#it began in late november so its probably over now

[eddieintheocean]

Hey don't cry. Billions of Christmas crabs migrating ok?

[lauralot89]

Quincey Morris is Voting

And So Can You

Author's Note: Before the 2020 election, I wrote the Captain America voting PSA. This is its spiritual successor.

��My dear American friend Quincey Morris.” Dracula leaned in the doorway, smiling so widely that it seemed to split his face in two. “How wonderful to see you on this fine morning in this, the year of your Lord 2024.”

“It’s three in the morning.” Quincey rubbed at his eyes. “You’re lucky I didn’t open fire, the way you were leaning on the doorbell. What in the hell do you want?”

Dracula’s smile twisted into an equally exaggerated scowl. “I thought Southerners were famed for their hospitality.”

“I’m so sorry.” Jonathan could scarcely bring himself to meet Quincey’s eyes. “He demanded I drive him over at once, and when I refused, he started banging pots together.”

“Lord almighty.” Quincey did not move to let either of them in. “Are you four hundred years old or four, Fangs?”

“It has come to my attention,” said Dracula, his tone fractionally colder, “that your US of A is to have an election on the fifth of November. Is this accurate?”

Quincey turned his full attention to Jonathan in lieu of answering. “Couldn’t he have googled this?”

“He wants to make sure you’re voting.”

“What? Why?”

“My good friend Jonathan Harker has a most annoying habit of watching the news,” Dracula cut in. His eyes tracked over Quincey’s body, still filling the doorway, as if calculating some way to dart around him and into the apartment. “He says he wants to be informed of world events, as if such things matter more than enjoying my company.” Here he paused, scoffing, apparently awaiting Quincey’s commiseration. When it did not come, Dracula sighed. “As of late, these programs speak much of this election. I want that discoloured man to lose. He is far too smug.”

“Too smug?” Quincey echoed.

Dracula, it seemed, did not hear his sarcasm. “Only I am allowed to be so self-assured, as I am actually superior. As such, you must vote.”

“You know I’m from Texas, right? I reckon it ain’t turning blue anytime soon, gerrymandered as it is.”

“I have no interest in colours or salamanders. Every vote counts.” Here, Dracula slapped Jonathan’s shoulder, startling the solicitor out of his standing doze. “My friend, tell him of the requirements.”

With a sigh, Jonathan began to read from his phone. “The deadline to register to vote in Texas is October seventh. If you aren’t sure of your registration status, you can go to Vote.org to check.”

“If you are not registered,” Dracula cut in, “then your Texas has no online registration, and you have missed the deadlines in person and by mail. In that unfortunate circumstance, Jonathan will have to hack into the United States and add your registration.”

“That isn’t how anything works,” Jonathan protested.

“I will not take excuses,” Dracula said. “With the world wide web, anything is possible. Especially since I am rich. Now continue, my friend.”

Jonathan rubbed his free hand at his forehead. “Since you won’t be in the country on Election Day, you qualify for an absentee ballot. USA.gov has information about absentee ballots and how to receive them.”

“If you were in the United States but working on Election Day,” Dracula added, “USA.gov lists if early voting is an option in your state, and tells where you can go to find early voting locations in your area.”

“Fascinating.” Quincey rubbed his eyes again. “I already filled out my ballot and mailed it in. Can I go back to bed now? I have guests. If they aren’t still scared shitless from you pushing on the doorbell in the middle of the night, they’re probably drifting off and I don’t want to wake them again when I get back in the bed.”

“May we join?” Dracula asked.

“No,” Quincey said.

“Why not?”

“Because I hate you,” Quincey said. “My condolences on your life with this jackass in it, Harker.”

With that he closed the door and went back to his bed where Arthur, Lucy, and Jack waited, content in the knowledge that he’d both done his part against fascism and also annoyed a vampire. It almost made up for being rudely awakened at three in the morning.

“I dislike that man,” Dracula said, staring at the closed door. “When we speak next, I’m going to say something unpleasant about the Alamo. Texans still cry about that, don’t they?”

“I’m going home.” Jonathan turned, starting off down the apartment complex’s hallway. “And Mina and I have decided that you’re spending the rest of the week sleeping on the couch.”

“The world is so cruel,” Dracula muttered, following after him.

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

Voter Identification Laws by State

How to Update or Change Your Voter Registration

Register and Vote in Your State

Voter Registration Deadlines

Absentee Voting and Voting by Mail

Confirm Voter Registration Status

The Poll Worker Says My Name is Not on the List of Registered Voters

[oakandgumtrees]

The Lady in the Library, Part 1

It was a dreary November Thursday that the call came in. I was the only one in the office at the time, since the others were out sick or doing inspections, so I was the one who answered the phone.

“Berkshire Library Effect Professionals, how can I help you?”

At first, I assumed it was another fucking bookshop owner trying to organise their annual certification - it seemed like that was all I’d been doing for a month and a half. (When the phone rang, I’d been writing up the assessment of a shop with twelve shelf metres per square metre. Twelve.) So maybe I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have been.

I was opening up a booking form for an estate assessment when the words “twenty thousand” lodged in my brain. 

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

The fancy lawyer on the other end did not seem impressed. “The late Mr Stockton’s collection contains an estimated twenty thousand volumes,” he repeated primly. “It has been built up by several generations of Stocktons, in the library at their family home.”

Oh. 

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

-----

John and I went out that same afternoon to do a preliminary assessment. It was already four when we left, but the solicitor hadn’t cared about paying for overtime, and had cared about getting things started quickly, so we loaded up our kits and set out for Alderford Manor.

John had been doing this job for nearly forty years, and had gone through cynicism and out the other side. It didn’t surprise him that we were going to a country house where the library was probably going to have spatial, temporal, and eccentric distortions. He’d seen it all before.

I, on the other hand, had been a library effect professional for about eight years, and was at the peak of my cynicism. “Twenty thousand, he said, and it’s never been assessed!”

“Mind the tractor.”

I slowed down so the aforesaid tractor could squeeze between us and the hedge. “Bloody self-important, over-confident bastards,” I muttered. “It’s probably all crammed in there, too. Private owners never give a shit about book density.” Not that density would make much of a difference with that many books. Mild library effects started kicking in around a thousand books per room, usually. Twenty thousand almost guaranteed trouble, especially with pre-Edwardian architecture.

“Does that mean you want to be site manager while I do the walkthrough?” John teased. “Next left now.”

If I hadn’t been driving, I’d have glared at him. (Which he definitely knew.) “Of course I want to do the walkthrough!” I snapped. Pacing out large libraries was the riskiest part of our job, but it was also the most exciting, and the chance didn’t come around every day. Who knew what we’d find? “...I just want to be able to bitch about stupid clients when we’re out of earshot.”

He smirked at me. 

I checked the mirrors and pretended I couldn’t see him.

-----

Alderford Manor was the sort of eighteenth century country house that was scattered all over England, and like many of them, it was starting to look a little shabby. Nothing drastic, but the curtains were a little worn, the upholstery faded, and I could tell whatever staff worked here, they were falling behind with the dusting and polishing. In short, exactly what you’d expect from a house that was going to be sold because it was too much trouble to whatever distant relative had inherited it. 

Its library was anything but ordinary.

Long aisles of shelving stretched from the entrance into shadow, dividing a seemingly cavernous room into narrow passages. There were no windows to relieve the gloom, and the inbuilt lights illuminated little but shadows and the occasional gilded label. Every vertical surface was packed with books, some as old as the house, some purchased in the last few decades. 

I exchanged looks with John, and began to pack my vest and kit bag.

Phone. Spare phone battery. Notebook. Pencils. Chalk. Voice recorder. Film camera. Mechanical stopwatch. Digital stopwatch. Compass. Plumbline. Light meter. Altimeter. Water. Emergency food rations. First aid kit. Emergency blanket. Radio. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t need most of it. If I was unlucky, it might not be enough.

Anchor rope hooked to my belt, radio around my neck, and surveyor’s wheel in hand, I ventured into the library. “From the door, ninety degrees left, following the wall,” I reported quietly. My footsteps were nearly silent on the rug, and the space had the deadened atmosphere of noise cancellation. Who knew, if there had been bells like a monastic library, if I would have even heard them?

Deeper and deeper I followed the wall, calling out measurements to John as I went. His voice was steady on the other end, if a little crackly, anchoring me as much as the rope did.

And then I turned a corner, and saw a silhouette that definitely shouldn’t have been there.

“John?” I asked carefully. “Didn’t Mrs Jones say everyone was accounted for?”

The figure in the shadows stood, and moved towards the light. “Good afternoon,” she said warily - definitely a woman’s voice, low and refined. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

She stepped into the light, revealing an outfit straight out of an Austen novel. 

“N-No,” I stammered, dipping into an utterly mangled half-curtesy out of some bizarre instinct that the gesture would help. “I don’t imagine you have.”

Part 2

[mightyflamethrower]

Lame-duck presidencies, especially in the last six months of their final term, in general can offer opportunities for America’s enemies to take advantage of a perceived vacuum as one government transitions to the next.

But these normal changeover months are especially dangerous when a perceived weak or appeasing lame-duck president is likely to be replaced by a strong deterrent successor that will likely serve as a corrective to his disastrous policies.

James Buchannan (1857-1861), a northern but pro-South president, was a particularly anemic chief executive. He had done little if anything to try to deal with the growing rift between North and South, especially the furor over the Dred Scott decision and Bloody Kansas. Even when warned, Buchannan did little to beef up the U.S. Army or increase its weapon stockpiles to deter any potential secessionist state.

After Buchannan declined to run for a second term, the South understood that the abolitionist and anti-slavery Republican candidate Abraham Lincoln might well be elected in 1860—given the North/South split within the Democratic Party. And they understood that President Lincoln might well use force to stop secession.

Therefore, in the waning days of the Buchannan administration, after Lincoln’s victory, seven southern states seceded during the presidential transition, a confused North reacted little, more would follow, and a terrible Civil War became inevitable.

During the waning days of the crippled second term of Richard Nixon in summer 1974, communist North Vietnam saw a once deterrent president fatally weakened by Watergate. It was encouraged by a renewed antiwar movement, a likely soon anti-war Congress, and the next president, Gerald Ford—a probable caretaker soon to be replaced by an anti-war Democrat. And so in late 1974 and 1975, the communists renounced ignored peace accords, judged correctly that the directionless US would not help South Vietnam stop a massive invasion from the North, and thereby won the 12-year-long war.

As the Jimmy Carter administration began to wind down and as it was increasingly judged as weak abroad, the new theocratic revolutionary government in Iran stormed the U.S. embassy and took hostages in November 1979. Throughout the next year, Tehran systematically humiliated the U.S., mocked an impotent Carter administration, and rebuffed all U.S. efforts to secure the return of the hostages.

The Soviet Union as well saw the dying and still inert Carter term as ripe for exploitation and so invaded Afghanistan a month later, in December 1979. It too concluded that there would be a year of continued timidity in Washington before a likely remedy from a Republican president—in this case, Ronald Reagan, who had declared his candidacy a little over a week after Iran took hostages with clear promises to restore U.S. deterrence abroad.

We are now once again entering one of these dangerous moments, compounded by a weakening of the armed forces. During Biden’s tenure, the U.S. military has suffered historic shortfalls in recruitment, the disastrous humiliation in Afghanistan, a new DEI commissariat that wars on meritocratic promotions and assignments, the politicization of generals and admirals, the hyped but otherwise inane effort to root out mythical white supremacists and “domestic terrorist” bogeymen from the ranks, and the expulsion of some of our best soldiers for their reluctance to be vaccinated, many of them having developed natural immunity from prior infection.

The Pentagon is short on ships and planes. U.S. weapons stocks are dangerously low, drained by the abandonment of billions of dollars of equipment to the Taliban, the resupply efforts to Ukraine and Israel, the failure of the Biden administration to fund the restocking of our munitions and to ramp up resupply production—and a $35 billion national debt fed by $2 trillion annual deficits.

Add eight million illegal aliens who pranced over a nonexistent southern border, nearly uninhabitable big-city downtowns, an epidemic of violent crime, and a president who resuscitates mostly to blast half the country as “semi-fascists” and “ultra-MAGA” extremists.

Add it all up, and the world abroad agrees America is in a strange, self-inflicted decline and will not or cannot defend its interests, or for that matter itself.

In particular, both enemies and neutrals have accordingly drawn a number of self-interested conclusions about the waning Biden administration and what may follow:

That Joe Biden, to their apparent delight, has in the last three years reversed the Trump deterrence policies and thus has green-lit their aggressions.

That given the ensuing chaos, they have further agreed that Biden’s growing unpopularity with the American people makes it likely that both he and his appeasement policies will be gone by January 2024.

That Donald Trump may well return to office. That would mean a much worse deal for Russia, China, Iran, and its terrorist satellites, and thus recognition that 2024 is a brief window of opportunity for aggression.

Putin remembers that Trump blasted 200 Russian mercenaries in Syria, got out of a bad missile deal with Moscow, upped sanctions on Russian oligarchs, flooded the world with cheap oil, destroying Russian oil export profits, sold once-canceled offensive weapons to Ukraine, and warned what would happen if Putin invaded Ukraine. Of the last four administrations, Trump’s was the only one that saw no Russian cross-border invasions.

China remembers that Trump slapped tariffs on its mercantilist market economy, accused China of birthing the COVID virus at its Wuhan virology lab, increased military spending, forced NATO to spend another $100 billion on munitions, and jawboned more alliance members into upping their military contributions. Beijing knew that to send a spy balloon across the continental United States between 2017-21 would have meant its destruction the minute it entered U.S. airspace. China did not serially threaten Taiwan during the Trump era—and may believe that this year could be the last chance in a decade to confront Taiwan.

Iran has concluded two things about 2024: 1) they do not wish to see another Trump presidency on the horizon that took out its top-ranking terrorist-general Qasem Soleimani, slapped sanctions on its oil, yanked the U.S. out of the flawed Iran Deal, declared the Iranian Houthi satellites a foreign terrorist organization, cut off all aid to the Palestinian Authority and Hamas, moved the U.S. closer to Israel, and warned Hezbollah of consequences should it start a war with Israel; and 2) that the present Biden abdication will likely be short-lived and thus now may be the time to take advantage of a currently directionless global superpower that either will not or cannot deter Iranian aggression.

So what should we expect in 2024? Lacking a strong U.S. patron and sponsor, Israel will be subject to more international calls to leave Gaza, to negotiate with Hamas, and to give up the idea it can “destroy” Hamas.

Hezbollah will likely up its daily barrage of missiles into Israel.

Iran will become more overt in supplying Russia, Hezbollah, Hamas, and the Houthis with weapons.

China will increase its threats to Taiwan and weigh carefully the costs-to-benefits of attacking the island.

The common denominator? All our enemies are right now calculating how best to use their gift of the next 12 months from a non-compos-mentis president and his neo-socialist team that either believes the U.S. is at fault for much of the world’s pathologies or is too terrified to do anything about them.

In sum, adversaries believe there is a rare window of opportunity in which the U.S. uncharacteristically does nothing to deter its enemies, back its allies, or win over neutrals. And over the next year, we can only pray they are mistaken.

[ellcyy]

In early adulthood, we experience many new things compared to what we went through in adolescence. This stage is more challenging, and it's when we truly face the real world and its harsh realities. The crucial stage of early adulthood is marked by significant changes in personal identity, requiring personal responsibilities and self-discovery to define one's place in the world.

On November 9th, 2024, we held an interview with Cherry Buena, a 24-year-old Pharmacy student, via Google Meet, where she shared her life and experiences as she navigates the challenges of adulthood.

I personally know Cherry, she is one of the most self-reliant, independent, and fun individuals to be around. She doesn't let other people's negative thoughts impact her; instead, she prioritizes people who are important to her over those who come and go, which is why I admire her approach to life. Cherry became the person she is today for reasons, based on what I know about her. She is the strong, self-assured woman she is today because of the difficulties and hardships she has faced in the past.

In this interview, Cherry responded to several questions to help us know more about her. The first question for her wast that how her values or goals have changed since her late teens and early twenties, she shared her thoughts. "Yes. Teen Cherry’s values and goals seemed almost idealistic, but now that she’s experienced how to navigate life, she has switched to a more realistic perspective." She also experienced some challenges or breakthroughs in her life like when she shared that she failed three subjects in one semester and felt devastated upon hearing the news. However, she wasn't shocked by the result and believed she deserved it, as she knew she hadn't put in her best effort or studied hard enough. At that time, she felt really down and sad, but she pushed those feelings aside and invalidated them. She told herself that she didn't deserve to be sad because she thought failing was something she deserved at that time. But she didn't allow herself to stay in that place. She bounced back, put in her best effort, and discovered that she was capable of maintaining a disciplined academic routine. One of the things that made her happy was when her professor told her she was one of the most improved students, which brought her to tears. Cherry also mentioned that becoming a pharmacist never crossed her mind before. She used to think that she wanted to pursue a course in the medical field, but pharmacy was never part of her options. She had heard that studying pharmacy was difficult, so it never occurred to her to choose it. However, as time went on, she realized how interesting the subject was and began to enjoy studying it. She learned a lot on her journey and looked forward to discovering new things each day. She gradually developed an interest in her course, and it eventually became something she was very passionate about. Now she's happy and grateful that she chose Pharma. "Most of the common questions at my internship site are things that I consider basic knowledge and I can also answer the common questions from my family and friends." She added. She was also asked if how she would deal with the realization that she may not have everything figured out yet in life, especially considering societal pressures; "If I really think about it, it’s kind of scary, because what if I don’t become successful in my chosen field and in life? What if I become stagnant? There are so many thoughts running through my mind, which is why I try not to think about it too much, because it would just drive me crazy. What I do now is give my best, do what I can, and focus on the present so that my future self will be grateful that I didn’t waste the time and opportunities I have right now." When asked if how was her social relationships evolved since adolescence she stated that, During her adolescence, she was probably the biggest people pleaser you’d ever meet. She did everything to make others like her (in a non-romantic way) and to make them feel comfortable around her, which she now finds very annoying. She realized that she was always at a disadvantage in those situations. Today, she’s happy that she’s overcome that phase and has learned to set boundaries. She now knows how to prioritize herself over others. She no longer cares about people who don't contribute to her life, and for her, this is one of the best things she has developed over the years.

Lastly, when asked about her goals and how she sees herself in the next five years, she shared that she aims to grow both personally and professionally. She hopes to be more established in her career, continue learning, and find fulfillment in her work and personal life. She also envisions herself being more confident in her decisions and maintaining a healthy balance between her ambitions and well-being. "In the future, I hope to become the woman I truly want to be — one who is fearless, does whatever she wants, is true to her word and stands by it, and has a lot of money hahaha! Professionally, it would be great to climb the career ladder, but for now, I just want to be someone with good work ethics who isn’t toxic to my workplace and colleagues." Cherry added.

Through this blog, I connected more with Cherry in many ways. I feel like my feelings and experiences are validated now because I've met someone whose life events are somewhat similar to mine. That's when I realized that we all go through this stage. It's when we have to solve our own problems, the challenges in life get upgraded, and we face the unknown and the fear of what the future holds. Entering adulthood means there are things we need to learn, even if it's in the harshest way, just so we can grow.

And I hope that, just like how Cherry faces the world and her struggles, we can be inspired, learn valuable lessons, and realize that we're just starting. We can handle and overcome everything just because, kaya natin.

To Cherry, may you achieve all your dreams and live the life you truly deserve. May God bless you and your family always. 🫶🏻

[metamoonshots]

[ad_1] Within the newest growth concerning rulings within the digital asset trade Kraken courts, the trade introduced that it's going to ship consumer knowledge to the USA company liable for the gathering of federal taxes, the Inner Income Service (IRS), beginning in November. The choice was revealed after the agency misplaced a prolonged authorized battle with the regulator that started in Might 2021. A Kraken Letter Surfaces on Reddit A letter surfaced on social networking platform Reddit earlier this week, which revealed that Kraken has to submit consumer info. This comes at a time when authorities are growing their efforts to collect knowledge belonging to blockchain-based transactions. Associated studying: Who Funds Hamas? Debunking Cryptocurrency Myths Kraken Courts Curiously, Kraken was summoned by the IRS in Might 2021, and the company requested for an enormous vary of data from the trade belonging to its purchasers. The digital asset buying and selling platform argued, stating that it had vowed to keep up the privateness of its purchasers. Following a prolonged litigation course of, Kraken was in a position to cut back the variety of purchasers affected. Kraken was summoned by the IRS to supply consumer info — Supply: Kraken Moreover, the courtroom ordered the trade at hand over info and transaction histories for purchasers who had transactions above $20,000 in any 12 months between 2016 and 2020. This makes it one of many largest makes an attempt by a US company to retrieve knowledge on blockchains. Additional, Kraken will produce consumer knowledge like names, dates of delivery, tax identification numbers, addresses, contact info, and transaction histories for the required years to the IRS. A reddit person said: “This reporting regulation imposes not solely a burden on Kraken but in addition on different corporations to report on their customers. However, extra importantly, it empowers the IRS to look these information and work out who has not paid their taxes or incorrectly said them. That is unhealthy on so many ranges. Will they discover some tax evaders? In all probability. Nonetheless, the federal government will spend extra—much more—than they will ever hope to get better from the taxes collected from those that didn't pay initially.” Growth Exterior the U.S. Kraken has really useful that its purchasers ought to seek the advice of with tax advisors to determine their tax legal responsibility and report the proper info to the IRS. As per earlier experiences, Kraken introduced enlargement within the European Union (EU) with the acquisition of the Netherlands-based Bitcoin buying and selling platform, Coin Meester B.V. (BCM). Different exchanges have additionally began to shift their focus outdoors the USA owing to the strict regulatory framework. Associated studying: Coinbase Wins Regulatory Approval From Bank of Spain Kraken additionally seeks to extend its presence in the UK and lately onboarded a brand new head for its UK operations, Bivu Das, as reported earlier this week by Bloomberg. The put up Kraken Courts Development: Kraken Now Reports to The IRS appeared first on Bitcoin News. [ad_2]

[inner--islands]

Ashan & Inner Travels in Conversation (November 2019)

In August of 2019, Ashan and Inner Travels released albums (Transfigurations and Nature Spirit, respectively) on Inner Islands. Throughout the last couple months the two have had an on-going email dialogue about their new releases and the creative process in general. Ashan is Sean Conrad, who also runs Inner Islands and releases under the Channelers moniker. Inner Travels is the work of Steve Targo, who has been releasing a stream of incredible synthesizer, keys, and field recording-based output for the last 5+ years and has been consistently releasing with Inner Islands since 2016. The flow of the following conversation has been slightly edited for ease of reading.

Ashan: Hey there Steve, I would like to start by saying what a pleasure it’s been to work with you over the last few years. And it’s been a joy watching the Nature Spirit album take shape and come to life. I know this project started in quite a different state. How did the final vision for the album come to you and what was your process in realizing it?

Inner Travels: Sean, it has been such a blessing to work with someone as kind, patient and understanding as you! It means a great deal that you enjoyed watching Nature Spirit grow, since you were instrumental in its creation. So was Jason C, who asked me to make a mix for his radio show in Seattle. That’s how this started. I wanted to use the opportunity to showcase my unreleased music, so I picked 4 songs and shared them with you. Much to my surprise, you wanted to release them! That’s when I began to think about the music in album terms. Lately, I’ve been making music without much thought as to what I’m going to do with it. As you probably know, of those songs I shared with you, “Babble” is only one on Nature Spirit. That’s because I felt it went so well with “Forest,” another song I had and didn’t know what to do with. Now I had one side of a tape. I recorded more music specifically for Nature Spirit, which is how “Calm After the Storm” was born. Musically, the album was complete. But I spent a great deal of time on the nature sounds – mixing various field recordings together to create scenes. As the album was developing, I discovered and completely fell in love with Takatoshi Naitoh’s In the Forest. Its structure inspired me so much! About 5 minutes of forest sounds, then a song. Then another lengthy section of forest sounds, and another song, more forest sounds. … Usually, I hear nature recordings with music one of two ways – as a 1-2 minute interlude or playing throughout the entire duration of an album. Giving nature sounds more time to be heard on their own – no music – appealed to me greatly. It made me think more about how the field recordings relate to the music.

Ashan: Yes! I absolutely love how the field recordings get their own spotlight on the album. What was your process like for gathering the field recordings? Do you come across a spot that has a great sound and you think you’d like to go back there later with a recorder? Or is it more spontaneous?

Inner Travels: Usually, I’ll bring a recorder where I think I might hear some nice nature sounds, like to a park or a trail. Sometimes I just open a window when it rains and hit record! But it is a challenge to get more than a minute’s worth of nature sounds without being interrupted by the sounds of passing motor vehicles. Most of the field recordings on Nature Spirit are edited, or they are collages of several recordings from different places — by a creek, in a forest, different thunderstorms mixed together. I wanted to leave machines out of the nature sounds, but I also wanted to try designing my own climate or landscape.

Ashan: I haven’t researched it too much, but from what I’ve read Irv Teibel used a similar process of combining elements of field recordings for his Environments series to make these fantasy versions of nature without certain undesired human-centric sounds. What is appealing to you about designing your own environments and landscapes? I think that fantasy can be a powerful tool in getting a different perspective on the mundane reality. Do you experience that at all?

Inner Travels: Generally speaking, the appeal lies in taking the listener on a journey and having some kind of positive impact on that person. Both are equally important. Additionally, on Nature Spirit, I wanted to have the sounds of the woods that I remember from when I was a child. The woods around here are much quieter today, and smaller, so I applied techniques to achieve that goal. It is fantasy — you’re right — but it is rooted in my own reality, as I remember it, anyway. How did your new Ashan album, Transfigurations, spring to life?

Ashan: The pieces that make up Transfigurations were made during the same creative arc that also produced the tracks for Far Drift Afield, which started in November 2017 and probably went until April or May of 2018. All the tracks for both albums were made in a very similar way: choosing sound palettes that appealed to me and then making the elements of the palette intermingle in a complex pattern for a while. I love how organic and “played” it feels though. It feels like I chose the palette and someone else performed it. I’m really into that balance of organization and chaos that drives these pieces.

Inner Travels: “Chaos” is not a word I’d use to describe either album! Did you play the instruments on each song from start to finish? How did they mingle with each other?

Ashan: It’s kind of funny. People might describe something like a Hendrix guitar solo as chaotic, but he’s actually very calculated. And although my work on this album is very mellow, it’s chaotic in a compositional sense because I didn’t decide the sequential unfolding of the pieces. The pieces are all made from grabbing snippets of things (some I played and some I found) and looping them with different loop durations and having them fade in and out at different prescribed intervals. So although I am the one determines the loop and fade lengths, I have no idea what it’s actually going to sound like until I push play. My strongest intention when composing these is the palette of the sound, the rest is what I deem chaotic.

Inner Travels: How did you discover the process you used for Transfigurations and Far Drift Afield? Did you find it easier to create by setting loose loops of intermittent lengths? I’m also curious to know how you chose your sonic palettes for these songs. It sounds like you also have a number of field recordings mingling in the mix.

Ashan: I started this process shortly after I moved, back in the fall of 2017, to a much smaller space and couldn’t leave all my gear set up the way I used to. Everything is always in a case, on shelves, or in the closet. I really love working quickly, so I needed a way to create without having to set up so much stuff. I found a flow recording one or two new elements and sampling the others (both sampling myself and others). I tried making one piece with the various loop lengths (the track “Far Drift Afield”) and thought it sounded really weird. But after a while it kind of grew on me and I made more. There are so many inspirations for this kind of composition: the way cricket sounds phase in and out of each other, the sound of waves, Steve Reich’s “Come Out”, Brian Eno’s generative works, and so much more. The sonic palettes for the pieces came from abstract feelings and images that I wanted to re-create in sound as closely as I could, trying to manifest these imaginations into the realm of sound. These pieces, to me, are almost like sculptures because their makeup is so static. But the sculptures are slowly revealing new facets of themselves because of the temporal aspect and the way the elements of the pieces mingle in time. There are a couple of field recordings on the first two tracks of Far Drift Afield, some rain sounds. But there is some noise in a lot of these tracks that might pass as field recordings, hehe. I sampled from some of my cassette demos and from vinyl for a number of these tracks. I think it’s fascinating that you were working with evoking these memories of the woods from your childhood with your field recordings. Are your recordings from the same woods that you visited when you were growing up? Were you thinking about any particular memories when you were designing these environments? Or was the reference point something more general? And what was the effect for you hearing your memories materialized and encapsulated in sound?

Inner Travels: I feel tranquility in the field recording collages on Nature Spirit. I feel as if the music grows out of these collages, and the two become one sonic entity. So there’s this wholeness to the listening experience for me. And I do feel what it was like going into the woods as a kid, where everything’s new and you pay closer attention to details. I did not record in the woods where I used to play as a child, but I recorded not far from there, at a small forest park. This was the most difficult place in which to collect usable field recordings because of how many vehicles drive past the park every minute or two. Looking back, I might have subconsciously took on the challenge because of its proximity to my old neighborhood. From like the age of 4 to 14, I grew up in a subdivision where there was a wooded area across the street from a playground. To the childhood me, it may as well have been a forest without end. But a few years ago, an old friend and I walked through it all fairly quickly and easily. I think we were taken aback by how small the woods became — or always were. I know I was. Everything seems large when you’re a child. I think, too, that many trees died or fell there over the years, and other developments came into the area.

Ashan: The way that you worked with the field recordings makes me feel like I’m engulfed in this huge wooded area, completely set apart from any human, urban development. For me, I find spaces that are dominated by the presence of non-human life to be super potent. They can be awe-inspiring, beautiful, and definitely ominous sometimes. There is a power there that I’m really attracted to. I feel like your work on this album touches on some of the more benevolent forces that can exist in those spaces.

Inner Travels: Great! I really wanted nature to sound big and kind here. But you’re right, it can be ominous, especially on a large scale. Especially when it’s a thunderstorm, like in the intro to “Calm After the Storm.” But it’s a storm that’s winding down. On Nature Spirit, I tried to make the outside world inviting, so that the listener would want to close their eyes and hear it. Your process, the notion of songs as sound sculptures — it’s all very appealing! Do you find this method of making music easier than other more conventional approaches? Are you still using this approach to make music? If so, will you use it in other projects of yours, like Channelers?

Ashan: I can’t say I find the sound sculpture method any easier than other methods. It’s all just a matter of if I can get into a groove while working with the sounds. The pieces that I think are the best are the ones that are mostly realized in one sitting, or at least the scope of the piece is within sight in the first sitting. I’ve tried making some more pieces with this process, but none of them have really turned into much. At the moment, I’m trying to keep the Channelers project more rooted in live instrumental performance. The Ashan work over the last few years has been more about electronic, computer-based approaches. Do you think you would be able to translate some of your Inner Travels pieces to a live setting? I would love to see you do a live set one of these days.

Inner Travels: I am grateful that you want to hear me play live. Honestly, I never have. I would like to play an Inner Travels set someday. The right opportunity still has to present itself. Once it does, sure, I think I could translate my music live. But right now, my focus continues to be on recordings. That’s where I feel my music has the deepest effect.

Ashan: I hope I’m there for one of your performances, if they ever happen :)

Inner Travels: Oh that would be wonderful! I hope you are, too. It would be nice to meet. You have played live before, right? What do you enjoy most about it? How do you translate your music when you perform? I’m especially interested in how you would handle performing Transfigurations and your other recent albums.

Ashan: I’ve played out and toured a fair bit over the years, but within the last few years I’ve felt similarly to you: that my work perhaps has a deeper effect on record than live. But I definitely think there can be something powerful about the live experience, especially if the space and the sound system both support the vision of the music. I think the power of the work can grow in magnitude if these factors are considered. Trying to do this kind of music at a bar venue with a poor sound system that has little clarity in the high mids and highs is really just a recipe for disaster, haha. It’s just not good for anyone involved. But when these things are taken care of I feel like the music can be much more immersive. Because the sound is coming out of larger speakers than one usually uses at home, the physicality of the sound resonates both in the architecture of the space and in one’s body more. I think it’s actually a powerful role to be in as the person in charge of the sound in the room. There’s definitely some responsibility there as to what you, as the performer, are choosing to bring into the space and into people’s bodies. When done mindfully, I think it can be a really positive experience.

Inner Travels: Although I haven’t performed music live, I have DJed weddings and parties. It is a different world, but to a probably much lesser extent, I have felt that responsibility of being the person in charge of the sound of the room. I say lesser because no musical performance was required of me, nor was I ever playing my own music. I used to DJ before I started making music. But when music resonates in one’s body, that is such a special thing. I would like to experience that with my own music someday — and yours, for that matter. You are right, I completely agree with what you say about how positive it can be to perform.

Ashan: If I was going to try to perform the new Ashan pieces, I would definitely need to use my laptop with Ableton Live. Nothing about that work is really playable on an instrument. Lately, I prefer to play my Channelers material live because the recordings themselves have more of a basis in improvisational instrumental performance. Some pieces just kind of lend themselves more to a live setting, so I’ll just focus on those more. I’ll often use my dulcimer, a synth, a sampler, and some effects.

Inner Travels: Do you improvise then, when you play as Channelers? I’m also curious if you use field recordings live? Your nature sounds are immaculate on the upcoming Channelers album!

Ashan: Yeah, there is always a framework and there are always elements of improvisation in a Channelers set. I want things to feel dialed in to a certain degree, but to have enough freedom to explore and be in the moment with my playing. When I haven’t had as much improv in my sets, I have felt like I’m performing in a box and the set lacks a certain vitality. A lot of your pieces feel like they contain long, unbroken improvised takes. Is that actually a method you use often? Or is there actually a lot of editing behind the curtain?

Inner Travels: The answer to both questions is yes. I make up one part, say a rhythm or a melody, then I build over the top of that. I try to play long, too, until I get bored. I play it, record it, go over it later, edit if I feel the need. I’d say some of the most edits I’ve ever made in a song was on Nature Spirit. A lot of parts were cut out of “Forest.” Sometimes it felt as if all the keyboard parts were just talking over each other without listening, like when people argue, haha! But all the songs on the album had things removed. Some improvisations just didn’t work. When I create music, I make it up as I go. Sometimes, better ideas about composition present themselves at the mixing phase. Like on “First Light (Part 2),” all the elements were played over each other when I recorded it. It was a straight river of sound. But while soloing each track, I thought it might make more sense to start out with one sound, then gradually fade the other tracks into the mix. So I carved out the arrangement after the fact. Did you ever have that experience? How much of your music on tape is improvised and edited?

Ashan: Improvising and editing is definitely my go-to as well for recording on the computer - being as free as possible and then just grabbing the best moments. Recording on tape is a different animal though. There are almost never any edits to my tape works (Arden Tapes, Space Makes Clearing, Faces of Love, Slow Leaf Spell). I’ll just do another take if a part isn’t up to scratch. And there are often elements of improvisation in all of those, but the frameworks are almost always laid out beforehand. Then the final mixes are made in the tape machine and digitized/crystallized. What do you have planned for Inner Travels going into 2020? Any releases or collaborations on the horizon?

Inner Travels: There is an album that I have been working on since 2017 which I hope to finally finish by early next year. Also I will probably release the music that I did give Jason C for his radio show. I am involved in a couple collaborations. I’m not sure I go into great detail about them, other than I’m truly excited about them! My hope is to finish both of these projects next year as well. Speaking of collaborations, I loved your Skyminds tape with Michael from earlier this year! What about your plans for 2020?

Ashan: Excellent! I’m excited for more folks to hear those pieces you gave to Jason C. And I’m looking forward to the unveiling of the collaborations you have going and the album that’s been in the works! Thanks for the kind words on the Skyminds album :) We’re planning to release our follow-up early next year! And we’re also hoping to get a couple more things out throughout 2020. I also have a Channelers album that will probably come out on Inner Islands in the spring - the latest round of tape pieces, which has been an ongoing project since 2017. And who knows what else! Things always seem to reveal themselves through the year ;)

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

part v

~

cw: homophobic encounter.

~

November

November shadows, 

shade November change

November spells sweet memory, 

the season blue remains

~

“Lo!” Finn called. “Guess who just got traded to the Rags.”

Cool dread spun its way into Logan’s chest at full force. He felt the point of one of his hips knock against the counter. “Quoi?”

“Marshy and Morgs!” Finn said, and the appeared around the corner into the kitchen, red hair a mess. “Like, together. Like us.”

“These were Harvard teammates, yeah?” Leo asked, spooning sugar into Logan’s coffee.

“Like us?” Logan said. “They’re dating?”

“Oh, no,” Finn laughed. “I just meant together, like, at the same time. Around the same time, I guess I should say.”

“Wow,” Logan nodded, which prompted Finn to imitate the way he said wow, drawing out the W’s. Logan smiled, lifting his cup to his mouth. “We could visit them over the next free weekend maybe.”

“Damn, that’d be a blast to the past.”

“What are they like?” Leo asked, leaning into Logan’s side.

“You’d love Will. Will Morgan, Morgs,” Logan said. “Really level-headed, probably the nicest person I know. Marshy…”

“Percy Marshall is one crazy motherfucker,” Finn said, and poured his own cup of coffee, black.

Logan leaned into mock-whisper to Leo. “And Finn gets insane when they’re together.”

Finn shot him a look, but continued. “Best way to say it. He’ll party until the sun, he’s crazy superstitious—worse than Cap and Loops combined—and he’s also,” Finn slid onto a stool. “One of the hardest working guys you’ll ever met. Probably the hardest working.” Finn’s smile was one Logan’s favorite one, made even more so by the fact that he got to see it directed at Leo. “Until I met you, that is, Nut.”

Leo let out a pleased laugh and let Logan brush a hand through his hair. “Well, they’re in our division now. I’ll get to meet them.”

“Oh, man, we’re in for a fucking treat when we play New York next,” Finn grinned. “Gonna hit the town hard.”

Leo snorted. “You guys might.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Finn pressed a kiss to Leo’s cheek. “I know everyone we need to know.”

“And I can finally tell you,” Logan began. “That the first time you dragged me around New York knowing ever person you saw, I loved you.”

Finn blushed a little and let Leo pull him to settle in the V of his legs from where he was leaning back against the counter. “Well, it’ll be nice to see them.”

Logan nodded, but part of his chest pulled. He cleared his throat. “Ouais. Also…”

When he paused, Leo tapped their socked toes together encouragingly.

Logan shrugged and looked down into his coffee. He thought of Finn’s quick breaths when they took the Cup back to Harvard. He thought of kissing him in their old room. He thought of everything before. Percy and Will were a part of all of that. Not directly, maybe, but Logan knew what seeing them again would do.

“Memories,” Finn said, and Leo nudged him.

“Don’t say it for him.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“Memories,” Logan agreed. “Good and bad.”

~

Remus missed the net three times in fifteen minutes, and only barely managed to keep himself from breaking his stick against the boards. He would be embarrassed afterwards if he had, but could it really be so much worse than the way that he felt now?

He accepted Thomas’ fist bump as he passed him going into the locker room and sat down heavily in his stall. The game had been close, but the Devils had won out in the end. He glanced at some of the assistant coaches, who were murmuring together. There was no guarantee it was about him, but it still felt as thought it was. Sirius was talking with Evgeni, Evgeni’s loud laugh warming up the room. Remus stripped out of his sweaty uniform quickly and was headed for the showers with a towel around his waist when someone slapped him on the back.

“It’s decided,” Logan’s accent came from beside him. He wasn’t bothering with his towel, which was slung over his bare shoulder. The fleur-de-lis tattoo on his hip—and everything else—was on full display. “Me and Talker are taking you out tonight.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean exactly?”

Logan just smiled. “No boyfriends. No hockey. We have a day off tomorrow, so no pressure. Just some drinks.”

“And some pool, maybe,” Thomas said, coming up to Remus’ other side. “What do you say, Loops? Fun, eh?”

“Okay, one of you is butt-naked right now and the other is in a three-piece suit. I’m going to say yes and shower, all right?”

Thomas gave a whoop, and Remus couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as he dropped his towel in the change room and turned on the hot water. He felt like a sling-shot lately, being catapulted one way, and then in the opposite direction. He guessed he should feel thankful that his friends could pick him up like that, and he did, but another part of him caved in beneath the sheer affection.

I’m letting you down.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, and looked over his shoulder when he felt a gentle, quick kiss against the back of his neck.

“Bonsoir,” Sirius said with a soft smile, and went to the shower head beside him.

“Hi,” Remus smiled back. “Beautiful goal tonight.”

He watched the water lace over Sirius’ tan skin, darkening his hair further as he pushed it back, away from his face. “You’re beautiful.”

“Hey, Olli,” Finn called across the showers, making Olli look over at him. “You’re fucking beautiful, man.”

Olli just squeezed shampoo into his palm. “I know that, Harzy.”

Sirius’ laugh echoed through the showers, joined by others, and Remus let it warm around him like the steam.

“Apparently Tremz and Talkie are taking me out tonight,” he said to Sirius as they walked back into the locker room.

“Tremz,” Sirius called over to him. “Ouch.”

“Pas de capitaines,” Logan waved him off and went back to looking at whatever Leo was showing him on his phone. Sirius laughed and looked back to Remus.

“Sounds perfect,” he said. “Wake me up when you come in if I’m asleep.”

“And go to bed without a kiss?” Remus glanced down at the towel slung low across Sirius’ hips, then back up to his bright silver eyes. “I’d never.”

Sirius smiled and kissed him, but Remus felt the unspoken settling between them. Sirius had stopped bringing up wanting to help with Remus’ shortcomings on the ice. Remus knew he had brought that upon himself with refusals after refusals to talk about it, but now it felt more like a thing. An object. An ugly vase in the corner of the room.

Maybe he really did need to go out tonight.

Thomas settled in his stall beside Remus. “We’re gonna go to Red’s, yeah?”

Remus nodded as he pulled his gray t-shirt over his head. He held up his dark jeans. “I can wear this, right?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m not wearing this thing,” Thomas picked at the lapel of his suit. “Noelle already screen shotted the snapchat I sent her. Why keep it on now?”

Remus just laughed. “All right, Talkie. Lead the way.”

Red’s bar was shoved up against the side of a larger block of buildings in Gryffindor. Remus glanced up, one or two stars were poking through the increasingly cooling loud cover. Inside it was warm, though. Foggy in the way some rooms get when there are lots of happy people in them. Logan had chosen a long-sleeved, dark gray cotton shirt, so thin that Remus could see each ridge of his defined muscles and his necklace, too.

“What the fuck happens when that thing gets wet?” Remus snorted, plucking at it as they waited for their drinks at the bar.

“I’ll pretend we had a fight,” Thomas said. “Throw a drink on you, find out.”

Logan just eyed them suspiciously as they leaned against the bar. “You guys are strange.”

Thomas just flagged the bartender, stretching the white material of his thin knit sweater. He ordered a whiskey, Logan a rum and coke, and Remus opted for a lighter gin and tonic. They still had a game on barely 72 hours. Not that anyone was that much of a light weight, but he didn’t want any assumptions being made, any photographs taken that could put him in a worse light than he already was.

“I know what this is, you know,” he said after Logan and Thomas’ intense COD debate had gone on too long. They both looked over at him, the picture of innocence. Remus rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Media’s a bitch,” Thomas said. “That’s all this is. Hockey’s hard. You can’t help that you live with Cap, who makes it all look like a piece of cake.”

Logan laughed. “I think Cap would disagree. He stinks after games, mon dieu.”

Remus and Thomas shared a look. “And you don’t?”

“Finn likes it,” Logan smirked. “Gets him going.”

“Are you sure its the stench and not the muscles?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Logan waved him off. “I’m not talking about this with you two. We’re here for Loops.”

Remus groaned. “Guys…it’s not…I mean every player goes through this, right?”

They both nodded.

“Sure,” Thomas said. “But it doesn’t help that some people—“

“Assholes,” Logan amended.

“Right. It doesn’t help that some assholes don’t think you deserve to be here.”

Remus tilted his glass towards him. “Yeah.”

“We just think…” Logan began uncertainly, tongue poking out to wet his full bottom lip. “Look, I love Cap. He’s like a brother. But he’s intense. For him…sometimes hockey solves hockey.”

Remus wavered. “Yes and no.”

“We just thought you might want some other ears,” Thomas offered a smile. “I mean we can’t offer a feel good night of lovin’ to make you feel better…”

Remus snorted. “Right. You know, Talkie, that’s exactly what Sirius calls it.”

Thomas cracked up, too. “But we can offer drinks. And, you know…”

Logan raised an eyebrow at him, amused. “Ears?”

“Right,” Thomas nodded. “Look at Tremzy over here, finishing my sentences.”

Remus let his smile die down a little. “I…thanks, guys. I mean, I love talking to Sirius, but I also…he is the Captain. He’s a representation of all of us. I feel a little…” Remus took a slow breath, not sure if he was even ready for the words to come out of his mouth. “I feel a little like I’m letting him, and you all, down sometimes.”

“Aw, Loops,” Thomas said, voice softened.

“I know,” Remus sighed. “It’s just…it creeps in sometimes.”

Remus watched Logan swallow. “I get it. If there’s anything I can understand it’s guilt.”

“Tremz,” Remus said comfortingly. “I guess I should listen to my own advice here, but it’s not your fault. I can be ears, too, you know.”

“Is this…” Thomas said quietly. “Carrot?”

They both stared at him. “Carrot?”

“Code names,” Thomas whispered, even though the tables were noisy and the bar was somewhat empty.

Logan laughed a little, and nodded.

Remus waited. Logan gathered thoughts slowly, carefully. Interrupting, he’d learned while talking with Leo, tended to scatter them. He was also happy that the spotlight wasn’t entirely on him anymore.

“I found him at Harvard,” Logan began, swallowing dryly despite the drink in his hand. “And I was a mess. And then we spent that year apart, and I was a mess. And then I found him again, in Gryffindor, and I was a mess. I fell in love with Leo and I was a mess.” He looked at them, eyes pleading, then back down at his drink. “I am so, so happy now. It worked out. I can’t believe my luck. I wake up so fucking happy every morning. Every little look at them, my life with them, is incredible.”

Remus and Thomas waited some more. Thomas sent Remus a half smile across him, then leaned his cheek on his fist.

Finally, Logan finished. “But I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t a mess without them.” He closed his eyes, exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah, it really does. Tremz, I get it.” He tilted his glass, making his ice cubes stir the liquid inside. “You’re someone when you’re with who you love. But you gotta be your own someone, too.”

“Ouais,” Logan was already nodded. “Right, like…Re, you’re you, no matter what. Leo, he’s the same way. Finn, too.”

Remus sighed. “I’m not so sure right now. But I think what you’re saying makes sense. Tremz, you’re allowed to want that for yourself. It’s not a slight to the boys. At all.”

Logan laughed, still laced with frustration. He rubbed at his eyes. “But I don’t even know what I’m asking for.”

Remus smiled. “Hate to break it to you, but you’ve got a pretty level-headed duo in your corner. I mean, Finn’s Finn.”

Thomas snorted. “Might take him a second.”

Logan smiled and it was fond. “Yeah.”

“But Leo…” Remus snapped his fingers. “He’ll get it. They both will.”

Logan narrowed his eyes at the bar. “I’m not asking for space. I don’t want space. I don’t want anything to change I just want to stop feeling like I’ll crash and burn by myself.”

“Me too,” Remus admitted. “Maybe in a different way, but…me too.”

“I don’t know if I feel like I’m gonna crash,” Thomas said thoughtfully. “But hey, life’s tough sometimes.” He smiled and raised his glass. “Friends.”

They clinked their glasses together, laughing, the conversation turning to organizing a pick-up game in the park that weekend—if it didn’t snow. 

“Gotta use the big WC, gents,” Thomas said after a while, picking up his crutches. “Then pool?”

“Who the hell calls it that?” Remus snorted.

“Me,” Thomas called over his shoulder, politely excusing his way through the crowd with his charming smile and causing a few longing looks to follow him at his back.

Logan drained the last of his rum and coke. “You don’t feel like Cap’s putting pressure on you, do you?”

Remus looked at him, eyes widening for a moment. “God, no. No, he’s been nothing but supportive. It’s mostly me, I think. He even wants to talk about it. Sometimes I just…can’t.”

Logan nodded. “Good. No, good, I just thought I’d ask. When I first met him, he’d get like that with me sometimes. Wanting to run extra drills or talk through tape. I snapped at him for it a bit. This was before he was really who he is now.”

“Parents were lingering in him,” Remus nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”

A man came to lean against the bar beside Remus, then, and Remus shot him a smile that he hoped looked friendly rather than uneasy. The guy was really in his space. He shared a look with Logan, who’s shoulders were rounded a little in alert, green eyes narrowed in on the guy.

“You’re Lupin, eh?” the man said.

Remus sighed softly, looking down at his now watery drink. He should’ve known.

“Yep,” he replied, and looked at the man. He had two friends, hovering a little ways back.

“What’s going on this season, huh?”

The worst part was that the man was smiling, as if he thought this conversation was going to go well.

“I mean, I know you’re with the Captain and all,” the man said. “But, I mean…come on. Some of us care about how the team does.”

“Excuse me?” Remus replied.

The man tilted his head, looking mockingly regretful. “It’s not just about you.”

“Okay,” Remus said, keeping his voice flat.

“What he do to get you there?” the man asked, leaning in like they were friends. “I mean, like…some type of reward, or does he already give you those at home?”

Remus flushed. “I think we’re done talking.”

At least his friends had the decency to look a little nervous.

The man narrowed his eyes. “I’m just saying.”

“Fuck off, man,” Logan said in a low tone.

“What,” he sneered. “You got yourself a boyfriend, too, Tremblay?”

Logan was on his feet then, stools screeching back, taller than the man, stronger. Remus’ arm shot out against his chest, keeping him and his balled fists back. The man’s friend stepped forward, too.

“Whoa, Mike,” one of the friends said, hesitating. “That’s not why we…that’s not what this is.”

“Oh,” Thomas scoffed, announcing himself as he made his way back to them. He somehow made his crutches and boot look threatening. “Wrong type of harassment for you, my guy?”

The fans’ eyes went large. “Talker…”

Thomas just stared at them, and Remus watched him go from Thomas Walker with his friends to Thomas Walker on the ice, defensemen. Enforcer. “Only my friends call me that. Sit down at your own table or get out.”

Thomas shouldered through them, one crutch landing briefly on Mike’s shoe, who only just bit back a groan. Thomas was all bright, sharp grin as he sat down, leaning his crutches against the bar again. He waved the bartender over, then looked at Mike who was still standing there.

“Do I have say it again for you?” Logan snarled. “Trust me, you don’t want me to.”

Logan sat down slowly as the three men backed up and turned away. Remus pressed a thankful hand to his shoulder, also meant to calm him down a bit.

“Well, that was fun,” Thomas sighed. “Jesus. We take you out to forget about it and those three show up.”

“It’s fine,” Remus said, though his heart was pounding. “I’m surprised that was the first time it happened. Had a close call at the grocery store the other day.”

“Another round?” Logan asked. “Then pool?”

“Ouais,” Remus smiled, in his best impression of Sirius.

~

Most of November passed without change. Remus felt the stagnant ball of frustration in his stomach. He and Sirius cooked together, slowly mastering more and more recipes. Remus lived for the triumphant look on Sirius’ face when a dish came out just right. He went out with Logan and Thomas, with James and Sirius, Finn and Jackson and Kasey. He never felt more at home than when he was tucked against Sirius’ side at a team dinner, watching Logan toss food into Finn’s mouth from across the table, hollering when he caught it and then ruffling an embarrassed Leo’s hair, who was shushing them.

The weather had officially turned to Gryffindor winter, biting harsher and harsher with each night. It got to the point where Marlene started bugging them all about the Christmas video—for the fans, she kept insisting. Come on guys, it’ll be fun!

Evgeni seemed to be the only one who was truly game for it.

Remus wasn’t unhappy, but the media was growing more and more aggravated with him, the fans’ patience was running thin like ice, and now Arthur had started sending him glancing looks until, finally, he pulled Remus into his office as the boys were packing up.

The ball rolled around Remus’ ribs, fighting for space with his heart, and he sat in the leather chair across from Arthur’s desk.

Arthur took off his glasses, which was a bad sign. He didn’t say anything for a long time and Remus didn’t have the courage to make him.

“I know,” Remus finally said, and then his throat choked up. “I’m…”

“I don’t want any apologies,” Arthur said. “And, God, Lupin, I didn’t bring you in here to yell at your so get that look off your face.”

Remus blinked through the scarce relief and looked down at his hands.

“Media’s being real tough, I know,” Arthur sighed. “I know. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” Remus said. “I’m just…it’s not connecting, I…I don’t know. Maybe I could put in more time one-on-one with one of the coaches. Or ground work with the trainers. I know we’re about to go on the road. Maybe tomorrow morning before practice.”

Arthur hesitated, then nodded. “If you’d like. But overworking yourself isn’t gonna help if that’s not the issue. Frankly, I don’t think skill is the issue. You’re a beautiful skater out there. You’re wicked fast and can misdirect hits like I’ve never seen. But…”

“No net,” Remus mumbled.

Arthur looked regretful. “No net.”

Remus nodded. “I’m working on it. I’m doing everything I can.”

“I don’t doubt that, Remus. Really. Don’t think I do. I’ll be seeing you at the Dumais Thanksgiving, yeah?” Arthur asked.

Remus nodded, spared a smile. “Of course.”

Arthur smiled back and rose. He clapped Remus on the back as he opened the door to his office again. “Good. Try and relax over the break, okay? I know it’s short, but sometimes its less work that pays off. It doesn’t always have to be more.” He looked up. “Ah, another young rascal I’ve had to say that to.”

Remus looked up to see Sirius’ smile, his dark hair curling against his neck, but otherwise tucked under a thick black winter hat. Every muscle in Remus’ body eased at the sight of him. He wanted to wrap himself up in Sirius, tuck himself inside of his winter coat and never leave.

“Cap,” Arthur gave him a nod. “See you for Turkey. Who you’ve got for the big game?”

Sirius just shrugged. “American football. Who cares?”

Arthur made a wounded noise—and another one came from Leo and Thomas down the hall as they were bundling up for the cold. Evgeni was holding Thomas’ crutches for him as Jackson helped him into his coat. Remus cracked up and took the warm palm Sirius held out. They walked down the hallway that smelled familiar and warm, under toned by the scent of carpet and cleaner that, had it been any stronger, would have been unpleasant, but it just added to the familiarity.

The garage door rattled shut behind them as Sirius unlocked their back door, letting them into their warm kitchen. Remus shook out of his coat, hanging it in the closet and rubbing his hands together. With his coat and bag, he tried to drop everything else at the door. This was his and Sirius’ space. This wasn’t a rink, or a locker room, or the press room. Theirs. The word was warmer than the heat Sirius had set to come on a half hour before they got home.

“I’m starving,” he said. “What do you feel like? I maybe want pasta.”

“I feel like you,” came the reply from behind him.

Remus’ smile was slow and he turned to see a glint in Sirius’ eye. “What is it, the cold weather? You’ve been all riled up after games lately.”

Sirius just grinned, hands squeezing Remus’ hips. “I love watching you out there.” He pressed a kiss to Remus’ cheek, his neck and his nose, between each phrase. “I love your face, I love your feet, I love your shoulders, and the way you bite the finger of your glove while you watch the game between shifts.” The kisses got considerably more heavy, lingering and accompanied by the the brush of a tongue and teeth. “I love the way you cradle a puck and the way you tape your stick. The way your hair sticks to your neck.”

Remus just smiled, eyes closed. “I’ve been playing like shit.”

“Nu-uh,” Sirius said, and Remus whined a little at the next nip, letting Sirius rock him back against the kitchen counter. “Slumps are normal. You play amazing. Just no points. Shit and slumps,” Sirius said, and Remus’ mouth went dry as he was lowering himself to his knees. “Shit and slumps are different.”

Remus let out a laugh. “Aren’t those the words to turn a guy on.”

Sirius just grinned and bit at his pants zipper. “I love you.”

“Better choice.”

Sirius carefully pulled Remus’ zipper down. “Can I? Here?”

Remus only reply was tugging Sirius’ hat free to get at his hair, the thick strands weaving between his fingers. He could already feel himself getting interested, pressing against the slip of his boxers by Sirius’ proximity alone.

“Sirius Black,” Remus sighed as Sirius nuzzled against him.  He stroked over his hair, overwhelmed with how much every part of Sirius meant to him. “I love you.”

Sirius took one of the hands Remus had in his hair by and kissed the inside of his wrist.

Remus let Sirius’ mouth fuzz his mind out, moaning softly at his hollowed out cheeks, laughing at the gentle nips to his hips and thighs. After, Sirius kissed him against the counter until both of their stomachs growled. Remus pressed his mouth against Sirius’ flushed hot cheek.

“I feel like a million bucks, thanks, baby.”

Sirius just smiled, tucking himself away.

It was true. Remus felt home. Settled. Almost as if he could forget the conversation today. Maybe even like he wanted to go down the the basement rink, just for fun, which he hadn’t felt like in a while.

“D’accord,” Remus sing-songed. “We have pasta or chicken or both.”

Sirius grinned. “Both.”

They were mostly quiet as they cooked, bumping hips, iPhone playing softly through their speakers. Remus watched the way Sirius kept his fingers carefully curled away from the knife, like Remus’ mom had taught him that summer. His tongue peaked out of the corner of his mouth, the same way it did when he was carrying a puck up the ice.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sirius asked softly as Remus minced garlic.

Remus glanced over at him, then kept his eyes on his fingers, so close to the sharp blade. “Um. Coach says it’s not my fault. He says I’m playing well. It’s just…pointless.”

“C’est pas—”

“No, not like pointless, like, pointless. Like I’m not getting net.”

“Ah.”

They smiled at each other, Remus’ a little shakier.

“Yeah.”

I feel like I’m letting you down.

“I feel…” Remus began, and the words caught. “Um. I mean, it’ll get better. It has to.”

Sirius’ expression flickered, but he nodded. “Mhm.”

“Do you feel like a white sauce?” Remus asked, turning to the refrigerator. “Go well with the chicken.”

“Sure,” Sirius nodded. “Sounds perfect, mon loup.”

Remus took a long breath as he opened the refrigerator doors, maybe taking longer than necessary to find the half & half. He was angry at himself. He didn’t know why the words were sticking to the back of his throat. He didn’t want pity, he supposed. He didn’t want Sirius to feel like he had to comfort him. Remus closed his eyes.

He’d do better.

~

Leo and Finn had their shoulders pressed together, each with their own book in their hands, when Logan opened the apartment door.

“Got the cream,” Logan raised the shopping back, and Leo all but leapt from the cushions.

“Yeah you do,” Finn said without looking up.

“Thank you,” Leo slid on his socks in his rush to get to Logan. He pressed his palms to Logan’s cold cheeks, kissing him in a quick burst. “Thank you, thank you, I love you.”

Logan smiled as Leo scurried back into the kitchen to finish making his part of the the American Thanksgiving dinner Pascal was hosting.

“I can’t believe I ran out,” Leo said, stirring something on the stove.

“It’s fine, Le,” Logan said, shrugging out of his jacket and following him in. “Happy to get you whatever you need.”

Leo turned, a touched pout on his face, and Logan beat him to it this time with a slower kiss of his own. Leo tasted like the caramel he had had them all taste test earlier and Logan licked into his mouth eagerly.

“I love you, too,” Logan mumbled.

Leo’s expression softened in the way it always did when one of them said that. Maybe Logan wasn’t the only one who couldn’t believe his luck.

“Want to peel sweet potatoes?” Leo asked with a hopeful grin, and Logan laughed.

“Sure, soleil.”

Finn gasped from the couch, eyes on his book, glasses on his nose. “They kissed. I fucking knew they would.”

Leo gasped, too. “No. Harzy, spoilers, you’re faster than me.”

Logan looked between them. “Are you guys reading the same book again, like, next to each other?”

“Sorry,” Finn said, but he was gripping the book like another secret might spill out. “And yes.”

Leo pressed a peeler into his hands with another kiss, this one fast and skittering across his cheekbone.

“I love both of you,” Logan sighed as he picked up the first potato. “You’re weird.”

Finn closed his book without marking his place and heaved himself up with a groan, cracking his back. He came to sit at the bar counter across from where Logan was peeling.

“Thanks for the help, Harz,” Logan said.

“I don’t like it when my hands smell like potato.”

Leo laughed. “Sweetheart, how’d you ever survive on your own?”

“Take out,” Finn and Logan answered at the same time.

“And catering,” Finn added. “I think the NHL is used to boys who can’t cook. Marlene just slid the caterer’s card into my hand without a word.”

Leo just shook his head. “She tried the same thing on me. Honey, please.”

Logan and Finn shared a smile, both turning to gaze at Leo’s back.

“How much time do we have?” Leo asked.

“Like, two hours, babe, you’re good,” Finn said.

“Do I have time to ravish you in your glasses?” Logan asked.

Finn raised a teasing eyebrow. “Oh, these old things? You want to wear them?”

Logan dropped his peeler and walked around the counter. He spun Finn to face him on the stool and Finn’s feet hooked around his calves, holding him there. “Non.”

Finn smiled, leaning forward to nip at Logan’s bottom lip and pull.

“Tremblay, potatoes.”

Logan groaned and Finn gave his butt a firm slap as he pulled away. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

~

“Uh, hey dad,” Cole cleared his throat. “It’s me. I just um. I’m in Pascal Dumais’ house. Can you believe that? Uh, I just wanted to say…you know, happy Thanksgiving, and all that. Maybe you can come out to a game soon? Yeah…let me know, I can get you tickets. Okay. Okay, see you. Merry—or happy Thanksgiving. Yeah, okay. Bye.”

Cole sighed as he put his phone down and looked around the Dumais’ sitting room. It was tidy, with food laid out every table, ready for guests. Cole, after that phone call, already felt tired.

There was a knock on the doorframe and he turned to see Layla, smiling at him hesitantly. She held out a glass of a deep colored wine. “I thought maybe you’d want some.”

“Oh, I can’t, uh…” Cole began.

Layla snorted. “Me neither, but…” she glanced around the tall-ceilinged living room. “Who’s gonna tell? Dumo? Please.”

Cole laughed a little and took the thin stem from her fingers. “Thank you.”

Layla nodded, bending for a cheese and cracker. “That sounded a little tough. If you don’t mind me saying.”

Cole pocketed his phone. “It’s not really. Well…maybe now it is. But I don’t think of him that way, of this that way. He’s a good father.”

He sounded defensive even to himself and sighed. “When he decides to be.”

“He hard on you?” Layla asked. She took a seat on the couch and Cole glanced around before settling on the ottoman of one of the fat leather chairs. “About all this?”

“Hockey?” Cole said, then laughed. “No. No way, he doesn’t give a shit about ice hockey. My mom got me into hockey. My dad still hopes I’ll be, like, I don’t know…I don’t know what.”

Layla frowned. “It’s not like you could’ve been a money-bags doctor and chose to paint watercolors instead?”

Cole cracked a smile. “Yeah…Yeah, he sort of skipped around a lot before I actually started getting good.”

“Oh,” Layla said softly.

The doorbell rang. And then rang again and again, like someone was jamming their finger into it repeatedly.

“Tremzy!” he heard Katie shriek a moment later.

Warm voices filled the hall.

Cole rose and, after a moment, offered Layla a hand. She smiled, letting him pull her up. “It’s not as sob-story as it sounds.”

“I get it,” Layla nodded. “My older sister skipped altogether when I was little. Still don’t know why. I know it’s not the same but…”

“I’m sorry,” Cole said.

Layla just smiled, one of her bright ones, and wrapped her hand—gold rings and all—around his arm. “Come on. Shit’s about to get wild.”

“And delicious,” Cole said, turning towards the smells coming from the kitchen.

Layla laughed, and Cole wanted to hear that sound twenty more times.

[violettelueur]

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI || YOU AND ME. TOGETHER.

| featuring : fushiguro megumi from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : grammar errors and mention of death

| form : imagine

| word count : 2393

| published : 18 november

| request : Hi can I request where you come back from a particularly hard mission and Megumi finds you and tries to comfort you even though you try to hide it

| barista’s notes : lowkey, i feel like i went off on a little tangent on this one due to the amount of words i have written for this imagine ʕ – ᴥ – ʔ i think this is the most i’ve ever written for one tbh ʕ ᵒ ᴥ ᵒʔ overall, i hope you love you cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request) and please order something again when the cafe reopens!

Walking through the entrance of Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College after a long few months away made you extremely relieved that you were finally back home, away from any responsibilities that were waiting for you on the outside - probably only to set as a few missions for you later on during the weeks to come.

The atmosphere that surrounded you was nothing but tranquil, letting you begin to relax your body as you slowly began to lower your guard. Looking up towards the sky, you leisurely closed your eyes to let the soft sun rays hit your face, giving it a natural glow as you took in the nature that was gently letting you into its embrace welcoming you back to where you belong. To say that you missed Japan was an understatement, but rather you were desperate to get back.

However, the beautiful sounds of the chirping birds and the wind that was calming the world around you was suddenly interrupted once you heard some shouting from the other side of the school, causing the same birds to suddenly fly away in a panic from the loud sound that was emitted across the whole area.

Looking towards the direction of the sound, you just stood there shocked as you didn’t expect this type of event to occur so sudden, but you weren’t surprised that it had happened since this was your school you were talking about. Taking a deep breath, you forced your feet to move towards the direction of the sound, hoping to see anyone that you could confide in right now.

                                    ꕥ

After a few minutes, you had suddenly found yourself standing at the top of the stairs to which lead to the school track field, only to see the amusing site of Panda swing around a female student to which you assumed to be one of the new first years that Fushiguro was talking about to you on your last video call with him. 

“Oh Y/N over here!” someone shouted, causing you to turn to the right to see Maki waving at you with a smile on her face to which you then averted your eyes to see Fushiguro standing next to her with a wooden pole in hand.

Giving them a weak smile, you waved back at them before carefully making your way down the stairs to them, trying not to clumsily fall down in front of them as you didn’t want to worry both of them with your current state.

Just as you were about to say your greetings to them, you suddenly heard someone shouting from the middle of the field, causing you to turn towards whoever cut you off. “Fushiguro! Trade places with me! This uniform is a pain! I’m gonna go buy a cute tracksuit!” the female student shouted before she was lightly flung into the air only for her to suddenly drop to the ground in front of you. 

Looking down at the body in shock, you looked back up to see Panda walking towards you with the bright grin that could brighten up anyone’s day - well you wish it could for you right now - “Panda senpai, what are you two doing?” you asked in a confused tone, as you tilted your head to the side as if that was going to help answer your question.“These guys are weak in close combat,” Panda answered, causing you to come to the conclusion that he was trying to teach the student how to land on her feet. On the other hand, you didn’t realise Panda was looking down somewhere, causing you to follow his gaze to see that he was looking at the white bag you were holding.

‘How could I forget that I was holding it?’ you thought to yourself, coming to the fact that the mission you came back from must have affected you more than you thought.

“Did you bring gifts again Y/N?” Panda asked as he tried to get a little peak on the contents inside the paper bag, leaving you no choice but to take out his gift. 

During your time as a Jujutsu High student, you were known to go on a couple of foreign mission due to your talent in languages and that caused you to be one of the main jujutsu sorcerers to be chosen to be sent on some of these missions - so you always made sure to grab some souvenirs for your friends as they didn’t really have the chance to travel abroad as you did.

“Is this what you are trying to look for?” you playfully asked in the best way you could muster, as you lifted up a pair of knuckle bracers in front of panda’s eyes, leading them to have a little shine in them before he took them out of your grasp while thanking you for the gift. “And I assume the girl you threw on the ground was Kugisaki,” you stated, causing the girl to shoot up on her feet once she heard you state her name.

“You know who I am?” Kugisaki asked with widened eyes as she pointed at herself, causing you to lightly nod before going back into your bag to pull out a case of gold nails before handing it to her. “I heard that you used a straw doll technique, so I thought I would get these nails for you, these types are thinner but sturdier so if you infuse them with your curse energy they’ll accelerate at a faster rate than your original nails but also give a more deadly impact, they are also flammable but they won’t melt so they can act like mini fire arrows if you wish,” you explained to her as her eyes glowed in pure happiness before she crushed you into a hug, thanking you with tears in her eyes, causing both Fushiguro and Maki to walked towards you all as they wondered what was going on.

“Y/N how was the mission back in London?” Maki casually asked as she heard nothing from you for the past few weeks before you came back. However, for some reason that question caused you to stiffen up as you remembered all the unexpected events that had happened before you came back. Kugisaki noticed this change in posture causing her to unwrap her arms from your body and look at you with worried eyes.

“Y/N right? Are you okay? You got stiff for a second,” the oranged-haired sorcerer asked you, causing you to snap out of your sudden thoughts and nod at her with a small smile. “Yeah sorry, I guess I’m just a bit out of it lately, the mission was a little harder than expected but nothing too hard for me,” you commented, hoping that what you said was enough for them to not get suspicious.

Everyone, of course, believed you, once they saw a smile on your face they thought you were just tired from your flight - you did just get back from London after all. However, one person wasn’t buying your little act for even a second, causing him to come a bit closer to you and place his hand on your lower back as he saw you were gradually losing your balance, surprising you completely which caused you to turn to look at the green-eyed sorcerer.

“You okay Megumi?” you asked, wondering what was with the sudden physical contact, knowing he didn’t usually display his affection to you in public at all.

“Come on Y/N, your boyfriend hasn’t seen you in like months, he’s probably touched starved,” Maki slyly stated, causing Fushiguro to look at her with an annoyed expression while Kugisaki looked at both of you with widening eyes - shocked at the sudden news that was presented at her.

“YOU TWO ARE DATING!” Kugisaki shouted, causing you and Fushiguro to look at her before nodding like it was a casual thing. “How can that guy get a girlfriend before I can even get a boyfriend?” Kugisaki then asked herself, leading Fushiguro enough time to grab your hand and guide you somewhere away from the crowd.

Confused, you decided to just let Fushiguro guide you to wherever he wanted for the both of you to go, only to have him sit on the bottom stairs before patting the other side, indicating for you to sit next to him. Without hesitation, you sat next to him and placed the bag on the ground as you waited for your boyfriend to say what was on his mind.

“You okay?” he asked in a quiet tone as he side glanced at you, only to see you aimlessly stare at the grass below your feet. However, just like a robot, you automatically smiled and nodded at his question, “yeah I’m okay Mimi,”. However, once again Fushiguro wasn’t falling for your act as he got up and kneeled right in front of you.

Taking one of your hands, he enveloped yours with both of his making you wonder if you were the one that was really touch starved - as feeling his skin against yours caused you to realise how much you missed touching him making you take a mental note not to take his constant presence for granted - “did something happen during the mission?” Fushiguro then asked in a worried tone, as you didn’t seem as bright as you did when he last talked to you.

You looked tired. Extremely tired. Pale. Weakened. You just looked like you were completely the opposite compared to when you left for the mission.

“It’s just….” you started before closing your mouth, not knowing what to say next. You were used to the concept of death and losing comrades, so why did it affect you this much this time? Was it because you got to go home without worrying your friends? Was it because you left the families behind to weep for their deceased loved ones? Was it because you felt guilty for being the only one that survived? Was it because you felt responsible?

Slowly, you lifted your other hand and placed it over his ones that were still held on to the other. Yes, you were right, you were the one that was touched starved, there was no doubt about that at all. The feeling of his skin on the pads of your fingers made you feel alive even when you felt the opposite.

The mission was extremely harder than you had expected. The higher-ups back in London had given all the shamans the wrong information for the last task causing you and the other sorcerers to fall into something that was potentially your signed death warrant. Yet somehow you were the only one left standing after the whole ordeal with bodies surrounding you in massive numbers, even with the back up it still wasn’t enough. 

You felt guilty. Even though it wasn’t your fault. You felt like you were the guilty one. Even those you weren’t friends with many of them, they still had someone to go home to like you. If only you could have saved them. If only you could have reached them on time. If only you were aware of what was going on. Maybe. Maybe you could have…

Unexpectedly, you suddenly felt a loss of warmth from your hands, before you felt him using both of his hands to cradle your face using the pad of his thumbs to caress your cheeks, as he then gave you a light kiss on the forehead.

This little act of his caused you to desperately reach for his blue jacket and grip onto the material to try to release some of the emotions that have been building up. Gently, Fushiguro wiped the tears that fell down your face as they betrayed you when you didn’t even realise, causing you to bury your head into his chest to hide away from the world to which he then placed his arms around your body while patting your head to comfort you.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Fushiguro whispered to you, even though he didn’t know what made you become like this. Even since both of you became acquainted with each other, he quickly learnt that you took everything to blame and when both of you started dating, he realised how much you would truly blame yourself. You were mentally strong, he knew that you were able to control your state of mind like it was nothing. It was just the aftereffect of taking so much that worries him completely. And this was the result of this.

“All of them are dead Mimi, they…” you muttered causing him to hold you even tightly like a weighted blanket. “If the higher-ups didn’t give us the wrong details, they could have gone back home…..back to their families,” you continued as you tighten the grip of his jacket. “And here I am the only one that gets to come back to you guys…..I….I should have died with them”

Fushiguro’s eyes widened in horror on what you had just announced, he never thought you would say something that extreme. He couldn’t even reply to what you say, only having the ability to tighten his grip on you as if you weren’t already close enough. First Itadori, now you. Fushiguro understood why Gojo never really listened to any of the higher-ups, this is what they caused. Pain.

“None of this was any of your fault Y/N,” Fushiguro stated as he used the hand that was patting your head to now brush through your hair. “I know you tried your best, I know you did. You’ll get through this, you got me and everyone here around you,” Fushiguro continued as he tried to distract you from your dreadful thoughts. “We’ll get stronger together. You and me. Together” he stated before placing a kiss on the crown of your head like it was a spell that could cast away all the fearful thoughts that were swimming in your head.

And it somehow worked.

Releasing the grip on his jacket, you then wrapped your arms around his neck as you moved your head so that you could rest it upon his shoulder - still hiding your face away from everyone - pulling him closer (if you still could at this point).

“Yeah. You and me. Together Mimi”

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“He’s just an ordinary person like you or me,” said Stephen Port’s father, Albert, on the threshold of his home in Becontree, east London. It was late November 2016, and his son was on trial for raping and murdering four young men, using the drug GHB as his weapon. As Port senior said these words, on the freezing afternoon that I had knocked on his door, the choc ice he was eating began to drip down his hand.

The ice cream on a wintry day seemed odd. But it was the denial of reality – that he had raised a serial killer who used Grindr and chemsex drugs to overdose young men before covering up his crimes – that rang out, reverberating far beyond that day.

Albert Port’s inability to acknowledge the truth proved symbolic of a much wider, societal denial of what is happening.

Despite the “Grindr killer” headlines, the documentaries, and the creepy mugshot photos, Stephen Port is not a one-off; we just prefer to see him as such.

Much will be written about the BBC’s new drama, Four Lives, which aired this week, about Port, his victims, and the mistakes the Metropolitan Police Service made in its investigations.

These mistakes include the failure to link two of the deaths, despite the bodies being found slumped in the same position in the same graveyard killed by the same drug – and led the coroner to conclude last month that such errors “probably” contributed to three of the deaths.

But whether one considers the drama to be necessary, good TV, or insensitive to the bereaved families, the real danger is its potential to further dissuade victims in similar circumstances from coming forward and to cement the idea that Port is a freakish exception. He isn’t.

He might, so far, have killed the highest number of men within a chemsex setting, but his crimes are simply among the ones that have splashed above sea-level.

Beneath lie crimes of sexual and physical violence, of spiking, stalking, enforced overdoses, livestreaming of abuse, theft, organised crime, and even torture; much of which goes unspoken, is rarely reported, and sometimes even unacknowledged by the victims themselves.

Many within the LGBT community do not want to admit this, or discuss it in public, sometimes from denial but also for fear of worsening prejudice. A much greater proportion of the public aren’t even aware what chemsex is.

Simply put, it’s the combination of certain drugs, particularly GHB (gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, a central nervous system depressant) and crystal methamphetamine, with sex, and mostly undertaken between men. But it’s more than sexualised drug use, it’s an entire scene occurring online, on people’s phones, and in real life.

Hook-up apps and websites enable men to meet. Drug dealers use such apps to sell their wares. And the encounters, which can last hours or even days, largely take place in private homes, so that when crimes occur they escape the attention of the authorities, and involve witnesses unable or unwilling to testify.

Most within the chemsex scene, it should be said, have enjoyable experiences. Stigmatisation of this scene helps no one. The problem for the authorities, community and health organisations is how to balance this with the much starker issue: chemsex settings are a predator’s playground, where few speak out.

Heterosexual men and women are also now at risk, as some rapists take Port’s lead, spiking their victims with GHB, and as the drug proliferates in straight bars and parties. Politicians, meanwhile, are only just beginning to act.

Last March the Home Office pledged to reclassify GHB from a class C to a class B drug, in response to another chemsex crime case: Reynhard Sinaga, the most prolific rapist in British legal history, who had used this illicit anaesthetic to render hundreds of mostly heterosexual men unconscious before abusing them. He filmed them, photographed them, and kept the evidence as trophies.

But Sinaga was found guilty more than three years after Port. Years in which a much deeper understanding of these hidden crimes, the reasons for them and the solutions to them, could have been undertaken.

During that time, I began investigating these uncharted waters. It turned into years of research, hundreds of interviews, and the largest survey ever conducted into this area in conjunction with Channel 4. What emerged was almost unbearably dark, both in scale and severity.

When I began interviewing gay and bisexual men about their experiences within chemsex, a strange pattern began to form. They would say, initially, that they had not been raped or sexually assaulted.

However, later, they would add: “Well I have woken up with someone inside me.” They would not label it as rape, even though that is how the law sees it. They would acknowledge the specifics of non-consensual sexual contact – “he groped me, he forced me, he did things to me without my permission” – but they would not call it sexual assault.

If a group (men) are conditioned not to consider that they could be victims of sexual violence, and if their identity (gay or bisexual) has been used as a stick against them, reducing their self-worth such that they don’t consider their boundaries valid, then what hope is there for reporting of crimes?

This isn’t a tiny minority of those involved in chemsex. In 2019, I worked on a documentary for Channel 4’s Dispatchesabout how GHB was being used to rape, drug, and kill.

The team and I conducted a survey of 2,700 gay and bi men who use the drug. More than a quarter, 28 per cent, said they had been raped or sexually assaulted while under its influence – a third of which were younger than 25 – and 82 per cent knew someone else who’d been attacked on it. Nearly a fifth, 18 per cent, said they’d been deliberately put unconscious.

As well as spiking women’s drinks with GHB for the same purposes, heterosexual criminals are also seizing the opportunity provided by chemsex situations to rob, abuse, and murder.

In 2020, Joel Osei, 25, and his girlfriend Diana Cristea, 19, were found guilty of killing a gay man, Adrian Murphy, 43, from south London, by meeting him through Grindr and drugging him with scopolamine, an old anaesthetic nicknamed “devil’s breath”. It was part of a spree of drugging and theft they had committed against gay men whom they had met on the dating app.

The case echoed a previous spree committed in 2018 by another couple, this time a same-sex one. Gerald Matovu – who had been Stephen Port’s drug dealer – and Brandon Dunbar hooked up with a dozen men and drugged them with GHB to rob them. One of their victims, Eric Michels, 54, died during the encounter. Matovu was jailed for life for his murder.

The horror should have come as no surprise to police. In April 2016, Stefano Brizzi, high on crystal meth, murdered PC Gordon Semple, whom he’d invited over to his house for a chemsex hookup, before cooking parts of his body, dissolving other parts in acid, and decapitating him. Brizzi later killed himself in Belmarsh prison.

Dating apps have been accused throughout of providing a platform for dealers, and in 2019 when one London sexual-health adviser, Ignacio Labayen de Inza, spent months setting up profiles to signpost members to support for substance use, Grindr responded by repeatedly blocking his profile – and then ceased engaging with him.

During those months, Labayen de Inza documented dozens of dealers setting up shop on the app and over 2,000 interactions he’d had with guys asking for help.

“This is the biggest tragedy happening in the gay community since the years of Aids,” he told me.

Grindr did not deny there were dealers on there but said the company is “deeply committed to creating a safe online environment for all of our users”, and has “taken steps to address this issue”, which included banning accounts and “providing our users with tools to report suspicious activity”. Grindr also said it works with partners to promote chemsex safety information.

In the past six years, as I’ve interviewed men involved in chemsex, they have repeatedly described situations in which someone fell unconscious on GHB but nobody phoned an ambulance in case the police investigated them for drugs offences.

Many more have described to me refusing to report sexual violence for the same reason. Longer sentences could further dissuade victims.

The Metropolitan Police Service states it would always “prioritise” investigating sexual violence over possible drugs offences of victims but will not rule it out.

Community and health charities are left with the damage. Galop, an LGBT+ anti-abuse charity, and London Friend, an LGBT mental health charity, continue to support victims, while Antidote counsels LGBT addicts. But according to the Advisory Council on the Misuse of Drugs, much more is needed.

When Home Secretary Priti Patel commissioned the Council to investigate GHB, its recommendations beyond reclassifying GHB included more education, more data, more treatment, and more support.

This, the Home Office said at the time, would be considered in due course. But 10 months on, when asked by i about progress on this matter, a spokesman said it was being discussed and they’ll “respond shortly”.

Beyond Britain, the picture is worse, still. In 2019, a white, wealthy donor to the US Democratic Party, Ed Buck, was arrested after two black gay men were found dead in his West Hollywood home. Last year, he was found guilty on multiple charges including administering the crystal meth that killed them.

But it took officers more than two years from the first death to arrest him, prompting protests from activists and many to question the police’s understanding of chemsex or its victims.

When I first went to LA to investigate, shortly after his arrest, LGBT people of colour repeatedly said the same thing: that there are many other Ed Bucks.

There is some hope, at least, from a pharmacological perspective: researchers at the University of Buffalo last year found the anti-inflammatory drug Diclofenac could mitigate the effects of GHB, and studies are underway into new treatments for meth.

However, something far more fundamental is needed to counter the social effects and psychological power over users. Talk to enough people who fall into problematic chemsex use or become victims within it, and three underlying issues surface: isolation, alienation, and discrimination.

Until the legal changes for LGBT people are met with deeper, social embrace of sexual and gender minorities, many more will continue to be pulled under, as predators strike. Some of whom will never return.

[honalele]

Here Lies Wilbur Soot

It was a cold and grey morning. The kind of morning that left a stale scent of gunpowder in your nose and the bitter taste of war on your lips. The kind of morning that left the world depressed in a deep dreamless sleep. The morning’s breath flooding in and out of every person like the sighs of a new born ghost caught in the fluttering ashes of a smoldering home. The people that lived were always quieter than the ghosts. Everyone had gone and shut themselves away in their homes, hiding from the unrelenting low bellows of complete and utter failure. But Phil walked in it.

He pushed himself forward, trekking through the deafening silence as if it were a merciless white blizzard. Still, he was careful not to disturb the left over pieces of structures and décor that had once belonged to that oh so self-indulgent place. L’Manberg. The poor country that had been made into a frozen wasteland of forgotten friendships and broken dreams. Phil stalked near the massive crater, his feet light with care. Earlier, he had made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t look down, but then again, fear made people do stupid things. So he looked down into the chasm and instantly recognized the depth of its wounds within himself. He caught his heart in his throat, just in time, before it leapt out of him and into the abyss. He stabled himself using the broadness of his wings and began to move quickly over the debris. He kept going until he came upon the room.

But “room” wasn’t quite the right word. The floor had been blown to bits along with the country, now a hundred feet under. The walls had fallen away along with the man, now six feet under. The roof had crumbled to pieces along with the angel, now five feet away. And the headstone stood still along with a boy, now slaying the white blizzard with his fiery red hair.

Phil was surprised. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be out this early, especially in order to visit the grave of the man that stole their home from them with about two tons of tnt. Phil wrapped his wings around himself in caution and silently came up to the headstone and stood next to the boy. The low wind wisped between them, stirring in a strange way that made Phil feel like he was standing on the edge of a very tall cliff.

Soon the space became too much for him and he glanced towards the boy. His red and white locks swirled like strawberry and cream under the stretching rays of the rising sun. The hair was so thick that Phil could just barely make out two pointed peaks of perky fox ears that hid under the boy’s cumbersome curls. The boy was also wrapped in what appeared to be a long, multicolored blanket, but when Phil looked closer at its design, he recognized it as the fallen country’s flag. Phil noticed that the boy was holding a dark scouting cap respectfully in his hands as he stood and stared at the gravestone. The look on the boy’s face was something that Phil had rarely ever seen on someone so young. It was hurt, and tenderness, and contempt, and hatred, and want, and regret, and all of the things that a boy should never have on his face. It made Phil want to reach over and wipe it all away, like he used to do with his own son’s tears. But Phil did nothing. He turned away from the boy and laid his eyes on the gravestone.

Here Lies Wilbur Soot.

Phil once again forced his throat to catch his heart, but this time his lips rolled in and his jaw tightened because if they’d been loose and open, he might’ve cried in front of the boy. God damn it. Perhaps he should’ve come at an earlier time. Perhaps he should leave now and return tomorrow. But something about the wind made him stay. The way it whistled over his wings and twisted between his fingers like a ghost wishing for him to wait. So he waited. And while he waited, he wondered about the world beyond this one. The world that his boy might have entered less than forty-six hours ago. He prayed for peace to come upon him and love, and joy, and all the things that he didn’t have during his departure from this life. Then Phil stuck his hand in his right pocket and wrapped his fingers around the last thing he wanted to give to his son. A small note. A letter he’d written a long time ago with the intention of sending it, but always too afraid to let the crows bare its most precious contents. He wanted to give it in person, but it was far too late for that.

By my own hand.

Tears crept at the inner corners of his eyes, but a small voice pulled him back to the present.

“I saw you.” It was the boy. His voice sodden in soft sadness. “I saw what you did.” Phil’s mouth went dry. He’d expected the accusations, just not so soon. The guilt had already eaten him alive the night before, so now Phil was just a sad sack of bones covered in the dank scent of sour regret. Still, the fiery flame of hurt and guilt was unrelenting and almost impossible to keep at bay.

“I’m sorry.” Phil said. And that was all he could say. It was the only truth that mattered now. Phil glanced in the boy’s direction to better gage his reaction, but all he could make out was a familiar cold stubbornness that he’d only ever felt from one other person in his life.

He waited for the boy to speak again, but the kid was silent for an awfully long time. So, Phil asked the question that had been itching in the back of his mind ever since he spotted the red buddle of hair clashing against the November snow that surrounded Wilbur’s desolate grave.

“How did you know him?” The boy swallowed hard before answering.

“He was my dad.” And then the floor blew to bits, and the walls fell away, and the roof crumbled to pieces, and the headstone stood still.

His father.

The boy’s gaze never left the headstone and his expression never changed as he placed his scout’s cap on his head. Phil watched as the boy walked closer to the grave, so close that he probably would have been standing on Will’s head if he weren’t buried so far below. The kid snapped the flag off his shoulders, allowing it to catch in the wind like the majestic flag it used to be, but only for a few moments before carefully laying it over Wilbur’s headstone, as if he were tucking his father into bed. The he knelt down and gave the headstone a tight hug. Now that the flag was no longer draped over him, Phil could see that the boy had come to the snow soaked grave completely barefoot. He wasn’t sure why, and was too afraid to ask.

After a while, the boy stood up and stared down at the grave. Phil wondered what he could be thinking. Did he even know that Phil was Wilbur’s father? Did he care? Who was he staying with? Did Will have any other secret children or family members? Phil searched his mind, but came up with nothing. Will had never written a single thing about having a family. The closest he’d gotten to describing one was with Techno and Tommy.

Then the boy spat on Will’s grave.

“Hey.” Phil called. And for the first time, the boy looked directly at him. His eyes were sharp and full of warning. Nothing like the children that quaked and cowered in fear at the authority of Phil’s voice in the past. Nothing like a child at all. And from that singular look, Phil backed down. The kid was a stranger, and perhaps his own son was one as well.

Here Lies Wilbur Soot.

The boy held Phil’s gaze for a while, it was as if he was searching for some secret that he knew existed, but could never find, or a wish that he made, but never fully believed in. Eventually he gave up on whatever he was looking for and began to walk away, but this time Phil’s throat couldn’t stop his heart and the careless words fluttered out of him.

“He was my son.” The boy dug his bare heels into the snow and stopped. Phil swallowed down the rest of his grief as the ghosts swirled around his head, and he waited. The boy didn’t turn around and for a while, he didn’t say a word. Then finally, like a pick to the ice, he broke the silence.

“I know. I have one of the letters. He’s a sack of shit, specifically bull.” Then he continued to walk away and Phil didn’t stop him.

By his own hand.

Phil turned around and faced the blanketed headstone. The boy that Phil had known for so long. The boy he’d written to every single week for months on end. The boy that he’d cradled in his arms as a younger man and promised the world. The boy whose dreams were hardly sky limited. The boy that Phil carried. The boy that Phil loved. The boy that Phil watched die in his arms less than forty-six hours ago.

Phil walked up to the grave and pulled the letter out of his pocket. Spots of wet teardrops splattered onto the envelope when he looked down at it. Phil took a deep breath and tucked the letter into the folds of the flag. He couldn’t care less what the letters said, all he really cared about was the smile on Will’s face, and the beautiful songs he wrote, and the messy curls that always caused him problems, and his relentless stubborn pride that he’d inherited from the angel of death himself. All he cared about was his Will. The Wilbur that he knew.

My son.

[doodlebeeberry]

aauuh ill finish this tomorrow probably but like. here. a one fic wip cause i really wanna post it

Fuck, it’s cold.

Connecticut winters weren’t known for being the kindest. Sure, they weren’t the worst New England had to offer, as far as he knew they couldn’t hold a candle to New Hampshire or Maine, but the air still bit straight through him, wind bellowing, rushing like an onslaught of dogs. Come November and he was already digging out his coat. 

Stepping out of his car, Soda Bottle found this year to be no exception, the late hour exacerbating the dry chill. He pulled his coat tighter around him, breath billowing before his eyes and hiding the near-midnight sky, twinkling with clear icy stars, behind a momentary foggy sheen. Warm humming lights lit him. He squinted at the gas prices over the pump. $3.40. He rolled his eyes, turning to the rest stop behind him. 

Truth be told, he really didn’t want to be out on the road right now, late hour aside. Were it up to him, he would’ve spent the past two days curled up in bed catching up on sleep, or watching movies on his phone, or even just staring at his ceiling, watching over the hours as the lights through the windows stretched and fell back. But his family would’ve killed him had he not come up for the holiday, or at the very least would’ve dragged him up themselves. So, despite the fact that he really hadn’t celebrated it for years, he’d dragged himself to his parents house for the two day celebration, seeing relatives he’d otherwise go years without hearing from. Aunts and uncles and cousins prattling on and on over cheap wine and plates of lasagna, nieces and nephews running underfoot by the dozens, catching each other up on their new jobs or engagements or achievements he couldn’t match. He always preferred listening to them rather than sharing news of his own, but even still, on the evening of the 24th, one of his aunts turned to him, an older retired woman well into her 60s, nearly 70s. 

    “What about you?” she’d asked him. One of the kids trotted into the den, right in between them, plucking a plastic brick from the floor. The tv behind her was muted. One of his elder cousins leaned over the back of the sofa she sat on, looking across to him. Both watching him.

“What have you been up to?”

His cousin piped up,

    “Yeah, finally meet anyone?”

He’d thought of the endless sun. Of green, and teal, and the feeling of really, truly, missing his family for once. He’d thought of the chance he didn’t regret passing up. He’d thought of the chances he did.

    “No,” he’d replied, shrugging “Just more of the same.”

Now, after many goodbyes, he was driving home, feeling some way about it. Or, more accurately, was getting gas for his near-empty car at the only rest stop for miles, feeling some way about it. The convenience store was empty, stepping in. The cashier scrolled through their phone.

Outside it only seemed to grow colder.

The sign seemed like a beacon, yellow and red and glowing blue, shooting out against the night. After following the highway for hours—which one, exactly, he wasn’t sure any more—Liam could’ve cried at the sight of it. He very much would’ve, had he the energy. It was so close too. It wasn’t one of those massive signs that towered over the trees, visible for miles but not at all near, no, it was smaller, dimmer. He could see the station itself, and its little shop, windows glowing warm. His legs shook as he approached.

He’d been walking for...a while. Days. Weeks. Well over a month, he knew, though the exact time frame was lost on him, mind hazy. The east coast was wildly different than the west, more so than he’d anticipated. He began to really take in the weather differences around Ohio, or maybe Pennsylvania, or maybe New York, and at first he figured it would be easy enough to handle. Things were more clustered together out east, if maps were to be believed. He’d tried to stick to more populated areas, particularly at night, so at the very least he’d have somewhere he could drop into once the cold became too much. But eventually he found himself facing long stretches of highway, or got turned around and wound up in small towns, spaced widely out with no places to stay, and would drag himself through wind and frosty grass in search of lights that didn’t come from cars, wishing he had the money for a bus or a train ticket, or had learned to drive while he’d still had the chance. He considered hitchhiking, had even tried it after getting lost somewhere around Iowa, but the results had been less than stellar. The roads being nearly empty hardly helped, but even still everyone just drove on past him. After about a week he gave up trying. 

His breath rattled in his chest as he approached the parking lot, only in part from the effort. He began noticing it a couple days ago, coupled with an annoying achiness that settled in his limbs and made his mind a little blurry, enough to get him turned around more than once. He’d started coughing yesterday, and sometime that afternoon his head began to ache too, growing more and more incessant by the hour. Deep down he knew that wasn’t good, that catching something while running on empty was a dangerous combination. He knew that his luck was running out, but he didn’t really bother acknowledging it. Instead he leaned against the building, stone cold against his palms, pausing to catch his breath. Another moment or two, and he slid to the ground.

God he was tired. Exhausted, really. But tired worked too. He was too worn out to care. 

Slowly, deliberately, to work around the stiff cold in his fingers, he fumbled for his inner pocket, pulling out what he had: a handful of coins, he counted out quickly and carefully, totaling about a dollar seventy, give or take. The small blue cap of a water bottle he’d lost yesterday, likely blown away by the wind once it’d gone empty. He pulled out the papers last. They’d been thoroughly crinkled by now, the left side of the SF paper torn, the right corner of the address paper stained. He’d memorized it weeks ago, but read it anyway.

5628 Saratoga Avenue

Apartment 130A

Bridgeport CT

Over and over it repeated in his head, like a strange melody. 5628. 130A. Bridgeport, Bridgeport, Bridgeport. Was he even close? He had to be. He had to be by now. He already passed through New York, he knew he was in Connecticut, but where? The north? The south? He couldn’t remember what town he’d come from, and didn’t know what town he was in. The parking lot was empty, pumps all free, the sign overhead listing only prices, $3.40 for a gallon of regular. A few cars peeled down the highway. Where were they going, late at night in the middle of December? Home? To visit friends? To visit family?

He pulled his knees in close, coughing roughly into the crook of his arm. His thoughts grew cloudy. He felt indistinct. He hardly registered the wall against his back.

What he wouldn’t give to visit family.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Spellbinding (Chapter Fourteen)

Summary: While dealing with a surprising new development in their relationship, Loki and (Y/N) are stuck in the middle of an explosive feud between Steve and Tony.

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I’d call this a filler chapter but I absolutely love writing about the Avengers as a whole! I also thought we needed a little break from the plot for some team bonding before things get too crazy lol I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Fourteen November 22nd, 2015 Avengers Tower, New York City (Previous Chapter)

“You read this book when you were how old?”

(Y/N) smiled mischievously and turned her attention back to reorganizing her closet. “I was seven. I checked it out from the library without telling my Aunt Evelyn and read it late at night; I couldn’t sleep without my nightlight on for months afterwards but I’m glad I read it, since it’s a literary classic and everything.”

Loki let out a half-laugh and turned the page of his book. “Well, if we’re ever blessed with children, I think we should wait until they’re at least twelve to introduce them to Dracula. Perhaps even fourteen.”

“Children?”

In an instant, Loki froze and it dawned on him what he’d accidentally said. (Y/N) was also frozen, her arm still extended to grab a hangar from inside the closet. “I-I…I just meant…I’d like to…” Loki cleared his unusually tight throat. “I, ah, wouldn’t mind having…you know, children. Someday. With…with you.” Dammit, I’ve made a mess of things again, Loki inwardly groaned.

They’d only been together for a little over four months and it was much, much too early in their relationship to bring about the subject of children. But after he acknowledged his love for (Y/N), it was challenging for Loki to envision a future without her in it and lately, the idea of a more permanent future with the woman he loved was all he could think about. He knew that his girlfriend liked children; back when she still worked at the New York Public Library, he’d fondly watch her helping them with their homework or reading to them and since officially becoming the Cosmic Sorceress, she’d visited the children’s ward at the nearby hospital once a week to cheer up the young patients. And despite what others might believe, Loki also liked children and the thought of being a father one day – while admittedly a little nerve-wracking – was not an unwelcome one.

Just as (Y/N), with her (Y/E/C) eyes widened in shock, opened her mouth to reply, there came the sounds of voices shouting angrily from the common room down the hall. In an instant, Loki and (Y/N) summoned their magic into the palms of their hands before sprinting out of her suite and down the hallway.

Steve and Tony stood on either sides of the common room and were fully engaged in a blazing argument by the time Loki and (Y/N) arrived. Skidding to a stop beside (Y/N), Loki’s first thought was that he’d never seen either man as angry as they were now, even during the Battle of New York.

“Because you flat-out refused to listen when I said to wait, three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are at the hospital in critical condition!” Tony yelled.

Steve stepped closer and shouted back, “And if I hadn’t acted when I did, an entire apartment complex would’ve been demolished anyway and dozens of people would be dead! Those agents would be fine right now if you hadn’t hesitated to use your scanners!”

“You mean, if I hadn’t stopped to think the situation through?!”

“You’re acting like a civilian, Stark, not a soldier! Our job is to make the tough decisions as quickly as we can for the benefit of the whole, we don’t have the luxury of holding committees for every choice we make!”

“Bullshit, it’s better to weigh options instead of barreling in without a plan; that’s what you’re best at, though, isn’t it? If you hadn’t made the dumb-ass decision to crash that plane in ‘45, you and Carter-”

Before Tony could finish his sentence, Steve landed a punch on his jaw that sent him staggering backwards. Tony quickly surged forward to retaliate, but Loki used his magic to halt his movement while (Y/N) used hers to stop Steve. “Enough!” They dissolved their magic and with matching looks of contempt, both Steve and Tony turned and stormed away, leaving Loki and (Y/N) to gape at each other in shock.

“Yeah, that was a continuation of what happened on the Quinjet.” They turned and watched Bruce step out of the elevator with a weary expression on his face. “I’ll explain everything to you both, but can we do it in private? The rest of the team’s at each other’s throats and I don’t want all the fighting to accidentally trigger the Big Guy…”

After leading the scientist into (Y/N)’s suite and subtly lighting one of her calming lavender-scented candles, Loki sat beside his girlfriend on the sofa and listened as Bruce talked. “This arms dealer was holding an entire apartment building in Luxembourg hostage, said he’d blow the place up if his demands for more guns weren’t met. Fury sent Steve, Tony, Bucky and Clint this morning; the plan was to surround the building and find a way in before going after the guy, but he decided he didn’t want to wait any longer and turned an automatic timer on for the explosives. Cap sent the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in to clear the building and Tony said to wait for the agents to give word before ordering Bucky to take the shot, but Steve didn’t listen. Bucky took the shot, got the guy, but the explosives still went off.” Loki and (Y/N) exchanged looks of confusion, and Bruce continued. “There was a pressure timer hidden in his hand, they call it a dead man’s switch; Tony scanned and saw it at the last second, but Steve was already giving the order to Bucky.” Bruce started pacing as he ran a hand through his hair. “It’s like a civil war; Clint and Nat are taking Tony’s side, they think Steve could’ve waited a little longer, and Sam and Bucky are on Cap’s side.” He snorted in derision. “Thanksgiving dinner should be a blast this year.”

(Y/N) nodded, a saddened expression on her face, but Loki furrowed his brow. “Thanksgiving? You host a dinner of thanks on Midgard?”

“I’ll explain it to you later.” She flashed him a brief smile before returning her concerned gaze to Bruce. “Is there anything we can do?”

“You both should probably just stay out of it; they might come around faster if they see that you’re neutral in all this.” The scientist walked to the door. “I’d better go down and talk to Fury, so I’ll see you guys later.”

Once Bruce closed the door behind him, (Y/N) threw herself back against the cushions of the couch and sighed. “How could something like this have even happened? We’ve been such a strong team these past few months and now…”

“They’re both strong-willed men and stubborn in their own right, you know that. Each holds steadfast to their beliefs no matter the consequences; this is a trait of theirs I’ve both admired and admonished in all the time I’ve known them.” Loki admitted. “But Banner is correct, any attempt of ours to help may only worsen the situation for everyone.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Taking in (Y/N)’s troubled frown, Loki decided to try distracting her from their fighting teammates, laying down and resting his head in her lap so that he was staring up at her. “So, a feast of thanks sounds…quaint.”

As he’d hoped, she relaxed as she gave him a look of amusement and began running her fingers through his hair. “It’s more than that, silly. In America, it’s a day where we give thanks for our lives and the people in them. We sit around a table for dinner and let our loved ones know just what they mean to us, that we cherish and appreciate them, no matter any differences…we might…we might have…” (Y/N) trailed off, pausing a moment before gasping in excitement. “Loki, I think I may have either a brilliant plan or an insane one!”

“I know just what you have in mind, darling. Let’s go!” They both hurried to the living room closet and tugged on their coats and scarves; they had a long, long day of shopping ahead of them.

Although he’d acclimated fairly well to Midgard in the months since his arrival, one of the things Loki still utterly despised about the realm were its ‘grocery stores.’ They were crowded, lit by horrendous fluorescent lights and stocked to the brim with inedible, overpriced food; whenever he’d been asked to accompany one of his fellow Avengers on their shopping trips, he would come up with every excuse under the sun to decline their invitation. But he decided to put aside his displeasure for the benefit of his girlfriend and teammates, resigning himself to pushing the rickety metal shopping cart up and down the aisles as (Y/N) read off her hastily-written list.

Their shopping trip had gone far better than he’d imagined and in no time, they were carrying their bags into the lobby of the Avengers Tower.

“You know, we’re going to need an extra pair of hands to help us with the cooking on Thursday.” (Y/N) pointed out as they stepped into their team’s private elevator. “I’m not very good in the kitchen, as you already know, but I’ve always been able to bake pretty decent pies.”

Loki nodded. “All right, so who did you have in mind to help?”

At that moment, the elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal the smiling face of his golden-haired brother. “Ah, there you are! The J.A.R.V.I.S. just informed me you had returned from your outing, was it productive?”

“…You could call it that.”

The tone of his girlfriend’s voice prompted Loki to glance over at her; she was looking from Thor to him, her eyebrows raised and a triumphant smile spreading across her face. Finally understanding her words, Loki’s smile morphed into a look of absolute horror. “Oh no, no, no, not him…!”

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

“Wait, you guys cooked all this? Without burning the kitchen down?”

Loki couldn’t help but give Bruce a pained look. “Believe me when I say that it was not for lack of trying, Doctor Banner.”

Since they wanted dinner to be a surprise, they’d prepared each dish in one of the kitchens used by the new S.H.I.E.L.D. organization; unfortunately, in their attempt to be secretive they were forced into cramped quarters with rather primitive kitchen appliances at their disposal. And to add to Loki’s growing list of responsibilities, he was forced to babysit the love of his life and his brother in order to prevent the dishes from being ruined by their absolute lack of culinary skills. More than once, he had to use his magic to protect the food he’d cooked from (Y/N)’s over-zealousness with the spices and at one point, he was forced to quickly talk Thor out of using his lightning to rapidly cook the turkey. Hopefully it’ll all have been worth it, Loki tiredly thought to himself.

As if in-tuned with Loki’s inner monologue, Bruce nervously adjusted the sleeves of his coat and replied, “Well, I hope this works and doesn’t just end up making everything worse.”

“You and I both, Doctor.” His eyes were drawn to the elevator as its doors opened, revealing (Y/N) and a cart filled with the feast they’d cooked, and he hurried over to meet her. “Everything’s going to plan so far, they think that it’s only the seven of us for dinner.”

With the help of Bruce, they went about setting the enormous table. “I just sent Thor to fetch Team Cap, so they should be here any minute.” Once they finished, (Y/N) removed her apron and smoothed out her skirt, her anxious expression softening a fraction as she turned to the two men. “Now we see if our brilliantly-insane plan will work.”

Loki had just enough time to lean down and press a reassuring kiss to his girlfriend’s forehead before the elevator doors once again slid open.

“Mmm, smells good in here!” Tony grinned, walking up to (Y/N) and handing her a bottle of wine. “I had Pepper ship one of my best labels over from Malibu for the occasion.”

Natasha did little to hide her amusement at his words. “You just couldn’t resist, could you? And you,” She turned to shoot Clint a glare. “If you don’t stop fidgeting, Barton, we’re going to have a problem.”

“I can’t help it, this stupid suit’s uncomfortable!” Clint grumbled; once Natasha returned her attention to the others, the archer rolled his eyes and whispered to Loki, “Damn straight jacket. (Y/N) forced you into one too, huh?”

“Yes, I-” The sight of Steve, Sam and Bucky entering the room behind Thor caused Loki’s words to die in his throat and as the others caught sight of them, he surreptitiously summoned his magic into his hands in case a fight broke out. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spotted Thor and Bruce exchanging weary looks.

Steve’s face was a mask as he stepped forward. “Stark.”

“Asshat.”

All Hel broke loose; Steve and Tony lunged towards one another, their struggling forms barely held back by Bucky and Clint. A cacophony of shouting quickly filled the room as both sides began arguing with each other, but just as Loki raised his arms to use his magic, (Y/N) calmly stepped forward and walked in between the warring groups. The shouting and struggling instantly stopped as they gawked at (Y/N), but she merely smiled warmly at them as she spoke. “Thank you all for coming to our Thanksgiving dinner, Loki and I are glad you were able to make it. Bruce mentioned that you usually don’t celebrate together, but this is my first Thanksgiving with you all and I wanted to mark the occasion with my new family…all of it.” Her words seemed to have their desired intent, as both Steve and Tony relaxed their stances and the others backed away from them. “Now, we should start eating before everything gets cold!”

Needless to say, dinner was a tense affair. Where there was usually the sounds of deafening chatter and laughter, there was quiet murmuring and stoic looks. Loki watched (Y/N) with equal amounts of admiration and sympathy as she tried her hardest to engage their teammates in conversation with one another and with each failed attempt, he could see a little more of her heart breaking. After learning the difficult truth about her parents and having lived so long without a family, (Y/N) deserved to have a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner with her friends. They all did, really. This has gone on long enough, Loki thought to himself as (Y/N) silently stared down at her plate; after a slight moment of hesitation, Loki got to his feet.

“I’ve done a fair amount of reading about this country’s Day of Thanks, and the custom of expressing what one is thankful for whilst surrounded by their loved ones piqued my interest. So, let’s begin.” Loki swallowed thickly, looking around the table at his teammates’ confused faces before settling on (Y/N)’s. “I’m thankful for you, darling. You came into my life at a time when I believed I could never be deserving of love and you showed me not only was I deserving, but that loving you would make me a better man. You’re the love of my life, and believe me when I say that all our lives have been blessed since meeting you.” Loki and (Y/N) shared a smile and as he turned back to address the others, he felt her take hold of his hand and squeeze. “And I know you may find this difficult to believe, but I am also thankful for all of you. When I first joined the Avengers, I was bitter and filled with resentment at the prospect of serving out my sentence on a planet I despised with people I despised even more. But after a short while, once we’d come to understand one another, you accepted me as your teammate and friend. Well, some of you more than others.” His eyes flicked to Tony, who hid his small smile behind his hand, and to Clint, who gave him a small shrug. “I value our kinship above all else and on this Day of Thanks, I implore you all to remember our bonds with one another. Severing those bonds on account of a petty disagreement is something you all will come to regret in the future; take it from me, I have firsthand experience in that particular department.” He and Thor shared a knowing look as he took a seat; although he wasn’t comfortable expressing his emotions so openly, the look of pride in his brother’s eyes had made it worth it.

The table was quiet for several moments, until Steve cleared his throat. “Well, I’m, ah…I’m thankful that after coming out of the ice to an unrecognizable world I was able to find such great friends and teammates in you all.” His azure eyes flicked hesitantly over to Tony. “We may not get along all the time or agree on everything, but that doesn’t mean we should allow ourselves to become divided.”

Tony’s face remained unchanged throughout Steve’s speech and when he got to his feet, Loki could practically hear the others’ sharp intakes of breath. The billionaire held Steve’s gaze for a heartbeat before offering him his hand over the table with his trademark smirk on his face. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, ‘Roid Rage.” The two men shook hands and the room almost instantly relaxed; Loki exchanged looks of triumph with his co-conspirators as dinner continued, satisfied that their plan had been successfully implemented.

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

“Dinner was delicious, by the way.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, darling, though I’m not sure what the others thought of it.”

“Well, they were a little too distracted to hand out compliments on food, wouldn’t you say?”

The pair had decided to spend the night catching up on their reading but instead of utilizing the library, they had made themselves comfortable in Loki’s bed with their books and plenty of blankets. Loki sat up against the headboard, his legs stretched out across the mattress and his ankles crossed, and (Y/N) was leaning against his side, her head resting comfortable in the crook of his neck and her free arm holding Loki’s around her waist. They sat in comfortable silence as they read their own books, occasionally permeating the tranquil atmosphere with light conversation.

“Um, Loki?”

“Hmm?” Loki could feel (Y/N) shifting beside him, so he tore his eyes away from his book and watched as she marked her page and set her book down on the bedside table. Setting his own book aside, Loki adjusted himself so he could see her face better. “What is it?”

(Y/N) bit her lip and played with the sleeve of her sweatshirt before answering. “We’ve been so busy planning Thanksgiving dinner and trying to get the team back together that we haven’t had a chance to talk about what you said the other day.” Loki’s brow furrowed in confusion, and the corner of (Y/N)’s mouth twitched. “About wanting to, um, have children. With me.”

“Oh.” Loki felt himself pale; he’d completely forgotten about his slip-up and being reminded of it caused panic to flare in his chest. “I-It was stupid, (Y/N), I just…we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, I only meant-”

His explanation was abruptly cut off by (Y/N), who had covered his mouth with her hand and was shaking with suppressed laughter. “I always love those rare moments when you’re the one to get flustered; a little line always forms in between your eyebrows.” She leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss on the spot before moving her hand from his mouth to cup his cheek. “I was surprised by what you said the other day because I didn’t realize that you’ve imagined the same future that I have.” (Y/N) shyly looked down but she reached for his free hand and intertwined their fingers together. “I may not have much experience with relationships, Loki, but I love you with all my heart and if there’s anyone I want to share that wonderful future with someday…well, it’s you.”

A grin slowly formed on Loki’s face; removing one of his hands from hers, he gently took hold of her chin and coaxed her to look at him. “Really?”

She nodded, her (Y/E/C) eyes sparkling with happiness. “Really.”

Surging forward, Loki held her face in his hands and smashed his lips against hers. (Y/N) made a sound of surprise before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing back with equal vigor; Loki eventually found himself lying flat on his back while (Y/N) straddled his waist, one hand clutching her hip while the other traveled up and down her spine as they kissed. (Y/N) pulled her lips away from his and just as his throat made a noise of protest, she began kissing along his jawline and down his neck; needless to say, his annoyance quickly morphed to groans of satisfaction. Only when her soft lips brushed against a particularly sensitive patch of skin near his collarbone did Loki lose all restraint; he flipped them over so that (Y/N) was pressed against the mattress and after grabbing her hands and threading their fingers together, he held them over her head and hungrily attacked her eager lips with his own until an unfortunate lack of air forced them to break apart.

“I said I’d like children with you someday, Loki, not today!” (Y/N) exclaimed breathlessly, a dazed sort of smile illuminating her face as she looked up at him.

Loki let out a laugh before kissing her forehead and rolling off to lay on his back beside her; try as he might, he couldn’t keep the broad grin off his face. “Apologies, my love, but you’re entirely irresistible. If I’d known there were kisses like that in store for me, I’d have told you all that ages ago…”

Later that evening, (Y/N) was fast asleep against his chest and the sounds of her quiet snores filled the room as he stretched out on the bed in contentment. I suppose there’s only one thing left to do, Loki thought tiredly, pulling (Y/N) closer and glancing over at the bedside table that hid the engagement ring before sleep finally claimed him.

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

A/N: Wow, that was a lot of fluff! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wx8TZwpDN0l33tES3W3Nk

Chapter Fifteen

Spellbinding Masterlist

Tagging: @nexiva @ravenclawbitch426 @cminr @confusedfandomwriter @momc95 @nickkie1129 @austynparksandpizza @brooke0297 @destructivebliss @outoftheregular​ @itscomplicatedx​ @0-artemis​ @vivloki​

[radioduo]

new friends and new info || dsmp become human

word count: ~1,070

notes: howdy :] sorry for how fuckin late this was, i scrapped half of my plans for this chapter because i just couldn’t get them to work, so it’s shorter than i’m used to lmao. hopefully it’s alright! i didn’t proofread it too much so tell me to fix whatever i need to :D enjoy!

first // prev // next

taglist: @spider-shoes @pindl3

4:02am, November 12th

Ranboo laid on his back on the floor of the motel, staring blankly at the ceiling. He’d heard people talk about how quickly things could change, but he hadn’t known just how right they were until that night. He sat up, stifling a groan, and leaned against the wall of the room to look around. Two beds sat comfortably against the wall, and in them were his two new… friends, he supposed, Wilbur and Techno. Wilbur had told Ranboo that the three of them would talk more in the morning when he and Techno weren't half-asleep. Ranboo rubbed his hands together, bothered. He was anxious to be out of the motel as soon as possible. Ranboo didn’t like sitting around, especially since he knew he was considered a criminal now.

The android peered up at the bland-looking clock above the beds, listening to its gentle ticking. Only four in the morning, Ranboo frowned, laying back down on the carpet. It’s gonna be a long night.

----------

Ranboo was absently blowing a strand of “dyed” dirty-blond hair from his eyes when the other two awoke in the morning. The android had taken off his mask and glasses at some point during the night, and he was thankful for the privacy of the room keeping him safe. Ranboo watched as the curly-haired man blinked sleep from his eyes and glanced around the motel room.

“So it wasn’t a dream,” Wilbur yawned. He stretched as he sat up and looked at Ranboo sitting on the floor. “What are you doing down there?” He sounded amused, a look of confusion and entertainment painting his features.

“Uhh…” Ranboo glanced down and patted the carpet beneath him, making a popping noise with his mouth to fill the silence. “It was… comfortable?”

Wilbur grinned at the android, a small huff of laughter escaping his throat. “Okay then,” he said between chuckles. “I take it you’ve been awake all night then?” He threw the linens off himself and stood up. “I mean, machines don’t exactly have to sleep, I assume.”

Ranboo shook his head, tracing circles on the carpet. “Not really. I might have closed my eyes for a bit though,” he admitted.

Wilbur raised his eyebrows and nodded but kept quiet. A silence fell over the duo as the curly-haired man began to freshen himself up, and Ranboo laid back down on the carpet while he waited. At some point, Techno hauled himself out of bed as well, and soon the trio was awake and ready to start talking.

“Tell me what they looked like, show me some photos, do whatever you want,” Ranboo suggested as they all sat on the edges of the beds. “I just wanna make sure I know as much about them as possible before I start investigating or anything.”

“Well, the android was a short-ish brunet kid, blue eyes, a buncha commons stuff like that,” Techno joked as Wilbur pulled out his phone and presumably began scrolling through photos. “His model number was, uhh, TU880, if that means anything to you. I always wondered why dad chose that, of all things, but I guess the old man had his r-” he interrupted himself as he noticed Ranboo’s agitated expression. “Uhh, are you alright?” He asked hesitantly. “You don’t look too good over there.”

Ranboo shook his head, trying to clear the fuzziness from it. TU880, TU880, where have I heard that before? He bit at his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. Think, Ranboo, think! You know this! Why can’t you remember? The deviant wracked his brain, searching for the answer, but no matter what he did, the memory was irretrievable. He let out a shaky breath, clutching the bedsheets as he attempted to ground himself. “I- I’m alright. Just… just a memory, is all.” Or lack thereof. “What else?”

The twins exchanged a worried look, and Ranboo silently begged for them to drop the topic. Fortunately for him, the older brothers seemed to be more concerned about their brother and his android than to a random deviant they’d picked up off the street. Wilbur held out his phone to show Ranboo a photo of who he guessed was TU880 and the younger brother.

The two were smiling, the human boy with curly hair like his big brother, but golden blond rather than chocolate brown. The android had long bangs that fell over his eyes and almost covered his LED. He had a wide grin on his face that made Ranboo’s heart leap as he stared at the picture. He wasn’t sure why, and if he was being honest, he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know why. Taking a deep breath, Ranboo ran a scan on the photo.

Thomas Craft

Also called Tommy

Age: 17

Height: 6’1”

Tommy… Ranboo nodded, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He wasn't sure if he would remember that when needed, but he didn't voice his concerns aloud.

TU880

Name: Tubbo

Serial#: 129 111 616

Created and Registered by: Phil Z. Craft

“Tommy and Tubbo, huh?” Ranboo asked, sitting back on the bed. “They seem like they’re close friends,” he noted, perhaps a little sadly.

Wilbur smiled fondly. “Oh yeah, they’re best friends,” he murmured. “It’d take a war to separate them, they’re so clingy.” His tone was teasing, and Techno and Ranboo both smiled at Wilbur. “I know they haven’t been gone long - it’s not even been a day yet, actually - but… I guess I miss them.” Wilbur tossed the phone aside. “Whatever you have to do, Ranboo, I want you to do it. We promised our dad we'd find them safely, and we can't let him down.”

Ranboo nodded solemnly at Wilbur but stayed silent. He pondered over his options in his head quietly.

X Ask for more information

O Leave motel and ask others

☐ Memory loss [UNLOCKED]

Δ [...]

Ranboo wrung his hands together, fidgeting. The two probably passed through here overnight, he guessed. Maybe someone in the area knew the duo’s whereabouts.

O Leave motel and ask others

“There’s a good chance they stayed here somewhere,” Ranboo muttered, half to himself. “It might not hurt to talk to some people around here, right? Someone had to have seen them at one point or another.”

“We could give it a shot,” Techno nodded, pushing a strand of hair from his eyes. “What d’you think, Wilbur? It can’t hurt, I guess.”

Wilbur stood up, and Techno and Ranboo quickly followed suit. “Why not? Let’s go.”

[kippykasey]

Walk Away - Chapter 2: Changes

Pairing: N/A

Series Summary: After living in the shadows of her older brothers Alexandra Walker decides to walk away from what everything people expect of her and chase after the dream of working at Stark Industries. She wasn’t expecting everything that would follow after being hired.

Chapter Warnings: n/a

Word Count: 3873

Author’s Note: I feel like this chapter is a bit rough. Maybe too jumpy? Its more of a bit of a filler and background. The real fun begins with the next chapter.

Disclaimer: All gifs used were found using the tumblr gif tab. I do not own anything unless stated otherwise.

Walk Away Masterlist | Masterlist

November 2011, New York, New York.

It had been a year now since the move to New York. Lamar was the one to take me to New York, mom and dad were still holding a grudge over my change of career.  Olivia was the one to help me with my interview for Stark Industries that I was panicking over. Which I got. I started in the mail room and moved up to a personal assistant to the main engineer. Today is my first time meeting with Pepper Potts. She was visiting from the California location and my boss, Richard Moore was currently running late.

I was in the small meeting room setting up the display that I had put together for Mr. Moore when the door opened. Pepper walked in her blonde hair pulled up into a sleek high ponytail, dressed in a burgundy pant suit. I walked over to her and held my hand out. “Afternoon, Ms. Potts. I’m Alexandra Walker, Mr. Moore’s assistant.” I introduced myself with a pleasant smile.” 

“Pleasure to meet you Ms. Walker. Am I early?” Pepper took her seat at the table as I walked over to my bag. “No, Mr. Moore went out for lunch and is just running late.” I pulled a red folder from my bag that held a written summary of the topics that would be covered during the meeting along with the reports for the last six months. “He should be here soon. This is a copy of the reports and a written summary of the topics he will be covering.” Pepper looked slightly surprised as she took the folder and started to go through the contents. 

“This is the most prepared I have ever seen Richard in the last few years.” She jokes and I just laughed softly and took a seat across from her with my laptop open ready to take notes. “Well he did say this was the first time he had an assistant.” I mentioned slightly closing the screen so I could see her properly. 

A knock on the door drew both of our attention to the door. The receptionist popped her head in, “Mr. Moore is on line two.” I smiled and thanked her before moving over to the phone in the corner. “Hello Mr. Moore, you are on speaker, Ms. Potts is here.” I say after answering the phone. Mr. Moore’s voice was gruff and irritated as he began speaking. “I got rear ended on my way back so I won’t be able to make it to the meeting, Pepper. However, Alexa is more than able to give the presentation and walk you around.” 

Pepper had a short conversation that was nothing more than murmur in the background as I mentally panicked over now being the one to host the meeting with the head of the company. The phone call ended and I took a sip of my water before turning towards Pepper. “Would you like to walk and talk at the same time?” I asked but the smile I received in return was so gentle I knew I must have seemed nervous. “That sounds great.”

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

The meeting was over but I was still sitting with Pepper in the meeting room chatting. We talked about the company and she asked about my schooling. We had probably spent and additional hour after the meeting officially ended just chatting. Pepper glanced at her watch before finally standing, cuing me to stand as well, ready to walk her out. 

“Do you ever plan to visit our California location?” Pepper asked as we took the elevator down to the lobby. I nodded my head and smiled widely. “Of course. I would love to, I chose the New York location because I’m attending Columbia University for engineering.” Pepper led the way out of the building to where her car was waiting for her. 

“Well if you are ever interested University of California at Berkeley has a great engineering department and I would love an additional set of hands helping me there. If you decide to transfer I’ll handle everything alright?” I nod my head in agreement and we finished our goodbyes. 

I returned to the meeting room to collect my things, type up a report to email Mr. Moore on how the meeting went and what Pepper had to say. Once the email was sent I was able to leave and head back to my small apartment. The tiny studio apartment was just enough space for me but definitely not what I was used to. Setting my laptop on the small two seater table I have near the kitchenette, my cell rang from my bag.

With a single glance at my phone I let out a deep sigh and answered the call, “Hi ma.” I was expecting this call. After all, it was the week before Thanksgiving. “Alexandra, dear, when is your flight getting in?” Holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder I moved to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of peach tea. “Mama I told pa last week Thursday that I won’t be able to make it home this Thanksgiving. I have a big test and am scheduled to work.” 

“Ridiculous it’s a holiday. Now, John and Olivia have settled on a date for the wedding and are announcing it at dinner.” “Ma.” “The Hoskins are joining and bringing a pie with their amazing potatoes and collard greens.” “Ma!” “I was hoping you could make your peach pie. We’re hoping to eat at five. Then Olivia and I were going to go over some wedding–.”

“MOM!” I set my cup down next to my laptop, yelling through the phone to get my ma to stop talking. “Don’t raise your voice at me Alexandra.” She scolded me, making me groan. “Ma, I really don’t think I can make it. I’ll try to see if I can get a plane but I can’t promise you anything. I got to go. I have a report to type up that’s due in the morning and I still have to eat dinner. I’ll text you later. Bye!” I barely caught her starting to complain about the chance of not being home as I hung up. 

I focused on my report and school work for the rest of the night only pausing to eat some of the leftover chinese from my fridge. I didn’t even think about checking out flights home until I was laying in bed for the night. I sighed checking my bank account after purchasing the round trip ticket. It would be a bit tight until my next check but shouldn’t be too bad. Setting my phone down and plugging it into the charger I rolled over to go to sleep.

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

John picked me up from the airport Thanksgiving day. The whole ride was talking about the chances he would be deployed soon so they were hoping to have the wedding soon. He mentioned how Lemar was his best man and they had it easy by just wearing their formal military suits. I sat in the passenger seat nodding along as I listened to him talk the whole ride home. 

Entering the house I was instantly welcomed by the smell of dad’s turkey and Mrs. Hoskin’s collard greens. I moved into the kitchen and said my hellos. Lemar, who thankfully had started my peach pie for me, stepped away from the mixing bowl and hugged me. “Hey peaches, how’s New York treating you?” 

“Great! I got to meet Ms. Potts herself who by the way offered me the chance to work for her in California.” I grinned as I took over making the pie. “That’s great to hear, peach.” Mrs. Hoskins kissed my cheek in greeting as she moved to help Olivia set the table. “So you’re going to go to California now?” Ma asked from where she was stirring the gravy. “Maybe next year. She said she would cover the move and setting up my school transfer.” Ma hummed at that and it was pretty much the end of the conversation after that. 

It didn’t matter too much because it wasn’t long before we were all seated at the table. The peach pie was barely done before we sat down, I was literally pulling it from the oven as everyone began to sit down. The light conversations began while we ate, mainly my parents asking John and Olivia what was left to plan for the wedding. “So there was a mention of a chosen date?” Mr. Hoskins mentioned taking a sip of his sweet tea.

“We did. John and I settled for June 20th.” Olvia grinned as John took a hold of her hand.”We’re sure John might have to do a tour before then but..” I stopped moving her voice became a buzz in the background. The fork full of potatoes held halfway to my mouth as I mulled over the wedding date in shock. June 20th was the day after my birthday. The fork fell from my hand clattering against my plate drawing attention towards me. I licked my lips, why were they dry all of a sudden? An awkward laugh fell from my mouth. “I uh.. My golden birthday is the day before.”

“Oh! I didn’t even think of that, peaches.” John, my older brother, forgot my birthday. Sure it shouldn’t be a big deal but I still wasn’t expecting him to plan anything practically on my birthday. Now I can’t even celebrate it because I will have wedding duties since I am a bridesmaid. I forced a smile and shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. At least I will already be in town.. I can..ya know celebrate it another time.”

“Oh this is just so wonderful!” Ma clapped excitedly. She pushed her plate aside to she could lean forward and talk about the wedding with Olivia and Mrs. Hoskins. I sat back looking down at my plate. I wasn’t really hungry anymore as I listened to them going over color pallets and flower types. Silently I got up and cleaned up. I still had a few hours left before I had to head back to the airport but I really wasn’t in the mood to stay here. I went to my old bedroom, which was now a guest room, so I could privately see if I could get a sooner flight and get out early. Which I was successful at finding.

I gathered my things quickly before heading to the dining room. “Whoa, peaches, where are you going?” Pa asked as he watched me putting on my coat. “They bumped me to a different flight. Ya know, buying tickets last minute and all. My flight leaves in an hour.” I explained as I hugged Lemar from behind and kissed his mom’s cheek. “We’re still eating,” Ma frowned, looking around at everyone’s plates still with food on them. “Don’t worry I’ll hail a cab. I have to make this flight. I can’t be late for work in the morning.” I went around saying my goodbyes with a sour taste in my mouth as I hugged John.

The silence that overtook me held me hostage for the whole cab ride to the airport. Was it just me being irrational? Wouldn't John want his special day to be less closely tied to his baby sister? No, no. It was a fine date. I was just being over dramatic. Just because I already had plans nearly 6 months in advance didn’t matter. What if I was moving to California by then? 

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

June 2012 

When Pepper said she would handle everything I wasn’t expecting that to mean this. She had paid for the tuition of my next semester of school. She found me an apartment with a roommate so I wouldn’t be alone. Now I was flying to California in a private plane. I was floored at all of it but I couldn’t stop the smile that was on my face. The plane was just about to land and I would be meeting my roommate for the first time.

Exiting the plane with my personal bag and one carry-on (that contained what little I didn’t have sent over the week before) I spotted Pepper next to a black car and a heavyset man who reminded me of my dad stood next to her. I walked over to them with a smile on my face. 

“Welcome to California, Alexa. This is Happy, he’s a close friend-”

“And future Head of Security.” Happy cut in making me hide a small laugh.

“Yes, and future head of security for Stark Industries. You will be staying with him while you are here.” Pepper explained as Happy took my bags and put them into the trunk of the car. I turned to him and held my hand out. “Nice to meet you, Happy. I’m Alexandra Walker but most people just call me Alexa.”

“Nice to meet you, kid. I don’t plan on there being any issues, just don’t interrupt my Abbey time or throw any parties and we’ll be good.” I laugh at his laid back nature and nod my head. “I don’t like parties so I think we’ll be good.”

The three of us headed towards the place that Happy calls home. Or maybe it was a condo? He gave me the tour before showing me to my room. He left me to settle in while he went to drop Pepper off at home. The bedroom I was given was right across from the bathroom, Happy mentioned having his own bathroom attached to the main bedroom. By the time Happy returned I had unpacked all my bathroom supplies and put them away.

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

Today was the first day at Stark Industries in California. Pepper gave me a tour around the building. Pepper nor I were expecting the impromptu lunch visit from a man in a metal suit. Tony brought us Italian and while he was there introduced me to his A.I. Jarvis. I was added into the system so if ever needed Jarvis would allow me to enter their home. Tony, while amazing to be in the room with, seemed to be hyped up on coffee. 

After work Happy drove Pepper home and then took me to the airport. The bridal side of the bridal court was getting their nails done in the morning, a dry run of their hair and makeup would be done after a quick lunch break, before the wedding rehearsal that night. With the late arrival of my plane and the timezones I’ll be changing I knew that at some point the jet lag would kick in.

The jet lag didn’t kick in until we were beginning the rehearsal. My center of balance was a bit off as I swayed slightly next to Lemar. My eyes were locked onto the stained glass window of Jesus. With the ever increasing drooping of my eyelids I started dozing off yet again. “Alright lets run it from the top!” Ma called the clapping of her hands and jerked my head into attention. 

Walking to the hallway I stood next to one of Olivia’s cousin’s who I was paired with. Lemar made a funny face with his tongue sticking out as he passed to stand with the maid of honor, she had snapped at me several times for dragging my feet since the rehearsal began. The music began, an arm looped through mine, and the procession practice began. My limbs were starting to feel heavy as I resisted the urge to yawn. I clung onto my partner’s arm as I felt my body suddenly lurch forward mid aisle as I tripped. 

“Ugh! Come on Alexandra, do we need to teach you how to walk again?” John comments from the alter. I shot him a glare as I stood up straighter. “I’m sorry, the jet lag is hitting and I’m exhausted!” I sneered, crossing my arms. My brother held his hands up, “Easy, peaches I’m just joking it’s okay. I’ve tripped a few times myself.”

I huffed but the scoff of the maid of honor behind me wasn’t helping the increased tension I was feeling build up inside me. John walked over and excused the guy walking with me and linked his arm with mine. He leaned over as the music began and we finished walking. “We only have five minutes left then you can go home to bed. Be up at ten tomorrow though. Okay?” My eyebrows scrunched together as I looked over at him as we parted ways at the end of the aisle. What was happening tomorrow?

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

“Peaches!” John hollered as he jumped onto the soft bed waking me from my peaceful slumber. Groaning, I shoved my brother away from me, unintentionally off the bed. The thump made me crawl over to peek at the man on the floor. “That was mean, Peach.” I laughed and pushed back my hair. 

“That’s what you get for waking me up.” I rolled over and stretched out like a starfish on the bed. John sat up leaning onto the bed next to my head. “I told you to be up at ten. It is now 10:45. Get. Up. Lazy. Bum.” John pokes my forehead in punctuation. Swatting his hand away I grabbed the pillow from under my head and whacked him with it. “Ey! That’s no way to treat someone taking you out for your birthday.”

“You’re taking me out for my birthday? Where?” John grabbed the pillow from me as he stood from the floor. Once he was at the door he tossed the pillow back. “That is for me to know and you to find out, once you get out of bed.” My brother left the room for me to get ready. I had no idea what to expect, it wasn’t often John did something overly special like this, at least not for me. 

No more than twenty minutes later I was in the passenger side of the truck with my brother driving to some unknown location. The radio was on some staticy country station. Wind was blowing in the window as John seemed to be taking more turns than necessary. “Do you remember your tenth birthday?” He asked, suddenly breaking the silence. 

“That was, that was the time you shoved my head into the cake.” The confusion on my face as I answered his question made him laugh. “Uh huh and do you remember how Mike got me back on my birthday with the water guns?” I simply nodded trying to understand where he was going with this. “Well I never got you back for that.” I gasped looking over at him. “Johnny..” I looked out the window as the truck came to a stop. We were at the park and I could see Lemar, Olivia, our parents, and a few of the other wedding court members. “John, I can't get my hair wet. The stylist took forever on my hair.”

“Oh there isn’t any water for you.” He smiles before getting out. I followed suit and hurried after my older brother the closer we got to the others the more it became clear that there was a dunk tank awaiting. John slipped off his shoes, handed his phones and the keys to Olivia before moving to sit in the dunk tank. 

“So I know having my wedding the same weekend as your birthday is a little crappy. I also know I’m not your favorite brother most of the time, but maybe if you weren’t such a pain.” Lemar handed me one of the softballs which didn’t stay in my hand long before it was launched at the target, dropping my brother into the water on the first try. John resurfaced sputtering water out of his face. “Oh it’s cold.” I laughed while picking up another ball. “That was fun, can we do it again?” A wide smile spread over my face as the tank was reset and John took a seat again. I tossed the ball in my hand a few times before throwing it at the target.

Lemar laughed next to me, slapping his knee. “Who knew our lil peach had such good aim?” John gave a fake laugh as he climbed out of the water. “Why don’t you get in the tank Hoskins?” Lemar slipped his shoes off and tossed his phone to me. I put the phone in my pocket and waited for the two to switch places. I looked over at Olivia who was smiling from her spot next to my parents. I looked over a moment too late as wet arms wrapped securely around me. John hugged me to his chest shaking his head to get me as wet as he could. “Johnny!” I squealed, pushing him away as he laughed. 

After I had dunked John, Lemar, and my dad each a dozen times, my brother went to change. When the blonde man returned he pulled me away from everyone and drove me back home. Pulling into the driveway he dragged me around the house and over towards the backyard. Set up in the backyard, under the tree that used to hold our treehouse as kids, was a picnic and projector pointing at the house. I laughed and looked at my brother. “You recreated my freshman homecoming?”

John shrugged, his hands halfway into his pockets. “Not really. If the treehouse was still there I would have moved all this in there and tried recreating our weekend campouts away from Mike.” My jaw dropped as I remembered the days when we would sleep for a night or two in the treehouse when Mike was being mean to his annoying younger siblings. We would eat cookies and lunchables as we read stories about Captain America and Amazing Grace.  John walked over to the blanket laid out but before he could sit I ran over and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Johnny.” 

John hugged me back. He pulled away and kneeled to pull a single cupcake out of the basket holding out food and drinks. “Happy Birthday, peach.”

☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰☰

The wonderful birthday night transitioned to a busy and beautiful day that ended with me gaining a sister-in-law. The service made me tear up, the reception left me exhausted, and I can happily report that Lemar did not once step on my foot unlike the guy who I was paired with for the service. Mike called in during the dinner to congratulate the happy couple, and sneaked in a congratulations to me for the move to California. The night ended all too early as I had to prepare for an early flight back to California.

It surprised me when John was the one awake in the morning to drive me to the airport. He hugged me tightly after unloading my bag from the truck. “Please be careful, peach. I know you are working closely with Pepper Potts now and that means Tony Stark. You could get hurt for that so just be safe, please.”

“Johnny, you are the one that needs to be safe. When you get deployed.. Be careful. Watch out for Lemar. Come home.”

“I will peach. I will.”

[justice4falum]

do NOT give money to tumblr user roboticwheelchair

Hi, so you’ve probably seen this post or some of its permutations on this website lately! (The old version of this post broke because I mistakenly deleted it. Let’s try this again, shall we?)

This is a “RAFFLE” for a Nintendo Switch Lite and the poster is asking people send them $10 to earn a spot in the raffle, of which there are 52. People have already sent money in.

This post was made by user roboticwheelchair and the name which currently displays on their paypal is “Mick Garcia” - it’s very possible you’ve heard their story already from several weeks ago. User roboticwheelchair claims that they were physically assaulted for being a transgender man, and that they sustained a concussion.

The BAD news is that roboticwheelchair is a blog which has been on tumblr for a very long time, and used to belong to someone named Falum Gibson. You may have heard this name from their #justice4falum campaign ages ago. They are a notorious scammer and has been doing this since 2016. LET’S REVIEW (LONG, LONG, LONG POST AHEAD.)

Part 1: #BieberMeetFalum and Meeting Ed Sheeran

In 2016, Falum ran a Justin Bieber fan account on Twitter called @bieberfreezer (account has since been suspended). They began a campaign called #BieberMeetFalum by posting a Twitter thread about their disability, cerebral palsy, and how they had intended to meet Justin Bieber personally because his music was important to them. However, the venue he was performing at was not wheelchair accessible and Falum uses an electric wheelchair. They were trying to get the attention of him or his team in order to ensure they met. (LINK)

This was a reasonable thing to post about! Accessibility is a necessity. We know this. And they weren’t asking for money. Twitter got this the attention it needed and they were able to meet Bieber despite the trouble. (LINK)

Later on, they gunned to meet Ed Sheeran and succeeded.

Part 2: #TaylorNoticeFalum

In 2018, Falum was on Tumblr as user taylorsgetawaycarxo. At this point they still say they have cerebral palsy, but has also said they have COPD (something they later will drop.) Claiming that they are terminally ill and has 2 years left to live, they talk about how Taylor Swift is their idol and they want to meet her before they die.

This came right after they had done the same thing with Demi Lovato fans, claiming they idolised Demi and needed to meet her, so on and so forth. They ran a GoFundMe for this. 

The GoFundMe is now defunct, but the URL was “falumlastwish” I believe. Here’s where the plot gets a little lost, because the sheer number of different GoFundMes, donation posts, and meet-a-celebrity campaigns that Falum was running in these couple of years is... pretty wild. There’s a post from another blog here on Tumblr about the Taylor Swift fandom’s run-in with them. (LINK) 

Here’s a GoFundMe they ran from a music fan account on Instagram, where they were asking for help escaping homelessness. They raised almost 5,000 dollars out of the 10,000 they were asking. (LINK)

At some point they also ran a GoFundMe for a PTSD service dog. I’m not sure how much they were asking for this one, but they apparently made $880 off of it. 

Part 3: Ellie Elizabeth

This part is a little muddled, because the tumblr blog connected to it has been deleted and it’s really difficult to find archives of the posts, but at some point in early 2019 Falum started using the blog ellie-elizabeth21 to ask for money as well. The story was that they were being sent to conversion therapy for being bisexual by their father, who had them deemed legally mentally incompetent. Further stories they posted about were potential evictions, needs for grocery money, etc.

Here’s a link to an imgur album of some of the posts this account made. Many of them achieved their goal of over $200 or more. (LINK)

“Ellie” also ran a GoFundMe to escape conversion therapy. Although the person running the campaign was listed as Ellie Elizabeth, the “beneficiary” listed on the campaign is Falum Gibson, proving that Ellie was another pseudonym - just a better hidden one. Here’s the link to that GoFundMe, where you can see it for yourself. (LINK)

This was Ellie Elizabeth’s PayPal account at the time, I believe? And anyway, you might note that they apparently made nearly $6,500 on this account.

Part 4: #Justice4Falum

Now in November of 2019, Falum moved away from the world of Fan Internet and decided to try out something new. They made the blog roboticwheelchair in September of 2019 and reblogged a photoset of cats to it, which for a while was the only thing on the blog besides the donation post they initially made. They’ve gone through a cycle of reblogging and deleting things there, basically clearing out the blog every couple of weeks to make a new post.

At this point they were also @falumgibson on Twitter. The account has since been locked. This is when they posted a GoFundMe describing medical abuse they were allegedly undergoing at the Ottawa Hospital. Weird side note, this GoFundMe is still running and can be donated to, though obviously I’m recommending you don’t do so. (LINK)

They made several donation posts on Tumblr about this campaign, frequently linking it or their PayPal account and asking people to donate. Sometimes it was to go directly to their legal fund for this lawsuit, other times they were asking for money for medications or other immediate costs.

Side note, they had claimed to be in the hospital since August of 2019 due to suicidal ideation and claimed they had been psych warded. From what I can tell, the Ottawa Hospital General Campus they claimed to be hospitalised at does not actually have a psychiatric ward. It has a mental health team, but they appear to do outpatient work. It’s not really clear what they were in the hospital for at this point.

#Justice4Falum was originally about fundraising for a place to live because apparently they were in danger of being forced to leave the hospital due to homelessness. Later on they turned it into a legal fund to sue the hospital for mistreatment.

Part 5: Further Fundraising, Coming Out As Trans

While Falum was in the hospital, they started identifying as nonbinary. I’m not in any position to speculate about whether or not Falum is transgender, because that’s honestly not the point. Either way, they have started using their trans identity in much the way they use their disabilities - as a way to garner sympathy and trust, and to scam people out of money.

On their Twitter at this point, they did seem to have kind of a bizarre interpretation of how transition worked and appeared to be under the impression that the first thing trans men do is get top surgery? (LINK)

Shortly after this, still during the November that #Justice4Falum ran during, they began asking for donations to a different PayPal account than their normal one, because their stepdad was dying of cancer. There was a GoFundMe for this as well, but it appeared to feature their parents and was possibly not created by Falum.

No date on this tweet unfortunately, but right after that, they made a post about how they had been outed to their transphobic father and needed to escape living with him.

At this point, Falum has added several diagnoses to those they claim to have. In addition to cerebral palsy, they now claim to have multiple sclerosis and several mental illnesses. No more COPD, though! I’m very impressed that they recovered from a terminal illness!

Now that they’re out of the closet, in early December they begin making donation posts on Tumblr again and have now made a Patreon. (LINK: POST) (LINK: PATREON) Soon after this, they apparently left their home and became homeless, and started posting about this on Twitter and linking their PayPal.

In late December they posted on Twitter about having attempted suicide by taking 75 extra strength Tylenol. Warning for a photograph of their IV in this link. (LINK)

Not very long after, Falum returned to their narrative of being terminally ill by posting about how their multiple sclerosis (something they have only claimed since 2019, I believe) causes them over 20 seizures a day and will eventually kill them. (LINK)

Then they locked their Twitter account and decided to try something new.

Part 6: Connor Kay, “anontransman”

Enter Connor Kay. At this point Falum makes a new Twitter account called @ConnorIsTrans which eventually morphs into @anontransman. They initially link this account to their old main account, saying that they’ve switched in order to be openly trans on their new account because their transphobic father is stalking them. (LINK)

They continue asking for donations on Twitter, now with a Ko-Fi account called Connor Rocks.

They also post a story about an ex-friend of theirs spitting on them for being trans, apparently, and say they’re calling the police on her, which really doesn’t seem like something that’d be safe for a disabled trans person to do but whatever. (LINK)

On their blog at roboticwheelchair, they post stories about how they are being assaulted and mocked for being transgender. I should note that on Twitter they’ve said they are not out IRL and have not taken steps to transition.

Not only does this particular story sound kind of like the “down with cis bus” post, it’s also somewhat suspect that they allege they were called a tr*nny as an AFAB trans person, given who is generally targeted by that word. But. Moving on.

When the COVID-19 pandemic came around, Connor created a Facebook group for disability support. This was run by the Facebook account Connor Kay, which has since been deleted. It was the same account that they used to have and they’d not changed anything except for the name; prior posts showed it was Falum Gibson’s account.

It turns out they deleted this Facebook account because someone on Facebook posted about their years-long history of scamming people online. Here’s a link to an imgur album of some of the Facebook callout and the images the OP posted. (LINK)

So Falum, or Connor, decides to start anew with an all new PayPal, Ko-Fi, Patreon and Twitter account. At this point they begin to break away from linking these accounts to the name Falum Gibson and their past donation posts, although they are still using the same Tumblr blog. They change their Twitter handle to @anontransman and remove links to Falum. (TWITTER SCREENCAP) (KO-FI SCREENCAP) (PATREON SCREENCAP)

Then they tweet about how they have been diagnosed with cancer. (LINK) Then they begin asking for $100k to go to the US for treatment. (LINK)

Soon after, this Tweet has been completely deleted and they have instead started asking for money for top surgery. (LINK) I believe this is in reverse chronological order, but here are a week’s worth of tweets from them - all deleted at random times in order to make room for the others - asking for money for various reasons. Yes, this was all literally within the same week. (LINK)

Note the very last image of that album contains a reference to an “Amazon Raffle” - they were basically telling people that donations would win them a spot in a raffle for an Amazon gift card or something? It seems they moved on from the @anontransman account before the raffle could come to fruition, or possibly that they just deleted all references to it. Not sure.

In April of 2020, roboticwheelchair posted a specific donation post about being attacked for being transgender and sustaining a concussion. They said they did not see a doctor after the assault because they didn’t think it was important, so their concussion went untreated and because of it they were unable to get groceries. The donation post linked to Connor Kay’s PayPal account. It was deleted and reposted several different times, with basically the same text.

Part 7: Mick Garcia

This is a more recent post with the exact same story, now about their multiple sclerosis medication. The only difference is now that the PayPal link sends you to the PayPal of Mick Garcia. Mick Garcia has a different PayPal username than Falum, Ellie, and Connor did.

On April 12th, the @anontransman account deactivated after Falum, or Ellie, or Connor, or Mick decided to leave Twitter. Then yesterday on April 19th, it reactivated and they tweeted once again.

However, around this same time, another Twitter account under the name Mick Garcia with an icon @anontransman used to use and a very similar tone/style cropped up.

The Mick Garcia account has not tweeted yet, as it appears that they may be staying with @anontransman for their current purposes, but it appears that for some reason or another they’ve decided to start going by Mick Garcia now.

I guess it’s probably relevant to note that while I suppose there are probably some white people out there with the last name Garcia, Falum is really seriously white and it’s suspect they would pick out Garcia as a pseudonym, whether they list “white” in their Twitter bio or not.

More from the current state of the roboticwheelchair blog includes many, many posts where they’re either reposting their own petitions or basically grabbing for as many followers as possible. You can probably guess why. (LINK)

As of April 20th, 2020, there are 2 donation posts still standing on their blog. Here are both of them. (LINK)

Finally, The Switch Raffle

Literally today, April 20th, roboticwheelchair posted something that is allegedly a raffle. They claim to be giving away a Nintendo Switch Lite to a lucky winner. There are 52 slots in the raffle; they are asking that people send them $10 over PayPal in order to enter. They’re also claiming this is to further fundraise for their medication.

They are claiming their doctor has put them on an MS medication that costs $450 every two weeks. (Note that if they’re trying to make money for that right now and also going to buy a Switch for the winner, than they’d only have about half of that at the end? The Switch Lite is about $260 in Canada and their total earnings from a full raffle would be $520.)

You should not give money to them for this raffle, or for any reason. The reason I’m compiling all of this is because after months of seeing them pull this scam over and over again, they’re now promising people an actual product that given their history, I would say they are highly unlikely to deliver.

Given their past, it is most likely they will delete this raffle once they have the money they want, and refuse to allude to it ever again. Or maybe they’ll just disappear! Or hell, maybe they’ll have some kind of nebulous problem ordering the Switch when someone wins, and that’ll be that.

But it’s clear based on this history, I hope, that Falum or Ellie or Connor or Mick has a long history of taking lots and lots of money from strangers online. Like, a lot of money. My estimate is that they’ve made over $15k on this, and that’s exclusively based off of the visible numbers on their GoFundMes and Ko-Fi accounts.

Please do not give this person your money. They are not trustworthy. There are other people who need it - like you, or maybe like, someone you personally know and not some complete stranger who keeps telling people they’re terminally ill so they can meet a cool musician.

Disclaimer

I’ve compiled all of this information to the best of my ability, but I am just one person and it took a lot of digging due to the deleted accounts involved.

Falum is actually disabled; I believe they do have cerebral palsy and may have other disabilities. I do not know if they really have MS, but it’s hard to trust them because they previously lied about having terminal COPD.

I have no idea if Falum is really transgender or not. They have apparently taken no concrete steps to transition, which I know means very little. That being said, if they are transgender, they are leveraging their identity in dangerous ways against other people for money and sympathy. Their stories about being assaulted by strangers for being transgender are highly suspect, given their lack of transition and the fact that the scenarios they describe are highly cliche.

Finally, I’m not trying to harass Falum or threaten them in any way. I don’t know them. If they’re interested in talking candidly about what they have been doing all these years and why, that’s fine. I would honestly love to understand, but at this point it seems like the only thing they can do is apologise for their dishonesty and stop doing this.

Reblog this post if you want! The point is to get the word out there, because this person has been a pervasive presence on this website for some time and has not yet been called out.