#< tagging this in case I ever get silly enough to tell y’all about the entire Future Leo au I made

[hamburgrr]

Update on the bad future Leo brainworms: no one should ever let me render again. The textures and details are getting out of hand. Send help

[br4inr0tx]

HI I’ve been looking for someone that writes for the thanksgiving movie ever since I watched it. Masked slasher/voice changer do things to me.

Anyways can I request HCs with John Carver and someone he’s had this eye on for a while nearing thanksgiving? Feel free to get creative! Hope you have a good day :]

Sure thing! I feel the exact way about slashers..Urrhrghrh I love this man so much y’all I’m going to be SEARCHING for John Carver roleplayers AAAAA (character ai just doesn’t satisfy me enough ig 😓)

Happy Thanksgiving <3

tw - MASSIVE THANKSGIVING 2023 SPOILERS, stalking, death, manipulation, deception of gore, kidnapping.

Eric Newlon…

• Eric has had his eyes on you for a month now. He’s been very careful, as he knows all too well about how the smallest of details can ruin absolutely everything. You simply just don’t know it yet.

• The John Carver killer stalks and records his victims as you know. I’m retrospect he’s had his eyes on you longer then you think. Watching and carefully planning every detail.

• And you wouldn’t even have a clue.

• It’s around Thanksgiving time. You get around enough to know a few kids in town, and talk to people. Maybe, you even reminisce about the lives lost a year ago.

• It pains you to know that nightmare is all coming back. Faces you recognize are found missing or dead, and it’s been freaking you the fuck out.

• Not to mention those posts you keep getting tagged in are so very unsettling. Your name at a table with other chairs and names of people you may or may not recognize. The anxieties just kept coming and coming..

• Luckily, Sheriff Newlon has been there to help you during these rather compromising times. He seems to always know the best thing to say when you’re stressed out, and it’s kind of nice. You hind yourself recently stopping by his office just to spend time with him while he does research, and let me tell you, he eats the attention it right up.

• He assures you, nothing will hurt you when you’re with him. He won’t let this deranged killer harm you. You’re too sweet to lose. He jokes about how he could care less about those other foolish teenagers, but is he though?

• At work recently you’ve had these people you can’t stand. They never get their work done and seem to get away with it, along with being unserious and silly all the time. It hurts to focus most of the time..so frustrating. Their newest topic is bringing up last year’s incident too, which heightens your anxiety.

• Recently..they haven’t been showing up to work. Sure, you could use a few days without them, but now with this all going on? You can’t help but have a bittersweet feeling about it all.

• You decide to stay with Sheriff Newlon, or as he ushers you to say, Just Eric. It calms your nerves for the most part as he talks about things to get your mind off this whole mess. He promises you it fucks with his head too.

• After a minute Eric groans, shaking his head at the computer. “I gotta go copy some papers, I’ll be right back.” You nod, sitting back in your chair as you waited for his return. A long awaited return, too.

• You start to daydream, staring off at the walls aligned with case after case tied to the recent events of murders. It sent a shiver down your spine.

• You stood up, walking over to the pinboard and reading all of them. One paper caught your interest in particular, and as you picked it off the wall you knew exactly what it was. Your co-workers..they were tied to this. They went missing just like the others, and one of their purses was found on the side of the street with everything in it, from identification to money, like their only purpose was for the person themselves to be taken..

• You cringed hard reading it all, and as you tilted the paper upwards to bring it into more of the light in Eric’s dim room, the reflection on the plastic sleeve gave you quite a fright.

• After a quick turn around, you saw him. The John Carver Killer. As soon as you made a move he strikes, grabbing you and shoving you right against the desk and over it with your hands above your head, and with his free hand a Chloroform filled rag shoved roughly against your mouth and nose.

• In the hysteria there wasn’t much you could do. Anytime you struggled he’d grip your hands a little tighter as a warning. So much so he managed to crack your knuckles and almost even bend them in an awkward direction. That was until you finally fell asleep.

• When you woke up, you were at the front of the table, your hands tied behind your back. You weren’t gagged, but by the looks of your surroundings and the way the light shines through the boarded up windows nobody would hear you if you screamed anyway..

• What’s more, those pesky co-workers are around the table with you, all dead in different creative ways.

• John Carver appears behind you, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. “Isn’t this nice, Y/N? Everyone together, just having a nice dinner?” His head lowers right next to your ear. His voice sounded somehow robotic, perhaps because he was a voice changer. “Just like a Thanksgiving should be, right?”

• He sighs, like he had an amazing little daydream. The way his hands ran down your shoulders too..it’s the same way the sheriff used to. “I know you’ve been feeling lately..and I know you appreciate the true meaning of Thanksgiving. I made you something special, no strings attached..”

• You’re favorite meal, whatever that may be, was right in front of you. It looks delicious too..not any sort of gore or cannibalism you’d expect from the bodies all around. How would he know something that specific like your favorite food though? “Open up..” He feeds you the food himself, not trusting you just yet to let you go.

• If you don’t want to eat, be that way. He can warm you your food back up if you change your mind, but don’t ever say he didn’t have good hospitality.

• “You remind me of someone I used to know, Y/N..” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, feeding you another piece if you decided to play along. “So kind..not like those others who only care about themselves.”

• He keeps explaining everything he likes about you..even down to the smallest detail, which shakes you to your core. “

• “In fact, this year, I’m thankful for you. <3”

[firelxdykatara]

one of the most amusing things that i’ve seen come out of anti darklinas in the last few weeks is this idea that ‘oh, we’re only posting our bad faith read of the ship and why people ship it in the tag For The Kids, because children need to know they shouldn’t want these relationships irl!!!’ and it’s like... if these Straw Children are genuinely at risk of growing up thinking it’s perfectly ok for an immortal dark wizard to kill people then....... i think there’s something going on in their life that a condescending tumblr post is not going to protect them from lmfao

and frankly, tumblr is a 13+ website. no one should be on here who is under 13, and at 13, you’re more than old enough to understand that a fictional character did it too is not a good excuse for bad behavior. 13 is old enough to understand that just because two characters have a toxic or unhealthy relationship in a fictional book doesn’t mean they should be seeking that kind of a relationship out irl.

and like, i’m old enough to have lived through (with unfortunately vivid memories) the team edward/team jacob and ‘i’m just searching for my edward’ teen crazes but like... first of all, the difference is, both of them were presented by the narrative as ideal romantic partners, and in neither case was the abuse ever acknowledged. by contrast, darklina is comprised of a lovers to enemies arc and while there’s plenty to be said about the lack of nuance and care shown in his story on the page, at the end of the day alina killed him. and secondly, honestly??? like, i will talk all day about what i hated in the twilight books and the romantic relationships and how harmful it was to present an abusive relationship as The Ideal in novels marketed toward teen girls, but, at the end of the day, it still wasn’t meyer’s job to make sure that her audience grew up to understand why those relationships were bad, and i’d like to think that those teen girls grew up into women who knew what to look for in a healthy and supportive relationship and found one for themselves.

but if any of them did wind up in bad relationships, it’s not the fault of some author who wrote a handful of best sellers, no matter how bad the writing was or how ideally it portrayed abusive relationships. (and i’m not saying it’s the fault of the victims, either, but winding up in an abusive relationship is a lot more fucking complex than ‘i read a book as a teenager and thought the evil guy was hot so i wanted to date one of my own lol’)

so anyway, coming into a tag for a ship populated mostly by young adult women and older, and going ‘i just wanna make sure that any Straw Children around here know that this is a Bad Relationship uwu’ is beyond condescending and frankly inappropriate, not to mention highkey misogynistic (cause the real underlying basis there is ‘lol those silly girls couldn’t possibly decide for themselves how they feel about this fictional relationship so i must inform them that It’s Bad’)--because literally no one who is in this tag on this website for this ship needs you to tell them that. i promise you that we, as shippers, are more than capable of having complex and nuanced discussions about this ship (which y’all clearly don’t understand, because you keep throwing around buzzwords like ‘grooming’ without any understanding of what they mean and why they really don’t apply here) without your interference.

we really, really do not need people coming into the tag telling us we shouldn’t fall for some handsome immortal wizard who does bad things and kills people. no one here will benefit from that knowledge, because we already fucking know. we just don’t care! and we really don’t have to! and there are no children here that are young enough they need some random tumblr blog to ‘protect’ them! so please, save your condescension and your pretension. you aren’t saying anything new, and you are very irritating lmfao.

(and please, please, don’t go all ‘oh no i seem to have offended people uwu’ when you get replies from the people who regularly visit this tag and see through your bullshit lmfao. it happens almost every time and playing dumb is not a good look for any of you.)

[cacoetheswriting]

champagne problems, ch.8

Spencer is in love with you, but you’re engaged to someone else.

Chapter Eight: Wild Love: Spencer gets something off his chest while you’re stuck in a hotel room. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading.     Word Count: 1.6k Warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol consumption, heartbreak, unrequited / unreciprocated love, very angsty, this whole series is a real slow burn babyyy

series masterlist

A/N: y’all are killing me with all the love on this story so far omg. i am so appreciative of every single comment, like, reblog, all the sweet things you say in the tags etc. etc. thank you and i hope you like this chapter (this one turned out to be more conversation than descriptions of feelings/thoughts just fyi) ! x

-

“Since we’re stuck here for the night, how about one more drink?” Luke asked, glancing between the team. “You buying?” Matt teased making everyone else chuckle. Luke rolled his eyes. “If that’s what it takes.”

All flights were grounded due to a heavy snowstorm. This meant that after solving their most recent case, the team were forced to remain on location. At a small bed and breakfast right in the middle of nowhere.

“I’ll have another drink.” Emily stated with a smile. “Sure, why the hell not. It’s not often I get a night away from my boys.” JJ added. Tara also raised her hand, indicating she'll have one more.

All heads turned to you and Spencer. The brunette doctor sat quietly in the corner. Clearly a lot on his mind. You were right by his side, gently resting your head against his shoulder.

A small yawn escaped your lips. “I think I’m gonna call it a night guys.” You said, slowly sitting up. “It’s been a heck of a day, and the bed is calling my name.” The group groaned, but didn't protest. Instead, they all looked to Spencer who seemed to be debating his options.

“What about you Reid?” Luke asked. “Care for another one?”

“Sure. Uh, I’ll walk Y/N to her room and I’ll be right back.” “It’s okay Spencer, stay. I’ll be fine.” You countered while getting up to your feet however, the handsome doctor wasn’t taking no for answer.

Unknown to you, unknown to everyone apart from Penelope, Spencer’s been trying to find the right moment to tell you how he really felt. He spent the last two months debating whether it was a good idea. The idea of telling you he was still in love with you scared the shit out of him because it could go one of two ways:

1. You feel the same way and call off the engagement. The two of you get back together and he spends the rest of his living breathing days making you the happiest woman on earth.

2. You don’t feel the same way and you end up resenting him for lying to you, his confession ruining your friendship.

Either way, someone will end up getting hurt.

“You really didn't have to come with me doctor.” You said stopping outside the door. Spencer shrugged his shoulders, his nose twitching simultaneously. “I wanted to. Plus sitting too long causes a number of health issues. Your leg muscles weaken. Your hip flexors shorten, and it can cause compression on the discs in your spine which can lead to premature degeneration, which results in chronic pain.”

You arched a brow. “So what you’re saying is that you’re really just looking out for yourself?”

“No, I-I, well...” He flustered and you couldn't help but chuckle. “We’ve been friends long enough for you to know when I’m just messing around.” Friends. The word stung. “Right. Sorry.” He glanced down at his shoes.

Sudden concern flooded through you. Gently, you placed a hand on the side of his face, and slowly lifted it back up. “Are you okay honey? You seem a little off, and I hope you don't mind me saying but it’s not just tonight.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Mind racing a million miles an hour. Of course you recognised his odd behaviour. He thought he did a good job at hiding his inner turmoil. Honestly, sometimes he forgets just how well you can read him. He forgets that you know him better than he knows himself.

“I hope you know you can talk to me.” You whispered, tenderly brushing loose strands of his hair away from his face.

The gleam in your eyes was so kindhearted. It was exactly that look that made Spencer think he truly didn't deserve you and that you were better off without him. It was also that look that made Spencer love you even more. The look that made him want to fight for you.

“Do ehm, do you think I could come in?” He asked after a moment of silence.

“Of course.” You let your hand fall back to your side. “Of course you can.”

Soon enough the two of you were sat at the edge of your bed. A noticeably tense atmosphere filled the air. Your eyes were glued to the side of his head, wondering what the hell was going on in that big brain of his, while Spencer looked down at his hands. Which at this point were trembling uncontrollably.

It didn’t take you long to notice, you could practically feel them vibrating against your leg. You reached out, giving them a little squeeze before intertwining your fingers with his.

“What’s going on Spencer? You’re starting to scare me.”

The hazel-eyed man took a deep breath before finally meeting your gaze. His features broken, as if he was about to burst into tears.

“I’ve been lying to you Y/N.” He stated quietly.

You furrowed your brows confused, taken aback by his admission. “W-what? What are you talking about? You’re the most honest man I’ve ever met.” You expressed, but he shook his head. His light curls bouncing perfectly. “I’m not. I’m really not.”

“Spencer.” “Please Y/N, please just… I… I haven’t been honest with you and it’s eating me alive. Usually you would be the person I turn to for advice on these things, but since it involves you… I-I really don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

You nodded your head slowly and swallowed your breath. “O-okay. Okay well, uhm… let me ask you this. If you don’t tell me, are you going to continue lying to me?” It was a weighted question which Spencer knew there was no right answer to. “Unfortunately.” He mumbled.

“Then I think, I think it is that simple.”

You were right. Every inch of him screamed you were right. Fuck. How the hell did it come to this? He had no trouble hiding his love for you these last few years.  He couldn’t understand why was it so difficult all of a sudden.

Abruptly, Spencer got to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair. A deep frustrated sigh escaping his lips as he loosened his tie. Your uneasy gaze locked onto him, following his every move. And as he closed his eyes, cracking his neck, you suddenly remembered that the last time he seemed this frazzled was the day the two of you broke up. Your stomach dropped.

“Oh no.” You whispered standing up. “Ohh Spencer.”

He turned on his heel to look at you once again. Your fingers were pressed to your chin, mouth slightly parted. You couldn’t possibly have figured it out?

“You’re breaking up with me.” It seemed like a silly statement considering you weren’t a couple. “I mean, you’re ending our friendship. That’s what this is, right? You don’t want to be my friend anymore and you’ve been lying to me by pretending that you do.” There were noticeable tears in your eyes.

“What? No, no, no. It’s completely the opposite of that.”

“I don’t think I understand. The opposite of-”

“I love you.”

“Well of course, I love you too. You’re my best friend. You’re family.”

“No.” He took a step towards you and cupped your cheeks with his hands. “I’m in love with you Y/N.”

You blinked. Eyelashes fluttering as the realisation of what Spencer just declared washed over you. He saw your lips quaver and your eyes widen. The dots connecting in your mind. All the moments you spent together, the conversations you shared. Everything was running through your mind like a homemade movie, making it impossible it collect your thoughts.

“I know I said I moved on, and that’s where I lied.” Spencer continued as you stared at him, unable to move. “I never moved on Y/N. I tried, believe me I tried. But you are a part of me, a part of my soul. You are the reason I get out of bed in the morning. Seeing you, your smile. Hearing your laughter. Being able to talk to you, and just be around you. Your aura. Everything about you is so intoxicating and I messed up big time letting you go all those years ago.”

Tears began to trail down your cheeks as you bit down on your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. Tiny salty droplets that Spencer slowly wiped away using his thumbs.

“I never said anything because I wanted to be there for you, first and foremost, in whatever way you needed me. I wanted to remain in your life after we broke up because your friendship means the world to me. I guess I thought-t, I hoped that maybe one day we’d get back together. And I know it’s unfair for me to lay all of this on you now, I know. And I’m sorry, I can’t keep it to myself anymore. You, I think you deserve to know.”

Quiet sobs filled the room. Your whole body was now shaking under his touch. Heart aching. It felt like you couldn't breathe.

All you ever wanted was for Spencer to love you. All you ever wanted was for him to tell you that he made a mistake all those years ago and that the two of you belong together. 

“P-please say something.” His plea was barely a whisper.

All you ever wanted.

“I-I.. Spencer, I...”

You finally got all you ever wanted. The brunette doctor was standing in front of you professing his love, and yet it felt like he just stabbed you in the back. His declaration, those three cursed words you dreamt so long ago to hear come out of his lips again. It felt like the ultimate betrayal.

Don't know what to say to you now Standing right in front of you

-

A/N: FINALLY A LOVE CONFESSION ! honestly this chapter was a little hard for me to write... it took me a while to actually sit down to it and actually be happy with what i wrote idk BUT i hope you liked it and as always i’d love to hear your feedback! if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

masterlist | series masterlist | series playlist

story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne​, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94, @stepsofthefbi, @chatterbug2-0

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​, @averyhotchner​

[yakultberry]

kfc (kisses for christmas) ; c.sc

✪ summary: You’re unexpectedly single on Christmas Day, but you don’t want to spend it alone. At least you can count on the cute delivery boy to bring you fried chicken. ✪ pairing: chicken delivery boy!seungcheol x reader ✪ genre: fluffy fluff ✪ word count: 2.1k words  ✪ tags: @yutacrush​ thank you for beta reading for me i would like to marry you

✪ a/n: helllo binu here!! i am very excited to be posting my first fic on yakultberry c: this fic is actually part of @merakiiverse​‘s job au collaboration (will link after posting). i really have a lot of respect for everyone who writes straight up fluff, because ooooof did i struggle way more than i expected while writing this lmao hopefully it turned out okay and y’all can enjoy! <33 

[chicky delivery boy]: your order is 5 minutes away! 

At the arrival of the text, you scrambled out of your position on the couch and quickly began to clear away the dirty dishes on your coffee table and the used tissues that had accumulated over the course of the day. You weren’t quite sure what ghost of Christmas past possessed you to continue your annual tradition of binging cheesy holiday movies all day, but you supposed it was because you were at a loss for what to do at all. You had spent the last two Christmases with that asshole. It wasn’t like you could call up your friends to hang out with you today; no, they were lucky enough to have nice boyfriends who didn’t break up with them two months before the holidays. And you definitely weren’t going to go out on the town by yourself, only to be forced to watch all the happy couples cuddle close to each other in the cold. 

So here you were, alone in your apartment, waiting on your fried chicken to be delivered.

It seemed to be the one constant in your life amongst the aftermath of your chaotic break up. Whenever you made an order, it would arrive at your doorstep within thirty minutes, always warm and always comforting. Although you wouldn’t quite say that Joy’s Chicken was the best chicken restaurant in the area (the family-owned joint two blocks over was definitely much tastier), it still managed to become your go-to after the delivery person from the family restaurant got lost on their way to your apartment for the third time. That, and once your order had arrived on your doorstep, brought to you by a dimpled, dark-haired delivery boy, you quickly decided that the restaurant had its own charms.

“Coming!” you called out to the gentle knock at the front door, skipping across your living room to reach it. After checking your reflection in the mirror hanging in the hallway, you swung the door open, smiling brightly. “Finally, I’m starving-- what happened to you?” 

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the boy said with a chuckle, voice muffled by the scarf wrapped tightly around his face. You reached over to pull down the scarf to reveal that he was smiling back at you, though you did note that his lips were pale and his teeth were chattering. The thick, puffy coat he wore could only do so much when he was covered with a snow from head to toe. You watched as some of it crumbled off of his shoulders when he shuffled to take your food out of an insulator. Today, the box had a cute little bow stuck to the top of it.  “Merry Christmas! This is for you.” 

You took the bag from his hands, but, as usual, you didn’t close the door right away. “Seungcheol, you look like a marshmallow.” 

“Wow, I take it you didn’t get a present for me?” He leaned against your doorframe, a pout now on his lips. “I wish I was a marshmallow. Then I could jump into some hot chocolate and finally feel warm. It’s been snowing non-stop out there since 7PM.” 

At this, you felt a small twinge of guilt for being one of his orders tonight, especially knowing that Seungcheol would often make your deliveries by foot since you didn’t live too far from Joy’s. “Does your shift end soon at least?” 

“Yeah, we’re closing a little earlier today since the boss has Christmas plans! You’re actually my last delivery for tonight.”

“Oh well, if that’s the case,” you said tentatively, stepping to the side. “Would you like to come in for some hot chocolate before you have to head back into the storm? It’s the least I could do since I did forget to get you a present.”

The boy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his grin remained, albeit a bit amused. Now some would say that inviting some random guy into your apartment just because you didn’t want to be alone on Christmas was probably not the best idea, but Seungcheol was definitely not just some random guy. Every Friday for the past eight or so weeks, Seungcheol had arrived at your doorstep with a box of chicken with your name on it. He probably came by more frequently than your regular friends now that you really thought about it. After the first couple of times he delivered, he decided to introduce himself to you since he thought it was unfair that he already knew your name and you only saw him as the guy that brings your chicken (which wasn’t entirely true-- you saw him as the cute guy that brings you your chicken). 

“Unless you have your own Christmas plans to get to, of course,” you quickly added. Admittedly, your conversations with Seungcheol only ever extended to silly banter, so there was no telling what his life was like beyond the threshold of your doorstep. For all you knew, he could very well have a get together planned with his friends or a dinner with his family. Or a date with a girlfriend. 

“I mean, I was planning on watching Die Hard by myself again, but I think I can be a little late for that,” Seungcheol mused playfully. You couldn’t keep the wide smile from spreading across your lips as you moved back to allow him to step into your apartment for the first time. He took off his shoes and shrugged off his thick coat before following you to your small kitchen. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t keep you too long,” you said, and reached over him to grab two mugs from a cabinet. 

“I mean, you can keep me for as long as you like,” he shrugged, but you were quick to catch the mischievous twinkle in his eye. You suddenly realized that this was the closest you’ve ever stood together and turned away to begin preparing the hot chocolate in the hopes of hiding how flustered you felt. 

“Anyway uh--” you cleared your throat, but it was proving difficult to think up a conversation starter when you could feel Seungcheol so close. You chanced a glance over at him, noting how he was still rubbing his hands together and shuffling in his spot to warm himself up. “Oh no, you must be freezing.”

He shook his head, but you could see how the snow that had clung to his clothes was slowly melting and soaking into the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m fine. Though I’m definitely not as warm as you.” You followed his gaze down to the festive pajama set you had been wearing all day, which was patterned with reindeers and sleighs, and you reached over to shove at his chest lightly. 

“I was doing laundry and this is all I had!” Your voice can barely be heard over the boy’s gleeful snickering. It was now your turn to pout at him. “You know what, it’s actually really bad to stand around in cold, wet clothes. You might get sick. And lucky for you, since I am such a caring person, I have precisely the outfit that will save you from such a fate.”

“Oh no, that’s fine--”

Before he could finish, you had already whisked away to your room and returned with a folded set of pajamas that clearly matched your own. You gave him a cute little smile as you handed it to him. “No, I insist! I’ll even put your wet clothes in the dryer so that you can properly get nice and warm.” At this point, Seungcheol narrowed his eyes at you. “What?”

“You just happened to have couple pajamas at the ready?” Seungcheol hummed. “Seems like you were planning this for a while now, sweetheart.” 

“What, no! I got them on sale last year!” 

“Mm, a likely story,” he said, ducking away just in time to avoid your poke attack. Despite his teasing, he still asked you where the bathroom is, and you nearly let out a long sigh when he’s out of sight. Your heart felt like it was about to burst from your chest, but you weren’t quite sure why. Were you nervous? Scared? If you were honest, everything about Seungcheol put you at ease; plus, nothing about your interactions with him changed other than proximity. So why did you feel so sheepish when he teased and joked around like he always did?

While he was changing, you finished preparing the hot chocolate, topping them off with some whipped cream, and brought your mugs and your box of chicken into the living room. A small window in your apartment showcased the sky outside, which was dark and dotted with heavy sheets of snow, contrasting with your living room’s warm glow from the light of your small Christmas tree. It made you feel perfectly cozy, especially with the hot cup of cocoa in your palms. 

“Ta-dah! How do I look?” Seungcheol announced, walking out to you. The sight of him grinning at you goofily and clad proudly in the matching pajamas only made the fuzzy more prominent until it made your smile just as wide as his. There it was again-- that perplexing heart beat of yours. It accelerated as he came to take a seat beside you on the couch. 

“A lot warmer!” You handed him his hot chocolate. “Here is the promised beverage. Merry Christmas, Seungcheol.” 

“I was hoping to hear something more along the lines of ‘blindingly handsome’,” he sighed out dramatically, taking a sip of his drink. Immediately, his eyes lit up. “But I’ll let it slide this time, because this is delicious.”

A small giggle slipped past your lips as you watched him drink his hot chocolate with gusto, and when he reemerged from behind his mug, you couldn’t hold back a loud snort seeing how his top lip was decorated with a proper mustache of white cream. You nearly fell over from laughing so hard at his confused expression

“What? What is it?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowing. Between your bursts of laughter, you managed to point at his lips. He reached up and playfully clenched his jaw when he felt the cream covering his mouth. “Oh, you it’s that funny, huh?” He swiped up some of the remaining whipped cream in his mug onto his finger and reached over to place it on your nose. 

“Hey!” You scrunch your nose. For a moment, the two of you simply looked at each other before bursting into another fit of giggles. “You’re Santa Claus and I’m Rudolph.”

Still chuckling, Seungcheol grabbed a tissue from your coffee table and wiped at his lips, then cleaned off the dollop he had placed on your nose. Your laughter subsided at how such a simple action also felt so intimate. You did your best to avoid his twinkling gaze if only to calm yourself.

 “You know, when I took on the responsibility of warming you up, I wasn’t expecting you to be such a handful,” you admitted jokingly, though some parts of you meant it. Namely your easily excitable heart.

“Oh yeah? Well, I wasn’t expecting you to take so long.” 

You turned to face him once again. “I gave you fresh pajamas and some hot chocolate! You’re still not warmed up?”

“They’re not taking effect fast enough!” he insisted with another of his infamous pouts. 

“Then do you know a faster way?” you asked and almost instantly, Seungcheol expression changes, but this time it’s not a mischievous smile or a childish pout. It’s something softer, gentler. 

“Mm, I might know a quick way to warm up. Do you want me to show you?” he asked. You blinked, gaze meeting with Seungcheol’s eyes as he patiently waited for your reply. Despite the somersaults you felt in your chest, you were now more sure than ever that you didn’t feel nervous. Upon the realization what the feeling really was, your lips easily melted into a soft smile, and you gave him a nod. Without another moment’s hesitation, he leaned over to you and delivered a sweet, chaste kiss on your cheek.

The effect was instantaneous: Seungcheol’s ears were the first to go red as his entire face heated up. “I can’t believe I just did that,” he groaned out, covering his blushing face. “That was so cheesy!” 

“I thought it was cute!” you assured him, but your laughter does nothing to ease his cringing. 

“Don’t look at me for five minutes!” he whined.

“Seungcheol really, it’s okay!” 

“Just eat your chicken or something!”

[steve0discusses]

S5 Ep 4: But His Name Backwards is Nomolos????

World is still kind of a mess, so lets go back to Yugioh, during an arc that is so incredibly tame that no one has died. Not even a little bit. No one has risked the destruction of the ecosystem with Pegasus’ historical fanart drawn on digital playing card. No angry gods have done really anything. They’re all on break.

Except for Pharaoh, but Pharaoh isn’t that angry anymore ever since the Orichalcos thing. He mostly just talks about card matches I couldn’t care less about because it’s Grandpa and Joey.

hey you know what bro just noticed that I haven’t noticed over these past 4 seasons--Look at Yugi and Yami’s hair.

Yugi’s hair has 3 extra floppy down bangs by his eyes. I just always assumed those were the same number as Pharaoh’s bangs--but turns out no, those are Pharoah’s streaks but flopped down.

Which means when he de-charges, his hair just flops over directly into his eyes.

And now I have an urge to animate something for the first time in years (spoiler: I do not have the time to animate this.) because WHY would they never animate this hair flop for us??? The POTENTIAL.

Grandpa spends most of the time saying “Joseph, can you guess what card I’m holding???” and Joey is like “Why would I tell you that? I’m trying to play a game? Would you stop explaining the rules? it’s getting kind of weird.” and I got a little bit of an insight into what the homelife of Yugi Muto must have been like growing up with a Grandpa who is just always talking about cards.

It does explain why Yugi plays so freakin slow, though.

(read more under the cut)

This is clearly just a visual gag but also maybe this is also how the Doctor just gets around?

Speaking of visual gags and getting around, it’s our two most inconsequential minibosses, refusing to leave the series.

Y’all let me know last time that we are in fact, still in America, and I guess this is proof of it, because there’s no other way they could have walked here. I mean Yugioh is real bad at geography but they seem to have a good grasp of a big ass ocean existing betwixt Japan and the US.

Not sure where they got those rad Hobbit outfits, though. If this is their new look, I’ll accept it.

(Yes, this is a new font. Again, I’m trying out stuff to try and make it accessible. I will figure this out before the season is over)

Honestly, I didn’t think Rex and Weevil could get much worse than being dead. Thought that maybe waking up in a hospital bed after joining the Big Bad would be enough of a wake up call to the direction their life is heading.

But, considering that this arc has no real villain so far other than a guy who likes the color purple and bathing in milk...maybe that’s fine. It’s not a BAD thing to play cards, necessarily. This doesn’t make them bad people...it’s what you do with those cards.

Like destroying a Caltrain with it, for instance.

Unless of course, the amount of energy it takes to do a card hologram is the same amount as an NFT, in which case I guess that would make them bad no matter who you play against. But we live in a universe with Noah in it, who probably had enough energy pumped into that orb to fuel like 15 Americas. Fossil fuels seem to be just fine in this universe.

In fact I don’t think it’s ever come up? Surprisingly, Seto Kaiba has never had to deal with an eco terrorist, unless you counted Raphael. That is hella rare for a 90′s early 00′s show. I feel like they were contractually obligated to have at least one fossil fuel episode.

Well, good for the Yugioh universe, who managed to solve the energy crisis off screen. Good for them.

PS Hawkins said this and afterward was like “I just want you kids to appreciate what you’re seeing here today.” and it’s like damn Hawkins. Condescend much? This old guy is like King of Throwing Shade While Appearing to be Helpful.

Anyway, the gimmick of Solomon Muto is that he plays a bunch of history cards. Arthur Hawkins was super excited about it, but I feel like the other kids were like “We straight up have never heard of any of these old ass cards for a reason.”

Bro has informed that this card also sucks ass IRL, and like...I’m not surprised.

(grandpa’s font has also changed to something he’s actually wearing, and to something that is way more legible.)

To think that during the time Grandpa spent trying to get this dragon working, he could have been researching the damn God Cards and helping Pharaoh figure out his past history. Youknow...that history stuff that he devotes his entire life to studying.

Course, maybe Grandpa was smart enough to know NOT do that. I feel like Grandpa putting the brakes on revealing Pharaoh’s history is reason enough to just not open that Pandora’s box, but that will be another arc, I guess. This one we’re just showing some ancient dragon merch to sell toys to kids IRL. Gotta have your episodes to remind you that Yugioh is in fact toys.

Also, Hawkins proceeded to point out to Yugi in a way without literally saying it, that Yugi doesn’t go home often enough to distract his Grandpa with cards.

Which Hawkins followed up by throwing shade at Joey Wheeler for the rest of the match, since he was the only one here who stans Grandpa. You can see who Rebecca gets it from, is what I’m saying.

Joey reveals his only motivation to be here--which should be to get a plane ticket. Like their only reason to be in this tournament is already done?

But his other motivation is silly.

uh huh.

Tristan really did lay this specific dunk in the show. He is being given a plane ticket to do nothing. Wow, Tristan.

At least Joey’s motivation isn’t based on fixing some girl. For once Joey is just doing this for himself and not for a relationship that will never happen for at least several years, or to be a Father for his oblivious Sister. Thank you, show. Course I say that, and there could be another Mai arc right around the corner.

Anyway, there really isn’t much else to say about this arc other than Joey has finally bested his mentor in a card game. Still can’t best Yugi or Pharaoh or Seto or hell, probably even Tea or Mokuba if they ever pulled out cards again...

...but he bested Grandpa, who got polished off by being beaten up by several thug-like holograms.

Not sure why he fell over other than...something in the holograms must be real in this universe. There’s no other reason this would happen!

(honestly I can’t handle Grandpa’s face. It looks. SO BAD. There’s something  offsetting about it that I really do not like, and I think it’s the eyes and the tiny nose and the very skeletal bone structure--I don't like it)

Like every person here is convinced that Yugi’s grandpa is one step away from keeling over and it’s low key hilarious to me. The man has died and been resurrected. You think Pegasus did that bad of a job??? Grandpa Muto will likely outlive all of you.

This show really can’t lift Joey without taking two more punches to get him back down. Like the show keeps telling me that Joey is a complete idiot, and he kind of is, but I want to point out that he is a talented idiot who was second in most of the tourney’s he’s been in and he should have killed Marik straight up if he wasn’t like struck by lightning first.

Yes, he got distracted and raced after Mai last season so he prematurely died, but that was clearly just a phase because I don’t see Mai here.

Yes, in the actual show, they each said “ohhhh” and it’s like...the brain damage on these kids. We need to get them back to school.

I think there’s like 30+ other characters introduced but the only ones I know are Rex, Weevil, Leon, and...the girl who hugged Yugi once? I don’t remember her name. But they’re probably next. I feel like this is a bit of a slower arc, but hey, if anything it’s easier for me to cap.

anyway, if you just got here, this is a link to read these in Chrono Order!

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

I’ll have you know I wrote this whole thing thinking Nomolos is a Fleet Foxes song and it hellllllllla got stuck in my head, but it turns out the word I was thinking of is Mykonos.

[kindahoping4forever]

This year I’ve spent more time with all of you than I have with my own family. This fandom isn’t always easy, this website isn’t always functional and this year was impossibly difficult for reasons both global and so personal I don’t want to get into. Under the cut, there are some people I want to individually mention but I know sometimes these posts are basically the equivalent of reading someone else’s yearbook messages so I wanted to give a blanket thank you up front. If you’re reading this, it doesn’t matter if we’ve talked or not, if you are on my blog, you made this year bearable for me. You helped this place feel like home, you helped me feel like I had support and as trivial as this whole thing is, you helped me feel like I had purpose in a year where I literally sat alone in my bedroom all day everyday. Yes, I wish 2020 had been different and god I hope 2021 is better but regardless of all that, I know I have a place here and that gives me more comfort than I could ever put into words (and by now, y’all know I love words). If you’re reading this, thank you.

To my anons, whether you were a regular (SAB and my 🍒 friend, I hope you’re well) or a just a passerby, whether you address me as Tater Tot, Main Crystal, Historian or an all caps MA’AM, whether you’re screaming at me about a fic, something Ash just posted or an interview from 3 years ago that you only have a vague recollection of but need to discuss - I’ve had an immeasurable amount of fun with you. Thank you for wanting to talk to me.

To the regulars in my inbox like @ivebeenasleepsolong , @fedorable-killjoys , @ashtcnirwin, @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @roarformeprettylion @spicycal @ashtonlftv and many others (some it won’t let me tag and some I haven’t seen around in a minute and the Tumblr folder in my email is only scrolling back so far on mobile smh) - I always appreciate seeing a familiar face (? you know what I mean lol) in my notifications and again, thank you for wanting to talk to me.

In that regard, even if we haven’t talked and you just like or reblog posts, I do notice the people who are consistently popping up in my notifications and appreciate your presence. I won’t shout you out in case you’re lurking on purpose (lol) but I just wanted to mention I value you in our little community.

@sadistmichael @sexgodashton @irwinkitten @suchalonelysunflower @mymindwide @justhereforcalum @oldmes @loveroflrh You’ve all been so generous and encouraging when it comes to my writing and I genuinely cherish every piece of feedback you’ve given me. 

Anyone who has read or supporting any of my fics this year, I can’t thank you enough. Before this year, I’d never publicly shared anything I’d written nor did I plan to. I haven’t worked since March and writing is now how I fill my days, I can’t imagine what I’d be doing without it so thank you for indulging me, encouraging me and occasionally screaming with me. 

@wastethen8 We talk more on other socials than we do here now lol. I'm always so happy to hear from you whether it's about something fandom related we're excited about, a tiktok trend (😁), a song you're learning (💙) or a silly story about your life. Sorry for occasionally ghosting you when I forget to check my snaps lmao. Love you!

@ashtonangst Our meals this year? Sometimes few and far between but ma'am we got fed. I'm so glad to be riding in the superior lane with you. 😌

@notinthesameguey Whether it’s another broke!sos comment, a simple “come get your mans” or something equally entertaining, I adore seeing you in my inbox. (Not to mention the reaction memes omg)

@rebelwith0utacause From discussing 2017!sos to tattoo/pierced!sos to dream cover songs to your contributions to the “Daddy but...” list, any day you grace my inbox is a fine one, Ana. (I still regularly think about that broke!sos essay you sent in lmao)

@ashtonsunshine There’s really only one way I can properly convey my love for you. 

Thank you for your presence in my life. (Yes I am saying this to both the picture and to you 😂💙)

@karajaynetoday If we’re being honest (like pizza), we have been through so much in such a short span of time lmao. Thank you for your friendship, your kind heart and the Aussie snacks. Here’s to being #GirlBosses in 2021. 😌

To my beloved clowns @cashtonasfuck, @pxrxmoore, @feliznavidaddycal Big sigh. Cream Soda. Collarbones. Paying for parking. Auralism. The Cologne Incident. Sprinkle Gate. Water bottles. The Hat Shelf. ****** ****. Our chaos? Unmatched (except perhaps by own Clown King himself). Can you believe there was a time when we thought Ash planting A GARDEN was going to be the most exciting gift he’d give us this year? AND THEN HE MADE AN ENTIRE ALBUM. This year has been unreal in ways both good and bad and I feel like the luckiest clown in the world that I got to experience it with you all. Full send on those vibes, my friends.

@cal-puddies I’m sure everyone on this website is sick of me talking about how much I love you (you might be too, who knows lmao). I’ll keep it brief since I’m sure I’ll tell you at least 5 other times tonight how much you mean to me. I am only making it out of 2020 in one piece because of you. The writing, the clowning, the bad movies, those have all sustained me this year but it’s the knowledge that I have someone unequivocally on my side, that I can talk to about anything at any time that gets me out of bed in the morning (and on the days when I simply can’t get out of bed, you tell me that’s ok and I am also immeasurably grateful for that). I am a better writer from working with you, I am a better person for knowing you. There’s no one I’d rather live in a Cashton AU with, plan to buy an overly ambitious farm with or otter-bond myself to as we float into the unknown waters of 2021. You’re the best bestie.

[bethhxrmon]

passed down like folksongs, chapter thirteen- steve x reader

[gif credit to @flyingrichardgrayson​]

chapter thirteen- i didn’t know if you’d care if i came back

series summary: Living in Hawkins was never easy for anyone. However, it becomes ten times more difficult than usual when you catch feelings for one Steve Harrington. What should be a simple schoolgirl crush ends up being complicated by your step-brother, Tommy Hagan, and the mysterious goings on in the town of Hawkins. [masterlist]

pairing: steve harrington x female! hagan! reader

chapter summary: The summer of ‘85 takes a turn for the worst when Steve helps investigate a Russian Base within the mall. Though, it does leave him realizing a thing or two about his own feelings.

warnings: swearing, ANGST, season 3 shenanigans

word count: 2.5k

a/n: Sooo this is mostly a Steve-centric chapter, really hope that y’all enjoy and that this goes in the steeb tag because it’s the main way that I get more readers. Though, reblogs also help a lot!!

~*~*~*~

The only major thing left in Steve’s high school career after prom was graduation. Somehow, he managed to get through it. If he was being honest, he firmly believed that you were the main reason he got through that last month of school. You would have insisted that he was the one who pulled it off. If anything, you were just the person who helped him get ready for his finals.

No, he wasn’t going off to college like Tommy was, but he made it out of high school. Steve wasn’t sure what he would have done if he flunked. At least he didn’t have to wonder about that anymore. Instead, he had to get on with the rest of his life. Whatever that was supposed to entail

College was out of the question for the next year. He got a job at Scoops Ahoy in the new mall, but after even the first day of slinging ice cream, he knew that he wanted nothing to do with that. It was advantageous to the kids since they used his position to get to the movies for free, but it didn’t have much for him. Not unless he moved up, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be anything more than where he was at. Otherwise, that kind of implied he was going to be stuck there for a long time.

There were two pastimes that Steve didn’t mind so much. One was flirting with girls so Robin could have some kind of entertainment, and the other was talking to you whenever you showed up to the mall. Funnily enough, that was rather often.

You didn’t get a summer job, and that meant you spent most of the season bored. All you could do was either garden or go to the mall. Especially since Steve was working so often. Though, you were sure it would feel like a normal amount once you were busy with school for most of the day again.

For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you knew that you were glad that Steve was going to be in Hawkins for just a while longer. It meant you didn’t lose your closest friend. Though, Robin would regularly tease the two of you whenever you stuck around to chat. It was nice getting to hang out with her too.

While there was still a glimmer of what you once felt for Steve two years ago, you were content with the way things were. You liked hanging out with Steve after he got done with work. Nothing was ever going to happen and you finally made peace with that. If anything, you dared Steve to ask out and flirt with his customers. Mostly because he always struck out and it was hilarious.

There was still a part of you that wanted Steve to say things like that to you again, but maybe it was for the best that nothing happened. The friendship you both had was so good.

One summer afternoon you found yourself in Scoops Ahoy and Steve was at the counter like he normally was. He always gave you a discount if he didn’t just let you take the ice cream. 

“Hey, I’m gonna have to raincheck on hanging out tonight,” he said as you stood at the counter, “My parents are having some family over and they wanted to see me since they didn’t make it to my graduation.”

You frowned a bit and then nodded, “Okay, well, then you have fun with that. Oh! Speaking of family shit, there’s gonna be a Fourth of July party at my house. Would you wanna come?”

“Depends on if we sneak off to go to that carnival,” Steve replied.

You grinned, “Obviously, I need a buddy to sneak off with, though, so what do you say?”

“I’ll be there,” he said.

Steve hated lying to you and what he hated even more was how easily it slipped out of his mouth. Once again, there was something he just couldn’t tell you. Even though you were probably someone who would want to help with sneaking into a Russian Base, he knew Dustin would have a cow if anyone else knew what was going on. Regardless of the fact that Steve knew he could trust you with his life.

Though, it wasn’t like getting into the base would be anything that could possibly take the literal days before the fourth. You’d never know what happened and it would be fine. He really wished he could tell you everything, though.

Having Robin right there with him as they snuck into the storage space with the kids was nice, but he really couldn’t help but imagine that you were there with him. It was an emotion that was only multiplied at the realization he was far too deep into this ordeal.

Getting stuck at the bottom of a Russian elevator with no hope of getting back up wasn’t something he put into the equation. Though, a part of him was glad he didn’t tell you anything because the less people having to experience this, the better. And maybe he would tell you about it this time around. This whole thing with the Russians wasn’t like everything else with the government. He could talk to you about this. Although, he was sure that you would have a hard time believing him.

Still, he knew that thinking about telling you all this stuff was more and more of a stretch in the first place. Mainly because that involved getting out of the elevator without dying. If some Russians spotted them, he knew for a fact that they were done for.

That night in the elevator was easily one of the worst nights ever. The only relief was that Robin was there to try and talk with him about the situation. A situation that had no solution.

“Do you think we could end up getting ourselves killed?” Robin asked in a low voice just in case Dustin or Erica happened to be awake.

Steve shook his head, “Nah, we’ll get out of this. It’ll be okay.”

Though, now that Robin mentioned it, the more he couldn’t help but wish that he told you everything. How he truly felt about you and what happened to him in all that time. You deserved to know.

Then he realized another reason as to why he had to get out of this okay. If he died, you wouldn’t have anyone who you were nearly as close to. No, you wouldn’t be as isolated as you had been after Barb died, but he knew it would hurt you. He knew  what you were like when you lost someone you were so close to. And worse, if everyone just said he disappeared? You would go looking and you would probably never stop.

He had to get out at any cost. If not for himself and the kids and Robin, then for you at the very least. Not even to tell you everything in his head, but just so you wouldn’t have to be alone. So you could have someone to go to that silly carnival with. There wasn’t any other option.

The main priority was to stick together and find a key to get out and use the elevator. Then, they were home free and could do whatever they decided to do. Maybe telling someone like Hopper was a good place to start, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself. Getting out was the goal.

For the first bit of it, Steve had a cautious optimism about the whole situation. They didn’t get caught in the elevator. If they could just keep up that same trajectory, surely they would be able to get out. Then, they would be home free and there would be nothing to worry about. He would feel silly for even thinking that it was possible he wouldn’t make it out. It was silly. After everything he had been through already, this was almost nothing.

While a Russian Base as a concept was petrifyingly scary, it wasn’t anywhere near as awful as those tunnels. The base was going to be filled with people, and while they could cause a lot of harm, it wasn’t nearly as much of a death sentence as a hoard of man-eating monsters. Besides, if worse came to worse, he just wouldn’t lose the next fight he got stuck in the middle of.

Steve wasn’t sure how well sneaking around would continue to work as they got closer to where all the Russians were. The only Russian any of them knew was what was on that code, but if someone asked him to repeat it, he wouldn’t have been able to.

Still, they made it all the way in what had to be the comms room. Or something like that, Steve wasn’t sure what any of the rooms in this place could be called. Not that it mattered because they were all face-to-face with a Russian. He couldn't figure out who was more surprised to see who. Probably the Russian who was starting to pull out his gun.

Well, he promised himself he would win the next fight he was in. So naturally, Steve started off by screaming at the guy. Then, he just went for it. His heartbeat was through the roof and he hardly recognized just what he was doing as he punched the guy and tackled him. He barely realized he smacked the guy with the phone until Dustin’s voice kicked in.

“Dude, you just won a fight!” Dustin exclaimed.

They needed that key, but Robin seemed to be focused on something at the top of a staircase. Steve and Dustin went up to see what was there. He felt his heart sink to his stomach when he realized just what they were looking at.

Both of them specifically agreed that it couldn’t be this again. Yet there it was staring them in the face. Why in the world would the Russians want anything to do with the Upside Down? It was only going to get everyone killed. Now they had more of a problem on their hands than ever before.

He had to tell you, though. That was the important thing. The last thing he wanted to do was continue lying to you for the rest of his life. Though, that would have to wait as Erica noted that the Russian had left the room.

Almost on cue, more Russians came in. This wasn’t a fight he was going to be able to win. Not when all he had was himself. He wished that he had thought to bring his stupid bat. Instead, he thought fast and moved to get the kids in front of him. If anyone needed to get out, it was them.

As for Robin and himself? Well, he wasn’t too sure about getting out now.

It wasn’t that Steve gave up all hope, but he knew that he couldn’t count on anyone saving him as soon as he got taken by the Russians. All he had with him was Robin, though he supposed being alone would have been worse. He was pretty glad he didn’t tell you about any of this, though.

That was the only thing that kept him sane as he was punched across the face by one of the Russians. It didn’t matter what he said. He told a half-truth. Sure, he sort of knew what he was getting himself into, but he wasn’t involved with the US government. If he were, then he probably would’ve gone about this in a smarter way. Probably.

All that mattered to him was that Robin was okay. As long as there was no mention of Dustin and Erica, he was sure that was a good sign. Robin was still very much alive. There had to be some way to ensure they got out, but Steve had no idea.

Sure, the implied plan was for the kids to get out and get help, but he wasn’t sure how that was going to work. Although, it didn’t take long for any feelings of concern to subside. Whatever drugs the Russians had up their sleeves were, he couldn’t deny just how great they felt. It was just like the times he did weed with Tommy, only it was better.

Everything went by in such a blur that Steve could hardly describe what was going on. Hell, he barely registered what he was saying by the time Dustin burst into the room. If Steve thought everything was strange before, he knew that he was about to eat his words as he was swung through the whole base.

He couldn’t remember a whole lot before the high came crashing down around him and he was vomiting in the bathroom of the movie theater. At least, that was where he was pretty sure he was.

The only reassuring thing was that he wasn’t the only one puking his guts out. There was something nice about having an actual friend next to him as all this happened. Not that you weren’t his friend, but it was different.

“Have you ever been in love before?” Robin asked.

While the question took him by surprise, what caught him even more off guard was when he talked about Nancy. And sure, he had loved her at one time, but he was starting to realize that he had been in love more than once before.

“Wait, you don’t love me, do you?” he asked.

Robin was silent until Steve slid under the stall to see her. It seemed like she was almost in a different place entirely.

She shook her head, starting to explain that she was never in love with him. Instead, when she claimed to be obsessed with him it was because he had been the object of Tammy Thompson’s affections. Someone Robin had hoped to win over somehow.

Suddenly everything made a lot more sense and he almost felt a wave of relief. Even if learning the truth about Robin was a bit surprising. So he did what he did best, made light of everything with Tammy Thompson. Which only reminded him of the girl he actually wanted to be with.

He felt his face fall, “Shit! I was supposed to go to Y/N’s party!”

“What? Steve, it’s just a party-”

“But she doesn’t wanna be there, we were supposed to go to the carnival together. And I- I don't wanna leave her alone there.”

Robin nodded slowly, “I think I was supposed to be there with the marching band… wait, Steve?”

“Hm?”

“Are you sure you don’t love Y/N?”

Steve shook his head, “What? No, o- of course not! Even if I did, I’ve screwed it up so many times there’s no way she would ever be able to love me back and I know that.”

Maybe he did love you.

“The worst she can do is say no,” Robin pointed out.

He laughed, “Nah, she’d tell me to go fuck myself and I wouldn’t blame her.”

“You didn’t just get out of a Russian Base to not take a chance with Y/N. Come on, there’s no way she comes by almost every day just because she likes the ice cream. There’s gotta be something there.”

Dustin barged into the room and Steve couldn’t quite comprehend what the kid was saying. What he could comprehend was that he needed to finish this and quickly if he was going to get to your party.

taglist: @flyingrichardgrayson​ @stonersteve​ @scooprtroopr​ @insideafictionaluniverse​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​

[onelastbreath-writes]

I’ll Meet You There (Part 3)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n) 

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Talks about loss of spouse, loss of child, medical conditions/inaccuracies, grief/mourning, manipulation/brainwashing (subtext/implied, but we’ll get into it later *winkwink*)

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry, and now I’m just making stuff up as I go along

Summary(lite): You are Marcus’s wife, and you’re definitely not dead. No one is having a great time right now, but like hell if there's a force on this earth that’ll keep you apart forever. This is not a goodbye, its just a see you later. And the interim is going to be everyone else’s problem, you’ll make sure of it.

A/N: Hello dears, welcome back to my twisted mind story,,, guess who showed up like 2 weeks late with a smoothie! So things about this new chapter: I am a criminal with italics and someone needs to stop me, hello switching scenes and perspectives because I just want to fast forward to the good stuff but y’all don’t live in my head and don’t know all the stuff that happens to get us there so here we are taking the slow lane, and I keep brainstorming new and horrible things for my characters because I am A Lot, All The Time, and will not be stopped. Also hey, Marcus the Simp is here for you, so much. I hope this is acceptable to be a reader fic still, because I am giving you some serious personality traits... ehh, it is what it is. Tell me if you spot any of my various references, there’s a lot of ‘em. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented, y’all are gorgeous and I’m so grateful for the love <3 Drop me a message/ask if you want a secret about one of the characters (specify which one), I need an outlet for my endless b.t.s. plotting >;) Please enjoy p3!

AO3|Masterlist

[Previous Part]

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There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his fans, didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him. 

And it wasn’t like she was gone gone.  

Dead.  

She wasn’t dead.

No way in Hell.  

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was prepared for this. “In the event of my death...," like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen.  

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong.    

“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”

Low air evac... she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever.

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams.  

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, the brain that never sleeps, how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) Doctor Batman, which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!  

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “scary”, and “our kids would be too powerful, Marcus. Promise me!”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!”  

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”  

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “Eventually,” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again.  

---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise.  

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too.  

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us.”  

---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all.  

Suspicious.

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release.  

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the highly trained professionals didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up.  

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

Typical.

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself.  

“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all...  

Hey babe...  

Always doubt a body, but always doubt no body, more.”

---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping.  

---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had recovered enough. You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember nothing. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only of them instead of actually knowing them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent.  

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be.  

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: what were they waiting for?  

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: paid the people who actually saved your life)  gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of thing for you. Gross.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while.  

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem.  

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig (“Please, just Greg is fine”), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless they were on something, or you were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke.  

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!”  

Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait.

---

Taglist (omg!! thanks love): @killtherandomness​

Drop me a line if you want to be added <3

[sliggoons]

I SAW YOU WOULD LIKE REQUESTS FOR MY MAN GUZMA AND I AM HERE TO FULFILL THE REQUEST 😁 a drabble with Guzma and male!reader being bros plz? Maybe they develop a crush on each other and start getting flustered around the other? Idk, just seems cute and I am very gay for Guzma and I'm not afraid to admit it 😏

Wowie I love this idea so much !! I try my absolute best to keep all my writings gender neutral,, so hopefully I can still maintain the integrity of your ask, but! Do it gender neutral, I hope you enjoy !!!  (‘bro’ and ‘dude’ are pretty gender neutral imo so hopefully you agree :) )

Just Bros? Guzma x Reader where they’re good friends

     You and Guzma had been friends, and only friends, for at least a year now. He was your go to buddy for anything. You had the same taste in video games, the same taste in music, the same favorite foods, it was no wonder the two of you had been joined at the hip since y’all met. 

    Today Guzma had drug you along to play basketball with him, whether you actually enjoyed it or not, it was something you found yourself doing frequently. Guzma said he loved playing with you, but you knew you were just easy to beat.

    “Nice one, bro!” Guzma exclaimed as you watched your shot swish through the net. “You’re getting pretty good at this, huh? Might even beat me one day if you keep it up.” He went over to retrieve the ball, passing you as he did so. He stuck his hand out, to which you delivered an enthusiastic high five. But this time, your hand lingered against his just a second longer, your eyes snapped up to his wide ones. You wondered, was he feeling this too? You tried to brush it off, but the tingling of your skin, the butterflies raging in your stomach, the blush creeping up your neck wasn’t something you could pretend didn’t just happen. You ignored the thought for now, lining yourself up to block Guzma’s shot. 

    After Guzma had wiped the court with you, (the final score being 34-8), he suggested the two of you go grab a bite to eat. “Ice cream?” you suggested, the sun today seemed hotter than ever and after an intense game, the two of you had just about sweated through your tees. Tank top, in Guzma’s case. You kinda hated him for that white tank top, the way it clung to his torso, defining the half-there six pack. It showcased his broad shoulders; his muscular arms, shining with sweat, were on full display. You envied him, you told yourself, but the heat rising on your face made you question how true that really was. 

    You realized it as you sat at the wooden picnic table a short walk from the ice cream shop. Your treat was half melted, dripping onto your hand, shaking you out of your stupor.   

“Dude, you okay?” Guzma asked. Your face flushed, realizing he had caught you staring at the way the sunlight filtered through his hair. Was it soft? Your fingers were dying to find out. You studied the way the shadows of the leaves fell over his collarbones, the glint of his golden chain highlighting his already golden skin. 

“Yeah, just tired is all.” You could have sworn there was a faint blush on Guzma’s cheeks. Maybe it was just the heat.

“Guess I really wore you out today, huh?” He had the audacity to wink at you before standing up, leaving you there dumbfounded. You thought he was on to you, disgusted by your thoughts and ten miles down the road, but really he had just gone to grab a napkin so you could wipe off your sticky hands. 

“Oh, thanks.” A silence settled between the two of you, awkward and tense, so unusual for the two of you. “I, uh, I better get going. I have that thing I gotta do at home,” you stuttered, catching a glimpse of disappointment? on Guzma’s face. And so you bolted. Yeah, it was a pretty lame thing for you to do, but being around him was too much. All of this had sprung up in just a day. Since when did you have a crush on your best friend? Maybe you were just having an off day, you couldn’t have a crush on Guzma of all people. There’s no way he’d like you back, and you really didn’t want to jeopardize your friendship trying to find out. 

You and Guzma didn’t hang out near as much over the next few days. You were still stuck somewhere between denial and such hardcore pining you thought you might throw up. You never imagined you could want to hold someone’s hand so badly that it hurt. 

Your best friend seemed to be acting differently too. Was it possible he knew? Could he have picked up on it somehow? He had to have. Guzma would never normally make such offhand comments or jokes as he was now, and Guzma is never this much of a mess. He’s probably the smoothest guy you know, but yesterday he couldn’t tell you your outfit was sick without stuttering and staring at the ground. 

Part of you deep down was hoping, praying, begging he was flustered, feeling the same things as you, but you reminded yourself how unlikely that was. That’s why you were standing in front of your mirror, five minutes after the time you told Guzma you’d be there. The silly lovestruck teen in you was winning, while the other half was begging you to ditch the flattering outfit for your usual attire. If you went out of your way to wear your nicest set of clothes, Guzma was bound to notice something. 

    You settled for a mix, something pretty nice, a shirt Guzma had picked out for you in a shop months ago. “This is so dope! You gotta try it on,” he had said, without looking at the price. Of course, you fell in love with the top, gagging after you looked at the tag. There was no way you could afford that. You smiled as you remembered that day, thinking of all the fun you and Guzma had, and all the trouble he could have gotten you into, shoplifting that shirt just for you. He justified it saying, “It looks too good on you, the real crime would be you not havin’ it.”

    Within the next few minutes, you and Guzma were sitting side by side on the back porch step of one of the Po Town houses, watching the rain fall. There was a small awning to keep the two of you dry, but cold raindrops still splashed up to soak your sneakers. After what seemed like years, you and Guzma were still sitting there in silence, no more than a few words of greeting exchanged between you. He was fidgeting, something he only did when he was nervous. In turn, you got nervous, just from watching the bouncing of his knee, the way he chewed on his finger nails, black nail polish flaking off. Finally you couldn’t take it, you’d had enough.

    “I hate this. What’s gotten up with us, G?” You looked over at him, regretting the way the words tumbled out harsher than intended. 

    “I dunno,” he mumbled. You sighed, waiting as the silence stretched out again, until Guzma broke it, stopping your racing heart in its tracks. “I like you, dude.”

    What was that supposed to mean? Probably not what you hoped it did. You answered, carefully, your voice wavering, “Guzma, of course I like you too, we’re bros, right?”

    He sighed, heavy, “Just bros?”

    You looked at him, confused. There was no way he actually meant that, your heart fluttered, pounding away inside your chest, your stomach dropped, you could feel your face burning brighter than the sun. “I, what do-”

    Guzma cut you off, grabbing the back of your head with his hand and crashing his lips to yours. It was forceful, messy, and over way, way too soon. 

    “Oh. You meant like that.”

    “Yeah,” His voice cracked as he rested his elbows on his legs, his head hanging low, that didn’t stop you from noticing the blush so intense even the tips of his ears were red. 

    “Hey, look at me, G,” you got his attention. It was your turn to cut him off as he opened his mouth in question, but he was grateful to have your lips pressed against his instead.

[yesloverboy]

Baby You’re a Haunted House (Iwan Rheon!Mick Mars x Reader)

Requested: Anon

“Hi! Could you do a Mick Mars one shot where Mick and the reader are really close friends and they’re watching a scary movie at his house and she’s scared so he lets her stay over. And she has trouble sleeping so she sneaks into his room and they both awkwardly admit they like each other?”

note: finally, after an arduous hiatus brought upon by school, I have a new little request to add to the library. I’m a little rusty so I hope it’s up to par. I don’t deserve your patience, but I’m glad y’all have stuck around. :’) (also if anyone wants to change their taglist preferences, lmk)

word count: 3,219

[no warnings! just two idiots in love!]

tags: @lauravic, @lululovesgwtw, @kingbouji3, @oldschoolimagineblog, @thecrue, @colsonbakersnoseringmain

 To say you had a stressful week would be an understatement. Despite your best efforts to hold it together, things just seemed to go completely wrong of their own accord. You burnt your toast at breakfast, found an angry pink parking ticket on your windshield, and spent the entirety of your day working your fingers to the bone. It could have been your sour mood, or the melodramatic attitude you had developed since waking up that morning– but the day seemed completely and utterly cursed. 

 Even as you leave your shift, you can’t help but stare bitterly at the sun as it dips lazily into the horizon, wondering what exactly you did to make everything feel so shitty. It’s a Friday for Christ’s sake and it seems as though you hadn’t even gotten the opportunity to look forward to the weekend, let alone make plans. 

 Speaking of Fridays, you think, eyes flitting down to the watch dangling loosely from your wrist. The hands point toward 6:45, making it known that you are running incredibly and unbelievably late. Flustered, you sprint to your car, keys jingling noisily between your fingers. You should have left at least half an hour ago, but there had been so much going on at work that you lost track of time.

 “Shit!” you exclaim, jamming your key into the ignition and speeding recklessly out of the parking lot. Tires screech against the asphalt as a cloud of dust erupts from behind you, settling only when you skid out onto the open road. The sky quickly shifts from honey orange to dusky purple as you retreat from the glittering lights of the city, instantly becoming more relaxed at the sight of sparse houses and distant mountains. 

 You and your best friend, Mick, have a Friday night tradition of staying in and watching movies while the rest of his friends– and bandmates –go out to wreak havoc on the remaining population of Los Angeles. Mick is similar to you in a lot of ways; you’re both the strong and silent type, usually only speaking when spoken and always responding with a biting comment. The two of you met in a record store off Sunset Boulevard, quickly bonding over your love for the emerging metal scene and your hatred for cheap glam rock. Nothing was ever smoke and mirrors with Mick– no, he was raw and honest. Something you admire far more than you’re willing to admit. 

 Fingers tightening around the steering wheel, you suppress the feeling of your heart twitching excitedly against your ribs. You aren’t sure what’s been up with you lately, but every time you’ve seen Mick these past few weeks your heart has begun to skip along to an unknown rhythm. This new sensation makes you grit your teeth in frustration. Mick is your best friend, you have no reason to feel anxious around him. Right? 

 Typically, when something abnormal is going on in your life, your first instinct is to tell Mick, but you already know this isn’t the kind of conversation you’re prepared to have with him. These days, it feels as though Mick is the only person you can really be yourself around and you can’t imagine jeopardizing your friendship for the sake of talking about your feelings, of all things. 

 With a heavy sigh, you pull into the sloping curve of Mick’s driveway, hoping the walk to his doorstep will be just enough time to get your head back on your shoulders. You rap on his door with a heavy hand, listening to the sound of crickets thrumming softly in the distance. It’s times like this where you find yourself thankful that Mick decided to move outside of the Los Angeles city limits. Sure, the drive is long and the daytime traffic could be excruciating, but there’s at least some semblance of stillness in the air. 

 Mick pulls open the door, greeting you with a soft smile and bright eyes. Rather than wondering what took you so long, he gives your disheveled appearance a once over and simply asks, “Long day?”

 You nod, the fatigued slump in your shoulders only getting heavier as Mick motions for you to step inside. Abandoning your jacket and keys by the door, you flop onto Mick’s plush sofa with a content groan. 

 “Sorry I’m late,” you mumble, voice partially muffled by the pillow pressed firmly against your cheek. At this point, you had been over to Mick’s place so many times that it was slowly starting to feel like your own. You roll on your side, arms cradling the side of your head as you gaze upward with glassy eyes. 

 Mick just chuckles and lifts your legs so that he can sit underneath them, allowing your calves to rest comfortably in his lap. His fingers ghost the exposed skin of your ankle, making your breath hitch uncomfortably in your throat. The gesture is so familiar and yet, you can’t help but feel as though it were the first time. To your relief, Mick doesn’t seem to take note of your sudden uneasiness, and instead picks up a video tape from the glass coffee table in front of you. 

 “I rented A Nightmare on Elm Street,” Mick grins, “you seen it yet?”

 You sit up, eyebrows knitted in concentration as you study the tape, unsurprised to see that it’s a horror movie. The cover art depicts a young girl staring entranced at a set of knife-like fingers as they hover menacingly above her head. The guys in Mick’s band often joked about him being some kind of ghoul or vampire, and his love for the spooky and supernatural really didn’t help his case. 

 “Another slasher, Mickey?” you tease, shoving at his shoulders playfully. Just last week the two of you spent the night watching My Bloody Valentine, all the while jeering and laughing at every ridiculous mistake that the characters made. At this point, it may as well be a Friday night tradition. 

 Mick rolls his eyes, “Come on, Y/N. It’s not just a regular, old slasher. This guy is supposed to come after you to haunt your dreams and shit.” 

 “What? You sick of me haunting yours?”

 “Never,” Mick scoffs, flinging your legs to the side so he can get up and feed the tape into the VHS player. “Not if it’s you.”

 For the umpteenth time that evening, your heart leaps. 

...

 As it turns out, Mick was right, it wasn’t just a silly slasher movie– it was a fucking terrifying slasher movie. By the time that the television screen faded to black and the credits began to roll, you hardly noticed the way your body had wrapped around itself in terror. Gripping the blanket across your lap, you jump as the dark living room becomes illuminated in pale, yellow light. You peer behind a wall of couch cushions to see Mick lurking by the lightswitch with a smirk dancing on his lips. 

 “Jesus, Y/N, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were scared,” Mick grins, his expression infuriatingly smug.

 You feel your face grow hot as your heart hammers noisily in your chest, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration bubbling from within.

 “I wasn’t scared,” you insist, “I was just–just, uh, startled is all. Long day, remember?” Gesturing to your blanket enshrouded form, you hope that the dark circles under your eyes are enough to persuade Mick to say he’s ready for bed and leave you be.

 “Speaking of long days, it’s getting pretty late. Why don’t you just crash here for the night?” Mick points to the digital clock on his mantle, the bright red numbers flashing 1:32. 

 You nibble on your lip wordlessly, trying your best to ignore the feeling of butterfly wings tickling your stomach and climbing into your throat. Mick has a point, it is getting late. However, in all your time as friends, Mick had never once invited you to stay over. Would this change things? Could it change things? 

 “Um, Earth to Y/N?” Mick steps over to your place on the couch a waves an impatient hand in front of your face, making you jolt upright. “What’s the matter? Freddy got your tongue?”

 “You little shit, I swear to God I am not scared–!” your tangent is interrupted as a clap of thunder rumbles from somewhere outside the window, the panes rattling and shaking in protest. 

 A dramatic yelp escapes your lips before you have time to rationalize what’s happening, making Mick double over in laughter. With trembling hands, you pull the blanket up over your head in an attempt to shroud your humiliation from Mick’s taunting eyes. 

 “F-fine, you win!” you relent, voice muffled beneath the quilted fabric. 

 Mick pulls the blanket away from your face, his dark blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Guess we’re having a slumber party after all.”

 “If you wanted a sleepover, you could’ve just asked instead of scaring the fuck out of me. We could have braided each other’s hair by now,” you grumble bitterly. 

 “Better luck next time, I guess,” Mick flicks off the lightswitch with a devious grin, leaving you enveloped in darkness, “Sleep tight, and don’t let the interdimensional sleep demons bite…”

 “Oh fuck off,” you squeak, uneasiness creeping on you as Mick leaves you alone in the blackness of his living room. Living closer to the city’s epicentre, you can’t even remember a time it was this dark in your apartment, let alone right outside the window.  

 Bundling yourself into a tight cocoon, you try to let the rare patter of California raindrops soothe you into unconsciousness. Just as the fuzziness of sleep starts to curl around your weary mind, another clap of thunder rattles through the walls of Mick’s house, your eyes snapping open in fright. You attempt to regulate your frantic breaths, chanting sweet nothings of normalcy and security to no one in particular. But, no matter what you do, nothing seems to unprickle the hairs standing rigidly on the back of your neck. 

 Rolling over, you decide to face the room in the hopes that your tired eyes will eventually adjust to the darkness. The shadows seem to squirm and shift as your spine tingles with paranoia, making you curse yourself for ever agreeing to stay in the first place. You groan internally when you realize that, in the time you’ve spent anxious on the sofa, you probably could have made it home by now. 

 Goddammit, Mick. 

 Ignoring the oppressive movement of the shadows, your eyes wander toward the hallway. The position you have on the couch gives you a direct view of where the curve of the hall snakes into the door of Mick’s bedroom. More than anything, you wish he had stayed out in the living room with you rather than retreating to the confines of his bedroom. It would have been completely unfair to ask that of Mick considering it’s his house, but you can’t help it. You hadn’t been this afraid of the dark since you were a kid and, as far as you knew, Mick wasn’t scared of anything.

 The longer you lay scrunched up on the couch, the more tempted you are to just barge into Mick’s room and see whether or not he’s still awake. Minutes feel like hours as you debate the odds of Mick being mad–or worse, weirded out–at the sight of his best friend shaking him awake in the middle of the night. If Mick were having the same problem you probably wouldn’t be upset, right? Then again, there was a better chance of hell freezing over than Mick actually being afraid of the dark. 

 Deciding you can’t handle being alone a second longer, you swiftly untangle yourself from the comforting embrace of your blanket cocoon and place your bare feet on the cool, wooden floor. Shivering slightly, you hug your arms around your shoulders protectively and pad toward Mick’s bedroom, a nervous lump knotting in the back of your throat. 

 You approach the white door apprehensively, wondering for a brief moment if testing your friendship like this is even worth it. With a hefty sigh, you abandon all caution and pull the door open, a soft breeze rushing forward and tickling your face from the sudden movement. Heart thudding unceremoniously in your chest, you find yourself faced with the sight of your best friend sleeping soundly in a tangle of black velvet bedsheets. 

 Lying flat on his back with arms crossed securely over his chest, Mick slept like the dead, looking just as peaceful and twice as forbidden to disturb. A soft smile ghosts your lips at the sight of Mick looking so unwound and at rest. He was always a high-strung individual, that much is true, and watching him sleep so soundly made all your anxieties from earlier feel unbelievably not worth the effort. The realization that Mick’s face alone is enough to settle your nerves makes your heart hammer out a strangled pulse of adoration, twisting your stomach into a knot. 

 Inching away slowly, you decide that it’s probably for the best if you just saunter back to the couch and squash your feelings. Mick deserves a good night’s rest, not a lovesick best friend who is becoming blindsided by her feelings. Cursing your heart for being so fixated on the trivial human need for intimacy, you take a step back and immediately bump right into Mick’s dresser. 

 “Fuck,” you hiss as the dresser’s wooden frame trembles noisily against the floor.

 To your horror, the man in front of you begins to stir. Raising balled fists to his eyes, he wipes away the sleep and glances over to the source of the sound in a haze of weary confusion. Your heart plummets to the ground as his eyes find yours in the darkness.

 “...Y/N?” he mumbles, as he rises stiffly from his pile of blankets like a mummy from a sarcophagus. “Am I dreaming?”

 “I was just leaving,” you squeak, hoping beyond hope that Mick would be tired enough to think nothing of his best friend suddenly creeping into his room in the middle of the night. Turning on your heel, you attempt to reach for the door knob but are immediately halted by the sound of Mick’s voice. 

 “Wait–” Mick calls out, his voice faint, “stay.”

 You suck in a breath, grateful that the cover of night conceals the cherry red flush of your cheeks. Taking a tentative step forward, you find your fingertips gingerly clinging to the cool metal of the doorknob in worry. Swallowing the lump in your throat, it feels as though you might be the one dreaming. 

 “Mickey, look, I can explain, I, uh–I was just…” you stumble over the words of your confession, eyes now well-adjusted enough to see Mick’s expression go soft, almost as if he were concealing a smile. 

 Mick chuckles at your embarrassment, his gravelly voice making your heart flutter involuntarily. “You were scared, weren’t you?’

 “Yeah,” you sigh, not bothering to dig an even deeper hole, “I guess I was.” 

 Staring down at your bare feet, you allow a beat of silence to pass between the two of you. Mick says nothing, only stares, and for a moment you squirm at the thought that you may have overstayed your welcome. The thought alone is enough to make you cringe.

 Mick clears his throat, startling you out of your compulsive rumination. Peering up like a scolded child, you watch him scoot toward the far end of the mattress and straighten out his wrinkled duvet with a lazy hand. 

 “Well don’t just stand there,” he grins, “get in.”

 “Seriously?”

 Mick rolls his eyes and pats the empty space for emphasis, “Yes, seriously. Freddy can’t get ya so long as you’re with me– scout’s honor.”

 “As if you were a fucking boy scout,” you snort, unable to let your previous feelings of shame conceal the utter ridiculousness of the present situation. Here you are standing at the bedside of your best friend with a bleeding heart, and he’s already prepared to bandage you back up.

 “But it’s the thought that counts, right? Now hurry your ass up, I want to get back to sleep.”

 Your feet seem to propel you forward of their own accord and, before your neurotic brain can shift into overdrive, you’re already nestling into Mick’s bedsheets. You hum comfortably, the velvet still warm from where he had been sleeping. Every inch of the fabric smells of him, and it takes the last shred of your willpower to not just let your feelings leak straight out of your mouth and onto deaf ears.

 “That’s easy for you to say, Mickey,” you tease weakly, “you’ve never been scared of anything.”

 “I get scared sometimes,” Mick confesses, “I just wouldn’t want you to ever think differently of me because of it.”

 You don’t need to see Mick’s face to know that he’s frowning.

 Emboldened by his sudden admission of vulnerability, you turn on your side to face him. Mick’s eyes are fixed firmly on the ceiling, as if all the answers to life’s deepest, darkest questions could be etched somewhere in the popcorned pattern.

 “W-what do you mean?” you meant to sound confident, but your voice comes out as barely more than a whisper.

 To your disbelief, Mick turns over as well, his deep blue eyes shining through the shadowy bedroom like the frothy caps of a stormy sea. You can practically feel your heart reaching out to him, begging to pull you under and keep you there. 

 Mick’s hand finds yours somewhere beneath the velvet sheets and gives you a gentle squeeze, his warm palm enveloping your cold one in an instant. 

 “There’s something I want to say but I’m afraid…” he whispers, voice as delicate as spun sugar, “...I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I do, and I don’t wanna lose you.” 

 For a moment all you can do is blink, your mind reeling from the implications of what your best friend may or may not be admitting to you. You know that you need to say something quick, but your tongue turns to sand in your mouth. 

 Mick’s hand still entwined with yours, you take the opportunity to move in closer. Slowly you close the gap between the two of you, leaving nothing but the space reserved for the halo of mutual body heat forming around your place in the sheets. 

 “I think I know what you mean,” you bring Micks hand to your chest and let the frantic pulse of your heart do all the talking. 

 Without warning, Mick gives you a gentle kiss on the nose. The touch is so faint, you’re almost worried you may have imagined it.

 “Y/N?” 

 “Yeah, Mickey?”

 “I think I love you.”

 Your free hand rests gingerly on your best friend’s cheek, and for the first time that night you find yourself unafraid of what comes next. His face is red hot to the touch, and you wonder if anyone else knew Mick could be so warm. 

 “You sure you’d want to do a crazy thing like that?”

 Mick just chuckles and shakes his head, “Nothing feels crazy when I’m with you.”

 “Then I guess I’m just gonna have to love you, too.”

[sternenteile]

MEET THE MUSE!

Rules:  Don’t reblog, repost. Reply as muse talking. Tagging:  @parasightcd​ @skyfcx​ @obsiidianblu​ @phantasmagories​ @battleshell​ @pinkorb​ @dreamybandee​ @psychokineticsunshine​ or just! anyone’a y’all!!! Tagged by:  @pistolbitten​ !! I LOVE U MORE THAN CAKE

► NAME ➭   ❝ my friends call me ‘geno’. let’s go with that... unless you can pronounce ‘♡♪!?’. go ahead, give it a shot! i’m all ears. ❞ ► ARE YOU SINGLE? ➭   ❝ i am a singular entity, yes. i can do the splits, but not those splits. sorry about that! ❞ it seems geno is not taking the interview too seriously. ❝ now, am i in a relationship? maybe. maybe not. why would you want to know that? that’s weird. you’re kind of weird. ❞ ► ARE YOU HAPPY? ➭   ❝ haha! plenty! ❞ ► ARE YOU ANGRY? ➭   ❝ i just said i was happy. isn’t that a little... contradictory? am i angry that i’m happy? am i happy to be angry? that’d be silly. ❞ ► ARE YOUR PARENTS STILL MARRIED? ➭   ❝ ... yeah, maybe you should have asked some other questions before this one. not applicable, pal. ❞

⚡️ NINE FACTS! ► ‘BIRTH’ PLACE ➭   ❝ the legendary starborn valley! yes, it’s a real place! where it is, however, i’m afraid i can’t tell! ❞ ► HAIR COLOR ➭   ❝ technically, i don’t... uh, i didn’t have any hair, but my star form... ah, it’s complicated. let’s just go with natural red, yeah? ❞ ► EYE COLOR ➭   ❝ a decidedly less natural red. ❞ ► BIRTHDAY ➭   ❝ i haven’t even thought about my birthday much in my life. the best part about a birthday is the cake that comes with it, at least down here... oh, wait, that’s not the question. sorry! september 1st. that’s it. ❞ ► MOOD ➭   ❝ i mean, i thought i got the message across by now that i’m feeling pleasant today —— and no, not pleasantly angry. that’s not a thing. it isn’t, right? ❞ ► GENDER ➭   ❝ male. guy. dude. ja... broni? i’ve literally been called that, and i still can’t make heads-or-tails of what it’s supposed to mean other than ‘a guy’. during my last stay on earth, let me tell you: slang was never this off-the-wall. ❞ ► SUMMER OR WINTER ➭   ❝ oh, winter! starborn valley is pretty wintry, and when you grow up in that kind of place... oh, wait—— nope, still not saying where it is. ❞ ► MORNING OR AFTERNOON ➭   ❝ i can’t really... choose. time flies differently for me, i guess. different sleep schedules and all that. the morning sunrise is nice to see most days, but the afternoon doesn’t have that. let’s make that the judgment call. morning it is! ❞

⚡️ EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE! ► ARE YOU IN LOVE? ➭   ❝ we’re talking about this again? why are you so eager to know about...? whatever the case, i have a lot of love to give and people to give it to in varying ways. i’ll let you take that as you will, haha! ❞ ► DO YOU BELIEVE IN LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT? ➭   ❝ isn’t that a little shallow? that would make it heavily based on looks rather than personality. yeah, i don’t think i jive with that. maybe love at first sight success stories are just... coincidentally perfect matches, a lucky choice. huh... think there’s any studies about this? it sounds like a really interesting read. ❞ ► WHO ENDED YOUR LAST RELATIONSHIP? ➭   ❝ there was never a ‘last one’, really. ❞ ► HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART? ➭   ❝ you strictly mean romantically? nope, never. that is to say, it’s not happened that i’ve ever known about. wait, what’s that? ‘non-romantically, too’? that’s... kind of... uh... ... ... pass. ❞ ► ARE YOU AFRAID OF COMMITMENTS? ➭   ❝ that’s... complicated. i don’t—— like making promises that i can’t keep. stars have a lot of obligations... but i don’t want to be too chained to my duties either. again, complicated. not really a yes, not really a no. ❞ ► HAVE YOU HUGGED SOMEONE WITHIN THE LAST WEEK? ➭   ❝ yeah! actually, try like, the past hour. if there is anything i’m particularly proud of, it’s the fact that i am a hug machine. no one can hug better. don’t let mario tell you otherwise either, or we might be slated for another hug-off. ❞ ► HAVE YOU EVER HAD A SECRET ADMIRER? ➭   ❝ i... buh... no...? maybe not? probably not? ❞ ► HAVE YOU EVER BROKEN YOUR OWN HEART? ➭    ❝ what exactly do you mean? i guess, hm. i... suppose that’s actually true, now that i think about it... ❞

⚡️SIX CHOICES! ► LOVE OR LUST ➭   ❝ love. not at all into the last one, sorry. ❞ ► LEMONADE OR ICED TEA ➭    ❝ hah! that’s a tough one! gaz’s mom makes a mean lemonade, but have you tried the princess’ tea? she gets the best stuff! sorry, no definitive answer. i’ll take both. ❞ ► A FEW BEST FRIENDS OR MANY REGULAR FRIENDS ➭   ❝ i’d say i have both in my life, but... my very best friends? they mean too much for me to ever let go. ever. never again. ... ‘what do i mean?’ uh, slip of the tongue. i meant to say ‘nunya’. yeah, ‘nunya business’. h-hahaha—— yeah. ❞ ► WILD NIGHT OUT OR ROMANTIC NIGHT IN ➭   ❝ depends on your definition of a wild night out. frankly, i’ll gladly take either. tough call! ❞ ► DAY OR NIGHT  ➭   ❝ night. it reminds me of home —— in a good way. ❞

⚡️ FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS! ► BEEN CAUGHT SNEAKING OUT ➭   ❝ technically, yeah. probably not the kind of ‘sneaking out’ you’re thinking of, though. ❞ ► FALLEN DOWN/UP THE STAIRS ➭   ❝ wait, WAIT—— fallen up the stairs? w- wait, snrrk—— who, who does that? how does someone do that? falling down, sure, but falling up?! ❞ ► WANTED SOMETHING/SOMEONE SO BADLY IT HURT? ➭   ❝ snrrrrkk. falling up... hold on, time out. yeah— yeah, i have, hold on—— i’m gonna bust a gut over here—— hahaha! ❞

⚡️FIVE PREFERENCES! ► SMILE OR EYES ➭    ❝ okay. after a moment’s break and a drink of water, i think i’m fine now. sorry about, uh... that. anyway, nothing really seems to compare to a smile to me. ❞ ► SHORTER OR TALLER ➭    ❝ shorter! it’s a rare treat to see someone shorter than me! a very, very rare treat. hey, don’t look at me like that—— and tell me what the weather is up there while you’re at it, wise guy. ❞ ► INTELLIGENCE OR ATTRACTION ➭   ❝ attraction is such a loose term. intelligence is really specific, but also... kind of... not? what kind of intelligence? attraction to what? what about attraction to intelligence, or intelligent enough to recognize attraction? it’s... hm. you know what? pass. ❞ ► HOOK-UP OR RELATIONSHIP ➭   ❝ aren’t those both the same thing? ... wait, hook-up is more what now? u- uh—— yeah, no, relationship, easy. ❞

⚡️ FAMILY! ► DO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY GET ALONG ➭   ❝ of course! we all do. all of us that matter, at least. ❞ ouch. sounds like some deep-seated bitterness. ► WOULD YOU SAY YOU HAVE A “MESSED UP LIFE” ➭   ❝ absolutely not! i’ve had some messed up moments in my life, but is it generally messed up? no way. i can especially say that now, i have a wonderful life. ❞ ► HAVE YOU EVER RAN AWAY FROM HOME ➭   ❝ hh... mmngh... pass. ❞ ► HAVE YOU EVER GOTTEN KICKED OUT ➭    ❝ hard pass. ❞

⚡️ FRIENDS! ► DO YOU SECRETLY HATE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS ➭   ❝ why would i hate my friends? isn’t that the exact opposite of, you know, friendship? stars, are there really people with thinking this backwards? ❞ ► DO YOU CONSIDER ALL OF YOUR FRIENDS GOOD FRIENDS ➭   ❝ my closer friends, yes! acquaintances may not be nearly as pivotal to my day-to-day life, sure, but i still appreciate them. don’t get that twisted! i’ve got a lot of love to give. ❞ ► WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND ➭    ❝ i can’t just choose one. i love all of my closest friends very, very dearly. pass. ❞ ► WHO KNOWS EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU ➭   ❝ every last little thing? someone who understands it all, too? my mother. easily. what’s next? ... that was it? oh, sweet. soooo... where’s that macaroni and cheese meal i was promised? ❞

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 19)

A Trip North

Going on a trip with Arthur and Charles :) 

Also it’s my birthday tomorrow (22!!), so if y’all want to gift me with comments then be my guest ;) they make the world go ‘round!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

  -

A couple of days passed, Arthur had ended up helping Beau some more; accompanying Penelope on a women's suffrage rally. I volunteered myself to go too, but Beau worried that more women going along might make matters worse, riling up the not-so-progressive locals even more. I hadn't argued, despite rather liking the cause Penelope and the other women were rallying for; why shouldn't we have the right to cast a vote, too? Anyway, the rally came and went and Arthur got busy, pulled into some work with Dutch and some others.

When I asked him about it he breezed over it, telling me that it wasn't important and that he'd rather just spend his time with me talking about other things. Though, it was highly puzzling to me to notice the deputy badge on his shirt. He couldn't not explain things to me then, so I prodded him about it one afternoon when he came back from a trip into town with Sadie after she'd yelled down the camp with Pearson.

"Is that badge just an interesting new fashion accessory or are you actually a damn deputy now?" I asked, poking the badge with my finger. He glanced down at it, then grabbed my finger in his hand, keeping it there. 

"I thought I might try something new with my look," he rolled his eyes a little and I wiggled my finger free from his hand, cocking a brow. Arthur sighed. "Alright, if you must know, it's real. But it ain't my damn idea."

"That don't surprise me," I said, glancing over at Dutch where he was sat reading one of his Evelyn Miller novels in his tent. 

"I got you something from town today, you gonna let me show you? Or would you rather me bore you with all these silly details?" He questioned and my eyes widened a little. 

"You got me something?" I squeaked, stunned at the idea of receiving a gift from him. 

"I did, don't get too excited," he chuckled, opening up his satchel. 

"Wait, finish telling me about this first," I decided, touching his arm to stop him. 

"Fine. 'Least if you get mad, I'll have a gift to soften the blow," he breathed. I frowned a little, not quite understanding why he'd be worried about making me mad. "Dutch reckons the Braithwaites and the Grays both have money, enough to go around, if you get my meaning."

"I certainly do, so what's with the badges? You on the payroll?" I snorted and Arthur looked at me for a while, a little hesitant. 

"He wants us to play 'em both. Gain their trust, figure out what's what, and when the time is right; take whatever they've got in the hopes they both think the other family's to blame. You know they've got that silly feud."

"Well it sounds good on paper, a little risky, but what work do you do that ain't risky?" I put my hands on my hips, waiting for some sort of response as Arthur narrowed his eyes a little. 

"You ain't mad?"

"That was what was supposed to make me mad? Why on Earth?" I cocked my head incredulously and Arthur released a quiet breath. 

"You being friends with Beau and Penelope, I figured you might not be too pleased about us robbing 'em," he explained and I nodded in understanding. 

"Fair enough, but I already told you. Their families are terrible, I don't care what happens as long as Beau and Penelope get out fine. Maybe we can help them," I shrugged. "Besides, I know they barely see a penny of their families' money as it is."

"Well, in that case, that's a relief. We can help them, if the opportunity arises," Arthur nodded and I smiled at him, then glanced down at his satchel. 

"So what did you pick up in town?" I asked, watching a little smile settle on Arthur's features as he reached into his satchel again. He retrieved a leather bound book and held it out towards me.

"I said I'd look for a sketchbook for you, got you this and–" I took the book from him, my lips parting as he dug around in his satchel some more, "a pencil, so you can pick up drawing again."

I took the pencil from him too and stared at the items for a while, unable to find suitable words for my gratitude. The journal was wrapped in black leather, polished to a subtle shine and had a strip of embossing next to the spine, delicate swirls. It was a beautiful object, the likes of which I'd never owned. All of my previous drawing experience had been on loose paper, scraps my father gave to me whenever he could. 

"Arthur this is wonderful, I wasn't expecting this at all," I shook my head, flicking through the book and watching the off-white pages flutter.

"I said I would," he chuckled. 

"Yes, but I…" I trailed off, then looked up at him and gave him a smile. "Thank you. What can I do to repay you?"

Arthur shook his head and patted the top of the book. "Nothing, it's a gift."

"It's a beautiful gift, surely there is something I can do to show my gratitude?" I said, reaching and giving his arm an affectionate rub. Arthur looked around cluelessly, shaking his head. 

"I don't know, draw me a picture," he decided. 

"Of course! Any preference for what?" I grinned at him. 

"Surprise me," he chuckled, taking my hand from his arm and squeezing it. "Do you like it?"

"I love it, I've never owned my own journal before, it's incredible,” I told him with a joyous sigh. 

"I'm pleased. I like seeing you smile," he told me, then let go of my hand when someone walked past; Susan, eyeing the two of us up curiously. I laughed and looked down at the book, face warming up.

"Thank you, again. I really appreciate this," I told him and he shrugged. 

"No worries, sweetheart. We'll take a trip out again sometime, when we have the time," he suggested and I nodded eagerly. 

"I would love to."

-

"Is it my birthday today? This is the second time someone's brought me a goodie," I asked when Charles approached me where I was stood slicing carrots – a job I was more than willing to give Sadie a rest from – carrying a bow and a bundle of arrows. "You found some time to make one?"

"Of course, a deal's a deal. Besides, it'll be nice having a new hunting partner," he told me, handing me the bow and the arrows. I inspected it, noting its distinct hand-made quality, made from a strip of wood that'd been carved and bent into shape, and sanded down with what I could only imagine was a lot of elbow grease. 

"You made this?" I said, stunned. 

"Sure. I hope it's okay for you, let me know if it needs any adjustments," he said. 

"This is fantastic, thank you. You ever need anything from me, I'm happy to help. This must've taken a lot of time," I told him, holding the bow and drawing the string back, getting a feel for it. "A bit of oleander hardly makes up for it."

"I wasn't lying when I said I enjoyed making things. I was happy to do it, you know that."

"Well, I'll draw you a picture, how's that? Arthur got me a sketchbook today, so I will create something with my hands for you just as you created this for me," I bargained. Charles smiled, glancing over his shoulder at where Arthur was napping on his bed.

"Sounds fair, you're becoming good friends with Arthur, aren't you? He's a good man," Charles pointed out, innocently enough. 

"I enjoy his company, I find we have things in common," I nodded. 

"The three of us should go hunting together, he knows a fair bit about it and I think we'd make a good team. We could use some new furs for the camp; something thicker to sleep on. You ever hunted a bear before?"

"Christ, no. Look at me," I chuckled, gesturing to myself; being much smaller than the likes of Charles who was well built with muscle and brawn. 

"They're fairly common up north from here. The three of us could head that way for a couple of days, camp out, I'll teach you. You survived on your own this long, I think you could handle it," he gave me an amused smile, no doubt at the look on my face. 

"Bears? Well, okay Charles. I'll go with it," I laughed uneasily and Charles patted my shoulder. 

"You can handle it," he reiterated. "You got that rifle from Micah, right? That'll work, if we fit it with a scope. We won't be getting too close, don't worry."

"Alright," I nodded, "a few days away from camp sounds good anyway, if we don't get eaten."

Charles seemed to agree, laughing. "I will leave you to your work, and I'll speak to Arthur about taking that trip."

-

The three of us – Arthur, Charles and I – got the go ahead from Dutch to leave for a few days, and packed up supplies on our horses to keep us fed and warm. We'd be heading up towards the grizzlies, Charles had planned out the route and we all left early one morning; stocked full of tinned foods, blankets, tents and rifles. We were heading towards a place I'd never been before, to do something I had never dreamed of trying. I wasn't nervous, but I was full of anticipation and excitement. The biggest animal I'd ever taken down was a buck, the most dangerous animal had been a rather angry alligator, a bear was certainly a daunting mark but I trusted Charles. 

Along the way he told us about the animals he'd hunted in the past; he was extremely knowledgeable on the subject and I admired him. Hunting was something I enjoyed, now that I was capable enough to do it cleanly, not because I enjoyed killing things but because of the quietness of the task. You couldn't hunt while stomping around or chattering on about nonsense, you had to concentrate and be careful, it put me into a sort of meditative state which separated me from my thoughts and anything that I was struggling with. Of course, I hunted for survival and it didn't bring me pleasure to harm creatures, but there was a set of steps, a routine, that made hunting rather peaceful, ironically. 

We stopped for lunch, and Charles encouraged me to hunt a rabbit with my new bow to test it out. He and Arthur set up a small fire while I went off on my own, searching out our meal. Rabbits were not difficult to come across, and I was heading back to them quickly with my catch. 

"That bow can't be too bad," Charles said, pleased with himself when he spotted the rabbit. I thanked him again for the bow and we skinned and cooked the rabbit, eating it with some tinned sweetcorn and a bit of cheese, and let our horses rest while we sat down around the fire for a little while. 

I found myself smiling an awful lot, being with Charles and Arthur. All three of us were rather like-minded; a little quiet and happy to enjoy each others' company with long stretches of silence between the odd story. I took the opportunity to sit and sketch Charles while he was sat giving his rifle a clean and Arthur was brushing his horse. The atmosphere – with the crackle of the fire, the sound of birds singing, the company of the two men – made me wonder how on Earth I had gone so long on my own. There was a sense of comfort here, that I'd never experienced by myself.

I jumped when something touched my head, realising quickly that it was Arthur placing a hat on my head. I looked up at him, my eyes a little widened, and he chuckled. 

"I figured you could use this more than I do. Looks better on you anyway," he said, sitting down beside me. When I didn't say anything, he turned to look at me, then straightened the hat on my head. "You can keep it," he clarified. 

"You sure?" I asked him. 

"Of course. Been wearing this hat for years," he tipped his own hat at me. "I was only carrying that one 'round as a spare. I don't like you riding in the sun too long without it."

"Am I burning?" I questioned, putting my journal down to pat my cheeks. 

"Not yet, I'm taking preventative measures."

"Well, thank you," I smiled gratefully, then picked my book back up to continue drawing. 

"What'chu drawing?" He asked, and I lifted a finger to my lips before flicking my eyes over to Charles, who was still absorbed in cleaning his weapon. Arthur chuckled and nodded in understanding. I tilted the drawing to him and he studied it. "Looking good."

"Good," I smiled. "I'm almost done."

I continued sketching, finishing off the rest of Charles' body, capturing a very crooked and inaccurate looking rifle in his hands. It was recognisable as a gun, at least, and that was good enough for me. As I worked, I sensed Arthur's attention on me, and I worked very hard to not let it put me off. I jumped again when his hand appeared by my face, going to move some hair; I was wearing it down and it fell forward, curtaining my face from him as I looked down. When he realised he'd startled me, his hand froze, then moved very gingerly to brush the hair back. When I looked at him, he seemed a little embarrassed and didn't meet my eyes. I shifted, pressing my shoulder up against his in silent reassurance. 

"We should keep going," Charles spoke up, rising to his feet and slinging his rifle over his shoulder. I moved back to a more natural position and closed my journal, looking up at him. "We'll ride for a few more hours and then stop somewhere for the night, I've packed up the rest of that rabbit, we can finish it later."

"Whereabouts will we be by then?" I asked curiously as I stood up with Arthur. Charles put out the fire as we gathered up our things. 

"We're aiming to be just South of O'Creagh's Run. Best place to look for bears is North of that lake, that gives us all day tomorrow to hunt. Depending on how well that goes, we can either start heading back tomorrow afternoon, or we can stay the night and leave the next morning," Charles explained, heading towards the horses. We all mounted up again. 

"There's wolves around there, I heard," I said, glancing at Charles from the corner of my eye, trying not to sound worried.

"Sure, sometimes, but they shouldn't bother us if we give them no reason to. We'll store the food away from our camp just to be safe," he assured me. 

"And sleep with guns in our hands," Arthur laughed mischievously and I looked over at him. 

"You two have both hunted these kinds of animals before, haven't you?"

"I've hunted a couple of bears," Arthur affirmed. "You haven't?" He asked, seeming a little surprised. 

"No, seemed a little risky and pointless when I was on my own," I told him. 

"Hosea and I almost got devoured by this big bastard not too long ago," Arthur told me. "I finished him off, though."

"I reckon John mentioned this," I said, and Arthur glanced at me in question. 

"John? What's he say?"

"Said you made a lovely hat," I smirked. Arthur made a little humming sound and looked away, an embarrassed flush appearing on his face. 

"I remember that," Charles said, speaking from up ahead. "It was an interesting choice. Definitely a little morbid," he laughed. 

"Yeah, well, better than it going to waste, you ought’a admit," Arthur defended and I offered him a grin. 

"My brother had that kinda stuff made. Though, he weren't much of a hunter. He owned a hat with a bunch'a rat parts around the brim; I can guarantee whatever your hat looked like, it was better than my brother's."

"Rats?" Arthur questioned, and made a face. I nodded sympathetically.

"I lived with that for a few months," I said. 

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Arthur murmured, making me laugh. 

We rode until the sun went down, and we set up camp in a little clearing just off the road. We'd made it to where Charles had planned for us to, and finished off the rabbit from earlier. Arthur cracked out some beers, just one each to wet our whistles before bed. We'd set up a tent each – mine being lent to me by John – around the fire. 

Since we were staying put for the night I decided to give Charles what I'd drawn that afternoon, so I retrieved the drawing from my satchel and scooted over to him. He took a swig of beer and eyed me up as I offered it out to him. 

"I hope you don't mind. I said I'd draw something as a small token of gratitude for crafting that bow. How's a portrait?" I said as he took it from me. He smiled when he set his eyes on it. 

"Wow, when did you do this; earlier on?" He asked and I nodded. "You're stealthy."

"It ain't worth nothing, I'm no fancy french artist, but I hope the novelty of having a drawing of yourself brings you a little happiness," I grinned at him. 

"It does. This is great, thank you," he chuckled as he stared at the drawing, lifting it up to get a closer look in the dim light around the fire. 

"I gotta think of something to draw for Arthur since he got me the book I drew that in," I looked over at him, and he perked up at the mention of his name. Before, he'd been staring up at the sky, leaning up against a big rock nearby. "What do you think, Charles?"

"You're not gonna draw him?"

"I've drawn him once before, that's still in my saddlebag come to think of it. I'm thinking something different."

Arthur stood up, stretched a little, then approached the fire; the light of it illuminated him better, highlighting his most prominent features and reflecting in his eyes. "Draw me, uhh… draw me a duck."

"A duck?" I cocked my head. 

"What's wrong with ducks?"

"Nothing's wrong with ducks, that's just real unexpected. What kinda duck you want; mallard? Pekin?" I laughed. 

"How 'bout one of each?" 

"Ohh, of course. Anything else?"

"Naw, I ain't greedy," he said, smirking good-naturedly and strolling over to the horses. He stroked his horse's face and fed him an apple from his satchel. 

"You sure you want ducks? What if I drew Jet?" I asked, getting up and joining him with the horses. Arthur paused, looking at me thoughtfully. 

"You know what? I wouldn't mind that. You like that, boy?" He turned to his horse, giving him some affection. "Get your picture drawn?"

"I think he'd like it," I snickered. Arthur glanced cautiously over at Charles, then reached for my hand. He lifted it to his mouth, pressing a number of kisses across my knuckles. 

"You could draw me anything and I'd treasure it," he whispered. A drop of something warm felt like it rolled from my heart to my belly; affection and longing. I leaned in to kiss his cheek, just once, a fraction of what I wanted to do. 

Arthur looked at Charles again and let go of my hand. I heard movement behind me and bit down on my lip to hold something back, I don't know what, but I felt like some sort of sound wanted to escape from me. I had so many feelings. 

"I'm gonna turn in, you two should too. Early start tomorrow," Charles told us, and I glanced over my shoulder to see that he wasn't even looking our way. 

"Goodnight, Charles," I called to him, and he lifted his arm in a languid little wave before he crawled into his tent, closing the flaps behind him. 

When I turned back to Arthur, he almost immediately closed the space between us to lay a kiss on me, one that stole my breath and coaxed my hands from my sides and to the fabric at the front of his shirt. After a moment he spread his kisses to my cheek, to my temple, then his lips hovered by my ear.

"What I wouldn't give for just ten minutes alone with you, where we don't gotta do nothin' but this," he whispered to me, instantly warming me from head to toe. All I could do was nod. "I'll get us some time, soon."

"There's so much I wanna do–"

"Don't say nothing that's gonna make me resent one of my best friends for merely being here," he chuckled, only half serious. I glanced back towards Charles' tent. 

"I both love and hate sneaking around like this," I told him. "We can tell whoever we like, but I enjoy knowing that this is just between us."

"I know the feeling," Arthur nodded. "We can keep this quiet for now. I guess… I guess if we don't tell no one, for as long as they think we're just friends, we can get away with spending nights away from camp alone without them making assumptions."

"We should take advantage of that at least once, don't you think?" I giggled, watching Arthur lick his lips, his eyes turning a little sultry. 

"Absolutely. A night alone, jus' you and me, that sounds real nice," he purred, pressing another kiss to my temple. "For now, though, we got company. Let's go get some sleep, princess."

[theparanormalperiodical]

Is Stephen King's IT Based On A True Story? The 7 Real Life Stories of Evil Clowns

With autumn just around the corner, that can only mean one thing: Halloween season is finally upon us!

But you can snort your pumpkin spices and layer your scarves all you want. There’s only one thing I am in anticipation for this autumn.

It’s the horror flicks.

Every October, a chaotic mix of horror films hit the cinemas, leaving us paranormal fanatics spoilt for choice.

But only when you cut out the rushed screen time plays that were written purely to coincide with the most wonderful time of the year, that is.

I’m not here to talk about crap, however.

I’m not here to bitch about clunky jumpscares, and the movies with more holes in a plot than in your prep school tights (“Mum, they’re fine!”).

I’m here to talk about IT Chapter 2.

The IT sequel – alongside Stephen King’s other horror hits – is set to complete one of the cinema phenomenons of this decade, and its influence on pop culture is just one echo of the incredible story the movies tell.

If you’ve been trapped in the sewers with Pennywise for the last 27 years, let alone the Clown Craze that’s followed us in and out of cinemas, here’s a quick rundown of the book/film:

A rag-tag group of misfits start noticing odd patterns in their small town. Namely, kids start to go missing. And this tends to happen roughly every 30 years, just like clockwork. Cue some freaky shenanigans evoked by an evil entity who is represented by an image of a clown/whatever you fear, and here we are.

Now, the book/films sits on this 27-years rule. It’s set between when they were young, and when they were several decades older and once again face It.

We last see It half kinda dying (but if there’s a sequel y’all know that’s BS) in the midst of the 1980s. And the new film brings us screeching back to the phenomenon that is once again haunting Derry. 

Like I said – and as you will well remember – when the last flick came out, there was a Clown Craze. There was this cultural obsession, even a criminal wave using clown masks and attire to scare the innocent bypassers. Viral videos were scored with Pennywise-esque thumbnails.

(I’m pretty sure I even went a club night that was clown themed…)

So, it got me thinking: have evil clowns ever actually existed? Has anything ever emulated the character that titled one of Stephen King’s most famous books?

Unfortunately – in more than one case – the answer is yes.

Why does the answer have to be ‘yes’.

In today’s edition of the Paranormal Periodical we are going to be discussing why we all hate clowns, the cases of actual evil clowns, and urban legends that echo these cases.

Let’s get spooky.

Why are we so afraid of clowns?

I’m pretty sure that no one in the history of ever has liked clowns. In fact, that’s actually a key part of the book.

Pennywise supposedly thinks children love clowns, and that it will entice them so he can take them away for his feeding purposes.

And believe it or not, Stephen King wasn’t the first guy to write an evil clown into literature.

Clourophobia – or the fear of clowns – is a common phobia, and has been played upon since the 19th century by the king of horror himself, Edgar Allan Poe.

And only a decade before King published It in the 1970s, several mock comic books hit the stores with ‘Evil Clown’ blaring across the cover. ‘Frenchy the Clown’ as he was known might not be the malovalent entity that is core to King’s novel, but he does echo the dark themes we pick so easily out with clowns.

Even academics have outlined our unease when it comes to these supposedly comical figures.

The University of Sheffield did a study which confirmed this universal fear of clowns today.

In particular, they deduced that children don’t like clowns as they are unknowable. The thick layers of makeup, the potential threat that could be disguised by jokes and silly clothing.

And why wouldn’t they be?

*Ok, this has nothing to do with like spooky shit but can I just air my thoughts right why and how do clowns exist now like surely we teach kids not to talk to strangers who act weird and you don’t know and that’s literally the purpose of clowns and like yall can say I’m a trigger libtard whatever but a lot of the basis to clown makeup must be based on blackface look at the lips and the hair or even trying to mock disabled people by how they act*

Even academic figures lie Wolfgang M. Zucker take this point further. Zucker claims there are strong similarities between clown figures and the cultural depiction of demons and other terrifying creatures.

Deathly white faces, the freakish features.

This is what makes Pennywise the Dancing Clown such a standout character.

And it’s also what makes the following real-life stories of evil clowns quite so distressing.

Here are the 7 cases of Evil Clowns that you have to hear about:

This might be the Paranormal Periodical, but there is nothing supernatural here. And its probably the lack of ghost-based legend that makes these evil clowns so like Stephen king’s iconic character.

And we start with probably the most horrific case: John Wayne Gacy, aka Pogo or Patches the Clown.

From 1972 to 1978, John Wayne Gacy murdered, tortured, and raped over 30 underage and young adult men. Most of the bodies were buried around his home, and some were even disposed in a nearby river.

He even made plans to fill the crawlspace in his home – where he had crammed over 20 corpses – with concrete and essentially make a new mass grave on top of it.

This twisted and depressing tale carries further into the innocent image his community impressed upon him.

Gacy frequently performed as his clown alter-egos at local parties, charity events, and at children’s hospitals. Even outside of this, he met a First Lady, was active in politics, and was even awarded the title of Precinct Captain for his services to the community.

And if all this wasn’t terrible enough, the reasoning behind his clowning days further darken his tale:

Gacy claims his clown alter-ego allowed him to regress into his childhood which was fraught with emotional and physical abused from his father.

And so, the ‘Killer Clown’ label has been bestowed upon this case.

Interested in hearing more? Check out the full story here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Wayne_Gacy

Our next evil clown doesn’t stray too far from the predatory behaviour of John Wayne Gacy.

The man behind Klutzo The Clown – A. Paul Carlock – was charged with the possession of child pornography and of child molestation back in 2007.

Like Gacy, he was a force within the community, working as a police officer and a volunteer for the Big Brothers/Big Sisters scheme. It was even noted when he was alive that he had a fondness for children.

In fact, he was categorised as a ‘Christian clown’ before the accusations were brought to light.

He was hired as a police officer in 1973, yet they only found evidence (pictures on his laptop when he returned from an overseas trip) in 2007.

Upon finding the evidence of his predatory and paedophilic behaviour, he immediately began to show signs of illness, dying 39 days after his arrest. And its for this reason that his case is seen in a different light to mine.

The disgusting details tend to be overlooked as his death brought in a lawsuit regarding whether he was neglected and mistreated after his arrest.

Following on from this, we have Martin Evanick.

His clown alter ego, Vlad, certainly expressed a killer-clown vibe synonymous with Pennywise, but it seems his intentions didn’t actually stray to far from the character he sought to emulate.

This metal-band drummer pleaded guilty in 2013 to creating child pornography. He was also found prior to this to be a child molester and rapist.

Another clown to fit the bill of evil is actually a relatively recent case.

Back in 1990, a woman opened the door to a clown who promptly handed her balloons and a floral gift.

The clown then proceeded to shoot her, leaving her for dead.

For 27 years, there was no answer for this bizarre and deadly attack.

Well, until now, that is. Sheila Keen was charged with first-degree murder. She married the husband of the victim, and the later developed DNA evidence provided the key to the case.

Unfortunately, evil clowns don’t always act alone.

And it’s these next cases that vouch for this.

Across many countries in the last few years we have witnessed random groups of people dressed as clowns or donning clown masks who chase, harass, and even attack innocent people seemingly in broad daylight.

One of the most documented cases of this is actually from France. Back in 2014, the French were apparently terrorised by a group of clowns who physically attacked anyone who just so happened to get in their way.

One of these clowns was arrested for beating a pedestrian with an iron bar whilst clad in a clown costume.

A student even had a severe cut to his hand whilst defending themselves from a clown wielding a axe, and Schoolchildren were eve chased down the street by a clown following close behind with a chainsaw.

Shit bro.

But it was only in 2016 that the phenomenon was fully realised.

The 2016 Clown Sightings – which even feature on Wikipedia, now – summarise the frequent reports of people disguised as evil clowns.

However, as this is evidently a broad case, we cannot pinpoint the extent or nature of the ‘evil’.

For some it appears a practical joke, possibly even playing on the build up to the 2017 release of IT.

But the original cases have actually been traced back to 2013, from which a creepy clown was spotted in Northhampton. It was eventually found out to have been created by filmmakers to drive up traffic and fame for their Facebook page. In fact, they used the ‘sightings’ to evoke the fame they sought.

From scary clown pranks littering Youtube, to urban legends feeding on upvotes from Reddit, it appears it has not been grouped as an ‘evil’ or ‘criminal’ set of occurrences.

Even on October 25, news outlets in the US reported on threats of a potential ‘purge-like’ event carried out by clowns on Halloween. The only attack resembling this – which I assume was merely a hoax – was an attack carried out by 20 people in clown masks on a family in Florida.

No arrests were made.

There were many cases in the UK, but these only amounted to petty crimes, threats, and scaring people passing by.

But the widespread nature of it certainly confirms it as a phenomenon. 80 percent of US states witnessed this phenomenon, and the Wikipedia page is crawling with country-by-country listings of ‘killer-clown’ cases.

Do you remember the Clown Craze?

And do you have a personal tale to share about any creepy ass clowns?

Make sure you let me know!

[quitethepirategal]

Alphabet Headcanons!

List a headcanon that correlates with each letter of the English Alphabet. Can you list that many? It’s harder than it looks! Any tidbit of information counts, from the simplest fun fact to the lengthiest lore!

A - Red Jessica is an Aries. Her moon sign is Taurus and her rising is Leo. She’s also a cusp baby, giving her Pisces leanings.

B - She has quite a few books in her massive library, but her favorites are The Art of War, Anthony and Cleopatra, On the Origin of Species, The Prince, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, Frankenstein, and Treasure Island. She reads more textbooks than anything else tho. She really wants to like Jane Austin but she just... can’t.  ( unrelated, I was trying to figure which Shakespeare play would be Jess’s fav and found this. Y’all I screamed. )

C - Cats are her favorite animal. Any kind of cat. The grace, the lore, the silliness, the toe beans; they’re majestic little idiots and she loves them. She has two of her own. Sasha and Rosie. Jessica’s loved cats since she first made friends with one as a very little girl and she remembers every cat she’s ever had or been friends with.  Her first cat was an alley cat that followed her around that she uncreatively named Katjie

D - Dutch Afrikaans and English are her native languages, she grew up speaking both. However, she hasn’t really needed to speak Afrikaans since her mother died, and is no longer fluent as a result. Her first word was “Ahoy” but her second word was “geld.”

E - Red Jessica has some ridiculous eating antics, as a result of living in starvation from birth to late childhood and living as a pirate from then on.  She can bite directly into onions and garlic cloves as if they were apples, will eat ( or save ) the bones and fat of any meaty meal, can eat an entire apple- core included, loves to eat or chew on citrus peels and raw herb leaves, has a somewhat high tolerance for both spicy things and alcohol, and, like all pirates, has learned to tolerate most rotten/stale/moldy/expired food.  On top of that, her pursuit in studying biology and botany crowns her as probably the ONLY person in all of the Neversea who knows what nutrition is and how it works. Also eating avocados make her ears itch.

F - One of Jessica’s signature mannerisms is putting her fists up by her face. When excited or overjoyed she’ll shake them and when shes shy she’ll kind of hide her smile with them. She rests her chin on her fists, holds them still by her jaw when waiting in suspense, and its immediately where her fists fly to when startled or snuck up on ( with the exception of when shes armed, to which her hands fly to her hilt or holster ).  This mannerism makes complete and total sense considering shes a trained kick boxer.

G - Gardening is her absolute favorite stress reliever and you can pry it from her cold dead hands. Just bury your problems in the dirt my dude.

H - Her curly ginger hair is certainly one of the first things you notice about her and she takes very good care of it; a wash every two days, plenty of oils, vinegar once a week for dandruff. Her curl type is 3a.

I - Red Jessica is a closeted artist and frequently engages in illustration, and while this mostly comes in handy for taking illustrative botanical notes, her other favorite subject is the human figure. Specifically, the human figure of people she finds attractive or has a crush on.  And if you ask she’d be happy to try and draw you! Though she isn’t what you would call amazing she is somewhat talented- with her drawings having very technical, anatomical, and minimalist influences. She also like to sketch pastoral scenes when out in her fields.

J - Jessica was a name her father picked out, naming her after his first love.

K - She remembers her first kill. At 13 she was involved in a skirmish and lunged at a man out from under a table with a rapier. She remembers the exact look on his face, and recalls it with pride. First kill is a right of passage to pirates.

L - Jessica’s love language is all over the place, but can be narrowed down to gifts, words, and quality time. Arrogant suitors, take note because Jess will literally never shut up about you; she will brag about you, remind you of your achievements, praise you for your talents, be proud of you, will show you off, insist to EVERYBODY that you’re the best, and in some cases, spoil you.  This goes for friends too, of course but this all goes especially for whoever she has a crush on or is courting her. She JUST!! LOVES STROKING PEOPLE’S EGOS!! Speaking of spoiling, she’s a total gift giver.  No reason or occasion needed whatsoever; she is the QUEEN of  “ I was thinking of you so I got you a little something.”

M - Jessica is really really weird when it comes to materialism.  At a first glance, shes as avaricious as they come. She hoards beauty in the form of an art collection that graces her fine chateau’s halls and eminence gardens of gorgeous flowers.  She is a little crazy about treasure too, never missing an opportunity to treasure hunt, and has been known to loan-shark a time or two.  But in actuality, as made apparent through getting to know her, she isn’t really greedy or possessive at all.  Yes she loves pretty things and yes she is great at making money but believe me when I say that she is in the treasure hunt for the hunt more so than for the treasure.  Were she somehow to loose it all, money, island, treasure, everything, she’d be more concerned that whoever took her priceless art won’t take care of it.  In the best laid plans of mice and men, Jess is totally a mouse.  She’s lived the majority of her life owning nothing but the clothes she had on so, she’d just cut her losses and start over… come to think of it being wealthy is a bit boring…

N - Jessica has never been to Neverland. In my canon, only one pirate ( Hook ) was brave enough to ever set foot on that cursed island. Red Jessica, like the rest of the neverpirates, are too afraid. Most heard tales of an unbeatable foe and that the island itself is watching you, and that’s enough to keep Jessica away.

O - Oranges are her all time favorite food. She’ll eat anything with orange in it. Second favorite is crab or lobster. Third is pineapple chili sauce.

P - Her Myers-Briggs personality type is ESTP- a, the Entrepreneur.

Q - Jessica was Dread Pirate Grace O’Malley’s quartermaster. There are 9 Dread Pirates in the Neversea, each one being a legendary pirate of old, and they have the power to grant only the most talented pirates among them recognized captainship.

R - Red Jessica is is short for Red Handed Jessica for no reason other than I am Peter Pan ( 2003 ) trash.

S - Red Jessica’s crew is a sisterhood of sorts. While she is authoritarian and a captain to be feared, Jessica is friends with everybody in her crew and trusts them with her life. Her ship, The Rose, is practically a floating sorority; complete with weird traditions, gossip, gag rivalries, inside jokes, hazing, and the occasional prank. She even aids in getting them dates ( pro wingman right here ) and babysits some of their kids. Granted, they haven’t done much sailing or piracy in some time. But they all live comfortable lives on Crimson Isle, and they’ll be ready to sail should the need arise.

T - Jessica tends to trust people a tad too quickly and “give too much away” so to speak. It’s gotten her into trouble and even gotten her heart broken a time or two; but for some reason she never learns. She’d like to think she’s great at keeping secrets and to a degree, she is… but I wouldn’t trust her with any of mine- that I will say.

U - Oppenheimer, a pirate in the crew of the Flying Frigate ( in the movie the Pirate Fairy ) is her uncle.

V - Jess finds that she spends most of her days in her vineyard. She’s perfected the growing of grapes and timely shipments of wine, but now shes tinkering with how different aspects of growth effect flavor.

W - Jessica, whether she’s aware or not, is capable of being attracted to women. But she’s never really had any female partners. She’s not homophobic and wasn’t raised in an environment that was homophobic ( pirates pretty much love and sleep with whoever they want to ) it’s just ...never occurred to her to date women. Most of the reasons as to why are subconscious maternal issues but in short, Jess already has difficulty separating different kinds of love. Friendship and romantic love kinda... feel the same. She really only knows how to love one way and she can never tell if a woman is being friendly or flirty, much less if SHE’S being friendly or flirty. For this reason I’ve always labeled her as a questioning bisexual or a heteroflexible...

X - Her most recent botanical experiments revolve around xenogamy, also known as cross pollination. And just to flex, she’s also a huge xenophile for both Spanish and Chinese culture.

Y - Yellow is her second favorite color after red. Pink is her third and emerald green is her forth.

Z - In Jake and the Neverland Pirates, we see a type of rose called a Zebra Rose. While no such flower exists in actuality, I’d like to believe this is a result of some of Jess’s experiments - the medicinal purpose being to combat itching and irritation. 

Tagged By  -  nobody

Tagging  - @emcads @shiningsilverarmor @ofrcvenge @hunterhuntcd @youthflight @rcinbowconnection @jesterabandoned @inhxrmony @captainxhaddock @forvistxkonge @mcnsieur and you!!!

[corpus-chorus]

A dev’s insight to tumblr’s updates

Alright guys. I’m sorry to make this long-ass discourse post when I’d really much rather just be doing my art reblogs and basking in my warm community, but I feel this needs to happen, because a lot of you may not be aware of what goes into updates like this.

To be clear - I’m not making any comment about the color change itself. It doesn’t actually bother me, seems kind of silly to flip a lid about when there’s plenty of extensions to fix it if you don’t like it, but I get the annoyance of having something familiar change into something that makes you uncomfortable, especially with no warning.

But then I started to see a bunch of rants on how shitty this update is when there were so many bugs that needed to be fixed instead, and I just need to take a moment to address app development in general, because y’all seem fairly misinformed about the whole thing.

So let’s get one thing straight - bug fixing is not easy.

Yeah, that sounds like a copout, doesn’t it?

But let’s talk about how bug fixing works, alright? Because there’s a couple of things we gotta look at when considering changes like this.

How much code is needed to fix the bug? Yeah, this one’s pretty straight forward, right? How many lines of code do the devs have to write to fix whatever’s broken? Except you’re forgetting the time it takes to find the bug in the first place. And this isn’t about popping into one file and looking through the lines until you see what’s broken. Bugs aren’t just typos. Bugs are NOT easy to find. Generally, if I’m working on a bug, and it takes me 4 days to fix, 3 of those days were probably spent just defining exactly where the bug came from and the places it exists. And that’s with me being super familiar with the codebase. If I didn’t already know that the core value displayed on the groupings page was coming from the hciReplacements inspector (out of 30-some inspectors), which is pulling data from the hagi, which is pulling and calculating data from the clip model, of which I know the exact layout, it probably would have taken me double or triple that time. And now, on top of that, what if the bug is an extreme edge case no one thought about when they built the core code? I might have to rewrite the entire functionality of the thing that pulls all that data, and holy hot hell is that gonna take some time.

How much QA effort is required? Contrary to popular belief, no, developers don’t just make bug fixes and immediately push them out to the app. It’s gotta be tested, usually by some sort of QA/QC team. And, fun fact, QA can take longer than the development did. Because the QA team is looking for EVERY POSSIBLE USE CASE of the exact thing you’re working on. Every single possible way a user might interact with that. That takes a skilled worker to think of all of those possible use cases (and spoiler alert, they’re human, so they still fuck up sometimes), and it takes them time to find them all.

But ON TOP of that, you also have a LOT of unexpected consequences to code changes. Maybe you just needed to update to cores count so that it’s the total cores on a node instead of total cores per processor, but you didn’t realize that another part of the code was assuming that value was cores per processor, and congrats, you’ve screwed the values all through the rest of the app.

And that’s just a data example. You can make critical errors if, say, you rename a value, and miss one of the places that value’s used, so now that value doesn’t exist in that specific scenario, and congratulations, you’ve actually caused your app to crash if the user follows a specific series of actions, and oops, looks like that set of actions wasn’t one QA thought of, so now users get to find it instead. You were just trying to fix a little data bug, and you’ve now broken the entire app. Good job.

How old is the codebase? Why is this important, you ask? Well, if you’re not in the industry, you may have never been introduced to the idea of “legacy code”. Legacy code is, to over-simplify, old code. It’s code that’s been around for a while. It’s code that dozens of people have had their hands in and is therefor a bit of a mess, no matter how hard you try to keep it clean, or how well organized your team is. Because maybe Eric built that one file really well to start with, and Suzy made some great additions to it, and Tom just made a few bug fixes, but he names variables a little differently, so Jason didn’t realize that the function he needed already existed when he went to build it a few months down the line, so now there’s two versions of the same thing, one used in one place, one used in another, and when Meredith goes to fix a bug related to it, she doesn’t realize she has to fix it both places, and wow, that is a bit of a mess, isn’t it?

The codebase I’m working in currently is about a year and a half old now, maybe a little more. When our first version was released, our codebase was 51,714 lines of code long. As of today, it is 357,932 lines long. With new features on the horizon, it will continue to grow, and the web of dependencies tangled through the codebase will get bigger and more complex. This is just a fact.

So keep in mind that that’s an app that’s about 1.5 years old. Tumblr was launched in, what, 2007 or something? That’s 11 years. 11 fucking years of coding, of dozens, if not hundreds, of people contributing to the codebase, in their own coding style, with their own knowledge levels. This is like if a team of 100 writers was working on a fic series for 11 years, and they didn’t all get to work together, and not everyone took notes. You’re gonna have plot holes. You’re gonna have inconsistencies. Shit’s gonna be messy.

And then there’s the pinnacle question. 

How much do the devs care? How much you wanna bet a lot of the devs on this site started out with a genuine passion for it? How many do you think worked long past the hours they were getting paid for just to make sure they were making something they could be proud of? How excited do you think it used to make them to release new features, and get to see it make people’s lives better?

When you care about a project, you think beyond the exact task you were given. You think about the impact every line of code you write is going to have. on the users. Because you want the users to enjoy the app. You want them to be happy with it. You want all the work you put into it to mean something.

When you care, you make less bugs. When you care, you don’t get lazy and just make temporary fixes. When you care, you put your heart and soul into your work.

How much heart and soul do you think the Tumblr devs want to put into this site at this point? When every single update, every single effort they put in, is met with criticism and hatred? When they’re told that nothing they do is ever good enough? How much do you think the devs care about getting everything perfect and on time and working themselves to tears on this site when they know damn well that the second they release an update, it’s going to be met with nothing but hatred and ignorant people treating them as if their hundred of hours of effort were stupid?

If I was a dev for this site, I’d hate my fucking job.

So let’s review. When you ask for bug fixes, I promise, there is someone on that team very concerned about addressing that bug fix. When you complain that tags are borked, or searching is shit, or whatever you get frustrated with that day, I promise, some dev is already working their tits off trying to find exactly what it’s going to take to fix that for you.

But understand that, that ask? That ask that might seem super simple and straight-forward to you from your comfortable couch? But it might take a team of devs working ungodly hours for months to be able to do. It might carry risks as high as accidentally deleting posts or banning blogs or breaking the entire bloody site. So they wanna spend some time and get that shit right so that you’re not stuck with something even worse than the bug they were fixing.

The people working on these bug fixes are human beings. We seem to remember that about everyone else in the goddamn world, but not the people who work tirelessly to give us the very site that we’re having these conversations on right now.

This update? Yeah, it might seem trivial to you. It might seem like they’re “wasting their time” with “stupid bullshit” when they could be fixing bugs.

But let me make it very clear. They’re trying to fix the bugs. They’re trying to stop the porn bots (and oh, fucking boy, I could make an entire post just about how insanely difficult that is, because some of you people seem to think the devs are fucking GODS or something). And maybe this update is stupid to you, but I can tell you right now, having this update right here is not the reason these things are not going to be fixed tomorrow. This is the frontend team making an aesthetic change - I promise it didn’t stop the backend team from their tireless work to fix the tags.

so tl;dr Fixing Tumblr’s bugs is not some simple, do-it-in-a-month, just-get-more-devs fix. And tearing into this release is doing nothing but reminding the probably very tired dev team that their work means absolutely dick to a large portion of ungrateful fucks on this site.

Complain about bugs. Tell Tumblr about their bugs. Make sure they know. And then sit the fuck down and wait - they’re fucking trying.