#mckenna writes

[tubborucho]

With the reveal that Raegan Revord (played Missy Cooper in Young Sheldon) is a twitch streamer that is friends with a lot of other streamers including the Brighton group, we are one step closer to having a Dream SMP movie adaptation where McKenna Grace (played Paige in Young Sheldon) would play Tommyinnit

[send-me-a-puffalope]

just watched the new ghostbusters movie with my friend and truly, awkward teenage lesbians will both end and save the world.

[askyea-poesy]

She overthinks and feels everything deeply. That's her superpower and her burden. Be assured if you ever fall in love with a girl like her, she will love you with every fiber of her being, and you will never have to doubt the depth of her love for you. She dives full into the deep end or doesn't even touch the water.

Michele McKenna

[remembertheplunge]

I'm 60! How fucking odd

12/1/2015

Enjoyed Stockton. Wrote in Espresso’s Coffee House on Pacific Ave,. Read my new “age 40 pre World War Two” book. Age 40 was the entry to old age then. (Pre 1941). 

Per Terrance McKenna, at age 50, his Doctor told him, that  people his age in the 19th Century (1800-1899) were dead. I googled it. Age 49 and a few months was the average age of death in 1900.

I think 60 is the magic transition point.

40 is too much like 30. Kinda shallow. 50 is a bitch. I mean, the 50’s.

60 equals resolution.

I’v lived long enough to know.

12/5/2015

I hit the Mid Night Sun where I read at the bar about GrAY’s…of which I am one: Senior Gays over age 60.

This morning, here where I write at night in my bedroom, I thought “God, I’m 60! really? How fucking odd!"

End of entry

Notes 1/11/2025

I wrote the above blog when I was about 5 months into age 60. Now, I'm about 5 months from age 70. And, 60 seems young! And, I feel young! I'm looking forward to my 70's. I think it will be an expansive plain. The 60s have been a wild ride that deepened and broadened my soul. What dies now in the 40's and 50s is the assumptions of "of course" and of "I deserve". The being is freed and the body can bloom.

Terence McKenna, who died in 2000, was an author, lecturer and a mystic who "advocated for the responsible use of naturally occurring psychedelic plants". per Wikipedia. I've listened to some of his You Tube talks. He's a kick! Well with a try.

Please see photo of Empress's Cafe in the following blog.

[brokentvs]

Who wants an AU where Phoebe is trying to cling onto the memory of Melody but can’t because when she took her soul out of her body she quite literally lost a piece of herself??

[thornsinmycrown]

PRAYING HANDS

YANDERE!PATRICK MCKENNA x READER

warnings: [ MDNI +18 ] religious themes, yandere themes, stalking, obsession, constantly fantasizing about kidnapping (father mckenna). word count: 639

summary: you're in his mind, day and night, like a holy prayer.

Every day, he watches you pray from afar, how you come and go seldomly like the tiny flowers that grow outside the window of his room on spring, floating around the cathedral the same way the wind carries a lonely dry leaf that falls from a tree, he can't help but stutter a bit every time he looks your way when giving the sermon.

He can't decipher your glances, yours seem magnetic to him, like a deer's peering his lashes tenderly to tempt him, and the temperature of the room changes to a cozy hell whenever you close your eyes and fold your hands in front of you to pray, they look delicate — oh so soft.

Everything of you looks so soft for him to grasp, from the shiny threads that form your hair and frame your face, to the texture of your skin shimmering with the painted glass of the windows, the gracefulness in which your lips move to mumble the morning prayers and how your hands trace across your body the holy cross, he swears he can see the halo in your head once you walk in, but then why —oh God, why?— does he feel that churning inside when he sees you?

If your angelic presence's holiness is not questioned, why does he feel like he is comforted by the vision of the sweetest of all angels in hell?

Are his eyes sinning every time they admire you? Is it unholy to hold his breath when he passes so tortuously behind you through the aisles when the church closes its doors? Why are his thoughts so insistent on betraying his faith?

He can't find his resolve any sooner.

You're a God's creature and he is a servant of God, isn't it his duty to unconditionally love his every creation?

He knows he is in the wrong longing everything of you, he is aware he shouldn't be so eager to send all to the damn just to meet a caress in his cheek of the softness of your praying hands, within his soul he knows these are not God trials, these are the Devil's work to lure him. He knew well Satan was once an angel and so were you — then why couldn't he deny you?

You weren't more than a human, but that didn't make you any less than an enchantress. He imagines you in inappropriate scenarios, eyes rolled back and knuckles turning white, writhing and yearning, flesh to flesh flushed hellfire red late at night. He was never a romantic, and would never be, nevertheless, would whisper all of this nonsense like a chant into the void of his room make you come to him?

Patrick is not dumb, he can see the clear confusion in your face, your sweet features wonder what invade his mind while looking at you, and he wishes you could understand he only wants the best for you, that the pureness of his intentions should not be questioned — and how much he wants to keep you.

He grows white roses in his room, thinking they would give a bit of life to it, making it more appealing for you, he even got blankets with the colorful tones of the clothes he has seen you wear to make it seem comfortable. He hopes you like them so you can stay with him, Patrick dreams of the day when you can finally become a part of him, when you'll arrive to stay at his humble whereabouts and stay forever, he wouldn't mind if you want to or not, he would be glad to make you stay.

He prays with you in mind, prays and prays for God to let him see you again with desperation, on his knees in his praying sessions begging to his holy father to give you to him.

Author's note: I was watching angels & demons the other day and remembered Father McKenna exists so, this is a bit more of a drabble than anything else, I don't think I will do a follow-up of it unless it is well received or I get more inspiration to do another different reader.

[thepursuitofunderstanding]

If you're a true believer; if you have some pre-packaged philosophy then you're going to miss a great deal because you're pre-programmed to ignore what doesn't fit into your model. And it doesn't matter what your model is.

Terrence McKenna

[victoriously-wicked]

THE ROUTINE - Emma Swan oneshot

(1043 words)

____________________________________________

SUMMARY : She had it figured out by the time she was five. Phase one, sit and wait at the group home. Phase two, get picked out to live with whichever random couple that had deemed her 'good enough' this time. Phase three, get sent back mere weeks later for being ‘too difficult to handle’. And then the cycle started over again.

____________________________________________

Emma Swan was used to the routine by now. She had it figured out by the time she was five.

Phase one, sit and wait at the group home.

Phase two, get picked out to live with whichever random couple that had deemed her good enough this time.

Phase three, get sent back mere weeks later for being ‘too difficult to handle’.

And then the cycle started over again.

The foster process itself had never been kind to Emma, from the very moment she was placed into the flawed system as a days-old baby after being abandoned on the side of a freeway, she was in for a rough life. The kids at the group homes were bullies, and every foster family she had would never keep her for long. She had stopped taking note of how many roofs she’d lived under at four years old, when she had reached family number fifteen- the Cranes.

Emma remembered them, she would never be able to forget the young couple who, for almost an entire year, gave her the home she had been longing for. The Cranes had been kind to her, unlike many of Emma’s other foster parents. The worst ones had been family number seven- the Bakers. Number twelve- the Valentines, they came a close second. And though it had been a long time since she’d shared a house with either of those dreadful families, their imprints on her still remained. After her stay at the Bakers, the little girl was afraid of taking baths. Or more specifically, she hated water. Following her return from the Valentine household, she had developed a newfound tendency of making sure no door was ever locked when she was in a room.

Her experience with the Cranes was never like those homes. They would have dinner together every night at 6pm, they would ask how her day was at school, they would hug her when she was sad, scared, when they were proud of her, or just because it was a random Tuesday. Their little family couldn’t be more perfect. That was, until the day that Damian - Mr Crane - was suddenly let go from his job.

‘Budget cuts,’ he had told Emma when she’d asked why he had been fired, though the four year old hadn’t the faintest idea what he’d meant by that. She hadn’t questioned it further; Damian’s offer to go out for ice cream that evening eliminated all queries in her head regarding his job, and new thoughts of a double scoop rocky road cone had swiftly replaced them.

The measly allowance the Cranes had received weekly from the state was barely enough to afford decent meals for Emma, therefore the couple had relied solely on Damian’s income to not only provide for themselves, but to also care properly for their foster daughter. After Damian had been fired, Hannah - Mrs Crane - picked up a part-time job in a library, but those wages were not enough on their own. Still, Emma didn’t notice. She would be too preoccupied with excitement over seeing the new book Hannah would check out from work every few days for them to read together before bedtime.

Her all-time favourite story that Hannah had brought home to her once was Snow White. But, unlike that tale, Emma’s life from there on out was the furthest thing from a happily ever after. The Crane’s income had been drying out, so there was only one option left.

They didn’t want to do it, they really didn’t. But they had no choice other than to send her back, no longer having enough to take care of their little girl in the way they knew she deserved. It wasn’t a decision they made lightly in the slightest, but that hadn’t mattered to Emma. All she had been able to comprehend was that she had actually allowed herself to give in to the contentment she’d begun to feel during her time spent with the couple. She had convinced herself for once that she’d found her forever home, only for it to have now been ripped away from her without warning- quite literally.

The social worker had to physically pry her from a distraught Hannah and a stoic, emotionless Damian, both of whom were holding onto her just as tightly, reciprocating the embrace with all their strength. Hannah had also been whispering to her, muttering every apology under the sun, as though that would solve everything.

‘Please forgive us, baby girl. We swear, this isn’t your fault,’ was the most repeated phrase Emma could remember Hannah gasping out between cries that day. The rest all sort of melded into one whenever she thought back on them. Not that any of those promises or apologies helped anyway, because the only thing it solidified to Emma was that the couple had deliberately chosen to send her back. And the little girl had no idea what she could’ve done to make them hate her so much, she’d been so good.

In hindsight, she didn’t know why she was surprised. The family always sends her back. It’s the routine. With the Cranes it just… took a little longer than usual for phase three to take effect, that’s all.

Two months after moving back to the group home after the Cranes, Emma turned five. At that point she had figured out the routine. It made her time with the next foster families less painful to endure when they inevitably decided to dump her back in the group home. She couldn’t be hurt by what she already knew was coming, she’d tell herself.

She knew it was a lie.

After the Cranes, Emma lived with twelve more families over the span of the next two years. And each had sent her back quicker than the last. With the way her life had been turning out so far, the seven year old blonde would sarcastically muse to herself that somehow, she must be cursed. With her track record, luck was never on her side, after all.

She would wait.

She would get picked.

She would return.

But more than anything, she would cry herself to sleep every night, wishing for a family. For somebody to love her. For somebody who wouldn’t give her away.

____________________________________________

[shrimptacodaniels]

all i know is you make sense (pt. 5)

HOLY MOLY LAST PART!! it’s been such a delight to write these characters (get ready for so much more of them forever now.)

HUGE MASSIVE SHOUTOUT TO THE FOLKS ON THE DISCORD. Y’all are so precious <3

—————

“You’ll behave yourselves?” 

Katrina scoffs incredulously at her girlfriend. “Yes, Mom-“

“Ugh, weird, don’t call me Mom-“

“But I can call you Mommy?” 

“Dude.” Josh swats at her in half-playful disgust. “I’m right here.” 

“Oh sorry Joshua,” Katrina coos, patting his cheek. “You’d rather me call you Mommy?” 

Janice and Josh exchange a look. 

Yup. Their girl is an odd duck. 

“You’re gross,” he snickers, pushing her hand away. “And leave Janice alone.” 

“Thank you, Joshua.”

“Lots of love for the legal name today, hm?” 

Janice shrugs, smiling easily, then turns back to Katrina, cupping her face with both hands. 

“Seriously, babe. Don’t do anything dumb when I’m gone, m’kay?” She squishes Kat’s cheeks a bit. “Because I won’t be there to film it.” 

Katrina narrows her eyes like she’s been challenged. “Josh has a phone.” 

“Josh’ll be busy doing the same thing you’re doing.” 

“Hypothetically,” Josh interjects. “Because we’re not actually gonna do anything dumb.” 

“Because we’re mature adults,” Katrina concludes. The confident smile on her squished face isn’t helping their case in the slightest. 

Janice lets go of her. “I’ll miss you, dovie. And I’m teasing. Mostly.” She eyes the pair warily. 

“Babe,” now Katrina’s the one with a hand to Janice’s face. “Nothing to worry about. You and Rachel are going to enjoy your time and Josh and I will enjoy ours a responsible amount, and we’ll see you on Sunday night with tons of wholesome domestic anecdotes.” She kisses Janice softly. “Count on it.” 

“Oh I will,” Janice teases. But she’s a little pink from the kiss, still, so any ferocity she could attempt in this moment would be futile. She settles on turning to Josh. 

“You sure you’re okay with me stealing your girlfriend?” 

He raises an eyebrow back. “Hey, I’m stealing yours.” 

“Which is an unfair advantage,” Janice huffs in mock-outrage. “You’ve got much more thieving experience than I do.” 

“Something for you and Rach to try this weekend,” he supplies. Really, they’d be pretty awful at a heist - Rachel’s too neurotic and Janice too loud. 

But then again, both were full of surprises. 

“Ha! Right.” Rachel’s car has just pulled up beside her. “I’ll leave that to you two.

Not-“ she adds, because Katrina looks like she’s about to cheer, “this weekend. But generally.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Katrina presses one more kiss to her cheek. “Now go have fun! Text me when you get to the AirBnB.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Janice salutes her before slipping into the passenger seat of Rachel’s Toyota Camry. 

“Hey baby!” She waves sunnily at Josh through Janice’s open door. Josh grins. His girlfriend is adorable. 

“Hi sweetheart.” He pats the hood of the car. “Be safe on the road.” 

“Will do. Don’t do anything dumb while I’m gone.”

“Who do you take me for?” 

He gets a blank expression in response. 

“These girls, I tell ya Josh.” Kat bumps her hip against his. “Worrywarts, the both of them.” 

“Hey!” 

“She’s right,” Josh counters. “Now go! Before you psych yourselves out!” 

“Okay! Okay! Bye! Love you both!”

“Love you! Bye!” they chorus, waving to the car until it’s out of sight. 

“And…all clear,” Josh says smugly. “You ready?” 

“Born ready.” Katrina slips him an earpiece. “You ready?” 

“Born ready.” 

“Hell yeah.”

“Alright, phase one…”

Friday, February 7

20:30

[3502 Sparrow St. Apt. #212] 

Residence of Joshua Hahn

Katrina sighs dreamily from the desk behind his. “I love diagrams.” 

“Nerd,” Josh shoots back. 

“Yeah, yeah.” She swivels her chair to read over his shoulder. “How’s it going over here?” 

“Smooth sailing.” Josh moves over so they can look at the camera footage together. Doors are being locked, the parking lot’s emptying…yeah. Looks like a good night for a heist. 

Katrina whistles, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Didn’t know you were a legit hacker, kid.” 

“I dabble.” 

“Don’t be modest.” She squeezes his shoulder. “Maps are ready to go, point of entry’s secure. And we’re nabbing-“ 

“The fish,” Josh finishes for her. 

“Perfect.”

“You know, I’ve never understood why that portrait is a fish.” 

“Really? We spent a whole week on Mountport history in high school,” Katrina’s gone into Fun Fact mode. Josh loves her for it. “The town founder? Super weird guy. He was big on giving people outlandish commissions and seeing how it all shook out. Hence, fish founder.” 

“Bet he was fun at parties.” 

“Yeah, actually! He was somewhat of a gamesmith, always setting up little puzzles with hidden premises. Hosted lots of people.” 

“He would’ve loved us.”

“Agreed. So really we’re honoring him by being outlandish.”

“Precisely.” Josh leans back, stretching his arms over his head. “Phase two?” 

“Let’s get ‘er done.” 

Friday, February 7

22:56

[Mountport Museum of Art]

“It’s ‘55.” 

Katrina slowly boosts the passenger seat up to its original position. Josh can’t help but laugh a bit. 

“You look you’ve just been resurrected.” 

“That’s sacrilegious. I think.” 

“Sorry Jesus.” 

“I think he forgives you.” 

“Okay good. Now let’s go commit a crime for fun.” 

Karina chuckles. “Right on.” 

They open the car doors and creep over to the museum in tandem. 

Josh looks over at her. “Been too long, huh?” 

“I was just thinking that,” she whispers back fondly. “Feels good to be back.” 

“Damn right it does.” 

The hatch on the roof is easy enough to find once they’ve scaled the side of the building. 

“Diagrams,” Katrina sings, catching Josh in the ribs with her elbow. 

“You’re something else.” 

“Uh-huh. Brilliant.” 

Josh hums in agreement. “And humble.” 

“Humble doesn’t get you anywhere,” she teases. 

“Wow, what would Jesus say?” 

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“Sorry.” He’s truly not. 

“No you’re not,” but there’s no malice behind her words. “Talk proximity to me - how close do we have to get you to disable the cameras?” 

“I can work from here, because I’m not disabling them,” Josh replies. And he lets himself be proud for a moment - this was his part in it all, and it’s honestly? A stroke of genius. 

“I figured out how to loop the footage. Make it look like nothing’s been disturbed.” 

“Dude.” Katrina’s so proud of him. “That’s sick as hell.” 

“Hey thanks,” Josh replies. He flips out his phone. “On my mark.” 

Katrina fishes out her lock picks and kneels beside the hatch. “Standing by, boss.” 

It’s 11:00. A tap of a button, and the footage will repeat every hour, changing time stamp accordingly. 

“Now.” 

Click. With a slight screech, Katrina’s pried open the hatch. 

Seamless. 

They pull on their gloves and drop down to the second level of the museum. The historical exhibit. 

“I gotta say it,” Katrina says. “We’re on fire.” 

Friday, February 7

23:15

[Mountport Museum of Art] 

They’ve got the portrait off the wall when it all goes awry. Something’s off. Kat bites her lip in nervous concentration, inhaling deeply. Then, her face goes slack. 

“Does it smell like smoke to you?” she whispers. 

Woosh. 

The crackle of flame is rapidly growing louder, a distant hallway getting brighter. 

“Kat.” Josh pats her arm urgently. “That part wasn’t us.” 

“Yeah, no,” her breath hitches, “arson was not on the list.” 

“What do we do?”

“Probably run. I think run is the right choice.” 

And they run like their lives depend on it. Kat’s still carrying the portrait of the humanoid fish with both hands, hobbling because of its weight. 

“Do you need help?” Josh whisper-yells over his shoulder. 

“No,” Katrina gasps, “just focus on getting out before-“ 

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. 

“Shit.” 

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. 

“KAT!!” Josh is sprinting now. “SPRINKLERS.” 

“GO!” She wrestles the car keys out of her pocket. “Start the car, get to the park, call 9-1-1. I’m gonna figure this part out.” 

Josh, in a feat of miraculous athleticism, catches the keys first try. The doors are so close. Almost there. He pushes one open with his full, desperate force of his shoulder, jumping over the railing. And sticks the landing. 

“Nice going,” he congratulates himself. 

But he doesn’t remember where they parked. 

Oops?

“Not nice going.” He sucks a breath in through his teeth. Weaving through the near-empty parking lot, he keeps an eye out for his Corolla. He’s just passed what he assumes is the Janitor’s blue Ford when-

“Score.” He opts to pick the lock rather than unlock the car with his keys. Make as little noise as possible while fleeing the scene. “Which isn’t even fair,” he mutters to himself, starting the car. “We’re not the irresponsible ones in this situation.”

He ambles his way through the parking lot with no headlights, switching them on as soon as he’s far enough. The park’s about three minutes away. May as well make the call now. He stops the car and pulls out his burner phone, rolling his window down so the alarm can be heard in the background. 

“911, what’s your emergency?” 

“Oh, yes, hello?” Josh switches on his raspy old man voice. “This is-this is Jerry the Janitor. I was just doin’ my job and then I started smellin’ smoke and now the museum’s on fire. Can you send someone over? I-“ he wheezes a cough, “I gotta get outta here.” 

“The Art Museum, sir?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“We’ll have responders right over. Be sure to get on out of there, Jerry.” There’s a concerned lilt to her voice. “How are you feeling?” 

“Just fine, dear. Spooked, is all-“ he forces a rumbly laugh. “I’m gonna get myself home.”

“Sir, are you sure? We should escort-“ 

“Positive, thank you!” 

Beep. 

Thank God Jerry’s so weird. That wouldn’t be believable otherwise. He turns left. Taps his earpiece.

“K, you copy?” 

“Hey, kid.” Her voice crackles to life in his ear. “What’s your status?” 

“Call’s been made, headed to the park now. Used my burner. Told ‘em it was Jerry.” 

She cheers. “Joshua Hahn, you beautiful man. Okay, incredible.” Labored breathing takes over his audio feed for a beat. “I’ll meet you at the park?” 

“You sure you want to run that far? I can pull over.” 

“Okay, yeah. Better plan. Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it. I’m in the gas station lot off Birch and Claremont.” 

“Perfection. Be right there.” 

And what do you know? She’s tapping on the window in minutes. Josh unlocks the doors for her to get in. 

“We’re gonna have to fold your seats down in the back,” she whispers. “This thing’s huge.” 

“Excellent call.” 

Three minutes later, they’re on a joyride with the immortalized, abstract portrait of town founder Samuel Reich. Barreling through the empty streets of Mountport like the Three Musketeers…ish. 

Yeah. Life is good. 

“Where to?” 

“I don’t know.” Katrina considers it for a moment. “The whole point of the heist was to prove we could do it. And we did it-“ 

“Crushed it-“ 

“Yeah.” They fist bump. 

“But we can’t keep it,” Katrina continues. 

“That makes us thieves for real.” 

“Right. But misplacing it-“ 

“-is funny.” 

Katrina shoots him a grin. “Gosh, I love you.” 

“Love you too, man.” 

It feels right to pause for a second. To not cheapen this moment. Then, Josh pipes up: 

“It should be right under their noses.” 

“In a place that doesn’t necessarily incriminate anyone.” 

“Yeah.”

They sit in comfortable silence. Until, brilliantly, inspiration strikes. “You know what would cause the most intrigue?” 

She doesn’t know what he’s going to say. She does know it’ll be brilliant. 

“Talk to me.” 

Saturday, February 8

00:05

[Mountport Fire Station]

“I’ll drive the car around, you get in and get out.” 

Katrina grins at him. “Airport pick-up style.” She hoists the portrait up to hold it securely. “I’ll be quick.” 

“Counting on it.” 

“Earpiece?”

“In. We’re set.” 

“Gorgeous.” She skirts in front of the the car. “See you in a sec!” 

And she’s running, all long strides and quiet steps. Josh is diligent about not looking at his phone after he loops the station’s security footage. His location is off, but still. He settles instead to look at the stars through his windshield. They’re stunning tonight. The sky is clear and Mountport’s exceptionally good at reducing light pollution. 

Life is good. 

“Joshua Azriel Hahn, come in.” Katrina’s voice booms in his ear. 

“Yikes, middle name too,” he replies. “All good?” 

“All perfect,” Katrina chirps sunnily. “Sammy Boy looks so gorgeous behind their toilet. Just thought you should know.” 

Josh laughs. “Did you mount it?” 

“Yup.” She pops the p. “Took down the piece hanging there already. Got lucky with the nail placements! Same proportions.” 

“So glad to know our First Responders are tasteful decorators.”

“Hard agree,” he can hear the smile in her voice. “Alright, let’s get out of here.” 

“Roger that. Pulling around front.” 

“10-4.” The feed goes silent. 

Josh unlocks the car doors once he’s settled in front of the station. Katrina rushes out of the building, ever-determined. He can’t see her well in the darkness, but he can tell her face lights up when she registers he’s there. 

“It has been done,” she says dramatically, shutting the door. She squeezes his arm. 

“Anyone in there?” 

“Miraculously no.” She does a little dance. “Because we’re too slick and too fast.” 

“You’re so right,” he responds, shifting the car into drive. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” 

And they’re off.

Saturday, February 8

01:25 

[4813 Pintail Rd. Apt. #122] 

Residence of Katrina Faulkner 

Katrina heaves a relieved sigh. “Dude. We did it.” 

They’re collapsed on the little balcony connected to her apartment. The stars are winking at them. An army of brilliance - all in on the joke. 

“We did it,” Josh echoes contentedly. “Who would’ve thought?” 

Katrina shifts closer to him, lying flat on her back so that her head rests against his. He laces their fingers together. 

“Like, seriously though,” he continues. “If you told me a year ago that this would be my life, I wouldn’t believe you.” 

Katrina squeezes his hand. “Me neither.” 

“Isn’t that cool? How much can change in a year?” 

“Feels like cause for celebration.” 

Josh turns to look at her. “It does, doesn’t it?” 

“We should get tattoos.” It’s almost a joke, but the longer they let the idea fill the silence-

“That’s actually a great idea.” Josh is up now, pulling out his phone. “I wonder if anyone takes walk-ins.” 

Katrina’s up too, already texting someone. “I know a guy.” 

—

So they get very little sleep and wind up at a tattoo shop at 11 am sharp. The guy who takes them back marvels at how much Kat looks like her sister. She’s noncommittal, but it’s more out of anticipation than anything. 

They settle on getting a feather. Josh gets his behind his left ear, Katrina behind her right. But the coolest part, arguably, is that they designed each other’s. 

“I’m having a piece of your artwork on my head literally forever,” Katrina warns him as they switch places on the workbench. Her words are muffled as she lies face down, moving her hair to the side. “Make it good.” 

“What if it was atrocious-“ 

“Joshua.” 

He hands his sheet of paper to the tattoo artist. 

“I’ll pay you extra to make it really bad.”

“Dude.” 

“Kidding! Seriously. I think I did a great job.” 

An hour and an Advil later, they get back to Katrina’s apartment to find a newspaper on her welcome mat. 

Josh stoops to pick it up. “Holy shit.” 

“Hm?” 

He unfolds the paper to show her. “We got an article.” 

“No way.” 

It’s not a very good piece. The author sounds deeply confused by the situation at large - getting details jumbled as she discusses the possible motives of the thievery. Which was precisely the aim of the crime, honestly. It wasn’t done sensibly. 

In that regard…it’s perfect. 

“We should have it framed,” Katrina jokes. “Though I do still feel bad about the fire.” 

“Yeah, me too. Like, I know it wasn’t us and we called the right people, but y’know. Hope Jerry’s okay.” 

They resolve to check on him sometime this week. And then they resolve to try and sleep properly, being careful to not sleep on their sides (tattoo maintenance and all that). 

Josh wakes up to his phone ringing. 

“Hello?” he slurs blearily. 

“Hi love!” Rachel exclaims. “Did I wake you?” 

“No no, all good.” He shifts himself up into a sitting position. “You alright?” 

“Mhm! We’re headed back your way. Should be there around 4.” 

He squints at his phone. It’s 9 am the next day. He fights a grimace at how long they’ve been asleep. If they fell asleep at 5:30…

Ugh, he needs Kat awake if he’s going to attempt math. 

“Sounds good,” he manages. “Come to Kat’s. We’ll take care of dinner.” 

“It’s a date.” She’s so chipper. The weekend’s done her some good. “See you soon!” 

“Love you,” he replies. 

“Love you too.” 

He hangs up and stretches, then goes to wake Katrina. 

“Dude,” he jostles her shoulder.

“Hmmm…” she replies. She’s so articulate in the morning. 

“It’s Sunday.” 

She exhales deeply. “Seriously?” she mumbles, shifting to face the sound of his voice. She cracks an eye open. “W’t time’s it?” 

“9:13.” 

“Damn.” She stretches out. “15 hours and 43 minutes has got to be a record.” 

“You just woke up. How’d you do that?” 

“Addition, Josh.” 

“Thanks, Sherlock.” He grabs her hands to pull her up. “C’mon. Rach called. They’ll be back around four and we definitely need to wash our tattoos.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Katrina answers sleepily. “Let’s go.”

—

“Look at that,” Janice says upon entering the apartment. You didn’t burn down the kitchen. Nice one, dovie.” 

“Super hypocritical coming from you, Janice,” Rachel starts. “Your trade school friends said-“

“Okay, but nothing happened.” Janice turns her attention back to her girlfriend. “Seriously. Glad you’re alive.” 

Kat beams at her a tad manically. “Yeah, well, we’re not big on arson.” 

The remark almost causes Josh to drop the dish he’s carrying to the table. You know, in a cool and normal way. He can hear Katrina stifle a laugh. Asshole. 

“Everyone wash their hands?” he calls over his shoulder, effectively changing the subject. 

“Yes, Mom-“

“Babe, please not this again-“ 

Katrina kisses her to buy her silence. “You missed it,” she teases. 

“You’re insane,” Janice responds evenly. 

“Mmmmhm.” Katrina kisses her again. 

“Get a room, you freak!” Josh jeers. 

“It’s my house, homophobe.” Katrina fires back. As if on cue, they flip each other the bird. 

“You two are a different brand of insane,” Rachel sighs, looking up from pouring water into each glass. 

“I know. It’s tragic.”

“So hard to be us,” Katrina agrees. 

They settle in to eat. Rachel and Janice take turns talking about their trip - traipsing through mountains that were not next to the sea, chatting with owners of Mom-and-Pop shops in the area, trying their hand at fishing (strangely, Rachel was very good and Janice very bad). They pull up pictures and videos. It’s nice. It’s normal. 

“Okay, enough about us.” Rachel points her fork, gesturing between Josh and Kat. Top moment of the weekend: go.” 

They speak over each other. 

“Bonfire.”  

“Stargazing.” 

Katrina nods at Josh’s answer in acknowledgment, then gasps as if she’s breathing her last breath.  

“NO WAIT! Can I change my answer?” 

“Babe, I thought you were choking-“ 

Josh ambles on as though none of that happened. “Were you gonna say-“ 

“WELL DON’T SPOIL IT JOSH-“

In the end, they bicker pointlessly until it’s nonsensical and they’re all laughing. Once settled down, they come to a collective agreement that finishing dinner is priority number one. So they finish dinner. Janice and Rachel tackle leftovers - loading them into little containers and putting them in the fridge Tetris-style. Josh and Kat take dishes. 

“Stays between us?” Josh mutters to her as he passes her a plate to dry. Kat doesn’t have to ask him to elaborate. 

“For now. Call it a fun surprise.” 

Katrina doesn’t even get through the whole sentence before there’s a small gasp from Rachel. “Honeypot, is that a tattoo?” 

Josh snickers. “Just our luck, huh?” 

“We’re such honest folk, too.” 

“You know what they say about karma-“

“Well, I’ll never keep a single secret ever again.” 

Rachel grabs his shoulders and wheels him around, ending his and Kat’s conversation. “Still here, hon.” 

“Sorry dearest.” He kisses her forehead. “Yes it is, you wanna see it?” 

“Obviously.” She presses herself up on her toes to look behind his ear. “It’s so tiny!” 

“Mhm. Hurt like hell though.” 

“Brave boy,” she kisses the area of skin where the mark is. “Is it a feather?” 

“Bingo.” 

“Very Millennial of you,” Janice says drily. 

“That’s what Kat said when she was getting hers.” 

“Synergy. Wait hold on-“ 

Kat’s already pulling her hair back. “Come look.” 

“You little mind reader.” Janice touches the tattoo lightly. “Matching, hm?” 

“Complementary,” Katrina corrects her. 

“‘S cute.” Janice settles against the counter behind the sink. “I’ve wanted to get a sleeve done for a long time, y’know.” 

“I think Kat would combust if you did that,” Rachel argues. 

“I have incredible restraint, mind you.” 

“Yah-huh.” 

“All the more reason for me to do it, huh babe?” Janice reaches her foot out to kick her girlfriend’s ankle. 

“No comment,” Katrina mutters back. She’s very noticeably blushing. 

“When I was in college, the dean of students got a stick and poke on his neck.” Josh mentions offhandedly. 

Janice whoops a laugh. “Dude, seriously?!” 

“Of the word ‘breathe.’” 

“OF THE WORD ‘BREATHE?!’” 

It’s good to be back in the same town again. 

[aeolianblues]

pop stars aren't born in the 70s anymore like they used to be. These days they're born in a year uncomfortably close to my own which makes me clutch my chest and cry out

[themonkey2025]

[kilenavictwrites]

SOVIESHU'S HAREM

Empress Yǎ jìng Clan: Hada     Banner: Plain Yellow

Imperial Noble Consort Wenxian Clan: Niohuru     Banner: Plain Yellow

Noble Consort Rong Clan:       Yi              Banner: Plain White

Noble Consort Clan:                   Banner:

Consort Chún Clan:  Gūwalgiya           Banner: Bordered Yellow

Consort Yi Clan:        Irgen Gioro           Banner: Plain Red

Concubine Wei Clan:      Fuca             Banner: Plain Yellow

Concubine Lan Clan:        Gogiya                 Banner: Bordered Yellow

Concubine Zhen Clan:       Ula Nara                     Banner: Plain Red

Concubine Qin Clan:         Yehe Nara             Banner: Plain Red

Concubine Qinglian Clan: unknown   Banner: unknown

Concubine Shu Clan:       Sartu                    Banner:  Plain Blue

Concubine Fei Clan:         Zhen                  Banner: Bordered White Noble Lady Ru Clan:        Giyamuhun           Banner: Bordered Blue

Noble Lady Shui Clan:        E'fu        Banner: Bordered Blue

Noble Lady Cui Clan:       Oroqen              Banner: Plain Blue

Noble Lady Li Clan:        Khorchin               Banner: Plain Red

First Class Attendant Mei Clan:         -             Banner: -

First Class Attendant Yumei Clan:        -                 Banner: -

First Class Attendant Lian Clan:              -            Banner: -

First Class Attendant Yue Clan:            -                Banner: -

First Class Attendant Xin Clan:    -                          Banner: -

Second Class Attendant Lingzi Clan:            -                  Banner: -

Second Class Attendant Huanxi Clan:          -                     Banner:            -

Second Class Attendant Min Clan:    -                            Banner:  -

Second Class Attendant Hui Clan:         -                     Banner:         -

Summary of Banners and Their Associated Women

Plain Yellow Banner

Empress: Belonging to the prestigious Hada clan, the Empress holds the highest rank in the harem and is a symbol of supreme authority. The Plain Yellow Banner was the most elite and reserved for imperial consorts and close relatives of the emperor.

Imperial Noble Consort Wenxian: From the influential Niohuru clan, Wenxian's place under the Plain Yellow Banner signifies her immense status within the imperial harem. The Niohuru clan was known for its strong political influence in Qing court politics.

Concubine Wei: As a member of the Fuca clan, she is aligned with the Plain Yellow Banner. The Fuca clan was a highly regarded Manchu family with strong connections to imperial consorts and empresses throughout Qing history.

Bordered Yellow Banner

Consort Chún: Hailing from the powerful Gūwalgiya clan, Consort Chún's position in the Bordered Yellow Banner places her in a position of significant influence. The Gūwalgiya clan was one of the most prominent families within the Qing aristocracy.

Concubine Lan: A member of the Gogiya clan, Concubine Lan's presence in the Bordered Yellow Banner reflects her noble lineage, though with slightly less prestige than those in the Plain Yellow Banner.

Plain White Banner

Noble Consort Rong: As a woman of Korean descent, Noble Consort Rong is linked to the Plain White Banner, which was often used for consorts of foreign or non-Manchu ethnic backgrounds. Her clan is listed as Yi, reflecting her Korean heritage.

Plain Red Banner

Consort Yi: Belonging to the Irgen Gioro clan, her position in the Plain Red Banner signifies her noble Manchu heritage. The Irgen Gioro clan was a prominent family with connections to Manchu aristocracy.

Concubine Zhen: As a member of the Ula Nara clan, she shares her lineage with one of the most notable Manchu families. The Ula Nara clan was often linked to high-ranking consorts and empresses.

Concubine Qin: Hailing from the Yehe Nara clan, Concubine Qin is connected to a prestigious family line. The Yehe Nara clan was one of the most influential Manchu clans, with multiple empresses and consorts from its lineage.

Noble Lady Li: Associated with the Khorchin clan, she is part of the Plain Red Banner. The Khorchin were one of the most important Mongolian tribes allied with the Qing court.

Bordered White Banner

Concubine Fei: From the Zhen clan, Concubine Fei is part of the Bordered White Banner. The Bordered White Banner represented a distinction below the Plain White Banner, often reflecting a lower status within the court's structure.

Plain Blue Banner

Concubine Shu: Linked to the Sartu clan, Concubine Shu is part of the Plain Blue Banner, one of the standard banners in the Qing system.

Noble Lady Cui: Belonging to the Oroqen clan, she is aligned with the Plain Blue Banner. The Oroqen were a northern indigenous people under Qing rule, and women from such backgrounds often became part of the imperial harem.

Bordered Blue Banner

Noble Lady Ru: As a member of the Giyamuhun clan, she is positioned in the Bordered Blue Banner, signifying a rank below those in the Plain Blue Banner. Her family origins are likely connected to local or minor noble lineages.

Noble Lady Shui: From the E'fu clan, Noble Lady Shui is associated with the Bordered Blue Banner. Like Noble Lady Ru, her clan's lesser prominence reflects a lower social position.

[princeloww]

I FINALLY FINISHED A TAKIN OVER THE ASYLUM FIC THING !!!!!

this was super fun to write :O

[alittleannihilati0n]

Final TOTA Takeover Drabble: The Dinner

Laughter:

Francine’s, quiet but open when Campbell picked up Terry and made noises at him like Terry was an infant instead of a kitten. Rosalie’s, brief but gracious, when Eddie brought a ruined charcoal lump into her house claiming it was meatloaf. Eddie’s, habitually self-effacing but making an effort to be less so, telling the table about his failed interaction with the lady with the cat bag in the market that afternoon. Campbell’s, energetic and open, retelling his best radio joke of the week. 

Fear:

Eddie’s, for a moment upon coming home, scared he would find Francine hurting in a way he couldn’t help her with. Campbell’s, brief but acute, worried as he pulled up that Eddie and Francine might’ve not waited for him because he was only doing his ‘silly’ job. Francine’s, as they left the flat, repetitively reminding herself that Terry would be safe by himself for a few hours. Rosalie’s, frequent but manageable, as her guests came in the door and set things down before sanitizing their hands. 

Hope:

Eddie’s, determined, as he shared his inches gained towards getting the loan. Rosalie’s, proud, describing the gradual softening of her community towards her and the other Hillcrest residents that she and the others were so ardently fueling. Francine’s, cautious, listing the jobs she’d applied for. Campbell’s, sure, telling his plans to get Spike Mulligan to come on for his show some time, then to keep bringing other loonies on from time to time. 

Sadness:

Everyone’s, for a moment, when Campbell brought up his flat’s faulty wiring and suddenly there was a hole in the room the size of the man in the photo on the windowsill.

People:

The ones they had lost, the ones they were making of themselves, the ones who made life so unfairly hard for people like them, the lovely ones they chanced to meet in neighbors or supermarket customers, the ones in that room.

Family:

Their old ones — Rosalie’s, happy then fragile then broken. Francine’s, awful then not one at all. Campbell’s, average but stiff and cold. Eddie’s, loving and heavy and lonely and idealistic then leaving. Their new ones — Rosalie’s, rebuilding and growing. Francine’s, new and safe. Campbell’s, supportive and understanding. Eddie’s, both near and far, new and old, knowing him as who he is. 

Dinner. Each other. Their Lives.

389 words, sorry this one's a day late! I was so fuckin busy yesterday I didn't sit down long enough to flesh out the idea fully, much less write it properly. Hope y'all enjoyed!

[lucy-frostblades]

Jenny is seventeen minutes and two seconds older than her brother, but she feels much older. He was the baby of the family, which is insane, since they’re literally twins.

.

behold!!! more improvised musical shenanigans!!!

pairings: the lake crew, jenny & tyler, background polypalooza

word count: 2,645

rated: t

@starstruckodysseys @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos @incorrect-play-it-by-ear @socialtomcat @thedragonemperess @depressedtransguy @genuine-possum @dapper-nahrwhale @starchaserbaby

[awarnin]

hii could you write a declan mckenna imagine??

literally anything you want lmao

(maybe friends to lovers?)

Take It Slow | DECLAN MCKENNA X FEM! READER

warning: they never kiss???? lmao does that count??? help

author's note: my longest one shot yet!! I hope you like it, it took me a long time to make this request because I didn't have enough inspiration to do it at the time, but POOF! it arrived. Thank you for your request, sweetheart, lmk your opinion:)

wordcount: 5.4k

.

Declan let out a long sigh as he tossed his keys onto the small table by the front door. It had been a long day at the studio, and he was more than ready to unwind. As he shuffled toward the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge, he noticed a note stuck to the freezer door, written in the messy handwriting of his housemate:

"Out with some friends tonight. Don't wait up! :)"

Declan smiled to himself, glad that you were out enjoying yourself. Not that he minded the quiet; after the chaos of the studio, the calm was a welcome change of pace.

Popping open the beer, Declan grabbed his phone and wallet from the counter and headed to the back porch. The spring night was mild, with a soft breeze stirring the new leaves on the trees. He scrolled aimlessly through social media as he drank, letting the peacefulness of the neighborhood seep into his bones.

It was in that moment of peace that Declan's mind inevitably drifted to thoughts of you, as it had been lately. His housemate and best friend for five years. In recent months, Declan had begun to see you in a new light, noticing little details that had never caught his attention before: the way you nose crinkled when you laughed or the gestures you made with your hands while explaining something.

He knew these thoughts were dangerous territory; your friendship was too important to risk over uncontrolled feelings. Still, Declan found himself daydreaming more and more about what could happen if you took that next step beyond friendship. He wondered if her smile would be just as soft and bright pressed against his lips as it was when you smiled at him from across the room.

Shaking his head with a resigned chuckle, Declan took another long sip of beer. Fantasizing about his housemate and friend was a road best left untraveled. Any fleeting attraction he felt would fade over time, as crushes do, and their easy comfort would remain.

At least, that's what he told himself. But the truth was, in the past few months, that warmth in his chest every time you walked into a room had only grown more persistent instead of fading. He was playing a dangerous game, ignoring these feelings for the sake of keeping things simple between you. And he wondered if maybe, just maybe, you felt it too beneath the surface of their familiar routines.

Finishing his beer with a sigh, Declan stood up to head back inside for the night. As he passed by the living room window, a movement in the side yard caught his eye. Squinting through the dimming twilight, he spotted a lone figure tossing something for a small, excited bundle of fur.

"Speak of the devil" Declan thought with a private smile. Grabbing his keys once again, he slipped outside and casually walked toward the old tree where you were playing with the neighbor's dog.

"Hey," he greeted softly as he approached. Her bright smile in response warmed him inside.

"Hey. Just keeping Max entertained while Claudia finishes her shift." You tossed the tennis ball once more as the dog eagerly chased after it. Straightening up from where you had been crouching, your smile turned questioning. "Want some company? I could use a break."

Declan smiled back easily, gesturing toward the house. "The door's open. I'll put the kettle on."

Later, as you sat together on the porch swing, cups of tea in hand, Declan found himself relaxing into their familiar rhythm. Your presence beside him was as comforting as ever. You chatted about nothing in particular as the spring night deepened around you, and the neighbor's dog had long since been called home.

And yet, there was something different in the air between you, a subtle shift that made Declan newly aware of every accidental brush of your arms or knees. He glanced over at you and found you gazing at the darkening lawn, your profile softly illuminated by the porch light, and once again, he wondered if you felt it too. That nagging suggestion that your comfortable familiarity could blossom into something deeper.

Before he realized what he was doing, Declan broke the serene silence. "Have you ever wondered..." He trailed off as you turned your inquisitive eyes toward him. How to continue without ruining this delicate thing growing between you?

Taking a deep breath, Declan pressed on gently. "If we took that next step, what it would be like. You and me." Your silence was thoughtful rather than surprised, as if you too had considered this inevitable question. You smiled sadly. "I know it's complicated. Our friendship means everything. I just had to ask, I guess."

For a long moment, you said nothing, once again looking out at the shadowy garden. Then, hesitantly, you said, "I've wondered too. What we have... it's important. But I think..." You turned then, meeting his eyes meaningfully. "What if we tried? Just to see."

Declan's heart swelled at the sight of the shy hope in your smile, in the longing that mirrored his own. Slowly, giving you time to change you mind, he reached for your hand that rested on the swing between you. Your fingers intertwined, warm and certain.

"We take it slow," Declan murmured. "See where this goes before making any big decisions. If it feels right, we'll keep going. And if not..."

"We stay as we are. Best friends, always." You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "No matter what."

Declan mirrored your soft smile, feeling lighter than he had in a long time, just holding your hand in the quiet of the porch. Whatever happened, he knew that as long as you stayed by his side, he would be okay.

.