#back pages denver

[sleepanonymous]

After Red Rocks, when I got out of my post-concert shower I laid in bed and made this list so I wouldn't forget some important details of the ritual. I was gonna turn this into a cohesive post but I'm home and I'm lazy so you get screenshots instead 😅

[x-on-the-calendar-business]

exploring panic!'s a fever you can't sweat out/live in denver boxset

a couple of years ago, i managed to snag this for $150, which is still crazy to me, and it's definitely my favorite thing i've ever owned. i feel like i haven't seen many people detailing the contents of it, and since it's such a cool relic, i wanted to share this beauty with everyone.

it comes with the live in denver dvd (left) and a fever you can't sweat out cd (right). the cover art and discs are SO fucking pretty and cool i'm so obsessed with them. i love how it really feeds into that 20s/30s theme they had going on this era.

then it has these 4 photo cards which are all such beautiful photos. the first one especially is one of my all time favorite panic photos. the b&w filter also fits this era so well.

this is a phenakistiscope. you stand in front of a mirror and spin it around while looking through the cracks so it looks like the girl is dancing (instructions are included on the back).

this is a tour program for the live in denver tour. it includes all the tour dates, as well as a guide to their discography. including pictures of the inside would exceed my image limit, so if anyone wants a post detailing this item, i'd be more than happy to post that!

self explanatory but it's a mask reminiscent of the but it's better if you do music video.

there's this SUPER cool poster that i'd love to hang up on my wall but i'm too scared to in case it ruins it. i'm actually so obsessed with this thing.

this is something else i can't include detailed pictures of due to the image limit, but honestly there isn't a lot of lore or super interesting stuff inside of it. however, i'd still be happy to detail it more in another post.

there's this GORGEOUS notebook that i'm also too scared to actually do anything with. it is actually quite a thick notebook. i looove the detail of the "PANIC!" barely visible in the middle of the pages.

now onto my absolute favorite part of this thing:

these cards for each song on fever are SO fucking cool and i love them so much. they're printed on really nice material too; they don't feel cheap and have this grainy feel to them too (idk how else to describe it) and it works so well. luckily i'm able to post individual pictures of each one.

so the back of all of them have the lyrics printed like that but i won't be able to post pictures of that for each one.

they just all encapsulate the theme of each song perfectly while also fitting so well with the aesthetic that they had this era. like my jaw dropped when i saw these for the first time. (side note: i'm not sure why they numbered intermission as number 12 when it should be 8 based on the album. i also don't know why they skipped introduction since they included intermission).

all in all, this is the coolest piece of merch a band has ever put out imo. like no one is doing it like this anymore. i'd been yearning for it since i was 14 so i'm so glad i was able to find it as such a steal of a price. i'll never shut up about owning it and if you're able to get your hands on it i cannot recommend it enough.

[forpiratereasons]

i found a genre of longform videos that is just 8-10 hours of someone driving around freeways during thunderstorms and i have a lot of thoughts about this but also: stede the driver who films long pov driving vids and extremely stressed ed who gets addicted to his channel

it's meditative, and it reminds ed of being in the car with his mum, driving across aotearoa. he feels like she's there with him sometimes. but the more he watches, the more he becomes aware of the driver--a sigh here, the shuffle of fabric in the seat there.

there's almost no information about him on his channel, the gentleman driver, not even a name or a pic, and ed becomes a little fixated on picking up details about him. doesn't happen often, but once or twice ed catches the driver humming a few beats before falling silent again, clearing a throat, sighing, clicking his throat like he's talking silently to himself.

once, on hour six of a ten hour vid, ed's rewarded by the view of an elegant hand reaching across the screen to grab something that must be on the dash in front of the camera. four seconds ed plays over and over.

"is there someone in the car with you while you drive?" ed asks in a comment. "or is it just you?"

the gentleman driver writes back, "just me and the open road!"

maybe it's the format that makes ed ask, the anonymity. maybe he's just half asleep. "don't you ever get lonely?"

it's days before the gentleman driver writes back again. "do you?"

ed's not got an answer for that. or, he does, but not one he's willing to face head on. he asks instead how the gentleman driver chooses his routes.

the driver doesn't get very many comments and definitely not very many questions, and soon they're having little conversations in the comments of every video. ed gets another glimpse of that elegant hand, with a big turquoise ring, freckled forearm; hears another few bars of 'here comes the sun' hummed.

then the driver does something new: he stops at a rest stop.

and he leaves the camera rolling.

ed watches in rapt fascination as the driver crosses the screen in front of the car, goes into the rest stop. blond hair, broad shoulders, floral shirt. he's actually wearing jeans for an eight hour drive which is insane, and ed gets a glimpse of his profile as he smiles. insane.

if the driver's ever stopped before, it's been very carefully edited out. maybe he forgot this one. maybe he wanted ed to see. that's delusional, ed thinks, but he still navigates to the driver's about page and pokes around until he finds an email address.

nice shirt, he sends.

oh god, the driver sends back, and the video disappears from his page half an hour later. i forgot the editing. i'm sorry if it was distracting.

no, i liked it, ed tells him. it was nice to see the man behind the steering wheel. and then, hesitating only a bit, he adds: i'm ed.

hello, the driver writes. i'm stede.

the emails go on, and on, and eventually they turn into texts too, and promises from stede to check in on his longer drives, to "call if you ever need someone to keep you awake."

"i'm supposed to be sending you to sleep," stede argues.

"i'll sleep better knowing that you're safe," ed writes back.

the next video stede posts, he lets the camera run all the way until he's pulled into a parking spot at a roadside motel just outside of denver. the camera runs one minute, then five, and any reasonable person would've turned it off by now, but ed waits until he hears, very quietly: "safe and sound, now. go to sleep. goodnight."

is it stupid, to think you can fall in love with someone after just one sentence? is it still stupid, if that one sentence repeats at the end of every new video?

then one night the phone rings. it's late, dark out, and ed knows stede was doing a drive that wouldn't have him at his next stop until nearly one in the morning. he picks up. "hello?"

"oh, ed," the voice says. "you've no idea how good you sound just now."

it's a voice he's only heard before in hums and whispers, but it doesn't matter. lots of things about love are stupid, ed decides. this isn't one of them.

stede's blown a tire. "i'm okay," he insists. "i was just hoping for some company while i wait for the tow."

"where are you?"

"middle of nowhere," stede says, but when he names the spot, it's only two hours out. ed can be there faster than a tow probably would, and there's a note of anxiety in stede's voice he doesn't much like.

he's got his shoes on and his keys in his hand before he can think twice.

stede hems and haws but in all his fussing he doesn't actually tell ed not to come, and he stays on the line while ed piles blankets in the car and as he gets behind the wheel and as he sets out on the freeway. he stays on the line and they talk until they're both creaky with exhaustion and dry air, and then they're quiet, just like in stede's videos, but together this time. then ed crests over a hill and there it is: a car pulled off to the side with its hazard lights blinking. reminds ed of a lighthouse. 'i'm here,' the lights say. 'i'm here.'

he pulls to a stop behind, starts his own hazards. the driver side door of the car opens, and then there's a leg, and a body, and there he is. stede. he's still got his phone pressed to his ear; ed can hear him breathing.

"i'm going to get out," ed says.

"okay," stede says.

it takes another long moment, watching stede stand there in the dark, waiting for him. stede, with his hair and his voice and his hands and the way the quiet in him already feels like home.

"i might kiss you," ed says.

he watches stede swallow, hard. eyes widen. "okay," he says.

ed reaches for the handle. pops the door open. puts one foot out on the pavement and looks up to meet stede's eyes as his cabin lights come on, as the car starts to ding its door-open warning.

"oh," stede says.

ed takes a step. they both still have their phones in their hands, their breathes in each other's ear. ed takes a step and takes a step until he can reach out to take stede's phone from him. press the call end button.

"hi," he says.

stede kisses him.

after that there are other, shyer hellos, and other, more awkward ones too. there are ten minutes to a 24-hour macdo drive-thru for coffee and another ten to a motel and a late night that becomes an early morning by way of conversation. there's laughter, and more kisses, and careful fingers learning the planes of each other's faces. in the morning there's breakfast and a tow truck and an invitation to a place just two hours away.

and there's a long break in updates to the gentleman driver's channel.

when he comes back, weeks later, his update schedule isn't quite as frequent, and his drives don't usually go as far. there's giggles sometimes, in the background, like there might be someone else in the car with him.

"do you miss it," ed asks. "driving the long drives?"

"no," stede says. "i found what i was looking for."

*

@ kninjaknitter also podficced this one!

[coltermorning]

Of Love and Loss Ch. 20 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: You and Arthur finally find solace in a town and in each other, breaking down every last wall that remains.

Author’s Notes: Sexual content in this chapter. Chapter twenty of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, smut, loss of virginity, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

~

Of Love and Loss

Twenty: The Power of a Name

Word count: 6609

She really thought I would leave her here. What nonsense, especially after what happened in the last town and how much it haunts her. I suppose I’ll be seeing this journey through to the end. Either that, or long enough for her to tell me to get lost. Surprisingly, that ain’t happened quite yet, though I ain’t holding out hope that it won’t after how much of a fool I been towards her. We shall see, I guess.

~

It had taken ten more days to get back to civilization. The town of Ogallala was small but growing fast due to the rail built through it. Arthur knew it made you nervous to be around this many people again, but the law in this town was sparse, and the two of you kept your heads down well enough and found a hotel tucked away to stay hidden in in the meantime. If anyone came through looking for you, they’d have to go door to door to find you, and many of the townsfolk weren’t local besides. That meant no real reason to turn in two people folk hadn’t really noticed in the first place. That left Arthur calm enough not to worry over your safety like he had been the past week and a half. And that left him more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

It turned out you were nervous about more than just the law and the local population—he’d had to wriggle it out of you, but Arthur finally figured out you thought the local train station meant his departure. Your final destination wasn’t far, and you had thought he was impatient enough to get back to his gang that he would take the first train to Denver and leave you here to fend for yourself. He couldn’t begin to explain how wrong you were and had instead led you to the hotel without a word, a little miffed you thought he cared that little about you. Then again, he hadn’t outright expressed much reason for you to think otherwise, and he was starting to think it was time to. You’d immediately collapsed onto the bed upon arrival, worn from all the hard travel, so he didn’t have a chance to speak his mind anyway. Later, he told himself. Though he was in denial about the fact that very soon, there wouldn’t be a later.

Arthur sat on the floor beside the bed and chewed on a bit of cooked deer meat Beth had insisted the two of you take, looking over his journal to pass the time. Really, he wondered what to say to you. He wasn’t the best with words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He thought of writing it down but had come up with his pitiful new journal entry instead, cowardly as ever. Then, annoyed, he turned back a page, knowing exactly what he would find. He didn’t know why it surprised him. But there you were, laid out on that bed in that barn, half-naked save for his coat. And underneath, your name. Your real name, written out after he’d finished every last gentle curve and arc of your body. He never thought knowing a name would be such an honor, but he realized that it had been your way of expressing to him what he had yet to express to you—how much you cared for him. It was obvious he felt the same, obvious in the few stolen kisses he’d gotten since what had happened in that worn down barn. But maybe the pair of you hadn’t come together like that since because he was the one holding back, not you. And that left him shameful.

Arthur looked over at you on the bed, your back steadily rising and falling in sleep. You were faced away, so he couldn’t see much of you apart from your hand draped over the bedside. Even that small glimpse of you had him thinking of how little time there was left between you and how precious this closeness was. It was time for him to admit things he never normally would or risk letting them fester within him, nothing more than regret that would chafe like hell the farther away he got from you.

Arthur stowed the deer meat and went back to studying the drawing of you. One thing he liked most about it was the look on your face—the smile. Upon first meeting you, he never would have thought someone so heartbroken could eventually be so willful again. That smile was catlike, just for him. It turned him on a little. And the rest of the drawing didn’t make matters better, nor did the thought of what the two of you had done together to cause that smile.

Arthur thought of other ways you had surprised him, as you continued to do every day. How good of a shot you were, for one. Hell, just the thought of you being so good with a gun you’d snapped that noose clean in half had him hard. Then his mind drifted to your hands wrapped around a gun, and just like that, he was lost.

Arthur’s eyes followed the curve of your breast in his coat as he thought of how argumentative you were, the way you snapped at him without fear time and again. He was used to being intimidating enough to make everyone else hold their tongue, but not you. You let him have it.

And your mouth. The way you kissed him despite not quite knowing how—it was unfair to be so good at it. Unfair to be so innocent yet so arousing. Timid yet wild, broken yet strong. All of it.

Arthur let out an annoyed breath at how aroused he had become, setting his journal aside and turning to look at you. He wouldn’t leave you again, but he was suddenly desperate to take himself in hand, something he would rather not do in front of you, asleep or not. But, he considered, you had just fallen asleep. It could be hours. You weren’t a very heavy sleeper, but he could be quiet. He could…shit. He shouldn’t be considering this. But he thought of you waking up and catching him in the act, and that made things immeasurably worse. How would you respond? That put a smile on his face. You’d never seen him naked, nor any man if he had to guess. He loved seeing that shy, surprised look on your face his overly confident words brought, and he had no doubt the sight of him pleasuring himself would make you go so red it would leave you speechless for once. Or maybe it wouldn’t, and maybe you would be curious enough to crawl off that bed and come over here, crawl in his lap and-

“Christ,” Arthur whispered, in the same sorry state he had been in that bath, thinking then of what he would do with you on the first bed you’d shared. Only now, he had no reason to feel guilty over wanting you like that. He had half a mind you wanted the same from him. Or he hoped you did, at least. If how you had responded to his touch the last time was any indication, you certainly did.

And then Arthur was thinking of what he knew he shouldn’t be, because it would lead to his hand drifting downward when he really shouldn’t allow for such things. He thought of his fingers between your legs, all those perfect sounds you made. He thought of your whispered fervor, the words don’t stop cutting through him worse than any bullet. He wanted that again. By God, he was desperate enough to wake you for it. But he wouldn’t. He would let you rest and have what little peace he could offer. Because what he was considering wasn’t quite peace so much as it was demanding, outright gratification. A desperation he could no longer tame and one he hoped to drag from you right alongside him. But again, as much as it killed him, he would wait for your desire to match his. And as he pulled another cigarette out of his ever-dwindling stash to distract him in the meantime, he knew what he felt for you must be real—nothing had ever nagged him so bad as to make him more honorable. And there was something to be said for that.

~

Two months and fifteen days. You woke up to the ceiling of yet another rented room, plagued by the thought of your parents’ deathdate. Your mother had been keeping up with the days, if only for some way to pass the time, and here you were doing the same two and a half months later, nearly to the day. It had been a Wednesday. The ninth of September. And now it was nearing the end of November, and all you could hold onto was how much you regretted not marking their graves with their birthdates and deathdates. With crosses bearing names you were proud to display but couldn’t bear to part with at the time, just like your own.

You looked to the windows lining the wall, noting the gray sky beyond. It was snowing again. It had been for nearly the entirety of the past week, though part of you wished it would give. There were many things you wished would give, namely the ache in your chest at the constant absence of your parents’ guidance. As far as you had come without it, you knew you could survive on your own, but that guidance was a crutch you would have loved to feel one last time. Comforting in its surrender.

Your eyes flicked to the man propped up against the wall, one leg bent at the knee and hat slung low over his eyes. He was either asleep or resting, and you didn’t want to disturb him either way. He didn’t allow himself to do so very often after the two of you had gotten so tangled with the law, but he deserved this. He was toughened, hardened by a life you would never have come out of alive. It made him strong in a way you wanted to grant respite to. Strong in a way you knew he never would himself. Stubborn, more like, but you couldn’t deny you recognized that only because you were the same.

Turning on the bed, a loud creak resulted that had Arthur raising his hat brim to look at you. Part of you wanted to pretend to be dozing anyway like you used to do as a child, but you met his eye instead. Held that stare until it turned contemplative. Until you were both looking beyond the eyes into the soul beneath.

“Didn’t want to sleep up here?” you said softly.

Arthur looked to the window, like of all things, that was what finally made him meek.

“You needed some sleep. And didn’t leave me much room besides.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. When he turned back to you, all you could say was, “It’s snowing again.”

“Yeah,” he said in a manner that made you recall the secret he had bestowed to you—something no one else knew about him. Your very own piece of him.

“And you don’t like the cold, do you?” you teased.

He scoffed. “No.”

Stubborn and gruff. You were grinning as you said, “That’s too bad. Guess I don’t have to face my shortcomings quite like you do.”

“Meanin’?” he said, annoyance in his voice though you knew he was curious enough not to drop it.

“The postman,” you admitted. Then he was letting out a laugh.

“I guess not.” He shook his head and looked back to the gray light of the nearest window. And something about doing what you had just done to ground yourself made you ache for him.

“Come up here.”

The words were out of your mouth in a second. There wasn’t an ounce of regret in you, not even when he looked to you with questioning eyes.

You scooted back and patted the bed in front of you. He didn’t make a fuss about it—just rose and walked over, his spurs jingling with each step. He swiped his hat from his head and sat, holding your eye as he folded his lumbering frame down on the bed beside you. You lay facing each other when he set his hat on your head, an action so fond you nearly choked up with it.

He smiled at you, likely because of the way his hat was much too big and sat crookedly, covering one of your eyes completely. You had the sudden urge to give him yours, but it was on the floor behind you, and you wouldn’t move enough to ruin this perfect moment with him. He was never so…tender. Especially not with the way he looked at you. Like it was a privilege to do so.

You tilted his hat so you could see him out of both eyes and smiled at him. “What?”

He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. “Just…”

He took a moment. You would have given him all the time in the world to know what that look was for.

“You,” he admitted on an outward breath. “Ain’t what I expected.”

“How so?”

His eyes flicked away then, like he wasn’t used to this kind of talk. He obviously wasn’t, as you’d never gotten this much from him before, but it still softened you to see him so nervous over it. Like he was trying hard to get the words right.

“I didn’t expect you to be so…alive.”

Blue eyes met yours on the last word, and they nearly took your breath. Because he understood you in a way you hadn’t realized. You’d never been so proud to be called such a mundane thing. But it meant the world to you.

“I didn’t either,” you admitted. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

He made a huff of surprise. Or maybe disbelief.

“I mean it,” you told him. “As much as you like to grate on my nerves, I think you’re good for me.”

“Am I?” he said, a tease in his tone.

“You are.”

“Well, I…” He trailed off, his gaze averting again. His breathing quickened and grew heavy. You were willing to bet he would kill for a cigarette right about now. But you let his words hang, hoping he would finish. Hoping he would voice what you already felt.

“I’m glad I met you,” he said lowly. “You’re pretty damn good for me too, and I ain’t just saying that because you saved my neck.”

You chuckled. “No?”

He shook his head, those blue eyes flashing. But your gaze was suddenly drawn to his throat, to the subtle line you hadn’t noticed before. He had remnants of that noose on his skin, a slightly reddish-purple scar on his throat. It looked to be healing still, like he may rid himself of it yet. You hoped he did. That was a grim reminder of something he hadn’t deserved.

Without really thinking, you reached out and touched his skin, running your thumb over the edge of the mark. He flinched but didn’t push back.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

He shrugged this off, catching your wrist and tugging it away. “Ah, I’ll survive yet. Besides, look at you now. You would have been fine without me.”

“No.” You met his eyes, needing him to know how serious you were. “No, I wouldn’t have.”

He stumbled a little over your hard gaze but went on. “I have no doubt you could have made it to your folks without me by that point.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

Again, he hesitated. Just watched you.

“I would have been heartbroken all over again, Arthur.”

This shocked him. Surprisingly, after everything the two of you had been through and blatantly felt for each other, he was still taken aback to hear that you cared so much.

“I couldn’t—can’t—do this without you.”

He studied you for a beat. Then, a little gruffly, “Me neither.”

It was your turn to be shocked.

“I mean…” he went on, trying hard to get his words right. “I don’t want to.”

And there it was. Just what you had been hoping so deep down that you wouldn’t even admit it to yourself—how much you wanted him to stay. How badly you hoped he would pick you over his old life.

“Me either,” you whispered.

His eyes flicked back and forth between yours, his hand finding the side of your face. You thought he would speak again, but instead he leaned forward and brought his lips to yours. It was all you ever needed to know, better than any word he could speak.

Within seconds, you moved into him, closing the space between your bodies. The kiss was slow but loving, just like the two of you. Slow to admit anything to each other but sure of it once that fondness was shared.

You broke away from him, finally finding your courage. “When we get to North Platte, I’d like you to consider staying. With me.”

The look he leveled you with was devastating. Pure shock. Awe at being so adored.

Instead of answering, his strong arms came around you and pulled you down, turning you beneath him as he kissed you. He kissed you hard, and you returned it. The act was plenty answer enough about how he felt.

Before you had even a measure of your fill of him, he broke away. But then he moved down, his mouth finding your throat just like it had in that old barn.

This, you thought. This, with him, was all there was. And you wanted all of him.

“Arthur,” you breathed, his lips like fire lighting your skin. He stopped and met your eye. “Teach me.”

His gaze went dark, but he asked anyway. “Teach you what?”

“All of it. I want all of you.”

He studied you. Then, quietly, “You sure?”

“More than I’ve ever been.”

His mouth crashed to yours. His hands skimmed against your sides until he grabbed your hips and pinned them flat to the bed. Then he was moving down again, fervent. Deliberate as he started with your boots, just like the last time. You were a bundle of anticipation as you watched him, felt him. But this time, you wouldn’t stand for him to do all the work himself.

Once he had your shoes off, you came forward and pushed him down to the bed instead. You knelt over him and started taking off his boots, unbuckling his gun belt. You didn’t care that you hadn’t done this and didn’t know what in the hell to do other than copy what he had done to you the last time. You shed your own coat and leaned forward, kissing him as you ran your arms through the sleeves, shedding the burly garment. And you kept kissing him as you brought his coat over his shoulders, letting him lean up as you pulled it away from his back and arms. Once he had one arm free, he wrapped it around you and pulled you tight against him as he kissed you hard, landing you right in his lap. His tongue was desperate against yours, and you could feel every inch of your arousal explode at the feeling of him so close. Of what was to come.

Eventually, the two of you parted enough for him to get more of your layers off. But your focus was never so sharp as it became when you went to undo the buttons of his shirt and union suit. Each inch of skin revealed was a gift. He was muscled and broad, with hair lining his chest and scars on his slightly freckled skin. One jagged pink line just under his collarbone drew your eye, and you kissed it. Your mouth was never so addicted to someone as it was when you started kissing his chest, moving upward, toward his neck. Then, finally, his mouth. Nothing was ever so perfect. He let out a satisfied breath and laid back down, content to let you kiss him. You were just the same. You suddenly wished you could draw like he could so that you could record this moment in your memory forever—what it looked like. You on top of him in nothing but your chemise and pants, sure as you kissed him. Him splayed below you, perfectly content to be there, his broad body encompassing yours and his shirt and union suit halfway off. That was doing things to you that you couldn’t explain. Your barely covered breasts were pushed up against his bare chest, and the heat and friction it brought was pure pleasure. Not to mention his mouth and how fully he took you, exploring every inch of you. One of his hands had fallen to your backside and was squeezing you with the slightest pressure but over and over again so that your bodies moved together. It was so good you needed more.

Finally finding the will to back off him again, you took his shirt and threw it aside before beginning to unbutton his pants. His head fell back to the bed, and he let out a low groan when your hands worked over what you were willing to guess was the most sensitive part of him. The anticipation to see his bare body ate at you so that you sped up, slipping his pants from his long, muscled legs. All that remained on him was the bottom half of his union suit, and the material was thin enough for you to see the outline of a hard bit of muscle running alongside his thigh and toward his belly. You knew next to nothing about a man’s anatomy but knew this was how one differed from a woman. So, without really thinking, you laid your hand on him there. He let out a groan so arousing you wanted this to happen already, wanted to feel that pleasure he had wrought from you so easily before.

You moved back up his body and started kissing him when he flipped you again, laying you underneath him. The sight was, again, something you’d never forget. Those broad, strong shoulders your gaze kept snagging on shifted and flexed as he worked the buttons of your pants. His chest did too, every scar moving under his strength. His arms were equally distracting, and you knew then it was no wonder people were easily intimidated by him. But you weren’t. And you admired every inch of him you could see as he slid your pants off and made to push your chemise up your chest.

“I’m making the same deal with you as before,” he said lowly as he admired your body. “You don’t like anything about this, and you tell me. I’ll stop.” His eyes met yours in their sincerity.

“You know I won’t stop you,” you breathed, the words coming out feminine and needy.

“We got a deal?” he said anyway.

You nodded. And because you remembered he preferred you to say it aloud, “Yes.” Then he pushed your chemise up and over your breasts, over your head and arms until he was dragging it all away. All your hesitation and inexperience, gone. All of it lost in the wake of his want of you.

He immediately brought his mouth down to your nipple, the feeling of warmth it brought just like last time. You’d forgotten how perfect it felt. You brought your hand to the back of his head, playing with the short strands as your mouth fell open in pleasure. He was moving against you this time, his heavy body lining against yours in a way that drove you mad.

You let out a moan at a particularly harsh swirl of his tongue, then did it again when his free hand found your other breast. God above, you could feel this for an eternity and never tire of it. But this wasn’t just about you.

Your hand slid down his muscled back, down until it reached the edge of his union suit. You wanted it off. Wanted him bare, completely.

You started to tug at the fabric when Arthur’s hands shifted, and his mouth moved away just enough for him to get his balance as he stripped his remaining clothes away. You watched him in awe. You watched as he turned slightly to get the union suit over his feet, the sight of his bare side so muscled and strong like the rest of him wholly distracting. But it wasn’t until he turned back toward you that your gaze caught and held. You could feel his eyes on you, could sense his amusement in his resulting chuckle, but you didn’t care. What you had touched before between his legs was now free of any clothing, a hard line of muscle just like the rest of him that stood erect against his body. The sight alone swallowed you in arousal.

He clambered closer, beginning to speak. “You-”

Your hand was around that proud length before he could say another word. He hissed a breath at your touch, and you quickly let go, thinking you’d done something wrong.

“Christ, woman,” he mumbled, nearly falling on top of you in his fervor to kiss you again.

“I’m sorry,” you said into his mouth, not knowing what it was you’d been trying, only that you couldn’t resist.

He pulled away and looked into your eyes, his gaze full and heavy as the smirk beneath it. “Shit, don’t apologize. I’d prefer you did it again if it wouldn’t cut this meetin’ so short.”

You were more confused by that than anything but didn’t respond, especially when he leaned down to kiss you and you felt that length against your thigh, hard and impossible to ignore.

You moaned into his mouth, feeling his hand begin to skim down your side. His fingers brushed over the bumpy, scarred skin near your ribs and hesitated. He broke away, looking down at the scar he had mended back together himself. His fingers ran across it, caressing it. A wordless apology for what had happened to you. The touch made conflicting emotions fight to be free from deep within you. Because the scar was a painful reminder of what would never go away, a loss so potent you could cry over it even now. But you wouldn’t, because you were equally as enthralled with Arthur’s loving touch, with how he had stitched you back together both physically and emotionally. He was still doing it to this day. And the touch was a tangible reminder—how much he would surrender himself over to you just to make you somewhat whole again. Something you’d never thought you would be gifted by him but, you were beginning to learn, something he did naturally. Kind, selfless man.

Arthur brought his mouth down to your side and pressed a kiss to that scar, tender and patient. It nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, needing to put your thoughts elsewhere. Needing him to put the pieces of you back together again one more time.

He obliged you. All sadness was lost as his hand drifted downward and between your legs, a blazing heat taking its place. Just like before, he worked his fingers against you as a slickness gathered there, urging you to rock against him. And you did, a bundle of anticipation over waiting for what you had felt last time—his finger sliding inside of you. But he took his time and circled his thumb around those nerves again, making you arch into his touch.

After enough of this, it turned into a pleasurable sort of torture. You broke the kiss. “Arthur,” you warned, though it sounded more like begging. And perhaps you were.

He let out a low laugh that caught on every inch of your arousal. “Just making sure you’re ready for me. Don’t want to hurt you, darlin’.”

Darling. How endearing. Now that was a nickname you could grow used to.

You considered what else he’d said and remembered that slight feeling of discomfort at his finger moving inside of you, like your body wasn’t used to such things. But you also remembered how good it felt to get beyond that feeling, that and his chosen nickname enough to have you wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him back down in a kiss. He let out a low noise this time, more of a satisfied breath. And it was enough to have your tongue finding his as his finger dipped inside of you. You froze, completely focused on the feeling. Arthur took control of the kiss, of everything, as he moved his hand against you. You were breathing heavy in seconds, the feeling beyond satisfaction.

After enough of this for that curling feeling to take hold deep within you, he slipped another finger into you. You were wrong before. That was beyond satisfaction. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you couldn’t kiss him anymore as you rocked against his hand, completely caught up in those thick fingers moving so persistently. He didn’t miss a beat, his mouth going to your neck instead, pressing hot kisses to the spot just below your ear as you panted for him.

The feeling from before, that explosive feeling you so wanted to experience again, was nearing. “Please,” you whispered, desperate for it. But before Arthur could drag it out of you, his fingers were slipping away. You nearly whimpered at the loss, looking down to see why he’d stopped. Your heartbeat pounded through you, right between your legs, when you saw where he moved. He was settling between your legs, the hard length of him running against the inside of your thigh. And you understood then exactly what this was, what you had asked of him and what he was about to do. To be fit together so perfectly, so completely, that there was no beginning or end between you.

He met your eyes, boxing you in completely beneath his heavy body. “You sure you want this?” His voice was rough with his own arousal.

“Desperately,” you breathed.

That made him smirk, the look of it so perfect on his face you wanted to kiss it away. But he beat you to it, his mouth coming down on yours. And in seconds, his full weight was against your body, and he pushed his hips into yours until you felt the head of his length slip inside of you. You moaned, your head falling back to the bed with how perfect and full it felt, and Arthur grunted as his hands found your head and he devoured you in a kiss, his hips moving slowly and carefully, in and out as shallowly as he could.

You couldn’t get air down but didn’t care as the feeling of him moving inside of you stretched you wide. He went deeper with every rock of his hips, the small bout of pain returning like it had before, but you didn’t stop him. Wouldn’t dare. It was more pleasurable than it was harsh, and besides, it was doing things to him, not just you. Things you wanted to hear and feel from him every moment. He was as lost as you were, beginning to pick up his pace as his mouth on yours became distracted.

You were soon both panting, both riding on pleasure so full and growing fuller the deeper he rocked into you. He finally broke the kiss, bearing all focus on where your bodies met. By now he was so deep inside of you it was impossible to think of him never not being there, like he belonged there. And the thought alone of him taking you like this, making you his, was forcing that tension deep within you to ratchet up at every thrust.

You whined his name. He groaned low and rough in response, shifting his hands to your hips to hold you steady beneath him as he thrust hard. It felt so good you knew you would be unraveling again in seconds. And, to add to that perfect build, you brought one leg up and hooked it around him, making for a better angle for him to sink into you. It was immediately euphoric.

“Y/N,” he groaned, a desperate plea.

And that—the power in that utterance, your name on his lips—was your undoing.

You let out a small cry as your pleasure snapped in two.

He cursed a filthy word, and your world constricted to the feel of him inside of you, rocking those beautiful hips, pulling every ounce of pleasure your body could give. It shot through every part of you. It tore you apart and put you back together all at once. Just like his fondness for you did.

You were letting out one long whine for him when your senses came back. And, you realized, he was saying something. Your name. He was saying your name like a prayer. Never in your life were you so proud for someone to have it, for someone to use it in this way. So reverent and honored by it, like it was a gift to know it and a privilege to speak it.

You loved him then. You were sure of it.

Arthur’s pace stuttered a moment before a breath rattled through his chest and he pulled back, sliding out of you. He half-collapsed on top of you, something warm and wet meeting the skin of your stomach as he groaned like a man utterly unraveled. You knew then he was experiencing the same pleasure you just had. Knowing you’d both felt it, together, because of each other…you were so proud that the feeling fought to be free from your chest.

Arthur drew in each labored breath above you, only propped up by one strong forearm now. The other fell lazily over you as he held the side of your face like he would never release you again. His hair fell over his gaze, and only when he looked up at you did you smile. Just for him.

“Pretty girl,” he murmured, running his thumb along your cheekbone as he went back to attempting to control his breathing.

You blushed under those words but pushed through the flattered feeling it brought you and said what you couldn’t resist. “Was that- was I…okay?”

He scoffed a laugh. “You kidding?”

“I don’t exactly know what I’m doing-”

He cut you off with a less than innocent kiss and pulled back with that smirk on his face. “You were perfect.” He rolled to his back beside you, the bed creaking with his weight. Still, he sucked down air like he couldn’t catch it. That proudness of yours reared its head again at the sound. “So perfect,” he continued, “That I’m gonna need to do it all over again just to be sure it’s as perfect as I remember.”

Now that, you could get behind. Those muscles low in your belly were already tightening at the mere mention of again. But before you could turn to him and coax him into repeating the act, he was leaning over the side of the bed, his strong back flexing with the movement. The sound of his satchel opening and shutting filled the room, and then he had a black cloth in his hand and was touching it to your belly. Right—you’d forgotten about that wetness from before, and now you watched as he wiped whatever it was away.

“What’s that?” you had the courage to ask.

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to yours, and that incessant smirk returned. “‘Course,” he said, swiping the last of it away and tossing the cloth aside. “Forgot you knew as much about this as I do about living up in them mountains.”

“Very funny.”

He snickered. “It’s…well. When a man finds his pleasure, that’s what happens.” His expression filled with amusement as he shifted to his side, propping up on an elbow. “You don’t know nothing about this, do you? About being with child?”

You shook your head. “I figured sex leads to pregnancy, but I’ve never really thought past that.” And suddenly, the very idea had worry blooming sharp and fierce within you. “I won’t…I’m not going to get pregnant, am I?”

He snickered again and shook his head more with amusement than any sort of affirmation. “No, you won’t.”

“How are you so sure-”

“Relax,” he teased, drawing the word out. “The only way that could happen is if I’d done that inside of you.”

You felt Arthur’s smirking stare like a brand then, because just those words had your arousal flaring. Did part of you…want that?

You must have made a face, because Arthur pushed you on it. “What?”

“Nothing,” you insisted.

He chuckled, the sound making you turn away or risk admitting that particular genius.

“Can’t lie to me, darlin’.”

There was that word again. You turned back to him, finding you were watching his mouth of all things. “You finally landed on a decent nickname, then.”

“You like that one?”

God, his smile. The way he said those words. You were a mess of fondness over his annoyingly handsome face when you quipped, “Much better than the others.”

“What, nameless or sweetheart?”

You swatted at his bare chest and immediately regretted it when your hand met with hard muscle. “Damn you,” you muttered, but you were smiling as you said it. Stupid, perfect man. He smiled right back.

“At least you never have to call me nameless again,” you offered.

His smile turned thoughtful. Content. “No. I don’t.”

You remembered then how he had said your name before. It ate you up inside to think he had only used it in the moments that mattered most. The first time being when you’d offered it to him, something that led to your walls coming down right alongside his. Then moments ago, giving up the last pieces of yourselves to each other. And maybe that’s what that utterance had been to him—a surrender. The damning truth that you both felt too strongly to shy away from it any longer. There was no more space for reluctance to stay. There was no more time for it either.

You recalled your request before all this, asking him to stay with you. He’d never answered, but when he said your name with so much care, any worry about the matter vanished. Because there was love in that word. He felt for you just as you felt for him. And that was more answer than anything else he could have said because he had used the perfect word to make you understand—the word most important to you of any of them. Not a yes, but a confession. Not an acceptance, but a name. The one word you had left to hold dear. And looking at him now smiling down at you, you felt that fondness and understanding from him better than you’d ever felt it from anyone.

Instead of any response, you kissed him. Acceptance in your own form. And just as soft and supple as a yes on his lips, he kissed you back.

_________

Chapter twenty-one is here.

tag list: @nayomi247 @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445 @meet-me-backstage @marygillisapologist @formula1mount @oziozzioslo @lunawolfclaw @c1gs-coffee

[desertfangs]

Strange Happenings

I was listening to a podcast about Cattle Mutilations and then this happened. It's Armand/Daniel, circa 1975, a little more than 1000 words. I will put this in my short fic document on AO3 later.

Daniel’s blood went cold when he read the newspaper headline. He scoured the article and then checked that yes, this was the Denver paper, not some tabloid. He enjoyed a good tabloid story—and since learning that vampires were real, he suspected that some of the stranger things reported on in those rags were not entirely fiction—but this was a mainstream paper: cattle mutilations. 

He looked at the grisly photo of a cow with its guts hanging out, parts of it surgically removed. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed a swig of beer to wash it back down. Ash fell from his cigarette onto the paper and he wiped it away, ashing the cigarette in the ashtray on the small round bar table. 

He poured over the article several times. The article said some people were suggesting it was prank, while others had more out-there theories. The article did not go into the specifics of what these strange theories entailed but something unnatural was definitely implied. Daniel wondered what that meant. According to the article, incidents like these had been happening for months in different areas around the state. 

He was so absorbed in his reading that the movement of the chair across the table startled him and he jumped. 

Armand laughed. 

Bastard. 

The vampire had sat, looking pleased with himself at how easily he’d managed to sneak up on Daniel. As if he didn’t do it all the damn time. Daniel glanced out the window. He hadn’t even realized it had gotten dark. 

“What are you reading?” Armand asked, grabbing the newspaper and sliding it across the table before Daniel could answer. 

Armand scanned the page and frowned. Daniel studied him, waiting for his reaction. It didn’t take long. Armand didn’t have to read like a mortal. He could just look at something and absorb the information. He had once insisted to Daniel that he was reading, just faster than a mortal brain could ever manage.

“Well? Is that your kind’s doing?” 

Armand laughed again. “You think vampires would bother with such elaborate and silly games?” 

You seem to enjoy games, Daniel thought before catching himself, remembering how easily the vampire could hear his thoughts.

“I have no interest in the blood of cows,” Armand said. “Nor do I desire to hack pieces off large animals.” 

“No? Seems like it would be a fun weeknight activity for someone like you,” Daniel said, tone droll. He stubbed the butt of his cigarette against the ashtray and pulled the paper back in front of him. “Do you know what’s doing it?”

“Bored children, probably,” Armand said.

Daniel laughed. He couldn’t help it. What an absurd response! “You think kids are going out and hacking up farm animals?” 

Armand shrugged. “The article suggests as much.” 

It did say local teens were suspected in at least one of the incidents, a copycat prank. He tapped his fingers against the table. “So you don’t know of a creature that might do something like this?” 

Armand’s expression shifted, darkening almost imperceptibly. He titled his head and examined Daniel for a long moment while Daniel tried not to squirm uncomfortably  under the scrutiny. Then he said, “I’ve never heard of such a creature and I cannot fathom what form they would take.” 

Daniel sighed. He folded the newspaper up. “What about Bigfoot?”

Armand blinked. “Are you asking if I believe a giant ape man is carving up cattle?” 

Daniel shrugged. 

“I’ve told you before, Daniel, I have no knowledge of such things existing. I am immortal, I am not all knowing.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Daniel waved his hand and lit another cigarette. “Do you kill animals often?” 

Armand actually looked surprised for a moment, which made Daniel smile. It took a lot to throw Armand off kilter and Daniel took great pleasure in doing so. 

Armand reached across the table and snatched the cigarette from Daniel’s mouth at a speed that made it look as if the cigarette had flown into his hand of its own accord. Daniel’s heart raced but he tried not to show the jolt of primal fear that ran through him.

Armand held the cigarette between his fingers the way Daniel did, mimicking his motions. “Humans are animals,” he said idly. 

“You know that’s not what I mean. Louis said he survived on rats—"

Armand’s head shot up and there was danger in his amber eyes. Daniel swallowed uneasily and reached for his glass. “Do not think speaking to one of us at length makes you an expert. And even he told you that was not normal behavior.” 

Daniel took a swig of his beer. “I’m not an expert, that’s why I’m asking you.” 

Armand put the cigarette to his lips. He inhaled, and then pulled it from his mouth, staring at it like it had offended him somehow. “We survive on animal blood when there is no other alternative. It’s your blood—the blood of mortals—that truly sustains us. Nothing else is sufficient.” 

Armand stared meaningfully at Daniel’s neck as he spoke and Daniel’s hand went automatically to the spot where Louis had bitten him. It had been two years but he could still feel the ghost of the wound and he often wondered how it would feel to have Armand’s fangs in his neck.

Armand’s hand jutted forward, offering Daniel back his cigarette. He took it, fingers brushing Armand’s cool fingers. He wanted to grab his hand suddenly and hold it in his, to see if it would warm up in his grasp. But Armand had already stood, pushing his chair back. 

“Where are you going?” Daniel demanded, without really thinking. He should be relieved the vampire was going. He was ice cold and probably hadn’t fed, and here Daniel was, stupidly asking him all about blood. That was a recipe for getting himself on the menu. 

And yet he didn’t hate the idea. Vampires could drink without killing. 

Armand leaned over the table and brushed a stray hair out of Daniel’s face. “Indeed we can, but it’s not satisfying. When I drink, I ride the heart until it stops and all the life has bled out.” 

Daniel’s pulse raced, ice traveling down his spine. And then Armand was gone, almost as if he’d vanished into smoke. Daniel opened the newspaper again and tried to find something to distract himself, waving to the bartender for another beer. He sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to his hotel room alone until the sun was high in the sky and it was safe to do so. 

[featherandferns]

guilty as sin : where are they now?

jj maybank x routledge!fem!reader

word count: 700

read guilty as sin (part 1) | Thank you so so much for 1000 followers!!! Since starting this blog in May of 2023, I have written so many characters and storylines. I get so many lovely anon messages telling me about their favourite universes and wondering what happens next after my fics have ended. So, I thought to celebrate 1000 followers, I’d indulge. Here’s the (current) where are they now for all of my fics so far…

Raleigh airport was rather slow paced compared to Denver. People moved with minimal urgency and staff didn’t feel the need to yell at half-asleep passengers at three in the morning at TSA. It didn’t feel all that long ago that you were here last, but as a person, you feel years older. Your eyes stay steady on JJ, who’s wandered up to a departures board and is studying it intently. He turns around, half-smiles, and walks back over to you, hands in his pockets. 

“A’right,” he says once he’s near. “Says Gate B21. They ain’t boarding yet but…”

“I should probably go through soon,” you mumble, finishing his sentence for him. You purse your lips and look at the TSA queue. It’s not very long. Sensing your hesitance, JJ runs a hand down your arm, guiding your attention back to him. There’s a queasy smile on his face. It’s reassuring but also somewhat reluctant. 

“I’ll see you soon,” JJ says, “just two weeks.”

“In hell,” you mutter. 

Chuckling shortly, JJ shrugs. “Yeah, well, two weeks for a life in Kildare. A deal’s a deal.”

“True,” you sigh. “Just kinda wish you could come with.”

“Same.”

The PSA announcement for a different flight serves well as a prompt to go through TSA. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable. Besides, JJ was right: only two weeks. You had your bag full of ever growing art supplies, including the paints from JJ, to keep distracted. Your mom had “requested” you return to Colorado at least three times a year, one of which being for one of the holidays. It was finally time to hold up your end of the deal. 

“Well, guess I’ll see you later,” you say, smiling up at him. 

JJ dips his head and plants a kiss to your lips. It’s short and fleeting, but stings just as much knowing that you won’t feel it for two weeks. It’s a tough pill to swallow after being attached at the hip for the past three months. 

“See you around, Little Routledge,” JJ tries to joke.

He picks up your carry on and hands it to you, and you begin to walk towards the TSA line. You turn one last time to give him a wave and JJ waves back, smiling that same smile from before. Two weeks, you tell yourself. Two weeks of your mother’s prying questions and her boyfriend’s abusive arrogance. Your friends from Colorado made you somewhat excited to return. They’d been making plans since you said you were coming back to visit, including a three-day stay at a campsite by the lakes, which already granted you some escape. Besides, you knew this time that you were coming back to Kildare. More importantly, you knew you were coming back to JJ. With that final reminder, you pass through security and venture to your gate. As promised, you drop JJ a text when you board and another just before you take off, switching to aeroplane mode. 

About an hour into your flight, you decide to dig through your backpack to retrieve your smallest palette of paints. The pocket sized sketchbook you pull out serves almost as a journal for Kildare, keeping track of the houses, the stores, the beaches and the marshes. Littered amongst the scenery are sketches and paintings of your friends and, of course, JJ. There’s a couple of pages littered with JJ’s doodles too. Cartoonish things, one of which is you circled in a love heart. It’s purposefully sappy and sweet, and it makes you smile every time you flip through that page. Just before the next blank page, something catches your eye. A short note that you didn’t write. You recognise the hand though. It’s JJ. 

Little Routledge

I’m not good at writing letters so I’ll keep it brief. I miss you and can’t wait for you to come back home. Stay safe in Colorado and call whenever you need. Happy Thanksgiving. 

Love JJ

You smile to yourself. It’s nothing that Shakespeare might envy but you know JJ isn’t the sort to write letters or leave love-notes. These few lines mean the world and more. You’re careful not to mark the page as you begin to sketch on the opposite side of the book. Today’s drawing? Of JJ, just moments before, as you recalled him in the airport, waving goodbye (for now). 

[antisocialxconstruct]

Okay "I'll wait until saturday" was a lie. "I'll post it tuesday"....... also a lie. But here we are, at probably the worst possible time and day for visibility :)

word count: 3,400 (total 9,000)

[ch1]

Ghost City

Chapter 2

Maksim winced as the clock in the corner of his laptop’s screen ticked over another minute. It had done that quite a few times now while he sat and watched, and he had not yet been stricken with any miraculous clarity or inspiration on what to do next.

He had gotten as far as hitchhiking to Denver. Two weeks of meandering travel and fifteen hundred kilometers seemed like a good buffer between him and his tail, and he needed to be here anyway, but he had another few weeks to kill while he waited for an appointment. It had occurred to him that he might have better luck being “on the run” if he knew exactly who he was running from and why, and he had very confidently settled down at the dining table in his musty hostel and opened his laptop and then remembered that he did not know how to do this kind of research. He didn’t handle contracts and he didn’t handle data, those had been the jobs of Avaricia and Strikeout respectively. Contacting the former was out of the question, and the latter…

As if to encourage him, the computer screen finally flicked to power-saving black, and he dragged his gaze away from it to stare instead at the phone abandoned with the other contents of his pockets on the opposite end of the table. He did not doubt for a second that Strikeout would help him. He leaned over, grabbed the phone and dragged it closer, lined it up neatly alongside the laptop and thumbed on the screen, opened up the contact list. And stared at it a little longer.

Strikeout would help him. Ze would be happy to, eager even. Which was precisely the problem.

Maksim groaned and slouched in his seat. He rubbed his eyes and then stared vacantly up at the ceiling as he tried to fight off the dread slowly tightening its grip around his ribs. He didn’t want zir help. He didn’t need it, he just needed to… ask questions. The right questions, to the right people. At length he hauled himself upright again. He woke the laptop to pull up a browser window, and the open-endedness of the unremarkable search engine landing page that greeted him was almost enough to stall him out once again. With a sharp intake of breath he muttered “соберись,” typed nyc cat warehouse murder, and hit ENTER.

–###–

Silence had settled thick over the modest office where Ilya now sat, staring across the desk at the person who was meant to find them work. They had the impression that this was an intentional little power play, a lull in conversation left to stretch until they started to squirm. But Violet underestimated how comfortably Ilya could settle into an uncomfortable silence. They slouched deeper into their chair and stretched their legs out in front of them, ankles crossed casually, and let idle curiosity carry their gaze throughout the office–from the window off to the left with the shades half-drawn, to the long fluorescent strip-lights lining the ceiling overhead, over the assortment of books and notes on the desk, the files in chunky binders on the shelves over Violet’s shoulder… lots of physical media, which was interesting. It could have easily passed for the office of a tax consultant, maybe a travel agent if there were more posters of exotic islands tossed in. Nothing about any of it broadcast a business in corporate espionage.

With a light click of their tongue, as if finally coming to an internal conclusion, Violet said, “I admit it is an impressive display,” bringing Ilya’s attention back over to settle on em. Eir own gaze was still focused on the screen atop the desk that separated the two of them, where ey had ostensibly just been going over reports, or notes, or the earlier versions of the worm Ilya had provided to prove it was their work. “Stock fell almost twenty percent overnight, internal reports suggest at least three years of research lost, there will undoubtedly be layoffs to offset the loss in revenue… I still think it’s a shame none of that data was extracted…”

“Well if you wanted it that badly you could have done the hack yourself,” Ilya fired back.

Violet finally sat back, pressing a button that lowered the screen into a slot in the desk so ey could meet Ilya’s eye. “That attitude won’t serve you well when you’re doing this for other people,” ey said, with an impassivity that made it feel less like a warning or admonishment, and more like a simple observation. “As I was saying, it’s a shame none of that data was extracted, but this is all I need to see to be confident I can place you. Although…” here ey paused, tilting eir head slightly to give Ilya a brief, assessing once-over. “I did put out some initial feelers, to see if anyone was already looking for a tech specialist… you haven’t exactly been making friends in San Mena, have you?”

That was a remarkably charitable way to characterize the way Ilya socialized. They tried for a disarming smile and felt like they landed much closer to a grimace. “Do I need friends?”

“It helps,” Violet replied. Ilya managed to bite back their impulse to challenge that assertion, but they were still fishing for a decent, less revealing response than not in my experience when Violet curtly appended “give me another week” and called up the screen again, leaving them with the distinct impression that the conversation was over. They hesitated for a beat, pulled their legs back in and sat forward, preparing to excuse themself, then stopped.

“You know if you really want NervAMP company secrets,” they said, “why don’t you just wait to find out who gets laid off and talk to them? At least some of them are going to be bitter.”

Violet tipped eir head again to see Ilya around the side of eir screen, and in the thoughtful look ey gave them Ilya was sure they could see the calculations being run behind eir eyes. The slightest hint of what Ilya chose to interpret as an approving smile lifted the corners of their lips, but all ey said was, “I’ll be in touch soon, Naspok.”

–###–

The waiting room of a back alley surgeon was rarely what one might call luxurious. Or even particularly hospitable. By now Maksim had sat in enough of them to know this was one of the better ones–it was well lit, clean, and at least a few square feet bigger than a walk-in closet. In total it was a far cry from the dingy vermin-infested storage unit he’d stumbled into the last time he’d needed maintenance, after a blow to the head had left him with the vision in his eye implant tearing and an ice pick migraine a cocktail of alcohol and narcotics hadn’t been able to curb. In retrospect it was a wonder he hadn’t walked out of there even worse, or that he walked out of there at all.

It was really just the waiting that was getting to him. This situation was far less dire, but to Maksim’s sensibilities at least, no less urgent. This was the last modification he had planned, and it had been the hardest to lock down but it was the one that would finally tie everything else together. Bioware was finicky, expensive, and hard to source without being traced and probably shot dead by some repo man because most of it still wasn’t consumer tech. Maksim had needed to find someone who could not only get their hands on it, but could be trusted to install it without shorting out some other essential part of his suite. Or his brain. Clark had come as highly recommended as he could have hoped for–sharpest eyes and steadiest hands anywhere outside the west coast, and discreet on top of it. With a price tag to match, unfortunately, but he had stopped allowing himself to think about debts pretty early on.

So he waited.

When his left leg began to bounce restlessly he willed it back into stillness, dropped his head back against the wall and tried to channel the impatient energy instead into his hands laying palm-up on his thighs. Controlled, intentional fidgeting. The short blades were sheathed cat claw-like in the artificial third digits of each finger, protracted by the minute flexing of thin tendons that had been painstakingly restrung and retrained to the purpose. It was second nature by now, a full decade on from when they had first been installed, but it still served as a good grounding exercise to focus in on the process. Slowly, deliberately, he touched the point of each blade to the soft pads of his thumbs, the only digits left unaltered (no telling when he might need a fingerprint), until another twinge of pain shot up through his left arm and he flinched, nicked the tip of his thumb and grit his teeth to swallow back a curse. It was an unnecessary confirmation of his reason for being there–an imperfection in the careful web of cybernetic control he had spent the last two months weaving over his own reflexes. It needed to be absolute. The pain, he could tolerate. The reaction, the body moving without his will or input, was a reminder he could not allow.

He fixed his eyes on the stippled off-white ceiling overhead and traced the irregular edges of water stains, knowing that if he closed his eyes now there would be memories waiting for him in the dark, blood and terror-wide eyes and the wet heat of fresh viscera, the fear, the sensation of being caged.

It was easier to think about what came after. This process had begun a week later, with a fiber optic muscle replacement knitted into his left arm, intended to correct the nerve damage Strikeout had done with a 9mm round lodged in his shoulder. The discovery that the mesh had granted him a steadier pistol aim than he’d ever had before “the incident” had eased some of the lingering trauma he carried out of it. But not enough. So he’d had the claws refitted for even finer motor control, the eye replaced with a newer model designed for minute motion tracking. A lighter muscle augment had gone into his right arm to synchronize his articulation, adrenal amps installed to increase his situational awareness and response times. The flexwires had gone into his arms on top of the muscle weaves, winding around just below the skin like careful geometric scarification and smoothing his hastened movements into precise, razor-sharp reflexes. The most invasive augmentation so far had been the spinal implant that nestled along the ridge of his back like some segmented mechanical insect, chaining the muscle augments, the adrenal amps, and the eye implant to a neural chip that could accelerate his processing of visual and auditory input, as well as dampen the full effects of the suite in everyday situations, when he didn’t need to be constantly barraged with sensory data.

There was a secondary effect, something he had been warned of back when he was first signing himself away to the Russian army in exchange for a purged arrest record and a functional left eye. The human brain was incredibly delicate, and his uniquely so. In a vanishingly small number of cases, the variant mutation manifested not only in physical quirks, but in certain advanced mental abilities. In his case, it had granted him the capacity to not only pick up the conscious thoughts and feelings of those around him, but to broadcast his own back out to a limited degree, like a short-range radio that only worked on human brain waves. Despite such genes being disseminated into the human population several generations ago, they were still not well understood, and Maksim’s superiors feared that placing too much additional processing burden on his brain via cybernetics might dampen his telepathic ability–the only thing they actually wanted. He hadn’t noticed any material difference after that first operation or in the decade that followed.

Now, he had the very real sense of a door almost fully closed, of the signals tapering off unless he really strained, and it was an indescribable relief. Whatever had happened in New York, it would not, could not, happen again.

Unfortunately that “processing burden” was affecting him in other, more immediate ways as well. He could feel his body protesting under the strain of the augments, without enough time to fully adjust to each introduction of heightened senses and tightened reflexes. And after living with an ability that had manifested when he was six years old, at 32 he could not seem to break himself of the habit of mental tampering no matter how many migraines he had to nurse in exchange. But a bit of research had presented him with a solution: an inhibitor could omit the pain response from the equation, allow him to bear the pain without distraction while his body did the work of adjusting quietly, in the background.

Then maybe he would finally feel like he was in control again.

A soft buzzing against his ribs startled him out of his musings. He lifted his head away from the wall and reached into the inner pocket of his coat to pull out his cellphone, then fumbled with the screen for a moment as he tried to check the caller ID, and only realized that he had instead blindly answered the call when he heard Strikeout’s voice filter through the tinny speaker. “Avos! Hey, I- shit I really didn’t think you were going to pick up.”

Maksim scoffed and let his head knock back against the wall. “I didn’t mean to,” he stated, and Strikeout chuckled as if it had been a joke. “This isn’t a good time,” he pressed on. “I’m waiting to meet with someone.”

“Ah…” Strikeout hesitated for a moment, the silence punctuated by some kind of indeterminate rustling on zir end. “With a loan shark?”

Maksim grit his teeth at the boldness of the assumption, even if it was frankly even odds at this point. This had been an expensive process, and his savings had only gotten him about halfway through it before he had started having to beg and borrow for the rest. “A surgeon,” he said pointedly, just because in that moment he wanted Strikeout to be wrong.

“Where are you now?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Maksim volleyed back, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling. “But it’s far enough, you can tell Reece I understood her message clearly.”

“That’s not why I’m asking, I-” Maksim’s focus immediately disengaged from the call when a door opened at the far end of the room. The person in the doorway had a tall and willowy stature with angular features, but Maksim couldn’t immediately tell if those were variant features. They beckoned him in with a smile, and he returned it as he stood and quickly pulled on a more sociable persona.

“Hey listen, I’m glad you called but I’ll have to connect with you later,” he said brightly into the phone, then ended the call and tucked it back into his coat without waiting for Strikeout’s reaction.

“I hope you’re not nervous,” Clark said softly as he followed them into the next room.

“Not at all,” he insisted, his tone bright and conversational–a carefully modulated performance, and this was one he had had years to perfect. Another necessary form of control. “I’ve only heard good things.”

-

All told it was an unremarkable procedure, at least from Maksim’s perspective. Clark supervised him for a day and a half, then asked if there was anyone available to help him with basic tasks for a week or so while he recovered. He assured them that there was, and then went back to the hostel alone.

He could take care of himself. He’d been taking care of himself for a long time, and by now he’d recovered from enough surgeries to know he could do that by himself too. Still, this had been a particularly strange and disorienting one. Everything still hurt–there was a tension all through his upper body, like a chord strung from his temples down through his neck and into his shoulders had been pulled impossibly, dangerously taut. Sunlight burned the back of his eyes. So did screens. The light brace on his neck, to stop him moving enough to pop any stitches, left him feeling not unlike a dog in a cone. And yet, all of it receded to the back of his mind the instant he shifted his focus to anything else. It was easy to ignore, leaving him free to go about his day as he normally would, only to be hit by a fresh wave of soreness and exhaustion every time he settled down enough to let his mind empty. This, he assumed, was why Clark had strongly advised him not to do much for at least two weeks, not to be too active, or in any unpredictable situations, not until his mind and body had time to calibrate the new signals being sent back and forth.

He had been filling most of his time with cooking, carefully avoiding the hostel’s handful of other tenants, and trawling forums he had only barely remembered how to access thanks to Strikeout’s instructions almost a year ago. “Unindexed,” whatever that meant. He had surreptitiously put out inquiries about the warehouse run, hoping to tease out someone who seemed like they might know more than just sensationalized rumors or the same talking points that had already been in the news. It hadn’t amounted to much except the name Alabast–a low level crime syndicate in the New England area, and apparently the people who had hired his team for the job.

His phone screen lit up beside him, the vibration loud and obnoxious against the table’s surface, and he grit his teeth. He had also been ignoring a lot of calls from Strikeout. That particular pastime was rapidly becoming unsustainable, especially when ze had gradually increased zir attempted contacts from one every day or two to one every few hours. In a burst of frustration Maksim finally grabbed the phone and answered it, barking out an unfriendly “what?”

“Thank fucking god,” Strikeout breathed. “Avos are you in Denver?”

Maksim flinched. How did ze know that? “I told you, I’m not-”

Strikeout swore under zir breath. “Have you been posting about the run on Arsenal?”

The abrupt subject change left Maksim scrambling to catch up for a moment. “I thought… if I could find out-”

“From your personal computer?”

He opened his mouth. Didn’t actually say anything. The laptop sat open in front of him and he shot it a sidelong glance, feeling suddenly threatened by its presence. He had the distinct impression that if he told Strikeout the truth, it would also be the wrong answer. All he managed to offer was “это…“

Another frazzled, desperate string of curses from Strikeout, then, “you need to get out of there.”

“Out of… this building?” Maksim asked cautiously. Optimistically.

“Out of the state,” Strikeout insisted.

The deep, steadying breath Maksim tried to take caught in his lungs, as the tingling numbness of panic began to creep up through his extremities. “Why…?”

“Because if I know exactly where you are who else do you think has that information?”

“Oh.”

Who indeed. Why did they even want him? Would Alabast hunt him this far just for a botched robbery? It wasn’t like he owed them money, no one had gotten paid. Maybe it really was a friend of one of the others, not content with simply running him out of town. Strikeout was still talking on the other end but he was barely listening. “… just give me a little time I can set up a secure line for us, if I find out anything I can-” he ended the call.

Okay. No. It was fine. He didn’t have a lot to pack. He’d spent a lot of money on the inhibitor and this hostel but he could afford a bus ticket to… somewhere. Further west than Colorado. He still had options, and he was probably in good enough condition to travel. As soon as he felt like he could breathe again.

[baxteravenue]

been waiting for you to post your jack drafts since you don’t write for him anymore 🥺 love your writing!!!

here you go, these are VERY unfinished and unedited lol... hope you enjoy or not <33 not sure where I was going with this one

Jack had been in Denver for about a week now, feeling shittier than ever. He was not even sure what the hell he was even doing there, maybe getting away from things... Things he couldn’t even pinpoint.

You on the other hand were in Denver because you lived there and went to school there. But besides that, you were on his same page. You didn’t know what the hell you were doing with your life. You weren’t even from Denver, you just had gotten a full ride to a small school. 

You were just trying to get through the days, all of them moving in a blur that meshed together.

“Have you tried any of the coffee here?” A random voice broke you out of your daze. 

You shook your head a little, your head feeling like it still wasn't in your body.

“No?”

“Huh?” You still felt like you were in a daze.

The curly haired man gave you a confused look, “The coffee? Anything worth recommending?”

“Oh…” You nodded, “Uhm I like the tea. I don’t really drink coffee if I’m being honest.”

He gave you a soft smile, “I don’t drink coffee either I was just... pondering I guess.”

You laughed, “Yeah that’s a way to put it.”

“Cherry-Hibiscus Iced Tea for Y/N!” 

“Well, whatever you get I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Have a nice day.” You smiled at the stranger before grabbing your tea and walking out the door heading down to the record store right next door. 

Y/N… Jack had thought that was a nice name. 

“Next in line!”

“Um yeah, can I get a Cherry-Hibiscus Iced Tea?”

You loved Saturdays just like any other person, the one day of the week where you knew yesterday was yesterday and tomorrow would be tomorrow. The only day of the week were days felt separated. 

You usually spend it doing all your favorite things. Today you allowed yourself to wander into the record shop that you hardly ever went into for the sake of your wallet. 

Today would be a good day, you just knew it. 

“Crystal Castles?” A familiar voice speaks from beside you. 

You look up at the stranger from the coffee shop, “Yeah.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever listened to them.” 

“I’m sure you have, just without knowing it. They’re having a moment on TikTok right now.” You shrug.

“Is that where you found them?” 

You shake your head, “No I just watched a lot of Skins growing up and had a damaging amount of internet access at twelve.”

You expect this to be the last of the conversation but it’s not because he proceeds to introduce himself. 

“I’m Jack by the way.” 

You nod, “Nice to meet you Jack. I’m Y/N.”

Now you really expect it to be the last time the two of you talk but he’s still standing in front of you and now you feel nervous, but not in a way were you want to tell him to fuck off.

“Do you live around here?” Jack asks and you give him a questioning look, making him retract his words, “I’m sorry that sounded creepy as hell, I’m just asking because I’m not from here I’m just like visiting… Tryna get my head straight. I’m from Louisville by the way.”

His nerves somehow ease yours and you find yourself answering his question. “Mhm, I go to school here. The small one in the next town over.”

“Cool, you like it? Is this where you’re originally from?” Jack browses next to you, keeping conversation. 

You look down at his hand, he has the exact same drink as you and you smile. “No and no. What about you?”

“I think that you’re probably the coolest person I’ve met in this state in a whole week.” Jack says.

You look back up from the vinyls, staring him straight in the eyes. “Have you ever tried chocolate shrooms?”

[follow-my-literature]

A Palace Full of Cranks - Newt x Reader

— Back to Summary

Chapter One: SHORT GOODBYE'S

NEWT'S POV:

— I had felt a lot of pain in my life, both inside and out, but I believed that very moment, watching Tommy and the others leave me for the last time, was my rock bottom. A part of me desperately wanted to accept the reckless whims of love and friendship. To run off the Berg and join my friends in their quest to find Hans, get their implants removed, and accept whatever came next.

But I'd made up my mind, as fragile as it might be. If ever in my life I could do one thing right, the thing that was unselfish and full of good, this was it. I'd spare the people of Denver my disease, and I'd spare his friends the agony of watching him succumb to it.

My disease. The Flare.

I hated it. I hated the people trying to find a cure. I hated that I'm not immune, and I hated that my best friends were. All of it conflicted, battled, and raged inside me.

I know that I'm slowly going insane, a fate rarely escaped when it came to the virus. It had come to a point where I didn’t know if I could trust myself, both my thoughts and feelings.

Such an awful circumstance could drive a person mad if they weren’t already well on their way to that lonely destination. But while I knew that I still had an ounce of sense, I needed to act. I needed to move before all those heavy thoughts ended me even sooner than the Flare.

I can do this, he thought. For them.

I got to my feet and ran to the bunk I'd used on the flight from Alaska. Throwing what little possessions I owned into a backpack. Including water, food, a knife I'd stolen from Thomas to remember him, and a launcher from Jorge. Then I grabbed the most essential item—a journal and pen I'd found in one of the random cabinets on the Berg.

My breath came in short, stuttered gasps. My chest hurt with the pain of it. My thoughts turned cloudy as my breathing nearly stopped in choaked sobs. I have a plan, don't I? Several plans, depending on the contingencies. But each plan had the same ending—it was how I got there. I will last as long as I write what I need in that journal. Something about that simple, empty little book waiting to be filled.

It gave me a purpose, a spark, a winding course to ensure the last days of my life had reason and meaning. A mark left on the world. I will write all the sanity I can muster out of my head before it is taken over by its opposite. Wiping my eyes and grounding myself before the anxiety attack could take over my body.

The only item left to settle now was how to leave it with Thomas and the others. Maybe give them a little closure. I decide that my journal will survive if it weighs less by one page. I tear out a page and take a deep breath. Pen almost to paper when I stall as if I'd had the perfect thing to say, but it floated out of my mind like vanished smoke. Sighing, I itched with irritation. I am anxious to get out of the Berg and walk away—limp or no—before something changes, so I refocus my emotions. Scribbling down the first thing that pops into my head, I leave the note for the others.

"They got inside somehow. They’re taking me to live with the other Cranks.Its for the best. Thanks for being my friends.Goodbye."

I put the notebook down as tears blur my vision. Was it short and curt enough to prevent them from coming after me? To get it through their thick skulls that there was no hope for me and that I'd only get in the way? That I didn’t want them to watch me turn into a mad, raving, animalistic human? To give my friends the best shot they had at succeeding, it would be with one less obstacle.

Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter at all. I am going one way or another. I scrawl out the rest of what my mind can put together and hope that will be enough for them.

"Even as the darkness whispers across my mind, beckoning with smoky tendrils of blackness and rot, even as I breathe in the stench of a dying world, even as the blood within my veins turns purple and hot, I feel the peace of a certain knowledge. I have had friends, and they have had me. And that is the thing. That is the only thing."

Steeling myself one more moment to panic I stuff the notebook into my bag, double-checking I have all the supplies I need. With a deep breath, I open the Berg doors and look out into the chaos. A mass of disorder, shaken up like dice and spilled across the land. But that wasn’t the scary part. The scary part was how normal everything felt....

— Excerpts from Crank Palace

[tearfallpixie]

Music of My Soul - Chapter 5: New Lineups

Tags: @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @synthetic-wasp-570 @circle-with-me @beaker1636 @itsjustemily @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @cookiesupplier @cncohshit @faceless-mirror @nonamessblog @yournecessaryevil @black-damask1999

@lyschko666 @vinyardmauro @skulliecadaver-blog @some-daniela @latenightmusiclover @rye14-blog1 @somewhere-diamond @Shilohrosechicken @abiomens @awkwardalex @rumoured-whispers @miss570 @dominuslunae @th0ughts-pr4yers

“Good evening Denver!” Chris addressed the crowd as the lights came up over them. “You are on it today.” They all cheered even louder than they had been and I grinned from my place next to Vinny. “As you can see, our lineup is a bit different tonight. So let's do a reintroduction shall we?” There was another cheer. “On drums we have the fabulous fiery Vinny Mauro.” Vinny did a little trill on his kit and waved. “Justin Frankenstein Marrow gracing us on the bass.” Justin just made faces to the crowd and so did Ryan as he got introduced.

“Ryan Skiez Sitkowski on guitar. Ricky Horror Olson back on guitar.” Ricky played a little riff on his guitar and waved to the crowd as well. “And last but certainly not least our new permanent keyboardist, the beautiful Dakota Grace.” I smirked and played the opening notes to The Black Parade making the crowd cry out in shock and Ricky and Vinny burst out laughing. “Now thats just cruel.” Chris grinned. “I am your host Chris Motionless and we are Motionless in White. We love you guys!” He called as we started playing Slaughterhouse.

I watched as the boys danced around the stage and grinned. They were so lively. We moved onto another song and out of habit of the last few weeks I started singing on one of the bridges.

“No hope, no time. Can’t go back, can't rewind. I still belong to you.” My eyes went wide as I realized what I had done but in order to play it off, I kept going. “No hope, no time. Can't go back, can't rewind. You still belong to me.” We played the rest of the song and afterwards Ricky came up to me. “Ricky, I’m so sorry.”

“Don't be! We sounded amazing together.” He exclaimed. “Sing scoring with me too.”

“What? No!”

“Do it! Or I’ll make Chris make you.” He threatened with a smirk. I scowled and he jumped off the platform victoriously.

“The dawning of a new age. These aren't just notes on a page. These are the weapons of rebirth.” I sang once we reached the last song. “The dawning of a new age. Where we will take back the stage. And score the ending of the earth.” If possible it seemed the crowd was even more obsessed with that verse than before.

“What the fuck? That was insane! Your voices fit so well together.” Chris freaked out when we all got off stage.

“I told you she would give Rick a run for his money.” Vinny laughed, tapping me on the head with his drumstick.

“Are you ok sharing your parts?” Chris asked Ricky.

“With her? Hell yeah.” The guitarist confirmed.

“Cool. The fans loved it tonight.”

“You two should sing the cinematic version of Eternally Yours and have her sing.” Ricky smirked.

“Noe you’re just asking for trouble Olson.” Chris launched at him and I watched them tussle adoringly. I let out a giggle and both boys stopped and looked up at me.

“You’re adorable.” Ricky popped off and my cheeks went red. “I’m sorry! I didn't mean-”

“Ricky. It’s fine. Thank you.” I murmured. I leaned forward and kissed his cheek before going to take a quick shower.

~~~~

“Settle in. We’re in for a long drive.” Chris said as I stepped onto the bus. I groaned and dropped my bag at my bunk before returning to the front. Chris pulled me down on top of him and Ricky.

“Sorry.” I mumbled trying to squirm away.

“You’re fine.” He murmured, putting his arms on top of my legs and turning on The Office. I blushed for the millionth time that day because of the tattooed guitarist and decided to just settle in.

“You know the whole world will start speculating about your relationship now just by how you acted on stage right?” Justin teased from his spot on the other couch. I swore a hint of jealousy crossed Ricky's face but he didn't move so I just brushed it off.

“So what? Who I decide to date is my business.” Chris shrugged, wrapping his arms around my waist tightly.

“They’ll probably be mostly upset by the fact that you and Rick didn't get back together.” Vinny popped off, not tearing his eyes away from his game. He was playing World of Warcraft on his laptop and I hadn't even realized he was listening.

“You two dated? That's news to me.” I smirked at the singer.

“Yeah, for a couple of years when he first joined the band.” Chris said guiltily, dropping his head so his bangs covered his face. I felt his muscles tense around my waist and I could tell he thought I wasn't going to be happy about that.

“What happened?”

“Devin fucked us all up mentally when we found out what he was saying so we took a break. I dated Gaia. Ricky found Jamie and we never really talked about it again.” He said. There was regret written all over their faces and they glanced at each other.

“I hope it doesn't make you feel uncomfortable.” Ricky mumbled.

“That you two are bi? No, why should it?” I asked.

“Because we used to sleep together.”

“And? He used to sleep with Gaia too but that's in the past.” I shrugged. Ricky seemed to relax and nodded before shoving my legs off of him and standing up.

“I’m tired. I’m going to go lay down.” He went down the hall before any of us could say anything and we all just watched him go.

“Do you think he’s ok?” I asked Chris, adjusting myself until I was sitting next to him.

“He said he was tired. Leave him be until we get to the hotel.” Chris murmured, kissing my temple.

“I forgot we were in a hotel tonight. Thank god. I need a bath.” There was resounding agreement from everyone in the lounge seeing as we had been on the bus for over a week now without proper beds.

[bunnyscribblesbjd]

I've been making my own homemade dolls for the past year but I've been interested in bjd's do you have any basics tips? Where are the good places to get the different bodies and parts for these dolls?

hello! sorry it took a minute for me to respond to this ask but I wanted to make sure that I had enough info for you :o

as far as basic tips go, I'm not sure I can provide anything super helpful since I'm not sure exactly what kind of information you're looking for. I will say that one thing that helped me understand a lot about the sizes of dolls/how they move/what people do with them was watching videos of people with dolls. Nicole's Dreams, Teeny Tinkers, and AsenvaBJD post some fun doll content, and Teeny Tinkers also sculpts dolls :)

here is a link to a google doc with a lot of helpful information: big bjd faq . it covers a lot of stuff, and it's relatively easy to navigate since everything is linked.

i would also recommend looking into making an account on den of angels. it's a forum specifically for discussing bjds with information about dolls going all the way back to 2004, and they have a marketplace for people to sell second hand dolls. definitely read all of the rules before making an account and posting though, they can be kind of strict 😅

as far as buying dolls goes, I live in the US and have had pleasant experiences using Alice's Collections and Denver Doll Emporium (I find Alice's Collections especially nice for browsing since everything is well organized and all of the information about a doll is on its page.) I have also heard good things about Jane's Dolland, Legenddoll, and New Clover Singing.

I guess one other general tip that I can give is to try to find as much information as you can about a particular doll before you buy it (searching on den of angels, flickr, instagram, tumblr, etc.)- bjds can be pretty expensive and I've found that I have a better experience when there are as few surprises as possible when the doll arrives haha

hopefully something in here was helpful for you, sorry it's kind of long and possibly confusing :v if you have any other questions I would be happy to answer as best I can :)

[forhappysake]

What Lurks Within, Pt. 1

Author's Note: I've never written one of these before, so I hope anyone who reads it can enjoy it.

Content: When the BAU is forced to consult on a case from a distance, the team finds themselves getting frustrated with the lack of communication from local law enforcement. After the unsub escalates, the team prepares to fly to Denver to tackle the case head-on.

Warnings: Typical BAU-level violence, hom!c!de, workplace harassment training (does that need a warning, lol?), mention of prison and Cat Adams, established relationship, all fluffy stuff for now

Consulting on cases from afar was never the BAU’s strong suit. Relying on information provided by local law enforcement, rather than being hands-on at the scene, was a major inconvenience. However, a schedule mix-up over annual training and filing reports required our presence here, in D.C., rather than in Denver. 

Matt and Luke had spent the afternoon pouring over files that arrived from the Denver office while Spencer and I were forced to sit through our annual workplace training. We were the last members of the team to partake in the training, and we weren’t any more excited than the rest of the team had been. We arrived around two o’clock, taking our seats next to each other. Then began the droning voice of the poor HR worker who was forced to reiterate the FBI’s spiel on workplace harassment and discrimination for the seven-hundredth time today. 

I knew my boyfriend, so I knew Spencer wasn’t paying any attention. Both our minds were on the Denver case. Seven men with similar physical descriptions had gone missing over a span of three months. Their bodies, found discarded in local parks, had been bludgeoned beyond recognition. 

It was difficult, of course, to understand what was happening when conflicting reports kept coming in from local law enforcement. Penelope was doing her best to work with their in-house tech teams to confirm or deny reports we received from the local police chief, but it was hard when they rarely answered her requests for more information. Between the lack of communication and the fact that this unsub did not seem to have any plans of slowing down, having to work this case in-house was really taking its toll on office morale. 

Thankfully, the HR meeting only lasted an hour. Spencer and I received our lovely “congrats on completing this training” certificate to put in our files, and we quickly hurried out of the meeting room and back to the bullpen. Matt and Luke sat at their desks, hunkered over files. Luke was the first to notice our entrance into the room, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“I don’t understand how I am supposed to build a geographical profile when I have two separate conflicting reports of where the body was found for the same murder,” Luke said. He rose from his desk and rubbed his eyes, “It’s like Denver doesn’t want us to help them.”

Matt looked up from his desk, nodding in agreement. Noticing our presence in the room, he leaned back in his chair. “Thankfully Garcia is doing a hell of a job with victimology, but you two have your work cut out for you unless you get some confirmation on the accuracy of these reports.” He gestured to the files in front of him, “It’s an absolute disaster.”

Luke nodded fiercely in agreement, grasping the file in his hand with frustration. “Reid, just come look at this and tell me if I’m missing something here,” Luke held the file out in front of him. Spencer walked over to Luke, taking the file from him and thumbing through the pages. 

Spencer cleared his throat, eyebrows knitting together, “This page says that Daniel Jones was found dead in a small park behind a swing set, but this page says he was found bound and gagged behind a dumpster at a local coffee shop in Denver.”

Luke flung his arms out in front of him, letting out an exasperated huff. “Exactly! What am I supposed to do with that?” Luke looked utterly defeated, and the look on Matt’s face told me he wasn’t doing any better. 

Trying to take some control of the situation unraveling in front of me, I offered a solution. “Matt, Luke. Why don’t you guys go home for a bit? You’ve been here since four in the morning, and it’s nearly three. Wash up, take a nap, and come back with fresh eyes.” I said it gently, hoping not to offend either of them. 

Matt nodded in response, “I think Y/N has a point, Luke. We could both use a break.” Matt stood up from his desk chair, stretching before turning towards the door. “I don’t know about you, but I’m out of here,” he stated as he turned and headed for the elevator. 

Luke gritted his teeth. “Alright, I guess I could use a break. But I’ll be back, and I swear that if Denver hasn’t given us something we can work with, I’ll-”

“Luke,” Spencer said, cutting him off, “Y/N is right. We’ll hold down the fort here. Just go home for a while.” Defeated, Luke lifted his coat off the back of his chair, tugging it over his shoulders. 

“I hope you guys find something you can work with,” Luke mumbled, “Thanks for taking over, I’ll be back in a few hours.” With that, he followed Matt out of the bullpen in the direction of the elevators, leaving Spencer and I alone. 

I sighed, knowing we had our work cut out for us. Spencer continued thumbing through the file Luke had handed him. He spoke up again, “Which would you prefer, honey,” Spencer gestured to the file in his hand and the file left open on Matt’s desk, “victimology, geographical profile, or trying to contact Denver?”

“Considering everyone else has been trying to get a hold of Denver all day, I’ll take a look at what Matt and Penelope put together on victimology,” I said with a small smile, “You’re better at the geo-profiles anyway.” I lifted the file off Matt’s desk as Spencer nodded, walking over to his desk and taking a seat.  

For hours we poured over the mess of information we’d been provided. Matt was right, Penelope had done a heck of a job piecing together victimology. However, it wasn’t enough to make an educated guess on anything about the psychology of our unsub. Three o’clock quickly turned into ten o’clock, and I could feel my stomach growl. I looked over at Spencer’s desk, and even he looked like he could use something to eat. 

“Hey, Spence,” I said, “have you made any progress over there?” He shifted in his seat, shutting the file and looking up at me. 

“No, not really,” he sighed. “Luke was right. These reports are a mess.” I nodded in agreement and understanding, swiveling in my chair to face away from him. Staring down the hallway, the light from the vending machine caught my eye. 

“Considering neither of us are making any groundbreaking discoveries, I’m gonna run to the vending machine. Do you want anything?” I swiveled my chair back around in his direction, awaiting his reply.

He looked up for a moment, seeming to give it some thought before shaking his head. “No thanks, Y/N. I really appreciate the offer, though.” He gave me a small nod. 

“No problem, brainiac. I’ll be back in a few.” I turned on my heel and made my way out of the bullpen, pausing to look out the window next to the elevator. It was dark out and I wanted nothing more than to go home and wrap myself in a blanket, sinking into bed. “Too bad people decide to commit murder,” I thought out loud. 

Continuing down the hallway to the vending machine, I reached in my pocket to pull out a couple dollars. Popping the bills into the machine and deciding on some off-brand bag of chips, I claimed my purchase from the machine and made my way back to the bullpen. Upon my arrival, I noticed Spencer wasn’t at his desk. I looked around for a moment, curious as to where he had gone, when I saw his mop of curls through the blinds to the briefing room. 

Quietly making my way up the staircase, I approached the door and gently pushed it open. The boy-genius must have had some breakthrough, as he scribbled quickly on the white board, turning back to the meeting table to check one of the files he had brought up to the room with him. Suddenly, a mixed look of frustration and disappointment crossed his face and he sighed in defeat. Whatever lead he thought he had must have been unfruitful, and he wore a somber look as he thumbed through the files once more.

I remembered at that moment why I loved him so much. I stood in awe of the way his curls gently fell over his eyes, the way the veins in his hands became more pronounced when he examined the case file. His eyes, dark as they were, shone a deep brown color in the warm light of the room. I watched as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, dragging a hand through his hair. We were tired, exhausted, and the case showed no signs of coming to a close anytime soon.  

“Spencer,” I said, approaching him quietly, not wishing to disturb his work. He let out a long sigh, looking away from the file. I could almost see the gears stop shifting in his mind, as his thoughts grew smaller in his mind. The dark circles under his eyes were evident. I offered him a small smile, reaching for the case file in front of him, and gently closing it, slipping it under my arm. “All of this will still be here tomorrow, I think we should go home and rest.”

His lips pursed in evident disappointment, turning back to the whiteboard. I tried to make out his scribbles and notes, but his handwriting was so sloppy it was hardly legible. He turned back, resembling Luke’s defeat from hours before. Finally, he nodded in agreement. Standing up straight, he turned his head in circles, attempting to work out the soreness he felt after scanning files for hours. “We’re so close, Y/N, I can feel it,” he murmured as he turned to look at me, “so, so close.” 

Our eyes locked for a moment before I turned my gaze to the ground in front of me. “I know, Spence. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do until the police in Denver get back to us with more information tomorrow.” I leaned back on the meeting room table, crossing my arms in front of me. 

“I know,” he said. He shuffled so he stood in front of me, running his hands up and down my crossed arms. “Should we go home?” Spencer asked, tilting his head and offering me a small smile. 

“We should absolutely go home,” I murmured, leaning into his touch. He wrapped his arms around me, and I could smell his cologne mixed with a hint of coffee. I tucked my head under his chin, accepting this rare act of PDA as a result of our shared exhaustion. I felt his hands rubbing over my aching back, and I couldn’t have been more grateful for his presence. 

“Are you ready to go?” he asked gently. I could feel his voice rattle through his chest, the vibration so soothing. 

“No,” I giggled, “I think we should just stay like this forever.” I pulled back from him a bit so that I could examine his face. His stubble had grown in and stayed since his return from prison, and his eyes looked even more exhausted than usual, but he was still the same Spencer he’d always been. 

I reflected briefly on our relationship. Though we’d only been dating for a year, I felt like I’d been with Spencer my entire life. Of course his stint in prison, his meeting with Cat Adams, and the team’s battle with Scratch had left emotional and physical scars on all of us, Spencer’s sweet demeanor remained unchanged. I admired his resilience, and his ability to see the good in others. 

He brought me back to reality as he smiled again, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on my lips which I accepted with more fervor than he had anticipated. He rocked back away from me for a moment, raising his eyebrows. “Where did that boost of energy come from?” he asked, placing his hands on either side of my face. 

“I don’t know, I was just looking at how pretty you are,” I said, bringing my hands to cover his. He looked at me for a moment, cocking his head to the side. 

“You’re very pretty too, Miss L/N,” he said, forcing himself to pull his hands from my face and shove them into his pockets. He cleared his throat, trying to refocus on the topic at hand. “Now,” he started, “how about we both head back to my place and settle in for the evening? I’m no chef, but you and I both know I can order take-out like no other.” He scanned my face for a response. 

“Sure, Spence. That sounds delightful,” I said while looping my arm in his. 

“Off we go, then.” Arm in arm, Spencer and I walked to the elevator. No further words were exchanged, and we stood in comfortable silence as I clicked the button and awaited the arrival of the elevator. 

The ding of the elevator signaled its arrival. Spencer moved forward, preparing to step on, when Luke came barreling off. He’d clearly showered, though he didn’t look much more well-rested. 

“You two aren’t going to believe this,” his serious tone catching both Spencer and myself off guard. He didn’t stop to address us, either, making fast strides towards the bullpen. 

“What is it, Luke?” I asked, turning to follow him as Spencer followed in suit. “Tell us what’s going on.” As we reentered the bullpen, Luke scanned our desktops. Eyes settling on Matt’s desk, he reached for the TV remote, scanning stations until it came to the national news. Cranking up the television volume, Spencer and I listened intently to what the reporter was saying:

“In Denver, Colorado, the bodies of three more young men have been discovered dumped in neighborhood parks across the city within the past week. Officials are warning residents to avoid these areas and to remain vigilant…”

“This guy is all over the place,” Luke said, shaking his head. 

“At least this confirms he’s dumping the bodies in parks,” I shrugged. If the local police department wasn’t going to give us information, the media outlets would provide plenty. 

“He’s escalating,” Spencer said, eyes narrowing at the screen. “Three within the past week is a significant increase from seven over a twelve week period.” Luke and I nodded in agreement. 

“I’ll call Garcia and Prentiss,” Luke said, “maybe now that those god-awful trainings are over, we can finally fly out of here and get our hands on this case.” I responded in agreement as Spencer continued examining the news report. Luke reached for his phone, dialing some numbers before stepping away from Spencer and I, “Hey, Emily. It’s Alvez. I think we need to get to Denver right away…” His voice faded out as he walked farther away from us. 

Spencer’s attention turned from the screen back to me. “So much for takeout,” he said with a sad smile. I put an arm around him, gently rubbing his back. 

“We should’ve known it was too good to be true. Maybe we can get some snacks on the jet. Until then,” I gestured up to the unopened bag of chips I’d discarded on the table of the briefing room, “I’m going to go finish my dinner.” 

Just as I started to walk away, I heard Luke’s voice call out, “Wheels up in 30. The rest of the team will meet us on the tarmac.” I sighed, turning back to look at Spencer who was already shoving files and notepads into his go-bag. I hurriedly grabbed my chips off the table and returned to the bullpen, mirroring Spencer’s frenzied packing. 

After I finished collecting my things, Luke led Spencer and I down to the tarmac. JJ, Matt, Emily, and Rossi soon arrived as well. Spencer’s hand on my lower back guided me up the steps of the jet. Flying had never been my favorite thing. Since joining the team a year and a half ago, I’d only started to get used to it. Spencer, per usual, had been my saving grace, offering me comfort and a hand to hold during the flights. This evening would be no different. 

Settling in our usual seats, Emily offered us each files full of what little information had been confirmed by local law enforcement and media outlets. She drew our attention to the files, gesturing to the one in her hand. “I know we don’t have a lot to go on. I have a feeling we’re going to have our work cut out for us on this one,” she said with a small nod. “I’d recommend you all try to take it easy on this flight, we’re going to be hard at work once we get to Denver.”

As we each nodded in agreement, I felt Spencer’s hand squeeze mine a little tighter. I gently laid my head on his shoulder, trying to take Emily’s advice. “Let’s rest, Spencer. Emily’s right, we’re not gonna do anyone good if we’re exhausted.” I felt his sigh of agreement as he rested his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. I followed suit, allowing sleep to take over. 

Our ignorance, at that moment, was blissful. We had no idea what waited for us in Denver.

TO BE CONTINUED

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Let me know what you think down below. Happy writing!

[losfacedevil]

For You // J.M.K

a/n~ So uh, this got a little out of hand.. okay maybe a lot out of hand. This is my first ~real Josh fic. @indigofallingsky don’t dieee

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: SMUT, STRIP TEASE, ORAL (F RECEIVING), UNPROTECTED PENETRATIVE SEX (Don’t be silly, wrap your willy) Word Count 5.8k+

The rain pelted down on the roof, the pitter patter of the droplets lulling them into a sense of much needed calm. She curled up on the couch with her nose stuck in her most current read; some book about pirates Jake had insisted she read. Josh sat at his desk, one resembling that of a school desk which sat directly in front of the big bay window; working on something that called for every last ounce of his attention. 

She couldn’t help but watch him, the pure concentration etched in his features as his eyes stayed glued to the page as her attention span began to falter, letting her head rest against the back of the couch as the sounds of the rain relaxed her further; eyes fluttering shut as she pulled a deep breath in through her nose. The only other sounds dancing through the air being the soft melody of the John Denver vinyl he had spinning and that of his pens and markers gliding smoothly across the page of his journal. 

They craved quality time together, time spent doing their own thing while in each others company. Something they both yearned so deeply for when he was on the road living his dream with his brothers. 

Josh shifted in his chair, his gaze falling upon her face, her features cloaked with a serene look. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, watching as her chest rose and fell softly wondering if she had maybe fallen asleep. But his eyes fluttered away from her as she pulled her head up off of the couch, stifling a yawn before going back to her book. 

He kept glancing her way, making sure she stayed where she sat while he worked on something so precious to him. Etched across the page were the beginnings of a ring setting; choosing silver instead of the traditional gold as his mind reeled with ideas for different stones to place in it. 

Diamonds were too typical and not ‘a girls best friend’ she had once told him, opting for an opal in a ring she purchased for herself. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he sketched out the cut in which he wanted the stone to be as a crystal popped into his mind. Moss agate; ‘it’s my favorite!’ she had exclaimed, showing him the raw cut stone wrapped in delicate gold wiring that hung around her neck. 

Josh put so much thought into the ring, knew exactly how he wanted it to look as he continued his sketch; his eyes never leaving the page. He could see her fidgeting in her seat from the corner of his eye, trying to keep his focus on both her and the journal page he so lovingly created upon. 

“Hey Gorgeous?” She called, peeling her eyes away from the book she was reading. 

“Hmm?” His response came from deep in his chest, clear his concentration was elsewhere as his eyes snapped to the pile of markers in front of him. He sifted through them, eyes finding hers as he picked up the color he was looking for. 

A soft smile spread across her face as she watched him uncap the marker, pressing it to the page of his journal. She stayed quiet as he painted color across the page, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. A yawn slipped past his lips as he discarded the marker, picking up his favorite fine liner pen instead; quickly jotting something in the margin of the page. 

“You called?” His voice was soft, eyes meeting hers once more as a soft smile caressed his lips. 

“What are you feeling for dinner? I want something warm and filling.” The smile never fell from her face, waiting for him to realize. Josh shrugged his shoulders, turning his attention back to his journal. 

“Whatever you want is fine as long as I get to pick the movie tonight.” His gaze landing on hers as he cocked his head to the side. 

“Do I have something on my face?” He chuckled, pulling his fingers down his cheeks and giving a gentle tug to his beard. 

“I said ‘Hey Gorgeous.’” She repeated, smile growing wider as realization washed over his features. A soft pink hue kissing the apples of his cheeks as he averted his gaze. 

A giggle danced up her throat as she placed her book mark in her book, tossing it to the side to be forgotten about. Watching as multiple emotions washed over his face, finally settling on the shyest smile; his top teeth coming down to worry  his bottom lip. 

“You did, didn’t you?” He kept his voice low, his lowest register shining through as his eyes snapped to hers. The shy smile that caressed his lips pulling into a full smile that nearly reached his eyes. The pink hue gracing his cheeks turning a brighter shade of red as the tips of his ears began to burn.

“C’mere, gorgeous.” Her tone was light and flirty as she held her hands out in his direction, grasping her fingers to her palms in a grabby hands motion. A nervous giggle escaped him as he reached up, covering his face with his hands. Another giggle bubbling up his throat as he raked a hand down his face, pulling his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger. 

“Why do you do these things to me, sweetness?” He crooned, carefully closing his journal as he pushed himself to stand from the table. A proud smile played across her lips as she stood, meeting him halfway across the room. 

“I’ve done nothing to you.” She giggled, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck as his hands found her hips, thumbs sneaking up underneath the hem of her shirt. He rubbed the tip of his nose up and down her cheek gently before pressing his forehead to hers. A breathy giggle escaped her at the lingering tickle his nose left on her cheek. 

She focused her eyes the best she could on his, extending her fingers so they twisted in the curls at the nape of his neck. His eyes fluttered shut at the slight tension she was causing, pulling his hair lightly as she carded her fingers through it. He let his head fall to her shoulder, her fingers swiftly slipping from his hair as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist; pulling her body flush with his. 

A soft smile caressed her lips as he started to sway, his grip tightening on her as she began tracing light designs across the back of his neck. His breath caught in his throat as she toyed with his ear, a soft chuckle emanating from his chest as he placed a soft kiss to her neck. She couldn’t hide the shiver that danced up her spine or the giggle that escaped her as he lifted his head.

“For you, for the rest of my life; for you, all the best of my life; for you alone, only for you.” Josh sang along to the song playing softly in the background. He reached his hand up, cupping her cheek as she beamed up at him, nuzzling her cheek against his palm. Lifting up onto her toes slightly, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips giggling as he tried to chase her lips. 

“I mean if calling you gorgeous gets me slow dances and serenades I might just have to do it more often.” She teased, pulling her hands around to cup his now pink cheeks. Her thumbs danced over the apples of his cheeks as he rolled his eyes, wide smile tugging up the corners of his lips. 

“Stop it.” He chuckled, leaning down to slot his nose next to hers, rubbing them together gently before capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. He began swaying again, gently guiding her around the living room as she slipped her arms back around his neck. Josh rested his head against her shoulder, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he continued to hum along to the song. 

She reveled in vibrations his humming sent through her shoulder blade, the way  his arms felt wrapped around her waist, how the hair that kissed his upper lip tickled the exposed skin of her shoulder slightly as his hot breath fanned across her neck. How his fingers slipped just slightly under the hem of her shirt rubbing gentle circles into her skin as he pulled her as close to his body as he possibly could. She let her fingers dance through his hair, carding them through the curls mindlessly as they continued to slow dance around their living room. 

His grip on her loosened as the vinyl they had spinning ended, the sound of the rain still pelting against the roof and windows the only noise that surrounded them. Josh continued to gently spin her in circles, slipping his hand up under her shirt as he spread his fingers across the expanse of her back. A dopey grin played on his lips as he lifted his head from her shoulder, his eyes displaying a tired serene look.

“Am I boring you, my love?” She cooed, her hands finding his cheeks once more. His smile widened as his eyes fluttered shut, nuzzling his cheek against her palm. He danced his other hand up her side, gently gripping the back of her neck, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose and dipped her in one swift motion. Giggles erupted from her chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Joshua!” She scolded as he pulled her upright, belly laughs escaping him. He leaned forward capturing her lips in a sweet kiss, keeping his hand on her neck as his fingers inched upwards into the hair at her nape. 

She relaxed into the kiss, her body finally shaking the shock his dip had caused. Her fingers snaking up into the curls on the back of his head, holding him to her as he deepened the kiss; his tongue running gently along her bottom lip. 

An involuntary giggle bubbled up in her chest as their teeth clashed together gently, causing him to pull back and break the kiss. A soft whine emanated from her chest at the loss of contact; quickly catching in her throat as he dipped his head and pressed gentle open mouthed kisses to her neck; the softest moan escaping her throat. 

“Gorgeous,” the word meant to be a protest rolled off her tongue in a hiss; further fueling the fire that erupted in his stomach as he nipped at the already tender skin of her neck. 

“The question at hand was what’s for dinner.” Her words slurring as her mind clouded over, tilting her head slightly as he continued his attack on her neck. He tangled his fingers in her hair tugging lightly and earning himself a whimper from her. The sound low and drawn out as he smoothed his tongue over the skin of her neck, a light purple mark already blooming under the red, tender skin.

“Keep calling me that and the answers gonna be you.” He mumbled, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder. He reveled in the way her breathing quickened slightly as a shiver danced up her spine. She pulled her arms back, resting her hands on his chest before pushing him back far enough that their eyes met, brow raised as she took in his appearance. 

His cheeks were flushed the most beautiful shade of pink, lips a darker shade of red and fully kiss swollen, pupils blown out fully enveloping his honey brown irises as he kept his eyes locked on hers. She couldn’t help but run her fingers back through the mess of curls that sat atop his head, his eyes rolling back as she gently tugged his hair at the roots. 

A devilish smirk played across her lips as she scratched at his scalp, a deep sigh slipping through his nose as he leaned his head back against her fingertips. She took advantage of having the upper hand, maneuvering his head with his hair as she leaned up on her toes and began pressing soft kisses to his jawline. 

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his breath catching in his chest as she nipped lightly at the hollow beneath his ear. She ran her tongue up the length of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine as her teeth closed around his earlobe, nibbling lovingly. 

“Gorgeous.” Her voice was barely a whisper. His hips bucked forward involuntarily, eliciting a nervous chuckle from his chest as a smile pulled at the corners of her lips. She let her free hand snake between their bodies, gently pressing her palm to his erection, resting painfully against his left thigh. 

“What did I say, sweetness?” His voice held a sultry tone as his hands found her hips, pulling her fully flush against him; trapping her hand between their bodies.  She stroked her fingers over his length the best she could as her eyes met his; a warning look to proceed with caution spreading across his features. 

“I’m not doing anything.” She mumbled, averting her gaze from his face. He chuckled lowly, reaching a hand up to grasp her chin. He pulled her head in his direction, watching as her eyes fluttered shut; a mischievous giggle bubbling up from her chest as a smile tugged at her lips. 

“What was that, baby?” He mumbled, peppering kisses across her cheeks. Soft giggles escaped her as she broke from his grasp, making her way over to the record player, carefully placing the arm onto the record. A groan escaped him as he adjusted the way he was positioned, turning on his heel. 

“You left me.” He whined, closing the distance between them. Shaking his arms around her middle as he hooked his chin over her shoulder. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, squishing her cheek against his. 

“The quiet was driving me mad.” She giggled, her eyes fluttering shut as the soft tune of John Denver began dancing through the air once more. Josh chuckled, turning his head to press a soft kiss to her cheek as he began to sway their bodies to the music. 

“If you wanted me to keep singing to you, you should have just asked.” Her hands rested against his, intertwining their fingers together as he tugged and gently spun her around to face him. She let her arms snake around his midsection, his coming to rest on her shoulders as he began singing along to ‘Higher Ground’

“Maybe it's just the freedom that I've found

Given the possibility, of living up to the dream in me, you know I'll be reaching for higher ground.” 

A soft smile caressed her lips as she leaned her head back, resting her chin against his sternum. He looked at her down his nose, tilting his head just enough to press a soft kiss to her forehead. His arms slid down hers, his hands resting just above her ass as he began swaying them to the soft tunes. 

“What is higher ground, hm?” She questioned, her eyes finally meeting his as she slid her hands up under the hem of his shirt. His gaze wandered, falling on the bay window to his right, watching as the droplets of water raced each other. His shoulders raised in a soft shrug, absentmindedly leaning down to press a second kiss to her forehead. Her eyes fluttered shut at the contact, scratching her nails over the expanse of his lower back. His body shook gently as a shiver danced up his spine. 

“I mean we have everything with the band that we never thought we’d have, like one minute we’re playing in a garage the next we’re playing Madison Square and I don’t understand how the hell that all happened.” A smile spread across her face, reveling in the feeling of his muscles dancing over her as his hands moved theatrically behind her while he spoke. 

“And you. You changed my perspective on everything. It was almost like the fear of domestication completely melted away and my natural instincts took over. I’ve never felt this way before, like sure I’d admire the boys with their partners but I never saw a partner in my future let alone the near future. And now? Now I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you; y’know picket fence, maybe a rose garden, put a baby in you, everything that comes with loving someone with their whole being.” 

His shoulders raised in another shrug, hands dancing through the air behind her back as he spoke, something she loved about him. Her eyes stayed glued to his, a glint of something he couldn’t put his fingers on playing through them.

“What?” He giggled, the sound high pitched and painful in her ears. A wince crossed her features, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled her nails sharply across his back. A sheepish grin spread across his face, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose as a mumbled ‘sorry’ slipped past his lips.  

“What was that last part?” She asked, cocking her head to the side as his eyes wandered. 

“Hmm, a picket fence?” His smile grew broader, breaking from her grasp. Tilting her head to the opposite side she giggled, the smile never leaving her face. 

“No, the other last part.” The anticipatory giggle that slipped past her caused a soft blush to bloom across his cheeks. Bringing his hand to his face he tapped his finger against his pursed lips. 

“Ohhh, you mean the rose garden? I think my mom would be a big help with that. She loves her rose bushes.” A mischievous grin spread across his face, his tone dripping with excitement as she began tapping her foot against the floor. 

“Though a rose garden would be nice it wouldn’t cause you to be all flustered. Wanna try again, gorgeous? I’ve heard the third times the charm.” 

Josh’s eyes rolled back, his lids fluttering shut as he took a step towards her, hoping she’d close the distance between them. His cock twitched in his pants, the mere thought of having to repeat a secret he never should have shared excited him. Pulling in a deep breath through his nose he took another step towards her, holding his arms out in front of him beckoning her towards him. 

“I said, Iwannaputababyinyou.” he rushed the sentence out as quickly as he could, cheeks turning the brightest shade of red she’d ever seen his face turn. With her bottom lip nestled between her teeth she closed the distance, wrapping her arms around his neck as his enclosed around her middle; tugging her closer before his hands quickly found purchase on her hips and held her flush against him. 

“Put a baby in me then, Kiszka.” She challenged, toying with the delicate gold hoop he had pierced through his ear lobe, shivers dancing down his spine at both the gentle contact and the words that slipped past her lips. 

“Oh yeah?” Josh bent at the waist, sliding his hands down around her thighs hoisting her up as he stood to his full height. Giggles escaped her as she wrapped her legs around him, keeping herself securely in place as he padded down the hallway towards the bedroom. She let her head fall to his shoulder, pressing soft opened mouth kisses to his neck as his pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, collecting himself as he kicked the slightly ajar bedroom door fully open. 

“Strip.” The command slipped past his lips a bit harsher than he intended it to, smacking his hands against her ass - a bit of contact he knew drove her crazy - as she quickly unraveled herself from him, sliding her legs to the floor. Her hands found his chest, pushing him back lightly while she bent at the waist slightly, shimmying her shoulders. His eyes were lidded, wringing his hands out in front of him as he watched her movements. 

They were calculated movements, dragging her hands up her sides painstakingly slow as she cupped her breasts, a breathy giggle escaping her as his head fell back slightly. Her hands danced back down her sides as she straightened her back out, crossing at her waist as she lifted the bottom of her shirt just enough for a sliver of skin to peek through. Josh took another step back raking his eyes over her figure as his mind caught up with his body, she was going to drag this out for as long as possible. 

She saw the glint in his eye, the way his gaze changed from flirty and mischievous to  lust and hunger filled. His hands balled into fists at his sides as she rid her shirt - not before slowing peeling it up off of her torso, a high pitched giggle escaping her as her face lit up. He shook his head, bottom lip nestled tightly between his teeth as he unraveled a fist, gently palming at his erection through his pants. 

“Aht, aht, that’s my job.” She cooed, pulling the straps of her bra off of her shoulders, letting the cups fall loosely around her breasts. A pout formed on his lips as he moved his hand back by his side curling it back into a fist as he watched her unclasp her bra and toss it to the floor. 

“Good boy.” The small slip of praise had his breath catching in his throat, swallowing down a moan that bubbled up in his chest quickly. His eyes rolled back, nails digging into his palms as he tried to compose himself. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her.

She turned her back to him, shaking her ass as she shot an innocent smile over her shoulder. Slipping his hands in his pockets with a shake of his head he stepped closer to her, rutting his hips forward against her. Bent slightly she rubbed her ass against him, nothing but a tease as she slowly unbuttoned her jeans. 

“You go any slower I may be so inclined as to rip these jeans off of you; and I’d hate to be the one to ruin your favorite jeans.” Josh cooed, hooking his chin over her shoulder pressed cheek to cheek. A mischievous giggle escaped her, rolling her hips back as she wiggled out of her jeans. Josh groaned as her bare ass filled his line of sight, losing the battle within himself as he slid his hands out of his pockets gripping both of her ass cheeks hard enough to leave bruises. 

She gasped,  a breathy giggle escaping her as he kneaded her ass, his fingers digging into the flesh causing a satisfying pain. His mouth was on her neck, wet kisses sprinkling the surface as he ground his clothed erection into her, the softest moan slipping past his lips. 

“No panties? You left the house without panties? Naughty girl.” He growled out, snaking his hand around her hip as he slowly danced it towards her core, the one place he knew she wanted him the most. His fingers danced across her thigh, his nails trailing red marks as he scratched his way down the junction of her hip. A satisfied hiss slipping past her lips as his finger brushed gently against her clit. 

A low chuckle slipped past Josh’s lips as he slid his fingers between her folds, biting down on her shoulder as he collected her wetness on his fingers. Her back arched slightly, pushing her ass harder against his dick as he began slowly swirling the pad of his middle finger around her clit. A shuddering breath shook her shoulders as she leaned forward, resting her hands against the bed. 

He withdrew his hand, straightening his back as he brought his right hand down against her ass in a sickening crack. A loud gasp escaped her as she collapsed forward into the bed. He soothed his hand over the already reddening mark, a chuckle bubbling up his throat. 

“Get up there.” He mumbled, a gentle tap delivered to each cheek as she pulled her knees up onto the bed. Josh took a step back, fully admiring the view as he quickly stripped his own clothes off. She slowly made her way to the top of the bed, throwing herself onto her back in a full dramatic show; throwing her arm over her eyes as she let her legs fall open.

A low whistle slipped past his parted lips, reaching down to envelope his dick in his hand stroking it lazily a few times before settling on the bed between her legs. He placed hot opened mouth kisses against her inner thigh, hooking his arms up under her thighs as his gaze focused on her. A stream of cool air flitting across her clit, her back arching slightly as he pressed a feather light kiss to her clit.

She forced her eyes open, gaze landing on him as he studied her. His eyes glued to her core as a smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes snapped up to hers, watching her intently as he pressed forward flattening his tongue against her and licked a stripe up her, flicking the tip of his tongue against her clit.

“Oh,” she sighed, her back arching slightly as he gauged her reaction. That smug smirk never leaving his lips as he went back for more. 

He closed his lips around her sucking on her clit as he slipped his middle finger into her smoothly, her back arching fully off of the bed. Shaking his head slightly he pulled a moan from deep within her chest, slowly beginning to pump his finger into her at a deliciously slow pace. 

“Gorgeous,” she tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging it at the root as his tongue danced in slow circles around her clit, her breath catching in her throat as his tongue came into contact with a particularly sensitive spot. 

He rutted his hips into the mattress chasing the friction that his body craved. A hum of pleasure slipped past his lips, shooting straight to her core. A loud moan escaped her as pleasure shot straight into her stomach. He raised an eyebrow, his hips slowing their motions as he elicited soft moan from his chest, the vibration of the simple noise sending her body into a frenzy. 

She clenched around his fingers, back arching once more as she fought to keep her legs open; thigh muscles burning. A string of profanities escaped her, his name mixed in as a coil of pleasure began building  in her stomach. 

Josh pulled back, quickening the pace of his fingers as he watched her. A soft whine slipped past her lips at the loss of his mouth but her body betrayed her, clenching around his fingers once more as he curled them upwards; hitting the spot inside her only he knew how to find. 

“You like that, sweet girl? Hmm? Gonna give it to me?” His lower register revealed itself again, earning himself another moan of his name as he placed his other hand on her, thumb rubbing quick tight circles into her clit. Her breathing quickened, a nod of her head the only thing she could muster as she bit down hard on her bottom lip, her fingers tangling in his curls and yanking. 

He slowed his fingers to a near halt, slowly pressing in and pulling out of her. Her breath hitched in her throat, balling her hand into a fist before bringing it down forcefully against the bed next to her. A low chuckle escaped him as he pulled his fingers out of her, bringing them up to his mouth. Her eyes snapped open, meeting his quickly as he slowly took her fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them fully savoring the taste of her arousal. 

Her chest heaved as she clenched her thighs together, trying to chase the friction she so badly craved. Josh shook his head, placing a hand on each of her knees as he pried her legs apart, eyes falling to observe her. A guttural groan escaping him as his cock twitched, fighting the urge to buck his hips into nothing. 

“Use your words, Princess.” A devilish grin spread across his face as her eyes rolled back, her back arching up off of the bed at the sound of his words. Her vision was clouded as her eyes landed on him once more, pulling in a deep breath. 

“I need you, now.” It was more of a demand than a statement. He chuckled lowly, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin of her thigh. 

“What exactly do you need?” He drawled, knew full well what he was doing to her. She swallowed hard, steadying her breathing as her gaze bore into his, the clear mischief dancing behind his golden amber irises enough to send her spiraling. 

“Put a baby in me, gorgeous.” The sentence rolled off her tongue easier than she ever expected. That cocky smirk he loved to torture her with tugging at his lips as he pulled himself up onto all fours, planting his hands on either side of her head. 

She reached down between them, wrapping her petite hand around his girth, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his dick in her hand. She didn’t hesitate, guiding the head of his dick along her slit, gathering her wetness before lining him up with her entrance. 

His brow raised, a silent question of consent as her eyes met his, a slight nod of her head all the permission he needed. Pushing his hips forward he teased her entrance, gently dipping the tip of his dick into her. He focused on her face as he slowly pushed into her, taking pride in the way her eyes rolled back and the sharp intake of breath she pulled through her teeth. 

Josh stilled his movements as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down closer to her as she adjusted to his size; a curt nod of her head signaling and a soft kiss pressed to his forehead signaling him to continue. He leaned down, taking her taut nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the bud as he slowly started to pull back.

The sigh that slipped past her lips as he glided back in only egging him on as he quickly found a steady rhythm. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, opened mouth kisses leaving a trail of pink marks in their wake. He could feel her clench around him as he nipped at a particularly sensitive spot on her neck, focusing all of his attention on it when she began digging her nails into his back; scratching his skin raw as she raked them down his back. 

A string of profanities slipped past her lips as he slipped his hands beneath her ass, angling her body just right to drive her to the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside her with every thrust. Her breath caught in her throat as she sunk her teeth into his shoulder, the coil of pleasure in her stomach threatening to snap at any moment. 

“Gonna cum all over my dick like a good girl?” He grunted, hips beginning to lose their rhythm as his high approached. A loud guttural groan escaping his throat as she spasmed around him. He made quick work of slipping his hand between their bodies, his thumb finding her clit and swirling quick tight circles against it. 

His name fell from her lips like a mantra as her orgasm washed over her, the way she clenched around him too much for him as he rutted his hips into her faster, an animalistic moan escaping him as he crashed into his peak.

“Goddamn it, Sweetness. That’s it, give me it all. You feel so good milking me like that.” His voice was feather light, talking her through her orgasm; his own nerves heightened as his confidence waned. 

“So good, so good.” He whispered, his hips shuddering to a stop as he collapsed on top of her. Her fingers danced across his back, tracing shapes absentmindedly into his sweat slick skin. He peppered soft kisses to her cheeks chest heaving as he came down from his high. 

He pushed himself up to hover over her, his arms slightly weak as he held his weight. Her eyes fluttered open, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. A wide grin spread across his face as he slowly pulled out of her, quickly snatching a fire tissues off of her bedside table. 

“I got it.” She giggled, reaching for the tissues. Josh shook his head, holding them up just out of her reach as a pout danced across her lips. 

He made quick work of cleaning her up, disposing of the tissues in the bedside trash can before focusing on cleaning himself up. She reached for him, wanting nothing more than the familiar weight of his body laid across hers, pressing her firmly into the mattress. 

A soft chuckle escaped him as he laid across her, hooking his leg across hers as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She carded her fingers through his now damp hair, the curls all but falling out of his hair as she tugged at it gently. A satisfied groan slipped past his lips as his breathing steadied, sleep threatening to over take him.  A yawn slipped past her lips, scratching lazily at his scalp. 

“Hey Gorgeous?” She cooed, tilting her head to look at him better. A tired groan slipped past his lips, tilting his head so she knew he was listening. 

“What’s for dinner?” A clearly annoyed whine slipped past his lips as he sunk his teeth into her neck in a playful nip. 

“You.”

[ladyjaneasherr]

New!!

February 21st, 1967. Beautiful Jane Asher in Fifth Avenue, New York, February 21st 1967. Asher was on tour with the Bristol Old Vic Theatre.

Picture 1 and picture 2 ( a new release plus my colourisation) and picture 3: 📸Harry Benson/Daily Express/Hulton Archive/Getty Images.

Picture 4 to 8 Date Book magazine scans from my lovely friend Vio that has allowed me to use! July 1967 issue.

Jane’s here!

DATEBOOK MAKES THE NEW YORK SCENE WITH JANE ASHER. Braving New York's traffic.

The girlfriend of an old friend of ours came to town recently and we showed her a bit of the Big City. When Jane Asher was performing with the Bristol Old Vic in New York, we lunched with her and took her to a pop-art dinner party on her last night in town.

When we picked her up for lunch she was wearing a bulky, horizontal-striped fur coat she had bought the day before. "Red fox?" we asked. "That's what you're supposed to think,"she said. "But it's really opossum!"*

We had lunch in the Italian restaurant in the hotel (Gorham) in which she stayed—it was across the street from the theater. We talked about everything-her acting plans (to do Shaw's "Arms And The Man" when she got back to London), Paul's plans (to write and direct a movie in which she will star—a short experimental film, that is), Paul (she'd just had a letter from him in which he told her that he'd had the whole London Symphony improvising), her refusal to sign up for more than one movie , at a time ("no long-term contracts for me"'), her interest in pop art ("I'm really fascinated by artists like Lichtenstein and Andy Warhol. My brother Peter has a gallery, in London, you know.") We chatted away about New York she think's she loves it, but it will take more time to be certain), George and Patti (she wonders if they'll some day go to live permanently in India), Beatle fans at her performances ("It's so marvelous to see them react to Romeo and Juliet as if it were a contemporary story. Many really don't know how it all ends and they sob and laugh so naturally.")

Jane talked about Paul unseltconsciously when his name came up naturally in the conversation— and it did now and then since we discussed pop music and all the personalities in it. But, the subject of her relationship with Paul did not come up. And we decided not to bring it up since it was obviously a personal matter which she felt was not in order.

(Jane said a New York newspaper interviewed her and then made up a quote "Paul is not exactly my Romeo'' and used it as the headline, although it had nothing at all to do with the interview.)

What's Jane Asher really like?

She's much more beautiful than her pictures would lead you to expect. Her hair is a marvelous orange-red and her skin a milky white. She has delicate features and a lovely Puckish grin which breaks into a wide smile very often. She's shy-but she knows exactly what she wants and is strong enough to fight for it.

Jane was very eager to meet some of the top pop artists and we invited her to a gallery opening, party and dinner the following Saturday night.

She accepted and a few nights later, bedecked in her red minidress, her red coat and her red hair, she made the artscene with us. Jane impressed everybody with her glowing beauty, her quiet intelligence, her gentle humor and her real interest in the world around her.

By this time, we knew for sure why our London friend was so involved with her!

When we said goodbye back at her hotel, we wished her a pleasant tour (she was to leave the next day) and we asked her to give our regards to Paul. She told us to be sure to look her up in London next time we were there.

Gentle Jane waved goodbye to us as the elevator doors closed. Her next stop was to be California and then Denver, where a big surprise would be awaiting her. Turn page for the big surprise.

[verysium]

what do you read in your spare time? you’re one of the most eloquent users i know, id love to hear how you find the media you consume and what your favorites are

omg ei 😊 welcome back to the inbox! thank you for your sweet words although i'm probably not qualified enough to be considered the full definition of eloquent. i am going to preface this post by saying that i definitely don't read as much as i should, so this list is not going to be comprehensive whatsoever. the last time i even visited an in-person library was like half a decade ago, and since then my spare time has been nonexistent lmao. anyways, here are some of my favorite/most recent reads as listed by author:

POETRY

richard siken: i think siken is already well-known both in the literary world and in whatever booktok deems is popular culture. if you don't already know him though, he is best known for his poetry collection crush, which delves into themes of obsession, gay love, and violent eroticism. i actually read this chapbook unknowingly. as in i was hounding sketchy pdf download sites at 3 AM and saw a man with bloodied lips on the cover and decided to read it. he basically became my summer fever dream after that. the way he juxtaposes images is seamless, smoother than water. only richard siken can talk about violence without making it sound violent. i also enjoyed his other poetry collection war of the foxes, especially "portrait of fryderyk in shifting light." i think light is a common motif throughout most of his poems, and he manipulates it effortlessly. the most recent piece i read from him is "piano lesson." i have nothing left to say that he didn't already say, so i would just recommend reading it for yourself. he is the og big brain when it comes to word play.

ocean vuong: he's unforgettable, and i mean that literally because nobody forgets a person named ocean. time is a mother was exactly what the name suggests: an exploration of grief, loss, and the rewind of time after his mother's death. some of the poems are almost cinematic in quality. "künstlerroman" is my favorite because it feels exactly like watching a video tape in reverse. i think his most famous work is "someday i'll love ocean vuong." it was the first piece i ever read from him, and to this day, it remains my comfort poem.

silas denver melvin: i only recently discovered him through his chapbook grit. i think he's also on tumblr @/sweatermuppet. he writes a lot on the trans experience, and his work gives me a mix of southern gothic and country vibes. would definitely read his other publications if i had the time.

chen chen: one thing about chen chen is that he always comes to devour. my favorite works from him are "self-portrait as so much potential" and "song of the anti-sisyphus." you have to put on your thinking cap for some of his poems, but once you grasp the meaning, everything makes sense all at once.

franny choi: "disaster means without a star" was the entire inspiration behind my first rin fic. i relate to her more personally in regards to the diaspora experience, but her collections are worth reading in general because of the sheer quality.

pages matam: his poem "piñata" was what got me into slam poetry. his work mostly consists of political commentary which i feel is particularly relevant in today's social climate. "on learning america's english" also resonates with people who have encountered the entire losing/learning immigrant tongues experience.

laura lamb brown-lavolie: i've only read one spoken word poem from her, and tbh i only needed to read one. "on this the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the titanic, we reconsider the buoyancy of the human heart" is my two-headed calf poem. one day i will get this tattooed.

brendan constantine: once again, this was the result of me being chronically online coupled with the boredom of an august heat wave. i found "the opposites game" through TED. honestly, i was a bit unsure about it at first, but it's a cute little poem that makes you really delve into the intricacies of craft.

TEEN POETRY & PROSE

yasmeen khan: she could mouth her words onto every square inch of my body, and i would still be coming back for more. ingraining them into flesh is not enough. "movie stars" is by far my favorite work from her. she writes about femininity and womanhood so profoundly. it's tragic, but really i wouldn't have it end any other way.

kaya dierks: her writing is basically middle-of-nowhere small town stoner teenage life but personified. "crushed" is my favorite piece from her. the soundtrack for this work was definitely by ethel cain, and you cannot convince me otherwise.

FICTION

madeline miller: i was first introduced to her when i read the song of achilles. let's just say that book had me nonverbal for the greater half of three months. it was my metaphorical hatchet. i buried it once, and i never want to dig it up again. i read circe a few years later. the first time was during the blue hour at an airport, right between one red-eye flight and another transfer. i don't even remember that experience because i was heavily sleep-deprived. i read it again recently for a literature course, this time for academic analysis. overall, i enjoy the the heroine-centric narrative. typically, i'm a bit wary of novels with heavy feminist themes because they either project their agenda too strongly or they run the risk of misrepresentation. circe doesn't exactly have that problem. it was more about empowerment and less about exercising power over others.

charlotte brontë: as a historical figure, brontë was questionable, but jane eyre most certainly was not. that book rewired my brain, and that is saying something because i have never read any classic by choice. and it is so important to me that jane was the ugliest, plainest girl you could ever imagine. also cus i unironically enjoy angst, and this book was full of dramatic misunderstandings.

yoko ogawa: i love japanese literature, so there is no reason not to include this one here. "a peddler of tears" is one of my favorite short stories. i did not expect the ending at all, but it was welcome. something about violence, body gore, and dismemberment being framed as romantic and semi-erotic just gets to me. sign me the hell up. hotel iris is a hit-or-miss with some people. either you like the fact that art makes you uncomfortable or you shut it down completely. for me, i was alright with exploring some of its darker themes, but read at your own discretion.

NONFICTION

ross gay: he lives up to his name both in optimism and in carefree joy. probably one of my favorite creative nonfiction authors simply based off the accessibility of his writing style. easy to read and understand but still hits you with the full force of a semi-truck. i would recommend his book inciting joy. it's a collection of essays that delve into grief, but since this is ross gay, he makes it seem like a quintessential part of life.

paul kalanithi: sixteen-year-old me was mind blown by him cus before that doctors were shrewish old men with bald spots and sterile coats, not poetic surgeons who dissected the anatomy of word and recited t.s. eliot in the most heart-wrenching way possible. he is everything i want to become in both life and death. when breath becomes air literally does take your breath away.

[leletha-jann]

Feb. 7, 2024 update from Kaja over on Patreon (summarized)

She's back in hospital and taking appropriate meds. Recovering but "feeling rotten". Probably no pages this week (Phil is still going to the Magic convention in Denver this weekend, because hospital stays do nothing for finances).

Patreon community current status: howls of support.

Extra plug to support our beloved Professors if you can over on Patreon