rainbow sharpies

2

Dunkirk. was. AMAZING!!!

Not even just because Harry Styles is in it, though he is pretty great, but because of all these other beautiful bastards.

I couldn’t not draw them and I had sharpies and a white t-shirt in my Random Craft Crap drawer. This is the result.

Uncle Mudler

the series read as follows:

SupermanMondayCheezy PouffsBaconStumblingTrail Mix …  PunchFriday … Preparation

___________________

“You need to remember to take your vitamins.”

Scully rolled her eyes, “I have been. I told you that last night and I told you that this morning and I told you ten minutes ago.” Sweeping the damp cloth across the kitchen counter while Mulder stood, eating the last vestiges of crispy, blackened bacon carcass fallout from the plate, “It’s fine. I just stood up too quickly and had been doing some fairly vigorous exercise right beforehand. I’ve been to the doctor and he said I was fine. Remember that? San Diego? Fish tacos? Surfing? Untenable fear of recurring cancer and eventual death?”

“Dammit, Scully, don’t do that. Don’t talk about it like it was a simple part of life. You are not a simple part of life, mine, Maggie’s, Charlie’s, anybody’s.” Pushing himself away from the counter, palms shoving granite, body tilting, he walked away, sudden silence his only weapon against her flippant ways.

Hushed swearing followed as she tossed the cloth in the sink and wiped her hands on her jeans, moving to follow him, knowing he wouldn’t ever stop worrying about her and realizing she hadn’t told him it was one of the myriad of things she loved about him best.

He was leaning on the wall in the hall, staring at the ground, arms crossed, feet crossed, a pillar to spent anger. Moving behind him, arms sliding through his, hands clasping over ribs, she spoke softly into his back, “it wasn’t simple. You were there. There was nothing simple about it but if I don’t treat it like part of everyday life, it’ll crush me and you in the process.” Kissing his shifting muscles through faded red ‘Captain Kangaroo’ shirt, her arms kept him from turning towards her, kept him large and solid under her mouth as she spoke yet again, “I am fine. I will go back to the doctor if it happens twice more. Not once but twice. You are not allowed to ask me how I feel because I will use the standard answer you hate and it will just tick me off.” Tightening her arms, she crushed her forehead tightly to him, “I red M&M you more than life itself and if it ever comes back to cancer, you will be my first, best and only shelter in the storm.”

Twisting in her tightened arms, he turned, shirt spiraling, crushing her to his chest, completely ignoring the collection of children and adults pouring in the front door, loudly declaring they had arrived and were ready to party.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Uncle Mudler valiantly kept up with them the rest of the day. With their ages ranging from four years to ten, he managed to keep a steady stream of conversation, assistance, and snacks flowing in all directions, only stopping to relax once he and Scully had gotten the rug rats under covers. And stop he did, dropping with a heaving puff onto the couch beside her, “they are here how long again?”

Scully, head resting on the back of the couch, gave a grin to the ceiling, too tired to aim it at him, “10 days.”

“Your mother was going for sainthood, wasn’t she?”

“Possibly.”

Dragging a hand over then up her thigh until her smile got wider, “when are we going to bed?”

“Right after we make lunches. I need to start waking up kids at 6:30 tomorrow morning and start dropping them off by 8. I don’t want to have to spend any of that time slapping bologna on bread.”

He was honestly too tired to make an off-color comment about slapping bologna and it frightened him, realizing he really must be just that damn tired. Standing back up, he cracked his joints, knuckles, spine before beckoning her to give him her hand, “move it, move it, move it. Lunches done in ten, bed in fifteen.”

“What if it takes longer than that?”

“I will flip you over my shoulder and toss you between the sheets.”

“Caveman response. Forewarned.”

It took longer than ten minutes but Mulder declined with the flipping and the tossing, choosing instead to draw aliens and rainbows on lunchbags in Sharpie, slapping a big heart and Uncle Mudler on them all, “because why the hell not.”

Scully shook her head, “I wonder how long they’ll take before they enact revenge.”

“I’m betting three days.”

Digging in her pocket and slapping a $5 bill on the counter, “sucker bet. I give them until tomorrow around 6.”

Mulder’s $5 appeared beside hers, “you’re on.”

&&&&&&&&&&

At 5:55 the next evening, Sam appeared, tall, pale, quiet Sam with all his 10-year old chutzpah puffing up his chest, “Uncle Mudler, can you please not put hearts on my lunch bags? The guys made fun of me all day and so did my English teacher.”

Uncle Mudler cracked a small frown, “okay, Sam. I won’t do it tomorrow.”

Sam walked away.

Uncle Mudler felt a little disappointed.

At 5:58, sweet little Betsy paraded in, wearing Scully’s shoes and a dishtowel on her head, “Uncle Mudler, can you maybe not write so big on my lunch bag? People wanted to know if you were blind and always wrote that big.”

Uncle Mudler kept his deflating feelings of fun to himself, “no problem, Hannah. I’ll do better tomorrow.”

Hannah bounced away.

Uncle Mudler’s disappointment grew.

6:03. Jake. “Uncle Mudler. Dude. You can’t do that to a guy.”

Uncle Mudler wondered what the hell had happened to his favorite families senses of humor, “I won’t anymore. Promise.”

6:07 rolled around and in shuffled Toby, four-year old posterchild for preschool exhaustion, “Uncle Mudler?”

Good Lord … seriously?

“Yeah, Toby?”

“Sarah at school said she’s going to marry me ‘cause I had a heart on my lunchbag.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“She eats the glitter paste, Uncle Mudler. If I have to kiss her, I’ll stick to her forever.”

“Then run away.”

Toby regarded him with serious brown eyes, “she runs faster than me.”

These kids were going to kill him, “then tell her ‘no’ and tattle to the teacher that she pinched you.”

6:11 and he thought he was free.

Then in crept Hannah, the 7-year old now on the fast track to breaking his heart, his secret favorite and his greatest downfall in terms of snuck candy and extra piggy back rides, “Uncle Mudler?”

Cringing inwardly, he kept his demeanor, “yes?”

“Aunt Dana says she wins.”

He was out of that chair like a shot, seeking and finding Scully hovering, with the other four children, just inside the kitchen door, giggling quietly and grinning madly. Grabbing Scully before she could escape, he accidently bumped Sam to the floor, who took out Toby in the process. Realizing they were still laughing, he proceeded to haul Scully up and over his shoulder, as promised the night before and leading the charge, carried her squirming form to the back bedroom, dumping her on the bed and informing the kids, through a wave of his hand, that she was their’s for the attacking.

Later on, once a few hours had passed and everyone had calmed, somewhat, the kids trooped in as one entity, each hugging Uncle Mudler goodnight while he emptied the dishwasher. Once that was done, Sam spoke up, “Uncle Mudler?”

He loved that moniker to the bottom of his toes, “yeah, Sam?”

“We like the drawing and the hearts and the name. It’s nice to see after we’d had a rough morning. All that classroom stuff can get to a kid and aliens are just what we need.”

He looked over their heads at Scully, who stood in the doorway, “did you pay them five more bucks to say that?”

Holding up her hand, “swear on the grave of Eugene Tooms, I had nothing to do with this part.”

Mulder believed her.

&&&&&&&&

Once everyone was tucked away, snoring, rolling or simply cuddling their stuffed friends, Scully crawled in beside Mulder, 10pm a God-send in every respect, “did you write all over the lunch bags again?”

“Even bigger than before … this time it was unicorns and flying saucers.”

She snuggled in beside him, one ear on children, one ear on his heart, “at least you have a theme.”

“Things you don’t believe in?”

“Things that kids love.”

Kissing the top of her head, “Wednesday will be dinosaurs and fairies.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. Summer vacation starts Friday.”

Almost asleep, he felt her shift, sink lower in the mattress then mumble something. Picking his head up enough to hear her, “what?”

“Tomorrow we have to wedge ourselves on the lumpy sofa bed.”

He was slightly surprised at this. He figured he’d be leaving once Maggie came home, at least for the sleepover portion, “I get to stay here even with your mom back?”

God love her smile, he could feel it against his ribs, “only if you want to.”

“Hell, yes, I want to. I’d be pathetically lonely back at my place. I wouldn’t know what to do. I’d probably end up tripping on imaginary toys and talking to myself.”

“Lumpy sofa bed it is?”

“Lumpy sofa bed it is.”

max and the way after midnight visitor (bmw 1)

So last weekend I decided to check back in on Paranatural for the first time in years… such a good move. Still my favorite by far. And hey, I’m apparently back just in time for bullymagnet week, which wasn’t even a thing before. My timezones may be a little off, not quite sure, but this is for day one - night.

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Max wakes up at 4:17 AM to the familiar sound of ol’ Hissin’ Pete freaking out. He groans, rolling over to put a pillow on top of his head, only to bolt upright when he rolls right onto his fractured arm.

“FLIPPIN’ HECK,” he screams through gritted teeth, curling over it.

“Mister Max! Are you okay?” PJ inquires, looming out of the darkness with a nightmare grin. Max means that literally. He’s had nightmares about that grin.

It does look a little more nervous than usual this time, though. He squints, honestly just to get a better look in the darkness, but PJ immediately quails before his face, admitting, “I’m sorryyyy, it was me that got Hissin’ Pete going but I only did it because a weird kid on your roof threatened to punch Lefty!”

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Art journal page I made by stamping with a handcarved stamp, which I then colored with ultrafine point Sharpies.

We’re just rainbows dreaming we’re human. -Cloud Cult, “No Hell” (2015)