#but we went for drinks at two places after and I forgot my earplugs

[anagram-for-mongo]

That was certainly a week

[caitybug]

(Also sorry you are working on sads and feel blegh) maybe Rain is too "mundain" as far as prompts. 5? 7? 8? Any of those sound fun? 😂

5. Typed kisses.

7. Kisses after decades apart.

8. Kisses after dark.

Birdy, bc I love you, I’m going to try to do all of these haha.

(Shoutout to @adamarks​ for looking this over to make sure I wasn’t going insane.)

(1:35): Good morning! 

(1:35): Snow, it’s 1 in the morning. 

(1:36): Why are you messaging me?

(1:36): It’s 7:30 here.

(1:36): It’s still morning, though. So my original text stands. 

(1:37): Good morning, Snow. 

(1:37):😘 😘 

(1:38): XO. 

Day 2:

(10:03): Let me know how your appointment goes. 

(10:03): XO.

(10:04): My what?

(10:04): Your check-up.

(11:05): You forgot about it, didn’t you?

(11:10): I’m here, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Baz. 

(11:12): You’re an idiot, Snow.

(11:12): 😘 😘 love you.

(11:13): I love you too, XO. 

Day 3:

(15:03): Do you think the milk is still good?

(15:04): When did it go bad?

(15:05): It says it went bad a few days ago.

(15:06): But the date says best by…

(15:06): So it just means it isn’t at its BEST right?

(15:07): How does it smell?

(15:07): Not good.

(15:08): Then don’t drink it.

(15:09): What if I just don’t know how milk is supposed to smell? How often do I really smell milk?

(15:10): Snow, just get more milk. I think we can spare the money it costs.

(15:10): But I’ve already started cooking. 

(15:12): I’m just going to try anyway. 

(15:12): It’ll be cooked anyway, right?

(15:13): I want it known I believe this to be a bad idea. 

(15:14): You also said that subscribing to three different butter services was “unnecessary and excessive”

(15:15): I stand by that, Snow. 

(15:15): How can one person eat that much butter each month?

(15:16): I can’t believe you would doubt my abilities like this. 

(15:16): I thought we were in a loving and supportive relationship. 

(15:17): I love you and support your health.

(15:17): Which means cutting back on butter sometimes, darling.

(15:20): I’m going to use the milk. 

(15:22): I wish you the best.

(15:22): 😘 😘

(15:23): XO. 

Day 5:

(7:40): How is your stomach?

(7:45): Better.

(7:45): I told you to buy new milk. 

(7:47): I think there is a stomach bug going around.

(7:47): Probably that.

(7:49): Sure, Snow.

(7:49): That’s why you spent yesterday regurgitating the entire contents of your stomach.

(7:50): Yes, it is.

(7:52): Have a good day.

(7:52): I miss you.

(7:52): 😘 😘

(7:55): I miss you too.

(7:55): XO.

Day 8:

(20:46): The people above us are pounding it out again.

(20:47): Earplugs are in my bedside drawer.

(20:47): If you were here I’d just try to compete.

(20:48): You certainly would not.

(20:50): I bet we could beat them.

(20:52): Come on, Baz, I know you’ve got a competitive streak. Don’t let Richard and Shelly show us up.

(20:53): You’ve got two hands, Snow. I’m sure you could manage something.

(20:54): Oh? Good idea.

(20:54): Talk later.

(20:55): 😘 😘

(20:57): I regret so much about this conversation.

(20:57): XO.

Day 13:

(14:05): YOU COME BACK TOMORROW!

(14:07): Please stop yelling at me.

(14:07): But yes, I do. 

(14:08): 😊 😊 😊

(14:09): I love you.

(14:14): I love you too.

(14:15): Can we facetime?

(14:15): In a couple of hours, Snow.

(14:15): I’ve got one more meeting.

(14:16): 😔

(14:16): Alright.

(14:17): XO.

(14:18): 😘 😘

Day 14

I get through security. It’s always a painful even, especially in America. Have to practically strip just to stand in a machine that tells everyone what I’ve already known. 

No gun here the machine says with a green light and a beep.

As if I’d need one. 

It’s been delayed several hours for a reason I’ve yet to figure out. The weather looks clear, planes are moving in and out. People on other flights are still departing on time. 

The only reasonable explanation I’ve come up with is the airline is incompetent. 

“Snow,” I say, putting a finger in my right ear, trying to ignore the man screaming at the poor help desk person. “I may not be back until tomorrow.”

I look at the clock. Even if we left now I wouldn’t get home until midnight.

“What? Why?” He asks. His voice sounds frantic.

I hate worrying him.

“This airline work flew me through is set upon ruining my life,” I growl under my breath. 

The service representatives have been berated enough, they don’t need me coming after them as well. (Even if I want to.)

(Crowley do I want to.)

“Right now it doesn’t have us leaving for another two hours, so at earliest I won’t be home until 3 in the morning. With the trend of how this has been going, I won’t be surprised if it gets canceled altogether.”

He huffs.

“I miss you.”

It comes out as a whisper, any quieter, and I would have missed it.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of saying it. We’ve said it a lot over the past two weeks.

He’s sad. I am too. I was supposed to be home by dinner. We were going to order takeaway and watch a movie, kiss and makeup for lost time.

Ignore all responsibilities of the world around us for the evening. 

“I miss you too.” I face the large windows, looking at planes that aren’t mine leaving the runway. 

The blasted airport is under construction too. Everyone said to fly in and out of La Guardia because it is easier, but I’m wondering if I should have taken JFK. 

“I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“You better. Preferably before I drink more spoiled milk.”

“Stay away from all dairy products until I return,” I chuckle into the phone. 

An announcement comes over the intercom.

“They’re announcing another delay, I’m sure,” I groan. “I’ll send you a text.”

“I love you,” he says from the other side.

“I love you too,” I respond, ending the call and slipping it into my pocket. 

(14:36): I hope you get home soon.

(14:36): Threaten to suck their blood, or something.

(14:36): I’m sure that would work.

(14:36): 😘 😘.

(14:37): You’re an idiot, Snow.

(14:37): XO.

Day 15, 4:16

I turn my key in the door, trying to quietly walk into the flat. My suitcase softly rolls against the wood behind me as I pull it in, letting it sit next to the door.

Unpacking can happen after I get at least fourteen hours of sleep. 

I place a brown paper sack of scones on the kitchen table.

I couldn’t resist. The shop next to us had just opened, and I knew it would make him smile. 

I continue down the hallway, stopping only to take a piss.

In our room, still blanketed in darkness apart from the street lights coming from the road beside us, Simon softly snores. 

He still sleeps on his side of the bed while I’m away. It makes my heart feel softer than I’d like to admit. 

One hand rests next to his head, his wings spread out across the bed.

I change clothes, relieving myself of all the feelings of travel before softly lifting a wing to get under the blanket and allow him to cover me again.

I don’t have long to process the fact that I’m with him again before I feel something wrap around my calf. 

I pause for a moment before I remember.

The tail.

He is, for all I can tell, still asleep. Meaning it’s recognized I’m here and is saying hello in its own way.

I rub it softly with my other foot.

It dislikes not getting attention, you see.

Simon’s mouth is open as he breathes deeply. I think his pillow is a little wet.

I’d call it disgusting (it is, truly), but I missed him so much that I can’t help but smile.

I risk moving closer and kiss his cheek softly, trying not to wake him up.

I know he hasn’t slept well without me.

(I haven’t either, without him.)

Side effect of sleeping for so many years in that tower. We both got dreadfully used to hearing the other breathe, the way we each navigated and slept.

At this point, I think even his snoring lulls me to sleep.

(I still complain about it, however.)

An arm wraps behind my back and pulls me close.

He takes a deep breath, and when I pull back I see one eye open.

“Hey there,” he says, voice hoarse with sleep. 

“Your breath smells.” I lean in, kissing his forehead. 

“Well your hair is greasy,” he replies, pulling me into a kiss, his hand moving to my hair. 

“You don’t seem to mind it.”

He hums in response.

I pull him tighter. I need to feel this. Everything. 

His lips.

His hands.

His chest against mine.

“And you don’t seem to mind the morning breath,” he states, smiling at me as we break for a moment.

I open my mouth to retort but he puts a finger to my lips, shushing me.

“No talking, only kissing,” he whispers. “I’ve not kissed my fiancé in decades.”

He leans in but I pull back for a moment.

“It’s been two weeks, Snow.”

“Decades,” he states matter of factly. “Each day was like five years passed. It’s been 70 years. I’ve gone grey and wrinkly, waiting for you to return.”

I laugh, being shut up briefly by another round of kisses.

I should sleep.

But this is so much better than sleeping. 

I feel something wet hit my cheek.

Backing up, worried there is a leak from the ceiling, I realize why. 

It’s Simon.

“Love,” I say.

What’s wrong?

“It’s fine; it’s fine,” he says, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “I’m just tired, and I missed you.”

Another tear drops from one of his eyes, and I brush it away with my thumb.

I open my mouth to say a response, to comfort, but I feel a stinging in my own eyes.

(My eyes have been open for too long, you see. Couldn’t sleep on the plane. I’ve been up far too long to be able to control any tears that fall.)

I lean in to kiss him again.

We kiss, and kiss, and keep kissing. Hands roam, trying to remind our brains of what it feels like to have each other again. 

It was dark when we started, but soon an orange haze comes over the room as the sun rises.

The tears start, stop, start again.

Laughter rings out a few times.

“You did WHAT to our oven??” I shout at one point. 

He lays now with his head on my chest. My eyes are closed, fingers scratching his head lightly.

His hand is softly rubbing my stomach.

“Wait,” Simon says, jumping up and looking at me.

I blink a few times, trying to fight off the sleep that was about to overcome me.

“Did you get?” He asks, question incomplete.

I search his eyes for a moment, frowning, trying to comprehend before I realize what he is saying.

“Yes, they are on the table,” I laugh softly.

He jumps up and starts to go to the door. 

He pauses, looking back at me, clearly wracking his brain with a question. 

“We can eat them in bed,” I say, knowing where his mind is trying to go. 

He smiles and continues his run to the kitchen.

I look out the window and see the sun hit the windows of nearby buildings.

It’s good to be home.

[thekadster]

birds

“Finch joins Specs for a bit of bird watching on a fine Saturday afternoon.”

Fandoms: Newsies!: The Musical - Fiertstein/Menken, Newsies (All Media Types)

Word Count: 846

Author’s Notes: The weather was nice today and I was listening to “Birds - Thomas Sanders (feat. Terrence Williams)”, and my mind just clicked that it would be perfect for Specs and Finch. I've been writing for four years and this is the first time I've ever put any of my stuff out there on the Internet lol. Looking forward to seeing where this goes.

read it on ao3

Specs never got out all that much. Most of the time, he would be busy with schoolwork, burying himself in papers and books, helping his friends study, and finally collapsing on his bed at some ungodly hour after all the caffeine and energy had left his body. On the rare occasion he wasn’t confined to the four walls of his apartment, although he loved getting a drink with friends for a break, his favorite thing to do was in the park.

It was a Saturday then. He sat under the emerald umbrella trees, gazing up at the green roof above him. He peered through the binoculars, scanning the leaves and the branches and the bark, and his eyes lit up when he spotted a hooded warbler perched nearby. Somewhere, he could hear blue jays excitedly babbling to every other bird in the park. Every so often, a gentle gust of wind would make the trees and the grass dance. Surrounded by the white noise of his little safe haven, Specs contentedly sighed and leaned back in his foldable chair.

“Hey, Specs! Didn’t expect to see you here!”

He jolted awake.

He knew who that voice belonged to even before he saw them approaching.

“Hey, Finch!” replied Specs, standing up to greet him. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just got back from the library, studied with Davey and the fellas,” said Finch, gesturing to the textbooks in his hands.

“How was it?”

Finch groaned. “I feel like everything got in through one ear and slipped out the other.”

Specs laughed. “Well, looks like you’re gonna have to wear earplugs for the finals.”

“How ‘bout you? What’re you doing here? You studied for finals yet?” Finch asked as he sat in the grass beside him.

“I’m a few subjects behind, but I’ll get back to it later. And I’m, uh, bird watching.”

“Really? What are you looking for?”

“Birds.”

“I know that, nitwit,” Finch said, slapping Specs across the arm, who laughed. “What birds in particular?”

Specs shrugged. “I dunno, whatever comes my way, I guess. Usually doves, sparrows, robins, ospreys.”

Another gentle gust of wind flew through the park. Finch stretched and laid down on his backpack. They’d known each other ever since high school, but he never knew that this was one of Specs’ hobbies. “How often do you come here?”

“Whenever school’s not beating my ass,” replied Specs, eyes once again through the binoculars

“When is school not beating our ass?”

Specs laughed. “Fair point.”

“Honestly, I wish I’d known that Mr. Albia would bury us in reading assignments straight out of winter break.”

“So do I. Davey and Katherine seem to be the only ones who’ve finished the book.”

“‘Course they are, they’re straight-A’s. Davey’s a genius and Kat’s the principal’s kid.”

“How is he? You were with him earlier,” Specs asked after he took a sip of his coffee.

“Sleep-deprived, but he managed to get Albert and Race to calm down and listen.”

“Doing the Lord’s work,” he joked.

Things were quiet for a while. Specs stared through the lenses while Finch’s eyes traced the lines of the canopy. The afternoon sun filtered through them, the sight reminding him of glass-stained windows at a church. He pulled out his phone a short while after and scrolled through his feed. He tuned out most of the sounds around him, but was snapped back to reality when he heard Specs curse.

“Hm?” Finch asked, not looking up from his phone.

“I can’t find the lark; it was just there and it flew away!” answered Specs.

“Don’t worry, it’s in a better place now.”

“Shut up.” Specs rolled his eyes, though his smile said otherwise.

Finch grinned. “When did you start bird watching?”

“Probably one, one and a half years ago? Maybe in March.”

“Damn, you’re really into this, huh?”

“It’s all the more coincidental because your name is Finch.”

Finch’s face lit up. “Hey, yeah! What are you lookin’ over there for? You got a bird right here!”

“I sit next to you in three classes, I think I’ve spotted enough Finches.”

Silence returned once more. Specs’ binoculars scanned the distant trees once more, only to jump when Finch’s face popped up right in front of them.

“Finch, you son of a-” Specs swatted his friend away with the lenses and Finch burst out laughing. He backed away and checked the time on his phone.

“Damn, forgot Elmer needed me for a project at 3:30,” he sighed.

Specs’ eyes widened. “It’s 3:30 already?!”

“3:23,” said Finch, showing him the big numbers on his lockscreen.

Specs allowed himself to breathe. “Oh, thank God. I got a study group at 3:30.”

“We’re all busy now, aren’t we?” Finch asked, putting on his jacket and his backpack.

“More than ever.”

“But hey, when hell week is done, the park’s all yours.”

Specs smiled. He folded his chair, shoved his binoculars in his bag, and the two went their separate ways. Until tomorrow, that was, when they’d be bugging each other in three different classes again

[all-might-blog]

Teacher's gonna PARTAY

Summary:

Hizashi (Present Mic) invites Toshinori (All Might, or, as I like to call him, Smol Might) and Aizawa (Eraserhead) over to his apartment for a "small" New Year's celebration.

Notes:

This fanfic is inspired by a fanart I can across the other day. It is a drawing of All Might, Eraserhead and Present Mic having what looks like a small drinking party. There were originally two fanarts, but I couldn't find the one that inspired most of the story TMT. It is a picture of All Might, who is sitting on a couch reading a manual (teaching 4 dumbies-- literally). Present Mic can be seen in the background preparing snacks. And Eraserhead is on the floor, sleeping in his yellow worm thing XD. The original one (the one that gave me the idea) was the three of them drinking soda and alcohol. All Might had a shoping bag in one hand filled with actual food and a big bottle of something clutched in the other. Eraserhead had a cat lying on his lap and was holding a glass of something. Present mic was using a can of soda as a microphone. Just a warning: there is alcohol involved in this.

This is the fanart: 

Mic: Heeeeeeeey! I was wondering if you guys are free today for New Year's!

Smol Might: Young Mirodiya is spending New Year's with his mother, so I don't really have any plans for tonight. Why?

Mic: Wanna come over to my apartment for a small party?

Eraser: Will there be drinks?

Mic: Yas.

Eraser: then count me in.

Smol Might: I will come too.

Mic: Perfect! See you soon!

9:03 pm

Toshinori closed the door of his apartment behind him, stuffing his hands into his pockets after adjusting the scarf he was wearing. He descended the staircase of his building and exited out into the cold night. People crowded the streets, there was music and light and the air was filled with hope, promise and happiness. No one really paid attention to All Might, but he wasn't really bothered about it. People were used to seeing him in his muscle form, after all. He stoped at a small supermarket, knowing that Mic wouldn't be serving any actual food. He got a cooked chicken, rice, salad and bought himself a cup of coffee. He paid for his stuff (the cashier asked for his autograph, which he accepted to do) and left for Mic's apartment, which was about ten minutes away.

9:15 pm

Toshinori knocked on Mic's door, which opened almost instantly.

"Smol Might!" Hizashi said loudly. "Glad you could make it, my man!"

"Thanks. I got us some stuff as well," Toshinori said, holding up his shopping bag.

"Awe, you shouldn't have!"

"Actually, I did. Were you planning to serve any food?"

"Do... chips count as food?"

Toshinori chuckled and Hizashi let him inside his apartment, shutting the door after him.

Mic's apartment was interesting. The sofas, which were placed facing a big television, were vibrant purple with green details. There was a dining table behind them which was laid with cans of soda and what seemed to be a bottle of wine. The walls were decorated with posters of musicians from older and newer times, such as Michael Jackson or Imagine Dragons, as well as music disks and such things. The TV was big and it had been turned on as Hizashi had been looking in Netflix for a movie.

“What should we watch?” Hizashi asked, walking to the dining table and throwing a can of soda to Toshinori, who caught it with both hands and nearly let go of the bag.

“I don't mind.” he answered. “Where do I put all of this stuff?”

“The chicken in the oven. The rest in the fridge, I suppose. I was also preparing milkshakes. Do you know what flavour Aizawa likes?” Mic asked as he went into the kitchen. Toshinori followed him with the shopping bag.

“I honestly don’t know. You can ask him when he comes.”

“Eh. Will do. What about you?” Hizashi asked. “I have vanilla and chocolate at my disposal…”

“Either will do.” Toshinori replied, getting the food out of the shopping bag. At that moment, someone knocked on the door. They exchanged a quick glance before Hizashi exited the kitchen at top speed, throwing the door open.

“Aizawa! finally!” he said.

“Since I know that you wouldn’t be serving any actual food…” Aizawa held up a shopping bag.

“Toshinori did the same,” Hizashi laughed, moving aside. Aizawa slipped inside.

“Hi,” Toshinori said with a wave, which Aizawa returned.

“So. What’s the plan for tonight?” he asked, entering the kitchen.

“Mic was going to put on a movie.” Toshinori replied. “Want me to put something in the fridge?”

“If you could…” Aizawa passed him the shopping bag. Toshinori went through the contents, putting the soba noodles in the fridge along with a packet of sushi.

“Oh ho ho!” he said. “You got ice cream as well?”

“Wait! Aizawa likes Ice cream?!” Mic butted in.

“Only if it’s dark chocolate.” Aizawa said, fishing the container out of Toshinori’s hands and placing it in the freezer bit of the fridge.

“So you will be okay with a chocolate milkshake?”

“Eh.”

“I will take that as a yeah.”

9:27 pm

“So… what movie?” Mic asked, handing them all their milkshakes and taking his spot on one of the sofas.

“So long as it’s not my little pony…” Aizawa said.

“I don’t think they even have that here. It’s outdated.” Mic said. He landed on one of the movies. “How about Jumanji?”

11:30 pm

“What did you guys think?” Mic asked, switching the TV off as the credits rolled in.

“Eh. It was okay, I suppose.” Aizawa replied, popping open a can of soda.

“Should we eat something? I am kinda hungry…” Toshinori said. At that moment, someone knocked on the door.

“Yeah… did I mention I got us pizza?”

As Mic dealt with the pizza delivery guy, the other two got the stuff out of the fridge and onto the dining table. Soon they were all seated at the table, Toshinori just having finished heating up the chicken.

“I saved up a big bottle of champagne for today!” Mic said, returning from the entrance with two boxes of pizza in his hands.

“I feel like we shouldn’t have brought so much stuff along…”  Toshinori said with a laugh, seeing how much stuff they had.

“Whatever we don’t eat today can be saved for tomorrow!” Mic said, placing the pizza boxes on the table and giving them a fond pat. “Quoting my father.”

11:48 pm

“New year is in an hour, boys!” Hizashi said, glancing at his watch.

“How many cans of beer have you gotten through already?” Aizawa asked, noticing the strange look on Hizashi’s face.

“Like… I think… two? Three? I don’t know?” he giggled.

“Aaaand he’s gotten himself drunk.” Aizawa said with a sigh.

“You sound surprised.” Toshinori said.

“Nah. It’s happened many times already.” Aizawa said.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“HEY! I know! Let’s do KARAOKE!” Hizashi shouted, getting to his feet.

“Crap. I forgot the earplugs!” Aizawa hissed as he ran to his bedroom.

“Wha-?”

11:54 pm

Toshinori and Aizawa had taken refuge in the toilet. They could hear Hizashi singing at the top of his lungs in the living room. Toshinori pitied his neighbors.

“Does this happen every time he drinks alcohol?” he hissed.

“More than it should, but not excessively.” Aizawa said. “I swear that I feel as if my ears are about to begin bleeding.”

“You know what? On that I can agree.” Toshinori said. Hizashi finished the song he was singing with an insanely high pitch.

“It’s nearly twelve.” Toshinori said, looking at his watch.

“Yup. Hopefully we will be able to see the firework displays… And Hizashi has finally fallen quiet.”

“Couldn’t you erase his quirk? Then at least he would be quieter.”

“That’s a great idea.” Aizawa said, pushing past him and throwing the door open. “Hey! Hizashi! We wanna sing too!”

“Really?!” Hizashi staggered, only to be wrapped in Aizawa’s scarf. Toshinori stepped out of the bathroom.

“That was easier than I thought it would be,” he said. “ Let’s go see the fireworks.”

They went out onto the terrace, Aizawa keeping Hizashi tied up but taking him with them anyways. Just then, the fireworks started, marking the start of the year.

A new start for all of us, Toshinori thought, leaning on the railing, things are going to change...  

[alice-beaumont-ravenclaw]

Killing Innocence

This is the sequel of “Video Games”

A game of Cluedo followed by a traumatizing night...

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

"I accuse Colonel Mustard in the library with the revolver!"

"Hey! Why do you accuse my Colonel!"

"You can't do that; we just started playing!"

Penny was glaring at Tonks and Alice, the latter having just accused the former's character of murdering a certain Dr. Black. Rowan and Ben were observing the scene as all of them were seated on the floor of Penny's bedroom playing a Muggle board game known as Cluedo.

"She's ruthless! She killed my Mario in the video game!" Alice exclaimed.

"You had been playing for an hour!" Tonks replied!

"Stop talking about the video game and concentrate on the board game instead! You can't accuse at the beginning! You have to make a suggestion, and if the player to your left has any of the cards that represent something in your suggestion, then they show one to you. If they don't have any, then it's the next player to your left who has to show you a card representing an element of your suggestion, and so on." Penny explained as she tried to remain calm.

"Fine! I suggest it's Colonel Mustard, in the Library, with the Revolver," Alice said.

"But you're in the Lounge! You have to include the room you are in in your suggestion," Rowan pointed out as she read the rules.

"Fine! Colonel Mustard, in the Lounge, with the Revolver," Alice said, exasperated.

"Ah! You are wrong! I have Colonel Mustard in my cards!" Tonks exclaimed, showing her card of the colonel to everyone.

"Tonks! It's the player on her left who has to show her a card discreetly. Not whoever is suspected and not by showing it to everyone," Penny explained, letting out a sigh.

"Well, at least now no one will think my Colonel did it," Tonks mumbled.

"Fine. Tonks, you are next," Penny replied as Tonks rolled the die and placed her pawn in the dining room.

"I accuse..." Tonks began but was stopped by Penny clearing her throat and glaring at her. "I mean, I suggest it was Miss Scarlett, in the Dining Room, with the Dagger."

"Ok, now, Alice, if you have the card of any of those things, you show it to her," Penny explained.

"Do I have to?" Alice asked, but after seeing Penny's glare, she quickly showed a card to Tonks.

Next was Ben with Mrs. White as his character. He rolled the die, but the number wasn't high enough to get in a room, to which he mumbled that he was glad he didn't have to suspect anyone.

"I'm next," Penny said as she rolled the die. "Ok... I can get in the Conservatory... So, I suggest Mrs. Peacock, in the Conservatory, with rope."

"You suspect your own character? That's suspect..." Tonks said, staring at Penny.

"It's a strategy..." Penny muttered as Rowan discreetly showed her a card.

"Rope? I read somewhere that lady killers tended to favour poison," Alice stated.

"Poison is not a weapon in the game..." Penny said.

"It should be. Also, why can't we look at the body?" Alice asked.

"There is no body to look at!" Penny exclaimed.

"That's stupid. We could easily eliminate some weapons if we could see the body. A head trauma would eliminate the dagger and the rope," Alice started explaining.

"And the revolver," added Tonks.

"Not really. You can hit someone on the head with the revolver and, if done properly, it could kill. Also, ligature marks would indicate the rope is the murder weapon, a stab wound would indicate the dagger was used, while a gunshot wound would point to the revolver," Alice continued explaining.

"I now regret giving you that Sherlock Holmes book..." Penny muttered.

"Oh, I don't know that just from Sherlock Holmes! I started to watch some crime dramas on the telly," Alice said.

"So... that means you probably know how to get away with murder. Not on my watch! I accuse Miss Scarlett, with Poison, in the Hall!"

"Tonks!" Penny exclaimed with a murderous glare.

And so, the game continued, Alice and Tonks accusing each other's characters of the murder of Dr. Black throughout it. Rowan was the one to win the game, discovering that it was Mrs. White, Ben's character, in the Ballroom, with the rope. Ben, as per usual, apologized nervously for being the murderer, while Tonks and Alice were saying to each other that they should have known, Ben being the least likely suspect, it was obvious he was the murderer. They also wondered if Penny had framed him, as she seemed way more likely to kill someone, with her murderous glares and all.

Afterwards, they changed into their pyjamas and Ben went to sleep in the living room where Penny's mother and installed a small cot for him. Penny settled in her bed while the other girls settled on the small inflatable mattresses on the floor. Everyone fell asleep quite quickly. In the middle of the night, as per usual, Alice woke up in cold sweats, having had a nightmare about her brother and the vaults. In the dark, she slowly made her way to the bathroom to drink some water. After doing so, she walked back to the bedroom, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. As she entered the bedroom, she looked groggily at all her sleeping friends, but her eyes widened when they landed on where Tonks was sleeping. The body, entangled in the cover, was her's, but the head wasn't Tonks. It was Argus Filch's head, snoring, on a teenage girl's body. Alice remained silent a few seconds, blinking incessantly in disbelief, before letting out a small shriek, which was loud enough to wake Penny and Rowan, leading the former to turn on her bedside lamp.

"What's going on Alice?" Penny asked, half-asleep.

Alice remained silent as she slowly extended her arm to point at Tonks. As the other two girls looked in that direction, their sleepiness quickly dissipated. Both started to scream, waking up Tonks as well as Ben in the living room.

"What's going on?" Ben asked as he entered the room, holding his pillow in front of him. As he looked from behind the pillow, he saw a now awake Tonks with Filch's head, letting out a gasp before fainting.

"What? What?" Tonks said, looking at her friends' startled expressions and Ben's lifeless body. "Did Penny murder Ben?!"

"No! Your face..." Penny started as she handed her a small mirror, "You look like Filch..."

"Oh, crap," started Tonks, taking a quick look at the mirror before concentrating on returning to her normal features. "I forgot to tell you guys that I tend to transform in my sleep. It's not on purpose, it just happens."

"I can never unsee this," Alice mumbled, still in a state a shock, to which Penny and Rowan nodded in agreement.

"I'm really sorry," Tonks said, looking down, before looking toward Ben. "So... should we wake him up or should we just take him back to his bed?"

"We should take him back. Maybe he'll think he just had a nightmare and forget about it, unlike us," Penny suggested.

"I agree. By the way, how come Ben heard us but not your parents or your sister?" Alice asked.

"My dad snores so my mom wears earplug to sleep. As for Beatrice, she's a heavy sleeper," Penny explained.

They each took one of Ben's limb and slowly transported him back to his small bed in the living room. They then headed back to Penny's bedroom, where Tonks was able to fall back to sleep quickly, while the other three girls laid awake in the dark, afraid the image of Argus Filch with a teenage girl's body would haunt their dreams.

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

A/N: This is my submission for Prompt 2 (Sleepover) of @hphm-fictober ‘s Fictober challenge, and part of it was inspired by this @arnyan post. Also, for the North Americans out there, Cluedo is the British (if not European) name of Clue.

[fanficcollection]

Tumblr - Girl (Part 8)

Tumblr – Girl (series) Part 1 Masterlist

Pairing: Misha Collins x reader Summary: answer time Word Count: 2.148 Warnings: it’s a quite smooth one, parts of a panic attack, mental illness, maybe parts of implied rape

Notes: it’s been some time, but here it is, part 8! Woho.. it’s a quite smooth one, but I hope you like it in spite of that.

As always loads of love and thanks to my precious beta @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki you are truly wonderful! Thanks so much!

Enough talk, enjoy Part 8. :)

Mishas POV

With some new energy the text gave me I mastered the rest of the convention, the panels flew by and soon it was time for the closing ceremony and with the knowledge of Y/N being okay I could enjoy the whole day. I had a smile tugged on my face and when the whole convention sang “Carry on my wayward son” together I got goose bumps. From time to time I saw Jensen looking at me, and smiling, sometimes I met his gaze and he seemed truly content with the situation.

After the convention ended, I went to my room, there were two more hours left before our drivers picked you up for the flight back to Vancouver. I first packed all my things to my carry-on bag, I never brought much stuff with me to a convention weekend, then I lied down on the bed, took my phone out to make some notes on my answer, which I wanted to do later, but then I saw there were a few messages from the cast:

 Rob (5 min ago): Hey buddies, what about some farewell-drinks? In 10min in the Lobby? Dick&Rob

 Jared (3 min ago): Mish, are you joining for some drinks?

 Jensen (2 min ago): Are you in your room? I’m on my way to you before good-bye drinks. :)

After reading that text I heard a knock, probably Jensen. I quickly jumped up and went to the door to open it. When I saw the familiar face I let him immediately in the room. “Are you joining for the goodbye drinks?” he asked and the first time in a few weeks I really thought about it and nodded.  “I think it’s not a bad idea.” I said and smiled. Jensen smiled as well. “Good to see you this happy, bro” he said and patted my shoulder. “Have you answered her yet?”  he asked. “No, I guess it will take some quiet time to find the right words, I don’t want to put pressure on her and I don’t want to send just a ‘quick text’.” I took my phone from the nightstand and went to the door “Ready to go?” I asked looking at Jensen. He nodded slowly and left my room before me so I could lock it behind me.

 Later that day, back at my place in Vancouver I took my laptop, it was an important text and writing it was a lot easier on the computer, there was more space and it was easier to organize the scraps of words I had in my mind at the moment. First I put my earplugs in and looked up a inspiring playlist then I opened tumblr and started typing slowly, I often typed and deleted it, it took me a while to find the right words, but then it started to fit together.

“Dear Y/N,

I hope you got all my texts, every single one, I as well hope you saw what they meant, they mean that I’m there even if you are not, I don’t stop being there, I’m here when you need it, when you are ready. It’s sad to hear that the demons are still chasing you, but I was so happy to read that you are still fighting them, that’s a quality that tells a lot about you.

And as I told you, unless you want me to stop writing, I’m here, there is nothing to forgive, nothing for you to feel bad about and once again, because no one could ever hear it too often, you are important! To me, to other people out there, I care, I’m here when you need someone to talk.

Y/N, what you said about the characters and the actors really got into my mind. You are such a strong girl and I think I got something that would maybe help you to keep up your fight. Some time ago I got myself some Con-Tickets for Vancouver Con, but sadly I can’t attend the con due to job issues, so I have to find someone to give my tickets to. Would you like to attend the con? I know, it’s probably hours of flying from your home town, but I would give you the tickets for free. Please, do me a favour and visit the guys, meet them, see it as a reward for your brave fight.

I’m looking forward to hear from you!

Love,

Dmitri “

I read the mail again and again, but then I decided to just go for it and sent it. Hopefully she would accept the offer to meet us in Vancouver; it was a possibility to get to know her without revealing that I lied to her about my real identity. Maybe I could talk about it to her in person; at least I could try to avoid a misunderstanding by talking from face to face.

 Your POV

While reading all the messages you fell asleep, you were deadly tired even though you slept in in the morning. In your sleep you started crying, you dreamt crazy things about Jacob, you could almost feel his fingers on your skin and you started shivering by that thought. The memories of yesterday came up, you felt like you saw the scenes from some outside: you saw when he slowly pressed his lips on yours, when you first rejected it, because it didn’t feel right, your stomach turned by this scene, then you allowed it and even leaned into the kiss, you could nearly feel his lips, smell his scent.  

Then all of a sudden there was an annoying noise, you didn’t know where it came from but you couldn’t stop it. When you woke up you recognized what the noise was, your phone, an awkward standard ringtone. You first thought it was just an alarm you set to not oversleep, but as it kept ringing you noticed someone was calling you. “What?” you answered the phone without looking who was calling. “Hey darling” the voice on the other end said “are you alright? You sound sleepy, have you slept until now?” he asked, it was Jacob. “I’m okay. Just a headache and very tired.” You said shortly. “And no, I was up for a few hours, but then I laid down again, because of my head.” There was a bit of a lie in it, your head was okay, but you didn’t want to tell him that you texted Dmitri and you of course didn’t want him to know you cried the whole afternoon about Dmitri’s messages.

 “So can I still come over tonight?” he asked politely “I can bring some food, maybe pizza or Chinese?”  you thought about a good answer, he already told you in the morning that he would stop by for dinner, but somehow you needed some alone-time, but you were to slow. “You know what-“ he said, “I’m coming at about eight, I’m so sorry I can’t be there earlier. Is pizza ok with you?” You didn’t know what to say, you didn’t want to lose him, you’ve already lost Dmitri because of your shitty behaviour, so you just accepted and ended the call.

You decided to put on some comfortable clothes and go for a walk to clear your mind, university things floated round your head, there was not much time left this semester, you thought about getting a summer job, maybe travelling a bit. When you got into a nearby park you sat down for a moment, your mind wandered, you thought about everything and anything, you didn’t want to go back, everything seemed peaceful here. Taking your  phone out you scrolled through your Facebook feed; you were not one of the persons who posted every little thing, you were more the observer; you looked at profile pictures of your former classmates, many of them were in a relationship according to their profile. They seemed happy, but on the other hand, you as well didn’t share your down times, all the information on this page were just illusions of happy lives.

You closed Facebook, it made you angry to see all their lies. Instead you opened up Tumblr, Tumblr was different. A smile sneaked on your face when you thought of that convention, where Misha was confronted with Tumblr and trying to understand it; he had compared it to Facebook and every single one reacted not amused.  While your blog was loading a small sign popped up to show you that you had a new message in your inbox, it was about an hour old. Why didn’t you see that one earlier? Maybe tumblr was fucking around again. Then it dawned to you, the notifications on your phone were still turned off. Whatever, there were more important things right now! With shivering fingers you entered your inbox, it was from Dmitri, your heart sank, your stomach turned and your vision blurred, you knew it was his last message, it had to be, you couldn’t imagine he want to keep your friendship up after everything that happened.

You had to take a few deep breaths to calm down; it wasn’t easy to keep your eyes focussed on the lines when you finally managed to open the text. For a short moment you stopped, did you really want to read it, after that message you had most likely lost the human being you trusted. But you had to know if he at least forgave you. Yeah, you had to read it. So you started to concentrate again, tears silently rolling down your cheeks, you slowly read one word after the other you didn’t catch the meaning at first.

Unknowingly you looked out for some words of reject, some kind of insult, some complaining, but there was… nothing. Nothing like that, no hate. Like earlier in your friendship. There were just nice words, again. Why couldn’t he be human once, he always was so calm, so friendly, so caring. “How did I deserve him?” you mumbled. Then you started again, reading the text, processing it.

The next moment you got interrupted, your phone was ringing, again. You saw Jacob’s name flash on the display and you waited a moment before answering “Hey. What’s up?” you asked. Your mood was a lot better than before, to know you haven’t lost Dmitri lifted you up and there couldn’t go anything wrong today. “I’m right in front your door and obviously you aren’t at home.” Jacob said “I thought we said 8 o’clock?” You quickly checked the time, it was 5 minutes after eight. “I’m so sorry, I’ll be home in about 5 to 10 minutes. I completely forgot the time.” He said something you didn’t understand, but then his voice got softer “Okay babe, just hurry up a bit, the pizza is getting cold.” He said nicely and you promised to be there as soon as possible. Then you ended the call, got up and went back to your place, you were happy, nothing could break your mood tonight.

 When you arrived Jacob smiled friendly and gave you a hug with his free hand and pulled you in into a kiss, it didn’t feel that bad as you remembered it from yesterday. You kissed back lightly and unlocked the door. “Come in.” you invited him and closed the door behind him. “How was your day, darling?” he asked you while he put the pizza on a counter on the kitchen. “It started a bit nasty with the headache and so on, but then it turned out quite okay. I made it a lazy day, was quite cool. What about your day?” you asked back politely. “Was okay I guess, there wasn’t much to do at the hospital, so it got a bit boring, but I looked forward to this the whole day.” He answered and once again pulled you into a kiss. He gently stroke your neck with one hand and placed the other one on your back. The touch felt good and you leaned in it, you felt his lips curl up to a smile during the kiss and you had to smile as well. Then all of a sudden he pulled away and you silently whined. “The pizza is getting cold.” He told you with a smirk on his face and you nodded. “What about a nice movie and pizza on the couch?” he suggested and you quickly nodded. You let him choose the movie and he went with a romantic drama, then you got some drinks, non-alcoholic today and sat down next to him.

After you were finished with eating you put the carton on the floor and Jacob slipped a bit closer to you. You leaned your head against his shoulder and felt his hands caress your upper arm. It felt nice, maybe you were just too drunk yesterday to realize it, maybe you totally overreacted.

Part 9

Tag-List:

@chantelle-c333 @awolfamongstus @jannalionheart @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @evyiione @destielschild @xx-melissa-x @kcam1621 @captainsherlockwinchester110283 @smoothdogsgirl @kristendansmith @haappy-go-lucky  @laffytaffyhumor

[elevenhoursinfront-blog]

February 22nd 2017

I woke up at 0730. I fell back to sleep after about 10 minutes. It's horrible when 8 alarms go off at different times in the same room. Steve didn’t wake up at all. He turned his alarm off and went back to sleep. He fell over at football yesterday, he did this back roll on the floor and twisted his ankle. He said his ankle is hurting him a fair bit, that it’s swollen. He can’t put much weight onto it. Limp, limp. Not gym for Steve…

We eventually got up at 0930/1000. We had to say goodbye to Joe. His name is Joha but Joe is fine. I gave him a cuddle and he said he would message if he needs the boys for football again. Steve whispered “not this week”. Too much for him and his old age, me thinks. Max was checking out too and the Chinese girls left before I woke up. 4 new roommates to welcome. How exciting. The Chinese didn’t take their sheets down. Not sure if they understood or not. It was a good job Max was leaving. Yesterday, he asked Josh why he fell out with his old roommates. Josh stated he was too right winged. Max replied with, “So, you’re racist?”. I just sat on my bed thinking ‘here we go again’. Max understood from both points of view which was better than the last argument. Max is from Germany so talking about Brexit was awkward. To top this heated discussion off, Max tried to change the subject. He asked Josh and Steve who they supported, to which they both replied “Liverpool, you?” (I know, they can’t help it). Max replied with “Manchester United”. BRILLIANT. ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT. Let’s start again shall we - lets continue this heated discussion and turn to football. To which it did. But not as heated.

Anyway, back to 4 empty beds. Josh forgot to extend his stay for another week or two so he ran down to reception to do so. Too late, they already sold his bed… This meant, tomorrow morning, we would be saying goodbye to our last and only friend. Fantastic. He can get a space back in Mad Monkey on Monday but I’m not sure he’s going too. Settling into a new place is rubbish and having to live out of backpacks is rubbish, too. He’s better off booking for a week or so. He will struggle badly to find any space on a weekend. Hostels sell out SO fast. We ate breakfast and came back to the room. Steve had his interview at 1145 and had to leave for 1130. I got his clothes out for him whilst he was in the shower. Steve left and I sat on the bed doing absolutely nothing until two new roommates entered. Two girls. They look kind of normal, here goes… Not sure of their names, but they’re from Germany. Only here for the one night. When will I make friends that aren’t male?! They moaned about how cold it was and tried fiddling with the aircon. I was getting fairly annoyed. Do not touch. It broke not long ago and we couldn’t sleep. I don’t care that we are all dying from hypothermia. At least we can sleep. Steve walked in after 25 minutes… He got into the agency! Hooray! This means he could have work by tomorrow morning. If they don’t contact him tonight, he will be starting on Monday morning. How exciting! Not for Steve though. We had to leave and go buy PPE. We went to Town Hall (Westfield) to find clothing. The first shop we went into was selling PPE fairly cheap from what we’d seen elsewhere. Steve spent a good 45 minutes trying bits on. I wouldn’t mind but he was to wear either a florescent orange or yellow… In and out of the changing room - blue shorts, black shorts, beige shorts, yellow top, orange top, with a collar, without a collar, what colour socks… “What goes best?”. It doesn’t matter Steve, you still look like a tit! Mind you, literally every male backpacker is in construction here and a good 50% of the male Australian population. The florescent uniform is EVERYWHERE. I found some cheap steel-toe cap boots for $70. The rest were roughly $200 so I was pretty pleased with myself. Of course, Steve didn’t like them. After a short moan about money, he tried them on and bought them. Hard hat, gloves and ear plugs were left to get. Unfortunately, that store didn’t sell them. The place Steve had his interview did so we went back home to Kings Cross to buy them. They gave the earplugs for free so I might have took a fair few for myself. I thoroughly enjoy sleeping with them in now. Altogether, his PPE came to $185. Expensive, I know. I’m sure he can get that back with his tax refund at the end of the year though. I’ve kept his receipts in case. I also bought 2 new folders today, one each. This way we could take our own stuff to interviews and jobs. We still have one big folder with the most important stuff in that will stay in the lockers - passports, travel insurance, visa and photocopies. We have a lot more paperwork now so it was getting too big for one folder. We now have our Tax File Number letters, Medicare card letters, bank letters, RSA letter, white card letters, certificates etc… I’m so organised. I’ve even put a photocopy of our passports in our individual folders so we don’t have to take them out. It was 1700 by the time we got back. I sorted out our washing and put that on. I also sorted out the lockers and drawers. I folded all my clothes and put them away. The wash takes 37 minutes. I’ll remember it this time, I think. I then realised we needed a food shop. Steve was absolutely starving, in fact, he was fading away… We left to go Coles without thinking that it was slightly more expensive than Woolworths. Coles is much closer though and I couldn’t have Steve’s stomach thinking his throats been cut any longer. Hangry was an understatement. We got 1kg of beef mince for $7 which isn’t too bad, turkey mince, salad, sweetcorn, onions and gherkins. Gherkins are a personal fav of mine.   I was doing spag bol with salad tonight which is what we had left in the fridge. Steve was finally eating for the first time in his life by 1800. He managed to go the extra two hours without eating even though he swore he was going to die. What a hero! I started the cooking whilst Steve got the washing out and put it on the bed to dry. We was going to play a game of scrabble at the dinner table but we didn’t want to embarrass ourselves with words like “Nan”, so we decided against it. Steve’s phone rang - work tomorrow! Bondi Junction 0700 start. Brilliant news. Not for him, as he keeps on reminding me. I am so proud of him! We made Steve’s work lunch after dinner. We bought some tupperware so he could take cooked food and fruit. This is me hoping he doesn’t buy fatty foods on the go… I also made him a list of stuff that he needed for work and what he needed to do before leaving. Getting his food from the kitchen, filling his water bottle up, PPE, time sheet, folder, Opal card etc… Steve would be lost without me, I’m sure. I also received a call for an interview tomorrow in Woolloomooloo. I dare you to try and pronounce it! It’s for a waitress in a Bistro. The guy was meant to text me the address but he hasn’t done. I text to ask for it but I’ve received no reply. I’ll ring him tomorrow morning as my interview is meant to be at 1100. It’s about 3 minutes away from Kings Cross which is good. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt about Australian’s is, if it can be done tomorrow, it will be. There’s no rushing them. It’s all calm.

Two new roommates stuff appeared after dinner. They must’ve been out because they weren’t in. The room was now a complete and utter mess. A bomb had hit it. It was like Steve’s bedroom on a good day. The German girls had their stuff everywhere. Bags, clothes, shoes, a packet of serviettes wrapped in tin foil… I’m not sure, so don’t ask me. There is a rule here that you cannot have food and drink in the rooms. I don’t particularly agree with this rule as my room and bed is the only “personal” space I get. Therefore, I would like to eat and drink as I please… Food and drink get stolen so easily so I would rather it be in my room. Of course, things that need to be in the fridge stay in our food cooler bag. When I went down to reception to change our sheets, I noticed a drawer of foods and drinks. The more I looked, the more I recognised it. Turns out, they took all our food and drink from the room and confiscated it. The food and drink was hidden in our drawers under my bed so it annoyed me that they went through our stuff… We could have it back but it had to remain downstairs. Anyone could’ve said it was there’s though and took it. Good job I went down when I did. I put them all into plastic bag and found cupboard space. Steve and I then became 007 and 008 mission 'Try and Retrieve Stolen Goods and Take Them Upstairs’. I shoved all the important stuff (Tim Tams, Dairy Milks, Malteasers) into my handbag. I carried my purse and phone separately to make more space. We went down later on with the backpack for the Pepsi Max and rice cakes. Mission accomplished. Goodies put away in our lockers so nobody can find them.

Steve’s bag is packed and he is ready to go tomorrow morning. I made him cut his toenails too so his feet won’t get sore in his new boots. He struggles to remember simple things like that. His alarm will be on for 0500. He will climb into my bed when he wakes up and wake me up again to say goodbye. He always does. He’s a wet blanket at heart, a right softy.

Currently 2115 and Steve needs to get to sleep. German girls messing about with all their stuff. I think they’re going out. Josh has fallen asleep side ways in his bed and Johnny has just walked in. Still not met our newest roomies. The light is still on and the shower is running. Good luck with that Steve.

[imaginaryculturepress-blog]

TFTP: Alice Cooper in Perth, WA

In which I lose my photo pass, and Alice Cooper rocks out Perth Arena.

Hi, hello, and welcome!

My name is Skyler and my cause of death will probably include birds. The ibises are seriously out to get me. Speaking of dramatic deaths and questionable phobias, Alice Cooper recently (not really - it's been almost a month) captivated and massacred the hearts of his Perth fans, even going so far as to behead himself onstage. Oh, what an evening it was. After Placebo cancelled their Perth show, I was left seeking another arena gig to call "the largest concert I've ever photographed". It took a while, constantly refreshing emails and waiting for replies that would never arrive, though finally, after over a month, some luck: through the wonderful staff at Revolutions Per Minute, I managed to obtain a photo and review pass to Alice Cooper at Perth Arena. And, as always, one hell of a drama ensued. But before we begin, this disclaimer is definitely required: Please be advised that I am not attempting to blame Revelations Per Minute, TEG Live, or any of their staff for the issues that occurred at this show. Whilst the choice to minimise the photographer list was at the discretion of event management, I'm sure they had a justifiable explanation behind it, thus I fully understand and accept their decisions. Note that any and all complaints listed below are aimed at me and I am only making fun of myself; I am not indirectly blaming or judging the aforementioned parties. We're here for a good time, so laugh at my luck - or lack thereof – and direct any negativity towards… uhm… okay yep direct any anger towards Camera House and Supposed Manager. Thank you kindly. Less than a week later, we were off to see Alice. I’m inclined to say Alice in Wonderland. At some point between receiving the passes and the event itself, however, there seemed to be a miscommunication: an email – and later a follow-up – were apparently sent out from RPM, stating that management decided to reduce the amount of photographers on the photography list. Problem was, I only received said emails well after the concert actually occurred. So I blindly went to the AC show, completely unaware of the troubles that lay ahead. After a short train trip and a Grill’d (sponsor me) stopover, we found ourselves passing hundreds of AC fans on our way to the Arena. Most were heading towards pubs, beginning their pre-drinking shenanigans, though you could find a couple non-alcoholics in the area. But they were all aged eight or under so they don’t really count. At the box office – which was thankfully open for once – a young woman assisted us in gaining our tickets. Except… “You’re not on the photographer list.” Hahahaha yeah. Good one. “Ma’am…” Don’t “ma’am” me… “You’re not on this list.” “That’s impossible.” Though then again, knowing my luck – or lack thereof – anything was possible; I wouldn’t be surprised if Hitler sprung out of the ground and beheaded my dog with his teeth, spitting its dismantled body at Trump’s face. It wouldn’t be unusual for Adolf to then rip off one of the Maltese’s balls and supplement it for his missing one, or to have my best lens run over by stampede of oxen the middle of the CBD; and it certainly wouldn’t be shocking if Supposed Manager led the oxen (or Hitler, for that matter). However, the allegation still stunned me. More so, it frightened me; despite my limited experience with large shows, I knew as well as the next person how fluid the industry was. But I had no clue as to why I wasn’t on the list. Perhaps there was a simple miscommunication? Surely. It would be fixed within minutes, right? No stress? …Right? She went to check with someone else, Ticketek’s own Supposed Manager. Though, to be fair, their version was far kinder and of far more assistance. Bonus: she didn’t sigh with every sentence! So let’s call her the actual manager – even if she wasn’t. Actual Manager: Hi. Hello. What seems to be the issue? Me to myself: Well, for one, you’re using my line… most of it, anyway… All right, perhaps her first impressions weren’t the sightliest. Me: I was supposed to be on the photographer list for this event, however I’m… not…? Actual Manager: Ah, okay… let me just check one more time. I’ll spare us both some time by skipping their frantic dashes to and fro the room. T’was a simple conclusion: I’d have no camera to shoot with. I’d have to cloak $1.5k worth of gear. Another photographer soon joined the queue, a lovely lady I’d seen at a couple other shows. Whilst they were sorting out her requests, I decided to ask her a thing or two – after all, she’s at all the large shows and knows what she’s doing. Me: *Awkward/weird/creepy introduction.* Her: *Doesn’t seem to find it as awkward, weird, or creepy as it was.* As stated in a previous post (With Confidence’s TFTP, I believe), I dislike disclosing conversations, no matter how generic they may be; if it’s personal or business-y, it won’t be publicised. However, if it’s a debate or quarrel regarding passes, lenses, or the like, then it’ll be on every platform the Internet has ever hosted. With that said, our conversation wasn’t anything secretive but I’ll call it common courtesy to not write it out in length. She did mention, though, that: 1. Photographers meet outside the venue before each set to be led into the pit, and that I could join if I wanted to talk to fancy people about my issue; and: 2. She had over ten grand of gear in her backpack. The professionalism made me quiver; I was in the presence of a music photography god. (And sentences like that, my friends, are why nobody ever talks to me for a second time). So that's what I'd do; I'd cloak my gear, retrieve it after the Strangers' set - for they didn't allow photography whatsoever - and meet up with the crew prior to Ace Frehley's performance. But before any of that could happen, I had yet another line to join. There were some... interesting... people: the guy with better hair than I could ever dream of, the SFX queens, otherwise well-dressed and well-presented people, the alcoholics, the seventy-year-old women already dying of fangirl feels, and naïve kids with metalhead parents. Then there was me, your socially-challenged fifteen-year-old tirelessly pleading for a pristine sponsorship from the snazziest companies around, and whose entire persona revolved around her denim jacket and the camera gear that lay in her Lowepro backpack. I sensed pity from every direction, the sort of pity you'd expect Shane Dawson to have received at age ten. Not fun. But t'was the same reaction I got from every public encounter so I was rather immune to it. Rather. The bag checks soon followed. It would've be difficult to explain why I had relatively professional camera gear covering every inch of my bag, since I had no photo pass to delight their gazes with, however the employees were understanding and had no issues letting me through. Hallelujah. Up next: metal detectors. Every time I stepped forth to one of those things, the security guards scan me at least three times. And I get it; I've got a concerning facial expression and seem pretty damn shady. But I'm not smuggling anything illegal (besides camera gear) into the venue, so chill the fuck out. Furthermore, stop looking so shocked when you find nothing illicit on me! Jebem vam mater bezobraznu... Don't google that. Soon enough we went through the ticket scans and headed for our seats. But before we could do that, we had to stop over at a few places, the first of which was the cloaking facility. The woman was extremely kind, especially considering what I put her through: Me: *Handing backpack over* Here you go. Me: Oh, wait, I need that... Me: Yep, okay. Me: Wait nope, I'll need that too... Me: All good. Five minutes later... Me: Shit, I forgot my glasses... Me: Yes, yes - no hold up I need my earplugs. Me: Please don't kill me. Our second destination was the merch table, at which I had a mini heart attack. $100 for one vinyl? One? I could purchase the red variant online for $45 - including shipping! They did, however, offer patches. And knowing me and my denim jacket, I had to invest a few dollars. And by "few" I mean fifteen painful bucks. All that was left for me to do was to pester the cloak lady once more before locating my seat. This was my first official reviewer pass and I didn't know what to expect; our tickets would probably provide a satisfactory view of the stage, there would be three too many miscommunications, and I'd get lost trying to find the merch table. Thankfully, none of this happened; we received outstanding seats, the only miscommunication regarded the photo pass, and the merch areas were easier to locate than most of my classes. We were in the fourth row from the front, nearly centred. I didn't feel worthy of it, especially since this review is being published almost a month after the event (I can explain), though I wan't about to waste this opportunity due to my self-proclaimed lack of entitlement. So after taking a long moment to fangirl ruthlessly and carelessly run into a few people (I'm truly sorry), we impatiently anticipated The Strangers. And that's when the phone photography began. Look, it's been a while since I've used a mobile to cover an entire set. I've grown too close to my cheap DLSR and pricey lenses, and this was a downgrade like no other. So let's all poke fun at my horrendous attempt at concert photography! Did I mention that these images are set to be painful? Yeah. You've probably noticed. My phone photography game isn't up to scratch; it's not even existent. The lads delivered quite the set, though the audience seemed rather... dead. Don't get me wrong; their music and stage presence was exquisite. But the Arena was still filling in, and those present didn't show enough support. PSA: When a band plays a song, your only excuse not to clap is if you're holding either a baby or camera gear. An no, phones do not constitute as concert gear. You show the guys some respect, for they were playing the largest show of their careers. At least have the decency to slap your goddamn palms against each other. So for fuck's sake, even if you've heard better artists or aren't a huge fan, either pretend to care, or leave. There's no third option. This applies to my mother as well. I see you. Support acts need more support. Especially guys like this. If they're ever in town again, I'd love to shoot their gigs. I genuinely enjoy their music. Intermission. Time to go find the group of photographers. I'll cut to the chase: I wasn't getting into that photo pit and would have to continue my life with a reviewer pass. It's not that I'm complaining, it's just... well, yeah, I'm complaining. When it comes to music, I consider myself more of a photographer than a writer. I see myself as more of a writer than photographer in general life, though in terms of music I'm more of a photographer. I believe the managers minimised the lesser-known companies/blogs/etcetera from their list, which is understandable; they'd rather have the larger ones shooting their gigs. However, the photo pit contained six people. Six. SOTA's contained an excess of twenty. So there really was no use of shortening a list of what, fifteen-ish? It's harmful for your up and coming photographers, especially since we hype up the matter so much. So let's try something out: on average, this blog receives an excess of sixty reads per article, which is more than you and I both expected. Quite frankly, I appreciate those statistics immensely. That's a considerable amount of people bothering to click on these things - even if they do so accidentally. But let's try to improve those numbers. For this article, I want to see the most positive results we've ever received. I know it's almost impossible, though I just want to prove that minuscule, upcoming blogs influence readers. So let's go - comment something down below, share this around the web, and don't leave me in that awkward scenario of not having anyone give a fuck. Make my hours of procrastination worth it! C'mon, please. I'm desperate. Regardless, I trekked back to my seat in the lovely fourth row, belittled and slightly dead inside. Ace Frehley had already commenced his set and was quick to change my mood; within minutes I'd gone from "fuck off, I hate everyone" to "FUCK YAAAASSSS!!!! AAACEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!" I'm asexual so that contributed to my excitement. Because, you know, publicly outing yourself at a high volume is fun, especially when people don't realise you're outing yourself. But I digress... Ace is one of those dudes that take you back to a time before your years, a place somewhere in a carefree land where you're rocking out to his songs whilst driving down some dusty highway in the middle of some random American state (one with lots of red sand and dusty highways - oh wait, that perfectly describes every Australian highway... Sponsor me, WA). He raises your spirits, shreds the living daylights out of his guitars, and ensures everyone has a killer evening; all whilst appearing excessively blurry in each of these images. Intermission. The Arena was full, yet more people were somehow managing to squeeze in. The excitement was growing, everyone was tense and ready to scream their lungs out, when one dude noticed someone rather interesting... One Dude: Hey... is that David Gilmour? Technically, he whispered it to his partner. Ultimately, everyone within a six kilometre radius heard and was having a panic attack; the woman beside my mother was about to pass out. So, naturally, we all had the same question: WHERE?! One Dude pointed to a secluded area beside the stage. My mother thought she spotted him and began raging at my face: "OVER THERE, YOU BLIND FUCK!" (To be fair, she was far kinder than that.) Me: Well he hasn't aged gracefully, has he? The frantic exchanges continued throughout the following ten minutes, with everyone eyeing "that corner over there" with their phones at the ready. Fun fact: if I was in the photo pit at the time, I could've gotten within a one metre proximity of royalty. Another fun fact: he wasn't actually Gilmour. One Dude figured that out soon after. That'd explain the facial differences. The updated version of the story now ran: "SIR BOB FUCKING GELDOF IS IN THE BUILDING!" And do you think that changed the fangirls' excitement levels? Not one bit. For those of you still trying to figure out who David Gilmour is - and I hope that's not a lot of you - he was a member of the best classic rock band out there: Pink Floyd. Bob Geldof was closely linked, for despite not being in the band himself, he starred as Pink in the group's 1982 film, The Wall. At this point, half of us wanted Alice to take to the stage and the other half were contemplating how they were going to catch up to Geldof after the show. Their plans would have to be postponed, though, as the lights dimmed and we were summoned to spend the night with Alice Cooper. I don't understand why they decided to have a seated floor section; why couldn't we just have general admission? Because the older people would have issues? Mate, they were jumping around more than the guys at a Homebrand show! Yeah, creepy. They could've - and should've - begun crowdsurfing. That's one thing I want to see: a frail, heavily-aged grandmother riding on top of the audience with a determined expression as her mortified daughter stares at her and her grandchildren cheer her on. But we're not here to discuss grandmothers. It's Alice that we're [supposed to be] focusing on. From the moment he hit the stage, the sixty-nine-year-old was ready to rock. However, as I said, he's sixty-nine. Walking is an issue for a bloke of his age. As you can imagine, he had a few difficulties manoeuvring about the stage. There were moments where you could see him struggling, where you knew that the show wasn't supposed to be that way, where you could tell that there was some lacked energy. Regardless, everyone adored and motivated him, because that's what true fans do; he wasn't about to end his career, he loved what he was doing, and a few weak moments weren't about to wreck it all. So perhaps the dramatic acting element wasn't executed too well, though that doesn't mean the music parts were equal; each band member played dextrously and exquisitely, creating a profound atmosphere and one hell of a night. And yes, to answer your dying questions, there was a guillotine; how could there not be? The show was soon over and everyone was pleading for an encore. And they got it - but not the one they expected. As the band reached the stage for a second time, Alice roared: "Please welcome my friend... BOB GELDOF!"Everyone went insane. The entire Arena was cheering, applauding, and falling to the ground like Ms. F. There were streamers and other inexpensive though awesome party props flying around as Alice and Bob did a duet of School's Out and Another Brick in the Wall (Part II). It was genuinely one of the most memorable moments I'd ever witnessed. It was also far more affordable than purchasing tickets to Roger Waters. Before anyone had come to their senses, the show was over (for good), tears were filling peoples' eyes (for the eighth time), and those fangirl grandmothers were tackling each other for every handful of confetti they could g So that was that. Up next: WAMFest 2017, two rather odd days that saw me photograph at a church, hang out at a bar, and win a bet. Stay tuned. I left the Arena with the streamers around my neck mimicking a noose and hugged my lenses for longer than natural. The other train passengers kept giving me weird looks. MUSICAL SUMMARY: The Strangers: under appreciated/5 Ace Frehley: aaaaaceeeeeeee/5 Alice Cooper: ageing but still killing it (and himself)/5 Bob Geldof: the meaning of life/5

PHOTOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY: Lenses: Apple has never heard of f1.4, evidently/5 Lighting: pretty though useless/5Camera: *snivels* iT WAS A FUCKING iPHONE/5 (coincidentally an iPhone 5) Editing: never happened/5 My sanity: as dead as Google+/5 Check out the bands! Cooper doesn't have long left so get into him quickly: Alice Cooper Ace Frehley I couldn't find the Strangers' Facebook page, sorry. Live long and headbang, xx-Skyler Slate