#find inspiration in a postage stamp

[salovie]

resolved, hushed to silence

winter gray

snow white

cold quiet

settled river, ancient peace

[ssa-dado]

15 - Epistulae ad Lucilium

Aaron Hotchner x fem!professor!reader Genre: fluff... I think? Summary: Late at night, Aaron struggles to comfort his inconsolable son, Jack. Desperate, he turns to a book and a plush, gifts from you, which momentarily soothe Jack. However, work interrupts as another case calls him away, deepening the rift with his family. At the FBI, the team investigates a series of murders rooted in something up your alley. Warnings: DAD HOTCH DAD HOTCH DAD HOTCH, Haley being mad at him, CM case in detail. Word Count: 9.8k Dado's Corner: Not only did the brilliant mind of @c-losur3 inspired the "dad Hotch" part, but she also gave birth to Aaron "You sound exactly like her" Hotchner. Show her some love! This entire chapter is written from Aaron's POV. Fun fact: when he's with Jack, he’s simply Aaron. But the moment the phone rings, he shifts back into being Hotch. fun, right?

masterlist

It was late into the night, and the house was quiet... save for the soft hum of the baby monitor and Jack’s persistent cries echoing through the walls.

Aaron paced back and forth, cradling his crying son against his chest, his heart sinking a little more with each sob. He had tried everything - rocking Jack, singing lullabies in a low, soothing voice, even walking him in circles around the room. But nothing worked. Jack's cries, relentless and heartbreaking, filled the quiet house.

Jack was inconsolable.

Hotch was no stranger to pressure. He had faced down killers, stared into the eyes of danger, but this? This was different. This was Jack, and the stakes felt infinitely higher.

He had held off on trying this one last thing, but now, he had no choice. He paused, glancing at the small bookshelf in the corner of the room.  There, among the rows of children’s books, sat one that he hadn’t reached for yet tonight. His eyes settled on the small brown plushie sitting nearby that had arrived months ago in a giant cardboard box - your gift.

It had been an unexpected surprise, that day. A package too big for the porch had appeared, and if it hadn’t been for the Croatian postage stamp, Hotch might’ve thought it was a mistake. But no, he knew it was from you. You had mentioned in one of your letters that you were off to Croatia for a teaching stint, and he'd expected maybe a postcard or a quick note, but instead, there was this - a large package filled with something quirky, something that was so... you.

When Haley had seen it sitting by the door, she’d raised her eyebrows, eyeing the box with suspicion. “What on earth is that?”

Hotch had smiled faintly, already guessing. “It’s from her.”

Opening the package had been an experience in itself. Nestled inside was the plushie - a strange-looking creature Haley hadn’t immediately recognized. Her brow had furrowed as she picked it up, holding it at arm's length. "Is this... a brown skunk?" she had asked, her tone teetering between amusement and confusion.

But Aaron had found it endearing, charming in that odd, thoughtful way. Attached to the plushie's tag was one of your signature sticky notes, written in your unmistakable blue ink. It read:

"Hi Jack, meet your new friend, the pine marten. I read that humans are the greatest threat to the European pine marten, hope you can prove them wrong. He's a cool guy! He is also the national animal of Croatia (a privilege reserved for a select few). P.S. Here's your first word in Croatian: Kuna. It means marten."

Aaron had smiled at the note, his heart warming as he imagined you carefully writing out those words, taking the time to craft something special for his son. The gift was thoughtful, filled with meaning, as all your gestures were.

But that wasn’t all. Beneath the plush toy lay a small book, its cover adorned with a cartoonish pine marten embarking on what looked like an adventure. There was another sticky note stuck to the front:

"To Jack's parents: Here’s a complimentary book with the pine marten’s adventures. You’ll find translations in English, but I encourage you to try reading it in Croatian. Aaron, if you ever actually attempt it, give me a call. I’m always up for a comedy show."

Haley had chuckled at that, shaking her head. “I always wonder how she comes up with these ideas…”

Aaron, flipping through the book, hadn’t replied, too caught up in your careful handiwork. Each page was thoughtfully illustrated, with colorful hand-lettering in the margins. You had even drawn little pine martens on the sticky notes, making it seem as if they were the ones doing the translating. You’d put so much thought into it that he could feel it in every page he turned.

And somehow, since the day Jack was born, that pine marten plushie had become his favorite - maybe he could feel the love and care that came with it, the way only children could.

Now, as he grabbed the toy and the book, a small glimmer of hope sparked in his chest. Jack’s cries had softened just a bit when he saw the plush marten.

Maybe this would work. It had to.

Aaron sat down in the creaking rocking chair, gently cradling Jack against his chest as he carefully opened the familiar book. The title, "Male Pustolovine Kune Borove", made him smirk as soon as he saw it, the memory of his first attempt at reading it aloud bringing an amused warmth to his chest. The way he had butchered the pronunciation was miserably laughable, even to him. He was certain you had picked it just for that reason, knowing full well he’d struggle, probably just to get a good laugh out of him.

And, knowing you, he was probably right.

"Alright, buddy," He murmured softly, his voice a low and soothing balm as he turned the first page. "Let’s see what Kuna is up to tonight."

Jack’s tiny fingers instinctively reached out for the plush pine marten, gripping it tightly as he nestled deeper into his father’s arms. The gentle rocking and familiar sound of Aaron’s voice seemed to finally calm the little boy, his sobs quieting, his body softening against Hotch’s steady frame. As he read, Aaron’s hand gently brushed through Jack’s soft hair, soothing him further with each tender stroke.

“You know, buddy,” He murmured, more to himself than anyone, his heart swelling with affection, “the person who gave you this book is very special to me, she’s one of the most amazing people I know. Of course," he added with a soft chuckle, “you come first. But she’s right up there.”

Jack, too young to understand the words, let out a soft sigh, comforted by the warmth of his father’s embrace and the gentle rhythm of the story. As Aaron continued to read, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to you. They always did, especially in quiet moments like this. It felt natural, comforting even, to talk to Jack about you - someone who meant so much to him, yet had been far away for so long. Aaron had always wanted you to meet Jack, and speaking about you made it feel as if, somehow, it brought you closer to him, closer to them.

“Did you know,” he whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “she’s accepted a teaching position in Quantico? She could’ve gone anywhere, but she’s coming here. Closer to us. You’ll get to meet her soon.”

A small smile crept across his face as he thought about the letters you’d sent over the years. “Don't look at me like this, buddy, I liked getting her letters, even if she does like to make things difficult for me sometimes,” he said, glancing at the Croatian text in front of him with an amused sigh. “But I don't think I'm going to miss them, not at all. Not when she’ll be close enough to just… be here. And trust me, Jack, you’re going to love her, just like I do.”

Jack stirred slightly, his little hands gripping the pine marten even tighter, as if he already knew who his father was talking about.

He chuckled softly, glancing down at the beloved plush toy in his son’s arms. “You know, you’re inseparable from that pine marten all because of her,” Aaron said, his voice filled with warmth. “And here I am, reading you this story in Croatian... because of her too.”

He paused for a moment, watching as Jack’s eyelids began to droop, his tiny body relaxed against him. He couldn’t help the swell of love that filled him as he kissed his son’s forehead, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You’ll meet her soon, Jack,” He whispered, his voice soft and full of affection. “And when she holds you for the first time, I need you to do me a favor, alright buddy? You have to avenge me,” he said with a playful glint in his eye. “Because she’s never going to miss a chance to mess with me. So, when you’re in her arms, you give her a look - like this,” Aaron made his best serious ‘Hotch’ face, one of his famous stoic expressions. “Make her think you’re onto her.”

Aaron chuckled softly, the sound barely above a whisper in the quiet nursery, but then he leaned in closer to Jack, his voice dropping to a playful, conspiratorial tone. “And listen, buddy,” he whispered, “if she ever starts saying words that sound like ‘Hegel’ or ‘Plato,’ you go ahead and start crying, just like you did earlier. Alright?” He smiled, brushing a gentle hand over Jack’s soft hair. “In the Hotchner household, we’re lawyers, little man. We don’t have time for all that abstract philosophy,” he teased, his grin widening. “You just make it clear to her, no funny business, okay?”

Jack sighed contentedly in his arms, his tiny fingers clutching the pine marten as he drifted off to sleep. He kissed his forehead once more, the weight of the day finally beginning to melt away as he continued to read, the warmth of the moment enveloping them both.

Just then, Haley appeared in the doorway, her hair tousled from sleep and her eyes filled with frustration. "Aaron, is he still crying?" she asked, though her tone softened when she saw Aaron  sitting with Jack and the plush marten in his lap. "Are you reading him the brown skunk story again?" she asked, her voice a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

Aaron, too tired to defend himself, simply nodded. “It’s the only thing that works.”

Haley leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them with a half-smile. “Does it put Jack to sleep, or you, Aaron?”

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed on the side table. The noise cut through the soft moment like a knife, pulling him back into reality. He knew what it meant before he even looked at the screen.

Another case.

Haley’s smile faded instantly, replaced by a familiar frustration that he’d seen in her eyes too many times before. She straightened up, her voice rising just a bit. “Are you serious? It’s the middle of the night, Aaron. You’ve barely been home, and now you’re leaving again?”

Hotch rubbed his forehead, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He didn’t want to go, not tonight. But he had no choice. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, already reaching for his phone. “It’s a new case.”

Haley let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she turned to leave the room. "Of course it is," she muttered, her words fading into the stillness as her footsteps echoed down the hall, each step a progressively quieter reminder of the growing distance between them.

Hotch's heart clenched, a sharp ache spreading through him as he stood frozen, watching her retreat.

The nursery felt unnaturally heavier now, the excessive silence thick and oppressive.

He looked down toward Jack, who was still nested peacefully in his arms, his tiny chest rising and falling in the soft, rhythmic cadence of sleep. The gentle glow of the nightlight bathed his son’s face in warmth, casting a tender light over the innocence of his slumber.

The small pine marten, nestled against Jack's cheek, stared back at Hotch with its beady, lifeless eyes, but it seemed to carry a weight of its own, its presence a reminder of the thoughtfulness and care that had come with it, a symbol of the love that lingered even in absence. Jack's fingers clutched the toy tightly, as if it were the one constant in a world where his father’s presence was becoming less and less frequent.

Haley's words, bitter and sharp, lingered in the air like a distant storm, a shadow that refused to leave. And as Hotch stood there, caught between the quiet of his son’s peaceful sleep and the echo of Haley’s retreat, he couldn’t help but feel the vastness of everything slipping through his fingers.

He wanted nothing more than to stay here, to hold his son and be present. But the buzzing of his phone on the side table pulled him back to reality. With a heavy sigh, he glanced down at the screen. His heart sank even further.

“Hotchner,” he answered, his voice clipped with resignation.

As JJ's voice filled his ear with grim details of the new case, the weight of Haley’s words pressed even harder against his chest. It was the same cycle, always the same. Each time he left, Jack would wake up alone, Haley would grow more distant, and the gap between his family and his job would widen. His guilt gnawed at him, a relentless ache that never truly subsided.

But he couldn’t ignore the call.

He never could.

---

Hotch arrived at the FBI building late, his mind still replaying the scene at home, the way Haley had looked at him with a mix of frustration and defeat. The team was already gathered in the briefing room, the fluorescent lights too harsh for the late hour.

He still felt the pull from the nursery, the warmth of Jack’s small body against his chest. But now, here, the weight of duty replaced it. He had to push it aside, at least for now.

“We’ve got six confirmed victims so far,” JJ began, her voice level but laced with tension. “But the local police didn’t connect the dots until the sixth victim. The MO keeps changing with each murder, which is why it slipped through the cracks for so long.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, his mind snapping to the present. “The unsub might be experimenting. They could be evolving, trying to find their signature. Or…” he paused, considering the alternative, “we could be dealing with someone who’s familiar with different methods, someone who knows how to disguise their work.”

Gideon crossed his arms, his expression unreadable but intense, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “What’s the timeline?”

JJ scanned her notes, her brow furrowed. “The first victim was found three months ago. Then the second and third within two weeks of each other. But the real concern is the escalation. Victims four through six were found in the past ten days.”

Hotch's mind raced through the details.

Three months.

Three months of missed opportunities. Every minute wasted in connecting the dots could’ve been a life saved. The guilt returned in a wave, a reminder of every moment he hadn’t been there, both at work and at home. He shook the thought off, burying it as deep as he could for now.

He had to focus.

“There’s no clear pattern in terms of location or victim profile,” JJ added, her voice quieter now.

“That suggests escalation,” Morgan said, stepping forward and leaning against the desk, his arms folded across his chest. “The unsub’s confidence is growing. They’re moving faster.”

Reid, who had been staring at the evidence board in silence, finally spoke up, his voice thoughtful and measured. “Changing MOs could mean we’re dealing with someone new to killing - experimenting with different methods. But,” he hesitated, “it could also mean there’s a purpose behind each change. The way the kills are evolving might have a deeper meaning.”

Hotch took a breath, grounding himself in the task at hand. “Gideon, Prentiss, Morgan,” he said, his voice taking on its usual command, though there was a subtle edge of weariness to it. “Head to the latest crime scene, we need fresh eyes on it. JJ, Reid, and I will meet with the local authorities and review their files. Reid, I want you to start working on the geographical profile, see if there’s any consistency in the locations.”

The team moved with purpose, their steps quick and deliberate as they gathered their bags and made for the door. But Hotch lingered, just for a heartbeat longer, rooted in place as a familiar heaviness settled in his chest. The guilt wrapped itself around him like a tightening vine, threading through his thoughts with every passing second.

It wasn’t just the weight of the case that pressed down on him - it was the aching truth that once again, he had chosen this, chosen the relentless pursuit of justice over the quiet, fleeting moments with his son.

He pushed the thought away as best as he could, but the ache remained, a constant reminder of everything he was losing while trying to save others.

---

There was nothing quite like the hollow hum of a six-hour flight to clear his mind, though the thoughts clung to him stubbornly at first, like shadows he couldn't shake.

As the plane crossed the first timezone, the weight of realization settled in: he would never be the husband Haley deserved, not in the way she needed.

By the time they passed the second timezone, another truth pressed against him like a bruise: he would never be the father he wished to be, not enough to erase the empty spaces he left behind.

But it was during the third stretch, as the world below darkened and the hum of the plane grew louder, that he understood the final piece of the puzzle. If he let these thoughts consume him, if he lingered too long in the ache of what he couldn’t be, he would lose the only thing left to him: his ability to be good at this, at the one thing that demanded his whole being.

As the plane descended, Hotch leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the cracks forming in his personal life, not now, not with a case like this waiting for him. The moment the wheels hit the tarmac, the emotional turbulence he’d been wrestling with needed to be packed away, stored in a corner of his mind that he could no longer afford to visit.

He was good at compartmentalizing, too good.

By the time he, JJ, and Reid stepped into the stifling heat of the local precinct, Hotch had already shifted fully into his role, his mind sharpening, refocusing on the case that had now become his only priority. The quiet turmoil of his personal life faded, replaced by the pressure of a killer they were struggling to catch.

The exhausted police chief approached them, his face haggard from sleepless nights and the mounting pressure of a case that had spiraled out of control. "We’ve been spinning our wheels on this one," the chief admitted, his voice weary.

He motioned to the evidence board, where the victims' photos were tacked haphazardly, a mess of lives lost without a clear thread linking them. “It wasn’t until the sixth victim that we started connecting the dots, and by then, we were already behind. These murders don’t make sense together.”

Hotch approached the board, his eyes moving methodically from one image to the next. The crime scene photos were brutal: faces frozen in death, bodies contorted, each one telling a different story. He took a deep breath and gestured toward the chief. “What have you got so far?”

The chief’s sigh was heavy. “Every victim is different. Male, female, different ethnicities, different ages. The methods vary too: strangulation, stabbing, blunt force trauma. It’s like we’re dealing with multiple killers, but we know that’s not the case. There’s something linking them, but we can’t find it.”

Reid was already pacing, his eyes flicking from the board to the map on the wall. His mind churned as he analyzed and reanalyzed the positions of the bodies and the evidence scattered before him. His hands traced invisible connections between the dots as he muttered to himself, sorting through the details that still felt elusive.

Hotch turned to Reid, his tone even but commanding. “Reid, what are you thinking?”

Reid didn’t tear his eyes from the board, his voice steady but quick as he processed the flood of information. “At first glance, it seems chaotic. The changing MOs, the lack of a clear victim profile - it all suggests disorganization. But…” He paused, picking up the file of the third victim, and his brow furrowed. “There’s hesitation here. The killer hesitated during the third murder. This wasn’t just random. This murder feels… intentional. Like the unsub was evolving or refining something.”

JJ moved closer, her gaze scanning the file Reid held up. “Intentional how?” she asked, her voice edged with the need to understand.

Reid pointed to the victim’s wounds. “Look at the pattern of injuries. The cuts are precise, controlled. The unsub took their time with this one. This isn’t just about killing, it’s about making a statement. It’s as if there’s a theme here.”

Hotch, his instincts alert, zeroed in on Reid’s theory. “A theme?”

Reid nodded, grabbing the other files and spreading them across the table like pieces of a fractured puzzle. “The first victim,” Reid began, pointing to the photo of a middle-aged man found in an alley, his body aged prematurely, his face drained of life. “Time. He was killed slowly, methodically.”

Hotch continued, understanding that the young doctor was onto something, “His watch was broken, and the time stopped at exactly midnight. He was forced to watch it happen, minute by minute. The unsub was playing with the concept of time, as if controlling it.”

Reid nodded and swiftly moved to the second victim, a young woman found posed in front of a mirror, her body displayed almost like a work of art. “The second victim represents virtue. She was strangled, but the way she was posed afterward - like a Madonna figure - suggests the unsub was making a comment on purity or morality. The unsub didn’t just kill her, they transformed her into a symbol.”

JJ glanced at the photo, her brows knitting together. “So, the killer’s trying to send a message?”

Reid’s voice picked up momentum, his eyes gleaming as he continued to unravel the pattern. “Exactly. The third victim, it’s the theme of friendship. He was stabbed multiple times, but the placement of the wounds shows care. Almost like the unsub was reluctant at first, then deliberately chose each strike. This murder represents betrayal, the wounds symbolizing a broken bond.”

Hotch’s gaze darkened as he took in the significance of each murder. “What about the fourth victim?”

Reid flipped through the files, landing on a young man found at a cemetery, his body arranged as if in sleep, with his hands folded over his chest like a corpse in a casket. “The fourth victim represents death itself. He was already dressed in funeral attire when he was killed. The unsub buried him halfway in a grave that had already been dug, leaving him in a liminal state, neither fully alive nor fully dead.”

JJ’s breath hitched slightly at the thought. “The unsub’s not just killing. They’re staging these murders to symbolize something deeper.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched as he processed the unfolding realization. “And the fifth victim? Religion?”

Reid nodded, pulling up the photo of a woman found in a church, her body draped across the altar, surrounded by religious symbols. “She was killed in the church, posed like a martyr. The unsub’s making a statement about faith, morality, and sacrifice. It’s almost ritualistic.”

Hotch’s gaze sharpened. “And the sixth? Freedom?”

Reid picked up the most recent file, the image of a man found in a wide, open field, his body scattered with wounds, as if he had been tortured for hours. “He was bound at first, kept restrained for days, but when he was finally killed, it was in an open field. The unsub let him go, only to take that freedom away in the end. It’s the ultimate act of control - giving the victim a taste of freedom, then ripping it away.”

JJ stared at the crime scene photos, her expression shifting from confusion to horror. “So, the unsub isn’t just experimenting with methods. They’re following some kind of philosophical framework, each murder connected to a larger theme.”

The word ‘philosophical’ hit Hotch like a trigger, and instantly, his mind began to drift. It was as if that word had become synonymous with you.

He barely registered the rest of JJ's sentence because the moment she mentioned philosophy, his thoughts were no longer in the room.

They were with you.

Over the years, it had become an automatic reflex. Any time the conversation veered toward deep concepts, philosophical debates, or ancient texts, his mind would latch onto memories of your voice, your insights. You were the one who could crack these kinds of cases almost effortlessly. The way you connected with these abstract ideas, how you always found the hidden thread - he could practically hear your voice explaining it, guiding him.

He missed you in moments like this, missed working by your side.

The cases felt heavier without your presence.

Especially now, with you back in Quantico, just within reach but not close enough. It made his itch for your partnership even more acute, more frustrating. You were always the one who could decode the intricacies of a mind like this. He craved your insight, your steady presence, the way you challenged him and calmed him all at once.

He could almost picture you now, sitting at your desk, flipping through files with that slight furrow in your brow as you connected the dots others couldn’t. This case felt like it was made for you, and the itch to call you, to have your insight cut through the confusion like a knife, gnawed at him.

It was more than just missing your professional brilliance, it was the familiar rhythm the two of you had shared, the way you could pick up on each other’s unspoken thoughts with a glance. You had always been in sync, a partnership that felt more like second nature than work.

His gaze stayed fixed on the board, but his mind was far from the room. "Focus on the first victim," he said, his voice low but more urgent than before. "The first kill is usually the most significant. What can you tell us about the theme of time?"

Even as the words left his lips, the thought tugged at him - he needed to call you. You would see what they were missing. And, truthfully, he just wanted to hear your voice again.

But he couldn't.

Not yet.

You were likely teaching, and the last thing he wanted to do was disturb you in the middle of class. Even though it was morning in D.C. and he knew your lessons wouldn’t start until the early afternoon, he could picture exactly what you were doing.

If he knew you well - and he did - you’d be hunched over your desk right now, a double espresso halfway emptied beside you, scribbling down notes for your upcoming lesson. Schemes, summaries, diagrams, anything that would help your students grasp the material. Every scribble was made with the same care and thought you always gave, just like the book you had gifted Jack.

He could see you clearly, writing as fast as you could, racing to keep up with the faster pace of your mind. On topics that especially interested you, your hand would move so quickly that the gel blue ink of your pen would smudge across the page. That was the only imperfection in your otherwise meticulous notes. But to him, even that smudge was a detail he cherished. It was another way you showed your heart and passion, pouring yourself into every word.

He couldn't interrupt that.

Not now. But the urge still lingered, and the longing to share this case with you, to hear your insight, gnawed at him with every passing second.

His attention snapped back to the present as Reid’s voice filled the room, his philosophical lecture flowing uninterrupted. Hotch hadn’t even noticed that Prentiss, Morgan, and Gideon had returned from the crime scene, now quietly listening to Reid’s ideas.

“Time, philosophically speaking, is a concept that has been debated for centuries,” Reid began, his voice steady and thoughtful. “Kant believed time was a construct of the mind, a way for humans to make sense of their experiences. Augustine argued that time is divided into past, present, and future, but none truly exist in the same moment-”

Before Reid could continue, Morgan cut in, shaking his head with a half-smile. “Slow down there, professor. Not all of us are ready for a PhD lecture on time.”

The brief moment of levity brought a faint smile to Hotch’s lips - barely there, just a twitch - but enough for Gideon to catch. It wasn’t the first time Hotch had heard this kind of deep dive into philosophical musings, and the memory was enough to stir something inside him.

You, again.

He could almost hear your voice over Reid’s, see you pacing, effortlessly turning philosophical debates into a practical narrative. There had always been an energy between the two of you, a mental chess game where each new idea or concept clicked together in a way that made even the most abstract notions understandable,at least to those who could keep up.

Across the room, Gideon noticed the change in Hotch's expression, the subtle flicker of something unspoken. He raised an eyebrow knowingly, understanding exactly where Hotch’s thoughts had wandered. He had seen this look before way too often now.

Hotch quickly noticed Gideon’s silent observation, his smile fading as his face hardened back into its usual stoic mask. He stepped toward Reid, signaling him to wrap it up, the professionalism sliding effortlessly back into place. As he passed Reid, he muttered just low enough for him to hear, “You sound just like her.”

Reid paused mid-thought, blinking in confusion. “Her who?”

Hotch didn’t answer.

The room seemed to still for a moment, the tension subtly thickening as the rest of the team exchanged glances. It wasn’t hard to guess who Hotch was referring to. Even though you were never part of the team, your presence lingered in moments like this, your intellect, your connection to him.

Everyone in the room knew it.

Before Reid could press the question any further, Hotch’s phone buzzed again, the sound cutting sharply through the quiet. The vibration echoed ominously against the table, pulling everyone’s attention. Hotch glanced down at the screen, his expression immediately hardening as he read the message.

“Another body,” he said, the grimness in his voice pulling the room back to the brutal reality of their work. His earlier thoughts of you were now pushed to the background, swallowed by the urgency of the case.

The unsub wasn’t slowing down. If anything, the kills were escalating, the pace quickening, leaving them scrambling to piece together the next part of the puzzle. Hotch could feel the pressure mounting, time was slipping through their fingers, and they still hadn’t cracked the philosophical code that would lead them to the killer.

But even as Hotch mentally prepared for the next step, a thought lingered at the edges of his mind: You would have seen it already. You would know what they were missing. It gnawed at him, the need to reach out, to hear your voice offering clarity. But there was no time for that now.

---

At the crime scene, something had shifted. This time, it wasn’t just the brutality of the kill that had the team on edge, it was the new element, a disturbing and cryptic message left behind.

Beside the body, stark against the wet pavement, was a large "X," crudely drawn, yet deliberate in its placement. The symbol, bold and unmistakable, seemed to pulse with meaning, as if it were taunting them, daring the team to uncover its secret.

The victim’s body told a different story: this murder was tied to the theme of lust. Everything about the scene - the suggestive placement of the victim, the meticulous positioning of the clothes, and the intimate nature of the wounds - hinted at the unsub's twisted interpretation of lust. But it was the "X" that radiated significance, a signature of sorts, demanding their attention and indicating a deeper layer to the crime.

Back at the police station, the air buzzed with tension as the team tried to decipher the meaning behind the mysterious mark. Hotch stood silently at the head of the room, his mind swirling with the ideas being tossed around by the team.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and scowled at the photo of the "X" on the evidence board. "What if this unsub’s just messing with us? Like on a treasure map. 'X marks the spot,' right? Could be their way of saying, 'Hey, look here, you're getting warmer.' Could be a taunt."

Reid, pacing near the board, rubbed his chin in thought. "Historically, an 'X' can represent a crossroads, a point of decision. In medieval times, it symbolized judgment - both in religion and law. It could indicate the unsub sees themselves as a judge, perhaps someone deciding the fate of their victims."

Prentiss chimed in, her voice thoughtful, eyes scanning the crime scene reports. "It might even be a form of signature. In some cases, killers leave marks, symbols to claim their work. Maybe it's less about us and more about the unsub marking their territory. This ‘X’ could be their way of saying, ‘This is mine.’"

As the ideas bounced around the room, Hotch remained unnervingly still, his eyes locked on the photograph of the bold "X" scrawled beside the body. The image seemed to pulse with meaning, but the answer eluded him, hovering just beyond reach like a word on the tip of his tongue.

Each theory felt plausible but incomplete, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. Hotch’s mind churned through the ideas, but something - something vital - was missing.

Gideon, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, finally stepped forward. He watched Hotch closely, noting the tension in his posture, the way his brow furrowed with concentration. Gideon knew Hotch well enough to see when he was wrestling with something more than just the case.

“You should give her a call,” Gideon said quietly, his voice cutting through the murmur of ideas.

Hotch blinked, pulled from his thoughts by the unexpected suggestion. “Why?” he asked, his tone guarded, though deep down, he knew exactly what Gideon was implying.

Gideon’s eyes held a knowing glint, his expression calm but certain. “She’s already a step ahead of us, Aaron. You know how she is. She can see the bigger picture, the themes, the patterns that might be slipping through our fingers. These murders, this complexity... she’ll catch what we’re missing. She always does.”

Hotch hesitated, the weight of your name hanging between them. You were the first person who came to his mind - philosophy had always been your language, and you had a way of translating the abstract into something that made sense, even in the darkest of cases.

But calling you felt so complicated.

“She’s got a lecture at the academy this morning,” Hotch said quietly, his gaze drifting away. “And even if she could help, it would take her hours to go through the files.” His voice softened, as if he were reasoning with himself as much as he was explaining to Gideon.

Gideon raised an eyebrow, his faint smile betraying how far ahead he had already planned. “That’s why I had Garcia send her the files yesterday,” he said smoothly. “She’s been going over them ever since Reid made the connection with the themes.”

He had anticipated this. Of course, he had.

Hotch straightened, the hesitation still tugging at him as he pulled out his phone. The urge to hear your voice, to let you guide them through the confusion, gnawed at him. He dialed your number, his thumb hovering over the call button for a second longer than necessary. The phone rang, and anticipation built with every ring until finally, you answered.

“I was waiting for your call, partner,” you said, your tone familiar and easy, as though no time had passed since you had last worked side by side. Your voice alone brought a sense of comfort, one that Hotch hadn’t realized he needed in that moment.

Before Hotch could respond, he picked up on the faint sounds of a classroom in the background - soft murmurs, the scrape of chairs, and the faint shuffle of papers. Then your voice came through, a bit more formal than usual, though laced with the familiar hint of humor. “Now you’re on speaker. Everyone, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU.”

Hotch’s smile faded slightly, the weight of the situation settling in. “It’s an active case,” he cautioned, his tone firm but gentle, a reminder of the need for discretion. “The details are confidential.”

You laughed, the sound rich and unburdened by the darkness that often filled his days. “I know, I know. But Gideon told me I could bend the rules just this once, and you know that I’m the first one who always wants to play by the book. But sometimes you have to bend the law, because ethics are more important… just don’t write that down in your notes.”

Hotch shook his head, though the faint tug of amusement softened his otherwise stern expression. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured.

Then your tone shifted, growing more serious, more focused. “That ‘X’ isn’t just a letter. The way it’s drawn, the graphics - it’s too condensed. It’s too deliberate to be a regular ‘X.’ What if it’s not a letter at all? What if it’s the Roman numeral for ten?”

Reid, who had been silently pouring over the files, immediately perked up at your suggestion. His face lit up with recognition, as if a light had been switched on in his mind. “Yes! Roman numerals, that makes perfect sense. But why ten? What’s the significance?”

Hotch’s mind whirled as he stared at the photograph again, the symbol suddenly taking on new meaning. “In Roman numerals, ten doesn’t just represent the number, it signifies sequence. It could mean ‘tenth,’ like this is part of a larger series. The unsub could be following some kind of plan or pattern.”

Prentiss, still studying the details, looked up sharply. “What if this is the tenth victim? The police didn’t connect the earlier cases until recently. There could be other victims we don’t know about.”

Gideon nodded, his face unreadable but thoughtful. “That’s possible. The pace of the killings has picked up recently, but that doesn’t mean the earlier victims weren’t just as important. We might be missing the full picture.”

Your voice cut through the air again, focused and clear. “If that ‘X’ is the Roman numeral for ten, then Penelope should start pulling data from unsolved homicides in nearby areas, cases that might have slipped through the cracks. If there are other victims, they’ll be there.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate as he patched the call through to Garcia, his fingers moving swiftly. The line clicked over, and Garcia’s familiar, playful voice came through with her usual flair. “Spank me, teacher. I’ve been a bad, bad girl.”

Laughter erupted in the background on your end - the unmistakable sound of your students, likely stunned at hearing such an exchange from an actual FBI technical analyst. Hotch’s face remained serious, though he could picture the small smile tugging at your lips. You were probably trying your best to let it slide, convincing your students that it never happened and brushing it off as a figment of their imagination.

Or so he thought.

You didn’t let it slide, not at all.

You chuckled softly, your voice warm but teasing. “Penelope, I think we need to keep it professional this time. But if I weren’t engaged, I might just ask you to show me your Python. What do you think? Was that good enough?”

Of course, once again, you proved him wrong.

The laughter from your classroom grew louder, borderline hysterical now, clearly not expecting such a quip from someone like you. Hotch, despite his best efforts, couldn’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at his own lips. There was something about the way you matched Garcia’s banter, unexpected but effortlessly fitting. Still, the reality of the case loomed, pulling him back to focus.

“I knew it! Deep down, you’re a naughty girl just like me!” Garcia shot back, her voice full of mischief before quickly shifting gears. “All right, all right. Let’s get serious. Let’s see what I can dig up.”

As Garcia’s voice faded and the team fell back into their analysis, Hotch leaned back slightly, his thoughts racing. Despite the levity, a sense of weight pressed down on him. The murders weren’t just random - there was a deeper thread running through them, something that tied everything together, but it remained elusive.

“There’s something we’re still missing,” Hotch muttered, half to himself but loud enough for the others to hear. “Something that ties these murders together in a way we haven’t seen yet.”

Your voice came through the speaker again, this time with an edge of intensity. “What if the X isn’t marking the number of victims? What if it’s connected to something literary, related to the theme of that murder - lust?”

Reid, always quick to piece together intellectual puzzles, murmured, “It could be connected to a text, a framework. The killings are following themes, and they might be related to a specific work of literature.”

You continued, your voice growing more thoughtful, “The theme of lust makes me immediately think of Dante’s Inferno - the second circle of Hell, where the lustful are punished.”

Reid’s mind raced, picking up on your line of thought. “Yes! In Dante’s Inferno, the lustful are driven by uncontrollable winds, symbolizing the way they’re tossed by their desires. But… wait…” He paused, pacing in front of the crime scene photos pinned to the wall. “In the fifth canticle of The Divine Comedy, the second circle represents the punishment of lust. Multiply the fifth canticle by the second circle, and you get the number ten.”

Gideon's gaze intensified as he considered the details of the case. "This isn't just a random act. It’s carefully and mathematically calculated," he observed, his tone thoughtful yet troubled. "But something still feels off. The message should be clearer—it’s already masked beneath a Roman numeral. It shouldn’t involve any additional complexity like a multiplication."

Hotch's eyes brightened as the realization hit him, the missing piece finally clicking into place. “What if this isn’t just about the sin of lust?” he said, his voice sharper now with clarity. “What if it’s about the negation of lust? Maybe the unsub isn’t punishing the victims for acting on lust, but for failing to avoid it. It’s not about the act itself, but about their choice not to resist. You live a life of indulgence, and you die for it. But the real question is - how could they have saved themselves? What did they fail to do?”

Suddenly, your voice broke through again, sharp and full of clarity. “Living a life through reason: that’s the real theme of the murder. Epistulae ad Lucilium. Seneca the Younger. In the 10th letter to Lucilium – he talked about the importance of living a life through the stoic ideals, the key is self-control, avoiding indulgences like lust”

The room went silent for a moment as everyone absorbed what you had just said. Reid’s face lit up as he immediately followed your line of thinking. “Exactly! In the 10th letter he mentioned ‘Sed ut more meo cum aliquo munusculo epistulam mittam, verum est quod apud Athenodorum inveni: 'tunc scito esse te omnibus cupiditatibus solutum, cum eo perveneris ut nihil deum roges nisi quod rogare possis palam'.”

It felt like you could see the confused look on each agents’ face, even if you were in Quantico: “That translates to ‘But as is my custom with sending a letter with some small gift, it is true what I found in Athenodes: 'then know that you are freed from all desires, and with it you will come to ask nothing of God except what you can openly ask.'”

You further explained the meaning “For us mortals, it means that when you free yourself from wanting things for yourself, you reach a peaceful state. In this state, you will only ask for things that are good and honest, with nothing selfish or hidden behind your requests. To find inner peace by we need to let go of desires and living with clear intentions.” You paused “Wow Spencer how did you know the entire passage in latin?”

Hotch unintentionally cut off Reid’s response - who had been beaming from your recognition, his boyish grin spreading across his face as he began, “Eidetic memory, I read the entire book when I was only twe-.” But Hotch, ever focused, quickly steered the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Are you saying the unsub is following Stoic philosophy?” he asked, his tone sharp with urgency, seeking clarity in your analysis.

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady and thoughtful. “The killings are modeled after the teachings in Epistulae ad Lucilium - also known as Letters from a Stoic.” Hotch swore he could hear the hint of a suppressed giggle on the other side of the phone, but you quickly returned to the matter at hand.

“These letters weren’t just philosophical musings; they were moral teachings. Seneca was writing to his student, Lucilium, urging him to live a life governed by reason, virtue, and restraint. Each letter deals with a specific theme - like friendship, time, death, religion, virtue, and freedom. Seneca believed that by controlling our desires and passions, we could free ourselves from the things that enslave us - namely, emotions like lust, greed, and fear. Sound familiar, Unit Chief?”

Before Hotch could respond to your unexpected jab, your tone shifted back to focus on the case. “In these killings, the unsub is punishing people for failing to live up to Stoic ideals. The crime scenes aren’t random at all: they’re deliberate, calculated representations of the failures Seneca warned about. The victim of lust was killed because they lacked control over their desires, which is a fundamental tenet in Stoic philosophy. It’s not the first letter Seneca wrote, and it certainly won’t be the last.”

Reid jumped in, clearly excited by your insight. “Exactly! Each murder is a representation of one of Seneca’s letters. The victim of lust was killed because they didn’t live a life of restraint, but the other murders also follow this pattern. Virtue, time, friendship, freedom, religion, death - they all correspond to themes Seneca explored in his letters. The unsub is picking people who fail to live up to these ideals and killing them as if it’s a lesson.”

Morgan, still crouched beside the latest crime scene photo, looked up, his expression darkening as he tried to connect the philosophical themes with the brutality of the murders. “So we know why the unsub is killing—to punish people for failing these ancient ideals. But how does this help us catch them?”

You spoke again, the gears in your mind turning quickly. “There’s something else you need to consider. If these murders are following Seneca’s teachings, then we know there’s a deeper message behind each kill. Seneca’s letters were instructional, they were lessons written for his student, Lucilium. So if we think of these killings as lessons, then it’s possible the unsub isn’t just acting alone. They’re teaching someone.”

JJ frowned as she processed your theory. “A message... to who? Who’s the student in this scenario?”

Gideon, who had been silently contemplating the unfolding theory, stepped forward, his voice grave. “The unsub is taking on the role of Seneca, but every Seneca has a Lucilium. They’re not just killing; they’re teaching someone. These murders are lessons, each one showing their ‘student’ how to live, or rather, how not to live.”

Hotch, his mind racing with the implications, pieced it together quickly. “So there’s a ‘Lucilium’ out there, someone the unsub is guiding. Someone they’re grooming, possibly teaching how to kill.”

Prentiss straightened, her face hardening as the realization sank in. “Which means we’re not just dealing with one unsub. There’s a mentor and a student. Seneca is teaching Lucilium to follow this twisted moral code.”

Hotch stepped back from the evidence board, his brow furrowed as the weight of the case began to fully reveal itself. “We’re looking at two unsubs. The one we’ve been calling ‘Seneca,’ who’s leading these murders, and a second unsub, ‘Lucilium,’ who is learning from them. The second person is still in training, which means we have a chance to stop them before the lessons are complete.”

There was a heavy silence in the room as the team absorbed the gravity of the situation. The realization that they were up against not just a killer, but a teacher guiding an apprentice, added an entirely new layer of urgency to the case.

You broke the silence again, your voice more serious than before. “If you find ‘Lucilium,’ you’ll find Seneca. But there's more. In Epistulae ad Lucilium, Seneca also discusses two more themes that haven’t yet appeared in the murders: slavery and the crowd. If the unsub is following the structure of Seneca’s letters, then we know what to expect next.”

Gideon, always focused on the broader picture, spoke with quiet authority. “If Seneca is teaching Lucilium how to kill, it means Seneca has a criminal record. No one just starts teaching murder out of the blue. Garcia, start running a search for known offenders with a background in philosophy, particularly Roman and Stoic philosophy. Look for connections between any of these offenders and known students or proteges.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speaker, her usual lightheartedness replaced with focus. “Already on it, boss. Cross-referencing every offender who’s mentioned Seneca, Stoicism, or anything close. I’ll narrow it down as quickly as I can.”  

---

Back in his office, Hotch sat slumped in his chair, exhaustion pulling at his every muscle. The scattered papers in front of him were neatly organized, but his mind was a tangled mess, caught in the lingering grip of the case.

This one weighed heavier than most, the usual closure that came with catching an unsub evading him. They had barely stopped him in time, so close to another life being stolen under the theme of slavery. The image of what could have been haunted him, the brutal calculation of the murders, the way each victim had been a lesson, twisted and final.

Hotch's weary eyes drifted toward the window, where the darkness of the night had now just settled in, casting heavy shadows across his office. The weight of the case pressed down on him - how close they'd come to failing, the lives that had hung in the balance. It wasn’t just the exhaustion in his bones, but something deeper, a quiet, lingering ache that refused to let go.

The near miss with the last victim, the theme of slavery still fresh in his mind, gnawed at him in a way most cases didn’t. Just as the silence became suffocating, a soft knock at the door broke through, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. Without looking up, his voice low, he said, “Come in.”

He assumed it would be Gideon. They still had loose ends to discuss, details of the case to tie up before the night slipped any further away. He braced himself for another long conversation, expecting Gideon’s familiar, steady presence to fill the room.

The door creaked open, and someone stepped inside. Hotch didn’t glance up at first, still scribbling notes on the corner of a file. But the sound that followed wasn’t the shuffle of Gideon’s footsteps. Instead, there was a lightness, a familiar cadence, and Hotch frowned in confusion.

���Jason?” he asked, looking up, only to freeze as his gaze met yours.

You stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “You really thought I was Gideon? You’re slipping, partner.”

For a second, he was caught off guard. He offered you a soft smile, one that came more easily than expected. “I wasn’t expecting you.” he said, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

You sauntered in and sat down across from him, the easy confidence in your posture disarming him further. “Well, you should always expect the unexpected from me, right?” you teased, your smile growing.

Hotch chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. He hadn’t realized how much he missed this, missed you. He’d been so focused on the case, on the mission, that he hadn’t let himself dwell on it. But now, sitting across from you, the memories of all those years working together rushed back, hitting him harder than he anticipated.

Hotch’s gaze softened, but there was a heaviness behind it. “Your help was crucial. We never would’ve figured it out without you. The connections, the philosophy, it was all you.”

You waved him off, shaking your head as if brushing aside his praise. “Reid deserves the real credit,” you insisted. “He’s the one who picked up on the themes firsthand. I just... connected the dots. Besides, I was only on the phone. You and the team did the real work.”

But Hotch wasn’t about to let you downplay your role. “You did more than connect the dots,” he said firmly, his eyes holding yours. “You always see things others don’t.”

For a moment, your teasing demeanor faltered, replaced by something softer, more sincere. You held his gaze, and for the first time since you’d walked in, the banter between you faded into something deeper.

You broke the silence first, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Careful, partner. Compliments like that might go to my head.” The dynamic between you two had always been one of mutual respect, even if it was sometimes hidden behind teasing and banter. Now, after all these years, it felt even more significant.

His expression softened even more, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as well. It was in moments like this that he realized how much he missed you being a constant in his life. Even though you were closer now, taking a teaching position at Quantico, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough. The case had stirred something in him, made him realize that the distance between you wasn’t just physical.

“So,” He asked after a moment, his curiosity piqued, “what brings you here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating, considering we finally cracked the case?”

You raised your eyebrow, giving him a look as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “I’m here for the paperwork, of course.”

He blinked, taken aback. “Paperwork? You helped us close the case; there’s no need for you to be bogged down with reports. I won’t let you do that.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you leaned forward. “Oh no, partner. I deserve to fill out each one of those reports, especially since I might’ve bent a rule or two helping you out under the pretense of ‘teaching material.’” You gave him a cheeky grin, but he could hear the seriousness beneath your words. You weren’t just here to wrap things up, you wanted to take accountability.

“I already told you,” He said, his voice firm but warm. “It’s my team, my case, and I’ll take full responsibility. I’m not going to let you do the paperwork for bending a few rules.” He was firm in his stance, not wanting to drag you into the mess of administrative fallout.

But of course you didn’t back down. “Arguing with me is a waste of time, partner. Let me do the paperwork. We both know if you let me handle it, you’ll get out of here sooner.”

Before he could protest, you leaned in with a grin that hinted at something more. “And if you get out of here at a decent time, you, Haley, and Jack can come over for dinner. Pete’s been looking forward to meeting you two after all this time, and I’ve been dying to meet Jack.”

He froze for a moment, surprised by the invitation.

Dinner?

With you and Peter?

The thought had never crossed his mind, and yet, hearing you suggest it now sent a strange warmth through him. “Dinner? You never mentioned this.” he echoed, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

You smirked, crossing your arms. “Yes, Aaron. Dinner. Pete’s already planned it, and I figured using food was the best way to bribe you into giving me those reports.”

He chuckled, a warmth spreading through him at the thought of the invitation. “Dinner, huh? What’s on the menu?”

You gave him a smug look. “A few Mediterranean recipes I’ve been perfecting. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re not going to poison me, are you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’ll never know unless you hurry up and let me help with those files.” The tension between you broke, and he shook his head, smiling. But before he could respond, you added, “Want to bet I can finish the paperwork faster than you?”

He leaned forward, his voice playful now, catching onto the game. “And what happens if I win? You’ve never beaten me in a bet before.”

You leaned in just a little closer as well, close enough for him to catch the soft, fading notes of your rose perfume, lingering faintly after a long day. There was a glint of mischief in your eyes as you matched his tone, voice low and teasing. “You tell me.”

Without missing a beat, Hotch's playful expression shifted, his eyes growing more serious, though there was a flicker of anticipation that softened the weight of what he was about to say. The words came out before he could second-guess himself, as if they'd been lying in wait, building with every shared glance, every passing moment between the two of you.

“If I win,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, something vulnerable, “you come back to the BAU. You work with me again, together.”

His heart thudded in his chest, each beat a reminder of the space you had left behind when you had gone, a void he had tried to fill but couldn’t.

He hadn't expected the words to feel so heavy once they were out in the open, hadn't realized how much he wanted you back, not just for the casework, but for the way you steadied him, the way you saw through the layers he kept so tightly wrapped around himself.

He watched your grin slowly fade, your eyes searching his as if you were weighing everything, and for a moment, he wondered if he'd pushed too far, revealed too much. But then he remembered the years you had spent together, the unspoken trust, the way you could read him just as easily as he could read you.

The silence stretched between you, thick with shared history and unspoken feelings, until finally, you broke it.

 “We’ll see, Aaron,” you said quietly, your eyes holding his. “We’ll see.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @kyrathekiller ; @lorereid ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @prettybaby-reid

Dado's Corner pt.2: Here's a pic of Kuna the pine marten - aka Jack Hotchner's fav plush toy

[barbielore]

Oh, so here's a thing! In the leadup to me making that post about the So Much To Do Barbie line including Post Office Barbie, I was looking into times when Barbie has appeared on postage stamps.

In 1999, she appeared on a US Postage Stamp. Particularly, she was depicted as part of the Celebrate the Century 1960's collection.

Alongside things like the moon landing and the Beatles. Of course, Barbie herself was created in 1959, but the specific Barbie here appears to be Silken Flame Barbie - of which there are many, many reproductions including the Jackie Kennedy inspired pillbox hat.

In fact I can find a million different replicas, rereleases and references to Silken Flame, but hardly any depictions of the original. But never mind that. The reproductions are just as delightful.

But fascinatingly, this is not the only time this Barbie appeared on a postage stamp.

As part of the 2009 Classic Toys release, Silken Flame Barbie appeared on a set of Australian postage stamps.

[leonsliga]

How to get football autographs: a crash course

Fair warning: this will be a long post.

We’ve all heard it by now: the best way to get footballer autographs is to attend open trainings or wait outside their hotels and stadiums on match days. But what if you live far away or can’t afford to fly to training or games? Not to worry! Whether you’re a collector, a fan, or a little bit of both like me, quite a few clubs are still willing to send out autograph cards, as long as you send them a stamped addressed envelope.

You’ll find helpful how-to videos on how to do just that, along with links to some country stamp websites, below. These videos actually inspired this post:

Postal service links:

United Kingdom

https://shop.royalmail.com/postage-and-packaging/first-and-second-class-stamps - You can’t print UK stamps, but you can buy them off the Royal Mail website (see above link) or off Amazon in most cases

Germany

https://shop.deutschepost.de/shop/internetmarke/selectPostageIM.jsp?invalidAccess=true#porto-international (you’ll want to buy the printable compact letter—Kompaktbrief in German—stamps for 1,70€)

Spain

https://www.correos.es/es/en/companies/send/stamps - Unfortunately, I’m completely useless at navigating the Spanish postal service (AKA Correos), but here’s the link regardless. Maybe you’ll have better luck than me 😅

France

You can buy printable stamps using the link above

Postage Questions:

What materials will I need to send a request?

You’ll need a letter containing your autograph request, 2 envelopes (one bigger and one smaller), a stamp/stamps (depending on size and weight) from your country and the stamp/stamps of the destination country.

I’ve bought my stamps. What size envelopes should I get?

I recommend getting c4 envelopes, as they’ll be big enough to hold your autograph request letter. These will be the envelopes you’ll mail out. If you go with a c4 envelope, I’d recommend purchasing c5 envelopes as your smaller envelope. These will be the envelopes the clubs return to you with the autograph cards inside, and you’ll slide them into your c4 envelope when you’re ready to mail them.

Be sure to include the club’s mailing address and your country’s stamp on the large envelope and your address + their country’s stamp on the smaller one

Where can I find a club’s mailing address?

You can usually find a club’s mailing address, along with their attitude towards fanmail, on the “contact us” tab on their webpage. If you can’t find it there, search the name of the club on fanmail.biz; they have the mailing address of just about every football club you can imagine.

What should I put in my autograph request letter?

The main thing here is to include which footballers’ autographs you want (if you don’t have a preference, you don’t have to do this; you can always say you’d be happy to add whatever player cards they’re willing to send to your collection, or something like that lol). Apart from that, what you include is entirely up to you! I wouldn’t recommend sending a super long letter, but if you want to add a personal touch, you can always mention one of your favorite memories of that club and their achievements. It doesn’t hurt to throw in a thank you at the end either :) one last note: you can address your letter to the club or the player whose autograph you’re requesting; it’s entirely up to you!

Do I have to send a stamped addressed envelope to every club?

Not necessarily. If you want to save money on stamps and envelopes, try emailing the clubs first. If you’re lucky, they’ll send the autograph cards directly to you and pay for the postage :)

Now onto the most important question: does it work? The answer is that it depends on the club you’re sending the request to and sometimes even the league they play in. I’ll break it down by league below, detailing either my own experiences writing to the club (if I’ve written to the club and heard back, I’ll state it outright) or that of YouTubers who have reached out to them. If you don’t see your club here, assume they either don’t reply to fanmail, or I haven’t heard of any success stories yet.

Premier League

Some Prem clubs still send out autographs, but not all. Here’s the ones that do:

Manchester United - pre-covid I’m pretty sure they sent out only hand-signed autographs upon request. Unfortunately, they seem to have cut back a bit on this in recent years; nowadays they tend to send a mix of hand-signed and pre-printed, facsimile signatures (this was the case for me when I wrote to them a few months ago and a few YouTubers that wrote to them as well). Still, pretty amazing given the size of the club that they’re willing to do this. As a United fan, I can’t help but feel a little proud :)

Liverpool - they definitely take the “you’ll never walk alone” motto literally, because they also still answer autograph requests with squad photos and signatures, at least as of 2021. To add a personal touch, they usually include a certificate with your name on it. Even though they’re United’s biggest rivals, I can’t help but respect them for this.

Arsenal - another big club that’s not too big for their fans; to my knowledge, they still send out hand-signed autographs. In doing research for this post, I even stumbled upon a video of someone who got an Arsenal match program, 2 squad photos, and autographs on the back of one of them. Talk about a big haul!

Tottenham - usually send pre-signed, photocopied autograph cards

Chelsea - sent out pre-signed, facsimile autograph prints as of 2021

Manchester City - sends out facsimile signatures only, according to several YouTubers (I’ve never contacted the club personally, so I’m not sure if this is still the case). If you do reach out to them, let me know what you hear back!

Crystal Palace - hit-or-miss. They tend to reply with pre-signed squad photos. They usually include a “south london and proud” bracelet from what I understand though, which is a fun perk!

West Ham - you might hear back from them, you might not (I didn’t when I tried a few months ago, but I know several other people did). If they do reply, you’ll likely receive hand-signed photos.

Aston Villa - sent out mostly pre-signed cards as of 2021

Everton - sent out predominantly hand-signed cards as of 2020

Leicester - send out a mix of photocopied and hand-signed cards, as of 2020 - they generally include player cards from the entire squad

Bournemouth - sent out pre-printed cards as of 2021

Newcastle - still sent out hand-signed photographs as of 2020

Bundesliga

If you want hand-signed autographs, look no further than the Bundesliga. In my experience, they send out the most hand-signed cards of any football league, and it’s not even close. In fact, you’d be hard pressed to find a club that doesn’t send out hand-signed cards. I’m assuming it’s the same story for the 2. Bundesliga (I know Schalke sends out hand-signed cards at the very least).

Bayern Munich - generally, they prefer you purchase cards on their website. Unfortunately, you have to be a member to buy signed cards on there; otherwise, you have to settle for pre-signed prints. That said, I’m pretty sure that if you purchase the player cards on the website and send a few back to the club to be signed, they will return them with official autographs. I sent in a request for Manuel Neuer’s autograph earlier this year and enclosed his player card, and they sent it back hand-signed. I included my membership number in my request just in case, but I know they’ve sent hand-signed autographs to non-members in the past (i.e. the YouTuber mentioned towards the beginning of this post). If you do reach out to Bayern, let me know how it goes. My fingers are crossed for you regardless 🤞

Borussia Dortmund - probably the most reliable of the Bundesliga clubs when it comes to autograph requests. They now limit you to 4 footballers per request, so you’ll have to be selective. That said, they usually reply quickly and send out hand-signed autographs every time. I have yet to hear of anyone who hasn’t received something back when they sent an autograph request to BVB.

Bayer Leverkusen - when I requested autographs from them, they sent me some back. I requested 3 players’ autographs, along with Xabi Alonso’s, and received all 4 cards back hand-signed. Quite a few YouTubers have had success hearing from them as well. Even though they’re having a fantastic season, they clearly haven’t neglected their fanmail, which is cool to see :)

Eintracht Frankfurt - sends out hand-signed autograph cards, even as of this season (they sent hand-signed cards when I reached out to them two months ago). If they’re your club, you’re in luck.

VfB Stuttgart - hand-signed cards

RB Leipzig - hand-signed cards

FC Union Berlin - hand-signed cards (I haven’t heard back from them yet, but it’s only been a week and a half at this point)

SC Freiburg - hand-signed cards

Borussia Mönchengladbach - hand-signed cards (I just heard back from them a week ago, and I think I got a mix of hand-signed cards and pre-signed prints)

FC Augsburg - hand-signed cards

SV Werder Bremen - hand-signed cards

VfL Wolfsburg - hand-signed cards

VfL Bochum - hand-signed cards, sometimes of the entire team (I received 4 cards in response to my request)

TSG Hoffenheim - hand-signed cards, often of the entire team

FC Köln - hand-signed cards

FSV Mainz - hand-signed cards, often of majority of the squad

La Liga

If you’re a fan of a Spanish club, you might be a lot less lucky, sadly. Only one club still sends out hand-signed autographs to my knowledge, and only one other club sends anything back in response to fanmail.

Real Madrid - occasionally sends out posters with pre-printed, facsimile signatures.

Sevilla - this is the club to ask for hand-signed autographs. That said, you probably won’t get more than one or two. I’d recommend being specific about which player(s)’ autographs you want in order to avoid being disappointed.

Ligue 1

Maybe the French league is more your speed. It’s a mixed bag here; while few answer fanmail, the ones that do are more often than not the most generous of any football clubs on this list.

PSG - the Parisians do still respond to autograph requests, but pretty much exclusively send out facsimile signatures.

Olympique de Marseille - have sent out pre-signed cards of their entire team in the past, along with a poster

FC Metz - sent out a mix of hand-signed autographs and pre-signed prints as of 2021

LOSC Lille - sent out autograph cards as of 2021

OGC Nice - sent out autograph cards as of 2021

RC Strasbourg - sends out autographed postcards, and if you’re lucky, they might include a squad photo and some stickers along with it :)

AS Saint-Étienne - send out hand-signed cards, although I’ve also seen them send squad photos addressed to the recipient, along with 2 issues of their club’s magazine

Eredivisie

PSV Eindhoven - sometimes send out autograph cards with facsimile signatures (pre-prints)

Swiss Super League

FC Basel - sent out hand-signed cards as of 2021

BSC Young Boys - sent out hand-signed cards as of 2021

Austrian Football Bundesliga

SK Rapid Wien - sent out hand-signed cards as of 2021

LASK - hand-signed cards (as of 2021)

Scottish Premiership

Glasgow Rangers - occasionally sends pre-signed prints (at least, as of 2021)

Ekstraklasa

All clubs listed below have sent out hand-signed autograph cards in the past:

Śląsk Wrocław

Legia Warszawa

Lech Poznań

A-League

Western Sydney Wanderers - signed squad photo

MLS

Whether you’ve got a particular club in mind or you’re just a fan of one of the big stars (i.e. Messi), you’re probably in for disappointment. Autograph collecting isn’t super big in the U.S., and MLS treats autograph requests accordingly.

Seattle Sounders - one of the only two clubs in MLS that actually sends a response to autograph requests - one lucky collector was even able to get a hat signed by the entire squad! (see here)

NYCFC - sends out hand-signed autograph cards occasionally, usually only one or two

*side note: unfortunately, it seems like most people have only reached out to European clubs, (with the exception of the A-League and MLS), so I can’t speak to whether clubs on other continents fulfill autograph requests. If you reach out to any clubs in leagues not mentioned here, let me know and I’ll update the list :)

Lingering questions:

How long does it take to hear back from clubs?

In my experience as someone living in the UK, I’ve heard back from every club I reached out to within 2-3 weeks (closer to the 2 week mark in most cases). It depends on how far away you live from the club though. I heard back from Manchester United within a week of mailing my request, but they were the exception, not the rule.

Tldr: expect to hear back within a month (maybe a month and a half in extreme cases)

Do clubs answer autograph requests during the off-season?

In my experience, no. I tried this a few years back with no success.

Can I send a shirt to be signed by a player?

I wouldn’t recommend it, as you may not get it back. If you do, the club will probably just return it to you unsigned. You’re better off just requesting an autograph card imo.

Do national teams send autograph cards?

Some do! Last I’ve heard, the German national team still answers requests with authentic signatures and the Croatian national team has sent out signed cards previously as well. The Czech Republic sends out unsigned squad cards. Last but not least, the Dutch national team has sent out fan posters in the past.

Apart from David MC’s autograph series, here’s some of the other videos that helped form this list:

[zaebeecee]

Blitzø’s 13 ••

Written by @fletchingbrilliant and ZaeBeeCee

Chapter 1: The Mastermind & the Con Man

Next chapter

Read on AO3

•••

Ocean’s Eleven-inspired Hellaverse fic.

When Blitzø receives a credible and threatening letter from an unknown source, he has no choice but to put together a team of hellborn and sinners for a little heist. The target? Lucifer Morningstar. The reason? That’s for him to worry about.

[ major ships: Stolitz, RadioDust, Fizzarozzie, Moxillie, Chaggie ]

•••

“Alright, Buckzo, here’s yer personal affects. Got a list fer ya to check’n make sure it’s all there.” The bleary-eyed demon on the other side of the desk pushed a grey plastic bin through the hole in the bullet-proof glass that separated him from the rabble he dealt with day in and day out.

The top layer was his jacket. Blitzø raised an eyebrow as he removed that, then his pants; the only other things in the bin, besides his boots and gloves, were a couple of tokens for the arcade down his block, a postage stamp he’d stolen from a kid on the day he was arrested (and, weirdly enough, what he’d thought he was getting picked up for at first), and a small ball of pocket lint.

His eyes went from the bin to the list. There were a lot of slots to list possessions, but his were just CLOTHES, TOKENS, STAMP???, and LINT. Blitzø felt his eyelids lowering. “Can’t say they don’t keep thorough records,” he muttered, taking his clothes and moving to leave.

“Don’t forget to sign,” the demon said. Blitzø sighed and grabbed the pen, scrawling his signature on the list. He started to leave again, but, “Hey, don’t forget your things.”

“It’s trash,” Blitzø said, gesturing at the bin with his free hand.

“It’s your trash,” the demon answered.

Blitzø glared up at the officer as he slowly reached out, grabbed the items in one hand, and dragged his claws along the bottom of the bin as he gathered them up. “Can I go now, or would you like me to wash the bin out before I return it?” The guard actually considered it. Before he could speak, Blitzø curled his lip, flicked the bin back through the hole, and got the fuck out of there.

Fifteen minutes later, Blitzø walked out of the large metal gate that stood around the Pride Ring’s only prison (thank fuck he hadn’t been stuck in Wrath, where he would have died, or Greed, where the for-profit prisons never would have let him out), resisting the urge to flip off the guard that rolled the gate’s door shut. What a fucking day, and it was only about three in the afternoon. He had no money, he had no phone, he had no ride… so, basically, the same position he’d been in four months ago when he’d been arrested. He headed off in the direction of Imp City, wondering if his apartment was even going to still be his when he got there. Loona was, after all, an adult. There was nothing saying she wouldn’t have taken the opportunity to get her own place. There was enough in his savings to cover rent, of course—especially with Barbie refusing to go back into rehab—but if the hellhound was no longer there to pay it…

Blitzø bummed a cigarette off a gimp who was tied to a road sign, waiting obediently for his… whatever to come out of a bakery, and he took a quarter from a change bowl in a convenience store (the cashier told him he wasn’t a customer and Blitzø reminded her that it was a convenience store and the quarter was convenient). He was halfway through the cigarette when he managed to find a pay phone that wasn’t completely mangled and out of commission, and he slipped the quarter into the slot, holding the receiver between his head and shoulder as he dialed the heavy metal buttons with one claw, his other hand holding onto the side of the box.

Hey, Loona, it’s me. I got released today. …no, shit, that’s distant. Hey, Loonie! Didja miss me? Fuck, she’ll just say no. Uh… …fuck’s sake. This shouldn’t be so hard.

The phone clicked, and a tinny recording of Loona’s voice filled his ear, and suddenly it didn’t matter that he didn’t know what to say. Her voicemail message hadn’t changed since he’d first gotten her that phone. He listened to her talk until it beeped, and then he hung up, retrieved his quarter, and went back to walking.

The apartment building was the same as he remembered, and the spare key was hidden in the same place, which was a huge relief, because he didn’t really want to get caught picking a lock into his own damn house on his first day out of the clink. Of course, it wasn’t like Hell really had laws, per se; really, it seemed to be if you pissed off the wrong rich person, they could get you put away for a while, and prisons in Hell sucked. On the one hand, they didn’t have their Ring Prince to worry about, because Lucifer never went anywhere. On the other, this ring was full of sinners, and sinners meant overlords, and fuck overlords.

The apartment was lit by nothing but the red light of the late afternoon sky filtering in through the windows. Blitzø flicked a light on and took the place in, everything from the arrangement of the furniture to the smell of the living room feeling nostalgic after so long an absence. It didn’t look like Loona had left, judging by the breakfast dishes in the sink and the new poster for a band he’d never heard of pinned to the wall, but she’d clearly left this part of the apartment alone for the most part. He almost smiled when he saw that his pillow was still on the couch.

She sure does hate change.

Blitzø found his phone lying face down on the desk, and it was off; dead, he assumed, until he tried turning it on and watched the screen light up before informing him it was fully charged. That finally brought a smile to his face, imagining Loona charging his phone for him, then unplugging it and turning it off.

He had one missed call from Loona with no voicemail from the day he got arrested. Other than that, nothing but four month’s worth of solicitor calls and spam emails. But that was fine. He hadn’t expected anything different. Who was going to call him? Loona knew he was locked up, and had probably told Fizz (and their relationship was iffy when either of them were feeling volatile), and… of course… St—

Blitzø crammed his phone in his pocket and went into the kitchen, scrounging for anything he could eat that didn’t need any kind of preparation. He grabbed a package of raw red meat, apologized mentally to Loona with a promise to replace it later, and went to the couch to shove the whole thing in his face.

He was moments away from calling Loona again—he really, really didn’t want to get attacked if she came home and freaked because there was someone in the apartment—before a knock at the door jarred him out of his thoughts. He cursed his bad luck, because of course someone would come by to sell something the fucking moment he got home. Determined to ignore it, Blitzø got to his feet and threw the package away when they knocked again. And then again. He crossed to the door, wondering if he could get away with just opening it, shooting whoever it was, and then get back to his very busy schedule of jack shit.

“I know you’re in there, Blitzo,” a strange voice called through the door in the annoying sing-song of a service worker who liked their job too much.

Blitzø cringed and put his hand on the jamb. “Then you’d know that’s not my name,” he called back in the same tone. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying, pal. Fuck off.”

“I’m not selling anything,” the stranger said. “I just have a delivery. I was instructed to give it to you personally.”

With a thud, Blitzø let his forehead hit the door. “How long do I have to ignore you before you go away?”

“I’ll stand here all night. And I’ll keep knocking.”

“Fuuuuck,” Blitzø whined, unlocking the door and opening it to find himself face-to-face with a courier imp. “What?” The courier looked entirely unbothered. He offered a letter to him. Blitzø stared at it, then looked back at the courier. “Whomst the fuck?”

“Someone who paid a great deal of money to get this delivered to you in a timely manner,” the courier said. “That’s all I know.”

Blitzø narrowed his eyes, snatched the letter, and slammed the door before the courier could nag him for a tip. He carried it to the couch and threw himself over the back, landing in a laying position and holding the letter over his head. Too thin to be a bomb, and nobody paid for a hand delivery of anthrax or some shit. There was no identification on it, but the envelope was made of some nice fucking material, so whoever sent it was at least attempting to put on the pretense of wealth. He grabbed a corner with his teeth and ripped the side open as a private and somewhat petty display of disdain, then spit the strip of envelope onto the coffee table and withdrew the letter.

It was nice paper too, a single sheet that had been typed on what looked like a typewriter. There was no signature, but it was addressed to “Blitzø”, and whoever wrote this had taken the time to cross the ‘o’ out with a pen. He couldn’t tell if that was because they were trying to endear themselves to him, if it was sarcastic, or something else. Honestly, he didn’t care all that much, and his eyes just skated over the contents of the letter until he hit a word that made him sit up straight.

Stolas?

Blitzø stared at the word. It didn’t change. He went back to the beginning of the letter and actually read it this time. Then he read it again, and again, feeling colder and angrier through each mental repetition. By the time he was through the sixth read, he was hunched over with his elbows on his knees, his claws piercing through the paper. “Who the fuck do you think you are, you son of a bitch?” he whispered, but of course, no one answered him.

He looked at the short final paragraph again.

You may choose to ignore this promise, whether his fate is of no importance to you or you simply do not believe it to be true. But keep in mind that his blood will be on your hands as much as it will be on ours.

Blitzø picked up the envelope again and noticed that it wasn’t empty. He hesitated for a long moment, because he really didn’t want to know, before he tipped the envelope to the side and felt something sliding out. After a few seconds, the envelope spit out a polaroid photograph and two feathers, all three of which fell into his lap.

The photograph was of Stolas, asleep in his bedroom, and had been taken from inside the room. The feathers… he would have known those anywhere. They were Stolas’s, and judging by the ends of the quill, they hadn’t fallen out naturally. They had been plucked from him.

“Fuck,” Blitzø muttered, putting his head in one hand and resisting the urge to crumple the letter up in his hand. It was fucking ridiculous, that was what it was. He and Stolas hadn’t spoken in five years, not since he’d tried to rob the Goetian Prince and that had turned into… a… thing that had lasted a short period of time and that Blitzø himself had put a rather abrupt end to. Even if it was true—and he didn’t know that it was!—why would this douchebag contact him? Of all people?

And the demand… it was worse than insane. It was fucking impossible. It wasn’t something a royal could pull off, and this asshole was expecting it from an imp?

…no. They weren’t. At least, not alone. And that was why they wanted him, wasn’t it?

Blitzø’s mind reeled with possibilities. Thoughts. With planning, it wouldn’t be completely unworkable, but where in Hell would he find anyone at all who was willing to go on such a foolhardy mission? And for no fucking pay?

No, asshole, we leave the ‘no pay’ part out and figure out how to break that to them when we get out. If we get out. If I can talk anyone else into it. Or we’ll just take more shit and that’ll be their pay. Finding a fence can be their problem, not mine.

A plan. He needed a plan. Blitzø went to the desk and grabbed a notebook and a pen, mentally berating himself for the fact that he wasn’t just ignoring the letter and getting back to his miserable fucking day. He had the photo and he had the feathers, but neither of those things were proof that the threat was true. Then again… if it was true, and he ignored it… He sat again and began writing the incomprehensible scrawls and diagrams that meant nothing to anyone except him, trying his damndest to formulate anything close to a workable solution to this stupid fucking problem.

The sun had set when he finally sat back and stared at the paper. It was… a lot of pieces with a lot of preparation. And there was so much that could go wrong. So, so much. But it was a good plan. If it worked.

It will work.

My plans always work.

It fucking has to work.

So that was one step down. Blitzø took a deep breath and got to his feet, starting to pace as he went through the contacts on his phone and tapped Fizz’s icon. Blitzø kept pacing as he waited for him to pick up, and the moment he heard the click, he spoke before Fizz had a chance to say anything. “Please don’t hang up on me yet.”

•

Fizz waited a number of rings before giving in. He knew, he knew, if Blitzø was actually calling, he legitimately needed something. It could have been anything from life-or-death drama to an emotional breakdown, but it would be a need all the same.

He sank into the seat in his dressing room, chewing his gum louder on principle. “Okay, Blitzø, you got like a minute.”

“You are a peach okay so I got out of prison today, surprise, hi, and I have a fucking fantastic job idea that I am really going to need your help with. But it’ll be so worth it! Like, so fucking worth it!”

Fizz scraped a bit of lint from under his claw, holding his hand out to make sure he didn’t scuff any polish. “You just got out. Today.”

“Sure did!”

“And you’re already planning a big job. Today.”

“Sure am!” Blitzø had that tone that he got when he was either intentionally being suicidal or was honestly just that confident in a great plan, and it was never clear which it was. “Come on, you’re always down to stick it to the ruling classes, right? It’s just a little lift! A single, solitary, itty bitty little treasure.”

Fizz snorted. “Are you kidding me? There’s no such thing as a little lift with you… unless it’s a new fling.” Unseen by his friend he stuck out his own unreasonably long tongue. He knew Blitzø knew.

“Don’t stick that out at me unless you plan to use it,” Blitzø said with a chuckle that sounded genuine. “But I’ve got you curious now, don’t I? You want in. I know you do.”

He threw himself over the side of his chair, kicking his feet back and forth. The whir of mechanics was like a sad yet comforting song. His tailed hat tinkled as the bells brushed the floor.

“...fuuuuuuuuck you know I doooooooo. Fine. I’m in, bitch.”

“Fuck yeah! Lucifer’s not gonna know what hit him!” Blitzø exclaimed.

Fizz fell over with a shriek, taking the chair with him. He scrabbled for his thrown phone, stomach on the floor and feet tangled in the chair. “Lucifer??! What the everloving fuck are you thinking, Blitzø???”

“Ah, fuck,” Blitzø groaned. He clearly hadn’t meant to say that. “Fizz. Fizzle. Fizzy-Bizzy. Calm down. I told you, I have a plan, just… just let me come and explain it to you, and I promise, it’ll make sense. Are you…” He hesitated, just for an instant, and then continued in that forced casual tone he used when he knew he was navigating potentially sensitive territory and didn’t want to seem either conscious of that or emotional. “Are you still shacking up with that guy from the Lust Ring?”

Fizz’s stomach flipped. His false hand shook in its grip on his phone.

Don't cry. Don't. You knew it wasn't gonna last. You knew it wasn't anything more than a fling.

He's the King of Lust, for fuck’s sake.

“...nah. We split. Had to get back to Greed and all anyway, y’know?” He tried to fake a casual laugh.

If Blitzø noticed, he didn’t say anything, but his tone was a little too bright to be truly oblivious. “Ah, yeah, right. Guess that makes sense. So… you’re back in that apartment?” Blitzø’s distaste was audible—he’d never made a secret of how much he hated Mammon, as well as the Greed Ring in general—but he didn’t harp on it this time. “What time are you off? I’ll come by then, unless you think Mammajamma’s gonna flip his shit if he finds out I’m there.”

“Uhhh…” Fizz had pulled himself up until he was sitting on the floor with his knees to his chest. Rehearsals had wrapped up for the day. And how likely was it that he'd pull an impromptu press release? The new show was only in test mode so far… “I'm wrapping up now. But let’s… let's meet at the Faust’s Bargain Café. I'll get us a private room in the back.”

“Beautiful. I’ll head out.” Blitzø was oddly silent for a few seconds, like he was debating what to say. “…see you soon, Fizz.”

Fizzarolli hung up the phone and stared at it, knees splayed out on the floor and his feet on either side of his hips. He ignored the pressure behind his eyes and the way his throat was clenching. The photo on his mirror was staring down at him. Mammon with his arm over Fizz’s shoulder, both of them grinning brightly. Fizz would look at it constantly, trying to remind himself that this was his dream. It didn't matter that Mammon’s ‘nickname’ for Fizz was scrawled over it.

It was cute when he called him a cunt.

He sighed, staring at it again. When he glanced back down at his phone, he saw he had opened his photo album without meaning to. He scrolled up… and there it was. The one photo he'd allowed himself to keep. Their cheeks pressed together, their smiles so warm.

That’s what happy looks like on other people. Not me.

Maybe if this plan of Blitzø’s went well, he'd be able to bargain for a better contract.

And if it didn't… he'd probably be dead, so it didn't really matter.

•••

Fizzarolli made a point to leave work through the second back way instead of the main exit. It was his time to leave, but he couldn't count on Mammon to not stop him and surprise him with another Late Night Bonus Rehearsal™.

He used the back entrance for the café, too. It was bad enough being out in the world without someone he knew around when not many demons knew who he was, but after becoming the Famous Fizzarolli, it developed into a whole new nightmare. With a special tap on the door, he was allowed in and given his private room, along with instructions to lead Blitzø to him once he arrived. To pass the time he started making a castle out of glasses and silverware on the table in the cozy curtained nook.

Blitzø arrived after about thirty minutes, which meant he must have booked it from Pride considering the time of night. “Yeah, thanks, don’t touch me,” he was saying as he entered the room, waving his hands at whoever it was that escorted him back. It was always the same when they met up, and it clearly hadn’t changed; even with direct instructions from Fizzarolli, no one ever seemed to believe that Blitzø could actually belong in the same room with him.

Once the escort had left, Blitzø flipped off their back before he turned to Fizzarolli. He looked pretty much the same as he had the last time they’d spoken, clearly still taking better care of his coat than he was of his health, but he seemed oddly stressed. Of course, he’d just gotten out of prison, so that was probably to be expected, but…

“You look fit,” Blitzø observed with only the mildest flirtatious overtone as he pulled a chair out with his foot and slipped into the seat, keeping his eyes on his friend the whole time.

Fizz raised an eyebrow, stretching out to lounge on the cushy bench he'd claimed. Something is really wrong. “Fit and flexible, baby. Did some pre-drinking on the way here or what?”

Blitzø shrugged. “I drive better buzzed,” he said with a sharp smirk, hooking one elbow over the back of his chair. “And it wasn’t my car, anyway. I’m surprised you agreed to meet with me after what I said.”

“After which thing you said?” Fizz snorted. “The overly personal stuff, or the thing about pulling a job against the fucking king of everything?”

“Oh, the second part, I don’t give a shit if I was overly personal,” Blitzø said dismissively, waving his hand a little. Since he wasn’t bringing the topic up again, Fizz knew it was Blitzø’s way of apologizing, as inadequate as it might be. “And, besides, I don’t mean… like… robbing him, robbing him. We aren’t going to his actual residence or something. Just, y’know, lifting some shit from Lucifer’s Palace.”

Fizz pushed himself up to lean over the table, stretching his arms across its length with a teasing smirk. “And just what in the hell could be worth the incredibly stupid risk, huh? You were right, I just have to know.”

“Alright, catch this,” Blitzø said, leaning in as well and lowering his voice for dramatic effect. “Lucifer’s Palace, the Pride Ring’s only resort and ritziest vacay spot, is opening its doors officially for the first time in seven years. There’s some high-profile soirée shit going down there in a few months. They’re keeping the details for it on the DL, so I don’t know what it’s for. What I do know is that the place is gonna be packed. It’s also gonna be playing host to all kinds of sinners and hellborn, which we know always gets messy as fuck.” He smiled. “When you invite children into your house, you childproof it. And when you childproof your house, you take your most important shit and you put it somewhere safe.”

Blitzø pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen a few times, then placed it on the table to show Fizz. He had pulled up a VoxNet image gallery of the artifacts kept in Lucifer’s Palace, scrolling through them slowly.

“Every single one of these objects is usually on display in the Palace at all times. And, of course, very carefully guarded. But—and here’s the fun part—whenever the place has a large gathering of mixed company, there’s always the threat of them getting damaged or going missing as collateral damage from an inevitable blowup. So, protocol is that each and every artifact is removed from the floor and placed in a safe beneath the palace. The safe is, of course, Lucifer’s safe, which is both good and bad. It’s bad because, well, obviously. But it’s good because it means there will be minimal security devoted to watching it.”

Blitzø scrolled back up the list and tapped an item to bring up its page. It was a simple, gnarled staff, made of two different types of wood twisted together. The groove where the wood met was a deep red, like an open wound torn between the two of them. The description called it the Bastinade of Life and Knowledge.

“This staff is made of the wood from those two trees from that story of Lucifer and Lilith’s excision from Eden. You know, the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil.” Blitzø caught Fizz’s eye and held contact. “I have a buyer for it. We just need to get our hands on it.”

Fizz felt the air leave his scarred lungs. He turned wide and disbelieving eyes to his longtime friend. So many different things flew through his head. Different problems, different dreads, too many things that could go wrong. Even success could mean some very bad things. “You can't be serious. Who– why– who is hiring you for this? Why did you say yes??”

“Whoa whoa whoa calm your fuckin’ tits,” Blitzø hissed, leaning in further. “As far as who, proprietary. You can’t be held accountable for shit I didn’t tell you. As far as why, because I have an incredible fucking plan, just like always. I’ve got a line on a backer, I’ve got a connection in security at the Palace, and I can get both the blueprints and the event schedule on both the guest side and the employee side.”

Reality was settling over Fizz with a detached sort of horror. His extreme expression flattened into one no one else ever saw. “You're really serious about this. You really intend to pull this off… and you're not gonna tell me why it's worth it to do something this stupid. So I've gotta ask… what do you got to convince me it's worth risking my very expensive ass?”

For once, Blitzø’s expression remained completely serious, matching Fizz’s for intensity. “I can’t do it without you,” he said in a rare and very open display of sincerity. “Both of us know that. If I go into this alone, I’m not getting out of it.”

Fizz froze. He stared at his oldest friend-slash-frenemy, scanning his face, searching for something aside from that harrowing sincerity. But that was it.

“Okay, Blitzø. I'm with you. Now who in all of Hell would actually back this insanity?” He was glad Blitzø wasn't asking him. The idea of hiding that kind of expense from Mammon was…

Blitzø actually winced, just a little. “Well… a sinner,” he said, holding up his hand immediately, like he could sense the oncoming protest. “I know. I know, but you have to admit, sinners would be the only ones who’d actually commit resources to shit like this. And there’s one sinner in particular, an overlord, who’s apparently something of an actual enemy to Lucifer.” He smiled a little tensely. “You listen to the radio much out in Greed these days?”

Fizz cringed. “You mean the All Day Torture Fest? It's not worth all of the nightmare fuel to get to the good… stuff… wait… you're not saying…”

“There are people who say the Radio Demon will do anything if it brings chaos to the House of the Morningstar.”

“You're on something new, my guy. There's no fucking way you should be messing with the Radio Demon. That guy is… I mean…” Fizz hugged himself, feeling suddenly cold. “...have you listened to his show? A bunch of freaks are practically addicted to it, so sometimes I can't avoid it.”

Like my boss.

“Hey, I have wide and varied tastes,” Blitzø said evasively, which was enough to tell Fizz that he had listened to it, but how he felt about it was anyone’s guess. “It’s kind of irrelevant, anyway. I already looked into other options, and the Palace has contracted VoxTek for security for the event, so all of the Vees are out of the question. And I don’t know of any other overlords who would be willing to back this besides one of them or the Radio Demon. But look, you let me take care of that part, okay? You don’t have to come.”

“Hey. You're the one who's actually interacted with sinners before. I want nothing to do with that. Have fun, don't die.”

Blitzø laughed. “Oh, bitch, I’ll be fine. Before I talk to him, though, I’ve got a couple of people I wanna get in touch with. I know someone who’s working at the Palace that I’m pretty sure will get in on this, and I met a guy in prison the time before this last one that I think I can bully into helping. He’s a pushover but he has quick hands.” He hesitated, then sighed, resting his elbow on the table and putting his head in his hand. “I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m gonna do about Loona, though. She wasn’t home so I haven’t even seen her yet.”

Fizz found his expression softening. There was not a nice way to ask this question. “Is she… She's still staying there, right?”

Blitzø nodded. “…well, I think so, anyway,” he amended, rolling his eyes slightly. “She’s at least using it for food and she made sure the rent got paid, but there’s no telling if she’s actually sleeping there or not. And if she is… she’ll be pissed if I don’t tell her about this, but I can’t just bring her.”

“Oh, she's not gonna like that,” Fizz chuckled.

“I know,” Blitzø groaned, slumping until his face met the table. He then sighed and sat up, schooling his expression in a way that Fizz could only see after years of experience. “I’ll figure it out. Are you hungry, or do you have to head straight back?”

He thought about it. “...Fuck it. I'm not technically scheduled and, oh, the reception in here gets so bad sometimes. Let's feast, bitch.” He didn't just silence his phone, he shut the damned thing off.

Who could say? Maybe the payoff would be big enough that he could consider some… adjustments to his career path.

•••

Next chapter

[is-she-suffering]

Kerrang Magazine - 04/10/2003

KATIE JANE GARSIDE Queen Adreena

IT’S TELLING that Katie Jane Garside takes her influences from literature rather than other musicians. More a poet, she’s one of the most emotionally honest lyricists around. It can make for harrowing listening, but it also has the effect – through her own brutal self-analysis – of blasting an unforgiving light on all emotions good or bad, and showing them to be natural. It’s something that has led many to think of her as teetering on the precipice of sanity. She first appeared a tiny, fragile, elfin creature, in the early ‘90s post-punk outfit Daisy Chainsaw, who scored a hit with ‘Love Your Money’. Now with Queen Adreena, clad in ragged fairy dresses and flowers in her hair, she represents total vulnerability through her breathy, pained vocals. She’s almost childlike in her ability to open the deepest, darkest thoughts in her soul, not afraid to show weakness, and desperately searching for the answer to happiness in life. Onstage, she’s begging us to understand her. One day, when she understands herself, maybe we will.

Finest hour: Rising from the flames to get as far as Queen Adreena’s third, forthcoming album.

“REALITY IS A TINY POSTAGE STAMP.” That unique Garside worldview in full…

Where does the inspiration for your lyrics come from? “My subjective and completely claustrophobic universe. I’m always trying to break a hole in my bubble, but it always closes over before I manage to get a hand out of it. I feel like I’m in a very small mirrored room and anything I say or do is just reflected back at me.”

Who has influenced you? “I just read the Francis Farmer biography, which is an absolutely devastating read. It seemed that she managed to break her bubble and then died the same day. I’m not sure it’s an influence, but it’s somebody else’s eyes that looked exactly like mine looking back at me.”

How does it feel being onstage? “I’m trying to punch holes in the canvas of what is ultimately what I am and scrape my fingernails on the sky, trying to find a new self. Expand my lungs a bit so I can breathe new air. It’s a momentary fix that sometimes works.”

Does the fact that your songs mean something to other people help you? “Sometimes you meet people, and they say something to you through their eyes that says they know where I am, where I’ve been, and who I am. Those are the moments that keep me breathing. I would never be able to say I’ve got that through my work, that’s not what the work’s for.”

How do you feel about how you’re portrayed as this mentally fragile person? “It’s as far removed from me as I am from myself. When I’m looking, everything seems like it’s a million miles away from me, because so-called reality is a tiny postage stamp an inconceivable amount of miles away. What anybody thinks about me is a million miles away.”

[penroseparticle]

Curation 2024: Flesh and Marble

Hey! You got an hour?

I love curation. I like taking the unending deluge of information, of sensations, of stuff that the world throws at us, and I just. I think one of the kindest, most gentle things you can do for another person is say "look at this. Decision paralysis is banished, information overload is dead, check out this story I've created. Look at these specific rocks out of the infinite combinations of rocks there are. Not just these rocks, but this order. See the narrative? There's a through line, if you look. Trust Me. Take my hand."

I love making playlists for that exact reason. You almost have to make them like throwing pots, with a reckless abandon that allows for a stroke of inspiration. But also, you kind of have to be allowed to let a few off the wheel lumpy and potential but not fully realized. You gotta Get Down with the concept of failure. To burn through them until you find just the right combination of songs that captures a feeling, a time, a memory. A museum of music.

I like museums because they are, more than anything, a signpost for what we find important. A landmark. The public art of city streets given form in an art museum, sometimes even through that same public art, often divorced of context, because museums don't let themselves be weird enough. To commit to the bit enough.Too few museums truly curate, truly immerse in the story. Give you a reason to follow the threads they lay. You start to almost resent it. Get in your feelings. Feel Sum Kinda Way. But once you learn to speak museum, you realize that they can only meet you halfway, and you are your own curator as you wander hallowed halls and learn about building materials, about Rothko, about postage stamps. You pick your own adventure. And you fall in love with museums all over again.

So when I find a museum or something that I enjoy, I just. Lose It. I want to share it. I want to take you along and say "LOOK AT THIS. How Does It Make You Feel." I want you to share in the wonder, and the marvel. So sometimes I even write. Sometimes I say, I can enchant you, ensnare you. I can bring you along the line, into the fold, I can capture a sunray for the length of a paragraph. Time frozen in amber, in service of you seeing just a touch of the magic.

I almost died again this year. Maybe more than once. There's Comedy in death. Even near death. We have to let ourselves laugh at it. We stay silly right? You can't greet death as an old friend if you're scared of him. But you can't chase after him either. He's coy. He's shy. He'll come when he's ready. And I'm not ready now either.

I don't think I'm as scared anymore though. I wouldn't say You're My Best Friend, Death. But you're certainly no stranger. You're not someone I would turn away, and I would share a drink with you. I would be tender, I think. You have it rough too.

I think this year of all things I'm falling in love again. I fell out of love with life, a while back. It was rough and it was scary and I didn't feel like myself. And I still don't, but we all know time pulls us forward, yadda yadda, you can't step into the same river twice, you are a construct and all constructs are ever changing, time stole my front porch; can't have shit in ship of theseus. I Want To Know Your Plans, time, but the future is that quote from Nightvale, always flinching first, leaving me only a present.

So I'm different now. In the present. In some ways worse. in some better. I think I'm gentler, at least I hope so. I want to be kinder. I want to treat people with care. And I want to share an idea to cap off this year, because I want to have curated my own experience, and maybe I can help you fall in love with life again too. Next year is going up, because I am on the Up and Up.

I can't get past the idea of choice. What makes the gardener pick flowers or weeds? The tastes of the gardener. What they cultivate, what they choose. They curate their garden and all of living is just. This same action again and again, on larger or smaller scales. When I was little I tried to get into Rollerblades. I thought they were super cool, I thought I'd be a cool kid in rollerblades. But I was drawn to biking. I still bike now. You can stand, if you dare, with the wind blowing through you, wheels turning all on their own, you king of the world on your personal palantir. You can pump your legs and get your heart singing and I can't imagine my life if I'd picked rollerblades. You know?

I started chasing an idea halfway through this, but to loop back to what I wanted to explain is- I want to curate my experience of this year. I want to be able to point to this year down the line and show just why it mattered- not for the time everyone will think, but the time that happened after. I looked at my life and said, I can Make It Better. I can rebuild it, different this time. I can be me, but a little further down the river. A few more boards replaced.

Can I do it? Can I Be Him? The me I want to be, the one who took this year and kindled something bright? I miss my surety. I miss my certainty. Everything feels like a big muddy middle right now, and I don't think I can ever reach as high or as low as I once did. But I think I can be steadily climbing up. Boot up bitch, the stairs are slippery but it turns out you have nothing but time.

My mom wants me to move home. She's scared, for me, out here "alone". She doesn't think my friends took good care of me, given what happened in March. I can't blame her. I wasn't taken good care of. I wouldn't let people, I hid it all. I was ashamed. I was embarassed. It's Hard To Live In The City, but not for the reasons my mom thinks- there's so much going on here. There's so much information and so many things to know and see and do, you can hide in plain sight. You can craft a narrative. You can shape the experience so that what you are, what you need, who you have become is hidden.

I know now that I need to be seen, to be known. I need other people to get who I am. But I'm not Fred Astaire- I can't be someone to everyone, even just a name. I have to curate (sick of me yet?) my own experience. My own image. I have to choose who my audience is now. It's tougher to decide who is worth your attention (And it is attention- that's all an audience is). It feels like gardening. Who's a flower and who's a weed. I don't like it. But you have to, to live. And I'm tired of not living.

And so I walk forward from my own Easter rebirth. Shaky legged, on stilts like Bambi, just becoming a new man. I hate it but you make yourself every day, don't you? Why would now be any different. I'm just more aware of it. It'll fade, with time. Like the scar it is. But I don't want to forget this feeling. I want to remember it. To have a story to tell that circles around it, gives it edges and definition. And so I wrote this.

It's part playlist. It's part poetry. It's prose, but it's prosaically just a list of songs as well. I sat down to write and my hands started moving, and I got here, with you. Are you still with me? I'm glad. I'm glad I'm still here, and I'm glad you're here with me. I'm even glad I'm still awake,writing this instead of sleeping. What's The Time Where You Are? Here it's late-about 1AM. And I have to finish this, I'm almost done. I wanted to leave you somewhere better than we started. This story is going up, remember?

I've picked a better audience, actually. That's a good first step. They're not the King Of My Heart, but they might be as close as it gets. I feel sweet. I feel simple. I feel at ease. But more importantly I feel like I can do. I can accomplish. I can rest. I can recover. I can just. Be.

Maybe this music isn't to your liking. But that's ok, I Don't Mind. I didn't make it for you to fall in love with. I made it to make you fall in love with the idea. I want you to curate your own life. You have to. Or you're not living. I want you to love the life that you've made. I don't love mine yet. But I want to, and I'm going to. And that's that on that.

I guess the elephant in the room is, why Flesh and Marble? Why not Clay, like old man Ozymandius? It ties better to the throwing pots above. Of getting muddy biking, of being down in the dirt before rising three days later. Even now I'm thinking that Feet of Clay is a much better title. But I like Flesh and Marble. The first song I put on here was a similar title structure. But I didn't want to give the concept air time, actually- too close to March for my liking, although the song was great. It just wasn't the vibe. But the name was close. And the artist. Armani Caesar. What a name! So I guess. The title is an oblique reference. A circumnavigation of the problem. A polite, detached nod to the impetus whilst giving it no credit.

But yeah. I hope you've listened, as you've gone. The songs matter a great deal to me this year, and they almost always do. I'm sappy and I stick to a song once I love it. I'll love it for 10 years. 20 years. 100 years. I attach so fast, and sometimes forever, if indelibly.

Curate your life. Build something of value. And by god find beauty or you'll die.

Peace.

[dame-nostalgique]

Hello olga

Your envelopes are stunning!

Did you take lessons to learn this skill ? Do you offer online classes for those of us who would love to learn?

Hello! Thank you so much - I'm so happy that you enjoy my crafts! 💕

I like to think that my creativity comes from within, and my inspiration, from the things I surround myself with. So no, I didn't follow any tutorials or online classes, as coming up with my own ideas is my favorite part of creating! Things like decorating an envelope aren't that complicated after all, so it's all about the personal touch! My advice for you would be to start gathering supplies from around you and from things that inspire you. Instead of mass produced stickers, start collecting pressed flowers and leaves, old books that you can repurpose, vintage postcards, postage stamps, wax seals, lace, ribbons, book illustrations, thrifted fabrics. If you have access to a printer, print out your favorite classical art pieces, old drawings and flowers. Letters are really a sort of canvas that gives unlimited possibilities - you can add little paintings, natural dyes, interesting pieces of nature, fabrics, bookmarks, tea and sweets, calligraphy, booklets, keepsakes from travels, polaroids, to name just a few. One practical thing you might need to start, would be looking up tutorials on how to make different envelopes from a square and rectangular paper, although you can also buy them in all sizes. After that, just decorate away and I promise it will look lovely and your pen pals will love it! Look around you with caution - there are hundreds of unusual inspirations waiting for you to find, just follow what is natural for you! When starting a new project, pick a theme and specific colors that will make your work more coherent. I'm always here if you need a specific idea or help with something creative, so feel free to ask. I'm also working on a pen pal and journaling list of resources and helpful info 🌺🌹

[newlabdakos]

Triceratops

(temporal range: 68-66 mio. years ago)

[text from the Wikipedia article, see also link above]

Triceratops (/traɪˈsɛrətɒps/ try-SERR-ə-tops;[1] lit. 'three-horned face') is a genus of chasmosaurine ceratopsian dinosaur that lived during the late Maastrichtian age of the Late Cretaceous period, about 68 to 66 million years ago in what is now western North America. It was one of the last-known non-avian dinosaurs and lived until the Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event 66 million years ago. The name Triceratops, which literally means 'three-horned face', is derived from the Greek words trí- (τρί-) meaning 'three', kéras (κέρας) meaning 'horn', and ṓps (ὤψ) meaning 'face'.

Bearing a large bony frill, three horns on the skull, and a large, four-legged body, exhibiting convergent evolution with bovines and rhinoceroses, Triceratops is one of the most recognizable of all dinosaurs and the most well-known ceratopsian. It was also one of the largest, up to 8–9 metres (26–30 ft) long and 5–9 metric tons (5.5–9.9 short tons) in body mass. It shared the landscape with and was most likely preyed upon by Tyrannosaurus, though it is less certain that two adults would battle in the fanciful manner often depicted in museum displays and popular media. The functions of the frills and three distinctive facial horns on its head have long inspired countless debates. Traditionally, these have been viewed as defensive weapons against predators. More recent interpretations find it probable that these features were primarily used in species identification, courtship, and dominance display, much like the antlers and horns of modern ungulates.

Triceratops was traditionally placed within the "short-frilled" ceratopsids, but modern cladistic studies show it to be a member of Chasmosaurinae, which usually have long frills. Two species, T. horridus and T. prorsus, are considered valid today. Seventeen different species, however, have been named throughout history. Research published in 2010 concluded that the contemporaneous Torosaurus, a ceratopsid long regarded as a separate genus, represents Triceratops in its mature form. This view has still been highly disputed and much more data is needed to settle this ongoing debate.

Triceratops has been documented by numerous remains collected since the genus was first described in 1889 by American paleontologist Othniel Charles Marsh. Specimens representing life stages from hatchling to adult have been found. As the archetypal ceratopsian, Triceratops is one of the most beloved, popular dinosaurs and has been featured in numerous films, postage stamps, and many other types of media.

[lengthy-artery]

(numbers station-ing you) 3 ,16 ,35

OOF AUGH IVE BEEN NUMBERS STATIONED

Fic writer asks!

3. Are there any fics that inspired you to write what you do?

Buddy you know you're asking someone with memory issues. All that's coming to mind is this one college AU Merthur fic I read way back in the day but I've never written a college AU so I don't know how much it influenced me.

16. Do you research for your fics? If so, how deep of a rabbit hole have you gone down by accident when researching?

*flashback to googling Edwardian last wills and testaments so I could accurately write a single scene in my gothic horror Edwardian murder mystery ghost romance fic. Also googling when postage stamps were invented for the same reason*

I do a normal amount of research. A normal, regular amount of research that has never ever led to me trawling the internet for hours at a time in search of extremely niche, specific information that no one else will ever notice. Also I have definitely not, with the help of my flatmate, put together an entire google folder with documents detailing information about different characters and a timeline of events taken from assorted research including the book the show was based on just so that we would both have an accurate baseline to match our canon-compliant fics to. I would never do that. I'm normal.

35. How much has writing fic changed your life?

I mean I'm pretty certain it's thanks to fic writing that I have my current job, so... quite a bit I would say.

Legitimately though, fic writing has done a lot for me. It's introduced me to a lot of people who ended up becoming really good friends of mine; getting my work beta-read taught me how to accept criticism and corrections and taught me how grammar and punctuation actually work; writing long multichapters showed me what I was capable of, and helped me find my own best method for planning long-form stories, and got me accustomed to regular daily writing; all the fic writing I've done helped me find my own voice in writing and feel confident with certain aspects of work; said writing also meant that when my current work team were looking for a technical writer, I had writing skills that were 100% up to the task.

So in short, I'd say that fic writing has changed my life a fair amount.

[corv-idae]

Hello!!! I was wondering if you could tell us about your tattoos? I love all of them and would like to similar ones :>

Hi!! Absolutely I can go over them for you!! Omg this is so exciting

I’m assuming this is in reference to this post from a while ago:

If it isn’t please forgive me 😭, but if it is this is about a year old so I’ve collected a couple others than the tattoos you see in these photos! I’d be delighted to go over them all though! Please feel free to use them as references for your tattoos (please don’t copy them directly out of respect for my tattoo artists who designed them (if not respect for me!) ((all artists listen here will be embedded with links to their respective social media pages))

The two that are probably most important are the ones on the backs of my arms! Revali’s Great Eagle Bow and Miphas Trident! (this photo was taken the day these were done by Saraostattoo) :

The first tattoo I ever got is on the back of my shoulder, I forget it’s there all the time, my mom proof read this for me and asked about it being missing lol it was done by mariangelo.tattoo this photo is healed 3 years or so

I’m also rockin a couple pieces by politeslut !

The first piece she did for me was a Big Flash sheet design of some rose hips! (Ouch ouch) picture is 6months healed

She’s also done a Celtic symbol on my upper arm that matches with my aunt (I won’t get into explaining symbolism, sorry this photo is also terrible taking these on my own with my cellphone is proving to be not my forte, yes this one needs to be touched up)

And most recently for me she did a Great Big Freehanded Snake! (this one is so difficult to take pictures of & only a month old/healing but you can find the process pictures of it here)

The last handful & majority of my tattoos were done by rat.tooth.tattoo ! The first one he ever did for me being a Postage Stamp Flash Piece this photo is from the day of:

He then did my elbow ditch Dynamax Butterfree, photo also from the day of (this is a common theme):

My video game herb bundle half sleeve, this one’s a doozy so you get the TikTok and the drawing:

He’s also done my hands as a memorial piece for when I lost my cat this past year (he lived to be 21 and he was an awful old bastard & my best friend)

Thank you if you made it this far, I don’t think I’ve ever made a post this long before! If there’s any questions or if you want to share your tattoos with me I’d love to see them! I hope this is what you were looking for & if not let me know what I can do to fix that :D

[getvalentined]

I didn't mean for this to get so long, so fair warning on that, and I know it's not meant to be super serious, but I gotta chime in on the claims of how influential destiel is to fandom and fan culture as a whole, because it's just so overstated.

I knew destiel wasn't patient zero for omegaverse! (I didn't remember that it was RPF. Bonkers.) I do think that destiel probably popularized the concept, but it's wild to see how people saying things like "destiel is as influential as Kirk/Spock! Know your roots!" while others claim the rights to something that 1. wasn't even related to the ship in the first place, and 2. features a lot of tropes that are clearly and heavily inspired by Amok Time/Pon Farr and are therefore the result of the very ship they're claiming destiel matches in influence.

For the record, I'm not being hyperbolic about that, it's actually been said:

If we're talking about overall franchise influence, Gundam characters have been featured on postage stamps in Japan, as has Rose of Versailles, a key inspiration for Revolutionary Girl Utena, which in turn was a major inspiration for G-Witch. Star Trek has also been featured on postage stamps in multiple countries, with a lot of them featuring Kirk and Spock specifically! I could be wrong, but I can't find any instance that this was done for Supernatural, much less prominently featuring Dean and Cas.

The day that Suletta and Miorine being married was stated as canon (before Bandai tried to walk it back and then later were revealed to be lying liars who lie), the series occupied three of Japan's top five daily trends on Twitter:

The day that destiel was canonized, none of the related tags made the top five at all for the States, and none of them did the following day, either:

It's worth mentioning that the big destiel event happened during the 2020 US Presidential Election, which was obviously a big fucking deal, but I want to point out that #GetWellSoonYoongi (well wishes for Suga of BTS after he tested positive for covid) managed to hit the third spot in the trends for the day that destiel got the most overall posts and searches, so it's clearly not impossible to overtake the election with a fannish topic.

I also feel compelled to point out that the overall volume of posts out of the States is higher than those out of any other country, so while some people are certain to trot out the overall post count as proof that destiel is clearly more influential, that is not the case when the States account for 105.4 million users and Japan accounts for 73.4 million. The States have almost 50% more users than Japan, of course there are going to be more posts.

Basically, the influence of destiel in certain remaining pockets of tumblr might be impressive, but outside that very closed ecosystem it's pretty minimal. This poll is based on tumblr's top 100 ships for 2023, where destiel ranked #3 (again) and SuleMio was new to the list at #59, above such staples as stucky, SasuNaru, JohnLock, Korrasami and Catradora, so it's not like it has no presence on the site—I personally haven't seen a non-meme destiel related post come across my dash since 2020, but SuleMio and G-Witch pop up a couple times a month. (Gundam in general pops up pretty much daily. I do not follow any blogs specifically catering to this franchise or series in any capacity.)

Claiming that destiel stands head to head with a fandom juggernaut like Kirk/Spock—a ship which is also on that list at #48, having moved up nine spaces since the previous year in spite of having existed since 1967—because you personally engage with it more often than you do with ships like SuleMio is a pretty egregious overstatement of its impact on fan culture as a whole.

Asserting influence that does not exist as an argument for why people should support destiel instead of a ship that's also on the list from which this bracket was made and therefore is also rightfully included in this poll, because you've never happened to see it before, is ridiculous. Claiming that SuleMio only exists because of a series with significantly less cultural impact than the ship's own parent franchise is even more ridiculous.

God forbid women (or any country other than the United States) do anything.

Tumblr Top Ships Bracket - FINALS

This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.

[ear-worthy]

PodQuiz: Trivia That Can Crush Your Dreams of Being a Jeopardy Champ

Did you know that the long-running TV game show Jeopardy has a 27 million weekly audience? Every night, millions of families sit down and challenge each other to answer the show's trivia questions before another family member. Serious bragging rights are at stake here.

Millions more head out to Pub Trivia Nights and challenge strangers to do battle on trivia knowledge. Usually, the winners take home a modestly-priced gift card. However, it's the bragging rights that count.

Trivia is about small facts, but is certainly big business. If you haven't heard about it, let me introduce you to PodQuiz, the weekly trivia quiz podcast. The format is deceptively simple. "Each week there are twenty questions, some music as an interlude, followed by the answers. Get your Friday fix of trivia every week"

 The podcast has been recording and releasing episodes for nearly 20 years and 1,005 episodes at the time of this review.

   James Carter is the host of PodQuiz weekly trivia quiz.

He is also a blogger, walker, geek, and host of Starring The Comp. I could not find much else on Carter, other than my observation is that he is the exact opposite of Elon Musk. Where Musk makes everything about him, Carter is content to let his trivia podcast take center stage, as he seems comfortable in the background. It's refreshing.

In a June 2024 interview with Waveform, Carter explained, "In the early days of podcasting, it was an amateur affair with no professional or corporate involvement, and podcasts were informal conversations among friends."

Carter was initially interested in the technology behind podcasting and the delivery of audio via RSS, which led him to start PodQuiz. The show has maintained a consistent format over the years, closely following the traditional structure of a pub quiz, as Carter has not felt the need for major changes.

PodQuiz started as a hobby inspired by trivia segments on other early podcasts. Carter uses a simple setup with Audacity and a USB microphone to record and edit PodQuiz, which takes him about an hour and a half to two hours for each episode. To avoid burnout, he approaches PodQuiz as a hobby and spreads out the research and preparation work over the course of a week, totaling around eight hours per episode.

In the Waveform interview, Carter said, "I put thought into creating questions and categories with varying difficulty levels to engage listeners with different levels of knowledge on a given topic."

So what are some of the categories? There are four on each episode. Five questions for each category.

Here's a sample of recent episodes: 

June 13: Music (Sax Solos), Postage Stamps, Quantities (Quickfire), and Pandas

 May 16: Music (Connections), Printing, Flowers (Quickfire), and Transport.

Here are a few questions. Let's see how you would do?

 1. What animal was part of a thought experiment by Erwin Schrödinger in which that animal is both alive and dead until actually observed?

2. The infinite monkey theory postulates that a monkey hitting a random key on the typewriter in infinity will eventually type the completed works of what author and playwright?

3. Name the year of the Hindenburg Disaster?

4. Name the country where Nobel Prize winner Marie Curie was born -- France, Poland or the U.K.?

 Finally, Carter has a music interlude between the questions and the answers. The music is not a tune streamed two million times on Spotify. Instead, you'll hear Thought Experiments by Alex Kult, Post A-Priori by Apache Tomcat, and Eric and Magill with a song called Vegetable Gardeners. No Taylor, Drake, or Dua Lipa. 

I like the musical choices. They're unique and interesting. 

On occasion, Carter enables guests to devise questions for a category they are passionate about. For example, in episode 1002, guest Winston asked about pandas. WTF! 

If you are a trivia fan, check out PodQuiz. It's not fancy, but it is the best trivia show in the podcast universe. It will humble some and reward others, based on your skill in trivia.

ANSWERS:

1. Cat

2. William Shakespeare

3. 1937

4. Poland

[stampwithtami]

Take to the Sky Card [Flash Pop Up Series #6]

AIRPLANE FLASH POP UP CARD TUTORIAL Today I'm sharing the sixth installment of my beloved Flash Pop Up Fun Fold card series. This time, I'm taking creativity to new heights with the stunning Take to the Sky Suite from Stampin’ Up. Whether you're crafting for a birthday, saying thanks, or sending congratulations, this adventurous card is perfect for making anyone’s day special. About the Card: The front of this masculine-themed card features a charming airplane swooping through clouds, leading to a delightful surprise when opened: more planes popping up amidst a cloudy sky! This interactive experience is backed by the beautifully patterned Take to the Sky Designer Series Paper, enhancing the overall aerial theme. Spotlight on Stampin' Up! Take to the Sky Suite: Dive into a world of aviation with the Take to the Sky Suite. This collection is a treasure trove for any paper crafter, featuring aviation-themed stamps, dies, and antiqued silver industrial embellishments. The suite includes crafting papers adorned with topographical maps, blueprints, and clouds, making it ideal for creating all-occasion cards, Father’s Day tributes, veteran acknowledgments, or adventure-themed crafts. 20% Off the Bundle Special Offer: Good news for all my fellow crafters— the Adventurous Sky Bundle is currently on sale! Enjoy a 20% discount on these fantastic stamps and dies when you shop in my online store before June 30. It’s a perfect opportunity to add this versatile set to your crafting arsenal. Envelope and Packaging: Designed to fold to a standard size, this card fits perfectly in a Medium Stampin’ Up! Envelope, ensuring it's ready to send to that special someone without any hassle. But note if the card is bulky it may need extra postage and hand canceling. Instructions and Resources: I’ve put together a template, a comprehensive step-by-step guide, measurements and a complete supply list. Find everything you need in a free PDF in the INSTRUCTIONS section below. Additionally, don’t miss the video tutorial in the same section, where I delve into how to create the Flash Pop Up Technique. Explore More: Are you as excited about fun fold cards as I am? Check out more Flash Pop Up tutorials in the SERIES section below. Each tutorial offers unique inspirations and techniques, perfect for expanding your crafting skills and adding to your collection of handmade cards. Happy crafting! Tami White INSTRUCTIONS, TEMPLATE & VIDEO The step-by-step guide provides detailed measurements, a template for the fold and a complete with a clickable list of materials.  See my videos below for help with coloring and creating the fold. DOWNLOAD PDF FLASH POP UP CARD  VIDEO On this video class I share how to create this fold. CLICK FOR VIDEO CLASS DETAILS SUPPLIES I USED Click the thumbnails to view in my online store and get more information. FLASH POP UP SERIES TUTORIALS Click the thumbnails below for more free tutorials in my landscape arrow folds series. STAMPIN' UP! CATALOGS CURRENT SPECIALS CARD PHOTOS Taking creativity to new heights with the stunning Take to the Sky Suite from Stampin’ Up. Whether you're crafting for a birthday, saying thanks, or sending congratulations, this adventurous card is perfect for making anyone’s day special. The Adventurous Sky Bundle is part of the 20% Off sale in June. The front of this masculine-themed card features a charming airplane swooping through clouds, leading to a delightful surprise when opened: more planes popping up amidst a cloudy sky! I colored the planes with the Stampin' Blends Markers. This interactive experience is backed by the beautifully patterned Take to the Sky Designer Series Paper, enhancing the overall aerial theme. I die cut the clouds with the Adventurous Sky dies. I've added a panel inside to write a greeting on I love the look of the cloudy skies from the designer paper In addition to this Flash Pop Up card, I've also created a Corner Flip Fold Card. I have a tutorial for that card too. Click here for the tutorial for the corner flip fold card. I've created this Corner Flip Fold Card with the same suite.Click here for the tutorial for the corner flip fold card. Want to save these ideas for later? Pin them to your favorite Pinterest board. Have you tried these designs? I love to see your creations! Be sure to share them on #shareyourcrafts post every Saturday on my Facebook Page and give me a shout out or a tag on social.  Read the full article

[antonia-gergely]

EVA EXHIBITION REVIEW !!!

soft 5/10

Let me preface by mentioning that we went on a Tuesday. That brought the score down a lot. About five venues were open (One of them contained a single poster). But I'm going to focus mainly on the Limerick City Gallery of Art.

It was a slight disappointment, frankly. There was amazing art on display within, some really striking stuff, and kudos to each artist whose work was chosen for display, but it seemed like it was set up a day before opening, and didn't exactly strike me as an international-level event.

Photos were tacked up like posters in a teenage bedroom. Shadows seeped out from underneath, distracting any viewer from the immersive experience that could have been achieved. It's Lala Meredith-Vula's Haystacks series that I'm mainly referring to. I was enamoured by the work, it reminded me of the haystacks I would see driving through the Romanian countryside on my holidays, it had enough imagery to allow a viewer to add narrative, and question the events within. And yet, all I could see were the jarring buckled shadows underneath the asymmetrically displayed images.

Seóidín O'Sullivan's ongoing research project, Crex crex, crex crex, crex..., really bewildered me and a few others I was with. Beautiful old coins embossed with the corncrake showed her inspiration on a wall whereby a viewer would have their back to the large main piece, rendering everything quite disjointed and unconnected, and harder to picture interacting. Her research images seemed haphazardly tacked onto MDF board screwed into the walls. I left quite confused and underwhelmed by the unfinished nature of the display.

Her beautiful textile work, illustrated with deep blue corncrake postage stamps, draped over a hay-bale whose scent would transport any viewer out to the Irish springtime countryside, was labelled and described, but across the room. I went over to the work and examined it, only to have to pace back and see what it was actually called. This was a repeated issue. The gallery had its artwork labels in weird places that weren't conducive to someone's movement through the space. I would walk in to a room, have to turn back, read a label around the corner, look back at the art, and figure out if I was reading the right thing. It gets really annoying when all you want to do is understand an artist's idea and concept and be submerged in the work. It felt as though the technicians didn't know much about gallery operations at all.

Orla Barry's video installation was in the middle of the first main atrium of the gallery. I don't know anyone who would actively enjoy standing in everyone's way with a pair of headphones, staring at words scrolling across a screen. I tried to watch the video, but couldn't focus for the discomfort of standing in the middle of a gallery pathway.

Rosalind Fowler's video was more intimately set up, more comfortable to sit and watch in private, but the sound was neglected. A tiny speaker accompanied the projector showing the work. It was almost like the piece was afraid to intrude on the gallery environment and adjoining café. This could have been intentional, but I didn't find it very effective. One of my favourite things at the Venice Biennale was the booming, unapologetic noise that you would here from whatever room awaited you, and the excitement of discovering where it was coming from. Not the case here. In fact, I almost missed the video completely. I was just curious enough to look around the inconspicuous curtain and find a quiet video rolling therein.

Unfortunately, I did not have time to go out to UL, where the work might have had a more thought-out display, but for such a small biennial, I don't understand why the work would be spread out around the town. It's not the Venice Biennale and I think it's wrong for it to try to be, at least physically. It felt like each individual venue provided nothing much at all, other than Rachel Fallon and Alice Maher's monumental tapestry (whose display I quite enjoyed), whereas having the works in fewer, larger spaces would have had a much more immersive, lasting impact.

It's just such a shame because I know it could have been wonderful. The art itself was fantastic - again, from what I could see of the few open venues - but the execution of the exhibitions was less than impressive, and brought my experience down significantly.

[elizabeth-desjardins]

5/8/23

Video notes

Franz Kline

During the 1940s he would do more landscape paintings and even self portraits all very colorful pieces.

Then during the 1950s he transitioned to more abstract paintings

Using newspaper, he would paint lines going diagonally, horizontally, and vertically

Paintings were mostly in black and white

Had verity when it came to the lines (thick, think and broken lines)

Then in 1955 he started implementing color again but still was painting his black and white pieces

Franz Kline: AB EX NY

Abstract expressionist

A sort of rawness was inspiring during that time

Forceful, emotional brushstrokes

Railroads and tracks represent his painting in some way

Agnes Martin

Draws the postage stamp picture and calculates the size on her canvas in her sketchbook

“From music people accept but from art they demand explanation” Agnes Martin

Paintings are pure emotions, “a state of innocence”

Paintings include thin and thick lines and very pastel, sheer colors

Took her 20 years to find her art style

Early work included blobs and darker colors

If her art piece wasn’t to her liking, she would destroy them and start over