#my brain is busted i've been cleaning

[nullshocked]

Tagged by @secondsundering \o/

Rules: Tag 10 or more people you want to get to know better

fave ships: durgetash, durgestarion, ineffible husbands, cherik, burakhovsky, uhhh there's definitely others but yeah. Also all my oc ships but stuck in the JackJack brainrot please send help.

favorite color: Green

song stuck in my head: "Wanna Don't Wanna" by Reignwolf and this is entirely Victor's fault.

favorite food: Pasta, but especially alfredo. My favorite to make is spaghetti aglio e olio.

last tv show/movie: Oh god, I don't actually remember?? I feel like I watched something with friends but I cannot for the life of me think of what it was. I'm just gunna say Hannibal and call it a day.

spicy/sweet/savory: They all have their place.

currently reading: The Death of Jane Lawrence by Caitlin Starling, and sneaking in little bits of John Dewey's Art as Experience when I have free time (I don't)

last thing i googled: "pasta with olive oil parseley and red pepper" because I couldn't fucking remember the name of the pasta I was talking about.

TAGGING: @thedoomsbae and @mimicgender and whoever else wants to bc idk who has done this and who hasn't.

[grahamdollton]

[fairysluna]

let the light in.

Modern!AU — Disaster was the word that described your past relationship with Aemond, but once you meet again after a year it's impossible for you not to come back to him.

MASTERLIST

PAIRING - Aemond Targaryen x Reader.

TAGS/TW - angst, slight fluff, cheating, love affairs, mentions of a toxic relationships. if something is missing let me know!

NOTE - this is not the best thing in the world at all, but I've been struggling to write and this came out of the blue and now I'm posting it bc why not. hope this will be the thing that finally ends my writer's block. On the other hand, I made a side blog ( @by-fairysluna ) exclusvely to repost my fics, so you can follow me there and activate the notifications🤍

WORD COUNT - 1.5k

He was sitting right under the dim light of a malfunctioning bulb inside the coffee shop that you both always went to. His long platinum hair, shiny as always, was falling graciously down his back as making a contrast against the black leather of the jacket you once gave him. You checked the time on your watch; quarter to three - you had fifteen minutes to regret this, to turn around and disappear from his life like you did a year ago. 

You knew this was a terrible idea. His mere presence was enough to make you fold like a piece of paper, to make you fall for him all over again. It was a vicious circle from which you could not escape. Though you knew you did not want to escape it either. 

The feeling in your gut was making you sweat as your hands were constantly trying to find comfort in the bag strap hanging from your shoulder, the memories of how things ended last time flooded your mind. You noticed how he was moving his leg up and down. Perhaps he was as anxious as you, perhaps he was just being impatient as usual; whatever the reason was, you could not help but to feel this invisible string pulling you towards him like a huge magnet. You tried to ignore it, to cut the string and ran away in the cowardly act of weakness, but your legs were not eager to respond to what your brain was commanding them to do, finding failure in an activity so easy as just walking. 

When you finally found the courage to escape what could become an awkward situation, a person walked right beside you and opened the door in front of you. The doorbell sounded, carrying all the attention of the clients towards you standing behind the crystal clear glass that did nothing to hide your presence from Aemond’s eye.

“Shit,” you murmured, keeping yourself together as you forced yourself to enter the place now that you have been busted by the same eye that you were trying to ignore. He immediately stood up; a moment so sudden that the coffee cups on the table were spilled on the white tablecloth beneath them. He did not seem to care enough to clean right away, he just gave it a quick glance before his attention was all over your slowly walk towards the table. 

He wrapped his arms around you as soon as he was close enough to do so, his face burying in your neck as if he was meeting with some old dear friend instead of the girl whose heart he broke. The awkwardness was not easy to hide as you doubted to return the gesture, trying so hard not to breathe in his scent, for you knew that would be your perdition.

“Is good to see you,” he said as a greeting as he pulled out from the hug and looked at your face with a soft smile that brought thousands of flashbacks to your mind. “Hope you don’t mind I ordered something for you,” he pointed at the table, two cups and two pieces of a strawberry pie. “Tea, two of sugar right?”

You knew you had no reason to get excited for the gesture and for the fact that he remembered how you liked your tea, but it was impossible for you to keep it together after such a sweet gesture. You almost sighed as you sat down.

“You remembered it,” you said, trying to hide your smile. 

“Of course,” he simply replied, as if that gesture was nothing more than an act of politeness. It killed you.

There was a silence, not necessarily uncomfortable but it left you with the feeling that something was missing. Perhaps you missed his voice; how softly it sounded whenever he mentioned your name, or those sweet words that would make you forget all about his bad temper. The kind of sweetness that he only reserved for you, the one that made you feel unique between his comforting arms. As if you were the only one in his heart.

“How you’ve been?” You asked, trying to break the ice, indulging a tedious small talk that neither of them was interested to have.

He went straight to the point.

“I’ve missed you terribly,” he murmured, a low and trembling whisper that could have been  easily mistaken as a cough. A slight shame was present on his voice as he confessed his heart’s wishes without even looking at your eyes. “I’ve been miserable without you.”

He seemed to be embarrassed about them, but it was impossible for you not to feel your heart beating fast as his words had taken you by surprise. You pressed your lips in a thin line, looking at his hand and feeling all your excitement fading away as the golden band was still wrapped around his finger just to prove that he still belonged to someone else. But, as your mind was screaming to look away and leave, your heart begged you to grab his hand and take him back. 

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, covering his hand with yours, as if it was a desperate attempt to hide the truth of your relationship with him. “I hate trying to convince myself to hate you.”

A small smile was seen on his face, covering the guilt behind his eye. He knew this was wrong, he knew that putting you in this situation a second time was a death sentence after being witness to how things ended, but he couldn’t help it. No matter the consequences, he needed you back. He needed the sense of freedom only you could provide him. Call it selfishness, or greediness; you didn't even care as long as you gained his love again. 

Aemond finally glanced at you, and you felt like everything was worth it. The tears, the heartaches, the shame, the turmoils; you could endure all of it just to have a taste of his lips. Suddenly, all you could think of was the paradise in which he coaxed you, and all your doubts and fears left as soon as you felt your heart beat again because of him.

“I’m sorry for how things ended, you didn’t deserve any of that,” he apologized, the sincerity reflected in the way he spoke. His eye traced a path between your eyes and your lips.

“The past is past,” you said in an attempt to console his anguish, “and, to be honest, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“You brought the light into my life,” he confessed, and you felt your heart swollen with emotion. “And I didn’t know it until you left.”

A smile appeared on your face, enlightening the darkness of a rainy day, causing shivers down his back as his eyes shined with the glow of fondness. 

“I would hate to leave you in the dark,” you replied at his words, stealing a soft chuckle from those lips that you wished to kiss once more. “I can’t hate you, Aemond,” she confessed, “not when loving you feels so good.”

He sighed, “You still love me after everything?” His voice came out as insecure, as if it was hard for him to find truth in her words.

She thought about it for a second, trying to think about their bad times as if she was forcing herself to back up and avoid all the pain that she knew they would bring to each other, but all she could think of was those quiet evenings at her apartment. A soft Beatles’ tune playing in the background as they talked about their day while soft touches were felt in her bare skin. Heaven on Earth; their own version of oasis. 

“How couldn’t I?” She simply responded.

They knew their lowest points were hell, but they refused to think about them as they found each other’s touch again. They convinced themselves that it was worth it to try it again.

“Let me come in again, Aemond,” she whispered, leaning closer to him. “I know you need me as much as I do. I know you want me too.”

He pretended to hesitate, but he knew what his intentions were as soon as he sent you that text which brought you back to him. Your pleading eyes were all he needed to see to be completely convinced.

“I want you,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips, leaving a soft kiss in the back of it, smiling as he noticed the spark in your pretty eyes, clouded by devotion. 

That was all you needed to feel whole again. 

As the evening approached between gentle touches and soft kisses, you came to realize that the part of your heart that you thought was missing has returned to you in the shape of the man you hopelessly loved. The only one who could make you feel alive again.

And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

[reds-writings]

since you were begging for it and I've been DYING for 2012 Rust content

may I ask for 46. of the fluff prompts? (taking care of them when it's hard for them to do it themselves)

maybe taking place after your last fluff prompt, after fleeing the hospital? or however you wish, I'm sure you will come up with something brilliant:)

thank you darling!

i begged, you asked, and i (hopefully) delivered. hope you enjoy, darlin'! <3

It almost felt like Rust wanted to give you a fatal heart attack once and for all these days. That arduous hospital visit had been enough stress to last you a lifetime but it seemed like he wanted to keep at it with sending you into an early grave due to constant worry. His stubbornness only seemed to have multiplied tenfold after all these years which only meant you’d be earning more pesky greys no thanks to him. 

Given that his mobility was still greatly hindered by his run-in with Childress you insisted time and time again that if he needed something he was to strictly ask you so there’d be no chances of over-exertion or further injury. You even gave him a silly little bell to ring so that you could hear it no matter where you were in the house. 

If only he were actually to put it to some damned use.

It was nearing 3 am when you heard a crash and a loud curse downstairs, followed by a series of pained groans. You had almost broken your neck at the near lightspeed in which you sprang from the bed and bounded down the steps to see what the hell was going on. To no surprise, there lay Rust on the floor a few mere feet from the open fridge with one of the racks dismantled from the inside. He looked like he was about to bust a vein while his greying temples began to bead with sweat as he lay frozen in what you had to guess was profound pain. It wasn’t the first time but you were about to make sure it was the last. 

Trying not to trip over the mess from the fridge, you willed sleep to thaw from your brain as you frantically checked over him for any injuries. Head: okay. Bandages: clean. Appendages: all in one piece. Bruising: you’d probably see by tomorrow if any. He just seemed winded from the sudden movement that agitated his wound in light of his blunder. 

“Reckon you’re wishin’ you used that bell now, hm?” You couldn’t help but snipe as your shaking hands brushed coarse hairs from his face. Rust didn’t –more like couldn’t– reply has he focused on trying to regain his momentum of breathing. The fire in his abdomen had him paralyzed, one move and he was sure to vomit from the sheer pain. Once you figured it had subsided with his body beginning to lose its rigid tension you scooted behind his head to help prop him up. 

“Up you go, hon. C’mon. That’s it-” You gently moved with him, pausing at any signs of discomfort before fully getting him upright. When he made no move of toppling over again you moved back into his line of sight. He purposefully withheld eye contact, the warm light from the fridge painting stark shadows against the harrowed lines of his face. 

“How many times do we have to do this?” You tried after bated silence. Nothing.

“I know how you are, Rustin. If you’ve got some hang-up rooted in self-pity you need to cut it out. You’re here because I want you here. Not because I feel sorry for you or anythin’ else along those lines-”

“You shouldn’t want me here.” The graviliness of his voice broke out in lame protest. So it was gonna be one of those nights. 

“I’d like to think that’s for me to decide. Y’know, what I don’t want is your guts all over my damned floor once you’ve finally busted them stitches open because you’re too prideful to just let me in. Look at me-” Your hand gravitated towards his stubbled jaw to direct his attention to you. Gentle but firm. Those eyes of his were getting increasingly emptier than you’d ever seen them in all the time you’d known him. It was starting to scare you. 

“All the shit that happened is over and done with. We’ve been over it plenty but I don’t mind tellin’ you until it sticks in your thick skull. That was then. We’re here now. I don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow, or the next day, or within the next however many years but you’re back. I want you back. Understand that and stop doubtin’ me on it, alright?” The conviction in which you spoke struck him hard. Your eyes burned into his as if willing the words into his broken soul. He knew you meant it but he still couldn’t fathom how his worthless ass could ever be given a chance like this again to begin with. Maybe he hadn’t woken up from that coma just yet and this was some pathetic dream his mind conjured up in an effort to self-soothe. He didn’t know if it could ever feel real. He didn't know if he could have the nerve to truly accept it as if he'd ever deserve it.

“Ring the fuckin’ bell next time. Or I can haul your ass into my bed so that I can keep a more watchful eye, mister.” You flicked his chin before bringing a second hand to his jaw so that you could press a careful kiss to his hairline. 

Mister. It made his heart stumble. He hadn’t heard it in so long. 

“It woulda been stupid to wake you up for a beer.” Rust cleared his throat. He was tired of feeling so emotional lately. Everything that had transpired had ripped him open deep down to his core. Baring everything he’d worked so hard to maintain and hide for what felt like ages. In true fashion, though, none of it had made you budge an inch. 

“More stupid than makin’ a mess of my fridge and bustin’ your ass again in the proccess? Sure.” You snorted before putting everything back in its place and shutting the door. After helping him up you grabbed him a glass of water as a sad replacement to what he craved. 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you oughta not drink while your intestines are in the middle of getting back in shape. Sorry, champ.” You shrugged in poorly hidden mirth and he had no room to argue. Having you get close to move under his arm and support him as you went back to his room made up for it enough. Especially when you wordlessly made space for yourself snug by his side once he got back into bed. 

It was all done to keep a more watchful eye of course. 

[spiderpussinc]

who you mind sharing some spiderdads headcanons you have, or do "the explain your otp in 5 minutes" meme? no pressure though! i love your art and fic too

im soooooo bad at this kind of question bc i kinda love thinking about a bunch of different/concurrent options like. you know how every fic is its own universe and you watch the same steps happen with little alterations so the same guys fall in love 101 times that's my brain... HOWEVER I've been thinking a LOT about ITSV Peter/Miguel lately --

Either comic-canon based settings where he's the usual single hero in his natural habitat OR directly /before/ ITSV itself; divorced midlife crisis spider-man who's always struggling to make rent is SUCH a good spot for Peter's stakes, and it sucks how people just want to make him rich or magically the avengers solve all his problems to basically erase what makes him compelling. I think its a good choice the spidey movies do -- to make it all a lot more ground-level, without outside interference -- so he has to make the tiny decisions.

Miguel getting stranded in the past!! HOW COME THERE'S SO LITTLE STUFF ABOUT MIGUEL AND PETER MEETING IN THE PAST? Doesn't need to be ATSV plotline compliant. A macguffin gets him there, or sends him to Peter's universe, come on! The important part is having them on a ground level sandbox.

THE REAL FUN STUFF: The cheesiest stupidest meetcutes you could ever imagine. Endless possibility. Spitballing: Peter/Miguel being unaware of each other's identities and renting the same apartment because neither of them has the funds to fly solo. Peter being suddenly spooked by the appearance of a brand new edgy spider-man in the vicinity. After all these years. Miguel not knowing how much he can say because Peter's sort of convinced this is a villain ploy of some sort to fuck up his public persona.

REAL-LIFE, both of them are suspicious about the other as a Weird Fidgety Roommate type. Neither can complain much because, again, it's rent on NY. You mind or business. or not.

Maybe Alchemax doesn't even exist in this universe, tipping Miguel off that this is an alternate timeline and he's really on his own. Maybe the ruling company here is Roxxon or Future labs or whatever; there's a lot of those in comics. He kind of HAS to eventually come clean about being universe-displaced to this world's Spider-man -- Peter begrudgingly accepting that there's a second spider-guy around on the condition that Miguel isn't gonna do anything catastrophic while he's here to completely blow up Peter's image, or give J.J. Jameson fodder to attack him.

Maybe they start working together. Maybe it's a casual partnerships thing where they happen to be tracking the same shady incident and decide to wrap it up as a duo; maybe they just agree to patrol the neighborhood together on busy weeks since they just.. suspiciously... seem to be around at the same place... at the same time... overly concerned abt the same shit....

Miguel has a superhuman investment in Not Letting This World Turn into a Future Dystopic Hellhole; Peter just kind of wants to live and solve problems as they come by but these two motivations really synergize. Peter doesn't even need to ask why, just damn okay dude!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Respect!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!1!!1!

Secret Identity investigations. Secret Identity mishaps. Secret Identity fumbles. Lyla accidentally busting out that Peter Parker is Spider-man via advanced facebook voice recognition fuckery. (LOL) Hell, maybe in THIS Miguel's version of 2099 it was already revealed Peter is spider-man, after he died. How'd he die? Maybe it was a bad end. How does Miguel feel about that? About meeting with a ghost? Endless possibility.

EVEN MORE FUN STUFF: both of these guys are *SO* intensely defined by a lack of support system around their secret identities. WALLOWING in guilt. Spider-man always seems to ruin their lives, in the worst ways. They're too proud to let normal people intervene, or the ppl themselves deeply resent the fact Spider-man exists. It's fun to think of a reversal scenario where Peter/Miguel have each other's backs, can help the other dress wounds, can show up in a pinch to prevent disaster from occurring with some supervillain 10 blocks away while Peter is trying to land a new job interview as a highschool teacher or science columnist. IDK It doesn't have to be constant uphill battle to get someone else to understand why they do what they do and what the stakes are; they're the same kind of crazy.

And okay, maybe you don't want the spidersonas falling in love before their real identities do..... still VERY ripe options around for Miguel sneaking home with a limp or a really fucked up arm and his healing factor isn't nearly as good as Spider-man Prime's, so Peter is like 'WHAT the FUCK happened to you?' And even though he can tell Miguel is lying. He is not going to bust him out for it. Because he's been lying for 20+ years. Instead, Peter just takes it upon himself to teach him how to get his shit fixed. Temporary armslings and icepacks and sprays and current-time medication that is different to what Miguel is used to in the future; friendly neighborhood Peter Parker who minds his business and will not ask you if you're secretly Daredevil for Reasons but that will, however, tell you to stop blocking attacks with your fucking head. He learned this lesson earlier than most superheroes.

(The reverse scenario is still sweet! Peter's taciturn roommate who wears sunglasses indoors and is weirdly secretive about everything seeing him come home with a busted out eye and hes like damn. Do you want to split a pizza or whatever. You look like shit)

Miguel is not actually as experienced as Peter! He /could/ use the tips!!! Peter has been Spider-man ever since he was 15 years old. Miguel became Spider-man due to a freak accident at MAXIMUM 4ish years ago. Probably less. Figuring out how to do it not alone would be genuinely a good experience for him.

Miguel moe x1000 as the future man who kinda doesn't get the weird counterintuitive way things work present-time 💔 flipside; Miguel seeing the beginnings of bad future patterns like musk trying to buy twitter and deciding to take matters into his own hands. sorry this is just hilarious to me. Even if he's not beating these guys up its still awesome to imagine him as an insane ranting tech essayist who goes on hour-long takedowns of NFTs on youtube or being like GOD WE NEED VACCINES TO BE COOL AGAIN FUCKKKK

Among all of this though, I think one of the most appealing aspects of having them as an unit is that they don't have to lone-wolf shit anymore. (and they Have been lonewolfing it for SO long.) Feels good feels organic

I could go on but I need to actually write and I just... think they can be so entertaining. We don't have to be so dependent on the movie here pulling from regular superhero shenanigans Really works. They sort of complete each other. Immediate productive boost on both of their morales. Get Peter/Miguel pilled with me rn

[imdead770]

Saw you needed some requests!

How about childhood friends to lovers with Steve! (Randle) I love him so much and I don't think I've ever seen this promt for him thank you!! 💜

Steve Randle x Reader - Childhood Friends

Authors Note - I've never written anything like this, but here goes nothing. Enjoy.

• So, Steve's not the smartest, but he knows when he likes someone.

• He knew he liked you ever since you gave him a blue crayon in first grade.

• You two met in elementary school, and somehow you managed to put up with him throughout the years

• Somehow your personalities just clicked

• You two are practically joined at the hip

• Like your friends would ask to meet up and Steve would just be there

" Hey, you wanna go hang out?"

"Yeah, that sounds fu-"

"I'm comin' too!"

"How the fuck did you even get here!?"

• There was one moment when Steve realized he was attracted to you like that

• He always knew he liked you, but there was one moment where he was like "Oh shit, she's hot."

• That's whenever they had a pool party for all the freshmen.

• So he came with most of the gang, you came with your friends

• And whenever he saw you in your bikini, his jaw dropped

• When the fuck did that happen??

• Last time he checked you were in the kiddy pool with floaties on your arms

• Sure you had always been pretty, but holy shit

• The first time you realized you were smitten with him was whenever he came to you after a rumble

• His nose was busted, he had a black eye, he looked like shit.

• But for some reason, that's when it clicked.

• You were just cleaning up the blood when your brain suddenly realized

'holy shit I like this dumbass-'

• Yet neither one of you ever said anything.

• Literally everyone thinks you two would be a great couple

• I mean, it's obvious he's head over heels for you

• Only problem is that neither of you want to ruin this perfect, amazing friendship

• I mean you two have literally done everything together

• You learned to ride a bike together, you learned to read together, all of it.

• You practically share parents at this point.

• So Steve's over here like

"I dunno man, she's way out of my league"

• And you're over here all

"It's not like he likes likes me, he talks to me about all these other girls.."

• Both of your friend groups are trying to slap some sense into the two of you

• Like Steve has literally punched a guy for you??

• And you pulled a clump of hair off a girl's head for him once??

• So why are you both so fucking stupid?? It's right there??

• Eventually someone finally convinced Steve

• Probably Sodapop.

"I'm tellin' ya' Steve, she likes ya'."

"Fine, fine, I'll ask 'er."

• He had to hype himself up for a good week or two.

• Eventually he decided to tell you.

• So here you two were, hanging out and watching some romance movie that he strategically put on

"I thought you hated romance?"

"I dunno, it was in clearance."

• And since Steve is super smart, during a make-out scene he decides

'Yeah, she'd love that.'

• He thinks it's the smoothest thing ever.

"Y'know, we could be kissin' like that right now.."

• He's internally patting himself on the back, damn he was smooth.

• You look at him, thinking he's joking

• I mean you two jokingly flirt all the time, how's this any different

• But he's dead serious.

• As serious as Steve can be, at least.

"You wanna?"

• His jaw dropped right then and there.

• Yeah, he thought it was smooth, but he didn't think it was that smooth.

• He thought you'd slap him or something.

• And before he knows it, you're kissing him.

• Holy shitttttttt

• The only time he was this happy was when his boss brought chocolate cake to his night shift at DX

• You're over here screaming inside

• Because 'holy shit I'm kissing him, holy shit, holy shit-"

• Whenever you both pull away, Steve's smiling like a dumbass

• You're smiling right back at him

"Ya' got a boyfriend?"

• You just snicker, shaking your head

"Ya' want one?"

• The rest is history.

• Whenever he told the gang the story they all just shrugged

"You ain't happy for me or nothin'?"

"I mean yea, we are, but it was kinda obvious"

"We all knew you were gonna get 'er eventually, Steve."

• Once you started dating your relationship basically stayed the same

• Except you make out way more

• And now he can check you out without having to be all discreet

• Sodapop still brags that he's the reason you two are together

"I should be a matchmaker or somethin'.."

"I was gonna tell her without ya', Soda"

"You ain't gotta lie to me, Stevie. This is a safe space."

• All in all, you two are perfect together

• Like I said, somehow you two get along seamlessly.

• That movie you two watched 100% became Steve's favorite movie, by the way.

[tired-biscuit]

can we get more cute naruto headcanons🥹

of course, love. i wasn't sure if you meant naruto - the character, or naruto - the show, so i just went along with the first option 'cause i've been feeling in a nart mood lately and he's been bouncing around my brain a lot, lol. hope you like it!!

also, i actually wrote a post about naruto headcanons a long while back and that one includes various characters. you can find it here if you wish to check it out.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: fem!reader, mix of modern AU and canonverse // fluff so sweet it makes your teeth ache. naruto being a lovely friend/boyfriend/human being.

𝗡𝗔𝗥𝗨𝗧𝗢 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦

every tiktok he finds at least mildly funny, he’ll send it to you. the 99+ notifs usually come from him and him alone, and if you don't open them fast enough and react to at least half of them, he spams you over text to ‘open the fuckin app!’

wears mismatched socks all the time. usually bright, vivid colours with funky designs that peek from underneath his jeans whenever he sits down. i'm thinking happy socks type of beat.

grows hot and sweaty in his sleep, but luckily for him you’re a loyal girlfriend, so you endure it all. yes, you stay put even as he drapes his heavy arm and leg over you every night and murmurs pure gibberish into the side of your neck.

holds your hand everywhere you go. it’s not even subtle, he intertwines his fingers with your own and holds on tight. strokes your knuckles, too, and thus turns you into putty as a result.

sometimes forgets you can’t hear him speak with kurama, so whenever he zones out so out of nowhere, it’s really funny. especially if it happens in a public place, like in the middle of the street or a grocery aisle; he looks like how the windows shutting down noise sounds.

texts his kisses with ‘mwah, mwah, mwah!!!!!!’

has the ugliest picture he’s ever taken of you set as his contact photo for you. whenever he loses his phone and he asks you to call him (it happens more often than you’d think) so that he can find it, you see the caller ID and get upset. he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever.

you definitely own matching onesies (yes, even as adults.)

his sneakers always look busted af.

doesn’t like going to the hairdresser’s, but he’s more than happy to sit patiently as you cut his hair at home.

covers his ice cream in sprinkles and chocolate syrup. the thing is a nightmare to eat, but he loves it.

is very clumsy whilst eating his food, he always ruins his shirt. it drives you insane because you have to clean him up like he’s a toddler.

he yanks the covers off of you when he feels like it’s time to get out of bed and tugs you by your ankle when you try to protest as a result.

definitely a morning person.

is willing to have chapstick applied only by kisses.

never carries a backpack, he stuffs everything he owns into his pockets and if it isn’t enough, he whines until you have to put the remainder of the stuff into your bag.

is unable to take you seriously when you’re pissed off. he just finds you too cute, it’s fucking infuriating.

loves hugging you from behind.

doesn’t know how to cook, but at least he tries to help you out.

insists on showering together all the time (he’s super gentle while washing your hair, bless him.)

if you have younger siblings, he gets along with them super well. he’ll play dolls with your baby sister and will beat your little brother at every game on the console.

can’t take a decent picture to save his life. whenever you ask him to take one of you, it always ends up blurry or with the tip of his finger in the shot.

kisses you goodnight no matter the hour.

i feel like he’d make you watch the entirety of one piece with him.

has trouble focusing, but he feels very calm whenever you’re around, with his hand in your own. it’s very sweet.

so, so, so clingy. and touchy, too.

he's definitely your friend first before he becomes your boyfriend.

super nosy. if you’re gossiping over the phone with a friend, he’ll drop everything to listen in.

loves you more than you love him. it’s just how he is.

[rallamajoop]

Public Service Announcement: You can SUMMON STURM in RE8's Mercenaries mode

It is VERY IMPORTANT you know this, because:

Summoning Sturm is some of the best fun you can have

The game will not tell you about it

I mean that: Sturm's not mentioned in any of Heisenberg's in-game tutorials. If you don't know to look for it, you won't find it on youtube either. At time of writing, googling "Heisenberg" and "summon Sturm" produces all of 6 results, none of which will give you a fraction of the in-depth Sturm-appreciation material he deserves.

This is where I come in.

In brief, Sturm is Heisenberg's Soldat Jet summon (which the game will tell you about) in an alternate mode. Hit the Alt key to switch to him on keyboard, or rotate the left analog stick through 360 degrees on PS or XBOX (I think ‒ more on this to come). Then hit 'fire', and BOOM! But Sturm is so much more than a new skin for an existing attack, because while the Soldat will just charge forward and explode...

...Sturm? Sturm will stick around. He'll charge forward. He'll keep charging until he vanishes off into the distance. And then just when you've forgotten about him...

...a whole new wave of enemies that weren't even on the map when you summoned him will suddenly have an assfull of chainsaw propeller to deal with.

And then he'll explode, doing stupid amounts of damage to anything left, just for good measure.

While the Soldat is functionally just a big grenade with a little more personality, Sturm is like summoning a partner. You can even leap back into the fray yourself while he waddles around cleaning up anything he gets close to (he can't actually damage you, fortunately).

Now, don't get me wrong here: Sturm is dumb. He'll keep going in one direction until he hits a wall, and sometimes, that wall is where he stays until his timer runs out and he vanishes in a puff of explosives.

He's not great with narrow doorways either. Summon him in front of one, and he'll get stuck there like an angry environmental hazard for any fool brave enough to try and shove their way past. While enemy!Sturms can bust through thin walls and gratings, summon!Sturm cannot. If he charges off in the wrong direction, you may never see him again. Look, he's a big, dumb lump with a propeller for a face: it's a wonder he can see where he's going at all.

That said, if I've learned just one thing from my (many) attempts to beat Sturm's boss fight at harder difficulty levels, it's that this bastard can somehow hone in and target you even through a wall. And though summon!Sturm isn't so great with walls, he still has the targeting part down.

You know, mostly.

Past Evils Resident have been sometimes infamous for partner AI so bad it can make you wish you were flying solo. But Sturm? Sturm takes that slightly-shitty AI, and makes it into a feature. You can't expect consistent performance from this guy, but the low expectations mean that, on the rare occasion when he manages to get it just right, you'll find yourself sitting there with a hand on your heart and a tear in your eye, feeling just so proud.

He's not bad for comedic timing either. Like, you'll be sitting there, watching him barrel down a staircase and off to the left, thinking okay, good, just the one Soldat left for me to deal with, and then zoom...

...awww, Sturm! Nice work, buddy! Best boy! :3

Look, I got stuck on Sturm for a while when I played this game on Hardcore ‒ and he shows up as a miniboss in Mercenaries too. I have died under those horrible propeller blades more than a dozen times, and it is not a pretty way to go. I never had the least affection for this guy before I discovered you could summon him in Mercenaries.

Now? Me and Sturm are buds. I do not care that he's an undead abomination with a propeller made of chainsaws for a face. I do not care that he was the last thing poor Ethan saw before it all went dark on numerous occasions. Sturm is like the big, ugly, mildly-brain-damaged rescue mutt you brought home from the pound despite all the warnings about 'possible aggression issues' ‒ the one that gets so excited whenever you throw the ball that he loses track of it, barrels the whole way across the park, and comes back without it ten minutes later, and you'll still tell him what a good boy he is. You don't even care that he's mauled three postmen and smells like something died in your garage: he is the best boy and you love him to bits.

Now, I did mean to go on here with some how-to and advanced strategy stuff, but I think that can wait for another time. This is Sturm Appreciation Hour, and so ends this post.

[blackjackkent]

Today's the day! The sun is shining! The tank is clean!

Today we kill Enver Gortash. >:)

However, a few quick camp convos to go through first, starting with Mizora, who is NOT happy about Hector and Wyll managing to get Ulder out of the Iron Throne.

"I bet you're pleased with yourself. Saving Ravengard and making a fool out of me in a single swoop. Go on, do your gloating. You earned it."

"Damn right I did. My father is safe and my chains are broken!"

Fuck yeah. Tell her, Wyll.

Hector has been known, on very rare occasions, to bust out an absolutely devastating shit-eating grin, and this would be a particularly appropriate time for it, but tragically he has his serious face on instead and doesn't rise to Mizora's bait and taunt her.

"I'm just relieved that Grand Duke Ravengard is all right."

"Yes, celebrate your fortunes. But remember that they are lost as quickly as they are gained. For now, you've tipped the scales in your favor. But all it takes is a whisper for me to tip them back."

A smidge ominous.

"What did you mean about tipping the scales in your favor?"

"Why look for hidden meaning when the words are laid so bare? Besides, now is a time of celebration. I am sure you and Duke Ravengard have plenty to talk about."

Mizora definitely isn't out of tricks yet. Hector will be keeping a close eye on her. But she's right, whether she means to be or not - today has been a MASSIVE victory for Hector, one of the few unequivocal ones he's had in a while.

-----

Had a quick chat with Ravengard again - nothing super significant, although he was very relieved to hear that Florrick has already been rescued and didn't die to the execution sentence he gave her while controlled by the Absolute.

Wyll also had a conversation pop after a long rest, but it is definitely NOT one that is supposed to be happening in camp. XD

rofl

Wyll, I've heard of delayed reactions, but this is something else. XD

Talking to him again, though, we can ask about how he feels to be reunited with his father.

"It's complicated. There's the joy of reconciliation, the relief of forgiveness - and the anxiety of new expectation. It's a flurry of emotion. I'm not sure how to make sense of it."

It's kind of sweet - a little of Hector's old role as mentor and counselor to the youth of the monastery gets to show its face here just for a moment, letting Wyll talk out his experience and offering guidance.

"Focus on the relief. Finally, your father knows the truth."

"Relief. My last seven years have been defined by the secrets I carried. I feel light as a feather now that I've shed them. Once all this is ended, once we've crushed the brain and freed the people, I could once more call Baldur's Gate home. Whether I return there, well... only time will tell."

Hector has had similar thoughts about his old home at the monastery and whether he can or will go back, so he definitely relates to this and tells Wyll so.

[gunshou]

(it's not 500 words but I'd very much love to have a dvd-esque commentary <3)

And afterward, Rumlow would disassemble his weapon, wipe him down carefully and perform any necessary maintenance before returning him to storage, unlike the last time when Skelton had the Soldier shoved back into cryo still full of come that froze and ruptured his rectum, a bloody frothy mess the technicians discovered upon thawing later. Brock Rumlow knew how to properly care for his weapons, how to clean and oil his guns and keep his knives sharp, and maintaining the Winter Soldier would be no different. 

Rumlow was only a junior member of the team, however. Assigned to babysit and explain to the Solider how to act like a fucking human being instead of a death machine. He’d have to pay his dues for a while before he got his chance.

The asset nodded at him now, seeming to understand the implied command to hold off on dropping into his role until he was placed downstairs at the party. Again, Rumlow frowned. 

“You know, I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” he said very softly, “even if your brain’s been fried to hell and back. I think you know exactly what you’re doing most of the time. Don’t you?”

The Winter Soldier narrowed those disconcertingly bright eyes, listening to the thin thread of danger mixed with admiration in Rumlow’s voice. Assessing it for threat.

“Yeah,” Rumlow continued in that same quiet, soothing tone. “Don’t worry.” He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, because he really didn’t want his neck snapped today. “I’ll keep your secret.” Murderbot wouldn’t remember the threat Rumlow posed for longer than a couple of days anyway; once he got strapped in the chair everything would disappear for him in a blaze of electricity.

“Hey,” Skelton called, “you two done making out over there? Time to roll.” 

Rumlow raised an eyebrow and asked, “We good?” 

Yay, thank you for the ask!

To start, I swear I didn't abandon this fic. My depression has had the better of me for awhile and I've been in a creative slump. But I do have at least another few chapters planned for this fic.

I love a hyper competent Winter Soldier, but anything that isn't muscle memory is going to have to be retrained each time he gets wiped, as well as new technologies as the decades pass. He picks up on things fast -- the memories are in there, but he can't access them -- but he has to be explicitly coached to bring them out. And of course, pulling on some memory threads runs the risk of unraveling the whole thing, so it's a delicate job. The agent tasked with it has to be proven reliable, but low enough on the ladder to be expendable in case the Soldier snaps. Rumlow, recently recruited into STRIKE, fits the bill.

The idea of TWS as a weapon, particularly Rumlow's weapon like The Gun, comes to me from SubverbalDreams and itallstartedwithdefenestration. They have a way of writing Winterbones that's codependant and wonderfully warped, and I really wanted to explore that vibe more.

I think it's easy for HYDRA to characterize TWS as stupid and obstinate: he's not chatty, shows no clear personality, and fresh out of cryo or the Chair he's a dazed and barely responsive wreck. But in the field, he's fucking terrifying. He kills precisely and relentlessly, and he does. Not. Stop. until the mission ends. His squad is trained to support him, but also to keep their guns trained on him, like he's a barely tamed bear they've collared and make dance in a circus. So they dehumanize him further and mock him to alleviate their terror of him. That shows up in the repeated rapes and in this case, a deliberate breach of storage protocol that caused just enough damage to agonize the Soldier on thawing without hopelessly compromising his ability to complete his mission.

Rumlow sees that shit as petty, and it irritates him. TWS is this perfectly crafted deadly weapon, one of a kind (as far as they know), and these dipshits scratch the paint and bust up the engine just to prove they can in some sort of pissing contest. And for what? It's not like the Soldier will react or retaliate: he can't.

Except Rumlow's not stupid. Rumlow is fascinated by the Soldier and has studied everything he can get access to on the man. And Rumlow has noticed that handlers who repeatedly abuse the Soldier tend to have a higher than normal chance of ending up dead. It's nothing obvious, and no evidence can be traced back to the Soldier even circumstancially, but still. The statistics paint a frightening picture there.

Except Rumlow isn't frightened; he's gleeful he figured it out and impressed that the Soldier is even more capable and crafty than HYDRA suspects... and completely, thoroughly responsive to his handler's will. That's a lot of power for one person to hold. Here's this devastating force of death held on the thinnest of leashes, and god, does Rumlow want to be the one holding that leash.

What could he accomplish for HYDRA's world order if he had total control over the Fist? What would it feel like to know the most dangerous assassin on Earth would follow his orders and protect him with his life?

All Rumlow needs to do is earn the Soldier's trust and he'll have TWS eating out of his hand. And earning his trust begins with a calculated risk: saying he suspects and respects the Soldier's intelligence, and then keeping that between them. The Soldier won't explicitly remember the conversation, but some part of him will recognize Rumlow next time they meet.

And when Rumlow has the Soldier's complete trust, when the Weapon fits perfectly to Rumlow's hand, his place in HYDRA will be secured.

[chryblossomjjk]

bts fic recommendations | 01.31.23

→ hi friends! this is a little segment i do every tuesday (reviewsday get it, aren’t i funny, pls tell me how funny i am) where i read and review two-three fics. as a content creator, i know how big of a role other creators play in your growth, therefore, i want to do my part in making sure everyone gets the recognition they deserve! so with that being said, please check out the amazing fics listed below. make sure to like, reblog, and leave feedback! ♡ #reviewsday #kikirecs

busted (pt 1 + pt 2) - @btsgotjams27 (jjk x reader | married au, parents au, smut)

summary: your husband comes home with a new gift and you’re not happy with it.

oh.... this is wholesome

im usually partial to girl dad koo but i've been looking at his bby pictures lately and he was so cute ugh :'( picturing two lil kooks is killing me (also i see where u got the inspo teehee v cute jess)

also he's such a lil shit pls like he knows what he's doing being such a slut and avoiding the conversation !!! we love him for it !!!

this is my fav style of writing by the way. like when the reader is just dropped into a slice of the character's lives and you figure them out based on the context clues. like the fact that kook's mom died is such a small detail here but it adds so much to the world. you did so well with seamlessly dropping tidbits and making it natural, not an easy thing to do!!! but you did it so so so well in this!!

him licking his fingers clean after wearing her pussy like a ring had me

dad jk putting it the fuck downnnnnn on that bathroom counter SHEESH IM SWEATING!!! also the baby interrupting right before the nut is peak wholesome content lmao!! and the way you incorporated the title TWICE PLS A GENIUS AND THIS WAS SO INCREDIBLY HOT and i would love to see more of this lil family :') &lt;3

i want to be with you - @oddinary4bts (pjm x reader | idol au, s2l, f2l, fluff, slight angst, smut)

summary: moving to seoul has always seemed like a good idea, until the bubble bursts when you realize your new neighbor is park jimin, and he's not the sweet angel you've always imagined him to be. will the reality of park jimin forever be a nightmare, or will he turn into a sweet dream?

first of all this is just what i needed um what is fanfic if not a vehicle to live out your daydreams anywho... something about moving to a big city and finding love is so fairytale-ish and magical and uGh. the more of these i do the more im starting to think we're all the same bc I RELATE SOME MUCH TO OC GTFO!! and that introduction made me so attached to her because there almost this childlike nature about her?? maybe childlike is the wrong wording but she has so much excitement and ambition, looks to the future with so much hope despite everything that she's been through. yeah. love her dearly will protect at all costs. and the way you contrasted this intro with the intro to the present day to show how now its not a daydream anymore n shes actually dealing w the reality of starting n moving somewhere new *chefs kiss*

"Sometimes, you wondered if faith existed. If there was a bigger plan to the universe, something written for you already that you couldn’t really escape from. It was the thought that crossed your mind as the doors finished moving, and a dark-haired boy – man – stared at you as you just stood there, mouth falling open."

god if theres one thing my communications major literature minor loves its this !!!! foreshadowing !!! like idk this paragraph just tickled my brain in the right way. it really is so beautiful. one of those that you look back on on a second read and smile because it means so much more and aged even better. truly stellar writing.

ALSO BRO THIS OC IS LEGIT MEEEE LIKE HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO LIVE OUT MY CLUELESS Y/N WHO HAS NO IDEA WHO BTS IS AND IS MYSTERIOUS AND NON-INTERESTED WHEN I HAVE A WHOLE TATTOO DEDICATED TO PARK JIMIN LMAO THE CHIMMY KEYCHAIN TOOK ME OUT BYE!!

"You expected his features to have that same disgusted scowl he always reserved for you, but his brows fell, as if he was ashamed, or perhaps sad."

"It was so human you found you had to look away."

and then just the pull towards eachother like this connection was legit fated was so fucking good. them taking care of eachother when they're drunk. hangover fucking soup :'). and then after everything with collin and jimin's spiraling they really needed eachother. like the stars aligned to set this pair up and its so comforting to read. BUT LIKE THE SLOWBURN MADE IT FEEL SO SO EARNED. AND THE WAY YOU ENDED IT WITH THE TITLE I COULD FUCKING SCREAM!!! so so so good. thank you for taking the time to write and share this masterpiece on the platform, you've made it sm better with this beautiful addition :') friends do not walk, RUN to read this.

[gravehags]

I was meant to do a gallery install yesterday afternoon but we had a bunch of issues and couldn't finish it so now I have to go in on my day off and I've spent all day rotting in bed because my brain told me I couldn't start anything else lmao I requested three full days off this week so I could actually clean my apartment and I'm so annoyed at myself for even bothering because I know I'm not gonna be able to do anything now

that’s fair and you’ve been busting your ass so it’s okay to give yourself rest!!!

[feely-touchy]

In the motel in my mind

The rusted bell at the front counter is busted

But the bellhop doesn't show up anyway

So nobody ever bothers to replace it

Though there's talk among the maids

They say they saw his body in a closet

It doesn't seem to matter much

Nobody quits or takes the job too serious

They do just enough

Cleaning up

To keep the place running for the roaches

Maybe they'll wash a spot or two

Or sweep the floor a bit if they're already holding onto a broom

But they're not the type to ever be inconvenienced

So the secret stains on the sheets

Never once have feared the bleach

The way that a clean body might dread the bed come time to sleep

Or fear the memory foam underneath

as it oozes while it squishes

Or the knocking on the door

So hard and loud it shakes a screw loose from its hinges

In the motel in my mind

The knife on the bedside table replaces Gideon's Bible

The pink light from outside

The only escape from the night

Casts a shadow on the wall of two hulking witches

With ram's horns and bat's wings

16 tails of cobra snakes

Each one looking to unravel a lifetime of stitches

Stepping hoof-first through the window

They call me scarecrow

With hay for brains and a newspaper heart

I hear black feathers behind them flapping

Cackling

But I've been trapped here like this many times before

And I'm not so dumb as to do nothing about it anymore

So I ask who they really are inside

Before grabbing at the knife

Running over and cutting them open

Letting their entrails spew

Digging out their eyes

Scooping out their brains

Just like Halloween

"Underneath it all

You were gutless

You were nothing"

In the motel in my mind

There is a room I keep but I don't like

Where the demons coming for me must go hunting

Reading the bloody writing on the walls

like a crossword

Searching for what's missing

Before their ragged heads each fall

Always dreaming they can take my life before I find them

But they only have until the black dogs of the alleys outside start their barking

and the alley cats that can't come home yowl bloody murder

Still they don't let me get to bed

Surrounded by the long dead

Scared to death that at any moment their corpses could start walking

I want to burn the whole place down

Along with the ghost town

Have a shopping center built where it stood like normal people do

But until I find a way

I try to salt the wound

[studiousbotanist]

the second somebody clocks in u can't tell then 8 things at once, ask them to do a task RIGHT NOW, actually no somebody else is doing it so let's continue another favor, HANG ON no you DO need to go do that task Right Now . but wait "I still need to tell you more stuff ." spell of blows up my brain immediately .

I've been struggling to get all my regular stuff done and now that the meat in the meat cooler is All Located (very good for counts and numbers !!) I do have more to do now (not the worst) but my routine has been messed up cause while I was getting everything done really well but I would get down to the wire w my pulls , they said they want my pulls done sooner/faster . which has broken my routine and has fucked me bad LOL .

I'm still doing what I was before but now I'm getting the Panic . which wears me out faster . I dont understand why you'd push somebody who's already getting everything done well . and well if they ask me what's up I'm gonna tell them that busted my routine in 20 pieces . cus mine you I've been 430 to 10 now, so I lost an hour of work And I've been needing to clean up morning crew stuff . and to be honest I've been more anxious than usual and my time bljndness has really been getting me !

[datadegroove]

i guess my generic point is that i see a lot of plans for change in this country. democrats, republicans, anarchists, socialists, conservatives, liberals, blah blah blah blah blah blah. i see a lot of outrage over things that occur. over the rights of workers. a lot of these discussions of rights are limited on the things that are most visible or that have a certain cleanness or prestige to them. actors, game makers, animators, people who work at starbucks, that kind of thing. but i never seem to hear anyone talking about these things that have affected this branch of society. in particular, never at my own job, or any of the jobs that i've ever held (and i've held a lot of shitty blue collar jobs). the amount of times i've almost been killed or horribly injured probably far exceeds the average person's. and if it happens to me you can take my experience and probably extend it to anyone i've ever worked with. every single one of these jobs has been pointless. over expensive products to be sold to dumb consumers. overpriced "smart" beds, overpriced food, overpriced and overdesigned windows, the gas that gets put into your fountain drink (just sell fucking bottles of soda for christ's sake), delivering newspapers (a worthless waste of trees), etc., etc., so on and so forth. and there really is this like magic quality that people think people like me have. i had a conversation with my mom that caused me to realize the kind of global issue with this whole thing. she was like "not everybody can do what you do". and it's like. the divine right of kings or something to people in this world. there's a magic quality to being a "hard worker" or a "skilled laborer" or whatever bullshit term you want to use. you have an ability that other people don't have. well let me tell you, i don't have any abilities. i just show up and do what i'm told to do, get paid and go home. anyone can drive a truck. it's not that complicated. BUT if you're attempting to justify the awful things that are happening to you, or your kid, or your friend, or your brother or WHATEVER, then having a magic quality that makes you better than other people even though you're being "put down by the man" sounds like a really good way to justify that in your brain. and it's like great. i'd rather have the magical quality that makes it so that i can easily to afford to move an hour away after a year's worth of busting my ass. or the magical quality that enables me to buy a car made sometime in the last 10 years. or the magical quality that gets me health insurance that pays for me to get contact lenses - i'll even take glasses that are completely paid for by my health insurance. but i don't have that quality apparently. i only have the quality that makes me the perfect slave. i guess what i'm asking is that anyone reading this kind of start to think about how they interpret labor in this world, and how they view the steps that got whatever it is they own or enjoy. every. single. thing. that exists - a person who works in manual labor was partially responsible for. and probably a higher percentage of that product exists because of them rather than not. in this way, i do think there is an internal bias that has to be worked on for there to be change, and it's not always about the super big news-worthy stories

[weministertomonsters]

Piper And The Vampire

This (unfinished as per usual) story is 3.5k words long and heavily inspired by the Interview with The Vampire TV series, but whether that's obvious... Probably not.

─────────────── · · · · ✦

I was in a world of trouble that all began because one boy couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. But all stories have to start at the beginning if they are going to make any sense, so that's where we'll begin.

I was eleven when my father fell from his horse and got his head smashed in. He didn't last long, nobody can when your brain is turned to a pink pudding and won't stay in your head where it should be. I was the unlucky one who found him, and he was still moaning in the ditch with flies all buzzing around. I ran home, hollering the entire way.

"Mumma, it's Papa!" I yelled, crashing right into the kitchen.

She smacked her floury hands on her apron. "Where he at? Coming home from the bar? Still there and fighting again?"

"No, he's in the ditch. His head's all crumpled like a pumpkin someone forgot in the cellar."

She looked grim and vaguely sick like I had told her I'd found someone's cow sickening in the woods. "Good Lord help us," she said, picking up her skirt till I could see her brown shins.

She greased her legs and arms every morning with shea butter, and her skin shone as a result. She wasn't white-skinned and golden-haloed like the angels in the Big Church windows, but she was my angel. Tall, imperious, and often untouchable. Now she ran down the worn road leading from our cabin to the rest of the village. I followed her but she said over her shoulder, "Call the Doctor."

"I've already seen him, Mumma! Can't unsee that," I protested, eager to be a big girl.

"In case there's saving in him yet," she responded in a flurry of movement, disappearing down the hill.

Satisfied my Mumma wasn't trying to shield me from any perceived horror, I ran to get the Doctor. He didn't live far because, in such a small town, one person's backyard was another person's front yard. Even our house, which was considered "out of the way", was still visible from the middle of the town.

I could hear the Doctor say, "Geez, Louise, can't a man eat his supper in peace?" to his housekeeper as I thumped up the stairs and past the cocker spaniel on the porch and busted in through the grand blue door.

"The devil doesn't stop his deeds for anyone, Doctor Carney." She replied, sensible as always, turning to me. "Now, what's wrong Miss Piper?"

"My Papa's hurt real bad. I don't think he gon' make it but Mumma said I should call you," I heaved and gasped for air.

Despite complaining seconds ago, Doctor Carney practically flew off his chair with nothing but his case of medical things which was always within reach, looking like a hero in a comic book as he leaped on his horse that was also waiting in the yard at almost any given hour. I watched from the window, guilty about feeling excited. Or was it fear that tightened my ribcage and caused my heart to thrash in its cage of bone? I couldn't tell.

"A glass of water, Miss Piper? You look like you ran the whole way here."

I gulped down the water, relishing the slightly sweet taste. I thought it was almost as good as the stream early in the morning, the same cool and clean-tasting stuff.

"I should go back," I said but Mrs. Louise put a hand on my shoulder. "Now, how about you stay on? It's getting dark out there and I don't want you walking home alone."

I could tell it was because she didn't want me to see my father in his current state. I was going to tell her that I'd been the first to see him and there was no use keeping me but she brought a tall glass of milk and a plate laden with sticky brownies from the kitchen. I forgot to say thank you for the treat and that thought would keep me up for a long time later that night. When Doctor Carney came back, it was with a wagon borrowed from the Smiths and I knew this because of the streak of black going up one side. The oldest son of the Smiths had started a fire for fun and it got out of control and almost took the wagon with it.

My Mumma jumped out the back as soon as it stopped. She had been crying so it didn't take much else to know that my father hadn't made it. She wouldn't have cried otherwise. There my Papa was, tucked in the back of the wagon and wrapped in a musty sack. His shoes stuck out over the top because he was taller than the sack was wide.

"I'm sorry," Doctor Carney said awkwardly as he dismounted, and the way he said it made it unclear whether he was expressing sympathy or apologizing for wrapping my father in a feed sack.

"So, he's dead," I said somberly. "What we gon' do for bread now?"

Mrs. Louise looked a little appalled at that, glancing in uncertainty at my Mumma who laughed in an odd, wet way and hugged me tightly.

"It's the shock," she said. "She'll be bawling her eyes out tomorrow."

"I will not! I like my eyes," I retorted but my Mumma was already pulling me away.

"The wagon, Mrs. Maarten?" Doctor Carney said, showing up after he'd hauled my father off someplace.

The cellar perhaps; kids always rumored that the dead bodies shared the cellar with his milk, potatoes, and preserves because it was the only place cold enough to keep them for burial. No one else had a cellar or those that had one didn't want dead bodies in it.

"I'll come for the wagon tomorrow," she replied over her shoulder. "If the Smiths need it now, that's too bad."

"Are you sure walking alone in the dark is fine? We can always send the manservant along with you," Mrs. Louise called after us.

"It's not the works of man I'm afraid of but the work of the devil," Mumma retorted.

"Mumma, you making yourself sound weird," I complained.

"I've seen what happens in the dark and this ain't nothing yet, my dear," she responded.

That was my first hint that she thought something else other than a horse had happened to my father.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

I had been right to worry about bread. As bad a father as mine had been, he at least brought a loaf of bread home when he came home from work. That way, even if we had nothing but stale bread and watery milk to go with it, we still had something to eat. Money doesn't come cheap and it doesn't grow on trees, so Mumma had to go and find work. The first week consisted of her leaving early in the morning, coming home worn to the bone, and shaking her head in defeat.

Right when the pantry was scraped clean and things were beginning to feel desperate, she came home on a Saturday evening with a strange glow in her eyes and a pocketful of cinnamon hard candy.

"I've got a job, Piper," she declared, dividing the candy between us. "Things gon' look up now."

"When do you start?" I asked.

"Monday and it'll be long hours. Will you be able to take care of yourself?"

"Heck, I've been cooking and cleaning since I was nine, Mumma. I can handle it. 'Sides, I'll be at school most of the day myself," I ducked the incoming swat for cussing and felt very grown up and independent.

The first week was a slow one. Mumma didn't get her first pay until Friday and had to buy from the general store on credit. She hated doing that and so she bought the absolute minimum; bread and milk. On Sundays, we might get invited to a friend's house for dinner, and there I would gorge myself on potatoes and chicken, and cornbread. After school, I had another three hours to pass before Mumma came home and I was left to my own devices. I'd usually play with the dolls I made of straw and old strips of cloth and eat doorstep-thick slices of chewy bread with a dollop from the last jar of preserves.

One day she came home with something all wrapped up. The pantry was now truly empty and all I'd had for breakfast was the end of the loaf with the last glass of milk. My stomach felt like it was turning inside out to start digesting my other organs.

"Did ya get a gift of potatoes from the Sir?" I asked excitedly, spotting the package. "We having potatoes for dinner?"

"Hush up. It ain't no potato. It's a baby." She gently pulled back the cloth so I could see what I'd thought was the tops of a bunch of potatoes was instead a skinny baby.

In light of my crushed hopes, I wasn't exactly welcoming. "Well, kinda looks like a potato to me."

"Piper. Mind your tongue now."

"But it does!" I insisted. "Brown and wrinkly and half-starved looking. Like a dud potato. How did you find a baby anyhow?"

"I ain't having your attitude today," she sighed and walked inside.

"It ain't attitude!" I hollered back, miffed but repentant. "I'm starving is all."

I knew I'd finished the milk that morning. What was she going to feed it? Was it her or him? I was too distracted by the dull thunder in my stomach to care. The baby began to cry and I sat on the porch and listened to Mumma try to hush it up, thinking of how hungry I was.

After a couple of minutes, I went inside. Mumma was changing the baby's diaper.

"It stinks in here," I announced.

"This poor thing was by the roadside in a saddle blanket," Mumma said in a hushed voice because she had finally got the baby to settle. "Hungry with a wet diaper. No one in sight. I have no idea what happened."

"So, what we gon' do for food? The baby needs to eat too."

"I got paid today. Would you run by the store? With any luck, Gran-Mae will still be open and you can buy us something. Two cans of milk for the baby and whatever else looks good for us. You just be sensible, okay? Don't come back with your pockets filled with nothing but candy," Mumma said.

I took the gold coins with a whistle and skipped out the door, biting down on one just like a shopkeeper who wanted to make sure their gold was real. For the six minutes or so it took me to get down the hill to the general store, I felt rich and pretended that I was heading down into town to buy a fine horse. Black with white socks, like Doctor Carney's horse.

Gran-Mae was on the small porch of her store, sweeping dirt out of the cracks in the floorboards with a short stick broom. She could bend well for her age and her backside pointing at me looked like the rump of a friendly cow.

"Gran-Mae? You still open?" I called.

"Now if it isn't Piper Maarten!" She hooted, straightening up and bracing her hand on her back. "I'm closing up, but you come on in."

She bustled through the doors she hadn't locked yet. Lucky that, because she had more than three padlocks on that door and it would have taken forever to open them up because they were all damaged by the rain and rustier than the gates of hell.

It was like stepping into a cluttered heaven that smelled of so many good, heavy scents. I sniffed as quietly as I could manage and caught scents of maple syrup and soap, brown sugar and earthy potatoes, and baby carrots. The oily block of cheese on the counter wafted enticingly in my face, so close I could just lean over and chomp into it.

But the real exciting part was Gran-Mae's candy jar. It had caramel twists and cubes of cinnamon hard candy and bulbs of cherry chew squished next to tacky peppermints, a chaotic jumble of colors that was a feast to my eyes.

Gran-Mae used to give free candy out to the kids, especially when they had gotten hurt. She had to stop when five-year-old Vernon Akson down the street figured jumping off the roof of his parent's barn last summer to get hurt bad would earn him a mountain of candy. Even Mumma and I could hear his screams and he never walked quite right after that.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"You come here, child, and I'll nail your head!" I growled. "What you been doing in the kitchen?"

"I ain't eating anything!" Willy yelled back, scampering to the porch and making a dash for the oak tree out front.

"Then why are the pie toppings lookin' skimpy?" I retorted. "Get outta the tree, Willy."

We ended up keeping the baby. Not sure how, but Mumma got a little extra money from the Sir to care for the brat. Maybe she asked. A little extra always goes a long way and with some candy, I was bribed into grudging acceptance of the baby who had quickly grown into the most impulsive, excitable seven-year-old I'd ever known. With Mumma working, I became a mother of sorts, something I didn't think I was cut out for.

At fifteen now, I was wiry and taller than most of the girls in my class and felt as much out of place with them as I looked. I could always hang with the boys though because even my skirts couldn't get in the way of my love of climbing. However, Sundays sure did. Dressed in my nicest brown skirt, there was no way I could go climbing after Willy without ripping it.

"Willy," I sighed. "We gon' be late if you carry on."

"You ain't whippin' me no more?" He asked hopefully, coltish limbs wrapped around the branch he was clinging to.

"Nah, there ain't enough time. Come down and get dressed. Mumma is gon' be here any moment with the Sir."

Willy shimmied down the trunk and thumped onto his feet. "Why is he coming anyway? I ain't never seen a Sir go to church."

"They do, they just go the big fancy one in the city yonder," I said as we went inside to wash up.

"Have you ever been to the city, Piper?" Willy asked, standing on an old apple crate to reach the wash basin so he could splash his face.

"Once, when I was real small, my Papa and I rode on his horse to the top of Windcreak Hill and I saw the city from there. It was half-dark and all the fancy lights were sparkling like fallen stars. Only got to see that once though, because afterward he started drinking and couldn't ride straight," I said, dragging the brush through my curls to try and force it all into a bun. "Then Mumma said I couldn't ride with him no more."

"Shame, I want to see the city too."

"It's nearly half an hour to Windcreak Hill on a horse. Your legs won't get you there and back in time for dinner even if you went at the lick of daylight," I said in what I figured was a kindly tone. "You need to wear a bow."

"But I wanna see the city!" Willy whined, enchanted by my description of it.

"When I get me a horse, I'll take you," I promised. "But only if you're good. Now let's find you a tie."

I went into the room he and Mumma shared to see if I could find one. Through the dusty window, I saw a fine carriage coming up the way. That had to be Mumma and the Sir.

My thoughts were interrupted by a splash and the splatter of water from the kitchen.

"What you did now?" I demanded, hurrying in.

"I was trying to brush my hair and the crate broke!" Willy said indignantly. "Wasn't my fault."

"At least you didn't tip everything in the basin," I mumbled, nudging him to the side and hastily throwing a dishcloth on the water. "We gotta go."

"But I'm bleeding," he fussed.

I checked his lip. "It ain't too bad. Suck it up."

Willy skipped out the door. "Come see, Piper! The Sir has a fine carriage horse," he said in his squeaky voice.

"Hush up or he'll hear you," I muttered.

The Sir came out first and offered a gloved hand to Mumma who took it graciously, trying not to titter. She looked mighty fine in her new silk dress and idly I wondered if she and the Sir were getting together or something. No way she bought that herself.

"Ready, children?" Mumma called.

The Sir stopped in front of us, his pink lips under his blond mustache dimpling into a small smile which slipped into a frown as he looked from me to Willy.

"Mon Dieu," he said. "Your lip."

"Banged it on the wash basin," Willy said, puffing up like he thought it was tough and cool to have a bloody lip.

"Most unfortunate," the Sir said, holding out his white handkerchief, which had a lacy edge just like a lady's handkerchief.

I groaned inwardly as Willy took it and smeared his blood and saliva on the cloth before trying to hand it back. The Sir laughed once and I snatched the cloth.

"I'll wash it and return it to you, Sir," I said with a curtsy.

"Oh, no need! I have plenty of those. Throw it away. Now, shall we?" He said, gesturing to the carriage.

In that high-up and big wheeled carriage, it didn't take long to get down to the church. Despite that, we were still a few minutes late, just enough that everyone was gathered in the churchyard and greeting each other.

"Nah," I said, shrinking back in my chair. "Everyone's gonna be looking."

"Piper," Mumma said, her eyes as brown as burnt brownies and her tone dry with a sharp warning edge.

Don't embarrass me in front of the Sir, her gaze said, it's an honor to sit in his carriage.

And it was, but all I was thinking about was how everyone would talk about us later. The girls at school would crowd around me asking questions and all the boys would make lame jokes. And the old folk would talk smack about Mumma over their Tuesday cards. Crickets, just the thought gave me a hot chill.

"You will never blend in, Piper. Best to learn that now," the Sir said bluntly, looking at me like he had guessed what I was thinking.

Looking at him straight on, I realized his hair came down to his shoulders, tucked coyly behind his ears to keep it from falling into his eyes. Something about him bugged me. Perhaps the hair or the way he sat, or his ability to deliver a rude line like that with a smile on his face. I rose to the challenge of that innocent smile.

"Neither will you, Sir. Respectfully saying, everyone is gonna talk about you and your fine horse and carriage and girly hair."

"Piper!" Mumma hissed.

The Sir laughed. "Let the girl speak, Marilyn. Honest opinions are so hard to come by these days."

"Marilyn? You call my Mumma by her first name? What's she to you?" I demanded.

Willy squirmed in his seat, impatient to get out and play.

I couldn't stand the Sir's lofty attitude and Mumma's cattle brand-hot gaze, so I threw the door open and stumbled out into the sunshine. I hadn't realized how dark the carriage had been with its draped windows.

"Now if it ain't the Maartens!" Pastor Wilkins said, walking towards us with his fat black Bible tucked under his arm.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the Sir, though. He just stood and stared, as I'd expected. I edged to the side and waited with bated breath to see what would happen. I hoped Pastor Wilkins would tell him to leave. The Sir smiled and tilted his head up to the sky for a moment.

"Such a sunny day isn't it? It surely livens the senses."

"Indeed," Pastor Wilkins drawled, having recovered from seeing a white Sir in his mainly dark-skinned congregation. "You from Gaines by any chance?"

"The grand city, yes of course," the Sir said. "Shall we?"

"Welcome to our little town, in that case," Pastor Wilkins said.

Then he walked inside with him and that was that. I arched my eyebrows. Somehow, that interaction had gone differently than I expected. I had been waiting for a polite but brutally suspicious Pastor Wilkins because I knew that man was like a guard dog around strangers, but Pastor Wilkins only seemed happy to have a rich Sir in his pews.

Disappointed, I drifted inside. Only later would I realize that the unquestioned acceptance of the Sir was just a precursor for what was to come.