#september on the top shelf...not putting them away entirely but putting them high up

[foxmulderautism]

that post i made on my writeblr about how there's this one story i have out with a mag that i want rejected because i have a story i think suits the mag better.....live cam footage of me receiving the rejection email on my rainy evening walk

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Right Where You Left Me

Summary: Y/N never expected to see him again. He tore her heart out and left her in the dusty heat of a Las Vegas diner. She never wanted to see him again, but sometimes the heart wants what heart wants.

Word Count: 3.7k

Author's Note: This is the first prompt that I wrote for 400 followers and it is based on Right Where You Left Me. Some background info: Spencer and Reader (Female pronouns) were lovers when they were 23, Spencer left to join the FBI and Y/N never recovered.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Content Warning: Angst till the very end, one use of f--k, reader cuts her hand on glass so blood is mentioned.

Right Where You Left Me

2009, Enterprise Diner, Las Vegas, Nevada

The bell above the door always sounds the same, no matter who walks into the little diner. Whether it’s exhausted truckers looking for a cheap cup of coffee or lonely souls looking to be a little less lonely for even an hour, the bell’s chime is always the same.

From the first time she met Spencer Reid, Y/N knew that boy was destined for greatness. His greatness is exceptionally painful when it juxtaposes her intense ordinariness. Part of her always dreams of the bell ringing and telling her that he’s back. He’s back and would no longer just haunting her dreams. But he isn’t back. He isn’t back and she’s right where he left her.

Y/N wipes the counter with a worn napkin, noticing how her skin is cracked from her fingertips to the butt of her palms. The bell rings and Y/N picks up her head. An elderly couple walks in holding hands. It’s amazing to her, to be that old and that in love. She wonders what it would be like to have the kind of love that you’ll never run out of things to say. If her past has taught her anything, Y/N tells herself she’s not the kind of girl that gets a lifelong romance. She’s not the kind of girl that gets someone who gets her.

She’s the kind of girl that’s frozen in the place right where he left her.

September 2012, Enterprise Diner, Las Vegas, Nevada

“One of these is not like the other,” Sabrina says in a singsong kind of voice. She walks out from behind the counter, finished with her shift. She wishes Y/N good night before she leaves the diner, telling her to lock up and handle the clean up. The busboy makes his way to the table of men with two kinds of coffee, decaf and regular, in her hands. Y/N follows, rolling her eyes, behind with three coffee mugs.

Apparently, there is a missing child case and the FBI has gotten involved. The two men, dressed intimidatingly in black suits and gray ties, looked very different from the younger man who sat across from them. It only took her a second to recognize that face. It’s the face of all her dreams that at one point was just out of reach. But now it’s just the face of rejection and hurt.

Before she even realizes it, the coffee mug that Y/N holds in her hand drops and shatters on the floor. The men, even vigilant, turn towards the noise. Y/N wanting to disappear into the night, drops to the floor to clean up the glass. She hears a shuffle from the booth and in comes a pair of well-worn converse into her field of vision.

“Here,” he says, his voice just soft and steady as ever, “let me, Y/N,”

Y/N drops the glass like it burns her. But in reality, she’s trying to get as far away as possible from Spencer, because she knows if she touches him again, she’ll never be able to survive letting go.

Spencer.

Spencer Reid crouches down before her just inches from her face all these years later. It seems unbelievable to see him in the flesh, but it’s him, even if he looks a little older and a little sadder.

“Thank you. I’m going to get you a new cup. I remember how much you love coffee,” Y/N whispers, wishing again that she could turn into the wind and disappear.

Y/N tries to ignore the way Spencer’s co-workers eye him when he returns to the seat. Clutching the pieces of glass, Y/N cuts her thumb. The dark red blood rushes out and she can feel her pulse rise. She wraps a white cloth over the cut. By the time she gets to Spencer’s table, the blood has pooled to the surface. She places the cups on the table, turning to leave, but a strong, yet gentle hand grasps her elbow.

“You’re bleeding?” Spencer says, his voice ends on a high note like he’s asking her more than telling her.

“Yeah, it’s fine Spencer. I’ll take care of it later, it’s just-”

“Let me help you,” he says, the two men, his co-workers, share a thoughtful glance. Y/N has the sneaking suspicion that they can read her mind or very much close to it.

She narrows her eyes at Spencer as her thumb pulsates and the blood soaked napkin grows even more red.

“Last time I checked you’re not a real doctor,” Y/N says, the venom in her voice all too apparent. The man sitting across from Spencer with the kinder eyes puts his hands up in defeat.

“What the hell is going on here? Do you know her or something, Spencer?” he says, his confusion about who Y/N is growing into frustration by the second. The man sitting next to the man with the kind eyes doesn’t say much. Y/N expects that he’s soaking in the entire interaction or is too tired to care about his co-worker’s personal drama.

“Huh, you didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell you FBI friends about me, Spencer? Huh, can I say that I’m not surprised by that at all,” Y/N responds, fumbling with managing to pour the coffee and covering her cut with the napkin.

“Please, Y/N you’re being ridiculous, let me help you,” Spencer asks or rather, begs Y/N. Y/N tries to not let him know how much it affects her when he rubs his thumb on the crook of her elbow.

“Fine, make it quick Spencer, I’m closing up tonight and I want to get home soon,” Y/N says, walking away from the table before Spencer can even get the chance to get up from the booth.

Y/N is too far past the booth to hear Spencer whisper to his co-workers that he’ll find his own way back to the hotel. She runs her thumb under the running water, watching as the blood clears up, revealing her clean finger. Y/N can feel Spencer’s looming presence behind her. She can smell his cologne and thinks if he cans any closer she’d be able to feel his body heat.

“You’re not supposed to be back here, Spencer,” Y/N says, she knows she’s being short and clippy with Spencer, but she supposes that should be expected, considering how he left her all those years ago.

“That never stopped me, or you for that matter before,” Spencer says, taking a step forward. His hand comes up to gently hold Y/N’s. She can feel his fingertips on her skin for the first time in years. Y/N has to close her eyes to focus on anything but how close Spencer’s body is to her’s. It’s restraint in it’s finest.

“Things have changed, Spencer. People have changed,” Y/N says, she doesn’t make a move that tells Spencer she doesn’t like him touching her. Spencer, whose hands have a slight tremor as they hold Y/N’s, practices an equal amount of restraint as Y/N does. He has to stop the thoughts of what it would be like to feel his hand against her hand again or how she’d sound if he could muster up the courage to kiss her again. He can’t even think of the first place he’d want to kiss her if he had the chance again.

“I’ve changed, Y/N, I’ve changed,” Spencer says, knowing fully that he’s pleading with the girl whose heart he broke 7 years ago.

“I have a hard time believing that one, Spencer. You were always the exception to the rule, whether you liked it or not,” she tells him. Her voice has lost all venom. It’s bare to the world without any weapons to wield.

“Let me fix you up and I’ll be out of your life again,” He says, still holding on to her wrist, still holding on to hope.

Y/N nods and tells him where he can find the first aid kit. She watches as he reaches up to the top shelf and carefully places the kit on the counter. Y/N holds out her hand as Spencer takes an alcohol wipe to her wound. He grimaces more than she does, afraid that somehow, all these years later, he’s still causing her pain. What he doesn’t know is that his touch stings more than the strongest rubbing alcohol in existence.

“So,” Spencer starts, hating that there’s silence between the two of them, when a decade ago that would have been impossible, “how’ve you been?”

“I’m good, Spence, I’ve been good. All I ever wanted was a quiet life, and I guess that’s what I got,” Y/N says, Spencer knows her answer is cordial. It's an answer that you give when you really don’t want to give an answer.

“That’s good, Y/N. I’m happy for you,” Spencer says, he doesn’t realize that he’s been rubbing his thumb against Y/N palm until she reaches into the first aid kit and tosses a band-aid at him. Spencer blushes slightly, but thinks that he’s not offending her too much since he’s still at the diner.

“What about you, Spence? Did you ever find uh….someone that could…” Y/N says, her voice trailing off, too afraid to finish the sentence herself, but aware that Spencer is probably the only person on Earth that could fill in the blanks. He was always good like that, he could always fill in her blanks and make sense of her senseless.

“Find someone, like a wife?” Spencer asks, the blush returning to his cheeks, “no, Y/N I’m not married. Are..are you? Do you have, um, a husband?” Spencer asks, hating the way that he stumbles over the word “husband” like it’s a dirty word. Though he supposes that it is a dirty word when Y/N’s husband is not synonymous with Spencer Reid.

“God no, Spence. I couldn’t not after, you know,” Y/N says, again letting Spencer fill in the blanks and hoping beyond belief that he’d pick up the pieces too. Spencer looks over at where his co-workers sat when they were working, he can't say he’s disappointed to see that they are gone.

“I never really apologized for what I said to you, Y/N. I know that I’ll never make it up to you, but..”

“It’s okay, Spencer. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true, I’m just a waitress. And you, god. You are you. How could I ever think that I’d get a happily ever after with someone like you,” Y/N says, brushing past Spencer to collect the coffee mugs from the table.

“Please Y/N don’t believe that for a second,” Spencer says, his voice full of pain and regret.

Y/N thinks about the times that she would dream of seeing him again. She can’t remember if she’d rather him to be sorry or if she'd rather him rush back to her and sweep her off her feet again with a love confession that rivals the greatest stories ever told. But then again, waitresses don’t get knights in shining armor. Especially when those knights wear sweater vests, despite being in law enforcement. Spencer always loved facts, and he told it to her in a few more words than necessary, people like Spencer Reid don’t end up with people like Y/N Y/LN.

“You still think too highly of me, even after I hurt you, I can’t apologize enough for what I did to you,” Spencer says, hanging his head low. His hair, that’s grown much longer, falls into place over his eyes, as if it’s shielding Spencer from Y/N.

“Did you come here tonight thinking I’d be here? Did a part of you still want to see me?” Y/N asks, she wants to reach out and touch Spencer’s hand, she wants to reach out and feel that his hand is still the same hand that would caress her face and make all her worries vanish. But it’s hard when that hand is attached to the man who destroyed you.

“I didn’t think you’d still work here, Y/N. You always hated living in the desert. Remember how we talked of getting a place somewhere cold where you can see the snow, but still be warm-”

“And safe inside? Yeah, Spencer, I remember that. But that was our dream, how can I still want that when it’s tainted by you,” Y/N spits, walking towards the last booth in the row. She plops down, sinking into the plastic covered cushion. Spencer, nervously, sits down next to her. He doesn’t say anything, knowing how Y/N’s bated breath and tapping foot tell him she’s going to unleash 7 years of pent of hatred and frustration. And somehow, 7 years of desire and want and love.

“I lied Spencer,” Y/N says, looking down at the table. “I lied. I hate it here, you’re right. God, why are you always right?” She smiles wickedly and Spencer has to tell himself to not give way to his emotions. He needs to let Y/N finally release her justified anger onto him.

“You moved on, Spencer. You moved on and I’m right where you left me,” Y/N’s strained voice is perhaps noise that Spencer knows will haunt his nightmares, “It’s like I’m a ghost of that girl I was when I was 23, waiting for someone who’s moved on. Waiting for you, but god, no one wants to love someone so fucking pathetic,”

Spencer wants to react, he wants to reach out a kiss away Y/N tears that fall down her cheeks. He wants to make her pain go away, but how can he when he’s her pain. Spencer knew he never wanted to end up like his father, yet sitting in that corner booth watching Y/N cry, Spencer realizes he’s his father’s son. Spencer realizes that he ran away from the best thing that ever happened to him, when thought he got a better opportunity.

“I never moved on Y/N,” Spencer says, reaching down inside himself for the courage to tenderly hold Y/N’s hands in his own. Even all these years later, her hand still feels the same inside his.

“I’ve thought about you every single day of my life. It’s a curse, Y/N, not being able to forget how much I hurt you. As much as I try, I’ll never be able to erase the look on your face when I told you--”

“When you told me I wasn’t good enough,” Y/N finished for him. It looks like she can fill in his blanks as well as he can fill in her’s.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I didn’t mean it and I know that you’ll never look at me the same way, but I’ve never stopped loving you, Y/N. I’ll never stop loving you,” Spencer says, he’s sobbing at this point. The tears trail down his face and his skin in blotchy red.

“Spencer,” Y/N says quietly, like she’s trying to control the mix of passion and fury that threatens to take control of her, “I need to get this out without interruptions, so just please listen to me,”

Spencer nods and tries his best to not react when Y/N reaches down to his lap and takes her hands into his. He tries to hold in the emotions that split seems in his not-so tough exterior.

“I created a fantasy for you Spencer. I gave you the life that I could never give you. In my head you had kids because I needed you to be deliriously happy. I gave you a wife and I hated her because I love you too much to hate you. I needed you to have the life that I couldn’t give you, because it beats thinking you’re a mess. It beats thinking you ended up like me,” Y/N professes.

Spencer brings his hands up to her cheeks wiping away the tears that fall rapidly. Even the time he was kidnapped, the countless of times he was beaten or held hostage, his heart never ached quite like this. His heart never yearned to soothe someone’s pain as it did when Spencer watched Y/N come to terms with the years and years of heartbreak Spencer left her in.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” Spencer says, his fingers lacing through Y/N’s pinned up hair, “I hated myself for years for doing what I did to you. I knew that there was no one else, there’s no one else for me, Y/N,”

Y/N’s cheek presses up against Spencer’s chest, his warm body is home and is spicy, yet sweet cologne the closest thing to paradise. She tries to get control over her breathing, trying to steady it and not slobber too much over Spencer’s soft shirt. His hands anchor her to him. They latch on to her elbows, begging her silently to not shove him off and kick him to the curb, even though it’s what he deserves.

“Oh god Spencer. You really still are my Spencer, aren’t you?” Y/N asks, her voice slightly muffled by Spencer’s chest. She can hear his heart beat, even now, it’s still in sync with her heart beat. After all these years, between all these miles, throughout all this pain, Y/N’s heart still beats for Spencer’s.

“I don’t wanna lose you again, Y/N,” Spencer says, the tears back on his face, some have dried slightly and new ones make their way down and pool onto the back of Y/N’s head. Spencer brushes his fingers against Y/N, making sure that he’s actually holding her in his arms in this little diner he thought he’d left in the past.

“Please don’t hurt me again, Spencer. I love you too much to lose you again, but I can’t get hurt like that. I can’t bear to do that again,” Y/N says, raising her head to look at Spencer in the eyes.

She can see the glistening tears that fall down his face and the way his gaze softens when his eyes latch on to her. They could spend hours drinking each other in, making up for the lost years. She searches his face, finding new age lines and wrinkles, and maybe even a gray hair or two. But underneath all that, he’s still Spencer.

“I though our love was dead, Spencer. I thought I had my chance real young and the rest of my life was going to be spent haunting this booth, waiting for a man that in my delusions was married to a wife that wasn’t me and with kids that aren’t mine. But good God, Spencer, you really are too much sometimes?” Y/N says, her voice breathy and exasperated as she leans in close to Spencer.

“Can I take that as a yes?” Spencer says, terrified for her answer, even though he knew it already, based on how deeply Y/N looks into his eyes.

Y/N is quiet, and even though it’s just a moment it feels like forever. They are so quiet that all they can hear is their heartbeats. The little diner where their fateful love story took flight is never quiet, yet in that moment you can hear a hair pin drop. Spencer counts the seconds that pass, reading Y/N’s eyes, reading her emotion, and praying to a God he’s not sure is real that she’s not going to leave him this time.

“Yes, Spencer. I love you too much to let you walk out here again,” Y/N says, leaning into Spencer’s face.

She bridges the gap that they’ve both been ignoring since they realized they were in each other’s company again. Spencer is still when she leans in, he doesn’t realize until her soft lips kiss him how much he’s missed her. Before his mind is able to run off the far away places called doubt and denial, Y/N wraps her arms around Spencer’s neck, hooking him in closer. Having each other so close has never made them feel so utterly helpless and giddy. Spencer feels like he needs to tether himself to Y/N’s because he still feels like she’s going to float away. The world was dizzying and Spencer was the only solid, strong thing, holding her to Earth. Y/N always knew he was her anchor, it was just a matter of time before Spencer realized it too. Spencer’s quiet whimpers and shaky tremors spurred her on, kissing up and down the openness of his face until she felt the need for air.

“You’ve been practicing? You’re better at this than when you were 23,” Y/N says, not wanting to let go of Spencer’s neck.

“No, God no, Y/N. I haven’t been with anyone since you,” Spencer says, slightly ashamed to be reminded of his deepest mistake.

“Spencer, baby, you know I forgive you, right? And considering you kiss like that now, I know how you can make it up to me,” Y/N says, planting a couple light, feathery kisses up Spencer’s neck and to the corners of his mouth. Her lips are like a paintbrush on his, turning the grimace he holds into a winning smile. He remembers that it’s near impossible for him to not be flustered near Y/N. He’s glad, even now, that still rings true.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer says, he leans his forehead against Y/N’s and lifts her hands to his mouth, kissing each of her fingers as he says “you are enough, and I’ll hope you’ll let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you,”

Y/N kisses Spencer on the nose as he scrunches it, causing her to laugh. She slips out of the booth and holds a hand out for Spencer to grasp. He takes it without hesitation and pulls her in closer. She supposes that after being apart for so long, it would take some time to get back into their rhythm. Y/N knows that it will never be the same; they aren’t 23 years old anymore. They’re scared and wounded, but together, Y/N thinks that they’ll never run out of things to talk about even if they are old and gray and wrinkled.

THANK-YOU FOR READING :) <3 <3

I really appreciate every like, comment, and reblog. It helps me know what people like about my writing things I should work on.

TAGLIST

@shemarmooresfedora

@april-14-blog

@willowrose99

@calm-and-doctor

@spideygenius

@measure-in-pain

@nomajdetective

@spencerreid9

@saspencereid

@laurakirsten0502

[alyasgf]

Adrien’s Admirer- Adrinette April Day 6 -Anime!

Summary- Adrien Agreste has a secret admirer and its none other than Marinette Dupain Cheng.

Word Count

1650

Excerpt

Realizing how insane it’d look to carry all of these presents to Adrien at once and that all of them being from her might be weird, an idea struck.

“What if I hid them around for him to find from a secret admirer!” Marinette proposed excitedly. “It’d be perfect! I’d be able to see his adorable reactions without feeling embarrassed!”

AO3

The pedestal Marinette had put Adrien on in her younger years had been far too high. It seemed the more time she spent with him the dorkier and more human he became. First it had been the puns, then his concerningly large ladybug merchandise collection that he was extremely fond of, and now he’s a huge anime fan.

Marinette hadn’t meant to find his anime dvd collection. He had asked her to choose a movie while he grabbed snacks since they finished studying early enough that Nathalie had yet to come to kick her out. She had already gone through a few shelves when she found one that seemed to be hidden in a corner. As she looked closer she noticed the entire shelf was filled with volumes of anime, and the shelf beside it manga.

She couldn’t imagine why it was hidden. Was he ashamed? Adrien had been sheltered most his life and the way he acted, well Marinette was surprised she hadn’t realized sooner. Half his lines felt as though they were picked straight from an anime.

As she heard him approach the door she chose a random horror movie and went to sit down. This gave her a perfect idea.

As Adrien went to a closet collected blankets to sit on, Marinette began brainstorming for the perfect birthday present to incorporate her latest discovery.

————————————————————

By the time September 3 rolled around Marinette was slightly worried she’d gone too far this time. At first, she decided to just design a sweater with a few of the animes she remembered seeing in his collection. But she saw the cutest My Hero Academia beanie while at the shops and just had to remake it. Then came socks, pjs, and a ladybug mug she she happened to pass by.

But any friend would go out of their way to cater to a friends interests right?

“Absolutely not, Marinette.”

“Well thanks Alya.” Marinette huffed while packaging all of the gifts in her room the night before.

“Girl, I think its about time you told him! Its been years and not just anyone spends upwards of 40 hours working on gifts for a ‘friends’ niche interest.” Alya cooed at her from atop of her bed.

“Are you crazy? I just gained enough confidence to be his friend, confessing my love to him is a whole other level I can’t even begin to be ready for!” Realizing how insane it’d look to carry all of these presents to Adrien at once and that all of them being from her might be weird, an idea struck.

“What if I hid them around for him to find from a secret admirer!” Marinette proposed excitedly. “It’d be perfect! I’d be able to see his adorable reactions without feeling embarrassed!”

Alya sighed. “I guess it’s better than you panicking and never giving them to him.” She replied dejectedly.

“Thats the spirit.” Marinette said, taping the last perfectly wrapped gift and joining her friend on the bed. “Now since you’re here you’re obligated to help me plan this.”

“I’m not the one with his schedule memorized.” Alya complained, groaning. “What help am I?”

“Moral support!”

———————————————————

Adrien woke up the next morning to his usual. A lonely breakfast and a report of his schedule from Nathalie. He almost could have been fooled into thinking it was any other day.

“Your father sends his wishes Adrien.” Nathalie said as she walked out of the room.

One thing he could be excited by was school. There there’d hugs and birthday wishes and maybe even a sweet snack from a certain blue eyed girl.

————————

As expected, as he steeped out of the sleek black car (after receiving a small Ladybug action figure from the gorilla) he was practically toppled by Nino.

“Happy birthday bro!” He exclaimed, hugging him tightly.

Adrien smiled fondly at the boy. “Thanks Nino.” He said with a chuckle.

“Hopefully your old man will let me come over after school and I can give you your present then?.” Nino questioned hopeful.

“Sorry, I have fencing after school.” Adrien sighed.

“Can’t you just skip? It is your birthday after all.” Nino whined.

“You know how he is. The world could be ending but as long as I’m on time for my appointments he won’t care.” Adrien replied, walking along with Nino towards the front of the school.

As he approached he saw Alya and Marinette camping out by the entrance.

Once they were in hearing distance Adrien said, “Good news is he allowed me to spend lunch outside the house! I figured we could all spend it at the park.”

Marinette squealed excitedly as she ran to hug him, nearly squishing the pastry box she held in the process.

“What she means by that is happy birthday.” Alya laughed while she waited her turn to hug him.

“Happy birthday Adrien!” Marinette said with a slight blush as she handed him the box.

Inside was what looked to be 5 handmade passion fruit macarons, same as she had given him for the last 2 years. It still managed to warm his heart.

“Thanks guys.” He said hugging Alya and mouthing a thank you to Marinette. “If you have anything for me wait until lunch so it can almost be a real party?”

Everyone nodded in response. “Just us?” Nino asked.

“Preferably.” Adrien said sheepishly.

They all walked together to the lockers, chatting comfortably. Marinette seems a little anxious, for what reason Adrien couldn’t say.

He opened his locker and a small black box tumbled out. He caught it and looked at Nino questioningly.

“Wasn’t me.” He said shrugging. “Looks like a note fell out though.” He picked it up from the floor and handed it to Adrien.

“Happy birthday! Thank you for being a ray of sunshine for everyone.” Adrien read aloud smiling fondly. “It’s not signed?”

“Someone as a secret admirer.” Nino teased. “Now hurry up and open it I’m intrigued!”

“Okay okay.” Adrien said, his smile growing as he saw the contents. Inside was a sweater decorated with a Parasyte theme.

“I didn’t know you liked anime.” Nino said curiously.

“Eh never came up.” Adrien replied. He pulled the jacket over his head and looked down at it. Looking at it now he made a discovery. The jacket looked custom, and he only knew one person capable of such a feat.

“Nino I think Marinette made this!” Adrien exclaimed in a hushed tone. “Why wouldn’t she sign?”

“Maybe she wanted it to be anonymous?” Nino closed his locker and started heading to class.

“Should I tell her I know?” Adrien asked, following close behind.

“Nah she clearly wanted it to be secret, just keep it that way.”

—————-

Marinette was still giddy from that morning. The way Adriens eyes lit up when she handed him the pastry box was only matched by the smile that spread across his face when he pulled the present from his locker.

She decided to give the ladybug mug to him in person, figuring giving him an anime present may give away the identity of his secret admirer.

As she sat behind him in class she couldn’t help but sigh at how nicely the sweater fit him. She could definitely get used to seeing him in her designs.

Suddenly she felt a strong elbow in her side.

“Marinette!” Alya whispered aggressively. “Mademoiselle Bustier has called your name twice already!”

“Here!” Marinette blurted out immediately.

“Yes I’m aware you’re here Marinette. I asked if you could read the next section.”

She heard a small chuckle from Adrien and sheepishly decided to focus on how the jacket fit him another time.

—————————

Marinette had ran into a slight problem after lunch. She had already given Adrien his mug (he squealed in delight when he received it), left the beanie in his locker after lunch (he immediately shoved it on and hadn’t taken it off yet) and planned to hide the socks in his fencing bag after school, but she still had yet to give him the phs.

She ran over his schedule about a thousand times throughout the day and could think of no other opportunity that wouldn’t give away her identity as his secret admirer.

“Isn’t there any way you could leave it at his house?” Alya suggested.

“No his dad’s assistant might say something. I just don’t wanna risk it!” Marinette whined.

Then an idea struck.

“Actually Alya I just remembered something in his schedule that leaves a perfect time.” She fibbed.

——————

Adrien was on cloud nine. All of Marinette’s gifts were perfect. You could tell she put thought into them. She even left little notes with each one.

The beanie came with a note that said ‘Thank you for being the such an amazing friend’ and the socks he received during fencing came with a note that read ‘your smile brightens up my world.’ What a nice thing to say to a friend.

As he went up to his room after an extremely exciting day he opened his door to see a flash of red leave through his open window. He could recognize the sound of that string anywhere.

Ladybug had just been in his room!

He looked around to see if anything was different. On his bed he saw a perfectly wrapped gift. It was wrapped in lavender paper with a pink ribbon.

On top was a note. ‘My heart is forever yours’

Adrien’s heart stopped.

That’s Marinette’s handwriting. Marinette’s decorative paper. Marinette’s methodically wrapped gift.

Still in shock he opened it and it confirmed his suspicions. Inside were Death Note pjs.

Marinette had been anonymously giving him anime gifts all day.

Marinette was Ladybug. Ladybug was his secret admirer.

————————————

As they were leaping across building that evening Chat could tell Ladybug was in a good mood.

“Thanks for the gifts today, Marinette.” The blonde hero mentioned casually.

Ladybug effectively face planted into the ground.

Notes

A little late to the party but here nonetheless.

Also I didnt reread this before posting so if you see any mistakes,,, no you didnt :)

@adrinetteapril

[toxoiddiamond]

T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Ryoga Zaizen Nicknames: Ryo Age: 38 Birthday: September 5th Zodiac Sign: Virgo Birthplace: Hakodate, Japan Current Location: He recently moved to Gzira, Malta, after having lived in Yokohama, Japan for nearly thirteen years. Speaks: He is fluent in both Japanese and English. He is starting to learn Maltese, but can only have a very basic conversation at this point. Dominant Hand: Right Education: He completed junior high, but opted not to continue on to high school and started working instead so he could help out his family. Occupation: Voice actor, mostly in anime and video games. Most of his voice work is in Japanese, but he occasionally does some in English as well. Every once in a great while, he does some live action acting, but it’s not his preference. Vehicle: 2018 Peugeot 5008 SUV in navy blue. Worldly Possessions: Some very nice recording equipment that allows him to do his voicework from home. A small family altar that he doesn’t actually pray to, but likes having around for nostalgic reasons. Lots of toys and things for his kids. Lots of DVDs and blu-rays of various films of all genres, with a whole shelf dedicated to family-friendly movies and shows. Pet(s): He recently got a one-year-old Shikoku Ken, partly to try and distract his kids from all the upheaval and turmoil in their lives at the moment. He wasn't too sure about having a dog at first, but now he really enjoys having a pet. The dog's name is Kotaro, meaning "small boy."

A P P E A R A N C E Height: 6'1" Hair: Ryoga enjoys trying all sorts of different colors and styles with his hair. He's had just about every color of the rainbow in his hair at some point, and when he was younger he experimented with having super long hair, mohawks, all kinds of things. Nowadays he tends to keep it cut into a more sophisticated, conservative style, but he still enjoys dyeing it various colors. Currently it is a light blue-gray. Facial Hair: He prefers to be clean-shaven. Eye Colour: Dark brown Skin Tone: He enjoys spending time outdoors, so he isn't super pale or anything; he has almost an olive undertone to his skin. Clothing: Most of the time he dresses in a fairly casual manner; his go-to look is skinny jeans paired with a graphic tee and either Vans or combat boots. But he also cleans up very nicely when the occasion arises. He has a few suits in various colors, patterns and styles and they all look amazing on him. Ryoga has a good sense of fashion and always manages to dress perfectly for any occasion. Distinguishing Marks: He has tattoos– like, so many tattoos on his arms, hands, chest, back, legs, basically everywhere except his face tbh. Face Claim: Miyavi

H E A L T H Physical Health: For the most part, his health is pretty good– he takes good care of himself, exercises, eats well, etc, especially because he wants to set a good example for his kids. However, he has had mild issues with his heart ever since he was a teenager– he has a slight arrhythmia and bradycardia (slow heart rate), but has managed both conditions fairly well throughout his life. He has had to stay in the hospital a couple of times after his heart rate slowed enough to cause him to faint, but he now tries to stay active and take his medication regularly so it (hopefully) doesn’t happen again. Physical Abilities/Limitations: He has a lot of upper body strength, partly from working out and partly from carrying his daughter around all over the place. He is also surprisingly flexible and enjoys doing yoga and tai chi as a form of gentle exercise. He’s always been good at imitating people/doing impressions and putting on different voices, which is what eventually led him to becoming a voice actor. Addictions: He used to drink a lot, but completely gave up alcohol in his mid-twenties, around the time he got married. This was partly because he wanted to try and be a more responsible person, and partly because his doctor recommended that he give up, or at least cut way back, on alcohol for the sake of his heart. Allergies: Shellfish Mental Health: Ryoga is under a lot of stress right now, so he’s not at his best. He’s had a lot of anxiety over his (very messy) divorce, then a brutal custody battle (he ended up getting sole custody), and then having to get a restraining order against his ex-wife when she kept showing up at their home and trying to get the kids to come with her, then throwing fits when Ryoga stopped her from taking them. Now that they’ve moved to a whole other country, he feels a bit better, less nervous, but he’s still constantly worried that his ex is going to show up any day. He has done his best to drill it into the kids’ heads that if their mom shows up, they are not to go with her and they need to come get him or call the police right away.

H I S T O R Y Summary: Long or Short Job History: His first job was at a small, hole-in-the-wall beef bowl shop when he was fourteen– he started as a busboy but was quickly moved into a kitchen staff position. A couple of years later, he was scouted by a modeling agent and ended up falling into the world of fashion modeling. He wasn’t super famous or anything; he mostly modeled alternative/goth/street fashion rather than anything too mainstream. This allowed him to network with a lot of people who were able to pull some strings for him and get him auditions for voice work, and within a few years, he had transitioned fully into voice acting (which he is now actually pretty famous for– in Japan, at least). Fondest Memories: Some of his childhood memories, such as family trips, or evenings when everyone was home and actually hung out together instead of going to their separate rooms. His wedding day, which is bittersweet to look back on, but at the time was one of the happiest days of his life. The births of both his children. Various anime conventions he’s gone to– he loves meeting fans and talking to them. Worst Experiences: His father losing his job– it sent the entire family into a downward spiral of anxiety and Ryoga always felt he had to walk on eggshells around them. Having to skip out on high school so he could work and earn money to help his family. His parents being more than a little angry with him when he became a model, started getting tattoos, etc., since they thought he was “ruining his life.” His parents later disowning him when he told them he was dating a man. And, of course, the slow and painful death of his marriage which resulted in a very, very messy divorce.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: It depends on the situation. If he’s working or in a more professional setting, then he is very respectful, using only polite language. When he’s with friends, he’s louder and more outspoken, and far less polite– not that he’s rude, just that he has a bit of a mouth on him. With his kids, Ryoga is very laid-back for the most part, speaking calmly to them and keeping a patient, gentle tone. Even when he scolds them, he doesn’t raise his voice much, though he can be very firm when he needs to be. Accent: Ryoga has a noticeable Japanese accent when he speaks English, but it’s not so thick that it’s hard to understand him. He speaks very clearly and enunciates well. Favorite Phrases or Words: Tends to say “Aa! Sou?” when he’s surprised about something, which just means “oh, really?” Also tends to say “ehto” instead of “um” or “uh.” Usual Curse Words: He tries to watch his language when he’s with his kids, though he does slip up on occasion (and they always call him out for it). He does have quite a mouth on him though, both in English and in Japanese, and uses whatever curse word feels most appropriate for the moment.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: INFJ-T Sense of Humor: With his kids, he’s pretty goofy and silly, always joking around with them and keeping them entertained. He does a lot of voices that make them laugh. When he’s around adults, he’s more sarcastic but still on the goofy side more than anything. Habits: He is hardly ever barefoot– he always wears socks or house slippers when he’s inside. He tends to eat rice with every meal if possible, in some form or another, or else it doesn’t feel like an actual meal to him. If he’s wearing any nail polish or anything, he tends to pick at it whenever he gets nervous or stressed out. Quirks: Ryoga really enjoys treating himself to things like spa days, mani-pedis, massages, anything along those lines. He doesn’t do it all the time, but once a month or so he gets someone to watch the kids and just takes a full day to himself to relax. He also loves taking baths and keeps various bath salts and oils around so he can take a nice, long bath at home if he’s had a rough day. Fears/Phobias: Anything happening to his kids; he worries about them constantly. His ex-wife finding him and showing up, even though he has a restraining order against her. He also tends to be a bit secretive about his sexuality, after facing some backlash/discrimination for it in Japan– he’s not exactly afraid of anyone finding out that he’s bi, but there’s a reason why he doesn’t offer that information very freely. Strengths: Something Flaws: Something Hopes/Desires: Something Wildest Fantasy: Something Self-Esteem: Something Religion: Something

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: Something Boxers or Briefs?: Something Day or Night?: Something Top or Bottom?: Something Partying or Relaxing?: Something

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Something Relationship History: Something Sexual Partners: Something Thoughts About Sex: Something

P A R E N T S Name(s): Mom and Dad Age(s): Ages Social Standing: Blue collar, white collar, whatever Occupation(s): What they do Religion: What do they believe Quality of Relationship With His Children: Is good or bad? Living/Deceased: Maybe they dead

S I B L I N G (S) Name(s): First Last Age(s): Ages Social Standing: Blue collar, white collar, whatever Occupation(s): What they do Religion: What do they believe Quality of Relationship with Character: Is good or bad? Living/Deceased: Maybe they dead

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Where they live

[justthehiddleswrites]

The Reluctants | Chapter 1 | The Reluctant Landlord

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary:  Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

-

The hardwood floors creaked under Charlie’s weight as she pushed off the mishmash of sheets, quilts, and duvets to the side and her bare feet landed. She ruffled her impossible brown curls, which smashed flat against the back of her head after a night of sleep. It was only September but the old triple decker on the outskirts of Quincy, Massachusetts seemed to be in a wind tunnel. Every gust, bluster, breeze, or slight cough rattled the aging home. But Charlie wasn’t about to complain.

With her salary at Legal Aid barely covering the high cost of living in Boston, it forced Charlie to get creative with her living situation. Roommates were not an option after her last one during her third year of law school, decided instead of washing dishes, she would tuck them wherever convenient. Be that between couch cushions or in an early edition of The Hobbit Charlie kept along with her other books on a shelf in the living room. Charlie took to locking valuables in her room and swore off living with anyone.

It was a pure stroke of luck when the listing for an entire two-bedroom apartment in a converted house came up for cheaper than sharing something downtown. She submitted an application and was delighted when the property management company contacted her to do a walkthrough. The house was old and falling apart around them. When a piece of crown molding nearly took the agent’s head off, Charlie negotiated for a 15% percent reduction in rent. There was only one thing nearly stopping her from moving. The landlord.

For one, his name. No one in 2020 is named Nicolas Copernicus. Not Copernicus himself would be called that in 2020. He would change his name to something like Nick Copper and found a startup company in his college dorm room. Charlie attempted to use what little resources she had at her disposal at her job to determine the true identity ofher mysterious landlord. All searches ended up at the same place. NOZ, Inc. A company with no internet presence. But plenty of assets.

“I am telling you I think my house is front for the mob. Or WitSec!” Charlie protested as she slumped into her desk chair.

“Or maybe,” Elise retorted. “It’s just a corporation that bought up a bunch of buildings to make some easy revenue.”

Her green eyes shot daggers at her co-worker. “If that’s the case, how come every week there is something new falling apart? Wouldn’t they refurbish the place before renting it out?”

Elise opened her mouth to respond when she stiffened in her seat. Charlie spun her chair to come face to face with a stained dress shirt. That shirt belonged to her boss, Jason Chambers.

“Ms. Bock.” He stared down Charlie through wired frame glasses too small for his round face. “If you are done socializing, a word in my office.” He jerked his thumb to the glorified cubicle he called his “office” and walked away.

“Sorry,” Elise mouthed while Charlie smoothed out her Banana Republic Outlet blazer and skirt.

“It’s all right.” Charlie gave a tense smile.

“Take a seat.” Jason gestured to a stained chair covered in paper. Charlie shifted her weight on her heels.

“I’ll just stand.” The sooner she got of there the better.

“I make this short and to the point. Your spending too much time with the clients.”

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but Jason held up a hand. “We are here to help with legal issues not listening to their life story.” Jason grimaced. Charlie learned early on Jason believed this job was beneath his Harvard education.

“Those life stories often have bearing on their legal cases.” she interjected.

“I don’t care. Move the cases along faster or I will have to terminate your employment.” Jason grinned over the table. “This is your only warning.”

He locked eyes with Charlie, who held his stare. “Understood, sir.”

Jason’s face broke out in a smug grin. “You’re dismissed.”

Charlie shuffled out and back to her desk. Elise leaned forward.

“What did the B.O.D. want?” B.O.D. standing for Bag of Dicks, their nickname for Jason.

“Just the usual. Stop talking so much, move the cases.” Charlie huffed, doing a poor imitation of their boss.

The two giggled until Jason popped his head over the top of his cubicle, glowering. Elise snapped back upright and returned to typing, while Charlie busied herself with the papers in her inbox until he disappeared again back into his hole. The day continued on like that until lunch when Elise and Charlie hightailed it out of the office to a nearby deli.

“Did I tell you about the weird note I got last week?” Charlie stood over at the counter in the crowded deli, crunching up oyster crackers into her clam chowder.

“Do tell.”

“So I got home late one night to find this,” Charlie fished a crumpled piece of paper out of her purse, bringing up a couple of rubber bands and a lipstick along with it.

Elise unfolded the paper while taking a bite of her Reuben sandwich. “Is this written with a quill?”

“You noticed the ink splatters too? And what about the handwriting? Is that the handwriting of a serial killer or what?” Charlie dribbled some soup on her blouse. She dabbed at the stain with a napkin.

“Who is Mr. Shelley?”

“My new basement neighbor.”

“What does he look like?”

Charlie dribbled more soup. “No clue. Haven’t seen him.”

“Nothing?”

“I have only heard the hum of some music through the floorboards. I think he is nocturnal. Like a bat or something.”

“Spooky.” Elise passed the paper back, and they finished their lunch, making plans for drinks later that night.

Jason slipped out around 4:30 in the afternoon claiming he had to make a “supply run” and would be back in twenty minutes. Everyone knew this was code for that he needed to go pick up his skinny ass girlfriend from work because she couldn’t drive having just racked up her third DUI. Charlie suspected they met at Jason’s previous job at the Public Defender’s Office, but nothing substantial turned up in her searches of public access records.

“Come on, Charlie, let’s knock off early and grab drinks.” Elise already shut down her computer and was pulling her coat on.

“One second…” Charlie held up a finger as she put the finishing touches on a pleading. She hit save and closed the document. “… there. Where to?��

“How about the restaurant across the street? Bar menu is half off for happy hour.”

“Looks like momma is getting drunk on beer and burgers tonight.” Charlie snagged her coat off the back of her chair and followed Elise out the door.

-

Charlie stumbled up her stairs, her heels in her hand. It was late. In fact, so late that she had nearly missed the last train home. But it was worth it to spend time with Elise and some other friends.

As she fumbled for her keys, a sound came from the side basement entrance. Crouching low, Charlie crawled over to the crumbling railing to see what was the source.

Charlie spied two men standing at the threshold. She squinted in the dark, making a mental note to schedule an eye appointment. One man appeared to be wearing scrubs underneath an old gray peacoat. While the other man leaned out of the basement. Mr. Shelley, Charlie surmised. He looked like something out of a punk music video from the 1980s. His black hair shot out like wires and his clothes were all black and either leather or denim.

In a flash of brilliance or stupidity, depending on how one thought about it, Charlie retrieved her phone from her pocket and turned on the camera to record.

Charlie now spotted the Stop and Shop bag in the Scrubs Guy’s hand. She covered her mouth as she gasped when Mr. Shelley pulled a wad a cash from his back pocket. His head snapped in Charlie’s direction and she ducked into the shadows.

The two men finished the exchange, and Charlie shifted her weight to relieve a cramp in her calf. As she moved, the termite-ridden porch gave way and her foot went clear through the crawlspace. Charlie scrambled to her feet as footsteps approached, slamming her front door and dead bolting it once she got inside. She remained motionless and boot steps stopped in front of her door. It seemed like an eternity before the footsteps faded away and Charlie exhaled. Now sober, she trotted off to the kitchen for a late snack before tucking into bed to watch old reruns of Scarecrow and Mrs. King.

-

The next day was a repeat of the one before, except today was Friday and payday which meant instead of the nearby deli, Elise and Charlie splurged on delicious Chinese food, side of egg rolls plus a trip to the store for candy to be stashed in the top drawer of their desks. Jason kept to himself, grunting to himself.

“Bets on what he is looking at in there?” Marie, the receptionist, asked.

“Nudes from the girlfriend.” Charlie chimed in.

“Porn Hub.” Elise added.

“Cat videos on YouTube.” Marie commented as she waltzed over and popped her head over the cubicle wall.

Elise and Charlie giggled as keyboard keys clattered at a frantic pace. Jason muttered to Marie before she jogged back to the girls.

“You owe me twenty bucks.” Marie commented, pointing at Charlie “and you owe me twenty bucks.” She turned to Elise. “Lazy Cat Turns Body Into Slinky To Get Down The Stairs.”

Charlie grumbled as she fished out her wallet. A receipt came along with her striped wallet, along with a bus ticket. “He watched that one last week too.”

“And yet you continue to guess nudes. Someone sounds sexually frustrated.” Marie snatched the bill away from Charlie and grabbed Elise’s, reaching across the desk.

“Which is why you should use that twenty to buy me a drink tonight, so I might loosen up enough to land myself a date.” Charlie quipped. She widened her eyes until they looked like huge emerald saucers.

Marie pursed her lips. “That Puss in Boots look won’t work today. I have to meet my mom out in Brighton for a family dinner. Besides, I thought you hated dates. Especially after what’s his name?”

Charlie’s nose wrinkled at the word “family”. To say her own family relationship was strained would be an understatement. Shattered to a thousand pieces and scattered to the ends of the earth might be closer to the truth.

“Richard.”

“Dick the Serial Dater.” Elise added. “Didn’t the hostess comment you were the fourth girl he brought in there that week?”

“Yes, and I don’t want to talk about it. I’m so sorry, Marie. I should buy you a drink.”

Marie giggled as she returned to the front desk. “Not every hates family and relationships like you.”

Charlie squirmed. “I don’t hate relationships. I just don’t like the fanfare that goes along with them. I just want a guy who is happy being him and let’s me be me. No strings, no commitments. And no dates.” She shuddered.

“You want a fuck buddy.” Elise commented as she pulled her phone receiver away from her ear.

Charlie shushed Elise. “I don’t want a ‘fuck buddy’. I just want a guy who doesn’t expect me to swoon after him or put aside my interests for his. I want to be me, fucked up me. And it doesn’t hurt if he is hot as hell.”

“That guy doesn’t exist, Charlie.”

She sighed. “You’re right, but a girl can dream.”

Jason snuck out even earlier than usual. Marie mouthed “anniversary” as he walked by before slapping on a fake smile as he exited onto the crowded downtown Boston sidewalk.

Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose before blinking and return to the writ she was drafting. The last hour of the workday flew by and Elise was soon tapping her shoulder.

“Drinks at McCormicks?”

“I’m shouldn’t. I partied a little too hard last night. I’m not sure my liver can take it.”

“I’ll buy you truffle fries.” Elise singsonged.

“Well, one drink won’t kill me.” Charlie capitulated.

“That’s the spirit.”

They linked arms and waved goodbye to Marie before heading down to Faneuil Hall.

-

Charlie was true to her word and only had one drink. Which was good fortune because she was sober enough to realize when she got home, her front door was ajar. She dropped her purse at the door and grabbed a commemorative hockey stick from a Bruins game from the umbrella holder by the door. Wielding it like a sword, she stepped first into the living room to find the place not ransacked, but rumpled, as though someone had gone through her things but attempted to put them back as they were.

“Hello?” she called out like every soon to be dead girl in a horror film. A noise echoed from her bedroom and Charlie tightened her grip on the hockey stick and made her way there. She nearly dropped the stick when she saw the man she presumed to be Mr. Shelley standing there, her silk pajamas fisted in his hand.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?!” She yelled.

In a blur, the hockey stick disappeared from her hand. She glanced around the room to find it but saw it nowhere in sight. It wasn’t until the end of the weekend Charlie noticed it back in its place in the umbrella holder by the front door.

“Are you going to answer my question or just stand there, creasing my best set of pajamas?” Charlie tapped her foot on the floor. “You can’t be in here. It’s my place.”

“Yes, I can.” His words slow like syrup. His accent British. Charlie’s chest tightened for a moment. “I’m the manager.”

“I thought your name was Shelley. The guy that owns this place is Nicolas Copernicus. Fake name if you ask me.”

“Shit.” The man whispered under his breath. At least he dropped her pajamas. “I used the name Shelley so you wouldn’t bother me when I moved in. So I have the right to be here.”

“No you don’t.” She planted her hands on her hips.

“I beg your pardon? This is my house. I don’t need permission to enter it.” His voice louder and the tone more not mad but irritated, as though he hated talking to people and this conversation had already gone on too long.

“Massachusetts Regulation 940 says you must give a tenant at least 24 hours before entry a residence unless it is an emergency.”

“Bloody fucking regulations. There was a leak.” His face contorted for a moment. If Charlie paid attention more, she would have realized he was in pain, but she was only concerned about him lying. About his name, about being there, about everything.

“There was a leak.” She made each word pointed. “… in my delicates drawer.”

He dropped his head and pushed past her. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait!” She called after him but he didn’t break his long stride to the front door. “I want to talk to you!” But the slamming of the front door and boots traveling down the stairs answered her plea instead.

Soon the basement door slammed, followed by the sound of feedback and music coming up through the floorboards. Charlie sulked for a moment before crouching down to pick up the bits of silk, satin and lace clothing on the floor.

“No respect.” she muttered before flopping onto the bed. The frame creaked as Charlie laid down onto the pile of pillows. At least five, not counting decorative ones. She closed her eyes and listened to the hum of whatever music, Shelley, or Nick, or whatever the hell his name was playing down there. Charlie had half a mind to stomp on the floor when a lightbulb went off.

“What a scathingly brilliant idea!” She grabbed her phone and scrolled until she found what she was looking for and headed off to take a shower before setting her plan into action later that night.

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 16 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Hello pumpkins! Thank you so much for all the love, we adore you! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Sutan was smitten with a mysterious new girl, and Fame finally approved the Fashion Week designs.  

This Chapter: A mystery, a flea market, an apology,  a high society gathering, and a bedtime story.

***

“Come in!”

Katya pushed open Pearl’s door, then stood there, arms crossed, a deeply unhappy look on her face. Katya didn’t get mad very often, so when she did, people took it very seriously. Pearl took one look at her and scrambled up into a seated position on her bed.

“What’s wrong?” Pearl asked, a little worried.

“What did you do to Violet?”

“What…” Pearl scoffed, slightly offended. “What makes you think I did something?”

“Well, this is the third week in a row that she’s turned down our brunch invite. So naturally I assume you broke her poor heart. Didn’t you?!”

“No!” Pearl exclaimed. “In fact, if anyone broke anyone’s heart, it’s her! She completely ditched me at the Vogue party and now she’s acting like I don’t even exist.”

Katya narrowed her eyes, contemplating this claim. Pearl’s eyes were wide and innocent and she looked like she was telling the truth, but Katya wasn’t buying it. Something didn’t smell right.

“Huh.” Katya sat down beside Pearl on the bed. “Walk me through the party. Everything you remember.”

“Okay, so it started out great. She looked super hot; I looked super hot.”

“Naturally,” Katya chuckled.

“She didn’t want to do the whole step and repeat thing, but of course I have to, so she kind of stood to the side while I took some pictures, and I was like, clowning and flirting with her, and she seemed really into it. Real giggly and adorable.”

“Okay...” Katya raised an eyebrow.

“And then we went in, and she just...disappeared.” Pearl groaned. “I couldn’t find her anywhere. And the next thing I knew, she was sitting at the bar, flirting with some dude, having the time of her life-”

“Go back,” Katya said. “When you went into the party, you’re saying that she disappeared without saying one word to you?”

“Well, no, she said that she was going to get us drinks.”

“And what were you doing while she was getting drinks, Pearl?” Katya asked.

“I was dancing. Waiting for her! And...oh, shit.” Realization dawned in Pearl’s eyes. “Do you think she saw that girl kiss me?”

Katya covered her face with her hands, moaning, “Peeeearl, for fuck’s sake!”

“Well it was only like a second! A few seconds, tops! And I pushed her away!” Pearl defended herself. “And anyway, why wouldn’t she have said anything?!”

“Does she strike you as the type who enjoys confrontation?” Katya asked pointedly.

“No. No, definitely not. Ugh, fuck.”

“And anyway, what did you say when you saw her at the bar?”

“Uhhh...I kinda just...left.”

“Pearl!” Katya admonished.

“I was pissed! And I don’t like confrontation either.” Pearl crossed her arms sullenly.

“You need to talk to her.”

“Well, I’ve tried, Katya, but she doesn’t want to!”

Katya placed a hand on Pearl’s shoulder and said, “Try again.”

Pearl nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”  

***

“Patrick! Patrick, come here!”

Patrick looked around, trying to locate the face of his wife in the crowd of poorly-dressed shoppers who were surrounding them.

Fame had come home last night, fully drained after a long week at the office. When her mood and her energy levels hadn’t recovered after a long bath, Patrick had made a decision.

The Grand Market Place in New Jersey was one of Fame’s favorite places on Earth. Honestly, any flea market where Fame could walk around in peace was her happy place. Patrick had gotten their car out nice and early, not telling Fame where they were going until they were well on their way to the Lincoln tunnel, where she figured it out.

Patrick finally located Fame, waving at her as he made his way towards his wife, two strawberry melon coolers in his hand, one for each of them.

“Look! Look!” Fame smiled, her entire face lighting up as she held up a small porcelain figurine of a chicken.

“It’s a Royal Copley! See! The stamp is still there!” Fame turned the chicken upside down and showed him the bottom and the brand of the figurine. “It’s an original, I have to have this! It’s an Araucana, my favorite breed!”

Patrick laughed, basking in the joy Fame was radiating. He had sworn on his life that he would never tell anyone that Fame was an avid collector of porcelain animals, but chickens in particular. Her private collection had nearly 100 small chickens meticulously on display in one of Fame’s workrooms.

“I know it is, baby.” Patrick traded the drink and held his hand out for the figurine. Fame took a sip and smiled, not a single complaint falling from her lips over the sweetness of the drink as she turned around and started to argue with the woman in the stall over the price.

Patrick smiled to himself, thankful for the dork of a woman he had chosen to marry. Fame had grown up on a farm, her dad specializing in the breeding of rare chicken breeds for competitions all over the country and he loved seeing the side of her she normally kept so carefully hidden from the rest of the world.

Patrick took a sip of his drink, watching his woman. Spending some time outside of New York where literally no one knew either Fame or himself had been the right decision for today. It was liberating in the best of ways and just what they both needed, a Saturday away from the city in the early September sun.

***

Violet would have never opened the door if it wasn’t for the insistent knocking. She had tried to ignore it, had even made a cup of tea while desperately attempting to tune it out, but as the kettle whistled, Violet’s nerves had finally broken down.

She opened the door, only to be greeted by the sight of Pearl’s face, her hand raised to knock for the hundredth time.

“Violet-”

“Go away.”

Violet tried to close the door, but Pearl shoved her foot forward, her heavy leather boot the only thing saving it from getting crushed.

“Please-” Pearl groaned, her hand grabbing the door and prying it open. “I brought you a housewarming gift.”

Pearl tilted her hip, and Violet saw that she was carrying a basket of what had to be top shelf liquor.

“You can keep it.”

Violet tried to close the door again, but Pearl’s grip was too strong.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the whole mess-”

Violet paused. Pearl never apologized. Ever. Sure, the blonde pleaded and played cute, knowing just how to say sorry without the words ever leaving her mouth, but she had just said them, and from what Violet could see, she actually meant them too.

“Can I come in, please?” Pearl sighed. “I really need to talk to you.”

“Fine.” Violet took a step back. “Two minutes.”

Violet had intended to be in control, but it wasn’t until she had let Pearl in that she realized the blonde hadn’t been in her apartment yet.

“Nice decorating.”

Violet felt a flush of shame wash over her. She hadn’t gotten anything done with her place, the apartment just as empty as it had been when she had just moved in, but with Courtney taking all her time at work, and Sutan getting what little she could spare outside of it, she hadn’t had time to get anything done.

“You wanted to talk-” Violet leaned against the wall. “Talk.”

It was clear that Pearl wasn’t used to being put on the spot, but she recovered quickly.

“First of all, I thought you were a real bitch when you randomly ditched me to flirt with some guy.”

Violet’s eyes widened. “Wha-” Pearl was being wildy unfair. “That’s not what happen-”

“And it really fucking bothered me. Especially because that didn’t seem like you. Ditching someone I mean-”

“I didn’t-”

”And I might have realized earlier today that you possibly saw me on the dance floor.”

Pearl’s admission felt like a slap to the face all over again. Violet had tried to forget Pearl kissing the redhead, she really had, but it seemed like the world was intent on reminding her of it every chance it got.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does. Vivi, I swear, she’s just someone I used to mess around with. I pushed her away right after she kissed me. The only person I wanted that night was you. Pinky swear.”

“Pearl…” Violet wanted to accept the pinky swear, wanted to forgive Pearl so badly, the woman was one of the few people she considered friends, but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t hurting.

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

It was true. Violet missed Pearl, missed their friendship, missed having fun and feeling young and stupid and so very alive.

“Can we please just be friends again?”

A part of Violet wanted to say no, wanted to do what she always did which was run away, but for once, she knew it was worth the risk.

“Of course.”

Hugging Pearl felt amazing, and Violet clung to her friend, her fingers buried in her blonde locks.

***

Violet hurried down the stairs, fumbling with her earring as she took them two at a time. She hated herself, but she was almost late to be picked up, the clock in the lobby telling her she only had two minutes before she was supposed to be out on the street.

Violet hadn’t meant to take so long, hadn’t wanted to be almost late, but she had changed her clothes one too many times, her stomach filled with fluttering butterflies of nervousness.

Sutan had invited her out over text two days ago, and while Violet had agreed right away, it was driving her up the wall that she had no idea what they were doing and where they were going.

He had only told her to dress up, and that he had their tickets already booked, which wasn’t really much to go on.

Violet had agonised over what to wear for hours, but had ended up settling on a red evening gown, overdressed seeming like a much better option than underdressed.

She closed the lock on her earring, but as she reached out to grab the door, she felt her phone start to buzz away in her clutch. She could see Sutan through the glass in the door, a phone to his ear.

“I’m here!”

Sutan turned around, a smile breaking out on his face as he recognised her. He tapped on his phone, and Violet’s clutch finally stopped buzzing.

“Hello lovely eyes.”

Violet was just about to open her mouth to return his greeting, when she realised that he was holding a half smoked cigarette.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” Violet bit her lip. This was the first time she had seen a cigarette in Sutan’s hand, his apartment not smelling of smoke at all.

“I don’t.”

Violet raised an eyebrow, and Sutan laughed.

“Okay, so, I guess I’m obviously smoking right now.” Sutan dropped the cigarette, and stepped on it, Violet barely holding in a groan as she couldn’t help but worry about the Gucci sole. “Raja has me by the ball with the whole new models thing.”

“Ah…” Violet was well aware, too aware, that Fame had already rejected over half of the girls Elite had suggested. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s not talk about work.” Sutan held a hand out, and Violet took it. She had expected him to pull her in for a kiss or a hug, but instead, he spun her around.

“Suta-” Violet wanted to protest, but her muscle memory had already taken over, her body following his lead as she twirled once, twice, before Sutan stopped her again.

“You look gorgeous.” Sutan smiled, her hand still in his . “Is it Valentino?”

Violet nodded. “2011.”

“It suits you.” Sutan pulled her in, and Violet followed, the man clearly going for a hello kiss, but Violet turned her head to the side, his lips hitting her cheek, clearly indicating to him that she wasn’t going to kiss someone who had just smoked.

“Mmh.” Sutan hummed against her cheek, and Violet barely contained a shiver, the scent of cigarettes and his aftershave overwhelming her.

***

“How long does it take to get there?”

Violet leaned back against the seat, her black hair spilling over her long and slender arms. Sutan had been absolutely serious when he had complimented Violet’s outfit, the red dress spectacular. The chest was what drew his attention though,  her delicate collarbones standing out, flounces flanking the bare skin, Violet’s small breasts half covered by the fabric.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Sutan smirked, his driver pulling out from the sidewalk.

“Fine.”

“You’re not even going to pretend to want to know?” When he had told Violet he was keeping the evening date a surprise, he had expected a pointed reply, some nagging or at least a few texts, but Violet had simply accepted it, the woman he was sharing his car with once again so different from everyone else he would normally date.

“I can be patient.” Violet smiled, a teasing glimt in her eyes.

“It’s no fun if you’re not fighting to find out.” Sutan flicked Violet’s earring, which made her yelp and laugh, his move earning him a slap on the thigh. “We’re going to the reception for the new Ralph Pucci exhibition.”

“Wha-” Violet turned towards him. “Are you kidding me? Ralph Pucci, the Ralph Pucci?  Are you taking me to the reception of ‘The Art of the Mannequin’ exhibition at the MET?”

“The one and only.”

***

Violet was filled with glee.

She was at an actual reception at the MET as a proper guest. It was something she had longed for as a fashion student, and something she missed from her younger days, the atmosphere of a cultural premiere always something special.

They had already watched the opening talk and Sutan had gotten them glasses of champagne, the man offering his arm to her without question.

Violet had scanned the room when they had arrived, but there was no one there that she knew, no one who could potentially recognise her for who she used to be.

It was wonderful to walk through the exhibition with Sutan, the man saying quick hellos left and right, but he never strayed from Violet’s side. They each emptied two more glasses of champagne, sharing a few pieces of fruit from the platters the waiters carried around the museum halls.

“Oh.” Sutan leaned down, his breath hot as he whispered into Violet’s ear. “I just spotted Cory Bautista.”

“The co-owner of Model Management?”

“Of course you know who he is,” Sutan chuckled. “I have to go talk to him. Will you be okay on your own?”

“Afraid I can’t take care of myself?” Violet reached out, gently adjusting Sutan’s suit jacket.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Sutan placed a quick kiss on her lips before he walked away, allowing Violet to wander around the exhibition. She had no idea if Sutan had just been lucky when he picked the night's activity, but for Violet it was an absolute joy to get to look at and read about the history and evolution of the fashion mannequin and it’s creator.

Violet was just reading a sign, when she heard a voice besides her.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” It was a soft female voice, her tone almost melodical. “An artist who is actually appreciated in his own time.”

“It is…” Violet smiled to herself. She didn’t turn around, the art in front of her too exciting. “Can you believe they’re actually showing the original 1979 action mannequins? And look, they even have some of Michael Everts prototypes. Isn’t it fascinating? I love how you can clearly see the evolution.”

“Oh wow,” The voice chuckled. “You’re a real expert, huh?”

“Hardly.” Violet shook her head, “but I graduated from Parsons two years ago.”

“And what do you do now then? Do you work for the museum?”

“No, I actually-” Violet turned around, surprised to find an unmistakably familiar face. A face she’d seen splashed across tabloid covers while standing in line for the checkout as a child, the cheerful looking redhead providing some of the most colorful stories during the late 90s and early 2000s.

“Ms. Monsoon.”

“Jinkx.” The woman smiled warmly and held out her hand. She seemed charming and sweet, nothing like the irresponsible, brazen party girl the tabloids had painted her as years back. “And you are?”

“Violet. My name is Violet. I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect to see you…” Violet trailed off uncertainly.

“Standing upright and speaking in coherent sentences?” Jinkx guessed with a chuckle.

“Well, no, I just-”

“It’s fine, sweetie. It’s always nice to surpass people’s expectations, even if they’re rock bottom.” Jinkx gave another crooked smile, the mischievous glint in her brown eyes telling Violet that she was in no way offended.

“I like your dress.”

Jinkx was wearing a bright scarlet gown. It was clearly custom made, the cut telling its own story of a competent tailor, but Violet wasn’t sure she would have ever paired it with Jinkx’s copper hair and red lipstick. The colors should be clashing horribly, but somehow, it was working

“Thank you! Coming from a Parsons alum, that’s quite the compliment,” Jinkx said. “You never told me where you work these days.”

“Oh, I’m at Galac-”

“Hey-” Violet turned around as Sutan walked up behind her, pressing a quick kiss against her temple. “Sorry I was gone for so-”

It was then that Sutan looked up, his entire body stiffening as he recognized who Violet was talking to.

“Jinkx.”

“Sutan, well well well. I’m not going to say I didn’t expect to see you here, but I certainly didn’t expect to see you in such excellent company.”

Violet couldn’t help but notice how quickly Jinkx’s demeanor had changed. She glanced from Sutan to Violet and then briefly at the ceiling, her face unreadable. She leveled her gaze back at Sutan, looking straight into his eyes, making Violet feel more than a little uncomfortable as Sutan responded to Jinkx’s stare.

“You’re looking very… radiant tonight.”

Violet could hear a sour, mocking note in Sutan’s silky voice. She had no idea what was going on, had never seen Sutan like this before and she couldn’t recognize the man who had whispered into her ear merely minutes before, the energy he was giving off now reminding her of Raja on her worst days.

“Whoaaa… Alert the presses,” a voice called out. “Since when are you two allowed in the same room?”

Violet turned to see none other than Bianca Del Rio approaching the group.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

Violet couldn’t be sure that Bianca actually knew who she was, or would recognize her out of the context of the office, but she wasn’t prepared to stay and find out. She began to back away, doing her best to obscure her face from Bianca, her heart hammering away in her chest.

“Heya, red.” Bianca slipped an arm around Jinkx’s waist. “Is this asshole harassing you?”

“Shut up, B,” Sutan said. “Actually, I was just about to take my date and-” He glanced around for Violet, who was by now standing by one of the mannequins on the other side of the room. “Um…”

“Uh oh. Boy wonder got ditched?” Bianca joked.

“I knew she had good taste,” Jinkx replied, and both of them cackled gleefully.

“I’m glad you’re well, Jinkx,” Sutan said, sounding like he had to muster all of his strength to get out the sentence. “I’ll leave you to it.” He managed a smile, “Also, Bianca? Kiss my ass.”

Bianca laughed uproariously, raising her glass to him as he took his leave.

“Love you too, Tan!”

Sutan spotted Violet and took her hand, guiding her quickly to the far side of the room.

“What was that about?” inquired Violet as soon as they were at a safe distance away.

Sutan took a deep breath. “Jinkx and I used to be…” he groaned, wincing, before finishing, “...involved.”

“Seriously?” Violet couldn’t imagine Sutan and Jinkx together if her life depended on it; they seemed too different, like night and day.

“Yes. It didn’t end well, to say the least. But...that was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Okay,” Violet said simply. If there was one thing she understood, it was the desire to forget your past, and who was she to probe, when there was so much she’d never want to share herself.

***

“Are you comfortable, baby?”

Katya and Trixie were together in bed, both of them wearing their matching fluffy pajamas.

Trixie nodded, a smile on his face as he snuggled into Katya’s side. Trixie came home from his bar night with Pearl pretty drunk, so Katya had brushed his teeth and tucked him into bed.

“Good.” Katya smiled and leaned down, placing a sweet kiss on Trixie’s forehead before she picked her book up. She had learned through countless nights in Trixie’s bed that there was nothing that put him to sleep easier than a book he found utterly boring.

“In 2008, a study from the University of Texas at Austin found that, ‘There are many inadequate high school facilities in Texas, and unfortunately many of these are found in areas of low socioeconomic status and high minority percentages.’ The researchers also determined that inadequate high school facilities and poor classroom conditions had a negative impact on students’ academic performance.”

Katya stopped her reading, completely horrified with what she had just read.

Trixie looked up at Katya, a sad look on his face.

“Keep reading baby… Keep reading.”

Katya smiled a little.

“The researchers found that high school students perform better on tests if the classroom has a view of a green landscape, rather than a windowless room, or a room with a view of another building or a parking lot.”

“You’re my green landscape, baby.”

Katya leaned down and kissed Trixie’s little bald spot. “You’re my green landscape too, baby.”

[ducktracy]

142. porky’s moving day (1936)

disclaimer: this cartoon contains racist contents, stereotypes, imagery, and concepts. i do not at all endorse this content and i find it gross and wrong. while this isn’t as extreme as other depictions, it just as well needs to be noted and talked about. thank you for understanding and bearing with me.

release date: september 12th, 1936

series: looney tunes

director: jack king

starring: joe dougherty (porky), elvia allman (homeowner)

the day has come: here since the heart of the buddy days, jack king’s marks his final cartoon at warner bros with porky’s moving day. i’ve warmed up to him and appreciate his ambition, and i’ve heard nothing but great things about his donald duck cartoons at disney, though i can’t say i’m too heartbroken to see him go. better things are on the way from here on out! for his final entry: porky is in charge of a moving company, and has to empty out a house as fast as possible as the threat of the house toppling into the ocean looms.

open to porky’s moving van (appropriately labeled as such in big black letters on the exterior), nothing more than a little wooden shack. porky and his assistant are fast asleep on their cots inside. elsewhere, pandemic: a house brilliantly built threatens to topple over the edge of a cliff, waves repeatedly throwing the house into the air. a woman darts from window to window, crying for help. the woman is none other than a clarabelle cow facsimile (which would have worked maybe 3 years prior, but the disney influence has definitely begun to fade by this point... except for king.) as her house teeters along, she struggles to keep her furniture in place, pushing it back as various items threaten to run her over as the house leans back and forth.

fretfully does clarabelle (better than calling her “The Cow” over and over and over again) ring up the operator in the telephone, begging for “bunyan” (paul bunyan??). her call is interrupted by a drastic lean of the house, and she topples over the window, the cord snapping in the process. she hangs upside down out of the window, still calling into her broken mouthpiece for bunyan. i’m sure this is a reference going way over my head, but it’s obnoxious regardless.

back at porky’s moving van, the phone rings. porky’s assistant wakes up at the sound of the ring and instantly grows punchy, boxing with an invisible foe at the sound of the ring. porky approaches, mallet in hand, and conks the guy over the head. he immediately stops and drones “okay, booooooss.” a phrase that will be repeated 7 TIMES throughout this cartoon, same voice recording and all! a few times i had talked about a review on imdb titled “Ain’t head injuries funny!?” which i found absolutely hilarious—that was a review for this cartoon.

nevertheless, the phone rings on, and porky answers with a chipper “porky the mover!” clarabelle panics on the other end, derailing about how her furniture won’t stay in place and that her house is bound to tip over anytime. “oh for sakes and gosh! we’ll be right over!” porky then tells his assistant “c’mon dopey, we got a job!” wow, that’s not at all seriously offensive: a subtly black-faced caricature of a monkey named dopey whose only line is saying “okay, boss” over and over again. i’m shocked they didn’t give him a stereotypical accent—this was definitely deliberate and not at all accidental. way to keep it classy, king! guh, that’s nasty.

porky crawls outside of his van, where we see his pet ostrich lulu resting by a tree. he wakes her up and positions for her to get into place in front of the van. climbing onto the front, porky grabs the reins—his assistant arbitrarily “okay boss”ing him for no reason at all—and orders lulu to step on it. they race through town, lulu eventually running on air as a result of the high speeds. the animation is rather nice here, and the accompanying siren sounds are a nice touch.

lulu screeches to a halt at their destination, the van swinging a full rotation and right up close to the audience for impact. porky meets clarabelle, who barks some frantic orders to him. porky and clarabelle rush inside, the door slamming on dopey. he rings the doorbell, and the sound of the bell sends him into a fit once more. don williams animates this absolutely beautiful display of animation, that, surprisingly, is NOT from a redrawn colorized version of the cartoon with a grayscale filter over it. this is the real deal! it seems like even the animators weren’t into this one. not sure what happened here, but it’s pretty damn bad. sorry don. another conk on the head, another “okay boss.”

inside, porky unloads the furniture into some outside, unknown source. no image of the furniture piled outside. a piano threatens to flatten him into a piggy pancake after another jostle from the waves outside, and porky steadies himself on the leaning wall for support. “holy smoke, we’ll never get out of here!” porky drops a mattress outside the window, and somehow manages to push the piano out, which crashes into the earth and forms a gaping hole, any trace of the mattress or piano gone. the waves tilt the house in the opposite direction, and porky crashes into a toy tricycle, sending him down the other end of the house. he barrels into dopey, urging him to “snap out of it.” you’ll never guess what dopey says in response! and, of course, dopey dismantles an entire fireplace from the wall and drags it along.

meanwhile, porky turns his attention to other areas of the house, rolling up a portion of a carpet and rolling it with his feet like a log roller. there is some pretty interesting animation as he weaves between hallways, “sucking up” portions of the rug. it certainly has potential that goes unrealized, though. and, for some reason, lulu is in the house, strutting in the way of porky’s giant log of fabric. he runs her over, wrapping her up in an uncontrollable burrito as he barrels down a staircase and crashes into a wall. the impact sends lulu unraveling back UP the staircase (porky still on the floor), eventually rolling to a halt as she twirls around like a top on her beak.

dopey, on the other hand, carries an array of tables, all stacked neatly together like matryoshka dolls. the tables begin to fall, one after the other, forming a makeshift staircase that dopey scales as he heads towards the window. the table is too big to fit through the window, and he’s sent spinning around, flying back down his staircase and sliding across the floor. instead, he turns his attention towards a shelf full of plates, carelessly dumping them into a barrel. he lifts up the barrel, and sure enough it has no bottom to it: a pile of neatly stacked plates rest on the floor. even though the sound effects make it sound like the porcelain is being reduced to shards. what fun! it would have been so much funnier if he neatly carried away a pile of broken fragments instead of neatly stacked plates.

and, for some reason, lulu swallows an alarm clock. the clock goes off, ringing incessantly. uh oh, ringing! dopey immediately discards his plates, NOW reduced to fragments as he boxes against his invisible foe once more. a spare plate conks him on the head, and he (say it with me now) responds “okay, boss.”

porky runs along with a table on his back, eagerly barreling through the doorway. the table is too big to fit through, and he’s sent into a whirl, flying backwards. as he recollects himself, he attempts to free the lodged table from the doorway, but to no avail. dopey meanders along with some sort of string device, almost like a harp? i think it may be some bed springs. the frame gets stuck in the doorway, and he walks along, still holding onto the strings, which threaten to slingshot him any moment.

and, of course, they do. he’s sent rocketing into porky, who’s still carrying the table. he, in turn, is sent flying out the window, barely holding onto half of the table which is SOMEHOW connected to the house inside... by the legs??? it’s like another slingshot. not the most comprehensible cartoon for sure. to make matters worse, a steamboat is parked outside in the choppy waters, the steam scalding porky’s butt. he’s now sent flying back inside, and just in time: water starts to gush in through the window.

porky struggles to block it out, resorting to swimming upstream as the relentless waterfall keeps on coming. it’s just as well: the climax is quickly put to an end as the water sends all of the furniture streaming conveniently into the back of porky’s van. so, this whole time, they were unloading furniture from the opposite end of the house. way to make less work for yourself! lulu pops up from inside a barrel, alarm clock still lodged in her throat. it rings once more, dopey emerging from a laundry hamper swinging. porky rises from a set of dresser drawers, giving him a good ol’ knock on the head with the mallet. i’ll bet you $5 you don’t know what the last line of the cartoon is.

jack king was starting to grow on me, but after seeing this one, i’m back to my opinion of neutrality leaning on dislike. aside from the blatant racism of dopey’s entire existence, this isn’t a funny cartoon at all, and just feels menial and boring. this feels like something straight out of a 1932 bosko cartoon. i think, ultimately, that was what king’s biggest weakness was, especially in comparison to the others: being behind the times. his cartoons would have fit perfectly during the rampant disney attitude of the harman and ising cartoons, but when tex avery and friz freleng are littering their cartoons with witty humor and gags, king’s cartoons don’t stand a chance. his buddy cartoons were probably the best in comparison to ben hardaway’s (though friz had some pretty good entries), and his beans cartoons weren’t bad, but porky wasn’t his strong suit. shanghaied shipmates was probably his strongest effort, and probably the only cartoon of king’s that i’ll be returning to (watch me eat my words.) in terms of this cartoon, it’s a no: don’t waste your time, there’s really nothing to see here. in terms of jack king: it was a good run, maybe, but now we’re onto bigger and better things. this is where things start to get good.

link!

[galaxy-parker]

Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked

Pairing: Peter Parker x female!Reader

Summary: Where you’re a criminal and Spider-Man isn’t convinced

Request: OKAY but.... request for villain reader! x spiderman who is supposed to take him out but she actually finds him hilarious and can't bring herself to kill him because she realizes he's her age and that would be really messed up so she leaves him alone and disappears in the night after flirting with him and giving him a smooch on his cheek

Warnings: I mean there’s cussing and the entire story doesn’t make sense

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: I love the idea and I hate the execution, nothing makes sense but you know, enjoy? Also some of the dialogue is from a prompt list because its 2 AM and my brain is mush.  Thank you my BABE @minnie-marvel for the request i’m sorry i fucked it up

~~~

Rain patters against the slowly darkening sidewalk and you shove your hands further into your coat pocket, wrinkling your nose in annoyance. September has barely begun and the sky is already acting as if October is around the corner.

Your steps echo through the street in tandem with countless others despite the horrid weather and you hike your hood higher over your head, the fabric hugging your hair tightly due to the ever growing number of raindrops weighing it down.

Being a criminal is harder in the rain, the dark clouds and heavy fall of water obscuring your view and you almost want to skip it tonight, spend the evening with your family or your friends or even by yourself, but you quickly banish the thought- you have a job to do, a bit of rain won’t stop that. Besides, you’ve found that it’s easier to avoid the authorities and pesky bugs when the weather takes a turn for the worst.

You mouth twists into a sour expression at the thought of Spider-Man, always getting in the way of your raids, always preaching to the good and making you out to be all that bad- as if you had any other choice.

There ain’t no rest for the wicked. You grin to yourself and shake your head. ‘Money don’t grow on trees.’ You mutter.

The sound of rumbling breaks the sky and it’s followed by a bright flash of light. Someone in front of you jumps in alarm. You roll your eyes, feet already speeding up to pass the frightened woman, hands already straying into her purse.

There ain’t no rest for the wicked, until we close our eyes for good.

~~~

‘Alright, the systems down. You’ve got five minutes.’

You press your finger against the piece lodged in your ear, peeking out from behind the stark wall you’re crouched behind. ‘Copy that,’ You whisper.

You stand swiftly and in a mere three steps your in front of the glass doors of a local jeweler and it’s swinging open without a slight squeak- a noise easily concealed by the sound of rain. You duck inside, already swinging a ratty black bag from your shoulder and sliding over the counter- the glimmering gems under glass almost enough to make your mouth water.

You tilt the top open and grab the handfuls of bracelets and necklaces smiling up at you, each jewel well over a thousand dollars at least.

‘Three to go,’ The voice rumbles.

You don’t know the owner of it, at least not personally but you’ve been through every raid together, sharing the profit between the two of you. You think he’s about your age, maybe a few years older. He calls himself “X”

You make your way through the store, collecting as much as you can until your bag is practically bursting with diamonds and dollars and the voice in your ear is counting down from sixty.

‘Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven,’

You dart towards the door, your hand landing on the knob when something else catches your eye and your heart lodges in your throat.

A shiny new laptop sits perched on a shelf, the red light by the camera shining brightly in the darkness. You swallow hard but your throat is dry.

‘Fifty-three, fifty-two,’

You press your fingers to your ear again, eyes never leaving the device. ‘Didn’t you say the systems were down?’ You try not to let the panic seep through your voice.

‘Yes, fifty seconds,’

‘Then how do you explain the laptop,’ You ask.

‘What laptop?’ X sounds confused, and it does nothing to calm your nerves.

‘The laptop that’s been filming me this whole time?’ You snap, pacing from the door to analyze the thing from up close. Yep, definitely filming.

‘Shit,’ He mumbles before- ‘Is your mask on?’

Your hands stray to the black fabric obscuring your face and you nod before realizing he can’t see. ‘Yeah,’ You shake your head. ‘Yeah.’

‘Forty seconds, what are you gonna do?’

‘Destroy it,’ Your hands grip the edges of the laptop and your furrow your brows. ‘Duh.’

You pull it towards you, but it seems stuck in place. You pull harder and it barely scoots forward.

‘Plan B.’

You grab a crowbar that’s hanging from your bag and reer back, holding it high above your head and bringing it down hard just as- ‘Wait!’

But it’s too late, your makeshift weapon is already slamming against the computer screen, the glass cracking under the pressure. It’s only a second later that the alarms begin to blare. You drop the bar.

‘What the hell?’ You yell, spinning on your heel on instinct and booking it to the door.

‘It was wired, they knew you were coming.’ His voice is panicked and you feel your heart begin to race. ‘Get out of there.’

‘Yeah,’ You breathe as you shoot through the doors, the sound of police sirens filling your ears. ‘I think I’m ahead of you on that one.’

You race around the corner of the building, barely feeling the cold rain against your skin as your eyes land on a rusty ladder leading to the roof. You take one look behind you, the flashing lights already visible through the murky night and jump onto the first rung, putting as much distance between you and the ground as possible.

‘I’m hacking into the security cameras on the roof,’ He says. ‘I’ll be your eyes.’

‘It’s about time,’ You jab. ‘You were doing a hell of a job down there.’

‘Shut it.’

Your hands grip the edge of the roof, gravel stinging against your bare fingers and rain soaking the fabric covering your palms. You hoist yourself over the edge before darting to the opposite end of the building, tires screeching below you.

You leap to the next roof over and roll through until you’re on your feet again and still running. You make it across three more buildings when you get the first warning.

‘Your boyfriend has decided to make an appearance.’ He quips.

You roll your eyes, glancing over your shoulder to see the webslinger approaching fast. ‘Shut up.’

You slow your pace as you hear him land behind you mere seconds later and only wait another two before sliding onto your knees, the gravel chafing your skin painfully through your jeans. Spider-Man’s first web flies straight over your head. A breathless grin slips onto your face as you whirl onto the backs of your hands and kick your foot up, your boot connecting with his chest right as he leaps to catch you.

You let out a loud laugh. ‘You’re becoming predictable.’

He grunts as his back hits the gravel, but he rolls onto his knees and shoots another web. You jump to the side, the sticky thing gripping the spot where you crouched a second before.

‘So are you,’ Is his only reply. He steps towards you and you turn your back to him, sprinting to the edge of the building and throwing your arms back to launch yourself to the next but his webs finally hit their mark and you’re pulled back into his arms. His hand clamps against the back of your neck, the other grabbing for the backpack and you growl, throwing your elbow back. You just graze his face and he jerks to avoid it, but that’s all the distraction you need to slip out from under your backpack and whip around.

Your foot meets his knee and crashes to the ground loudly, his grip on the bag loosening. You grin as you rip it away.

‘It’s nice to see you again, Spidey,’ You sling the bag over your shoulder and take a step back only to be pulled by a web stuck to your wrist. You stumble and Spider-Man is behind you in a second, hand tight on your shoulder. Surely more to restrain you than to steady you.

‘Yeah, how’s life treating you?’ He retorts, grabbing your opposite arm with his free hand.

‘Cops are on their way, hurry it up.’

You purse your lips, letting something sharp and metallic slide into your hand. ‘Like I ran over it’s dog.’

You drive your elbow back again, this time into his abdomen and turn, bringing the small knife down against the web still stuck to your hand, it snaps easily under the sharp blade and suddenly you’re free again and throwing yourself over the edge of the roof before your rival has time to regain control.

Your feet pound against the ground alongside the slick feeling of rain, and if it weren’t for the hot adrenaline coursing through your veins you’ve no doubt you’d be freezing.

‘Time?’ You pant, arms pumping at your sides. You can hear Spider-Man land on the roof behind you.

‘Eleven forty-three.’

You hum, eyes landing on  a gutter peeking over the edge of the roof a few feet away, leading to the ground. An idea sparks in your head. ‘Not too shabby.’

‘Focus.’

‘Killjoy,’ You swerve away from the front of the building, instead making a b-line for the pipe and you’re almost there- it grazes your fingertips when you’re yanked back yet again, and yeah maybe you’re annoyed this time.

‘Damnit.’ You spit.

‘It was a valiant effort,’ Spider-Man jeers. ‘But this game of cat and mouse is over, criminal.’

‘Don’t you mean spider and exterminator?’

‘Spider and- no, I don’t mean spider and exterminator.’ He scoffs and roll your eyes, blinking away the drops of water that land in them.

‘Too bad,’ You lift a shoulder as he slides the bag from them, keeping a tight grip on your arm. ‘Thought it was clever.’

‘It’s a little dark, don’t you think?’ The bag hits the floor with a clink and it slouches against your leg. Irritation fills your gut.

‘Yeah, well my middle finger salutes you.’ You scoff.

‘Wow,’ He pulls both your arms behind your back. ‘Someone needs a happy meal.’

You suck on your teeth, trying to think of another out as the whirring of Spider-Man’s mask fills your ears. His hand is tight on your wrists.

‘You’ve got about two minutes before the cops get to you,’ X prodds. ‘There’s a gun in the front pocket of your bag. Use it.’

‘There’s a what?’ The words burst from your mouth before you can stop them.

‘What?’ Spider-Man asks, the confusion clear in his voice but you ignore him, your only focus on the looming feeling of fear and guilt.

‘You have to kill him.’

You shake your head, brows furrowed in disbelief. ‘Are you kidding? No.’

‘You don’t have a choice, Y/C/N.’

‘There’s always a choice.’ You mumble.

‘Who are you talking to?’ Spider-Man pulls you around to face him, and the eyes of his mask are narrowed in a glare. You shake your head before slamming it forwards into his.

He stumbles back, hand holding his forehead. ‘Ow, what the fu-’

‘Front pocket.’

You kneel down and practically rip open the compartment, hands grappling inside until they land on something cold and metal and too bulky to be another knife. You pull the gun free, holding the bag up in front of you as a shield as more webs plague you. 

Until you stand and the webs connected to your jewels grow slack.

Until you’re pointing a gun at a hero.

He looks shocked, or as shocked as he can with a mask covering his face and your hands are shaking, god, your hands are shaking.

‘Do it now,’

‘Don’t,’ He holds his hands up in front of him and the webs release from his wrists, slackening further. ‘If you do this,’ He hesitates. ‘You can’t come back from it.’

You sling the bag over your shoulder and clench your teeth, steadying the gun with both hands. Sirens grow louder in the distance and you’re running out of time.

‘What are you waiting for?’ X barks. ‘Shoot him.’

‘This is so fucked up.’

Spider-Man’s stance is tense, but not from fear- at least not fear for himself- but rather from determination. He takes a step forwards and he knows, you think. He knows what it’s like to kill, if not from first hand experience then from second.

‘How old is he?’ You whisper, only loud enough for the com to pick up.

‘Around your age, I guess,’ The answer is quick and gruff. ‘Why does it matter?’

Your breath is quick as your mind races through possible scenarios and your finger twitches next to the trigger- but you already know your choice.

‘I’m not a killer.’ You drop the gun.

‘Y/C/N-’ X starts but he doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before you’re ripping the piece from your ear and throwing it to the ground. You crush it under your boot.

‘Well,’ Spider-Man drops his hands. ‘That was intense. I wasn’t counting on such a drastic character arc.’

You laugh as he approaches and you shake your head. ‘No character arc here,’ You say. ‘Just my morality interfering with my job.’

‘One hell of a job you settled on,’ His hand reaches for your own, to take you in no doubt and you can’t help but think it cute that he imagines you’ll just give up so easily.

‘What can I say, I’m a badass,’ You respond, pulling your arm from his reach and leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his clothed cheek. ‘See you next time, Spidey.’

You take advantage of his surprise, using the time to whip around and lower yourself over the edge of the roof before sliding down the gutter.

‘Wait!’ He yells, but you’re already dodging out of site, using the blanket of rain and darkness as a way to conceal yourself.

You chuckle breathlessly as you hike your bag up on your shoulders, the sound of police cars and spiderwebs echoing in the distance.

There ain’t no rest for the wicked.

~~~

Taglist:

@minnie-marvel @holland-haven @lokis-sunflower-anna @magic-marvel @greekdemigodwannabe @e-ms-world @highlady-ofthe-summercourt @sadicallyrad @secondsineternity @laurfangirl424 @hedwigthelegend @spiderdudeparker @hazzyhollander @dontpanc @signed-potato @propertyofmarvel @awkwardnesshabitat @spideyboipete 

[maximelebled]

Growing Pains - Zelda, Tony Hawk, The Sims, games and related memories from my formative years

This blog post is about my personal history with video games, how they influenced me growing up, how they sometimes helped me, and more or less an excuse to write about associated memories with them.

This is a very straightforward intro, because I’ve had this post sitting as a draft for ages, trying to glue all of it cohesively, but I’m not a very good writer, so I never really succeeded. Some of these paragraphs date back at least one year. 

And I figured I should write about a lot of this as long as I still remember clearly, or not too inaccurately. Because I know that I don’t remember my earliest ever memory. I only remember how I remember it. So I might as well help my future self here, and give myself a good memento.

Anyway, the post is a kilometer long, so it’ll be under this cut.

My family got a Windows 95 computer when I was 3 years old. While I don’t remember this personally, I’m told that one of the first things I ever did with it was mess up with the BIOS settings so badly that dad’s computer-expert friend had to be invited to repair it. (He stayed for dinner as a thank you.)

It was that off-white plastic tower, it had a turbo button, and even a 4X CD reader! Wow! And the CRT monitor must have been... I don’t remember what it was, actually. But I do once remember launching a game at a stupidly high resolution: 1280x1024! And despite being a top-down 2D strategy, it ran VERY slowly. Its video card was an ATI Rage. I had no idea what that really meant that at the time, but I do recall that detail nonetheless.

Along with legitimately purchased games, the list of which I can remember:

Tubular Worlds

Descent II

Alone in the Dark I & III

Lost Eden

Formula One (not sure which game exactly)

Heart of Darkness

(and of course the famous Adibou/Adi series of educational games)

... we also had what I realize today were cracked/pirated games, from the work-friend that had set up the family computer. I remember the following:

Age of Empires I (not sure about that one, I think it might have been from a legitimate “Microsoft Plus!” disc)

Nightmare Creatures (yep, there was a PC port of that game)

Earthworm Jim (but without any music)

The Fifth Element

Moto Racer II

There are a few other memorable games, which were memorable in most aspects, except their name. I just cannot remember their name. And believe me, I have looked. Too bad! Anyway, in this list, I can point out a couple games that made a big mark on me.

First, the Alone in the Dark trilogy. It took me a long time to beat them. I still remember the morning I beat the third game. I think it was in 2001 or 2002.

There was a specific death in it which gave me nightmares for a week. You shrink yourself to fit through a crack in a wall, but it’s possible to let a timer run out—or fall down a hole—and this terrifying thing happens (16:03). I remember sometimes struggling to run the game for no reason; something about DOS Extended Memory being too small.

I really like the low-poly flat-shaded 3D + hand-drawn 2D style of the game, and it’d be really cool to see something like that pop up again. After the 8-bit/16-bit trend, there’s now more and more games paying tribute to rough PS1-style 3D, so maybe this will happen? Maybe I’ll have to do it myself? Who knows!

Second, Lost Eden gave me a taste for adventure and good music, and outlandish fantasy universes. Here’s the intro to the game:

A lot of the game is very evocative, especially its gorgeous soundtrack, and you spend a lot of time trekking through somewhat empty renders of landscapes. Despite being very rough early pre-rendered 3D, those places were an incredible journey in my young eyes. If you have some time, I suggest either playing the game (it’s available on Steam) or watching / skimmering through this “longplay” video. Here are some of my personal highlights: 25:35, 38:05, 52:15 (love that landscape), 1:17:20, 1:20:20 (another landscape burned in my neurons), 2:12:10, 2:55:30, 3:01:18. (spoiler warning)

But let’s go a couple years back. Ever since my youngest years, I was very intrigued by creation. I filled entire pocket-sized notebooks with writing—sometimes attempts at fiction, sometimes daily logs like the weather reports from the newspaper, sometimes really bad attempts at drawing. I also filled entire audio tapes over and over and OVER with “fake shows” that my sister and I would act out. The only thing that survived is this picture of 3-year-old me with the tape player/recorder.

It also turns out that the tape recorder AND the shelf have both survived.

(I don’t know if it still works.)

On Wednesday afternoons (school was off) and on the week-ends, I often got to play on the family computer, most of the time with my older brother, who’s the one who introduced me to... well... all of it, really. (Looking back on the games he bought, I can say he had very good tastes.)

Moto Racer II came with a track editor. It was simple but pretty cool to play around with. You just had to make the track path and elevation; all the scenery was generated by the game. You could draw impossible tracks that overlapped themselves, but the editor wouldn’t let you save them. However, I found out there was a way to play/save them no matter what you did, and I got to experiment with crazy glitches. 85 degree inclines that launched the bike so high you couldn’t see the ground anymore? No problem. Tracks that overlapped themselves several times, causing very strange behaviour at the meeting points? You bet. That stuff made me really curious about how video games worked. I think a lot of my initial interest in games can be traced back to that one moment I figured out how to exploit the track editor...

There was also another game—I think it was Tubular Worlds—that came on floppy disks. I don’t remember what exactly lead me to do it, but I managed to edit the text that was displayed by the installer... I think it was the license agreement bit of it. That got me even more curious as to how computers worked.

Up until some time around my 13th or 14th birthday, during summer break (the last days of June to the first days of September for French pupils), my sister and I would always go on vacation at my grandparents’ home.

The very first console game I ever played was The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past on my cousin’s Super Nintendo, who also usually stayed with us. Unlike us, he had quite a few consoles available to him, and brought a couple along. My first time watching and playing this game was absolutely mind-blowing to me. An adventure with a huge game world to explore, so many mysterious things at every corner. “Why are you a pink rabbit now?” “I’m looking for the pearl that will help me not be that.”

Growing up and working in the games industry has taken the magic out of many things in video games... and my curiosity for the medium (and its inner workings) definitely hasn’t helped. I know more obscure technical trivia about older games than I care to admit. But I think this is what is shaping my tastes in video games nowadays... part of it is that I crave story-rich experiences that can bring me back to a, for lack of a better term, “child-like” wonderment. And I know how weird this is going to sound, but I don’t really enjoy “pure gameplay” games as much for that reason. Some of the high-concept ones are great, of course (e.g. Tetris), but I usually can’t enjoy others without a good interwoven narrative. I can’t imagine I would have completed The Talos Principle had it consisted purely of the puzzles without any narrative beats, story bits, and all that. What I’m getting at is, thinking about it, I guess I tend to value the “narrative” side of games pretty highly, because, to me, it’s one of the aspects of the medium that, even if distillable to some formulas, is inherently way more “vague” and “ungraspable”. You can do disassembly on game mechanics and figure out even the most obsure bits of weird technical trivia. You can’t do that to a plot, a universe, characters, etc. or at least nowhere near to the same extent.

You can take a good story and weave it into a number of games, but the opposite is not true. It’s easy to figure out the inner working of gameplay mechanics, and take the magic out of them, but it’s a lot harder to do that for a story, unless it’s fundamentally flawed in some way.

Video games back then seemed a lot bigger than they actually were.

I got Heart of Darkness as a gift in 1998 or 1999. We used to celebrate Christmas at my grandparents’, so I had to wait a few days to be back home, and to able to put the CD in the computer. But boy was it worth it! Those animated cutscenes! The amazing pixel art animations! The amazing and somewhat disturbing variety of ways in which you can die, most of which gruesome and mildly graphic! And of course, yet again... a strange and outlandish universe that just scratches my itch for it. Well, one of which that forged my taste for them.

I can’t remember exactly when it happened or what it was, but I do remember that at some point we visited some sort of... exposition? Exhibit? Something along those lines. And it had a board games & computer games section. The two that stick out in my mind were Abalone (of which I still have the box somewhere) and what I think was some sort of 2D isometric (MMO?) RPG. I wanna say it was Ultima Online but I recall it looking more primitive than that (it had small maps whose “void” outside them was a single blueish color). 

In my last two years of elementary school, there was one big field trip per year. They lasted two weeks, away from family. The first one was to the Alps. The second one was... not too far from where I live now, somewhere on the coast of Brittany! I have tried really hard to find out exactly where it was, as I remember the building and facilities really well, but I was never able to find it again. On a couple occasions, we went on a boat with some kind of... algae harvesters? The smell was extremely strong (burning itself into my memory) and made me sick. The reason I bring them up is because quite a few of my classmates had Game Boy consoles, most of them with, you know, all those accessories, especially the little lights. I remember being amazed at the transparent ones. Play was usually during the off-times, and I watched what my friends were up to, with, of course, a bit of jealousy mixed in. The class traveled by bus, and it took off in the middle of the night; something like 3 or 4 in the morning? It seemed like such a huge deal at the time! Now here I am, writing THESE WORDS at 03:00. Anyway, most of my classmates didn’t fall back asleep and those that had a Game Boy just started playing on them. One of my classmates, however, handed me his whole kit and I got to do pretty much what I wanted with it, with the express condition that I would not overwrite any of his save files. I remember getting reasonably far in Pokémon before I had to give it back to him and my progress was wiped.

During the trip to the Alps, I remember seeing older kids paying for computer time; there was a row of five computers in a small room... and they played Counter-Strike. I had absolutely no idea what it was, and I would forget about it until the moment I’m writing these words, but I was watching with much curiosity.

The first time I had my own access to console games was in 2001. The first Harry Potter film had just come out, and at Christmas, I was gifted a Game Boy Advance with the first official game. I just looked it up again and good god, it’s rougher than I remember. The three most memorable GBA games which I then got to play were both Golden Sun(s) and Sword of Mana... especially the latter, with its gorgeous art direction. My dad had a cellphone back then, and I remember sneakily going on there to look up a walkthrough for a tricky part of Golden Sun’s desert bit. Cellphones had access to something called “WAP” internet... very basic stuff, but of course still incredible to me back then.

I eventually got to play another Zelda game on my GBA: Link’s Awakening DX. I have very fond memories of that one because I was bed-ridden with a terrible flu. My fever ran so high that I started having some really funky dreams, delirious half-awake hallucinations/feelings, and one night, I got so hot that I stumbled out of bed and just laid down against the cold tile of the hallway. At 3 in the morning! A crazy time! (Crazy for 11-year-old me.)

(The fever hallucinations were crazy. My bedroom felt like it was three times at big, and I was convinced that a pack of elephants were charging at me from the opposite corner. The “night grain” of my vision felt sharper, amplified. Every touch, my sore body rubbing against the bed covers felt like it was happening twice as much. You know that “Heavy Rain with 300% facial animation” video? Imagine that, but as a feverish feeling. The dreams were on another level entirely. I could spend pages on them, but suffice to say that’s when I had my first dream where I dreamed of dying. There were at least two, actually. The first one was by walking down a strange, blueish metal corridor, then getting in an elevator, and then feeling that intimate convinction that it was leading me to passing over. The second one was in some Myst-like world, straight out of a Roger Dean cover, with some sort of mini-habitat pods floating on a completely undisturbed lake. We were just trapped in them. It just felt like some kind of weird afterlife.)

I also eventually got to play the GBA port of A Link To The Past. My uncle was pretty amused by seeing me play it, as he’d also played the original on SNES before I’d even been born. I asked him for help with a boss (the first Dark World one), but unfortunately, he admitted he didn’t remember much of the game.

We had a skiing holiday around this time. I don’t remember the resort’s or the town’s name, but its sights are burned in my memory. Maybe it’s because, shortly after we arrived, and we went to the ski rental place, I almost fainted and puked on myself, supposedly from the low oxygen. It also turned out that the bedroom my parents had rented unexpectedly came with a SNES in the drawer under the tiny TV. The game: Super Mario World. I got sick at one point and got to stay in and play it. This was also the holiday where I developed a fondness for iced tea, although back then the most common brand left an awful aftertaste in your mouth that just made you even more thirsty.

We got a new PC in December of 2004. Ditching the old Windows 98 SE (yep, the OS had been upgraded in... 2002, I think?). Look at how old-school this looks. The computer office room was in the basement. Even with the blur job that I applied to the monitor for privacy reasons, you can still tell that this is the XP file explorer:

A look at what the old DSLR managed to capture on the shelf reveals some more of the games that were available to me back then: a bunch of educational software, The Sims 2, and SpellForce Gold. 

I might be misremembering but I think they were our Christmas gifts for that year; we both got to pick one game. I had no idea what I wanted, really, but out of all the boxes at (what I think was) the local Fnac store, it was SpellForce that stood out to me the most. Having watched Lord of the Rings the year prior might have been a factor. I somewhat understood Age of Empires years before that, but SpellForce? Man, I loved the hell out of SpellForce. Imagine a top-down RPG that can also be played from a third-person perspective. And with the concept of... hero units... wait a second... now that reminds me of Dota.

Imagine playing a Dota hero with lots of micro-management and being able to build a whole base on new maps. And sometimes visiting very RPG-ish sections (my favorites!) with very little top-down strategy bits, towns, etc. like Siltbreaker. I guess this game was somewhat like an alternate, single-player Dota if you look at it from the right angle. (Not the third-person one.)

I do remember being very excited when I found out that it, too, came with a level editor. I never figured it out, though. I only ever got as far as making a nice landscape for my island, and that was it!

A couple weeks after, it was Christmas; my sister and I got our first modern PC game: The Sims 2. It didn’t run super well—most games didn’t, because the nVidia GeForce FX 5200 wasn’t very good. But that didn’t stop me or my sister from going absolutely nuts with the game. This video has the timestamp of 09 January 2005, and it is the first video I’ve ever made with a computer. Less than two weeks after we got the game, I was already neck-deep in creating stuff.

Not that it was particularly good, of course. This is a video that meets all of the “early YouTube Windows Movie Maker clichés”.

Speaking of YouTube, I did register an account there pretty early on, in August of 2006. I’ve been through all of it. I remember every single layout change. I also started using Sony Vegas around that time. It felt so complex and advanced back then! And I’m still using it today. Besides Windows, Vegas Pro is very likely to be the piece of software that I’ve been using for the longest time.

I don’t have a video on YouTube from before 2009, because I decided to delete all of them out of embarassment. They were mostly Super Mario 64 machinima. It’s as bad as it sounds. The reason I bring that up right now, though, is that it makes the “first” video of my account the last one I made with the Sims 2.

But before I get too far ahead with my early YouTube days, let me go backwards a bit. We got hooked up to the Internet some time in late 2005. It was RTC (dialup), 56 kbps. my first steps into the Internet led me to the Cube engine. Mostly because back then my dad would purchase computer magazines (which were genuinely helpful back then), and came with CDs of common downloadable software for those without Internet connections. One of them linked to Cube. I think it was using either this very same screenshot, or a very similar one, on the same map.

The amazing thing about Cube is not only that it was open-source and moddable, but had map editing built-in the game. The mode was toggled on with a single key press. You could even edit maps cooperatively with other people. Multiplayer mapping! How cool is that?! And the idea of a game that enabled so much creation was amazing to me, so I downloaded it right away. (Over the course of several hours, 30 MiB being large for dialup.)

I made lots of bad maps that never fulfilled the definition of “good level” or “good gameplay”, not having any idea how “game design” meant, or what it even was. But I made places. Places that I could call my own. “Virtual homes”. I still distinctively remember the first map I ever made, even though no trace of it survives to this day. In the second smallest map size possible, I’d made a tower surrounded by a moat and a few smaller cozy towers, with lots of nice colored lighting. This, along with the distinctive skyboxes and intriguing music, made me feel like I’d made my home in a strange new world.

At some point later down the line, I made a kinda-decent singleplayer level. It was very linear, but one of the two lead developers of the game played it and told me he liked it a lot! Of course, half of that statement was probably “to be nice”, but it was really validating and encouraging. And I’m glad they were like that. Because I remember being annoying to some other mappers in the Sauerbraten community (the follow-up to Cube, more advanced technically), who couldn’t wrap their heads around my absolutely god awful texturing work and complete lack of level “design”. Honestly, sometimes, I actually kinda feel like trying to track a couple of them down and being like, “yeah, remember that annoying kid? That was me. Sorry you had to deal with 14-year-old me.”

At some point, I stumbled upon a mod called Cube Legends. It was a heavily Zelda-inspired “total conversion”; a term reserved for mods that are the moddiest mods and try to take away as much of the original foundation as possible. It featured lots of evocative MIDI music by the Norwegian composer Bjørn Lynne. Fun fact: the .mid files are still available officially from his website!

This was at the crossroad of many of my interests. It was yet another piece of the puzzle. As a quick side note, this is why Zelda is the first series that I name in the title of this post, even though I... never really thought of myself as a Zelda fan. It’s not that it’s one of the game series that I like the most, it’s just that, before I started writing this, I’d never realized how far-reaching its influence had been in my life, both in overt and subtle ways, especially during my formative years.

And despite how clearly unfinished, how much of a “draft” Cube Legends was, I could see what it was trying to do. I could see the author’s intent. And I’m still listening to Bjørn Lynne’s music today.

The Cube Engine and its forums were a big part of why I started speaking English so well. Compared to most French people, I mean. We’re notoriously bad with the English language, and so was I up until then. But having this much hands-on practice proved to be immensely valuable. And so, I can say that the game and its community have therefore had long-lasting impacts in my life.

I also tried out a bunch of N64 games via emulation, bringing me right back in that bedroom at my grandparents’ house, with my cousin. Though he did not have either N64 Zelda game back then.

The first online forum I ever joined was a Zelda fan site’s. There are two noteworthy things to say here:

It was managed by a woman who, during my stay in the community, graduated from her animation degree. At this stage I had absolutely no idea that this was going to be the line of work I would eventually pursue!

I recently ran into the former head moderator of the forums. (I don’t know when the community died.) One of the Dota players on my friends list invited him because I was like “hmm, I wanna go as 3, not as 2 players today”. His nickname very vaguely reminded me of something, a weird hunch I couldn’t place. Half an hour into the game, he said “hey Max... this might be a long shot, but did you ever visit [forum]?” and then I immediately yelled “OH MY GOD—IT IS YOU.” The world is a small place.

Access to the computer was sometimes tricky. I didn’t always have good grades, and of course, “punishment” (not sure the word is appropriate, hence the quotes, but you get the idea) often involved locking me out of the computer room. Of course, most times, I ended up trying to find the key instead. I needed my escape from the real world.  (You better believe it’s Tangent Time.)

I was always told I was the “smart kid”, because I “understood things faster” than my classmates. So they made me skip two grades ahead. This made me enter high school at nine years old. The consequences were awful (I was even more of the typical nerdy kid that wouldn’t fit in), and I wish it had never happened. Over the years, I finally understood: I wasn’t more intelligent. I merely had the chance to have been able to grow up with an older brother who’d instilled a sense of curiosity, critical thinking, and taste in books that were ahead of my age and reading level. This situation—and its opposite—is what I believe accounts for the difference in how well kids get to learn. It’s not innate talent, it’s not genetics (as some racists would like you to believe). It’s parenting and privilege.

And that’s why I’ll always be an outspoken proponent for any piece of media that tries to instill critical thinking and curiosity in its viewer, reader, or player.

But I digress.

Well, I’ve been digressing a lot, really, but games aren’t everything and after all, this post is about the context in which I played those games. Otherwise I reckon I would’ve just made a simple list.

I eventually got a Nintendo DS for Christmas, along with Mario Kart DS. My sister had gotten her own just around the time when it released... she had the Nintendogs bundle. We had also upgraded to proper ADSL, what I think was about a ~5 megabits download speed. The Nintendo DS supported wi-fi, which was still relatively rare compared to today. In fact, Nintendo sold a USB wireless adapter to help with that issue—our ISP-supplied modem-router did not have any wireless capabilities. I couldn’t get it the adapter work and I remember I got help from a really kind stranger who knew a lot about networking—to a point that it seemed like wizardry to me.

I remember I got a “discman” as a gift some time around that point. In fact, I still have it. Check out the stickers I put on it! I think those came from the Sims 2 DVD box and/or one of its add-ons.

I burned a lot of discs. In fact, in the stack of burned CDs/DVDs that I found (with the really bad Sims movies somewhere in there), I found at least three discs that had the Zelda album Hyrule Symphony burned in, each with different additional tracks. Some were straight-up MIDI files from vgmusic.com...! And speaking (again) of Zelda, when the Wii came out, Twilight Princess utterly blew my mind. I never got the game or the console, but damn did I yearn badly for it. I listened to the main theme of the game a lot, which didn’t help. I eventually got to play the first few hours at a friend’s place.

At some point, we’d upgraded the family computer to something with a bit more horsepower. It had a GeForce 8500 GT inside, which was eventually upgraded to a 9600 GT after the card failed for some reason. It could also dual-boot between XP and Vista. I stuck with that computer until 2011.

We moved to where I currently live in 2007. I’ve been here over a decade! And before we’d even fully finished unpacking, I was on the floor of the room that is now my office, with the computer on the ground and the monitor on a cardboard box, playing a pirated copy of... Half-Life! It was given to me by my cousin. It took me that long to find out about the series. It’s the first Valve game I played. I also later heard about the Orange Box, but mostly about Portal. Which I also pirated and played. I distinctly remember being very puzzled by the options menu: I thought it was glitched or broken, as changing settings froze the game. Turns out the Source engine had to chug for a little while, like a city car in countryside mud, as it reloaded a bunch of stuff. Patience is a virtue...

But then, something serious happened.

In the afternoon of 25 December 2007, I started having a bit of a dull stomach pain. I didn’t think much of it. Figured maybe I’d eaten too many Christmas chocolates and it’d go away. It didn’t. It progressively deteriorated into a high fever where I had trouble walking and my tummy really hurt; especially if you pressed on it. My parents tried to gently get me to eat something nice on New Year’s Eve, but it didn’t stay in very long. I could only feed myself with lemonade and painkiller. Eventually, the doctor decided I should get blood tests done as soon as possible. And I remember that day very clearly.

I was already up at 6:30 in the morning. Back then, The Daily Show aired on the French TV channel Canal+, so I was watching that, lying in the couch while waiting for my mom to get up and drive me to my appointment, at 7:00. It was just two streets away, but there was no way I could walk there. At around noon, the doctor called and told my mom: “get your son to the emergency room now.”

Long story short, part of my intestines nuked themselves into oblivion, causing acute peritonitis. To give you an idea, that’s something with a double-digit fatality rate. Had we waited maybe a day or two more, I would not be here writing this. They kind of blew up. I had an enormous abcess attached to a bunch of my organs. I had to be operated on with only weak local anaesthetics as they tried to start draining the abscess. It is, to date, by far the most painful thing that has ever happened to me. It was bad enough that the hospital doctor that was on my case told me that I was pretty much a case worthy to be in textbooks. I even had medical students come into my hospital room about it! They were very nice.

This whole affair lasted over a month. I became intimately familiar with TV schedules. And thankfully, I had my DS to keep me company. At the time, I was pretty big into the Tony Hawk DS games. They were genuinely good. They had extensive customization, really great replayability, etc. you get the idea. I think I even got pretty high on the online leaderboards at some point. I didn’t have much to do on some days besides lying down in pain while perfecting my scoring and combo strategies. I think Downhill Jam might’ve been my favorite.

My case was bad enough that they were unable to do something due to the sad state of my insides during the last surgery of my stay. I was told that I could come back in a few months for a checkup, and potentially a “cleanup” operation that would fix me up for good. I came back in late June of 2008, got the operation, and... woke up in my hospital room surrounded by, like, nine doctors, and hooked up to a morphine machine that I could trigger on command. Apparently something had gone wrong during the operation, but they never told me what. I wasn’t legally an adult, so they didn’t have to tell me. I suspect it’s somewhere in some medical files, but I never bothered to dig up through my parents’ archives, or ask the hospital. And I think I would rather not know. But anyway, that was almost three more weeks in the hospital. And it sucked even more that time because, you see, hospital beds do not “breathe” like regular beds do. The air can’t go through. Let’s say I’m intimately familiar with the smell of back sweat forever.

When I got out, my mom stopped by a supermarket on the way home. And that is when I bought The Orange Box, completely on a whim, and made my Steam account. Why? Because it was orange and stood out on the shelf.

(As a side note, that was the whole bit I started writing first, and that made me initially title this post “growing pains”. First, because I’m bad at titles. Second, because not that I didn’t have them otherwise (ow oof ouch my knees), but that was literally the most painful episode of my entire life thus far and it ended in a comically-unrelated, high-impact, life-changing decision. Just me picking up The Orange Box after two awful hospital stays... led me to where I am today.)

While I was recovering, I also started playing EarthBound! Another bit of a life-changer, that one. To a lesser extent, but still. I was immediately enamored by its unique tone. Giygas really really really creeped me out for a while afterwards though. I still get unsettled if I hear its noises sometimes.

I later bought Garry’s Mod (after convincing my mom that it was a “great creative toolbox that only cost ten bucks!”), and, well, the rest is history. By which I mean, a lot of my work and gaming activity since 2009 is still up and browsable. But there are still a few things to talk about.

In 2009, I bought my first computer with YouTube ad money: the Asus eee PC 1005HA-H. By modern standards, it’s... not very powerful. The processor in my current desktop machine is nearly 50 times as fast as its Atom N280. It had only one gigabyte of RAM, Windows 7 Basic Edition, and an integrated GPU barely worthy of the name; Intel didn’t care much for 3D in their chips back then. The GMA 945 didn’t even have hardware support for Transform & Lighting.

But I made it work, damn it. I made that machine run so much stuff. I played countless Half-Life and Half-Life 2 mods on it—though, due to the CPU overhead on geometry, some of those were trickier. I think one of the most memorable ones I played was Mistake of Pythagoras; very surreal, very rough, but I still remember it so clearly. I later played The Longest Journey on it, in the middle of winter. It was a very cozy and memorable experience. (And another one that’s an adventure wonderful outlandish alien universe. LOVE THOSE.)

I did more than playing games on it, though...

This is me sitting, sunburned on the nose, in an apartment room, on 06 August 2010. This was in the Pyrénées, at the border between France and Spain. We had a vacation with daily hiking. Some of the landscapes we visited reminded me very strongly of those from Lost Eden, way up the page...

So, you see, I had 3ds Max running on that machine. The Source SDK as well. Sony Vegas. All of it was slow; you bet I had to use some workarounds to squeeze performance out of software, and that I had to keep a close, watchful eye on RAM usage. But I worked on this thing. I really did! I animated this video’s facial animation bits (warning: this is old & bad) on the eee PC, during the evenings of the trip, when we were back at our accomodation. The Faceposer tool in the Source SDK really worked well on that machine.

I also animated an entire video solely on the machine (warning: also old and bad). It had to be rendered on the desktop computer... but every single bit of the animation was crafted on the eee PC.

I made it work.

Speaking of software that did not run well: around that time, I also played the original Crysis. The “but can it run Crysis?” joke was very much justified back then. I had to edit configuration files by hand so that I could run the game in 640x480... because I wanted to keep most of the high-end settings enabled. The motion blur was delicious, and it blew my mind that the effect made the game feel this smooth, despite wobbling around in the 20 to 30 fps range.

Alright. It’s time to finish writing this damn post and publish it at last, so I’m going to close it out by listing some more memories and games that I couldn’t work in up there.

Advance Wars. Strategy game on GBA with a top-down level editor. You better believe I was all over the editor right away.

BioShock. When we got the 2007 desktop computer, it was one of the first games I tried. Well, its demo, to be precise. Its tech and graphics blew my mind, enough that I saved up to buy the full game. This was before I had a Steam account; I got a boxed copy! I think it might have been the last boxed game I ever bought? It had a really nice metal case. The themes and political messages of the game flew way over my head, though.

Mirror’s Edge. The art direction was completely fascinating to me, and it introduced me to Solar Fields’ music; my most listened artist this decade, by a long shot.

L.A. Noire. I lost myself in its stories and investigations, and then, I did it all again, with my sister at the helm. I very rarely play games twice (directly or indirectly), which I figure is worth mentioning.

Zeno Clash. It was weird and full of soul, had cool music, and cool cutscenes. It inspired me a lot in my early animation days.

Skyward Sword. Yep, going back to Zelda on that one. The whole game was pretty good, and I’m still thinking about how amazing its art direction was. Look up screenshots of it running in HD on an emulator... it’s outstanding. But there’s a portion of the game that stands tall above the rest: the Lanayru Sand Sea. It managed to create a really striking atmosphere in many aspects, through and through. I still think about it from time to time, especially when its music comes on in shuffle mode.

Wandersong. A very recent pick, but it was absolutely a life-changing one. That game is an anti-depressant, a vaccine against cynicism, a lone bright and optimist voice.

I realize now this is basically a “flawed but interesting and impactful games” list. With “can establish its atmosphere very well” as a big criteria. (A segment of video games that is absolutely worth exploring.)

I don’t know if I’ll ever make my own video game. I have a few ideas floating around and I tried prototyping some stuff, though my limited programming abilities stood in my way. But either way, if it happens one day, I hope I’ll manage to channel all those years of games into the CULMINATION OF WHAT I LIKE. Something along those lines, I reckon.

[batwake]

Living Room Song - chapter 2/12

No one new ever moves to Derry, Maine.

The worst day of Eddie Kaspbrak’s life is the day that someone does.

read it on ao3

chapter 1

chapter 2: september - timeless

The first day of school comes and goes, and as does the week and the week after. The elusive Richard ‘my friends call me Richie, Mrs. Wakeman’ Tozier has not spoken a single word to Eddie, even though they’re both in Wakeman’s sixth hour psychology, but Eddie quickly decides that Stan was right about the guy being annoying, as he talks to anyone who bothers to look at him. People learned not to spare him the time after the first few days, and though Eddie is one of them, he can’t help but wish that the other boy would seek him out. They sit on opposite sides of the classroom, and Richie is always quick to bolt out the door, so Eddie never gets the chance to talk to him, even if he could work up the courage. His siblings are nice, though, and Eddie talks to them regularly. Neither of them ever bring up each other or their third sibling, so Eddie never asks. The only time he ever sees them together are at lunch, when they sit together in the back corner of the lunchroom.

On September 2nd, two weeks after school started, Sonia sends Eddie in to town to run errands. Since Eddie has gotten older she has become more lenient about her son going to town by himself, although she is wary and double checks that he knows their home phone number and can call if he needs her to come get him.

Eddie can understand the paranoia. It doesn’t bother him anymore.

So he goes into town. Picks up his and his mothers’ prescriptions from the drug store, and ventures into the grocery store. It’s quiet on this Monday afternoon, most people having already finished their shopping for the week. The only people working are the old woman that Eddie sees waiting at the bus stop every Tuesday and Thursday evening and an acne ridden teenager that Eddie vaguely recognizes as the kid from his freshman year world history class.

He beelines for the fruits and vegetables after grabbing a cart, picking four of every produce on the list his mother gave him, each one in their own separate bags. Sonia was always very specific about her grocery shopping, that was something that had not changed over the summer.

The speakers are playing some new radio hit that Eddie has heard a hundred times already, but he still finds himself humming along. He gets so wrapped up in listening to the song he doesn’t even see the cart appear in front of him before he is hitting it.

“Shit-“ Eddie starts, then covers his mouth. “I mean. Sorry.”

Richie Tozier, the man of Eddie’s nightmares, is laughing. His sister is glaring at him.

“Richard can you please pay attention to where you’re pushing this thing?” Eddie’s eyes flick from Richie to Margo. He has never really seen them interact before.

It feels a little like he’s watching two animals at the zoo.

“Margaret can you please explain to this fine gentleman what ‘look before crossing both ways’ means?” Richie shoots back. Margo turns to look at Eddie for the first time, and her face lights up.

“Hey, stranger!” Margo is wearing the same thing she wore to school, a dark blue sweater over high waisted white jeans. Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail that Eddie thinks makes her look more like her brothers. Her green eyes stare all the way down into Eddie’s soul.

It’s a little unnerving, but Richie’s gaze saves him, because he speaks up next. “Edward, right? From psych?”

Eddie blinks, looking over to the tallest of the three of him. Richie is almost a full foot taller than Eddie, and Margo is even shorter. Still, Eddie feels smaller under Margo’s strong green eyes than he does with Richie’s warm brown ones. “Eddie,” he corrects, “but yes. I sit on the other side of the classroom.”

“Eddie. Eddie-Spaghetti.” Richie nods like he is making a mental note of it and leans his arms on the cart, bending so he is more at his companion’s height. “Are you that guy who was laughing in the lunchroom the first day of school?”

“Richie!” Margo snaps, elbowing her brother. Richie looks at her and mouths what?

“It’s okay. Yeah, that was me.” Eddie shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “That was the mental breakdown everyone was waiting to see.” Eddie assumes that they must’ve heard the whole story from someone else at school, otherwise Margo wouldn’t be so wary of the subject. He likes that Richie doesn’t seem to care about it so much.

Eddie takes the brief moment of awkward silence to study Richie’s attire. He clearly has a weird sense of fashion, or perhaps a lack thereof. Today Richie Tozier wears black jeans that have random patches of fabric sewn into them, bursts of color like yellow with purple spots on his thigh or rainbow stripes on his calf. His t-shirt says Freese’s in cursive text, and shows off his long arms, the wrists covered in bracelets. A few of his long fingers have rings on them, but Eddie has a hard time focusing on them. His broken-to-hell glasses top off the entire look.

Richie notices him staring and shoots Eddie his lopsided smile.

Warmth spreads to Eddie’s cheeks. “So, where’s Mike?” He says, desperate to change the subject from his mental breakdown and get Richie’s eyes anywhere other than Eddie’s hands, which twitch and fidget with the grocery list in his hands.

He earns two very different reactions from the pair in front of him. Margo rolls her eyes and focuses them on somewhere above and to the left of Eddie. Richie snickers and straightens up.

“Our dad has some conference a few towns over and took Mikey with him,” Richie says, his voice heavy with something that Eddie can’t quite place. “Margo is mega jealous.”

“I’m not jealous-“

“-she’s totally jealous-“

“-I’m just a little annoyed that he picked just him to go, that’s all! I mean there’s three of us. You can’t pick just one.”

Richie’s stance changes and Eddie wonders if Margo notices. He stands a little straighter, crosses his arms. The smile on his face looks tight and fake. “We know all about that-“

“Beep beep,” Margo snaps, holding up a hand. “We don’t need to subject Eddie to our family problems.”

Eddie’s a little lost. He doesn’t say that, though, just awkwardly laughs. “Beep beep?”

“People say that to get me to, quote en quote, shut the fuck up.” Richie throws a hand over his heart and leans over Margo, using his height advantage. “It really hurts mah feelins, Eddie-Spaghetti’,” he says in the worst southern accent that Eddie has ever heard. He laughs, and it is not to break the silence, nowhere near awkward.

“That was awful. And don’t call me that.”

Margo shoots Eddie a look, ducking away from Richie and causing him to stumble. “Try living with it.”

Eddie is smiling, and laughing, with people he doesn’t even know. He hasn’t done much of that in a long time. “Yeah, I hear he never shuts up.”

“Your mom wasn’t complaining in bed last ni-“

“Beep beep,” Eddie and Margo say together, and burst into giggles once more.

The three of them chat for a little while longer before Eddie says that his mother will be worried about him, and quickly departs, his cheeks red and sore from smiling. He does not dislike Richie so much, finds him fascinating. He is still a bit of a mystery, as are the other two triplets. The way Richie got cold when Margo mentioned separating the three of them, and Margo’s apparent jealousy of Mike being with their father. Eddie thinks of the Tozier’s, as he walks home, of Richie. Of his curly hair and stupid glasses and lopsided smile.

Eddie almost drops the bags when his heart speeds up at the thought of the other boy.

He has never walked home so quickly.

~

Eddie likes to think he is a good son. He doesn’t stay up late or sneak out, his friends are, for the most part, well-liked by his mother, and he has never done any drugs.

(He tried one of Bev’s cigarettes, once, but coughed the second he inhaled, and hasn’t touched one since)

Helping Sonia unpack groceries is just one of Eddie’s many good qualities. There aren’t many, with just two of them, but he worries about his mother spending too much time by herself. He thinks that she worries about him, too.

“I ran into some kids from school,” Eddie comments as he passes her a carton of eggs. “They’re new.”

Sonia hums and straightens, putting the eggs on the shelf in the door. “Derry doesn’t get new people very often.”

“Yeah, I think they’ve probably heard enough of that. They’re triplets.” Eddie pulls out the Froot-Loops and puts them in a cabinet.

Eddie feels his mother's presence next to him, like a hawk. “Bad luck come in threes, Eddie-Bear.”

It just got very, very cold in the room. “I know, Ma.” And he does- Eddie knows this too well. His mother’s little superstitions have always gotten the better of her. No shoes past the entryway, never open an umbrella inside, knock on wood, etcetera. Eddie just entertains her, at this point, afraid of upsetting her more than he already has.

Sonia pats the side of Eddie’s face while he stares straight ahead at the ugly wallpaper. “Don’t talk to them, Eddie, sweetheart. Only bad things can come from it.”

Nodding and swallowing, Eddie looks down at his hands that are holding onto a bag of potatoes. Sonia’s band moves from his cheek down to his arm, hovering over the bare skin. Eddie holds his breath, waiting for her to ask what she always asks when things get too quiet between them-

“How are you feeling, Eddie-Bear? Are you taking your meds? You can always talk to me-“

“I’m fine, Ma!” Eddie puts the potatoes in the cabinet next to the spices. “Really.”

Her eyes start to water, and Eddie immediately feels bad. They’re both still recovering from the summer. “I’m sorry, Ma. I had a long day. I think I’m going to go to bed. Love you.”

Sonia says something, but Eddie is already walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom.

~

The library after school is always quiet. Eddie likes going there to do homework instead of going straight home. It’s quiet, and there is no Sonia Kaspbrak hovering over his shoulder. Usually Stan or Ben are usually with him, but Stan had plans with Bill, and Ben was joining the cross country team this year. Eddie is by himself in the library for the first time of the new school year.

Calculus is hard, especially with the most boring teacher that Eddie has ever had. One thing equals another thing but only sometimes- it’s starting to get jumbled in his head.

Eddie checks his answer for the fifth time, and it’s still wrong. Groaning, he crumples up the piece of notebook paper and tosses it somewhere behind him.

“Hey, that’s littering, Spaghetti-Man.” Richie is suddenly sliding into the spot across from Eddie, holding the crumpled up piece of paper in his hands, reading the failed problem. “You’re using sine. You should be using cosine.”

Blinking, Eddie snatches the paper back, scanning the paper for his error. “Shit, you’re right.” He grabs his notebook and starts rewriting the problem, trying to ignore Richie’s presence. “I’m awful at calculus.”

“Clearly.”

Eddie glances up at Richie’s response. Richie is resting his cheek on his fist, pushing up his glasses just the slightest bit, revealing more freckles splattered across his face. They stand out more on Richie’s pale skin than they do on Margo’s, who is tanner than her brother by a longshot.

If they were not in a public place, Eddie thinks that he may have jumped across the table and began to count each one.

“What are you doing here?” asks Eddie, fighting the urge to say something stupid.

“Mike has AV Club and Margo likes going on runs around the school while we wait.”

There is a beat of silence while Eddie waits for Richie to keep going. He doesn’t.

“I didn’t know we had an AV Club.”

Richie shifts, his arm hitting the table once it gets bored with supporting his head. “It’s kind of Mike’s whole thing. Walkie-talkies and radios and the like. What about you, Eddie-Spaghetti?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “What about me? And don’t call me that.”

His lips spread in the crooked way they usually do, giving Richie an almost evil look. “Okay, Eds. Why’re you here after school?”

Rolling his eyes and not bothering to correct him, Eddie shuts his notebook, deciding that he isn’t going to get anymore work done with Richie here. “It’s easier to get work done here than at home.”

Richie looks like he understands. “That makes sense. Are you doing anything after this?”

The question is so abrupt and unexpected that Eddie takes a few seconds to answer. His plans were just going home and hoping his mother won’t baby him, as well as waiting by the phone ready for Bill’s call that probably won’t come anyway. “No,” Eddie decides, figuring spending his birthday with a stranger is better than with his mother anyway.

“You are now!” Richie says, all too loudly for a library, standing up and grabbing Eddie’s calculus stuff and his backpack. “You’re going to show me all of the coolest spots around Derry. We have to take Mike and Margo home, first.”Margo and Mike home though. They like you, so they’ll let you sit in the front seat.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise suspiciously. “You drive?”

The brown eyes behind Richie’s glasses glitter excitedly. “Sure do! Surprisingly I am the best driver in mí familia. They call me baby driver!”

Eddie’s face must read confusion, because Richie deflates. “Simon and Garfunkel? Bridge Over Troubled Water?” Eddie stares at him blankly. “Wowza Eds, uncultured much?”

Scoffing, Eddie stands up and holds his arm out in an attempt to get his stuff back. “Not all of us are music aficionados-“

Richie moves around him like a dancer, twirling and throwing and arm over Eddie’s shoulder. “They call me baby driver, and once upon a pair of wheels, I hit the road and I'm gone-“ he sings, his mouth close to Eddie’s ear. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“Okay, okay. I get the point.” Eddie ducks away from Richie, aiming another grab for his stuff. Richie is too tall and too fast, slipping away and towards the glass doors that lead into the hallway. “You sound like a dying goose.”

That’s not true, Eddie thinks. Richie’s voice sounds like the kind of thing you’d hear on the radio nowadays, on the rock stations his dad used to listen to-

“Spaghetti, you flatter me. Now. We’ll go stop by the AV room where Mike is then meet Margo somewhere outside.” Richie is out the doors within seconds.

Eddie’s head is still reeling from before, but he manages to follow, pushing his way out of the doors and jogging to catch up with Richie.

————————

They don’t quite make twin beds like they used to, Richie decides. When they were kids, the three of them could always squeeze into Mike’s without a problem, on the nights where their parents would fight well into the night and their mother would slam the front door as she headed out to the bar. But now that they’ve gotten older, Richie and Mike taller and lean with Margo curvy and filled out, it’s hard to find the right ways to lay so they can still be close.

The one benefit that they can all agree on is that at least, in the new apartment, they don’t have to sneak into Mike’s room. Margo just slips under the covers next to him. Richie doesn’t even have to touch the floor to squish in next to them.

Still, they all manage to fit somehow. Margo lays between her brothers, on top of them more than anything, her hair in a bun on top of her head so it does not get into anyone’s mouth. Richie’s chin is hooked over her shoulder, and Mike is on his side looking at them, up against the wall.

Richie pulls the blanket up over their heads, blocking out the sounds of the street below their window. All of their bedding are just sheets that they found at some hand-me-down store and quilts made by their grandmother, and no matter how long it has been since she died, Richie still thinks it smells like her.

“It’s weird being under here and not hearing mom and dad fighting,” whispers Margo. Richie has to agree- they haven’t done this since they moved. Since before the divorce, since the court ordeal.

“Dad’s probably glad to finally be getting some sleep,” Mike says into her cheek. “He never got that when he was with mom.”

Richie can feel the small laughs that Mike and Margo give. His blood boils, his skin crawls, the hair on the back of his neck stands up. He doesn’t say anything, for once in his life.

Wentworth Tozier always liked Margo and Mike better, for whatever reason. Maggie liked Richie. She listened to him when he cried and never ever blamed him when he would get sent home early from school because he got in a fight, or cursed out a teacher. Margo never connect with her namesake like a normal daughter did, and Mike thinks that their mother was trashy.

Richie saw her for everything she was, because she was the only one who did the same for him.

The last time the three of them had gathered under Mike’s covers, Richie had told them that he wanted to live with Maggie. Margo had pushed him out of the bed and Mike had started yelling, something that Mike didn’t usually do. Went had to come break them up at three am, and all three of them got grounded.

The judge didn’t allow siblings to be separated, much less triplets, unless it was special circumstances. The Tozier’s divorce was anything but. Maggie had gotten pregnant before she and Wentworth were even married, so they wed a month later and found out they were triplets two after that.

Went and Maggie were never meant to last. That much is true. It’s surprising that they made it sixteen years.

“They were in love, once.” Margo’s hand slips into Richie’s, which was resting against her stomach. It’s as if she can read his mind. Which, Richie reminds himself, she probably can. “At least, I like to think so.”

“Leave it to Margo to be the romantic,” Richie says, his voice soft and earnest. His heart hurts, although his words betray him.

Mike’s fingers find their way to Margo and Richie’s clasped ones, covering them with his own. It is comforting, despite everything.

If he cannot have his mother, Richie thinks that having his siblings isn’t so bad either.

~

Wentworth greets his kids when they come home from school with a simple hand raise from his paperwork, which is spread on their dining table. Margo greets their father with a kiss on the cheek and a barrage of questions about the work he’s doing. Richie isn’t interested, and plans on leaving the room and heading to their bedroom as quickly as he possibly can, but their conversation catches his ears while he is digging through the empty fridge.

“-nd Richie will have to go grocery shopping while Mike and I are out of town.”

Just catching the end of the conversation, Richie can already tell that Margo is livid. “That’s not fair! Why does Mike get to go?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mike retorts.

“Settle down, Margaret-”

“That’s not my name-”

“-Michael is coming and that’s final.”

Margo growls something incomprehensible and storms out of the room, and down the hallway a few seconds later, slams their bedroom door shut. Mike’s chair screeches against the floor as he stands and leaves, following Margo out of the room. Richie never understood why those two got along better than they did with Richie, except for when it came to their dad. They were always vying to be the favorite, leaving Richie behind in the dust.

Standing alone with his father, Richie looks awkwardly over at him. Went looks exasperated, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his forehead. A million things cross Richie’s mind to ask, but he settles on, “You got a grocery list?”

Wentworth digs through the stacks of paper for a few seconds, looking for a spare piece to scribble down everything they need. He finds it and does so, passing it to Richie, along with a twenty dollar bill. “That should be enough.”

Taking it, Richie nods. “Thanks.” He spares one last look over his shoulder at his father, who has returned to his work, then leaves the kitchen. “Good talk.”

Richie finds Mike standing in the hallway outside of their bedroom, hitting his fist against the door and twisting the knob every few knocks. “Margo you’re being completely unreasonable-”

“Just leave her alone, Mikey, clearly she’s upset that she’s not the favorite today.”

Mike shoots Richie a devilish glare, shaking the knob as he does so. “Just because you and dad don’t get along doesn’t mean he plays favorites.”

“Sophie’s Choice, that’s all I’m saying.” Richie gets close to his brother, talking his own turn at hitting the door. “Are you coming with me to the store or not?”

Neither boy expects it to swing open, but it does, revealing their sister. Margo wipes at her face, shoving past the two of them and out of the apartment, presumably to Richie’s car. The brothers sigh at the same time, then share a look.

“See you, Rich.”

“Bye Mike.” Richie follows his sister out of the apartment, ignoring whatever Mike says after him.

~

Eddie is visibly uncomfortable in the passenger seat of Richie’s car, having offered the spot several times to Mike and Margo, who sit in the back and chat idly with him. He fidgets with his seatbelt and stares nervously out the window as Richie pulls out of the school parking lot, as if waiting for something terrible to happen.

“I told you I’m a good driver, Eds.”

Margo and Mike both laugh as Eddie whips around to look at Richie, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide. “Don’t call me that.”

Richie pays extra attention to his driving for once, stopping for longer than necessary at stop signs, staying below the speed limit, and keeping his eyes on the road instead of looking at Eddie, like how he wants. Out of the corner of his eye, Richie can see Eddie’s grip on the door loosen with every passing second.

When they finally pull into their apartment parking lot, Eddie looks up at the building. “My friend Beverly lives here.”

Richie parks and grins wildly. He and Beverly have PE together, and smoke outside during lunch together. “Miss Marsh! I love that girl.”

Margo pats Eddie’s shoulder, signaling that he needs to get out so that her and Mike can get out of the car. Eddie does so, opening the door and stepping onto the sidewalk next to the car.

“Bye, Eddie!” Margo says cheerily after she and Mike have both gotten out.

“Have fun on your date.” Mike winks at Eddie, then heads inside with Margo. Richie can feel his cheeks turn pink, and worries briefly that Eddie is offended.

He doesn’t appear to be as he slips back inside. Richie reaches towards the seats in the back for his cassettes, hiding his pink face for a few moments, looking for one in particular.

“Aha!” He cheers, emerging and holding up his most prized tape.

Eddie takes a second to read it, then smiles. “Bridge over troubled water.”

Richie shifts in his seat and puts it into the player, backing out of the spot as the car processes the tape. “I love this album,” he says, not mentioning that is was a gift from his mother, the day that they moved. “I could listen to it forever.”

Art Garfunkel starts singing the opening verse and Richie hums along, stopping at the turn out of the lot and awaiting Eddie’s directions.

He takes a few seconds to think, then says, “turn left and head down Mile Hill. We can go to the quarry.”

“Sounds exciting,” mutters Richie to himself, doing as he is told. He continues humming, and feels Eddie’s eyes on him.

They pass by all of the stores and enter a more residential area that Richie hasn’t been down before.

“Down that street is 29 Neibolt. It’s totally haunted.” Richie can hear the shakiness in Eddie’s voice.

“Why do people say it's haunted?” Richie glances over at the passenger seat and hopes that Eddie doesn’t chew him out for it. But Eddie isn’t even looking over at him, just out the window.

“When we were like, thirteen, a bunch of us went in there.”

“No shit!”

“Yes shit,” Eddie grimaces, but there is almost a laugh in his voice. They are well past Neibolt street, yet he still seems shaken. “We got seperated and I fell through the floor and broke my arm.”

In an attempt to cheer him up, Richie jokes, “what, did a ghost push ya?”

Eddie just huffs. “No, dumbass.” Finally, he looks back over at Richie. Averting his gaze back to the road, Richie tries to keep his eyes on the road. “It just seems like… the house was purposefully separating us, you know?”

He doesn’t.

“There’s this old science facility in my hometown that everyone says is haunted. Says some crazy experiments on kids and shit went down in there.” Richie glances once more over at Eddie, who is still looking at him. “I was never brave enough to go in. I’ve heard stories from people who did, though.”

Eddie raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Really.”

“Mhm. Mike and his friends went in one time. Found a bunch of old records of these freaky kids-“

“This is so fake.”

“It’s not!” Richie defends, laughing, but is sure that it is. He wouldn’t put it past Dustin or Lucas to pull that kind of shit and swear it's true until the day they die.

Quiet befalls them, after a few moments of laughter. “There’s a dirt road you turn onto, up here.”

The ride gets bumpy as Richie does so, then stops once Eddie tells him to. The duo get out of the car, and the sound of shutting the doors echoes through the trees that now surround them. Richie notices a cliffside, and heads over to it, raising his eyebrows. “You trying to kill me, Spaghetti?”

“If you keep calling me that, I will.” Eddie joins Richie at the edge. “The Losers always come here during the summer to jump off or play loogie. Usually I just go down to that rocky area down there and wait for the others-“

Richie holds his hand up. “Wait, why don’t you ever jump?”

Crossing his arms across his chest protectively, Eddie takes a few steps away from the cliffside. “Because I don’t have a death wish.”

“You’ve never jumped?”

Eddie shakes his head no.

Richie claps his hands together, making Eddie jump. “Well, today is your lucky day, Spaghetti. We are jumping off this cliff right now.”

A beat of silence. Then, “you’re fucking kidding me. I shouldn’t have brought you here.” Eddie turns and starts to walk back to Richie’s car, but stops when Richie reaches out and grabs his hand. Richie notices that it is shaking.

“Come on, Spaghetti-Man. It’ll be like a baptism. New school year, new us!” Richie lets go of Eddie’s hand, reluctantly, and shrugs off the jean jacket he was wearing and starts to kick off his shoes.

Eddie turns slowly, staring at Richie has he removes each layer of his clothing. After the shoes, Richie removes the belt from his acid wash jeans, then his yellow t-shirt. As his hands go to the hem of his jeans, Eddie speaks once more.

“If I jump will you stop calling me those shitty nicknames?” Richie notices that Eddie is looking anywhere other than him. “And don’t tell the others?”

“Sure,” Richie promises, almost letting Eds slip out of his mouth. He holds out a pinkie, keeping his other hand at his jeans.

Rolling his eyes, Eddie steps forward and slips his pinkie into Richie’s. “I hate you.”

Richie grins and pumps their hands up and down once, sealing the deal. “Nah that’s wha I’m talkin abaht!”

Eddie pulls his hand away, his shaking hands going to the sleeves of his t-shirt around his wrists. “That accent is awful.”

Sensing that Eddie is uncomfortable, Richie turns to face he edge and swiftly takes off his jeans, leaving him in just his plaid boxers. He places his hands on his hips and stares out at the glittering water fondly. It is a bright bluish-green underneath the sun, and perfectly flat, like glass.

Eddie materializes next to Richie after a minute, his chest and legs bare.

Richie scans Eddie’s small body. His skin is slightly tan, like he spent the last few weeks of summer outside, and his shoulders and arms covered in freckles that his face lack. His arms are crossed tightly to his chest, hiding the scars that Richie knows are there. They don’t cover the ones on the thighs, which are white against his sun-kissed skin.

“Staring is rude,” Eddie snaps, making Richie avert his eyes.

Richie leans over the side, his cheeks pink and mirroring Eddie’s. “Briefs; I approve.”

“I fucking hate you.” Eddie reidderates, stepping backwards and going towards his clothes.

“Nuh-uh! You promised.” Richie grabs Eddie’s wrist, making him wince, tugging him back to his side. “We can jump together.”

Their brown eyes connect, something passing between them. Eddie sighs, looking away. “Okay. Whatever.” Clasping their hands together tightly, Richie pulls them up to the edge, their toes hanging over. Eddie’s palms are shaky and sweating. “You aren’t going to take your glasses off?”

Richie shrugs, taking a deep breath. “You ready?”

“No,” Eddie says, his voice dripping honesty and fear. “You?”

The distant sound of a highway and birds chipping fills Richie’s ears, but Eddie’s voice comforts him. “No,” he admits. “This isn’t even the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“I believe that.” Richie feels Eddie squeeze his hand. “I broke my fucking arm falling through the floor.”

A laugh bubbles in Richie’s chest. “On the count of three.”

Eddie nods. “One…”

“Two.”

There is a beat as Eddie hesitates on three. Then a yelp as Richie is tugging them both off the side. Richie doesn’t even get to think about how funny Eddie’s scream is before they’re both hitting the water, shattering the glass surface. It’s cold, Richie realizes first, then, Eddie’s hand is gone. Richie breaks the surface, pushing his hair away from his face and his glasses up onto the top of his head. Eddie is already up, gasping for breath. “You fucking suck, Tozier.”

“Your mom wasn’t complaining about it-”

Richie chokes and sputters on the water that Eddie splashes at him. “I can’t believe you made me do this, I could’ve died-”

“But we didn’t!” Richie says cheerily, staring at the blur that he knows is Eddie. “You jumped off a cliff with someone you’ve talked to a grand total of once before today!” Richie floats on his back, staring up at the shifting clouds.

Eddie’s hands push at Richie’s side, moving them towards the shore where The Losers usually hang out so that they can actually stand up. Richie lets him, closing his eyes and the corner of his mouth turning up. “Can’t keep your hands off of me, huh, Eds?”

“Didn’t you promise to stop calling me that?”

Richie moves to place his feet on the ground now that they can, keeping most of his torso under the water, just his head and shoulders above the surface. He stares up at Eddie, who is still a blur, but Richie thinks he might be almost smiling. “What would you rather I call you? Baby? Dear? Sweatpea, darling, loverboy-”

“Richie, can I tell you something?”

Richie stops his teasing, furrowing his brows. He nods his head aggressively so his glasses fall off his head and down onto the tip of his nose. Eddie pushes them up before Richie can even get to it, then drops his hands so that they rest on Richie’s warm shoulders. “Yeah, of course you can.”

Eddie crouches down so that he is at eye level and is also mostly underwater, keeping his hands on Richie’s shoulders. Richie expects some sort of confession, like about the scars on his arms and thighs or why everyone at school seems to treat Eddie like he’s a glass house just waiting for a rock to be thrown.

The breath that Eddie sucks in is shaky. “It’s my birthday.”

He has to laugh. Richie leans forward a little, not believing that Eddie made a big deal out of that. “Okay? Happy birthday?”

Eddie is moving away before Richie can truly appreciate how close they are. “I just... It feels like a big deal. For some reason.”

Richie can read between the lines, he isn’t stupid. Eddie is telling him, I didn’t expect to make it this far. Eddie is still under the water, but if Richie squints, he can see the lines that Eddie is trying hard to hide from him. Richie has heard some of the things people say about Eddie- but most of them contradict each other. He won’t pry, not yet. Today, he will just support his new friend and call him stupid nicknames.

“Every birthday is a big deal to Richie Tozier!” Richie exclaims, moving to toss an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and begins to sing a terrible rendition of For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow, making Eddie laugh but not shove him away.

They go underneath the water once more, together, and this time, they do not separate.

[gracieisnotmuchofawriter]

Alone (Therapists & Children)

A couple years ago, I met someone who meant the world to me. His name was Robin. We sat in that room lit with bright orange lights. Steps ran down to the center where a piano sat. A projector sat atop the ceiling, pointing towards a white sheet just behind the piano. Off to the side sat a shelf with a stereo on top. The walls were dark, brown and obviously made of wood. Squares of foam sat a few inches apart across the walls. The entrance sat off to the side, on the other was a closet that stored all of the chairs. I sat at the back with all of the Mezzo’s. Ms. Curtis had trouble gauging what my range was. We were doing these team building exercises, to find our voices and sync up. When she got to the Mezzo’s she was very disappointed when she found out I had never sang a word in that room. She gave me Mezzo because of my speaking voice. So I sang throughout that hour with everyone who was just now realizing I existed.

  I didn’t sync well with the Alto’s because my voice was a little too high. Finally, she decided I was a Mezzo Soprano, so she grabbed a random Baritone Bass off the shelf to start the usual exercise. He sat down and it was the first time I was ever interested in a boy. He had big brown eyes, messy red curls on his head, all styled forward. He always looked so cool in those blue, slim fit jeans, slip-on Vans, some short sleeved button up shirt. His face wasn’t hard, it was soft but defined. We connected after the teacher found out we both hadn’t sang a word in that room. What started out as a team building exercise turned into another search for this boy’s proper range. She told me to sit back down and—as she put it—“Just, wait until we’re done.”

  When it was all said and done, the bell rang. It was the last hour of the day. Afterward we properly met after school. He walked me to the bank my aunt worked at, our conversation was easy enough. He took me out. It was the first time I wore a dress since I was four. I met his friends, they became my friends. They bought me an Xbox. This boy and I had sex, it was my first time. Then senior year happened. Texting everyday turned into a few texts throughout the evening. Weekends turned into a few texts in either the afternoon or the evening. All of the sudden, in October, he announced he was moving to California to be with his mom and dad. He stopped coming to school. He stopped talking to me. He stopped talking to his friends. Or at least I thought. I remember jumping online, seeing my brother on, he was talking to someone, I could hear him. I thought it was everyone else. It was Robin, the boy I was seeing.

  The next day, it felt like everyone was staring at me. My stomach felt hollow, my heart ached, I felt tired, hungover. I floated through the day, I slept in my history class. My friends (his friends) tried talking to me at lunch, but I couldn’t pay attention. I complained about an upset stomach and called Brielle. Her and her girlfriend picked me up. My room felt so big and empty. The white bumpy walls, the dark brown floors, the glass desk in the corner, the TV just above my dresser in front of my bed. My bed’s white blanket, my tan pillowcases. Everything just looked bland and lifeless. I ignored my brother through the rest of the week. He didn’t do anything wrong, though, he just thought I was still talking to Robin, he didn’t know, no one knew he ignored me like that.

  Today, my heart swelled to the size of a grapefruit. My lungs felt punctured. My chest felt like a cinderblock laid atop of it. I sat in the bathroom heaving, trying to catch my breath. No one heard me, Asha went home for the weekend, the girls on the other side went home as well. The ringing in my ears became louder. A harsh pressure pressed onto my sinus’, tears came out of my eyes. It felt like pins kept stabbing my back and across my shoulders. I laid down on my side, curling up into a ball.

  “Jude’s not the same.” I kept groaning through my heavy sobs.

  Jude went home to Lincoln, to see their family, their siblings. Apparently their brother had a kid recently. Jude left on Thursday, they haven’t texted me back. It’s Saturday.

  My brain kept bringing up terrible thoughts, the more I ignored them the louder they got.

  ‘Jude’s done with you.’

  ‘Jude’s tired of you.’

  ‘Jude’s bored of you.’

  ‘Jude knew you were irritating the day you bitched about lying to your instructor.’

  “No, they’re just busy.”

  “No, they’re just busy.”

  “No, they’re just busy.”

  “No, Jude didn’t care, they really just wanted me to move past it.”

  ‘Jude’s just another Robin. For good reason.’

  ‘Jude should move past you if this is how you react to a couple days of silence.’

  ‘Maybe your mom knew how much of a wreck you are, maybe that’s why she left you.’

  I got off the bathroom floor, I walked into my room, my eyes stung, my back hurt, my stomach hurt. I opened my drawer, finding that pill bottle. “Take one(1) as needed”. I dropped two tablets into my hand, stuffing them into my mouth. I grab my bottle of water, washing the pills down into my stomach. I stumble back, chest still on fire, thoughts still racing. I curl up onto my bed. I want my aunty.

—

“Jude’s memo, September Twenty-Eighth.

‘Eggs, milk, diet soda, Gatorade and a gift for this cute girl I met at school.’ That’s my list for today’s outing. It’s a relatively humid day, my hair feels all flat and my face feels like a cheeseburger. My armpits are kinda yeasty and I don’t care, nothing’s gonna stop me from wearing a tank top today. Anastasia carries my sweater so if those clouds man up and actually do something, I got something to cover up with. Also, I need to pay my phone bill. It’s prepaid, thank god, so no late fees.

I started making these after mom died, our families never been the same. But my brother’s kid being born has done the impossible. I’m driving down to Lincoln to meet up with my sister and we’re gonna go see his beautiful little family. We’re gonna lay our mom to rest, properly this time. When it happened, my siblings and I couldn’t bear to be around each other, we all just saw our mom in each other I guess. Each other. Us. It still really hasn’t hit me that we’re all gonna be in the same room together again. It seems so far away that I’m wondering what Amber might like from Lincoln, what can I find her that she’ll get excited about. Me,

Jaime and Judith are gonna be in a room again but all I can think of is my stupid crush. She’s not stupid, the act of thinking about her over this momentous occasion for the Kent family is strange and dumb.

I don’t know... Amber. She might just be a crush, just a curiosity for the school year, I mean, I’m not even sure if I like graphic design. I like doodling, I like making things, but advertising? Is that me? Maybe Amber is just someone to distract me from those fucking questions, but at the same time, her face keeps popping into my head, I can hear her voice if I just imagine it, I don’t know. She’s much, uh, ‘looser’ these days. She doesn’t seem so tense, so distant. I’ve been sitting next to her in Digital Layout One for the entire year so far, this week was the first time I saw her usually milky face turn colored, splashes of pinks on her cheeks, her lips seem, I don’t know how to describe it, but she seems like there’s just more life to her. Her shoulders slump more, her legs don’t bounce like crazy, her hair sits behind her ears more, she takes off that big ass sweater she’s been wearing. She replaced it with a much more comfortable cardigan. She just seems healthier. Probably because a friend sits next to her. But how ethical is it? I mean, this only started because I have a crush on her. Is this okay? Is it okay to pursue her with the slightest expectation that I might get some coochie at the end of this? The answer is probably no, especially given for the fact that I know next to nothing about her, her past, her wants and her needs. I mean, maybe it’s too early to judge things, perhaps I should slow down this thought of not knowing her well enough, the ethics and just have fun. She likes me well enough, I think. We laugh a lot, she shares her sense of humor with me. I mean, she made a sex joke earlier this week, and it was a fucking cute one at that! Jesus, what do I do? I want McDonald’s, there’s one in Missouri Valley, I’m gonna check it out, give’em a visit, see how those nuggets have been. Does Amber like McDonald’s, I mean we got Chipotle and Taco Bell, she must like McDonald’s. Or maybe she’s just too polite to ask, like I say I want Chipotle and she just goes with it. Maybe these questions are best suited to ask her and not the woman who’s gonna listen to this with me on Monday, Hi Jamie! What do I do? What would my mom say? She’d probably tell me just follow my heart because she really had nothing else to add, she always thought me being wholly queer meant she couldn’t give me adequate advice, but that’s not true, when she did give me advice, it was always fucking good, it was exactly what I needed to hear, even if I didn’t want to hear it. I know examples would be better, but, this recording is getting a little long. My mind is a bit wild today. From meeting Amber, to my brother and his girlfriend finally popping that kid out, getting to see my sister Judith after four fucking years. Maybe the reality of seeing everyone is actually hitting me, maybe I am really nervous and I’m just trying to use Amber as a shield from all of this.”

[hellomissmabel]

Bye Bye Brooklyn Boys (12) - version 2

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: A tad of angst? Mentions of sexual activity.

Word count: 2.602

Summary: Memories

Inspired by “This is the first thing” by my favourite band You Me At Six. I still cannot believe I actually got to meet them!

September, October, November , December,

January , February, March,  April

May, June, July

August (1)

Come a little closer As the night gets older Of you I grow fonder Just let my hands wander

Dean slowly pulls out of me, his sweat-slicked body creating a shy glow as he’s trailing feverish open-mouthed kisses along my jawline and down to my collarbone.

“Birthday sex is the best kind of sex,” you sigh against his lips, tilting his chin so he’s just out of reach before he continues his quest down the valley of your breasts and your bare torso.

“I’m going to miss you babe,” he purrs a little, the warmth of his body heightened due to your extraneous activities.

“Then don’t go on that hunting trip with your brother,” you hum as his teeth graze lightly over your perky nipples, extracting a low moan from the back of your throat, Dean’s dick twitching underneath the sheets.

Pushing Dean aside, I make my way towards the bathroom to clean myself up a little first before going for a possible round two. I call out his name, coaxing him out of the bed as well so can get himself a new pair of boxers but as soon as I peek around the corner, his sleeping and snoring form is adorable wrapped around our pillows. Finishing up and perfecting my bedhead, I climb in the bed next to him. A small smile plays on his lips and I inhale deeply, his worn-off cologne lingering still on my entire body.

I let out a soft laugh as he mumbles in his early slumber. “No kiss goodnight?”

“I can think of something better,” I say, tone teasing, fingertips skimming his velvety skin. Reaching for his hand underneath the covers, squeezing it gently as I kiss up his neck and across his cheek. Soon enough his eyes are open wide and his lips hovering over mine, passion not far away.

Dean places his hands on my hips, steadying me on top of him until I’m straddling his lap. “I love you”, he smiles up at me.

Running my nose down his jaw, he growls into my skin, pressing his growing member into my inner thigh. He’s just as rock hard as before. “Dean,” I whimper seductively, wantonly.

He nestles his head on top of my before pressing a chaste peck to my hair. “Y/N,” he moans when I shift a little to get at least some kind of friction. “I am too tired and so are you.”

“I’m not tired anymore,” I giggle when the tip of my nose collides with his.

“Is that so?,” he questions with a cocked eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips before you deliver him with your absolution sliding your wet heat across his length.

“Shit,” he hisses as his forehead bumps into your shoulder, chest heaving with restraint.

You allow your eyes to dance across his features before retreating, falling down next to him with a satisfied grin. “I made up my mind,” you tease relentlessly, “I’m exhausted.”

His lips are on yours before you can speak further, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. Tenderly you suck his tongue into your mouth, using his body as a focal point. You are his treasure map and each time you make love, he crosses off another spot he discovered, another spot he ravished with his godlike body. He rolls his hips against yours and instinctively you answer by lacing your legs around his waist.

“Now now, darling,” he growls ferally, hips bucking slightly as he presses into your cunt, his pelvis rubbing against your still sensitive skin. “You started it, now let me finish it. Let me finish you.”

This is the first thing I thought This is the last thing that I want You were the first one I loved You were the first love I lost

The house feels empty without your man. Dean left right after breakfast, his brother picking him up with a big, goofy smile plastered on his adorable face. You really like Sam and the connection he shares with his brother.

But days like these, where there’s no one around and nothing to do with sit and wait, you find yourself rummaging through your closet for the souvenir box you keep on the bottom shelf. “There it is,” you whisper contentedly when your fingertips touch its wooden surface.

There’s not much inside, just a couple old pictures of you and your parents and the diary you used to keep in your bedside table during high school. But there’s a third item in there as well, one you reach out to instantly. It’s just a simple keychain, but it used to belong to Bucky. Your mind often wanders back to Bucky and how stupid you feel that you let him worm his way back into your thoughts like this. Nevertheless, you regret your decision of never forgiving him for his mistakes. He tossed away his second and his third chance, no longer worthy of your forgiveness. Yet you can’t bring yourself to forgive yourself as well.

You put the box back where you found it and make your way to the living room, attempting to catch up on some of your favourite TV shows but failing when the doorbell suddenly rings.

“Hello. I have a package for Y/N?,” the blond man informs you as you slide open the front door. “It was originally delivered at your old address but the woman was so kind to give me your new one. Sorry about the delay.”

He gingerly hands you the cardboard box as if it’s the most fragile thing in the entire world. You thank him with a polite smile and a small nod, slowly closing the door behind you as you study the information scribbled on the ticket on the top of the box. It had been sent to your old address, just like the mailman had said, approximately one week ago.

Sitting cross-legged on the sofa, you tear it open and gasp once it reveals its contents. There are so many letters inside! Carding your hands through the envelopes, your fingers come across the familiar handwriting you spent countless hours trying to decipher at University. Amongst all the pristine white there’s one red envelope that stands out, also signed 7 days ago.

You tentatively remove the letter from the envelope and start reading it out loud, fighting the silence that threatens to deafen you and swallow you whole.

“My dear, sweet Y/N,

My love, you’re so far away.

I hope you received my surprise in time and I trust that by now you might’ve already figured out that I wrote all these letters with the intention of sending them to you, but that I could never muster up the courage to do so, given what happened a year ago. But somehow I found my confidence again and decided to send them anyway. No harm done in trying, right?

I have written you every single day for the past 12 months, keeping you up to date on the ups and downs of my life in Wakanda. For me it’s some kind of coping mechanism, writing to you. It makes me feel like you’re still in my life, still my best girl and waiting for me back in Brooklyn.

I miss you so much, Y/N, and I love you so much. I apologised to Nat and Clint before I left. I made amends with everybody I’ve done wrong. I guess I just have to fix what’s broken between the two of us, the trust that I broke when I hurt you.

I never meant to cause you any hurt, doll. I’m just not used to someone loving me the way you did. But that doesn’t exonerate me from my sins and I perfectly understand if you never want to see me again. I understand that you might never read this because you threw it all out with the trash.

But darling, the distance is simply too much to bear. I want to be near you, I want to love you and caress you. I want to be the man you wake up next to, the guy that makes you smile and cry tears of happiness. I need you to know that my soul is yours, my heart is yours, my body and my mind, it’s all yours.

You are my sanity, my anchor. So let me be true to you, let me love you the way you deserve to be loved, not the love you chose to settle for. I’m coming back to you soon, sweetheart.

Yours forever and always,

James”

Little droplets cause the ink to run out, spreading across the entire page as you toss it away before attacking the stack of paper in your lap, picking up a random letter and devouring it with all that you are. You read every single letter, not stopping until you’re finished and laying on the ground, rocking back and forth whilst crying your heart out.

You left it too late To change the way I think I'll never say never again Those words will never ever pass my lips

The drive over to Bucky’s new place is tantalisingly long. You didn’t take much time to change or make yourself more presentable, just jumped into your skinny black jeans and favourite t-shirt, not even bothering to switch shoes and hailing a cab in your slippers. You albeit throw the money at the driver before stepping out and wrapping your arms around your shaking body. You’re not cold, it’s the midst of summer after all. You’re shaking because you left Dean’s home in a hurry trying to figure out whether or not you should take your old lover back.

A sentence from one of the letters comes to mind, standing out immediately in a stark contrast against the countless other love letters Bucky has written you over the course of many, too many days.

“You used to be an island to me, so beautiful, so exotic and yet so remote. I always thought I would never be good enough for you, that I was just another sailor failing to get ashore. But now I know that it was me who had been the island, creating more distance where there was none. And you, my love, were the sailor looking for the old, forgotten treasure that is my heart. You loved me once and I hope you can find it in your heart to love me still.”

He always ended with “Yours forever and always, James”.

You ring the buzzer and as its sound kills the time, it also inflates your nerves. What if he doesn’t answer? No, Wanda assured you he’d be home. What if someone else, another woman opens the door? No, otherwise he wouldn’t have begged you to come see him. All these what ifs eat away at you that you don’t even notice a set of the brightest blue eyes falling on your insecure frame, locking eyes with the ground below.

“I didn’t know you’d show up. I mean, I didn’t know for sure,” his soft voice sings lightly, causing your head to snap up and your eyes to hover over his baby blues. “I hoped you would. I even prayed.”

Time has not been unkind to him, his five o’clock shadow making way for a more younger appeal of his clean-shaven jaw. “Bucky,” you heave out with your last breath. “I want to be stronger. I want to be stronger and resist you. But I also don’t want to be worlds apart from you. I can’t do this any longer, I can’t string myself along like this.”

“Doll,” he shushes, taking you into his arms. Melting into his embrace, you release the tears you’ve been holding up. Bucky allows you to crawl deeper underneath his skin, not for a second daring to break the electric current conjoining your bodies.

“I love Dean, I really do. But he’s just another Steve, I am not in love with him,” you cry quietly, your voice wavering with every loud sob whilst an ugly frown disturbing your skin. His eyes never leave yours, his tone not budging an inch as he dedicates every single word that leaves his lips to you.

“I am here, you are here. We are both here. I just want to be yours, if you let me.”

“Please just kiss me,” you beg him, softly grabbing him by the collar as you gauge his reaction. Bucky chuckles, connecting your lips to his in a breathy laugh. Bucky takes control of the kiss and you don’t have to do anything but follow his lead. It’s effortlessly, falling in line with the movements of his body.

He’s positively glowing now he’s got you back in his arms. “I know I’m not supposed to say this, but you’re better off without me, Y/N. You deserve a better man than I will ever be.”

“No,” you reply resolutely, “I’m broken, Bucky,” you explain to him. “I am broken and I tried to put all my pieces back together alone. When that didn’t work, I found someone who was willing to do it for me and along the way I lost pieces of my puzzle, never finding them back again.

So I filled up the blank spaces with other people’s pieces, not realising that when I took a piece of them they lost a piece of their own puzzle as well. I put people through the same misery that I put myself through and I tried to give it all back but failed. It seems like you’re the only one that has the pieces that fit just right since somehow I always seem to find my way back to you.”

This is the first thing I thought This is the last thing that I want You were the first one I loved You were the first love I lost

“You brought me down to my knees,” he blurts out, cupping your face in his hands as the dark of night behind his blue eyes drowns in your flood of tears. “You are the only woman for me. I want you to hear this loud and clear. You,” he takes a deep breath, “You are what matters most to me, you always have.”

Bucky’s tired, you can see it in every breath he takes, the smile on his face wavering slightly with the pressure of insomnia weighing down on him. Bucky is the Atlas of your existence, the soldier fighting a lonely war against his own insecurities. But he doesn’t have to do it alone anymore, he no longer has to trip over the wires of other people’s lives intertwining while he remains isolated.

“And you are the only man for me, Buck.”

He sends you a worn-out smile, beaming with happiness yet weary of the grabby hands of fate waiting to drag you away from him again. You wonder how you could have ever missed it, the haunting look in his eyes whenever he had a sleepless night or the devastating depths of the hole he’s dug for himself. Your lips are on fire as soon as they soothe the corners of his mouth, lifting as he laughs into the kiss.

“Why don’t you call me James anymore?” he exhales slowly when you break apart, his hand rubbing your arms reassuringly and his gaze set on your in a soft comfort. Pressing your lips against his one more time, tasting the sweet innocence of your reunion on the tip of his tongue, you reply without hesitation, wrinkles forming at your elated eyes.

“Because I’m yours now.”

Part 13: the letters

Tagging: the ever-wonderful @beccaanne814-blog @kiwi71281 @a-little-hell-to-raise @unpredictable-firecracker @marvelingatthewonder @emilyinwonderland3 @mrshopkirk @oopsmybagofplums @hardcorehippos @iiharu-kunii @knittingknerdy @winterwolf57 @dontbeamenacetotheforce @winterboobaer @shamvictoria11@thedragonblood @hymnofthevalkyries @feelmyroarrrr @amrita31199

[cathygeha]

A woman with garden magic finds out the builder in charge of remodeling her florist shop is the same man who broke her heart over a decade ago. In spite of best laid plans, they find themselves falling head over hearts in this whimsical romantic comedy where opposites attract, sparks fly, and magical mayhem ensues.

Available September 25th – DON’T TOUCH MY PETUNIA, a new book in the Holloway Girls series by Tara Sheets.

Follow the tour and #enter to #win a signed paperback set of the first two books in the Holloway Girls series

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Title: Don’t Touch My Petunia

Author: Tara Sheets

Series: The Holloway Girls

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: September 25, 2018

Publisher: Kensington Zebra Shout

Print Length: 304 Pages

Formats: Print and Digital

Print ISBN: 978-1420146288

ASIN: B078QSSQMC

 Pine Cove Island is the kind of enchanting place where anything is possible . . .

The Holloway women each have a special gift, passed down through generations, each one a little different. Juliette possesses a magical green thumb, which makes her job managing the local florist shop a dream. She may be a bit wild, but she knows what she wants: to save enough money to buy the shop from her boss. Then in marches Logan O’Connor, more annoyingly handsome than ever, turning all her plans upside down.

Logan hasn’t been back on Pine Cove Island since he was eighteen and broke Juliette’s teenage heart. Now it turns out he’s her boss’s nephew—and will be spending his days remodeling the shop and barking orders. At her.

For the sake of the business, Juliette will have to ignore their simmering attraction and work with Logan. But that doesn’t mean she has to make things easy for him. Because no one knows better than she that one tiny, perfectly planted bit of garden magic could uproot Logan’s own plans and keep him out of her way. And nothing would make her happier. At least that’s what she thinks . . .

 Get More information at: Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo | GooglePlay

  Excerpt #1:

It was ten o’clock in the morning by the time Logan strolled in to work. Juliette tried to tell herself it didn’t matter; his job was his business. But that wasn’t entirely true. As the standing manager of Romeo’s Florist Shop, it was her responsibility to oversee everything that went on, which included the business of Romeo’s slow-moving, swaggering nephew.

“Nice of you to finally make it in,” she said when he came through the back door. She’d spent the morning swamped with customers and orders, and in the middle of it she’d had to deal with Logan’s lumberyard delivery all by herself.

He walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup from the new machine. His face looked drawn, and there were dark shadows under his eyes.

Juliette crossed her arms and opened her mouth to speak, but Logan held up a hand.

“Before you start,” he said, “you should know that my answer to everything for the next five minutes is going to be ‘coffee.’”

“You should know that you’re late,” she tossed back. “We open at eight o’clock here.”

He raised his mug in salute and took a sip.

“The lumber company stopped by this morning at eight-thirty,” she continued, “and since you weren’t here, they started dumping all the supplies by the front walkway. And this time, the store was filled with customers.”

Logan leaned against the counter and regarded her with bloodshot eyes. He took another slow sip.

“What is wrong with you this morning?” she blurted. “You look like you drank one too many shots of tequila last night and had to crawl home on your lips.”

His mouth lifted at one corner as if he found her amusing.

“It’s not funny,” she said with growing annoyance. “You’re supposed to be here on time so you can handle all the remodel stuff.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with one hand. “A friend kept me up all night.”

An image of the pretty blonde from the bonfire flashed across Juliette’s mind. She’d been wrapped around him like a human pretzel, and it hadn’t seemed to bother him.

Juliette bristled. “Look, if you want to party all night long with Suzy Sunshine, go right ahead. But you’re still expected to show up on time and get some actual work done here. The rest of us have to do our jobs. I’m sure Romeo wouldn’t be thrilled to know you were dragging in two hours late on your second day of work.”

Logan stopped with his cup halfway to his mouth. “Suzy Sunshine?”

“That girl from the barbeque.”

He frowned. “You mean Bella?”

“Whatever.”  She wouldn’t know. Because she didn’t care.

“We weren’t partying,” he said casually. “Not all night, anyway. I wasn’t up for it.”

She had the sudden urge to throw something at him. Instead, she smiled sweetly. “Stamina problems, huh? Not a shocker. It’s your second day on the job and you can’t even keep up.”

Logan set his cup on the counter with a thud, an unspoken challenge in his eyes.

All Juliette’s nerve endings went on high alert. She suddenly felt like a rabbit in plain sight of a wolf.

His gaze slid lazily down her body in a sensual caress, then back up to linger on her mouth before meeting her eyes. “I have no problems keeping up, Juliette.”  He drew her name out on his tongue like he could taste it. “I’d be happy to prove it to you, if you don’t believe me.”

Excerpt #2:

If a guy was going to fondle her petunias, the least he could do was act like he cared. Pawing at them with a big meaty ham fist while he stared absently out of her shop window was not cool.

Juliette Holloway frowned, swiping a lock of dark hair behind her ear. It was going to be a long day at Romeo’s Florist Shop, and she still had two more flower arrangements to put together before the morning rush.

She leaned over the counter and called across the room. “Excuse me.”

The guy messing with her petunia plant didn’t move or turn around. He had broad shoulders, and his head almost reached the top of the door frame. In jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a baseball cap, he looked like one of those NFL athletes—completely out of place surrounded by the delicate summer blooms and hanging fuchsia baskets.

She called again, louder. “Hello?”

Nothing. He just kept running a giant hand over the fragile purple flowers.

Juliette bristled. The plant was her newest project. Normally, she could make anything grow and thrive. Like all Holloway women before her, she was born with a special gift. Hers was garden magic. A customer had given her the potted petunia after rescuing it from an office cubicle. The poor thing had been halfway to the grave, but she’d nurtured it back to life. And now some linebacker was mauling it.

She marched across the room and tapped the man firmly on his back. It was a rock-hard, muscular back. He was probably one of those gym guys who spent all day pumping iron. “Can you please not touch that?”

He swung around and pulled an earbud out of his ear. Loud, thumping music spewed from his headset. Even with a baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses, he looked vaguely familiar. Strong jaw with a light stubble, high cheekbones, full lips. A tiny prickle of recognition tiptoed down her spine.

She gestured to the pot of flowers. “Please don’t touch my plant.”

He frowned and pulled the other earbud out. “What’s that?”

Juliette sighed. Gym rats. Brains in their biceps. She enunciated each word carefully. “Don’t. Touch. My petunia.”

His lips twitched. “I . . .”

She closed her eyes, ignoring the flush of embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. Way to set yourself up, genius. Maybe he didn’t notice.

“I’m not usually so forward.��� His deep voice hovered on the edge of laughter.

Okay, so he noticed. Big whoop. Whoever he was, he was immature, and she didn’t have time for this. She grabbed the plant and turned away. The hem of her flowy skirt caught on the edge of a low shelf, and she yanked it free before escaping to the back counter.

“Have we met before?” he called.

She threw him a glance.

He gave her a slow smile that sent a jolt of physical awareness from the top of her head to the tips of her blue painted toenails. “I feel like I know you.”

For a pickup line, it was pretty bad. But he had a million-dollar smile and knew how to use it. The face. The superhero physique. All he needed was a cape or a giant hammer, or something. He probably didn’t have much practice with pickup lines because he didn’t need any.

He sauntered toward her.

There was something familiar about the way he walked—like he owned the world—but she couldn’t place him. When he reached the counter, she was glad to be on the other side. It wasn’t that she felt threatened. At five feet nine inches, she was comfortable with tall people. But this guy towered over her, and when he looked at her like that, it was . . . unsettling.

He took off the baseball cap and mussed his tawny hair.

Juliette sucked in a breath.

Then he removed the sunglasses and fixed her with a gaze as deep and dark as the earth after a rainstorm.

Something inside her cracked open, and a trickle of long-forgotten feelings threatened to bubble to the surface.

Logan.

She took an involuntary step back, trying to hide her surprise by leaning casually against the wall. Supercool. She was an iceberg of cool. Except she misjudged the distance to the wall and stumbled.

“That bad, huh?” His mouth kicked up at one corner.

More from the Holloway Girls series Don’t Call Me Cupcake Amazon  |  Barnes and Noble  |  Kobo  |  iTunes  |  Books-A-Million

 About Tara Sheets:

TARA SHEETS is an award-winning author of contemporary romance and women’s fiction. Her work has earned first place recognition in literary contests nationwide and her debut novel, Don’t Call Me Cupcake, won the 2016 Golden Heart® award sponsored by Romance Writers of America®. Tara began her career as an author in the Pacific Northwest, inspired by the rain and the misty mountains and the rivers of Starbucks coffee.  She now lives in the warm, wonderful South where she can stand outside with no coat on, and she finds that pretty inspiring too.  When not writing, Tara enjoys life with her book-loving family and a book-eating dog named Merlin. She is represented by Sarah Phair at Trident Media Group.  

Connect with Tara:  Website  | Facebook  | Twitter  | Goodreads  | Amazon  | BookBub

 Follow the tour and #enter to #win a signed paperback set of the first two books in the Holloway Girls series

9/24/18

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[gordanladdskitchen]

Can You Freeze Smoked Salmon? – Quick Guide, Tips and Delicious Salmon Recipes

While enjoying perfectly smoked salmon, have you ever wondered how can you freeze smoked salmon so that you can use it later? Well, I like eating smoked salmon every now and then, but I cannot finish up the entire fish in one go. This is when I look at the salmon and think whether it is possible to freeze salmon or should I throw it away.

My curiosity leads me to look for an answer and today I would love to share what I have found. If you are too curious to know, “can you freeze hot smoked salmon?” well read on!!

Toggle for Table of Contents

Quick Navigation

Experimenting with Food

Can You Freeze Smoked Salmon?

Preparing the Fish for Freezer

Wrapping the Salmon

Storing the Salmon

Labeling the Salmon

Thawing Process

Things to Remember When Freezing Smoked Salmon

Smoked Salmon Recipes

Smoked Salmon Salad

Smoked Salmon Sandwich

Smoked Salmon Pasta

Appetizer

Smoked Salmon as a Substitute

Substitute for Tuna

Substitute for Bacon

Conclusion

Experimenting with Food

I am a food lover at heart and throwing away food seems to be a wasteful activity to me. I love experimenting with food and for my leftovers, I look for a solution to increase their shelf life. While a majority of food stuff can be frozen, does the same apply to smoked salmon? Well, the answer is yes, you can easily freeze smoked salmon and use it on later dates.

Smoked salmon always make up for a tasty treat and while people argue that it tastes its best when fresh, it still tastes pretty good when thawed.

When preparing smoked salmon, I use 2 slices salmon, 1 tablespoon fresh thyme, 1 tablespoons olive oil, and 3 limes. I further use 1-quart water and 2 ½ tablespoons salt for brine, I heat my barbeque and smoke my brined fish skinned side down and cook it until the desired degree of doneness.

Can You Freeze Smoked Salmon?

Yes, it is possible to freeze smoked salmon to improve its longevity. Freezing the fish also offers you a great way to preserve the taste, texture and overall quality of the fish.The following steps can be followed to freeze the smoked salmon correctly.

Preparing the Fish for Freezer

When freezing smoked salmon, you have the option to freeze the fish as a whole or cut it into small pieces. However, it is easier to cut the fish into small pieces to match the services size you will probably eat in a day or two. Cutting fish into smaller pieces also makes it easy to wrap and store it.

Unwrap the store bought smoked salmon from its original packing and cut it into small pieces. It must be remembered that you cannot freeze the fish again once it is thawed therefore pack it separately in the right amount that you can easily finish.

Wrapping the Salmon

It is important to properly wrap the salmon to preserve its flavor. Moreover in addition to retain the flavor, you can brush the sides of the fish with olive oil before packing or wrapping it.

To avoid freezer burns, you can use a freezer wrap and wrap the fish tightly while securing its edges. You can also choose to use a vacuum sealer to squeeze out the air before sealing it properly.

Storing the Salmon

In order to keep the smoked salmon fresh for a long time, make sure the air is removed while storing it. This is vital because the presence of air can lead to oxidation in cooked food and will further lead to loss of flavor, freezer burn or spoilage. Therefore, whenever you are storing the salmon, pack in an airtight container.

Labeling the Salmon

If you freeze a lot of food, you may find it hard to recognize the frozen food. Therefore, it is important to label your smoked salmon while freezing it. Also, don’t forget to write down the date when the fish is placed in the freezer. So now comes the next questions, how long can you freeze smoked salmon?

Frozen smoked salmon stays fresh in the freezer and can last for about 3 months. However, this is true if you keep the fish on the lowest shelf of the freezer. But if you choose to put the fish in the chest freezer at a maximum freezing point, it can last for approximately 6 months.The

Thawing Process

When it comes to defrosting the smoked salmon make sure you only remove the required quantity that you want to eat. Place the freezer bag in the refrigerator (or chiller compartment) immediately as it should only be thawed below 40 degrees Fahrenheit.

Do not thaw the salmon in warm water or at room temperature as it will significantly affect the texture of the salmon. Moreover, thawing the fish at room temperature also runs the risk of bacterial bloom. So make sure whether you are using smoked or fresh salmon, it should always be refrigerated.

Are you now thinking, “Can you refreeze smoked salmon?” Well, the answer is no. Once thawed, the fish cannot be refrozen. After the freezing and thawing process, consume the previously frozen smoked salmon immediately to enjoy best taste and quality.

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Can You Freeze Smoked Salmon? – Quick Guide, Tips and Delicious Salmon Recipes September 1, 2017

Things to Remember When Freezing Smoked Salmon

Freezing smoked salmon properly will ensure that you enjoy eating the fish at a later time. However, while freezing smoked salmon, here are few things you must keep in mind.

Smoked salmon can be freeze for about 3 months and up to 6 months in a chest freezer.

​When thawing salmon, leave it in the freezer overnight. Make sure the fish is thawed slowly, in a cold environment.

​Don’t force salmon to thaw by placing it in a bowl of hot water. This will affect the quality of the end product.

​Don’t reheat salmon in the microwave as the high heat emitted by the microwave can dry out the fish.

​Moreover, microwaving the fish also results in smelly fish and this is another reason why microwaving smoked salmon is not advisable.

​While microwaving, high heat can leave cold spots and bacteria can develop in these areas. Eating bacteria infested fish can make you sick.

​After reheating smoked salmon, eat it within 2 hours. Leaving it for a long time will lead to the formation of bacteria.

Do you know smoked salmon can be eaten cold? You can make a new recipe out of smoked salmon leftovers and enjoy eating it in a variety of ways.

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Smoked Salmon Recipes

If you are bored by eating the same old reheated smoked salmon again and again, there are a lot of recipes you can try.

Smoked Salmon Salad

If you have some smoked salmon leftovers, use them in a fish meat based salad. Mix some green leaves, add smoked salmon and toss it with olive oil. There you have a healthy and delicious salad ready. Additionally, you can also add fruits such as avocado for a refreshing taste.

Smoked Salmon Sandwich

Who does not like sandwiches? I don’t know about you, but they are my favorite. The smoked salmon sandwich is filling and satisfying. They can be as simple as adding sour cream to the sandwich and as complex as adding a lot of ingredients.

Smoked Salmon Pasta

Another great dish that you can prepare with smoked salmon is delicious smoked salmon pasta. Use spaghetti noodles or any type of pasta with smoked salmon as the main ingredient. This is undoubtedly nutritious and delicious dish.

Appetizer

If you don’t want to create a main dish with smoked salmon, choose to serve it as your appetizer. An easy to prepare dish smoked salmon appetizer consists of cream cheese, crackers and salmon as toppings. You can choose to vary the crackers and spreads to create interesting combinations.

Click here to know more about frozen smoked salmon recipes.

Smoked Salmon as a Substitute

While it is easy to create various dishes using smoked salmon as the main ingredient, you can also use salmon as a substitute for other ingredients. You will discover a healthier and amazing way to convert some of your favorite dishes.

Substitute for Tuna

While it is not possible to replace tuna in all the recipes, you can still substitute it with salmon in some of the recipes thus reducing your intake of mercury. So, if you are going to make a tuna sandwich, replace tuna with thawed smoked salmon. You can break chunks of salmon into flakey pieces to use it.

Substitute for Bacon

If you are a bacon lover, try replacing it with salmon for an intense flavor. Take the opportunity to create some amazing bacon inspired recipes using smoked salmon. You can even use crumble pieces of salmon as toppings for guacamole recipes or pancakes. If you love mac and cheese, replace bacon as topping in your favorite dish.

Conclusion

So, I hope this post may have helped you get an answer for, “Can you freeze smoked salmon?” If smoked salmon is your favorite dish, this post might have opened new opportunities to use the amazing ingredient. I too love smoked salmon and therefore I went out of my way to discover some amazing recipes that will make this ingredient stand out.

Smoked Salmon is a delicious addition to your meal. While you may feel it is a bit expensive, it is incredibly easy to freeze it and use it for a long time. So, whether you choose frozen smoked salmon or fresh smoked salmon, you can prepare delicious and tasty dishes for breakfast, lunch or dinner with this amazing ingredient.

You can even read more on whether it is possible to freeze potato salad and ricotta cheese.

The post Can You Freeze Smoked Salmon? – Quick Guide, Tips and Delicious Salmon Recipes appeared first on Gordan Ladd's Kitchen.

[zillowcondo]

Bend, Oregon’s Farmers Markets: How to Make the Most of Your Visit No Matter Where You Live

“Go to the farmers market and buy food there. You’ll get something that’s delicious. It’s discouraging that this seems like such an elitist thing. It’s not. It’s just that we have to pay the real cost of food. People have to understand that cheap food has been subsidized. We have to realize that it’s important to pay farmers up front, because they are taking care of the land.” —Alice Waters

Having fresh food at your fingertips in the very town you call home is to feel truly wealthy. Why? To eat well, to have an abundance of choices and to step outside, savoring Mother Nature as you peruse the selection, the entire experience is an elevation in living well.

Today I will be spotlighting three of my favorite local produce destinations in Bend, but regardless of where you call home and where your farmers market is located, I’ll be sharing 10 ways to best navigate and utilize what the farmers market has to offer.

While Bend’s growing season is quite short (June – September to be conservative) compared to other places I’ve lived, the farmers that bring their harvest to sell come from all over the state. Vendors from the Willamette Valley join the many farmers right here in central Oregon giving shoppers a wonderful bounty to choose from as you will see below.

Before I dive into the three markets I frequent for my fresh food shopping, let’s talk about the benefits of visiting the farmers market as well as a few tips to best navigate all the goodness in your own backyard:

1.Meet the farmers

“The way you support farmers is by shopping and buying raw ingredients.” —Michael Pollan

Most individuals who are selling the food at the market are the ones who have cared for the food, and they will be able to answer your questions. As well, you are supporting local farmers, members of the community you call home. Much like shopping locally at boutiques, etc., you support local families so they can continue to thrive in the town they as well call home.

2. Get ideas about how to cook the produce you purchase

Recently, as you will see below, I picked up some fava beans. These gorgeous, ginormous green pods grabbed my attention, but I honestly did not know how to cook them. However, I must confess, I had just seen Paris Can Wait, in which Diane Lane’s character enjoys bruschetta topped with fava beans. Consequently, I was quite curious to figure out how to make such an appetizer. So I asked the farmer. He gave me some delicious ideas, as well as instructions on how to properly cook the fava beans (blanche in the pod for a couple of minutes, pop out the fava beans after submerging in cold water, peel off the hard outer shell and voila!).  He also suggested pairing the fava beans with capers and a little bit of olive oil, smashing them all together and smearing the mixture on top of the bruschetta. I took his word, and he was absolutely right. Delicious!

3. Eat fresh, organic food

Perhaps you call yourself a locavore. Perhaps you just appreciate delicious food. Either way, both predilections will be satiated when you stop by your local farmers market. Your body will thank you and your tastebuds will thank you.

4. Expand your eating repertoire

“I make an enormous amount of salads, but my salads are like meals. They’re amazing. I like going down to the farmers’ market and looking to see whatever you can find, because you can put anything in a salad.” —Andie MacDowell

Farmers markets sell what is in season. An abundant amount of artichokes are available because spring is wrapping up. Soon the tomatoes will be available, but not yet (at least not here in Bend). What I appreciate about visiting the markets is that I am gently forced to try new vegetables and fruits. For example, the garlic spears below were something I have never cooked with, but again, I asked the farmer what he would do with them, and he gave me some simple ideas. He also informed me that they are only available for a few weeks due to their short growing season, which gives all the more reason to give them a try. 

5. Improve your prowess in the kitchen

Similar to #4, with the encouragement of the ideas from the farmers, I have had new experiences in the kitchen, expanding the types of recipes I make and broadening my skills and knowledge in the kitchen with new ingredients.

6. Discipline is strengthened

While most vendors accept debit/credit cards, I challenge myself to only and always take cash. I usually walk the full length of the market to compare prices before walking back and making my selections. And if I happen to have a few extra dollars left over as I finish my second walk through, I pick up something that looks delicious but I didn’t have on my list as a treat. Such a lovely reward for adhering to my objective of sticking to my cash budget!

7. Get to know your community

“Let us not forget that the cultivation of the earth is the most important labor of man. When tillage begins, other arts will follow. The farmers, therefore, are the founders of civilization.” —Daniel Webster

Similar to #1, when you visit your local farmers market, while there will be tourists visiting, there will also be many of your fellow locals. Seeing each other in a convivial setting, enjoying and appreciating the food and the weather is a wonderful chance to bond over something we all can applaud – good and healthy food!

8. Pick up fresh, seasonal flowers often difficult to find in flower shops

I can remember when I lived in Pendleton, I would stalk the farmers market in May and June waiting for the peonies to arrive as I knew they would only be available for a few short weeks, and I didn’t want to miss my opportunity that came only once a year. Thankfully here in Bend, while the growing season is short for peonies, they are usually available to purchase for about a month. But the truth is, it’s an annual arrival that is brief and evanescent which makes it all the more something to celebrate when you welcome them into your home, 

As well, just as you become introduced to new food, you also discover new varietals of flowers which was the case for me this year. As you will see below, a brilliant violet/purple flower caught my eye two weeks in a row. And while I didn’t know what it was, I knew I loved it. Well, thanks to TSLL readers, I snapped a pic and asked if anyone knew what it was called (I guess I could have asked the vendor as well, but they were swamped with other flower lovers), and the name is just as beautiful as the flower itself: des campanules en français or campanulas (bellflowers).

9. The fresh air

Leaving the air conditioned super markets, leaving the fluorescent lighting and breathing in the fresh air is a memorable experience. Wear your linen market dress, don your sunnies or maybe a wide-brimmed summer hat and just take everything in: the food, the people, the music, the moment.

10. The opportunity to bring out that beautiful French basket you have had tucked away for far too long

I am only partially kidding. I cannot tell you how excited I get to take my round woven basket with a leather handle off the top shelf in my hall closet. Its mere presence is a sign that a shift of seasons has occurred, and it is these mini celebrations and rituals that are important to savor. The everyday moments, the simple, but meaningful events and activities we enjoy that don’t happen each and every day. Why not visit your local farmers market and have a beautiful experience?

  Have a look below at the three local produce markets in Bend.

Bend Farmers Market

Brooks Alley in Downtown Bend, on the edge of Drake Park and Wall St. 

Wednesday afternoon/evening, 3-7 pm

Opens first Wednesday in June and runs through mid October

Mountain View High School

Friday afternoon/evening, 2 – 6 pm

Opens the last Fridays in June and runs until mid August as school begins soon.(This year: June 30th – August 18th)

~baby artichokes~

~The best baguette I have had in Bend: a crusty, crunchy crust and soft and chewy bread inside. Pick it up at Jackson’s Corner‘s booth at the market~

  Northwest Crossing Farmers Market

Saturday morning/afternoon, 10 am – 2 pm

Opens the third Saturday in June and runs through late September depending up on the weather/harvest

~peonies (left); campanules en français or campanules (bellflowers) (right)~

  Paradise Produce Farm Stand (Local Produce Stand)

1234 NW Galeveston St.

7 days a week (sell their produce at the local farmers’ markets as well)

Opens late May and runs through early October

~garlic spears on the right~

~last week’s budget called for farm fresh eggs, a rosemary plant for the herb garden, broccoli, baby artichokes, fava beans, sweat peas (the smell is intoxicating!), lemon pepper pasta and a fresh baguette~

  ~View more Bend, Sweet Bend posts, profiling my favorite places in my hometown here.

Bend, Oregon’s Farmers Markets: How to Make the Most of Your Visit No Matter Where You Live published first on http://ift.tt/2pewpEF

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Bend, Oregon’s Farmers Markets: How to Make the Most of Your Visit No Matter Where You Live

“Go to the farmers market and buy food there. You’ll get something that’s delicious. It’s discouraging that this seems like such an elitist thing. It’s not. It’s just that we have to pay the real cost of food. People have to understand that cheap food has been subsidized. We have to realize that it’s important to pay farmers up front, because they are taking care of the land.” —Alice Waters

Having fresh food at your fingertips in the very town you call home is to feel truly wealthy. Why? To eat well, to have an abundance of choices and to step outside, savoring Mother Nature as you peruse the selection, the entire experience is an elevation in living well.

Today I will be spotlighting three of my favorite local produce destinations in Bend, but regardless of where you call home and where your farmers market is located, I’ll be sharing 10 ways to best navigate and utilize what the farmers market has to offer.

While Bend’s growing season is quite short (June – September to be conservative) compared to other places I’ve lived, the farmers that bring their harvest to sell come from all over the state. Vendors from the Willamette Valley join the many farmers right here in central Oregon giving shoppers a wonderful bounty to choose from as you will see below.

Before I dive into the three markets I frequent for my fresh food shopping, let’s talk about the benefits of visiting the farmers market as well as a few tips to best navigate all the goodness in your own backyard:

1.Meet the farmers

“The way you support farmers is by shopping and buying raw ingredients.” —Michael Pollan

Most individuals who are selling the food at the market are the ones who have cared for the food, and they will be able to answer your questions. As well, you are supporting local farmers, members of the community you call home. Much like shopping locally at boutiques, etc., you support local families so they can continue to thrive in the town they as well call home.

2. Get ideas about how to cook the produce you purchase

Recently, as you will see below, I picked up some fava beans. These gorgeous, ginormous green pods grabbed my attention, but I honestly did not know how to cook them. However, I must confess, I had just seen Paris Can Wait, in which Diane Lane’s character enjoys bruschetta topped with fava beans. Consequently, I was quite curious to figure out how to make such an appetizer. So I asked the farmer. He gave me some delicious ideas, as well as instructions on how to properly cook the fava beans (blanche in the pod for a couple of minutes, pop out the fava beans after submerging in cold water, peel off the hard outer shell and voila!).  He also suggested pairing the fava beans with capers and a little bit of olive oil, smashing them all together and smearing the mixture on top of the bruschetta. I took his word, and he was absolutely right. Delicious!

3. Eat fresh, organic food

Perhaps you call yourself a locavore. Perhaps you just appreciate delicious food. Either way, both predilections will be satiated when you stop by your local farmers market. Your body will thank you and your tastebuds will thank you.

4. Expand your eating repertoire

“I make an enormous amount of salads, but my salads are like meals. They’re amazing. I like going down to the farmers’ market and looking to see whatever you can find, because you can put anything in a salad.” —Andie MacDowell

Farmers markets sell what is in season. An abundant amount of artichokes are available because spring is wrapping up. Soon the tomatoes will be available, but not yet (at least not here in Bend). What I appreciate about visiting the markets is that I am gently forced to try new vegetables and fruits. For example, the garlic spears below were something I have never cooked with, but again, I asked the farmer what he would do with them, and he gave me some simple ideas. He also informed me that they are only available for a few weeks due to their short growing season, which gives all the more reason to give them a try. 

5. Improve your prowess in the kitchen

Similar to #4, with the encouragement of the ideas from the farmers, I have had new experiences in the kitchen, expanding the types of recipes I make and broadening my skills and knowledge in the kitchen with new ingredients.

6. Discipline is strengthened

While most vendors accept debit/credit cards, I challenge myself to only and always take cash. I usually walk the full length of the market to compare prices before walking back and making my selections. And if I happen to have a few extra dollars left over as I finish my second walk through, I pick up something that looks delicious but I didn’t have on my list as a treat. Such a lovely reward for adhering to my objective of sticking to my cash budget!

7. Get to know your community

“Let us not forget that the cultivation of the earth is the most important labor of man. When tillage begins, other arts will follow. The farmers, therefore, are the founders of civilization.” —Daniel Webster

Similar to #1, when you visit your local farmers market, while there will be tourists visiting, there will also be many of your fellow locals. Seeing each other in a convivial setting, enjoying and appreciating the food and the weather is a wonderful chance to bond over something we all can applaud – good and healthy food!

8. Pick up fresh, seasonal flowers often difficult to find in flower shops

I can remember when I lived in Pendleton, I would stalk the farmers market in May and June waiting for the peonies to arrive as I knew they would only be available for a few short weeks, and I didn’t want to miss my opportunity that came only once a year. Thankfully here in Bend, while the growing season is short for peonies, they are usually available to purchase for about a month. But the truth is, it’s an annual arrival that is brief and evanescent which makes it all the more something to celebrate when you welcome them into your home, 

As well, just as you become introduced to new food, you also discover new varietals of flowers which was the case for me this year. As you will see below, a brilliant violet/purple flower caught my eye two weeks in a row. And while I didn’t know what it was, I knew I loved it. Well, thanks to TSLL readers, I snapped a pic and asked if anyone knew what it was called (I guess I could have asked the vendor as well, but they were swamped with other flower lovers), and the name is just as beautiful as the flower itself: des campanules en français or campanulas (bellflowers).

9. The fresh air

Leaving the air conditioned super markets, leaving the fluorescent lighting and breathing in the fresh air is a memorable experience. Wear your linen market dress, don your sunnies or maybe a wide-brimmed summer hat and just take everything in: the food, the people, the music, the moment.

10. The opportunity to bring out that beautiful French basket you have had tucked away for far too long

I am only partially kidding. I cannot tell you how excited I get to take my round woven basket with a leather handle off the top shelf in my hall closet. Its mere presence is a sign that a shift of seasons has occurred, and it is these mini celebrations and rituals that are important to savor. The everyday moments, the simple, but meaningful events and activities we enjoy that don’t happen each and every day. Why not visit your local farmers market and have a beautiful experience?

  Have a look below at the three local produce markets in Bend.

Bend Farmers Market

Brooks Alley in Downtown Bend, on the edge of Drake Park and Wall St. 

Wednesday afternoon/evening, 3-7 pm

Opens first Wednesday in June and runs through mid October

Mountain View High School

Friday afternoon/evening, 2 – 6 pm

Opens the last Fridays in June and runs until mid August as school begins soon.(This year: June 30th – August 18th)

~baby artichokes~

~The best baguette I have had in Bend: a crusty, crunchy crust and soft and chewy bread inside. Pick it up at Jackson’s Corner‘s booth at the market~

  Northwest Crossing Farmers Market

Saturday morning/afternoon, 10 am – 2 pm

Opens the third Saturday in June and runs through late September depending up on the weather/harvest

~peonies (left); campanules en français or campanules (bellflowers) (right)~

  Paradise Produce Farm Stand (Local Produce Stand)

1234 NW Galeveston St.

7 days a week (sell their produce at the local farmers’ markets as well)

Opens late May and runs through early October

~garlic spears on the right~

~last week’s budget called for farm fresh eggs, a rosemary plant for the herb garden, broccoli, baby artichokes, fava beans, sweat peas (the smell is intoxicating!), lemon pepper pasta and a fresh baguette~

  ~View more Bend, Sweet Bend posts, profiling my favorite places in my hometown here.

Bend, Oregon’s Farmers Markets: How to Make the Most of Your Visit No Matter Where You Live published first on http://ift.tt/2pewpEF