#moose writes things

[sparklecryptid]

Look, you say, This is just how it is, I am monster and you are a saint. I was to devour you from the very beginning.

Will you regret it?

A monster doesn't regret what he is, to regret is to die. I'm not like that other one. I don't regret the claws, the fangs, the blood drying on my teeth. What is there to regret? I did as nature dictated. I am acting on behalf of the gods.

You are a lamb and this is your altar.

I am a monster not a lamb, but if Iwas a lamb, what does that make you?

The shepherd. The butcher.

[sparklecryptid]

“Yeah,” I said sympathetically and patted my companion on the shoulder as they winced, “Tell me about it.”

This futuristic society seems to function fairly well from what I’d seen. Stells, my companion, had shown me the free food marts and how their water was purified. The public transit was alarmingly decent and on time save for that one time there was an accident with an EV.

It seemed utopian. It seemed like paradise.

The dip on corners in sidewalks had been removed. The sky above was clear and beautiful. The people were diverse in race and color. It seemed like a paradise.

The buses no longer lowered themselves to let people on. Ramps and stairs no longer coexisted. If a building had a ramp, it did not have stairs, if the building had stairs, it did not have a ramp.

There was an abundance of food and time everywhere you went. There were people smiling whenever you went. The person at the Toolshed, a place where one can take whatever tools they need in if they promise to return it. The clerk smiled at me as we made small talk about our shared love of paper books.

I haven’t taken a painkiller since I arrived. The smile on my face had felt strained when I spoke.

I hope he didn’t notice.

“You’re from the Before!” Stells said and the look on her face is torn between horror and awe. Her wide green eyes and skin brown like my own convey a conflict of emotions. Curiosity. Fear. Wonder.

Curiosity won in the end.

“What is it like?” She asked excitedly as we walked back to my Time Machine. “Living with all those Greys-“

“‘Greys,’” I repeated, a tinge of amusement in my voice, “What are ‘Greys?’ The only Greys I know of are little alien men.”

“Oh, that’s not how we use that term anymore!” Stells bounced excitedly as they managed to skip ahead of me and walk backwards as we finally came into sight of the Time Machine. She carried the bag of tools as if it was nothing.

My arms ache. My hips ache.

I hope I don’t fall. The sack of parts is heavy in my hands.

“I think you guys called them ‘disabled’,” Stells said as we both dropped our respective bags near the Time Machine, “We call them Greys because their life must be so dull. How can they experience the wonder and wealth of the world if they’re always so tired?”

I pick up a screwdriver and bite my tongue. This was not a time for activism. This was not a time for recklessness and rage.

That did not stop the rage from boiling in me.

“You make it sound like you don’t have them,” I said as I take apart the control panel. The bag containing my finger splints is hidden under the front seat. My braces are there too. I am extremely glad that my Time Machine has one seat. It takes the form of a living room chair with a control panel that doubles as a work station when I need it to. There are knobs and buttons on it to travel with, but when I need it for work I can cover the buttons and knob with a piece of metal that is stored underneath the control panel.

I moved the metal piece so I have access to to the back of the control panel, Stells made an admiring noise as she watched my clumsy fingers work.

“We don’t,” she said as she watched me work, unaware of the burn in my shoulders, “We found out how to get rid of them, if they can’t enjoy life to the fullest, what’s the point of living? We don’t want to catch their illness anyway.”

“Did you ask them?” I asked as i locate the wire that fell out of place.

“What?”

“Did you ask them if they if life was worth living?”

Stells was silent.

“We assumed-“

“Of course you did,” I said putting the control panel’s wires back into place, “Of course you assumed on the behalf of an entire diverse group of people. Of course you did.”

I close the control panel back up. I place the metal sheet back in storage and sit on my chair.

I am tired when I look at Stells. I am tired and the pressure in my knees is annoying. I know if I stand I’ll fall.

Who knows the consequences for falling here. It won’t matter soon though, after my conversation with Stells I’m leaving.

“You abled people,” I said as I turned the knobs and ignored the sirens that blared to life three blocks away, “You always think you know what’s best for us, don’t you?”

Stells is horrified. Eyes wide, hands shaking, I fiddle a bit with my machine as she stumbled away from me.

“I’m not contagious,” I said mildly.

Stells didn’t hear me or didn’t care about my words as she runs. Probably to alert the authorities.

That doesn’t matter. My job here was done anyway.

“Agent 5656 reporting,” I said into the Bluetooth in my ear, “Yeah, Aven is a no-go. Designate it red. They hate us here.”

I paused and listened for a moment as the voice on the other side confirmed what I said.

“Yes, eugenics galore. Not to mention the accessibility standards are nonexistent. I think the woman I met thinks I’m contagious. I know! Amazing right? She didn’t even ask.”

“Yeah, tell the Chronos Authority that anything after Aven is not safe for us, tell them to send the able bastards instead if an anomaly appears. I’m not risking my people just because they’re assholes.”

Your time machine malfunctions and you're sent to an unknown year. When you tell a bystander that you're from the year 2024, their face grows pale and their eyes grow wide.

[theerurishipper]

-

-

-

"Hey, Bruce. Just needed to pick up some— Damian, what happened to you?"

Damian glares across the room. Dick stares at his black eye, unabashedly confused. Bruce just fights the urge to sigh.

"He got into an altercation with Roy Harper," Bruce reveals finally, and understanding blooms on Dick's face.

"Ah."

"I was defending your honor, Richard!" Damian seethes, slapping away Bruce's hand. "And anyway, this is nothing compared to the tomfoolery that takes place atop the Watchtower. You should see them go at it, as though they were common schoolchildren and not respected superheroes holding the fate of the world in their hands."

"And how is that different from you starting a fight with Roy?"

Damian scoffs, face turning red. "He had it coming."

Dick smiles for a moment, and then sighs. "This whole situation is causing way too many problems, isn't it."

"I don't know," Tim says, a smirk on his face. "All of Young Justice is on your side, Dick. I'd say this whole ordeal has brought us all closer together."

Cass nods, grinning. "And we are more... united than ever."

Bruce is just glad someone is getting something out of this. Because he sure isn't.

-

-

-

-

"Well played, Grayson," muttered Roy, as Lian happily licked the large lollipop in her hand. Next to her was a little piece of paper that simply said 'Gotcha.' And all Roy could do was shake his head, amused.

"Well played."

-

First <- Part 14 <- Part 15 -> Part 16

Masterpost

Bonus:

[golby-moon]

you know what this world needs rn? a distraction in the form of supernatural animal crossing AU and yeah I'm still mixed up over which animals to make them even after I already made them don't @ me I'm indecisive

oh yeah. the cookers themselves. still having nightmares over drawing Sam's antlers btw even though I drew one and then flipped the image because I hate them and they're still awful. also Cas needed a sweater vest don't deny it. also also I'm very aware the proportions are horribly inconsistent this is why I don't really animate anymore guys

(01/20/25)

[shallowseeker]

Hey hey PSA I don't answer asks about fanfic, or what you see in fanfic per se. (I haven't even read The Greats in this fandom; I've only been here a coupla years!)

I'm happy to talk about specific things that fandom plays with on occasion and how I think they might relate to canon (often, canon can be braided to mean all of the things and all of the emotional states), but at the heart of things, I wholeheartedly believe fanfic is to EXPLORE things and have a good fuckin' time.

It's taking that what-if, or that moment of psychological fragility and putting it in the great big blender to see how you can stress it more, or even to heal it!

Like, really... fanfic isn't about meta, it's about answering important what-if questions like, "What if Sam got his period and then drank it because he hallucinated it was demon blood?" etc etc

[lyril]

lumpus is a fascinating specimen glad theres other people also fond of him

HE SURE IS i will be honest i almost like him a Little Too Much because i Also live in my fantasy world of make believe where camp lazlo is a little more than a 6.4/10 show (I STILL LOVE YOU SWEETHEART!) and instead also includes all my insane 20k spiels of backstory stringing and talks about character writing but

(also. i do think it's funny how popular slinkman is in comparison, i love him just as much, but i actually see people mention really liking slinkman pretty frequently if someone happens to posts about camp lazlo which is GOOD because he DESERVES IT MAJORLY but the lumpus bug has Also caught me something awful even though i hate him and he sucks so i'm alone adrift in the world out here...)

edited this just for him

[enhanced-operatives-division]

Honestly I wanna see kitty JJ phantom again

Rahhh I also updated his old design a little....I'll get back to that askblog this summer I swear....

(context + rambles under the cut)

So this was the original Juniper kitty:

I have got an even OLDER design but that's from 2022 and NOPE!!! not posting that. Absolutely not. The design is fine but the anatomy is a no from me. This was a doodle so it aged okay (from...september 2023?). He's based off a Charcoal bengal because he needed to be a pretty boy to me:

(credit)

I don't really have the creams in my paint pens so I had to leave that as white for now but nyeah!!

This is from my "Juniper is the Phantom" Au...sigh I need to get back on that but I'm ohhh so busy soon (the horrors) but hey maybe I can finish the plot for now.

[19catsncounting]

Fuck it Friday

tagged by @quietwingsinthesky

(It's halfway through March and I haven't published my last Febuwhump prompt because it's currently 27k long and Not Done but uh. This is the first section and explains Why I'm still chewing on the concept)

Sam is almost universally regarded as a nice guy. He’s the kind of friend that people call to help them move a couch even if it’s been years since they last talked, because he’s exactly the kind of guy to show up and do it and bring a sixer of cold beer too. He’s actually gotten dumped a few times because of this habit, this ‘fucking martyr complex’ as Ruby put it. He does admit, he’s an adrenaline junkie in a very fucked up way, a way in which he feels most alive when he is stressed and stretched beyond his capacity and just one small inconvenience away from a complete mental breakdown, and that tends to come out the most in service of others.

Chuck seems like a nice guy too. He was enthusiastic when Sam reached out and messaged him privately after reading his post in a dog rehabilitation group, he has offered Sam an astounding amount of money, several times, just to drive out to Missouri and take a look at what he’s working with. But, as soon as Sam got on the property, shut the door to his gray electric Nissan and took in the humidity, the planks of rotten wood where a good fence once stood, the slouch of the darkened patio and deck, the strain in Chuck’s voice as he shook his head and sighed and welcomed him to the family estate he just inherited, Sam knew it.

Sam knew he was leaving with the damned dog.

“I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what to do,” Chuck says again, with a jittery shrug, a slap to the side of his thigh as his arm drops, a mantra that he’s repeated in email and in person, and Sam swallows down firm reminders that he’s told Chuck what to do. For free. In detail. “The other behaviorists - I’ve talked to so many people, I pulled some strings and spent a fortune and even got a call from Cesar Milan-”

“He’s not accredited, and he’s a dick,” Sam snaps, plastering on a smile. The back of his neck is beading with sweat. Chuck shrugs.

“I’ve tried everything, and I-I’m a musician, I’m supposed to be out in LA, that’s my vibe, I don’t do this farm thing, and this dog is- he’s supposed to be a farm dog. But he keeps killing everything - chickens, cats, birds, snakes, he’s eaten full grown deer and fucking cows, man. Cows! Ripped their throats out, he- God, he could take either one of us without breaking a sweat, and every behaviorist I talked to said-”

“Chuck,” Sam interrupts, looks down on the nervous little guy with curly hair and bright blue eyes who definitely didn’t sign up to take care of a farm, or a farm dog. But he is not describing normal issues with a farm dog, and while Sam really needs to know more about the dog’s past, how it became so prey-driven, he’s starting to worry that Chuck - the only person who could help him on that front - will not be helpful at all, out of ignorance and frustration and a decision he’s already made but wants Sam to give his blessing in person to. “Are you going to euthanize the dog? Is your mind just already set that that’s the best choice here?”

“No, God no, I- I’m practically vegan, y'know, I love animals and I’d never… unless it was the only option, y'know? I don’t want him to suffer either, and if it’s hopeless,” Chuck waffles, but his blue eyes keep begging Sam to say the word that he needs, absolve him of blame. Make things crystal clear when this decision just never is, but if Chuck wants a clean break, Sam is coming around to that outcome. “Do you- I mean, you’ve never heard of a dog getting this bad, right? Taking down a fucking cow, dude is a psycho and he earns his name-”

“My favorite dog when I was a kid was named ‘Lucifer’ too,” Sam says, honestly, with a huff of a smile that tries to cover up an acrid, senseless, probably genetic desire to spit out that the city slicker just doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Every pack of farm dogs has a devil, a bastard, an ugly stubborn son of a bitch that young kids are warned not to mess with, and Sam has always loved them uniquely. “He was this big barrel-chested mutt, probably had terrier and pit and 15 different types of cow dog in his pedigree, had a coarse white and tan coat. He was really reactive to small creatures, anything smaller than a full-grown goat, and he’d chew on snakes out in the cow pasture like they were his favorite bones. And once I grew out of his prey-size, we were buddies.”

“Prey-prey size? Before that, when you were a kid, he could have…” Chuck can’t bring himself to say the words, stuttering through the implications of it, but Sam lifts his eyebrows and shrugs.

“Dogs do what they’re bred and raised to do, and if you let them, sometimes they’ll sort out the details of what that entails for themselves. There wasn’t a single calf that died from coyotes or wolves while Lucifer was alive. And we didn’t have a problem with snakes either,” Sam claps his hands together, notices that Chuck jolts from the sound. “So, let’s go and meet your devil dog.”

Chuck stops by the deck to grab a half-empty and crumpled bag of grocery brand dry food - surprising, as Sam was sure he would go for the most expensive boutique diet available if not pay for a pet nutritionist if he has Cesar Milan consultation money. They head out to a nearby corral gate hidden by a few trees, to an overgrown pasture where Sam can see a few cows in the distance and see a small pond, but little else with the grass reaching three feet tall. Chuck whistles, shakes the bag, calls out his dog’s name. “Lucy! Lucy-Lucifer! Come here, boy!”

Sam barely has time to notice the sound of grass parting, can’t register where it comes from, then there’s a giant brown blur with black markings soaring over the ground in a leap, it lands and gruffs, then Chuck is stumbling back as the dog turns and closes the distance to bounce right in front of his feet, feet planting on his stomach to bark in his face then land. The dog is a rusty copper on its legs that fades tan, a black saddle rests on his spine and spreads outwards, his neck is so gray it’s almost white in some areas, but his head is a solid black and with its sharply pointed black ears, long snout, and pale blue eyes, it’s pretty damn intimidating.

The pointed ears, the black saddle, the size of the dog allowing him to look Chuck in the eye when he stands, the unholy energy and that terrifying garbled whine that starts to barrel out of the dog’s throat as Chuck fails to feed him, like something dragged out from the pits of Hell. Sam just stares in awe, in horror, as Chuck looks at him like he should know what to do and tries not to fall from another one of Lucifer’s pounces.

“Is that… is he a mix of Belgian Malinois and Husky?” Sam asks, the same way he’d ask someone if they were carrying an armed nuclear warhead if he had reasonable suspicion that was the case. 

Chuck, stupidly, nods. “Yeah, I don’t think he likes the heat out here. Huskies are supposed to live out in the snow right? And you’re from Colorado?”

Sam has the choice of driving 11 hours back home with a blooded, destructive dog from the most blasphemous hybrid litter conceivable, or telling Chuck Shurley to call a vet and have the dog put down.

Sam finds out that prescription sedatives do not work on Lucifer, and that it takes about an hour for a Belusky to chew through the leather of a Nissan Leaf’s passenger headrest enough to start biting off and swallowing chunks of the foam inside.

Sam is starting to think that he might have finally found a cross that he doesn’t want to hang himself on with this dog.

tagging: @swamp-spirit, @lebirbybitch (y'all are welcome to share a WIP or new writing, anything you'd like)

[mooseonahunt]

I love saying “it’s my God given right as an American” about the lamest things. Just dismissed a spellcheck suggestion and said “it’s my God given right as an American to spell words however I damn well please”

[officialmoosezilla]

There was once a girl named Duckie Bill. Now, as I'm sure you can imagine, she was bullied quite a bit growing up, particularly once "duckface" became not just a model thing, but a whole social media fad in the 2010s. But Duckie was a plucky, good-natured girl, and made it out of adolescence relatively unscathed.

What Duckie really wanted was to find love. She was a little bit boy-obsessed as a young woman, but she was able to manage her priorities, make it through university, and get a great job in her field.

One day, she met a man named Stephen. It was a real meet-cute. They met at the coffee shop, he saw her name on the cup and asked about it, the whole nine yards. It was like in a movie.

Duckie had never been happier! She had the perfect job, the perfect boyfriend, and the local ice cream place had even made her favourite flavour a permanent one. Everything was looking up.

On Duckie's next birthday, Stephen proposed with the perfect proposal. It was everything she'd ever dreamed of.

That night, however, tragedy struck even harder than the car that struck Stephen while he was taking out the trash from the elaborate proposal.

Duckie took a leave of absence from her job to grieve the loss, and while she was away, the company went under. She had to sell the house she and Stephen had shared to get by.

But, resilient as she was, Duckie was able to slowly rebuild her life, and she never lost her sunny demeanor.

On the day that she started her new job, she met Cole, one of her new colleagues. It was scary, at first, feeling something for someone again, but he was a calm and steady kind of man who was happy to take things slow.

Eventually, the two got engaged. Knowing Duckie's history, Cole left it to her to propose, and she chose something very intimate and low-key. It was perfect.

They ran into something of a hitch when discussing how to manage their names, though.

Duckie, you see, was ready to let go of being Duckie Bill, for obvious reasons.

Cole, however, had a similar problem, being named Cole S. Law.

So neither wanted to be stuck with their name, and both wanted the other's name.

So, in a late-night stroke of inspiration, they decided to simply exchange surnames when they got married.

The wedding was a beautiful ceremony, if a little confusing for some of the extended family.

It was, however, a wonderful closure to that chapter of Duckie's life, for that was how a Bill became a Law.

[sparklecryptid]

yeah so uh, i took your boyfriend on a heroes quest and we journeyed through the fires of hell together and wore the raiment of heaven but ultimately he got too close to the divine and - yeah he became a god so i had to kill him - yeah your boyfriend - yeah he's dead. I'm sorry, would you like a cupcake - no cupcake? okay. that's fine. i wouldn't want a cupcake either? did i fuck your boyfriend? of course not! I'm not the type to sleep with another mans man! we just got to know each other so intimately it was as if we were two halves of one soul joining together for the first time and in that miracle we saw the true nature of heaven and hell and the ultimate fate of this earth and all after it - i told you i didn't fuck him! he was way to jacked for me to fuck! did he fuck me? no! well. our bodies did know each other in the way that the earth knows water and the sky knows the sun and. the moon knows it's place is to grow ever further away from the earth - i didn't fuck him! okay im sorry for yelling. i know this is a lot to take in. but it was just a bros trip alright? just a night out on town with the guys. that he's not coming back from?

yeah.

that he's not coming back.

[drjackabbots]

that time i wrote a one liner about adam naming a stray cat "moose" and now i want to put her in every single one of my chainshipping fics from now on

moose my beloved

[kirill-kaprizov]

falling and falling until i...

pairing: eddie munson/oc (cynthia moose)wc: 1.5k note: god these two are so dumb thank u. also technically a part three to dealer's choice BUT it can be read as a stand alone &lt;;3 warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of drugs and alcohol

Eddie forgot her name, and at this point it’s too late to ask her.

or 3 more times Eddie and Moose meet-up. All told from Eddie’s perspective.

READ ON: ao3 ✰ wattpad ✰ ff.net ✰ quotev

MARCH 1984

“Your dad is Lionel Moose, right? The cop?”

“Yeah, he retired a year, year and a half ago.” The girl explained, kicking at the dirt beneath her feet, dreading the inevitable follow-up question.

“Oh. And how is he doing?”

Eddie sat beside the girl on the bench, almost pressed together, facing opposite directions. She was nearly silent, trying to sputter out a response… and as she did, he felt guilty.

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself, feeling like he should’ve known this. Hell, he probably did (small town and whatnot.)

Peering over at Moose, he didn’t really know how to comfort this grieving girl, she was basically a stranger.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

She cut him off with a raise of her hand as she looked up, making proper eye contact for the first time in this rendezvous. Her deep brown eyes seemed weary as she said, “no, you’re fine. I’m mostly normal about it now.”

He sighed, mentally kicking himself, “no, man, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Word vomit was Eddie’s forte.

“How about this?” The upperclassman proposed, “I cut you a deal this time: fifteen bucks for the half.”

Glancing back at Moose, she let out a chuckle, eyes still watery, “is it that easy to get a discount? I just gotta put on the waterworks for ya?”

“Just this once, Moose.” He jokingly rolled his eyes, proud he was able to make this girl laugh after he almost made her cry.

“Sure,” She smiled as he looked away and set his little black box onto the table.

Next thing he knew, their arms brushed together momentarily before a bill between a pair of slender fingers came into view next to the aforementioned box. Eddie took the pair of ten dollar bills and he still felt her big, sad eyes on him, as if she was studying him at this moment.

He didn’t say anything as he glanced over and she was still staring. But once she realized he was looking back at her, she tore her eyes away quickly with a near smile gracing her face.

There were a few moments of silence as he sorted everything out, “here you go, Moose.” Eddie handed over a baggie and a five dollar bill.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, pocketing both the items. “Probably be a week or two before I seek you out again. Just as a heads up.”

Eddie nodded, packing up the box  and sliding it over as he watched her stand up from the table. “Sure thing, I’m pretty easy to find. Here or the arcade, sometimes the body shop on Pine.”

She walked away, nodding, and before she left the clearing, she turned back and with a smile on her face, she gave him a kind wave and said, “See you around, Eddie.”

It occurred to him at that moment while he gave a polite wave back that he never got her name.

.•*•.•*•.

DECEMBER 1984

Eddie didn’t eat school lunch most days, usually opting for bringing his own assortment of snacks. But who could resist pizza day? Nobody.

He stood in line alone, next in line to grab a tray, when he felt a tug on the pocket of his jean vest. He didn’t react right away as he heard giggles behind him. Jesus, it was probably some sick prank. Unfortunately, his curiosity got the better of him and he peered over his shoulder.

Behind him in line was Moose, a sheepish look on her face as a trio of girls skittered away and left her in the lunch line alone.

“Hey, Munson.” She greeted, slipping a piece of notebook paper into the front pocket of her overalls.

“Hi, Moose.” He felt mostly at ease as he turned around with a chuckle, slipping a hand into the pocket that was just messed with.

Despite having a moment of relief, he remembered the few conversations he had with Jeff and Wally concerning the last time he actually spoke to the girl behind him. They were convinced that she asked him out back in October, which is coincidentally the last time they spoke. (Not like they really talked outside of her buying weed from him or when he’d pop up wherever she found herself working for the time being.)

Pulling a neatly folded piece of paper out of the pocket that was being messed with, he laid it on the blue tray and it read, in very sloppy handwriting, ‘GOT ANY?? :)’

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled to himself as he started going through the lunch line, the girl with the note right next to him.

As the pair dished up together, they made plans to meet out behind the school, opting to not go to the clearing on account of the snow that was coming down pretty heavily the whole morning.

Eddie was already outside, jacket zipped up and a cigarette between his fingers when Moose walked out grumbling to herself, an angry look on her face.

“You alright?” Eddie asked, taking a drag.

“No.” She stopped beside him, leaning against the brick. “Ate shit coming out of the gym.”

He looked down and winced when he saw her jean overalls tattered on the knees; dirt, snow, and blood coating the area. “You should probably go to the nurse.”

“Think so?” She kicked her leg out, peering at the mess over her oversized jacket. “Yeah, it’s usually pretty bad if the denim gets ripped, right?”

“Usually.” He shrugged. “Maybe this can wait until later if you just want to go there now?”

“No,” she protested, lighting brushing the dirt off the knees of her pants, wincing as she did so. “I need to wrap this up before school ends. I’m going for a drive right after.”

“Busy night, Moose?”

Shrugging, she straightened back up, digging through her pockets. 

He watched her in silence, really trying to imagine if he said yes to her invitation to the Halloween party. And the more he thought about that scenario, the more he didn’t believe his friends. Admittedly he wanted to say yes that day but then he remembered who her friends were and he couldn subject himself to that (as selfish as it sounds). 

If she were to ask again.. maybe—

“Here you go.” Her hand was in front of his chest, a bill between her fingers.

.•*•.•*•.

AUGUST 1985

He would’ve thought Moose was one of the victims in the mall fire if he hadn’t actually seen her in passing twice since she got back from wherever she disappeared to after they got pulled over back in June.

Eddie didn’t expect her to poke her head out of the back door of the Palace Arcade with a smile and a “hi, Eddie.”

“Moose, hey.” Eddie greeted, making eye contact with the girl as she came outside and holy shit— she looked good. Hot, even.

She was wearing a vibrant bikini top with the bottoms peeking out from under a pair of baggy jean shorts and her dark hair was put up haphazardly.

He tried to keep his eyes on her own as she sat down, but as her large, dark eyes met his, he had to look away. Unfortunately for him, the only other thing his stupid, stupid brain wanted to look at was her chest as she sat down opposite him.

She was speaking, but he wasn’t processing a single word until he finally looked back up at her face and then he heard her. “Eddie?”

He was embarrassed, trying to play it cool, “yeah.”

She laughed, shaking her head and taking a clip from the back of her head out of her long, dark hair, “how you been? Van alright?”

“It’s, yeah— I’ve been good. Van is awesome.” Eddie stated, focusing way too hard on his lunch box full of weed. He had to change the subject. “What’re you up to this evening?” 

Moose shrugged, pulling all of her hair onto one shoulder with a sigh, “I’m taking my sister and her friends for a little evening swim.”

“Need to show ‘em it’s not as fun as it sounds?” Eddie suggested with a laugh.

“Exactly.” She smiled at him. “They’re all starting high school next week so I need to do that before some fuckwit of an upperclassman tries to.”

“Speaking from experience?”

Nodding, she was kind of taken aback by the followup question, momentarily forgetting how curious Eddie Munson was, “my freshman year; first boyfriend.”

Eddie couldn’t help the words that spilled out next, “and how long did that last?”

“Wow,” she laughed, still playing with the ends of her hair, “two years too long. And yours?”

“My what?” Eddie questioned, his eyes starting to wander once again.

“Your last relationship.”

“Oh. It was a while ago, six, maybe seven months?”

Moose hummed, once again leaning against the old picnic table, “would I know her?”

“Don’t think so.” He shrugged, laughing it off. “Yours?”

“Oof.” Moose nodded, playing with her chipped nails, “I’m pretty sure you do.”

“Really?”

“Don’t think too hard about it,” she shrugged, “might hurt yourself.”

“Yes ma’am. What can I do for you today?”

Slapping a bill onto the table, she answered, “twenty bag.”

Eddie nodded, tearing his eyes away from the girl opposite him and sliding the twenty dollar bill under his black box before he began to rummage through it.

[painofhumanity]

Hi friends! I've been getting some new followers lately, which is awesome, and I just wanted to take a moment to really encourage everyone to fill out my interest tracker. I have a ton of muses, and I know most people don't want to write with all of them, so just-- tell me who you want to write with.

[bowowaggner]

Why do Meat and Meet sound the same but Greet and Great sound different with Great sounding like Grate

[enhanced-operatives-division]

So I think about John Juniper a lot, and I talk about him a lot to my friends, and I have a bit of a long-standing headcanon that I think would only go down well on Tumblr (this is the gay website) so here it is:

I've always headcanoned Juniper to be a gay man, and in the time frame that he lived, it was absolutely less than stellar to be gay in the 60s (it was only legalised in the early 70s in America). I am also very into florography, and as such I own a few books on it, and one boring evening I looked up what "Juniper" once meant. It means "protection".

I had a think after that, and remembered a lot of actors choose an "actor name" to distinguish themself from another person, and "John Juniper" definitely feels in that vein. Another sidelined thought I've had about Juniper is that he only made it big during his mid 20s or so (this man is like late 30s to me ok), and the reason he chose the name "Juniper" was because it meant protection and he knew he would be prosecuted for his sexuality and felt like he needed it.