and one jacket. Still he remained immaculate. We had some gigs in Bolton which were very significant to the band. While we were getting ready, Freddie had been backcombing his long hair to make it stand out more and twitching himself in the mirror for ages. I eventually yelled at him: 'For God's sake, stop messing with your hair, Freddie!', to which he responded: 'But I'm a star, dear boy!'. There is not a lot you can say to that. In many ways, you felt Freddie almost wasn't real.”

“I don’t think Freddie developed,” reckons John ‘Tupp’ Taylor. “The first day he stood in front of that crowd, he had it all going. It seemed as if he’d been practicing for years to be ready. We’d only ever sang together as mates before that. We’d never done anything by way of trying it out. He was going to be in the band and everyone was happy with that. Once Freddie was in, we changed in loads of different directions. We began to play ‘Jailhouse Rock’, for a start! I think that was the first thing we did with him on stage.”

Back in London, a revitalised Ibex began to make plans. “Freddie and the band very quickly became inseparable,” remembers Ken Testi. “They were spending large parts of their time together, working out a new set which included different covers and some original stuff.”

Mike Bersin: “Freddie was the most musical of all of us. He was trained on the piano, and he could write on the black notes. He said ‘We’re never going to get anywhere playing all this three-chord blues crap, we’ll have to write some songs.’ A couple of things came out of it, but they’ve all vanished now. I can’t imagine they would be very satisfactory anyway – largely because he was working with me, and my understanding of music was incredibly rudimentary. We used to argue about whether we should put in key changes. I’d say ‘What do you want a key change for?’ And he’d say that it made a song more interesting, it gave it a lift. I’d think ‘Why has he got this thing about gratuitous key changes?’ The idea of changing the key of a song just because it made it more interesting to listen to was really alien to me.That said, Geoff Higgins remembers at least one decent Bulsara-Bersin tune: “ They did a great song called ‘Lover; the lyrics used to go, ‘Lover, you never believe me’ and Fred later turned it into ‘Liar, you never believe me’ It was almost the same tune, but not quite. In fact, it was similar to ‘Communication Breakdown’, they used to rip off Led Zeppelin a lot.”

That said, Geoff Higgins remembers at least one decent Bulsara-Bersin tune: “ They did a great song called ‘Lover; the lyrics used to go, ‘Lover, you never believe me’ and Fred later turned it into ‘Liar, you never believe me’ It was almost the same tune, but not quite. In fact, it was similar to ‘Communication Breakdown’, they used to rip off Led Zeppelin a lot.”

Before they knew it, however, the summer was over and it was September. Mike Bersin returned to Liverpool to begin his pre-diploma years at the local art college, at what is now John Moores University. With nothing better to celebrate than the new term, the pre-dip freshers threw a party, and who better to provide the entertainment than Mike’s band, Ibex? Subsequently Ibex’s third and final gig took place on 9th September 1969 at the Sink Club in Liverpool, a former soul-blue hang out in the basement of the Rumbling Tum – a place Ken Testi remembers as a “pretty dodgy, post beatnik café”.

...Geoff has a further revelation, which called to mind Paul McCartney’s presence in the audience at the first-ever recording of John Lennon with the Quarry Men back in 1957. “Smile were in Liverpool that night… playing another club, possibly the Green Door. And because we were at the Sink, they came down to see us.” The rest of the story is almost too good to be true. Brimming with encouragement for their flamboyant friend Brian May and Roger Taylor wasted no time in joining Freddie on stage (or as near as they could get.) They probably bashed out a few Smile numbers and this occasion marked the first time the three of them played together in front of an audience. “We virtually had Queen in there,” remarks Ken Testi, “although of course we didn’t know it then.” However, here’s the sting: although Geoff Higgins’ tape recorder was still only yards away at the time, the tape ran out before the three musicians had the chance to play a note together.

Wreckage

Sometime between 9th September and the end of October 1969, probably while Freddie was staying with Geoff Higgins in Liverpool, [flat above Dovedale Towers, Penny Lane], Ibex underwent a mini upheaval – at Freddie’s instigation. “I recall him canvassing the idea of calling the band Wreckage, but nobody was enthusiastic,” reveals Mike Bersin. “Then he phoned me one night and said, ‘the others don’t mind. How do you feel?’ I said. ‘If they agree then fine’. So, we went along to the next rehearsal and all the gear had been sprayed ‘Wreckage’. When I spoke to the others about it, Freddie had phoned them all up and had the same conversation”. 

The name-change went hand-in-hand with the departure of drummer Mike ‘Miffer’ Smith as Freddie documented in a letter to Celine Daley. Dated 26th October the letter bears the address 40, Ferry Road, Barnes SW13 – another flat rented that summer by members of Ibex, Smile and various associates.

‘Miffer’ is not with us anymore,” wrote Freddie, “cause the bastard just got up and left one morning saying he was going to be a milkman back in Widnes. (he meant it too).” He goes on to boast that Roger and he go ‘poncing and ultrablagging just about everywhere,” which led to the pair “being termed as a couple of queens.” Interestingly, this word doesn’t seem to imply any of its more modern connotations. There was another term for that, as Ibex’s former drummer was well aware. “Miffer, the sod,” wrote Freddie, “went and told everyone down here that I had seriously turned into a fully-fledged queer.” 

“You can see he was exploring the concept there, can’t you?” interjects Mike Bersin, “to see how many people felt about it and how comfortable he was with it. He was always very camp, but when I knew him, he was living with Mary Austin, and I certainly knew at least one other girlfriend he knew at the time. So, he was kind of straight then, but if he hadn’t come out of the closet, he was certainly looking through the keyhole.” 

Crucially, as far as Queen’s pre-history is concerned, Freddie pinpoints the date when Ibex became Wreckage: “Our first booking as Wreckage is on Friday, 31st October at Ealing College,” he wrote. He also names Richard Thompson, the former drummer in Brian May’s 1984, as Miffer’s replacement. 

“I’d known Freddie for years,” Richard recalls. “I first met him in 1966. I used to go round his house to listen to Beatles records. Then we’d go and watch Smile play, before he joined Ibex. I knew all of Ibex’s songs, as I’d watch them perform, so there was no point auditioning anyone else.” 

With Wreckage’s first (and Freddie’s forth) concert appearance just five days away, the band set about rehearsing a new set. “Mike came down today,” wrote Freddie to Celine, “for a five-hour live marathon practise. Richard collapsed halfway through and I’ve really gone and lost my voice (no kidding). It hurts just to breathe. Hope I’m OK for this Friday, ‘cause I’m going to out-ponce everybody in sight. (it shall be easy.)” Freddie ended the letter with this hitherto unpublished information: “We’ve written a few new numbers: 1) ‘Green’; 2) ‘Without You’, 3) ‘Blag-a-blues’, 4) ‘Cancer on My Mind’ (originally called ‘Priestess’.) 

“Freddie always had very unusual titles at that stage.” Recalls Mike Bersin. “I can’t remember what ‘Green’ was about. It might be the one with the intro which went, E, A, D, G, D, A, E, A, D, G, D, A in guitar chords”. As neither Ibex nor Wreckage went within striking distance of a recording studio, none of these songs was ever recorded officially. Miraculously, however one of them has survived – and it’s the one that stuck in Mike Bersin’s mind, ‘Green’.

...“We also played somewhere in Richmond, at a rugby club,” recalls John Taylor. “A friend of Brian May’s arranged it, and Brian came along. He thought our image was ‘savage’. He thought we were really good. ‘Oh Savage’ he said.”

[themurphyzone]

Nova Ch 4

AN: Just in time for the A!countdown! Looking forward to those sneak peeks next month! 

Ch 4: Extraterrestrial 

New Selenian Date 3015.4.21

 Though our voyage through space was more volatile than I expected, we’ve successfully approached Terra’s exosphere. Under other circumstances, it would be cause for celebration, but…

 Well, Snowball has only spoken to me for essentials during the past few days. Usually so he can update me while he raids the pantry for maza or to catch up on sleep.

Our argument has only served as a reminder that we’re not…as united in our mutual goal as much I want to believe.

It must the length of the journey. Access to only four rooms in a one week period can give anyone a serious case of cabin fever. He’ll get better once we land on Terra’s surface, I’m sure.

Signing off for now, the Brain.

o-o-o-o-o

Was it really April 21? Pinky hurried to the Mickey Mouse calendar pinned to the wall next to his cage. He really loved that picture of Mickey giving flowers to a blushing Minnie. They really were the perfect couple!

Pinky imitated Mickey’s pose, dropping down on one knee as if he was offering a bouquet of pretty daffodils…wait, no those were lilies. He rubbed his head, confused by the yellow flowers in the picture. Maybe it was the type with the really long name.

What was it again? Ah, yes! A lovely bouquet of Chris-and-his-moms for Minnie!

Egad, the picture was so pretty that he’d forgotten about the reminder he’d penciled in the box for April 21!

“Granny Smith at 9 pm?” Pinky tilted his head, trying to make sense of what he’d written. He didn’t know any grannies that well, nor did he know any Smiths. Besides, Pharfignewton was leaving the ranch tonight at 9 pm, and he was going to see her off before she was off to the races. “Poit! Oh yeah, the apple! An apple a day keeps the vets away!”

Pharfignewton needed the energy for the journey too. Kentucky was a long way from California. About nine inches according to his placemat of the United States.

Before he left, he needed to leave a response for his space pen pal. But they weren’t exactly using pens. Maybe space radio pals was better.  

Pinky went back to the Walkman. It made a bunch of crackling noises, like the Brain hadn’t turned his equipment off yet.

“Hi, the Brain!” Pinky grinned. The was such a funny first name. “Glad you could make it to Earth! Or Terra! Whatever you wanna call it! Wherever you land, I hope you and Snowball enjoy yourselves. Definitely try strawberry cheesecake sometime. It’s delicious!”

The static continued.

“Anyway, Pharfignewton’s leaving for the Kentucky Derby tonight, so I can’t chat for long. Maybe tomorrow? I’ll spend twice as much time talking to you tomorrow! Fig’s been practicing super extra hard. She’s gonna win the Derby and get that Triple Crown! That’s her dream, you know! Dreams are a wish your heart makes, zort! Cinderella said so!”

Pinky put his hand over the Walkman’s speaker. “Your dream is taking over Terra, and mine is being surrounded by cheese from around the world! Or maybe that’s just my stomach. I can never tell for sure.”

The clock chimed eight, its little pendulum swinging to and fro in a dizzying pattern.

He had to say goodbye now.

And say goodbye again later.

“Alright…well, I’ll let you go. I bet you have some important Conquesowhatsit things to do. Bye, the Brain. Glad you could make it to Terra. You and Snowball are gonna love it. Ooh, there I go again. Bye for real this time.” Pinky slowly turned the dial down, past tinny classical and pop music stations, until the Walkman was off.

Dreams were always nice, even if Pharfignewton and the Brain had to travel far away to make them come true. Pinky’s parents were probably making their own dream of eating gourmet food pellets real as well. Sis didn’t have one yet. She was still torn between professional hairdressing and getting a cooking show on Food Network, but she was young and had plenty of time to grow up.

Now that he thought about it, maybe Sis was right. He didn’t have to decide on a dream for himself yet. Well, surrounding himself with provolone, cheddar, mozzarella, camembert, and all the other yummy cheeses was still a wonderful dream for now.

“A world of cheeses, deliciously made for you and me…” Pinky sang, the air conditioner providing a nice background instrumental as he went to the breakroom to fetch Pharfignewton’s apple.

o-o-o-o-o

Carting the Granny Smith apple to the ranch took more time than Pinky imagined. Running on his wheel along with those upper body strength VHS tapes helped him for most of the trek, but there’d still been one scary moment where he’d leaned back too far to see the pretty full moon. Luckily, the apple wasn’t too bruised from tumbling downhill.

By the time Pinky arrived, Pharfignewton was already in her horse trailer. Her owner sat on a nearby bench, his brow furrowed as his thumbs tapped rapidly on his cell phone. A white pick-up truck sat in front of the trailer, though the latch to connect the vehicles hadn’t been hooked yet.

The door to Pharfignewton’s trailer was wide open, the ramp still on the ground. Delays were good. It meant he could hold off on saying goodbye a little longer.

“Fig, I got you an apple! A sweet and healthy Granny Smith!” Pinky exclaimed as he ran up the ramp. Before he could get to the top, Pharfignewton bent down and grasped the apple in her teeth, nearly chomping down on Pinky’s hands as she lifted her head. Pinky’s feet left the ground, and he gripped the apple with both hands, almost sliding off the smooth surface.

He couldn’t resist a tiny nibble. Pharfignewton wouldn’t mind.

Pinky climbed onto her muzzle just as the apple was crunched into mush. Pharfignewton whinnied in delight, her eyes shut from sheer happiness. He stroked the fur between her eyes and hummed Camptown Races because it was her favorite song. She always got excited to race when she heard it.

Pharfignewton’s hooves clopped against the floor rhythmically, her head bobbing up and down.

“-gonna run all night! Gonna run all day!” Pinky sang, grabbing her soft mane and hauling himself up. He clung to her ears for balance. “I’ll bet my money here on Fig, cause she’s gonna win this May!”  

Pharfignewton neighed, her tail raised proudly.

Her owner looked up from his phone. His bushy beard quivered as he chuckled and waved at her. A van pulled up to the curb, the window sliding down to reveal a man in a funny white cowboy hat. The owner shouted and pointed to the newcomer’s hat.

“What a fashion icon, Fig! Rodeo style hats at the Kentucky Derby. Why didn’t I think of that?” Pinky asked. “Egad, I need to make my own hat for the Derby! A derby hat! With fancy ribbons and dandelions and those little beads on sombreros!”

Cowboy Man clapped the owner on the shoulder as he climbed out of his van, the owner playfully shoving him in return. The back doors of the van were opened, and they started loading the pile of heavy feed bags and horse care equipment into the hollowed out space, trading good-natured jabs while they worked.

Pinky glanced at the starry night sky, scratching the back of Pharfignewton’s ear. “I almost forgot. The Brain made it to Terra. He said so in his message tonight. Told him he should try strawberry cheesecake. I don’t know if they have that in space.”

Pharfignewton snorted.

“Oh, you and your homemade apple strudel,” Pinky grinned. “Tell you what. Win the Triple Crown and I’ll bake the most scrumptious, most mouthwateringest apple strudel you’ve had in your life! Oh wait, no, how ‘bout I just bake it when you come back? Whenever that will be. Maybe soon?”

However long she’d be gone, Pinky hoped she’d call or write or keep in touch some other way. Well, sending a postcard might be a little tricky with hooves. How was she ever gonna apply the stamps?

Pharfignewton neighed, her front hooves knocking against the floor in worry.

“I’ll be okay, Fig. I can wait ‘til August. There’s lots of fun things to do in the summer. Like playing water polo, air hockey, capture the flag...”

Except those games all needed two players.

And while Monopoly game pieces and dominoes made for great substitutes when he couldn’t round up the checkers and marbles, it just wouldn’t be the same without Pharfignewton.

Pinky’s tail started to cramp.

He hadn’t realized he’d wrung it between his hands so hard. It wasn’t the fun sort of pain either.

Outside, the men finished loading their supplies. The van doors were shut, and Pharfignewton’s trailer was hitched to the truck.

Their boots loudly thumped against the ground with every step.

Pinky slid down Pharfignewton’s long muzzle, his feet resting against the back of her nostrils. He gripped her face and looked at those gorgeous blue eyes. They were the same shade as his turquoise crayon. He wanted to remember that.

Pinky rested his jaw on Pharfignewton’s fur, trying to keep the tiny quaver out of his voice. “Well…guess this is it, huh?” he murmured. “You have a good trip now. You’re the best racehorse I’ve ever met. Course I don’t know any other racehorses, but you’re gonna win the Derby, Fig. I know you will. Just keep in touch, ‘kay?”

She knickered softly, her breath stirring Pinky’s fur as she lowered him to the ground outside her trailer. Her breath smelled just like applesauce. She carefully rubbed the underside of her jaw against Pinky’s head, nuzzling away tears that made his vision a little blurry, then slowly raised herself to her majestic height.

“Poit. Really, Fig.” Pinky tilted his head back so the tears just pooled in his eyes instead of trailing down his cheeks. “You’ve got a dream ahead of you.”

Pharfignewton stomped her hoof.

But Pinky shook his head. True, he could go with her, but who was gonna keep his cage clean and his wheel oiled if he wasn’t around? Besides, Pharfignewton would have so many new horse friends. She was gonna be a celebrity by association.

Pinky wiped a tear away with his tail. “I don’t wanna distract you or anything. Meet someone new! Who knows? You might even be fast friends!”

Then Cowboy Man and the owner walked past, too engrossed in their conversation to notice Pinky. Pharfignewton craned her neck, trying to see above Cowboy Man while he folded the ramp. Before she could reply, her owner gently shooed her further into the trailer while Cowboy Man finished up.

Once the trailer door was shut and locked, the owner and Cowboy Man took some time to stroke Pharfignewton’s face. The window bars were wide enough to allow almost her entire muzzle through.

They promised good things for her, win or lose. She’d be eating her fill of apples and carrots for sure.

She’d be happy out there, running like the wind to her heart’s content.  

Ten minutes later, Cowboy Man drove away in his supply van. Pharfignewton’s owner started up the truck.

Pinky quickly climbed up a fencepost and waved to Pharfignewton, wishing he’d brought along a handkerchief to blow his nose into or flutter in the air like a proper movie goodbye.

Pharfignewton stretched her neck as far as she could.

“Bye! Adios! Sayonara!” Pinky called, cupping his hands as the truck slowly inched onto the side road’s pavement. The trailer turned slightly with the movement, and Pinky quickly hopped to a fencepost within Pharfignewton’s line of sight.

She looked happy enough to get the show on the road, but her whinnies were still worried.

He had to cheer her up! She couldn’t travel to Kentucky with that frowny face!

“Camptown ladies! Sing this song! Narf!” Pinky panted, taking only a moment to catch his breath, the song choppy as he ran the length of the fence. But even with the truck’s slow crawl, he couldn’t keep up, and the truck disappeared over the hill, pulling the trailer and Pharfignewton along with it.

He didn’t slow down in time. Pinky stumbled over the last fencepost and fell into the springy grass below. The thud knocked his breath away for just a moment, but he shook it off quickly.

It was nothing really.

“Camptown racetrack’s fi-five thousand miles away…”

Pharfignewton shouldn’t worry.

He had the small, boxy TV that the lab couldn’t afford to upgrade to a flat screen. The NBC channel always showed the Derby.

And it was enough for him.

o-o-o-o-o

Had the stars always been that far away? They seemed much lonelier than usual.

Pinky tilted his head as far as he could, taking in the navy sky above. There was no moon and no way to spot the Brain’s old home tonight. He was probably somewhere on Earth by now.

Paris was nice at this time of year. Maybe the Brain would get all the cheese and baguettes he could eat. The city of light and love was absolutely splendid and heavenly. Pinky had never been there, but the landscape seemed so pretty at night in Ratatouille. Parisian rodents must be excellent chefs. Pinky would have to find one someday.

If only he could walk into a giant cabinet that would magically transport him to a riverboat cruise on the Seine. He’d only gotten a mouthful of cobweb the last time he’d tried that.

Oh dear.

Pinky twirled in place, taking in the enormous apartment complex to his left and the grassy hillside across the street, both of which he didn’t recognize.

“Narf! Silly me.” Pinky bonked his fist against his noggin, leaving a slight ache behind.  “One of these days, I’ll definitely remember that ol’ left turn on Albuquerque Street!”

Well, the only thing he had to do was retrace his steps.

But he didn’t have sidewalk chalk or a pencil.

Pinky scratched his head. This was a lot harder than he thought. He was outside, so he couldn’t exactly follow the left wall of the maze until he got un-lost.

His stomach growled, and he had a sudden craving for between-twilight-and-midnight food pellets.

“Hush now, tummy. You’ll get your food pellets as soon as I find the lab again,” Pinky said, patting his growling belly.

A bowl of smoked food pellets seasoned with paprika and rosemary sounded good right about now. With a side of smoked cheddar too!

Pinky laughed. “You’ve really got a craving for smoked food, tummy! Can’t blame you there. Those smoked chicken wings on Food Network were absolutely mouthwatering yesterday. I’m so hungry I can smell those food pellets!”

And the food pellets smelled delicious indeed.

Pinky took a deep whiff, standing on his tippy-toes to drink it all in.

Until the scent changed and it smelled more oily than the yummy sort of smoke.

Pinky’s nose wrinkled. A faint plume of smoke rose from behind the grassy hill, but it was still a little early in the year for anyone to hold a campfire sing-along with s’mores.

There didn’t seem to be a fire. Or slightly burnt marshmallows for that matter.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Pinky crossed the street at the crosswalk because he was a good pedestrian and not a jaywalker. That was just silly. He was a mouse, not a blue jay.

He ran to the top of the hill and perched on a tree root, heels rocking back and forth for a moment until he found his balance. Then his jaw dropped at the sight of a gray and silver futuristic-y UFO just beyond the hill’s base. It had to be the size of two cages combined, maybe a little more.

He wasn’t really good at judging size, but the UFO thingy was ginormous.

Dirt piled high around its battered surface, like it plowed right into the ground at Pharfignewton-like speeds. Smoke trailed from two long cylinders that arched above its back, though there were no flames.

At least Smokey the Bear wouldn’t have to worry about any wildfires.

Pinky approached the wreckage, circling it twice out of sheer fascination. He didn’t see any string though. No wonder the UFO crashed. It didn’t have any string to hold it up.

“Hello, Mr. Alien!” Pinky shouted, hoping his voice carried through the metal to whoever was inside. He leaned against the UFO with both hands, placing all his body weight on his tiptoes. It felt great. He hadn’t stretched his shoulders like this in a while. All his focus had been going to strengthening his thighs recently. “I just wanted to let you know that your UFO string is missing! But it’s okay! I have an extra long ball of yarn back at the lab! Will that do?”

There was no response, though Pinky heard a plip-plop of dripping water when he pressed his ear against the UFO.

Suddenly, the metal hissed and shifted under his palms.

“Narf!” Pinky yelped as he pitched forward into the opening. His jaw thwacked against the floor, and he giggled at the tingly sensations that shot to the top of his head.

Propping himself onto his elbows, Pinky found himself in a room that was just as big on the inside as it seemed on the outside. Except everything seemed a little smashed up. Broken computers tilted against one wall, the screens cracked and displaying a random string of numbers and letters.

Orange soda dripped from an open panel to his left, forming a bubbly puddle on the floor. Pinky almost drank it, but figured it was a terrible idea because of the little metal bits mixed in. Orange soda went with pizza, not metal.

Pinky stood up and dusted himself off, then walked over to what seemed to be a smashed-up bedframe. There was an upturned mattress and a crumpled white blanket next to it. When he tried to turn them over and arrange them into a less messy position, he found they were rather scratchy and definitely uncomfortable for sleeping in. Whoever used this bed must’ve woken up every morning with a backache the size of Alaska.

As he tucked the last corner of the blanket into the mattress, several tiny blue things slipped out from the folds and bounced off his foot. When Pinky glanced down, he found there were a lot of tiny blue things scattered throughout the room.

He picked one up out of curiosity.

No, it wasn’t a thing. More like a tiny blue star. He touched it with his tongue, a sweet flavor taking over his taste buds entirely. It really packed a wallop. His tongue hadn’t felt this tingly since the time he’d eaten two entire packs of lemonheads! He popped several more tiny stars into his mouth, hugging himself from sheer bliss.

For a moment, it seemed like there was another voice agreeing with him on how fantastically delicious these tiny stars were.

Then it cut into a low groan, which didn’t sound like someone enjoying a snack at all. Pinky quickly swallowed the tiny stars and listened for the source of the noise.

“Narf! Hello?” Pinky called. “Are you an alien ghost? Or a ghost alien, Mr. Alien?”

Another groan. Maybe Mr. Alien didn’t know how to play Twenty Questions.

One of the computers shifted and crashed onto its side, a blue screen flickering in and out of existence. Parts of the splintered bedframe laid among the mess. A small, black-gloved hand poked out from among the tangled wires before falling limp again.

Pinky poked the hand.

It twitched.

“Awful hard to sleep under all those wires, don’t you think?” Pinky asked. “I mean, it would be so electric-y under there! Unless you’re an android ghost alien! Electric sheep only works for androids, I think. The rest of us count woolly, fluffy sheep.”

The mass of wires trembled, the hand closing around Pinky’s wrist. Though it was probably meant to be a tight grasp, it wasn’t a very good hold. A single movement could shake off the alien’s hand.

But Pinky stayed still. Something didn’t seem quite right.

The alien lifted his head, a pair of antennae with bouncy red orbs perking slightly.  

Antennae was a good name now that he thought about it.

“N-no’all?” Antennae murmured, the wires slipping off his large, chubby head. His bleary pink eyes stared through Pinky with desperate hope. Soot stained his messy fur with varying shades of gray, his pointed ears drooping and floppy.

“Poit. Do you not speak English?” Pinky asked. Antennae continued to stare, not seeming to understand. “I could get my language book from the lab. It’s got Spanish, French, Sea Lion, and Legalese! I’m learning a lot! Maybe it’s got your language too?”

Then Pinky snapped his fingers. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner? “Wait, no! Maybe kissing would be much faster? That way my English flows into your mouth and voicebox! Is that how it works? I’m pretty sure that’s how it works…”

Antennae’s grip tightened, his lower half writhing in the wires until he shook himself free. From the neck down, he wore a sleek black bodysuit with red highlights that really made the color of his antennae and tail orbs pop.

Egad, he was tiny. Even Antennae’s antennae barely rose above Pinky’s chin.

Something green and golden glinted in the hand that wasn’t holding onto Pinky. Antennae stumbled as he got to his feet, wincing as he tried to put his weight on his heels. His eyes widened in panic, and he quickly let go Pinky, breathing rapidly as he wrapped both hands around the weapon’s handle.

Balancing on his toes, he shakily pointed the weapon at Pinky. He was trying to shove the red bulb into Pinky’s nose, which was a little rude to be honest, but couldn’t do much more than a light tap.  

“Are you okay?” Pinky asked, lifting his head so the bulb wasn’t smushing his nose. “Soot’s not really good for your complexion. Gives you all sorts of pimples and zits. That’s what Dr. Oz says, anyway.”

There were several clicks as Antennae repeatedly pulled a switch on the handle, but nothing happened. It clearly wasn’t working the way he expected. He growled in frustration, lowering his weapon and opening a compartment along the top. Then his eyes flicked to the puddle of orange soda on the floor and back to Pinky.

For the first time, Antennae noticed all the tiny blue stars that littered the ground. He whipped around in surprise, staring since he still didn’t understand, but the sudden movement made him lose his balance. Pinky caught him by the arm before he fell flat on his face.

The weapon slipped out of his grip, clattering to the floor. He cried out and swung his crooked tail into Pinky’s side.

“Zort!” Pinky yelped, more from the literal shock he’d received, than actual pain. His fur stood on end, like he’d just rubbed a balloon against it. When he pressed it down again, several tingling tickles lingered on his hand, making him giggle.

When he looked up, Antennae had limped over to the damaged remains of a shelf. But even walking across the room was too much, and he collapsed again.

The bodysuit had rips along the heels, exposing several painful looking cuts. Pinky couldn’t blame him for trying to stay on his tiptoes, even if it was a very awkward way to walk.

Antennae needed help. Pinky would have to carry him to the lab.

Pinky followed. He knelt and picked up Antennae, who weighed only slightly more than the small batteries Pinky liked to use as weights, since dumbbells were unfortunately too large for him. Antennae loosely held a baggie of the tiny stars close to his chest. There were several ripped baggies surrounding them. This seemed to be the only one that remained whole.

Cradling his head and back, Pinky set the baggie on top of Antennae’s chest, making sure the baggie was sandwiched between them before he set off.

Antennae’s head lolled against Pinky’s neck. The antennae orbs lit up with tiny sparks for just a moment, though Pinky didn’t get another burst of static. They faded back to a normal red within a few seconds.

He seemed…almost relaxed. At least his face wasn’t scrunched anymore.

As Pinky exited the UFO with his bundle, something bonked into the back of his head.

“Ouch!” Pinky nearly dropped Antennae and baggie in surprise. A tiny camera with a spinning propellor zipped into the night sky, recovering from its collision course quickly.

Some sort of alien tech too otherworldly for a regular genetically altered Earth mouse to understand? Pinky longed to ask, but he didn’t want to disturb Antennae.

Besides, he looked adorably pudgy while he slept.

Antennae made a small noise in the back of his throat, but he didn’t seem to be waking up anytime soon.

The camera didn’t matter as much. Not when he just discovered that aliens snored.  

Pinky set off for the lab, determined to get the directions right this time.  

o-o-o-o-o

Good thing the dark, narrow alley filled with dirty cardboard boxes had been there! Pinky never would’ve known it was a shortcut to the lab if it hadn’t been for that stray cat. It was a miracle that Antennae hadn’t woken up once, or that the baggie survived the chase without any rips or spilling tiny stars.

The cat had given up the chase, deciding that whatever was in the dumpster would be more of a yummy meal.

Really, Pinky didn’t imagine he’d taste too good. He tried to lick his elbow a few times and all he got was a mouthful of fur.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to try to climb up to the mail slot. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for him to squeeze past, even with Antennae’s chubby head.  

Pinky shifted his hold to one arm, then grabbed the handle of the nearest drawer to pull them up to the counter. He had to set the baggie down, but Pinky could easily grab it once Antennae was settled comfortably in the cage.

It took a few unsuccessful tries of hauling himself up while holding onto Antennae before he realized it wasn’t going to work.

“Psst, Antennae,” Pinky hummed, gently shaking the alien’s shoulder. It would be a lot easier if Antennae clung to his back. “Wakey-wakey…”

Antennae’s face scrunched again, then he yawned and nuzzled into Pinky’s chest instead.

He looked so peaceful. It would go against Pinky’s little shoulder angel to wake him up now. What had he been thinking?

After a few minutes of searching through bottom drawers, Pinky found a soft kitchen sponge that hadn’t been removed from its packaging yet. It would make a perfect bed. Pinky pulled it out of the package, carefully maneuvering it out of the drawer while trying not to jostle Antennae too much.  

Another drawer had several white, fluffy hand towels. They seemed clean enough, so Pinky slung two towels over his free shoulder and climbed out.

He laid one of the towels on the floor, then pushed the sponge on top. Cold feet weren’t fun in the morning nor in show business. Then he laid Antennae on the sponge and covered him with the second towel.

Antennae’s hand clung to Pinky’s fur, so Pinky loosened the grip and tucked the wayward hand under the towel.

“You’ll be alright,” Pinky whispered, stretching out his sore arms. Maybe he’d carried Antennae for a bit too long. But Pinky’s arms would be ready for more wheel-running tomorrow.

Now that both of his hands were free, Pinky grabbed a bandage roll which had been lying near a Bunsen burner. He’d have to thank Mr. Bunsen for letting him borrow these bandages later.

Pinky carefully removed the socks – maybe they were more shoes? Oh, well. He removed the shoe-socks from Antennae’s feet and laid them on the towel-rug. Since Antennae hadn’t been on his feet since the UFO, the cuts seemed to be healing just fine.

Pinky carefully bandaged the heels and folded the towel-blanket over Antennae’s feet once he was finished. Then he brought the baggie of tiny stars over and placed them next to the shoe-socks.

He climbed up to the counter briefly to wash his hands, humming Happy Birthday as he lathered with the honey-scented soap.

“Thank you, Silver’s Anatomy,” Pinky said to the TV remote, which teetered over the edge of the VCR. He turned to Mr. Button, still lying on his straw bed in the cage. “Sorry, Mr. Button. I’m sleeping elsewhere tonight. Here, you can have Nicholas so you won’t be lonely. Try not to keep him up too late, okay?”

He rolled Nicholas the Nickel into the cage and settled him near Mr. Button. They seemed happy. Mr. Button would no doubt be gossiping about the ballpoint pens again.  

Pinky yawned and went back to the floor. It had been an eventful day, and he was very tired.

The towel-rug seemed very inviting…

Pinky buried his face into the towel fluff. Antennae had been twitching throughout Pinky’s counter business, but he stilled again once Pinky curled up.

Pinky fell asleep, dreaming of cheese and Pharfignewton and a deep, faraway voice. It was a lovely dream, except the voice couldn’t join Pinky and Pharfignewton in their little cheese and apple picnic. It seemed unwilling. Pinky made sure to save a few slices of cheddar and provolone for him. Maybe he’d take it afterward.

o-o-o-o-o

When the sunlight hit his eyes, Pinky leapt with joy. Early wheel runs were the best! So were mid-morning runs, and noon runs, and evening runs!

Except he couldn’t move. He could still wiggle his fingers and toes, but his hands were tied behind his back, purple yarn binding his ankles as well. His entire tail was still free though. He swished his tail just to be sure.

He shimmied over to the drawer and pressed his back against it, managing to sit up. Though he wanted to run on his wheel, being tied up was a fun game too.

Antennae wasn’t on the sponge bed though. Where was he? He was missing out!

Pinky wondered if he should just untie himself and find Antennae. The knots didn’t seem that hard. Though it was hard to tell for sure if it was a slipknot or an overhand knot. He really should’ve paid attention in knot-tying class.

Five minutes later, Antennae stomped over in his ripped shoe-socks, though little strips of bandage poked out.

Pinky smiled. If Antennae was stomping, his feet must be healing fast. And then he’d be okay again.  

However, Antennae didn’t seem to think so.

“Wipe that ridiculous expression from your face, Terran,” Antennae scowled, his foot tapping impatiently. “Hand over all the information you know. I want answers, and I want them now.”  

AN note: I’d like to give credit to @pluto-art for her wonderful drawing of Brain as a cute little alien.  With the way she posed him, I knew I wanted to incorporate that somewhere and this chapter seemed like a good place to do it! I meant to credit her last chapter for the blaster idea but I forgot so I’m rectifying that now.  

Fig’s off to the races! Literally.

After the wringer I stuck him through last chapter, Brain seriously needed some cuddles. He’s a little touch-starved. Also, he’s a bad guest. Don’t tie your friend up, Brain. That’s just rude.