#hello from Denver for a bit

[afniel]

Yeah I love altitude! Where I'm slow and diagonal!

[theresattrpgforthat]

Any recs for pick up and play/no prep ttrpgs?

THEME: Pick Up & Play!

Hello there, you’ll probably find a bunch of one-shots in this collection, as I find one-shots tend to gear a bit more towards low-prep play.

Lost Goths From Beyond, by goblin goulash.

You are not from around here. Maybe you’re dead (you sure liked playing the part anyway). Maybe you’re in Hell (your parents warned you). Maybe you found a Victorian city in your dreams. Maybe you come from the Realm of Fairies, or a timeline stuck in the 90s, or a planet far far away… Well you’re here now, and you gotta do what you gotta do to get back. And you intend to do it in style. High heel, black leather, smoky eye style. You’re a Goth from Beyond, and you’re here on a Mission!

Lost Goths from Beyond is a stylish, rules-light TTRPG for 1-5 Goths and 1 GM.

As a hack of Lasers & Feelings, Lost Goths from Beyond is meant to be quick in execution, with obstacles coming up as you roll - and for that reason I think it doesn’t really require much prep. I’d say that the most you’ll have to do is actually collaborative at the table - deciding the setting and limits of your characters, and determining what subject matter you do or do not want to explore in your game.

I have two things I like about this game - one is the layout, how clean and succinct it is, communicating the vibe while keeping the instructions short and to the point. The other is the thirteen special items you can choose from to give your Gogh character their own unique thing - whether that be nail polish that turns you invisible, a body piercing that emits light, or stylish sunglasses that can see in the infrared.

Christ Heist, by shawk games.

ALL ABOARD… It’s 1907 and you’ve been down on your luck. Jobs are drying up, wars are being waged, and the west is growing. As luck would have it, your reputation precedes you: as a storied felon, you and your crew have been forged through indominable industry expertise and pulled together for one last job: Rob the Church.

It was a dangerous journey to Kansas City – but you all know your roles, and you know what you need to do: trick the laity in St. Anthony’s Chapel Car out of their tithes, make off with the Solid Gold Jesus Crucifix, and exit the train in Denver before anyone notices.

Heist games are excellent for one-shot games, and this heist is built on the fabulous Honey Heist rules, which are designed for little to no prep. Because you’re robbing a train, the game comes with a timetable for each of the train’s stops, which can be placed in front of each player so they can come up with a plan on the fly. As per Honey Heist tradition, you also have a series of roll-tables for the GM to help design the Chapel Car of the train and the nature of Bishop Bartholomew, as well as the kinds of complications to make your heist interesting!

The Quick, The Quiet & The Dead, by Whimsynaut Games.

Play as a group of survivors, working together to survive the night from a random table of horrors. Will you be escaping an alien spider in a rusting theme park, an eldritch horror in an abandoned campsite or a murderous cyborg aboard a cargo ship in a storm? 

Another Lasers & Feelings hack, this game also gives the GM some roll-tables to generate a situation on the fly. The basic setting is that you’re surviving some kind of horror scenario, but you can cater the scenario to fit the style of horror movie you’re interested in. If there’s a horror setting that you like, you can probably layer that over this game to give yourself a quick horror rush.

If you’re not a bit horror fan, I definitely recommend checking out the broader world of Lasers & Feelings!

The Head, by forkfrenzy.

Vassago's body lays before you. His head is in your backpack. The labyrinth goes on forever. It’s your home. It’s everyone’s home. Maybe you'll get out some day, but right now you have to deliver this head to the Duchess. 

The Head is a 1-page, 1-session roleplaying game (RPG) by Levon Jihanian — set in a mysterious, labyrinthine world. The player characters have just cut off Vassago’s head and are tasked with delivering it to the Dutchess, who lives at the palace at the center of the labyrinth. The game builds on the mechanics of Fuck! It’s Dracula and The Agony of Elves.

I don’t own the rules document for The Head, but I did find a copy of the rules for Fuck! It’s Dracula, which is about 200 words long and fairly simple. The game appears to go through a various number of phases, with roll-tables used to both generate characters as well as events that will bring you closer and closer to the narrative climax.

It looks like much of the details behind the main premise are also meant to be explored during play, which I also take as a sign of low to no-prep. If you ‘re coming up with the lore as you play, you don’t need to prepare it beforehand!

Loom of Blood, by curubethion.

Spin your webs of fear through the night, from the corners where you lurk.

Loom of Blood is a game of unfolding horror: sketch out the strokes of unsuspecting lives, and then uproot them into murderous mayhem. Build your own horror movie franchise with your friends, and delve deep into a tangled tapestry of wickedness, bloodshed, and frail humanity.

Loom of Blood is collaborative, and for that reason, I think it’s a great option for a no-prep tabletop game. I find that GM-less games still typically require a person to exist in a facilitator role, so you might have to read through the pdf before you sit down to play, but each beat of the story is introduced in the process of play - try to come up with too much beforehand, and you’ll probably feel like you’re trying to turn the story in a direction it wasn’t naturally set up to go.

On your turn, you’ll introduce either a Moment, a Fool, or a Mirage to the story. Moments are descriptive phrases that introduce a new horror to the scene, like the rustling of trees, or a scream of something “neither animal nor human.” A Fool is a character doomed to stumble into the danger, their death perhaps not imminent, but likely to happen before the story is over. A Mirage is a place that feels safe, a location that fills out the map of your story.

The elements of this story feel somewhat similar to I’m sorry did you stay street magic, which is also beautifully collaborative, as well as a game I’d consider no or low-prep. If you want a game of collaboration that leads you through each step, you might be interested in Loom of Blood.

Let’s Kill the King, by Obli-Awa.

The revolution has begun.  The people cry out for justice and, as night falls on the capital city, they have swarmed its streets in righteous fury, pitchforks aloft and torches blazing.  The guard have locked things down as best they can, but you, you lucky few, have made it over the wall; managed to slip into the castle thus far unnoticed.  Tonight, the old order falls.  You will be the regicides who bring it crashing down.

A TTRPG designed to indulge in the fantasy of bringing corrupt leaders to the justice they so richly deserve by our own damned hands, LET'S KILL THE KING offers 2-4 players and 1 game master a raucous couple hours of manic, king-hunting glory.  Absolutely no preparation of any kind is needed from either GMs or PCs: encounters are generated via table and the basics of who a character is can be rolled on the spot.  

Games like this one, which have a very strong premise and a very clear goal, are often really good options for folks who want little to no prep. You are sitting down knowing what all of you want - to kill the King - and you also have a few other facts that are already determined for you, such as the fact that you’re hunting through the Castle, so you have a good idea of the limits of what you might or might not find. I’m also a big big fan of the fact that you have two clocks that you can use to track your progress - one for the Hunt of the king, and one for the King’s escape!

Black Bars, by HMLW.

Black Bars is a roleplaying game for three people about slipping secrets past censors that want to prevent the TRUTH from getting out. One of you will play the Whistleblower, the one that creates the Secret and the Messages. Another will be the Censor, redacting the Messages whilst trying to discover the Secret yourself. The last of you is the Decoder, receiving a heavily obfuscated Message and tasked with finding out the Secret.

The prerequisites for Black Bars are pretty specific (3 players only), but I really like the goals for your characters here. A game about trying to code, decode and redact messages, you can invent all of your own reasons for why these messages are being sent and obfuscated, but you can also play competitively, which might allow for a nice transition from boardgames into roleplaying games, if that’s a background that your players share.

Goblin Errands, by Sharkbomb Studios.

Goblin Errands is a no-prep RPG for 2 to 4 goblins and one Tall Person. Together you'll go on comical (mis)adventures trying to complete seemingly mundane tasks as you struggle with a world not designed for you. 

You've just joined a new family of goblins and you are determined to prove yourself useful. Clearly, the best way to do so is by running errands for the community. 

Unfortunately as a goblin you live in a world made for folk much bigger and stronger than you. And on top of that you have only a single brain cell to work with - and one that you have to share with your fellow goblins. Even otherwise ordinary everyday tasks turn into hilarious challenges.

A lighthearted game with cute misadventures, Goblin Errands describes itself as a game about “solidarity among the unrecognized” - folks who don’t fit in to the infrastructure of the world as it is. It’s a game about underdogs, but the stakes feel rather low, so this might be a great palette cleanser, or a nice way to start roleplaying with a group of people you don’t know as well.

While the game styles itself as a no-prep one shot, you’ll probably have to do a bit of reading beforehand, just to make sure you know how the rules work. Character creation looks like it needs to happen at the beginning of the game, since you generate something called the kenn together. The fact that the goblins are sorted into playbooks signals easy of entry to me, since playbooks often provide all of the information you need to know about your character in one place.

When it comes to running the game, the GM will roll to generate an errand, but I think the obstacles and challenges that arise will likely become apparent thanks to the collaborative worldbuilding that happens before you create the characters.

Also For Your Consideration...

Low Improv Games

Zero-Prep Characters / One Shots

Holdfast Station, by Lampblack & Brimstone.

If you like what I do, consider leaving me a tip on Ko-Fi!

[laurenairay]

Red Sundress - JT Compher

Summary: a little red sundress goes a long way (to making JT admit his feelings).

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: some bad language, self-doubt, JT is a bit of an idiot

A/N: I’ve had this song in my head all afternoon, so now you get to suffer the consequences.

Title from Head over Heels, by Restless Road

~

I’m losin’ my head over heels in a red sundress, and them ruby red lips looking my way.

~

You knew you had his attention the moment you walked in.

It was the height of summer, a typical local barbecue with friends, and you’d been trying for weeks to get JT to make a move. You’d known him for a few years now, and he’d flirted shyly with you on and off in the time he was home from Denver and Detroit, but this summer felt different.

At least you thought it had. The fact that he was still acting shy and not making a move, despite all your blatant signals, was starting to make you doubt his intentions. With everyone else, JT seemed so confident, smiling away, laughing like nothing mattered. But with you, something was holding him back – and it was driving you crazy.

There was no way you were throwing yourself at the feet of an NHL player, no matter how sweet he was. That was level of desperation you were set in your mind not to sink to. If he wanted you, he was going to have to damn well say it to your face. Still, you thought you’d make a move of your own – wearing a new red sundress, floaty and sultry with a deep v-neck – to get some kind of reaction from him. And by the way his eyes had been locked on you since you joined your friends? It seemed to be working. Sort of.

“He still hasn’t made a move? When you’re wearing a dress like that?”

You shrugged at your friend Liz, smiling sadly where you were standing with her and your mutual friend Millie, beers in hand. Sure, JT was looking – but he hadn’t even approached you yet and it was frustrating you to no end. Not even a simple hello?

“Idiot boy, no wonder you’re straight up trying to kill him,” Millie mused.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you said innocently.

“Uh huh, and pigs can fly,” she snorted, “that’s the kind of dress that means trouble and you know it.”

Your innocent smile slid into a small smirk. That was the idea. “I’m tired of dancing around this maybe-maybe not thing JT’s been doing. It’s been weeks. I’m just giving him a little incentive to make up his mind.”

“By the way he’s drooling over you? I’d say it’s working,” Millie snickered.

And yet he’s all the way across the yard, not taking action,” you shrugged.

Liz frowned, glancing over her shoulder to look at him, before turning back to you with a sigh.

“Stupid boy doesn’t deserve you. If he doesn’t make a move today then I’m going to set you up with at least three people who will,” she said seriously.

As much as you hated the idea of giving up on JT, maybe Liz had a point. You looked damn good, and if JT wasn’t going to appreciate it, wasn’t going to do anything about it, then it was his loss. Right?

“Alright, deal,” you nodded.

Millie just whooped, giving you a high five, earning a fond eye roll from Liz. The thing about Millie was that she wasn’t quiet in the slightest, so her whoop gained a lot of heads turning your way – including JT’s. He smiled inquisitively, tilting his head slightly, but you just raised an eyebrow. Come and find out for yourself. He looked a little surprised at your response, but still didn’t move from the group he was standing with, making you huff and turn back to your friends. Maybe Liz was right – maybe you deserved better than this, doubting yourself over someone that made you question your self-worth. Maybe.

But damn it you weren’t still holding out hope.

~

JT watched you from across the backyard, feeling a pang in his chest as you turned away from him with a slight frown on your face. He knew he was being a coward right now – everyone knew, it wasn’t like he was being subtle – but there was just something about you in that red dress and wedge heels that had his mind whirling. The moment he’d met you all those years ago he’d been overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by your confidence, your mind, your beauty, your smile. His sisters, his friends, your friends had all told him to make a move before you moved on, but it just wasn’t that easy.

It was like the whole world stopped whenever you appeared. So casual, so cool, so unattainable. So unbelievably out of his league that it wasn’t even funny. And yet there you were, giving him the time of day that other guys could only dream of. JT always felt like an idiot trying to impress you, desperate to earn one of your sweet friendly smiles, to make you genuinely laugh, to keep your attention on him. He honestly didn’t know why you kept flirting back with him after all this time, didn’t know why you hadn’t moved your attention onto someone who wasn’t such a coward. Every gathering, every party, every hangout he told himself that this was the time, this was the day he was finally going to say how he felt – but every time he backed out at the last moment.

He knew what a good thing he could have with you – so why couldn’t he just take that chance?

It wasn’t until your friend Liz caught his eyes and tapped her watch that he felt a wash of dread run over him. Tick tock time is running out. He knew Liz well enough to know that she wasn’t messing around. This was his last chance. He had to stop chickening out.

But how?

~

The slowly growing disappointment that filled your body was slowly dampening your mood. Your plan hadn’t worked. You’d bought this dress specifically for him. You’d worn the high heels, matched the lipstick, curled your hair, all for him and yet JT hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t even come over to say hello. Was this it? After all the flirting, was this the end of it? If it was, what a hell of a way to go. Fuck.

“Anyone want a drink?” you asked to your small group, wiggling your empty bottle in the air.

After a chorus of no’s you headed inside to the kitchen, pulling a fresh beer out of a cooler with a sigh. One more drink and you were going to switch to water. One more. If only you could find a bottle opener.

“Need some help with that?”

You flinched in surprise, not realising you weren’t alone, but turned to face the familiar voice anyway. JT looked good. He always looked so good.

“Nice of you to finally speak to me. I was beginning to think I had cooties,” you said curtly, sarcasm harsher than you intended as you took the offered bottle opener from him.

He blushed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck like the awkward goose he was, giving you a slight flush of satisfaction. Good. He should feel bad for making you feel bad.

“You look good,” he eventually choked out.

“I know I do,” you said, raising an eyebrow as you passed the bottle opener back.

JT huffed out a laugh. “I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve said hi the moment you walked in, but my head’s been whirling with everything else I wanted to say.”

What?

Your face must’ve said everything your thoughts were echoing, because JT just laughed softly again.

“You mesmerise me. And I’ve been too much of a coward to tell you.”

Oh fuck.

“JT…” you breathed.

You mesmerised him? What the hell?

“I should’ve said something sooner. Should’ve stopped wasting so much time. But your red dress is killing me, babe. Am I too late?”

Babe?

Two could play at that game.

“Too late for what?” you challenged.

Because you needed to know what he really wanted. If it was just a quick fling because of this admittedly spectacular dress? Well, then you weren’t interested. By this point, you could admit to yourself, you’d fallen head over heels for JT Compher – so it was all or nothing.

JT smiled at your words, a look into his eyes that you hadn’t seen before – one that made you shiver. “Too late for you to take a chance on me. I want to take you out to dinner, sweep you off your feet. You like dahlias, right? I want to buy you bouquet after bouquet, each flower as perfect and beautiful as you. I want to hold your hand while we walk down the street, to kiss you good morning in my bed, to argue with you about your ridiculous reality tv opinions, to have you sitting in my lap making everyone jealous. I want to fly you out to Detroit every chance I get, have you cheering in the crowd at every home game. I want you, exactly as you are.”

Oh fuck.

JT bit his bottom lip to hide his smile, clearly pleased with whatever was showing on your face. But then his expression sobered a little, losing its flirting edge. “I understand if I’ve waited too long. You deserved better, everyone knows that. You deserved someone who was open and honest with you from the start, not someone who was too scared to take a chance on a beautiful girl. Because you are beautiful, babe, inside and out. I lose my mind every time I see you, and I know that I’m rambling like an idiot right now but I’m just sorry I haven’t had the courage before now. Give me a chance to make it up to you? I promise you I’ll be worth it.”

You felt your heart racing as his words sunk in. This was everything you’d been holding out for, the declarations like music to your ears. As much as your wanted to stay mad at him – not just for stringing you along but for making you doubt yourself – there was no way you could. No way in hell. The way he was being so sincere and vulnerable with your right now was giving you everything. He really wanted you. Why couldn’t he have said all of this weeks ago? Why had he drawn this out for years if he felt like this? Why had it taken him so long to admit how he felt?

“About time,” you breathed.

JT grinned sharply, your breath catching in your throat at the promise in his eyes. He looked hungry. “So what do you think?”

“I think you should kiss me,” was all you could murmur.

JT wasted no time in pressing you up against the kitchen counter and capturing your lips with his. With a soft moan you eagerly kissed him back, sliding your arms around his neck as his hands clutched desperately at your waist. So worth the wait.

~

Tagging a few people who might be interested: @typical-simplelove @fallinallincurls @callsign-denmark @wyattjohnston @comphy-and-cozy

@2manytabsopen @senditcolton @starshine-hockey-girl

[mrs-dr-reid]

Betting on the Right Horse

Chapter One: A Goodbye Brings A Hello

Chapter Summary: Reader goes back to Horseshoe Ridge, Colorado after many years away for her uncle Jason Gideon’s funeral, and she learns that while she is the main beneficiary and inheritor of his horse ranch, she has shared ownership with Spencer Reid: her uncle’s protegée, and she’s PISSED.

Word Count: 4013

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, tw death/funerals, tw grief, tw food/eating/drinking, Spencer Reid being a little bit of an OOC asswagon (unless you're familiar with the dilaudid arc), Reader being a teensy bit entitled

A/N: Ayyyyy, welcome to my first slow burn AU series! A big shout out to all my fellow writers in the discord server I’m in for helping me outline this series and figure out the plot (and also letting me yell at them about this fic in general)!

———————————————————————

I honestly couldn’t believe it when I got the call. I was just getting home from work when a number I didn’t recognize showed up on my screen, and when I answered, it was my Uncle Jason’s friend Dave (who I vaguely remembered from when I was younger) telling me that he passed away the night prior due to heart failure. I almost dropped everything onto the floor of my apartment, because I hadn’t talked to Uncle Jason in a while, and now he’s gone and I’ll never get another chance.

Dave told me all of the details for Uncle Jason’s funeral, then offered his condolences before hanging up, and I had to go sit down and collect my thoughts and feelings. I practically grew up on Uncle Jason’s horse ranch, Sparrow Creek, and it was one of my favorite places in the whole world, especially the little town of Horseshoe Ridge, Colorado where it was located and all the people in it, and now I regret not going to visit as much once I went off to college.

I immediately called my boss and told her I’d be taking the next few days off to go to the funeral, even though it was VERY last minute. Thankfully, she was very understanding and told me to take as much time as I needed (something about a bereavement period, I honestly don’t know what she said after she told me it was okay for me to take off work because I couldn’t hear her over the blood rushing in my ears). After I hung up, I dragged my suitcase out of the hallway closet and started packing while simultaneously booking the first flight out to Colorado I could find on my laptop. I dug around in my closet and found my old riding boots, and was happy to discover that they still fit, so I stuck them in my suitcase just in case there was an opportunity to go riding while I was out there.

Once my suitcase and my carry-on bag were packed, I grabbed my keys, shut off my lights, and then headed back out to my car and to the airport, where I was thankfully able to get some work done on my laptop while waiting for my flight so I wasn’t atrociously behind once I got back. Once I landed at the Denver airport, I ordered an Uber to take me to the ranch, and after I was dropped off, a wave of nostalgia washed over me as I looked up at the wrought iron gate with the logo of a sparrow flying over a babbling brook branded into it.

A taller Asian man in a cowboy hat, worn-out jeans, scuffed-up boots, and a button-up shirt rolled up to his elbows saw me standing there as he walked by and called out, “Can I help you, Ma’am?”, so I snapped out of my reverie and said, “Oh! Yeah, sorry. I’m Y/N L/N, Jason Gideon’s niece. I’m here for the funeral this weekend?”, which made him say, “Wait, Y/N/N? It’s me, Matt!”, as he walked over to me. My jaw dropped open and I said, “Matt Simmons?! No way, how are you?”, as I let him pull me into a hug (I taught him how to ride equestrian style when we were kids).

He said, “I’m good! Gideon hired me as a ranch hand a few years ago, I got married a little bit after that, and we’ve got two boys with twin girls on the way,” which made my eyebrows fly up to my hairline before I said, “Wow. You’ve been busy,” making him chuckle and say, “Yeah, I guess I have. Anyways, I’m sorry for your loss. Gideon was a good man, and it was an honor working for him,” the conversation suddenly turning serious.

I let out a melancholy sigh and said, “Yeah, he was the best. A teensy bit eccentric, but I’m gonna miss him. I regret not coming to visit for so long now that he’s gone,” tears starting to well up in my eyes. Matt rubbed my arm comfortingly, then said, “Well, I should probably bring your stuff to your old room, then maybe I can give you a tour? A lot of stuff has changed since the last time you were in town,” so I wiped my eyes, put on the closest thing to a smile I could muster, and said, “Yeah, I’d like that,” before following him up the path to the ranch house.

Once my stuff was situated in the room I always stayed in when I came to visit (it hadn’t changed at all since I was here last), Matt showed me around the ranch and pointed out everything that had changed, and I had to admit it looked amazing. The stables had been extended within the last year to make room for more horses, a horseshoe of cabins had been added to the west side of the property to accommodate dude ranch guests, the training arena and paddock had doubled in size, and the stalls themselves had been updated to be a bit bigger and more comfortable for the horses.

We circled back to the stables just as another darker-skinned man (also in a cowboy hat) came trotting over to us on a beautiful Tovero Paint, and he said, “Hey, Matt! Who’s the lady?”, as he dismounted. Matt said, “Hey, Luke. This is Y/N L/N, Gideon’s niece. Y/N, this is Luke Alvez, one of the ranch hands, and this is Raven, one of our newer mares,” while gesturing to each of them. I stroked her nose and said, “She’s beautiful. Are all of the horses still named after birds?”, so Luke chuckled and replied, “Oh yeah, that’s never going to change. And I don’t know if you remember the town lawyer Hotch, but he just inherited his dad’s old ranch a couple of years ago, and his wife secretly named all of the horses after fictional lawyers,” which made me burst out laughing before I said, “Oh my god, really?!”

Matt let out a snort before he said, “Yup. And he only figured it out a month ago, because Emily’s horse misbehaved and she accidentally said, ‘Miss Elle Woods, you should be ashamed of yourself!’, in front of him,” which only made me laugh harder. Luke said, “At least we don’t name them after different types of pasta like Rossi does,” making me say, “Oh, I would constantly be hungry if I was over there,” earning nods of agreement from the men and a whinny from Raven. I turned to Matt and said, “Are Nelson and Chickadee still around? They were my favorites when I was younger,” so he nodded and said, “Yep. They mostly do trail rides for the less experienced riders nowadays, but they’re still here. Wanna go see them?”, which made a giant grin spread across my face before I said, “Yes!”, and Matt lead me to their stalls after we bid our goodbyes to Luke and Raven.

I approached Nelson first, and I said, “Hey, Big Guy! I’m not sure if you remember me, but I certainly remember you!”, while holding out my hand for him to sniff. He snorted happily and nuzzled against my hand once I started scratching his nose, and Matt said, “I think he remembers you,” which made me smile while I continued stroking him. Chickadee huffed indignantly from her stall, so I walked over to her and said, “Oh, I’d never forget about you, Pretty Girl!”, as she nuzzled my hand in a very self-satisfied manner.

Matt said, “There are a couple more horses that weren’t here last time if you wanted to meet them too,” which made me shoot him a look before I jokingly said, “I can’t believe you’d ever think I didn’t want to meet a new horse,” earning me a playful eye-roll from Matt before I was introduced to his horse, Robin the Clydesdale, and the rest of the trail horses: Puffin the Norwegian Fjord, Starling the Tennessee Walking Horse, Eagle the Off The Track Thoroughbred, and Falcon the Hanoverian. We exited the stables, and Matt said, “Well, you probably want to try and settle in before the funeral tomorrow, so I’m gonna get back to work,” so I nodded and said, “Yeah, yeah, definitely. See you tomorrow, and thanks again for the tour,” which made him tip his hat at me with a wink before walking off.

When I made it back to my room, I flopped onto the bed and had to take a breather. I tried to settle my mind by unpacking my bags and hanging my clothes up in the closet to get some of the wrinkles out (fingers crossed), but then I saw a picture of me at age 11 sitting on Nelson’s back and Uncle Jason holding the reigns and smiling up at me proudly, and tears instantly came to my eyes. I grabbed the picture frame off of the dresser, and I whispered, “I’m gonna miss you, Uncle Jason. I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch,” before setting it back down and getting out my phone to order dinner. I quickly figured out DoorDash wasn’t really a thing in Horseshoe Ridge, but thankfully I remembered that Uncle Jason kept a whole drawer of delivery menus next to the fridge. Once that was squared away, I got into my pajamas, ate my dinner once it arrived, and then called it a night.

At the funeral, I sat next to Matt and his family since I didn’t know anybody else there, and listened with tears in my eyes as Dave gave the eulogy. I was invited up to say a few words, so I kept it short and sweet (mostly to avoid crying in front of a room full of strangers) and said, “My Uncle Jason was one of the best people I’ve ever known. As Dave said, he was selfless, intelligent, and had one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever seen. He’ll be dearly missed, and I sincerely regret not coming to visit more often,” before nodding in thanks and sitting back down, Matt rubbing my shoulder encouragingly as I did so.

At the reception, I was making small talk with the perky blonde woman Luke introduced to me as his girlfriend Penelope when Matt came up to us and said, “Hey, Y/N/N! I wanted to introduce you to Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is Y/N L/N, Gideon’s niece,” and then I looked at who he’d gestured to, and my heart skipped a beat because I was looking at a man at least 6 inches taller than me in a well-tailored suit with wild brown curls, stubble decorating his jaw in a way that somehow didn’t look disheveled, and honey brown eyes that made me feel like I was going to melt into the floor. I was broken out of my reverie when the man said, “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. Gideon talked about you a lot,” but he didn’t stick out a hand to shake.

I shrugged it off as some germaphobe thing, then I said, “It’s nice to meet you as well, Spencer. How did you know my uncle?”, and he replied, “He guest lectured at my university a lot, and I’d always wanted to be a cowboy growing up, so once I graduated, he took me under his wing and showed me the ins and outs of running a ranch. He even made me the foreman a couple of years back,” making me nod understandingly. A thought occurred to me, and I said, “I’m sorry, Matt said you were a doctor, but you don’t look that much older than me. Are you some kind of genius or something?”, which made him shove his hands into his pockets and say, “I have three Ph.D’s in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering. I also have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory, and I can read 20,000 words per minute, so yes, I guess I’m what is considered to be a genius,” in a tone that could be easily interpreted as nonchalant or arrogant.

I decided to go with the first option and say, “Impressive. Anyways, it was really nice to meet you, but you’ll have to excuse me. I need a refill and a snack,” while holding up my nearly empty wine glass in a pointed way. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he said, “Likewise,” before nodding and wandering off. I smiled in a confused manner as I watched him go, then said, “He’s… peculiar. I can see why Uncle Jason liked him,” which made Matt let out a snort and say, “He’s one of the only people who could beat him at chess. Besides you and Rossi, of course,” earning an eye roll and a playful shoulder shove from me.

After I’d obtained my second glass of wine (or maybe third? I’m not 100% sure), a tall dark-haired man approached me and said, “Miss L/N? Could I borrow a few minutes of your time?”, so I nodded and said, “Of course,” while quickly scouting out a place to set my glass. The man continued, “My name is Aaron Hotchner, but most people call me Hotch. I’m the town lawyer here in Horseshoe Ridge, and I worked very closely with your uncle for many years,” and held out a hand to shake. I fought to contain a snort when I remembered what Luke and Matt told me about the horses at his ranch, and I shook his hand while saying, “Nice to put a face to the name,” which made him crack a smile before saying, “I was wondering if you’d be able to come by my office tomorrow morning for the reading of your uncle’s will,” and a chill ran down my spine momentarily before I nodded curtly and said, “Yeah, absolutely,” hoping Hotch didn’t notice.

He eyed me with a touch of concern for a few seconds, then reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me while saying “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Ten thirty. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to locate the partners in crime that are my wife and son,” before nodding and trotting into the other room, and I could barely hear him call, “Emily! Jack!”, as he disappeared. I tucked the card into my purse after looking it over for a moment, then wandered back to where Matt was sitting with his (very pregnant) wife, Kristy, and their two sons, David and Jake. I said, “I’m gonna head back to the ranch, okay?”, while gesturing towards the door of the funeral home, so Matt nodded and said, “Do you need a ride?”, which made me shake my head and say, “No, Luke gave me the keys for the truck because he’s riding back with Penelope. Thank you, though,” before smiling at him, extending a quick “nice to meet you” to Kristy and the boys, and leaving.

The next day, I arrived at Hotch’s office at the same time as Spencer, and I started to ask, “What are you do-...?”, but then it hit me and I smacked myself on the head before saying, “I’m such an idiot. Of course Uncle Jason would have left you something, you worked with him for how many years?”, which made Spencer chuckle slightly and say, “Five years, three months, and fourteen days. But who’s keeping track? And I totally get your confusion. You’ve known him your whole life, it makes barely any sense for me to be here,” relief flooding through my body that he wasn’t offended.

He opened the door to the building for me, and I went up to the front desk to talk to the receptionist. I said, “Hi, we’re here for a meeting with Hotch?”, so the woman typed something on her computer and said, “Yep, he’ll be ready for you in about fifteen minutes,” with a big smile on her face. I thanked her quietly, then sat down in the waiting room next to Spencer, and it was quiet for a while, him fiddling with his jacket sleeves and me tapping on my legs to the tune of “Sweet Caroline”.

I finally broke the silence and asked, “Where are you from?”, which startled him before he cleared his throat and said, “Vegas. I moved out here the second I turned eighteen, though. You?”, so I replied, “Boulder, about an hour west of here. I moved to Chicago for college, though, then got a full-time job a little while after I graduated, so I didn’t get the chance to come visit as often as I would have liked,” making him nod understandingly. He asked, “What was your major?”, and I said, “Finance with a hospitality minor. I’ve been an accountant for about four years now,” earning an impressed nod from him. I almost said something else, but the receptionist called out, “Dr. Reid and Miss L/N?”, so the two of us stood up, and she led us back to Hotch’s office.

The receptionist poked her head in the door and said, “Your ten-thirty is here, Hotch,” and I heard his deep voice reply, “Thank you, Elle. Send them in,” before she opened the door a bit more, smiled at us, then trotted back to the front desk, where I could vaguely hear the phone ringing. Hotch adjusted his reading glasses, then gestured for us to sit down, so I took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, Spencer following suit. Hotch folded his hands on his desk, then said, “Thank you both for coming. Shall we get started?”, making Spencer and I look at each other before looking back at Hotch and nodding our assent.

Hotch pulled a fairly small packet of paper out of a manilla envelope, then began to read out loud: “The last will and testament of Jason Benjamin Gideon. I, Jason Gideon, hereby bequeath Chickadee the Appaloosa horse to my beloved niece, Ms. Y/N M/N L/N, for she was always her favorite,” which made me smile, because Chickadee was, in fact, my favorite horse at Sparrow Creek. Hotch continued reading, “I also bequeath Nelson the American Quarter Horse to my protegée, Dr. Spencer Walter Tristan Reid, so that he may continue to work on his horse riding skills with a trusted partner,” and the corner of Spencer’s mouth quirked up at that sentiment.

Then Hotch got to the part I was most interested in; namely, who got the ranch. He read, “Now, the subject of my most beloved estate, Sparrow Creek, and its accompanying businesses and assets,” then he hesitated and looked up at the two of us with what I swear was nervousness in his eyes, but I disregarded it and leaned forward in my seat slightly. Hotch took a deep breath, then continued, “I, Jason Gideon, hereby leave Sparrow Creek and all equity involved to my beloved niece, Ms. Y/N M/N L/N, but only under these conditions,” which made me wrinkle my eyebrows and make eye contact with Spencer, who looked just as confused as I did.

Then Hotch said what was probably the worst thing I’ve heard since I was informed of Uncle Jason’s passing: “Ms. L/N must remain at Sparrow Creek full-time for an entire year, and work alongside Dr. Reid on a day-to-day basis to ensure the prosperity of the ranch. If these conditions are not met, Sparrow Creek and all its equity will pass in full to my protegée, Dr. Spencer Walter Tristan Reid,” and my jaw just about hit the floor in indignance. Hotch set the packet of paper on his desk and looked up at us without saying anything, and all I could hear was my own heartbeat pounding in my ear. Spencer said, “That’s it?”, and Hotch confirmed, “That’s it. Anything you need me to clarify?”, which made me stand up and storm out of his office, steam practically pouring out of my ears.

Once I made it outside, I started pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, and I’m sure it was quite the scene for any pedestrians who happened to be walking by. A stream of obscenities came out of my mouth in an enraged mutter as I attempted to calm myself down, but when Spencer emerged from the building, my rage boiled over and before he could finish saying, “What happened back there?”, I screamed, “What in the actual FUCK WAS HE THINKING?!?!”, which made him fall silent and stare at me like I’d just grown two extra heads.

I rambled, “My entire life, Uncle Jason told me that one day I’d be in charge of Sparrow Creek, and that it would be the greatest joy of his life to hand it down to someone who truly loved the family business. Now he decides that some random city boy he’s only known for five years gets the whole kit and caboodle if I screw the pooch?! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!”, getting angrier and angrier until it exploded out of me and I kicked the first solid object I saw (which happened to be a metal trash can that made a loud reverberating sound like a gong when the reinforced toe of my boot made contact with it) before I continued pacing.

Spencer’s face hardened, and then he said, “Maybe he thought since you weren’t around enough, you wouldn’t be able to handle it. Maybe he was giving you one last chance to prove yourself, and he was making sure the ranch would pass on to someone who knew what they were doing in case you couldn’t take the heat,” which made me stop dead in my tracks, and slowly turn towards him while saying, “What the hell did you just say to me?”, a deadly chill in my voice that even scared me a little.

Spencer stiffened a little bit, then leaned forward slightly so he was all up in my face (asshole) and said, “Gideon put safeguards in place to make sure someone competent gets the ranch if you fuck up, Princess,” which made my nostrils flare before I snapped, “Don’t call me that,” and glared at him. After a momentary stare-down between the two of us, I rolled my eyes and said, “Whatever. I have to go, I gotta make a few calls before my flight back to Chicago tomorrow night,” while starting to walk back to the pick-up truck I borrowed from the ranch.

Spencer called out, “Awww, throwing in the towel before you even start the race, Princess?”, and the holier-than-thou tone of his voice made me want to punch his lights out, but I composed myself, plastered on a sickly sweet smile, then turned around to face him before saying, “Oh no. I hate to disappoint you, but I’m only going back to pack up my stuff, sublet my apartment, and put in a request for indefinite remote assignments from my accounting firm before renting a U-Haul and coming right back here. If you think for even one millisecond that I’m not gonna fight tooth and nail for something I’ve been waiting my entire life for? Then you better hold onto your ass with both hands, Einstein,” and if only I had a photographic memory to keep the way his smug smile dropped off his face in my brain forever.

I scrunched my nose at him the way the mean girls did in early 2000s movies, then said, “Better get a calendar and pen ready, Doc,” before sarcastically blowing him a kiss, climbing into the truck, and starting the drive back to the ranch. I caught a glimpse of him standing dumbfounded on the sidewalk in the rearview mirror, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, because I was going to make Dr. Spencer Reid regret ever underestimating me, and have a smile on my face the entire time I did so.

———————————————————————

CM Taglist: @homoose, @libraryofloveletters, @xgoldentigerlilyx, @less-intelligent-spencerreid, @boketto2-0, @aryaarathornson, @spoookymuulders, @nomajdetective

Let me know in the comments if you want to be added

[absolutefilthimsosorry]

Spoilers for DnP Incohearent!!!!

I’m having so much fun trying to solve these that I made a list to keep track! Message if you can help me fill in any I’m missing or if I’ve got any wrong!!!

Also lmk if you see any I’ve missed!! I’m going to keep updating this and have it unrebloggable but you can reblog this post to have a link to it!

These are all gathered from this post and this post so check the notes on those first to try to solve them then look here if you need answers!

Sow march cheer ray = so much cherry

Wee nay urn for uke oye yer tub = we’ve never fucked on youtube?

Ta fold in fig = the golden pig

Feed hay hid eho = vday video

Tat he won ape hit morse him he = daddy want a bit more simmy

Watt ken ice hay = what can I say

North key bus teabag king = naughty busty baking

Fool tie enter nit hobo / fall tie mint her nepo moe / fault aye mint earn are ohm owe/ foul thyme inch hermit hole mold = full time internet homo

Cumin mile aid deed or = come in my ladydoor

Hum hay zinc tan = amazingdan

Elven ower fug sedge own = eleven hour fuck session

An berry moth ribeye adam stir = and every month we buy a hamster

March rest array = Manchester eye

Cyst herding yell = sister daniel

Add a ding teps = editing tips

Cop dubai khaki luna = topped by kakuna

Late eat tore = ladydoor

Half tugger etch two eggs cyst = have the courage to exist

Perish she end wink = Parisian twink

Coal ten big/ goal then pick = golden pig

Cyst ordain yell = sister daniel

Train youth inks = try new things

Gay mean moss/ gain ink mass = gamingmas

Soften need = soft and neat

A wools lied = owl slide

Topper bought them hill = top or bottom Phil

Coat fit firenze = golf with friends???

Few ours pig meow fits = viewers pick my outfits

Read less tar = red lester

Eye eight soup igloo = I ate super glue

Insight youth era too walls = inside you there are two wolves

Mine amy stan = my name is Dan

Clap hella = glabella

Hiss teeth rent = hits different

Eel eyes apron kay kiss = Eliza pancakes

See pram haze ink bra jet = super amazing project

Feels lie yawn = phils lion

Fuel ease snot dawn fair = Phil is not on fire

Jaw shush ear son = josh hutcherson

Ball bull him tour food = bauble in your foot?

Sure eck = shrek

High ate dust = hiatus

Add a dink deps = editing tips

Ga hay shoom air age = gay shoe marriage

Pope eat plate aim = poppy playtime

Eat aches stu = it takes two

Goo gal few ed = google feud

Baze ick lee eye meg ay = basically I’m gay

Ko min yout ti ew = coming out to you

Ender knit subvert grew oop = internet support group

Phylis turn yar a sheen yes = PHIL LESTER YOU’RE A GENIUS

With Audi intern yet wean ed brr wood halve mat = without the internet we never would have met

Gum ban yins drool I’ve = companions through life

Reed sons wide answer flail = reasons why dans a fail

Ewan dam ah some are reed = you and Dan are so married

Denver sis fill/ Denver cis full = Dan vs Phil

Or lawn huffing = all or nothing

Dunk rye core raft = don’t cry craft

Mortal jester roam and thick/ Morph adjust row antic = more than just romantic

So wall how debris poll light = swallow to be polite???

Oar hinge art = orange heart

Foray virgo em = forever home

Chai reel loop/ share real oob = cherry lube

Cad boyd anne = cat boy dan

Far turf ill lip = father philip

Tess lit hen ink = the slittening

Forth house indie rolled or touches = four thousand year old tortoises

Hey moth swish roundup floating = a month without uploading

Jam march let pet tea an farms = Je mange les petit enfants

Day lion howl tour = Dalien Howlter

Ima let all kit = I’m a little kit

Feel pearl lays shell ter = Phil plays shelter

Fewer blue key app ending = viewer spooky happenings

Hell low iam tour reel = hello I am Toriel

Laugh tuh gey mile kuh = left to get milk

Villas eek wreck why vuh = Phil’s secret wife

Footy strain gin said dent = ___ strange incident????

Snow core play sum = snokoplasm

Nope puts cereal sleeping mage innit = no but seriously imagine it

Tear rip pulling flu hence = terrible influence

Jeff why eye aisle hike vague liner = fyi I like vagina

Eggs intense all cry cis = existential crisis

List of contributors

@fletthewreck @dandp @deadandphilgames @manchesterau @thephouseplants @awrfhi @jonsaremembers @rachosaurusrex @dapgolf @dan-whoell @dnphobe @dreamingalto @steveandscraggy @phanbeats @danandfuckingjonlmao @pepper-pastry @yonpote @un-interactive-introvert @spaniel-trowel @sisterdanieldyke @queerdnp @morganadelacour @amid-fandoms @spectral-kitkat @goingpheral @angelzonearth @wdapteo @2009phan @dansevilpianotea

[oracleofdelphie]

bakuiida coffee shop soulmate immortality au

     If everything was written in the stars then the stars hated Katsuki Bakugo. They’d cursed his immortal existence with a soulmate so dreadful he went out of his way to avoid him for millennia. Unfortunately this was a life time he’d been cursed to share. He thought it’d be a simple matter of showing up in an American city with a new name (Leo Amarillo) and working in a coffee shop, but one day a business suit of a man walked in baring the name Theodore Christian entered Denver Bean and Brew. 

     “Hello…Leo,” he said jovially, reading the barista’s name tag. Tenya Iida’s bore the same smile that had once traveled the Silk Road, and the eyes that had met Katsuki’s as Rome was set ablaze. No horrible plague or great war could change that. 

     “Hello annoying man in my place of work, what’ll it be?” Sighing, Katsuki tried to not run his nails over the patch on his wrist, no matter how little he could stand the guy, his soulmate did get his omega more wound up than a bobbin of thread. 

     Letting out a light chuckle, the alpha eyed the menu,”let’s see, is the matcha any good here, I haven’t had a good one since I left Japan.”

     “I’m half Japanese, will it taste more authentic if I spit in it?” Katsuki had yet to decide if he’d actually spit in the drink, surely it was deserved after that debacle in Babylon. 

     There it was, the laugh that had been making Katsuki shiver since before the pyramids were built. Maybe if they spent more time together the blonde would always be trying to coax it from the man. “Now does it cost more with your saliva?” He seemed entirely unopposed to the idea. 

     “Since you’ve been so kind, I’ll spit in your drink for free~” giggling…no. Not giggling, Katsuki didn’t giggle. To distract himself he started typing the the order,”one matcha latte, that’ll be $5.47.”

     “Yeowch, that’s what I get getting a beverage by my work,” taking out a fancy looking debit card, he paid and typed in his name for the order. 

     “Theodore Christian?” He asked in a teasing tone, though it wasn’t the worst name Tenya had ever come up with for himself. 

     Scrunching his nose, the man shook his head,”Hey, at least my name isn’t a zodiac sign followed by a color in Spanish,” he really was much sassier than he let on. 

      Starting to make the drink, Katsuki pummeled the man mentally, but kept up his customer service face plastered on, humming as he worked. “Where does a suit like you earn a living these days?” He knew Tenya had always liked an office job since the invention of offices. 

     “I’m a projects manager for the Colorado Renewable Energy Corporation,” the alpha followed from behind the counter, watching as milk was steaming and a bag of matcha procured. 

     “Now don’t hiss at me, we only have this powder, probably not the most authentic,” there was a faint smile on his face as Katsuki used the bamboo whisk to stir powder into boiled water. His eyes on his task, he tried not to notice the eyes on his back. 

     A faint tapping came from the counter as Tenya fingers played across the wooden surface, a little Mozart about the place. “However will I live?” He said in a bit of drama that would put Shakespeare to shame. 

     “If necessary I can take you out back and put you down, but who would project manage nuclear energy or whatever it is you do?” Transferring the matcha and milk to a medium sized to go cup. 

     “It’s renewable energy, and despite what some say, nuclear energy is not renewable. Besides those spent fuel rods are a horrible pollutant on our planet,” little rant out of the way, Tenya looked down at his drink,”is it done?” 

     After looking at him for a moment and checking that every other patron of the sparsely populated cafe was distracted with their own lives, Katsuki made good on his earlier threats before placing the lid on the cup and handing it to him. “Enjoy!”

     “Tastes like home,” was all Tenya responded with before heading towards the door, slipping something into the tip jar that would later turn out to be a fifty dollar bill and a lovers eye brooch, the exact one Katsuki had worn throughout his adventure in Victorian England. Not to mention the part where he’d stabbed the other man with it, and told him to never speak to him again. Apparently never was about 138 years. 

[itscaptaint]

Good Vibrations

Pairing: Dean x reader

warnings: smut, cheesy writing, masturbation, Dean being too hot to handle

You had taken a solo case again to try and clear your mind a little bit. Living in the bunker had been great, but the alone time was pretty sparse…especially with the eldest Winchester sleeping right down the hall. 

Sam knew you had been harboring a crush on his brother for years and just wouldn't act on it because you didn't want to ruin your friendship. Dean was your best friend. Hell, he was basically just the male version of you. You were two peas in a pod. One night, the three of you had gotten blitzed after a bad vamp hunt and Sam had put the pieces together. You couldn't stop flirting with Dean, he had lingering glances towards you, it was obvious as hell to Sam, just not to either you or Dean. So you both just ignored it and went on as if there was nothing there. 

That's why a solo hunt was much needed. The sexual frustration was getting to be too much. And you knew you couldn't handle spending one more night alone with the man you wanted to jump just down the hall. If you took a case, that meant an empty motel room, a stranger from a bar and hopefully a little release to get you through for a bit. You didn't think you needed to leave too many details for the boys, just enough to know you were working and we're safe. So you left a note…

Headed out for a few days, helping out an old friend with a case in Denver, I'll call if I need rescuing.

It was a perfectly good note, at least you thought it was. Sam did too. But Dean didn't. 

"What the fuck is this?" Dean growled from the other end of the phone. 

"Well hello to you too, Dean," you chirped as you were walking into your motel room for the night. "I guess you saw my note?"

"Yeah I see the fucking note. Why didn't you ask for help?"

"Dude, I took care of it," you sighed, sitting down on your bed. "I'll be back tomorrow." 

You could tell from the tone of his voice he was more frustrated than pissed. He hated when you got hurt and couldn't do anything about it. "What if you needed help? What if you got hurt?" 

"I told you, Dean, I'm fine. Perfectly good condition. I just needed some alone time."

"Alone time?" Dean questioned. "So you decided that meant you were going to go hunting solo without backup?"

Now you are getting frustrated. He knew you could handle yourself, so why is he all concerned now? 

"Dean," you sigh. You were so tired and just wanted to sleep and take care of some personal business since the bar was a total bust. "I'm a big girl, I can handle myself, and I needed some time away from-" you started to say. 

"From what, Y/n?" 

"Good night, Dean," you sighed, hung up and turned the phone off so you couldn't be bothered for the rest of the night. Once the phone was off, you showered, changed into one of Dean's old flannels he knew you had stolen but never made a fuss over, and then gave yourself a pretty damn good orgasm thinking of Dean before falling asleep. 

When you woke in the morning, you had forgotten the phone was off, so when you plugged it in for the drive home, it automatically turned on. And started buzzing with missed texts and calls from Dean. Typically when you drive on long trips the phone rests.on your thigh so it doesn't fall between the seats or clunk around the cup holders. Sometimes it ends up between your legs and you've never thought anything of it…until now. 

You reach down, send a quick text to the boys letting them know you'll be back in a few hours, then put the phone right back on your leg so it's out of the way, but handy if needed in an emergency. About 10 minutes later it starts vibrating. You look and see that it's Dean. You just told him you were on your way home and don't feel like arguing while driving so you just let it keep ringing and go to voicemail. The last vibration of your phone that was notifying you of a missed call moves the phone just enough so that it slides down between your thighs. At least it won't fall on the floor. 

A few more minutes pass and you feel the phone start vibrating again, but this time it's right on the seam on your jeans between your legs and is sending a slight tingle to your core. You know it's Dean again so you refuse to answer and let it ring through. By the time it's done ringing, you realize that the vibration of the phone against your crotch has got you slightly turned on. 

"Son of a bitch," you mumble to yourself. "That mother fucker has me getting horny and he's not even here."

Dean calls you 7 more times before you get back to the bunker. You ignored all the calls simply for the fact that you'd been wanting Dean to make you feel good for years and it was finally happening. You don't see the Impala in the garage and decide to enjoy some peace and quiet before heading inside. No Impala, no Dean around. And no Dean around meant a perfect time to fantasize over the man that had been accidentally edging you the whole way home. 

You turn the engine off, close your eyes, lean your head back against the headrest. You let your hands wander to the place Dean had been torturing the whole ride home. It didn’t take long to finish since you were already hot and bothered and probably a good thing too since the rumble of the Impala startled you into alertness. Fuck you Winchester. Can’t even enjoy the post-orgasm bliss. You get out of the car and grab your things from the trunk. As you're reaching up to close it, Dean is at your side closing it for you. 

"You ignoring my calls, y/n?"

"Obviously," you sigh, rolling your eyes and heading inside. 

"You could have gotten hurt by yourself, why didn't you ask for help?!" Dean chases after you. 

"I'm a big girl, Dean. I can take care of myself," you shout, turning the corner to head to your room. "In more ways than one," you mumble under your breath thinking Dean was out of earshot. 

"What did you just say?” Dean interrogates, grabbing your shoulder and turning you around to face him. 

“I can take care of myself, Dean. You know that,” you say, standing a bit taller. You were in a slightly better mood after easing your frustration but still not as calm as you should be. “Now, if you would let go, I would like to shower and enjoy a day off.”

Dean rolls his eyes and releases your shoulder. “Fine. But next time I’m coming.”

“Mmhm,” you smirk and slowly shut your door. If only you were both cumming…

……….

It’s been three days since you’ve been back from your solo hunt and every little thing Dean has done has turned you on. It’s like he doesn’t know how to turn it off. You passed him in the hallway after a shower with just his towel on and wanted to just tear it from his body. The way he sipped his beer made you wish his lips and tongue were on your overly sensitive clit making you scream his name. He was even making you horny as he was mixing up the ground beef with his bare hands for burger night. Dear lord how you wished he would manhandle you the way he was dealing with your dinner.

“Alright,” you sigh, sliding your chair out from the table. “I’m headed out.” You needed a night out of the bunker. Dean’s been causing all sorts of sexual frustration and you were hoping there’d be someone at the bar to help ease the need. 

“Wait, let me grab my jacket,” Dean chirps. 

Well fuck me then. How am I supposed to get laid now with Captain Cock Block joining me. Might as well invite Sam too. You head down the hall to the library where Sam had been eating. “You wanna go to the bar with Dean and me?” Sam kind of just grunted, clearly really focused on whatever he’s reading on his laptop. “Maybe you could keep him occupied so I can get laid by a total stranger?” Sam chokes on his beer. That got his attention. 

“Seriously, Y/n?” You just shrug your shoulders and smile real big hoping it convinces him to join. “Why can’t you two just-”

“You comin’ Sammy?!” Dean practically skips around the corner. 

“He’s being a party pooper,” You stick your tongue out like a kindergartener at Sam and make a mental note to use real eggs for his breakfast tomorrow instead of just egg whites. “Let’s go. You’re driving.”

About 4 beers and 3 shots in, you decide to abort your mission for the night. Usually Dean is the one looking for a hook-up, but he doesn’t seem interested in any of the women throwing themselves at him tonight. And unfortunately, no good prospects for you either. "What do you say we take this party home and get roaring drunk in the library?" You suggest sliding out of the booth. 

"Deal." 

By the time you get back to the bunker, Dean has already decided that a drinking game was a must. Turns out his idea of a drinking game was just asking each other super personal questions, and if an answer was refused, it was time for another shot. You were up first. 

"So Dean," you say, stroking your invisible beard to appear as if you have to think real hard about this question. Little does he know you're pulling out the big guns right away. Helps that you've have a little liquid courage to loosen the tongue. "What's your favorite sex toy?" 

"Damn, y/n, you can't even ease into it, can ya," he chuckled. 

Before you can process what you were saying "That's what she said" came flying out of your mouth. 

"Jesus Christ," Dean gives a full belly laugh. "Well if you must know, I'm a simple man. Handcuffs, blindfolds, headphones, ya know…" 

"Simple, huh?" You smirk, pouring yourself another glass of tequila. You knew you were probably going to regret the drink of choice tomorrow, but oh well. 

"Never had a complaint about my simplicity before," he winks, tipping his glass in my direction. 

You could feel your face heating up, but you weren't sure if it were from embarrassment, jealousy or the fact that you knew this night would end in one of your favorite solo missions. "Alright, pretty boy," you huff, sliding deeper into your chair. "Hit me with your best shot." 

Dean doesn't even have to think about his question. "What's your favorite guilty pleasure song?" 

Wow, that was a tame one. You were really thinking he was about to hit you with something deep and raunchy. "Is it still considered a guilty pleasure if I tell you?" You question.

"Well, darling, you don't have to tell me but then it's a full tequila shot for you." 

"Fine. It's Cut to the Feeling by Carly Rae Jepson," you nod, proud of your answer. 

The questions that followed from each of you were silly and personal, but nothing wild. The "game" aspect went out the window an hour ago when Dean polished off his whiskey and you only had a few sips of Tequila left. You told Dean it was bedtime, and since you started the night, he got the final question. 

"You ever been so turned on that you came without a man even touching you?" 

"Only once," you sigh thinking of that time Dean had you all hot and bothered from the excessive phone calls on your way home earlier that week. 

"Oh I'm gonna need details on this one," Dean says, sitting up a little taller in his chair, placing his elbows on the table. You hadn't realized it but he was staring so deep into your soul just now that even though you wanted to call him out and tell him that the game was over and that wasn't a question, you couldn't. There are two ways this is going to go: it’s either going to end in you feeling more embarrassed than you’ve ever felt before, or it’s going to get you what you’ve wanted for a long time. 

You throw back the last little bit of tequila in your glass, prop your chin in your hands making eye contact with Dean and then utter the three words that will either make or break this night. “Eight missed calls.” You continue staring at Dean, a look of confusion on his face.

 He tips his chin upwards, squints and sports his best thinking face. “What about missed calls?”

“It’s truly amazing what a cell phone vibration can do for a girl,” you sigh and stand up, slowly making your way over behind Dean’s chair. He was still thinking about what you said and was trying to put the pieces together. You weren’t sure what just got into you but the thought of Dean making you feel really fucking good - and hopefully from his own touch this time - had you feeling bold. You pull out your phone and lay it down in front of him, showing your missed call log from the other day. Eight missed calls, all from him. You don’t say a word as you take a seat on the edge of the table, your thighs just inches from Dean’s hands. 

Dean didn’t need to audibly respond. You can see him take a breath in and slowly lift his gaze to meet yours. A wave of panic hit, hoping he wouldn’t give you his pity eyes. But his eyes were different. Before, they were filled with mischief and fun, now they were dark and just filled with pure lust and determination. It was a look you had been wanting to see aimed at you for a long time. You return his gaze and your breath hitches ever so slightly that he can hear the small, excited tremble. Dean’s hand reaches out and rests on your thigh. The man has barely touched you and you are already wet for him. You needed him right now and Chuck be damned if he didnt want you too with that look in his eyes. 

You reach out and cup his cheek. “Wanna see what happens when you’re actually touching me?”

“You’re fucking killing me, Y/n,” Dean groaned yanking you onto his lap and crashing his lips to yours. 

It was a sloppy kiss and you were both fighting for dominance. Dean’s hands found your waist and were already sliding your shirt up and over your breasts. You release your hands from being tangled in his hair just long enough to dispose of the trapping garment. Before the shirt hits the ground, Dean has one nipple between his teeth making you throw your head back, pressing your chest closer to him.

“Mmm, you like that?” He mutters, switching over to the other wanting breast. 

Instead of answering, you just grind down deeper onto his lap. You can tell he’s already hard and enjoying this as much as you. He brings his head back up to yours, finding your lips again allowing his hands to grip your waist and set you back on the table. Dean stands to get closer to you and you take advantage and rid him of the flannel you had been wanting to see on the floor alongside yours all night. Once shirtless, you just stare. “Like what you see? Because I know I do,” Dean smirks, diving back into you, this time reaching for the button of your jeans. You lay back and lift your hips to easily get rid of the pants that you felt were holding you hostage. 

The table was cold on your naked ass, but worth it. Dean peppers greedy kisses starting from your neck all the way down until he reaches the crease of your hip before stopping to look up at you. “Last time I made you cum, was it with my mouth, my hands or my cock?” 

Even just his words were making you squirm beneath his touch. “Well, Dean, if you must know, it was all of the above.” 

“Oh baby, then we’re making that happen again tonight. Gotta make sure I see it this time.”

His last words barely a grunt before he delves into your wet folds with his tongue immediately finding your clit. You can hear how wet you are against Dean’s mouth and know this won’t take long. Dean’s teeth latch onto your clit as he slides two fingers into you and begins stroking quickly. He’s a man on a mission and knows how to get what he wants, and Dean wants you to cum…hard. It doesn’t take much longer before you are completely screaming his name, shaking and dripping all over his mouth and hand. 

You barely have time to come down off your high before he tears his own pans off and is sliding his cock into you. “Oh my god, you feel so much better than I imagined,” you groan, falling back onto your elbows. 

“Y/n, I never want you to have to imagine the feeling of me again,” he said, thrusting as hard as he could. “You’re getting the real deal from here on out.” Dean continued thrusting until you could feel his rhythm falter. You knew he was close, as were you. 

“Dean I’m so close, please make me cum again,” you beg, reaching your hands to your breasts for something to hold on to. 

“Fuck, Y/N. Are you trying to kill me?” He groans with a final thrust sending both of you over an edge you didn’t think was possible reach. 

After you both catch your breath, Dean pulls you back up into his chest for a sweet kiss. When you pull away, he’s just smiling. 

“Why are you so happy Winchester?” 

“Because I think I won the game.” 

You just shake your head and hop off the table and start to head towards your bedroom leaving your clothes all over the library. “Woah, where are you going?” Dean throws his hands up looking like a lost child at the mall.

“To change my phone ringtone to Good Vibrations,” you shout back, before stopping and turning to look at him. “And to prep for round two.”

[mamadoc]

Hello! I posted the last chapter of my current Chenford fanfic. Here’s a snippet to wet your palate.

When they parked at Tim’s house, he couldn’t stop himself and leaned over to give Lucy a kiss. Then he reached into the back seat to grab their Thai food, while Lucy grabbed her duffel bag and backpack. Tim opened the door and gave Lucy another quick kiss. “I’m just going to put this food in the fridge,” he said as they entered the house. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Lucy hummed her response as she toed off her shoes and set her things down by the door. She looked around Tim’s house again, remembering the evening they spent there together two days ago. Then, she felt her phone buzzing and pulled it out of her pocket. She scowled at the name on the screen, but she decided it was in her best interest to answer the call since she was going to keep calling if she ignored it. “Hello?”

“San nin faai lok [Happy New Year],” the voice said with a harsh tone.

“San nin faai lok. Gung hei faat choi, muqin [Happy New Year. May you be prosperous, mother],” Lucy responded in the nicest tone she could manage.

“I thought it would be best to call you instead of waiting any longer for you to call me. I didn’t even hear from you on Christmas,” Lucy’s mother said.

“Duibuqi [Sorry]. I got snowed in on my way back from Denver on Christmas Eve. Then I had to go to work as soon as I got back to LA. But I sent you gifts that you should have received by Christmas,” Lucy said kindly.

Tim heard Lucy speaking as he moved back into the room. He scrunched up in face in confusion as she spoke in Chinese. He could feel the tension coming off of Lucy from the phone call, so he thought he would do what he could to make her feel more comfortable, and he also wanted to convince her to get off the phone as soon as possible. He moved behind Lucy and wrapped his arms around her middle. She relaxed back into him and sighed as her mother spoke.

“So, you’re using your job as an excuse again. Is that what I’m hearing?” Vanessa Chen asked.

“It’s not an excuse, Mom. I was just busy with work that day,” Lucy said defensively. “Did you have a good holiday?”

Tim could sense that this uncomfortable phone call was not getting any easier, so he upped his game a little bit and started kissing and nibbling at Lucy’s neck to convince her to be done.

“It was fine. We met with your grandmother and Aunt Amy. And we were with them again last night to celebrate New Year’s Eve. You didn’t call then, either.”

“Duibuqi [Sorry]. I had a couple parties that I attended yesterday, and I was busy. But I’m talking to you now. Did you have a nice New Year’s Eve?” she asked. She swatted at Tim who was so distracting that she was having a hard time continuing her conversation. He responded by moving from the right side of her neck to the left side.

“It was fine. Your Aunt Amy insisted on making dinner instead of ordering dinner. But her lotus root soup is never seasoned well, so I had to fix it. Then her dumplings were undercooked. And her bao weren’t pinched properly.” She huffed. “I should have just offered to make dinner myself.”

“Duibuqi [Sorry]. I’m sure she was trying to do something nice for you, so you didn’t have to do all the work.” Lucy swatted at Tim again because he had found just the right spot and made her gasp in the middle of talking to her mother.

“It’s fine. It’s all over now. Your grandmother was asking about you. Even if you want to continue to be disobedient and rude to your parents that doesn’t mean you should ignore your grandmother.”

“Yes, mother. I’ll make sure to stop by soon,” her last few words went up significantly in pitch as Tim had gone back to her sweet spot again to nibble and suck a little bit harder. Her eyes rolled back to her head, and she slumped back into Tim a little bit more.

“Lucy? What are you doing?” she said accusatorily.

“Hmm? Oh. I… I was just…” she struggled to find what she wanted to tell her mother as Tim’s fingers crept under the edge of her t-shirt and spread out across her belly pulling her further into him and not letting up on her neck at all. “I was just enjoying a cup of tea, and… and it… it was just a little hot.” Tim chuckled into her skin, and Lucy tried ineffectively to swat at him again.

“The tea was too hot?” she asked, confused.

“Yes. I’m very, very hot right now. I mean… the tea. The tea is very hot,” Lucy said a little breathlessly.

Tim laughed softly into her skin at her slip up, and then bit the area he had been sucking on, making Lucy involuntarily release a high-pitched squeal. Her unoccupied hand came up to cover her mouth in surprise.

“Lucy?”

“Duibuqi [Sorry]. I must have burned myself on the tea. I’ve gotta go. Bye,” she said quickly, hanging up the phone. She heard her mother start to say something back before she ended the call, but she just couldn’t continue the conversation any longer. She let out a breath, her hands falling down to her sides. Then she spun herself around to face Tim, her hands on her hips.

For a moment, Tim was afraid she was upset, that he had gone too far. But Lucy’s face softened quickly as she said, “What was that?” she asked with a laugh. “You’re impossible!” She paused for a second and then said, “That’s the most… interesting phone call I’ve had with my mother in a long time.” Her hand came up to the spot on her neck that Tim had focused on. “I’m fairly certain I’ll soon have a mark to match yours. Are you happy now?”

“Not quite,” he said grabbing her phone. He walked further into the house and disappeared down the hallway. Lucy followed him for a few steps, but she wasn’t sure if it was okay to continue to follow him or not. A moment later, she heard a series of a few beeps and then the sounds of a door clicking open and shut. Tim reappeared a few seconds later with a smug look on his face.

Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. “Did I just hear you lock our phones into your gun safe?”

“Umm hmm,” he said, pulling her close to him again. “Nothing else is more important right now than you and me.”

Read more here. https://archiveofourown.org/works/52514971/chapters/135896581

[bedaesung]

hello! i'm denver [sh/th, cst, 21+] and i'm stoked to be joining wannabe with hwang daesung, a character i've loved for many years and explored many renditions of 🫶 i have a pinterest board for him here if you're interested in taking a look at that, and you can read all about him under the cut! as per usual, please like this post if you're interested in plotting and i'll come to you asap!

i.

hwang daesung, english name dylan hwang, was born june 14, 2004 in queens, new york as the first and only hwang child. his parents, lee "mona" mirae and richard "richie" hwang always intended to have at least two children, but then they met dylan and they loved him so intensely that they didn't feel like they needed another.

family is important in dylan's story, so here's a rundown on the main characters: richie is a life-long dreamer, often getting carried away with the potential of what could be rather than what is. he's a fun-loving, enthusiastic man who spent his life playing in bands that never got as famous as he wanted. made most of his money as a studio musician, and shortly after dylan's birth, he opened a record store called just strings that became the family's financial stronghold. / mona is grounded in reality, rarely allowing herself to dream at all. she's a hairdresser, though any passion she had for it must've died in beauty school. but a job is a job, and it's what she's good at. she loves richie, which is why she doesn't pursue more than what she has. she's the stable one so that he can take risks. she's realistic, but never pessimistic. she loves her family and they are the most important thing to her. / edward "eddie" hwang is richie's older brother. as a teenager and young adult, he lived similarly to richie; but with age, he settled down with much less resistance. was an accountant for much of dylan's early life, and a frequent babysitter. arguably knows dylan better than his parents.

dylan's earliest memories consist of listening to and watching his dad play music. he was always at his dad's side; the gentler, more forgiving parent, and it didn't take long for dylan to decide he wanted to be just like him with both the music and the exuberant personality. he put on countless air-guitar performances for his extended family at holidays, and even more lousy stand-up comedy routines. he loved attention, and he got plenty of it.

finances started to dwindle a bit as time went on because richie seemed to be getting sick often and didn't have enough help to keep the record store open regularly; tensions rose in the family, but dylan was shielded from most of it. he did start to pull away from his parents a bit out of concern that they were keeping something from him.

TW CANCER, PARENTAL DEATH / eventually, months-long complaints of headaches and nausea followed by a bout of doctor visits saw richie getting diagnosed with brain cancer in summer 2016, which he had suspected by neglected to get checked earlier in a state of denial. by early 2017, he was gone. / END TW

mona used the life insurance payout to relocate back to seoul, south korea, where her parents were, as she felt the need to be close to them and suspected that she would need financial support and help raising dylan. eddie followed suit to stay close to dylan, and re-opened just strings in mapo-gu to honor richie.

for a while, things were tough. dylan immediately started going by his korean name, daesung, to avoid sticking out... but his newfound behavioral issues made him stick out all the same. grief manifested as anger; he was acting out at home and at school, and said a lot of things that he couldn't take back. didn't start to calm down until early 2018, when he completely threw himself into music. started getting more serious about the guitar especially. his mom, desperate to see him happy, gladly forked out money to buy him any equipment that he wanted/needed and paid for instrument and vocal lessons. did occasionally try to steer him away from music considering she watched her husband try and fail his whole life, but ultimately she knew that music was the one (1) thing that he felt connected to, and that it helped him feel close to his dad, so she agreed to support it as long as he was certain it was what he wanted.

let's speed-run through the rest of this... extremely average grades in school, excelled in creative after-school activities / started his band, backyard bones, in 2021 and really started to lighten up again since he had this thing that he was passionate and excited about / didn't plan on college, but his family talked him into it—enrolled in kyonggi university march 2022 as an animation major (because it "sounded fun" and his family just wanted him to have an education, any education) / has been half-secretly* aspiring to be an idol since 2018-2019. is happy playing independent music, but views idoldom as a shortcut to fame; and he wants to achieve the fame that his dad never did. *i say half-secretly because he's never passed an audition and tries to make it sound like a joke if he gets to talking about it to protect his own feelings, as he doesn't really feel that capable. is down for whatever happens first: his band getting signed, or becoming an idol trainee.

ii.

has an addictive personality, which is his achilles heel. does not know when to quit, does not care to know. since enrolling in university, he's gotten increasingly into partying/clubbing. (often hungover, which has cost him a few jobs—luckily, he always has the record shop and his mom's salon to fall back on when he's in need of work.) is obsessive, throwing himself completely into whatever piques his interest; a lot of times, this is a person who he'll make the center of his universe for a month of two and then ditch when the feeling of new-ness wears off. awful at maintaining relationships, romantic or platonic, and does not care to improve. many acquaintances, very few friends; and he's likely on thin ice with any friends he does manage to have. swings from high highs to low lows.

overall, he's kind. rarely (if ever) speaks maliciously, and never aims to hurt. in fact, he often aims to build people up. loves giving compliments and cheering up someone who's sad. in denial of the shitty parts of his personality, great at convincing himself he's not in the wrong. good comedic timing, somewhat charming, and usually down for whatever. a very fun person to be with in the moment; a difficult person to deal with long term, as he never seems to take anything seriously and, when it comes down to it, will almost always put himself first.

is in unreliable narrator and exists in a morally grey area. he will do whatever it takes to succeed.

iii.

open to all kinds of plots!!! but here are some basic ideas:

a long-term bff. maybe someone he met in early-mid 2017, shortly after he moved to seoul? this would be a somewhat tumultuous relationship as daesung is pretty inconsistent and self-centered, but i'd imagine they've stuck around because of how good a friend he is when he's present + a sense of obligation to look out for him? the only person who can reel him in when he starts to get out of control. i will go wherever you go. his rock, but as the person he's most comfortable with, they also get the worst of him. are they over it yet?

a new bff. someone who daesung might've known for a while, but only became close to in the past couple of months. naturally, they haven't seen his mood swings yet and haven't been a victim of his long-term ghosting/abandonment. peas in a pod. where have you been my whole life? of course, all things come to an end. it's just a matter of time.

some girl who gets her hair done by daesung's mom who absolutely adores her. every session is filled with mona talking her son up to this poor girl who might be humored or maybe just wants her to shut the fuck up and only keeps coming back because it's cheap. either way, mona's pretty sure this is daesung's future wife, and she will be arranging an "accidental double-booking" for her next appointment so that she's too busy and daesung has to be one to cut her hair.

+ any customers at the salon would be fun. daesung isn't actually trained/qualified to be cutting hair, but he's been helping out long enough that you'd probably never guess. or maybe you would. but there's bound to be some good conversation, right?

regulars at the record store too... lots of directions to go with this. someone who comes in to buy music and has to deal with daesung acting like their taste sucks and he knows more about music than they do? musicians who come in to buy supplies? where's the regular daesung's actually trying to charm and they couldn't possibly act less interested in him...

short-term exes. nothing serious. dated for a month or so, had a whirlwind romance, and then daesung got bored or they realized his heart wasn't really in it and ditched. does he still text? only when he's romanticizing what could've been. do they answer?

fans of backyard bones, if such a thing exists. someone who's trying to get closer to daesung, but whom he's currently holding at a distance out of fear of disappointing them / someone who never misses a show / a heckler who thinks this band that keeps playing at their favorite dive bar fucking sucks.

gaming buddies (pokemon, mtg, d&d, any card or board games really) / any previous victims of his ghosting really... close friends turned almost strangers. did he ditch when they needed him the most? people who will call him out. / previous coworkers, or current coworkers; he is a job-hopper and has a new job every two months or so. who's having to train him on some laggy pos system? / acquaintances from the indie music scene; drinking buddies, clubbing buddies / etc etc etc... again, i'm super open! please plot with me! <3

[oliverreedmasterass]

Synopsis: The members of Greta Van Fleet agree to do an interview with the Human Napkin himself, Nardwuar, and find themselves ridiculously unprepared for his interview style.

Words: 2k

Warnings: language, some sexual innuendos (kinda?), mentions of stalking, the void™️

Notes: Shoutout to @skywaydrifter for the amazing fic idea, and sending me down a wild Nardwuar binge-fest

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

Nardwuar theme plays with the animated intro video. The shot opens to show NARDWUAR standing in front of an impressive display of vinyl records, next to JOSH KISZKA. 

NARDWUAR: How are you?

Nardwuar shoves his microphone into Josh’s face. Josh flinches back a bit, but then leans into the microphone.

JOSH: Absolutely groovy. 

NARDWUAR: Tell me who you are. 

JOSH: That’s a bit of a loaded question. I’m a dreamer, a mere mortal, a man with a dream…

NARDWUAR: Your name. 

JOSH: Oh. Josh Kiszka. Frontman for the group, Greta Van Fleet. 

Josh curtsies to the camera.

NARDWUAR: Welcome to Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. And right off the bat, I have a gift for ya.   

JOSH puts a hand over his heart and looks at the camera in shock.

JOSH: Now I feel bad, I didn’t bring you anything. 

NARDWUAR (continued): I’ve got this 1966 album, All About Miriam. 

JOSH: (taking the album and cradling it in his arms) Oh my goodness.

NARDWUAR: I heard that you’re a fan. 

JOSH: Miriam Makeba? Oh yeah, she’s one of my favorites. My parents had a few of her albums that they would play all the time when I was younger. She’s got such a rich voice, I can only dream of sounding like that. 

NARDWUAR: But you do have a pretty distinct voice that I’m sure a lot of people are jealous of. How did you find that sound? 

JOSH: I started screaming and then I guess I kind of found my way, eventually. (chuckles) No, but actually, my vocal coach, Ron, I call him “The Master” because he genuinely saved my vocal cords. I wouldn’t be where I am today without him. 

NARDWUAR: How do you do it? Is it special vocal warmups? Some kind of mystery technique? 

JOSH: Well, you see, if I told you, I’d have to kill you. 

NARDWUAR: I’ve got another gift for you here, Josh. 

JOSH: Oh god, now I feel super bad. 

NARDWUAR: Costumes are a big part of your stage presence. Here, I’ve got a piece that might look familiar to you. 

Nardwuar holds out Josh’s infamous golden pants, and Josh reluctantly takes them.

JOSH: Oh boy, I forgot how shiny and see through these were. 

NARDWUAR: You wore these in the sweltering sun on the iHeart Radio festival stage in Las Vegas, Nevada on Saturday, September 22, 2018, didn’t you? 

JOSH: I’m not sure if these are the exact pair…

NARDWUAR: They are. 

JOSH: Huh? Did you dig them out of the dumpster or something? 

NARDWUAR: Now, Josh, can you tell me about Sean Reyes?

Josh looks at Nardwuar with intense skepticism.

JAKE: (offscreen) What the fuck? 

JOSH: Now how do you know about Sean Reyes? 

NARDWUAR: It’s Josh Kiszka trivia!

Josh squints at Nardwuar, uncertain.

JOSH: Sean Reyes was my third grade teacher. 

NARDWUAR: And he was the one who encouraged you to write poetry, right? 

JOSH: Yes…..

NARDWUAR: Like haikus? 

JOSH: Mr. Reyes would play a lot of folk stuff for us, like John Denver, Joni Mitchell, all the classics, and he could tell I really dug it. He pulled me aside after class, showed me some of his favorite lyrics, and explained how it was a form of poetry. I took that to heart and spent a lot of time outside of class writing poems after that.

NARDWUAR: Were they any good? 

JOSH: Well, some lines ended up in our songs, so you tell me. 

NARDWUAR: Well, I heard your twin brother behind the camera just now. Let’s bring him out here. Come here, Jake! 

JAKE joins Josh’s side in front of the camera, looking nervous. He’s wringing his hands, avoiding eye contact with Nardwuar.

NARDWUAR: Hello, Jake. 

JAKE: (short) Hi. 

NARDWUAR: I have a gift for you. 

JAKE: Uh, okay. 

NARDWUAR: It’s a poster from H.O.R.D.E. Festival at Deer Creek Music Center in Noblesville, Indiana featuring big names like Blues Traveler, The Black Crowes, and Taj Mahal from 1995. Something important happened at this festival, right? 

Jake pales.

JAKE: Uh. Uh. 

Josh is staring pretty hard at Nardwuar.

JAKE: (to Josh) There’s no way he knows about that. How could he know about that? 

Nardwuar sneaks the microphone closer into Jake’s mouth. 

NARDWUAR: Well? 

JAKE: Okay, uh, they might kill me for admitting this on camera, but my parents are pretty sure that’s where Josh and I were conceived. 

NARDWUAR: Do you like Taj Mahal? 

Jake struggles to rebound from that 180. 

JAKE: Um (beat) yeah. I’d list him as a big influence. 

NARDWUAR: And another gift for Jake Kiszka! 

JAKE: (whispering to Josh) This guy freaks me out. 

NARDWUAR: Here you go! 

Nardwuar tosses Jake a ziploc bag containing something brown. Jake’s reflexes get the better of him and he grabs the bag out of the air, and then blankly studies what’s in his hands. 

JAKE: What the actual fuck. 

NARDWUAR: Tell me what you���re holding there! 

JAKE: Hair. It’s my hair. 

JOSH: What??

JAKE: I’m not even joking. This is what they chopped off, like, last year before our second leg of the Dreams in Gold Tour. 

JOSH: (growing defensive of his brother) Where did you get that from?

NARDWUAR: What was the reason for the big chop? 

JAKE: I could have sworn my hairdresser said she was going to donate that. 

NARDWUAR: Oh, she did. 

JAKE: I’m sorry, what? 

SAM bounds into the scene in front of the camera, looking energetic. 

SAM: This is fun! Do me now! 

NARDWUAR: Sam Kiszka! Alright, Jake. Thanks and doot doola doot doo…

JAKE: Huh? 

NARDWUAR: (finishing for Jake) Doo doo! (turns to Sam) I have a question for you. 

Sam is hopping from foot to foot and clapping his hands with glee while Jake confusedly wanders off camera.

SAM: Fire away! 

NARDWUAR: Your aunt works at State Farm in Chicago. 

DANNY: (offscreen) That’s not a question. 

JOSH: How could you possibly know that? 

NARDWUAR: Have you ever had to file a claim with her? 

SAM: Well, actually one time…

JOSH: Ssh! Don’t tell him anything. 

NARDWUAR: (entirely unbothered) I have a gift you might like, Sam! 

SAM: Oh my god! You guys aren’t gonna believe this. It’s my birth certificate! 

JOSH: What kind of interviewer are you?? 

NARDWUAR: I’m just a fan, guys, just a fan. I love your music! 

Sam’s phone rings. 

SAM: Whoops, sorry. I know this is unprofessional but, one sec. I gotta take this. 

Instead of going off camera to answer the phone in private like a normal person, Sam answers the phone and puts it on speaker. 

SAM (continued): Y’ello? 

KAREN: (obviously shaken) Sam? 

SAM: Hey Mom, what’s up? 

KAREN: Are you boys alright? 

Josh grabs the phone from Sam. 

JOSH: Mom? What’s going on? 

KAREN: Someone broke into our house while your dad and I were on our trip. We’re worried it might have been a stalker since they took a lot of your possessions and some important documents. 

JOSH: Oh my god, are you okay? 

KAREN: Fine, just a bit shaken up. But, I’m so sorry, they stole Sammy’s birth certificate. 

Sam calls into the phone over Josh’s shoulder.

SAM: Don’t worry about it, Mom! I just got it gifted back to me! 

Josh hands Sam his phone and rushes away. 

JOSH: (screaming offscreen) RICHARD! WE NEED BACKUP!

KAREN: I’m gonna have to call my sister to file a claim. They broke a crazy amount of our windows. Like, way more than they needed to. What a headache.

DANNY: (to Nardwuar) You have a lot of explaining to do. 

NARDWUAR: I’ve got a gift for you, Daniel! 

Nardwuar pulls out a pack of old Beatles cards. 

DANNY: I don’t want it. 

NARDWUAR: It’s a pack of 1964 Beatles collector’s cards, in mint condition! 

DANNY: Wait, I do want it. 

Danny takes the cards from Nardwuar and looks at them with delight. 

NARDWUAR: You’re a big fan of the Beatles, right? 

DANNY: Oh yeah, I always have been.

JAKE: You’re not seriously continuing this interview. 

DANNY: (while opening and flipping through the pack of cards) I mean, this is a pretty cool gift. 

JAKE: (evidently at his wit’s end) This guy 100% broke into my family’s house, and he for sure did the same to your parents. 

NARDWUAR: Would you say there was a specific Beatles album that most inspired you? 

DANNY: Definitely Rubber Soul. I loved hearing them try folk. 

Jake throws up his hands in exasperation. 

DANNY: Norwegian Wood genuinely changed my life. 

NARDWUAR: In what way? 

JAKE: Nope, we’re not doing this anymore. 

Jake thrusts his finger up into Nardwuar’s face. 

JAKE (continued): What else did you take from us, you son of a bitch? 

NARDWUAR: Does it count as “taking” if I give it back to you? 

JAKE: Yes! 

NARDWUAR: I’d beg to differ. 

DANNY: (looking through his cards) Woah! I’ve never seen this photo of Ringo Starr before! 

Josh comes rushing back to the scene with their bodyguard and pal, RICHARD. 

RICHARD: (scanning around on full alert) Where is he? 

JOSH: (shrill, pointing at Nardwuar) There! 

Nardwuar simply grins at Richard. 

NARDWUAR: Can you tell me about Grubbyknot? 

Richard is obviously thrown off, and he lets down his guard. 

RICHARD: Huh? Grubbyknot? That was my metal band in high school. But we only played like two shows. One was in my parent’s garage. 

JOSH: Don’t let him get into your head, Richard! You’re our big guns, we can’t lose you! 

SAM: Do you have another gift for me, Nardwuar? 

Nardwuar stares at Sam, entirely expressionless. 

NARDWUAR: No, I don’t. Doot doola doot doo…

SAM: Doo-doo? 

Upon Sam’s words, he vanishes into thin air. Jake is so terrified, he falls to the ground and cowers on the floor. 

JAKE: Jesus Christ! 

NARDWUAR: I usually like to speak with only 1-2 people at a time on camera. It’s getting a little bit too crowded for me right now. 

Nardwuar looks at Danny, whose attention is finally away from his cards, and is gawking at the empty space where Sam was just standing. 

NARDWUAR: (continued, making eye contact with Danny) Doot doola doot doo…

Danny stares back at Nardwuar in horror, his mouth sealed shut. Nardwuar sings the little tune again, holding his microphone up to Danny to finish it. 

JAKE: (cutting in) Doo doo! (beat) Fuck! 

Jake disappears. 

JOSH: (explaining to Richard and Danny) He has this condition where he can’t handle hearing an unfinished tune. Poor guy has a curse.

NARDWUAR: Just one more to go. 

Nardwuar focuses his attention back to Danny. 

DANNY: Where did you send them? 

NARDWUAR: To another place. 

DANNY: Super helpful, thanks. 

NARDWUAR: Don’t mention it. 

DANNY: Are they still alive? 

NARDWUAR: I can’t see why not. I’m a fan! I wouldn’t hurt you guys. 

Danny sighs. 

DANNY: Okay. Send me away so I can do some damage control. 

RICHARD: No! 

NARDWUAR: Doot doola doot doo…

DANNY: (unenthused, clapping his hands on the beat) Doo doo.

Danny is gone. 

RICHARD: My boss is gonna kill me. 

JOSH: I’m pretty sure I’m your boss. 

Richard widens his eyes and holds his hands up in a defensive position, backing slowly away from Josh. 

JOSH (continued): Oh, come on. I’m not gonna hurt you, Richard. 

RICHARD: You did dump an entire bag of flour over my head that one time. And kicked that giant chocolate bar in my hands. And swung a folding chair at me backstage. 

JOSH: All tiny, insignificant hiccups.

NARDWUAR: Josh, you’re gonna love this next thing that I’ve got for you. 

JOSH: Please, no. 

Nardwuar hands Josh a Scooby Doo plushie. 

NARDWUAR: Tell me what that is. 

Josh studies the stuffed animal, trying to discern how it has any relevance to him. 

JOSH: Scooby Doo? 

NARDUWAR: What was that second word?

JOSH: Doo?

NARDWUAR: Wait. Say it again? (under his breath) Doot doola doot doo…

JOSH: Doo? 

Nardwuar taps on his ear, signaling that he didn’t hear Josh. Josh huffs and rolls his eyes. 

JOSH (continued, enunciating maybe a little bit too much): Doo! 

Josh disappears. 

NARDWUAR: Well, this has been fun. Keep on rockin’ in the free world and doot doola doot doo…

It’s silent around him since there’s no one there to finish his jingle. Nardwuar continues to grin wider and wider until he’s nearing uncomfortably close to uncanny valley. 

The scene shifts to a confusing plane seemingly everywhere and nowhere at once. A pattern reminiscent of Nardwuar’s red and green plaid Tammy cap stretches from the floor to the sky. Josh and Richard appear in the mysterious space, Josh screaming with terror. 

JAKE: Hey. 

DANNY: Nice of you to join us. 

It takes a while for Josh to collect himself but, when he does, he notices Jake and Danny standing in front of him. 

JOSH: Where’s Sammy? 

DANNY: He went to take a piss. 

RICHARD: Hey, wait, I didn’t say the doo doo thing. Why am I here? 

Josh shrugs. 

JOSH: We must be a package deal or something. 

RICHARD: That’s wildly unfair. 

SAM: (off in the distance) Woah, I had a lot more in my bladder than I thought. I wouldn’t come over here if I were you, guys. I can cross “building a manmade lake” off my bucket list.

JAKE: God, I need to get out of here. 

DANNY: And how are we gonna do that, Jake? 

Jake has no clue. He’s frankly dumbfounded. 

The scene jumps back to Nardwuar, still in front of the records. He seems unaware that the camera is still rolling. 

NARDWUAR: (to someone offscreen) Yeah, yeah. They should be gone for good. Yup. The plaid void, where I sent Dave Rowntree. We should be good to steal their identities now. God knows we’ve done enough research. 

Back in the plaid void. 

DANNY: Holy shit, is that Dave Rowntree?

RICHARD: The guy from Blur? 

DAVE ROWNTREE: CURSE YE FOUL BEAST, NARDWUAR! 

Fin.  

Note: The names/facts listed in the interview within this fic are all entirely fictitious. I'm not about to start leaking private and personal information about the guys.

[popculturebuffet]

Muppet Madness Christmas Double Feature: A Letter to Santa and John Denver X Muppets: A Christmas Together: Tidings of Mediocrity and Boredom (PatreonXComission For Emma Fici)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to Muppet Madness, my look at all things muppety on this blog. It's been a while, as I took most of 2024 off muppet wise with me and emma, my friend who helps make this possible, mostly doing other stuff.

Still it wouldn't be christmas without the muppets and having ran through the holy trinity of Muppet Christmas Carol, Muppet Family Christmas and Emmett Otter's Jugband Christmas, i'ts time to branch out a bit. SO when having movie night me and emma watched two slices of christmas cake: the 2008 special A Muppet Christmas: Letters to Santa and 1979's John Denver And the Muppets: A Christmas Together. And while these aren't the best muppet projects , and we'll get to why under the cut, i'm just happy to be back with these guys, something that's not stopping as next year we're hitting up muppetvision 3d, survival street's sequel the radical left and i'm hoping the movies I haven't gotten to yet. I at least want to get around to the Muppet Movie to make up for missing it's anniversary.

So with renewed vigor, holiday cheer and some good dollops of mediocrity, join me under the cut to look at some tv specials to see if they have that muppet magic

A Muppet's Christmas: Letters to Santa: A Rope of Sand

I came into letters to santa excited: Unlike the other muppet christmas specail/movie I haven't gotten to, this one had a good rep and seemed like it'd be fun. The muppets have a fantastic holiday track record as does Paul Williams, who did the soundtrack and co wrote this film. Paul Williams is a muppet legend, a musical maestro who wrote the amazing soundtracks to The Muppet Movie, A Muppet Christmas Carol and the cult classic Phantom of the Paradise which I not only covered this halloween but I consider an honorary muppet film. It dosen't really have any muppets like fellow honorary muppet film LIttle Shop of Horrors but it does have a kickass paul williams soundtrack and some weird shit, so i'm going to count it anyway.

Instead.. this one's a disapointment. It's not horrible. It's not Muppets Wizard of Oz which has lurked at the bottom of the rankings since I started doing these, but it's nothing really special. The 2000's were a time , not unlike now, where the muppets were spinning in the wind, with Disney occasionally breaking them out but having no clear direction.

And this spilled onto Muppet Family Christmas. While it was only a few years before the Muppets briefly revitalized things, it feels an ocean away, having a script cobbled out of so many stock plots it might as well have a water mark on it.

It's Christmas Time and Gonzo is mailing a letter to santa which gets derision from Pepe who dosen't believe. After a musical number featuring Jesse L Martin, who does a wonderful job and is enhusastic and who I love from his current show the Irrantional, Gonzo ends up thrown out of the post office and with three letters, one of which is from a little girl who lives in their building whose mom is 30 Rock's Jane Krakowski, and must go on a quest but oh no almost everyone else gives up and oh no nathan lane's in the way but they get through it with pluck and wonder and

Yeah there is.. nothing to this plot. You can have a thin plot and have it work with the muppets, easily. The Muppet Movie's plot is "Kermit goes on a wacky road trip to become a star and picks up the familiar troupe along the way while a corrupt frog leg salesman wants him to be his shill", The Muppets is your standard getting the band back together to save something under threat from a greedy developer, the great muppet caper is a nonsense heist plot bouyed by great songs, snappy jokes and Charles Grodin. You don't need a super deep or impactful plot: that can work easily, see A Muppet Christmas Carol, the muppets are versitle but as long as you have jokes and heart, the muppets will prevail.

This specail has neither. The jokes just aren't there, and the bulk rely on a buffet of celebrity cameos, which isn't unusual for the muppets but feel more shoehorned in than usual. Jesse L Martin's part as a postman who sings a number about doing the mail stuff is one of the few that feels warranted. We've got actors from the sopranos for a one dimensional mob joke, jane krakowski in a role that just dosen't fit her more acidic and hammy chops, Madison Pettis of Corey in the House Fame as a little girl, Uma Thurman constantly fanning herself because someone has a thing for that on the writing staff and Nathan Lane as your stock "Character who hate santa because santa didn't give him a toy"> I do like that his character does realize he was a bully and kermit turns him around, convicing him he can be better, but there's not much here and all these actors feel wasted. These four all have good comedic timing, but arne't given anything to do .

There are SOME jokes sprinkled in that work: some pidgeons our heroes try to get the fly the letters and everything Bobo does because Bobo is the best. But even Bobo being here feels like a repeat of Muppets From Space where he was the bumbling sidekick to the villian. There's nothing here that feels like it needed to happen. The music should be great, but while Williams tries a little, it's pretty forgertable. At the very least this means we get Williams himself as an elf and he is fantastic, entertaining and a shot of energy into the film, but it's disapointing to have a paul williams soundtrack I don't remotely remember after watching. That.. shoudln't be possible but here we are.

There's also an annoying subplot where Piggy is pissy about the vacation, wants to get to it immediately and is mad at Kermit for .. trying to help a child's letter get to santa. It's the kind of piggy I hate where she's just mad at anything Kermit does and takes it as a sign of his lack of commitment.. which is a serious problem with them as things go on, but in this case he wasn't waffling or not intrested, he simply was trying to do the right thing.

This film just exists. I didn't think I"d be this disappointed in it but the more I write about it the less I have to say. And it's not because it's funny it's because it's just bland. It's like someone put muppets into an ai generator. The muppets performers try, paul williams try, but the framework is so bland and cobbled together it just dose'nt work. Speaking of not working

John Denver X Muppets: A Christmas With You: Generations

Part of why I probably wasn't as hard on Letters From Santa before writing is that what came after was so much worse. John Denver X Muppets, and yes I do know it's and muppets but it's my blog and my joke, is boring. It's is the biggest blank void of a specail i've ever watched. It's a moment or two of what the fuck like john denver being a toy solider or dressing up weird, a really fucking nice hat that John Denver wears in the opening, and just.. nothing.

I HATED this thing when we watched all 60 boring minutes , even more when a section I missed thanks to a guest was rewatched later. The original intro to this was a lot angrier until I figured out why it's like this.

You see the same year John Denver guest starred on the muppet show. And while John Denver is not an artist I know that well only knowing him from a fictional character's rivalry with him when they were neighbors in Denver

It hasn't stopped me from enjoying a muppet show episode before: I didn't know Alice Cooper well, his episode is one of my faviorites. Same with Harry Belafonte and his episode IS my faviorite. The Muppet Show does a good job showing a star off and letting them run wild. And this episode was pretty good. I forgo tto finish it but no episode with a bunch of historic soldiers singing why can't we be friends (And sadly some native american sterotypes), before getting gunned down by statlder and woldorf can be calssifiedas bad

The problem is a christmas with you.. isn't a muppet production. It has them in it, in their vintage design glory and a subplot about miss piggy wanting a big roll.. but it's not their special. It's John Denvers. And thus instead of having chaotic muppet energy it has john denver energy. And John Denver is bland. He's the dry toast of Country Singers. He has made some good songs, but none are my style adn the christmas songs he sings here feel like several eternities. The bulk of the special is just john denver sings a boring ballad while I try not to

See even typing about it is a struggle. He only uses the muppets in a few segments and even those, while not as sleep enducing, still aren't rousing. Paul Wiliams didn't do his best for letters to santa but he's still paul williams. John Denver has a good song and probably more for people who like this but for me it's the worst parts of 70's music, those long dreary tuneless ballads, distlled into one bland special.

Ranking: As you can imagine neither of these really scored that high but since it's been a year since I got to break out the ranking list, i'm still happy to have it back. I may rework this into a tier list in the future, we'll see. but for now they scrape the bottom

Though just showing how high the quality is only John Denver and the Muppets and Muppets Wizard of Oz are geninely BAD. The rest have SOME merit tucked in there and even the John Denver special still isn't close. We really hit rock bottom early and hopefully we'll never dig deeper.

Next Time: A look at a soon to be lost disney attraction! We're back babY!

[starkspondwater]

I just read the black!shy!reader for Kyle and I was wondering if you could do the same thing for Stan please😓

Hello! This might be long but I got a lot of inspo and just started writing! Sorry this took me a while- I've been working through requests! I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Stan meet's Tolkien's cousin who's visiting for the summer and cannot help getting distracted. With the day's ticking down, he starts to feel the pressure to say something

A/n: Might've romanticized Stan a bit and he might be ooc but honestly I don't care, I just want some pure Stan fluff because he deserves it!

Summer Distractions- Stan Marsh x Shy!Black!Reader

Heat bore down on the young man who was currently working on cleaning up a small patch of land, his broad shoulders sore from digging up the rocks his father had been too lazy to do himself. Stan Marsh wiped the sweat from his brow, leaning against his shovel in exhaustion. This had to be the worst luck he could’ve had.

Originally, this summer was going to be one for the books, him and his best friend taking his beat up car and road tripping to wherever they pleased, enjoying the summer days of their youth. It was supposed to be freeing and filled with excitement, but fate had other plans. Kyle had been accepted into an internship program, a rather important one, that led him to spending the next few months on Denver while Randy Marsh had his own designs on his son. 

At some point in the last few weeks, Stan’s dad had gotten it into his head about leaving a legacy and decided it was time to teach his son the ropes. To Stan’s displeasure this mainly meant doing the work none of his father’s few employees wanted to do, and to make it worse he certainly wasn’t getting paid as much. He did…love his dad, in a detached sort of way, but the man could be a bit dense at times, thinking that all this was somehow considered ‘bonding time.’ Now his summer of fun was becoming the most boring one in his life. At least until a shiny black car pulled up to the Black residence across the way. 

Tolkien had apparently chosen to stay on the farm, and being the only two of their peers this far out of town occasionally came over to have lunch and chat. It was nothing serious or overly friendly, the two were never very close, but isolation at times bred a sort of camaraderie between the boys. Seeing the black SUV drive away, Stan was only a little curious as to what or who paid his sort-of-friend a visit.

Getting back to work, Stan continued his work, cursing as his muscles ached with each strike of his shovel. One thing he could say about the work is that it was great exercise and that when he focused on it the time flew by. When he heard steps approaching he glanced up, surprised to see that the sun had changed its position, falling more towards the west. As footfalls slowed and voices sounded, Stan could clearly hear Tolkien Black talking to someone. Coming into view, he saw that someone was you.

“And this is Stan, that guy I was telling you about,” Tolkien had been casually gesturing around, his voice jovial as he walked beside you, “Stan! Come here for a minute!”

Stabbing his shovel down, he trekked the small hill to the fenceline, getting a better look at the stranger his classmate brought along. With hair pulled back into a puff at the back of your head, Stan felt himself blush at the pretty girl in front of him. Both you and Tolkien were dressed much more nicely than himself, drawing his attention to how haggard he must’ve looked working out in the heat all day.

“This is my cousin, Y/N. She’s visiting for the summer so I wanted to show her around a bit,” slinging an arm around your shoulder, he brought you forward making you squeak. 

“H-hi,” stuttering, you tried to make friendly eye contact only to have your gaze shift itself downwards at the dirt. When your cousin mentioned a friend living next door, or as close to next door as one could get out here, you certainly weren’t expecting to see someone like him. He was far more rough looking than any of the boys you had been around back home, smudges of dirt not only on his clothes but smeared across patches of skin as well. He looked strong and oh so very cute. 

“Hey, it’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N. I’d shake your hand but uh, I don’t want to get you dirty or anything.” Stan chuckled nervously, rubbing his dirt strewn hands on his jeans. It wasn’t helping anything but he couldn’t help feeling a bit self conscious. It wasn’t every day a pretty girl made their way to his family’s farm, especially one that made his stomach twist anxiously like that. 

“Well man, I’m going to get her back but you might see us around! Don’t hesitate to say hi!” Turning, Tolkien led you away talking more about different things you’d be doing during your stay. Stan started to feel himself grow disappointed. It was so quick it’s not like he would’ve been able to impress you or anything, but at least he could’ve made a more impactful impression. Wiping a hand across his face, he went back to work, hoping that perhaps he might see you again and soon.

And soon it was. Two days later he had been pulling weeks along the fenceline, a wheelbarrow full of unwanted plants sitting behind him as he sat on his knees with work gloves on. Stan was thankful this wasn’t as labor intensive as some of the other odd jobs he’d been given, but it was still boring as hell, and already in the early hours of working had his shirt been plastered to his body with the sweat he shed. As time went by he had made quite a bit of progress, making a mental note to tell Randy about some rotten fence posts knowing it would be his job eventually anyway. Just like before, he stopped as he heard steps coming toward him from the road, the sound dull against the dirt. 

You stood there pretty as could be, a small camera hung around your neck as you peered meekly at him on the other side of the fence. Today you were dressed a bit more like him, jeans and a plain shirt, but on you it looked far better than he could ever pull off.

“Hey Y/N, what brings you over here?” He swallowed thickly. It had been a long time since anyone made him feel as nervous as this, and it didn’t bode well if he was going to have to deal with it all summer long. 

“O-Oh! Tolkien said that you might not mind if I took some pictures?” The question was punctuated with a small lift of your camera. “I just thought some of the land looked really pretty…If it’s not okay I can leave.” 

“No!” Stan's voice came out a little louder than intended, making you jump. Panicking, he quickly tried again. “No, sorry, it’s perfectly okay. Don’t go.”

Slowly, you nodded, eyes darting around to everything but him. Goddammit, he thought, play it fucking cool, Stanley.

“So…you’re visiting.” Stan stood and nearly cringed. Of course she’s visiting dumbass, they told you that yesterday!

“Yeah, my parents are away on a big trip and Aunt Linda offered to let me stay here.” your voice was so quiet Stan had to lean toward you a bit to properly hear you. You gulped, noticing the way his shirt was practically hugging the muscles of his chest and arms. “I t-told them they didn’t have to trouble themselves.”

“Well, I’m sure it’d be pretty dull just being by yourself all summer,” Stan should know as he felt that had already been his fate.

“Y-yeah, I guess.” Tolkien hadn’t said much about Stan, but it was apparent how kind he was at least to be talking to some stranger. You felt heat spread through your face with the thought that maybe he wasn’t this kind to all strangers, perhaps just to you.

Stan however, was feeling a little pink being so close to you. He had been leaning down on the fence and actually hearing that lovely little voice was doing things to him. It didn’t help that you were so beautiful on top of it all. He had sweet-talked girls in the past, getting some lucky kisses at parties, but talking to you he felt silly, like his tongue was purposely sabotaging him. This wouldn’t do, so he leaned just a little farther.

“Besides, we don’t get girls as pretty as-” Suddenly the wood board holding him up fell out from under him, causing Stan to stumble forward and onto the ground. With an oomph! he was sprawled, the wood underneath his body uncomfortable. 

“Are you alright?!” you seemed a bit frantic, looming over the boy and attempting to see if there was any serious injury.

“I-I’m fine! Don’t worry about it!” Stanley cursed whatever was going on with him as he brought himself back up to his knees. “Just some rotting wood, it’s my fault for not noticing.” Sheepishly he smiled up at you, hoping to quell the panic he heard in your voice.

“Are you sure?” With a feather light touch you brought a gentle hand to his head, brushing the black hair back. Somehow he had procured a small scratch on his head during the tumble that to your relief, was not actively bleeding. 

Stan couldn’t breathe. Not with you so close and touching him so softly. It was as if a small shock came from that simple touch, spreading from his forehead, down through his torso, and eventually to his feet. It was a pleasant buzz that made him so incredibly nervous. 

“I’m okay,” with a shaky grin Stan stood, placing a bit of space between the two of you. “Um…but I wasn’t kidding. You’re welcome to take any pictures you want.”

“...Could I talk to you as well? I-if you’re not too busy?” Anxiety clinched in your stomach as you asked. This was bold for you, but something about Stan made your heart race in a way that for once you actually liked. 

“...I’d like that,” Stan stood there looking at you with a curious look in his eye. “I’ll uh, see you around Y/N” 

The second you were out of sight Stan turned and vomited directly into the wheelbarrow full of weeds. Oh this was definitely going to be a long, long summer.

____

You had come by often to Stan’s surprise and pleasure. He honestly didn’t see what was so photogenic about the farm, or the land surrounding it. Sure, a photo of some trees looked nice, but he couldn’t quite understand how one could see much more than that. He wasn’t going to complain about his present company though. 

You would sometimes find him, a shy apologetic smile on your face as you ‘interrupted’ his work. Stan couldn’t find any fault with this sort of distraction, and happily sat in the quiet atmosphere that followed you. It was calming and Stan found himself not really caring about missing his once exciting dreams of summer vacation. 

At times you would talk, small snippets here and there that normally he initiated. With every interest, every hobby, every favorite thing of yours he discovered, he fell deeper and deeper into his feelings for you. It was a little startling at first, most of the girls he entertained were loud and outspoken, all of which you were not.

And that was more than fine with him. He liked those small smiles, filled with warmth when he was able to get them out of you. He liked how your eyes strayed away from him quickly when he caught you staring. Stan liked you. 

And somehow you seemed to enjoy his company even though he kept mucking things up. He had tried looking manly in front of you once, chopping up some discarded wood his dad insisted on saving. His once even strokes of the axe were now clumsy and uncoordinated, looking like a ten year old did the job. 

Another time he attempted to flatter you with some lunch using an old picnic basket of his mom’s. You popped up right as he began chasing his dog, the mutt's mouth smeared with bits of food. In moments Stan had tripped and face planted directly into a puddle of mud.

Each time though you just giggled, the sound chiming in his ears like bells and making him flush. He thanked god he could blame that on the heat, but part of him relished in the fact that he could at least make you laugh.

He lost count of how often he had to run off to empty the contents of his stomach, nerves sometimes becoming too great to hold in. The poor boy had to keep a stash of snacks with him in hopes that he wasn’t actually making himself sick, but it didn’t seem so bad if he could still spend time with you. 

Today though, Stan was distracted. You had been taking pictures of the barn cats, tufts of fur playfully tumbling around in the hay. Observing you was something he felt he could do all day, easily. It brought out things he normally didn’t notice with the small glances he normally gave you.

He could clearly see the resemblance you had to Tolkien. Both of you shared the same sloped nose and the same chin, indicating a strong vein of genes. Had he not known Tolkien for most of his life, Stan would’ve taken the two of you for siblings. There was one key difference he had noticed.

Tolkien's eyes were sharp, constantly seeing and analyzing everything around him. It was intimidating at times, honestly. Yours, however, were wide and expressive, reminding him of the doe he and his Uncle Jimbo would see at the cabin those spring mornings years ago. As a kid he would sit and watch her for as long as she’d let him, eyes following her every move. You carried yourself with the same subtle grace, wary but careful, intentional even. Just like that doe from a lifetime ago, his eyes were drawn to you.

___ 

That evening Stan couldn’t sleep. Everytime his eyes closed, all he saw were images of you. You crouched down with a camera in your hand. You giggling at something stupid he accidentally let slip. You giving him that shy smile that made his stomach flip flop all over the place. All the while summer was moving onward and eventually you would be going home, him becoming some memory for you.

He hated that thought.

He had only just made it within sight of the Black residence when he realized how crazy he looked. It was one in the morning, all the lights in the house off, and he was standing outside in his pajamas.  He was a child the last time he stood outside someone’s house with a boombox, and now he was too old for such childish antics. 

This was insane. But the thought that he’d let this little thing slip through his fingers was going to drive him mad if he didn’t do something. Taking a small pebble, he threw it at the window he hoped was yours. He hadn’t explored the house very much, only at a few of the house parties he attended, but he knew this was one of the nicer guestrooms. 

It took three before a lamp blipped on, the light shining down at an angle onto Stan. With bated breath, he waited.

“Stan?” you whisper shouted down at the dark haired boy, shock evident on your face. With a smile, Stan felt his confidence surge. “What are you doing here?”

“To see you?” He tried to loudly whisper back, but felt foolish. He wanted to see you, to be near you. Why in the hell was he doing that from down here. His eyes catching the trellis situated on the side of the house, he made quick work of running over and clamoring onto it. He was no longer that spindly teenage boy that could crawl, hike, and climb with ease, but he still made it onto the slanted roof of the porch and up to your open window. With a soft voice he breathed a quiet “hey.”

“Hi,” you whispered, eyes wide. “You…I could’ve just come downstairs.”

“I know, this is more my speed, though,” with a cheeky smile, he leaned closer. “I…I’ve been fumbling a lot of things lately and-and I don’t want you to go back home not knowing how I feel.”

“I’m still here for about a month, Stan,” giggling nervously, you tried to back away only for his hand to grab yours.

“I know but I want to spend that month knowing you’re mine,” gently, he tugged you towards him, “I cannot get you out of my head, Y/N. I cannot continue to spend every day with you not knowing that.”

“Stan…I-” 

“Please tell me I wasn’t the only one feeling like this.”

With pleading eyes, Stan kept his hand on yours. Your mind was blank, not ever believing that this sort of situation would happen to a girl like you. You were quiet and kept to yourself. Boys didn’t do big romantic confessions, much less notice you. Hell, even Tolkien, your cousin, sometimes forgot you were around from how meek you were. 

But then there’s Stan. He didn’t have to let you hang around him and disrupt his work. He didn’t have to talk to you or spend time with you. But he did. And he felt so much for you that he climbed the side of the damn house to tell you that. You took a few shaky breaths, struggling to keep your eyes on his.

“...You’re not the only one.” 

With that Stan gave one small tug, bringing your lips down to his. It was a short kiss but was filled with desire and longing, things you had only read about in books. When he pulled away Stan looked dazed, his eyes hazy as he looked at you.

“I really like you-” and without any indication that it was going to happen, Stan promptly turned his head and vomited on the roof tiles next to him.

Stan couldn’t keep the large grin from his face the next day as you sat your pretty little self on the fence, watching him work the morning sun away. It wasn’t really any different than the rest of the summer had been with you, but it felt different. Now you were his and that made all the difference to him. 

“Hey, Marsh?” Tolkien’s voice popped the lovely little bubble you both had been in, and Stan found himself face to face with an angry young man. “Want to explain to me why there’s puke underneath my window?”

[finifugue]

HELLO I JUST READ DEATH AND OTHER LIES WHILE I WORK AND FRANKLY FORGOT ABOUT WORK AT ALL IM SO SO OBSESSED ITS BECOME MY NEW FAVOURITE FIC OF ALL TIMR i wanted to ask about the reference in chapter 2, was it a reference to merlin the tv show or a different merlin? THANKS FOR ANSWERING IM IN LOVE WITH YOUR WRITIGN

tysm ahhhhhhh!!!!

The reference to Merlin in ch.2 is actually in relation to arguably one of my favourite modern movies of all time, Kingsman: the Golden Circle (2017). That whole section is from an iconic scene from the movie where the character Merlin sings John Denver's Country Roads, Take Me Home as a diversion, and given I'd already referenced other moments from the Kingsman trilogy (like the whole bit w/ them not trusting drugs/poisons because Rasputin survived them) I figured it would be funny!

It's also not the only fucky pop culture reference I make in the fic either lol. I know at least one person's already caught the fact that I shamelessly ripped the entire introduction of the fic from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, but a lot of the little details are references as well. Oscar's car is a Ford Fiesta because when I was a kid my brother was obsessed with Jeremy Clarkson's 1995 movie Motorsport Mayhen (partially the reason I'm into F1 at all!) and he talked about that breed of car. The name of the enemy organisation - the Ecliptic - is because I had no clue what to name them but I was playing Starfield at the time, and there's a group with the same name in the game. Lando's fun fact that he used to be able to name all the stars is in part a reference to a monologue in season 2 of Good Omens, and in part a reference to one of my other fics, a Stranger Things one I wrote years ago where Steve Harrington has effectively the exact same little speech. The entire alternate history of the world which serves as a backdrop for the fic is a mashup of what little I remember from the WWII unit of my high school Modern History class, and the Harold Saxon/Master arc of Doctor Who.

My favourite part about writing fic is that it is, by design, unoriginal. It's not an exercise in uniqueness, which means I'm allowed to stuff in as many references to other shit as I need!

[swiss-mrs]

Chapter Two: Rebel Tour

Life Eternal Series

Eddie Munson x Rockstar!POC!

Word Count: 3.5K

All writing is in second POV, but No Use of Y/N.

It’s been 2 months since the band’s stop in Indiana. You’ve called Eddie from every Hotel and Motel you’ve stopped in. Each call lasted no less than an hour. It never seemed like you ran out of things to say. Whether it was updates on your tour, or updates on his dreaded job search, you guys always had something to say to each other.

Your stop in Nashville was how you found out about his first guitar, an acoustic Wayne found at a garage sale for $15. Your stop in Atlanta was when you told him about your first performance, a middle school talent show. You were so nervous that you forgot the lyrics to the song you were performing. You can’t listen to Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” the same anymore.

Your stop in Houston was when he shared his first crush, a cheerleader he met in middle school, and when you found out that it took him three tries to graduate. Dallas was where you shared that you dropped out in your freshman year. “I ended up getting my GED once the band had enough money to get comfortable.”

Denver is when you told him about your heart breaker phase as a teenager. “Well, that’s not hard to believe.” He would smile into the phone.

“Yeah, had all the curious chicks crawling to my door.” You’d tease back.

Phoenix was mainly spent talking about the vibe you were going for in the band’s next album. “I want to tell a story, you know? We’re two albums in, now, and I feel like it’s time to come out with something that embodies this current era of my life. I want to listen back on this album in 5 years and know exactly what I was thinking, what I was feeling, hell, what I was eating in these very moments.”

L.A. and Sacramento were spent bouncing off ideas for the next album, coming up with concepts, even sharing quick, off-the-dome lyrics.

Your current stop is Seattle. You were posted up in Washington for a few days. All the band’s family and friends were here, so a point was made to allow time to visit loved ones. Earlier this day, you were able to see Mr and Mrs. Hemming, Marley’s parents. They were always such a loving, open-minded couple. They were the ones who took you in all those years ago. They were big hippies back in the day, huge Hendrix fans, so they never judged you and always made you feel welcome, like you belonged. They were the closest thing you had to a family, a home.

It’s been a good three days since you last talked to Eddie. You've yet to make the call from your Washington hotel room. Most of your time here was spent in bittersweet sentiment. You got to see people who cared and supported you, old faces, but it also brought back lots of unwelcome memories. Right now, you were huddled up in your lonely hotel room. It was fancy, basically a luxury one bedroom apartment. The tour budget had extra money for a nicer room since you were the only one needing to be housed on this stop.

You were laid out on the bed, the TV playing some random sitcom on low volume as background noise. You had been laying like this for at least an hour, staring into the void that is the golden lined ceiling. You let out a big sigh, and prop yourself up on your elbows. You glare at the TV, before caving in and grabbing the corded phone on the nightstand just left of you. You have his number memorized by now.

“Hello?” a raspy voice says.

“Eddie?” you ask a little confused.

“Superstar,” he says a bit more enthusiastically but still a bit groggy, “what’s up? Everything okay? How’s Seattle?” He asks, you can hear some shuffling around in the background. This is the point when you look over to the clock on the bedside table to your right. Your eyes widen.

“Oh my god. I am so sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was.” It was midnight, 3AM his time. He chuckles.

“And here I am thinking you just wanted to hear my sexy morning voice.” He teases. For the first time ever, you are so glad you weren’t seeing each other in person. Your face burned. “What’s got you up so late? Were you out partying like an animal?” He asks sarcastically. You scoff.

“Yeah, partying like the world’s ending.” You reply, equally sarcastic. “I’m sorry,” you apologize earnestly, “I just wanted to talk with you, but I should’ve looked at the time before calling. I’ll let you go back to bed. Sorry.” You say, almost hanging up.

“Woah there. Hold on, now. I was just taking a little nap.” He lies, “I’m up. Let’s talk.” He says, more shuffling could be heard, probably him sitting up. “What’s on your mind, princess?” He ask, making your heart jump. You honestly don’t have much energy to tease him over the pet name. You sigh.

“Well, being back here, it's just,” you pause, “It’s bringing back a lot of memories, a lot of emotions I thought I left behind. In all honesty, I’m struggling here a little, Eds.” You admit, a bit shaky. There’s a short pause on his end.

“You want to tell me about it?” He asks gently. You pause, thinking.

“I don’t know. I don’t wanna bore you back to sleep.” You joke, deflecting.

“I’m listening.” He says without missing a beat, stern yet comforting. You sign and lay back down on your back, staring up at the ceiling again. For a few breaths, all that could be heard was staged laughter and shitty sitcom jokes from the TV.

“I’m not originally from Haven.” you start. “Growing up, I bounced around a lot. Home to home, state to state, until I eventually went out completely on my own and just kind of landed in Haven when I was 15… When I got there, I spent an entire year by myself. I found this small, abandoned neighborhood on the outskirts of town. It was overgrown and pretty hidden, perfect for a runaway. I lived in the one house that still had most of its furniture and the least pests issues.” You chuckle. “I was getting so used to being by myself until one day I ran into this kid, this little girl with curly hair down to her knees. She didn’t look older than 12 years old, but she had flashy, bedazzled makeup and the cutest little sundress on.” You reminisce on the memory with a smile. “She was riding her bike around her trailer park and stopped when she saw me passing by. Told me her name was Marley, like Bob Marley. Said that her parents told her to always help someone who was in need, and told me that I looked like I needed a friend.” You laugh, hearing her childish voice clear as day in your mind. “Who knew that in that moment, my life would change forever. She would go on to introduce me to her parents, two hippies straight out the 70s, and her neighbor, this dark haired nerdy kid with glasses.” You couldn’t see it, but Eddie was smiling at your recounting of some sweet memories. “Charlie was so short back then. We’re the same age, but he didn’t even look older than Marley at that time. The little dweeb didn’t really hit puberty till we were 17.” You pause, smiling at the past. “Adam joined in after that, being somewhat of Charlie’s mentor and protector during the dork’s freshman year. We met Stacy when she was babysitting one of the other kids in the park. Adam had a crush on her from the start, but he was too shy. She knew, but she was playing hard to get.” You roll your eyes. “Somehow Rick weaseled his way to befriending Charlie, and the rest is history.” You pause, loads of memories of how far you’ve all come flashing in your mind all at once. You shake your head. “These are the memories I never want to forget. We built a family, you know? It's crazy to think about it. They’ve all been so important to me for so long that I forget I had a life before them.” You close your eyes.

“That’s beautiful, hun.” He says, sighing into the receiver.

“Yeah.” you say with a short laugh.

“But that’s not why you called me.” He says softly, knowing you have more to get off your chest.

“Yeah…” you trail.

“I’m here.” He says, trying to comfort best he could over the phone. You take a deep breath.

“Yeah,” you start back up, “good memories are not what I’m struggling with.” You clench your jaw, furrowing your brows in frustration. “Everything was going great after I met the band. We even became a damn near town legend. The satanic teens living out in the ghost town in the woods.” you state dramatically and laugh. “Everything was great, best I ever thought my life would get, until it got better.” A sad smile creeps into your face. “We used to hold ‘concerts’, if you could call them that, out in the woods. We called them ‘seances’, really leaning into the whole antichrist thing we had going on. We did it for three years. Some times we’d perform, other times we just threw parties. One day, Summer of ‘97, we were throwing an ‘End of Summer’ party. I met this girl.” you pause. “She was gorgeous. She had curly, blonde hair, big brown eyes, and this big, bucked tooth smile that lit up the world.” You smile the entire way, thinking back fondly, “She was so short and skinny and innocent looking. You would’ve never guessed she had such a powerful singing voice. She was perfect.” You sigh. “She was a theater kid with a dad who worked for this music production agency based in Seattle. She was insanely smart, and you could tell just by looking at her that she was really going places. That’s what really made her stand out from the hundred other kids there. She wore this oversized, black leather jacket, light wash jeans, and a hot pink top." Your eyes dance around the ceiling as you remember the details of that night. “Me being me. I toyed with her my entire performance. I was desperate to get her to notice me, but I wanted to play it off like she was just another pretty face in the crowd. I was really driving that heartbreaker thing I was going with.” You laugh. “I don’t know how, but my little facade worked. Turns out she had a little sister around Marley’s age, Peyton. Man, that little girl was a riot. She matched Marley’s wild energy perfectly… Somehow the stars aligned for my ratty ass, and I got the girl, against all odds.” you chuckle dryly. Your eyes begin to sadden as you pause, running through the end of that story. “I just… couldn’t keep her…” You feel your eyes begin to burn and your nose tickle. You huff a humorless laugh from your nose, shaking your head, frowning.

“You alright, hun?” Eddie breaks your silence. You breathe in sharply, getting your bad thoughts and pushing them aside.

“Yeah, I just… hm…” you sigh, trying to gather yourself. “Mariana.” You pause again, a name once so familiar, now almost feeling foreign on your tongue. “That was her name… She was someone I thought was going to be my forever person, you know… But things change. People. People… change. I was young and naive. I should’ve known better than anyone that things too good to be true don’t last, at least not for me. I feel so incredibly lucky I’ve even made it this far with the amazing people I have.”

“It’s not luck.” He interjects. “It’s talent. You deserve it.” He brings back, “Remember, that’s what you said to me when we first met.” he pauses, “People… People like us? We don’t get by on luck. We get by because we work for what we deserve. Sometimes, when we get what we’ve been aiming for, it doesn’t feel deserved. It feels like luck, but not this time. You are the reason for your success. You’ve earned it, babe. Don’t sell yourself short for that.” He speaks earnestly. You laugh.

“Maybe one day I’ll believe that, Eds. Things haven’t always been this high. I haven’t always done this well. I’ve fallen, Eddie, hard and flat on my face, and I’ve nearly fucked up everything for everyone else. I don’t know if I can confidently say I’m completely out of the pit, now, but I’m definitely not where I was. I’m glad you didn’t have to see me at my worst.” You confess. There’s a silence between you two. It doesn’t last long, but it lasts long enough for you to get nervous and doubt whether you should've said what you said.

“That don’t change my mind about you, kid.” Eddie’s voice rings through, determined. “You… I… You and I have more in common…” He sighs, trying to find the word. “Look, I get you. I see you. I hear you, and I will never judge you.” He says truthfully. “I’m here for you, always and forever. I hope you understand that.” You smile sadly. “I will always be there. I’m here to support your right and wrongs.” He jokes, bringing a small laugh out of you. “And I promise to be here for you whenever you need, whether that's a shoulder to cry on or an alibi.” He smiles through the phone.

“Oh my god, I didn’t kill anyone.” You interrupt, laughing.

“I’m just sayin’” He laughs back, “I got a shovel and a van whenever you need, babe.” You share a good laugh.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You continue as the laughter dies down, “Thank you, Eddie… really.” You pour out, hoping your sincerity and gratitude come through the phone clearly. He lets ou a soft chuckle.

“I gotchu.” He yawns out, causing you to yawn as well. He chuckles, “I think you should get some rest, superstar.” He says gently. You turn to look at the clock again, its passed 1AM. You sigh.

“Probably.” you yawn again. “I love talking with you, Eddie.” He smiles on the other end of the call.

“Me too. I was starting to get a little nervous there. Haven’t heard from you in a couple days.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. As soon as we got here, we performed, then after that, I went around with the band and saw old friends. Today was the first day I had to myself and it was really getting me down. Sorry, again, to call and wake you with blues.” You pout, he chuckles tiredly.

“No problem. I’m glad you called. Will you be there for much longer?”

“Well, this is our last stop on the tour. Final show is tomorrow… or tonight.” you correct. Eddie scoffs.

“You really need to rest then-”

“Yeah, I know. I know.” You cut in. “Hey, are you gonna be busy in three weeks?” There’s a pause.

“Uh… I don’t think so…?”

“Good, come out to New York to visit me. We can do some proper song writing, finally.”

“Oh, um, I don’t know about that, sweetheart.” He says. Your brows furrow. “I mean, I’m still job hunting and, you know, I gotta help Wayne out as best as I can, and I don’t know if I can make that trip happen.” He stumbles awkwardly.

“Nonsense. Just keep your schedule free, I gotchu.” You say, mimicking his words from earlier. You can’t see it, but his sleepy brain is struggling to pick up what you're putting down. “Get back to sleep, rockstar. I’ll talk to you later, alright?” Right on queue, he yawns. “Stop that!” you yawn back. He laughs.

“Alright, alright. Talk later.” He says with a smile.

“Bye, Eddie.”

“Bye, Superstar.”

》》》

Three days pass after your last conversation with Eddie. You had given Eddie a call the morning after your final show before you left your hotel. “Tour’s finally over! I’m flying back out to New York this afternoon.” You would tell him. You would talk for the entire morning until you received a knock on your door to let you know that the car was there to take you to the airport. You promised to call him when you got settled back home.

“You got mail, Ed!” Wayne called out to him from the living room. Eddie hops up from his desk and out of the stiff chair.

“Coming!” He swings open his door and walks down the hall to find Wayne in the kitchen sorting through envelopes.

“From someone named ‘Superstar’?” He says as Eddie grabs the envelope off the counter.

“Thanks, old man.” Eddie grins widely and walks to the living room, plopping down on the squeaky couch. He rips the envelope open with his dull pocket knife, flipping the envelope over and pulling out its contents. He stills in shock.

“Everything alright?” Wayne pipes up, realizing Eddie freezes. He holds up two plane tickets with his name on them and a thick paper check addressed to ‘Wayne Munson’. Wayne’s brows crease, enhancing the wrinkles on his forehead. “What’s that?”

“I gotta make a call.” Eddie says abruptly. He hops up off the couch and runs to his bedroom, half closing the door just as he picks up the phone, he pauses. “Shit!” He says as he realizes you’ve never called him from your house before. He doesn’t have your number. “Shit!”

“What?!” Wayne yells from the kitchen.

“Nothing-” he’s cut off by a ring. Eddie puts the headset down and picks it back up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Rockstar.” Your voice comes through the line. He yells your name. “What? You get your mail, finally?” He yells your name again, causing you to laugh.

“You couldn’t possibly be serious right now!” He yells into the headset, looking down at the mail in his hands.

“Don’t be mad, but I couldn’t just stand by as you and your uncle struggle. Plus, you promised to help me write this album. No take backsies.” Eddie is speechless, yet again. He says your name a bit softer this time.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything, just don’t miss your flight, pretty boy.” You say, smile evident in your worlds. He chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head.

“It’s already paid for. There’s no going back.” he said.

“Exactly.” You respond.

“Thank you, truly. I can’t thank you enough.”

“No need. I’m here for you just as you are here for me. I’m just grateful to be in a position where I can finally give back to those who give to me.” You say truthfully with a smile. Your smile is contagious through the phone, Eddie’s face breaks out in a huge smile. Wayne leans back curiously to get a glimpse at Eddie down the hall and through his cracked door. He gives Eddie a confused look. Eddie gave him an ‘okay’ sign with a big smile. Wayne nods, leaning back up and busying himself in the kitchen.

“You know, you’re too good to me, princess.” He chuckles. You giggle, blushing on the other end of the line. Eddie can almost see it.

“See you soon, pretty boy.” Eddie’s bright smile grows impossibly wider, hurting his cheeks.

“See you soon.” You both hang up at the same time. As soon as the phone is down, he jumps up and down like a madman, nearly hitting his head on the low ceilings in his room. He runs out of his room, startling his uncle at the burst of energy. Eddie hugs the older man in a big bear hug, grabbing his balding head and plants a kiss on the top of it. Wayne, completely bewildered, looks at Eddie like he’s grown two heads.

“Boy, what is going on?” He asks suspiciously. Eddie holds up the tickets and check for Wayne to get a good look at them. Wayne furrows his brows as he reads what's on the pieces of paper.

“I can’t accept this, Ed.”

“Listen, the angel who sent this to us is more stubborn than me, so you’ll have an easier time just taking the check and using it to pay those.” he points to the growing stack of overdue bills. Wayne looks back at the envelopes adorned with red writing. He sighs, giving in. Eddie hands him the check.

“If she’s as stubborn as you say, good luck.” He takes the check from Eddie’s hand and grabs his coat and keys, “I’ll be back.” He says before heading out. Eddie watches him leave through the screen door. As soon as he’s driven away, Eddie starts jumping up and down again, letting out a gleeful cheer.

“Thank you.” He says, giving a kiss to the plane tickets.

Life Eternal Taglist (OPEN): @ali-r3n @starmilks @madelynraemunson

Swisslist (General Taglist): @rosecentury @smashingmodels

[lifemod17]

Uhh ok so I've been seeing your Sleep token posts for a long time and I really wanna get into them so where should I start from?

Also they seem scarier than most rock bands I listen to so that's putting me a little bit off as well but they really do intrigue me and I want to start listening to them

Hi hello there friend!! Happy timezones to you ☺️

Sleep Token LOOKS scary what with their masks and cryptic messages, but I can assure you, they are just downright silly! I mean, the amount of fuckery these guys get up to... Just some of them right here via this wonderful post:

As for song suggestions:

As much of a basic answer as it is, The Summoning is a really good song to get a strong vibe of what the band is capable of in terms of versatility with their music!!

Another one I always recommend for those who want to get into ST is Rain! It's a lot more tame and just such an epic, feel good song to lose yourself in kinda trip

Of course they also have hauntingly beautiful, slow ballads, if you want a break from all the screamy scary

And the one I will never ever shut up about:

I HIGHLY ENCOURAGE watching the music video!!!

I hope this helps and that you'll like them!!

[quaranmine]

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Six)

Someone’s worried about Grian, and the Forest Service comes to collect Mumbo’s bike.

Chapter Six: 8,724

<< Chapter Five | Masterpost | Chapter Seven >>

The other half of the fifth chapter! I hope you enjoy this 1988 sequence especially, I was looking forward to it a lot (and it single handedly made the chapter so long it had to be split in two!)

No real CWs this time. I personally think that if you have made it this far then I don’t really have to warn you about the themes of loss and grief anymore, but just in case: yep, still very present.

November 20, 1988

It’s about noon on a Sunday, and Grian is…not doing much, actually. He has a thousand things he needs to do, ranging from cleaning out the refrigerator to trying to change his car’s oil to looking into a part-time second job, but instead he’s lying on the couch trying to watch TV.  Somewhere along the way he tuned out of the program and started staring at the ceiling instead, mentally tracing out the patterns in the spackle. 

The man on the drones on and on in the background, until he’s just part of it. Grian can feel himself starting to drift to sleep. 

Then the phone rings. 

Grian startles awake and sits up, scowling at it in the kitchen. He hasn’t the faintest idea who is calling him, other than maybe a telemarketer, but do those people work on Sunday? Well, perhaps they do. Everyone is home then, afterall. 

It rings twice more, so he gets up and answers the phone. “Hello?” he says. 

“Griba!” shouts a voice on the other end of the line. 

And–it’s a very familiar voice. 

“Pearl?” Grian says, just the slightest bit baffled. “Is that you?”

“Hi!” she says. “How are you doing? Are you busy?”

“I’m fine,” he says. “How are you? What do you need?”

“Can’t I just call to say hi?” Pearl asks. 

“Of course, but–”

“But the international rates?” Pearl says. Then she laughs. “Oh, shush, I know you were thinking about it.”

“Oh noooo,” Grian says. “I don’t care about that at all, we can talk as long as you like.”

 It’s a lie. He was definitely thinking about the international rates, and then immediately feeling bad about it because Pearl is a friend. He puts friends before money, of course, it’s just…well, it was expensive. But worth it! Pearl is Pearl. But every minute on the phone eats into his checkbook, and it’s hard not to think about. 

Pearl laughs again. “Well, I’m glad you don’t worry about that. Not that it matters anyway; this call is local.”

Local. Local?

“Huh?”

“Yeah, you were right Griba, I did need something when I called,” Pearl says. “Can you pick me up from the airport?”

Grian’s head is spinning. “You’re at the airport?” he says incredulously. “Like, in Colorado? In Denver? Right now?”

“Yep,” Pearl says. “And I need a ride. Well, I could go get a taxi somewhere. But I figured I’d ask my friend first. Are you busy?”

Yeah, busy falling asleep to daytime TV on the couch. “Um, no,” he says. 

“Great! I’ll see you there!” Pearl says. “Wait, how long will it take? I don’t know where you live, actually. Ooh, this is exciting! I’ll finally get to see your place.”

“Um, give me like half an hour and I’ll be there,” Grian says slowly. 

He and Pearl say their goodbyes for now, and after she hangs up he finds himself staring at the phone for several moments. What just happened? First of all, Pearl’s in Denver, apparently. Second of all, he did not know this was happening. Thirdly, his afternoon just got way more interesting.

He grabs his keys off the counter and makes his way downstairs. 

»»———-　　———-««

When he arrives at the airport, in the long line of cars waiting to pick people up and drop them off at the terminal, he does not expect to see Pearl waiting outside for him. Yet he picks her out instantly, a familiar face in a crowd of strangers. 

She’s bundled up in a black hoodie. The hood is up over her head, but he can see the long wavy tendrils of brown hair peeking out from behind it. Her hands are shoved in the hoodie’s pocket, and her nose is pink from the cold. When she exhales, he can see the faintest cloud of her breath. 

He can hardly remember being so happy to see someone before. The second he sees her face, any doubt or mild annoyance at her unexpected stay just melts away. 

He pulls his car up as close as he can to her, and throws it in park. She doesn’t know what car he’s driving, of course–she’s never visited him here. He leaps out and calls her name. 

“Pearl!” he shouts. 

She spins around and a grin breaks out on her face the moment she spots him. He races up to her on the curb and she throws her arms around him in a hug immediately. They cling to each other for a moment, before letting go. 

“Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” Pearl says.

“Oh, yeah,” Grian says. “A few years, right? Not since I’ve been here.”

“Ah!” Pearl squeaks. “I can’t wait to see it. I should’ve come for a visit so much sooner.”

Grian breathes a sigh, not of any annoyance or tiredness, but perhaps–of relief? Relief from what, he doesn’t quite know, but he’s so happy to see Pearl it’s like he can hardly speak. His breath clouds in front of him. 

“Let’s get you in the car,” he says. “It’s so cold out here, why weren’t you waiting inside?”

“Well, it might be cold out here,” Pearl says, attempting to pick up her bag. Grian steals it out from under her grasp before she can, though, so she just trails after him to the car. “But it certainly isn’t cold at home. It’s kind of nice, actually. Anyway, I wasn’t out here waiting the entire time, I just walked out a few minutes before you came.”

“Well, don’t freeze on me before you even get here,” Grian says. He loads her things in the car, and they hop in. He starts to navigate out of the airport traffic. “How long was that flight?” he asks. “I mean, I assume you flew in from Sydney.”

“Ugh, it was never ending!” Pearl says. “It was like 12 or 13 hours, and that only got me to Los Angeles. Then I had a connection here.” She glances at the clock on his dashboard. “Did you know it’s almost the same time I left?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah. I left around noon on the 20th. Then I landed and now it’s around noon on the 20th again.”

“Wow.”

“It feels like I got put in a time vortex or something and they zapped a whole day from me. And then I woke up and I’m repeating the day again.”

Grian side eyes her in the passenger seat. “Are you, perhaps, a little tired?”

“Exhausted.”

He smiles just a little. “I bet you’re hungry too,” he says. “Let’s get lunch on our way back to my apartment.”

»»———-　　———-««

They get lunch, and it’s great. They talk about various, mostly mundane things about their lives over the past few years. They’ve kept in touch ever since graduating university together, even as their lives diverged on totally different paths on totally different continents. But that was mostly just letters and phone calls. It’s entirely different to be face to face again. It’s so much better to be face to face again.

Grian asks about her career in Australia. “So, have you designed the next Sydney Opera House yet?” he teases. 

Pearl gasps in fake horror. “Of course not! There can’t be a ‘next’ Opera House, it’s iconic!”

“Eh,” Grian says. “I think you could come up with a cooler one.”

She rolls her eyes affectionately. “Alright, stop it.”

“I’m dead serious. I think you could make a better one.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Seriously though, I mostly just do office buildings.”

“Hm, well that’s boring,” Grian says and takes a sip of his water. “We for sure don’t need any more of those.”

“That’s what most of the work is,” she says. “Lots of new development to work on! So what have you been up to? Any interesting projects lately?”

Grian hesitates a bit in replying. The answer is no, of course. Pearl’s aware of his job from some of their previous communication in the past three years, but now that they’re sitting here face to face she clearly wants to hear all about it without the constraints of a phone call or letter. 

He just, well, has nothing to say. He hasn't even really received projects lately. 

He and Mumbo came to Colorado a little over two years ago after Mumbo was offered an engineering job in Denver. Grian had figured he might as well dust off his completely unused dual citizenship and follow him here–it’s not like it was even a difficult process for him. It was the perfect sort of adventure to follow up five years of intense schooling, and an interesting place to put his new skills to test. 

It had been that which enticed him to go with Mumbo. That, and the way his stomach had twisted when he thought about saying goodbye. They’d been inseparable for over a decade and Grian refused to accept a reality where his best friend lived so far away. Truthfully, Mumbo was a little apprehensive about moving to an entirely new country alone, so this had worked out perfectly. 

Grian would go with him. They’d split an apartment and get settled in for a while and experience life in a new country. Grian would finish the rest of his architecture field training in Colorado and finally get his license. Mumbo would work on creating machines and learn about computers. 

It was fine. It was fun. They had a good time–there were endless things to do, from skiing to hiking to rafting to biking. 

Then Mumbo went missing, and Grian was just…still here, but missing everything that was worthwhile. He was struggling. Not showing up to work. Getting demoted.

“I haven’t really had anything interesting to work on,” he says finally. “There was this one house–way too massive, really, and the owner could never really decide what he wanted but he wasn’t so bad. But then I had to leave to…” 

He trails off. Pearl glances at him and opens her mouth, but she rethinks it after a moment and shuts it again. She’s smart, and part of that intelligence is knowing when to not poke around. 

“Mostly they just have me working on codes and compliance right now,” he finishes quietly. 

It’s still an important part of the process, making sure that all of the projects are in alignment with local building codes. Sometimes it’s even frustrating, when he has to figure out things like getting a water line from whichever locality is closest for someone’s house perched high on a mountainside. 

But he doesn’t have any of his own clients anymore. He does work for his coworker’s projects. He doesn’t do any drafting. He doesn’t touch any blueprints. He doesn’t design anything. 

It’s not really the update that he wants to give Pearl. They met each other in university because they studied in the same architecture program. They spent long nights in the library together. He’s seen her rip up her papers in frustration when things weren’t working quite right, and she’s seen him start crying on the floor of her dorm room the night before a particularly major test. They graduated together. 

It just doesn’t look good. Of course, he knows Pearl very well. She isn’t going to think anything less of him. It’s more, well, himself that he has to worry about. 

Pearl purses her lips, and moves on. “Well,” she says, “that’s all very important. God knows we studied it enough. Don’t worry about projects, you’ll find some cool work soon.”

“As cool as office buildings?”

“With any luck, even better,” she says. 

“How long are you staying?” he asks, realizing he still doesn’t know. 

“Little over a week,” she responds. “I’m leaving next Monday.”

He frowns. “I probably have work, but maybe I can take off a morning to take you back to the airport–”

“I can survive in a taxi,” Pearl says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, you asked me to pick you up this time.”

“Mm, well, I wanted to see you,” she says, “and I had a feeling you weren’t going to be busy.”

He hates that she’s right, but only just a little. He’s sort of glad he wasn’t busy so that he could see her, since she’s apparently decided to drop this entire trip on him with no notice whatsoever. It does not miss him that she could have done this basically any weekend in the last several months and landed on a day where he wasn’t busy. 

“What are your plans for this week?” he asks.

“I want to see everything!” Pearl says, and stretches her arms wide to accommodate the words. She has to pull her arm back in quick, since she nearly smacks a waitress walking by. They both descend into laughter. 

“Pearl,” Grian hisses, “we’re in public!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she whispers. “I’m just so excited! I want to sightsee!”

Grian leans back in his chair and regards her with a critical eye. He’s smiling. “I don’t know if a week is enough to see everything,” he says. 

“I am going to do my best,” she says, mock-serious. 

It suddenly hits Grian. “Wait,” he groans. “I seriously have to work tomorrow. And Tuesday. I could ask off, but…” He winces as he trails off. “I kind of have a track record with my boss and I don’t think he really appreciates me calling out last minute.”

“That’s fine,” Pearl says. “What? I know I came here without telling you but it’s not like I wasn’t prepared to take care of myself. I’ll just see some things on my own.”

Grian nods. “I have a half-day on Wednesday,” he says, “but I think he’d be more amenable to letting me have that as a full day. Then Thursday’s off for Thanksgiving, and Friday too. Then of course the weekend.”

Pearl looks self-satisfied. “Good. I meant to plan it that way so you’d have a little time off.”

“So what do you want to do?” he asks. “One of them, I guess, since everything’s on the table.”

Pearl leans closer to him across the table. “Please,” she says. “I want to go skiing. I’ve never been skiing. Can we please go skiing? Please?”

Grian laughs again at the face she’s making. She’s so dead serious in her begging. “I’ll call around and see if any places are open. As you can see, we don’t have any snow around here right now. But further up into the actual mountains probably does.”

“Eee!” Pearl squeaks in excitement. “I’m so ready.”

“Oh?” Grian says. “I will literally bet you on how many times you fall.”

“I’ll take your money,” she says. “I’ll be the greatest first-time skier there ever was.”

“You will fall on your butt no less than a dozen times,” he shoots back. 

They continue talking for a while, back and forth. Pearl tells him about various stories and adventures from Australia. She begs him to come visit–she came here, so now it’s his turn to come to her. Maybe next summer, when it’ll be cooler in Australia and hotter down here. 

She’s obviously prepared for their trip and seeing him again, because she’s also brought photos to share with him. He looks through a few photos of what her house looks like, what a few buildings she’s worked on looks like, a picture of her by the ocean (she says he can keep that one, as long as she gets to go home with a photo of him), and even the two cats she has adopted. 

They get the check–Grian pays for the whole thing without blinking–and head back to his apartment.

They’re discussing sleeping arrangements as they walk up Grian’s stairwell. He has his keys out already, and they clang a little step-by-step. 

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he declares. “End of story.”

“But,” she says, “I’ll feel so bad taking your bed from you.”

“You’re a guest!” he says. “I’m not letting you sleep for a week on the couch! You can take my bed.”

Neither of them mention that there’s a third option. Or really a fourth, because Pearl could always get a hotel room if it didn't work out, but she had asked to stay with him. She must have spent so much on flights already, it was the least he could do. 

So there’s really only three options, and only two are being discussed. The apartment is a two bedroom. Mumbo’s room has sat empty for five months now, completely untouched. But that room isn’t up for grabs–it’s a time capsule, frozen from the moment he left it. Grian doesn’t mention it. Pearl is smart enough to not ask about it. 

“Ugh, fine,” Pearl says, rolling her eyes. “I guess I’ll take your room. If you make me. I still feel like it’s weird though.”

Grian freezes on the top step, and Pearl nearly bumps into him. “Oh no,” he mumbles. “My apartment is–Pearl, listen, I didn’t know you were coming, so I didn’t really take a chance to clean up anything, so it’s definitely a little messy in here, and–”

She cuts him off, voice bright. “So what I’m hearing is the couch might be better than your room?”

“No, ugh, I’m just saying I’m sorry that this place looks so bad.” He sighs. 

“I get it,” she says. “Don’t worry.”

“It’s not how I wanted it to be,” he says softly, and slots the key into the handle. “Just let me work on it, I’ll get it fixed up.”

They go into the apartment. Really, it isn’t that bad, but he’s embarrassed about it nonetheless. It isn’t filthy or grimy, it’s just cluttered. He’s always been a cluttered person. There’s stuff lying randomly about, like the somewhat muddy shoes by the door, the jackets shed across chairs, or the laundry basket of unfolded clothes sitting on a dining room chair. At least three random empty drinking glasses are sitting on the coffee table in the living room. And, well, he could have probably bothered to do the dishes from the last three days, but there’s only one of him and he doesn’t cook much, so really it isn’t very much even if it looks bad.

Everything in here would be so fast to clean up, but whenever he tries it feels like an insurmountable barrier. He does things a little at a time, so that it never gets too out of hand, but he can’t remember the last time it looked good. It’s just something that’s continually slipping further and further away. It feels like one day he’ll wake up and it will finally be completely out of control. 

Pearl doesn’t say anything. She just walks in and drops her bags–which she had insisted on carrying since he insisted on paying for lunch–on the floor and puts her hands on her hips. “This is a cute place,” she says. “I like the lighting from the windows. And you’ve got a view of the mountains!”

“It’s cute when it’s clean,” he mutters. It’s like he knows how to be ashamed of how the place looks, but not how to do anything about it. He’s got the external motivation of another human being seeing it now though, and he’s itching to work and hide everything here.

Maybe it’s concerning that his main motivation after months on end is just so that he can hide. This thought does not cross his mind, because the sort of people who hide things from others are fantastic at hiding things from themselves, too. 

“I saw your dorm room in university,” she reminds him. “You can’t seriously think I wasn’t prepared for your clutter.”

“This is worse,” Grian groans. 

“Eh, not really,” Pearl says. “I think you’re doing well, all things considered.”

All things considered. Grian bites his lip. It’s nice that she thinks so. He isn’t sure where she got that impression, but if he can spend the rest of the week cultivating it then maybe she’ll stop worrying. 

She walks over to the laundry basket on the chair. “Is this clean?” she asks. 

“Yes, of course,” he responds, and he wants to add “I’m not that bad" to the end of the statement until he remembers the floor of his bedroom, which is exactly “that bad.” 

“Great!” she says. And then she sits down. And starts folding it.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and snatches the basket away from her. “You’re a guest! You’re on vacation! Don’t be doing that?”

Pearl frowns. “Um,” she says. “Just helping?”

“I don’t need you to help,” he says, and it comes out a bit harsher than intended. “Just, like, go relax or something. Take a nap. I know you’re exhausted.”

A brief look of hurt flashes over her face, and vanishes almost as quickly as it arrives. “Grian?” she asks. “What do you think I’m here for?”

“To see me?” he says, confused. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Of course it’s to see you, I missed you. But also to help.”

“I missed you too,” he says automatically, but when the rest of the sentence catches up to him he shakes his head. “I don’t need help.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t? Then why can nobody get a hold of you, Grian? Why does your apartment look like this? Why do you deflect phone calls and make excuses? We’re all worried about you, you know. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“We?” Grian says. “You’re talking about me behind my back? Who’s we?”

“Well, we wouldn’t be talking behind your back if you talked to us,” Pearl replies, matter-of-fact. “And the ‘we’ is your friends. Your family, Grian.”

“I’m fine,” he snaps. “I’m sorry to have you worried but you don’t need to be.”

“You don’t get to try that on me,” Pearl says firmly. “I know you too well.”

“Maybe that’s why I don’t talk to you,” he says. 

Pearl looks back at him, for a long time. He doesn’t return her eye contact, and instead begins to pick up the glasses from the coffee to take them into the kitchen. He knows looking at her will just make him sad. He also knows that he really, really wants to look back at her. 

He misses her so hard it hurts. Mumbo hasn’t come back, but she did. She was never really missing, though–just separated far, far, away by circumstance. 

She takes a deep breath. “Well. Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you I was coming.”

He says nothing, and turns on the tap. It’ll take a moment for the water to heat up. 

“You always try to hide,” she says. She picks up another item out of the basket and begins to fold it. “But you can’t hide if you didn’t expect me to come.”

She reads him like a book every time. It was a definite contributing factor to their friendship–they’d clicked fast and gotten very close in university. They understood each other well, and shared not only the same area of study but also the same ideas about pulling mischief on campus. There used to be a point in time where her reading him like a book served both of them well, but not today. 

“I told you to stop folding that,” Grian says.

Pearl drops it with a huff. “No,” she says. “I’m not going to stop. You said I was the guest, right? Guests get to do what they want. And maybe I want to help you clean up.”

He finally turns to look at her. Her blue eyes are wide and just the slightest bit watery. He’s done that–he’s been the one to make her that worried. He turns back to the sink. 

“Okay,” he says quietly, words almost lost in the water running into the sink. He says okay because he can’t imagine even trying to fight her on this. “We can work on it together.”

»»———-　　———-««

The cleaning goes well, up until it doesn’t.

“Grian, what is this?” Pearl says from the other room, loudly. She’s finished folding his things and has fortunately just left them all in the basket for him to put up himself, declining to go rifling through his dresser and closet. The next task she has taken upon herself has apparently been working through the clutter in the living room area, which is always a dangerous place.

Grian sticks his head around the corner from the kitchen. He’s finished doing the dishes, and is just drying them off now to put in the cabinet. “Let me see,” he says. 

She turns around and Grian’s heart sinks immediately. She’s standing by his desk, the nice one by the window that he always liked to sit and draft at. She’s holding a few pieces of paper that Grian really didn’t mean to leave out. Because he definitely did leave them out–Pearl is nosy, and she’ll fly all the way across the world to drop in uninvited, but she isn’t the kind of person who goes through drawers. 

But he did just say she was nosy. Nosy enough to read something he left out. 

He drops the dish towel. “Give me those,” he says, and crosses the living room to the corner she’s in. He tries to snatch it out of her hand.

“Nope, not so fast,” she says, and holds them higher, squinting at them so she can read. Grian is, at this moment, extremely annoyed that she is so much taller than he is. He can’t quite grab them out of her hand. 

“Pearl,” he whines. 

“Shh, I’m reading.” Her eyes widen, and she looks back at Grian. He feels the slightest bit locked in her gaze’s intensity. It’s equal parts scrutinizing and empathetic. Like she feels bad for him, but is also a little disappointed. “Are these late notices?”

She files through them one by one. Grian cringes. He’d rather melt into the floor than be here. “Most of them are already paid,” he says feebly. 

“Most of them?” she looks back at him. Her brows are knit up, and it creases her forehead.

“I, uh, get paid this week,” he says. This is another lie. He gets paid at the end of the month, but she doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t seem fully convinced, but she hands them back to him and he takes them from her so sharply he almost tears the paper. He puts them in the drawer and slams it shut. It rattles the whole desk.

“The top one was about your credit card payment,” she says slowly, as if she’s halfway between deciding whether to say something and not, but was already saying it before she could finish the debate. 

Grian fixes her with a glare and she wilts under it, immediately looking away. He shoves his hands behind his back, because suddenly they seem shaky. His chest is tight, and his jaw is set, and–he’s angry. He’s so, so angry, and it feels like it’s burning him up, white-hot. 

“Why did you read those?” he demands. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to find it, it was just laying on the desk–”

“You could have ignored it.” 

Pearl crosses her arms. He’s activated her fight mode, and he rarely does well against her when she tries to be stubborn. 

“I’m just worried about you,” she says. 

Grian shakes his head. “I can’t with you right now,” he says. His tone is icy even while his whole body feels hot. “They were laying on the desk because I didn’t expect to have any guests.” 

He turns away from her and walks partway across the living room floor toward the kitchen, and then whirls around again. “You’re just..showing up uninvited, messing with my stuff, reading my mail? Is that where we are now?” his voice cracks a little on the last time. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you in three years and this is where we’re at now?”

Pearl takes a breath. “I just wanted to help,” she says. It falls flat. 

“It isn’t your business.”

“You never said you needed money.”

“Because it isn’t your business.” He enunciates every syllable clearly. 

She runs a hand through her hair in a nervous, agitated gesture. “None of know what’s going on with you, Grian,” she says. “We didn’t know about this, so what else don’t we know about?”

He doesn’t answer. 

“Okay, fine,” she says desperately. “This wasn’t my business. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked at it. But I meant what I said, okay? We don’t know anything about what’s going on with you!”

“There’s the ‘we’ again,” he says. 

She shakes her head, incredulous. “Do I have to literally spell it out for you? Did you forget our names when you moved to America? It’s Jimmy, and Joel, and Martyn, and Netty, and Lizzie. It’s your mom. It’s Mumbo’s parents.” She pauses for just a moment, taking in a short, if slightly hysterical, breath. “It’s me.”

He doesn’t want to hear their names again. He misses them enough already. 

“I’ve talked to them,” he says instead. Simple.

Pearl throws her arms in the air. “For hardly more than five minutes!”

“Well,” he says, with a bitter laugh, “you certainly know I don’t have the money for long-distance calls.”

“I guess I walked into that one,” she says. She stops, but there’s a funny look on her face that keeps Grian quiet. He’s still standing a few feet away from her after he walked off earlier. Her face scrunches up, like she’s trying not to cry, and after another moment she speaks softly: “Mumbo was my friend too, you know.”

It’s soft, but it still hits Grian like a ton of bricks. 

She continues, and doesn’t look him in the eye. “I know he was your friend first, but I cared about him too. We all did.” Suddenly she’s crossing the floor toward him again, closing the distance he had put between them. “But it almost hurts just as bad to know you’re still out here alone. And that you aren’t okay.”

Grian swallows back against the lump that is rapidly forming in his throat. “I’m fine,” he whispers. 

“I don’t believe you,” she says. 

“I’m fine,” he insists. 

“You need to go home to visit,” Pearl says. “Even just for the holidays. Please. Everybody’s worried about you.” She huffs a small little laugh. “They’re all worried and then they’re calling me because they think I know what’s going on. Because I always used to know what was going on with you. And then I have to tell them I don’t know either.”

Grian doesn’t respond.

“They’d be so happy, you know,” Pearl says. “To see you.”

“I’d never come back,” Grian mumbles. “If I went.”

“What?”

“They wouldn’t let me leave,” he says, stronger. “If I went home they wouldn’t let go.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Pearl asks.

Grian shakes his head like he’s breaking free of her request. “I have to stay here, because Mumbo is here.”

Pearl blinks, and then sighs. “Okay. I still think you should visit, though.”

Her eyes drift away from his face and over to the hallway behind him, the one all the bedrooms and bathrooms break off of. She speaks again sharply. “The money problem, it’s because of Mumbo isn’t it? You used to split all of the rent and stuff because he was your roommate. But now it’s all on you.”

“Something like that,” Grian admits, and it feels like he’s speaking around a block sitting in his mouth.

Their apartment is nice. Not luxurious by any means, but still a decent place to live. His neighbor down the hall yells at him sometimes if he comes back home too late and their door used to slam unpredictably until the landlord finally fixed it months later, but isn’t that all just everyday woes of having an apartment? 

The apartment is nice, but it was never meant to be paid for by one person. Well, maybe a well-paid person. It’s not like his landlord wouldn’t have rented it out to a single person if they could pay. But Grian had never planned to pay for it by himself. And while architecture could be a well-paying job, he was very much still at the entry level. He’d only barely gotten his license after years of schooling and on-site training. 

And then he’d gotten demoted for not showing up. The demotion wasn’t in job duties only, as he’d discovered on his very next paycheck. 

So now he does what he can. He pays the major, important things first. Sometimes they’re a little late, depending on if his check has hit his bank account yet, but it gets done. He starts to depend more and more on his credit card for other things. He pays his minimum payment every month but he doesn’t feel good about watching it accrue. 

“I can help you pay it off-” Pearl starts to say. 

“No,” Grian says. “You aren’t doing that.”

“I can help you pay it off,” Pearl repeats stubbornly. “But Griba, if you can’t afford this place by yourself, you need to just move to someplace else. Smaller. Cheaper.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he says. 

She tilts her head, expression gentle in a way that makes him instinctively recoil. “You can’t keep living here if you can’t pay. This is bad.”

“It’s okay,” he says distantly. “It’s only temporary.”

Pearl pauses. She has a horrible look on her face, so Grian looks away from her instead. “Temporary?” she asks. The word is tentative.

“Until Mumbo gets back,” he says. He grabs her hand, and pulls it closer to him, feeling suddenly like it’s very important that she hears him and understands this. “I can’t leave,” he says earnestly. “All of his stuff his here. It’s his home too.”

Pearl’s eyes are wide. “I can help you pack it,” she says. “You don’t even have to mess with it, or look at it, I can do that for you.”

He drops her hand. “No,” he says, baffled. “I’m not moving anything of his out of here. When they find him, he deserves to actually come home. He can’t come back to a strange place!”

Pearl squeezes her eyes shut. “Griba, please,” she says. He notices all at once that she’s brought his nickname out these past few times, which is a fact that should be comforting but instead starts to set off alarm bells in his head. 

“I’m not moving, and that’s final,” he says. “I’m not going to abandon him.”

“You’re not abandoning him, you’re just…”

“Just what?”

“Being smart.”

It hurts Grian. “He deserves to come home,” he bites. “I don’t care if it isn’t the smart thing to do, it’s the right thing to do.”

Pearl backs up. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.” She takes a deep breath and exhales long and slow. “You’ll stay. I’ll just help you then, yeah? Bills, cleaning, everything else…”

She turns away from him, and starts picking up various items once more to organize them. “I’ll just help,” she repeats.

She wanders around the room. She’s not getting much done, but she looks busy, inspecting everything around her for one more easy thing to do. Grian just stands in the middle of the room stock still, and both says and does nothing. 

Pearl continues to busy herself for a few minutes before grinding to a halt again. “Griba?” she asks, and Grian turns to her again as an answer. “You do have other people to talk to, right? People who live here?”

It’s a valid question. It’s a hard question. 

“Of course,” he says. 

“Stop lying to me,” she pleads. “I already told you I know you too well.”

He swallows hard. “I have people,” he defends. “Had people.”

It’s just that–it was difficult, after Mumbo disappeared. The new friends that Grian and Mumbo had made, they had mostly made as a pair. They each knew a few people from work, but nobody to really hang out with. So most of the friends they met were people they met while doing an activity together some weekend or evening after work. 

So the new friends missed Mumbo too, when they heard about what happened. But they didn’t know Grian the way Mumbo did, or the way Jimmy or Joel or Martyn or Netty or Lizzie or Pearl did. They knew Grian as one half of a pair who was missing his other half. And Grian didn’t know how to interact with them alone. He didn’t know how to go to them for help when they’d barely been in his life for a few months or a year or two. 

There’s layers to friendships, everybody knows that. None of the people Grian had met in Colorado had made it to the layer where he could talk to him. They were nice people. They wanted to help. Grian didn’t know how to let them. 

So he withdrew. 

“You had people. But not anymore?” Pearl asks. 

“I didn’t know them very well,” is all he says. 

Her expression breaks again. Grian has to stop doing that. “But you know us and you still don’t talk to us.”

“I just want to be alone,” Grian says. “Please, it isn’t personal. I just want to be alone.”

“I guess you’ll have to suck it up,” Pearl says. “Because I’m staying here for a week. And I will drag you outside to go skiing with me. I’m going to make you leave this house and we’re going to have fun together. Because I think you need that. And so do I.”

He turns and stalks back into the kitchen. He’s flipping between so many emotions that he doesn’t know which to settle on, so he seeks out something to busy his hands with instead: the dishes on the counter that still have to be dried. 

If he stays in the living room, he might start arguing with her more. He might say something that will make her not want to visit again. 

He’s angry at Pearl. Furious, even. Offended. He could look past her coming unannounced to visit, but the whole thing seems like a plot now. She’s got ulterior motives. She’s purposefully trying to catch him unaware and sneak past all his guard walls. She’s snooping through his things–his mail. It makes his spine crawl to think about. She’s literally trying to get him to move, even though she’s barely been in the state of Colorado for three hours, and even though it means Grian would have to disturb Mumbo’s belongings. 

And still there’s another part of him that just really, really wants to go skiing with her. 

Because–he misses her. He cares about her. And he misses even the simplest things, like getting out of the house to go do something with a friend. It’s just the littlest piece of normalcy. 

So he dries the dishes, and she finishes up in the living room. Then he goes to his bedroom and starts working there–without her, because he doesn’t want her in the room until he’s made it look nice. Safe, even. Clear of any items that could incriminate him in anything at all. The sheer irritation of the afternoon fuels him harder than anything in months, and he finishes the task even quicker than expected, his movements stiff and jerky with anger. 

On one of his trips back and forth to put things back where they need to go, he spots her sitting at his desk. She looks a little sad, staring at the pattern of the wood grain instead of the pretty view outside. He ignores her and goes back to work. 

They exist like this in silence, for a little over an hour. 

Then Grian walks back into the living room, picks up the phone book from the shelf, and sits down at the table by the kitchen where the phone is. 

Pearl whirls around and he can feel her watching him with intense eyes. “Griba, I…” she trails off. “I wanted to say I’m sorry again. I shouldn’t have pressed you like that. I shouldn’t have looked at your bills. And I shouldn’t have come here without telling you.”

Grian just nods slightly. “Yeah.” He flips through some more pages. He doesn’t say anything else to her, just continues on his search. 

She cocks her head slightly. “What are you doing?” she asks. 

“Trying to find a ski resort to call,” he says with a weak smile. “Because I still really want you to drag me out skiing with you.”

»»———-　　———-««

June 1989

It’s two days later when a pair of rangers come to collect Mumbo’s bike. 

They ask him if he has everything he needs, or if he has any requests for supplies that they can pass on to the main office. So Grian takes the first opportunity to ask them about the Cloud Lake Trail, and if it was really closed last season. 

It’s then that he realizes that these two probably aren’t actually rangers at all. They may be dressed in uniform, but they’re just a couple kids several years younger than Grian is. They want to be helpful so earnestly, and their disappointment is clear when they can’t answer his question.  

They inform him that it’s their first season working here, so they’re not exactly sure about what the Cloud Lake Trail was like last year, but that it’s open right now if he’s interested in it! Grian realizes that they’re a couple of seasonal workers just like he is, except they’re on summer break from college and Grian’s floundering on the cusp of his 30s. 

They’re friendly. Grian tries his best to match the energy, for the sake of politeness.

He asks them what the plan is about Mumbo’s case, and doesn’t really expect much. Apparently, there’s a bit of gossip about the case around the ranger’s office, so they do know a little. The plan seems to be to conduct a few aerial searches of the area the bike was found in with a helicopter. They also told him he could expect a more detailed phone call soon from the main office. 

That’s a little amusing to Grian, given his tower does not have a phone line. 

He bids them farewell at midday and watches them disappear into the woods. Then, he decides it’s about time for lunch. He takes an hour, locks up the cabin behind him, and heads to a rocky outcropping he knows nearby to the tower. 

It’s a beautiful spot to sit and stay a while, and a good vantage point into a little valley. Grian sits on a boulder and finishes his lunch, and tries to think about things that aren’t so negative for once. 

He’s so used to looking. Looking for fires, looking for helicopters, looking for storms, looking for lightning, looking for Mumbo. It’s what he’s good at, so he tries to challenge himself to look at something else for once. 

A few feet from him, there’s a small stand of light purple flowers with narrow, silvery green leaves growing. They’re snagging their spot in the ground amidst the surrounding rock. One of the features of his tower is a somewhat excessive amount of posters left there from years past, most of which were fire, forest, rock, or plant related. Grian thinks he’s seen this little plant several times before. He’s watched it spread from just a few sprouts in May to coating the meadows in a wash of purple the past few weeks. 

It’s a lupine. Growing alone, but steadily. 

He looks more into the mini valley below. It’s not so much a vast sweeping valley as it is a wide little canyon for the stream that flows at the bottom. It’s fascinating to look at though. To think how long it might have taken for that little body of water to have carved it down like this. There’s some small rocky cliffs along the edges in some places, and he can see the darker parts of the rocks where the water pours off during a storm. 

It’s as quiet as the forest can be. Which, in the summertime, isn’t very quiet at all. There’s cicadas buzzing all around him right now. That was something new for Grian ever since he moved–they didn’t have cicadas in England. But as loud as they are, it’s a pleasant background noise he’s become adjusted to. 

He leans back on the rock and stares into the sky for a bit, watching the handful of clouds that there are today drift along. There’s a hawk or an eagle or something flying high up there too, gliding effortlessly along the air currents. He watches it for a while. 

When Grian’s hour is up, he gathers his things, and walks back to the tower. 

Scar calls him on the way. 

“Are you there, G-man?” he asks. 

Grian pulls out his radio from his pocket. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I am. Some kids came and took Mumbo’s bike away earlier.”

“Yeah?” Scar says. “How was that? What did they say?”

“They didn’t know much,” Grian says. “A couple of seasonal workers. But it’s fine, I guess. I know the main office will be looking into this again. They told me there might be some aerial searches in the future. I just wish it was higher on the priority list, I guess.”

“Well, they have their priorities and we have ours,” Scar declares. “But I think I can shed a little light on it, maybe. I spent most of the morning on the phone.”

It’s kind, what Scar is doing for him. That Scar is helping him like this at all, not even accounting for spending time scouring his notes from the prior season or spending all morning on the phone. Grian needs to thank him, or convey his appreciation somehow, or apologize for snapping at him so much, but instead all he says is: “What did you find?”

“I wish I had better news,” Scar says. 

Grian locks away the part of him that is always stabbed with instant anxiety over statements like that. He takes it, locks it away, and smooths it over. He’s walking on the trail back to the lookout right now, one foot in front of the other. He can handle just another conversation. 

“Well, I seem to always be lacking in good news,” Grian jokes lightly. “So just give me what you got.”

“I talked to a friend in the main office, she’s really sweet. She went to pull the records for me.”

“They’re still on file? Good.”

“Everything’s on file, Grian,” Scar says. “The government will keep an old shoe for a decade if they think it’s a record, let alone anything that relates to an open case.”

Grian grimaces a little. “Well, go on then.”

“She found his backcountry permit information from last year. And…” Scar trails off for a bit. “He’s permitted for Cloud Lake Trail. He even had designated camping spots, she even told me which ones.”

“So the trail was open?” Grian says. 

“Not exactly,” Scar says. “The trail was closed.”

“What?” Grian says. “They permitted him for a closed trail?”

“Apparently?” Scar says. “That’s what I got.”

“Why?”

“I wish I knew.”

“What else did she say? Who issued the permit?”

“She didn’t say anything else, so I don’t know. I’ve never worked in the main office. I don’t think she was even supposed to tell me that, honestly, but we’ve always got along pretty good since she started working here.”

“Right,” Grian says. “You’re not an information wizard…”

“I have no more information to give, unfortunately,” Scar says. “I am a wizard, though.”

“You are not a wizard.”

“I’m many things, Grian. You’re just a nonbeliever.”

Grian just shakes his head at that, leaving that thread of the conversation behind. There’s just so many questions that keep coming up. 

“So we can agree he was on Cloud Lake,” Grian says. “Right? Regardless of all that, we can assume this right? He told me he was going there, his car was there, he was permitted for it, and someone said they saw him there. So he was there, right? We searched there, and he was there.”

But…

“It seems likely,” Scar says. “At one point, at least.”

“But then someone found his bike over on Pinnacles. How did it get there? Did he go there for some reason?”

“There isn’t an official trail that connects Cloud Lake and Pinnacles. It’s not a loop or a network or anything. Maybe he could have found a way between them or went on an unofficial side trail. There’s a lot of things that look like they could be a trail that aren’t really trails.”

“No,” Grian says. “He knows better than to take an unmarked trail. He said he was getting maps at the office when he got his permit too, so he would have known where the trails were. He wouldn’t have done that.”

“Grian.” 

Just his name, the weight it holds, and nothing else.

Grian’s face crumples a bit. He doesn’t want to admit it. It hurts to admit it.  “Okay, fine!” he cries. “Maybe he did go off-trail, maybe he did make a mistake, whatever. But it’s not his fault if something bad happened, okay? It isn’t.”

There’s another option to all of this that Grian hasn’t said out loud yet. He’s been thinking it off and on though for a long time, as he tries to fit these pieces into the larger puzzle. Nobody had any reason to think about foul play but him. There’s no evidence. But what other evidence do they have?

He went camping. He went missing. The search failed. Some of his belongings were found in the wrong place. 

And that is, essentially, it. 

“Do you think what happened to him…” he trails off. “Do you think it could have been someone else?”

Maybe Mumbo never did make a mistake. Maybe he was exactly where he was supposed to be, sans closed trail, and there was just something else that got in the way. 

“Someone else?” Scar says, tentatively. 

“Do you think someone out there might have taken him? Hurt him?” Grian is back at the base of his tower now, and he looks up at its spiraling staircase. He begins to take the steps one by one, watching as the horizon slowly inches into view as he climbs above the trees. “Did someone steal his bike? Is that why it’s somewhere else?”

“I…” Scar trails off. “I guess we don’t know if something like that happened. G, there’s a lot of ways someone can get in trouble back here.”

“And one of them could have been someone else,” Grian says. “Doesn’t this connect some of the dots, Scar? So much of this doesn’t make sense, but if someone else was involved, couldn’t that answer some of these questions?”

But the words hang heavier in the air now that he’s spoken to them. 

If Mumbo had just gotten lost, or injured, or something else while alone in the woods, Grian has some hope of saving him. Mumbo is blindingly smart, with an engineer’s eye for designing devices and contraptions. He could be okay. He’s a little lost, but Grian can find him. 

But if Mumbo’s incident was linked to another person, the odds in Grian’s mind plummet. If Mumbo ran into someone bad at some point during his trip, would he have escaped that confrontation? If someone had decided to hurt him, or take him, or rob him, or whatever–then Mumbo’s continued absence just looms more and more ominously. 

Would he make it out of something like that? Would he survive it? 

Grian reaches the top of his tower. If he looks straight through the windows of his cabin and out the other side, he can see Scar’s little cabin far in the distance. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But I don’t think I want to talk about this anymore. Thank you for the new information though.”

He turns his radio off and goes inside. He spends the rest of his work day in silence, watching the smoke twist in the air. 

<< Chapter Five | Masterpost | Chapter Seven >>