#in relevance of his birthday being today

[wrathofbloodeye]

dennis nilsen letters: part two

nilsen wrote to another unnamed penpal on september 4th, 2003. while the letter found in this article is seemingly ordinary, i think there are some interesting insights on his personality to consider throughout it.

he begins with his criticisms on the prison system’s procedures on receiving money. he then begins to talk about a documentary on myra hindley, who killed five children in england with her lover, ian brady.

“I watched the Channel Five documentary on Myra Hindley last night. One suspects that any programme with “Monster” in its title is not to be taken seriously as offering any new insight into the subject. TV journalism remains too set in its populist formulas. It revealed no new analysis or enlightening information. It hinged itself on that famous ‘demonic’ photograph of her taken at the police station. That saved millions the bother of ever having to think deeply about her ever again.”

this excerpt gives us insight on his opinions towards true crime material. in another letter circulating around, he writes to another person saying “my singular observation on crimes crackers is that they are mostly crackers.” i admit, i share the same opinion on the title of the documentary. the word monster is a reoccurring word in the titles of many serial killer documentaries and dramas. two examples would be the series invisible monsters: serial killers in america and monster: the jeffrey dahmer story. the use of the word can become overused and repetitive, which simplifies the unique details of an individual and their case.

my favorite part of this letter is towards the end.

“Scientists tell us that an asteroid might strike the earth on 21st April 2014. If I’m still around, I’ll look out for it as the end of the world is something not to be missed. Friendly greetings as always, Des. PS: What do you think of the new Bull Ring development?”

some of nilsen’s personality is revealed through these few lines. he seems quite pretentious even in his letters. not surprising, given his narcissistic personality disorder diagnosis. he is intelligent and provides thorough descriptions for his opinions (whether they make sense or not). and then he just out of nowhere, adds on something completely irrelevant and a little bizarre. seems like he had the attention span of a squirrel here, but it was probably just an attempt to make the recipient laugh. honestly, i found it amusing. it truly feels like you are reading the letter of a pretentious old man that likes to joke around.

i’m not sure if this next excerpt is from this same letter, but the article mentions it nonetheless, as it connects with earlier topics.

"I serve my time as an extreme example of human contradiction in the wide continuum of human nature and its actions. I am not contained, mute and immobile in a glass jar as some kind of eternal official specimen of popular 'evil'. As I am alive I must live as a man. I seek only to reach out to engage with the human dimension which is anathema to rigid officials of the retribution machine who are content with the official view of men like me as eternally and evilly sub-human and monstrous."

i believe he means he is a complex person who should not be simply categorized as evil, just as myra was. he deeply wants people to understand him less as a criminal and more as a person. he feels he is interpreted through a lens that ultimately deems him as evil, and that opinion is therefore passed on to others without further thought like a machine. des honey this is a difficult thing to ask for, since you killed multiple innocent lives.

i have two opinions about this that coexist, even though they are conflicting. this makes a lot of sense, while making no sense at all. his opinions and meanings are there, but it’s overshadowed by fancy syntax that does not always fit. especially that last run on sentence, as it takes him a long time to get to the point. he’s right about being contradictory- he desperately wants to be seen, but toys around with the idea more than outright demands it. his autobiography in its draft form included hours of tapes and 6,000 pages of notes. he forces people to understand him and will drag time out to do it. however, he is too high up on his own hill to level with everyone else.

his intentions may come in bits and pieces, but we may never have a clear understanding of who dennis nilsen truly was.

also, if anyone has a clear photo of the letter, feel free to share!

[willowfey]

ignore this i just wanna ramble in the tags for a sec i’ll probably delete it in a bit 🤪

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down. 

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern. 

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips. 

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it. 

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard. 

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out. 

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy��s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

[apollos-boyfriend]

the qsmp yesterday: the entity possessing a child is becoming stronger, forcing said child’s parents to desperately follow cryptic clues in hopes that they’ll be able to find a cure before it’s too late. a grieving man is confronted by a monster wearing his dead daughter’s face on his birthday.

the qsmp today: the capybaras are in lesbian love. maxo’s ass is once again plot-relevant with the reveal of him being pregnant with twins. chat had the deciding factor in whether he should abort or not. foolish is the only person with the proper credentials to act as his doctor, although those credentials consist of badboyhalo in mspaint. badboyhalo is also certified but does Not want to go within 100 feet of that mess. they do not know the babies’ species.

[basu-shokikita]

Happy Birthday Dethday, Toki!

I've been busy this week so I tried to whip out something real quick for the best boy's birthday! 🎂🌈

Happy Birthday Toki, you make my world a better place 🩷

Birthdays weren’t exactly celebrated in the Wartooth household, so Toki didn’t know they were supposed to be important. He never received a cake for it, or even a congratulations from his parents. He didn’t have friends, either, so it’s not like someone else could’ve celebrated for him.

Birthdays were just another regular day as far as he was concerned, and that’s exactly why he had no idea when his was. So, when Charles asked him, a few days after joining Dethklok, he panicked and went with the first date he could come up with. September 1st.

Later on, he realized that he had seen that date on a movie displayed on the big TV screens displayed by an old store, right across the alley Toki used to sleep in. The children were happily going back to school to reunite with their friends. It was September 1st.

He couldn’t imagine it being that important, so he quickly forgot he ever gave that information. Nor did he think it would be relevant in the future.

…

“Toki! Hey, Toki!” Someone shook him violently. “Toki, wake up!”

“Mmh?” Toki turned around in a daze. “Pickle?”

“We’re late, Toki!” Pickles said, seemingly stressed. “Get up already!”

“L-Late?” Toki sat up and grabbed his pants. “Lates for whats?”

“The…The show!” Pickles urged him with his hands. 

Toki glanced at the clock in his room. “But it’s-”

“Just huhrry up!” The drummer dashed to the hall and out of Toki’s sight. 

“Wait, Pickle!” Toki put on the nearest t-shirt he found and followed him.

The apartment seemed near empty, which was weird because it wasn’t even 10 am. Because of their growing fame, they had moved to a new place in LA. It was more spacious than the Florida apartment and now everyone had their own rooms, but still you could hear what everyone was up to. Which made this silence even more ominous.

“Pickle?!” Toki called him, to no avail. Suddenly, he heard a scream coming from the living room. Freaked out, he ran towards the voice, hoping nothing bad had happened to Pickles.

When he walked into the living room, the words ‘Your time is up’ were written in thick, black letters on the wall. Whoever had written that, was still in the house because the ink seemed fresh. Horrified, Toki looked down to see Pickles’ body lying next to the message.

“Pickle!” He screamed and bent down to hold his bandmate. He seemed unconscious, was he even breathing? “Oh, no, Pickle…” Toki sobbed quietly. 

He didn’t have time to grieve, because a couple of footsteps behind him chilled his blood. The subsequent creaking on the floor confirmed it, there was someone else in the room. And he was fastly approaching him. Toki felt his breath hitch and his heart about to burst out of his chest.

Slowly, he turned around but before seeing the face of the assailant he was splashed with a thick liquid. He screamed and closed his eyes as he awaited for the substance to melt his skin or something equally deadly. When a few seconds went by and he felt no pain, he opened his eyes. 

“Huh?” He cautiously touched his face in fear and stared at his hands stained with red gooeyness. “Whats the-” 

“Happy Birthday!” Several voices went off at once, prompting him to look up. 

Murderface was right beside him, holding the empty bucket in his hands with a smile. Nathan, Skwisgaar by the table a handful of feet away, clapping in delight. Even Pickles, held between his arms, was cheering too. 

Toki felt close to fainting.  “What ams…what ams goings on?”

“Its yous borfdays, dildos.” Skwisgaar said, with a smile. “Remembers?”

Like a hazy dream, Toki remembered giving the information to Charles. Right, so today was September 1st. Still, it didn’t explain this demented display. He looked at his completely ruined shirt, entirely lost. 

“It’sch pig blood.” Murderface helpfully informed, with a grin. “Pretty brutal, right?” 

Toki was bewildered. Blood? He splashed him with fucking blood?

“Dude, look at his face.” Nathan commented, told Skwisgaar. “He totally didn’t see it coming.”

“Tolds you, he wouldn’ts eggspekts dis.” Skwisgaar snickered back.

“Oh, yeah, Pickles, the pretending-to-be-dead bit was a really good touch.” Nathan said.

“Nuh, that was forreal.” Pickles pointed at the bottle by his feet. “I tripped. Behd.” 

“Oh.” 

Groaning, Pickles got up, leaving the speechless Toki crouched on the floor. “Come ahn, Toki.” He offered him his hand. 

Toki grabbed it and Pickles pulled him on his feet. It happened kinda fast, though, so it left Toki feeling kind of dizzy.

“Check out the cake we made.” Pickles said.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fucking brutal.” Nathan agreed and Toki followed his stare.

There was a big black and white cake on the table, with a deformed thing on top that seemed to be his old Flying V. Red stripes decorated the sides and Toki assumed they were supposed to be blood. 

“I deskigneds its.” Skwisgaar said with his chest puffed up. “You ams welkomes.”

“Tis ams for mes?” Toki pointed at himself. 

“Well, ye!” Pickles patted him in the back, joyful. “Its yer birthdei, dood!”

“We schtill get to eat schome, though.” Murderface added, appearing on his other side.

“Wowee…” Toki was overwhelmed. “I…Is never…”

“Had such a brutal birthday celebration?” Nathan completed his sentence.

More like, never had anyone celebrating his birthday. He nodded with a smile. “Ja.”

“Obviouslies.” Skwisgaar said, putting a black cone with sloppily drawn skulls on Toki’s head. “Happies birthdays, eh, Toki?” He patted him on the shoulders. 

Toki looked down, unable to process all the attention given to him on a day that, until moments ago, was just like any other for him. He really didn’t want to cry, because that wasn’t brutal, and he didn’t want them to see his flushed cheeks either, because that was embarrassing. “Thanks you…” He muttered, unable to meet their eyes.

There was a short-lived silence, because the others weren’t any more able to deal with emotional stuff either, until Pickles shouted. “Alright, get the alcohooool!”

While the rest dashed to the kitchen to get drinks, Toki wiped his eyes surreptitiously. Honestly, it’s not like they’d notice if he cried with all the blood he had on his face. He looked at his cake again and noticed the date written under the guitar.

Guess his birthday really was on September 1st.

[tbhimnoteasyonmyself]

Rak's Cartier Bracelets - EPISODES 1 TO 5

Hello, Tumblr. Today I hope not to be simply another Tumblrina with opinions but also a neurodivergent Tumblrina with hyperspecific interests and life history that come in handy for this particular purpose.

What interests and what history, you ask? Ah, but, of course! My deep knowledge of the Cartier Love Collection from, obviously, being a HunHan conspirationist in 2014 at the ripe age of 12.

Now, if I've satisfied your curiosity, let us begin.

So I was watching episode 5 today (don't blame me, I wanted to watch it sooner but I was on vacation bc my sister gave me a trip to Sevilla as a birthday gift) and one thing caught my attention during the argument scene.

That bad boy I very carefully (not really) identified for you is one of the most iconic Cartier products ever: A Love Bracelet™.

"Ok. Cool. But why does that matter?"

Well, for once it proves Rak is rich as fuck. Those bracelets go for THOUSANDS of euro. Like... The cheapest bracelet in the Love Collection is the intertwined rings bracelet in gold and rose gold (the white gold one is more expensive)

And it sells rn for 2120€ (2300$).

And that's for sure NOT the version Rak has!

From what I can tell, he's wearing this version:

Which is the classic Love Bracelet design in white gold.

This one is selling rn for 8750€ (9490$).

I think there can be an argument that he's actually wearing either the brushed version (left photo) or the small version (right photo)

which, respectively, are being sold for 8750€ (9490$) and 5650€ (6121$) but I think the version Rak has is

too shiny to be the brushed version;

too thick to be the small version.

Either way, it's a fucking expensive bracelet.

But this is not even why I wanted to point this out, I mean, yeah, of course Rak is rich, we are all well-aware of that.

The point here is that this bracelet is not just famous for being pretty (which, as far as my judgement goes, it really isn't, sorry not sorry). It is famous, more than anything else, bc of its meaning, which I'll let the brand tell you all about:

Which is why it caught my attention that Rak, of all people, is wearing one of these. Like... What the hell does this mean???

So I decided to investigate when did this bracelet first appear in order to have a feel whether or not this could potentially be plot-relevant, a character descriptor or simply a fashion choice. And what I found, my dear friends, is that this bracelet first appeared right at the beginning of ep.4.

Which is very suspicious because ep.3, we all recall, ended with Rak promising Mut that he'd stay on the island for a bit more.

BUT, before we start jumping to conclusions, I decided to check whether this bracelet stands the trial of ep.5 and remains until the very end which, big and revelant surprise, it does NOT.

It gets replaced, in the scene of the day after the fight by this one:

Which, I get it, it might be hard to see and identify but it's actually an old friend. In fact, it's the only other bracelet Rak has ever worn:

This has been on his wrist from the beginning of ep.1 to the end of ep.3 (excluding times when Rak was showering, sleeping or doing other activities where having a metal bracelet in the shape of a sharp nail would be impractical). And, would you look at that, if it isn't indeed: another Cartier bracelet. This time, a Juste Un Clou Collection bracelet.

Now, Juste Un Clou (literally Just a Nail), which is also fucking expensive (9500€ - 10292$ for the model he is wearing) has a bit of a different concept than Love, which is:

So what does it mean?

Well, there are some options but I'll tell you what I think makes the most sense:

Throughout the first episodes we see Rak being this person who's different from everyone else on the island. He's from the city, he's rich, he has a desk job, he even looks different from the people in the island, from what Muk says! (which, I get it, it's colourist and has it own set of issues and I don't love it at all but hey, I don't make canon, I just comment on it, so that's what we got and that's what I'll be doing)

He's also independent, he has his own money, pays for his own stuff, doesn't rely on other people. He wants to do everything alone, without Mut, even when it makes his life harder, when it's impractical, when it would be better to have help.

He also tries to be fearless, put on a front. He argues with Mut, wants to cast a shadow way bigger than himself to assert his place, wants to seem untouchable, like nothing could bring him down. We know, of course, it's not true, both us as the audience and Mut learn that through prolongued contact with Rak and exposure to his weaknesses and traumas but he still tries to uphold that image.

And, of course, he tries to be free in the sense that he tries not to create emotional attachments. ESPECIALLY not to Mut. Because he doesn't believe in love and doesn't think he can fall in love and he tries so, so hard not to let himself want and need people, he likes to act like he has no strings attached, like he can go about the world without thinking of anyone that gives sense to the word "home".

So, by making Rak wear this bracelet, what the show is telling us is essentially who Rak is or who he tries to be. These are the values that Rak upholds. In this sense, the Juste Un Clou bracelet is a character descriptor.

HOWEVER, after the most vulnerable, most beautiful post sex conversation in the history of Thai BL, Rak begins wearing the Love Bracelet. And this indicates a shift.

Now, the shift is not so much a change in Rak's personality (although there is some, he's been slowly changing since ep.1) but rather in what the narrative wants us to know now. Because, by now, we know Rak. We can discern all these characteristics, we don't need the bracelet as an identifier. What we need, rather, is to know that Rak means what he told Mut. Because he feels it.

See, contrary to the Juste Un Clou bracelet which is a bit more remarkable because of its unusual shape, the Love Bracelet seems fairly common, especially if you're not staring at Peat's people's dainty wrists. So you, much like the people around Mut and Rak, could miss the way in which Rak cares for Mut, because that love is unconventional, not bound by those traditional ways in which people demonstrate that sort of feeling (like Mut does, for example). Some could say... Free-spirited. Or, as well, because Rak himself is trying his hardest not to take note of it, burying it away and dismissing it. To no avail, however, because it is still there, as all of us can see (just like the bracelet). And, by the looks of it, will be locked there forever.

"Okay, Dante, but then why does Rak go back to the other bracelet? Is he no longer in love?"

Please have object permanence, darling, not all that exists can be seen at all times. Kkdkddjsjsks /j

Or, in other words: no, that's not it.

What it is, though, is that the narrative, once again, wants us to focus on other stuff.

As Mut tells Rak this episode (ep.5, for those in the future), he's been away, doing other stuff, buried in work... He's been complying to his duties and going back to the bad habits that cast a shadow over Rak's personality and who he really is, what he really wants.

So, that's why, when he chooses to indulge Mut and pay attention to him on his own (unlike what happens earlier in the episode, where Mut has to ask for this attention), he is back to wearing the Juste Un Clou bracelet. He's showing his colours again, of that independent person who's not just another city guy in the city but special in his own way.

It also serves to show us the subtle ways in which Rak is chaging. That free quality, for example, is slowly starting to mean not free from attachments but rather free from the chains of the trauma that is holding Rak back from forming and indulging in those attachments.

And, to top it all off, I have one smaller notice to add which is refering to the colour of the bracelets.

Now, for those who aren't familiar with jewelry metal, white gold is not white, it's silverish. And I say silverish because I mean exactly that: it is NOT silver, it's silverish. It still retains a warmish yellow undertone to it.

But I know, if you have a good eye, you can tell neither of the bracelets I showed you have a warmish yellow undertone to it. Good spot! That is because Cartier's bracelets have something that is actually pretty common: a rhodium-finish. This is what makes them so silver. And precisely why I think the colour matters.

You see... To the average person, who has no idea about Cartier bracelts and whatnot, both the bracelets might seem like a common metal bracelet. Not very valuable. And yet, they are white gold and worth a considerable amount of money.

If we translate that into the meanings I just explained, that would mean that people see Rak, this brat, spoiled, cold man and think him annoying, heartless, not worth their time. Same as I explained with Rak's kind of love: weak, barely even there, not real. Or even, if you want to interpret the Love Bracelet as a representation of Mut himself, then him as well. Judged as a simple person, boring, with nothing to offer but that is actually worth a lot. At least to Rak, who bought both the bracelet and Mut.

SO, what are the conclusions? Well...

Rak is FUCKING LOADED (and if he wants to provide for me as well, I'd gladly accept the offer, thank you);

Rak is an extremely complex character who's secrets are very much fun to uncover;

This series pays a lot of attention to small details and I love it for it!

And that's it.

It was a long post, I know so I'm sorry but I had to share my thoughts sdjkdjdkdjskdj

I'll keep an eye on this for the next episodes and if I have anything to add I'll let you guys know.

Also if you wanna add to this discussion feel free to, I'd love to hear it!!

All the love!! 💜💜💜

[justwinginglife]

This Time, It's Different

Dedicated to the only person who will read this, my bestie @minasfwoopyponytail, yall I know I be doin Soshiro all the time, but I got on the Ranpo track cuz we were talking about Ranpo being in our top favs for BSD so I gotta show him some love today (I am so sorry that I bought Chuuya, Dazai, and Akutugawa merch and forgot about you Ranpo my love, this is my apology fic for you).

You were never good at lying. 

It was inconvenient in almost all aspects of your life, but you never thought your ineptitude would be the reason someone finally fell in love with you.

After many failed attempts at bending the truth, after attempting to tell your aunt you liked the socks she got for your birthday and instead unknowingly wrinkling your nose at them and breaking her heart, after attempting to tell your boss that you were busy and couldn’t come to work on a Saturday and when she asked follow up questions about your supposed plans you found yourself flushed and floundering, after attempting to tell your ex that you enjoyed meeting his family but then immediately declining any further interaction with them, after multiple awkward interactions and even more disastrous encounters, you decided to give up on lying. It wasn’t for you.

So you resigned yourself to the fact that you would have to tell nothing but the whole, honest truth for the rest of your life. Your lackluster lies may cause catastrophe otherwise. 

So when you joined up with the Armed Detective Agency, when you rejected Dazai’s advances by saying, “No offense Dazai, but I’m sure you say that to all the ladies, and while I’m flattered, I’m not into womanizers,” when you offered methods of stress relief to Kunikida because he “always looked like the world was ending,” when you asked when Furukawa would be retiring because you were concerned about him “overworking himself in his old age,” when half the detective agency was against you from your first day, Ranpo Edogawa found himself half in love with you already. 

He’d never met a person who didn’t -or just couldn’t- lie, even among his fellow coworkers, and he was at least intrigued by you if nothing else. He found himself eager to see just how far you were willing to go to continue telling the truth. 

Going forward, you often found him tagging along on missions with you, peeking over your shoulder while you worked, listening to everything intently, even despite your other coworkers telling you that Ranpo almost never went out of his way to be this personally invested in anything, just because he wanted to hear you talk, to see if you really told everyone everything you thought all the time. And to ask you questions. Lots of questions. 

Most of them were controversial because he wanted to see if you’d stick to your opinions even if you were in the minority, some of them were philosophical because he wanted to know the way your mind worked, and a few of them were just downright absurd because he was Ranpo. 

“Okay. So. You want to know if I would divert the trolley to save the lives of five by killing one?”

“Yes, and when you’re done with that, do you think that dress makes that girl’s butt look fat?”

“Mr. Edogawa, sir, I really don’t see how this is relevant to the case.”

“Oh it’s relevant, alright. Answer the question, I’m your superior and I wanna know.”

“Um. Alright. Well clearly it makes more logical sense to sacrifice the life of the one for the good of the many, just mathematically speaking, and yes, that dress is very unappealing on her, I don’t know why she went with white.” 

“Agreed, the white is hideous, you pass my tests. For now.”

And so this bizarre relationship of yours continued.

Ranpo would wait for you to finish up cases, would wait for you to finish in the bathroom, would wait for you to finish up dinner, just so he could pick your brain, just so he could amuse himself with your answers. But the more time he spent with you, the more his reason changed for spending the time. He was always attentive, had always had a keen eye, but when you were around, it seemed every last bit of his attention had devoted itself to you. He knew how long it took for you to finish going to the bathroom, so -much to your embarrassment- he always knew what you were doing in the bathroom depending on the length of time. He knew how long it took for you to eat and which foods took you longer amounts of time to eat them. He knew when it was your time of the month, he knew what you craved during said time, he knew the way you’d react when he brought you said craving. He knew almost everything about you and it still wasn’t enough. 

One day, he diverted from his usual barrage of insane questions and he started asking about you: what was your favorite food, where were you born, did you have any pets growing up, what did you like to do outside of work? By now, you had gathered from all his previous questions that he was just having fun interrogating you, but you enjoyed talking with him, so you answered all his questions regardless, personal or otherwise. You were unsure how telling him your favorite color was supposed to entertain him the way his usual ridiculous questions did, but you told him it was green anyway. He brought you a bundle of kiwis the next day because he couldn’t figure out what else was green to give you. You were unaware of the fruit’s connection to his question about your favorite color but to him, he’d pretty much just asked you out. 

When you didn’t reciprocate his feelings, because you were unaware he had feelings for you, and unaware he had just presented them to you through said kiwis, he pouted for the remainder of the day.

You couldn’t figure out why the man who had spent every waking second of your career with the ADA by your side had suddenly started avoiding you. You couldn’t figure it out, and it was killing you. Little did he know, you had also started memorizing details about him, and the way his laugh sounded, the way his lips curved into a smile, the way his fingers pushed up his glasses, the way he did anything and everything, the way he said anything and everything had you craving your next interaction before the previous one had even ended. And you couldn’t take the silence he had now forced you into. So you went on a hunt for him.

You found him sulking on the rooftop. 

You plopped down beside him without saying a word and when you could tell he might be preparing to run again, preparing to plunge your relationship into further silence, you handed him a Ramune. He froze. And then he snatched the drink out of your hand like it was just another Tuesday for the two of you.

“You remembered my favorite flavor, huh? Not too shabby for a second rate detective.” He chugged down the drink.

You laughed and nudged his shoulder with yours. “If I’m such a second rate detective, how did I know you’d be on the roof?”

He shrugged. “Got lucky, I guess.”

You bit your lip and for the first time in years, considered lying. But you couldn’t do it. “Actually, I didn’t just ‘get lucky.’ I knew you’d be on the roof. You always come to the roof when you’re upset. I notice more than you think. So tell me- why are you upset?”

He sighed. “You’re not into me. No one’s ever into me.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

He sighed again, this time more exasperated. “I gave you a gift, but you didn’t accept my feelings.”

You blinked again. “The… kiwis?? Ranpo. You always give me gifts. You gave me strawberries during my last period even though Yosano told you to get me chocolate because you know I like fruits better than chocolate. You gave me limited edition tickets to a play that was already sold out because you’d preordered it when you heard me vaguely mention that I liked it. You are always giving me things, and they’re perfect, and I love it, and I appreciate it, but how was I supposed to know this time was something different?”

He tapped a finger on his chin. “Yeah okay fine. I see that now.”

You inched up closer to him. “So… this time is different though?”

He suddenly blushed. “Yeah… this time it’s different. This time I wanted… well I wanted…”

“Me?”

He’s suddenly quiet and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. You’ve rendered him speechless and it’s impossible not to find it adorable.

You kiss him.

If he was speechless before, now he’s speechless and breathless.

“I just… you just…so we’re?”

You nod, smiling at him. “Yeah. We are.”

“We’re… together?” He squeaks out.

“I’d like us to be.”

He nods vigorously. “I-I’d like us to be too!” He blurts out.

You kiss him again and this time he savors the feeling of your lips melding with his. This time he kisses you back with fervor, with passion he never knew he could feel. This time, he’s all yours.

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

Author's Note: I am too lazy to write a longer fic that delves into their relationship after this, but I did want to write a lil drabble about it, so I will be posting it here.

[mandoalorian]

Look For The Light [Joel Miller x F!Reader]

Prologue: Part I

Summary: You are a hardened survivor trying to navigate your way in a post-apocolyptic world when you bump into an old friend who goes by the name of Joel Miller.

Warnings: the reader is slightly younger than Joel, say a 10-year age gap? All TLOU relevant warnings such as gore, violence, guns, drugs, and cursing. Joel has an anxiety disorder which parallels his portrayal in the games. Diet talk. Expect smut later on… [Please do not read if you are under the age of 18!]

Author’s Note: I can’t believe it has taken me so long to write a full-blown Joel fic. Those of you who know me well know that I became a fan of TLOU in 2019, just a year before I became a fan of Pedro. I was elated when it was announced he’d been cast as Joel and thus far, I am thrilled with his performance and the many themes of the TV show that have stayed true to the game/s. It is everything I could’ve asked for, and more. I feel as though there is no better person qualified to write a ‘re-write’ per-se of the game/TV show, and I aim to release chapters in time for the new episodes coming out. 

Word count: 6,800 words.

Masterlist | Want to support me? | Listen to 'Look For The Light' on Spotify

<Please remember to reblog to show your love and support! Reblogs give me the motivation to continue the series, and motivation means that I’m able to pump out chapters quicker than usual!>

________________________________________________

Sarah had been sitting on the patio since she finished middle school at noon, waiting for her dad to come home from work. Every school in the US was let out early today for some unknown reason. Government orders. But when Sarah’s dad called her at four-thirty and told her that he’d be home at nine, she thought little of it. This often happened, especially this season. With it just being him and Tommy, working on big contracting jobs often took some time, but Joel often reassured Sarah that it was better that way. Despite their constant brotherly bickering, Joel and Tommy were hard workers and made an excellent team. When Joel heard how disappointed Sarah was that he would be home late, he told her that she could take some money out of his wallet, which was located in his bedside drawer. He told her she could order a pizza and stay up late to watch a movie, and if she got bored waiting up for him, then she could visit their neighbours—the Adlers. They weren’t remarkable company, but they were kind people and they adored Sarah.

Sarah’s mind worked fast as soon as her father hung up the call and it didn’t take long for her to concoct a plan. If she recalled correctly, there was a cheese pizza in the freezer, so instead of ordering take-out, she opted to take her dad’s money and his favourite (yet broken) watch to the jewellers to get fixed. Luckily it wasn’t too far and she managed to get there before five, which was closing time. Sarah was elated that she was able to do this for her father. He always complained about his broken watch, and he was so busy that he was never given the opportunity to get it fixed.

She placed the broken watch on the counter, alongside a twenty-dollar bill, and she offered the gentleman who worked in the store a small wave ‘hello’. He was an older man with white hair and crow’s feet by the corner of his eyes, a sign that he’d smiled a lot during his lifetime. 

“Oh, hey Sarah. How’s your dad?” The man, who according by his nametag, went by Eric, enquired while picking up the wristwatch and examining the damage. 

“He’s good, thanks. Working late tonight,” Sarah hummed absent-mindedly while she admired the many antiques and trinkets which were dotted around the store. This wasn’t your traditional jeweller—but somewhat of a pawn shop where you could buy the occasional bracelet or diamond ring. “Actually, it’s his birthday tomorrow. Was hoping to get his favourite watch fixed.”

Eric chuckled heartedly. “Well, you’re in luck, kid. Looks like it just needs a new battery. That’ll get it ticking again.” After a few short moments, he returned the repaired watch to Sarah. Eric slid the twenty-dollar bill back over to her.

“No no,” Sarah surrendered her hands. “That’s your payment,” Sarah put the watch in her backpack. “Please take it.”

“Your father is a good man, and you’re a sweet kid—doing this for him. Don’t worry about the payment, I—” Just as he was about to finish his sentence, an older woman came charging into the front of the store, appearing panicked and dishevelled. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

Sarah identified the woman as the shopkeeper’s wife and noted her shaky hands and rapid movements. She was in a frenzy.

“We have to close the store,” the woman said quickly. 

“What? Why?”

“We have to close the store!” the woman repeated this time shouting, and switching over the ‘Open’ sign to read ‘Closed’. She then turned to Sarah and grabbed the young girl by her arms. “You need to go home. Now.”

“Wh—is everything—” Sarah couldn’t even finish her sentence when the lady began to push her out the front door. Within seconds, the door to the store slammed shut and locked, and the blinds flew down. 

Sarah stood outside the jewellers for a few moments, her brain trying to register everything that had just happened. It wasn’t until an abundance of fire trucks and police cars zoomed past her; their sirens were deafeningly loud. Sarah heard some screams in the distance and took that as her sign to head home. She hoped that her dad would get home at nine as he promised.

The streets were eerily quiet on the walk home, and there wasn’t a soul in sight. Sarah noted the lack of cars on the road. She wanted to take her time to travel back to her neighbourhood—after all, her father wouldn’t be back for hours and she had plenty of time to kill, but the more she began to think about the things she had seen, the more she found her footsteps were speeding up into a fast pace.

When Sarah arrived home, she fumbled with the keys to unlock the front door. The sky was growing dark now and she wondered what she could do with herself to keep occupied while she waited for Joel to return home. Mrs Adler, the Miller’s neighbour, called for her, and Sarah turned to see the nice lady relaxing on the front porch, next to her mother who was much older. Sarah picked up the keys and pondered across the Adlers’ front lawn, and over to their porch, greeting Mrs Adler.

Sarah spent the rest of the evening with the Adler’s and their dog, Mercy. By eight-thirty, Sarah headed home, but not before taking ‘Curtis and Viper 2’ from Mrs Adler’s DVD shelf. Mrs Adler was fine with Sarah taking the movie. She described it as a boyish film, anyway. Sarah watched the movie and cooked her frozen pizza. By midnight, she found herself becoming increasingly worried about why her dad hadn’t returned home at nine like he had promised. Usually, she would be okay with it, knowing the nature of his job-- but with the strange occurrences that had been happening today, something felt off. 

The pale crescent moon shone like a silvery claw in the velvet night sky. When Joel finally pulled up into the driveway, he sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. He wasn’t getting enough sleep, and he was beginning to feel the effects of the long laborous hours on the same damn job. Tommy left at nine but Joel stayed back for a few hours to tie up loose ends. At least now he was paid, and he could forget all about it. He remained in his seat for a little while, listening to the end of the radio broadcast.

“—Indonesian minister of health released a statement today stating that the government is doing everything in their power to maintain the spread of the Cordyceps infection in Jakarta.”

Joel turned off the radio and left his truck. His mind was far too preoccupied to understand the severity of what was going on in the world around him. As he sauntered to the front patio, he cursed himself for being home so late knowing that Sarah would have been disappointed in him.

To his surprise, he heard Sarah’s voice the second he opened the front door. She’d stayed up for him.

“You said you’d be home at nine,” Sarah grumbled, her lips pulling into a frown as Joel walked through the front door. Her eyes felt heavy but she had stayed awake this long, anticipating her father’s return. She wasn’t going to fall asleep now. Her determined mind stopped her from doing that. The young girl looked up at the wall clock above the television and her frown deepened. “It’s almost one in the mornin’.”

Joel removed his brown work jacket and brushed down his t-shirt before sliding out of his shoes and shuffling into the living room. The room was illuminated by the amber lantern on the coffee table. His gaze was immediately drawn to a little brown moth, hazily dancing around the lantern before settling down atop it. If he was in his usual teasing mood, he would have pointed the moth out to Sarah, knowing it would scare her, but instead, Joel just ignored the insect and slumped down onto the sofa. Joel spread his legs and leaned back, pulling out a yawn. What a day.

“I’m sorry kid,” Joel finally said, feeling a genuine sense of guilt. “Rough day. Bad traffic.”

At least that wasn’t a lie. The roads had been hectic, with people swerving chaotically and more sirens in the neighbourhood than Joel had ever heard. 

Sarah hummed knowingly. She’d been hearing the panic outside too, and the news broadcasts on the television had been secretly terrifying her to the point she couldn’t bear to watch. Something about an infection from Jakarta having sightings in the city. Not much was known about it, but Sarah was just glad she lived on the outskirts of Austin, Texas.

She’d be okay and so would her dad. 

That’s all that mattered.

“Sweetie, what are you still doing up? It is way past your bedtime.”

“Oh! But I got you something,” Sarah beamed and reached down the side of the sofa, bringing up a white box. Joel looked at Sarah with surprised eyes and held the weighty box in his hand.

He opened the box, not exactly sure what to expect from his fourteen-year-old daughter, only for it to be revealed that she had gotten his favourite watch fixed. The watch had been broken for quite some time and Joel, being the busy man that he was, never got the chance to fix it.

When Joel didn’t respond to the gift, Sarah interjected, feeling the need to explain herself. “You kept complaining about your broken watch so I figured…”

“I—honey, I love it but I think it’s broken,” Joel tapped the watch face and held it to his ear, checking to hear for its ticks. Sarah, in a panic, grabbed her dad’s wrist to inspect the watch for herself, only to see that it was working in perfect order.

“Oh ha ha.” Sarah mocked as her father snorted a chuckle.

“Where’d you get the money for this?” He inquired, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Drugs. I sell hardcore drugs.” Sarah joked with a smirk, pleased with herself for getting her dad a present that he truly liked.

“Oh good. You can help out with the mortgage then.” Joel countered and Sarah laughed, snuggling into her dad and resting her head on his lap.

“You wish.”

Joel turned on the television and despite it being late, settled on an old war movie to watch. Sarah hated those old black-and-white films, and it didn’t take her long to fall asleep. Taking his daughter in his arms, Joel picked up Sarah, carried her upstairs, and tucked her into bed. Placing a kiss on her forehead, Joel remembered just how lucky he was to have Sarah in his life. She kept him grounded—she kept him sane—and she gave him reason to keep going. 

By the time morning rolled around, Sarah was the first to wake up, as usual. Joel pressed snooze on his alarm three times, before his fourth and final alarm—being Sarah—came into his bedroom, opened up the curtains and let in the blinding golden sunlight which enveloped him. Joel winced as he felt the rays burn his skin, and turned over, putting a pillow over his head in frustration.

“Get up, dad,” Sarah announced. “It’s your birthday and I am making you special birthday pancakes.”

The pancakes were more so for Sarah, but her dad’s birthday was the best excuse to make them. She’d make rainbow funfetti pancakes with cream and syrup and strawberries. They were her all-time favourite breakfast. If he was lucky, she might have even stuck a candle in the top and sung ‘Happy Birthday’ to him.

That got Joel’s attention. “Birthday pancakes?”

“Be downstairs, dressed, in five minutes,” Sarah said before leaving her father’s bedroom.

Joel crawled out of his warm bed, the pancakes being the only motivation he had to actually get up, and pulled over the same navy blue t-shirt that he was wearing the day before. Buckling up the belt of his dark wash denim jeans, he shuffled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“I don’t smell pancakes,” Joel frowned. “But I do smell coffee.”

Already preparing her father’s daily black espresso, Sarah sighed. “We don’t have any flour,” she replied, just as disappointed as he was. “You must’ve forgotten to pick it up. I guess you forgot the birthday cake too?”

“Damn it,” Joel huffed, realising that hopping to the grocery store yesterday must have completely slipped his mind. “That’s okay baby girl, I’ll make eggs.”

Eggs were fine, but they weren’t part of her convoluted plan to give her dad the best birthday imaginable. Sarah supposed that it would be okay and that the both of them were still able to spend the day together.

Sarah placed her dad’s coffee on the table. “Your shirt is inside out.”

The young girl helped her dad set the table and poured out some orange juice before taking her seat and eating her breakfast. After fixing his shirt, Joel sat down and turned on the television before digging at his eggs.

‘BREAKING NEWS: Cordyceps Brain Infection comes from contaminated food, spokesperson says. Total number of infected rises to 5000.’

“5,000?” Sarah repeated in disbelief. “Where is this infection spreading?”

“Jakarta,” Joel replied, stuffing a mouthful of bacon into his mouth. “Heard about it on the radio yesterday. Those poor people…”

“What kind of food is contaminated?” Sarah asked, to which Joel could only shrug in response.

“I don’t know honey, but don’t worry. We’re fine over here.”

Just as Joel and Sarah were finishing up their eggs and bacon, they overheard the front door swing open.

“Well well well, happy birthday old man,” Tommy Miller strolled into the kitchen with ease ruffling his older brother’s already messy bed hair playfully.

“Old man?” Joel countered, dropping his fork to the plate and acting mockingly offended.

“Old. Degenerate,” Tommy corrected and Sarah stifled a laugh. “Hey, I thought we were having birthday pancakes.”

“No flour.” Joel and Sarah replied simultaneously knowing that those two words offered enough of an explanation.

Tommy grumbled in dismay. “Well, in that case, I’ll see you guys later.”

When Tommy left, Sarah and Joel erupted into a fit of laughter. Tommy lived in the neighbourhood so it was often he would just pop in for a few minutes only to leave again. Now that he had the day off, Tommy would most likely spend his day in a bar playing pool, or hitting on girls that were way out of his league.

“No but seriously, what are we doing today?” Sarah asked, clearing her plate and heading over to the sink to wash her dishes.

“Well I got to pop out to the city for a little while. I promised an old friend I’d help her with a favour. You remember your old nanny?”

Sarah beamed at the memory of her. “Of course! Can I come with you?”

“No darling, I won’t be there long. She just wants me to take a look at her shower. She’s got a place up in Austin now.”

“Nice,” Sarah smiled. “She always did want to move to the city.”

“I should be back in time for dinner, and this time I’ll grab a birthday cake from the grocers,” Joel promised. Sarah offered him a hug.

“Okay daddy, do what you gotta do. I’ll see you later.”

The traffic was even worse than yesterday. The roads that led into the city were filled with people who were seemingly fleeing, all speeding in opposite directions. There was an accident on the quickest route so Joel found that he had to go through back alleys and side streets in order to get there as quickly and safely as possible. He didn’t understand why the roads were so hectic, and his mind was too preoccupied with the thought of seeing you again after so long.

Joel wasn’t sure whether or not he had done the right thing when it came to rejecting the new contracting job that was proposed by a local business, only to take on a free favour for the girl who used to babysit his daughter. You had done more than enough favours for the Miller family; having been there for Sarah ever since she was a little girl. If Joel had to be honest with himself; you were as much of an influence on Sarah as he could’ve hoped for. Being a young, single dad had its difficulties and Joel’s job often meant that he had to work long hours away from his daughter. As Sarah got older she understood why her dad would have to leave so early in the morning and come back so late at night. He was simply doing it to take care of her.

But when he wasn’t around, you were the reliable force that protected Sarah and watched over her during the day. You took her to kindergarten and later elementary school. You sat with her during the late evenings, helped with her homework and even cooked her dinner. Despite the ten-year age gap between you and Sarah, the two of you had become quite close, and according to Joel, you were simply a terrific girl; well-mannered and gentle. Your personality had an influence on Sarah, and Joel certainly couldn’t complain about that. He was so proud of his daughter. That’s why Joel was prepared to do this job as a favour to you, much to Tommy’s dismay.

Tommy being Tommy, always had something to complain about.

“This is un-fucking-believable. You got to earn a living Joel—and I do too. You sacrificed a legitimate job to help fix Sarah’s old nanny’s bathroom plumbing. And shit man, you ain’t even a plumber.” Tommy was midway ranting to Joel on the phone when he pulled up outside your apartment. After moving out of your family home, you found a place in central Austin, where you were living with your boyfriend. The commute to work was much easier now that you lived in the city. You’d scored a secretary job in a corporate office down on Congress Avenue. 

“We are doing fine for business,” Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. It was times like this when Joel would wonder about the fine line between love and tolerance. Tommy was never going to let his brother forget about this. “I just owe this girl some favours.”

“You just want to get in her pants.” Tommy snarked back, the vulgar words dripping from his tongue.

“And you better watch your mouth boy,” Joel warned, his tone darkening as he immediately found himself getting ticked off by his brother’s comment. Tommy was always one to jump to accusations. “Just a favour.” Joel reminded before promptly hanging up the call. 

Joel slid his cell into his jean pocket and took a deep breath. He hadn’t seen you in months. Not since you moved away. He felt his palms get just a little sweaty with nerves as he approached the front door to your building. Apartment number 13. After a brief moment of coaching himself, Joel pressed the button to buzz into your apartment.

“It’s me—Joel—uh, Miller—Joel Mil—” where were these nerves coming from?

“Come up!” your cheery voice interrupted him and he heard the electronic front door click open. Joel said a silent prayer hoping that you couldn’t sense his anxiety through the intercom. He had forgotten to take his medication that morning.

Noticing the elevator was out of order, Joel had no choice but to take the many flights of stairs that led up to your place. The walls in the hallway were painted a dingy brown and several cracks laced the webbed corners. When he got to your floor, he wiped away the beads of sweat that laced his hairline and noticed that the door to your apartment was already wide open, beckoning him to come in.

He lingered outside for a moment hesitantly, peeking around your front room; but you were nowhere in sight. He scratched the back of his neck before calling your name. It would be rude to just enter your apartment without you knowing. 

When there was no response, Joel called your name again. He proceeded to take a step into your apartment and shut the door behind him. It was very small; just a sofa and a small TV and a bookshelf in the corner. Your kitchen was adjoined to your living room, and there were only two rooms towards the back. He assumed one must have been your bedroom, and the other… he heard a rush of water running. The bathroom.

The door was shut and Joel took a few steps, calling your name as he got closer and closer to the bathroom.

“I’m in here!” you called back. “Uh—you can come in—but please don’t laugh.”

Joel quirked his eyebrow as he pondered what could be beyond the door. He slowly reached down to the door handle. 

“Are ‘ya… are you decent?” Joel asked awkwardly, noting that the shower was still running.

Another moment of silence before your timid voice responded. “…I suppose…” 

Joel pushed down on the bronze door handle and let himself into the bathroom, only to be enveloped by warm, thick, humid air coming from the running shower. His immediate response was to choke back a cough as he squinted his eyes, trying to navigate where exactly you were hiding. You were behind the fogged-up shower glass, on your knees and sopping wet. You made no effort to remove yourself from the running water, even when Joel had already entered the room. You were adamant you could get this fixed yourself.

“Damn it!” you cursed loudly, finally withdrawing yourself from the shower and crawling out of the bathtub. You were never one to give up easily, but meddling with this shower was like fighting a losing battle.

You looked up at Joel whose large hand was covering the smirk that grazed his lips. He was trying so hard not to laugh at you. His broad shoulders were adorned by a brown jacket and his dark locks of hair seemed to be adorned with just a few grey specks—and hell, if he wasn’t staring at you with the utmost judgement—you might have even considered just how attractive he looked.

“You good?” Joel chuckled, the corners of his chocolate eyes creasing with elation. You stood up to meet his level, ignoring the fact your t-shirt was now stuck to your skin and water droplets were falling from your hair.

“Do I look good?” you snarked back, narrowing your eyes.

“Well—” Joel raised an eyebrow, eyeing you up and down. You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and you sheepishly looked down at your feet, hoping he wouldn’t catch your earnest reaction. “What happened?”

“Thought I could be all big and clever and try and fix this damn shower by myself,” you admitted, feeling silly for even giving it a try. “Thought that if I fixed it, I wouldn’t have had to waste your time.”

“Ah,” Joel nodded, stepping aside from you and hesitantly approaching the shower. A few stray streams of water jumped out at him. “You ain't ever wasting my time.”

You fiddled with your thumbs as Joel pulled out a wrench from his back pocket. Without hesitating, he stepped under the hot water and began to adjust the shower faucet, tightening the metal valve located under the head of the shower. The wrench kept slipping however and Joel ended up placing it on the side of the tub, opting to use his strength to tighten the valve. You watched as his grip tightened against the faucet controls, his biceps flexing as he let out a quiet grunt. The main flow of water came to a halt and the condensation in the room began to slowly fizzle away. Small drips of water fell from the leaky showerhead, but for the most part, Joel fixed your problem in just a matter of minutes.

Scratching the back of his neck, Joel ran his finger down one of the pipes that joint into the valve. “You might need to get your pipes checked, could be rust or—”

“Fungus,” you cut him off. “It’s gross, I know, but a neighbour was telling me she had the same problem with the faucet in her kitchen. Damn water wouldn’t stop running. She had some guys come around and they found this gross, fungus-type thing growing in the pipes.”

Joel made no effort to hide the disgusted look on his face. 

You sighed, knowing you’d have to call a plumber over to investigate your shower further. You really didn’t need the extra expense right now. But then you remembered just how grateful you were that Joel travelled all this way to do you the favour of fixing your shower—even if it was a temporary solution. You walked over to the man and gently interlinked your fingers with his, your cautious movements taking Joel by surprise. 

“Come on,” you said softly. “It’s slippery. Let me help you out of the tub.” You noted how your hand fit in his. It was much smaller, and even though you wanted him to hold onto you for support, it felt more like you were holding onto him.

Joel graciously took a step out of the tub, and you realised he didn’t need to hold onto you whatsoever. You took a towel from the radiator and wrapped it around his shoulders; a pathetic attempt at getting him dry.

“I should’ve brought a change of clothes.” he huffed, running his now empty hand through his short hair.

“I have something that might fit,” you smiled. “I mean—not my clothes of course, but my boyfriend, Michael… well, he’s probably the same size as you.”

Boyfriend?

It took a second for Joel to register the word. For some reason, he’d made the assumption you didn’t have a boyfriend. But then again, it had been a while since he last saw you, and now you lived in the city with your corporate job and your brand-new life. Just when Joel thought he knew everything about you, he realised that there was now so much more for him to learn. He followed you into your small, box-shaped bedroom and into the closet.

You searched through a pile of clean laundry that was mixed with both yours and Michael’s clothes. 

“If you see anything you like, just take it. Michael won’t mind.” You offered.

Despite your assurance, Joel reluctantly knelt and searched through the pile of clothes. Amongst your many shirts, pants and colourful pyjamas, Joel finally found a light grey sweater and a pair of matching sweatpants to wear. As he pulled them out from under the pile, he couldn’t help but notice a lace lingerie set that was placed delicately underneath. Deliberately, at the bottom of the pile. His eyes were drawn to the piece and his grip on the grey fabric tightened as he imagined you wearing the set. The thoughts invaded his mind without choice and Joel cursed himself for not fighting them away.

He finally stood up and turned to face you, only to immediately retract back when he saw you pull off your t-shirt. Catching a glimpse of your bare back, Joel swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to face the poorly painted wall behind him, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable upon you discovering that he had seen you like that.

You had in fact told him that you were going to change out of your wet clothes too—around about the same time he noticed your lingerie. He was just too distracted to have heard.

Dropping your soaking wet jeans to the floor and letting them pool around your ankles, you pulled up your favourite, fleece-lined black leggings and wrapped your wet hair into a towel. Now dry and cosy, you turned back around to Joel who was staring at the concrete wall, waiting patiently for you to have finished.

“Joel?” you asked.

“Y—yeah?” Joel stuttered, clutching onto the sweats. 

“You found something to wear?”

“Yeah.” Joel confirmed, smiling softly and showing you the grey sweats that he had picked out, almost as if he was asking permission—again—as to whether or not he could take them. 

He was such a sweetheart.

“Perfect,” you returned his smile. “You can get changed in here. I’m going to head into the kitchen.”

Before Joel could reply, you left your bedroom and gently closed the door behind you, allowing Joel to get changed in privacy.

You opened up the refrigerator and took out a batch of chocolate chip cookies that you’d baked the night before. Heating them up in the microwave, you prepared them neatly on a plate and placed them down atop the small table that segregated your kitchen from your living room.  Just as you were finishing up presenting the cookies, Joel exited your bedroom and you felt your heart blossom in your chest when you caught sight of him.

You were so used to seeing Michael wear those same grey sweats all the time, you hadn’t even prepared yourself for how they’d look on Joel. For the same garments, you’d imagine they would look identical—but you couldn’t have been more wrong. They fit on Joel’s body like a glove and tugged on him in all the right places. The light colour highlighted his slender waist and broad shoulders, and the way the waistband around his sweatpants was just ever so slack…

Joel cleared his throat and you felt your cheeks heat up as you snapped out of your daydream. 

“Looks good,” You nodded your head with positive affirmation and then your eyes quickly darted to the cookies on the table behind you. “Cookies!” you announced, happy to have found a reason to change the subject. Joel shuffled towards you and eyed up the plate of cookies.

“Oh wow—chocolate chip?” Joel smiled. “Those are my favourite.”

“Sarah’s too,” you beamed. “I remembered. Would you like to try one?”

“I—I would love too,” Joel grinned and extended his arm over to the plate. But then he abruptly stopped himself. “But—ah, I’m on Atkins. And I’m doing so well…”

“What’s that?”

“Oh,” Joel grumbled. “Just this dumb diet thing. I’ve basically been cutting out carbs. Lasted nearly two weeks so far.” 

Your frown deepened at his admittance. “That doesn’t sound healthy…” 

“No, well, neither is this.” Joel prodded his tummy. 

You wanted to tell him not to diet—that he didn’t need to. That his body was damn well gorgeous just the way it was.

But you didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.

“Take them home for Sarah?” you offered.

“She’d love that,” Joel smiled and inched towards you. There was barely any distance separating you both now, and you couldn’t recall a time when you had been this close to one another. “Thank you.” His words were so genuine, so real, that they sparked butterflies in the pit of your tummy and you held back a smile. You held it back because, without any restraint, you’d be grinning like an excited little girl. 

“How is Sarah?” you asked, looking up at Joel.

If you took just one step forward, your chest would be touching his. 

“She’s good,” his voice had lowered an octave and that Southern twang in his accent became all the more prominent. “I’m sure she’d like to see you. You should come over sometime for movie night.”

“I—I would love that,” you admitted. Movie night with Joel and Sarah… just like the old days.

“She’s really into those horror movies now she’s getting older…” 

It was like some kind of mystic energy was pulling you both closer to each other. It wasn’t conscious, and the movements were small, but as your bodies got closer together you noticed the way Joel’s voice trailed off into eventual complete silence. And then, like magic, the curve of his nose bumped into yours and you let out a small giggle. The proximity of each other felt so intimate and yet you couldn’t bear to draw away from him. You wanted him to touch you, hold you, bump noses with you again… 

Joel’s eyes became dark and lust-filled as his gaze flicked down towards your mouth. Your eye line followed his and you observed his pretty pink lips that were framed by his moustache, all the same. You both wanted the same thing.  He wanted to kiss you, softly and delicately—and he wanted to cradle your face as he relished the moment. And equally, you wondered what it would be like to kiss him, if his light stubble would graze your skin or if it would tickle you and make you erupt into a fit of giggles. You wondered if his hair would be rough and brassy or soft and fluffy. 

You cautiously extended your arms and placed both your hands into his still-damp hair, threading your fingers through the roots to the tips. As a response, Joel closed his eyes and hummed in contentment, the vibrations in his chest sending chills through your own body. His own hands swung down to your hips and he bravely pulled you in closer to him. 

Joel opened his eyes and brought one hand up to your shoulder and then gently cupped the side of your cheek. You leaned into his palm and he swept his thumb over your bottom lip. Bumping noses with you again, this time he did not draw back. You could feel his breath fan over your lips and you pushed your chest into him and opened your mouth when---

Ring.    Ring.    Ring.    

The alert of Joel’s ringtone made him jolt back from you and stumble even a few steps further. You stood there, as still as could be, your brain desperately trying to piece together what just happened. 

You almost kissed Joel Miller.

“Shit, it’s Tommy,” Joel explained. “I should take this.”

Breathlessly, you nodded, and all Joel could do was shoot you an apologetic look before flipping open his phone and holding it to his ear.

“Joel—Joel—I need you to come to pick me up. I’m in jail.” A brief moment of static buzzed through the line but Joel heard Tommy loud and clear. He wished he had misheard.

“You what—” Joel placed a hand on his hip, taking a second to process his little brother’s words. “Why the hell are you in jail, Tommy? What did you do?”

Your eyes widened when you heard what was going on. Tommy in trouble?

“I—it wasn’t my fault—”

“It never is,” Joel grimaced.

“I was at Linkin’s Bar down by the Creek and some guy just started attackin’ Isabella. Grabbed a hold of her and wouldn’t let go… so I smashed a bottle in his face. Knocked him to the ground. That showed the fucker.”

“Jesus Christ Tommy,” Joel sighed.

“You’d do the same,” Tommy called out. “Isabella’s only small, and she couldn’t defend herself. Anyway—I need you to come to the County Jail and bail me out. I’ll pay you back, I promise. I just can’t stand to spend another moment in here.”

“Alright, I’m on my way, but I’m in Austin. Will take me a while to drive back up that way.”

“Just get here quick,” Tommy practically begged. “I—I think there’s something wrong with the officer. He keeps twitchin’ all funny. People have been acting weird, Joel.”

Joel shook his head and let out a deep sigh. “Whatever Tommy, I’m on my way.”

As soon as Joel put his cell back in his pocket, you placed a caring hand on his forearm. “Is Tommy okay?”

“He’s always getting into trouble, that boy.” Joel sighed. 

“You take care of your brother. You’re a good guy,” you said softly. “Maybe… maybe we can plan that movie night for tomorrow, huh? I get off work at five.”

Joel smiled. A good guy. That was all he wanted to be. And making plans for movie night with Sarah? Joel felt a buzz in his chest. She would love to see you again. “That sounds good.” He said casually, trying to hide the fact he was beaming inside. 

“Alright,” you returned his smile and then nudged his side playfully. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. And I’ll bring the cookies.”

“See ‘ya.” 

Joel turned around and left the apartment without another word and you stood there, your heart racing, still reeling from what had happened just minutes prior. You’d hardly lost track of time when Michael came through the front door. 

“Hey, who was that guy I just saw leaving? He kinda looked like me.”

Michael wished he looked like Joel, but you assumed that remark was made in reference to the outfit that Joel had ‘borrowed’.

“I—” immediately you felt defensive. Not that you needed to be, because technically, nothing happened. Was there any need to be defensive over mere feelings? “It was the plumber.”

“Oh. He fixed the shower?” Michael asked, stealing a cookie from the batch you had baked. 

“Yeah—hey! Don’t eat those. They aren’t for you.” You warned, but Michael was already swallowing his first piece.

“Huh?” Michael chortled. “It’s not like you need to eat them, looks like you’ve eaten enough already.” He said with a snide look. 

You felt your jaw slacken slightly at the comment and resisted the urge to tell him exactly just who this ‘plumber’ guy was, and how much you wished you had kissed him in that heat of the moment. 

You didn’t respond but instead watched Michael eat two more cookies. Your lips curled into a frown, knowing you’d have to bake another batch, but at least this time they would be fresh for tomorrow’s movie night. 

For the first time in weeks, Joel felt he was finally able to relax. He took the drive home slow and steady and turned up the car radio to drown out the ongoing sirens in the distance. The song ‘Future Days’ by Pearl Jam played, and Joel decided he would take up learning it on the guitar when he got home. Now that he had a few days off from work, he could put his feet up and do whatever he wanted. He looked forward to seeing you tomorrow, but now he just had to head on to the grocers, like he had promised Sarah, and pick out a birthday cake.

He found a red velvet one with buttercream icing, knowing it was more Sarah’s favourite than his own. Joel liked fruitcake but he knew that if he brought a fruitcake home for Sarah, she’d just sit there disgusted and pick out the raisins. He’d rather she was satisfied.

Joel brought the red velvet cake to the cashier and opened up his wallet, preparing to pay.

“I’m sorry sir,” the lady behind the desk said. “I can’t sell you this. I’m afraid all wheat-based products are being recalled due to the Cordyceps Brain Infection.”

Joel furrowed his eyebrows together in bewilderment. “The Cordyceps--? I thought that was all the way in Jakarta?”

“You haven’t heard--?”

Just then, alarms began ringing in the grocery store and an automated voice boomed through the speakers. The cashier froze and her eyes widened as soon as she recognised the voice. “This is an automated message. This is a red alert warning from the United States government and the CISA. Please stop what you are doing and return home immediately. Lock your doors. Do not let anyone inside.”

The message repeated repeatedly, and the entire store erupted into a panic; including the cashier standing before Joel. 

“What the hell is happening?” Joel asked, his gaze darting around the store. He watched a stampede of people head towards the fire exit, clambering and yelling frantically.

“You have to go.” The cashier replied before running off into the crowd.

Joel headed towards the entrance, thinking he could leave that way where it was less crowded. He had no comprehension of what was happening, but he knew for certain he wouldn’t leave Tommy behind.

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

Prologue: Part II

[angelicsjn]

Can you do more general information about Kaidan like you did for Roman? Like general/romantic facts? I love your writing, and I’m glad you’re back! 💕

Thank you so much! <3

KAIDAN ALEXANDER WOLFE.

— general.

He has a love for anything vintage. He's an old soul, which you wouldn't believe because of his career.

He collects odd trinkets, and whatever country he's in, he often finds something vintage and relevant to that country as he loves to experience different cultures, too.

His tattoos all signify something in his life, he says they're just cool to others, but if you mean a lot to him, he will tell you the stories behind each tattoo.

He is a man with a big heart. He loves people to point to sickness. Whether it be them getting sick of him or him feeling sick because it becomes too much to handle.

Kaidan is very bubbly and keeps himself busy. He can't stay still for too long because he always needs to be around people; loneliness is his kryptonite.

He had a phase where he would dry press his favourite flowers because he didn't want them to die, and he still cries over the death of his first pet to this day.

Once he loves something, he loves it forever. Even if the rose' thorn stings him, he will cry over it as it begins to wither.

Kaidan's platform means a lot to him. He made himself into who he is today, and though his fans don't genuinely know him — not many people do, actually... he really takes their friendship and love seriously.

He loves Italian food, indie music (name 5 bands), energy drinks, being loved by his fans, and playing the guitar. He doesn't show this talent off often. It's his own little thing.

This man smells divine, like, beautiful...

— romantic.

For special days: your birthday, anniversary since you ... got together? Whatever. He will write a song for you. But he doesn't play it to you in person, he sends it to you.

He's actually quite shy in that regard, which not many people would think of him.

When in love, he is a fool. He sees the world in black and white and he genuinely doesn't see anything ever going wrong.

He doesn't argue, he doesn't like it because why would you be angry when you're both so in love?

He likes to give little gifts here and there, matching items to be exact.

Kaidan also loves the idea of matching tattoos.

[sparklepocalypse]

Well, it's not a WIP that I have for you, nor is it technically Wednesday anymore, but thanks all the same, @wordsofhoneydew, @kiwiana-writes, @bigassbowlingballhead, @piratefalls, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @violetbaudelaire-quagmire, @firenati0n, @captainjunglegym, and @priincebutt for the tags! Today I have a whole-ass fic for you in belated honor of the illustrious MJ's birthday. 🥰

[Alex/Henry | E | 6,469 words]

The worst part about being a siren in the modern era, Henry ponders as yet another ship flies past his cove at a speed that he knows will disturb the anemone gardens below, is the yacht bros. Between the sound of their vessels’ motors and the dissonant noise the humans call music, Henry’s singing has no chance of attracting anyone’s attention.

Relevant Tags: Henry is a Siren, Alex is a Marine Biologist, Pez is a Kraken, Flagrant Ignoring of Concussion Protocol, Discussion of Sea Creature Genitals, In a Sexy Sea Creature Sort of Way

[colorisbyshe]

MONTHLY MUSIC SPECIAL EDITION:

MY BIRTHDAY! I'm turning 31 today so flip that around and here's 13 of my favorite songs of all time (in random order)

"Passive" A Perfect Circle. Grief, rage, desperation... this song has it all and gave the world some great AMVs.

"Magician" Lexie Liu. Cunty electropop. Perfect motivator in a work out playlist or, well, great for a magic girl AMV, lmfao.

"What a Feeling" One Direction. Pop perfection. Argue with a wall if you disagree.

"Bloodsport" Raleigh Ritchie. Again, just what a perfect song for editing footage together in your head. Also, he sounds so beautiful here. Sometimes, he can get a bit cheesy but here it's perfect. Special mention that doesn't count towards the 13 songs, "Time in a Tree."

"Better off Alone" Alice Deejay. BEST DANCE SONG OF ALL TIME

"Dogfight" M.O.V.E. High octane, eurobeat infused J-Rock song for a racing show. It feels like injecting GOTTA GO FAST into your bloodstream

The entirety of the album Details by Frou Frou feels like dancing in the clouds, the dew drops of the sky dripping down your face in grief and love and hope. It's my birthday, so this counts as as one song. Also, shout out to her music under Imogen Heap, including, "Sweet Religion," "Glistening Clouds," "Bad Body Double," "Loose Ends," "Come Here Boy." And her collab "My Secret Friend"

"Capable of Love" + "Mosquito" being on the same Pinkpanthress project is insane!!! INSANE!!! MAGICAL MUSIC!

"Password" Shinee. IDK if this is their best song but it is their most powerful song. I have to play it a million times in a row every time I hear it. See also: "Odd Eye," "Symptoms," "Tell Me What To Do," "I Want You," "Kind," "Identity."

"BYOB" System of a Down. SOAD is why I can't take insults of nu metal seriously. This song is still relevant to this day.

"Atomic" and "Coloris" by She. Do you know how good the music has to be for me to ignore the white producer using an anime/Japanese girl as his avatar? God tier electronica.

"Veridis Quo" Daft Punk My Fave DP song changes daily but I'm feeling this song at 31. A song that feels like an ache, like a prayer.

"Welcome Home" Coheed & Cambria. The guitar alone... holy shit. HOLY SHIT. Love this entire album to pieces!!! TBH

[yergink]

Ficlet prompts!

Any off screen moment from s1, where ed is down bad and stede is adorable. Bonus if the crew are like 👀

Modern meet cute at a dog park

Innkeeper era - talking about Stede's kids, or any Stepdad Ed

I have read so many "Mary learns that Ed is Blackbeard" and I would read another, if that sounds fun!

HI THANKS SO MUCH!! I'm a sucker for dad Stede moments, so I had to go with talking about his kids <3

(also this got. longer than i anticipated. whoops.)

Ed always knows when a storm’s coming on by the pinch of his knee. And he knows when Stede’s got something serious on the mind by the—much sweeter—pinch of his brow.

He’s been wearing that look since breakfast and been distant all morning. Floaty, sort of. And quiet.

The question sits fully formed on Ed’s tongue, but he holds it back. Prying Stede for his feelings requires a certain degree of tact, and Ed isn’t history’s greatest tactician for nothing.

Unfortunately, love is often the opposite of tact. It’s blind and stupid and reckless.

They’re sharing an afternoon snack of shortbread cookies—just a little overdone, which neither of them mind too much—when that faraway look crosses Stede’s face again, and Ed simply can’t help himself any longer.

“What’s wrong?”

Stede startles, like he hadn’t at all expected the question.

“Hm?” he answers. There are shortbread crumbs stuck on the corner of his mouth. Ed reaches out to thumb them away.

“You seem distracted,” he says. “Something up?”

A moment passes where Ed thinks he’s gotten the timing wrong. He was too abrupt, and now Stede is going to give him one of his too-strained smiles and insist that he’s fine, and Ed’s not gonna be able to work up the courage to ask him again.

His heart leaps into his throat. Ed swallows around it.

Stede, for his part, doesn’t play that song-and-dance. Instead, he sighs. His wistful gaze turns to the window, and his eyes turn chestnut-light where the sunstream catches them.

“It’s Alma’s birthday today,” he says.

Ed stares at him blankly.

“My daughter.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Shit,” Stede agrees.

“…So, are you, um. Feeling some kinda way about it?” Ed asks him tentatively.

Stede shrugs a sort of shrug that means "yes, absolutely, but I don't want to admit it," and for Ed, that won't do.

He reaches for Stede's hand, the cookies abandoned for the moment. “Do you wanna try to figure it out together?”

Stede’s fingers latch into Ed’s tight before he jerks his head in a nod.

"Okay." Ed takes a long inhale, pleased to see Stede follow his example. "What do you feel?"

"Mm. A sort of—" Stede lifts his free hand and gestures in a circle to his chest. "A… hollowness. Like a hole. But it's heavy, too. A heavy hole."

"...What's that, a riddle or something? What thing is empty but still weighs a ton?"

"Could be." Stede's frown turns thoughtful. "I think the answer would be a lead bucket."

"That's fuckin’ brilliant."

“Doesn’t make much sense though, does it? Feeling like a lead bucket?”

Ed doesn’t think so. He’s had the same feeling, a hollow weight that ached through his chest and down in his belly.

“I think maybe you miss your kid,” Ed tells him. “That’s all.”

“…I do miss them,” Stede says quietly. “Both of them. And I know that they’re being well taken care of, and that I left on good terms, but…” he trails off.

“You don't talk about them much.”

“The topic’s never been relevant.”

“Oh, shut up, man. If it’s bothering you, it’s relevant. They’re your kids. Little itty-bitty Stedes running around. You think I don’t wanna hear about them?”

“…You didn’t want to hear about Mary.”

“Okay, but you see how that’s different, yeah?”

“And honestly, neither of them are much like me at all.” He lowers his voice. “Actually, now that I think about it, I suspect Louis wasn't even mine to begin with.”

Ed hums. “You know you are allowed to talk about them, if you want.”

“…I might. Want. Just a little.”

A quiet moment passes. Stede’s gaze flicks from the window to Ed’s face, and Ed raises his eyebrows at him meaningfully.

"Louis is a sweet boy, I think,” Stede says, looking back towards the window. "He doesn't pull the legs off flies, and he doesn't throw rocks at the other children. He's...Gosh, he must be six years old, now.

Ed's not an expert, but other than the bit about his age, those seem like odd things to notice about your kid.

“And Alma is…” Stede starts. “Well, she’s very independent, for one. And she’s—brave. Braver than I ever was at her age. Er, that’ll be twelve, today. She’s always speaking what’s on her mind, whether it’s a polite sentiment or not.”

He smiles at some private memory. “She’d get in trouble with the nursemaid often, with that feisty tongue of hers.”

“She sounds a lot like you.”

Stede laughs. “Silly man. Come on.”

“I'm serious. Feisty? Bit of a menace?”

“Oh, well…”

“All things I love about you,” Ed promises, with a kiss for good measure.

Stede kisses him back, of course, and they get lost in it for a moment, arms wrapping around each other, eyes closed, together.

Stede's stay shut for a beat longer than Ed’s, and when he opens them again, his face is a little sad.

“It's no wonder she was always testing Mary’s nerves so badly,” he says with a little huff that might've been a laugh if it hadn't been so damn sad.

Ed’s heart thumps hard in sympathy. He reaches to cup a palm gingerly over Stede’s cheek, swiping his thumb over into the soft hair at Stede's temple. “Hey. If you're thinking of them today, I bet they're thinking about you."

“D'you really?" Stede asks in a small voice, audibly uncertain in a way he so seldom is.

It's Ed's cue to be certain, then, to be firm and sure in this moment when Stede cannot muster himself to be.

"I know," he says. "I was missing you when you were gone, too."

"Oh, Ed—”

“So,” Ed continues, "if you can't be there, maybe you can send them a letter? Though might be best to skip the bottle this time.”

He tries not to linger on Stede’s dewy eyes, doesn’t want to bring attention to how delicate he seems right then, but he also can’t help but notice the telling glint that crosses his gaze.

“You just had an idea, did you?”

“I won’t do it if you say no,” Stede says slowly, “ But…how would you feel if I asked all of them to come stay a few days?”

Ed shifts. Unconsciously, his grip on Stede’s hand tightens a smidge in anxiety. “That, um. I dunno. Won't it be weird? Having your ex-wife in the same house as…”

“As my lovely boyfriend?” Stede fills in for him, and Ed imagines his heart trilling like a songbird. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing Stede call him that.

“Yeah.”

“It probably will be a bit weird,” Stede admits. “And I won't push if the idea makes you uncomfortable. But I think—” he pauses.

"I want to get to know them better,” he says firmly. “And I—I'd like them to get to know you, too. To see how happy you make me.”

Oh. Stede wants his kids to see him happy—to know he's happy. And to see that that happiness is because of Ed. That Ed’s the one who makes him happy.

It’s like all the light in the world goes softer, then. Sweeter.

Ed murmurs, “I think I like that idea, too,” before kissing him again, all the while thinking happy, happy happy.

[love-byers]

🚨CALLING ALL BYLER TRUTHERS THIS IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT!!!!!!🚨

i literally have not posted in months because i've been EXTREMELY busy preparing for college, but things have calmed down a bit so i'm making time for some good old byler

now i don't know how many of you were involved in byler twt in august-september of 2022 but there were a couple of huge theories that are still talked about today

the ones i'm gonna be talking about in this post are:

birthday gate

will byers/harry potter parallel

will and mike teaming up in s5 & getting stuck in the upside down

if you don't know what birthday gate is, you've been living under a rock, but to summarize:

in s4 when el is being bullied by angela and the other kids at the skating rink, there's brief clips of the scene through a retro handheld camera with the date in the corner. the date in that scene is march 22nd, 1986.

march 22nd is wills birthday. we know that because in s2 when will is possessed by the mike flayer, joyce attempts to bring him back by asking him if he knows what march 22nd is; his birthday.

that would mean that the day when mike, will, and el go the roller rink is will's birthday—and no body, not even joyce or jonathan, mention it. the duffers said that it was an accident and they haven't watched s2 in years. this is complete horseshit. there are several direct references to s2 in s4, such as max saying "that's presumptuous of you" to lucas just like she did in s2. also,

idk about you but REALLY seems like they're teasing us about his birthday not really being forgotten.

there's several other theories about what this means but the most popular is that vecna has taken the other's memories about will to target him and make him feel like no one cares about him. all of vecna's victims are carrying some sort of trauma, and he can only target them when they're emotionally vulnerable. why is he targeting will? that's a whole nother rabbit hole.

this is where the harry potter theory becomes relevant.

i don't know where the picture is but the duffers posted their inspo board for s4 and there's a shit load of movies and tv shows, including harry potter and the chamber of secrets.

there's a shit ton of parallels that i won't get into, except these:

(all of these harry potter plot points are in both the book and the movie)

in chapter one of chamber of secrets, harry is sad and angry because it's his 12th birthday and no one remembered. the dursley's have never acknowledged his birthday, but he expected ron and hermione, his new best friends, to send him letters like they promised, but they haven't. not only did he get none on his birthday, he's gotten none all summer.

sound familiar?

if birthdaygate is true, this is an obvious parallel. will's birthday was also forgotten and it makes him sad. however, in chamber of secrets, it's revealed by dobby that ron and hermione have been sending letters all summer—but dobby stole them so that harry would think no one liked him and he wouldn't go back to hogwarts. some people think that vecna could be paralleling dobby as he took the others memories of wills birthday. but since i'm a byler loser, i wanna talk about this: there's another theory that mike was actually trying to call will awhile they were apart, but the phone was always on hold because of joyce's telemarketing job. wills thinks mike doesn't care about him, but mike was really trying to reach him the whole time. i made a post about this that's pinned on my account, feel free to read and come back

there was another theory on byler twt/tiktok that will and jonathan will move into the wheeler's basement since they're back in hawkins with no house. this was just supposed to be a fun 'what if', but i realized that this could also parallel chamber of secrets.

ron weasley realizes that something must be wrong since harry hasn't written back all summer. he and his brothers take their dads enchanted flying car to rescue harry from the dursley's. after that, harry stays with the weasley's for the rest of the summer. in the movie it's only like a day or two, but in the books it's about a month. if will byers moves into mike wheeler's basement i'm going to lose my shit.

here's where it gets fucking crazy

when september first hits in the camber of secrets, harry and the weasleys go to king's cross train station to go to platform 9 3/4 where the hogwarts express is waiting. ron's parents and siblings go through first, then harry and ron. well, ron and harrry try, but they just run into the wall. the platform is closed and they're stuck on the other side.

HELLO???????? WILL AND MIKE ARE GOING TO BE STUCK IN THE UPSIDE DOWN FUCKING CONFIRMED

ron and harry stupidly decide to take the flying car to get to school instead and catch up with the train, which ends in a bit of a disaster (they crash into the womping willow).

this could play out in s5 in a lot of different ways, but here's my theory

maybe all of the gang will be in the upside down for some reason and mike and will are left behind. this is really interesting if vecna is actually paralleling dobby, because dobby is the one who closed off the platform. there's a theory that vecna is targeting mike as well because he knows mike makes will the happiest. maybe he traps them both in the upside down to take out mike first. or maybe, like dobby, mike (ron) is trapped by accident. i also think it makes sense that mike and will being in the upside down would parallel ron and harry flying next to the train. in stranger things we all know that the upside down looks like hawkins, but isn't. there are several times that we see characters in the upside down communicate and work together with characters in the real world.

do you see what i mean about it just making sense? mike and will in the UD working together with the others in the real world to get to the same place or goal, just like ron and harry got to hogwarts with the others on the train, just in a different way.

anyways i'm losing my fucking mind byler is endgame

also, the duffers are rarry shippers CONFIRMED

[isfjmel-phleg]

Yesterday, July 19, was Tim Drake's birthday and I had intended to make a post about the issue in which this is acknowledged, but I completely forgot after a long week of work-related panic. Sorry! It's a day late, but I'm getting it to you anyway.

Today we're going to be looking at relevant parts of Robin 1993 #116. Although Tim has gone from thirteen to seventeen over the years, to the best of my knowledge only one of his birthdays has been depicted in comics--his sixteenth.

The issue opens with Alfred picking up Tim after a mission that took him out in the middle of the woods (as detailed in earlier issues). Meanwhile, Tim's dad and his stepmother talk. Jack Drake apologizes to Dana for how he's been acting in the aftermath of losing money and having to move and offers to take her out. She pinpoints his recent issues as being related to grief for his first wife, who is inexplicably referred to here as Cathy rather than Janet. This isn't Dana's mistake; earlier issues had Jack use the wrong name too. Writer's error, probably.

They're interrupted by Tim's return. Jack apologizes to him, and Tim plays the dutiful, understanding son and laughs it off.

Dana brings up something that's coming up on Thursday, and neither of the Drakes have a clue what she's talking about. After Tim excuses himself, claiming that he needs sleep after a whitewater rafting outing, Dana tries to clue Jack in. He has completely forgotten that the significant date July 19 is coming up. He's been too wrapped up in his own concerns.

As tired as Tim is, he's worried about Stephanie, who has had recent difficulties with her mom, and he calls her. She assures him that he's fine and asks about Thursday, but he falls asleep mid-conversation.

The sleep situtation doesn't get any better thanks to multiple back-to-back days of late-night patrolling, and on Thursday, July 19, Tim doesn't get up until noon and finds when he awakens that his dad and Dana have ordered pizza, Canadian bacon with onions and artichoke hearts--which only Tim likes.

And then Tim's friend Ives arrives with soda and movies, and Stephanie comes bearing pizza, and Tim is worried that something terrible must be happening if people are going out of their way so much to try to make him happy.

Surprise! It's his birthday, and he has forgotten because he's been so dang busy juggling his two lives (he's in a new school and working with Bruce, not to mention that Young Justice recently disbanded and is about to merge with the Titans).

Tim's feeling magnanimous enough to invite Cole Hartzel, his apartment's antagonistic elevator operator, and then the gift-giving begins. An RPG handbook from Ives, dress shoes from Dana, cellphone and page holster sewn by Steph, a modem from Jack, who regrets that he can't get Tim a car for his sixteenth birthday as he had hoped. Tim accepts every gift graciously and goes out of his way to try to make his dad feel better.

And then there's a mysterious, suspicious box from an unidentified source.

It's worrisome enough to Tim to abruptly make an excuse to get it out of the apartment and take it to a place where Batman can pick it up for analysis. Steph follows him, and they share a kiss on the apartment roof.

Unfortunately, this means that Tim is so mentally distracted during the movie marathon with his friends and family that he can't properly enjoy it, although he tries to keep up the act for their benefit, because he wants everyone else to enjoy his birthday since he can't anymore.

That night, he comes to the Batcave to analyze the mystery package. Bruce warns him that Alfred is upset about something. Turns out that he's annoyed with Bruce for forgetting Tim's birthday. Alfred has made Tim a cake with sixteen candles.

Tim blows them out, Bruce freaks out about smoke getting on the high-tech gadgets, and Alfred continues to snark at him.

And Tim and Bruce share the cake as they analyze the package, which leads them off on their next harrowing adventure.

Everything about how this birthday goes is characteristic. Tim's double life prevents him from fully embracing the joys of his civilian life. He is so immersed in his other role that he loses track of his personal identity's birthday. Both of his father figures forget his birthday too. They mean well, but Jack and Bruce are both so preoccupied with their own concerns, and Tim is there to support them more than the other way around. The ones who do remember Tim's birthday are the people who are more immediately invested in Tim's personal well-being.

And it says a lot about Tim that his immediate conclusion from other people's concern for his happiness is that something must be wrong. He's always the one trying to keep other people happy, and it's awkward for him to be on the receiving end. Even on a day that's supposed to be about him, he's constantly worried about how it's affecting the people around him. So he consoles his dad about not being able to give him a car. He's enthusiastic about gifts that might not be the ones he wants. He hides his worries so everyone else can enjoy his day. He's surrounded by people who love him and want to celebrate him, yet there's always something that holds him a little aloof from this.

This, I think, will be his last birthday with his dad. Or Dana. Or with Steph as his girlfriend. His year ahead is about to be arguably the worst of his life.

[ingravinoveritas]

Why are people begging for Anna and Georgia to be in GO?! I’m genuinely wondering why cause they don’t fit in their world and if they were there, it wouldn’t be the Ineffable Husbands anymore, it would just be like a family reunion. Also, people wanting the girls to show up in GO as lesbian lovers to each other?? When have they ever been seen or hinted at any sort of affection towards one another? Georgia can barely stand her and Anna is….. meh. Barely on social media except only to post one occasional thing of Good Omens and then disappears into the night. Neil asking if Dottie and Sadie should show up in the next season and people asking if Georgia and Anna can play them…. It’s ironic cause the question was if Aziraphale should have a beard in season 3 and Neil took it as beards, someone used as a romantic partner to cover up the others sexuality. Veryyy interesting to see. Do you think Neil saying Sadie and Dottie are beards and people mentioning Georgia and Anna to play them means something?

It's honestly difficult to know where to start with this, because I have also noticed the uptick in people campaigning for Georgia and AL to be in season 3, apropos of seemingly nothing at all. There seems to be an assumption that Georgia and AL have the same kind of chemistry as David and Michael, when nothing could be further from the truth. By Georgia's own admission, she barely knew AL when the first season of Staged was filmed, and the entire "best friend" dynamic between them was faked.

A few years later, you have Staged season 3, where Georgia dyed her hair red to differentiate herself from AL since everyone kept saying they looked exactly the same. You also have a clearly established "throuple" dynamic between Michael, David, and Georgia that AL Is not at all a part of (and has seemingly been specifically excluded from), and Georgia only engaging with AL on social media when there is something to promote (such as Staged 3 being released on the BBC, to give a recent example) or on posts related to "business" things (Georgia commented on AL's new headshots, but not on the post for Mabli's first birthday, to give another example). Not to mention AL copying Georgia's personality and posting style at every available turn, because she desperately wants to obtain the same level of clout that Georgia has in the fandom. (This, despite Michael seemingly having faded her from his social media/any sort of public connection to her entirely.)

(Also, none of this even touches on what I mentioned in this post, about the sheer audacity in suggesting that AL and Georgia could play Aziraphale and Crowley, respectively, or how insulting that is to Michael and David...)

Now, however, we have this whole "Dottie and Sadie" business to contend with, which is on a level of ridiculousness I'm not sure I knew existed. Context, for those who may not know: "Dottie and Sadie" refers to Aziraphale and Crowley's fictional wives, which Neil started alluding to as part of his exasperated answers to questions on Tumblr. They are not real characters and have nothing to do with the GO novel itself. But it seems the fans have taken the idea of AL and Georgia as Dottie and Sadie and run with it.

Anna (who apparently has also started copying Georgia's habit of searching her own name on Twitter) has now added to the discourse with this QT today:

I'm truly baffled as to how so many people don't seem to see this for the attention grab that it is. This is a clear attempt at remaining relevant, as well as her trying to push her way into GO season 3. Yet it's telling that the part she is seemingly lobbying for is for a character that doesn't even exist, and has no bearing on the GOmens universe whatsoever.

What also bothers me (and I've heard this from a few people who've DMed me as well) is that this very much comes across as "straight girl making out with a friend as a joke." For all we know, AL could be bi, but she has shared so little of herself/shown no outward support for the LGBTQ+ community as to make it impossible to determine. Also the last thing Michael and David have ever done is play what is between them/Aziraphale and Crowley for laughs, so the fact that their connection and experience with their own queerness is so genuine only makes this comment from AL look incredibly fake, and like she is trying to be a pale imitation of them.

But again...and perhaps the most unintentionally hilarious part of all this...is AL apparently missing the entire point that Dottie and Sadie are beards. By saying she wants to play such a role, she is reinforcing the idea that she is only there to make Michael look straight, and that that is the purpose of their relationship. For as calculated as all of her posts/replies are, this almost feels like her accidentally telling the truth in the midst of a bunch of nonsense. Like you said: Very interesting...

I have more thoughts on GO season 3/the casting of family members--Peter worked well in GO 2, Ty did not--to share in my forthcoming analysis of the second season (I'm rewatching all of the episodes right now just to get everything fresh in my mind, but I will start writing/turn Anons back on soon), so I will end this here. But those are my thoughts on all these recent developments. Just hoping that all the fandemonium (fan pandemonium) dies down and we can have an honest discussion about season 3 one of these days...

[aita-blorbos]

Am I the asshole for refusing to help rescue my friends' kidnapped baby because the friends are my parents and the baby was me?

Title says it all.

I (132F) was kidnapped at birth and raised in a cult to be programmed to kill a specific man on sight (didn't work and I'm now married to him). Then when I was able to get away from them, I traveled back in time to grow up alongside my parents as a same-age friend under a secret identity, and then after a while I got a new body and a new secret identity and ended up befriending them again without them knowing I was the same person as their friend and also their daughter. Also from their perspective, I hadn't been born yet. Time travel.

Anyway, my birth has finally happened, and earlier today my dad (25M) showed up in the prison where I live (I'm in prison for murder but like I break out all the time so its not really a big deal) and asked me to help rescue his wife / my mother (25F) who'd been kidnapped with their baby (me). He tried to say that he really needed me to help but like, I already know the baby won't be rescued because I was the baby. So it just seemed pointless to go and fight in a battle when I already know we're going to lose, I'd just be putting myself in harm's way for nothing.

And on top of that, I just sort of really didn't want to go? Like, it was my birthday (hence the whole me-being-born thing). I'd just gotten home (back to prison) from my birthday date and I was really tired, and I'd had a good day and I didn't want to ruin it by fighting in some battle that would only depress me. So I told my dad that I couldn't come help, because this was the day for my husband (1023M) to find out who I am and that meant I couldn't be with him until the end. And then my dad got kind of offended and left. AITA?

edit: everyone please stop commenting on me being older than my parents. i already established there was time travel involved i dont get why that part surprises you so much

edit 2: Guys, you can't vote YTA just because I mentioned being in prison for murder. It's barely relevant to the story and you don't have any of the context. For all you know I was framed, or it was self-defense, but of course you all just love making assumptions.

edit 3: For the record I've now been pardoned because it was found the man I murdered never existed. He's still alive, by the way. We're also married.

(Taken from Fanfiction by @harps17)