#if i do this now. I'll try for another 7 days. and then add more stuff and build a routine. yes ok workable

[diomedrian]

This week I'd like to 1) work on sql an hour every day 2) read min 10 pages a day 3) sleep before 4

[criminalyapping]

due for trouble | you're mine

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

a/n: i'm actually going to murder my keyboard i am so done with the extra letters and spaces you're gonna yell at me about the end but i'll pick up straight where this leaves off tomorrow :)

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, language, the girls are fighting!! he's big mad, they yell, etc. gets saucy near the end but no smut

< part 5 | part 7 >

Jack loves working on the night shift. He loves his coworkers, being able to watch the sun rise, and he loves the relative peace in his shift when compared to what he knows the day shift is like.

Lately, he's been thinking about the downsides, though.

When the baby is here, god, he's having a baby, but when it's here does that just mean that its your job to take care of it all night and then go to work all day? He can afford daycare no problem, but maybe he should look into nighttime nurse for you. He adds it to the mental list of things he needs to figure out.

There's approximately 4 million other things on his list as well.

It's another of his string og three days off, and he's seated on his couch trying to enjoy a movie that he put on. He'd much rather be with you, but you're out with your friends at some new country bar that popped up.

When you had first told him your plans for the night, he cringed. Thinking about the hot, sweaty environment you must be in, the opportunities for slips and falls on the sticky dance floor, and in his darkest thoughts, the possibility of you getting something put in your drink, regardless of if it was just water or a soda.

But be a controlling ass he will not, so he wished you and your friends a fun night and left it at that.

He's regretting that now as he looks at his phone and the message he got from your friend Emily. He scrambles for his reading glasses, slips them on, and inspects the text message thouroughly, trying to decipher it.

'miss girl fully eating with her fit'

She had sent along a photo as well, highlighting your cowgirl boots, your cute little sundress, and the intricate way that you had styled your hair for the evening. Jack, however, is focused on the tall cowboy character that you're talking to in the picture, smiling up at him as he looks down at you.

He puts his phone down, biting his lip and thinking about how hard he wants to take this. He's not taking it well overall.

'Do you guys need a ride home?'

He asks. It's about 11:30 now, so he would be able to get there at midnight, which he thinks is a perfect time to leave a country bar.

He's already up and changing out of his sweatpants before he gets a text back.

'uhhhh we were all going to get an uber home'

Emily had texted back.

Jack rolls his eyes.

'I'm on my way, be there in 30'

Jack has a white-knuckled grip on his steering wheel as he gets closer to the bar and finds a parking space.

He has to wait in line to get in and pay a $15 cover, which only sours his mood more. He's borderline seething as he enters, his eyes quickly scanning the open space.

He finally spies you, standing at the bar talking to someone.

Instead of being your friends, it's a tall, cowboy-hat wearing tool with a few too many buttons undone on his shirt.

He makes his way through the bar to you, and you don't even notice his presence until he has wormed his way into your conversation, standing directly in front of you.

Your eyes flick over, at first just preturbed about the man in your space, then your expression shifts to shock and a little bit of fear. The look on his face must be severe.

"Jack..." you trail off, "what are you doing here?" you ask.

"Emily texted me." he says, "I'm here to give you all a ride home." he says.

The man you've been talking to seems to think now is a good time to speak up.

"Hey, man, we're in the middle of talking," he argues.

"Not anymore," Jack says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him as he turns to go.

"Jack," you start to argue as he sucessfully pulls you away from the man, deeper into the bar and looking for the other three.

"Not right now." he cuts you off harshly, not letting go of your wrist.

You trail behind him as he finds the other three, and goes to leave with the four of you trailing behind him like ducklings. You give Emily a severe look, pointedly looking down at your wrist caught in his grasp and back to her.

She looks a little guilty, but the look she shares with Jada afterwards tells you that they're enjoying this.

Jack unlocks hiis truck, opening the passenger door for you and then shutting it hard after you're seated.

As he climbs in the drivers side, he opens his phone and gives it to the backseat.

"Where am I going first?' he asks. Jada lives closest, so she types in her address and Jack pulls out of his parking space.

The car is silent, an unseen tension filling the air as he makes his way around the city dropping off your friends.

As Jack pulls up to his home, you scoff.

"What?" he asks in a monotone voice.

"Can you take me home, too? I thought that was where we were going." you ask snidely.

"No," he disagrees, "we're going to go in and we're going to talk." he tells you.

"Oh, are we?" you argue.

"Yeah," he says, getting out of the car and rounding to the other side, opening your door. "Come on," he urges.

You roll your eyes and clilmb out of the truck gingerly. Jack keeps a hand on yoour shouder like you're about to run away as you walk to his door.

As soon as his door is shut behind him, you lay into him.

"What the fuck was that?" you ask, not quite yelling but definitely close.

"I was trying to have a good time with my friends," you complain.

"Your friends? Your friends who were halfway across the bar while you flirted with some guy?" he spits.

"Oh, fuck off," you scoff.

"No, no tell me." he insists, "Tell me about how much fun you were having."

You roll your eyes again and turn away from him. He grabs your shoulders and angles you towards him. He's standing close enough that your head has to be tilted back to look at him.

He looks pissed. His eyes are wide, a red tinge covering his whole face and neck, and his intense look is focused soley on you.

"I told you," you start, measured, "that I was going out out of courtesy," you spit, "I can do what I want, and it was not okay for you to show up and ruin our night-" you're interrputed when Jack cuts you off.

"Ruin your night?" he repeats.

"Yeah, ruin our night!" now you really are yelling. "You show up, make us all go home, and for what? For what, Jack, so stake some kind of claim?" you yell. "You're not my boyfriend, Jack!" you yell.

Jack chuckles wryly, looking up at the ceiling for a moment.

"You know," he starts, crowding into your space again, grasping the tops of your arms. "I don't have to stake any claim," he tells you lowly. "I don't have to, because I already fucking did," he says, pressing you against the length of his body. "I didn't think I had to spell it out for you, but I will." he continues.

"You're mine," he says, and you open your mouth to argue, but he stops you before you can.

"And don't argue, okay? I'm telling you." he's all but whispering now, his face a few milimeters from yours as he speaks with an intensity that has your toes curling in your boots.

"You're mine," he repeats. "I'm not just around because of the baby, but it gives me a damn good excuse." he tells you. "Call me your boyfriend, or your baby daddy, I don't give a shit. You want to call me your fiance and I'll go get a ring right now," he growls. "But whatever you want to call it, you're all mine, and you need to get that through your head."

Despite being 100% sober, his words give you a floaty feeling in your heads as you struggle to put together a string of words, intoxicated by his presence.

"And I get no say in this?" you finally ask.

"I think," he starts, "that if you really wanted to put up a fight, that I wouldn't have even gotten you out of that bar, let alone into my house." he argues. "I think you just wanted to put up a fight and be a little brat."

You don't say anything, but look up into his eyes and keep your gaze locked there.

"Am I right?" he asks.

You roll your eyes and try to move away, only to be stopped by his renewed grasp on you, pulling you into him as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

"You wanna be mine, baby," he says into your cheek, "that's okay," he assures. He drags his lips down the side of your face and presses his lips to yours in a messy kiss.

His tongue plunges into your mouth annd tangles with yours, overpowering any attempt you make at turning the tides of the kiss. He wrenches his lips from yours and skims them down your neck, leaving licks and kisses and at least one bite, for good measure.

"Yeah, I do," you agree breathily as his mouth works on your collarbone.

"Yeah, you do," he parrots around your skin, "good girl," he sighs.

tagging: @michasia24 @veggieburgerwrites @bruher @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @catmomstyles3 @qardasngan @fuckalrighty @rae4725 @beebeechaos @thatssomebadhat89 @cari87 @livingdeadblondequeen @wowitsafemale @neonpurplestars89-blog

let me know if you want a tag!

[airplanelanding]

r/relationship_advice

u/smashedcucumbers

My (26M) Roommate (28M) kissed me and I don't know what to do now.

So, for context, my roommate (28M) and I (26M) are both straight men. For privacy, I will call him RM, for roommate. Onto the background.

So, RM is an author — or, attempts to be one. He has a lot of potential but squanders it all on writing shitty porn for money. I have read, and still do read, his work. The skill is present, but he doesn't lean into it.

I am very rich. I don't understand what it's like to not have money or worry where my next meal will come from, and after a lot of introspection and discussion with him, I acknowledge this privilege. Monetarily, and familially, I am very lucky. This isn't to brag, or to say I have no struggles of my own (believe me, I do), but purely to add context.

I offered to pay his bills, etc., so he could write what he wanted but he refused most help because he didn't want to be "just some sugar baby" (???) — in the end, he only moved into my apartment and let me cover the rent.

We have been living together for 2.5 years now.

With the background out of the way, I'll get into why I actually made this post, now.

Last night, RM and I were having another argument over his writing. Since moving in, he has let me begun editing & beta reading his work. I have a formal degree in literature and editing, but don't do it for work. Needless to say, I know what I'm doing.

We argue a lot over his writing. Something about last night's fight was different, though. It was more tense than usual. Ever since the power went out last week — during which we had to share my bed for warmth — there has been a strange energy between us, and I guess it all bubbled over during this fight.

I don't even really remember the details. It was about a scene in which the tension between the protag of his novel and his latest love interest snapped and they fell into a passionate night. I expressed how unnatural it felt in context with the rest of the chapter, and how sudden, and that there needed to be more proper build-up. RM disagreed. I then pointed out the kissing itself and how unrealistic it was. We went back and forth like this a bit, egging each other on and arguing.

At one point, he said something along the lines of, "like you could do better," and I snapped back that maybe I could. He laughed and said he'd like to see my try and, without thinking — in the heat of the moment — said fine, go ahead. The silence was...deafening I tried to backpedal immediately when I realized what I said — again we are both straight men. I don't even know why my head went there, let alone why I said it.

After that, it gets fuzzy. All I remember is one second I was stumbling over my words trying to backpedal, the next we were on the couch and I was in his lap. I came back to my senses when he tried to take my shirt off and, as ashamed as I am to admit it, I've been hiding at my older brother's house since.

I don't want to go back home while my head is still such a mess, but I think my brother & his husband are starting to get sick of my intrusion.

Reddit, what do I do? He hasn't tried to contact me all day, or at all since I fled last night. I've never questioned my sexuality before, but now I don't know what to think. I'm straight, but...I didn't hate it?

I'm really at a loss.

⬆ 7.4k | ⇩ 💬 926 🏅 ➥ 5.8k

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🔰 AutoModerator MOD • 7 hrs • Welcome to r/relationshi...

u/streetcat 6hrs

Ever since the power went out last week — during which we had to share my bed for warmth — there has been a strange energy between us

bro...you cannot be serious.

••• ⤶ ⬆ 1.2k ⇩

u/helpful-idiot 6hrs 🎂

Plain and simple, you need to talk to him. This isn't something that will just go away if you hide long enough. This needs real communication.

••• ⤶ ⬆ 3.2k ⇩

u/endoftheline 6 hrs

we are both straight men

Are you sure about that? Genuinely. Has he ever told you he's straight? Brought home girls? Anything concrete?

he hasn't tried to contact me

It's likely he's just as panicked as you are, OP. You seem like close friends and, sexuality aside, this complicates that friendship.

what do I do?

1. Breathe.

2. Thank your brother and BIL for their hospitality.

3. Go home and talk to your friend.

Regardless of the outcome, you both deserve an honest conversation with all your cards on the table. Especially if he's having an identity crisis of his own. Have some faith in your friendship and work through this together.

edit: spelling

••• ⤶ ⬆ 6.7k ⇩

u/smashedcucumbers OP • 5hrs

Thank you.

••• ⤶ ⬆ 346 ⇩

u/smashedcucumbers OP • 4hrs

I'm going to talk to him. I might update properly later. Thank you all for the responses.

••• ⤶ ⬆ 3.9k ⇩

[catboybiologist]

Hey it's a life update that probably no one cared about or asked for

tl;dr: I'm likely quitting my PhD via mastering out, and leaving my program in June.

sappy, overly emotional vent/explanation:

I'm wrapping up my first quarter as an out-of-the-closet trans woman. I've had some serious conversations about where me and my work stand. This was always my intention after coming back from my summer hiatus/social transition: see how "reentry" works, and then assess from there.

For those that don't know, PhDs in the US take 5-7 years. Oftentimes, however, they either give you a master's along the way, or give you an option to quit halfway through with a master's. I'm in my 3rd year and have more than enough to use that option. I've toyed with this idea before, but it feels a bit different now. Last year, I was burned out from science, my project was failing, and I was under constant stress of boymoding and remaining in the closet. Now, I'm out and proud, and I deeply love my project and find it exciting. I fixed some things.

Unfortunately, I have a recurrent problem. Whenever something goes wrong in my life, the first thing to drop off is my ability to drive forward my own thesis project in a coherent way. What the actual problems are vary, but that motif stays the same. I could list off what's going on right now, but I think y'all can assume a bit of what a mid-20s, broke, recently transitioned trans woman in the US is going through at the moment. There's a lot of specifics, of course, but I'm not at liberty to say most of it.

So I'm looking around and realizing I have scraps of half finished projects, I've given support and help for other people's projects.... and then made little progress on my actual thesis. It's enough to pull together into a master's thesis, and maybe even another paper or two, but.... not a PhD.

And then there's the other side of it. The nicer reasons. Could I stay here, buckle down, maybe add years to my degree, and get through it? Probably. But honestly? I don't really want to put myself through that now. It used to be that academics was all I had. It was all my failures and all my successes. It's what I threw myself at, because I genuinely had nothing else going on. Since transitioning, the world seems so much more beautiful and rich, so much more complex and vast, with so much more to do in it. I've even had more negative experiences unrelated to academia, and while they've sucked, they've shown me that life is so much bigger than it was before.

To be blunt, to experience more of my life... it helps to have money, and it helps to have career stability. It's not the only factor by far, but certainly one defining moment when making this decision was trying to create a timeline and budget for transition related surgeries, and realizing that its near impossible in grad school.

Not to be dramatic, but I've also had a couple extremely jarring experiences in the past year that are reminded me that life is short. And I want at least some time to enjoy it.

My heart is honestly broken here, and I'm feeling extremely emotional about this. I love my lab, my colleagues, the environment of doing research, and my project. But I'm realizing that it might not be viable, or what makes me the happiest at the moment. I'm genuinely a bit distraught, and I've been crying a lot for the past few days. A lot of me feels like this is what I am, and this is what I'm good for. That I'm failing myself and every mentor that got me here. Some part of me knows that isn't true, some part of me can't let go of those feelings.

But, I know this doesn't mean "never". So many of the people in my program are significantly older than me, coming back later in life to get their degrees. I'm honestly almost positive that I'll come back to a PhD someday if I quit now. In my 30s or beyond, I think that I'll be able equipped to handle it much better.

So what's next?

Obviously, nothing is decided, and I'm just spitballing here. But I'm honestly shocked at how many viable options I have, in a very good way. A cursory scroll of Indeed was honestly therapeutic. As I said, I still love the academic research environment. I just need more money and stability, and would prefer to have a slightly different relationship to the work I do than a thesis project. Ideally, I would want to be a staff researcher in an institute or academic lab. That lets me keep a lot of the things I like about what I do now, while also making literally 2-3 times the money and having a more stable position.There's positions out there that maximize the contexts I'm the strongest and happiest with, while still being more steady and paying more. Hell, even if my responsibilities were identical, but I had more pay, I could probably more effectively address the personal problems I'm going through right now. I'm gonna stay in California for a lot of reasons, and I'm lucky that there's so many options within the state.

I have a bit of an oddball set of experience. I'll actually have two nonoverlapping master's if I do this. I already have a MS in bioinformatics, which was granted by a CS department. But my current program is in more "pure" molecular and cell biology. I'll have 5 years of grad school, 8.5 years of research experience if I include undergrad research, and instead of a PhD, 2 MSs. Which is kinda funny. But it think it helps represent my experience for what it is. I like to consider myself a "full stack" bioinformaticist- someone who can do both the experimental and analysis portions of experiments that produce large data. Hopefully I'll be able to put that to good use.

I have a lot of professional contacts that I'll slowly be reaching out to over the course of the next 6 months while I tie things up. I know this is a wildshot on tumblr of all places, but if anyone has any recommendations, advice, or contacts, I'm all ears- both for professional and job hunt related things, and also the emotional state I'm in right now.

Thank you to everyone that's made up this wonderful community we have online. I hope I'm not letting anyone down. I'll still be a biologist, I'll still be my trans self. I just won't be "Doctor" anytime soon.

[vendetta-if]

Chapter 7 + Ash Hangout Public Update is now live! 🎉

The Chapter 7 and Ash Hangout update is finally here 🔥😁 I'm sorry for the slight delay, I had something urgent to attend to today and I just got home and I just basically went straight to my computer to upload this update.

Finally, we are starting to get into the ROs' first hangout sessions. Of course, to start us off, we'll have Ash's hangout session 😁This update adds around 31K of new words, bringing the total word count so far to around 356,701K words!

Anyway, this update also brings quite a lot of changes in the coding, especially for the skip chapter function, so I'm going to strongly suggest you guys play with clean save, either from the beginning or using the skip chapter function.

I have recently added another skip-chapter checkpoint, which is Chapter 3 in addition to the already existing one on Chapter 6. There is also now an autosave function at the beginning of every chapter starting on Chapter 2, so you'll be able to replay any chapter you're currently reading and try out different options in that chapter.

Anyway, enough of the technicalities.

Here's what you can expect in this update:

The set up to the ROs'  first hangout sessions

Ash's first hangout session

Go down the memory lane and see snippets of MC's most cherished memories.

Some more Viktor 😔

A mix of angst, wholesome, and even potential fluff 🤭

🔥🧡😉

Ash/Rin poly route is not yet ready for this hangout and it's still work-in-progress 🙏

New stuff added to previous chapters:

Added autosave/reload function for Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, and Chapter 5.

Added another skip-chapter point to Chapter 3, in addition to the already existing Chapter 6.

Also, little news that I'm going to make a post of tomorrow, I'm about to open both the Side Story and Spicy Side Story ideas and suggestions for this month on both Patreon and Ko-Fi, so if you're interested in supporting me while also getting some exclusive stuff, please do consider checking out my pages and subscribing 💖

I hope you guys enjoy the update! Oh, and also, feel free to send asks about the new update, but I'll probably hold off on answering them until a few days have passed to make sure a lot of readers already have the chance to check out the update and not accidentally spoil them 😊

[DEMO] | [PATREON] | [KO-FI] | [DISCORD] | [COG FORUM]

[sweetchillipeppers]

Jason Todd x Reader - Teacher AU

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral!Reader

A/N: Y’all what if I actually got back into writing fics? I didn’t know I could do that. But write what you want to see. And I want to see English teacher by day, Red Hood by night Jason Todd with History teacher reader so sue me. More importantly, I want to see Damian in reader’s classroom at lunchtime bitching about his brother. I already have part two, so that will be posted soon. (And y’all get to have a look at the Red Hood!)

Also I believe this is gender neutral if anyone sees gendered language let me know and I'll fix it.

Tags: Rivals to lovers, kind of mutual pining, Teacher AU Word Count: 3368

Pt 1 Pt 2

You were warned that teaching would be just like high school all over again. The same cliques and bullies and drama that plagued the halls when you were 15, to be repeated now that you’ve returned to the school as an adult. To think that fully grown human beings are still caught up in the same scandals, doomed to the same behaviour 10 years after they should have grown out of it. You never would have believed it until you saw it yourself. Until even you devolved to your teenage years, developing a deep hatred for a fellow colleague. Okay. Hatred was a strong word for the rivalry but the dislike you held for a certain English teacher was real. And right now, he was the reason you’ve had to delay a test for your students. The email you’d received less than 10 minutes before your class was due to start did nothing but add to the rage you felt.

“10th grade English stream A2 is running over. 7 kids still need to present their projects. They’ll be late for their next class. Sorry for the delay.” 

Attached was a list of students in the class who would be late. All unsurprisingly in your history class. Mr Jason Todd had no respect for you, no respect for your time and no respect for your subject.

As the two youngest teachers at the school, you were often paired together: volunteer work, lunch duty, after school workshops. It didn’t help that your two departments, history and english, also worked closely with one another. You hated that the kids adored him. You hated that the other teachers still adored him, especially after all his flakiness. You knew that he hadn’t appeared at over half the after school volunteer work you had to do, and that he likely had an active social or dating life that was the cause, something you missed since becoming a teacher. So maybe, the hatred was all just jealousy. NOT. As if you’d be so petty.

When you first met Jason, you liked him. Like really liked him. He was pretty and smart and you are oh so attracted to competence. You trapped him in literary discussions from the Brothers York to the Odyssey but he never minded. You threw a couple joint trip ideas around to go see a local Shakespeare play after Christmas or the early 19th century writers exhibition at the museum. He was also the rugby coach and his practice on the field coincided with your volleyball team’s in the hall so twice a week you tidied the equipment cupboard together. You were so certain the two of you would be fast friends. Maybe more. So when the librarian went on paternity leave in October and Jason needed help re-cataloguing the entire library onto the new system you volunteered. A chance to spend time with someone you liked and helping out the school: a win-win. What you hadn’t expected was that what should’ve been a couple hours at most after school for a week turned into a month-long endeavour for you. Only you. Jason would stay for at most 20 minutes before running away with some kind of excuse and vanishing for the rest of the night. By the third week, you’d started cataloguing during your lunch breaks to try speed up the process (and to avoid spending any time with him while your temper simmered under pleasantries). After that you distanced yourself. He clearly had no respect for your time and you by extension. No more literary discussions in the staff room. No more joint tidies in the equipment store and no more library cataloguing. Mr Jason Todd was the most unreliable colleague you had. The bane of your existence. And yet, everyone seems to forget this fact when he flashes a smile or starts talking about classic literature. But not you. No, you could see through his gorgeous face, past those good looks into the depths of his terrible personality. And unfortunately, the only person who agreed with you was a child.

“Todd irritates me far too often. I put in a request at the start of the year that I would not be in any of his classes.” Damian states matter of factly. The two of you were sat in your classroom eating lunch. The youngest Wayne opting to spend time surrounded by history displays instead of braving the lunch hall and eating alone. And, as the teacher, it was your responsibility to encourage him to make friends. After the two of you bitch about Jason of course. 

“I wish I could put in a request to stop seeing him in the staff room. But no, he wanders in with his fancy books and his fancy teas-”

“Those would be Pennyworth’s” He confirms.

“-Flashes a smile and expects me to be nice to him after how flakey he’s been. Can you believe it?”

Damian swallows a bite of his sandwich and nods solemnly. “I can.”

“He’s incredibly unreliable. I mean how do people give him any responsibility after this?” Your arms gesturing wildly.

“Perhaps this is weaponised incompetence. I always say to Father that he is too incompetent for his job.” Damian suggests, shaking his head. “But Father says that he is one of the most competent people he knows”

It’s not too hard to be competent in front of ‘Brucie’ Wayne. But you don’t tell Damian that.

“No, he's definitely competent enough. I know he’s incredibly intelligent and I sat in for one of his classes. He clearly just has zero time management skills.”

“And he lacks respect.”

“And he lacks respect!” You shout, then realise you should probably calm down and sheepishly rub the back of your neck. Although it seems that Damian hadn’t cared about your outburst.

“I am the blood son, he should at least be respectful to the rightful heir. But no, he and Grayson make a habit of tossing me about like a basketball.”

That sounds quite sweet to you, that Damian’s older brothers treat him so nicely and the disagreement must show on your face because Damian scoffs.

“Pennyworth tells me it’s ‘Sibling Bonding’. I do not wish to think of those two imbeciles as related to me.”

“The curse of being the youngest.” you offer in response, “Although it sounds like they want to be playful with you. That they want a good relationship.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending Todd right now.”

You huff at that, changing the subject. “Maybe you should make some other friends, that way you can spend less time with your brothers. Think of it as an escape plan.”

“Are you not my friend?” 

“Um well, yes, but I meant some kids your own age.”

“Ah. Father agrees. He says that Jon is not enough. That I need more than one friend. How many friends do you have? I will achieve the same.” Damian looks determined, which means you’re at least getting through to him. You, on the other hand, feel like a deer in headlights. Honestly you can count the number of friends you have from outside work on one hand. 

“I have lots of friends.” You brag. Damian does not look convinced. “How about you aim to make two more friends? Maybe you should join a club. Ms Song says you excel in her art classes. The art club meets on Tuesday lunchtimes and after school on a Wednesday.”

“I enjoy my lunches in the history room.”

“But this would work for both of us Damian. I start lunchtime duty next week on Tuesdays. I won’t be in my classroom.” A lie, of course, but you really want Damian to make some friends and be more social amongst the other students. You’re not sure who’s timetabled for Tuesday lunchtime duty but you’ll find a way to swap. And luckily, Damian doesn’t call your bluff.

“Fine. I shall join the art club. I suppose it is only fair that I do something uncomfortable as well.”

You have no idea what Damian is talking about but he’s joining the art club so that’s a win for you. He’s putting himself out there socially and that’s all you can hope for. The bell rings and Damian packs up his things, leaving you to get ready for your next class. 

By the end of the day you were still thinking about how much you hated Jason. It’s not like he was the only thing on your mind though. In all honesty the only thing you had learnt from the earlier half of your conversation with Damian is that you were acting like a 14 year old. Not to say neither of your grievances were invalid but you suppose you should maybe give Todd slightly more grace than you do currently. Especially if he already has one enemy in Damian. You think back to the incident this morning. Maybe it really was an accident. Sometimes projects and classes over run. You have to be flexible in teaching. You gather your materials together when the bell rings and your last class rushes out the door. 

“For those of you coming on the trip on Saturday, meet outside the school bright and early!” You call, “The coach leaves at 8.30!”

You sit back down and stretch your arms out as you log into your emails, sending one to the maths teacher asking to switch to her lunchtime duty on Tuesdays. She replies yes and you smile in success. Plan ‘help Damian make friends’ has finished stage one. Wonderful! Scanning the latest reminder from your principal, someone knocks at the door, drawing your attention away. You figure it might be Janice, one of the cleaners or Alejandro the receptionist. “Come in.” you say, and turn back to your emails.

“Where’s good to start setting up?” You would recognise that grating voice in a heartbeat. Jason Todd. You swivel so fast in your chair you almost fall out of it. 

“What are you doing here?” You try to sound as neutral and as unaffected by his very presence as possible. 

“Parents' evening. We’re sharing a classroom. The email went out three weeks ago and a reminder today?” You turn back to the monitor. The last unread email. Damn. You’d agreed to share a classroom when you were still on good terms. 

“I must’ve missed it. I’m ready to start setting up right now.” You smile through gritted teeth.

You were so wrong about giving grace. That man has done nothing but step on your toes all afternoon. That display should be changed, these books should be out, example essays from each subject should have no overlap. And the worst part is that he was right on most counts. But you don’t take lightly to being ordered around by a man who does nothing but infuriate you. In less than an hour the parents will be walking into your room and judging you and the school and you again and Jason still isn’t back. He better be in the toilet having a case of explosive diarrhoea or so help him god, the principal will have to scrape his remains off the teacher car park. It’s been 20 minutes. You suppose the classroom is prepped and ready for the parents so you could just wait anxiously by yourself. You suppose nothing was tethering him here when the displays were done as long as he made it back before the parents. You suppose he wouldn’t want to spend time with someone who had become so hostile and jagged towards him. Maybe he was talking with some of the other teachers, you reasoned. He hadn’t abandoned you again. Not after the promises about turning up and being here. And certainly not after the principal’s second reminder email that seemed more like a warning. Perhaps you should go see if any other teachers needed help last minute as well. To keep your mind busy and away from the failure Jason was setting you up for. You lock your classroom and walk towards the art room.

Jason was running late again. Dick had called in an SOS and he was closest. And to make up for it he figured it wouldn’t matter if he stopped to grab a coffee for you each as a peace offering. He did enjoy your company after all. He knew that your iciness these past few weeks had been well deserved. He didn’t mean to miss all the cataloguing but it was a particularly active week for Black Mask and Penguin and then the week after that he was recovering from a stab wound he’d gotten during a routine drug bust. Getting a second job had taken some getting used to. So he could hardly blame you for your hostility. He knew he deserved it. So in order to make amends, he grabbed you a drink from the cafe two blocks from the school before he joined you in your classroom, ready for parents evening. He signed back into the office before catching a glimpse at the time. Shit. You were going to be so angry if he was late again. So he sprinted like a madman, ignoring all his very new teacher instincts about running in corridors. As Jason rushed towards your classroom he didn't notice the art room door open and you step out, waving goodbye to Ms Song. 

The apology coffee ended up all over you. Seeping through your sweater and your shirt. Your nice, white shirt, ironed and pressed for parents' evening. You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to-” Jason starts.

“It's okay Jason, really.” You swallow and turn to keep walking to your class. You were trying not to lose it. Not to cry or yell, when parents could walk through the door at any moment. Jason trailed behind you. When you walk into your classroom he calls your name. 

“What?” You snap. You have run out of patience and out of grace for him. He takes off his knit jumper, passing it to you.

“It’ll help cover the stain.”

“It’ll be weird though won’t it?” You question, eyebrow raised. You knew exactly what the staff room would sound like on Monday if anyone saw you. 

“Is that worse than letting the principal see you talking to parents covered in coffee?”

You don’t reply. He was right, per usual. You take the jumper, unenthusiastically and pull it on. It smells like him. Not that it would mean anything to you of course, it’s just a smell. It has absolutely zero effect on you. Jason was also not faring too well. Seeing you in his jumper was quite endearing. But it had no effect on him either. Everyone looked good in knit. Thankfully, you both hear the parents walking around the corridors and are able to break the awkwardness. 

“Ready to go?” He asks.

“People will like history way better than English.” You promise in response, looking at your display on ancient civilisations, matching your 9th grade class’s current topic. The bright colours and big posters were sure to catch everyone’s eyes.

Jason smirks, “More people like Shakespeare than you think.” He references his own display: a large, badly drawn, picture of Shakespeare with literary technique thought bubbles surrounding him. You roll your eyes, desperately trying to stop any trace of a smile. You were still angry at him. But right now, the parents need your attention.

The two of you finally finished the evening. It had been taxing, no thanks to your revived rivalry. You spent the entire evening one-upping each other to parents, as subtle as possible of course. When the principal had checked in on your pair, you were sweet as saints. No matter how much you disliked the man, even you couldn't deny how well you worked together. He apologised multiple times about the coffee. He really did feel bad about it all. The spill really was an accident. He also apologised for his flakiness, but gave no explanation as to why he had abandoned you for weeks on end. You found no reasonable explanation incredibly hard to believe. So you still didn’t trust him. 

When the final parents left and the two of you began the tedious task of tidying, you walked up to him. “Just because we’ve worked well together tonight does not mean I forgive you. I know you’ve said sorry but until you prove it I don’t believe you.” You used your teacher voice but kept it low enough that the few listening ears wouldn’t have the chance for any gossip. Jason nods, gulping. You continue to work in silence. When the two of you finished packing everything away, highly efficiently you might add, you knew you ought to talk to Jason about Damian. No matter how much his brother disliked him, you knew you needed to talk to him about Damian. You wanted his family to encourage his creativity as both an outlet and a means to relax and socialise. You casually leant against a desk and spoke up. 

“This might be too personal-” Jason perked up at your voice. “-but I was wondering if you could ask your family to encourage Damian’s art and creativity. I’m aware he doesn’t really have many friends-” Jason scoffs and you stare him down. He was a grown man. He needed to act like one.

Jason breaks the silence, “He has one friend, Jon. He lives in Metropolis. They see each other pretty regularly.” Jason shrugs. “Does he really need more?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You need to think like a teacher. Stop looking at him like your kid brother and see him as a child having trouble connecting with his peers. I want him to have someone to talk to while at school. Someone who is not me. And not you.” You add, even though you know Damian likely ignores his entire existence. “I’ve asked him to join the art club and go on Tuesday lunchtimes. I’m sure Ms Song has told you about how talented he is.”

“She hasn’t. You’re the only teacher who knows we’re related.” Jason shrugs again. His nonchalance was getting on your nerves. 

“What?”

“The school board and principal know, obviously. But we thought it would be better that his peers didn’t. We didn’t want him being accused of favouritism.” You suppose that makes sense. That could have isolated him further. Jason stepped towards you. “And you only know because of your bitching sessions.” Your eyes widen. “Yeah I know about those.” Jason taunts. 

This man. The nerve! And after you had graciously half-forgiven him. Surely Damian had not spilled the beans to his asshole brother. No. Jason probably found out by spying or some very nefarious plot. Why would he care anyway? Everyone else at this stupid school adored him. You were indulging his kid brother and helping him talk about his feelings. You were not in the wrong here. Jason was. And he was also far too close to you now. You don’t even know when he got so close. So close to one another that you could see every freckle. Every scar. Every pore on his gorgeous face. You were too close. And you knew you were flushing. You felt so hot. FROM REVITALISED LOATHING AND HATRED OF COURSE. Not from embarrassment. Or any other emotion. You steel your eyes. He would not know how much he affected you. Stupid smirking men do not get to win. You stand up straight and look him eye to eye. “Encourage Damian’s creativity. Your brother deserves more friends.” You dodge past Jason and grab your bag from under your desk. You motion for him to grab his shit. He does so and walks out, heading straight for the office to leave. Allowing you to lock up your classroom by yourself, in the empty school, not thinking about how close the two of you had been. Never thinking about his eyes or his hair or his lips. Peeling off his jumper and staring down the ugly brown coffee stain on your shirt, only thinking about the ways Jason had wronged you.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[yetanotherhiddlestoner]

(MDNI- THE SMUT IS FINALLY HERE)

(Summary ~ (A former) Plus size reader x Negan. In the world of the dead rising, you just happen to fall for the one fucked up person who has no interest in you. And I am aware the timeline doesn't add up but for the story I had to make the timeline longer than a couple months.)

~Word Count ~ 2738

~Warnings ~ SMUT, P in V, Unprotected sex (use protection!!!!!), swearing. (GIF not mine)

CHAPTER FIVE - I FELL HARD, YOU'LL FALL HARDER.

~1 week later~

As usual you wake up before Negan, your own internal alarm wakes you up just before the sun hits your face, you quickly make your bed, get dressed and head downstairs to make breakfast for yourself, deciding to wake Negan up in 15 minutes so you can start before it gets too hot.  He had been on such good behavior the last week, never late to the job, always kind to those who walked past and judged him, some of the folk had stopped to talk to him, others just looked angry that he was being given a second chance. Rick and the others were still on edge, stating he was a ticking time bomb and they waited for the day he would go off. 

Once again, the job for the day was to the gardens and doing a quick patrol outside the fences, killing the strays and seeing if there were any holes to fix. Pouring yourself some cereal you sit at the counter and eat; you can hear people outside already. 

Negan wakes up to the sounds outside, people chatting to each other, cars being worked on. Everyday waking up in your house, his back was thankful for the soft mattress instead of the prison cot. He lays there, looking at the ceiling, thinking, going over the last 7 days with you, everything about you made it hard for his body not to react to you. The way the sweat dripped down your forehead in the midday heat, or the way your pants tighten as you bent over to pick up things from the ground. even though he should be focused on work, he couldn't help but stare, sometimes he wondered if you did it just so he could look.

Each time his body would start to stir, and he quickly tried to hide it from you, trying to not embarrass you. 

He hears your footsteps quietly coming up the stairs and then your gentle knock upon his bedroom door.  "Come in" he answers, sitting up in bed, he quickly covers his naked body, if he was still the leader of the sanctuary, he wouldn't have cared but this was a new chapter for both him and you so for now he wanted to be modest and cover himself up.  "Time to rise and shine. Wanna get the gardening started before it gets to hot outside." You say your head peeking in from the door, spotting him.

"Well," He looks under the white bed sheet and smirks "I am already rising, if you want to give me a few minutes. I'll meet you downstairs." He notices the blush rising on your cheeks, when you finally caught on to what he was talking about.  "Do you always think about sex?" You ask rising an eyebrow, quickly remembering the moment at Olivia's house. "When there is a sexy as fuck lady in my presence than the answer is yes., I could easily show you how hard I am right now?" He starts to play with the corner of the sheet. Teasing you, no he was testing you. You wanted to stand your ground, call his bluff, to once more push him away and his attempts. 

"Go on then, I think your just wasting time, already bored of these daily chores you wanna have the day off and so you will say anything" you say as you enter his bedroom fully and he chuckles, as you try to maintain control of this little game.

"You freaked out about me being in a towel a few days ago, if I take this sheet off right now, how will you react?"  You shrug, "Well, that was a different scenario" You mentally roll your eyes at your response, it really wasn't that much different, but for now you went back to trying to act as if this little game was nothing more than just two friends teasing one another. "You really want to do this Y/N because if we do, I can tell you right now we will not be being our chores today. You will not be allowed out of my bed." His threat hangs in the air as your eyes remain locked on his. "Big talk" you say, smirking.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed, carefully maneuvering the sheet to wrap around his waist. The tension in the room rising each second.  "Come here" Negan orders you and opens his legs to accommodate you. You walk over and stand between his legs, his hands go straight to your ass, grabbing it.  "You really going to push me doll?" His eyes looking up at you, his chin resting on your stomach.

"You are all talk Negan." You say, smiling.  "I'll show you all talk" He growls as he stands up, still holding you and put you on the bed, his body covering you, the sheet still tightly wrapped around his waist. "Well shit now Rick is going to hate us both because I am not letting you leave." You can feel his erection nestled between your thighs. "I think Rick already dislikes us anyway" you whisper as you shift your waist to rub yourself over his hard on.

"And you are really over dressed, time we fix that." He takes off your empty holsters and slowly unbuttons your blouse. You watch as his long fingers undo each singular button. Part of you still thinks he is bluffing but it fades away as he exposes your breasts to him. He kisses your chest, as his hands move around to your bra, you lift your back to allow him access. You sigh once you feel the release of the clasp, he grabs and chucks to a corner of his room. He grabs your breast and brings them together, kissing them softly. You gasp at the feeling of his tongue licking at your nipples. "Holy shit you are good at that." you gasp out. 

"Glad you enjoy this as much as I am, can you feel me?" He pushes his hips even deeper into you. "Fuck yes Negan." You can feel your body responding to his. "I bet you are so fucking wet for me" Negan growls as his hand travels down to, he slides into your jeans and underwear to your pussy. His fingers just gently move over your lips, "Fucking knew it doll, you are soaked for me."

"Please Negan" You moan as his fingers gently push between your lips, touching your clit, making you moan. "You are such a naughty little lamb, allowing the big bad wolf to touch you, giving you pleasure." His hand leaves you wanting more but he makes quick work of your jeans pulling them and your underwear down in one swift motion and throwing it somewhere behind him.

"Now you are overdressed" You whisper at him as you wrap your arms around his neck. In a blink of an eye the sheet disappears, and you see his erect cock, he smirks as you stare at it, taking in its size, "I am guessing you like what you see?" Negan asks wrapping his hand around himself, pumping slowly. "Like is an understatement. Holy fuck I heard rumors about your size but thought them wives were over exaggerating" You hear Negan chuckle. "Well thank you darling." 

He shimmies down your body, sliding off the bed to the floor, he places your legs on his shoulders. " I really need to have a taste of you." he mumbles as he tongue moves along your slit, you arch your hips up to him, grabbing a pillow you place it underneath you. You moan as his tongue finds your clit and circles it once, twice, three times and then the feeling of his fingers entering you makes you almost come. "I knew you would be fucking tight doll." He says pumping two fingers in and out a few times before adding a third and stretching you out more, filling you up. "Aw Negan" you moan feeling you getting close to the orgasm, you feel the fire within your stomach growing. His fingers move in and out a few more times before he climbs back on top of you and without warning thrusts his cock into your pussy making you scream out in pleasure. Your nails scratch at his back as your legs wrap around his waist. The room fills with moans and grunts.  "Negan......"  "Fuck...."  "I'm close....please"  "Fuck this...pussy is fucking amazing." "I'm not going to last" "Please," You can't stop the orgasm from pulsing through you, your walls clenching around his cock, and you soon feel the hot sensation of his own orgasm filling you up.

You and Negan lay there, quietly panting.  "You, ok?" Negan asks after a while. "Very much, fuck your good at that." You say as you roll to face him. Negan chuckles. "Just wait till later, we have the whole day to, I want to show you how I can be gentle as well in bed." "I think the whole of Alexandria knows what we just did" you laugh, "Well fuck them it was going to happen anyway, I really was thinking of taking you in my cell once if you trusted me enough." "How would you do that?" You ask looking at him, smiling. "Your could have you ass pushed against the bars while I pound you from behind, trust me, I had it all worked it out"  You slap his chest and laugh.

A knock at your front door sounds through the house. "Fuck me" Negan groans as you move to greet them "No." "No?" You raise an eyebrow at him. "I said if you stay here, you won't leave my bed. So, I am going to greet them and tell them to fuck off." He wraps the sheet around his waist "I will be back with snacks and drinks in five ok doll, stay right there." You smile and lay back down; you throw your hands up innocently. "Yes sir." you reply.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Negan heads downstairs and knows instantly who is at your front door.  "Good morning, Rick" He greets as he opens the front door wide, standing there in nothing but the sheet. "Morning Negan, is Y/N available?" Rick says peeking inside the house, looking for you. "Actually, funny thing, Y/N won't be available today sorry" Negan smirks, knowing full well that this is pissing off Rick so much.  "Why not?"  "Why is it your business?" "She has jobs to do today and so do you." "Well shit Ricky my man, don't know what to tell you." "What the fuck have you done with Y/N?" "Well now that you mention fucking, that is exactly what we did and holy fuck was it great, so if you could excuse me I have many promises to keep to her, I'll let you in on a secret, I am going to make her scream my name multiple times today, I suggest you and everyone that walks pass this house to just ignore it." Negan shuts the door on Rick, then heads to the kitchen to grab snacks and water for you. 

He lets the sheet fall off on the stairs. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You hear his footsteps coming back up the stairs, he turns the corner with promised snacks, proudly naked once again. You smile at him "Who was it?" You ask sitting up in the bed, covering your body with the blanket.

"Just Rick, he might be mad tomorrow as I just gave him some attitude, but he knows about our little fun" You roll your eyes "Of course you did"  "Anyways told him to warn the town that if they hear your screams to ignore it" Negan says opening a bottle of water and taking a sip, smirking at your reaction. You blush bright red and shake your head.

"I do intend to make you scream my name Y/N" Negan's fingers trail up your bare leg. "I have no doubt that you do Negan" you say staring at him. Your body shivers as his fingers move. "You have a small idea of how long I have waited for you. The last week has been a nightmare, I feel like a teenage boy once again. Getting hard in the middle of the town, fucking my hand in the showers in the morning thinking of your body, your legs wrapped around my waist while I pound into your body as its pinned to the wall."

You blush more at his words, imagining sharing a shower with him, both wet, wrapped each other, bodies connected. He climbs over you once more, pinning you underneath him.  "Tell me have you touched yourself thinking of me Y/N?" He asks looking it your eyes deeply.  You nod "Yes I have" you whisper.  "When was the first time you did.?"  You think back to the Sanctuary. "When I started to have feelings for you back at the Sanctuary, I would lay in bed and my mind would wander, how your hands would grab my flesh, then after I was done, I would feel disgusted in myself, because, well my weight." You admit to him.

"Why would you be disgusted in yourself sweetheart?" "Again, why would you wanna even think of fucking someone who was fat?"  "Well, I did several times think of doing just that, you have to stop putting yourself down, your body back then and right now are a temple for me to worship."

You bite your lip, you knew you couldn't stay in the past, but it was hard to even think he would be interested in you at all. You used all your strength to push Negan off you and push him down onto the bed, straddling him, his cock, semi hard once more nestling between your legs.

"Woah Sweetheart," His hands grip your waist.  "I always imagined being on top, riding you, seeing the pleasure I could bring you." You rub yourself up and down his cock, your wetness coating it. Negan groans at the feeling, his hips rising up a little to push his hardening member into your folds. Your eyes roll back as you lean back, bracing yourself on his legs as you slide up and down his cock, the tip hitting your clit with each move. "Y/N Fuck" Negan moans, his hand reaches down and holds his cock up, lining it up to your entrance. You slide down onto him, both moaning at the feeling.

You move slowly, riding him softly at first, just allowing the feeling of him filling you up to make you wetter, his hands grip your waist harder, you can tell he is doing all he can to not thrust up into you, he wants you to set the pace.

His eyes look at where your bodies join, you start to bounce on his cock a little faster, moaning as his tip now hits your g-spot, you can feel your orgasm building with each thrust. 

"God y/n you feel so good. Do you like riding me?" Negan gives in and thrusts up meeting your core. "Yes….." you moan as your held in place and fucked by Negan, his nails digging into your flesh. "I like this view" he says one hand grabbing your breast as it bounces against your skin, he kneads it. "Fucking hot watching you ride me, your pussy clenching me tightly, your tits bouncing in my face, lean forward sweetheart" He asks, you lean forward, and his tongue flicks your hardened nipple causing you to gasp, he starts sucking one and then the other.

"Negan please" You moan, your place you hands on his legs behind you, arching your back as you ride him, Negan matches your thrusts. You head rolls back as you feel yourself tipping over the edge with the orgasm, Negan quickly grabs your hips and makes you sit still on him as his own orgasm releasing, his hot seed once more filling you up. 

Your name rolling off his lips as you come down from your orgasm and lay on his chest, his soft cock slips out of you. You both lay there panting, limbs wrapping around each other. You body rings out in pleasure as your heart slowly starts to go back to its normal pace, sweat coats both of you.

Negan kisses your forehead and sighs. This right here was perfect.

[makeitmingi]

Meet My Chaos

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Jongho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Girlfriend!Reader, Boyfriend!Jongho, Friends!Ateez

Summary: After dating you for a bit and maintaining secrecy, Jongho knew you are the one he wants to introduce to his family. While you have met his real family, there's another family that he's been slightly reluctant to let you meet.

Word count: 3.6K

[A/N: I didn't want this to be SUPER fluffy. Just comforting and because I miss Jongho. I'm glad his surgery went well and that he is resting and recuperating.]

"I don't think I've ever seen you this nervous, Jongho." San rested his head on his hand as he watched the youngest pace up and down in the living room.

"Seonghwa hyung, did you help clear Hongjoong's room yet?" Ignoring the older, Jongho went to find the oldest of the group. He had Seonghwa come early in the day to help clean up the dorm since the oldest was known to be the cleanest.

"You know, I don't understanding why we have to clean the bedrooms too." Hongjoong scoffed.

"Less talking, more mopping." Seonghwa ordered.

"I want everything to be ready and presentable." Jongho said, going to where Wooyoung and Mingi were in the kitchen, preparing some small snacks. Yeosang was plating the few take out they got.

"Ah, Yunho hyung!" Jongho yelled when Yunho spilled some rice cake sauce on the counter. He grumbled as he grabbed some kitchen towels to wipe it up quickly.

The 7 older boys watched their youngest with slight fear and amusement. Fear of his wrath and amusement of how he was acting.

"Calm down, Jongho ah. Things are going to be fine." Hongjoong comforted as he entered the kitchen.

"I just want things to be perfect."

"She already likes you enough to be dating you for so long. I don't think a few dirty dishes are going to make her like you any less. Plus, it shows that you're human." Wooyoung shrugged. Jongho shot him a flat look, threatening to throw his house slipper at him. Wooyoung yelped and ducked behind Mingi.

"Hongjoong hyung! Jongho is being a bully again!" Wooyoung complained. Jongho rolled his eyes, taking his phone out from his pocket to send a text message.

'Let me know when you're here. I'll come down and get you. - Jongho'

'Mmm... I'm 10 minutes away, I think! - (y/n)'

"She's 10 minutes away. Those that need to get changed into presentable clothes, please go change now." Jongho announced. He needed to change too.

"Do we need our suits?" San teased, earning a glare from Jongho as he went to his bedroom to change into a fresh set of clothes.

"Everyone ready?" Jongho asked as the 7 sat down in the living room.

"Yeah. Everything and everyone is ready." Yunho said. Even though they tease Jongho, they didn't want to add to his stress so they did try their best to be more of a help than a burden. Jongho's phone rang and he stepped aside to answer it.

"Hello?... Mmm, you're downstairs? Okay, I'll come down now..." Jongho spoke, not being able to help the small smile that crept onto his face at the sound of your voice.

"I'll go down and get her." Jongho informed and left the dorm. When Jongho stepped out of the lift, he saw you standing there.

You looked so pretty, dressed in a baby blue sundress with white flowers. You rocked on your heels as you waited patiently for Jongho to pick you.

"Aein (sweetheart) ah." Jongho called out to you. You lifted your head at the sound of his voice.

"Oh, Jongho." You waved with a smile. Jongho jogged over to you. When he stood in front of you, his arm slipped around your waist to pull you in and give you a greeting kiss on your temple.

"What's all this?" He laughed at the paper bags by your feet.

"I bought some desserts and drinks for your hyungs. I don't know what they really like so I went a little overboard. And I bought you the katsu sandwich you like." You said sheepishly, embarrassed by how much you bought. Jongho patted your head, you always bought him something savoury, remembering that he isn't a fan of sweets.

"You didn't need to bring anything, aein. It must have been hard carrying all this on your own in the train." He said, picking up the bags to carry.

"No, it's fine. Plus, I want to make a good impression on your hyungs." You giggled shyly.

"They'll like you just as you are, not by the gifts you bring." He smiled as you began to walk with him back to the lift lobby.

"Your words are biased." You hit his arm.

"If I like you, the hyungs will too. Don't worry. I'm honestly more concerned that they like you too much. A lot of them show their affection through skinship..." He sighed as you pressed the lift button.

"I'll stick to your side then. You can protect me." You reached up to kiss his cheek.

"Yeah, if they know what's good for them, they'll know to back off and not try anything." He rolled his eyes, making you laugh. You knew Jongho's strength was something the others were scared of. You both stepped into the lift and Jongho pressed the button of the floor.

"I hope you didn't bully them into preparing too much for our meeting today." You said.

"There's no such thing as too much when it comes to you." Jongho said, transferring the bags into one hand to free up the other. He laced fingers with you.

"Have you seriously not met her before?" Wooyoung asked Hongjoong and Seonghwa. The two oldest shook their heads.

"I've met her before." Yeosang raised his hand.

"You have?! When?! Why have you not mentioned this?" The others all made a fuss. Jongho had kept you and your relationship very well hidden from all the nosy hyungs for quite a while.

"Yeah, I have. We went out for lunch together and Jongho introduced us." Yeosang nodded his head.

"WHAT?!" Not only has Yeosang met you, he even had a meal with you.

"Probably because Yeosang is the most 'presentable' and 'mature' one." Mingi scoffed. That was when they heard the door open and Jongho's light laughter, as well as your voice, sounded throughout the dorm. The 7 sat there, like puppies waiting for their owner to release them from the wait command.

"I've never heard him laugh like that before." San mumbled. Wooyoung nodded in agreement. They peered down the hall to see if you were coming but you and Jongho seemed to linger by the door.

"Why are you so nervous? I think in this situation I should be the nervous one!" You giggled as Jongho stopped at the door way.

"Ah, they can just be... loud. And overwhelming for people meeting them for the first time." Jongho rubbed the back of his neck as he squeezed your hand that he was holding.

"I'm sure they're lovely." You said.

"Just come in already!" Seonghwa yelled, getting tired of waiting for you two. Jongho sighed while you laughed. He began walking first, leading you to the living room with you trailing behind him.

"Hyungs... this is (y/n). (y/n), meet my 7 Ateez hyungs. Of course, you've met Yeosang hyung before." Jongho introduced as all 7 stood up. You waved to Yeosang, recognising the familiar face. He smiled and waved to you.

"Hello. It's nice to finally meet all of you." You waved shyly. The 7 all melted at how cute you were.

They've never even seen a picture of you before. The only picture Jongho had of you was his KakaoTalk chat background and that was a picture of the back of your head.

"Hyungs... Say hello." Jongho said through gritted teeth when he noticed that they were just frozen there, staring at you.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Hi there. I'm glad we're finally able to meet you. I'm Hongjoong." Hongjoong was the first to reach out and shake your hand. You nodded with a smile, shaking his hand.

"Hongjoong, the captain." You giggled. Jongho had shown you photos of them before, telling you all their names.

"I'm Seonghwa, the oldest." You went through all of them as they introduced themselves to you with a handshake. When you reached Yeosang, you and him shared a friendly hug of familiarity. Jongho watched an endearing smile, he knew you secretly watched Ateez videos to learn and memorise their names.

"You're so cute!" Wooyoung pulled you into a hug. You blinked in surprise but laughed, patting his back. With a small frown, Jongho came between you, pushing Wooyoung away gently.

"Please don't do that, hyung." Jongho mumbled.

"I brought some cakes and pastries for everyone." You said, gesturing to the paper bags that Jongho was carrying for you.

"That's very nice of you, (y/n). Thank you. But really, you didn't need to bring anything." Seonghwa smiled kindly, making your cheeks heat up.

"Go put these in the fridge." He gestured for Mingi to help Jongho take the bags into the kitchen to keep the cakes. Jongho came back out with a glass of water for you.

"Here, (y/n)." He handed it to you. You bowed your head and took the glass to sip the water. Jongho never really liked calling you 'aein' or other endearments in front of others. It was just one of the things he liked to keep private and you were fine with that.

"Hyung, move." Jongho shooed San away from the armchair so you could sit down.

"Jongho!" You lightly hit his arm in shock at the way he chased his hyung away. He just shrugged, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Please, it's okay. You don't have to move. I can sit wherever." You said, bowing apologetically to San.

"It's fine. Please sit." San shook his head with a kind smile, sitting between Wooyoung and Yunho on the couch. Jongho sat on the arm rest to ensure that he's near you.

After you've been dating for a while, you and Jongho agreed that it was time to meet each other's families. While you've met Jongho's parents and brother, you also wanted to meet his Ateez family. He does live with them and is with them most of the time like a real family so you should meet them too.

But Jongho, being Jongho, had always kept his personal life very private, even from Ateez. He was worried you would be "scared off" by how loud and chaotic they could be.

"So Jongho said you're a freshman in university? What do you study?" Yunho asked.

"Yeah, I'm a double biology major, specialising in Molecular Cell Biology and Microbiology." You informed.

"Oh wow. It must not be easy having to juggle a double major." Mingi said, impressed by how smart with were. You rubbed the back your neck, nodding.

"It's not easy... I only did it because I was indecisive on what I wanted to specialise in." You said shyly.

"They both sound like promising fields." Hongjoong laughed and you nodded with a giggle. Jongho watched you conversed with his hyungs, how easily you clicked and carried a conversation with them. He felt a little more relieved that you all got along.

"You're so smart. Then how did you meet Jongho?" Wooyoung asked in amazement. Jongho would have punched him but you were around so he abstained.

"Hyung..." Jongho glared warningly.

"We've actually been friends since high school. Then we reconnected at a reunion dinner." You smiled up at Jongho.

"Mhmm." Jongho hummed in confirmation as he smiled softly at you, patting your head. He held your hand, casually resting your interlocked hands on his thigh.

"Oh, I bought drinks too. Let me give them out." You remembered, going to the kitchen where the bag of drinks were. Jongho trailed behind you to help carry the bag to the living room.

"I hope I got the orders right... Iced americano for Jongho, Wooyoung and Mingi. Iced americano decaf for San, hot latte for Hongjoong, iced caramel macchiato for Yunho and Yeosang. And the none coffee drink they had was strawberry ade. That's for Seonghwa." You gave out the drinks to each of the members.

"That's right. I'm guessing Jongho told you our favourite drink orders?" Mingi blinked.

"I didn't..." Jongho shook his head.

"I remembered you've mentioned them in passing before. But I admit, I had some help with the information Atinys put on the internet." You confessed.

"Well, thank you for remembering and taking the time to research. You really didn't have to." Yunho smiled, sipping his drink.

"This is yours." You handed the iced americano to Jongho.

"Thanks. I can't believe you remembered me saying all that. Even I don't remember saying it myself." Jongho said to you softly, poking his straw into the drink.

"You never know, the information might come in handy one day. Like today." You smiled. Jongho mirrored your soft smile. He noticed the members immersed in their own conversations and quickly leaned in to give you a peck.

"I saw that!" Wooyoung pointed. Jongho pursed his lips and looked away to hide his shyness. You giggled, patting his hand.

"Don't tease them." Yeosang scolded.

"Can we eat now? I'm hungry." San suddenly asked. Hongjong facepalmed but turned to Jongho, who nodded. They all went to take the food that was prepared, leaving you and Jongho behind.

"Sorry." Jongho held your hands, more comfortable now that you two were alone.

"Nothing to be sorry about." You kissed his cheek. All the Ateez members have been very nice and welcoming to you.

"Come. Let's take some food before they finish it all." Jongho led you to the kitchen. He got two plates, instinctively kind of blocking you protectively so you could take food peacefully. The others got their food and Seonghwa rushed them out so you and Jongho could have some private time on your own.

"Want chicken?" You turned to him. Jongho nodded and you put a few pieces on his plate.

"Remember to take some for yourself too, aein." He reminded, looking at how you were taking food for him only.

"I will." You nodded and put some food on your own plate. It was cute, you taking food for yourself and Jongho while Jongho's free hand naturally came to rest of your waist.

"Wait, I'll get another plate to put the pasta so we can share." Jongho left you momentarily and came back with a new plate for you. He held it while you put some of the pasta on, enough for you to share.

"Do you want some rice?" You asked.

"I don't want carb on carb. And you know I'd rather eat more meat later." He shook his head and you laughed.

The other Ateez members watched in silent awe and shock, this side of Jongho was something they have never witnessed before. He smiled and laughed at the littlest things you did and was the one constantly initiating physical skinship with you.

"Jongho, I can carry my own plate." You insisted while laughing.

"You get the cutlery, aein. I got the plates, I promise I won't drop the food." Jongho smiled as he struggled a little to balance the 3 plates. Despite that, he still waited for you.

Obviously he didn't know the hyungs were watching and listening to him. When the two of you came back to sit in the living room, the 7 immediately acted like they were doing something else.

"Thank you for preparing all the food. It looks really good." You said.

"Hope you enjoy it. There's more than enough for you to get seconds." Seonghwa smiled.

"Yes, yes, eat more." Yunho insisted. Even as you all ate, the 7 hyungs secretly observed you and Jongho. The way Jongho removed the shells from the seafood for you and how you removed the meat off the bones for him. It was something you did for each other habitually that it was second nature.

"Sorry, may I use the washroom?" You apologised and asked. Jongho led you to the toilet. You made him go back, not wanting him to wait for you.

"Relax, she's just using the toilet." Wooyoung teased, seeing Jongho repeatedly turn to the hallway where the toilet was. Jongho huffed, pursing his lips and looking away.

"She's nice and cute." San complimented.

"She is." Jongho nodded, a light blush on his cheeks. You were beyond cute to Jongho, he could never describe it. Whenever Jongho looked at you, he saw this glow around you.

"At least we don't just know what the back of her head looks like anymore." Mingi snickered.

"You weren't even supposed to know about her." Jongho corrected.

The one time Jongho slips up was letting Yunho borrow his phone to text Mingi and Yunho seeing the KakaoTalk background. Jongho was careful, having that as his only picture of you since he assumed it was private. None of his others devices had you as the wallpaper.

But Yunho couldn't contain his shock, loudly asking Jongho who 'that girl' was and that got the attention of the other nosy hyung. Luckily it was just a photo he took of you looking out the window.

"I'm back." You came back, drying your hands with a tissue from the toilet. You and Jongho sat down and continued to eat your food.

"Yah! You made me spill the sauce." Wooyoung yelled as Mingi hit him while standing up to get more food.

"I tripped over Yunho's foot. And besides, you should have moved when you saw me get up." They bickered. Jongho sighed, pinching his nose bridge at how his hyungs acted.

"If you're going to argue, do it in the room. We have a guest." Seonghwa stepped in to mediate the fight. You couldn't help but giggle, they all easily bickered over small things like siblings but just like siblings, they never took things to heart.

"I told you, I never forget I'm the youngest. They just forget that they're older." Jongho leaned over to tell you.

When everyone was done eating, none of them let you help with the dishes when you offered but you did insist on wiping the table that they used to eat on.

"Aein, let me do it." Jongho bent down beside you.

"It's wiping a table, I can do it. It's the least I can do since you all don't let me do anything else to help." You chuckled.

"You're the guest. You shouldn't be doing anything." He reasoned. However, San was talking to Mingi and walking backwards, not noticing you crouched by the table. He tripped over you.

"Be careful!" Fortunately, Jongho had fast instincts and strength, lifting you up and practically hauling you onto his lap. He saved you from being squished by San while the male just landed onto the ground where you previous were. He winced in pain from the impact of his butt hitting the ground.

"HYUNG!" Jongho roared.

"Jongho, I'm fine. It's okay. It was an accident." You put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. You knew he was upset. Jongho's arms remained secured around your waist.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, (y/n). Are you alright?" San scrambled to you.

"Yes, I'm okay. What about you? You took quite a fall." You asked, worried about the impact of his fall on his tail bone.

"I'm fine. Don't worry. I'm sorry" He smiled, a sign that he didn't hurt himself too badly. The others came out of the kitchen, having heard the commotion and Jongho's yell.

"What happened?"

"It's fine. There was just a small accident." You assured, turning to Jongho, who just pursed his lips into a thin line, frowning at you. Jongho was very protective of you and always worrying about you. He never verbally expressed himself much but you knew.

"No more cleaning, come here." Jongho mumbled, holding your hand to lead you away. You hummed and follow him, not wanting to argue with him.

"Go ahead and start eating the dessert." He said to his hyungs before leading you into his bedroom and closed the door.

"Jongho, are you okay?" You asked worriedly.

"That scared me, aein." He sighed, walking over and letting his head fall onto your shoulder. Now that the two of you were alone, Jongho was more relaxed about being close with you.

"Sorry." You apologised, rubbing his back while iis arms hung by his side. You felt bad for causing this to happen.

"Don't apologise, pabo. You didn't even do anything wrong." He mumbled. With another sigh, he finally lifted up his head to look at you. Seeing you stare into his eyes, blinking innocently made him chuckle. He reached up to hold your cheek with his hand and gave you a sweet peck.

"Honestly, aein, I'm really happy you're here and finally got to meet my hyungs." He confessed, ears turning red. His arms loosely coiled around your waist.

"Me too. They're very nice and funny." You giggled.

"I'm glad that you're having a nice time with them then." He said, sitting down with you on his bed.

"Sure, they like to tease me and I don't always partake in their shenanigans or express myself as much as they do but they accept me for who I am. Just like you." He held your hands in his.

"You're amazing, Jongho. For being you. There's no comparison when you're your real, true self. That's who I fell in love with and continue to love." You said. Jongho didn't have much self confidence but there was so much to love about him.

"You meeting my Ateez family today after meeting my family. It's like all my worlds are becoming one."

"Thank you for letting me meet them. They're all great people, I can see why you adore them so much." You hugged him. Jongho hugged you tightly.

"They are good people. They make me a better person. Even if they can be quite chaotic from time to time." He chuckled.

"But that's what makes you guys a family right? They are your chaos." You pointed out.

"Yeah... They are." Jongho smiled softly.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

~

Masterlist

[gunsandspaceships]

Tony’s Childhood. Part 2.1. Effects: Own Will

Before this part, be sure to read Part 1.

If you're not aware of Tony's strange understanding of the importance of his own wants and needs, check out this post from daydreamsandnightlights.

Here I will try to explain the roots of this behavior.

At age 4 Tony built his first circuit board (IM1)

At age 6 built his first engine (IM1)

Let's think about what it meant that he built all these things at such an early age. Was this his own or his father's will?

Let’s take Morgan for comparison – she is indeed a brilliant kid too, since at the age of 5 she can count up to 3000 (ordinary kids count up to 1000 at the age of 8), knows how much is in a ton, what “disintegrate” means and can easily manipulate her dad, a genius.

Looking at Morgan's behavior, we can assume that she is already capable of building a circuit board under the guidance of her father. But she doesn't. Because her father does not demand this from her. She is a kid. She plays with plush dogs and beavers, sleds on Captain America’s shield, and likes to have bedtime stories read to her before bed. She sneaks into her father’s garage because there are interesting things inside that she can take and play with, not to build something and add it to the list of impressive achievements.

The question is: did Tony want to create things because he liked it, or because his father did it and wanted his son to do the same?

We know that Howard had plans for Tony to "change the world" with Howard's ideas about the future. Apparently, he was preparing Tony for this purpose.

Do small children have a desire to tinker and build things? Some yes. Do they want to or should they play with cubes and constructor sets? Yes. Do they want to or should they work with real motorcycle engines and soldering irons? Hell no. They usually don't have the appropriate motor skills to do this, so they can easily hurt themselves. I'll talk more about this later when I discuss his pain tolerance.

I think it’s impossible to say now whether Tony was interested in engineering from that age (I mean sincere desire, not ability). So we cannot answer that question. But I doubt 4-year-old Tony realized what he was doing when building computer parts. He liked it though. Because those were probably the only times he spent time with his father.

Howard continued to deny his son his will when Tony was sent to boarding school when Tony was 7 years old. There he had a regulated, planned life for 7 years. Then college for another 7. And then became the youngest CEO at 21. None of this sounds like a child’s “I did what I wanted”.

He did not express his will but pleased others. Because this way he received a little love. Or a substitute for love, to be precise. And when, perhaps for the first time, he was taken care of by Yinsen, who saved him, even in such a terrible way, and died for him, he was incredibly grateful. And after that, his attitude towards people changed.

But not the attitude of people towards him, since they continued to want something from him, expecting the same behavior that they were used to seeing from the “rich and famous”.

*Doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday with a bunch of strangers in his house? Wants to spend his last days with the woman he loves? DENIED*

*Needs psychological support from people he trusts? DENIED*

*Wants to save the team from a breakup because he cares and knows what’s coming? DENIED*

Conclusion: Tony didn't belong to himself his whole life. He didn’t use to defend his own, laid deep within, interests. First, his will was moved aside by his father’s. Then Stane’s and the public’s. Fury then came with his Initiative without asking what Tony wanted. Then S.H.I.E.L.D. came to him (not) asking to find Tesseract and save the world. Then the whole team came. Then the government with its Accords, and so on and so forth. None of them bothered to ask, “What do you want, Tony?”. And the only times he insisted on something, were the times when he tried to keep the team together and prevent their death.

[baronessvonglitter]

The Haunting of David York

Dave York x ghost!reader | WC: 2.6K

Summary: It's a typical Halloween night for Dave. The last thing he expects is for you to come back and get your revenge.

(Spoilers below the cut, so resume with caution)

WARNINGS: Rated M; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; mentions of wet work, murder, brief gore, threats of violence towards family, major character death (don't hit me)

Author's Note: this fic is for @mermaidgirl30 Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge 👻 thank you for hosting this lovely fic challenge!

The idea for this started out as a random discussion about why we're afraid of ghosts if they can't really hurt anyone.. then I wanted to add our favorite suburban murder daddy to a ghost story and got some inspo from watching old school stuff like Creepshow and early seasons of AHS. (I haven't written horror in a very long time, so gimme a little break)

Shoutout to @yorksgirl for the Dave chit chats-- there will be a sweatpants scene in another fic, promise!

"Dave, not again!" Carol whines from the front steps.

"What?" he asks innocently, hefting the human-sized 'body bag' consisting of garbage bags stuffed with leaves and tied up with duct tape to fashion a corpse decoration in the yard for Halloween. Dave has been working on them all day. He's now up to seventeen.

"The HOA is going to complain," his wife shakes her head. "We got away with a warning last year. This time they'll definitely fine us."

"It's worth it to see the looks on everyone's faces," he insists. "Besides, I'll have them picked up and out of sight by the end of the night. I promise."

Dave doesn't love Halloween, but neither does he mind it. People dressing up to be anything other than themselves for one night only? Try doing that 24/7.

He doesn't get to parade around the Mr. Hyde aspect of his life. He doesn't get to knock on doors while in tactical gear, sniper rifle resting in one arm while he sticks an orange jack-o-lantern bucket out to get a handful of tooth-rotting sweets. He doesn't get to wake up on November first and pretend it was all for fun.

It's a silly holiday, but he likes scaring the shit out of the neighbors with the decorations. And his kids love planning their costumes months in advance. Alice is going as a zombie cheerleader (he never understands where these ideas come from) and Molly is some type of Pokemon Dave thinks is a squirrel but she insists is something called an Evoo or Evie or something completely asinine.

Carol usually insists on taking them out trick-or-treating, dressing up herself in a last-minute Minnie Mouse getup, a red sweater and black leggings, and a headband with sequined mouse ears to complete the look.

"You'll be okay here by yourself?" she asks, putting the finishing touches on her mouse whiskers and nose with liquid eye liner in the hall mirror as the girls wait impatiently to leave.

She asks that every year, as if something bad will happen on his watch, as if he can't hack it alone for a couple of hours.

"Unless Michael Myers or Pennywise show up, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine," he says, giving the girls a quick kiss before they go.

"What's Pennywise?" Alice asks as Carol herds them out the door, and she shoots her husband an annoyed glance.

There aren't as many trick-or-treaters this year, and Dave regrets that he'd bought so much candy. He dips his hand into the large tub of mini chocolate bars and fruit-flavored chews that stick to one's teeth and selects some Nerds, eating them straight from the tiny box. With barely concealed disgust he finds the candy corn, plucking the small packets of the hated sweets out from the bowl. He doesn't know how anyone can eat these. These can go to the next kids who ring the doorbell. When the next round of costumed kids come around he gives out huge handfuls. The less sweets they have in the house, the less sugar-fueled meltdowns he's likely to experience from his kiddos.

When there's more of a lull he relaxes on the sofa, mindlessly unwrapping a chocolate bar as the Halloween song hums from the TV, The Nightmare Before Christmas playing where the girls had left it on:

Boys and girls of every agewouldn't you like to see something strange?come with us and you will seethis, our town of Halloween

He finds his glass of Macallan pairs nicely with a mini Hershey's Special Dark chocolate that he knows the little trick-or-treaters won't appreciate. The candy rests on his tongue as he savors the lingering taste of the scotch while the movie keeps playing. He absorbs a little of it, a now thirty-year-old film that came out when he was his kids' age. He watches idly, letting the scotch lull him into a nice semi-rest.

This is Halloween, this is Halloweenpumpkins scream in the dead of nightthis is Halloween, everybody make a scenetrick or treat, 'til the neighbors gonna die of fright

Enough of the singing. He changes the channel. There's postseason baseball on TV, but his favorite team isn't in the playoffs, and the announcers are annoying. Click. Of course there's a horror marathon on every channel. All the Scream movies, which he can appreciate for their ingenuity, Psycho, Shaun of the Dead, the entire Friday the 13th franchise even though it's Thursday, the 31st.

He flips channels, mindlessly, watching tidbits of each, digging into the leftover candy once again when he hears a thud.

With feline alertness he mutes the TV and sits up straight in one swift move. He zones in on where the sound came from, waiting, his racing heart the most audible sound in his ears.

Most people listen for a sound and relax when they don't hear it again, chalking it up to the house settling, or a rodent in the attic. But Dave knows better. He's been on the opposite side of this type of situation countless times. He doesn't relax and just chalk it up to mundane things like other people, because he knows there are guys like him out there-- becoming one with the shadows, as silent as possible--

It's coming from the back door.

In stealth mode, he grabs his gun from the safe in his study and quickly, skillfully, loads it. Adrenaline sings in his veins, carries him towards the danger. He flips on the light switch for the patio and the lights glare into the dark, lighting up nothing. His gun is still in his hand as he slowly opens the door, listening for footsteps.

Quiet.

A little disappointed that he's gotten riled up for no reason, he sighs as the rush of adrenaline dissipates and leaves him weak for a brief moment.

He keeps the gun in the holster at his side as he returns to the sofa, a little more on edge. It could be just teenage assholes playing pranks out of boredom, but he doesn't want to risk it.

He shuts the TV off and the silence becomes the largest thing in the room, even louder than his thoughts. He's taut as wire, not allowing himself to relax just yet. He's listening for more sounds. Most are explainable: a slow drip in the kitchen sink that Carol told him about just yesterday, the notification pings on his daughter's tablet that she left on the dining room table.

"Fuck!" he curses in surprise as the TV turns on, The Nightmare Before Christmas still playing where it left off:

I am the one hiding under your bed,teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing redI am the one hiding under your stairsfingers like snakes and spiders in my hair

Dave quickly snaps the TV off, removing the batteries from the remote.

It's just some electrical glitch he tells himself. And then the power goes out completely.

"Shit," he mutters, using his phone to light the way to locate the real flashlight. It's not in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink where it's supposed to be left. Carol must have moved it. He checks the garage. Through the windows he can see the neighbors still have power, so he grabs the trusty flashlight and checks the breaker box. After fiddling with it, it won't reset. The flips do absolutely nothing.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking out his phone from his pocket. The battery shows 1% before fizzling out to a black screen with the gray spinning wheel before dying.

"You've got to be shitting me," he grumbles. With another curse, he shoves the useless thing back in his pocket, letting the flashlight guide him out of the garage. He may as well get the keys and go try to find Carol and the girls, who are probably several blocks over by now, maybe get them to stay at her mother's place while he gets things sorted out with the power issue.

And then..

he hears the sound of his name spoken, a sharp. accusatory whisper, as if it's right next to him. It's so real he can feel the cold breath against his ear. It makes him jump out of his skin.

Alert, his body tense and ready for action, his eyes dart around the room as he begins to get his bearings back and his heart goes back to its normal rhythm.

Stupid.. he curses himself, sitting upright again. Annoyance colors his face.

But the sound of it.. of your voice still rings in his ear. And he'd know your voice among a thousand others.

Now he knows he's imagining things, because it couldn't have been your voice at all.

You're dead.

He doesn't want to think about that day, a cold autumn day just like this. In fact it'll be one year exactly on November 14th. The last day you saw sunlight, the last day you ever breathed.

It's not that you were bad, you were just in the way. There was no room for you in Dave's perfect, clock-precision life. He tried to make your end painless, make sure you didn't see it coming.

Some secrets don't stay buried forever..

Nobody knows he assures himself. It's impossible.. He'd even kept it from his teammates, and they knew nearly every damn thing about him.

No, this particular job.. the handling of you, had to be done on his own.

Casting a glance at the backyard patio again, the light from his neighbor's back porch glows eerily, spotlighting the patch of earth Dave had avoided until finally he'd caved and erected a bird bath with a small garden, a surprise for Carol's birthday. His wife never suspected that you were buried there, beneath her gift.

Without thinking, he's already walking outside, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, leading the way to your grave. He never comes out here anymore. The guilt has become too crushing and he's not a man who dwells on guilt. He does what he has to and revisits the issue if problems arise.

You won't arise, though. When he closes his eyes he can still see the bullet hole in your temple, the blank look as the light left your eyes.

Forgive me, he'd thought, unable to speak it aloud as he stuffed your body in a bag and placed you in the dirt on a moonless autumn night.

When he reaches the stone path that leads to your innocent-looking grave marker, he has to process what he sees:

there's a hole in the ground, where some of the rocks and flowers around the bird bath have been upheaved, and in the breeze his flashlight shines on a tattered, empty black body bag. The scent of death greets his nostrils as he pales, trying not to vomit.

He goes back to the house, immediately on the defensive, irrationally expecting to find you there, clothes dirty and hair caked with mud and blood, a specter of his own paranoia and guilt.

It's still shrouded in darkness, the home that is supposed to be his shelter from such dark things as yourself. It's his domain, his castle, and in this trouble, without his family, he feels like less of a king.

"There's no fucking way," he mutters, stomach roiling with fear and suspicion. He opens the patio door and steps inside.

The whole place smells of death, of the grave.

You're in every corner, quiet, waiting, watching. But not impassive.

He feels you everywhere, himself made small by your ubiquitous pall. The gun in his hand feels useless, and this makes him angry.

You feed off his anger. You love it. It's the only thing you can feel anymore. Pure, unadulterated hate.

You slither towards him, wicked grin growing bigger as you approach him. Dave gets the chills down his back, not knowing just how close you are to him.

"Boo" you whisper lightly, ghostly breath caressing the shell of his ear.

Your cackling thunders in his ears as he whips around, eyes wide with fright. You delight in the fear he's giving off. The scent of it it so intoxicating. It's the only good thing about being dead.

"I should make your death as nice and quick and clean as you made mine" your voice echoes all around the room. Dave looks equal parts pissed and afraid as he tries to track you.

"But I won't."

You've been waiting for this night, this one unholy night where you'd be allowed to come back, to gather the unearthly powers granted to you. Halloween: the one night of the year when the living come back to haunt the dead.

And the son of a bitch had the gall to kill you in November. You had to wait almost a whole year for your revenge.

Gonna make it sweet.

It takes a lot of energy to assume something of a human form, but as you grab onto the fear he's giving off, as you use the most ancient of forces to pull your corporeal parts together, it gets easier. You don't feel afraid. You haven't, not since he killed you.

"Consider yourself lucky it's only you I'm after. If I had my way your family's blood would be splattered on these walls along with yours."

Dave shivers violently. "Please, don't!" He's not used to begging or pleading. He's actually on his knees. He tries not to look at you; your visage is too grotesque. Your flesh is falling off your face and your eyes are sunken into your head, giving a ghoulish appearance.

You force his gaze upon you with the ice-cold touch of your hand. "Your family is safe. For now. Hell, there's always next Halloween."

With the cracking open of his ribcage and the spilling of his guts you reach into him, finding the fullness of the heart, the organ he uses the least.

All Dave can do is scream and scream and scream.

The next day Carol sits at the dining room table, two detectives with her. Her coffee has grown cold, barely touched. She still bears the remnants of the makeup she'd put on to complete her costume last night. The girls are upstairs. She couldn't bear sending them to school, having them apart from her. Not while Dave is missing.

"He was fine last night. Normal," she adds, shrugging as she dabs at her eyes with a Kleenex.

Because of his position as a government agent, his disappearance is being taken very seriously. Officers are en route, dispatched to start searching the area, especially the nearby woods, which Carol has always feared.

Dave's gun is there, his wallet, phone, and keys also left behind.

One of the field officers comes in (there have been many people coming in and out of the house today) and motions to the backyard. "Halloween decoration?"

"Yeah," Carol sniffles, smiling just a little. "Dave likes to shock the neighbors. He promised he'd put them away before the morning.. but he never puts them out back.."

Out of guilt, or maybe just to give herself something to do, she gets up and goes to put the decorations away. The detectives follow.

Funny. There's just one.. she thinks, looking at the lone body bag on the lawn, tossed haphazardly next to her bird bath.

It's heavier than she expects. She's too petite to pick it up. Sighing, she kneels, the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath her knees. She'll just take the leaves out and throw the bag away.

Ripping it open with her nails she's stunned a moment, not processing what she's seeing before she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Wrapped up in the duct taped body bag is what's left of Dave.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

tagging @almostempty @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @salingers @zascal

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 7

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: This week is killing me.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Sunday sees your second day in your new position. As you send off your letter of resignation to the agency, you can't help the coil that winds tight in your stomach. There's no going back now.

You close out of the several templates you Googled in your efforts. It's the one thing you know how to do. Willa, the friendly librarian who checked out the PC for you, always said, if you can Google, you can figure it out. Still, you feel like there's so much you don't know that you're not sure a search engine can answer.

You close the laptop and take both your phones with you into the hallway. You have to go check out that gazebo and figure out if you need to make a call about it. Oh, and the fridge was beeping when you filled your bottle, you have to call the maintenance number that flashed up too.

That makes you even more anxious. You've never really been the sort for phone calls. You never had anyone to talk to and everything else was easier done in person. Well, you'll have to muddle through. Work isn't supposed to be fun or easy.

As you near the staircase, your flip chimes. You juggle to answer the right phone. The slim touchscreen is set only to buzz, an option not available on the clumsy burner. You answer the call as you stop on the top stair.

The woman on the other end asks for you by name. You confirm your identity as you hear familiar noises in the background. She's a nurse from the downtown hospital.

“I'm calling to confirm your father's discharge tomorrow at noon,” she says over the rustle of paper and clack of keys, “we'll need the bed so if there is any delay, another day would be added to the invoice.”

“I understand, I'll be there, erm… noon. Tomorrow,” you don't have your notebook so you key a reminder into the other phone. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, miss, we would recommend you arrive earlier. We have some resources and counseling available on what you can expect getting the patient settled at home,” she continues, “nine would be ideal. I'll be able to add a note for the doctor to check in as well.”

“Oh, yes, I can do that,” you squeak, “thank you.”

“Alright then, I have all that logged. You have a good day.”

“You too,” you utter before the line dies.

Phone calls weren't too bad. You think you did okay with that one. Then again, you didn't think! You're supposed to work tomorrow. Mr. Laufeyson said you could take Wednesday off, and tomorrow is only Monday.

You close the flip phone and stare at it. Oh boy. You really don't want to spoil this. Just the mention of the coming invoice underlines your desperation. You need the money. Your dad needs it.

“Are you finished?” Mr. Laufeyson's timbre drawls from down the hall. You glance over as he stands just in the doorway of his study. You gulp.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson. I didn't mean to disturb–”

“Yet you did,” he insists.

“I was only going to check–”

“Not my concern so long as it's done,” he waves you off, “an important call, I assume, to make such a racket.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, um,” you shove the phones away, one in each of your pockets. “I… could I have the day tomorrow? Instead of Wednesday. My father is getting out of the hospital and–”

“The day? What time?” He snips as he approaches with decisive steps.

“Well, I'm supposed to go at nine,” you explain, “I'll come in Wednesday still.”

“You will come in tomorrow, after all that,” he says. “You can work later then.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, but my father will need help getting settled–”

“Figure it out. You agreed to this schedule–”

“I did but–” you stop yourself as his eyes flare, “I will be here in the afternoon, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“You will be. In the appropriate attire, I expect,” he snarls and spins to strut back to his office, swinging the door shut sharply.

You waver at the hard slam. You didn't mean to anger him. You can't help that your father needs you. You thought Mr. Laufeyson would be more understanding, after all, he's the one who pointed out how much you needed the money.

🧹

Your father shoos you away as you try to help him sit. He lets go of the walker and flops back with a grunt, his oxygen tank clinking against the aid’s metal leg. He coughs and snatches around blindly on the cushion for the remote. You retrieve it from the folding table beside him and put it in his hand.

That agitates him further as he growls and jams down the button to turn on the television. You yawn and back away. You still have a full day left ahead of you, and what feels like one behind you. You spent the night doing some last minute tidying to make sure everything is read for your father.

“Smokes,” he snaps his fingers and hacks.

“Er,” you hesitate. You go to find the half-crushed pack you found with him on the floor. You knew better than to throw it out. You return to him, clutching the package nervously, “Dr. Shearer said–”

“Give it to me,” he demands.

You relent and obey. He’s been doubly miserable than before. You feel like an annoying gnat buzzing around his head as he tries to swat you away.

“I made you meals for the weak. They’re all labeled in the fridge–”

“I’m not a goddamn kid,” he scowls and takes the lighter from the folding table.

“I know, but–”

“But I’m home. You probably hate that,” he sneers, “you’d be happy if I died in that hospital.”

You’re taken aback by the accusation. You gasp and shake your head, “of course not, I’m happy you’re here. That you’re alive–”

“Painfully,” he snorts darkly, “the fuck you keep me here for?”

You take a breath and frown. Your eyes tinge and your cheeks pinch, “because you're my dad… and I love you,” you croak.

He doesn’t reply as he pulls out a cigarette and moves the tube from below his nose. You watch him, waiting. He lights the smoke and sucks on it eagerly. You drop your head and give a shrug.

“I gotta go to work,” you say, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Don’t be slamming around when you come in,” he dusts ash over the freshly vacuumed carpet, “doctor said I needa sleep.”

“I won’t,” you promise and back away.

As you leave the room, your chest plummets in dread. You think of coming home, of finding him like you did before, laying on the floor, lifeless. You sniff and swipe away the speckling of tears. More than you want him to love you, you want him to love himself. You don’t just want him to want you around, you want him to be around.

🧹

You hurry up to Mr. Laufeyson’s gate with your kit and water bottle jostling. You fumble around until you find the smartphone and bring up the digits to punch into the code box. You buzz through and shuffle inside. You set off on your usual path around the back.

You stop at the rear door and try to untangle the strap of the water bottle from your kit. Your hand lingers on the front of the ballooning shirt. You still haven’t gone to look for clothes so you did your best with what you had. One of your father’s forgotten button-ups and a pair of pants that could pass in an office. It’s ill-fitting and scratch but better than jeans.

You get inside and leave your kit in the closet. Today’s a cleaning day but you have a few things to check off the schedule first. With your water bottle bouncing on your hip, you go upstairs and scurry down to the library.

As you enter, you’re surprised to discover the space less than empty. You apologise aloud and choke on the word, ‘mister’. It isn’t the house’s single resident as you expect, no, this figure could not be more different than Mr. Laufeyson. You recognise them, from the dinner.

The blond man faces you as he stands by the window, the drapes open to add the peculiarity of the situation. Like the man, the space is golden with sunlight. You lean back on your heel as you clutch the door handle.

“Hello,” he grins as he greets you in a playful demeanour. You can’t answer. You don’t know if you should. 

Is it rule one; don’t speak unless permitted; or the other rule, do not disturb my guests. You can’t figure out the riddle so you languish in perplexity.

“Aren’t you a sweet little lamb,” he muses as he steps away from the window, placing his hands on the back of the dimpled leather chair. His large hands. If you thought Mr. Laufeyson was tall, this man is even taller and twice as wide. “I remember you. The sweet maid.”

You blink. Where is Mr. Laufeyson? You can’t speak. You’re too terrified; not just of the strange man but of the one you know by name. Your employer would be unhappy to know you spoke out of turn.

“Have you seen my brother at all?” He prompts disregarding your stagnant silence. “Has he spoken of me? His brother? I'm Thor.”

You look down at your hand on the door handle.

“And what is your name?” He asks.

You don’t answer. You know it’s not right but you have no other choice. You pull the door shut and close the man in. You retreat in a half-sprint and barrel back down the stairs. You trip at the bottom and barely save yourself from stumbling to your knees.

You latch onto the banister post to keep your balance and catch your breath. You hear the door above. Oh no, would he follow you? Another door clicks and you look up to find a shadow on the other side of the frosted glass framed in the front entrance.

Mr. Laufeyson steps inside coolly, unbothered as swings the door shut and tugs on the lapel of his suit jacket. His eyes fall on you and he scuffs on his sole, tilting his head in curiosity. You didn’t realise he hadn’t even been there. You look at the ceiling with wide eyes; so how was the other man inside?

“Well, there you are,” he says matter-of-factly, “this place is sore in need of a dusting–”

Laufeyson is interrupted by a clamour of footsteps above. You let go of the banister and sidle away as his green eyes flick to the top to the staircase. You shy away and listen as the man descends in a series of thunder thumps. You turn to peek down the hall, wanting to hide in your chores.

“Stay,” Laufeyson commands. You turn back to him as he points at your feet. You stop in place and sway. He faces his visitor as he comes to the bottom stair, “brother, what is the meaning of this intrusion?”

“Can I not come see my baby brother?” The other man; the stranger; his brother, called Thor, booms.

“You may, when you warn me of it,” Laufeyson rebuffs.

“Ah, don’t be so grim,” Thor claps his shoulders and is swiftly shrugged off, “this place is always so dark. I hope you don’t mind, I opened a few windows.”

“I do mind,” Laufeyson says, “you do always presume.”

“And you are always offer such a warm welcome,” he tries to tap Laufeyson’s cheek but is batted away. The dark of the brothers backs up with a scoff. “Ah, and there she is. I was only just coming to find the little maid. She rushed off so suddenly–”

“You don’t need to bother with her,” Laufeyson dismissed with a slice of his hand through the air, “maid,” he points at you again, “back to work.”

You lean back on your heel, ready to disappear.

“Ah, don’t be so rude, brother. She is sweet. You get more bees with honey–”

“Do not tell me how to run my house,” Laufeyson growls, an edge in his voice you’ve never heard before. Dangerous and dark.

“Is she not doing you a service? A please would be appropriate–”

“You are not mother. I don’t need you to mind my manners,” Laufeyson girds and nears his brother, unflinching even as he comes up a few inches short of chest to chest, “nor do you need to worry for my staff. She does not take orders from you.”

“And I suppose that’s all she gets from you,” Thor chuckles.

You furrow your brow, stunned by their spat. You’re not quite sure what that last bit meant. You work for Mr. Laufeyson so of course he would tell you what to do. And why are they so volatile? They’re brothers. You don’t have any siblings but you always wanted one. So that you had a friend. So you weren’t alone. 

“Maid, go,” Laufeyson repeats, “now.”

Your eyes widen and you nod. You quickly turn and rush down the hall to the closet. You’re shaking as you try to sort out one phone from the other and find the old list of tasks. You can hardly steady your hands to get a pair of gloves on.

You take your time in the back of the house as you hear the men’s footfalls climb the staircase. You let your nerves settle just a little. You’re alone, for now, and your mission is simple. Clean and stay unseen.

[thoughtfulchaos773]

Syd and Carmy- Communication 3

Part one Part two

First off. This scene was written by Chris Storer and directed by Joana Calo, our favorite duo (the creators of the table scene). Calo and Storer: do me a favor if the ship isn't real, don't even add shit like that in a scene...you know what I'm talking about. Don't have it where Carmy is taking her in and appreciating what the fuck he's seeing. And Carmy, the loser- notices Sydney as soon as she tries to sneak in. He doesn't even finish saying the word 'exactly' to Marcus before his eyes take her in.

But wait, this conversation is about legacy and how something starts somewhere, and they take these parts and take them somewhere- over and over again. I love that he points out these people would find each other.

Like a family tree.

Carmy and Sydney combine families to create a wholeness- something that's good.

Sydney starting a new legacy! My Shipper Heart: In some meta, Sydney often connected symbolism of life, fertility, rebirth, and nurturing. Chris Storer, these two are made for fanfiction, not a dish- a heart-shaped dish that Carmy just happens to give her- and this beautiful tree above her head- a symbolism for the tree he wants to build starts with the girl who ate his signature dish where he took the rebellion against abuse, rejection and sent a string of fate to start a legacy. What are you doing to me? Carmy literally presents his heart to Sydney.

Okay back to the scene:

He takes in Sydney and tells her "good morning," as if inviting her in. She comes from a meeting with Shapiro that should feel like good news, but she seems burdened. Since she first met with Shapiro, she enters, seeming distant but polite.

He says "no, no" as if to say, "Don't be ridiculous. You never interrupt." He's the one who invited her into the office.

He takes a moment to pause after saying "no," whispers "no," and looks at her...

Also, to note, he's coming from Al-Anon this morning. He has a clearer perspective than the last 7 episodes of that season. 'You look nice'—so simple but as the season's theme. Paying attention, Carmy sees her every day or close to it, and it's Carmy noticing something is different. Could it also be Carmy prompting her to say where she's been? There's room for that conversation.

But Sydney passes it quickly with a quick "Oh, thanks." A little surprised and also not having time for it right now. She focuses on their conversation- which could be a foreshadowing of what Carmy will do in the end.

I pointed this out before- Wednesday reference- 3x04- another episode Storer wrote.

Flashback

Carmy and Sydney are having the same day of the week they are trying to get through? The same day used to track time?

Excuse me-Writer/Director Chris--

But I'll move on...

You know what else I noticed about this scene- Carmy was staring at her the whole time as she took off her bow and said I'm just trying to get through Wednesday. He takes a second when she asks him his answer for legacy.

This is probably the most self-aware Carmy has been- does he realize he's passing panic and anxiety on to Sydney? Probably not yet at this point.

But also how Sydney is always the one to stop his anxiety and panic-driven ways, but for her to set a boundary where she's not his babysitter, eventually, he has to do the work to stop himself from panicking. But it's another sign of a legacy starting with them.

He looks at her a bit more than Marcus. He says with everything and everybody- he has to be square with Claire and Chef David. He needs to let go of the bad things from his past and the abuse he has held on to for so long.

The camera remains on Sydney as she considers his answer to legacy. She nods with understanding, unspoken communication we talked about- Carmy knows what he has to do. He wants to rid himself of the bad but needs help (therapy), so he's not taking it out on Sydney or any of his staff. How will he care for himself, love, and be there for Sydney? One of their relationship's central conflicts is Carmy showing up, the right way for Sydney to start their legacy and filter out the bad things he's carried onto The Bear.

I think that part of the conversation was considering Sydney, filtering out the bad to make it good.

It's still possible for Sydney to start and keep her legacy at The Bear. At the end of season 3, the panic attack is her realizing she doesn't want to leave.

Sidebar: Marcus. Marcus. His legacy-because being an awesome emergency contact is a bittersweet answer- shows some guilt about not picking up the call about his mom...

Grief. Grief is always the theme that sticks with the show. Despite its lingering presence, let's hope for more good days to outweigh the bad. Let's hope the Bear ends with a good legacy.

[thecoppercompendium]

An overdue reintroduction

I've been here a while and, to be honest, my original pinned post is a touch outdated at this point. I've made a tonne of stuff since then, for a start.

So, hi! I'm Daniel (he/they) an indie TTRPG designer. I've made 7 original games to date, as well as several supplements for D&D 5e and some that are system agnostic.

I'm based in the UK, am interested in pretty much anything TTRPG-related (and adjacent areas, too), and love to hear about the awesome stuff people are designing! Seriously, there are so many talented people on this website.

I'm a member of UK TIN (UK Tabletop Industry Network), and cannot recommend having a bunch of people to talk to about TTRPG design with enough (if you're UK based, go join the TIN discord!). I'd love to discuss design and people's games here, too!

Right, on to my games! I'm only going to put my original games on this post (for the pretence of brevity), but I'll put links to my itch.io and DriveThruRPG above the cut if you want to check out everything I've made. For the rest, delve below the divide!

Let the games begin!

A one page, card-based game about struggling to prepare for and survive the coming revolution, as the advisors of the current ruler. Backstabbing not required by highly suggested. Pay-what-you-want.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

A little one page solo game about pushing a boulder up a hill. One more try. Maybe this time you'll reach the top. Pay-what-you-want.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

Who doesn't want to make a monster? Another one page game, in which you and friends dissect hated documents to create glorious life. Mind the angry mob, looks like you've upset the villagers... (Pay-what-you-want.)

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

A game based on Caltrop Core in which players delve into the cursed fragments of the old world, within the temples the Old Gods left behind. You might explore a twisted mirror of a city street, a school or even a space station. Use the power of your mutations and curses to overcome the odds and emerge alive. Paid, but with community copies available on itch.io.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

Do you have days where the world just doesn't want you to reach your destination? That's what this one page solo game is about. Made after a discussion about getting to UKGE with UK TIN. Pay-what-you-want.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

A solo, card-based game about climbing a mountain and learning who you are as you climb. Begin with a bare-bones character and learn who you're playing as you overcome obstacles and ascend ever higher. Not everyone will make it to the top. Everyone has a journey worth making. Paid, but with community copies available on itch.io.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

A one page minigame for solving complex puzzles, for instance lockpicking, hacking or creating a precise chemical. Uses codebreaker-type mechanics with scaling difficulty. Pay-what-you-want.

Get it on itch.io

Get it on DriveThruRPG

Thats all for now folks! I'll add new games when I create them! I've always got a bunch in progress, as is the game designer's dilemma...

[rockinlibrarian]

The Lyric Game Redux Redux

So if you've been paying attention to my tags lately, or are @uniasus with whom I've actually discussed this outright (or @sunnymarbles with whom I've actually discussed this in person, but they ignore my posts entirely if I don't tag them), you might know that I've been working on an archiving project side-blog where I'm storing all my original tumblr posts (or, most of the time, reblogs where I added something significant-- although the definition of "significant" is very loose), having gone through my tumblr from the beginning (And either I didn't reblog much in the early years, let alone post anything original, or many posts have disappeared over the years. There are whole months with only four posts total!). Anyway, I'm up to Pandemic Lockdown time which curiously did not display much of a jump in posting, but I did just find the post where I attempted to resurrect my favorite LiveJournal game: The Lyric Game!

The rules are thus: I put my music library on shuffle and post the opening lines of the first ten songs that come up (instrumentals excluded). YOU reply with whichever ones you recognize (one point for title, one point for artist).

Now I had enough trouble getting people to play Back in the Day, and I feel like even less people follow me now, and I've added a bunch of really obscure music to my collection in the past five years, not to mention a lot more instrumentals to skip over (I noted when I reblog-archived the last one that yesterday my computer had decided to play at least three different Brandenberg Concertos in their entirety in the course of like five hours), so I was like, what would doing this again even LOOK like?

WELL LET'S FIND OUT.

Here are the first ten (relatively) songs from my music collection (on my computer) on shuffle. Do you recognize any of these songs? Reply with your answers! Don't cheat and steal anyone else's answers and/or look them up! Last time I gave 24 hours but that was during lockdown so I'll give you a week this time (starting from 8:30 AM EDT on May 12, 2025)! Every couple of days I'll add clues (genre, date, gender of singer, etc) to help jog your memory, so you'll have many chances! The genres in my collection span, like EVERYTHING (although there is very little country or rap, yeah I'm one of THOSE kinds of music snobs). Shall we begin?

Edit: The Answers are up!

THE LYRIC GAME REDUX REDUX

1: "Listen as your day unfolds; challenge what the future holds"

2: oh fer gosh sakes it's a piano sonata. trying again.

2 bonus. "Just ask the folks who knew me when, they'll say, "Nice boy, but he's always been..." That's awfully obscure, I'll give it to you as a bonus one and do another number 2.

2 for real. l Okay no, that's "The Maple Leaf Rag," sorry.

2. for really real: : "[title of song] before my eyes just teach me to despise" That may be a little obscure too but I'm pretty sure I got it off a "Hits of the [decade]" CD so it's unobscure ENOUGH and I give up.

3: "[Title of song and keyword repeated] I know I'll find you somehow, and somehow I'll return again to you"

4: "I found my love in [Title] beside the bay"

5: "Your eyes are burning holes through me, I'm gasoline, I'm burning clean" to be fair I saw the title and couldn't even remember the song at all myself, but NOW I remember it, and it's off a greatest hits CD so I'm leaving it.

6: "Friday night I crashed your party; Saturday I said I'm sorry"

7: "It sure was a [title of song] as far as my eyes could see"

8: "That's all I wanted, something special, something sacred in your eyes"

9: "And the [title] is on its way, I can hear the merry [word now considered a slur. But associated with the title!] play"

10. "I linger in the doorway, of alarm clock screaming, monsters calling my name."

Okay, that's a good mix. A couple well-known radio hits (not recent, but there are definitely two songs I'm pretty sure Everyone has heard), a couple lesser-known radio hits, a couple album tracks from famous/popular albums, a decent mix of genre and era though could be weirder (mostly pop in the end, nothing more recent than early 2000s)! Edit to add: also, somehow there are NO BEATLES or former Beatles on this particular list. So sorry, you can't use that as a throwaway guess.

So, play along!

[duhragonball]

Akira Toriyama (1955-2024)

I wouldn't say I'm feeling better today, but I'm feeling less bad than yesterday. So let's see if I can put some words together.

In case anyone still hasn't heard, Dragon Ball creator Akira Toriyama passed away on March 1, 2024. This news was made public on March 7 or 8. I woke up early on Friday morning and found out while I was checking Twitter. I had a long, busy day at work, and I kept getting on my phone to scroll through fan reactions and tributes.

I think that, more than anything, is what's gotten me so worked up about his death. My Twitter timeline and my tumblr dashboard were just chock full of touching message and images about how Akira Toriyama's work has changed their lives. I wanted to write my own tribute, but I'm not sure what else I can say that hasn't already been expressed by Archie Comics, professional wrestling trio The New Day, and the Republic of El Salvador.

There's this immense, global community of fans, and it's easy to lose sight of just how big it is. It's easy to get bogged down in the infighting and petty squabbles. I saw one tweet responding to the criticism of Dragon Ball not being like this "entry level" franchise compared to other, more high brow anime and manga. It's popular with so many people, that critics will assume it's designed to appeal to the lowest-common-denominator. But the opposite is true! Dragon Ball is accessible, which is how so many people from so many different places and walks of life can get into it. The guy telling the story was such a master storyteller that he could grab an audience's attention and make it look easy. So easy that the haters would start to think that it was a trick, and he must be overrated.

Let me talk about this panel for a minute.

Last night I started going through the original manga, looking for panels to screencap. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but I thought maybe a selection of panels that really stood out for me might be worth posting. I'll probably still do that one of these days, but I got to this one, where Gohan tells Chi-Chi about Goku's death, and it hit me like a ton of bricks.

This was a powerful scene in the anime, of course, but in the comic it's even more profound. It's just one panel, no dialogue, because the reader already knows what's happening here. We know Gohan is telling his mother that Goku died in the Cell Games, and that he refuses to be wished back, because he thinks his presence on Earth will attract new enemies. It was hard enough to hear when Goku said it to Gohan and the others, and now Gohan has to relay that message to Goku's wife. All she can do is lie prostate on the floor and weep.

And look at the composition. She's surrounded by all that negative space. Gohan's there for her, but she still feels so alone, surrounded by her husband's absence. Pots of flour for food he'll never eat. An empty chair he might have sat in. Their son, who will have to grow up without him.

I saw this, as though for the first time, and it was so gut-wrenching that I had to post it by itself. I felt like it summed up my feelings better than any words could. We're all Chi-Chi in this panel, reacting to Akira Toriyama's death. And we're all Gohan too, each of us consoling one another with our own thoughts and tributes.

So what did Akira Toriyama mean to us all? Lots of people have answered this in a lot of different ways. Obviously his art, storytelling and cultural impact speak for themselves. I've seen people compare him to other luminaries like Jack Kirby and Osamu Tezuka. I'll try to add my own two cents with this:

I wrote a post about "Dragon Ball Daima" back when it was first announced, and I led off with this image of a note from Akira Toriyama. I guess this was from some big fancy presentation about Daima at a convention. I forget which one. In particular, I was skeptical that the Daima rumors were even true, and if they were, the whole idea seemed half-baked to me. Turning Goku into a kid had been done before, and it wasn't exactly successful the first time.

But this note from Toriyama was very reassuring to me. More than the trailer clips and character designs, this was what got me interested in the show. That's because he took the time to not only hype up the show, but also to explain what's going on behind the premise. He took the time to tell everyone that he's working on this show, and what "Daima" means, and why all the characters get turned into kids. It's "due to a conspiracy", and the good guys will have to "fix things". In short, he established a plot, conflict, and resolution to the story. He didn't just slap this together to sell new merch. I'm sure that was part of the motivation to make Daima, but there's more to it than that.

I think that's the loss I feel with Toriyama's passing. It's not that there won't be new Dragon Ball stories in the future. I'm sure others will continue telling their own versions long after I'm gone. I'm not that worried about the fate of Daima. I'm sure they'll figure something out, whether it's delayed, rewritten, or canceled. But we'll never see another message from Toriyama to promote a new project, and that's what I'll miss. From here on, his credit will just be an acknowledgement of his past contributions.

There's this great credibility with Akira Toriyama's name. Fans will argue about how involved he was in a project as a way of establishing how good or bad it was. Dragon Ball GT has his name on the credits, and he provided some designs and artwork early on, and for some fans that proves the series has his endorsement. For others, the sole problem with the show is that he wasn't directly writing the script. There's similar debates over Dragon Ball Super, where he was involved, but only writing those mysterious "notes". So if a fan doesn't like something in DBS, who do they blame? Did Toriyama lose his touch, or did his co-creators fumble the ball? Dragon Ball Evolution basically ignored all of Toriyama's advice and bombed, while Battle of Gods, Resurrection F, Broly, and Super Hero all put Toriyama's writing credits up at the very beginning, and each film made plenty of money. I read his comments on the Daima confirmation, and immediately thought "Okay, this should be pretty good. Akira Toriyama knows what's up."

That's gone now. I mean, there's still a lot of talent out there, but we'll never again have the little gas mask-wearing robot telling us that this story will be good because he worked on making it good. I don't think I really appreciated how much I trusted that guy until now. I still can't believe he's really gone.

I'll probably have more to say about this in the coming days, but I'll stop here for now. Thanks for letting me ramble a bit on this.

[detailtilted]

VANCON 2011 J2 Panel - Can anyone help with subtitling a Japanese fan? Also, has anyone seen a season 5 or 6 BTS photo of Jared with a "huge book"?

Hi! I'm working very hard on my next Enhanced Edition video, the VANCON 2011 Main J2 panel.

One of the fans is from Japan, and that's not an accent I've had much exposure to in my life so I'm not very confident that I'm hearing her correctly. I received a lot of help here on Tumblr when I had similar issues subtitling a Chinese fan last May, so I thought I'd seek help with this one too. There are undoubtedly people on Tumblr who will have the background and/or experience that I lack to understand her words with greater accuracy.

I also have a second and probably very obscure question about a photo, further below.

Question #1 This clip has the fan's full question. I have three [inaudible]'s, and I do have some guesses for each of them, but I'll put my guesses at the very bottom of this post (along with some context) so people can first try to listen with ears that haven't been biased by my own interpretation.

Full text: "Hi. I'm from Japan. We are very grateful to have many people around the world [inaudible]. Now Misha [inaudible] he does that. So please give us your message to your [inaudible] in Japan."

Question #2 A fan said: "I saw the picture of Jared last season on set with this huge book..."

I couldn't find the photo she was talking about, but I'd love to put it in the sidebar if by some miracle anyone knows where to find it. It would probably only show for a few seconds before I have to take it down to make room for something else, so I'd feel terrible if anyone spent more than a few minutes trying to hunt it down (please don't!!), but I thought it couldn't hurt to ask in case someone out there has an incredible memory and/or an incredible filing system and knows right where to find it.

For context, they've just started filming season 7 and the season 6 finale aired about 3 months ago. I originally assumed "last season" meant season 6, but she may have meant season 5. Another fan in Misha's panel the day before called season 6 "this season".

It's also possible he just had a prop book or something. She went on to ask about their favorite books and authors, so I took it to mean it was a personal book, but maybe it was a prop.

My Thoughts and More Context on Question #1 Repeating the text here for easier reference:

"Hi. I'm from Japan. We are very grateful to have many people around the world [inaudible]. Now Misha [inaudible] he does that. So please give us your message to your [inaudible] in Japan."

* The first [inaudible] is the one I'm having the most trouble with. It sounds kind of like "say this prayer unto Asians". But that doesn't make much sense to me, unless it's a cultural reference I don't understand.

* The second [inaudible] sounds very much to me like "is ridiculed but of course". But I'm worried about misrepresenting what she's saying.

* And the third [inaudible] I think is probably "fan" but might be "family". I believe English plurals are challenging when coming from some languages, so I thought this might just be a small grammar mistake.

Context: Japan suffered a devastating earthquake in March 2011. This convention was in August 2011, so Japan was still recovering. When the earthquake happened in March, Misha posted a tweet for Japan and he posted it in the Japanese language, so I think that's what she may be referring to.

I also just want to emphasize that at the time of the earthquake, neither Jared nor Jensen were on Twitter. Jared joined in June 2011 and Jensen didn't join until 2014.

Edited to add: there's a little more to the video that influenced how I'm interpreting the context, so I'm including a link to AgtSpooky's video on YouTube (posted with permission by somebody else) that starts at the same place my above video does, so you can listen a little further for more context: