#index: brain attic

[thegoodnessofprovidence]

The Intervals

"Let me see—what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at times, and don’t open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I’ll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It’s just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together." [...] Nothing could exceed his energy when the working fit was upon him; but now and again a reaction would seize him, and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morning to night. On these occasions I have noticed such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes, that I might have suspected him of being addicted to the use of some narcotic, had not the temperance and cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion.

When listing his worst qualities, Holmes mentions 'the dumps' and does not want to be considered 'sulky' - he's not trying to be this way. The fact that it will pass in a matter of days is meant to be reassuring to a future roommate.

Watson insists Holmes is not difficult to live with and regards these reactions as 'torpor'. He also contrasts this behavior to when Holmes is interested and engaged with work. The melancholy is present, but it is not the only temperament.

The consideration for how a roommate might perceive his behavior, self-awareness that it may cause offense, yet insistence not to worry, it will pass- are reminiscent of the way someone* with persistent depressive disorder and recurrent major depressive disorder manages the intense episodes when the two conditions are out of remission.

*meaning me, the mun lol

[twinksrepository]

Unable to sleep

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Lucifer X F!Reader

CW: Late night phone chats, bad flirting

Word count: Roughly 1.8K

A/N: Some Lucifer fluff after seeing some head cannons about the pacts and thinking about the time between lessons 40 and 41 of the OG.

Images belong to Solmare.

You let out another sigh as you roll onto your side away from the window so you're facing the wall. Closing your eyes as you try to fall asleep, try being the operative word. All you can hear even through the closed window and walls of your bachelor apartment is the sound of the city at night. 

Car engines running just a few stories down along the still busy roads, voices yelling words you can't make out adding to the cacophony of clashing sounds. The occasional siren of an emergency vehicle as it flies by. 

It's nothing like the stillness of the House of Lamentation. 

To think, when you first arrived in the Devildom you couldn't sleep because of how quiet it was. Well. That and the fact Belphie had been calling out to you from the attic. 

The sound of squealing tires reaches you and you groan, rolling so you're once more on your back with one of your hands scrambling around on your night table searching for your phone. Wincing as the change in brightness blinds you for a moment before frowning. Wrong phone. Another few smacks and you feel the other device, your D.D.D., and glance at the screen to see the time. 

Sure you could have done mental math to adjust for the time difference but that was a daylight task, not an exhausted and unable to sleep task. Maybe one of your favorite brothers could help you fall asleep?

It's almost midnight and you hum for a moment, tapping your lower lip with the tip of your index finger. You can just picture Belphie snuggled up with his pillow and wedged against Beel, both of them passed out in Beel's bed that is covered in empty chip bags. 

They're out. 

Asmo is one hundred percent off to dreamland with a face mask covering his skin, he might like to party but never at the cost of his beautiful face not getting the proper amount of rest to be bouncy and shiny the next day. 

Satan might be up, the Avatar of Wrath does love reading late into the night if he isn't out at a social event with some well to do member of demonic society that takes even Lucifer by surprise.  A figurative poke at the thin mental connection that’s always in the back of your mind because of the pact, poke because if he is asleep you're just as likely to get a raging Satan as a sleepy one. 

Silence on the other end. You aren’t willing to risk a harder poke but you do let out a small giggle as your brain conjures the image of him still dressed and asleep on his bed with a book draped over his face. It happens far more than the blond is willing to admit. 

Levi should be awake, he was raving this afternoon about what a great line up this season was for anime with two manga he was into being adapted. Except you don't even get to reach out mentally to him. He is wide awake with the “DO NOT DISTURB” mental sign up from his end, even without touching the connection you can feel his excitement pouring through it. Blinking you focus on closing your end a little more, maybe that was part of the reason you couldn't sleep. 

Mammon might be up. Your nose twitching as you can see him out at the casino and losing all his money from working several part time jobs through the week. It's a fifty fifty shot on if he'd be happy to take a break and talk to you or if he'd tell you in that tsundere way of his that you just cost him the chance to win the jackpot and how sometimes you were more trouble than you were worth. 

You've got a one hundred percent shot of that not happening if you don't reach out.

Which leaves a final option. 

Lucifer. 

You have no doubt he's still awake, probably just as exhausted as you are but he's still working through the piles of paperwork like the perfectionist that he is. Biting your lip before you reach out with a mental probe at his pact connection. 

It's almost instantaneous as his mind reaches back, an underlying current of concern mixed in with his curiosity. The pact bonds serve an interesting purpose, at least for you anyway, in that while you can't talk to them you can get a sense of emotions shared through the metaphysical link. Snippets of images to try and convey what they're willing to share with you, and you are able to do the same. 

Sending Lucifer what you hope is the mental image of your dark bedroom and the sense of exhaustion and frustration that’s keeping you awake. 

Your phone starts to glow and shake in your hand, a rare candid of him laughing in his RAD uniform flashing on screen as you hit the answer button. “Hi Luc.” 

“Hello My Love.” You can hear the exhaustion lacing his voice as he speaks, and the sound of his gloved hand trailing through his hair. “Why are you still awake?” There isn't any accusations in his question, just concern that makes your chest feel fuzzy. 

“I can't sleep, it's too loud in the human world.” 

“So you decided to bother me instead?” He's teasing you, but you're happy to take the bait. 

“I doubt you were doing anything important, I'm sure this is the highlight of your night, talking to me on a day that isn't your turn.” Smirking at his own rule that the brothers have to take turns calling you on different days. “I wonder if I should tell the others how the rules don't apply to their big brother?” Grinning from ear to ear as the exhaustion starts to melt away while your excitement grows. 

“You could, and then you'd never get anything done because you'd always be on the phone.” His comeback is spot on but it's still fun to tease him about it. “As to the highlight of my night, it is a tie between hearing your lovely voice and going over the spreadsheets for the student council budget.” A soft chuckle that makes your toes curl under the material of your sheets. “How are you ever going to compare to the riveting examination of how much we spent on stationary last month?” 

You snort at how serious his delivery is, and you can just picture that playful grin that's starting to spread across his face. “Stationary? Oh no. I've lost, to be a tired lonely human missing her beloved demon, only for him to choose paperwork over me.” Throwing a hand over your face as if he can see your theatrics. “Oh, woe is me.” 

“Perhaps if you could summon said demon, you wouldn't be so lonely.” He's still teasing, and it's only been a few weeks since you left the Devildom but you still hear that pang in his voice. The same one you hear when you talk to all the brothers, they miss you just as much as you miss them. 

“I know Lucifer, I know.” Sitting up now and using your thumb to twist the ring of light around your finger. “I miss you too, but I am trying. The problem is Solomon seems to be dragging his feet when I ask him for harder lessons or where to look to better understand some of the concepts he's trying to get me to understand.” Frowning now at you think of the witty sorcerer and how flippant he's been about the training he's promised you. “I'm strong enough to negatively affect all three worlds but I can't even boil a cup of water with magic on my own, let alone summon one of the demons I have a pact with.” 

“I'm certain he has his reasons, Lamb.” A long exhale and the sound of creaking leather, he must be rubbing his eyes. “My intention wasn't to upset you, hearing your voice this late at night just serves as a reminder that I enjoy going to my room and finding you curled up after you tried to wait for me.” His tone is soothing as he lets out another long exhale, one that sounds part frustrated and you don't blame him. 

“Trust me Luc, i'd rather be there too right now making you take a break from your work. You've probably got a few more gray hairs now that I've left, working yourself to the bone.” 

“Millenniums of dealing with my brothers but yes it is your absence and my work that is the cause of a few more graying strands.” Chuckling just enough that you find it easy to slump back down into your sheets. “Are you feeling better My Love?”

“A little bit, I'm still not very tired.” Talking to him has helped your mind relax more, focusing on his deep timber instead of the nighttime song of the city. A small yawn escapes you with a bit of wetness forming on your eyelashes. 

“I do need to finish this report.” A gentle reminder and you know he's trying to be kind in telling you he does need to hang up and finish his paperwork. 

“Can you just talk? I don't care about what, just…” Trailing off as you feel your ears burning a little from your embarrassment. “The sound of your voice helps.” 

“So long as you don’t mind me just muttering about costs and unbalanced budgets.” 

“Wait.” Blinking as you realize he was talking about his actual work earlier. “The student council really does have a budget? I thought it was more of a you guys just did whatever Diavolo wanted?” 

“My Love.” This time you know the exasperation in his voice is clearly directed at you. “All the nights you've spent with me, helping me do calculations and you thought the council just did whatever was catching Diavolo's attention at the time?” 

“I mean, am I wrong for thinking that?” 

A moment of silence rings out before you hear another sigh. “No. You're not. Alright Lamb, I'll mutter and talk to myself with the phone on speaker so you can hear me while I work if it might help you sleep.” 

“Thank you Lucifer.” Doing the same to your own phone and placing it near your pillow so you can hear the sound of his voice. After a few minutes of listening to his deep timber you feel your eyelids growing heavy, blinking and interrupting him for a moment. “Before I fall asleep.” Grinning well aware he can't see it but you send just how full your heart feels at him indulging you through the pact connection. “I love you Lucifer.” 

“And I you, my precious, sometimes idiotic Little Lamb.” A similar feeling sent back as he goes back to producing white noise for you. Only ending the call when he hears your soft steady snores for several minutes. “We'll see you soon. And this time, it will be your world.” 

Back to masterlist

[noloveforned]

no love for ned is on wlur tonight from 8pm until midnight and we're doing the old flippity flop so that last week's show airs first followed by the new show at 10pm- it's been a busy day for me but the show must go on!

no love for ned on wlur – february 24th, 2023 from 8-10pm

artist // track // album // label elvis costello // welcome to the working week // my aim is true // stiff lousy sue // ferma jean // artless artifacts // sweet time ervin berlin // junior's got brain damage // junior's got brain damage 7”// total punk abi ooze // problematic // julie's apartment (demos) cassette // (self-released) fluf // j'n it on the net // road rage // honest don's fuss // but it's a dry heat // we're not alone // phat 'n' phunky phonics body type // miss the world // expired candy // poison city cathedrale // silent castle // words/silence // howlin' banana spiral xp // the end // it's been a while ep // danger collective index for working musik // ambiguous fauna // dragging the needlework for the kids at uphole // tough love bingo trappers // solar holiday // roger // almost haloween time dwaal troupe // some blood for luna // lucky dog // ally superchunk // everything hurts // everything hurts 7” // merge ned's atomic dustbin // grey cell green // ned's acoustic dustbin // good deeds music jeffrey lewis // what i love most in england (is the food!) // when that really old cat dies // (self-released) jimmyjack toth // correspondence class // the caretaker (winter 2023 demos) // (self-released) willie nelson and kimmie rhodes // love me like a song // picture in a frame // sunbird angel olsen // something on your mind // angel olsen plays karen dalton split 7" // light in the attic resound // i will always love you // i will always love you digital single // spacebomb h.e.r. // the office // songs about the mysteries of housework and nature // persian cardinal patrick shiroishi and dylan fujioka // birth light // no-no 3 / のの 三 // (self-released) john dikeman, pat thomas, john edwards and steve noble // no comment // volume one // 577 albert ayler featuring mary parks // oh! love of life // revelations - the complete ortf 1970 fondation maeght recordings // elemental dizzy gillespie // closer // the real thing // perception phil ranelin and wendell harrison with adrian younge and ali shaheed muhammad // open eye // jazz is dead, volume sixteen // jazz is dead lmno, m.e.d. and declaime featuring fly anakin and j rocc // kool // flying high // bang ya head lizzo featuring sza // special (remix) // special (remix) digital single // atlantic little simz // you should call mum // drop six ep // age 101 laika // marimba song // silver apples of the moon // too pure la jvnta // ronda nocturna // sendas cambembas ep // grabaciones bonicas frankie valet // stop apologizing // cadillac frank cassette // (self-released) lovers without borders // she wants a baby (yeah, yeah) // she wants a baby 7" // (self-released) galore // ladders // blush cassette // paisley shirt wild carnation // acid rain and ‘the big one’ // tricycle // delmore

[endersabyss]

It was raining when the bathroom vent started talking to me. Or fan. Whatever you want to call it.

The water pattered against the window, creating an irregular melody.

I'd been staring at my reflection in the mirror, eyes rapidly moving across my face looking for any imperfections. Blinking rapidly whenever my face began to melt like wet paint.

At first, I thought it was the voices of our upstairs neighbors. But we don't have upstairs neighbors. And I was the only one in the house. I checked if it was just my brain trying to decipher its typical noise into something coherent. But the switch was off.

I moved to stand underneath it. The bathroom vent wasn't one of the fancy ones with a light. It was just a grate covering the gaping hole tunneling into the ceiling. Cobwebs filled with dust created a thin veil between me and the holes. Holes leading into the dark abyss of the attic, if you could even consider it one.

This isn't the first time an abyss in this house started talking to me. A few weeks ago the vent in my kitchen reached out to me for a day. Back when I got back together with my ex.

The voice doesn't speak English. It sounds like it does, but you can't pick out any words. Although this time, it sounds like there are multiple. And as I study the intricate weaving of dust across the vent, the voices start to get louder. They're not competing to be heard over one another, no. They're just trying to get me to listen. They're getting louder than the wind whipping the rain against the window.

And the vent starts to melt like wet paint.

I slammed the door as I left the bathroom.

The voices stopped.

I have a date with my ex tonight. We agreed to make dinner and stay in. I was planning on playing her favorite album on my new record player. I'll have to tell her there's a plumbing issue in the bathroom.

I busy myself with picking out our drinks. She enjoys a vintage Dom Perignon. I don't drink. We usually settle for a cabernet. We're also having steak tonight, with potatoes and asparagus. She enjoys dining at steakhouses. I'm trying to become vegetarian.

I pick a bottle of wine off the rack between my fridge and microwave. Held the label closer to eyes. It was a cheap wine, but it was red. And it looked fancy. And the label was starting to melt like paint.

The rack shook as I returned the bottle to its place.

I ground my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to ground myself. Refocus. Be present.

There was a knock on the door. The rain was beginning to lighten.

I dropped my hands and noticed the clock had jumped forward an hour. I shook my head and went for the door. She opened the door before I called to invite her in. Strode over to the dining room table, which was covered in various packages and mail, and brushed off a chair to sit down. The papers she knocked off whispering against one another as they settled.

"There's a plumbing issue in the bathroom," I greet, eyes fixed on the pages under her heels.

"Good evening to you, too." She doesn't say my name. Rarely does.

"I've got some wine, if you'd like to pick one. There's also a stack of records," I nod my head towards the living area, "you can play if you'd like."

"I'd like to start dinner," she takes her shoes off and tosses them aside, "Where's the steak?"

I glance up at her face and instantly fell nauseous. Her face was melting, the bloodshot whites of her eyes stretching down to touch the top of her lip. Her mouth stained with matte lipstick sliding askew onto her chin. The blush on her cheeks swirling into the blacks of her pupils.

I looked away from her entirely as I said, "It's in the fridge."

She liked to cook alone, I had tried to help the first time we dated but it ended with a butcher knife narrowly missing my index finger. So I sat on the sofa, sinking into its depths staring at the blank TV.

"Can you play something jazzy?" She requested. I don't have any jazz records.

"I can play country," I offered.

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. I stood from the sofa, the cushions failing to claw me back into their grasp, and grabbed the record pile off the table against the opposite wall. As I compared the tracks of the two country ones I had selected, the words started to melt. The letters bleeding into one another, becoming illegible. As I tried to focus, tried to make out at least one word, I heard a timer go off and looked at the kitchen to watch as she was plating the food.

Johnny Cash was playing. A bottle of wine stood on the counter with two full glasses. The dining table had been cleared, along with the papers that had fallen on the floor. And the rain was nearly over, stray drops hitting the kitchen window occasionally. A pleasant aroma drifted throughout the house.

She walked the plates over to the two table settings, followed by the wine after another lap.

I noticed she was wearing a green dress with her hair tied back. It was one of my favorite dresses of hers.

"Dinners ready sweetheart," she called as she sat at her seat.

"Thank you, it smells phenomenal."

As I made myself comfortable and picked up my silverware I noticed the bathroom door was slightly ajar.

"I said the plumbing was broken."

She looked at the door.

"I know you did, but it seemed fine so I used it anyway." A beat. "So, tell me about your friend. Is his miserable ass still around?"

She started eating, savoring each bite and occasionally sipping the wine, awaiting my reply. I was still staring at the bathroom door. It was better than watching her face melt.

"Uh yeah, I just talked to him earlier today actually." I saw her shoulders sag as I said that. She didn't like this friend. I've known him since kindergarten. The only man to stick by me all these years. This morning we talked about my date, the one currently happening. He doesn't like her, thinks she's only interested in telling me what to do. Only interested in things she likes. He's convinced she doesn't even know what my job is.

We finished our meals in silence.

"Want to dance?" I asked, downing the last of my wine.

"We should watch something," she reached across the table to hold my hand, "and maybe have it lead to something else."

Our hands started melting together. I mistakenly looked at her face and felt my stomach lurch.

I pulled my hand away and quickly stood, "I'm sorry I have to use the bathroom. Uh, you want to pick out a movie for us while I do that?"

She walked over to the living area without a word as I sped to the bathroom.

I shut the door and immediately threw a towel over the mirror. The voices erupted into deafening shouts as I climbed into the tub. I curled into myself, hands over my ears, head buried in my knees, trying to ground myself. Refocus. Be present.

The rain had stopped and the voices were getting too loud, too incomprehensible.

When I finally lifted my head I noticed Johnny Cash had stopped playing, instead canned laughter floated its way under the door, pouring into the tub I laid at the bottom of. The voices had also stopped. I looked over to the vent and saw it was back in solid form. Dust filled cobwebs clearly separated from white metal.

I stepped out of the bathroom to be greeted with the TV light illuminating an empty couch. There was a bag of chips propped up on the pillows, still open. I looked out the kitchen window to see the driveway was empty. She had left. Now there was just a heavy fog filling the street.

I snatched the bag of chips and sat on the floor next to the couch, eyes fixed to the show playing in front of me.

[plutominho]

love language || i.n

✧ WRITTEN BY: max

✧ GENRE: childhood friends to lovers, college au, valentine’s day au, fluff

✧ PAIRING: jeongin x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: valentine’s day childhood f2l based on this prompt from this post (from @creativepromptsforwriting):

When they were in elementary school, they created a secret language to avoid their teachers reading their notes they passed back and forth in class. Now one of them uses that language to write a love letter.

✧ WORD COUNT: 3.6k

✧ NOTES/WARNINGS: use of language; you and jeongin are the same age in this (born 2001); one instance of embarrassing 12-year-old cringe; imagine title is stolen from the ariana grande song of the same name

✧ TAGLIST: @svtbabiesrecs @svtbabies​ @felix-neverbad​ (message me if you want to be on the taglist!)

hey hey here’s the jeongin valentine’s day imagine! enjoy besties 💖

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

you wiped the dust off of a box you'd gotten from the attic, and you grimaced at the feeling of dust on your hand. bad idea.

you turned around and wiped your hand on jeongin’s back. the boy spun around, a look of betrayal on his face. “what was that?”

“i had dust on my hand.” you shrugged.

he rolled his eyes, muttering a ‘whatever’ and turned back around. “do you remember the secret language we had back in middle school?”

you shook your head as you racked your brain for any memory of a secret language.

“well, it was less of a language and more for passing notes…”

he handed you a paper that looked like it had been folded and unfolded millions of times. you handled it gently, not wanting it to rip at the seams.

scanning over the paper of coded symbols matched to their letter in the alphabet jogged your memory, and it all came back in bits and pieces.

“oh my god, i completely forgot about this…” you looked up in happiness at jeongin, being hit with a wave of nostalgia as you realized just how long the two of you had known each other.

“me too, me too…” he had more papers in his hand, all varying in size. “you wanna decode these? i think they’re from high school and middle school.”

“oh…” you made a face, not really wanting to relive your old school notes. but as long as it was in the past… “sure, why not?”

he beamed, and the two of you scrambled around jeongin’s house to get pens and papers.

the two of you sat across from each other on his bed, dividing the notes among yourselves and getting to work on decoding. you cringed with each letter you translated, your face heating up in embarrassment, and there was no one to blame but yourself.

you went through your set of letters relatively quickly, just wanting to get it over with (and beat jeongin…) and you sat back against the wall, watching jeongin finish his last few words.

jeongin finished and sat next to you against the wall. he extended his legs, and his feet hung off of the bed. it was only then you realized his room looked much smaller than you’d remembered. maybe it was because the two of you had grown so much since you’d last been here.

you cringed at the notes the two of you had written each other, any feeling of nostalgia being washed away by another wave of embarrassment at your past self.

“why are these so…”

“bad?”

“i think ‘bad’ is an understatement, y/n. i mean, look at this one.”

jeongin pulled out one of the index cards he decoded and the piece of scratch paper that matched. he pointed at a line on the card, trying to hold back his giggles as he recited the translation. “that says, ‘omg i was walking behind lia and she was telling her friend she went up a bra size!’” he paused to mimic the ‘:O’ you drew in after the exclamation point.

you wanted to shrivel up inside, especially when you remembered exactly who lia was—jeongin’s 7th-grade crush. “okay that’s eno—”

“‘i can’t believe this,’” he continued, ignoring your protests. “‘she’s going to have boys all over her! i’ve been the same size since i was in 5th grade, no one is ever gonna love me. i know she’s a year above us but still… >:(’”

he stopped reading, furrowing his brows and pouting his lips at you, copying your drawing at the end of the note before bursting into laughter.

you felt the tips of your ears burn red, and you buried your face in your hands. you groaned out of embarrassment, letting your body fall against jeongin’s shoulder.

jeongin took a few deep breaths to calm himself down and let out a chuckle, immediately wrapping his arm around you as he rubbed your back.

he stayed quiet, occasionally patting your back and mumbling a half-sarcastic “there, there” as you tried to compose yourself.

after you got out all your embarrassment for your 12-year-old self for whatever that was, you removed yourself from the comfort of jeongin’s shoulder.

wait, comfort?

and the note you wrote seemed so… jealous? even if it was a long time ago, why would you—

oh, crap.

even when you sat back up, the boy kept his arm around your shoulders as he smirked at you, almost cockily. “how does it feel being the more embarrassing of the two of us?”

you glared at him before shoving his arm off of you.

“shut up, jeongin.”

"i don't know if i want to do this."

"jeongin, we did not walk all the way across campus just for you to chicken out."

he didn't respond, simply staring at the candygram booth a few feet in front of him.

"just go send your telegram or whatever, we don't have all day." you pushed him forward slightly, and he turned his head to glare at you.

he huffed. "it's a candygram, dumbass."

you didn't respond, simply watching him as he asked for one ‘candygram' from the student body leader at the table.

he was handed a pink slip of paper and directed over to another table nearby. he took a pen and addressed the candygram.

you couldn't help but wonder who he was sending it to, so you slowly walked up behind him, trying not to make any noise.

"i can hear you, y’know.”

you laughed at your failed attempt of snooping, before backing up. "why can't i know who you're sending it to?" you whined.

"because, if this goes bad, it'll be embarrassing. i'd rather tell you if it goes well after. choose a candy?"

you chose a lollipop, handing it to him he pulled a small folded piece of paper out of his pocket, stapling both of the items to the small pink paper.

he handed the now-complete candy gram back to the student body leader, thanking them before swiftly turning on his heel to leave.

you ran after him, confused. "what was that? what's on the paper?"

he furrowed his brows at you. "i didn't tell you?"

you shook your head, and he formed an o with his lips. "oh, i'm telling someone i like them. that's what was on the paper."

"oh? jeongin, that's great!"

it wasn't great. you'd rather die than admit it aloud, but you were jealous. a pang of jealousy struck your heart when he said those words, but what were you to do about it?

"i sent it anonymously, though," he admitted sheepishly. your shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, hoping that whoever received his candygram wouldn't recognize his handwriting.

you laughed it off, though, making sure not to show any signs of jealousy. "what a pussy. i would've made you sign your name, if i’d known."

if you had known, you would've set that pink piece of paper on fire.

"are you okay?" jeongin looked at you, a mix of disgust and concern in his features. "your eye is doing the…. the thing.”

you looked at him briefly before looking forward again. "my eye isn't doing…. a thing.”

he scoffed, "yes, it is. it's twitching and you can't focus anywhere, are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" you interjected, just a bit louder than you'd intended.

jeongin widened his eyes in surprise, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. "damn, okay okay my bad, i guess.”

"yeah, your bad! don't you have a class in ten minutes you need to get to?" you crossed your arms and kept your eyes glued to the ground as you word-vomited, spitting out the first excuse you could think of to end the conversation. a lame excuse, yeah, but it seemed to work.

"yeah, and so do you, you weirdo, in case you forgot we have that class together." he grabbed your hand and walked in the direction of the building where your english 101 class was.

you stumbled a bit before matching his pace, avoiding looking at him or your now-intertwined hands.

"you sure you're okay?" he asked once more.

you nodded, your eyes still locked on the cement below you. "yeah. i'm okay."

"if this is about the candygram, you know you can technically buy one for yourself, right? it’s pretty easy to fudge.”

you scoffed. "a little late for that, don't you think?"

in hindsight, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.

ah, valentine's day.

a day of love, chocolates, and... horny young adult couples.

for a fairly large university, you expected to spend less of your energy trying to dodge them, but they were in every area on campus you stepped foot in—especially the dorms.

you hated it.

you dragged yourself back to your dorm, after being in a shitty mood all day. maybe if you had a boyfriend, you wouldn't hate this day as much.

but it's whatever. less money for you to spend, you figured.

you stopped on the first floor to pick up your mail. you yawned as you stuck the key in the hole and opened your mailbox, but abruptly stopped when you saw a pink slip hovering above the rest of your mail, supported by a piece of candy.

your heart fluttered as you realized you'd been sent a candygram. you reached to grab it, and when you pulled it out the end of the paper sagged from the weight of the lollipop stapled to it.

you flipped it over to remove the candy, and you almost dropped the paper in your hand. attached between the lollipop and the candygram was a folded piece of paper, and you immediately knew who it was from.

inhaling sharply, you flipped over the paper again to check the handwriting, and only confirmed your suspicion. jeongin had sent you that candygram.

you grabbed the rest of your mail in a hurry before scrambling up the flight of stairs and down the hall to your dorm.

you tugged the lollipop you had chosen just a few days prior, unwrapping it and putting it in your mouth to keep you somewhat occupied. your hands shook as your fingers grazed over the white slip of paper, folded so precisely that it only confirmed your hypothesis again.

slowly unfolding it, your jitters were immediately shut down when you saw obscure shapes and dots arranged in neat lines across the paper.

"that sneaky brat," you mumbled to yourself, seeing the extra attached paper with handwritten code on it. it had been weeks since that visit back home, when you and jeongin found your old notes with that goddamn code.

this was going to be interesting.

you took a look at the one of the notes that came with the lollipop… well, the one uncoded one.

y/n,

by the time you're reading this, you'll know who i am. but where was the excitement in just a plain letter? get to work!

love,

you know who ♡

you set the key down on your desk alongside the (very long) coded letter as you got a pen and piece of scratch paper.

you grumbled to yourself as you got to work, rewriting the letter in characters you could read. each letter you decoded formed a word, stringing into sentences that only made your nerves build up inside of you again.

when you finished, you couldn't bring yourself to read what you'd written in full. you took a deep breath, running your hands through your hair as you looked up at the ceiling. you knew what the letter said—you had just unraveled the mystery yourself. but it would be different this time, reading it without any pauses.

readjusting your position, you picked up the letter and took a deep breath to compose yourself as much as possible as you read.

i'm sorry you had to find out this way, but i don't think we should be friends anymore…

you would’ve felt your heart sink to your stomach, if you hadn’t already had an idea of what was next.

…we should be lovers instead.

my y/n,

since we were little kids, you’ve been everything i needed and more. we grew up together, and i hope we can grow old together. i couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. it’s always been you.

i love you.

you read it once, then immediately set the paper down and put your hand over your mouth, leaning back in your seat. a wave of emotions swept over you as you leaned forward and read it again and again, your heart always fluttering whenever you read those last three words.

then, as if a lightswitch clicked in your brain, you began scouring your desk drawer for a small piece of paper and grabbing a pen, scribbling on a scratch sheet of paper to make sure it worked.

you grabbed the code that jeongin included in his candygram, and you prepared to write a letter of your own. you wrote two words; ‘dear jeongin,’ and stopped. what were you supposed to say? you’d never been one to write letters. birthday cards were always an open and shut ‘happy birthday, hope you have an amazing day!’

so how were you supposed to write a whole love letter?

you groaned, sitting back in your seat again. you ran through different possible phrases and letters, but none of them seemed right.

you stopped after several minutes to take a break. the more you thought about what to write, the more muddled your mind became, so you needed to step back.

you threw yourself onto your bed and exhaled loudly. were you overthinking this? was it supposed to frustrate you to the point where your head began to pound?

did jeongin feel the same way when he wrote his?

you got up momentarily to grab his letter from your desk, before flopping back on your bed again. holding the paper gently in your hands, you held it up above you and your eyes glazed over the letters imprinted on the paper. it looked so simple, the way his words were so concise yet so elegant, seamed together neatly in a way only jeongin could do.

for all you knew, the right words came to him perfectly.

you let out a sigh after a minute of rereading his letter before setting the paper aside. you rolled off your bed and sat back at your desk.

you took a deep breath, and began writing whatever you felt as a response to his letter.

my jeongin,

since we were little kids, you’ve also been my everything. i guess deep down, i’ve always known that you were the one for me. all the memories we’ve made together only make me want more, too.

i’ll be all yours for as long as you want, as long as you’ll have me.

i love you.

y/n.

you sat back, a hand over your mouth at how naturally the words flowed out onto the paper. you felt giddy all of a sudden, like you were back in 7th grade, passing notes to one another in the back of math class.

you folded it, put your letter along with the code in a small envelope, and sealed it. it was now or never.

outside of jeongin’s dorm, you lifted your hand to knock on the door, but hesitated. what if he didn’t want to see you? what if this was all some sick joke? but he’d never do that to you, right?

maybe he wasn’t even home, and you could just do this later. that would be really easy. half of you wanted that to be true, the other half just wanting to get this over with.

all of a sudden, you found yourself second guessing yourself. did you really want to do this? well, you have to. but not really. but you couldn’t just say nothing…

you lowered your hand, but couldn’t bring yourself to walk away. you took a deep breath, and made a plan in your head.

you knock on the door, jeongin opens it, you hand him the letter, and get the hell out.

easier said than done, but might as well.

you knocked on the door, before nervously taking a small step back and shifting your weight from one foot to another. you looked at the ground in anticipation.

the door swung open, and your eyes met jeongin’s, but you quickly looked away. the two of you stood like deer caught in headlights, and you knew that he knew why you were there.

“this is for you.”

you raised the envelope in your hand, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. you glued your eyes on the wall next to his door as you mumbled a goodbye, turning to go back home.

“wait, y/n?”

this was definitely not part of the plan.

you turned back around, and jeongin was leaning out of the doorframe, your envelope still in one of his hands.

“do you want to stay, and we can talk?”

it took everything in your power not to check him out as he ran a hand through his hair, nervously pressing his lips together.

you just smiled and nodded, afraid of what your voice might sound like if you spoke too soon.

he held the door open for you as you walked in, shutting it behind the both of you as he walked past you taking your shoes off.

he went into the kitchen, and you followed, awkwardly standing a few feet away from him as you watched him. you’d been here before several times, but the atmosphere was different this time.

you nervously leaned against the counter as you watched him open the envelope. he pulled out the code first and immediately set it down on the counter with a small smile, knowing what he was in for.

then he pulled out the actual letter, and you watched him, amazed at how he read the letter without needing to refer to the key.

the small smile he had on his face grew into an ear to ear grin, reading it over and over again as he laughed softly to himself. the tips of his ears burned red, but he played it off as he turned to face you, leaning back on the kitchen counter.

“as long as i’ll have you?” he questioned, the letter still in hand.

it seemed as though all the blood in your body rushed to your face, all thanks to jeongin quoting the last line from your letter.

“if you invited me in just to tease me, i might as well just leave.” you said, a small smile on your face.

he took a step closer to you. “who said i wanted you to leave?”

“well…”

he smiled lopsidedly at you, and you were at a loss for words for the second time that day. it was so embarrassing; being wrapped around his finger like this.

“as long as i’ll have you… wow. that’s a big commitment you made.”

jeongin laughed softly and used one finger to tilt your head up to look at him. it was only then it truly hit you just how close he had gotten to you.

your faces were mere inches apart, and your breath hitched as your eyes locked with his. he searched your eyes for any sign of hesitation, before his gaze flickered slightly down to the bottom of your face.

you’d never been this close to him, and you studied his features as he looked back at your eyes, and the corners of your lips curled up into a small smile.

he leaned forward, giving you just enough time to pull away if you wanted, but when you didn’t, he crashed his lips onto yours.

you gasped in surprise, standing up straight to reach his height and he mumbled a ‘sorry’ against your lips before snaking a hand around your waist to pull you closer.

your hands reached around to the back of his neck, your fingertips touching the uneven ends of his hair, which had grown just long enough for you to play with as he kissed you.

he slowly pulled away after a few seconds, his lips lingering against yours, never wanting to lose contact.

he smiled sweetly at you. “i know i said it already in my letter, but… i love you.”

you smiled, happy to hear those three little words coming from him. “i love you, too.”

“…it’s a lot more embarrassing when you say it out loud,” jeongin laughed softly, his hand coming up to cover his face.

“aww, are you blushing? do i make you flustered?” you teased, relishing in your ability to make him embarrassed.

he shook his head and pulled you into a hug, hiding his face from you as he rested his head on your shoulder. you couldn’t help but melt at his reaction as you wrapped your arms around him.

to his disdain, however, all the love and adoration you had for him would never stop you from taking another jab at him.

“you know, it’s funny how you made fun of me for my letter when you wrote yours first.”

jeongin let out a whine at this, making you snicker.

you pulled back a little to look at him. “how does it feel to be the cheesier one out of the two of us?”

he hugged you closer so he could hide his face again. “shut upppp,” he whined once more, and you could hear the little pout he was undoubtedly wearing as he spoke.

you just smiled and tightened your arms around him, snuggling into his hold.

“besides,” he added, burying his face in your shoulder, “it was worth it.”

you chuckled lightly. “you’re just proving my point, sweetheart.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Meanwhile a figure stands from afar...

"Shishishi wow Jade... Wow," A certain hyena beastman snickered. "He's that charming ain't he eh Raven? What an icky yet lovely sight," Ruggie smirked as he leaned against the wall watching the scene that was unfolding right in front of him.

"Leona-san would be so grumpy when he sees this so lucky you I guess," He said while standing tall to leave. "This is a good day... For me of course, I'm not telling Leona-san but this would be a nice info to tell someone someday shishishi," he thought laughing to himself once again and left the two.

[Referencing this post!]

M-More rps in my inbox OTL

😷 Ruggie.................................................... Bro. BRO. OTL NOT COOL, MAN.

The Writing Raven Roosts.

“R-Ruggie-san...!” Raven startled and nearly choked on her cookie, jolting and straightening her spine once she took note of the beastman’s presence nearby. He lingered in the doorway to the attic, shoulder to the frame and a lazy, lopsided grin on his face. “Just... Just how long have you been standing there?!”

“Oh, for a while now—but hey, don’t sweat it. I don’t expect a bird’s senses to be as sharp as a hyena’s~” Ruggie snickered. “Nishishishi... And who knew eels could be so mushy, huh?”

Jade’s eyes narrowed. “I do not recall you being invited into the Crowley household.”

“From what I’ve heard, neither were you.”

His gaze turned sharp and dangerous, pointed like his teeth. “I closed and locked the doors after myself. How did you get in?”

“Lockpicking’s no sweat for a guy like me.” Ruggie wiggled his dexterous fingers. “I had to let myself in somehow to say hi to my best buddy Raven-kun.”

“We are NOT friends,” she protested, leaping onto her feet.

“Shall I remove him from the premises then?” Jade volunteered with a smile—a bit too eagerly.

“No. There’s no need.” Raven stared intently at the hyena. “Well... If you have the wits about you to leave now, that is.”

“I get it, I get it. I’m not welcome here,” Ruggie sighed in defeat, holding both of his hands up. “Gee, sure would be a shame if Leona-san hears about this, though~”

“Wha... Why are you bringing him up?!” Raven demanded, adopting a full-on glare. Her cheeks colored peony with annoyance. “Am I meant to take that as a threat? As if I’m concerned with what Leona-san thinks of how I spend my free time!”

“Heeeee~ So you’re saying you definitely don’t care if he gets so grumpy he starts skipping classes again? He’ll ruin his 2 day perfect attendance streak. The headmaster asked you to keep tabs on Leona-san for him, didn’t he? If Leona-san acts up, it makes you look bad too.”

Raven’s left eye twitched.

Beside her, Jade relaxed slightly, like a wave of relief had just washed over him. “Fufufu. I do believe that Ruggie-san is attempting to extort you.”

Raven looked at the eel with an exasperated expression. “Of course you would know. You extort people all the time yourself.”

“Ding, ding, ding! Jade-kun’s right on the money! And speaking of money...” Ruggie touched the tips of his thumb and index together, letting the rest of his fingers naturally fan out. “You can buy my silence and rescue your dignity for the right price!”

“You’re... You’re bluffing,” she scoffed. “Leona-san wouldn’t care what I’m doing. The basis of your entire threat is all wrong.”

“Is that what you really think?” Ruggie’s ears briefly flattened. “Man, for an animal that can fly, you sure are dense sometimes.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno~ Maybe you oughta use that bird brain of yours to figure it out.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Miss Raven. Ruggie-san. I think it would wise for the both of you to step back, take deep breaths, and calm yourselves,” Jade interjected, his voice an amicable croon. “No good can come of this aimless arguing.”

“Are you reprisin’ your role as Raven-kun’s hostage negotiator?” Ruggie said half-jokingly.

“Perhaps I am.” There was a subtle sharpness to Jade’s words, perceptible only to a beastman’s heightened hearing. A darkness set in the gold of his left eye. “I would highly advise that you stay hush about my interaction with Miss Raven. You wouldn’t wish any of your own dirty laundry aired to the public, now would you?”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“It is Octavinelle’s specialty.”

Ruggie heaved a sigh as he scratched the back of his head. “... Alright, I got it. I’ll keep my trap shut.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Please kindly see yourself out.” Jade turned away, redirecting his attention to his small storyteller (who mumbled a terse “thank you”).

“... See ya. Enjoy your tea time.”

Ruggie pushed himself off of the door frame and slipped out of the house, quiet as a mouse.

Sure would be nice if I had gotten some fat stacks for coming all this way... The hyena lamented. But oh well. Leona-san’s still paying me for checking up on Raven-kun for him.

The sky was bleeding with warm colors, the sun sinking into the horizon and stealing away all the light with it. A beautifully somber sunset.

“... Man. He’s not gonna like this at all.”

Better leave out the mushy gushy stuff, I guess.

[kanene-yaaay]

5+1 - [Part 2]

5 times Iida was tickled and the one he wasn’t

[PART ONE]

Kanene’s note: What a helloooo! I am baack! Gosh, look at me! Having a posting schedule! Who would say, huh? xDD Well, I hope you like this >u<

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to the anime/manga Boku no Hero.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic with family tickles, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of very greeat arts in this site!! ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Iida with Ler!Aizawa and Nemuri sprinkling some tease here and there. All relationships are platonic. Around 1.500 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Look at the window and find something that is worth smiling for. Don’t forget to drink water, sleep and eat! <33

[~*~]

“Iida Tenya.”

 “Ooooh noo,” Nemuri added from the spot on the floor where she sat, pampering and spoiling Shouta’s cats with plenty of snacks, a sharp grin gleaming at the boy who came running from the kitchen and now looked from a side to another with a panicked expression on his face, fast to move his arms in an ‘abort mission’ sign to the woman. “Looks like someone is in trouble! ~”

 “Nemuri-san, please I ask for you to control your voice!!” Tenya whispered in a volume that most people would categorize as a shout, especially with Shouta’s hero trained hearing. Nemuri, though, just expanded her wicked grin as the nine old boy didn’t realize the dark figure arriving right behind him. “He can’t know I am here!”

 “Aw, my dear,” she pouted in fake empathy at Iida’s inevitable fate, scratching Pudding under her chin, her loud motor like purring echoing in the silence. “But Shouta already knows.” Iida stilled as a statue when a shadow loomed over him, starting to turn around, slowly. “He always knows.”

 “Gotcha.”

His quirk activated a second before Aizawa erased it with his own, making the blue haired one stumble on his own legs, almost falling on the ground if it wasn’t for the arms that grabbed him in a firm hug, fingers worming their way to his armpits, prodding and digging on the awfully ticklish flesh there.

 “What,” Shouta started, with a tune that tipped on bored, his plain face contrasting to the smaller’s puffed cheeks as he wiggled and shook with the contained giggles. “Did I say about my orange flavored jelly packs, huh?”

 “Aww, is the itsy bitsy Tenya ticklish? Can’t he take all the tickly-tickly-tickly tickles his favorite grumpy uncle gives to him? Huh? Aww, my poor ticklish boy.” Nemuri teased, ignoring the glare her friend sent on her direction in favor to stare at Tenya, who went redder at her words, a couple of squeaky snorts escaping from his lips.

 “I will remind you what I said about eating my jellies without permission: don’t. Never. Do not look. Do not touch and especially, do not even think about eating it.” Aizawa highlighted the last phrase by blowing a raspberry right behind Iida’s neck, leading the boy to squeal, uncontrolled laughter following it almost immediately. The taller man did his best to keep a serious face, principally as the arms of his ‘victim’ rocked up and down, from the left to the right and in random patterns without even being able to get themselves enough control to attempt to stop him. “And you did, so now you will face the consequences. It’s only logical.”

 “A-Aizahahazawa-san I, I cahahahAAH!” Shout cut the other’s protest by throwing him in the air, resting his hands on his sides when he caught him again, slightly clawing his stomach with his fingers, fishing uncontrollable, bubbly giggles from him. “Please, please! I can-'' Snort. “I can ehehexplain!” Yelp. Half words, Half pleas. Giggles. Giggles. Giggles. “I hahahave the right, Aizawa-sahahahan!”

 Shouta contented himself in making the younger squirm – left, right, left, left, right and repeat – from a side to another by tapping his fingers on his sides repeatedly, sometimes giving a quick scratch only to gain another yelp, pretending to think about the proposal for a little less than a minute.

 “No.” He decided, spidering his fingers merciless on the death spot. Iida threw his head back, crackles flying from him in a waterfall of shrieks and squeaks.

 “Come one, Shou! Let the boy speak! As much I love this lovely, absolutely adorable laughter that makes you want to tickle and tickle him forever and ever, and aww, wouldn’t you love it, my dear? To get all the tiggles-tickles you could ever want for all eternity?” Iida kicked and shook his head in protest, more pleas falling from him, face and neck in flames. “I think he has the right to defend himself.”

 “Which side are you?”

 “No side deserves my awesome presence.” Aizawa rolled his eyes. “What is the matter, Shou? Afraid that you will lose in a logical battle with baby Tenya?”

 “Ihihihi am NOT ahahaha baby!!” Iida protested through his hysterical laughter, nothing giving him more strength than correct factually incorrect statements. “I ahahahaham a very hehehealthy chihihihih- – No! Not there! – chihihihild! Mom said so!”

 Nemuri hid her snickers behind her hands, receiving a very unamused yowl from Pudding, the cat demanding her to come back to her ear scritches immediately. The woman resumed to her wishes.

Shouta recognized a bait when he heard one, but watching the way tears started to appear in the corner of the younger’s eyes, he decided to bite it.

 He adjusted him so the boy would be resting on his hips, his hand resting calmly on his ribs, a much less ticklish spot.

 “You have fifty seconds.”

 “WHAT!” Iida stared at him in disbelief, turning to look at Kayama in the search of reinforcements, and being gifted with nothing more than a joyful shrug, his brother’s best friend being very glad in just watch the chaos unraveling in front of her and, unnoticed by the other two who were caught up on the silliness, the camera carefully hidden behind Pudding’s fluffy form. “That ihihisn’t even a minute! It’s impossiblehe to mahahake a good defehense under this condici- conditionaries… undeheher that pressure!”  

 “Conditions.” Aizawa offered, “and heroes work under pressure. You want to be one when you grow up, right?”

 “Yes!” Iida’s smile got even bigger than it already was, his eyes also becoming even brighter, shining with the determination of his new challenge.

 “Good,” the tired adult smirked, starting to count with his fingers as the seconds went by. “Start to talk then.”

 Tenya tried to clear his mind, together with keeping his resolve strong enough to not visibly squirm or titter every time Aizawa made any infinitesimal move. He never thought he would really be able to convince his uncle to let him make a true attempt to escape from this, therefore he didn’t possess any good enough reason to explain besides the ‘it was orange flavored and oranges are delicious!’

 A sentence pulled him out of the frenzy of thoughts dashing on his brain at full speed. “You have twelve seconds now.”

 “WHAT!” Tenya cried, seriously thinking about just pushing Shouta’s arms away and trying to run to the safety of the guest room.

 “You seem to have a problem keeping track of the time.” The small kid nodded at his direction and Aizawa almost felt bad by his next move.

 Almost.

 “Let me help you, then.”

 The underground hero poked an index finger on the lowest rib, vibrating on the sensitive spot for a few pieces of second, tearing a sputtering guffaw as Iida realized the true meaning of his words. “One.” He pressed another rib, and another, and another. “Two. Three. Four…”

 “Noho! Wait! Wait!!”

 “Five… Six. Seven…”

 “Oops. It looks like you’re running out of time, sweetheart.” Nemuri added, unhelpfully. “Well, let’s just hope the mean Shouta won’t attack those awfully ticklish knees of yours when the time is over, right?”

 “NOHOT MY KNEHES!”

 “Good luck. Ten. Eleven. Twel-”

 “YOULIED!”

 Aizawa stopped.

 “What?” He blinked one, two, three times. As if the meaning of the rushed words would become clearer. “No. I hid it and I was very clear in saying you couldn’t touch it. There is no lie here.”

 “There is! A lie of omiz-” Iida closed his eyes, concentrating on the word and controlling the few giggles that still slipped from his mouth. He wanted to be a hero and heroes succeed through the pressure! “omission! Which means hiding! You hid the information so you were lying to me, so I… I… I taught you a lesson!”

 They stared at each other for what seemed a lifetime.

 Aizawa huffed a chuckle, lowering the boy to the ground, trying to not be blinded by the excitement and proudness exhaling from the younger when he realized that he succeeded in “logicing” his way out of the playful “punishment”, beaming on the ball of his feet at both adults.

 “Good. In a fight, using your opponents’ words against them can be an important tool. Also, as a physical opening, don’t forget that I was carrying you, which means that if you hit the back of my knees hard enough I would weaken my grip and that would give you the opportunity to run. I would try to not hurt you when I fell, so that is also a weakness you could exploit.” After a thought, he added. “Try to do that the next time Hizashi tickles you.”

 “You are a bastard.” Kayama replied, earning an exasperated gasp from Tenya. “Not you, dear. I am talking about Shouta.” That did nothing to alleviate the boy’s rebellion, his lecture of how ‘This isn’t the proper vocabulary of a hero’ was soon interrupted as the apartment door flew open, Ingenium walking through it. He immediately extended his arms, hugging his brother when the aforementioned jumped on him, part of the exhaustion of a day’s work being eased by the younger attics.

 “Tensei! Tensei! I already did all my homework and I brushed my teeth and I played with the cats so they would not be sad or bored and I ate all my greenies and also-”

 “-ate all my orange jelly packs.” Aizawa completed.

 “And Aizawa-san tickled me because of it! Using very villainous techniques even though he is a very good and skilled hero! But then I won! I showed him logic and, and, and then he let me go!”

 “Oof, that sounds like a very exciting day!” Tensei ruffled the boy’s hair, fondness dripping in waves from his acts and words. “But you don’t need to worry anymore about Shouta, the Grumpy Tickle Monster because now I am here!” Tensei posed in a poor representation of All Might's usual pose. “Ready to protect you!”

 “Oh.” A dangerous tune marked Shouta’s grin and voice, making the blue haired hero to shiver with all the teenagerhood memories that this brought over. “Don’t get over yourself, assuming you’re out of danger, too.”

 A wobbly smile took over Tensei's expression as Shouta cracked his knuckles, preparing himself for a chase. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly who told him where I hid my jelly packs.” The older Iida got his younger brother on his arms, flexing his legs, preparing to not give up so easily.

 Aizawa decided he was feeling merciful today.

“You have three seconds.” Iida gasped in protest, an argument on the tip of his tongue. “Run.”

[maaarine]

The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable (Nassim Nicholas Taleb, 2007)

“The first problem is that information is costly to obtain. The second problem is that information is also costly to store—like real estate in New York.

The more orderly, less random, patterned, and narratized a series of words or symbols, the easier it is to store that series in one’s mind or jot it down in a book so your grandchildren can read it someday.

Finally, information is costly to manipulate and retrieve.

With so many brain cells—one hundred billion (and counting)—the attic is quite large, so the difficulties probably do not arise from storage-capacity limitations, but may be just indexing problems. (…)

By finding the pattern, the logic of the series, you no longer need to memorize it all.

You just store the pattern. And, as we can see here, a pattern is obviously more compact than raw information. (…)

We, members of the human variety of primates, have a hunger for rules because we need to reduce the dimension of matters so they can get into our heads. Or, rather, sadly, so we can squeeze them into our heads.

The more random information is, the greater the dimensionality, and thus the more difficult to summarize.

The more you summarize, the more order you put in, the less randomness.

Hence the same condition that makes us simplify pushes us to think that the world is less random than it actually is. (…)

Think of the world around you, laden with trillions of details. Try to describe it and you will find yourself tempted to weave a thread into what you are saying.

A novel, a story, a myth, or a tale, all have the same function: they spare us from the complexity of the world and shield us from its randomness.

Myths impart order to the disorder of human perception and the perceived “chaos of human experience.”

Indeed, many severe psychological disorders accompany the feeling of loss of control of—being able to “make sense” of—one’s environment.

Platonicity affects us here once again.

The very same desire for order, interestingly, applies to scientific pursuits—it is just that, unlike art, the (stated) purpose of science is to get to the truth, not to give you a feeling of organization or make you feel better.”

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (5/8)

If you’d like to read on AO3, you may do so here.

October 15, 2018

The leaves were beginning to change outside the window; the maples turning russet, the birch yellow. Scully felt pendulous and gravid, the child in her belly more active than her previous two combined. Sleep was becoming difficult, but by day they’d fallen into a comfortable routine, safe and unmolested from the dangers that were beginning to feel as though they had never existed at all.

She stretched and left Mulder, half his face obscured by his pillow, his lips soft and pliant in sleep. A fresh pot of decaf awaited her in the kitchen, its automatic timer set by Mulder late last night.

The kids were still asleep, as far as she could tell -- she'd heard Lily come home well after midnight. She'd been up reading anyway when her daughter had popped her head into their bedroom door and whispered "I'm home." The girl had been wearing a small smile and Scully recognized the look. Lily was falling in love.

Will shuffled into the kitchen sleepily, a palm rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He approached Scully where she stood at the counter and put an arm around her shoulder, leaning on her. He still smelled like the sleepy little boy who liked to cuddle into her side to watch nature shows when he was six.

"Morning Mom," he said, taking a snuffly breath. He leaned down and rested his cheek against her head (he was almost as tall as Mulder, though still as skinny as a maypole). Scully wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him in closer. Affection from her kids was getting fewer and farther between now that they were active teenagers. She was determined to enjoy whatever she got.

"Morning," she said, giving his back a little rub, "you're up early."

"Yeah," he said on a yawn. "There's an open rink this morning and a couple of buddies are going. Is it okay if I join them?"

Scully nodded. "Just make sure you tell your dad, too. Know the exits before you go and keep an eye on the crowd."

Will squeezed her once and then let go, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and holding up like James Bond. "Call me Double O Billy," he said and sidled back to his room off of Scully's bemused chuckle.

She spent an hour catching up on email that had been routed through the Gunmen and Darlene -- coded messages that they interpreted and sent to her mother, sister and brothers. Melissa was giving her a hard time about not letting her fly to Europe (where she thought they were) to be her doula when the time came to give birth. She was tempted to send Byers to her sister's house to explain exactly what was happening, but rejected the impulse. Their mother -- the only person other than the Gunmen and the X-Files triumvirate at the FBI who knew their situation (though not their location for her own protection) -- would talk her down eventually.

Mulder came padding up behind her as she closed the laptop and she felt a soft, drawn-out kiss on the side of her neck.

"Morning," he mumbled into her skin.

She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, then turned to receive his kiss.

"Morning," she said.

"I’ll be back shortly. I'm going to drop Billy off at the ice complex and then take Lil to campus -- she suddenly started liking football."

"I think it's the company rather than the sport," Scully said, turning in her chair to face him.

"...I'm going to choose to believe my version," he said.

Scully reached out and linked their fingers briefly. "Tell her to be careful," she said, "she's spending a lot of time out of the house."

Mulder nodded and squeezed her fingers. "I will," he said, "and when I get back, I have a few ideas for how we can spend our child-free afternoon." He waggled his eyebrows at her and let go, backing out of the room like the charmer he was.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“So why UVA?” Travis asked her. He had his head propped up on an elbow and his other hand was wrapped loosely around her foot, his thumb rubbing circles into her arch. She was on the couch in his dorm room and he was on the floor -- she’d been helping him study for mid-terms. They had been officially dating for five weeks and had seen each other at least every other day in that time. He’d introduced her to a couple of friends as his girlfriend.

“What?” she asked. It was hard enough to concentrate while getting a foot massage, and she’d been staring at the index cards in front of her, trying to find a question that would stump him.

“Why are you going to UVA? Brain like yours, you could have gone anywhere. I don’t think I’ve ever asked you why there.”

“Other than the in-state tuition?” She had told him that they’d moved from Virginia, but hadn’t elaborated.

“Other than that,” he smiled.

“I’ve always wanted to. When I was a kid, my dad would occasionally get called in to consult there and he would take me with him. I kinda fell in love with it.”

“What did your dad consult on?” he asked, “You don’t talk about your parents much.”

Travis tapped her other leg, and she switched feet, silencing a groan when his knuckle hit a particularly sensitive spot.

She had purposely avoided mentioning her family much and debated how much was safe to share.

“UVA has a Department of Perceptual Studies,” she said, and she saw him tilt his head in question.

“A department of what?”

“Perceptual studies,” she said, smiling, “it’s a research group devoted to the investigation of phenomena that challenge mainstream scientific paradigms regarding the nature of the mind/brain relationship.” Travis stopped rubbing her foot and looked at her. She went on, further quoting her dad’s friend Dr. Stevenson: “Their mission is the scientific empirical investigation of phenomena that suggest that currently accepted scientific assumptions and theories about the nature of mind or consciousness, and its relation to matter, may be incomplete.”

“You’re shitting me,” he said.

“I shit you not.”

“What kind of phenomena?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She tried not to smile, “ESP, poltergeists, near-death experiences, out-of-body experiences, claimed memories of past lives.”

“And what did they want with your father?” he asked, sitting up.

She shrugged. “He’s a shrink,” she said, being deliberately vague.

“This is an accredited university?” He teased her. She kicked at him, and he ducked out of the way and laughed, then looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, I myself had an out-of-body experience with Trudy Carmichael under the bleachers when I was sixteen. Pretty sure I saw through time.”

Lily chuckled, then playfully challenged: “Do I need to worry about this Trudy Carmichael?”

“I doubt it,” he said, hanging his head, “I lost my virginity, and she lost my number. Not my finest hour.”

“A whole hour?,” Lily said wryly.

“One way to find out.”

He looked at her then and she looked back. The moment was charged and sat in between them. The truth was, Lily was still a virgin. She and Travis had messed around, but fairly innocently, and she’d demurred on action below the waist/under the clothes. “I’m not waiting for marriage,” she’d told him a few weeks back, but she did want to wait for love. If only she knew what that felt like.

“Hey, Frisbee,” Travis said when she didn’t say anything, “please don’t take this as a negotiation tactic -- you’ve been clear on your limits and I totally respect that -- and with the full understanding that you don’t need a reason, and you do you and all that -- but… do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what exactly?” she asked, clarifying.

“When I say ‘no pressure,’ I mean it,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her foot.

Lily looked around his sloppy dorm room. There were clothes strewn about, though mostly out of the way— socks balled up near the laundry hamper, a sweatshirt hanging on the back of a chair. The wooden loft that held his bed was posted around the couch, made of flimsy-looking two-by-fours, and did not look like it could hold his weight, much less hers in addition, and remained untried (though Travis swore it had passed inspection). His desk was more fastidiously kept, a reflection of his mind, a structured order in the midst of chaos. He was kind and smart. His smile could make her insides go liquid.

“Honestly?” she finally said, “it’s my parents.”

“Super religious?” he asked.

She had to stop herself from laughing. “No, it’s… My parents love each other. More than anyone I’ve ever known. Their love is like… romance film love. It’s practically written in the stars.”

He looked at her contemplatively. “That’s a lot to live up to,” he said. “Is that what it is?”

“Yes,” she said, then, “no.” It was and it wasn’t. She didn’t know if there was a love out there that could compare, she suspected there wasn’t. Her real hang-up, and she hadn’t been able to get it out of her head since she found her father’s first wedding picture in their attic -- was that her father had obviously made a mistake. What if she did too?

She laughed, annoyed at herself. This wasn’t Regency England. Sex didn’t mean marriage. It didn’t even necessarily mean love. Still...

“Come on,” she said, sitting up and grabbing for his class notes, “this bio exam isn’t going to take itself.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

A sound woke her. Her hips were in agony and sleeping was difficult, so initially she was more annoyed than anything; she could rarely line up more than 90 minutes straight of deep slumber. And then she heard it again.

She reached over, squeezed Mulder's bicep until she heard him sniff sharply awake and silently, pulled out the sidearm she kept inside her bedside table. Mulder, slipping out of bed without a word, pulled out his own gun and went to the door. He held up a hand, trying to tell Scully to stay back, but she shook her head angrily -- she would have his back whether he liked it or not.

When he moved into the hallway, she stepped on the back of his heel and he ended up ramming his shoulder into the doorframe. He swore low under his breath. They were out of sync.

She watched as he put his head into the kids rooms as he made his way down the hallway, nodding at her that they were both accounted for. One more thunk from the living room.

He sidled up to the wall that led to the room and backed up against it. He mouthed one-two-three and they went in, but where she usually went low and he went high, this time they rammed shoulders and stumbled into the room. Mulder flicked on the light when she finally had her weapon aimed true.

There, sitting on a high bookshelf sat Apgar, her black tail swishing merrily. Maintaining eye contact, she swiped one more of the professor's knick-knacks off the shelf and onto the floor.

Mulder dropped his weapon and heaved a sigh, tipping his head back in frustration. "Fucking cat," he hissed.

Mission completed, Apgar jumped down with a thump and weaved a figure eight between Mulder's legs.

"She must be hungry," Scully said.

"Hangry was invented by cats," Mulder mumbled, reaching down to pet the cat with his free hand.

"Our tactical coordination was atrocious," Scully said, flicking the light back off and holding her gun at her hip.

"Yes," Mulder agreed.

"When was the last time you went to the range?" she asked.

"It's been months," he said tiredly.

"We're going tomorrow," Scully said. Mulder knew better than to argue.

XxX

There were more than a few Molon Labe bumper stickers in the parking lot. Scully had to remind herself that they were in Michigan Militia territory. "Michitucky," she'd heard it called by a few guys at the Bureau. Nevertheless, she pulled up to the firing range with fire in her blood. She might not share their politics, but she would share their space, and show most of them up to boot.

They signed in and bought ammunition. She got a few extra looks for being a visibly pregnant woman, but most of the men (and they were all men) who were at the range gave her begrudging looks of approval. Mulder stood, standing straighter and closer than normal, practically growling at anyone who got too close. She had to admit that his fierce protective nature was more than a turn-on.

The range was outdoors -- different than what they were used to at Quantico. And where there were metal tables and dividers and state of the art equipment at the government facility, here it was all beat-to-shit plywood tables and sunburnt grass littered with shell casings and old ear plugs. They took the lane at the end.

They both loaded and checked their weapons, snugged earmuffs over their heads.

"You want to go first?" Mulder asked, double checking the safety on his pistol and setting it on the table behind their station.

"I can do that," Scully said, looking down at her Sig.

"Care for a little wager?" her husband asked.

"You can't afford me, Dr. Mulder," she said, admiring the still-lanky line of his physique.

He raised his eyebrows, and leaned back against the tall wobbly table. "Oh-ho," he said, "I suppose that depends on the currency." He had a smug look about him that she wanted to wipe off his face. She was a better marksman and more competitive than anyone gave her credit for.

"What are you offering?" she asked.

"Dishes?" he offered, "Laundry?"

"We had children for the menial labor," she challenged, "I can win this with one hand tied behind my back. Make it interesting for me."

He licked his lips. She had him.

"I liked the part about 'hands behind the back,'" he said, "Winner decides who wears the handcuffs."

"You're not exactly incentivizing this, Mulder."

He had a flushed look about him; his nostrils flared.

"Prove it," he said, and she felt a flush. Second trimester hormones could be a beautiful thing, she mused.

It took her several rounds before she got back into the groove. It actually had been too long since she'd practiced and she was rusty. Considering their current situation, she ought not to let it happen again. Her last few rounds were dead center. Once her clip was empty, she cleared her weapon and stepped back.

Mulder's turn.

He wasn't quite as out of practice as she was initially, which irritated her to no end. However, his fourth and fifth shots were a bit wide, and he ended around the edges.

When he was clear, she stepped back up and took a bracing breath. She raised her weapon and fired rapidly; all her shots were center mass except the last two, which she swung up and finished with perfect shots to the head of the paper dummy.

When Mulder stepped forward for his turn, she nudged him.

"How big would you say the back of the Yukon is?'" she asked casually.

His first three shots went wide.

XxXxXxXxXxX

October 17, 2018

“Mom?” Lily asked. There was a hesitancy in her voice that made Scully look up from where she was chopping vegetables for dinner. “How did you know you loved Dad?”

Scully set the knife down and turned toward her daughter. “That’s a big question, Lil.”

“What’s a big question?” Mulder came breezing into the kitchen, shooting Scully an intrigued look.

Scully suspected something was up, but didn’t want to embarrass their daughter. Lily had always had an inquisitive streak and would occasionally come to Scully with problems or questions, but she was apt to clam up when pressed.

“Lily was asking me about how I fell in love with you,” Scully said, trying to catch Mulder’s eye.

“It was the day she met me, no doubt,” Mulder said. He grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and shined it on his sleeve before taking a snappy bite. “I’m catnip to the ladies,” he said around the mouthful. Lily smiled. Scully rolled her eyes.  

“Suddenly, I’m struggling to remember,” Scully said with mock derision. Mulder gave her a cheeky grin.

“Did you know right away?” Lily asked.

Scully paused. “Not… Not right away,” she said thoughtfully.

Lily looked back and forth between her parents. “I guess it was a long time ago, huh.”

“Love in a time of sarsaparilla,” Mulder said dreamily. Scully shook her head and he caught her eye. “It wasn’t that long ago, Lil,“ he went on, and Scully felt the low bloom of feeling that always accompanied a look from her husband. For as long as she lived, she would always remember the first time she felt it; on the Tooms case, when he’d hooked his finger in her necklace and pulled.

“No, what I mean is… it was complicated,” Scully clarified.

Lily nodded and turned to her father. “You were married. Before Mom.”

“Yes,” Mulder said.

“Did you love her? Your ex wife?”

“I thought I did.”

“When did you figure out that you didn’t?” Lily asked.

“When I met your Mom,” Mulder said.

“So what you felt with Mom…”

“... was so much bigger than I was, that I couldn’t contain it.”

Scully felt her eyes well up. Mulder still sometimes had the ability to make her feel things all the way down to her toes.

Lily smiled, but looked pensive.

"But you thought you loved this other woman? I mean, enough to marry her?" she asked.

Mulder narrowed his eyes at his daughter. "What are you asking, Lil?"

Lily shook her head, her cheeks pink. She grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked out of the room.

“Oh boy,” said Scully.

“What?” Mulder asked.

“Travis,” said Scully. “She’s trying to figure it all out.”

“Jesus, he didn’t propose, did he?” Mulder asked. The look on his face was enough to make her laugh, but she held it in.

Scully turned fully to Mulder and leaned back against the countertop, crossing her arms in front of her.

“You want to know what I think?” she asked. Mulder nodded. “She’s trying to decide whether or when to...” She made a vague gesture with her hands.

Mulder looked at her, still not understanding. Scully gave him the stare of the dotard husband.

“Mulder…” she said, glaring hard.

Realization dawned and Mulder swallowed. “I should have had that boy killed,” he said.

Scully turned back to the vegetables she’d been chopping. “Let’s refrain from wetwork while we’re on the lam.”

“I make no promises,” he said, and slid up behind her, stepping in close and putting his hands on her waist.  

“I had the guys check him out by way of Darlene,” Scully said. “He is who he says he is. And he seems like a decent kid. Let’s let her navigate this on her own, huh?” She felt his fingers squeeze and then they drifted down to rest on her hips.

“I don’t like it,” he mumbled, and leaned down to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to,” she said. “But you do have to accept it, and trust that we raised her to make these decisions for herself.”  She remembered being nineteen and in college and in love for the first time. “You want to hear about Kevin McAvoy, my freshman year boyfriend?”

Mulder squeezed his fingers again and then started to turn her slowly toward him. She set down the knife on the counter and let him. His head was bent toward her and she felt his breath fan her face.

“No,” he said, leaning even more into her personal space.

“I was his Little Red Corvette,” she said playfully, tipping her head back in challenge. He smiled, but she saw something rough pass through his eyes. “He’d put on Prince and --”

Mulder leaned down and silenced her with a kiss.

XxXxXxXxXxX

In her room, Lily sat on the bed, the can of soda from the fridge sitting unopened on her bedside table. Condensation beaded on the side of it, sliding down silently to pool at the base, unnoticed.

Crusher liked to sleep on her pillow, and had left a black felted indent in the feathers, which Lily brushed away and fluffed. She looked about the room. Not much about it spoke of the young woman who slept there and had for months; no posters on the walls, no pennants hanging or pictures of friends. It was a sterile guest room decorated with the mute tones of an unmarried 60-something and lately it had been making her feel like she wasn't even herself.

She stood and walked to the desk, the one place she deposited her things. Her wallet, the phone Darlene had given her that she rarely used and usually kept switched off. Her purse was half hanging off -- likely knocked into such a position by a passing cat -- and when she righted it, she noticed the picture that sat under it. The photo of her father and an unfamiliar brunette, who's face conveyed confidence -- almost a smugness -- and a certain charm.

She stared at the picture. And she wondered.

XxX

October 20, 2018

Lily glanced over her shoulder when she sat, feeling as though she were doing something illegal, something fraught.

No one really used the computer labs anymore -- if you needed to, you could write an entire paper on your phone, though Lily found the practice ridiculous and immature. Nevertheless, there were one or two students sitting at the various desktops around the small library lab, and she checked to make sure no one was paying attention to what she was doing.

She tried to be careful. She had told Travis that she was hoping to log into the university's network to prep for some of the classes she’d be taking at UVA next semester and so she was using his password and login information. She'd checked to make sure there were no cameras on the area where she sat, and that her back was to the one aimed at the larger area.

With a bracing breath, she logged on.

It was surprising what you could find with a simple Google search, and the commonwealth of Virginia's vital records office would send you a copy of any marriage certificate for a fee of $45. Knowing better than to use a credit card, she'd opted for a more in depth search, and found what she was looking for in the Daily Press -- the local newspaper of record in Newport News, Virginia.

It was a wedding announcement, complete with two pictures -- one, the same picture she'd found in her parent's attic and the other of a similar style -- of Fox William Mulder and Lauren Edith Williams, married on August 17th, 1988. According to the article, Lauren had been a recent graduate of Georgetown University and had been employed at Schuster and McClure, a PR firm in the District of Columbia.

Lily looked at the new photograph on the screen before her. Her father looked so young. Only a few years older than herself. Lauren was pretty, had perfect posture, and was staring into the camera like a dare; her dress was all frills and white froth, the material of the dress ruched in large poofs at the shoulders, a crown of satin flowers around the lush brunette curls on her head. She looked like someone Lily wouldn't have dared talk to back in high school. She looked nothing like Lily's mother.

Lauren Edith Williams, she wrote down, and stared at the paper in front of her.

XxXxXxXxXxX

October 21, 2018

Lily was on the bus when she noticed him. It was his age that first drew her attention. Most everyone that rode this route (it went right into campus) was either a student or a professor, and something about him seemed the antithesis of scholarly. He had a sharp face, was dressed in loose clothing, a plain, black ball cap pulled low over his head. His knee bounced where he sat. She thought she could make out a tattoo curling onto the skin under the sleeve of his jacket. He could have been custodial staff for all she knew, but her parents had raised her to trust her instincts, and something inside of her pinged.

He hadn’t so much as looked in her direction, but she reached up and pulled the cord that requested a stop anyway, keeping him in her periphery when the bus rolled to the next stop. She was five blocks further away than she would have liked -- she was supposed to meet Travis just off campus for lunch. The man didn't move or rise from his seat. Nevertheless, she ducked out of the back door and onto the sidewalk, shouldering her purse and pretending to look at her phone. Only when the bus left with the man still on it would she exhale. The bus had just started to roll forward when it chirped to a stop and the front doors opened. The man in the cap trotted down the steps and onto the sidewalk, glancing briefly at her before turning and walking slowly west. Adrenaline awash in her bloodstream, she turned east.

The man had had a nondescript face. He was of average height and build, not someone you'd notice. She wracked her brain trying to remember when or if she'd seen him before, and had a hazy recollection of someone who might have been him: waiting outside of Travis's dorm when she'd come to visit him a couple days prior, or maybe even standing behind her in line at a coffee shop the day before. She should have been paying closer attention. Her parents had taught her to pay closer attention. Up until she'd done a search on her father and his ex-wife, she had. Lily silently cursed at herself.

She looked at her reflection in the shop windows along Grand River Avenue, trying to catch a glimpse behind her. She caught movement, but there were plenty of other people walking up and down the sidewalk. She needed a better look.

She swung up the stairs of the Student Union when she came to it a moment later, remembering walking in with her brother and dad only the month before, and felt the sharp pang of guilt.

When she reached the top of the staircase, she stopped to retie her shoe, glancing back behind her as she did so. The man in the cap was there, and had paused a ways away, looking down at his phone. Lily finished fiddling with her shoe and casually walked to the door, holding it open for a girl who was coming out, her heart hammering in her chest as she did so. Through the large doorway was a wide set of stairs going both up and down. When the door closed behind her, she bolted down the stairs to her right. There were a number of study spaces and she could pass through each one fairly quickly -- the day was busy and there were students everywhere; if she was lucky she could get lost in the crowd.

She ducked through the main lounge and past the small coffee shop on the lower level, looking behind her. She saw nothing, but that didn't mean he still wasn't coming. Seeing the full racks of clothing in the Spirit Shop across the hallway, she went inside, bending down to pretend to look at a few items on the bottom shelf.

Peering through underneath the hanging shirts, she watched as the man in the black cap came down the hallway outside of the shop and paused, turning toward it. Her heart leapt to her throat. He did a slow turn and then turned to keep walking. She kept her head down.

From the corner of her eye she caught her own reflection in the mirror outside the tiny dressing room -- she was wearing a bright blue shirt and her hair -- as bright and reflective as a stop sign, and always a part of herself she was fond of -- would give her away.

She stood, scanning the hallway outside the shop, and then she hastily pulled a green knit cap off a nearby shelf and pulled the tag off, shoving it over her head and tucking her hair up under it as quickly as she could. She grabbed a large tee shirt off the rack nearest her and took it plus the hat's tag to the counter, pulling some cash that her parents always had her carry out and plunking it on the counter.

"I don't need a receipt, thanks," she told the young woman helping her, and turned away.

"But what about your change?" the girl called after her.

"Tip jar," she said, turning back and keeping her voice low.

Once outside the store, she pulled the tee shirt over her head and made her way for the lower level exit that emptied onto campus. Seeing no one behind her, she took the steps out as fast as they would carry her and ran.

XxX

Darlene narrowed her eyes at Lily, and opened the door. “Quickly,” she said.

“Thanks,” Lily said, as Darlene let her into the house, peering around the block. “I didn’t want to use the phone.”

“I get it,” Darlene replied as she ushered Lily into her kitchen, where Lily sank onto one of the stools that sat before the peninsula of the counter.

"You want a lemonade or something, kiddo?" Darlene asked, leaning forward against the counter herself and giving Lily an expectant look -- there was more to it than just polite hospitality.

"No, thanks," Lily said, feeling the weight of Darlene's gaze and her own guilt in equal measure.

"Did you do something stupid?" Darlene asked outright and Lily, taken aback, sat up straighter, but didn't answer, thus confirming Darlene's clear suspicion. "How bad?"

"I think they found us."

Darlene huffed a breath. "Elaborate," she said.

"I... I ran a search. A couple days ago, in the university library. I was careful, but maybe not careful enough."

"What did you search?"

"My dad's ex-wife."

Darlene gave a low whistle. "Kiddo," she said, a statement.

"I know."

"Have you considered just asking him about her?"

Lily hugged herself.

"I have. I did. But… I wanted to know. For me. I don't want his version of this woman. I wanted to see for myself who she was. Is."

Darlene moved to the window and peered out, lowering the blinds as she did so. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Lily once again felt a pang of guilt. She looked down. "Not really."

Darlene moved around the counter to a sideboard table on the dining room side of the counter and began shuffling through a drawer.

"What makes you think they found you?" she asked.

"I think there's someone following me," Lily said, "I think maybe I’ve seen him a couple of times on campus, but I don’t know. I lost him and came here."

"Just one someone?"

Lily began to second guess herself.

"I think so?"

When Darlene straightened from the sideboard she was holding a pistol.

"Call your father right now, and tell him to get over here. Armed." Darlene's words were cold and calm. Lily's stomach dropped in her gut.

She reached for Darlene's phone, a relic from another time which hung on the wall, its cord coiled like a snake.

Darlene walked to the sliding glass door as she dialed the numbers, each tone sounding long and drawn out, Darlene pulled the long curtains closed with a snap.

"Dad?" Lily said, when Mulder answered.

"Hey Lil!" he sounded so relaxed, excited just to talk to her though he'd seen her that morning.

"Dad, I'm at Darlene's. She says to get over here. She said to bring your gun."

She heard his sharp inhale. “I’m coming,” he said, and then she heard a dial tone.

"Lily," said Darlene, walking over to her computer, which was booted up and sitting on her dining room table, cords snaking out of it and across the floor. She quickly typed hunt-and-peck with her right hand, the gun still clutched in her left. "I want you to go into the top right drawer in my dresser. In a small lockbox, code 9-10-9-3, you'll find an old Nokia phone. It should be fully charged. It’s untraceable. Do not turn it on. Take it. Put it somewhere safe -- your bra or your sock or underwear. Then get under my bed."

Lily walked to the hallway, her body on autopilot, her heart hammering and her blood roaring in her veins.

Darlene finished typing, clicked a few things with her mouse and then peeked an eye out the closed curtain toward the backyard, tapping the gun against the side of her thigh.

Pausing in the hallway, Lily turned back to Darlene.

"Is someone coming?" Lily asked.

"Kid," Darlene said, shooting her a look, "they're already here."

[thegoodnessofprovidence]

The Intervals, Pt. 2

In tandem with the change in behavior...

“My mind,” he said, “rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own particular profession,—or rather created it, for I am the only one in the world.”

Without cases to work, Holmes is prone to injecting himself at least 3 times a day, for at least months at a time with either morphine or cocaine. I am inclined to believe there's some type of dopamine involved in helping people, rather than the explicit details of the case, as the helping people aspect is the constant whereas the explicit details of the case, whether it's a murder, kidnapping, thievery, or some other increasingly banal crime- seems to be what drives his interest.

This strikes me as someone living with ADHD that possesses a hyperfixation on puzzles, problem solving, crime, and helping people- self medicating with cocaine when there isn't something stimulating to be had.

[snaggerleo]

The Past, Part 1

(7,196 characters. A novelization of the first two minutes of Pokémon Colosseum, with some liberties.)

Leo had chosen his future with the press of a button. The remote control lit up in his palm, and the outer wall on the second floor of the weather research station that had become Snagem HQ blew apart, littering the ground below with rubble. He told himself he’d never forget that moment. He had power back. He had control. Warm and brilliant sunlight poured into the darkest room in Leo’s life, and he basked in it; bathing and smiling, even as he knew the family was coming to whup him. To try, at least.

He freed the snag machine from its mannequin and, for ease of transport, clasped it around his arm. The first of his bald brothers were pouring into the hallway outside as he gave a two finger salute and leapt from his freshly made exit along with his real brother; his Umbreon by his side for this part.

That bought him more time. His fanged grin got wider while he put distance between himself and the hideout, headed for his bike parked a safe distance away. The rubble from the explosion had crushed a few of the bikes parked outside, which would buy him even more time if they decided to chase him. The manic giggling in his heart made him wish they would.

Everyone inside scrambled to turn around and head back to the first floor and out the front door. By the time Gonzap - that scarred and burly ex-father of his - was outside, Leo was holding his future in his hands again. Another button press, and the attic erupted into a fireball, smoke billowing into Eclo Canyon’s open air.

Leo’s teeth were clenching so hard he worried they might crack. Chumps, all of them. Losers. No more Pokemon would get hurt while he could help it, and now he had the only tool to make it possible, and had sent Gonzap the message he hadn’t been able to put into words. Halfway between home and nowhere, he tossed the detonator overboard.

There wasn’t a measurement of time that meant anything to his brain in the moments that came next. Only distance. It had been silent miles, with the wind hammering at a fading smile. Adrenaline drained from his blood, and he was left feeling cold. Hands shaking on the bars of his motorcycle, despite the sparks kicking up around them from the engine. 

So what now? He’d seen the beginning of his plan and the end of it, but what came next? Where was he even going to sleep tonight? Or the night after that? Even if his revenge only took a day - where to next?

He couldn’t keep driving. His body felt like it was trying to shut down. He found a landmark; a rest stop, a diner, on the edge of civilization, and pulled up. Kickstand down. The twins back in their balls, while he wobbled his way from his seat to the entrance ramp. It wasn’t so far that the gang couldn’t catch up to him. He didn’t have long. But he couldn’t keep going.

The explosions replayed in his mind. A deafening sound beaten only by his own heartbeat. His world had ended, and the future was rushing to meet him. Demanding answers he didn’t have.

“--bagged ourselves a great big catch, too.” Not by choice, he overhead two punk-looking goons loading into a truck after stepping out of the spoon. “Boss’ll be sure to fix us up good with big rewards.” Leo snarled internally. Life went on. It only drove home what he’d done to himself. His world was over. His choices had put him here.

Your fault. His mind hissed, then corrected itself, wretched hatred sinking into the captain’s seat of his mind. My fault. Mine.

He walked past them and inside. Slow and deliberate inhales failed to focus his breathing. Every little detail of the world around him bore spokes into his mind. The clinking of eating ware on plates, of glasses on table top. The chatter of the other patrons. The TV on the wall. The old and weak jukebox struggling to be heard over all of that combined. 

He sat down into a booth with more force than he meant to use, and that was too loud, too. Facing the door, in the far back. If someone came in looking for him, he wanted the room to panic, and enough running space to put a good flattening punch between their eyes.

The TV won his attention. For a moment. A flash report of a familiar sight; the Snagem HQ, still smoldering. Some local reporter standing outside, letting the world know that the infamous Pokémon abductors, Team Snagem, had been forced from their hideout, only discovered because of an explosion that had taken place there. Nobody inside. The Mustache had forced them to pack up and evacuate, which might buy him more time.

Pokémon abductors. That’s what they were now. They’d been just thugs, thieves, dishonest mechanics before that. Now they were simply Pokémon abductors. Splitting families apart for money. He felt the echo of anger, felt a biting memory beat its fists against his skull. Anger wasn’t winning right now.

One palm on his forehead, Leo stared down at a menu left on the table, not once actually looking at it while his mind kept demanding answers he didn’t have. You have a hundred dollars. And now you’re on the run. How long until you get caught? By the boys, by the cops? By Them?

The diner’s one server had been standing by the booth for a good two minutes, just waiting to get his attention. This wasn’t the first nervous breakdown they’d played host to. It wouldn’t be the last, either. Not if her next break had anything to say about it. The young lady cleared her throat, a little louder than she’d asked for his order, and Leo snapped to. His hand hit the table harder than he’d wanted and he flinched.

He stared at her, at the question she hadn’t asked but they both knew was hanging in the air. In his current state, that question wasn’t any easier to answer than the others on his mind. His forehead returned to his palm, and he slid the menu out from under his arm. The index finger on his right hand tapped frantically against a picture of a hamburger whose price point represented 8% of his remaining money.

You get twelve and a half of those, and then you’re out of money, kid. Thanks. Twelve and a half mediocre cheeseburgers. That was how much he was worth now. And he was acting better than other people before this! It was no small wonder a group like Cipher could get away with what they’d done. They could silence the whole region of Orre by buying it lunch.

The server wasn’t going to ask if he needed anything else. That was a loaded question to a customer like him, and she was just trying to make it to 9 PM. So she put the menu into its holder for him and sauntered away. Leo fell back into the seat, head hanging over the back. Breathe. Remember to breathe.

He fidgeted. And breathed. That was a step. Fingers playing with one of his brothers’ Pokéballs on the tabletop. Spinning it slowly, between two fingertips. Was he actually going to feel better after he ate? He wasn’t accomplishing anything here. Just draining his money and his time. Throwing one of the twelve and a half cheeseburgers that made up his life into a trash can. He couldn’t stay here.

He jumped to his feet, faster than he’d wanted to, and ran past the server bringing him his cheeseburger. She sighed, and watched another customer get up after him. Maybe he’d talk that nervous guy into leaving her a tip. More likely there would just be a fight outside.

[burgerpocalypse]

Yesterday I started a replay of Half-Life: Alyx, and I want to both share some low-energy ppnions and also tell everyone that I have an Index VR headset.

So, HL:A is the most recent entry in the Half-Life series, which had been sitting in the attic since 2007’s Half-Life 2: Episode 2’s unresolved cliffhanger ending. It’s also a substantial single-player release from Valve, whomst have not gleamed the general public with any substantial single-player releases for around a decade. It’s also also Valve’s first full-fledged VR title that isn’t just a tech demo for your mom or tech industry journalist live-in boyfriend. It is rather unfortunate that not only is it incredibly belated, but also unattainable for the casual video game fan as well as the casual Half-Life enjoyer.

Though it certainly is a complete package that provides a highly tuned VR experience that dunks on all other VR games, there’s some smudginess to it that I feel has not been given proper analysis for whatever reason. Maybe the few people who have played the game are just happy to have another Half-Life entry or a really good triple-A VR title, which I certainly understand. I’ll do my best to quickly go over my grievances as to not waste your time.

The gameplay of Alyx is pretty good. I hadn't had much experience with VR before getting the Index, just a few demonstrations here and there. Regardless, I find it quite easy to slide in and out of VR and don’t experience any substantial negative effects like some other unfortunate souls might. Alyx was essentially the first actual VR game I played, but even then it was really simple for me to become acclimated to controlling my character, even going so far as to using more advanced movement and view options right from the get-go. I bring this up because Alyx is very obviously designed around being accessible to someone whomst has never played a VR game, or potentially any game. As such, there are considerable concessions that put a relatively low limit on what can be accomplished by more experienced players and even someone of intermediate skill.

You only have three weapons, which are a pistol, a shotgun, and an SMG, with two inventory slots for usable items like grenades and health packs. Sure, you can physically hold additional items, even going so far as holding a container filled with grenades and junk, but personally I found that to be a real painful experience that wasn’t worth the trouble due to physics jank and accidental droppage. Besides, it’s not like players are encouraged to do clever/compulsive inventory management, since the environment is lousy with weapons and healing and I rarely was found wanting for more ammo or health.

Combat encounters typically involve around five enemies, with considerable space in between encounters. When not solving puzzles and exploring crusty environments, you’ll be crawling through zombie and headcrab ambushes or pushing through squads of Combine soldiers, which is the essential Half-Life formula. Zombies and headcrabs behave the same way as they have for the past twenty years, with a few slight twists like weak points for instant kills or minibosses. While soldiers are highly accurate with their shots and do attempt to flank or force the player out of cover, they are much less mobile and aggressive than they have ever been. This is fine for VR since players have to physically aim and take cover, though soldiers definitely will stand around and wait to be shot sometimes.

Each fight is intense and combat is by no means brain-dead easy, but from the perspective of someone that has played a lot of Half-Life and shooters in general, the combat in Alyx is limited in scope. I didn't feel much challenge, outside of maybe the final bits of combat. The few times I died were usually due to VR control finickiness when trying to reload, me losing focus and not paying attention, or me making a really, REALLY dumb mistake.

Exploration is fine. It’s mildly entertaining scouring an environment for useful things, though I quickly learned the developer’s tricks, and the act of pulling drawers and opening cupboards got old real fast when all you get is some bullets. Really, you’re only looking for ammo or resin for upgrades, and everything outside of puzzle solutions is just junk and noise. I’m not a puzzle-oriented person, and will become bored and lose interest if a puzzle asks me to remember more than one thing or figure out any complex solution, so it’s fine that no puzzle goes beyond at most one step of complexity. Physics jank is rife throughout the world, and VR only makes it worse (or better, if you prefer the jank). There were one or two times I had to load a save due to a physics object bugging out, the culprit being a valve getting stuck in a wall.

I have little to say about the story. It’s a prequel to Half-Life 2, which is whatever. The plot spins its wheels the entire time, since we know that nothing we do will have any effect on the games we’ve already played. It also tries to be coy about the identity of a particular character, when we know that the character will clearly not be who they say it will be. It doesn’t advance the story of Half-Life in any meaningful way since it ends with the same cliffhanger as HL2: EP2 in what is essentially a canonical retcon. It sets up more mysteries while also refusing to answer any lingering questions. It introduces a character and other elements that are obviously not in the game that chronologically comes after, and so on.

My expectations and testicles have been ground into a fine paste as a result of Valve’s silly little 13-year unresolved plot point cocktease, so I suppose it’s just that I’m not in a forgiving mood, but I found Alyx’s story to be an insulting, blue-ball inducing, time-wasting non-entity, and if Valve wants to think that I’m dumb enough to be satisfied with a 30 second teaser for their next project as part of Alyx’s conclusion, then they can go fuck themselves.

While I’m at it, the level with Jeff is dumb. I’m not interested in a level with an enemy that is inexplicably invulnerable to guns and follows me around for no reason other than to act as a gameplay contrivance. I wasn’t scared in the slightest because I’m a total asshole and possibly a sociopath, so the experience was a dull slog through a haunted house with annoying puzzles and no combat. If you found this to be your favorite level, great, but in my opinion it can fuck itself right alongside Valve.

In conclusion, Half-Life: Alyx is a great game, with notable issues and shortcomings in its gameplay and a deeply disappointing story. If you already have VR and a capable system, I certainly recommend it. Don’t get VR just for Alyx, though. You’ll probably be let down by the rather meager library of VR titles afterwards.

Thanks for reading. Sorry there's no interesting art to look at.

[purplesurveys]

1173

survey by loveme-forever

If someone tells you a really juicy gossip right now, would you pass it on? Probably Angela, if it didn’t already come from her lol.

What's one song you can't stop listening to right now? Singularity by V. I literally made a Spotify playlist that just lists down that song 10 times.

Do you have index cards in your room right now? Yes. They’re hooked up to my corkboard at the moment so that I can easily grab one if I need it.

Do you have an attic? Nope, not a very common house feature here.

What was the last song you sang out loud to? I think it was Anpanman? BTS again. It’s my newest ultimate feel-good song.

Have you ever lived in the country before? No. Apart from a very brief time in Manila when I was an infant, I’ve lived in residential villages all my life.

Do you drink coffee everyday? Nearly everyday, but not 7 days a week. I take an entire day to finish a cup of coffee so most of the time it interferes with my ability to fall asleep.

Have you ever had mice in your house? I’ve seen a rat scurry once or twice in the middle of the night, but thankfully it never grew to be a big issue in the house.

Have you ever stayed in a suite? Yeah, a few times. But most of the time we just get one of the standard rooms since we never book hotel rooms to just stay in them all day.

Do you take good pictures? Hahahaha no. I rely on my sister for help on what angles are best to use.

Do you remember names or faces better? Faces. I’m quite good at recognizing people even though I’ve only encountered them once before, but I won’t always remember names.

Do you enjoy working with animals? I don’t really get the opportunity to ‘work’ with animals...but I think overall it depends on the animal. I obviously wouldn’t wanna be left unattended with like a lion or venomous snake lol.

Have you ever been in a tornado or hurricane? We get hurricanes a lot where I live - in fact we have one in the country rn - so yeah. I can’t say the same for tornadoes.

Do you have any bookmarks in your internet browser? If so, how many? Yes. I have 9 for work, then I have one folder for all my bookmarked survey makers just in case I can’t find any interesting ones on Tumblr, and another folder I recently started for all my favorite fanfics hahahahaahahahahahahaha

Have you ever seen any movie version of Romeo and Juliet? I know I’ve definitely seen the one with Leonardo DiCaprio. My brain is telling me I’ve also seen the 1968 one but my memory is just not too sure.

In your opinion, which decade has the best hairstyle? 60s was nice.

If you're in a competition, are you in it to win it or just for the fun? In it to win it. I can never shake off the competitiveness in me.

Do you have winter, spring, summer, and fall where you live? No.

Is the computer you're using a desktop or laptop? It’s a laptop. We don’t even have a desktop at home anymore.

Do you know anyone in the military right now? Not personally.

What's your favorite show on Comedy Central? I don’t watch anything from there.

How old is the oldest person you know? I think I have some friends who still have living great-grandparents who are now over 100 years old; I just can’t place which ones they are at the moment.

Have you ever had braces? Yes, back in middle/high school.

Is there a TV show right now that you just can't miss an episode of? 2 Days 1 Night. Also, not really a TV show but my 8 PM on Tuesdays are reserved for Run BTS heehee.

Which love story would you want your life to turn out like? I dunno. I don’t really want to pattern my relationships to someone else’s.

Do you usually go to sleep before or after the people you're living with? Waaaaaaaay after.

Are you into ripped jeans? Not anymore.

Have you ever been to any Disney parks? Hmm, I don’t think so. I’ve only ever been to Universal Studios.

Do you watch the Discovery Channel? I used to watch it with my grandpa as a kid, along with National Geographic.

Have you ever wanted to live in the Playboy mansion? No.

Would you ever name your child after someone famous? I would, but only as a middle name. I’ve long thought of naming my kid Audrey or Greta after the actresses. On that note, my favorite name is Olivia but I wouldn’t necessarily consider it a tribute to Olivia de Havilland; I’ve always just liked that name.

Have you ever participated in a car wash for charity? Hmm, sure, I guess. Sounds wholesome enough.

Which band has the best name, in your opinion? You just know I’ll be biased and say Paramore hahaha. I think Autotelic is a pretty neat name as well.

Do kids often knock on your door on Halloween? No. I live in a pretty secluded part of the village, so not a lot of people pass by here.

Which one of your exes do you feel like you have the most chemistry with? I’ve only had one.

Do you like where your house is located? Yeah, it’s peaceful and quiet, which is nice; but like I’ve said before I’m also quite sick of living in residential subdivisions at this point. It would be nice to move to a big city sometime in the near future.

What's the best hotel you've been to? Shang Boracay. The hotel we stayed at in Cavite a couple of years ago was also surprisingly nice and well-equipped, even though it wasn’t a well-known hotel and the city isn’t exactly a destination spot. I believe it’s called Bayleaf.

Are you into designer clothes? Some, not all.

Have you ever watched the show How I Met Your Mother? No.

Do you share the same political views as your parents? Ew no.

How often do you eat chocolate? I would say at least once a month. It’s not a regular thing.

Have you ever done any internship? Yeah. I had two internships, both in PR.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

hey, my alien \ 7. studying stars \ index

genre:  drabble (series), alien au, alien!taehyung, human!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, taehyung is running from people, y/n is gullible and unwise, tae is kinda mean (at first), will graduate into fluff, yes there will be plot

warning(s): none to mention 

rating: T

w.count: 900+

You held back an eye roll at the sound of Taehyung’s voice behind you. Of course he had to make this a scene instead of staying quiet.  You turned around with Alex to look at him. You should’ve known not to trust an alien to conform to human ques. Alex gasped beside you, slapping your arm over and over again. 

“Ow, stop that,” you hissed at her. She got closer to you as Taehyung climbed down the attic ladder. 

“You didn’t mention he looked like that!” She whispered to you in heightened excitement.  

“Look like what?” you asked, holding back another eye roll. 

“Like a model, dude. He’s eye catching!” You glanced at Taehyung as he straightened out his clothes. An old shirt and jeans that used to belong to an ex of yours you hadn’t yet burned. A lucky find among boxes. 

Sure, you guess he was sort of attractive to human standards.  His blue eyes and silver hair certainly were ‘eye catching’ as Alex says. His complexion and build was pretty manly too if you had to admit it to yourself. You still hadn’t forgotten the first meeting of what he was capable of looking like though.  

“You girls gossiping about me?” He piped up. Alex got away from you and trotted towards the alien playing human. You flinched as she got closer, anxiety spiking. Would Taehyung hurt her? You would need to stay on your guard if things started to look like they might roll downhill. 

“Girl’s don’t gossip,” Alex said. “We pass on information.” Taehyung raised his brow with a playful smile. 

“Is that so?” 

You watched with cautious eyes as Taehyung chatted Alex up like a proper human despite what he may be.  You didn’t want to hover and be too suspicious- you already knew that Taehyung knew you were watching him. You didn’t want Alex catching on too. You slowly drew yourself back to your mess of study guides and notes as you started working again; keeping one eye on the chatty pair. 

They spoke for a bit, moving to take up two more chairs and space up at your table with you.  You never intruded on the conversations, trying to concentrate. That is until Alex brought up a certain distrust you had towards men. 

“I’m shocked she’s letting a guy room with her given what happened-” 

“Alex.” You curtly interrupted. Alex was too busy running her mouth, her brain lagged behind. She quickly covered her mouth, eyes wide as she looked at you and away from Taehyung. “That isn’t Taehyung’s business.” 

“I know,” she spoke under her palm. “Sorry,” she apologized. You shook your head as your notes continued to be written under you. Brushing the topic under the rug with a warning. 

“Just… change the topic.” She nodded but you missed the look the alien boy gave you. The energy that had been on edge around you shifted so quickly into something much darker.  Thicker than your normal energy waves. This spiked his curiosity. A mystery for the future for him to pick at perhaps. Slowly, he felt your energy dwindle back down as your friend started going on about something else entirely. 

By the time Alex evicted herself, it was already dark out.  You hardly processed any of your notes because of her constant chit-chat with the boy across from her.  Your face fell into your books, halfway hoping the words would soak into your skin and into your brain like some sort of learning direct-deposit. 

Taehyung, now bored again glanced at your material for the first time that afternoon turned evening.  All the upside down words he could read were all astronomy terms. His eyes softened slightly as he read the best he could. 

“You’re studying the stars?” He whispered to himself. You lifted your head up and silently started packing it all away back into the bag that had been crumbled at your feet for hours.  You had class again in the morning. “Hey, human,” you heard Taehyung call.  He was still looking down at your book for your astronomy class. You decided to forgo another argument about him calling you ‘human’.  You simply sighed. 

“Yes?” 

“Do you enjoy learning about the stars?” He asked lightly.  For once his voice wasn’t gruff. Was it because he was an alien?  His blue eyes swirled in something you couldn’t explain- more alien traits probably. 

“I do. Why?” You asked him back as he just shook his head and stood up. 

“Nothing. Your energy is low,” he told you. The waves you gave off were weaker than earlier. You still didn’t know what he meant when he told you about your energy. He never stopped to explain it either.  He made his way back to the attic ladder and climbed back up it, disappearing into the attic once more.  

You finished packing up as you heated up something quick in the microwave before you took a shower and tucked yourself into bed after scrolling through social media for a bit.  Checking up on any news you may have missed.  

All the while Taehyung sat on his blue bedspread you had unboxed that used to be yours as he starred out his window into the night sky.  His eyes turned back to their natural black as his hair changed back to it’s black curled nature as well. The black marks on his neck reappearing due to his reverted state. His eyes narrowed softly as he watched the moon disappear and reappear among the grey spots of clouds.  The stars twinkling down at him.

-x-x-x

t.list: @queen-pharaoh-hatshepsut​

[ask-de-writer]

THE HOUSE, (part 2 of 3), a tale of Flocking Bay

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

THE HOUSE

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

7357 words

© 2020

Written 1990

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users  of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may  reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in  my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical  compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge  for their images.

All sorts of Fan activity, Fiction, Art, Cosplay, Music, or any other thing is actively encouraged!

///////////////////////

Next, I began to check the walls for hidden panels or the like. The walls of the parlor, sitting room, and kitchen were smooth with elaborate flocked paper. The wainscots were all of solid, if elaborate, woodwork. That left the study, dining room, and library. I set eagerly to work. The paneled walls of the study proved depressingly solid.

I was delighted when I finally found the basement stair in the library. A bookcase camouflaged a hidden door with the spring catch concealed as one of the few knots visible anywhere in the wood of the house.

Flashlight in hand, I ventured down the short flight of stairs. The basement proved to be small and bare. It had mortared stone walls and a cement floor. There were no hiding places, even the space under the stairs was empty, no rats, no dust, and no cobwebs … Slowly I went back up the stairs to the library.

I put away my flashlight and went to the study to look at the land records again. The papers revealed that the house’s first buyer was George Oates. His brother and sole heir sold the house seven years later. His name was Harold.

As I am something of a bibliophile, I decided to give the house’s library a detailed look. I was more than pleasantly surprised. Not one book was published later than 1866. Many were far older. Some of the books went back to the 1400’s. Mr. Wickes was apparently somewhat dishonest, intellectually. He had signed and dated the flyleaf of each book, for example, “Hiram Wickes, acquir’d 1565.” Some of the dates went back to 1540 in books published from 1483 to 1497. He would have to have been over 300 years old, if the inscriptions were true.

Hiram was heavily into the occult. There was little that did not pertain to the various occult ‘sciences.’ Even the books in foreign tongues, and there were many, had illustrations that indicated that they belonged to this awesome collection of lore. The impression was that Hiram had read all or most of this collection. His marginal notes were in a wide range of languages, often not the language of the book in question. From scanning the shelves, I deduced that there were over twenty five hundred books in the library.

My near drenching of the day before had taught me that it was wise to take my car into town. Mrs. Alderman greeted me at the slightly shabby old counter that served the library for a check-out desk. “My goodness, young man, how did you get on when the power went out? I have a gas range, ‘cause you never can tell when, hereabouts, the power might go.”

“I’ve got gas where I’m staying, too,” I told her, “I made out okay.”

“Well,” she said knowingly, “the radio says it’ll be another two-three hours before we got power again. Why don’t you go sit by that window? It’ll give you light all morning.”

I thanked her and turned at once to the death certificates. Bingo! George Oates, his wife Wilfreda, daughters - Caroline and Charity, and son Harold (named for George’s brother in Boston), had all been declared legally dead, seven years having passed since their disappearance, and all reasonable attempts at contact having failed. Now, the reason for that malevolent plaque came into focus.

Turning to the letters, I started with the earliest. The Post Office had saved Hiram’s mail in the hope that it would yield some clue to his whereabouts. This practice was followed in the disappearance of all subsequent owners of the house. Hiram’s mail was of considerable interest to any who might know a bit of the occult and something of rare books, as I did. The first letter follows:

My Dear Hiram:

It is with the utmost concern that I read your last communication. You were always my most talented pupil and are a valued associate. I pray you, please, reconsider the rash course that you are now contemplating.

Remember, your copy of Alhazarad is not a good one. The edition of 1784 contains many minor lacunae. Before you attempt anything, consult also the Pnakotic Manuscripts and collate what you learn there with Von Junst.

I know that reading the Pnakotic Manuscripts is a difficult and time-consuming task. Never forget that the source of your present wealth and mine lies in those ancient pages. There is much wisdom there for those with the courage to seek. Everything must be checked against other knowledge.

To call upon Him Whose Name Must NOT be Uttered for so trivial a task is a sure way to serious mishap. Remember, your Alhazarad is incomplete!

In concern for your welfare,

I remain, Richten

At Darkhouse, Arkham, Mass.

Unfortunately, the authorities were unable to trace the mysterious Richten or his address. Arkham, Mass. is, of course well known to all scholars and bibliophiles as the home of Miskatonic University, with its astounding collection of rare books of occult lore.

I had never heard of the Pnakotic Manuscripts but the other items mentioned in the letter were familiar to me. Alhazarad could be none other than the author of the infamous Necronomicon. The 1784 edition survives only as a fragmentary copy in the vaults of Miskatonic University. Von Junst could only be the almost as infamous Black Book. This book also survives in only a few priceless copies. Two of the best ones lurked in the vaults of the rare book collection at Miskatonic. They were separate editions, published a century apart.

Another letter, about a week later than the first, was a bit more specific. Richten started in much the same vein as before but went on:

Calling so mighty a being for so trivial a task is absolutely insane. I know that you enjoy tidiness. Who does not? Yet He Whose Name Must NOT be Uttered is not a mere servant and can be disastrously literal, even when all else is done perfectly.

Binding Him, as you have, cannot please Him. What you have learned from the Necronomicon and the Pnakotic Manuscripts has enabled you to compel Him to bring you gold. The first time that He did was almost fatal. Remember, being able to compel is not the same as being master.

For your own safety, Do Not Do This!!!

Wishing you the best,

Your friend and former Master,

Richten

At Darkhouse, Arkham, Mass.

There were also, unfortunately, not translated, letters from Korea, China, India, the 0ttoman Empire, Germany, France, Morocco, and several places in South America. Apparently our Mr. Wickes had been something of a polyglot and did in fact read all of the languages of the books in his library.

It appeared that a careful search of the house, attic to basement, was in order. If there were any chance that I might find a copy of either the Necronomicon or the Black Book, I could turn a fine profit. Either book in almost any condition, was worth in far in excess of mere $45,000.00 that I had paid for the house.

Turning to the newspaper clippings, I found mostly stories of the disappearances of people who had bought the Wickes place. The George Oates family was only the first. They were not alone. The clippings gave some flesh to the legal death declarations. There was another detail to add to my list. No trace was ever found of the possessions of any person who vanished.

Electric wiring had been installed. Several times. It too had vanished without a trace. After each disappearance, the house was exactly as it had been when Hiram Wickes vanished. Even if the furniture and books were sold or even burned, everything always came back.

The Reverend Orville Olson piled all of Hiram’s books and furniture on the lawn and burned it all. He then exorcised the whole place of the “evil ghost of Hiram Wickes.” To prove that the evil was gone, he spent the night in the house. The burn scar on the lawn and the Reverend Olson both vanished. The furniture and books returned.

I made careful tracings of the strange gold coin in the file and made longhand copies of such of the letters as I could and included all of the oddments that I knew of Hiram Wickes and the Wickes house, and prepared the lot for mailing. I addressed it to Professor Gordon Wetherbee at Miskatonic University.

He was a sort ‘uncle’ to me. He and my father had been close friends since long before my birth. That friendship had been extended to me as I grew and was largely responsible for my love of books and learning. I did not know all or even a fraction of what ‘uncle’ Gordon knew or did but I trusted him absolutely.

I did know that his research had taken him all over the world. He knew more of the occult than any other man of my acquaintance.

One set of clippings caught my eye. “BOY GOES MAD!!” Curiosity piqued, I read on. In essence, the story was this:

It was a fine day in April, 1896. Willie Asphel, age 10, was in the mood to get into trouble. He sneaked off to the Wickes place to break windows. Apparently he missed the house with the first stone, as there was no crash of glass or thump of stone on board. He took precise aim and watched carefully where the stone went. Ever after, his hair was stark white, his eyes crossed, and even after he stopped raving, his mind was never fully normal. He demonstrated a talent for seeing into closed containers and the like.

He died of a brain hemorrhage at the age of fifteen.

The power which had failed last night, came back at 3:30 p.m. I felt a need to digest the tale of Reverend Olson and young Willie Asphel, so I left the library. I walked up the street in the sunlight. Cobbles could be seen here and there through old cracks and holes in the paving. Stepping around the occasional weed, I followed the sidewalk to the Post Office. There I mailed my letter to uncle Gordon.

Thoughtfully, I retraced my steps. My car awaited me. No sooner had I got into it than a gust of wind slammed the door. The impact caused the glove box door to fall open. Inside were five gold coins exactly like the one in the file

To say that I was stunned by this occurrence would have been an understatement. A breeze plucked at my right hand, almost as if it were guiding me to the gold. The moment that I took the gold in my hand, the breeze died away. Only then did I notice that my car windows were closed.

My first response was to say, “Thank you, whoever or whatever you may be.” I drove home slowly, mulling over the day’s events. The clouds roiled overhead like fighting dogs.

Once home, I got my flashlight and went straight to the attic. At the stairs, my light would not shine. Somehow, I must have left it on when I last put it away. Irritating.

I had lots of candles down in the kitchen. For a prize like the Necronomicon or the Black Book, I could search by candlelight. An obsession to find those books seized my spirit.

I hurried down to the kitchen and set up a candlestick, which I took back to the attic. The soft glow of the candlelight revealed the same boxes and trunks that I had seen before. There were still no dust or spider webs to be seen. I heard what sounded like a hundred rats on the floor below. A glance out an attic window showed that night had fallen. The ‘spectral brigade’ never started before dark.

The boxes and trunks contained the curios, mementos and journals of travels on six of the seven continents (only Antarctica was not represented.) Glancing through the journals revealed that although Hiram was meticulous at recording detail and observations, he was also quite secretive about the object of his searches and research. It was both fascinating and frustrating.

Some of the boxes contained disturbingly carved stones and other artifacts. Many of these were only disquieting to look at but a few were truly mind twisting. A number of the journals contained finely drawn sketches in ink of architecture that Escher would have loved, had it not caused actual nausea when studied too closely. Many of the drawings were of ruins but they still retained their otherworldly power. Their geometry was subtly skewed from any earthly construction. There was little else, aside from literally thousands of the above mentioned journals. Valuable to the right collector perhaps but not the precious books that I was seeking.

I tried the second floor next. Both bedrooms, the bath, and the large room that I had dubbed ‘the work room’ all proved to have no secret hiding places. If there were any hidden doors or concealed panels they defied me.

The ground floor was next. I started with the kitchen. The parlor got a once-over walls and ceiling. (I had done the floor when I searched for the basement.) The same was done with the dining room, sitting room, and study. Then it was the library’s turn.

Looking at the wall to wall, knee to ceiling, cases of books with their sliding ladders, I despaired of finishing my search that night. There were over twenty five hundred volumes on those shelves.

I stared at the sea of brown leather backs, some stamped with gold, and decided to start at the right of the door and work my way around the room. Each book had to be inspected to be sure that it was not concealing another book in innocent appearing binding. Many of them were valuable in their own right but none could compare with the Necronomicon or the Black Book.

I did not get far before I was too tired to continue. The books that I was seeking had waited for century and a third. They could wait until morning.

The next day, my inspection of the library resumed. Here, at least, Hiram had achieved order. The books were shelved by subject and author, regardless of language. There was precious little of outright fiction though many were obvious foolishness in the light of modern knowledge. At ten in the morning, I stopped, arms aching and eyes swimming. I was less than a quarter of the way through the herculean task.

<==Previous ~~ Next==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

[kanene-yaaay]

Happy Birthday ~

Kanene’s note: DO YOU KNOW WHAT DAY IS TODAY? WEEEELLL, I sure hope so because I completely forgot ;-;. BUUUUUUT I REMEMBER VERY WELL THAT 4TH OF THIS SAME MONTH WAS @oliviaischillin1204 BIRTHDAY SOOOOO YAAAAAAY!!! Thank you so much for being such a lovely, wonderful, cool, amazing, sweet, crazy, fabulous person that I really look up to, Ollie! <33

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to Thomas Sanders and his series Sanders Sides!

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!!  ^w^)b

* This is Ler!Patton and Lee!Logan with Lee!Logan. Around 4.000 words.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Como é um presente, essa fanfic não será traduzida! Sleep a bit more today, drink water, give something nice to yourself and I hope you’re having a really nice day (Especially you, Olivia!!) <33

[~*~]

Logan opened his eyes, quickly turning off his alarm before it had the chance to wake Patton up. He held his breath as he turned to the other, observing his chest go up and down peacefully on his sleeping. The most serious one sighed in relief, feeling the butterflies flying in his tum- no, none of that silly nickname – stomach as he remembered which day was today.

Today was his birthday, an annual event which he usually wouldn’t give more attention to than to thank everyone’s well wishes, give himself a whole jar of crofter’s jam and take the day off from his non-essential tasks. 

At least… things used to be like that before he met Patton. 

A persistent wobbly smile found its way to his lips, thinking about the tradition the cat lover began after a few years of friendship. 

He firmly shook his head out of the memories, putting his glasses on and looking at the clock to confirm his thoughts. Yes, it was six AM. Perfect. This year Logan decided he was going to be resilient and in any circumstance he would fall into Patton’s attics. It didn’t matter what it was. He was a serious, determined, smart and strong adult. He could endure some silly, untrue teases.

Logan sat on the mattress, careful to not bother his partner, firmly ignoring the buzzing feeling on his nerves taking over his entire body. He grabbed his phone and unlocked it, every and any distractions being very welcomed from the recordations beginning to swirl in his brain.

Then, in a flash, a shock hit him in the moment his eyes locked themselves in the picture being used as his new phone’s background. A picture that was not there the night before. A picture of him. Of his completely red face, his lips parted in a gigantic smile, eyes firmly closed, hair falling on his expression as his hands gripped there, doing their best to not stop the hand which wormed its way to his unbuttoned shirt. 

Real Logan pressed his hand over his mouth, suppressing a surprised yelp that for very little didn’t echo on the room. Only then he noticed the bright notification on his screen.

The one wearing glasses needed a whole minute to tear his gaze apart from the background, feeling the butterflies to get more and more restless as he read the name of who sent him a message the day before, at exactly 11:56.

[Patt-on/Patt-off: Happy birthday, Lo-lo! Prepared for your b-day surprise?~ :3c]

Suddenly two arms involved his waist, leading him to jump and to the touch get a bit firmer, -yet so gentle, - pulling his back to rest on a warm chest, a head resting on his shoulder and tickly, whispered sentences being spoken absurdly next to his so ticklish ear.

“I gotcha. ~” A series of goosebumps ran  across his spine and Logan attempted to squirm to his freedom from the nuzzling and muffled words seeming to buzz and spread in every inch of his neck, sensation being not even a bit helped by the quick pokes and pinches on his sides, “I gotcha, gotcha, gotcha ya, my tickly ticklish little squeaky toy!! Oh, no, what he is going to do? Hm? What is he going to do to escape from the Tickle Monster?”

“P-pa-Patton!” His hands flew to hold the wrists of the one called, who just rested his lips in the spot that connected his neck with his shoulders and chuckled before humming innocently. “Please, please! I ask for you to reconsider! We’re both intelligent, rational adults and I am sure that there is an answer which will satisfy both of us!” Small, fast raspberries were placed in that same spot and Logan, living up to his nickname, squeaked at each one, shrugging his neck. “N-no! No, no, no! Patton!! Don’t!!”

“Do you want me to reconsider?”

“Yes, yes!”

 “You want me to reconsider giving you your so craved birthday little tickle, tickle tickles?”

“Falsehood!!! I do not- I can’t- I didn’t-” Logan sputtered, the blush on his cheeks gradually increasing. “I do not crave them!! Ti-tickles are silly and don’t like them!”

He sensed Patton’s smile more than he saw it. Instantly things felt like he didn’t make a so clever choice with his wording. “Oh, you don’t? ~”

Logan denied, the wobbly smile yet plastered on his face.

“Okie! I will not tickle you then, Logie Bear, okay?” The one wearing a star themed pajama yelped when the wrists on his hold twisted their way to gently intertwine their fingers, pulling their hands the way up to behind Patton’s neck, keeping them there until Logan locked his own fingers together. This left his torso, - owner of multiple of his ticklish spots, - open, a tingling already starting to wander across them. He wiggled. “Oh, no, no. Don’t worry, dear!” Patton combed his hair, leading the other to instantly melt into the touch. “We’re going to just talk. A chat between friends! No tickling!” He rested, then, his hands on the other’s ribs, his tune filled with joy. 

“But the moment your hands go down you better be prepared because I’m going to tickle tickle tickle you silly-silly for hours and hours and hours until we’re both satisfied, okay my precious Squeaky Toy?!”

Logan’s smile only grew wider, for a second his hands trembled behind the other’s neck. 

“Okay?” Patton questioned playfully, yet drops of seriousness painting his ask.

The one with blushing crawling down his neck bit lightly his lower lip, his mumble barely audible. “Light tickles during the talk?”

Patton felt his heart melt with all the cuteness, losing his façade as the tips of his fingers ran softly up and down Logan’s ribs, resulting in the aforementioned to let go of silent snorts and titters, which led the cat lover to squeal, hugging him. “Of course, precious Giggle Bug! You’re just so, so adorable and cute making such a sweet wish like this!”

“I despise you and your falsehoods. I am not cute.”

“Now, now, now, Logie bear! It’s very rude of you to try to lie for the Tickle Monster because he might will have to try to convince you to say the whoooole truth!” He sing-sang, wiggling his fingers teasingly in front of Logan. “A truth that maybe sounds like ‘I, the smart Logan Sanders, am an adorable, incredibly, horribly tickly ticklish Squeaky Toy and I just looove receiving tickle, tickle, tickles from the Tickle Monster!”

“FALSHEHOOD! I am no-nothing of this!”

“Okay!” Patton exclaimed happily, his index fingers traveling to scratch the skin behind his ears, circling and drawing shapes on the shell before slowly making his way to Logan’s red neck, quickly going back to the first spot when the other futilely attempted to protect his target. 

“Soooo,” Patton made his voice the most low and possible tickly way, one more time, “are you telling me that you’re not cute? Not at all? That all that lovely blushy-blush spreading and running on your neck and these little ticklish- ops! I mean sensitive ears here are not even a bit cute?” The stars lover shook his head, attempting to hide his face on his elbow but giving up in the moment Patton took the opportunity to place a trail of butterfly kisses on his unprotected neck, receiving a squeal as prize.

“Aww, cutiepants, was that a squeal? So adorable!” Logan denied again, controlling his urge to low his arms when the other rested the tip of his nails on the spot inside his elbows, softly wriggling, teasing the nerves there. “But I do wonder why, I mean, we’re just having a good talk here, aren’t we?” He dragged his scribbles and traced down to his biceps, “just having some fun time with your cool friend Patton! No reason at all for you to be sweetly squealing or blushing or squirming like a wiggly wiggley worm! Unless…” 

“This tickle tickle tickle your funny bone!” Patton gasped, delivering a poke right on the center of Logan’s armpits and making his arms to shot half of the way down before their owner could stop himself, giggling non stop. “Arms up, my helpless ticklish grumpy baby!! You’re already doing so well. I know you can endure it just a bit more!”

Logan scoffed, taking some giggly filled seconds of silence before re-adjusting his arms where they were. “Of course, I can. As I previously pointed, I am not such a childish thing as ti-ticklish.” Patton tried to stop himself from laughing, ending up snorting. “Stop laughing, you heathen. It’s the truth.” Logan gave a squeeze on the cat lover's stomach. A rare and small playful smile playing on his lips as the other yelped holding his hands away.

“Sure, sure.” Patton booped his nose before guiding his hands to the other’s armpit, waiting patiently for his friend to lock his fingers behind his neck again. An idea popped on his mind, resulting in his smile to get wider. “Hey, lo-lo! What if we sing a song?” He bounced as the other whined a protest, wiggling around. 

“No, no, don’t worry! I am sure you already know the lyrics! Look, Wiggley Worm, I will start and then you follow me, okay?” Patton then positioned two fingers on the tickle spot, hearing Logan’s breath hitch as he began to circle his pits, the squirming increasing.

“Round and round the tickly pit

Goes the Logie Bear-”

“That is not how the nursery rhymes goes!”

“No? Oh, dang! I was almost certain that I was right! If only someone clever, cool and with an amazing voice who knew how to sing it correctly would help me…” Loud sigh, feigned sad head shake, “guess I will have to repeat it again and again and again and again until I recall the correct lyrics…”

The cat lover paused, for a piece of minute only hysteric titters and warm smiles filling the air.

“Round, round the helpless pit,

Goes the Blushy Bear-”

“No!” Logan yelped, slightly jumping in the same place as he felt the fingers walking, scratching their way to the center of the spot. “I can-” the rest of his words came muffled as he one more time attempted to hide his burning face on his shoulder. Guffaws escaping as Patton took, again, the opportunity to nuzzle and kiss his bare neck, “Wait, wait! I will sing.”

The attacker’s face brightened right away, stopping his tickling. “Are you serious?! Would you do that for your old Tickle Monster?”

“Y-ye-yes.” He cleaned his throat, uselessly trying to get rid of the chortles already accumulating on his chest, the figurative butterflies flying everywhere on his belly. “Yes, Ihihi can.”

“Okay, then! Whenever you’re ready!”

Logan tried to take a deep breath, however his concentration was immediately broken when the tingling sensation spread like lights across his torso. “Stohohop wiggling them! I cahahan’t sing whehen you doho that!”

“Okay, okay, blushy bear. Gotcha!”

 He closed his eyes, taking another wobbly breath and failing spectacularly as the feeling of the fingers resting peacefully, so oblivious on his so exposed tickle spot felt almost unbearable. “No, nohoho! Stop!”

“Logie Bear,” Patton grinned bigger, sensing his heart to expand even further as the one with stars painted on his pajamas squealed on his hold, “This time I’m really doing nothing.” Logan growled, refusing to answer.

“Round, round the gard-EN,

Li-hihihike a teddy bear…”

Logan began to kick lightly, his sentence being more and more subdued by the high pitched laughter with drops of snorts.

“One step,” One squeak.

“Two steps,” Two squeaks.

“Aaaaand?” The attacker asked, his fingers hovering, barely grazing the skin.

“Ahahahand,” the laugh cut his phrase, his kicking increasing its speed, “ahahahand,” Logan shook his head, his arms about to give up and clue on his sides. Face burning, squirming becoming more frequent.

“Tickleoverhere!!”

Patton attacked. His arms went immediately down, his head hitting Patton’s shoulder with the force of his full laughter.

“Yes, yes! There is! There is that beautiful, wonderful, amazing laughter of yours! And and and these little snorts!!” His caring, evil friend beamed, his voice full of excitement. “It’s just the adorablest and cutest and lovely-est thing!!”

“NAHAHAHAHAHA!”

A few minutes full of scribbling, poking and scratching passed before the cat lover ceased the tickling, giving him a break effectively used to take sips of oxygen. Logan’s muscles relaxing as Patton again combed calmly his hair strands, snuggling him close.

“You’re okay?”

“Yes,” a breathless giggled response, but a response nevertheless. He suspended his arms again. “Yes, I am.”

“You’re so cute, Giggle Bug! Now, now,” Patton hugged Logan, his arms crossed on the other’s chest, leaving almost no room for squirming while his hands tapped his fingers on the soft skin of his pudgy sides, “I heard someone here has very, veeery ticklish sides that the Tickle Monster would just love to tickle, tickle, tickle! But, I don’t see to find where that ticklish baby is…” He began to dig on the spot, properly ignoring the loud snort and frantic wiggling from the star lover. 

“I mean, it can’t be you, right, Logie Bear? Because you” Patton made sure to focus his tweaking on a rather… susceptible tendon which connected his sides with his back, holding his smile as the crackles exploded from the one attacked, who immediately started bouncing in the same place, “just told me you aren’t sensitive! Not even an itsy bitsy wiggly wiggley cutesy ticklish at all, right?”

“P-pahahha-PAHAHATTON!”

“What is it, baby Squeaky Toy?”

“Ple-please!!”

“Please what? I don’t think I understand what you mean, Lo-lo. There is a crazy, cutie patootie being tickled somewhere near and it’s hard to hear you with all that beautiful laughter!”

“It TICKLES!! IT TIHIHIHICKLES!”

Gasp. “It does??” But that statement only served for the other to knead further on his sides, skillfully squeezing and digging on every weak spot on it. In an explosion of energy Logan broke free from the grip, losing his balance and half falling from the bed, his hands instinctively stopping himself before he could hit the floor while his legs and waist continued laid on the mattress.

“Oh, my gosh! Logan, are you okay??” His only answer was the reminiscent laughter growing in breathless giggles. “Logan?” 

When the other nodded Patton finally let his façade crumble and drop, wheezing laughter taking over his senses as his mind replayed the fall, “Oh my God! Your face, Lo! Your face was just-” and his next sentences came out silenced when he pressed his face on Logan’s arched back, snickering.

On Logan’s lower back.

The one who had just stopped his giggles did his best to hide a squeak. The sensation of Patton laughing directly on his skin together with his hitching warm breath sending electric, tickly goose bumps through all his torso. The urge to squirm and escape growing louder as his friend didn’t stayed still, lifting his head from there only to stare Logan again and immediately fall in another wave of laughter, once more shoving his face on that spot next to his side or on his spine or way too much close of his hip. The idea that this time Patton wasn’t even really trying to tickle him making the heat on his face and the urge to laugh somewhat worse.

“Ah!! Patton, stop!”

“Sorry, sorry!! I can’t, I can’t! You just screamed and fell and I-” Patton snorted and the poor ticklish Squeaky Toy tried to move his arms in an angle where he would be able to push his friend’s face away, only to realize he couldn’t do much more than mindlessly swing his upper limbs. Fuck.

It took about two long, slow minutes of quiet huffing before for the one wearing cat onesie to calm himself, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes and bringing his focus to his friend, looking at least a bit apologetically, even if the other wasn’t able to properly see it due his position. 

“Sorrey, bear. I forgot how ticklish you are on your sides.” His eyes then noticed Logan’s face, furrowing his brow, “are sure you’re okay? Your face is a bit red there, kiddo.”

“Ihi assure yohou I aham. Please help mehe to get up.” Patton quickly nodded, an adoring gaze sprouting on his expression as he heard the other’s giggles, but decided to not point out, instead choosing to pat his back lightly in a reassuring touch and immediately pulling his hand when Logan jumped at his touch.

“Get away from my back!” The moment his words escaped in an impulsive act, Logan instantly clapped his hand over his mouth, trying to think in a way out of what he just brought to himself. A part of him – very small, pretty much overdued by the excited energy building again on his body, - wishing Patton didn’t get the meaning behind that phrase.

“Your back?” His tune sounded much like what Roman likes to call ‘Lost puppy’ and Logan signed in a mix of relief and disappointment. 

Then Patton gasped, suddenly full of joy. “Oooooh!!! Your!!! Back!!”

“Nonono, no, no! Patton, be reasonAAH!” A shriek cut all his protests and rational thoughts when Patton lowered his head and gave a soundly, big raspberry right on the right side of his lower back, making all his way to the other side with more careful, well placed raspberries. “I can’t, I can’t! Plea-ase!”

“I’m not listening a ‘stop’!~” He rested a kiss on his spine. “And, awww, kiddo! Why did you never tell me you had such a tasty back before?” The cat lover ran his index finger on his spine, leading electric shivers to shoot all across his nerves. “Now you made the Tickle Monster really, reeeally hungry! Good thing that now he has a very yummy yummy snack-y back-y right here!!”

Logan tried, - believe me, - he really, really tried to form some sort of coherent sentence, however, the moment Patton’s lips collided with the back of his ribs, softly nibbling and making ‘oh nom nom’ noises as his free hands occupied themselves at unmercifully squeezing his hips, his thumbs clued on the little divot localized there, Logan’s belly laughter ran freely. It swirling around them both, the melody mixed with the sound of his hands bagging on the floor, legs kicking in a fruitless struggle.

Patton gave the other side the same treatment (‘They deserve that attention too, Lo-lo! The Tickle Monster needs to be fair and good so Giggles bugs like you will be all happy and cute and giggly forever and ever!’) before giving the astronomy lover a break, finally helping him back (ha-) to lay on the bed, on his stomach.

Logan closed his eyes, a smile resting on his expression as his snorts and chortles started to become more sporadic, the tingling still running on his tickle spot. His eyelashes opened only to find Patton’s face adorned with a smirk. 

“Hello-lo-lo, my precious, adorable, sweetest Squeaky Toy! Enjoying your birthday tickles?”

“I hate you.”

“Boop!”

Logan whined, the tip of his ears blushing as he hid his face on his mattress. “You’re insufferable.” 

“Nope, silly, I’m the Tickle Monster!” Patton snickered, ignoring Logan’s grumpy growl. “And I was thinking, what about if we played a game, Blushy bear?”

…

Silence.

...

“What game?”

“Weeeell…” Patton’s face disappeared not taking long for Logan to feel the part next to his side sink as his attacker adjusted himself there. A cold breeze touched his back as the hem of his shirt was pushed up until it touched his neck, Patton’s fingers quickly sliding and lightly scribbling the length of his back, leading him to squirm occasionally. “I was thinking about that very tiiiicklish tickle spot of yours and I realized… Do you know how much vertebras a human has, Lo-lo?”

“Yes, of course. Counting with the sacral and the coccyx we have about thirty-four vertebras, although, since they’re fused on the coccyx it can variate and result as thirty-three as well.”

“Ohhh,” Patton’s tune was solemn and, if it wasn’t for the feeling of his fingers still drumming on his skin, Logan could almost forget the imminent danger that question represented, “well, I have no idea of how much there are!”

“But I just told you-”

“So I think you will have to help me to discover it and lay veryyyy still so I can count them! You’re such a strong, lovely squeaky toy and I’m sure you can do this!” He placed an only one finger on the base of his waist, teasing the spot before going full on scratching, being so careful and, oh, so mindful to circle every single vertebra, prodding and poking each inch of sensitive skin there. His torso arched for a piece of time before hitting the mattress with force. “Oneeee, twoooo, threeeee…”

A jolt bolted from the spot and spread across his senses, resulting in Logan beginning to sputter halfhearted protests, his words interleaving with high pitched wheezy giggles, growing more and more louder as his friend got dangerously close to his shoulder blades. He squirmed and struggled and wiggled, hands firmly gripping the fabric under his fingers, his mind losing the count as Patton decided to re-start it over and over and over again, since-

“Now, now, Logie Bear. I know you just love to be such a lovely, absurdly ticklish squirmy little bear, but The Tickle Monster reaaaally needs you to stay still so I can tickle, ops! I mean, count all those tickly spots, oooops, I mean, vertebras of yours!”

Logan lost the track of time by the moment Patton ceased the attack, carefully massaging his shoulders to help him to relax and stop his giggles.

“Logan…” he asked when noticed that the other calmed himself, the blush getting weaker on his cheeks.

“Yes, Tickle Monster?”

Logan had to wait more three minutes so Patton would stop squealing, absolutely overwhelmed with joy.

“When I say you’re the most precious Squeaky Toy and that I could just hold you and softly graze my fingertips on your sides as I place raspberries and nuzzles and whispered teases about how much absolutely CUTE and ADORABLE you and you amazing laughter are and just hold your hands up so you can’t stop me when I tickly tickle your ticklish thighs but my grip will be loose enough so if you really want you could pry away but you won’t because you just love so much being tickle tickled silly and-”

“Patton! The question.” 

“Oh, right! Er… uhh… How many vertebras there are…?”

“About thirty four or thirty three.”

There was a piece of silence before the words exploded in frantic sentences from his friend’s mouth. 

“Oh my gosh, Logan! Logan, I just managed to count twenty! Logan, oh my gosh, where are your other ones? Are you in pain? We need to go to the hospital! I can’t believe you never told me you don’t have all of them kiddo! I’m going to-” The rest of his panic was muffled by Logan’s wheezing, uncontrollable laughter, which was doubled when the most professional one turned slightly around only to find Patton giving him that confused frown.

“Y-you,” he fought to take a breath, failing “You can’t actively count them just by touching-” and Logan didn’t know if it was the occasion, or the silliness engulfing them or even the so pure and clear confusion on the other’s tune, but he found it difficult to stop his laughing.

…

“So, your spine is okay?”

“Yehehes!”

“Oh, that is good, kiddo! Because now I’m going to give you something to laugh about, mister!!”

Then Patton bounced, attacking that horrible, forbidden spot between his shoulder blades, leading a loud shriek and even more wild laughter to escape from him due the new maddening – awesome, - sensation. 

“Coothie coothie coo, Blushy bear!!”

“Listen to all that wonderful laughter! That's such a big, sweet smile!! Those cute little yelps, squeaks, and ah! Was that a snort?”

“Awwww, someone here is a tickly ticklish baby? Huh? Yes, you are! Yes, you are, my incredible adorable Squeaky Toy! Coothie coothie coo, bear!”

“You're so precious and so amazingly smart, wonderful, strong, cool and sweet! You deserve all the tickles tickles tickles from the Tickle Monster!!”

Tears of mirth began to accumulate on the corner of his eyes, and that was the cue for the other to begin to lessen the tickles, resuming his attack to sporadic butterfly kisses on Logan’s back.

“Stohohohop! I wihihill tell!”

“Aww, will you?”

“Yehehes, I will! Juhuhust cease!”

“Okay!” Patton gave a last nuzzle on his bare neck before his hand came down to comb his hair, giggling at Logan’s state. “Remember, it’s: ‘I, the smart Logan Sanders, am an adorable, incredibly, horribly tickly ticklish Squeaky Toy and I just looove receiving tickle, tickle, tickles from the Tickle Monster!’. Don’t forget to say every single word, Giggly Bear, or we will have to start it all over again!”

Logan whined, turning around so he wouldn’t be able to visualize Patton’s bright smirk. “Shuhuhut up. Urg. Ihihi- I, the incredible and smart Logan Sanders, am an a-ahahadorable, incredibly, horribly ti-ti-tichihihckly, ticklihihish S-squeaky… Toy… and…”

“Aaaand?”

“Dehehear Newton I despise your existence on this planet- and I just… loOove receiving tickletickleticklesfromtheTickleMonster. Thehehere! It’s said, leave mehehe alone!”

“It is, indeed!” Patton beamed, lowering himself to plant a soft kiss on the birthday boy’s temple, “Thank you for being such an adorable and great lee, Lo. Do you want some cool water? A snack? I can make it while you rest a little, okay? We could marathon Doctor Who again!”

“Yes. I think that would… suffice.” Logan smiled. A small, warm smile that made Patton feel like he could just melt for knowing it was being directed to him. “And… I also express my gratitude for your… birthday tickles, as you call it. It was quite…” he frowned, as if he was trying to recall something, “a-okay, I believe.”

“Aww! Thank you, kiddo!” And, if Patton lightly blushed with the compliment and both cuddled during the whole marathon, sometimes whispering soft, gentle compliments to each other? Well, shhhh, that is their secret to share, okay?