#this is a rat sticker me and my friends send each other as like 'i know uve had a bad day take this rat'

[petvles]

YOUR TAGS IM FUCKING DYING LMAO

Gfhdhdhshdhsj i couldnt help myself <3

Heres a little cardinal rat for your troubles :D

[sicsidsimp666]

MAGGOTS! MAGGOTS! LOOK LOOK! ITS A CARE PACKAGE FROM @dysphorie

Okay so like I am so sorry for this being so late! This came in the mail forever ago! I've just been so busy! BUT MY FRIEND ORDERED @dysphorie 's SLIPKNOT COLORING BOOK! So in the picture above the ONLY thing she paid for was the coloring book BUT LOOK AT ALL THE GOODIES THAT CAME WITH!!!

Here is a picture of just specifically EXTRA ITEMS!!! And hang tight I'm going to go through a review of everything! But I just want to say thank you so much @dysphorie for putting all this effort into her order for my birthday gift! It was already going to be spectacular when she ordered it, but when I actually got it I was blown away by the level of care everything was packaged and the personalization of everything sent!

So obviously the most anticipated item first: the coloring book and colored pencils. WOW THE QUALITY OF THE PAPER IS AMAZING. SO THICK AND DELICIOUS AND CAN TAKE MY SHADING LAYERS FROM MY PRISMAS!!! WE LOVE TO SEE IT!!! Every picture is unique, and there are varying styles in the book that make it so fun and interesting. It never gets dull as you go through the pages. It is also true to it’s name that it is an activity book, there are some draw in your own stuff, and other activity book games with areas to color, too on the same page (because if you are like me, drawing your own things stresses you out so there are other things to do on those pages). Overall you can tell the level of care that @dysphorie put into this true work of art is noticeable to even those who aren’t Slipknot crazed (as proven by my boyfriend who likes the band, but isn’t crazy like me. But he thought the book was just so cool and was envious that I said I am the only person who gets to touch it because I am a perfectionist and I can not WAIT to spend hours on each page). The colored pencils were a very nice touch! I will not be deceitful, I have been an artist for a long time so I have my own colored pencils that I use that are for blending and that I like. HOWEVER THIS WAS SOMETHING THAT WAS INCLUDED FOR FREE THAT DID NOT HAVE TO BE INCLUDED!!! And is great for those who might not have their own preferred colored pencils. Or if you have your own, guess what you got a free pack of colored pencils that you can use some other way!!! 

On to: THE FUCKING EXTRA SID PINS THAT JUST MADE MY HEART MELT. Okay so if you don’t already know Toad loves Sid, and then you put Sid on a little thing that I can touch, wear, and hang up, it very much so pleases the little crow brain Toad has. They are currently hanging up in my room because I am scared to death of it falling off somewhere. So I can just stair at the little rat for hours. JUST TO CLARIFY AGAIN, I DID NOT PAY FOR THE PINS @dysphorie INCLUDED THOSE FOR FREE. And the fact that they were all Sid ones (except one Slipknot band logo one) proves that she knows her people in her fandom and goes the extra mile to send them their favorite of the nine screaming men.  

Next: the stickers!!! We love stickers. Especially FREE stickers. And it gets even better when they are FUN stickers. So I got two very cool Bone Sugar stickers, which if you ever catch Toad in the wild they are on my laptop so then you can know that you have caught Toad in the wild. @dysphorie also gave me a swaggy tooth sticker which I very much like because its a great conversation piece and very much so a work of art. AND TWO FREE JIM STICKERS UNBELIVABLE. JUST ABSOLUTLY TOO GOOD TO BELEIVE! But none the less, they are there. One in color, that is so pretty, a soft fluffy Jimbo. And another a black and white sticker of the print she sent me, which is the next item. 

FREE JIM PRINT AND VERY COOL COFFIN PRINT OF ORIGINAL ART: Okay so this was just the cherry on top of this birthday order, because this is art. That was given to me for free. Many of us have forgotten the value that art holds with modern society, and I am not going to yell at those who have forgotten it, but I am going to ask that they take an opportunity to consider that someone in the world had to spend time to create it. With nothing promised, they carved out of their timeline precious hours that they are not going to get back. As we all know, everyone dies, everyone has a time limit so to speak, so the fact that someone created something for others to enjoy by giving up something that not even money can buy makes it art. And that is what makes art something so profound from so many angles. So I want to say thank you personally @dysphorie for letting me have the pleasure of enjoying art that you created with minutes of your own life. Both prints are very high quality paper, and are stiff so they came to me in great condition. They are also now both hanging up on my walls next to the Slipknot stickers and album picture from the We Are Not Your Kind vinyl. Very much so completes the look. 

The final thing, but certainly not the least THE FREE FUCKING GOOGLY EYES: Oh holy fuck how this breathed life back into me. It is something small. It is something that most people would ask why? But for Toad I said, “holy fuck I want to put these on my boyfriend’s nipples.” And I did. and then we died for laughter. So much joy from such a tiny item. So 10/10. 

Overall this was way more than I expected to get, and I can not express enough how much I love it and how much joy it brought me. I would highly, highly, recommend buying from @dysphorie. This is not the first time I have purchased something from her, and just like the last times, I am so happy that I did! 

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet ugly asks, 18 with the ot4? nsfw, if possible? thanks

Here you go! It is indeed NSFW.

18: we were just introduced at a party by our mutual friend and when my partner comes to join us, you freak out because you were just outside making out with them and you pull me aside to tell me

“Duck! Over here!” Aubrey waves him through the crowd, pointing to the lumberjack lookalike next to her, “this is the guy I was telling you about. Barclay’s an old friend of Dani's and, get this, he and Indrid know each other too. Wait, where is mr. mothman?” Aubrey cranes her neck.

“He had to work a late shift, but he says hi. Literally” He fumbles his phone, “fuck, sorry, first thing to go when I’ve been drinkin is my coordination.” He eventually triumphs, showing them the photo of Indrid, silver hair tied back and Void the Rat perched on the sleeve of his ‘Waffle House’ shirt. The sticker on the photo says “Hi!”

“Aww” Barclay’s voice is the epitome of gentle giant, “he always wanted a rat. I’m glad he got one.”

“Whelp, now that I got you two talking, I’m gonna go spend some ‘quality time’ with my girlfriend.”

“Just don't get caught makin’ out in a closet again.” Duck calls. Aubrey flips him off with a smile.

“So how did you and Indrid--oh, there you are babe. Thought you mighta snuck out to take a work call.”

“No, just had to de-escalate a shoving match on the back porch. I know you love Jake, but maybe next time we should just have him over rather than coming to the kind of party we outgrew in undergrad. I’m discovering I don’t enjoy being under the influence in this kind of cramped party anymore."

“Yeah, not really loving the noise. I lose my voice enough in the kitchen. Duck, this is my boyfriend, Joseph. Joseph, this is Duck, he’s a friend of Dani and Aubrey’s.”

Duck crunches his cup as his mind takes a violent spin an hour into the past.

He’d been out on the side deck getting some air and sipping his beer when a guy who looks like he walked in from the set of some splashy T.V show where everyone is hot joined him. His lips looked damn good whenever he sipped his beer and Duck did his best to turn on the southern charm. It was sort of working, until he complimented the guys button up; it was covered in drawings of cryptids--including mothman, Indrid’s favorite--and fit him in the way that made Duck want to rip the buttons off with his teeth. As soon as he demonstrated his enjoyment of listening to a hot guy talk about monsters, the taller man moved gradually closer, bumping shoulders and locking eyes with growing boldness. When Duck said the song booming out of the house was his go-to for putting the moves on someone, the other man asked to see his technique.

They spent the next three songs in the darkest corner of the porch, Duck’s back pressing into metal slats as his new friend wove his fingers into his hair and teased their tongues together with an experts touch.

When Duck breathlessly asked if he wanted to go somewhere more private, he murmured, “Only after we’ve had a chance to talk about some things.”

Then his phone buzzed and he was gone, leaving Duck horny and tipsy under the stars.

Back in the present, he does everything possible to keep from meeting Joseph’s eyes as he mumbles, “I, uh, I, I need some help with somethin in the kitchen? Fuck, yeah, kitchen, Barclay can you come help?”

“Sure. Be right back, babe.”

The kitchen is packed with people doing ill-advised things with drinks, so Duck keeps Barclay in the hall as he whispers, “Man, I, I’m so fuckin sorry but I gotta say somethin’. Joe and I, we, uh, we already met.”

“Makes sense, he’s been in town a year. I just got here.”

“That ain’t the kind of meetin I mean. We got a little, uh, friendly on the porch tonight.”

Barclay gives an “ah” of understanding. Then he chuckles, “thought he looked a little ruffled when he passed me earlier.”

“I’m real fuckin sorry, I didn’t know. ‘Drid and I got an, an agreement, but I shoulda checked to see if he was datin someone.”

“That would have been smart.” Joe appears at Barclay’s shoulder, “but that’s why I said we needed to talk before we did anything else.” He strokes Barclay’s beard, “you and Indrid aren’t the only ones with an open relationship of sorts.”

“Ohthankfuck.” Duck slumps against the wall.

“While I was making sure no one made a punch that could give them alcohol poisoning, you were getting hot and heavy? That’s not fair, babe.” Barclay teases.

“I’ll make it up to you, big guy. Are you safe to drive?”

“Gonna give it another half-hour, just to be safe. You need a ride home, Duck?”

“Uh, sure, that’d be great.”

Soon, he’s bundled in the back of a Subaru, Joe sitting beside him while Barclay navigates through Saturday night traffic. They luck out; the game ran long, so they’re not fighting the throng coming out of the football stadium. When they reach his apartment, Joe stops him and hands Duck his phone. Duck didn’t even feel him take it in the first place. As he waves goodnight, he spots a new number sitting in his contacts and smiles.

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

“...the point is, it amuses me that Joseph shares my taste in me.” Indrid sips his white chocolate mocha, then yawns wide enough for Barclay to spot his tongue piercing, “apologies, I didn’t get to bed until three.”

“Jesus, man, gonna tell Duck to start knocking you out.”

“I was working on commissions.”

Barclay gives him a disbelieving look.

“....I was working on commissions until midnight. Then I spent three hours watching videos on the finer points of home entomology.”

“There it is. You can’t fool me, I remember what you were like at sleepovers.”

“It was very important to read every single Eyewitness book your parents generously bought you.” Indrid takes another sip with an imperious tilt of his head.

Barclay bumps his unoccupied hand, “It’s so fucking nice to see you again.”

Indrid looks at him over his glasses, brown eyes as beautiful as they were when he was sixteen, “Likewise. Oh!” He perks up, “do you know what this means? We can have a double-date! I’ve always wanted to try that.”

“Sure Joseph will be into it; he has a spreadsheet of optimal date locations. Bet he’ll have fun making one for double-dates.”

“That is...exceptionally geeky.”

Barclay sends a love-struck smile into his coffee cup, “Yeah, he is.”

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

Joe is more diabolical than Duck gave him credit for. And he thought he was pretty fucking cunning after he suggest seeing the local hockey team; the chilly arena gave Indrid and excuse to cuddle up to anyone who held still for too long and gave Joe plenty of opportunities to make double entendres about sticks in Duck’s ear.

But a night out at “Woofs” AKA the kind of gay bar where Duck and Barclay get hit on constantly is a whole new level of torment. Especially because Indrid hangs off Duck proudly (when he’s not teasing Barclay for the number of free drinks he’s getting) and Joseph even asks him to dance. When he peeks over the taller man’s shoulder, he sees Barclay resting his hand on Indrid’s arm while whispering something that makes him grin.

Dancing really is the most fitting thing he could be doing, because it’s what all four of them have chosen to do about this; dance around the fact that Indrid and Barclay dated, dance around the fact Joe and Duck kissed, danced around the fact that they’re more or less acting like a polycule already.

“Oh no.” Joe mutters, eyes on the door, “things are about to get loud.”

Duck’s about to point out that the club is already loud when he’s pulled out of the path of not one, but two bachelorette parties. They opt to stay, although Barclay gets hit on by someone who doesn’t believe he’s gay. Joe takes him onto the floor for a slow dance while Duck steps into the bathroom. When he comes out, his boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

“You guys seen ‘Drid?”

Joe shakes his head, all three of them already moving for the door. They find Indrid across the street on a bench, hunched over and tapping on his knees.

“‘Drid?” Duck sits gently beside him, “you get overwhelmed?”

Indrid nods.

“You wanna head home?”

Another nod. Duck suspects the overstimulation spiked without warning, which usually means…

“You need to be nonverbal for a bit?”

This time Indrid looks at him when he nods, then cringes when he sees Joe and Barclay are watching.

“Our place is closer.” Joe offers, copying Duck’s tone, “we can all bus back there so you can be somewhere quiet. Or, um, if you need it to just be you two, that’s fine too.”

Indrid holds up a finger, indicating option one. Duck helps him up and let’s him stay hidden against his shoulder while they wait for the bus.

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

This used to terrify Barclay. He and Indrid would be hanging out, would be stealthily holding hands in the top row of the football stadium, and his boyfriend would shut down. Barclay, sensing distress, would try to figure out what was wrong, would start to panic when Indrid couldn’t communicate the things happening in his mind and body. They had more than one fight where his attempts to help only made Indrid more overstimulated to the point he snapped at him to fuck off (and, on one occasion, hissed at him).

They worked it out eventually, Barclay keeping a mental list of things that soothed his friend. Watching Duck do some of them, how calm and loving he was, makes something complex bloom in his chest, as vibrant and beautiful as the Dahlias Duck brought them from the garden (“weather’s been so fuckin weird things are bloomin when they shouldn’t”).

When they make it home, Duck stops in the living room and looks between Indrid and Barclay for a moment. Then he murmurs, “‘Drid, you want Barclay to keep you company for a bit?”

Indrid smiles and nods, takes Barclay’s hand and follows him to the bedroom. He lets his memories drive, keeps the light off, arranges his body so Indrid can relax against him, and pets his hair with slow, light motions. His friend hums, meaning he’s on the right track. As he strokes his head he notices the black roots peeking through the silver; it was jarring to see Indrid with pale hair when all his memories were of dark locks of it falling over his face or catching on Barclays hands.

He looks good with the silver. More like himself.

Metal pokes his chest. He takes the glasses Indrid hands him, sets them on Joseph’s stack of library books, then gives a startled, “nnfph” as his friend pulls Barclay on top of him.

“Like the weight” Indrid mumbles, wrapping his arms around him. The longer they lay there, the easier it is to overhear the conversation in the other room.

“I feel awful, if I’d known I’d have never recommended we go somewhere like a loud bar.”

“S’okay, Joe. ‘Drid is still a little wary of tellin people that’s something he has to consider when goin’ out; Dani and them get it, but other folks think he’s bein’ a buzzkill.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re tellin me. Besides, sometimes it comes up so fast, or happens in places he ain’t anticipatin it. He’ll be okay, especially with Barclay takin’ care of him.”

A pause, then, “Do you need someone to, um, take care of you?”

“Joe-”

“It’s alright if the answer is no. But part of my plan was to get everyone in a, um, bit of a frisky mood.”

A snicker, “Frisky?”

“I was trying not to be too crude.”

“Joe, you know how I feel about you. But we gotta check with the others to be sure everythin is on the level.”

“Tell them to come in.” Indrid whispers, a smile plain in his voice.

“Uh, babe? Could you and Duck come in here a sec?”

“Everythin oka--ffft” Duck snorts a laugh, “guess he improvised not havin a weighted blanket.”

“That I did.”

Duck bursts into a grin, hurrying to settle on the bed near Indrid’s head, “Hey, sugar. How you feelin’?”

“Much better. It helps that this one is very soothing.” He toys with Barclay’s hair, sending goosebumps up his arms, “though it seems he had a slighty different reaction to our contact.”

Barclay was so distracted by the conversation that he hadn’t realized his cock was hardening along the familiar warmth of Indrid’s thigh whenever one of them shifted.

“Fuck, Indrid, I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright. In fact, it is rather relevant to what you two were discussing in the hall. Am I correct that we all wish to be in some form of polyamorous relationship with each other?”

“Yes” say two voices along with his own.

“Wonderful. I suggest we hash out details later. Right now, it seems you two have, ah, unfinished business.”

“Fuckin finallyAH” Duck cackles as Joseph knocks him backwards, kissing him frantically while yanking up his shirt. As soon as his belly is exposed Joseph begins pawing and groping from there up his sides. Indrid nudges Barclay so they can sit up, allowing the other two more room to disrobe. Or, more accurately, for Joseph to disrobe both himself and Duck, since the shorter man is having trouble moving his limbs between bursts of laughter and moaning.

Joseph crawls backwards, shoving Duck’s legs apart and groping his thighs, “I’ve wanted to get my hands on these since the party. Lord almighty did you look good in those jeans.” He kisses his way up the left thigh, moaning and mouthing at the skin. His posture puts his perfect ass in the air, which happens to be one of Barclay’s favorite views in the whole world. He unzips his pants, fights to get his cock out as Indrid begins offering commentary from beside him.

“Mmmm, were I not still rather exhausted, I’d make him do that to us both.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t move his mouth from where it’s teasing Duck’s inner thigh.

“Know you would.” He reaches down to play with Joseph’s hair, “‘Drid’s got a whole fantasy where you blow him while I sit on his face.”

“Funny” Barclay’s voice is turning rough with desire,“he’s got one where he takes all three of us at once.”

Joseph’s face lacks any trace of self-consciousness, a rare thing for him, which means this whole arrangement is fucking brilliant. He simply nods, then takes Duck’s dick into his mouth.

“JEsus, fuck, Joe, ohfuckyeah.” Duck holds Joseph’s head encouragingly, “shoulda known you’d be good at this, you’re so fuckin good at everythin, fuck, fuck.”

Barclay grips his cock, trying to stroke in time with movements of Joseph’s head. Slender fingers carefully push his aside as Indrid purrs, “allow me.”

“You, you don’t have to, you said you were tired-”

“Not too tired for this” he strokes up more firmly, then brushes their lips together, “or this.”

It’s like tasting Hershey Chocolate or Marionberry Pie, transporting him back to their shitty hometown in Eastern Oregon, to summer heat on his skin and basement air in his nose as Indrid proved that yes, kissing boys was what he wanted to do.

Indrid’s certainly gotten better at it since then. Barclay likes to think he has, hopes the other man is feeling even half the things currently piling up in Barclay’s chest.

“Oh.” Indrid sighs as he pulls back, “that’s even better than I remember.”

A particularly loud moan from Joseph, underscored by Duck cursing happily, brings them back to the present.

Barclay moans as Indrid’s hand moves more deliberately.

“Do you remember the first time we did this?”

“Uh huh, c-couch, in that, fuck, that basement rec room at my house.”

“You came so fast.”

“Can’t really blame me.”

“Given the sounds he’s making, he might do the same thing now.” Joseph smiles at them from over Duck’s knee, “that’s one of the best things about you. You’re so sensitive, big guy.”

Barclay whines his name. His boyfriend winks, then dives back down to render Duck speechless.

“You really are” Indrid nips his ear, “remember when we, ah, lost it to each other?”

“Mmmhmm” he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut as if that might make all this last longer. Joseph echoes the noise, making Duck groan.

“Just picture it, Joseph” Indrid is getting into it now, panting and pink-cheeked, “Barclay, eighteen and even shyer than he is now, in my lap, begging me to fuck him.”

‘I, I wasn’t the only one begging.” He grins.

“Of course not. I was desperate to get to it because just seeing you naked had me certain I was going to--one moment” he releases Barclay’s cock, ignoring his whimper to clamber into a position that allows him to kiss Duck as the shorter man grinds into Joseph’s mouth. He doesn’t pull back until Duck’s hips slow and Joseph is busy wiping his lips.

“I can never resist kissing you while you cum.”

“Fuck I love you.” Duck cups Indrid’s cheek. The silver haired man rubs against his palm a moment, then retreats. Duck growls at Joseph, “as for you, you got ten seconds to open your legs so I can show you a good time.”

“So thoughtful” Indrid pecks his cheek, returns to Barclay, “now, where was I…”

“Shy, AHshit, fuckingchristthat’s good.” Joseph’s legs sprawl open as Duck finger-fucks him, sitting on his side to kiss him without obstructing Barclay’s view.

“Ah yes.” He kisses Barclays neck, hand teasing the head of his cock, “you insisted on bottoming because you were so scared you might hurt me. I can still see it, you on your hands and knees, asking me to take you--those were your exact words--then whimpering when I finally got my cock in.”

“Fuck” Joseph is clearly enjoying the story; if Barclay had known he was into this, he would have made all his exes record voicemails describing their exploits.

“If memory serves I came very fast, because you were so much tighter than I expected and you, you felt so good. I used my hands to get you off-”

“Uh huh, fuck, you hadn’t pulled out yet and it was so fucking good, fuck, Indrid-”

“You made such cute noises when you came” a slow, deep kiss as heat floods him, “I wonder if you’ll do the same now.”

“Probably” is all he grunts out before he’s cumming hard enough that most of it hits Joseph’s stomach rather than Indrid’s fingers. His head lolls as his cock pulses, and beneath his own heartbeat he picks up Duck ordering Joseph to be good and cum for him. After a moment, there’s the distinct moan his boyfriend makes during his climax. It’s followed, confusingly, by weak laughter. His eyes flutter open to see Indrid licking his cum off Joseph’s chest, which happens to be ticklish.

He scoots over to join them, Joseph kissing him sleepily the instant he’s close enough.

“You sure you don’t need to cum, sugar?”

“I’m only half-hard, and I know I’m too tired to make it the rest of the way. Not that this wasn’t supremely satisfying. But you each owe me an orgasm sometime in the future.”

“All in favor of blowin ‘Drids mind tomorrow mornin’”

He and the other two raise their hands in sync. Then the four of them collapse, laughing, in each others arms.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Talking to Mom today about everything I didn’t get done today....

Me: Well, there’s always tomorrow.

Mom: Not always. 

***sigh***

(Gonna keep my venting where it belongs....below the cut.)

And so I find myself wondering if this is just Mom’s usual combo of being a stickler for accuracy and having a casually, cheerfully pessimistic nature...or if something specific has her down.

While I puzzle that, I find myself thinking “Gee, she has a point. I’ve been feeling like I have no future anyway.”

And people wonder why I say my smiling and loving mom is horrible at being reassuring or encouraging. I used to ask her to just lie to me and tell me things would be okay when I was worried or scared, but it’s just not her nature. I mean,  if I was really sick and asked her if she thought I might be dying, she’d say “Probably not, but maybe. It’s possible.” Which oddly isn’t very comforting.....

Maybe that’s why the characters I daydream up are so good at saying things like “It will be alright” or “You can do this” or “That was amazing”. I can imagine up the things I never get to hear. Oh, and the hugs that even when she was here  to hug didn’t come naturally. 

She doesn’t really get it, you know. Why would you need to hear these things? Words can’t effect the future or alter the past, and you shouldn’t need someone effect how you emotionally cope. Certainly you shouldn’t need praise to know whether you did well. Your emotions are your own. 

It’s her nature, you see. Like her absolute disinterest in small talk or gossip. Her coworkers used to tease her saying she was the least curious person they ever knew, which annoyed her. She was curious about things, just never ever about other people’s private lives. To her, I think we exist in emotional, self sufficient, bubbles, individual worlds that can be seen from a distance but effected very little through the space between us. 

Trouble is, for me whils we are individual worlds, we are also  worlds that don’t always have everything needed for life to thrive. Most people are always lobbing figurative rockets towards each other, sometimes bombs but sometimes needed supplies. Much as we may fear getting blown up, we hope for those supplies. And the more explosive impacts we take, the more we actually need those benevolent rockets to recover. We aren’t completely emotionally self contained, but systems of worlds.

But maybe once your planetary surface is blasted to raw rock, no longer pretty and inviting, no one wants to waste their time sending supplies and all you get are the malevolent firing potshots for the laugh of blowing more bits off. Maybe then being self contained would be better. 

I wish I were more like Mom, never craving or hoping for some sort of external positive reinforcement. But we are wired differently, and sometimes I ache those seemingly unimportant little words. 

Still, if I got them I wouldn’t probably know how to deal with them. For instance,  do you accept compliments or praise? Growing up my parents just expected and took for granted I would behave a certain way and could do most things well, and whenever I failed there must be a good reason, so there was no need to comment much. Teachers flat out said that good grades and behavior were their own rewards (BS, I STILL have sticker envy of the slow classes), and they only commented when I did poorly in order to delight in their bizarre victory over me.** And do you know what it meant whenever peers said something nice? It was always, ALWAYS, as set up for a bit of bullying. “Nice hair” would be followed, if I was fool enough to thank them, with “for a rat’s nest!!” and howls of laughter...

 And the dirty secret of life is adulthood changes nothing. Oh, a few people get lucky. Somehow they find the right friends, they get repect for the things they do, or maybe someone even falls in love with them. But not everyone. The people with power over you, the people in your close circle may change, and who you might consider peers may widen, but it’s the same thing over and over for some us. 

Will I go to my grave craving someone to say “It’s going to be okay” or “Great job!” or “I’m so proud of you!” or even just a simple hug when I’m crying? Or will I finally figure out Mom’s trick not ever feeling a need for such things? 

I dunno. Today I just kinda would have settled for a “Yes, tomorrow might be better”, true or not. My hope supplies are running really low right now and a rocket with a little would go a long way......

**NEVER believe teacher’s pet bullshit. Teachers often develop is strange hostility to smart students, especially ones that that don’t kiss ass, or are peculiar,  or independent minded. I remember being shocked and confused in elementary school when I realized some of my teachers actually felt threatened by me. ME, who never in my life wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings or show anyone up, who did my damnedest to never do my best. 

If you are exceptionally well behaved, even if it is out of anxiety, that makes it worse. Everyone hates the nice, polite, and quiet kids. If you stick to a code of ethics there is a resentment, this assumption it’s an act, a mask they need to rip off. Nothing like having a teacher interogate you for days trying to get you to confess to a misbehavior you never did, because “everyone else” did it so you must have too, to make you realize what they really think of well behaved kids.

In my experience most teachers are like bullying cops, eager to nail you for something, anything, so they can feel better about themselves. Good teachers exist in theory, but there was a reason this straight A student fantasized about blowin’ up the fucking school building! 

[mundanewayv]

my neighbour is an alien. / hendery w.

2k neighbour au! requests for wayv are open so pop-by if you wish~ this is literally how i envision neighbour! hendery to be.

your neighbour was quite an alien. not exactly UFO-looking, in fact, he was rather a charmer; so much that the old ladies down the exercise corner swoons over him, talking about how he looks like some certain prince or male lead from their soap operas. he was the kind of neighbour that puts his name, which you learnt was Hendery, clear and big on his house door.

you could tell how he was about the same age from the way he decorated his balcony. he had those artificial carpet grass, a darts board that hung loosely from a poorly-positioned nail on the wall and somehow, an awfully mismatched pink flamingo was there amongst his decorations.

it's not like the both of you haven't met or spoke to each before. it was just that both your frequencies were a little different. when you were busy reading a book or doing some assignments, hendery would be doing some sort of karaoke practice with his speakers amped up to a maximum or if you were tending to your mini garden, he would be laying on his artificial grass, having a mini sun-tan session.

the awkward part came when your mails got mixed up. it was a common occurrence if you had neighbours like hendery; those who were too damn lazy to clear out the clutter in his mailbox but enjoys the lavish online shopping lifestyle.

some odd-shaped, sturdy, twirly-wirly object appeared in your mailbox one day and stuck onto its wrapper was the address sticker clearly written with your neighbour's name on it. there wasn't much of a corridor space so it took less than 3 steps before you were ringing doorbell. you stood there, examining the parcel as you waited for him to open the door.

"hey neighbour, what's up?" he greets you cheerfully from behind the door frame.

"your mail was in my mailbox." you passed him the parcel and he reaches out carefully to retrieve it. he takes a look at it, probably as confused as you were about what he bought and a bell seemed to have rung in his head and he swings his door open fully this time, exposing only a towel wrapped around his torso.

"wicked! the hamster slides are here!" hendery celebrates excitedly.

"what's taking you so long, hendery. the water's getting cold." another male emerges, also only with a towel around his torso and his arms crossed.

"ten, the hamster slides are here!" he turns around to show them to the other male. however, ten just waves him off and tells him he's going to add the bubbles.

"was i interrupting something?" you asked, when he was busy looking at the pink and green hamster slides.

"ah, no. of course not! you can join us if you want." your eyes widened at his offer, slightly shocked about how adventurous your neighbour was.

"you know what hendery, i think i'll just go back and feed my cat or something." you slowly inched backwards to your apartment.

"hey, i didn't get your name yet." he said, sounding a bit disappointed with your decline.

"uh, y/n would do." and you have never zoomed so quickly back into your house before.

the next time the both you met was the following morning, when you went out for your morning run. it seemed like ten stayed over considering how he and hendery were having a mini walkathon competition with the old ladies; their sportsbands secured around their heads and their arms close to their sides as their feet busied themselves. hendery spots you as you walked out of the apartment complex,

"hey y/n, taking your cat out for a walk?" hendery calls out to you. right. the imaginary cat that saved you from the adventures of the two male before you.

"nah, it ran away from home yesterday." you replied curtly and waved before going for your run.

a run alone gave you time to unwind and not put anyone against yourself unlike the rat race of your office. a familiar face appears in your periphery vision, pink sports band and white trainers as he picks up his pace to match yours. hendery gestured to you to take off a side of your headphones.

"slow down a little. i can't breathe,"

"to clear things up, me and ten didn't do anything yesterday. he came over to try the new hot tub i installed at home. right, ten?"

"yup." ten breathed out as he tried to get as much oxygen as possible whilst catching up with hendery.

"it's really good though. you should try it sometimes." he jogs in front of you, stopping you in your position.

"that's nice, hendery. thank you." you were genuinely touched, because your alien of a neighbour turned out to be the nicest person you ever knew.

both you and hendery became closer after that day. yes, you did try his hot tub as he asked you to and he even left the whole tub to you because he didn't want you to feel awkward so he sat on a chair by the tub and chatted with you. you would help feed and take his pesky golden pomeranian out for walks while he was out of town (which was quite a bore because hendery's absence was like an elephant in the room). he would even wait for you at the subway so the both of you could walk back to the apartment together because it wasn't safe to be alone at night.

you found yourself missing hendery when he was back in macau to visit his family at the year end. the pink flamingo decoration stood lonely as it awaited for its owner to come home. he even brought his noisy golden pomeranian with him. usual mornings with him around would be you trying to pass cookies or sandwiches over to the other side with a butterfly net. life surprisingly became mundane; your runs got lonely and you were welcomed by the quiet and dim apartment next to yours when you came home.

that separation from your neighbour, whom you suddenly got the chance to get close to, gave you a chance to ponder over a glass of wine. nobody knew what direction this relationship was moving towards. both of you enjoyed each other's company but at the same time, appreciated the 3 steps corridor distance separating the both of you. hendery is a nice guy, a little bit eccentric while you were more serious. a mutual friendship was more like it, the type where the both of you would come together and act as a couple to get a couples discount at that french restaurant down the street on valentine's day.

after a few weeks, you find postcards from hendery, saying how he misses his hot tub and the weather in macau was either too sweltering hot or had too many passing showers to sun-tan under and he missed playing mini golf on his artificial grass. and most importantly, he missed you and ten the most. occasionally, the mail man messes up the parcels again and you drop hendery a message about them but he insists they were for you. he sent you all kinds of things from giant clothing hangers to mini fruit juice blenders, he claims that he thought of you while he was shopping online in macau and since they were on discount, why not?

your apartment granted you a city view despite its tiny space: which made new years’ day even more special. you could see the fireworks and the city skyline while sitting in your balcony. you were looking forward to spending your first new years’ with your brand new friend but news came in that he was staying till chinese new year. as the fireworks decorated the sky, you took a picture of it, sending it to hendery,

“i miss you so much.” you sent a text bubble accompanying the picture. you took a deep sigh, ready to just end your lonely day and retreating back to your room when your notification bell chimed.

“i miss you too.” he replied, with a picture of his dinner attached. it probably wasn’t new year’s yet where he was.

you left for work early and came home late, since there wasn’t much to look forward to. you ate out more often and focused on reading and working. as you were climbing up the stairs, you noticed the addition of a string of fairy lights lit up in the corridor between you and hendery’s house. that wasn’t there in the morning, you thought to yourself. and when you climb a little more, you saw the neighbour who you’d missed so dearly, a brown scarf wrapped around his neck and his gloved hands holding onto a bouquet of pink flowers and his pomeranian. the barks of his pet felt like life has been restored into you because you knew he was home.

“hendery!” you jumped gleefully and gave him a hug.

“woah! you’re going to squish my dog like that.” he chuckles, passing you the bouquet of flowers.

“come in, i want to show you something.” hendery invites you into his apartment and you trailed behind him. seems like he had unpacked before you arrived with the additions of new gadgets and trinkets around the house. he leads you to his balcony where he placed chairs for the both of you by a giant telescope.

“tadah!” he flaunts his equipment like a little boy with a brand new toy.

“apparently, there’s going to be a meteor shower tonight, and if you’re lucky, you might see a flying saucer or ET on his bike.” he says excitedly, getting you comfortable with a blanket across your lap and a mug of hot chocolate.

both of you waited while catching up on each other for the past few months. you told hendery about how a new kid had moved in to the house down the lobby and he told you about how he ended up in the emergency room after eating too much during the festivities.

“it’s here! look look!” he pulls you to look into the telescope and burst of lights sprinkled the skies like glitter.

“quick y/n! make a wish!” hendery clasps his hands tightly and his eyes shut tight, wishing hard. you copied him and searched deep for a wish you desperately wanted to come through.

“so what did you wish for y/n?” he asked.

“i wished for us to be together forever. as neighbours or best friends or something else.” you told him as you watched the sparkle in his eyes as he watch you speak.

“how about you?”

“well,” he rubs his nape sheepishly, taints of pink and red on his cheeks,

“i wished that i can be more than just your best friend. not right away, of course. but soon. hopefully.” hendery confessed, his hands moving to cover his blushing face bashfully. you peeled his hand covering his face and held it in yours, both of you basking in the magical atmosphere, a mark of something new.

“do you think aliens fall in love with their neighbours too or do they just fly around in their saucers?” hendery asked, giggling and playing with your fingers in his hands.

[hellas-himself]

Crack Ship Holidays

Halloween Pt. 1- Cassian x Feyre 

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My cellphone falls to the floor and I groan, blindly reaching for it in the dark. Was it really five-thirty already? I tap the screen until the cursed alarm goes silent. I slide out of bed, taking the pillow and blanket with me and once my bare legs hit the cold floor, I shoot to my feet and toss my phone on the bed.

It was only October and the damned apartment was a freezer. But I have to shower; I have mascara and eye liner smeared on my face, my hair looks like a rat’s nest after all the hairspray I’d used and this dress- god this stupid dress. It belongs to Mor, but I haven’t done laundry in over a week and I needed something decent to meet them all in at the bar. It was beautiful, but it was so snug that it left marks all over my skin. And that wasn’t even counting what the strapless bra did to me.

Cursing, I shower quickly, washing my hair under cold water until it turns hot enough that I stop shivering. I blow dry my hair and pass the flat iron over it quickly before hurrying to get dressed. Mindful of where I will be today, I slide into skinny jeans and a black t-shirt. No one is going to see my Halloween socks, which is a tragedy, but at least I have my sweater. I know Mor and Nesta would look at me with disgust if they knew I hadn’t washed this sweater since the last time I’d worn it but it still had Cassian’s cologne. As did his leather jacket that he so conveniently left here after everyone had come over to play cards. 

My car takes way too long to start but luckily, I still have enough time to stop for coffee and a bagel before driving to the school. One of Cassian’s friends, another tattoo artist, has a girlfriend that teaches music there. He had mentioned to Cas that they needed an art teacher and my best friend gave them my number. I had been so nervous when he’d told me, to the point that I almost puked. But he had talked me back down to earth and drove me to meet the principal last week.  And for now, it’s just volunteering, and I can live with that.

I mentally go down the list of all I have to do when I get there. I have to find and park in the visitor’s section. Go to the front office and hand in my ID and get signed in. Scope out the supplies readily available and set up shop before 9am.

The security guard eyes my bag of art supplies with amusement.

“Carrying a body in there?” he asks in a pathetic attempt at teasing. I force a laugh. If I say what I really want to say, I will ruin this and I cannot fuck this up.  

“Good morning, you must be Ms. Archeron,” the secretary says cheerfully. She wasn’t here when I came in last week.

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, reaching into my back pocket for my wallet.

She stands and leans over, as though sharing a secret. “You’ve got a bit of paint on your jeans.”

I look down. “Oh… That happens a lot.”

I set the bag down, taking my license out and sliding it towards her.

“Perfect,” she says. “I’m Briar, by the way.”

I nod, doing my best not to shove my hands into my pockets- a habit I developed thanks to Rhys.

“So, I know we asked for an hour,” Briar says, typing away at the computer. “But some parents handed their forms in late. Do you think you could stay until… eleven?”

“Uh… Yeah. Definitely.”

Briar hands me back my license and then holds out a name badge.

“I’m trying to convince the principal to do something like lanyards but for now, this is what we have.”

I put the sticker on my sweater, mindful of the sparkly bats on my chest. Then, she guides me out of the office and through several hallways until she unlocks the door to a room bigger than my apartment.

“The previous art teacher left it just like this… We’d hoped so much for her to come back, but her husband got deployed and she needed help with her kids. She moved out of state over the summer.”

I set my bag down on a table and start walking around. There was the teacher’s desk with the projector beside it. A shelf that housed various kinds of paints and two enormous paint-stained sinks. The brushes were stored in cups of all kinds, ceramic mugs and plastic cups, glass mason jars. This was heaven.

“So… I’ll leave you to it. The first class begins at 9.”

“Is there an attendance sheet or something?” I ask, suddenly remembering that there was more to this than painting.

Briar giggles, her cheeks flushing pink.

“There’s a book. But don’t worry about that today. I’ll send someone up with a sign in sheet for the kids.”

I nod, taking the leather jacket off.

“Thank you,” I say and she smiles, leaving me to my own devices.

*

The smell of barbecue is doing nothing to help how hungry I am. I step into the diner and go to my usual seat, waving at the owner who is already telling the cook that I’m here. I sit down with a long sigh, pulling my phone out and checking my messages. Two missed calls from Nesta. A text from Elain in our group chat. 57 messages in the group chat with Rhys, Lucien, Az and Cassian. I roll my eyes and ignore that. Then, there are the calls from unknown numbers, all of them within minutes of each other. I lock my phone and set it down, looking up when the bell at the door rang. My heart does leaps in my chest as Cassian looks my way, breaking into a smile as he walks over.

“Well, if it isn’t the new art teacher,” he says by way of greeting, pulling me in for a bear hug when I get to my feet.

“It was just today,” I remind him, “And hello to you, too.”

He flicks my nose before sitting down across from me. He smirks when he notices that I’m wearing his jacket. He takes off his own and rolls up the sleeves to his shirt.  

“How did it go?” he asks, adjusting his watch.

“It was… terrifying.” He raises a brow but I smile. “Kids are fucking scary, Cas… And being responsible for 20 of them at once is just…”

“A nightmare?”

“A dream.”

Cas snorts.

“It’s been too long, Cas. I feel out of practice… But I started them with color theory and having them paint their own wheels… The second class was even bigger and it was just so much fun.”

Cassian is still smiling and I blush, grateful that our food is being placed before us.

“I haven’t seen you smile this much in a while, bunny.”

“I was smiling last night,” I quip, and happily reach for my strawberry milkshake.

“You were drunk.”

“All the same.”

Cassian would normally push the subject, I know, but he only has an hour and a half before he has to go back to the shop. And between proving a point and eating lunch, food will win every time.  

“This isn’t over,” he says, stuffing fries into his mouth.

*

I toss my keys on the little table in the entrance hallway, kicking off my boots as I walk into the apartment. I set my bag down on the floor before I walk across the carpet to open the blinds. I look around the living room and internally kick myself for forgetting that my sisters are coming over today. Last weekend’s beer cans and empty boxes of pizza are still littering the floor and coffee table. Someone’s bra is hanging over the arm rest. Rhys managed to leave his socks under my couch, and as I pick them up, I make a mental note to bring up a ‘strip poker laundry basket’ for them to deposit their clothes when we play. I grab the bra and realize that it’s mine.

I start a load of laundry and wash all the dishes in the sink and around the apartment. Once I finish with that, I take out the trash which required two trips. When I get back to my apartment, I wash my hand and burn incense- dragon’s blood, Cassian’s favorite. I vacuum the carpet and sweep the entrance hall and kitchen but don’t bother mopping. The bathroom is miraculously clean, but my bed is a disaster. The fitted sheet is beginning to come off but I hear the doorbell and leave it alone, tying up my hair as I go to answer it.

“I thought you stopped smoking,” Nesta says as I kiss her cheek.

“I did.”

“Then what’s with the incense.”

“The neighbor was cooking fish again,” I lie, but it’s happened enough that Nesta easily believes me.

“Elain is stopping to bring dinner after she leaves work.”

“Are you thirsty?”

Nesta sets her purse and keys on the counter, shrugging off her trench coat. She looks as flawless as always.

“Feyre, we know that you haven’t gone for groceries in weeks.”

“But I have water.” I sound pathetic, but I am not going to tell her that I went food shopping and brought everything to Cassian’s house. He’s the better cook and I would rather drive to see him every night than burn dinner at home. I was never here as it was.

“We had a luncheon meeting, I’m alright for now.”

She sits down on the barstool and looks me up and down. I have paint on my jeans and shirt, and I’m still wearing my purple sweater with the bats tied around my waist. When I see her eye my socks, I start walking.

“I taught at the school this morning,” I say as I grab my bag off the floor. I bring it to the kitchen and start pulling out the palettes and brushes I want to thoroughly clean.

“Did you like it?”

“I did, honestly.”

For once, she doesn’t roll her eyes when I set the palettes in the sink. I turn on the water, grabbing the sponge set aside for my art supplies and the soap.

“And what did the school think?”

I blush at this. Nesta doesn’t do well with unknowns.

“Briar, the secretary, she says she’ll call me once she hears something,” I say, and before she can scowl, I add, “But the principal seemed really happy with what we did. They asked me to stay an extra hour… It was a lot of fun.”

“And if they ask you to come back, will you take the job?”

“It’s not a job, Nes… But I mean, if it came to that, of course.”

“You turned down teaching jobs to work at that bar and look how that turned out.”

“I was depressed, Nesta. Cut me some fucking slack.”

“You can’t expect Cassian to keep saving your ass, Feyre.”

“I don’t expect anything from anyone. Least of all Cassian.”

“It’s almost been a year –”

I set the palette in the drying rack a little harder than I mean to.

“Did you write that down in your calendar so you can remind me that Tamlin left? I know how long it’s been Nesta.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You can’t depend on Cassian forever.”

“Why do you hate him so much? He is always there for me- something you can’t say. Honestly, sometimes I have no idea what he saw in you.”

“I told him I was sorry.”

“You broke his heart and have the nerve to bitch about what he does for me. I love you, Nesta, but give me a fucking break.”

*

I am almost glad that Elain cancelled dinner. Nesta had left once I refused to listen to her empty apologies. But now, I’m hungry. And alone. You can’t expect Cassian to keep saving your ass, Feyre. I laugh at myself; my thumb is hovering over the voice call button under Cassian’s name. My eyes burn with tears and my throat feels like it is closing up. Did Nesta not understand how much I hated the fact that I’ve had to ask any of them for help?

I toss my phone across the sofa, hating that I am crying. Hating that almost a year has passed and my life is no better than it was when Tamlin left. Hating that Nesta seems to forget that she was able to finish college because I was the one working my ass off to keep us afloat. Hating that I’d let Tamlin convince me to leave my job- my career- just to leave me.

I breathe in deeply, letting it out as I press my fingers against my eyes. I know that I can’t drive like this. With a sniffle, I get my jacket and boots on. The more I move, the less I cry, and by the time I make it down the stairs, I only have a stuffy nose.

The owner of the corner store gives me a sympathetic smile when they see me walk in. I can’t return it, but I wave, going right to the fridge. I grab a beer, ignoring Nesta’s voice in my head, telling me how irresponsible this was. I grab another one just to shut her up.

“Your usual?” he asks as I near the counter.

“Uh… No. Surprise me.”

Tamlin and I would come here every few nights, always getting the same thing. I’m not sure what’s for dinner tonight, but I see him throw a soda and bag of chips in the bag and decide that I’m perfectly fine with that. I pay in cash and wish him a good night, hurrying back to my apartment.

I put on a game show and sit down on the sofa, taking everything out of the bag. Before I open the Styrofoam container, someone starts knocking on my door. I don’t have to ask who it is, but I am still caught off guard to find Cassian standing outside, holding a bag of take out.

“Cas… Hey.”

“Your phone dead?” he asks as I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and let him in.

“No… I went up the street.”

He sets his bag next to my food and sits down, taking off his jacket and tossing it.

“Az told me Ellie had to cancel dinner with you,” he says as he starts to take his food out of the bag. He grabs one of my beers and opens it. “Iliana got sent home sick from school.”

“Oh… What about Val?”

“I dropped him off at Rhysand’s before coming here.”

I make a face. “Stupid apartment and its stupid dog rules.”

“What’s for dinner?” he asks as I sit beside him.

“I don’t really know,” I reply. “I told him to surprise me.”

Cassian takes a drink of his beer and chuckles.

“Well. I’ve got Chinese.”

It’s a sandwich, that much I know. A sandwich Cassian tries to take the moment I hold it out to him.

“Bunny, please.”

“What is it?” I ask again, holding the sandwich up and away from him.

“It’s a tripleta. Chicken, beef, and pork with cheese and those potato chip fries. And the mayo-ketchup. I haven’t had one in forever! I’ll give you anything!”

I start laughing, as if I would ever say no to him.

“We’ll split it,” I say, laughing some more when he hugs me tight.

Cassian changes the channel to watch one of our favorite crime shows. I take my boots off and sit cross legged. He smiles when he sees the little ghosts on my socks and reaches down to pull his jeans up to show me that he’s wearing the exact same ones.

After we eat, I bring the empty containers to the garbage and come back to find Cassian sprawled out on the sofa. When he sees me, he holds out his arms to me and I walk over, letting him pull me into his arms. I rest my head against his chest, closing my eyes.

“Rhys says hello… He misses you.”

I giggle. “As if he didn’t freeze my phone texting us so many times.”

Cassian holds me a little tighter as he chuckles.

“You know how he gets when he thinks he’s being ignored.”

“He’s a brat.”

He laughs. “You’re telling me.”

I stretch out a bit and Cassian places one hand on the small of my back, the other on my arm where he begins to trace his fingers up and down bare skin.

“You alright?” he asks quietly. I don’t say anything at first but then I shake my head.

“I’m stuck,” I whisper. “What is wrong with me, Cas?”

“Nothing is wrong with you.”

The way he says it makes me want to believe him.

“What did Nesta say to you?” he asks and I sigh. “You only ever get like this when you talk to her.”

I cross my arms, resting my head against them to be able to look at him.

“She just… It’s been almost a year. And nothing has changed.”

“You really believe that?”

When I don’t answer, Cassian sighs.  

“Last November, you couldn’t leave your bed. You didn’t eat. You didn’t even talk. You taught classes today, Feyre- you would have never let yourself even think of such a thing before.”

He’s right- I know that he’s right, but it doesn’t stop me from crying again. When I get up, Cassian follows suit and simply pulls me into his lap, cradling me against him.

“Things like this take time,” he says. “And I’m going to be there, for as long as it takes. You know that, right?”

“I can’t expect that of you,” I say before I can stop myself and Cas goes still.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I’m sorry… She just really got to me.”

“What did she say?”

Once I repeat her words, I feel completely ashamed of myself. I want the earth to swallow me whole when Cassian curls a finger under my chin and makes me look up at him.

“I love you, Feyre Archeron. And I don’t give a fuck what your sister thinks. You are my best friend, just because she refuses to lend you a hand, doesn’t mean that everyone else has to.” He brushes the tears away and tucks an errant lock of hair behind my ear.

“I love you, too.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead and I close my eyes, letting out a sigh.  

“I’m always gonna be here for you, bunny.”

When he kisses me, I practically melt in his arms, but I still pull away.

“Cassian, you know I’m no good for you,” I say.

“If you weren’t good for me,” he says as his hands slide to my waist. “I wouldn’t be here.”

It’s a lie, we both know. So I kiss him, adjusting myself to straddle his lap.  

“If we’re going to hurt… might as well be with each other, right?” I say, and he chuckles.

“Don’t use my own words against me.”

I kiss him, reaching back to untie his hair.

“Just this once,” I say in a terrible imitation of his voice. I run my fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes. He sighs, and the smile that blossoms on his face gives me butterflies.

When he opens his eyes, he smirks; he’s caught me staring.

“Hey, the second time was your doing,” he quips, tugging on the hem of my shirt and pulling up. I lift my arms and laugh as he tries to mimic me. “This time and no more.”

“What can I say? You make me feel alive,” I declare, blushing suddenly. I did not mean to say that out loud. Cassian pauses his attempt at undoing the hooks of my bra. I have no idea how to turn my words into a joke.  

“Alive, huh?” he says softly. “That makes two of us.”

I don’t believe either of us are ready to unpack any of that. So I put my hands on his face and kiss him, and Cassian abandons my bra to slide his hands down to grab my ass. I shriek when he stands up, taking me with him.

“Asshole!” I shout, Cassian laughing as he walks towards my bedroom. He tosses me on the bed, walking over to turn a light on. When he turns to come back to me, I toss a pillow at him.

“Don’t start,” he warns, trying not to smile.

“Make me.”

Cassian chuckles at that and climbs on the bed, grabbing my ankle and pulling to him. He starts tickling me, and I have no strength to grab the other pillow and hit him with it.

“Stop it!” I managed to say through laughter.

“Make me,” Cassian says, mimicking me. But he still stops, grabbing me by the waist as he moves to lay on his back. My heart tightens in my chest at how light his eyes are. I reach out to brush his hair away from his eyes, then to trace the contours of his face.

“Plan on painting me?” he asks, smiling.

“Do you want me to?” I am out of breath.

Cassian traces his fingers up my spine and unhooks my bra.

“Not yet,” he replies and I laugh, leaning down to kiss him.

.

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I had meant to put this out on like... Tuesday so by yesterday (actual Halloween) the fic would line up but fuck it. 

Cassian and Feyre are my #1 crack ship (that isn’t Sesshomaru and Kagome). I might try to do the next few holidays as well. But for now, it’s based around Halloween. It was supposed to be a one off based off a song BUT it turned into this fluff fest. Also, the “bunny” nickname came from another thing I wrote and never posted in which when they were like fresh out of highschool, Feyre went on a trip with Cassian and the guys, their dad. She wanted to try out hunting and shot a rabbit and cried so much about it Cassian started calling her bunny cuz it made her mad. Then it stuck. 

And then I couldn’t stop using it. I mean... he COULD call her Fey but no. Bunny. Also, remember how in my Elriel fic our Illyrians were basically like me and my family? Puerto Ricans from the mountains? We’re sticking with that. 

I do have to separate it into like 4 parts because it’s like 30 Word pages long and I can’t imagine how terrible that would translate on Tumblr. <3 

also, if you have a pairing request or whatever, I got you. 

[midnight-watch-committee]

Story 1: what happened to Sheridan

Journalism, second period of the day, 9:34 in the morning., June 22nd, 2018.

There was a tv on in the class room, we always had the news on in there to help us, "a free cheat sheet if you use it right" as Mr. Haddison would call it. Every now and again people would be mildly interested in what was happening: law suits, politics, and murder for the morbid. A sudden gasp escaped from the girl next to me. Her name was Beth and if you saw her, you’d probably expect her to be a computer club kid. A headband kept her bright orange hair that almost looked fake from falling into her rounded, golden framed glasses, she was the youngest person in this room by about five minutes and she made sure you knew when you walked in, her sporadic and adventure seeking personality was as wild as the bright stickers on her laptop and pins on her shirt which told you every fandom she was in. She tapped me quickly on the shoulder, which was met by a cold “I’m busy,” but her insistent tapping eventually made me cave, as I looked up to what was shocking her, I realized why she gasped so loudly. “How do you lose an entire town?!” I said, or rather screamed. My friend Mikey quickly covered my mouth, expecting me to scream more about something or other, but I was more in shock than anything.  Mikey slowly moved his hand off my mouth and wiped it on his letterman jacket, “Could you be any louder?” he asks sarcastically, which I feel tempted to test but decide against it. Sheridan, Wyoming...”it was just there five minutes ago”, according to one of the people interviewed, a man who left town to grab a prescription from a nearby pharmacy. “Hey, Mike, how far is that” I asked. “Not crazy far-Juni, do you have another stupid idea?” he answered, already knowing what I was gonna say, “Just one...” I respond. “Dumb ideas? Like what, going to the crater formerly known as Sheridan? Juni, it’s gone, I’m sure the police are-” Beth started before getting shot a “shut the fuck up” look from Mikey. “What are the cops gonna do? IT’S GONE! If they plan on arresting us for looking at a hole in the ground, I’m sure a court will easily rule in our favor.” I spit out. “Jeez, fine! If you two are going, I’m tagging along to make sure you idiots don’t get hurt.” Beth said whipping out her phone “What time should I expect Mr. Can’t drive for shit to show up?” Mikey let out a chuckle. Not his “I found that funny” chuckle but a forced one, the kind you do when your sister tells a really bad joke but your mom shot you a look. “8:30, ditch the pink, we’re trespassing and we can’t repeat the O’Reily house incident.” She gave me a thumbs up, punched it into her phone and went back to her work.

The Vallen residence, 8:20 at night.

I looked in the mirror one last time, my jet-black hair an absolute mess but not like I’d ever bother fixing it. I decided to settle on a blue baseball cap to hide the rat’s nest. A black sleeveless jacket and torn blue jeans were my only real protection from anyone spotting my pale ass from a mile away. I checked the film on my grandfather’s, well mine now, camera. I gently trailed my finger over the weird markings that surround the outside of the camera. I heard my phone go off from the other room and darted over to it, slipping it in my jacket pocket and making a break for the door, pulling up my black face mask and hoping in the back of Mikey’s dark red pickup truck. He had some cheerleader girl up front with him and they clearly seemed to be taking a while so I gave the roof a few rough slaps. He rolled his window down and snapped “How many times do I have to say stop doing that before you fucking stop?” I rolled my eyes and laid down as we pulled off. I shot Beth a text letting her know we were on our way and took a nap for the 30 minuets it took to get to her place, she hopped in and checked to make sure I was still alive, trying to keep me awake so I was ready to do my job. I was the group photographer, Mike was the muscle and Beth was our pretty face who got everyone’s attention, I’d do more up-front stuff if it wasn’t for my social anxiety so for now that goes to Beth. “Did you check the film?” she asked, to which I nodded. “Good, good...how do I look?” I crack a smile and give her the trademark Beth Thumbs up ™, curving my thumb slightly to copy hers. She rolled her eyes and made sure her recorder was still working. There was something about the way the light hit her and the look in her eyes that left me stunned. Click! I snapped a quick picture of her and waved the film around, checking it. Perfect. I slipped it into my jacket pocket hoping she didn’t see me take it as the truck comes up on what was Sheridan.

Sheridan, Wyoming 8:50 at night.

We slowed to a halt a few inches away from the crater. “God, does he want us to get stuck in there?” I mumbled to Beth before hoping out, tapped on the window and gestured for him to back up. The vehicle rolled back and just as quickly as he reversed, he slammed down on the breaks, most likely giving poor Beth a major concussion. Mikey got out from the front, telling Sherri or Cherri or Cherry or whatever her name was to wait there, Beth started her audio recorder and we started our search. We walked around the perimeter of Former Sheridan, snapping photos of weird shaped rocks that seemed placed by something to hold the dirt back from reaching the middle and flowers that were left in the crater by those who thought everyone there was dead already, sitting in between all those flowers were four glowing blue rocks. “We should go in.” I blurt out, “I mean, when have we ever been scared to go into something? We’ve been in hospitals during outbreaks for Christ's sake!” Beth and Mikey look at each other, have a quick whisper debate that seems to end in Beth winning and sends Mikey back to the truck to grab some climbing equipment and set it up at the spot we were standing near. Beth offered me the rope and I accepted, sliding down all the way to the bottom of the crater, about 15 feet deep. “what the- HEY GUYS GET DOWN HERE!” I shouted, and started snapping pictures of a hole dug into the side of the crater...no, dug is wrong. There were bite marks on the outside of the hole. As if provoked by my camera, a gray, eight legged, slimy, insect shaped...CREATURE came charging out. It’s lack of eyes was amplified by it snarling, four toothed jaw. If you took of the tail of a scorpion and made it the size of a small building, you’d have this thing. The creature started stomping around the crater screeching. Legs brought up dust, chomping it up in the air. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!” Beth screamed down into the hole and honestly, I didn’t know. I snapped a few more quick photos and broke for the rope, not wanting to be down there any longer. On my way up, I noticed the writing on the outside of the camera glowing, now readable as “Midnight watch committee.” As whatever the fuck that was screeched after us, we hoped in the truck and booked it, leaving cheer girl in wonder as to what we saw down there but we didn’t even have the sanity in that moment to describe it,.

Vallen residence, Midnight.

This thing was like something right out of some old country children’s tale. “Wait a minute...” I thought to myself, I flung open every filing cabinet in the attic, trying to find the old book my grandfather use to read to me from. My mom always hated it and time and time again told him to not read it to me, but he never listened. “The world’s a scary place,” he would say “nothing wrong with teaching her what to expect.” After maybe the 500th cabinet filled with pitch blackness, my hands bumped into the large leather-bound book. I blew the dust off it, remembering the last time I had ever had this read to me was when my mom was still alive. As if like magic, I open the book up to a random page and saw exactly what I was looking for, “The Earth Eater.” My jaw dropped reading everything in there, all the lives it had taken...but what really threw me off was...the book mentioned Sheridan’s disappearance. Did the author know? Was this some kind of joke? I set the book down on my Grandfather’s dark colored oak desk and went to bed, my mind still racing.

Bus ride from Vallen residence to Big Horn high school, 6:15, June 23rd, 2018

It was a cold early morning, but if you were up then, even in the pitch blackness, you would’ve seen the way the ground exploded near us as the Earth Eater rose from the ground, sending the bus flying. It felt like everything happened so quickly yet so slowly at the same time. I got sent flying into the seat next to me, like many others, and hit my arm against the seat hard enough to hear a loud cracking sound. It felt like every single nerve in my body dedicated itself to making me feel nothing but pain in my arm at that moment, as I tried to move it, I realized just how badly it had truly broken. The creature charged toward the bus, its none existent eyes locked on me I imagine, and for one last desperate attempt to make a story out of this, I pointed my camera at it the best I could through a window. A soft Click! Filled the air, followed by a vrrr as the camera pushed out a Polaroid, by the time the photo had made it to me, Earth Eater was gone, back to maybe one day return from whence it went, or maybe not at all.

[sea-dragon-pride]

☕☕☕☕☕ (KIDDING, 🌟🌼🌗❓!)

 ☕☕☕☕☕ WELL IF YOU MUST KNOW,,, my deepest darkest secret… my BIGGEST shame… is that I can’t get Calico’s cats to like me. I KNOW! I’m a fake druid, but I try talkin to them and I chase them around and they’re not havin’ ANY of it. The cats on this boat are anti-Tiller ghskgh;skgsgds

(ALSO THIS GOT LOOOONNNGGGGG, so I’m putting it under the cut, I’m So Sorry For Getting Carried Away)

🌟When your OC loses all hope, who do they turn to first? What helps make them feel better? What calms them down and reassures them? Why?

I think when all hope is lost, I would always turn to Roy! I know I should probably say something like my real dads but I haven’t seen them in so long and I never want to worry them with things they don’t need to know about…. Roy always knew how to keep up a brave face, and somehow had a plan for everything, even when failure seemed inevitable. All the Sea Dragons for that matter, made me feel that way! I could never stay in a sour mood after an evening meal with Bingo or Codec, or hell, even Skiff! They’re practically my family and I know they accepted all parts of me into their ranks, so I can’t help but feel better if we’re all together. Though nowadays, that’s not an option, so… to calm down I usually like to hang out in the crow’s nest and chart stars. You can see the sky and the ocean for MILES, when everything is so grand and beautiful, things can’t seem so bad. Something about being up there reminds me that life is always moving, like the ocean! So if things are bad now… then they can’t stay that way forever, because that time will have to move somewhere else, somewhere in the past. On a simpler level, I really appreciate hugs and snacks. I’m the perfect form for cuddling! It’s not bragging, it’s a fact!!! So if I’m ever sad, just squeeze the life out of me and I’ll feel better. 

🌼 Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their LI 

I see the red sails being raised at the end of the dock. Black skulls with a sun burst pattern decorates a number of them. The whole ship is made from stained black wood with red trim. The wood even smells burned.

Jeez, these guys are the ostentatious types, huh? 

Everyone looks like they’re bustling about, doing the prep work for an extended time out at sea. They’ll be expecting me anytime now, but when have pirates been punctual?

Okay, okay, new boat, new story, don’t sweat the small stuff. No one can ask you too many questions if you just keep up your overly-friendly small talk. These guys are supposed to be more dangerous than the last crews, which means a bigger haul. Roy’s counting on you.

I look around the main deck and spot an older woman with an intricate braid and a wide-brimmed hat. That’s gotta be her. I run up and say:

“OH! Ahoy there!!! I’ve never been on a ship this big before wOOWW! Love the color scheming, it really brings out the whole ‘murder-y’ vibes you guys seem to be going for haha! You must be Captain Rhea!”

The older woman looks perplexed (like they usually do), and responds: “That would be me, aye. Though I don’t remember ordering for an interior decorator aboard my vessel.”

“Hehehe no! But you DID send for a navigator and that’s me! Tiller Jakobie, at your service! I’ll tell ya where ya are, where ya goin, where ya wanna be, and how to get there! I also brought my own maps!” I lift them out of my bag proudly. These babies took ages to chart, but no one appreciates map craftsmanship nowadays.

Rhea sighs: “Ah, I did put Beremy in charge of recruiting didn’t I? Remind me not to do that again…. But yes, unfortunately, our last navigator has seemed to desert us for his own misadventures. If you’re the best we can do for such a short time, then so be it. Boys, get her set up in a room, I have business to attend too.”

Yeah… the misadventures of their old navigator mostly involve spending the next few weeks in the brig of The Quick Silver. If Franz is on guard duty, the poor guy will have to listen to him while he practices new songs. Hehehe that’ll make him WISH we threw him overboard!

I turn to my new alleged crew members: “SO! Miss Captain said something about accommodations? Do you guys have room service?? OH! What about those complimentary little soaps??!! Where am I stayin!! You’ve got a five star suite for me, right?”

Most of the reactions are as expected; a couple a furrowed brows, eye rolls, a few smirks and chuckles. I’ll have em head over heels for me soon enough, I mean, come ON! I’m adorable!!! They look around at each other, and one pipes up:

“Well I know someone who don’t have a bunk mate right now…”

The group kind of snickers and mumbles to each other. I hear some whispers - “That’s a lil mean for her first day, ain’t it?” “With HER, are you serious?” “Well, I ain’t gonna be the next one with a fresh scar for waking her up by accident!” They talk back and forth some more and come to an agreement of some kind? “Alright, we got a room for you, follow us!”

I trail behind them, trying to note down the layout of this ship. It IS bigger than The Quick Silver, more in width than in length. The mizzenmast is fortified and I can see spots for snipers to sit up by the topsails. That’ll be a problem to deal with later… We continue below deck and I’m practically pushed towards a room at the end of the hall. My welcome party already starts backing up toward the hold and they shout: 

“Alright, get cozy in there!” More repressed laughing. “Dinner’s served around dusk, see you then!”

Okayyyyy… whatever these guys think they got against me, I’m sure it can’t be that bad. What’s a little hazing between new crew members, right? I’ve faced worse.

“Uh hello?” I knock and open the door.

Oh Fuck. It is that bad.

In the room, there’s a girl, sitting on the lower bunk, sharpening a pair of swords. She doesn’t even flinch when I enter. Her hair is covering a lot of her face, since she’s looking down. It’s so long… Golden hoops dance under her ears. She has bandages around her hands and scars up her arms. Who IS she???

“Are you lost?”

I jolt back. SHIT, I’ve been staring!!! “Wh- huh?”

The girl looks up at me and her hair falls back. Oh NO, she’s PRETTY,,,,!!!!! My face feels hot, WAIT, is this room hot? DON’T tell me you’re blushing right now, Jakobie,,,

She asks again: “Are you lost? This is my room. What are you doing in here?”

Your mission. Remember your mission, dumbass.

“AHAHA OH RIGHT! N-NO WAY! In fact, it’s my job to be Not Lost! I’m Tiller, the new navigator aboard the ship, it’s SUPER nice to me you!!!”

She puts away her whetstone but doesn’t say anything.

I close the door, as I default to rambling over silence. “Well... ANYWAY, your friends said you needed a roomie so here I am! They seem like a fun bunch huh? They mentioned something about you stabbing someone, not that that’s important to me haha! D-Don’t answer that! Those are cool swords you have there!! Where’d you get them? Can you fight with them at the same time!!?? That’s CRAZY! But in a good way! Not that you’re crazy!! Also, I didn’t seem to get your name??” I take a seat on the chest across from her.

She starts to polish her swords. “I didn’t give it.”

Ohhhh one of THOSE types.

She glances up briefly and squints at me. “Why are you wearing a sleeve on only one arm?”

To hide my tattoo.

“OH haha! THIS??? It’s uhhh… to cover a… birthmark! It’s- It’s really gross and ugly and I, uh- hate it so I don’t like looking at it.”

She furrows her brow and kind of scoots further away on her bed after hearing that.

Smooth.

I start putting my stuff away. “Sooooo, I heard someone on the boat is named Beremy?? What’s up with that? That doesn’t sound like a real name.”

“Tiller doesn’t sound like a real name.” She mumbles.

“OHHHH SO SHE HAS JOKES!!! Miss Mystery over here has jests and japes for the the new girl, okay, I’ll take that one. I’m glad comedy is allowed in this room.”

She seems to eye me more closely now as I empty my backpack. She responds: “Just don’t touch my things and you won’t be sleeping in the galley with your namesake.”

“The other crew members seem to be kind of scared of you. Should I be worried, or are you all bark and no bite?”

I feel a whoosh of cool air whip past my ear. One of her swords is suddenly embedded in the wall behind me, inches from the side of my head. 

Whoa…. she’s Perfect.

She sounds a little irritated when she says, “I like for people to make their own judgements about me and not listen to rumors from people they’ve just met.”

My heart is racing. (Probably from the sword, right??) I yank it out of the wall. “That… was SO COOL!!! I didn’t even see you throw it. You’ve gotta teach me that!!!””

She looks a little taken aback.

I continue, “Also have you ever thought about pulling your hair out of your face with something??? Then maybe you can aim better!! Plus… I think your eyes are really pretty...”

“I-” 

Suddenly, there’s a bell ringing down the hall.

The girl looks away to the side. Was her face always that pink? She stands up and makes for the door. “That’s the dinner bell. You can… come with me if you want. It’d be weird to just stay in here.”

I hop up. “Alright Miss Mystery, if you INSIST!”

“It’s Mayday.”

“What?”

“Mayday. That’s my name. If I am stuck with you, then you at least ought to know what to call me.”

Mayday.

Aw man… how am I gonna figure out this one…?

🌗 Early mornings or late nights? What do they spend their time doing during these hours?

Early mornings all the way! As much as I LOVE sleepovers and gossiping over pillow talk, there’s something AMAZING about seeing the sunrise and getting to run around before the rest of the crew has woken up! Usually, I like to sneak food from Mr. Biscuit while he’s still making breakfast and I try to hide stickers in Selim’s armory. I chat with all the animals around the boat too! You know, catch up with the seagulls and dolphins following along side. I usually find a rat or two, and they always have the best jokes!!! Miss Shih says I should get rid of any rats I find, but what she doesn’t know, won’t hurt my loyal subjects. And then my favorite, I GET TO WAKE EVERYONE UP!!! Miss Shih’s always awake, so she’s the exception! You really bond and get to know a person once you’ve seen them at their most annoyed and delirious state, A HA I LOVE IT!!!

❓ A random fact or short drabble! Or make up your own question to ask the OC!

My question of choice: If you had a personalized Captain Hat, what power would it grant you?

THAT’S A REALLY HARD ONE!!! Part of me almost wants to inherit Roy’s hat because his power is really cool and he’s never let me USE IT!!!! >:///

But part of me also feels like it would be fun to just enhance the druid powers I already have! Like basically just become a water-bender and control the weather when you’re out at sea!! OH! Or maybe it could be a shape-shifting animal hat!!! (But how would that work in animal form?? Would they all get little hats?? That’s not intimidating!!!) Maybe it could be navigator related, and I would always know where I am and never be lost! OR MAYBE! It could track the thing you desire most!!! That seems kind of heavy for me though haha! Regardless, I can’t make up my mind! I want them all! The solution is that all captain’s should give me their hats and that’ll be the end of it!!! It’s only fair, and I deserve it of course!!!

[allbeendonebefore]

What are your favourite head/canon things about Alberta

[cracks knuckles] [stretches fingers]

so i’ll just start with a disclaimer - i use sherry’s/iamp/whatever alberta and i realize ive been getting a lot of followers who are part of rp groups and whatever or people who might be interested in adding some depth to their own ocs so feel free to like… think about these things if you want if you’re thinking of doing an alberta oc?? I guess

so since that mysterious slash implies what are my fave canonical things about AB too I’ll say that there isn’t much- I go with what sherry says on canon rather than IAMP and PC because while there are a lot of things I had influence over in both projos there are a lot of things I would have done differently so we’ll start with the bio

Canon Stuff

literally all the things are accurate sooo its hard lol. Obviously the political situation has changed and the economic situation is its usual rollercoaster (WELL… but thats another time). I gotta say that the ‘alberta beef is the best thing that’s ever happened to me’ is really hitting home right now because i didnt realize how SPOILED i was by AAA beef until I got to Ontario ToT (ngl the pork here is super good and saves me money but the BEEF aAAA)

also my edmonton bias shines through at ‘he hates a part of himself called calgary’ thats by far my second fave B)))

Headcanon Stuff

ok where to start I will try to not make this an essay and i can elaborate more if you’re curious

- a lot of people will wonder about whether a province lives in the capital or the biggest city etc. and I have to say in Bertie’s case it is NEITHER. He’d never willingly live in (d)E(a)dmonton (sorry ed ilu) because Ed represents Government which he Hates and while he would spend a fair bit of time in Calgary he gets claustrophobic/exhausted - he still in my mind represents more of the rural bits of the province than the cities. I think he might move around a little, but he probably lives on a ranch between both cities but within sight of the mountains. I’m sure he has a place to stay in each city, but he’s a country boy at heart and appreciates his space, peace and quiet. 

- Particularly space because Where else is he going to keep his 3 trucks + 2 ATVs + horses + 100000 cows + boat + canoe + kayak + all his camping junk + motorbikes + dirtbikes + tractor + other junk that people leave at his place

- that said his ‘birthplace’ is the southern ‘half’ of the province so he tends to kind of hover around there more- as i said he owns a ranch rather than a farm because the Quality Ranch Land is in the south and the Good Farm Land is in the north (and being eaten up by ugly houses ugh)

- still I think he spends a fair amount of time working up north in the Fort Mac area because Why Not make All the money. Even if you’re a rancher boy in the middle of nowhere, everyone in this province has ties to the oil industry one way or another. It wouldn’t make sense for him NOT to work in Oil and Gas because it’s literally the only job in the province lmao.

- His driving playlist consists of: Dean Brody, Corb Lund, Keith Urban, Ian Tyson, and the obligatory Nickelback which he listens to Un-ironically but also to piss off/drown out passengers when they’re annoying him

- He’s easily annoyed. By Everything. And Everyone. He’s the current national scapegoat and he takes it Extremely Personally depending on the context but also he has a relatively affectionate relationship with everyone and usually expresses his affection by pointed jabs. 

- like he literally gets along with everyone on a personal level and not just because he buys them drinks- his worst relationships are probably with BC and Ontario and that’s just because he lives to irritate them and they respond with an appropriate amount of salt. He still doesnt mind hanging out with them and bc/ab/on/qc is an unstoppable team. He just gets extremely sensitive when anyone asks to borrow money from him and will give you an earful of ‘i work SO HARD for this money to put FOOD on YOUR TaBLe’

- generally really tight fisted with money………. only when other people are looking. he makes a big deal about how little he spends on essential services and you just look at him like ‘so you’re saying you have the money to get all this crap for this rodeo coming up but you dont have the money to take yourself to the hospital after’ and hes like [coughs up blood anime style] ‘im ok i have whiskey and benadryl at home’ [adjusts his diamond studded hat]

- really big on loyalty and straightforward conversations and has NO patience for any hypocrisy or doublespeak no matter how small. The slightest of things can send him reeling with Betrayal. Also this makes him either tight lipped or TMI, there is no in between. 

- like literally reeling he’s very top heavy and you could blow him over with a sneeze, he’s all bark and only some bite. When he’s good he’s Real Good but when he’s bad he’s like a foot in the grave bad

- he’s the baby of the prairie bros but also the one with the brains- and i don’t mean in an academic sense i mean in the ‘so crazy it just might work’ sense. 

- literally he’s an idiot he doesnt understand how equalization payments work no matter how many times you explain it to him. He doesn’t understand a lot of things re: the economy but he never shuts up about them. 

- the easiest way to piss him off is to threaten his autonomy in any way, he will stop whatever he’s doing to put a boot up yer ass if you Dare suggest something like ‘why don’t you let ontario/canada take care of that for you’ even if he knows the way he’s doing something is garbage he will go out of his way to keep doing it because its ‘my way or the highway’. 

- ‘why do you have all those guns’ ‘oh you know hunting deer and stuff’ [really its because he’s terrified a rat is going to sneak into his barn or something] [but he does actually hunt] [and he’s the type of guy to have the ‘trespassers will be shot’ signs]

- I haven’t figured out WHAT truck he drives yet but i am PROUD OF HIM for no longer putting truck nuts on it, THANK GOD that went out of fashion. (That said he does not have the stacks- his truck is lifted and Shiny and also has a handful of Alberta Strong decals/stickers.) Newf probably gave him a sticker of “The Rock” or a nfld flag and he Loves it. On a scale of most to least obnoxious trucks its Mac - Bert - Cal - Ed. It’s probably a white truck.

- i should think about things he loves more, this headcanon list is mostly things that make him angry oops xDD he loves animals a lot, and not just to eat i swear. The bigger and the more horns the better.

- he really loves driving a lot, it’s like a big part of his independence factor. I think sometimes he will just drive aimlessly late at night/early morning when it’s not busy and just go and find somewhere to look at the sky.

- he looooves digging up fossils in his spare time, or just interesting rocks in general. If you say the words animatronic dinosaur he is ALREADY THERE

- he watches a lot of sci fi and really loves star trek. So Much. he’s totally attempted mowing crop circles in his lawn/fields probably multiple times. he’s still waiting for the ufos to come land. Also has a thing for spooky places and cryptids and those weird inexplicable twilight-zone like events that only happen on road trips. did i mention the Giant Roadside Attractions. 

- he has this persona of being a traditional/small-and-big-c conservative but he’s actually really into innovation and trying new things, meeting new people, etc. He interacts with so many different people lately that he’s trying to take the time to really re-evaluate himself and move away from the Klein-era “Severely Normal People” image because it doesn’t reflect him. The issue is he’s more likely to vote on economy rather than social issues so his actual progressiveness gets hidden by lack of political representation (and lets be honest he has Always hated politics). He’s got a lot of crap to sort through but he catches people who underestimate him off guard.

- was probably raised methodist/protestant/whatever but is mostly pretty secular, but he has some definite strong holdovers that make him uncomfortable about certain subjects and his first reaction to being uncomfortable is always anger.

- completely oblivious to being hit on or something or really gay situations around him but is that type of person who is like [cant walk too close to another dude because what if it looks gay bro].

- his fave cow is named buttercup

- he has definitely woken up after a night out with friends naked and alone duct taped to an air mattress and floating in the middle of a lake. true story. 

- he will macgyver his way out of any situation. doesn’t mind getting down and dirty in the mud when it’s necessary. exactly the type of person to shove his hands in bitumen and squish it around or to pick up a rock and lick it or to shove a thermometer up a cow. When he gets squeamish he does his best to be bullheaded and pretend like Nothing is Wrong until he faints. 

- his french is crap but he Tries- the french he knows is backwater northern AB french which he’s too shy to bring up so he feigns ignorance. His german is good and his ukrainian is passable, his spanish is fine, he’s trying to get the hang of some other languages but doesn’t tell anyone he’s practicing because he hates getting made fun of xD

- the hat and boots are Absolutely to make him look taller than he actually is. He doesn’t wear inserts but he does make sure the sole/heel on any boot he buys is Thick. Smol insecure man with a Big hat. Will spend 300 bucks on shoes, but he actually does ride/work so its an investment for him. 

- heads to Arizona/Mexico in the winter when he’s not working, otherwise Banff/Jasper are his ‘budget’ vacations lol. 

i love this stupid province pls ask if you have any more questions because i love to talk and i feel like i’ve said too much already lol

[hydepark1-6]

Flood of the spyre

History’s a bitch ain’t it?    It’s been so long now, we, those from before, don’t really see them as we once did. A muted rainbow of smoke and other tiny particles, ropey and living it twists reminding one of a fuzzy eel. In its mouth a spiral of teeth (the only part that feels solid) in a circle reaching inward, a reverse accordion to better grind, swallow and burrow. Some are lucky to have it attached to a fleshy forward facing bit. The stomach is a good spot, the chest even better, but most people were not as lucky when the wave of symbiotic leaches were released. A pyroclastic cloud like swarm of them, they came at us, everyone, from every direction. In a feeding frenzy whipping and spinning with keenest instinct they bit into the first warm thing they sensed. Legs, heads, asses, my best friend has one coming out either ear. My mother lost an eye, well it’s still there, not too far from where it was eaten. If we could ever find the waste hole on one of these things we might get some of our parts and bits back. Mangled and chewed and smelling of shit, but still flesh. Still some bit of a person. Luckily i didn’t lose but a patch of hair on the back of my head during the flood. There were those who resisted, marched, protested, but when the governments announced “there are just too many…these symbiotic spyrants will live either way…this is our chance to save the human race from certain extinction.” It was over. The flood was not to be stopped once unleashed.  

 Mosquitos don’t go after warm metal. They go after two things to find their dinner. The sweet smell of our sweat, mixed with our carbon dioxide laden breath and the heat of the living. To have both is to be a target. The spyrants were looking for the same things, only attacking and claiming that which possessed both.  Just one? Nope, not a viable host.      

 At the onset, some spent the rest of their entire existence trying to remove the unwanted guests. Scaring themselves in the process and the thing only dug in further. If a person kept trying to extricate the spyrant, it gets in too far and spreads to all points delicious and vulnerable until there is no person left. These are the dead espers, mindless harvest and assembly workers. They do what they are shown and much like a machine, work until broken or shut off.    Others don’t mind so much the relationship, though it is not voluntary, they work with it. The benefits seem to outweigh the nuisance. Besides, for many, it’s all they have ever known. Some gain the trust and friendship of their personal overlord. The spyrants tend to like small sweet bits and music it finds soothing. It’s funny, no ears or echolocation can be seen or determined, but an irritant or pain experienced by the host can be satisfied or quelled by playing something orchestral and stringy. The spyrant then releases a generous dosage of serotonin and something a kin to an opiate excreted directly into the host’s bloodstream. Mine likes grapes, small coppery things, and some springy Mozart or Philip glass can make my day a little dreamy if not taken too far.    Everyone has their story. Mine doesn’t have much of a before. When the flood came, I was only 5, just a little boy, hiding under my bed, my hands hugging my pillow buddy and my face buried and away trying to escape somehow through the fabric. The spyrant who found me was attracted to the heat generated from what had been a rather aggressive virus and an accompanying fever that was making my head feel bloated and my skin sizzle. Its teeth ate and swirled until positioned rather like a rat tail braid at the base of my skull. So like I said, “lucky”. My spyre is considered almost stylish. Spyrants or “spyres” are a part of everything we do now. They are fashion. They are prestige. They are pleasure appendages. They are pets. They are us. We are them. There are laws and religions set to protect and exalt them and us with them. They do not control us, but limit our ability to react or process. They do this not consciously (as far as we can tell) but rather as a result of occupying space where that bit used to be…and the drugs. It’s just making a more comfortable and compliant home for itself. It can’t force you to do anything like kill someone or yourself and it can’t kill you. It doesn’t increase your intelligence and it doesn’t seem to have any desire to hinder your personal progress, so long as it’s safe and sated. The symbiont wishes no harm on the host, but when it comes right down to it, they will choose survival every time. They always have.  

The water is a window, the sphere is a door     An inter-dimensional rip appears as a sphere of empty space in the Arctic Ocean. It’s an anomaly scientists and theorists rush to examine. The first team to reach and measure it determined two things initially. It’s growing, the sphere itself is expanding, and it isn’t empty, there is something swirling inside. Not one thing but many. If you could merge dark clouds and a school of fish in constant movement, you would be close. They observed the sphere engulfing all it ran into or disturbed, except for the water and the ice. It was suggested to plant testing equipment in its path and remotely test what the sphere is from inside it, and maybe determine where it came from. What was the swirl was made of? What were those smokey wisps that seemed to be alive and hungry?  

  The scientists constructed a crawler base, which well, crawled under the sphere. Not right under, but just at a half a mile under, crawling on the ocean floor. Like an underwater space station on treads, the whole observation team and support staff lived and worked pacing the sphere seated a half a mile up.    

  After initial testing was successful, they were able to plot a growth rate of the sphere, but not where it came from, and also that the cloud inside was indeed alive and made up of now hundreds of thousands of eel like wisps. They swirled and swarmed, occasionally attacking each other. It seems they were territorial even when spinning in a circle. Due to this trait, having two or more spyres on any one person is very rare.  The only way for this to happen is if the spyres have no knowledge of each other’s occupancy. Further tests to the sphere also revealed the inside was pretty dry but the sphere itself, the walls were wet. The equipment sensed moisture from other objects residing in the sphere, but no pools or puddles. The walls of the sphere seem to be made up of three layers of membranous stretchy water, making it both solid and porous. During examination, it appeared to make choices on which to be and when. Each layer rubs against one another (creating a hypnotic hum) but also shifts into place like tumblers in a lock. When the right elements, minerals, proteins and molecules are lined up, it can let objects pass while continuing to repel the water all around it.  

  As its diameter grew, it just pushed through the water choosing not to let any pass through. Everything sent into the sphere seemed to do ok and nothing seemed to disturb the swarm, So naturally humanity wanted to send an animal into it. After much debate, they decided to send a dog. Kraken was trained to find holes and cracks in ships and subs. Sure, he had other abilities, but this skill in particular was the one that got him the job, in the sphere.      Kraken was anesthetized and sent up a rope in a bell. They slowed and stopped his ascent when he was in range of the sphere’s path. The rope became ridged and moved him closer. The dog kraken passed slowly through the wall of the sphere. Having no water to support him or the bell on the other side, they both fell through the wispy eels (which seemed to take no notice of him) and down onto a pile of debris and dead fish at the bottom of the sphere.  

 Kraken woke and the science team in the crawler cheered. When they announced their success, the press had a field day over the dog essentially being sent on a suicide mission.  I mean they had a point. He was sent with no food to an isolated place with no food.  There was a public outcry to “Save the Kraken!” Posters, t-shirts, bumper stickers, graffiti, and kraken flags were seen pretty much everywhere.   Something had to be done. So a scientist from the team below by the name of Doctor Simon Jerry volunteered to be the first person to enter the sphere, face the swarm, save the dog and hopefully not die in the process. Suited up, DrJerry used the very same rope delivery system as the kraken in his bell. When he reached the sphere he just unhooked from the rope and swam to it. He passed through easily. Traveling from very cold low salinity water and now on the inside, he was surprised to find the sphere holding no significant amount of water (he and his colleagues had collectively assumed this reading was off). He also wasn’t prepared for the gut punchy smells of wet dog and fishy dogshit. He removed his ear plugs; there was a rushing sound the doctor attributed to the wisps above still circling and fighting. His wet suit squeaked slightly as he got to his feet and approached the dog. They were happy to see one another. DrJerry opened a zipper pouch on his front and offered the dog a mild treat and some water. The Doctor then gave kraken the command to search for a way out. “Search for a crack, find us a hole we can use to get home.” Kraken did search but found nothing. After checking and testing, DrJerry could find no flaw. There was no evidence he or the dog or anything else had passed through the walls and into the sphere, but here they were…trapped.  

 The sphere continued to grow and the swirling wisps never stopped.  DrJerry was succumbing to the stress of his predicament. So maybe it was just frustration because after 27hrs of testing and theorizing and reporting, he still came up with nothing, no possible let alone probable means of escape and now they wanted him to sit calmly for a friggin network tv interview? …or possibly because he just wanted the damn thing off his skin, DrJerry began taking off his wetsuit. His legs and feet were still very cold. His chest and arms were a little better, but only just. Then he took off his head piece. The swarm around him shuddered. And all at once the wispy eels took notice of the man and his steamy head. They shifted and went for him. The first to connect fought off all the rest and claimed its prize. DrJerry tried to fight the wisp but it wasn’t solid enough for him to grab onto. The thing had latched onto the top of his head right there where the hairline meets his forehead, dead center and while on a live feed with the crawler half a mile down.    So yeah…The first guy to get a spyrant attached to him has it positioned like a whipping unicorn horn on live tv. What are the odds really? After many hours where he desperately tries to cut the spyre from his head and takes to throwing himself against the sphere itself, he succumbs to his self-inflicted injuries.  Three days later the dog eats him. As kraken gets closer to the spyrant part of his meal, the spyrant itself wriggles free and joins the swarm once again. They do not die when the host dies. There is no known way to kill one. They vacate the host when it is no longer viable, and move on to the next host. No one has ever killed a spyrant, neither has anyone ever seen one die or reported a death.  

We gotta do what we gotta do   After the well documented tortured death of DrJerry, and with the sphere still growing, fear really set in and all efforts were considered in stopping this menace from reaching civilization. It was the aim of the decision makers that this “not blight humanity.” We were told, “If we cannot kill them, they must want to kill us” They didn’t want to send another person in. They studied the tapes of DrJerry’s fate and monitored kraken’s decline. They told the press the dog died in the attack that led to Jerry’s decent. Vigils were held and little girls cried for the German Sheppard/Labrador mix as he wasted to nothing while the powers of this world decided what position you and I would be forced to take.  

 Everything they sent into the sphere had no effect on the sphere itself or the growing swarm within. They tried explosions, acid, metal tools and drills. Nothing worked, until someone gave it air and sunshine. Just your typical oxygen nitrogen trace gas mix and our concentrated solar spectral distribution. Once applied, the sphere melted a little, but immediately reacted to the water around it and sealed up. It was like watching a hole evaporate into a solid wall. But now we knew the two things it needed to complete its task, and what most likely would happen next. It was all so clear now. It would continue to expand and the wisps would continue to multiply. When the sphere reached the surface, the air and sunlight would rip and melt the sphere away like a goddamned gelcap, releasing the wispy eel-things into the world, our world, now theirs. We were done for real.    It was a common concern that well if we can’t destroy the sphere because we don’t want to release the whatever those things were onto the world, then we need to stop it from growing or reaching through the water to the sky. Someone noticed the sphere didn’t like passing through ice. It actually can’t. It will do whatever it can to avoid it. A plan was hatched to freeze the water around it, and it seemed to work…at first. The sphere’s progress appeared to stop. The powerful corporations and governments patted themselves on the back and called the job done. They’re good at that…congratulating themselves and telling the world everything is ok, better than ok.  It was not.    The wisps continued to multiply and the force of the swarm pushed and stretched the sphere cracking the ice around it. Slowly at first, but like any flaw that is exploited, the crack became a gash and the ice broke away. The sphere now had only one direction to go and the path of least resistance was up. There was no more time. Humanity was going to face these things and we couldn’t stop them.    They sent in another volunteer. Since the wisps didn’t seem to want anything that wasn’t human, we needed someone to determine what they wanted with us, and to do that you just had to well, see what would happen. We needed a sacrifice, a well-paid volunteer. They found just what they were looking for in Filton Kenzy. Mr Kenzy’s family would receive a great deal of money for his sacrifice, and if he survived he would be not only a national, but a world treasure. “Citizen human” willing to sacrifice all for the good of humanity and lifetimes of security for his family….if we survived.  

filton kenzy, citizen human    Filton was rushed through equipment training for the task and briefed on what little we knew of what a spyre would do. The rest was for him to report back. Fully outfitted he was delivered to the sphere in style. No rope for Mr Kenzy. He got to enjoy the luxury of a two seater submarine with a bubble “encounter dome” its not usually recommended, but you can squish yourself into that bubble space, seal the compartment and unlock the dome to exit the sub in an emergency. And that’s how Filton did it. Out of the bubble, he swam for the sphere which was only 8 or 9 strokes away.   He met the outer wall with his back first in a spinning motion like a ball player trying to keep just out of grip of the other players. As he spinned, he breached the sphere, face forward and down. All at once the grotesque stinging cloud of smells emanating from the pile of dead and rotting kraken hit him hard. Choking back a wave of vomitus retching, he tucked, and rolled forward. He was slowed significantly by the squishy debris he found himself rolling over. He stopped, got up and found his footing. Filton removed the packs, excess gear and testing equipment he brought with him. He established communication with the crawler. He winced as he breathed deep and deliberate. One, two. Ok he had his orders, he was ready.    The running theory at play here is heat. Filton had been told he has a choice to make. The wispy smoke-eel will go for the warmest bit available. Depending on which part you expose, it can be lured to many different individual spots on the body, so what’s it going to be? Unfortunately for Filton, despite his calm exterior, he was scared and a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of spyrants in the swarm. They moved so fast and they never stopped. He found himself swaying with the rhythm of the swirl. His attention was fixed. He didn’t want to move from this spot. To sit as still as possible was somehow everything. He might’ve stayed there and wasted like the abandoned kraken, but a pain shot through his chest. It was his lungs. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to breathe through the stale, thick stench of decay. As if particles were coating his insides making it harder to take in whatever amount of oxygen he was able to inhale. He shook his head. “This is it”.   When he got up to face the spyrants, he wanted them to come at him and get it over with. He took off his heated neoprene wet vest top. The swarm shuddered as it had when it felt the temperature slightly change around DrJerry. The reaction wasn’t fast enough for Filton. In his agitated state he began yelling, screaming at the swarm. They descended and the winner of Filton Kenzy dove directly into his open mouth and devoured his vocal chords. It thankfully sensed Filton’s distress immediately and began doping him almost on contact. Filton only managed a partial muted scream before the drugs kicked in and the chewing spyre silenced him.    Filton staggered and sneezed. The whipping forked tail of the spyre shot out his nose like a smokey mustache of tentacles, one from each nostril. He could no longer speak, but he was high as fuck and could type. Dreamy from the drugs, he thought of sign language, he was going to have to learn a new way to communicate face to face. What did he already know of signing? Not much. He wondered if anyone on the science team knew sign language.   And these were the first words in communication from Filton Kensy to the world as citizen human, the first successful living host to a spyre from the swarm. He smiled as he typed, “Does anyone down there know ASL?”

After two weeks of reports and on site testing he performed on the sphere, the swarm and on himself, it was determined that citizen human was apparently ok. Having made no attempts to fight the spyrant, he actually felt pretty good. Filton was rescued in a daring attempt where the team from the crawler sent a ropod into the sphere, but this ropod wasn’t the usual yellow bubble with arms remotely navigated to pick up marine samples, oh no. This ropod was modified and extended so as it passed into the sphere, Filton could open the forward hatch and quickly crawl in, press one button and he jettisons out the rear of the craft before it passes through and into the sphere completely.    Once back on the crawler, Filton was quarantined. However, they soon found out his spyre wasn’t a ravenous beast set on eating its way through humanity. It liked Filton and it wasn’t going anywhere. And HostFilton seemed happier and healthier than when he volunteered a month ago despite having his vocal chords eaten by an alien who now lived in his mouth and nasal cavity, not to mention basically sitting in his own filth with a rotting dog carcass for the past two weeks.     Yes, Filton Kenzy survived, but his family, most of them did not. When the flood came, they resisted the parasites. They spent their time and money destroying their bodies with the help of one extraction quack after another.    Citizen human and his spyre are in fact still alive. We had no way of knowing at the time, but it seems if properly cared for, your spyre can cure most ailments and less ravenous cancers. People aren’t dying. The new average life expectancy is 130, that’s when our bodies just give up, and the spyrant moves on to the next host.

Nowhere to hide     Bathed in yellowy artificial light, they held off until the last possible second. They did it in secret. For months now in the deepest bunkers and sitting around “the big table” they have been secretly debating the fate of the world. When the time came, when the sphere was a quarter mile in diameter and about to breach the surface and reach the sun, just as the cracks appeared and the sphere began to melt, they, the world powers and leaders of governments with their nuclear arms aimed at the Arctic Ocean, entered codes and pressed buttons. And in the greatest explosion this planet has ever seen, the flood began.  By then the number of wispy spyrants had grown from millions to billions. Unharmed by the blast they flew at a velocity no one at the time was prepared to measure. In seconds they were at the equator and seemed to get their bearings, the heat from the sun waking them, reminding them why they were here. To live, to find a home and they spread like a cloud of dust engulfing every horizon at once. Seeking, finding, and burrowing in.

 The rich and powerful were certain they were somehow immune. That the poor or “everyone else” would take the brunt if not the entire burden of host duties while the ruling class would naturally rise above and let the little people do the work, die in the struggle, and do what they’re told. They were expendable, that’s why they exist. They are seen as nothing more than flesh shields protecting the soft underbelly of privilege. The rich land owners, corporate slugs and lawyers who stink of old money have no idea how truly useless they are, but they are about to become of use.       The resistance was prepared. They took the obvious queues from DrJerry’s fate and opted to wear wet suits and other items invented to mask scent and body heat. They congregated and holed up in freezers and built houses of ice. They labeled their movement the Froggers. At first it seemed they had something going with their plan, but it didn’t last. Even lavish and well protected underground or underwater communities of the ultra-rich Froggers were infiltrated by the swarm eventually. You see, the spyrants can not only fly, they can somehow cheat what we know of physics and molecular density. They can pass through our walls. And the Froggers failed to understand a basic truth. It was the sphere that could not pass through the ice. The spyrants had no actual contact with the ice itself, just the sphere. The wisps could pass through ice quite easily. One by one the resistance were picked off and assimilated. Once someone in the community was infected, the community freaked out, locked down and outcast the victim. And so the resistance dwindled to nothing. It is believed there is no living person who is not host to our shared burden.     The flood did kind of level the field in a way, while other things stayed very much the same. There is no “bigger, better” symbiont to buy. Rich folk, and poor folk alike experience the same random placement and same health benefits. Although coma has become the preferred method of long term recovery and the rich are the only ones who can afford the maintenance.  

 Those born after the flood were saddled with the random placement just as those from before, but somehow more devastating and cruel. If you were infected, and procreated, the baby would be just as healthy as the genetic mixed bag of human traits and shortcomings would allow, but there was something new. A predetermined feeding and entry spot. A great circular scar which the first doctor to deliver the first infected baby thought would be a mark of resistance, a birthmark of superiority, proof we were better and that we would win. But no, all it really meant was we were the perfect host for this parasite. After exposure, our offspring are born fully outfitted to be a better host. Our very DNA liked the parasite so much it actually conformed to and supported it. Baby x and her adorable little spyrant port were soon met with a pupal spyre and both parasite and host grew healthily and happily for they knew no other way. This is what life brings us and these are the things we do now.  

 The espers and their handlers quietly, but globally cornered the assembly industries.  If pieces of something fit together to create something else, an esper is the fastest and cheapest labor out there. Their representation on the world stage is almost comically corrupt and they being a mindless but obedient mass of people, are a force when banded and therefore the “esperorg” is a feared organization. It is rumored they kidnap people, tie them up and aggravate the victim’s spyre until it burrows in far enough to create an esper. The org and its dealings are whispered to children and scary accounts of “this guy I knew” are shared around campfires under the stars and over beers in dive bars. Superstitions and cautionary tales weave in and out of what is and could be. so we lock our doors, and we walk a little bit faster.

There are spyre junkies. Their spyrant sways with the orchestral vibration blaring from headphones, releasing tiny doses which are just a topper for the junkie/hosts who are constantly hurting themselves for the reward. But the spyre can sense when the pain is not distressing and releases less, which in turn forces the junkie to do things more dire and more painful to get the goods.

 The spinning and circling of the spyrants in the sphere is a mating dance. (like a knot of snakes) That’s why they procreated so quickly. The hum from the sphere put them in a trance like mating state. Swimming and sewing the air, they were a great fluid knot of wispy in constant motion. Outside of the mating sphere, the spyrants breed only in the warmest climates on their warmest days and they do not need the knot of thousands it only takes six or so to get a good rhythm going and make a little spyre which is there immediately after the mating. Curled and immobile as if it were in an invisible egg it just sits there suspended in the center until the dance is over. The pupal spyre lazily wakes up, stretches it’s long forked tail and it’s off to find a newborn host. The pupal spyres can smell the new host offspring from quite a distance. The children never cry. No one has heard a child cry in over half a century. In the mating sphere, millions upon millions of pupal spyres were made. Hanging in the center space within the knot of the fully grown. A protective niche for the collection of pups. When they wake and stretch, the first and only motivation is food. And food is right there. They enter the swarm and latch onto the first adult they touch. One adult can support one pupil at a time. Every day the number grew, the sphere expanded and the knot continued to swirl and eat itself.  

The maple syrup kid Now that we have been relying on and held by these things for 66years, the maple syrup kid shows up and everything changes. There have been studies for decades, experiments where every wacky idea was thrown at the spyrants and their hosts. And in the 66th year of occupation a 13 year old girl is the first to remove her spyre. There is a way. It can be done, but now many don’t want to. Filton lobbys against it. Governments call the exhosts noncitizens of the global collective. A movement is started to release the espers from their captivity, which is a phenomenally bad idea. The only thing keeping any one of them from rampaging mindlessly is the constant monitoring by its spyre and the unending medication excreted from the same.

The idea of extraction was a simple one really. A symbiant will only vacate a host when it wants to. You have to get it to want to leave, if only briefly. The people who performed experiments based on this knowledge paid too much attention to the meal/home the parasite already had. The scientists tried influencing the spyre through manipulating its host. The spyrant merely compensated and adjusted and held tight. If you threatened or aggravated it, you would create an esper. Though it was considered to tempt it with another meal, the testers never really got what the spyre wanted or why. Like a child given this or that, it would get bored. The trick was to find something it could never get enough of. An irresistible treat, and the kid gave it a treat alright; one laced with something the spyre could not process. She made a mixture of maple syrup which most if not all spyres seem to favor, and cayenne pepper. The spyrant will go after the syrup and collect the pepper in a sputum sac. When it has enough pepper stored it needs to spit it out. This is revolutionary for two reasons. One, it was the first time extraction was successful without the host dying first. And two, the kid was born into host-hood. She had never known a life without her spyre. Which goes for the wisp as well. this was a 13year home and relationship the spyrant willingly detached from. This scenario in particular was one never imagined by present society. Yet the kid did it, and now humanity has a choice to make. each choice has consequences both known and unforeseen. 

[animationnut]

To Gravity Falls, From Piedmont: Chapter 25

Summary: It’s a long way until next summer. Until then, Dipper   and Mabel share their daily antics and life problems with their lifelong friends and attentive great-uncles through an endless string of   e-mails. Distance makes the heart grow fonder after all, and there’s no place Dipper and Mabel love more than Gravity Falls.

                                                     Chapter List

To: Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick); Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude); Grunkle Stan (StantheMan); Grunkle Ford (Highsixer); Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan)

From: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn)

Subject:  Nice shirt, bro

1 Attachment (Photo File)

Hey!

The picture you are about to view is a rare sighting. I’ve always known Dipper owned this shirt, but I’ve never caught him wearing it, as hard as that is to believe. But I finally succeeded and I had to share this for posterity.

Much love,

Mabel

“Mabel!”

Pressing her hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles, Mabel stayed as still as possible in the bathroom closet. She was sitting on a pile of faded towels, the corner of a washcloth dangling from the shelf above ticking her forehead. She listened as Dipper stomped around the house, shouting her name angrily. Doors opened and slammed shut and it was not long before he checked the bathroom closet. He flung the door open wide, light spilling into the small confines, and Mabel gave a half-shriek, half-laugh.

Dipper glowered. “This will be your final resting place.”

Grinning, Mabel held up her hands in a defensive manner. It did not pass her notice that her brother was wearing a grey sweater instead of the shirt she had caught him in ten minutes ago, but she was wise not to remark on it. “Aw, come on, I couldn’t resist!”

“You’re not even supposed to be here! I thought you had theater!”

“Director cancelled—he got food poisoning, so I came home early.” Mabel wrangled her way out of the closet and stood, smoothing out her yellow sweater with a glittery sunshine sewn onto the front. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear me.”

“I was listening to music,” snapped Dipper. “You have theater for three hours twice a week. That’s my ‘me’ time. You’ve ruined it and my reputation.”

“They’ll think it’s funny,” insisted Mabel. When Dipper continued to scowl, she tugged on his arm beseechingly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that I never see you in that shirt and it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

Wrinkling his nose, Dipper regarded her sincere, apologetic expression before letting out a huff of air, the final shreds of anger and annoyance evaporating. “Sisters.”

“A rare, confusing breed,” said Mabel with a straight face.

“Not so rare,” returned Dipper, managing to bite back a smile. “Grunkle Stan is never going to let me hear the end of this.”

“He’ll forget all about it when you do something else that’s completely embarrassing.”

Levelling a finger at her, Dipper warned, “Be aware of what you have started. I shall have my revenge.”

A twinge of unease coursed through Mabel and she inched her way towards the door. “Uh-huh. I’m gonna go…arrange my knitted cozies. Love you!”

She skipped off and Dipper shook his head, shuffling out of the bathroom and heading into the living room. He reluctantly removed his phone from his pocket, where the infernal picture was still on the screen. It showed him sprawled out on his bed, eyes closed and chin tilted towards the ceiling. A pair of headphones were resting firmly over his ears. He was wearing a very old, very faded, very ratted white shirt that had a fuzzy rubber duckie on the front, only a few tufts of yellow feathers remaining. It was short, the hem riding well over his belly button, and the sleeves hanging a few inches off of his shoulders.

“Next time, barricade the door,” he muttered to himself, cheeks flushing red. Taking a breath, he braced himself and began to read the comments.

Grunkle Stan: This must be what a midlife crisis looks like when you’re not yet middle age and have only been in existence for just over a decade.

Grunkle Ford: That’s a very durable shirt, if you’ve owned it for as long as it seems.

Wendy Corduroy: Huh. Totally figured you were more of a lamb guy, but ducks are equally sickeningly cute.

Soos Ramirez: Dude, I used to have the same shirt. Except it was a cub. And it didn’t have cool fur. And it was a sweater.

Wendy Corduroy: So nowhere close to being the same.

Dipper Pines: It’s comfortable!

Grunkle Stan: I don’t care if it’s the most comfortable thing on the planet, it’s hideous.

Grunkle Ford: So is your undershirt, which was once white and is now yellow and apparently very comfortable.

Grunkle Stan: True, but at least it doesn’t have a duck on it.

Dipper Pines: That’s the last time I have my guard down when I wear that thing—and there will be a next time.

Mabel Pines: You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this opportunity.

Wendy Corduroy: You’ve seriously never seen him in it before this?

Soos Ramirez: Wow, that’s impressive.

Mabel Pines: I know, right? There’s pictures of him wearing it when he’s five and six. I’ve always known he kept it in his dresser, and I know he wears it occasionally. I never managed to catch him until now.

Soos Ramirez: And it fits? Is it magic?

Dipper Pines: Don’t think so. It’s just really stretched out and I’m severely lacking in the muscle and height department.

Grunkle Stan: I’m definitely framing this picture.

Wendy Corduroy: If I ever find a larger version of that shirt I’ll send it to you.

Grunkle Ford: Don’t be too mad at your sister, my boy. This will blow over soon enough.

Dipper Pines: The anger has passed. I am now focussing on my revenge.

Grunkle Stan: I’d sleep with both eyes open if I were you, Mabel.

Enacting payback on his sister was not an easy task, not that Dipper ever expected it to be. She had always been outgoing and much less reserved, so there wasn’t much that embarrassed her. She spent a lifetime wearing colourful sweaters, belting out pop songs in public and covering every inch of available skin with glitter and stickers. She was also on her guard, so he couldn’t trick her into an embarrassing situation. He would have to wait for the right opportunity to arise.

A few weeks passed by and his patience (with a good mix of karma) won out. He was sitting at his computer desk, working on his science homework, when he realized that it was oddly quiet. Brow furrowing, he swung himself out of the computer chair and ventured in search of his sister. He passed through the kitchen, the living room and the bathroom, but did not find her.

“Hmm.” Dipper went back the living room, hands on his hips. He glanced at Waddles, who was lounging on the couch. “Don’t suppose you know where Mabel is?”

The pig shifted his position, so that his snout was facing the window, and snorted.

“Outside, huh? Thanks.” Dipper gave Waddles a pat on the head and strode for the front door, sticking his socked feet into a pair of sneakers. He ventured into the yard and swung around the cracked stone path that led into the back.

She wasn’t anywhere in sight, leaving only one place for her to be. Dipper jogged over to the wooden shed and yanked open the door. He stared for a moment, a slow grin curling across his features. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

The right sleeve of her pink sweater was caught on a rusted nail sticking out of the wall and her left foot had broken through the bottom of a green plastic bucket. Her toes hovered an inch off the ground and she was struggling to wrench herself free of her predicament. She had frozen the second her brother walked in, a dull blush spreading across her face.

“Aw, come on, don’t—”

Dipper removed his phone from his jacket pocket and snapped a picture.

To: Grunkle Ford (Highsixer); Grunkle Stan (StantheMan); Soos Ramirez (QuestionMarkDude); Wendy Corduroy (Lumberchick); Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn)

From: Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan)

Subject: Payback

1 Attachment (Photo File)

Did you think I forgot my vow of revenge? No way. All I had to do was wait patiently for the right moment. It’s all about opportunity, right Mabel?

See all messages in this thread (Expand)

Wendy Corduroy: Okay. I want to ask how the heck you managed to end up in that position, but I feel like that may be a stupid question.

Soos Ramirez: That looks uncomfortable.

Mabel Pines: It is.

Grunkle Stan: You gonna tell us how this happened? Cause I seriously want to know.

Dipper Pines: She needed to reach something on the shelf and used the bucket as a ladder. She got caught on a nail and when she was trying to free herself her foot went through the bucket. She’d tell you this herself, but she’s trying to type with one hand and it would take too long.

Mabel Pines: Thanks a lot.

Dipper Pines: Anytime.

Grunkle Ford: Are you satisfied?

Mabel Pines: No.

Dipper Pines: Yes.

Mabel Pines: Oh, fine. I guess I deserved it.

Wendy Corduroy: You guys never fail to make me laugh. Thanks, seriously, for lighting up my day.

Soos Ramirez: Yeah, you hambones are great!

Mabel Pines: Aw, it’s nothing.

Dipper Pines: We’re naturals at amusing people, even when we’re not trying to.

Grunkle Stan: I wonder if there are any traits that we don’t share.

Grunkle Ford: Is this the end of your little feud?

Dipper Pines: I’m calling it quits. I don’t think I—or my reputation for that matter—can handle any more candid camera.

Mabel Pines: You got me fair and square, bro.

Grunkle Stan: So you both will never again take advantage of a super embarrassing and hilarious moment that occurs to the other?

Dipper Pines: Heck no. We just won’t be waiting around and trying to get each other. That doesn’t mean we won’t take the opportunities when they happen.

Mabel Pines: We’re only human.

[ishouldreadthat]

We all have our childhood favorites, the books that ignited our love of reading and stick with us through adulthood and are treasured memories.  From Harry Potter to Narnia, there are books that remain in our consciousness for our whole lives, but what about our forgotten favorites?  What about the books we read until the spines fell apart?  How about the ones we circled in the Scholastic book catalogue and begged our parents to buy?  There are a bunch of books that I used to love but either haven’t thought about in years or forgot about completely.

Here are a few of my old favorites:

  Redwall by Brian Jacques

These books were absolutely everywhere when I was a kid.  I think I only read two, but my older sister has read a bunch of them so they were always on our shelves.  The first book was published in 1986 and the series ended up being 22 books long.  It takes place at Redwall Abbey and features a cast of mice, badgers, rats, etc.

Redwall actually factors into my only bad experience with a librarian.  I was in the third grade (about 8 years old) and pulled Redwall off the shelf at my elementary school library.  The librarian told me I was too young to read it and refused to let me borrow it!  I eventually managed to talk her into lending me the book, and I read it cover to cover out of spite.  Ha.

The Bailey School Kids by Marcia T. Jones and Debbie Dadey

These were a big feature of my early reading days.  Set in the Bailey School, the kids are absolutely convinced that their teachers are supernatural beings (looking back, I kind of feel sorry for the teachers).  Featuring excellent titles like Vampires Don’t Wear Polka Dots and Pirates Don’t Wear Pink Sunglasses, there were about 80 of these books published between the original series and its spin-offs. I must have read at least ten of them, I had no idea there were so many.

  The Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander

One of the best fantasy series for kids!  I loved Lloyd Alexander anyway because of the amazing book Time Cat (about a time-travelling cat, of course) when I was introduced to The Chronicles of Prydain.  The series follows the adventures of Taran, one of the ultimate Farmboys of Destiny, and features a cast of characters like Princess Eilonwy, the unofficial bard Fflewddur Fflam, and an ocular pig named Hen Wen.  I’ve read the entire series at least once, but read the first one, The Book of Three, so many times that the spine probably wore out.

This was the edition I owned as a kid!

If any of this is sounding familiar, Disney’s first PG-rated animated film was based on the first two books in the series.  If you haven’t seen The Black Cauldron, drop everything right now and watch it.  It’s some scary stuff.

Pretty sure the Horned King made me cry in daycare

Gwinna by Barbara Berger

This was an early factor in my lifelong obsession with beautiful books.  My grandmother gave this book to either myself or my sister as a gift, and I absolutely loved it.  It’s about a couple who desperately want a child, but have not had one.  The Mother of Owls offers to help them, but only if they send the child back to her on its 12th birthday to learn all kinds of magical goodness.  Gwinna has wings – wings! – and plenty of animal friends.  I desperately wanted to be her when I was a kid.

Me in about 60 years

The Magic School Bus by Joanna Cole

Beep beep!

Any kid who loved Bill Nye the Science Guy also loved The Magic School Bus.  These were a series of picture books that followed a class of students and their fabulous teacher Ms Frizzle on a series of ludicrous and incredible field trips on board her magic school bus, of course.  They visit volcanoes, go inside the human body, and so much more.  There’s also an equally amazing TV series, which is apparently available on YouTube.

Literally any kid in the world would trade places with you, Arnold.  Stop complaining.

I kind of still want to be Ms. Frizzle when I grow up.  She has a sentient school bus that can turn into a spaceship, a pet iguana named Liz, and has a fabulous sense of style.

  Sideways Stories from Wayside School by Louis Sachar

As an adult, I’m kind of on Mrs. Gorf’s side

You might recognize the author’s name as the person who wrote Holes, another incredible book.  But it all started with Sideways Stories from Wayside School.  Wayside School was supposed to be 30 classrooms built on one floor, but the builder accidentally built a school 30 stories high, with one classroom on each floor (he’s very sorry about this).  The books follow Mrs. Jewls’ class, which is on the 30th floor. She replaced Mrs. Gorf, a teacher who would turn bad children into apples.  She hated children, but loved apples.  I think you can probably get a sense of how ridiculous these books were.

There were sadly only three of these books, but I also got my hands on the artithmatic spin-offs.  They made absolutely no sense, but I didn’t mind.

  Animorphs by K. A. Applegate

It was impossible to be cool and not read Animorphs when I was a kid.  Jake, Marco, Cassie, Rachel, and Tobias stumble upon a dying alien who gifts them the power to morph into any animal they touch.  Earth is being invaded by Yeerks, which are BRAIN SLUGS, and the Animorphs must fight them.  I’m pretty sure they were telepathic too.

There were 54 of these books, which is kind of incredible.  There was also a TV show that ran for two seasons on Nickelodeon, which I remember very little of.  These books were the best.  I had a silent competition with the annoying kid next to me in the fourth grade to see who had more Animorphs books.  We’d quietly pile them on the corner of our desks and eye each other’s stack.  I can’t remember who won, but I hope it was me.

Not an actual Animorphs cover

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark written by Alvin Schwartz and illustrated by Stephen Gammell.

Who let us read these?  They, along with sticker collecting and Pogs, were all the rage when I was in the first grade.  Why?  Why did I read these?  I can still remember some of the stories so clearly.  There were three of these books: Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, and Scary Stories 3: More Tales to Chill Your Bones.  The best/worst part of these books were the amazing illustrations, which are completely horrifying.  We would gather around and read them out loud to each other while pretending we were actually going to sleep that night.

HarperCollins rereleased these books in 2011 to celebrate the 30th anniversary, but chose to go with new and less frightening illustrations.  This backfired pretty dramatically because anyone who has read these books know the illustrations are the best part.

Ahhh!

Nooo!

Harold still haunts my dreams

Goosebumps by R. L. Stine

I’m sure that anyone who was a kid at any point in the last 30 years knows about Goosebumps.  We all loved them.  Even I, who is scared of absolutely everything, was obsessed with these books.  Because most of us couldn’t quite read them on our own when they were super popular, my Kindergarten teacher would let us bring in copies of Goosebumps books and she’s read a few chapters a day to us out loud.  How cool is that?

I brought in this one to class, but it scared me so I sat in the corner and tried to not listen.

There are 62 books in the Goosebumps series and a bunch of spin-offs.  They featured kids getting caught up in haunted situations or stuck with creepy dolls and such.

    There are so many more, but I had to trim down my list because it was getting a little long.  Have you read any of these?  What are some of your favorite books from your childhood?

Forgotten favorites of a 90's childhood We all have our childhood favorites, the books that ignited our love of reading and stick with us through adulthood and are treasured memories.