#i was sort of joking but sort of not. seeing that email on top of leaving work early to run home was too much for my brain in that moment.

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

You know how we joke about the array being like a group chat or social media? Well imagine if prayers went into a sort of heavenly email inbox. And when Xie Lian ascends for the third time, he expects his to be empty aside from the occasional spam from someone trying to schmooze up to every god they can think of, or the sadder chain emails from people desperate for help from anywhere.

Instead, he opens it and finds thousands upon thousands of prayers dating back throughout the entirety of his banishment, all from the same untraceable source. He opens random ones. Some are sweet little things, "Your Highness, wherever you are tonight, I hope you sleep well."

Others are more complex, "Your Highness, I find myself in a position where I must either seize power myself or risk it falling into other, more wicked hands. My own hands will inevitably be dirtied by wielding that power, but would they not be just as tainted if I did nothing, and let worse things happen? I know what I will choose, but I still wonder what you would do in my place."

Others still make him blush tomato red up to the tops of his ears, trailing babble still imbued with frantic eroticism and clearly never meant to actually reach him, cutting in and out like a poorly tuned radio as the devotee tries to keep thoughts from becoming prayers, panted strings of "Your Highness, Your Highness, please please please..."

The prayers date back to a few years after his second banishment, which makes sense because his inbox had been wiped when he was banished. He's surprised it's been allowed to gather all of this since: he supposes it's just that no one has even thought to notice. The centuries the prayers span makes it clear they do not come from a human, which is confusing and intriguing in equal measure.

And then, early on, he finds one that makes his heart stop and then take off again at a gallop.

"None of them are quite right, Your Highness. If I carve a thousand, ten thousand, will I eventually get it right? Will I ever be able to capture the kindness and the ferocity you radiate in something as base and cold as stone? I'll keep trying forever, or until I can see you again in the flesh. Your Highness has a believer here who still offers worship."

And that is how Xie Lian realizes that Wu Ming still exists.

(Insert long canon-divergent AU I'm too lazy to write here. I think there needs to be some kooky misunderstandings. Xie Lian is now aware that Wu Ming is out there and loves him and is looking for him and is so distracted by his determination to find him that it takes him 600k words of stubbornly denying his growing affection for Hua Cheng before he finally realizes Hua Cheng IS Wu Ming and has been desperately trying to court him for several volumes.)

[ghouljams]

Popping in to say your sandwich mafia au has got me really into sandwiches and I'm proud to report that for the first time in nearly a decade I'm not as scared or anxious to eat bread (in a homemade sandwich situation). The ED don't like bread, but I want to experience Simon’s sandwiches, so thank you dearly for your writing and the homemade reuban I'm gonna enjoy while reading your series 💜

As someone who has also struggled with an ED, WAY TO GO!!! We take every victory that comes to us even if that victory is a sandwich(good choice with the reuban btw those are my favorite). Here's some fic for you, as a little treat. Ghost being nice.

-

"I don't mean to be asking questions-" You start.

"But you're gonna push past the discomfort," "Simon" raises a brow, there's no danger in his eyes, just a sudden wariness that makes you feel a bit off balance. You expected his guard to raise immediately. You must not register as much of a problem, or he figures you're smart enough to know what not to ask.

"What are you doing running a sandwich shop?" You wave your hand to indicate his... everything. Not exactly what you think of when you think of a restaurant owner. A hit man maybe, but not a restaurant owner.

"I like food." Simon answers plainly. It's so simple it takes you by surprise.

"Oh."

"Sorry ta disappoint, no sob story here." He shrugs, "Why d'you come in here?"

Question for a question you suppose. "Food's good," You shrug, "and cheap. It's hard out there." You mean it to come off as a joke but you feel sort of pathetic telling a mobster that you're underpaid and counting coupons at the local shops.

"You know, uh," Simon clears his throat a little and you give him a look of horror.

"I don't need a job from you." You tell him. Simon makes a face, you can see his nose pinch under his mask, the exaggerated grimace made all the more unappealing by the zig-zag of scars pulling at his skin.

"Shut the fuck up and lemme be a fuckin' nice guy, alright? Shit." He shakes his head like you're being unreasonable about not wanting to join the mafia. "My girl-" You make a face, "-She ain't in the family, so quit complainin'." He points a finger at you and you shrink back. "My girl-" he looks to you for complaint, you give him a thumbs up, "-needs some 'elp with 'er-" he waves a hand, "-whatever she does, and she pays good." He stares at you. You're not sure if you're allowed to talk.

"You have a girl?" You don't think you can tackle the rest of it just yet, so you start with the part you find hardest to believe. Simon gives you a withering look and pulls his phone from his pocket. He swipes a few notifications from the screen and turns it your way.

Honestly the spiderweb cracks on his phone don't help, but that's definitely a woman on his lock screen. She's grinning ear to ear and holding up what appear to be divorce papers. You give Simon his look right back over the top of the phone. It's the same girl he threw out of the shop two months ago.

"Happy?" Simon grumps, locking his phone and shoving it back in his pocket.

"Don't people usually have a wedding photo as their lock screen?"

"You want the job of not?" Simon side-steps your question.

"I do not." You give him your best impression of someone completely disinterested, because you are.

"You're takin' the job," Simon tells you, he turns to go back to the kitchen grumbling under his breath about having money for food and raising the prices of his sandwich. God you hope not.

You get an email from a name you don't recognize inviting you to interview for a job you didn't apply for not even an hour later.

[bathomet-writes]

bursting at the seams

summary: When Raph reveals that he's been wanting a super exclusive, super expensive plush, it's up to you to go on a journey to a not so distant land of horrors to retrieve it for him...New Jersey. Contending with secret crushes and unspoken feelings should be a cakewalk.

relationship: Raph x GN!reader

warnings: romantic, fluff, humor, love confessions, allergic reaction and epipen/needle use (raph eats a peanut..he’s fine tho), sfw

word count: 4,785

author's note: it took a hot sec but here’s the gift fic for @/casualjagodek!! thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to write this adorable fic, i hope u all enjoy!

“That’s it?” You squint your eyes.

Raph looks at his phone screen then back to you. “Is the brightness too low or somethin?”

You breathe out a chuckle. “It’s just that I didn’t know you were getting all worked up over…that.”

It was some kind of stuffed animal of indeterminable origin. It had the head of a cow and the ears of a rabbit. Unconventional, but cute.

You knew Raph had a large collection of stuffed animals. Some from childhood, some he bought only months ago. Recently, he had been subtly dropping clues about how excited he was about something. He’d frantically check emails and ask you what the date was occasionally. Asking him about it outright just made him retreat back into secrecy.

Just last week, you caught him on your way out of the lair. The two of you passed each other in a particularly narrow subway tunnel. You stared expectantly at him while his eyes were glued squarely on his phone screen. You’d never seen Raph this…distracted? Whether he liked it or not, you paid attention to stuff like this. He was your best friend, acting cagey and suspicious for no reason.

You try clearing your throat and kicking at a random piece of trash on the ground to rouse his attention. “Texting someone hot?” You joke.

“Yeah.” Raph responds nonchalantly before blinking his eyes down to you. “Wai— No! No, I wasn’t—“

With a quick wave, you turn to head out again. “See ya.”

You figured even Raph kept a secret or two of his own, so you didn’t pry after that. Living with four brothers and Splinter, you’re sure he never got to have much of a private life.

When he finally (inevitably) let you in on the secret thing he’s been obsessing over, you tried to go in with an open mind. It could have been anything, so the potential of Raph confessing that he had been texting someone hot was miniscule. Maybe they were only sort-of attractive, or better yet, less attractive than you.

You didn’t know why, but the possibility of this hot mystery person existing just didn’t sit right with you.

“Let me see—“

Grabbing his phone from him, you scroll through the webpage. The image of a strange stuffed animal made you mildly more interested. The quality was actually really good, as far as stuffed animals go.

“What is it?”

“It’s, y’know…” Raph hums to himself, trying his best to cover up his embarrassment. “I just thought it was cute.”

“Huginn and Muninn.”

Your eyes widen as you scroll to the top of the page. The logo proudly displayed little gargoyle mascots that you knew you recognized from somewhere. Excitement replaces the jealousy that was festering in your mind just a few seconds earlier.

“Yeah! They started their own company a couple of years ago. I didn’t think they were still around either.” He shrugs.

“That’s crazy!” You hand the phone back to Raph and ramble on enthusiastically. “Well, now I see why you were so nervous. It’s expensive as hell.”

Without thinking, you grab at Raph’s wrist and use your other hand to zoom in on the plush. Once Raph got to the third digit, his heart dropped into his stomach. You were right. Even for his budget, it was steep. Raph didn’t like to splurge too often on himself, but this was a rare exception.

“You’re right, it is crazy,” he chuckles. Your grip on his wrist was also starting to dampen his spirit.

Not because he didn’t like you holding his wrist, or his phone, or his hand for that matter. He actually liked it a lot.

Which was the real problem.

Raph has been massively infatuated with you for months. He lost track of just how long it had been. Whenever he was around you, he felt off. Usually it just involved a lot of fumbling over words, being generally clumsier. He knew he wasn’t as confident as Leo, or smooth like Donnie, or even as honest as Mikey. He was just him.

While Raph anguished internally, you were practically none the wiser. You don’t seem to notice how sweaty and flustered he was all of the sudden, but you go back to innocently staring at him.

You raise your eyebrows. “So?”

That familiar, playful lilt in your voice makes all time stop for Raph. It really wasn’t fair— the amount of power your smile and your presence had over him.

Raph tosses his phone away into the far reaches of the lair before crossing his arms defiantly. “No, don’t try to convince me. It’s literally the most expensive one.”

As you calmly move your head to miss the flying phone, you smile to yourself. “Come on. This is what you’ve been obsessed with for months now. When was the last time you did something just for you?”

“Even if I did have the money, why would I spend it on something so impractical. I mean, I’m not embarrassed about liking stuffed animals or anything.”

While Raph continues ranting and pacing around, you’ve secretly pulled out your phone and looked up the plush. Without hesitation, you add it to your cart and type in your credit card.

“Sure,” you lazily nod. “You’re very secure in your masculinity.”

“Exactly!” Raph spins around to face you again. “I knew I made the right decision.”

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing. Boom!” You take a confident step forward and reveal the check-out screen to him. At first he seems similarly excited, if a little confused.

“What?” His tone is light at first, before he realizes what you just did. “You didn’t.” A small frown tugs at his mouth.

“I did. Consider it an early birthday present.”

Raph winces, wringing his hands together. “Awesome! No, that’s great. Thank you.”

You purse your lips. “What happened? You were just all—“

What was the big deal? Did you accidentally offend him somehow?

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that the plush is…kinda not in New York.”

“Right. There’s this thing called mail, where people can send you stuff from all over the world.” You smirk, giving him a friendly pat on the cheek. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Didn’t you read it?” He shakes his head ruefully. “It’s pickup only.”

You glance to the side. “Oh. Well, then I’ll just grab Leo’s anime swords— I mean, Leo?”

Shit. You didn’t mean to let that slip out.

“You’ve been using Leo’s odachi to portal places again, haven’t you?”

Feeling cornered, you give a quick nod.

Silence.

You knew Raph must be giving you the most disapproving look right now. You turn around and find yourself to be correct.

“It was just to pick up food! And I am not buying a car.” You huff, trying to hide your shame.

Your shoulders tense up and relax as you give up. “Fine, I’ll just do it the old fashioned way.”

Your compromise doesn’t seem to ease Raph much. In fact, he seemed sad. You stop to watch him fall face-first into the couch. A couple pizza boxes stacked beside it topple over and fall as he lays there.

“Raph!” You frown. “It’s my treat. Is that what you’re worried about? Money?”

With his head buried deep in a pillow, he groans pathetically. “No.”

If only you knew.

Carefully, you kneel down to be eye-level with him. “If you’re worried about travel, it’s fine. I’ll just go to…” You check the email for the shop’s address. “New Jersey.”

Raph shoots up from the pillow with a seriousness that surprises you. “Absolutely not.” Grabbing your shoulders, he gives them a protective squeeze. “I wouldn’t let you do that.”

Because I like you too much.

“Then what?” You mimic Raph by placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking gently. “It’s not that big of a deal, okay?”

“Yes it is! Just—“ He moves away from your hand and sits up.

Don’t make me say it.

Okay, now you were officially worried. You quietly watch, only a little hurt that Raph pulled away from your touch.

Raph sighs, similarly ashamed at how he retreated from you. Slowly, he scooches over and silently invites you to sit beside him. You look at him, then back at your phone.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me,” he frowns. “It’s just hard to talk about this kinda stuff sometimes.”

Politely, you ease your way onto the cushion next to him. “It’s okay, I get it.”

“You do?”

You finally force yourself to meet Raph’s gaze. As you turn your head to look up, you nearly fall over at the sight of him mere inches from your face.

“Ah, yeah,” you manage to get out. Covering up your bashfulness with a half-hearted smile doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable though. You really didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but you want to understand.

You felt lightheaded and nauseous, like the moment right before a roller coaster plummets you into the earth at 80 miles per hour. You didn’t like roller coasters very much.

You also didn’t like it when you were so moved by Raph’s handsomeness and kindness that it rendered you speechless.

Raph searches your face as you sit dumbstruck. “I just don’t want you to go through all this trouble to get me some silly stuffed animal or anything.”

He smiles at you, but you can tell he’s still holding something back. You don’t know what it is, and you don’t know what you could say that wouldn’t ultimately embarrass the crap out of the both of you. All you can do is smile back.

“If that’s what you want.” You reel back and push yourself off of the couch. “Honest?”

Raph pauses, feeling torn. He wasn’t being honest, but now didn’t feel like the right time to crack open that emotional can of worms.

Nodding resolutely, he smiles again. “Honest.”

“So, I’ll just get a refund and we’ll pretend this whole thing never happened?” You feel a bead of sweat fall from your brow, and you pray Raph doesn’t notice.

“Perfect.” Similarly, he gets up and turns to hide the remnants of blush coloring his face. “I gotta go…punch a wall or somethin’.”

And like that, he disappears into the shadows of the lair, leaving you bereft with his departure.

“Well,” you announce to the empty room. “Good thing I’m a liar.”

How bad could Jersey be anyway?

—

It was worse.

“Next stop for Hackensack. All passengers for Hackensack.” A canny voice chimes in through the speakers. They seemed just as thrilled to be here as you did.

Like the genius you were, you decided to go over Raph’s head and book a train ride to the store. You’d used the subway plenty of times before, so slow-ass public transportation was no stranger to you.

But this…this was something else.

What was supposed to be a simple round trip turned into hours of sitting still on the tracks, waiting for other freight trains to pass by. The sweltering heat of the summer also made any sort of travel as slow as molasses. ‘Go to Jersey,’ you said, you’ll get together with Huginn and Muninn, have a few laughs.

A few passengers file down the aisle to exit the train. It takes your brain a few extra moments to register that this was also your stop. As you lean up from your spot against the window, a careless businessman bumps against your knee trying to get out with all his fuck-you suitcases and laptop bags.

You’ll have to apologize to Raph for unfortunately being right.

Oh yeah, Raph. You almost forgot why you came here in the first place. He’d been texting you about this and that today, and you usually responded to his texts immediately.

A frantic buzzing in your pocket makes your heart nearly stop. A phone call? You fumble around trying to grab it and your things as you try and get past a large family blocking the aisle.

You unlock your phone and bring it to your sweaty face. “Yello?”

“What kind of pizza do you want for later? Mikey said you just like plain cheese, but that didn’t sound right, so…” Raph’s voice is light and casual. You do your best to mimic it.

“Oh, yeah. He’s right, I’m kinda boring— AH!” A loud kid from earlier runs by you, barreling right over your left foot. It takes all your willpower not to scream directly into your speaker, but it’s no use.

“Ey, are you alright? What was that?”

After a second of quietly fighting back the manly tears, you recover. “Just…dropped my laptop on my foot. Ouch, ow.” Not your best performance, but it seems to do the trick.

“Ah.”

“Listen, I’m gonna call you back. Now’s not a good time.”

Before you realize it, the train lurches forward in earnest. A cold chill runs up your spine as you nearly trip backwards when the floor shifts again. “Fuck!”

You missed your stop, of course you did! A stern attendant ushers you back to an open seat, and you flip down defeated.

Raph’s voice cries out from your phone again. “Are you okay? Hello?”

“Would you like a complimentary snack?” The attendant’s annoying voice only frustrates you further. “We have pretzels, peanuts–”

“Thank you,” you spit, grabbing at the baggie in her hand. With one last terse smile, she finally leaves you be. You don't even care about the couple of peanuts that explode from the bag as you tear into it.

“Sorry. But actually, I’m gonna be a little late today. Y’know, busy with…” You glance around to try and find a worthy excuse. “Stuff.”

All of the sudden, Raph seemed strangely undeterred by your obvious lie. “Oh, sure. Stuff!”

“Yeah, but I should be back–”

As you turn your head back to the empty seat to the left of you, your heart nearly stops. It seems that in the time it took for you to come up with your phony excuse, Raph had just used Leo’s sword to portal himself directly beside you. On a train. The blue glow of the mystic portal illuminates your shocked expression.

“Ha! I knew it!” Raph points an accusatory finger as he ducks through to sit across from you.

“Uh– I…” Your voice stops in your throat. You wish you could say this wasn’t what it looks like. He doesn’t seem to be angry, more so just vindicated. You imagine he probably knew all along.

“Wait. You just used–”

Raph, for a brief moment, becomes sheepish. “W-Well, Leo was out doing–” He waves at the air. “Not the point. You’re out getting that plush, aren’t you? You lied.”

Raph clutches at his chest with both hands in a purposeful show of melodrama. He knew from the second you two parted ways that day. Sometimes it got a little frustrating dealing with how stubborn you could be. But then again, he was just as bad. Maybe even worse.

In all honesty, he wasn’t even mad. Mad that you lied to him, sure. But ultimately, it just made him flattered. It almost made him want to confess right then and there, but he holds his tongue.

After mulling around your answer, all you can do is shrug. “I’m…sorry?”

“Wow,” Raph smirks, leaning back against the uncomfortably tiny seat.

“What?” You blush. “You want me to apologize for getting you a gift? A gift that’s all the way over there now?” You point vaguely into the space behind Raph before burying your face in your hands. You don’t really know if it’s more from the embarrassment of getting caught or the fact that there was no denying it anymore.

You liked Raph. You liked him enough to travel to the most wretched hive of scum and villainy there was, apparently. You didn’t really mind Jersey, but at this point it was sort of a weird in-joke. You’re sure if you and Raph just took a trip out here yourselves, without all the deceit and unspoken awkwardness, you’d have fun.

Just tell him. It’s so obvious, isn't it?

“What, you mean…?” Raph turns to follow your hand, and puts all the pieces together. “Oh, Y/N. You didn’t have to–”

You interrupt. “Didn’t have to what? Buy a stupidly overpriced train ticket to get a stupidly overpriced stuffed animal? From some stupid little gargoyles? For some stupid, dumb…” You stand up suddenly, trying to get out all the pent up energy you evidently had bubbling just beneath the surface. You pace around the empty area at the back of the train for a second, ranting and babbling to yourself.

“For some stupid, dumb turtle dude. For a turtle dude!” The slight absurdity of the whole situation seems to dawn on you, and you can’t help but smile a little. The small smile widens into a grin and you start to chortle. You turn back to Raph and finally collapse back into your seat, absolutely spent from just that momentary show of emotion. Life would be so much easier if feelings didn’t get in the way, or turtle dudes. But, here you were, a pathetic, bumbling human trying their best not to make their amazing, strong, talented, funny, sweet best friend know what’s so blatantly clear.

You love him, idiot!

While you fall back down into your seat, Raph takes the opportunity to really analyze the situation from all angles. Leo was always better at this kind of stuff than him, but he needed to think carefully about this. He was usually prone to jumping headfirst into everything, for better and worse. Right now, his gut feeling was telling him the same thing as yours.

Just tell them. They went through all this trouble for you, so what’s the problem? What a loser…

Absent-mindedly, Raph picks up the bag of snacks you had and starts popping a couple into his mouth. Eating usually helped his brain slow down enough for him to focus up again.

You look up and stare out into the rapidly-changing environment outside of the train. You always liked sitting near a window whenever you traveled. To stay still while the world moved at a break-neck pace, it felt euphoric to watch the trees and buildings zoom by. It made you calm for a moment. After a charged couple of seconds, you catch your breath again. You didn’t realize you hadn’t been breathing.

“I really am sorry. I just wanted to do something nice–” You force yourself to turn your body back to Raph, and you look up in slow motion. You stare on in horror for what feels like hours as you watch him swallow a singular peanut.

Raph looks down at you curiously. It seemed like you were about to say something important. He leans down instinctually to get more eye-level with you. “What? What is it?”

He bites at the inside of his cheek, waiting for you to say what was just sitting at the tip of your tongue.

In a panic, all you can think to do is slap the bag of poison from his right hand and scream. “AAAH–!”

“Wha–?” Raph’s hand opens up. Lying on the ground, he reads the letters slowly, speaking them aloud. “Honey roasted…peanuts.”

“YOU’RE GONNA DIE! RAPH!”

“Spit it out! Throw up!” You don’t really know what you’re saying at this point. All you see is Raph and the panic in his eyes. “Stop the train!”

“S-STOP–! Choking–!” His voice comes out broken and frantic. “The pen!”

His hands move immediately to his belt, fumbling around for the epipen he’s never had to use until now. How could he be this spectacularly dumb? Not only were you probably about to pour your heart and soul out to him, he was about to do the same. In the background, a small crowd of confused employees and passengers turn to look at the weird scene unfolding at the back of the car. The same passive-aggressive attendant creeps up slowly next to you to try and de-escalate.

“Excuse me, is there a problem folks?” Her sickly, saccharine smile makes your blood boil.

Without thinking, you turn and snap back. “Yes, there’s a problem– My boyfriend’s freaking dying and you’re standing there handing out peanuts? Are you insane?!”

Raph’s eyes somehow go wider than they already were.

Glancing back down, you realize that he’s been trying and failing to communicate to you that you need to stick him with the pen. You snatch Raph’s belt clean off of his waist and riffle through all the annoying little pockets until you find it.

“Here! Here it is Raph!” You nearly cry from relief. Smiling, you grab ahold of his right hand and close his fist around the pen. “You’re not gonna die!”

Thankfully in doing so you release Raph’s neck, allowing him to speak again. “G-Great! Thank you…”

In the background, you can already hear the employees start to circle around you and Raph. You might not ever get to ride a train again after this, but you didn’t care. Fuck trains.

Raph’s hand stills, suddenly overcome with fear.

“Raph?” You frown at him.

“I’m scared.” He peeks over at you, his face twisted with shame.

“UGH! Fine!” You take the initiative and grab the pen, removing the cap with your teeth like a badass. With all your strength, which you figure you’ll probably need to fully pierce Raph’s thick, leathery skin, you reel back and stab it into his upper leg.

You close your eyes, content with having finally ended the nightmare. “Phew…”

Meanwhile, Raph waits rather impatiently. “Sometime today would be nice!”

Oh, you didn’t actually do it. “Right.”

You repeat the same motion with your hand, pulling back before jamming it in. Surely you didn’t chicken out a second time.

“Y/N!” Raph shouts, exasperated and confused.

“Goddamnit!” You grit your teeth and pull back again, looking at him tearfully. “I can’t do it! I’m a liar and a coward.”

Looking at your utterly terrified face, Raph can’t help but comfort you. Even as he feels his throat begin to tighten up, he takes his free hand to lay it over your trembling one. “No you’re not, you’re–”

“No, I am a liar. I lied to you, I’ve lied to Leo and Donnie and Mikey, I’ve lied to April and Splinter.” You try to wipe away the tears before looking back at Raph’s leg. “I lied because I was scared.”

While nobody’s come to you per se and asked you to your face, you know they knew. They all knew. Maybe you could have gotten over yourself for once and just come clean to everyone, but you knew you couldn’t. The idea of potentially ruining a friendship that’s been built for years with one awkward confession or less than charming moment, it made you absolutely terrified. You thought you would rather die than confess.

But, if all this secrecy and denial was going to literally kill him, that terrified you even more.

“Raph…” You swallow your pride and steel yourself.

To both of your surprise, the train comes to one final stop. The breaks screech to a halt, making the car lurch forward and back with incredible force. You lock eyes with Raph just as the train launches you forward, forcing your hand to push on the epipen’s plunger and jam it into his leg.

“Woah–!” Raph then catches you as you land squarely on his broad chest.

The pain of the needle didn’t even phase Raph. Though the effect of the pen took an immediate effect, his throat still felt tight. His heart was thundering in his chest, his hands felt cold and clammy. Was this still an allergic reaction?

“Sorry for the delay folks. We just have a minor…mutant medical matter to…mediate.” The canny voice of the speakers makes everyone else on the train groan in annoyance.

The two of you continue to stare at one another. Weirdly enough, neither of you feel the anxiety or weight of the unspoken words you both felt before. The feelings you both shared that forced you to stay silent, to laugh off the odd comments or blushes that threatened to expose you to each other. There was no fear anymore.

There was just you and him.

–

Raph gives one last ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ to the conductor and the ambulance people who were brought in just in case. The train dumped the two of you off at a random stop before moving on, leaving you both in the empty indoor waiting area of the train station.

You stare blankly ahead as you feel Raph sit next to you again. The bench you’re both on feels cold on your hand as you drum your fingers against it.

You guess you’re the one who needs to talk first. “So…”

“I like you,” Raph finishes.

You blink, raising your head up slowly. “I...like you.”

For a moment of silence, you each look off into the distance and melt into laughter. It’s an enormous relief to finally realize that the two of you have been harboring the exact same feelings and being afraid for the exact same reason.

But at the same time, it all seems so silly now.

“Why did we wait this long?” You chuckle, feeling the tears coming back.

Raph bumps your shoulder affectionately as he tries to fight back his own. “Why was I such a coward?”

You gather yourself and look up at him. “I can just see the obituary. Raphael Hamato, death by 1 (one) peanut.” You hold up your index finger.

Raph guffaws and breaks out into a full-belly laugh, and you can’t help but egg him on.

“I should’ve known. Only in Jersey.”

The two of you exchange a heartfelt smile as you unintentionally lean in. Raph’s concentration gets interrupted however when a couple of unexpected figures fly by outside. It looked like a weird, fat bird or something.

“What the…” Raph stands up to investigate.

As he pushes open the doors to look around, he almost trips over a mysterious bag sitting on the ground. He leans down and picks up a sticky note attached to the handle.

Here you go Red! Hope this makes up for all the times we helped Draxum try to kill you and your family. Also, how’s he doing? He won’t answer our texts, calls, or letters. Love, Huginn and Muninn <3

Raph smiles and shakes his head. “No way.”

Sure enough, inside the bag was the weird cow-rabbit plush that kicked off this whole crusade in the first place. He supposed he should be happy to finally have it.

Sneaking up behind him, you peek around Raph’s shell. “Wow, what service.”

“To be honest, I don’t really know if I want it anymore.” Raph smiles down at you warmly, putting the plush back in the bag and handing it to you.

“Oh no, don’t do that.” You grin and push the bag back to him.

“Come on, you deserve it.” He hands it back.

“You almost died from a peanut.” You push it again.

Raph’s sunny disposition doesn’t falter. “I want you to have it.”

Your eyes darken and you give the bag one final push into his stomach. “Just take the damn plush.”

Raph’s pouts bashfully before he relents. “You really are stubborn, you know?”

Smirking, you grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder. “And you’re so perfect? I sure know how to pick ‘em.”

Before reaching for his phone to text Leo, Raph watches on curiously as you change your mind and grab for the plush. “Hm?”

In an impulsive move, you hold the plush up to your face to give it a good once over. It was even cuter in person. You close your eyes and give its snout a tiny smooch before handing it back to Raph. You don’t try and hide the deep red your cheeks have turned.

Picking up on your invitation, Raph gingerly takes the plush into his hands and plants a kiss of his own on the same exact spot.

Though his heart felt full to the point of bursting at the seams, he didn’t mind the feeling. He felt bigger, more complete.

I love you too.

taglist: @saspas-corner

[sage-green-matcha]

MAROON - ETHAN LANDRY PT. 2 🍷🥀🔪

“Laughing with my feet in your lap, like you were my closest friend. "How'd we end up on the floor, anyway?" you say. "Your roommate's cheap-ass screw-top rosé, that's how" I see you every day now” - Taylor Swift

Content Includes: Alcohol, andddd I think that’s it!

PT. 1 of Maroon | PT. 3 of Maroon | PT. 4 of Maroon |

<3

<3

<3

You found yourself in class the next morning, not sure if you should even be there. Tara And Sam were attacked last night and you knew it was only a matter of time before Ghost Face came after you next.

"Hey...you okay?" You jumped at Ethan's hand on your shoulder, the room empty. You didn't notice but you had zoned out the entire class, your mind on everything else that was going on. Nevertheless, you also had a headache, the alcohol from last night messing you up. "No...shit, I just zoned out for the entire class, I don't even know why I'm here right now" You picked up your bag, Ethan following behind you. "What did we go over...? Was it important?" "Uh yea... it's stuff that's gonna be on the final" "Shit..."

"You can borrow my notes if you want uhm, we can go back to my dorm...Chad should be there" You probably shouldn't be anywhere but in the comfort of your own home, but you agreed, desperate for any sort of company. Sam and Tara had been at the Police station all day and the loneliness was starting to get to you.

They were suspects in the case, which you thought was stupid since they used to be the targets of a closed one. They were there for hours, interrogated over and over but none of the facts changed. They brought out ghost face masks and DNA samples, getting finger prints and DNA from them just in case.

"I'm sorry, that this is all happening to you again. I didn't get it at first, but now that I'm kinda sucked up in it all... it's really scary" You looked down at the floor as you walked. "Yea...it never ends" You played with the sleeves of your sweater, Ethan opening the door for you to the boy's dormitory.

You weren't sure if you could completely trust Ethan, he randomly showed up one day but what would he have to do with Ghost face? "Hey uh, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable yesterday. I'm kinda unfiltered when drunk" You smiled up at him. "Oh...uh no it's fine I know you were just joking"

You got to the floor, Ethan struggling to open the door as you looked around. You knew boys were gross but seriously? “Sorry about Chad's mess...he doesn't clean" Ethan's side was nice and shiny, a map and small Polaroids hung above his bed. It didn't have any direction but it was cute, unlike chads side where there were unfinished takeout containers and water bottles that piled up on his desk.

"We went over quantitive analysis, he also made a slide show you can look at. Should be in your email" he hopped onto the bunk, helping you up the tall bed. "We didn't have notes but I took some anyways...better safe than sorry" "yea...thanks" You pull out your notebook, taking his into your lap and copping down the words.

"Uhm, do you want something to drink?" "What you got? Chad's beer stash?" "Well yea...he also drinks fancy wine which I find kinda strange" you laughed. "He drinks wine?" You scrunched your nose, Ethan nodding with a smile.

He hopped off the bed, kneeling in front of chads desk, pulling open the drawer to grab two wine glasses. You opened your mouth in shock. "Damn, Chads a classy man" Being with Ethan made you forget about everything, he was like the male version of you, shy and secluded till you got to know him.

After a couple of glasses of the pink rosé, you two were laughing on the floor, your feet in his lap as you cracked jokes about the friend group. "God, how'd we end up on the floor anyway?" He asked and you took another drink, pouring more of the beverage into your cup. "Chad's cheap ass rosés, that's how" you smiled.

"Also...random but I can't with Sam right now, you know I feel bad for her but it's kinda all...her fault" You had never admitted that to anyone. You knew it was her fault, but you defended her when anyone said it. She brought the killer to Woodsboro, to Tara, and all her friends. That included you.

"Really? But aren't you always defending her about that?... You've seen the rumors about her online right...? I mean it kinda makes sense" You turned your head, Ethan's eyes meeting yours. "Well, I know she didn't kill anyone, and I know she wouldn't unless it was to protect herself. But the people who got killed when Ghost Face was only after Sam and Tara...that's her fault"

Ethan couldn't believe you were opening up to him so easily, Chad told him you were closed off and quiet, but maybe he couldn't crack the code for you. But he did it, and he was gonna take advantage of that. "Yea...I guess" "Don't tell her I said that, she'll kick me out of the apartment" You rolled your eyes.

"Have you ever thought about being Ghostface...?" He was serious but the smirk on his face made you brush it off. "Me as Ghost Face? Yea no, I'm not gonna kill my friends. I literally have no motive. No one has a motive to be ghost face other than fame...which is dumb really, it's not like we're getting paid to get hurt" You were drunk and telling him all your thoughts, it was really dumb of you.

When you should be closed off and careful you're the opposite. But when it's safe, you watch your words and actions, making sure that you'll be fine. "What about you? Am I just casually hanging out with my potential murderer?" "I don't think I'd be able to, I mean killing anyone in general. It would haunt me forever"

"Oh my god yea! Like I am way too sensitive of a person to be carrying that on my back" you sighed, your head now positioned on Ethan's shoulder. "Thanks by the way, for making me feel included in the group...Mindy hates me and everyone trusts her so... I'm kinda in an awkward position" he played with his hands. "Don't thank me, I know what it feels like" You took one of his hands into yours, you could feel his heart beat faster as he looked at you.

You could feel his soft breath on your face, his lips slightly agape as he leaned forward. You waited for him to make the first move, your lips craving his. You always wondered what he would taste like, how his lips would feel. They looked so pillowy, so soft. He placed his hand on your neck, his thumb rubbing over your skin gently. The sky was a deep Maroon and orange, lighting up the room in its bold color.

"Hey! Oh..." you pulled away quickly, Chad with a case of beer in his hand, a shocked expression on his face. "Oh! I'm so sorry. Did I just cock block you?" "Chad!" "What? Quinn taught me...damn Ethan! My man!" You covered your face in embarrassment, standing up from the floor. "I'm going home, Thanks a lot Chad" you grumbled. "What! What? I'm sorry..." You swung your bag over your shoulder, giving Ethan a small wave before you left. "Ill see you tomorrow"

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

TEMPORARY THINGS, chapter 3

Your first few weeks on set go by in a blur of learning the ropes. You follow Briony around a lot and listen to her use words you’ve never heard, like striking and dolly grip. You learn the difference between a first assistant camera and second, though it doesn’t seem to make much sense when Maggie points around nonchalantly and gets interrupted by a joke coming from the walkie-talkie on her hip. 

It was going well! Aside from whatever whirring now thumps in your chest when Brett comes up beside you. You’re still in good impression mode for another, like, 3 weeks.

“Hi,” he says, a smile and nod when you look up to see him. “Hopefully you’re liking this lot so far?”

“So far,” you nod, appreciative of his inquiry. “But I also heard it takes a few weeks for you all to turn into divas.”

He pulls a hand to his chest in mock offense. The jacket he’s wearing belongs to his character, but the color suits him well. “I usually wait until at least halfway through!”

“Hellooo,” Maggie sidles up and smiles at both of you. Jason’s right behind her and when the four of you stand in a make-shift circle, you’re acutely aware of the way Jason angles himself toward you. 

“We’ve got a lot to get through today--wanted to have you hear all of this as well,” Jason says this to you in particular before Maggie launches into some sort of schedule. She’s listing numbers and tasks and referencing scenes by shorthand lingo that only makes half sense. 

It’s weird, you realize, that while you’re here on set and working alongside them, your job is different in almost every way: it’s focused entirely on him. Which is maybe a bad thing, seeing as your stomach still does this little flip when you notice the dimple on his cheek that you remember from Day 1. 

Lucky for you, though, most of your time on set is spent in Jason’s office. Scheduling his travel and handling his emails and pulling the strings behind the scenes so his actual job here was easier. You’re in constant contact with his manager, his nanny, even sometimes seeing messages from his ex or his friends come through before you pass them right up the ladder.

Briony pops in and out, often passing messages from Jason to you and then in return. She was the coffee kid, still young enough to be excited by that type of task and good enough to never mess up an order.

Poppy hurries by and after you commit the entire shooting schedule of the day to memory, you return to Jason’s office to actually get your work done. Today, primarily, was to be spent going through emails and calendars, plugging in meetings and finalizing his schedule for the next two weeks before filming really picked up.

But there’s a knock on the door that grabs your attention before your inbox is even open. Brendan’s there, a binder in hand and a hesitant smile when you both realize you’ve never been alone in a room together. 

“Hi,” he says a bit awkwardly. “Y’know where Jason is?”

“He was with Paul and Jenna near Rebecca’s office,” you hoped you were getting the names right, blending real people with characters in the same way that didn’t trip up the rest of them. “Anything I can help with?”

He holds your gaze for a second, almost skeptical, but then decides he’ll at least give it a shot. 

“I’m looking for a list of scenes we’re shooting today. Not the actual schedule that got sent out but the list of ones Jason wants to do if we can move more quickly than everyone thinks we can.” 

You stand from your spot on the couch and nod thoughtfully, walking towards his desk as your eyes start to scan the piles of paper. You’ve learned his system bit by bit: the pile on the left is Lasso-related but not urgent. The pile on the right is more personal, with a higher level of urgency. Work-related urgent things get put on top of his laptop, or, if he seems to think it’s really important, sometimes he takes a picture of it and emails it to himself. 

As of now you find it mostly adorable that a guy in his mid-forties is sending himself emails with picture attachments so he doesn’t forget stuff. You’ll have to give him a crash course in the reminders app at some point.

You locate the piece of paper you saw him scribbling on yesterday, the red ink of the pen he clips into his pocket smudged in the corner. Today’s scenes are listed out in the same shorthand code you’ve heard Maggie use, Jason’s chicken scratch is in the margins in red ink.

You hold it up before you look back towards Brendan. His brows are arched when you take a step over and deliver, what you assume, is exactly what he was looking for. 

He scans it. Nods. 

“Three extra scenes sounds ambitious to me,” you try to crack a joke, feeling weird about the fact that you’ve yet to bond with Brendan. 

“You can read his handwriting?” He looks up at you again, more quickly this time, surprise on his face when you nod. 

“Yes--yeah,” you stammer like this is an embarrassing admission. “Should I not be able to?”

“Jessie always complained,” he shrugs, eyes back down to the piece of paper you’d handed over. 

“It’s messy as shit but I figured if I can’t read his handwriting then we’re all fucked.”

The corner of Brendan’s mouth flicks into a smile, a tiny laugh before he salutes you in farewell and his footsteps fade down the hallway.

**

April 2022

The end of March sputtered more rain onto the London streets than you’d ever seen in Los Angeles. Maggie promised it wouldn’t be like this the whole time, but now, on the third rainy Friday in a row, you were beginning to think your friend was a liar. 

“It’s bad luck,” Jason comments as he looks out the window into his backyard, “not bad weather.”

Thunder booms overhead and the British Airways website logo keeps flickering on the page, please be patient while we locate your booking!

“You’re beginning to sound like a London apologist,” you look up at him from your laptop screen, eyebrows arched to challenge his statement. The backyard gets lit up again, the line of trees overhead is visible in the flash of lightning that cracks open the sky.

He smirks at your retort, “forgive me for not wanting you to hate the place you agreed to move.”

His hands are in his pockets but he moves to sit on the couch across from you. You showed up 20-minutes ago, laptop in tow after he heard you mention something on set about your travel plans to Amsterdam. 

“London could have been on fire and I would still have come,” you think aloud as the page blinks back to life. “Okay, here,” you sit up. “Booking 1430-3925-098, business class to Schiphol.”

“Cancel it.”

“You’re sure?” You look up at him now, finger hovering over the trackpad. 

“Positive,” he stands and nods. “Red or white?”

“Hmm?”

You click the button, Yes, I’m Sure!, but then notice he’s waiting for you to reply. 

“Wine,” he laughs. “Red or white?”

You pause, is this a test? Is having a glass of wine with him on a Friday night in his living room crossing a line? No, you decide when he holds your gaze for a moment. If it wasn’t crossing a line with Kyle or Reese or any other boss you’ve had, it’s not crossing a line with him. 

And besides, he’s not your boss, technically. 

“Red.”

He smiles at your answer and makes his way towards the kitchen. “So why would a fiery London not be a deterrent?” 

You set your laptop on the coffee table, a few steps over to stand in the doorway as he pursues his wine rack.

“Sorry?” You’re confused now, still watching when he scans the label of a bottle before he sets it on the Island. 

It was a long week. You’d been on set every morning at 6:30am. Most days you left work around 4 or 5, and Jason was good about making sure you took lunch breaks and had enough coffee and knew all the good places to hide for five minutes of quiet when the set got too crowded. 

“You said London could have been on fire and you would have moved here still,” he reminds you, his eyes watching for your reaction as you lean against the door frame. 

You nod slowly and let your eyes flutter shut in embarrassment. What’s the most professional way to say: I got dumped and fired in the span of two weeks and my life felt like a living hell, so surely London ablaze would be manageable?

You decide there isn’t one, so you bend the truth as he searches for a wine opener. “I was in desperate need of a change of scenery.”

“Christmas in LA does suck,” he nods. 

“Luckily I didn’t have to withstand that torture,” you walk over to the drawer on his right, the one that Jessie’s binder said had miscellaneous kitchen tools and utensils. You open it and pull out an opener and hand it over. “I was in New York for the holidays, left LA right after Thanksgiving.”

He opens the bottle and nods sympathetically. “Something about December in LA always feels…depressing.”

“Yeah,” you let out a breath at that word, one that circled and swirled in your brain for days and weeks before you figured out what the fuck you were going to do. Your parents were worried and your sister was three-seconds and a text message away from booking a flight out there to beat the shit of your ex, as she so kindly offered.

He pours the first glass, stealing a peek in your direction when he thinks you aren’t looking. You are. 

“So--yeah, Los Angeles, change of scenery, back to New York. Now London.” He pours his own and then brings them both over, clinks his wine glass against yours before you both take a quiet sip in the kitchen. “What on earth made you take this job?”

You smirk, sure you can’t say what pops into your mind: a new city, a penchant for spontaneity after a crisis, the chance to work for your friend’s hot boss…

“Oh god,” he laughs, taking in your expression when your cheeks flush. “Did someone make you come here? Have you been kidnapped? Forced against your will?”

“No,” you roll your eyes at his playfulness and laugh. “I just--I really needed a job and a fresh start, I guess.”

He nods in understanding, takes another sip in the quiet. “Yeah, I get that.”

You’re not sure why it suddenly comes out, honest, blunt, a thud on the fancy tile of his kitchen. 

“My boyfriend and I broke up--we lived together--then my job kind of exploded, well, Kyle’s life did too, so, Maggie took pity, I guess, when she realized my life was a shit show.”

He’s a little caught off guard by your confession, his eyebrows are slightly lifted and you can’t read: is it curiosity or concern? Like, did I hire a psychopath concern. 

But that must not be it, because when you take a loud slurp of wine to drown out the awkward silence, he swallows and nods. 

“Just because it feels like a shit show doesn’t mean it is,” he offers, a small smile before he continues. “My fiancé of a decade left me for someone 15 years younger a few years ago and then decided to give a fuck ton of interviews about it,” he smirks. “So--I get the whole shit show feeling.”

Your lips pull into a smile at his show of humanity, but then he gestures for you to follow him back to the living room. You’d known about his failed relationship, saw headlines and heard murmurs but didn’t pay much mind. You didn’t think in a few years time you’d be drinking wine on his couch on a rainy Friday.

“And now you’re single?” He asks over his shoulder, more of a follow up on your recent disclosure than the flirtation you wish it was. He sits down and you watch the way his knees knock together in khakis. 

“First time in 6 years,” you say over the rim of your glass, returning to your spot on the sofa. 

He’s watching you, like you’re throwing him off somehow or he’s intrigued. You realize you like it.

And then you remember why you’re here, tonight, in the first place: Amsterdam. The location shoot for the temp gig. Your temp gig job. Your job, him sitting across the room from you as not the man who writes your checks but still the one who generates them. Your laptop on the coffee table pulls you back to reality. You should probably not flirt with him.

“It’s canceled,” you nod towards the computer and then lift your Apple Watch as proof. “Confirmation email came through a few minutes ago.”

He shakes his head but smiles. “I can’t believe you thought I’d make you fly business class if I’m on a jet!”

You remember Maggie’s words from January, facetime a thousand miles away. Something along the lines of he’s amazing, Y/N, he’s so chill!

“You’d be really disappointed to hear what it’s like to work for Tom Cruise, then.”

He laughs, shifts on the couch and takes another sip. “I think it’s really shitty when people treat their EAs like regular assistants,” he shrugs. “Here’s this person who manages your whole life…arguably that means you’re more competent than I am,” he thinks aloud, a playful glance in your direction. A compliment? Maybe. Flirting? You hope.

Is that shitty? Is that weird and inappropriate or—worst of all—are you fully delusional? 

“I’m going to pocket that for future reference,” you admit with a smirk. 

He sips his wine and smiles, eyes you seriously from behind the glasses he puts on at the end of the day. “Just…know from here on out that you can book yourself as nice of a hotel room as you want, you know, within reason.”

You let your eyes bug out of your head. “Reason, like, the Presidential Suite at a Ritz Carlton, or?”

“Jesus,” a short laugh escapes, a comedic hint of suspicion is his eyes after he checks a text on his phone. “Maggie wasn’t kidding when she said you’ve been primarily A-list.”

“I would never,” you call back, a quick confession to make sure he knows you’re not that type of…employee? Temp? Whatever.

“Great, but still--we’re there for work, but you deserve to enjoy Amsterdam,” he gestures toward your laptop, like the British Airways website itself was a symbol of the upcoming business trip. 

Maggie’s been excited for weeks. She babbled about it in the car on the way from Heathrow and Poppy’s been shouting out nightclubs and restaurants and places she wants to go most mornings in the makeup trailer. 

You’ve never been to Amsterdam, but you’re excited nonetheless for a chance to see a new city in a new country. The last time you and Maggie were in Europe together was on your study abroad trip when you were both 21. Now it’s ten years later.

She bounces in one April morning to Poppy’s trailer while you’re sipping a hot coffee. One from the catering table because the one you sipped on your way here wasn’t enough. 

“You’re exactly who I wanted to see,” her face lights up when she spots you in a chair beside Juno. 

“Good morning,” you coo, grateful that Poppy’s trailer has become a bit of reprieve for you. You were right, a few weeks ago when you went out for your first Friday in London: Maggie and Poppy are tight, Juno and Briony and Hannah and the rest of the make up crew seem to be their own little friend group within the larger cast and crew. Ladies who stuck together.

Luckily, you were beginning to feel like a part of it. 

“I’m thinking pubs and clubs,” she dumps a tote bag on the counter, contents spill out but Poppy doesn’t seem to mind. 

“What?”

“We need to start planning for Amsterdam, babe.”

“It’s a work trip, babe,” you remind her with narrowed eyes, a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else was aware of Maggie’s scheming. 

“Work trip, hah!” Juno pipes up from her chair. She’s got curlers in, eyes still sleepy since the sun’s just made it above the horizon. “Someone tell Y/N about Lasso work trips.”

“Work trips,” Poppy turns to see you--she’s getting a palette ready for Juno, all of her brushes and tubes of lip gloss are organized sociopathically by color, size, and brand. “Are only half work.”

A woman after your own heart, though the results of your organizing episodes usually only last a few weeks. 

“Half work? How does that…work?” You ask, thankful that you don’t have to get mascara swiped on your lashes before your eyes are fully open. 

“We shoot long days and we’re busy,” Maggie nods honestly, she’s strapping her walkie-talkie onto her waist, snaking the wire of her headset up and behind her ear. “But when work is over, it’s playtime.”

You watch your oldest friend closely. “Sounds oddly sexual,” you comment around another slurp of coffee. 

“It can be sexual if you want it to be,” Maggie wiggles her eyebrows now. “If you’re feeling up for getting down and dirty!”

Oh boy. You blink at her a few times, memories of your last trip to Europe come flooding back. Maggie writing your number on the bathroom stall of a club in Rome, encouragement at every hour of the day to get loose and get laid. Unfortunately for you, this trip might be oddly reminiscent. 

“Yeah?” This pique’s Juno’s interest. “Someone in need of a little hanky-panky?”

They all giggle, you choke down more coffee but wipe your mouth when there’s a knock on the door. It opens, the whole trailer goes quiet when Jason’s on the other side.

“Morning,” he nods, a few steps in before he slinks down to the chair next to Poppy with an amused smile. “You know the gossip’s good when it goes completely silent.”

“Not gossip,” Maggie locks eyes with you in the mirror and smirks. “Just some chatter about Y/N’s lack of a love life,” she smiles, an apologetic but excited one.

“I work more than I sleep,” you defend loud enough for the whole trailer to hear—-all six of you in there.

True. Until, about, six months ago.

“Lack?” Jason’s eyebrows are arched in the mirror.

You hope Maggie doesn’t see the way your cheeks flush, a moment where his eyes find yours in the reflection above Poppy’s drawers and drawers of makeup. You wish you could vanish into thin air.

How—in only a few weeks—does it feel like you and Jason are in on your own little secret? 

“This is only my second cup of coffee so why don’t we talk about Maggie’s childhood obsession with webkinz?” You propose, a loud slurp and a ghoulish look in her direction to show her you mean business.

You had just as many years of ammunition as she did. If embarrassing each other was the goal, you could at least play the game. 

“Weren’t you a bit old for that, babe?” Poppy asks with a teasing smile, fingers focused on the curlers in Juno’s hair. 

“I didn’t give a shit that I was 16 and still into it,” Maggie defends, a dismissive eye roll when she picks up her phone from the counter. “The heart wants what it wants.”

A dodged bullet, for sure. You’re able to excuse yourself shortly thereafter to make sure Jason’s got what he needs for the day. Briony did the check of his office, grabbed breakfast and delivered a bagel to the makeup trailer. Which means you’re free to move about in search of the people you need today.

Joan from the location department, Tom from Post-Production—Maggie said he’d be easy to find because he always wears hats but is impeccably bald. 

You get the write-up you need from Joan and that’s when Briony falls into step beside you. She shows you the way down the maze of halls and through the lot to an office where Tom sits at a desk. Once you’ve got what you need from him (a firm answer to a question of Jason’s he’s been dodging all week), Briony sits with you on the sidelines of a scene in the locker room. 

Jason, Phil, Brendan, and Brett are shooting, the set’s loud before someone calls for quiet. 

Briony silently breaks her granola bar in half and offers you some, Greg--who works in sound--offers you both a warning glare: I better not hear rubbish. 

So you munch quietly side by side, feeling somewhat mesmerized by the way that when the camera’s rolling, Jason and his scene partners feel like the only people in the room. The scripted jokes they’re cracking are so good, it makes you regret never finishing season 1. 

You don’t remember finding him nearly as attractive back then as you do now, sitting behind the cameras and the boom, a walkie-talkie on your own hip and a pit in your stomach when you realize this isn’t even a thought you should be having.

But you can’t help that warmth pools in your belly when he rolls up his sleeves or laughs from across the room. Okay, so, maybe this isn’t just jet lag. 

CUT!--the room buzzes back into motion, Maggie’s zipping around the set and shouts to Greg, can we start again at line 47? Poppy goes to powder Brendan’s forehead, Briony’s on her feet and then the whole thing starts again. 

That happens another three times before there’s actually a break. Props weren’t delivered on time and so a different scene is getting staged but it doesn’t mean much to you. You’ve checked your own inbox eight times today and Jason’s twelve. 

But today was quiet. Showing up and making a stellar impression in the first few weeks was definitely a good thing, but had you been…too productive? Had you accidentally fucked yourself over because now you’re sitting here looking like a moron because you didn’t have something to do?

You booked a zoo tour for him and his kids next month, finalized the rest of his schedule for this week, arranged his travel to see friends in Spain later this summer. You’d organized his home office last week, updated his business accounts spreadsheet and even managed to book him an appointment with an eye doctor after he told you it’d been three years (ridiculous). 

Jason walks up and says something to Greg, who’s pretending to give Briony shit about the granola bar. Briony’s smiling up at him like he’s just told her Christmas is coming early.

“Hey,” you greet Jason with a smile, hand him his cell phone that’s been tucked into the bum bag around your shoulders. 

“I saw the tickets to the zoo at Battersea Park--thanks for putting that together.”

You nod, glad you were able to come up with something he could do with his kids next weekend when they’d be in town. An advertisement on the tube is what led you to buying three tickets on a whim, just in case.

You smile and look to your left, for some reason nervous that someone will see how awkward you’re being and misread it. It doesn’t matter, though, because he reaches forward and his hand’s on your elbow in a way that makes your face feel warm. 

“I mean it,” he says, a nod to himself and to you, one that lets you know he’s touched by the gesture. 

“Yes, yeah, sure,” you nod like an idiot, immediately embarrassed by the way his touch leaves your mouth unable to form consonants or vowels.

“Jason, go talk to Mark about camera angles,” Maggie appears and slaps him on the shoulder, a smile on her face when she playfully barks the order. 

Phil’s hand is outstretched suddenly, a reminder that time on set moved faster than anywhere else. “Y/N, could you take a picture of me in this for my mum?” 

You accept the phone and snap a photo, Maggie’s answering a text and then gets tugged away by a PA.

You turn to face Jason when Phil walks away, you’re ready for a request or a task or anything. But he just holds your gaze for a second, a pleased smirk spreads across his face. 

“Anything I can get you?”

He shrugs, “I’m good.”

It dawns on you, right then, that he walked over here to talk to you. Well, maybe not you. Maybe you were just in his way. Maybe he was looking for someone else but he saw you and it reminded him to say thanks. 

But either way, right now it’s just you and Jason standing here and it feels good to think that maybe he just likes being around you. Maybe the smirk on his face is because he sees the way your brain is short-circuiting. Luckily, he pulls you out of your crisis. 

“Can you come to my trailer later, around 3? Before I have to help them shoot at Keeley’s office later? I can text you.”

You’re nodding and agreeing to it as you visualize your own calendar in your head. You’re supposed to get off at 4pm today, an evening to yourself and the idea of a glass of wine on the couch sounds especially nice now that you’ve realized your social skills are such shit. 

“Perfect, great,” he says. “Apparently I have to go talk to Mark.”

You nod, he nods, and then he turns to leave you by the huddle of sound guys handling wires and knobs. You meet him in his trailer and handle the emails and errands he needs, grab a tea on the way home and you’re in the door at 4:49pm--and that’s with afternoon traffic. 

London’s been sunny this week, you had wine with Maggie and Brett and Phil one night and you didn’t feel new. You felt normal.

Winter was fading into spring over the last ten days, it was starting to feel like you were your own little piece in the big puzzle you got thrown into. Brendan knew he could always count on you to laugh at his jokes--especially and specifically when they were aimed at Jason. Brett knows your childhood nickname and threatens to tell Phil every time you get dangerously close to calling him out for flirting with Maggie. 

You don’t always feel like a transplant anymore, you feel like someone who’s starting to have a place. A tiny one, maybe off in the corner, but still, a place.

And when you left Jason’s trailer that afternoon, you thought it’d be the last time you saw him. 

So, naturally, your eyes go wide when you find him beneath the light of your front door this evening. You’re in a sweatshirt and bike shorts, completely unprepared for company. 

“Hi!” he says quickly, almost like he’s startled by the opening of the door, like he didn’t know if you’d be home or expected someone else on the other side of the knob. There’s a smile on his face that mirrors yours almost immediately. “Hey, sorry—to just show up here, like this.”

“How do you know where I live?” You narrow your eyes, a teasing but confident tone. All that does is give him a cheerful smugness that you regret immediately, one that makes his eyes scan your face before he shrugs.

“I know I’m not your boss, but I’m, like, not not your boss at the same time.”

You hold back a laugh and watch him, “what a blurred and confusing boundary…”

He smiles, “Which, all I mean by that is that Maggie sent the listing to me when she found it, I’ve actually known where you live since before you lived here,” he admits casually.

“Got it,” you step aside and he comes in, shuts the door behind himself before he meets your eyes again. 

“How are you?” You ask, intrigued by his surprise visit but also not wanting to scare him off. You like the way he’s looking at you, your heart does a flip at the thought that he wants to be around you. Just like earlier today. Fuck.

“I’m good,” he says, you walk towards the kitchen and wave a bottle of wine in the air and he nods. “I got stuck late at work, I was walking and it started to rain.”

“You live like, two minutes from here…” you’re smiling despite the challenging statement, you grab a glass from an overhead cabinet.

He shrugs when he slinks into a barstool at your counter, apparently unfazed by your accusation when he comes off it easily: “yeah, I just wanted to say hi.”

You reach for a glass in the cupboard overhead and tease him over your shoulder. “Curious to see how Maggie allocated the living stipend?”

He sits up straighter now and plays into the bit, pushing his lips out in thought when he looks around your open concept kitchen and living room. “That and…”

He looks around the room again, his words hang in the air as he buys time. But his hair’s a mess and his watch isn’t on--so you know something’s up.

It clicks. He’s got something on his mind or something and he’s…trying to talk about it? To you? 

Men! Sheesh. You try to relax your forehead as you pour him a glass so your confusion and shock isn’t misread as displeasure. Realistically, you’re touched he feels comfortable enough and the thumping in your chest is a dead giveaway if he can hear it when you deliver the wine.

“Shit day?” You ask, watching as his fingers wrap around the step. He takes a sip and shrugs. 

“Yeah, shit day…shit month, shit year.”

You giggle into your own glass, take your first sip before nodding. “I know the feeling.”

“No, I shouldn’t--” he pauses and stumbles for a second, “I don’t mean to complain or sound like a dick.”

You shrug and offer a smirk. “You’re not a dick if you have a human emotion.”

He nods, watches the wine in his glass as a smirk crawls onto his face. He looks up at you. “My ex could argue that statement for two hours.”

“Could she?” You smile, nodding when you tell him: “I’m a pretty patient person.”

“Are you?” 

“I am,” you laugh, “I like to think so.”

He lets out a tiny laugh at your comment, quiet for a second before he lets out an exhale. “I’m just stressed, really. Being showrunner this season is harder than I thought and it’s not even hard, it’s just more than I’m used to.”

You nod immediately. That makes sense and you see the fatigue on his face. You’d heard Maggie talk about it before: long hours, late nights, location shoots, freezing days, rewrites and props changes. TV wasn’t easy and you were already aware of that, only a few weeks in.

“I get that—but I think it’s normal to notice the learning curve when you’re doing something new.” 

He nods, accepts it and holds his breath for a second. “Yeah, that’s…a good way to say it.”

He smiles at you softly, eyes coming up to meet yours quickly before he shrugs. “I know I’ll survive, it’s just—been a rough go of it, lately.” 

“So what’s your release?” You ask.

His brows furrow together and the crease in his forehead lights something up inside you.

He says it like this hasn’t occurred to him at all. “My release?”

“How are you dealing with your stress?” 

The confusion on his face turns into amusement when the corner of his mouth twitches toward your ceiling. 

“So, nothing?”

He laughs. “I hadn’t thought about—doing anything, really.”

“Men,” you roll your eyes, moving towards the couch with your wine in hand. “The wine’s a nice place to start, but certainly not enough.”

He makes a face for a second, like he’s judging himself or imagining the terrible things you must think about him now that you’ve heard his feelings, but he stands to follow and listens intently when you almost open up.

“When my boyfriend dumped me and Kyle let me go, I stayed in bed for a good…two weeks,” you admit, a grimace on your face because you know it makes you sound like a loser. “But then my sister suggested I go to a rage room and it was amazing.”

“A rage room?” He laughs. “One of those places where you just break shit?”

“Smashing a TV to pieces is surprisingly therapeutic,” you tell him seriously.

He thinks on it for a second, nodding like he’s giving it real thought when he plucks at his lower lip. You can see the smirk he’s fighting, a sip of wine when your eyes dare him to say whatever he’s thinking.

“You don’t have to tell me--”

“But,” you say at the same time as he says it. A flash of embarrassment on his face when you raise your brows, reading him like a book,  just spit it out. 

“Why’d you get fired?”

Right. You knew it would come up at some point and even if Jason wasn’t really your boss, he definitely had the right to be curious. 

“I only ask because I read her reference letter--she loves you.”

“She does love me,” you nod. “But she was having family issues and I wanted a raise and then I found out that her daughter was sleeping with my boyfriend.”

His lips form an ‘o’ involuntarily, the response you got from most people when they hear how the dominoes all fell at the same time.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “Fired might be a strong word, but, certainly how it felt.”

“Well, her loss,” he nods confidently. “I’ve seen the way you organized my desk drawers and it’s either witchcraft or psychoticism and I’m okay with either if it’s always this easy to find shit.”

“I’ll keep it up then,” you smile and take another sip. 

“Sorry to just…show up, by the way,” he looks down at his own glass in hand, “and drink your wine.”

You had been looking forward to a shower and a night of watching trashy reality TV (though now you’d sworn off all of the Real Housewives). Other than that, your night was likely to consist of facetiming your mom and plucking your eyebrows. 

Jason sitting at your counter with a smirk on his face didn’t bother you at all, but you certainly couldn’t tell him you were flattered that he came here.

You nodded to let him know it was no nuisance. “I’m always up for a glass of wine and talking you off the ledge.”

“That shouldn’t be part of your job description, though.”

“Do you know how many times I listened to Kyle complain about her friends or had to send gift baskets to them after fights?”

“I’m guessing a lot?”

“You venting about work stress is a walk in the park,” you reassure.

“Well, I’m glad,” he says solemnly, a moment when he holds your eyes and you feel your cheeks get warm. 

You clear your throat, don’t be stupid, and force out a joke to act like whatever moment this was wasn’t problematic or weird or worse, enticing.

“So unless you have a daughter that will sleep with my boyfriend, we’re probably good.”

“My daughter’s seven,” a beat when he shrugs a single shoulder. “And you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You take a loud slurp from your wine--partly for comedic effect and party out of your own awkwardness--and smirk over the rim to match his. “Right.”

table of contents | talk to me + join the tag list

AN: WOW! HI! It's been a hot minute. I'm so glad to be posting this chappie and so appreciative of everyone's patience as my life evolves and writing has taken up a smaller portion of my time. I would love love love to hear what you think of this chapter and the story so far, I've been writing a lot the last few days as feb turns into march and I'm excited to share more!!!!

taglist: @babysugar02 @daydreamgoddess14 @endlessblasphemy @hart-kinsella @shanefilan @bookoffracturedghosts @cavillsim @the-fanfic-fangirl @tegan8314

[beardedmrbean]

Volusia County Sheriff Mike Chitwood announced the arrest of an 11-year-old boy who he said had a kill list and was making threats at two different schools.

Chitwood took to Facebook on Monday to say:

"As promised, we just arrested a Creekside Middle School student who made threats to commit a school shooting at Creekside or Silver Sands Middle School. He had written a list of names and targets. He says it was all a joke."

He said deputies recovered airsoft rifles, pistols and fake ammunition along with knives, swords and other weapons he was showing off to other students in a Facetime call.

Some said they could not tell if the weapons were real or fake. The boy also allegedly created a hit list. Deputies found a paper with several names that also appeared to have stab marks.

"Makes you not want to send your kids to school," said Steven Alkire, Creekside Middle School parent. It really does. And, you know, unfortunately, you can't stay home, can't homeschool them. So, you know, we're sort of forced to send them to school."

The boy will be charged with a felony for making a written threat of a mass shooting, Chitwood said.

When questioned by deputies, he allegedly said it was all a "joke."

"It's pretty scary," Alkire said. "Definitely scary. And with everything that's going on in this country, you know, it really makes you nervous. "

"P.S. I can and will release the names and photos of juveniles who are committing these felonies, threatening our students, disrupting our schools and consuming law enforcement resources," Chitwood said in the post.

WESH decided to not disclose the boy's identity because he is a minor.

The sheriff also reminds parents and students these threats are disrupting schools and consuming law enforcement resources. It's costing the department thousands of dollars to investigate all threats, including those that are fake.

In an email a district spokesperson said:

While VCS does not comment on individual student discipline matters, safety is our top priority, and this situation exemplifies how the security measures in place at our schools, as well as our partnership with law enforcement, ensure the safety of our students and staff. Thank you to the students who spoke up and submitted a tip when they heard something suspicious. We take all reports extremely seriously and work with law enforcement to ensure they are thoroughly investigated. We continue to encourage our students that if they see or hear something, they should inform an adult immediately or submit a tip to Fortify Florida.

Related: Sanford police arrest 15-year-old who allegedly threatened to commit a school shooting

Florida plagued with threats of school violence

Schools across Florida have been plagued with threats of violence since school resumed last month. In the last week in Central Florida, a 15-year-old was arrested in Sanford for making threats, and a student was found with an unloaded weapon on campus in Altamonte Springs.

Two students were arrested in Orlando after a loaded gun was found in a backpack.

In a video on Facebook on Sept. 13, Chitwood said 54 tips had come about shooting threats. All of them were deemed bogus, he said, adding that the hoax cost more than $20,000 in resource response.

"Starting Monday, your little cherub, we're going to start publishing his name, and we're going to start perp walks with them when we take them into custody," Chitwood said. "And we're going to show pictures of you, the parents, because you don't want to raise your kid; Sheriff Chitwood is going to raise him."

[triptychgrip]

If the Katsuki-Nikiforovs ever took GQ Magazine's Couples's Quiz game...

...it would be an utterly sappy and unhinged rollercoaster, as I cover in Chapter 7 of my post-canon, Olympic-Games-focused Yuri!!! on Ice fic (which only has 4 chapters left until completion!). Yuuri, understandably, feels the need to profusely apologize to the GQ production staff for putting up with him and Viktor (plus the friends they'd invited to watch the filming, which includes Yurio and Christophe, among others).

Indeed, as I note Reddit user r/OohYouMakeMeFeel_369's reaction: "I laughed my ass off when I saw Yuuri's tweet a few hrs ago where he tagged the filming crew and promised to buy them some strong sake for putting up with them. And then, omg Viktor followed up by inviting them to Yutopia. My fav Russian continues to be #NumberOneHasetsuTourismAmbassador"

If you've watched any of the actual Couple's Quiz game series, you might note that they usually end the quiz with some form of the question: "What does your partner love most about you?"

Even though my fic is currently over 200K words, this scene is definitely in my top 3 favorites I've written, because it allowed me to try to capture how Yuuri and Viktor -- who, at this point, have been together for over 5 years, and married for nearly three -- perceive the other's love.

In particular, it allows you to see the traits that they've come to appreciate about themselves by way of the other's vantage point: something that was particular gratifying to create headcanons around as it pertains to Yuuri's increasing confidence through canon, which continues to grow as he and Viktor face life's challenges together. All in all, this chapter will give you the warm-fuzzies, and I believe you can still enjoy it even if you don't want to read the larger fic (though I do hope you'd give it a chance, especially if you are interested in seeing how their relationship might have evolved).

Below is an excerpt that I hope piques your interest in checking the story out. Note: as it gets closer to completion, I'll probably post more excerpts from the first 10 chapters, because I sort of sucked at promoting this fic when I first started posting it to ao3 back in November...lesson learned!

------

“Never mind their gross kissing,” Yurio loudly complained, throwing them a look of disgust as if they’d just insulted Potya. “What I want to know is what the score is now that Katsudon got all 3 right.”

Jamie answered almost immediately.

“Ok, remember: there’s still a final question for you both, which are big multi-pointers,” he called out, flipping a few pages of his clipboard. And, since neither of you have used your three hints, you could each get an additional three points when everything wraps up, if you decide not to use them. So with that disclaimer, Yuuri is currently in the lead, up by 1.5 points.”

Before Yuuri could outwardly celebrate his small leg-up, Chris piped up with a predictably suggestive comment. 

“Hmmm, I wonder if dear Yuuri will be able to maintain his lead? I believe he can, he’s always had such excellent stamina, after all…”

As his voice trailed off, Yura turned to face him with a pronounced scowl on his face. 

“You need new material, Giacometti. These two have been together for years: it’s time to show some damn evolution.” 

He then began to mutter under his breath, saying something that sounded like “resting on his fucking laurels, what a waste,” which made several people nearby laugh. The Ice Tiger had a bit of a point: stamina jokes were so 2017.

While Yuuri was pleased with his lead, he was slightly nervous around what Jamie and Tarneka had selected for their final questions. There had definitely been some bizarre ones nestled within the ‘bank’ of options the two co-producers had emailed them a few weeks back. As he’d filled out his answers and allocated the points for the thirty questions he was supposed to submit – having to eventually move to a different room away from Viktor, as they’d kept distracting one another with their snickering – he remembered barking out mildly hysterical laughter at a few of the options in the last category. 

“What might your life be like in a parallel universe?” had stumped him, and he wondered if his husband had been brave enough to pick that one out; it was the kind of wacky, philosophical question he adored.

“Only 1.5 points behind…that’s nothing,” Viktor spoke up, with a gleam in his eye. “Don’t get too comfortable, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov,” Yuuri lobbed back, only a split-second later, before slipping into focus mode and reaching for the last notecard.

Before he could lay a hand on it, however, his spouse called out to Tarneka and Jamie.

“Are you able to dock points for intimidating the competition?” he asked, sounding put-out. 

Yuuri blinked, unsure as to what he was insinuating.

“You have on your very eros nothing-can-stop-me face, and I won’t be able to concentrate if I’m too distracted by how hot you look,” Viktor continued on in Russian, furrowing his eyebrows, cutely. 

Powerless against the giggles that burst forth, he clapped a hand over his mouth as he watched his love’s eyes begin to narrow. 

“You can’t be serious, Vitya,” Yuuri wheezed, following Viktor’s lead and switching to Russian. “This is just my face! It’s not like I’m doing anything on purpose.”

Yuuri missed the ensuing retort amidst the sound of Tarneka’s ask to Yura for a translation of their back-and-forth: a request the Ice Tiger very firmly denied.

“Trust me, you’re better off not knowing,” he griped, before marching over to stand near them, just out of the camera frame. 

“Get a grip, old man!” he hissed in Russian, staring daggers at Viktor. “This thirsty idiot act may have been acceptable a few years ago, but the time is long past for you to realize that the person you married is just a man. For fuck’s sake, Katsudon isn’t some god.”

Viktor visibly bristled at these words, and Yuuri mentally prepared himself to intervene.

“I resent that, Yura,” his husband replied, loftily. “My Yuuri is divine; he’s not ‘just’ anything! Did you even see his Sports Week magazine cover? When I saw the final proofs, I almost fainted: all the blood in my body began to rush straight to m– ”

“Mmmmmph!”

[kira-ani-mcgrath]

Your commission advice is all very practical and helpful, but how can I avoid saying "contact for pricing" when my offerings and the potential requests are so diverse? I understand that pricing schemes can be rather formulaic for character portraits, but I don't want to limit myself.

Note for others: This is referencing my "Commission Tips" post, specifically this part:

Public Pricing I've signed my name to more vehicles than I care to count over the years, which means I've done quite a bit of car shopping. I am a researcher, and I've had times where I have many browser tabs open, pouring over the various listings and comparing all kinds of factors - such as mileage, gas mileage, safety rating, features, and, of course, price - in an effort to narrow down my choices and arrive at the best deal possible. Sometimes in these searches, vehicle listings will say "contact dealer for pricing" for various reasons. That instantly knocks the vehicle down a slot in my rating system. I have enough anxiety dealing with certain things even when I have all the facts and know exactly what I want. It's even worse when I have to cold-call for a very important piece of information and risk getting roped into a conversation I don't want to have. Yes, I have a point to this anecdote. I have many times compared commission shopping to car buying, even joking that I put more research into my commission purchases than I have into our last few vehicle purchases. "DM/email me for prices" is an artist's equivalent of "contact dealer for pricing," and thus is an instant back-button for me at this point. It's just not worth the hassle when there are so many other options out there that give me all the information I need front-and-center.

Admittedly, this point is probably the least universally-applicable, given that there are buyers who have no issue with these sorts of inquiries. However, I'd presume I'm not the only one who avoids this, especially online. So, if you'd like to catch the consideration of a customer such as myself, there's a few options:

1) Include examples with approximate prices in your commission information. These examples can be personal works or past commissions you've done (and the example price doesn't need to be what you actually charged for that particular commission, but what you would charge if asked to repeat it - useful if you raise your rates or if the cost of materials increases). You can also stress that the priced pieces are examples and final pricing is determined by the exact specifications the potential buyer sends in for consideration.

2) Utilize base + add-on pricing. With this pricing method, you have a minimum price for a basic service, then additional charges for increased levels of work. This method is similar to the flat pricing you typically see for artwork commissions, but it gives a little more flexibility in accounting for the differing detail levels of requests while still giving people the ability to calculate an accurate price for themselves. Example 1: base of grayscale half-body = $10, add full-body +$5, add color +$10, add complex details +$10, add basic background +$10, add complex background +$20 or more depending on details Example 2: base of 24-in scarf 1 color of basic yarn = $10, every additional color +$5 ea, upgrade to premium yarn +$10 per color, add an extra inch +$2 ea

3) Utilize ranged pricing. With this pricing method, you advertise a minimum charge for a basic commission but also state that the price increases with complexity and the actual price will depend on the specifics of the commission. You don't specify all the minutia of what increases the cost. While this is less information upfront for the buyer, it's still some information while allowing for more nuanced pricing control by the artist. You can also have different levels of ranges. A top-end price cap isn't necessary, but I have seen it used in tiered ranged pricing or if the artist just wants a cap for their own sake. Example 1: grayscale portrait $50-$150, color portrait $100-$200, color illustration $300+ Example 2: acrylic scarf $15+, wool scarf $50+

On the back-end of things, I would recommend having some type of cost breakdown of what goes into your craft(s). Overall, have a general idea of how long it takes you to create pieces at different levels of quality/detail/size/etc. If the commission is a physical item, the costs of materials and tool wear-and-tear should also be factored into the final price. If you have at least a mental guideline for that sort of thing, it will be easier to price your examples and any incoming inquiries.

I understand the appeal of just saying "contact for pricing" is the artist being able to tailor a quote to the exact specifications of a request, but I think this method is inefficient. There's unnecessary extra steps that can be eliminated with the artist giving potential customers a minimum baseline expectation front-and-center through one of the above methods.

Thanks for the compliment and the question! I enjoyed being able to expand on that point, and I hope it's useful. :)

[hsfan94]

Dress

Y/n and Harry had an interesting friendship. They were best friends sure but people always suspected they were more. At first Harry brushed it off and laughed about it even but as time went on the jokes got old. Simply because he could no longer tell where the boundaries were anymore either and he didn’t need outsiders putting their two cents in.

The first time he felt the shift in their relationship was a little over three years ago.

Dancing around the kitchen in the middle of the night Harry realised he'd never had a friend like her before. They'd been friends for a little over two years. He couldn't remember what it was like before her and he didn't want to imagine a time without her.

They were in his New York apartment. After going out to dinner and getting chased by that stupid TMZ guy that's obsessed with him, he suggested she stay at his place since it was closer. That's how they ended up drinking three bottles of Rozé and dancing around like lunatics. Her drunkenness caused her to take a wrong step which sent them both to the floor. He landed on top of her in somewhat of a compromising pose and they both bursted out laughing.

"I've never been this drunk on wine before." She confessed. She wouldn't have told anyone something like that before but his eyes had some sort of truth serum in them.

"Oh yeah?" He could have stared at her for hours.

"That's probably because I don't usually have more than a glass at a time." She impulsively reached up to brush a stray curl out of his face. "You're a bad influence, Harry Styles."

"Where have you been all my life Y/n?"

"Waiting to be a part of it." She wasn't even sure what she meant.

He almost kissed her. If she hadn't swatted at his butt and said, "move I gotta pee," he would have crossed that line. He spent the rest of the night thinking about what it would be like if he had. What else might have happened? Maybe eventually she would even live in the very flat they were in.

He was beyond prepared for the badgering he would get when he told his friends they were doing a joint birthday celebration this year. Their birthdays are so close together and they’ve always talked about celebrating together out of convenience and this year it was happening. And sure enough the teasing had been endless.

“So, H, is it like a coming out party? Are you and the missus finally taking that step?” Jeff asked, sipping his coffee. They were having a meeting about his birthday shows when Jeff read the email invite from Y/n.

The design she went with was adorable and so perfectly her that Harry couldn’t find it in him to make changes when she asked him to edit.

“Come on, Jeff. We’ve been over this.”

“Seriously I think it’s a cute idea. I just wish you two would stop fucking around and get together.”

He received texts from Mitch, Sarah and Ben that day as well all stating something similar. Harry kind of hoped it would be that kind of party.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n was nervous. She knew what she wanted for her birthday this year and she wasn’t going to let anything get in her way. She had been trying to cross the line with Harry for so long. Unfortunately for her, they had horrible timing. One of them was always taken. That night in the kitchen when he almost kissed her she had to run away because she was seeing someone. She would have had sex with Harry right there on her floor if they had kissed and she didn’t want to be a cheater. When he got cast as Jack in ‘Don’t Worry Darling’ they had been staying together and she thought for sure that would be it. Then he came home drunk one night proclaiming love for Olivia and she was proper annoyed. She hadn’t expected it to go on for two years either. So when they broke up, she wanted to give him time to process, but she was ready to go for it as soon as she thought he’d had enough time. And what better way to do that than at their birthday party?

“I don’t know about this one,” she said, looking herself up and down. The black silk gown adorning her body not quite living up to expectation.

She had decided to buy a new dress for the party for the sole purpose of it aiding in her confession.

“I think you look stunning.” Julia stood behind her looking at it from all angles.

“I don’t know Jules. I want his jaw to hit the floor.” She turned around to grab the other one she picked out.

“You say that like his jaw wouldn’t hit the floor if you showed up in sweats.” Julia rolled her eyes as she exited the changing room.

“Shut up. You know what I mean. I’m just scared” Y/n said.

“Why?”

“Because what if he’s just a big flirt. Part of me feels like if he really wanted me he would have done something about it already.” Y/n knew her and Harry were meant to be but she couldn’t figure out why it hadn’t happened yet. So she couldn’t help but worry she was wrong sometimes.

“And I think you severely overestimate men. They don’t always know what they want. Or what they need.”

Y/n opened the curtain and showed Julia the dress.

“This is the one,” they spoke in sync and then they laughed.

“Okay babes get changed and we can get lunch and game plan some more.” Julia ushered her back into the changing room.

She looked over herself in the mirror and sighed happily. It really was the one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry hadn’t actually seen Y/n in a long time. They emailed and texted or called everyday, but she hadn’t been around as much lately due to conflicting schedules. At least she claimed it was her schedule. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew she did not like Olivia and to be honest he hoped it was cause she was jealous. He’d never actually admit it though. Since it had been months since a proper Y/n and Harry moment he could not contain his excitement at seeing her tonight. In fact, he was staring at the entrance to the venue with utmost concentration waiting (not so patiently) for her arrival. Y/n loved being fashionably late. So, Harry was nodding along pretending to be listening to whatever Niall was telling him waiting for his best friend to finally show up.

When Y/n walked through the door, everything stopped. Time stood still. At least Harry thought so anyway, until Niall noticed he no longer had his friend's attention.

"Ah I see. Go talk to her mate."

Without another word Harry all but stormed up to her.

"Hi," he said smiling down at her.

"Hi, Harry. How are you?" She gave him a hug and upon pulling back she stayed attached to him, looking up at him from within his embrace.

"A lot better now."

After another minute of just staring at her, he noticed Julia who had come in beside her.

"Miss Michaels, how are you this evening?"

"Great," Julia replied, "Everything looks fantastic you all did a good job."

Julia and Y/n exchanged a look that Harry couldn't decipher and then she spoke again.

"I'm going to go catch up with Niall. I'll see you lovebirds later."

She skipped away before Harry could say anything about her comment.

“Lovebirds?” He questioned Y/n who was just staring at him, dare he say starry eyed.

“What’s wrong? Is that not accurate?” Y/n was playing with fire. She wanted to really test him.

“What do you mean, lovie?” Harry’s heart started beating faster.

She didn’t want to lay it all out just yet so she leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I don’t want you like a best friend.” Then she cheekily squeezed his left ass cheek and scampered away.

Harry was left speechless watching her walk away. And damn did that dress look good from the back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n wasn’t avoiding Harry per se but she was definitely putting space between them. She was currently talking to Jeff about future projects he could help her with and her and Harry kept meeting eyes. She couldn’t tell how well received her ass grab and best friend remark were and it was driving her crazy. So crazy she decided to just ask his friend.

“I hate to interrupt your thought J, but I have to ask you something.”

“No worries what’s up?” Jeff was always so understanding.

“I’ve been sending all these signals, I mean for years, and I feel like I get nothing in return and it’s driving me crazy.” She started to ramble.

“Y/n. Breathe. Get to the point.” Jeff chuckled at her frustration because he knew what the question was.

“Ok. Umm. How do I put this? Does Harry ever talk about me? Like in a romantic way?”

“You mean is he in love with you?” Jeff asked.

She nodded. He looked over at Harry only to find him shamelessly staring at Y/n. His eyes were traveling all over her body, completely ignoring Mitch and Sarah who were stood beside him, and Jeff had to end it.

“Yes he’s been madly in love with you for years, but between you and me,” he looked between Y/n and Harry, “he’s a big pussy.”

Y/n cackled. She had never heard Jeff say that word and it was fucking hilarious, especially in the context of describing her silly best friend, her love.

“Thank you. So much. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go make an announcement.”

Y/n scurried over to the stage they had set up for toasts and karaoke.

“Excuse me everyone.”

The crowd went silent and all eyes were on her.

“First I want to thank you all for coming. It means so much to Harry and I. We love each and every one of you.”

She looked at Harry and saw how confused he looked.

“I just umm. I have an announcement to make and I don’t know how to form my own words for it. The irony is not lost on me as a songwriter.”

The crowd laughed.

“But I’ve tried to write songs about this in the past few days and I’ve just had major writer’s block so, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to borrow words from my friend Taylor.”

She looked at Taylor who gave her a thumbs up.

“Alright then. This song is called Dress.”

The music started playing and everyone except Harry seemed to understand immediately.

“Our secret moments, in a crowded room. They got no idea about me and you.” She made eye contact with Harry as she sang.

“Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo. All of this silence and patience. Pining and anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you.”

She lifted up a shaky hand and everyone laughed including Harry who had seemed to catch on a little.

“Say my name and everything just stops. I don’t want you like a best friend. Only bought this dress so you could take it off.”

On that line she got bold. She pointed to her dress and then to him and his eyes shot wide open. Then she gestured him closer with her finger and he complied, slowly approaching the stage himself.

“Inescapable, I’m not even gonna try and if I get burned at least we were electrified.”

He was on the stage now.

“Everyone thinks that they know us but they know nothing about.” She held the mic out to him and he sang, understanding it was meant to be a mutual announcement.

“All of this silence and patience pining and anticipation my hands are shaking from holding back from you.” He lifted his hands up hovering them above her face but not touching to animate the line. Everyone laughed again.

They sang the rest of the song loosely but Y/n finished alone with the line “Only bought this dress so you could take it off.”

The music ended and the crowd cheered. Then, somebody (Y/n swears it was Jeff immediately followed by Taylor) started chanting “Kiss, Kiss, Kiss”. And they did.

Harry’s hands finally found placement on her cheeks and their lips met delicately. It was a perfect first kiss. When they broke away but he was still so close she whispered “I love you,” and he kissed her again.

“I love you too.”

A/n: I thought about writing more (maybe what they do after the party), but I also wanted to post this before it had been too long after his birthday. So I hope you like it. Comment if you want more from this universe.

[clickerflight]

Muir: Part 1 - Warehouse

A bit of a treat for ya here! A two parter about how Muir became a vampire. The second one will be up as soon as I have it edited. Enjoy!

Master list

Part 2

Content: human police whumpee, gun violence, mentions of cults and what happened to Joseph, hidden injury vibes

........................................

Muir spun his chair back and forth impatiently, watching Granger work her way through her paperwork for the week. She kept eyeing him, annoyed. 

“Isn’t there something you should be doing?” she asked, typing away at her keyboard. 

Muir clicked his tongue. “No.”

“Paperwork?”

“You know how I am about paperwork,” he replied. “It’s all done.”

“How do you even manage that? I know how many cases you take at a time, on top of your bondmate.”

Muir gave her a side eyed look when she said bondmate. She always said it with disappointment, like he’d made a bad decision in bonding with Joseph as a human. He personally was fine with it. He was pretty sure that it gave him some sort of extra energy somehow, and it was comforting knowing someone would always know where he was. “Maybe I sold my soul for paperwork powers.”

She didn’t even roll her eyes at his terrible joke and just gave a long, long sigh. 

“I don’t know, Granger. I just work on it when I have a spare minute here and there,” he said with a shrug. 

“Isn’t there research you can do?” 

“I’m out of leads till my warrant goes through.”

“You could help someone else get their work done. I wouldn’t mind help with my paperwork.”

“Nah,” Muir said, going back to spinning. “I’m enjoying watching you do it.”

Granger flashed her fangs at him, but there was no real fire behind it. “Okay, whatever. But if the chief sees you sitting on your hands she’ll find something for you to do.”

“Oh, I know,” Muir replied. “But she’s in a meeting with the Fire Inspector right now.”

Granger groaned at Muir’s grin. “Yeah, and he comes in and wastes her time. What could he possibly need to talk to her about that oft-” She spotted the look on Muir’s face and her eyebrows shot up in a rare show of surprise. “No. No!”

“Yes,” Muir said, deeply amused. “They’re being responsible and making sure they have their work done just so they have time for little meetings.”

Granger put her face in her hands with a groan. “That is so wrong.”

“I think it’s cute,” Muir said, spinning a full circle before he pulled up a screen on his computer and started typing so smoothly that Granger almost didn’t notice as the chief’s door opened and the Fire Inspector backed out, holding up a hand in goodbye. 

Muir waited till the man had left and the door to the chief’s office was fully closed before he went back to spinning his chair back and forth, practically taunting Granger. 

She sighed, shaking her head and going back to her paperwork. 

Muir scrolled through his computer, occasionally refreshing his emails and chatting with a couple of friends. 

Then, he refreshed his email again and he rushed to click on the link and print out the warrant. “I’ve got it. I’ll call the guys together. Be at the cars in 10 minutes, Granger.”

With that, Muir was off with his fresh warrant to let the chief know where he was going and how many officers he needed to take with him. 

Granger sighed one more time as she worked to finish what she was working on. This should at least be fun. Until it gave her more paperwork afterwards. 

……………………………..

The warehouse the warrant was for was attached to the new cult formed out of the ashes of the previous one that have been involved in killing David and causing harm to Joseph. Muir had been investigating it, reopening the case. He had quickly discovered that the previous case had actually been connected to a lot of missing person’s reports. It seemed that on the same night of the ritual,every single cult member had completely vanished, and the only living witness to the incident was buried in a box in the ground and unable to know what happened. 

Muir had been worried that would be the end of it, chasing dead end after dead end, looking for unclaimed bodies to see if they had performed a mass suicide somewhere else, but he had found nothing. 

Nothing except for a record of a new cult starting soon after, using the same name and locations with different people involved, though some of them were friends and family of the missing cult members. 

This warehouse would hold even more information. Muir had worked his tail off to get enough evidence that something shady was going on here to get himself a warrant. If they could just get inside, they might actually find out what has been going on here. Even if he couldn’t put the original group in jail for what they did, he could keep this group from doing any more harm.

And they had already done plenty of harm. There had been some vampire disappearances in the area since they had established themselves again. Muir had got the warrant based on some illicit potion deliveries he managed to confirm at this address, though he was fairly certain they would be finding some vampire ash inside, if not the whole cult all high on it. 

Muir got his gun ready, flashlight in the other hand as he and the group of officers approached the door, Granger at his shoulder ready to intercept any attack thrown his way. He had to admit he envied her abilities as a vampire. He would love to intercept attacks for the others without too much concern for his own life. 

He looked around and nodded at Officer Blaire. He had the loudest voice and was the best at kicking down doors. His eyes lit up at the chance as he made his way to the front of the group. He banged on the door and shouted, “Police! Open up!”

There was a long long moment of silence, counting out the seconds legally required before continuing, before Officer Blaire smiled like a kid on Christmas as he stepped back and slammed the door in. 

It opened easily enough and officers moved in quickly, flashlight beams swinging around in the darkness beyond. 

The place was fairly dusty, and smelled of drugs and potions. 

Muir carefully made his way forward, clearing spaces and calling out to the others, listening to the others shout out ‘Clear!’ to make sure no one went down without his noticing. 

There didn’t seem to be anyone here. There were old style coffins lined along the walls, some of them nailed shut, others with free swinging lids. The old warehouse was filled to the brim with crates and boxes and a quick peek in a couple of them assured Muir that his warrant had certainly paid off. 

“We’ve got Vampire Ash here!” 

Muir made his way through the crates over to a set of long tables where there were boxes of vampire ash along with the equipment to make it into a potent drug. The process had been discovered fairly recently and the drug was beginning to spread like wildfire through the streets of most major cities because of its addictive and healing effects while the authorities tried to figure out where all the vampires were that were being mutilated, mistreated, and killed to make the stuff. 

“Alright, the Icky guys should be here soon to deal with this,” he said, referring to the Illicit Substance division that would come through to help them clear the place out safely. “Let’s just make sure this place is empty.”

“Yes sir.”

Muir continued on into the dark, searching for more leads. He had to have another lead. This was a lot, but he wanted to find where the cult kept some of their files, maybe even see where they got the vampire ash from and bust a few drug rings.

He found an office space towards the back of the warehouse and whistled sharply to let Granger know where he was. He found the door to be unlocked and quickly swung his flashlight around the office. It was empty besides a couple of computers and some files piled haphazardly around the room. 

Delighted by this, he stepped into the room, looking around at the files and picking one up to see what was on it. 

Before he could really see what it was, he heard movement behind him, though he wasn’t that concerned. That would be Granger catching up to him and keeping an eye out while he poked through all of these papers and computers and happily picked out lead after lead like he was foraging cheerfully through a forest for mushrooms like he did with his dad when he was younger. 

He was abruptly jolted from his satisfaction as a terrifyingly loud sound lit through the room and he felt something impact his body. 

He managed to keep from falling forward into the papers and turned to find a pale, wide-eyed human staring at him, a gun in their hand and long greasy hair in their eyes. 

Muir jumped forward, his blood rushing in his ears as he pushed the gun to the side and shouted as he fought with the person. The attacker scratched at him and screeched like a wild thing, struggling to get away no matter the damage to their person. 

Grager shot out of the darkness, grabbing the human and forcing them to the ground on their stomach and cuffed their hands behind their back, kicking the gun away. 

“Are you alright? I heard two shots. Were they yours?”

“Two?” he asked, still jittery from the surprise. He must not have processed the other one in his shock. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. My armor caught it, I think.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yeah. I’m alright. 

More agents and officers hurried over to see what had happened and Muir was quick to explain the situation. Afterwards, he said, “Officer Blair, if you could get the suspect out to the…. To the car that would be… be… ummm.”

Muir started to sway, the blood draining from his face. What was going on? He should probably sit down. He slowly took a step back towards a crate, leaning against it as Officer Blair stepped forward. “Sir? Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he said weakly. “I’ll be alright. Just the shock of being shot at, I think. Here, Granger, you take over. I’m going to get some air and water really quick.”

Granger nodded, giving a bit of a side look as he made his way out of the warehouse. The pain where he’d been shot started to register and he groaned. The armor kept you alive but it still hurt like nothing else. He’d have a bruise for a week. He felt something wet drip down his arm and realized the suspect had scratched him with their long jagged nails where they’d untucked his sleeve from his glove. He’d have to remember to get it cleaned. He hoped it didn’t get infected. He wondered how long that person had been here. Long enough to go pale and hollow and…. And…..

Muir stumbled, and then he fell, pain blazing out through his stomach and back. He tried to take a breath to shout for help, but all he could do was lay there in the dust as it gradually dawned on him that something was very, very wrong. 

Part 2

From Dust to Ashes: @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thecyrulik @gt-daboss @currentlyinthesprial @pigeonwhumps @not-a-space-alien

[lonelynpc]

ooh i have some questions too if that’s okay? i heard that as an anaesthesiologist, after actually putting together the anaesthetic, your job is (ideally) boring and you basically just have to sit and supervise in case it goes wrong, is this true? and if so, what do you generally do during long surgeries??

along with this, have you ever had a patient react completely unexpectedly to anaesthetic, or does it all generally fall within certain parameters? and is it true that redheads need more anaesthetic than other people?

hi! awesome questions

so, ideally my job is very boring. we top up meds, keep an eye on the patient, teach and learn. during long cases where there's nothing to do, i like to catch up on emails or play solitaire. it's sort of a joke that all anaesthetists have to choose one mobile game or one physical game like sudoku to play for their entire career.

as for unexpected reactions, we have a few. so specific to anaesthetic we sometimes see anaphylaxis, local anaesthetic toxicity. there's also a reaction called 'malignant hyperthermia' which is genetic, it's super rare but it's a specific anaesthetic emergency that we're all trained in. it's a severe reaction to certain agents we use that causes hypermetabolism in the skeletal muscles. basically, the muscles release calcium ions and cause the muscles to contract, resulting in hyperthermia and a host of other problems. i've only seen it happen once and i've only met one patient who was positive for it, a lot of anaesthetists have never even heard of it happening. it's not super common here but i guess we might have more incidents of it because we're next-door to a country where it's more common.

as for redheads needing more anaesthetic, there's not absolute rule or evidence for it but experience is part of how we assess this and some redheads do report requiring more. one of my consultants is a redhead and says that he's never needed more, studies have shown that it mostly seems to just be variations in anaesthetic requirements similar to people with different hair colours. what works for one person might not work for another, it really depends on medical history, drug/alcohol use, age, sex, etc.

[elfboyeros]

Brier's Three

Raining Academics

So I didn't expect this to come out at all, but I did it. Yes, I did give away the plot of Bridgehidien Forest, I'm sorry. This is a start to Brier's Three the little story about Indigo and Calvin's children and their Shenanigans, please and enjoy and of course, read about the nerds!

“Come on! Come on!”

“Simon, give it a break!”

“No! I need to see if I’m at the top of the dean's list!”

“It’s just a list.”

“It’s not just a list—”

“If you two are going to argue, can you please do it outside of the rotunda!”

Three students within the glided rotunda, one an academic, one a sportsman, one a child of worship. Simon, Mallory, and Bridget.

“AH! HA HA! FINALLY!” Simon exclaimed quickly clicking the email that had just arrived in his inbox, “Couri… Couri… Couri-DAMN IT!”

“I take it you didn’t make the dean’s list,” Mallory laughed.

“The Bookstone kid is at the top of the list!” Simon groaned.

“Which one? There are three of them.” Mallory remarked.

“Can you two not do this while, I’m praying,” Bridget muttered, kneed in front of the largest statue of the goddess Bridgehid in the cupola used to hide the entrance to the catacombs under the store as sort of an open secret, but also as a capital of worship for the more religious students on campus.

“How did Alexandria get to the top of the list! They barely pay attention in class!” Simon groaned.

“I will never know peace,” Bridget sighed.

“They're probably at the top because of Mrs. Bookstone,” Simon huffed through gritted teeth.

“Oh, come on!” Mallory groaned, “They are not on the top of the dean list just because their mom is the dean!”

“Then how did they end up at the top, Mal? They do nothing in class, how are they an academic genius?” Simon vented.

Bridget huffed and finally got up dusting off her skirt before heading toward the exit and passing her friends on the way, “Are Aurora and Finnegan on the list?” she asked quietly.

Simon quickly skimmed the list, “Not that I can see.”

“Then there is no favoritism,” Bridget retorted as her friends followed her out of the dome and across the paved walk to the main campus under cloudy skys, “Alexandria, regardless of what you believe, must be a rather distinguished academic if they are at the top of the list.”

Simon groaned pulling at his hair, “I don’t understand!”

“Maybe it’s something you don’t need to understand,” Mallory chuckled, following him into the main building.

“GOOSE!”

While slinging into the main foyer, passing their fellow students before hearing that familiar voice piercing their ears, the small dean’s list with the goofiest smile ever waving at the person who seemed to be their academic rival.

“My name is Simon,” he grumbled, passing Alexandria and their siblings and leaving Bridget and Mallory behind to go to there respective classes.

“What the hell is his problem,” Finnegan asked mumbling.

“Simon’s always been standoffish,” Florian mentioned, an arm around Aurora’s shoulders, “Don’t take it personal, brother.”

“I wonder why he never wants to talk to me,” Alexandria muttered with a frown, “I just wanna be his friend.”

“Maybe you could ask Aunt Georgia, how to make friends,” Aurora mentioned.

“Good idea!” they yelped, before running down the mage hall, “Thanks Aurora!”

“This isn’t going to end well, is it?” Florian asked, looking to his girlfriend to which she shrugged.

“It’s a gift from the goddess,” Finnegan joked, before heading down the hallway to his class, “they’ll leave us alone for the day.

Alexandria checked Georgia’s office, unable to find her there she searched through the mage wing of the college to find their magic genealogy teacher.

“Auntie Georgia? You here?” Alexandria entered the great mage’s classroom seeing their mother’s former student and their adopted sibling’s partner socializing, “UNCLE ELIAS!”

“Hey Alex!” He exclaimed as Alexandria ran up to him and hugged him.

“Where’s Rowan?” Alexandria asked with stars in their eyes.

 “In the infirmary, along with Nemo and Elle.” Elias sighed shaking his head.

“Did something happen?” Alexandria asked concerned.

“The normal hunting trio shenanigans,” Georgia giggled, “Do you need something, Alex?”

“How do I make friends,” Alexandria asked.

Elias and Georgia both laughed, “You’ve never had a problem with making friends before, Alex, what makes this any different?” Elias chuckled.

Alexandria let out a little groan, “It’s this guy named Simon—”

“Goose?” Georgia asked.

“Yes Goose,” Alexandria nodded, “I think I’ve done something that makes him not want to be my friend and I have no idea what to do.”

“I have found it easiest just to talk to other when trying to make friends,” Georgia mentioned, “If that isn’t working you may want to talk to Elle or Rowan.”

“Huh?”

“That does sound like Elle and Rowan,” Elias stated, with a little laugh.

“Aunt Elle and Rowan didn’t get along?” Alexandria asked, a confused tilt to their head.

Elias and Georgia nodded, “when they first met, yes.” Elias explained, “All over something that seems so trivial to them now. I bet if you asked them what to do, they would both say to just ask him what’s wrong.”

Alexandria nodded with a smile across their face, “Just talk to him, okay, I can do that I can talk!” they remarked before running toward the exit, “Thank you both!”

“See you later Alex,” Elias called.

“Describing Elle and Rowan as simply not getting along is an interesting choice,” Georgia remarked.

Elias shrugged, “How else would you describe it,” he chuckled.

“The terrifying summer when Elle was still processing her abuse with Duke caused her to pull Rowan into a dream state to conferment them about not remembering her when they were not experimented on as children and put us all in danger in the forest,” Georgia relayed.

“Yeah, they didn’t get along,” Elias joked, with a chuckle.

With the advice from Auntie Georgia and Uncle Elias, they marched to their Magical Chemistry Lab and immediately found Simon there, “Simon!” they exclaimed, approaching him at his little lab table.

“What do you want?” he scoffed.

Alexandria sat down next to him, “I’m sorry if I have done something, or offended you somehow,” they apologized, “But I would like us to be friends so if we could restart and become friends—”

Simon laughed, “You think we can just restart? Re-introduce ourselves and everything can be fine!”

“I was kinda hoping—”

“How do you expect me to be friends after everything?!”

“Everything? What did I do?!” Alexandria questioned.

Simon scoffed out a laugh, “What didn’t you do!”

He left the lab table moving to one in the back of the room, before class started leaving Alexandria upset, confused, and unwilling to pay attention in class. With the summer semester giving them only one class for the day they sat dejected with their brother at a cafeteria table as he ate his lunch.

“I’ve been trying to think about what I have done, and I’m just lost!” Alexandria sighed, head resting against their arms, “I mean what could I have done!”

“Been annoying?” Finnegan questioned.

“Finn, you’re not helping!”

Finnegan swallowed the food in his mouth, “Look I doubt you did anything—”

“Then why is he mad at me!”

“Because you are you!” Finnegan retorted, “You are friendly and caring to a fault, you are tremendously talented, you are the child of Indigo and Calvin Bookstone-Corals, your brother is an asshole, and you are powerful. Simon probably hates you for many reasons and no reason at all.”

“You sound like mom,” Alexandria giggled.

Finnegan rolled his eyes, “she would probably say the same thing,” he remarked, “I don’t get why someone would hate you, but I’m not Simon and if he doesn’t want to be friendly with you then it’s a lost cause.”

Alexandria huffed chin still digging into her arms crossed in front of her, “and his loss,” Finnegan added.

Alexandria smiled, “You’re a good little brother, you know that.”

“Did you have to add the little part?”

“Yes, because you are my little brother!”

“We’re twins!”

The pair bickered back and forth before Mallory approached the small cafeteria table, “Hey, Alex, congratulations,” she remarked, sitting down with them.

“Congratulations for what?”

“The dean’s list,” Mallory answered.

“What about it, it’s just a list,” Alexandria remarked with a shrug.

“Alex you’re at the top of it.” Mallory added.

“Wait really?!”

Finnegan sat his phone in front of his sibling, humming in agreement. Alexandria looked at the PDF in front of them seeing their name at the top of the Dean’s list for the spring semester and Simon’s name right below it.

“Shit,” they muttered, “Mal, where is Simon?”

“He was going to the dorms, I think,” Mallory answered.

Alexandria jumped up and raced out of the cafeteria running through the grass as it started to drizzle, “SIMON!” they yelled as they reached the dorms, while he was descending the steps small porch connected to the entrance.

Panting with their hands on their knees, Simon looked at Alexandria in disgust, “What do you want?”

“You’re mad at me, I get that—”

“Clearly you don’t, you are still attempting to talk—"

“Will you shut up for five seconds and stop interrupting me!” Alexandria bit back still panting looking up at Simon, “I’m sorry that I made the dean’s list, I understand that school is important to you, and I never wished to upstage you in any way. I would like nothing more than to sit down and chat with you and get to know you better beyond just knowing that you are an intelligent person who deserves to be on the top of the dean’s list. We don’t have to be friends, but I hope we can get to that in the future.”

When Alexandria finally straightens up, they aren’t greeted with the empathic gaze from Simon rather he looks at them with angry eyes, a defined scowl, and narrow eyes clearly angrier than when they started talking.

“You’ll never understand,” Simon tsked as it began to rain, “This is more than just not being the best! I don’t hate you because you are the best, I hate you because you clearly don’t try—”

“I work hard—”

“NOT AS HARD AS I DO!” Simon shouted, “EVER SINCE I WAS LITTLE, I HAVE WORKED SO HARD TO BE THE BEST, LIKE MY PARENTS WANT, I’VE GOTTEN THE TOP GRADES, I HAVE SACRIFICED HOURS OF MY TIME AND LIFE TO BE THE CHILD MY PARENTS CAN SAY THEY ARE PROUD OF! I WAS THE BEST AND I AM THE BEST!”

“Simon—”

“But that changed! I came to college like my parents wanted, and I met you and thought at first things would be fine, you wouldn’t be a threat, and I was still the best at one of the best schools in the world. Yet, you are not only one of the children from this untouchable family, but you are one of the most intelligent people in this entire school!” Simon clarified angrily before running his fingers through his hair frustratedly, “I first thought that Mrs. Bookstone or even Mr. Corals was pushing you to be better than the rest of us because you were their kid! Yet they don’t care! You don’t care! The work is secondary to you, what your grade is doesn’t matter, you sit in class day daydreaming, but still answer the question right if you are called on! I hate it! I hate you, and I hate myself for hating you! I have no logical reason to hate you! You are always smiling, you care about the people you don’t know, you are a friend to the world and here I am thinking with my emotions and hating you just because you are better than me! I’m supposed to be the best, that's what I’m for! My parents made me to be the best!”

His tears mixed with the rainwater soaking his skin, leaving Alexandria more upset than they had been. They only stared at him, shocked at his explanation, shocked at his inference, shocked at his hatred. They open their mouth, yet nothing is vocalized, before saying, “I’m sorry.” Before leaving him. They went home, without telling their siblings, and locked themselves in their room for a while. Simon's words repeat in their brain while also trying to think of some kind of solution.

Calvin sighed, in the comfort of their bed with his head in her lap as she carted his fingers through his long ebony curls, fingernails grazing his scalp, “Is there something wrong with Alex?”

“Not that I am aware,” Indigo answered, “Georgia did say there was a kid that they were trying to be friends and get along with, I doubt they didn’t come to dinner because of that. Knowing Alex they are probably studying.”

Calvin sighed once more turning his in such a way that allowed him to wrap his arms around Indigo’s middle, “I don’t like it when they don’t eat,” he mumbled like a toddler.

“I don’t either.” Indigo cooed.

There is a knock on their bedroom door before they can continue any kind of conversation, “Mom, can I talk to you?” Alexandria asked opening the door a crack.

“Of course, Alexandria,” Indigo cooed before patting a place on the bed, “Come here.”

Alexandria climbed into their parent's bed, before at their father and mother with a crestfallen gaze. Indigo placed a hand on their arm rubbing their skin with her thumb, “Tricker, what’s wrong.”

“Can you take my name off the dean’s list,” they croaked.

“Alex,” Indigo mused, sadly, “You worked and studied so hard.”

“Sunflower, you deserve to be on that list just like anyone else,” Calvin added softly.

“I know,” Alexandria choked, “but there’s this guy—”

“Is he bullying you?!” Calvin retorted quickly becoming a protective father with his chest puffed out before Indigo rested a hand on his thigh.

“Who is he?” Indigo asked calmly.

“Simon Couri,” Alexandria sniffed, “His parents wants him to be “the best” and force him to get the top grades, and I know because I’m not top of the list he’ll get in trouble for not being the best.”

Indigo and Calvin side-eyed each other before Indigo said, “Tomorrow morning, I’ll put him at the top, so it looks—”

“No! I want to be off it!”

“Alexandria?” Calvin sighed as Indigo wiped their tears with her thumb.  “I already know I work hard, and I know you are proud of me regardless of my grades, I have nothing to prove to anyone,” Alexandria explained between their crying, “Simon needs this, and I just wanna help him.”

Indigo and Calvin sighed, “I will take your name off the list first thing tomorrow,” Their mother replied, “Alright?”

“Thank you, Mommy,” Alexandria yearned, hugging her.

“We are incredibly proud of you Alexandria,” Calvin added rubbing their back.

“I know, Daddy.”

Revised Dean’s List

Apologize to all the original dean’s list for the past Spring Semester in the May 20th email shared with you. The revised dean’s list is enclosed with this email. For any other news or information about upcoming events is in the Bridgehid College newsletter sent out on May 19th on the Bridgehid College Website.

Regards,

Indigo Margot Bookstone-Corals

Dean of Bridgehid College for Magic and Alchemy.

“Look at that,” Mallory muttered in an extremely tired tone while sitting next to Simon on the porch of the dorms, “You are not the top now.”

Simon stared at his phone wide-eyed, his name was now on the top, as if that truly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Although Alexandria’s name is no longer on the list, however. He never expected them to go so far as to get his name moved up the list or even remove their own.

“Why did they do that?” he muttered.

“Why don’t you ask them,” Mallory mentioned pointing to them across the yard where Alexandria was talking to Professor Kowalski.

He got up from his place on the dorm steps and ran over to them as Percy dismissed herself off to do whatever she did when she wasn’t teaching, “Oh hi Simon,” they remarked as they turned around to face. Looking at him with a large, friendly, smile.

“Why did you—”

“To help you,” Alexandria interrupted, “And before you say: I don’t need your help.”

Simon looked at them with narrow eyes when they did an impression of him, “I have nothing to prove to anyone,” they added, “My mom and dad allow me and my siblings to pursue the things that we enjoy. They are proud of me yes, but if I were to get just average or even below average grades that’s not something they are concerned with.”

They describe the kind of parents he wishes he had, the parents that love their child and take an interest in their child’s happiness regardless of their accomplishments and achievements.

“It’s very obvious that your parents aren’t like mine.” Alexandria continued, “So I got the list changed. Not for you to be friends with me or for you to feel like you owe me, just because I know it would help you out.”

Simon let out a little laugh before letting out a genuine, “Thank you.”

Alexandria continued to smile at him before getting ready to leave him, “Hey,” he called making them turn around, “Do you maybe want to study together sometimes?”

“Sure.”

Simon was able to walk to the dorms with a smile, only to lose it once he was faced with Mallory lying unconscious at the bottom of the steps. “MALLORY!”

[astarioffsimpmain]

I have a funny professor addition to add.

I had a 9am music theory class with a pretty strict professor one semester. Not many students liked him because of his rigorous curriculum, but while I didn't really like or do well in the subject matter, I was able to look past it and see that this man just had a really dry sense of humor and would only crack a smile if someone understood that he was joking.

So I often would give sarcastic replies in class, get looks of horror from the other students, and then looks of absolute confusion when this professor would start laughing out loud and send a snarky remark back. Even so, he was still always very very professional and almost seemed uptight, in his own sort of way.

Well, one morning as I was getting ready for this class, I learned pretty quick that it was just one of those mornings where everything that Could go wrong, Did go wrong. I spilled milk on my top and had to change, I slipped on said milk in the floor and my socks got wet, etc etc. Well, the final straw was when I walked to my closet and realized that I had NO clean pants to wear. I'd forgotten to wash them the night before.

So you know how sometimes counselors recommend you write out your angry feelings and then delete them or tuck them away? Well, I was typing an email to this professor, telling him I wouldn't be in class that morning. I wrote one angry one to put in spam and one professional one. Guess which one got sent?

The email read as follows,

"Hello, Mr. _____

I will not be in class today because my morning has been shit and now I don't have any fucking pants!

I'll see you on Wednesday."

I didn't notice that I'd sent the wrong email until, to my utter mortification, my professor replied. I didn't know what to expect from his response, but I certainly didn't expect,

"Hi L,

Sounds like you've had a rough morning. I won't count you absent today. See you Wednesday. Please wear pants.

Mr. _____ "

[gazetotheabyss]

    I read the words plain as day on my computer screen some weeks ago. With no context it might seem so entirely monotonous. Like the pop up anyone might see on any given shady ass website they come across while doom scrolling. 

    But I think I'm getting ahead of myself. 

    My name is Geri. I, like most people my age, grew up in this wild age of information. My parents from the generation who slaved away in times of the unknown, blessed by the ignorance of some harsh bouts of misinformation given to them by Aunt Agnes some odd years ago that they just didn't have any sort of measure to dispute. Or, and God forbid, having to go to the library. But us? All of us? It's all at the tips of our fingertips, isn't it? The age of rumor and myth was killed by the dawn of Snopes and Wikipedia, and for the most part that's okay.   

    God, I'm sorry.   

    Okay.   

    I'm not that type of person to go on long diatribes about nothing. At least I wasn't. It's all twisted in my head now. Where to start, where it's going to end. I'm committing to just writing as a train of thought, to make sure I get it all down for posterity. It's all a mess and jumbled in my head, so some things might be out of order, but this is all true. As much as I would have loved to have been making this up.   

    Blah blah blah, it was a normal day. Went to work. Came home. Do you really even care about those details? Reading about the sort of hot pocket me, a broke college student, picked on that monumental night? After finishing up a particularly grueling portion of a paper I was working on for the Lit class I'm taking I had to shut off my brain. You know, decompress? My brain was fried, I was tired, but I just couldn't bring myself to sleep. The thought of working so hard the whole day only to waste what little free time I had with sleeping just sounded so fucking miserable. So, doing what any of us do, I laid there. Practically catatonic under a mountain of blankets, cozy up, listening to whatever YouTube videos I could find to just play in the background, while just scrolling. Post to post, site to site. Not even really reading or processing. Just scrolling, hoping to feel something.   

    I thought I would fall asleep for a minute or two. I clicked some link, shady as it might have been, thinking by some measure it was a joke or something since I'd just been imbibing in some pseudo-deep meme content after a bit. I'm hesitating to type the name of it right now, because I really don't want to curse anyone with this, but just know it was very... I don't know, 90s Geocities. The top of the page read 'Library of Eternity' with some bad clipart of a book. It was all very bad and by all rights writing it off should have been what I did, but that late with so little brain power the curiosity is stronger than the will to click away. Clicked the little book and my screen went black. Fucking virus, right?   

    Honestly that's what I thought. All the furious clicking, slamming my fingers angrily on the keyboard, it really didn't seem to do shit. After about ten minutes of screaming to any higher power who would listen a window popped up.   

    Corny shit, right? I've written off my laptop at this point. Maybe I can cry to mom and dad and beg for them to help me pay off a new one? Maybe Klarna? I just thank anyone who would listen that I didn't have any important information on there, and that two-factor authentication was on for my email. I close the damn thing and toss it off my bed, and that should be the end of it. If I had any sense about me at the time maybe it would have been, maybe if I knew the things I knew now or could go back and stop myself. 

    I browse reddit a couple hours, play some stupid game I saw on a mobile ad because fuck I'm bored, and that's the night. I pass out, wake up with a sore nose and my phone on the floor after passing out while browsing.   

    Then comes the beloved day off. The holiest of days to those of us playing double time as college kids out here in the trenches. I'm pumped, at least once I drag myself out of bed after hours of '5 more minutes'. Now not exactly being a social butterfly, most of the time my days off consist of exactly what you'd expect from someone who goes to school, goes to work, and has most of their friends online. I dick around on my computer, doing exactly what I did the night before. Now my dumbass, completely forgetting most of what had just transpired, gears up to do the exact same thing. Getting all cozy under my blanket fort again, ready to stream some movies, or binge the same show I've watched about a hundred times. But I open my computer and that popup is still fucking there. Mood trashed. Life ruined. Day off totally and completely in the gutter.   

    Nothing better to do. No computer, nothing else on the docket. I really have nothing to lose. At least for foresight purposes. So, boom, I clicked yes. But all it does is open up another pop up.   

    Fucking. 

    Yes? 

    I clicked yes. How much more ready could I be? 

Clicking yes again I'm ready for meat spin, surprise real life gore, or some other sort of stupid jump scare surprise. But no, nothing so fun. Just another goddamned window. 

This 90s ass virus website just called me ignorant. A challenge I could never have backed down from. No one will ever call Geri Monaghan ignorant. I was not about to be challenged by some two-bit website probably programmed before I was born. 

I’m ready. 

At the time that was what I thought. Of course, I did. How the hell would anyone expect-- 

My screen went from black to white. Okay, not expected in the slightest. It started with one sentence, then another, and they just kept lining up one right after another like a typical word document. Eventually when it ran out of room on the screen they started overlapping. I shouldn’t have been able to read or understand any of it with how fast it was happening. I just stared blankly, reading and absorbing every fucking word. Even as my screen went black, blank from all the information overloading it, I was retaining every written word. It was torture. It felt like hours were going by. Days even. Stuck in that fucking trance lost to endless streams of eternal information pouring bit by bit into my brain. 

No one ever tells you how loud silence can be. Staring into the blank void of my screen was like staring into entropy. All sound vacuumed from my room, all life void from my body. But trapped. I was still in there. Stuck frozen with my eyes open, unable to close them or even move as that information became more. Like eternity spread itself open before me, my consciousness was ripped away. I was at the start of it all. 

No. 

Sorry. 

That’s not right. 

It was before the start. The black void. Before life, before time, before existence. A place where things like us shouldn’t be. Like tendrils writhing and slithering, it probed my mind. The worst headache I’ve ever fucking had times a million. Drilling a half inch bit into my skull without me ever going into shock or going numb to the pain. Everything went white again. The page was clear, and I was sitting on my bed again. Laptop open. Screen still black. Not even a minute had gone by. 

Staring into that empty screen. That digital fucking abyss. I still felt like I was floating in that vacant nothingness. Existing before anything. 

I know there’s so many guys out there who pretend to be know-it-alls, or that they have all the answers...  

My head. 

Felt so heavy. Just to exist even now while I’m writing this it feels like I’m trudging through miles and miles of heavy sludge like thoughts to even get to the point. All this stuff sitting in my head. The real stories of how life and history happened. The beginning, the end, the swirling concepts of space and time that mankind has only scantly begun to get a grasp upon. Omniscience? But in a head not meant to keep it. Answers to every question, knowledge of every fact that could be, would be, or had been. 

I took an aspirin and decided to go for a walk. Maybe the fresh air would help. Maybe I just fried my brain last night reading a bunch of random shit after reading hours and hours of random Wikipedia articles or know your meme pages blankly to just fill the gaps.  

For a minute it did. 

Lights felt brighter, sounds felt clearer. I didn’t even put on my glasses today and I could see just fine. Something I didn’t even bother questioning in the moment. Mom always told me to never question good things and I wasn’t about to start now. 

It really wasn’t until later in the day I was hanging around with my only real-life friend at this school. I don’t know, we’ll call him Tom. Tom and I usually do the same shit I do at the apartment. Only sometimes we smoke weed too. Everyone does that with their friends, right? Sit pretending to actually hang out when you’re both independently browsing on your phones while some random shit plays on TV? He asked me some random question. 

I’d tell you I don’t remember it, but I do. I remember every detail as it hit me at that moment. Piercing through whatever fog the day had put to haze over the vast span of eternity all of those eons and eons of information just struck. Being shot in the head wouldn’t have felt all that much different. I answered his question. 

“Bro, do you think there’s life on other planets?” 

“Not within our immediate solar system.” 

Not stated as an opinion, but as a fact. I was on autopilot, like a fucking Alexa or Siri, just blindly answering the question in totality as I knew it. Like knew it. Subjects I’d studied for years and years on end. Tom stopped me about halfway through. 

“Dude what the fuck are you talking about?” 

It was fair. I think at some point I stopped speaking English, and it was more just guttural noises. Some foreign language? Alien. Obviously confused, I replied. 

“You asked me if I thought there was life on other planets dude, I’m just telling you there is.” 

“How can you possibly ‘know’ that?” 

Going off in a trance again pretty much, I told him all about the Library. All the things it showed me. I tried for him to keep it vague. But he kept prodding me. Asking me for more. I couldn’t shut it off. Like the curse of knowing all of this stuff was more than just the knowledge itself but having to share it just as readily. Which sounds great. Like the benefit of knowledge to mankind. 

I told him everything. I looked him dead in the eyes. Answered every petty or grand question that came to his mind. Ones I couldn’t possibly know the answer to or ones that had just been prying their way at his mind. 

He asked. 

Oh god he asked... 

“Can you tell me everything?” 

I told him no. Like I was being pedantic or something. Fucking possessed, not able to stop myself or control my own body I just grabbed hold of him. 

“No, I can’t tell you everything. There’s no time. I can show you though.” 

Both hands on either side of his head, staring into his eyes. 

“Dude don’t be gay.” 

Which was funny as hell coming from the gay dude, but I wish I could laugh. He just went silent. This wasn’t like a movie or anything. There weren’t bright flashing lights, or some orchestral song to demonstrate just what was happening. Just Tom’s face going from bright and lively to sinking. All the color drained from his face. Happiness turned to horror. Tom just started screaming. 

He wouldn’t stop. 

The loudest blood curdling scream I’d ever heard, and it’s haunted me ever since that night. Like all this information was attacking him. He was begging for me to stop but I felt my fingers furling on their own. I was squeezing him, holding him in place. My mission was to make sure he learned everything I had. By the end of it he had screamed himself down to a rasp. An hour or so passed while we were sitting there. When my hands finally let me let go of his head, he just sank. Tom sagged, his whole body wrinkling on the couch for a moment while he breathed ragged. I sat there. Feeling empty. Nothing. Then, all I could do was sit there on his couch and watch him while he calmly and slowly stood up. Take a minute or two to compose himself or process the information and then run at his window and just fucking leap.  

Tom was gone. One of the few things I don’t know is what exactly Tom saw that drove him to do that. Whether it was a specific piece of information, or if it was just his mind trying to process everything. Like burning out a CPU by overworking it. 

Cops came, because of course they did. A man just killed himself, and they come up the stairs, bust down his door, to find me just sitting there. The thousand-yard stare, locked in my body like a puppet while someone else moved me. Question after question came. I answered them all honestly. Their final one broke me out of my daze. 

“Why do you think he did it?” 

I started crying, because it was all my fault. I just told them I didn’t know. It was the only question I could think of where I didn’t actually know the answer. 

That week after that was a blur. I sat in my room doing my best to avoid talking to anyone while the Uni excused me from my classes for a while. Something about it being the last of my worries, but sympathy expires. I know it does. The vast swathes of information that shifts and wriggles through my brain like a virus. Infecting every part of myself that had ever been. I know what I was like before. Who I was. I’m having trouble holding on to whether or not that’s who I still am. The perspective of every single thing I knew has been warped beyond belief and I can’t look at life the same way I did before. 

What was the point? I asked myself aloud. 

And then I knew. 

Why were we here, then? 

And then I knew. 

So, our whole purpose in life, the meaning of everything we’ve ever done-- 

But I already knew. 

Mankind wasn’t meant to. Knowledge is not a gift. So many people spend their entire lives trying to find the meaning behind action. Why are we here? Where do we come from? 

Is there a higher power? 

Questions people live and die trying and failing to answer, I knew in an instant. I knew how Tom’s mom felt getting the call from the school. Every agonizing thought. I knew immediately how Tom felt, overburdened and overwhelmed. 

And I knew how burdensome I’d been to everyone around me. Every single negative weight on my consciousness about what everyone thought about me outweighed any single positive counterweight it had. The disappointment I’d been. When you’re alone in the dark, in the deafening silence of a room black as pitch is when you start whispering the worst questions to yourself. The ones you don’t really wanna know the answers to but muttering them just helps you feel better. 

Looking out across my desk, passed the light of my laptop, now I can still see the darkness of the void. The nothingness that probed my mind and let me see everything I’d ever asked. I claw at my scalp until it bleeds, scream until my voice can’t even carry sound with it. I haven’t eaten anything in days. I know there’s no point. No reason. I look in the mirror and I don’t even recognize the hollow shell of a person I’ve become. I just see... how tired I am. I’m so exhausted. Every time I sleep, more and more knowledge just floods into my head. For days I’ve felt like a balloon about to burst. 

Maybe that’s what Tom saw. 

Maybe he saw what would become of me, how it would feel. 

Decided that he didn’t want to become this. 

I looked up last night at my ceiling. Laid out flat on my bed, I asked to forget. If there was some way to unknow all of this. Could I go back to the way things were before? I remember very clearly the pop-up. As if the memory was spitting in my face. 

Ignorance is bliss. 

Humans weren’t meant to know this much. 

The void, the ardent darkness lingering in a time before time. This morning, it called to me. Maybe it always did, but now it spoke and for the first time I understood. I can’t go back, can I? I’m trapped in this loop of suffering, with entropy pulling me apart from the inside. 

There is no God listening. 

No, that’s not true. There is no God answering our prayers. But it’s listening. Amusing itself on our suffering. It has fooled us into thinking there was ever any reason. There was ever good and evil but, in the end, there is only nothing. Nothing like there was before. Tom isn’t living it up in Heaven playing guitar and smoking weed in the afterlife. He’s not in Hell lamenting his sins or paying penance to some arbitrary rules. He’s gone. What I don’t know yet is if it’s the same for everyone, or if it’s my fault. If having this knowledge is what did it?  

This whole thing to say I’m scared. 

Or I was scared. Maybe this has been my way of working up the courage. 

I’m so tired. I can’t sleep anymore. Every time I try, I just wake up more exhausted. I can’t keep doing this anymore. I tried. I tried to forget, I tried to make myself forget. I couldn’t talk to anyone else. I was afraid of what might happen if I did. What if they asked me like he did? It’s what it wants. I know it. 

We weren’t meant to know. What we are meant to know isn’t even a full sentence on a page in a chapter in a single book in the endless library of eternity. We’re lucky to finish a word by the time we die. My head is pounding. It feels like any moment I’m just going to explode.  

I can’t do this. 

I’m sorry mom. I’m sorry everyone. If you read this, and then happen to come across that site? 

Tom was right. 

[culttvblog]

Two Game Shows (Seventies TV Season)

The introduction to this series of posts about 1970s TV can be found here:

Today two shows which sort of go together because they are game shows in my mind, although very different. I'm going to have to do a general post about them both because I don't think an individual episode of either will make a blog post.

First we have The Indoor League (1973 to 1977) which I knew had to appear here if only so that I can talk about Fred Trueman of blessed memory introducing it by saying 'The cream of the nation's taprooms…'. It has the very simple premise of playing pub games competitively in the Irish Centre in Leeds and broadcasting it. I think I can truthfully say you won't see shove halfpenny broadcast anywhere else in the world.

Initially competitors were limited to residents of the Yorkshire Television region, but after the first series international competitors were accepted. Interestingly initially the darts games were played on a northern doubles darts board that doesn't have a triple score part, but the more familiar one was adopted as the show went on.

Even though it was obviously very popular at the time (and since - there are tables of the winners on the internet) - one of the fascinating things about it now is again how much of the time it was. Host Fred Trueman smoked a pipe and had a pint in his hand throughout the show. Also the set was about as 1970s as you could get as, of course were the contestants' clothes. Also you will see from the screencaps that it isn't gammon TV at all and does feature Black people.

The whole series was released on DVD by Network although there are some episodes loose online. My only sorrow is that our national game Mornington Crescent only started being broadcast later in the seventies so doesn't feature.

Jokers Wild (1969 to 1974) had another simple premise, that two teams of famous comedians would competitively tell jokes on a subject chosen at random. While one comedian was telling his joke a member of the other team could interrupt and score by ending the joke. But then the original comedian would have to tell his ending. There was also a part where one of them would do a stand up session. Apparently it was based on two US game shows that of course I've never heard of: Stop Me If You've Heard This One and Can You Top This. Interestingly this is how I've found out that there was also a US TV show called The Joker's Wild which seems to have quite a different format.

What I like best about it is that the scoring (by host Barry Cryer) was almost completely arbitrary and largely based on the audience's response. The other thing I like about it is is that there are absolutely no duds. If Indoor League had the cream of the nation's tap rooms this one had the cream of the nation's comedians. The regular team captains and guest comedians sound like a real roll call of quality: Ted Ray, Arthur Askey, Ray Martine, Les Dawson, Jon Pertwee, Jon Cleese, I suppose we should mention Rolf Harris to show that he infested everything, Norman Collier, Charlie Chester, Tim Brooke-Taylor.

In the manner of the time Barry Bryer had one or maore scantily dressed glamorous assistants in the first series. Diplomatically Wikipedia says they didn't have a function so were quickly dropped. Bab, we all know what their function was.

The first two series were released on DVD by Network, and there are some episodes loose on the internet. Good luck on wading through the episodes of The Joker's Wild to find them.

I don't really have a criticism of this show except that it was very much of its time. It's difficult to give a flavour of it so instean you get Les Dawson telling a Mother in Law story. You don't get this sort of thing on sensible TV blogs.

This blog is mirrored at

culttvblog.tumblr.com/archive (from September 2023) and culttvblog.substack.com (from January 2023 and where you can subscribe by email)

Archives from 2013 to September 2023 may be found at culttvblog.blogspot.com and there is an index to the tags used on the Tumblr version at https://www.tumblr.com/culttvblog/729194158177370112/this-blog

[altf4dotwav]

DISPATCH_2

It's sort of common for some people with trauma to say "I wish I never felt ever again," or something to that effect. To never feel an emotion again sometimes would solve almost all of my immediate issues. No more anxiety to disable me. No depressive thoughts. Nothing. I would just float on from one year to the next in ignorant bliss.

I always said that I felt things more intensely than others. One of my best friends is like that too. I remember he was talking about something that really hit him hard and why he reacted the way he did to it. He said, "I'm just a giant pussy," but in a way that meant he owned that. He *is* a giant pussy, like myself, in the way that he is aware that he feels emotions and is effected by them. It was something that I hold onto till this very day. Yeah, I'm a huge giant dripping pussy of emotions. And I'm okay with that. It keeps me from feeling like I never want to experience emotions. It grounds me by reminding me that a person I love dearly can feel the same way as I do sometimes, but they own it and I can too.

Feeling happy is bittersweet. For a long time, I always thought happiness was just a small treat for living life. You got small moments where you're happy, but the rest of life is miserable. And it's hard now to look back and see if I've ever really been happy in my life. I grew up in rough conditions at times and I'm a victim of child abuse. I've been homeless 3 times across the span of my life. I didn't date until I was 19. I've tried to end my own life too many times to count. How do I feel like I could ever be happy if all I've ever known is the worst possible outcome besides death?

What happens when your brain can manufacture that feeling of happiness? How do you know that the joy you're feeling is real or just a symptom?

Mania is a terrifying force while also, ironically, being one of the best feelings in the world. It's almost euphoric. You laugh the hardest at all the jokes and feel uplifted and motivated. There isn't a drug in the world that'll make you feel as good as pure Mania does. You're invincible.

But you're also irrational, easily angered, mean, impulsive. It only takes a small transgression to switch to a Monster. You lash out and hurt others desperately to bring them down to the near bedrock that is your level. You fall off the top of the mountain into a ravine. You end up in a broken pile of anger and impulsive thoughts at the bottom.

YOU MADE ME DO THIS LOOK AT WHAT YOU MADE ME DO THIS IS YOUR FAULT I DID THIS BECAUSE OF YOU BLAME GAME

My Word document closes and the Transmission application pops up in its place. OUT is in grey but IN is pulsing slowly, begging me to click on it. I do and I'm taken to an MSN email box. A single email greets me with the title CLAIM YOUR FREE GIFT!!!!!!!! The mouse cursor hovers over it, my instincts screaming at me to exit out of the window. I click it anyway. There's only one sentence in the body of the email:

EVEN IF YOU ARE NOT READY FOR THE DAY, IT CANNOT ALWAYS BE NIGHT

I look up from the monitor of the computer, startled by the woosh of a fireplace coming to life suddenly from across The Room. The bright orange and yellow light of the dancing flames have lit up The Room enough so I can see its entirety.

It's a bare room with only the desk, my chair, the fireplace, and a picture of a helicopter hanging completely square on the wall opposite from the desk. Under the picture is a sturdy dark wooden door. The handle is gone and a bar welded across the middle let me know the door is basically decoration at this point. The walls are a pale eggshell white with tiny cracks near the top, spiderwebbing out upwards towards the black and infinite chasm of what should be a roof. The Room is small and circular like I'm at the top of a lighthouse, only the windows have been walled over by a slumlord.

A Jenga puzzle of old but pristine wooden planks make up the floor. The old wood had warped and settled over decades, creating small canyons between some boards. By the fireplace, I notice a big cardboard box labelled "TO HELIPORT" stamped on the side is now visible. For the first time since I've been aware of this Room, I feel compelled to get up to see what is inside the cardboard cube.

I'm not even aware of how I got to the box by the time I'm standing in front of it; as if an edit was made between me getting up from the chair and walking a short distance.

The top of the box has a fine layer of dust on it and is sealed with clear packing tape. A box cutter is sitting on top of the tape, taunting me. I feel my heart pick up as my hands start to shake. What is going on? Why am I scared?

YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID 3 TIMES YOU FAILED EVERY TIME NOW YOU'RE ONLY LEFT WITH SCARS OF EMBARASSMENT MARKINGS OF WEAKNESS LINES OF SHAME YOU BLAMED IT ON HER YOU ARE A MONSTER

With the swipe of a hand, I slap the knife into the fire off the top of the box like I was angrily shooing away a fly. The knife flies off the box and lands directly into the fireplace with a burst of embers as it hit the logs. Dust flies up into the air in the aftermath like dull glitter celebrating my beautiful display of hand-eye coordination. Pride washes over me, not only for eliminating this perceived threat of the knife, but also by the aim of the swat. I do a small fist pump.

I realize now that I'm also anxious about the contents of this box. Gently grabbing the sides, I try to lift the box slowly to judge its weight. To my surprise, the box is very light and feels like it's completely empty, but the feeling of something small and flat sliding around told me otherwise.

I set the box down and push the sides in that are at each end of the stretch of tape holding the box together. As both sides come in, it creates enough space for my finger to get in and rip the tape off cleanly. My hands have done this many times and I didn't even realize it was happening until I set the box down.

Dust swirls around in the light of the fireplace as I look at the cardboard square in front of me. I lift the flaps up to find a small electronic device sitting at the bottom. It's black and square with a small screen taking up the top third of the body. A circle dominates the last two thirds under the screen. On the top is a tiny switch on one side and a hole on the other with a wire plugged into it that splits off in two at the end.

It was an iPod.

The metal back of the mp3 player was cold in my hands as I picked it up. The headphones dangled like stiff and dirty strands of hair while I stared at the electronic device in my hand.

This is Mine.

I push the middle of the circle pad and the screen glows to life. My hands know exactly what to do with the iPod as my thumb scrolls through the system to find out what is on this thing. I get to the Artists section and scroll through a list of bands that activate the pleasure centers of my brain. It felt like I scrolled for a lifetime by the time I got to the end. Nothing stood out to me so I went back to see if there were any videos.

There was only one file labeled "themanwhosoldtheworld.mp4" in the Videos folder. This can be either a killer David Bowie song Past Me must have loved or another bit of information on just what the fuck is going on here. I make sure to check out the earbuds to see if they're nasty, and put them into my ears. With a satisfying *click* of the middle button, the video starts playing on the tiny screen.

Static of white noise and the bustle of people could be heard. It looked like the video was shot in a supermarket. The camera pans down, looking into a large, long freezer of various frozen bags of food. Suddenly, the camera stops and whips upwards to a woman's face. The camera person shouts excitedly, "FWENCH FWIES??" to which the woman responds just as excited with "FWENCH FWIES?!?!?!?!" Her face immediately gives me goosebumps, in a good way. She loves me.

Cut to black

A new video starts

The camera is pointing towards a sliding glass door and still. Behind the glass is a wooden porch where two people sit on stools, Me and another man. The porch is elevated, meaning we're on the second floor. We're both dressed in basketball shorts and hoodies on a beautiful fall day. I have a bong in my hand while we're both laughing. There's a cat in a hammock stuck to the glass by suction cups. A dog sits between Me and My Friend, her face blank with pure joy as she looks between us. My heart swells with emotion as my entire relationship with this man flashes before me. These images flick by on the screen for just moments, but I recognize every one of them. Us hugging on a porch while My Friend cries on my shoulder. In a van with desolate winter flying past us as we talk about everything. A kitchen of a fast food restaurant bustles with movement as the two of Us work back to back, talking shit to each other. Us together at a concert, singing in tandem with our other friends to every song. He's the first person who made me feel valuable in my existence. This person also loves me.

Cut to black

THIS IS WHAT MATTERS HOW CAN YOU GIVE THIS UP HOW COULD YOU EVEN TRY THIS IS LIFE AREN'T YOU GLAD YOU'RE HERE

I pull the earbuds out of my ears and look up. I'm back in the chair at the computer and my head feels like it's made of clam chowder. There's an immense pressure behind my forehead as my vision goes black.

My eyes open and I realize I'm facedown on the keyboard with drool leaking out of my mouth. I groan and blink my eyes for a few moments, realizing I don't have enough strength to lift my head or straighten my back to get off this keyboard. Hell, I can't even lift my arms up from dangling next to me like wet noodles. Even if I could, there's no way I could muster the power to push myself off the desk. Tears drip out of my eyes as I feel helpless and weak slouched over the computer. I understand what's happening after a moment and I settle in as I wait for the strength to come back to my body. I'm left with my thoughts the entire time and wish I never felt anything ever again.

The computer makes a short error noise that startles me out of my haze. I drag my eyes up to see if anything has changed on the monitor since I last checked. There's a Word document open that says:

GET TO WORK WRITE WHAT YOU KNOW WHEN YOU'RE DONE HIT SAVE DISPATCH WILL RELAY MESSAGE GOOD LUCK CHOOSE LIFE

A new document opens with the file name Dispatch_2 and a prompt at the top of the clean white digital page:

Have you ever felt happy?

I smile and laugh at how ironic this prompt is as I slowly lift my head up from the keyboard. A snail trail of slobber followed my face up as I fix my posture in the chair to be upright. After a lot of groans and heavy breathing, I'm able to put myself into a position to type.

And I start writing what I know.

It's sort of common for some people with trauma to say "I wish I never felt ever again," or something to that effect.