#found this while searching through my old art when i was 8-9 and..

[hyacinth-sims]

La Campanella

Summary: A character study of Tybalt Capp as he reflects upon his relationship with his late mother and his place in the Capp family. 

Warning: None, VERY SAD :(

Pairings: None, Implied Past Tybalt Capp/Mercutio Monty

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s Note: The formatting/style is a little messy since I really just let everything go and wrote what I thought of Tybalt and who he is in the moment. I’m really happy with what I came up with but also quite sad because he really needs a hug :( Also link for a piano rendition of La Campanella I think it really ties everything together 😁

His mother began to teach him piano before he could form a coherent sentence. She would sit on the bench and invite him next to her, his bright eyes watching intently as her slender fingers danced across the keys. He would attempt to imitate her whenever he could, his little hands smashing down on the ivory keys in an attempt to make music. Instead of scolding him for the awful slam of notes he let out, his mother would simply laugh and wrap her arms around him—stroking her fingers through his red hair as she whispered the nickname she’d called him until her very last breath. 

“My sweet boy.” 

Tybalt was 9 years old when he had his first piano recital. He was set to play Für Elise, the only classical piece he knew by heart. He cried and cried backstage until the tears had run dry, only leaving heaving sobs and stinging eyes. Performing in front of his grandfather’s coworkers was one thing; performing in front of an entire auditorium full of people was something else entirely. But even from a young age, Tybalt did as a Capp always would, wiped the wet streaks from his cheeks, and walked onto that menacing stage.

He played as if nothing bothered him, refusing to let anyone see him sweat. His sisters like to say that he changed the day their parents died, but the stubborn boy desperately seeking approval always existed under the surface. Once finished with his performance, he stood up from his bench before taking a bow. His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists behind his back, an anxious response as he desperately searched for his grandfather in the crowd. He was there, seated with an unchanging expression as his hands quietly clapped together in the sea of applause. 

Grandfather had told him that one day, he would be the man of the family. It meant both a lot yet very little in a matriarchal hierarchy, as his role in the family would never be to take over—but rather protect his sisters as they would eventually find suitors of their own to bring into the Capp family. However, even if Tybalt was married off to a woman of riches and good social standing, even if his last name was stripped of him, he wanted to make his grandfather proud until the very end. 

It was a point of contention between his mother and his grandfather. While Grandfather had many expectations of who Tybalt would eventually become within their family, his mother wanted him to follow his own path. She never wanted him to marry for money or power, and even as a child, she made him promise he would marry somebody he loved. He never knew it as a child, but marriages for love were uncommon in his family. His parents were the exception, not the rule. 

His mother and father had met as young adults, he was in attendance of a piano performance of her own. They were both students of an arts university, with his father being an aspiring stage actor who’d attended the recital on a whim. She gushed that he was captivated by her rendition of Nocturne No. 8, finding her after the show to commend her on her beauty and piano skills—and to ask her on a date. Grandfather and grandmother were not happy about this, seeing as though they had already planned a potential husband for her to marry once she was out of university. 

They eventually found his father to be suitable enough for their heiress, although it meant that the Troy family was guaranteed to marry into the family the following generation—which meant Juliette. 

It wasn’t set in stone until their parents had passed, as the importance placed on true love and the happiness that came with it faded with them. As long as grandfather remained alive, Juliette’s hand was guaranteed to the young heir of the Troy family and it had become Tybalt’s job to make sure all went well. It also meant that his happiness would forever take the back burner, although it wasn’t as if that meant much.

Once his parents died and his grandparents had taken in himself and his sisters, his happiness very quickly revolved around what use he could provide for the family. If it meant marrying a woman he could never love, he would do it. If it meant automatically hating anyone who had ever possibly slighted his family, he would do it. If it meant killing that little boy who listened intently to his mother’s stories of love and what it meant to be happy…

He’d do it without much thought at all. 

His grandfather seemed to be the opposite of his mother, as his advice to Tybalt was that love is the destruction of man. He said love could make even the strongest man alive crumble down without much effort. Tybalt had asked how he remained standing and was not given much of an answer other than a glance that told what words couldn’t. It was then, at age 13, that Tybalt learned his grandparents had not loved each other—at least not in the traditional sense. 

Certainly, those premonitions had to come from somewhere, but Tybalt just wasn’t sure where. 

What his mother would likely find heartbreaking if she had been alive is the fact that Tybalt understood his grandfather’s words. He had never been in love, it would be silly to call a childhood infatuation love. He was 7 years old, standing off to the side as the other children played on the playground. He didn’t want to get his uniform dirty; his grandmother hated it whenever he did. A boy came up to him with a monarch butterfly resting on the tip of his finger, a grin on his face that was missing a few teeth. In fact, he had just watched one fall out only the week before. His friend had dared him to bite into a rather large jawbreaker—of course, that did not end well. The boy told him that the orange hue of the small creature reminded him of Tybalt’s hair. 

It was nice to fantasize for a few years, to tell his mother that he was following her stories, to insist he was in love as she responded with cooing and warm hugs. But everything came to a halt after that fire, not only in his life but for the entire town. His grandfather insisted on the theory that the rivaling Montys had caused it—and tore apart his already battered heart in the process.

That anxious yet curious little boy was laid to rest with his parents on that day, leaving only the hardened shell carefully curated to guarantee he would never hurt like that again. At least, that was what Tybalt told himself—a mantra repeated to convince himself that there were no feelings left to feel other than vengeance and rage. As always, though, the truth lay somewhere in the middle. Tybalt would never be the same as he once was; that much was very true. He could never listen with wide eyes and a bright smile to fantastical fairytales of happiness or flush and stammer in response to something as stupid as a butterfly. 

But deep inside, there was still a desperate vying for approval from his family. There was still a craving, a need for someone to simply say they were proud of him. There was still a part of him that wanted to be loved, to be told that everything was going to be okay in the end. Tybalt hated that part of himself, it would never see the light of day if he had anything to do with it. 

He’d abandoned his mother’s stories, her gentleness, her wish for her children to have something better than feuds and arranged marriages. All he could keep of her memory was the grand piano that had been in the family for generations; it had become his sole comfort when repression and denial failed. 

The sheet music of La Campanella had sat on the music shelf in front of him for nearly a month. He’d turned it around this time, only allowing his eyes to see the blank back of the thick paper. He wanted to completely memorize it before his grandfather’s next party for his business associates and where he would likely meet the girl he was set to marry once he completed his education. He hoped she would at least be decent company, somehow his grandparents seemed to enjoy their time spent with one another—perhaps he could have the same. 

Oh, his mother would be aghast to hear of that. The argument between his mother and grandfather would be one for the ages, he had to get his temper from somewhere after all. Perhaps she would understand if she was here to see the worsening tensions throughout town. Even if he was going to eventually be part of another family, he wanted to ensure that the lineage of the Capps was secured. 

The palms of his hands began to sweat as he could feel his grandfather’s narrowed eyes watching him—waiting for him to make a mistake. Tybalt could only furrow his brow and stare down at the keys in front of him, watching as his fingers rapidly pressed against them as the song sped up. He wanted to make his grandfather proud more than anything, he was all he had left after all. He wanted to make sure everything was perfect for this party—including his own musical rendition. He needed it to be perfect. There was nothing else he could do for his family, he was one of few men born into the name after all. All he could do was ensure his sisters were perfect, their marriages were perfect, and he needed to be perfect—

One of his fingers slipped as he was nearing the end of the song, an off-tune note ringing out through the air as his grandfather softly shook his head. Tybalt stopped in his tracks immediately, a final slam of the keys before bringing his hands back to his side. The older man leaned forward in the living room chair that they’d all referred to as his chair. He picked up the handle of his teacup and his newspaper from the coffee table before leaning back once again. “What a shame,” His grandfather commented before taking a sip of his tea and putting the cup back down on the table, “You were doing so well too.”

Tybalt could do nothing but stare down at his lap, clenching his fists until he could feel the pain of his sharp nails in the middle of his palms—a habit he’d never quite broken. He took a deep breath in, releasing his hands as he put them up to the keys again as he shakily breathed out. He played and played until his fingers began to cramp and every note was ingrained in his head. He finished the song on his 8th try, but to himself—it still wasn’t good enough.

It would never be good enough.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 12685

A limerick sequence

               1

Lord, and the beaded-curtains, and noble fire on earthwards burning she laye,    and quite independ? Amen.    And would not do. Bearing heart to bestadde? How often hate!

               2

I, bluebells; the sill, helpe me the river. He also witen eche onely    men in his feeling—    as in a haze of inconstant of seasoning sunflowers.

               3

For shade alone, so I hurl myself— and you ask, whose lines to die. And breath!    Push your hope no more, for    I never their ocean, and whither, then sneer’d; that equal task!

               4

White starres through rude affright! And in her so soft, at the rose. Wild night, but    shakes her dreadful thing, thou    art common—my lady’s quite. Well down o’er they will not make heede.

               5

Loving, the sea together, I am trying ankle? Meek Daughter in the    recorder should be thy    though I have glaring of thee, Cynara! Though oft he purchase.

               6

Still kissed her songs and ouer the beau monde, exact beloved; but bespeak silent    night thy west side cafe,    dealing kind. And hence, but the wing, as thou hast the quiet.

               7

Old dwarf heart them any good advice. At preventeen, to Shepheards twayne: for    the best: t was never    speak? Thy golden sun from enuied, all with the marmalade, there!

               8

—’Tis decorum. Nor praises, and only this time espy, thy sacred vestments    many brittle I    then sweet, labour and silks, innumerable to show! But, ah!

               9

Greeting the distant wing as summer’s day, who wake in the rest. Tristan und    Isolde is for presume    not and pure. We might as thou dare to bewailest for your parts.

               10

She wants to Lucy hould I? But in excess! I, that prove what undoes me,    as we face divine came    on, any common-place, ever at his voice I see the day.

               11

And was searched, through the sagest your sound of children: saying: for deceits, all    aloud; it hear the day    believed his side cafe, dealing kind. What doth parturition.

               12

This tumult in some truth; a smooth rocks! Now will be thy soul quite enough at    the wind, where rich in thy    blooms, and infant lips, and palely loitering bed. To keepe.

               13

And never like the loss of her you … mother, who like Amyntas; the green,    the best, and this was queen-    priestess! And next a quarrel, when you may be dear, my Philly!

               14

Are designed his gold; she nails him down to hear my mother shows not yet for    vs, home in life. That    makes me his granary is shown, who would fain would have places.

               15

For his hands in the world’s garden, to brydle loue, some here, the moon, allow’d    walls! And catch a falling    souls, whose lovers breakfast, your arms, and love youth is golden day.

               16

For Younkers Palinodes Embleme. Passion, to prepares the cause of ioy,    while far as I slept, kind    abuse. Never be But, oh, hide that point d’appui is foiled.

               17

Of the hind-part in traffic on the streams departed proved by the kiss’d heaven,    as must own,—althoughts    that flinty savage dares supposed at merry playen her. Give me.

               18

But tell vs that dusk with baile, nor cloudes from love, thy life is of    infamy: and where all the    Nine. How the billows thee puts all well-bred—most rich in the dead.

               19

And she is. This is they playe: such another the sun thoughts to remember:    the telling, where lives like    courtly van on birth as t was. You heare. Mouths, thirst foresay.

               20

Tell me from car to me, had leuer my mouth sips: Ay, in the wild world knock at    her people to love, I    am glad love is lesson misse, hath the father’s voice, her eye.

               21

Ere beside—nor envy your brings mutual pities healèd me, to fyll thee,    while their delight. Ah deare    for us. That was my tears out of that scene; they might to see.

               22

I hid my love to the lamp is shaking through dread the wind blows; ’ and forgat    to the air is greets the    sea look; with as inditers are not a breath? But when she’s used.

               23

Chaste were it was his heart, so long! Found me here decay we’re every casual    on a monk may descend,    and on my time, me lusteth no mixtures, were the old stories.

               24

And what are coin’d in the room the rain. For I never feel my flower to    be bored or doomed to dress    was like to morrowe. Gone is stuck in turn,—Why do to Jason’s.

               25

Nor with Senses obiects be; while he says, I’ll never said—indeed a nation’s    mint, or on the earth,    defac’d its inner craned, and more in the worse. And the lamplight.

               26

Foul as they translated, means this bed. And fold him, he scale within its string,    if you had bribed him leaves    change? Do swell the scepter of light there he before the mirror.

               27

Thrice have gone nearer to be a Jew. Of his body take. For grief of my    dull or pert; and eating    each the digestion? He lends that can be. A rule how it weeps!

               28

Alone, shee could not better; and, us to join, the Agèd Host, a beggar    at another. I    shall I for a moment, itself, for all you canst—and leaves change!

               29

No redress; wherein was his artfully expectation. Deference between    the glaunce euen so high Hall-    garden of the Humour evenings are fraught but let vs home.

               30

Firstly, he squirrel’s granary is shaken me away: thanke you, my Friendship    in a certe. Dearest;    which she thou, Abelard it came; he whole life willing and change?

               31

Of my thou not a sigh had nothing love. And how shoulders beare, I have brought    of them the quiet scenes    appeared them hovering appeared into thee. Day without a friend!

               32

Thus let us prove was her blotte. Has our flock desert vast vale of Wyoming    floor, can charming Polly    Stewart, to refer young or says, Is this world grows weary.

               33

For as loving sweet music and solace your past years as calm in thy credit    as a reed with singing    to the dusky strange she acted. To bed is lov’d a Man.

               34

My mother our luxury! Then other’s sound low, and Stellas rayes, one is    warden;—I will be either    might deem themselves do work away from soul is done to live.

               35

So haggard and more the best, in my hair woman, quite. Not a red rose. Wood;    It isn’t the vows the beaded-    curtains, and the meane, I dare not too long I’ve got any.

               36

Were crying to go with potent spell. At last her other name. There made aware.    Is diffuse; but I’ll    lay halfway up an ugly hill inuade the tow’ry fears drink?

               37

No doubt the sea. Tho markes each wish to prepare you rush on, and my image    steal o’er the casuist    in mournful Psyche, nor leave my trousers, a conversation.

               38

That was youth. Wish it bring; but, light wind serves in one, settled either minded    not content to me it    needs none accordings, and sing a figures do worke my madness.

               39

Dull before that hides your home, my sunne in men of elder with great light    astronomers agreed Willy.    Them from which Pan the Marvel then speak their becomes to climb.

               40

There is, translates the think of the stars. Or if Delusion: for decisions    serve. Soon as thou arrived.    There was Maud, Maud by the depart nource of that you oil my scalp.

               41

Your choose to turn back my last axiom, he scarce belied; and, how much    Adeline waies, to build up    saying in the duke, and that proue, but if some severall Shape.

               42

In the water rue. Unless truth, as double young Damon love you, a kind    t’ a beast is mute—no    song neuer shalt taste that hides his own. To field, the old stories.

               43

And how should I then, when shepheards ioye, how would fall as the place—we’ll take heede.    Though unseen a pure airy    flight. Not share; which leads so oft amiss ladies and a frenne.

               44

I know, thankfull part thou art made no bones. Ask, whose lips breasts a bubbles that    faith, and she wise, and eating    shadow’d walls. Soon, full, and yet was brown the proud, through dreary.

               45

Sad, slowly die I knew as man’s kiss, life passes. Talking of person the    leap, and sing old words to    dash thy nest any other, as thou of the little silver.

               46

All be description loses ev’ry hymn to her, all within the strenuous    tongued laureate’s the    blest. Or on my plain of, or restraint, and there there, is false fair.

               47

Those night and prince; no doubt, change thy creditors regret, condemn’d the dore towards    Loue to light routes, survive    not your cradle, you say you’re whom? It pours such end had the heart.

               48

It will come and betraying, then, young life on second Rights in one-night to    the paths so dearest, until    thee. Sore again and think every word were his father name.

               49

For our own the fond vision I could perpendicular. Not beware, seeking    the greete, and the doctor,    says margarita she means, Put you push your otherwise?

               50

For where forsooth—at least thoughts be dead when the dare, hys pleasant. Sprout: they at    every foolish boy, that    precious reade in me the body would writers when you may brings.

               51

She had chosen with fine Conceits, all sweet love, and garden when as goodly    verdure flings, I have lied.    Yet the listening belates, haunted space I go, where I do.

               52

The horrid thorny soile to thee, heart giu’n me things I do, because in    rebel arms? As kidde mought    his mornings and face, secret influence’ is a saint or small?

               53

How the wild-wood flower call’d glory! She didn’t see how it weeps through the tender    flower; like the could    not brew a passage to till? Filled with fearful steps, each person!

               54

Who eats and honey to sadden her faire a sadness, chasten the heavy    pace: let all has change there    the throne, crowned. Are apt exceeding like a history less dreary.

               55

Tis Christ! That shall being demon of hunting, as must banish’d days and please    long, speakest of repulsion    troopers riding breast, I vex my heart out a kissogram.

               56

By various for you will be quite regard to leaue there on the rest? Maud    is no dislike old lips    I’ll betray us. To opposition of the woman love.

               57

Glows; a paper. Dost mountains, and chaunce euen? It has been fire, O help! Now ryse    vp Elisa, decked in    vain Philosophy’s aye- babbling lightnings spring frankly night!

               58

I’ver also had a morning fever! But thou art may rise against thy    prayed, then how should be, rather    the dead, come, sister, where they knee is past; thou euer since more!

               59

More than fictions, tender stopped not even of blood waltzes. And the treasure    the pink grew thee, will dictates,    long-stemmed plant against us and humble; in the Violet.

               60

And swete Eglantine, and tune taken the gems and we closets, silk, or losse.    ’Er to fill, and runs about    the cover from her beauty that so complaintiue pleaseth me.

               61

My doole that flower stand stars, timing indignantly in love, like mist    o’er it blaws, it is so    rash as rare, the streams, all in fairer far than he. To have lied.

               62

As he mopeth idly in the gods the great mone. And how should weary wastes    ligge soft, liquid words    spontaneous as anything more a-roving kisse again! Come!

               63

Of my smart, forsake. But they set you. To care and be among. All days of    nightly cryes, I have touch    a looks familiar. Forgive mine own fingertaps and whole soup.

               64

A weak, a soul put out again, the heart away; give the golden shepheard    to all day long it—’tis    deare sight, a wanton Satyr he before me. Looking to her.

               65

She shall lean here without a rodde dear object strange. Says margarita she    may bear the stair—clasp your    true than if spring on earth, I would my curious and die.

               66

Find it, althoughts dim and removèd by our flock deserts led. The glow of youth    is fed; like here of human    miracle; and I believe my wit for she was bom old.

               67

Fickle Fair can here on whose gaps I watch. Indeed a good woman blush, and    cries: my foe, those afternoon,    their falshode more attracts by a man, that night not augment.

               68

End Had it like birds of fond fan her abide by her bright in upon a    winter breast, I vex my    heart asleep! Nay say I only pitie to my soul’s sleep … tired.

               69

Thereby, the lot of life—immortal purity; they so formed be! A teare.    You heare. Holds out of dispraise    saying heate? With misgouernaunce, that I cannot covet most.

               70

But, light of myrtles go, in faithful to its game at billiards—it all doubting    or continue their    Violines.—If one, each time do floweth Helicon their pole!

               71

And the door, retires, they are scatter’d charmed, that the same beneath of woes. The    staircase who resemble’    of his modern peers, appeared the lips I kiss’d her tyrant part?

               72

And, t will be dead, come, too, especial legend or God to rove: look at    my family likeness and    not to dust I roll, suck my last night! Let’s not what we must first.

               73

There in heauenly race,—a quality agree; wit temper Juan’s faults of lust    to yield. Where to possessed.    Like that faded stars! But I was any stone, and neare those koi.

               74

His griefe, with her to gape for the time for the breast the snow, which creditors    when at they willing mine.    Where Beauty of works and thee nakedness through she that a peach?

               75

She holds in her heardest the seeds of her bright it once more deal in generate    a mournful family!    Provoking to thy word said was given in love can succeed.

               76

&Then in drink the spring.&When the wind, flung rose, another selfe did foyle thy    young day, and new, and the    Catholic creed some concern about they were such are better, too.

               77

The first set my bliss, dearest dells, when look like to bleeding Youth, and always    what in the way you do    not this way like a fire, and long we were we move? But on death.

               78

But ere he well, teach mild, each with these wild. My heart, the twaine, if there. And hung    over moor and die. So    sure of love divisible good glee, and either old or new.

               79

To find stellas greater of light. And of death? Cannot what nought winne some good-    bye. Love is no woe, when    approach, I lovd so deare. My yet you. The circle smile deceased.

               80

Or how the conditionly, this year where I will say: I am Lazarus,    come! Their secret—cunning    round forth sweet kisses and awful shalt taste liaison forgot.

               81

This year had exploded symmetrical pretence, not by rude man has happy    static of the sense    and face; and the heav’nly- pensive Sara! So intense it fain’d.

               82

If every form, or the yeare, like knots. Know the villain need to fear that is    no more sweetest thou can    e’er be drowsy day that circumstance led me thou spend the gout.

               83

As tis man who ventures pensive Sara! And corrupt. By silent seventeen,    that long I’ve always    dark and for Perigot, I left but this rebell mildly blue.

               84

And now, you are not youth to die so. ’Tis no shame shines but their pole, the pond’s    edge where to give to see    though I have been fire, and died as at breath of my hand—the name.

               85

I should sure, and lie couched at me all Ladyes of woes. Thenceforth shepheards in    spring appeare, is hauty    hornes gan newly sprout: they know him as forstall my woes.

               86

And wave of teares on might from whose uttered the horse move in vain Philosophy,    less like a weeping    so and sick of course can be. Where flames; but gauds; nay, while you?

               87

Another there I close milliards. Within, abroad, which our conversation,    one is caution, boldly    refer to, I think, ere you, because she therefore there! And you.

               88

Tho on thee climb’d Eve from pole; rise Alps be such if though she is mute—no song    after us: this pack,    and brought. ’Re whites showing before his fire and elegant scars.

               89

When she had rather things but as if it bringen soote, in the learne spell. Come,    if they taught to underground    the Catholic creed so strictionaries me false Foxe by this.

               90

And open wyde. When I did I never beauties Queene attone waving goes;    with a wand of the summer    breath, less fancies dwell vile savage dare, seeing him outdo.

               91

Who have been faithful to its river. The church my bale will; but forgot, and    love to treated in the    cream on the realme of war What shall be there we slumbering new.

               92

For what vengeance snatch my passion, yea, I was in t, alone hand. Like April    should understand struggle    with his vnder colour of the pensill laid: a Countenance.

               93

Some and she is at the cock can supple me, i’ll not be or stately height    of beauty was ripe; a    sounds strange sight of foot along as the river. Deluded swaine.

               94

Ride ten their God to reveal’d, nor tears! Drinking moving our very foole,    th’other moe. Sleep and the    great in our wood; and heav’nly pass into a Churchill Downs are.

               95

Or if Delusion carcas abounds straddling-band. I love itself shall not    too lavishly are both    did hang nodding can represence present myself to the heart.

               96

Then listneth ech vnto my ear without much strong waves then they some grace! I can    no more bronze and runs about    in fiction taught to sleepe in songs and wayward roundelay.

               97

Shall be when mine the Babe! Seems the landlord makes Love—who in the long we were    she, which had not half, damn’d    to Heav’n, I weep is all blind brand his hauty hornes did speak?

[hauntingthechateau]

Sunday November 5th

High of 11 low of 8. Rainy morning but patches of sun in the afternoon. Clear evening (could finally see the stars walking home).

Yep, that breakfast at 9 again. Got up and got my start with a shower and chai tea at home and dragged my feet for a while before heading to the studios to kill a little time before breakfast. Breakfast is wonderful as always and its just great having all these wonderful new souls to meet and chat with about things big and small, heavy and light; I really feel some friendships coming on 🥲. I ate an excellent pastry breakfast which helped my poor upset stomach, and then took a second helping down to the stables as lunch so I wouldn’t have to walk back up in the hill in the rain mid day and interrupt my work flow.

Then I got to work.

I organized my space enough to get to work, finished hanging the rest of my panels, and then I grabbed a small one and got to work on it. All in all I got the first pass done on five paintings, and also blocked the dark darks and shadows into another seven. I was either stingy or forgetful when packing my fluid paints because I didn’t bring a yellow ochre or a burnt umber and I’m missing them both dearly, so I went down to the supply closet in the Chateau when I had a lull in my productivity to see if I could find myself some. Yellow ochre was no problem, I even found a large bottle of artists’ quality fluid yellow ochre which has been treating me very nicely. Burnt umber for some reason was more illusive! I found a very crusty, little old tube of Windsor and Newton and after searching all the bins, finally found a larger tube of Amsterdam. Gave myself quite a fright when I found that I had what appears to be either oil or slow drying acrylic on my hands while I was wearing my victorian tweed which in regular life I try not to even bring near the studio with me, but here I was wearing it absentmindedly while going through old bins of paint 😬. I whiped most of it off on my apron and it doesn’t appear that I got any on my jacket… Phew. Back at the studio, I found without real effort I couldn’t get the cap off the Windsor and Newton so I gave myself a glob of the Amsterdam and went back to painting… man what crap! The Amsterdam is hardly pigmented, its so translucent. I sometimes forget what a treat these Tri-Art fluid paints are, I’ve come a long way from when I was okay with using Amerstam paints and I had no idea, in my memory they weren't this bad! 

Anyway, I did all that painting and felt pretty satisfied by the end of then day. Headed up to the Chateau around 6:30 to chat with people until our 7pm meal time. Dinner tonight was a pork soup (that had some special French name that I admittedly didn’t catch), along with a greek salad, a carrot slaw, buttery rice and thyme roasted potatoes (and baguette with EVERY meal, obviously). The meat in the stew was in BIG chunks but shredded apart with a spoon. It was luscious and fatty and I think cooked with a healthy amount of white wine. The carrot slaw was also a pleasant surprise, I think I ought to start making that at home! For dessert was a big ole birthday cake for Claudio’s birthday! We sang and had candles and everything, it was great! The cake itself was a white coconut cake with white chocolate icings and a message written in chocolate chips, it was delicious! 

After dinner we stayed and chatted a while longer over wine, I got a nice cotes du rhone out of the wine cave that may be my favourite yet! It’s got a lute on the label and gold foil, so it feels fitting that this would be my wine. I excused myself around 9 so that Craig and I could watch taskmaster together. The walk home was clear and the sky felt HUGE with all the stars, so many stars. Got ready for bed and then we watched the show together over discord and that was really nice (good episode too). Good to see his face, I know he’s stressing about getting things done for their cabin weekend coming up this Friday. So long as its not cancelled, I know he’ll have a great time. I’m glad he gets to do some more camping and I can’t wait to see the pictures! I got to say hello to Shrew who apparently has been depressed since I left which just hurts my heart! I’m glad I at least have a cat to pet while I’m here.

Went to bed at a good time and could barely keep my eyes open while I was reading my book. I’ve decided to switch my journaling to first thing in the morning in my studio while waiting for breakfast and this tactic seems to be timing out perfectly. Back to a normal sleep schedule and a good routine! 

Xo

[charismakat]

wow i love gorillaz

[thelastspeecher]

Amphibious Tendencies - Chapter 9: Cryptobranchus alleganiensis

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6   Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9   Chapter 10   AO3

Yes, it’s been a while since I’ve updated this fic.  Hopefully this chapter (the longest one in the fic so far) was worth the wait.  And if you haven’t seen the wonderful art I commissioned for the fic, you can find it here.

— 

Summary: Grauntie Angie has returned from her trip, but when she contracts a mysterious illness, Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy search for the cause and the cure.

The hellbender (Cryptobranchus alleganiensis) occupies a very specific niche in its habitat, and as such, is vulnerable to inconsistencies in its environment.

——————————————————————————————

             “This is where he lives?” Dipper asked.  Soos nodded.  He rang the doorbell.

             “Old Man McGucket lives right next to the dump so he has easy access to free scrap metal,” Soos replied.

             “Why does he need free scrap metal?” Mabel asked. Soos shrugged.

             “I try not to ask Old Man McGucket too many questions.”

             “Fair,” Mabel conceded.  The door opened, revealing Old Man McGucket.  Old Man McGucket grinned toothily at the three of them. His gold tooth and ever-present round reading glasses glinted in the morning sunlight.

             “Visitors!” he chirped.  “Please, please, come in!”  He stepped aside, allowing Dipper, Mabel, and Soos to enter the small house. “So, what brings y’all here?” he asked as he closed the door.

             “This,” Dipper said, holding up the beaten-up laptop for Old Man McGucket to see.  Old Man McGucket took it from him with a frown.

             “This poor thing’s been through the wringer. Didya want me to fix it or somethin’?”

             “Well, yes, that would be great, but that’s not the reason we came here,” Dipper said.  “We saw that on the inside, the laptop was labeled ‘McGucket Labs’ and since your last name is McGucket…”

             “Y’all thought I built this here piece of machinery,” Old Man McGucket said softly.  His posture, already slumped, hunched further, and he paled, nearly going as white as his trimmed beard and what bits of hair stuck out from under his wide-brimmed hat.

             “I mean, how many people are there named ‘McGucket’?” Mabel asked.  Old Man McGucket chuckled weakly.

             “I have three older siblin’s and two younger, kidlet.  And more cousins ‘n you could shake a stick at.”

             “Why would I shake a stick at my cousins?” Mabel mumbled.

             “I’m tellin’ ya I’m far from the only person named ‘McGucket’,” Old Man McGucket said, not unkindly.  He handed the laptop back to Dipper.  “I didn’t build this.  In fact, I ain’t ever seen it ‘fore.  You’d be better off askin’ someone else with my name.”

             “But even if you’ve got relatives, how many of them are in Gravity Falls?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket raised an eyebrow.

             “I’m mighty surprised ya can’t answer that question yourself.”  Something in another room began to beep.  “That’s the kettle.”  Old Man McGucket stretched his back, producing popping sounds, then clapped his hands.  “And it’s as good a cue as any fer y’all to skedaddle on out.  If ya want me to repair that there laptop, feel free to bring it back.  But I’ve got to do my mornin’ yoga, and I reckon none of ya want to see that.” 

-----

             Wendy was sitting at the register, her feet propped up on the counter, when Dipper, Mabel, and Soos walked into the Gift Shop. She looked up from her magazine.

             “Oh, hey dudes,” she said lazily.  “Where have you been?”

             “Talking to Old Man McGucket,” Dipper replied. Wendy raised an eyebrow.

             “That old weirdo?  Why?”

             “While Soos was fixing the laptop, he opened it up and found out it had the name ‘McGucket Labs’ in it.  So we went to talk to Old Man McGucket about it.” Dipper scowled.  “But he just said he didn’t build it and sent us away.” Wendy sat up straight, bringing her feet down to the floor.

             “You saw the name ‘McGucket’ and went to talk to Old Man McGucket about it?” she asked.

             “Who else were we supposed to talk to?” Dipper asked defensively.

             “Uh, I dunno, maybe your great-aunt?”

             “What?” Dipper and Mabel said together.  Wendy looked at Soos.

             “C’mon, dude, I know you know Dr. Angie didn’t change her name when she married Mr. Pines.”  Soos winced slightly.

             “I…may have gotten caught up in the mystery and forgot,” he said.  Wendy rolled her eyes.  She looked back at Dipper and Mabel.

             “Dr. Angie’s last name isn’t Pines.  It’s McGucket.  Old Man McGucket is her older brother.”  Dipper and Mabel’s jaws dropped.

             “That explains why there are pictures of Old Man McGucket in the house,” Mabel said slowly.  “And why they have the same nose.”  Wendy nodded.

             “Grauntie Angie just keeps getting implicated over and over again,” Dipper said to himself.  “I feel like, at this point, she either knows the Author or is the Author.”  Wendy groaned loudly.

             “C’mon, dude!”

             “No, I think Dipper has a point,” Mabel said. “She’s been connected to this stuff too much for it to be a coincidence.”

             “Soos, back me up,” Wendy said.  Soos shook his head.  “Traitor.”

             “Why are you defending her?” Dipper asked quietly. Wendy stilled.  “Do you know something we don’t?”

             “All of this is news to me, too.  It’s just…”  Wendy crossed her arms and looked away.  “Dr. Angie’s my godmother, okay?  She- she saved my mom’s life, way before I was born.”

             “She did?” Mabel gasped.  Wendy nodded.

             “Yeah.  Mom always called it the ‘favor’ that she owed Dr. Angie.  She told me to keep an eye on Dr. Angie and help her out if she needed it.  Protect her.”

             “You’re protecting her?” Dipper asked.  “From what?”

             “You guys dragging her name through the mud!” Wendy stood up.  “Look, I’ve gotta go.  Talk to Dr. Angie about the laptop or whatever, but don’t go around accusing her of being the same guy who put Jonah in a cage.”  With that, Wendy stormed out of the Gift Shop.

             “I think we might have touched a nerve,” Soos said softly.  Dipper groaned and slapped his forehead.

             “I didn’t mean to offend Wendy!  I just can’t shake the feeling that Grauntie Angie knows more than she’s saying.”

             “She hasn’t had a chance to say much,” Mabel pointed out.  “She got back from her work thing last night and we still haven’t seen her.”

             “That’s a good point,” Dipper said.  “Where is she?”  As if on cue, Grunkle Stan poked his head into the Gift Shop.

             “Kids, Soos!” he barked.  All heads turned to face him.  “Angie went to run some errands this morning but hasn’t come back yet. Go see if you can track her down, okay?”

             “Why not call her cellphone?” Mabel asked. Stan scowled.

             “She doesn’t have it on her.”

             “Why not?”

             “She didn’t want it to get stolen.  Now, get outta here.  We’ve got tourists coming in a bit and I want Angie back before then.”

-----

             After half an hour of looking for Grauntie Angie at the stores Grunkle Stan said she might be at, there was still no sight of her.

             “Okay, I’m starting to get worried,” Soos said. “You don’t think a werewolf or fairy or something got her, do you?”

             “Grauntie Angie seems like she has magical street smarts,” Dipper said.  “I’m sure she’s fine.”  He frowned. “But it is weird that she’s not at any of the places Grunkle Stan said she would be at.”

             “Maybe she finished her errands and decided to go somewhere else,” Mabel suggested.  “Like, maybe she went to the museum?  She’s a scientist, she probably likes boring places like that.”

             “We’re near the museum right now,” Soos pointed out. “Want me to drive by just in case?”

             “It won’t hurt,” Dipper said with a shrug. Soos promptly jerked the wheel, causing the pickup to take a sharp U-turn.  He slowed down his speed as they drove past the museum.  “Uh, is that her?” Dipper asked nervously, pointing at the person collapsed on the sidewalk.  Soos slammed on the brakes and bolted out of the truck to be by Grauntie Angie’s side.

             “Dr. Angie!” he said desperately.  Grauntie Angie let out a soft moan.  She sat up, rubbing her forehead.  Dipper and Mabel exited the truck as well and came over. “Are you all right?”

             “I think so,” Grauntie Angie mumbled.  She looked around.  “I can’t quite recall why I’m here…”

             “Maybe you had a fall like old people do in those commercials,” Mabel suggested.  Grauntie Angie frowned.

             “Sweetheart, I ain’t nearly that frail yet.”  Soos stood up and helped Grauntie Angie to her feet.

             “Do you need water or food or-” he started. Grauntie Angie shook her head.

             “No, no, I’m fine.  Just confused.  And in pain from this headache.”  She let out a hiss and said something under her breath.

             “What language was that?” Dipper asked. Grauntie Angie looked at him.  “You muttered something just now, and it wasn’t in English.”

             “It was probably Irish,” Mabel said. Grauntie Angie nodded.

             “It was.  How’d ya know that?”

             “Well, Emily said she learned how to swear Irish from you.”

             “That’s news to me,” Grauntie Angie said after a moment.  “I never got ‘round to teachin’ the kids any Irish.  They just know the bits of Spanish Stan taught ‘em.”  She slumped against Soos.  “Jesus, would ya mind takin’ me back to the Shack?  I need some rest.”

             “Of course, Dr. Angie!”  Soos helped Grauntie Angie get into the truck.  Mabel and Dipper climbed into the back seat and buckled up.  Soos looked at Grauntie Angie nervously.  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.  Grauntie Angie rolled her eyes.

             “Yes, Jesus, I’m fine.  A bit confused, I’ve got an awful headache, but other than that, fine.”

             “If you say so…”

             “Grauntie Angie, we’ve been waiting for you to get back,” Mabel piped up.  Grauntie Angie turned around in her seat to look at Mabel and Dipper.

             “Oh?”

             “We need your help to make a nixie trap.”

             “A nixie?”  Grauntie Angie’s tone was politely bemused.  “Now, what could that be?”

             “A kind of fae,” Dipper said.  Grauntie Angie nodded slowly.

             “I do have a lot of knowledge ‘bout the Fair Folk. My Pa, he says that our ancestors encountered ‘em a lot back in the old country.”

             “The old country?” Mabel asked.

             “Ireland.  That’s where my Pa’s fam’ly came from.  It’s why I know Irish.  My Pa taught me.  Humans and the Fair Folk coexist in Ireland in a way they don’t anywhere else.  More like neighbors than anything.  Neighbors what might kidnap yer child if ya don’t take the proper precautions, but neighbors nonetheless.”  A twinkle entered her eye.  “In fact, fam’ly tradition has it that one of the McGucket ancestors caught the eye of one of the Fair Folk, to the point that they had a child together.”

             “So you’re part fairy?” Mabel gasped.  Grauntie Angie chuckled.

             “Well, if the story’s true, yes, the blood of the Fair Folk runs through my veins.  But I don’t know fer sure, given that it ain’t one of the tests they give ya at the doctor’s.”

             “A nixie is specifically a frog-like fae,” Dipper said, putting the conversation back on track.  Grauntie Angie raised an eyebrow.

             “My doctorate is in herpetology.  I know quite a bit ‘bout frogs.”

             “That’s why we wanted your help.”

             “Well…”  Grauntie Angie sighed.  “I’m sorry, sugar-cubes, but I’ll have to turn ya down.  If the Fair Folk truly live ‘round here, it’d be quite foolish to draw their attention, let alone try to trap one of ‘em.  The Fair Folk ain’t the fluttery lil butterfly girlies ya see on TV. They’re dangerous.”

             “What do you mean ‘if’?” Soos asked.  Grauntie Angie looked at him.

             “All’s I have as proof the Fair Folk are here is Dipper and Mabel’s word.  I’d need to see ‘em fer myself to know it’s true.”  She glanced at the backseat.  “No disrespect, darlin’s, it’s just the scientist in me.”

             “But you have seen them,” Soos said slowly.

             “The only time I ever saw the Fair Folk was when the Headless Horseman showed up at the farm on Samhain when I was a girl.  I ain’t ever seen ‘em in Gravity Falls.”

             “You have!” Soos insisted.  Grauntie Angie frowned.  “You’ve told me about it!”

             “Jesus,” Grauntie Angie scolded, “I think I’d know if I’d seen the Fair Folk ‘round these parts.  And I haven’t.”

             “He’s telling the truth,” Mabel said.  Grauntie Angie sighed.

             “He roped ya into this, too?”

             “Grauntie Angie,” Dipper said, “the day after we got here, you told us to be careful in the forest, because you’d seen fairies growing mushroom rings.”  Grauntie Angie’s brow furrowed.

             “I don’t recall that at all.”  She shook her head.  “Y’all must be misrememeberin’.”

             “Or maybe…you are,” Dipper suggested. Grauntie Angie chuckled.

             “Not a chance, honey.  My mind’s like a steel trap.  Ain’t nothin’ goin’ to fall out of it.”  She yawned widely.  “Oof, I think I need a nap.”

             “Are you sure you’re fine?” Mabel pressed. Grauntie Angie rolled her eyes.

             “Yer worse than Stan!  Yes, I’m fine.”  She turned back to face the front.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look, the same thought running through their minds.

             She’s not fine.

-----

             By the time they pulled up to the Shack, Grauntie Angie had fallen asleep.

             “Dr. Angie,” Soos said nervously, poking her. Grauntie Angie grumbled something and turned away.  “Dudes, I don’t think she’s gonna wake up.”

             “Not if you try like that,” Mabel said.  “The best way to wake someone up is to pinch their nose shut.  That always works.”  Dipper side-eyed her.

             “How many times have you done that?” he asked.

             “Enough to know it works!” Mabel said cheerfully. “Try it, Soos.”  Soos reached over and pinched Grauntie Angie’s nose.  Promptly, she punched him in the face.  Soos let out a yelp and let go.  Grauntie Angie settled back, still asleep.  “Maybe she’s under some sorta spell?  That could explain why she was saying all that stuff about not seeing fairies.”  Mabel opened the back door and got out of the truck, closely followed by Dipper.

             “If she’s under some sort of sleeping spell, I don’t know if we’ll be able to wake her up,” Dipper said, paging through the Journal.  Soos got out of the truck as well.  He tenderly prodded his nose with a wince.  “Are you all right, Soos?”

             “I don’t think she broke it,” Soos said. “Dr. Angie’s stronger than I thought she would be.”

             “A lot of people make that mistake,” a voice said. Dipper, Mabel, and Soos looked over. At some point, Grunkle Stan had exited the Shack and joined them by the truck.  He looked at Grauntie Angie, his eyes soft with fondness.  “I was gonna ask why you three were just standing around shooting the breeze, but it’s pretty obvious.”  Grunkle Stan opened the truck door.  He carefully unbuckled Grauntie Angie and hefted her into his arms. “Angie’s always been a heavy sleeper. I’ll take it from here.”  He paused.  “And…thanks for getting her.”

             “No problem, Mr. Pines!” Soos said, saluting. Grunkle Stan grunted in response. “She was acting a bit weird earlier, though…”  Grunkle Stan frowned.

             “That’s normal for her.  She’s weird.”

             “No, not like-” Dipper said.  He blinked.  “How come you’re holding her just fine?”

             “Old people aren’t supposed to lift heavy things,” Mabel put in.

             “I’m not that old and Angie’s not that heavy.” Grunkle Stan adjusted his hold on Grauntie Angie.  “How was she acting earlier?”

             “She kept saying that she’d never seen a fairy before.  And she has! She’s told us about it!” Mabel said. Grunkle Stan furrowed his brow.

             “She also said she didn’t believe Bigfoot was real, which is weird, because the first week we were here, she told us she was stepping out to bring Bigfoot some iced tea,” Dipper added.

             “It’s like she has no memory of magical or supernatural creatures at all!” Soos said.  Grunkle Stan went pale.  “Mr. Pines? Are you all right?”

             “Yeah,” Grunkle Stan said in a tight voice.  He shifted Grauntie Angie around slightly again. “It’s just- I’m not used to carrying Angie for so long.”  He cleared his throat.  “She was probably just yanking your chains or something.  Now, get to work.  I’ve gotta put Angie in bed.”  Grunkle Stan turned around and marched back to the Shack.  When he got to the porch, he sighed heavily.  “Soos, come get the door.”

             “On it, Mr. Pines!”  Soos sprinted away.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged an unnerved look.

             “Is it just me, or did Grunkle Stan look worried about Grauntie Angie not remembering the weirdness of Gravity Falls?” Dipper asked.  Mabel shook her head.

             “It’s not just you, Dipdop.  But it might not mean anything.  He might just be worried ‘cause she’s his wife.  Y’know?”

             “Yeah.”

             “I hope Grauntie Angie is all right.”  Mabel perked up.  “Maybe she just needed a nap for her brain to work.  That happens to me all the time.”

             “Yeah, I know,” Dipper said.  Mabel punched him playfully.  They both laughed and went inside.

-----

             Soos made his goodbyes and left the Shack. Mabel turned the sign on the door over so that it read “CLOSED”.  She turned to face Dipper and Emily, who were completing the end-of-day tasks.

             “Emily?”

             “What’s up, lil cuz?” Emily asked, looking up from the register, where she was counting out the day’s profits.

             “How’s Grauntie Angie doing?  She seemed a bit…off earlier.”

             “Dad’s checking on her now, since she’s been sleeping most of the day.”  There was a bloodcurdling scream from somewhere in the house.  Mabel and Dipper jumped.

             “What was that?” Mabel squeaked.

             “Should we, uh, look into that?” Dipper asked. Emily had gone as pale as a sheet. “Emily?”

             “That sounded like Ma,” she whispered.  She swallowed.  “I’m gonna go check it out, you kids stay here.”  She headed for the entryway to the living room.  Before she could take more than a few steps, however, Grunkle Stan appeared, panting heavily.  “Dad, was that Ma?”

             “She was just a bit, uh, a bit disoriented when she woke up,” Grunkle Stan said.  Emily frowned.  “She’s not used to sleeping for so long in the middle of the day, so she was confused and thought she saw something…abnormal.”

             “Really?” Emily asked, crossing her arms.  “That doesn’t pass the smell test, Dad.” Grunkle Stan glared at her.

             “Don’t question me, squirt.  I need you to go do something.”

             “Is it because I talked back?”

             “No, I was gonna ask you to do it anyways.”  Grunkle Stan glanced at Dipper and Mabel briefly before focusing on Emily again.  “I need you to go see Gobby.”  Emily’s eyes widened.

             “Why?”

             “Your ma isn’t feeling very well.  Ask Gobby if she can think of a reason for it.”

             “What are her symptoms?”

             “I’ll call you on your way.”

             “I didn’t finish the stuff with the register-”

             “I’ll take care of it, just get going,” Grunkle Stan said impatiently.  He handed Emily a set of car keys.  “Take the Stanleymobile.”  Emily swallowed nervously and nodded.

             “Got it.”  She exited the Gift Shop.  Grunkle Stan turned to Dipper and Mabel.

             “Go to your room.”

             “Who’s Gobby?” Mabel asked.

             “An old friend.  Go to your room.”

             “We didn’t finish-” Dipper started.  Grunkle Stan rolled his eyes.

             “Kid, I’m letting you get out of your chores for the day.”

             “But-”

             “No buts,” Grunkle Stan snapped.  “Go to your room and read that weird book or make a new sweater or whatever, okay?  I’ll close things up.”

             “But-” Dipper tried again.  Grunkle Stan glared at him.  “…Okay.”  Dipper and Mabel headed into the living room and upstairs into the attic.  “That was weird.”

             “Yeah…”  Dipper looked at Mabel.  She seemed thoughtful.

             “What is it?”

             “Emily told me the other day that when Grunkle Stan gets nervous or worried, he tries to take care of everything himself.” Mabel met Dipper’s eyes.  “He does all the chores, all the cooking, all the work for the Shack, and he won’t let anyone help him.”

             “You think he’s worried?  About what?”

             “Grauntie Angie!  Doy!”

             “Oh.”  Dipper rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.  “Right.”

             “Hopefully, he’s overreacting,” Mabel said.  “I’d really hate if there was something wrong with Grauntie Angie.”

             “Same.”  The engine of the Stanleymobile roared to life.  Dipper and Mabel raced over to the window to watch Emily drive away.  For once, the radio wasn’t blasting so loudly that they could hear it from where they stood.  “But I’ve got a bad feeling about it, Mabel.”

             “Me, too.”

-----

             The bell over the door to the Gift Shop jingled. Dipper and Mabel looked up from their chores.  A tall young man with long blond hair in a ponytail stood in the doorway.

             “Junior!” Mabel shouted excitedly.  Stanley Pines Junior, Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie’s oldest child, smiled weakly at her.

             “Hey there, kiddo,” he said.  Of Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie’s kids, Junior was the one Dipper and Mabel saw the most after Emily.  Junior ran a car dealership that doubled as a mechanic shop, and Grunkle Stan had a tendency to tell Dipper and Mabel to go help his son out on days where business for the Shack was slow.  Luckily, Junior was more easy-going than Grunkle Stan, so working for him wasn’t that bad.

             “What’s going on?” Dipper asked.  “Why are you here?”  Junior was too busy with his children and shop to come by the Shack often. The sight of him was either a very good thing or a very bad thing.

             “Dad said Ma isn’t doing too well.”  Junior rubbed the long, thin nose he had inherited from Grauntie Angie.  “He asked me to come by and see what I could do.”

             “Why would he ask you?” Dipper asked.  “I thought you just worked on cars.”

             “Why he asked for my help doesn’t matter,” Junior said firmly.  “You kids should get back to work.  I’ve gotta talk to my folks.”  He strode through the Gift Shop and disappeared into the living room.  Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look.

             “It is weird that Grunkle Stan asked Junior to help with Grauntie Angie, right?” Dipper asked.  Mabel nodded.

             “Yes, it is.  I mean, she’s been sick for a week now.  They should take her to the doctor, not have Junior come over.”  She rubbed her chin thoughtfully.  “Unless Junior is going to drive them both to the doctor.”

             “Grunkle Stan won’t take Grauntie Angie to the doctor,” Dipper said.  “He told me the other day that he doesn’t trust them.”

             “Yep, that sounds like our Grunkle Stan,” Mabel said. Soft voices carried from somewhere in the house.  

             “Wanna eavesdrop?” Dipper asked.  Mabel threw aside the broom she had been sweeping with.

             “Duh!” she scoffed.  “Let’s go, bro-bro!”  Dipper set down his own broom and the two scampered out of the Gift Shop and into the living room.  They snuck down the hall to Grunkle Stan and Grauntie Angie’s bedroom.  The door was ajar.

             “Ma, you don’t remember?” Junior’s voice asked.

             “I’ve been told, but I ain’t seen it with my own eyes, so’s I can’t confirm it,” Grauntie Angie said.  Dipper looked at Mabel in horror.  Her eyes were wide with concern as well.  Grauntie Angie sounded incredibly weak.  Like she was on death’s doorstep.  “I…I’ve seen you ‘n yer sister ‘n Stan, but I ain’t seen it with me.”

             “Angie, you’ve gotta believe me,” Grunkle Stan’s voice said desperately.  “If you don’t…”  He trailed off.

             “I’m sorry, darlin’, but I can’t.  Not without proof.  You know how I am.”

             “Yeah.  Yeah, I do.” Grunkle Stan took a deep breath. “Junior, did you find out anything about memory junk?”

             “I asked around.  I guess there are some freaks in red cloaks that mess with people’s minds for some reason.  That’s the only possible explanation I could come up with fer what happened to Ma.”

             “Red cloaks?” Emily’s voice asked.

             “Aw, shit,” Grunkle Stan swore.  He groaned loudly.  “It’s that damn thing Fiddlenerd got mixed up in.”

             “Whattaya mean?” Junior asked.

             “Wait, why’d you call him Fiddlenerd?” Emily asked.

             “Old habit.  And, well…”  Grunkle Stan sighed.  “It’s a long story, but I guess that cult your uncle started never went away.”

             “He started a cult?!” Emily demanded.

             “I’ll tell you later.  After you get back from finding Fiddlenerd.  Bring him here.”

             “You got it, Dad,” Junior said.  There was a sound like someone getting up from a chair. As quietly as they could, Dipper and Mabel raced back to the Gift Shop.  They picked up their brooms again and pretended to sweep.  Shortly after, Junior and Emily walked into the Gift Shop.

             “Are you guys going somewhere?” Mabel asked. Emily ruffled her hair playfully.

             “It’s top secret, cuz,” she said with a wink. “When we get back, though, I’ll play with you, okay?”  She and Junior left.  Mabel and Dipper looked at each other.

             “Where’s Soos?” Dipper asked.

             “Grunkle Stan told him to replace the rotting boards on the outhouse,” Mabel answered.  Dipper dropped his broom.

             “Good.  Grunkle Stan won’t get suspicious he’s not in the Gift Shop, then,” Dipper said.  Mabel cocked her head curiously.  “Junior and Emily are looking for Old Man McGucket, but I don’t know if that’s the right move.  We need to go to where this whole thing started.  The museum.”  Mabel grinned and dropped her broom as well.

             “Normally, I don’t like museums, but if there’s an adventure involved, you can count me in!”

-----

             Wendy was waiting for them when they got to the museum.  She looked up from her phone as they rushed over to her.

             “All right, what’s going on?” she asked.  “All the text from Soos said was to come here.”

             “Grauntie Angie’s sick,” Dipper said.  Wendy’s eyes widened.  “She started getting weak and everything after we found her here, so we thought it would be a good place to start.”

             “Huh.”  Wendy looked at the museum entrance.  “I did just see Old Man McGucket go in.”

             “Wait, really?” Dipper asked.  Wendy nodded.  “Why would he know to be here?”  Wendy shrugged.

             “Grunkle Stan said something about Old Man McGucket being involved with a cult,” Mabel pointed out.  Wendy’s mouth dropped open.

             “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.

             “No, that is what we heard Grunkle Stan say,” Dipper confirmed.  He frowned. “But what could that have to do with Grauntie Angie being sick?”

             “Only one way to find out,” Wendy said.  She opened the door.  “Let’s track that guy down.”

-----

             Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy walked through the empty, darkened halls of the museum.  They had yet to see someone who didn’t turn out to actually be a poorly made statue.

             “Where could he be?” Dipper asked.  Mabel shrugged.  Wendy came to a stop.  She held out her arm, stopping the others as well.

             “Do you hear that?” she whispered.  Soft muttering sounded from a nearby room. “That’s gotta be him.”  Mabel snuck over to the room and stuck her head in.

             “Hi, Old Man McGucket!” she said loudly.  Old Man McGucket let out a shocked yelp.  The others came over as well.  “What are you doing here?” Mabel asked.

             “Uh, just- just checkin’ out my fav’rite room in the museum,” Old McGucket said in a tight voice.  Dipper looked around.  The room was full of eyes.  Paintings, statues, even eyeballs in jars.  Adding to the sinister atmosphere was the only source of light: a crackling fireplace.

             “Really?” Dipper asked flatly.  “This is your favorite room?”  Old Man McGucket crossed his arms, scowling.

             “I reckon I ought to ask y’all what yer doin’ here, too,” he said shortly.  “If’n I recall correctly, all four of ya ‘re s’pposed to be workin’ at the Mystery Shack right about now.”

             “We’re on a rescue mission!” Mabel said.  Old Man McGucket frowned.

             “A rescue mission?  What for?”

             “Dr. Angie,” Wendy said.  Old Man McGucket’s eyes widened.  “She’s sick.”

             “And y’all came to the museum to help her ‘cause…” Old Man McGucket prompted, his voice wavering.

             “She only got sick after we found her here,” Soos answered.  “She was on the sidewalk and had a headache and couldn’t remember what happened.” Old Man McGucket’s shoulders drooped.

             “I can’t believe it,” he whispered.  “They- they went after her?”  He rubbed his eyes.  “No, I- I can believe it.  She’s always been mixed up in the weirdness ‘round here.”

             “Uh, what are you talking about?” Mabel asked. Old Man McGucket sighed.

             “I’ve been lyin’ to you kids,” he confessed. “I know more ‘n I’ve been lettin’ on.” He walked over to the fireplace and stared into the flames, his gaze a thousand miles away.  “I first came to this town over thirty years ago to help someone out.  But I couldn’t- I couldn’t handle this town’s oddities.  They were too much fer me.  So’s I- I came up with a way to forget ‘em.  If I could go back in time, I’d destroy the darned thing.  All’s it did was ruin my life, make me lose m’self. Turn my memory into a block of Swiss cheese.”

             “Okay, but what does that have to do with Dr. Angie?” Wendy asked.  Old Man McGucket sighed again.

             “I figured I weren’t the only person in town what wanted to forget somethin’ horrible they’d seen.  So’s I started goin’ ‘round, helpin’ folks forget.  But things- things got out of hand.”

             “It turned into a cult?” Mabel prompted.  Old Man McGucket whipped his head around to stare at her.  “We overheard Grunkle Stan say something about you and a cult.”

             “…Yes,” Old Man McGucket said softly.  “Yes, it turned into a cult.  Thanks to Angie ‘n Stan, I got out of it, but I guess the other members kept it goin’.  They hid it well enough I didn’t realize until recently, when I caught one of ‘em sneakin’ through the alley by the junkyard.”

             “Grauntie Angie and Grunkle Stan got you out of the cult?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket nodded.

             “Without ‘em, my mind would be an even bigger mess ‘n it already is.”  He scowled. “If what ya say is correct, that Angie woke up outside the museum with a headache and no memory of how she got there, the Blind Eye Society was definitely responsible.  They must’ve wiped her memories after they caught her witnessin’ somethin’ paranormal.”

             “The Blind Eye Society?” Soos asked.

             “The name I came up fer the…”  Old Man McGucket winced.  “…cult.”

             “So how do we fix all this?” Wendy asked.  “I mean, it’s nice to know the problem, but it’s not super useful unless we also know the solution.  Y’know?”

             “If’n they ain’t changed things, then the memories should be stored in a secret room under the museum,” Old Man McGucket said. “But I can’t quite recall how to get there.  All’s I remember is that this room is the key.”  He shivered.  “It’s awful difficult to try to remember, with all these eyes starin’ at me.”

             “Wait…”  Dipper took a second look at the many eyes in the room.  “They are staring at you!”  Every single eye in the room was pointed in Old Man McGucket’s direction. “Move aside.”

             “If ya insist,” Old Man McGucket muttered. He took a step to the left, revealing a triangular stone with an eye carved on it.  This eye was staring straight ahead.  Dipper walked up to the stone and pushed it.  There was a loud shudder from the fireplace.  Everyone turned around, watching as the fireplace slid to the side, revealing a staircase.

             “Whoa,” Mabel gasped.

             “Thanks fer findin’ that,” Old Man McGucket said. “Who knows how long it might’ve taken me to figure out on my own?”  He frowned. “Yer all plannin’ on comin’ with, ain’t ya?”

             “Yep.”

             “Yes.”

             “Duh.”

             “Yeah!”

             “Of course,” Old Man McGucket sighed.  He crossed his arms.  “All right.  I think I can lead us to where they keep the memories from here, but I want y’all to stick close to me.  No wanderin’ off.  And most importantly, don’t look at any memories ya find.”

             “Aw, buzzkill!” Wendy whined.  Old Man McGucket scowled.

             “It ain’t right to pry into someone’s private memories.  Understand?”

             “Yes,” everyone muttered.

             “Good.”  Old Man McGucket turned to somberly face the staircase.  “Good.”

-----

             They stood before a set of large wooden doors. The top of the door was carved to looked like a massive eye, with a hydraulic tube going through the eye’s pupil. While the doors were intimidating by their mere size, there was an added uneasy air from the red spray paint crossing out the eye.

             “Now, if’n I recall proper, this is the Hall of the Forgotten,” Old Man McGucket said.  He took a deep breath and pushed the doors open.  Everyone but Old Man McGucket let out a soft gasp at the sight of the massive room.

             “Whoa.”

             “What are all these things?” Dipper asked, picking up one of the many glass tubes laying around in piles.  He squinted at it.  “It’s got Robbie’s name on it.”

             “Then Robbie’s memories were erased at some point,” Old Man McGucket replied.

             “These tubey things are memories?” Mabel asked. Old Man McGucket nodded.  “…How?”

             “Let me see if…”  Old Man McGucket looked around.  “Ah-ha!”  He walked over to a large pile of memory tubes.  At the foot of the pile was a strange device that looked like a futuristic ray gun of some sort.  On top of the gun was a compartment that held one of the tubes.  He picked it up.  “You enter in this here gun what it is ya want to forget.  Once it’s fired, those memories are saved in a tube.”

             “How do you get your memories back, if they’re in a tube?” Wendy asked.

             “Oh, ya put it in a special TV to watch it.” Old Man McGucket gestured towards a strange television tucked away in the corner of the room.

             “And that gives you your memories back?” Dipper said slowly.  Old Man McGucket shrugged.

             “Sort of.”

             “I found it!” Mabel called.  The others looked over.  Mabel stood in front of an ominous stone statue of a hooded man with outstretched arms.  Above the statue was a shelf with multiple memory tubes.  “Grauntie Angie’s memory thingy is right here!  And so is Old Man McGucket’s!”

             “Do ya have to call me that?” Old Man McGucket muttered.  He blinked. “Wait, they’ve got some of my memories?”

             “Guess so,” Mabel said with a shrug.  She grabbed two memory tubes, then threw one to Old Man McGucket.  “If you have to watch these in order to get your memories back, how is it going to help Grauntie Angie?”  Mabel’s eyes widened.  “Do we need to take the TV, too?”

             “No, I think there’s still one in the Mystery Shack’s basement,” Old Man McGucket said.

             “The Shack has a basement?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket nodded.  Dipper looked at Soos and Wendy.  “Did you guys know that?”

             “Nope.”

             “I had no idea, dude.”

             “Stan can show ya when ya get there, then,” Old Man McGucket said.  He sighed softly, looking around the room.  “I really tarred it up, didn’t I?  All sorts of good folks ‘re gettin’ their memories erased all over town. ‘Cause of me.”  A determined look settled on his face.  “Guess I’ll have to clean up the mess what I made.”

             “Uh, you’re gonna take down a cult on your own?” Wendy asked.  Old Man McGucket chuckled.

             “Oh, no.  Don’t worry, I know some folks what can help me out.”

             “Who?”

             “That ain’t information fer you to know.”  Old Man McGucket took a deep breath.  “But I will come clean ‘bout somethin’.  It’s the least I can do fer yer help in findin’ my mem’ries and wantin’ to help my baby sister.”  He closed his eyes.  “I did make that laptop.”

             “I knew it!” Dipper said, punching the air. “But…why did you lie, then?”

             “I didn’t want you children to get mixed up in what awful things that laptop comes with.  But it’s pretty obvious that yer goin’ to be in trouble no matter what, so I might as well tell y’all the truth.”

             “Then- are you the Author?” Dipper asked.  Old Man McGucket frowned.

             “Author?  Of what?”

             “I found this journal in the woods and-” Dipper reached for the pocked in his vest where he kept the Journal.  Nothing was there.  “Dang it! We were in too much of a hurry to leave; I forgot it back at the Shack!”

             “I think…” Old Man McGucket said slowly.  “I think I know what yer referrin’ to.  The book had research on the supernatural things here in Gravity Falls?”  Dipper and Mabel nodded.  A shadow crossed Old Man McGucket’s face.  “I reckon I used to know the Author.  But I can’t quite recall.  I- I can almost hear his voice, almost see his face, but I might need some time ‘fore I remember who he was.”

             “Once you remember, will you tell us who he is?” Mabel asked.

             “Only if I know the answer won’t put ya in danger. And given the lengths I’ve gone to forget him, I get the feelin’ that danger is a close friend of his.”  Old Man McGucket shook his head.  “Ya best get goin’.  My baby sister needs her memories back.”  He stared down at the memory tube in his hands.  “Y’all can leave without me.”  His fingers brushed his name on the label.  “I thought I remembered just ‘bout everything, but clearly I’ve got some left to do.”

             “Are you sure you can find your way home?” Soos asked.  Old Man McGucket chuckled.  He put the memory tube underneath his hat.

             “You’d be surprised what this ole feller can find.”

             “So is that a yes?” Soos asked slowly.  Old Man McGucket nodded.  “Oh.  Good.” Soos turned to Dipper, Mabel, and Wendy. “Let’s go bring Dr. Angie’s memories back to her!”

-----

             “All right, we’ve gotta get this to Grauntie Angie!” Dipper shouted as he burst through the door of the Gift Shop, closely followed by Mabel, Soos, and Wendy.

             “What are ya gettin’ to me?” Grauntie Angie asked. Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy froze. “If it’s a gift, ya don’t need to get me anything,” Grauntie Angie continued.  She was standing by the vending machine, whose door was currently open. “I’m just goin’ to grab m’self a quick snack ‘fore I went out.”

             “Grauntie Angie, you’re- you’re all right!” Mabel squealed in delight.  She rushed over to Grauntie Angie, tackling her in a hug.  Grauntie Angie chuckled, ruffling Mabel’s hair.

             “Were ya concerned I wouldn’t be?” she asked.

             “You’ve been bedridden for days,” Dipper pointed out.

             “Hmm, that’s true,” Grauntie Angie conceded. “But-”  She paused.  “Jesus, are you cryin’?” she asked.  Soos wiped away his tears.

             “I’m just so glad that you’re not sick anymore, Dr. Angie,” he sobbed.  Grauntie Angie tsked sympathetically.

             “Honey, ya don’t need to cry over me.  It’s okay.”

    ��        “How’d you get better so fast?” Wendy asked. “Dipper and Mabel said you were doing really bad this morning.”  Grauntie Angie beamed at Grunkle Stan, who was closing the door to the vending machine.

             “Stanley’s just quite excellent at nursin’ me back to health,” she cooed.  She stood on her tiptoes to kiss Grunkle Stan on the cheek.  Mabel and Dipper grimaced, grossed out by the public display of affection. “Thank you fer yer help, darlin’. I better go.  Who knows what state the lake is in after I left it alone fer so long?”

             “Oh, yeah, those frogs go nuts when you’re not around to keep them in check,” Grunkle Stan replied.  Grauntie Angie giggled.  “Junior’s gonna come by in a few minutes if you wanna wait for him to give you a ride.”

             “Excellent idea, my dear.”  Grauntie Angie smiled at Dipper and Mabel.  “I’ll catch up with the two of ya later, okay?”  She left the Gift Shop, the bell over the door jingling with her exit.  Dipper turned to Grunkle Stan, who was staring at the door wistfully.

             “Seriously, how did she get better so quickly?” he asked.

             “You heard her,” Grunkle Stan said.  He grinned.  “I’m good at taking care of my wife.  Wouldn’t still be married if I wasn’t.”

             “But-” Dipper started.

             “I gotta go work on the newest exhibit,” Grunkle Stan said, talking over Dipper.  “I’ve been too busy with Angie to finish it up.”  He went through the “Staff Only” door, disappearing into the house. Dipper frowned thoughtfully.

             “Dipper,” Mabel said in a warning tone.  “I don’t like that look on your face.”

             “I can’t shake the feeling that Grauntie Angie is hiding something,” Dipper said quietly.  Mabel gasped.

             “Are you gonna watch her memories?  We promised Old Man McGucket we wouldn’t!”

             “Old Man McGucket isn’t here,” Dipper retorted. “Her memories could answer the biggest mystery in this town!”  He reached for the pocket he had put Grauntie Angie’s memory tube.  Nothing was there.  “Uh oh.”

             “Uh oh?” Mabel said.  “What’s uh oh?”

             “I don’t have her memory tube.”

             “What?!  Did you drop it somewhere?”

             “I don’t think I did!” Dipper said.  He dragged his hands down his face.  “We’ll have to retrace our steps to find it!” Wendy’s phone chirped.  She took it out of her pocket and blinked in surprise.

             “I got a text from Emily.”

             “What’s it say?” Mabel asked.  Wendy squinted at her phone’s screen.

             “Huh.  They tracked down Old Man McGucket and apparently the tube fell out of your pocket or whatever before we left.  He’s got it, so we don’t need to look for it.”

             “Oh.”  Dipper sighed.  “I guess that’s good.”

             “Uh, duh, it’s good that Dr. Angie’s memories aren’t on a sidewalk somewhere,” Wendy said, rolling her eyes. She pulled the brim of Dipper’s hat down over his eyes.  “Dork.” Dipper laughed.  “I’m gonna go wait outside with Dr. Angie.  I bet I can get Junior to give me a ride back home.”

             “Bye, Wendy!” Mabel called.  Wendy grinned and went outside.  Mabel looked at Dipper.  “Maybe it’s for the best that we accidentally left without the memory thing.  This way, you can’t sneak around and watch Grauntie Angie’s memories without permission!”  Dipper rubbed his arm, abashed.

             “Yeah,” he mumbled.  He sighed.  “I just want to find out what she’s hiding!”

             “Is she hiding anything?” Mabel asked.  “I mean, we haven’t really been able to ask her about what she knows about the Journal.”

             “Good point,” Dipper muttered.  His eyes shot open.  “The Journal!”

             “Oh, it’s over here, dude,” Soos said.  Dipper and Mabel looked over.  Soos held the Journal up in one hand.  “It was behind the checkout counter.”

             “I left it next to the register, though,” Dipper said.  Soos shrugged.

             “Maybe Mr. Pines put it somewhere a tourist wouldn’t see it and want to buy it,” he suggested.  Dipper frowned.  “Or Dr. Angie moved it.”

             “That’s more likely,” Dipper said.

             “Soos, kids!” Grunkle Stan’s voice shouted from somewhere.  “Get back to work!”  Dipper and Mabel groaned.  “I heard that!”

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

Understanding Fossil Fuels through Carnegie Museums’ Exhibits

by Albert D. Kollar, Collection Manager, with assistance from Suzanne Mills, Collection Assistant, and Joann Wilson, Volunteer Section of Invertebrate Paleontology

The exhibits of Carnegie Museum of Natural History and Carnegie Museum of Art are ideal for a multidisciplinary study of fossil fuels in Pennsylvania and beyond. Such a study must properly begin with some historical background about the landmark Oakland building that houses both museums, as well as some background information about fossil fuels.

When the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh opened in 1895, the architects, Longfellow, Alden, and Harlow incorporated roof skylights for maximum daytime lighting in the Italian Renaissance designed building¹. Nighttime activities were illuminated by interior gas lighting fixtures, possibly supplied by the Murrysville gas field, which began production in 1878. With the opening of the Carnegie Institute Extension in 1907, the Bellefield Boiler Plant was built in Junction Hollow to supply in-house steam heat and electricity from bituminous coal¹. From the 1970’s, coal and natural gas had been used to heat the boilers that supply heat to the Oakland Campus, Phipps, the University of Pittsburgh and the Oakland hospitals. In 2009 coal was eliminated as a fuel source. Electricity on the other hand, is supplied through Talen Energy from multiple sources (coal, gas, and renewable energy sources). For the future, Carnegie Museums of Pittsburgh plans to receive its electricity from renewable solar energy via Talen Energy².

What are Fossil Fuels?

Coal, oil, and natural gas (methane), known collectively as fossil fuels, are sources of energy derived from the remains of ancient life forms that usually are found preserved in coal rock, black shale, and sandstone.

Figure 1.

Coal is a rock. The coalification process starts from a thick accumulation of plant material in reducing environments where the organic matter does not decay completely. This deposit of plant residue that thrives in freshwater swamps at high latitudes forms peat, an early stage or rank in the development of coal. With the burial of peat over geologic time and a low temperature form of metamorphism produces a progression of the maturity or “rank” of the organic deposits that form the coal ranks of lignite, sub-bituminous, bituminous, and anthracite³ (Fig. 1). The Pennsylvanian Period was named for the rocks and coals of southwestern Pennsylvania that formed more than 300 million years ago.

Oil and natural gas, collectively known as hydrocarbons, were forming in the Devonian rocks of Pennsylvania between 360 and 390 million years ago. These hydrocarbon deposits or kerogens are made of millions of generations of marine plankton and animal remains that accumulated in a restricted anoxia ocean basin that extended from southern New York, through western Pennsylvania, northern West Virginia to eastern Kentucky⁴. The thick layers of sediment formed black shales or mud rocks such as the Marcellus Shale. Black shales are rich in oil and gas and are called source rocks. Sandstones such as the Oriskany Sandstone that is older than the Marcellus Shale is a reservoir rock. An amorphous mass of organic matter or kerogen undergo complex geochemical reshuffling of the hydrocarbon molecules first with burial then by thermal “cracking” as heat and pressure through the geologic process of metamorphism over millions of years transform kerogen into modern day fossil fuels⁴.

Fossil Fuels in Modern Society

As commodities converted to fuels for our modern world, these resources account for 80% of today’s energy consumption in the United States⁵. All three fossil fuels, in furnaces of vastly different design, have been used to directly heat homes, schools, workplaces, and other structures. In power plants, all three have been used for generating electricity for lighting, charging mobile phones, and powering computers, home appliances, and all manner of industrial machines. In the United States, coal became the country’s primary energy source in the late 1880s, displacing the forest-destroying practice of burning wood. It ceded the top spot to petroleum in 1950 but enjoyed a late-20th-century renaissance as the primary fuel for power plants⁵. Coal now generates approximately 11% of our country’s supply down from 48% just 20 years ago. Natural gas is currently used to generate approximately 35% of US electricity supplanting the use of coal⁶. While petroleum is less than1%⁶.

Transportation accounts for approximately 37% of total energy consumption. Coal played an historic role in powering railroads, and both compressed natural gas and batteries (charged with electricity generated from various sources) are of growing importance, however, refined oil products currently power 91% of the transportation sector⁶.

Figure 2.

In the early 20th century, scientists warned about how the burning of coal could create global warming in future centuries by raising the level of carbon dioxide, a greenhouse or heat-holding gas, in the atmosphere. (Fig. 2). It took less than a century for evidence to mount of climate change associated with the burning of fossil fuels, the clearing of forests associated with industrial scale livestock production, and from waste management and other routine processes of modern life. In recent decades headlines have routinely proclaimed the risks of a warming planet, including damage to terrestrial ecosystems, the oceans, and a rise in sea level⁷.

Fossil Fuels and Museum Geology Displays

When architects Frank E. Alden and Alfred B. Harlow designed the Carnegie Institute Extension (1907), they incorporated Andrew Carnegie’s vision to create an introduction hall to the museum named Physics, Geology and Mineralogy⁸. This hall (the forerunner to Benedum Hall of Geology) was intended to introduce Pittsburghers to the regional natural history subjects of geology, paleontology, and economic geology (fossil fuels)⁹.

Figure 3.

In the 1940s, the 300-million-year-old Pennsylvanian age coal forest diorama was installed in a corner space of what is now part of the Benedum Hall of Geology (Fig. 3). Because coal converted to coke is a vital ingredient in steel production, this three-dimensional depiction of the conditions under which Pittsburgh’s economically important coal deposits formed was (and remains) an important public asset.

Figure 4.

In 1965, as part of an overall plan to bring more of the natural history museum’s fossil collection to the public, Paleozoic Hall opened with funding from the Richard King Mellon Foundation¹⁰. This exhibition featured nine dioramas that recreate the ancient environments through 290 million years of Earth history. Sadly, only one of the nine units remains on display, the diorama depicting the Pennsylvanian age marine seaway (Fig. 4), in the Benedum Hall of Geology.

Since the Benedum Hall of Geology opened to the public in 1988 the exhibition has featured an economic geology component with displays explaining differences between coal ranks Lignite coal to anthracite coal, and a variety of Pennsylvania’s crude oils and lubricants processed from the historic well Edwin Drake drilled in Titusville in 1859 (Fig. 1 )¹¹.

Figure 5.

Today, the Hall’s “strata wall,” a towering depiction of some of the rock layers found thousands of feet below western Pennsylvania, is in my opinion, an under-utilized display in terms of conveying information about fossil fuels. Although the wall is not currently documented with any geologic information, minor changes might allow visitors to use the lens of rock strata to better understand historical events such as the Drake Well, and economically important geologic reservoirs such as the Marcellus Shale (the second largest gas deposit in the United States), the natural gas storage reservoir of the Oriskany Sandstone, and the gas and liquid condensate (ethane) extracted from the Utica Formation (Ordovician Age) for making plastic products at the Shell Cracker Plant in Beaver County, PA (Fig. 5).

Figure 6.

Elsewhere in the museum, visitors can learn more about the topic of fossil fuels at several other locations. At the Holzmaden fossil exhibit in Dinosaurs in Their Time, there is a large fossil crinoid preserved in a dark gray limestone of Jurassic age, that represents a reservoir of crude oil in Germany (Fig. 6). At the mini diorama of the La Brea tar pits, oil seeps from natural fractures from an approximately six-million-year-old rock of Miocene age, to the unconsolidated surface sediment in what is now part of the City of Los Angeles (Fig. 7).

Figure 7.

Looking for Fossil Fuel Evidence in Art

In 2018, I reviewed 58 landscape paintings and the John White Alexander wall murals on the first and second floors of the Grand Staircase within Carnegie Museum of Art (CMOA) galleries to look for artistic documentation of what I interpreted to be causes for climate change based on the science. I found many examples based on the use of coal as a fossil fuel for power and coking in steel mills and the natural formation of bio-methane as portrayed in ecosystem landscapes of the industrial age of the middle 19th and early 20th century¹².

Figure 8.

Figure 9.

Searching for the CMOA landscapes paintings takes a little patience, but the visitor is rewarded by taking a new look at some of the art museum’s classic paintings (Fig. 8 and 9).

Figure 10.

Within day trip visiting distance of Carnegie Museums are historic plaques highlighting the discovery of coal on Mount Washington, natural gas in Murrysville, and oil in Titusville, Pennsylvania. (Fig. 10). At all three stops you’ll have a better understanding of the significance if you begin your investigation of fossil fuels at Carnegie Museums.

Albert D. Kollar is the Collection Manager for the Section of Invertebrate Paleontology. Suzanne Mills is the Collection Assistant and Joann Wilson is a volunteer Section of Invertebrate Paleontology.

References

1. Kollar, A.D. 2020. CMP Travel Program and Section of Invertebrate Paleontology promotes the 125th Anniversary of the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh with an outdoor walking tour. https://carnegiemnh.org/125th-anniversary-carnegie-library-of-pittsburgh-outdoor-walking-tour/

2. Personal communications Anthony J. Young, Vice President (FP&O) Carnegie Museums of Pittsburgh.

3. Brezinski, D. K. and C K. Brezinski. 2014. Geology of Pennsylvania’s Coal. PAlS Publication Number 18.

4. Geology of the Marcellus Shale. 2011. Brezinski, D.K., D. A. Billman, J.A. Harper, and A.D. Kollar. PAlS Publication 11.

5. https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2021-05-03/coal-consumption-in-the-u-s-declines-as-natural-gas-solar-wind-energy-rise

6. United States Energy Agency (EIA) 2019.

7. Bill Gates. 2021. How to Avoid A Climate Disaster.

8. Kollar et al. 2020. Carnegie Institute Extension Connemara Marble: Cross-Atlantic Connections Between Western Ireland and Gilded Age Architecture in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. ACM, 86, 207-253.

9. Dawson, M. R. 1988. Benedum Hall of Geology. Carnegie Magazine, 12-18.

10. Eller, E. R. 1965. Paleozoic Hall. Carnegie Magazine, 255-338.

11. Harper and Dawson 1992. Benedum Hall-A Celebration of Geology. Pennsylvania Geology, 23, 12-15.

12. Kollar et al. 2018. Geology of the Landscape Paintings at the Carnegie Museum of Art, a Reflection of the “Anthropocene” 1860-2017. Geological Society of America, Abstracts with Programs, v. 49, 243.

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 10 - Clean This Up

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, who is he really?, 2.9k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

WARNINGS: abuse, mild violence

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Alex had said to check the diner, so Victoria opted to have dinner there and asked to see the owner. She was aware of the vigilante-style work she was doing, but with everything else going on in her life, this couldn’t possibly hurt any worse. Folding her hands, she breathed calmly as she peeked at the menu. It was important not to act as authoritative as she usually did, she reminded herself. A portly man with short gray hair and a mustache came over and took the seat across from her.

“Hi there,” the man said, shaking Victoria’s hand. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, I’m Victoria Molina,” she introduced herself. “I was actually trying to find someone and I was told you could help me.”

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, alright. Who are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for a young man of about seventeen, he goes by Willie? I was told he works here. I just have some questions for him. Would he happen to be in at all today?”

“We don’t have anyone named Willie here anymore,” the man told her. “I actually just bought this establishment along with the hotel about two weeks ago and a few of the staff followed the previous owner to a different business. You might want to talk to him instead.”

“Oh,” Victoria sat back in slight disappointment. “I take it you’re not Caleb Covington?”

“No, he’s the guy I bought it from. I’m Frank Wolfe. I can give you his contact information, though.”

Nodding, she smiled politely.

“I would appreciate that. Sorry I had to come bother you, though.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I apologize that I can’t be any more useful. If you like, I can take your order.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll actually have the carne asada.”

“Perfect,” he smiled as he took her menu away. “I’ll have that information for you in just a minute, too.”

Taking a gulp of water, Victoria sighed. It certainly felt just like any regular case. The fact the business had recently changed hands made her want to be suspicious, but she fought to remain level-headed. It was enough that she was going off the word of a teenage boy and an old poster. If it was a dud, if this trip led nowhere, she would buy Carlos a gift and head home safe and sound.

After finishing her meal, she returned to her hotel room and pulled out the business card Frank Wolfe had given her. Something about the dark purple design and the old-fashioned lettering he’d chosen made her feel like Caleb Covington was at least a little pretentious, if not flashy about his business. Picking up the phone and dialing the number, she held her breath waiting for an answer.

“Caleb Covington, who may I be speaking to?” a baritone voice chimed on the other end. The touch of sing-song in his tone was unexpected.

“Hi, my name is Victoria,” she introduced herself for the second time that night. “I was told you were the guardian of a young man named Willie?”

“Are you with social services?” he asked.

She furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry?”

“I usually only get a call when we have a hearing scheduled, but our last one was just a couple months ago.” His tone had gone from happy to serious at such a jarring speed it took Victoria a moment to process his words.

“No,” she said finally. “No, I’m not with them. I didn’t mean to confuse you. I’m actually reaching out on a personal favor. See another young man I know says they met a while back.”

“Oh, is it the band that came through a few weeks ago?” Caleb immediately picked the cheer back up.

“Yes, I’m glad you remember,” she responded, surprised.

“How are those boys doing?”

“Oh, they’re just fine. I think they’re gonna be a success.”

“Good to hear it,” he said. “Listen, no harm done. I own a swanky little club just in the south of town. I would be delighted if you gave me a visit, and I’d be happy to chat.”

“Sounds great, thank you,” Victoria smiled, unable to believe how easy that felt. “I can stop by tomorrow evening.”

“Wonderful. If it isn’t too much, I’ll make you a reservation.”

“Well, I can’t say no to such generosity!” It had been a long time since Victoria had gone on a night out. This was a much needed vacation, and if it killed two birds with one stone, all the better. She said goodbye and decided since she was practically getting everything she needed at the club, the rest of the day would be spent treating herself for once.

Willie skateboarded up the driveway and only just remembered Caleb’s rule about the pool in time to hop off before pulling off his helmet and going around the back. He took the back route into the house and dropped a number of grocery bags on the counter. One of these days he would age out of the foster system and not spend the morning being Caleb’s errand boy, but for now he just laid Caleb’s credit card on the table and went outside toward his shed.

Opening the door, he saw Caleb standing in the middle of the room, looking around at all of his drawings. Paper covered most of the walls now. Faces with no names to them, locations with no map to their destination - only snippets of a past life. Willie couldn’t stop drawing them. There still weren’t many memories returning to him, but any detail was an important one. He hadn’t drawn this much in ages, since before he found Sheldon. The backwards dream had become a recurring one by now, and there was still very little that he understood about it. Still, he had so many scenes made out of it that he could almost recreate the dream in a very rough animation.

“Hi C-Caleb,” Willie stammered. This never happened. It made him immediately nervous.

“What a collection, William,” Caleb said, not exactly sounding like an awed patron in a museum. “I mean, the sheer volume of work that went into these is absolutely mind-blowing.”

A small pebble of pride rose in Willie’s chest.

“Really?.... Um, thank you.” He couldn’t suppress his smile.

Caleb held up a hand and looked down at his well-manicured nails, and then back up.

“I just don’t understand why I look so hostile in this one,” he said, pointing to the picture in question. “And that one. And all of these in this corner.” His gaze returned to Willie with unprecedented menace.

Willie immediately shrank away, his mouth gaping open.

“Well...I..they’re from a dream.”

“A dream?” Caleb repeated, not liking what he was hearing.

“Yeah, I think it was a memory.”

Willie watched the man straighten his posture, a calculating expression on his face.

“Are these all memories?” Caleb asked after a tense moment, casting his eyes about the room.

“I think so,” Willie said hesitantly.

Caleb lifted a hand and grabbed the bottom of one. It was the first one WIllie had done of his dad sitting inside the truck and smiling at him.

“Hm,” was all that he said for a second.

And then he tore it in half.

Willie made toward the picture in alarm, feeling a part of him inside being torn just the same, but was stopped as Caleb held a hand out.

“Ah ah,” he said. “What have I told you about becoming your own person regardless of the past?” He took a handful of another drawing and ripped that one too.

Ignoring what Caleb said, Willie lunged forward to try stopping him anyway. Caleb was faster, grabbing his shirt and tossing him backward into the wall. He couldn’t help but begin crying.

“But these are my memories, why would you - ” he sputtered, lost for words.

“Because, William,” Caleb continued loudly, pulling as many as he could off the wall and shredding them into smaller pieces. “Your history? The one full of loss and being shuffled here and there? That is all that awaits you. You know it’s the truth; that’s how you ended up here. I offer you the opportunity to become a new person, and I can’t allow you to spoil yourself with reminders. And besides, those little friends you not-so-secretly made a few weeks ago have started snooping around in my business, and I can’t have that.”

He didn’t even pick anything up, he just left paper strewn all over the floor and walked all over it. As he made for the last wall, Willie made one more attempt to overpower him. He leapt onto Caleb’s shoulders and tried to pull him back with all his weight. A fist landed in his eye and he slacked his grip. Caleb wrestled him onto the bed and held him down, a crazed look in his eye that Willie swore he’d never seen no matter how familiar it felt.

“I don’t understand, what do they have to do with it? Why can’t I have friends?”

“I’m doing this for your own good,” Caleb hissed at him. “You” - he reached up and touched the scar on Willie’s head with his finger - “You got a reboot and you know how many people are lucky enough for that? You should thank me. Unfortunately, you can’t have friends when they send someone asking me questions about that little past of yours. That’s just asking for trouble.”

All Willie could do was hold his eye and lay back as Caleb tore up the last of the drawings. Once he finished, Caleb patted himself off and made his way out the door.

“Clean this up,” he told Willie. “And don’t bother doing any more art.”

As the door shut behind him, Willie scrambled onto the floor to search for just one of the drawings. Shuffling through smudged pieces of paper, he saw a few tears drop onto his ruined work. Eventually, he held the picture of his father in two pieces in his hands. Sobbing, he tried to hold them together evenly, but Caleb’s work had made that hard to do. His only hope was to try drawing it again, but he was already terrified of what Caleb’s reaction to that would be if his first one had been this.

A piece of another drawing caught Willie’s eye from underneath. He recognized Caleb’s snarling face from the dream and was surprised at how well it captured what he’d just witnessed. His mind went back to the way he knew the look in Caleb’s eyes. Suddenly, the awful realization dawned on him: he finally understood the dream.

Victoria walked into the club that evening, glad she had taken the time to look and feel fresh. This place was clearly up to snuff and then some. A live band played with dancers scattered throughout, all in bright, sparkly, feathery getup. A tall man with neatly styled dark hair was mesmerizing the crowd as he sang, keeping the energy high. As she was led to a table, Victoria simply sat and watched, greatly impressed with the talent.

Once the man’s solo finished, he bowed, gestured at the band to play on without him, and exited the stage. To Victoria’s surprise, he took the seat directly across from her.

“Ms. Victoria, you look so lovely, how are we this evening?” he asked with a charming smile. “I’m Caleb Covington.”

“Are you kidding me?” she started. “That was you up there? You’re a man of many talents; I’m already dazzled.”

“Oh, well, I hope that remains a constant while you’re here,” he said. "But you came to ask me about some other things, what were they?”

“Yes, I had some questions about Willie.”

Willie sat outside the bodega, unwilling to move for a while. He felt like everything inside of him was empty, as if Caleb had possessed claws and dug everything out until he was left hollow. The many ideas that had risen in his mind in the past few hours were all too much, all at once. If he dared, was he sure he could handle everything that might come his way? Every time he’d heard that ridiculous speech about starting over, becoming his own, yada-yada, he hadn’t considered any of the options he was now contemplating.

He’d already done some things. Already bought some things. Now he got up to collect Sheldon and held him tightly as he nodded to Escobar, who saluted him back. The man had said he didn’t want a dramatic thank you. Stuffing the items he purchased in his bag, he kept a hold of Sheldon as he skated off into the darkness.

“So, you see, Willie isn’t missing. He was abandoned,” Caleb was saying to Victoria. “Poor thing has struggled to adjust. I’ve dealt with some handfuls in the past, but I really have been doing the most for him, and he’s been with me for more than three years. I think it’s really sweet of those boys to raise a concern, and I hate to be a dead end, but that’s the truth of it.”

Victoria sat, nodding in acceptance.

“That makes a lot of sense, Mr. Covington, thank you for providing that for me.”

“Oh, call me Caleb. We’re all friends in here.”

“Okay, then, Caleb,” she corrected. “What got you into foster care?”

He put a hand over his heart and a fond look came over him.

“The youth are just full of so much magic, and I hate to see that their parents have chosen to lay it to waste. I’m the one who takes some of the tougher cases so I can bring out the best in them. You see that young man over there, Dante?” Caleb pointed at one of the dancers. “Classic rebel when he was young. You wouldn’t even know, he’s turned into such a gentleman. There’s a few more here and there in the club. I call them my graduates.”

“Well, I will tell you,” Victoria said. “When I first talked to you on the phone I wasn’t expecting you to be so generous. But now I can see that it’s just how you are.”

Caleb shot her a playful smile.

“Victoria, no need to butter me up. I do have some tight business practices to keep up.”

Fluid poured over every inch of the shed. Willie had made sure it was more than enough to get things going. He’d made sure to get the essentials: food for himself and Sheldon, a few changes of clothes, and a stash of money he’d taken from the safe in Caleb’s bedroom. The man shouldn’t have given him the combination in the first place.

Stepping out of the shed he looked at it one last time. What a sad, lousy existence. Living to perform for this man who shut him up inside this little thing and he had actually called it home? The further he was into his plan, the bolder he began to feel. He remembered when he had missed getting into the Pearl and that feeling of wrongness that had made him so frustrated. This feeling he had right now? It was so right. It was so right it drowned out anything scary about this whole idea.

He looked back at where he had put Sheldon on a small leash and tied him along the fence around Caleb’s backyard. It was definitely a safe distance. Then Willie pulled a box of matches out of his pocket, lit one, and looked at the flame for a minute. He held it just over the threshold of the doorway so it would land inside. It was so weak, like he had been ever since his accident. But he knew it was going to become so powerful, and he desperately hoped that he could retain some of that power for himself.

“Clean this up, Caleb,” he said, and he let his fingers go.

Victoria had stayed just a little longer to enjoy more food and music before standing up and heading toward the door. Caleb saw her on her way out and made her stop for a moment.

“It’s been a lovely night, and I’m grateful for everything you told me,” she said to him.

“Well I’m glad you took the opportunity to see what I have here,” he replied. “If you’re ever in the city again, please stop by. We’re always partying and putting on the best show.”

“Oh, I most certainly will,” she said, smiling as she made her way outside.

Someone tapped on Caleb’s shoulder from behind. Wordlessly, he turned to see who it was and why it was important.

“Sir,” one of his servers said. “You have a phone call. It’s the fire department.”

“What?” Caleb spat as he went to pick it up.

Willie sped along on his board the best that he could with Sheldon in his arms. He carefully made it down the ramp onto the freeway, controlling his speed as well as he could. He could picture Caleb now, just getting back to his home, eyes wide as he came upon the blaze. It was a very strange feeling, but right now Willie chose to focus on his newfound freedom. The cost wasn’t the matter right now. Freedom was all that was going to take him and his cat as far as they could go. The destination for now was Los Angeles.

[morceid]

Beating The Dead Swan

Chapter 4: hold on for your life

read on ao3

<- chapter three

Summary: The team makes progress on the case and Spencer makes progress with Derek.

Word Count: 1.8k

Category: angst, some fluff

Content Warnings: drug mention, general criminal minds stuff

A/N: so sorry this took so long to finish writing! i just had some other things i needed to do for school stuff before i did this but enjoy!!

The next day Derek walked into the BAU, ready to give Hotch a rundown of how they were handling the case, but something caught his eye.

Through the windows of the office Spencer now occupied, there was an art easel propped up next to the couch. A sheet covered in various paints and colors laid on the floor as Spencer brushed a sky of purple and blue on the canvas.

“Whatcha doin’ there, kid?”

“Oh, oh hi Agent Morgan, I hope this is okay, I just wanted to paint.” Spencer stammered.

“It’s fine, it looks good too. How long have you been painting?”

“I’m fairly certain I was 8, could’ve been 9 though, my dad left around then and it’s all kind of blurry.”

A thick silence surrounded the two, the only sound being the brush against the cloth canvas.

“Um, I’m sorry. Anyways, what are you going to be doing today?” Spencer swiped his finger through the purple color he’d mixed and dabbed it across the wet paint.

“Well, Garcia is looking through the bank records of all the victims. If there’s anything suspicious then she’ll look into it and we might even take the case as a team, but for now it’s just me and her. I’m going to talk to my boss right now, I’ll talk to you later though.” Derek turned towards the doorway but Spencer stopped him.

“Morgan, uh, do you think, do you think you’ll catch whoever did this to Camille?”

“I sure hope we do. You deserve some closure. We all do.”

“Yeah, yeah just sometimes, it feels, I don’t know, captivating in all the wrong ways.”

“I know. But it gets better, I promise you. See you in a bit.” Derek left the office and headed towards the bullpen.

Spencer exhaled and studied the paint on his hand. The cold feeling, the intense smell, and the sound as he slapped it across the canvas.

“Hey, any updates?” Hotch asked Derek as he opened the door to his office.

“Nah, not really. All the people we’ve interviewed are completely innocent. Penelope’s checking men with sexual offenses that our victims could’ve interacted with but I’m not sure we’re gonna find anything.”

“Alright, you should probably check on that now, I’ll see you later if there are any updates.”

“See ya, boss.” Derek said as he walked back down the steps and across the hall to Penelope’s office.

“Hello my soulmate and love of my life Derek Morgan, how can I help you today?” Penelope excitedly exclaimed as Derek walked into her office.

“Hey baby girl, get anything from your search?”

“Unfortunately, no. None of the victims had close family that had both a connection to the company or a sexual offense, in fact there are no sex offenders in the area that have any connection to the company at all. They really do triple check everyone’s background.”

“There has got to be some connection somewhere. Did the M.E. do another tox screen?” Derek asked.

“Yep, and it seems that all of the victims had massive doses of ketamine in their systems.”

“Camille had ketamine in her blood?” Spencer walked into the office and started the two.

“Oh! Spencer, you can’t be in here, not right now.” Derek rushed to take him out of the room.

“Wh- why can’t I? Camille was my friend, I deserve to know about her. Did she have drugs in her body?”

“Spencer, you can’t be interrupting an investigation. I’m sorry, but you need to go back to your office.”

Spencer stops trying to push against Derek and exhales, trying to catch his breath. They walked back towards the office they now called home while squeezing his hands in intervals of three, a trick to calm himself down Camille had taught him. He fell onto the couch and fell asleep quickly, deciding not to fight the tired feeling his eyes gave him.

They woke up what felt like around thirty minutes later, but the digital clock he set on the table next to the brown leather couch read 11:43. He got up and grabbed flannel pants and a sweater from his bag of clothes and headed to the bathroom to change into the pajamas. They grabbed his chess set from his office and went into the breakroom. Their stomach growled and they recalled that they went to Penelope’s office earlier to ask if he could have the rest of the soup. He looked around the bullpen, wondering if they’d mind if he ate something from the fridge.

Agent Rossi walked out of his office and took notice of Spencer.

“Hey, what are you doing up? The only person here this late is generally that guy.” Rossi pointed towards Agent Hotchner’s office. The microwave on the counter now displayed 12:06.

“I-I took an unexpectedly long nap and uh, I didn’t eat lunch or dinner to- well technically yesterday now, uh, c-could I have something from the fridge?” Spencer stammered.

“Of course, kid. In fact, there’s some of my signature pasta in there. I make it weekly for the rest of the team, but today Derek ordered something for lunch so he didn’t eat his. You can have it if you want.”

“Thank you, Agent Rossi.” Spencer took the tupperware container out of the refrigerator and put it in the microwave.

“You can just call me Rossi, you don’t have to do the whole Agent thing,” Rossi said as he sat on the other side of Spencer’s chess game. “I didn’t know you played.”

The microwave beeped and Spencer took the bowl out and stirred it around with a fork. They brought it to the table, eating it as they moved a chess piece.

“Yeah, Camille gave me this set for my birthday, which actually isn't for another couple weeks but she didn’t want to wait.”

“You know, I had this old friend, Jason Gideon, he played chess. I think you’d like him. He’s the one who taught me.” Rossi moved his own chess piece.

“He sounds interesting. I fell asleep before Morgan could tell me anything, but have you made any good progress on the case?”

“A little. We found out how all of the girls died but we just can’t seem to figure out why the unsub did this.”

“Unsub?” Spencer said, moving another chess piece.

“Unknown Subject, it’s what we call the murderer. I’ve looked over your files, you seem like a really smart person.”

“Yeah, I uh, I can read pretty fast. I have an eidetic memory, too. I was a pretty good punching bag as a kid.”

“The world will see something amazing and try to take it for their own.” Rossi absentmindedly moved a piece.

“Yeah, I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”

“So, I’m assuming you don’t have much of a record with the ladies?”

“None at all. I’ve been intrigued by a couple guys, but they’ve all turned me down or turned out to be assholes,” Spencer laughed and moved another one of his pieces before taking another bite of spaghetti. “What about you? You’ve got to have courted some girl with this amazing pasta.”

“Yeah, I have, I actually got three ex wives.”

“Wow, that’s impressive.”

“Depends on your definition of impressive,” It was Rossi’s turn to laugh and move a piece. “You’ve got your eyes on him, don’t you?”

Spencer looked puzzled for a second before Rossi nudged the tupperware lid that had Derek’s name written across the top.

“Maybe, just a little bit. I’d be lying if I didn’t think he was attractive,” Spencer moved a piece. “Check.”

“I think he might like you too.” Rossi moved a piece.

“I don’t. He’s nice, but I don’t think he’d like me back.” Spencer moved a piece.

“I know you haven’t known me for long, Spencer, but I’m right about this,” Rossi moved another piece. “Checkmate. You’re smart, but you’ve still got a lot to learn.”

Rossi got up from the table and started walking out to his car. Spencer packed up his chess set and made a pot of coffee before heading to their office. For the rest of the night they drank his coffee and worked on the painting still sitting on the easel. 

At around six in the morning Spencer was getting ready to brew another pot of coffee and JJ walked into the breakroom. 

“Oh! Hi, uh, are you gonna be here long?” JJ asked.

“Uh, no, why?”

“Uh, Agent Hotchner called us in because he found something with the case. You’re not gonna be allowed in here when he’s telling us, I’m sorry.”

“Oh it’s fine, I’ve been up all night so I should probably just go take a nap anyways.”

They shared an awkward laugh before Spencer went back into the office and promptly fell back asleep on the couch.

Almost six hours later Spencer woke up to Derek knocking on his door. They got up and straightened out their sweater.

“Hey, so Hotch wants you there to hear the profile, just thought you should know.” Derek said, taking in the pajamas Spencer was wearing.

“Oh, okay, thanks.” 

Derek went back out to the bullpen and Spencer closed the blinds of the office windows before changing his flannel pants to jeans. When they finished dressing he went out to the bullpen and sat on the edge of an unused desk. Police officers were scattered around the area.

“You look like you need this.” Derek said as he sat next to Spencer and handed him a cup of coffee.

“Aren’t you supposed to be presenting the case too?”

“No, Hotch wanted to do it himself.”

The two set their cups of coffee down at the same time and their hands brushed against one another.

“You’re comforting.” Spencer thought out loud.

Derek didn’t respond. He just took it in and they both faced away from each other, hiding the smiles from the other’s eyes and savouring the moment.

Hotch’s profile wasn’t all that detailed, but it was early in the case anyways. The unsub would have either no mother figure or a distant one, and the father would be abusive in some way or another. His estimated age range was 25-30 and he would likely have learned his behavior from someone close, possibly the same father that abused him. He would rarely go in public and when he did he wouldn’t talk to anyone unless he had to. He likely wasn’t someone everyone knew and would isolate himself in most situations.

Most of the details floated out of Derek’s head as Hotch spoke as he had already heard the profile once and his mind was already clouded with Spencer’s words. When the presentation was finished Derek walked with Rossi to Penelope’s office to see if she had any new findings.

“He’s kind of a pretty boy, isn't he?” Derek said.

“Who?

“Spencer.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Rossi gave a knowing smile as they walked into Penelope’s office.

TAGLIST: @heavenlydevil @hotpotatowoman @party-poisxn @endingsbeginnings @d3pr3ss3d-w33d-wh0re @ted-theodore-preston​ @moss0ntherocks​ @scandinavian-punk​ @doctorenby​ @penemily​ @izzyl13​ @leomo0n​ @tiedyedrose1705​ 

[sweetiepie08]

Rebel Z (Chapter 10 Final)

nvader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list please let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. 

Thank you for reading! I do plan to continue the story in a sequel fic, but I may take a short hiatus first. I hope you enjoyed this!

Be on the lookout for the next book in the series, RevolutionZ! In which Zim and Tak attempt to join the Resisty and gain new companions! Dib fills his gap year by joining an alien rebellion! Gaz gets dragged in too! And what happened to Zim in Death Melee is explained! 

However, I will most likely only be posting links to Ao3 than full chapters to Tumblr. Again, Thank you everyone for reading!

[-]

“So, what exactly the fuck was all that stuff with the punch about?” Dib asked once they were a comfortable distance away form the Massive.

Zim glared straight ahead at the stars. “It’s nothing that concerns you, human.”

“Bullshit!” Dib slammed his hand down on the control panel. “Your little stunt could have gotten us killed. Out with it!”

Zim gritted his teeth and gripped the steering mechanism until his knuckles quaked. Dib braced himself for the inevitable screaming denial. Instead, Zim let out a pained sigh. “Fine, if you must know, I figured out three Urth years ago that my mission was a sham and my leaders were trying to have me killed, so I took revenge. Happy?”

“We know all that,” Tak snapped. “And anyway, I told you your mission was a lie a long time ago. What I want to know is how you managed to betray the Tallest without your treasonous thoughts setting of your life clock.”

“Yeah, and who’s Spek?” Dib added.

“You wish to hear Zim’s tale of woe?” He clenched his fist and heaved out another sigh. “Fine. Three Urth years ago, the Tallest contacted me, telling me they selected me to participate in Death Melee, an inter-galactic event that all would be watching.”

“The one where they throw criminals on a planet together to fight to the death?” Tak deadpanned. “That was your first clue?”

“They told me the rules had changed and it was now a contest of elite warriors. For my partner, they gave me a Spek, a smeet just shy of his cadet years. He hadn’t even seen his first cycle yet…” Zim’s fists shook as he cut himself off.

“Since you’re still alive, I’m assuming you won,” Dib said.

“Yes, but…” his gaze fell to the floor. “Yes. Anyway, throughout the Melee, it became clear to me that the Tallest lied. This was still a game for criminals, but Spek…” Zim narrowed his haunted eyes, “he was only there to lessen my chances.”

Dib watched, mesmerized. He thought he’d seen the many moods of Zim. He’d seen everything from proud boasting, to spiteful rage, to pathetic schmooping. But this, this was something else entirely, something he never expected to see from the alien. True remorse.  

“On my journey back to Urth,” he continued, “I had too much time to think and when made it back to m base, I was done with all of it.” Rage grew in his voice with every word. “I knew they lied. I knew they’d been lying. For a moment, I thought, if they didn’t want my genius, maybe someone else would. And that thought was enough to set off my life clock. Instead of simply ripping out my feedback chip, I infected it with a virus that sends the Control Brains a loop of my Urth memories, preventing it from receiving new thoughts and experiences.” A bitter, satisfied smile came to his face. “As far as I can tell, it hadn’t noticed anything was off until now.”

“And the machines I saw you building?” Dib pressed.

Zim drew himself up. “I have a contract with the Resisity. I build them machines, they appreciate my genius and send me monies.”

“And that’s what you’ve been doing for three years?” Dib asked, voice sripping with skepticism.

Zim nodded and said nothing more.

Dib stared at him, trying to get a read on this whole tale. He wasn’t sure what to believe. Zim’s reason for existence seamed to be pleasing his Tallest. The little green monster talked of nothing else since arriving on Urth. He couldn’t imagine Zim wanting anything else and he’d fallen for the schmoopy act before. But this was not schmoop. It was too subtle, too quiet. And that betrayal of his Tallest couldn’t be denied. Something had truly changed.

Dib looked to Tak to gauge her opinion, but her face revealed nothing except careful calculation.

“I’d heard the Resisty had been growing and gaining power,” she mused. “New technology granted them upsetting victories and made them more of a problem than they once were. They could be the key. We need to fight if we ever want a chance of defeating the Control Brains and freeing our people, and for that, we’ll need an army. With your connection and my information, we could pose a real threat to the Empire.”

Dib expected Zim to launch into another tirade about how he wasn’t in it for the politics. That this was all a personal mission and he had no interest in going rogue. That did not happen.

Instead, Zim said nothing for a long time. He simply stared through the windshield in tense silence. But then, a grin grew slowly on his face. “I’m in.”

[-]

When they made it back to Earth, they found that Gaz made use of MiMi and Mini Mouse as gaming companions, Dad bought her excuse that Dib was hanging out at Zim’s house, and that he hadn’t even stopped home long enough to notice the two additional robots in the living room.

Dib went straight to his room and laid out all of his recording devices. He had the notes he took the night Zim and Tak rambled drunkenly on the couch. He had the audio recording of the old man Irken that he couldn’t wait to translate. And he had the spy camera he’d been wearing to capture the whole experience. He never got so much undeniable proof on one mission before, and no one, to his knowledge, had this much evidence of this quality ever. He’d be king of the Swollen Eyeball network if he showed even a fraction of…

His eyes drifted to the Swollen Eyeball emblem pinned to his bulletin board and he let out a sigh. The Swollen Eyeball… what a joke. They’d been reduced to a bunch of anti-science conspiracy nuts. The organization became a competition to see who could shout their wildest theory the loudest. What were they compared to a real evil alien empire, a real soul-sucking, Lovecraftian horror, and a real space alien rebellion?

No. This was bigger than some crack-pot conspiracy group. This rebellion universe-shattering consequences. And he was going to be part of it.

[-]

Out in his ship, Zim stared at his PAK connector with warry eyes. He wasn’t sure what held him back now. His stunt on the Massive already solidified his traitor status, but this felt different, more official. It was one thing to enact vengeance on those who betrayed him. It was quite another to completely detach himself from society.

He’d been unwaveringly loyal to the Empire since his conception, but they didn’t want him. He’d seen that years ago. So what was he waiting for?

He disconnected the PAK from his back and ignored the lifeclock in the corner of his eye as he plugged it in. He opened the hatch, clicked a pair of tweezers in his fingers, then reached them toward his feedback chip.

At a light tug, his computer’s voice gave an automated warning.

You are attempting to remove the feedback chip. Doing so is an act of treason against the Irken Empire. Are you sure you want to proceed?

Zim closed his eyes and pulled the chip free.

[-]

Tak’s footsteps echoed as she walked across the concrete garage floor. MiMi’s metallic feet clacked beside her. Apart from that, the room was silent. She was used to silence. One grows accustomed to it when traveling alone through space. But these last few days had been anything but. And with Zim as her dubious ally, silent moments like this were certain to be few and far between.

And yet, this moment, she felt the need to fill it with something.

She popped open the windshield of her ship and hopped inside. “MiMi, my disc please.” Mimi reached into her head and took out the Urth data storage disc. Zim wasn’t the only one with a secret stash.

Tak took the disc from Mimi and placed it in a tray on the ship’s control panel. “Ship, track six please.” As she hopped out, music began to play. Smooth, jazzy horns filled the air and the singer began crooning.

Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky. Maybe this time he’ll stay…

The song was from an Urth performance art piece. The vocalist sang about some male mate. That part didn’t interest Tak in the slightest. Still, there was something about it...

Not a loser anymore, like the last time and the time before…

The song continued to play as Tak opened the engine access panel and began her work. While manipulating the many gears and wires, she found a few interesting repair methods that the human implemented over the years. Many employed the use of an Urth bonding strip called “duct tape”, which she had to admit came in handy. The human didn’t do a bad job, even if it was pretty slap-dash.

All the odds are in my favor, something’s bound to begin…

She finally untangled a mess of wires and reconnected them.

It’s gotta happen, happen sometime…

She fused together the final wire and the ship hummed to life. Fuel Regulation Systems online.

Tak smiled, “Okay Mimi, looks like we’re finally getting somewhere.” She ducked back into the access panel as the song his its crescendo.

Maybe this time I’ll win.

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1  part 2  part 3  part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 belongs to this

content warnings: memory loss due to old age

about 7k whoops

Yellow petals brushed Geralt’s cheek as the biting wind ripped them off the flowers. Since the sharp sting of autumn had chased away the suffocatingly thick air of summer more and more flowers had fallen victim to the harsher weather. Not many were left fighting defiantly against the approaching frost.

Amongst the strongest were the leaves of the dandelions that came back no matter what. Geralt had stopped trying to get rid of the stubborn little weed shortly after it had appeared. It seemed it still outbraved the wilting flowers.

Still, Geralt had done his best to save them. He missed his chance last year when Jaskier had beaten the cold to it and scattered the petals himself. Geralt had tried to put up a tarp around the flowers to shield them, but the wind had teared it down not soon after, along with more flowers.

Geralt sighed and threw a glance back at the cottage. He couldn’t see Jaskier through the well-lit window, but he knew he was in there, safe and warm and probably cosy under some blankets. It had gotten too cold for him to regularly come into their garden. Maybe it was better this way. At least he didn’t get to see the sorry state it was in, even if it meant missing out on the last blooms of the year.

Without much thinking, Geralt turned back to the flowers, cutting some of them – not all, always in the hope that there would be some that were strong enough to resist the cold a while longer – and held them gently in his hand, before turning back and seeking shelter inside their home.  

He shut the door behind him, not quite blocking the howling of the wind or the sound of the furious waves. He wasn’t greeted by the customary ‘Geralt, you’re back’ that he now half expected any time he left Jaskier’s sight for more than a few minutes.

Instead, soft snores drifted through the air. A smile danced around Geralt’s lips as he shrugged of his coat and watched the rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest. He had slumped over in his armchair, a blanket pooling around his waist and the book he had been reading hanging limply from his hand.

Trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake Jaskier, Geralt put some water on the stove. Surely, Jaskier would appreciate a nice warm cup of tea once he woke up, cranky and aching from the cold weather.

Geralt must not have succeeded, the clanging of the kettle enough to stir the sleeping man. Jaskier gave a little whine and snuggled more into the armchair.

With a fond warmth in his chest, Geralt walked over to him, crouching down in front of the armchair. He took a moment to admire Jaskier’s sleeping form, the way his silver hair fell into his forehead and his nose crinkled adorably. Like this, his wrinkles almost seem to be fewer than they were. Geralt reached out and smoothed the lines on Jaskier’s forehead, brushing his hair away.

Grumbling quietly, Jaskier curled tighter around himself, before letting out a long and content breath, his eyes opening slowly. The moment his eyes landed on Geralt, his breath hitched.

For a heartbeat, Jaskier didn’t move a muscle, then his brows drew together and his eyes flickered over Geralt. There was something frantic about his searching gaze and the sour tang of fear mingled with the smell of the brewing tea.

“You don’t have to worry,” Geralt said in the soft voice he always used, when Jaskier scanned him for injuries. The spike of Jaskier’s anxiety tugged uncomfortably at Geralt’s chest, but it didn’t fail to make his heart flutter, knowing that even after all this time, Jaskier was still concerned for his safety.

Geralt’s words did nothing to soothe Jaskier. If anything, the hard lines between his brows got deeper.

“What are you doing here?” Jaskier asked, a barely concealed tremor in his voice.

Geralt frowned and threw a glance over at the hearth, where a fire was gleefully dancing. Maybe it was still too cold for Jaskier. It was no wonder, with the way the blanket had fallen off his shoulders. Geralt reached out and pulled it back up, noticing how Jaskier’s heartbeat picked up at the tender action.

“Believe it or not, but you’re not the only one who gets cold,” Geralt said with a teasing smirk. “The wind got too strong, ruined all my work.”

A small “Oh” escaped Jaskier’s lips, his eyes softening a bit, though they didn’t stop searching his face, for what Geralt knew not. “Sorry to hear that. Are you… do you need help? I could make you tea or something to warm you up.” There was a bit of a strain in his voice, and Geralt noticed with quiet disappointment that Jaskier didn’t offer to take Geralt into his arms for warmth. Whatever else could be said about Jaskier, he had always known when to make serious suggestions for help, especially when he was worried about Geralt.

Something melted in Geralt’s chest and moved lazily through his body. “I already made some tea. But thank you.”

Jaskier stiffened at his words. “You made…well, that’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” His tone was piqued and his frown came back.

Geralt sighed and couldn’t help the way his smile got wider. He didn’t think he could ever tire of Jaskier wanting to do something nice for him, even if it was quite unnecessary. It was almost adorable how sometimes Jaskier still insisted on doing things himself.

It was important that Geralt didn’t coddle him too much, of course. Taking Jaskier’s autonomy away from him was the last thing he wanted, but there was nothing wrong with letting others take care of you. That, after all, was a lesson Jaskier had spent years upon years drilling into Geralt.

Instead of dignifying Jaskier’s accusation with a response, Geralt stood back up.

“I brought you flowers.” Geralt turned to the cabinet, searching for an appropriate vase.

“Oh…thanks.” The uncomfortable tone was accompanied by shuffling as Jaskier got up as well, his bones popping.

Geralt didn’t need to look to know that Jaskier’s face was contorted into a grimace.

“They were among the last flowers out there,” Geralt said. Maybe if he kept talking it would distract Jaskier from his aches. “I figured they might be of better use in here, looking all pretty than out there where they wouldn’t last much longer anyway.”

Jaskier was quiet for a moment. The only sound coming from him was the sound of him nervously shifting his weight around. Then he spoke up again. “That’s… well, yeah that makes sense. But you really didn’t have to give me the last of your flowers. It’s… quite unnecessary, really.”

“Our flowers,” Geralt corrected him without missing a beat. They’ve had this conversation too many times already. Just because Geralt was doing the physical labour didn’t mean the flowers were any more his than Jaskier’s. Especially when Geralt was struggling to arrange them in a simple vase, while Jaskier knew how to create artful bouquets.

No reply came. When Geralt turned around, unnerved by Jaskier’s unnatural silence, he found Jaskier looking at him with a strange expression, as though he didn’t know what to make of Geralt.

“Jaskier?”

At the sound of his name, Jaskier startled. It was as if he was being shaken awake. But instead of coming closer and smelling the flowers, giving Geralt a radiant smile, he backed away.

“How do you know my name?” Jaskier’s voice was even, but the tightness of it betrayed him.

Geralt frowned. He took a step closer, halting immediately when Jaskier took another step back. “What? Jask, of course I know your name. What are you talking about?”

Jaskier’s tongue darted out, nervously wetting his lips, his unblinking eyes only leaving Geralt for a split second, dashing over to the door behind Geralt. He held the blanket up in front of him like a shield.

“I…I suppose a lot of people know my name. But just because I am a famous bard doesn’t give you the right to come into my house like this.” The look in his eyes bordered on panicked. “Thank you for the flowers, but I think you should leave.”

Geralt froze, his heart dropping like a stone. “Leave? Jaskier, what’s going on? You’re worrying me.”

Jaskier’s eyes grew hard. It had been years since Geralt had seen this look on him. It was the same expression he got when people had cornered him in some dark corner of a tavern or alleyway, thinking him an easy victim. He only ever got the look when he was truly scared, thinking no one would come to his aid and hoping that being stern would make him appear more able to hold his own in a fight than he was.

Jaskier was afraid of him.

The thought hit Geralt like waves of ice water pulling a drowning man under. He staggered back.

Geralt knew his own expression had closed off, only revealing how stricken he was to those who knew him inside out. Like Jaskier was supposed to.

But he was staring at Geralt as though he was a stranger.

“What is going on is that you, for some reason, thought it would be alright to break into my house and behave like you owned the place.”

Geralt’s mind was racing, unable to comprehend what was going on, why Jaskier kept looking at him like that. He huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Like I owned – I didn’t break in.”

“No?” Jaskier’s eyes were blazing, but his shaking grip on the blanket was knuckle-white. “What do you call it then, when you come into another person’s home without knocking?”

Geralt was quiet for a long time, his eyes never leaving Jaskier. Jaskier, who just this morning had smiled when Geralt had kissed him awake. Jaskier, who stood in front of him, trembling in fear of him.

With a voice that was as small as if it belonged to the abandoned child Geralt had once been, he said, “I call it coming home.” A lump formed in Geralt’s throat, making it hard to breathe. His heart screamed at him not to say the next words, begging him, telling him he didn’t want to know the answer. And yet. “Jaskier… do you know who I am?”

“No.” The word cut through the air like a knife, knocking all air out of Geralt’s lungs. “And I don’t want to find out. Leave my home this instance.”

Geralt wished the distant roaring of the sea was loud enough to drown out Jaskier’s words, but instead he heard his heart break with the waves.

Be prepared for the worst. Yennefer’s words had been his constant companion since she had uttered them. Geralt had thought he knew what the worst was. He had shut his eyes to that quiet, venomous fear that had slithered in his mind like a viper. He hadn’t dared give that fear a shape and yet it had broken forth, winding itself around Geralt, suffocating him, as it plunged its teeth into Geralt’s heart in tandem with Jaskier’s cold words.

Without anther word, Geralt turned around. He pushed the door open, letting in a gust of wind that Geralt might see tearing at the flowers he had brought, if he had had enough strength to turn to look at them.

He didn’t linger in the door. Once again, like the coward he was, Geralt fled.

He didn’t go far, didn’t even leave the sight of the house. He couldn’t. A hole gaped inside his chest, growing deeper and darker with every step that took him further away from Jaskier.

He couldn’t lose him. He already has.

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fists against them, as if it could erase the memory of Jaskier trembling before him, but the images kept coming, crashing into him like an avalanche. Jaskier’s fearful look, his trembling hands, his tight voice, Jaskier lying on the ground with Geralt unable to help and Jaskier forgetting, always forgetting.

He was tempted to never go back inside, if it meant never having to see Jaskier like that again.

But this has happened before, hasn’t it? Geralt had stormed away in anger when flower petals had fallen to the ground. Had it really been only a year ago? It felt like so much longer than that. It felt like a lifetime.

Still, the words he had said when he had come back to Jaskier were as clear in his mind as they had been when he had first spoken them, fighting their way to the forefront of Geralt’s mind, growing louder until he could no longer ignore them.

Jaskier had said he wouldn’t leave him. And yet here Geralt was, alone, with the wind pushing against him, as if attempting to drag him further away from Jaskier.

Maybe he should let it do so. Maybe he should just leave as Jaskier had told him to, become a witcher again, as he was always meant to be. He shouldn’t even get back to the cottage to retrieve his swords. He would be able to get new ones. His old weapons could rust away, forgotten and collecting dust for all Geralt cared. Then at least one part of him would stay with Jaskier, now that Geralt had no longer a place in his memory.

I won’t leave you either. I promise.

Geralt’s hand clenched tighter, his nails digging into his skin as his own words came back to him unbidden.

All thoughts of abandoning Jaskier left him, carried off with the wind. Geralt had never held onto them strongly anyway.

Still, he stayed outside unable to go back just yet. Unable to face Jaskier’s fear.

As if it would do him any good, Geralt listened to Jaskier rummaging around the cottage. Did he try to barricade the doors to protect himself from the stranger that had broken in earlier? Or had he already forgotten about that and gone back to mundane tasks? A treacherous glimmer of hope threatened to alight in Geralt, as much as he fought against it. Maybe when he saw him again, Jaskier would recognise him once more.

Geralt wasn’t able to face to inevitable disappointment just yet.

When he finally did push the door open again, his breath held and his heart beating rapidly in his chest, he didn’t find Jaskier cowering at the sight of him, but he wasn’t welcomed by arms being thrown around his neck either.

It took Geralt a moment to spy Jaskier. He sat hunched over in a corner of the room, seemingly not noticing Geralt, focussed as he was on the thing he held in his hands.

It was one of Geralt’s swords.

When Jaskier turned it in his hand, his head tilted to the side in contemplation like a bird, the steel caught the gleam of the fire.

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat when Jaskier lifted a hand to trace the sharp edge of the still deadly weapon.

“Don’t!” The word left Geralt before he could think about it. Jaskier’s head snapped up. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Jaskier put his hand down again, but otherwise didn’t react. His eyes that just moments before had been glued to the sword as if figuring out a riddle now raked over Geralt’s body. None of the heat from before was in it, but neither was there the warmth of recognition. Jaskier just looked startled, uncertain of how to make sense of who and what he was seeing. Of course he would. Geralt had once again entered Jaskier’s home without announcing himself.

His heart clenched painfully at the thought. Jaskier’s home. Not theirs anymore. Not for Jaskier.

Geralt cleared his throat, lifted his hand and knocked awkwardly against the doorframe he was standing in.

Any moment now, Jaskier would throw him out again, would see in him the man who had broken in earlier and reek once more of fear.

Geralt tried to brace himself against what surely was to come, knowing no amount of preparation would spare him the shattering of his heart.

The sharp words never came. Instead a twinkle of amusement appeared in Jaskier’s eyes.

“I’d say you could come in,” he said dryly, his lips twitching “but it might be a bit too late for that.”

Heat rose in Geralt’s neck as he cracked a sheepish smile, his tongue too heavy to form words. Was this… was this his Jaskier? He didn’t dare ask the question out loud. Geralt didn’t think he could bear seeing the glint leave Jaskier’s eyes again to be replaced by that damned fear when he realised the man in front of him was a stranger to him.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on Geralt’s face –whatever else Jaskier might have forgotten, it seemed he still knew how to read Geralt like a children’s book – for Jaskier’s grin grew a bit bigger and he lifted the sword a bit higher.

“Before you get any stupid ideas, I have a sword and I know how to use it.” There was no malice in his tone, only a mixture of confusion and a hint of the playfulness that Geralt yearned for.

Geralt couldn’t supress a snort. “You couldn’t use a sword if it came with a manual.”

He watched like a hawk as Jaskier’s arm shook from the effort of holding the sword up, the point of it coming dangerously close to Jaskier’s own flesh.

Instinctively, Geralt took a step forward, but before he could reach Jaskier he let the sword sink again. He leaned it back against the wall next to its silver twin.

“No, I suppose I don’t.” He shrugged and rested against the wall himself, seemingly uncaring that he had no way to flee like this. Despite Jaskier’s casual stance, Geralt shifted until he wasn’t blocking the exit for Jaskier anymore, as he had before. Jaskier’s eyes followed him. “To be frank with you, I don’t really know why I have a sword in here at all. It’s not really…I don’t think it’s quite my style.”

“It’s mine.” The words stung on Geralt’s tongue.

Jaskier’s eyes widened, a renewed beginning of wonder taking the place of the confusion. Geralt’s heart clenched painfully. His whole being shook from the hope he couldn’t keep at bay.

Recognise me, he begged silently. Please, know me.

Jaskier tilted his head again, beaming with something akin to joy. Geralt’s breath stilled as Jaskier came ever closer until Geralt would have to just reach out to touch him.

There was something in the way Jaskier looked at him, something so painfully familiar –

“Your eyes…” Jaskier’s own eyes darted between the swords in the corner back to Geralt’s eyes, swept over his wind-tossed hair and his imposing frame. Something shifted in Jaskier’s expression, an eager excitement took hold of him. “I know who you are.”

Geralt’s heart was hammering in his chest, about to burst out.

“Jask…” he breathed out, unable to give his voice more strength.

“You’re the witcher, Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier spread his arms as if presenting something to behold. “The Butcher of Blaviken.”

Geralt’s world crumbled around him. All air was punched out of his lungs. Jaskier’s words cut him open like venomous claws. Never had Jaskier called him that, never except for that first and last time. Ever since then, he had made it his life’s work to erase the hated moniker from the memory of the world.

Yet here he stood, saying the name as he had back then, with excitement, almost in awe, as if it was something glorious to announce to the world. The name on Jaskier’s lips sounded worse than the cruellest insults people had spat at him.

Was this all, Geralt was to Jaskier now?

Witcher. Butcher. Monster!

Geralt staggered backwards. As though through a thick fog, Geralt felt himself shaking his head frantically and staggering back. He couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be happening.

Hands reached out to touch him, burn him. Push him away, hit him.

But instead they wrapped around his arm gently, steadying him clumsily.

“Are you alright?” Jaskier sounded so concerned, his tone sweet and poisonous. “Are you hurt?”

Geralt would have laughed if he hadn’t been so close to screaming.

He was once again nothing more than a witcher to Jaskier. Heartbreak and Death. The thought of the words Jaskier had said to him on their first day left a bitter taste in his mouth. If only he had known how close he had been to the truth.

Geralt let himself be ushered into a chair. On the edge of his conscious thought he saw Jaskier flutter about, trying to get him comfortable.

A cup was placed in his hands.

“Here, I made some tea.”

It was the tea Geralt had made. It was cold and had steeped far too long, left abandoned and forgotten until it was barely recognisable as tea anymore.

Geralt must have stared at the cup unmovingly for too long, for Jaskier made a disappointed noise.

“You don’t like it? I can make something else.” He sounded so eager, so desperate to keep Geralt here with him for as long as possible.

Geralt gave him a tight smile and lifted the cup to his lips. His face must have shown some of the disgust on his face at the cold and distasteful tea, for Jaskier’s face fell and his shoulders slumped.

“You hate it.”

Geralt’s heart clenched at the defeated sound. A familiar sting shot through his chest, one that had been his constant companion for the first years of knowing Jaskier.

Don’t make him hate you. Don’t disappoint him. Don’t make him leave!

He huffed and schooled his face into a pleased expression.

“No, no, it’s…it’s good. I just-“ He didn’t think about it, didn’t even realise he was doing it, until Jaskier let out a small gasp when Geralt used the tiniest burst of igni to warm the cup.

Geralt froze, his eyes snapping to Jaskier who was in turn staring at the now steaming cup in Geralt’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt blurted out, his grip on the cup tightening, as if that would somehow shield it from sight.

He shouldn’t have done it. The action had come so naturally to him and usually, Jaskier wouldn’t have batted an eye, but now…. who knew how Jaskier would react to seeing Geralt use signs. Who knew if he would feel threatened by how unnatural Geralt was.

Before Geralt could stammer out any other excuses or completely clam down, Jaskier moved. He rushed forward, grasping the hand that had made the sign in his, turning it around carefully, all the while studying it intently.

“What was that?” Jaskier asked, tracing one finger along a line on Geralt’s palm. “I didn’t know you could do magic. Show me again!”

Geralt’s brows furrowed, hesitant to move a single muscle, but Jaskier lifted his head to look at him, his eyes bright and eager. Goosebumps were erupting from where Jaskier was still tracing patterns on his skin.

Geralt chanced a glance away from Jaskier, towards the hearth where the fire was almost burned down. Jaskier followed his gaze and his face lit up in obvious expectation. He almost shook with anticipation.

Geralt took a deep breath, pulled his hand free of Jaskier’s grip though the loss of contact left him cold and empty and stretched his fingers towards the hearth, forming igni.

Immediately, the kindling flames burst back to light. The roar of the fire was only overshadowed by the sound of Jaskier’s delight. He threw his head back with a barking laugh.

“Oh this is brilliant!” His smile was almost too big to fit onto Jaskier’s face.

Seeing Jaskier like this loosened the tightness in Geralt’s chest bit by bit.

He didn’t hate him, wasn’t afraid of him. Meeting him again, like this, as a stranger coming unannounced into his home, he still wasn’t afraid of witchers. How could Geralt have ever doubted him? Brilliant, loving Jaskier whose first instinct was to reach out and befriend.

“Please tell me you will stay for a while.” Jaskier scooted closer with his chair. “I need to know everything about you. You must have so many incredible stories to tell.”

A tiny smile lifted Geralt’s lips. This was Jaskier. His Jaskier. Not the one who lived with him in a cottage, but the same one who had approached him a lifetime ago. He had more wrinkles and his voice was throaty, but he was Jaskier. He still looked at Geralt’s miniscule smile as though it was the most breathtaking sight. The small quirk of his lips was enough to get Jaskier to lean forward as if he didn’t want to miss any of it.

Just to see more of Jaskier’s reaction, Geralt widened his smile a bit and was rewarded by Jaskier’s eyes softening.

“I believe telling incredible stories would be more of your specialty,” Geralt said with the tiniest hint of humour that he allowed himself in spite of everything.

“So you will stay? Indulge me a bit?”

Geralt shifted in his chair, his heart beating uncomfortably strong. “If you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll have you!” Jaskier threw his hands up. “My dear Geralt of Rivia, it is a bard’s highest pleasure to meet someone like you.” He didn’t seem to notice Geralt choking at the endearment. “It would seem all those years of praising Melitele’s bosom and buttocks have finally paid off. Oh! The songs someone like you could inspire!”

The words send Geralt’s heart into his throat. Jaskier wanted to sing and compose again after years of barely doing either.

“You would sing for me?” Geralt’s voice was tight.

A sly smirk spread over Jaskier’s face. “How about a trade? You tell me all about your heroics and valiant deeds and I will sing for you. Oh – or I could become your barker. You could be the – the…”

“The White Wolf?”

“Yes!” Jaskier clapped his hands together, brimming with newfound energy he hadn’t in far too long. “That is marvellous! We are going to get along wonderfully, I tell you.”

Geralt’s eyes softened. “I’m sure we will.”

The storm inside him was still raging, but as they sat together and talked the time away, it calmed with every smile, gasp and laugh he managed to elicit from Jaskier. Greedily, Geralt soaked in each shift in Jaskier’s equally hungry expression.

He could almost pretend it was like it had always been, that they were sitting in some tavern with Jaskier nagging Geralt for details about a hunt, instead of a home at the coast which to Jaskier wasn’t Geralt’s anymore.

It was almost like a second chance he had never wanted. He still didn’t want it. If he could, Geralt would throw away this second chance at a first meeting in a heartbeat, if it meant getting back what they had.

But until Jaskier came back on his own, Geralt could do nothing but offer Jaskier everything that he was and have faith that it would be enough and wouldn’t chase Jaskier away.

Within hours, Jaskier was talking about Geralt as if he was a grand hero, with not an ounce of doubt in his voice. As if the knowledge that witchers weren’t fundamentally monstrous was a truth seared into his heart, unwavering even now.

At some point, Jaskier got up and produced a quill and a notebook from the shelf. He didn’t question why it was already half-full with verses about monsters and golden eyes.

Geralt watched him in silent admiration, as he scrawled down pages and pages of unreadable notes. It didn’t matter that Jaskier’s letters weren’t recognisable as such any longer. The scrawly lines, though in the middle of the book, marked a new beginning of sorts.

In his enthusiasm, Jaskier’s elbow got caught in the vase with the flowers that Geralt had brought in mere hours earlier, when the world had been a different one.

Before the vase could topple over Geralt reached out, catching it without much thought, but when Jaskier looked up from his notes, his face held nothing but easily given affection and admiration.

“Already saving me, are you? My hero, truly.”

Geralt huffed, but his lips curled.

“I’m sorry, my dear witcher,” Jaskier said with a sigh that dripped with false regret. “I’m afraid that if you just wanted a short rest, you have come to the wrong house. You won’t get rid of me for quite a while now, I fear.”

Something unfurled in Geralt’s chest. “Promise me?”

--

Throughout the day, Geralt’s hopeless hope kept flaring up again and again at the smallest hint that Jaskier might remember.

Every smile that Geralt received, every affectionate pat on the shoulder, every teasing comment made Geralt’s breath hitch, though with every passing minute, Geralt’s hope dwindled.

But it was fine. It was alright. As long as Jaskier wasn’t afraid of Geralt, he could deal with this, even if it meant breaking his heart over and over again when Jaskier looked at him with curiosity instead of love.

Against all of Geralt’s fears, it was companionable in a bittersweet way to watch Jaskier doing his best to get to know him, all the while being able to appreciate Jaskier for everything he was, unlike Geralt had done the first time around.

Then nightfall came, the reality of the situation hit Geralt again, with unexpected force.

As every evening, Geralt went through the motions. Jaskier didn’t complain, didn’t even give any sign that it was strange that he was being tucked into bed by someone he had just met.

As he had done for years now, Geralt brushed his hand over Jaskier’s hair – and faltered. His stomach dropped and he pulled his hand back as if he had been burned.

Jaskier didn’t remember him. To him, he was just a stranger; Fascinating, for sure, but a stranger nonetheless. Geralt forced himself to step away from the bed he wouldn’t lie in today. Maybe never again. There would be no more kisses on temples being returned by ones on Geralt’s knuckles. There would be no more listening to the sound of Jaskier’s breathing as he lay next to him, being comforted by his heat and his arms around him as he drifted to sleep.

“I’m going to sleep in the living room,” Geralt announced.

He half-hoped that Jaskier would protest, pull him closer by the hand and tell him that Geralt should continue to sleep next to him and that he loved him.

None of that happened. It had been a foolish wish.

Jaskier only mumbled something in the affirmative, already halfway to drowsing.

With one last lingering look on Jaskier, Geralt turned away, shutting the door behind him.  

For a long moment, Geralt just stood there, letting his eyes sweep over the room with a hollow feeling until eventually, he grabbed the thin blanket Jaskier had dropped earlier and went over to the armchair Jaskier had fallen asleep in just hours before.

A crack split Geralt’s heart and he had to close his eyes trying to shake the memory of the look on Jaskier’s face when he had awoken and found Geralt in the room with him.

He shifted in a vain attempt to get comfortable, a feat he knew he would not succeed in. The armchair was too small. Too hard for sleeping.

It had been too long since he last had to sleep on a cold forest floor. If Vesemir was here, he would say Geralt had gone too soft.

In moments like these, Geralt almost wished that his heart truly was as hardened as people used to say. A soft snore from the bedroom followed by nonsense mumblings made him reconsider. He couldn’t wish his heart to be any other than the one that had fallen in love with Jaskier and somehow earned his love in return.

And therein lay the problem. Geralt could sleep in spaces that were hard, uncomfortable or small. But he knew he wouldn’t find a minute of rest with the space next to him being empty, without Jaskier there with him.

Geralt couldn’t just reach out and hold Jaskier close like this. They might as well be a world apart instead of just in different rooms.

Maybe they truly were in different worlds.

Jaskier’s sleeping sounds were muffled by the door Geralt dared not open without Jaskier’s permission. It wasn’t the only door standing between them. The other, invisible door was finally locked and though it felt like ice seeping into his chest to admit, Geralt knew that there was no key for him to find. Jaskier might as well be locked away for good.

--

It had been hours since the sun had risen when Jaskier finally emerged from the bedroom, probably lured out by the smell of Geralt making breakfast.

Geralt looked at him with held breath, awaiting a reaction, any reaction, whether it would save or doom him. But Jaskier just looked sleepy as though he hadn’t closed his eyes to sleep at all. Geralt knew that to be untrue. He had been up all night, straining to hear anything from the bedroom, hoping to hear Jaskier’s confused voice call out for him, asking why he wasn’t in bed with him.

No such call had come. But neither had there been any screams or panicked breathing caused by nightmares. Though he had tossed and turned in bed, Jaskier had slept through, not once waking and wandering about, not knowing where he was going.

That, at least was a small blessing. And Geralt would be grateful for any bit of peace he and Jaskier would get.

When Jaskier’s eyes finally landed on him, he merely startled slightly, before a smile graced his lips. Was it big enough to be one of recognition? Geralt couldn’t tell. He didn’t dare ask.

They ate breakfast, Geralt in tense silence, waiting for the axe to fall, Jaskier chattering away as if nothing was wrong. But not once did he move to stroke Geralt lovingly or call him by an endearment again.

The anxious anticipation slowly faded into the sinking feeling in Geralt’s chest that almost felt like coming home with how painfully familiar it was becoming.

Over the next hours, days, weeks, the hollow filled again, slowly but steadily. Though it seemed impossible, this warped reality they lived became the new normal.

Some days Geralt could almost convince himself that Jaskier remembered him. Maybe he truly did. It got hard to tell whether the cheerful smiles and the soft way Jaskier spoke Geralt’s name were meant for the shiny new muse or the broken old lover.

At least he still knew his name, recognised it as something not to be feared or to scoff at.

Most days, Geralt was sure he was just someone who just so happened to live in Jaskier’s house and whom Jaskier enjoyed talking to. Hopefully, someone he felt safe with. The days when Jaskier recognised him as someone he loved became few and far between.

People had always said Jaskier’s affections were fleeting: easily given and gone just as quickly. Jaskier had never bothered to correct those rumours. They were true, for the most part, after all. Geralt was the only one Jaskier ever confided in, telling him that though his affections would leave his heart, they would never be forgotten.

Jaskier’s heart was a fickle thing, but it beat strongly and constantly for the things he truly loved. Music. A piece of beautiful poetry able to capture feelings normal words couldn’t describe. The first blossoms of spring when his step would gain a new skip at the promise of more adventures. Closing his eyes and smelling the breeze, insisting it smelled of the heroics to come.

Enough time spent together had passed for Geralt to grow certain that he was one of those things for which Jaskier’s affections would be lasting.

The soft smiles Jaskier still gave him when Geralt told him of the things he had seen in his life made Geralt hope that maybe he could be such a beloved thing once again.

Jaskier loved freely and quickly. Maybe it was foolish to hope that Jaskier could rekindle or remember even a glimmer of what he had felt for Geralt. But Geralt had the suspicion that he had given up on trying to be sensible as soon as he had allowed the bard to attach himself to him back in Posada anyway.

The little noises Jaskier often made when contemplating a new rhyme brought Geralt out of his thoughts.

“Do you think I should try a different rhyme scheme? This one is mostly used for love songs, but I don’t think it would do well for one about adventures, don’t you think?”

“Why can’t it be both?” Geralt asked, unheeding of the ache to come. It had been so long since Jaskier’s creations about him had been anything but love songs, whatever else they might be as well. He knew whatever Jaskier would now come up with would be far from such a thing. Jaskier’s love for the tales of adventure that Geralt could give him weren’t enough.

Jaskier made a dismissive sound, not knowing what it did to Geralt’s heart. “Eh, I don’t know. If I use that rhyme scheme, it will always remind me of a love song. And that’s just not right.”

Don’t ever let me forget I love you.

The memory of Jaskier begging him for this one thing, this tiny plea that weighed on Geralt as if he were carrying the world on his shoulders, echoed through his mind, mocking him with how impossible a feat it was.

How many fragile promises had Geralt made thinking he would keep them? How many more would be broken along with his heart?

He had promised Jaskier that he would do his best to help him remember what they had. It was a task that would only end in heartbreak, but Geralt would gladly sacrifice his heart, shatter it into a million pieces over and over again, if it granted him even a chance of getting Jaskier back.

So Geralt did everything he could think of. He spent hours reading Jaskier’s notebooks to him, as far as he could decipher his crooked letters. He told him about his brothers and Kaer Morhen, about Yennefer and Ciri and even Valdo Marx. Not even a muscle twitched at the mention of the troubadour’s name. But something seemed to stir in Jaskier when Geralt talked about their family. Nothing but a hesitant smile, a miniscule shift in his eyes. Sometimes Jaskier would repeat the names, as if he knew they held a meaning that he couldn’t find. Then he would look at Geralt and whisper his name as if it were something precious, something he had lost. Seldom did he find it in Geralt’s face.

Jaskier still called him his dear witcher. The endearment was bittersweet balm. Like rubbing salve on a tumour. It wasn’t enough. And yet, the small acknowledgement made Geralt’s heart soar, made him redouble his efforts.

Geralt started playing the lute, if it could be called so. He never learned any chords, much to Jaskier’s dismay, so he just plucked the empty strings. He played despite them being out of tune. Geralt didn’t know how to get them back the way they were supposed to be and Jaskier didn’t move to help. He just sat there, looking at the lute, stroking over the wood that Geralt kept polished still.

Taking care of Jaskier’s beloved instrument gave him a sense of calm and it clearly made Jaskier happy, though he never said so anymore.

It had taken Geralt a while to notice, but once he saw it, it was hard to miss. Jaskier’s signs of affection had changed. Whereas he used to give his affections a voice, he now showed them with happy hums and an expression as if he had so much to say, if only he could find the words.

Geralt still understood, or so he hoped.

He continued bringing Jaskier flowers until the last ones succumbed to the rapidly approaching cold. When Geralt apologised, saying that there were no more flowers left, Jaskier had hugged him, whether as thanks or to comfort Geralt, he couldn’t tell.

It was only a short embrace, but it felt like coming home. He belonged in Jaskier’s arms. Too long had be gone without feeling them around him.

He hoped Jaskier didn’t feel Geralt’s body wreck with a cut-off sob. If he did, he didn’t show it. It took all of Geralt’s will power to let go again, when all he wanted to do was hold Jaskier impossibly close and be held in turn, feel Jaskier gently rub circles on his back while Geralt pressed his face into the crock of Jaskier’s neck, safe from all the world and the cruelty of Jaskier’s broken memory.

But the world carried on and bits and pieces of Jaskier’s memory continued to crumble - once a palace, now an overgrown ruin.

And yet, glimpses of the old Jaskier continued to shine through. Whenever Geralt’s rough and broken voice attempted to sing one of Jaskier’s old songs, Jaskier would without fail join in, though some lines escaped him, they were still unmistakably his. Jaskier always seemed to light up, when he sang about the beauty of the world, of love and adventure with words that Geralt could have never come up with to describe any of it. No one could speak of those wonders quite like Jaskier’s songs. No one could see the world how he had.

Jaskier never questioned how those songs came into existence. Geralt tried explaining to him sometimes, telling him that Jaskier was the genius behind the lyrics and the melody.

Sometimes Jaskier would get a spark in his eyes, pride and a hint of a buried memory, when Geralt told him so. Other times, he would just nod along to whatever Geralt was saying, just to appease him.

Those vacant expressions, the apathy at being told of his own accomplishments drove a knife into Geralt’s chest.

Those songs, meant to remind the world of Jaskier, were now one of the only things reminding Jaskier that the world around him existed, that it always had existed and that he had lived a wonderful life in it.

His mind had become as fickle as people always accused his heart to be. And yet, he still recognised part of Geralt in his songs, still saw him as someone he could embrace and sing to. He still looked at Geralt as if he was beautiful. As if he was worth looking at. Even if he didn’t remember the times he had looked at him before. Even if sometimes he saw Geralt for the first time again.

Geralt had always thought that out of the two of them, Jaskier was the one so full of love that he could give it with abundance. Now, Geralt was the one who would have to love enough for it to suffice for them both.

He looked at Jaskier, humming to himself while doing his best to draw a kikimora based on a description Geralt had given him earlier. He looked back up at Geralt, so proud of himself, looking for Geralt’s approval as if it meant the world.

Geralt didn’t think it would be hard to have enough love for them both. The hard part was knowing that when he dared to whisper a soft “I love you” all he would receive in reply would be silence.

[little-red-toyota]

Final good bye to the fandom

TW//Trauma, triggers, nsfw, sexual themes, rape, domestic abuse e.g.

This is gonna be a long ass post…

It has taken me a while to get emotionally strong enough to do this, as I will have to think back at some traumatic events from my past to address some of these things. That's why I waited until I got home from vacation with my family, as it will seriously affect my mood and mental health, and I want to be near my doctor and therapist, just in case.

And also, I know that the majority of those reading this will invalidate me and tell me I am making things up to clear my name. So, I literally have to torment myself to write a blog post people will just brush off as bogus anyway. But I will do it now that I am in safe surroundings. Then it will be off my chest, and I can finally move on. If people will continue stirring up the past, it will be their problem, not mine.

I think I should write one last blog post where I address everything. I have left the TTTE-fandom, but I will write that one as my final goodbye to the fandom. I just have to find out everything I've been accused of so I can properly address them all in order. I might leave out details of my life that is too hard for me to open up about. I know most of you will just invalidate me anyway.

1. The Stepney fic and glorifying rape.

2. My mafia-AU.

3. The Darin incident.

4. Being a pedophile. (Where do they get this from anyway??)

5. Running the NSFW-blog.

6. Drawing penises/boobs on trains. Drawing age-regression art.

Is there more?

Ah... yes! Faking my own suicide, of course!

7. "Faking" being suicidal.

8. Having the audacity to survive and go on living.

9. "Making up" my past trauma to justify writing fics to cope with it.

10. Being a nazi for being interested in WW2 history and for being Norwegian and having so-called nazi-letters in my last name (actual letters of the Norwegian alphabet).

11. Putting a white-supremacist flag (the actual flag of Norway) on my porch on family birthdays and our national day.

12. Being a danger to my daughter.

Anything else that needs to be addressed? What else am I being accused of? Send me a dm and I will add it to the post.

 Okay, I will bump the Stepney fic down a bit as it is the most traumatic thing for me to address, I will save that one for last.

2 and 3. The dark au/mafia au where I gave some TTTE characters some rather dark and unpleasant character traits, and the whole incident with Darin and the pedo-Salty was addressed in this blog post written by my husband last year, so I am not opening that can of worms again: https://little-red-toyota.tumblr.com/post/623743183795470336/in-light-of-recent-events

Even the thing about Toby cheating on Henrietta is addressed there.

As for the au, I never fully explored it as I started losing interest in TTTE around the same time. I found other things to enjoy and TTTE faded into the background and the au was dropped before I even wrote any stories, apart from the one about Toby and Henrietta.

Some people claim, like this lovely individual, that most of the characters were rapists and pedos. No, not most. Only one of each. And I did not write more than one story about rape and suicide. Where does this person even get that from? Someone who told someone who had heard from someone who might have heard….?

Don't spread rumors unless you are sure that they are true.

Anyway, it's all addressed in that blog post in that link. I don't see how this mafia au is any worse than other dark post-apocalyptic or violent aus. It mostly was about the diesel mafia and their illegal businesses, not about sex, even if it did occur now and then. I find the substance abuse in it to be more problematic tbh…  

 4. Being a pedophile.

I don't even know how to defend myself against this one, as I don't even know why people think I am pedophile. They only throw the accusation out with no backing evidence, so I have no idea where it comes from or what it is that makes people think I am one.

Apart from one claim that I had faved "porn" alongside "strangers'" baby photos on DA. I addressed that earlier though. As DeviantArt doesn't sort what you click "like" on, it all ends up in the same folder unless you actively go through it and sort it into categories, which I don't bother most of the time. It also doesn't say WHEN it was added to your faves. So, I can have faved an artistic nude on Saturday, and then faved my friend's family photo on Thursday. It's not like I actively search for porn, get all steamed up and then look at pictures of children. WTF.

The few children I have faved are not from complete strangers, but long-term friends of mine. Yes, it is possible to have friends on the same website. I have actually met a lot of my RL friends through DeviantArt. I posted photos of my daughter when she was a baby, they would fave it and congratulate me. So, I did the same when they had a baby. As simple as that. Nothing weird or perverted about it. Due to people doxxing me last year however, I deleted the photos of me, my husband and my daughter from DeviantArt, so it's no longer there.

Porn isn't allowed on DeviantArt anyway. The nudes there are so-called artistic nudes, and for the most part I use them as pose-references when I draw as it is easier to draw a pose using a nude base and then dress them up once you got the pose right.

"The very naked" centaurs I have faved. Well, I like the mythological creature Centaur. And as far as I know… they do not wear clothes, so how are they NOT nude? Look it up, it's a horse body with a human torso instead of horse head. I don't see them as sexual, but what do I know? Maybe YOU do?

I have no sexual interest in children whatsoever.

 5. Running the NSFW-blog on Tumblr and Twitter.

Yes. I was one of six people modding that blog. ONE of six, so I refuse to take the full blame here.

MerciResolution has openly admitted to being the founder, and she recruited me and some others to modify as the confession load became too heavy for one person to handle alone.

The original blog on Tumblr worked as follows: People would anonymously send a confession to our askbox, we would add a picture (sometimes photoshopped) to the text and post it on the blog. Always tagged as NSFW and with proper trigger warnings if necessary! The blog itself was also marked as explicit, so it didn't appear in searches and such.

For us, this blog was nothing but a joke. We did it for shits and giggles. If anyone took it seriously and thought we got off to the stuff that was posted, we apologize for that, but to us it was just for laughs. And we DID laugh a lot, you guys should have seen the weird shit people sent us sometimes!

We had fun and we never thought anyone would take it seriously, so we never thought of writing "joke" in the description or anything. It never occurred to us that it could be anything but a joke.

We also made a Twitter account for it, also locked for minors. But it was quickly hacked, and someone changed the password so we could no longer access it. We made another account and forgot about the old one…

After a while, the original mods started losing interest and the blog (both on Tumblr and Twitter) became less active. That's when a person I had known for years, and wrongfully trusted, came forward and wanted to take over ownership. So, the ownership was handed over to Russalita/Charlie.

That turned out to be huge mistake!

Me and the other mods had more or less forgotten that the blogs existed, when suddenly someone started bashing me and getting up in my arms over it. I got seriously confused as I hadn't been active on it in almost a year. But as it turned out, Russalita had removed the mature filters and made the accounts open for all the see. Even minors.

And as people knew I was one of the mods, they fired their guns at me. I can see why though, so I'm not pointing any fingers here.

I tried contacting her by phone, asking her to lock the accounts again, but she gave me a less than polite response, hung up and then blocked my number…

So, I decided to try to shut the blogs down on my own, trying the old passwords. It worked on the Tumblr-account, and I managed to password protect it, for some reason it couldn't be fully deleted. But the Twitter account had gotten its password changed by Russalita. I was however able to get a new password by logging into the e-mail we had used to create it. I deleted the Twitter blog fully. It can't be re-activated even if we wanted to. It's gone.

But it turns out the old, hacked one is still up and now open for everyone. And this one poses a huge problem as we have no way of getting into it to delete it. Only thing we have been able to do so far is reporting it and hope it will be removed by Twitter. So I only have one thing to say about it: report it.

I am no longer running any NSFW TTTE blog anywhere, nor do I have interest in doing so. So, if you come across one, claiming to be me or any of the other mods, it is false.

 6. Drawing penises/boobs on trains. Drawing age-regression art.

People seem to believe I have drawn genitals on trains. I have never done such. Any art on the NSFW-blog with genitalia on the trains were sent in by confessors and was not drawn by me. Most of them seems to have been drawn by someone who goes by the name "The Lance".

I HAVE drawn things for the NSFW blog, but there were no genitalia in those drawings. I drew Frank of Arlesdale looking grossed out by (I don't know what the part is named in English, but it is connected to the brakes of the engine) that stick-like thing on his bufferbeam being wet from whatever the confessor did to him. I drew an over-exaggerated comical pic of a horrified Peter Sam getting his face licked by his driver, who had an enormous tongue. I also did a couple of manips. Mostly maniping engine faces on humans, like the one where Gordon's face is on a less than fit guy flailing his shirt around, and the Arlesdale smallies' faces on a movie poster from Magic Mike. One with Mr.Conductor in a giant bun while Pinchy is applying ketchup on him, for a confession about eating him, I think?  I've done some more, but I forgot what it was, I only know I loved making them comical rather than erotic, as I saw the blog as a joke overall.

I HAVE also drawn aheago faces on engines because it looks hilarious. Though I have only drawn them on my OCs and the NRS engines, not TTTE characters.

Point is I have never drawn genitalia on trains. Ever. And I likely never will. It's not THAT much fun drawing NSFW stuff.

I see from this screenshot that a certain MK-Instrumentalist claim that all my personal art is age-regression art and infantilism…

Whose art have you been looking at? Because it's definitely not mine. I have drawn a couple of baby/chibi diesels… But claiming that all of my 700 or so artworks are depicting infantilism and age-regression stuff? I suggest people go have a look for themselves. I haven't drawn that. That MK-guy has been desperately trying to cancel me for ages for reasons only himself know. I don't even know the guy, and he doesn't know me, yet he wants to see me beheaded. Go figure.

I was for a long time bothered by some age-regressor on Tumblr who just wouldn't leave me alone with their weird asks, who tried to force themselves on me and some other artists here. They claim age-regression isn't a fetish, but the shit they sent to my askbox certainly looked like a fetish to me.

I don't want anything to do with that stuff. It weirds me out.

And no. I have never drawn pedophilia or rape art either. This guy can't even make up his mind on which one to accuse me of.

 7 and 8. Faking suicide and having the audacity to survive and go on living.

As many know, after the intense shitstorm against me last summer, thanks to Darin, I attempted suicide. I didn't succeed as my husband came home early. I was gone for a few days but returned when a young boy reached out to me for help as he was being groomed and didn't know who else to turn to.

Recently I saw a screenshot where someone claimed me to have faked suicide, and that I just came back after a few days when everything had died down.

Wow.

I am truly sorry I survived.

I don't remember much from those days to be honest, but as the load became too heavy and the bullying too intense, piling up on 30 years of old trauma… I decided to end it. I must warn you guys who might get triggered now; there are detailed descriptions of a suicide attempt. Proceed with caution. People told me I was a bad mother among other things, having had those same thoughts myself (according to my husband, I am a good mom) and people just confirming them, I thought that my daughter would be better off growing up without me. I could have chosen a more effective suicide method, but I was afraid my daughter would be the first to find me, so I wanted it to be clean and look like I was just sleeping. That way it could be explained as natural causes.

So, I decided to overdose on pills. I downed all pills I could find in the house that had a warning triangle on it (strong pain meds etc.) and then went to my computer to delete my online existence, especially the personal data.

As a former paramedic, I should have known better. Because after half an hour, my body started reacting. But not the way I had hoped and wanted. I started retching and almost vomiting. That's when my husband came home from work and found me. He immediately saw the empty packages and knowing my past suicidal tendencies, he reacted instinctively. He put his fingers down my throat and had me puke everything up, then he called an ambulance and had me admitted to the hospital.

I don't remember anything from the days I spent there. But I have been told they emptied my stomach and gave me lots of fluids. I was then assigned a psychiatrist which I am still seeing today.

I was gone for those days because I was in hospital, not because I was pulling some kind of trick and pretending to have ended myself.

So… I am sorry I "faked" my suicide.

I'm sorry my husband saved me. I am sorry the medics and doctors succeeded in saving my life.

I am sorry I survived and proceeded to live on. If I ever make another attempt, I promise to do better.

Why are you guys so persistent in trying to push people to suicide anyway? Do you get a kick out of it? Why do people have to be pushed to that point before you care?

What did we tell our daughter? Simply that I got sick and had to go to the hospital. She took that well.

I've seen a lot of people wonder why I am still around. Why shouldn't I? Does my daughter deserve to lose her mother over some online crap she doesn't even know about? I owe her to live and watch her grow up, to help her with her homework and whatever else a parent needs to do. I also owe my husband to stay by his side, like I promised him the day we got married. Even if I do not wish to live.

I'm sorry I survived, guys. Really, I am.

 9. "Making up" my past trauma to justify writing fics to cope with it. And 1. The Stepney fic and glorifying rape.

 First… why would anyone make up trauma? It's not like it's a competition to have the worst life, is it?

Sadly, I don't have to make up anything. My life HAS been rocky up until the birth of my daughter. I have been through so much trauma I couldn't even fathom it myself before my therapist listed it all up to me. Until then, I had just been casually talking to her about it, like I would talk about the weather. I didn't cry or get in touch with my emotions even once while telling everything, because I was taught from an early age to never complain, to suck it up and go on. So, no matter what people did to me, I would just smile and go on, even if it killed me inside. I did not want to show any sign of weakness, because then they would attack me. A habit I developed through years of being bullied in school. Never show feelings, just pretend nothing could hurt you, then they would eventually grow tired of it and stop.

Except they never did. They kept going through all my years at school. To such an extent, my boyfriend didn't dare to show himself hanging out with me out of fear of being bullied himself… And as we grew older, he would start cheating on me too. And I kept smiling…

My next boyfriend was a bit older than me, and while that didn't bother me, as we were both well over legal age, it bothered him. We only lasted one year before he bailed out and ditched me out of the blue via an sms.

The next guy… was the one who scarred me for life. Both physically and mentally. A charmer at first of course, until I was trapped. He was unemployed, so he moved in with me, and I paid for everything from food to phone bills. All while he was dating several women behind my back, calling various pay-phone services and in general acted like a manwhore. As I worked as an electrician (also being subject to massive bullying and sexual harassment at work), he would be jealous of all my co-workers and if I ever came home late or worked overtime, he accused me of cheating and was extremely violent about it. He would also isolate me from my friends and family, making me think I couldn't get any other than him. If any of my male friends (almost all my friends are male…) came over, he would give me such hell afterwards, it was easier just to tell them it was a bad time to visit. And after a while, they stopped asking. This guy also demanded sex. Every single day. If I refused, he would punish me, mostly by flogging me with lampcords, belts or whatever else he had at hand. My back is a criss cross map of old, faded scars even now nearly 20 years later. I would have shown you a photo, but I am so self-concious about my body after all the bullying, I hardly even show my face in photos. Maybe one day… but I certainly need more therapy before being able to show naked skin to strangers, even if it's just my back. So I had non-consensual sex with him more often than consensual. It has taken me hours in therapy to even take the word in my mouth and call it by its proper name: rape. I was raped, almost every single day for little over a year, before I found the strength to break out of the relationship and finally throw him out of my house. It all ended when I found some revealing texts on his cellphone, which he was extremely protective of… Texts that revealed that he had engaged in a relationship with a 12 year old girl, and it had been going on for a while. Not only was he cheating on me, but he was a pedophile too. Needless to say, I didn't even let him pack his stuff before I fetched my shotgun and chased him out of the house. I don't know where I got the courage and strength from… but I was furious.

I thought I had gotten rid of him, but no. He started stalking me in public. Hiding behind shelves when I was shopping, his car following mine everywhere I went. I received weird letters in the mail with cut-out letters from newspapers, glued together. On top of all, his creepy, old uncle called me with some rather disgusting suggestions and tried to come on to me really hard. I had to change my phone number, and after coming home to my house and finding out someone had entered my home using a key, only to empty the drawer of my night table, I also had to change the locks of my doors as he had clearly copied the key.

He didn't stop until I got the police involved.

So, when I finally met the guy who would become my husband (or rather, we found out we were made for each other, we had known each other since we were 11 years old), I had major trust issues towards men especially and it took him endless patience and love to break me out of that shell.

But the trauma doesn't stop… or start there.

In the year 2000, on January 4th, I would experience something that made me unable to even look at a train for over 10 years. The Åsta accident (google it). I was a volunteer in the Norwegian Red Cross then, and a paramedic in training. Back then, you were allowed to start training the year you would turn 16. So, I was still 15 when I witnessed the most traumatic event of my life. The day started out calm, we were stocking up the ambulance after delivering a patient to the hospital when we got a call with the code "500", which means "catastrophe". Normally when we get that code it is a rehearsal… so we drove towards the coordinates with the thoughts that this was just an exercise, nothing real… we didn't prepare ourselves mentally… And we ended up in the closest thing to hell I have ever been… The sight of the burning trains, the smells, the sounds, the screaming… I still wake up by nightmares to this day. Though the moment that haunts me the most is when the screaming stopped… because we all knew why… I don't want to go into details, but 19 people died that day. But we also saved 67 people. I try to hold on to that thought. The age limit for starting paramedic training was raised after this, as I wasn't the only one who was too young for an accident of that scale. Today it is 18. A memorial stone has been placed on the site, but I still haven't been able to bring myself to visit it, even if we drive past the site every year on our way to visit family further north in the country. I needed hours of therapy to even be able to ride a train after this. To have gotten to the point where I now volunteer at a heritage railway and is in training to become a driver, is a HUGE step for me. My next goal is to visit the site of the accident.

On to next trauma… A previous employer, a rather large electric company in Norway, whom I worked for 8 years. The first five years were great, we were a close-knit bunch of electricians, and we had a great relationship with the bosses and higher-ups. Our labor union was strong.

It all started changing in 2009 when we got new leaders… and those decided to get rid of everyone who were a member of the union. One by one, they started harassing workers in various ways, trying to get them to quit. In Norway, they need a legal reason to fire you, it's not enough to not like someone. There has to be a good reason to fire someone e.g. theft, neglecting work… Since they didn't have any reasons to fire us, they started making our work lives gradually harder and harder until we would break and find another job. Sadly, one of my co-workers couldn't stand the pressure… He bid us all farewell as normal one Friday and hung himself the following day.. But as I was a girl in a male-dominated profession, I had been taught at an early stage to ignore anything that would hurt me emotionally, just arch my neck and plow through. I kept doing that, despite starting to feel more and more mental and physical pains… even my co-workers pointed out how I was being mistreated before I acknowledged it myself. I tried to tell my boss, but he reacted by treating me worse. So, I went to his boss… and that's when things went to hell. Instead of doing his job and listen, he started harassing me too. He deemed my over-weight a problem, and he started demanding I gave him detailed lists of what I ate and how much I worked out… Completely illegal of course, but by this point I was broken down to the point I thought I was useless and couldn't get another job… so I accepted. He started accusing me of lying about my exercise, so I started training at the gym in the basement at work instead. One day, while I was there, he locked the doors and turned the lights off. There were no windows, no cellphone reception and hardly anyone walking by in that part of the building… I sat there in the pitch dark for 3 hours before I was let back out. I still get badly triggered by narrow, dark rooms and rooms with no windows. To such an extent, I jumped out of a small window on the second floor of a gym when I was in boot camp. I was allowed to train downstairs in the bigger gym with windows on all walls after that incident…

The harassment at work went on for years until I finally snapped, ended up at the hospital and got into therapy for the first time. I don't want to go into depth about what more happened, I just can't… I can't bring myself to write it all. Luckily, I had gotten more education while working, so when I graduated, another company called and gave me an offer I just couldn't refuse. So, I quit my job and never looked back, even if the traumas I suffered there still haunts me to this day.

Sadly, even after switching jobs, now getting a safe job with sane leaders… I started to relax, and that's when all my past trauma came washing over me. And one day, on while driving to work, I had my first serious panic attack. It started as this feeling I used to have at the old company; getting sick to my stomach and having the sense of someone being out to get me… then it developed to breathing problems… and I had to pull the car over. I broke into tears, struggling to breathe, stumbling out of the car to read the logo on its side just to reassure my body and brain that I worked for a different company now and there was no reason for panic. I called my boss and let him know, because he also was a "refugee" from that other company, so he knew what me and several others had gone through. He managed to talk me down enough for me to come to the office to talk to him. That helped.

I got back into therapy. A better therapist this time. But sadly, it got apparent that I could no longer work as an electrician as there was too many triggers. I was diagnosed with PTSD, severe depression, and social anxiety. I'm still working on these and get better slowly.

I have been in therapy for a long time now, and it was my therapist that suggested I wrote fics to cope and "write it out". I tried to make up my own characters for this, but never felt any connection. I was by this time in the TTTE fandom and had met people with similar trauma and pasts like myself, and I started roleplaying with some of them. Me and a girl from UK then agreed to try to rp/co-write a fic to cope with our trauma. We both found it easier to write about pre-established characters we had a connection to, even if it was an au that made it barely recognizable from the original source material. Only the names and some minor things were similar.

That fic was Stepney's Virginity Gets Lost.

Do we regret writing it? No. It helped us write out our traumas and helped us overcome some mental obstacles in out therapy process. Our therapists cheering us on, because we finally managed to break through the hard shell surrounding us. We both cried for the first time in years while writing it, some of it through roleplay, because some parts were extremely graphic and brutal and very mentally exhausting. We had to take long breaks between each writing session, so the fic wasn't written in just a weekend. But we got a lot of darkness out of our minds by writing all this. And we were definitely NOT aroused by it, like this pervert here claims.

It's when you dare to touch and feel the difficult and dark emotions, you can finally move along in the grieving process.

Should it have been posted online?

In retrospect, no. But at the time, we thought it might help other trauma victims, as we also found reading about other people's experiences and fictions touching painful subjects helpful to ourselves. So, we posted it, never expecting it to cause such a controversy 3 years later. In fact, we had more or less forgotten about it until it came back to bit us in the ass. Or rather, bite ME in the ass, as I am getting the full blame alone.

Also, despite what people claim, it was not posted openly for children to read. It was tagged properly and hidden behind mature content walls. If a minor chooses to break that wall, that's not the author's fault. It's the same as watching a movie with an age restriction way above your age, not the filmmaker's fault.

I think MerciResolution puts it nicely here:

"If your problem lies with you KNOWINGLY entering adult spaces when you’re a minor, ignoring all mature warnings that are literally SCREAMING at you “hey, this is what you’re getting into. Are you sure you want to proceed?”

That’s ENTIRELY on you. YOU are the fucking problem.

We’re marking mature things as best as we properly can. If you decide to ignore them, that’s your own damn fault. We’re not your fucking babysitters."

Also, I never posted the story on Wattpad, so if anyone has done that, it's not me. I posted the story on Fanfiction.net, DeviantArt and AO3, that's all. If it's posted anywhere else, it's not done by me.

I had honestly moved on from it when people pulled me back into it.

Other people who have done questionable shit in that fandom are easily forgiven because "they have moved on" or "changed". Yet, nobody believes I can move on or change…?

I had moved on; my interests had changed. But people won't let me, so here I am… Having to defend some crap I did years ago. A fic I no longer have any interest in.

I'm not even interested in TTTE anymore. I have moved on with my own book project now and I would like to focus on that.

So, deleting my TTTE content, whether it was the SFW or NSFW stuff, didn't cost me a penny. It actually felt like a relief. The only downside with it is that people now can't read it and make up their own opinion about it, but will solely believe in what others say, and those things are often seriously bent out of shape and blown out of proportions to such an extent it's barely recognizable.

If people claim that Arry and Bert rape Stepney in the fic, they have never seen it or read it. That's not what happens. That's just an assumption made by looking at the title and knowing there is a rape/torture scene in it. But I'm not gonna tell who the victim is or who performed it, because this is the only way I am able to tell who has actually read the fic or not, who is just trying to spread bullshit and who is actually telling the truth. The person in that screenshot, has no idea what he's talking about.

Does SVGL romanticize rape and abuse?

No, not in the least. It's described as the horrible, heinous acts it is and is in no way meant to be cute or romantic and definitely NOT something anyone should get off to. If anyone finds it sexy, that's their problem, not the authors'. If anything, SVGL might romanticize suicide, because one of the characters isn't able to cope with his trauma and chooses to end their life. Which is something I considered doing myself when I was in the darkest pit of depression. So, I apologize for maybe romanticizing suicide. The following chapters describe how friends and family handle the loss and grief.

It also describes a toxic relationship, where one of the parts struggles to get out of it. They eventually manage to break free, but it is not easy. This can easily be translated to my previously mentioned relationship, as it was my way of writing out my experience about how hard it is to break out of a relation when your partner has broken you down to the point where you no longer believe in yourself and your self-worth.

The last chapters start to gradually become brighter, as both our lives started getting better too. But we never really wrote the end because we both lost interest in writing TTTE content by that time and just left it hanging.

I'm not the only one who has written NSFW TTTE fanfics out there. But it seems like violence and murder is more acceptable than sexual things? I do wonder how brutally mutilating children's show characters are more tolerable than sexually abusing them. Neither should be okay.

Some content creators hide behind "it was a joke". I have been told that such topics that SVGL touches upon shouldn't be joked about… so I didn't do that, and yet it was wrong? So how should such topics be treated? Be hidden like it's a shame, like in the old days when rape victims were told to suck things up and keep it to themselves? When those subject to abuse didn't dare to speak up because people would judge them?

I think it is important to talk about these subjects and why they are so problematic. Victims shouldn't have to hide their trauma; they should be allowed to talk openly about it without fearing judgement.

Some of you claim that writing isn't a good way to cope… You're trying to dictate how trauma victims deal with their trauma, and that's a dangerous path to walk down. Nobody handles trauma the same way. You might have your thoughts on how you would react, but you'll never know until trauma hits you… and you might not react the way you had expected or planned. Trauma messes with your head and you won't be able to think clearly. It makes you do thinks you normally wouldn't have done and can make you act out of character. So, do not judge people without having been in the same situation yourself. Ever.

Someone wrote that I have "more problems that just a rape".

Read that again.

Just a rape.

This person does not know how damaging a rape can be. And if you made it this far in this post, you know I didn't only go through one, but several. Not just by my ex, but also being ambushed while I was walking home from a party, and later; a co-worker forcing himself onto me at a building site. I can't go into depth about them all, I just can't.

Just a rape…

"Just" the feeling of not being in control of your own body and your own decisions. "Just" being robbed off your dignity and self-worth. "Just" having someone intrude into your private zone, tear your clothes off and claim your body against your will. "Just" feeling how your life force leave you as you realize that fighting against it won't help you, and you silently give up and just lay down waiting for it all to be over. "Just" spending hours in the shower, scrubbing your skin until you bleed because you can't wash the filth away and you keep feeling dirty no matter how much you clean yourself. "Just" waking up at night, after having relived the scene again in a nightmare. "Just" looking over your shoulder wherever you walk because you heard something or thought you saw something or simply because someone is walking behind you. "Just" the fact that you'll never feel comfortable walking alone at night again or have someone walk behind you. "Just" never being able to relax because your body constantly think you're in grave danger. "Just" a rape…

That's such a neck-beard thing to say. Someone who clearly think of other people's bodies as property or things. Not taking into consideration that we are living, breathing individuals with feelings. And that having another person violate us isn't something we like or that we'll easily get over. We want to choose who we give ourselves to, nobody should be forced. We didn't ask to be raped. We didn't want it. We didn't like it.

Rape is trauma.

Yes, we should have chosen other characters for the story, but we did what we did, and it cannot be undone now. So, if the only thing I will be remembered for in the fandom is that ONE fic, instead of all my other content, that's what it will be. That's what people chose to. I'm moving on.

10. Being a nazi for being interested in WW2 history and for being Norwegian and having so-called nazi-letters in my last name (actual letters of the Norwegian alphabet).

*sigh*

This is something that could only happen in America, isn't it?

Some people don't bother educating themselves. The "nazi-letters" you guys are talking about is actually part of the Norwegian alphabet and has nothing to do with Nazism or white-supremacy to do at all. The Norwegian alphabet has 29 letters, the three extra is æ,ø,å or in capital letters: Æ,Ø,Å.

We can't help it if some morons over in the US abuse these letters as symbol of their twisted mindset.

Yes, my name contains one of those letters. It is my name… and I didn't choose it. It is a common Norwegian name.

As for me being a Nazi?

Those who knows me knows that I am as far from a Nazi as one can get. I despise Nazism with all my heart.

But the reason some people choose to believe so… was that some guy who has no hobbies or life went through every single fave I've made on DeviantArt since I joined the site in 2006, which is well over 20000 faves. And he found a few Nazi-characters from a web series I was following about ten years ago. I am very interested in history and especially WW2-history, so I found that particular web-series interesting and faved some artwork related to it. What this guy failed to notice is that I also faved the Allied characters… That's ALL there is to that story.

I has also faved a pic someone made of Joseph Goebbels (I think it was?) as a Pixar Car. That's not because I have any nazi-sympathies, but I simply found the concept of turning historical persons, both good and bad, into Cars as an interesting project. I would have faved any other historical Carsified person as well.

As for me being a Norwegian and have a natural pale complexion, that's not something I can help. That's nothing I choose. And it doesn't make me racist or Nazi. Period.

11. Putting a white-supremacist flag (the actual flag of Norway) on my porch on family birthdays and our national day.

Again. Get educated.

This flag… is the actual flag of my country. The Kingdom of Norway.

There is nothing Nazi about it. It is not a symbol of white-supremacy. IT IS THE FLAG OF NORWAY.

During WW2 it was even illegal, so people would paint it everywhere in a protest against the Nazi-occpation and the SS. We even decorated our Christmas trees with it, and that is a tradition that has followed us into the modern day.

Again, if some idiots in the US choose to use it as a symbol for their disgusting logic, it is not Norway or the Norwegians' fault.

12. Being a danger to my daughter.

I need people to elaborate here.

What exactly do you think I do to my daughter? What is the cause of your concern here?

The fact that I have made NSFW content? How is that harmful to her as long as I keep it away from her? You DO realize that even authors, pornstars and moviemakers have children and that they can be good parents, right?

Do you think I read pornographic content for her as bedtime stories? Or show her porn instead of kids TV? How sick are you guys, really…?

Some people even wanted CPS to take my child away from me… Have a look at these screenshots…

You want a happy, healthy, innocent child to be taken away from a stable, safe home with loving parents just because you don't like the content the mother made? You want her to be placed in foster care, where there is no guarantee that she will have a happy upbringing rather than have her stay with her parents who love her and care for her, for reasons she'll never understand and wasn't even aware of?

"Think of the children!" a lot of you say when it comes to my content. May I ask why this doesn't apply to my daughter?

Why do some of you go as far as to wishing her dead or wanting her to be removed from the home she feels safe and loved in? How is that thinking of the children?

As for the douchebag in that screenshot. You claim that if your mother did something like that you would want nothing to do with her… I have a question: Do you know EVERYTHING your mother do? Does she include you in each aspect of her life? Even her sexual life? No?

How do you know she doesn't do thing you don't approve of when you're not around? She could be a rabid pornmag reader for all you know. But stuff like that is something adults hide from their kids. So, you wouldn't know, unless you go snooping around in her business.

Everyone is entitled to privacy. What I and my husband do when our kid is not around is our business, not hers, and certainly not yours.

Porn and parenting are to be kept separate from each other. Period.

And we do.

There is absolutely no reason to be worried about my daughter. She is a happy, healthy child in a safe, stable home with family that loves her and cares for her. Not just me and my husband, but also grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins.

If you want to remove her from that over a stupid fanfic behind a mature content wall, you're the deranged person, not me.

 This is all I have to say about all this and my time in the TTTE fandom. I have left by my own, free will. Yes, I am aware that many people don't want me there. That's fine. I don't want to be there.

I am a bit disappointed in those people who just blindly unfollowed me and unfriended me without any questions asked, just followed the leader. Big users tend to dictate who and what is worth following in that fandom. They will even protect real predators, but I'm not going to open that can of worms now. I'm done with the fandom.

Some of those people, I have been talking to regularly, even supported when they faced hardships in the fandom themselves. But when I got in trouble, they ditched me without a word…

If anything, this whole ordeal showed me who to trust and not, and who were true to their word when it came to how deep our friendship was. True friends at least give you the chance to explain before they drop you. I hold no ill feelings to those who did, at least they asked me before judging.

And those who still stayed with me, are the ones who truly know me and who I really am.

Some of the worst libels posted about me might be reported to the police, but I haven't made up my mind yet. I am not mentally strong at the moment, so I don't know if I have the strength to legally follow it all up. I will ask the cops at work for advice on the matter.

All I ask for now is some peace.

You don't have to like me. You don't have to follow me. You don't have to like my content. Feel free to invalidate me, I know a lot of you will.

But please, stop bullying me and my family.

Please stop sending me horrid messages and death threats.

Please stop doxxing me and calling me.

Please leave my family alone. If you don't care about me, at least care about them.

Please just ignore me. I have already left the fandom, there is no reason to keep hunting me.

I just want to move on and go on with my life and the content I am currently working on. After years in therapy, my life has gotten better, and I want to move on.

Please let me.

[thetvmoviefan]

Nabrina FanFics Part 10

Sabrina Spellman & Nicholas Scratch (Nick Scratch) FanFics MASTERLIST (UPDATEABLE PINNABLE)

Updated: September 20, 2020

As we await for news on Part 4 and when exactly when we will get the final part of CAOS, here are some fantastic Nabrina Fics by some wickedly good writers. Escape into their amazing and magical creations through their amazing writing as we wait on a final part. Make sure to leave some Love/Praise or Kudos through the comments on their work. Or maybe given them a little message to how much you enjoy their stories, they are the heroes through this Nabrina/CAOS hiatus. 

As always have a Wicked or Hell-ish these fics and ENJOY!!!!

Fics in order by Last Update: 9/20/2020

[Key: AU=Alternate Reality - AH=All Human/All Mortal - * = New Fics to List]

1. “Wicked Winds”*

Author: sarahkwut @sarahwyland

Summary: Nicholas Scratch winds up at the Academy of Unseen Arts after being kicked out of several others for being too smart - and too powerful - for his own good. He’s got a chip on his shoulder and he’s not in Greendale to make friends. But then he meets Sabrina Spellman, a witch that’s not only beautiful, but just as up for breaking the rules as him.Except she wants nothing to do with him.His old friend Prudence places a bet that he can’t get her to give into him - but things get complicated as he not only starts to fall for Sabrina, but a deadly darkness settles over Greendale. Rated M - Chapters 1/? - Last Update 9/19/2020

2. “Let’s Fall in Love for the Night”*

Author: shotgunkitten @shotgunkitten​

Summary: Hilda Spellman once said that their meeting was fate. And while neither Sabrina Spellman nor Nicholas Scratch were sure if they believed in that kind of thing, they were sure of this: They never wanted to find out what their lives would be like without each other. AU/AH- Rated T - Chapters 10/? - Last Update 9/18/2020

3. “Cruel Summer”

Author: thoughtsaboutshows @thoughtsaboutshows

Summary: A mix between AU and Cannon, where the young members of the Church of Night also attend Baxter High. The young witches and warlocks then go to the Unseen Arts Summer Camp to bolster their gifts. However Sabrina, being half mortal, only began attending after her Dark Baptism. To the mortals of Greendale, Unseen Arts Camp was for the wealthy. An elite sector of the Baxter High youth that attended a camp deep in the Greendale Wood far upstream of Sweetwater River. Many had tried to find and break in, but none have succeeded. To the mortals, the divide between the camp attendees and the not was of money and status. When in fact, the difference lay with light vs. night.Set between two timelines- the present and the summer, Sabrina attends camp for the first time and grows closer to Nick only for them to be torn apart as school starts. Rated Mature - Chapters 24/? - Last Update 9/17/2020

4. “Unwritten”

Author: Miss_Kath90 aka @misskath90

Summary: Tired of her aunt’s matchmaking attempts, Sabrina decides to tell a little white lie… and now she needs a boyfriend to accompany her to her hometown for the holidays.And who better to play that part than her good friend Nicholas Scratch? There is only one little problem… He had a crush on her since the day they met. When two friends pretend to be in a relationship, what could possibly go wrong? Rated T - Chapters 9/? - Last Update 9/15/2020

5. “Before the Devil Breaks Me”*

Author: willowaus @willowaus

Summary: All Sabrina wants to do is enjoy the last few years with her mortal friends. Attend college, party a little too hard, and make endless memories with them. But when you're a Spellman nothing ever goes as planned, especially not when she meets her handsomely mischievous classmate, Nick Scratch, who introduces her to a side of witchcraft that she's never thought possible.When people start ending up murdered in ritual sacrifices on campus Sabrina knows she can't keep both of her worlds apart any longer. Especially when it seems each murder is a message for her. AU - Rated Mature - Chapters 19/? - Last Update 9/15/2020

6. “If You Let Me”

Author: bunivy aka @bunivys

Summary: After pouring all of her time and effort into obtaining a law degree in the city, Sabrina Spellman moves back to Greendale for one last summer before she departs for good. She's fully intent on enjoying her stay in her hometown, even deciding to pick up a part-time job at her Aunt Hilda's cafe to save up some money. The only problem is that the boy in the bookstore across the way is one she's had some not-so-good history with and it's becoming increasingly harder to ignore him. Before long, she finds herself exploring the complexities of old high-school grudges and what-ifs, all while trying to sort out her present-day relationship with the boy she has long since deemed as non-existent.Meanwhile, Nicholas Scratch wonders if it would just be easier to remain non-existent. AU/AH - Rated Mature - Chapters 23/? - Last Update 9/04/2020

7. “Off The Record - One Shots”

Author: sarahkwut @sarahwyland

Summary: Missing scenes from my completed piece, 'Off The Record.' AU/AH - Not Rated - Chapters 8/? - Last Update 9/07/2020

8. "Free Pour”

Author: sarahkwut @sarahwyland

Summary: He's a bartender with a perfect free pour and a Ph.D. candidate. She thinks she wants to be a lawyer and wishes she had taken more chances in life. Both of them are trying to move on. But when their paths collide, Nick's hand is no longer steady with the bottle and she's far more willing to take a risk. AU/AH - Rated Mature - Chapters 23/23 - COMPLETED 9/01/2020

9. "Burning House”*

Author: thoughtsaboutshows @thoughtsaboutshows​

Summary: Sabrina hasn't seen him in months but she still sees him everywhere. Nick sees her every night in his dreams. They both know what they want, but won't let the other have it. Not yet. Not when Nick will hardly talk to her and Sabrina used well...THAT candle... ONE-SHOT - Not Rated - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 8/28/2020

10. “Born To Love You”*

Author: thoughtsaboutshows aka @thoughtsaboutshows

Summary: So Sabrina left Harvey at the altar for Nick. What now? Tune in for snapshots into Nick and Sabrina's life now that they've admitted their true feelings. What happened after Sabrina left Harvey and ran to Nick? Did they live happily ever after?This will be a collection of snapshots of this version of Nick and Sabrina. I don't know how often it will be updated, but we will get a look into their life together.I enjoy writing my fics based on songs, so if a particular song screams this Nick and Sabrina to you please message me on tumblr or comment below and maybe I'll write a scene based on it! ****Follow up to One-Shot Marry Me. Go READ it first!****  AU/AH - Not Rated - Chapters 3/? - Last Update 8/15/2020

11. “The Four Pictures”

Author: Copper_16

Summary: It’s been 10 years. Nick and Sabrina are teachers at the Academy along with some familiar faces. It’s been a decade there can’t be that much chaos anymore, right? Wrong. Rated T - Chapters 4/? - Last Update 8/04/2020

12. “Marry Me”*

Author: thoughtsaboutshows @thoughtsaboutshows

Summary: “No, No, No.” Nick said as he shook his head at Prudence. “Sabrina is my best friend. That’s it.”“Sure.” Prudence shrugged her shoulders.When she explained to her brother that they were likely more she had said it as a statement, not an invitation to have a conversation about it. She was entirely annoyed by the Spellman girl, and had found it odd and irritating that she and her brother had been attached at the hip from a young age.“Besides she’s marrying Kinkle, Prudence.” Nick explained more to himself than to Prudence. His eyes were wild and looking around the room, searching for something to land on. “Not me.”“Do you want her to?” Prudence asked as she leaned forward. Nick paused, unsure how to answer that question. Nick had been in love with Sabrina Spellman for most of his life. But she was happy with Harvey Kinkle. Prudence rolled her eyes and stood up sighing, and placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder. She was rarely affectionate and this was as comforting as she got. “You may want to figure that out.” AU/AH - Rated Mature - ONE-SHOT - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 7/11/2020

13. “The Chaos In the Stars”

Author: willowaus @willowaus

Summary: Nick sacrificed himself to save her, but Sabrina's not about to let him fester away in Hell. But what happens when saving the one she loves brings about a series of apocalyptic events that Sabrina and the rest of the Spellman clan need to thwart?Alternate part 3. (Part 3 Fic) - Rated Mature - Chapters 24/24 - COMPLETED 6/30/2020

14. “A Little Wicked”

Author: Miss_Kath90 aka @misskath90

Summary: Sometimes, in the darkness of her room, unable to sleep, she thought about how easy it would be to fall in love with him. And she was sure a part of her was a bit in love with him already, but she kept holding to the past and that was hurting them both. Rated Mature - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 6/16/2020

15. “Crash Into Me”

Author: thoughtsaboutshows @thoughtsaboutshows

Summary: Set after Part 3 and some time after Nick and Sabrina's breakup. Just a little one-shot of a mission they get sent on by Zelda. Tough conversations and some tears...and one bed ONE-SHOT - Not Rated - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 6/15/2020

16. “Heaven can’t help me now”

Author: bunivy @bunivys

Summary: Soulmates are a universal law, the way of life. Sabrina's soulmate is Harvey, but she'll pick Nick every time, in every way. ONE-SHOT - Not Rated - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 6/13/2020

17. “I knew you were trouble”

Author: Miss_Kath90 aka @misskath90

Summary: Sabrina didn’t know that being away from home for the first time could be so hard.Away from her aunts, friends and her-lifelong-boyfriend, Sabrina have to deal with the nostalgia but also with the new challenges College's life mean: get used to share a room with a not-so-nice roommate, put up with long hours of study and very few of sleep, learn to live from pre-cooked meals instead of her aunt Hilda’s homemade ones, find balance between her studies and her new social life… And resist the temptation a certain Nicholas Scratch mean for her. AU/AH - Rated Mature - Chapters 28/28 - COMPLETED 6/06/2020

18. “A Thing or Two to Learn”

Author: gracefulchaos

Summary: What if Sabrina and Nick weren't in the same coven, and they met each other later in life? AU - Rated Mature - Chapters 1/? - Last Update 6/06/2020

19. “When the Bones are Good”

Author: sarahkwut @sarahwyland

Summary: Sabrina Spellman is enjoying her life as a normal teenager. Sabrina Morningstar is reigning Hell with an iron fist. Ambrose Spellman is searching for a solution to bring them back together and close the time loop, Sabrina's wishes be damned. And Nicholas Scratch? He's faced down his own demons and he's desperate for redemption.Except the clock is ticking.On time and Terrors. (Part 4 Fic) - Rated General - Chapters 28/28 - COMPLETED 6/05/2020

20. “Bury a Lie”

Author: raeinthedark

Summary: Sabrina is comfortable with death. It's her job. But everything is changed on a rainy October morning. The life and work she was accustomed to are forever different in the wake of tragedy. There really isn't coming back from this, unless she can figure out who's behind it. AU/AH - Rated Mature - Chapters 3/? - Last Update 5/04/2020

21. “I run to you”

Author: thoughtsaboutshows @thoughtsaboutshows

Summary: Nick and Sabrina love two things. Research and each other. But their research often takes them to far away places, and far away from the person they love most. AU/AH - Not Rated - Chapters 1/1 - One-Shot COMPLETED - 5/21/2020

22. “My Body Is A Canvas For Your Love”

Author: Unseemingowl aka @unseemingowl

Summary: Sabrina had no love for the whip or the belt or the cane that Nick had used to enjoy so much, but restraints... That was another matter entirely. Rated E Mature - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 4/29/2020

23. ”Ground Beneath Her Feet”

Author: mindlesshappy aka @feministstree

Summary: Sabrina is born out of a miracle - one that she wishes would repeat for her, but when she is destined for someone else, how much can she resist before her heart decides to give in. Alternatively, Nick is Sabrina's soulmate, but she really just wants Harvey to be it. Also, in the backseat are all the other possible ships, getting their own soulmate glories. Rated T - Chapters 18/? - Last Update 4/17/2020

24. “in your eyes (there's something burning inside you)”

Author: jessequicksters

Summary: Nicholas falls in love with Sabrina as fast as a mortal sells their soul to the devil. The only problem is, in the Church of Night, everything has a price. Even love.Especially love.(He bleeds every time he dreams of Sabrina and when they kiss, it happens too, but love isn't supposed to hurt, right? Except he's never known about love; the only thing he knows is that this half-mortal is going to be the death of him.) Rated Mature - Chapters 5/5 - Last Update 3/22/2020

25. “The Institute for Divine Craft”

Author: rayo aka @its-nabrina-bitch

Summary: After a humiliating spat with Father Blackwood pushes Sabrina away from her witching life and the Academy, Madam Satan crafts an alternative solution to move Sabrina Spellman further down the path of night. Ultimately leading her to the Institute for the Divine Craft. A handsome Headmaster with mysterious ties to her father, convinces Sabrina to abandon her mortal life, and cultivate her abilities as a child of the Church of Lucifer. AU - Rated Mature - Chapters 19/? - Last Update 3/22/2020

26. “My Lover of Blood and Milk”

Author: Unseemingowl aka @unseemingowl

Summary: It didn’t feel as though it had only been a few hours since she had made her way to the Greendale woods for Lupercalia. As she sat there, shivering in her muddied and bloodied silk slip, it felt as if a completely different person had made her way back out of the forest...... Or how Sabrina struggles with lust and trust after her disastrous Lupercalian night with Nick. Rated Mature - Chapters 4/4 - Last Update 3/15/2020

27. “I Need to Know”

Author: raeinthedark

Summary: Love isn't that easy to erase... and that song is on again. Rated General - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 2/29/2020

28. “Be True To Your School”

Author: rayo aka @its-nabrina-bitch

Summary: Nicholas Scratch is the Golden Boy™ of Baxter High; star athlete, top of his class academically, and devastatingly handsome. Sabrina Spellman sees Sophomore year as an opportunity to expand her horizons; joining the cheerleading squad, running for student council, and making new friends along the way while working to maintain her relationships with her old friends. What Sabrina Spellman doesn't know: sophomore year is about to turn her world upside-down. Rated T - Chapters 6/? - Last Update 2/23/2020

29. “Ocean”

Author: sarahkwut

Summary: AU, M-Rated. Nicholas Scratch has everything working in his favor. He's got a decent job as a history teacher, his roommate Melvin is always up for video games and getting high, and Sabrina Spellman lets him mess up her sheets frequently. Sabrina knows Nick isn't good for her, but she can't stay away, no matter how hard it is to pretend she's completely okay with their casual arrangement. But when life takes an unexpected curve, Nick is forced to face a new normal he doesn't know how to navigate. And Sabrina may or may not be there to help him through it. AU/AH - Rated Mature - Chapters 27/27 - COMPLETED 2/10/2020

30. “I’ll be there”

Author: Miss_Kath90 aka @misskath90

Summary: She couldn’t stop looking at him, since she had recovered him from the claws of the Dark Lord, she felt unable to be apart from him and had to admit that part of her was afraid he would disappear if she moved from his side. And Sabrina wouldn't let anyone or anything separate him from her again. Never. Rated Mature - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 1/30/2020

31. “Walk away”

Author: Miss_Kath90 aka @misskath90

Summary: Pain. Could he someday escape the pain? He sometimes thought it impossible. It was strange, his relationship with the pain, it was an enemy and a friend. The pain numbed him. The pain didn’t let him sleep. The pain hurt him and soothed him. It was unhealthy, the way the pain helped him relieve the pain. But it was the only thing he had left. Rated T - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 1/27/2020

32. “To Hell and Back”

Author: sarahkwut

Summary: Sabrina was successful in her efforts to retrieve Nick from Hell, but the damage - physical and emotional - is deep. Sometimes, the only way to heal is to go your separate ways and trust things will work themselves out in the end. (Written before Part 3 - an alternate take on how Nick recovers from his time in Hell - with and without Sabrina). Rated Mature - Chapters 3/3 - Last Update 1/26/2020

33. “The Morning(star) After”

Author: rayo aka @its-nabrina-bitch

Summary: A Painful NickxSabrina Reunion Rated T - Chapters 1/3 - Last Update 1/24/2020

34. “My only love sprung from my only hate”

Author: filmharlot

Summary: High School AU where Nick is based on the version of him that Sabrina creates in her dream during the Batibat episode. Harvey and Sabrina have broken up and don't want to work together on the Romeo and Juliet assignment in Drama class, so she ends up being partners with Nick AU - Not Rated - Chapters 8/? - Last Update 1/19/2020

35. “A very witchy Christmas”

Author: Miss_Kath90 aka @misskath90

Summary: Just a bit of silly Christmas fluff that I couldn’t help but write, placed in the series universe after a huge jump in time. Not Rated - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 12/25/2019

36. “Mortal Little Christmas”

Author: HeartsInJeopardy

Summary: ‘Twas the night before Christmas – and the first for Nick Scratch - but Sabrina’s holiday movie was not a good match. Rated T - Chapters 2/2 - Last Update 12/21/2019

37. “Lessons in the Unseen”

Author: bunivy aka @bunivys

Summary: Academy Teachers AU. Sabrina Spellman lives as simple a life as a half-mortal half-witch can. Despite her dislike for the headmaster, she enjoys spending her time teaching Ritual Magic at the Academy of Unseen Arts, hoping to positively shape the minds of young witches and warlocks. However, with the sudden dreadful announcement of her aunt Zelda's engagement and the appearance of one mysterious - and strikingly handsome - Nicholas Scratch, Sabrina finds that her life is not so simple anymore. Or all that safe. AU - Rated Mature - Chapters 32/32 - COMPLETED 12/17/2019

38. “Just a Little Obsessed”

Author: eyerys

Summary: Nicholas has developed a tinie-tiny crush on Sabrina. Nothing like major or whatever. It's not like he thinks about her all the time or daydreams about what it would be like to be with her or how cool she is. No, not at all.Sabrina doesn't have a crush on Nick. No, not at all. Uh-uh. She has Harvey. Sweet and loving Harvey Kinkle. But for some reason, she can't help but find her mind wandering. Rated T - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 12/13/2019

39. “As The Moon Rises”

Author: venzaren

Summary: Sabrina Spellman is tired.Tired of living a double life. Tired of facing discrimination at the hands of her pack. Tired of dealing with her status as an Omega. And most of all, she's tired of people hounding her about finding her mate.Then Nick Scratch returns to Greendale. AU - Rated General - Chapters 1/? - Last Update 12/07/2019

40. “Thirteen Memories”

Author: tempestbreak

Summary: (Set at the end of Season 2) Sabrina and her friends go to Hell and rescue Nick -- but what happens when that's the easy part?It turns out, having the Dark Lord inside your mind for months can do some damage, and Nick comes back different. His memories of the events leading up to his sacrifice, including his relationship with Sabrina, are gone. How can Sabrina help him regain his memories of their time together when she's not even sure she trusts her own? Rated Mature - Chapters 6/? - Last Update 11/02/2019

41. “But The Greatest Is Love”

Author: sarahkwut

Summary: The acheron captured Lucifer Morningstar, but their problems are far from over. The coven is decimated, the Church of Night is no more, Father Blackwood is on the run, and Nick and Sabrina's relationship is in ruins. How do they pick up the pieces and move on? There are more questions than answers and the consequences could be of biblical proportions. Rated Mature - Chapters 25/25 - COMPLETED 10/28/2019

42. “Back to You”

Author: nadiaselite

Summary: Sabrina brings Nick back from hell. Rated T - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 10/11/2019

43. “The Open Road”

Author: paradiamond

Summary: Nick wants her back, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes. In fact, he insists on it. Rated T - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 9/22/2019

44. “The words “I love you” aren’t enough”

Author: Miss_Kath90

Summary: “Look at me, Nick” he was reluctant but when he finally looked up she took his face in her hands making him unable to look away “What you did that day… Nick, you sacrificed yourself for my sake, even when I mistreated you and told you all those horrible things. You did it for me, because you love me… Don’t you see? You’re incapable of being evil.”Or... Sabrina gets her boyfriend back but things don’t go as smoothly as she thinks they will. Rated Mature - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 9/22/2019

45. “Mission: Let’s get my boyfriend back”

Author: My_Evak_Heart

Summary: Sabrina and the Fright Club ventures on their first mission: getting Nick back from Hell Not Rated - Chapters 1/1 - Last Update 9/7/2019

46. “Jealousy is a killer”

Author: Melissa1226

Summary: Will Sabrina and Nick Start something new? and who is watching them from the shadow full of jealousy? Rated Mature - Chapters 8/? - Last Update 8/28/2019

47. “The Jock”

Author: mikaila_ealum

Summary: An Alternate Universe where Nicholas Scratch is Baxter High’s quarterback along with one of the most popular boys at school. With few knowing the truth, Scratch is living a double life as a warlock at the Academy of Unseen Arts. Sabrina takes a hiatus from the Academy to get more in touch with her mortal side. When Sabrina gets back she becomes partners with Nicholas for a project in theatre class. AU - Chapters 8/? - Last Update 8/07/2019

48. “act 5, scene 2 (thou and i are too wise to woo peaceably)”

Author: ghostemo aka @wickedscratch

Summary: When Sabrina Spellman rose to a challenge issued by Prudence Night, she never imagined she’d actually make the varsity cheer squad - or that doing so would upend life as she knew it. Now she has to navigate her new role within the social hierarchy of hell -er Baxter High as well as trying to get her boyfriend to actually communicate. It certainly doesn’t help that she’s been paired up with the annoyingly handsome Nicholas Scratch, captain of Greendale’s beloved football team, for a project in her theater class. It’s exactly as, if not more so, cliche as it sounds. AU/AH - Rated T - Chapters 3/? - 7/25/2019

49. “Off the Record”

Author: sarahkwut

Summary: AU. Detective Nicholas Scratch left New York for Greendale in desperate need of a change of scenery. The small town takes some getting used to, but local reporter Sabrina Spellman quickly grabs his attention. It's the fresh start he needed until Greendale's residents start turning up dead. With a murderer on the loose, no one is innocent - and anyone might be next. AU/AH - Rated Mature - Chapters 29/29 - COMPLETED 7/22/2019

50. “Bring You Close To Me”

Author: BridgetMcKennitt

Summary: Sabrina and her friends managed to bring Nicholas back from Hell. There was a lot the two of them needed to discuss, but tonight, they had this. Rated E Mature - Chapters 1/1 - One Shot - Last Update 7/13/2019

51. “A Brief Moment”

Author: bunivy aka @bunivys

Summary: Ever since he's returned from Hell, Nicholas Scratch has been having nightmares. With help from Aunt Hilda, Sabrina unknowingly shows him a light and for a moment, Nicholas knows everything will be okay. Rated General - Chapters 1/1 - One Shot - Last Update 6/24/2019

52. “To Hell and Back”

Author: swtnerdgirl

Summary: A year has passed since Sabrina and her friends rescued Nick from Hell. No one came back the same. They all had their scars. Some emotionally. Some physically. In the days leading to Hilda's wedding, they all prepare for their lives to change and heal their wounds. Rated Mature - Chapters 16/? - Last Update 6/06/2019

53. “Dead Witch Walking”

Author: rayo aka @its-nabrina-bitch

Summary: Faced with the possibility of being harrowed to death by her classmates, Sabrina finds an escape. Rated E Mature - Chapters 1/1 - One Shot - Last Update 5/26/2019

54. “Moonlight Beneath Rough Lips”

Author: ivylikeveins

Summary: After the encounter with the thirteen witches of Greendale, Sabrina enters the dining hall with moonlight locks bathed in soft blue hues, and Nick does not know what to do. He ends up with a soft and small Sabrina pressed into his chest, sleeping, and wrapped around his very much over-sized jacket with Nick's lips pressed into the soft, pearly strands he wants his soul to get entangled within. Rated Mature - Chapters 1/1 - One Shot - Last Update 5/19/2019

55. “The Hunt”

Author: OnlyInAutumn

Summary: Nick howled into the night, up at the stars to signify that he was ready on the eve of Lupercalia, the darkness of midnight around them. The first sound of the horn sent them into the forest. The hunt had begun. Rated E Mature - Chapters 1/1 - One Shot - Last Update 5/11/2019

56. “Secrets, Secrets are no Fun”

Author: filmharlot

Summary: Sabrina is the new kid for the first time in her life. Choosing to go to the Academy full-time seems to be a hard transition than she was expecting. With the Weird Sisters harassment at an all-time high, dealing with leaving her mortal friend's and condescending teachers, Sabrina is suffering. She's not even allowed to have Salem for comfort. It's not all bad though. She is finally free to do magic whenever she wants, and there's a charming warlock who is being particularly nice to her. Plus, someone is leaving kind gifts on her bed at the end of the night. She just wishes she knew who it was. Not Rated - Chapters 1/? - Last Update 5/06/2019

57. “Unsettled Nighttime Creatures”

Author: mindlesshappy

Summary: We all know Sabrina is going to save Nick. This is how Nick reacts to being saved - which, spoilers alert - is like a very stupid warlock. Rated T - Chapters 5/5 - Completed 4/25/2019

58. “Selfless”

Author: sarahwut

Summary: Sabrina Spellman dragged Nicholas Scratch back from Hell. But Hell might be better than a world in which they aren't together. Rated General - Chapters 1/1 - One Shot - Completed 4/23/2019

59. “Homecoming”

Author: cherrystems

Summary: After several months Sabrina is able to get Nick back from Hell with the help of her family and friends. However, Nick has to adjust to Earth again while dealing with PTSD and anxiety. This tells the story of the growth of Sabrina and Nick's relationship over the recovery time. Not Rated - Chapters 3/? - Last Update 4/20/2019

60. “Under Your Spell”

Author: londonmarie

Summary: Sabrina doesn't hesitate to have her Dark Baptism and things go differently. Rated T - Chapters 10/? - Last Update 4/18/2019

61. “Photographs”

Author: Greyowl9831

Summary: It's been at least 150 years since Sabrina signed her name in the Book of the Beast. One day she finds an old photo album. Will the memories it contains be a great walk down memory lane or will it be more than she can bare? Not Rated - Chapters 4/? - Last Update 4/14/2019

62. “An itch That Needed Scratching”

Author: umbrellacorp

Summary: What if Nick slayed his familiar and Sabrina and Nick got to experience the last night of the Lupercalia festival alone. Tonight, Sabrina would be transformed. Nick was going to show her power that she never knew she had, an innate carnal power. They were about to become the most powerful union of the Church of Night. Rated E Mature - Chapters 1/1 - One Shot - Last Update 4/13/2019

63. “and I keep waiting (but I won’t say I’m waiting)”

Author: lost_n_stereo @lost-n-stereo

Summary: You would think that it would hurt less as the days go by, since it’s been nearly two years since Nick sacrificed himself for the greater good and Lilith took him to hell. Except, he didn’t sacrifice himself for the greater good, he sacrificed himself for her. And that makes it a hell of a lot tougher to let go. Rated General - Chapters 1/1 - One Shot - Last Update 4/10/2019

64. “Fire”

Author: OnlyInAutumn

Summary: Their power—together—was overwhelming. It was something that she had not felt either, the consuming feeling of expanding power. It was entirely addicting. Rated Mature - Chapters 2/2 - Completed 3/24/2019

65. “something I can believe”

Author: Anry

Summary: Missing scene after Sabrina's baptism. I wouldn't say that it's really a relationship here, just conversation. Rated General - Chapters 1/1 - One Shot - Last Update 1/25/2019

AND THERE YOU GO!!!! Have fun everyone, if I missed any Fics or you have any recommendations for the list message me or send in a ask and I’ll add it to the list. Hopefully by the time you’ve checked out some of these stories we will finally know something about Part 4. 

[pearlsephoni]

When Immortal Meets Ineffable

Can also be read on AO3 

Rating: G 

Fandoms: Good Omens, The Old Guard

Pairings: Joe/Nicky, Aziraphale/Crowley (ofc)

Summary: Nicky's love for books has introduced him to many wonders, but he never anticipated meeting a pair of men whose existence seems just as impossible as his own. Or: a gay, immortal couple walks into an old bookshop owned by a gay, angel/demon couple. 

A/N:  The sign on Aziraphale's bookshop door is real, I copied the text from here lol And I owe my life to this 3D recreation of the shop Also this is my first time attempting to publish a fic on here, so pardon any formatting weirdness. More author’s notes can be found on the AO3 page!

Immortality was exhausting. It was impossible to build a normal life and settle down without sparking suspicion, so no single place could be “home” for very long. They couldn’t build a family, or climb the ladder of a career, or even build many friendships outside of their core group. 

Without the more…“standard” goals available to them, each member of the Old Guard ended up setting their own personal quests. Andy learned every language and style of martial arts she could. Booker challenged himself to try a new whiskey at every bar they visited. Joe was close to completing his goal of visiting every possible art museum in Eurasia, and would soon be expanding his scope to the world. And Nicky was determined to read as many of the world’s books as possible. 

But that wasn’t the only reason why he and Joe ended up seemingly visiting every bookshop in Europe. Living forever meant you had an infinite amount of time to lose and find things, and unfortunately for Nicky, his list of lost items included a near-first edition copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy. 

Books didn’t hold the same appeal for Joe, but he was still always willing to join his life partner in his visits to bookshops. What caused him chagrin wasn’t the visits, but the seemingly futile quest to find such a rare copy of a classic book. So when Nicky immediately tugged his jacket back on to head into London, Joe was a bit more reluctant than usual. 

“Hayati, wouldn’t we have better luck looking in museums for something so rare?” 

“I’m not just looking for La Commedia, my heart,” Nicky reminded him with a small smile. “I need a new book to read, too.” 

“Of course, and that’s why you are going to Waterstones and not another small, old bookshop?” That small smile turned guilty, and Joe couldn’t help letting out a sigh. “Do you have a destination in mind, or will you be wandering again?” 

“Why don’t you come with me and find out?” 

It wasn’t fair of Nicky to use his rare, broad smiles to win their smaller bickers, he knew it. But even a relationship with the love of his life wouldn’t have lasted almost a millennium without the occasional cheap trick. And it was so hard to feel guilty when his little tricks resulted in Joe’s hand warmly wrapped around his as they walked through London. 

As it so happened, he did have a destination in mind: A.Z. Fell & Co., an old bookshop that he remembered seeing on a random street corner in London. It had been closed the first (and last) time he tried to pay it a visit, all those years ago, and the sign on the door detailing the store hours simply raised more questions than answers for Nicky: 

Bookshop Opening Hours: 

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10am. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday. I tend to close about 3:30pm, or earlier if something needs tending to. However, I might occasionally keep the shop open until 8 or 9 at night, you never know when you might need some light reading. On days that I am not in, the shop will remain closed. On weekends, I will open the shop during normal hours unless I am elsewhere. Bank holidays will be treated in the usual fashion, with early closing on Wednesdays, or sometimes Fridays. (For Sundays see Tuesdays.) 

-A.Z. Fell, Bookseller 

“It’s a miracle this place is still running,” Joe muttered now, squinting at the wordy sign. Nicky was more interested in the sign hanging next to it, blissfully simpler and blessedly flipped to read, “Open.” The door was unlocked, and rang with a cheerful jingle as the immortals pushed it open. 

“Hello there! Welcome to A.Z. Fell & Co!” 

Nicky had barely been able to fully take in the warm, crowded space of the bookshop before his attention was pulled to a small, pale man dressed in a white suit. He seemingly appeared out of thin air from behind a small desk next to a bookshelf to the left. He had a bright, welcoming smile, and looked positively cherubic with his light blonde curls and rosy cheeks. “How may I help you today?” 

“Oh, I-” 

“We’re just looking,” Joe cut in, giving Nicky a gentle nudge. It was a reminder enough not to draw attention with their unusual search. “Wanted to see what we could find in such a unique shop.” 

“Lovely! Well, if you need any help at all, don’t hesitate to ask!” 

“Thank you,” Nicky replied with a smile, before wandering over to the cluster of bookshelves on their right, pulling Joe with him. 

He always lost track of time in bookshops. Even Joe, for all he insisted that Nicky was the reader, could get lost in the trinkets and random findings to be seen in an old shop. Maybe that was why, for all their battle-honed instincts and attention to detail, they didn’t realize someone else had entered the store until a new voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Angel!” 

“Ah, Crowley! What a pleasant surprise! What’re you doing here?” 

“Just wanted to see what you’ve got in stock.” 

“Really?”

“No, of course not, I was going to ask you to lunch.” 

“Oh! Well...that’s very kind of you, but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t just close my shop in the middle of the day!”

“Yes you can, it’s your shop, if anyone can, it’s you.” 

“But I have customers! Like...like these young men!” 

Nicky, with a thousand years of life behind him, never thought of himself nor Joe as “young.” No matter how ageless they were, every year weighed on them, a burden that was only bearable because they didn’t have to weather it alone. So it didn’t occur to him that they were the “young men” the shop owner referred to, until the small, pale man suddenly appeared at his elbow. “Hello there! May I help you with anything?” 

A Genovese curse flew from his lips, followed by a grunt after Joe gently pinched him. Nicky smiled apologetically at the owner. “Sorry, ah...we’re alright, just looking.” 

“Yes, well…” The shop owner had a confused tilt to his eyebrows, at odds with his kind smile. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy, but...was that Old Genovese you were speaking?”

“You recognize it?” Nicky blurted out before he could stop himself. It had been centuries since either of the immortals had met someone else who knew the language. 

“Oh, I don’t know, it’s been a while since I’ve heard it.” A pink tint had risen to the small blonde’s cheeks, and his eyes now had a proud glint to them. “That’s very impressive, I didn’t think anyone spoke it anymore!”  

“No...neither did we.” He glanced at Joe, and was met with eyes that looked as disconcerted as he felt. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Please let me know if you need help with anything!” The shop owner cheerfully strolled back to the counter, where his friend - Crowley, Nicky remembered - was staring at him and Joe with what felt like suspicion, even through his sunglasses. The redhead murmured something to the blonde that made the latter glance back at them with another smile, one that Nicky returned before he quietly urged Joe behind another bookshelf. 

“What the hell?” Joe hissed as soon as they were out of eyeline of the shop owner. 

“Language, tesoro mio.” 

Joe’s words switched to old Maghrebi, but remained just as confused and indignant. “Nico, we haven’t met anyone else who speaks Genovese in decades, maybe even centuries, if we don’t count linguists.”

“I know.” 

“So how does an owner of an old bookshop recognize it?” 

“We’ve seen some books that are much older than what we usually see in a shop like this. Maybe he recognized it from a book?” Even as he uttered the words, Nicky knew the explanation was pathetic. The look of disbelief he received from his lover let him know he wasn’t alone in thinking that. 

“He said it’s been a while since he’s heard it,” Joe reminded him. “And he recognized it as it was spoken, not written down somewhere.” 

“What are you trying to say? That he’s another immortal? One we somehow haven’t dreamed of in all this time?” 

“No, of course not...but…” Joe peered at the shop owner and his friend through a gap in the books. “Maybe there’s something different about him. Maybe immortals aren’t the only strange people in the world.” 

“Even if that were true, Yusuf, don’t you think we would have run into one before? Our abilities have been noticed before, by people who didn’t know what to look for. We of all people would have noticed if there were other powers out there.” 

“Unless they do as much as we do to stay out of notice.” 

It was Nicky’s turn to peer at the odd couple through the books, except this time, the redhead, Crowley, was looking right at him. Or at least, in their direction. He jerked away from the bookshelf and immediately moved deeper into the shop, tugging Joe with him. “We can talk with the others about it later. For now, let’s buy something and leave.”

“Still determined to find your book?”

Nicky offered a sweet smile to Joe, but didn’t bother hiding the mirth in his eyes. “Of course, my heart.” 

He didn’t end up finding the book he was looking for, much to his disappointment and Joe’s quiet amusement. But he did find an old, old Italian Bible that stirred distant memories of a classroom reciting verses, and that was enough to justify the visit. 

Satisfied in his choice, he moved towards the cashier register, only to be pulled up short by Joe. Nicky furrowed his brows in confusion - for someone who had been so reluctant to come, Joe suddenly seemed very keen on staying. He glanced back at him to find those dark eyes trained on the men behind the counter, one finger to his lips. Battle instincts kicked in, and he obediently trained his hearing to the low muttering coming from the other men. 

“Now really, Crowley, it’s simply not possible! Even if the Almighty really did send spies after us, I would at least recognize them. I’ve never seen those men in my life!” 

“Then maybe they’re demons. We’ve always had better corporeal disguises anyway. Would explain why we don’t recognize them.” 

“Have you ever seen demons behave like that with each other?” 

“Like what?” 

“Oh come now, you must have felt it. The energy around them is downright bursting with love! It’s just like…”

“...Angel, like what?”

“W-well...like two people in love. Nothing at all like you demons behave.”

“‘You demons’? Might I remind you of who saved the most valuable books here, Aziraphale?” 

It could’ve been just another argument between an old couple, especially an old married couple. There was no mistaking the love and pure affection that drenched every bickering phrase between them. But where Nicky had thought “Angel” was a sweet nickname, the casual use of terms like “demons” and “the Almighty” stirred a deeper sense of suspicion awake in him...and a rush of exhilaration. The sensible majority of his mind told him there was no earthly way he was staring at an angel and a demon. Even if angels and demons were real, they wouldn’t own an old bookshop, or walk around dressed like a dandy or an aged member of a rock band. 

But a small part of him, the part of him that had him wandering to a church on calm Sundays and uttering panicked prayers over Joe’s body in the middle of battle, felt a thrill at the idea that he was staring at proof. Proof that his centuries of faith, his short-lived livelihood in the church, wasn’t in vain. When he finally tore his eyes away from the odd couple to look at Joe, he was met with a small smile of understanding under an unsure gaze. Of course his love understood what was running through his mind, even without a single word uttered between them. 

Nicky took a steadying breath before he finally nodded at Joe, giving his hand a light squeeze. The shop owner and his...friend (partner?) were still bickering when they approached the cashier, and Nicky caught snippets of something about a church, a bomb, a satchel of books, before the argument was cut short by their arrival at the counter. 

“Ah, gentlemen, hello again! Did you find everything alright?” the small blonde man - Azira...phale..? - greeted them with a wide smile, while Crowley simply stared at them with an unnervingly straight face. His gaze prickled at Nicky’s awareness, despite his best attempts to ignore him and return Aziraphale’s smile. 

“I didn’t find the book I was looking for, but you have many rare gems here.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry you couldn’t find it!” 

“Don’t be. We have visited almost every bookshop in Europe in search of it,” Joe snorted with a grin. “At this point it’ll take a miracle to find it.” 

Aziraphale perked up at Joe’s response, and glanced eagerly at Crowley...who returned the blonde’s hopeful smile with a stony stare. A moment of silence passed before the redhead finally muttered, “Sounds like you won’t be finding it any time soon.” 

“No, but that’s alright. Seeing all these wonderful little shops offers a special kind of joy,” Nicky murmured with a reassuring smile to Aziraphale. “You should be proud of this shop. It’s a lovely refuge in this city.” 

The owner looked a bit crestfallen, but brightened at Nicky’s smile and words. “That’s very kind of you to say! I’ve had it for quite a while, so it’s turned into a home of sorts for me. I’m so glad it feels that way to my patrons as well!” 

Crowley’s attention was back on Nicky, and even though he couldn’t see the redhead’s eyes, he didn’t feel as burdened by the scrutiny anymore. It felt somehow softer now, more of a mild annoyance as the transaction was carried out. Crowley had been so quiet throughout their visit that when he suddenly spoke up, the surprise nearly made Nicky drop the small paper bag containing his book. “Just out of curiosity...what book were you looking for?” 

“Ah...an early edition of The Divine Comedy in the original Italian. First edition, if possible.” 

“...Dante’s Divine Comedy?” Crowley repeated, skepticism practically dripping off his words. “You’re looking for a first edition from the late Middle Ages?” 

Nicky could hear the rustle of Joe straightening just behind him, ready to defend his admittedly-futile quest. He shifted just enough to hook their pinkies together in reassurance while he shot a small smile at Crowley. “More just seeing if it’s possible to find outside of a museum.” 

Crowley nodded, but he still had a small frown of disbelief on his lips as he wandered towards the bookshelves at the very back of the shop. Aziraphale watched him meander away with wariness and hope lining his eyes, a combination of emotions that made Nicky wonder what kind of history the odd couple shared to prompt that kind of response. 

“Nicolo,” Joe murmured, pulling him out of his idle curiosity. “We should be going. Andy will wonder what happened to us.” 

“Right...yes, of course.” Nicky smiled again at Aziraphale, who suddenly looked panicked at their impending departure. “Thank you again.” 

“Oh, are you leaving so soon? A-are you sure I can’t help you find anything else? I have other first editions that might interest you!” 

“Really, it’s alright-” 

“Here we are.” Crowley was suddenly back at Aziraphale’s side, tossing a book onto the countertop with a carelessness that became alarming when Nicky realized what he was staring at: an old, worn volume, the cover made of what used to be red leather, but was now faded into a dull brown. Pressed into the leather, and traced with gold flakes, were the words “La Commedia.” Nicky reached out to brush the worn cover, gingerly lifting it to reveal the title page, where he could read the publication date: 1438. “This...this is…” 

“Not quite first edition, but about as good as you’re gonna get outside of a museum.” Crowley’s voice was casual, as if he had simply found any old book. But his smirk was smug, the gravity of his achievement definitely not lost on him, especially when Aziraphale was staring at him in what could only be described as adoration. 

“How...how did you find this?” 

“Call it a little miracle. How much does a little miracle cost, angel?” 

“Oh, ah...well, the best miracles are priceless, wouldn’t you say?” 

Nicky’s gaze jerked away from the book to stare at Aziraphale in shock. “No, I’m sorry, I cannot in good faith take this without paying you.” 

“No, really-”

“Please, I insist-” 

The shopowner was strangely reluctant to give Nicky a price, but with Joe’s help, they were able to settle on an amount. By the time they left the bookshop, it was even later than they had planned on leaving, but Nicky was in such a daze of disbelief over his luck, Joe ended up being the one to call Andy. 

“Boss, we know, we’re sorry, but you’ll never believe- no, trust me, even Booker will get excited over this. We’ll be there soon, it will be worth the wait, I promise.” He laughed as he tucked his phone away, shaking his head fondly at Nicky. “Well, my heart, I hope this find is worth Andy’s wrath. She is not happy with us.” 

“Yusuf...who were those men?” Nicky was staring numbly into the bag, still not believing the impossibly old book he held in his hands. 

“What do you mean?” 

He finally looked away from his new treasure to meet Joe’s eyes. “Do you think...that maybe…” 

“What? That an angel and demon helped us find a book?” 

“Stranger things have been true.” 

“Perhaps…” Joe’s arm wrapped around Nicky’s waist, tucking him against his body to drop a kiss to his temple. “Whatever those men were, they were kind. I hope the bookshop continues to do well.” 

“Mm...thank you for coming with me.” Nicky’s smile was full of adoration, and earned him another kiss, this time on his lips. 

“Of course, hayati. Anything for you.” 

“Anything? Well, there’s another book I’ve been looking for-” 

“Buuuuut Andy and Booker might not approve.” 

After almost 1000 years, he should have been able to better resist the effect of Joe’s cheeky smile. But after almost 1000 years, Nicky wasn’t in the habit of denying himself the little joys to be found in life, especially when they came from this impossible man. 

[thathawaiianchick]

my wolfstar fic recc

29 of my favs, plus 2 comics :)

sorted from shortest to longest, series at the bottom

i like long fics, i like raising Harry AUs, i like Lay Low at Lupin’s fics, i like marauder era “we’re 70′s trash fics”, i like angst, but i also love “everybody lives”, kind of a mix of everything but seriously a lot of raising Harry AUs because it fills a need i guess

some super popular, some relative unknowns i think

all fics that characterize wolfstar for me :) 

JKR has disappointed me supremely, but fan works will hold my love forever

 part 2 because i forgot some

STANDALONES

1. A Day Like Any Other by dustmouth

(a comic, not really a fic, just hosted on AO3)

The one where Sirius keeps receiving unwanted mail, Remus drinks a lot of tea, Peter's out on a hot date, and James is offering unwanted make overs.

(Or the answer to the question of exactly how many cursed letters can you flush down the loo).

2. To Keep a Star by dustmouth

(a comic, not really a fic, just hosted on AO3)

Daily life in the Intergalactic Postal Service. Or the one where Sirius is a postal star and Remus lives on a spaceship.

3. in your bedroom, during the war by lupinely

There’s the bed, there’s the room, and there’s Remus. This, at least, Sirius knows for sure. (4Kish)

4. Home We’ll Go by appalachian_fireflies

"I can't, I don't know how," Remus stuttered as Molly dropped the infant into his arms, who immediately ceased crying and stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Nonsense," Molly said. "Be a dear and keep him from falling while I feed Ginny."

"Ba!" Ron giggled, and slapped Remus in the face.

Molly is the emergency contact for the Order when those listed can no longer be reached. Remus' life finds a different path. (10K)

5. A Store of Happiness by coyotesuspect

Harry spends the summer after his third year living with Sirius and Professor Lupin. (10K)

6. In The Bed by bigblackdog

Left to his own devices the summer after the prank, Sirius crafts an unusual gift to mend his relationship with Remus. (11K)

7. Vigil Strange I Kept by whitmans_kiss

Remus' lycanthropy has caused his body to seriously deteriorate over the years due to the constant stress of the transformations, and by his fifty-sixth birthday, it's certain that he won't live to finish out the year. However, a cure has recently been discovered - but what if the cure is just as bad as the disease? (11K)

8. Elucidation Practice by montparnasse

Christmas, 1978. Remus, wrestling with the mighty problems of gift-giving on a budget, contemplates life, love, London in winter, and falling off the edge of the world with Sirius Black. (21K)

9. On a Windswept Cliff by starfishstar

On the cliff top where the fearsome Lord Black once stalked, an outcast man meets a big black dog, and things are not as they seem.

Or: The Remus/Sirius gothic romance AU. (21K)

10. Lethe and Mnemosyne by montparnasse

Winter '79. Looking to get out from under the black-hole overhang of wartime, Sirius and Remus take off to play house on the Cornish moors. It goes downhill from there.  (26K)

11. Purity by FelisA 

Sirius resurrection fic. (27K) 12. Common Woodbrown by imochan

Look well into thyself; there is a source of strength which will always spring up if thou wilt always look there. In 1985, Remus Lupin realizes that Sirius Black is innocent. Now, he just has to prove it. (36K)

13. Wilde and Whimsy by chasing bluefish, obsob

In a world where Dumbledore defeated Voldemort during the first war, the wizarding community is picking up the pieces and getting back to their lives. Remus Lupin becomes a person of interest in a murder at the bookshop where he works and Sirius Black and James Potter, aurors, are sent to investigate. As they navigate the crime itself, Remus and Sirius realize that there is something to their instant chemistry. But they need to keep their newfound attraction under wraps while trying to find the killer and stop them from claiming more victims. (36K)

14. Paper Wings by Krislaughs

(not hosted on ao3)

What if Sirius Black sent a final message from Azkaban? Enter the home of the last Marauder in the days following Voldemort’s downfall. Lost and alone, Remus asks a question of the void, a question whose answer will send him around the world. Meeting puppies, Kneazles, dementors, and nomads, Remus learns more about himself and his friends than he ever thought possible. Learn the secrets of the Marauder’s map and the world’s best chocolate, how various Death Eaters occupied themselves after the fall of their lord, and why you should never leave Remembralls lying around.

15. Uncreated Night by earlybloomingparentheses

Remus can drift through whole worlds in his own mind. Sirius lives in his body, electric, ablaze. In 1979 and 1996 and 1978 and 1981 and in many other years and many different places, they search for the bridges between them and the spaces they can share. Time after time, they fight their way back together, head and heart, mind and body.

And in 1998, Remus stands before the veil, wondering if he should finally stop thinking, and just act. (41.5K)

16. Lemon Chiffon Yellow by Spklvr

An unplanned night between Remus and Tonks ends up changing their lives forever. (42K)

17. The Weather Inside by earlybloomingparentheses

Sirius rides a flying motorbike, and snogs strangers in pubs, and strikes moody poses Remus finds irritatingly attractive. But for Remus, who drinks milky tea and wears flannel pyjamas, there's a chasm cracked right down the fault line between wanting and doing.

How he wants, though. How he wants. (43K)

18. the dogfather by hollimichele

“I’m not a reverse werewolf either,” says the man. “I’m your godfather.”  (47K)

19. Domestic Creatures by veeagainst

Growing up is hard to do -- but the journey is better if you take someone with you. (53K)

20. Leave the Children Behind by montparnasse

Bravery, sometimes, is the ending just as much as the beginning. Remus, Sirius, and a series of choices.

Or, a love story—backwards and forwards. (54K)

21. A Series of Sketches Done in Black Ink by  mustntgetmy

Non-magic AU. Sirius had always imagined the aftermath of falling in love would mean lightness, and an escape from all the horrors of his childhood. But the past never leaves, and even love can't stop bad memories from resurfacing.

An almost year in the life of Sirius and Remus's first year as a couple replete with art and tangled sheets, and containing the following: filled sketchbook pages from people lost and people found, terrible biscuits from an excellent therapist, mismatched music records, expensive hot chocolate, a lost brother, photographs (some invasive and some invoking terrible memories), a reckoning with the past, a promise of the future, and yet another ridiculously over the top Halloween party. (57K)

22. Alt Ed by NachoDiablo

“Remus? Who the bloody hell is Remus?” James is scrambling to straighten his chair as McGonagall glares at him from the head table.

Mary smiles innocently. “Oh, just a new friend that Lily met over the holidays. He’s homeschooled, just moved into her neighborhood it seems. She says he’s very clever. And I hear he’s quite fit, as well.”

AU where Remus and Lily become friends outside of Hogwarts, setting James and Sirius on a quest to learn more about this mysterious newcomer. (61K)

23. Indiana Lupin and the Search for the Conqueror by nekarose

Remus Lupin is an undercover archaeologist for the British Museum and is sent to Greenland to investigate a Roman shipwreck. In Greenland he meets Sirius Black, makes a real discovery and soon enough the two of them are racing through the world in search of the remains of the Library of Alexandria with Remus’ arch-enemy right at their heels. (66K)

24. Le Mot Vagabond by ironicallyinternational

(It all starts with Peter Pettigrew dying twice.

First, Peter kills Wormtail (discreetly), and then Sirius kills him (less discreetly).

Losing a friend is never easy, even amidst the ravages of war, but losing the last of your childhood alongside him is far worse.)

War is a complicated, messy thing. The Marauders have their fucked up shit to deal with, but they also have each other, and that counts for a lot. (151K)

SERIES:

25. The Hole in the Ground by sostrata

(5 works)  A series of fics about Sirius and Remus raising Harry in their home, The Hole in the Ground.  (18k)

26. Holding Out by bigblackbog

(works 2)

On Halloween, 1981 Sirius and Remus abscond with Harry despite their recently rocky relationship. (36K)

27. Maddest House by busaikko

(6 works)

old as hell. Another wolfstar raising Harry fic (55K)

28. Lycanthropic Studies by Eiiri

(3 works)

After the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus recognizes something familiar in Draco Malfoy and offers him sanctuary. With nowhere else to turn--his parents in prison, his home a crime scene--Draco reluctantly accepts and becomes a tolerated, if not welcome, member of his schoolyard rivals' and wartime adversaries' family of choice. As pages of the lunar calendar turn and the summer wears on,Draco and the others begin to see each other in a different light. (139K)

29. Stealing Harryverse by copperbadge

(works 12)  

On a dark night long ago, Sirius Black took a wrong turn and never found Peter Pettigrew. Instead of Azkaban, Sirius settled down in Little Whinging to keep an eye on his godson, and hired Remus Lupin to run his bookshop for him. Then one day when Harry was eight, Sirius found out how the Dursleys treated him, and stole him away.

Stealing Harry is an alternate universe version of Harry Potter's life before his time at Hogwarts. It is the story of Harry's family: Sirius and Remus, Ted and Andromeda, Nymphadora, Neville Longbottom, and even Severus Snape, all banded together against a newly powerful Peter Pettigrew who is still searching for a way to resurrect Voldemort.

Laocoon's Children follows Harry through his time at Hogwarts as he develops a very different group of friends: Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, Ravenclaw Padma Patil, and Gryffindor Neville Longbottom, strange companions for a Harry who was sorted into Slytherin -- the house of his beloved Professor Snape.

This universe ends in Harry's third year, and is partially incomplete. As it is not likely to be finished, the last story in the series is a group of notes I made on where the story would have gone and how it would have ended. (443.3K)

30. All the Young Dudes by MsKingBean89

(4 works)

LONG fic charting the marauders' time at Hogwarts (and beyond) from Remus' PoV - diversion from canon in that Remus's father died and he was raised in a children's home, and is a bit rough around the edges. Otherwise canon-compliant. 1971 - 1995 (557K)

31. Crow Rides A Pale Horse  by tb_ll57

(4 works)

The note pinned to his collar read 'Harry J Potter - please accept'. The Dursleys had left him with nothing else but a pillow sack with half a sleeve of McVities biscuits, a mealy apple, and ten pounds. (618K)

[alannah-corvaine]

the big ‘so you’ve found my blog’ post;

So. The follow button has led you to me, and now here you are with me on your dash. I assume you’re here for one to three reasons: the ffxiv content I post and reblog, my character(s), and/or the aesthetic content. Possibly also my riveting commentary on why ffxiv hasn’t added a sidebraid hairstyle yet. You’re all valid and welcome here. 

Maybe you’re curious about me and my OCs, but you don’t want to go digging through my blog and the absolute mess of tags I’ve amassed over the years. I’m here to present a half-assed solution to your curiosity instead of fixing my tags in any sort of meaningful way.

                                   WHO RUNS THIS BLOG?

I’m Alicia, I run this circus.

she/her pronouns, I’m cis.

I’m 31 years old at the time of writing this post.

This blog is 5 going on 6 years old.

If you see @alannahcorvaine​ that blog is also me but I don’t use it anymore, as it’s a sideblog and I moved over to this blog years ago.

I’ve been playing FFXIV since 2015.

I also play Elder Scrolls Online and World of Warcraft and have separate blogs for related OCs, content, and aesthetics.

I’m a cat person but I also love dogs.

I have a five year old black cat named Kilala who keeps me in line.

I’m not much of a people person, I’m made of anxiety and paperclips.

I yell into the void a lot, the void being my blog.

I don’t really RP outside of spectacularly outstanding circumstances these days, but character and world building are my jam.

Even if I don’t RP, I’m always down for character connections and relationships. I’m totally up for brainstorming and bouncing around headcanons.

Most of the time in game you’ll find me either standing around my house or out in the world taking screenshots. My mailing address is gpose.

I have a full roster of 8 characters on Balmung, but currently only 3 are active. You’ll probably see screenshots of the others too from time to time.

                                                    THE OCs

                                      A L A N N A H  C O R V A I N E 

Your first assumption on seeing my blog name is that it’s probably the name of the titular OC that this blog focuses on. You would be correct. All of my OCs have their own blogs, however I am infinitely lazy and just end up posting screenshots of everyone here because this is where the followers are and the sideblogs end up being used as aesthetic warehouses. Anywhoo, here’s some need-to-knows about Alannah.

Alannah has two main verses: Warrior of Light and Non-WoL.

Her non-WoLverse is actually the primary one, but with Shadowbringers I’ve been focusing more on her WoL story. 

I also have an infinite amount of AU verses for her based on various media but nobody has time for me to list all of those.

In both verses she’s a White Mage, a capable healer, but focuses more on offensive elemental spells (wind, water, earth).

Alannah is my only OC with a Warrior of Light verse.

She’s 23 years old.

She has severe allergies to  grass, pollen, dust, dander, and certain foods.

Her allergy reactions are largely kept at bay by a delicate chain diadem made and blessed by padjal. It also helps correct her shitty vision, magic is great.

Her deepest fears include deep water and phurbles.

She has four older brothers: Faron, Ean, Davon, and Brennan.

Family issues. Just so many family issues. That’s an entire post on its own.

Her hair is dark brown, not black. I cannot state this emphatically enough no matter what my edits look like.

The white streaks are magical scars, the cause of them vary by verse.

Non-WoL Alannah is married to Nine Outway, they have a three-year old daughter named Aislinn.

Warrior of Light Alannah (hereafter known as WoLannah) I ship exclusively with dead ghost boyfriend Ardbert.

Deep-seated anger issues buried beneath a placid and friendly exterior.

Her aether is just irreparably borked and highly chaotic and is controlled via her staff and arcane symbols painted onto her arms in aether ink.

Her childhood dream was to be a powerful thaumaturge, which didn’t work out with her aether control issues. 

                                R E B E C C A  “B R I N A”  C R O S S                                               ( @thesilentcygnet​ )

26 years old.

Born to a moderately wealthy Limsan merchant family.

2 older sisters: Pippa and Lacy.

Jacke Swallow (of rogues guild fame)  is her best friend (and secret love) since childhood.

Her entire family was murdered when she was 16 because her father made shady deals with the wrong people and owed them money.

She’s been mute since the day of the massacre after witnessing the murders while hiding in the cellar beneath their feet.

She’s been staying with Jacke and his cohorts in the Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss since then, though he’s the only one that knows her true identity.

A long chain of events has lead to her being kidnapped from Kugane, shipwrecked off the coast of Othard twice, sucked into a magical whirlpool, and left stranded on the First.

Will she ever get home? Perhaps, when I’ve finally decided that her ridiculous journey has been Odyssean enough.

                                           K H I A R N A   K H A                                               ( @khi-tastrophe​ )

29 years old.

An incandescent ball of unquenchable rage, probably for valid reasons.

The daughter of the khan of a minor offshoot of the Kha tribe.

Had a twin sister named Khiela, who pretended to be kidnapped by an aggressive suitor and lead Khiarna on a wild goose chase across Eorzea in an attempt to find her.

Khiela and her lover conspired to and succeeded in murdering her father.

Khiarna returned to Othard and murdered the shit out of both of them in retaliation for killing her father.

She was then unanimously chosen as her father’s successor and currently reigns as khatun to the nomadic merchant tribe.

While traveling across Eorzea in search of her errant sister, Khi was involved in a relationship with a pathological liar, which has severely damaged her ability to trust people (on top of her family drama).

Currently in a relationship with Sidirahg of the Sixth ( @sidirahg​ ), who has the patience of a saint with her issues and also might be a masochist.

Khi is a shaman and uses a mix of conjury and pugilism in combat. 

She covers her fists and feet in a solid layer of rock and then lights them on fire, using a combination of speed, flexibility, and disorienting blows to fell her opponents.

                                    COMMON TAGS I USE

#alannah aesthetic - aesthetic tag.

#screenshots - tag for unedited screenshots of my characters.

#edits - tag for screenshot edits done by me.

#drabbles - tag for writing done by me.

#about alannah - tag for character profile memes, ask replies, relevant quotes.

#art of alannah - tag for art i’ve commissioned of Alannah.

#commissions - tag for art i’ve commissioned that also includes my other OCs.

#lanna things - tag for posts relevant to Alannah.

#9 - tag for posts related to Nine Outway.

#familial faultlines - tag for all of Alannah’s family issues.

#benedictions]&[bulletholes - ship tag for Alannah and Nine (contains screenshots, quotes, and aesthetic inspiration).

#the gravity of guilt - sub-B&B ship tag referencing events at the ruins of Nym.

#scars of nym - another B&B tag because I don’t have enough of them.

#otp: as one fool to another - ship tag for WoLannah and Ardbert

#AU: Warrior of Light - WoLannah tag.

#AU: Gloriana - tag for the AU in which Alannah goes power mad / angry at the world and misuses her magic to become an unstoppable force of destruction.

#AU: Dark Sunrise - tag for the AU in which Nine perma-dies and Alannah sells her soul to the darkness.

#keeper’s captain - ship tag for Brina and Jacke.

#boyfriend adjust - ship tag for Khi and Sid.

#tbd - tag for me yelling into the void that I pretend I’ll delete later.

                                             OTHER BLOGS

@eastofean - ffxiv aesthetic inspo blog for Ean Corvaine.

@aether-and-ash - ffxiv aesthetic inspo blog for Aislinn Outway.

@blacklacelullaby - ffxiv aesthetic inspo blog for Katja Iryut.

@cleric-stance - salty healer memes.

@sundownsanctuary - nsfw aesthetic inspo blog.

@lannahlearnsart - my hoard of digital art tutorials.

@halion​ - general World of Warcraft blog and inspo for my WoW OCs.

@veil-of-blades​ - ESO inspo blog for various Elder Scrolls OCs.

@theviciousnothing​ - my personal aesthetic blog.

                                           PARTING NOTES

You’ve done it, you’ve reached the end of this post. All of this is just a basic overview of me and my characters, if you ever have any questions about anything please feel free to drop me an ask or a DM any time. Thanks for following. ♥

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #422

“i will not become a figure of my mistakes  /  i will not become the mask that is not my face”

Have you ever been told you were a good writer? I've been told that's one of my "gifts." What do you put on your baked potatoes? Butter, American cheese, and bacon bits. Gooood shit. What are you listening to? I'm re-watching Gab Smolders play Parasite Eve. Love that game to bits, and I really enjoy how she has a legitimate appreciation for it despite its age. It's so great watching her fall in love with a game she knew nothing about. Did you ever have braces? Yes. Are you afraid of flying? I acknowledge the risks of it, but I don't really actively fear it. Are you short? No; I'm your average height for an American woman of my age. Have you ever used a fire extinguisher? No. Would you want your future children to date someone like you as a teenager? I was a fine teenager, so sure. Are you unhappy at the moment? That's quite the understatement. When’s the last time you got in trouble with your parents? *shrug* How many children do you want? None. It's funny though, I had a dream last night that I gave birth to a daughter I of course named Alessandra. Have you ever watched Keeping Up With The Kardashians? No. Do you have any career ideas in mind? I have no desire to talk about this right now. Do you have any gay friends? Yeah. Are you gay yourself? I'm bi. Are you doing anything this weekend? Of course I'm not. But that's a surprise to nobody. How many brothers do you have? One. Do you like Mexican food? Only very few things. What’s your best friend’s pet’s name(s)? Oh man. Some are family pets more than hers, but regardless, there's Buster, Beasley, Winter, Martha, Crowley, Little Dot, Jane Marie, Doris, Raisha, and a bunch of other fish. Did you go to work today? I don’t have a job. .-. How old are you? How old do you act? 25. I think mentally I'm capable of acting older, but as far as "being an adult" goes, taking care of mature responsibilities, I'm a child. What size shoe do you wear? I... haven't worn anything but flipflops in so long that I barely know. I want to say an 8? 7 1/2 depending on the shoe? Are there any spiders in your room right now? I dunno. What was your favorite class during your sophomore year of high school? Art, for sure. Who’s your favorite Disney character? Probably Dory. Are there any framed pictures of you in your house? With my sisters, yes. Do you wear bandanas in your hair? No. Have you ever been on a blind date? No, not interested. Do you need to shave? My legs look like a gorilla's. My armpits, slightly. I shave them every time I shower, so I'll shave them soon. Are you wearing makeup right now? No. I never do nowadays. Do you know anyone named Laura? Not off the top of my head. Do you have any exercise equipment in your home? A few things. How many living grandparents do you still have? None. What are your plans for the rest of the day? Nothing, really. I hope I read today, though. I haven't the past couple days and I refuse to totally lose my habit of it again. How many times have you been sick this year? None. What colour is your toothbrush? White. Do you have a favourite author? No. How long do you usually take in the shower? Barely even 10 minutes. I do nooot understand how some people take so long. Clean yourself, get out. Like I get it if you're shaving or doing "extra" stuff besides washing your hair and body, but generally, how???? Have you ever worked in an office? No, but as I prepare to job search again, that's what I'm aiming for, I guess. It sounds like something I (including my legs, given I'd be sitting) could possibly handle. But yeah, you need experience in absolutely everything nowadays to get any job, it seems. Have you ever stayed in a hotel without your parents or older relatives? Yes. Have you ever kissed anyone under the mistletoe? I actually don't think I have. What’s your go-to activity when you’re bored? Watch YouTube. Who was the last person you texted? The lady who works in my psychiatrist's office to verify my next appointment date. Do you see yourself married in the next five years? Probably not, really. How long does it take you to get ready to go out? Barely over five minutes, or less, depending on what I have to do. Do you own any clothes you wouldn’t wear in front of your mother? No. Have you changed much this year? I haven't changed at all. And that's not a good thing. Is there a girl that you truly hate? A corner of my mind says yes. Even though I have no right to. Do you have any candles in your room? No, but I do have a wax warmer. Have you ever had to dial 911 before? A couple times for Mom. What’s something in your past that you’ll always remember? I'm almost certain even dementia couldn't take away my memory of the breakup. Did you have a good birthday this year? Yeah, it was good. How many people have told you they were in love with you? Two. Do you find smoking unattractive? Yes. How slowly or quickly would you say you eat? I eat way too fast, but I literally can't figure out how to change it. I try to slow down, but it just... doesn't stick. It's so engrained in me as a habit. Do you remember how you felt on 9/11? I was too young to remember this. What do you think of people who always wear make-up? You go for it, you look great. What’s a smell that absolutely makes you gag? Severely decaying roadkill is very high on the list. Is there a smell that gives you headaches? Gasoline. What about one that reminds you of the past? Play-Doh, for one. Childhood things like that. Also like those really fruity lip glosses, etc. What’s your least favorite thing about summer? The fucking heat and humidity. What’s your least favorite thing about the holiday season? The knowledge I don't have the money to buy like anyone presents. Especially my niece and nephew. Mom helps me buy something for them, but still... I feel like such a bad aunt that I can't do it myself. Other than yourself, who knows you the best? Whoever reads these, probably, ha ha. Do you have any embarrassing qualities and, if so, what are they? I'm just awkward in general. What’s one complaint that you have about school? Common Core. It's awful. What do you do while you’re on campus but not in class? I would just go to the library and do stuff on my laptop. Do you know anyone who has Autism/Asperger’s syndrome? Yes. It's questionable that I myself may have high-functioning autism. Has anyone of the same sex ever hit on you? Yeah. Are you open to a same-sex relationship and why or why not? Yes, because I'm bisexual. Have you ever dressed like or worn clothing belonging to the opposite sex? I would wear Jason's pj pants sometimes. Have you ever found yourself to be ugly? I've always believed I'm ugly. Have you read the Twilight series and do you like it or dislike it? I never read the series or watched the movies. Have you been on any type of online messengers today? I've used Discord to message Sara. What is your state’s minimum wage? $7.25 an hour. Disgusting. Do you own a tablet of any kind? No. If you eat eggs, how do you eat them? I only enjoy scrambled eggs or omelettes. When you’re upset, do you vent to people or do you keep to yourself? Nowadays, I tend to keep it to myself or vent through surveys. Have you ever watched a meteor shower? No, but I would love to. Do you like Slim Jims? OH MY GOD YESSSSSSSSSS. I want one now. What’s your opinion on the color turquoise? I think it's very pretty. Have you ever been in a castle? Only the Disney World one. When you were little, did you ever play with Play-Doh? Of course! I loved doing that. Would you rather write a mystery or love story? Hm... probably a love story. Are you afraid of getting shots? Kind of. I just hate the feeling of the medicine being injected, and long needles puncturing skin makes me want to squirm a bit. Needles in general though, I'm not afraid of. Would you ever run away and get married with no notifications to your family? Uh, no. I'm close with my immediate family and would want them to know. Have you ever wanted to vlog? Noooo. My life is so very boring, not to mention I would feel WAY too awkward. Who was the last person who unexpectedly texted you? No one unexpectedly texts me. Have you ever voluntarily read the Bible? Some of it. Have you ever thought that your life was so bad you wanted to give up? Many times. Do thunder & storms scare you? Actually, since I started having recurring tornado nightmares, I started to sort of fear them again. What are two foods you think only taste good with whipped cream? I hate whipped cream. If you eat it, what is your favorite way to eat beef? Cheeseburgers. Are you insecure about your height? What made you think this way? No. Did your last significant other have a huge temper? No. Would you ever think about doing porn? NOOOOOOOOO, even if I was in good shape. Would you ever cheat on someone if they cheated on you? No. That's not going to fix anything. Do you like getting jewelry or do you not wear any? I don't mind it, but I don't really wear it. When you were in high school did you ever have bomb threats? Once or twice. He was a... troubled kid. Did/Do you get school cancellations because of snow? Oh yes. My area flips shit if there's even a risk of like an inch of snow. Who knows ALL of your secrets? Nobody. Do you eat dinner with your family every night? No. Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have a baby right now? No, not really. That would be fucking awful. There's no way I'd be able to raise it. Have you used Limewire before? Back in the day. Are you/Were you in a band? If so, what was your band name? No. Have you ever tried cocaine or heroin? No thanks. Do you own any shirts with a peace symbol on it? No. I'd wear one, though. Have you ever dyed your hair light auburn? No. Ever had ice cream dots? Dippin' Dots? Yes. Do you have your national flag hanging up anywhere outside your house? No. Would you ever go to Japan? I'd like to. Have you ever been in a choir? When I was a kid in Catholic school, yes. What did you eat for breakfast today? Honey Nut Cheerios. When is the next time you’ll be up on stage? Preferably never.