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softyoongiionly · 4 years

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BlackHeart Bakery

Who says Halloween can’t be romantic?

Pairing: Emo! Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Genre: fluff

A/N: HI OMG IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. I love you, I hope you like it. I’m sorry it isn’t longer but, I still can’t wait for you to read it.

-you never imagined that the quirky lil bakery down the street from your university would change your life

-But it did

-“Omg shut up, you’re so dumb.”

-“Rawr xD”

-“Did you just say rawr xD out loud??? That totally defeats the purpose of its existence...”

-“Don’t cite the deep magic to me witch, I was there when it was written.”

-“And now you’re quoting the chronicles of narnia- alright just go back to sleep you big dummy...”

-“Mmm but you married a big dummy so what does that say about you”

-“Jungkook don't spoil it oh my god!”

-“Like they don’t know what’s coming already- spoiler alert losers! I get the girl.”

-“I hate you...”

-“Mm yeah- I love it when you talk dirty to me baby. The last time you said that- we ended up fuc-“

-“Ok! That’s enough! Our story begins...”

-Jungkook’s bakery was quite famous around your city

-If people didn’t come for the gaudy Halloween decorations

-They came for the music

-Exclusively pop punk, if you’re wondering

-It was like 2009 everyday

-Which was comforting, considering the world has gotten a little

-Tricky

-Since then

-But anyways

-If they didn’t come for the music or the decorations

-They came for the AMAZING espresso

-And the spooky themed treats

-But if you’re being honest

-You think the main thing that keeps them coming back

-Is Jungkook

-If his sweeping black hair didn’t get you

-Or the adorable cheeky twinkle in his eyes

-It was the tattoos and the piercings

-He looked like he walked right off of a black veil brides music video set

-He was hot

-This was obvious

-But he didn’t seem to think so

-You had come to the conclusion that he was oblivious

-he shoved his feet into his big black doc martens every morning

-Slipped on his beaded bracelets and studded chokers

-Pulled his fall out boy t-shirt over his

-Massive

-Tattooed

-Biceps

-And just thought hm

-I’m pretty average I guess (lol)

-That’s a direct quote from him btw

-Men truly are hopeless

-Jungkook opened the bakery two years ago

-He had mentioned to you that he had saved up money from his 3 part time jobs to put a down payment on the building

-Which was wedged between a sex shop

-And a thrift store

-And honestly his bakery

-Blackheart Bakery, if you’re being specific

-Fits right in

-Jungkook refuses to hire new staff

-“They won’t do it right.” He whined to you one day

-“One time I tried to hire this guy and he put the sugared googly eyes on the cookie skeletons ALL WRONG”

-“How do you put googly eyes on wrong?” You had giggled

-“you just do- i- See? This is exactly why I can’t hire anyone...”

-You had started chewing on the end of your pencil in the midst of your laughter

-It was an unconscious habit

-And it makes Jungkook shift uncomfortably, his hands moving off of the top of your table

-“Don’t do that...” he had muttered, smirking to himself as he walked back behind the counter

-he did that a lot

-He’d mutter something

-Mildly flirtatious under his breath and then

-Just walk away

-It was quite confusing

-But honestly you had a feeling he was just a filrty person

-You certainly weren’t the only girl he smirked at

-Not that you pay attention

-Ok

-Maybe you do

-Kinda

-Pay attention

-but it’s not your fault!!!!

-You just

-Can’t help but feel a little jealous

-You kiiiiiinda have a little thing for him

-Ok

-Maybe it’s a big thing

-Maybe it’s a massive

-Gigantic

-Towering

-Crush

-But look at him!!!

-You simply couldn’t be blamed

-It was his fault

-Yep

-That’s what you’re going with

-It was Jungkook

-And his tight t shirts

-His ripped jeans

-His dangly earrings

-His tattoos

-His big

-Stupid boots

-Ugh ok

-Focus

-You have work to do

-The whole reason you began coming to Jungkook's cafe was so you -could find a consistent place to study for your exams

-You were in school to become a teacher :)

-And teachers have to study very very hard

-Educating the youth is no easy feat

-Jungkook had asked what you were studying during the first week you arrived at his spooky house of baked goods

-“Oh I’m an education major”

-“Ahh so you’re getting an education about...education.” He concludes

-“I love it.”

-“So meta.”

-“Are they educating you on the disparities between impoverished children and wealthier children?”

-His wide eyes were brimming with genuine curiosity

-You kind of got a kick out of how candid he was about such heavy conversation topics

-“Not as much as they should be but, I’m actually writing a paper on a similar topic right now...”

-This caused a brilliant grin to come over his face

-It was almost blinding really

-And it made your heartbeat all wonky

-“Of course you are. You look smart like that...”

-He had backed away from your table then, seemingly satisfied

-Had you passed the vibe check?

-“I’ll leave you to your paper.” He nodded to your laptop but as he walked away, he pivoted back towards you on and the heel of his combat boot, “welcome to Blackheart Bakery by the way, let me know if I can get you anything.”

-Another brilliant smile is sent your way

-“Thank you.” You had smiled back, sending a tiny wave his way

-Which in turn, made HIS heartbeat all wonky

-You’re cute

-Like really cute

-And despite how often it may seem like his eyes are elsewhere

-They are ALWAYS on you

-Every chance he gets he is glancing your way

-Smirking to himself at how endearing you are

-Brow furrowed

-Lips pouted in concentration

-Completely oblivious to his gaze

-He has to remind himself to look away

-He doesn’t want to be a creep

-“Creepy men deserved to get kicked in the teeth...”

-He’s said this to you before when another patron had made you uncomfortable

-Jungkook kicked him out immediately

-“If you don’t leave, I’ll have no choice but to kick you in the teeth. One, because I can’t compromise my personal philosophy and two because you’re making my favorite customer uncomfortable.”

-Oh look there goes your heartbeat again

-WONKY

-The guy leaves in an angry rush, flipping Jungkook off in the process

-Saying something about leaving a bad Yelp review

-He doesn’t care tho

-He definitely doesn’t want to be a creep

-You’re just so

-Pretty

-Ugh

-He rolls his eyes at himself behind the espresso bar

-The latte in front of him neglected

-In need of a bit of foam

-“Focus Jeon, she’s just a chick...”

No wait

-“She’s just a woman. A woman who I respect, like I respect all women...”

-He’s been watching a lot of feminist theory on YouTube

-He likes staying educated

-And also fuck the patriarchy

-The man waiting for his drink has arched a brow at this point, wondering if his barista has lost his mind

-“Uhhh medium...” he checks the cup for his awful hand writing, “ghostly toasted marshmallow latte!”

-“Thanks.” The guy mutters, throwing a judging look Jungkook's way

-He gives him a lazy salute as the guy struts away with a briefcase in tow

-“Thaaanks.” Jungkook mocks him, his face scrunching up in annoyance

-Stupid man

-With his stupid briefcase

-As Jungkook is pulling out a batch of cream cheese frosting stuffed pumpkin muffins

-Or as Jungkook calls them

-PUNK-in Muffins

-Movement at the counter catches his eye

-is that

-”oh shit...” He grunts, hastily wiping his hands on his apron and rushing over to the counter

-normally he would meander

-stroll

-or even slump to greet any new guests at this hour

-and by this hour

-he means 45 minutes before closing

-Jungkook’s bakery is open til midnight on weeknights

-9pm on Sundays

-and 3am on Saturdays (for the culture of course, gotta keep it spooky)

-tonight happens to be a Friday night and the person awaiting his assistance is

-you

-”You’re still here?” He gawks, the black polish on his nails glimmering as he punches in a few keys on the register

-You offer him a tired and slightly amused smile, “No. Y/N died around 4:30, you’re speaking to her ghost. Please leave your message after the tone.”

-Jungkook cracks a smile, his palms resting on flat on the counter, “Do ghosts check their voicemails?”

-“Oh of course not but, I will be checking yours because you have access to caffeine.”

-Jungkook laughs

-no...he giggles

-and it’s fucking cute

-but you digress

-“I feel like I should cut you off...this is your 4th latte; I’m pretty sure you’re 80% caffeine at this point...”

-“Noooo, don’t do that.” You whine slumping against the counter, “I just need to finish this one page...”

-He quirks a brow as he scribbles something on your cup, unimpressed with your statement, “You said that three hours ago. I’ll make you another one but I’m not putting an extra shot in.”

-Your face turns up in protest but he click his tongue against his teeth , shaking a manicured finger at you

-“Ah ah- nope. I don’t want to hear it. You either take that or I’m making you a hot chocolate and shutting the buildings power off.”

-With a dramatic sigh, you concede

-“Ugh fine. Here-” You go to hand him your debit card but he shakes his head

-“Put that away.”

-You want to protest but given the fact that he’s made the rules thus far during this interaction, you doubt you’d be able to stop him.

-A smile appears on your face then, appreciative of his generosity

-“Thank you.”

-He merely grins, waving you off before rolling up the sleeves of his black Blink 182 shirt

-as soon as his tattoos are out

-all the moisture leaves your mouth

-you try your hardest not to stare at him

-expertly, he eases the espresso shots into the milk, tongue poking between his lips in concentration

-and you

-being sleep-deprived

-and a little loopy

-decide to

-flirt????????

-if you could even call it that

-which you could but you shouldn’t

-“For the record, when I finally dig my way out of this of mountain of death I’m stuck in, I will definitely take you up on that hot chocolate...”

-Jungkook’s brow quirks at the tone of your voice, his hands suddenly itching with nerves

-was that

-was that flirty?

-should he flirt back?

-“My hot chocolate is legendary. You won’t be disappointed.” His lips display a small grin as he places the lid atop your finished latte, “Also mountain of death is a great name and I WILL be stealing it.”

-You giggle

-again

-“and I WILL be suing you for copyright.”

-He laughs now, wiping up the bit of milk he spilled

-the sinewy muscles in his forearm tensing and untensing

“Good luck getting me to show up to court.”

-and that’s kinda how it was between you and Jungkook

-for like six months

-it was a little bit flirty but never anything to push either over you over the edge.

-and speaking of being on edge

-recently, you had gone from vacationing in your timeshare on the edge

-to signing a 35 year mortgage contract

-4 bedrooms

-2.5 bathrooms

-of pure

-unrelenting

-stress

-you could feel it in the middle of your back

-shoving itself up between your shoulder blades

-your body seemed to ache with it

-the worst part being

-it was Halloween

-You should be out with your friends, having fun

-wearing itchy costumes and drinking sugary drinks

-but instead, your headed towards the bakery to work

-Jungkook was behind the counter, smiling happily at a family dressed like the cast of scooby doo

-from what you could see he was wearing a skeleton onesie

-his jet black hair tousled perfectly above his head

-he looked adorable

-(and hot)

-He notices you instantly, his face turning up in surprise

-you offer up a small wave and head over to your table

-you know he’s going to say something about you being there but

-you don’t really have much of a choice

-this work has to be done

-it takes him a second to spot you but when he does

-he seems to perk up

-his smile brightening as he looks back towards his customer

-as you’re setting everything up, you feel a presence (not the spooky kind) at the end of your table

-it’s Jungkook and he has your regular order in one hand, along with something wrapped in skeleton-patterned parchment paper

-“I know, I know.” You acknowledge before he’s even able to chide you for being here

-He smirks “What are you doing studying on the holiest day of the year??”

-You giggle

-“The holiest day of the year huh?”

-“Of course. Halloween is the one night a year that the homies can dress like total -sluts and no one can say anything about it.”

-This makes you giggle again

-“And you went with slutty skeleton huh? I love it- it’s like as naked as you can possibly get.”

-He chuckles, gesturing to his costume

-His floppy black hair getting in his face

-“Damn right baby.”

-The way he grins tells you the pet name is a joke

-But the deepening of his voice gets to you anyway

-“Thank you for this. I promise I’ll get out of your hair early tonight.”

-“The only thing I’m worried about getting out of my hair is this white spray paint. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

-He’s put a streak of white spray paint in his raven locks

-Why? You’re not certain

-Does it look good on him, like everything else does?

-Absolutely

-Its been a few hours since your night of studying began

-Jungkook’s dropped off two free lattes since you’ve arrived

-As well as a slice of his ‘I write cinnamon not tragedies’ bread

-Which was equally hilarious and delicious

-You caught him glancing over at your table a few times but you didn’t think anything of it

-He’s probably just checking to make sure that no one needs your table

-His bakery is packed most nights but Halloween is a special night at Blackheart Bakery

-He has a trick or treat counter set up with free (homemade) candy

-A photo op complete with a fake haunted house backdrop

-A Halloween playlist

-And a bunch of discounts on his signature lattes and food

-you watch him amongst the chaos

-He is completely unfazed

-He seems elated at the amount of customers he has

-he grins and laughs at something a man dressed like Thor says at his counter

-he seems entirely in his element

-you realize that the denial tactics you’ve been trying out haven’t been working

-because this floppy haired, tattooed, slutty skeleton/baker kind of has a hold on your heart

-you’ve been friends for a long time now

-he always makes sure you’re taken care of

-he always asks if you’re ok

-he always gives you this little grin

-it feels like a secret sometimes

-but maybe it’s been his way of letting you know where he stands

-he’s been bringing you lattes and pastries for months now

-he never charges you full-price

-he always reminds you not to work too hard

-he

-fuck

-he likes you doesn’t he?

-you look back over at the counter to see him bending over and handing a skeleton cookie to a little girl dressed like Captain Marvel

-he laughs at something she says

-his eyes focused entirely on her and whatever she seems to be proclaiming to him

-your heart goes wonky again

-alright

-enough is enough

-you’re doing this

-Jungkook’s done so much of the work thus far

-it’s time for you to seal the deal

-and if he rejects you, well…

-you can just crawl into a hole and never come out again

-easy peasy

-You can feel his eyes on you as you get up to take your place in line

-luckily there isn’t anyone else behind you

-rejection with an audience would certainly be worse

-Jungkook has his witty comment ready for you as you approach the register

-“I know for a fact you haven’t finished your third latte and I’m not making you another one until-“

-“I’m not here for another latte.” You laugh, trying to ignore the thrashing of your heartbeat

-“No? Well, are you finally going to try my Welcome to the Blackened Chicken Parade Burger then? I’ve been asking you for like three weeks…”

-god he’s fucking cute

-“I’m here to ask you out.”

-Jungkook swears he feels his heart stop

-“You’re here to…”

-He repeats the first part of your response as his he didn’t hear you

-his black fingernails anxiously tapping against the countertop

-“I’m here to ask you out- on a date.”

-Jungkooks face seems to go through various stages of confusion before a shy smirk presents itself on his pretty mouth

-“Me? You’re asking me-“ He places a hand on his chest, “-out on a date?”

-“Yes!” You laugh, slapping the counter a bit too hard, your nerves getting the best of you, “Are you down?”

-He shakes his head but his answer contradicts his movements

-“So down, beyond down. There is no one on Earth who is more DOWN than I am. Yes. My answer is yes. 50000% yes.”

-you can’t help the smile on your lips

-“great. So are you free next Friday then?”

-He grins with his teeth this time, nodding emphatically

-“Consider the shop closed.”

-and so it was

-you returned to your table moments later

-feeling on top of the world

-you did it

-you asked Jungkook out

-and he said yes

-and now you

-NOW YOU HAVE A DATE WITH JUNGKOOK

-LOOK AT YOU GO

-TAKING CHARGE

-you try your best to engage with your studies but with Jungkook on your mind

-its really hard

-roughly two hours later, things at the bakery have finally started to slow down

-“Hey uh- Y/N?”

-Jungkook's voice that pulls you out of your studying trance

-he’s standing at the entrance of his back room, waving you over with his hand

-and who are you to deny him?

-you make your way over there, annoyed at the instant increase in your heartrate

-he stands awkwardly to the side and gestures to the boxes on the metal rack

-“I just remembered that I’ve never given you a tour of the place. I give all my regulars a tour of the stockroom and my office and uh-”

-he cuts himself off and clumsily cups your cheek

-he pulls you into a kiss

-a really good kiss

-his lips are so warm

-he smells like cinnamon

-you could literally die happy

-The ridiculous nature of his first attempt to kiss you, makes you giggle into his mouth

-you feel him smile, his hands smushing your cheeks together as he pulls away

-“Ok I lied. There is no tour. I’ve just been watching you focus on your computer for the last two hours and you’re just really fucking cute and-”

-this time, it’s you who cuts him off

-“You better give me an actual tour next time. How else am I going to steal your secret recipes?”

-he scoffs in mock offense

-“Ah ha! So that’s the only reason you asked me out huh? Should I be calling you Plankton instead of Y/N? Ew no wait- that would make me Mr. Krabs and he’s a dirty capitalist...”

-You laugh, “Oooh good point. Guess you’ll just have to be Karen, my computer wife.”

-This makes him laugh now and the sound warms your soul

-“I could live with that- I like your last name better anyways.”

-with another kiss, your adventure with the emo baker of your dreams begins

-It may have been Halloween but it sure felt like Christmas to you

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fallingappleshurt · 4 years

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Swept Away Sheets

YES I KNOW ITS NOVEMBER 22 BUT I WANTED TO DO A HALLOWEEN STORY AND FORGOT

Yeah here it is, I spazzed about this in the fd au server awhile ago and this isn’t that good but like- I’m already late

Wilbur is 13, Tech, 12, Tommy is 10? I don’t know

This AU was created by antarctic bay!! Anxiety is brrrrring so not tagging sorry

Anyways hope you enjoy!

“And you’re sure you remember the route you’re taking,” Phil asked, grabbing his key off the counter, “I want you guys to be safe, even though you are running around at night without adult supervision.”

“Phil we’ll be fine,” Wilbur insisted as Techno poked at his vampire fangs and Tommy thrashed around, the sheet draped over top of him flapping wildly.

“I don’t wanna be a ghost!”

“That’s on you, you didn’t pick something else before tonight, ran out of time to get a different costume.” Phil said, rolling his eyes.

“The sheet of shame,” Techno teased, pushing Tommy lightly.

“No!”

Wilbur grinned, “Tommy’s in the shame sheet!”

“No!”

Wilbur cackled, “It fits, I’d say you deserve it-”

“No I don’t you guys are just mean!”

“Alright, it’s almost 6:00, I’m going to be late and they guys at the store are already freaking out. You guys need to get to the neighborhood. Call me if anything goes wrong or you need help,” He pointed at Wilbur’s flip phone, “I mean it.”

“We’ll be fine Phil,” Techno said, “There will be other kids out,”

They walked out of their apartment towards a nearby neighborhood, it was a better bet then trying to do it in their apartment building.

The bones on Wilburs skeleton costume started to glow as the sun dipped below the trees. They had merged with a group of other kids, there was another ghost, a witch, a dog, an angel, and someone dressed as a lollipop. They traveled down the street together, the kid dressed as a witch urging them to go faster.

The houses were decorated with fake cobwebs and plastic skeletons, a few people just left a bowl of candy on their porch with a sign; ‘Please take one!’

They all took more then one, Tommy took three.

They had been trick or treating for over an hour as Techno followed Wilbur up to a creepy house with fake gravestones in the front. Wincing slightly as one of the other kids laughed loudly,Techno was growing tired of being around other people.

They knocked on the door and the women who answered cooed over everyone’s costumes and gave them candy. As they were walking back down the driveway something shifted behind a car.

A bloodied Freddie Krueger leapt out at the group, slashing at them with long rusty claws. Techno jumped back and tripped over someone else's feet as the other kids screamed and scattered in different directions, a few of them sprinting down the street.

The masked man cackled as Techno got to his feet, heart pounding, he was indifferent about horror in general but he did not like to be jumpscared.

Wilbur ran up next to him, threw a stick at the masked man, grabbed Techno’s arm and pulled him away.

“What the hell was that?” Techno asked as Wilbur looked frantically up and down the street.

“Hang on, I lost Tommy-”

“You what!” Techno whipped to the side, hoping it was a joke.

“He was right next to me- right next to me! I looked away for a second and now he’s gone!”

“Phil’s gonna kill us!”

“I know I know now help me find him!”

Techno scanned the surroundings, trying to spot Tommy’s dusty sheet but coming up short. “I don’t see him,”

Wilbur swore, “We gotta find him, right now-”

“No shit!”

They rushed up and down the winding neighborhood streets, houses and people started to blur together as Techno searched for a little kid with a sheet over his head. At first he had been more annoyed then worried, mentally grumbling about how Tommy shouldn’t have wandered off but after ten minutes of running around, calling for him, it started to shift more into panic.

What if he had gotten kidnapped or hurt? What if he was really hurt and laying by the side of the road? He could have lost his sheet and then Wilbur and Techno might have missed him-

His thoughts were cut off when he heard;

“Wilbur! Techno! Look!”

Techno skidded to a halt, sneakers sliding against the asphalt, he looked over to see Tommy running up to them, pillowcase crackling and bouncing.

“I found like three houses that give out full size candy bars!”

“Where were you?” Wilbur yelped, throwing his hands out, “Tommy what the fuck!”

“What?”

“Wilbur and I have been looking for you for like 20 minutes!” Techno said, anxiety and adrenaline starting to wear off.

“Oh yeah I saw you guys,” Tommy said nonchalantly.

“You-what, you- you saw us? And didn’t approach us until now?” Wilbur snapped, “Why!”

“Cause you guys were being mean earlier, I am not wearing a shame sheet!”

Techno slapped his forehead, dragging his hand down his face, smudging his glasses in the process.

“I’m going to kill you, you little shit!” Wilbur lunged at Tommy. Techno made no move to stop him.

“I’ll tell Phil you lost me while we were trick or treating!” Tommy shrieked, jumping back.

Techno grabbed the back of Wilbur’s shirt, pulling him back. Wilbur sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. “Okay, I won’t kill you, yet, but you gotta promise not to tell Ph-”

“I’m still gonna tell Phil,” Tommy said, even though his face was covered, Techno could see the shit-eating grin on his face.

“No, you can’t tell Phil, or I’ll tell him that you ran away and didn’t even try to get back to us.” Techno said, “It’s our word against yours.”

“I’ll cry,” Tommy said smugly. He knew Phil would side with him if he cried about being scared and then had his older brothers yell at him.

“Fuck.” Techno turned to Wilbur, looking for some kind of help. Wilbur sighed, “What if we give you picks of our candy when we get home?”

“Half of each,” Tommy stated.

“No! You can’t even eat that much candy!” Wilbur shot back.

“I think I’m being pretty fair,”

“You’re not-”

“Tommy what if you got a 1/3 of each of ours?” Techno cut in, biting his tongue as Tommy considered it. A literal two minutes later Tommy nodded.

“Okay!”

Techno sighed in relief as Wilbur checked the time on his flip phone.

“We still have like 20 minutes before Trick-or-treating ends, we could hit more houses on the way home.”

“Oh! Come with me and I’ll show you the houses with the big candy bars!” Tommy grabbed at Wilbur's sleeve, pulling him down the street, Techno followed, anxiety gone now that they found their brother and ensured that he wasn’t going to snitch, everything was fine.

Then they got home.

Phil was waiting for them, Techno guessed the crisis at the store had been fixed, he was sitting on the couch looking tired.

“Did you guys have fun?” He asked as they pushed open the door. Techno nodded, nudging his shoes off.

“Yeah!” Tommy said, “But Wilbur and Techno lost me halfway-”

Techno whipped around and jumped at Tommy before he could finish his sentence. He pinned him to the floor as Wilbur jammed his hand over his mouth.

“Wait, they what?” Phil asked, sitting up from the couch, going to untangle his brothers. Normally he didn’t bother because it was a semi-normal occurrence but this was different.

“What the hell,” Techno hissed under his breath as Wilbur, unconvincingly, said, “Nothing! He didn’t say anything, he’s just- just really hyped up on candy! That’s all!”

“Uh huh,” Phil walked over, shoved Wilbur away and hooking an arm around Techno’s chest, pulling him off of Tommy.

“Oh you’re strong,” Techno said under his breath as Phil grabbed Tommy and pulled him up.

“They what?” He asked.

“Wilbur and Techno lost me while we were Trick-or-Treating,” Tommy stated simply, ignoring the daggers his older brothers were glaring at him.

Phil turned to Wilbur and Techno, “You lost him?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, well, it was a complicated situation-” Techno started,

“There was a guy with a mask and another kid and-” Wilbur butted in until they were both talking over each other, both dancing around the point.

“You lost your brother?” Phil reiterated slowly.

“Uh, yeah,” Techno looked away nervously, Wilbur scratched the back of his neck nervously.

Phil took a deep breath, putting his face in his hand, “I’m too tired for this, I’ll deal with this in the morning, I’m taking a shower,” He walked down the hall then looked back at them, “But consider yourselves on notice.” Then he disappeared into the bathroom.

The moment the door closed they both pounced back on Tommy, words jumbling together as Tommy laughed.

“You said we had a deal!”

“Why did you tell Phil!”

“I’m gonna kill you you little gremlin, come here!”

They wrestled, Tommy v.s Wilbur and Techno, they pushed and pulled at each other, pulling at clothes and hair before collapsing back on the tile, gasping.

They sat in silence when Tommy asked, “Do I still get 1/3 of your guys’s candy?”

“No!”

116 notes · View notes

urbiggestdaydream · 3 years

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fear street: a review

happy spooky seasons babes!!! for every week in october, i'll be posting reviews on spooky movies and tv shows inspired by this Instagram post https://www.instagram.com/p/CUN2Xeth3N4/?utm_medium=copy_link attached in case you want any ideas for a spooky night in. this first review will be on the netflix original movie, fear street. one of my best friends is OBSESSED with this trilogy so it's dedicated to her. i told her someday i would watch it and today is the day :)

fear street is a trilogy set around 1994, 1978, and 1666 respectively. for the sake of the review, i will be watching the first one. it runs for an hour and 47 mins and is rated r. the first opening line states, “it started as a prank and ended in murder” already intriguing. it sets the stage of a rebellious teenage age that could end in an accidentally murder or an supernatural circumstances that leads to murder. either one sounds good. i’m getting a little ahead of myself. the general plot is about a group of teens from the town of shadyville that try to rectify the brutal killings that plague their town. for more insight, keep on reading. it will contain major spoilers so you have been warned.

SPOILER the movie begins with heather (maya hawke, a queen) who is working at a book store. a relatable girl with her “not like other girls” personality, she exchanges teasing banter with her friend, ryan who works near her. as the mall begins to close (named shadyside mall which serves as a foreshadow), she encounters the killer wearing a halloween skeleton mask. they wrestle around for a little bit and she is then killed afterwards. just when i started to like her. before her death, she unveils the killer and it is revealed as her friend ryan who she was just conversing with.

the opening scene provides an inner look into shadyside and its reputation for being a murderous town. we are then told that this is a common thing. it has a neighboring town called sunnyvale. like the name suggests, it is the complete opposite. it is safe, wealthy and comfortable. it had a record breaking year of no violence as opposed to shadyside which is cursed with murders. it is dubbed “killer capital usa”. i wonder if this is used as a social commentary on how certain towns cannot be saved and are riddled with crime. but that is a discussion for another day. we are also given motifs of a witch being executed. could this be an illusion to events to come?

we are met with a new protagonist named deena. deena is going through a breakup with someone named sam. she is heartbroken and resentful as sam is the reason she left band. we meet her friends, simon and kate, who are there to support her throughout the whole process and with that they discuss the current standing of their town with the recent murder of heather. a possible reason for the killings is considered: shadyside creates murders. certain people lose their breaking point and take it out on unsuspecting victims. it makes people go insane.

a town left in shambles once again. a candlelit vigil is held for the victims of the mall massacre hosted in sunnyvale. it is clear that the neighboring towns have animosity towards each other. it is giving pawnee vs. eagleton (shout out to parks and rec). with the rising tensions between them, a fight ensues with the two football teams. it is also revealed that the reason for sam and deena’s breakup is sam moving to sunnyvale. deena is displeased at her decision and i would be too but at the same time, i don’t blame sam. i would have left too if my life would be in danger just by being there. but that’s besides the point. enraged, everyone goes back to their respective homes with a few football players plus sam tormenting the shadyside team. several hyped up chants later, the shadyside team retaliate by throwing a cooler directed at the car. the car begins to swerve and hits a tree harming the people inside. grasping at life, sam begins to see visions which could be due to the accident, but it is assumed as the witch.

now at home, deena sees the killer at her home and he also comes after kate. due to the events prior, they believe it is peter (one of the football players) and they visit the hospital where sam is held. deena goes on a rampage telling sam to control her psychotic boyfriend. however, peter was in the hospital the whole time and is killed right in front of their eyes thus disproving the theory. good riddance to him. they run away from him and getting away safely but like heather, they unveil him and it is revealed as the same person as before: ryan torres. they go to the police but they are disregarded because ryan was killed by sheriff goode when he killed heather. they decide to take this into their own hands. outside the station, simon encounters this girl that tries to kill him. josh, (deena’s brother) who has done research on the various shadyside killers, identifies the girl who tried to kill simon as ruby lane. the weird part is that ruby’s killings were over 30 years ago. the witch from the opening scenes, sarah fier, was executed in the 1600s (when the first shadyside killing was reported). these massacres are somehow all connected to her and it could be how normal people are suddenly becoming murderers because she is seeking revenge by inhibiting unsuspecting bodies. sam is her next victim as the killers are attracted to her blood and she is seeing the visions. they make a plan to kill kate to wane away the bad spirits and bring her back to life with an epipen. it works in the end, but simon and kate are eliminated in the process by the demons.

the remaining survivors (deena, kate, and josh) go to the police and talk about their experiences. because they aren’t willing to give up information (which i don’t know the reason; i might have overlooked it), the murders are planted on the now deceased kate and simon. (a mild rant). what is bothering me about deena is that she didn’t properly mourn her friends killed in the crossfire. she’s so selfishly in love with kate that she completely disregarded her friends death. life just seems to be all good for her as if nothing happened because she got back together with sam. freaking josh seemed to care more than she did. he stood up for them in his online chat but deena? where’s the energy. she seemed to care a tiny bit with the police officer (because as she claimed drug use is a perfect example to blame since the two sold drugs) but not enough to clear the air about the murders. idk that just rubbed me the wrong way.

deena and sam are back together and living their best life good for them (i’m so petty lmao) deena gets a call from c berman (the sole survivor of one of the past massacres). she tells her its a little too late for the phone call because they could have used her advice when they still were fighting the demons. berman tells her that it never goes away and sarah always comes back. we see sarah etching sam’s name under ryan torres on a gravestone. sam is now possessed with sarah’s spirit and attacks deena. she ties up sam and tells josh that she isn’t acting like herself and they need to save her. to be continued. END SPOILER.

final thoughts: i like this. i get why this is popular. i’m usually not the biggest horror movie fan because they are always so typical and kinda corny. however, something about this feels fresh and new. the idea of a possessed witch is nothing new but i don’t think i have heard about a witch seeking revenge on her execution by passing on her witchcraft for generations. a woman’s scorn. plus we got some teenage drama mixed into it to add more dimension. i like knowing that the story continues on because i like the direction this is going. dare i say it i would put it up with scream as part of my favorites in the horror movie genre. someday i will watch the next two. i definitely recommend this movie for horror movie fans. i will give it a 8/10.

#fear street #netflix #halloween

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1derspark · 3 years

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Ok last one I promise,,, Sun!Joe and Moon!Nicky honeymoon in Malta post events in TCOD 👀👀👀

Kellin I love u, you have sprung Hala from my mind. I’ve already gifted this to you on ao3 but I'm doing it AGAIN cause you deserve it. Here is a post-TCOD ficlet, piled on with much fluff. The smut can come later...possibly...

Here is the link for anyone who wants to read on ao3!

Hala’s morning chores in the house consisted of thus. She was woken up by her older brother, Bilal, who often thumped her on the forehead to bring her out of sleep. Hala did not enjoy waking up at dawn, but he needed her to help feed their chickens now that he took frequent trips with their father on their boat in the harbor.

He could not do everything himself he would say to her, as she blinked and yawned while the sky blushed pink above them. She was old enough now to take care of his chores.

“Why are they your chores then?” was her usual response. He’d swipe for her head but Hala was fast, and Bilal didn’t really mean it, she’d giggle as he chased her through the coop-yard in the morning, chicken seed falling between her fingers while they played.

Afterward, she’d go into the kitchens where her mother would hand her some warm bread made before dawn. If Hala was lucky there would be honey to go with it, worth the lingering grubbiness on her fingers she would retain for the rest of the day.

With her bread scarfed down, her mother would lead Hala out of the house to the small cart in front of the orchard. Their mule was hitched to it, the back laden with crates of oranges and limes and lemons and grapefruit, that the workers had picked from the orchard yesterday. Hala could see the now bare trees behind her.

With Hala settled, and Bilal sprawled out in the cart with a blade of grass poking out between his teeth, their mother would urge the mule along for the ride down the hill into the city where they’d sell their wares.

The market square for the island of Malta was lively even before it officially opened, flush with scurrying merchants and cooking fires. The smell of flower oil, cured meat, alcohol from the open seated bars all battling for dominance in the air.

Her father has their fruit stall prepared long before his wife and children arrived, greeting them with open-arms and tired eyes but a smile and often a spare orange, one that had fallen from their display now too bruised to sell, for Hala to snack on for lunch.

He’d kiss his wife, hug his daughter, and lead Bilal down to the shipyard where they were to meet the ships coming in to export their crop.

Her mother said it was time that Bilal learned the trade if he was to take over for her father when he was older.

When Hala asked what she would be doing when she was Bilal’s age, her mother said she could choose herself. Bilal did well in his numbers, he had a memory for those kinds of things like their father did.

Hala was more interested in the groves. The carts of fruit piled board to board with oranges bright as suns, limes green like the water in the sea caves. Her favorite days were weekends because then they headed out to the orchards themselves to check on the crop. She could spend days in the tangled roots of the trees, her hands black from the soil, the farm dogs nipping at her heels, jaws snapping for chunks of fruit.

Hala would like to do that maybe.

But at nine years old she could not yet choose, and instead sat on a wooden stool behind their fruit stall double counting the coins for her mother as the market came alive, and their customers came looking for fruit.

It was about lunchtime when the strange man came by again. Hala, who was usually content to spend her lunch break winding through the other market stalls buying a toy or sweet treat, kept herself planted in her seat as the man came by.

“Good afternoon, Nicky,” her mother said to the strange man, hauling over a small basket of dark blood oranges, their skins a bright burnt orange.

“Good afternoon, Isra,” Nicky said with an incline of the head. He was paler-skinned than most of the people on the island, but their city was full of all kinds. This was not why he was strange.

Nicky came to visit them every week for his oranges, just like every other customer with a schedule for the market. Hala’s mother liked him, he was polite, and paid promptly, often staying to chat for a few minutes about new recipes he was making. He seemed fond of desserts, or his husband was, whom they had yet to see in person.

Hala followed after him once a few weeks ago, after he’d left his coin pouch sitting on the market counter and her mother had told her to return it to him before he disappeared.

Nicky was grateful to take it and gave her a spare copper coin for her trouble, but that was after she’d found him in an alleyway with a cat.

Light had been shining from his fingertips and reflecting on the wall for the cat to bat at.

He didn’t seem bothered by her seeing it, maybe if she’d said something, but she was too busy being slack-jawed, the coin pouch extended out from her body in an awkward offering.

He’d left soon after, and Hala returned to the stall trying to figure out if the man who bought their oranges was some kind of witch.

Hala had heard of such strange creatures before. On the island, they had their own thoughts on gods and monsters, but Hala’s family thought little of them only in that they hoped the trees were healthy and the rains good and whatever was out there that might help in such things was happy.

Bilal had a storybook he liked to read some nights to her, one from the mainlands. He’d read it for fun, as Bilal liked reading just as much as he liked doing his numbers, but he’d also read them to scare her sometimes.

Tucked into his side Bilal would tell her the tales of the sea and earth goddesses, how the mountains shook when they were angry, the seas swallowing ships and spitting them out as wooden skeletons on a deserted beach.

He told her stories of how the sun and the moon gods warred in the forests, leaving ice and fire in their footsteps when they were angry. How they could walk among us as men, but there would be things about them that were not.

A flick of the light on a wall, a hand extended that was too warm to the touch, the sound of the sea in your ears when the beach was far away.

Nicky, their buyer of oranges, played light-games with the alleycats on the wall. Hala tried to forget it, but after his next few visits, she would follow him and watch… for whatever he was doing.

Luckily Nicky came by late enough into her lunch hour that her mother didn’t mind Hala wandering off after the man into the thick crowd. He was easy to spot if Hala kept her eye on him, with his long nose and his even longer sword that he kept hanging down at his side. It was of a more foreign design, people on the island preferred shorter one-handed weapons. Hala did not think she could lift it with two.

But if Hala wandered from following the tall brown-haired head of Nicky, tempted instead by the smell of roasted nuts or a pretty turquoise necklace she might like for her birthday, Nicky would be gone. She’d spend what was left of her lunch hour searching for him, only to return to the stall stomping, grumpy, and empty-handed of more evidence.

Hala strengthened her resolve. She demanded Bilal read her more of his god-books at night, and though he seemed confused by her demands he did not protest.

She settled in beside her brother to absorb as much information as possible. She would catch Nicky tomorrow.

It happened entirely by accident. Hala was lucky she didn’t kill herself, but the tenacity of a nine-year-old could not be forestalled, and especially not Hala’s.

It was approaching summertime on the island, and the weather was picking up in its heat, though it was damp and humid most days. It was hard not to feel like she was covered constantly in water, but that did not stop her mission.

Nicky came by one morning for his fruit, looking rather composed compared to everyone else in the market who was sweating and stained in the heat. There wasn’t a wet spot on him, he was practically glowing, happy as can be.

He conversed with her mother for a while as he usually did, before heading off. Hala followed soon after.

The other day Hala had found a small stairway to the rooftops on the edge of the baker’s store just opposite their stall in the market. She could see best from up there, and on the hot days, the rooftop caught the best breeze. She eyed this staired entrance-way now with a wide smile, an idea forming.

She made her way up to the rooftops before anyone could see her or scold her and ran to the side when she bent over to look for a mop of brown hair and a pale face in the crowd. She was fast, and lucky because Nicky had not gone far.

He had stopped at the jeweler’s where he held a pendant in his hand, some kind of smooth golden stone with silver metal warped around it in the shape of the sun. He haggled with the jeweler for a moment before handing over a few coins, pocketing the pendant and moving north out of the thickest part of the crowd.

Hala followed him over the rooftops.

It wasn’t easy but it was more efficient than trying to squeeze her way through the squished group of people packed in wall to wall buying and selling their goods. Hala was not very tall and people tended to shove and push her out of the way to get where they were going.

Hala could feel a creeping burn in her lungs as she jumped and darted from rooftop to rooftop, not knowing how long she could keep it up, following Nicky from above, and eventually the rooftops would run out. There would be some gaps she could not breach, and with the direction that Nicky was going, north out of the city to the neighborhood built into the sea cliffs, there would be no more buildings for her soon.

She didn’t have to worry about that problem because her next jump timed perfectly to where Nicky had slipped into an alleyway to cross one of the busier streets. She paid more attention to what Nicky was doing than where her feet were going and she fell.

But she did not hit the ground.

She landed in Nicky’s arms, and he was actually glowing.

Having caught her or not he looked just as surprised to see her there as she was to not be splattered across the alleyway. And when he realized that she could see his skin, which was, she realized, not just white but a medley of so many light colors coming in sparkles of rainbow that looked like a gemstone in the sunlight, he dropped her clumsily to the ground and backed up to give her space.

“You’re a witch,” was the first thing Hala said to him, dripping with a child-like tone of accusation.

“Ah, not quite. That is not the word I would use,” Nicky said apologetically. He’d dimmed himself down, looking almost normal again. A few alley cats had come out of hiding and were rubbing themselves along his legs looking for more light. Nicky must frequent this alleyway often to play with them.

“What word would you use then?”

Nicky hummed, an uncomfortable sound in his throat. He was not used to being asked these questions, which Hala thought was funny. She thought he was pretty obvious in his… otherness.

“I do not like being called a god,” he finally said, “but at home that is what people refer to me as.”

Hala considered this. She believed him. And Bilal’s books confirmed it. Her brother would not read her books full of lies. He was smarter than that. And she’d hit him if he did.

Nicky eyed the end of the alleyway like a salvation. Hala felt a little bad. Nicky was always nice to her, and her mother too. They had to deal with lots of rude customers, so it was always nice to have one who paid in full and spoke in full, welcoming sentences. Hala did not want to scare him away from their stall, her mother would wonder about it, and they would lose money.

Besides, Nicky did sometimes bring them the things he made with their fruit, and she’d dreamt for days about the last orange tart.

“I’m not going to call you that,” she said to him, “but I did see you, with the cats. That was weird.”

Nicky shrugged, sheepish. “They follow me around, and I have no food to offer them. The game seemed like a good alternative.”

“Can you do other things?”

Nicky nodded. He seemed less tense now he stepped closer to her.

“May I pull out my sword to show you?”

Hala nodded, more than intrigued. He unsheathed his sword, one-handed, but soon gripped it in two. It was as magnificent as she imagined. Clean, smooth, shining steel almost black in the shadows of the alley, but when he held it out in a fighter’s stance it started to glow with his body.

The sword became living light.

Hala jumped on the balls of her feet and clapped her hands at the display. Nicky moved through a few more battle stances at her request before putting the sword back.

“Thank you, Hala,” Nicky said. “It has been a while since I have shown someone this and they have appreciated it as you do.”

“You’re very good,” Hala said. She knew when to give a compliment, and Nicky might be strange or a god or whatever but he was better than Bilal when he practiced his swordplay, which wasn’t saying much. “Is that all you can do? Put your light in a sword? I thought you might do more.”

Nicky smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “The other things I think we might save for another day. I cannot show you all my tricks. But look at the sky and the weather some days, you might recognize them.”

Nicky bowed for her, chivalrous, and left the cats scurrying after him. Hala returned to the fruit stall satisfied, but curious for more.

It had not rained for three weeks and the island was drying up. The fruit trees could go a week without water, but with the soil bone dry and the sun above them burning and blistering, their livelihood was withering away. Hala spent most of her time in the shade of her room with the dogs panting open-mouthed at her feet.

Bilal was grumpier than usual. It was too hot outside to play with his friends, their mother wanted him still. She would not have her children succumb to heatstroke, and would not have them dragging red dry dirt into the house even more so.

Hala still went to market with her mother most days. They were selling whatever fruit had not shriveled up yet, but their baskets were filling less and less. Most days when they cut open an orange the insides were shriveled and wrinkled, when eaten there was little sweetness. None of that firm plumpness that her father’s oranges were known for.

Nicky came to them on Wednesday like he always did, only he looked different, tired. His eyes looked dim, his face more sickly than his normal lovely paleness.

Still, he greeted her mother with his usual small smile, if a bit more reserved. “Hello, Isra.”

“Ah, Nicky—” Her mother seemed surprised to see him, her face drawn tight. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you. I don’t have your oranges today, the harvest has been—well, with the rains gone—”

“They’re all dried up,” Hala interrupted, unable to keep the pout of her face. In her hands was one of the few oranges they’d brought to market. It was smaller than usual, and had lost that ripe, pungent scent.

She looked up at Nicky, and could not hide the tears in her eyes. She remembered what he said before about the sky and the weather. Was this his fault? Her lower lip trembled. “The rains haven’t come and all the fruit is dried up. Can’t you fix it, Nicky?”

“Hala!” her mother hissed, before turning back to Nicky. “I’m sorry Nicky, I don’t know what she's talking about. I have some other options for you if you’d like, not as many as usual but—”

“No, no, please,” Nicky said, raising his hand to cut her off. “Save them. I am sorry to hear of your troubles. And about the rain. I would help if I could.” He looked upwards to the sky where the sunburned as it had been for the last few weeks. He wasn’t squinting at it, which Hala thought only more strange.

“My husband is sick,” Nicky said, apropos of nothing. “We have only been here a couple months but he has not adjusted well to the weather. The oranges cheer him up. They are his favorite fruit. I must thank you Isra, and you too Hala for bringing them to me every week.”

Her mother looked taken back by Nicky’s compliment. “It is of no consequence. I am happy to have a loyal visitor like yourself. I only wish I had something to offer you today.”

Nicky hummed, eyeing the orange in Hala’s hand. She stared at him for a long while, but he would not look away, the tease of a smile at the corner of his lips, his tired face brightened somewhat.

Hala sighed and thrust the orange out to him. “Take it,” she grumbled. What one of their dry dusty oranges would do for him she didn’t know, but he seemed intrigued by it. It wasn’t like the thing tasted good anyway.

“Thank you, Hala. I think this is a special one,” he said, mysteriously.

Her mother looked confused by the exchange, but Nicky left before she could question him. They were left alone with the dry heat again. Hala reached for one of the hand-held fans some of the merchants had been using and fanned herself. It didn’t help much.

That night Hala woke from her bed to the sound of a thunderclap rolling across the hills.

She ran out of bed, forgoing even her slippers, and with the dogs behind her as she emerged into the orchard in the dead of night with the moon clouded by heavy, thick clouds.

Bilal was already out there with her father who was standing at the beginning of the tree rows.

“Father?” Bilal asked. He was huddled behind him, while their father eyed the sky.

“The rain is coming,” was all that he said. And the sky rumbled in answer. Hala held out her hand and a raindrop fell on it. Then another. One more. A hundred more. A million. She was drenched to the bone and she could not hear her joyful squealing over the rain. She twirled in the mud with her arms outstretched for as long as her father let her.

Bilal took her hands and together they danced in the puddles.

The next morning it was still raining and it took longer for them to get to town with the streets muddied and atrophied with holes pounded in by the storm. But Isra was no idle woman and she would bring her daughter and son to market every day no matter the weather.

Nicky was waiting outside the stall for them with a man Hala did not recognize.

He was handsome, some of the girls in the neighborhood might giggle over his warm eyes, his kind face, his white teeth. Why they obsessed she could not say, but he was not a bad face to look at.

He was blowing his nose into a handkerchief as they pulled up. And when he greeted her mother by name, his voice sounded congested.

“You must be Hala,” the man said to her. He handed the handkerchief to Nicky who pocketed it without a word.

“Are you Nicky’s husband?” she asked.

“I am. My name is Joe,” he said beaming, like just the act of saying it brightened him. He did look rather shiny. Nicky was blushing at his side, their fingers were tangled together now.

“He brought me the orange you gave him yesterday. I have to thank you for it. I’ve been feeling under the weather, and the orange made me feel better.”

Hala could not resist this man’s warmth. He radiated kindness, even in the shadow of the rain. She could imagine what he would be on a sunny day, though she would not mind forgoing that for a long while.

“He said they were your favorite,” Hala mumbled, scuffing her shoes in the mud. “They’re very good, even when they’re dry.” Which was a lie but Joe didn’t seem to notice or care.

“I would expect nothing less, your orchards do you credit,” Nicky said to both her and her mother. Isra was smiling at their exchange, seemingly happier with a satisfied customer and a basket full of new, bursting fruit.

“I’m going to run them when I’m older,” Hala said, puffed up, her back straight and her head high.

Nicky nodded and his face turned mock-serious though his voice remained playful, “And I will be coming for fruit from you then as well Hala. I expect their quality to stand.”

Hala wrinkled her nose. “They’ll be better.”

Joe laughed, loud and boisterous, before breaking off into a cough. Nicky put a hand on his back, rubbing soft circles until he stopped, his face written in concern.

“It seems I am not healed yet,” Joe said chuckling, his hand over his mouth. He raised his eyes to the sky, where the clouds covered them still, the downpour from last night turned to a drizzle.

“But the worst is behind us, yes?” he said.

“Yes, I think so.” Nicky wasn’t looking at him, but smiling at her.

Isra handed Nicky his basket of oranges, happily settled back into the routine. Hala planted herself on her stool as well and set about peeling her lunch open.

Stuffing slices of oranges into her mouth she watched Nicky and Joe walk back through the market streets, and the occasional burst of white light along the building walls that no one else seemed to see.

#TCOD #d's fics #joenicky #kaysanova #the old guard #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova

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bowieandqueen11 · 4 years

Text

Losers Club Halloween Headcanons

Request: Tumbler is new to me but I’ve found you’re writing and I love it! Do you think you could do losers club head cannons for Halloween ? Thank you 💕

This is such a sweet ask so I’m sorry these are so bad!! <3

Comments are always appreciated!

After Pennywise, nothing really just seems that scary anymore to the Losers. Therefore, while the Club doesn't go to the extremes since things are still quite recent on their mind, they do celebrate properly.

They all decide to kind of pair up/ do little group matching outfits within the group. Mike, Bill and Stanley, after a very hectic sleepover, decide to go as Bender, Brian and Andrew from the Breakfast Club.

Richie spends the whole month begging, pleading, getting down on his knees, wrapping his arms around Bev’s waist, trying to convince her to go as Molly Ringwald but she still refused.

This is mainly because Ben and Beverly had gone, a few months ago, to go see the Princess Bride on their anniversary date when it had finally arrived back in the Derry theatre. They knew straight away that they had to go as Westley and Buttercup for Halloween.

Every time Ben lay in bed, sleepless, glancing up at the ceiling and thinking about his fairytale relationship with Beverly, and how she is his one true love, he has to wiggle out of the duvet because his cheeks become too warm with his blush.

Richie and Eddie go as Marty McFly and Doc from Back to the Future, but somehow managed to mess it up and they both arrive at ben’s house dressed in a checked button up shirt and red vest. Eddie spends the next hour complaining, while Richie tries to play it off and say they were doing a Back to the Future 2 type thing.

The Losers spend the day getting ready at Ben's house. The place is a MESS by the time they’re all finished. Richie spends the whole time throwing popcorn at the back of Eddie’s head to get his attention, Beverly stands in Ben’s bedroom, trying to help him tie the mask around his eyes, but as Ben reaches up to help their fingers keep intertwining and they keep giggling. Bill and Mike end up having a clothes fight, where they keep throwing their fake wigs at each other, while Stanley just stands with his arms crossed and a frown on his face in between them.

His house smells like warm vanilla and cinnamon, with a hint of pumpkin spice and vibrant orange frosting as ben's aunt lays out some pumpkin cookies on the living room table for the lot of them to tuck into.

She lets the lot of them decorate the skeleton cupcakes she had made that afternoon for the school’s Halloween fair - Stan’s is very neat and precise, Bill and Mike try their best, Ben ends up with most of the icing leaking out onto his fingers, and the rest of them just about pass as decorations, but Richie won't shut up telling stupid skeleton puns so Eddie smashes his into Richie’s face.

Before they go out trick or treating, they bike down to the nearest store and run down the aisles, being told off by some of the town residents as they grab popcorn, chips, fizzy drinks (which Eddie tries to convince them to put back because his mother had told him sugar would rot his teeth and he couldn’t the high blood pressure from the sugar with his asthma and-) for their movie night later.

They rush out with their bags full of goods only to emerge in the middle of Derry’s Halloween parade marching down Main Street. Ben and Beverly get distracted by the fancy costumes, while Bill and Stanley wander off down the street with the streaming crowd towards the bandstand, following the huge fake halloween decorations. Mike follows the music played by the high school students with a smile, but Richie gets distracted by the free candy cane and chocolate apples they were handing out.

Eddie gets really scared by being separated from everyone, so he starts shouting for Richie and ends up running straight into the back of Greta Bowie.

Pumpkin carving when they get back, of course, ends up with everyone covered in seeds and string (which makes a poor already shaken up Eddie start gagging). Stanley hands everyone either a mop of or a sponge and makes them clean it up from the kitchen walls.

Biking around the neighbourhood in the dark, with the jack-o’-lanterns lining the streets with a flickering glow - they honestly don’t feel the chill in the air, or notice the shadows that mount up from the yard decorations on the house’s walls, as they’re just so happy to see all the kids out and about having fun, not being worried about the curfew because they had already stopped IT.

They all just dump their sweets out onto Ben’s living room floor, surrounded by their sleeping bags at the end of the day and just share them all out.

Stanley turns out to be incredible at telling ghost stories - it’s all in the voice. He makes Bill turn all the lights off, the seven of them all lying in a circle around Stanley, and the sole flashlight he holds underneath his chin. The tone of his voice as he leaned towards Mike with raised eyebrows was enough to raise goosebumps on the back of all their necks.

The Losers all jump when Richie starts screaming really loudly. Eddie hits him in the face as a matter of reflex, managing to break his glasses.

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teeseforestrunner · 4 years

Text

Getting into the Spirit of things

** Dukeixety Week @dukexietyweek **

Day One: Halloween

Ship: Dukexiety

Word count: 1058

Characters: Remus (duh), Virgil (duh), Roman mentioned only

Summary: Virgil and Remus visit a Halloween store on their day off.

TW: blood and gore mentioned, murder spoken of casually,

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121577

This was partially inspired by a recent trip to Spirit I had with my sister and her fiance . When I found out about this ship week and prompt I had to write this because it fits the two so well. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Move it, Remus. It’s been TWO HOURS, I want to get there before October! ” A figure in mostly black yells into the apartment in the hope that his roommate/fiance would hurry. Today was one of the few days both had off from work so they had decided to go to their local mall to visit Spirit, the Halloween store that invades abandoned department stores every year.

Virgil has been dying to go since they opened earlier that week but because of college and work neither have had time, so he was understandably a bit impatient. He would have waited in the car if it wasn’t for the late August heat beating outside, stupid Florida weather.

“Yeah, yeah, I know scare bear. I just finished getting ready, so let’s go.” Without a moment of hesitation, Virgil rushed out the door to the car with a chuckling Remus following behind.

The ride over was filled with demented Halloween music since Remus was the DJ, (Virgil loved the chaotic man but would never let him drive anywhere after the “Bumper Car” incident, but that is a different story). Both men singing along at the top of their lungs getting hyped up for the shop.

Virgil barely parked before both him and Remus were sprinting to the entrance to the mall. Walking into the store was like coming home to both of them since Halloween is their all-time favorite holiday. The dark blood covered clothing, spiked jewelry, gore, and monsters as far as the eye can see! A paradise for the two chaotic edgy men.

Remus wasted no time making his way over to the prop weapons picking up the nearest knife. A foam serrated dagger. Virgil follows after grabbing a basket, knowing how much Halloween merchandise the two of them will probably get, and eyes the dagger too, running a finger over its blade.

“This could be used to kill someone, even if it is dull the serrated edge could cut through an artery,” Remus says eyes lighting up in the weird way it does when he talks about murder.

Virgil just scoffs entirely used to the way Remus’s mind works and picks up a dragon claw staff nearby. “Anything could be used to kill if you are determined enough … Wow, this staff is hefty, would be good at bashing knee caps or skulls. Really good quality for a costume shop.”

“Yeah…” Remus says trailing off as he spots a small packaged knife and his eyes light up. “STABBY!”

Virgil follows Remus’s line of sight to see the cheap retractable knife on the top left hook of the display and snorts. “Right, I forgot you used to have one of those you named Stabby… Whatever happened to it?”

“I was stabbing Roman with it a few months ago when he grabbed the blade and tried to twist it out of my hand. I didn’t let go of the handle so when he twisted, it snapped in two. Made him feel bad since I loved it so much and it stopped me from actually stabbing him, but the look on his face was so funny I couldn't be mad at him for long.”

“Well that settles it we’re getting this one to replace it,” Virgil smirks as he puts the toy knife in the basket and Remus beams.

“I’ll call it Stabby Two!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later at the punk costume section, Remus sees some spiked bracelets he KNOWS Virgil will love so he grabs them to show his fiance. Virge is in the next aisle looking at the skeleton costumes and accessories so Remus makes his way over. Before he reaches Virgil, a weird song starts over the store’s radio that annoys Virge to no end, What Does the Fox Say. Smiling as he passes masks that fit with the song Remus grabs one as well to mess with his emo lover. Just as the song reaches the chorus Remus reaches Virgil and places the mask in front of the emo.

Virgil turns to glare at him and hisses out, “Really Remus.”

The chaotic gremlin just snickers as he hands his annoyed finance the true prize he brought to show him. Virgil rolls his eyes and just takes the bracelet and drops it into the basket.

The two move further into the store and find the witchy decorations. Moon phases pillows, tarot decks, pentagram covered items, black cats, and other demonic stuff.

“I think I need to get a pentagram pillow to mess with Roman,” Remus states as he reaches for one of the pillows. Virgil just smiles as he grabs one of the tarot decks to look at; he's been meaning to get one for the fun of it to see if they are like how some of the witchy memes he’s seen one Tumblr have said. Both are placed in the basket.

They pass the end of the aisle and they see ouija stuff displayed there but neither Remus nor Virgil really want to summon a demon any time soon, so they ignore it. The pair head towards the outdoor decorations when they hear a crash and turn to see an ouija candle had fallen off the shelf. Both just looked at each other since no one was near the shelf anymore, luckily an employee is nearby so Virgil goes to tell them about the glass so they can clean it up before someone gets hurt.

After grabbing some cool light up lace spider web curtains and a black crown the pair head to check out vowing to come back and get more next paycheck. It takes a few minutes since all workers are busy helping other customers but soon enough the pair have paid and left the shop with matching smiles and bags filled with their loot. Of course, they're barely out of the shop before Remus has Stabby Two out and is stabbing his fiance in the neck, cackling with glee at the sound the springs in the toy knife’s blade make as it sinks back into the hilt. Virgil just sighs and smiles fondly as Remus dashes out of range of retaliation before he can react. Virgil thinks that overall it was a successful day out for the pair, especially since Remus seems to have forgotten that the car is locked and only Virgil has the keys.

#dukexietyweek2020 #dukexiety #ts remus #blood and gore mentioned #teesewrites

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reblogthiscrapkay · 4 years

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Persephone in “Women Who Run With Wolves” by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

The Persephone well will never run dry. When I started doing this over two years ago, I worked at a bookstore and I managed to run through all the books I could find in the store that mentioned her. Now, admittedly, I come across new stuff less often but even as I say this I have three books I own that I know I’m going to write about that I just haven’t gotten around to reading yet. Also now all my friends are very aware of this and will direct me to new stuff if they come across it.

This one, however, was just a book I was reading for fun. In general, I just love mythology and folklore so I often read books about it. Regardless, I wasn’t surprised to find some Persephone, but how she appeared was definitely surprising.

For the reference, I enjoyed the heck out of this book. It involves an archetypal and Jungian psychological analysis of various tales as they relate to the female psyche as a means of, I guess, empowerment? Self help? I don’t know. I just love reading deep dives of stories. Why else would I do THIS?

So based on this introduction about Baubo, who I had never heard of before, I was definitely not expecting the Persephone myth. This is a chapter on sexuality so when I looked in the index and saw that Persephone was mentioned in it, I had a different thought. When I read “Narcissus and the Pomegranate” it talked a lot about how you can read the story not just about budding adulthood but budding sexuality as represented through the seeds. This was. . . not that.

I have straight up never heard this before in any of the - what?- fifty or so versions of this myth that I’ve consumed in my thirty years. I immediately noticed the shift to Demeter over Persephone, common enough in print myth retellings that use the Homeric Hymn as a basis, but then we have Demeter at the well, presumably the same well in Eleusis that is often mentioned in myth, the same well I’ve actually seen in Eleusis, but instead of being approached by Callidice and the other daughters of the king, we have Baubo. And then it just glosses over the rest of the story, which for the purposes of this chapter makes sense because it’s literally a chapter about sexual humor specifically, but still, what the heck? The author of this book says where she gets a lot of her stories but I’ve read the damn Homeric Hymn. I’ve read books about the damn Homeric Hymn, specially ones written by women who address the female aspects of the story. Show me Baubo. Seriously. I don’t doubt her existence in general as a goddess, but I doubt it in this narrative. [EDIT: I had an anonymous reader tell me that Baubo is more commonly known as Iambe and NOW IT MAKES SENSE. She was a servant of Metanira (the queen) in tellings of the myth. Now my question becomes: why is she so rarely represented? She’s never even appeared in any of my Persephone Project posts even though I’ve heard of her from one of the many versions I’ve read (I think the Robert Graves version since that’s one of the only sources I can find and I have some definite Thoughts about how he presents information).]

Later on Persephone is mentioned a bunch again in a chapter about specifically women travelling to the underworld tales. Makes sense. The red lines indicate the important part.

Now this is some stuff I can back up! “Narcissus and the Pomegranate” talked about this a bunch although it often focused more on the goddess being both a land and underworld goddess who had a male consort who travels to her, but still. Either way you flip the genders, the basic formula being older than Persephone and being a consensual union is accurate. “Narcissus and the Pomegranate” hypothesized that this change with the Hades and Persephone myth was to give Zeus more power by having him approve the marriage (and carry out the wedding practices of the time).

So a few points here: 1. I don’t recall ever hearing the thing about the two trees before. And as a giant Tolkien nerd (I said I like mythology! Let me tell you about The Silmarillon for 11 hours) I would definitely remember a reference to two trees. 2. The reborn from Elysium concept I have heard before, but it’s definitely not common. I’ve heard it specifically as an element of initiation into the Eleusisan Mysteries rather than standard belief of the masses, thereby making it a specific Persephone/Demeter/Hades worship thing.

Uh, that thing about hanging from the World Tree? Wasn’t that Odin in Norse mythology? That’s definitely not a Persephone thing. I guess otherwise, I like the comparative mythology thing happening here with the orchards. Anyway, this was a weird one that I am skeptical of. The book itself is good though. The initial chapter on the Life/Death/Life cycle with women and “The Skeleton Woman” story (Chapter 5, Hunting: When The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter) is my favorite and does a better job of explaining the importance of Persephone than any of the bits that actually mention her.

#the persephone project #persephone #greek mythology #women who run with wolves #baubo #iambe

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nicoletterogers · 4 years

Text

you’ve got mail: past pt. 1

( tw: cheating, parent leaving, death, period mention )

past nic

[ soundtrack ]

dear mom carol,

i know you know who i am. you can act like you never had a family before hunter and you can pretend to think you left nothing behind--but i know better. you left when i was eight. which means liam was ten and dad was...well, to be honest, i never do know how old the man is. but you left when liam was ten and i was eight and you expect us to just...not remember you?

y’know, i looked you up. i got curious a few months ago and though i’d take a jaunt down memory lane. maybe i should have left those skeletons in the closet but i’ve never been one for playing it safe. i’m like you that way. at least, that’s what dad says every time i did something reckless and he’d have to come get me. the fight would always be the same: he’d yell and scream at me for making a stupid mistake, i’d throw a fit for him not understanding me and he’d end with ‘you’re so much like your mother, i swear to fucking god.’” i hope its comforting to know that you were used as an insult in my family.

do you know what its like to grow up without a mom? no, you don’t. dad used to tell us stories about your mom, grandma jeannine. she was a spunky woman, one of life and love and cared deeply for her family. he said she absolutely adored you--you were her only child and she gave you the world. he said you two had a bond that was unbreakable. you used to talk to her on the phone a lot--i remember that. when you were on that landline, curly phone wire wrapped around your finger, that was our cue to leave you alone. that was mommy and grandma jeannine’s time.

so you don’t know what it’s like to live in a world without your mom. you don’t know what its like to be bullied for not having a ‘normal’ family. you never had to fake sick the day of the mother daughter brunch every single year because you didn’t have anyone to go with. you didn’t get physically nauseous when you’d walk into any grocery store in may and see the words ‘happy mother’s day’ plastered on everything. you never had to try and explain to your father that you had just started your period and you didn’t know what was happening to you. and you sure as hell never had to navigate a broken heart alone.

momma, he cheated. he said he’d love me forever and then he chose someone else. i didn’t--i don’t even know why. he can’t tell me. no one can. i don’t know if it was something i said, something i did or if it was just...do you know what that feels like? what it feels like to be so madly in love with someone to realize he might not be as madly in love with you? to share you’re entire life with someone, every good and bad thing--and he throws it back in your face? and do you know what it feels like to have no one to talk to about it? how empty it feels to sit in a shower and sob for hours because there is not single soul on this planet you can tell. how you have to questions, again, why you weren’t good enough for another person you love. i mean, i probably shouldn’t even be talking to you about this--you’re the one who left dad for some publisher. you definitely won’t understand.

do you wanna know the hardest part of all of this? that i’m supposed to have you in my life to talk to about this. i’m supposed to go and crawl into my mom’s bed and sob when the world hurts me. you’re supposed to be there and stroke my hair, let me cry and tell me i deserve better. i’m supposed to laugh at a dumb joke you said and cuddle closer to you and feel some sort of relief from all this sadness. because while you decided we weren’t worth you, liam had to pick up the pieces and now--now he’s gone too.

liam’s gone, momma, and i’m left behind with a broken heart, a shattered soul and not a single person to care about it. dad can’t bring himself to speak, he doesn’t even know about rowan and i. not that he would care. but you’re supposed to be here. you’re supposed to be grieving with us, crying with us. would you even care if you knew? would you lose a single bit of sleep knowing your baby is gone?

i wish i could be the person who could write this letter to tell you how great i turned out in spite of you. how i’m a cop in the chicago pd force--how i’m going to follow in liam’s footsteps and become a detective. i wish i could share with you how impressive i am, how great of a woman i’ve turned out to be. how i have done things that you wouldn’t have been able to dream i could have. but i can’t.

momma, i miss you and i don’t still don’t understand, not even after twenty-two years--why? why did you leave? and why wasn’t i good enough to stay for?

i hope it was worth it.

your daughter nic

#tw death #tw cheating #tw parent leaving #[[on the dockett; tasks]]#malnatitask #[[wake up sunshine; headcannons]]#oops #tw period mention

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horrorgay · 4 years

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could i get some consultation on this opening part to my story.

warning: child death

Sometimes, on the East Coast, rain could be felt prematurely. Like it was just a thought on a meteorologist's mind, a heavy moment hanging in the air, dragging a stagnant lull into the afternoon. Once it finally came down, it was in sheets, soaking anyone caught outside to the bone. His parents had warned him that a summer thunderstorm was blowing in from the East, warm air from the West mixing with cool air rising from the ocean, but he had shrugged it off, plucking a raincoat from the mudroom closet and stowing it into his backpack for show.

His mother sighed flippantly, waving her hand to dismiss him "If you're going to go, then go." She said, just barely over the sound of her phone call, on speaker phone as usual, so she could multitask easier. She was cutting vegetables with a chef's precision, and couldn't care less if her son caught a cold from playing in the rain, if it meant he was out of the house. "Just be back by six, okay?" A few hours out in the rain. He could handle a cold, she told herself.

“Fine.” He grumbled, shoving his foot into his boots, which had been waterproofed in the spring in preparation for the humidity of snowmelt and summer afternoons, but hadn’t gotten any use. They were still a little big on him (hand me downs) and if he didn’t tie them tight enough, his ankles wiggled in them when he walked. Summer felt like it had just started, and yet it was already August. The kid had barely had any adventures, which he’d been waiting so impatiently for all of fifth grade: the fabled summer transition from elementary to middle school.

Illness had struck him viciously at the end of the school year -- what they’d thought was just a prolonged migraine proved to be much more. He’d spent most of June in the local hospital, as adults in lab coats and drab clothing took test after test, attempting to puzzle out what was wrong with him.

In the end, they couldn’t figure it out, but he had started to feel better, and so they released him from their clutches, giving his mother strict instructions to keep an eye on him in case he worsened again. The weeks of being kept in had made him unruly, and so she thought, just for today, he should go out and play in the rain, so she could finally have some respite from the crashing and hollering of his make believe fanatics, which carried too easily down the hallway to her “office”.

He didn’t know what to do with himself.

“A whole day!” He told the water that rushed in the drainage down the street, carrying debris from the earlier wind down into the sewers. “All to myself.”

At first he thought maybe he’d go to the new arcade. One had sprung up on main street while he’d been in the hospital. His friends had spent most of their summer there, nostalgia drawing them in, even though the days of arcade hangouts were from a generation or two before them. But his friends were away on a camping trip now, and he’d have no one to play the games with, it would be pathetic. Lightning caught his attention, somewhere in the distance, in the trees up ahead. Right near the construction site for the new mall. Construction had been delayed, as the original founders had run into financial troubles in the wake of the 2008 repression. The mayor had promised them that it would be finished by mid-decade but several years had passed without so much as a construction worker stepping on site.

It had become a hangout for all the teenagers, he knew. Chain link fences often drew them in like a moth to flame. Maybe he’d see his sister there. She was usually off on her own adventures. He’d begged her so many times to take her with him, but she’d always said no. He was sure it was because Mom had told her she’d be grounded for several weeks if she even thought about smuggling her brother out. Little body under enough stress as it was, he didn’t need scraped knees or twisted ankles. It still hurt though, sitting at home, bored out of his mind, while she got to do anything she wanted.

If she were there, maybe he’d find her in the maze of skeleton buildings and maybe she’d let him join her. It seemed like a decent plan, and if he didn’t find her there, he would find something else to do. The air was brisk, but the drops felt warm against his face, huge, plop plopping as they splashed against his cheeks and shoulders.

It was deserted, he realized, as he maneuvered through a roughly cut hole in the chainlink. Before he had gotten sick, his sister had brought him to this part of the fence.

“Cut this part myself.” She’d grinned. “Peeled it back like a can lid. Easy. You can’t go in though, too dangerous. Mom would kill me.”

The site was tossed earth, and when it rained it might as well have been a slip and slide. A few feet, and his heel lost traction, making a grotesque sucking noise as the tread of his shoe lost surface tension. He threw one hand out in the opposite direction to stabilize himself and barely managed to keep his balance. Freezing, he took a deep breath, beginning to think it wasn’t the best idea to explore during a downpour.

Blinking rain away from his long lashes, he called out. “Sawyer?”

Maybe if she was there, he’d venture in.

If someone responded, it was drowned out by the rain. He stood there weighing his options: continue to explore the site, inevitably slathering himself in mud and making his mother unbelievably angry, find something else to do outside (nothing, except for exploring the woods, which scared him), go inside a store and do nothing, because he had brought no spending money, or go back home and admit defeat.

Maybe mom wouldn’t be so angry if he showed up at the front porch drenched to the bone and slick-shiny from mud. “I’ll do my own laundry, if she’s mad about that.” He muttered, lifting his right foot up and shaking it, watching glops of mud spray back onto the ground, immediately losing shape and melting into the rest.

All he wanted was to have a proper adventure. Mom would forgive him eventually.

Somewhere, between the bones of the building, he heard his sister shout. It was faint, but clear enough through the pitter-patter that he knew, unmistakably, that it was her. She is here, he thought, having fun without me. He grunted, and then jogged towards the construction equipment calling out her name, his boots heavy with mud, his stringbean legs hard to move.

She responded, from somewhere in the forest of beams. “I’m over here!” Each time she shouted it grew more and more distant, jumping from right to left. He slid to a halt, frown pressing the corners of his mouth down in worry. He pulled out his iphone 4, another hand me down from his sister and sent her a text, the pads of his fingers almost numb from the cold of the rain.

stop. i can’t run that fast. where r u.

He waited for a response, huffing out puffs of grey frustration. After a moment, he heard her laugh. “Come and find me, dork.” Clicking the phone off, he shoved it back into his coat pocket and took off again, his feet might as well have been on a paper smooth sheet of ice, as they skittered back and forth, ankles wobbling precariously in the boots. Here the rain was deterred by the criss-crossing beams above leaving the ground more solid, but it still came down onto his face, blurring his vision.

“Come on.” She sounded only a few feet away, like she was standing behind a beam dead ahead, even though seconds ago she was from the very end of the half built enclosure. “You haven’t found me yet! This is fun!”

All at once, and like something had opened his door slowly in the middle of the night, his heart froze. There was someone standing on the other side, but he couldn’t make them out. They were blurry, confusing. Clasping his palms over his ears, he clenched his eyes shut and screamed the only thing he could think of. “Stop!” Slowly, the summer shower thinned for a moment or two, collecting the rust from the pipes above and rinsing it back into the earth. His chest heaved. “S-stop.”

He cracked one eye open, then the next, expecting some foreign copy of his sister, one that lured him into the site, to stand opposite him, but instead there was nothing but brown puddles with droplet rings patterning their surface.

He stood for a moment longer, still waiting for something to jump out and scare him, and then sighed. Like a radio crackling on, a voice pierced his mind.

<you.>

“What?”

<adventure.>

The boy’s feet could not carry him fast enough, not quickly enough home, as he fumbled through the mudpit. He tore blindly between the beams, hands splooging down into the mud when he lost his balance. His raincoat hood had fallen backwards, and he tugged it back up, smearing the mud along his cheek. Only a hundred more feet and he’d be out, back on the weed cracked road. He could not slow himself down as he barreled towards a half-built wall, wood stakes bracing up clumsy mortar and cinder blocks. His careening weight slammed against it, the force causing it’s foundation to sway and collapse into the other walls.The rest of the small unfinished building crashed down onto his small body, burying him under bricks. The rain continued into the night, still raging at eleven, when his mother finally called the police.

#a.txt #it's a spooky murder mystery #well #paranormal story #we'll see #idk if it's ok #i realize that its kinda like the opening scene of it #but the scene was so clear in my mind #i felt like it had to happen this way #and if it makes y'all feel better the rest of the story is nothing like IT #idk tho

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tawnyyeyed · 4 years

Text

a very belated birthday gift ! 02.06.1988 —— @lyricalrose . ♡

shopping for him is always a difficult task, and a hurdle in which almost every woman faces — whether it be a birthday gift, a christmas gift, a valentine’s gift, or even just a gift for him in general. men are seemingly hard to please and it’s never easy, but for her favourite red-haired rocker from the sunshine state, elouise is adamant on pulling together one of the most perfect and elaborate birthday gifts she has EVER generated with her own two hands. after all, his birthday seems to be the most fitting occasion for her to express her unconditional appreciation for him — the thought of the singer having occupied her mind a lot more often than not over the past six or so months. with the amount of laughter and joy he has brought her through some of the simplest of conversations, he is well deserving of all the gifts he is about to receive as they sit at his apartment door.

the process all began weeks in advance, back in early january in fact. elouise was attending a house party, sitting with her artist friend richard when quite randomly he pulled a blade from his jean pocket — one of his latest works. it was a pocket knife, ornate in just about every way. silvery and glimmering in the dull light, the metallic grip was engraved with the finest of details. a pile of fanged and beastly looking skulls, thorny and wilting roses amongst them whilst a thick chain coils and tangles around them. the very first thought that popped into her mind was; axl would love this ! the whole design reminiscent of his entire aesthetic, or at least she thought so. immediately she offered to buy the thing off him right then and there, and within minutes the blade was sold and stuffed into her purse at the discounted cost of a mere twenty.

however, the bargain didn’t end there. with elouise’s confession that the blade would be given as a gift to someone, a certain someone that richard was familiar with, the artist was more than happy to design a custom tee for the singer he had met once before. a halloween ago, now. it doesn’t take very long for the two to come up with a concept, and it’s only two and a half weeks later that richard is arriving at her apartment door with a black tee in hand. adorned in airbrushed imagery, the design is a caricature of axl — he’s a menacing skeleton in a leather jacket and matching leather pants, his features exaggerated in the way that his shoulders are broadened and the rest of his body tall and skinny, hunched over almost as a cigarette smoulders between bony fingers and a razor sharp grin resides upon the skull’s face. his exaggerated hair resembles actual flames, and beautifully compliments the burning leaves that fall from autumn trees in the background as well as the signature brooklyn brownstone building that towers over him from behind. the imagery is frightening, but insanely cool — and elouise can’t help but let out a shriek of sheer amazement and excitement and AWE when she sees that at the top of the design, ‘mr. brownstone’ is written in big grey letters in a graffiti sort of style. richard never fails to wow her, and he continues to prove that as he turns the tee around show that on the back he has painted a brownstone brick wall littered with graffiti and tagging, though most importantly, it writes; ‘ w. axl rose was here ’. it’s perfect, and it also happens to be the perfect reminder that axl’s birthday is just around the corner and is quickly creeping up on her.

one late night after a long and tiring shift at the deli, elouise sits down on the floor of her studio apartment with a box and begins decorating it. using various different types and patterns of birthday gift wrap to line the inside of the box, she lays down some multi-coloured tissue paper and sprinkles the bottom of the box with metallic cut-outs of stars and zig-zags that come in green and purple — all purchased from the party store just around the block. carefully, she folds the shirt and wraps it in dainty blue tissue paper. the pocket knife, too — only for both bundles to be prettily tied with multi-coloured ribbons. she can’t help but smile at the job she’s done. loving the decorations and more so the thought of him seeing them for the first time, and then taking the time to open each gift individually. she honestly wishes that she could be there just to witness the opening of the gift, see the hopeful joy that it will bring him and see that darned smile of his. the thought brings about butterflies fluttering in the pit her stomach and she can’t pinpoint exactly why. it even has her blushing as she sits there, alone on cold and wooden floors as she thinks about a boy two and a half thousand miles away. rush’s closer to the heart playing softly on a nearby stereo.

𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕

that is when she has a lightbulb moment. a mixtape. what if she makes him a mixtape ? or two. pondering on it, it’s only a matter of seconds before bare hands and knees go crawling across hard floors to the cabinet on the wall. a storage place holding every record and every cassette tape she holds dear. her entire life story is tucked away on these shelves, written on various tracks and played through many differing instruments and riffs. suddenly, she feels the need to compact it all down onto one singular tape. a 60 minute run of her all time favourites. some songs that make her smile, some songs that move her to tears, and some songs that remind her of him. it’s a grand idea, but it’s one that she executes and executes well. after all, they are both virtuosos. they both live and breathe music, and she’s sure that axl will appreciate something such as this. especially given how dorky the end result is. a 60 minute tape of elouise, sitting on her apartment floor at nearly 5 in the morning, playing her all time favourites all whilst talking sappy in between songs. comments on how much she loves them, why she loves them, and how some of the said songs remind her of him. it’s a strange concoction of david bowie, the rolling stones, rush, led zeppelin, bob dylan, and last but most certainly not least — guns n’ roses. who happen to be the bearers of her number one, all time favourite song: DON’T CRY .

the final song begins to play and unlike the rest of the tracks, the quality of this one is by far the poorest. after all, it is a mere demo that he gave to her. a tape of a tape of a tape, and so on. but still — regardless of the quality — she believes it to be the greatest song that she has ever heard in her entire life, and makes sure to say so. a song that has miraculously got her through some of her darkest hours. moments of reflection, remembering those who let her down and those whom she let down. her mother, past lovers, friends that she no longer talks to anymore. and during the recording of this final song, elouise finds herself laying in the middle of the floor in her satin nightgown, her eyes gently shut — the tape recorder only inches from her head now as she slowly drives her fingers through her wild mane of auburn hair and hot tears form along the lines of her lashes. that guitar solo sending her to another planet, as it always does. her heart rate picks up entirely and by the end the solo, the singer is breaking out into a sweat upon axl’s sweet voice filling her ears again. it’s sonic therapy in it’s purest form, and it’s something she wants to thank him for — but now isn’t the time. she has to focus on finishing this tape, and ending it the way that she had planned to. so as the song comes to an end, the brunette is silent as she tries to pull herself together again. a deep breath audible in the recording before a whole lot of rustling and crackling can be heard, elouise rolling onto her stomach and leaning on her elbows, the tape recorder now in her shaky hands as she wishes the redhead a happy birthday, and then again through song. her voice sweet, soft — with lingering remnants of former sorrow albeit happiness as the gentle smile that sits upon her pretty lips can be FELT in the mere way that she delivers the hushed tune.

❝ 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒙𝒍, 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒚—— . ❞

suddenly, the tape cuts and that is all. an entire sixty minutes of jovial conversation and song. an entire hour of elouise pouring out her heart and soul through music and laughter. it’s unlike anything she’s ever done for anyone before, and for a few days she even reconsiders whether she should be sending the tape to him. is it too personal ? is it too dorky ? is it just outright WEIRD of her ? these thoughts bubble about in her head like water boiling in a pot, tormenting her until one night she receives a phone call — less than a week now until the big day. it’s axl himself. to hear his voice is like music to her ears, her face aches from grinning so much, and any reluctance is suddenly pelted from her third-storey window. she can’t wait for him to receive the shirt, pocket knife, the goofy ten-to-one tape she stayed up all night recording for him, and now all the new york related knick knacks she has purchased for him in the meantime. new york candies, new york koozies — even a silver statue of liberty fridge magnet that doubles as a bottle opener and a keyring that bears the image of her beloved brooklyn bridge. atop all the bric-a-brac wrapped in pretty tissue paper is a ornate envelope, signed beautifully in his name with a card sitting inside. once opened, the card transcripts:

to axl,

wishing you the happiest of birthdays, my dear friend. i hope that it is filled with laughter and joy, and that the guys are treating you like the king you are —— because you deserve it !!! anyway, i’d love nothing more than to be there with you to celebrate your special day but this whole living on polar opposite sides of the country thing really sucks ! sucks ass major ass ! it’s fine though, have a drink on me tonight and i’ll make sure we celebrate your born-day the next time we happen to cross paths !

p.s. —— call me whenever you find the time, i’ll probably to be dying to know whether this made it to you or otherwise is currently being held in the hands of some stranger ! haha !

whole lotta love,

elle with the z from nyc ! ��

it isn’t much, and it isn’t anything too extravagant — she’s a small-time singer working on minimum wage, after all. she just hopes that this is enough, and that he doesn’t see it as being too tacky. especially when she’s just forked out sixty percent of last week’s earnings to pay for a courier to drop the gift off to him on his birthday exactly. a big spend for her that she sees worth it, and a cross-country expedition that has the brunette stressing the entire four days it takes for it to arrive at his doorstep. afraid that it might get lost or even worse, stolen, as was expressed in the card.

the courier arrives at his apartment door with the box in hand, a notepad and pen atop the mysterious parcel as he raises a hand to knock upon the door — each tap against the wood filled with reluctance as he wonders if he has the wrong place, the wrong apartment. though before he can fret too much, the door is opening and he is being met with a redheaded figure. “ are you w. axl rose, by any chance ? this parcel has just come all the way from new york. ” the young courier asks with a scratch of his head, though his question is answered immediately as the stranger nods his head in affirmation. “ sweet. i’ll get you to sign here and then it’s all yours, buddy. ”

#is this? the moment? that el realises she loves him? oo p #this was really long but really cute to write so super worth it lol #i hope you enjoyed it !! <33 and also an fyi:#i linked the don't cry demo if u wanna go listen to it :")#for those extra feels lol #ohhh and i also left the end pretty open just in case you wanted to reply but don't feel like you HAVE to!! <3

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ohmyprodigalson · 5 years

Note

Oooh. The team rescues the reader, who was kidnapped and kept there pretty much her whole life. She's kind of like eleven from stranger things. She doesn't talk much, and and shes bad at controlling her emotions. He lies to her, and she gets really angry, asking him "why he lies". This is really specific, sorry about that.

Here you go 😊

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping and child abuse.

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(Y/N) was sitting on the bed in her hospital room, with her legs crossed. She was holding her doll, made of fabric scraps tied together in knots, tightly against her chest as her eyes darted frantically around the room. Her hair was matted and there was still dirt under her fingernails. She shivered a little, not from the cold but from her fear. The lights in the room were dimmed, and she wasn't wearing any of the monitors usually required by the hospital. Everything scared her because it was so new and strange.

Malcolm stood outside her room, peering in through the window, arms crossed. He was the one to find her, not even five hours ago. Gil walked up to Malcolm, hands in his pockets. He spoke low and quiet. "There's nothing else we can do for her today. Why don't you go home and get some rest?"

"She hasn't said a single word." Malcolm's voice was so quiet, it almost sounded like a whisper. "The only reaction she's had to this whole thing was her screaming when we tried to take her doll from her. I should have known better."

When the team raided the suspect's house, they never expected to find a prisoner in his basement. They were running her face through the database of missing persons, but they had no luck yet.

A nurse went into the room and attempted to put the blood pressure cuff on her and start an IV. Just like the other times before, (Y/N) started screaming. But she didn't fight; she cowered and hid behind her arms.

"Seriously." Gil reached out and placed a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "We aren't going to learn anything tonight. Go home, get some rest, and we'll be back tomorrow to talk to her and figure things out." Malcolm turned to look at Gil. He had a sad look in his eyes as he paused before nodding.

The next morning Malcolm was at the hospital bright and early. One of the hospital's psychologists was there to help talk to (Y/N), but Malcolm wanted to be there, too.

They were all in her hospital room, and the psychologist had set out manipulatives, dolls, pens, and papers on the hospital bedside table pulled in front of her. Gil stood outside of the room, watching from the other side of the window.

The psychologist had a soothing voice when she finally spoke. "Let's start at the very beginning. Can you tell me your name?"

(Y/N) still clung to her doll, and she stared at the wall in front of her. She made no eye contact with anyone and she had no facial expressions whatsoever. Both were signs of extreme abuse, especially as a child. She was broken.

They waited in silence for an answer as the clock on the wall ticked away. The psychologist continued to work with her, and sometimes she would respond with a drawing or an escaped moan. After an hour, they decided to take a break. The psychologist left the room, and Malcolm was compelled to walk over to (Y/N).

He slowly moved to sit down on the bed beside her, so that if she started to freak out, he could stop. She made no movement, so he sat down gently. He spoke quietly. "I know you must be filled to the brink with emotion that you haven't been allowed to show, and I know you must be filled with so much pain." Malcolm paused as he tried to make eye contact. (Y/N) kept her eyes on the bed before her.

"But there's one thing no one has asked you yet." Malcolm paused before continuing. "Is there anything you want? You haven't been able to ask for anything in so long." He bent his head down to tempt her into looking at him. "Is there anything at all that you want?"

He waited patiently for her answer, exuding a sense of calm so that the silence wouldn't feel weird for her. Then he heard her voice for the very first time; it was so soft and meek. "Mom."

Malcolm's heart was immediately shattered. This was no longer a woman before him, but a little girl, asking for her mother. He confirmed this by asking, "You want your mom?" She gave a very small nod. Malcolm looked away from her, up towards the ceiling, and he closed his eyes. He was trying to fight his tears because that was not what she needed right now. Malcolm returned his gaze to her. He was emphatic with every word he spoke. "I promise, I will find your family."

Malcolm went back to the precinct with this goal in mind. He talked to Dani about the progress in finding (Y/N)'s identity, and she had no luck. That's when Edrisa walked up to them with a solemn look on her face. Even Malcolm's smile couldn't put the light back in her eyes.

"I know who the kidnapped woman is." She let the file in her hand drop with a thud on Dani's desk. Dani opened it as Edrisa continued. "I was running the dental records on the skeletons we found in has back yard, and I came across this man, and this woman." She was pointing at the picture in Dani's hands. "They were married, and they had a daughter. I looked them up and found that they went missing twenty-five years ago, but I didn't find any bones that would belong to a child." She paused as Malcolm looked at her seriously, waiting for the dreaded words. "I believe the woman you found was their daughter."

Malcolm's heart sank. He just promised (Y/N) that he would find her family, and he did. They just weren't alive. He took a copy of the family picture from Edrisa and went back to the hospital.

He found everyone exactly as they were before. The psychologist was talking with (Y/N) and Gil was watching from the doorway. "Gil, can I talk to you for a minute?" He stepped away from the room and followed Malcolm down the hall a few paces.

"What is it? What did you find?"

"Long story short, Edrisa found the remains of the couple in this picture, but not the little girl. She thinks that's her, in there." Malcolm motioned back towards the door.

"So we have a name?"

"Yes, it's (Y/N), but that's not the point." Malcolm shifted his weight as he looked away for a moment, and then back at Gil. He leaned in and became animated when he spoke. "I just promised her that I would find her family. They are the only thing she wants in the world right now, and I can't give them to her."

Gil saw the worry in Malcolm's eyes, but he remained calm. "There's nothing we can do about that right now. Yes, it's sad, but let's focus on getting her to talk first. All she's done is scream when someone tries to touch her." His face remained calm and serious as he clapped Malcolm on the back before turning to walk back towards the room.

They watched as the psychologist continued to work with her. When they took another break and everyone had left, she spoke softly again. "Mom?"

Malcolm had feared this. He walked across the room and sat on the bed with her. He pulled Edrisa's photo from his suit pocket and gave it to (Y/N). "Is this your mother?"

She gripped the photo tightly as her eyes grew wide. She nodded.

Malcolm's voice cracked when he spoke. "I'm sorry, but... We found their remains." He paused before clarifying. "They're dead."

(Y/N) shot her head up and made eye contact with him for the first time. It was the first time she had made eye contact with anyone. Then she spoke with force. "No."

All he could do was look back into her broken eyes.

"No! You lied! You lied!!" Her soft voice escalated to yelling and then screeching as she became incoherent. Malcolm jolted off the bed as she started to thrash and a nurse rushed in. She sedated (Y/N), and her sessions with the psychologist were over for the day.

Over the next week, if Malcolm tried to visit, she would start screaming the same words until she was either sedated or restrained until he left. He couldn't see her ever again, because it was detrimental to the progress she was making with the psychologist.

***

A year later, Gil handed Malcolm a small envelope with no address on the front. "Hey, Bright, this is for you."

Malcolm took it and turned it over in his hands. It was made of nice paper, not like the generic ones you find in the store. "What is it?"

"Do you remember that case last year where we rescued the woman who was kidnapped as a little girl? She left it for you. She specifically said, 'Please give this to the nice man in the suit.'"

Malcolm couldn't hide the shock on his face, and he hurriedly opened the envelope as he thanked Gil. The world faded away as he read the handwritten letter.

"I don't know if you remember me, but you saved me a little over a year ago from a very bad man. I hadn't been allowed to see the sun since he took me, and I never had any friends. But that all changed after you and your partners found me.

Looking back, I lashed out at you when I shouldn't have. You were only trying to help me, but I was too hurt to see that. I'm very sorry for the way I treated you, and I hope some day you can forgive me.

If you would like, I thought we could get lunch or drinks some time. I am so very grateful to you for saving me, and I would love to get to know you."

Later that week he met her at a little café for lunch, and he couldn't believe his eyes. She was so beautiful and radiantly happy, like a normal woman her age. What a huge difference a year can make.

#prodigal son #malcolm bright #prodigal son fanfic #prodigal son imagine #fanfic #imagine #gil arroyo

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survivingthejungle · 5 years

Text

otherside; michael gray

yall ever seen coraline??

The summer before your freshman year at uni began, you and your family had packed up your bags and moved yourselves all the way to Birmingham. ‘It’s a better location, dear,’ your parents told you. It had been a third of the way through your final year of secondary when you found out. ‘When you move away the house won’t feel as empty. It’s a nice place, you’ll love it!’

You weren’t sure you loved it. It was a quaint little three-story house, packed tight in between all of the other nearly identical houses that lined the streets for as far as you could see. For as skinny as it was, however, you were pleased with the fact that it was three stories high. You stepped out of the now parked car and peered up at your new home through the lenses of your heart-shaped shades; an impulsive purchase at a thrift store months ago that you had yet to regret. Your mother was standing in the open doorway of the house, moving box in her arms as she yelled to you. “(Y/N)! Grab a box, get inside! You can explore when we’re all unpacked!” You obediently grabbed the first box you could reach, and dredged it inside, setting it down on the floor next to the island in the kitchen. As soon as you walked through the doors you were met with a staircase leading to the second floor. To your right was a kitchen, behind a space for a tiny study that you knew your father would be making use of. To the left of the staircase was what would become the family room, and right past that was where the dining room would be located. The kitchen and future dining room were adjoined just behind the staircase, and you crept up it as your mother and father went back out to grab more boxes from the moving van. Up at the top of the staircase you were met with two options: lurk around the rooms and claim a potential dwelling space, or turn left up the second set of stairs to the attic. You chose the latter, wanting to see if the previous owners had perhaps left anything behind.

The scene you were met with seemed out of a movie. The golden sunlight streamed through the colored glass windows, illuminating the floating dust specks and wooden floorboards. You looked around, not seeing any left behind trunks, paintings, chairs… not a think was up there but you. But then out of the corner of your eye you spotted an anomaly on the wall next to you; there was a brass doorknob sticking out, with a space for a skeleton key right underneath it. There was ornate golden detailing over the painted dark green of the wall and the secret door. You slid over to it on your knees to do some proper investigation. To your disappointment, when you tried to twist it open, the small little door wouldn’t open. Locked, you cursed. You pushed yourself up to stand from sitting on your knees, and the dust on the floorboards had scuffed some of the paint on your jeans. (During the school year, you’d decided to turn them into an art project— some color blocks here, a cactus there, a pastiche of The Scream over there… it was creative chaos, but it got you a 100 in the class.) “(Y/N)!” your mother yelled from downstairs. “Where did you go?”

“The attic!” you called back. “I’m coming down now!” You bounded down the steps and landed in front of your mother, whose arms were crossed as she looked at you pointedly.

“I thought I told you to help us get unpacked.”

“Sorry. I wanted to see everything first.”

She had turned around as you followed her back outside to grab more boxes from the moving van. “Curiosity killed the cat, darling.” She handed you one of the last few things in the back of the truck; all of the big pieces of furniture had been carted out and set in the driveway and front yard, waiting to be carried inside later. You couldn’t wait.

—

Come dinner time, you’d finally managed to get all of your belongings inside. Where they belonged? Absolutely not. Your dresser and bed frame were currently next to the living room couch, all of your parents furniture was scattered all across the first flood… it was going to be miserable getting everything upstairs. You’d all decided on ordering takeaway Chinese food, since you had no food and no energy to buy groceries and cook. The three of you sat criss-crossed on the floor of the future living room as the sun set and the sky began to cloud and thunder. “Good thing we got everything inside,” your mom noted. “Looks like it’s about to rain cats and dogs.”

“I have a question,” you told the both of them.

“Shoot,” said dad.

“Can I have the attic?”

“Why do you want the attic?” he wondered.

“It’s cute. We don’t have extra stuff to put up there, we barely have stuff to put down here and in our rooms.”

“She’s got a point,” your dad told your mom.

“I was just thinking, like, make it a little hanging-out space for me. I could hang up some lights and get some carpets and bean bags, and chill up there. Can I?”

“Yeah, sure, we can work on it,” your mom conceded. “Maybe it could be your little art studio.”

“Yeah!” you said. You shoveled another bite of pad thai into your mouth. “And I could hook up a T.V. or something.”

“Like we have the money for an extra T.V.,” your dad remarked.

“We have that extra one, remember? From the basement? We could put it upstairs,” you suggested. He contemplated for a moment.

“Yeah, alright. We can do that. I guess the attic is all yours.”

—

After you’d finished your dinner, your parents took to moving their bed up to their room and went to bed without so much as even putting on bedsheets. They’d asked if you wanted help bringing yours upstairs, but you declined; you were fine sleeping on the couch for a night, and they were absolutely exhausted. Besides, you really wanted to look around a little more. Your first order of business was to take a video tour to send to all of your friends back home. You flipped the camera around and began recording, starting in the living room. “Hi, MTV, and welcome to my crib! Just kidding, um… so this is the living room. It’s cute, pretty desolate right now but we’ve only been here for like seven hours and my parents are out cold.” You walked into the kitchen. “This is the kitchen, it’s got a cute little island in the middle that we don’t have chairs for yet, that’s cute… Let’s take a look inside the fridge!” You opened it. “Huh. Oh, its… it’s empty. Alright. Well anyways, here’s the dining room, where we will most definitely never dine, back through the family room… Look at the little foyer we have!” You pointed the camera at the front door, which had skinny little rectangles of stained glass on either side of the frame. “Cute views,” you showed the window, staring out at the dock on the river. “This is gonna be my dad’s office, alright… Upstairs,” you stepped and the floor creaked. “Oh, shit. Gotta be quiet because I don’t wanna wake anyone up.” You crept up the remaining stairs, trying to be as silent as possible. You cracked the door to your parents room open ever so slightly. “Sleepy kids went night-night,” you whispered. You shut the door and entered what would become your room. “This is where I’m gonna live… not sure how it’s gonna be set up, at the moment, but I’ll show you when I get it figured out. Oh! Let’s go to the attic!” You creeped up the stairs again, flipping the light switch when you finally reached the top. It was beginning to get darker and darker and the thunderstorm had begun a few minutes ago. “I came up here earlier today and I was like… this is the cutest place ever. I’m gonna put up some fairy lights, and some curtains around here, and a few bean bags and carpets maybe… I’m gonna put my record player up here, too. Getting a T.V…. Come over soon so I can hang out with you guys!” You flipped the view to yourself. “I love you all dearly, bye babies!”

You sent the video to your friends and clicked off your phone, shoving it in your back pocket before flipping the lights off and heading back downstairs. You caught a final glimpse at the little door before you went back and were hit with an overwhelming wave of curiosity. Why is it locked? Where’s the key? Where does it go? You asked yourself these questions but couldn’t satiate yourself with a manufactured answer. Reaching the first floor, you noticed a door on the wall of the staircase. Just like in Harry Potter, you thought before trying the handle. The door opened without a problem and you clicked on the light. There was a little coat rack on the adjacent wall, and another set of stairs leading down to the foundation of the house. You were about to turn the light off and close the door— the nighttime during a storm is never a good idea to investigate a basement alone— when something caught your eye. On top of the painted white coat rack nailed into the wall was a little metal object in the shape of a skeleton key. Was it the one that unlocked the attic door? You only had one way to find out. You grabbed it, clicked the light off, shut the door, and silently but swiftly crept back up two flights of stairs to try the door one more time.

You clicked the lights on once again and knelt in front of the locked door, ready to test the skeleton key. Watch it just be an electrical box or something, you thought to yourself. You moved the key to the right, waiting for the click… and it came. The door was unlocked. It worked! You twisted the knob just to check, and sure enough, it opened. What lay beyond confused you. There was a string hanging down from the ceiling, which was level with the pinnacle of the attic even though the door was half its size. You crawled through the door and stood up to click it on— the little space lit up, almost to your surprise. You figured it wouldn’t work since the door had been locked shut for God knows how long. It was a relatively skinny hallway, with polished wooden floorboards as well as wooden planks for walls. The ceiling was white plaster and you were shocked by the severe lack of dust. It seemed as if it were a commonly traversed walkway. The thing at the end of the hallway was what got your attention the most.

Contrary to what you’d been half-expecting, there were no dead bodies or hidden treasures; just another door that seemed to be at full height. The measurements, you thought, didn’t add up. With the distance it was from the entrance, it could only lead to outside—a three story drop didn’t seem like the best trip to take right now. You were about to shut off the light to go back downstairs and sleep when a noise came from the other end of the door. It was faint, at first, so much so that you thought you had imagined it. But when a bump could be heard from the other side of the door, and then voices, your curiosity got the best of you. Your mother’s words from earlier echoed: “Curiosity killed the cat, darling.”

Yes, but satisfaction brought him back, you reminded yourself. You would open the door (from a safe distance, just in case you were fooling yourself and there was nothing on the other side), peek through to see if anything was there, and then turn around. And so you walked down the skinny hallway and turned the handle of the other door. It twisted and the door creaked open, and the other side baffled you completely.

It went straight to another building. Which didn’t make a lick of sense, because your house wasn’t connected to another house! But the other side was well lit and dammit, this was your house, so you took a deep breath and walked through the threshold. What waited on the other side was not at all what you were expecting. It was another hallway, painted deep red and well lit with a few paintings hung here and there. At one end was an old white radiator right underneath a window; on the other side of you were a couple of dark wooden doors with antique looking door knobs; at the other end of the hallway was a staircase. You could hear voices coming from the bottom. You decided to investigate. It’s my house anyways, you thought, pushing to the back of your mind the little voice that whispered, ‘but is it?’ You floated down the hallway, glancing back at the door you’d come through every few moments. Once you reached the staircase, you froze. It’s not that you were necessarily surprised to see people standing at the bottom, it’s just that it made the experience so much more real. You knew now that this wasn’t some stress-induced weird little fever dream. It was real, especially when someone standing downstairs glanced up and saw you. His eyes widened and he glared. “Oi!” He pointed at you. “Who are you? How the hell’d you get in here?”

You felt like a deer caught in headlights. Did you turn around and run back to the hallway you’d come through? Did you just stay there and wait for them to run at you? Did you explain to them that you crawled to their house to your attic? You couldn’t make up your mind, so they made it up for you— a handful of very well dressed, dangerous looking men running up to you from the floor below, and you couldn’t get your brain to move your body fast enough. The one who had yelled at you had a much more pointed nose than the others and his hair was lighter than theirs, though not by much. The other one next to him had a mustache and looked older than the men next to him. The third, the tallest, had striking blue eyes and a tacky but not altogether terrible bowl cut. The three of them were all wearing suits, although something about them didn’t seem right to you. Baby Blues reached under his jacket to his side and brought his hand back out— with a gun aiming for your forehead. You took a split second to notice how old the gun looked; like it was nearly a hundred years old. All three of them had menacing glares etched on their faces; all three of them were aimed at you. “How the fuck’d you get into our house, hm? Who do you work for? Sabini? Tell us or I’ll send a bullet straight through your skull; I don’t care if you’re a girl.”

You were dumbstruck. There was only a single word that you could get to come out of your mouth: “Huh?”

“Don’t play fucking dumb,” the mustached man growled. “Who do you work for?”

“Work for?” you repeated, not sure what they meant. “I don’t—” You let out a sharp breath. “What? What are you talking about? And get your fucking gun out of my face, dude!” you yelled to Baby Blues. You pointed your thumb behind you to the direction from whence you came. “There— Just, come here,” you instructed, turning on your heel. They shared a glance before the man put his gun away and the three of them followed behind. You stopped outside of the doorway you’d stepped through. “I didn’t know this door went somewhere. I came down this hallway from the door in my attic. I was just looking around; sorry,” you turned to them, pointing your finger down the hallway through the door. “I won’t go through it again, I guess.”

The one with the pointed nose stopped you. “Wait. You said you came through this door?” You nodded. Yeah. Like three seconds ago. “This was a fucking closet not ten minutes ago, swear to God. The hell did this come from?” He gestured to the second hallway.

“Boys!” A woman’s shrill, demanding voice came from the bottom of the staircase. “What’s going on?”

“One second, Pol!” the mustached man yelled back. “That don’t make no sense, love,” he told you. “This should be a closet. That door there should go to the neighbor’s house, and you ain’t our neighbor. So who are you?”

You were so overwhelmingly perplexed, you almost expected any second now to wake up on the couch; it never happened. “Uh, my family and I just moved here. Except… this door wasn’t supposed to go anywhere,” you mused, more for your own sake than for theirs. “My house isn’t close enough to the neighbors’ to have a connecting hallway, so… I’m really confused right now.”

They looked at you like you had just grown another head. Baby Blues turned his head down the hallway. “Pol!” he yelled. “I think this girl’s delusional!” Your eyes went wide.

“Delusional?” you gawked. “You see it the same as me; that hallway isn’t what you thought it was! It isn’t what I thought it was, either! If I’m delusional then so are you three!” The woman they’d been calling to finally made an appearance.

She had dark, curly brown hair with bangs, and striking features; you could tell she was an older woman, but she looked beautiful all the same. “Oh, dear,” she said once her eyes were on you. “Firstly, put a damn shirt on the girl. Men,” she grumbled, turning away to go seemingly grab a shirt for you.

“I have a shirt on,” you stated, looking down at your green tank top. She came back and threw a folded white button up at you.

“That’s not a shirt,” she quipped back. “And why are you wearing trousers? And what’s all over them?” she wondered, staring at them.

“Why am I… What’s wrong with me wearing jeans?” you grumbled. The men were glancing back and forth between the two of you. “And they were an art project. That’s why. Why are you all dressed so weird?” you threw it back. Their wardrobe looked straight out of a period drama or something similar— the old three piece suits, the antique looking gun, the woman’s great-grandmotherly choice of dresses. Something clicked in your mind just then. You tried to block it out, because it sounded so ridiculously cliche and childish, but yet… You knew you needed to ask. “What… What year is it?” You voice was sheepish but you ignored it.

Again, they looked at you as if you’d grown an extra head. “1922,” the one with the pointed nose told you. Your stomach dropped and your heart stopped breathing; you felt as if you couldn’t breathe.

“No… No, it’s 2019. You’re off by about a hundred years,” you told them, trying your hardest to keep your cool. You knew what year it was, you thought, It had taken you two months to finally start writing the correct number at the top of the papers you wrote.

The woman— you were pretty sure they’d been calling her Pol— came forward and put a hand on your shoulder in a motherly way. “Let’s get you some tea, love. and go lay down. Are you ill?” She felt your forehead. “No fever… Strange. Come on, dear, let’s get going then.” She pulled your arm to have you follow her. You went through the motions mindlessly before you reached the bottom of the staircase and were met with a setting you were sure you’d only ever seen in movies. Everything was so antique and outdated, you were sure they must have run a pawn shop or something of the sort. She sat you down on an uncomfortable little embroidered red couch with flowers on it. You closed your eyes, swung your legs over the arm, and laid your head on the cushions. You didn’t want to look at anything, you felt like seeing anything from the twenties in the room would send you into panic mode. Were you wrong? Were you just losing your mind? You didn’t want to entertain the other thought creeping its way into your mind: That hallway took you back a hundred years to someone else’s house. Blue Eyes, Pointy Nose, and Mustache had all entered into the living room after you, taking seats in the empty chairs opposite the couch. Pol was seemingly in the kitchen working on getting you a cup of tea. How stereotypically British, you mused. Blue Eyes addressed you directly, and you peered up at him from your sideways position on the couch.

“John-boy was right when he said that that door was a closet. How the hell you managed to get it to look like that… I don’t know, but you had better explain yourself. We don’t take kindly to strangers invading our homes.”

You sat up straight and tried to collect your thoughts. “I mean… I’m not sure what all I can explain,” you began. “I’m just as lost as the rest of you. I unlocked a door in my attic and there was a hallway with a door at the other end that, by all means, should have led straight to a three-story drop… not some random family’s house in 1922.” The men gave you a look like they didn’t believe a word you said. Well, they should, you thought. “You all saw the same thing I did. If you don’t believe me, you can go through it. You’ll end up in my attic, I swear to God,” you defended yourself. Pol came into the room with a cup of tea in hand to give to you; you thanked her and took a sip as she sat down on the other end of the couch. You were no tea expert, but you were pretty sure it was Earl Gray.

“You’re clearly convinced that you’re telling us the truth,” she noted. “You’ll understand it if we don’t believe what you’re saying, love. People don’t walk through doors into a different century.”

“You’re telling me. Look, I can prove it,” you mentioned, pulling your phone out of your back pocket. You held it out to the crowd of them and they all leaned forward to get a better look.

“May I?” Mustache asked, hand held out in wait.

“Sure. Just don’t break it.” He grabbed it and flipped it around, inspecting every angle.

“What is it?” Pointy-Nose, who you guessed was actually John, asked you.

“My phone.” They looked incredulously at you— except for Blue Eyes, who looked as unenthusiastic as possible. He just raised an eyebrow.

“This ain’t no phone,” Mustache responded, still investigating it. “That there’s a phone.” He pointed to the telephone hanging up on the wall.

“Yeah, that’s a phone, and so is this,” you told him, grabbing it back. “2019, remember? Look,” you pressed the power button and the screen lit up. John and Mustache’s eyes went wide; Pol shared a look with Blue Eyes.

“The hell?” John gaped. “That’s fucked, Tommy,” he said, leaning back in his chair and looking over at Blue Eyes. Tommy.

“I told you; I was telling the truth.”

Tommy leaned forward again. “Alright. Say you are. Say you’re really from 2019. Now what?”

You stared. “What… What do you mean?”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Well, I don’t know. It’s not everyday a girl time travels a century in the past. They don’t have a manual for this stuff, I mean… I don’t know.”

Pol stood up. “Tommy, come here for a minute,” she demanded, leading him into the kitchen. You were left to your own devices— no pun intended— with John and Mustache, whose name you still didn’t know. He thankfully cleared it up with you right away.

“I’m Arthur,” he began, extending his hand to you. You shook it.

“Nice to meet you. Sorry for house-crashing.”

“No need; ain’t your fault.”

“John,” he held his hand out as well and you shook it.

“I figured. I’m (Y/N).”

“Welcome to Watery Lane, (Y/N).”

—

“Pol, it’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Yes, Thomas, and yet it happened. She’s here and there’s no reason she should be. I’m not going to send the poor girl away right after she’s been dropped in the middle of a place she doesn’t know. What if she goes home and they decide to lock her up in the looney bin?”

“Not my problem,” Tommy stated, glancing around the room. “I’m sure to be long dead by then, anyways.”

“You have no moral compass, Thomas Shelby.” She rolled her eyes. “You be fucking polite and cordial to that girl for as long as she’s here, or I’ll throw you in the Cut.” She inhaled deeply and turned away from him, walking back to where you, John, and Arthur were waiting. She had hoped to God you didn’t hear the conversation. (You didn’t.) “What’s your name, love?” You told her. She nodded. “Well then, (Y/N), I want you to know you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to come to terms with what’s happened.”

“You mean it?”

She smiled at you. “Absolutely.”

“Awesome! I mean… Obviously I’m not stuck here or anything, but I’m glad you’re fine with me hanging around. I kind of want to check this place out. I’ll try not to be invasive, I promise.”

Tommy spoke up, putting on a show of trying to be “cordial and polite” for Polly’s sake; she could tell he was being fake but she knew he was trying. “2019, eh? What’s that like?”

“Nothing special… to me, I guess. A lot has changed since now. Well… actually, everything has changed since now. But it’s stuff that I’m used to. Like my phone. And cars are super different, and we have T.V., and a whole lot of other stuff.” A thought crossed your mind. “I could probably show you some stuff! The door goes both ways, you know.”

Arthur, God bless his heart, was the most interested. He was a really sweet guy, if a little clueless at times. “That sounds right fascinating, Ms. (Y/N). And we’ll show you all around Small Heath, too. You can borrow Ada’s dresses. She’s our sister,” he informed you.

“Would she be okay with that?”

“Ada’s a fucking commie,” John rolled his eyes, “‘Course she’d be okay with it.” You said nothing, just nodded in understanding.

“Alright… Okay. Cool.” You stayed silent for a minute. “This is fucking crazy. This isn’t real, is it? I’m having a mental breakdown. I knew this day would come.”

“Told you she’s fucking lost it, Polly.” Tommy stared up at the ceiling and took a drag of the cigarette he’d lit in the kitchen.

“Shut your mouth, Thomas. You saw the same thing we all saw.” She placed a hand on your shoulder again. “Sweetheart, you’re perfectly sane. That door was a closet and now it’s a hallway; if you’ve lost it, so have we.” You just looked at her, eyes slightly glossy, and nodded in understanding. You took a deep breath and exhaled, glancing to everyone in the room— even Doubting Thomas, who still stood next to Polly.

“I should probably go back, though. My parents might figure out that I’m not there, and then they’ll flip.” You stood up. “Can I come back tomorrow? To explore.”

Arthur spoke this time. “Course, kid. You’re welcome any time.” You gave him a smile which he returned tenfold. You made your way back to the upstairs hallway and Polly instructed Tommy to accompany you.

Once you both reached the door, you grabbed the handle and faced him.

“You don’t believe me.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I dunno what to believe,” he admitted. “The idea’s ridiculous. But…”

“But yet the hallway’s right here,” you finished for him. “And my house is on the other side… a hundred years from now.” He exhaled and leaned against the wall.

“Never thought this sort of shit would happen to me.”

“Me neither.” You opened the door more and looked down the hall to your side. “I guess… ‘til tomorrow?” You held out your hand for him to shake.

He took it. “I’ll be seeing you, (Y/N).” With a shake of your hands you entered the hallway and shut the door behind you, and a moment later you emerged back through the other door into your attic. It was even darker now and still raining. Back down on the second floor, where your room was adjacent to your parents’, you opened up your suitcase and took out a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. You changed, not bothering to put your day clothes anywhere else, and for a moment you considered plopping down onto the bare carpet and passing out, but the idea of a nice, cushioned couch won you over instead.

—

You awoke to the sunlight—a rare natural phenomenon— shining on your face and in your eyes as the smell and sound of breakfast cooking came from the kitchen. Rubbing your eyes and shuffling in, you found your mother and father cooking pancakes and scrambled eggs, even though you were nearly positive that there was no food in the house.

“Where’d all this come from?” you asked them, taking a seat at the kitchen island. Your mom poured a glass of orange juice and set it down in front of you, for which you thanked her.

“We went grocery shopping this morning while you were still asleep. We were going to ask if you wanted to go, but we didn’t want to wake you,” she explained.

“Got you some snacks, though, for when we’re out. Your mother and I are gonna be gone today looking for a new washing machine and dryer… and maybe go see about a new dishwasher as well. This one’s pretty fucked.” Your dad tapped it with his foot from where he was cooking the pancakes and eggs. Your mom gave him a scoff and a disapproving but amused look; you giggled.

“When are you leaving?” you asked them.

“Soon as we eat.” Your father finished making food soon after, and the three of you all sat at the island and ate, before they got up and got ready for the day. A few minutes later they were both errand-ready and standing by the front door.

“Goodbye, lovebug,” your mother said while she kissed the top of your head.

“Bye, momma. Bye, dad.”

“See ya later, kid.” The second the door shut behind them you carried yourself to the attic, snagging an old sweatshirt from your school on your way up and slipping it on over your head.

Part of you was afraid that it had all, in fact, just been a dream; that nothing lay on the other side of the strange little hallway. You twisted the key, which you’d left in the lock overnight, and the door opened again— to your relief, the hallway was still there. You crawled through and emerged standing up on the other side to the sound of morning family chaos, which failed to surprise you. You had a feeling that this group was no stranger to being boisterous and vocal. “Hello?” you yelled. You walked down the hallway and the stairs until you were in the kitchen.

No one was there put Polly, who looked quite disheveled— hair mussed, eyes wide and shifting, visibly exhausted and wearing clothes from yesterday— and boy you didn’t meet the day before. “Morning, Polly,” you said, trying to grab her attention.

“Hm? Oh, hello, (Y/N). Dear, I’m sorry. I’m a bit caught off guard this morning.” She mindlessly grabbed your arm and guided you to sit down across the table from the boy you didn’t know.

“Hi,” you began, extending your hand, “I’m (Y/N).” He shook it.

“I’m- I’m Henry— well, Michael,” he corrected himself.

“Nice to meet you, Henry-Michael.” You gave him a small smile, he returned a nervous one.

“This is my-my son,” Polly told you. “Sorry, I haven’t seen or heard from him in twelve years,” she admitted.

You felt terrible. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude! I’ll come back at a better time.” You made a move to get up and leave but she stopped you.

“No, no dear, no need. Might as well explain the biggest thing right off the bat.” She sat down at the table with the two of you. “Michael, (Y/N)— well, she’s not from… here. Or now. Would you like to explain?” She looked at you.

“Sure. I’m, uh… well. How to explain this... Would you like me to show you?” He nodded slowly. “Come here,” you stood up, gesturing for him to come with you. Finally up the stairs and at the “magic hallway”, you opened the door and pointed to your door. “See that door?”

“Yeah.”

“On the other side is a completely different house… in 2019. You could probably tell I’m not dressed normally.”

“I did notice that, yeah. Didn’t want to say anything to offend you.”

“No offence taken, man. The reason is because I came straight out of the future. It’s fine if you don’t believe me. They didn’t, either.” You nodded to Pol. “You can go check out the other side, if you want; but I’m waiting to get it carpeted and get a nice little set-up put in. It’s not very nice right now.”

Henry-Michael was silent for a moment. “Well… wow. That’s… not what I was expecting when I went looking for my mum.” He glanced at her and then you. “Never would’ve known this if I’d’ve stayed in the country,” he smiled. His smile was sweet, and honestly stunning. Not to mention that in general, the boy was straight-up gorgeous. You realized you might be finding yourself in 1922 much more often than you anticipated.

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lyesera-thoughts · 4 years

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Therapy - Living in a pandemic

So I thought I had been handling it well. But I think I either am past all the planning and preparations (which I’m strangely very good at focusing on?) and now sinking into the “what ifs” side of my brain which is always a pit of anxiety and, in some places, a panic trap.

Careful where you step...

A month ago, I was at PAXEast 2020 having fun with my fiance, my roommate, and a friend of ours. We were half laughing (the other half nervous) as Sony straight up refused to come. We gave strained smiles at the sheer amount of disinfecting, mask wearing, and glove wearing that was going on. But we were all actually quite relieved. Or I was at least.

Then I came back. Literally first day back, after being gone for a week, and my co-worker walked into our office an hour before we closed, having spent all day with a client, to “jokingly” say “I’m no longer on the coronavirus watch list”.

The client was small, maybe 15 people. Their owner had been on the list due to being in the same room with a confirmed case. I don’t have the whole back story on when he learned he was on the list and why he thought this was a great idea, but had pulled my co-worker and all of the employees into a small conference room WITH HIM to announce that he was on the list and now, by proxy, they were too.

They never contacted my office.

Thankfully it turned out he missed the person with the positive test by a few hours (being ahead of him). He hadn’t been exposed at all and they found out the same day.

But what a fucking scare that turned into.

We’re also a small company, our owner was on a much overdo vacation (the man works very hard). And no one else in my office was stepping up about it. So I started to be the voice.

My reasoning? My fiance.

He’s immune-suppressed due to a medical transplant when he was younger.

We’re always going on about the elderly. I almost never hear about this demographic. Or really any demographic with a weakened immune system (like the elderly). He’s just as much of a high-risk as the elderly are!

So for a week I’m writing up policies, corralling the rest of the management team into talking with people. My boss comes back and asked for an action plan that I also draft up for his review. It isn’t until HE HIMSELF is in a 14 day self quarantine because he had been on planes that he realizes that we need to take this seriously.

By this point, the whole nation is in ramp up. My state is reporting their first positive tests, two in serious condition in hospitals. Other states, which have it worse, are talking about lock downs and so our state is starting to consider it to try and get ahead of a bad situation.

I’m in it, I’m helping my boss lay everything out. We decide to drop the office to skeleton crew and organize it so that none of the three people we leave there are anywhere near one another. They are in separate offices on different ends of the building.

Everyone else goes home. My fiance was on a work-from-home status three days before me.

We’re both fortunate enough to work in fields where we CAN work from home. Where we can receiving a paycheck. So we’re fine.

I go into lock down. Not crazy, not doomsday prepping, but thinking about how to protect my fiance and not let us go crazy or get worried. Now, because of my own mental health issues, I’ve had things in the house like gloves, reusable masks with N95 filters, lysol wipes, already. I don’t have an abundance of TP. I don’t think about that until after the shortage.

Alright, well cheap tissues are the same thing. Buy that and find some flush-able wet wipes. Good, stocked up on that, have even more in the basement on the off chance the TP situation remains dire.

Then I stock up on food. Which did cause an anxiety attack. My usual store, at this point, wiped clean. No produce, no frozen foods, no chicken (I have a red meat intolerance but pick up some for my fiance and roommate), and I get the last gallon of milk.

Luckily, with some shopping around the next day, I find everything I need. I have an air vacuum sealer and I divide everything up and put into the freezer. All set.

Help plan the office’s remote work, help plan my fiance’s remote work. Check and check.

Day 4 of my work from home status...and I’m starting to just feel the fear. We’re looking at high, high, HIGH, numbers of infection. Of death. We’re thinking there will not be a vaccine in 12 months, maybe longer. Local businesses are shutting down and my boss is already talking to my team about things we can do to postpone any economic hit we might take. And now it’s all festering in my head with no place for me to put that energy.

We can’t work from home forever. And I’m terrified of putting my fiance back into high exposure without a vaccine. One that I’m not even sure he CAN take right now. Being that he’s immune-suppressed. I’m hoping best case scenario, that it’s like the flu vaccine which he can have.

I’m worried I won’t have a job in several months. I’m worried that my savings will be drained. I’m worried we won’t have access to food, or housing.

I’m also baffled about this world we live in right now. Like, I know it isn’t impossible for a pandemic, that it’s even very likely (here we are). But I just remember growing up with this naive thought of pandemics and plagues, and whatever other bad medical things don’t happen where I live. Mostly also thought of them as a thing of the past and not a thing of now. But it’s here and there was never a point in my life where I thought, I’m going to have to be ready for that, and that scares me.

I don’t have any solutions right now, I’m mostly just scared and trying not to linger on it. Trying to stay strong for my fiance because while he’s always putting on a brave front, I know he’s also very worried about the what ifs too.

I hope everyone out there stays safe. And remember to step outside, even on your porch, once in a while. The house will drive you insane.

#therapy #random rant #random thoughts #rant #pandemic #lockdown #work from home #coronavirus #covid19 #covid-19

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surveys-at-your-service · 5 years

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Survey #203

I’m not dead, World of Warcraft just devoured my life again.

Have you ever been inside of an abandoned building? Yes; a shack first, but we picked up the courage to just barely set foot into this small building absolutely littered with newspapers and such. Almost went into the main house, but my sister, friend, and I were too intimidated by the idea. I didn't want to imagine what could be in there; already anxious by that age, I worried about feral animals or homeless being in there. Have you ever actually believed in monsters? (Like as a kid) Yes, I think. Do you have any fascination with the macabre? Examples? Oh boy, do you know me? I find most gore cool, I love bone art/vulture culture sort of stuff, I find death and decay fascinating, then there's the roadkill photography I do (done in only great respect/to show the horror of what we can cause), dark and especially gory artwork... I could go on for a while. Do you actually think skeletons are scary? I LOVE skeletons, add that to the above list. I was always excited in school if our science class had a replica in it. What monster movie is your favorite? This is broad... You mean like, actual monsters? Not like Freddy Krueger, per se, and focused on them? Hell I dunno, maybe Monsters Inc., lol. Is Hocus Pocus really a good movie, or a bit overrated? We cannot associate if you so much as dislike Hocus Pocus. What witch-themed movie/show is your favorite, anyhow? See above. Do you like The Nightmare Before Christmas? Hell yeah. Ha, pretty funny though: I'm not obsessed with the movie or anything, yet people give me sooooooo much Jack Skellington stuff for my birthday and/or Christmas. I do love Jack, totally, but you'd assume I was more in love with the character than I actually am. Do you count it as a Halloween movie and a Christmas movie? Halloween, for me. Do you like Jack or Sally better? Jack. What other Tim Burton works do you enjoy, if any? Corpse Bride and Alice in Wonderland are my absolute favorites, then there's Frankenweenie, Beetlejuice, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, James and the Giant Peach (literally my lil sis's and my childhoods), and probably more. I just love him. Are there any ‘dark’ or ‘spooky’ films you recommend? Absolutely the original Blair Witch Project. Spoiler, you never see the "witch," and that just made it so much spookier, particularly when there's a scene that seems to have a high chance of her showing up on the camera. It's very convincing in selling it as "based on a true story;" the characters act realistic in the situations they're in and are very dedicated to acting well. It's my personal definition of a "good" horror movie. If anything, shit, watch it for the ending. Creepiest goddamn thing. Just for fun – what would your personal hell look like? Yeesh, let's not visualize that... On Supernatural, do you like the angels or demons better? I am way, WAY behind, but from very faint memories, I believe the demons. Have you ever purchased anything from an occult or New Age shop? What? No. Do you know any Pagans/Wiccans? I believe one of my old friends is Wiccan? Do you know any Satanists? I don't believe so. Would you ever keep a tarantula as a pet? Nah. Are there any urban legends in your area? What are they? Looked it up and apparently NC does have some, but idk about *my* area. Do you find dead trees beautiful? Some, like really big ones. Who was the last person you sat next to? Mom. Are you embarrassed to let others see you without makeup? No. Have you ever had a nickname at your church? If so, what? Don't believe so, when I grew up going to church. What was the last stuffed animal you bought? Not sure. Maple trees, fir trees, or palm trees? Maple. Which biblical name do you prefer: Naomi, Esther, Rachel, or Joanna? Naomi, easily. I used to want to name my hypothetical daughter that. Which biblical guys name do you prefer: Seth, Jedidiah, Ezra, or Buz? Seth. Who is the hardest working person you know? MY. MOTHER. She works her fucking ASS off; I'd like to see most people handle even a single day in her life. Can you name any songs by Godsmack? A few: "No Rest For The Wicked," "Whatever," "Mama," "Voodoo," "Voodoo Too," "Hollow," "Time Bomb," "The Enemy," and... that may be it? What has been the most exciting moment of your life thus far? Meeting Sara. How deeply do you care for your education? Is it something you take seriously? I don't really know how to answer this. Like... I care, but I don't care enough to be competitive about it or obsess over it. I target for just being "enough." Would you prefer to go to a beach or to a park for a day, and why? What would you do? Park. The beach is too hot, windy, and I hate the feel of sand. Idk what I'd do at the park considering there are various kinds... What are five things you own in your favorite color? Tank top, iPod, uh... I'm blanking. Is your favorite clothing store close to your house or do you have to travel far? The nearest one is like an hour away. In real life do you laugh like ‘haha,’ ‘hehe’ or something else? The former. Do you have any unusual skills? No. Do you have any bug bites right now? No. Do you like to look at other peoples’ houses? Sure, when riding by them. What’s the weirdest compliment you’ve ever received? Good question. Maybe my toes are cute? (They're fucking tiny.) Would you say you’re more witty or childish about jokes? Witty, I guess. What do you think about video games? One of the greatest technological achievements. Video games brought forth a new form of entertainment to enjoy, one that can hold someone's focus for hours and stay fun. They can also tell fantastic stories, just like reading a book or watching TV, and the more and more realistic in vision games are becoming, it just becomes easier with every game to feel more immersed in the universe. What would you, or do you, study at college? I'm going for zoology. Have you ever had, or wanted, a pet ferret? Oh my god in Heaven, yes. They are so damn cute; when Sara was here and we were in PetSmart for something, I actually started tearing up and squealing because of how GODDAMN PRECIOUS THEY WERE, like they all came up to the glass pawing at us, and watching them play was one of the cutest things I've ever seen. The only thing holding me back from getting one is the fact I know they are veeery messy and require a lot of care. Is there anything you find undeserving of the hype it received? Eh, don't feel like thinking about this. In other words, idk and idc. Do you think it’s better to label yourself than be labelled? Who cares, honestly. Don't restrain yourself with a label, and what others see in you and you following along with it solely because of that is naive. What’s something you do a lot? Over-evaluate anything and everything, because my OCD has been an absolute beast for the longest time. Are you currently on any other websites? Twitch and deviantART are open. Have you ever been told you naturally tilt your head a certain way? YES. I have done this since like... late middle school or earlier when the hair to the right of my part covered my eye. My mom points it out all the time, and no matter how many times I've tried to unlearn it, I can't do it. My head physically feels weird if I straighten it. When was the last time you laughed at someone? Some time earlier when I was watching Mark play GTA. Do you have any projects on the go right now? I started a massive YouTubers video with "High Hopes" over a month ago, and now I haven't touched it since the day I started lmao. Do you, or did you, really look forward to when you can finally move away? Eh... yes and no. I really question my ability to be that independent. What’s the worst tattoo you’ve ever seen? Who knows. What’s your favorite name ever? Alessandra. Are you a hat person? No. Have you ever forgotten how to do something simple? Ha, yeah. Have you ever been hit on by somebody way too old for you? Possibly an old family friend; he had this thing for being REALLY flirtatious with my older sister, and then me sometimes as I got older. We were never alone with him or anything, I mean he did it right in front of our mother and dad (he fucking loathed him because of it, probably still does), so we think he was joking? Have you ever climbed a chain-link fence? Yes. Have you ever had to run from the cops? No. Do you know anyone who is constantly humming? No? Are you afraid of any specific animals? I mean the usual insects and spiders, then there's the few more unusual ones such as SLUGS, MAGGOTS, larvae in general really, whale sharks, worms... probably others that aren't coming to me. Did anything comical happen to you today? No. Are you any good at fussball? Not especially. Who do you usually dream about? Jason is most often in the ones I actually remember. Yay. It made sense when I wasn't even beginning to heal, but now that I am and I STILL have them despite having fully and entirely moved on, I finally just asked my mother if it was normal, which apparently it is extremely common with even "recovered" PTSD victims. Shoulda asked/looked it up way sooner... Do you visit your dentist as often as you should? Yeah, thanks to Mom. She always ensures I stay updated with medical exams/appointments. I'm lucky as hell to have her here to keep my life straight. Do you still have a teddy bear? Maybe in the bags in the attic? Did you get any Girl Scout cookies this year? No. They don't come here. What’s your favorite fairytale? Bitch Shrek don't even @ me it's a fucking fairytale. Do you apologize when you know you should? Usually. In most cases, I feel overwhelming guilt otherwise. Do apologies really make anything better? Sometimes, to a degree. Can other people tell when you’re high? I've never been high. Do you own a birdcage? No. Have you ever planted anything? Yeah. Have you ever been blackmailed into doing anything? No. What eyeshadow color looks best on you? I only ever wear black. Can you tolerate small children? jfc no. In almost any situation. Even my niece and nephew, I can't be around them but for so long without getting burnt out or aggravated. What’s the stupidest behavior humans partake in? Holy sweet mother of The Lord God Almighty- Have you ever seriously considered suicide? Yeah. Did you ever hit anything while learning to drive? I like... immediately hit a curb lmao, and I STILL can't turn past them without the risk of running over it. It's one of the things that's holding me back from getting my license yet. Which movie’s musical score is truly memorable? UM, The Lion King??????? Hurry the FUCK up July. Which TV show theme music do you remember most? That '70s Show. Have you ever bounced any checks? I've never even used a check... How many speeding tickets have you been given? None. Not that I drive a lot. First kiss: quick, sloppy, and forgettable or passionate and memorable? It was fucking adorable and definitely memorable. I don't care how I feel about him now, that's a little event I'll always remember and cherish. Jeff Foxworthy, Bill Engvall, Ron White, or Larry the Cable Guy? OH GOD what was that stand-up show with just them? I LOVED that back as a teen. I don't know who I liked most, but probably Jeff or Bill. I do know Ron was my least favorite, but he wasn't bad. How many bills do you pay online? I'm a 23-year-old "adult" who doesn't have bills. What’s the highest score you ever bowled? Hell if I remember. Nothing impressive. What’s your definition of a good, full breakfast? The "perfect" picture is like pancakes, scrambled cheesy eggs, and bacon. Whats your favorite flavor of jam? Of what I've tried, I only like grape. Are you a fast runner? I can't even TELL you the last time this bitch ran. At school was is/was the main reason you get/got in trouble? It was never severe trouble, just a quick word, but Jason because we'd always hug and usually just exchange a peck in-between going to classes; both were no-nos in our shit school, and the hall monitors or whatever would tell us not to if they saw, buuut we didn't listen. Hell, I think maybe hand-holding was against the rules too, which I know we didn't abide by if that was present. Do you make your views heard or do you hide in the background? It depends. I'd say heard more often, maybe? Do you have many friends from foreign countries? No. Can you open your mouth very wide? No. You know those things at the dentist where you have to bite down straight onto them for an impression of your molars? If the dentist was considerate enough, I'd use the one for older children instead of adult because I canNOT fully bite down on the normal ones without it being incredibly painful and I gag like mad to the point I inevitably tear up. What was the reason for your last x-ray? My knees were being checked with all the horrible pain I'd been dealing with from them. Did you have a rebellious phase growing up? Not for the sake of being rebellious, no. I only had such streaks (and still do) when I saw/see them appropriate to the situation. What religion were you brought up with? Roman Catholic. What is the most common name where you live? I dunno. Elizabeth, maybe? Actually just looked it up for the hell of it and what I found first says William (which I can absolutely believe) and Ava (which I question?). When something really scares you, what’s your immediate reaction? Jump, gasp, and either dash or stare at whatever the source is like a deer in headlights. Does it bother you to be around people who are smoking? Yes. How much time do you spend on the phone a day? Not long at all. I check Instagram usually at least once, and I don't follow a lot at all. Sometimes I check Facebook on my phone, but I usually do on my laptop now. That doesn't take very long, either. Your favorite song lyrics right now: "What I do know is come Judgment Day, I followed love; can you say the same?" from "Natural Born Sinner" by In This Moment. Do you think it’s possible for a rap song to make you cry? Ever heard "Runaway Love" by Ludacris & Mary J. Blige? Bitch you bet it makes me wanna cry. Name three books that have actually made you cry [really cry not a few tears]: I don't think I've ever gone beyond just a few tears, really. The Notebook probably was the hardest on me, though. Or Old Yeller. Idr. Is it easy to annoy you? Maybe. Do you watch musicals? If so, which is your favorite? If not, why not? No, because they make me cringe into a new dimension. Do you wear short shorts & tanktops in the summer? You will never see me in shorts, and I wear tank tops like... always. Always to bed, at least. Does the idea of having a baby at your age scare you? Having a baby period does. No fucking thanks. Do you remember who your best friend was in fourth grade? Quiata. Maybe still Brianna, idr. What band has the power to make you cry by splitting up? None. Is there anywhere in your house that you’re scared to be alone in? No. Any embarrassing/childish shows you secretly still enjoy watching? No. I don't watch TV period, but what I do like, BELIEVE THIS SHIT OR NOT, I'm not embarrassed. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital for a long period of time? I think the longest I was ever supposed to stay somewhere was three months, but that didn't actually happen. The longest I've actually been in a hospital was two weeks, give or take. Would you feel funny if you kissed somebody of the same sex? I'm not straight so obviously not. Name three things in your room that others probably don’t have in theirs: An iguana, a snake, and a rat. In the same general area lmao. What’s something you can cook or bake like a pro? Nothing. If you could pull off any hairstyle, what would it look like? A pixie cut. The kind with the shaved sides. Besides furniture, what’s the biggest thing in your bedroom? Uhhh my snake's cage? Do you diet and exercise regularly? I do a 16-hour fast daily. What’s something that you think is really cute? Even though I don't want kids, I can't see men being really vibrant and cute with babies or toddlers without just alksdfjioawer Would you rather donate time, blood, or money? Hm. I feel like ultimately, money would be most beneficial in the majority of cases? Can grills be sexy on a guy? They are incredibly unattractive on anyone. Are braces cute? Not particularly, but they're not like, unattractive. Unlike grills, they serve an actual purpose and aren't as obnoxious. Which of your friends makes you laugh the hardest? Girt. What brings out the worst in you? Being extremely stressed. I'm seriously snappy and irritable. Would you rather go to Canada or Mexico on vacation? Canada, probably. If you have glasses, do you get days when you don’t feel like wearing them? I don't think about it because I don't have a choice if I want to see. Do you ever wear hats indoors? I don't wear them period. Have you ever played bingo at an actual bingo hall? No. Have you ever pledged money to a Kickstarter and it reached its goal? If so, did you get any fun extra stuff because you pledged a higher amount? No. What’s your favorite comic book/graphic novel? I don't have one. What’s something you can do without looking/with your eyes closed? Type. Is there a color combination that holds a significance to you? If so, what is the combination and what does it mean? No. What was the last thing you swore at? I don't know. If you use Facebook, do you ever look at the Memories page? Ugh no. Let's not remind myself of dark times or more specifically cringy ones. Do you have a drawer where you just throw some random stuff? No. What’s the funniest shirt that you own? I don't find any really funny. What is something you absolutely refuse to pay for? Ummm "fancy" clothing brands, to name one of the top contenders. Has a stray/runaway cat or a dog ever followed you home? If so, what did you do with it? Maybe a cat? I don't think so, though. Is there a stranger you expect to see every day? No. What is something you take pride in? My recovery. What is something you have a lot of experience in? I guess photography? What’s the biggest magnet on your fridge? I don't feel like going to check. Do you prefer things (movies, books, etc) that scare you or make you laugh? Entertainment media rarely actually scares me, but I prefer "scary" stuff. Were you born with naturally straight teeth? Well, I had to get braces, so I would assume not? Do you try not to take a lot of medicine or do you take it whenever? I avoid OTCs when I can; I'm on enough prescribed stuff. Do you prefer original or sour Skittles? Sour. Do you check to make sure your ear phones are going in the right ear? No. Are fireworks illegal to buy where you live? The big ones, yes. People still go to Myrtle Beach on the SC side to buy them tho. Can you talk and work at the same time? No. Do you care more about yourself or more about others? This really depends on what the situation is... and my state of mind at the time. But I think usually myself? It used to be others, but I learned how unhealthy that can be. Do you find it easy to pass the time or do you get really bored? I get bored excruciatingly easily. How often do you re-watch/re-read things or are you more ‘once only’? I'm typically an "only once" person. What color ink do you prefer writing in? Black? Have you inherited any garments from your parents or grandparents? I don't think so. When was the last time you visited the doctor? Why did you go? Around a week ago to get my vitamin D re-checked. Have you ever been in a Catholic confessional? Yes. Who was the last non-relative you rode in a vehicle with? My VR coach. What movie are you looking forward to coming out? I will be seeing the live action TLK as fast as physically possible. What was the title of the last song you listened to? "God Hates Your Outfit" lmao. ^Who performs it? Jeffree Star. Can you do a backflip? No. Is your car newer than a 2004? I don't have my own car. Who is the lead singer of your favorite band? Ozzy Osbourne. How would you feel if you knew you were adopted? If I grew up knowing, I wouldn't feel much of anything new besides the fact I'd be grateful as hell someone chose me. If I just suddenly found out, I'd be inexplicably shocked and furious I was never told. Do you have freckles? No. Do you have dimples? Very clearly on my left cheek, and I have a super shallow one on the right that used to be more apparent. And I have back dimples. When was the last time you went fishing? When Sara was here in June last year. Do you know anyone with a pet that has your name? No. Do you expect to be married in the next 2 years? Most likely not. What was the last injury you received? Probably something from Roman playing. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? Yeah. Do you regret it? No. Do you ever get in weird moods and listen to music you normally hate? Very rarely I listen to pop from when I was a kid. How old is the oldest person you’ve dated? Well, we "dated" for less than a day, but idk. I'd guess he's 27-ish now? Have you ever tried a colorful macaroon? No. What’s the last thing you made out of clay? An anatomical heart, I think? Did you learn to type through a computer program for kids? Not really for kids? We took them in middle school, and they weren't like, super kiddy. How many years were you homeschooled? I never was. What color is the tree outside your window? Uhhh probably green? I don't wanna get up and look. What do you take for pain? Advil/Ibuprofen. Which pharmacy do you use? Harris Teeter. What is this month’s calendar picture? Don't have a calendar. Is there a coffee shop in your town that’s better than Starbucks? N/A Who has the best personality on YouTube? Shane Dawson's is probably the most universally likable, I think. Have you ridden your bike yet this year? I don't have one anymore. What does your bike look like? N/A Who are your favorite kids that you’ve babysat? I babysat only once and hated it. Not the kid, just the duty. Who is your favorite cousin? I don't have a favorite. Does one side of your family live in another state? Both sides do. What states did your parents grow up in? New York and Ohio. What, if anything, are you severely allergic to? Severely, nothing. Have you ever had an allergic reaction to an insect? No, thankfully. Do you spill food on yourself while you eat? Not often. What is a topic you like to answer questions on the most? Meerkats or Mark. Have you ever seen a queen bee outside its hive? I have no clue. Which Clue (or Cluedo) character is your favorite? I was always Miss Scarlet because even as a kid I knew she was hot stuff. Do you watch any old films? If so, name a few of your favorites. I don't really watch movies period. But a few I like are The Outsiders, Old Yeller, Johnny Got His Gun, A Raisin In The Sun, Steel Magnolias... lots of others, really. Just not many are coming to mind immediately. Who are some of your classic era film actors and actresses, if any? Idk. Do you have any novelty ice cube trays? No. Your ex taps you on the shoulder and says, “I still love you.” You say? The only ex who I'm aware even loved me in the first place is Jason, and I probably wouldn't say anything. Got a very strong feeling my PTSD would literally erupt like goddamn Saint Helen and I'd leave the situation in the blink of an eye. I don't love him anymore, and I don't even know if I'd believe him telling me that now, but I know damn well it would fuck with me. Would you ever work at a movie theater? It sure as hell wouldn't be my first pick. At least here, they're grossly underpaid and overworked. Do you have a phone charger in your car? If you have a specific type of cord. Do you live far from your parents? I live with my mom. Dad's like... 20-ish minutes away, if that? Can you go see a doctor alone or do you like to take someone with you? Mom is always with me. Do you like pineapple on pizza? Never tried, never want to. I can just about guarantee I would positively loathe it. Sweet and savory don't mix with me. Do you like to hold hands? With my s/o and I'm comfortable with them, yeah. What’s a show that you absolutely refuse to watch? 13 Reasons Why. How many times have you been in love? Twice. Do you remember how old you were when you started swearing? However old I was in the 7th grade. Last thing you cooked? Toaster strudels in the toaster oven. Movie you want to see? I wanna see the newest HTTYD soooo badly, but I doubt I'll get the chance while it's in theaters. Ever spent the night in a tent? Yeah. What do you call your grandparents? Grammy. The others are dead. Can you snap your fingers? Poorly with my right hand. Can you wink? Only with my right eye. How many keys do you carry with you? One. How well do you know the people you live with? Well, she's my mom and we're very close. Do you own any jerseys? No. Who knows your biggest secrets? Sara. Have you ever ran from your own parents? No. Are you afraid of clowns? No. Do you crack your knuckles? I physically can't, and besides, the sound is disgusting to me. Who IMed you on Facebook last? Girt. Could you see yourself dropping out of high school? I'm long out of high school, and I didn't. Do you have any personal fashion rules that revolve around your own preferences/body type (e.g., you never/always wear a certain color, sleeve type, or length of dress)? I don't wear shorts, tight shirts, dresses, skirts, crop tops, I wouldn't dare touch a romper, I highly doubt I'd wear yellow... just to name the ones that came to me immediately. Do you remember any celebrity whose style you admired when you were a teen? What do you think of that style now? YO Avril Lavigne was my emo model okay. She's still a queen. The last time you had a conflict with someone else, did you confront them about it or keep it to yourself? Do you think it would have been better or worse to do the opposite? Uhhh... I don't remember who this was. When you finally make a decision to do something you have been contemplating for a while, do you become highly anxious and motivated to do it right away? Yup. When you were a kid did you make up lies about your life to make yourself seem more interesting? Alternatively, did you know kids who told these stories and did you believe them? Bitch I made up that a talking wolf came to me and gave me animal powers and the rule was I could only tell three people. I was a fucking weird kid. I know others who have made things up, too. Can you think of a moment from your childhood that was totally “on brand” for you, or consistent with your adult personality? I'm sure there's something, but nothing's coming to me rn. Have you ever warned someone else about something, whether it was about a person in their life or an oncoming weather event? Yup, in numerous scenarios. So, is it "gif" with a hard G or soft G? I say both, but "jiff" more frequently. Is there a book or movie that you thought was about something completely different from what it actually ended up being about? What did you think it would be? Maybe... Is there an item that you bought on a whim, but now consider it a crucial part of your life and you would or have purchased it again? I have no clue.

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