#motherfucker has like nine million names

[punkitt-is-here]

its fang the hunter baby!!!!!

[joyful-soul-collector]

The Two Faces Of January

Whatever my reactions are to this, blame @raven-rk they told me to watch it. Also if anyone wants to send me recs of oscar isaac movies to watch (or any movies?? you want my gay ass to react to??) go ahead and suggest em, I'm all ears. You too, can be responsible for an unhinged reaction post

All I know about this movie is the one sentence description on HBO MAX and that Oscar Isaac is in it let's GO motherfuckers

Oop there he is

Oh look its Aragorn

Everything Oscar is wearing rn? slut behavior

OH HIS SMILE IS SO CUTE LOOK AT HIM

Rydal is a cool name, stealing that

Oh he's a sneaky little man

I wish smoking weren't so bad for you, it's so damn aesthetic

Idk why Chester doesn't trust him, I mean he doesn't even know Rydal scammed him with that bracelet

Wait does he not trust him cuz he's a person of color. Is this mf just straight up racist. I wouldn't be surprised but still lol cmon bro

Who's this rando

Nice of him to try and return the bracelet he scammed em with lol

Oh shit we fightin'

Oh damn did he kill him?

Oh fuck yeah he ded

Oof, dad passed away only a MONTH ago? Poor guy

Is anyone gonna tell Colette what the hell is goin' on

KITTY

Love this guy scamming rich people, you go Rydal

KITTY

I enjoy the aesthetic of this movie a lot, lots of yellows and browns, makes the cooler colors pop well

Cool that he knows so many languages! I like Rydal so far, he's interesting

Oop Chester is d r o n k

Hope Chester doesn't still remind him of his dad, cuz then his dad would be an asshole...

Oh the intimacy of sharing a cigarette... Again, really wish it weren't so bad for you

I've said it once and I'll say it a million times over: men are always prettiest when they're a bit disheveled

RYDAL IS SO SWEET LOOK AT HIM HELPING THIS WOMAN OUT OF THE BUS

Oop he knooooows

God that bus is fuckin banger, I wanna turn that into a mobile home

Chester you mf, blackmailing Rydal like this

Oh Colette is adorable

Also Rydal's hair rn... Slut shit. Whore behavior

Rydal you sweetheart, standing up for Collette like that

OH THIS IS THAT MOMENT WHERE EVERYONE SAYS HE LOOKS LIKE JAKE LOCKLEY IN THE TANK TOP

I see it, 100%

Ok I hate Chester but his bedhead is 10/10

Jesus this guy has a real drinking problem

Oop Rydal to the rescue

Shiiiiit their pictures are in the paper

Why does this random kid think she can just take people's sunglasses???

HELL YEAH GET HIS ASS RYDAL

Oh they just walkin there huh

Love Zippo lighters, I can do a couple tricks with those, it's quite fun

BRUH WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU WHY'D YA DO THAT

OH SHIT FUCK SHIT IS SHE DEAD??

Ohhhhhhh no....

Wait is Rydal dead too? Did he fuckin kill Rydal? I thought he just knocked him out...

OH GOOD he's okay. He'll be pissed when he finds out about Colette tho

FUCK people saw Rydal leaving those ruins, they're gonna think he did it

Love it when people breathe smoke in the face of someone they hate, fuckin great. ONCE AGAIN, REALLY WISH CIGS DIDN'T KILL YOU

Hell yeah Rydal blackmail the shit outta him

OH SHIT MF ALMOST GOT THROWN OVERBOARD

SHIT fuck shit fuck they're looking for Rydal

Pfft hahaha he's like "if I get caught you're comin' down with me"

Oh damn he called him dad. Yeah his dad must've been right shit then

I forget airports didn't always have nine miles of security to get through

Called it, poor guy had a shit dad

Of COURSE Chester's out here like "forgive your dad everyone expects too much from dads, I hated my dad too"

Hell yeah get tf outta there Rydal

Aw dammit they got him. Hope he can get that confession he needs to be freed

Admit it, do it motherfucker

Ah shit he runnin

OH SHIT THEY SHOT HIM

Dammit I really hope he can get this fuckin confession outta him...

THANK YOU God the one good this Chester does in this whole movie

It's the breaking the cycleeeee, Chester hated HIS shit dad and Rydal hated HIS shit dad so now Chester's gonna be a not shit dad in his last moments mmmmmmmmm

Looks like he really does remind him of his dad in the end. And he went to his funeral in return for the confession

Interesting that he buried the bracelet with Chester instead of Colette. Something something, the immortality of fatherhood and metaphors about breaking cycles and literally burying his previous life and crimes with a man who embodied everything he hated, something something

That was a good movie I quite liked it! Good foreshadowing with the "he reminds me of my dad" comment at the very beginning. Viggo plays a great bad guy. Featuring Slutty Oscar, drunk off his ass Viggo, and poor Kirsten who did not deserve any bad things to happen to her ever, and yet they did

[pluckyredhead]

For the ask game, how about jon kent and damian?

Jon:

First impression

I was read the Convergence issue where he was born when it came out, so my impression was basically "I can't believe they named him Dad Dad Kent." Naming him after Jonathan Kent is fine, but in the continuity Jon originally hailed from, Sam Lane literally committed genocide against Kryptonians including Clark's aunt (Kara's mom), so...no?

Impression now

HE IS MY PRECIOUS CHILD. THE GOODEST BOY. THE SUNSHINE OF MY LIFE. I adore Jon Kent with every fiber of my being. Lois and Clark are one of my all-time favorite couples in any media ever and I adore all Supers so I was already primed to love Jon, but then when it turned out he was a blend of Clark's sweetness and earnestness and Lois's dogged curiosity and love of speaking truth to power PLUS he's secretly a little shit? Heart eyes, motherfucker. If I could turn back time he would be twelve years old right now but he great up real good even if his current series is sort of bland. He's perfect and I would bake him a pie if I could.

Favorite moment

All of the original Super Sons run but also his very first meeting with Damian from just before it, where Damian KIDNAPS him and he wakes up strapped to a table in a cave and like thirty seconds later he's trying to befriend Damian and complimenting his cow. WHAT A PURE HEART. Oh oh oh and this:

That endlessly open heart, I weep! His first meeting with Kon was also very very good. And him earnestly telling the Legion that his dad's best friend is his mom and they're like "Gross." I JUST LOVE EVERYTHING HE DOES EVER.

Idea for a story

Oh I have nine million. The three topmost at the moment are: the DamiJon shifter AU that's the sequel to the JayRoy shifter AU that is fighting me tooth and nail (ha); the sprawling art school AU which has Jon as a new student at the Gotham Academy of the Arts as one of the main plot threads and which I'll probably never actually write; and a long heartwarming genfic that actually digs into the relationships between Jon and Kara and Kon and which again I will probably never write, alas.

Unpopular opinion

I don't know if I have an unpopular opinion, per se, but my two biggest pet peeves with how I see Jon treated in fandom are 1. removing or downplaying Lois's importance in his life, as if he isn't a little mini Lois as much as he's a little mini Clark, and 2. using him as some sort of emotional labor minion for Damian and never allowing him to be a fully realized character who can make mistakes and experience hurt.

Favorite relationship

I mean, Damian, obviously. I love how well they balance each other. They have all the opposites attract goodness of Clark and Bruce but they're much more fun. Jon brings out Damian's softness and ability to be better; Damian brings out Jon's little shit-ness, which is actually really important because Jon can be a bit of a pushover sometimes, and Damian's particular form of playful irritation encourages him to actually stick up for himself. They're also deeply protective of each other, even when they're very young - Damian LITERALLY made a solemn vow to Clark that he would always keep Jon safe!!! In canon!!! I'm losing my mind!!!

I also love the aspect of "my destiny includes you" in their friendship. Like, not to downplay the importance of Kon or the other Batkids, all of whom I obviously love, but from the moment Jon and Damian met, it was like "Oh, we are going to be Superman and Batman someday, we are going to be partners and teammates and brothers in arms for the rest of our lives, you are my destiny," to which Jon's reaction was "Well, we might as well be friends, too" and Damian's was "UGH." (And now Jon's reaction is "We belong together" and Damian's is "UGH but also you're mine." 😍)

Favorite headcanon

Jon's hair only has two modes, "slightly messy" and "extremely messy," even when he's an adult. There's something permanently boyish about him.

Damian:

First impression

I was deeply invested in Stephanie Brown as Robin and furious when she died, so when within two years they had brought back Jason and introduced Damian - replacing the only in-continuity girl Robin with not one but two more boys - I was even madder. Stupid Jason and Damian! Who needs 'em?

Impression now

It was actually Steph who made me fall in love with Damian half a decade later, in her Batgirl series. I was like "Ohhhh, this terrible murder baby doesn't know how to play" and I was done. Reading every single one of his appearances (I am...not a person who likes things by halves) just cemented it.

So yeah, I love Damian. I love that he's obnoxious and vain and petty and often cruel. I love that he dotes on animals at the same time and doesn't see it as a contradiction. I love that he's trying so hard to learn how to express himself, to love and trust others when he was taught not to. I love that his affection comes in sudden bursts of passion or grandiosity (see above re: his solemn vow to Clark). He is a tragic figure and an inspiring figure and a stone cold badass, but he's also really fucking funny, and all of that at once is a rare combination.

Favorite moment

All of the Jon stuff above. The moment he and Dick realize they're both not dead and he flings himself into Dick's arms. When he tells Jason he's going bald. As shattering as it is, Goliath's origin. When he frees his clones. But also:

And, like, Bruce is a terrible garbage father even within the context of this story, but this moment always gets me:

I'M GONNA CRY.

Idea for a story

All of the Jon stuff above, again, but also I would really like to write something long exploring all the various Batkids' relationships. I particularly want to write more about Damian and Tim, their dynamic is so fascinating to me.

Unpopular opinion

I tend not to agree with posts that are like "Damian thinks X about various Green Lanterns" or "Damian thinks Y about various Flashes" or whatever because I just don't think Damian thinks about other people that much? Which is kind of a joke but really, he's both very self-involved and very practical, so what does he care what Hal Jordan is doing?

Favorite relationship

Jon, obvious, but also his relationship with Dick is so beautiful to me (and I find Dick...pretty boring otherwise, so that's saying a lot). I'm loving his interactions with Connor in his current serious. AND GOLIATH!!!

Favorite headcanon

I don't think Damian trusts his own moral compass, because he was taught one thing until he was ten and then something completely different and it taught him not to trust his instincts. I don't think he refrains from killing because he's internalized that it's wrong, but because Bruce and Dick told him that's The Rule and he's very good at following rules (when he wants to). This is fine in the field but it's why I keep writing about him struggling with his attraction to Jon and sex and consent and any possible age differences, because Bruce and Dick didn't give him a rule about that and he doesn't trust himself to know what's right (and also Ra's does whatever he wants and Bruce never lets himself have anything he wants, so clearly if Damian wants something it must be morally wrong and the correct ethical decision is to deprive himself of it, right?). Oh, Damian.

Also, on a lighter note, I always hear his voice as just slightly British in my head, mostly because a child being imperious always sounds posh to me.

[navegandoaciegas]

Sunshine Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: fluff, soft!Bucky, mentions of injury (no graphic descriptions), 3.6k words

Summary: You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish he wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

Two years ago you were supposed to enjoy a solo road trip after years of Avenging, but Bucky invited himself along. Now you’re forced back to New York, and your boyfriend is ready to surprise you once again.

A/N: Bucky’s POV. Sequel to I love my baby to death, but I suppose you could read it on its own. As always forgive any mistakes, English is my third language.

Had to repost this cause it didn’t show up in the tags, hopefully this time it will

“I swear Buck, if I see one more damn corn plant I’m losing it. I am this close” you say pinching your thumb and pointer finger real close “to a mental breakdown. I’m never eating corn again, mark my words. No corn flakes, no corn on the cobble, no nothing. I’m done.”

“We’re in Iowa, in the middle of the corn belt, I don’t know what you were expecting.” he replies, slightly amused by your little outburst and sour mood.

“Well, clearly not ending up on the set of Children of the corn.” you groan, getting back to sulking in the passenger’s seat, seething at the fields that are only a scapegoat to the real problem.

You’d been merrily skiing in Montana when his skis got somehow tangled with yours and he tumbled down on you, dragging you down the slope. Hadn’t you injured yourself, rolling in the snow like it only ever happens in cartoons would have been pretty comical.

“What?” you screech, almost jumping off the stretcher and grimacing in pain when your left foot hits the metal poles at the side. “No. It’s just pain, I’m sure it will go away, right? I mean I was an Avenger, I’ve suffered worse than a fall.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but knee surgery will be necessary, the MRI here shows you’ve torn your ACL and from the looks of it, your left knee was already damaged badly, numerous times at that, probably a result of your time on the field.”

“I can’t, I can’t just get surgery, we’re miles away from home and I-”

You’re almost sobbing and Bucky feels like shit because he’s the reason for all this and all he can do now is pat your back reassuringly.

“Given the extent of the damage, I’m afraid there’s no other option.”

“How long is the recovery time?” he asks, voice unsure.

“Well, it’s my knowledge she’s not an enhanced individual, so like any average human it will take anywhere from 6 to 9 months to recover fully. In the meantime, no more hikes or sports.”

Bucky inhales a sharp breath. Six to nine months. No more hikes. Surely you’ll have to go back to New York.

God, you are so going to break up with him.

Turns out you didn’t dump him in Montana, you didn’t abandon him in one of those auto stops along Interstate 90 in South Dakota, and you don’t seem to want to break up with him amidst the green fields of Iowa, but still, he knows he will drive through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It almost seems like a cruel twist of fate, driving the same route you did as friends two years ago, along Interstate 80 headed East instead of West, only this time he’s not hoping to be more than the annoying old man who invited himself on your trip; he’s your boyfriend now, but maybe not for long.

“You know, you really are dramatic.” you say in a teasing tone, “I’m not going to break up with you, stop thinking about that, it was an accident, ‘s not like you beat me.”

“I know, I’m just sorry because you’re in pain and it’s my fault and now we have to get back home but I know you wanted to stay more and I did too and if I didn’t-” he’s rambling, and your place your hand on his thigh and squeeze reassuringly, offering him one of those sweet smiles he dies for.

“Buck, it’s okay” you interrupt his word vomit “like I said a million times before, it was an accident, it’s going to be fine I promise. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise with my mood, I swear I’m just pissed at all this damn corn. We’re never going to a maze again, by the way.” That gets a laugh out of him, and he loves you even more because you’re always there to lift his spirits. “I’m dreading these next months, the surgery, physiotherapy and all, but I know you’re there for me, yes?”

He nods, teary eyed, and you continue, “And I can’t lie, it’s been a while, I’m kind of excited to see everyone again, I mean except for Sam of course,” you say, as if he didn’t “live rent free in your head”, like Sam himself put it, “Jesus that man, how many of our trips has he invited himself on? I’ve lost count. ‘Member when we found him waiting for us in Phoenix? Fuckin’ weirdo.”

You both chuckle at the memory of Sam in your motel room, waiting on your bed with crossed arms like a disappointed parent, pissed off because you hadn’t called in a week and he was worried sick that something may have happened to you, a deadly sniper, and him, the Winter fuckin’ Soldier. Truth is, Bucky was so excited about your new relationship that he rarely let you leave the bed when you were in your room, and when you did you were in no condition to Facetime anyone, with your smudged mascara and swollen lips.

“I’ve heard Clint will come visit us with Laura and the kids. Nathaniel must be so big now.” you add, your eyes glazed over as you think of the little boy who was named after your Natasha.

“God, Morgan is probably all grown up.” he muses, a tinge of sadness in his voice. You squeeze his thigh again. “And the spider kid too, he’s a grown man now.”

“That he is.” you chuckle, “But to me he’ll always be the boy in the red spanx who knocked us on our asses in Berlin.”

He smiles and shakes his head at the memory, and you both fall in a comfortable silence. Now that he’s not consumed by fear anymore, Bucky kind of agrees with you that all this green is, in fact, nauseating.

“You know what, no more popcorn either.”

“Deal.”

-

A year and something ago

Arizona

“Can you believe there’s a city in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences? We should totally go and visit just for the hell of it, sounds like the type of place Steve Rogers should have been born into.” you state with all the seriousness in the world, and he snorts because after all this time you still haven’t found it in yourself to stop mocking Steve’s righteousness.

You’re walking ahead of him and he’s so distracted by your tiny denim shorts that he, the master of stealth, almost trips over a boulder. You’re always pretty but tonight, illuminated by the orange sky of Arizona, you look like a dream. And you’re so happy, snapping photos at everything you see, that even if Bucky hates the desert and the heat makes him uncomfortable, he won’t tell you, because the look on your face makes it all worth it.

“Baby, look at this big boy here, he’s like 20 feet tall. Oh my god, he’s so cute and beefy, just like you.” you gush at one of the giant cactuses of Saguaro National Park.

He raises his eyebrows skeptically.

All he sees are green spiky motherfuckers that he’s accidentally hurt himself with more times that he’d like to admit in all those damn ‘hikes’ you like so much, but to you cactuses are the most beautiful sight in the word. He genuinely does not see the appeal, but he understands now how you feel when he talks about all his ‘nerd shit’, as you call it.

“I’m cuter.” he says frowning.

“Of course you are.”

For some reason you don’t sound convincing at all.

-

It’s only spring but here in Tucson the temperature is 85 degrees today and he’s sweating buckets underneath the long sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing to conceal his vibranium arm. He’s long past the time when he was forced to hide from authorities or the general public’s judgement, but still he doesn’t want to be recognized and attract attention. He doesn’t do well with crowds, and he doesn’t understand how you can be so calm and collected when people stare at you and ask for photographs while you’re minding your own business.

As soon as you get back to the motel you’re staying at he takes off his soaked shirt, not caring that the air conditioning is probably going to end his old ass.

“What the hell happened to you?” you ask, scowling as you analyze the skin around his prosthetic.

He shrugs. “It happens sometimes.”

“Why?”

“No idea.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me James.”

You only call him that when he’s in big trouble. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose: why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the damn time? “It’s nothing sweetheart, just sometimes the skin becomes flared when it’s too hot.”

“Nothing?” you shrill, throwing your hands around animatedly, “Nothing? Bucky your whole shoulder is super red and irritated, don’t act like it’s normal. We’ve been in the sun for hours, for days really, why didn’t you tell me anything? I would have driven us back here immediately. Does it hurt?”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to ruin your fun, you liked it so much there. And no, it only itches a little.”

Your eyes soften and you move to cup his face in your hands, looking at him with so much love that he feels himself melt away into a puddle, “Baby you don’t need to do that, you know I care more about you than anything else.”

“Even more than the cactuses?”

“Well, now you’re asking too much of me.”

He snorts and playfully hits your arm, then he falls back on the bed and drags you down with him. You stay cuddled like that for a while before you pull back to look into his eyes.

“I appreciate you doing this for me Buck, but you don’t ever need to sacrifice your own comfort for me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry. But you looked so happy.”

“Don’t be, and I’m always happy with you, I promise.”

“I’m always happy too.”

“We’re such saps. Gross. Anyways, guess where we’re going next?” you ask him cheerfully, scratching his scalp the way that makes him purr like a cat.

“The plan was New Mexico, Texas and Louisiana, right?” he frowns. You’d made plans together ages ago and you were so excited about visiting Texas of all places for God knows what reason. He’s predicted already that he won’t stand the suffocating, humid heat of that whole area. At least Arizona was dry as hell.

You on the other hand, everyday he’s become more aware of how much of a lizard you are, seeking the sun and walking around in the scorching heat not even breaking a sweat.

“Guess again baby boy, we’re going straight to Oregon. I mean, it's not Alaska but it’s not as hot as the desert here, right?

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to overheat?” you state like it’s obvious, rolling your eyes, “We’ll do New Mexico and the rest next fall, and now Oregon and Washington because it’s a little cooler there. So what do you say?” You ask with a hopeful look in your eyes.

“Princess I appreciate you doing this for me, but I promise I’ll be fine. You don’t have to change plans for me, this is your road trip.”

“No you won’t Buck, you’re not doing good and I don’t ever want to see you suffer, you understand? By the time we get to Texas it will be summer and you won’t stand it, it’s better if we visit when it’s colder.”

He smiles softly. He knows he’d do the same for you. “Then Oregon it is.”

You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom to shower, “Oh, and baby?” you call out,  peeking your head from behind the door, “This is your road trip too, never forget that.”

-

Oregon

“Why does Thor get to have places named after him and we don’t? We were Avengers too.”

“But are we norse gods?”

“I mean, not yet, but I definitely deserve some nature’s wonder, or at least a star, to be named after me.”

“I’ll call WMO and get them to name a hurricane after you, princess. It seems more fitting.”

“Asshole.”

You’d been camping somewhere in Oregon’s wilderness when he came up with the idea of visiting all of the State’s so called seven wonders, starting from Thor’s Well on the Coast and ending in Mount Hood near Portland. You took a thousand photos of each attraction and sent a video of the water seemingly draining inside the famous well to the God himself, who enthusiastically expressed his appreciation.

Bucky’s cherished every minute of it, from the hot springs of Crater Lake to the chillier temperatures at night that force you to snuggle closer to him to warm up.

You’re in Portland now, and you’re thoroughly enjoying it, but what’s new about that? You’re always so full of life, so genuinely excited about everything the world has to offer that he’d be worried if you weren’t having the time of your life as you usually are.

He likes the city too, which is saying a lot.

“Blueberries are the superior berry and that’s the hill I’m willing to die on.”

You’ve been eating your way through Portland for weeks, and you’ve been discussing pies for a solid thirty minutes now. It’s raining outside and you’re cooped up in a small pie shop, eating more than an average human can and receiving weird looks from the waitress as you tell her to ‘keep ‘em coming’.

“I’m sorry but you’re wrong princess,” he states with a stuffed mouth just for the sake of aggravating you to no end, “blackberries are just so much better.”

It works as you grimace in disgust, both at his statement and his manners.

He’s found out you are weirdly opinionated when it comes to pies: pecan pies are an abomination, pumpkin doesn’t belong in dessert, lemon pie and key lime pie are only acceptable if someone’s grandma is kindly offering them to you, rhubarb pie without strawberries is a threat to mankind and cherry and blueberry pies are the absolute best. Apple pie is too bland to even take the time to discuss it, although the taste is likeable enough.

He on the other hand likes anything pie and anything sweet. And anything that gets a rise out of you.

“Please Buck, this isn’t even a blackberry pie, it’s some sort of inbred experiment that turned out kinda right.”

He shushes you, barely holding back a laugh when he sees the waiter side eyeing you as you disrespect one of Oregon’s most famous dishes, “First of all, it’s called marionberry and it’s a type of blackberry. And second, keep it down unless you want us to be kicked out, you’re offending a whole state.”

“Sorry.” you shrug, “But blueberry tartness level is where I draw the line, anything more than that is unacceptable.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re still a child and haven’t developed adult taste buds yet baby.” He does love his senior citizen card a bit too much.

This earns him a kick under the table and a scowl. “Stop it, grandpa.” you groan.

He grins and digs in your slice of marionberry pie. You resume to people watching.

God, he loves Oregon. And he loves you.

He really is a sap.

-

Wyoming

Washington was nice enough. You’ve taken him bar crawling most nights, and all of them have ended with him giving you a piggyback ride, per your request, back to the hotel room you were staying at.

It takes 13 hours to drive from Seattle to Yellowstone and you’ve driven all the way. You refused to disclose the destination of the trip and he’s fallen asleep the last 3 hours in the car. He’d mentioned he wanted to see the geysers somewhere in Pennsylvania two years ago and you remembered and took him.

Bucky couldn’t be happier.

He’s still describing the constellations above you when you fall asleep, and he’s so absorbed by the sky that he doesn’t notice until your head falls on his shoulder and he hears your soft snores.

He picks you up bridal style and takes you back to the fancy tent he bought on a whim in Ohio after you both slept in the SUV and woke up with major back and neck pain. He smiles as he removes your makeup with a wipe and does your skincare just the way you taught him, and admires your relaxed state.

He grazes your pretty face with his vibranium fingers, something so unimaginable to him before he met you, as he never thought his arm could bring anything other than pain.

Back when he was a semi stable 100 year old man thrust in another fight yet again, he hadn’t realized the extent of his feelings for you, believing he was only attracted to your beauty and youth. He hadn’t seen the way your smile lights up a whole room, nor the way you listen, truly listen, to anyone who may have anything to tell you, without ever judging them. He hadn’t witness your kindness and patience, let alone experienced them on his own skin. He hadn’t been lucky enough to watch you feed bird seed to the ducks of every pond of the country, or try to rescue a cat from a rooftop and almost falling off to save it.

Then Sam told him you were leaving and he felt like the word was collapsing on him. He’d found the sunlight and he never wanted to be without it.

Now he’s seen it all, all the little things that make you who you are, including your flaws, and he loves you not regardless of them, nor in spite of them, but because even your worst imperfections make you… you.

Bucky doesn’t know if meeting you was a way for the universe to fix all the wrongs that have been done to him, a sort of payback for all the shit he’s been put through, but in case it is, then he’s got no objections. And maybe he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you, but he’s a selfish man, and now that his sunshine girl is with him he never wants to plunge back into the the darkness ever again.

He tucks you both under the sleeping bag and snuggles next to you.

“Buck?” you mumble in a haze, tugging at his t-shirt, “Love you.”

It’s almost imperceptible, but his supersoldier hearing allows him to pick it up. He kisses the crown of your hair as he caresses your back.

“I love you too sweetheart.”

He wants to spend the rest of his time on Earth proving you how much.

-

New York

6 months later

The doctor wasn’t lying when she warned you that recovery would take 6 to 9 months.

You said the aftermath of the operation hurt like a bitch and that physiotherapy hurt even more. Today’s your last session and Bucky is glad about it for many reasons, like how you’re not in pain anymore for starters, and maybe because of how annoyingly fun, smart and hot your therapist is. Not like he’d ever admit it to you.

“Jesus,” you groan, “he turned me inside out like a sock, I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

“Sounds fun.” he deadpans.

“Someone’s jealous of the doctor?” you ask with a mischievous smirk.

“‘M not. He’s not all that.” he mumbles, blushing like a school boy.

You snort and drawl a ‘sure’. He sends you his best death glare.

“Whatever. I hope you don’t mind if we take a stop before going home.” he announces, helping you into the car. His palms feel clammy and he’s sweating despite the chilly winds of New York’s fall.

“Sure, where are we going?”

“Actually, that’s kind of a surprise, you’ll see.”

You beam at his words; he knows you love surprises and he hopes you’re going to like this one.

----

You look radiant as you lie on the blanket he’s spread on the grass, surrounded by colorful foliage. You’re sipping some of your favorite wine and nibbling on crackers as you admire a flock of birds migrating south in the sky.

You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish we wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

He’s prepared a long, passionate speech to tell you how much he loves you, of all the ways you’ve changed his life for the better and of all the reasons why he’d be a good husband.

But when you look at him with those bright eyes and beaming smile, he can barely remember his own name. He drops on one knee and holds the box out with shaky hands.

“Marry me, please.”

----

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please reblog and comment, don’t be shy, feedback is always appreciated 🥺🤲

[izzyfandoms]

Sleepality - Inky Freckles

SHIPS: Sleepality, background Virmile and Thomgan, and mentioned Dukeceit (though neither of them show up)

WARNINGS: Remus sends one text message with an implied threat (not towards the recipient), very very background sympathetic deceit and remus (they aren't acc in any scenes), mild swearing

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @ajdraws0430 @phantomofthesanderssides @creativity-killed-thekitten @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @emo-disaster @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread

Masterpost

Patton chewed distractedly on the end of his pen, tapping his foot on his bedroom floor as his eyes remained on his clock, watching as the seconds and the minutes ticked by.

Five minutes. Ten seconds.

Five minutes and ten seconds until the moment he turned sixteen.

January 15th, 1:46 am on the dot: the exact date and time of Patton’s birth. Precisely sixteen years after that moment, his soul would open up, and the bond between him and his soulmate would be formed, like an invisible string from one soul to the other. Any ink spilled on Patton’s skin would show up on his soulmate’s, too, and vice versa. Of course, nothing would happen if Patton’s soulmate wasn’t also sixteen yet, but it was still a big moment in his young life.

(If he even had a soulmate, that was. Most people didn’t, but Patton wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t hopeful.)

Four minutes. Thirty-six seconds.

Patton got up from his desk, pacing around the room a few times before sitting down on his bed, leaning back against the pillows and pulling his knees to his chest. Despite the coolness of his room, and the goose-bumps on his arms, he was dressed in a worn blue t-shirt and pyjama shorts, revealing as much skin as possible, just in case. His father, Roman, had gifted him a new pack of pens – the ones made specially to be safe for skin – and he’d picked out the glittery light blue one, his favourite colour, ready to write.

Three minutes. Twelve seconds.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Patton mumbled.

Three minutes. Seven seconds.

He yawned loudly, stretching and almost dropping his pen. It was late – much later than he usually stayed up. Patton was a well-behaved kid; he went to bed when his father told him to, never stayed out past curfew. He was usually fast asleep by 11pm at latest, so this was rather unusual for him.

Tonight was one of a kind, after all.

Two minutes. Fifty-one seconds.

The tick of the clock was maddeningly slow, every second seeming to take hours. Patton couldn’t wait for when he didn’t have to keep watching.  

He reached over to his bedside table, taking his phone and switching it on.

There was one new message, from his uncle Remus, sent a few minutes ago.

UNCLE REMUS

tell your soulmate if he ever hurts you ill rip off his dick and shove it down his throat

Patton sighed, switching off his phone and placing it back down beside him. He wasn’t sure why his uncle was so certain that he had a soulmate – he claimed it was because he was psychic, though his husband, Janus, had chided him and told him not to get Patton’s hopes up.  

It was hard not to be hopeful. Impossible.

One minute. Forty-nine seconds.

Patton chewed nervously on his lip, looking over his freckled arms and wondering what exactly he’d write to his soulmate.

Would a simple ‘hello’ suffice?

There was no point in writing a whole paragraph, especially when it was statistically unlikely that Patton even had a soulmate – and even if he did, perhaps they were younger, and their connection wouldn’t start until his soulmate turned sixteen, too.

One minute. Zero seconds.

A minute. A minute. A minute. Just a minute until Patton (maybe) talked to his soulmate for the first time. That was so little time – though it felt like so much.

Patton couldn’t help but burst into delighted laughter, and he was sure that if anybody was watching him, they’d think he was insane. The hope bubbled up inside him, like a cup overflowing with water, unable to be suppressed.

Fifty seconds.

He moved forward, and then lay down on his back, spreading his arms out like a starfish.

Patton tried to keep the hope down, tried to keep it from spilling over even more. Or maybe that was nausea, swirling in his stomach, but it almost felt too good to be that. Too happy. Too excited. Both, maybe.

Forty seconds.

Patton twirled the pen in his hand.

It slipped from his fingers, hitting the carpet with a quiet thump.

He bent down – wobbling slightly and nearly tumbling right off his bed – picking it back up and then sitting up again. He moved so his back was pressed against the wall, and tilted his head up to look at the pattern at the ceiling, counting each swirl.

He glanced back at the clock.

Twenty seconds.

His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and his eyes remained on the clock, watching it tick.

Ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Zero.

Zero. Zero. Zero.

Patton sat up straight, squeezing the pen tightly, so tightly that his nails dug into his palm.

He pulled off the cap, dropping it on the bed beside him and holding the tip just above his wrist. His hand shook (nervousness or excitement? Both) as he pondered what to write for another moment.

He pressed the pen to his skin.

Hello?

Hopefully that was good enough.

Patton waited a few seconds, almost a whole minute, and then sighed, leaning back so his head hit the wall and closing his eyes. He was disappointed, but he knew that it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have let himself get so hopeful. Maybe he didn’t have a soulmate – that was alright, his uncles weren’t soulmates and yet they were wonderfully happy together.

(But his brother, Emile, did have a soulmate, and there was something amazing about the way he and Virgil could practically read each other’s minds, communicating effortlessly without saying a word. Patton wanted that. He really, desperately wanted that, more than anything else in the world.)

He wouldn’t cry.  

He wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t.

His lower lip trembled.

All of a sudden, Patton felt a funny sensation on his wrist, like someone else was writing on it – the non-existent pen so light on his skin he almost couldn’t feel it. Almost.

Patton’s eyes shot open, and he immediately lifted his wrist to stare at it, wide-eyed.

His breath stuttered at the words now written in black ink just below his greeting.

holy shit

Before Patton could truly process what was going on, before he could regain his breath, the sensation resumed, and more words began to appear below those first ones.

hi

guess im ur soulmate lol

Patton couldn’t help but giggle, practically vibrating with excitement.

He picked his pen back up, ignoring the slight stain he’d left on his bedsheets. He’d spilt enough juice and milk on his bed to care about one little stain, especially right now, when he had a much more important thing to focus on.

Oh my gosh!!!!!!

Soulmate!!!

Im Patton!

Patton Picani!!!

thats a lot of exclamation marks babe

Nervousness tinged the edges of Patton’s bubble of excitement, enough that he almost didn’t notice the use of the word ‘babe’, which made his heart skip a beat.

sorry

not a bad thing

its cute

Patton bit his lip, wiggling excitedly as his heartrate increased. He watched as the words continued coming. They were messy, but Patton was sure the handwriting was the prettiest he’d ever seen, though he could admit that he might’ve been a little biased. He would read a million books written in this handwriting.

im Remy

Sanders

my bdays acc the 16th lol

tomorrow

i turn 17

Its my birthday today!!!!

Only after Patton wrote that did he realise how obvious it was – of course it was his birthday – but he didn’t particularly care. The ticking of the clock had faded into background noise, and it was hard to believe it had ever annoyed him so much, though it was impossible for him to think of anything negative right now. He was floating on cloud nine.

happy birthday

were running out of arm space

id have to strip to get leg room

wanna gimme ur number?

Okay!!!

They quickly exchanged phone numbers, and Patton immediately grabbed his phone, creating a new contact labelled ‘Remy’ followed by seven colourful hearts – a rainbow of love. But before he could text Remy, Remy texted him first.

REMY:

what time is it for u

Patton glanced at the clock.

PATTON:

Almost 2am

REMY:

same

Realisation struck Patton, and his eyes widened with guilt and concern. He bit his lip, and quickly resumed typing.

PATTON:

Oh my gosh im so sorry!!!! Did I wake you up?

REMY:

nah babe dw bout it

i was already up

i always sleep late

PATTON:

That sounds unhealthy :(

Get some rest!!!

REMY:

ha

u sound like my dads lol

PATTON:

What are they like?

REMY:

my dads?

its just the three of us

their names are logan and thomas and theyre the sappiest motherfuckers on earth

gotta love em tho

theyre gonna be real thrilled when they find out bout u

bet theyll love you right away

wbu  

whats ur fam like

PATTON:

Oh! Well ive got my dad

His name’s Roman

He works in theatre!!! Hes so cool

And I’ve got my older brother Emile hes 22 and hes a therapist

He uses cartoons to help people!!

Hes also got a soulmate his name is Virgil and hes a florist

They got married last year and the wedding was so much fun!!! So many pretty flowers!!!

And I’ve got my uncle Remus hes my dads twin hes a writer and his husband Janus is a lawyer theyre also both so cool!!!

And that’s everyone!!

REMY:

if theyre all as sweet as u sugar then im sure ur all v popular

PATTON:

Well we do have dinner with our neighbours a lot!!!

Mrs Smith gives me lots of candy

Its often stale but I eat it anyway cos shes just so sweet!

Sweeter than her candy lol

Patton’s door suddenly swung open, and he jumped, his phone slipping from his fingers and landing right in his lap. His father, Roman, stepped inside, yawning and rubbing his eyes, wincing at the bright light that hung from the ceiling.

“You still up, Pat?” He asked sleepily.

He squinted, his eyes landing on the still-on phone in Patton’s lap.

“Who are you te- by the glittering horn of a unicorn! Is that writing on your arm?” He sat down, taking Patton’s arm and looking over the words. He then glanced back up at his son, his eyes shining excitedly. “You have a soulmate,” He breathed.

“I do!” Patton exclaimed, bouncing excitedly in place. “His name is Remy and he turns seventeen tomorrow and he’s just so cool!”

Roman beamed. “Wow, I’m so incredibly happy for you, Pat!” He said. Then, he chuckled, his smile turning a little teasing. “But... it’s late, and you really should be sleeping. And I’m betting that Remy should be, too.”

Patton pouted a little. “But it’s a Friday! I don’t have any school tomorrow.”

“But the family’s coming over tomorrow at 10 for your birthday, and I know you. You’re gonna be all grumbly in the morning, instead of our happy-pappy Patton, and that’ll be even worse the less sleep you get.”

Patton drooped, like a little wilting flower, but couldn’t deny that his father was right.

“Okay...” He frowned, picking up his phone, switching off the screen without looking at it, and holding it against his chest. “Can I at least say night to Remy, first?”

Roman smiled. “Sure.”

He leant forward, squeezing Patton’s arm supportively, before pressing a quick kiss to his son’s forehead. Roman gave him one last smile, affectionately ruffling his hair, before pulling back and standing up. He brushed the non-existent dirt from his pyjamas.

“Goodnight, Pat,” He said. “And happy birthday.”

In the excitement that was talking to Remy, Patton had almost forgotten that it was his birthday, and he blinked in surprise as Roman left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Patton then took a deep breath, before switching his phone back on to see whatever messages he’d missed.

REMY:

u rlly r an angel huh

PATTON:

Awwwww!!

Your making me blush

REMY:

thats the goal babe

PATTON:

Such a flirt!!

REMY:

im gonna be ten times more flirty when i get to see ur pretty face in person

PATTON:

How do you know Im pretty?

You havent even seen me yet

REMY:

i can just tell

im awesome like that

i bet ur the cutest person in the whole damn world

the whole damn universe

but while were on the subject of seeing each other

were waiting to meet naturally right?

PATTON:

Yeah!

Its good luck  

REMY:

yea

PATTON:

Welp!!!

Dad says I gotta go to sleep now!!

Night <3<3<3

REMY:

night xoxox

Patton switched off his phone, placing it on his bedside table and getting off the bed. He wobbled slightly as he stood up, suddenly realising how tired he really was, and quickly walked up to his fairy lights, switching them on before switching off the main light. He then climbed back into bed, settling in the soft nest of pastel pillows and blankets, and his last thought before he fell asleep was of his soulmate.

He barely knew Remy, but he already couldn’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him.

***

The sound of the alarm from Remy’s phone rang through the room, waking him up suddenly. His immediate reaction was to groan, shutting it off quickly and then returning to the warm comfort of his mattress and pillows and blanket. It was the weekend, he had no plans, so if his dads wanted him up, they could come in and get him up themselves. Remy wanted to sleep.

Then, the memories of the night before flooded back to him, and he shot up in bed, pulling out his arm and staring at it wide-eyed.

The words Patton had written last night had now been washed away – likely to leave room for new words and new conversations – whilst Remy’s words still remained, though now a little smudged and faded. The only sign that Patton’s words had ever been there in the first place was the new word on his wrist, just below his palm, in baby blue, like the ones before.

Morning <3

Remy grinned, jumping out of bed much more enthusiastically than he usually did, grabbing the black pen on his bedside table and rushing to the bathroom, thankfully not bumping into either of his dads on the way there.

He washed his arms as quickly as he could, leaving them a little sore and red, though he didn’t care, and uncapped his pen with his teeth, leaving the lid in his mouth.

mornin

!!!!!

Do you always get up this late?

Remy laughed. The handwriting was a little larger and a little neater than his, and each i was dotted with a heart, which made him even more convinced that his soulmate was probably the cutest person on earth.

what time is it

10:30

later usually

what time did u get up

8:30

oof

i could never

What do you do for school then?

suffer

Remy took the pen lid out of his mouth, pocketing it and twirling the uncapped pen between his fingers, watching as more light blue words appeared on his arm. The sensation was feather-light, barely there, but impossible to ignore.

Aww no!!

I don’t want you to suffer :(

dw babe ive got coffee

life saver

id die without it

100%

Well make sure you don’t drink too much!!!!

Its bad for you!!

dw my dad always tells me that

he keeps an eye on it

Which one?

logan

Okay

There was a brief pause, and Remy almost continued writing, but he got the feeling that Patton wasn’t done, so he just waited patiently, tapping his foot against the tiled bathroom floor.

Do you mind if I doodle on my arms?

I usually do when Im bored but I thought Id ask

I wont if you don’t want me to tho

go ahead

what do u doodle?

I usually just connect my freckles

Like little constellations!!!!

It was impossible to keep the grin on Remy’s face from widening – Patton's enthusiasm was adorable and infectious – and he sat down on the edge of the bathtub, crossing one leg over the other as he pressed his pen to his skin and continued writing.

u got a lot of freckles?

Yup!

Theyre everywhere

everywhere?

Yeah!

hm

one day  

im gonna kiss every single one of your freckles

(Perhaps that was a little bold for only their second conversation, but Remy was a natural flirt, and Patton was his soulmate, after all. He’d back down at any sign of discomfort, but so far Patton had seemed receptive.)

every single one

Thats a lot of kisses

not enough

but itll be a good start

A little, swirly scribble appeared just beside the words Remy had written – the universal key-smash equivalent for soulmates writing on their skin. Just the thought that he was already able to fluster Patton so easily made Remy very, very happy. He grinned.

Gtg! Presents time!

Ill talk to you later <3<3<3

later xoxo

Remy fished the pen lid back out of his pocket, capping the pen and pocketing it. He then strolled back out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and towards the kitchen.

His fathers were both sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and talking. Their legs were pressed together under the table, and it was clear they’d just been flirting. Both Logan and Thomas looked up when Remy entered the room, surprised.

“What kind of natural disaster got you up before midday?” Thomas joked.

Remy waved his arm, showing off the writing, and Logan choked on his coffee. Thomas patted his back a few times worriedly, and Remy waited impatiently for the conversation to resume, tapping his foot against the floor.

“Is that what I think it is?” Logan asked incredulously, once he was breathing again.

Remy nodded. “Yup. Can I make coffee?”

Thomas nodded slowly, but it was clear he was much more focused on the previous topic at hand.

“You have a soulmate?” He asked. “Oh my gosh! What’s their name? Aren’t you gonna tell us about them?”

“Well, his name’s Patton,” Remy began, heading towards the coffee machine and immediately getting to work to make himself a large mug. “It’s his birthday today – it was actually, like, 2am, or something – and he’s real cute. I think you’ll both like him.”

Thomas exchanged a look with his husband – the former much more openly thrilled, whilst the latter looked more confused, though undeniably pleased. He then stood up, opening his arms immediately.

“I think this calls for a family hug,” Thomas grinned.

Logan sighed, but put his own coffee mug back down, getting up obediently.

Remy groaned. “Really? Before my coffee? Do I have to?”

“Yup! Right now,” Thomas said, wrapping one arm around Logan’s waist and resting his chin on his head, keeping his other arm outstretched, awaiting their son. “This is a big moment! It calls for a family hug. C’mere.”

“There is no point refusing, Remy,” Logan said dryly. “I learnt that a long time ago.”

“Aww, you love me.”

“Of course. That is why we got married, after all.”

Remy groaned again. “Are you two really flirting, right now? Gross.”

“Well, if you want us to stop flirting, you’re gonna have to join the hug.”

Remy sighed exaggeratedly, dragging his feet as he walked up to his dads, reluctantly joining the family hug. Then, he pulled back as quickly as he could get away with, making a face and turning back to the coffee machine. He quickly made himself a large mug – with excessive amounts of milk and sugar, something his father would usually criticise, though he seemed to turn a blind eye for today.

Remy then sat down at the table, beside Thomas, sipping eagerly at his coffee and leaning back in his chair.

His fathers didn’t take their eyes off of his arm, clearly reading the words, and after about a minute, Remy rolled his eyes, placing the coffee on his table and crossing his arms.

“What are you looking at?”

“Attitude, Remy,” Thomas sighed. “Be nice. And we’re looking at your arm because we’re excited! You have a soulmate, that’s a really big deal! We should celebrate.”

Remy perked up. “Celebrate?”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Perhaps tonight we could have dinner at the Italian place that you like.”

“Ooh, the one with that fancy pasta?”

“Weren’t we planning on going there tomorrow?” Thomas asked his husband.

Remy blinked, surprised. “We were?”

Thomas blinked, and then gave his husband a slightly sheepish smile. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

Logan sighed. “Well, I think we can put that off for tomorrow, then. Today... you may invite a few friends over.” Remy opened his mouth, but Logan quickly continued, interrupting him before he could speak. “Three friends, maximum. No parties.”

Remy pouted. “Only three? Lame.”

“If you complain, we’ll bring it down to two.”

“Three sounds great!”

***

Patton picked up his phone, holding it to his ear as he paced casually around his room.

“Emile!” He greeted. “How are you?”

“Happy birthday, Pat!” Emile greeted cheerfully, and Patton could practically hear the usual smile on his face. “And I’m doing great. Virgil invited his brother to dinner yesterday, so that was fun, and I had a real breakthrough with one of my clients, too. You?”

“I’m good! Hey, do you think this counts as Remy and my anniversary? I mean, I know we haven’t actually really met, yet, but it’s been a year since we first spoke, and we are soulmates. Does that count? Would it be weird to count it?”

Emile hummed. “I think that if you want it to count, it counts.”

“That’s a bit vague,” Patton sighed.

Emile laughed. “That’s just how it works, I’m afraid. How is Remy anyway? It’s his birthday tomorrow, right?”

Patton perked up at the opportunity to talk about his soulmate. “Remy’s great! He got a new job at the Starbucks near his house; he’s pretty excited about it. And yup, it’s his birthday tomorrow! He turns eighteen. It’s a funny coincidence, isn’t it? That our birthdays are so close?”

“It’s actually a lot more common for soulmates to have these similarities than you’d think,” Emile said. “Close birthdays, close locations, things like that. I mean, Virgil and I were both born in the same hospital.”

“Really? Oh, that’s cool!” Patton smiled.

He sat down on his bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged, and moving so his back was against the wall, half-sitting on one of his pillows.

“Yup! I’ve researched a lot about these things,” Emile said. “And- oh, Virgil, there you are!”

Patton heard rustling on the other end of the line, like Emile was temporarily putting his phone down, probably to greet and kiss his husband. He waited patiently, humming a song from the Steven Universe movie and drumming his fingers against his leg. His eyes scanned the various words written across his arms. Shiny black and glittery light blue. There were doodles, too – lines connecting the dots of his freckles, done by himself, and little stars and moons and hearts by Remy.

Then the rustling resumed, more movement, and Patton stopped humming.

“Morning, Pat,” Virgil greeted.

Patton smiled. “Virgil! How’s work going?”

“Not bad. I helped a guy arrange a hate-bouquet for his ex-boyfriend yesterday, so that was fun.”

“Sounds interesting!”

Virgil hummed in agreement, and it sounded like he was nodding. “I’m gonna hand the phone back to Emile, now. Happy birthday, kid.”

“Thanks!”

There was another moment of rustling, and then Emile returned.

“Okay, Virgil and I have to get to work,” Emile said. “We’re stopping by later for dinner, dad already knows. And, before you ask, no I will not tell you what your gift is, you’re gonna have to wait and see.”

Patton pouted. “Aww, okay. Bye!”

“Bye!”

Patton hung up the phone, before switching over to the texting app, and opening up his conversation with Remy.

PATTON

Hey im running out of space

So im gonna clean my arm

Can you too?

Remy responded almost immediately, as he usually did.

REMY

sure

one sec

Patton smiled, getting up and pocketing his phone. He headed over to the bathroom, quickly scrubbing away the words on his arms (he could leave the ones still remaining on his legs and torso, for now), and watching as Remy’s words disappeared at about the same time.

He then returned to his bedroom, sitting back down on his bed and fetching and uncapping his favourite pen.

The moment the tip of his pen touched his skin, a small black dot appeared just below it, like Remy was doing the exact same on his side – unintentionally trying to write in unison. All of a sudden, a wave of peace and happiness washed over Patton, but the emotions didn’t come from within himself. No, they came from an outside source, from somewhere else. Not from him.

From Remy.

At first, Patton was confused, disoriented, and then his heart skipped a beat, and he lifted his pen from his wrist.

The feeling stopped.

He then returned the pen to his wrist, creating another dot of light blue ink. For a moment, nothing happened, the feeling didn’t return, but then a small black speck appeared just beside his.

This time, the happiness was joined by an almost cautious excitement, tinged with something else.

What was it?

Love?

Love.

It felt like Patton was loving himself, except the love came from elsewhere, it came from Remy. Like a warm, comfortable blanket of love, wrapping around him and keeping him safe.

Patton beamed, wide and toothy and delighted, leaning back against the pillows and practically wiggling with excitement, careful to keep his pen tip on his wrist. A similar, thrilled feeling came back at him, and Patton quickly realised that whatever feelings he was getting from Remy, Remy was probably getting some very similar feelings in return from him.

damn babe

either something v weird is happening to me or thats ur feelings im feeling

I can feel it too!!!

Oh my gosh!

good i was worried i might be drunk

Have you been drinking?

nah thats why i was worried lmao

would be v weird to be drunk with no booze

Well that sure would be unusual!

The feelings from Remy weren’t constant, they only surfaced when both Patton and Remy were writing at once – flashes of emotions that were practically addicting. He wanted to keep feeling those feelings forever.

this is v weird

on and off

think itll get more constant the more we talk?

like we wont need to be both writing at the same time to feel it or smth?

Yeah!

I think so

Thats what happened with Em and Virge at least

cool

cant wait

There was a brief pause, and then Remy’s writing resumed.

can we doodle?

might make the empathy connection thingy better

Sure!

Patton giggled, unable to help himself, before pressing the tip of his pen to one of his freckles and drawing a thin line from it to another. Then another and another and another. Over and around the written words. He wasn’t making any specific shape or pattern in particular, just connecting the numerous dots. As he did this, Patton felt new shapes and doodles appearing on his legs, though he couldn’t see them through his trousers. Hearts and stars and moons and pawprints, most likely. The last one was new – Patton’s favourite.

He could feel Remy’s peace and contentment and love (love, love), like it was flowing through the air and seeping through his skin, filling him with happiness. Sometimes, it even increased for a brief moment, usually just after Patton’s happiness bubbled over into delighted giggles. It was a cycle – happiness creating happiness creating happiness.

Patton loved Remy. Remy loved Patton.

Love. Love. Love.

***

“Hey, Remy!”

Remy glanced up from his phone, straightening up as noticed and watched his best friend, Toby, approaching him. His foot tapped impatiently against the pavement, and his sunglasses were on to shield his eyes from bright midday sun.

“Gurl, what was taking you so long?” Remy complained, stuffing his phone into his pocket and crossing his arms, practically pouting. “I’ve been waiting here for, like, hours.”

Toby gave him a dry look. “I’m ten minutes late.”

“And that’s, like, ten hours in gay-and-in-a-hurry time.”

“In a hurry? What the hell are we even doing? Your text was very vague.”

“Well, it’s my dad’s birthday in a-”

“Which one?”

“Thomas. Bitch, stop interrupting me.”

Toby laughed, and Remy glared at him. He held his hands up defensively in mock surrender, and then gestured for Remy to continue.

“Anyway, it’s my dad’s birthday on Sunday and I’m supposed to get him a gift. I dunno what, though, so you’re gonna help me.”

“I’m pretty sure you know him better than I do.”

Remy shushed him. “Gurl, I am not letting you get out of helping me. So, we’re going to-”

He suddenly froze, going silent. Remy’s brow then creased, too, and after a moment of stillness he began to rapidly pat his arms and legs, like he was looking for something, though he didn’t seem to find it. Toby gave him a bewildered look.

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I can feel Patton’s emotions,” Remy said.

He could, but only barely – just little hints of Patton, pricking the edges of his soul – much less than he was used to, but still impossible to ignore. He was used to these feelings by now, always recognising them immediately, though this time it was... different.

“Okay... so, he’s writing to you? Isn’t that normal?”

Remy looked back at him, looking just as confused as Toby. “No, he isn’t. He isn’t writing to me. No ink.”

“He... isn’t?”

“I can always feel it,” Remy explained. “Always. But not right now. Why... why-” He froze, his eyes widening behind his dark sunglasses.  

“What?”

“He must be close. He must- oh my god, he must be close!” Remy looked around quickly, at all of the surrounding pedestrians. None of them looked right – none of them were Patton – but he could practically sense him. He was so close.

Toby blinked. “Really?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes. Yes, really. I know what I’m talking about!” Remy exclaimed, perhaps a little harsher than intended. “The empath shit only happens when you write or when you’re close. Gurl, that’s, like, common knowledge.”

Toby held his hands up. “Right, uh... sorry.” He cleared his throat. “So, how are we gonna find him?”

Remy’s brow scrunched up in thought. “I don’t know.”

His best friend shrugged, even more lost than he was.

“Maybe... maybe...” Remy continued, trailing off, before he suddenly straightened up. “It’ll get stronger the closer I get to him, so I just have to follow where it’s stronger, right? Like... like getting warmer and colder.”

Toby nodded slowly. “That makes sense. So, uh, walk around, and we’ll go in the direction that makes it stronger.”

Remy immediately began to pace in circles around Toby, pulling a slightly panicked face when at one point the feeling completely disappeared. Then, it got stronger, a wave of anticipation and curiosity, nervousness and excitement.

It suddenly hit Remy that if he could feel Patton, then Patton could feel him, too.

Patton was probably looking for him.

The corners of Remy’s lips twitched up into a smile. He was practically oozing excitement, and it was contagious, as Patton’s also seemed to increase – even Toby began smiling, too.

Toby patted him on the shoulder.

“Go on, follow your gut. I’ll be right behind you.”

Remy immediately turned on his heel, sprinting in the direction the emotions seemed to be coming from, and Toby almost tripped over his own feet following him. The empathy got stronger and stronger and stronger with every step, until it was even stronger than it usually was, and as his excitement further increased, so did Patton’s.

He rounded a corner, and immediately ran right into someone running at a similar speed, and they both tumbled to the ground with two loud thumps.

“Ah, fuck,” Remy groaned, closing his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose as a jolt of pain shot down his leg.

“Oof,” The other boy winced.

His voice was like a bell, ringing through the air: suddenly the only sound that Remy could hear.

That was when Remy realised that Patton’s emotions were now equal to his own – mixing together in Remy’s soul until they were one and the same. It was almost like they were thinking and feeling as one, which was rather disorienting, to say the least.  

Patton... Patton was right in front of him.

Remy opened his eyes, immediately coming face-to-face with the most gorgeous person he had even seen – a wide-eyed and freckled boy, about a year younger than Remy, staring back at him with parted lips and an equally startled expression. He was wearing a blue and grey t-shirt, showing off his arms and the words Remy had written to him today, and all the constellations he’d doodled on his own skin. Now, Remy could see the stars that he’d been missing, and, in his opinion, they were even better than the ones in the night sky.

Patton.

Patton, Patton, Patton.

“Patton,” Remy breathed.

“Remy.”

Remy laughed, uncontrolled and loud and delighted, sitting up straight and taking Patton’s hand in his own, squeezing it. It was warm and soft, Remy never wanted to let go, and when Patton squeezed back, he felt... complete. Perfect. Heaven.

Patton smiled – like a shining sun, one that thankfully didn’t hurt to look at, as Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“Wow,” Remy laughed. “You’re... wow.”

“Wow,” Patton echoed.

People were probably staring at them – Toby included – but Remy couldn’t take his eyes off of Patton to check. Patton seemed to be doing similarly, his eyes slowly taking in every part of Remy’s body, before returning to his face, staring into his eyes.

Patton’s eyes were brown, like honey in the sunlight. Beautiful.

“It’s... it’s nice to finally meet you,” Patton said softly.

“Likewise.”

There was a beat.

“You are gorgeous,” Remy continued, the words coming out before he could stop himself. He almost regretted blurting it out, but then Patton’s face turned a particularly pretty shade of pink, and Remy immediately grinned.

Patton squeezed his hand. “You, too.”

“Oh, I know I’m hot, babe,” Remy said, making Patton giggle. “But you, you’re... you’re an angel. Like, damn, how the hell did I get so lucky? I must’ve done something really freaking amazing in a past life to have deserved you.”

“You’re even more of a flirt in person,” Patton smiled, a little teasingly.

Remy laughed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I warned you.”

“You did,” Patton said, smiling fondly.

“Is it too soon to ask if I can kiss you?” Remy asked suddenly. His tone of voice was casual, like he was joking, but they both knew – Patton could probably sense – that he was serious.

Patton didn’t hesitate, answering quickly. “No. I mean, yes. I mean... no, it’s not too soon. Please?”

Remy didn’t waste any time, reaching forward, carefully cradling Patton’s face in his hand and kissing him gently. His lips were soft and warm and Remy never wanted to stop kissing him. Patton covered Remy’s hand with his own free one, kissing back a little clumsily, though it was without a doubt enthusiastic.

Then, he got a little too enthusiastic, and Remy tumbled backwards, pulling Patton along with him.

They broke apart, and after a moment of startled – slightly awkward – silence, they both started laughing loudly, and Patton climbed off of him. He finally stood up, holding out his hand and helping Remy up, too.

The pedestrians that had been watching them had mostly all moved on by now, leaving only Toby hovering awkwardly nearby. He had his phone out, trying to distract himself, give them some privacy, though he was undeniably still keeping an eye out. It wasn’t every day you saw a soulmate pair’s first meeting.  

Remy took Patton’s hands in his own, looking him over again and again and again.

An idea came to him – not a new one, one he’d thought about and talked about and dreamed and daydreamed about a million times – and he grinned in a way that he could feel made Patton’s heart skip a beat.

“Remember how I said I wanted to kiss every freckle?"

[come-on-shitty-boys]

Haikyuu But They Don’t Play Volleyball (Pretty Setter Squad)

Notes: I am once again telling you that I know nothing about sports.  

*Read that Captain version here! (oikawa was included in the captain thread)*

Sugawara Koushi: Diving

He’s beauty. He’s grace. How could he not be a diver?

I’m sorry but just imagine him coming up from a dive, his hair clinging to his forehead, just smiling that pretty smile of his as he swims back to the edge of the pool?

Catch me simping.

TEAMMOMTEAMMOMTEAMMOM!

Sugawara is brings a whole ass cooler of snacks and drinks to every meet for all of his teammates.

Probably leads in stretches?  His positive energy gets everyone super hyped for the competition.  I promise you’ve never heard anyone count to ten with more enthusiasm.

He’s there on the sidelines to watch every single dive during the meet, shouting words of encouragement as they approach the platform, and then cheering loudly after the completed dive.

But, also?  C H A O T I C at practices.  Like he knows when it’s time to actually practice, but if something has the team down?  He’ll do some stupid move, shouting some TikTok reference on his way down.

Sugawara is really good at twisting dives? Like?? Really good at them.

If you come to his meets to watch him?  Precious bean smiles so much, likely giving you a thumbs up and a toothy grin before he steps up to the edge of the springboard.  

You’ll try to give him a hug once he’s out of the water, but he’ll likely just laugh and object, saying that he’ll get your clothes all wet.

But, he will sit down in his chair and let you dry his hair with his towel.  Watch him melt into your touch once you're done and just running your fingers through his silver strands, getting any tangles out.

He always offers you his jacket, because he’s an absolute gentleman.  But, he inevitably ends up getting cold, and will cuddle you in his lap to steal your body heat, putting his towel down over his legs so you don’t get your pants all wet.

Kageyama Tobio: Basketball

He plays point guard, because much like the setter in volleyball, the point guard controls the team’s offense.  It’s the most specialized position, again, just like the setter.

Three point K I N G!

Drains them left and right with expert precision.

He plays so rough oml and it’s not even on purpose!  Someone could guard him too much and he’s pissed even though that’s literally the point of basketball??? Catch him throwing so many elbows.

Kageyama practices dribbling non-stop.  If he’s not in during practice, he’s on the side lines doing ball-handling drills.

He could be the best ball-handler on the team and he’s still working to improve himself and learn from some of the point guards from the opposing teams.

He will have no idea that you’re even at his games, because he’s so in the zone, but if you come up to him afterwards as he walks out of the locker room?

Insert soft Tobio smile here ;-;

He’ll ask you if you enjoyed the game, probably talking about how one of the other players had a really clean jump shot, asking you to rebound for him so he can try that.

Please tell him no.  He’s on an adrenaline high and needs to go get some rest.

Kageyama will probably con you into it, no matter how much you object. He’d be shooting baskets, asking for your input every now and then as if you have any idea what you’re meant to be looking for.

You definitely walked up to him after a game in a t-shirt that had his name on it and this boy just got so flustered, because he will never be over the fact that you, of all people, wanted to date him.

But, he would tell you that you looked nice, just like he always does.  Kageyama would never outright say it, but the fact that you get all dressed up for his games makes his heart do backflips 🥺

Kozume Kenma: Track

Right? Crazy, I know, but hear me out.  He does high jump or maybe pole vault.  Something that doesn’t require too much physical exertion.

Sitting outside in the sun at track meets for hours on end is by no means his favorite thing to do, but he’s one of the first events, so if the meet is at Nekoma, he can just dip for a little while and go play his games at a cafe that has air conditioning or something.  Don’t tell his coach though because they’re technically not meant to leave??

During practices, you will likely find him lying on the mats, playing a game on his phone, not even caring if his coach comes over.  The others are doing the same thing, so why does it matter?

He can get really meticulous though, especially right before postseason.  He’d get in this trance where he’s constantly working on his approaches, making sure they feel just right before he even thinks about jumping.  

Kenma hates when you come watch him.  It throws him off, so if you do plan on coming to a meet, please don’t say anything ;-; 

Honestly, he probably wouldn’t even tell you when he has meets, just so he doesn’t run the risk of you watching him.  

Assuming you do find out his schedule, it’s probably best if you come after his events?  It would put him more at ease knowing that there wasn’t even the slightest possibility that you had watched him.

He’ll sit on the bleachers with you though, munching on some snacks that you brought, making quiet conversation while he plays his games.

Kenma will always tell you that he doesn’t care if you come or not, but deep down, he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you while he’s waiting for results he absolutely will make sure that you leave if he makes it to the final round though

Akaashi Keiji: Golf

GOLF BRAT this is a joke don’t kill me pls

I’m talking like he grew up playing golf with his dad, but because he’s played so long, he’s super good.  

He shoots in the high-30s on nine holes and probably gets really annoyed with himself if he gets in the mid-40s

You’ll see him on the driving range right after the match, practicing until he’s content if he ever does worse than he expected.

He only uses Callaway golf balls and probably has a really unique ball mark.

His golf clubs?  Custom fit.  He’s not a snob, I swear.  He just takes it really seriously, because Akaashi knows that he’s good and could get some really incredible scholarships.  He wants to be able to perform to the best of his ability and if that means spending a lot on a nice set of golf clubs that will last him for a long time, then he’ll do it.

Akaashi carries his clubs.  He doesn’t understand the need for those push carts?  Sure the clubs are kind of heavy, but it’s not that bad.

Definitely refused to wear a glove for a long time, but eventually the blisters and calluses got so bad that he had to cave.  

Putting KING.  Can and will sink a 15’ putt without batting an eyelash.  He doesn’t have a lot of power in his drives, but his short game is impeccable. 

He’s always really flattered when you show up to his matches.  They’re boring to watch, and he knows that, especially if you don’t play golf or have any interest in the sport.  

But, the fact that you’re willing to walk with him around the course, asking him questions about the rules of the game, or even just helping him find his ball?  It brings that gentle Akaashi smile to his face. 

Akaashi in a polo akaashi in a polo akaashi in a motherfucking polo

Some weekends he’ll take you out to the course with him, let you borrow a set of his old clubs if you don’t have a set of your own, and you two will play a round of golf together

You give up after hitting the ball in the lake four times in row and just settle for driving the golf cart and providing him with emotional support.

Atsumu Miya: Tennis

Just imagine that wide ass smile of his when he scores a point

Wait i’m already soft i-

Anyway.  The intention was to get Osamu to play too and they would be this really incredible duo for doubles

But Osamu physically could not put up with Atsumu’s shit.  Like, in volleyball there are other people on the court to interact with, but in doubles tennis? It’s just atsumu

Osamu literally lasted one practice.

But, we’re not here to talk about him.

Atsumu doesn’t have a lot of power, so he has to come up with other ways to score.  He mainly relies on well-aimed receives or drop shots

He hates the uniforms and he looks terrible in them.  I’m so sorry Atsumu stans, but it’s just a fact.  Those really light, almost white, khakis and the maroon polo?  Boy looks so dumb and he knows it.  Add the dumbass headband his coach makes him wear to keep his hair from his eyes?  Fashion crises.

It’s for this reason that he really doesn’t want you at his matches.  Because he knows that you’re going to take stupid pictures of him and use them as blackmail.  You come anyway and yes.  You take a million pictures of your boyfriend looking like a hot mess in his uniform.

If he catches you taking pictures in between sets?  He’s going to steal your phone the minute he’s done so he can delete them all

“153 pictures?! What the hell, Princess. . .”

“Sorry, ‘mu.  You just look so dumb in your uniform.”

He likes to drag you out to the courts on weekends to play doubles with friends or he’ll ask you to play singles with him. He always says that he’ll go easy on you, but three volleys in and he’s slipped into the zone and he’s playing for real.

Atsumu has absolutely smacked your ass with his racket and feigned innocence when you whirl around to stare at him in shock.  He probably starts lecturing the nearest person on how they should treat someone like that, especially his princess.

Smack his arm and shut him up, please.

I promise he looks a lot better when the two of you go play than when he actually has a match.  Some nice athletic shorts and a black t-shirt or hoodie, maybe a baseball cap to keep his hair out of his face?  Yeah.  He looks hella cute.

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from the movie “Dogma”

“I’m as anatomically impaired as a Ken doll.”

“May I continue uninterrupted?”

“Mention something from a Charlton Heston movie and suddenly everyone’s a theology scholar!”

“Read that book again sometime. Women are painted as bigger antagonists than the Egyptians and Romans combined. It stinks.”

“So you were an artist? Big deal.”

“That’s why he’s the King, and you’re a schmuck.”

“ I repeat; this is not a drill. This is the Apocalypse. ”

“ We call this piece "The Fecalator.” One look at it and your target shits him or herself.“

” I just love to fuck with the clergy, man, I just love it.“

"Let’s kill people.”

“Ah, Sweet Jesus! Did you have to use the whole can?!”

“Or you’ll do what exactly? Hit me with that…fish?”

“Honestly, you bottom feeders and your arrogance, you think everybody’s just trying to get in your knickers.”

“Do you go around drenching everybody that comes into your room with flame-retardant chemicals?”

“I am to charge you with a holy crusade.”

“What’s the fine print?”

“I hate when people need it spelled out for them!”

“We’re here to pick up chicks.”

“Well, it’s a lot more compact than the flaming sword, but it’s not nearly as impressive.”

“How am I supposed to strike fear into the hearts of the wicked with this thing? ”

“What work did you do? You lit a few fires.”

“Mass genocide is the most exhausting activity one can engage in, outside of soccer.”

“You’re a man of principle.”

“We figure an abortion clinic’s a good place to meet loose women.”

“You’ll offer us sex as a reward?”

“Fucking Breakfast Club; all these stupid kids actually show up for detention.”

“Movies are fucking bullshit.”

“This is gonna sound really bad. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this, but…”

"Someone told me I’d meet you and you’d take me some place I was suppose to go.”

“I feel like Han Solo, you’re Chewie, and she’s Ben Kenobi and we’re in that fucked up bar!”

“She’s the slut. Booong!”

“All right, well lets say we’re caught in a situation where we have like five minutes left to live. I don’t know, a bomb or something’s gonna go off; would you fuck us then?”

“Tell me something nobody knows.”

“When you do it, you’re thinking about guys.”

“Wars, bigotry, televangelism.”

“You’re saying having beliefs is a bad thing?”

“My eyes are open. For the first time, I get it.”

“Ours was designed to be a life of servitude and worship, and bowing and scraping and adoration.”

“You know, all I’m saying is that maybe one of us needs a little nap…”

“I think we may have to dispatch our would-be dispatchers.”

“See, don’t let your sympathies get the best of you. They did me, once. ”

“I’ve heard a rant like this before.”

“I have seen what happens to the proud when they take on the throne. ”

“Would you - could you - have believed me? You had to come to it gradually. Only now, after all you’ve seen, could you accept the truth.”

“I don’t want this. It’s too big.”

“It’s unfair! It’s unfair to ask a child to shoulder that responsibility, and it’s unfair to ask you to do the same.”

“I wish I could take it all back. But I can’t. This is who you are.”

“Everything I am is a lie.”

“No one can take that away from you, not even God. ”

“I guess this means no more cheating on my taxes.”

“Come on, demon, I wanna see you try that shit on someone who’s already dead!”

“And the pawns are moving into place as we speak…”

“But then your kind came along, and made it so much worse.”

“But true to his irresponsible nature, man won’t own up to being its engineer, so he blames his dark deeds on my ilk!”

“I’d rather not exist than go back to that…and if everyone has to go down with me, so be it.”

“The whole fucking world’s against us, dude, I swear to God. ”

“If I had a dick, I’d go get laid.”

“I think that God is dead.”

“I can’t wait to die.”

“Do you know what makes a human being decent? Fear.”

“I’m responsible for nineteen of the twenty top-grossing films of all time.”

“The humans have besmirched everything bestowed on them.”

“Don’t you think it’s time we went home?”

“No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater… than central air.”

“What the fuck is this shit? Who the fuck are you, lady? Why the fuck did you hug my head? ”

“What the fuck is this, The Piano? Why ain’t this broad talking?”

“You of anyone should know that tits don’t make a woman.”

“But I’m a fuckin’ demon.”

“Guys like us just don’t fall out of the fucking sky, you know.”

“Beautiful, naked, big-titted women just don’t fall out of the sky, you know.”

“You’re Catholic, can’t you talk to them?”

“Consequences schmonsequences.”

“Snootch to the motherfuckin’ nootch!”

“Let it never be said that your anal-retentive attention to detail never yielded positive results.”

“You can’t be anal-retentive if you don’t have an anus. ”

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have been judged guilty of sinning against our almighty God, and I promise you, you shall pay for your trespasses, in blood!”

“I’m feeling a little exposed here…”

“Wings, now!”

“I know they were just kids, but we kicked their fucken pube-less asses!”

“Anyone who isn’t dead or from another plane of existence would do well to cover their ears right about now.”

“Are you saying you believe?”

“I’m telling you, man, this ceremony is a big mistake.”

“Go back to your paper routes, you Mighty Duck fucks.”

“Very basic strategy. If your enemies know where you are, then don’t be there.”

“Your continued existence is a mockery of morality.”

“You’re his father, you sick fuck.”

“You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life.”

“You have more skeletons in your closet than the rest of this assembled party. I cannot even mention them aloud.”

“You’re awfully nude.”

“You know, maybe you’re wrong about this slaughter thing.”

“The major sins never change.”

“What, are you insinuating that I don’t have what it takes anymore?”

“Get me a… Holy Bartender.”

“Not born. SHIT into existence.”

“I can take anyone I meet and give a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can’t keep any for myself.”

“I have issues with anyone who treats God as a burden instead of a blessing.”

“You people don’t celebrate your faith; you mourn it.”

“Your hearts are in the right place, but your brains got to wake up.”

“You were martyred?”

“I can’t believe we forgot about the magazine.”

“Smoke that motherfucker like it ain’t no thang!”

“NOBODY IS FUCKING ME! YOU GOT THAT!?”

“If you don’t pipe down, I’m going to yank your sack off like a paper towel.”

“Your hard-on for smiting has prevented us from negotiating what should be the relatively simple matter of catching or staying on a bus.”

“Well, I say we get drunk, because I’m all out of ideas.”

“Oh no, I’ve seen way too many Bond movies to know that you never reveal all the details of your plan, no matter how close you may think you are to winning.”

“You’re looking at eons of repression getting purged.”

“If only they’d let us jerk off.”

“Quit killing people, that’s high profile.”

“So do you do anal? Is it true that chicks fart if you blast ‘em in the ass?”

“The man was right about you. And I am going to go home and tell him so.”

“Quit leering at me. People are gonna think I just broke up with you.”

“You know, I hear pregnant women can have sex until their third trimester.”

“You’re a pure soul… but you didn’t say "God bless you” when I sneezed.“

"Holy shit, it’s the Pope!”

“Ever the fucking apple polisher!”

“Hey Big Bird! Wanna play the Counting Game? Count the shells, Sucker Duck!”

“Snoogans.”

“So this is all about revenge.”

“After the first couple million years, escape from hell became my all consuming reason.”

“You mean, I’m pregnant?”

“You think someone threw him out of a plane with a message written on him like in Con Air? You ever see that flick?”

“It’s the living dead! Kill it! Kill it!”

“Wait a second! Between guys with wings, guys falling out of the sky, and guys trying like hell to fuck me, I think I’ve been pretty patient so far, and I’m not taking another step until you tell me where the hell you came from!”

“I came from Heaven.”

“Is this why I had to come down here this morning, man? Is this why I had to miss my fucking cartoons?”

“Let me give you a little inside information about God.”

“People die for it, people kill for it.”

“His piece will be rubbing inside of your armor!”

“You know ,death is a worry of the living. The dead like myself only worry about decay and necrophiliacs.”

“I told them I was coming up on a routine possession.”

“'Makin’ with the love.’ It’s a nice way of saying boning.”

“Do I come off as gay?”

“I got half a stock when she kissed me.”

“I hope you’re the skeeball type.”

“Bow down, stupid!”

“It never ends!”

“What the fuck happened to that guy’s head?!”

“She’s a clever girl, that one.”

“You ready to make some of those changes I’ve been talking about?”

“One of the drawbacks to being a martyr is that you have to die.”

“All is being taken care of.”

“Why are we here?”

*touches nose and makes funny noise*

“I told you she was a woman.”

“She’s not really a woman. She’s not really anything.”

“She’s something alright.”

“Are you saying you believe?”

“Crisis of faith over?”

“Why don’t you name the kid after me?”

“We’re in Mexico?”

“I couldn’t help it, the bitch was hot!”

“You know, you can’t talk to me like that anymore, I’m gonna be somebody’s mother.”

“Yo, we should go to Quick Stop.”

[lockedstuck]

sorrow that you keep

March 2021 - Sollux Captor

“Vitals!” Dirk announces, rapping on your door with his knuckles. “C’mon, let’s get this over with so I can serve breakfast!”

When you walk out of your room, there’s already a line leading out of the treatment room. The person in front of you, a dark-skinned kid with an Angela Davis-style afro - Karkat, you think his name is - curses up a blue streak while he waits in line.

“I don’t see why I had to get a prissy fucking bastard with insomnia as my goddamn roommate. I didn’t ask for any of this fucking shit. Fucking involuntary status, fucking dumbshit Eridan, I hope this fucking hospital burns down.”

It’s too early to put up with this guy, especially with the migraine you woke up with.

“Not tryna piss you off or anything but do you think you could keep it down with your tirade?”

If looks could kill, the glare Karkat shoots you would have rendered you to a pile of smoldering ash.

“I haven’t had a cigarette in six days, it’s seven oh fuck in the morning, my roommate wakes up seventeen times a night, and I might be losing my job because my shithead brother signed me into this fucking place, so you can go straight the fuck to hell,” Karkat replies.

“Are you this obnoxious later in the day, or did they just forget to give you your ativan last night?”

“I don’t even take ativan, dumbfuck.” He squares up. Maybe if he weren’t five foot one, you’d actually be afraid. “I’ll knock you out if you keep talking, though.”

Behind you, a guy with eyes so dark that they might be violet moves to plant a hand on Karkat’s shoulder. It’s your roommate, Gamzee Makara, who appears to sleep for fifteen hours a day. Karkat surprisingly refrains from flinching or scowling. You probably wouldn’t scowl at this guy if you had the opportunity either; he’s easily six foot four, his hair curling around his ears and sticking out worse than Karkat’s.

“Now there’s no reason to get up an’ motherfucking truculent with the new guy so early in the morning.”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Makara, if you tell me to calm down and wait for the morning miracles, I’ll kill you too.”

“There’s no need to wait, Karbro. The sunrise is a miracle in and of itself. When I looked at the ceiling in my room, I saw miracles. Everywhere.”

“They need to put you on haldol, man.”

“I don’t need no helldogs telling me what to do. I just go with the flow.”

“Of course,” Karkat says, almost fondly. “You and your motherfucking miracles.”

When it’s nearly Karkat’s turn for vitals, Dirk escorts Roxy over to the nurses’ station. She blows a kiss at Karkat, who raises his hand in half-salute. Ignacio walks out of the charting room and takes a look at her.

“Miss Lalonde, I have medication for you. This’ll help with the shakes, hypertension, and sweating.”

Roxy puts her hands on her hips and winks at him. “Again, cutiepie?”

Ignacio rolls his eyes at her and shakes his head, his mohawk moving slightly with the motion. He hands her a medication cup and a paper cup of water. She swallows her medication down fluidly, without drinking any of the water. That has to be an xbox achievement.

During breakfast, as Eridan continues to scowl and bitch about his lack of breakfast (he has ECT today), and Karkat tells him to stop being an overdramatic fuckass before he stabs him with a fork, Dr. Vandayar pulls you aside for one of his “no big deal” discussions.

Otherwise known as morning check-in.

Truth be told, you rather like Dr. V, or Krishna, which is what he told you that you could call him, even though he has a doctorate.

He got you access to sharps, your body wash, and your clothes. He means well, and aside from when he checks in every morning, he doesn’t force you to talk if you don’t want to.

“How are you doing today, Mr. Captor?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m okay, I guess. Pretty much the same as yesterday.”

Then come the “one to tens”, as you’ve come to think of them. Krishna has his little clipboard balanced on his thigh.

“Urges to hurt other people, one to ten?”

You think of Karkat Vantas and that smug fucking look on his face.

“Two.” It’s always less than three. Maybe that’s why he starts with it.

“Urges to hurt yourself, one to ten?”

You contemplate yesterday’s DBT handout, Roxy’s outburst about self-destruction, and its many varying connotations.

“Eight,” you reply.

“Suicidal thoughts, one to ten?”

“Nine.”

“Active or passive?”

“Passive, mostly. Fleetingly active. I don’t want to live if I’m going to burden people, the usual.”

“Do you have any plans to seriously harm yourself on the unit?”

“No. Not here,” you say. “Everything I’d want to do would require me to be outside.”

“I see,” Krishna says. “Have you been seeing or hearing things that aren’t really there?”

“No.”

“What about feeling like people are out to get you, or sending you special messages?”

“No. Nothing like that. I get enough of that shit at home.”

Dr. V does not laugh at your attempt to joke about your chaotic home life.

If you were to be completely honest, you’re wondering when your medications are going to start working, or if they’re going to start working. Talking to the other patients has been a double-edged sword. So many of them have been on a million different drugs without relief.

Logically, you know that it’ll probably take whatever you’re on more than a week to cure you, but… You’re scared. You’re not in full control and it scares you. There’s a reason you slit your throat. There’s a reason you’re here.

You’re scared the melancholy will wrap itself around you like a shroud, and never relinquish its hold. You’re scared you’ll hate yourself and this life forever.

“I thank you for your honesty, Sollux,” Dr. V says, once he makes his notes. “Any uses of target behaviors that I should be aware of?”

“I cut myself with a plastic knife on Friday evening. Not deep enough to need medical attention, though.”

You scan his expression for evidence of emotion, but he has the mother of all poker faces. All he does is write your answers down in his incomprehensible shorthand,

“How did that make you feel?” he asks. “Remember, it didn’t necessarily have to make you feel anything.”

You shrug. “It helped relieve the tension in the moment, I guess.”

“But it also made me feel disappointed later on,” you go on. “Disappointed at myself. I’m such a fucking idiot for relapsing.”

Dr. V jots this down as well, and shuffles through his papers.

“I wouldn’t use that language to describe yourself. Ridding yourself of maladaptive coping mechanisms can be quite difficult, especially if they have worked for you in the past,” he says. “Nevertheless, do you think you need to be on one-to-one for a few days? So that you stop hurting yourself while you’re here?"

You shake your head vehemently. “Absolutely not. I won’t do what I did again.”

“That is reassuring to hear. I’ll refrain from filling out the paperwork that would put you on constant observation for self-injury. That said, though, there is something you also need to do to prevent that.”

You roll your eyes a little. “You want me to contract for safety, don’t you? Like, filling out one of those sheets that says I’ll grab someone else before I decide to hurt myself. Otherwise I end up on one-to-one, right?”

Dr. V nods at you, before going on. “Yes, that is the general idea. You may either fill it out with me later on in the afternoon, or with a member of the staff with whom you are more comfortable.”

“I’d rather fill it out with you, to be perfectly honest. I trust you.”

He smiles. “I am very glad to hear that, Sollux. I don’t have any further questions for the moment.”’

You get out of your conference with Krishna, and walk into the dayroom.  

Gamzee sits there, watching Good Morning America. He’s got a small smile on his face, and a faraway look in his eye, like he’s both here and not. You call his name to get his attention. It works, his dark eyes trained on you.

“You mind if I sit down?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “Naw, it’s cool. You can even change the channel if that’s somethin’ you wanna do.”

He’s built like a linebacker, all broad shoulders and muscles. He could probably snap you in half if he wanted to. You take the seat next to him and he smiles serenely at you.

“So what’s up?” he asks.

“Nothing, man. Just got outta session with Dr. V. He wanted to make sure I didn’t want to hurt myself.”

Gamzee looks thoughtful. He pulls a red paper flower out of his shorts and hands it to you.

“I folded that a couple days ago. You can have it, if you want.”

“For what?”

“For when you need to up an fuckin’ remember the miracles. Like we talked about last night.”

Last night, Gamzee harangued you at length about the Mirthful Messiahs, and the Dark Carnival, and with a practiced skill you have learned from your sibling’s rants about the NYPD following them, you tuned him out utterly. You really hope he doesn’t count you as a believer in his weird ass faith, which seems like some kind of psychotic juggalo cult.

He’s a nice guy, though. You know he’s not utterly harmless, but he seems easygoing enough. You fiddle around with and tear at a piece of paper until you have a square, which you then use to make a paper crane.

“Hey, Gamzee,” you say. He glances up at you.

“Yeah?”

You hand him the paper crane. “You know, the Japanese believe if you fold a thousand of these, you get a wish. I’m not folding a thousand cranes, but this is for you.”

“I will cherish it every day of my motherfucking life.”

You think he means it, too.

Art group is at 11. Katya herds everyone who wants to show up into the art room. So far, that’s you, Roxy, Karkat, June, Gamzee, Calliope, and Porrim. Karkat nods his head at you, and then inclines it toward the door. He wants to talk to you one-on-one. Whatever the fuck about?

He looks like he’s swallowed a lemon before he deigns to speak to you, all pursed lips and narrowed eyes. You’re tempted to ask him what the fuck’s eating him, and then he speaks.

“Listen. I want to apologize about earlier this morning,” he says. “I was in a foul fucking mood, and I need to work on not taking that shit out on other people.”

Wait, seriously? He can’t actually think you’re still upset about that; you get cursed out worse by your sibling on a daily basis, and that’s when they’re in a good mood.

“Accepted,” you reply. “Don’t worry about it, man.”

Faint relief breaks out on Karkat’s features.

Katya has all of you gather around before she constructs a box out of a weirdly shaped piece of cardboard that looks as if it’s been cut so that a small briefcase sized box could be constructed.

“These are what I like to call coping boxes. You make the box, and then you decorate it. You can put anything in here. Things that make you feel good, or that make you think, or handouts you get during other groups. Whatefur you want!”

She hands a box to each of you, after she puts out tempera and acrylic paint, colored markers, gel pens, and colored pencils.

You weren’t planning to keep any of your distress tolerance handouts in the box, but maybe you should. Gamzee’s staring at you while he paints, and that’s kind of weird, at least until you get a good look at how he’s decorating his coping box.

He’s painting halfway decent pictures of you, Roxy, Karkat, Calliope and Eridan on the front part of the box, with the word “friends”, in purple cursive.

He counts you as a friend even though the only thing you’ve really had to do with him was vaguely listen while he spouted his weird theories about the mirthful messiahs?

You have to hand it to him, though. Kid’s a real artist, probably - no, definitely - good enough to paint portraits for money over in Washington Square Park or something. Karkat gets a decent look at what Gamzee’s painting and blushes.

“Oh, come on, you didn’t have to put me on the damn box,” he says.

“But you are my best friend in the whole wide motherfucking universe,” Gamzee replies.

Karkat splutters something and looks like he’d like to object, then just sighs, and tells him to make sure he gets Karkat’s good side. 

“Hey, Gamzee!” Roxy calls.

“Yes, Roxybro?”

“Does painting that mean you’re gonna paint me like one ‘a’ your French girls one of these days?”

Gamzee gives this a good half-minute of thought.

“I ain’t up an’ got any motherfuckin’ French girls.”

Meanwhile, you focus on your tree. It looks like a lollipop with antennae, but whatever, that’s going to be as good as it gets. You ask Katya if you can get a piece of paper to paint on, she “of course”s you and hands you a piece of printer paper.

What will you paint today, Sollux Captor? More trees?

Tears spring to your eyes, and just when you think the worst is over, they start trailing down your face. Roxy recoils and apologizes to you, thinking she’s done something, and all you do is cry harder, you fuckup. You can’t do a goddamn thing right. Only things you’re good for are fixing computers and having nervous breakdowns.

Katya looks up from praising Calliope and Gamzee’s collaboration, and walks up to you.

“Hey - no, it’s okay, mew don’t have to cover your face - what’s wrong?”

She crouches so that she’s eye level with you as you sit in your chair. It somehow makes you feel even worse, like you’re some small child that can’t control their emotional outbursts. Come to think of it, you were like this as a kid, too. Tuna was the outgoing twin who made all the friends, and you were the twin who would start crying if you accidentally colored outside the lines.

“It’s alright. If you don’t want to paint, maybe you’d like to go for a walk?” she asks. You shake your head emphatically.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s just that I’ve never really been good at artistic stuff. Sorry I suck so bad.”

“Art group is not about being good or bad stylistically,” Katya says. “It’s about expressing yourself. As long as you’re doing that, you’re fine. I like your tree. You and Roxy are both excellent at trees.”

Roxy, who has been sitting next to you, using highlighters to draw what looks either like a really bad tree or a neon colored mushroom cloud, gives you a small little smile.

“Wanna draw with me?” she asks.

At first, you assume she’s found some oblique way to hit on you the way she does everyone else, but then she hands you the bottle of black tempera paint and a couple of colored markers. You don’t know what she expects you to do with them. Your tree sucks way more than hers.

“If you can’t think of anything to draw, why not try making patterns?” Katya asks.

You guess you can do that. You start drawing red and blue circles on your piece of paper, clustering them closer and closer together. 

Apropos of nothing, you remember the time in undergrad where you and Ray couldn’t get back to campus in time to beat the blizzard. You and she slept overnight in your car, parked in a gas station. Outside, nothing but a vast, enveloping white, what you imagine death or infinity must look like. The whole world rendered down to the slope and curve of dunes and valleys.

If you think hard enough, you can feel the wind rocking the car, can imagine the sound of Ray’s teeth chattering, or the occasional slip of her hands as she does a tarot reading. Another one. Another one down, another one down, another one bites the dust, Queen playing through your radio speakers. She sits in the front passenger seat, one leg bent beneath her.

“You think we’re ever gonna get out of here?” she asks.

At this moment, you ask yourself that same question. It’s a little different, now.

You wish you could take your seven eighths of a computer engineering degree and come up with a way out of this, but you can’t. That’s your problem. You’re only you, and you’ve never been good at managing your emotions.

[olivcrfm]

UNHAPPY ACCIDENT , ONE YEAR LATER

oliver park-davies graced the music scene one year ago today. park-davies sat down on an instagram live with billboard music, and explained the meaning behind the songs of his debut album. here’s what he had to say...

MENTIONS:  @claudiafm & @arthurnor & @alanncs & @hallelujahdarling & @nsfwilhelmina & @murdochfm & @ofmargos & @ivcsisms & @mannyfm & @hqemilia & @archcrofficial & @giovanniis

01. idle town

lyrics --- this town will never change people come and go, it's all the same speed the roads on our doubting days to any place that's far away i never learned anybody's name we all vowed that we wouldn't stay kissing signs on the interstate all we do for now is sit and wait in our idle town explanation --- “i grew up in a really small town in texas,” park-davies commented, “all that stuff you hear about small towns is true. all of my memories seem ripped straight out of coming of age film, it was all late night drives, and trips to the drive-in. chicago and new york were so different. everything seems to move in two times speed, i’m one of millions, in gruene i was one of thousands.”

02. generation why

lyrics --- i was off keying cars parked on radium lawns by suburbian moms i called a friend, let's meet at ten go wherever we want 'cause no one cares that we're gone this town don't got much to do you and i haven't got much to lose so do you wanna rot in your room like we always do? talk about how fast we grew and all the big dreams that we won't pursue then get in your car and laugh 'til we both turn blue 'cause we are the helpless, selfish, one of a kind millennium kids, that all wanna die walking in the street with no light inside our eyes we are the worthless, cursed with too much time we get into trouble and lose our minds something that i've heard a million times in my life generation why. explanation --- “i met one of my best friends when i was in texas, and we’re still friends today.” the comments were quickly flooded with mentions of claudia ortega, park-davies’s childhood best friend and rumored love interest. “yes, claudia. we would just hang around our parents, and constantly hear what company we were ruining simply by breathing, while nobody focused on the more important issues. no one ever cared about climate change, our mental health, or even what were passionate about. it was always their thoughts, their ideals, and we were just supposed to be dogmatic and accept them as truth.” park-davies then spoke directly to his audience watching the live, “you are important, your feelings aren’t invalid, the things you care about are important, you may not think you can change the world, but you can.”

03. crush culture

lyrics --- my god don't look at your phone no one's gonna call you quit checking your volume (crush) i don't care if i'm forever alone i'm not falling for you 'cause this baby is loveproof (culture) i don't care what you're saying i don't wanna participate in your game of manipulation (crush) and no i don't want your sympathy, all this love is suffocating just let me be sad and lonely 'cause crush culture makes me wanna spill my guts out i know what you're doing, tryna get me to pursue ya crush culture makes me wanna spill my guts out spill my guts out, spill my guts out oh no, don't look in their eyes 'cause that's how they get you kiss you then forget you (crush) all they're feeding you is beautiful lies so hide in the bathroom 'til they find someone else new. explanation --- “that first verse was really kind of me admitting, like, oh god i look like such a loser right now, like, always checking my phone. i’m constantly checking my phone. it’s actually miserable, like, my screen time on my phone is like nine hours a day and it’s just so bad. it’s something i need to fix but, i don’t know, i can’t help it. especially, like, if i’m waiting for a text from someone that i, like, really want to be texting me. i just check my phone over and over and over and over and yeah, i’m a mess. like, no, conan, like, you literally have no notifications. it’s not that your volume is off. no one’s texting you ‘cause no one likes you. it was admittance right from the start that this song was gonna be about someone who isn’t in love. the song is super sarcastic. there’s a lot of things that i say in it that just, like, you know aren’t true. like i’m definitely not a love proof person at all, like, whenever anyone looks at me on the street i just melt, you know? i’m not love proof at all, but yeah this song is a ton of sarcasm. i can’t even, like, i can’t lie. it’s all just me trying to seem like i know what’s going on. like i seem like i’m cool but i’m really, i’m not at all. with the suffocating line, i was really trying to make it seem like, oh yeah, i got plenty people. like, get off me, i don’t even need you. too many people, ugh. but, i definitely am not suffocating in love. i could use love. i think we all could use a little bit more love. the definition of crush culture, i think, is all of the flurry that happens around love. people who are in love texting each other, and, like, “who kissed who? and who did what?” and, like, “whoa, i can’t believe you did that.” that is crush culture and i don’t care about it. like, i don’t wanna know who you’re kissing ‘cause it’s just gonna make me miserable, i don’t wanna know who you went on a date with, i don’t wanna know any of it, i just wanna live in my sad little hole and cry about being lonely, like, just let me live my life. i am definitely the type of person who, like, falls in love with strangers every day. i’ll go to the café, see someone and, like, all of a sudden i’m fantasizing about marrying them. i think we all kind of do that and that’s kind of what makes crush culture worse ‘cause i know that i want to be in love but it just hasn’t happened yet and that’s, like, the worst part about it. that’s just, like, knowing that it could’ve existed and seeing all these, like, beautiful strangers on the street just makes you want it so bad but it’ll happen when it happens and for now i’m just going to be really bitter about it. there’s a lot of players out there. i can usually tell when someone’s being no good. you know, those people who, like, are just a little too smooth. you’re like, i see you lil motherfucker, i see you. i know what you’re doing. they’re just like a little bit too cool. like, no one’s actually that cool ever and yeah, so if someone’s, like, feeding me all these compliments, i’m like, what do you want from me? what are you hiding? i do this thing when i’m embarrassed around people that i like, i don’t know why, but i punch them. so, like, if you ever see me in public punching someone it usually means that i like them. i don’t know why. i’m definitely more of a fight than a flight response. i don’t hide in bathrooms, i usually just punch people. i don’t know why. it makes no sense.” 

04. greek god

lyrics --- i don't really care if you like me or not but i know that you want me to oh, anything i do, i know you're gonna watch to rumor up that i'm a fool you and all your friends have to walk in a squad 'cause y'all are so insecure overcompensate 'cause you're sizing me up the oldest trick in the book there's nothing you could do to dampen up my mood there's nothing you could say won't like you anyways i know that you've been hurt don't mean that it's our turn 'cause i know what you really want a little more confidence and this is where it's gotta stop i'm tired of hearing it you're just gonna be a fraud with nothing but fickle friends greek god, good god explanation --- “i feel like the people in new york and in chicago are so two faced, especially depending on who you meet. everyone is trying to be cool, and that’s not my type of scene, you can ask anyone that has met me, i can’t pretend to be something i’m not to fit in.” fans asked about alanna d’alessio who has been rumored to be one of the singer-songwriter’s less than favorable people, but he quickly shifted the narrative back to the song, “i think that there’s an extremely fine line between confidence and cockiness, you can think that you own the city, but when you act like it, it’s a huge turn off. meeting real genuine people like the friends i have is always extremely relieving, take ella for example she’s a boss bitch, but she won’t pretend to like you, when she doesn’t like you it’s definitely on sight, she’s very scary. it’s kind of hot. anyways, shout out to my friends if you’re watching this.”

05. lookalike

lyrics --- let's go back to the summer night when we met eyes, it's like a movie line kissin' underneath the city lights but now you're laying in another guy's arms 'cause i'm all gone but when you look in his eyes do you think of mine? and when you look at that smile do i cross your mind? i know in your head you see me instead 'cause he looks a lot like i did back then baby don't lie he's just a lookalike. and i'll admit that i sometimes, maybe, might think about you at night, well, almost every night no matter how i try to hide and erase you from my mind i'm dying to find a lookalike 'cause when you look in his eyes hope you think of mine and when you look at that smile hope i cross your mind i hope in your head you see me instead 'cause you've been in mine every day since then maybe it's time to find a lookalike no, i can't lie i need a lookalike. explanation --- this song has been rumored to been about his ex-girlfriend wilhelmina olivers, and the abrupt end in their relationship. other fans speculated that it was about his ex-boyfriend arthur norwich, but much of this has been shut down since the pair remains friends. park-davies’s desperately tried to skip over the song, but after much pestering his fans managed to weasel an explanation out of him. “this song is just about missing someone. although you love them, and constantly think about them, you know you can’t have that person. so you settle for a lookalike. not even physically or personality-wise, maybe it’s simply emotionally. the song is just about loss of love and craving to find it again.” a fan then asked if it was about one specific person, and where davies’s got the inspiration for the song. “i don’t know if it’s about one particular person, rather than just my experiences with multiple people. obviously a lot of my songs are inspired by own personal experiences, heartbreak, life in a small town, things that make me who i am.”

06. the other side

lyrics --- i've got tired eyes, a black sky making its home under my lash line you keep on crying, babe, i don't mind i'll keep on staring at the clock tryna pass time in my life, it flies by faster than you could say, "i love you, goodbye" "it's almost over, " you say with a sigh will our lives be better when we make it to the other side? ah, ah i hope we make it to the other side ah, ah eighteen, prom queen we spend our time thinking 'bout what we'll be doing we walk quiet streets, not afraid of the sounds nothing bad ever happens in this town explanation --- “a lot of you ask me if this song is about one of my exes, but it’s not. it’s actually about claudia.” this revelation shocked many fans, who believed it was a love song, since ortega and park-davies’s have claimed they are just friends. “it is a love song, but it’s about platonic love. claudia is my best friend, and i couldn’t live without her, we grew up together. she saw me grow from this lanky boy into a slightly less lanky, slightly older boy. we weren’t the happiest kid, a lot of the times we tried to do things that we might regret. we thought that we would never get away from our families, or the lives that we were being force fed.” davies then went off camera to go fetch something, then held up an old prom picture of claudia ortega and himself. “fun fact, you’re looking at prom queen and king. i just hoped that we would make it out, and we did.”

07. grow

lyrics --- i look about seventy years older it feels like minutes but really it's hours the cooling pavements calling my name and the zooming street signs don't look the same, no don't know why, but i think i'm ready for it yeah, i think i'm ready for running on concrete electricity i finally can breathe i think i'm ready for only you and me we made it out, it seems i made it out, it seems i think i'm ready to grow, to grow to grow, to grow familiar sounds the lake holds all our secrets nostalgia bound yeah, i'll take my time evolving dreaming of phone calls you knew all along the way we joked 'til we laughed our tails off. explanation --- “i don’t know who this song is about. i think it’s just an amalgamation of all of the people who have come and gone from my life. friends gained and lost. i grew in and i grew out. i’m pretty sure this whole album is just about wanting to leave texas, wanting to get out of the small town, with the same people, and the same things to do. i was ready for it to be me and anyone against the world. whether that was claudia or harper or margo. claudia is actually the one who recorded the video for me. i’m friends with people that i never thought i would be friends with when i released this album. shout ivy serrano,” park-davies then proceeded to bring his roommate and their puppy into the video, the comments were flooded with heart eyes and rumors of the two dating. serrano managed to upstage park-davies’s obviously, to the point where the singer-songwriter had to relocate and force serrano out of the video.

08. lovesick boys

lyrics --- i was alone for a while you came along and you asked me for a smile i guess then the stars had aligned a flower bloomed, the clouds were rushing out of my mind and that's how it goes in the films tears of honeysuckle welling up in your eyes a boy meets a girl, they go off to beat the world and they both are left unsatisfied well, lovesick boys will write you love songs and lovesick girls will always listen but what you fail to see's there's plenty of us so keep your petals pointing towards the sun and bloom bloom bloom just bloom, just bloom you watch as he walks through the fields crushing pretty daisies under his heavy heels he picks you a big one it withers in the sun you notice that the flower is you. explanation --- “this is how it felt to fall in love with arthur. i taught him how to skateboard, and he made me fall in love by shoving hot dogs in his mouth, and falling off of his board. there was something about him, maybe the fact that he was the first person to love me, for me, and the first person to love me in general. you know that cliche thing where it’s like ‘i was a daisy she was a rose, you would never pick me’ it was like finally getting picked. the childhood wonder of blowing dandelions and picking petals off of flowers saying ‘he loves me’ ‘he loves me not’.” fans quickly spammed the chat with sweet messages, and fans who still ship the pair excitedly commented ‘dads!’. the singer-songwriter continued, “i still remember the first day he kissed me, his lips weren’t sweet like honey suckle or anything poetic like that, he tasted like all the food we just had at the fair the day. like the sweet powdered sugar from funnel cakes, we were at the top of the ferris wheel, and i was afraid of heights, he didn’t know how to distract me so he just kissed me.”

09. the king

lyrics --- crush always making me feel like i got nothing to offer but i'm the only one that can make you feel right i'm the only one that you think of at night baby, don't lie you're always talking to me like you're totally bothered so why you always ring at the end of my line? don't you got a girl that can make you feel nice? it's a dead sign you see me as your lifeline other boys and girls never really made you feel right and you can't explain why i'm always running your mind don't you see the answer's right in front of your eyes? you like me, oh, obviously so why you trying to leave when you know that i'm the king? (you'll see) 'cause i'm supreme (choose me) other lovers give you no luck 'cause i'm the only one that has made you fall in love (you'll see) so just shut up (choose me) explanation --- “i’m the king.” is all park-davies’s commented before promptly moving on to the next song.

10. i know a place

lyrics --- i know a place we could go i know a place where there aren't any roads where the grass is always greener and doesn't scratch your fingers i know a place so come with me dear the halogen hum hurts my ears swim in the spring we could be free cause i know a place we could go no one has been there, and no one will know there it is quiet, forget the violence you've tried so hard to ignore oh, i know a place we could go unpack our bags and we'll call it a home the sea will sing our minds to sleep i know a place we could go and once we get there we could stay an old shaky house, our lives would be made and i don't know all the answers but you look like december there we could stay i'm tired of fear grasping for safe, familiar you are like me, oh, could we leave? explanation --- “this song had to end by being about my favorite people in the whole world. they mean so much to me, and they’re the ones that encouraged me to write music and actually pursue my dreams, this whole album might as well be an ode to their influence. everyone say thank you to claudia, harper, ella, margot, manny, emilia, archer, and giovanni, well maybe not giovanni unless you say it super slowly.”

the singer-songwriter answered more general questions about himself, his friends, and the album, before ending the live video.

[c-is-for-circinate]

It occurs to me that I promised y’all I’d tell you stories from the D&D campaign I’m running, and it’s now been a week since the first session, so I should definitely do some of that!  I can already tell it’s going to be a fun-as-shit campaign.  If nothing else, my party and I are collectively five variably-queer ladies who met at knitting group and range in age from “haven’t played D&D since 2e at GenCon in the 90′s” to “too young to remember fandom before AO3 existed”.  We’re real fucking cool.  I am going to have to explain, in detail, so many textiles and other interesting crafts.

I am a WORDY-ASS MOTHERFUCKER, so the whole tale will probably get pretty long in the telling, but: welcome to the continent of Nokomoris, on a world that probably has its own name but I haven’t decided on it yet because naming things is hard, dude.

[here’s where I will probably link game session posts in the future once they exist]

Hark, a backstory!  (And, our four players)

IF YOU RECOGNIZE THIS CAMPAIGN INFO BECAUSE YOU ARE PLAYING IT, CONSIDER YOURSELF UNDER DM ORDERS TO BACK OFF AND STOP READING.  I KNOW YOU FUCKERS ARE ON TUMBLR TOO, THERE IS A REASON I DIDN’T GIVE YOU MY HANDLE.  (I love you all very much and yes, there are spoilers in here.  Go away and text me now.)

Eastern Nokomoris, where our story takes place (or at least begins) is in a prosperous age of thriving city-states and collapsed kingdoms.  Most trade, culture, and even centralized government is based among the Nine Cities, massive metropolises located around the Attiks Sea and nearby lands.  Nearly a million people live in the nine cities, which are connected to each other via well-established sea and land trade routes, and also by what many are calling the most important technological/magical development of the modern age: a network of massive permanent teleportation circles, thirty feet in diameter.

The circle network is big enough to carry large trade wagons, livestock, huge parties of people, and even troops and war machines.  Sea and land trade has dropped by half between the Nine Cities in the past fifteen years, and continues to decline.  The cities themselves are thriving and prosperous, and it’s easier than ever to get beef and leather from Karna Vi, wool from Yefira, pottery from Celkan or metalwork from Tiers no matter where you live.

Outside of the cities, it’s another story.  Dozens of once-prosperous kingdoms, and even the whole of the Trava Empire, have fallen in the past seventy years: first during the Church Wars, and then in the yeas of chaos and rebuilding once the Wars were over.  Small towns everywhere that once paid taxes to a crown, and were protected in turn by royal troops and much-needed aid in times of hardship, have been left entirely to stand or fall on their own.  Some have thrived, becoming local centers of trade for whole coalitions of abandoned towns nearby.  Others have disappeared, died out, or simply faded into the wilderness, forgotten.  The great open plains of Highnorth where the Trava Empire once ruled, the endless golden sea of the Southgrass, the peaks and valleys of the Thavine Mountains, the deep many-colored forest of the Iris Peninsula--who knows what’s out there any more?

And in the Midlands, where the worst of the Church Wars took place...well, precious few towns even survived to rebuild in the first place.  Land that once held the most fertile farms in all Nokomoris is desolate now, scarred and cursed.  Most of the battlefield has been picked over by intrepid adventurers and out-of-work soldiers in the six decades since the Wars ended, already raided for magic and treasure.  The ruins remain, and the valleys where nothing will ever grow again, and the eternal shadow over the once-Holy City, and who knows what sorts of twisted things living in places people no longer go?

But it’s been sixty years since the Church Wars ended, and for most people, life is good.  Small-town farmers may no longer have the protection of any crown, but small technological advancements in plow design and crop rotation mean that they can produce more food than they need and sell the extra in the nearest city for coin.  More and more young people, freed from heavy labor on their parents’ farms, have learned reading, writing, history, and some amount of arcane talent.  The Grand Universities in the nine cities are thriving, full of scholars of all ages eager to learn and advance the course of knowledge everywhere.

Of course, there are ten times more scholars in the Grand Universities than there are professorships or other high-ranking positions to hire them to...and that is where our story begins.

.

Our intrepid party thus far includes:

Marion, a human paladin of indeterminate gender, whose human family stands among the nobles of the great city of Karna Vi, where our story begins.  Marion is an acolyte of the Church of Lost Things, which concerns itself with every god that does not easily fit within the purview of the other seven Churches, and also with every god that has been erased or forgotten by time (for all gods deserve worship, and all gods are capable of smiting those that neglect them, sooner or later).  They’re also a math major, largely because computer science hasn’t been invented yet.

Marion’s really hoping to be able to build and program a simple computing machine, a la Babbage’s Difference Engine (or Arthur C. Clarke’s The Nine Billion Names of God), to tabulate and generate all the possible names of every god ever to exist, which seems much more efficient than just combing piecemeal broken historical records trying to find them.  It has not been going well.  In a Church system where paladins are often more concerned with protecting people from the gods than for the gods, cracking this problem will let Marion figure out who the gods even are like nobody ever before.  But there are variables missing, and theomathematical constants they can’t even identify yet, let alone calculate--and they’re not going to find here.

Three interesting facts about Marion, as per their player: 

They once spent an entire week holed up in a lab over a holiday break and were declared missing-presumed-dead.  Police searches were involved.  It was a little bit of a scandal.

They are by far the most unremarkable and constantly forgotten member of their entire family.  (This perhaps says more about their family than about them.)

Everyone on campus is fairly sure they interfered with the campus clock tower specifically to give students more time on finals last semester.  This is false.  They were trying to run a different experiment entirely, messed with the clock tower by accident, and didn’t actually notice it was finals week even after it was over.

Kevin, an elf barbarian sportsball champion, hero of the university’s sportsball team for the past ten years straight.  Kevin is a foot and a half taller than any self-respecting elf ought to be, not to mention twice as broad.  He’s finally starting to acknowledge the fact that there is, in fact, no NFElf, and you can’t be a “professional sportsballer” within the Elven Ascendancy, and his bemused parents would really like him to do something with his life beyond playing those little games with the ball and all of those...non-elf people.

Kevin is also an art history student, mostly out of desire for an easy major that’ll make his parents happy while he happily spends most of his time out on the sportsball field.  He’s got high strength, basic middle intelligence, and negative wisdom.  He’s sat through more history classes than the entire rest of the party put together.  He understands approximately none of it.  Still--he can’t do sports forever, and art history makes his parents happy, and he might as well go on a quest to uncover lost art and artifacts and maybe prove he’s an actual adult sooner than later, right?

Three interesting facts about Kevin, as per his player:

Back in his home city playing little league sportsball, there were definite (and accurate) rumors about this wild elf that could and would straight-up squish opposing players.  That’s how the college recruiters found him in the first place.  It’s definitely why they wanted him.

He has so many groupies.  So many.  They come in so many different species and genders and Kevin is on board with every single one.  (On board?  On bed?  On convenient flat surface?  Does it particularly matter?  Not to Kevin!)

Kevin is covered in tattoos, and there are all sorts of rumors about what sort of eldritch magic they hold--like, that panther is probably a real panther bound by elven magic, right?  A pretty persistent rumor suggests that the tattoos all commemorate individual opposing team members he’s...either hospitalized or fucked, or both, literally nobody is sure.  (In point of fact, none of the above are true, and Kevin just has terrible taste in tattoos and a pretty stunning lack of both impulse control and supervision--but why quash the stories?)

Kou, a halfling bard whose girlfriend just left three weeks ago on a research expedition of her own, taking with her approximately 85% of Kou’s impulse control.  In theory, Kou is an alchemy major, studying science to make her scholar parents happy.  In practice, she probably spends more time sneaking into music seminars and/or busking on the street for spare change than actually doing alchemy, but her girlfriend was a Good Responsible Influence who made sure Kou didn’t get kicked out of the department, and to be fair, alchemy can blow things up sometimes so that’s always good.

Kou doesn’t so much have plans for the future as vague, contradictory aspirations, but that doesn’t mean she’s not smart.  She’s learned enough magic to use a set of recording stones to play, loop, and modulate beats or bits of music, thereby making her Nokomoris’s very first DJ, and she really wants to be a professional musician someday.  She just hasn’t figured out how to reconcile her dreams with her parents’ wishes, the lives they’ve worked so hard to create, or a halfling cultural legacy that has more to do with riding around snowfields covered in furs waving spears than it does with brightly-colored house parties.

Three interesting facts about Kou, as per her player:

Kou very definitely once spent a full day dressed up in halfling traditional garb, furs and all, including a very fuzzy fur hat.  It wasn’t until that evening that somebody saw the hat move and everyone realized she’d been wearing a curled-up live fox the whole time.

She once managed to create an incredibly destructive compound in alchemy lab out of ingredients that should not have actually been able to react that way.  She found out it was corrosive when she accidentally spilled it on six months’ worth of a different professor’s lab notes.  (She got an A anyway, because her lab professor hated the other guy, but that has more to do with Professors Ayanova and M’tiersi than Kou, really.)

She absolutely goes down to counter-protest every damn time those Family First assholes try to rally downtown in favor of child-producing (read: heterosexual, single-species) families.  Rumor says she once broke her guitar over a protester’s head, which horrifies her--Kou’s guitar is the most expensive thing she owns!  She used their own protest sign, like a sensible person.

Reigenleif, a mostly-female-probably gnome rogue known around campus as “Beer Run” for her skills at somehow always having access to better and cheaper beer than anyone else, and her general willingness to deliver to parties (for a small additional fee).  Reigenleif’s parents are small-time forgers who ended up mostly working for a local crime organization after a series of bad luck and political upheavals brought them to Karna Vi a few decades ago.  They really want their kids to go clean, avoid all the uncertainties and occasional jail sentences/executions that accompany a life of crime, and maybe make a little something of themselves.  Reigenleif, who has zero interest in staying on the right side of the law, mostly does odd jobs for a different, not-technically-rival criminal organization, and carefully does not tell her parents about it, ever.

Technically she’s an engineering major, and she’s more than got the brains for it, plus the accompanying curiosity about metallurgy and arcane artificing.  Still, she spends most of her time helpfully involving herself in other peoples’ projects rather than running her own.  (Her own projects have a lot more to do with figuring out new forging techniques and criminal tricks, and don’t look very good in the end-of-year department report.)  Enjoys causing trouble, not being in it.

Three interesting facts about Reigenleif, as per her player:

She absolutely owns a copy of the provost’s signet ring, which she can and has used to create documents allowing herself access to all sorts of University resources.  Like most things, she’ll share the use of it, quietly, for a price.  (She also owns a copy of Marion’s family signet ring, which is a much longer story that I as the DM do not know yet--can’t wait for that.)

Once captured and maneuvered a live swan into somebody’s office to cause as much chaos as possible so Reigenleif could get up to something somewhere else.  Is a little bit of a legend for it.

Aside from her not-actually-that-impressive family legacy of crime, Reigenleif’s spread a quiet rumor around school that she’s descended from the famous marauding pirate, Thrand Slender-Leg.  It’s possible that Thrand Slender-Leg never actually existed.  It’s possible that nobody had ever heard of him before Reigenleif made him up.  She’s certainly not telling.

[krumbine]

Red Alert in the Department of Human Asset Management and Existential Mitigation

Oil prices have plunged into negative territory. The used car index has cratered. Governments are issuing a universal basic income to its citizens.

Society as we know it is a house of cards built upon smoke and mirrors. There's a very dangerous reason the Powers That Be don't want people to see the truth.

But it’s already too late.

###

Several miles beneath a desert that was currently radiating more heat than the planet’s ozone knew what to do with, an office worker who specialized in Existential Minutiae Mitigation was tapping away at his terminal keyboard, finalizing a report on a recent Blue Alert.

In the cubicle adjacent, another office drone stared at a green-glowing terminal monitor as blocky text scrolled by. “Oil just went negative,” Packard said. “Dude, oil has never gone negative. They’re literally paying people to take the oil.”

“Mmh.” Wilson kept tapping at his keyboard. Blue Alert reports didn’t write themselves.

“Look, I’m telling you––” Packard’s eyes were fixed on his terminal as he stabbed a finger at the screen, “––this is gonna be the big one. At the rate things are escalating, we’ll have a Red Alert by end of week.”

Packard turned to face Wilson. He leaned forward, resting elbows on the cubicle desk, bulky shoulders stretching a poorly-fitted white short-sleeved dress shirt. He peered over the cubicle partition at Wilson, obviously enthusiastic about the developing crisis. “You know the last time we had a Red Alert?”

Wilson didn’t answer and Packard wasn’t waiting.

“Three-point-five years ago. The D.C. incident. It took eighteen months to finish cleaning up that mess.”

Wilson nodded absently. “I remember.”

Packard leaned back in his too-small desk chair. “Hell, the fellas on Twenty-Nine are still mopping up the residuals from that one.”

A moment passed and Wilson filled it with typing. He didn’t mind gossiping about current affairs––well, listening to Packard gossip about current affairs––but it wasn’t every day that Wilson was assigned a Blue Alert. Since he had handled it with textbook precision, it was critical to log the details carefully. There was a reason Blue Alerts were considered career makers.

“Hey. Dude.”

Wilson resisted the urge to sigh. He looked over the partition at a grinning Packard.

“When the Red Alert does come, who do you think’ll get it?”

Wilson chewed the inside of his cheek. That was interesting.

There were a total of three alerts in the Department of Human Asset Management. Each alert corresponded with a different color which corresponded with a different level of existential panic and subsequent crisis.

Yellow was as mild as it was frequent. It was accompanied by a comparatively gentle beeping––soft tones that were separated by stretches of silence nearly five times longer than the alert tone itself.

Wilson knew this because he had timed it. It was the nature of his work to discover random details like that. Wilson also had plenty of opportunities to track the timing since, again, the Yellow Alert was set off frequently. Most recently, an office worker who coordinated ad buys in Titusville, Florida wondered if there was really any point to a job that processed paperwork for something that didn’t actually exist. The ad buy paperwork had nothing to do with the advertisement or even how the advertisement was scheduled, but merely the purchasing of the time and the ephemeral digital space that the ad would eventually exist in.

That is, if you could say that ads in Titusville, Florida are even capable of existing.

If advertisements in Titusville, Florida don’t actually exist (whatever that means), what definitive meaning could a person possibly find in the transaction of the invisible, non-tangible time that nonexistent ads are supposed to exist within?

From there, the office worker in Titusville almost realized that money had no value, societal structures were carefully fabricated lies to keep the human assets distracted, and time itself was a construct designed to imbue artificial meaning into that ad buy paperwork because if it’s not processed now then it’ll be too late and then how will Paige Smith of 6233 Forest Wood Lane ever know that this new smartphone is so much better at opening Facebook than the one she bought four months ago?

It is a well-established fact that the snowball effect of a Yellow Alert could be catastrophic for the Department of Human Asset Management.

Fortunately, the Titusville alert was swiftly mitigated when Wilson’s colleague in the adjacent cubicle had the coordinator’s manager initiate a Performance Evaluation process which promptly derailed the coordinator from any potential existential enlightenment by forcing her to quantify and justify the value of her work in buying non-existent time for an advertisement someone else created to convince people to buy things they don’t need.

Yellow Alerts were about as boilerplate as things got for Wilson.

Blue Alerts, on the other hand, were another matter. The last one was three days prior and, as you would expect, it had escalated from a Yellow Alert.

The alert tone buzzed and blue light flashed overhead. An algorithm sent the ticket to Wilson’s terminal and he immediately got to work. No one much cared about Yellow Alerts, but the time-to-close on Blue Alerts could make or break careers in the Department of Human Asset Management. This was Wilson’s opportunity to show leadership his true value.

It had been a pastor of a non-denominational congregation in Lubbock, Texas. The non-denominational part was already a complication. Traditional religions made Wilson’s job easy with their overreaching rituals and rules and general do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do-or-burn-in-Hell mandates designed to keep simple people from misbehaving. Non-denominational churches were infamous for eschewing large swaths of this fanaticism, thereby opening the door to those problematic bigger questions about existence.

The Yellow Alert went off when the pastor in Lubbock, Texas couldn’t square a local mass shooting with a “loving God” who had called the pastor to service. The mass shooting (Blue Alert #04987, nighttime event) had killed six members of the pastor’s congregation.

These six members were all pillars of the church’s financial infrastructure. 

Again, the Yellow Alert could have been an easy fix. Tax breaks, bailout money, even a well-placed lottery ticket could have mitigated the questioning of the pastor’s faith.

Unfortunately, none of those things happened fast enough.

What does happen fast is the spread of an existential crisis of faith.

Soon, nearly 90-percent of the congregation was starting to see their religion for the house-of-cards that it was. That was when Wilson was assigned the ticket.

This was the whole point of the Department of Human Asset Management and Existential Mitigation.

This was Wilson’s moment.

And he motherfucking nailed it.

Simple solutions were always the most elegant. Wilson orchestrated a $6 million anonymous donation to the church. The amount was so absurd, the pastor––and subsequently his congregation––were left with no other options: God works in mysterious ways, always looking out for his flock.

Never mind the mass shooting.

Never mind the deaths.

Never mind the house-of-cards or the smoke and mirrors––Lubbock, Texas was getting a brand new, ostentatious white-and-gold-trimmed church building.

With a final tap to his keyboard, Wilson submitted his report on Blue Alert #05332. It was a job well done and residual reporting had confirmed that Lubbock, Texas was currently free from any active existential crises.

Packard whooped, startling Wilson.

“Holy shit, dude!” Packard cried, too loud for the muted cubicle farm.

Wilson glanced over the partition and confirmed that Packard was practically buzzing.

“Used car prices just cratered,” he said.

Wilson glanced up at the bank of alarm lights. Yellow, blue, and red were all dormant. The used car market was hugely problematic. If the used cars are too cheap, people don’t buy new cars and new car production can’t scale back fast enough to assure people that everything is perfectly normal, nothing to see here.

“Dude, it’s not just the used car index. People aren’t buying anything––“

That other house-of-cards, Capitalism.

“––motherfucker––“

A high-pitched whirring alarm sounded and a flashing red light bathed Wilson and Packard’s cubicles. The two colleagues looked at each other. So much for end of week.

Terminals across the Department of Human Asset Management began chiming with new information as the office began buzzing with the news.

Packard read the details on his screen and cursed again. “The government is supposed to be on our side!”

Wilson read the news that had set off the Red Alert. Legislation was just passed that established a universal basic income.

Packard was furious. “People are literally getting paid to do nothing!”

Idle minds make fertile grounds for existential questions.

People were yelling at each other in the office, racing down hallways. Panic escalated.

This was not a drill.

Wilson scanned the mounting chaos around him. Based on the growing confusion, he could tell that the Red Alert ticket had not been assigned yet.

This could be the big one––the very crisis that the Department of Human Asset Management was created to mitigate.

After Earth Mark I had fallen, the Powers That Be needed to ensure that the population of Earth Mark II never questioned the reality of their existence.

It was too dangerous.

The former Earth was a forgotten memory––a desolate red reminder suspended in the void of space, one hundred and twenty million miles away from Earth Mark II.

It was no mystery that the Red Alerts were named after the Red Planet.

Amid the high-pitched whirring alarm, the flashing light painting the chaos of the the office a crimson red, Wilson heard a soft beeping notification from his terminal.

The ticket had been assigned.

###

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jordan Krumbine is a professional video editor, digital artist, and creative wizard currently quarantined in Kissimmee, Florida. When not producing content for the likes of Visit Orlando, Orlando Sentinel, or AAA National, Jordan is probably yelling at a stubbornly defective Macbook keyboard, tracking creative projects in Trello, and animating quirky videos with LEGO and other various toys.

Leave a dollar in the Tip Jar: https://ko-fi.com/krumbine

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http://www.krumbco.com

[chiseler]

The next to last MOVE

[The release of Delbert Africa after 42 years in prison has lit me up like fireworks. Most of what's below was written several years ago, so this is a minor update. But goddamn am I glad he's out. It doesn't put the end to anything – one other MOVE member is still languishing – but it lends the closing bracket on a time and place that's long, long been central to my life. I never talked to Delbert, but I was never less than monumentally impressed by him, even though I thought MOVE was basically off its nut. See what you think.]

In the summer of 1978, my wife Linda and I had fun towing her little red wagon full of rocks through the police line during the first confrontation between the city of Philadelphia and MOVE.

Never heard of MOVE, or only recently with an odd revival of interest? I'm not surprised. Only in Philadelphia could the record of summer-long martial law effectively... vanish for decades.

Back then, MOVE was often called a "back to nature" and/or "anti-technology" outfit: A back-to-nature-anti-technology outfit that used bullhorns, lived in the middle of a city of 1.5 million inhabitants and organized protests of Jane Fonda and Buckminster Fuller. Demonstrating against the then-82-year-old champion of the geodesic dome – who would do such a thing, why?

Only MOVE, only in our itty-bitty liberal enclave of Powelton Village, and I think no one will ever know exactly why. They followed the teachings of Vincent Leaphart, whose rambling treatise made little sense to anyone beyond his small band of raucous believers. "MOVE" wasn't an acronym, just a word, but always capitalized. Leaphart changed his name to John Africa and insisted his followers all take the last name of Africa.

Powelton, a ten-square-block Victorian snippet of West Philadelphia north of Drexel University and the University of Pennsylvania, began as the city nabobs' summer-retreat in the late 19th century, just across the Schuylkill River from Center City. By the late 1960s it had attracted a loose rattle of quiet leftists and inoffensive layabouts who were tolerant of most anybody but Drexel, which was determined to devour as much of the community as it could ladle down (and has now debased the area with overpriced apartments for its students.)

During the late '70s, Powelton's squishy acceptance allowed MOVE to occupy a pair of brick twins at 33rd and Pearl Sts., no more than a block from our commune, where they nailed together huge, ramshackle ramparts, kept a pack of half-feral dogs, ate raw meat and tossed their garbage in the yard. An all-black group (except for one scrawny white woman), they were dreadlocked and more physically fit than any health poster.

For income, they washed cars on 33rd St. (and did a damned fine job of it). On no particular provocation, they would mount the ramparts, pick up a bullhorn and harangue the world. It made a hell of a racket. They could also explode into sudden violence, especially against the police, though I regularly walked past their house and was never harassed.

The city, citing housing and sanitation regulations, declared them pests and obtained a court order telling them they had to go. The order set off one of the strangest confrontations in modern American history.

On a quiet summer evening, the MOVErs mounted the ramparts carrying rifles and dressed in camo fatigues. You'd think the police would act. Well, they did: They blocked traffic on 33rd St. That was it. They never approached the MOVE house. During the protest, Delbert Africa, their chief spokesman (one of the most beautiful human beings who ever existed) issued this statement, part haiku, part tautology, that has always defined MOVE for me:

"Any motherfucker

tries to take away my motherfuckin' rights,

that man is a motherfucker."

I doubt their guns were loaded (they have since claimed they were not). For one thing, they were pointed straight up, for show. For another, the fatigues still had folds in them – the protestors had bought them that afternoon, probably at I. Goldberg's, a decades-old army-navy surplus store.

The city's mayor was Frank Rizzo, former police commissioner from South Philly, idolized by the Italian community, hated by the gays and blacks he had hounded throughout a career of sneering, swaggering machismo (my favorite quote: "I'll make Attila the Hun look like a faggot").

Rizzo's response to MOVE was incomprehensible and ultimately ruinous for the city.  Rather than clear the house of this rabble on outstanding charges of health and safety violations, he directed the police department to place a cordon around our neighborhood and wait for MOVE to capitulate. (If China had suggested starving out a bunch of dissidents, the U.S. would have been mightily upset.) Worse, he announced his plans a couple weeks in advance, giving MOVE's supporters ample time to haul in truckloads of supplies, including a skid of dog food.

For the next roughly six weeks, Powelton was occupied by up to 2,000 police and support personnel. I still find it hard to grasp that a judge blithely approved a state of martial law to enforce health regulations. And that his ruling was never seriously challenged or overturned.

To those familiar with MOVE, the result was foreordained—they simply hunkered down and refused to... move. Us Poweltonians, meanwhile, had to show identification to enter our own streets. The local activists, in their vocal but placid way, formed so many committees to discuss the situation – roughly equal pro- and anti-MOVE – that a higher committee coalesced to coordinate them all.

About then, Linda was moving back to the commune where I'd met her and where I still lived. We had no "transportation" beyond a battered wire shopping cart and her little red wagon. Back and forth we clumped from her apartment, the wagon loaded with books, kitchen equipment and the big garden rocks she'd brought from her home in Kansas. After awhile, even the cops found it ridiculous to keep asking for our IDs. They'd grin lightly, look bemused, then stand aside.

The immense police presence was absurdly ineffective. They exempted the street behind us from the cordon, and since our block had no internal fences, I would walk Pearl, our exuberant St. Bernard, down our front steps and half way around the block, then in the back way, without a single police challenge. The neighborhood also experienced a marked increase in breaking and entering – I guess it heightened the crooks' street cred to thumb their noses at the Man.

Across the city, the police force was in a shambles from diverting 20% of its resources to a pointless, static operation. (Once the blockade was lifted, they found that MOVE had moled a tunnel through to Powelton Ave., sneaking in supplies during the entire occupation.)

As I hazily recall it, the city and MOVE reached an agreement that if the police lifted their blockade, MOVE would hand over their guns. The police lifted the blockade, and –surprise! – MOVE handed them a bellylaugh.

Then one morning Linda and I were awakened by a short, intense rattle of gunfire. It hit like a mallet: "My god, they're killing them all." As it turned out, one police officer, James Ramp, was killed but no MOVE members. Despite conflicting forensic evidence on where the shot had come from, nine MOVErs were convicted of third-degree murder and for decades were regularly denied parole.

When I returned from work that afternoon, the street in front of our house was scored with caterpillar treads. I followed them around the corner to 33rd St. The MOVE houses were gone – three-story brick Victorian twins evaporated, the ground a smooth expanse of Philadelphia's yellow-brown clay. As Linda's young son Ben said, "At least they didn't salt the earth."

The occupation and confrontation were big news in city media back then, but they never caught national attention. Why? Can you name another example of weeks-long, uncontested martial law in a major American city?

That wrapped up MOVE for Powelton, but not for the city. Seven years later, on May 12-13, 1985, under Mayor W. Wilson Goode, the local government again lost its ability to think like adults in response to MOVE. The remaining group had moved to Osage Ave. on the city's western edge and again erected ramparts, but the local population was less willing than the loosey-goosey Poweltonians to accept such disruption.

This time, the city cut corners and turned to direct confrontation. The result was an armed standoff that ended when a collective of official imbeciles OKd dropping a parcel of C4 explosive onto MOVE's roof bunker. As the resulting fire spread, rather than endanger the firemen standing ready (or so read the official rationale), it was left to go its merry way.

The entire square block of over 60 rowhouses burned flat. When the smoke had cleared and the flames died out, 11 members of MOVE were found incinerated, including John Africa and five children. There were only two known survivors, Ramona Africa and nine-year-old Birdie Africa, who was permanently disfigured.

A footnote: Ramona, along with Birdie's relatives, were paid millions in damages. Ramona bought a house in the city's Kingsessing neighborhood, where she and MOVE remnants live a relatively quiet life. After hemming and hawing, the city agreed to rebuild the houses destroyed through its asinine incompetence. As a monument to shoddy, graft-infested contracting, the replacement homes proved uninhabitable, the contractors faced criminal charges, and the bedraggled homeowners were once again evicted while their "new" homes were razed and replaced.

by Derek Davis

[blinkforman23]

“Suicidal Creatures”

In the morning at nine is the time to be fine or be kind, keep in mind rewind when out of line The only form to learn is to burn and churn to earn and yearn the main turn A shy coy boy play toy is a killjoy or viceroy as a ploy to destroy a convoy Unimpressed with how I’m best dressed when I’m stressed and depressed with no rest

You’re dying to know what my name is You’re crying to throw out the shame, priss You’re trying to show who’s to blame here I’m fighting to grow away dear fear

Working eight to four to finish weekdays at the gym Totally irrelevant if I’m not muscular or slim My short spine is the only thing keeping me tethered If the joists are bent too far back, I’ll get severed The fixed locusts call out, “Load up the bloodsucker!” The hollow beasts shout, “Just blow up the motherfucker!” Now they term me a washout when I was aiming elsewhere I don’t have the slightest idea how I’m gonna get there

I’m barely getting by with a wallet that contains a photo and one buck Not anyone special but I also stopped relying on good luck I’ve tasted the money I’ve wasted Elevated after I’ve levitated And been crawling where I’ve fallen ever since When I look down, I can’t help but whine and wince Identity crisis on the weekend I’m spinning way off the deep end

We want to have hedonistic privacy for ourselves Wishers can’t be doers by mauling nothing Everyone’s problem is so fucking simple But no one tries to accept the solution We are suicidal creatures With pathological features

I get more phone calls from telemarketers than I do from my loved ones I’m tenderhearted but still sequestered like a million blistering suns Pounding at my chest to break the sternum and reach my heart for oblivion No found glory, only worry, lacking common sense I’m such an idiot

I’m not a great singer; quit telling me I am now I know I sing off-key; I know how I sound When I was a dreamer, I really did believe That everything I wanted can be achieved I never know when it’s enough I don’t know if I deserve love For a writer, I’m usually at a loss of words to say Words on a screen stay the same as lives continue to change

We want to have hedonistic privacy for ourselves Wishers can’t be doers by mauling nothing Everyone’s problem is so fucking simple But no one tries to accept the solution We are suicidal creatures With pathological features

I feel lost with paralysis and replaying my reality dream I talk in my sleep then wake to break silence with a scream It got a bit gory like the West Side Story knife fight In a hurry, each done deed dirty where they dance and die I’m just relieved I can’t remember any nightmares The single proof is the color change to white hairs I anxiously and impatiently wait for a sudden tragedy Because the hurtful tugging of old roots is for rediscovery

My depression led to self-loathing and romanticizing death Until my childhood friend killed herself and robbed her own last breath My best pals have all had suicidal thoughts and attempted My fragile girlfriend has revisited her demons and almost got swept in I’m very sorry it took me so long to finally want to live I’m gonna strive, thrive on life, produce and use all I can give Bracing harnesses forever Facing darknesses together

We want to have hedonistic privacy for ourselves Wishers can’t be doers by mauling nothing Everyone’s problem is so fucking simple But no one tries to accept the solution We are suicidal creatures With pathological features

We are suicidal creatures With pathological features Bracing harnesses forever Facing darknesses together

[atmilliways]

M, A for Stuck on the Outside Failing to Look In (Just Like in Real Life), K, E for that one fic your wrote on LJ where Toki and Skwis both wind up in the hospital after hooking up too much because *I* want it, C, H, A again for All is Calm, All is Dark, R, L, E for Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner, S, N, N again, A again for A Murder of Two, T, H, A again DEALER'S CHOICE, N a third time, K, I, and two S's.

“Make Charles n Nathan kiss.” 

Have done, can do, will do! And kudos for making me go back to LiveJournal for a fic I hadn’t even planed on moving over to Ao3 because I was worried it was too dramatic. 

(Fanfic Ask Meme) 

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

Hm, what have I not already blabbed about… Oh, you’ll like this. I’ve semi started working on a preklok fic where Nathan and Skwisgaar share an apartment and it’s an absolute sty, so Nathan gets some homeless kid to clean it in exchange for food and use of their shower. Enter Toki. Cue eventual threesome. 

Eventually once Magnus is kicked out of the band they’re going to conspire to “hold auditions” for the rhythm guitar part but have Toki show up late and blow everyone else out of the water while they pretend to be surprised.

A: How did you come up with the title to Stuck on the Outside Failing to Look In (Just Like in Real Life)?

A lot of the Skwistok I write tends to feature both of them being idiots who aren’t good at communication. Like in that fixed you wanted me to pull a slide your house where they both end up in the hospital for stupidity related. Stuck on the Outside is the most reflective of that, title-wise. 

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

In terms of drawn out angst? Take Me To Church. Nine chapters plus a prologue and epilogue of Charles scrambling to figure out what is even happening, and the learning curve is not kind to him. 

E: If you wrote a sequel to that one fic your wrote on LJ where Toki and Skwis both wind up in the hospital after hooking up too much because I want it, what would it be about? 

After they’re both released from the hospital, they continue to Not Talk About It until cornered by the rest of the band. When asked why they were gone for so long Skwisgaar has an aneurism-like idea and just blurts out “Guitars!!” So they haphazardly cobble together an excuse about how they’ve been doing a lot of “extra practice sessions” to get Toki up to speed on some of his trickier parts.

Basically, they hash out an agreement for their “extra practice session” relationship with Nathan, Pickles, and Murderface not only listening, but chiming in with helpful shit like “Yeah Skwisgaar you make sure he gets all the extra practice he needs!!” 

C: What character do you identify with the most?

Nathan. I guess because he’s kind of the most “omfg can we just get shit done” of the group while also being such a perfectionist to the point of “nope, not good enough, start all over again from scratch and get it right motherfucker.” I can relate to both of those things. And he strikes me as such a Taurus (stubborn as hell, bull in a china shop, etc), which I also am, so there’s that too. 

H: How would you describe your style?

I wouldn’t, because it’s hard. 

A: How did you come up with the title to All is Calm, All is Dark? 

Don’t quote me on this, I’m only the author or whatever, but I think I wrote it or titled it or something over the holidays one year as a fluff present for a friend. The title is based on a line from Silent Night, but I changed “bright” to “dark” because Charles needs a dim, quiet space to relax and recharge. 

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, Robin McKinley, and… a lot more. I’m basically a sponge. In high school, while we were reading Grapes of Wrath in lit class, I wrote a story in my creative writing class that was kind of fantasy, kind of magical realism, but depressingly paced like that one chapter where the fucking turtle crosses the fucking road, thank you John fucking Steinbeck. 

Also a million billion fanfic writers across five or six different fandoms. 

L: What’s the weirdest AU you’ve ever come up with?

Personally, I consider coming up with a headcanon for a Metalocalypse Fraiser AU pretty weird on the grounds that it’s obscure, and I’m still amazed that enough people both knew what I was talking about and felt moved to make “oh my god you did it” comments. 

E: If you wrote a sequel to Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner, what would it be about? 

Hm. Well, because I originally intended for it to be a Nathan/Charles story and it just sort of, uh, veered off on a different course there… So the sequel would probably be something like Nathan, Skwisgaar, and Toki still casually hooking up occasionally, but outside of those threesomes it’s basically just Skwistok. After a while of this, Skwisgaar starts teasing Nathan that Charles has a crush on him, and then Toki joins in, and then they start asking Charles “subtle” questions to try and suss out if it’s true, and it is. Meanwhile, Nathan’s still going through his “huh, I guess I’m bi then, okay… huh” thing and convinced that this crush rumor is bullshit. 

Eventually the conspiring Scandinavians get those two crazy kids together, and make Charles a badly spelled Welcome To Our Threesome banner that absolutely does not leave the room intact. 

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

I love doing missing scene/behind the scenes stuff. Like, you know, basically all of Take Me To Church. It’s such a challenge to on one hand know in my heart that Charles and Nathan are meant to be, but on the other not actually deviate from any established canon. 

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Yeah, somebody write that sequel I described for Nobody Puts Baby In A Corner. You have my blessing. Title it, I Carried A Watermelon Named Nathan. 

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Someone write B.A.N.D.M.A.T.E.S for me. I mean, I’m gonna, but I have stuff going on at the moment and I want to read it now. 

A: How did you come up with the title to A Murder of Two?

A murder is a group of crows. There’s a Counting Crows song called A Murder of One, which is also where I got the idea for my murderofonerose screen name. (Rose is my middle name and it was back when I was still being dramatic about being single.) 

So considering the rest of the band was killed by black birds, crows seemed fitting. And the whole “he’ll always have Charles” thing. They’ll stick together, their own little murder of two. 

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Rapefic. I’ll just casually refrain from reading that, nbd. 

H: How would you describe your style?

Okay, whatever, I’ll do it, fine. 

Very character driven. Always has been, even before I discovered fanfiction, because creating and/or developing characters is my favorite part. Buuuut it means I’m sometimes lacking in setting and plot… It’s a constant struggle. I’ve also always had kind of a thing for unreliable narrators — or not unreliable exactly, it’s not like they’re intentionally lying to do, but just you get most things filtered through their personal biases. That’s why I want Take Me To Church to have a companion story from Nathan’s point of view, so I can beat y’all with the dead horse that is everything that has flown over Charles’ head due to low emotional intelligence. 

A: How did you come up with the title to DEALER’S CHOICE?

I know this is payback, but is anyone else starting to think that Dealer’s Choice would make a great fic title? And then the answer to this question would be, “Well this one time I was being an absolute madwoman/maniac and spammed a couple people’s inbox with lettered ask memes that doubled as a secret message because I’m a smartass. Blame my family for being awful at actual conversations and emotional support but superb at puns and one-liners. Anyway, one thing lead to another and they got me back, but I continued to be a smartass and used this as a title so I could continue to tell this story about singlehandedly revolutionizing the ask meme industry.“ 

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Yeah, there is, a sequel to Stay Alive. *mic drop* 

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

In terms of “oh, that’s… not good…” feels? I think it’s He Came Back (Wrong). Nathan definitely has feelings for Charles, confused and complicated as they are, but if he’s not quite the same person anymore then how is anything ever going to get resolved? 

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

Mainlining ridiculously long fics from start to finish, but they have to be complete and they have to really grab me. I have done this a few times since college and it’s simultaneously always worth it and always a Bad Idea. 

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Confessions of Feelings while drunk and/or high. 

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

Fuck or Die. I mean, constructing the situation alone is impressive, because how often does that sort of thing even crop up.

[khiphop-discussions]

SMTM777 Ep.2 Commentary

EK is one of my favorites! It's good! Why is everybody in khh name dropping Yoo Jaesuk lately? Yaaaasss King No:el!!! So glad to see you. He wasnt at his full potential in this performance though. Too nervous. OLNL's voice? I've literally heard his rap before but never seen his face. I expected his voice to be more soft and high despite already knowing what he sounds like lol. Why did Milli look down like he had stuff written on his hand when introducing himself lol? Poor Milli. Feeling like Song Minho right now. I know there's the unwritten rule that Swings had to fail Milli straight out the gate but I'd have failed him for those sandals (put your damn feet away!!), saying he has 2 phones: one for business and one for dating/texting his gf, and for saying "everybody but you knows I did something new, like I did with your girlfriend last night" boy RELAX!! LOL Find some chill!! I didn't like his performance tbh but the aforementioned lyrics were cool. And yeah he's right, his rings probably cost more than any clothing I have while I'm out here trying to laugh at his sandals hahaha Awww Nafla felt bad. It's annoying that a bunch of old rappers participated? Who cares? If they good, they good. Worry about yourself. I do think it's a little much to come on more than 3 times but if it's dope I won't complain. If you whack and haven't improved? Now there's a problem. It's my DayDay!!! David Kim, I'll never get annoyed with him coming back on even though his skills are kinda cemented where they are considering his in his 30s now. It's all good. Black Nine should have chosen something different New Champ looked a damn fool. Suoer Bee is legit my favorite performance on the show between these 2 episodes. I'm SERIOUSLY becoming a believer that he might win this. Super Bee's #GROWTH as a rapper and person since SMTM4. Granted, he WAS 21 back then now 24 so of course he did. Wow, so super bee STILL might not even be at his full potentual and THAT is fucking WILD!! I HATE when the producers get all dramatic like THEY aren't the ones who eliminated whoever got eliminated like ?????? You eliminated them? That was terrible. Why is everyone surprised he got eliminated? They only care because it's (allegedly) Mad Clown  If they thought it was a random there wouldn't be all this whining. They'd recognize how trash that performance was and not just cause he couldn't hear the beat. Yeah, y'all BETTER be shook by Chillin Homie! Also, why is New Champ's annoying on like 3 Million? He was chill on SMTM4. Lol he still cool, someone has to bring the personality. Even if it's annoying ti ciewers, contestants, and staff lol MC trying to instigate lol Damn, we got New Champ and Chillin Homie calling out fades? This is the reality I wanted hahaha Owen REALLY thought he had a fucking chance against D.Ark? Like, i know he's fucking stupid but damn. They are better than 95% of the others. And PH-1 too like??? Are y'all stupid? Nobody wanted them BARS with Nafla lil They said....Owen....aims for conscious rap..... He's not even conscious of how stupid he is. The fact he chose to go against these two kids is proof. Lol at "motherfucker" being uncensored Even they know Owen....let me stop. I don't wanna be negative here lol Well, at least he's smart enough to know that they are better than everyone else and that *jessi voice* it's a competition *normal voice*. But he wanted to go home early so bad. Guess he's going home from the whole competition early lol Osshun *sighs* lol Awww New Champ's feelings are hurt you can tell. I gotta be honest. I LOVE when someone picks someone to be a dick and then they lose. I like Chillin Homie though Be nice during battles like this because you get EMBARRASSED when you're rude but you lose. Kim Hyo Eun's braids are better than Reddy's and the other one. I honestly don't know who I'd pick between Reddy and Hyoeun tbh. But i guess Hyo Eun's braids ARE better so maybe it comes down to that lol Third guy was Pento btw Yeah, it came down to the braids lol Well did you vote for Reddy who made the whole stage then Quiett? Or did you vote for your "half a win" employee? Hmmmm I know that 2 out of 3 of them don't make that type of music. So....yeah. that's why it's whack. Luda won. Lol @ Quiett yawning in the middle of a performance hahaha Changstarr what a fucking geek. You could have just said "Oh what a talented DJ and beautiful as well!" Geek.

That kid really just said movie directors the whole verse. Lok It's always the boys with the moles that are cute. Junoflo, now Coogie. Tw: for sickness, symptoms, bodily functions, etc. Coogie was too busy having diarrhea, nausea/vomiting, loss of appetite, abdominal cramps/pain, pain, bleeding, or mucus-like discharge from the rectum, and/or fever this episode (yes those are the symptoms of enteritis. The condition Coogie said he woke up with) Quiett saying "I can't believe I'm holding Coogie's hand" for the first time I'm jealous of Coogie for something other than his money lol Dbo was alright. I thought it'd be worse lol Giriboy....sit your ass down somewhere and stop hyping Dbo. Ok y'all tripping. Y'all really just need to send home Dbo and move on with out lives. That shit was trash. Stop giving Dbo partkcipation awards just because y'all know him outside the show. It's like the MommySon shit all over again. So this is what Yun B does with his Philosoohy degree from one of the too rated university programs? Milli always talking about Al Capone, Cozy Boys, and Nondisclothes. Also, about traveling to Japan lol Damn, Bully has balls. I respect it. Same with EK. At least they aren't being punk ass about it. Kinda wish Super Bee would have went out since it's gonna come sown to those two eventually. Even if it's not the final round.

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 43

We departed London for LA on June 22nd, spent a single night in town, then flew out the following morning en route to Kauai. Since March, we’d divided our time between promo, work, checking in on wedding planning and enjoying London. By mid-April Manageall had reached eight thousand subscribers, and we’d outgrown both our server and office space. Phaedra and Diana had begun work on a downtown studio and gallery space they’d decided to go in on together, and they graciously upped their timeline for us so we could take over the ground floor attached to Prosper, with Prosper planning on overflowing into the basement-level by the start of 2017. There was construction to be completed by the end of summer which would upgrade both floors from open loft to more compartmentalized professional workspace, but Manageall’s infrastructure was easy to relocate upstairs and Trudy and I had become accustomed to working out in the open, as had our five employees, so we made do. A door had been put in place between my Prosper office and the Manageall area at the start of May, and the first day I stopped short and couldn’t remember which company I was doing my next task for, Luke and I sat down to discuss the best way to proceed. Prosper was growing rapidly, though not at the alarming rate Manageall was, and the deciding factor wound up being Trudy. In one scenario I had a Trudy that the company couldn’t function without, and in the other I was Trudy…so, surprisingly without hesitation, I agreed to turn the reins over, naming Trudy the Operations Manager of Manageall and keeping my own Trudy-ness with Prosper, where it was needed most.

Early June brought exciting news in the form of Simon screeching so loudly that Tom and I actually heard it through out bedroom wall, followed by a frantic knock at our door at nine AM on a Saturday… both of their chosen embryos had successfully implanted in Lisa’s uterus. They’d harvested ten eggs in total from the surrogate so far, with eight remaining viable after being fertilized…five with Luke’s sperm and three with Simon’s. She’d waited until she was twelve weeks in to tell them, just in case, and if everything continued to progress normally December would deliver the progeny of two of my very favorite people into the world.

There’d been no new developments on that front for Tom and me as yet, and while realistically I hadn’t expected there to have been, I still found myself occasionally drowning silently in anxiety over the matter. Mainly when Simon talked baby, which was essentially every moment he wasn’t talking wedding. Which also caused anxiety. As did the coffee, which I’d begun drinking because it was really the only thing that allowed me to pull off the illusion that I was a fully conscious, functional human being when in fact I was a bundle of nerves and exhausted because said nerves were keeping me up at night. Or on flights. Like this one. Wherein Tom was out cold next to me and I was telling myself that all this worrying bullshit wasn’t doing my fertility prospects any favors. I dug in my messenger bag for my phone, checked the calendar, and realized that my period was due in ten days or so, which made blaming everything I was feeling on PMS seem like the most logical choice. My cycle so far varied between 28 and 32 days, which also was, you know, less than helpful. A heavy sigh escaped me and I felt a thunk on the back of my aisle seat, followed by Simon poking his head around to whisper loudly in my ear.

“Maude! Wedding! Happy! Heavy sighing NOT ALLOWED!”

“Dude, you are NOT the boss of me. It’s my party and I’ll sigh if I want to. Wow, that was way funnier in my head.” I craned my neck to look at him. “Simon. I’m getting married in seven days and I’m pretty sure I’m losing my motherfucking mind.”

“Six days.”

I counted on my fingers. “No, it’s seven. Today’s the 22nd.”

He shoved his own phone in my face, the home screen displaying the current date and time prominently. “Sorry, sunshine. It’s the 23rd. Six days.”

“My god, I just looked at my calendar and I swear it said the 22nd. Six. Okay then. I’m just going to go lock myself in the bathroom now. And I’m not coming out until August. Maybe September. Have someone slip me cold cuts under the door.” I sighed again, then again.  “I’m a mess, Simon. Is this normal? Shouldn’t I be like Cinderella or some shit, all happy with mice or whatever? You are my wedding honor person, Simon. You’ve done this before. HELP. ME.”

The smirk on his face made me want to scream. “I love you, Maudiekins. Of course I’ll help you…but let me just take a minute or two to revel in the fact that I’m actually witnessing you admitting that you need my help, m’kay?”

“You know it’s not too late to find a replacement for you, right?”

He chuckled. “Honey, trust me…there isn’t another person walking this green earth that would take this job.” I rolled my eyes, though I knew his point was entirely valid. He reached around to take my hand. “Yes, it’s normal. You remember what I was like, don’t you? And don’t you DARE say I’m like that all the time even though I sort of am because that was way worse and you know it. It’s stressful. There’s all this pressure for it to be perfect because that moment is THE MOMENT, the one that everyone will view as a validation and valuation of how much you love each other and if it’s not perfect you mustn’t love each other enough…” I could feel my eyes widening and my chest beginning to tighten. “But what anyone else thinks DOES. NOT. MATTER. All that matters is the love you share with Sleeping Beauty there next to you. This wedding is for notifying the world that it’s forever, and that you’re so fucking thrilled about it that a massive celebration is required. Love shack, baby. You hired Melanie Hall so you could relax and enjoy the party. We’ve given her all she needs. She’s got this. So…RELAX.”

“Simon, if you don’t leap up out of your seat and start singing some Frankie Goes to Hollywood right now I’m going to be horribly disappointed.”

Pouting, he crossed his arms and leaned back. “Well now I WANT to but people are SLEEPING and it would be RUDE…thanks for NOTHING, so-called FRIEND.”

I held up my phone. “It’s going on the wedding karaoke list. Because I need to see that shit. Even more so since you’ll be wearing a purple suit. Also, thank you. I’ve been obsessing over everything lately and it’s harshed my mellow completely. And probably Melanie’s. I need to text her and apologize for checking in so often and wanting to going over the same details with her a million times…” He leaned forward again, placing one hand on either side of my head, gently guiding me to turn and look in Tom’s direction while whispering in my ear.

“Look at him. You’re marrying that man. Six days from now, he’ll be your husband him. Look, Maude. Look with your non-vampire eyes.” I snorted, readying a witty comeback, but then Tom smiled softly in his sleep and I thought of Outlander and Jamie and Claire and how I’d go back and forth in time over and over and over again until the end of everything just to see this man’s face once more, to hold him once more, to kiss him once more…and as I fought back tears Simon whispered one more sentence.

“It’ll happen for you, I know it will.”

He kissed my cheek and left me to my own devices, which included shoving my phone bag into my bag and staring at Tom while trying not to weep, overwhelmed by emotion and chastising myself for getting caught up in the little details while diminishing my joy in the process. Hopefully I hadn’t diminished any of his. Tom’s eyes flew open, and I knew he had no idea where he was or what was happening. I smiled, and he blinked several times, opening his arms to groggily wave me in for a squeeze. He got more than he bargained for, with me being unable to resist the urge to spring from my own seat and into his lap. His arms wrapped around me as he pulled me to his chest, burying his face in my hair as I rested my head on his shoulder, my legs hanging over the armrest, feet resting where my posterior had just been. We enjoyed each other in silence for a spell, until I broke it by lifting my head so we were eye to eye. I reached out, briefly caressing his jawline with my fingertips.

“I’m very sorry if I’ve been a complete killjoy lately.”

He tilted his head, puzzled. “You? I thought I’d been playing the part of the killjoy.”

“Dude, really?”

“Yes, really.”

I was genuinely puzzled, and concerned. I knew what been plaguing me, but had no idea that something had been bothering him. “Well, you haven’t, but…”

Smiling softly, he began rubbing my thigh. “Well YOU haven’t, but…”

My gaze turned downward, then rose to meet his again. “I let all the little things pile up in my mind where they grew and thrived in my brain soil and became big things and it eclipsed the amazing, wonderful things right in front of me. Little things like work and wedding planning and other people conceiving and not me and I’m glad that my stress wasn’t rubbing off on you or bringing you down but hey, what’s been on your mind?”

He grimaced, voice low so no one else could clearly hear it.  “I know that back in LA I said I wasn’t going to dwell on things and I haven’t been dwelling, exactly, but that evening has crossed my mind more than a few times and I’ve been worried that it’s been worrying you, but it appears it hasn’t, and I’m very glad for that. But boy, do I ever feel like a tit for not noticing that you WERE worried about other matters.”

“Same. Same, same, same plus some more same. And honestly, I did think about it for a week or two after, but then I got so busy that I couldn’t tell my ass from a hole in the ground and it went POOF. Right now, I’m just grateful nothing has come of it, and if the universe would please hold off until after the wedding to rain fuckery down upon us, I’d deeply appreciate it. But if not, whatever. Full steam ahead. Right?”

He laughed. “Right indeed. Nothing’s going to stop this train. I liked it, and I’m gonna put a ring on it.”

“Oh my god. Tom. Single Ladies. I…I…can’t even.” I dissolved into giggles, which inevitably led to both of us laugh-crying until the first class attendant came over to ask us if we needed anything, which was a passive-aggressive way of indicating that we weren’t being the passengers Mr. Rogers knew we could be. I slithered back into my own seat, allowing Tom to be the apologist. He beamed at her, one hand over his heart.

“Terribly sorry if we disturbed anyone. I’m afraid we’re a smidge more excitable than usual as the result of our upcoming nuptials.”

She returned the smile. “Oh my! Well then, congratulations in advance. When’s the big day?”

We answered in unison, as idiots in love often do. “The 29th.”

She laughed. “Perfectly in synch. Best of luck to you both!”

As she walked back down the aisle another attendant fell into step with her and I could make out the words ‘knew they were engaged’ and ‘had no idea it was happening so soon’ and ‘wow, a Kauai wedding’. Tom and I both turned to face each other, again speaking in unison.

“Shit.”

We’d kept the date under wraps all this time, yet managed to fuck it up in the space of two minutes when we were SO CLOSE to pulling the whole thing off under the radar. Two flight attendants, not a big deal, but if they each told two people, and so on, it would likely end up on social media somewhere. Which also wasn’t a big deal, but it could absolutely clog up the works with members of the press. I sighed.

“A quote from Hackers comes to mind – ‘Where are your brains, in your ass?’ to which I would respond that I doubt it because I think they are gone, baby, GONE. Luke’s gonna take my PR card away, and I don’t blame him one bit.”

I heard his deep chuckle from behind us, then him clearing his throat before he spoke. “Oh no I won’t. Mainly because I have no desire to perform your job functions, but also because I don’t think it’s a significant problem. I figured it was practically inevitable that someone from the hotel would let it slip, but this is better, in a way, because I’m aware of the leak when it’s still a potential leak.”

It was weird having a conversation with someone I couldn’t see, so I reclined my seat all the way back, much to Simon’s displeasure.

“Mauuuudeee you’re crushing my kneeeeesss.”

“Simon, you’d better be good or you’re going to surpass Tom and me and rocket into first place for the Most Annoying Passenger. Hmm, maybe there’s an award. You love awards!”

Luke laughed again, then kissed Simon on the cheek. “You’d best move your seat upright, Maude. We can discuss what, if anything, you want to after we land. You know how it is…if Simon’s unhappy…”

Simon chimed in, entirely too loudly. “EVERYONE IS UNHAPPY.”

As soon as I finished adjusting the seat, the flight attendant was back, asking Simon if he needed anything, and Tom and I dissolved once more into giggles, quiet giggles, that is, and when we finally sobered up he whispered in my ear.

“Don’t worry, my love. It’ll happen.” I felt his hand on my lower belly, thumb stroking up and down. “Who knows, it might already BE happening and we just don’t know it yet.”

I placed my hand over his as he rested his head on my shoulder. “Thomas, the eternal optimist. Thank you.”

He raised his head in order to place a single kiss behind my ear, then resumed snuggling. We spent the rest of the flight touching each other, even if it was just pinkies linking, and when the sunshine and warmth of Kauai connected with my skin as we disembarked, I felt like myself again. Or, rather, the self I’d re-discovered not quite twelve months ago. Grateful, and joyful. More than ready to celebrate the blessing this island had bestowed upon me…that sense of wholeness and completeness that finding someone to love who loves you back evokes. We held hands as we crossed the tarmac, then picked up our luggage, piled it into the Range Rover we’d rented, and headed for the Marriott, where friends and family would soon be joining us for what I hoped was one party of fucking epic proportions.

****************************************

We spent as much of the weekend as possible either on the beach or locked away in our room…not the honeymoon suite that had been recommended to us, but number 203, which we referred to as ‘ours’ in spite of the fact that countless strangers had stayed in it as well over the past year and would after we were gone. It was where we’d consummated our coupledom, and it was the only acceptable place to consummate our marriage as far as we were both concerned. I had my doubts that we’d make it out of Talk Story after our private ceremony – that bathroom would likely be calling my name – but Tom insisted that he’d hold out until we were back where we belonged. I figured it would be fun testing his resolve if nothing else, so I went with it.

Sunday was our last meeting with Melanie before the actual ‘day of’, and she’d done such an incredible job that I had nothing to add. The ceremony would take place at five PM, followed by an hour of hors d'oeuvres, then a sit-down family-style dinner. Ahi Poke salad would already be on the table, and Hawaiian Saimin Soup would be offered as soon as everyone was seated. The next course, and the only additional course other than cake, was set to include Chicken Hawaiian, Hawaiian Roast Beef, Kalua Pork, blackened Mahi Mahi, and, because I couldn’t help myself, fettuccine alfredo. No one had responded that they were vegan, but a chef would be available if we need anything last-minute. We’d chosen to go with mainly regional recipes since it technically was a ‘destination wedding’, and also because it was apparently unacceptable to serve chips, dip, pizza and bacon as a meal to people who’d travelled thousands of miles to share your special day. Fortunately, those things made for perfect appetizers…the universe created pizza bagels for a reason, and that reason was for me to snack on them and probably get sauce all over my dress. The cake…my god, the cake. The shop Melanie had chosen had been working on it for weeks, planning, creating a model, ensuring it would balance properly…it made my head spin. It had been Tom’s idea, inspired by our bookish centerpieces. There would be two four-tier round cakes, alternating layers of chocolate and vanilla, iced white and decorated to take on the appearance of a ring of books, the spines hand drawn, colored and lettered. One stack would have titles from my collection, the other from Tom’s, with a bookshelf ‘bridge’ from the top of one to the other that merged our favorites. In the center of the bridge there was to be an open book mini-cake decorated with the Tree of Life on one side, our names and the date on the other, and, of course, the bride and groom topper. We’d had those 3-D printed in our likeness, and Melanie had brought them with her for us to see, a choice I’m certain she regretted because she eventually had to ask us kindly but firmly to surrender them before they were damaged by our Wedding Preview Theater playtime.

Guests began arriving Monday morning, and a steady stream continued throughout the day. Tom’s family had been first, followed by Chris and Elsa, then Ben and Sophie, Robert and Susan, and a host of other folks I didn’t technically know but felt like I did because I’d seen them on the big screen, the small screen, or Tom had shown me pictures as we came up with our guest list. There were stories to go with the pictures, of course, for which I was grateful because I could almost match names with faces. Though we hadn’t seen anything leaked online, Luke had opted to send out a press release on Saturday in order to prevent the chaos of outlets scrambling for a scoop, and according to everyone who had turned up so far it was working. The media was camped out at the airport and the hotel, but were keeping their distance, allowing those who didn’t wish to pose pass by without being cajoled and/or yelled at. Tom and I hung around in the lobby between meals in order to be accessible. Most of the few folks I’d invited were also members of the wedding party…Trudy and Veronica, who had come to say hello and gone on to unpack in their rooms already, which left me waiting on Anne. Our final fittings were scheduled for 5:30 in one of the smaller conference rooms, and it was nearly ten after when I heard her shouting from across the lobby when she spotted me.

“MAUDIE! THERE YOU ARE!”

I hadn’t seen her in person since New Orleans, though we’d Skyped a few times…and then she’d talked to Tom almost as much as she’d spoken to me. The Vampire Chronicles project had shifted from a feature film to an episodic streaming venture, which Tom was on board with, but additional writing was required and he wouldn’t be able to begin shooting until late 2017 or early 2018. I left Tom with Chris Evans and jog-walked to meet her, surprised as always at the power behind the hugs of such a slender being when she embraced me. We released each other quickly, both leaning back to inspect the other’s outfit. She shook her head.

“You’re too thin. Are you eating? Don’t let the stress get to you, kiddo.”

My eyes rolled, and I allowed my head to loll back in exasperation. “Yes, I dropped some poundage. Not because I’m not eating, that’s for fucking sure. Personally, I believe the extreme increase in my physical activity over the past year is to blame. And coffee. And yeah, maybe stress. But mostly the activity. Which I don’t plan on modifying anytime soon, thank you very much.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t if I were you, either.”

“Your endorsement is appreciated. Can we talk about the fact that you’re wearing a shirt with palm trees and coconuts printed all over it and Bermuda shorts and sandals right now? This might be the first time I’ve ever seen your legs.”

“Soon you’ll get a good look at my arms, too. And my back.” The bridesmaid dresses I’d chosen were deemed flattering by all the gals, made of silk chiffon in a gradient of green to purple from top to bottom. They were sleeveless, floor length with a semi-pleated skirt, ribbon at the waist and the neck and a cape that attached at the front throat area and hung over the left shoulder and covered most of the open back. The cape could easily be pinned to cover all of the back of the wearer chose, which I thought was important because not everyone deems going braless socially acceptable. Anne chuckled, looking down at herself, then back up at me. “I’m so pale I might have to write myself into the next book as a lost ancient. What a bonus that I’ll have pictures to work from!”

As I gazed past her shoulder I caught sight of Christopher, pulling a very full luggage dolly behind him. He waved as he drew closer, finally abandoning it to embrace me briefly.

“Maude, it’s been forever. You look beautiful. And, congratulations. Though you getting married has ramped up someone’s matchmaking efforts a hundred times over…” Anne reached out and tugged his earlobe, and he sighed. ”I’m going to just marry the first guy I see to put an end to it all, I guess.”

Tom’s voice sounded out from behind me. “So sorry, but I’m already spoken for.” He moved to stand at my side, his hand extended in greeting. “Hello, Christopher. Lovely to finally meet you.”

Christopher sighed, feigning exasperation. “The good ones are ALWAYS spoken for.” He reached out and shook Tom’s hand vigorously. “Lovely to meet you as well. Mom and I are delighted you’re still interested in stepping into the shoes of the Brat Prince. Knowing who’s portraying him has actually made it easier for us to get the scripts rolling.”

My mouth dropped open. “Wait, what? You’re BOTH working on this? Together? Writing.”

They exchanged a conspiratorial glance, then Anne grinned. “We are. It’s so much fun, especially because his style is so very different than mine, yet there are echoes…”

“Mother, the only echo is your voice throughout the house every time I try to sneak outside for a break. Seriously, Maude. She’s the most demanding boss I’ve ever had and…”

Anne cut him off, right index finger raised. “I’m the ONLY boss you’ve ever had.” As Christopher rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘see what I put up with’ in my direction, Anne stepped forward to hug Tom. “Hello there, handsome.”

He returned the hug, planting a kiss on each of her cheeks as he pulled away. She grinned up at him, and my phone beeped. I pulled it from my pocket and cleared the alarm. “We have to move it, lady, or we’ll be extra late for the fitting.”

She offered me her arm. “Let’s boogie, kiddo.”

Tom kissed me and lingered more than a few seconds too long, clearing his throat as he backed away sheepishly. “I’ll see you at dinner, my love.”

I nodded. “Yep. You sure will.”  He offered to help Christopher with the luggage, and they strode off in the opposite direction as Anne and I headed for the conference room. She poked me in the ribs.

“Maude, has anyone ever told you you’re a terrible liar?”

“Oh my god Anne, seriously? What are you, a wizard?”

“No, just incredibly perceptive. Plus, I’ve known you since you were ten.”

“Mmm hmm. God, I HATE lying to him. And I obviously suck at it. But his surprise bachelor party is tonight and I was sworn to secrecy. Of course he just HAD to say he’d see me. Fucker.” Ben had contacted me nearly two months earlier, asking if I was okay with the idea, and I’d said yes because even though Tom and I had agreed that neither of us wanted such a thing, the opportunities for all of them to be in the same place at the same time were incredibly limited, so why not take advantage of such a rare occurrence? I’d given Ben Melanie’s number, and she’d arranged everything. There’d be food, drink, and karaoke in the Makai Lounge…and I pitied the staff who’d thought it would be awesome to work the event because I had a feeling they were about to discover that it would be akin to dealing with a roomful of kindergartners who’d binged on chocolate espresso beans. The walk to the Hokulea Suite was a short one, and Simon was waiting impatiently in the doorway and wearing one of the hotel’s white terrycloth robes.

“Nice of you to grace us with your presence, future Mrs. Hiddleston. For a minute I thought you’d gotten cold feet…oh. Oh my god. Oh.”

With that, I knew he’d noticed my companion. Everyone was aware that Anne was in the bridal party, but no one had actually met her as yet. Simon, despite interacting with famous folk on a regular basis, was completely and thoroughly star struck at the sight of his favorite author in the flesh. I glanced her way, finding her smirking gleefully as Simon proceeded to lose his shit, right hand on his chest, which was heaving with excitement.

“Anne…can I call you Anne? Or do you prefer Ms. Rice? Oh my god. I’m SUCH a fan…a life-long fan…of your work and here you are and lordy I think I may die…” He began fanning his face with the hand that had previously rested upon his chest, and Anne went right in for the kill, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him, then kissing him on the cheek.

“Dearest Simon, Anne will do just fine. Maudie has told me so much about you, and goodness, I’m just the luckiest woman to have such devoted fans. Bless you for supporting my work.” He stood, blinking, as she continued. “Part of that ‘told me so much about you’ was how entertaining and hilarious you are. And petty. Let’s just say I’m very much looking forward to getting to know you myself.”

His mouth dropped open and a screechy cackle escaped him as he threw his arms around her, one finger pointing at me from behind her back. “You’ve been replaced. Anne is my new bestest friend ever.”  

I gave him a double thumbs-up. “Fucking A, man. You are EXHAUSTING.”

Faces began to appear behind him, first Trudy, then Emma, then Sarah…at which point I pushed past the new dynamic duo and entered the suite. It wasn’t huge, 24’ x 18’ or so, but it was a wide open space beyond the private bathroom and kitchen right inside the door, on the left and right respectively. It was ours for the duration of our stay and would serve as the dressing area the day of the ceremony. Two couches had been placed along the shared walls of the bathroom and kitchen, facing the rest of the room. The remainder of my bridal party leapt off of said couches and proceeded to embrace me all at once, and I’m certain the look on my face was one of sheer terror as they squealed with delight. I heard Simon’s voice as he drew closer.

“Ladies, ladies, what did we discuss earlier? The bride must be approached cautiosly, VERY cautiously. She’s anxiety ridden, easily overwhelmed and if her flight or fight kicks in we could all be in really deep shit. Back away now, and do it slowly. Don’t be distracted by the fact that Anne Rice is, like, RIGHT HERE.”

They turned away, releasing me, and I waited a beat for Simon to introduce everyone. He just stood there staring at her, enraptured, so I figured I’d best do it on my own.

“Anne, this is Trudy, Veronica, Emma and Sarah.” I wave-pointed in their direction. “You people, this is Anne. I’m going to use the restroom now. Chat away.”

The room had begun to buzz with the sounds of excited conversation as I closed the door behind me. I quickly did my business, then splashed cold water on my face, pausing to take a breath as I started at my reflection. The lighting didn’t do me any favors, and I groaned while attempting to figure out if I looked pale because of the dark circles, or if the circles looked dark because I was, in fact, pale. Veronica, who had been instrumental in the process of choosing every item of clothing worn by bridesmaids and groomsmen alike, had brought her favorite hair and makeup people along, for which I was now all kinds of glad. I leaned in closer, my nose almost touching the mirror.

“You look like you’ve been out on the town for two days straight, woman. Sleep. Look into it. Christ.”

Simon shouted unnecessarily loudly from outside the door. “MAUDE! STOP TALKING TO YOURSELF AND GET OUT HERE SO YOU CAN PUT ON THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WEDDING DRESS IN THE HISTORY OF ALL WEDDING DRESSES BECAUSE I NEED TO SEE YOU IN IT!”

I opened the door just enough to stick my hand out and flipped him off. He snorted.

“Anne, she’s being rude. Make her stop.”

Sighing, I opened the door the rest of the way and stepped back into the entry area, pretending he didn’t exist as I walked back to the open space. Seven privacy screens had been set up along the edges of the room, and I had no clue which one was mine until Veronica poked her head out from around the one furthest away and waved at me.

“Honey, come on back. My dress is good to go, so you’re up.”

On a rack against the wall behind the screen, there it was. The Dress. After discovering that such a thing as a convertible day-to-night design existed, I’d scoured the internet for weeks in search of one that didn’t look like it belonged in a Disney movie. And then, on someone’s Pinterest board, there it was. The Dress. Next was the task of determining where the image had originated from, and two reverse searches later I’d located the Israeli designer. Made of crepe and satin, it was form fitting and thigh-length with a boat-neck front and deep open V to the waist in the back. The sides were crepe, and there was a satin strip with a subtle lace overlay that ran down the front. There were no sleeves, per se, only triangular pieces of fabric that mimicked epaulets and went over the shoulder and down the sides of the back in a sort of obtuse triangle. In the front, just above the chest area, were two inverted triangle cut-outs beneath the shoulder caps, creating a futuristic geometric silhouette – straight across at the collarbone, angling in, then back out again at the breast. That, though, was the ‘night’ bit of it. The day part consisted of a lightly-pleated crepe maxi-skirt that hung to the floor with a short train in the back and a slit all the way up to the pelvic area in the front. And, it had pockets. POCKETS. I knew it was perfect the moment I saw it, I knew it would make me feel amazing, and, right now, it made me burst into tears. I wiped them off my cheeks quickly, waving Veronica away as she moved to comfort me.

“Shit. Sorry.  I’m fine. It’s just…it’s so…beautiful. And you’re beautiful for doing all this for me, and I’m marrying such a beautiful man in such a beautiful place…”

She placed a hand on my shoulder. “And YOU are beautiful, and you’re going to be BEYOND beautiful on Wednesday. Now strip for me, sweetie. Off with it all.” I snorted as I slipped out of my shorts. “Oh, and you’ll be pleased to know that I managed to find someone able to add some support to the front for you so you can be braless minus the sag AND pasties.”

I pulled my Game of Thrones T-shirt over my head and dropped it onto the floor, then undid my bra and slipped out of my shorts. “Well that’s good news. That pastie glue sucks, and hard.”

She nodded as I removed my Birkis, holding the dress out for me to step into, then helped me slip my arms through the holes. “Did it for all of the bridesmaids, too. They’re removable if need be, too. Stay still while I zip you up.”

It was a tiny zipper at the back near my waist, the rest of the dress very form-fitting and essentially holding itself in place. The support lining was much like a bathing suit, and it helped immensely. When prompted, I lifted first one foot, then the other, trying not to breathe as Veronica wiggled the maxi-skirt into place around my waist. She stepped back, one hand moving upward, fingers open and partially covering her mouth.

“You look like a princess, Maude. Royal.”

Gazing down at myself, I snorted. “More like the Royal Princess. The cruise ship. It’s all so…white. And…vast. And WHITE. Can I get one of those awesomely loud horns to blast as I walk down the aisle?”

Frowning at me, she grasped my upper arms gently and turned me around to face the mirror. I stared at my reflection, realizing she was correct. My head snapped to the left, noting her concern as our eyes met.

“Veronica, I DO look like a princess. Absofuckingloutely I do. Princess LEIA. You know, that dress she wears at the end of A New Hope? During the medal ceremony? I mean, this is a different cut and it’s got some lace and whatever but…okay fine, it’s totally different, but she’s who came to mind when I saw myself and have I mentioned how much I loved The Force Awakens and Leia’s a GENERAL now and…yep, this needs to come of immediately because I’m going to cry again and shit…well not actually shit…”

Simon voice rang out from the other side of the screen. “For fuck’s sake, is she losing it again? No worries, me to the rescue…” He stepped into view, stunned into silence at the sight of me. Like everyone else in the bridal party except for Veronica, he’d only seen photos of my gown. A smile spread across his face, slowly, eyes shining with tears about to be shed. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, one hand lifted up to rest next to his face, his fingers splayed.

“Maude Gallagher, you’re so beautiful I can’t even look at you. It’s like staring at the sun.”  The smile morphed into an evil grin. “Tom is going to DIE. Or at least pass out. For real. Have the paramedics on standby.’

I bit my lip, sniffling in a very un-princess like manner. “This does not feel like a rescue, Simon. I guess I’ll have to rescue myself, just like LEIA.” The laugh-crying began then, leaving Veronica scrambling to wrap a disposable protective cape the make-up team typically used around me. At some point I noticed that Simon was wearing his suit…his light purple suit, just a few shades off from the official wedding purple. It was linen, the jacket sporting two white pearl buttons, three side pockets, a breast pocket with a white square perfectly folded in place, and pointed lapels. Underneath was an open-collared white dress shirt with dark purple buttons. There would be a purple bow tie the day of, but no socks to accompany his white leather shoes, which were dotted along the seams with ventilation holes. He smiled, and I wiped away my tears again, this time with the back of one hand.

“You look okay too, Simon. I guess.” His eyebrows rose, then he turned on his heel and sauntered toward his own changing area, calling back to me when he was halfway there.

“Not good, Maude. Fabulous. You meant FAB-U-LOUS.”

I called out in return. “I love you, dumbass.”

He snorted and flipped double birds at me behind his back, which for some reason restored my emotional equilibrium. Veronica helped me into my silver gladiator sandals…they were flats, incredibly simple and lightweight, with ties that wound up to nearly reach my knees. We’d all be wearing them, since they paired well with our dresses, and were also wicked comfortable. And, awesome for dancing. I panicked again for a moment, speeding through my mental checklist to determine if I’d remembered to send the song playlist to Sammy, relieved when I could actually recall doing so weeks prior. Veronica pinched and prodded and examined me from all angles, announcing afterward that no additional alterations would be needed. She’d travelled to London once the dresses had arrived from Israel and done the initial fitting, and her skills proved to be impressive as always…right on the money, right from the start. Once I was successfully disrobed and back into my shorts and T-shirt, I padded over to sit on one of the couches and put my Birkis back on. The others were done shortly thereafter, and I’d prepared myself in advance for what I thought might happen next. Simon plopped down next to me.

“Soooo, Miss Maude, since your betrothed is going to be out living it up tonight, we thought we’d ask if you wanted to do…you know…something. Dinner? Dessert? Dancing? All the ‘D’ things? Hmm???”

I smiled, shaking my head. “I very much appreciate the thought, and I’m going to be pissed off at myself at some point for passing up an opportunity for free food, but tonight…I’m just going to go back to my room and kinda…peace out. Put everything on pause. Reflect. Right after I finish writing the vows I should have finished months ago, that is. Or, you know, START writing them. So thank you, kind friends, but I fear I must beg off this time around.”

Simon leaned in to kiss my cheek. “It’s better to wait until the last minute. Your perspective of what you’re about to do is entirely different, fresher. And your feelings…stronger. I can’t wait to hear what your heart conjures up.” He snorted.  “But hey, no pressure!”

Hugs from everyone followed, and they headed off in search of a meal while I took the stairs up to room 203. The first item of business after entering was opening the balcony doors. We’d requested lounge chairs, and the promise of staring out at the water before it got dark was going to serve as my motivation for getting the vow thing out of the way. I sat at the desk, laptop open in front of me, blank Word document ready to go…and then it occurred to me that I couldn’t print anything without a hassle, that I’d need to memorize it all anyway, and that I actually needed TWO versions of vows. As I laughed manically at my current predicament, Simon’s words popped into my head – ‘what your heart conjures up’ – and I decided fuck preparing in advance, I was just going to wing it. It might wind up being messy, long, incoherent…but it would be REAL. Which seemed important, to me, in that moment. Some things are meant to be off script. Improvised. Imperfect. Like our lives.

I ordered in a pizza, tipped the delivery guy entirely too much, ate half of it, then settled into one of the loungers. As long as I kept the back upright I could see the ocean clearly, as well as a decent slice of the sand. Activity was minimal as it was still technically dinner time, and the sun would be going down within the hour. Other than an occasional distant shout or muffled conversation from those crossing the property near the ground floor patios below me, the sounds of the waves breaking and the birds singing were all I heard. As I breathed in the salt air, I could feel the corners of my mouth turning upward. As it grew darker, a sense of great peace washed over me. Worries faded, anxiety dissipated, and it was just…me, alone for the first time in a long while, able to view things with a logic and rationality that was often absent when my introverted self spent too much time with the humans sans a sufficient break.

Chuckling, I quoted the Dude to myself. “I can’t be worried about that shit. Life goes on, man.”

After the sun set fully, I used the bathroom, turned off all the lights in the room, then used the conveniently provided hotel matches to light the three cylindrical candles on the patio table. I’d left my phone in the room, but went back in to retrieve it just in case Tom decided to tipsy-text me. Or plain text me. I honestly didn’t know how he’d approach this time with his friends, but I was expecting him to at least have a few beers or a whiskey or two. Someone having to carry him back to the room at the end of the night was certainly within the realm of possibility.

Once the stars came out, I lowered the back of the lounge chair enough so I could gaze upon them without craning my neck, and the next thing I knew I was being carried into a well-lit space and lowered onto the bed by a gorgeous man. I reached upward, patting his cheek sleepily.

“Tommy. You’re not s’posed to carry me over thresholds until after we’re married, ya silly.”

He grinned as he sat down next to me. “Well, after four unsuccessful attempts to rouse you, this was really my only option.”

I sat up, groaning. “Seriously? Wow. That’s crazy. I guess I really took the whole ‘peace out’ thing to heart.” His head tilted in confusion. “Oh. Right. You weren’t at the fitting. They asked me to go out tonight, but I said I was going to come back here and peace out. Mission accomplished, I guess. Did you have fun? Oh my god, WHAT is on your SHIRT?”

He was wearing a white tee, with an old fashioned ‘wanted’ poster printed on the front…his smiling face as the mug shot, with jail cell bars over the top and the word ‘CAPTURED’ emblazoned across it all. Smirking, he turned his back to me, where there was a photo from Luke and Simon’s wedding of both of us making goofy faces for the camera, the text beneath it stating ‘Perfect Match Is Perfect’.

Snorting, I poked his chest. “Well, I was all set to be mildly offended but the back is adorable…”

His lips met mine, tongue seeking entrance. He tasted faintly of whiskey, but mainly of smoky, peppery pineapple. I laughed, causing him to pull away.

“Dare I ask what’s so amusing?”

“Pineapple pizza, huh?”

He smiled, touching a fingertip to my nose. “You’re truly missing out, you know. It’s delicious.”

“Oh, it may be…but it’s an ABOMINATION. Wrong. So very wrong.”

Licking his lips, he leaned forward so his left shoulder touched my right. “Thank you, for tonight. It was such a wonderful surprise, and I’m not sure we’ve ever all been together like this when we weren’t filming. We had a spectacular time, though I’m afraid even the guests on the top floor heard us…”

“You’re welcome. I figured it might be a once in a great while kinda thing, and Ben was so gracious when he asked that I couldn’t say no. I hated lying to you, though.”

His arms wound around me, and I reciprocated. He grinned. “I apologize unreservedly for causing you to have to do so. Perhaps an orgasm or two will somehow rectify the situation?”

My face scrunched up. “Mmm…how about six?”

He clucked his tongue at me. “Now, now. No need to be greedy.”

“It’s not greed. It’s ambition.”

“Well, that has merit. We’d best get at it, then.”

I pulled the hem of his shirt upward. “Agreed. Totally. Let’s get at it.”

Four hours, one very long shower, and barely any sleep later we were startled by the sound of someone pounding on our room door. I sat up, glancing at the clock on the night table…ten minutes after six. I turned back to Tom, who was already standing and pulling on the shorts he’d worn yesterday.

“What the actual fuck? That’s like, ridiculously loud for so early…” Tossing aside the covers, I got up and grabbed my black silk robe out of the armoire and slipped into it quickly. Tom, shirtless, beat me to the door, opening it cautiously. Standing in the hallway was Luke, his jaw set, eyes blazing, phone in hand. He pushed past Tom, then closed the door behind him.

“She did it. This morning. It’s everywhere. I wanted you to hear it from me first.” He held out his phone for Tom and me to see. He had the Daily Mail pulled up, the featured top story showing.

FIFTY SHADES OF SEXCAPADES – Claudia Heidrich, 25, former flame of Tom Hiddleston, 35, reveals just how he managed her nights by posting DOZENS of videos of the couple online, exposing his penchant for heavy drinking, swinging, threesomes, foursomes and moresomes, public sex and BDSM just as he’s set to wed fiancé Maude Gallagher, 38, TOMORROW.