#the wallpaper and paint and the colors of her favorite table cloth

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

.

[morganski-19]

I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 8: Painting

ao3 link, Chapter 1, Chapter 7

January 1980

“So,” Rebecca said as she sits down at the breakfast table. “I have a very special gift for you today.”

Julie shoves a forkful of pancakes into her mouth. “What is it?”

It was her tenth birthday today. All the other kids in her class had big parties for their tenth birthdays, so she knew it was a special one. It was the time she reached double digits, after all. Ten whole fingers, some adults would tell her.

“We can go to the store, and you get to pick out whatever you want to decorate your room.”

“Really,” Julie beams.

“Really,” her mother smiles back. “And I think we even might be able to get a new paint color that you’ll like.”

Her room was an ugly shade of brown that made her sad to look at. Mary’s room looked so much better than hers. With pink wallpaper and posters and pictures all around her room. Julie had a different favorite color than her best friend, but she wanted her room to look just like Mary’s.

She smiles brightly at her mom while stuffing her face full of her birthday pancakes. It was a tradition that on birthday’s there would be pancakes, with all the toppings. Whipped cream, syrup, fruits that normally went ignored. More pancakes than any normal person would be able to consume, but it was her birthday, so it was ok.

“Any color?” Julie asks curiously as they drive to the hardware store.

“Any color. As long as you like it, I like it.”

She plays with her fingers in excitement. “But you sleep in the room too sometimes, you should like it to.”

Her mother hums while pulling into the parking lot. “I don’t think so. Today is about you, Jules. It’s your special day.”

Julie hops out of her seat as soon as the car is parked. She practically pulls her mom into the store, speeding straight to the wall of color swatches she would always gaze at. Carefully, she scours the colors, going straight to the blues but giving all colors a chance.

Eventually, she grabs a light shade of blue, just a bit darker than baby blue. But it’s perfect.

“Do you like that one?” Her mom asks.

Julie nods, looking up from the paint swatch to see the soft expression of her mom. “Yeah. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Rebecca beams. “Let’s go get it.”

After the paint is bought, the two of them head to the thrift store to pick up some old frames and find some posters. Julie finds some that she likes, but it doesn’t matter. She already got more that she wanted just with the paint.

They pack up her room when they get home, bringing it all into the living room so they can get the walls painted. It takes hours and it’s mostly her mom that does it. But Julie helps with the bottom trim as much as she can.

The blue is already radiating off the walls, making her feel happier than she ever has. It’s finally starting to look like her.

Her mom walks over to her, wrapping an arm around Julie’s shoulder. Paint splattering both of their clothes, and even a bit on their skin. Her mom’s blond hair up in a messy bun with the hair sticking out in all different places, while Julie’s brown hair is starting to fall out of her French braid.

It was hard work, but it was worth it.

“How do you like it?”

Julie wraps her arm around her mom, hugging her close. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Jules.”

. . .

Present Day, December 1986

“So, it’s been going well then,” Robin sums up, following Steve around as he does returns.

She sighs, slamming the tape back onto the metal shelves a little harder than he means. “I guess. I honestly have no idea.”

Robin crosses her arms. “But you said that she seems to like living with you?”

Julie does seem like she likes living with Steve. She hasn’t run away, from what he knows, and there’s no signs of fear like there was with the other house. It hasn’t been the smoothest of sailing, but it never was going to be like that. Two people who have known each other for just over a month suddenly living together is never going to be great at the start. Hell, even two people who have known each other for years can have some hiccups in the beginning.

But that wasn’t what was bothering Steve. He wanted to make sure that she knew she was welcome in his house. Not just to stay, but to make it her own. At least her room. Steve was never given the ability to make his house really his, the wallpaper alone was an indicator of that. But over the years, he was able to add small things. Pictures on the dressers and little figurines on his desk.

Steve wanted to make sure that Julie made his house her home, not just another placement.

“Yeah, but I can tell that’s something’s up. I just don’t know how to ask about it.”

“Maybe just ask,” Robin suggests. “Sometimes that’s all you need to do.”

Normally he would like her advice, love it even. But she doesn’t know Julie as well as he does, hasn’t spent the last week looking at her smile without it really meaning a smile. Her eyes were always blank, halfway to tears is he looked to hard. He knew why, there was only one reason. And he knew that no matter what he did wouldn’t help.

But he still wanted her to know that he was there. That he wasn’t going to be like the other place she was at where no one gave a shit if she was there at all. He wanted to be there for her, to help her through this.

Steve may have not lost a parent, at least to death, but he knows grief.

He knows that it sucks and that there’s nothing that will ever really help it. He’s lost people he’s barely known and people he knew well. And sometimes the people grieved the most come back, despite all odds, and some never do.

The days get shorter as the nights seem eternally long and all anyone ever wants to do is crawl into a hole and never leave. But life keeps happening and time keeps moving, and the people that are left have to grapple with the fact that they have to keep moving too.

Julie has been going through her grief alone, and it’s starting to show. Before, it went unnoticed. He wasn’t with her all day and when he was with her, she was just so relieved to be in a place that was safe. The brief relief overshadowed the grief just enough for him to miss it.

But now she’s living with him, and he can see her skipping meals. He can see how she just retreats to her room and stays there for as long as possible. How she gets up and goes to school in day old clothes.

“It’s a little more sensitive then just asking about it, Rob.”

“Oh,” Robin’s face falls. “Has she talked to you about it at all?”

Steve shakes his head as he moves to the next aisle. “No. And like, I don’t want to push, but she looks so empty all the time. I want to make sure that she knows I’m here, that I want her here. That my home can be hers too, you know.”

“Have you told her that? Shown her that you really mean it when you say that she has a home with you.”

The same questions have been brewing in his mind for the last week now. How can he make someone feel at home in a place that barely felt like his half the time?

“I don’t know how.”

Before Robin gets the chance to respond, the after-school rush starts. He goes behind the counter to check in the returns and to check out the new picks of the week. Smiled in the face of a mom who asked to see his manager, only for him to point at his new name tag with the word “Manager” under his. The embarrassed face that people get when he points that out is one of the better things about this job.

“I have an idea,” Robin says when she gets into the passenger side of his car, their shifts ended. “Why don’t you offer to take her shopping?”

“Do you really think that will help?”

Robin nods. “Ask her if she wanted to get some new clothes or something, stuff for her room. She obviously lost some stuff, and while that can’t be replaced, you can at least offer to get her some things to make her room feel more like her. I mean, you’ve seen her mom’s interior decorating.”

Steve winces, “She took the flower room.”

“Gross,” Robin gags. “That room is so pink.”

“Maybe I could take her out,” Steve scratches his chin. “Get some posters or something to cover up the wallpaper. I could get a new curtain and bedspread too, to cut away the pink.”

“Or,” Robin draws out. “You could just paint over it.”

He sighs. “Rob, you know I-.”

“How long has it been since your parents have actually been to that house?” she cuts him off.

“A year and a half.”

“And how long did their trip take before that visit?”

“Two years,” he says in a small voice.

He knew it was long, it was hard to miss. But for the number of things that happened in those two years, he’s never wished for a parent more.

Robin curses them under their breath. “It was really two years?”

Steve pulls to a stop in front of her house. “Yeah.”

He remembers waking up the summer after his sophomore year to an empty house. Then, it meant unsupervised parties and freedom. But as the months dragged on, the parties got bored, especially when it was all on him to clean it up. He used to throw them just to get attention, to see if he messed up big enough would mean a trip home. Attention was attention, and his parents gave him nothing unless he was a disappointment.

It hurt, but he was still a kid. Still feels like one sometimes. And while he’s disappointing them in a whole different way now, he’s begging that they won’t come home to figure it out.

Robin reaches across the center console and pulls him into a hug. He almost falls into it, wrapping his arms around her and holding on tight. Digging his face into the crook of her neck and just letting himself feel.

“I’m sorry,” Robin whispers, letting the silence fill the car afterward.

Tears start to fill Steve’s eyes as the hurt resurfaces again. Nothing he could ever do would make them stay, so after a while he stopped trying. Kept up appearances while he was in high school, got the job that his dad wanted him to. But it was never enough. He was still not good enough for them.

It was around then that he started doing things for him. He stayed in the job because it meant staying close to Robin. He hung out with people that would give his dad a heart attack if he ever knew. Took in Julie because he wanted to have a sibling bond with her. Even found out things about himself that he tried to hide so much but couldn’t because he found someone who could make him happy.

Steve was happy, for the first time in a long time. But that happiness still stung sometimes. Mainly because his happiness wouldn’t even be taken into a factor if his parents ever came home to find who he’s become without them.

“Why did you never tell me it was that long?” Robin says while pulling pack.

“Never came up. Don’t exactly like to talk about it that much.”

“Well, if you ever want to, you know I’ll listen. I’ll always listen to you, Steve. And with Julie, you got it. I know you do.”

He smiles. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, dingus.”

. . .

Julie comes home to an empty house, heading straight to her room. It’s not like it’s unusual, Steve works full time now, so his shifts vary. Sometimes opening, sometimes closing. But he always makes sure to leave some food for Julie when he knows he’ll be away for dinner, or a wrapped sandwich in the fridge for her to take to lunch if he has to leave early.

She wasn’t expecting him to adjust to this as fast as he did. But every morning when she wakes up, he already has breakfast made and is working on making her a sandwich. Or when she comes home from school and he asks about her day, lets her say as much as she wants before letting her retreat to her room.

Her room is not nearly like the safe haven that her old one was. A place that felt undeniably like her, that comforted her every time she walked through the door. Because it was hers, and she knew that it meant she was loved.

And it’s not like here didn’t make her feel safe. Steve never yelled, and if he did it wasn’t malicious, and only really happened when Robin or Eddie were over. He never pressured her to spend time with him, or to make sure she was eating. Didn’t mention the days she would go without showering or when she slept in too much to go to school. The opposite really, she caught him making a phone call to the school faking that she was sick the other day. He was waiting for her to open up, but she almost wishes he didn’t.

It’s not like she wants to talk about this. Her mom. The crash. The pain. It’s hard enough to think about rather than talk about. But she wants it gone. She wants to go to bed without crying or feeling empty. She wants to take a bite of food and for it to taste like it, not just something foreign in her mouth that tastes like paste. She wants to get up and feel happy again. Get the giant elephant that’s sitting on her chest to move.

But she doesn’t know how to talk about it because this has never happened to her. To anyone that she’s known. And if Steve could relate, he never said anything. Even then, the pain that she feels is unique to her, so if anyone tried to relate, she’d probably just get angry.

Julie hears the front door close and the rustle of keys as Steve tosses them on the hall table. Like he does every single time. A routine. It’s something that she’s noticed in the past week, even in the last month. He would do things the same way every single day. Sometimes there would be days that he forgot, where he would notice his car keys on the kitchen table and get a slight panic in his eyes until they were in the same place. It was odd, but he never mentioned it, so neither did she.

She’s started noticing random things about him that didn’t make sense. Once when he was putting away dishes, his shirt ran up and she saw what looked like animal bite scars along his sides. And when he pulled at his collar, there was a faint line wrapping around his neck, like he was strangled with a small wire.

He couldn’t hear well out of his right ear, anymore. Like he was once able to. And she knows he gets migraines. And while those things can be completely normal, she can’t help but feel like they are connected.

Last night she heard what sounded like a shout from his bedroom before a loud thud and heavy breathing. Stuttered, scared, intense heavy breathing. Like she would get when she was little and had a nightmare. What terrified him so much that he still got nightmares that bad?

Steve knocks on her door and she lets him know he can come in. “Hey, how was school?”

“Good,” she says, closing her math book.

“So, I was thinking. Maybe we could go out this weekend, get somethings that would make this room less horrible. If you wanted to.”

Good lord does she want to, but she doesn’t exactly have any money. “I don’t really have that much to pay for it so.”

Steve brushes her off like it’s nothing. “Don’t worry about it. I got it, whatever you want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not my money, my dad’s. Never got to use it before, and he won’t notice if you start using it now.”

“Oh, ok. That would be nice then.”

Steve smiles. “Great. Uh, we can’t really do anything about the wallpaper, but we can get new curtain, and a new bedspread that is something you’ll like more. And we can get some posters or something to cover up the walls.”

Julie nods. “That sounds good.”

“Great. Do you want the door shut again?”  

“No, you can leave it cracked.”

Steve nods before closing it slightly, leaving it open a few inches.

. . .

Saturday rolls around and Steve wakes up annoyed. His scars are itching like crazy and there’s just enough of a headache that makes him want to go back to sleep. But he doesn’t, because he promised Julie to take her out today. And he’s not going to break a promise with her.

She’s probably already had enough of that, and he has too.

He gets out of bed, heading to his bathroom to rub the anti-itch cream around the scars on his torso and get ready. Down in the kitchen, he makes breakfast, now knowing that Julie likes her eggs scrambled with some cheese.

She comes down a bit later, hair braided and in some new clothes. She’s actually talking to him this morning, instead of avoiding everything by staring at the table. It’s nice.

When they’re done eating, Steve cleans up the dishes and Julie insists on helping. She dries and puts away the dishes while Steve washes them. Steve can’t explain what’s happening inside of his head, but he knows it’s good. Something about this morning makes him beam with a sort of pride. Julie being her and acting like she belongs, because maybe a small part of her knows that she does.

Like they’re starting to act like family instead of just friends.

He asks what type of things she’d want to get to decorate her room. What color curtains, sheets, where she could go to get some posters, pictures. Anything to hide the pink monstrosity that is covering the walls. They make a plan, heading to the strip mall to see if they can find everything there.

“I think these are nice,” Julie says, looking at a striped sheet set with dark blues and reds. “Can I get them?”

“If you like them, yeah.”

She pulls them off the shelf, placing it in the cart. “It’s really going to clash with the wallpaper though,” she winces.

Steve laughs. “Yeah well, anything’s going to clash with that wallpaper. I would change it if I could.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Can’t risk it. My parents come home sometimes, and when they do it’s like they go through and pick apart the house to make sure I’ve kept it the way they wanted it. I tried to convince my mom to change the wallpaper in my room one time, and she just wasn’t having it. It was her house, her vision. Too much for me to understand, so I just stopped trying.”

He remembers the way his mom sounded when he drew across the walls as a kid. The anger in her voice as she didn’t yell, but scolded. In the way that terrified people to their bones without even raising her voice. The same thing again when he tried to hang up a piece of art on the fridge. It was her house, her image. And his art was unseemly, would leave a bad taste in her friend’s mouths. So, he just stopped trying to make anything his own.

But he wanted Julie to feel like his was her home. And his parents had no reason to come home anytime soon, so he was taking a risk. Just her living with him at all was a risk, he was sure she knew that. It was worth it to him though. If acknowledging that he had a sister was the final nail in the coffin for him and his parents, he’d hammer it in himself.

“You get used to it eventually,” he continues, stopping in front of the curtains. “You find some ways to make it look your own, and you just ignore the terrible wallpaper choices.”

“That kind of sucks though, that your mom never let you choose what you wanted your room to look like.”

Steve presses his lips together. “Yeah. It is.”

He used to tell himself that eventually he’d just move out, that then he’d be able to choose what he wanted to do with his room. That he’ll make a place of his own for himself, and just himself. No one else, and especially not his parents. And he knew that this was a shitty situation. But out of all of the things his parents did, he always put not changing the wallpaper in his room at the bottom of the list. Because it wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t the worst.

But Julie is looking at him like it’s the biggest offense in the world, and everything starts to shift. How many other things has he accepted just because it was the way things were? How many other things went forgiven because it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen?

Julie turns her attention back to the wall of curtains, choosing a dark blue one to match her sheets. Steve turns to the wall too, thinking of all the times he would stare at his room and think to himself what he would change. How the smallest thing like this would have made his life better.

It hits him that he’s giving Julie a chance to do everything that he never was able to do. Change the room to what she wants. Not pressuring her to talk to him after school. Letting her take food up to her room if she doesn’t want to eat with him. Allowing her to be herself.

Steve is a lot of things when his parents are home, but himself isn’t one of them. Everything in his body shuts down with hearing a simple breath from his father, from seeing the passive glare from his mother’s eyes. He becomes quiet. Pliant to their needs and not his own. Serving them as the perfect poster boy son they wanted, not the person he became.

Him taking in Julie would infuriate his father tremendously. The daughter he pretended didn’t exist, and just wrote the check to keep everything quiet. The son who was nothing like him, and if he really looked hard, everything he hated.

There was no coming back from this, so why not just lean fully into it.

“You know,” Steve starts as they’re walking out of the store. “I think we could get away with changing the wallpaper.”

Julie gives him a confused stare. “What about what you said.”

“Well, fuck that. Fuck them. I-.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s not like they’re coming back anytime soon, and if they do, me changing the room is going to be the least of their worries. I’d rather you have a room you like coming home to than think about what they’ll say about it.”

She tilts her head to the side with a smile. “Well, if I’m getting that, you should too.”

“Yeah, maybe I should.”

. . .

Julie stands in front of the wall of paint swatches for the second time in her life, but this time is much harder than the first. It’s easy to just pick the same color that she did last time, but she can’t. Not when it wasn’t as special when she got older, and how it doesn’t fit her anymore. And there’s already so much blue in her room already, with the curtains and the sheets, she doesn’t really want it on the walls either. At least not entirely.

Steve isn’t doing much better, just staring blankly at the wall beside here. “Have any idea what you want?”

Julie shakes her head. “Not really.”

She just wants something simple. Something not too complicated, that goes with everything, and just won’t look weird. But also, not white because that never lasts that well.

“This is harder than I thought it would be,” Steve says again, breaking the silence.

Julie laughs. “Yeah, yeah it is. Wanna do a lap, think about it and come back later?”

“I can do one better, lunch?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Before leaving the store, Julie grabs a few paint cards to bring with to keep them in her mind, Steve does the same. He drives them to a local diner, the host greeting Steve by name when they enter. The server does the same when they order.

“I come here a lot after my shifts,” Steve explains after the server walks away. “Me and Robin have this thing where we come get milkshakes here if we have a really shitty day.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

Steve snorts. “More than you would think. But now I get to play the manager card so that’s nice. Especially since Keith would almost never take my side, even if I was right.”

“That sucks.” She asks him about how work has been going now that he’s done training. Them talking about it until their food comes. The conversation stills with their food, but not uncomfortably.

Halfway through her burger, Julie pulls the paint swatches out of her jacket pocket and lays them out on the table. Her eyes gravitating toward the light bluish gray that she picked up. It was just gray enough that it wasn’t too much blue all together, and it would tie into everything else nicely.

And it was just blue enough that it reminded her of her childhood room. The light blue that painted the walls since her tenth birthday, until she left. But the color is different now, like she is. Darker and older, different from the innocent girl she once was.

“What one were you thinking?” Steve asks, motioning to the paint.

Julie picks up the blue gray one and passes it to him. “That one. It would match everything.”

He nods while chewing. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

“Do you have any ideas on yours?”

Steve shoves the last bite of his burger into his mouth, wiping his hands on a napkin before pulling out his options. “I don’t really know. Nothing I like matches anything I already have. It’s just, my room is so weird. Like I have plaid wallpaper that’s mostly white, and I like that it makes it brighter, but I don’t want just white. But I also don’t really want a specific color, either.”

Julie reaches across the table and picks up the swatches he picked out. She looks over them carefully before landing on a cream color with yellow undertones. Simple, bright, and doesn’t stand out as yellow or plain white.

“How about this one?” She passes it back to him, pointing to the cream color.

He takes a second to look at it, thinking. “I kept coming back to that one in the store. Just something about it caught my eye.”

“I think you should do it, then. If you like it.”

“I think I do,” he smiles.

After paying for the food, they head back to the store. They get their respective paint cans and pick up some rollers and brushes. It’d be too late to start anything today, so they decide that tomorrow they would pull all the furniture out of the rooms and call some people over to help.

It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than Julie would have asked for. And she thinks it was more that Steve would have asked for too.

. . .

The next day, Steve wakes up excited. His room is finally going to be something that he picked, something that he liked. The plaid wallpaper would be no more and replaced by something better. And it would be worth the night on the couch to do it.

Sometimes he was happy for the plaid. When he woke up from a nightmare, vision blurry with tears, chest rising and fall with a fast pace, the plaid reminded him he was home. That he wasn’t in an underground bunker where the walls her dark grey with bright lights, and wasn’t in an alternate dimension hell space that was pure red and darkness.

But the walls held memories that he was ready to cover up. A night that changed his life forever, and a choice that haunted him for years. A view to a pool that he wishes would be free of ghosts, and a room that felt so far beyond him that it made him uncomfortable.

He’d outgrown the plaid and wanted to replace it with something brighter.

When he called Eddie and Robin to see if they wanted to help with the painting, they both ended up screaming in his ear how excited they were. And both agreed to come over this morning to help, but he knew they would do that.

Last night he had started getting his room ready. Taken down the small number of things that were on his walls and packing up the items scattering his desk and dresser in a box, placing them in his closet. Leaving the rest of the furniture to be moved this morning.

Steve gets dressed in some old clothes, an old Hawkins gym shirt and some sweatpants, before going downstairs and making some breakfast. Julie comes down a little while later and goes straight for the coffee, making herself a cup along with a few pieces of toast.

After they eat, and Julie wakes up, they head upstairs to get everything ready. Starting in Julie’s room, they unmake the bed and bring it to the laundry room, before sliding the mattress down the hall to the guest room. Julie helps Steve while he disassembles the bed by taking the pieces down the hall as he breaks it apart.

“Jesus Christ,” Julie says as they enter his room. “You weren’t kidding.”

Steve laughs, balling up his sheets and throwing them into the laundry basket. “Yeah, I wasn’t.”

They do the same thing to his room as they did to hers. Afterwards going back and pulling the furniture off the walls and into the center of the room. Then taking down the curtains and bringing them to the laundry room as well.

Steve heads down for a glass of water about the same time and Robin and Eddie arrive, the door slamming shut behind them. He calls out that he’s in the kitchen and Robin comes barreling in, almost tackling him in a hug.

“You’re changing your room,” she screams, squeezing him tight. “I am so excited for you, oh my god.”

“Let him breathe, Birdie, Jesus,” Eddie laughs.

Robin lets go of him, taking a step back. “Sorry. I’m just so excited. What color are you doing, what color is Julie doing? Is everything ready, can we get started, oh I forgot a hair tie.”

“You can see them when we go upstairs, and I’m sure I have some that you can borrow,” Steve answers her rambling questions, leading them upstairs. He grabs a hair tie from the small bowl of them that he put in the closet, handing it to Robin, and another one to Eddie as well.

Robin heads over to help Julie with her room, while Eddie stays to help Steve. Slowly, the plaid walls get covered with each layer of paint. He stares at a finished wall, proudly gleaming at his work. At his choice.

When all of the walls are painted, waiting to be dried and another coat to be applied, he looks around. Gone are the plaid walls of his childhood room, replaced by something new. Even if he’s going to move out someday, at least the days left here will make him smile.

Eddie stands next to him, leaning into his space. “I think it suits you, the color.”

“I think it does too,” Steve turns to look at Eddie, paint splattering his clothes and hair falling out of the loose bun he tied it into. Hitting him all at once, Steve’s no longer just talking about the color of his room.

“What?” Eddie asks when Steve’s face falls soft.

Steve takes a step closer to Eddie, now inches apart. “Nothing,” Steve exhales, “Just you.”

Before Eddie gets a chance to respond, Steve gently cups his face and brings their lips together. Wet paint swiping across Eddie’s cheek as Steve moves his hands back into Eddie’s hair. Eddie presses back, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and dropping the brush onto the plastic covered floor.

The room brightens with the afternoon sun, or maybe it just feels that way. Things shift in Steve’s mind, slotting into places that they were always meant to be. After everything he’s been through, everything he’s feared, nothing has ever felt quite this right before.

“I think you got paint in my hair,” Eddie laughs when they break apart, foreheads pressed together.

Steve laughs, “I’m sure you already had some in there.”

“I probably did.” Eddie leans in again, pressing their lips together again. Chaste and sweet, but not without the passion behind it. “I don’t want to rush you with this, but-.”

Steve shuts him up with another kiss. “I’m ready for this. I’m sorry it took me so long but, I am now.”

“Never apologize for that, not to me. You’ve been through a lot, you deserve to have a moment to process everything before jumping into two things at once.” Eddie brings his hands up to hold Steve’s wrists. “But if you’re really ready for this, then I am too.”

“I am, I really am.”

Eddie smiles, looking at Steve in a way that makes him breathless. They stand there like that until they can’t anymore, Robin coming in the room to let them know that they’re done painting. She knocks before coming in, leaving just enough time for the two of them to step apart. As if Robin wouldn’t be able to read both of them like a book with one look.

“Eddie has paint on his face,” Robin whispers as they cross the hall. “How’d that happen?”

Steve can’t help the stupid smile that breaks out on his face. “Don’t know, just got there.”

Robin snorts, bumping her shoulder against his arm. “Proud of you, dingus.”

He pushes open the door to Julie’s room, the flowers covered with blue grey paint. Julie is wiping her hands off on a cloth. She smiles at him, gesturing at the room with the happiest look on her face that he’s ever seen.

“It looks great,” he says, walking up to her. “How do you like it?”

“So much better than the pink. It’s great.” She stands there awkwardly before hugging Steve. “Thank you.”

It’s so fast, he doesn’t expect it. Standing there in shock for a moment before returning it, patting her back slightly when he does.

“You’re welcome.”

Part 9

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet, @steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy, @connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @cheddartreets, @theupsidedownrealestateagent, @acidbubblegummie, @sirsnacksalot, @l0st-strawberry, @helpimstuckposting, @strawberry-starss, @freddykicksasses, @italianwhore1, @i-threw-my-name-out-the-window, @rageagainsttheapathy, @nuggies4life, @ape31, @whimsicalwitchm, @chrissycunninghamfanblog, @michellegilligan, @hippielittlemetalhead, @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale, @jaytriesstuff, @confused-stripes, @faeb1tch42069, @marklee-blackmore, @hel-spawn, @genderless-spoon, @mamafaithful, @estrellami-1, @starryeyedpoet17 @i-amthepizzaman, @lilpomelito @melonmochi

[the-rockstar-lestat]

Louis doesn't seem to want to show us the inside of your house. Will you do it please Daddy?

All right dears, as you wish.

Now, remember, this isn't QUITE the same house that Claudia burnt down because, well, Claudia burnt it down. Not to the ground, of course, it was rebuilt over the years, rented out as apartments. Jesse, in her time as a Talamasca agent, bought it out, began the process of ...excavating? Shall we say?, looking for proof of our time there. I owe the correct restorations of the paint and wall paper to her and her steamer. But it was I, friends and fans, who lovingly restored it, with the few original furnishings I could find, and other antiques dating from our time, and mostly modern things that LOOK right and that remind me of what we had, based on my memory. We lived here from 1800 to 1862, so as you might imagine, we changed and redecorated it several times over the years, to remain á la mode. So, like all restorations, I had to pick a year to work on, and I picked (mainly) the last years I remember, the last time I was happy here. So most of the decor and furnishings are from then. Sometimes I cheated, because I found something RIGHT, or an original piece (we sold things over and over. You'd be surprised what survives. ) Or something was particularly sentimental. Or I just wanted to. I'm restoring MY home, after all, not curating a museum.

Have I been accused of making life sized museums to times I was happy? I plead the fifth. (Did I use that right?)

Anyway, here are a few pictures. It's not completely finished yet, there's always more work to do, but I thought you might enjoy it.

Our formal parlor. Not that we entertained much. The columns were the very height of fashion in the early 1800s when we moved in. As time went on we updated our decor to the times, but I rather like the neo-classicism so those stayed throughout it's entire lifetime. Red was always my favorite color.

My favorite part of the house. We went through several different harpsichords, before the pianoforte came into fashion, and then we went through several of those. I prefer the piano for versatility, though the sound of the harpsichord's plucked strings has always appealed to me. As we had so many pianos over the years the task of choosing one was difficult, but I went with this one, as it reminded me of the one Claudia took lessons on.

The desk in Louis' study. You can tell what parts Louis decorated because the florals appear. Louis did most of the work of running our businesses and moving the money around that kept us afloat. I....helped. a bit. The wallpaper is genuine. Thank you, Jesse.

Selfie! Louis is always on me for taking selfies in any available mirror, but I LIKED this shot. It's our library. Louis and are both avid readers, and we spent many happy hours here. I'm rebuilding our collection book by book. The mirror I'm posing so fetchingly in is actually a mirrored cabinet we had, full of curiosities. What can I say, we were Victorians, we liked to collect odd things. Of course, we were the oddest things in the house by far.

Louis' room. We kept seperate bedrooms, for appearances sakes. Also, Louis needed his space, and my clothes (then as now) tended to get EVERYWHERE, so it was practical. Also, I'm not sure what's worse, people discovering we had only one bedroom because we were lovers, or that we didn't sleep there anyway because we were vampires. Either way, it was for appearances sake only. And unlike The TV Show We May Mention, we didn't have a handy rotating room to hide them, so we draped them with fabric and passed them off as chests or tables during the day. Care to guess what that daybed really is?

Anyway if the room looks a bit sparce, it's not just because Louis taste is simpler than mine. This room is simply unfinished. I wanted Louis to have a larger hand in its restoration, so it fits his memory and makes him happy.

Her room. Also very unfinished. Honestly little more than a storage space for things we might do with it. This room was a paradise, believe me. Claudia redecorated often as she grew up, and eventually became the unoffical Lady of the house, a title we were glad to grant her (she had exquisite taste. Apparently the swan song of Claudia's decorating sensibility were her and Louis' rooms in Paris, but I never saw those.) So there are many decisions to make in how we want to do this room.

The shade of paint is correct, the original mural that Jesse discovered has since deteriorated, so not worth showing off just yet, and Claudia had a canopy bed with mosquito netting, but everything else....well...I was unable to proceed far into this room. Louis and I are going to work on it together. We'll get there.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

There are only two apartments in Tanja and Peka's home. There are a dozen of them in the entire older condominium, but they have made a beautiful space inside.

A tiled stove heats the living room in winter. The sofa pillows replicate Tanja’s favorite colors of green, yellow and pink.

The wallpaper looked too light in the store sample, but when brought into the living room it felt just right for the space. The wide floorboards are original. The yellow floor lamp is from the couple's former cottage.

The sideboard came from Pekka's old apartment. The couple’s shared passion is music, and David Bowie is one of their favorites.

The oak cabinets in the kitchen were painted black. The chairs are new and the table purchased second hand.

Tanja didn't like the granite countertops in the kitchen, but when the cabinet doors were painted, she changed her mind. Colorful dry goods can flash through the glass doors.

The kitchen cabinet was purchased from the previous owners of the apartment. It is a good place to store utensils and cookbooks.

Open shelves hold teas.

In the spring and winter, houseplants take over the home.

On the stairs, the gaps between the logs are decorated with a rope so that the linen insulation is not visible.

The rose-patterned rug in the play area of a child’s room was made in 1950. A small chest is from family. The chest of drawers was painted with greenish with lime paint to match the decor.

The upstairs didn’t need any renovation. Tanja planned to make the headboard herself, but she found one that she liked. A small rug is a flea find.

Ikea's storage furniture hides a lot of stuff inside. The corner has a convenient small inset for clothes to be stored.

Peka shortened the book shelf to fit under the slant. He got the idea the for the dog poster from a similar one he saw in a movie. Inspiration comes from everywhere, doesn’t it?

https://www.meillakotona.fi/artikkelit/puutalokoti-portsassa-yhdisti-tanjan-ja-pekan-haaveet

[bates--boy]

He held the large toy in his arm. A stuffed elephant in a pretty shade of sky blue -- the boy’s favorite animal and color, according to the profile. It took all of Peter’s willpower to not go overboard and fill the waiting room with elephants and blue and blue elephants, elephant books and toys and wallpaper and blue bedding and blue paint and blue drapery. Peter had to remind himself that this may be a temporary arrangement, and he must be prepared for the child to leave to a new home, and the room ready for the next child.

        So, he channeled his propensity for overdoing into his clothing, but now his body itched with the overbearing awareness that he was overdressed in his muted blue suit with a heavy silver watch on his wrist and his hair tied in a sleek, tight top knot that was giving him a headache, and a pair of studded earrings that were also genuine silver but understated. A pointless show of semi-wealth for the agency, sure, but Peter couldn’t think of any other way to mark this day than through dress.

         Peter hugged the elephant to his chest, his shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths. The agency workers offered him a seat at the refreshment table, to enjoy the food set out while he finished the last bit of paperwork and waited for the worker to come back. But the coffee was cheap and overbrewed, he didn’t want to get doughnut crumbs all over him and the stuffed toy, and once the paperwork was taken in for processing and finalization, Peter couldn’t sit down any longer even if he wished. He paced the room, bouncing the blue elephant in his arms somewhat like a father would a baby, checking through the to-do list in his head to see if he had missed anything in his otherwise completed tasks. He had bought hypoallergenic detergent for any clothes the child might have and bought a few new outfits. He bought a lot of the kid’s favorite snacks and had takeout of one of his favorite foods waiting for them at home. God, did Peter wish the Okoyes were there with him.

          Ashira couldn’t come because she was taking Hasan and Pakiza to visit her mother. Naseem offered to come with him, but Peter had told him no, because he had not want Naseem to skip his final rehearsal before opening night. Plus, Peter hadn’t asked the agency workers if it was okay to bring along a friend for emotional support, and he was sure it would have seemed weird to bring someone who wasn’t his legal spouse. And Peter was going to have to do this himself. Peter let himself get lost in the buzz of chatter and children’s laughter. Outside the window, children were running and screaming in the paved playground, kicking colorful rubber balls around and skipping rope, and in a few of the other conference rooms, the group home workers were asking questions and making introductions with their foster clients.

          Peter had just about to turn for his next round of pacing when he heard, “Mr. Kirkland?” He stopped, facing the doorway, lowering the elephant so it would look less like he was hugging it for himself.

           And there he was, making the universe stop spinning and making stars crash and burn out and be born again.

           Caleb.

           Caleb Ali Lundqvist, whose photo in his profile sheet did not do the ethereal cherub justice. His little hand clung to the worker’s fingers, the fingers of his other hand stuck in his mouth just like in the photo. The shiny curls of his light brown ombre hair sticking out of his powder blue knitted cap. He looked so small, even for a three-year-old; his cheeks were starting to fill out again compared to the photo, a testament to the agency’s hard work at trying to nourish him, a task that Peter will have to take up.

         “Sorry for the long wait,” the agency worker, whose name tag said “Selma”, greeted him with a hand held out as she approached. “We had to find your special certification files and have them verified with Mr. Oxensteirna again.”

         “Oh, it’s quite alright.” Peter cut his eyes away from the darling little child and took Selma’s hand with a quick, gentle shake.

           “We’ll have a representative come by tomorrow for another home check up, and then another for next week.” Selma leaned down. “Say hi, sweetheart!”

          Peter crouched, smiling as Caleb peeked up at him from beneath his eyelashes, eyes big and sweet and so hazel-bright they almost looked like honey gold. It was a face to break Peter’s heart, a face that made Peter want to swaddle Caleb in all the baby blankets in Sweden and protect him from the world. “Hi, little guy. My name’s Peter.”

          Caleb looked up to Selma, who nodded, and back to Peter. He pulled his fingers out of his mouth. “My name’s Caleb,” he murmured.

         Peter held the blue elephant out. “It’s nice to meet you, Caleb.”

[mercurialmist]

Orts, Meghan Murphy, 2021

When coral and poppy lipsticks melt into waxy pools they are scraped away. Yet the empty tubes remain, rimmed with colorful remnants of time. 

The residue of laughing painted lips cling to hollow silver shells. The stifled air, moist with trapped memories, turns acidic, tarnishing the silver bullets in blues and greens. The weaker metals succumb to corrosion and the smooth geometric objects of the vanity descend into the mirrored surface…an infinite reflected universe of pock-marked moons and rust-cratered pits. Glass perfume bottles, whose contents have long-since evaporated, reveal droplets of gooey condensation on the inside. 

Every time I turn on a faucet the water splutters in mud brown streams before finally fading to a pale yellow trickle. 

Inside this house there is no letting go. 

We can’t even replace the carpets, until the carpets speak for themselves—abruptly unraveling to trip us up. Failing plumbing stains the walls in murky teardrops, rivulets cascading down, down into the earth—and the same shade of paint is used to cover up the blooming mold. The wallpaper-ed rooms are less lucky—if the wallpaper is no longer in production then it stays, doomed to gradually be absorbed by the sweating house. A bathroom with walls of vibrantly colored, life-sized birds has faded from ornate detail to abstract shapes. The yellow finch that used to watch me with a discerning eye, has been reduced to the silhouette for a toddler’s puzzle. 

The house gasps, groans, wheezes and secretes …

There are birds of all materials here. Porcelain eagles, taxidermy ducks and pheasants, delicate glass swans, a bronze peacock figurine…..

On the wall of the den is the mounted head of an indeterminant creature. Its mouth is open to reveal pointed white teeth and I see my brother and I reflected in the protruding marble eyes.

“It’s a fox,” I say.

 “No,” my brother responds resolutely. “It’s an opossum.” 

The toy box, an excavation site where the heavy wooden blocks of my mother’s childhood lay at the bottom and my own plastic toys float towards the top, all webbed together by the roots of tangled doll hair. We prefer to play with the bronzes—a collection of dog-sized statues line a room, an infinite circular migration. We climb on to ungiving saddles, little hands grasping cold buffalo horns and clutching at the faces of stoic Mohican chiefs. 

I am all too aware of the constant surveillance that follows my padded footsteps. The walls are covered in heavy oil paintings, depicting dramatic scenes of nature—a ship caught in the throes of an angry sea, horses (so many herds of horses) in various landscapes—galloping, grazing, leaping into the air with rolling white eyes—and two large portraits of them, stationed in the heart of the house. 

The grand piano sits below their looming faces—a glossy sacrificial altar. The ebony surface is covered in a clutter of picture frames, the many factions of a tangled family tree. The newest faces and unions vie for the front, dangerously close to the edge, while past, ended marriages and children long grown linger in the back.…. It’s the photos that don’t make it in the frames that matter—those candid moments that break through the glossy sheen.  

I enter rooms on tip-toe, and hold my breath, always waiting for…what? To see the statues scramble back into place? The portraits conversing? I can’t even find peace in the bathroom, where a framed, larger-than-life nude woman bathes in the moonlight, glancing accusatorially over her shoulder at me. 

And when it all becomes unbearable, all that empty, heavy space, all the unblinking eyes, I defy the house the only way a child can. I open the home stereo system, installed under the old record player, and press play on the album ‘Now That’s What I Call Music. 9.’ There is something immensely satisfying about filling the space with the pulsating base of Missy Elliot and dancing spastically around the house. Pausing in front of china cabinets and display cases to flail my limbs wildly. I am both defying the on-looking artefacts and also moving, running, prancing, and crawling for them. I scream the obscene lyrics, and when I don’t know the words I fill the void with howls, yelps and guttural cries. 

In the summer, we collect dozens of inky black tadpoles from the pond and bring them inside to observe their evolution into frogs. With transfixed satisfaction we watch the wiggling amphibians absorb their tails and gills, to sprout webbed feet, gradually preferring the floating branches to the depths of the tank. 

By the time the frogs are leaping and croaking, their startling ruckus is too erratic and I can feel the house expelling their presence. When I release the frogs, I think of the mounted fox, collecting dust in his perpetual snarl, glass stags frozen in flight, the bronze boar in everlasting terror and the hounds always tensed to lunge. 

We have granted these things a power and their stillness now vibrates with a tension that will surely crack if the white porcelain arms of ballerinas, extended high over heads, don’t finally rest. 

Every closet and drawer is filled with them. Racks of dresses hang in a shocking burst of color that even years of mothballs can’t subdue. Stacked boxes of white leather gloves, waiting to either mold itself to my skin in a permanent grasp or disintegrate from the shock of warm, pulsating flesh. His imposing army of suits, the outgrown shells of a larger-than-life man. 

Over the years, we grow bolder and shift through her dresses, fingering the stiff fabrics and choosing our favorites. 

“Try them on girls,” they whisper. 

We are all silent as the rigid materials swallow our pre-pubescent bodies, but there is no warm encasing or folding of fabric over our slight frames. The dresses stubbornly maintain their womanly shapes, and we are just sticks propping up the figure of her. 

It’s when we start to move that the ritual commences. There is something intimate and precious, and thrilling, because we know it is wrong to be wearing her clothes. In these gowns we feel elegant and graceful and hold our heads high as we twirl and pirouette through the house like a coronation—a sense of importance and birth-right. 

We baptize the stiff dresses in our sweat and the dusty-dry fabric greedily soaks in youthful beads of perspiration…a secretion of inheritance. 

…10 years later

“Now that I’ve left, when I come back to the house I feel like that boy, Holden, from Catcher in the Rye,” he says with a half-smile. His posture is rigid though, and I find my brother’s resigned behavior maddening, as if we hadn’t spent our childhood living here. Hands stuffed in his coat, he winds through the room, giving the furnishings a wide berth.  

“Remember,” he continues, “how Holden loved the Natural History Museum as a child and suddenly he can’t bear going back because he’s changed and everything remains the same inside the museum?”

I only vaguely remember something about a red (or was it orange?) hat and a carousal. His eyes finally land on the oversized portraits of our great-grandparents, dominating the living room, and his expression sets.  

“Meg,” he is resolute but I can sense a dread in his voice that alarms me.

“I love you and I want to set you free.” He emphasizes “free” as if it means so much more than I understand. 

“Sometimes the power of a place, an artefact, or a story, can help guide us into our own. But this has gotten way out of hand. We,” he gestures around the room to indicate our family, “we were once the weavers of our truth. But, suddenly our hands couldn’t keep up with the loom, or it was like the loom didn’t need us anymore…and now we’re tangled, trapped, suffocating in our own creation, while the story shuttles on. I hope that you are able to let it all go…leave this tangled mess where it lies. Perhaps pause to wonder at the knots, frayed ends, and faded dyes…at this jumbled creature that has enveloped you, and what it once was. I want you to feel the blood start to circulate back into limbs that you haven’t even realized are numb, wrapped up in this vice-like thread. When all this is over, maybe take a strand or two with you to carry around as a reminder.”

In the back of my mind I can hear my cousins’ comments about how lost my brother is. How ungrateful he is to turn his back on all that our family has worked so hard to achieve, and how our spoiled upbringing is the only explanation for his dissatisfaction. 

“I don’t understand…”

He surges on:

“You know how Grandpa taught me how to fish? And how I was so excited that I nearly hooked myself in the eye?” I smile fondly as he touches his brow, where a small scar disrupts the arc of hair.

“That never happened. I got this scar from hitting my head on the coffee table. I don’t even like fishing. And I barely remember them!” 

He gestures accusatorily at the serene, smiling faces on the wall. 

I am horrified. 

I was born shortly after my great-grandparents had died, and grew up envying and reveling in everyone else’s memories of them.  

“I started to catch on that everybody in our family had these special moments with them, and that there was never any kind of timeline or specific setting. And everyone is always trying to up each other with how meaningful their memories are. Aunt Susan got herself into trouble when she went a bit too far with her sailing story, involving that storm and shipwreck, forgetting that Grandpa never learned to swim.” 

He picks up a porcelain horse from the mantle-piece and snaps a leg off. For a moment I swear I hear the terribly crisp ‘crack!’ of breaking glass, resounding through the house. Instead, there is only my own sharp gasp and a dull splintering sound. 

“This isn’t hand-made, limited edition porcelain from Vienna. It’s acrylic. Probably from China. Maybe there was an original figurine once-upon-a-time, and maybe Grandma really did smuggle it back from Europe in her jacket, but this particular one is the third acrylic replica—in our lifetime—to be placed here.”

He looks at me pleadingly, “surely you must have caught-on that something was up…”

I look around the room; was there an imperceptible dulling of color and light? Had there always been so much…stuff? Every surface is covered with the treasured belongings of my great-grandparents. I finger the scratchy wool of pillows she crocheted. Here was his rifle collection, above a desk littered with her stationary and a heavy glass paper weight. And suddenly I feel those binding ties that he had been talking about. Every object, painting, and photograph that has been eternalized in my memory over the years, is connected to me by hundreds of threads tied to my ribcage. As I stare at the tremoring silky strands, I wonder whether I spun this web or if the objects themselves cast the net. And now I can never unsee or un-feel myself caught, suspended, propped-up in this thing. I realize that these are ties only I can sever. But what if these little connections are what hold me upright? I picture myself a crumpled heap on the floor, with no more wonder and certainty to buoy me back up. 

“Hurry!” My brother says, an edge of desperation in his voice, “before it is too late.”

I frantically begin to pull…and pull and pull and the fibrous strings just keep coming….slipping, wet and glistening, through my skin… and then with a panic I press on my stomach and, instead of my bottom ribs, all I feel is soft, vulnerable intestines. I am unraveling myself. I am this thread, and I was moments away from unmaking myself.

Suddenly, my brother’s face transforms. As I watch, it continues to mutate between gender and age, and yet there is something familiar looking back at me. In skin that is soft, taut, and lined—all at once—I glimpse iterations of the same eye-shape, and pointed chin. And I am not afraid. “You have passed the test. And so, you have earned these—The Scissors of Acceptance, and The Stone of Truth.” They pass me a pair of small silver scissors and a whetstone, that sits reassuringly in the palm of my hand. 

“But ask yourself: why was it so easy for my little tale and demonstration to nearly unspool you?” 

When does the silence of family secrets, glaring omissions and mysterious gaps, accumulate to become more substantial than what is known? Perhaps the unspoken and unacknowledged is the backbone of the narrative. Perhaps one doesn’t necessarily contradict, or negate, the other. 

I can not pull, or exorcise this thing from my body; I must accept it for what it is and be grateful that it supported my trembling legs until I could stand on my own. I use The Scissors of Acceptance, sharpened by The Stone of Truth, to cut the strings. Each snip of the scissors is a snapped chord—a violent jerk, quivering, and finally stillness. 

I leave the house. And these ‘orts’—leftover fragments of the past—trail behind me in a soft silver wake. As I continue moving, the ghostly little strings begin to tentatively seek each other, connect like grasping hands, and eventually these remaining ties are the beginning of something new, and whole. A sheening garment, light as air, covers me like a second skin—as comforting as a blanket and protective as armor. 

See more of Meghan’s work at: https://www.everythingforever.net/meghan-murphy

[khorren]

THE ACNH TAG

 ty @morgrenth​ for the ding <3

— Personal

  Is it your first Animal Crossing game? Nope. I played the one on the Gamecube, New Leaf, Pocket Camp, and now New Horizons!

   Do you listen to the game music or put some of your own? Usually have the game music on! Not often very loud, just enough for some ambient background noise.

   What are your 8 reactions?

The ?, the !, clappy hands, glee, doze, and the other 3 i change around a lot. I’m missing so many. Want more!

   Do you use them a lot? For photo ops with villagers and around friends, sure!

   How many rooms do you have in your house? All 6 of them!

   What are they? (Kitchen, bedroom, etc) Main room is just a collection of stuff that I like, some tables and chairs, and then some useful things like mirror, crafting bench, switch, and some trinkets from in-game mom. My top room and right-side room are currently just holding items for a friend. She's planning on restarting her game, but some items she didn't want to lose. So it's just a junk graveyard right now. The right side room was initially a craft room with sewing machines and stuff, and then the bottom bit was the fathers day mug, some tea, and a set of golf clubs. It was going to be a little room dedicated to my irl mum and dad. But yeah. It's holding junk right now. Left side room is a sort of bathroom. Upstairs is a bedroom/study. Also pet cat room. Has cat food, cat tower, cat nip, kitty litter, etc. And a paper tiger acting as the cat.

   What’s the main purpose of your storage? To hold all the crap I might need one day.

   Do you time travel? Why?Nah. I have plenty to do in game each day, I don't need to leap ahead. Even now when I'm making cat-town, it sure would be quicker to skip ahead, but the 3 days gives me time to do other things. I'll get there in the end.

   Do you have a list of dreamies? I hate this phrase. :D

I am currently working on my all cat village (plus the wolf, Skye, cos she's a sweetie and I can't get rid of her), and I'm moving in a lot of my favourite cats / villagers in general. But there are definitely villagers I like more from other species. I've never really sat down and looked at all billion villagers to decide my ultimate favourites. There are lots of cute bunnies out there. Who knows, maybe 3 months down the line I'll make a bunny village. Since it's taking me like 3 weeks to move in all the cats, I want them stuck around for a while.

— Island    What’s the meaning of your island name? Haven! Haven is one of the key locations in a story I've been "writing" for the past 20 years. It tends to be my go-to place of things to name in games where I build a settlement.

   A picture of your island before vs now?

   Do you have all the fruits? I do! Nom nom.

   Do you have all kind of trees? It's mostly fruit trees, and I have about 6 normal trees, and about 3 or 4 cedars. Although I've not had to shake my fruit trees for money for a while now, I like that the option's there. I have just enough non-fruit trees for furniture and wasp needs.

   Do you have bushes? Which is your favorite? A few, but I don't think I have them all. A few of the currently flowering ones, but mostly out of season ones. They make cute borders.

   What flower is the most prominent? Tulips are probably the most prominent in my village.

   Which flower is your favorite? And what color? I love the hyacinths. The orangey ones are my favourite, but I like blue too. I think I only have like 2 blues though.

— NPCs

   Do you commission Flick? Have had one thing made by him in the past. I should do more now that I don't really need the money. But honestly I haven't seen Flick in forever, and the days I do see him, I'm busy doing something else.

   Do you interact a lot with your villagers? Yep! I try to talk to all of them each day, but I'm sure I miss a couple, especially if they're hiding in bum-fuck egypt. I miss the Megaphone from ACNL :(

   What kind of gifts do you give them? If I've got some junk lying around, they'll get that. I totally gift back ugly clothes. Every few days I'll gift some of them a wrapped ironwood clock. They seem to like that.

   Favorite & least favorite personality? Normal and Peppy are my faves. Jock probably my least fave.

   Which visiting NPC is your favorite? Probably Flick. I like catching bugs, it's pretty chill.

   Which is your least favorite? Redd. BECAUSE HE NEVER COMES HERE. I WANT MY ART YOU SHIT.

   Do you always help Wisp? Yes <3 Love that little goober.

— Random

   Do you buy or craft tools? Bit of both? If I'm lazy, I'll just go to the shops. If I'm stocking up on something then I'll craft. I need to make a bunch of nets for the bug-off in a few days! :D

   Do you have any gold tools? Recently got the recipe for the gold watering can. But since it still breaks, eh, I'll just stick to my tier 2 can.

   Do you recover a hole with your feet or the shovel? I try to just use my feet, but if it's in the middle of other flowers I'll use the shovel for precision, so I don't accidentally pluck a flower.

   Do you buy fake paintings/statues? I WOULD IF REDD CAME TO MY ISLAND. I'll generally buy the real ones, but if there's a fake I really like I'll nab it for myself.

   Do you buy a lot of clothes? Yas!

   Do you buy a lot of wallpapers/floors/carpets? I do, but there's so few I end up liking :( I'll buy the fancy stuff from Saharah when I see them, but all I've been getting recently is gross floors and the goddamn lava/volcano wall.

[omnifalls-10]

Omni Falls Chapter 3: Headhunters

It’s been rather quiet at the Mystery Shack today. That doesn’t seem much of a problem  for Dipper and Mabel, who were in the living room watching a show on television called Duck-tective. While watching the television program, Mabel knits a new sweater and Dipper eats popcorn from a bowl. She reaches for some popcorn, only for him to slap her hand away.

“I'm afraid your services won't be required here, sir.”, the constable taunts, with a condescending smile on his face.  “My men have examined the evidence, and this is obviously an accident.”

“An accident, constable?”, Duck-tective quacks, his webbed feet paddling across the crime scene. “Or is it...Murder?”

“What?!”, the constable yells as the logo of the titular character comes on the screen as the commercials starts. 

“That duck is a genius!”, Mabel gasps as she drops her sweater.

“Eh, it's easier to find clues when you're that close to the ground.”, Dipper shrugs.

Mabel puts her hand on her hip, skeptical. “Dipper, are you saying you could outwit Duck-tective?”

“Mabel, I have very keen powers of observation. ”, Dipper explains, sitting up. “For example, just by smelling your breath, I can tell that you have been eating….” He sniffs the air, looking confused. “..an entire tube of toothpaste?”

“It was so sparkly...”, Mabel pouts, her mouth covered in toothpaste.

Soos arrives, running end with a look of excitement. “Hey, dudes, you'll never guess what I found!”

“Buried treasure!”, the twins say simultaneously before looking at each other, laughing.

“C’mon, follow me.”, Soos tells them, leading them to a mysterious door that’s been cut off. “So, I was cleaning up, when I found this secret door, hidden behind the wallpaper. It's crazy bonkers creepy! ” He unlocks the door and shows them what’s inside. They look around and see a collection of wax figures. But not any wax; these wax statues are historical figures, from Robin Hood to Shakespeare to Coolio.

Dipper shines his flashlight on the statues. “ Whoa. It's a secret wax museum.”

“They're so life-like.”, Mabel notes as she pokes the wax sculpture of Sherlock Holmes.

“Except for that one.”, Dipper critiques with his flashlight shining on a wax figure of Stan. Except it moves.

“Hello!”, Stan greets, making the twins scream and Soos. “It's just me, your Grunkle Stan!” His response doesn’t make it better because they still run out of the storage room, screaming their heads off.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After regathering the Twins and Soos back into the room, Stan introduces his prize collection of wax figures, “Behold the Gravity Falls Wax Museum! It was one of our most popular attractions... before I forgot all about it”, he admits before showing off the individual statues. “I got 'em all! Genghis Khan, Sherlock Holmes….”, he pauses to see a statue of Larry King. “some kind of, I don't know, goblin man?”

Dipper shudders. “Is anyone else getting the creeps here?”

“And now for my personal favorite: Wax Abraham Lincoln, right over--”, he stops his sentence to see said statue melted in the summer sunlight.“Oh! Oh no! Come on, who left the blinds open? Wax John Wilkes Booth, I'm looking in your direction!” He bends down and puts his finger in wax, huffing in annoyance. "How do you fix a wax figure?”

"Cheer up, Grunkle Stan.", Mabel livens up her grunkle. "Where's that smile?" Stan grunts.

"Beep, bop, boop!", she cheerfully pokes Stan in the face, only to poke him in the eye. "Ow."

"Don't worry, Grunkle Stan.", the young Pine smiles. "I'll make you a new wax figure from all this old wax!"

“You really think you can make one of these puppies?”, Stan rises up. 

“Absolutely, Grunkle Stan! I'm an arts and crafts master. Why do you think I always have this glue gun stuck to my arm?”, she holds up her arm, which has a glue gun glued to it and tries to shake it off. “Eugh, eugh!” 

“Huh, I like your gumption, kid!”, Stan acknowledges with a grin

“I don't know what that word means, but thank you!”, Mabel gives one of her own.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dipper’s been deeply invested into his journal. He just found a page talking about Methanosians, plant-like species that are able to emit flames. It’s very interesting to think about: how are they able to achieve this? Are they able to move so fast that they ignite the air or is it chemically triggered? Perhaps the chemical is-

“Dipper!”, Mabel drops down in front of his startled brother, who almost drops his journal before putting back in his jacket. 

“What do you think of my wax figure idea?”, she shows Dipper a drawing that she sketched in her sketch-book. “She's part fairy princess, and part horse fairy princess!”

“Maybe you should carve something from real life.”, Dipper suggests, feeling creeped out by her picture.

“How about a waffle with big arms?!”, Mabel turns another page, showing the aforementioned waffle.

“Okay... Or, you know, maybe, something else.”, Dipper clarifies, hoping to get his point across. “Like someone in your family.”

“Kids, have you seen my pants?”, Grunkle Stan asks as he poses on a briefcase, trying to find his piece of clothing. This makes Mabel gasps as a surge of inspiration courses into her mind. She turns around, her eyes becoming big as she looks upwards.

“Oh, muse. You work in mysterious ways.”, she beams with excitement.

“Why's your sister talking to the ceiling?”, Stan asks Dipper, clearly unaware of the young artist’s creative breakthrough. The next couple hours revolve around Mabel crafting the new wax figure. She works thoroughly on making the statue’s structure, working on the small details of her grunkle, and painting the right colors. It is rigorous and time consuming but she manages to get half way done. She moves back to admire her work with Dipper and Soos next to her. “I think... it needs more glitter.”, she muses.

“Agreed.”, Soos nods, handing the young Pine a bucket of glitter. She tosses the entire bucket onto the statue. “Perfect!”, Mabel exclaims in joy.

Stan walks in with his pants on but missing his shoes. “Ok, I found my pants but now I'm missing my--” He stops and notices Wax Stan. “Ahhh!” He falls over and crawls away in shock by witnessing the wax’s lifelike features. 

“What do you think?”, she asks, anxiously.

“I think... the Wax Museum's back in business!”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A bustling crowd has gathered at the Mystery Shack, they arrive in droves to see the latest attraction. What the attraction was, they don’t know but it must be worth the price of admission they paid to be here.

“I can't believe this many people showed up.”, Dipper comments as he watches the crowds arriving at the event.

“Yeah, I bet your uncle bribed them”, Wendy replies with a sarcastic grin. 

“He bribed me.”, he smiles, showing the 5 dollar bill that his Grunkle gave him in exchange for working in the ticket stand. She pulled out her own 5 dollar bill that conman bribed her with, making them both snicker. On stage, Stan walks on stage towards the podium. He taps on the microphone, ignoring the ear-piercing feedback it emits from the crowd. 

“You all know me, folks!”, Stan smiles, attempting and failing to charm the crowd. “Town darling, ‘Mr. Mystery.’ Please, ladies, control yourselves!” This garners no response from the women in the crowd. “As you know, I always bring the people of this fair town novelties and befuddlements, the likes of which the world has never known. But enough about me.”, Stan continues, getting to the point of the congregation. “Behold….me!” He removes the tarp, revealing the wax duplicate to the whole crowd. This receives a lukewarm welcome with two people clapping and another coughing. “And now a word from our own Mabelangelo!”, the conman introduces Mabel who takes the microphone from him before walking in front of the crowd.

“Thank you for coming!”, she greets the crowd. “I made this sculpture with my own two hands!” She throws up her arms into the air for a brief moment.  “It's covered in my blood, sweat, tears, and other fluids!” The implication makes the audience cringe in disgust.

“Yeah.”, she laughs it off. “I will now take questions! You there!” She points her hand to Old Man McGucket.

“Old Man McGucket, local kook.”, he introduces himself before asking. “Are the wax figures alive? And follow-up question, can I survive the wax-man uprising?”

“Um...Yes!”, she answers with a confused look on her face before pointing to a staunch man holding a turkey baster in his left hand instead of a microphone. “Next question!”

“Toby Determined, Gravity Falls Gossiper.”, he begins. “Do you really think this constitutes a wonder of the world?”

“Your microphone's a turkey baster, Toby.”, Stan shoots down his question.

“It certainly is…”, he retracts with a look of self-pity.

“Next question!”

“Shandra Jimenez, a real reporter.”, the female reporter says, holding a real microphone and a camera crew. “Your flyers promised free pizza with admission to this event. Is this true?” She holds up the said flyer in front him. This, in tow, makes the crowd erupt in indignation over the fact that there wasn’t any pizza around. Stan looks at the crowd with a nervous frown as they demand for pizza and glare at the conman.

“That was a typo.”, he gives a short answer, not really explaining anything. “Good night, everyone!” He drops a smoke bomb running off the stage before taking the admission cash box before anyone would notice. To say the crowd is upset would be an understatement, they are furious that they were swindled by the “Man of Mystery” as they all leave the Shack. No significant damage is caused save for the decorative pole that’s punched by Manly Dan.

Mabel leans on the admission table that Dipper and Wendy are sitting with a smile on her face. “I think that went well.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Hot pumpkin pie! Look at all this cash!” Stan smiles in pride as he counts the money in the evening. “And I owe it all to one person, this guy!” He points to his wax replica of himself to which Mabel punches her grunkle in the arm playfully.

“Yeah, you too, ya little gremlin.”, he laughs, giving her niece a noogie. “Now you kids wash up. We got another long day of racking cash tomorrow.” He starts pushing the twins out the living room. They head upstairs, smiling, as they run upstairs to brush their teeth and go to bed. Once they had gone upstairs, Stan decides to hang with his wax counterpart to watch Ducktective.

“Well, duck-tective, it seems you've really quacked the case.”, the constable jokes.

“Don't patronize me.”, Duck-tective quacks, clearly annoyed by the tasteless joke.

“Stupid duck!”, Stan can't help but laugh as the show goes to commercial. “Well, I'm gonna use the john. You need anything?” His wax counterpart’s grin doesn’t waver, but that doesn’t stop him from laughing. “I love this guy! Don't you go nowhere.”

He leaves to go to the bathroom for a few minutes. That’s all the time that’s needed for something sinister to occur. Like a thief in the night, the figure appears out of nowhere but their intention remains obvious and so, the terrible act is committed in such swift fashion that it’s almost like it never happened. The figure disappears as they hear the footsteps of Stan coming back into the den, leaving no trace.

When he comes back into the living room, Stan's face turns into horror as he screams as his eyes lay upon a devastating sight. “No!... No!... Noooooo!” His yells cause the twins to run downstairs to their grunkle on his knees with his hands holding his horrified face.

“Wax Stan! He's been...murdered!”, Stan points to the headless body of his wax counterpart on the floor. This shocking revelation makes Mabel faint with a gasp with Dipper catching her. While he isn't as emotionally torn about it like his sister and grunkle are about this, it’s still a scary sight to behold. 

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

An hour passed by, the cops arrived when Stan called. The living room is turned into a crime scene with Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland questioning Stan about what transpired. “So, I got up to use the john, right?”, he explains, even though he’s still shaken by seeing his wax counterpart beheaded. “And when I come back, blammo! He's headless!”

“My expert handcrafting... besmirched.”, Mabel cries dejectedly as she looks at her masterpiece beheaded.“Besmirched!” Dipper puts a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder as he looks at the wax figure. The way the head is cleaved indicates that it wasn’t an accident. But one question remains in his mind. Who would do something like this?

“Look, we'd love to help you folks, but let's face the facts.”, Sheriff Blubs confesses after Durland finished taking notes on the murder. “This case is unsolvable.” Everyone, besides the cops, gasp incredulously. This makes Grunkle Stan very furious

“You take that back, Sheriff Blubs!”, Stan growls. 

“You're kidding, right? There must be evidence, motives. Anything.”, Dipper insists, there must be something that the police officers are missing to figure out the murder.“You know, I could help if you want.”

 “He's really good. He figured out who was eating our tin cans!”, Mabel vouches for her brother.

“All signs pointed to the goat.”, Dipper proudly declares.

“Yeah, yeah! Let the boy help.”, Stan adds on. “He's got a little brain up in his head.”

“Oooh! Would you look at what we got here!”, Sheriff Blubs taunts the young Pines, making him annoyed by the patronizing of the officers. “City boy thinks he's gonna solve a mystery with his fancy computer phone!”

“City boooy! City booooy!”, Durland eggs on with his partner. Blubbs just laughs on before smiling at the young  Pine, condescendingly. “You are adorable.”

“Adorable?”, Dipper pouts, aggravated by the patronizing cops, who just keep on laughing at him.

“Look, P.J.'s.”, Blubs begins, grinning at the aggravated Pine. “How about you leave the investigation to the grown-ups, okay?” Just as he said that, his walkie-talkie sounding off. Attention, all units. Steve is about to fit an entire cantaloupe in his mouth. Repeat, an entire cantaloupe!

“It's a 23-16!”, Durland squeals in excitement. 

“Let's move!” Blubs proclaims as both officers run off, laughing as they get to their car in quick fashion.

“That's it!”, Dipper declares, determined to prove those officers wrong. “Mabel, you and I are going to find the jerk who did this, and get back that head. Then we'll see who's adorable.”

“Aww, you sneeze like a kitten!”, Mabel gushes with a beaming grin, to which he glares at her for making him sound cute. It’s going to be a long process for him to get through in order for him to be taken seriously.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The morning arrives and the Pine Twins begin their investigation. Dipper suggests finding clues in the last spot where the crime occured, which is the living room, where the wax statue still lays on the floor since last night. Mabel wraps the police tape, which is basically toilet paper with “Do Not Pass” in marker, as Dipper shoots a picture at the “corpse”.

“Wax Stan has lost his head”, Dipper explains in a tone reminiscent of a detective. “And it's up to us to find it.” He looks at the bulletin board with pictures of suspects. “There were a lot of unhappy customers at the unveiling and the murderer could be anyone of them.”

“Yeah! Even us!”, Mabel adds on.

“In this town, anything is possible.”, Dipper continues as he looks at the journal for some clues. “Ghosts, zombies, it could be months before we find our first clue”.

“Hey, look! A clue.” Dipper stops what he’s doing and looks at where Mabel’s pointing at. He walks to where she is and finds the first clue: shoeprints in the shag carpet. 

Mabel looks at the clue closely and notices something about them. “That's weird. They've got a hole in them.”  

“And they're leading to…”, Dipper stars before he and Mabel follow the trail to see their second clue: an ax behind the reclining chair. The twins look shocked at what they find. “The murder weapon!” He picks up the heavy axe and examines it.

“Who would know about this?”, Dipper thinks aloud.

“Maybe...”, Mabel thinks for a moment before getting a lightbulb. “Maybe we should ask Soos about this.”

Dippers hums before nodding his head.

They head to the gift shop to see Soos doing his usual tasks around the shack. After a few minutes of greeting the handyman, the Pine Twins explain what they’ve been doing and give him the murder weapon to inspect it.

“So, what do you think?”, Dipper asks, hoping Soos can give some additional clues. He keeps staring at the ax with the same analytical expression he had beforehand. 

“In my opinion, this is an ax.” Soos concludes, stating the obvious. 

“And is there anything else?”, Dipper asks, hoping to get an answer from the handyman. “Something weird? Something that can help us?”

“Uh...”, Soos thinks for a moment. “It’s sharp?” Dipper only sighs in minor annoyance. 

“Wait a minute.”, Mabel snaps her fingers. “The lumberjack!”

Dipper realizes for a second. “Yeah, that’s right. He was furious when he didn't get that free pizza.”

“Furious enough, for murder!”, Mabel adds on dramatically.

 “Oh, you mean Manly Dan?”, Soos clarifies the lumberjack’s identity. “Yeah, he hangs out at this crazy intense biker joint downtown.”

 “Then that's where we're going.”, Mabel declares with a fist pump.

“Dude, this is awesome.”, Soos chuckles, sharing some of Mabel’s excitement. “You two are like: The Mystery Twins!”

Dipper frowns at the name the handyman offered. “Don't call us that.”

After getting the information they needed, the Pine Twins walk outside about to the downtown area to where the biker joint. Before they reach it, Dipper and Mabel see their grunkle pulling a coffin out the trunk of his car. “Hey, give me a hand with this coffin, will ya?”, Stan asks. “I'm doin' a memorial service for wax Stan. Something small, but classy.”

“Sorry, Grunkle Stan.”, Dipper apologizes. “But we have got a big break in the case!”

“Break in the case!”, Mabel echoes. 

“We're heading to the town right now to interrogate the murderer.”

“And we have an axe!”, Mabel shows off the axe, waving it a bit with a gaudy smile.

“Hm, seems like the kind of thing that responsible parents wouldn't want you to do…”, Stan thinks for a moment. “Good thing I'm an uncle. Avenge me kids! AVENGE ME!!”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Skull Fracture is the only biker bar of Gravity Falls, fitting for the most masculine of individuals to hangout. The outer appearance is enough for the normal person to steer clear from, especially with the large bouncer at the front. It’s why Dipper and Mabel are peering around the corner of the tavern, measuring the difficulty of their current situation. 

“This is the place.” Dipper examines, still feeling a bit nervous on getting caught. He turns his head to Mabel. “Got the fake IDs?” She gives him an ID card for him, but he’s not sure that this would work because the card looks hooky at best. It’s made by unlamented cardstock along with crayons and glitter.

“Is this the best you can make, Mabel?”, he asks, still looking at the ID with uncertainty. 

“C’mon, Dipper.”, Mabel pouts. “It’s gonna work.”

“Here goes nothing.”, the young Pine sighs, bracing himself for the worst as they both head to the front of the tavern's entrance, where the bouncer is standing.

“We're here to interrogate Manly Dan, the lumber jack for the murder of wax Stan.”, Mabel speaks with a level of professionalism that it’s a bit jarring.  “I believe our ID’s can provide proof for you, good sir.” They present their ID’s to the bouncer who stares at them, before shrugging.

“Works for me.”, he responds stoically as he opens the door, though Dipper is a little surprised that it worked. As they head inside, they understand why this tavern is called Skull Fracture. Men are either throwing fists at each other, arguing with each other, smoking, or sitting at the bar drinking some beer. Dipper and Mabel walk inside, looking around before motioning for his sister to follow him.

Mabel almost trips over an unconscious body and steps over it. She stops at a moment to stare at the body. “He's resting.”, she reassures to herself before catching up with her brother, who looks around and finds Manly Dan at the arm wrestling machine.

“Alright, let's just try to blend in, ok?”, Dipper asks as he heads towards the lumberjack. “I’m going to interrogate the suspect.”

Mabel gives him a thumbs-up before climbing onto a chair and talks to one of the patrons. “Hey there, fellow restaurant patron!”, she greets the gritty man with a cheery tone before patting him on the arm, ignoring his growl of aggravation. Dipper, meanwhile, passes through the patrons before reaching Manly Dan.

“Manly Dan, just the guy I wanted to see.”, Dipper speaks with nonchalance. “Where were you last night?”

“Punchin' the clock.”, Manly Dan grunts, holding on to the mechanical arm with veins popping. 

“Oh, so you were at work?”

“No, I was punchin' that clock!”, Manly Dan growls as he points to a broken clock outside, which appears broken and at an odd angle.

“10 o'clock, the time of the murder.”, Dipper hums, looking at the time on the broken clock, which is at 10, in consternation.“So, I guess you've never seen this before?” He pulls out the axe from his bag and shows it to the lumberjack.

 “Listen, little girl!” Manly Dan starts.

“Hey, actually I'm a--”

“I wouldn't pick my teeth with that ax. It's left handed! I only use my right hand, the MANLY HAND!!”, Manly Dan rips the machine's arm off and beats the machine with it.

Dipper looks at the axe. “Left handed.” He decides to go and catch his sister before they both head outside to assess what he learned.

“It's a left handed ax.” Dipper confirms as he shows Mabel a list of possible suspects from Stan’s unveiling. “These are all our suspects. Manly Dan is right handed, that means all we have to do is find our left handed suspect and we've got our killer.”

 “Oh man, we are on fire today!” Mabel exclaims with a lot of zeal.

“That we are.”, he responds, feeling some of her excited energy. “Now let's find that murderer.” He shares Mabel’s look of confidence as they share a fist bump. They start out looking around town to find their ideal suspects: they first start at the junkyard, where they see Old Man McGucket wrestling with a baby alligator. Mabel waves and the old kook waves  back with his right hand with the baby gator biting on it. Afterwards, Dipper, wearing a fake mustache,  delivers a package to Pizza Guy's house. Pizza Man signs Dipper's form and gets excited, only for Dipper to take the package and leave. On the other side of the road, Mabel notices the angry lady  and whistles to get her attention before throwing a baseball at her. She catches it with her right hand and crushes it. Later on, the twins find another suspect who was at the unveiling. They knock on his door, only for him to  come out with both hands in casts. So far most the people on the list were all right-handed. It seems like they aren’t close at all.

Except for one suspect.

Dipper gasps as looks for the final suspect on the list. “Mabel, there's only one person left on this list.”

 “Of course, it all adds up!”, Mabel realizes as well.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It's nightfall as the cops and the Pine Twins head to the front door of Gravity Falls Gossiper. It took some convincing but Dipper were able to convince them that their number one suspect was responsible for the murder.

"You kids better be right about this or you'll never get the end of it.", Blubs warns them, hoping to be right so he could tease the city boy.

“The evidence is irrefutable, officers.”, Dipper responds.

“It's so irrefutable.” Mabel adds, waving her hand.

“I'm gonna get to use my match stick!”, Durland giggles in excitement as he waves his batton around.

“You ready? You ready little fella?”, Blubs askes, sharing his partner’s zealous energy as they hit each other playfully with batons, barely able to contain themselves.

“On 3!”, Dipper starts, before counting. “1, 2…” 

Before he can finish, the officers break down the door, barging in with a unified shout with the Pine Twins behind them. “Nobody move!”, Blubs shouts with authority. “This is a raid!”

As his office gets invaded, Toby slips and falls down, yelling in surprise. “What is this? Some kind of raid?”, he asks needlessly.

“Toby Determined, you're under arrest for murder of the wax body of Grunkle Stan.”, Dipper declares confidently.

“You have the right to remain impressed with our awesome detective work.”, Mabel adds on, smugly grinning as she high fives Dipper.

“Gobbling goose feathers! I don't understand!”, Toby exclaims, flustered by what’s going on.

“Then allow me to explain.”, Dipper starts with a confident smile on his face as Mabel holds a newspaper with a picture of Wax Stan's head. “You were hoping that Grunkle Stan's new attraction would be the story that saved your failing newspaper. But when the show was a flop, you decided to go out and make your own headline. But you were sloppy, and all the clues pointed to a shabby shoed reporter who was caught left handed.”

“Toby Determined, you're yesterday's news.”, Mabel concludes as she crumples up the newspaper.

Toby Boy, your little knees must be sore…”, the journalist starts, frowning. “From jumping to conclusions.” He finishes his proud remark before doing a little dance at the kids detective work. “I had nothing to do with that murder.”

“HA! I knew it-wait, come again?”, Dipper exclaims before realizing what he just said. “Nothing? D-did you just  say nothing?” He’s genuinely confused about what Toby just said. How could he not be the suspect when all of the evidence points to him?

“Huh? What? Could you repeat that?”, Mabel asks, sharing her brother’s confusion.

“Then where were you at the night of the break-in?”, Blubs asks, wanting to know the truth as well as Deputy Durland.

 “Ehh…”, Toby tugs on his shirt collar nervously before inserting a tape into a TV. It opens with him looking around, hoping no would notice what he’s doing before taking a cardboard cutout of Shandra Jimenez out of his closet. “Finally, we can be alone, cardboard cutout of TV news reporter Shandra Jimenez!”, he swoons affectionately before he kisses it, making everyone cringe in disgust from what they’re witnessing.

“Welp, timestamp confirms it.”, Blubs concludes. “Toby, you're off the hook. You freak of nature.”

“Hooray!”, Toby cheers, even though the tape is still playing.

“But, but it has to be him!”, Dipper argues, hoping that his hard work doesn’t end in failure.“Check the ax for fingerprints!”

The cops do so, dusting the weapon for any fingerprints, except there isn’t any on it. “Sorry, kid”, Sheriff Blubs shook his head. “No prints at all.”

“No prints?”, Dipper is confused by what he’s heard. There’s no prints on the ax?

Durland “Hey I got a headline for you: city kids waste everyone's time.”, taunts making the adults laugh, making Dipper and Mabel feel more embarrassed than they already are. They put so much effort into finding the culprit and from what they gathered, it seemed like the evidence was pointing to Toby Determined. But, they were wrong.  It feels like the case itself is unsolvable.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Later on today, Grunkle Stan arranges a funeral for his wax counterpart in the parlor. He is standing on a stage with a bunch of chairs set up with Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and the wax figures as the audience.

“Kids, Soos, lifeless wax figures, thank you all for coming.”, Stan thanks, solemnly before continuing. “Some people might say it's wrong for a man to love a wax replica of himself.”

“They're wrong!”, Soos exclaims as he stands up.

“Easy Soos.”, Stan responds, he understands the handyman’s sentiments. He looks at his headless wax replica, feeling a sob coming up as he continues. “Wax Stan, I hope you're picking pockets in wax heaven.” The conman sniffles, wiping his eye. “I'm sorry, I got glitter in my eye!” He runs out, not able to finish the eulogy without feeling grief.

“Ohhhhh duuuude…”, Soos cries out as he runs after his, trying to console him. There’s nothing but silence as it’s just the Pine Twins and the wax figures left in attendance. Dipper and Mabel look solemnly at the casket the headless Wax Stan is in, reminding them of their failure at finding the murderer. This realization makes Dipper slump into his seat, sighing.

“Those cops are right about me. About us.”, Dipper mutters in disappointment and defeat.

“But Dipper, we've come so far, we can't give up now.”, Mabel encourages as she gives her brother a smile.

 “Mabel, we’ve considered everything: the weapon, the motive, the clues.”, he insists as he stands up and walks to the coffin. “We looked at every perspective and there was nothing but dead ends.” When the case first started, Dipper thought he and Mabel could solve this easily. They had the clues, the potential candidates for the murderer, and the solid idea for a motive of the murder. But now, he’s not so sure anymore and can’t reach any conclusion. There are too many loose ends to this mystery.

That is until he notices something, something he didn’t see during their investigation. “That’s weird”, Dipper notes, as he stares at the wax rendition’s shoes. “Wax Stan's shoe has a hole in it.”

“Well, yeah. All the wax guys have that.”, Mabel answers, following her brother to the casket with the ax in her hand. “It's where the pole thingy attaches to their stand dealy.”

“Wait a minute, what has a hole on its shoe and no fingerprints?”, Dipper mutters to himself. He slowly realizes something. Despite the fact that his previous suspect had a hole in his shoe along with being left handed. But there’s an additional piece of evidence that’s to be considered: There’s no fingerprints. And there's someone or, something, that has none.

“Uh...Dipper”, Mabel asks, confused by her brother’s silence.

“Mabel.”, Dipper starts as he looks at his sister. “The murderers are--”

“Standing right behind you?”

The Pine Twins gasp in surprise as they turn around and see something that defies logic: all the wax figures rise up, either scowling with hatred or smiling in malicious intent as they creeped closer towards the stunned children until they’re blocked off from any escape. The lineup of wax figures include Shakespeare, Edgar Allen Poe, Genghis Khan, Larry King, Coolio (?), and Sherlock Holmes, who is holding up the decapitated head of Wax Stan. A wax replica of Lizzie Borden takes the ax from a terrified mabel before Wax Sherlock begins.

“Congratulations, my two amuetur slueths”, he patronizes as he tosses Wax Stan’s head up and down like a ball. “You've discovered our little secret.” He turns towards his wax comrades, who sneer at the Pine Twins. “Applaud, everyone. Applaud sarcastically.”

The wax figures collectively do so, mocking the children with sneers etched onto their faces, but Sherlock admonishes him. “Uh, no, that sounds too sincere. Slow clap, please.” The figures slow down their clapping so it may appear prominently more sarcastic. “There we go. Nice and condescending.”

“H-how is this possible?”, Dipper asks, baffled by what’s going on. “You're made of wax.”

“Are you magic”, Mabel gasp, curiously.

“Are we magic?” Wax Sherlock laughs with a sneer. “She wants to know if we're magic!” He keeps chuckling before slamming his fist down on the casket, jolting Dipper and Mabel. “We're CURSED!”

“CURSED!”, the wax figures repeat.

“Cursed to come to life whenever the moon is waxing.”, Wax Sherlock explains, walking near the fireplace.“Your uncle bought us many years ago at a garage sale.” 

“A haunted garage sale, son!”, Wax Coolio adds.

“Quite.”, Wax Sherlock agrees before continuing. “And so, the Mystery Shack Wax Collection was born. By day, we would be the playthings of man.”

“But when your uncle went to sleep, we would rule the night.”, Wax Coolio interjects again.

“It was a charmed life for us cursed beings…”, Wax Sherlock speaks, with a tone of reminiscent before turning cold.  “That is, until your uncle closed up shop. We've been waiting ten years to get our revenge on Stan for locking us away. But we got the wrong guy.”

“So you were going to kill Grunkle Stan for real”, Dipper asks, completely shocked by what he’s heard.

“You were right, Dipper.”, Mabel says. “Wax figures are creepy.”

“Enough!”, Wax Sherlock silences them. “Now that you know our secret, you must die.” Wax Sherlock, along with the rest of the wax figures, rolls his eyes to the back of his head. The wax figures growl intimidatingly as they get closer to the Pine Twins.

Mabel looks at her brother, who activates the Omnitrix. Dipper tries to select the right alien as the wax figures get close while Mabel attempts to distract them by throwing items from the small refreshment table. It does little to no effect before she throws a pot of coffee at the face of Wax Genghis Khan, who screams in pain.

“That’s it. We can melt them with hot, melty things”, Mabel realizes.

“Hot, melty things”, Dipper repeats before an idea pops up into his head. “That’s it!” He turns the dial to get his designated alien. In a flash of emerald light, stunning Mabel and the wax statues, Dipper’s body begins to morph: He feels his body developing chlorophyll as his feet become roots, his oxygen molecules shift to methane, easy for ignition. His shoulders develop red flowers.

Dipper becomes a Methonisian: a humanoid, plant-like alien that has an overall green and black colored body, mostly with a red flame-patterned head and root-like feet, seemingly holding black rocks. His eyes are oval-shaped with points at each end with pupils copying the shape but are smaller. Also, his shoulders and head have red petals and his elbows and legs have green frills sticking out. This alien is taller than an average human and has a distinct rotten stench that worsens with heat.

“Swampfire!”, the altered Pine shouts. Mabel looks at her brother in awe, he finds a new transformation that looks very cool but she notices something when she smells him.

“Ugh. Dipper you stink.”, Mabel holds her nose in disgust.

“That’s because my body is emitting methane fumes.”, Swapfire answers.

“Just take a shower when this is over.”, she begs as she grabs two decorative candles.

“The stink would probably go away when I transform back but okay.”, he answers, igniting his fists which causes the wax figures to step back even further. “Any one of you moves and we'll melt you!”

“With some fire and decorative candles!”, Mabel declares.

“Do you really think you could beat us with candles and by becoming a giant flaming weed?”, Wax Sherlock asks, his tone incredulous at the idea of these kids defeating despite them having the advantage.

“I mean….I can make flames outta my hands and she's got candles. So...”, Swampfire shrugs. 

“Yeah, it’s kind off a no-brainer.”, Mabel points out.

“So be it.”, Wax Sherlock answers before shouting. “ATTACK!” The wax figures and the Pine Twins charge, ready for battle.

Wax Lizzie Borden swings her ax at Mabel, but accidentally decapitates Wax Robin Hood. Mabel walks around her, but Wax Shakespeare sneaks up behind her. Mabel cuts off his hands with both candles, and he runs away in cowardice. Wax Shakespeare's hands, however,  move and begin strangling Mabel. She grabs a door and repeatedly smashes it on its fingers.

A couple of wax figures tackle Swampfire to the ground before dogpiling him, but since he has the strength advantage, he’s able to get them off of him through powering out, making the wax figures fly across the room in different directions. After doing that, he avoids being grabbed from behind by Wax Larry King before delivering a fiery chop that decapitates his head. “Interview this, Larry King!”

“My neck! My beautiful neck!”, Wax Larry King cries out, running away.

Wax Groucho growls as he charges towards Swampfire, but the altered Pine is ready as he blasts the wax figure in his stomach with a massive fireball causing both halves to slowly slip off.

“Jokes on you, Groucho!”, Swampfire quips.

“I heard of an empty stomach but this is ridiculous.”, Wax twiddling his fingers a bit as the top half of his body slid off of the lower half. “Hey, why is there nothing in my hand?”

Swampfire turns around to see Wax Genghis Khan charging at him and simply sidesteps him, making the wax figure run into the fireplace.

“Ha, Genghis Khan! You fell harder than the... uh... ”, Swampfire declares before getting confused. “I don't know, uh, Jin Dynasty? Heh. Yeah. Alright. ”

Mabel swings around Wax Coolio's head while getting overwhelmed by wax figures.

“Dipper! Watch out!”, Mabel calls out to her transformed brother. He blasts Wax Richard Nixon out the room before turning around to Wax Sherlock Holmes behind him.

“Alright. Let’s get this taken care of.”, Wax Sherlock says, putting Wax Stan's head on the horn of a rhino on the wall, and grabs a sword hanging on it. He then swings the blade and it slices Swampfire’s off. The wax figure seems pleased before his eyes narrow in annoyance and confusion as the altered Pine grows another arm. Swampfire ignites his fists and starts swinging at Wax Sherlock, who in turn uses the sword defensively while delivering more hits to the alien. This continues until they reach the attic.

"Once your family is out of the way, we’ll rule the night once more!", Wax Sherlock declares, raising his sword planning to slice Swampfire’s head clean off.

I can't deliver a massive fire attack in this area, Swampfire thinks. The best course is….He quickly turns to see the window. There!

"Don’t count on it!", Swampfire retorts, kicking Wax Sherlock down the stairs before opening the window to get outside. He climbs up to the top sign of the Mystery Shack and waits near the edge to hear Wax Sherlock Holmes coming up to finish him off.

"You think you can outwit me, freak?!", Wax Sherlock asks in aggravation as the figure climbs up. "I’m Sherlock Bloody Holmes!" He looks ready to slice up the alien boy until he reaches the top sign. But he realizes his mistake as Swampfire holds both hands out to deliver an attack.

“Burn.”, Swampfire declares before blasting a stream of flames that seems to have melted the wax figure. He moves forward to the spot where Wax Sherlock was standing. He looks from his left and his right, hoping to find any evidence that he melted the wax figure. Honestly, where did he-

Out of nowhere, Wax Sherlock appears between the top and bottom sign to deliver a hard elbow strike to Swampfire’s face. This causes him to tumble on the other side of the roof, rolling on the surface and grabbing onto the edge of it to prevent himself from falling down. He looks down at the ground below before gulping, he knows that these aliens are tough but he still doesn't feel comfortable at the aspect of falling. 

The sudden sound of scraping alerts the altered Pine to see Wax Sherlock Holmes, despite having one arm that’s mostly melted off, brandishing the sword with a hateful scowl on his face. He stops on top of the chimney and for additional cruelty, steps on Swampfire’s hands, eliciting a grunt of pain from him.

“Any last requests”, Wax Sherlock asks as he holds the sword, ready to finish the job of killing this freak.

Swampfire turns his head slightly to see the sky brightening up a bit, making him have a small grin of victory. “You got any sunscreen?”

“Sunscree-?”, Wax Sherlock looks confused before he realizes his hand is melting. “What?!” He gasps in horror at the sight of the warm, summer sun rising up.

“No.”, Wax Sherlock says placidly, despite his wax body melting in the heat.

“Yeah, it really wasn’t very sharp of you to let me lead you out here.”, Swampfire replies, confidently.

“Outsmarted by a child in short pants! No!”, Wax Sherlock exclaims in frustration and agony as the sun reaches even higher. “Fiddlesticks! Humbugs! Tiiter, total kerfuffle. Butter hallabaloo.” He continues cursing until he becomes a puddle with only his head holding some shape. Swampfire climbs up on the roof before sighing in relief. A certain ring from the Omnitrix emblem on his indicates that he’s going to turn back and in a flash of red light, Dipper becomes normal again.

“Case closed.”, Dipper declares in satisfaction, wiping the dust from his hands before he sneezes.

“You sneeze like a kitten!”, Wax Sherlock laughs, mockingly as his remains slip off the roof. “Those policemen were right, you're adorable! Adorable!” He declares his final word before falling down at the ground below in a splat.

“Ew.”, Dipper mutters in disgust.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Just as the battle on the roof is finished, so is Mabel’s in the parlor as she scoops all the remaining pieces of the wax figures with one more, Wax William Shakespeare’s living head.

“Though our group be left in twain, the men of wax shall rise again!”, Wax William declares though it reaches deaf ears as Mabel picks him up.

“Y’know any limericks?”, she asks curiously.

“Uh... there once was a dude from Kentucky…”, the wax figure attempts, weakly.

“Nope!”, Mabel concludes throwing his head into the fire before noticing her brother entering the parlor. “Dipper! You're okay! You solved the mystery after all.”

“I couldn't have done it without my sidekick.”, he says as he pulls up a chair and takes Wax Stan's head off the wall. 

“No offense Dipper, but you're the sidekick.” Mabel informs him. 

“What? Says who? Have people been saying that? Have you heard that?”, Dipper asks nervously before coming down.

“Eesh, which one of you broke wind-”, Stan comes into the parlor before screaming incredulously. “Hot Belgian Waffles!! What happened to my parlor?!” He sees the room cluttered with various wax parts on the floor.

“Your wax figures turned out to be evil, so we fought them to the death!”, Mabel answers, jovially.

“I decapitated Larry King.”, Dipper adds.

Stan stares at them for a minute before laughing at their ridiculous claim. “Ha ha! You kids and your imaginations!”

“On the bright side, though, look what we found.”, Dipper shows his grunkle’s wax replica’s head.

“My head! Ha ha! I missed this guy!”, Grunkle Stan beams happily. “You done good, kids! Alright, line up for some affectionate noogie-ing.” Dipper and Mabel try to protest but he just noogies them, all of them sharing a big laugh before a police car drives near the broken parlor window, Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland on the inside relaxing.

“Solved the case yet, boy?”, Sheriff Blubs asks, condescendingly. “ I'm so confident you're gonna say no, that I'm gonna take a long, slow sip from my cup of coffee.” He holds up his coffee and starts drinking really slowly to mock the Omnitrix-user.

“Actually, the answer is yes.”, Dipper answers, casually as he holds Wax Stan’s head. This causes Sheriff Blubs to choke on his coffee before spitting it in Durlands face, which leads to him screaming in pain and spitting the coffee back at Blubs’ face, making him scream in pain . This continues on until the drive away in pain from the scalding coffee before ending up crashing.

The Pines laugh at the spectacle, enjoying the catharsis of solving the case. “They got scalded.”, Stan quibs, chuckling.

“So, did you get rid of all the wax figures?” Dipper asks.

“I am ninety-nine percent sure that I did!”, Mabel answers with a confident grin.

“Good enough for me!”, Dipper concludes.

Little does she know, Mabel missed one. A headless Wax Larry King chuckles before chasing off after a rat that steals his ear.

[jlalafics]

“A Babysitter’s Life”-A THG Alternate

I’m trying something a little different. Actually…really different.

For some reference, this story takes place about seven-ish years after the Rebellion, putting Katniss and Peeta in about their mid-twenties. Consider a Post-Rebellion Alternate where Rue was not picked for the 74th Hunger Games. All other deaths, however, have occurred.

_____________ 

Summary: “It’s my lauded life to take care of you Mellarks.”

In need of something new, Rue takes a job in District 12 for the Victors of the 74th Hunger Games.

This is my first time on a train. Actually, it is my first time anywhere.

Underneath me, I feel every track as we head towards my destination—District 12. Outside, a forest envelops our rickety train and I take a deep breath when a whiff of pine hits my nostrils. Already, I am getting accustomed to something new; our trees are mostly fruit-filled, smaller but plentiful and sweet-smelling. The forest around me is encompassing, filled with the rustic scent of undisturbed life.

My mother tells me this is the opportunity of a lifetime. It is a chance to see another District; meet some new people and to really learn what skills I have. I can tell, however, that my mother is more anxious to see me settled in somewhere…anywhere, really.

I think that she’s just tired of finding me laid up in another wheat field staring up at the sky.

The train begins to slow down as we reach our last stop and my new home.

It is still early and my train had very little passengers; there’s a handful of people waiting for their loved ones—and one boy.

He is grey-eyed and olive skinned with thick, inky hair brushed back from his sharp face. The boy leans against a post and when our eyes meet, I know that he has come for me.

Steeling myself, I stand up when the train comes to a halt and make my way out.

The boy is already in front of me when I step down onto the platform.

He lifts a strong brow at me. “Rue Andrews?”

“Yes,” I confirm.

“Rory Hawthorne,” the boy replies. “I’m to take you to the Mellarks.”

Rory reaches for my lone bag and I whip it away. “No need. I got it.”

He guffaws, a small grin on his lips as he holds his hands up in surrender. “Just trying to be polite.”

“I’m sorry,” I say as we head off the platform into what I’m guessing is the main part of District 12. “I’m not used to—”

“People trying to be polite?” he responds.

I let out a snort. “It’s just very early…” Something niggles at my memory and I look to him, trying to remember where I may have seen him. A poster drifts into my thoughts… “Why do you look familiar?”

Rory gives me a long look. “Maybe you’ve heard of my brother—Gale?”

Oh yes—Gale Hawthorne.

Part of the Star Squad during the Rebellion and currently the sweetheart of District 2. His wedding to some businessman’s daughter was splashed all over the papers and the Capitol’s main channel. My mind recalls a picture of Gale with his family and I briefly remember an image of Rory in a fitted suit.

I turn to him. “You look better in your regular clothes.”

Rory colors. “Yeah…Alice, Gale’s wife, wanted us to wear those monkey suits.” He meets my eyes. “So, how did you fall into the job of glorified babysitter for the Mellarks?”

“My mom was visiting her sister in District 4 and met Mrs. Everdeen,” I explain. “She was telling my mom about how Katniss is expecting another child and has to limit her activities because this pregnancy is a little more difficult. Also, that their daughter needs someone to run around with while Peeta is at their bakery. So, my mom volunteered for me.”

I also jumped at the chance. I needed something new.

Rory nods in understanding. “It can get stifling sometimes.”

“Don’t I know it,” I reply as we reach the end of town and toward a border fence. “So, your family was close to Katniss’, right?”

“Yes. Katniss and Gale used to go hunting together,” Rory recalls. “He was in love with her at some point…but she chose Peeta. It was the right choice, in my opinion.”

“Oh…so you also knew Pr—”

“I knew Prim,” Rory finishes hurriedly. “We grew up together and when we were in hiding in District 13, we took care of each other. Then, she joined the medical team—” He stops, his expression heavy. “We’re here.”

I stare up at an iron archway, leading to the cul-de-sac of grand houses. “Victors’ Village.”

“Yup,” Rory replies wryly. “Population: Four and a three-fourth people. I guess with you—five and three-fourths.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Thanks for the math lesson.”

We reach the first house on the right. There’s a well-tended garden in front and a pathway leading up to the house created with…primroses.

Rory follows my gaze as we approach the front door.

“Peeta planted them when he came back from the Capitol.”

“For Katniss,” I muse. “That’s romantic.”

A laugh comes from in front of us.

“I don’t think we had romance on our minds…we were just trying to keep ourselves from attacking one another.”

I look up to find a very pregnant Katniss Mellark standing in the open doorway.

++++++

Katniss Mellark looks surprisingly young.

While we are just a few good years apart in age, Katniss’ smooth complexion and clear greys could easily fool someone into thinking we are school-age friends instead of employer and employee. I have a hard time registering that the woman in front of me was once a seventeen-year-old who, in one action, started a revolution.

“Thanks for picking Rue up,” she tells Rory. “What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” he tells her easily. “I got to walk a cute, intelligent girl to your house. That’s reward enough.”

I turn to him. “I appreciate the intelligent. I hate the cute.” Reaching into my pocket, I hand him a few bills. “Here. Buy yourself a thesaurus and come up with some better adjectives.”

“I like you already,” Katniss says with a smirk before looking to Rory. “Stop by the bakery. Peeta has a few things that he needs help with.”

“You got it,” Rory replies. Stepping onto the porch, he gives me a wink. “I’m glad you’re here. See you around.”

He turns and saunters off before I can reply.

“Rory is a real charmer,” Katniss remarks as she closes the door.

“He’s a little much,” I tell her.

She laughs and then looks me over. “So, what made you decide to leave the lush orchards of District 11?”

“I don’t know.” I look around the entryway—painted a cool blue—before glancing to each side where the living room and den are. “There was just a yearning, I guess. A chance to do something new.” Turning, I meet her eyes. “Isn’t that what you fought for? A chance for the generations after you to live fully?”

“At the time, I was just trying to stay alive,” she says, somewhat shyly.

Her hands go to her belly; she’s entering her seventh month, from what I can tell. I’m the oldest of six and by the time Charlene—the last of my siblings—was born, I knew without my mom telling me that she was in labor.

“Well, it worked out in our favor. Thank goodness for that.” Katniss’ mouth opens just a bit as if to reply before it firmly closes. “Sorry. I’ve been told that I speak with absolutely no filter at times and it can throw people off.”

“You remind me a lot of Johanna,” she tells me.

“Johanna Mason?” I think for a moment. “She seemed a bit blunt during her interviews and I was never good at axe-wielding.”

“Talk to Johanna for five minutes and you might want an axe of your own.”

We both laugh and I can see the tension melt off her. I can also see that she is exhausted, her hands imperceptibly going to her lower back.

“Why don’t we go to the kitchen and you can tell me more about my duties?” I say gently.

Katniss nods, letting out a small breath. “Right down the hall towards the back.”

We head past the stairs and make a turn into the open archway where the kitchen is. It’s homey; peach wallpaper with a delicate filigree pattern and dark wood. A table stands adjacent to the backdoor heading to the yard and I lead Katniss to a chair, pulling it out for her.

“You’re perceptive,” she remarks. “Aster will like you.”

“Where’s your tea?” I ask and Katniss nods towards the cupboard next to me. I go to the cupboard and find the chamomile easily. “I like the name. Totally makes sense.”

Katniss gazes at me curiously. “What do you mean?”

“Aster—it means star.” The kettle is already filled on their stovetop so I just turn the flame on. “You know, because you and Peeta were ‘The Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12’.”

“Damn, I never thought of that,” she tells me with a smile. “She was born in September and that’s her birth month flower; we just kind of stuck with a theme.”

“If this one is a boy, are you going to give him some sort of bread name?” I tease as I search the cabinets for a mug. Their kitchen is organized well enough for me to find them in one of the upper cupboards.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a flower name for a boy,” a jovial voice says behind me.

Peeta Mellark looks quite different compared to the propos footage from the Rebellion.

Back then, he was gaunt; his blue eyes somewhat blank as Katniss stood at the forefront of the cameras. It was a little disheartening as he had so much charm during his Caesar Flickerman interview.

Besides Thresh, my mom favored him.

Putting memories of my past behind me, I watch as he greets Katniss, dipping his head to meet hers in a sweet kiss.

“Hello, my love,” he greets her tenderly.

In return, Katniss reaches to run a hand through his dirty-blond locks.

Present Peeta Mellark is, by far, my favorite.

“Rue, right?” He gives me a bright grin and I nod. “You’ve got Rory singing your praises.”

“It doesn’t seem all that hard to impress Rory,” I say wryly. Pouring the boiled water into the mug I find, I dip in the tea bag and place the cup in front of Katniss. “That tea bag would probably impress him.”

Peeta laughs warmly. “You’re going to fit in just fine here.”

++++++

Aster Mellark wakes up from her mid-afternoon nap.

By then, I have already set myself up in the room next to hers and I can hear her slight wail as she pulls herself from her slumber.

Without thought, I go into the nursery and find her in her daybed, staring up at the hanging mobile of the planets. The room is painted a sage green with the opposite wall being a beautiful mural of a meadow.

Going to the bed, I sit at the edge looking down at the toddler. “Hi Aster. I’m Rue.”

Aster has the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. They are large and almond-shaped with thick lashes framing her gorgeous orbs. Her hair is raven black and thick; it hits her shoulders and I think of the many hairstyles that I can do with such locks.

When she’s a grown-up, Katniss and Peeta will have their work cut out for them.

“Woo,” she repeats my name. Aster holds her arms out to me and I can’t help but reach for her.

I love the ‘little one’ smell and mourned each time one of my brothers or sisters outgrew that innocent scent of babydom.

Standing up, I give her a smile. “Are you hungry?”

“My wuv,” she says simply.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Aster points outside. “My wuv! My wuv!”

“Your parents might need to fill me in,” I tell her as I carry her down the stairs, heading for the den.

Katniss and Peeta sit on the sofa, her head on his shoulder and his hand on her belly, as they talk to one another quietly. I almost hate to break up the intimacy of the moment, but Aster is already scrambling down my body and heading towards her parents.

She waves her hands out at Katniss, who picks her up. “My wuv, my wuv.”

Katniss turns to her husband. “Now she will never call me Mama.”

I think back on Peeta’s greeting and I bite back the need to coo—I am not sentimental.

But the thought of Aster imitating her father is just too much for me.

Next thing you know, I’ll be singing love songs and reading sonnets.

++++++

The next few days are pretty much routine.

I wake up first to get dressed and ready before Aster wakes up. I am lucky because I get the hallway bathroom to myself. Katniss and Peeta have their own in the master bedroom.

After that, Aster usually wakes up and I bring her downstairs to make her breakfast and some toast for Katniss. Morning sickness did not go away after that first trimester and she remains nauseous mostly in the morning, though there is an occasional afternoon disappearance into the commode.

Peeta, who wakes up at the crack of dawn to heat the ovens, comes back to deliver a fresh loaf of bread to check in on his wife and Aster. I make sure that he brings his lunch to the bakery before he takes off with a final kiss to his family and a friendly wave for me.

I can tell that he is assured that his two ladies are safe with me. We share one goal; to make sure they are cared for.

Eventually, I meet Haymitch Abernathy. He is a bear of a man, but his dark eyes soften when Aster rushes into his arms.

“Nice to meet you,” he says gruffly. “You know…if it wasn’t going to be them, I was rooting for Thresh.”

“Yes, I know.” My eyes go to the rough ground. “Thresh was that kind of guy, though—kind enough to save Katniss from Clove. Had a bit of a crush on him back in 11, but he never saw me as anything but the little sister type.” I look up to see Haymitch still gazing at me, his eyes full of empathy. “Kind of broke my heart when he—”

Haymitch puts a hand to my shoulder. “Well, it’s a damn shame because you grew up very lovely.”

“For some reason, I feel like you don’t give compliments too frequently,” I say with a smile. “Thanks.”

I think I can find myself caring for Haymitch as much as I’m beginning to care for the Mellarks.

“Get out!”

A shout comes from the house and immediately Haymitch gives Aster back to me.

“Wait here,” he commands. “Do not come in until I say it’s okay.”

There’s nothing I can do but nod in agreement.

++++++

It’s a full hour before Haymitch emerges from the house—he looks exhausted.

“Katniss is asking for Aster,” he says.

“What happened?” I cradle Aster who has long fallen asleep against me.

We head towards the house and I can’t help but feel a little apprehensive. The house looks as it normally does in the evening; warm yellow light seeping through handmade curtains and quiet as a mouse. However, there is a sinking feeling hitting my core as we walk up the steps.

“Once in a while,” Haymitch starts. “Peeta has these…episodes. Usually triggered by stress or in this case, a memory of the old bakery. They’re infrequent but when they hit, they hit hard. Katniss, in her condition, isn’t able to handle it so their old mentor is in charge.”

“Thank you,” I tell him. “Not many mentors would care to help.”

“I like ‘em,” he says offhandedly.

A smile grows on my lips. “You more than like them.”

Haymitch opens the front door for me. “Well, just don’t tell them that.”

After telling him goodnight and promising to update him later, I close the door behind me. I go to the den first; Katniss is lying down on the couch, her eyes closed.

When my steps creak against the floor, she opens her eyes and sits up carefully, her hands resting on her belly. Every day, I see her little one growing even more. Her grey eyes are weary and lined with tears, but she reaches for Aster immediately.

I place her in Katniss’ arms. “Are you okay?”

“He came across an old rolling pin of his father’s,” she explains quietly. “Mr. Mellark was always such a nice man, but he wasn’t without his faults. He never defended Peeta or his brothers from their mother.”

I nod in understanding. “I’m guessing she wasn’t the mothering type.”

“Far from it. Peeta wanted to understand their relationship,” Katniss continues. “It’s just with being a father or a mother, it’s hard to understand how anyone could not love their child. Mrs. Mellark didn’t love her kids and Mr. Mellark couldn’t muster enough love to defend them.”

“But Peeta still loves them, anyway?”

Katniss smiles, her eyes faraway. “That’s just the way Peeta is. He can’t help but love—even if you treat him badly. I’ve been one of those.”

“It was hard to see that through the camera’s view,” I remark. “But for some reason, from the beginning, I thought it was real.”

“Maybe it was.” Katniss shrugs, her eyes full of tears. “I was just too young and stupid to see it. Peeta…he always knew—and that’s what I fell in love with. That damn hope of his.”

“It’s a good way to be,” I reply. “Do you need anything?”

“Can you just check on him?” she asks quietly. “Peeta never wants me to see him after one of these episodes.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” However, I’m not sure if I’m wrong or not. “I’ll go make sure he’s okay and let him know that you’re down here.”

Katniss nods, before closing her eyes and cradling Aster even closer.

Going upstairs, I turn the opposite way of my room and toward the double doors. In the few weeks that I’ve been here, I have never been in the master bedroom as there was no need. However, I can’t help but worry about what state I’ll find Peeta in. Katniss has tiptoed around the torture tactics of the Capitol, but obviously it has damaged Peeta in some way.

Carefully, I knock.

“Come in,” Peeta says dully.

I let out a breath before turning the doorknob and stepping in.

I don’t close the door—just in case.

“I told Katniss I’d check on you,” I start as I walk into the room.

Peeta is laying on the bed, turned away from me, in a fetal position and I can hear him sniffle.

“I don’t know why…I acted horribly towards her.”

I stay where I am, but I feel like whatever happened has ebbed and now I’m facing a shell of a person.

“Katniss loves you,” I reply. “You know that, or you wouldn’t be feeling so bad.”

He laughs gruffly. “That’s true…I’ve always loved her, you know. Since we were kids.”

“I know.” Who doesn’t remember their time in the cave? My mom only let me watch it because it was featured on the screen at our town square. More than one woman swooned over Peeta’s sweet story of Katniss and the Valley song. “And that’s how I know that you never really mean to hurt her.”

“You have more faith in me than I do at the moment,” he tells me.

Peeta finally turns to me and I can see that his hands are bandaged. There is a small bit of blood on his lower lip while his blues are red-rimmed with regret.

“I do. I have faith that you love your family more than anything,” I say. “More than your parents may have loved you. Aster and the new baby will never feel that they weren’t adored because you and Katniss would rather die than let that happen.”

He nods in agreement. “I’ll go check on them…after I clean up.”

“I agree. You look like crap.”

Peeta guffaws. “Get to sleep, Rue. You’re done playing therapist for the day.”

I grin. “It’s my lauded life to take care of you Mellarks.”

“You’re doing a good job.”

I tell him goodnight, closing the door behind me. I listen briefly behind it, just to make sure that he’s alright and leave only when I hear him getting out of bed.

In my room, I remind myself to call my mother. She is a stoic woman—not quite as affectionate as others—but I can tell that she loves her children fiercely. She wouldn’t be working her butt off from dawn till dusk if she didn’t.

After I change and settle down, I still feel restless. It must be the adrenaline of everything that has happened in the last few hours. Also, I hate to admit, but I do worry about the Mellarks. Despite everything, Katniss and Peeta are still young adults just trying to make their way. They’re still learning how to be parents to Aster and their soon-to-be-arriving baby.

My mother tells me that she and my father made all sorts of mistakes with me, but it made them work as a team and made them stronger.

I hope it’s the same for Katniss and Peeta.

My stomach growls and I realize that I haven’t eaten dinner. There’s always a little something in the fridge so I’m quickly on my feet and out the door. It’s as I head down the stairs that I hear something; it’s coming from the den where I left Katniss.

“I’m so sorry, love.” It’s Peeta. “Sometimes, I don’t how you put up with me. Part of me thinks that I’m never going to be fixed.”

“There’s nothing to fix,” Katniss tells him. “You can’t repair what’s a part of you…a part of us. This damage from the rebellion and the Games, it’s not going to go away. But we can’t let it take over us. Every day, we just try and live as best we can. We fought so hard to get here.”

I hear the smile in Peeta’s voice. “When did you become the optimist?”

Katniss snorts. “All these stupid hormones have made me soft. As soon as this one is out, I’m going into the woods and shooting something.”

“I look forward to it,” Peeta tells her.

They laugh quietly and it fills me with happiness.

For all is well in our little home.

++++++

“So, everything is alright?”

I walk along the edge of the forest with Rory on a rare day to myself. It has been two months since I’ve come to District 12 and I feel like it’s become part of my skin. I know every creak of the Mellark house or the exact cry that Aster makes whenever she wants the blue spoon and not the pink one. I know the right amount of time it takes to make Katniss’ favorite tea and when a homemade loaf made by Peeta has been proofed enough.

I can even feel the seasons change; this autumn is tense. Baby Mellark is almost here—and sometimes I feel I’ll know the exact moment that he or she is ready to come.

“Yes, it’s been quiet since the incident,” I tell Rory as we walk into the woods just beyond the border of District 12. “How were they when they were younger? Before the Games?”

“I didn’t know Peeta all too much,” Rory says as he kicks a stone in his path. “He was always a good guy…like his Dad. I’ve known Katniss since I was a kid because she spent so much time with Gale. She was serious and stubborn like him; they were peas in a pod. In the end, they were too much alike. My mother always knew that they weren’t meant for each other, but Gale was insistent that she was his.”

“And the Games changed that?”

“Katniss learned to care for someone outside her circle,” he tells me. “She didn’t have to take care of Peeta, but there was something about Peeta that just made him special…and it killed Gale. I mean, any idiot watching the Games could see that kiss was real.”

“Is it silly that I always wanted a kiss like that one in the cave?” I admit. “Not the ‘fearing for my life’ aspect of it, but that ‘I’m seeing something wonderful right in front of my face and I can’t let him go’ part.” I smile dryly. “So far, none of my kisses have been like that.”

“Mine were.” Rory stops, his eyes looking out ahead. “Back in District 13, Prim and I…” His fists clench. “Maybe it was because we weren’t sure what was going to happen from one day to the next…but they felt real.”

“I didn’t know Prim.” My hands instinctively go to his to stop him from breaking skin. “But from what you’ve told me and what Katniss tells me whenever she can muster up the courage to, Prim was not the kind of person who would just kiss someone and not mean it.”

“What if it never happens again?” he asks.

I shake my head. “One day it will and if all else fails, I’ll give it a go.”

Rory grins at me. “You’ll take me on?”

“I never said that,” I say. “I’m just realistic. I don’t think that I’ll ever have a kiss like Katniss and Peeta’s from the cave. Love doesn’t come in spades.”

“You sound just like Katniss,” Rory teases. “She was always saying she never wanted kids, especially when the Capitol was up and killing them for show. And she was still adamant after it was all over—took Peeta years to convince to her to have Aster.” We stop and Rory helps me onto a rock overlooking the wide meadow before us. “My mom was there the day Aster was born. She told me as soon as she was in Katniss’ arms, that resistance…that fear…just melted from her eyes.”

“And you think one kiss will change my mind about love?”

Rory grins at me. “I don’t know—but it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t give a try.”

++++++

“Hi Mama!” I call out into the phone receiver. It’s been forever since I’ve heard from her; my mother has been working tirelessly since returning from District 4. She is a supervisor in one of the orchard fields and it leaves her little time to catch up with me here in 12. “How is it going?”

“Same old, same old,” she replies. “We really miss you out here. I mean, Casey has been doing just fine taking care of the rest of the brood, but he can’t make the roast and potatoes the way the younger ones want it!”

Casey is seventeen and should be focusing on school. Instead he takes care of my younger siblings and takes a night shift at one of our production factories. As beautiful as it is in District 11, it doesn’t come without hard work.

“They shouldn’t be so picky,” I admonish.

“How are Katniss and Peeta? Their little ones?” Mom asks curiously.

I bite back the need to roll my eyes; I am sure that she’s been telling everyone that her oldest is living in the Mellark home, reaping the benefits of some Victors.

It is quite far from that.

Over time, I have come to realize that the rewards don’t necessarily balance out the punishment of winning the Games. Wonderful as Katniss and Peeta are, they work hard to create a semblance of normalcy for themselves and Aster.

It can be a trial for both, but I have seen them work through moments of gripping table edges or counters, biting back tears at memories, and having nightmares that leave them both trembling in cold sweats.

And I am here to take Aster in my room when needed or bring one of them a glass of water or cup of tea after a hard day.

In some ways, it’s important to me that they live as normally as they can—because they’ve fought so hard.

“It’s just fine. Katniss and Peeta are just a run-of-the-mill couple with a different kind of love story,” I tell her. “Aster, their daughter, is just precious. It’s almost time for the next one to come so we’re just waiting.”

“That sounds great,” my mother replies. There’s a long pause. “Sweetheart, Troy has been asking about you.”

I grip the receiver at the sound of his name. “Oh yeah?”

“He’s been asking if you’re coming home,” she continued carefully. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but you’ve been connected since birth. His mother and I practically worked in the orchard side by side when we were having you both—”

“What are you saying, Mama?” I ask abruptly.

“In about a month, a job will open up here in 11,” she tells me. “We miss you. I’m not trying to pressure you—I just want you to think on it.” There’s a sigh and I’m not sure if it’s coming from me or Mom. “And, this whole thing with Troy—you have to make a decision, either way.”

“I know,” I reply. “I have to go. Aster is going to wake up from her nap soon.”

“Alright, Rue.” There’s resignation in her tone. “Talk soon. I love you.”

“Love you too, Mama.” I hang up, biting back the need to sob or scream into the receiver.

I lied. Aster is already awake, sitting on the porch with her parents.

I feel bad for lying, but I’m not ready to face what I’ve left behind.

Stepping out onto the porch, I find Peeta and Katniss sitting on the swing seat. Across the way, Aster is sitting on Haymitch’s lap as he plays a game of chess with Rory.

I sit down on the steps of the porch, leading to the courtyard. The sun is just beginning to set and I close my eyes to take in that last bit of orange warmth.

“You okay there?” Katniss asks. “Did your phone call go alright?”

“Yes.” I let out a breath. “Just going through something similarly like the whole Gale situation, if you know what I mean.”

“So, you ran here,” Peeta says.

It isn’t a question and we both know it.

“I needed a change.” I turn to them. “Troy has been my friend since birth; our mothers worked side by side while we were in their stomachs. So, I guess he always thought I belonged to him.” I open my eyes, finding Rory looking to me, curiosity in his gaze. “I just want to belong to me. I’m not ready to just…give in.”

“Woo!” Aster toddles over to me, perching herself in my lap. “Sing.”

“Sing? What am I—your own personal songbird?” I tickle her and she giggles. “Well, if I’m going to be someone’s songbird, I would love to be yours.” Aster settles against me and I take in that wonderful smell of youth before deciding on a song—one that I heard when I was a child whenever my father came home from work, when my mother still danced.

“Something in your eyes, makes me want to lose myself

Makes me want to lose myself, in your arms…”

I’m not much of a singer, but Aster nestles herself against me contently. Haymitch and Rory have paused their game to listen and though it should scare me, I feel light singing this song.

It reminds me of better times.

“If you knew how lonely my life has been

And how long I've been so alone

And if you knew how I wanted someone to come along

And change my life the way you've done…”

“You’re dancing with me, Katniss.” Peeta helps her stand carefully. “I don’t want our last dance to have been at Snow’s Ball.”

Katniss doesn’t argue instead letting him lead her into the courtyard to dance along the fireflies.

As I watch them, they look lightyears away, wrapped up in nothing but each other.

“It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me

It feels like I'm all the way back where I come from

It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me

It feels like I'm all the way back where I belong…”

I close my eyes once more, rocking Aster against me. I fall into memories of warm fall nights and the smell of coffee on the stove. I can’t even make a pot sometimes without wanting to burst into tears. It just evokes memories of a man who would drink coffee to stay up so he and my mother could have a conversation to themselves sans their six children.

“But I'm alright, 'cause I have you here with me

And I can almost see, through the dark there is light…”

I open my eyes just as Katniss embraces Peeta and for a moment, I don’t see them.

I see my mother and father dancing to their wedding song.

“Well, if you knew how much this moment means to me

And how long I've waited for your touch

And if you knew how happy you are making me

I never thought that I'd love anyone so much…”

I always told myself that I wouldn’t settle for anything less than what they have. Seeing Katniss and Peeta with one another strengthens that resolve, nothing less than having someone look at me the way that they look at one another.

Like they’ve found home in one another.

I finish my song, and everyone applauds softly as Aster has fallen asleep in my arms.

“You’re crying.” I didn’t even notice that Rory has found himself on the porch steps. He reaches forward to brush away the stray tear that managed to hit my cheek. “I never pegged you as the sentimental type.”

“My parents used to dance to that song every night after us kids went to bed,” I find myself admitting. “If I close my eyes, I can still picture them as I peeked behind my door. Then Dad was gone, and the music just stopped.”

“Makes you wonder if love like that could even last forever,” he says. “Or are we all just destined to muddle through half-lives and half-loves.”

“Half-lives and half-loves.” I find myself almost laughing…or weeping. “If there was ever a more appropriate word for how my life is currently going.”

“No.” Rory shakes his head, gazing into my eyes until my skin tingles. “Someone like you could never do anything but live fully and love fully. You’re just afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid because you already know everything that you need to be happy.”

++++++

The arrival of the fourth Mellark comes when the first leaf of autumn hits the ground. I am sitting in the kitchen with Katniss having a cup of tea; her stomach has reached its limit at this point and so has she.

“So, this…Troy…” She takes a sip and sighs in contentment. “What made you run away?”

I try to gather my words before responding, “I think he only really saw me as a woman when others started to notice.” I smile crisply. “It bothered me, too—this ownership he thought he had—like I was just waiting for him to decide that he wanted me. Love shouldn’t be an obligation; it should be an honor. In the end, all I want is for someone to look at me the way my father looked at my mother. Like Peeta looks at you.”

“I understand,” Katniss replies gently. “Sometimes, when you feel the world is falling apart around you, you tend to keep who and what you know close to you. Because it’s just too scary to see what might be on the other side—” She suddenly grimaces before letting out a breath. “Just some stretching pain, nothing to worry about.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “No, I think it’s more.” I help her up. “I’m going to help you up to bed and then call Peeta.”

“You sure?” she asks doubtfully. “It didn’t feel this way with Aster.” Another gasp escapes her mouth. “Oh, that felt different.”

“My mother had six children,” I tell her. “No two births will feel ever feel the same.”

Together, we make our way upstairs and into the master bedroom. I go to her wardrobe, taking out a nightgown and handing it to her.

“Aster is still down for her nap,” I inform her as I turn and give her privacy. “I’ll check on her, call Peeta and Mrs. Hawthorne then come back. Is there anything you need while I’m downstairs?”

Katniss shakes her head as she gets into bed. “No, I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll make you a sandwich and bring up some water,” I tell her. “You’ll need your strength.”

She smiles gratefully. “You think of everything.”

++++++

Peeta and Mrs.Hawthorne arrive quickly. After a quick exam, it seems that Katniss has a long while to go. We all continue throughout the day as normal; Peeta bakes in the kitchen knowing that we will need sustenance throughout the next few days. Mrs. Hawthorne sits at Katniss’ side knitting a swaddle blanket for the little one while I care for Aster.

Aster comes to visit her mother a few hours into the labor. She jumps onto the bed and nestles at her mother’s side.

“Hello wuv,” she says, her bright blue staring up at her mother.

“I’m bringing you a little brother or sister,” Katniss informs her as she lets out a small exhale. “Will you be good for Daddy and Rue?”

Aster nods, her blue eyes solemn. “Yes, wuv.”

There’s a knock and Peeta emerges from behind the bedroom door. He places a kiss on his wife’s forehead and gives her a bright smile.

“How are you doing, love?” he asks.

“Oh, you know the usual—trying to push your child into the world,” Katniss answers with a small grin.

“Rory and Posy are downstairs,” Peeta tells us before holding his arms out to Aster. “Why don’t you come downstairs with me so you can have dinner?”

“I’ll take her,” Mrs. Hawthorne offers. “I want to check in with the kids, anyway.” Going to Peeta, she offers her arms to Aster. “Come on honey, let’s go.”

“Thanks Hazelle,” Peeta tells her gratefully.

“No problem.” Mrs. Hawthorne holds Aster protectively. “I sure miss them at this age.”

They disappear into the hallway, leaving me with the couple.

Peeta looks to his wife. “How are you really feeling?”

“Like someone is grabbing my lady parts and just twisting away.” Katniss grimaces. “Here comes another one…”

I immediately go to support her back. “Breathe out slowly.”

Katniss clenches her teeth. “Oh, this feels intense.” She looks between Peeta and me. “Someone distract me.”

“Well, we got a new custom cake order—”

“No! Peeta, I love you, but I can’t get excited about frosting the way you want me to,” she tells him.

“I left District 11 because Troy proposed to me.”

Peeta and Katniss turn to me in shock.

“Besides my Mom, you’re the only other people who know,” I continue quietly. “I sometimes go to lay out in a field near my home…it’s my spot. One day, Troy was there and before I could even think, he was down on his knee.”

“Then what?” Katniss asks.

I shake my head. “All I could think is…get the hell out of my field.” I look between the couple. “Is that bad of me?”

Peeta shakes his head. “What was your other option? Just say yes to save his pride? No offense, but from what you’ve been telling Katniss, it doesn’t seem like a match made out of love—but out of obligation.”

“I just feel bad because…I don’t want you to think that I came here to run away—even if it sounds like it,” I explain. “The truth is that I never felt like I was more home than when I came to District 12. When I came to stay with you three…almost four, I started to feel like myself.”

Katniss takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “You do belong here.”

Peeta covers her hand and grins at me. “This is your home now—if you want it to be.”

I tried to hold my back my tears, but my thank you still sounds a bit watery.

++++++

“Okay, Katniss…push!”

Mrs. Hawthorne stands at the edge of the bed, ready and waiting for the newest Mellark to arrive.

Night came and went as we can now see dawn coming in through the bedroom window. I put Aster down to sleep many hours ago while Posy, who volunteered to stay the night, stayed in the bed adjacent to her. I then took a quick nap when—at around three in the morning—Peeta roused me because Katniss was requesting my presence.

Currently, I am holding one of her legs while Peeta holds the other.

“I can’t…I’m too tired…” Katniss is exhausted and delirious…tears and sweat intermingling her flushed face. She looks to Peeta. “I’m sorry…”

Peeta shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You are tired and you’ve had no rest. I am a rotten husband getting you into this situation.”

Katniss nods. “You kind of are!” Her face crumbles. “I want Prim.”

We all go silent at her admission.

Because as much as we want to give her comfort, there is no way to get her sister back.

Tears fill my eyes thinking of the many occasions that I have wished for my own father. I think of all the important moments that he won’t be there for: my wedding…the birth of my children—

“You can pretend I’m Prim,” I tell her softly. “Close your eyes and just imagine that you’re gripping her hand…” Katniss looks to me, smoky eyes filled, before doing what I say. “And, just imagine what she would tell you at this very moment.”

“She would say to suck it up. There are more important things to do right now,” Katniss says.

I move closer to her ear. “Suck it up. There are more important things to do right now.”

Katniss nods, eyes still closed. “Okay, I think I’m ready to push again.”

“At the count of three,” Mrs. Hawthorne begins. “One…two…three!”

Katniss bears down and it is a long, tense-filled moment as we wait to see if there is any progress—

A shrill cry breaks the moment.

“It’s a boy.” Mrs. Hawthorne grins before taking the little one and putting him on Katniss’ chest. “Looks like he’s got a little gold on him.”

Katniss lets out a content sigh, her eyes on the sticky, little thing currently laying on her. “Hello there.”

“We have a son,” Peeta says in a thick voice. He gives Katniss a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you, love.”

“Always.” Katniss then turns to me. “Thank you.”

“It’s my job,” I tell her before wiping the tears from my eyes.

++++++

Stepping out into the hallway, I am surprised to discover Rory coming up the stairs.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is hoarse with exhaustion and I lean against the wall to keep my body up.

“I slept downstairs in the den,” he explains sheepishly. “So, the baby is here?”

“A boy.” I smile to myself. “Beautiful like the rest of his family and golden-haired like Pr—” I stop, struggling to suppress the emotion churning inside of me. “Why did you stay?”

Rory goes scarlet. “I stayed…for you.”

I shake my head. “You stayed because you were helping Prim’s family. I’m nothing but a glorified babysitter. Remember?”

I turn away so he won’t see me cry over the dumbest reason in the world—I don’t want to be Prim’s substitute.

Suddenly, Rory crosses the space between us and pulls me into his arms.

“I came here for you.” His hand reaches gently into the tangle that is my hair. “The person who cared for Prim—who loved her—was still just a boy. He will always love her in some way, but he had to grow up.”

“And now?” I ask into his chest.

A wisp of a kiss brushes against my forehead. “The man holding you stayed for you.”

I hold him closer to me, never wanting to leave this feeling of belonging—of home.

“Thank you for staying.”

For now, this is the closest I can get to ‘I love you’.

++++++

“Careful now,” I instruct Aster as I help her hold her little brother. “He’s still very fragile.”

“Ohh…baby,” Aster says in awe. The newborn in her arms let out a yawn and she giggles. “Hello wuv!”

“I guess you’ve been dethroned,” I tell Katniss with a laugh as I settle into the chair next to the bed. “Maybe she’ll start calling you Mama now.”

“I’ll gladly relinquish the title,” she replies, looking at the children by her side. “They look like they’re going to be a handful.”

“Aster is a spitfire in herself!” I look to the little girl who I’ve come to love like one of my own siblings. “But she’ll protect her little brother—like you protected Prim.”

Katniss meets my eyes. “Listen, Peeta told me what you did before I had the baby. I was tired and I say things that I don’t mean. When I had Aster, I asked to see my dad…”

“It’s really not a problem,” I say in what I hope is a light voice.

“It is, because you’re not Prim…she’s gone,” she says in a tight voice. “And because we all care for you, not just as some replacement Prim—but because you’re you.” Katniss places her hand over mine. “Peeta and I hope you will stay for the long haul. Aster needs you…so does Oak.”

“I still can’t believe you named him that,” I tell her.

I jokingly told her and Peeta weeks ago that since they’re into flower names for girls, they should look into tree names for boy.

When they asked for an example, I gave them Oak—my father’s middle name.

“It sounded right,” Katniss responds with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, the point is we need you.”

I settle back for a moment, taking in her words, before finally answering.

“May I make a phone call?”

Katniss’ mouth widens in a grin. “Take all the time you need.”

I leave the room, heading down the stairs and go into the kitchen first to place the kettle onto the stove to heat some water and then take Katniss’ favorite cup out of the cabinet. Making sure that Peeta’s lunch is packed, I then head into the den where the telephone is.

Taking a deep breath, I reach for the receiver and dial.

The call is answered immediately.

“Hello Mama.”

++++++

We walk around the forest, steps steady as we head towards an unknown destination.

“So, you’re staying?” Rory says, his eyes ahead.

I nod, letting the smile rise on my lips. “I’m staying.”

He reaches, his hand taking mine, our fingers intertwining with ease. It feels right. “Now what?”

I stop and Rory follows suit turning to me.

My hand reaches to the nape of his neck, pulling him close enough so that I can push onto my tiptoes to press my lips to his. He pulls me closer and I sink into him, losing myself as we fall deep into the kiss.

Moments…hours later, we finally separate, breathless and grinning.

I take his hand once more.

“How about you show me the rest of our home?”

FIN.

  This is different, but I enjoyed writing it.

I hoped you enjoyed reading it.

 Song: “Feels Like Home”- Chantal Kreviazuk

Thank you again if you even got through this. Aster and Oak really appreciate it.

Please feel free to message me with any questions, comments, or requests.

 Until the next story,

JLaLa

[emidori-crossing]

Emidori: Morning of Thursday, July 2

Aaaaaaand it’s raining. Still. Ew.

Papa texted me last night, he was so excited about his new Log Bed. Attached to this is a matryoshka!

Remember that plushie I got from my in-game mom yesterday? I moved it over next to the the bed so the matryoshka from my actual-real dad can go on that table.

Flick’s here today! I actually have fish collected up though, not bugs. Sorry, bud.

The DIY this morning is near the kettle bathtub again. It was for Peach Chair, which I already have. I’ve made one and think it’s cute, but haven’t yet decided where to put it.

I haven’t dug fossils in awhile, so I’ll go ahead and find some. You know how a lot of these “I found” messages have some silly joke or pun? I have sort of an inside joke about fossils. “Look! I dug up a fossil! It was easy!” because the Spanish word for “easy” is “facil” which sounds similar to “fossil” and...yeah.

Anyway, it looks like I’ll be selling these today, nothing to donate.

I’ll go ahead and show you our art wing of the museum - not much here right now. Both Deanna and I tend to just buy the art pieces we like without first examining them to see if they’re real. Because if they’re not real, that means we get to keep them ourselves. Las Meninas has always been a favorite of mine. I actually had received a fake flowery painting from a villager in the mail, but I don’t remember whom from.

Our orchard is ready for harvest, so I’ll collect my half. I’ll sell it for a good chunk of change that I can put toward paying off my loan.

I bump into my bestie and rescue him from an itchy flea.

I then give him the Street Art Wallpaper I got from Sahara yesterday. His mind isn’t blown, but I’ll still see if I can peek into his house later and see if he’s using it.

Well, I’m sick to death of this soggy ol’ rain gear, so I’m putting together a new rainy day outfit. Complete with CUTE BEAR UMBRELLA.

Still got time before the Nook Shop opens, so I’ll show you Deanna’s house. She’s had a lot of upgrades done recently, including a second floor!

Giving me some good layout ideas, like her kitchen. Pretty sure our kitchens are the same size, but the way hers is laid out, it looks bigger. Her library used to be a lighter color scheme because that white desk in her bedroom used to be there. Now that she’s switched to the dark wood desk, it’s darker tones. I like deep tones in a library, feels cozier.

Heading toward the shop now. OMG WHAT’S WRONG WITH BESTIE?

Oh, he wants me to help him think of a new catchphrase. Well, I feel like it should be something Strong Bad would say.

Nothing I need at the store today. They had that bureau last week, I did buy that. Today, I’m just gonna sell a lot to make some moneh.

I did visit the kiosk earlier and see that there’s a new song for me to buy. Now I’ll return again and pay down my loan.

There’s a bit of blue sky peeking out. Maybe it’ll be clear by the time I come back for clothes shopping.

[prettycooregrey]

Alright... I take it back, the old house was kind of minimalistic and I’ve always loved that cluttercore nonsense. Yes it’s impossible to navigate, no I will NOT make it easier on myself.

Gonna probably drop some of my favorite details about it under a cut!

I definitely stole the “pantry area” (and a lot of other things, too) thing off of r/StardewValley, but I swapped out the more traditional oak dressers for nightstands so I could put cooking stuff on display.

The top fridge has cooked dishes. The ones in the pantry are full of ingredients.

The dish on the table is pepper poppers... wonder who THAT’S for.

The farm layout is Hilltop, so to keep some of the original decor from the starter cabin I held onto the crystal and displayed it in the living room. The geode and pickaxe wall decor fit the “quarry” theme.

Haley gave me the tea set on year 7. I could have kissed her.

The diamond in the living room was given to me by my partner, which is ridiculously sweet of him considering he’d just found it and I... have over 100 in storage.

The fishing room is dedicated to the fact that every first year Spring is spent feverishly building up a small savings by doing nothing but fishing and foraging (in order to have extra energy for fishing). I don’t consider the day a win unless I score between 10-25.

I built the kid’s room entirely around the mushroom wallpaper.

I also wanted the kid’s room to look kind of messy, with toys and decorations everywhere. The pink chest at the end of the beds is filled with more Junimo plushes and a random assortment of dolls. The posters are from the movie theater with a “kid” or “nature” theme.

The plants at the end of the bed in the master bedroom are peppers... wonder who THOSE are for.

Yes, I kept Caroline’s necklace! I don’t need the hearts from for her or Abigail, so I thought it’d look like a nice piece to indicate a vanity/jewelry box. Speaking of jewelry, I bought the second pendant after proposing to Shane so we’d have a matching set.

The note on the desk is Secret Note #11... in other words, the one with Marnie and Jas. Seems fitting there’d be family photos around the house!

The chest desk to the desk is full of things Shane gives as gifts (except food, ofc). The chest next to the right side of the bed is full of Chicken Statues.

The paintings behind the bed represent the people who sleep on those respective sides. In other words...

Originally there were posters on Shane’s side of the room for It Howls in the Rain and Wumbus, his favorite (loved) movies. Those had to be removed during the revamp, but I miss them. )-: I wanted the room to also feel like his, since he sleeps there, but hopefully it still kind of carries.

Yes... I did kind of shamelessly marry and divorce a ton of people for their sweet, sweet decor. I’ve totally written that off because:

Perry Doe’s favorite colors are red and green, so the Strawberry Home decorations (Penny) would be something he’d seek out on his own.

Like with the secret note, it makes sense to have family photos or portraits in the house, hence the painting of Marnie in the fishing room.

Perry WAS canonically married to/divorced from Sam, but it seemed appropriate to honor that relationship by letting the kids enjoy the music box.

Emily’s Magic Clothes are in the dresser, because if I was gonna marry and divorce everyone for free stuff then I may as well go the whole mile. She was, personally, my favorite temporary spouse and I liked her room best out of everyone else’s. My partner could have gone without the parrot though.

[ladyramora]

Child's play

You did it so quickly you hardly had time to warn anyone else, Alphinaud’s stunned face still so easy to recall when you brought in your new brood when he summoned you to slay another false God. They all were shocked, at the various species and sizes of the children you were now in charge of, but then again making yourself the official guardian of T'kebbe and every other orphan at the orphanage in Idyllshire would probably do that… But you had more than enough room at your house for them, you had been visiting the orphanage so much that they practically saw you as a parent anyway and you’d had trouble coming to your home (ya know, the one you bought for yourself for all that money that you never friggin’ use) for a while now because it was so lonely there.

And while some people would assume that you were too busy being the Warrior of Light and killing false gods and liberating countries that you had no time for raising children.

They were WRONG.

These were your babies now, you were going to give these kids a wonderful childhood filled with meeting new people and learning all sorts of fun and helpful things and you were determined to make these little ones’ lives better. You had happily walked around market places with them, picking out wallpapers, toys and furniture for their rooms, discussing who would share with whom, planting a garden, setting up a chore wheel, buying them new clothes and taking them to various guilds to help them find new hobbies and make friends…

You loved it so much and it had even helped modivate you into slaying whatever plagued the realm faster so you could go home to your beloved babies, who would come swarming at you the moment you opened the door. This had been one of the things you’d been hoping for since before you first arrived in Eorzea; a family to call your own.

One day, after a fun afternoon of rough housing and playing with the many pets you adopted because Dear Gods you couldn’t say no to all those pouting faces, and tending to the gardens and helping muck out the stalls when you realized that you were missing a few ingredients for dinner. You herded your family into the house so you could be sure they’d be safe and you could grab enough coins to buy what you needed and told them you’d be back soon, explaining where you were going, what you were doing and that you’d be back soon. 

You’d been gone fifteen minutes at most, your purchases in a bag hanging off your wrist as you happily made your way back to your house…

Only for your blood to run cold the moment you saw your door was smashed in and there were large shoulder pad impressions by the doorway.

There was only one bastard who would dare break into your house who was that big;

Zenos.

You dashed in, grabbing your weapon as it lay by the door, ready to destroy the monster who could harm your precious children…

Only to have to cover your mouth not to ruin the moment.

Zenos was sitting in his big, intimidating armor, his arms crossed and his lips pulled into a pout as two children braided his hair, three were climbing all over him, another one was asking him about twenty questions and four were running around him, chasing all of their pets. You counted the children and finally spotted your eldest one dashing towards you, nervous and confused.

“He… He just rammed through the door and the next thing I knew, he was like that!” T'kebbe blurted.

“I’m sorry I missed it.” You chuckled before calling out for the younger ones to wash up to help you prepare for dinner. The younger ones and the animals immediately ran over to greet you, and after hugs and kisses, the little ones ran to your washroom to wash their hands and faces before they would help prepare dinner.

“T'kebbe, would you mind starting the oven for me?” You ask, the cat girl looked at the massive man in black armor nervously.

“I’ll deal with him, could you take this into the kitchen and make sure no one eats the pie I made yet, please?“ 

She nodded, still nervous and collected the bag from you before scurrying towards the bathroom, ready to escort her siblings to the kitchen first before doing as you asked while you walked over to Zenos, who was covered in mud, paint, drool and had colorful ribbons and awkwardly shaped braids in his hair.

He glared up at you, "Your cubs take after you in savagery.” he said plainly.

“Hey, you break my door down, you deal with my kids.” you said with a shrug, “And you know you could’ve knocked first, they would’ve told you to wait outside for me, every other person who’s come to my house to challenge me has done that without me even having to tell them that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He hissed before saying that, “Although I don’t think it would be kind to let your children watch you lose." 

"Tough talk for someone who was taken down by those who still have not even battled the horrible demon that is puberty.” You retort before offering him your hand, “Come on, we have enough room at the table for one more, even one your size.” You say loudly enough for your little ones to hear. 

Your youngest three gasp happily before latching themselves onto his legs, shouting, “Zeny’s staying! Zeny’s staying!”

‘Zeny’ did not appreciate the new nickname nor did he like his new living leg warmers. But he did and said nothing to them in an attempt to rid himself of them. If anything, he simply took a moment to figure out how to move without accidently hurting them before walking towards the kitchen as he grumbled under his breath, “At least I know how you move so fast now, with these mongrels latching onto you like this all the time.”

“You call my children ‘mongrels’ again, I’m making roast Zenos instead of Roast Dodo. And yes, I will stuff you before I cook you.” you threatened in a sickeningly sweet voice as you and T'kebbe herded the rest of them into the kitchen to set the table and help prep the food. You and T'kebbe enjoying watching the younger ones once again make Zenos their plaything as dinner cooked.

“You know, this might sound strange, but I think he actually might be kind of nice.” T'kebbe said, “Either that or he knows that if he tries anything with us, you’d turn him into dust.”

“I’m fine with either.” You replied, “But after coming home to this, I am definitely going to teach all of you a few moves tomorrow just in case 'Zeny’ comes back to play. Maybe I should get you some Red Mage gear and teach you a few spells too, just in case he brings a friend." 

T'kebbe brightened, "Really? You mean it?”

“Of course! Actually…” You paused and looked over at Zenos, “Hey 'Zeny’, after dinner, could you give T'kebbe a few tips about welding a sword? I have a training dummy in the back you can use.”

At the words 'tips’, 'sword’ and 'training dummy’ his face broke out into a large grin that made you start to crack up before he quickly broke it to glare at you, “and why would you want me to do that?”

“Consider it a way to help pay off the debt you owe me for the repairs.” You said as you indicated the broken doorway. He seemed sheepish at the sight of the damage and muttered about it not being his fault the door was so damn small.

“Does this mean Zeny’s going to come to visit more often?” one of the older ones asked.

“Let’s see how well he can handle teaching your sister first before we go that far.” you tell them. You looked at Zenos, a smile on your face as you asked, “You think you can handle that, Zeny?”

He gave you a wide grin at the challenge before replying “Teaching her? Child’s play." 

Lolz: I just really love the idea of the Warrior of Light coming back from a quick errand to either their adopted child(ren) or a child(ren) they are babysitting and find that they have made Zenos their plaything. Just the thought of the big bad prince of death and swordplay being quickly defeated at the hands of a child (or children) is hilarious to me and can be made into so many funny scenes in my head, like Zenos wearing his armor, a big floopy hat and a tiny feather boa as he sits at a super tiny play table with little girls, having a tea party and holding a miniscule tea cup with his pinky up. Or Zenos being the princess (he’s the only royal they had around, so he’s the princess now) while the little boys play knights and 'rescue’ him. Or just having kids skipping all around him or having a kid in his lap excitedly reading a story from their favorite book to him and all the while he’s pouting and being all grumpy about it because he doesn’t really want to play but he never says no to the kid(s). 

that and picturing him in any of those scenarios with the Warrior of Light biting back laughter and him glaring at them is too amazing, I am DYING here.

[colormusicdying]

Ghost Bicycle .47.

I get on and I start to ride. There are the sewing projects unfinished. There are the tools for sewing, the machine itself some implements I don't understand a new serger never used. There are bags of material hoping for projects that were planned but will never come. There are clothes. Some of them favorites worn many times now useless to anyone. Some of them worn once or never, given as loving gifts right to the end. There are the finished pieces on the wall there is the chair she sat in every day her place at the kitchen table the wallpaper expertly done everywhere the pairs of cups from all our trips the cards she used to send with paintings of the artist we liked on the other side the jewelry not expensive that she loved a few really nice pieces which came later in life One of which she wore every day for a year when she first got it a nice diamond ring to pretend to be an engagement ring that she didn't want at the beginning to save money the wedding dishes not fancy on purpose after 40 years non-broken not one piece the dining room set she had before we were married photographs everywhere we took together around the world and there is the book in the bookcase the book that sealed the deal The Complete Works of Shakespeare and then there is the hand coffee grinder and the bird feeder outside the kitchen window so she would have something to look at near the end none of this is going away even if I move to the moon on the path to the other side To the condo we bought together because we were really wondering what do we do now the ice cream factory where we tried not to be pigs the artwork the crazy interesting lighthouse fabric project with clouds and fish that I put lights behind she was so proud and happy with it and it was actually featured with her picture in the newspaper her slippers under the rocker she found the other rocker moved here she used to nurse the kids in and the round pink lamp goofy looking that she really wanted so I bought it for her the blueberry cup colorful room defining paint jobs the bed where she used to nap because she loved naps while I sat on the deck And where we tried to get some rest in this place and listen to the birds in the mornings for almost 24 years while chimes she loved tinkled in the slightest breeze the swimming pool where she hid from the sun dishes bought together called Cafeware, the dishes for our other home, cups from trips over here barbecue equipment for having friends and the family on our deck surrounded by a sea of green and the air just the air which is as cool and clear or hot and damp as it ever was but which is now missing something

There is her favorite restaurant. The last time we went she was losing her balance, and fell into a plant. Nice people helped to pick her up. When we’d go there, she liked to look at an old Victorian church across the street. It was seriously deteriorating, interesting to her, and she was trying to figure out how to photograph it. It has been torn down. She didn't get to know. 

And now me alone on the bench a new red bench looking out at the old red light house with gentle waves sneaking my way trying not to disturb people today seagulls who know the habits of tourists hoping for a little crumb of donut, on a day we feared and fought against with our whole selves and guts and courage and we knew a long time ago would come. Bicycles everywhere on a pretty day carrying happy people, but for a while I've been on a special ghost bicycle ride, on a bicycle no one can see, except for me.

It's an old truth about humans that if you fall off your bicycle, and you plan to ever ride again, you need to get up and get back on. All you people and your hundred mile bicycle rides you're so proud of, one thing I can tell you: this one, touring the life off which we were dumped, is a lot harder.

*

Remembering Pam on the 68th anniversary of her birth. 

[parsleybabe]

Home Made Simple S01E02 - Product Placement Overload

The episode starts out with the same host and same chef but two different renovators. Imma call them Wood Guy and Deco Guy.

The family consists of a mom, a dad and their two daughters – one is a toddler and one is still a baby and completely disappears from the entire episode right after being introduced. They’ve just moved into a home and the goal is to renovate the living room and patio so the family can throw a party to introduce themselves to the neighborhood

So, here are my personal highlights of this episode:

There’s actually very little gender bias in this one. It starts out with Chef Guy talking about how they’re going to make party comfort food like a mom would make it, but without the love handles. That’s not even that cringey, I guess. I just didn’t like it how he connected comfort food with mom and love handles. Could be me being a bit oversensitive here, though. I did find it interesting however, that, in this episode, they didn’t explain why the mom was gonna participate in the cooking while the dad was helping with the tools. I mean, contrary to the previous episode where the mom doing the hard work was presented as a surprise. Just saying.

But, let’s stick to the title of my review and move on to product placement #1:  Fairly early on, the family dog is introduced (he completely disappears from the entire episode after this one scene btw, much like the baby before). And isn’t dog hair just THE WORST? It really, really is a huuuuge problem and it’s seriously “going to ruin the wall treatment”, Deco Guy explains. So he introduces Swiffer Sweeper Vac with the words, “I live by these things” and “it’s absolutely amazing”. They even give instructions to the mom who tries it out, “Push forward… push forward... it swivels… good job!” and then she is left alone in the room sweeping the floor as if she’s never done that in her life before.

What’s super funny though is that, later on in the episode, when they’re actually cleaning the same floor after all the renovations are done, they DON’T use the swiffer but another brand sweeper and it’s super obvious too because the swiffer one is neon green and the one they later use is grey and dark blue. That really cracked me up.

Anyway, let’s move on to Wood Guy who is working with the dad on wooden benches with storage space inside for the patio. Except… they don’t really show how to build them. They just talk about how that’s what they’re gonna do and then the dad gets to use a power saw once. Suddenly, they have a bunch of finished wooden boxes (I assume they built them, but it’s not shown or explained) and they line up some wooden bars on top of one for the lid (but we don’t get to see them screwing them on or explain how the lid works at all). Instead we see them paint the finished box benches. Because that’s important, I guess. Btw, we actually see one of the benches open very briefly in the background during the end credits, and you can see some metal lid mechanism, but that’s never explained on the show. And, honestly, why would we need to know how to do that, right? If we wanna build storage benches, we should focus on the essentials like painting them.

Meanwhile, Chef Guy explains to the mom how to make meatloaf. Honestly, it’s just your everyday bog standard meatloaf recipe, (just baked in cupcake forms and later mashed potatoes spread on top). But the meatloaf recipe alone is a huuuuge revelation to the mom, apparently, and she can’t stop praising it. The funniest thing about this scene, though, is how they use whipping cream for the mash. And while the info bar on screen suggests that you could replace it with nonfat buttermilk if you’re worried about calories, Chef Guy who is so massively opposed to love handles uses whipping cream. Consistency is key. 

Anyway, back to topic and on to product placement #2: On the patio, Wood Guy discovers the BBQ grill and desperately needs to show the dad how to clean it. He whips out some Mr Clean Magic Erasers and starts putting them to work. Which is not only a lackluster presentation, but also doesn’t show the actual “magic” of the product (the thing can remove stains from walls and grime from plastic furniture ffs, and there’s tons of products better suited to clean a fucking grill - honestly, I’ve tried the erasers on a grill, that’s the one thing they suck at). But hey, who cares. And of course Host Lady comes in and chimes, “This is amazing!”

Also, fun little side note, I found it super endearing how they got a BBQ on the patio and clean it and display it, but for throwing their patio party they don’t use it at all. Instead they serve meatloaf. Smart.

I briefly find some true respect for Deco Guy, because he takes the mom garden shopping and drops some actual gardening knowledge. I mean, nothing new, and none of it is actually used on the show, but at least he seems to know what he’s talking about. I guess some viewers who aren’t familiar with gardening at all could benefit from that.  I’m genuinely impressed.

Back home, Deco Guy wants to repaint the already existing patio table. It’s a super rustic, solid metal table that looks great as it is, but he wants to add color, so. Host Lady almost loses it when she hears that he picked bright yellow for the new color. I’m not kidding, she actually goes “Whoaaaaaaa! YAAAAAAAYYYYY!!!” and jumps up and down and claps her hands. I don’t even know, I guess she hasn’t seen any yellow in a really really long time?

Anyway, before painting the table they have to clean it. And, of course, they don’t use the magic erasers for that, even though THAT would have been the perfect moment to introduce the real selling point of the genius little fuckers  (in all honesty, I’m a huge fan of those things), but no, they use cloth, water and soap.

And then they paint it and make the solid metal table look like cheap plastic. But let’s not focus on what is a clearly a matter of taste. The true highlight of this scene is how Deco Guy gets spray paint on his pants and is devastated. I immediately lose all hard-earned respect for the guy, because… The guy’s supposed to be a professional renovator and should know not to wear his favorite jeans when doing paint work. I mean, come on.

The sprinkle on top, though, is when Host Lady asks how to get the stains out, he replies, “that’s a different show”. And I’m munching on my popcorn, because… I mean, they didn’t mind introducing a dog hair sweeper and they’re making meatloaf and all that on a renovating show, but talking about getting paint stains out doesn’t fit the format. This is getting more and more interesting by the minute.

Moving on to the living room: Deco Guy introduces the idea to put wallpaper on one of the walls and everybody is just purely floored by the idea, because nobody has ever thought of putting wallpaper anywhere apparently. The mom, who is actually a clothing designer says she’s always loved wallpapers but never thought of getting any. She literally goes “It’s very different” and I don’t even have words.

Not gonna talk much about how Chef Guy then teaches the mom to toast ready bought cinnamon bread and spread ricotta on it. After all, that’s just the subtle introduction to the true message of the scene: product placement #3, where Chef Guy casually asks the mom if she’s nervous about meeting the neighbors, while nonchalantly putting a Cascade dishwashing tab into the machine with the container on full display in two separate locations inside and on the counter and the camera following his hand. Veeeeery subtle. They don’t even mention the name this time, I’m impressed.

Host Lady is on a roll throughout the whole episode, by the way. Not only does she get overexcited about everything around all the adults, she actually turns it up a notch around the toddler. She speaks in this weird baby voice. Later, when the parents are discussing the emotional value of family photos, she just snatches the kid and hugs her as tight as she can. At this point I genuinely wonder if they’re related, because if any stranger had grabbed me like that as a kid, I would have hidden in the farthest corner of my bedroom and not come out again until highschool. If they’re not related, that family has one heck of a tough kid.

Time for final results. The living room is decorated and it looks alright. They didn’t really add much, but mostly changed the furniture placement. The walls have new paint and wallpaper, and there’s some family pictures thrown into the mix. The biggest change, imo, is that they hung three huge white plastic gazelle heads onto the wall. And I know this is a matter of personal taste, but they look really weird, reminiscent of hunted animals on the edge of extinction (which feels wrong), but plastic (which looks cheap on top), and they are white on a yellow-white wallpaper, so they don’t even contrast anything really. They just look super wrong to me. But, anyway, like I said, matter of personal taste. However, while I genuinely thought that we weren’t hit with the gender bias in this episode, Host Lady dishes one out last minute by pointing at the gazelle heads and telling the dad, “This is for you. This is the manly touch!” Ahh, no wonder I didn’t get it.

Finally, they move on to the patio and the best and sole improvement of the whole episode is that there is now an awning spreading over part of the patio. It’s perfect because it matches the request that the family had in the beginning (which was less direct sun), but they never showed how it was made or bought or installed on the episode at all. It’s just there when the family comes to see the end result. But, I mean, why would you show that, right?

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The cheerful door of Annika’s low-key 50s house gives an indication of the color rejoicing inside.

At first, the photos in the sales announcement didn’t excite Annika, but she liked the wooden floors, the slightly secluded location, and large fenced-in yard for her dogs.

Annika calls this Lenni's room because the dog owned it as soon as they moved in. The wallpaper was ordered from England, the rocking chair came from a friend and the carpet is a find from a recycling center.

One of Annika’s favorite things is the Banksy pillow bought in England. The chair was free.

Two drawers became shelves, backed with wallpaper.

Annika made the coffee table from recycled wood and stain and paint left over from other projects. All the other furniture is from giveaways on the internet.

Annika trained to be a painter and wallpaper hanger. She says if there was an unlimited amount of money, perhaps a little different pattern would’ve been selected for the walls.

The hostess cabinet was a bargain find and Annika fixed it in her parent’s garage. A friend replaced the damaged door glass with chicken wire.

Cute stove!

Annika tried decoupaging napkins to the stairs, but it didn’t work well, so she switched to wallpaper.

Everything but the glass bottles were bought at flea markets.

The stool came from a friend’s warehouse. The frames have wallpaper and paper napkins - a fun and affordable way to make the walls nice and beautiful.  

In clothing, Annika's favorite colors are black and gray, but the color scheme of the home is completely different. It shouldn’t be too flashy, but she is quite cynical and melancholic in nature, so she wants to do the opposite in her home.

The spare room has a mix of patterns and colors.

https://www.meillakotona.fi/artikkelit/annika-on-edullisen-sisustamisen-taituri

[pleasurextreasure]

❛obscenely alluring

genre: Vampire hunter Chittaphon x reader ft. Johnny 

words: 1.6k 

warnings: violence and some intended smut???

a/n: I don’t ship Johnny and Ten but for some reason my brain kept picking johnny, it could be the fact its late at night but enjoy anyway. ➶ admin lele

His black shoes tapped against the cobblestone road as he walked past the masses of people, each click could be heard as his strides continued. His shoulders touched stranger’s as they were tightly compacted along the narrow street, as he blended into the crowd.

He kept his attention on the women who was a few bodies in front of him, making sure he never lost sight of her brown curls that were slightly covered with a black hair piece that had specks of currant to match her jacket. Her skin was pale as the moon’s light reflected off of her blemish free skin.

Her steps increased in speed as she was eager to get out of the crowd as the scent of melting silverware filled her nostrils, as her body tried not to give a reaction to the scent that seemed to blanket her. She turned in into the darkened alleyway between two brick buildings as she headed towards the otherside.

He hid along the edge of the wall moving with ease as his black attire gave him leverage in hiding himself. His ears perked at the sound of her footsteps stopping as she looked back as he pulled his hat lower to hide most of his face as his lips were the only thing visible in the moonlight. He moved cautiously as the footsteps could be heard walking along the dirt ground that covered the alleyway.

His senses picked up the footsteps were now behind him as he turned in time, avoiding being grabbed by the woman he had been following. His eyes met her soulless eyes, as he watched them be filled with red, reminding him of a wine glass. Her hesitation was evident in her demeanor as she lunged at him.

He wasted no time in faking surprise, as he advanced to the right while withdrawing a dagger he hid in under waistcoat. The woman’s eyes shown with fear hidden in the depths of crimson. Her movements were slowed as she lunged a second time at the man, who was able to dodge her due to her nervous movement.

With her attention being averted he was able to restrict her against him. His head held her neck as her head laid against his shoulder. His hand skimmed her neck as the blade was held against her, making him feel the flesh that held no warmth. Her eyes were spilled of the crimson color as her soulless deep brown reappeared, as she struggled against his grip on her waist.

He wasted no time before pushing the blade into her neck making her wince at the skin being cut. Her hands reached to grip his that were along her neck making him feel as if the coldness of winter was rushing through London earlier than planned.

“If you kill me your soul will be damned to hell.” She spoke sinisterly to him as he pushed the blade further into her neck.

“My soul was given to Lucifer at birth.” He spoke as the blade plunged into her throat as he used his strength to decapitate her as blood stained his black clothing.

He threw her head next to her body that laid along the dirt path as he reached beneath his coat and pulled out a box of matches before lighting one and flicking it onto the mess he made on the ground, as he stepped around her to flee the area.

Slipping into the dark he headed towards his house with his hat pulled low, sticking towards the buildings avoiding attention being drawn to him. What he failed to notice was the curious eyes that followed him as she was being driven down the cobblestone road in her carriage.

Her mind painted a picture of him in which she would hold in her memory until she saw him again to complete the unfinished picture, as she longed to see the rest of his facial features that were hidden in the dark.

☾

He walked into the mansion as the butler greeted him and showed him into the ballroom that was filled with many women and their suitors that covered the wooden floor as the waltzed around the room. His eyes landed on a man that had women swooning over him as he paid no attention to the beautiful women surrounding him.

The man picked up his red glass as he observed his surrounding. The man’s eyes resembled the women’s from the night prior as their eyes met. The man’s eyes never left the male who fixed his royal blue vest that showed his rank within the classes. He stepped away from the women who were swarming him, hoping to be courted by him, before making his way over to the man.

“Can I ask your name?” The man asked as he took a drink of the red liquid that filled his cup.

“Chittaphon.” The male in the blue vest said as his eyes stared into the eyes that resembles black coffee, as they stared at him with specks of bitterness and lust.

“Would you like to accompany me on the dance floor?” The man asked as a strand of his hair fell down his forehead making his pale skin stand out from the dark shading his hair held.

Chittaphon placed his hand in the man’s that could be known as ‘Johnny’ from the file he had been given to look at earlier. He was led on to the ballroom floor moving past others that were dancing around them.

As the clock was ticking Chittaphon moved his body closer towards Johnny as the man’s eyes grew with satisfaction. Johnny’s head moved down to be at level with his ear before his breath was felt along Chittaphon’s ear as he controlled his body to not give a negative reaction.

“Would you like to follow me somewhere more private?” He asked as Chittaphon nodded his head and allowed himself to be lead out of the room.

As they exited the ballroom, Johnny took him down the maroon wallpapered hallway. His eyes looked for anyone that might be following the two, in which he allowed his attention to focus on the man in front of him now that his surroundings were clear of any potential witnesses.

Chittaphon was lead into a library that had been down the hall in the mansion, as his eyes were given a mere second to scan the room before he was pushed against a shelf of books as he felt the books behind him shift from his weight.

He was given a chance to prepare himself before Johnny’s lips were now against his, as the taller boy held him against the wall. He felt the coldness of his lips trail down his neck leaving small kiss until his shirt was pushed aside as it was being attacked with various methods of what the taller boy thought was pleasure.

Chittaphon carefully grabbed the dagger that he hid under his coat, while pushing Johnny’s head towards his collarbone as a distraction while letting out heavy breaths. His other hand brough the dagger to Johnny’s neck as realization dawned on the boy.

Before he had a chance to retract his fangs his neck was pierced by the silver blade making the man hiss in pain as he felt the silver run through his veins as a poison would, making him only have minutes to be left alive.

As Johnny’s body fell to the floor, Chittaphon took precautions and stabbed his heart to make sure the man wouldn’t be alive again in six hours. Moving away from the body he grabbed Johnny’s coat that was on the table to clean the blood off the blade, in an attempt to get as little blood on him as possible.

His attention was finally drawn to the woman at the door who looked at him with eyes of curiosity and not in fear as most women would have after witnessing a murder. He stood dumbfounded as he was sure there hadn’t been anybody while he was coming into the room he was now in.

His shock only lasted a moment as he grabbed the girls hand and started to sprint out of the mansion as they passed the ball that was still filled with people. Her hand being held in his made her take in the warmth of his hand as she compared it to a fireplace on a cold winter day that brought her comfort.

As they entered the moonlight her eyes were drawn to his face as he looked around the area looking for a less crowded area. Her eyes were drawn to his fair skin that was kissed by the sun, making his hair appear darker from the contrast. His eyes were the color of deep sienna, with a mischievous glint that seemed to reflect the corners of his mouth, which would leave traces of a smirk. As his lips were slightly chapped they were a natural pink that would be her new favorite shade.

While he led them into an alleyway she was able to complete the picture she had in her mind with the missing features. She stared at his face that shown with worry and stress as she restrained herself from reaching out and touching his cheek to calm him.

He stood there contemplating what he was to do with the mess that he now created as she was in awe with him, her picture now complete.