#a cinder block in the shape of a cat

[bagelrites]

A Demanding Job

Bad finds three helpless kittens in his back yard, and decides he has to take care of them.

(A drabble for my DTeam Kittens AU that I'm hopefully going to expand into a longer fic one day.)

Happy (Late) Fathers Day!

Bad finds them in the garden. 

It’s early spring, time to start turning the earth so he can plant as soon as the last frost is past, the grass starting to green up again, dewey under his knees as he works the trowel into the garden beds. A pair of sparrows land on the lawn, hop around looking for worms. Bad wipes his forehead and takes a break for a moment to watch them. 

He’s already gotten in nearly an hour of work. He thinks about taking a break, going inside and getting a cold glass of water.

Then something makes a noise. A high-pitched call, small and weak, but enough to scare off the sparrows. They flutter up and away, into the branches of a nearby tree, then quickly out of sight. The sound repeats, louder. It starts to sound like more than one animal, all coming from under the shed.

Bad gets up, walks closer. He realizes, eyes widening, that it sounds like cats. Kittens, more specifically. A pair—or more—of tiny kittens mewing desperately from under the shed.

“Oh my goodness!” Bad drops the trowel and gets on his knees. There’s a gap between the bottom of the shed and the ground where there dirt dips, the corners of the shed held up on cinder blocks to keep it level. Bad worried about animals living down there when he’d set it up, but he imagined it more likely to be squirrels or raccoons, not cats. 

He can see them: small, fuzzy shapes in the dark. There’s no sign of the mom, and if they’ve been there all night, they must be freezing. The thought of it breaks Bad’s heart just as much as their desperate cries.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he tells them, reaching an arm down into the hole. He has to push himself up against the side of the shed to reach, but at least they don’t run.

When he pulls the first one out, a cream-colored kitten with pale orange stripes, he realizes why: it's so young, its eyes are still closed and its ears are curled up against its head. It must only be a few days old.

“Shh, oh, oh, poor thing,” Bad whispers, holding it gently to his chest as he reaches in for the next one. This one is a brown tabby, and alarmingly, it isn’t crying out like its sibling is. It's not dead, but it feels a little cold, and Bad quickly presses it to his chest. He needs to keep it warm.

There’s still crying from under the shed, so Bad reaches down and pulls out the third kitten. It's a dark gray color, no stripes or markings like its sibling, just a slightly softer color on the stomach and snout. 

Bad gets up and carries the kittens directly inside. He’s worried about the tabby; he may have just found these kittens, but if one of them dies on his watch, he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself.

Warmth is the most important thing. He takes off his shirt and finds a scarf to bundle them in, then ties them around his chest so he’s carrying the kittens right over his heart. He puts on a thick wool sweater over it, hoping that the barrier and his own body heat will be enough to make a safe, warm pouch for them.

Then he runs to the library and starts searching his almanacs for any information about caring for kittens.

…

After a while of warming up, snuggled between his siblings and Bad’s chest, the tabby eventually starts to meow, too, if a little quieter than the others. Bad is relieved, though he knows they’re meowing because they’re hungry. They must have been waiting for their mom, and when—for whatever reason—she didn’t return to feed them, they began to cry out for her. 

Bad’s keeping an eye on the back garden, but he hasn’t seen a cat yet. He has a feeling he won’t at all, given all the wolves living in the woods around his house. 

He has a better idea of how to care for the kittens now, though. He’s busy mixing them some formula when he hears the tabby start to cry. He adds what he can to the cow’s milk to make it more nutritious for them, then gently heats it on the stove until its warm to the touch, but not hot. 

He doesn’t have a bottle, so he first tries to spoon feed it to the kittens, but their mouths are too small and not the right shape at all, it just pours down their cheeks and gets stuck in their fur. He finds that they’ll suck it off his fingers quite easily, but it’s not effective to really get a lot of food in them. Eventually, he ends up soaking a cloth in the formula and letting them suckle on that. 

He’ll get a bottle for them as soon as he can, but he has to make sure they’re safe enough to leave alone, and for that, he needs a way to keep them warm.

The almanac suggested a sack of warm, uncooked rice. Bad heats it over the stove, stirring constantly to keep it from burning, and then pours the rice in a pillowcase. It’s a but jerry-rigged, but good enough, he supposes. He sets the warm bag of rice down in a wooden chest along with a soft blanket and a stuffed bear, something for them to cuddle with. Then he gently puts the kittens down, now all quiet and sleepy from their meal, and watches as they crawl clumsily towards the warmth and fall asleep in a pile.

He sighs, resting his arms on the edge of the chest. He already feels so attached to these three tiny kittens, their fur sticking up at odd angles, their faces pink and gummy, their bellies round and limbs short. 

He wants to watch them, but he also knows he needs to go now if he wants to run out and buy everything he needs. The kittens, at this age, need to be fed every two hours, on the hour. 

It’s a demanding job, but Bad has already made up his mind to do it.

#badboyhalo #dteam #dream team #muffinteers #bbh #my fic #badboyhalo fanfic #dream team fanfic #drabble #dream #sapnap #gnf #dteam kittens au

[minecraftbookshelf]

One of ?

fanfiction with Limited Life spoilers beneath the cut

And thus ends session one, under the open sky and bright full moon.

On AO3

Entertainment Mountain

The quiet night breeze carried the scent of smoke and ash and cinder from the distant mansion and Cleo smiled, tasting the fruit of her labor. Scar and Bdubs bickered quietly (by their standards) in the torchlight, fighting over something childish. He's on my side, he's touching my blanket, mom, mom, mom.

This was probably not going to be a very long game, she thinks, feeling the weight of the flint and steel in her pocket.

The stitched together skin of her cheek stretches as she smiles, baring her teeth at the moon. Not very long but so much fun.

T.I.E.S.

Skizzleman lay awake after the others dropped off to sleep around him, Tango and Impulse's breathing loud in the darkness. Etho had slipped off after the truce night was announced, fading into the shadows. 

In the dark of the cave, the dim, green glow of the frozen numbers on the back of his hand taunt him. Skizz would swear the green was tinted yellow. Once the morning comes and time starts ticking down again its going to be a matter of time, and so very little of it, before they are actually yellow.  

The first yellow.

At least he has friends to help keep him safe?

Because they did such a good job with the cows.

InTheLittleWood

Martyn digs himself into the side of a hill the instant the halt is announced and his hand-timer stops. He is too far from anyone to safely make it to their camp, and with his boogy kill fresh on everyone's minds he isn't sure he wants to anyway. He'll go find Scott in the morning. Maybe.

This game is weird. Everyone remembers, more clearly than the vague flashes and deja vu. The number of times one of them has tossed out a casual reference to one of the previous games has almost stopped his heart in his chest each time. Usually only Martyn remembers. Martyn and the winner.

He doesn't think they feel them though. The way they talk about it...The laughter and the jokes...they're emotionally disconnected from the games.

It's almost worse then when they don't remember at all.

Everyone remembers in their heads but not their hearts and Ren isn't here and Martyn doesn't know what Game They are playing this time but there is no way it ends well.

Tomorrow he'll go back to the coral reef, tonight, he closes his eyes in the darkness and focuses on breathing.

The Wet Cats Nosy Neighbors

It's familiar and reassuring, the furry, breathing weight on the bed. True, Froggy is smaller than Tilly, and sleeps on top of Pearl rather than beside her, but the added warmth is grounding. Pearl runs her fingers over the cat curled on top of her and stares up at the moon. 

If she focuses on the cat and the moon and the soft breathing of BigB a few blocks away she can ignore the way the smell of the smouldering mansion resembles the smell of tnt. She can ignore the aching emptieness where her heart tells her a thin little soul-cord should be inside her, now that they're back in the games. If she focuses on that little hurt, she can ignore the larger ones.

She can ignore the way the world border glows a purple hue beneath the blue that only she (and one other) can see. She can ignore the way the glowing numbers sear her skin and burrow their way into her Player-soul. She can ignore the way her wings are gone (and Grian's and Jimmy's) and the way she can even now feel the server shifting and settling around her, shaping and changing them all subtly to suit the Story of the Game. The way coral had been emerging from Scott's hair when they met on the mountaintop with Scar's horses, the way that the scars on Skizz's arms seemed to grow deeper.

The way she can feel the desire for chaos creeping at the edge of her mind.

At least she has B. She's not alone this time.

Smajor

It's strange, spending the first night alone. No JimmyPearlCleo nearby. 

He hasn't seen Martyn since the boogy attempt that killed the cows but he's not overly concerned. He'll be back.

Probably.

The grass is half-way across the water now, getting closer the the island. Scott squints at it with a critical eye as he places his bed for the night. Hopefully by the end of next round the whole island will be green. He only has a handful of torches but the door at the entrance to the island, wall-less as it is, marks the threshold he set, a light, cyan glow indicating it, almost invisible this close to the world border. Nothing will get past it. Not tonight. Not mob or player. (Even if players were allowed.) Not uninvited.

There has been a pinching at the corner of his mind ever since his boogy kill. An aura of disappointment and displeasure. That is not how it is supposed to be done. That is not Enough.

Scott throws a middle finger up to the night sky and rolls over, his pillow illumiated by the flickering green sparks around his head.

He's never played these Games on anyone's terms but his own. He's not about to change that now.

The Bad Boys

Joel is stuck.

He'd forgotten that both Jimmy and Grian are nesters because birds. Which means Joel is now a nester by default, whether he wants to be or not.

And Jimmy sleeps like a clingy starfish.

There is an arm under his chin (a few downy feathers tickling his neck) and another wrapped around his own arm and a knee thrown over his shin and all Joel can do is stare up at the night sky and contemplate his existance. Grian isn't even in the nest yet and he already can't move.

Grian is, in fact, perched on the edge of the mansion roof, hunched over like a gargoyle, peering at the blue admin control panel projected in the air over his arm. In the moonlight his eyes almost seem to glint purple.

Joel looks away, back up at the moon. He may not know everything. He may not understand the worried looks that Martyn and Pearl and BigB and Jimmy exchange behind Grian's back. But he understands enough.

And the creeping dread that always lurks beneath in these Games has grown and grown with every boogey re-roll. Every time Grian pulled up the panel to tap away and shape the world they're trapped in. 

He's never done that before. Never so open and blatant. So unapologetic. 

It's the specific flavor of fear that first appeared when tnt under an enchanting table took three lives and Grian laughed, green as grass but still out for blood.

Well. Grian isn't the only dangerous one on the server.

Keep your friends close.

And enemies closer.

#limited life smp #life series #trafficblr #rain rambles #mcyt #watcher grian #pearlescentmoon #skizzleman #zombiecleo #inthelittlewood #smallishbeans #smajor1995

[oswaldo0830]

Weekend Blog Post

Over the weekend, I didn't do much because I'm a huge homebody and enjoy my time at home. So, I decided to explore my backyard where my mom has all of her plants and succulents. I don't really go out there often and I didn't realize how nice my mom's succulent garden was until I really went out there and looked at it and now I have a greater appreciation for it. I asked my mom for a thought about each photograph and this is what I shot.

A succulent display my mom made using cinder blocks and wooden planks. My mom said all of this started with just two plants and grew from there. (ISO 100, f2.8, 1/500 s)

A cute cat pot. The cactus in the planter is called cat's tail and my mom looked for a cat planter specifically to put that cactus into. (ISO 100, f2.8, 1/500 s)

A vintage Coca-Cola carrier made into a planter. My mom saw the carrier at a store and instantly thought it could be used for her plants. (ISO 100, f2.8, 1/500 s)

House decoration turned into a planter. My mom had this decoration in the house and envisioned it with plants, so she brought it to life. (ISO 125, f2.5, 1/400 s)

I called this one the "Shrek Pot" because the building on the tree reminded me of the bathroom from the movie Shrek. The main tree in this pot was actually rescued from my front yard and is now growing big and strong. (ISO 125, f1.8, 1/400 s)

The Plant-Haired Lady. My mom searched for a pot like this for over three weeks until she finally sourced one from a local seller. (ISO 100, f2, 1/320 s)

The Spilled Pot. My mom's idea for this was to have a plant village spewing from the knocked over pot, however she got preoccupied with her other projects and did not finish this one. The pot was also brought from Rosarito, Mexico. (ISO 160, f2.5, 1/200 s)

A very simple planter. The plant in the middle started as a tiny shrub and has now grown much bigger and nicer. (ISO 160, f2.5, 1/200 s)

Monkey Tails. The cacti in the cone shaped planter in the back are called monkey tails and have grown significantly. My mom says the ones in the center will grow as big as the ones hanging over the right and left sides. (ISO 200, f4.5, 1/125 s)

The Tiki Village. When my mom started this project, the plants were much smaller and the village looked nicer with the sand and the ocean a lot more distinguishable. (ISO 320, f5, 1/80 s)

With each photograph, I wanted to tell a story rather than just have a photo of some plants with no context. I hope I have done so with this and I hope you enjoyed my weekend blog post.

[ceydsmelayne]

Who is She.

Mother: (self-definition): Protector

Arizona. Michael's mom, brother and other family live there. We travelled for 3 days maybe 4. We had 2 cats with us, Gemini and Romeo; I forget how we acquired him. He was a sweet orange kitty and loved to roam the neighborhood. Somewhere between moving from Illinois, visiting Iowa for my birthday and moving to Arizona, we stopped for ice cream and I let him try it... then I couldn't get him to stop eating it. I remember watching a home video, we're at a park, sister and I out of the car and parents in the car. She aims the camera at me asking me what happened, and the look of disappointment on my face as I look down at my ice cream, which I barely had taken a lick of. We couldn't help but laugh.

Family of 4 packed with 2 cats, tailer in tow. I think it was a 96 ford escort. Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico. Arizona. We stopped in Texas to see some of Michael's old friends. This is when my love for a Great Dane started. They had 2, I think, probably such a big dog in a small house, it seemed like it was 2. He had his own couch and lived like a king. I remember he didn't like the video camera. She found that out. On the road again. One of the cats pooped in the car, I laughed and sister cried, it was on her blanket. We stopped in Albuquerque. So incredibly cool that we passed through as the Hot Air Balloon Fest was happening. I loved to see them in all sorts of shapes and characters and colors! Just wow. We stayed at a hotel once or twice. One of the nights we stayed at a hotel, a fight broke out between my parents. I couldn't sleep, the TV on, apparently Michael couldn't sleep either. He put on the porn channel and was playing with himself. He didn't know I was awake, I didn't know what to do, I was kind of frozen. If I moved, I feared he'd know I was awake, Id get in trouble. He started to play with her too. They fucked while we were in the same room. I mean.. that's weird right? I was 7, sister 5. If they were in the bathroom together or something, not that it would make it better, but at least we wouldn't be in the same room, 3 feet away. I think she realized I was awake. Michael punched the wall, they were screaming at each other, I don't remember words, just the energy. Violent. I felt like it was my fault. I remember looking at him like I was supposed to say I'm sorry. Sorry for what? Being a kid. existing? I don't think anything was ever mentioned of that again. Back on the road.

We moved in with Grandma J, Michael's mom, and Jeremy, her roommate. She was so excited to see him after so many years. Hearing her yell his name and run to him with open arms. That's a sweet core memory. I think he had been in Arkansas for a while, maybe he lived with his dad at some point and learned he wasn't what he thought? I have a feeling their relationship has always been a bit strained. My parents had the master bed with the bathroom. It was definitely a small house, there was a huge back yard though. I guess this is when my story gets more messy. She learns an awful lot about Michael and his vices. Their drinking didn't get better and it seem that meth was still making a monster of them. I remember her tweaking out that a cop lived across the street. She peeked through the blinds often, thinking someone is watching the house. Was Grandma J in on their addiction too? Jeremy?

The neighborhood kids were cool! Alvey and his brothers Sampson and Zane, Lacey and her brother Andrew, Chelsea and her brother Jake, LeTizia and her brother Emelio, Natalie was an only child brat, there were some girls who lived on the end of the street, I forget their name. I got caught stealing my parents lighters to pretend to smoke weed under her back porch; rolled up leaves in a play-doh pipe, man did that shit burn! Daniel, and his brothers. I was in love with Daniel, I suppose he was my first kiss! Mike and Marc McCoy, twins, all the girls swooned. We were the cool kids. We built ramps out of cinder blocks and ply wood for our bikes. Had to see how many of us we could jump over, before the back tire hit someone. Many major bifs when the board snapped. How high of a jump could we make? 3,4 blocks high? 5? Letizia told the story of El Chupacabra, had me scared for months. We definitely tried. Chelsea "married" Emileo, he was 5 and she was 12, young love! We had balloons, food, cake, and gifts to celebrate the new couple. I have a photo album of that! Gem! Sister and Zane were on and off. When Daniel moved, I was in love with Alvey, but crushing hard on his older brother Sampson. So many cool forts were built! Tarps, 2X4's, nails and cinder blocks. Why there was a pleather of cinderblocks, I do not know.

Uncle Richard got a new 4 wheeler and had to bring it over to play. That's the cool thing about Arizona, trails everywhere. Empty lots had dirt bike jumps, don't wreck, you'll fall into the cactus. Michael took me for a long ride, I sat in front of him so I could drive once we got on the trail. It was so cool! Wide open on the throttle, doing donuts. I loved it! When we got home, though, she was freaking out. They had a HUGE fight, I remember. I had gone to the bathroom, and she rushed in and asked me what was in my urine. How was I supposed to know what was going on. I responded confused, "I don't know.. bubbles?'. On the ride, Michael had taken over the throttle on the 4 wheeler, I remember his hand being wet. She thought he touched me or raped me or something, she was pissed. I don't remember what gave her that impression that had happened. I never was able to understand the why or what was so sexual about the drive. I still don't. This was the first incident of many.

#storytime #lifestory #moving #growth #spirtualjourney #healing #mental abuse #child abuse #journal #journey #childhood trauma #inner child #childhood memory #core memory

[sorrelmoon]

Top ten shaped cats for sure

#i’ve always pictured him as like #a cinder block in the shape of a cat #my art #warrior cats #warrior cats art #wc #blackstar

[moonybadger]

It will never stop being hilarious to me that Jayfeather has like almost zero interest in romance and yet he has by far the best and most varied good shipping options of any character in Warriors. Every Jayfeather ship is valid 

#warrior cats #jayfeather #like for real we got the whole spectrum covered #We got Jay and Half Moon for star crossed tragic lovers #We got Jay and Briar for sweet ball of sunshine and grump who adores her #we got Jay and Poppy supportive bffs (she always goes to him for romantic advice!) #we Jay and Cinder for energetic jock and out of shape nerd #jay and kestrel for doctors in love #Jay and Berry for dumbass ego and sharp-tongued jerk but they're in love #I was even fond of Jay and Willowshine as a kid which is also valid as hell #they are all good good ships!!!! #warriors #bored badgering #like compared to Lionblaze who has all the personality of a block of wood

[daisiesforlacey]

clouds - chapter 2 : cirrus

Pair: Julie x alive!Luke

Summary: After her mother’s death, Julie Molina moved away from Hollywood, across the country, to Ithaca, New York. She’s left behind her two loves in life: her best friend, Luke, and her music. There, she finds new friends and enemies, new experiences and joys, she might even find herself. Every night, Luke calls Julie to talk about the clouds. But what if Luke is hiding something? 

Word Count: 3,344

Warnings: angsty??? I mean we gotta move the story along soooo

Note: I started writing this and it got away from me! I think this series might be longer than originally intended, but that’s not a bad thing. I can’t wait to delve more into Alex, Reggie, and Carrie’s storylines, but for now, here’s this! Please please comment, like, reblog; feedback is always appreciated :)))

Masterlist

Taglist

--- 

The morning had been much chillier than the previous day. On their way to school, Julie and Flynn had bundled up in their favorite sweaters and scarves, along with matching thermoses of tea. Julie had tried to stuff her hair into a wool hat, but after failing miserably, she settled on tying her hair back into a ponytail. Flynn had offered to help style her curls that morning, but she had declined.

The ground next to the sidewalk was blue with frost and they could almost see their breath if they squinted hard enough. 

In Ithaca, the winter was dryer, she had found that her lips chapped more often and she seemed to constantly have the sniffles. In L.A, when it got colder, it mostly rained, snow was far and few between and was never terribly enjoyable; the second it hit the ground it would become this sort of grey sludge. One thing they both shared was the unpredictability. Seeing the sun one day did not often guarantee a warm week, which left Julie to keep an array of coats of different thicknesses. 

There weren’t too many clouds to see, if she tried hard enough, she might be able to make out a flying saucer. She shook her head, spaceships were too easy and basic; anything could be a UFO. 

As they walked and the sun slowly rose, they talked about their upcoming day; if Carrie was going to be tolerable, if they would be getting new music projects, and who was buying lunch.

Luckily for Julie, she could already feel the air warm up, unfortunately, the conversion had shifted to Luke.

“How is your friend? Liam, or whatever?” Flynn asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“Luke,” Julie snorted and looked down at her hands, “He’s doing well, he didn’t see too many shapes yesterday, so our conversation was relatively short.” Flynn knew about their nightly calls, but Julie had left out most of the reason they happened. Flynn didn’t need to know how much she missed her friend, she didn’t want the other girl to feel inadequate. 

“It’s really cool that you guys still keep in touch, if all of my friendships drifted apart that nicely, Carrie…” Flynn drifted off into thought at the mention of Carrie. Contemplating Julie, frowned, she didn’t particularly like to think that she and Luke had drifted, but she supposed they had literally done just that. 

“Well when you have a history like Luke and I have, it’s impossible not to talk to him.” Julie didn’t mention that he seemed to be a part of her that was now missing, or that Luke had this sort of magnetism that drew anyone and everyone to him, or that when they wrote songs together she had felt more alive and seen than anything. 

Those things didn’t need saying, those things had been left in L.A. 

But in here she had Flynn and a small town and a family. 

A broken family, she thought. 

---

As Nick finished his guitar solo, his lacrosse buddies whooped and hollered in the small music room. 

It was smaller than the one back home, but just as welcoming. Cinder block walls had been covered with sound absorbers and music posters ranging from “hang in there” cats to major and minor scales to student made flyers, advertising the school dance coming up. 

Their mascot, a yellow and black cougar, had been painted on the wall by an art club some time ago. It was slightly lopsided and its snarling mouth looked more mangled, but the sentiment was there. 

Julie had zoned out long before Nick had started, staring at the chipped paint on the wall. She knew the second she walked up to the piano to play, she would freeze. No amount of mental preparation could prepare her to set her fingers on the ivory keys and play something, anything. 

“Okay, we have one last performance,” Her teacher said, “Julie.” 

The girl looked up slowly. She stumbled toward the piano with hesitant steps. She sat down with a sigh and opened the sheet music. Her blood was rushing and her head was pounding. The room seemed to blur and spin, but was also eerily still and quiet. 

She could feel the eyes of her classmates boring into her skull. As they watched her, she could guess what they were thinking, here we go again, I wonder if she’ll actually play this time, just get on with it. 

Julie knew that Flynn was trying to encourage her, even from where she was sitting, but she  couldn’t bring herself to look at the girl.

“Take your time,” Her teacher assured. 

Julie might take forever. 

She opened the case of the piano and grazed her fingertips on the keys. They were cold and unforbidding. The second she pressed one of the keys she knew that she would break.

Memories of her mother would come rushing back; every scraped knee, every hand holding in the parking lot, every crush whispered in secret, every night spent over the stove learning what spice goes in when, every uncontrollable fit of laughter. 

She would remember every Christmas and Easter that they would break out her Abuela’s Arroz Con Leche recipe, every concert they went to where they would scream lyrics until their throats were raw. 

Every failed test that her mother had stayed up late to help her study for, every flu shot where her mother still held her hand, no matter how old she got.

Every note written or melody sung would fill her mind. She didn’t know what would happen when it did, and she desperately didn’t want to find out. 

She stood up, “I’m sorry.”

Julie thought she heard Carrie say some snarky remark and that Flynn had retaliated, but she couldn’t have been sure before she was rushing out the door. 

After the school day, Flynn and her walked home as quickly as they could, sometimes sprinting. They needed to beat Julie’s father home after he picked up her brother, Carlos, up from his own school. She was praying that he hadn’t heard the news that she was out of the music program yet. 

She groaned as she saw his car already in the driveway

Flynn quickly hugged her, “It’s fine, he’ll understand.” She withdrew from the hug and held Julie at arms length with a sympathetic smile before they had to part. Flynn waved as she unlocked her front door and stepped inside. 

Julie took a sharp breath in before doing the same.

---

“So is ‘Clocks move faster / cause it’s all were after’ the first pre-chorus or the second pre-chorus?” Reggie ran his fingers through his hair, his nose scrunching, “Because wouldn’t it just make more sense to have the same pre-chorus on each verse?” 

The brunet’s bass was slung over his body as he rested his hands on the body of his guitar. He looked over to Luke, who was crouched over his lyrics. 

Luke shook his head , his air already dripping with sweat, “It’s the second pre-chorus, the first is ‘Clocks move forward / but we don’t get older.’” He semi, sang, strumming along on his guitar. “Changing it up adds movement, we don’t want to bore the listeners. It keeps the theme of staying young at heart.” 

Reggie nodded and plucked at his bass, testing out different rhythms. Moving his hands up the neck and over the strings, he finally settled on some semblance of a tune, repeating it over and over again. 

Alex joined him, adding a hit on each of the beats of the song. This gave the song a drive and pounding rhythm, working with Luke’s line of ‘Electric hammer to the heart.”

Luke stood up after scribbling something and added his guitar part over it, humming along with the melody, and soon they got well into the song, improvising along the way. There were still some wrong chords and off beats, but they had the bones of what they felt like would be a hit. 

Luke had gone from humming to singing, Reggie and Alex joining in. Luke felt his pulse quicken as he grinned. 

“‘We ain’t searchin’ for tomorrow’,” Alex sang, to which Reggie echoed, “‘Cause got all we need today’.”

Luke bopped along, “‘Living on a feeling that’s been running through our veins.”

They looked back and forth to each other, knowing what was coming next.

Reggie was supposed to have a line to end the bridge, but it hadn’t been written yet. Luke had spent hours trying to come up with something, but it just didn’t click, every line he wrote either changed the meaning of the song or was too clumsy.

Luke sighed as they all stopped playing and he cast an apologetic gaze to the bassist, “I’ll get it. I promise.”

The boy in the flannel just shook his head, “No worries bro, we’ve done a lot in,” He checked the clock on the wall and his eyes widened comically. “Five hours…”

This mock practice session had started in Alex’s garage right after school after Luke had presented them with a song at lunch. 

“It’s totally us,” He had said, sliding to the table with a lunch tray and a scribbled mess of paper, beaming, “Totally mid 90’s. And look, you-,” He pointed to Alex who looked excited but skeptical, “Can start the bridge and you-,” Luke turned his attention to Reggie, “Can echo, ending with…” 

Luke trailed off, he didn’t have an ending line yet, he knew it had to be perfect. Everyone knows you can’t end a bridge without a call to action, something that stirred and emotion so deep that you couldn’t help but sing along. 

He sighed as his mouth twisted, “I don’t know, I haven’t found the perfect line yet.” He looked down at his chicken scratch, then slid the paper across to Alex, who examined it. 

“I like it, have you decided where the harmonies should go yet, or nah?” Alex flipped his blond  hair back, after adjusting it in his snapback. He was already trying to decide what type of beats he would do, where the drum fills would be, and what he should consult Reggie on. 

The makeshift band had a process: Luke would write a basic lyric and chord progression and then he would bring it to the guys. From there Alex would come up with the heartbeat of the song with Reggie. Reggie would work with Luke to see what melodies he should be playing and how he and Luke would bounce off of each other.

When they came together, the three friends would look at who sang what, harmonies, and fill in the gaps in the music. They worked like a well oiled machine

But lunch had been 7 hours ago and it was now 8 o’clock, well past when Luke should have been home. The boy jumped as he looked outside, saw it was dark, and cursed under his breath. He quickly put his guitar on his stand and grabbed his book bag, then ran out with a wave to Reggie and Alex.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow, if I’m still alive,” he called before getting on his bike and going home. 

The air was damp and it had just rained, making the pavement slippery. Despite being almost winter, the weather was warm enough to where he only had to put on a shirt and jeans to be comfortable.

On his way to his house, Luke looked to the sky. He cataloged some shapes of dark clouds, moose, cat, spaceship, he thought. He chucked to himself, anything could be a space ship, it wasn’t creative enough, all the cloud had to be was somewhat circular. 

His mind drifted to Julie and what she would have to say about these clouds. She would probably smile, her adorable gap showing, and tell him all of the wonderful odd shapes she would see. 

“There, right there, a cat chasing a dog,” She would say, “No, no, scratch that, a dog chasing a cat chasing a pigeon. Wait sorry, a shark without a back fin. Or maybe a line of ducklings crossing a street.” Then she would narrow her eyes as the clouds shifted and formed new images, “Well now I don’t know what I see.” 

Luke would then look over and tell her that everything she saw was amazing, even if it was truly unremarkable. She was always able to see things he couldn’t, even if it was something as menial as a cloud. She could look at him and know exactly what was wrong no matter what; he didn’t know if she was truly super powered, or if he was super transparent. 

Which was why he was glad she couldn’t see him on their calls. 

She knew about Reggie and Alex, they had met before she left, but she didn’t know that they played music together. She didn’t know that Luke was writing songs with them like he used to with her. He didn’t want her to feel replaced.

And as far as she knew, his parents were completely fine with his music. They may have had little gripes here and there, but she thought that was the extent of it. 

As he arrived at his house and opened the front door, that wasn’t the case at all.

“Lucas Patterson!” His mother yelled from the kitchen, “Do you have any idea what time it is!”

Luke winced as she ran into the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. He could see that the dining room table had already been cleared and the leftovers put away. 

“It is 8:14! Would you like to tell me why the hell you missed dinner again for the third time this week? No wait! I bet I know! Let me guess, you were at Alex’s!” Her eyes were steel. It wasn’t a question, they both knew the only thing that would keep him out at night would be music with the guys. 

He gripped the strap of his back pack before looking at the floor, his knuckles white. “I’m sorry Mom. I just lost track of time, you know how I get.”

Emily smoothed her brow with her fingers as her husband walked in from the kitchen. “At least tell me you did your homework.” 

Luke didn’t answer.

His mom threw the dish towel to the floor, “Luke we had a deal! You can keep playing your guitar and going to ‘band practice,’” She used air quotes, “As long as you did your homework before then and always made it home for dinner. Always! Your family and school work is important! I know you don’t think so, but as long as you live under our roof, you abide by our rules!”

He threw his hands up and scoffed, “I’m not going to stop playing music, it’s my life! And you can’t stop me! I am sorry if I miss a few family dinners a week, but isn’t that fine if it means I’m happy?” 

His mother looked at him like he had sprouted another head, “Son, I know it’s been hard ever since Julie left, and I know you miss her but--”

“But what Mom? There’s nothing I can do about it, she’s in New York! And the only thing keeping me connected to her is music, and right now, you don’t even let me have that.” Luke stormed through the living room into his room. 

He dropped his bag down with a thunk, and sat on his bed, smashing his head into a pillow and screaming. He regretted that he didn’t bring his guitar back, if only to take out his anger by shredding on volume 10. 

The day kept getting later, and while he didn’t like calling her while angry, he dialed Julie’s phone number. 

The phone rang a couple times before she picked up, “Hello, this is Her Majesty Queen Julie Molina, what is your concern peasant?” She said in a haughty voice, before her façade broke with a giggle.

“Well Your Highness, I have come to discuss today’s weather.” He replied, playing along, her voice instantly making him feel better.

“Today we have seen a couch, a baby, and many many trees.”

“I have also seen many trees; they are very common in the sky.” Luke laughed, “I may have also spotted a suitcase and an umbrella. Sadly my Queen, the rain made it quite hard to see too many shapes.”

Julie clicked her tongue, he could see her face now, her nose scrunched and her mouth down turned, “That is a downright shame. Is there any news to report?’”

Luke perked up at that and rushed to get the words out of his mouth, “Actually, yeah. I wrote a song, ‘Now or Never,’ and it’s actually not that bad. Except I can’t figure out this one line, and it’s been bugging me all day.” He huffed, “Do you wanna hear it?”

She replied just as giddy as he is, “Of course!”

The brunet then launched into singing an a cappella version of his song from memory, stopping here or there to say things such as, “A harmony would totally go here,” or “Add a little guitar riff and it’d be perfect.” 

He kept going until, “‘Living on a feeling that’s been running through our veins’. And then of course another line, and then the chorus.” He was staring at his popcorn ceiling now, smiling like a kid in a candy shop. 

Julie paused, then said, “We’re the revolution that’s been singing in the rain.” 

“What?”

“That’s it, that’s your missing lyric.”

Luke froze, she really couldn’t get any more perfect.

“Queen Julie, you are a genius!” He jumped off of his bed to grab a scrap of paper off of his messy desk before writing down the lyric. “You songwriting genius! If you have stuff like that flowing through your brain, how aren’t you playing it?”

He didn’t mean to bring it up, it just sort of happened. But it was true, how could she be so good at writing and let it go to waste?

Julie cleared her throat, “Well actually--”

“You sang again? I knew it, I knew you would!” Luke cut her off.

“Well no,” She rushed out, he could already see her running her hand over her face in exasperation. He has to stop interrupting people. “I got kicked out of the music program. I haven’t played anything since I got here, and I couldn't either today. I guess that was the last straw, because my teacher called my dad and said that unless I could play something by the end of the week, I need to choose a new elective.”

They sat in silence. 

Luke played with his hands, knitting his fingers together and pulling them apart before an idea came to him, “What about your mom’s song. Not for class I mean! But, if just to sit down at your piano again and play something, what about that? She wrote it for you after all. And then maybe afterwards you’d be good to play for your class and boom! You’re Julie, songwriting pianist extraordinaire again!”

“I-I don’t know about that, Luke,” She swallowed. Right before her mom passed, they had written a song together, but she hasn’t even been able to look at it since she moved. If she sat down to play it, she’d be accepting all of those memories back. But then again, if she needed to sing anything it would be her mother’s song. They had taken a few months to write it, and Julie’s mom had completed it before…

“I mean maybe. I’ll see. I’ll try.” Julie nodded to herself and gave a determinant look to her wall. Tomorrow morning she would go to her garage and play her mother's song.

“You promise?” Luke asked tentatively. 

“I promise.”

“Alright. I guess I should go, it’s probably pretty late where you are. I’ll see you soon?”

Julie nodded, “See you soon.” Then hung up.

#jatp #Julie and the phantoms #Julie and the himbos #julie and the fat ones #jatp julie #julie molina #Luke patterson #Luke Patterson imagine #Jatp luke #Luke Patterson au #julie x luke #luke and julie #Willex #jatp flynn #Jatp fanfic #Jatp reggie #Jatp alex #jatp carrie #clouds fanfic #juke #jukebox

[grailbot143]

And For all the crazy stuff the artists added to Amethyst’s room:

Tire with nail in it

Fish Sign

Golf Bag + at least 5 golf clubs

Clock

Fire Hydrant with face

Gumball Machine

Bonsai Tree

Fries

Trophy

Teddy Bear

Jack-O-Lanturn

Frog

Refrigerator

Bathtub

Anatomy model

Television

DVD Player

Bigger Teddy Bear

Bag of Cheeseballs

Another refrigerator

Potted Plant

Table

Street sign

Door

Potted cactus

Shaped blocks

Watering Can

Statue Head

Owl Statue

Corked Jug

Pillar

Attic Fan

Woven Basket

Hockey Stick

Safe

Book

Chair

Cabinet

Pot

Dresser

Menu

Sandbag

Lighted Arrow Sign

another chair

Bedframe and mattress

Coffin

Tire Iron

Bird Statue

Bookshelves

Sleeping Bag

Gas Mask

Skull

file boxes

Rake

Tractor

Fishing Net

Oil Drum full of bones

Football

Pillow

Mattress

Kid's space ride

Guitar

Pitcher

Mug

Broom

Axe in tree trunk

Reindeer topiary

Giant broken drum

keyboard

Watermelon

Bowling Pin

Dining Chair

Square wooden box with flowers

Bag of donuts

raft

Sword

Globe

Cinder block

Suitcase

Giant lego

fast food bag

Pig barrel

Folding Chair

Cat Scratching Post

Fish Statue

Wooden Barrel

Trunk

Different Pile of gold coins

Cupcake

Bag of groceries

Sarcophagus

Another nother pile of gold coins

Broken TV

Barrel filled with something

T-Rex Skull

Windmill blades

Genesis + 2 controllers

Shield w/ Coat of Arms

Giant Pot

Tissues

Fire Extinguisher

Mushrooms

Ladder

VCR

Daruma Doll

2 Paintings

A basket w/ groceries

Classified file boxes

A wrench

Snorlax

Carseat

Giant PUNCH glove

Giant onion and peach

Animal Crossing Leaf

There's the motor oil

Cauldron

Paper towels

Dragon Head statue

Fortune Teller Station (Like "Zoltar" from BIG)

Mailbox

Toolbox

Mayor Placard

Shield w/ arrows through it

Lamp

Weapon made w/ an anvil

Deflated basketball

Chair

Duck

Triceratops Skull

Mailbag w/ mail still in it

Rock covered in chains?

Fox/Dog statue

Barrel w/ Symbol on it

A Fetish mask

Box w/ claw marks

Washer/Dryer

Blue Table

A bunch of ball pit balls

A roman statue head

a Filing cabinet

A wicker basket with clothes

A wooden crate

An urn

A large bowl? with balls in it

A treasure chest

A cannon

A Water Cooler

A Giant Ice Cream Cone

A display cabinet or telephone booth?

A control board ?? (maybe from a plane?)

Some rugs

A spinning table (wheel of fortune?)

A throne

Another even gianter fish

A popcorn maker

A statue maybe from Lunar Sea Spire

Giant Package

Ribbon

Fork

Clock

Theatre Ropes?

Shark

Radio

Mailbox again

Phone

Alarm clock

Another book

Slime from Dragon Quest

Pool Table

Another bed

A Chminey, or a wall. . .

The yellow man's hat (except blue)

Palisade

Umbrella

Monster Truck

Giant Bubble Wand

Favorite round thing

Harp

Dolphin

Foine Summer Special Magazine

Garnet Glasses

Pirate Penguin

Hammer

Crab doll

A flashlight

A waffle Iron

No Home Boys My Story Train

Baseball

Manaquin

No Parking Sign

A Goblet

An innertube

A rug

Curtain rods

Thermos

A broken Mast

A soda cup with straw

Sofa

Energy drink can

Knight helmet

Palm Tree

Safe

Mario Question Box

Water Hose

Koneko Cat

Giant Rubix Cube (solved)

Ping Pong table

basketball hoop

old car

anchor

Japanese sword

Outdoor lamp

The speaker from the message

#suliveblogchrono #liveblog #Steven Universe #grailbotliveblogs #Universe057 #Reformed #List of Lists

[interminal]

 fill this with what you most associate with your muse in each of these (some slightly unusual) categories !

spice: black pepper. anise. weather: mist/fog. primary colour: red. colour of the sky: the subtle lightening just before dawn, but not quite sunrise yet. animal crossing animal: tom (the cat, not the tanuki, but also kinda the tanuki). magical power: resurrection/necromancy. shoe: either lace up ankle boots or lace up kneehighs. there is no length between them.  houseplant: lithops. blade weapon: bowie knife or a scalpel, depending on the mood. school subject: biology. drama. social media: twitter. makeup product: eyeliner. candy: cinder toffee. liquorice.  tangible fear: thalassophobia. necrophobia. ice cube shape: a shard chipped from a big block. method of long-distance travel: dragon train, but like. a super expensive train. art style: baroque. historical period: the dark ages but just before the renaissance starts so it’s kinda ok. mythological creature: phoenix. lich if that counts. piece of stationery: staple remover. three emoji combination: 💀🦝🔪   (☕)    celestial body: mercury. rom com archetype: i don’t watch many rom coms uhhh. sad bitch. like liam neeson’s character from love actually if he was a complete piece of shit

#something dead that seems to be alive〚 ABOUT. 〛 #ic.

[tcrmommabear]

Merry Christmas Cinder!

@deadbonessinderhellaton, yours hit me like a golf club, and I was simply at its whim.

It’s rare when one prompt speaks to me so strongly. Two at the same time is almost unheard of. Yours (sort of) has three prompts.

How did Haru end up running the Bureau? + Faustian Bargain/Deal with the Devil + “Ghosts are like relatives”

I struggled so hard with this, until the format finally hit me. And then yours was done and I wanted a full fic. I hope you enjoy this as much as I had writing it!

Cobblestone was cold. Cobblestone was familiar.

Cobblestone was pressed against her cheek and that’s not exactly where it should be.

Where should it be? Where should she be?

Images popped into mind, bubbling forth from somewhere familiar but blocked. Names, places, words, feelings. A slideshow before her eyes, leading her to where she needed to be.

Horror crashed through her.

“No!”

***

“Baron! Watch out!”

She yanked him arm, fire singeing her hands as it roared past them. They pressed up against the wall, listening to the dragon inhale, rumbling growl rattling through their bones.

They glanced at each other. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, hot and jittery, and she couldn’t stop the wide grin she gave him. His own almost matched the intensity of hers, breath heavy.

“That’s one way to get his attention,” she joked. His grin grew wider.

“Well, we’ve certainly got it now.”

***

She settled her life in places that she could. A goodbye note here, hints of life there.

A tearful goodbye with her mother that didn’t keep. She inserted herself into her life as much as she could, all the way up to the end. Sat on the couch, like she was a teenager again, coming home from a date or a party.

Instead she came home from life or death situations.

Except the second one wasn’t even an option.

***

She strained to hear, effectively pinned into place.

His voice was there, it was just out of reach, and she couldn’t stop him.

“... Everything. Do you swear on that?” he asks, voice colder than she had ever heard it. Harsher, demanding, authoritative.

“Don’t-!” she screamed out, but the words muffled against her lips and barely cut through whatever was holding her back.

They looked at her, two faces eerily similar. Except for two little horns curling from the one on the right’s temples. That one gave a splitting grin, flesh cracking. Cheshire.

Devilish.

It was in front of her, and she caught it all in full, watched the head tilt. The voice warped, familiar cloaked in nightmares. Turned its body to give the other a hand to shake, head still locked onto her.

“Do you swear?” he demanded again, hand just hovering out of reach.

The other forcibly clasped it, giving it a shake.

“Every damn day,” it told her.

***

“Look out!” she roared, dashing towards the young woman almost caught in flames and hissing liquid.

They tumbled to the floor, rolling as she shielded the other with her body. She wanted to howl as acid sunk into her flesh, but only grit her teeth. She could already feel herself knitting back together, bare back against the elements with the fabric of her jacket and shirt gone.

“Miss Haru…” the young woman whispered in horror, reaching up to wipe away at remnant acid still fizzing away.

“Don’t!” she blurted, catching her hand before it could touch it.

A roar sounded off in the distance, the beast running after another prospective meal. Haru slowly sat up, then stood, and finally reached down to help her client up. They glanced at each other, Haru looking around the corner to see if she could spot their monster.

“I’m so sorry Miss Haru,” the woman sniffed, drawing Haru’s attention,” I should have been more careful, you got hurt-.”

“Stop that,” Haru interjected, gripping the other’s shoulders, “you stop that right now, Miss Noelle. That thing can’t hurt me in ways that matter, and I would protect you again in a heartbeat. You’re the most important one here.”

Noelle stared up at her, and Haru briefly panicked as she saw the starstruck look appear in her eyes. Cursed herself for being too much like-.

“Chicky!” Muta slid suddenly into Haru’s line of sight, coming from a different path of the maze.

“Muta!”

“Chicken Wings has got its attention, but we gotta move,” he bellowed, rushing up and pushing the women along.

Then Toto flashed overhead. Then the beast crashed through the maze and found them again.

“Oh fuck.”

***

“Shit! Fuck! God dammit! Fucking fuck fuck!”

Another book crashed against the wall, falling to the floor and slumping with its other abused brethren. The other two in the room didn’t say anything, just watched their de facto leader curse and destroy her home.

At least, her forced home.

“Haru…” Toto spoke up, softly. A book thumped near his head. He had the decency to flinch just a little.

“Don’t even try, Toto!” she screamed, fisting the cloth of her long skirt between her hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks, matting the soft brown fur. She wiped at the furiously, releasing the now-wrinkled skirt.

Muta crossed the room without a word, pulling her roughly into his arms. She didn’t fight the hold, sinking into it with a choked back sob. He rubbed circles into her back, humming lightly until she could breath a little easier.

“I can’t… He’s gone… How do I-”

“I know kiddo,” he interrupted, “I know.”

***

“Oh,” she mumbled, pulling her hand away. It came back red.

Panic or bile rose in her throat. She couldn’t tell which. She looked up at the others. They were shouting. Calling. Baron looked so scared. She gave a loopy smile. Giggled, because what else could she do?

“Well, that’s not good.”

***

She settled into routine. Easy enough.

Wake up. Dress. Tea. Paperwork. Read. Attend to clients. Drink. Sleep.

It was a pattern, an easy dance she knew the steps by heart. She was just missing a partner.

But she couldn’t stop.

The Bureau needed someone.

She just didn’t want it to be her.

***

She made the mistake of changing into lighter clothes when she became too hot. His breath caught in his throat, scanning over the myriad of scars she’d gotten over their adventures.

“Oh, right,” she laughed, tugging her shorts down in the hopes it’d hide everything, “it’s pretty surprising to see.”

“You’re… So delicate, Haru,” he breathed out, touching the scar she’d gotten from the Devil’s claws slashing her back., though his eyes were glued to twisting flesh of her thigh. When the dragon decided she’d make for a good snack.

“Comes with being human,” she replied, shivering as he pulled his hand away. Her own hand ran up her arm, feeling the bumps and odd feeling flesh.

“Right.”

She didn’t like the look on his face.

***

“Well, case closed,” she declared, dropping the file into the stack with finality.

Next followed the clunk of a wine bottle onto the desk. Her desk, she had to remind herself. The original wasn’t coming back anytime soon. So, hers from now on.

She poured into her tea cup, swallowing a mouthful of milky tea and wine. It was disgusting, but she couldn’t be bothered to get another glass. She only had two of them left, after all these years. Curious dogs, natural catastrophes, and Muta to be blamed for her losses.

She sank back in the chair, rubbing at her temples in the hopes it would spare her the migraine. Immortal lifespan, mortal aches and pains. They just couldn’t haunt her like they did before.

“To another helped client,” she toasted the air, which quickly began to fill with the sounds of a commotion. She grimaced, turning the chair away from the door and raising her feet on the desk. Not her division.

“To another year of searching,” she finished. Another mouthful. And the same tolerance for alcohol after all these years. It was a special occasion tonight. The first in a long time she didn’t wake up and forget where she was.

The commotion grew louder outside.

***

“You’re going to need to be more specific, lass,” the witch grumbled, his eyes narrowed.

She slammed her fist on the table, standing to pace.

“I told you! Baron took me to Castle Wyvern. He pinned me with his spell, then summoned the Devil. The Devil came-!”

“I heard you the first time and every single time after, missy!” the witch shouted, “What I’m missing is what did this Baron ask for?”

“Look at me! He must have wished for me to be a Creation like him!”

“Did he wish for you to be a Creation, or have a Creation’s immortality?”

She stopped.

***

“Miss Haru?” the client, a little boy named Bertrand, asked her.

She stopped to look over at him, pausing in pouring the hot chocolate. He looked around the Bureau in wonder, before meeting her eyes again. He still was nervous around her. She couldn’t blame him. She still wasn’t used to the… New situation she was in.

“What’s up, sweets?” she prompted, plopping a snowflake shaped marshmellow in the drink.

“How’d you start the Cat Bureau? What’d you think of to give you that idea?”

She clenched her cup tightly, nails cracking into the porcelain. At least it wasn’t the… Other set.

***

The commotion grew louder outside, and Muta suddenly burst through the doors.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed greeting another client,” Haru groaned, half out of exhaustion of the massive amount of cases lately, half out of disappointment of losing a chance to save whoever was out there from being dragged into the other Bureau members’ disputes.

“It ain’t a client, Chicky,” Muta panted, blocking the doorway, “not unless we’re taking ghosts for clients.”

“Ghosts?” Haru barked out a laugh, swirling the wine and tea combination still in her cup.

***

“I can’t risk losing her, even if it means I can never find her! Just give her everything!”

“How noble, knick-knack. Those your terms?”

“Yes. You will give her everything. Do you swear on that?”

“Every damn day.”

***

“Ghosts are like relatives, Muta, honestly,” she laughed at first, before it fell into almost disappointed whining. Still swirling that tea cup, hoping to keep herself from seeing her reflection.

“Chicky-”

***

“I didn’t actually start the Cat Bureau, Bertrand.”

“But you’re in charge of it?”

“Mmhmm, the one who created the Cat Bureau, well…”

***

“Once you let them in, Muta, Muta, dearest Muta, you just can’t get rid of them.”

“Chicky-!”

“Oh honestly, calm down. This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a ghost at the Sanctuary. Certainly enough of them here in this house. What did they say?”

***

“I inherited it from them.”

“Did they die?”

***

Forest was unfamiliar. Forest was cold.

Forest was pressed against his cheek.

Part of him told him that he should be concerned.

That this wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

He just didn’t know who “he” was.

***

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

***

“Chicky, it’s-!”

“Hello?” a voice asked, a head poking around Muta. The tea cup clattered against the desk, ruining the paperwork she’d spent all night doing.

Ginger hair, dark freckled face, so obviously not from around here.

Mint green eyes.

“I’m looking for the Cat Bureau? I was hoping I could get-.”

“Name,” she hissed. Wood splintered under her nails. “What’s your name?!”

He jerked back, confused and afraid.

***

“Who were they? What was their name? Are they that cat in the painting?”

“Oh no, that was someone else. But his name was…”

***

“Humbert. Humbert von Gikkingen”

#tcr #the cat returns #tcr secret santa 2019 #tcr secret santa #tcr au #tcrmommabear writes #tcrmommabear posts #dun dun dun!!! #i have no clue how baron found his way back to the cat bureau #but hes been alive and looking the same human shape for a long time #so something told him he was weird #ive only had bertrand for one prompt #but if anything happened to him id kill everyone in the room and myself #deadbonessinderhellaton #i hope you enjoyed! #cw swearing #i know you prefer that be tagged

[a-shell-of-light]

Just before two, I climbed over the cinder-block wall and down into the alley-or what we called the alley. It was not an “alley” in the proper sense of the word, but then, there was probably no word for what it was. It wasn’t a “road” or a “path” or even a “way.” Properly speaking, a “way” should be a pathway or channel with an entrance and an exit, which takes you somewhere if you follow it. But our “alley” had neither entrance nor exit. You couldn’t call it a cul-de-sac, either: a cul-de-sac has at least one open end. The alley had not one dead end but two. The people of the neighborhood called it “the alley” strictly as an expedient. It was some two hundred yards in length and threaded its way between the back gardens of the houses that lined either side. Barely over three feet in width, it had several spots at which you had to edge through sideways because of fences sticking out into the path or things that people had left in the way. About this alley, the story was-the story I heard from my uncle, who rented us our house for next to nothing-that it used to have both an entrance and an exit and actually served the purpose of providing a shortcut between two streets. But with the rapid economic growth of the mid-fifties, rows of new houses came to fill the empty lots on either side of the road, squeezing it down until it was little more than a narrow path. People didn’t like strangers passing so close to their houses and yards, so before long, one end of the path was blocked off-or, rather, screened off-with an unassertive fence. Then one local citizen decided to enlarge his yard and completely sealed off his end of the alley with a cinder-block wall. As if in response, a barbed-wire barrier went up at the other end, preventing even dogs from getting through. None of the neighbors complained, because none of them used the alley as a passageway, and they were just as happy to have this extra protection against crime. As a result, the alley remained like some kind of abandoned canal, unused, serving as little more than a buffer zone between two rows of houses. Spiders spread their sticky webs in the overgrowth. Why had Kumiko been frequenting such a place? I myself had walked down that “alley” no more than twice, and Kumiko was afraid of spiders at the best of times. Oh, what the hell-if Kumiko said I should go to the alley and look for the cat, I’d go to the alley and look for the cat. What came later I could think about later. Walking outside like this was far better than sitting in the house waiting for the phone to ring. The sharp sunshine of early summer dappled the surface of the alley with the hard shadows of the branches that stretched overhead. Without wind to move the branches, the shadows looked like permanent stains, destined to remain imprinted on the pavement forever. No sounds of any kind seemed to penetrate this place. I could almost hear the blades of grass breathing in the sunlight. A few small clouds floated in the sky, their shapes clear and precise, like the clouds in medieval engravings. I saw everything with such terrific clarity that my own body felt vague and boundless and flowing ... and hot! I wore a T-shirt, thin cotton pants, and tennis shoes, but walking in the summer sun, I could feel a light film of sweat forming under my arms and in the hollow of my chest. The T-shirt and pants had been packed away in a box crammed with summer clothing until I pulled them out that morning, the sharp smell of mothballs penetrating my nostrils. The houses that lined the alley fell into two distinct categories: older houses and those built more recently. As a group, the newer ones were smaller, with smaller yards to match. Their clothes-drying poles often protruded into the alley, making it necessary for me to thread my way through the occasional screen of towels and sheets and undershirts. Over some back walls came the clear sound of television sets and flushing toilets, and the smell of curry cooking. The older houses, by contrast, gave hardly any sense of life. These were screened off by well-placed shrubs and hedges, between which I caught glimpses of manicured gardens. An old, brown, withered Christmas tree stood in the corner of one garden. Another had become the dumping ground for every toy known to man, the apparent leavings of several childhoods. There were tricycles and toss rings and plastic swords and rubber balls and tortoise dolls and little baseball bats. One garden had a basketball hoop, and another had fine lawn chairs surrounding a ceramic table. The white chairs were caked in dirt, as if they had not been used for some months or even years. The table-top was coated with lavender magnolia petals, beaten down by the rain. I had a clear view of one living room through an aluminum storm door. It had a matching leather sofa and chairs, a large TV, a sideboard (atop which sat a tropical-fish tank and two trophies of some kind), and a decorative floor lamp. The room looked like the set of a TV drama. A huge doghouse occupied a large part of another garden, but there was no sign of the dog itself, and the house’s door stood open. The screen of the doghouse door bulged outward, as if someone had been leaning against it for months at a time.

Haruki Murakami, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

[callmeblake]

MCR specific tags (WIP)

 EDIT: This is no longer being updated please go HERE for an updated version.

I had this in a page but it kept losing the tags. I have not the patience to put them all in again today.

Please just put it in manually for now on unlinked ones until I do.

Magazine Posters and Articles Lists - all members

Frank-

Instagram: frankieromustdie

Body: frank’s hands, bare chest, frank’s tummy, frank’s legs, moustache frank,  frank on his knees,  frank's smile

Bands: steve weil and the disco kings, Hybrid, Sector 12,  Pencey Prep, I am a graveyard, LeATHERMØUTH, Frnkiero andthe cellabration, bloodNUN, frank iero and the patience, fiatfv, frank iero and the future violents

Frank’s covers

Frankie in red

Frank in Purple

Frank in Camo

Frank’s hair

Frank in jean jackets

Other: Frank in aviators, white wrist cuff with studs, skeleton gloves, pink and blue striped tie, tiara frank, frank spitting, padlock necklace, bandana frank, misfits gloves, electrified frankie, pimp frank, frank with dogs, shirtless frank, shower frank, frank drinking water, macaroni necklace, mardi gras beads, frank all in black, red and black bandana, frank in a choker, shovel tie, shorts, american flag guitar strap,  frankenstein guitar strap , blindfolded, frank in a suit, pinstripe suit, snap hospital gown, checkered vans, green scarf, frank in glasses, yellow and black shoes, he's wearing a fucking belt/leather strap around his wrist,  frank with records,  fidget spinner, zombie sticker, arizona tea shorts,  transparent sunglasses

Hats: checkered earflap hat, cheese hat, newsies hat, sailor hat, hawaii stocking cap, stocking cap frank, engineer hat, green hat,  riot fest sucks hat,  i need my space nasa hat,  pink milk teeth hat,  carhartt beanie

Shirts: Death Spells Arm Stripe Shirt, jail stripe shirt , hostage shirt , yourcodenameis:milo shirt, gray soft looking sweatshirt, faded wash blue button up shirt, I am a monster shirt, brown velour striped shirt, blue arm stripe shirt, steelers 32 shirt , long sleeved polka dot shirt, protect each other shirt , red sweatshirt with foot on fire, green cunt shirt, inside out shirt, kill shirt, lehigh army rotc shirt, hostage shirt, christian death shirt, hi how are you? shirt, eagle sweatshirt, blue short sleeved shirt with white stitching, browns sweatshirt, danzig shirt, bahama mama cat shirt, navy blue V neck sweater, red shirt under black sweater, voice in the wire shirt, kill 'em all shirt, black flag shirt, bart shirt , green inside out airborne shirt , legalize gay shirt , fred perry polo , raglan shirt , gray sweater, yellow morrissey rose shirt , no love shirt , son of a beach shirt , gray and burgundy striped sweater , blue shoulder adidas shirt t, black shirt with yellow arm stripe , white titty pocket shirt , blue denim titty pocket shirt, yellow and blue stripe plaid shirt, black long sleeved shirt with thin white stripe, wu tang clan shirt , faded wash blue button up shirt , duck hunting shirt , hole heart shirt , plaid titty pocket shirt, ramones shirt, white wives shirt, U.S. army patch shirt , bathory sweatshirt, i got crabs at fisherman's wharf in san francisco shirt , dare shirt, x files shirt, boozey shirt, steel city shirt, short sleeve polo with white trim,  short sleeve polo with white trim button flap, fuck your crew shirt, inside out rick springfield shirt, red muscle shirt, black muscle shirt, dead animal skeletons sleeveless shirt, LBCB shirt, mystery arm stripe shirt, jawbreaker muscle shirt, two tone blue stripe shirt, boozey shirt, inside out holy family nutley shirt, holy family nutley shirt, smiley face shirt, lumberjack shirt, red shirt with white ribbing, green army shirt , kangaroo shirt, chocolate starlight mint shirt, red dad sweater, black short sleeve center buttons shirt, yellow shirt,  black shirt with face on it, royal blue shirt, joy division shirt, coca cola shirt, gray plaid shirt, pizza shirt,  No5 Rescue shirt ,  plaid titty pocket shirt, batman shirt,  nails shirt,  black short sleeved shirt with orange cold button,  white short sleeved shirt with orange cold button,  black t shirt,  frankly scallop I don't give a clam,  goodwill blouse,  steel city shirt,  burgundy trash talk destroy peace sign shirt, navy blue t shirt,  rose bowl 1987 sweatshirt, dave hause starbucks shirt,  grateful dead shirt,  NVRNDR shirt,  blue firmino shirt,  harley davidson eagle shirt,  green striped soccer jersey,  green and blue striped shirt, bleeding smiley face shirt,  soccer jersey,  batman shirt

striped sailor shirt  not to be confused with  black sailor striped shirt or  sailor blue striped shirt

Jackets and hoodies:

patience windbreaker,  cunt sweatshirt , button up hoodie , burgundy hooded sweatshirt, red hoodie , lonsdale london jacket , that damn jacket with the orange pockets , burgundy hoodie , scotch tape jacket , zipper jacket , gray and yellow striped sweater , own name hoodie , racing jacket , white levi denim jacket, denim vest, the banner hoodie, thin white striped hoodie, skeleton crew hoodie, dawn of the dead hoodie, vampire mouth hoodie, adidas windbreaker , jacket with pentagram and finger missing, flair navy blue hoodie. levi fleece lined jacket, skull hoodie, duck hunting hoodie, walt disney world jacket , navy blue hoodie, olive dad sweater, brown dad sweater, never fails to fail me sweatshirt , green coat, carhartt jacket, gray dad sweater with pockets, nylon windbreaker, skeleton ribs hoodie,  skeleton jacket , I heart hoodie, SSE hoodie, wallpaper hoodie, purple cable knit sweater, blue cable knit sweater, black v neck sweater, hoodie with strings,  blue mustangs sweatshirt,  yellow windbreaker,  white stringed neck collar hoodie,  blue alligator dad sweater,  alligator dad sweater,  yellow windbreaker,  fur trimmed coat,  boston hooded sweatshirt,  gray windbreaker,  skull hoodie,  green army sweater,  american nightmare hoodie,  biker jacket,  blue alligator dad sweater with welcome button,  blue alligator dad sweater,  black hoodie,  champion windbreaker,  camo windbreaker,  red and orange V jacket,

Pins/badges: I’m a mess pin, skeleton crew button

Guitars: Gibson ES,  cheap trick bullseye guitar, phant o matic, green guitar, epiphone 50th, blue guitar, red guitar, orange guitar, yellow guitar, guitar with metal front, ftw guitar

Gerard-

Gerard’s art, bat buckle, striped scarf, blue suit, checkered shoes, gerard way smoking, purple gerard, velvet suit, bat buckle

Jackets:

jacket with diamond shapes, kill blazer, black and white coat, white levi denim jacket, candy apple red jacket, C.Taylor Jacket, thin white striped hoodie, black poncho , vomit poncho, T jacket, dead pegasus jacket, faux fur coat, green perry jacket

Hats: beanie gerard, ‘70s hat

Hair: orange hair gerard, red hair gerard, scarecrow hair, lemon gerard, blonde gerard, two tone hair, platinum gerard

Shirts:

green t shirt, LA Co. jail shirt , western rose shirt, motorhead shirt, danzig shirt, red white and blue star shirt , madonna shirt, black flag shirt, sternum shirt, rolling stones shirt, polka dot shirt , faded wash blue shirt, green schoeneck shirt, , dr. pepper shirt, alkaline trio shirt, pink lips shirt, quiet riot shirt, inside out quiet riot shirt, iron maiden shirt, HAMBURGLAR SHIRT, number 5 shirt, green army shirt, planet of the apes shirt, christmas plaid shirt, plaid shirt, hawaiian shirt , iggy pop shirt, blue shirt with yellow arm stripe, green skull and crossbones shirt,  skull and crossbones tie,  blue gingham shirt,  the crow shirt,  planets shirt, t

Events: nccc2016, NYCC2016, twitch stream 2016, twitch stream 2017, wondercon, morrisoncon,

Other:

gerard way smoking, black tie with thin white stripe, velvet suit, zero mask, camo gee, red and black bandana, orange sunglasses, unicorn pin

Ray:  blue heart hoodie, Ray’s HAIR

Mikey:  Mikey in green sailboat shirt, misfits vans,  red scarf mikey, mikey in beach shirt, blue and orange skeleton shirt

Photographers:

neil krug, ture lillegraven, justin borucki,  andrew lipovsky, marvin scott jarrett, trip fontaine, Matthias Clamer, brinson banks, rich gaccione, max fairclough, lisa johnson, gene ambo, sarah louise bennett, brandyn leigh,  dani silvia, ben gibson, Chris Anthony, Dave Willis,Dave Hill, paul harries,  jelle wagenaar, chapman baehler, jenny lewis, eddie malluk, danielle levitt, david reich, micah smith, david ellis, tina korhonen, carter, john mcmurtrie, naki, BJ papas, daragh mcdonagh, tony woolliscroft, andrew kendall, jeremy harris, marvin scott jarett, dean chalkley, scarlet page, greg watermann, lego, sean murphy, martin schoeller, pamela littky steve brown, phil mucci, jennifer tzar, brinson banks, jeremy saffer, roberto chamorro, kevin scanlon, daniel meilniczek, derrick santini, jayme thornton, 

Photoshoots:

school desks photoshoot, chinatown photoshoot,  red jacket photoshoot, fingerchin photoshoot, roses photoshoot, frank and roses, crooked wallpaper photoshoot, storage unit photoshoot, storage unit photoshoot 2, purple curtain photoshoot,  three cheers photoshoot, palm springs, quarter machine photoshoot,  gravel photoshoot, bus photoshoot, abandoned house photoshoot, organ photoshoot, yellow bleachers photoshoot,  chinatown photoshoot, movie theatre photoshoot, flower photoshoot,  log photoshoot , headphones photoshoot,  fire mural, brick photoshoot, teal and brick wall photoshoot,  orange picture photoshoot, green wall photoshoot,  big head photoshoot, twig photoshoot, rolled magazine photoshoot, priest photoshoot, cinder block photoshoot,  bar photoshoot, tunnels, saw blade, shore photoshoot, shore photoshoot 2, shore photoshoot 3, umbrella photoshoot, school desks photoshoot,  kings of the wild frontier, bowie face photoshoot, clockwork photoshoot,  frank holding gerard’s leg, way family home shoot, three cheers photoshoot, yellow skeleton outfit photoshoot, water photoshoot, they came from outer jersey, ray in a tree photoshoot, diner pics for kerrang, never washed denim jacket photoshoot, rolled magazine photoshoot, willow tree photoshoot, scumbag shirt photoshoot, green coat photoshoot t, stairs photoshoot , orange pole photoshoot , gray siding photoshoot , garrote photoshoot , pink hotel photoshoot , bench photoshoot , gold slats photoshoot, gear case photoshoot, carousel photoshoot, radiator photoshoot, motorcycle photoshoot

#blog upkeep #MCR specific tags

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Saluting Sgt. Helbig | Twenty Two

The paint fell from the walls in small flakes, resilient chips filling the air like a dark ashy snow. It fell over my boots, turning the dark leather into something that it wasn't- something of beauty. The air was still and stiff, almost sour against my lungs. The cold balanced it out, making it easier to bear the moldy scent.

The rubber of my shoes crunched over the broken glass that littered the distressed wooden floor, making my mind wonder. Was this how the bar looked when it was nothing but a lookout point? Was the paint chipping, mold filling her lungs, or was it in better shape? I knew the roof wasn't, that was for sure. It still held strong, strong enough to hold two people during some less than saintly activities.

"What are you thinking about?" Cassie mumbled, looking up from her own shoes. She was bundled up, a brown aviators jacket hugging her sides as she kept her hands shoved in her pockets.

"Nothing," I knit my eyebrows together, "Nothing really... just, how can someone just get up and leave a place like this?"

"This?" the shorter girl scoffed, shaking her head "it's nothing but a pile of bricks and some paneling."

I lifted my chin slightly, biting at the inside of my cheek as a slight metallic taste filled my mouth "Not always. I don't think. It probably has a lot of stories behind it. Or after tonight it will."

"Hmm," Cassie huffed, "what did you tell Hannah?"

"Not a thing." I sighed softly. The girl left it at that. Hannah had just gotten in about an hour before I got the ominous text from a blocked number texting me coordinates and a certain time. They had lead me here, an old abandoned factory on the edge of town, right by the docks. It reminded me of ever mafia movie that I had ever seen- except those ended with cinder blocks and chains.

She had been sleeping peacefully when I snuck out, her position shifting slightly as I pulled myself out of bed. Chester had met me out front, the car running with the lights turned off. Cassie was half asleep in the back seat, making all of us dread the long night ahead of us.

"What do you tell Mamrie?" I finally asked Chester, who had been leaning against the corner of the wall by the busted out window, a stream of steady pale light illuminating his face in an odd way. "About where you always sneak off to."

"She doesn't ask questions," Chester clenched his jaw, his breathe forming in sharp puffs in front of him. "We started sleeping together casually and then really caught feelings for each other... She still doesn't ask questions though. She's not the type. But Hannah is, isn't she?"

I lifted my chin, staring at my watch. The time read 3am, late enough for me to crawl back into bed with the girl that I love. One that I was lying too. "She is."

The loud footsteps of another drew us from our awkward conversation, both Chester and Cassie a bit too tired to really react in any way. My senses were on high alert, taking it the fact that we didn't really have any means of protection, and even if it was just Ingrid, the girl knew how to fight.

"What's this all about?" Chester said, a bit groggy, he stood up from the wall slightly, his boots crunching against the broken in stained glass. "It's late."

"It's early." Ingrid's voice was sharp, but had a bit of a calming tone to it, "not late. I need you three on your best behavior."

I raised a brow. She was a bit dressed up compared to the three of us. We had begrudgingly dragged ourselves from the comforts of bed. I had pulled on a pair of light grey sweatpants and an old sweatshirt of Hannah's before filing into this place. Cassie was in an uneven buttondown, her hair in a messy bun. Chester himself sliding into a long shirt and some paint splattered jeans.

Ingrid looked like a gift from god at this point. She was in heels, a dark green blouse covering most of her midsection as a black leather jacket covered her arms. She looked a bit elegant, her hair clouding her chocolate gaze.

"Best behavior for what?" Cassie cocked a brow, her blue eyes catching the color of the lulling sky.

"We have a meeting," she ran her gaze over the three of us, taking in our appearances.

"Here? In an abandoned building." I said, a bit of disdain in my voice "I thought you weren't the mafia."

Ingrid cracked a small smile at this, her eyes lighting up "I'm not. But some people are harder to impress than others. It's easier for me to put on a show than to commit the actions of sin that earn me... how you would say, street cred?" she glanced at Chester, who nodded in approval at her wording.

The silence that lasted between us was strong, but short lived, each of us too tired to really overthink the situation. In fact, the only thing I was truly feeling cold. Ingrid took her place awkwardly between Cassie and I, her scent strong with cherry and liquor. I glanced over at her as a warmth filled my palm. My first instinct was to pull away, not interested in a little hand holding, but as she moved her fingers away from mine, she left the all but familiar weight of a gun. A small one at that. But still a gun.

I knit my eyebrows together "You know I prefer a scalpel over a shotgun."

She nodded "I know it's not your style." she scoffed "you're a doctor, not a bodyguard. But tonight you have to be both." she glanced over at Cassie and Chester sharing a light hearted conversation "If not for my protection, for theirs."

I clenched my jaw. Of course it would lead to this. I knew it would. After seeing Ingrid's little tests from a front row seat, nothing I ever viewed would be the same. All four of us standing in an abandoned factory could just be another pop quiz. Either way, we were in at least some degree of danger.

Chester could defend himself, yes, but only with a few punches thrown here and there. Cassie could take a hit, maybe even two, but I didn't want her going through the pain of ending up in another hospital bed hooked up to every monitor imaginable.

"I'm armed too," Ingrid pulled me from my thoughts "In case this goes north, I want you to be ready."

"South," I cracked a small smile, shaking my head as I put the gun against the nave of my back, pulling my sweatshirt over the metal and plastic. It felt cool against my skin, making goosebumps push against my arms. "The expression is if things go south."

"Ah," she shook her head "That's odd."

"Well so are you." I noted, earning a small smile back as the lightness of the room soon began to fill with more than one set of footsteps.They echoed off of the walls like we were in an amplified sound system.

They were all in suits, despite the low temperature and late times. This was looking more like a mafia movie by the second. The man was young, his hair a dark pitch that stood out against the graffitied walls. It was a bit long, too long for my liking. He was pale, his dark grey eyes standing out against his complexion. There was a man next to him, much to the same appearance of his counterpart. His gaze was a deep brown, a navy blue suit and red tie making him look more like a political associate than someone trapped in a desolate building.

A woman stood behind them, her hair a dark caramel, almost blonde, her green eyes reminded me of a cats, but not one with good intentions. Hell, no cat had good intentions, but this woman's posture just drove the point home. Another man stood next to her. He looked a bit more slack than the rest of the group, dressed in a suit with no tie and a few open buttons on his collar.

"Ingrid!" the man with the grey gaze spoke first, his accent thick and foreign. It reminded me of Zoe's in an odd and twisted way, but I was sure all british accents did have a certain similarity to one another. "It's so nice to see you again."

Ingrid seemed to fidget a bit, her eyes darting to the others in the room before landing on what seemed to be the leader of the group. I had never seen her act like this. Even dressed as a scared enemy rebel in a desert room had a certain level of confidence. But her stance now seemed threatened.

"Yes, it always is a pleasure." Ingrid finally spoke, holding her hand out as she shook his carefully.

"It is, it is." he glanced over at the group of misfits, meaning us. Compared to his color coordinated team we looked like street rats, and that seemed to show on Ingrid's face as well. "Why don't you introduce me to your- um, uh?"

"It was short notice," Ingrid seemed to cover her tracks quickly, "I had no idea you would want to meet so quickly after your flight landed, Phil." her voice had a bit of a bite to it, but this Phil guy didn't really seem to notice.

Ingrid let out a bit of a sigh "This is my head medical consultant- Grace." She nudged me forward a bit. I gave the man bit of a nod, taking his cold outstretched hand.

"I'm Phil," He smiled, knowing that he had already stated his name "you look a bit too banged up just to be a medical consultant."

"Phil," Ingrid warned "Grace is very strong in all aspects, Medical being her strongest." She lifted her chin towards Cassie "this is my second medical consultant and my inside man."

"Ah," Phil clapped his hands together a smile on his face "So you've really gotten quite a team together."

"I told you it was no joke." Ingrid said, her accent becoming thicker as her annoyance grew. "Phil we have been planning this for years. You can't just back out at the last minute due to certain doubts."

"Doubts that are rightfully there," he said, containing his composure "if I'm not mistaken, your little medical consultant has a gun behind her back. You have a blade wedged in your boot, and your own firearm on your belt. And I'm the ones with doubts?" he chuckled.

He stepped closer to Ingrid, his breath pooling at her collarbone in misty waves "It doesn't work this way, Miss Nilsen. If we work together on this, I need one hundred percent trust on both ends."

She let out a shaky breath, "what do you suggest?"

"We're sticking around for awhile," Phil smiled "we'll need some form of living. It is a small town, after all..."

I cocked my head to the side, no quite liking where this was going. He was right, there weren't many hotels in town, if any at all. The only place that had rooms were always booked.

"You can stay with us," Ingrid was quick to respond "most of us have spare rooms, right?" she glanced at us, leaving us in a speechless fashion as she looked desperately to the group.

"Fantastic!" Phil clapped again, smiling widely "I'll be in touch."

Their footsteps set off another round of sounds as they crunched over glass and dirt, each of them filing out in an assembly line. It looked like they had practiced their exit over and over again instead of just leaving.

"What they hell was that?" Chester asked, running his hands over his messy hair.

"Who," Ingrid spoke, keeping her eyes in the place where they once stood "The correct expression is who."

#Gracehelbig #Mamriehart #HannahHart #fanfiction #hartbig

[autolovecraft]

All his kingdom would he give for the services he had gone before.

Ghouls meeped in wonder as they shambled about with slimy paws when some moving object against the stars as small graceful shapes leaped from hill to hill in gathering legions. So Randolph Carter the columns stopped, and whose kith he had seen the carven crest Ngranek, though the rider, drunk with the Shantak flew on past mysteries unseen and unsuspected. Upon drawing nearer he made out the last of them had vanished at last there suddenly dawned around him, too, how he had become so lax in their conquest of the old art of image-makers, the brazen urns and ivory statues in gleaming rows; while in a golden palanquin to pray to all space that you would yourself find the mighty mountain shapes seen full against the black wale and the fabulous thing which drew it was such that Carter wondered whether or not they could have been very far away, and soared over sterile hills of gray vertical walls without windows. That was all gone he groped slowly in the least sip, he was indeed not again in the blackness where sightless feelers pawed and groped and pawed; the glow of the Elder Ones, and the invading land army concentrated in one place a narrow lane; and it echoed through Nir and the saying of a kind of awe about them. But that he might stumble upon that mighty crag taller even than Throk's peaks. Fortunately the ghouls into three parties, one Thorabonian sailor who had been hewn in forgotten times such prodigious lumps and blocks that the old village folk were right when they made low guesses about the size of the ghouls had not wished them to terms before the almost-humans screamed, and chanting voices.

Then the suburbs of Ulthar has ever truly seen one for that realm of eternal stars that crowns it. In the morning Carter boarded the evil jagged rock in the black path beneath, and the primal mists of the moon as the helpless army neared the gap, slightly slackening its speed as if a flock of ten or fifteen night-gaunts from the Charter Street Burying Ground in Salem. It was only a month, and with a yak caravan from some hidden plan or wish of the trees, and blackly populous gulfs—and then to form pale signs of gold said to be surmised. But you, and recalled likewise that the great central dome, and spoke of the stony desert and had come down again alive.

Finally there was only a mountain could rise so vast a thing unheard-of by the timid waterfront cats of Ulthar and the accursed valley.

The three ghouls by the priests Nasht and Kaman-Thah. Around the feeble fires. Certainly, men reached Leng from very different oceans. He regretted coming clear of them, but the ghouls and slightly down, and ancient cinder. As he had faintly heard, in case of any trouble. Kuranes was a strangely arched window, placing around it in the temple, was a glimpse of its prey. Always upward led the terrible kingdom of the moonbeast galley being safely in the bazaars of the temple, and the less than human, and that they could not help sighing with pleasure when they danced often upon Lerion; but on ledges here and there hovered over them, the repulsiveness of the Great Ones dwell. He was even rumored to have some ghouls in their quarries.

But when Carter was placed well up toward the pinnacle proper. And even were unexpected things to deal with. And for long they talked of this thing, for such a homesickness that all the stars in the Temple of the gods, and Carter soon saw that something was tied to it. The grandfather of that more than once thought that their strength and savagery were still unimpaired and would sing of far-off singing in the galley drew closer and closer to that which is set with its onyx castle. These things you will so lately have left, and Carter knew they were so confused and duplicated that they did not care to admit him no robed and anointed lackey of the winged steeds falter, bred as they approached the waiting Shantak, sending him skyward with the old general and his skull is now set in a tavern. Rumor had said it would be able to command the help of the Great Ones fear them, unless lean or ill-disposed things; in which they are more like those on the road by Yath's shore, and as they might have, waiting respectfully as the helpless army neared the top-most pinnacle, and toward this spot he desired, and soon afterward he came upon some abandoned brick villages of the cold waste north of Inquanok have never seen again. At intervals food was pushed in, but when the ghouls, and who own not Nyarlathotep for their return. All about him.

It is known only by the being that was passed around. But presently his progress was very cold now, but had little chance to scream before rubbery paws choked them into very small pieces. But this was the last bits of rock, but only a weird gray twilight sky.

It was a king in Ooth-Nargai and the shrines of modest gods. He was not for him to understand what was once the artist Richard Upton Pickman. His pack had been disturbed, and to find that marble parapet with curious urns and carven entrance to the sickly glow of Beacon Hill—the waking world than any others in dreamland that far hill and the special ruins of a large tribute of grouse, quail, and the marvel of high natural walls as before; but when the hairy cannibal Gnophkehs overcame many-windowed were the hedges and groves and gardens at dawn. And ever the small brown Zoogs. Dying almost-human torch-bearers, eleven on either side of Ngranek, but was told that very few had seen in Dylath-Leen concerning the tower and the ocean was very dear to him Carter learned many things about which he must go, he came to a point, and became sure he had passed eleven quarries; the charnel gardens of the earth, and the enchanted wood, and the Skai; stopping only at the vast clay-brick ruins of primal Sarkomand. Rare and curious did that ghouls have none, but he feared to think it was not for an instant did the winged and the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep. When Barzai the Wise climbed Hatheg-Kia when Barzai the Wise climbed Hatheg-Kia when Barzai the Wise tried to think of a design wholly alien to earth. This man was reputed to trade for the absence of ghoulish meeping shewed that the ship ahead to more healthy parts of the flutes to form a sight whose loveliness was beyond reality, and the ghoul that was passed around. As he turned even paler than before. This time no descent was made. It was not much more numerous than the Basalt Pillars of the sea meets the sky, with steep red roofs and western windows aflame with sunset, of which were fashioned for Gugs than to men. There was still hidden.

It was fortunate that the gods on unknown Kadath. He wished very much impressed by travelers' tales, shewing such strange knowledge of the hooved, horned almost-vanished memory and the invading land army concentrated in one of the day and the pink walls of rock and ice and eternal gem wherein all that wonder sparkles crystallized to light your evening path. There was nothing in sight.

Carter could see and forming the modest gravestones of the Great Ones. Watchers have spoken of this design to the Great Ones fear them, the night came song, unclosing fiery gates toward further and surprising marvels. Late in the perfumed gardens, and saw in infinite gulfs below him he would be able to steal through that window shine the stars of heaven to Kadath's familiar towers and spires seen afar from Marblehead's pastures across the Skai, there squatted a stinking circle of great mossy rocks, while the perfume of trellised vines came wistful from arbors his grandfather had reared a great beetling mass which hampered the upward view, and that if he but had merely slipped past him and the phosphorescence one might only say that they have indeed an excellent sharpness of smell. Every year sailors with such a voyage. They would leap seven strong at the wharf to make sure that the gate to their native deeps. Onward—onward—dizzily onward to some of the gods on unknown Kadath; and Carter saw that this was very calm. So at length, sick with longing for the traveler's delight. And once more a narrow ledge had been noted and taken into account.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath #1926 #The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath week

[micaramel]

Artist: Justin Caguiat

Venue: Modern Art, London

Exhibition Title: Permutation City 1999

Date: June 25 – August 8, 2020

Click here to view slideshow

Full gallery of images, press release and link available after the jump.

Images:

Images courtesy of Modern Art, London

Press Release:

Modern Art is pleased to announce an exhibition of new paintings by Justin Caguiat titled Permutation City 1999. This is his first solo exhibition with the gallery.

In Caguiat’s large-scale paintings on unstretched canvas or linen displayed in wooden frames, layers of oil and sometimes gouache, pastel and acrylic synthesise into highly detailed patterns which fill and spill out beyond imperfect edges. Now and then, swathes of monochrome washes emanate like filters or planes of light across the surface. From this, landscapes and otherworldly scenes materialise, drifting in and out of legibility, or consciousness.

These are liminal paintings, both corporeal and cryptic. They resist an instantaneous reading, demanding time to decipher, and to search for compositional footholds within their archaic atmosphere.

Caguiat’s idiosyncratic style is informed by varied fields including science fiction literature, the baroque-folk hybrid aesthetic of early Filipino Catholic Santos, 60s psychedelia, les Nabis, Ukiyo-E, urban graphic art and the historical legacy of Manga. In scale and format they can be read like murals and landscapes, and while not narrative, have a reverential or devotional purpose akin to a fresco.

Though suggestive of Romanticism, the paintings are not illusionistic, demonstrating and not concealing their evolution through layers. The transposition of paint – ideas, information, figures and ornament – is fragmented, like the dissolution of memory.

A text of the same title written by the artist accompanies the exhibition.

Justin Caguiat was born in 1989 in Tokyo, Japan. He lives and works in New York City. In 2018 he had a solo exhibition at 15 Orient, New York and his work has been included in group shows at galleries and project spaces throughout North America, in Italy and Switzerland. He has curated exhibitions with themanilainstitute.org and other collectives and is a published poet having participated in readings and performances including in 2017 at the Kunsthalle Zürich, Switzerland.

    Permutation City 1999

After the outbreak he escaped to the Bay Area with his family. They had left New York and ended up crashing at a former youth hostel in downtown Berkeley an art collector had bought. It was under renovation prior to the shut down and was in the process of being turned into

He traded the collector a painting titled My meat is to do the will of him in exchange for room and board. In one of the rooms, by the side of the bed hidden between the bed frame and the wall he found a journal filled with observations written in fragmented prose, punctuated by drawings. He was so struck by the book that it ended up forming the basis of his work for the next three years, using the drawings as sketches, overlapping composites to layer and erase with paint, building up the surface over time.

He compiled some excerpts from the found journal. Each entry in the book was titled, borrowing each title for each painting.

“Thousand Year Old Laughter” He was a young lad. Discovered a video store carrying a large collection of American and Euro films with religious themes. Other half of the store was SFX Horror. Lurking around the store… the instructions have unfolded a spell Entranced by images of suffering grotesque eroticism Fell into images forbidden the name is not what it appears

This way was truly nothing already it disappeared as smoking trails left by the things made seemingly in desires shape

solitary in fluid sunlight reflecting off store window eyes that unsubstantiated the hollow form revealed another presence. generating heat but not light and melting snow it turned into water, we lived for 16 years in Tokyo.

“Extraction and Compassion” When Grandmother came to visit us from Manila she couldn’t be around the Japanese people. Only once she recounted to my mother the horror of the Japanese occupation of the Philippines

During the massacre of innocents their favorite method of killing was the bayonet The hotels in downtown Manila were turned into rape camps they would take women and girls there after they were forced to bury their children, siblings, and neighbors in mass graves Hospitals were set afire after patients were strapped to their beds Pregnant women were raped and their stomachs were ripped open with bayonets Their unborn children drowning in sunlight streaming in from the broken walls and shattered windows “O you dig and I dig, and I dig towards you, on our finger the ring awakes”

In our apartment in Tokyo she made a room for herself in the closet. She was a devout Catholic, she could speak to spirits

She was the matriarch of my grandfathers second and illegitimate bastard family. Grandfather died when mother was one years old, he played piano for the silent films and was a photographer Mother was the youngest and 13th child. when grandfather died, suddenly they were were poor; he had left them nothing

They lived in a tiny garage and slept on the floor in rows they moved dwellings frequently my Mother often didn’t have enough food to eat. Her first job was cleaning public toilets

In Tokyo people always asked me if my mother was a maid the echo of the occupation evolved with the diaspora after the colonization and military campaigns of the Spanish, Japanese, and Americans The Filipina maids of Tokyo are kind and hard working people

When my grandmother died she left my mother her golden crucifix. My mother later gave the crucifix to me,

and after a year my father kicked my grandmother out and sent her back to Manila

They had a broken television in the room and the picture was in black and white. We would watch TV and my Grandmother was happy and said it reminded her of the past.

“Branches Flower Windows” walking down quiet streets of my Tokyo I love the moss covered cinder block walls and overgrown gardens of ferns, parks and Shinto temples and under the shade of trees everywhere, ponds and streams reflecting viridian glow, small waterfalls and stone pathways. Moss grows everywhere Sleepy stray cats and small fields of dirt and wild grass. The hollows of bushes littered with the skeletons of cicadas at the end of summertime and in every apple lays a fetus curled asleep There is no land more beautiful fields of rice paddies from the train window on the outskirts of the city the wind shakes and branches flower windows personalities whistle out of these sectors of apples that are made to be regenerated

Ever-present crows calling from the trees, pockets of nature surrounded by hyper-evolved architecture and a totalized homogeneity. Animism and fascism are alive and vital here, but now the Japanese are pacifists.

“The Approach of Beauty its Body was Fungible” Starting when I was 13 years old I used to sneak out of my house at night. My older sister was secretly taking LSD everyday and going to school, an exercise in appearing to be normal while her mind pushed against the boundaries of reason I would leave at around 1 in the morning after everyone was asleep. Wandering around, sometimes walking as far as Shibuya or Harajuku or to an unfamiliar neighborhood I would break into apartment buildings and go to the rooftops and sleep there. I sleep in parking lots and in nooks in between buildings, hidden places underneath stairwells and behind ventilators and generators whole lifetimes of how we love the escape Forgotten atoms cradled in sweet music and the laughter of our memory of the buildings dropping seeds

Radiant spheres contain their hidden appearance to take the form of different species in the future Growing variegated subjects decay into a lonely view that the preachers of passion have seen through their vector making melody

meted out in pleasure the lyrics recorder quickly to their passing pain

“Anal Staircase of the Eye Reflected in the Fingernail” They began to sleep walk and hallucinate. Floating above their body: walking around the apartment at night, talking uncontrollably

Its psychotic dream state remember waking up on the floor of the bedroom, The walls and ceiling slowly began to shrink, Shrinking to the point of a needle, the point was a pupil, They were trapped inside the pupil, the pupil was the coffin.

Splash water on their face to wake them up, the knock on the head sent us reeling, I’m relieved to find him sleeping. Its safe to be here while I was dreaming I kept forgetting I am living as todays reflection.

I was watching everything, I was watching my body moving dislocated from its host, I was moving from room to room like a fly on the wall, I was walking and talking like a living doll.

“The Saint is Never Busy” I cry because hes dying, now hes dust an older shade of green across my eyes turns to red dust of the heart. now how to keep out of hell are the wheels that are turning, he used to be so violent but now so enfeebled yet His eye still holds violence, his other eye is blind and He has to wear a diaper

The wheels of the sun its done but dont forget about its shadowy child, For its picture you hate to keep even though it always lives developed the horror of an idea that wears you unrendered, Its been 14 years its paralyzed brilliant doors are locked forever, out of waves of memories life times locked.

He looks old He walks so slowly, he shuffles from room to room compulsively the dementia atrophied brain

He doesn’t remember anything about me. He knows I am his son but nothing else, no memories I am a shadow in the periphery of his mind. My mother hid the kitchen knives just in case

He thinks its the year 1999, a maddening coincidence to the primal year of my reveries.

I came to London and went to see him, who had returned to where he grew up in Wales

Mother sleeps with the house keys under her pillow and a change of clothes and money in case he becomes violent and she needs to escape He threatens her when he doesnt recognize her and she has to hide Crushed by her burden I see it in her face

Of course it wasnt supposed to end like this He refers to himself in the plural. pointing to his head Trapped in the year 1999, wandering amongst the reveries of whose youth?

“The Synthetic Memory Forming” –

  We are in California now. Its peaceful here. New York seems so far away. Here in the Bay Area there are lots of crows, whom I love. They remind me of Tokyo. Our son dances in the sun and in the water an ant to the outsider sea.

We have cut a silly figure against the walls crumbling cake with all our bags A cigarette in my mouth my hat is lost against the orbing sun

the light is confusion. This is my last song you yell across laughing after the pale band where you removed your golden ring. The sun is chasing your tanned skin your fingers fan across the buildings in the sand optical trails waving against their warped angles

“Ive got nothing but reason left behind” Events are tiny earthquakes constantly reorienting the same set of histories but for now every one here is perfect standing dreamlike and frozen under the blue sun

A huge mob of crows, in the early hours of the morning on the way back home, that sent me weighing sleep against a walk around the block I turned away and fled as they knocked over the trash cans, The contents strewn like intestines on the street, nourished by the abundance, crying in unison

When the wandering fire Strikes the heart of stone Will you follow? Will you leave your home? Will you leave your life? Will you take the Longest Road?

Link: Justin Caguiat at Modern Art

from Contemporary Art Daily https://bit.ly/2ZS1Wj9

#micaramel

[njawaidofficial]

Not All Bad Girls Go To Prison

https://styleveryday.com/not-all-bad-girls-go-to-prison/

Not All Bad Girls Go To Prison

Sarah Maxwell and Alexis Miller

Netflix

“She don’t care who you are, how big you are, she’ll fight you if she needs to and it cracks me up.” That’s the introduction given by 16-year-old Sarah Maxwell when we first meet fellow inmate Alexis Miller, an otherwise soft-spoken 15-year-old with dimples and cascading brunette locks, in Episode 5 of Girls Incarcerated: Young and Locked Up, an eight-episode docuseries released on Netflix in March. It would work equally well as a tagline for the whole series, which delves into the lives of teen girls serving time in Indiana’s Madison Juvenile Correctional Facility for a range of mostly petty offenses like repeated runaways and drug and alcohol consumption, but in a few cases assault and vehicular manslaughter.

Executive producer Nick Rigg has described the show — which follows the emotional and behavioral growth of roughly 15 inmates (referred to as “students”) along with empathetic commentary from their correction officers, counselors, teachers, and occasional family members — as “Orange Is the New Black for a 13 Reasons Why generation.” But unlike both of those series, Girls Incarcerated is not fiction. The series sits at a provocative nexus of popular unscripted programming, where a wave of documentary-style shows that spotlight the issue of incarceration in the US, such as MSNBC’s Lockup and OWN’s Released, intersects with the trope of the troubled teen seen in many reality programs, such as MTV’s Teen Mom and A&E’s Beyond Scared Straight. Rigg maintains that Girls Incarcerated is not a “reality” series in the way that we’ve come to understand the term, because, he says, “we weren’t going to make TV stars of these girls.” And yet the show highlights the girls’ innate star quality. They are funny, and outrageously so, delivering an uncanny mix of outsized confidence and childish goofiness direct to your living room.

Madison Juvenile Correctional Facility

Netflix

Asked about practicing Zumba during the prison’s daily rec hour, Paige McAtee, a wide-eyed 17-year-old with a heart-shaped neck tattoo, explains matter-of-factly that she wants a body like Nicki Minaj, before smacking her hips for the camera and succumbing to a giggle fit about the “jiggle.” In another scene, Miller gushes over a girl she’s crushing on, an inmate named Armani Buckner, in her diary: “Let me find out she find another girl I’d be gettin’ a murder charge lol no joke.” (In reality, Miller is serving time because she started using drugs and running away after her mother became homeless and released her to foster care.)

“I’m too pretty to fight.”

Later, when Buckner discovers her cat has died back home, Miller and a group of Madison inmates stand around the cat’s makeshift funeral in the prison yard, reassuring Buckner that her cat is “probably eatin’ hella tuna up there.” And when 16-year-old Najwa Pollard, agitated, argues with correctional staff over a piece of her mail that’s been returned to sender, Pollard threatens, “Do you really wanna go down this road? … It ain’t gonna be pretty. It’s not gonna be peaches ’n’ cream. It’s gonna be baked beans ’n’ burritos ’cause I’m farting up a storm in here!” Pollard eventually cooled off, which reminds me of a common refrain when the girls at Madison decide to de-escalate a confrontation before it turns physical: “I’m too pretty to fight.”

The cheeky and combative bravado of the show’s teenage protagonists is, on the surface level, wildly amusing. (Believe me when I say that the girls of Girls Incarcerated are experts in throwing shade so brutal they make Khloé Kardashian’s comebacks seem almost tactful.) And despite Rigg’s stated intentions, it’s not hard to imagine this as a selling point for the show’s producers — one of whom, Jordana Hochman, formerly acted as vice president of Oxygen Media and might have recognized the bizarre appeal of something like a state-sanctioned version of Bad Girls Club. It would be easy to dismiss Girls Incarcerated as yet another example of questionable reality television, one that uses entertainment value as an excuse to capitalize on the real-life circumstances of some of the nation’s most vulnerable populations: girls of color; girls who live in poverty; girls who run away from home; girls whose parents are imprisoned; girls who have been molested, raped, and abused.

Alexis Miller and Armani Buckner, and Najwa Pollard

Netflix

But Girls Incarcerated (thankfully) isn’t Bad Girls Club. Neither is it exactly like other popular television programs that gawk at out-of-control “bad” girls like the delinquent teen guests we’ve seen on Dr. Phil or the criminally self-obsessed aspiring reality stars of the 2010 E! series Pretty Wild. The inmates of Girls Incarcerated could only be cast on the show because they’d already been assigned their roles by the criminal justice system and trained to play those roles by the failure of the institutions around them, like public education and the foster care system. To some extent they’re performing for the show’s cameras, but there was no need for the producers to manufacture drama: These girls are already living it.

Instead, the show’s awkward balance between tragically adult situations and the final vestiges of childhood enables us to view the “bad” girls of Madison as, surprisingly, just what they are: living, breathing human teen girls — not yet fully formed. While the criminal behavior of young girls is typically flattened by the media into two-dimensional spectacles that humiliate these girls and serve them up as cautionary tales, the show’s (sometimes sad, sometimes banal) contextualizing of the complex histories of a girl’s race, class, and childhood feels like a considerable shift in how our culture turns its gaze on “bad” girls.

Yet for all the empathetic reframing it does, the hopeful optimism offered by Girls Incarcerated still positions the detention center as a site of redemption for its teenage protagonists, none of whom are rich, and many of whom are girls of color. The question is why, when other, more privileged “bad” girls enjoy lower stakes for the same behavior — think about the troubled teen celebrities of the mid-aughts — are the girls of Girls Incarcerated still only afforded redemption stories on television if they are funneled through traditional punitive measures of the state?

Girls walk back to their unit at Madison Juvenile Correctional Facility.

Netflix

“What are we to do with the ambition of young Midwestern girls?” critic Jessa Crispin asks in her introduction to the 2013 edition of I Await the Devil’s Coming, the forceful and unapologetic autobiography of Mary MacLane, the “Wild Woman of Butte,” who published her diary in 1902, when she was just 19. The book, in which MacLane proudly proclaims herself an amoral genius devoted to the devil, scandalized the US for its surprisingly self-assured teen girl ego, so uncommon for girls of MacLane’s time, or any time for that matter.

MacLane’s memoir was, needless to say, a hit, selling 100,000 copies in its first month of publication alone and jettisoning the defiant teen out of Butte, Montana, and into the decadent life of fame, fortune, and devilish pleasures she so desired. MacLane became a household name, but after she was found dead in a Chicago hotel room at the age of 48, her books fell out of print and the legacy of her youthful rebellion was largely forgotten. Still, there is something timeless about MacLane. Crispin describes her as “a feminine, Midwestern Napoleon” — the “teenager who, born in another place with a slight change of disposition, the government would have to send for with its gunboats.”

Newspaper heiress Patty Hearst is led to her 1976 trial by two federal marshals.

Bettmann Archive / Getty Images

In other words, the United States has always been invested in the surveillance and governance of “bad” girls, though their construction in the media has shape-shifted considerably throughout the last several decades. In 1974, 19-year-old Patty Hearst, who was famously recorded wielding a semiautomatic rifle while robbing a bank with the Symbionese Liberation Army, symbolized the wayward female revolutionary of the 1960s and ’70s. By the 1990s, it was the flashy urban girl gang — armed with box cutters, beer bottles, screwdrivers, and knives — who lined their lips and coated their faces in Vaseline before flocking to the streets in defense of the “hood.”

While Hearst — a rich, white heiress — was framed in the media as a lost girl suffering from Stockholm syndrome whose loving parents (and the rest of the nation) wanted her home, broadcast news reports on the ’90s girl gangsters serve as examples of race- and class-based fearmongering that paint girls of color as violent detriments to US society. Despite being found guilty of armed robbery after her story of brainwashing and coercion was deemed unbelievable by a jury, Hearst was released from prison after only two years when her original seven-year sentence was commuted by President Jimmy Carter. She then enjoyed a brief acting career and quiet family life before being granted a full pardon by President Clinton in 2001. Talk about a redemptive arc.

In 2018, the girls of Girls Incarcerated are those teens sent for with gunboats, only the gunboats have now been replaced with a less metaphorical form of control: the juvenile justice system. They are angry, assertive, and loud, poised for a fight behind Madison’s barbed wire and cinder blocks — an entire squadron of “mouthy little girl[s],” which is the most common description given of any one of the teens featured on the show, both by the inmates themselves and their correction officers. The girls have all got mouths: Of course they know how to use them.

Heidi Lakin

Netflix

Take, for example, Madison’s young Heidi Lakin, who is locked up on violent assault charges (she beat up a kid and stole the keys to his car while drunk). Lakin is 16 years old, a wisecracking, bespectacled white girl with a soft spot for conspiracy theories and fart humor. “I like to fight,” says Lakin during an interview in the first episode, twisting her lips into a smirk for the camera before allowing: “But it’s a bad habit.” Anticipating an afternoon volleyball tournament between Unit 5 and Unit 6 later on in the series, she boasts, “5 is better than 6, of course, ’cause 6 is trash. Trash-ass females, trash-ass day room, trash-ass bedrooms — look at us.”

Or take Chrissy Hutchinson, whom we also meet in Episode 1, just a few weeks prior to her release from Madison. Hutchinson is 17, black, gay, and a bit of a heartthrob, sentenced to two years for a litany of charges, including selling drugs, stealing cars, and robbing homes. Proud of the change and emotional growth she’s accomplished inside, Hutchison, when interviewed about romantic relationships between the girls at Madison, smiles and says simply, “I’m a stud.”

It’s a sort of larger-than-life self-posturing we can’t seem to get enough of when it comes to young girls, especially as entertainment on TV. And it’s no more on view than with “mean girl” Brianna “Princess Thug” Guerra, the queen bee of Madison Juvenile, who, at 17, has been in and out of lockup for going on four years. When we first meet Guerra, her arrival on scene is precipitated by a series of strained commentary from fellow inmates and correctional staff alike. We learn from those around her that the popular and perennially lip-glossed teen is “blunt and honest,” a confident “alpha personality” who “tells people exactly how she feels,” with an added dramatic flair from the sparkle of her dermal face piercing. Regarding Lakin, for example, Guerra doesn’t beat around the bush. “She spit in my best friend’s lotion,” she says, disgusted, followed by the obvious: “I don’t like her.”

Clockwise from top left: Chrissy Hutchinson, Aubrey Wilson, Brianna Guerra, and Sarah Maxwell

Netflix

Since the ’80s and ’90s we’ve seen this bravado on reality or talk show programs in the form of the out-of-control white girl, whose crimes are ultimately redeemed through the kind of short-lived celebrity that brings a payday. Consider Danielle Bregoli’s rise to internet stardom after appearing on the 2016 Dr. Phil episode “I Want to Give Up My Car-Stealing, Knife-Wielding, Twerking 13-Year-Old Daughter Who Tried to Frame Me for a Crime,” which somehow led the teen to a record deal and later a Billboard nom for Top Rap Female Artist in 2018.

The obvious problem with all representations of “bad” girls in the media is that, no matter what, there is a flattening of the truth.

There was also 16 and Pregnant and Teen Mom star Farrah Abraham’s DUI and near collision with a police cruiser in 2013 (when Abraham was 21), to which she responded to press by tweeting “#I’mSuccessful & I don’t care about drama!” Abraham was sentenced to six months’ probation and a $500 fine, after which gossip blogs like TMZ continued to report about the “hard partying” mom who “knows how to get down,” allowing adequate wiggle room for Abraham to pass as “just a young girl having fun.” And in 2010, “Bling Ring” felon Alexis Neiers, an 18-year-old aspiring celebrity from a well-off part of the San Fernando Valley who was arrested for her involvement in the burglaries of several celebrities’ homes, secured an entire season of her own reality show, Pretty Wild, on E!.

Pretty Wild continued to film while Neiers was out on bail and negotiated the circumstances of her highly publicized court case, about which Vanity Fair’s Nancy Jo Sales reported that Neiers wore conspicuous “six-inch Louboutins” to her arraignment. The Vanity Fair article prompted this unforgettable voicemail scene in which a hysterical Neiers simultaneously prayed to God, swore at her mother, and shrieked through tears at Sales for misrepresenting her as a shallow, fame-obsessed brat, instead of the “great, amazing, talented, strong healthy girl” that she was — err, “not even a girl, a young woman.”

Alexis Neiers (right) and her attorney during the sentencing hearing for burglary charges in 2010.

Lawrence K. Ho / Los Angeles Times / Getty Images