#every single person who has ever bought one of our stories or books

[duckprintspress]

Just to chime in briefly on the "libraries pay authors" as an indie press - yes, we get money (that, as appropriate, gets paid to authors as royalties) every time a library buys our books. We also get money every time someone "borrows" one of our e-books - there's a per-read payment system for a lot of e-book library lending apps.

And also another small addition - I need to make it clear that small indie presses like mine aren't "big pub" even if we're technically legally a corporation (in my case, a "limited liability corporation," which just means "if the business folds they can't seize all my family's personal assets to pay my debt, so like, my kids won't be left homeless because my business failed" - my personal liability is limited/separate from my liability as the owner of a corporation.) I am NOT saying that Joy or Alex said this, to be clear, but I've noticed a huge number of people seem to think that ANY business that isn't "sole author publishing" is the same as Big Pub and like. We're so not. Small press people are generally only a handful of employees at most (Duck Prints Press has one employee - me) and we work our asses off to try to scrape by in an incredibly hostile general world environment. Every small press person I know is right on the limit of giving up, not because we don't love the work, but because we can't earn enough to pay our authors and ourselves. As a business owner who, ya know, has some actual fucking ethics...the owner gets paid last. I make sure the editors, the authors, the artists, the graphic designers, everyone else, gets paid, before I take a cent.

And as a result, I haven't taken a paycheck in the almost three YEARS I've been running this business. I haven't earned a penny from this business, even for my own writing - when me-the-author or me-the-editor might have gotten paid if I was an outsider, I don't take the money, I just leave it in the business pool. I'm currently working as much as 60 hours a week for zero pay and zero benefits, and I take maybe a dozen days off all year, and I still am a mom, and a member of fandom, and I wish I could still be an author but I don't even have the energy left for my own writing at the end of the day, and this is all because I believe that the people we work with, as a group, can potentially do better if we collectivize and publish TOGETHER than any of us could do alone if we tried to go the solo self-pub route.

To be honest, so far, I'm not sure that's true, because there's so much stigma around "it's a corporation" that people act like we're the same as a Harper Collins or something. WE'RE NOT. Small Press ISN'T THAT.

Okay, this didn't end up a small addition, and I could probably keep going, but coming from the small press angle...we're drowning too. Big Pub is trying to kill indie publishing - and that means self-pub AND places like us - and when people pirate from us, when people go "eh, they're a ~corporation~, they must be fine," when people just...assume that any collective (as in, any group of authors trying to work together to make this work) are Just As Bad, you really screw us, and it's so exhausting to constantly see people act like "everyone who isn't a single, solitary, starving artist is Part Of The Evil." And, like ariaste says, this is ALSO while we fight against the "self pub is all crap/impossible to succeed at/not worth paying attention to" stigma that exists in more traditional circles. People who want to "support small" think we're big and people who think only big exists assume we're only doing this because we suck, and so we get it from all sides.

(And again: This is NOT something I've ever seen thebibliosphere do, this isn't about OP or the other commenter ariaste, it's about general trends I observe in how people act toward DPP and other small presses. We're. We're working so hard y'all, and we're so tired, and it's so insanely difficult to even get enough traction to publish the stories that I see so many people on Tumblr claim they want, but when we actually make them, all we get is crickets.)

(really shutting up now. sorry. sweatdrop)

I both believe "poor people deserve art" and "artists deserve food", but it's hard to reconcile those beliefs. I blame capitalism. And I suppose it mostly matters who you're stealing from?

I don't mean to question you at all, I'm against people pirating your stories. I guess I was just wondering if you had more thoughts regarding the reconciliation the two beliefs I quoted above.

I think the reconciliation is working toward a future where things are better, and authors and artists don't have to beg people not to steal from them because they think every author is Stephen King, who wouldn't notice if you stole the pennies found under his couch when in reality most of us are hunting for spare change down the back of the couch because we are earning below minimum wage.

We need people to embrace the idea that art belongs to the working class, both in terms of consumption but also creation.

If you don't support the working-class creators, you'll only end up with rich fucks with no scope of the world beyond their own narrow view of privilege.

Indie creators are actually working very hard to change the way the industry works, and the publishing industry is shitting itself over it. They don't like the success some of us are having. It's why they keep upping prices while slashing corners on their own production (while never affecting the man at the top) to try and stay competitive within the rat race they've created.

They're not interested in the proliferation of art. They're not interested in making sure their authors can afford to live. They don't want more diversity. They don't want inclusion. They want profit at whatever the cost.

And while indie creators very much need to get paid because we live in a capitalistic society and everything is burning down around us, and a carton of eggs now costs more than what I earn per hour, our creativity is directly at odds with the type of profiteering big publishers want.

The money should go to the writers. Not the CEOs. The money should go to the workers in the print houses. Not the CEOs. No one needs the kind of wealth these people have. It's obscene. We need direct action against these conglomerates. We need unionization. We need a means to fight back so that we can make art and make it accessible.

So, how do we do that? I don't know. I'm just a very tired, disabled creator doing my best to keep my head above water. But I think getting people to realize that art and books are worth saving up for would be a good start.

That putting money in the pockets of creators is just as important as your own enjoyment of their art. Because if there aren't any artists, you've got nothing.

Getting them involved with their local libraries would also be a great start. Educating them on how the industry works is part of that. The number of people telling me they had no idea libraries paid authors is staggering. And that's intentional. It's a by-product of right-wing propaganda to make you think libraries are worthless and just sap taxpayers' money.

They're not.

If they were, the fash wouldn't be trying so hard to take them away.

Basically, we need working-class solidarity and for certain people on the left to rid themselves of the idea that just because something isn't borne of manual labor, it doesn't have worth. We need the artists and the dreamers as much as we need to bricklayers and the craftsmen. Otherwise, what's the fucking point of it all?

[sgiandubh]

News from Birmingham, part 3: verbatim

Verbatim means 'word for word' in Latin and it is often used in French to convey the idea something is being reported exactly as it actually happened.

Absolutely not sorry for the length, nor for the lost night spent on it.

So, here go the juiciest parts using the recording I am (for those joining in later) NOT allowed to post as is. Selection is mine and mine solely - editorial line and all the rest. Once I am done, I shall add my comments. It was hard for the girls to focus on what was being said on stage and write to me in DMs, at the same time. Recording everything was a risk, but also genius. The bits I am going to post are taken exactly as I heard them:

✔️on Blonde Bambino (yes, she elaborated and I had no idea when reporting live by proxy): '(...) and it's just amazing, he's the sweetest, sweetest thing and he looooves music. And, I feel like I succeeded being a mother purely because the other day he asked me if he could invite Kate Bush to his birthday'.

✔️on borrowed things from set: she regrets not having taken some things she liked from previous seasons. 'It's been a long time since I've borrowed anything (...). Terry gave me two nightgowns made in Season 1, she gave me one that was never used. And then she promised me a lot of things (...).' Wanted to 'borrow' something from her own surgery.

✔️on her involvement with the Blankfaces fashion label-cum- homeless charity in GLA: 'oh, that is Gerry who runs that, he is a friend of my husband's and he is just this amazing person who does grassroots organizing, you know, Blankfaces he's been doing for a long time. And I just met Gerry, you know, socially, and then I thought what he was doing was amazing, and I also found the clothes amazing and so I just bought them.' Further explains what Blankfaces does, the shop, the stories, including the food kitchen, but denies a more active involvement with the project/brand. 'I was just the other day at Hozier (...),he is amazing [cooing, booing] and I'm just paraphrasing from Andrew, and Andrew said this amazing thing, which was how we all want to be part of big things, right, you know to be a part of those things that would change the world, and all of that, but it's actually the small little things you do every single day, in your community, that have the biggest impact. (...) But you can buy their stuff online.'

✔️on producing a future movie based on Book Ten: 'I would not be in those competitions with Starz.'

✔️on her resemblance with Claire (oh dear God, not that question again!): 'As a kid, I was definitely not obedient, definitely not quiet and definitely not tidy, but as an adult, I ended up being more organized than I've ever thought I would be in my life (...) shocking (...). The world has changed crazy, (...) I used to talk to people and have opinions on things, but now it feels like a cesspool (...). I miss that space for conversation.'

✔️on 'Erself and the end of Outlander: 'well Diana came to visit, I actually don't know when it was, not that long ago, she came on set, sheeee... ugh, you'd have to forgive me, it was last season, it was so long ago, I can't remember what is what and I have to remember if she wrote something last season (...). Diana, she's created this world (...), she watches everything (...). But she's also allowed us to sort of make her characters our own and she's given us her blessing to do that, which has been amazing. And she still won't tell us the ending. [Voice in public: Sam knows!] Sammy... Sam THINKS he knows.'

✔️on the public impact of OL's Season 1 and sudden fame: 'I got this job so last minute, I was living in the US and I knew it was a US series that we're gonna be filming in the UK. And I read the first book so I was like, OMG sounds like an amazing show to film. But then I went from being cast to being in Scotland in one week. And then you're just like, you're working for 85, 90 hours a week. I didn't know who I was, where I was, what was going on. (...) and we went to Comic Con (...), I mean that whole year was a blur, an amazing blur, but a blur.' Had no expectations about what the show would become, it's now broadcast in 87 countries, 'it's insane, it's amazing'. Being able to be successful after 10 years is 'amazing'.

✔️on what she will miss most about Scotland or is she planning to stay in Scotland after OL is over: 'that's the million dollars question, I don't know. I mean, I think I'll... my husband is Scottish, so I think we'll always have something there, his parents both live there, so you know, we're not never going to be there at some point, but I don't know what is gonna happen after, but I am very, I feel, yeah, I feel like it's gonna be so sad not to... you know for 11 years, no matter like if we're gonna back in the United States or to London for a while we've always known we'd be back to Scotland at some point and be there for 10 or 11 months and so now I don't know, I don't know what the future holds, so....'

✔️on her and Tony sharing the same musical tastes: ' do Sam and I share the same music [Steve immediately BARKS: 'no, Tony, your real husband!'] Tony? Yes. Sam - no.'

✔️Sam's whisky or Graham's bourbon? 'Sam's whisky. I haven't tasted the bourbon, but bourbon is too sweet'.

✔️speaking about Steve - 'he's so mean'. In jest (?).

✔️her favorite part of making her own gin: 'tasting (...), trusting your senses'. The distillery changed, from the first to the second batch - the product's taste changed, a learning curve. They wanted to make sure it's still the same product.

✔️on regretting she did not start acting ten years earlier - mentioned not being ready for the responsibility of shooting 14, 16 hours a day, no sick days, etc: 'it's like a beast'. She felt OL came at the right time, was 'prepared and ready to be there' and eager to be given 'a shot (...): whatever you throw at me, I'll do it'. 'And I think for Sam was the same.'

✔️on memorable OL sets/places: Craigh Na Dun stones. 'The new place where we are, really cool. (....) Amazing stately homes like Hopetoun'. It's 'amazing.'

✔️on another parts in movies - she looks forward for 'good writing' and 'the character to speak' to her, in a new project, the people she will work with... Cliche AF. The Cut and The Amateur roles are 'not huge', the last she clearly said it was a small role, 'it's not my film, it's someone else's film'. She 'did not want to be working all the time, obviously with a small child'. Defined The Cut's plot as 'bizarre', and The Amateur as 'funny'. Loves her job, is happy with it.

✔️last question was asked by a French woman with a very thick accent, about traveling and learning things out of it - C. considers herself very lucky to have been able to travel all around the world as a model. Traveling taught her empathy, how to get over our very Christian centric view of the world. Mentions growing up in 'a very small village in Ireland, that was pretty much, you know, one church, one tiny school and one shop'. Her parents 'instilled a love of reading and learning'. Then she left Ireland to live in France and Japan, and traveled to Nepal. Nepal :'the trip that changed me and changed my life, because I was like seeing a completely different culture that had no correlation to anything that I grew up with, but it was the most beautiful spiritual awakening I guess I've ever had. (...) By traveling and by eating different foods and trying to speak other languages, which I try to do and I apologize to everybody because I try and speak your language, too, because I think (...) it's important to try and connect, because we expect people to come here and do that and it's so rude we don't go and do the same [ applause].' Being able to travel allows us to see how different and how similar we are'.

Ended with a huge thank you to fans, it's been so long that I wasn't attending a convention, 'but it meant the world to me to meet you all again, seen so many familiar faces, it feels so weird to be at the end of this show, because it has meant so much to me (...). Will see you all again soon.'

***

And now, for my comments and findings. Almost point by point:

Kate Bush, LOL (we'll never agree, C and I, on this one; but I can almost imagine Blonde Bambino cooing this - awww):

So, she basically repeated the same anecdote as last year, during promo. From Sade to Kate Bush, and hey, what about that birthday - 'the other day'? But let's not be nitpicky.

'Gerry' actually is Gerard McKenzie Govan, one of the three Directors and the founder of The Blankfaces CIC, a Community Interest Company (regular company with an increased social responsibility twist and, as such, heavily subsidized by the local authorities, too). More on him, here, for those who really want to know about him: https://www.glasgowwestendtoday.scot/magazine/the-man-behind-the-blankfaces-1391/. But that is not the most juicy part, actually - some blatant inconsistencies are. Like 'Gerry' being a friend of Nameless Husband's, but still she met him socially (huh? I thought he was a friend of Nameless Husband, hence a family acquaintance?). Also, C doesn't know shite about The Blankfaces, but still bravely fills in those blanks, like when she tells us fans Gerry has been doing Blankfaces 'for a long time'. The UK competent public authority, Companies House, says something very different and I can prove that the CIC was registered in 2018. Which is not really a long time at all:

'March 6, 2018 - Incorporation of a Community Interest Company' - see above. It also doesn't seem to be very well managed, at all:

Both its yearly accounts and its confirmation statement are long overdue (since 2023, in fact). The CIC is, actually, subject of an 'active proposal to strike off', which means it will be closed/dissolved, and rather sooner than later:

In their case, I suspect a compulsory strike-off, issued by the Companies House register. Fits with the legal criteria:

In a nutshell: because The Blankfaces failed to file its annual accounts and confirmation statement AND because it did not answer to the Companies House's two kind reminder letters, it will be forcibly dissolved in less than two months from now and there is NO going back on that decision, according to UK law.

Wouldn't C know about her Nameless Husband's Friend huge problems? I mean, how more tone-deaf and disconnected can you be, promoting a clinically dead business and inviting people to buy their clothes from their online shop?

Unless... Yeah, unless - but oooh, stupid shippers, slap a shipper, etc.

[Source: Moore and Stoke, an insolvency practitioners' firm based in Stoke-on Trent, UK - simply because they had the simplest and most recent legal explanation, see here: https://www.moorestoke.co.uk/active-proposal-to-strike-off/].

Compared to that, the fact that Tracula was nowhere to be seen at the recent Andrew Hozier-Byrne's concert in GLA is really peanuts. This is serious, legal stuff and please don't give me the 'she's an artist, she doesn't know shit about business' lame excuse. She is also a businesswoman, with her own spirits brand and several other companies, at least in the UK, Ireland and the US. Give me a break, #IYKYK.

Can't wait to be done with OL. Even the thought of a future movie based on Book Ten makes her cringe. Felt it in her voice and it was enough.

World feels like a cesspool? Why on Earth? She is a beautiful, successful and accomplished woman, with her own family and free from want. A cesspool is a very strong and strange word, in this apparent context. Unless.. but yeah, stupid shipper, slap a shipper. Missing conversations, expressing her opinion.... Not even LOL. It made me feel sad. Everything that happened to them since 2016 must be such a burden.

Sammy. SAMMY? Whoa, girl! Merci beaucoup, vraiment. Term of endearment, anyone? Compare with the stiff dead 'my husband' - again, the difference between a teddy bear and a guillotine is transparent in her voice. Also, DG - a difficult topic for her. She doesn't like 'Erself much and I think we all know why.

You tell me about 87 countries, Ma'am. I experience it every day, from the sidelines, so I can easily imagine what the impact could be for you. OL, that blessing and that curse. Also, when she is fed up with prodding and unwilling to kiss arses, she'd quip something along the lines of 'amazing' and be done with it.

Bonnie Scotland and the Day After. Another great moment of 'what the hell ever, just say anything'. Also, Caitriona Mary is a terrible, terrible liar - just like Sam Roland, you know. Her answer came out as incoherent and borderline illogical. Look at this: ' I mean, I think I'll… my husband is Scottish' - the 'I'll' part was her spontaneous starting to answer, about herself, but then inhibition kicked in and shit, she remembered she is married and had to somehow insert Tracula and both his parents (alive, just to make sure). Also, excuse me, hellooo: 'I think we'll always have something there'. Sounds like a flat, more like a pied-à-terre, but lo and behold, she suggests life is going to be elsewhere. What about that pharaonic McMansion, we so passionately followed the painstaking refurbishment of, double glazing included and borderline scandalizing the local heritage protection NGOs in the process? That doesn't really sound like 'something there', does it? That Bear Grylls flat looked more like 'something there', so where's the catch-22, here? What if I was right about McMansion being a fixer-upper she never planned to live in (where, oh where does The Happy Couple live? ooooh, ROFLMAO)? What if I was right about some other thoughts I am not ready to discuss yet? Questions, questions. And yes, London. IYKYK and very different from the emotional, savant blur. Also, for a very organized grown-up woman (her own words, see above), not knowing what the future holds... I mean I get it, but how peculiar, isn't it? Drawing a line, that question unsettled her. She was not planning to answer. She ended with a joke on not being able to see 'that yellow thing in the sky for five months in a row'. Get me out of this question and quick.

The music tastes' question was very clearly audible, even from the back of the room and I had zero trouble to distinctly hear it - it was also asked in a posh & polite British accent, so that helped a LOT: ' do you and Tony share the same music tastes?' The Freudian slip is simply inexplicable. Also, she answered Tony, not 'my husband' : Tony+ my husband in the same phrase is something beyond her strength. But why answer about S at all, that was NOT the question? Why? There are limits to dumbfuckery, after all. Also, Steve is such a pain in the arse. Who, in your mind and heart, is the real husband, C?

Whisky vs. Bourbon, she mumbled her answer, very uneasy, had to listen three times to untangle it. The Soup Nazi had to step in and bark the answer, train station megaphone style, for everyone to hear and get the memo. Now I understand why. And you should, too.

'He's so mean'. Definitely not in jest. Steve, that is. Fire that dick. Plus, later on, she quipped to him: 'you have the reputation of being like a strict schoolmaster'. Answer: 'maybe I am'. A cara nem treme, like they say in Brazil.

In that gin question, the Stan dutifully mentioned Tony (arse kissers, ALL OF THEM) - she could have mentioned him openly, she had a boulevard in front of her. But nope, she came back to mainly mentioning her own experience and a very vague 'we'.

'And I think Sam was the same' - conversations were had early on. In Central Park, London. And then things went very fast, as it sometimes happens. Sharing takes things on a very different level. I think this is exactly what happened to them.

Memorable places: they both are very moved by Craigh Na Dun, and it's absolutely normal. And Hopetoun - LOL, hello, of course ('The Door Faces North', pun totally intended).

Next two movies: so long for her Stans' delusions she was given a main role. She wrapped deception with grace and hid behind being a mom. ALL THE ANTI BLOGS WERE EERILY SILENT ABOUT THIS. I wonder why. Actually no, I don't. But sure, shippers twist things, shippers hide things. No shame, those people.

The last question, on travel, was my favorite one. I think it was perhaps the only time she felt able to fully express what she meant and wanted to. Many will jump on that Nepal reference and it is correct, but to me, on a very personal level, it spoke in many, many other ways. This is the C I have managed to embrace, reluctantly at first (I admit) and like a LOT. This is the witty girl I thought I have lost forever in that sea of painful innuendos, stupid Stans ass-kissing and blurring everything in the process, plus a Nazi minder on top. Fire that dick. Seriously. He wanted to end on a 'funny' Kumbaya note - she subtly managed to break free. Thank you, C. Seriously. The wonder you are and completely unaware of it. And the things you can do with words, if only you'd dare play with them some more.

Her tone at the end was emotional. Very. It was the same tone as for that 'partner everyday' gala speech. Oh, the things she wanted to tell all of us. And if we only knew. But hey, she promised we will meet again, soon. Perhaps in Paris? I'll gladly speak to you. In French.

A HUGE thank you. Both of you. I love you, girls.

[fenmere]

OC tag game

thank you @the-letterbox-archives for the tag!! the rule is to share some inspirations for the name/personality/design of a character! (originally it said to do more than 1, but letter only did one and we kinda want to focus on one too, only it's still a lot of characters)

the Audreys (they/them)

You know that illustration/cartoon going around where the caption says that if you're queer you know 28 people that look like this?

The Audrey's don't look like that.

A lot about them isn't clearly defined, because we want readers to fill in the blanks as needed. What we know is that they're taller than 5' and shorter than 5'10, willowy and kinda rail thin (the opposite of Erik), with long, straight blonde hair they don't really style, and a lazy queer style of clothing. In one scene, they wear a navy blue hoodie with gold mermaid print leggings and a pair of plain black boots. They also have a simple store bought cane that's black with a scale print etched into it.

We own that cane. That part comes from us.

They mostly use the cane for fatigue and balance.

Like so, so many of our friends, they're trans, autistic, and plural.

And like a lot of them they relate to crows and other corvids. Which is to say, as headmates they're actually literally a bunch of birds. They won't claim to be therian or otherkin, or alterhuman, because they don't really think much about such labels and are used to masking themselves around neurotypicals. But they are. Well, they might relate to corvids the most, but some of them are other things. Like, Brock is a bald eagle.

And their inner government is called The Parliament, and meets in an oak savanna inworld.

There's 140 of them at the beginning of the story, and they grow a little by the third book. And they're mostly full of fictives.

You can decide if they're traumagenic or endogenic or what. Whatever you relate to the most.

As far as we know, they don't look like anybody we know. They don't really behave like anybody we know. Because they are, effectively, a mishmash of every single mid to late twenties something trans masc autistic enby who has ever been our friend. They are an homage to the people who raised us as a baby trans, and the people we feel most comfortable around who don't outright share every trait we have.

They're also a bunch of doofy guys with "they/them" for pronouns. You've got Bock Samson, Donnie from the Big Lebowski, Ray Stance and Egon Spangler, Xander from Buffy, Shaggy, and people like that. Scorpia is also in there, along with any other character like her, too.

A huge part of their fate in the world is to serve as kind of a foil for the other characters. Which, believe it or not, is inspired by how we almost always felt while we were in the closet and trying to move through the world as a man.

It's sort of the reason we love all the fictives that we've put in their system. They're guys who aren't the leads, but who do struggle with that, and have varying success expressing their own presences. Brock is particularly successful, for instance, while Ray not so much.

But the Audreys do lead the way in a few scenes and also get something special out of the deal. We do our best to keep it all pretty even.

To talk specifically about what inspired them, though, we gotta talk about our own life a bit.

In 2004, we started a group called the Bellingham School of Comics, which met twice weekly at a place called the Black Drop. We just put a couple of fliers up for it, and within a month there were thirty members.

Just one of the significant things about the B.S. of Comics is that over the course of our tenure there, it had ten trans masc members. And we got to be pretty good friends with most of them.

But we didn't come out as trans ourselves until 2015. They were our first support group when we hit that dysphoric wall and had to come out. They saved our life. But before that, they also taught us everything they knew about trans feminism at the time. We owe them a lot.

And then, shortly after that, we came out as plural and autistic, and again, the first peers we had in that regard were also trans masc.

And along with Erik, the Audreys are kind of our way of saying, "You guys all really rock, you know that?" Because we made both of these characters to be people we could love. And we had a bunch of good role models for that.

--- Anyway, consider yourself tagged if you have an OC, then tag us in thanks when you post your version of this, so we know it's safe to tag you in the future.

[cicaklah]

my girl @ronniebox tagged me and so here we go!

Rules: List ten books that have stayed with you in some way, don’t  take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard - they don’t have to  be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you.

Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman - my mother gave me this book to read when I was maybe 11, it was her copy that she had bought when Pratchett came and gave a reading at our local library in like, 1992. I'd say no book has been more formative to me, but in writing this I don't think thats true.

The City and the City by China Mieville - I got into Mieville through my girl @crimeandcricket, and was horribly traumatised by the body horror in perdido street station, and was way too influenced by his often pretentious writing style, but the city and the city is a masterpiece I'll never recover fully from and changed me for the better.

The Children's Hospital by Chris Adrian - I'm fairly sure no one but me loves this book, but it is also a book that multiple people stopped me when I was reading in public just from the cover image. My favourite kind of book is a book that can only be written by one person, and Adrian is a theologian and paediatrician, and this book uses every single one of his hyperfixations and also made me cry more than anything else.

The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster - Actually, this book probably did more to calcify my sense of humour than Pratchett did. The smartest, funniest, coolest children's book ever, and this has reminded me to get the tattoo of Tock on my wrist.

Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfield - I read this every christmas morning as a treat to myself. I also adore White Boots, the ice skating book, but Ballet Shoes is such a perfect gem of a story that is the favourite of my grandmother, my mother and myself.

Shabanu/Daughter of the Wind by Suzanne Fisher Staples - The first book that made me cry, inspired my fondness for camels and was probably my first feminist awakening? I've only read one of the sequels, but it was so brutal I still haven't emotionally recovered entirely.

The Amateur Cracksman by E. W Hornung - my mastermind specialist subject, a book that consumed me across time and space, Raffles my beloved, Bunny my beloved, I remember the moment I read the first story and my life changed literally forever. The Black Mask and A Thief In The Night are also obviously amazing and really all three should be considered one book, but something in my life changed for the better when I read the line 'AJ Raffles would be my friend!' in The Ides of March and I realised oh no, they're mine now.

Exhalation by Ted Chiang - very hard for me to choose a Ted Chiang story so thankfully I will pick his second collection, which has The Life Cycle of Software Objects and also the one about the parrots. It does not have Hell is the Absence of God or stories of your life, but tbh, software objects was the first of his stories I ever read, so it deserves to be here, even if it guts me like a fish every time.

Rivals by Jilly Cooper - if I could have anyone's writing career, it would be Jilly Cooper's. Everytime I read this insane soap opera of a book it holds me hostage until I finish it, and its like 700 pages long. The most wonderfully 80s OTT sex farce about horrible people trying to buy an ITV franchise. I genuinely can't believe that disney plus are making it into a series.

The Years of Rice and Salt by Kim Stanley Robinson - One of his least famous books and yet I think his best? I had read the Mars books several times before I picked this up, but this alternate history where 90% of Europe are killed by the black death, following how world history changes through the eyes of characters who reincarnate but always find each other, somehow??? it grabbed me by the throat and never let go.

tell me YOUR formative texts pls @crimeandcricket @deputychairman @myth-blossom @skylightpirate @stickthisbig @apricotbones @postalninja @cajunandfire @within-infant-rind

[animentality]

You know the composer Frédéric Chopin? In one of twenty-two letters to his childhood friend Tytus Woyciechowski, he wrote, “You don’t like being kissed. Please allow me to do so today. You have to pay for the dirty dream I had about you last night.”

And yet, historians insisted that Tytus was a "bosom friend." History hates queer lovers. They erase us from their narratives and blame our love on delusions and sickness.

But books like yours give me hope. Your book is fearlessly LGBTQ+, unashamed, proud. This kind of pride, this kind of openness about who we choose to love (or don't love)? They'll never, ever, ever be able to erase that. Ever.

Aw ;-;

That's a beautiful quote. "and they were roommates."

Ahahaahhhh. They were roommates...;-;

Thank you for sending this ask. Well written. Made me emotional.

I really...I really just...

I wanted to write a queer novel that was raw and ugly and edgy. Like listen I love wholesome queer romances as much as anyone here, but I wanted to write queer romances that were brutal.

Where the mc is indescribably fucked up beyond belief?

Where his relationships are toxic and wrong and bad, but they were beautiful too. Broken and beautiful.

Where they bite more than they kiss, and hurt more than they heal, opening up old wounds and adding new ones.

Where he was a bad person, and so was his love, and yet, that same love, could contradictorily also be the only good thing in his life too.

Where he's a murderer and an assassin and his morality is fucked beyond belief, but he has values, he cherishes the lives of those like him, who have chosen the path of an assassin and a demon summoner, and it's short sighted, and selfish, and self serving, but he never really had the choice to begin with.

A tragedy and a romance in continuous motion, a never ending cycle.

And the irony is...well. No spoilers but...that continuous motion...

It always finds its way back around. Let's say that.

Anyway. Thanks for the ask.

7 deadly habits has my entire heart, soul, and bussy thrust into it.

I would literally make it free all the time if Amazon would let me.

And I'm still sorry about having to use Amazon, bc it's unfortunately the only site where you can self publish a novel and NOT have to pay some fucking subscription fee or have to pay back for distribution rights and shit.

But it lets me get this story out there, and so, I must continue. I have to try.

I think this story matters, even if it's just to me. Or just to one or two other deranged weirdos like myself.

I wanna thank every single person who downloaded it or bought it. They don't know how much I cherish and value every single one of them, and they should.

Rey is for them. Rey is for me, but he's also for anyone who knows how badly a person can fuck up every good relationship they've ever had. he's also for the girlies and the queers and the perpetually online freaks.

For the people <3

[nadzhosny2]

Memory is an extraordinary thing

Being gifted with a ridiculously good memory is going to be my downfall someday. But my memory is very selective. I might not remember what I had for breakfast this morning but I can remember the very first time I rode a train (I was 19 and it was in Paris *insert boujie face here* Kindly allow my little flex, it doesn’t happen often). I can’t, for the life of me, remember the national anthem but I can remember the names of all my teachers in primary school. Why? I haven’t the faintest idea.

I’ve come to believe that my selective memory comes from the fact that I’m an unbelievably sentimental person. I like to collect keepsakes consisting of the most trivial things imaginable; a ticket stub from a movie, the receipts of every single book I’ve ever bought tucked into the back cover, the script for the first school play I was ever a part of, my secondary school PE and school shirts that have the various signatures and little notes from my classmates scribbled on it from my last day of school before final exams, my final international law exam paper from my university. All little things that might seem meaningless or insignificant to others but hold enormous weight to me.

That got me thinking about memory, the most beautiful and terrible phenomenon of our lives and how it can be triggered by the smallest of things. A particular smell that reminds you of a loved one, a song that reminds you of a party, a quote that reminds you of your favourite teacher, a scar that reminds you of a trauma.

We hold so much history in our lives without ever realising it. Every single one of us has an ever increasing library of memories held within us that can be brought to the surface by a tiny stimulus.

Most people take pictures or videos of their lives to remember or document a certain event or experience. Some have journals dedicated to recounting their lives, recording the significant and the mundane, immortalising those moments in time and the emotions that come with them that they could come back to and reminisce.

I’ve always loved the phrase, ‘a trip down memory lane’. Our memory lanes lead to a memory universe. The universe is the store of all our experiences of life that we have collected that’s constantly expanding, always stretching out with the passing years until we draw our last breath, which then will be ingrained in someone else’s memory universe.

Imagine that? How marvellous is that thought, albeit a bittersweet one. That your end will be recorded in someone else’s memory, and theirs in another’s and so on and so on until the end of time. How one can never truly be forgotten as long as others keep them alive in their memory. That’s the closest thing to immortality we’ve got.

Think about this for a second, all of recorded history, everything we know about the past, the events that occurred, how the ancients lived, the battles fought, the stories behind the greatest marvels of the world come from someone’s memory! Someone who had the stroke of brilliance to write it down, sculpt it or paint it to make it tangible for all to see and remember. What a treasure.

Memory is an absolute necessity for the existence of history, without it, we would know nothing. Can you imagine what the world would be like if we didn’t have the power to remember? Stories passed down from generation to generation, traditions, customs all coming from someone’s memory of it. It’s absolutely astounding!

And all this can be traced back to our power to remember. This wonderful and terrible ability to recall our lives sometimes with excruciating detail or otherwise with hazy, distorted images and sounds.

I’d never fully appreciated my memory until right this moment.

N.B: I wrote this at midnight, on my phone, in the dark and have gone down a rabbit hole with memory but it all makes sense which is an achievement for me. Thanks for sticking to the end of my spiralling train of thought! ❤

[dukeofriven]

When your country has spent the last century culturally colonizing another to the point where we have to fight to get Canadian content on any Canadian networks and it is a losing battle, when you completely dominate all media, when all your movies and TV shows film here with our actors (none of whom ever get to be or play Canadians,) and when you go online and have to dodge fifteen posts about how NOBODY IS TALKING ABOUT THIS for an American event that was plastered all over my national news service when not one of you can name a mainstream crisis in my country for the last decade—when you still can't show any unfamiliarity whatsoever of some kind of American taboo without being attacked as ignorant and insensitive by people who don't know the first thing about the make-up of my country and its taboos—you know the country live directly next to and share a massive border with?—where are we supposed to go that you are not? "I thought every country would have its own media circles and know more about their own history than anything else ." You took it away from us and you don’t even know that you did it. You took our media, you took our history, you took away our spces to tell our own stories in our own voices, you suck all the oxygen out of the air for your own. You enter our homes and start smashing pots and pans for a hundred years and then have the gall to tell us we should just pay less attention to you? That, more than anything, is what non-Americans find so galling in these matters: you're so loud and you're belligerently unaware of how loud you are and hostile to the idea any time the rest of us bring it up. Well I didn't do it, it's not my personal fault, and also just ignore it. It's like telling your neighbour to just 'tune-out' the fireworks you're letting off in the backyard. Outside of maybe North Korea, an American can never go anywhere in the world and not find someone with at least passing familiarity of America, shaped by every piece of media you have forced upon the globe. You really can't understand what its like to to turn on the TV with a thousand channels and not a single thing playing is actually about you and your culture. What it's like to walk into a library and have small shelf on one side that is the totality of literature involving anything you know while the wall of new releases is dominated by books about the politics, leaders, society, and goings-on of a nation you don't live in. To walk into a Blockbusters and see six thousand titles, of which maybe fifty were of your home, presuming you can even find them. To walk through Toronto's theatre district - after the West Enddon and Broadway the third largest English-speaking theatre community in the world—and find absolutely nothing but American musicals and theatrical shows. Do you know what's like to have to pass a law to guarantee that at least 35% of all music on the radio is music from your own country, sung by your own singers on your own record labels? To have to fight constantly with American spellchecks that keep insisting that the very way you speak and write is wrong?

The entirety of my country's culture is something I have to actively seek out and find in media, because it's so completely and utterly suffocated by America's. And that's not even touching on groups like First Nations and Black Canadians who've been doubly-colonized: first by us, and then by America, because in and of themselves American Indian and African-American stories are the only ones with any kind of international recognition or consciousness. Of Africville, of Afro-Métis, of Black Loyalists, of Mistahimaskwa, of Tecumseh, Americans know nothing, even when its part and parcel of its own history: they would not exist but for you. You literally invaded us, for pity's sake. 20,000 dead, civilian and soldier alike. We had to burn the White House down just to get to you to leave.

And then you snuck back in anyways and bought up all our businesses and media companies and politicians.

I remember a professor in university, in my History of the Americas course, talking about how much of what we'd be doing in the first semester was simply unlearning the idea that slavery was America's Story: because America so dominated the conversation, was such a totality in the narrative, that you'd think that the entire Atlantic slave trade deposited its haul of human souls in Charleston Bay. But only 4% of the Atlantic slave trade made it to North America. Statistically speaking, its a footnote. And yet when you talk about slavery, everyone always assumes its the Civil War, John Brown, catchy propaganda songs from Hamilton that lie about history, and Twelve Years a Slave. As far as American narratives are concerned, Harriet Tubman is a hero who delivered escaping salves into a void where they were never heard from again. But I got a free black cemetery thirty minutes from my house: I know what happened to the slaves who fled north. Do you? So: 'just stop paying attention'? How? Please, I'm begging you, I'd love to know. As a Canadian English speaker, what social media network isn't dominated by America? What TV networks? What video media platforms? What concentration of cinematic money and production? What history, what culture, what society do I have that is in any sense not completely dominated by you? Where am I supposed to go where you are not already? A Canadian Prime Minister you've probably never heard of once said "Living next to [America] is in some ways like sleeping with an elephant. No matter how friendly and even-tempered is the beast, if I can call it that, one is affected by every twitch and grunt." America is a cultural hegemony. While it may not individually be your fault, at least have the grace to own up to it collectively. And the next time someone says "you're being so loud my entire country can't hear itself think," maybe don't tell them to just stop listening so hard.

I don't know if you're American or not but in my experience as a person who is not American, American events and media are so incredibly loud and visible that they tend to leech into everything.

Like I'm Canadian born and raised and can name more American presidents than I can Canadian Prime Ministers. I have Canadian friends from Canada who can accurately describe themselves as Liberals but are still sorta foggy on NDP policies. Do you know what day Canada Day is? It's July 1st. Do you know what's on my dashboard on July 1st? Early posts about July 4th.

And if you're an American reading this: Or, hell, anyone else reading this: We all know George Washington was the first American President. Do you know who the first Prime Minister of Canada was? Can you name two British political parties? What are two countries that have Monarchies, not Democracies? What was the most recent political scandal you can think of that took place outside the US? What's your favourite TV show that takes place anywhere outside of America? What are your top three favourite non-american musicians? If English is your first language, how many foreign countries can you go to where you don't speak the language, but don't have to worry about it?

I said "International America Day" as a joke, but there is a very real phenomenon in countries outside of the US where the general population becomes Americanized through the prevalent American media.

We know American current events, we know American scandals, we know about American cops and American movies and American accents and American fast food chains. We have serious opinions on the American legal system and we talk about American law and American policy and American celebrities, and many of us don't know Jack Shit about what's going on where we live.

I'm Canadian. I've heard all about 'building the wall' and ICE and Jan 6th, the intentional government distribution of narcotics in Black communities and the use of Marijuana Illegalization to persecute Black and Mexican people under the Nixon administration.

Do you know what Canada did to Chinese immigrants to build the Canadian railroad? What about the Sterilization Act? Residential Schools? Do you know what a Status Card is? Does it, or does it not cost money to ride in an ambulance? Can people with breasts legally walk around topless? What's the legal drinking age? What are our biggest cities? Who was our least-popular PM? What are our allied nations? Where does the Canadian military get deployed?

"International America Day" was a goof. But Jesus, it's a little bit serious

*edit: yeah I wrote June instead of Jan my bad

[johnnyrobish]

Mike Pence Ends His Campaign By Claiming 'This is Not My Time’

After months of struggling to raise money and gain traction in the polls, former Vice President Mike Pence, who began his campaign by implying it was “God’s Will” that he should run for President of the United States, dropped his bid for the Republican presidential nomination by stating “This is not my time.”

Dammit!  and I just bought my Pence bumper sticker too!  That said, Mike - I think you’re right.  This isn’t you’re time.  In fact, I’m pretty sure your time may have passed somewhere around the mid to late 1950s.  Yet, at his Las Vegas announcement, Pence told supporters that with regard to his failed campaign, he “Has no regrets.”  Oh, I’m quite sure he has "no regrets," other than the fact that almost no one in the entire country ever had any intention whatsoever of voting for him. 

Well, as Mike and “Mother’s” Good Book might say - “And thus so endeth - the campaign of Mike Pence.”  The funny thing is, for a candidate supposedly so heavily backed by God (talk about some heavy name-dropping), Pence was only able to garner such a tiny amount of supporters that he could have completely dissolved his campaign - not told a single soul about it - and yet no one would have even noticed he was out of the race.

I suppose the strangest thing about this silly charade is that Pence was actually delusional enough to imagine he had even “a snowball’s chance in hell” of convincing the very folks who wanted him “hanged for being a traitor” a few years back - to vote for him in a primary against their own cult leader who was also the very person who had convinced them that Pence was a “traitor” in the first place.  Let that sink in for a moment.   

Well, if its any consolation, just as Republicans do after every mass shooting, we send along our “thoughts and prayers” for Mike’s dead campaign.  We would also be remiss if we failed to offer our thanks to the astute voters of the great state of Indiana for their two stellar contributions to the vice presidency, Dan Quayle and Mike Pence.  Personally, I would have preferred Larry, Curly, and Moe, but then again, I don’t get to vote in Republican primaries.  

Truth be told, Mike Pence is a coward of a man who hid behind his religious beliefs and stood silent for four years when he should have spoken out about the evil corruption he saw in the Trump White House.  That said, when push came to shove, and we were on the verge of losing our democracy, he did finally cave in and reluctantly do the job he was elected to do.  THAT - my friends, does not make Mike Pence a hero.  It makes him what anthropologists commonly refer to as a “poo-poo, caca mouth.”

If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve just read, please consider joining me at:

[idontexist-justvibes]

Street Signs

TW: abuse. that’s all my account is. it’s writings about my experience as an abused child.

I am scared of street signs. 

Specifically the ones that tell you the speed limit. 

It didn’t matter much when I was younger. I could read a book or play with my Barbies and I was none the wiser to which street signs we passed on our drives. 

It got a bit more complicated when I started driving on my own. Operating a vehicle was stressful enough without the overwhelming panic that set in every time I had to look for the speed limit. I had to get one of those fancy cars with the screens that told you what the speed limit was, simply because I couldn’t look at the signs on the side of the road like a normal person. 

We couldn’t afford it. But my mother saved up all her money, and helped me get a loan, and she made it work like she always did. Instead of being excited, I felt bad the day she pulled up in my shiny new car that was more expensive than anything she’d ever bought for herself. 

It wasn’t her fault that I was so scared of something so stupid. 

I’m scared of a lot of stupid things. Most of them have a story behind it, but some of those stories I can’t even remember now. It’s funny, because most of the things that terrify me are things I used to love. 

Wild flower fields, nightlights, television remotes. Diving boards, showers, ashtrays, beer cans. I’m scared of the smell of cigarette smoke and pink dog collars and christmas-tree-patterned wrapping paper. I’m scared of exercise machines, I’m scared of eating too fast, I’m scared of street signs, and I’m scared of him. 

I used to love most of those things. The things I’m most scared of. Or, at the very least, I thought I did. Maybe my brain just blocks out some of the reasons they terrify me so much now. And sometimes it’s easy to think that they don’t scare me. That I’m only being dramatic. 

But then I remember the car, and my mom, and the feeling of absolute panic when I so much as think of a speed limit sign. I’m not being dramatic. 

It’s not her fault, though I’m sure she blames herself. I blamed her for a while. But I didn’t tell her until I was 12, and I didn’t let on to just how bad it was until I was 18 and he legally had no claim over me anymore. I didn’t want to deal with any more Child Services Agents and I knew she would make me. He’d already given up visitation rights, anyway. 

Oh, yeah: I’m scared of Child Services Interviews. 

I’m sure my mother blames herself, but it wasn’t her fault that she had a kid with a monster. She didn’t know. She couldn’t have. I had made sure she didn’t. 

I often wonder if all kids in my situation have so many irrational fears. I wonder if they remember the reasons behind those fears. I only remember half of my own stories, really. I tell people I was too young to remember. My therapist disagrees - she says I probably just blocked out the trauma. 

All of my irrational fears have a story, and every single story relates back to my singular rational fear: him. 

But this story is about street signs, and I do remember that. 

This story starts in a PT Cruiser. There’s a five-year-old bouncing in her seat with her hand out the window. She has known pain at this point, but she luckily doesn’t remember. This story starts with laughter, and the desire to be helpful, and a called out “35 miles per hour!” to which Mamma laughs along. 

This story ends in a Dodge. There is an eight-year-old crying in her seat with her head against the window. She has known pain at this point, and the new bruise on her cheek will not let her forget. This story ends with tears, and the burn of a cigarette on skin, and a shouted “I know the damn speed limit” from a father who does not know the monster he has started to create. 

This story ends with a fear of street signs.

[zee-has-commitment-issues]

Someone said I was invalidating the experiences of abused children today and I got angry and I got triggered and I wrote a 705 word short story on my personal experience of being an abused child so here’s that.

Obvious trigger warnings for abuse and shit.

I am scared of street signs. 

Specifically the ones that tell you the speed limit. 

It didn’t matter much when I was younger. I could read a book or play with my Barbies and I was none the wiser to which street signs we passed on our drives. 

It got a bit more complicated when I started driving on my own. Operating a vehicle was stressful enough without the overwhelming panic that set in every time I had to look for the speed limit. I had to get one of those fancy cars with the screens that told you what the speed limit was, simply because I couldn’t look at the signs on the side of the road like a normal person. 

We couldn’t afford it. But my mother saved up all her money, and helped me get a loan, and she made it work like she always did. Instead of being excited, I felt bad the day she pulled up in my shiny new car that was more expensive than anything she’d ever bought for herself. 

It wasn’t her fault that I was so scared of something so stupid. 

I’m scared of a lot of stupid things. Most of them have a story behind it, but some of those stories I can’t even remember now. It’s funny, because most of the things that terrify me are things I used to love. 

Wild flower fields, nightlights, television remotes. Diving boards, showers, ashtrays, beer cans. I’m scared of the smell of cigarette smoke and pink dog collars and Christmas-tree-patterned wrapping paper. I’m scared of exercise machines, I’m scared of eating too fast, I’m scared of street signs, and I’m scared of him. 

I used to love most of those things. The things I’m most scared of. Or, at the very least, I thought I did. Maybe my brain just blocks out some of the reasons they terrify me so much now. And sometimes it’s easy to think that they don’t scare me. That I’m only being dramatic. 

But then I remember the car, and my mom, and the feeling of absolute panic when I so much as think of a speed limit sign. I’m not being dramatic. 

It’s not her fault, though I’m sure she blames herself. I blamed her for a while. But I didn’t tell her until I was 12, and I didn’t let on to just how bad it was until I was 18 and he legally had no claim over me anymore. I didn’t want to deal with any more Child Services Agents and I knew she would make me. He’d already given up visitation rights, anyway. 

Oh, yeah: I’m scared of Child Services Interviews. 

I’m sure my mother blames herself, but it wasn’t her fault that she had a kid with a monster. She didn’t know. She couldn’t have. I had made sure she didn’t. 

I often wonder if all kids in my situation have so many irrational fears. I wonder if they remember the reasons behind those fears. I only remember half of my own stories, really. I tell people I was too young to remember. My therapist disagrees - she says I probably just blocked out the trauma. 

All of my irrational fears have a story, and every single story relates back to my singular rational fear: him. 

But this story is about street signs, and I do remember that. 

This story starts in a PT Cruiser. There’s a five-year-old bouncing in her seat with her hand out the window. She has known pain at this point, but she luckily doesn’t remember. This story starts with laughter, and the desire to be helpful, and a called out “35 miles per hour!” to which Mamma laughs along. 

This story ends in a Dodge. There is an eight-year-old crying in her seat with her head against the window. She has known pain at this point, and the new bruise on her cheek will not let her forget. This story ends with tears, and the burn of a cigarette on skin, and a shouted “I know the damn speed limit” from a father who does not know the monster he has started to create. 

This story ends with a fear of street signs.

[scully-loves-ruthie]

Fictober Day 5

Prompt: No anything but that

Fandom: The X-Files

Dear Mulder,

          My therapist says the best way to deal with all my unprocessed emotions is to write it all down in a letter to you.  Whether or not I give it to you is based on how I feel after writing it. 

I miss you Mulder, I miss you every day.  You’re just on the other side of the office door and it’s still somehow not in the same house as me.  I miss when you loved me, really loved me.  Not from the obligation that trauma often brings, or even from all the innumerable tragedies we’ve barreled through together.  I think I’ve missed you since the day you left me all alone with William.  The Mulder that left wasn’t the same Mulder that came home.  I know, I know I’m not who you left behind, even worse there was only me when you returned.  Whoever we were when it was all over, we were still us, Mulder, and Scully.  We were once an immovable force, we were something I always felt was fated, written long before we met, something that would exist well into the forever place that our souls would one day reside.  When I thought of home, I just thought of you.  Now you’re the thing swallowing me whole. 

          I’m so angry at you.  I know it’s not the same now than were agents.  I know writing has been more difficult for you than you thought it would be. I’ve told you over and over again some things just can’t be written some of our story was never meant to be told to anyone.  They were the secrets keeping us connected.  The wounds from so much of our past will always exist partially unhealed.  Digging it up trying to quantify it in a book is destroying you.  Day by day I walk past the person I used to know.  I keep waiting for you to reemerge, instead I’m met with a blurry eyed, scruffy shell.  I am so mad at you for giving up for allowing yourself to be eaten by all our history.  Don’t you think I feel it to?  Don’t you think I feel my soul forever chipped and jagged from the loss of our son.  Don’t you think I want our partnership together again.  Of course you don’t, you only think about what losing William and The X-Files has done to you.  I don’t want to exist in that space anymore.  No more monsters, no more loss.  I asked you, when you bought this house, married me and moved us here if this could be enough.  You swore, you promised you could move forward you’d write fiction, you’d learn to cook, you’d garden, and we would be us.  Little by little you dropped those promises outside your office door.  I can’t relive any more cases with you for the sake of the book. I can’t ignore that you are barley ever sober anymore by the time I get home. 

          I want to love you again Mulder, not just exist in the same air space.  I want to want you again.  Fuck, I still need you, but I have no idea where you’ve gone and if the man, I married is ever gonna walk out of that office door again.

          Please Mulder.  Our story has three side and right now every single one of them is wrong.  Stop trying to rewrite our last ending. Look up from the typewriter.   Put down the bottle and be a part of this story.  Our life now.  Or it is the end Mulder.  I can’t stay here anymore, not like this.  Not without you.  Not without the person I love. 

          I think of giving you this letter and all I feel is no, anything but that.  I’m afraid you’ll be gone forever if I do.  I’m afraid you already are.

@fictober-event @xffictober2022 @today-in-fic

[nightblood999]

Unique Podcasts:

If you’re looking for something different, try one of these:

 What’s the Frequency

               What’s The Frequency is a psychedelic noir audio drama podcast set in 1940s Los Angeles. Recently radio broadcasts in the city have been reduced to static, leaving a popular radio serial as the only remaining show on the air. Even then the show finds itself continuously interrupted by a mysterious broadcast. A lone distorted voice reaching out for help. Follow Walter “Troubles” Mix and his partner Whitney as they search for a missing writer and navigate through a city quickly falling into madness. Could the mysterious voice be the culprit? Will anyone be able to stop the madness from spreading? And… What’s The Frequency?

Why I love it: This podcast has some of the best and most loveable main characters ever written.

 Alba Salix, Royal Physician

           A witch, her apprentice, and her fairy herbalist treat the ills of a fairy-tale kingdom.

Why I love it: A fantasy podcast that not D&D or based on D&D? What? Also, Its absolutely hilarious once you get over Magnus’s voice.

 Windfall

           Ever since the castle first appeared in the sky above the city of Windfall, its residents have been building upward. Now the city consists of towers where the wealthiest residents live at the top while the poor eke out a living on the ground. Our podcast follows Cas, Shaima, and Argus, three brothers who live with their Uncle Vern after being orphaned during the grounder rebellion twenty years earlier. When Cas’s best friend, Kendall, is offered a position with the Wolfpac, Windfall’s military cult that acts as the city’s police, Cas is forced to decide where his loyalties lie. Meanwhile, something sinister looms over the city itself, threatening the lives of all who live in Windfall, from the wealthiest residents to the ground-level poor.

Why I love it: This is so well written, and so well voiced, and the sound design is amazing, and I don’t understand why it doesn’t have a cult following to be honest.

Time: Bombs

           Created, written, recorded, produced, and released in just one week, Time Bombs is a new audio drama podcast about the hilarious world of bomb disposal. From the team behind the Webby Award nominated sci-fi audio drama Wolf 359, ride along with EOD technician Simon Teller on the busiest night of the year for him and his team - when business is, quite literally, booming.

Why I love it: Its literally the same team that made my favorite podcast ever of course I love it.

 StarTripper!!

           Feston Pyxis, native of the bureaucracy planet Lorvin, has left it all behind! He’s said his goodbyes, he’s sold all his B-movie memorabilia, and he’s bought a Physiclast QCS-25 K-series ship, known to the wise as a “StarTripper.” Together with the onboard assistant PROXY, Feston’s looking for any and every good time there is to be had across the stars!

Why I love it: Its actually happy. There are so many sad podcasts with angst and inetemse emotion and this was something I could just…. Enjoy? With no hurt? Yes!

 Zero Hours:

         Zero Hours is an anthology series, where every story is a different take on the end of the world - or at least something that feels like the end of the world. Each episode is organized around a kind of apocalypse, whether the cataclysm is planetary or personal. The stories are also set in succeeding centuries, with 99-year intervals separating each episode. The show begins in the past, catches up to the present, and eventually overtakes it.

          Some installments are darkly comedic, others grimly contemplative, and others still thrillingly contentious. But they all explore the same question: how do we keep going when the world is crashing down around us? Again and again, issues of survival, trust, and personhood will plague our characters as they attempt to navigate dangerous, changing circumstances and figure out how to avert The End, or at least how to meet it.

Why I love it: This was also made by the team behind Wolf 359, and its such a unique concept.

 Fairy Tales for Unwanted Children

             Imagine if fairy tales were written like episodes of the Twilight Zone. Now imagine listening to them while happy music plays in the background.

Why I love it: I love the Twilight Zone, and nothing really filled that gap after I watched every episode ever produced. But Fairy Tales for unwanted children fills my need for more Grimm’s fairy tales and more twilight zone at the same time!

 Janus Descending

          Janus Descending is a limited series, science fiction/horror audio drama told through single perspective narration. The story follows the arrival of two xenoarcheologists, Peter and Chel,  on a small world orbiting a binary star. But what starts off as an expedition to survey the planet and the remains of a lost alien civilization, turns into a monstrous game of cat and mouse, as the two scientists are left to face the creatures that killed the planet in the first place. Told from alternating perspectives, Janus Descending is an experience of crossing timelines, as Peter describes the nightmare from end to beginning, and Chel, from beginning to the end.

Why I love it: Watching it all come together as Peter slowly works his way backwards through the story, and Chel forwards, was fascinating.

 The Antique Shop

           In desperate need of a job, Maya finds work in an old antique shop owned by a mysterious woman. The more time she spends in the shop the further the real world becomes, and Maya soon begins to realize that nothing is as it seems. 

Why I love it: This is the Genre that just Hits The Spot. It’s like Howls moving castle (Book version) but podcast form and slightly darker. Why is there not a bigger following for this podcast? It deserves a bigger following!

[mha-platonic-yanderes]

Settling In: Parentals

Inspired by @i-cant-sing and their Yandere Todoroki Clan AU

The room is pink. Well, it’s mostly pink. It’s pink with white furniture and embellishments. The closet doors are white and so is the windowsill. The floor is hardwood brown. But everything else is a bubblegum pink.

You’d prefer another color, one that wasn’t so bright and grating to the eyes. But you don’t say that. You just fiddle with your one dufflebag’s handle. This is all you have left, after bouncing around from group home to group home. A year ago—when your parents died—you had thrice as much. Now this and the backpack for schoolwork is all you have left.

“Do you like it?” The mother of this house and wife to the current number one hero, asks you a question. He’s not here; nobody’s here except you two. The house seems too big for three people, but there are pictures on the wall of others. It doesn’t look lived in; there is no semblance of a family. Though, the pictures on the wall show a six person family. It shows that there are four more people here and you get your own room. In a house with now seven people, you get your own room and you aren’t giving it up.

Despite the pink color and the vast emptiness, you answer honestly, “Yeah, I do.” You do like it, even if it's not for the right reasons

Her hands are on your shoulder. You can feel the increased pressure on one side lift up, almost as if she’d been purposefully holding onto you too tight.

“Good. Now, let’s unpack.” She gracefully takes the bag out of your hand, setting it atop the bed. You sit down alongside it, opening your backpack. A couple of notebooks, pencils, and two textbooks sit inside.

You start to stand, heading to take the materials to the desk they’ve provided. Though, whilst holding a pair of pajamas—slightly too little but in [y/f/c]—she takes the books out of your hand.

“Just relax, [Y/N].” Rei replies, “Let me handle it.”

You sit on the bed twiddling with your blouse’s edge. You wore your best outfit, even though it was just your school uniform, without the frumpy sweater. 

The bed is insanely soft. With satin sheets, a thick, fluffy comforter, and a healthy amount of pillows, it's easily the softest place you’ve been.

“I’ll have a driver return your school books back to your former school.” Rei replies, on the other side of the room. You shift to look at her, but she has her back turned to you. “I’ll discuss with my husband what school to place you at.”

“Alright.” You’ve had to transfer schools about three times since last year. Moving again isn’t a hassle anymore. You know not to hope you won’t move again. Though. you know not to get attached to anything in case you have to—in case this doesn’t work out.

“We’ll get you a better education than the one you were definitely receiving.” You can hear the gentle thump of one of your textbooks. She heads back to your duffle bag; it’s now half empty. “My eldest three all went to Somei Private Academy for junior high. Two ended up continuing through highschool as well. My eldest went to Shiketsu and my youngest is in Yuuei now.”

You know those schools. They’re expensive, private academies. You’ve only ever been in public schools. The wealth was obvious when you were picked up in a blackened car with a driver. You just didn’t expect them to spend that money on you, a lowly orphan.

“Or we’ll just hire a set of tutors like we did for our youngest before he went to Yuuei.” She decides what to hang up or fold. You’ll have to go through it all later to find everything. Luckily, you don’t own much—or unluckily, depends on how you look at it. But you don’t dwell on the issue long, responding quickly to the lady, “Alright.”

She smiles at you. It’s sincere, motherly. It’s what your mother would’ve done, before the accident. It’s something you sorely missed since then.

“You’re extremely agreeable, aren’t you?” She finishes out the bag, pressing it into the top of your closet. Your backpack gets sat beside the desk. This room is large and your things are set in its appropriate places across from it. 

“I guess.”

“That’s a good thing, darling.” She goes to mess with your hair, “Now, for dinner tonight, let's change you into something a bit nicer, yes?”

You pause, looking at your toes in their pristine white socks. You can see her legs as well, considering how close she is to you, “This is the nicest thing I own.”

“That’s fine. We’ll just have to go shopping for some new things.” Rei replies, taking her other hand to your chin, forcing you to look her in the eyes, “Enji and I know what we are getting ourselves into, buying you a whole new wardrobe will be nothing.”

She takes her hands from your head and into your hands, helping you up.

“Where are we going?” She leads you back from your room to the rest of the house.

“Shopping, darling.” Rei replies, “We have five hours to do so, before I must start dinner, that is. Is there anything you want?”

“No, not really.” She’s already planning to drop a substantial amount of money on you and she’s already being incredibly maternal. You aren’t going to stretch that patience thin and have her snap already. You aren’t going to ruin this for yourself.

She smiles at you, “I’ll figure out what you like soon enough.”

===

The shopping mall standing in front of you was not where you usually would’ve gone. A basic department store, maybe a strip mall if you’re lucky would be where you usually shopped. This place however, is at least four stories high standing stark white and black against the almost colorless blue-grey sky. Though, you don’t get to admire it long. Rei quickly pulls you out of the cold outdoors and into the perfectly heated building.

“Now, I say we head to clothing stores first and then to more home goods type stores, so we don’t have to pack the heavy stuff around. Though, if we get too much to carry, we can send it back to the car and then continue shopping.” Rei replies, “Is that alright?”

You nod, still reluctantly going along this whole situation. The car is actually a limo and you have your own room in a massive estate. You have an impossibly nice and maternal caretaker who’s insanely rich. This is your “Annie” moment; this is your fairytale scenario. The shoe has to drop at some point. You aren’t going to be blindsided when it does.

“Good.” She locks arms with you, holding you close. It’s weird, but not entirely uncomfortable. You want to trust her. Your sense of judgement is clouded, knowing that she can’t really be this nice, but you want her to be like this

She leads you into a clothing store, taking you to the brightly colored section. Rei silently holds a peach colored sweater up to you. She grabs an orange skirt, looking at them both together.

“What do you think of this?” She asks, holding them up together. The sweater is thick, 

assumedly warm. The skirt however, isn’t,. You tell her that.

“That’s what some white stockings are for [y/n].” She laughs lightly, “and please call me Rei. You don’t have to be so formal.”

“Alright... Rei.” Acclimating to her is easy. At the moment, you don’t care what the rest of her family is like, she’s nice and maternal and everything you miss from your own mother.

She grabs multiple sweater and skirt combinations, not grabbing a single pair of pants for you. This store doesn’t sell tee shirts or blouses, sticking to a younger, but put together catalog. You briefly entertain the idea of them being traditionalists, but you don’t mind that. You’ve lived in worse houses than one with conservative ideals.

And besides, the outfits are cute. You hope you can keep them if everything goes south.

“Put these on.” She hands you the clothing, “and I want to see every outfit you try on. I want to see if it looks good.”

The fitting rooms are nicer than any you’ve ever been to. When checking the price of the items she’s handed to you, you can see why. The least expensive thing is a 10,000 yen skirt. It’s plain blue, just like the 1,500 yen one you have on now. It's obviously of higher quality, but guilt pangs in your chest at the thought of her spending so much money on you. This is at least a dozen items in here.

You slip it on, alongside the white sweater, filled with gold stars. You look at yourself in the mirror, before heading out the door. Rei sits in a chair, looking at you.

“You look absolutely adorable.” Rei comments, “We’re keeping it.”

She doesn’t let you put your input in. But she’s paying for it, so you don’t complain.

Five more times, you come out in sweater and skirt combinations. She has nothing but praise for each outfit. It’s refreshing. Your last home was less than pleasant.

Rei leaves you to change back into your uniform. All six outfits are bought and placed into two bags, both on her arm away from you. She wraps her other arm into the crook of your arm.

“Onto the next store we go.”

As you all head to a different floor of the mall, you voice concerns you originally had back in the dressing room, “You know… you don’t have to spend so much money on me.” You tell her, then backtrack, “Not that I’m not grateful! I am really! It’s just that I don’t need stuff this fancy, you know?”

“[Y/N], I am your mother now. It’s my duty to get you clothes and stuff.” She says it with a certainty that is oddly comforting. Everything about her is that way, from her soft, smooth skin to her warm, grey eyes to her bright, white smile. She’s intensely maternal, something that you didn’t realize you wanted anymore, until today, “and we must keep you up to the Todoroki standard. After all, you’re going to be one of us for now on.”

Being one of them. You don’t know of any Todorokis; you’ve never been a huge fan of heroes like some of your peers. But belonging, that’s something you’ve craved since it was ripped away from you. A family—that’s what you’ve always wanted.

“All right.” 

“Chin up, shoulders back.” She tells you, “You’re new life begins tonight.”

===

Rei never let you carry a single bag throughout your trip. She also wouldn’t let you see any of the receipts or let you have a final word on anything you got. But, you got all nice things—all things you like. So, you don’t mind.

“Change into the white dress with the red and pink roses.” She instructs, “And redo your hair. First impressions are important, after all.”

You haven’t met her husband, nor any of her children. But, as the pictures on the wall show, her husband is Endeavor, the number one hero. Usually you’d meet the person fostering you beforehand, but with his affluence, there needed to be no meetings beforehand. 

Following her instructions, you rifle through the bags, finding the dress she wanted you to wear. Slipping out of your old clothes and into the cold, expensive dress is a quick process. Doing your hair to a standard that would make her proud, is not. Eventually you get it right. 

Unlike earlier, you take the time to unbag your stuff. You mimic what Rei did in your closet. Shirts, sweaters and dresses are hung up. Skirts, leggings, and stockings are folded in the dresser. The shoes are placed on the inside of your closet. The few decorations you got are placed so that they don’t move what Rei and her husband already got you. She’s extremely peculiar about order. You won’t break that order.

“[Y/N].” She knocks on the door that doesn’t lock, “What’s taking you so long. Do you need help?”

You open the door for her, “I was just putting everything away, Rei.”

She comes in, looking at the room. She pulls the draws out and reopens the closet door, looking inside them. It’s an inspection, to see if everything is up to code.

Rei pinches your cheek, “ It’s perfect, exactly how I imagined it.”

Perfect. She’s praising your work. The word warms your heart, bringing a smile to your face. You haven’t gotten enough praise in your life, clearly.

“Thank you.”

“Now come on.” She tugs at your wrist, “Enji will be here any moment and I need help plating the table. Usually Fuyumi would do it, but you’ll meet my other children at a later date. Tonight is just about you, me, and Enji.”

“Alright.” Relief settles from your scrunched up soldiers. You only have to meet one new person, not five like you assumed. One person is better than five people—even if he is the #1 Hero. 

You’re led back through the sitting room and into the dining room. It’s nice, well lit. It’s low to the ground and cushioned. You’ve expected this from this house. Every room besides your own is extremely traditional. You expected the whole house to be like this, once you walked through the doors.

“The plates and cups are in the left cabinet, do be careful with them.” Rei points to a side room, at the back of the dining room, “I’ll bring in the cutlery. Enji should be here soon.”

As if on cue, you hear the front door being opened. A low voice calls out, “Rei, darling? [Y/N]?”

You freeze, plates and cups in hand. Something about the number one hero calling out of your name unsettles you. Though, somehow immediately aware of your apprehension, Rei places a cold hand against your back. You can feel it through the dress, which isn’t surprising, considering how thin it is.

“We’re in the dining room, honey.” Rei takes the plates and cups from your hands, placing them down and simultaneously leading you to your seat. You sit, legs together and bent to the side. You sit currently in the seat to the left of the table’s end. 

The number one hero—Rei’s husband—kisses her cheek. He towers over her. She was waiting for him at the entrance. You try not to make any noise; you try not to interrupt them.

She heads to the seat across from you, leaving Endeavor to sit at the head of the table. You aren’t surprised; this family gives of very traditional vibes. He radiates heat to your right, still aflame, showing off his powerful quirk.

The food is already on the table. It’s more than enough for the three people here, possibly more than enough for the six people in the photos—plus yourself. You make your own plate, only getting what you know you’ll eat. You don’t want to take too much, you don’t want to be greedy. 

“Make sure you actually get full, [Y/N].” Rei smiles at you. It’s warm and soft.

“I am, Miss.” You can feel Endeavor staring at you, but you don’t look at him. You shift your head down, looking at the plate in front of you. You don’t grab more; you don’t want to ruin their hospitality with your selfishness.

Rei and Endeavor talk to themselves, mostly about work. They occasionally talk about three other people—Shoto, Fuyumi, and Natsuo. There are four children in the photos on the wall; it’s a family of six. Though, you don’t ask about the unnamed child, it isn’t your place to do so.

You finish your food fairly quickly, but so do the other two. You look up at Endeavor for the first time tonight, asking, “Can I be excused, sir.”

“No.” He replies, “We have things to discuss.”

“Oh… alright.” You fiddle with the hem of your dress underneath the table, “What do you want to discuss, sir?”

“I’ll take the dirty dishes and excess food.” Rei smiles at you, “You’ll be fine, [Y/N]. Pass me your plate.”

Endeavor waits for Rei to leave to start talking. You are acutely aware of how hot it is now, without Rei’s cooling, calming effect.

“How was your day today?” He starts the conversation off decently well. You look him in the eye, “Good.” You were taught manners growing up; you know how to hold a conversation, no matter how intimidating the person you’re talking to is.

“That is a pretty dress on you, [Y/N].”

“Thank you.”

“Now then. While you are here, there shall be rules you will follow. Rei and I have devised a fair list and she’ll go over them with you extensively in the morning.” He tells you, “Though, the ones concerning you tonight are: no technology post-dinner and that you shall be in bed by ten o’clock. Rei shall wake you up at seven am tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Those aren’t too harsh rules; other homes have had worst lists. Though, you won’t make a final decision on that until tomorrow. You tentatively ask another question, “Uhhh, sir. Rei mentioned other children. If you don’t mind me asking, where are they?”

“Shoto goes to U.A. They have dorms now and are forced to stay there. Fuyumi and Natsuo have since moved out, but visit occasionally. You’ll meet them when it is appropriate.” Endeavor tells you, “And [Y/N], call me Enji. You are now dismissed.” 

“Alright, Enji.” As you stand to leave, you use his name, “Thank you.”

[justkending]

The Number One Rule. Chapter 26.

Summary: Y/N has always been seen as “Steve’s rambunctious sister.” However, she grew up, graduated, and moved to London to study abroad for 4 years and get her bachelor's degree. The girl that returns looks nothing like the teenager that left, but don’t worry the attitude is still there and stronger than ever. What’s to come of the two grown adults that used to push each other's buttons, but now have a lot more in common than they’ve ever realized.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N Rogers (Steve’s little sister)

Word Count: 3800+

A/N: Ladies and Gentlemen. This is the last chapter. I know I say it almost every time, but I truly think this is one of my personal favorite top stories. At LEAST in the top 3. Now it is time for me to go through and read it all the way through and revise where I can. I’m so glad you all loved it as much as me and I am happy to say, I am already working on a new series!! And yes, it is a Bucky x Reader. I just can’t seem to stray from them lately. His character is stuck on my brain and I’m not mad. Anyway, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you once again for all your love and support with this one! I loved each and every single comment and thought thrown my way:) Also, BONUS, I will probably write a one-shot explaining the Bumble Bee nickname, since I was never able to work it into this... If not that, maybe a prologue... I don’t know we shall see;) With that being said, enjoy this ending and let me know how your heart feels after!!

Chapter Twenty-Six:

A whole year had passed. Today marked the 1 year of Y/N and Bucky finally coming together after all this time of being friends and making it official as two people who loved each other deeply.

To give you a quick update in the time passed…

Steve and Peggy went on a first date after she came back for a second time and made her move to New York permanent. He had been sweating buckets while getting ready and Y/N and Bucky coached him from the couch as he came in and out of his room trying on multiple outfits for the night. 

Y/N had suggested taking her to some different places around Manhattan, kind of like the scavengers hunt Bucky did for their first date. But instead of knowing the different places, Peggy really hadn’t known the city at all, so it was more so a tour guide kind of date. 

It was a simple and solid plan. However, Steve wasn’t used to the confidence that Peggy tended to give off. Did he admire it and love it? Yes, no doubt. Did it scare him at times, or more so intimidate him? Yes, again. 

So after some light teasing from his little sister, she gave him some tips to impress her best friend, as well as, reassured him she was a sweet girl on the inside. Just someone who has lived in a man's world a little too long and has to put up a front of intimidation. Once you get past that, you have a loyal and kind person to bond with. 

Needless to say, the date went off without a hitch and the two were now celebrating two strong months of dating. 

Becca had finished up college and was already secured in a job as a child psychologist at a new hospital in upstate New York. She was a little further away now, but that didn’t stop her from coming and visiting. It just so happened that her new boyfriend lived down the hall from Y/N. If you know, you know. 

His name was Thor and after some light flirting every other time she came to visit Y/N, she asked him on a date which he accepted. They were on the route of 3 months of dating now. He had joined the friend group to an extent and got along great with the whole crew. 

Wanda and Vis’s boys were growing up faster than light itself and would be about 6 months soon. After Bucky and Y/N’s last time babysitting, they were recruited a few more times since they did so great with them. They may have been thrown for a whirlwind the first time around, but they were a lot easier the next few date nights. 

Nat and Clint had gotten married last month. They were coming back from their belated honeymoon now in Budapest. The wedding was beautiful and everyone being together all at once again, was a joy and it showed just how much the group of friends was growing. Each of them hitting a new and different stage in life. 

Back to the present...

Bucky had planned a one year anniversary date for him and Y/N. One that was bound to be unforgettable. 

Y/N asked if they could keep it simple with just a picnic in the park since it was going to be cold soon in New York, and she wanted to soak up the last bit of summer that was left. 

“Ok, you have everything set for the night?” Steve asked as Bucky buttoned the cuff to his button up. 

“I hope so. I go to pick up Y/N in 10 minutes,” Bucky sighed in nervousness. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it man. You know it’ll all work out how it’s supposed to,” Steve chuckled, coming over and patting his friends shoulder in reassurance. “Plus, you had Peggy and I help you plan this out. No way it could go wrong with our expertise.”

“You say that, but watch me slip up somewhere,” Bucky mumbled, straightening his clothes. 

“You’re putting nerves where they aren’t needed. Stop thinking worst case scenario,” Steve groaned, walking out the bedroom door with Bucky behind. “What would Y/N say about that?”

“That it’s premature and won’t do me any good to think negatively,” he muttered, knowing the exact words to come from the optimist. 

“Exactly. So stop stressing and go with the flow of things. Nothing good is going to come out of you waiting for the worst thing to happen tonight,” Steve shook his head. 

“It’s supposed to be a night to remember. Not a night to dread,” Peggy interrupted as she came to Steve’s side with a little note in hand she saw on the counter in a spot it may have been easily lost. “Here, you may want this though if you do want it to go well.”

“Right, thanks,” Bucky nodded quickly, taking the item. 

“You guys will meet us there right? Everyone else ready too?” Bucky asked.

“Everyone else is ready. You’ll be fine Buck,” Steve laughed again. “You sound like me the night I took this gal out.”

“Is that so?” Peggy smirked, leaning more into Steve’s side as he wrapped an arm around her.

“Yeah, he’s a little worse than I was, but he’s doing something a little bigger than a simple date,” Steve winked to Bucky. The brunette sent him an eyeroll.

Peggy looked down at her watch and gasped. “You need to get going, Bucky. She’ll be expecting you any minute,” Peggy moved to push him out the door with a bouquet of flowers in her hand to give him. 

_______________

Bucky had made it to Y/N’s apartment in perfect timing, but found himself faltering at the door. His whole body was made up of nerves at that moment. He couldn’t seem to shake them no matter what he told himself. 

Lucky for him, all it took was Y/N opening the door and sending him that sweet smile accented with one of her simple little dresses, that made those nerves dissipate. 

“You look great,” he said with a lovestruck school boy and sappy smile. 

“Thanks B,” she blushed, scrunching her shoulders in a bashful way. “Here, come in for a second before we leave,” she motioned him in as he followed. “I need to put on a pair of earrings and I’ll be set.” She stood on her toes giving him a gentle kiss to the lips. 

Before she could walk off, he put the flowers between them and smiled. 

“For you as always,” he winked. 

“And everytime, it makes me happier and happier,” she winked back, giving him a bonus kiss. “I actually bought a new vase since I’m lucky enough to get gifted with them everytime we go on a date. Want to put those in it?” she asked as she started walking to her bathroom.

“Hard not to give a pretty girl flowers every chance you get,” he noted, going into the kitchen where the new vase sat. “That plus, I know you like the greenery.”

“It makes me very happy,” she smiled, coming back in with her hands working to put the last pair of earrings on. “Ok, I’m all ready handsome. Shall we?”

“I would love nothing more,” he smiled back offering his arm. 

“I like this little routine we have,” she giggled as they walked to the door. 

“I can agree,” he nodded, pressing his lips to her temple before they left the building. 

__________________

They started off with a quick stop to Winnie’s shop, as Bucky said he had a gift there for them to pick up. 

Winnie was all dressed up and Bucky’s dad and Becca were also there. 

“Well, you guys look all spiffy,” Y/N noted, walking in the doors where the group was patiently waiting for the couple. Becca and Winnie in dresses and Bucky’s dad, George, in a nice button up like his son. “You're not by chance celebrating an anniversary like us, are you?” Y/N teased still locked into Bucky’s arm. 

“We can celebrate yours a little with you too, can’t we?” Winnie asked, going in for a hug. 

“The more the merrier,” Y/N replied cheerfully.

“No, no. We wouldn’t intrude on your anniversary date,” Becca nodded off. “However, we did want to give you guys a gift before we go off to dinner. We’re meeting Thor to eat soon.”

“Oh, I see. Boyfriend’s meeting the parents?” 

“We’ve already met him and we enjoy him,” Winnie waved off. “Plus, we have Bucky and yours sign of approval, so that goes a long way too.”

“These are the facts,” Bucky agreed. “Uh, Mom, we do have to go to the next stop I have planned though, so…” Bucky said with a raise of his eyebrow in a hinting manner. 

“Right, right! I won’t keep you long I promise!” Winnie rushed to the counter where a book and a picnic basket was sitting. “Ok, here you go, but don’t open that book until after dinner,” she warned Y/N as she handed it off to Bucky for safe keeping. “It has another little gift in it I don’t want to spoil.”

“In that case, I’ll let Bucky hold onto it then. You know I can’t help opening a book if it’s sitting right in front of me,” Y/N chuckled. The rest of the crew laughed with her. 

“Ok, Ma, Dad, Sis,” Bucky waved off redirecting the two to the door. “We’ll see you guys later.”

“Yeah, later!” Becca said with an odd tone. One that showed she knew something, but Y/N didn’t know what. 

______________

They made it to the park where Bucky had the whole nine-yards of a pinterest perfect picnic planned. His mom had packed a light meal, while the rest of the basket held a blanket, wine glasses, and other little decorations to make the set up special. 

“Look at you being oh so the romantic,” Y/N noted once they had set everything out. “This is impressive.”

“I would say I did it all, but Becca helped with the decorations aspect of it,” Bucky chuckled as he set up some of the food. 

The two sat and ate for a little, watching the motions of the park play in front of them as they talked about their day and any other thoughts that came to mind. They were facing straight west, so the sun would be setting right in front of them when the time came. And it was coming soon as they finished up their meal. 

“Ok, present time,” Y/N noted, turning to her purse and pulling out something from it. The gift was wrapped in a little brown wrapping paper with a twine string around it. “Open mine first because I can’t wait to see your reaction.”

Bucky chuckled at her childlike excitement and took the present as he sat up from where he was laying on his side. Carefully not to disrupt her precise wrapping, he undid the bow and peeled away the brown wrap around the box. Taking off the lid, inside sat two little slips of paper that looked like tickets. 

He quirked an eyebrow confused at what they could be, and when he turned them over and looked closer, he saw they were plane tickets. 

“Two tickets to… Rome?” Bucky gasped. “Y/N-”

“I wanted to show you everything I got to experience. Italy, Verona, Venice, and all,” she smiled softly, leaning closer to him. Her eyes never broke away from his face.

“Y/N, this is…” He smiled down at the paper before bringing his eyes up slowly to meet hers. “I would love nothing more than to experience that all through your eyes.”

Y/N blushed hard and the two leaned forward in sync to kiss. 

“I’m glad you like it. But I want you to see it in your own way, I’m just happy to be your tour guide,” she smiled harder. Their noses were practically still touching. 

“Either way, it’ll be an experience I’ll be counting down for,” he said, leaning in for one more kiss. 

When he pulled back he noticed the sun was settling down with the perfect glow. It was now or never…

“Ok, I guess it’s my turn for the gifts,” he said, taking in a deep breath. “It’s actually in the book.” He turned around grabbing the book his mother had handed off to him earlier, and carefully opened the cover. “This one’s long overdue, but it’s one that I’m starting to realize may have been meant for this specific time in our lives anyway.”

Handing over an old letter, she noticed it had changed colors from small stains and wear of when it was originally written. She was confused some by the details of the packaging, but when she saw it was addressed to her on the front, she picked up on what it was. 

The address and her name was that of her childhood home, but what gave away it’s age, was the return address of where Bucky was stationed all those years back when he was in the army. 

“Buck,” she said softly. 

“I wrote it way back when. Shortly after I realized that you were someone I…” He paused trying to find his wording. “Well, when I realized you were the kind of person I would want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Y/N looked up from the letter she was holding ever so delicately in her hand. Scared she would damage the antique writing. 

“You don’t have to read it now, but to sum it up, I never sent it because I knew, at least I thought I knew,” he chuckled under his breath looking down at it. “I could never deserve someone like you. You were always so kind and wise when I was going through my mess of life overseas. You had things of your own that you were working through, and yet you put it aside for me when I felt like I was alone and drowning in a foreign home.” 

He closed his eyes, picturing all the times he wanted to give up. When he wanted to call it quits after the things he saw, the things he did. It killed him on the inside. Mentally, emotionally, he didn’t hold strong like he thought he would be able to. 

“The only thing that kept me sane over there and gave me hope, was receiving letters from you. I know I teased you to begin with, but as time went on, your words, your advice, and your love that you somehow were able to ship overseas to me with just ink on a paper, kept me alive. Kept me from giving up.”

He looked up finally and saw tears in Y/N’s eyes. The look on her face was heartbreaking yet so loving all at once. It showed how she hated hearing just how lost Bucky was, but also showed just how grateful he was there. He was there now and it was partially because of their letters to each other. More than she could ever imagine though. 

She believed she may have played a role, but it was Bucky himself that held strong. He was the one who pushed through in those hardships and made the effort to keep going on. Not her. But to him, she was the angel on his shoulder keeping him from sinking in times where the waves were just too strong to push back on. 

“I wrote out all my feeling and thoughts in that letter. I think it’s like five pages,” he said in a single laugh. “But I never sent it.”

“Why?” was all she breathed out and he moved his hand to wipe the stray tear off her cheek. His hand staying there and running over the bone it had landed on. She leaned into the touch like it would be her last time feeling it. 

“I didn’t deserve you. Hell, I’m still not sure I do, but I’m going to make damn sure that I spend every waking hour of my life, every minute, doing my best to get there.”

There was a pause as she took his hand and moved closer to him, their foreheads pressed to the other. 

“Bucky you deserve everything and more in this world,” she said softly. “Don’t ever think you should have anything less than that.”

“I know, doll. And it’s because of you I realize I can strive for it all,” he sighed, breathing in her presence. 

They stayed like that for a while. Taking in the moment. Taking in the air. Taking in the wholesome and doting atmosphere. 

It wasn’t until the lights started to get low, Bucky realized he would run out of time for his next gift soon. 

“Y/N, I have one more thing to give you,” Bucky sighed, nervously pulling back and grabbing the book again. “Now, I know this is a cheesy way to do this, but I couldn’t think of a better way,” he chuckled lightly. 

He grabbed her hand and helped her stand. The sun now on the horizon giving the perfect golden shine to everything around them. 

When she stood with him, he brought the book in between them. 

“Ok, open it carefully to page 214,” he nodded, handing her the book. 

She sent him a confused look, but followed the directions anyway. Like asked, she gently flipped the books from the beginning before she reached said number. Just as she pulled back page 213, right in the middle of the book, the pages stopped lifting and inside was a little cut out square that held a small ring. One with a beautiful white shining stone in the middle, encrusted by a gold intricate design. 

“Oh, my-” she didn’t even finish the sentence as she looked down a the ring. Her grip on the book tightening as her other hand came up to cover her mouth. 

Bucky let out a small nervous chuckle at the reaction before slowly taking out the ring and bending to one knee. The book still in her hand, she gasped again watching Bucky move down. 

“Y/N Josephine Rogers,” he started with the brightest smile on his face. “I would be nothing but forever grateful if you allowed a guy like me, to have you as my wife.”

She didn’t answer right away as she was clearly in awe and still processing the last 20 seconds of what just happened. The only thing breaking her out of her shock, was the sound of Bucky laughing again.

“Is that a yes, or am I indeed just making a fool of myself?” he said with a scrunch of his nose.

“No! Oh, my God, yes! Yes, yes, yes! A thousand times yes Bucky!” she jumped up and down before wrapping her arms around his neck and tackling him to the ground. 

He let out an, ‘oof’ sound as he caught them from the fall and held tightly to the ring not to lose it. He was now on his back and she was laying on top of him giggling and squeezing him in excitement. 

“Ok, good. I was worried I might have read the signals you were giving me wrong,” he joked. 

“You’re a dork,” she laughed, pulling and looking at him lovingly before going in for the kiss of all kisses. 

They were quickly pulled away from it when cheers and whistles started going off around them. 

Y/N looked up from where they were laying on top of the other and noticed herds of people they knew coming out from random parts of the park smiling and whooping in elation. 

“Is that-?” she started, once again taken aback. 

“Everyone? Yeah. They were kinda in on it,” Bucky chuckled. “Hey, did you get that last part?” he shouted toward Nat who was coming around a tree with Clint and a professional camera in hand.

“Oh, it was the best picture of them all I’m pretty sure,” she smirked. 

“You little stinker,” Y/N scoffed, pushing off of him to sit up more. “How in the world did you pull this all together?”

Wanda, Vis, and the twins were there. Steve had his arm around Peggy with Sam next to them and Sarah next to Steve. Winnie, George, Becca, and Thor were all there too smiling and laughing. Everyone was there. The whole crew was apart of the moment. 

“It was easy. I told them I was asking the girl of my dreams to marry me, and they asked when and where. Not much convincing on my part,” he answered, offering her his hand as they stood back up. 

“You guys,” Y/N gushed, wrapping her arms around Bucky’s waist, which he gladly wrapped his arm around her. “This is too sweet.”

“Nothing sweeter than you giving Bucky a run for his money with that delayed answer,” Sam teased. 

“Back off, punk,” Bucky rolled his eyes, pulling her closer to him as if any second she’d change her mind. 

“I will say, he did catch me off guard,” Y/N laughed in response. 

“Oh, my sweet girl is getting married! And to the sweetest boy a mom can hope for,” Sarah interrupted, instantly running to her daughter and almost tackling her like she had Bucky. 

“Mom!” Y/N laughed, catching her balance. 

The next 15 minutes went on like that as the sun set behind them, giving off the final glows of the evening. 

Sarah and Winnie blubbering on about how their little boy and little girl were going to be husband and wife. Then of course going on and on in excitement for the wedding details of it all. At that point they pushed them off for George and Becca to handle as they talked with everyone else. 

Wanda and Vis saying how Billy and Tommy would be glad to be a part of the wedding if they needed them to. Nat gave Y/N little details and advice with planning the party and also offering to lend a hand where it was needed since she just got done with her own.

Then Steve and Peggy also congratulate them and express their excitement for all that was to come for the couple, and all the fun double dates they would/ already had been taking apart in. 

Once it got dark, Steve announced to the crew the little celebration they had set up at Roger's home for an after party of the engagement. Everyone agreed they would meet there. 

So as Y/N and Bucky grabbed their things and started walking to the car, Y/N stopped him as he was about to close the car door for her. 

“Hey,” she turned where she was standing on the sidewalk. Bucky just inches from her. 

“Hey,” he responded with a goofy grin. 

“I love you so so much. You know that right?”

“I know Y/N. And I love you so so much too, doll.”

Thank you so much for reading!! Keep an eye out for a possible one-shot/ prologue of this story;)

The Number One Rule (TNOR) Taglist:

@shadowolf993​ @semistablecentenarian​ @hello-i-am-daydreaming​ @jessyballet​  @emmabarnes​ @kmuir1​ @beautifulrare4leafclover​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​  @shawnie--jo​–jojo  @asoftie4bucky​ @katiaw2​ @sheeple​ @sznri​ @bxtchboy69​ @taliarosej00​ @bakugouswh0r3​ @stopjustlovethemcu​ @babemendesbarnes​ @jenniereiji​ @taliarosej00​ @loveyou5everr​ @natdrunk​ @im-a-light-child​ @stucky-my-ship​ @fairykimseok​ @alexfms97​ @awkwardnesshabitat​

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose  @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan  @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk​ @valsworldofcreativity​

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Marvel Tags:

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[stxleslyds]

MY TOUGHTS ON THE END OF RED HOOD BY CHIP ZDARSKY.

Dishonour! Dishonour on you, dishonour on your cow! 

Well Jason Nation, it happened again, fanon wins over canon. The amount of bullshit that DC made Zdarsky write in this issue is insane, I have never seen this many fanfiction tropes shoved in a single issue in my life.

This book has been a constant insult to Jason’s character and his Red Hood “persona” since the very first issue but I never thought it would end this badly. It’s incredibly sad.

I will go ahead and say it, this tumblr and this post is not “Batfamily” friendly and it definitely isn’t fanon friendly when it comes to Jason Todd.

Fanon is destroying canon for Jason Todd. I am sorry but that’s how I see it, fanon doesn’t belong in canon, I would never get tired of saying that. But here is the thing, DC latches on to Jason’s fanon version because it fits their narrative of “the Batman is all that is right and all must follow his rules or they shall disappear”.

DC has been dying to make Jason bland and flavourless just like Batman. And now here it finally is.

Let’s be honest the story in this book, the new drug, Cheer, Tyler and his mom, none of that shaped this story, none of those things were the support beams for it. It was all about this never ending “daddy issues” thing that DC pretends is going on between Jason and Bruce.

It was all about those two fighting because they “think differently” so in the end they can push Jason towards the “no killing rule” being also the Red Hood’s modus operandi.

Its utter bullshit.

From the moment that Jason had to put a bat suit on I knew that this was going to be a mess. Luckily like I predicted they didn’t make a big deal out of him wearing it but the “Jason admires Batman” feeling was very present in the issue.

I will not talk about how easy it was for that one thug to land a punch on Jason while he was distracted and I will also not talk about Jason being a dumbass for not securing his dumb mask better when he knew the fight will involve gases. I will not talk about it.

Anyway, let’s talk about the Cheer Gas induced illusion, shall we?

In Jason’s illusion he finds Bruce at the manor looking at the picture of Joker’s death (?) and even though that is strange what Bruce says next is even weirder, he says this: “I did it. He was the last one, but I did it…Joker is dead. I am done.”

Now what the hell was that? This is Jason’s illusion, and by the looks of it in his illusion Bruce has killed every baddie in Gotham and left the Joker for last? Am I reading that right? Is this this a joke?

I understand that this is an illusion so the gas is making “real” things that Jason probably doesn’t know he wants, like wanting Bruce to go on a killing spree, which Jason never wanted because he said it himself, do you guys remember the iconic “I’m not talking about killing Cobblepot and Scarecrow or Clayface. Not Riddler or Dent…I’m talking about HIM. Just him.” Because I remember and it’s so important to Jason’s character, Jason never wanted Bruce to go on a killing spree, he wanted Bruce to kill the clown who had killed him when he was only fifteen. Is that so hard to remember DC?

And then it gets worse! Since WHEN has Jason wanted a perfect family life with the people that he has tried to kill, harm or looked down to? Why is “being with a bunch of people who NEVER get together for anything other than “help” the Bat in a fight against a fucking clown” the idea of happiness to Jason? Has this man ever interacted with any of these people in a positive way without the intrusion of a Batman/Robin event in the way? I will give you the answer, it’s no, the answer is no.

Jason Todd doesn’t care for your “Batfamily” bullshit DC, why would it matter to him? Because he was Robin? He was killed by the Joker when he was Robin, and he was killed because the man in charge of him didn’t pay enough attention! Jason Todd who was written as Dick Grayson’s number one hater for so long (and fandom loves that) is now having an illusion where he enjoys happy times with him along the others? Cass and Stephanie? What? Am I missing something, is this actually AO3, is this fanfiction?

I think Zdarsky got confused, this illusion is what would happen if Jason were dosed with fear gas. That must be it, I solved it everyone! Zdarsky just got confused by his own writing!

I wish.

Let’s go back to the sad reality, Jason has a moment in which he actually puts all his training in motion and shakes of the gas’s grasp on him. He does that but he is grabbed by so many people (who are this people?) and he is unarmed and I believe that’s the only reason why Cheer is still alive after saying that he has someone in Tyler’s mom’s hospital room ready to kill her if he doesn’t join him.

(If this were the real Jason, Cheer would have dropped dead instantly.)

But this is not the real Jason and this is not a *real* comic, it’s fanfiction! So just like that time in Batman #100 when Dick was fighting alone as Nightwing (for the first time since his “family” left him alone after losing his memories) the rest of the “family” shows up to fight Cheer and four random thugs.

Yep, its like the MCU had considered having Cap say “Avengers Assemble” when they were fighting a couple of robots instead of Thanos.

What a mess.

Also having Jason say, in real life (not illusion world), “You know what happiness is? It’s knowing that others have your back.” about this group of people is the perfect recipe for a big OOC moment for absolutely everyone. I cannot believe they have dragged Jason back to this awful concept and that they have sank him so low. It’s quite honestly, disgusting.

But the horrors don’t end there, we have a wonderful moment after Jason gives Batman the antidote, Jason stops Batman from punching the living shit out of Cheer. Because I am not stupid. There is no way in the world that you can convince me that Jason just stopped Batman from killing Cheer.

How incredibly delusional do you have to be to write Batman finally killing someone and that someone being Cheer, a guy that was introduced to comics two months ago?

Yes, later its said that between the gas and the antidote Bruce was a little too crazy and couldn’t help himself BUT I call bullshit once more, because Bruce has gone completely bat-shit-crazy on people before! I remember two recent instances in which that happened. Batman #57 in which Bruce beats the living shit out of KGBeast after he shot Dick. And the other one is Batman beating up Jason more brutally than he ever beat up Joker in RHatO #25.

DC cannot fuck with me. I might has bought this digital comic for 8 dollars but I am not buying that bullshit.

ALSO, there was no need for Zdarsky to do Jason as dirty as he did him when he made him say: “If you are going to come down from mount judgement to MY level for once… he’s not the guy to do it for.”

Zdarsky, why did you write a Red Hood story when you hate Red Hood? Couldn’t you have just told DC that you wanted to write a love letter to Batman? Once again, I am reading a Red Hood story for RED HOOD content not Batman content. Is it really that hard? I bet that if Zdarsky had asked DC to let him write a Batman story they would have said yes, there are like 20 Batman stories, they wouldn’t say no to one more!

Can you tell I am mad? And salty?

This post is so long and so full of anger, I am truly sorry for that but I have to write these feelings down or I would explode. And I am not even done, our suffering, Jason Nation, continues.

But first a little break from the pain, Tyler. Thank you after all the pain this book has given me Tyler is back and just like I predicted his mom is fine and he will stay with her, they both have been given a place and money to rebuild their life (not given by Jason nor Dick but I was close enough). The only happy ending that Tyler could have, he had and I am thankful for that, we even got a little adorable moment between the Red Hood and the Blue Hood.

I am weak for these little glimpses of a good Jason take in the middle of an incredibly awful/OOC story. And just to live in my own fantasy world I will headcanon that Jason promised himself to keep an eye out for Tyler and his mom. He would have wanted to know about their life and that they are still out of trouble.

Jason is a good man, don’t you forget that DC, I don’t care how much you twist it. Jason killing Tyler’s dad wasn’t a horrible act, it was fair game. That man was a horrible person, he drugged his child and made his wife (?) almost overdose. You never gave context as to why that man was working as a drug dealer but you told us those things so Jason should never feel like he did something wrong. As far as we know, Tyler and his mom are better off without him.

Having said that, lets go back to the pain of what is reading a Red Hood story.

“I’m giving up the guns.”

You know what, fine, as long as DC doesn’t pull another “I will stop being Red Hood for you Barbara” I will be fine. He can kill people with other things, he used to have the all-blades, he had normal swords and he had crowbars.

I will sacrifice Jason looking hot as hell when he pulls out his guns just to keep him as the Red Hood, all DC has to do is not give him that stupid… bat… symbol… oh no…. oh my god I can feel it… that thing, that horrible thing is making a comeback! NO!

Jason and Bruce’s talk is basic and it doesn’t do anything for anyone, in the end saying that Jason isn’t changing his ways for Bruce but that he is doing it for himself is more of the same. We know he is doing it for Bruce and we know DC is doing it because they cannot handle good, complex and interesting characters. We know that and sadly we have to live with it.

About Bruce’s illusion, well, Bruce has said that he wanted to kill the clown for a very long time and in the King run it was basically said that if Bruce were to be happy then the idea of Batman would die.

Listen, between me and you, sometimes I think that the Joker isn’t that big of a problem for Gotham as a whole, that clown has beef with the Bat and no one else. If Bruce has killed the Joker Jason would have been happy with Bruce all those years ago but killing the Joker wouldn’t make Gotham a safe place and any of his kids happier.

Bruce needs to care for his children, but he won’t do that, he has Dick for that. Taking care and raising Damian? No, thank you, I will not do that. Giving a shit about my son who lost all his memories and is alone? No thank you, I won’t do that and then I will lie about having watched him over. Tim? Oh, never heard of him, sorry.

The last page of this story is the one of Jason arriving home and finding a new suit that Bruce gave him with the bat symbol on it. That symbol that he had ripped off of Jason’s beat up body back in RHatO #25 (nope, I am not letting that one go).

Oh, and Bruce leaving that suit in Jason’s home gives me the same exact vibes as the time that Bruce was like “Long overdue. This is where you belong. As one of us. One of the family” in Nightwing #74 a second after Dick had regained his memories.

I don’t know why but they make him sound incredibly cold and like these people are just his pawns that he needs to rope back in every time they get away from him. It’s very disturbing.

Anyway, that’s all from me, I obviously LOVED this book, best Jason Todd/Red Hood characterisation ever! 11/10 would recommend to everyone including my enemies!

🙃

[d-criss-news]

20 Questions With Darren Criss: How Acting Has Helped Him Make New Music

While Darren Criss has graced our TV screens with a range of characters, from high schooler Blaine Anderson on Glee to serial killer Andrew Cunanan on The Assassination of Gianni Versace, he was last spotted just being himself, on our For You Page on TikTok. “I’m walking to rehearsal with a guitar on my back with a Trader Joe’s bag ... I did not bring an umbrella because I forgot that it was raining. I’m rocking that NYC musician life,” the Glee alum explained in the hilarious clip posted three days ago.

While Criss’ acting work has earned him acclaim and stardom, he leaned into making music during the pandemic. On Aug. 20, he dropped a new EP, Masquerade, featuring five new tracks that Criss says were inspired by the different characters Criss has embraced throughout his career. After Criss wrote songs for his musical comedy web series Royalties and Apple TV+’s animated sitcom Central Park before the pandemic struck the United States, he then used those experiences as a precursor to his new EP. As Criss continues to promote his new music, he answered 20 of Billboard's questions – giving us a peek into how his new EP came together, and how growing up in San Fransisco shaped him as an actor, singer and all-around artist.

1. What inspired your latest project, Masquerade?

Although I would have preferred that it come at a far less grim cost, I finally had the time. Before the pandemic, I had written 10 new songs for my show Royalties -- along with an original song for Disney and another for Apple’s Central Park. These were all assignments in which I was writing for a certain scenario and character. Go figure. It was the most music I had ever written in a calendar year. This really emboldened me to rethink how I made my own music— to start putting a focus on “character creation” in my songs, rather than personal reflection. The latter was not proving to be as productive. The alchemy of having this time and having set a new intention with my own songwriting and producing made me put on a few of my favorite masques and throw myself a Masquerade.

2. How do you think your background as an actor complements your music?

They are one and the same to me. I treat acting roles like musical pieces— dialogue is like scoring a melody; there’s pace, dynamics, cadence, tone. Physical characterization is like producing -- zeroing in on the bass line, deciding on the kick pattern. Vocal characterization is like choosing the right sonic experience, choosing the most effective snare sound, and mixing the high end or low end. It goes without saying that it works in the complete opposite direction. Making each song is taking on a different role literally and employing the use of different masques to maximize the effectiveness of the particular story being told.

3. On Instagram  you wrote that “Masquerade is a small collection of the variety of musical masques that have always inspired me.” Which track do you identify with most in your real life?

Everybody absorbs songs differently. Some key into the lyrics, some into the melody, some the production, some into vocal performance. When I listen to songs, I consider all of their value on totally different scales. So it’s hard to say if there’s any track I “identify” with more than any others, since I -- by nature -- identify with all of them. I think I just identify with certain aspects more than others. If it helps for a more interesting answer, I will say I enjoy the slightly more classical, playful -- dare I say -- more Broadway-leaning wordplay of “Walk of Shame,” but that’s just talking about lyricism. I enjoy the attitude of “F*kn Around,” the batsh--t musicality of “I Can’t Dance,” the relentless grooves of “Let’s” and “For A Night Like This.” All have different ingredients I really enjoy having an excuse to dive into.

4. What’s the first piece of music that you bought for yourself, and what was the medium?

Beatles audio cassettes: “Help” and “Hard Day’s Night.” I just listened on repeat on a tape-playing Walkman until my brother and I got a stereo for our room with a CD player in it, which was  when I just bought the same two albums again, but this time as compact discs.

5. What was the first concert you saw?It’s hard to say, because my parents took us to a lot of classical concerts when we were small. But I guess this question usually refers to what was the first concert you went to on your own volition, and that my friend, was definitely Warped Tour ’01. My brother and I went on our own— two teenagers going to their first music festival, in the golden age of that particular genre and culture. It was f--king incredible.

6. What did your parents do for a living when you were a kid?

My dad was in private banking and advised really, really wealthy people on how to handle their money. My mom was, by choice, a stay-at-home mom, but in reality, she was my dad’s consigliere. They discussed absolutely everything together. They were a real team, and I saw that every single day in the house. They both had a background in finance (That’s how they met in the first place.) and were incredibly skilled at all the hardcore adulting things that I absolutely suck at. They were total finance wizards together. So of course, instead of becoming an accountant, I picked up playing the guitar and ran as far I could with it. Luckily, they were all about it.

7. What was your favorite homecooked meal growing up?

My dad was an incredible chef. For special occasions, I’d request his crab cakes. They were unreal. I’ve never had a crab cake anywhere in the world that was good as my dad’s.

8. Who made you realize you could be an artist full-time?

I don’t know if I’ve actually realized that yet.

9. What’s at the top of your professional bucket list?

The specifics change every day, but the core idea at the top is to continue being consistently inconsistent with my choices, and to keep getting audiences to constantly reconsider their consideration of me. But I mean, sure, what performer doesn’t want to play Coachella? What songwriter doesn’t want to have Adele sing one of their songs? What actor doesn’t want to be in a Wes Anderson film?

10.  How did your hometown/city shape who you are?

San Francisco. I mean, come on. I was really lucky. The older I get, the more grateful I am for just being born and raised there. It’s an incredibly diverse, culturally rich, colorful, inclusive, vibrant city. By the time I was born, it had served as a beacon for millions of creative, out-of-the-box thinkers to gather and thrive. I grew up around that. The combination of that with having parents, who were unbelievably supportive of the arts themselves, laid an incredibly fortunate foundation to consider the life of an artist as a legitimately viable option. It’s a foundation that I am supremely aware is not the case for millions of young artists around the world. I was absurdly lucky.

11.  What’s the last song you listened to?

I mean probably one of mine, but not by choice. I know, lame. But I’m promoting a new EP, what’d you expect? But if you wanna know what I’ve been listening to, as far as new s--t is concerned: a lot of Lizzy McAlpine, Remi Wolf, and Charlie Burg.

12.  If you could see any artist in concert, dead or alive, who would it be?

The Beatles is an obvious "yeah, duh." Sammy Davis, Mel Tormé, or of course, Nat King Cole. I would’ve loved to see Howard Ashman give a lecture on his creative process and his body of work.

13. What’s the wildest thing you’ve seen happen in the crowd of one of your sets?

I feel like just having a crowd at all, at any one of my sets, is pretty wild enough.

14. What’s your karaoke go-to?

The real answer to this I’ll write into a book one day, because I have a lot to say about karaoke etiquette. I have two options here: I can either name a song that I like to sing for me, for fun, or I can name a song that really gets the group going. The answer depends on what kind of karaoke night we’re dealing with here. So I will say, after I’ve selected a ton of songs that services a decent enough party vibe for everyone else, then I would do one for me, and that would be the Beatles’ “Oh! Darling.”

15. What’s one thing your most devoted fans don’t know about you?

What I have up my sleeve.

16. What TV show did you binge-watch over the past year?

Dave is a stroke of genius. There are episodes that I believe are bona fide masterpieces. Also, My Brilliant Friend is a masterclass in cinematic television.

17. What movie, or song, always makes you cry?

It’s A Wonderful Life.

18. What’s one piece of advice you would give to your younger self?

Get used to sharing everything about yourself and your life now, or more astutely, to the idea that you don’t necessarily get to control how your life is shared. I know it’s not really your thing, but you’re gonna have to get used to it, so start building up those calluses now. And don’t worry, all the stuff you love now will be cool again in your mid-thirties, so keep some of those clothes because you’ll be a full-blown fashion icon if you just keep wearing exactly what you’re wearing. Oh nd also, put money into Apple and Facebook.

19.  What new hobby did you take on in the last year?

I’ve always been a linguaphile. My idea of leisure time is getting to study or review other languages. This past year, I took the time to finally dive into learning how to read, write, and speak Japanese. Other than making music, it was one of the biggest components of my 2020-2021.

20. What do you hope to accomplish or experience by the end of 2021?

I hope I get to play live shows again.