#until one customer the other month when the cards fell exactly in my lap to do so

[spaghett-onaplate]

responses to rehearse bc i'm seeing my grandparents tomorrow and they have a tendency to ask weird questions about the whole trans thing:

that's a personal question

that isn't your business

that's a weird thing to ask

you don't need to know that

i never said that

i don't know why you think that

[unholyhelbig]

We Sold Our Souls | 001: Beca

Summary: A small-town rock band continues to play even smaller venues well past high school graduation. Aubrey, Beca, Emily, and Chloe struggle with newfound fame and the long bloody road to get there.

[Based off of "We Sold Our Souls" By Grady Hendrix"]

Read on AO3 | Dt to the amazing @ifionlyhadmorepaper

Beca’s fingers were split and callused where Chloe’s were warm and protected. They were covered in bandages of all shapes and sizes, little adhesive papers that browned at the edges from dirt or from blood that hadn’t been dabbed away. They were wrapped, lacerated where she had pressed too hard on the velvet cords of her guitar. Beca Mitchell would play until rustic oozing syrup covered the face of the instrument.

They stung, sometimes, but right now she leaned into the numbness that the temperature in the office provided. She wanted to spread them in an equal motion over the glass of the desk so each finger lined up with a toe in her Doc Martins. Instead, she placed them calmly in her lap and stared at the silver pen that rested next to the contract.

She picked silently at the ace bandage that she had strategically wrapped around her pinky finger. It had been the newest slice; a wound still fresh to the sterile room. She was sure it would drip one, maybe two drops of red on the white linoleum.

Beca glanced up from the writing utensil and saw nothing but a suit, a slate and dull grey that blended perfectly with the rest of the room. There were no photos on the wall, nothing but a bland black leather sofa and a glass coffee table that matched the same desk they sat at now. She wanted to look through the floor to ceiling windows but saw nothing but white. Everything was white.

She was the darkest thing in the room.

Her boot tapped against, a low and thumbed rhythm. She waited for him to say something, to say anything. But she realized quickly that he may be darker than her. She could stare into the abyss that was his face, into the shadow but it would mean nothing. There were no defining features other than a crisp, business-like smile.

She had switched from pulling at the dressing of her wounds to picking at the frayed edges of her black jean jacket, littered with patches and permanent marker. Beca traced a signature that Chloe had drawn on one drunken night.

They had popped a bottle of champagne and the bubbles made the cuts on her fingers burn something fierce. But she let the golden liquid slosh onto the carpet of the hotel room, and bubble up in her throat until she couldn’t quite hold it between her lips anymore. Chloe kissed her and she tasted like weed and cherry.

It was the first night that their song was played on the radio.

The four of them huddled around a radio, its antenna stretched to the ceiling of that dingy room. The lights buzzed as much as the static, and it was close to three am; too late for the bar handlers to be heading home, and too early for the suits to be warming up their cars. But they played it- they played it.

They could quite possibly be the only four people in the entire world to hear the first song from the DEMO that Beca slid under the studio door.

When she leaned forward, the leather her pants made an ungodly noise. She didn’t’ want to read through the stack bound with a thick black clip. The first page was highlighted where she needed to initial and bolded at the most important parts; the parts that distracted her from what really mattered.

Her father was a stockbroker before he was dead, and he would tell her every single time he brought home a new contract, that they make the glittery things darker. That’s not what she was supposed to read; she was supposed to look at the little pieces of text that had stars next to them. People liked to trick you with shiny things.

Beca moved her finger across the large stack; the paper was cool to the touch and caught on the adhesive of her ace bandage. “What exactly are you offering me here?”

Summer 1985

It took her four whole months to save up for the old white Charvel that sat at the back of Shawl's pawn shop. There were bars strapped across the windows and an ugly neon orange sign that let Beca know when they were closed and when they weren’t. She would cling to those bars when old man Shawl would tell her to buy something or get the fuck out.

He stared at her even harder when she emptied the shoebox of change and crumpled up bills stained with sweat and sticky substances onto the glass counter, but even he couldn’t turn down a profit. She waited for ages while his liver-spotted hands counted the money carefully. Then he pursed his lips and pulled the beat up guitar down from his perch above his shoulder.

In later years, Beca knew she didn’t have nearly enough, and she thanked him silently for taking pity on her and passing it over anyway. She was driving all of his customers, she reasoned, by sulking on the hot sidewalk in front of the shop, letting banana flavored popsicles drip onto her fingers until it was nothing but a stick left.

She had fastened the worn leather strap around her chest and straddled her jet red bicycle. Beca had never peddled so fast in her life. The Mid-August heat clung to every inch of her was humming with sweat by the time she skidded to a stop in front of her house. She let the bike drop and got an instant hit of relief when she crossed the threshold into the open garage.

Beca scooted past the dusty Monza that barely fit in front of the door leading into their kitchen. Her mother had bought it off a stranger that came into the diner back in 78’. There were questionable stains in the backseat and an odd scent of Clorox that they could never get rid of. But it ran back and forth, and that’s all they needed.

She pulled open the honey blossom fridge and grabbed the closest thing they had to a cool drink. Beca drank tang straight from the pitcher, letting it drip down her face and soak into the collar of her shirt. She was noisy when she drank, and oblivious to her mother watching her from the archway as she tied her apron around her waist.

“We have glasses, Bec’s”

Her mother didn’t’ comment on the guitar strapped to her back. She figured that her daughter had picked up another hobby. Last year it was basketball, and the year before that she begged and begged for a set of baseball cards from the local hobby shop. After they were shoved under her bed she was told to fund her ventures on her own.

Beca swallowed the last of the orange flavoring on her tongue and took a savoring breath to fill her burning lungs. She turned to the woman and smiled “That would just dirty two things instead of one. Besides, you don’t drink this anyway.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Her mother wrestled silently with the faux pearl earrings that matched the beaded necklace against her collarbone. The soft blue tone of her uniform washed out her skin and made her look pale despite the summer heat that lingered well into August.

Beca placed the glass decanter back into the bottom half of the fridge before she mock saluted her mother and wandered back out to the garage. Her skin instantly became slick with sweat. She pulled an empty milk crate a few inches from the line of the setting sun.

She finally pulled the old Charvel from her back and situated it in her arms. It was far from a perfect fit. She reached over the neck and felt the way the side dug into her ribs uncomfortably. The strings were frail and sounded rough as she dragged her thumb against them.

Beca had only learned the start of one song, the first few cords of Black Sabbath’s Tomorrows Dream. They had printed the cords on the back of the record sleeve, each specific note highlighted in a comically large dot. Beca would breathe in the dust of the garage and listen to the record on a constant loop, pressing her fingers down against the notes.

She took a deep breath and started to follow the instructions that she had completed a million times over. The strings were too tight and it sounded choppy, sharp, and thick all at once. She cringed at her half-hearted attempt and the way the cords cut so deeply into her fingertips they stung.

She ignored the old car pulling out of the garage, and the way she had to squint at the darkness after a while. There was still the sour taste of orange on her tongue and sweat dripped from her nose. But she played and played, and played until there was blood against the white face of the instrument and tears pinching at her eyes. It sounded somewhat like Black Sabbath.

“You like metal?”

Beca jerked her hand back quickly and drew in a sticky warm breath of air. She had been so wrapped up in her task that she hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone anymore. A girl stood in the dull light that leaked from the garage and into the pavement. She didn’t’ quite pass the threshold- instead, she lingered.

A certain chill had invaded the air and the girl folded into herself. Her wild mane of orange hair fell around her shoulders and ghostly blue eyes lit up optimistically at the sight of a guitar.

“Uh,”

“That’s a Charvel, right? I begged my parents for one last Christmas but they got me an acoustic instead. Hooked me up with lessons from Miss Jensen. I learned one country song and started pocketing the fifty bucks a week instead.”

“Yeah,” Beca swallowed hard “It’s a Charvel”

“That’s cool,” she rocked back and forth on the souls of her sneakers. The cold didn’t’ seem to get to her much anymore. Beca tried to place her. Her ears were ringing and her fingers hurt. The crickets were hissing their own song. “You go to Kennedy don’t you?”

“I’m second year”

“I’m third.” She beamed “I live right next door, I’ve seen you around.”

Beca lifted her chin; she had seen the girl around too. It usually followed loud screaming and slamming doors. She would sit on her stoop and stare at the way her cassette player would turn. Beca had seen her flip a tape four times once- still like a statue until the music stopped and hat to be reset.

“Listen, I uh- don’t want to intrude, but maybe we could play together sometime?”

“Yeah, I would like that.” She found herself saying, the orange drink in her system making her stomach churn. She nearly felt bad, felt a pang of sadness for the girl. “I’m Beca.”

“Hi, Beca. I’m Chloe.”

Winter 1994

Beca let the case fall shut a little too loudly. The acoustics on the small stage seemed to catch all the wrong things. She couldn’t get her voice to carry earlier in the night, but the fur-lined box that they housed their amp in bounced all the way to the entry of the little venue in Portland.

She blinked hard, trying to ignore the harsh red lights that covered every single inch of the place. There were bumper stickers covering the spotty paint of the walls and a bar that was more piss and peanut shells than anything. Emily gulped down warm beer and struggled to keep it down momentarily. She didn’t look up at the noise, her stare trained on a coaster, and the crumbs that lie next to it.

Beca leaned back on her heels and pulled in a thick breath. She smelled like sweat and blood and alcohol. Her little stunt had drawn the attention of Aubrey, the woman wrapping the cord to a different amp around her forearm and palm. She narrowed her unripe stare.

“This was fucking shit,”

“I’m doing my best”

They spoke at the same time. She knew that Aubrey’s anger was buzzing, it was festering until it finally burst. She looked pale under the red lights, the same tattoo they had all gotten two years ago stretched under her tank top and down to the gap between her jeans.

She knew what Aubrey was going to say. Her best wasn’t good enough, and it never was; they had been doing this for years, eight long years and they were still playing the shit-stink venues in even shittier towns. They barely had an audience tonight, and it had all been Beca’s fault. The whole room was thinking it, but no one had the balls to say it other than Aubrey.

Chloe moved from the corner of the room, “We’ll get a better place, Bree.”

“Yeah? When? I’m tired of giving my all to an audience that doesn’t’ fucking exist. We’re not kids anymore.”

“We’re shit broke.” Emily turned in the creaky barstool, swallowing the foam at the bottom of her glass. “I don’t even think we have gas in the van.”

“How much from this gig?” Chloe asked.

Her hair was matted with sweat and her thumb pulled at the chain around her neck. It was fastened with a marbled red pick, one from their first real venue ever. She had nervously wiped away the gold lettering and now the smooth plastic was all that was left. Beca hated disappointing her, and she did it often these days.

“Five hundred.”

“Five hundred? Beca that’s barely enough to cover the hotel rooms.” Aubrey let the wrapped cord fall back to the stage “We don’t break even on this. It’s not fucking worth it. It never was and it never is.”

They all knew what came next. Emily stared down a coaster she had begun to shred. The remaining foam on the glass culminated at the very bottom of the glass and she knew she couldn’t muster enough change to order another one. So she sat with the sour taste in her mouth and festered.

Aubrey would mention Julliard.

“I could have had everything.” She hissed instead.

Beca didn’t dignify it with a response. Instead, she leaned down and pulled the amp up with nothing more than a grunt. Instead, she walked out into the cold Portland air and let it make her skin tighter. She blinked away the red light and searched for the keys in her pockets. She had left them inside.

[spnsisterimagines]

Homecoming?

Summary - Y/N brings her first boyfriend home and has to face the terrifying wrath of her older brothers and single father.

Pairings - Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader , Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader , John Winchester x Daughter!Reader

Word Count - 2,891 words

It was her very first homecoming. When she was a freshman, she didn't get to go. For one thing, she and Sam were set on research for Dean and their father. For another, nobody asked her to go because she was the weird new girl that had a throwing knife in her book bag after that nasty cheerleader Henrietta Marycomb thumbed through it in the girls' locker room after gym. Y/N easily took care of that situation, however, when she took one of the spiders near her motel room and slyly slipped it onto her lunch tray the next day.

But everything was going to be different for her sophomore year. It was a new school, so she wasn't known as the scary new kid with knives and spiders. She actually had a handful of friends, and she knew they would stay there until Christmas since her father had a lead that would keep him busy for a good few months. She also finally had someone ask her. James Cleese was her friend from Geometry. He was a junior, only one year older than her, and he was probably the cutest boy she'd ever met. He was tall and lean, his legs muscled from being on the varsity soccer team. He had messy brown hair that fell over his forehead, constantly tempting Y/N at running her fingers through it. He had the biggest brown eyes she had ever seen, which he often used on her at lunch when he wanted her milk carton. He constantly talked about soccer games and Harry Potter. Overall, he was a great guy, and he had asked her in the sweetest yet corniest way possible.

Their friend group consisted of four people, including himself and Y/N. The other two were Jane Collins and Elyse Porter. He had convinced them to wear custom t-shirts that had the question stitched on the front and answer choices on the back. After handing her a check mark with a slip of tape across the top, she had put it on the shirt that read yes before squealing in delight as he pulled her into his arms and spun her around. It was what almost every high school kid wanted from a date. It was sickeningly romantic, and Y/N couldn't wait to go with him. 

Unfortunately, the step after accepting his invitation was notifying her brothers and father, which she forgot to do until the day James was supposed to retrieve her. Sam and Dean had to have known homecoming was coming up. At least Sam should have known since Dean had graduated that year prior, but he was always excited for the big dances and football games, even if they rarely got to attend due to their shabby attendance record. 

As for Sam, he was keen on spending his senior year with his nose behind a book; Y/N was sure he wasn't even aware that it was October. Either way, neither her brothers nor her busy father knew that she'd be attending the Homecoming dance with a boy they'd never met. And she truly intended to tell them, but every time she tried they were either busy with a case her father was stuck on or arguing about some stupid football team. Besides, Y/N had no idea how they would react. 

Dean and Sam were always relatively protective over their baby sister, but that was with hunts and monsters. The thought of boys(or girls) never really crossed their mind because they figured Y/N was never interested in dating. It never bothered to occur to them that, perhaps, Y/N would be open to seeing other people that weren't her brothers teasing her or her father playfully ruffling her hair as he wandered to the fridge to get another drink. This would be a rather dramatic wake up call. No warning. No foreshadowing. Just a boy appearing at their door in a cheap outfit with a flower in his tightly clutched hand. 

James didn't question the fact Y/N lived in a motel. He didn't really care where she lived, and for that she was grateful. Most people would make fun of her, and they have. 

Anyway, the night approached for the dance. Y/N had managed to use up all her allowance for a cheap purple gown that fell down to her knees. A pair of nice sandals would suffice for her shoes for the night. She wouldn't be caught dead in heels. She'd fall right on her face, she was sure. She had spent over two hours in the bathroom getting ready, putting on little make up to make her eyes pop along with a little lip gloss that Jane let her borrow. Her father was asleep on the arm chair, so he didn't notice. Dean was watching television and Sam was content on one of the beds with a book pulled open on his lap. They didn't bother to check in on their sister, figuring she was just taking a shower. But Dean really had to use the restroom, so now he was pounding annoyingly on the thin wood. 

"Y/N! C'mon! I ain't goin' outside!" he called for the fifth time, not taking no for an answer again. Y/N was attempting to curl her hair, but the cheap iron didn't want to work with her. Eventually she just decided to pin it back, smoothing out any bumps and checking her face for any blemishes or stray marks from the mascara she had used. She looked very pretty. Swelling with confidence, she unlocked the bathroom door and opened it wide, scowling up at her brother. 

"You're so whiny," she insulted, stepping around him toward her duffel bag that contained the small purse she wanted to take to the dance. 

"Woah, woah, woah," Dean said, forgetting all about his need for the bathroom. "Why are you so dolled up?"

From the bed, Sam looked up. He eyed his sister in surprise. She normally wore flannel and skinny jeans; basically anything that had her ready to fight was her sense of style. He rarely saw her in anything remotely feminine. His eyebrows creased, closing the book and inching his way out of bed as though he was going to inspect Y/N closer. 

"Is that make-up?" he asked.

"Yes," Y/N said hesitantly. This was going to come out sooner or later. "I'm going to the homecoming dance tonight."

"You've practically got nothing on. The hell do you think you're doing wearing something so short?" Dean snorted. "Wait a minute, since when were dances your thing?"

"Since I was asked?" Y/N replied sarcastically. "And you can't even see my thighs. I'm not exactly dressed like a flapper." 

"Wait, you were asked to the dance?" Sam asked, looking thoroughly surprised. How could he not know about this? They attended the same school! Granted, she stuck with the sophomores and juniors while he was perfectly fine by himself in the library, but that kind of news normally spread like wildfire, especially in a small town school like theirs. "By who?"

"James Cleese. You don't know him. He's a friend from my math class," Y/N shrugged it off, hoping if she played it off as though it weren't a big deal, they'd do the same. Clearly she didn't know her brothers as well as she thought because now they were rounding on her like two mother hens. Sam was fussing over the amount of mascara she was wearing and Dean was adamant that she not go out at all unless she had something to cover her shoulders with. Their father snoozed on, completely unaware of what was happening with his three children. They were only interrupted by a knock at the door. Their father stirred, opening his eyes groggily and looking over the top of his chair. 

"Who's there?" he grunted, suddenly alert. "Who the hell knows we're here?"

"Daddy, it's my friend," Y/N supplied with ease, sending him a calm smile. That didn't work since he was now a third witness to her appearance. He shot out of his chair, suddenly clutching his right hip where his trusty gun sat. "Dad, no! It's just James. He's here to pick me up. He's a really nice boy, you'd like him! You'd all like him! Let me just get the do-"

Her father didn't listen, instead marching right over to the door and unlocking it aggressively and yanking it open. James stood there awkwardly, for once not wearing his cheesy grin he used on Y/N constantly. He had on a nice button up with a navy blue tie neatly laid over his chest. He held onto a lily in his right hand, his left held up as though he were going to knock again. 

"Uh, hi," he greeted. "You must be Y/N's father. I'm James, sir. James Cleese." He thrust out a hand for John to shake, but he just stared down at it before slamming the door in his face. 

"Dad!" Y/N hissed, pushing past her brothers and getting to the door, quickly pulling it back open. "James, you just wait here!"

"O-Okay. Is everything alr-" She slammed the door back in his face and whipped around to face the three men, all of which had completely forgotten what they were previously doing, instead shocked over what Y/N was now putting them through. She wasn't supposed to be interested in boys yet. That was supposed to be a foreign concept to her. She still needed to think they had cooties, but here she was dressed really nice with her hair pinned back and make-up really bringing out the beautiful details in her now hostile face as she looked at them. 

"Alright, so I didn't say anything. But it's because I knew this was exactly what was going to happen!" she snarled, pointing an accusing finger in their direction.

"I'm sorry, can someone clue me in on what the hell is going on? Why are you dressed like that? Why the hell is there a boy with a flower on my doorstep?" John demanded. 

"Y/N got asked to the homecoming, Dad," Sam explained hastily. 

"And she's not going," Dean added.

"Excuse me?" Y/N scoffed, completely offended. 

"We don't even know this kid. For all we know, he could be some dick wanting to lose his V-card to the nice girl that blew into town unexpectedly." Dean scoffed, crossing his arms. 

"Right, because he really seemed like the type! Dean, he's my friend. I know him. Really, I do. I know it's hard to believe I have a life outside of the three of you, but I do!" Y/N said. "Daddy, I promise you. He is so nice. He likes me. He really does. He plays soccer, he's okay at math, and he's really funny! He likes all those stupid old sitcoms that you like!"

John shook his head. "I dunno. This is the first I'm even hearing of this. Why the hell would you wait for the day of?"

"Like I said, I knew you guys would react like this."

"What, like reasonable family? Look, I know you're living in that little fantasy in your head. You want to believe this guy is good through and through, but let me give you a tour behind the curtain. All men are assholes. All of us." Sam looked slightly offended at that, but he didn't say anything. But that seemed to be the last straw for their sister.

Y/N grit her teeth, fighting off the urge to kick off her sandals and beat the living hell out of her elder brother. "Actually, he's a nice boy that's my friend that wanted to go to the dance with me, alright? You know, that's so unfair! None of us bat an eye when you go home with a girl or when Sammy talks to a girl when he's not nose-banging whatever law book he's managed to find! And I'm not even being inappropriate; it's a school dance that's supervised by staff members! Jane and Elyse are tagging along! He's not gonna pull me down in the middle of the dance floor and hoist up my dress!"

They grimaced, feeling even angrier at just the thought of a boy violating Y/N, but they couldn't find much of an argument. She just wanted to go out and have fun. Who were they to stop that from happening? It was selfish. And...maybe she had grown up from that little girl that didn't give boys a second glance. Plus, she was also a Winchester. She was perfectly capable of defending herself against anyone that put their hands on her, including a stupid boy from class that wanted to take her out for the night. 

Sam was the first to speak. "She's right. It's just a dance, Dean. C'mon. She never really asks to go anywhere." 

Dean didn't answer right away. He stared at Y/N, his arms still crossed stubbornly. She was giving him her best puppy dog eyes, clutching her hands to her chest as she looked him in the eyes. He hated when she did that. That was the face she often pulled on dad when Dean and her were arguing so he'd take Y/N's side. Dean could understand finally why it always worked. It was very difficult to say no to that face. He finally looked up to his Dad, who also had his arms crossed. The two of them would be the hardest to crack, and they didn't seem to want to make a move until the other did. 

"Okay, he's still waiting outside, and I don't think he'll be there much longer. Someone say something," Y/N said, throwing her hands out in exasperation.

"Fine," John said at last, lifting a hand to rub at his temples. Dean looked up at him in surprise. Y/N elicited an excited squeal, throwing her arms around her father in a tight hug. He gingerly patted her head, not used to the physical affection. He loved his daughter to the moon  and back, but they weren't necessarily a family that constantly hugged and exclaimed 'I love yous'. Dean still looked hesitant, but he couldn't stop her now that their father gave her the green light. 

While she went to hug Sammy, John opened the door back up to James, who was standing there bouncing on the tips of his toes. He froze once he saw him again, his eyes flying toward the gun that was very obvious in the streetlights. He gave him a nervous smile, holding the lily a little tighter in his fist. 

"James...I'm John Winchester, Y/N's father," John said, as though he hadn't previously slammed the door in his face. This time he held a hand out for James to shake, to which he did so eagerly. Although John seemed to be holding his hand a little too tight, making James wince. When the handshake finished, he let James step in and see Y/N separate from her hug with Sam. His mouth slightly dropped and his eyes brightened considerably. 

"Wow...you look amazing," he complimented. "I only saw a glimpse of you earlier before you..."

"Yeah, let's not talk about it," Y/N smiled, walking over to him and taking the lily and pinning it into her hair. "You look really nice, too. A little sad you didn't go commando like I wanted." Dean physically growled. "I'm kidding, Dean! Let me just get my purse, James, and we can go." She pecked his cheek and, once more, went to dig through her duffel bag. This left James with her two big brothers. Some would say they're an even bigger threat compared to John. 

"Hey, James, I'm Sam," Sam introduced himself, also thrusting out a hand for him to shake. James obliged, wishing he chose a different hand since it was still slightly sore from John's handshake. "Not to be that guy...but we do expect her home at ten. And if there's any sign that anything happened...we're proud gun owners."

"Okay," James squeaked. Dean came up behind Sam, not holding a hand out. 

"We mean it. Even if it's just a hair out of place or the tiniest hint at a hickey...I will personally find you myself." 

"Nothing will happen, I promise," James declared shakily, grateful when Y/N returned to his side with her purse slung over her shoulder. 

"They're just joking with you, don't take them so seriously. Dean can't even aim at the toilet," Y/N smirked, ignoring her brother's disgusted pleas for her to shut up. "You ready to go? Jane and Elyse are probably wondering where we are."

"Yes, yes I am," James eagerly nodded his head. "It was nice to meet all of you. I promise to have Y/N back at ten safe and sound."

"That'll give us enough time in the back of your truck," Y/N smirked, slamming the door shut behind them. 

"Y/N!" Dean shouted as a warning.

Both brothers watched through the only window their motel room offered as James' truck pulled out of the parking lot and down the road. 

"Don't you worry, boys. Nothin's gonna happen to your sister," John assured, going through the fridge and grabbing a beer. 

"How are you so sure?" Dean asked. 

"Because I slipped a knife into her purse before she left," John answered coolly, popping open the can and slipping back into the armchair.

[writing-royza]

Royai Week Prompt One: Letter

What’s up, my loves, I’ve only been out of the game for… six months, but it was far too long! And what a way to dive back in. Happy Royai Week to all!

-----

Every Five Words

For a moment, the sight of the innocuous white envelope caused her breath to freeze in her lungs. There was no postmark, meaning it had been hand-delivered to her mailbox, and in this time of Pride and Bradley practically breathing down her neck… a hand delivery became suspicious.

When she saw the name on the return address, however, her lungs thawed and air returned. Smiling to herself, she tucked the envelope from “Berthold Mangrum” inside her folded copy of the Central Times, closed the mailbox, and headed for the stairs, a scene from the not-too-distant past playing in her memory.

“Moving to Central could be the more dangerous thing we’ve ever done,” he said solemnly, the gravity of the words dampened somewhat by the fact that he was beginning to slur his words, and that they were seated on the floor of her new apartment, surrounded by boxes. “I’m not liked here, Grumman’s not liked here... I don’t think even Hughes was particularly liked.” He shook his head. “We’re going to have to be extra careful in working to get to the top. Compartmentalize information, redact files, verbal check-and-response when we talk over serious stuff... maybe codenames.”

Reaching out, Riza caught his hand and removed the wine glass from it before his gesturing as he spoke ended up with spilled alcohol or broken glass. “We already have codenames,” she reminded him, taking a sip from her own glass. She was not so far gone as he was, mostly due to the fact that she she was pacing herself to avoid that situation, but she could feel the light buzzing in her mind beginning to get stronger. “‘Elizabeth,’ ‘Jacqueline,’ ‘Kate....’”

“You have a codename,” he countered. “But I don’t. ‘The Flame Alchemist’ does not count,” he said, cutting her off with a levelled finger as she opened her mouth to say exactly that. “I need one for things that maybe the higher-ups don’t need to know about.”

“And so which one of your sisters will you be co-opting this new name from?” she countered, leaning back against a box. From the way it clinked, she suspected it contained the flatware they hadn’t been able to find at dinner time. “Madeline? Vanessa? Or maybe... as the leader, you become the leader.” She smiled with no small amount of wickedness as his eyes darted toward her. “I think you would make a very good Chris.”

“Careful. If you say that too loud, it summons her.” Apparently done his gesticulating, he retrieved his own wine glass, taking a thoughtful sip. “What if... I took the name from another part of our lives? Still one that isn’t likely to be recognized as being connected with me, but with enough significance to us to make it obvious?”

When she was safe behind her apartment door, with Hayate prancing excitedly around her feet, Riza took the envelope from its hiding place, and glanced at the name again. Her father’s name, little-known even in its connection to her, the same for ‘Mangrum;’ a simple anagram of her grandfather’s name, the two references combined together in a way that could only be Roy.

Tearing the envelope open, she left it on the counter, moving to sit on the floor with her dog, who immediately climbed into her lap to shower her face in welcome-home licks. Craning her neck to see past his ears, she caught the first few words, enough to recognize the clue that the paragraphs held a message within a message.

“Hayate.” She used the special voice; the command voice, and he instantly froze, watching her intently. “Guard.”

The little Shiba gave a sharp yap, nearly deafening her with its closeness before scrambling off her lap and beginning at slow patrol of the apartment. Riza still wasn’t sure how well a dog’s sense for the supernatural did at detecting nosy Homonculi, but she was willing to bet that if Pride came sniffing around, Hayate would sense him coming.

Getting up, she retrieved a pen from beside the telephone, and settled at the kitchen table, spreading the letter in front of her. ‘Dear Riza,’ it started, innocently enough. ‘Five weeks since we last spoke.’ Pen at the ready and dog on alert, she skimmed the letter quickly.

Dear Riza:

Five weeks since we last spoke. I thought I would miss drinking, but, I tell you, turns out its not so bad; it’s just very much a battle royale of will. I’ll probably have to call ‘uncle’  and give in soon, the question is just how soon. I probably shouldn’t do, but I promise that I’m okay. The new job’s fine; I’m trying out some new ideas, some methods, some plans. It’s all starting to form up.

Ironworkers union might strike soon. “We’re all a team!” they say. It’s getting old. They’re no team, just friends getting the short stick from management. There’s a wage war, basically. I think a bartender earns more. Nobody will pass the picket line, so you know they’ll win soon.

Information kiosk being built downtown. Men started construction, getting it all set up. It’s a fine idea; good for tourists, kids getting lost, old people too.

I remember that you love Xingese food. I told you about the new noodle take out place, right? They care a lot about customers.

Whoops, five minute break is over; better get back to work. Have a good one.

Sincerely, Berthold Mangrum

She double-checked the letter and her interpretation of the code, writing each word as she found it in the margins of the paper. Hayate still prowled about, his claws clicking lightly on the wooden floor, occasionally stopping to sniff some innocuous item or other. By the time she finished, Roy’s message was loud and clear.

Five weeks since we last spoke. That was the code clue. A number in the first sentence to give her the basis for deciphering whatever he’d hidden in more innocuous sentences.

I thought I would miss drinking, but, I tell you, turns out its not so bad; it’s just very much a battle royale of will. I’ll probably have to call ‘uncle’ and give in soon, the question is just how soon. I probably shouldn’t do, but I promise that I’m okay. The new job’s fine; I’m trying out some new ideas, some methods, some plans. It’s all starting to form up.

She wrote quickly. miss you so much/will call soon/how do/ I’m fine/new plans form- She frowned, the sentence not making sense until she checked the next paragraph.

Ironworkers union might strike soon. “We’re all a team!” they say. It’s getting old. They’re no team, just friends getting the short stick from management. There’s a wage war, basically.

new plans/form strike team/old friends from war

Now that made sense. He had made mention once of how his squad had shown a little appreciation when the fighting was over, how they liked his command style, and especially that he worked to keep them safe in a battle, instead of sending them headlong into danger. She paused, trying to remember all the names he had told her, but knew she fell short. She could recall Damiano, Charlie… Dino was a possibility, though she wasn’t sure.

I think a bartender earns more. Nobody will pass the picket line, so you know they’ll win soon.

Information kiosk being built downtown. Men started construction, getting it all set up. It’s a fine idea; good for tourists, kids getting lost, old people too.

The part of her mind that wasn’t concentrating on deciphering his code was left free to observe that, to anyone else reading this letter, it would sound scattered, distracted, rambling…. Probably exactly how Bradley and the Homonculi thought he would be after being stripped of his most essential staff and being placed under careful surveillance.

bartender pass you Information/men all fine/ - good, that was a load off of her mind – kids too

So it was his intention to pass her information through his mother; probably the safest best. Chris knew how to keep her mouth shut and keep from being noticed. But the next part…. Riza frowned again. Kids? Did he maybe mean Elicia and hadn’t found a way to use the singular form — oh. Her shoulders relaxed in relief she didn’t know she had been hoping for; the Elrics were all right. Spirits rising, she turned her attention to the last couple of lines… and felt them take off as though rocket-propelled.

I remember that you love Xingese food. I told you about the new noodle take out place, right? They care a lot about customers.

Four simple words that somehow felt like a steadying hand on her shoulder, or a soft, soothing kiss to her forehead. love you/take care

The last line, ‘Whoops, five minute break is over; better get back to work. Have a good one.’ was the indicator that the code was finished, with no more to follow until the next letter. Riza kept her eyes on those last four decoded words as she stood, moving toward the kitchen sink. Reaching into a drawer beside it, she withdrew a small card box, and regretfully set the letter into the metal basin.

She struck the match and let it fall, consuming the evidence… and letting the flames burn the words into her memory.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chp. 11

Summary: Erik gets swept into Stark’s private world...

"Don't want to be on top of your list, Phenomenally and properly kissed We overcome in 60 seconds with the strength we have together. But for now, emotional ties they stay severed. And where there's trust there'll be treats When we funk we'll hear beats, Karmacoma

You and her walking through the suburbs No, not exactly lovers You're a couple, specially when you're body's double. Duplicate and then you wait…"

Tricky—"Overcome"

Erik stepped back from Maria the moment he felt his cell vibrate. Pulling it from his pocket, he unfolded the thin frame and swiped Athena's avatar.

"I'm about to order appetizers, are you on your way?"

"Yeah, give me a minute."

Erik watched Maria wipe her lips from where he smeared her lipstick. She eased back from him and her eyes looked everywhere else except for his face. He ended the call and went to his bathroom and washed his hands and mouth.

"Athena is ordering appetizers-"

"Erik…"

"I didn't mean to make this weird…I was just…fuck, I don't know what I was doing…"

"It's okay. I don't feel weird. My mind is all over the place right now."

"Let's go."

The ride down the elevator was quiet and when they reached the lobby, Erik spotted Kevin at the bar. Maria saw him too and she turned her head away.

"Maria!"

Kevin ran up to her and Erik blocked access to Maria by stepping forward.

"I've been trying to reach you," Kevin said.

"My phone is on mute, sorry," Maria said.

"Can we talk, please?"

Kevin had earnest eyes and Maria bit her lip before glancing at Erik.

"Okay," she said.

Erik stepped back giving Maria space.

"You sure?" Erik asked.

"Yes."

Erik watched Maria follow Kevin back to the bar.

Trying to process what he felt at that moment, he walked over to the host manning the hotel restaurant entrance and was directed to Athena's table.

"You alright?" Athena asked.

"Yeah."

"Where's Maria?"

"Ran into Kevin. They're talking at the bar."

"Uh-huh. Interesting."

He picked up a menu as Athena ate a bit of artichoke and spinach dip.

"God, this is so cheesy and good."

Erik reached for the garlic pita chips that went with the dip and took a big sample. The hot cheese and salty taste of the chips made Erik even more hungry. And reflective. Why did he kiss that girl at her most vulnerable? Maria was a sincere friend and he never saw her as someone he wanted to get with. The type of woman that revved him up did not fit Maria at all. He wanted to comfort her, try and get her to see beyond a bad sexual encounter, but his first reaction was to kiss her? Perhaps it was the vulnerable look in her eyes that enticed him. Maybe he wanted to make it up to her for having a wack ass first time. Her reaction to his kiss came off bashful and awkward. The sweetness of it made him feel even more protective when Kevin showed up.

Eating more dip, Erik focused back on Athena.

Shit.

She had eaten a bit of dip and her tongue tried to catch a ropey string of cheese and she missed. The cheese dropped onto the deep cleavage of her breasts and she grabbed the cloth napkin from her lap and tried cleaning it up gracefully. Her fingers removed the offending mess and when her eyes caught his staring at her chest, she laughed.

"My bad, hard to not watch," he said tossing his menu back on the table.

Athena's middle and index finger lingered inside the depths of those two heavy breasts that had Erik shifting in his seat.

He was horny as fuck.

Relief fell on him. His reaction to Maria was just him projecting what had been bothering him since he took the internship. He wanted some sexual healing. Hadn't had it for nearly three months because of his schedule.

"Uh oh, are those heart eyes you're giving me, boy?"

Athena reached for the martini glass next to her plate of pita chips.

Erik's eyes darted around. The restaurant wasn't full and they were in a section that was isolated from a lot of staff and customer traffic.

A plump waiter walked over and handed Athena a large whiskey glass.

"Are you ready to order?"

"Give us a little more time," Athena said, her eyes never leaving Erik's.

"Heart eyes?" Erik asked when the waiter left.

Athena glanced at her thin clear cell phone that was given to all the interns courtesy of Stark Industries. She swiped it and brought it to her ear.

"Hey, Maria…"

Athena pushed the whiskey over to Erik.

"It's good," Athena whispered to him, "learn something."

Erik took a sip but his ears were wide open. Athena spoke into her phone.

"Okay. No worries. If you change your mind come on back down."

"So?"

"She's going to hang out with Kevin…what?"

"I ain't say nothin'-"

"Hmph."

"So you know what went down?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

"Let's mind our business—"

"Bet."

"How is it?"

Erik circled the glass in his hand.

"Strong."

"As it should be. Glencairn glass. The base is separated from the bulb so your hands don't warm up the liquid. Twenty-one-year old single malt scotch. Seventy dollars a glass. Sip it slow. Enjoy the flavor. Let it rest on your tongue…"

Erik did as she instructed and when her eyes rested on his lips, he let his tongue swipe his top lip. Athena leaned in toward him.

"Like it?"

"Yeah."

She took the glass from him and sampled the goods. She closed her eyes and gave a low moan that made his skin tingle.

"Perfection in a glass."

"You should buy a bottle."

"When I make some serious money, I'll drop a thousand at one meal then."

They ordered Lobster and black truffle Mac n' Cheese and Erik joked about Athena trying to make him constipated with all the cheese they were devouring that night. Their per diem wouldn't cover a third of the bill and Athena used her personal credit card to cover the rest. She walked Erik to his room afterward so he could change his shoes for dancing and they met up with some other interns out on the prowl. Within an hour of joining the small entourage, Erik was ready to bounce. Athena grabbed his arm and dragged him along to their first subway ride of the night.

Sight-seeing commenced and then a bit of clubbing in establishments that had awful music, but Erik hung in there because Athena wanted to hang out longer with the others.

Things picked up on the subway ride back to the hotel when the trains were packed because of a concert and Erik had moments of being pressed against Athena who didn't mind the closeness.

The rumble and tumble of the train rocked them all and when Athena leaned back against him because of the movement, Erik took advantage and whispered in her ear.

"You doing that on purpose," he said.

Athena turned around bold and forthright.

"If I were, you'd know it."

"I know it, Ma."

Her eyes were bright like shiny new pennies. He leaned in to kiss her and she was open to his lips. He made sure she was thoroughly kissed with his mouth and hot tongue. He knew he had her all the way when she grabbed onto his ass.

"Damn, you can really kiss," she said.

Her breath on his mouth made him want to tongue her down some more until his cell went off.

Stark.

"Where are you? I need a wingman."

Erik closed his eyes as his jaw grew tight. Every time…

"I'm rolling through Manhattan—"

"Get a cab and go to this address. Bring your Poker skills with you."

"Poker?"

Erik's phone glowed red as the address popped up on his screen.

"I know you've been cleaning up in after-hour games with the cleaning staff—"

"Just some friendly—"

"Stevens, I know a card shark when I see one. Get over here. I'm bankrolling you. What are you wearing?"

"Suit and tie like you told us to have for—"

"Be here within the hour. I have a couple million riding on you Stevens—"

"But this address…hello? Hello?"

Erik folded the cell and slipped it back in his pants.

He glanced up at the subway train stop map above Athena's head and saw the next stop was three minutes away.

"I gotta dip."

Athena snuggled closer to him.

"See, now you really playing," he said.

"Where are you going? Can I come with you?"

"I'm going somewhere kinda sketchy, so you better stick with the crew."

"How long will you be?"

"Might be pulling an all-nighter."

He felt the train slowing down and he watched the other interns plow their way through subway riders getting a head start on the exit rush. His eyes regarded Athena with simmering regret.

"Come see me after," she said.

"It's Stark, so you know…shit can switch up without warning."

"But, so can I."

Her mouth was hot on his lips again and the solidness of her body next to his made him think seriously of ignoring Stark's request. Up close and personal with her breasts let him see how really deep her cleavage was and the surge of blood to his nether regions had him feeling woozy but oh so ready.

"I might not get back until morning."

"We're free tomorrow. And we have room service."

"Let me make sure I'm clear. You're inviting me over for conversation or…?"

"If you're a talker, then talk that talk, boy."

"Words, Ma—"

"You said you had that deep dick, right?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Then prove it."

"Thought I was too young for you."

"Slow night."

"Damn. So I'm the slim pickings."

Athena turned toward the nearest exit and Erik followed her out of the train. They joined their crew and Erik bid them farewell. He watched the sway of Athena's hips as she headed toward their hotel.

Waving his hand high in the air, he flagged down a cab and was surprised he was able to claim one so fast. Must've been the expensive suit he had on. He gave the Eritrean driver the address and listened to sibrit music all the way to his destination in the meatpacking district.

Erik stared at the address on his phone and looked at the building that matched it. It was a hipster museum. He paid the driver of the cab and hopped out. Texting Stark, he glanced around to make sure he wouldn't get jumped.

At the front entrance, he was buzzed in and escorted by a lanky brunette who guided him past overpriced art pieces and into a backroom that had stairs leading to a series of offices until he was shown into a softly lit space with a professional-looking racetrack-shaped poker table. Stark was sitting next to a regal-looking white man with clearly hand-tailored Versace suit. The Spring Men's collection that wouldn't be out until the following year. The type of suit regular people would never have access to.

"There he is!"

Stark waved him over to his side of the table.

Erik took a look around and recognized four of the men from the Forbes 100 list. It was a billionaires only table. Except for the son of the sitting U.S. Vice-President.

"Prince Francesco, I'd like you to meet one of my newest interns…Erik Stevens. Erik, Prince Francesco Grimaldo of Monaco."

Searing blue eyes met Erik's gaze. He could feel all the eyes in the room on him.

"Sit down Erik. Stark says you can bring a good game to our little soiree," Francesco said.

"What are you playing?"

"Omaha."

Shit. It was hard to bluff with that game.

"Deal him in," Stark said.

The woman who brought Erik in slid him neat stacks of poker chips. The colors told Erik he was way out of his league. But fuck it. It was Stark's money.

"Drink?" The brunette guide was back by his side again. Erik looked at Stark. The man rolled his eyes.

"Scotch. Smooth."

"You got it."

"Thanks…?"

"Delores."

"Thanks, Delores," Erik said.

"You're cute," she said.

"I play cute too—"

"Yeah…um, Delores, we'd all like some drinks," Stark said.

Delores leaned into Erik.

"He gets grouchy when he's losing," she whispered in his ear.

Erik watched a man across from him in a dark suit begin to shuffle the cards. A professional dealer. These mofos were not messing around. Erik took the empty seat across from Stark and the Prince.

When his drink arrived, Erik let it sit on his tongue like Athena taught him to. It hit his throat hot and smooth. Looking around the table, he realized that was how he would have to play. Stark was fortunate that Erik knew how to play several varieties of Poker.

Prince Francesco picked up his cards.

"Shall we begin," he said looking Erik in the eye, the smug look of royalty painting his face. But Erik had royal blood in him and he sat up in his seat with his own regal bearing.

"By all means," Erik replied, the whiskey on his tongue reminding him of Athena.

Erik hoped to be lucky twice: at that table full of sharks and also in Athena's hotel bed.

Staring at his first hand, he was off to a good start.

Chapter 12 HERE

###

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[diario-secreto-bjd]

2017 New Year's Doll Meme:

((Lo traduzco tan pronto encuentre las ganas, que se me han perdido por ahi entre los decorados de navidad...))

As every year, let's start! What sculpt do you wish you could see more owner photos of?

- BuddyDoll dolls in general. I know the factory died long ago but I still find them to be the most special sculpts for me. And the few there are are owned by Russian artists in the majority it's not easy to find any picture at all nowadays

Do people choose names for their dolls and characters the dolls are based on and then check excessively to see if anyone is already using the name? Are they bothered if they find other dolls having the same name?

- Personally I'm not. I come up with a name, I never give a single fu*k if anyone else it's using that name. I bet there is a thousand if not more humans using "my name" and I'm not obsessed by it so why should be obsessed about my dolls names..?

What company do you wish were more popular? What company do you wish were less popular? Why?

- I will say BuddyDoll again but since they're closed, I'll go for Obitsu, the big ones, are exactly the same as any other Vinyl ball jointed doll like DollfieDream or SmartDoll but people somehow hates them, I never knew why... And I wish SmartDolls weren't so popular, me, personally, fell like cheated, Danny C. was supposed to give us "the next step on doll evolution", a robotic doll you can command trough an app in your smartphone, and then he reconsidered the cost of production and ended up giving us 'anime flat faced characters' who are ALL ""Mirai with the exact same clothing"" (almost), and for some unknown reason people praise him like if he had invented something marvelous. Wellp, he didn't, he just made another version of DollfieDream but uglier and less imaginative, not the "dolly robot" he promise, and the reason why his brand was called SMART-DOLL to begin with.

Based on the characters written, out of your dolls, your friends’ dolls or even other owners’ dollies, which doll would you most like to be friends with? And which doll is most likely to be your mortal enemy?

- My, this is a good one, since I have a saga of published books about my dolls histories and their character I know them all very deeply and I can say for sure, "Star" will be the one to most likely becoming my friend since he's pretty much like me in many ways, intolerant, nasty for fun, sarcastic, unpredictable, every mistake I have he have almost the same so there will be a problematic friendship but surely we will remain friends for a lifetime. And "Lily" will most possibly be my sort of "mortal enemy" since she is so vain and thinks so high of herself as a doll that this will continuously might generate 'girl cat-fights' over the smallest things.

What’s the longest you’ve waited for a doll to arrive? What’s the shortest?

- Longest?, MOC (mint-on-card), their costumer service sucks and they're rude and they threat you with cancel your order after months of waiting if they don't like where you live even though they had previously told you they had no problem shipping there. It took over 8 months to get Star his own proper body since I wanted a very specific 'over-articulated' body from a specific company who wasn't selling if not trough agents and MOC was the only-one who accepted to ship internationally so I had to suck it and wait while they insulted me over months and months, the final insult, supposedly "extra hands" they had to send me, they send me a pair of hands doing the fu*k you, yes, they ultimately gave me the middle finger on resin. I still have the hands, no idea what to do with them actually... - The shortest?, easy, a week from paid to product arrival. From recaster S/L (China BJD).

Do you like to sew for your dolls? Where do you usually get your fabric?

- I HATE to sew for everyone and everything. Is not like I "can't", is literally, I HATE IT. And when I do have to sew because I don't have any other choice I find fabric in the most weird places. Never online, I live on a "clothing factory district" so I can buy my fabrics here or even real clothing for humans on sale and use the fabric I need from there (since dolls are smaller than humans a t-shirt for a human will have enough fabric for a doll t-shirt for sure).

Do you like to create things for your dolls, be it clothes, wigs, accessories, ect? If so, what?

- As previously stated I do hate to create clothing items, and shoes. I avoid it as much as I can, but I love to make eyes, doll heads, bodies, wigs (fur or fiber), jewelry, and sometimes even props... (though I don't use them much).

If you have pets, do you let them near your dolls? How do they feel about your dolls?

- I have (currently) 3 cats. I let them near my dolls under my strict supervision. One of them wants to steal Star's bed and sleeps on his lap every time he can, but I doubt Star will like that and it might be even a danger for the animal if Star long fingernails break so I never actually let him do so. the other two cats, one ignores my dolls as he ignores humans too, and the lat one it's too curious and can't stay put for a second so he usually just smell my dolls and move on to the next shinny thing.

Is there any character of yours that you wouldn’t want to get as a doll? Why?

- Pfff, hard one here, now that I think of it....... mmm....... no, I don't think I have any character that's a "NOPE" if it comes as a present.... Why?, well, maybe because I only relate the dolls to the characters I make and whatever I hate from them, is in some sense a "part of me", so I can live even with the parts of me I don't like. It's called self-esteem. - Plus, I have Lily, and it's my less favorite character so.... right now I can't think of any. Sorry.

Has anyone ever broken one of your dolls? How did you feel? How did they react?

- By the time I started with BJDs I had already had a lot of "bad experiences with assholes/friends coming home and breaking stuff". The one I remember the most right now, was my best friend (at that time) taking a very rare/expensive/hard-to-get "Kaiyodo Evangelion Eva 05 figure" back in the 90's, and detaching the legs...then he lol'd about it...........that guy now lives 12 hours away, in another continent. Problem solved.

Where do you like to get your supplies? (Elastic, eye puddy, ect.)

- At first (since I didn't knew any better) was all online, the imports on my country are/where expensive but we didn't had all the stupid regulations we have now. Nowadays I tend to actually use my head and look for the stuff I need where I can buy it directly on a real (physical) store around the corner, so I always have a lot of supplies at had. You just need to know what you need and where they sell it. It's not that hard and much more fun.

If you could have a doll of any fandom character, who would you get and why?

- I think Sephiroth from “Final Fantasy VII” series. Thus his armor (specially the shoulder plates) are a pain in the arse'... I did had one of my dolls customized to be him but ultimately ended up using the doll for a character on my book and giving him, a more 'easy to deal with' clothing.

Where is your favorite place to host your doll photos? What other places do you like to share them?

- Mainly DeviantArt, but I also use Tumblr and FB (sometimes). I tend to change over the years but this are the sites I use almost all the time.

What type of camera do you use? What about light set up?

- I hate photography almost as much as sewing clothing items. Sorry.

Where do you usually buy your eyes from? Do you prefer glass, acrylic, urethane, ect?

- I buy my eyes everywhere I can and I do actually prefer glass eyes.

What is the best deal you’ve ever been able to score (be it direct from a doll company, an etsy store, the second-hand market, etc.)?

- Recast from S/L. Purchased 3 1/3 SD dolls and got a mini and a 1/4 for free. + their respective eyes.

Face up artists: What were some things you struggled with when you first began face-ups, vs. things you struggle with now? How do your first face-ups compare to your more recent ones?

- When I first began faceups the most common mistake where the eyebrows, now I don't think I struggle too much about anything anymore... practice do make the master.

What color resin is most of your crew? What color resin is your favorite? What color would you like to get next or in the future?

- Most of my crew it's Normal Yellow, but I have all sort of colors, Tans, blue, white, grey, pink, even Glow in the dark resin... it all depends on the sculpt and the character I'm making.

Do any of your dolls celebrate a holiday other than Christmas?

- Guest you could say Star celebrates his birthday (the day he was order) as a reminder of how I started in this hobby and how long I've being up with this until today.

If you could change one of your dolls into an outfit that isn’t their aesthetic (aka pastel lolita into gothic punk, bad boy into nerdy jock), who would you choose and why? (Also, would they go along with it, or would they protest?)

- I think "Wind" will make a good dark Gothic "something", since he is (as a character) continuously changing his look in search of "who he is" don't think his character will mind neither...

Have you ever bought through Taobao? If so, what did you get, and how did it go?

- Yes, dolls items and dolls, it went perfect. Thank you very much.

Do any of your dolls have a ‘theme song’?

- Star does. It's the song "Iris" from "GooGoo Dolls".

Are any of your dolls more popular than other ones when it comes to likes, reblogs, ect? Are any of them less popular?

- I never notice about "my dolls popularity". I'm not in high-school anymore. And to be honest I gave a sh*t even when I was on high-school so... I'm a very happy outcast, so are my dolls.

If you have more than one doll, how are they connected? Are they from the same story line? If not, do you think they’d still get along?

- All my dolls are connected, all share the same universe and are tied to the events of their main story depicted on my books. Some get along better than others like in real life real people would.

Do you ever smoke (cigarettes, cannabis, ect.) around your dolls? If so, do you worry about the smell? If not, would it bother you if others did?

- I don't smoke. It kinda' bothers me the smell of cigarettes on anything (-or "dirty/wet dog smell", that is on my top ten list of smells I don't want EVER smell again on my LIFE-), but I've learn to live with it since my dad it's a heavy smoker so his belongings always smell like cigarettes... As long as it's not on MY dolls your doll can smell however you prefer and I have no reason to get mad at anyone for it. It's not my doll. Period.

What are your favorite places to hang out within the community? Do you like a specific forum, or fb group?

- I think the community sucks all the joy out of this hobby. I have decades of experience on this community and other fandom related communities and let me tell you, is not worth it. It's a drama over another drama over ANOTHER drama... sooner or later you will be in the center of a hurricane and you won't know what the hell just hapend.

Tell me about your dolls personality! If you have more than one doll, pick a few of your favs! I’d love to know all about them. ^^

- All of my dolls are intertwined into a main story. There are a lot of characters each with an unique story and motivation. I can't really resume their lives as OC's here, but if you like you can read my book. Main characters personalities are a bit like: Star (selfish, unpredictable, values his freedom over most things but it's not an idealistic guy, sarcastic and acid, oftenly apathetic), Doc (curious, loving, gentle and smart but a bit bitter at times), Max (strong, intimidating, never let's his emotions out unless necessary, manly and quiet, can't stand being a slave or other weaker dolls), Swan (smart, fierce, beautiful despite her defects, courageous, stubborn), Angel (distant, quiet, very powerful, mysterious), Pax (strong and kind to others, particularly the weakest ones or the ones in need, honorable and a very good person/doll, values everyone's lives above his own), Night (agile, not as fast as Star but still a skillful doll, very sociable and likes to joke around), Light (serious for his age, tends to be taking care of Night and considers him his brother although they are not related, very loyal), and so on...

Are any of your dolls in a relationship, or married? Do they have any children?

- Spoiler Alert. Yes. Not going to point fingers at them.

What’s your grail doll? (’Grail’ can be interpenetrated any way you desire.)

- I don't really know.... I'm still waiting on a strong actually BIG and not "soom ridiculously thin legs" centaur, like SoulDoll Chiron kinda' centaur, 70 fucking centimeters for real, bad side is that much resin is not something the companies are willing to use on a single doll if they can use half and still sell you the doll for the same price so.... keep on waiting I guest. Most of my grail dolls I already have them so I'm not like "desperate" about getting a specific sculpt.That being said, there is always a doll I will like to own but is not like I'll die if I don't own them...

Do you usually get dolls for a specific character, or create a character once you have the doll?

- I usually get the doll for a specific character but this doesn't mean I haven't piked my good share of dolls just because they're pretty and felt obligated to give them a character afterwards...

Do any of your dolls have an accessory or piece of clothing that they always wear?

- "Night" have a "bow and arrow" set. "Star" has a yellow/orange sparkling scarf, "Max" have dog-tags, "Doc" have black long boots, "Pax" have a blue feather hanging on his neck.., almost all of the characters/dolls I have, have something special that they wear of like to have around at every situation...

Do any of your dolls participate in any clubs, or sports?

- I hate sports, I never did took interest or asked them if they did. But I'm guessing no...

Do your dolls have any pets? If so, would you ever get their pet as it’s own doll?

- Some, and in some cases, yes... but mostly they don't have pets.

What is something about your doll that no one else knows?

- I can't seem to change the eyes of my first doll, I tried like 4 times and ended up back to his original eyes in less than a day. It's like the eyes are the window to the entire personality of that particular doll and without that specific eyes he doesn't looks the same...and I can't tolerate that fact. I fell like I've just killed someone whenever I change his eyes...it's a weird felling knowing he is a doll and it's not actually alive but damn...fells like shit. :/

What is your dolls favorite color? What about their favorite color to wear?

- "Star" preffers redish with a bit of blue, "Doc" loves everything black and specially red... "Lily" loves Pink and white, "Max" prefers military-like colors or simple things...and so on...

Are any of your dolls spiritual?

- I'm not sure on how to interpret this question, ...do you mean if they (their characters) are involved in "spiritual" or so activities..?, or if I use them as "spiritual dolls" to hold the spirit of the dead in real life..?, really, this question needs some context.

Do any of your dolls have tattoos? If so, do they represent anything?

- Not that I recall, maybe a couple. Not going to spoil the story and their meaning. Sorry.

Do any of your dolls have a nickname? Is it one they like, or do they dislike it? Who gave it to them?

- Star usually call Max “the old guy” or “the old men”, and Doc nickname Max sometimes as “the warrior”. But Max doesn’t know they called him nicknames.

* All this questions belong to: "Bjd Discussion Time!" please check their blog for more.

** Disclaimer, right now, Jan 2017, I have over 80 (or more, stop counting them a long time ago) Ball Jointed Dolls, so it's a LOT difficult to list them all and I replied this questions to the best of my knowledge. Hope you have less dolls and can actually give more precise answers.