#also happened to my buddy ronald

[akane171]

I have read "D-Day with the Screaming Eagles" (to find things about Easy Company), so you don't have to (but you should because it's an amazing book).

-Mike Ranney was among those who received pathfinder training, Shortly before invasion, he requested back to his line company. He desired to go into combat with his close buddies.

-A few quotes from Winter's memoir, that everyone already knows xD

-Corporal Ray Taylor witnessed the moment Easy's Headquaters plane (with Meehan) was hit: "We were lined up in the first position in the doorway. As first manm I was knocked backward into the plane by the force of a neighboring plane exploding in the midair. One of its high explosive bundles, which were suspended underneath the plane, blew up as a result of a direct hit."

-HARRY WELSH, PEOPLE! "(...) was dropped from a plane that had been hit several times, he recalled: I came down over a burning plane that crashed previously. The heat made my chute go up and away from the flames and tangled in the hedgerow. I fell alongside the hedgerow and this probably saved my life. The field was infested with machine gunners and completly strung with overhead barbed wire poles".

-Also, it seems Harry's nickname was "Limey", lol.

-Every time Speirs is mentioned he is called Ron. Not Ronald. Ron.

-Also, interesting thing I didn't know about him "(...) Lt. Ron Speirs, who had once served as a British commando".

-"Carwood Lipton reacted calmly to the intense action about him. He had landed in a walled-in backyard in Ste. Mere Eglise with heavy machine gun fire being sent up toward him as he floated down. A building had been burning firecely down the street, lighting the area with eerie dancing shadows. Yet, Lipton remembered: I didn't have any trouble getting out of my chute. I was very calm (don't know why). Unbuckled each leg straps, belly band and chest strap. Checked myself over and saw that the only weapons I had were a trench knife, two fragmentation grenades and a demolition kit".

-"Walter "Smokey" Gordon had joined two men from his stick. He recalled: We heard a noise further down the hedgerow and one of the men went to investigate abd challenged with his cricket. A fragmentation grenade was tossed in our direction and we dived for cover. Shortly, we got moving again. We saw another soldier run across an opening and I went to get the fellow and in looking in the bushes for him found myself staring down the barrel of a 45. caliber pistol held by F. M. Talbert, our squad leader. I will always remember those white eyes in a blackened face behind that pistol!"

-Colonel Sink popularized the "hostiles" term and I find it hilarious.

-"Colonel Sink continued to fume and fuss throughout the morning due to the lack od communiation with any of his units (...)" and he was "brooding" xD and then he got a jeep and had a ride with a few poor souls through German lines, shooting and throwing grenades, running into a group of twenty German officers, and then they came back. And we thought Ron was mad xD

- There is a subchapter called "Strayer's stray battalion" and it made me laugh

-The attack on the battery is described. Aisde of the battle, Lipton remembered and needed to mention he was the one who bandaged Wynn's butt xD

Also, quotting Winters: Compton, who had been fooling around with a grenade let out a yell "LOOK OUT!" We all hit for cover but there was no cover, for you couldn't get out of the trench, and right in the middle of it was a grenade set to go off, which it did, but for some damn reason nobody got hurt." Lol, Buck, lol.

-Confirmed (by Lt. William G. Padrick) there was a statement to not take the prisoners on the first day. On the other hand, some of the parachuters have taken them, and were quite surprised Germans were shaken and sure they were going to be shot. So, I guess communication in American army was not one of the greatest? xD

-Also "Many other things happened from the time we landed, but I prefer to forget them (...) but some of the cruel cold-blooded things that some of the Germans did made us seen red. From that time on, we decided if they wanted to fight dirty we could too. We took very few prisoners compared to the number we could have, just for the reason. This was business is ghastly at best, but it can be terribly horrible" (Captain George L. Lage)

-Concluding, this whole operation is basically what SNAFU and Murphy's law are, but it as the author said "American paratroopers didn't know where they were, but knew what they were doing." AMEN

Ok, and there is a memory of a soldier from different company but I need to share it because it's fuckingly heartwrenching.

"Lt. Chambliss was an army brat - West Point - and the most idealistic person I ever knew. He was my platoon officer, very G.I., very strickt, but fair. He never drank or ran around and all the other officers must have been a little envious because they pumped the men for any lapses which they might used to needle him. There were none. Since he was so West Point, I conceived the idea o asking "Are we army or West Point?" All the guys in the 2nd platoon liked the idea so I stenciled 'West Point' over the breast pocket of all of our combat jump suits. We all showed up in formation expecting an uproar, but the Lieutenant gave no indication, then or in the days which followed, that he never mentioned. That of course was a let down, but we went into Normandy this way. (...) During the fighting in the exposed area near the bridge, he suddenly stood up and was shot twice. As he lay dying, he asked if anyone was there from the 2nd platoon, and when was told there were none, he told the H Company sergeant who was cradling his head that he'd like to know why we put West Point on out jackets. He wondered if we were mocking his background. I cried tears of shock and frustration and shame as his body was carried past my position. I keep wondering how he could have failed to perceive the great pride and affection we felt for him."

Now you can suffer with me ;_;

D-Day with Screaming Eagles by George Koskimaki.

[deadpresidents]

Is there anyone who could have given Reagan a bigger challenge than Walter Mondale did in 1984?

If John Glenn had just hired the right people and put together a better campaign strategy (and maybe had a bit more political charisma), he could have absolutely been able to give Ronald Reagan a run for his money in 1984.

Reagan's whole political identity was that he was the most All-Americany All-American that ever stepped foot on the political scene and that he was going to fight Communism and make America that shining city on a hill. Imagine if he had to run against John Fucking Glenn -- a fighter pilot in World War II and Korea who literally fought Communists in real combat. Oh, and then he was one of the Mercury Seven and just so happened to be the first American astronaut to ever orbit the Earth. John Glenn wasn't just an astronaut -- he was the image that people had in their heads when they thought about what an astronaut was. He's still the definition of astronaut to most Americans. He was also buddies with JFK and RFK and when he retired from NASA -- again, he was a fucking ASTRONAUT, in case I didn't make that clear -- instead of moving to Florida and going golfing, he became a U.S. Senator. Not only should John Glenn have been able to out-All-American Ronald Reagan, but he should have been able to make Reagan seem like Leonid Brezhnev. I mean, just picture Reagan trying to get cute in a debate and making some sort of joke and then Glenn saying, "I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly. My ears are still adjusting from when I was a fighter pilot who shot down three actual MiG-15s and then became a FUCKING ASTRONAUT WHO ORBITED THE EARTH."

But when Glenn did seek the Democratic nomination in 1984, he ran a really crappy campaign and somehow lost to Walter Mondale (who went on to lose 49 out of 50 states to Reagan in the general election). Glenn's campaign is one of the all-time missed opportunities. He was running for President just a few months after The Right Stuff came out and reminded Americans that Glenn was not only an astronaut but THE astronaut! His campaign should have held screenings of that movie in every early primary state and just had Glenn serving apple pie and Coca-Cola outside every theater while wearing his space suit and sitting in a fighter jet and reminding folks that Reagan's "combat" duties during World War II was making training films in Burbank.

I don't know who ran John Glenn's disastrous 1984 Presidential campaign, but it was political malpractice. Just answering this question makes me mad because it's so obvious that he was the PERFECT candidate to run against Ronald Reagan. HE WAS JOHN GLENN. He was such a legendary astronaut that, years later, when NASA wanted to send an old guy to space to study the effects of space flight on aging people, they sent him! He was almost 80 years old and passed the same physicals as young astronauts! How the hell did Glenn lose the Democratic nomination to Mondale? John Glenn lost to a guy named "Fritz"! I can't believe that John Glenn couldn't even beat the guy who got beat in 49 out of 50 states in 1984.

I can't believe how frustrated I am from answering this question and slowly realizing the sheer political malpractice of John Glenn's failed 1984 Presidential campaign.

[avelera]

So I spent the weekend watching “For All Mankind” on Apple TV with my love, and had a few thoughts:

- I think I would have watched it much sooner if I’d known it was created by Ronald D. Moore of “Battlestar Galactica” (reboot), “Outlander” (though I haven’t seen it), and DS9 fame. It definitely made the fact that Apple made this particular show make more sense.

- I somehow completely missed what the premise of the show actually was from the little marketing I saw for it. I think I clocked it as some sort of atomic age sci-fi adventure story but really it’s about the Space Race and it’s a whole alternate US history of what would have happened if the USSR got to the moon first and made the US spiteful enough to keep competing with them there.

- It’s basically a whole alternate history of the 1960s-90s (so far) and does a fair number of interesting and plausible alterations of the timeline.

- IMO the story is at its best when it cleaves closest to reality and makes you go, “Oh yeah, sure, that could easily have happened!” If only because then when they do make bigger leaps you can see how they’re grounded.

- The story is also at its best with its character stories. In particular Margo, Aleida, Molly (and Wayne, my beloved), and even surprisingly Karen after the first season arc really deal in a lot of pathos and I got choked up over them more than once.

- The show does a good job of showing the personal things going on in a character’s life and the struggles they’re going through before and during major history-altering decisions they make. In that sense, it’s a very empathic show AND it builds a good causal chain for why some of these events happen. You almost always at least understand why a certain decision was made.

- That doesn’t mean you AGREE with every decision. By the time we got to S3, my chorusing cries of, “GURRRRLL NO” and “OH BUDDY, NO” respectively had become a familiar chant.

- There were one or two plotlines and decisions I disliked (mostly because they struck me as cliche, like Kelly’s in S3, or a bit culturally questionable even if they made sense thematically, like lauding the US pilgrims in one of the S3 voiceover monologues which makes SENSE because the show’s about exploration but also… no. Eh. Maybe pick a group a little less steeped in religious zealotry and colonialism, much as I understand their mythological place in the broader American zeitgeist, and how colonialism and exploration ARE hard to extricate when addressing broader themes AND since no life has been discovered there (yet), space exploration doesn’t carry the same controversy around those aspects of colonialism, and I get how as a writer of a space exploration show, you’re trying to address the spirit of daring and all but…. Yeah. It’s tough to find good parallels to wax poetic about without stumbling upon some complex legacies, shall we say)…

- BUT I will say as a writer that they made up maybe 10% at most of the show which is an objectively very small part of such a sweeping and ambitious narratives and I liked a lot more than I disliked.

- I don’t know if EVERYONE will like it but I do think it’s a solid sci-fi show that I find much more enjoyable and solidly written than, say, “Silo” and one with a great answer to the “so what?” of the story with its couching in the great events of the latter half of the 20th c and it’s intimate focus on well-depicted and complex characters.

[priestessofspiders]

They Dwell Beneath

The following documents have been compiled together in an attempt to present a clearer picture of the unusual events leading to the abandonment of Stevensville, Colorado on July 18, 1987. The official explanation of the town's evacuation is an underground coal fire caused due to an unusually destructive and highly localized earthquake. With this evidence, I hope to change that perception. 

Newspaper clipping from the Stevensville Herald, April 17th, 1987

McClintock Coal Mine Digging New Shaft

The McClintock coal mine is digging a new mine shaft some time in the next month. Victor Briggs, the mine's foreman, states, "The company has been looking to expand for some time now. The other shafts are no longer yielding as much coal, and increasing mechanization has been resulting in layoffs. Julian McClintock believes the best solution is to start a new shaft, some recent geological surveys have hinted there may be vast wealth of coal at the proposed location of shaft 8. This expansion will bring in dozens of new jobs, something that this town desperately needs."

Others however, have less positive opinions on this development. "A new mine shaft means more pollution and a greater reliance on fossil fuels", claims Diana Schneider, chairwoman of the Thomas County Conservation Society. "Our greed is destroying our planet, just look at what has happened to Lark's creek due to runoff from the mines already! We need to think about what kind of world our children are going to inherit."

Mayor Mitchell has responded to the recent criticism, explaining, "We need to focus on our citizens, not a bunch of trees. These environmentalists don't understand that we need jobs far more than we need a scenic view. If Ms. Schneider is so concerned about the world our children are going to inherit, she should consider whether an impoverished child would rather have a pleasant view or food to eat." Julian McClintock, owner of the McClintock coal mine, could not be reached for comment.

Newspaper clipping from the Stevensville Herald, May 10th, 1987

Geologist Baffled Over Recent Earthquakes

Dr. Katherine Hendricks of the Thomas County Geological Institute is unable to explain the recent quakes that seem focused around Stevensville. "It just doesn't make sense", says Hendricks, "it doesn't line up with any of the geological information we have for this area, and the seismograph data is just bizarre."

The quakes, which started earlier this week, have all been unusually powerful for this region, measuring an average of 4.6 on the Richter scale. While no injuries have been reported, the quakes have resulted in some noticeable shaking and loud rumbling. County authorities advise that residents of Stevensville should pack up and secure easily damaged valuables until further notice. Diary Entry of Ronald Winsome, June 3rd, 1987

I've been moved over to work on shaft 8 today. I didn't really mind, its mostly the same work I've been doing for a while now, though some of the equipment is a bit newer. Management was right, there is a lot more coal in this area, and it seems of much higher quality as well. I'm also looking forward to the pay boost, more money for the same work is always nice. The only thing that bugs me are two of the new workers, I think their names are Jim and Robert. There is just something off about them. They work the machines just fine of course, excellent even, but they don't talk much, and they always have these stupid grins on their faces. Whenever I try to make conversation while we work they just give me this blank stare and idiotic smile, like they're looking right through me. I thought maybe it was just me, but I asked my buddy Charlie about it and they seem freaky to him too. Maybe they're on something, I don't know, I might bring it up with Victor.

Diary Entry of Ronald Winsome, June 4th, 1987

I spoke to Victor today and the strangest thing happened. The conversation started out completely ordinary, nothing seemed unusual. He asked me about the wife, how I was doing, etc., but when I brought up Jim and Robert his eyes went blank and he got the same stupid smile on his face. He just said something like "Oh don't mind them, they're just a bit shy is all, there's nothing to worry about". I tried to elaborate and he just repeated the exact same words, same tone, verbatim. I left it at that and didn't press the issue, if I'm being honest with myself it chilled me to the bone. He sounded like a different person, like some sort of machine instead of a flesh and blood man. Just thinking about it gives me the creeps. I mentioned it to Charlie and he thought it was really weird. He thinks it might be some sort of bizarre prank or something, but I don't know.

Diary Entry of Ronald Winsome, June 5th, 1987

I don't know if I can take much more of this. There is something deeply, terribly wrong happening here. Charlie is acting different now too. I've been working with this guy for years. I was excited when he got transferred over to shaft 8 with me, happy to see a familiar face. But now he has the same, stupid smile and blank-eyed stare as Jim and Robert. He didn't even seem to recognize me when I said hi to him earlier. I hope this is just some stupid prank, I feel like I'm losing my mind.

Diary Entry of Ronald Winsome, June 8th, 1987

I quit today. I just can't take it anymore. I got back from the weekend hoping everyone would just be done with this damn joke but its gotten even worse. Jim got his hand caught in the treads of one of the diggers, he nearly got his whole arm torn off. I've seen accidents like this before, it wasn't the flesh tearing or blood spurting that's got me shaken, it was how he reacted. He just stared blankly ahead, smiling like a goddamn moron, not so much as a flinch as the machine ripped half his arm off. I put in my resignation at the end of my shift. I told them it was a two weeks notice but I'm not coming in there again. I saw that same grin on Victor as I told him I was going. The same blankness in his eyes. What the Hell is going on?

Letter From Dr. Jeremy Hopkins to his brother Andrew Hopkins, June 9th, 1987

Andy,

I'm writing to you today because I just need to get something off my chest. You've always been someone I can talk to when things have been rough, and I really can't deal with the idea of bottling this up. We had a patient wheeled into the ER yesterday, he had gotten his arm torn off in a mining accident (I'll spare you the gory details, I know you don't have much of a stomach for that stuff). Needless to say, the poor bastard was in a sorry state by the time we got to him, he had lost quite a bit of blood. We weren't sure he'd make it. Now you know me Andy, I'm not one to get all riled up over something as simple as a severed limb, but that's not what bothered me. It was the fact that this man showed absolutely no signs of stress or shock whatsoever. He was just sort of smiling, blankly, nothing behind his eyes, but strangely it didn't seem like he was in any sort of catatonic state or anything like that. He looked around, even responded to questions, always speaking in a calm sort of voice. That damn smile never left his face. Weirder still, sedatives didn't seem to work on him. We wanted to try and put him under but the IV did nothing. I triple checked the needle, it was fine, no problem with the bag either. I even had the nurses change out the medicine just to see if we accidentally gave him mislabeled saline but it didn't matter; he just wouldn't fall unconscious. He kept staring at us as we worked to clean up the wound and stop the bleeding.

After he was stable I gave him a proper examination. I wanted to take a look at his head, see if there was any trauma there that could account for his utterly bizarre lack of pain or inability to fall unconscious. He bit me when I tried to. No change in that stupid smile or blank doll eyes, just jerked his head toward me and bit me hard on the arm when I tried to. After I finally got him off me and had the nurses tie him down (and attempt to anaesthetize him, but obviously that didn't work) he just kept smiling and staring, even as he thrashed against his bonds. We had to basically tie him down to get a good look at him, not that he ever stopped struggling. I finally did get a closer look at his head, and what I found puzzled me immensely. It was very faint, but around the circumference of his head was a thin white scar, all the way around. Like how a cartoon might depict someone getting brain surgery by just having the top of their head pulled off like the lid of a box. I barely even noticed it at first, it was so faint.

Its hard thinking about what happened next. If I knew it would have turned out this way, I never would have done what I did. I wanted to get a look at his brain, figure out what happened, if he would need surgery. We prepped the MRI machine and strapped him in. He just kept smiling and staring blankly ahead, gave no warning or anything. He didn't say anything at all when we pushed him into the machine. Didn't say anything as we flipped on the switch. He only started talking after it was too late.

It was only once the machine started that he began screaming. He started shouting for help, begging us to stop. Then he said the words that will haunt me to the day I die. He shouted "They put something in my head!" I tried to shut it off, I swear I did everything right, but I must have got so panicked I fumbled just a little too long. I know its impossible, but it almost felt as if the machine was fighting back. I watched in horror as I saw his flesh start to writhe as if full of worms, his veins bulging as his eyes darted around. It could only have been a few seconds, but for me time seemed to pass like molasses. There was a sudden sense of calm on the patient's face, and then his head exploded, showering blood and bits of brain all over the inside of the machine. Scattered among the gore were dozens of intricate pieces of metal, rapidly crumpling into flat discs of metal under the intense magnetic force. I'm sorry, I know I said I wouldn't go into details, but I just had to tell someone.

The official explanation is that the patient had some shrapnel in the head that was previously unreported. I can't believe that. I didn't get too good of a look at whatever was inside his head before they were flattered, but it didn't look like any shrapnel I've ever seen. In addition, there is no record of the patient ever serving in the military, and any severe enough injury to leave that much metal inside his skull would surely be recorded somewhere. Someone did this to him. I've been given 2 weeks off for my mental health. I was hoping I could come visit you and Christine. I think I need to see some familiar faces after this experience. I'm sorry.

Yours Jeremy Transcript of an interview with Doctor Natasha Albertson for the cancelled TV show "Bizarre Mysteries", conducted January 13th, 2003. Interviewer is Arthur Dennings. ARTHUR: So, Ms. Albertson, we understand that you had an unusual experience with an autopsy in 1987.

NATASHA: That's why I'm here aren't I? ARTHUR: Why don't you tell us what happened? NATASHA: Well, that's a bit easier asked than answered, but I'll do my best. It was, if I had to guess, June 28th when I became directly involved. About a week or two earlier a miner by the name of Roger Ainsley never returned home from the mine. According to his partner, he had been acting strangely for several days beforehand. Roger had been seeming to forget how to do basic tasks, smiling strangely at inopportune moments, and sometimes just stared at the wall for hours, seeming not to blink. His partner had considered getting him to see professional help, but as they were a gay couple in the 80s, that wasn't really an option for them. So he just hoped it would pass on its own, and tried to do his best to take care of him. Then one day he just never came back after work. No explanation, no note, no nothing, he just didn't come back. From what I was told, security cameras didn't pick him up leaving the mine either. It was as if he just vanished. ARTHUR: Did Roger Ainsley have any history of mental illness or anything like that? NATASHA: Nope, none at all. He was considered by all who knew him to be mentally sound. He had no history of depression, schizophrenia, anxiety, nothing. He occasionally had a drink or a cigarette after his shift at the mine, but nothing that would count as an addiction, and as near as anyone could tell he'd never taken any form of illicit substances. He just started acting weird out of the blue and then vanished. ARTHUR: And how did you come into the picture? NATASHA: Well, after a few days of no contact, Roger's boyfriend called the police. Of course they found nothing. They suspected he fled town or something similar, and didn't put a lot of effort into the search. Not a lot of sympathy for folks like us back then. Anyway, after a week or two, he just turned up out of the blue at the edge of the woods, stark naked and barely breathing. The kids who found him took Roger to the hospital, but by the time they got him there the poor guy had already passed away. Now, at the time I worked as a pathologist at the Thomas County Hospital, so it was my job to perform an autopsy on him. I didn't have any knowledge of who he was at the time, since I didn't live in Stevensville and word hadn't really gotten around yet. To me he was just another John Doe. ARTHUR: What did you find? [THERE IS A PAUSE OF AROUND 5 SECONDS] NATASHA: Nothing at first. Not a mark on him beyond some scratches and whatnot, consistent with what someone wandering naked in the woods would have. He seemed a bit malnourished and dehydrated, but not too bad to have died. My thought at the time was an overdose of some kind, given how he was found. That was my working theory until I took a look at his skull. ARTHUR: What was wrong with his skull?

NATASHA: There was a faint scar around the whole cranium, almost unnoticeable unless you were checking very closely. It was way too precise to have been made with any of the technology at the time, unless somehow this working class coal miner had gotten highly experimental treatment I hadn't heard about. I was at a loss, but it seemed to me almost as if it was some sign of brain surgery. So I did what any self-respecting pathologist would do; I opened up his skull. ARTHUR: What did you find? NATASHA: Nothing. ARTHUR: You mean, his brain seemed normal? NATASHA: No, I mean there was nothing in there. His skull was empty. Newspaper Clipping from the Stevensville Herald, July 3rd, 1987

Environmentalist Group Sues McClintock Mine The Thomas County Conservation Society announced plans this past wednesday to sue the McClintock coal mine, over alleged violations of the Clean Water Act. "I've been out there by Lark's creek just yesterday", said Diana Schneider, chairwoman of the TCCS. "All of the fish out there are horribly sick, and the water is this horrible purplish-black color! I can't believe that nothing has been done sooner." When reached for comment, Julian McClintock, owner of the McClintock coal mine, said in a letter to the press, "I understand the concern of the TCCS, but there is nothing wrong. I personally invite Ms. Schneider to visit our facility. I am sure it will put her mind at ease."

Newspaper Clipping from the Stevensville Herald, July 7th, 1987

Environmentalist Group Retracts Lawsuit

Diana Schneider, chairwoman of the Thomas County Conservation Society, issued a public statement Sunday retracting her previous vow to sue the McClintock coal mine. "I've done a personal inspection of the facility, and there is no pollution of any sort. The facility is remarkably clean and environmentally friendly. There is nothing wrong. I apologize for misleading the public on this issue".   Transcript from a broadcast of the radio show "Richard Ellison's Haunted America", July 10th, 1987

RICHARD: Alright folks, up next we have a caller by the name of Alice Hartford from Stevensville, Colorado, here to relate her experiences living in a haunted house. ALICE: Thank you Richard. I'm just so happy to be able to talk to someone about this. RICHARD: The pleasure is mine Mrs. Hartford. So, tell me, when exactly did your troubles begin? ALICE: Well, I'm not sure exactly, but I first noticed something was wrong on the fourth of July, just under a week ago. My family and a couple friends were celebrating with a barbeque in the backyard. Well, the beer had started to run dry, so I just popped down into the basement to get some. We kept it down there to make sure my daughter doesn't see it lying around and mistake it for some pop. And then... well, you'll think I'm crazy... RICHARD: Trust me Alice, whatever happened, you can tell me. My listeners and I make sure to keep an open mind about these things. ALICE: Well, I started to hear... voices. [THERE IS AN EXTENDED PAUSE, AROUND 1-2 SECONDS] ALICE: I couldn't understand anything the voices were saying, it definitely wasn't English, just sort of strange sounds, but it was certainly a voice. Why, I panicked so badly, worried there were burglars, I ran all the way up the stairs and out of the house and told Mark to get down there. RICHARD: Mark is your husband? ALICE: Yes, I'm sorry, I should have mentioned that. RICHARD: Its quite alright, please continue Mrs. Hartford. ALICE: He obliged me, even took that damn rifle of his which scares me so much. But the voices had stopped by the time he was down there. I was sure I was going crazy. As a matter of fact, it wasn't until 2 days later that I became convinced I didn't just imagine it. RICHARD: Oh? And why was that? ALICE: Well, it was around midday, Mark was off at work and my daughter, Jessica, was at school. I was heading into the basement to put in a load of laundry, when I heard those voices again! For a moment I was worried I was losing my mind, but I had an idea. I quickly set down the laundry and ran to Mark's office. He keeps a tape recorder there, y'know, to take notes when he brings work home. Anyway, I bring it with me back to the basement and start recording. I was sure that if the recording could be heard afterwards that I wasn't going nuts. And it worked! RICHARD: Do you still have this recording? ALICE: Yes, just a moment [THERE ARE SOUNDS OF FIDDLING WITH A TAPE RECORDER, FOLLOWED BY HARSH WHISPERS IN AN UNKNOWN LANGUAGE. THE VOICES SIMULTANEOUSLY SOUND NEARBY AND DISTANT AT THE SAME TIME. AFTER THIS POINT,  THE RECORDING DEGENERATES INTO A HIGH PITCHED SCREECH, FOLLOWED BY A THUDDING SOUND. THE TAPE RECORDER CLICKS AND THE RECORDING ENDS] RICHARD: What were those sounds at the end of the recording Mrs. Hartford? ALICE: Frankly, I'm not sure. I seemed to have blacked out around then, when I woke up it was about 3 hours later, and I was lying face up in the basement. I had a nasty bump on the back of my head, so I figured I fell down the stairs." RICHARD: Have you heard the voices since? ALICE: Yes, nearly every night... I've tried to tell my husband but… RICHARD: He doesn't believe you? ALICE: I'm not sure, I've tried to tell him, I've even shown him the recording once or twice, but he just doesn't seem to process the words, he just goes silent and smiles blankly until I change the subject. He doesn't seem to understand that he does it! That isn't the worst part though. RICHARD: Why, what else happened? ALICE: I told you I hear those voices every night, and I mean that. But I haven't been purposefully going down to the basement every night Mr. Ellison, I just keep waking up there, as if I've been sleepwalking. I seem to wake up right before something dreadful will happen, because the voices keep sounding frustrated whenever I do. Once I even swore I saw something down there with me, and I still can't get it out of my head. RICHARD: Tell me what you saw. ALICE: It was hard to see in the dark, but it was short, maybe about 4 feet tall. It looked human in outline, more or less, but the proportions were all wrong. The limbs seemed thinner than they should be and the head was far too large for its neck. The main thing I could make out were its eyes, these horrible, soulless eyes that reflected the faint light coming from the open basement door. It seemed to panic when I noticed it, and then suddenly I was back in my bed, with a horrible bruise on my temple. I must have hit my head on the way back to bed. That was only last night, I'm horrified to think what will happen tonight! Anonymous letter sent to the Fortean magazine "Unknown Phenomena", January 7th, 1993

I was reading the recent article about underground coal fires from last February's issue, and I must protest. What happened in Stevensville on July 18th, 1987 was not a coal fire, at least not entirely. I'm no geologist, nor can I say I have much knowledge of the mining industry at large, but there is no doubt in my mind that there was something more going on.

I remember waking up that night to the sounds of screams. I ran outside to see what was happening, and was greeted to a scene right out of Hell. I saw dozens, maybe hundreds of people marching up towards the McClintock coal mine. Each of them was carrying another person, someone who was struggling to escape. They all marched in unison, staring straight ahead, smiling an inhuman artificial grimace which I hope to God I never see again. The people in their arms were begging to be let go, pleading to be put down. I saw one smiling marcher had both his eyes torn out by the person he was carrying, but all he did was keep walking like a goddamn robot. You ever see a bunch of ants moving in a straight line? Looking at those dead-eyed automatons march mindlessly up the road was just like that.

At some point a police officer ran up to me and started explaining that there was a coal fire, that I had to get out of here. Smoke was pouring out of the ground, and my vision started to get a bit hazy. I asked him why those people were being carried up to the mine, and he just looked at me with blank eyes and a mechanical smile and said "Everything is fine. It is all going to be okay". I got the Hell out of there as soon as I could, I was worried that if I stayed I'd get taken away too. I think I woke up too early, I don't think I was meant to see what I saw. I only started to hear sirens and police announcements via megaphone as I was leaving town.

The worst part wasn't the strange police officer, or the awful marchers, or Hell, even the whole damn town being evacuated. It was the thing I saw following the marchers up the hill. I only caught glimpses, but I swear, I saw something else walking alongside them. Like I said, I didn't get a clear look. It was dark, and smoky, and I was half-asleep, but I know I saw it. It stood about the height of a child, and dressed in funny clothes, like the kind of uniform you'd see on one of those science fiction shows. I didn't get a clear look at its head, but I could see shiny black eyes and pale white skin. The thing moved wrong, as though it didn't have the same muscles and bones that we had. It vanished into the crowd after I got distracted by the eyeless marcher, but I swear I saw it, I swear it was real. Everyone I've tried to tell about this just thinks I was hallucinating from the smoke, but I know what I saw was real. I don't care if y'all believe me or not, that is for the readers to decide for themselves, but I'll be damned if I let this get swept under the rug. People have got to know.

- - -

This final document is rather unusual. It is the most coherent entry from a journal kept by an unidentified individual who identified only as "251". 251 was found unconscious and unresponsive near the entrance of a Denver subway station on August 12th, 1992. Following her recovery, 251 became homeless, unable to retain a job due to her mental illness. She died under unknown circumstances in a shelter on December 2nd, 1995. The extensive loss of public records owing to devastating earthquake of July 18th means that it is impossible to verify if 251 is a former resident of Stevensville, but her journal seems to support this conclusion. Most of the journal is unintelligible, consisting of strange symbols, scribbles, doodles, and strings of numbers and letters, but the entry below is relatively readable, if bizarre. Spelling and capitalization errors have been partially corrected for ease of reading.

- - - Journal entry of the individual known as 251, date unknown My name my name they took away my name. Carved it out and chopped it up and dissected it and put something else in instead. Something metal and hard and sharp that I feel slicing my memories like a surgeon's scalpel. 251 is number designation identity differentiation. 251 was unimportant only the work I could perform for the SUNLESS ONES was important.

They are known by many names. DERO and KOBOLD and GRAY. But to me they are the SUNLESS ONES for they hide from the sun like skittering silverfish scuttling away from a dangling light bulb. Hiding away in the HOLLOW PLACE.

Came up through the mines first using radio waves and thought-particles and whispers in the ear of the OWNER. His designation became 001 first of the ones they took. They had to leave him mostly intact undamaged because if others knew what they did their plan would be for nothing. So they came to him in dreams and visions and sounds and he dug to them. He went down into the earth and pulled them out from the HOLLOW PLACE like they were coal.

The miners they took first. Needed total compliance complete control. Sliced out their souls and put in machinery and wires and radio. Partial conversions were best the full conversions didn't fool anybody. Sometimes they'd just take out everything for fun and see how long they could last. Nobody cared. Nobody knew. The police were already quiet from the machines they had in their heads. Scars so small you could barely see them unless you were looking. I have one too.

It was 7181987 that they came up from the ground to complete their quota. Going too slow and they needed builders and guinea pigs. Cut off all the phones and scrambled the radios and dug their way up. Had to be night the sun burns the pale eggshell skin of the SUNLESS ONES. The already converted helped grab the rest. They did not need everybody. Only needed a third. The rest could burn or run and it did not matter.

I was taken down down down into the mine by the other converted and processed. Scooped out old memories and put in rules and protocols and small ticking noises that prevented sleep. I worked and worked and worked for days and days and days. The SUNLESS ONES poked and prodded and laughed in the horrible tittering way of the HOLLOW PLACE. Given slurry to eat and drink just enough to keep alive to operate the MACHINES. I could not think they took that part out and put in a transceiver just above the left eye.

It was near one of the MACHINES when I broke. When the transceiver failed. Pressing the right buttons at the right times for hours and hours. A nanosecond delay was not permissible. Punished by pain. Shovel the dead into the MACHINE. But something went wrong and the MACHINE failed. It was so so old ancient prehistoric older than us by infinite magnitudes. A blast of rays and magnetism and the false brain in my head was shattered like glass. I was free to scream and cry and think and love and kill.

I killed a SUNLESS ONE. I bashed its bulbous head against the hard cold rock until the warm sour blood spilled like yolk from an egg and its cold black eyes were dead and still. I took the pain box and left to climb the miles high exit shaft into the blinding light of the upperworld. I was free. Now I am broken and unable to be repaired. The right parts are missing miles and miles below the ground. There are entrances in the subways and the elevators and the forgotten sub-basements. But I am free and I will never go back. I just wish I still had my name.

  ---

Despite requests for its release, 251's autopsy report has not been made available. In addition, the so-called "pain box" device which 251 obsessively clung to throughout the final years of her life was found to be missing from police evidence. Of the 1348 former inhabitants of Stevensville, Colorado, 447 remain unaccounted for. The entire town is abandoned and forgotten, save as an occasional inclusion on a list of "ghost towns". The documents above are all that remains to indicate anything unusual beyond a simple coal fire ever occurred. Perhaps some things truly are better left buried.

[a-m-e-t-h-y-s-t-r-o-s-e]

Okay, forgive me, but I gotta schizopost on main (er, well, this is a sideblog but w/e I use it like my personal main.)

I have a theory that Don McLean’s “American Pie” predicted the future, and most of it has already come to pass.

The song starts by talking about the Day The Music Died, when Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and The Big Bopper died in a plane crash. That gives us a starting date of February 3rd, 1959. The next time marker in the song says it’s been ten years, which sets us in 1969, and he mentions “lenin” (Lennon) and a quartet, which chronologically lines up with the Beatles’ rooftop concert in 1969. The last thing to happen before the song’s release date that’s mentioned is “Helter Skelter,” i.e; the race war that Charles Manson believed would happen, leading to the Manson murders.

The song itself, which is suspiciously called American Pie part 1, which I didn’t even know about until this, is then released in October 1971. After that, the song’s lyrics and the historical events you can link them to include:

The Three Mile Island nuclear meltdown in Pennsylvania, in 1979, referenced by the lyrics “Eight Miles High” (Three Mile/Eight Mile) and the idea of a “fallout shelter” and something falling through polluted air (like a nuclear bomb/radiation poisoning)

Musicians fighting football players and revealing something that was kept secret or unknown, could possibly be the OJ Simpson murders of Nicole Brown and Ronald Goodman, which happened in 1994 (although if something that happened in the 80s or another time in the 90s matches better someone be my guest to correct me here)

The entire section outlined in magenta about everyone watching, in one place, an entire generation becoming lost as the result of X event, and flames climbing into the sky, sounds to me like a poetic description of 9/11, which one of the numbers is a one. The pink sub-highlight could also be people protesting George Bush’s invasion of Iraq, like when the reporter threw a shoe at him.

The store, which normally has music, saying the music won’t play, to me, sounds like stores shuttering and boarding up their windows in response to the 2020 protests/riots, and the following section about people living their lives yet “not a word was spoken” could also refer to how aside from street violence, the world got really quiet in 2020 because everyone was sheltering in place during the pandemic.

Then that final part about the Holy Trinity catching a train and leaving, I don’t have an event to tie it to, and we would pretty much be up to the present, so it could refer to something that has yet to happen, or maybe even the end of the world.

Don McLean is notorious for not answering fans who ask him what the song’s vague, poetic lyrics mean, and the fact this song apparently will have a part two indicates to me that he has some kind of forbidden, future knowledge that he isn’t willing to divulge how he got, and once everything has come to pass, then he’ll update the song or make another one with the rest of the information. He’s still alive, so there’s still definitely time for that to be a possibility.

Again, this is totally nutso, I’m sure there are other things he could be singing about like Janis Joplin and the Hell’s Angels or whatever, but this is my theory and goddamn it we need more conspiracy theories that aren’t just about politicians doing evil things for the sake of doing evil things.

[wexhappyxfew]

—— 1 year anniversary to Landslide [BOB FIC]

Wow! 1 year! I can’t even believe that just last year, I was sat in a lake house, in the late hours of the night, trying to figure out what idea was going to be my next for another Band of Brothers story! I remember the moment and where I had been sitting when the idea hit and looking back, I’m so glad it hit when it did. Landslide is far from that little idea I got in that lake house, but has continually developed, grown and changed in ways I look back and can’t even begin to think about how it even happened!

Natia Filipska has been a character that I will cherish close to my heart. Of course, I adore my other OCs and will always love them, but Natia holds an even more special place there in my heart because of the challenge in writing she has offered me. She gives me a challenge everyday - whether it’s having to rewrite a scene 5 times because “it’s just not her” or completely starting over a chapter because knowing Natia, she’d have a better way to get out of this situation.

I’ve also made one of my absolute favorite ships, coined “Fliptoye” by a few readers (you know who you are hehe) and it has grown to truly be a favorite of mine for so many reasons. There was no “love at first sight” or really anything like that. Just two human beings realizing they genuinely care for each other and enduring both the struggles and hardships that come along with realizing in war, you care for something that war can also touch. That for one of the first times it is not longer just about you or the buddy next to you. Natia Filipska and Joe Toye have been a joy to write!

And of course there was the month of disliking Richard Winters, the iconic nickname of “Mapkeeper” for Lewis Nixon, the Roman History nerd jokes that have now developed with Ronald Speirs, the slow start of some sort of friendship because of cracking a joke about Nix with Harry Welsh, and the comfort of a friend from Carwood Lipton.

Even Joe Liebgott and Natia Filipska have swiftly become a favorite duo and I can completely agree. Getting to see where they started and where they are now — from seeing their differences and arguments and heavy weighted disagreements to know finding ways to comfort each other even in the midst of war and making sure the other is okay and even eating. They’ve definitely been one of my favorite duos to go through that sort of character arc together.

AND OF COURSE, we can not forget one of the most important driving forces in the fic, Death, himself (alongside the sarcastic bits of War haha), most importantly the personification of Death. What draws me to a character like him, is more than anything the fact words can not be communicated between Natia and Death yet they hold such a strong willed connection, that you almost don’t need to worry about words. Each layer that builds with their connection, leads for an even darker end and makes Death even more fascinating in the end.

You can’t forget a guy like Agent Mortem! Without him Natia and Agent “Fidel” wouldn’t be here right? Right? Right….? Well…..anyway…..even with who he is and his partially uncovered past, Agent Mortem remains a heavy asset to Landslide as the leading cause for WHY Natia could possibly even be the way she is and to provide backstory on a multitude of other things, and for reason for Natia to have her redemption. There’s so much unexplored. And I’m so ready to talk about it! :D

Landslide has challenged me in ways I can’t even begin to describe both mentally and emotionally with my writing. I’ve had to rewrite, rework, edit over and over just to get it right but at the end of the day, it is always worth it. In some ways I don’t even know what else to say, and almost think the story can speak for itself! It is made for you to interpret it they way you wish to interpret it, there’s no right way to see who Natia is or what Landslide is about — whether for you it be about family, friendship, love in war, darkness and overcoming that, the struggles of mental health, finding your own inner peace or independence….whatever it may be, I hope it has possibly even helped you somehow in anyway :) Even with the MAJOR HECKING ANGST (LMAO💀) or the extremely sad parts (that honestly are probably just super sad to me LOL), it still is a fic full of lessons and stories equally about someone like Natia!

Landslide has challenged me in ways I can’t even begin to describe both mentally and emotionally with my writing. I’ve had to rewrite, rework, edit over and over just to get it right but at the end of the day, it is always worth it. In some ways I don’t even know what else to say, and almost think the story can speak for itself! It is made for you to interpret it they way you wish to interpret it, there’s no right way to see who Natia is or what Landslide is about — whether for you it be about family, friendship, love in war, darkness and overcoming that, the struggles of mental health, finding your own inner peace or independence….whatever it may be, I hope it has possibly even helped you somehow in anyway :) Even with the MAJOR HECKING ANGST (LMAO💀) or the extremely sad parts (that honestly are probably just super sad to me LOL), it still is a fic full of lessons and stories equally about someone like Natia!

I can’t WAIT for whatever else this story has to bring to the table! With still a bit of writing for the future to go, it makes me so incredibly hopeful for an end in sight on both Landslide and Natia’s character and peace for all those lost throughout the story <3

Thank you to EVERY single person who took a chance with Landslide and took a read, if you were from Day One, saw it while scrolling through Wattpad or AO3 or Tumblr, or even saw the Spoon meme! I appreciate each and every single one of you! Whether you voted, commented or left a kudo, or just even took a read! I appreciate you SO MUCH! I can’t even begin to describe the joy this story has brought me and the challenges as a writer it has provided. I’m hopeful for the rest of this fic and hopefully for one or two more to come!

Special shout-out to @vintagelavenderskies for being by my side with this project since like DAY ONE?!?! EVEN BEFORE DAY ONE?!? I don’t even know but just genuinely for so long, how could I not tag you! You always are just so excited to hype me up as well as Natia (the lil bean) and give me support and comfort for whatever I was doing (especially that support, there was some rough moments throughout the year and the fic lol!) I just can’t thank you enough for your friendship and joy you’ve brought to me! <3 Thank you my friend, so so much, for everything! :D

I’ll also shoutout a few more lovely people who have just been…..absolutely wonderful in providing both support, or insight, wonderful commentary or just sweet messages throughout writing this! @tvserie-s-world (thank you for all the moodboards!!)@wecomrades @stressedinadress (credit do you my friend for og fliptoye name!!) @pxpeyewynn @whoahersheybars @kryzes @holdingforgeneralhugs @martinsrestingbitchface @whovian45810 @geniedocroe @thoughpoppiesblow @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @alienoresimagines @alejodi0nysus @brichard-bwinters and just genuinely anyone else who even sent me a small ask or message, I appreciate it so much and your support or love or help in anything Landslide-related, helped me more than anything! <3

THANK YOU! TO ALL OF YOU! I don’t know what else to say except thank you. Thank you for letting me bring who Natia was, alive through this fic as well as her spirit and compassion of ending the war. Along with her friendships of Easy Company and hardships of both her past and mental health. It’s been an honor and privilege — here’s to many more! ✨

Happy reading! <3

tags: (because you’ve all been there for support and I simply adore you all <3) @sunnyshifty @alienoresimagines @vintagelavenderskies @julianneday1701 @huenoclue @liebegott @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @sunflowerchuck @tvserie-s-world @wecomrades @thoughpoppiesblow @pxpeyewynn @rogue-sunday @stressedinadress @jalapeno-peaches-andhersheybars @lovingunderratedcharacters @legally-devorak @sgtxliptons86 @alejodi0nysus @mrsalwayswrite @heffrcns @curraheewestandalone @supervalcsi @xthefourthx @whoahersheybars @kryzes @papersergeant-pencilsoldier @whovian45810 @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @geniedocroe @holdingforgeneralhugs @martinsrestingbitchface @pipster4107 @mads-weasley

-> Feel free if you wish, to drop a favorite part that you really enjoyed from Landslide so far, a favorite memory or moment, happy or sad, a possible favorite quote or friendship if you wish too! If you feel even more inclined, questions are open as well! I have work all day but will be home to answer ;) THANK YOU ALL <3333 (mine has GOT to be the whole lone wolf thing lol!)

[shirtlesssammy]

4x02: Are You There God? It’s Me, Dean Winchester

Then:

Dean Winchester is saved

Now:

Olivia, a hunter, wakes to cold air and flickering lights. She runs for her shotgun just as Bobby leaves a message on her answering machine. 

Her EMF is going nuts as she patrols her house. Suddenly ghosts that she recognizes give her the one two punch and she’s a goner.

At Bobby’s, Dean is vehemently denying that he was “groped by an angel.” Bobby’s got lots of lore on angels, though. It seems they’re the only thing that could pull a human soul from Hell. 

Sam thinks it’s a good thing that Dean was saved “by one of the good guys.” And Dean wonders if there is a God. BABIES. Dean’s having a hard time believing there’s a god out there that personally believes in him. Oh, buddy, he cares just a little too much, I’d say. Dean’s self-loathing is off the charts though. And this is getting way ahead of myself here, but even though Chuck cares in the sense that Dean is a fun little puppet for him, it’s Cas that really cared all along. He believed in Dean so much, he gave up everything for this man. BIG SIGH. 

Dean demands pie before digging into the angel lore.

Sam runs off to forget get the pie, when he sees Ruby lurking. She wants to know if the angel stuff is real. Ruby’s scared for her demon life and takes off.

Sam gets back to Bobby’s in time for all three of them to take off to investigate why Olivia isn’t answering Bobby’s calls. Also, he forgot the pie.

They find Olivia disemboweled on her bedroom floor. And Bobby can’t get a hold of any nearby hunters. They check them out to find everyone dead. 

They need to get back to Bobby’s to regroup.

Sam’s getting gas for the Impala while Dean sleeps. He makes a pitstop in the gas station restroom. The room suddenly gets cold and Victor Henrickson appears!

He blames Sam for his death. He starts to attack Sam but Dean comes in with a save and a shotgun.

Bobby meanwhile is haunted by a couple giggling raggedy twin girls. Fun! 

Sam and Dean race back to Bobby’s. They can’t get a hold of him so they enter his house with shotguns ready. The boys separate and while Dean checks out the upstairs, Sam heads outside. 

Dean runs into the ghost of the woman who was once Meg Masters. 

She blames Dean for her possession...and Dean hates himself enough to actually believe it all. It wasn’t your fault, dude. Also, as much as they’ve learned about demon possession and all, if they would have met Meg at any point in the future, they would have just stabbed her with Ruby’s knife and she’d be dead anyway. Idk, saving people is good in theory, but hard in practice for these guys. I also know this is a manipulation. “Do you know what it’s like to be ridden for a month by pure evil?” HE DOES! Leave him alone! 

Meanwhile, Sam’s trying to find Bobby outside. He’s currently being held down by a couple scary ghost twins. 

Ghost of Meg continues to taunt Dean, and pins her sister’s suicide on him as well. MEG. NO.

Outside, Sam finds Bobby trapped in an old scrap car. He helps break him out and together they swing iron through the ghost girls. 

Dean drags himself away from Meg, and aims his gun at the iron chandelier up above. DAMN BOBBY that’s some fancy light fixture work! The chandelier smokes Meg out...for now. 

Back in Bobby’s living room, they realize that all the ghosts had a brand on their hands. Bobby hauls out the lore and leads the Winchesters down to...dun dun DUN...his safe room. 

We get the grand tour because this is the FIRST TIME WE’VE SEEN IT. This safe room has everything! Iron! Salt! Devil’s traps! Lore! Racy posters! Booze! Weapons! The vanished hopes and dreams of Dean Winchester! A cot complete with restraints! The Winchesters are impressed. 

Later, Dean breaks into a theological monologue while making salt bullets. My sweet sunshine! How dare you speak my love language! “If [God] doesn't exist...fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. There's no rhyme or reason - just random, horrible, evil. I get it, okay? I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?” (Because, sweetie, freedom is a length of rope and God LITERALLY wants you to hang yourself with it.)

Bobby finds the brand - it’s the “mark of the witness.” They’re ghosts forced to rise and destroy people. In fact, the Rising of the Witnesses is part of an ancient prophecy. A prophecy of...DOOM. It’s a sign of the apocalypse. Dean suggests coping with a series of wish-fulfillment trips including: Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience, and the Bunny Ranch. Somebody please write me that fic. Instead of Dean’s plan, Bobby suggests running an ancient ritual to shut down the witnesses. To do so, they first have to race out of the panic room to gather ingredients before the ghosts have a chance to yank their insides outside. 

Ronald from the bank heist greets them at the stairs. Bobby blasts away Dean’s guilt ghost for him, and we cut to a montage of spell preparation. The three of them split up to fetch supplies. Ghosts appear to torment them. 

Meg appears to Sam, only she KNOWS more than she should. She knows about Sam’s fraternization with Ruby. 

In the kitchen, Victor appears to Dean. He reveals that after the Winchesters left, Lilith gruesomely tortured those left in the station for almost an hour before blowing up the place. While Dean absorbs this fun fact, Victor makes his move, plunging his hand into Dean’s chest.

Sam saves Dean just in time with a well-aimed salt round. They start the ritual, Bobby’s living room teeming with ghosts. Bobby chants while the Winchesters play shotgun whack-a-mole with the ghosts. Meg jabs a hand into Bobby’s chest. Bobby drops the bowl and Dean dives for it like it’s a football, then tosses the spell into the fire to finish the job. 

That night, Dean wakes from his slumber.

Castiel stands waiting for him (watching him sleep??) in the kitchen. He congratulates Dean on their triumph over the witnesses, and announces that he has already started doodling Mister Castiel Winchester in his notebooks! 

Dean feels a little raw about nearly dying (again) and wonders why angels are total dicks. “Read the bible,” Cas advises. “Angels are warriors of God.” Oh, and also? He’s not here to PERCH ON DEAN’S SHOULDER. Oh honey sweetie baby. 

Dean tries to read Cas the riot act and rails against God’s shitty parenting. 

Cas: The lord works…

Dean: If you say "mysterious ways" so help me, I will kick your ass

Cas warns Dean that big...no, cosmic things are afoot.

The Rising of the Witnesses is one of sixty-six seals that Lilith is busily unlocking. Each seal is a lock holding Lucifer in his cage. Dean has trouble believing that Lucifer is even REAL. Sassy Cas smiles. “Three days ago you thought there was no such thing as me.” 

Cas tells Dean that Heaven isn’t infinite. Angels have died in the battle so far, and more may be at risk. (Excuse me while I weep for the next twelve seasons. There have been 0 days since the last angel mishap.)

“You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around?” Cas asks, telegraphing his series story arc. “You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.” Cas flaps out.

Dean wakes up for realsies. WAS IT ALL A DREAM? He asks Sam if he believes in the Devil…

You Should Show Me Some Quotes:

All I know is I was not groped by an angel

If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?

When have I ever forgotten the pie?

Where’s the pie?

I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos -- you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks

 Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[seasonsofeverlark]

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover​

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21​]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21​ It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark. 

Special thanks to @norbertsmom​ for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

_____________

Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly. 

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la  lista de los niños malos?”   

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever. 

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.    

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep. 

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight. 

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story. 

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me. 

Canasto! 

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach. 

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“ 

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.  

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me. 

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.  

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath. 

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."  

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?   

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.  

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas. 

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it.  Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas!   If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes.  It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug. 

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring. 

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name. 

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes. 

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me. 

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks. 

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name. 

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me. 

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen. 

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals. 

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

  Pt 2 

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.” 

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?” 

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.” 

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory. 

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.” 

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look. 

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.” 

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.” 

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile. 

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon. 

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said. 

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.” 

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.” 

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.” 

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. 

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.” 

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?” 

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level. 

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.” 

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread. 

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops.  Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous. 

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station. 

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes. 

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance. 

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard. 

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.  

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.  

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time. 

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.” 

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed. 

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor. 

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller. 

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.  

I nearly snorted. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers. 

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit. 

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around. 

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum. 

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.” 

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa. 

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command. 

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.” 

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died.  “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile. 

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.    

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears. 

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

[cannibarb]

Kuro characters holding your drink at a party because I am sad and bored.

Ciel: “Sebastian, hold this.“ (maybe he‘d hold it for 4 mins if he really likes you but his bedtime is like 7:30pm mans sleepy)

Sebastian: holding it but be careful

Mey Rin: whoops already dropped it sorry anyways what am I doing at a party

Finny: ah shit the glass broke

Bard: drinks it (but doesn’t like it)

Agni: only person you can trust. Always trust Agni.

Soma: wowie what is this oh my this is- ok alrighty uhm Agni???

Othello: he will drug you to see what happens. You are nothing but a lab rat to him.

Alois: what the fuck is this ew go get something better right now. This is disgusting (if you picked the right drink he‘d also drug it but like,,for fun)

Grelle: alrighty darling <3 *forgets it somewhere*

Lizzy: Paula come hold this please <3

William: no. piss off. What am I doing at a party.

Ronald: haha of course buddy! *lets it get drugged*

[ii-kanjiiiii]

A Crazy Day at Miku Expo

A Vocaloid shitpost story

Warnings: swearing, contains Kaito x Meiko

Chapter 1

It was a normal day in the Cryptonloid household, like always. It was 12pm and Meiko was already up because she’s a normal person.

“GET UP YOU IDIOTS WE HAVE TO LEAVE FOR MIKU EXPOOO!!!!” she woke the rest of the Cryptonloids up as she was a thoughtful person.

“OH SHIT I FORGOT!!” Miku screamed. Her hair looked like Chuckie Finster from Rugrats but had a much larger mass.

“WAIT WHAT THE FUCK WE’RE PERFORMING TONIGHT?!!? PLS NOOOOO I HAVE A PIMPLE!!!” Len cried.

Miraculously, all of them had somehow forgotten that they had a Miku Expo concert in the mystical country of Hajarputa that night. Except for Meiko, because she was a responsible person.

Once they were done packing and getting ready, they went into their private Miku jet which was covered with Miku faces and had big words that said “HATSUNE MIKU” because Miku is the best and owns the world.

Inside, ‘World is Mine’ was playing on loop and the wall was covered in Miku wallpaper and posters. Meiko sat on a Miku couch at the front, because Meiko is queen and is obviously the sexiest one. Kaito, being the simp that he is, sat next to her.

Luka went all the way to the back of the Miku jet and sat in a Miku chair in the corner, away from everyone else as she was tired of everyone’s bullshit.

Miku and the demonic twins were in the middle, just jumping around and throwing shit everywhere as they were still high as fUCK from the FRUIT loops they ate for breakfast.

Suddenly, ‘World is Mine’ stopped playing, and the pilot made an announcement through the plane intercom. Or whatever it’s called lmao I don’t know.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome onboard Flight Miku. We will be taking off from Sapporo to Hajarputa. I am Sonic the Hedgehog and I am your pilot for today. Just kidding bitch, my name is actually うんち(‘Jonathan Harris’ in Japanese). We are expected to reach Hajarputa in about 22 hours. I swear to God, PLEASE put on your seatbelts or you’re gonna fucking die. We also ask that you ensure your seats are in the upright position for take-off, if not you’ll fucking die. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, if not you’ll fucking die as well. Don’t smoke too, cause you’ll get lung cancer and fucking die. Thank you for choosing Miku Airlines. Enjoy your flight. I definitely will not crash this plane. I swear.”

'World is Mine’ was back playing on loop again.

“Well that was comforting,” Meiko said, being a sarcastic piece of shit.

“Lol what? I don’t remember hiring this man,” Miku said. “Lol, whatever,” she shrugged.

Some time after the Miku Jet took off, Kaito and Meiko started fighting over what they would name their non-existent kid that they would never have.

“If she’s a girl, Sakura is the best name!! It represents beauty and optimism,” Kaito said.

“It also represents death,” Meiko argued. “And who the fuck names their kid after a plant? Enaado is the best name!!”

“The fuck kinda name is Enaado?” Len, who was seated far away from them, muttered to himself. Meiko, who was somehow able to hear him, pulled a super soaker gun out of nowhere and squirted him all the way from the other end of the plane.

Some hours later, the vocaloids were bored as heck and ‘World is Mine’ playing on loop was driving them to insanity(except for Miku of course).

“Can you turn that shit off, Miku? I swear to God, if I hear “sekai de ichiban ohime-sama” one more damn time, my internal organs are going to explode,” Luka said, smashing her head against the wall.

“Geez, fine, Luka! You don’t have to be so mean about it, it’s not my fault you don’t know how to appreciate good art,” Miku rolled her eyes, then she changed the song to ‘Popipo’ on loop, which was probably 100x worse.

“YOU’RE my sekai de ichiban ohime-sama, Me-chan~<3” Kaito UwU-ed. She smacked him with a magazine.

Another time skip, Miku wanted to play truth or dare lmao. Luka, Miku and the twins sat in a circle and started playing.

“Oh yeah, by the way, Mei-nee and Kai-nii are in the game too,” Miku said.

“Wtf no thanks,” Meiko immediately said, not looking up from her magazine about self control & anger management.

“No, you can’t escape, Mei-nee,” Miku replied, staring intensely into her soul. She then got a piece of rope out of nowhere and tied Meiko and Kaito to their chairs.

“TRUTH OR DARE, MEI-NEE?” Miku asked, her eye twitching.

“Ugh, fine. Truth,” Meiko replied, as she had no other choice.

Meanwhile, Kaito was having Vietnam war flashbacks as Miku tying him to the chair reminded him of that one time he got kidnapped by Sonic the Hedgehog. (An event that happened in my other fanfic that I’m not going to post.)

“Do you want to make out with Kai-nii?” Miku asked with a stupid shitty grin on her face.

“What the fuck? Oh, HELL NO. I think I already know how this is gonna go,” Meiko muttered.

“AnSwEr tHe qUeStiOn!!!” Miku yelled impatiently, flipping the fucking table.

“Dare!” Meiko quickly said, sweating.

“I dare you to make out with Kai-nii,” Miku said, raising her eyebrows up and down like fucking Mr. Bean.

Upon hearing this, Kaito’s attention was caught and he snapped out of his Vietnam war flashbacks.

“GODDAMN IT!!” Meiko cursed.

“Oh my GOD, Kaito. Don’t give me THAT look,” Meiko said, terrified for her life as she noticed Kaito looking at her with considerable interest.

“Why the hell did you give that dare, Miku? Literally NO ONE wants to see that shit,” Len said, staring judgingly at Miku. He definitely did not have to see his parents smashing their faces together.

“Yeah, Len’s right,” Luka said. “Aight, Imma head out. Bye bitches,” she flipped her fabulous long hair and strolled out elegantly. Once she reached her seat at the far corner of the plane, she opened her laptop and looked at images of the Gingerbread Man from Shrek.

“Shut up Len and just watch the show!” Rin, who was just as delusional as Miku, scolded.

“MEIKOUT MEIKOUT MEIKOUT MEIKOUT MEIKOUT” the crazy girls started chanting.

I’m so sorry

I really have no idea where this shitty fanfic is going

TIME SKIP LOL

It was nighttime and the Cryptonloids were sleeping in their beds with Miku blankets and ‘Popipo’ was still playing on loop. Suddenly, the Miku Jet started shaking really hard, then everyone flew out of their beds and hit their heads on the ceiling. After a few seconds, the Miku Jet stopped shaking and everyone fell back to the ground.

“Heh heh, sorry folks. Just a little air turbulence is all,” Pilot うんち announced.

“What the actual FUCK?? “A ‘liTtLE’ aIR tUrBuLeNcE” he said!! I don’t think we should be entrusting that guy with our LIVES!!” Meiko seethed. “I’m going to have a word with him.” she stormed off to the Pilot’s cabin.

“Wait Me-chan, I’ll come too,” Kaito said, and tagged along with her for extra support because he was a good boyfriend.

Once they reached the Pilot’s cabin, she slid open the door and shouted “LISTEN UP, MISTER, DO YOUR DAMN JOB PROPERLY!!”

“Oh, Meiko-san, hello!” the pilot spun his chair around and smiled. “Oh, Kaito, you’re here too! How’s it going, buddy? Has Sonic been bothering you any more?”

Meiko and Kaito’s eyes widened as they realised who the pilot was.

“FUKASE??!!!!” they screamed in shock. His Ronald Mcdonald hair was unmistakable.

“No, I’m うんち. Who the hell is Fukase?” うんち/Fukase said.

“WHY ARE YOU FLYING A PLANE, FUKASE??!! AREN’T YOU LIKE, FOURTEEN?!??!!!” Meiko screamed.

“Uh, no, I’m fifteen. Also, the age of consent in Japan is thirteen, sooo I don’t see any problem with it,” he replied.

“WHAT THE HELL DOES AGE OF CONSENT HAVE TO DO WITH FLYING A PLANE???!!” Meiko screamed, ripping her hair out. I really need to stop using scream.

"Umm… with all due respect, Fukase, are you even qualified for this?” Kaito spoke up.

“Yeah, DUH. I’ve had years worth of flight experience from Microsoft Flight Simulator on the Xbox!” he replied. “What kinda dumb shit would hire someone who ISN’T qualified??”

“oH mAN OH GOD OUR LIVES ARE IN THE HANDS OF THAT DUMB KID OH MAN OH GOD OH MAN OH GOD OH MAN OH GOD-“ Meiko was hyperventilating in the corner and hugging her legs, sweat pouring down her face. It was unlike her to freak out like this, she was usually calm and kept her cool. However, this is Fukase we’re talking about, and any rational person would be freaking out and fearing for their lives.

“Breathe, Me-chan, breathe,” Kaito attempted to calm her down. “Don’t worry, okay? Everything’s gonna be just fine. Nothing bad will happen. Everything is okay,” he assured her, hugging her tightly.

“How would YOU know that???” she asked.

“I don’t,” he replied. “When things get rough, denial is all we have,” he said, giving his Stupid Bakaito Grin™.

TO BE CONTINUED MAYBE???1??1

[schrijverr]

What Your Heart Says

When they’re hunting a spirit that targets kids after they’ve fought with their moms, Sam realizes why he could have been a target and all Dean has done for him.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: suicide mention.

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

Sam and Dean were working a case. Three children had dropped dead, all bruised necks, all inexpiable.So, the Winchesters had rolled into town and started asking around.

They had made their way to a party in the neighborhood under the pretense that they were new in town. The parents were split, with the dads talking around the barbecue and the moms sitting and talking around the picnic table. Dean said: “Dude, the only thing that’ll make this okay if I get to talk to the hot moms.”

“You are terrible, but sure,” Sam rolled his eyes, “Remember, we have a kid, but he’s with his grandparents.”

“Yeah, yeah, and his name is Bobby,” Dean said, “I know.”

Then he was off to the table, politely introducing himself: “Hi, I’m Dean. My partner, Sam, and I are new here and we thought we’d introduce ourselves.”

The women introduced themselves as well and looked over at Sam, who was introducing himself to the men and asking around there. Linda asked: “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about the game with the boys?”

“Nah, Sam has always been more into that stuff than me,” Dean shrugged. “But don’t mind me, what were you all talking about it?”

“Oh, you know,” Karen said, “the kids.”

Dean nodded: “Ahh, of course, do you all have kids?”

The five women nodded and Dean decided that this was a great ice-breaker to them, so he brought up their fictional child: “How sweet. Me and Sammy over there have a little guy as well, although he’s not so little anymore. They’re growing up more and more everyday, am I right?”

The women seemed temporarily shocked by that revelation, but Linda picked up the conversation again: “Totally, so what’s his name and how old is he?”

“Bobby, he’s ten already.” Dean said.

“How cute,” Sharon fawned. “My Jane is five now, but it sometimes feels like my little girl is maturing more and more.”

Dean had come over to flirt a bit with the women, but now he let himself be comforted by stories about little Sammy, remade for suburban ears. He had shared Sams first school play and his cute Halloween outfits, when an opportunity arose to bring up the attacks. Linda said: “Maybe Ronald and Bobby would like to play sometime. He could come over tomorrow if you want to.”

Easily Dean lied: “That seems like a lovely idea, but with the recent deaths… We’ve been pretty scared of bringing Bobby here, so he’s been staying with his grandparents in Sioux Falls.”

A quiet fell over the table, but soon Dean had weaseled out of the women that all three of the kids had been fighting with their moms the night it had happened and that all the moms swore they had heard a strange laugh-like noise the day after.

Once he had the information he made a bit more small talk. He was in the middle of telling them about the Science Fair Sam had won in fifth grade when Sam came to get him. They said their goodbyes and left.

“What did you talk about with ‘the boys’?” Dean grinned.

Sam pushed him away and said: “Shut up! We talked about football, I don’t even know anything about football. What did you talk about, Deanna?”

“Hey, don’t use my amazing jokes against me,” Dean huffed, he got an eyeroll back, but he went on to answer: “But if you must know, we talked about the kids and complained about our men.”

“You complained about me?” Sam said indignantly.

Dean grinned and said: “Yeah, seems like a lot of men struggle with snoring and bed hogging.”

“Dude.”

Dean just laughed at Sam.

“Tell me you at least got some information out of them, because the dads knew nothing. One hadn’t even heard about the deaths.”

“Well, the moms were a bit more informed and talkative. Seems like all the vics had a fight with their moms the night of their deaths and all of them had heard laughing the day after, like someone was laughing at their pain.”

“Good job, now let’s get out of here and do some research.”

“You don’t have to sound so excited.”

Deans comment was ignored.

~

“So get this,” Sam started out his speech while walking over with his laptop, “apparently a girl killed herself a few years ago, by hanging herself.”

“The bruises.”

“Precisely, she did after she had a fight with her mom. She had been struggling for a while with mental health issues and this was the last straw. According to the police she had done it to get back at her mom, to make her feel guilty about what she had said, she even recorded herself laughing and left that for her mom to find the next day.”

“Sounds like she’s our ghost,” Dean agreed.

“Sounds like it, but there’s a problem.”

“When isn’t there a problem?” Dean complained. “Why can’t there just a be a clean easy salt ‘n burn?”

“Because that isn’t how our life is, man,” Sam said. “Anyway, it doesn’t state where she is buried and there are three big cemeteries in this town, so we’ll have to search every one if we want to find her bones.”

“Ugh, why does a town need three cemeteries? It’s not even that big,” Dean complained again.

“They have a catholic one, a protestant one and a public one,” Sam answered. “Lots of towns have that, so stop complaining.”

“I’m not complaining,” Dean replied indignantly.

“Yes you are. You always do,” Sam sighed

“No, I don’t,” Dean pouted.

“Yes, you- You know what, I’m not playing your childish games,” Sam was starting to get frustrated.

“Oh, yeah of course, now I’m childish. I’m sick of it, why can’t you just let me have my fun. I’m never harming anyone, so why do you care?” Dean said with an angry tone.

“Because your fun consist of annoying me to death or drinking yourself to death. One is nerve grating and the other makes me worry,” Sam bitched

“Oh, god, I’m not talking about that now. Leave me and my drinking alone. It’s nothing,” Dean huffed.

“it’s not not-” Sam began, but Dean cut him off: “We have three cemeteries to search better get started now. Lets go.”

Then he stalked out of the door, a silently fuming Sam following behind him.

~

“She has to be here, otherwise we’re fucked,” it was the first time the silence had been broken since they’dleft the motel.

Sam nodded tightly and went back to looking at the headstones. They were at the public cemetery and they had already searched the other two entirely with no luck.

Dean was about to call out to Sam that he had found it, when she appeared in front of the younger Winchester. He screamed as she put her hands around his neck and leaned in to whisper something. She didn’t get to say anything, however, because Dean shot her with a round of salt.

They quickly made a salt circle around the grave and caught their breath. Dean said: “You dig, I’ll keep her busy.”

“No, man, I know you’ve hurt your knee on the last hunt. You shouldn’t be running. I’ll take her on, you dig,” Sam said.

“No, Sam, don’t-” Dean didn’t finish, because Sam was already out the salt circle yelling for the spirit to come get him. Dean started digging after a moment of hesitation as he sighed to himself: “Stupid frigging kid.”

~

Sam had manged to run from the spirit for most of the night, but right now he was pinned down by her. He knew Dean was almost done, but he hoped his brother would hurry, because he was slowly suffocating.

The spirit cackled and whispered in his ear: “I’ll make him regret it. He will regret every word he said.”

Sam chocked out: “Why are you…targeting me? I don’t, ugh, I don’t have a…mom.”

The spirit looked confused for a second, then she whispered: “That’s not what your heart says.”

Then she went up in flames, screaming all the way.

Dean immediately yelled: “Are you okay?”

Dazed Sam sat up and rubbed his neck as he yelled back: “I’m fine, I think.”

“You think?” Deans voice sounded concerned as he hurried over to Sam to check him over.

Sam felt his hands run over his head and hissed a bit when they hit the bump on the back of his head. Dean forced him to look down and inspected the small head wound closer, when he was satisfied with what he found he let go of Sams head and said: “It doesn’t look that bad, but if you feel dizzy or disoriented you have to tell me.”

“No, no, I feel fine,” Sam reassured him. “It’s just what the spirit said that is bothering me.”

“She talked to you?” Dean said with a frown, then he asked: “What did she say?”

Sam hesitated before saying: “She said she’d made him regret it, every word he said.”

“Who the fuck is he?” Dean groused.

Sam thought about it and suddenly it clicked into place. The spirit wasn’t attacking just mothers, but also people who were seen as mothers, he remembered the girl had been adopted. He had argued with Dean just that day, Dean who had cared for him his entire life, who had talked to other mothers about his kid. Dean who had been there at school plays, who had been there when Sam was sick, who made him lunch and taught him how to tie his shoes. Dean who had tucked him in at night and told him not to worry about the monsters under the bed. His brother, who had taken on the roll of mother.

Tears filled Sams eyes with the realization and he felt the need to hug Dean, so he pulled his brother into a tight hug. Dean seemed shocked for a moment, his hands in the air for a second before he slowly wrapped them around Sams tall frame. Confused yet softly and with a gentle tone, he asked: “Whoa, hey, what brought this on?”

“You,” Sam managed to push out between the silent sobs.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, buddy, don’t cry, it’s okay,” Dean hushed, carding his hands through Sams hair on autopilot.

After a while Sam had managed to calm down. Dean wiped away the tears staining his cheeks and asked: “Wanna tell what made you cry like that?”

“You always cared for me, raised me and I never, I never even thanked you,” Sam hiccuped. “You gave up so much for me and I ran away. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Then he started crying again.

Dean didn’t react, he was sitting there, wide eyes with his boy crying in his arms and he was just playing Sams words over and over in his head. Sam was sorry. Sorry for not thanking him. The absurdity of the thought snapped Dean out of his daze.

He gently grabbed Sams chin and made him lock eyes with him. Then he said in the most caring voice Sam had heard in years: “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, alright? You haven’t done anything wrong. Raising you was never something I didn’t want to do. And although I hated – hate – it, I get why you had to get away, just for a while. It’s okay, no need to apologize.”

Then he let go of Sammys chin and pulled him into a tighter hug as the younger boy murmured: “Doesn’t make it alright,” into his shirt.

After a few more seconds of hugging Sam pulled away and Dean let him. When they were sitting opposite to each other in the empty graveyard in the middle of the night, tears still wet on their faces, they shared a look and burst out laughing. Dean chuckled: “This is ridiculous.”

Sam nodded and let himself be pulled up by Dean. Dean cracked his back and said: “If you’re still feeling guilty you can close the grave as a thanks.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but started to shovel the dirt back into the still smoking hole.

When the last dirt was thrown on the grave Dean broke the comfortable silence: “I’m guessing it was the ghost who pushed you to your conclusion.” Sam nodded and unsure Dean asked: “What did she say?”

Sam thought about it for a second, then he said: “First she told me she’d make him, meaning you, regret everything you’ve said, which made me confused. So I asked her why she was attacking me, because I didn’t have a mom. Then she gave me with such a perplexed look and said ‘That’s not what your heart says’ and then she died, again.”

Dean chocked up a bit and looked away. He swallowed heavily and tried to casually say: “And that made you connect me to being a parental figure, how?”

“I went over her MO, she was adopted so it didn’t have to be a mother by blood and we did fight today. SoI just thought why it would be you and then I thought about our youth and it just suddenly all clicked somehow,” Sam confessed, then he smirked and added: “And it was mom, not parental figure.”

Dean shot him a glare and said: “I’m not some chick, dude.”

“If that’s wanna tell yourself, sure.” Sam said, still smirking.

“Bitch!”

And just like that his brother was back.

Sam smiled.

“Jerk.”

~~

A/N:

I found this on my computer and had forgotten about it completely. I do hope, I could cheer someone up with this :D

[rpf-bat]

In The Dress Your Husband Hates

Pairing: Frank Iero x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 12. Prompt: “Dark Bride”. 

You’re trying on wedding dresses, and you know that you’re supposed to be excited, about your upcoming nuptials. But, the dark truth is, that you don’t love the man, you’re expected to marry. Frank finds you outside the bridal shop, in tears. You’ve never seen him before in your life - but, before you know it, you find yourself, telling him all your troubles. 

You stood in front of the fitting room mirror, staring at yourself, in the poofy white dress, and gauzy veil. It wasn’t an ugly dress, by any means. The price tag that clung to the collar, had a well-known designer’s name on it, in gaudy letters. A normal bride would feel lucky, that her generous future mother-in-law, had agreed to buy it for her. 

“You look pretty as a peach in that gown, Y/N,” the older woman smiled at you. “I can’t wait for my son, to see you walk down the aisle in it.” 

You arranged your facial features into a smile, knowing that this was what Mrs. R. wanted to see. But, even though you knew you should be happy, something about all this, still didn’t feel quite right.

“Ma’am?” interrupted a bridal shop employee, as she walked past. “You look lovely, but, um, your dress isn’t zipped up all the way in the back.”

“Oh,” you blushed. “Um, yeah, I couldn’t get it all the way up, when I was putting it on.” 

“Here, let me help with you that,” Mrs. R. offered. You flinched, when her matronly fingers grazed your skin. She tugged at your zipper. 

“Well, now, it just won’t budge,” she frowned. “Let me try again.” 

“Don’t pull so hard,” you hissed. “You’re going to break it.” 

“May I try?” the shopkeeper offered. You didn’t really care for the thought of more people touching you, but you acquiesced. 

“...Oh,” the shopkeeper pursed her lips, struggling to find the polite words, for what she wanted to say. “Ma’am, it seems that you’re too, um….”

“Yeah, I know, I'm too fat for the dress,” you snapped, feeling humiliated. “There’s no way you can squeeze my body into this thing, so just...get it off me, okay?” 

“Do y’all carry this dress, in a size up?” Mrs. R. asked discreetly.  

“No,” the shop girl shook her head, throwing you a pitying look. “I’m afraid that’s the biggest size we have.”

“Oh, my,” Mrs. R tutted. “Y/N, I didn’t realize that you had gotten so…..large.” 

I look like shit, you thought, cheeks burning. How am I supposed to stand at an altar, in front of all my friends and family, when I know I look this shitty?

“Maybe you can try a specialty store,” the girl suggested. “For, y’know….bigger women?”

“Fuck that,” you barked. 

“Watch your language!” the older woman hissed. 

“No!” you cried, hot tears beginning to well up in your eyes. “I...I can’t do this right now!” 

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Mrs. R. demanded. “I take you dress shopping, when your own mother doesn’t want a damn thing to do with your wedding, and this is how you repay me? By throwing a hissy fit in the store?” 

“I just...can’t, okay?!” you insisted, feeling overwhelmed. The tears began to stream down your cheeks. 

I have to get out of here, you thought, pushing past her. 

“Y/N!” she called after you, as you ran out the door. “Where do you think you’re going?!”

You didn’t know - but you didn’t intend to slow down. 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

You ran across the street, dodging cars that swerved and honked at you. On the other side of the street, you found a small, public park. You started running down the winding hiking trail, but you tripped on your train, and tumbled to the ground. 

“Ow!” you cried. “Goddamnit!” 

You had skinned your elbows when you fell, and the white tulle of your hemline had turned to muddy brown. What the hell am I doing? 

You sat down on a park bench, burying your head in your hands, as you wept. What the hell am I doing with my life, in general?

You looked up, when you heard a jingling sound. A large, brown dog stood in front of you, sniffing you curiously. 

“Oh, h-hey,” you said shakily, extending your hand, for the dog to sniff. “Where’d you come from, girl?” 

The dog licked your hand, as if she was trying to comfort you. It made you stop crying, if only for a moment.

“Lois!” cried an unfamiliar voice, and you watched, as a short, dark-haired man came running over. “You can’t run away from me like that, when we’re in public!” 

“Oh, is this your dog?” you realized, gazing up at him. His short-sleeved shirt revealed intricate tattoos on his arms. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry, she escaped from her leash,” the man explained, chuckling. His laughter died on his lips, as he took in the tears that stained your face. “Uh….hey, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you lied, wiping your tears on the back of your hand. 

“Here, take this,” the man offered, pulling a tissue from his pocket. You took it, gratefully, and began dabbing at your eyes. 

“I’m Frank,” the man introduced himself. “And this is my dog, Lois.” 

“I’m Y/N,” you replied. “Sorry, did you want to sit down, so you can put Lois’ leash back on her?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Frank nodded, and you scooched over on the bench, to make room for him. He took a red leash out of his pocket, and hooked it onto Lois’ collar. 

Lois turned to you again. You patted her head, and scratched behind her ears. She gave your hand another appreciative lick. 

“So,” Frank asked curiously, “is there a reason that you’re wearing a wedding dress?” 

“Yeah, I was just at Betsy’s Bridal, across the street,” you explained. “I was supposed to be picking out a dress, to wear on my special day.” 

“Oh, congrats on your upcoming marriage,” Frank said politely. “Who’s the lucky guy?” 

“His name’s Ronnie,” you replied. 

“How long have you and Ronnie been together?” Frank asked. 

“Eight months,” you told him, reddening.

“Eight months?” Frank repeated, incredulous. “And you guys are already getting engaged?!”

“.....I’m three months pregnant,” you explained, shame-faced. 

“.....Oh.” For a moment, this revelation rendered Frank speechless. In the awkward silence that followed, the only sound was Lois’ wagging tail hitting the dirt, as you petted her some more.

“So,” he said bluntly, after a moment, “it’s a shotgun wedding?” 

“N-No!” you denied. “I mean, Ronnie’s mom is very Christian, and she was the one who insisted that the child can’t be born out of wedlock. But...Ronnie agreed that this was the right thing to do. She didn’t have to put a gun to his head.”

At least, not literally, you thought darkly. He’d freaked out, at first, but Mrs. R had told him that a baby needed a stable household, with a mother, and a father. And besides - people would talk. 

“Do you think he’s gonna be a good dad?” Frank asked seriously. 

“I guess,” you shrugged. “I mean, he could have ditched me. But, he decided that he wanted to be in the child’s life.” 

“Pfft,” Frank scoffed. “Don’t give the guy a gold medal, for doing the bare minimum.” 

“Hey!” you protested. “You’ve never even met him, what do you know?” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Frank shrugged. “I’m just a stranger, so you can take my opinions with a grain of salt. But, as far as I’m concerned….yeah, there’s a lot of deadbeat dads out there. But, just because you didn’t immediately abandon your kid, doesn’t automatically make you husband material.” 

“Ronnie’s a great guy,” you insisted. “I think he’ll be supportive, when the baby comes.” 

“You think?” Frank questioned, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well..,” you hesitated. “To be honest, I haven’t seen much of him lately. He’s been out at the bar, with his friends, a lot.” 

“You serious?” Frank frowned. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “He said that once the baby is born, he’ll be forced to spend a lot of time at home, helping me with childcare stuff. So, for now, he wants to enjoy going out with his buddies, while he still can.”

“If I had a pregnant girlfriend,” Frank sighed, “I wouldn’t ditch her, for my boys. I’d want to be with her, every second that I could, so I could make sure that she, and the baby, were doing okay.” 

That sounded nice….but it had nothing to do, with your reality. 

“I found out the other day, that it’s a boy,” you revealed. The excitement that should have been in your voice, was absent. “Ronnie, says he wants to name him, Ronald Junior.” 

“Is that what you want?” Frank wondered.

“I…..I don’t even know, if I want this baby at all,” you confessed, dissolving into tears again. 

“Hey, ssh, it’s okay,” Frank soothed, putting an arm around you. You cried into his shoulder. 

“Why….why am I even telling you any of this?!” you wondered, as your body became wracked with sobs again. “I just met you! I don’t know anything about you! There’s no reason for me to just give you my whole life story like this!” 

Were the pregnancy hormones, driving you insane?

“People say that I’m a really good listener,” Frank shrugged. “Or, maybe you’ve been needing to get this stuff off your chest for a while - and it doesn’t really matter, who you say it to.”

“I don’t have anyone I can talk to,” you admitted, sniffling. “My mom says she won’t even go to my wedding, because she can’t stand Ronnie. And my friends…..well, they all think I should be happy about this. I’m gonna have a husband who works hard to support me, and a son, and a house with a white picket fence….that’s the dream, isn't it?” 

“It doesn’t sound like it’s your dream,” Frank said softly. “Not if thinking about that future, makes you want to run away, and cry.”

You didn’t even really know him, and yet you clung to him, as he let you cry yourself out, against his sleeve. He was right - you really had needed this, for a while. 

“I’m an outside observer,” Frank admitted. “I don’t know Ronnie, or his mom. I don’t even really know you. But, that also means that I don’t have any biased feelings. Looking at it, from the outside in....it looks like, to me, you don’t really want to go through with this wedding.” 

“But….what will happen, if I don’t?” you hesitated. “I’ll be an unwed mother, and he’ll just be my baby-daddy….everybody will think I’m trash.” 

“I was raised by a single mother,” Frank revealed. “She’s the most amazing person I know. I don’t think that it’s trashy at all.” 

“But....,” you wept, “If I don’t take Ronnie’s ring, who else will ever want me? The pregnancy is already making me too chubby, to fit in my dress properly. By the time I’m due, I’m going to look even more disgusting.”

“You don’t look disgusting,” Frank said, his eyes staring into yours. “Y/N…..you’re beautiful.”

“Y-you’re just saying that,” you blushed. 

“I’m not,” Frank shook his head. “When I saw this gorgeous woman, in this strange dress, sitting here, crying…..I was drawn to you. I wanted to take you into my arms, immediately, to make your tears stop.” 

This whole situation is insane, you thought, unsure whether to laugh, or cry. Instead, you did neither. You hugged him, impulsively. He smelled like cigarette smoke, and dog treats.

He returned the impromptu hug, squeezing you tight. 

“I won’t promise, to be your son’s dad, or anything,” Frank whispered, his breath against your ear. “Because he has a dad - but, you can co-parent with Ronnie, without being in a romantic relationship with him. If you don’t love him, Y/N, don’t promise the rest of your life to him. I just met you today, so I’m not gonna offer you a lifetime. But, I sure as hell, would love to offer you dinner, and a movie, sometime.”

You stared at him, heart racing. “You’re asking me out?” 

“We can just see where it goes,” Frank stammered, cheeks burning. “I just….I get so mad, hearing about how this Ronnie guy is so bad to you. It makes me want to show you that you can be treated better.” 

“I don’t want to marry Ronnie,” you decided. “I think….I’ve known that I didn’t want to, for a while. Thank you, Frank for helping me realize that. I just don’t know what’s gonna happen from here. His mom….she’ll never forgive me.”

“Screw her,” Frank said defiantly. 

“But, what I do know,” you smiled, “is  that I would love to go to dinner with you.”

“It’s a date,” Frank beamed, and took your hand in his. The small touch, of his calloused fingertips, thrilled you more, than anything Ronnie had done to you, in months. 

“....I have to tell him that I’m breaking the engagement, before I do anything else,” you frowned. “I need go about this the right way. But, there’s going to be…..so much backlash, you have no idea.” 

“If anyone tries to judge you, for the decision you’re making,” Frank offered, “I’ll sic Lois on ‘em. She can eat them for breakfast.” 

You laughed at this. 

“Wow,” Frank gaped.

“Wow, what?”

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile, since I sat down on this bench,” Frank explained. “Your smile makes you even more gorgeous.”

His words made you smile even wider - even though your marriage was ending before it began, his warm hand in yours, made you feel, as if everything was going to be okay, after all. 

[classicmollywood]

It's Time for a History Lesson on the Hollywood Blacklist

You might have heard reference to the Hollywood blacklist recently. Or you haven’t and now your curiosity has peaked. Either way, a history lesson is about to happen!

My main objective is to explain what being blacklisted is and isn’t. I also want to help you understand how some people might confuse those two concepts and use the word “blacklist” without truly understanding its full meaning.

What is the Hollywood Blacklist?

The Hollywood blacklist was at its peak during the late 1940’s and the 1950’s. This was where anyone who worked in some sort of entertainment field (actors, directors, writers, musicians, etc) was barred from working in the industry. Why were they barred? Communism, of course!

If you were accused of being a part of the US Communist Party, or possibly being a member, or even being sympathetic to communism, then you could be barred from working in the industry - possibly forever. This means no one would hire you to do a job because you could be a communist.

The Hollywood Ten

In October 1947, ten witnesses refused to cooperate with the House of Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC). These ten were either former or current members of the party and did this as a form of protest. HUAC didn’t like them being uncooperative and fined all ten $1,000 and each of them were sentenced to a year in prison.

Oh and to add insult to injury, their studios fired all of them. Thus, the blacklist had begun.

House of Un-American Activities Committee

HUAC was the one doing the subpoenaing during the blacklist era. If you were called to testify, you would be grilled in front of an audience to tell them all about your Communist past (and your buddies’ past too).

For a time, Richard Nixon (yup that Richard Nixon) was a member of HUAC. The infamous name Joseph McCarthy will be tied with this committee forever due to the term “McCarthyism”. “McCarthyism” is when you defame a person’s character, are demagogic, and reckless.

The Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals

If you were a part of the Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals (MPA), you were a conservative in Hollywood who had a distaste for communism. Some of those who joined the MPA were actors John Wayne, Clark Gable, Robert Taylor, and director Sam Wood.

The Committee for the First Amendment

The antithesis to the MPA was the Committee for the First Amendment (CFA). This committee included liberals in Hollywood who supported the Hollywood Ten and their first amendment right to not speak during their hearing. Quite a few big names were involved with this group and it is impossible to name all of them, but here are a few - Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, Bette Davis, and Frank Sinatra.

How Could It Be Proved You Were a Communist?

This becomes a bit tricky because there was no real legal way to for sure know someone was a communist. During the HUAC hearings, those on the committee would try to get you to tell them you were or were not a communist.

A lot of times HUAC would go into the archives to find something to pin on you. Say you went to a communist meeting to appease your grandfather in the 1930s (such as the case for Lucille Ball), HUAC could call you in to testify and hold up a card with your name on it and yell “COMMUNIST!”

But what if you only went to that one meeting and have nothing to do with the Communist Party? You could save your reputation by “being a friendly witness” or “naming names”.

Friendly Witnesses

If you were a friendly witness, you answered the question - “Are you now or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?” If you answered yes, then you would be expected to “name names”, which means “rat out” other supposed communists and in effect, save your own career.

For example, Elia Kazan WAS a card carrying Communist when he was younger but to save his own hide, he decided to “name names”. Because Kazan did that, he got to keep making films and made some of his best work after testifying in front of HUAC.

Kazan wasn’t the only “friendly witness”. Some of the friendliest witnesses HUAC had were Walt Disney, Ronald Reagan, and Robert Taylor. Unlike Kazan, these men were known for their conservatism.

What Happened If You Were Blacklisted?

You didn’t get to work in the entertainment industry. You would never be hired for positions because you were supposedly a Communist. A lot of those blacklisted had to find different career paths because they couldn’t get employment in Hollywood.

There was a way around the blacklist. For instance, Dalton Trumbo used to write screenplays under pseudonyms (aka false names) so they would actually get bought. Two of Trumbo’s pseudonyms won Oscars - one for Roman Holiday and one for The Brave One.

Is the Blacklist Over?

Good question! Dalton Trumbo was recruited by Kirk Douglas for Spartacus and Otto Preminger for Exodus. Both knowingly hired Trumbo and both credited him for his work - effectively starting the demise of the blacklist.

Lately, there has been discussion that the blacklist is back! If you were blacklisted in the ‘40s and ‘50s, you lost your job and couldn’t get another one in Hollywood. You had to completely change your career and a lot of people who were blacklisted had their lives ruined due to this (or in the case of the medically weak-hearted John Garfield, literally died due to the stress of being blacklisted).

Let’s clear the air - being fired from a movie or television show for saying something offensive repeatedly is not the same as being blacklisted. When you work for a business, you technically represent them - even on social media. If your bosses don’t like what you are saying and have given you plenty of chances to stop saying offensive things, they can fire you.

Why don’t I believe people are being blacklisted today? Because a great deal of those in the industry who have been fired from one entertainment position have found other jobs within the industry.

Also, people have been getting fired for what they have said and not their political beliefs. Freedom of Speech is the first amendment but it doesn’t give you the right to be ignorant and/or offensive anywhere you want and not have any consequences.

[emptymanuscript]

So in the middle or writing something else, I had an intrusion of thought about one of the components.

My favorite book on Universal Patterns of Story is Save the Cat! but I was also looking at my demoted second favorite, 20 Master Plots and how to build them by Ronald B Tobias and it occurred to me that they really ought to fit together. So I started fiddling with them and I think I kinda see something a little different from either but which is also clearly the same thing.

There's a cluster that is about Equations of Power STC!'s Super Hero, A person is blessed with talent and power but cursed to suffer an achilles heel (usually separation from the society they wish to keep) so they have to choose which to let win. which is when the power is really on the protagonist's side.

STC!'s dude with a problem. Average, competent person has to face huge problem. Protagonist is fine in power, it's just that the problem is so big.

Tobias' Rivalry. Equal powers in competition for one goal.

Tobias' Underdog. Protagonist is not up to the match but tries to compete for the mutually exclusive goal anyway.

Tobias' Sacrifice. Protagonist volunteers themselves and what is dearest to them in exchange for a success they will not be able to enjoy. The Protagonist's only power is in their abnegation of power.

All of those really are about power and how it balances.

Next cluster is trapped. There's social traps, physical traps, and traps for the soul but they all come down to the protagonist is trapped in a space with something terrible that they can't get away from until they deal with the fundamental nature of the trap, WHY they are trapped.

Snyder - Institutionalized. A person’s struggle for individuality vs being part of the group. Social trap. Tobias - Escape:  Confined against their will, the character tries to escape. Physical trap. Tobias - Rescue:  The Protagonist goes out and steals something that the Antagonist has stolen. Physical trap but for someone else. Breaking in instead of breaking out. Tobias - Pursuit:  One person chases another.  The chase is more important than the people. The trap follows you, no escape. Snyder - Monster in the House. The MC is locked up with something that imperils their life and soul. Spiritual trap, no way out until you discover and deal with your sin. Tobias - Revenge:  Retaliation against the antagonist for real or imagined injury. Inability to let being trapped go, continue to pursue it, trying to metaphysically free self from the trap. Tobias - Temptation: A mostly internal struggle between a Protagonist’s desires and their moral code. Carry the trap with you and know your sin well, the task is figuring out how to free yourself from the trap when it is that good.

Again, all about being trapped with something that will destroy you unless you figure out how to come to terms with it.

Questing These are the heroes journey plots Tobias - Quest: A character searches for something, tangible or intangible. Snyder - Golden Fleece. The MC needs to go on a journey with some allies to get something. Tobias - Adventure:  The character goes in search of fortune, the focus is the journey itself.

That's Just Life, you have to change cluster, is that life is hard and you have to just change what you are to meet it, or die really. Snyder - Rites of Passage. Certain events are just part of the experience life, that doesn’t make them any easier to deal with when someone has to look inside themselves and just deal. Tobias - Maturation:  The Coming of Age from an innocent or child into an experienced or adult. Tobias - Transformation: Slice of life around a dramatic change from one life state to another where the protagonist is recognizable as a “different person.”

I feel like in this one in particular, Snyder got it, and Rites of of Passage really is the best term.

Abnormality teaches about Normality Snyder - Out of the Bottle. The MC gets a wish, or gets cursed, and learns the value of a normal life. Tobias - Metamorphosis:  A character is literally transformed into something else. As much about why they deserve it as the physical transformation.

Really, Snyder gets it right again here. Metamorphosis is just a specific sub-type of OOB

Love, all kinds, But Snyder - Buddy Love. Romance / Friendship, every story fundamentally about learning to be together. Tobias - Love:  A meets B and it would be great BUT… So A&B try to overcome that BUT. Tobias - Forbidden Love:  As Love. The BUT is that at least one is unpalatable to the other’s society.

I feel like they're all subtypes of Tobias, here. Buddy love is where the BUT is the character's ignorance of how to co-exist. Forbidden Love is clearly a subtype of Love. It's that but that really encompasses it all. Even A Boy and His Dog plots where the But is that Dogs don't live as long and they can't do all the things a human can, and other people don't respect your dog.

Mysteries Tobias - The Riddle:  Protagonist and reader must solve an enigma that is occluded by the plot. Snyder - Whydunit. Mystery where the deepest secret is WHY the crime happened at all. Tobias - Discovery: The character seeks understanding of themselves. As Riddle but mystery is the inner life of the investigator.

Sorry, WHY is a great mystery but it's just not the only mystery.

Power to rise and the weakness to fall Tobias - Ascension / Descension:  How a Protagonist’s personal character drives their rise from rags to riches (Ascension), their fall from grace to privation (Descension), or both their rise and fall. Snyder - Fool Triumphant. A Fool doesn’t realize their power to change lives or the consequences of their unbridled success. Tobias - Wretched Excess:  A relatable Protagonist is cast out from the center of society and must endure the fringes of society beyond what most are willing to consider acceptable. The essence of this plot’s power is the belief of the reader that this could possibly happen to them.

Wretched excess is a way of Descension. Fool Triumphant is particular twist on the rise and fall. Ascension/Decension, actually two different plots, but malleable describes it all best

Which gives me 8 instead of ten.

If that is of any use :/ Which it may not be. Mostly Snyder’s 10 work for me. It’s really Trapped where I feel there is weakness. Revenge is such a blatant there thing it needs some kind of direct address. But it’s also too narrow to be it’s own I feel like. So... I dunno. As ever. 

[alarajrogers]

It’s lesbian visibility day? Great! I’ve just been thinking about lesbians. My very own lesbians, that I made up.

Lately (past two years) I have been writing a lot of lesbians. Or wlw anyway (I’m bi myself). Basically for my own purposes I’m going to make a list of lesbians, and how likely I am to expand or finish their story:

The Earth and the Moon Are Lesbians: This stands on its own. Not expanding it.

The Evil Overlady and her Evil Queen: My contribution to a thread; it is unlikely, but not impossible, that I may turn this into a story.

The Broken World: I have been planning this since like 2016. It will be a thing. Eventually.

Driving Across America: This was originally a worldbuilding exercise, based on a line from the song “Ozar Midrashim” by Information Society (”In the distance, I can see a huge holographic Ronald McDonald between the grain elevators and the trees”), but somehow lesbians got into it. I intend to write it as a story or book sometime.

The Swan Wife: Part of the 52 Project (that I’m going to fucking finish, somehow). Based on the fairy tale, but included a cat, and lesbians. Is actually a complete and full story that is done!

Storm (Inktober 2020): Inspired by the song “Fear for the Storm” from Starship Iris, but the Iris here ended up drawing on a different mythos.

Rose (Writeober 2020): Quite some time ago I had an idea about magical girls who are now adults returning to the place where they grew up and fought their battles, and the evil they fought rising again. Due to my obsession with The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir, two of the magical girls became lesbians who used to passionately hate each other in the old days but now they’re married.

Guardian/Potion (Writeober 2020): Based on the prompt that the witch is taking first born children in order to get them away from parents who give away their kids for material gain. Then the witch turned out to have a wife.

Ancient (Inktober 2019): I know it’s not what Dolly Parton intended, but in my head, Jolene is a succubus, not a human woman. What if she relented and gave the singer back her man, because she saw something in the singer that attracted her? Not as a succubus but as a woman? This one’s also complete.

Honorable mention for Buddy (Inktober 2020): I don’t actually know yet if Wanda Joyce and Irin Liath are gonna end up girlfriends. I just know that if I was watching a TV show in which a middle-aged black starship captain who is also a mom, from Earth, got flung through a wormhole into a region of space where everyone looks human except they are all either blue or brown, and the only “white” person is an albino scientist of questionable morality who decides to be Joyce’s protector and best friend because Joyce saved her life, I would absolutely be shipping the hell out of that. (Any noticeable similarities to Farscape are absolutely intentional, thank you.) So do I not ship it just because I’m the creator of the canon? I dont know yet. (If I decide I’m shipping it, then Wanda’s bi, because I am a bisexual who is mysteriously not writing any bi rep for reasons beyond my personal comprehension, and in fiction I really don’t like “I was married to a guy and had kids with him but I was really a lesbian all along and I’m not attracted to men.” Yes, it happens in the real world but this is my fictional world and there can be bisexual women in it.) I mean, the main character in “Ancient” is bi because it’s a big part of the plot that she was deeply in love with a man, but you’d think a bi woman would have more bi women in her stuff.

[headcanonsandmore]

‘A Comforting Hand’

Here’s a cute little Linny fic I wrote, with Luna and Seamus pining after their respective best friends. 

Tagging @lytefoot @wickira and @just-a-teen-fangirl. 

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Read on FFN.                                            Read on AO3. 

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Luna Lovegood liked Ginny Weasley a lot.

They had become friends over the course of the past two years. Luna had never really had friends before, so she was very pleased about that. The DA had really opened up things for her. Now she knew Harry, Ron and Neville really well. She even got along well with Hermione, although they were never really bosom-buddies compared to how close Luna was with the others.

Ginny was different, though. She had been Luna’s first friend her own age, so there had always been a special bond between them.

Ginny was intelligent, witty, brave, and amazing at Quidditch. She was also kind and very nice to be around.

And beautiful. Luna couldn’t remember the first time she had thought that about Ginny, but it was true. Ginny Weasley was utterly beautiful.

At that particular moment, Ginny was chuckling to herself as the two of them walked from their shared Charms class to the great hall for lunch. Luna had been talking about Wrackspurts, and Ginny -as always- was smiling winningly at her. Whenever their eyes met, Luna’s heart gave a little thump, as if joyous about it.

That tended to happen all the time Luna was around Ginny, actually.

‘Lu; you’re one in a million. You know that, right?’

Luna felt her cheeks grow warm. She liked hearing Ginny call her that.

‘Thank you, Ginny,’ she replied, ‘that’s very sweet of you to say.’

‘I mean it!’ The redhead exclaimed, patting Luna softly on the shoulder. ‘Honestly, you’re worse than Ron when it comes to taking compliments- oh, hi, Dean!’

Dean Thomas –Ginny’s fellow Gryffindor- had appeared from behind a tapestry nearby. His eyes crinkled as he grinned at Ginny.

‘Hey, Gin,’ the Londoner said, his voice very soft. ‘Going to lunch?’

‘Yep; on our way now.’

‘Nice.’

Without hesitating, Dean reached out and enveloped his hand around Ginnys, intertwining their fingers.

Luna felt a sudden lurch in the region of her stomach. Maybe she was hungry? Possibly, but that didn’t feel like it did when she was normally hungry. And why did she feel sad all of a sudden?

At that moment, Seamus Finnegan (Dean’s best friend) emerged from the same tapestry. Upon seeing the joined hands of Ginny and Dean, the Irishman seemed to roll his eyes. But Luna could have sworn that she had seen a brief look of longing.

‘Oy! Shay! You coming to lunch or not?’

‘As long as you two don’t mind me tagging along?’

‘Course not.’

Seamus joined them as they continued along the corridor. However –as Luna walked parallel with him- she couldn’t help but notice that same longing look appear in Seamus’s eyes once Dean and Ginny had turned their heads away from him.

The Irishman stopped briefly to adjust his tie, and Luna hung back. Dean and Ginny carried on up the corridor.

‘Seamus, are you alright? You seem rather upset.’

Seamus turned his head so fast that his neck clicked. Rubbing it, he let out a long sigh.

‘Is it really that obvious?’

‘Is what obvious?’

Seamus stared at her for a second.

‘You too, huh?’

Chuckling slightly to himself, the Irishman became to walk along the corridor.

‘I guess we’re similar in that way, aren’t we?’

Luna hastened to catch up with him, still not really understanding what he had meant.

~~~~~

 The four of them entered the great hall. As lunchtime was more of a rush than dinner, there was far more allowance for people sitting regardless of house. This meant that no-one batted an eyelid when Luna sat down with Ginny, Dean and Seamus on the Gryffindor table.

Dean ladled a spoon of soup, and held it out to Ginny.

‘Oh, stop it, Dean’ Ginny said, looking very embarrassed. ‘I’m not a child, I can feed myself.’

Dean flashed Ginny a tentative smile, and the redhead seemed to blush slightly.

‘Fine,’ she muttered, before hurriedly gulping down the soup.

Nearby, Seamus stared moodily down at his own soup.

‘What’s wrong, Seamus? Wrong kind of soup?’

‘Nah, it’s fine,’ Seamus muttered, resting his elbow on the table as he began to blow on his soup. ‘Nevermind.’

As Dean turned back to Ginny, Luna couldn’t help but notice the sour look the Irishman gave the redhead, as if he would rather she not be there. Or… as if he’d rather be in her place.  

As she began to eat her bowl of chunky soup, Luna spotted Ronald Weasley nearby eating a sandwich. He was casting furtive glances up the table, to where Hermione Granger was sitting by herself, and playing miserably with her salad. Apparently giving up on eating, Ronald got to his feet, and wandered out of the hall.

‘Don’t tell me you still fancy Ron, Lu?’

Luna turned her head. Ginny had noticed who she was looking at.

‘No, I don’t. He’s a good friend, but I know he would never see me that way.’

Ginny chuckled.

‘You sure are perceptive.’

Luna felt her cheeks flush again.

‘Thank you.’

‘Yeah, Ron’s been bonkers for Hermione for years now,’ Dean said, amicably. ‘I hope they sort things out; I hate seeing them all miserable like this.’

‘She set a flock of birds on him, Dean!’ Ginny exclaimed, flaring up. ‘She hasn’t even tried to apologise to him! Yeah, he wasn’t behaving his best, but that doesn’t excuse it!’

‘Sorry, Gin.’

Dean put his arm around the redheads’ shoulders, and Ginny seemed to relax a bit.

Luna felt her stomach lurch again. That was most peculiar; she wasn’t hungry any more.

She once again saw the longing look on Seamus’s face, as he watched Dean slowly pat Ginny’s shoulder. But the longing wasn’t directed at Ginny at all.

‘You’re sweet, Dean. Thanks.’

‘No worries, Gin. Gotta treat my girlfriend right, haven’t I?’

And –with that- Dean leaned in and pecked Ginny softly on the lips.

Luna felt like her blood had turned to ice, and her heart seemed to slip several inches down her insides. A curious prickling was affecting her eyes.

‘Lu?’

Ginny had leaned over, looking at the blonde with concern.

‘Lu, are you okay? What’s wrong?’

‘I’m… I… I don’t know… I have to go…’

Luna pulled her bag over her shoulder, and half-sprinted towards the exit. As she left, she saw Seamus give her a look of sympathetic, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling. The thought did little to calm the blonde-haired Ravenclaw.

Luna didn’t stop running until she came to a false wall on the second floor; it was one of her favourite hiding spots, for when she wanted to get away from people.

Ducking through, she sat down on the carpeted floor, and began to cry. What on earth was wrong with her? All that had happened was Ginny being kissed by Dean, and yet Luna felt more miserable than she had felt in a very long day.

Oh, no.

She wanted to be the one kissing Ginny. Her best friend. Who she loved dearly, and who would clearly never love her in quite the same way.

‘Luna? Luna, are you okay?’

The blonde slowly opened her eyes.

Ronald Weasley was kneeling down next to her, his blue eyes full of concern. Lavender Brown was stood a couple of feet behind him, looking worried.

‘R-Ronald? I’m… I’m sorry, I’m just being silly⸺’

‘No, you’re crying. What’s wrong? Did someone upset you?’

Luna shook her head, feeling very confused.

‘Not as far as I’m aware. I just saw Dean kiss Ginny, and I started crying. I... I just…’

‘Sssshhhhh,’ Ronald said, now patting her on the arm. ‘It’s okay.’

At this point, Lavender stepped forward, and sat down next to Luna. She smelled of a sweet flowery perfume, and her smile was soft and comforting.

‘Luna, was it?’

Luna nodded.

‘It sounds like romantic tension to me. When you’re attracted to someone, you get upset when you see them with other people⸺’

‘B-but Ginny’s my best friend,’ Luna sobbed, tears running down her face. ‘I shouldn’t be getting upset just because she’s being k-k-kissed by someone…’

‘Ginny? I thought you meant… oh….’

‘What?’ Ron asked, looking confused. ‘What’s the issue?’

‘Er…’ Lavender looked slightly panicked now. ‘Well… you see…’

‘Oh, you mean that? Well, Seamus has fancied Dean for years; this sort of stuff happens.’ Ron said, before turning back to Luna. ‘So, Luna; you like Ginny a lot, then?’

Startled by this, Luna nodded.

‘I know it’s scary, Luna. But it’s gonna be okay. Ginny cares about you a lot. Even if it’s not in that way, she couldn’t stand not having you around.’

‘R-really?’

‘Course. You’re her best friend, aren’t you?’

Luna dried her tears, and nodded.  Ron grinned at her, his lopsided grin conveying warmth and compassion.

She could easily see why Lavender liked Ron so much. He really was a sweet person. Even though most people barely spared him a second thought, the youngest Weasley boy was clearly a… diamond in the rough, as Luna’s father would put it. She supposed all the Weasley family were like that. They were good people.

Maybe that’s why Luna had fallen for Ginny in the first place⸺

‘Luna?’

The blonde’s heart seemed to have leapt into her throat. Ginny Weasley had appeared through the fake wall nearby, her eyes wide with worry.

‘G-Ginny?’

‘Ron, what’s wrong with her⸺’

‘She’s upset, Ginny. I think she wants you.’

Luna could have been mistaken, but she could have sworn that Ginny’s cheeks flushed at that last sentence as she scrambled through, kneeling down next to Ron.

‘W-well, I’m her best friend, after all.’

Ron patted Luna on the shoulder once again, before flashing a brief supportive smile, and following Lavender through the wall.

‘I’m sorry, Ginny,’ Luna mumbled, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I’ve made you worried⸺’

Her words died in her mouth, as Ginny threw her arms around Luna, pulling the blonde into a warm, comforting hug. Ginny’s flowery scent (which Luna had always loved) filled her nostrils, and Luna felt suddenly warm and protected.

‘Don’t you dare apologise, Lu!’ Ginny said, fiercely. ‘You’re my best friend; I want to be here for you!’

Luna felt her heart race.

‘R-really?’

‘Of course!’ ⸺Ginny pulled back slightly, so that she was staring into Luna’s eyes⸺ ‘Whenever you feel down or upset, I want to be that shoulder you can cry on, okay?!’

Luna nodded.

‘But… but what about Dean?’

Ginny paused, and Luna was shocked to realise that the redheads face was blushing a subtle shade of pink. Leaning forward so that they were only a few inches apart, Ginny stared deep into Luna’s eyes. Her hands found Luna’s, softly intertwining their fingers together.  

‘You’re more important.’

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Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you liked it!