#I certainly filled in with some randoms lol

[finndoesntwantthis]

Inspired by another silly spin the wheel……….

Spin This Wheel to let me know if you’d smash or Pass this 50+ year old wrestler man :D

Pls put ur middle aged man in the tags!!!

[bluelockmaniac]

𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐙𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒

୨ৎ ft. itoshi sae x actress!reader (fem)

synopsis. when football star itoshi sae randomly names you as his celebrity crush, the internet goes wild with rumours. what happens when you decide to make a surprise appearance during his next interview?

notes. thanks anon for the suggestion ! the editing process took quite a while bc i had to search for so many synonyms and celebrity-dazzling-type of vocabulary, and just a bit of research & idioms, lol (like tell me why i didn't know what filmography was??).

word count. 1.7k

𝐓𝐇𝐄 first thing that grated on sae’s nerves was the endless string of interviews he had to endure after every victory. the second were the interviewers, who seemed to lack any sense of boundaries or respect of privacy all together. but the third and perhaps most exasperating thing sae loathed were the questions– particularly those who left him completely clueless.

how on earth was he supposed to provide this nosy interviewer with the name of his celebrity crush when he didn't even have one?

besides, sae’s social awareness was practically nonexistent. his mind was consumed by football– matches, practice sessions, training drills, and occasionally, thoughts of his brother. naming a celebrity was as foreign to him as the idea of reconciling with rin.

he had tried to dodge the infuriating question, really. but his attempt was thwarted by the exaggerated glare of his manager, whose expression screamed ‘make. up. any. name’.

the older itoshi sighed, eyeing the lady who had posed the stupid, intrusive question from the side. to the untrained eye, it might have appeared that he was merely stalling, which, in truth, he sort of was. but on the inside, he was actually scrambling to conjure up any random name.

then, as if the goddess of luck intervened, a blurry image of you materialized in his mind. he recalled catching a glimpse of you while riding in his personal chauffeur-driven car.

your recognizable face had adorned a massive, wide billboard advertisement. you looked too striking– too gorgeous– to forget. you were holding a rose perfume bottle next to your shoulder, smiling with such infectious brightness. luckily, his eyes had happened to drift to the bottom left corner, where your name was elegantly inscribed in cursive.

y/n l/n.

anyone familiar with the entertainment industry would no doubt recognize your name immediately. you were a standout actress in hollywood, notably known for your phenomenal acting skills and breathtaking beauty. your filmography– the number of movies you've starred in– was extensive, and your trophy shelf in your large mansion was filled to the brim with numerous awards.

“itoshi-san?” the interviewer prompted again, her pesky voice cutting through his trance as she set her coffee mug on the table. she repeated her question, “there's nothing to be embarrassed about, haha– we’ve all had celebrity crushes at some point. who’s yours?”

sae scoffed lightly, leaning back onto the couch and propping his elbow on the armrest. he hid his face behind his hand, attempting to mask his discomfort.

“y/n.” he muttered, his voice laced with forced nonchalance.

the words slipped from his lips with shame. he knew this embarrassing revelation would literally dominate the headlines by nightfall, and he could hardly brace himself. he actually felt a teeny bit of guilt for dragging you into the main focus of the public’s attention alongside him. by tomorrow morning, his phone would be buzzing with notifications about this becoming the top trending topic on social media.

heck, he could already envision the misleading headlines in the tabloids:

alleged hidden affair: football prodigy itoshi sae and actress y/n l/n rumored to be in secret relationship– what’s really going on?

the interviewer let out an exaggerated gasp, her hands flying to her mouth as she exchanged a gleeful look with the cameraman.

“d-did you get that on tape? this will certainly make the headlines!”

she turned back to sae, who was still averting his gaze awkwardly. “j-just to be sure, itoshi-san… you’re talking about y/n l/n, correct?”

sae mumbled something inaudible under his breath before finally meeting her eyes, realizing it’s better to save face than to prolong his embarrassment live on camera.

“yes, her,” he replied with a shrug, rolling his eyes. he seriously had no idea who you were, what you did, or why you were famous. “she's cute, i guess.”

the interviewer beamed, leaning in enthusiastically. “—absolutely, her beauty is nothing short of enchanting! which of her shows or movies did you enjoy the most?”

so you were an actress, he thought, narrowing his eyes at the woman. he had absolutely no clue about any of your work. resorting to his typical bluntness, he retorted,

“none of your business. shut up.” he turned his head towards his manager, who looked as if he was about to cry literal tears of joy. “this interview is over. let's go.”

a few weeks had passed, and just as sae had predicted, rumours of a secret affair between him and you had exploded across the internet. yet, they remained just that– rumours. neither of you had addressed them… perhaps because there was no need to.

sae had just secured another effortless victory and was now being chauffeured to the interview venue. as he passed the familiar billboard, his eyes wandered, searching for your eyes, only to find that your advertisement had been replaced by some no-name, cheap milk brand’s.

—

as usual, he handled the post-match questions with ease. they were always the same, tedious inquiries: “how do you feel about your performance today?”, “could you describe the pivotal moments in today's match?”, “how did teamwork play a role in the game?”, “one fan asked…”, and so on.

however, this time, the midfielder felt slightly uneasy— the camera crew seemed larger, with cameras on every angle of the room. the interviewer, the same lady from before, appeared unusually excited. her voice was squeaker and she fiddled faintly as she spoke.

finally, she asked the final question regarding the opposition team’s strategies and approaches.

“hmph. we barely broke a sweat today; their game plan was so weak and predictable it was almost laughable. we could have won with our eyes closed.”

she nodded, almost dismissively, as if she couldn’t wait to wrap up the interview and get to the next part of the show.

“incredible, exactly what we’d expect from japan’s prodigious player! now, for all our online viewers, get ready to tune into GoalTalk’s special event! tonight, we're thrilled to welcome a very special guest who will be joining us…”

sae quirked an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued as he watched the crew reposition the numerous cameras to focus on the entrance door, though a few lenses remained trained on him.

“... y/n l/n!”

you stepped onto the platform as soon as your name was announced, waving to the countless cameras flashing blinding lights in your direction. you were dressed in a long, flowing burgundy gown that accentuated your curves perfectly. you exuded elegance; the very epitome of grace.

sae's eyes widened in surprise, tracking your movements as you made your way to the seat beside him.

“fucking bullshit, you’ve got to be kidding me…” he groaned, throwing his head back against the couch’s backrest, his adam’s apple bobbing. 

you let out a soft giggle, settling beside him so that your thighs brushed against his. with a gentle tap on his shoulder, you flashed a practiced smile as he turned to look at you. 

“it’s such an honour to finally meet you, itoshi! i’m actually a huge fan, so you could imagine my excitement when you mentioned i was your celebrity crush in your recent interview.”

he cringed inwardly, having heard similar compliments from noisy fangirls countless times before. besides, you were a renowned actress; for all he knew, your cheerful expressions and excitement could be part of a well-rehearsed facade.

“ah. thanks, i guess,” he shrugged, clicking his tongue before adding nonchalantly, “...you’re a good actress.”

“oh, thank you! i appreciate it.” you leaned in slightly, your smile widening, “hey, you know, i wouldn't mind giving you my number. we could maybe… figure things out?~”

“what–” his leg began to bounce subtly. perhaps it was the effect of being an actress who had participated in a multitude of romance movies and shows– such flirtatious comments tend to slip naturally from your lips.

“you wouldn’t mind, would you? you’re single, right?” you pressed, propping your chin on his shoulder. 

fuck. your face was so close– so close he could understand why people called you stunning. you were infinitely more beautiful than the artificial, edited image on the billboard. your sweet scent of exotic fruit, reminiscent of a hot summer day on the beach, wafted to his nose. his eyes wandered to your cherry-stained, glossed lips, feeling a strange, inexplicable magnetic pull.

but he sighed defeatedly, feeling his manager’s intense yet pleased gaze boring into him. “i guess. don’t expect anything, though,” he dismissed, reaching up to ruffle his reddish hair. everything was alright. he just needed to get through this interview.

little did either of you know– or perhaps you had a vague idea– that social media was already ablaze with an endless amount of comments from hundreds of thousands of fans from both sides, shipping you two together.

you nudged him playfully with your elbow and turned your head, winking at the cameras as you slyly slipped your hand into his. “i’m getting his number, sorry girls.”

he felt his breath catch in his throat, his fingers remaining numb in your grasp. but suddenly, a strange surge of boldness overwhelmed his usually rational senses– he was already doomed, anyway, so why seem like a lame pushover? his hand reciprocated your grip, intertwining his fingers with yours as he leaned in slightly. his lips brushed over your ear as he whispered a few, short words, eyeing one camera directly with a subtle smirk.

you felt your cheeks bloom with warmth at his words. all the cameras in the venue captured the sight of your eyes widening in surprise and the visceral nodding of your head to whatever he had just said.

his words would remain a secret to the public however, even as the internet flooded with speculations and questions, triggered by a sensational headline featuring a photo of the two of you together:

𝑯𝑶𝑻 𝑵𝑬𝑾 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹? 𝑱𝑨𝑷𝑨𝑵’𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑶𝑻𝑩𝑨𝑳𝑳 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 𝑰𝑻𝑶𝑺𝑯𝑰 𝑺𝑨𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝒀/𝑵 𝑳/𝑵 𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑳 𝑻𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹, 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑰𝑵 𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑫!

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !

[hippiegoth97]

Random Steve Thought #2

A/N: This one really got away from me, sorry lol. But I hope you all enjoy! And Spencer Reid is up next :)

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: smut, swearing, sub!steve harrington, dom!reader, fem!reader, no use of Y/N, grinding, jealousy, alcohol use, light violence, praise, dirty talk, groping, cock stroking (not quite handjob), restraints, teasing, edging, kissing

Some Tags: @rafeyscurtainbangs @loserboysandlithium @bimbogorewhore @queenimmadolla @keikoraven

@rattkween86 @morning-rituals @slowandsteddie @stalactitekilla @keeksandgigz

@strangererotica @thisusernameisunavailable01 @leelei1980

You've been driving him crazy all night. It's his own fault, really. He's the one who insisted on dragging you to this lame party in the first place. Of course, it's a bit hard to skip out on a rager that's being held at his own fraternity. His 'brothers' wouldn't hear of it when Steve tried to give all the excuses under the sun, exams coming up, a headache, a 'hot date' with a girl that most certainly isn't you. He can't have everyone knowing he's been getting dominated by the campus' resident man-eater every other night, especially not the macho men he happens to board with.

So, here you both are, having a totally miserable time. Well, Steve is, anyway. You, on the other hand, have managed to keep yourself entertained until the appropriate time comes for you to slip away to your dorm. You've got a red plastic cup full of fruit-flavored swill in your hand, the other running lazily along the chest of some random guy you have absolutely no intention of sleeping with. But you giggle at his bad jokes, flutter your eyelashes at him, pretend you give a shit about his trust fund. All while Steve watches you from the other side of the room.

Steve knows you don't have any interest in that douchebag, some jagoff from a different frat house, though he forgets which one. But jealousy burns in his chest all the same, his neck heating up as he can't pry his eyes away from the torturous display. It's not fair, he should be handcuffed to your bed right now, begging for mercy as you toy with his leaking cock at a snail's pace for hours, until you finally grant him release down that seemingly endless throat of yours. Steve clears his own throat at the thought, turning his attention to one of his brothers yapping away about some 'big titty bimbo' he banged last night.

The party goes on for a while, music bumping and beers being chugged away as a sea of bodies fills the middle of the floor. You've brought your conversation partner into the tangle to dance, your eyes finding Steve on the outside of the crowd to make sure he's paying attention. Sure enough, you find his gaze stuck to you, his beer can held firmly in his hand as he observes. His lips are tight and flat, it appears you're getting under his skin. Good. You give him a small smirk, before turning away to focus on your prop of the evening.

The man puts his hands on your hips as you begin to move to the music, firm and possessive right off the bat. You despise men acting like they own you, almost as much as you hate frat parties. But you play along, pretending to be the demure little flower you most definitely aren't. This is all for Steve, to show him what he's missing. For now. You turn yourself around in the man's grip, pressing your back into his chest. Your arms reach behind to wrap casually around his neck to keep him close, leading him to grind with you to the beat of the awful music that's blasting through the speakers.

You close your eyes, getting lost in the moment as you imagine Steve dancing with you instead of this asshole. It's absurdly easy to picture him behind you, holding you tightly as you roll your hips in perfect sync. His strong hands wander over your body, grazing over your tits through your dress, all the way down to your thighs. There's no feeling of ownership in his touch, just admiration. You grind against your stand-in a little harder, quickly noticing his cock poking into your ass. It's not nearly as big as Steve's, which is sadly breaking the illusion for you. You suddenly realize just how stupid this all is, breaking out of the man's grasp. Steve is who you truly want, punishment or not, and you've been here long enough to make a clean exit with him now.

"Hey, where you goin'?" The man asks, stepping forward to reach for your arm.

"Home." You say curtly, snatching yourself away from his grasp.

"What? We were just getting started!" He says angrily, continuing to approach you. "You can't get me all riled up like this, and just walk away!"

"Actually, I can." You say with a laugh, turning to push your way through the crowd and find Steve.

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" The man yells, drawing the attention of a few drunk partygoers. He grabs hold of your arm, pulling you towards him roughly.

"Let me go, you creep!" You shout, smacking him across the cheek. Your nail scratches his flesh, making him bleed a little.

Steve's been watching this entire time, which hurt like a bitch, at first. To see you grinding against some other guy, when it should be him. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest when you quickly became bored, obviously more interested in finding him and getting the fuck out of here. Of course, your choice in dance partner isn't the type to take 'no' for an answer. Steve's been waiting, thinking you can hold your own. You've told him many times that he doesn't need to 'swoop in and save you', and he never disagreed. But in this moment, it seems you could use some assistance. And he's more than happy to oblige. He cuts through the crowd, heading straight for you.

"Hey, asshole!" Steve says to the jerk who's holding you captive, finding your gaze for a moment. He gives you a subtle nod, and you return it. The other man turns, still gripping your arm so hard it hurts. Without another word, Steve socks him right in the face, sending him to the floor. A few people take notice, though they quickly return to partying after a glazed-over glance at the man on the ground. He'll be fine, they collectively tell themselves. "C'mon." Steve says, taking your hand to lead you out of here.

"Thanks for that." You say once the two of you are outside, ready to make the journey to the dorms.

"Of course." He nods as you start to walk down the sidewalk. "Look, I know you hate all that chivalry stuff-" He starts, but you cut him off.

"No, it's fine, really. You only stepped in because you had to. I'll let it slide...just this once." You say with a giggle, earning a chuckle from his as well.

"Noted." Steve says agreeably.

The trip to the dorms is relatively short, the campus isn't exactly huge. Your feet are very thankful once you reach the brick building, however. The heels you've been wearing haven't exactly been broken in to your liking just yet. You lead Steve to your room, turning the key in the lock and kicking your shoes off once you're inside. Your roommate is out for the night, staying over with her boyfriend in the boys' dorm across the street. Steve sheds his own shoes, and you're on him in a second afterwards.

Your lips press into his hungrily, your hands resting on his chest as you lead him backwards toward the bed. Steve hums against you, already melting into that delightful, fuzzy headspace you've built just for him. A damn kiss really shouldn't affect him so much, but yours are like nothing else he's ever experienced. He falls onto his back as he knees his the edge of the bed, with you climbing on top of his lap while refusing to let him catch his breath.

"Have you learned your lesson about dragging me to bullshit parties, Stevie?" You ask as you pull away, gazing down at him with piercing eyes.

"Yes. I promise, I'll never take you to one again." Steve responds instantly, unable to hide his need for your approval.

"Good boy." You purr, giving him another brief kiss while you grab hold of the hem of his shirt. He sits up for you, and you lift it over his head. The shirt finds its way to the floor, leaving his heaving chest in full view. You admire his gorgeous muscles for a moment, running your hands along his torso. "I will say...it was a little fun to make you jealous. Even if it blew up in my face." You speak softly.

"It worked. I can't stand to see you with anyone else." He replies, his cock already straining beneath you in his jeans. Less than a minute and he's rock hard, that's got to be a record.

"I know, baby. That's why I did it. The look on your face was priceless." You roll your hips over him once, drawing a low groan from his lips. You can practically feel his dick throbbing under you, aware of how desperate he must be to be touched by you. But the fun is just beginning. "Tell me what was going through this pretty little head of yours when you saw me with him." You command as you cup his cheek, your words whispered into the dim light of the room.

"I felt sad...and angry." He starts, earning another roll of your hips against his crotch. His breath catches, his eyes not daring to leave yours. "I know we're not, like, officially together. But I like you so much, and I like what we have." He pauses, realizing how cheesy this sounds.

"So do I, my sweet boy." You coo to him, grinding on him once again. You let out a small moan, the friction making a rather sticky mess of your panties. "Go on, tell me more. Were you thinking about me?" You ask, guiding him further into submission. You want to hear all the dirty things inside his head, what's got him so riled up so easily. It can't all be from your charms, though you'll admit you're quite talented at turning people on.

"Yes. I wanted to blow off that stupid party, and be here with you instead." Steve replies, watching as your hands reach for his belt now. You slowly undo the buckle, expecting him to keep talking. "I thought about you handcuffing me, like you always do." He says through a groan as you give him another small reward of your soaked pussy rubbing along his stiff cock through annoying layers of clothes. You slide his zipper down its track, and he tries to keep his mouth and his brain on the same page. "I thought about how good your mouth feels on me, how wet and warm it is. And -fuck, the way you tease me for what feels like hours." He explains as you finally take his leaking dick out of his jeans and briefs, fisting it roughly in your hand.

"Yeah? You like the way I get you all worked up, 'til you're nearly screaming for me to let you cum?" You question with a wolfish smile, watching the way Steve's brows scrunch into each other and his mouth falls open. You pump his length in your hand, his precum already drooling down to your wrist in a sticky trail.

"Yeah, I love it...so much." He whimpers as you squeeze him hard, making more pearlescent fluid spill out in a helpless dribble.

"Is that what you want me to do to you tonight, baby?" You offer, hoping he says 'yes'. The way he's trying so hard not to squirm, and the pathetic noises he's making are getting you wetter by the second.

"Uh-huh." He nods frantically, his breath coming out ragged as you stroke him rougher and faster. He knows you're only bringing him right to the edge, without letting him fall over it. That won't happen for a good long while. And that's exactly the way he wants it.

"Anything for my good boy. Get the cuffs for me, and we'll get you nice and tied up." You order, releasing his dick from your grip. He whines at the loss, but obeys your instructions. He locates the handcuffs, giving them to you and laying down to get in position. You straddle his thighs as you click the cuffs in place, the links stuck between the slats on your bedframe. You gaze down at him one final time, his cock still out, stiff and dripping all over his mound of hair and stomach. "Look at you, already such a mess." You tut, cocking your head to the side teasingly. "Let's see how much messier we can get."

[phoenixcatch7]

Theirs an episode in Justice League Action where Superman, Batman, and Stargirl get their minds swapped and go into each others bodies, Superman in Batmans body, Batman in Stargirls, and Stargirl in Supermans. They beat the villain Mxy (who’s full name I can’t remember) by calling in reinforcements including Firestorm who has two people in his mind and the Professor gets stuck with Mxy and tricks him into undoing everything by saying his own name backwards.

It’s complicated and I’ll send you a link to the episode if you want clarity, but in your (and @puppetmaster13u) Possessed Dolls au what would happen to Batman? Would he act the same role as Firestorm? Presumably not because he’s one person two bodies not two people one body. Would a random persons body be left… empty and both Bruces body and Batmans puppet get different people in their minds? Or would the episode go as normal? Would Batmans puppet/body feel strange to the person not used to it, would they discover any secrets (as small as him being tall or as big as him being a puppet)? Would Batman be eerily good at acclimating/adjusting to a new body- enough to make people ask questions or not?

Ooh, a body swap isn't something I've considered before!

Hm... Myxlptlk or whatever his name is (lol) is someone I have limited knowledge of, but that's not too important here XD.

I'm assuming mxy tried to swap firestorm as well, but the magic tripped up figuring out what to do? Lmao. Did mxy accidentally get stuck in their body or vice versa? Interesting.

I think whatever happened, if someone was successfully transplanted into a doll body, they would be spiritually set on fire. Their soul getting rejected by the very vessel it's in. The doll would take GREAT offense to some unworthy intruder. It'd be like acid on their soul. Just, screaming unending agony.

But the way the dolls bind to their users' souls would certainly affect the process of trying to body swap them. I think the Bruce body would be untouched, as it wasn't the target, but if a spell was not a straight swap but instead a two step empty and fill that might change... Luckily then that emptying a body of its soul is typically called death and is to be universally avoided! (Though I am imagining a scene where a villain is using that spell to murder people without a trace and being terrified/horrified when Bruce Wayne just keeps popping right back up again lol.)

It's tempting to imagine batman acting as the untouchable reinforcement, but given the dolls are all about fluid identities and body modifications it's just too interesting to not have them be affected somehow.

Maybe if it pulled a different puppeteer to take his place? Like, if nightwing was going about his routine patrol in bludhaven and all of a sudden he's in the batman body again while the jl sort of collectively fall over trying to figure out the new controls. Him being the only other permitted user? His voice would change where everyone else's wouldn't, considering he isn't using a physical mouth to speak. And he'd have to try and fix it the same way firestorm did...

Oh!! Of course!! Batman could try and trick mxy into body swapping with him! And then while mxy is incapacitated (4th dimensional or not having... Whatever the dolls are made of trying to eat your soul with needle poison teeth and rip it apart for food cannot feel good) he uses mxys body (flawlessly adapting, of course) to reverse the spell and banish him! Or... Just tells him he can escape the agony by undoing the spell lol, if it has to be him and not his body to say it.

Underhanded and a bit mean? Probably! But it was a decisive victory with little to no collateral damage and now the team only has a few questions for him!

[hopeluna]

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ — Barista!Izuku Midoriya

♡! hope's notes: this is 50% unrealistic and 50% self indulgent. Tell me what u think lol <3

It's 7 in the morning when you realise that you're truly, utterly fucked.

You try to convince yourself that it was really your alarm's fault for not waking you up. Because now you are desperately trying to shove everything in your bag, while chewing on the world's driest granola bar and make your way out of your apartment.

You do the calculation in your head as you make your way down the stairs, trying not to trip. Your class is supposed start at 7:15, so you have approximately 5 minutes to get a much needed cup of coffee. And then you need to make run for your class which is 15 minutes, hoping to whatever deity that you'll reach there in 10 minutes.

A groan of frustration escapes you on the sidewalk at the utter slow pace the lady is moving in front of you, talking animatedly on the phone.

You've been late to class enough times this entire week that you're convinced your professor is going to shoot you in the head today. The first thing you notice in front of the cafe is how cute and cozy it looked. Like something straight out of a rom-com set.

There were small little coffee shops like this scattered through almost every road corner outside the campus. Coffee shops, cheap diners and stationaries all looking out for their target customers, drained college students.

This particular coffee shop, you had realised one day talking with your friends, was new and untouched by your hands. You knew that logically it wasn't a great time right now to experiment newly opened shops, no matter how much your friends had been praising the place but you were already late, and the decor and smell of roasted coffee beans seemed too appetizing to pass up.

The gentle chime of the bell at the entrance almost made you forget that your life could possibly be on the line in less than 10 minutes. Your shoulders loose some tension at the faint but noticeable fragrance in the air, the smell of coffee and the muffled sounds of students clicking away on their computers, couples chatting away in excitement and the sound of the workers behind the counter.

Oh yeah, you were definitely forgetting about class for some minutes.

Tapping your fingers to a random rhythm, your eyes immediately go to the cheapest drink on the big menu overhead the counter. Being a college student, you weren't really raking up the big bucks and would rather like to be able to afford instant ramen in the future.

And that's when it happened.

You swore that you almost went blind for about 2 seconds at the absolute beaming, sunshine-filled smile the barista gave you. The simple words "what can I get for you today?" suddenly sounded like the most holiest piece of angel music coming out of his mouth. He was cute, like a lot, with lush green curls falling messily atop his head, freckles doted like stars across his cheeks. You briefly registered the small "Midoriya" name plate attached to his shirt.

"Um, e-excuse me?"

"Yes?"

"I- what can I get you, ma'am?"

"Your number, hopefully"

Shit. The wide eyes and the full flush creeping up on his cheeks made you almost shriek in horror, you didn't mean to say that aloud. Suddenly, the once calming air felt stifling and uncomfortable.

"Uh! I mean- no!", wincing at your own volume, you suddenly wished that the earth would just open up and swallow you whole. "You see, um, that was- a joke! A bad joke!". It took all your strength to not bash your head on the counter under your sweaty palms, cringing at yourself.

The nervous laugh that "Midoriya" let out certainly didn't help the situation either.

You felt the tension lifting off your chest when a girl came up to the counter to ask for more creamer. The next course of action was probably not your proudest moment, definitely something you would look back at and curse yourself for. In your defence, your mind felt scrambled and fried at the whole interaction, so you did the only thing your brain managed to comprehend. You ran.

A few minutes later, already at your campus, you stopped for a second for breath. The frustrated whine you let out next was met with some questioning glances your way that you could not be bothered about right now, your mind only swirling with one thing.

You didn't even get your fucking coffee.

© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.

[jellyskink]

Just another Manic Muesday (Sorry I couldn't think of a better title lol.)

"Alright Dr. Pines, I'm pleased to report that your lab results for your bloodwork have finally been logged and updated to our medical system since the last we saw each other."

"H-huh? Oh! I'm certainly glad to hear that Dr. Oleander! Forgive me, I'm afraid my mind was wandering just now."

Sunshine shown through the windows of the medical doctor's office, bathing parts of the room with it's comforting warm rays. Outside, leaves of different colors and types scattered in the breeze with an air of playfullness to them. It was truly a lovely autumn day.

At least... it was as lovely as it could get lately. When it wasn't the occasional inanimate object coming to life to either cause mischief, panic, harm, or all of the above, the slowly randomizing weather definitely made it trickier to enjoy nature. 

Quite literally the other day it was a record-breaking freezing winter, followed the day after by a sweltering summer so hot that not only could you fry an egg on the sidewalk, but you could fry the chicken that laid it as well if you wanted to.

"That's quite alright, I just wanted to let you know that we did find some rather... interesting results."

"What kind of results? A-anything my Muse should be concerned over? I must inform him if there's anything that would cause him to worry over me!"

"Er, it's nothing as dire as that I assure you. I moreso wanted to let you know that in comparison to your first blood test, there's improvement to your overall health! I'm really proud of you that you're making progress."

"O-oh um thanks I suppose? I don't believe it's because of my choices truthfully. If it wasn't for my Muse's instance and kindness about my health I don't believe I could've done it on my own!"

"Dr. Pines I don't think you're giving yourself enough credit, only those who want help can accept it as they always say..."

"No, no! I'm serious! I'm truly thankful he's been stern that I see Stanley on a regular basis!

 I'm quite forgetful with taking care to see him regularly. Stanley's always worried about me, it pains me to see him filled with grief whenever I'm unable to talk to him for a bit due to my Muse and I's busy schedule.

Without him I'm sure my health and relationship with my Brother would be absolutely horrible!"

"..."

"Dr. Oleander? Is something the matter? You aren't speaking to me as much as you usually do."

"Forgive me Dr. Pines, I'm just a bit conflicted right now. I've just got a lot on my mind as well. On a similar subject, I do want to apologize for overstepping my boundaries with talking to you about your relationship with Mr.Cipher."

"..."

"I-it's fine. I know you didn't mean to be so crude on purpose. My Muse and I's relationship is often a subject to many due to it's complex and sublime love."

"Yes I believe you're right... Forgive me Doctor, I have a tendency to involve myself too much in my work."

"You d-don't need to apologize for that! It's a quality my Muse approves of you for! He wouldn't let just anyone treat any medical problems I have, the fact you have his trust is a sign you're great at what you do Doctor Oleander."

"... I appreciate your reassurance, though it still isn't very professional of me to be so casual with my speech with you about my troubles with my confidence as a medical practitioner."

"I don't mind! I swear!! I-I think you're a lot like the plant you share your surname with."

"I'm sorry?"

"Y-you know, Oleander? Also known as Rosebay? It's a perennial shrub and tree known and loved for it's vitality, resilience, and beauty. 

My Muse likes the fact every part of it is poisonous, it's definitely a kicker that's certain!

Personally I love the fact that certain species of caterpillars use the plant as both a food source and a way to defend themselves against predators! 

In particular, there's a species of moths known as the Oleander Hawk Moth, that does this! It's a very interesting and rare kind of Moth to see! I personally consider it to be one of my favorites!"

"Haha! Is that so? W-well thank you Doctor for that compliment and the accompanying fact."

"..."

"Ick are you two nerds just about done being boring together?"

"O-oh! Mr. Cipher! My apologies! We were just about done with Dr. Pine's appointment. It's my fault for taking longer than usual with his appointment..."

"You know Doco? Normally I'd be furious buuut this does mean Sixer finally has a buddy to talk about his more boring nerd things with! 

Congrats! You've redeemed yourself from me needing to find Sixer a new doctor!

This is definitely a blessing in disguise for me as you humans say! Now, be a doll and tell Sixer to hurry on home now? We've got places to be and mayhem to cause!"

"Of course Mr.Cipher. I'll be sure to do that right away."

"Oh and Doco before I forget, just know that I'll be keeping a closer eye on the time in the future. Fordsy's on a pretty tight schedule you know! I'd hate to have to CUT into both you and him over not keeping track of time. 

Although that would mean I'd have the chance to change things up when my pet needs a reminder that he needs to behave... And I would have the chance to really see how your meatsacks work without needing to worry about needing to harm a hair on Sixer's head... 

Whoops did I say that out loud? Haha! My bad! Anyways, pleasure talking with you Doco! Byee!!"

"Ugghh..."

"Dr.Pines! Er, I'm sorry to have to cut this conversation short, but Mr.Cipher has requested I let you know that you've been out for a while and must return back to him as quickly as you can."

*Gasp* "O-Oh no! Please forgive me my Muse! I didn't mean to forget to watch the time! I'll be home soon!! ThankyouforyourtimeDr.OleanderbutIsimplymustbegoing!!"

"Dr.Pines, I'll have your meds refilled and ready by hopefully the end of today!!"

*Sigh* "I really need to think about changing professions..."

(Just as soon as she says this, Mcgucket falls out of a tree very ungracefully, scampering after Ford. 

"???"

"What the-? Okayyy and now cowboy hillbillies are just falling out of trees now. Why am I surprised?? 

I'm going home early today, I deserve it. It's too early for this. I can't wait to just go back to bed and hug Calamari soon..."

(I hope you likes my attempt at some fanfiction! I wasn't sure if I should write it like a book or like a visual novel. The font stuff is probably really wonky because I typed this all around 1am and on my phone so my apologies for that lol.

I'm glad you liked my idea at trying to write some fanfiction about your au's Ford and Irene. Or would it be friendfiction in this case?? Anyways, I think I like the platonic route too. Maybe if Ford and Irene were to be a ship it'd be a friends to lovers thing or something? Idk. I was thinking about writing a more Irene and Calamari focused sequal to this, but I'm not sure if I should? Idk lmaoo.)

THIS ANON WROTE A REALLY CUTE FRIENDSHIPPING FIC OF FORD AND OLEANDER looklooklook it's so cuuuuuute 💕

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Okay okay. I just had this beautiful mental image of competence kink Steve. And my brain produced two fairly different images: Steve sees Bucky do something incredible during a mission. Idk what. And *oh*, he pops a boner right there and then, as much as the cup of his suit allows anyway. He can barely wait to get off the quinjet post mission, much to the team's amusement, to blow Bucky and then fuck into next week because holy shit hot

Or, Steve having an unfairly wet dream about WS!Bucky in the leather and incredible skills with all the knife tricks and so on and feeling very guilty about that. Because getting the horny from something Bucky had no control over? Not cool, at least in his mind. Bucks somehow gets him to spill though, and then ties Steve up and uses his knife skills to get him out of his clothes very efficiently, leaving Steve there as a panting and moaning mess Uh yeah my brain melted a little

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

Oh, fuck yeah, I love competency kink. We can certainly talk about that and soak in the brain melt together, lol

Besides, we all know that that fucker has one

gifs by @/linusbenjamin

and this moment haunts him 😏 because of it.

Plus, that single shield catch isn't even to mention the million other examples I could think of for Steve's fixation on the Winter Soldier. The ghost is strutting around in what's practically fetish gear, like, c'mon, give Steve some slack. It's leather and straps and shimmering metal and decisive, confident combat. Motherfucker.

I am SO fucking down to think about Steve watching Bucky execute some incredible feat on a mission and getting turned on because of it, and I will expand on that in a minute. But, also, the second option, too. YES. Steve wet dreaming about the Winter Soldier? God, it's more than just likely, that shit absolutely happened.

(I did write something about those wet dreams in this ask answer under "war paint")

(Also, you need to see this art, that is... yup. Knives and bondage and competency.)

Okay, competency on missions driving Steve insane...

(warning for canon typical violence!)

It happens like this: one instant Steve is solely focused on strangling the underling that's freshly come at him 'cause he's just trying to get through the masses of them before he can actually disarm this whole fucking shitty, dangerous situation alongwith it's leader, and the next instant Steve is totally, completely, and entirely distracted from getting an arm around this fuckers throat, squeezing off his air between his forearm and bicep. It could not be farther from his mind, really.

Rather than thinking about how he can best discard this underling and move on to the next--always plotting his following move, what punch should he throw, what kick, where's his shield, how should he throw his shield, who's around him, and are they his teammates or this month's big enemy--he's aching, not thinking, aching to drop to his knees. It is a visceral, very unchill reaction that Steve can't fucking control. There is no way on god's green earth.

The wanting to drop like a fly isn't because he's tired and ready to give in and surrender, nah, he could do this all day, it's because he's at fucking full mast in his uniform pants so suddenly that he needs a goddamn break from himself. His own hyperreactive body. It's dizzying, debilitating, how his blood rushes from circulating oxygen as fast as it can to his bulging, burning, working muscles to pooling heavy and hot in his cock.

All that hot, thick blood filling his dick out as he moves and twists, grappling with his fucking random ass bad guy, and threatening, incidentally, to rub himself salaciously against the hard pressure of his athletic cup.

His cup is cupping him.

He's big, he can't not. He's got no fucking room. It's... yeah, it's, just--

Jesus Christ.

Steve's aching to drop to his knees and more. It doesn't stop at getting to his knees. One moment and he has the worst kind of desperate craving crashing through him, leaving him hankering for the sensation of firm, muscular legs squeezing around his throat, the pressure tight on both sides, making him feel like his head might explode as he gasps for air or he might pass out without any air or he might cum from pure fucking lust at how hot it is or all of the above all at once.

All at once.

It is an onslaught of arousal. Just. His appetency is un-fucking-checked for the tingling, sharp burn of fingers raking through his hair and pulling hard until he feels it in his scalp and skittering down his back, richly feeding the fire at the base of his spine. He needs to feel body heat suffocatingly around his neck and shoved up against him from behind. Heat painted like thick, sticky tar up the nape of his neck to the crown of his head.

And all that weakening fucking hunger is inspired by one instant. A single flash that he catches, lightning-fast, out of the corner of his eye.

Dark leather molded to fit a shapely body perfectly, sinfully, waves of hair flowing like water, and the distinct glint of silver metal caught in the sun, flashy and, just, sexy.

Bucky.

Bucky, who's barely just been able to be comfortable in combat again after deprogramming but is ever-skilled. Honed. Deadly and gorgeous as a honey trap.

Bucky, who has spent more hours in the gym training with Natasha than anyone else combined--something about mutual trauma and understanding and trust.

Bucky in elegant, lethal motion, wrapping himself like a lithe snake around his own steroid-fit underling, his burly thighs squeezed around the baddies thick, muscular throat, his veins bulging in strain, balanced perfectly on his broad shoulders, and keeping the power in his own mismatched hands. The palm of his hands, like it's easy.

Bucky is fucking winning, it's plain to see. No sweat.

Bucky has shocked this baddie by mounting him, throwing his weight around with ease in a way that shouldn't be possible for a man his size. Better, Bucky has thrown him even further off, fisting a hand into his hair cruelly, pulling so hard that his choices are to let his hair be ripped out and deal with the gritting pain or follow the hold and put himself in worse danger, prolonging the time before the pain. The unnamed baddie follows, of course. Anyone would follow someone as intoxicating and beautiful as Bucky. But he's then pinned there, throat fully exposed. Perilous. The most animal form of submission, this time forced and humiliated by defeat.

Bucky is the dominant fighter.

He is in control.

And he is making it known with what would be sickening glee if Steve was anyone but himself--if Steve wasn't so fucking aroused by watching Bucky wield himself as a weapon of his own choosing, taking control, and reveling in doing good.

God.

With his thighs around his neck, Bucky deftly plucks a long, sharp knife from its holster strapped onto his mouth-watering thigh and twists and twirls it around his fingers before holding it against the underling's throat. The threat is crystal clear and needs no further explanation: move and its lights out for you.

So, the underling folding to his mercy, Bucky slowly, slowly contorts his body, displaying his oh-so flexible spine and positioning his mouth right above his ear. Steve watches him whisper into his ear--his pink lips curling over the hushed syllables in the heat of chaotic, loud battle--and shivers.

Goosebumps come to attention all across Steve's body.

Shit.

He's unreal.

He's so gorgeous and so good and so charming.

At whatever he tells him, the baddie nods stiffly, all the color drained from his face, and Bucky retracts his knife unhurriedly, perfectly moving according to his own schedule, and confidently sheathes the blade it once more. Then, neatly, he unclenches his thighs from around his throat and slithers off his shoulders. It's almost a dance--totally smooth, well-rehearsed choreography.

He defies gravity.

As soon as Bucky is far enough from him, peeled away, the underling scurries off like a frightened rat, stumbling as he sprints off. Bucky watches him go with an unhinged, almost-pitying smile, an expression just for himself, as if to say, that's right, you better run. Tell the others, too. You fuck with me and it's over. Don't bother coming back.

Steve whimpers.

Realistically, it--Bucky devastatingly executing one of Black Widow's signature flipping, twisting moves as if it's his own and something developed specifically for him, an over 200 lbs man of pure muscle and metal--all happens in the span of seconds. Or, maybe it happens faster. It may not even be a single second. But for Steve, it plays in slow motion; it lasts ages in his mind.

Still, really, just it's one instant, and then his brain chemistry has been fully altered. Immediately. His wires have been crossed over and shorted out. Sparks fly. And his reboot back to being a functioning fucking human comes in the form of a punch to the face.

Fuck.

Steve groans through the pain of a fist colliding with his face, wincing, and opening and shutting his jaw to have it crack back into place. He's gonna fucking feel that later. But, for now, he has to ignore the heavy, aching throb of his cock, the pain in his jaw, and get back to fighting.

Later, he tells himself.

Later, that'll be his treat for getting through this shit day. He can kneel and beg, forgetting himself as a drooling, heaving, out-of-breath, hot faced mess at Bucky's feet, fumbling over words as he incomprehensibly pleads to have his shapely thighs wrapped tight around his head, his neck, his waist even, anything. Just hold him there until he fucking dies a happy death between those legs.

Heaven.

[luffyvace]

〜☆〜Shigaraki and Touya (separate) x Scholarly reader with glasses 〜☆〜

precisely what the title says~

Might post a lot lately because I’m trying to clear drafts :P

shigaraki with a intelligent reader is wonderful!

you can help him with his plans! 😋

your input is really valuable and whether the lov knows it or not you definitely play a big role in missions

your a mastermind who is very good at outsmarting the heroes

He feels like as long as he has you, no matter what you’ll always be one step ahead

your his Queen/King chess piece

together you’ll watch it all crumble

honestly I’m just assuming your in the lov because even if your not a official member you’ve certainly contributed a lot

to which he very much appreciates

He values your priorities and requests

as he said he always has room for his comrades wishes

you love him for that

never once has one of your plans completely failed

for example if all might destroys a bunch of your nomus even though they were supposed to terrorize the city

You don’t panic at all because it was all apart of your plan >:)

*rubs hands together like evil fly*

it was all a distraction so you could infiltration a hero base and steal some info and such….🥱

ez dub the heroes are walking L’s with skill issues 😂

WAIT IMAGINE READER DOES THE THING WHERE THEY PUSH UP THEY’RE GLASSES AND IT HAS THE GLOWING ANIME GLASSES EFFECT

HILARIOUS 😂💥💥

it’d be even better if your a tech savvy too

you can break into hero facilities better

plus screw with them if you want n all 💃

you and that emo long bob dude be competing (tomoyasu chikazoku)

you can first fr

READER BETTER>> READER ⬆️🔝

anyway shigaraki thinks reader with glasses is fiiiine 😍

fr like you look good!

he’ll probably ask questions like “did you make your own?”

“Where you born with bad vision or is it stigmatized?”

”when did you get glasses?”

”have your eyes gotten stronger or weaker?”

”do you keep them on 24/7 or do you take them off and take breaks?”

”do you get headaches from them?”

”is it annoying having to push them back up all the time?”

”are you farsighted? Nearsighted? Is it just for reading?”

now he’s not asking to annoy you, and these questions come with time he doesn’t trample you with them

he’s genuinely curious and is a pretty good listener

he’s not just asking just to ask it or anything

if you ever need a new pair he’ll find a way to pull through for you

he’s not always as resourceful as you but he does have some connections!

Uhh with touya? Intelligence won’t matter as much

Not to say he’s not impress though!

he likes to hear all the random facts of knowledge you tell him and he does listen

it’s intriguing, especially when he’s bored

he’d love to learn about astronomy if you know anything about it

he never took the time to learn himself but if you were to mention it he’d recognize some stars because he watches them so often

which makes for good dates!

stargazing!

you go to all types of different angles to look at them together

another thing is Touya never really went to school if so not for long

so you probably end up teaching him and filling him in on a lot of what he doesn’t know

not stuff he doesn’t care about tho

only the important stuff

essentials

which I mean it’s probably not essential anymore the way you two are living outside of society but hey it might come in handy

if someone were to ask touya a question but they’re trying to trick him by using a complex word, If you taught him he won’t fall for it! :)

I mean don’t get me wrong he’s not stupid

but you certainly are a lot smarter 😁

If you brag about it he gets kinda annoyed LOL

like if you beat him in video/board games a lot

which you do, you win like 98% of the time

the 2% he wins is from all luck games

and even so if you learn how those games work it’s over for him 😂😂

Touya doesn’t mind that you wear glasses at all

he does see a difference when you occasionally take them off but he doesn’t think you look wonky so don’t worry

he might be a little curious tho

like he’ll ask how glasses work (especially since your so intelligent)

which might lead into a conversation about why not everyone has 20/20 vision

yeah your conversations never stay on track because all the follow up questions

although you don’t mind because at least you know he’s listening

you end up explaining to him how glasses are made and he asks if you could make your own since you know

which honestly isn’t a bad idea since you could customize it and add whatever you want to it

you definitely thank him for the idea

he feels so accomplished—like he gets to be the smart one for once 😅🤷‍♀️

a sweet thing he does for you if you get eye strains/headaches is like rub your temples/run you a hot bath 💝

it surprises you how caring he can be but of course he’s not completely heartless

another cute thing Touya does is coming to you randomly with questions

”what’s this??”

”what in the world does ___ do?!”

”why does ___ happen?”

”is this normal?”

”what do you do if ____ happens”

”what’s __ x __ again”

”what’s ______ + ______ (big number + big number)?”

oh and you probably have better memory than him so

“Do your remember my past code?”

is common too 😂💗

I started this a while ago but never finished it so I’m glad to finally get this off my chest.

enjoy! Let’s see if the shigaraki and Touya stans will show up🕺

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 2

Bruh. My back is HURTING from being hunched over my laptop lol. For some reason I've managed to shit out this next chapter at the speed of light, but I'm back at uni and deadlines are picking up so I can't guarantee another one for a couple weeks. ANYWAY - ALASTOR HAS FINALLY MADE AN APPEARANCE. Not in person yet, but he's here (in spirit). I also apologise to anyone not from Yorkshire, I've used some of our slang from there and it may not make sense, but MC's embracing her Northener crave for violence.

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 6800

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Descriptions of murder and dismemberment. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2

Another box for my trinkets it's trinketville.

Meraki (Definition): To put something of yourself into your work. (Noun)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Thursday, 7th November, 1929.

The first four months of your new apprenticeship had you thriving more than ever before since arriving in the US. The last time you had felt this joyous and satisfied you were nearly eighteen, the tickle of the long grass on your cheeks as you laid in the meadow at the height of spring, holding the bunch of wildflowers against the kaleidoscopic swirls of the evening tones of the sky above you, admiring the way the lowering sun hit the petals and the small bugs that floated around with its golden highlights. It was one of the few times you had managed to bring your racing mind to a stand-still; no voices; no random lines of songs in your head playing on replay; no worries about the chores you were procrastinating or the book your friend had recommended weeks ago that you were yet to touch. You remembered the feeling of the summer dress you wore, the texture of the leather messenger bag beside you gifted by the old woman who lived further down the lane of the village. She used to babysit you when your parents would travel to York days at a time for work or personal errands. You loved to skip down that lane, with your hand running along the rough stones of the ancient stone walls that lined the lanes of your little village you had spent your whole life in – also lining your mind with the cuts it gave you as you tried to climb over them with the twins over the years.

The routine of working at the repair shop had brought the blissful feeling of stability back, the hectic frenzy of travelling from hotel room to hotel room, checking your tickets a thousand times to make sure you were on the correct train platform, then checking again. You no longer had to worry about travel dates that would leave you feeling paralysed from doing anything else.

Mr LeBlanc had been an excellent teacher and manager, drilling skills into your mind since you stepped into the shop for your starter shift. It was certainly an experience: opening the double doors to a vintage collector’s dream, an antique emporium filled from floor to ceiling (and on the ceiling). Ralph had brought you behind the counter, to a room in the back that he gleefully revealed to be concealed by a door disguised as a bookshelf. The workshop hidden behind was every antique restorer’s sanctuary, and it was certainly yours. Drawers lining the walls filled with every tool that could file, chip away, or apply anything you could find. In the centre was a large wooden table – thick, sturdy planks covered in chips and splatters of paint and adhesives used over the years. This table would be the place you would spend the next four months, your hair tied back by a patterned silk bandana, Ralph showing you how to work with materials from wood to porcelain, metal to textiles. You would pour over books you had pulled from Mr LeBlanc’s bookshelves until late into the evening, until he sent you home with them in your bag, and you protected them with your life as you returned on the trams (or ‘streetcars’, as Americans called them) in the evening light.

Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, he taught you everything he could, and you absorbed it all at the speed of light, your mind soaking up every piece of information like a dry sponge. By month three you had been given the go ahead to work on your first object from a customer – a small, spindly regency era chamber table belonging to a local gentleman. All it needed was some chips to be filled and repolishing, allowing Ralph to be confident enough in your abilities to complete it correctly. Your results came out on top, both Ralph and the customer being satisfied with your work, and you received the praise gleefully, along with the hefty tip the gentleman handed you over the counter. To you, everything was going fine and dandy.

Until October hit.

Apparently there were plenty of warning signs, according to most. They knew this was coming, your aunt knew this was coming. It was what she had said when you sat with her on the steps of the front porch.

“Shops are going to start disappearing.” She said, keeping her gaze ahead as she watched the cars sputter by. “With the rate this is going, I’m going to have to pull the boys out of school and get them working – I can’t keep the walls of this house up by myself.”

It had sent chills down your spine when you had picked up a newspaper, the words ‘Wall Street’ and ‘Stock Market Crash’ staining the pages for weeks. You put your mind and body into helping Mr LeBlanc, desperate for him to keep his business up and running. Unfortunately, as prices dropped, less people wanted to splurge the extra cash on something nice and antique, so you both lowered prices where you could, even going to lengths to hammer fliers to every street-post that advertised restoration jobs for any household item, promising customers that they would save money on repairs instead of buying it new.

It worked more than you thought, and it brought in enough income for Ralph to scratch by. He was also grateful you hadn’t asked for a raise to cope with the financial crisis, flat-out refusing when he had tried to hand you some tips he had received.

It was just the beginning of December when Ralph had called the house phone as you were getting ready for work. Ollie had yelled up the stairs to tell you and you scrambled down in your work trousers with your nightgown still on. Grabbing the phone, you listened to a raspy Mr LeBlanc as he told you he had falling ill with the usual winter flu. Unfortunately, being 63 meant that he was more susceptible to the illness, and was unsure if he would recover. If he did, it would still take a while, so he had asked you that morning if you were capable of running the shop solo. You had instantly said yes, refusing to let any sidetrack be his business’s downfall, so, with your head held high, you walked to his house, picking up any essential documents that he said you would need, and kept the shop up and running to the best of your abilities.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Friday, 6th December, 1929.

It was the Friday of the first week of December when you were an hour away from closing. You had been lucky that it had been pretty quiet the last few days, allowing you to settle into working your first ever Monday to Friday and getting to know the everyday things that were essential to keep the doors open. You had brought an armchair behind the counter – the gap between the counter and the wall was spacey enough for you to fit the chair and a small side table.

After not seeing any customers for over an hour, you had wandered off to the small side kitchen hidden by a Persian rug hung over the doorway to fetch yourself a warm cup of tea and a slice of carrot cake that Agnes had slipped into your lunch bag that day. Returning to the front, you placed the food and beverage on the side table, and sank into the chair, propping your feet up and delving into the book you had bought a few months ago.

Your eyes were drooping by the time you finished the tea and cake, and you rested your head on the back of the cushion, lowering your eyelids shut but remaining awake, knowing you had to get up soon in order to close in a half hour. Though the sudden sound of the shop’s bell chiming had you shooting out of your seat like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Scrambling to your feet, you scooted over to plop yourself on the counter stool, fixing yourself to look as presentable as possible as you faced the person entering. It was the mailman, stomping his boots to rid of the snow from the mild blizzard outside on the shoe rug by the door whilst holding a semi-large parcel under his arm. You recognised him from his rounds of the area, normally dropping off the odd parcel here and there for Ralph. Making sure the curls you had pressed into your hair overnight weren’t flattened at the back, you straightened out the silk scarf tied round the front of your head, flicking a curl out of your eye, and faced the man with a warm smile, to which he returned. He was a tall, young looking lad, older than you, but youth still shone in his eager eyes as he approached you.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he greeted, tipping his snow patterned hat. “I apologise for the snow on the floor, m’fraid the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

You waved him off, assuring that you were going to be cleaning up soon anyway. He inquired about Mr LeBlanc’s whereabouts, and you explained that his illness wasn’t letting up any time soon.

“Shame,” he said. “I know you’re probably not getting overrun, but it still must be complicated being a young woman running someone else’s business – especially near Christmas, having to trek home in the cold and wet by yourself.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” You laughed with a shake of your head, trying to not let your frustration show at the thought of him doubting your skills because of your gender. “He’s given me everything I need, and I can deal with the weather just fine. Wet and cold is the norm where I’m from.” Changing the subject, you gestured to the half-damp parcel still under his arm. “Is that addressed to Ralph or the shop?”

As if suddenly remembering the reason he was here, he quickly hauled the parcel from under his arm and slid it onto the counter.

“It’s for the shop.” He explained, gesturing a gloved hand to it. “S’pose it’s a last minute repair for a Christmas gift or somethin’.”

Placing your hands on either side, you slid the large square box towards you. Standing up from the stool, you peered at the top. Brushing off the half-melted snow, you read the handwriting that ornately spelled out the address - this was probably another repair.

The parcel itself was probably the neatest you had ever seen anything wrapped. The parcel paper was thick and expensive, the water and snow running off without leaving any trace behind except for a slight sheen, and the edges were folded so crisp and perfectly shaped and flat you wondered if whoever had wrapped it was human. Tied round like a present was a thick twine, looping into a bow directly in the middle of the top. You admired the dedication of whoever had put in the time to wrap this, running your fingers over the corners only to jerk them back slightly as the folds were so sharp they felt like they were slicing at your skin.

Looking back at the mailman, you thanked him for the delivery, and hoped him safe travels back home. Tipping his hat at you, he turned away with a farewell, and the bell chimed again when he opened the door, dipping his head against the wind as he faded into the white wall outside.

When the howling wind finally allowed the door to shut, you began the closing routine, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone else today with the severity of the weather outside. After locking the exits and pulling the shutters closed and the blinds down, you kept the shops lanterns on as you lifted the hefty parcel with a grunt and shuffled through the hidden doorway into the workshop.

Sliding it onto the table, you got to work opening it up, pulling the twine bow free and taking some small hand-held shears to slice open the glued down folds to reveal a cardboard box.

Pulling the thick brown paper and twine out from underneath, you chucked them onto the other workbench pushed against the wall to the right. Placing the shears down, you pushed your fingernails between the gap of the serrated cardboard and swung the flaps open. Inside was a lot of loose cotton wool, and you reached in, removing the protective layer and chucking it onto the table whilst simultaneously thanking whoever had spent their time padding the box out. This uncovered a semi-large shape swaddled in a maroon-coloured knitted blanket, and you reached your arms in deep to wrap around the object and haul it out.

Laying it on the table, you pushed the box and wool out of the way, and gently began unwrapping the blanket, mindful that some repair jobs may start out with several shattered pieces that you certainly didn’t want to accidentally drop an lose amongst everything. Coming to the final layer, your nails slotted through some of the holes of the knitting and clacked against what sounded like solid wood, and slipping the material off, you had your first look at your new potential project.

It was an old radio. Well, not that old, considering radios had only been in circulation for a decade or so, but it was one of the earlier models, the features you recognised from when you visited the county Mayor’s house when you were in your early teens. It was shaped with a resemblance to a cathedral arch, the wood panelling around the edge looking like pillars that began swirling and spiralling into gothic patterns the closer you got to the top. These patterns decorating the fine grated material that covered the speaker, and a few dials were situated on the bottom half, and you immediately noticed one was missing.

Pulling a stool over, you sat down to get a closer look, and you noted down the damages that came to light. It had obviously been looked after over the years, but, as always, people are prone to accidents, and this radio seemed to have gone through a few. Apart from the dial that was missing, there was a large split down one side, between two of the panels, and scratches and slight dents from where it had obviously been dropped. Grabbing your notebook, you jotted down your initial observations, before diving your hands into the left over cotton in the box to search for anything that could assist you.

To your luck, you found a small linen bag about the size of your palm, that you untied to reveal the missing dial and a few pieces of wood that had come off in some areas. Returning to your notes, you were just about to start a proposal form for treatment when something caught your eye. Looking over to the blanket you had put to the side, your eyes landed on a fancy looking envelope.

Reaching over, your fingers clasped around the paper, the material just as thick and expensive feeling as the parcel wrap, and you brought it towards you, careful not to elbow anything in the process, because if they could afford fancy radios and paper during this crisis, then they certainly were expecting you to repair this with equally expensive standards. Holding the paper up you read the loopy handwriting on the front of the envelope:

To  the Owner.

Turning it over, you pried the even fancier wax seal apart as gently as you could as to not ruin the paper, and opening the flap, you reached in to slide out a folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, you began to read the matching, loopy words.

---

December 4 th, 1929

Dear Owner,

I do hope this package finds you well. I am delivering this fine radio to be repaired at your establishment, as it belongs to my dear Mother and I would be overjoyed to have it completed in time for Christmas. Unfortunately, it has suffered its fair share of drops and bumps, but from what I have heard from others in our beloved city, you should be able to do an excellent job. The outside is obvious with what needs to be done, but there are areas within the interior mechanics that require some repairs. Now, I would take it to the radio shop, but the man who owns it is oh-so unpleasant, and would take weeks to be returned.

I am sure you would be happy to take on this challenge, for my mother’s sake, and that you will do a splendid job.

Regards,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

You blinked. Then furrowing your brows, you read it again. And again. Did this guy want you to not only fix up the look of his mum’s radio, but magically know the ins and outs of radio technology? You shook your head, then did a quick once-over of the words scrawled onto the page. Yep, he wanted you to do a Frankenstein and completely resurrect the old thing.

Placing you elbow on the table, you rested your chin on your palm as you stared at the wall covered in tool across the room. There was no way you could do this, not without Mr LeBlanc still ill – though even if he was here, you didn’t know if he had any knowledge on radios. Sighing, you rubbed at your face tiredly, not caring if you smudged the mascara on your lashes, it wasn’t like anyone was going to walk in on you with panda eyes anyway. Letting out a prolonged groan, you came to the final decision of what to do.

Trudging back into the shop, you quickly made yourself another cup of tea, before snatching some of the letter paper and an envelope from under the counter. Slumping back onto the stool in the workshop, you placed the paper in front of you whilst reaching into one of the drawers attached to the table to grab a pen, then, taking a moment to think of what you were going to say, you began writing.

---

December 6 th, 1929

Dear Mr Boudreaux,

Thank you for your enquiry. As much asI would love to fulfil your request, there are some issues regarding certain stages of the repairs. Mr LeBlanc, who owns the company, has taken ill this last week, and it is not yet known when he will recover, and I am the only member of staff he has employed at the moment. Unfortunately, I am not experienced in radio mechanics, and strongly advise that you come and collect the radio and take it to be repaired at a radio shop.

The radio can be returned here for outer repairs, but I am afraid that is the only option I can offer you at this time. The radio will be ready for you to collect from 9am on Monday morning. I do apologise for the inconvenience.

Regards,

---

Signing the first letter of your name, along with you surname, you read over what you had written. Satisfied, you sealed it in the envelope and got to work wrapping the radio back up. Quickly taking a candle, you took a peek in between the crack in the wood, the light shining on the innards. You definitely had no chance of fixing that, if the absolute mess of dislodged coils, wires and metal pieces inside said anything. Reluctantly you placed it back in its box wrapped up and padded with the cotton, before taping it up and re-glueing the parcel paper and twine back in place. It was a shame that you had to reject the request, the payment for the repair would have benefited you and Ralph quite a bit, and it made you feel awfully guilty to prevent someone’s gift for their mother, but it was out of your control. So, with the guilt hanging over your head, you pushed the parcel into the corner under one of the tables on sale.

Doing one last round of the shop, you extinguished the candles dotted around and flipped the light switches off except the main one by the door. With your coat and gloves on, you made sure the scarf was wrapped tight round your neck before grabbing your bag and did one last sweep of the place. Glancing in the corner, you took one last lingering look at the sorrowful parcel that sat under the table, but quickly snatched your eyes away, and grabbing the keys, you flipped the final light switch and stepped out into the cold, looking for the nearest post-box with the letter grasped in your hand.

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

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Monday, 9th December, 1929.

Monday came rolling round as usual, and you began your usual weekday routine of washing and dressing yourself before heading downstairs for breakfast. Scooping some scrambled eggs onto the toast on your plate, you trudged from the kitchen to the dining room, the slap of your bare feet on the tiles echoing through the wide hallway.

Shuffling through the doorway, you sat opposite Ollie, who, by the looks of it, was still waking up as he shovelled buttered toast into his mouth with his head still lying sideways on the table. Reaching over, you slapped the handle of your fork against his ear that stuck out from between his loose, dark curls, and he let out a whine as he sat up to face you with one eye glued shut, the other barely open, bread hanging from between his frown.

“You’ll choke eating like that.” You said as you scooped egg into your mouth.

Ollie dropped the toast from his mouth onto his plate. “Good.” He mumbled. “S’better than Miss Sammie droning on and ooonnnn about nonsense.” He flopped his head back on the table.

“Well enjoy it while you can.” You snorted. “If this crash gets any worse Mum will be pulling you both out to find jobs. And I know you two wouldn’t last a day in the workplace.”

He jerked his head back, scrunching his face in offence. “Like you would be any better.”

You deadpanned. “I’m currently working 9 -5, Monday to Friday, dumbass.” You jabbed back in annoyance, throwing a piece of crust at his forehead.

“Shit, forgot about that.” He grumbled, but perked up suddenly. “Yea, but you’ve only been working full time since last week!”

You chucked another crust. “Running a shop full time on my own – something I’ve never done before??”

“Still.” He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.

You had opened your mouth to retort, but stopped halfway as Allie’s voice echoed through from the kitchen.

“There’s been another one!” he called out, almost excitedly, the thumping of his feet vibrating through the floorboards as he practically sprinted into the room with the morning newspaper grasped firmly in his hands. The two of us jerked back as he slammed it onto the table.

“Amuver!?” cried Ollie, voice muffled by food, though he quickly swallowed it. All evidence of his tiredness now gone, he snatched up the paper and brought it right up to his face. “It’s barely been a week!”

“I know!” Allie replied, his voice rising in volume every time he spoke. “At this point it could end up happening every month!”

You looked between the two of them confused since you couldn’t see what Ollie was reading. “What could happen?” you asked, perplexed.

The two of them froze, turning to stare at you. Their eyes darted to each other, before Ollie lowered the newspaper and spoke.

“…The murders?” He revealed, as if it was the most obvious thing.

You blinked, then looked between the two, more confused. “What murders?”

“What!?” Allie cried, bracing his hands on the table as he leant over it, eyes wide. “You’ve been gallivanting round town for seven months and don’t know about thee murders??”

You leant back slightly at the sight of your cousin’s crazy expression, and slowly shook your head. “I’m uh – not one to read the newspaper often.” You explained sheepishly.

He gaped, clearly shocked at your lack of knowledge about the subject. His head whipped to where his brother sat, and his hand reached out and snatched the newspaper from Ollie’s. You quickly moved your breakfast out of the way, saving your food from being flattened as Allie slammed the paper down and began aggressively prodding at the headline on the front page. Swatting his hand away, you read the giant words printed above a photograph of a lake you didn’t recognise.

‘BARRISTER FOUND BUTCHERED ON EMBANKMENT’

Suddenly intrigued, brought the paper closer to read the front column.

Tragedy strikes again in New Orleans as the remains of county barrister, Paul Morgan, were found on the embankment and in the water of Lake Cataouatche by visitors to the area. Morgan was reported missing last Wednesday by his wife, Martha, when he failed to return home for two days after a night out on Monday with his colleagues. It was reported that Morgan’s body was dismembered, and his head took several hours to locate. However, certain body parts are still missing, therefore the lake has been closed off to the public for the foreseeable future. Police are calling in and searching for potential suspects, and give their condolences to Paul’s close family and friends, stating that they are working overtime to bring the killer to justice and prevent any further deaths. Due to the nature and severity of the crime, it is possible that this is another victim of who the public dubs ‘The Bayou Butcher’. The Sheriff strongly encourages people to stick to an early curfew and remain indoors after nightfall, as the safety of the public cannot be guaranteed at this trying time. (More on Page 5)

You went to flip through, but the paper was pulled out your hands by Ollie who wanted to read it.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Allie hissed excitedly as he lowered himself onto the chair at the head of the table between you both. “This could be another Axeman!”

Ollie gasped, eyes sparkling. “Shit, it could!”

You perked up. “Another Axeman? How long has this guy been around?” you asked as you brought your breakfast back in front of you.

Allie turned to you, eyes shining in excitement. “The first body was found in 1927 – and the rest have been popping up every 2-3 months, but this is the first time there’s been two in less than two weeks!”

You narrowed your eyes in thought. “How do you know it’s all one guy?”

At this question he seemed to get more excited, practically vibrating in his seat as he gestured to his twin. “Ollie and I have been collecting newspaper clippings on every murder that’s happened, and we’ve tried to eliminate any outliers – like, different weapons, ones that are bleedin’ obvious who did it – the rest all have the same MO: they never find the whole body.” He yammered on at light speed, emphasising each word with a loud thump of his finger prodding the table. “Sometimes it’s not obvious, I think they try to throw the police off by going for something small – like a finger – but there’s always something missing, and we know it’s them.”

You frowned. “Them?”

He shrugged. “Could be a woman.” You raised an eyebrow. “What!? I don’t discriminate! Women can be scary!” You slowly sat back in your seat, staring your cousin down. He pointed at you as he looked at his brother with wide eyes. “See!? You wouldn’t be surprised if she dragged a body in?”

Ollie swallowed the food he was chewing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she caused the second Great Fire of London because someone stole her food.” He said nonchalantly, before casually returning to his toast.

“Exactly!” cried Allie. “No wonder the government wants you all nice and buttoned up in a strait jacket!”

Dropping your fork with a clatter, you looked up at him in shock, mouth hanging open. He froze, quickly realising what he had said, and his face slowly scrunched up as he cringed.

“Too far?” he squeaked meekly as he glanced at you. “Sorry.”

Pouting, you glared silently before picking your fork back up.

A few moments of silence passed, before Ollie decided he had experienced enough of the dampened mood. “You know,” he began, catching your attention again. “We think the body parts aren’t just missing for the sake of it.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued again.

He looked you directly in the eye. “We think they’re eating them.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oo yummy, like a cannibal?” you queried, eyes darting to Allie, who perked back up, nodding. “So… there’s a cannibalistic serial killer running around New Orleans?”

Allie pointed a finger. “Serial killer, yes. Cannibal, possibly. We don’t actually have any proper evidence for that. I’m also going to skip the ‘yummy’ part, cuz I know you would never willingly consume human flesh.”

“You would be correct,” you confirmed with an amused smile, before glancing at the two. “Has mum ever suggested that you two should consider joining the police force?”

All you got were two matching cheshire grins in response.

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

After cleaning up your food, and disappointing the twins because no, you didn’t bring your serial killer books to America with you, because you didn’t want to be judged by the luggage inspectors on the ferry, besides, Jack the Ripper got a little boring after a while.

Even though it was interesting to learn about the current events of the city you were staying in, the subject of said current events did end up putting you on edge when you travelled to work that morning, with you clutching your bag a little tighter, and intensely staring down anyone who looked at you a little odd on the tram. It even got to the point where you had stepped off the tram, and spent the ten minute walk between there and the shop glancing down any alleyways as subtle as you could, even though you knew you would spot anyone against the white snow that reflected the morning sun into your poor, suffering eyes anyway.

Unlocking the shop doors, you stepped in, stomping the snow off of your boots on the mat before picking it up and shaking it off outside. Crossing the threshold of the room, you ducked under the rug into the kitchen, shrugging off your scarf and coat and hanging them up on the pegs.

You were just dusting off the old grandfather clock that was slotted between the shelves of smaller antique clocks when a knock echoed through the shop. Jumping slightly, you lowered the feather duster in your hand and looked over your shoulder to see the same mailman from Friday waving at you through the window in the door, his smile growing as you made eye contact with him . Placing the duster down, you quickly strode over to the door, twisting the locks before pulling it open and sticking you head through the gap.

“I do apologise Miss,” he began after you said hello. “I hate to interrupt you whilst your still getting ready to open, but my boss handed some priority mail to me – said I had to get it to you as soon as I could.” He held a letter out in front of you.

Frowning, confused, you slowly reached out and took the letter from his hands. “Okayyy…” Turning the letter around you came across some very familiar hand writing:

‘To Mr LeBlanc’s Employee.’

“Oh god.” You groaned quietly, your shoulders slumping. This could turn out to be quite nasty if this was going the way you thought it would.

The mailman glanced between the letter and your very prominent grimace. “Is everything alright?” he asked, concern shining in his eyes.

“Yea! Yea,” you breathed, glancing around the street with the dwindling hope that your client would show up to pick up his parcel, but the letter in your hand said otherwise. “Everything’s fine. Just some very small business issues.”

He glanced at your face again, and went to open his mouth, but hesitated, seemingly switching what he was going to say. “Well, uh, I hope everything goes well, ma’am. I’ll see you around?”

You nodded, still staring down the street. “Yea, sure. See you around.” You said distractedly. Quickly giving him a strained smile, you stepped back to close the door, and the man tipped his cap at you again before strolling away.

Walking over to the counter, you slumped onto the stool with a groan, chucking the letter down in front of you. Leaning your elbows on the surface, you rested your forehead against your palms as you glared at the words inked onto the paper. The way it was addressed to you already screamed passive-aggressive, and you hated confronting anything or anyone with a passion, and you certainly didn’t want to confront this Boudreaux guy because you denied his mum a Christmas present. With a loud whine, you slammed your head onto the counter before blindly patting the surface until you felt the thick paper and slowly dragged it towards you. Sitting back up, you held the seemingly innocent envelope in front of you, and stared at it for a couple more moments, before you couldn’t take it anymore and tore it open.

---

December 7 th, 1929

To the Employee of Mr LeBlanc,

I hope this letter has found you in post haste. I am deeply upset that you lack the skills of radio repair, after all it is a growing medium that most should be learning at this point. Therefore I have come to the conclusion that I will refuse your rejection. The fliers you put out stated very clearly that you could repair ANY object, and it would be very disappointing for people to hear that it no longer has that skill to offer, since the only other option for radio repair during these trying times is a very unpleasant experience with that owner I mentioned.

I do hope my Mother’s radio will be fixed on time, I do hate to disappoint her. If Mr LeBlanc does not recover within the period, or you have any queries about the repair, please call the number I have written below.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Best Wishes,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

If your mouth hung open any further than you would be catching every insect that resided in the swamps surrounding the town.

Was this guy fucking for real??

You scoffed slightly. Then again. Eventually you scoffing spiralled into manic laughter as you guffawed at the audacity that this man thought he had. With wide eyes, you slammed the paper down back onto the counter, staring over at the wall because if you looked at those words any longer you would probably end up tracking this man down so you could shove his mother’s radio up his ass along with the fat metal rod that apparently already resided there.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed back the stool and stood up, deciding you needed you reset your mind before the first customers came in. Marching back to the kitchen, you spent the next five minutes sat in the middle of the floor, waiting for the kettle to boil as you very angrily stuffed the blueberry muffin you had brought in your mouth. You glanced at the clock and pouted as you realised you only had 15 minutes before you had to put on your best customer-friendly expression despite the metaphorical grey cloud that thundered above your head.

Thinking for a moment, you shot back up, chucking the muffin case as you strode back through to the counter, and snatched the letter up, marching back to the kitchen over to the rotary phone on the table in the corner. Picking up the handset, you pressed it to your ear as you spun the number written out on the paper in front of you.

It rang for a moment, and you tried to picture the man who would – hopefully – receive your call. You expected to hear the gruff voice of some 50 year old, that would start yelling down the line about how incompetent you were, especially when he found out you were a woman, before you heard a crackle as it was picked up and a polite and much younger sounding “Hello?” came through.

You froze for a moment, your vision of some rude, old guy whooshed away at the voice of a much younger, more spritely man, and you pictured someone like the mailman, until you heard a louder, drawn out “Hellooo?”, the man on the other end seemingly becoming amused at your lack of response.

Snapping yourself out of the character builder you had in your mind, you quickly spoke. “Hello, do I happen to be talking to–”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” You blinked as you were interrupted. “But I do believe you’ve accidentally called an American number!” The man said chipperly, though there was a condescending undertone – his amusement clearly growing at the thought of your apparent mistake. You guessed it was when he heard your accent.

“I- what?” you stammered down the receiver.

“Oh you poor thing.” He simpered over the line like some fake grandma comforting you after you tripped over. He was clearly having fun – you could just picture the fake pout he was putting on. “Like I said, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”

No, this was definitely the right one. His attitude over the phone matched his attitude in the letter precisely.

You could hear him being to move to put the phone down, and you quickly called out. “WAIT NO!!” you cried, on the verge of an outrage. “I definitely put the right number in! Now, am I or am I not speaking to a Mister Boudreaux?”

“Oh! Do pardon me.~” He practically sing-songed. Oh, so now he was willing to listen? “Yes that is I, and to who do I owe the pleasure to be called by an English dame such as yourself?” the fake flirtatious tone had you picturing the faceless man laid on his front, kicking his legs as he twirled the coil between his fingers. You pushed that amusing thought down, however, when you caught sight of the piece of paper in your hand.

“I got your letter.”

“Ah,” It was like a switch was flipped, the man’s tone darkening slightly. “I see.”

Rereading the words this guy had put down, you could barely control yourself, and you pictured the time your mother had marched you down the lane to the house of a boy in your school year. That boy had given you a large bruise on your forehead, and instead of telling you that he did it because he fancied you, your mum decided to give him and his family the verbal lashing of your life. ‘I’m not raising you to snap at the slightest pressure like those London lasses, my love’, she had said, ‘You’re gonna go down kicking and screaming like it’s the last thing you’ll do’.

And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.

“Right,” you began, your Yorkshire accent coming on full force. “I’m gonna need you t’ open yer lug ole, lad, cuz I dunno how you lot do customer service over here in America, but bein’ passive aggressive t’ someone who’s literally done nowt to deserve the absolute shite you’ve just given me makes you out t’ be a right knob’ead, you hear me?” You reprimanded. “If you don’t get your arse down to the shop by the end of the week, I’m putting ya mum’s radio down as unclaimed and selling it t’ the next person I see!”

You quickly slammed the phone down, too fuming to hear anything that Mr Boudreaux had to say. The only reason you felt a little guilty was that you knew nothing about this guy’s mum – she could be the sweetest woman in the world, and you just up and went and threatened to sell her possession! Though, with the way her son behaved, you would be surprised if she turned out to be just like him. Ugh, then you would be dealing with two of them.

Letting out a sigh, you picked up the phone again, instead dialling the phone number pinned to the corkboard on the wall. It rang for longer this time, and when it picked up you received a very loud coughing fit. When it died down, you finally spoke.

“Ralph I need your help.” You groaned, plopping yourself down on the spindly chair next to you with a defeated sigh.

“I’ve got the worst customer in the world.”

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

Does uh, anyone want more memes?

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, and I do apologise for the sudden dialect change, I was desperate for MC to finally speak the way I do lol. See you soon for Chapter 3!!

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*feeds you content a lot earlier than I thought*

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[acaplaya-musings]

A random assortment of Geoff Castellucci pictures - Part 1

I have a folder that is filled with screencaps of Geoff, some of which are/were for art references, and some of which are just because I think they're good pictures, and I asked in a recent post if any of you were interested in me showing you some of them. A few of you did very much express interest, and so here we are. This post, part 1, is for screencaps from videos on Geoff's solo channel, and part 2 will be for screencaps from VoicePlay videos.

They're just listed alphabetically by video title (because that's how they're sorted in the folder), and this assortment certainly has potential to be expanded upon, but it's just some/most of what I've got right now (plus some thoughts/comments from me about most if not all of them)

Everything below the cut!

This one I was considering as a potential fanart reference at one point - I was tossing up between this and Wicked Game for a sketch fanart, but I ended up going with Wicked Game

I mean come on sir please this is ILLEGAL /j

Look, Folsom Prison Blues is one of my top 3 favourite Geoff videos, emphasis on the word "video", so sue me!

h-

I know it's a habit of Geoff's to have at least two top buttons of a button-up shirt undone, but like in this video, (if you don't count the button that's probably right up at the collar), he's got three buttons undone and oh boy it shows And I Am Looking Respectfully

I grabbed this screenshot when I went looking for pics for my Geoff playing the piano photo compilation, but I ended up keeping this one because I just think it's a really nice pic <3

I actually don't have a lot of screenshots from Jack's Lament, but mostly because the whole damn video is so amazing and practically all of it is screenshot-worthy!

This was another one I was considering for fanart, but it would be quite hard to get right, even with my "tricks" for get outlines near-perfect

I mean yeah what can I say

Mele Kalikimaka really holds a special place in my heart, and I can't wait to watch/listen to it again come December (or late November if I get impatient, lol) (as if I don't have the whole dang song memorised in my brain already!)

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen may be the most impressive/stunning arrangement of Geoff's 4 Christmas songs, but Mele Kalikimaka is probably my sentimental favourite, deep down (and yes, he's very pretty in this one!)

I mean we all agree he looked dang good in this outfit right?

I actually low-key would love to do fanart of Jaime!Geoff (maybe standing up so I wouldn't have to include the Iron Throne), but that's a lot of brown, and I'm not sure I have enough variety of shades/hues to get it right

I know I included this one fairly recently in my visual analysis post for Song Of Durin, but I saved this one to my folder and so I'm sharing it again!

It's pretty rare for me to feel attraction to any "iteration of Geoff" (Geoff clone?) with thick facial hair, but man that smile... It's a similar deal with "Jeoph" in Unshaken, and frankly my attraction to him in that video continues to baffle me. You're not supposed to look that good with a handlebar moustache and not even a beard to go with it!!!

I call this one "Heart Eyes Geoff" and it makes me melt in love and affection every time <3

Geoff and Kathy had to refilm a lot of shots for Til Then, and they were completely by themselves in the studio when they did so. So yeah, she might not be on screen, but you just know he's looking right at her 💜

I really really love Way Down okay. I call this image "flirting with the camera" (got that from a comment on a reaction video to this I think?)

And finally, this is just the Wicked Game video thumbnail without the title text (got it from Patreon - Geoff sometimes asks Patrons to help vote on video thumbnails and will give us jpg downloads of each option), but still, it captured me from the moment I first saw it appear on YouTube. Like he's just! So! Pretty! And the wispiness of his hair (which was a deliberate styling choice, apparently, based on the BTS footage), and the way it's at this point long enough to reach his shoulders, just UGH man

So yeah, hope you enjoyed this; part 2 with VoicePlay video screencaps will be coming at some point soon! Seeya!

[joelletwo]

v theee [boring car selling in nc details] theee to junk ur car the company wanted me to go ahead and sign the title and leave the buyer info blank which is having an open title (bc if u drop it on the way to sell ur car anyone can pick it up and fill in their info and own ur car) and is like. STUPID illegal in nc. like people still do it esp in just third party-to-third party sales. and junker services do it so if they can sell the car again they dont have to deal with two transactions of paperwork and fees [<- which is why its illegal so nc can capture those fees]. but like. they shouldnt be able to tell me on their publically available site that they want me to break nc law

and also nc law wants me to get that title notarized which because of open titles being illegal. most notaries wont notarize u if the buyer isnt also there filling in their info.

most notaries are also. either like banks or other m-f 9-5 type businesses. or just some random person in their house. and random person in their house is more likely to break the law for me but i dont want to ask some random person to break the law for me

(the dmv will also notarize and anecdotally from reddit some of them totally will just shrug and let u do it with only you the seller/you the buyer there instead of needing both but thats arbitrary depends on getting someone who doesnt care lol)

AND also. even if im selling to a person not trying to get me to break the law just buying my car regular. and i work m-f 9-5 or we both work hours where theres no way to get us both in the same place and certainly not a bank or a dmv except like, sunday evening, when no banks or dmvs are open.

do we just go fuck ourselves????????? like what do they want. they want me to die?????? i think my government wants me to die and sterilize myself

[monimccoythings]

Arlong x Human!reader: Parenthood Part 2

Homefish trying to be romantic but failing miserable lol. Since Arlong took care of his half-sister when they were younger, so I guess he would manage as a parent more or less. It's the ideologies he could give his kids what worries me... but Shyarly turned out perfectly fine with humanity, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad.

It had been another happy and peaceful day in your lives. You just came back from groceries, handling your unruly daughter in one hand and the bag with your food for the week in the other. Fearing you would drop everything, gently put the bag down and fumbled with your hands to get the keys. However, something about the door made you stop and immediately tense.

The door had been unlocked. It was not easy to see since it was closed, but in the lock there were certainly some scratches that were not there when you left that morning. Should you call for someone? Or face them yourself? It had been two years, but you didn't think you had forgotten all your combat training. Though you would have to be very focused on your kid's safety and that could become a dangerous distraction.

"Honey, stay here. Mommy is going to check something." You whispered to her. Desperately, you searched in the grocery bag for something to attack the intruder with. Anything at all. Even the celery could be of use.

With your heart thundering in your chest, you opened the door and got inside, celery in hand, ready to beat the shit out of whoever got in there with it. And as soon as you took two steps in, you unconsciously let the celery drop.

Arlong sat in your couch like he owned the place. His presence, always overpowering, made the small living room suffocatingly claustrophobic. And he still had that lust filled gaze, filled with something much darker.

"Hello, Gorgeous." He said in a mocking tone. Your blood ran cold, whatever he was going after, it had to do with you. He may be looking for revenge after leaving so abruptly, thus unabling him to follow his plans. Maybe he came to slaughter you, maybe-

"Mommy, butterfly!" Your daughter, always with the greatest timing, choose that moment to make her appearence. However, the second she saw Arlong, she hid herself behind your legs.

Arlong on the other hand had frozen in his spot. His eyes, now comically wide, quickly moved between you and her and viceversa. It would have been an hilarious situation if you weren't risking so much. His lips were drawn in a thin line and you could literally see the gears moving in his head. 'Do the math, champ'. You thought bitterly, one hand reaching behind you to hold your daughter closer.

His movement was so sudden that made you back up a couple of steps. Arlong got on one knee in front of his daughter. He observed her for a couple of seconds, his head titling slightly. Finally, he decided to speak. "What is your name, child?"

Your child, even if friendly to all her neighbours and friends and even random animals, felt very shy when it came to dealing with strangers. Specially ones as impossing and threatening as her own father.

"She is not great with strangers." You tried to keep your voice steady and calm. Arlong bared his teeth at you, an animalistic display of power. "She is mine." It was the way he punctuated the word mine that made you decide that you were not going to have any of it.

"Ours." You corrected him, never breaking his stare. You saw the veins in his neck thicken, his powerful muscles tensing, as if he was about to snap. However, he thought it better. But that gleam of determination didn't left his eyes.

From then onwards, Arlong became a constant presence in your household. He was just there, and it irked you to no end. When questioned, he said he wanted to get to know better the product of his slip up. His tone rejected further questioning. And you knew better than to provoke him in front of your child.

Sometimes he left for days, and came back with things for the house and his kid. The first time he did it, you nearly had a heart attack when he returned.

Arlong seemed like a completely differet person with your daughter. He was patient, charming, doting; to you, he was the kind of person he was pretending to be to lure you to him. She seemed to have gotten a little more comfortable with having him around, at least she didn't hid herself behind your legs anymore whenever she saw him and could be left alone with him in the same room, but with you always in the next one, of course.

He took you two to water playdates, to teach your daughter to swim and breathe underwater, something that you, due to your human condition, were unable to. If he was feeling generous that day, he would pull you in the water with them, using a snorkel to help you breathe and keeping a firm grip on your waist with his free arm. If not, you would be left in the boat, nervously wondering if he would whisk her away from you.

If you had to go to the town for chores, he would follow closely, like a shadow. Watching like a hawk and sending dirty looks towards anyone who dared to come closer than needed. Even if it was uncomfortable having to be constantly mouthing apologies to your neighbours and friends, you had to admit he was doing an amazing job controlling himself given what you had heard of him. He had passed from hate to barely tolerate humanity, and that was huge progress for him. Your daughter, as always, remained blissfully oblivious of the tension her dad was creating.

Arlong's treatment of you also changed. Before, you had the impression that to him you were nothing but a nuisance, an accessory to his recently discovered child that he couldn't get rid of without greatly upsetting her. But, as time passed, both of you settled in a quiet routine that fitted you well. There was some unspoken camaraderie when taking care of your child. At some point, when you three sat on the garden swing, if there was no room left, because Arlong occupied nearly the entire swing and your daughter was laying asleep on the remaining space with her head on her dad's thigh, he would generously 'allow' you, to sit between his legs as if it was a privilege that had to be earned. It was awkward, but it was the thought that counted.

Your feelings towards him were hard to define, you didn't know how to feel at all. You feared you were falling for his tricks all over again, but this time you had way more to lose. Arlong didn't gave you any signals so you decided to be wise and just keep things the way they were.

When you felt safe enough in whatever it was what you three had going on, you considered the posibility of returning to the dating pool; it had been so long since the last time you had a date and you could finally have a night out in the town without worrying about Arlong kidnapping your daughter, since he understood your daughter adored you and to take her away from you would only incur her wrath, and yours.

That idea didn't suit well with Arlong at all. Judging by his behavior, you could only deduce that he seemed to be in the belief that just because he had knocked you up, he had staked some sort of claim over you and refused to share his property with others.

Refusing to give in to his intimidating presence and glowering stance, you accepted the invitation of a charming young man that lived nearby. He had always been very sweet and polite to you and was also very cute, basically all you needed right now.

When the time for the date arrived, you walked in your best dress towards your trembling suitor, while Arlong stood in the entrance, his broad frame filling nearly the entire doorframe. One of his hands, held your kid protectively against his burly chest; the other, was grabbing the doorframe with a grip so vicious you were sure it would crack eventually. He looked positively furious, murderous even.

Not daring to look back, you basically dragged your date towards the town, hoping to have an awesome night.

But you didn't.

As it turned out, men's turn offs weren't really children. It was the children's fathers. Your date spent the entire night anxiously looking around him, in fear Arlong would come out of the shadows and bite his head off. How disappointing.

As you climbed up the stairs to your porch, you wondered if it was always going to be the same. You just getting your hopes up, and people being too afraid of Arlong to act up. And as soon as you opened the door, there he was, slumped backwards on the couch, one ankle over the knee, and his head laying on his fist, in what looked to be a bored position.

The moonlight that entered through the open windows was enough to highlight the coldness of his blue eyes. "Back so soon? I thought human males would last longer. Gotta say I'm a bit surprised but it wasn't entirely unexpected coming from your species." His words were sharp as knives, his lips peeled back in a feral snarl. You felt tired of his antics and his childish tantrums. It had been enough of a horrible night already, he didn't need to come and ruin it even further.

Ignoring him, you went towards the kitchen and leaned on the sink. You needed something to drink, like, right now. You didn't hear him come closer to you until it was too late.

"You left." He purred against your ear. You could feel his hot breath against your hear. "The only human that I considered pleasant enough to be worthy of bedding, and you left me... We could have had everything; and now, you have the nerve to go out with other men right under my nose."

Wow, what a way with words he had, how come you didn't fuck him since day one? And how could he act all butthurt when he had been the one who had treated you like shit after you slept together??

" All the things you did to Nami and that village..." He harshly turned you around to face him, both arms on each of your sides, trapping you between the sink and his hard body. He was breathing heavily, and for a second you thought you saw the Arlong everyone talked about. But he didn't do anything else to harm you.

"I can guarantee you that if our roles had been reversed, they would have done just the same." His voice was laced with biterness.

"You can't possibly know that!" You said, minding your volume, in case you accidentally woke up your girl.

"Believe me, I do." For a second, Arlong's eyes filled with something akin to sorrow. You wanted to ask what he had seen, what he had gone through, but you knew he would never tell.

You felt him press himself closer to you, you could feel the heat radiating from his body. What did he want from you?

"You can't just judge an entire village you barely knew. How can you expect me to overlook that, what you did to them was monstru-"

"And I've been paying for it for two whole years. Or did you think that Impel Down is a luxury resort? Whoever enters there, never comes out the same. I was lucky enough to get most of my crew out of there barely alive and send them home."

You didn't know what to say. What could you possibly say? What even was this?

"My feelings will never change. I dislike humanity." You arched an eyebrow. "Most of humanity." He corrected himself. "When I first came here, I came to demand an explanation and to drag you back with me." He was just making it worse. "But then I saw her, and you, and the life you had built together and realised It was no longer just about me."

"Why did you stay?" You asked. It had been months since he had reappeared in your life, he could have easily taken both of you away, to live forever imprisoned by his side. Yet he had stayed, he had mostly adapted to your habits.

He didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed your chin and slowly dragged his webbed thumb over your lips. He looked disgusted, at you? at himself? Who knew. A low rumbling growl was building in his chest. "You have done something to me."

What you had was messy, complicated. Impossible to define by regular standards. You barely knew each other, yet you had a daughter together and that was the least of your problems.

He had done horrible, messed up things that could never be forgiven and that you couldn't just ignore. He still harbored resentment for humanity; however, when given the chance to start it all over again, he had chosen not to, preferring to remain with you and your daughter instead and sending his crew away to keep them safe.

You still didn't know how to feel about him, how to figure out the turmoil in your chest when he was around. And you guessed he still had some trouble acepting his feelings for a human.

None of you knew where this was going to head out; nonetheless, deep in your heart you hoped, that this small moment in the kitchen was a step in the right direction. The direction that would lead to a brighter future for you three.

[redamoureux]

Hello! I saw your headcanons and I loved your work, so I decided to request something myself.

Could you write about the Medic with a teenage daughter (you can alter to be gender neutral if you prefer) except this daughter, is a clone of his?

I'm guessing it was one of his experiments that he grew attached to, and saw as his own kid. Maybe headcanons of how she would be with her dad, or with the other mercenaries?

Tysm!!

General Red/Blu Medic with Clone Child Darling headcanons

↳ content warning: fluff, comfort, light angst, small mentions of objectifying darling, darling is semi-medic's child?, gender neutral darling, ooc(?)

• genre: platonic

• a/n: not my best work jshbn and kinda rushed- and ngl this somehow kinds of reminded me of emesis blue but bit lesss angst, lol thanks for requesting!

It was just an experiment. They're just an experiment.

Yet, who could've expect him to love them as if they were an actual human? He certainly hadn't think so much about it either.

Sure, he is somewhat fond and affecionate towards his experiments, but it was in a rather twisted sense and because they showed good results.

If the results doesn't satisfy him as much.. well, he'd still care for them, just not as much as for the succesful ones.

After a small success in a project he and engineer had collaborate to create, an idea came into his mind.. although even he wasn't sure what he wants to do, he decides to give it a try. After all, he is a scientist! What kind of scientist doesn't like to try out new things?

Was he crazy to mix his DNA into this to create something akin to this humanoid like creature? Maybe.

Was he crazy to somehow brought this thing to life and gives it its own sentience? Hah, no!

The mercs can complaint all they like about how weird and creepy the duplicates and clones in his lab are, he cares about good results! If that means almost filling his lab with those things so be it. Atleast heavy doesn't mind it so much.

You were yet another clone of a bunch prototypes he'd worked on. Unlike the other clones which would often break, you were much more capable! Sure there were some flaws but that can easily be fixed. He's just so delighted to have created such a impressive outcome!

Oftentimes he'd make you do things that's almost against your will but that's fine. Just some reiterating and you should be exactly like what he wanted.

But that didn't happen. Instead it makes you more aware. It's like you are an actual human and it takes awhile for him to actually acknowledge this. When he do, he'll also realize how his ways of showing his favoring changes to actual love.

The others would pointed it out, how he treated you alot better than his other experiments. How he'd brush your hair and interacted with you as if he's talking to his own kid. Some had expected this however, he is mad anyway.

Soon he see how the others treated you over time, from awkwardness and confusion to slowly warming up to you and accepting you! It makes him feel happy that they aren't forever so frightened by you. You are his best after all. He's also pleased how you went from hating doing experiments with him to actually enjoying it aswell. He doesn't want you to miss out to the fun!

Would probably read you bed stories whether if you asked for it or not, be it from books he had when he's younger or just random stuffs he thought of.

Outside battlefield stuffs, he enjoys doing domestic and simple things he didn't think he wanted to do before.

Medic didn't realize how much he actually enjoys the idea of having a child or rather because it is his own creation, either whatever the reason is, he's just grateful for your existence.

REBLOGS/ FEEDBACK/ COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED!

@redamoureux

[mxnordberg]

hi!! i love your cross stitch pieces so so so much. would you ever consider releasing patterns?

I write all over my patterns so I don't really have any of the ones that I've used in the past, unfortunately! But luckily cross-stitch (the way I do it at least) is more an effort of hundreds of hours of work and not necessarily a lot of creativity so I can tell you how I make them!

The website pic2pat is a blessing -- that's what I use to generate the patterns. For the first handful I did, I just did a lot of random guesswork on the size and didn't do any kind of editing on the screenshot before I uploaded it. For the first Impurity hoop and the Isolation hoop, I just sort of did my best to square up the image in the center and didn't worry about filling it out to the edges at all. For the Decay and Extraction and Memories hoops, I did the same thing only I made the pattern a lot bigger than my hoop size and just kind of did a bunch of estimation to make the image fill out the hoop as a circle the way I wanted it to. It's less work on the front-end, but then when you go to actually start stitching you have to do a LOT of double-checking and counting squares on your cloth to figure out where the elements are going to wind up, which can be very rough lol.

Lately, I've decided that's annoying so I've actually taken the time to measure my hoops exactly, and then I'll make a square canvas in procreate, drop the screenshot in there and get it to fill the square the way I want it to (depending on the screenshot, you might have to do some drawing here -- the totheark videos are shot in a rectangular aspect ratio, so trying to put them in a square can lead to either cropping out some details or leaving gaps at the top and bottom. I've usually been erring on the side of including all the details I want and then going in to paint in an extension of the top/bottom of the frame so it'll fill out the whole circle. I usually try to aim for some level of photo-realism, but you do lose some image quality when you convert it to stitching, so you don't have to get Too hung up on it), and then draw a circle over top to use as a reference for where the hoop is. Then you can upload that image to the pic2pat site and have the pattern generated the exact size of the hoop so you wind up doing less counting/guesswork.

For the colors, I usually start at the bottom with the least amount and pay close attention to the level of detail that I'm looking for. Depending on the size of your hoop, the amount of thread you need can quickly become a little absurd so I do usually try to cap it at around 14 colors since you often need multiple skeins of thread per color -- lately I've been aiming for fewer to save money.

THEN once you download the pattern you can mark out the the horizontal/vertical center row (the patterns generate the number of rows on the side, so that's relatively easy), and then I'll do the same for the actual hoop (a little harder, since you have to actually measure stuff, although honestly I mostly eyeball it lol). Then you can get started!

The important thing with cross-stitching like this though is that you're Going to miscount things. I don't go stitch by stitch like a knitting pattern because I imagine keeping multiple active threads in the same row from tangling/getting stitched to the cloth would be a nightmare. instead, I usually pick a color and will work by only filling in those stitches all over the hoop. You're almost certainly going to miscount the number of squares here and there and wind up throwing off the entire pattern because you filled in a bunch of sections in the entirely wrong place. The fact that the pattern generates on multiple pages can kind of exacerbate this since you might miscount rows between pages (although you can print them out and cut the edges out to tape the page together so it aligns in an actual single square). Usually this isn't all that big of a deal honestly -- because you fill out every single square, a lot of the time this is equivalent of being off by a few Pixels, so it's not very noticeable. Sometimes I do pull it up, but mostly I just go back in and mark off the squares on the pattern that I filled in 'wrong' and then will rework the pattern Around those stitches to move things back into place sort of.

I wish I was better at taking WIP images so I could actually show you what I mean, but hopefully this was enough to sort of give you an idea of what I'm talking about lol. And a few jumping off points.

[crehador]

brother crab's spring 2024 first impressions: sentai daishikkaku

i distinctly remember reading the summary of this series and thinking "oh sick premise, sounds fun, add to planning" and then immediately forgetting what i read lol

so anyway it was this:

and i'm enjoying it so far! it's not completely blowing me away or anything, but it's a fun enough 'twist' on the sentai genre (we are getting a lot of those these days aren't we)

it certainly doesn't fill the warumono-san void (warumono-saaaaaaaaan i miss youuuuuuuuu) but i'm sufficientlly compelled

the ed was pretty banging, and i'm really digging the character designs. they're not super striking, i don't think, but there's something that i just like about them. like the girl with extremely dead eyes and that other random(?) guy with like the extremely bright moe moe gemstone eyes. just a fun contrast when they're standing next to each other

anyway! seems like some good mild fun so far

OH and i really liked this one visual gag where the main guy's name title card shows up while he's talking and he shoves it out of the way lol

really fond of fourth-wall breaking jokes like that

[multi-fandomdisaster]

im just here for anything you wanna talk about honestly - soup

Well my brain is filled to the brim with theme park nonsense for now. I just got finished tormenting rambling to friends on Discord about how much I love this one random live show at Cedar Point (which if you want that ramble, I'd be MORE than happy to transfer it over here lol), so there's almost certainly gonna be some solidly long rambles coming along in the near future lol