#I like Scout's long socks so much actually

[leffee]

I don't know how to explain this but Scout's sock being down like that makes it so much better

Ain't a whole lotta room in that campervan

[dollarstoreartsupplies]

things that remind me of the nerdy prudes

(because like two people reblogged this one i did forever ago for the losers and i forgot how fun these are)

grace:

getting veggie tales songs stuck in your head as an adult, knee socks, eating all your broccoli, sparkly butterfly clips, watching sunlight glint off a lake through the treeline, guinea pigs, friendship bracelets off a water bottle, being secretly glad when someone you don’t like turns out to be a bad person, a bunch of cellophane candy wrappers crinkling at the bottom of your purse, being a little too into archery at summer camp, pastel bible highlighters, banana pancakes, tying way too many ribbons around the advent wreath, leggings under dresses, daydreaming about how you’d escape if you ever got kidnapped, strawberry ice cream, roller skating with almost too much protective gear on, cloud gazing, obvious family secrets that everyone refuses to tell you, feeling weirdly guilty for ordering your steak rare, bringing too many swaps to girl scout camp so you can trade with everyone, asking a new friend for their email address, long denim skirts

steph:

really dry liquid lipstick you bought in your freshman year of high school but refuse to throw out, 24 hour diners, typing in all lowercase but never actually changing the setting in your phone, listening to music you hate but gaslighting yourself until you enjoy it, really dark purple nail polish that looks black, collecting crystals even though you don’t really believe in them, saying your team bella (but secretly being team jacob), getting mad your vape was confiscated at your high school graduation, one million rings, coffee ice cream, tinfoil in a microwave, exclusively wearing sports bras, shoplifting, pink monster, thinking cigarettes are really hot, never wearing a jacket even if your cold, penny boarding, drinking four loko, regretting four loko, refusing to put your hair up even when you really should, kuromi, half fallen down led lights, playing your mom’s old guitar, sour skittles

pete:

planetariums, being overly competitive at board games, ginger ale, using a chapstick until it runs out, really liking marshmallows, really liking hot chocolate, hating marshmallows in your hot chocolate, buying a bunch of cool notebooks and never using them, forever dm, pretending you didn’t find asdf movies as funny as you actually did, m&ms, freezing cold hands, hand-me-down sweaters, only ordering chicken fingers and french fries, being intrinsically trusted by cats, carrying a clarinet to school every day, skipping episodes of next gen if they don’t feature data, praying on the first day of school that your teachers didn’t have your older sibling, transition glasses lenses (that you absolutely regret), dry krave cereal, secretly finding most museums really boring, grow-your-own-geode science kits, wing tip tap shoes, messenger bags, only doing extracurriculars that look good on college applications

ruth:

your comfort gay newsies fanfiction from middle school, being jealous of your younger sibling, those phone cases with glitter and charms floating in water, team edward and team jacob, wishing you hadn’t quit dance, buying fun jewelry and never wearing it, being devastated your hair is too dark to dip dye in kool aid, sticky lip gloss, painting every nail a different color, self sabotage, crushed velvet scrunchies, the grease soundtrack, wanting to be a rockette when you grew up, never learning how to do make up, begging to do figure skating as a kid, begging to do beauty pageants as a kid, begging to do cheerleading as a kid, turquoise braces bands, sinclair gas stations, showing up to an audition that you didn’t realize had a dance call, dunkin’ donuts munchkins, squirrel girl comic books, one half of a best friend necklace you wore longer than you should have

richie:

trying to get the marble out of a ramune bottle, wearing big headphones 24/7 (even if they aren’t playing anything), staining your best friend’s bathtub blue with hair dye, sour patch kids, enamel pins, discord calls across like three different time zones, the charlie bone book series, getting in trouble for drawing in class, being the friend with a car but also being a terrible driver, a pokémon card binder, that one kid who was really, really good at cup stacking, wearing shorts in the middle of winter, thirty-nine minute long voice memos, being exceptional at claw machines, vocaloid songs, your pet parakeet hanging out on top of your head, that one vaguely traumatizing round of the pocky game from seventh grade, regularly broken duolingo streaks, getting in trouble for bringing a real katana to your freshman year halloween dance

[earthstellar]

what are some other nice moments from Rescue bots?

This show is loaded with them!!! :)

Here we go, some nice moments in Rescue Bots!!

I'm going to write this with the assumption that some people reading this may not have ever seen Rescue Bots or might only be somewhat familiar, as I realise the target audience skews much younger than most Transformers media does, so I'm not 100% sure how popular it was outside of that demographic in total.

Off the top of my head:

-There is an in-universe VR game called Element Quest that has a couple really good episodes, the design is cute and there are tons of meme references. Blades, at one point, goes "I used to like video games. Then I took an arrow to the knee." LOL

-I think it's cool how they actually do tie in their continuity with TFP's continuity. For example, "What Rises Above" (RB) canonically comes before "Nemesis Prime" (TFP), and this is directly referenced in the dialogue in TFP when Optimus says that he is late arriving to the base as he was exploring an underground energon deposit-- This is the deposit he explores with the Rescue Bots.

-THERE IS A MUSICAL EPISODE. IT IS EXTREMELY GOOD

-Woodrow Burns, the Chief's brother, is kind of an idiot asshole, although he's not actively malicious. But he is great with the kids and for whatever reason the only thing I can ever remember about this character is when he goes up to Cody after it's been a long time since he saw him last and says "You've grown a whole foot since the last time I saw you-- Now you'll need three socks!" IDK I just think that's a real cute dad joke thing to say to a little kid lol :')

-There is an episode where they explore the local folklore of Griffin Rock, and TL;DR the local lore is that their island is where literal griffins used to nest seasonally. So throughout the episode, there's this kind of vibe of "OK are these electrical magnetic pulses or whatever like a science problem or a magic problem" and it's actually a very cute and fun vibe, especially since Cody is talking about the lore in the first place as part of his work towards a Scouts badge and Blades is very cute in this episode, the bots are all like "okay magic isn't real but uhhh what if magic's real?" for a minute and it's great :')

-Doc Greene/Green creates a ton of fun science devices throughout the show, but the names of some are just so doofy and fun. I love the "Torna-Don't", which is a thing designed to dispel tornados. Of course. lmao

-All the weird small town local events are also very silly and cute, and weirdly realistic for those of us who are familiar with this kind of local event thing, lmao. One of my favourite concepts is one of what seems to be several crawdad-related festivals, in which there is apparently a televised crawdad race. It's a bunch of shrimps put on a tiny racetrack, like Olympic runners. LOL

-At one point, Blurr shows up, and when the Rescue Bots are trying to acclimate him to working with humans, Chase is like "Humans seem to have two genders, which are defined by how many cooties they have." This implies that as far as the Rescue Bots are aware, 1) cooties are real and 2) human gender is defined solely by how many cooties a person has, and not by anything else, thus leaving their understanding of human gender fairly open (and it is also clear they have solely learned about gender from young kids in a small town which is likely why they state there are two genders but then make it clear that gender is a cooties thing and not an inherently physical thing, which makes sense in context and is kind of great because it gives more leeway for gender diversity than I expected) and I love this a lot. What is human gender? Cooties. That's all. So someone with a particularly high number of cooties could be another gender altogether, because why not?

-There is a body swap episode, which treats us to Blades in Dani's body trying on dresses in her room. He picks an orange and white one, which matches his paint job. I also love this a lot.

-Heatwave is gruff as hell especially at the start of the series and constantly starts shit or perpetuates shit with Kade, which is super funny. Just this centuries old Cybertronian fucking with this doofus boy who keeps leaving donuts in his cab. God dammit Kade, lmao.

-There is an episode where Cody is aged up via Science Device, and we get to see an older Cody, who more closely resembles his father than his older brother does. It's cute that he'll look like his dad when he's older. :')

During this episode, he assists in a rescue, and the girl his brother has a crush on tries to hit on him, but he clearly doesn't get what's happening and thinks it's icky because of course he does, he's a kid. I just think this scene is handled well and it's cute that his reaction to being hit on is still "ewww girls" but his brother is still absolutely pissed off about it anyway LMAO like jesus Kade, relax

-Kade's mostly an asshole but he's shown to be a really good rescuer who genuinely cares about people, and he has moments where he really comes through for his family and realises on his own that he should shut up and back down on his bullshit, thus making him a better developed and more realistic asshole brother character than 99% of asshole brother characters in most shows. I think this is pretty solid because it does lead to effective character development here and there, and it makes his positive moments with his family and the bots that much nicer. :)

-Cody is such a good kid. He is often willing to give people or ideas a chance when nobody else will, and even though he's too young to actively participate in most missions, he stays involved by helping at their dispatch centre. He's a smart little dude, who has a lot of heart and a ton of potential. One of the few child characters in anything that I actually like, because I think they write him extremely well: He is young, but he is not stupid. He is not treated like an accessory or like the property of his family, he's his own person with a distinct personality within his family, with a reasonable amount of autonomy. And he's a person who is still learning and has valuable contributions while also needing guidance or support at times. 10/10

-Dani gradually gets better at helping Blades deal with his flight anxiety (and sticks up for him when the others might mock him a little for it), and this is not only inherently very nice and cute, but it also makes a lot of sense as she is a first responder/medic and we see her offer the same reassurances towards the people she helps to rescue.

-The writing for the Burns Family in general is some of the best family group character writing in anything tbh, they handle the family dynamic so well in this show, and it's extra cute as the Rescue Bots all learn a lot from observing how the family takes care of one another and the townspeople they rescue. :')

-Blades has anxiety. I also have anxiety, so I am biased and clearly love this dude, lmao. He's so fucking relatable and even though sometimes the others rip on him, it is clear that they're also very proud of him for trying his best to deal with a situation which for him is particularly difficult (he was forced to take a flight capable alt-mode when this is something he is explicitly not comfortable with) and his team mates do support him, even though Heatwave is a douche sometimes (although it is clear this is usually due to stress or something else and that the actual problem isn't Blades). Over the course of the series, Blades does develop a little more confidence, and it's very cute and nice to see him puffing himself up a little more. :)

-The overall attitudes the bots have towards humans in this show is sweet. It's clear they don't really understand humanity or humans as a whole, but it also doesn't really matter because they are so specifically oriented to their local population on the island and their focus is a relatively small community of humans. They take their duties seriously and will protect this population, even if they don't really understand the people outright. They gradually start to respect the locals (and the Burns Family) more and more as they work with them, and get acclimated to Earth. They love their dumbass weird little humans :')

This leads to a lot of fun shenanigans with the bots not understanding things, or only understanding things as they have been explained by the children, which is hilarious.

-There is an episode where local thieves steal Chase, and inspired by Cody's school drama project, he decides to go undercover after watching a bunch of old detective movies. This includes him narrating things to himself, which he is called on when Dani enters the garage and asks him "Why are the lights off? Are you talking to yourself?" lmao

-Although it isn't explicitly canonical, it's easy to interpret both Chase and Blades as being neurodivergent. Both of them display various behaviours and traits which can potentially be understood in this way, and I'm just glad that there's a show for kids where two of the main characters, who are rescue workers, are shown to be competent and skilled at their jobs and accepted by the community for who they are while also being neurodivergent. <3 It's such a good vibe when the other characters support or defend these two in particular, especially when Chase or Blades might be confused or upset about something. Chief Burns is especially great working with Chase.

-Any episode where Optimus shows up in Rescue Bots usually has some gems of cuteness/silliness. The Elvis line still takes me out, LMAO. "You're bigger than Elvis!" "I have not met this Elvis, and I am unaware of his size." 10/10 writing, I fucking love Rescue Bots

-The bots constantly call out a bunch of details that are entirely appropriate for robots from space to notice and recognise as somewhat weird, whereas a lot of the human characters are so used to 1) being human and 2) living on this incredibly weird little technologically advanced island that nothing really phases them anymore. So we can actually identify more with the bots at time, despite the fact that they are also providing an outsider point of view, which is really clever! :)

-The theme song is a fucking banger. It's so good. I love this song so much. I wish we got a full version of it, but this is the best extended version of it that I've been able to find. Enjoy!!!

-There's a lot of fairly adult stuff in the show, more than I think people realise! The tone can never get too dark outright as it is intended for young kids as the primary demographic, but there's a lot of situations, conversations, etc. that are genuinely engaging and interesting from an adult perspective, which is a large part of what makes it a great watch for all ages.

Some situational examples include scenarios where children are imperilled in natural disasters, accidents, even kidnapping at one point.

Non-kid related situations include risks and threat to civilians from AI development and the dangers that uncontrolled or poorly thought out technology can cause or exacerbate, which is significant in context and also interesting to think about given our current relationship IRL with rapid tech development and concerns around how that technology is being made and applied, either in reality or in theory.

Some dialogue examples include scenes where the bots mention their grief over being unable to save Cybertron, a sense of guilt that they were in stasis for so long even though this was beyond their control, awareness that they may be the last Rescue Bots team in operation on Earth or anywhere else in the universe (a sense of loneliness and a responsibility as the last upholders of their specific creed), struggles with their sense of duty and concerns around their ability to fulfil their expectations for themselves and meet the expectations of others while rising to the demands of their unique situation, and so on.

--

this is already pretty long lmao, there's a ton of stuff I really like about Rescue Bots, but I hope this might encourage others to check out the show if you haven't before, it's well worth a watch! :)

[kiwanopie]

Tell us more about lord crime sakusa please 🙊❤️

1.4K more crime lord!Sakusa lore + more lore for reader

Lemon sugar soap and airy high notes, your buoyant little song is cut in two the moment you see it in your living room.

The moment you see him in your living room.

Your face immediately drops. Freezes and then lours in broadening terror, until fright is stained across your face. Tears welling as you step back - you’re more exposed in your pajamas shirt than you ever were in those skimpy little getups they make you wear.

Because he’s not supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to cross that straight little line you’ve drawn. All the effort - the horrible things you’ve done to make sure those two sides never touched. Making yourself invulnerable, untouchable, non-existent. Breaking your back to make yourself as elusive as possible, and now he, Sakusa Kiyoomi, the most feared man in all of Asia is sitting in your living room.

He’s sitting in your living room.

You don’t even try to care about how utterly devastated you look, tears already running hot down your cheeks. He just threw all of that hard work in your face. Your peace of mind in your face. He’s not supposed to be there. He’s not supposed to be here. This is your safety. This is your everything.

Fresh flurries of earlier shower aroma whiff into the empty air of your living room as he stares at you from the couch, little hearts curling into the air and drifting in his direction. You smell like bundt cake.

Sakusa clears his throat as the tendons in his jaw flex, trying and somewhat failing to keep his body language as confident as possible. “I’d like to-“

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

The way your voice trembles only sets jagged edges onto the way you address him. “You’re not…” You shake your head. “You’re not supposed to be here-“

He raises his hands in an attempt to placate you. “I know. I’m sorry-“

“How did you find my address…?” Or get past your motion sensors. Lay a hand on the door knob without your blink camera alerting you, or break into your home without your dog so much as barking. “How long have you-“

Your eyes flicker to the aforementioned dog, who’s lackadaisical amble speeds to a giddy trot at the sight of the intruder. Tail waving contentedly as he raises his two front paws to perch them on Sakusa’s lap, and turning your world upside down as the grief in your stomach tightens.

Sakusa rubs distractedly along his floppy ears. “A while.”

He has the decency to look guilty about it at the very least. A little stiffened in his slouch as the apples of his cheeks turn a soft flowery. He’s in his usual two piece suit he wears during work hours. Save for the jacket thrown over the bridge of your couch, and the few relaxed buttons on his crisp button up; few enough to turn his collar loose.

“There’s a better way to do this. I know that.” Sakusa claps his hands in his lap. “But I knew this was the only way to get you alone.”

Your feet brush against the edge of the carpet as you slowly retreat - like a frightened rabbit. “What are you-“

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

But even still you lock up as he stands, long legged strides now moving in your ever shrinking direction. All the more smaller when he’s tall enough to touch the ceiling with his arms bent. Fit from youth and exercise, veins in his hands and scabs on his knuckles. You don’t even realize through your terror that he’s only in his socks, padding your wooden floors in an effort to show you the respect that you deserve.

You notice his cheeks are actually a thin rouge now that he’s close enough. It softens the perpetual scowl oftenly carved into his face. “I’d… like to offer you a proposition.”

Sakusa tries to keep his composure at a glance of those misty doe eyes. You’re breaking his heart by looking so frightened. “I know how miserable you are working as a scout, and how much you despise being involved with those people - or even this business altogether,”

He surmised at first. It’s hard to imagine a pretty thing like you being treated kindly by an ugly trade like this. Short bruises on you that are close to healing nearly every time he sees them, but it’s a given that they’re renewed in his absence. The cold stare of your mask. Frigid and resentful the way you avoid the eyes of your employers the few times he’s seen you with it off. You’re young and beautiful, wilted and wounded on the inside as is everyone else with an early start to this profession. It’s only common sense that you’d be unhappy.

But then the Azure Dragon contract happened. And your reputation of being clinical and concise was disrupted by a slaughter that would even make a man like him a little queasy. - He had heard there was some bad blood between their leader and the people at your organization. Something buried in the past, but as all disputes with your employer's enterprise it was kept secret with that trademark air of taboo wafting around it. He was there when you were informed of the contract, he could see it in your body language. Locked up and afflicted, so much ire in the air that he could all but taste it. On watching you step out of the room, the first thought that crossed his mind was:

“It was a mistake to send her.”

“Hm?” Your handler lifts her head from the string of documents laid out on her desk.

Sakusa’s eyebrows cinch as he points his gaze toward the door. “Why not send a more… unkempt scout? She doesn’t seem right for a role like that.”

And although obscured by a mask, the look of quiet contempt on her face is visible in her tone. “All my scouts are killers, Sakusa-san. Especially in my elite class.”

“Yeah, but-“ But he stops there. There’s no way to make a gut feeling seem like an appropriate rebuttal.

Though still, She seems intent on making sure he leaves with little to no peace of mind. “She’s the one who asked for it, if that makes you feel any better. The women in our lineup very seldom leave their business unfinished.”

At hearing that, that piquant taste of ire sours to a pungent note of despair.

He wasn’t surprised when news came that the clan had fallen. After a few days of radio silence, Seiko Akie’s head was found perched on a spike, the word “COWARD” etched into the skin on his forehead.

What an ugly path to take. He thought. For you it was. For the goodness that still radiated off of you, for all the times he’s seen you hesitate at the sight of depravity, for your integrity. For anyone keen enough to look between the lines it’d be written all over you ~ that you had your limits, and even the few you’d crossed would fall further of the butchering that took place during that contract. You were being corrupted. What little good in him only shone through seeing the surplus of genuinity you had in you and if that was gone…

If that was gone…

He’s not going to let that happen. “I wanna give you a way out of it. All of it. I could make it disappear.”

“…What…?”

Sakusa’s gentle as he gathers your palms in his, tender over soft silken skin, unroughened even through your years of work. He holds you like you’re jewelry. Treasure sparkling in his grasp as he looks down at you with the kind of adoration you could only sing about. “I’ll buy out your licensing and have my lawyers write out an order that would make you completely inaccessible to them. I could even get your name wiped from their record just to be extra thorough about it-“

“What? W-Why?” Your tears still fall down the tops of your cheeks. “Why would you… do that for me…?”

He swallows hard. It’s strange to see a man like him look so meekend. “Because it would be right. Because that’s what you want, and it would be best for you.”

You stare at him a watery moment.

And then soberly, so removed from your current devastation that you almost sound like a different person. Wrought with the kind of baseline aprehensity that should come from a seasoned business woman, at least in this line of work.

You ask: “What do you want for it?”

He inhales deeply.

And he promises, swears on his life and the lives of all who he has ever cherished - that this’ll be the first and the very last time he’ll ever disappoint you.

He answers: “I want you to marry me.”

He answers: “I want you to marry me.”

He answers: “I want you to marry me.”

[conundrumsofphilosophy]

for now i am just pulling things out of my ass to write about and i was really cold when i was trying to sleep last night so. woe mercs in the same scenario be upon ye

gender neutral reader (will always be the case unless i'm specifically asked for something)

warning: brief mention of sex drive in spy

scout

- giant baby. he gets all curled up under the covers and shivers like a wet rat

- he usually big spoons but expects to be little spoon when he's cold

- typically runs warm and he hates being cold like literal poison. hissing swears under his breath through chattering teeth

- will stick his cold-ass hands and feet against you to warm them up

soldier

- shuts down, lays there like a plank of wood

- really tries to force himself to not shiver, it's a really unpleasant feeling to him so he lays really still and tenses his muscles to make it stop

- won't ask for it but will be very happy if you lay on him and warm him up

- takes an absolutely scalding shower in the morning to warm himself up

pyro

- ok i don't really. there's not much to say here i really don't think pyro ever gets cold

- that being said though if YOU'RE cold then god bless. they're a space heater

engineer

- this motherfucker is rambling southern phrases like a madman. "hoowee it's colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra in this damn room"

- he hates being cold so SO much. he's shivering when it's 60° out and his teeth are chattering so loud when you're trying to sleep

- if worse comes to worst he'll put some extra clothes on but it's really unpleasant. he hates sleeping in socks

- usually he doesn't even end up sleeping in a bed and falls asleep in his workshop. which is absolutely freezing during the cold months. so he'll come slinking into your room quietly in the middle of the night shivering like a sad beast and you'll wake up to him snoring horrifically

demoman

- he goes all the way under the blankets and slams his face into your chest. he's gonna choke on his own air after a while but he'll get warm

- chronic night time get upper so he keeps a big warm robe in his room for when he needs some water or to pee

- sleeps in socks on a normal basis already

- cranks up the heat before he goes to bed but someone else always turns it down and it makes him so mad. he likes to be hot

heavy

- stubborn. he usually likes to sleep with his arms above the blanket so he'll still try to even when he's freezing to death

- that being said though if you're sleeping in his bed he has the warmest blankets known to man so he doesn't really ever get cold

- he has sleep apnea and it is so much worse when he's cold. half the night is spent jostling him into positions that will make him stop snoring

- enjoys pulling you close and absorbing the heat off of you. he holds you like a teddy bear

sniper

- cannot cannot cannot handle cold. worse than engineer, his teeth chatter at the slightest breeze

- joints ache when he gets too cold so he wakes up horrifically sore and has to take a long sit down shower to get himself back in working order

- sleeping curled up is already the norm for him so he just curls up even tighter. he's not afraid to sleep wearing a jacket if he's really cold

- it's frustrating to him because he likes to have a fan on when he sleeps for the noise but he can't handle the coolness when he's cold. so it's tricky to fall asleep

medic

- enjoys sleeping cold but it can occasionally get unpleasant. he won't throw a fit but he's silently wondering why last night he was fine at the same temperature but tonight he's shivering

- similar to engineer he'll occasionally fall asleep in his lab which is frigid. he staggers out like a half frozen corpse and gets in bed and he's so cold it wakes you up

- regular insomniac that gets so laser focused on his current task that he doesn't realize he's actually freezing to death until his hands start to lock up

- it's then that he realizes how long he's been awake and slinks into your bedroom and puts his cold hands all over you

spy

- making a lot of grumbly french complaining noises, rubbing his hands together and putting them on his cheeks, shuffling around trying to get warm, etc etc. he will not sit still

- sleeps in fancy pajamas that are. not very warm. you keep on telling him to get some nice warm flannel pajamas but he won't listen because they're too plebeian for him

- buries his face in your neck (which he does already) (it's worse here because his nose is freezing and he's chattering against your neck)

- his libido is typically pretty high and he's usually willing most nights to have sex but when he's cold. all that is out the window he wants to bundle up and shiver in peace

~

another one done! my first post blew up a little, i have... five followers now i think. excited to start working on requests, keep em comin'! <3

[fatgumsurpremacy-remastered]

How would the mercs react to their s/o trying to write them a love poem?

:)

Ok, I'm not good at all with sappy stuff but let me give it a try. @blubushie (for mention of sniper. go crazy buddy.)

Demo: Demo is very emotionally backed up so it would take him a good long while for him to actually understand the deeper meaning of the poem. But when he does he wont really know how to react. He'd sort of stand around and wait for his S/O to ask him about it again so he could give them praises while he hugs them. If the opportunity doesn't arrive he'd probably try and write one back (badly) so they can bring it up.

Engie: Engie would start a little war between him and his partner. Its a gesture game baby and this man is king of subtlety. Though for love he's a bit of a show off. The more heated this fluffy little competition gets the more he amps it up. He's likely gonna try and show off with an invention or a song that'll knock the socks off of his S/O. Then he'd feel accomplished enough to lie down with 'em and whisper just how much all that stuff meant.

Heavy: Heavy is very poetic himself, though its a lot harder for him to explain it in English. Theres a lot of metaphor in his work he would have to explain to his S/O and thats easier said than done. He's very much a show don't tell sort of guy so why would he be any different in delivery. If they speak Russian rest assured that letter will return every bit of love reflected at him.

Medic: Oh boy Lutz would tease them so hard, he's so mean but he loves them very much. He's not at all used to this fluffy stuff and would scoff if anyone else did it. But with them? Of course he loves the goofy prose and obvious infatuation they have with him, how could he not? He loves every bit of the attention and will make sure to prove it by being plenty affectionate throughout the week.

Pyro: Pyro almost goes too far in excitement, theres likely a chance that Pyro just saw the Letter P followed by a heart in their bedroom and just about pranced with glee. Pyro is the type to parade their partner around proudly showing off how much they love each other. This ends up with half finished love poems strung around the room that the two encourage each other to finish.

Scout: Scout is an absolute dweeb but he'd try to play it cool by insisting that it was only expected of him to get 'fanmail'. Truth be told though Scout would melt into the floor from a kiss to the cheek by someone who he can actually call his partner. So this gesture is returned the very next day by a goddamn tsunami of gifts at their house.

Sniper: Sniper doesn't know how to react to this at all? He isn't sure why its necessary, and its hard for him to understand, but its the thought that counts. He's conflicted for a while about why exactly they'd want to tell him how they feel in writing. He's ultimately very confused but he keeps it pinned to the inside of his vest or tucked neatly into one of his pockets to keep their words on him. (He's grown on me thanks to someone I know.)

Soldier: Soldier doesn't get it but he's a big enough doofus to love it anyway. He seems like the type of guy who only ever really got valentines cards for parties. So if his S/O wrote him something he'f for sure cherish it. Even if he didn't fully understand the point or its meanings. He's a lot like Drax from Gardians of the Galaxy.

Spy: Very bold of his S/O to assume he's going to be the only one receiving love letters. Its very likely Spy knew very well before hand that they were going to be making him one so he thought ahead and got them presents and a letter of his own to be prepared. This cheeky and clever asshole!

[dagger-n-ravvi]

Chapter 3: Leaving So Soon?

Trey gets Rook ready to spend the night, but the hunter has other plans.

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A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49350448?view_full_work=true

Trey bites his lip, staring down at the back of Rook’s head. His hat fell off at the threshold of the door. With a shaky breath, Trey picks it up and sets it gently on the bedside table for him.

’Why were you REALLY here Rook?  Are you telling me the truth? I apologize for doing this to you, but I NEED to make sure. ’

He reaches down and unlaces Rook’s boots, trying to gauge how… oh Seven, how drugged he is, and also guiltily getting him more comfortable. It’s a little easier if he pretends he’s a drunk friend… just a drunk friend who had one too many shots, and now he needs a place to crash for the night... 

Rook’s eyes are closed, and he doesn’t react at all as his shoes and socks are taken, revealing slender feet with a line of odd, gold scales over his Achilles tendons. Trey frowns at them, and then lifts his eyebrows when he realizes that they’re actual, honest-to-goodness scales. Kind of like you’d see on a snake, or a lizard or…

Ohhhh. Like scales you’d see on the legs of a bird . Rook is a beastman? A bird beastman? That… ha. Actually, that makes a lot of sense. Certainly explains how he can see whether you have dandruff from fifty feet away, and hear your heartbeat from across the room. Eagles have incredible senses.

“Ahhh… Rook? Do you want the shirt on or off?” Trey lightly touches his shoulder. Rook doesn’t respond. His eyes are closed and his breathing has slowed and steadied. 

“… sorry.” Trey begins to gingerly work off his shirt and pants. He’s wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved, turtleneck shirt. Taken along with a pair of full-fingered gloves, also black, it looks very much like he was intentionally sneaking around at night. Certainly trying not to be seen, or leave fingerprints.

That suspicion is not particularly helped when he finds an alarmingly large hunting knife tucked into a sheath at the small of his back. It has a large magestone set into the hilt, so he could be carrying it around for magic more than for stabbing things. Possibly.

Fortunately, the contents of his pockets are a lot more mundane. His cellphone is a few years out of date, but it has a picture of Vil posing for an action movie poster on the lock screen. His key ring has a fob for a rental car. His wallet is almost empty, but it does have a credit card, and a few business cards with ‘Schroenheit Studios’ stamped across the front in glossy purple cursive. There's also a keycard for the ‘Caucus Race’ hotel. It's a super fancy one near the center of town. His room number is 1005.

And to Trey’s relief and growing shame, this all checks out with what he remembers about Rook. When Rook lies, it’s almost always a lie of omission. He’s selective about the truth, but he doesn’t outright fabricate stories. He really is here to do location scouting for Vil. He doesn’t know about that… or if he suspects, then he isn’t with the police.

And so the oddest thing about all this is once again, Rook himself. The scales on his ankles, and also the line of pale, downy feathers covering his spine. They start soft and fluffy at the center of his back, then thicken as they trail downward into glossy, golden feathers that match his hair. He has a tail. Or tail feathers, at least. That’s kind of adorable.

Great. So now he’s drugging his old classmates and stealing their clothes for no good reason. Just because he’s a paranoid mess. Wow that’s pathetic.

Feeling faintly awful, Trey neatly folds Rook’s clothes and places everything on the bedside table where he can easily find it in the morning. He takes one last look at him, and then shakes his head. “You’re still pretty mysterious, aren’t you? Let’s get you something to sleep in.”

He's about Trey's height, but much more slender. Pretty much everything Trey owns will be a little big on him, but that shouldn't matter much when it comes to pajamas. The trickiest part will be wrestling him into them. He's out cold and hasn't reacted at all to Trey's investigation. Somehow, that almost makes him feel a little worse. Rook would be acutely uncomfortable with this level of attention if he'd been conscious.

Carefully, he dresses Rook in an oversized, blue t-shirt and leaves it at that. Then he closes the door to give him at least a shred of privacy back, and crawls into his own bed. The adrenaline is fading fast, and that’s enough self-inflicted stupidity for one night…

The moment Rook is certain Trey's gone to bed, he sits up, heart pounding as he finally stops controlling his body's reactions. That... that was extremely unexpected. 

With the fluid ease of a shadow, he takes off Trey's night shirt and re-dresses in his own clothes. His eyes narrow and he looks around the guest room, suspicion thrown into its highest possible gear. Why in the world would meek, oh-so-normal TREY CLOVER drug him in a way that he'd barely been able to detect, and then search his person?! The boldness in and of itself is shocking, even without the clear evidence that Trey is hiding something.

He moves silently through the apartment, frowning at the carpet in the living room.  He found a single, red hair tangled into the fibers earlier. It was rather similar to Roi de Roses’ colour, but the smell clinging to it was all wrong. Lilac and vanilla.

He moves into the kitchen, and quickly finds a lot of very worrying herbs growing in a window box. Anyone else might have mistaken them for culinary plants, and some are. Basil, thyme, lemon balm. But across from them is Valerian, Angel's Trumpet, Foxglove, and Belladonna. He lightly runs his fingers through them, but only sees cuttings from the most innocuous valerian. A sedative and it smells very potent. Trey must have been cultivating it with magic. And… yes, he can feel that it is, slowly working as Trey intended and trying to put him to sleep. He should finish quickly and leave before he truly is unable to stand, and not merely play at being drugged.

He gives the bathroom one more look, glancing bemusedly over the magnificent variety of toothbrushes. He remembers seeing something similar at Night Raven but never discovering their purpose. Such a curious quirk…

Finally, he returns to the front door, intending to quietly slip out and leave when he notices that the carpet is slightly askew, and damaged in the center. He tilts his head, and then gives into his curiosity and carefully rolls it aside.

His eyes widen. The wood underneath is heavily marred by deep, pointed gouges. It’s been repeatedly stabbed, most likely by a very sharp knife. He looks up from the floor, and then around at the furniture at ankle level. Yes… there are scuffs and dents on the couch, the coffee table, and the stand holding Trey’s quaint little television. All consistent with someone thrashing around on the floor. There was a struggle in here. A violent one...

He draws the red hair out of his pocket and wraps it gently over his fingertip, tilting it into the faint light filtering in from the street outside. A struggle that someone did not walk away from, peut-être?

He blinks away a little dizziness, then straightens the carpet. He carefully tilts it into the orientation he found it in, and then pads to the front door, intending to slip outside and return to his hotel for the night.

"Rook?"

He jumps just a little. Behind him, Trey is standing in the darkened doorway of his bedroom, lit from behind by the streetlights."It's in the middle of night. Where are you going?"

Rook twists the deadbolt open and tries to open the door. It doesn't budge, and his eyes widen as he notices two additional deadbolts that have been installed above and below the door handle.

"I have an early start tomorrow. My apologies, I did not mean to wake you," he turns and smiles softly at Trey. Despite the attempted drugging, he does not believe that Trey is dangerous. Not toward him, at least.

Trey turns on the light, and rubs his eyes. "No worries. It’s just jarring, is all. I thought you were asleep." 

He approaches the door, and unlocks one of the other deadbolts. "Sorry, these can be tricky. Ah... Will I see you again?" He pauses over the last lock, turning to give Rook an unreadable expression.

"I will be in town for a few weeks," Room says softly. "I would let Vil know that your street is a lovely shooting location, but I think that the attention may not be to your liking, oui?" 

"Very much so. Thank you. I appreciate it,” Trey sighs, and gives himself a tired little hug with one arm. “Well, if this is the last time for a while, then please... Be careful tonight. Safe travels." 

He opens the last lock, and steps back to let Rook leave.

"And to you as well," Rook bows slightly, and then walks out the door. Trey closes it, and Rook hears the deadbolts slide into place with a series of muffled clicks. He walks down the stairs, then peers back up at Trey’s door, head tilted curiously to one side. Despite the growing wooziness, his eyes are laser focused as he listens to Trey’s footfalls heading back toward his bedroom, and then falling into bed. What a strange and beautiful mystery he’s stumbled upon. It seems almost as though Trey has killed someone~

He walks back down to the street toward the center of town, thoughts churning as he disappears into the darkness.

[dujour13]

Owlcatober 4. Luck

part 3 of The Prodigal Tiefling - also on AO3

(CW dead bodies, human sacrifice)

“Knight-Commander. You haven’t slept in at least forty-eight hours. Now that you brought my wife back safely, I’m officially declaring bedtime.”

“I just have to make sure—”

“About face, soldier.” Anevia seized his shoulders and turned him toward his tent among the trees at the base of Lost Chapel Hill. He almost expected a boot in the backside.

“Fine. Wake me at midday.” Maybe a couple hours’ sleep would prevent him making rash decisions, like running the Hellknight paralictor who’d invited himself along on the crusade out of the camp before he could make another scathing remark.

Scathing remarks that hit too close to home.

The paralictor was right, anyone minimally competent would never have let this happen. The Crusade had been woefully unprepared.

If only he’d deployed more scouts, reinforced camp defenses, put a stop to the drunkenness and gambling, and been more vigilant for traitors, just as the Inquisitors kept warning him to do even as he sent them packing back to Nerosyan.

Yet he had to stay true to his vision. That sleepless night at the Defender’s Heart when the Queen had proposed he take up the banner of the Fifth Crusade, his dreams of igniting the flames of freedom to fight the Abyss felt like divine inspiration, as if Desna Herself breathed hope into his heart so that he could lead this Crusade in a whole new fashion, one never attempted before, like his homeland Andoran a grand experiment in the strength of egalitarianism.

There would be hitches. He’d never deluded himself otherwise. But this was one big hitch, and entirely his fault.

The moment he closed the tent flap behind him his whole body shuddered violently. This was why he didn’t want to sleep, and why he didn’t want to be alone. The last thing he needed was time to think.

The gargoyle disaster. The last-ditch march on the Lost Chapel. Crusaders transformed into ghouls and hung from meathooks. The showdown with Nulkineth. Another surge of power like the one at the Gray Garrison, this one stronger yet, making him feel too big for his body, like his insides were made of pure, boiling stars and magic, like he was an alchemist’s bomb and the glass was cracking. This whole thing was one huge cosmic mistake.

His hand went to the butterfly pendant at his throat. Lady of Dreams. Wake me, tell me this is a nightmare.

He dropped onto his bedroll and shakily tried to remove his soaking boots and socks, until one sock stuck and he didn’t think he had the strength to peel it off his leg and he began to sob.

And the worst of it.

Woljif.

Of course he ran. He had every reason to run. Why did it bother him so much?

The Knight-Commander crumpled onto his bedroll, one wet sock halfway off, crying into the crook of his arm.

Gods, they had to find him, out there alone in the Worldwound. If the gargoyles didn’t get him something else would before long, resourceful as he was, and that would be one more death on Siavash’s conscience he really didn’t need.

The Sellen! I’m sure of it.

Pretty sure.

With the renewed energy of the last dying spark of hope Woljif waded through tall grasses onto the riverbank and began to stagger downstream, boots dragging on glacial gravel. He reckoned Kenabres couldn’t be that far now. Probably. Maybe.

Half-dead from exhaustion he didn’t even see the remains of the campfire until he almost stumbled on it. His feeble heart leapt. Civilization!

The campsite was by no means fresh, but strewn around the ashes were comforting signs actual people had been here, maybe only a day or two ago. They’d pulled bleached logs into a circle around their fire, all cozy-like, and roasted something on whittled sticks that still smelled tantalizingly of grease.

Not far now. Just a little rest and a few more hours’ walk and we’ll be there.

Where? Wherever—a hunters’ lodge or a farm or the temple of an evil god or anything would do at this point. He knew his last dregs of strength would soon run dry.

Knees wobbling, Woljif lowered himself onto one of the logs and then jumped up again in horror as it ceded with a disgusting, foul-smelling sigh under his weight.

A dead body.

Dry-heaving to within an inch of his life he crawled blindly away toward the river.

It was bad. A couple days old, ashen-skinned, bloated and fly-ridden. A human man, stripped to his trousers, his hands bound tightly behind him, and a great, ragged hole carved out of his chest like somebody didn’t quite know how to get to the heart and had to dig around. When he realized the dark patches on the river gravel were blood, their pattern suddenly resolved itself into a sloppy pentagram.

His head spun, his limbs felt like lead, every inch of him hurt. The hunger was a raging animal tearing him up from the inside.

Woljif lay flat on the gravel and moaned at the cursed morning sky overhead.

I’m not gonna make it. This is it. End a’ my miserable, pathetic life. How’s that for tragedy. He died young and poor, tossed on the riverbank like an old rag for nothin’ but crows to find and eat out his eyeballs. Never had time to strike it rich. And just when things were lookin’ up, and he had his legacy and fr—associates and everything.

Tears rolled down Woljif’s temples and soaked into his curls.

And nobody could care less.

As soon as his head hit the folded-up cloak he used as a pillow, all the pent-up anguish exploded into Siavash’s skull, hammering so he thought he’d never be able to sleep. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as if to hold his skull together and played his last resort card: prayer.

Great Dreamer, Song of the Spheres, Lady of Luck.

Help.

All right, I know you’re not going to come down and sort out this whole mess, so I just ask one thing. One little thing is all, though gods know I don’t deserve it. Not for me.

Just make sure Woljif is safe. Please.

The prayer was barely finished before sweet oblivion took him.

Though he’d given up all hope, lying there on the riverbank until Pharasma took pity on him just felt too pathetic even for him. Woljif eventually hauled himself to his aching feet and carried on trudging down the river, mind blank, regret clawing at his heart and the shadow raging in his ears.

It was for sure talking to him for real now.

Unless he’d gone completely off his head, which was more than likely.

Especially because he now thought he could smell nice, crispy roasting meat on the wind. No way that was real.

Or was it?

Had his luck turned? The smell jolted him out of his daze so thoroughly he got his wits back just in time to stop himself from stumbling like a madman into the campsite that he soon located. Instead he laid low, listening in on the morbid conversation around the campfire and plotting his salvation. Some poor sod in mud-stained Iomedean colors languished roped to a tree while the cowled figures around the fire debated how best to go about removing his heart still beating, because surely that would invoke the most powerful of demonic magics, and then they would have it made.

So that’s their game.

Idiots. I can pull this off.

He drew the Moon of the Abyss out from his collar so that it shone in full view, summoned up a good gout of blue flame, and stepped into the circle of firelight with all the semblance of self-assurance he could muster when he felt like he was about to pass out.

“Hail Baphomet.”

[thenarwhalgal]

Alright so this is possibly the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. But like somehow it holds together almost too well.

Stranger Things crossing over with The 25th Annual Putnum County Spelling Bee.

Please let me explain, this is a long one I’m sorry:

If you don’t know, the 25th (what I’m going to call it from now on) is about 5 strange kids from mostly broken families (and Chip) competing to win a spelling bee. It’s a great and really funny musical about trauma and innuendos and just how strange both spelling bees and the kids who compete in them are. Also it has 4 randomly chosen audience members come up to actually participate in the spelling bee itself (pretty cool).

Now here’s why the characters line up almost perfectly. (At least in my understanding of them all, if I’m wrong please argue with me lol I invite it.)

Let’s take the two main leads, Olive Ostrovsky and William Barfée. They line up stupidly well with Nancy and Jonathan. Olive is a pattern seeking brainiac whose only friend is the dictionary with incredibly negligent parents and a very strong desire to escape, which mimics Nancy’s need to hide herself in solving mysteries and finding stories to avoid her own trauma and the complete lack of anybody to ever stick up for her. They both bury themselves in gaining as much knowledge as they can because the worst thing that can happen is to be left with their own thoughts, Olive is also the emotional center of the show. Barfée is a pretty witty and weird kid who pushes everybody else away and holes up into his own little world but also has a heart of gold, mimicking Jonathan’s… well everything.

These two in the 25th end up with a really sweet friendship (and maybe romance?) by the end of the show, both finding understanding in each other for their mutual strangeness. Just like Nancy and Jonathan do. (Barfée is usually double-cast as Leaf’s dad).

Okay but what about the other 4 kids? I’m glad you asked!

Robin makes a wonderful Logainne (Schwartzy) SchwartzandGrubenierre. A very self-loathing loudmouth anxious perfectionist who is a constant disappointment to her parents but has really large dreams. Oh yeah, she also runs the gay-straight alliance at her school. She’s mocked by classmates and at one point during the show goes on a two minute (improvised?) rant about something to do with politics because she finds the bee unfair and wants to run for president one day. And she famously is the one who manages to annoy Panch enough to literally break him. Logainne really just wants happiness for the people around her, despite having a panic attack at the thought of losing she doesn’t want anybody else to lose either. I don’t know if I need to explain why Robin fits here lol but I will if pressed. (Double cast as Leaf’s mom usually.)

Steve! This one is somehow the best fit and I love them both for it. Steve makes a hilariously good Chip Tolentino. Athletic Boy Scout and the reigning champion of the spelling bee. He’s the most outgoing and social and least strange kid in the show but loses in the first act because and I’m not joking, he gets a boner. He sings a whole song about it actually. As he says, life is random and unfair. And he has a strong rivalry with Barfée (Jonathan) to the point they almost fight on stage and in most productions I’ve seen, is weirdly cordial with Leaf Coneybear. Again don’t think I need to explain this one, just change the girl he’s into from Leaf’s sister to Olive (Nancy) and we’re golden. Can’t go unmentioned that Chip’s actor is usually double-cast as Jesus fucking Christ.

Speaking of Leaf Coneybear! Who else but Eddie, like really? Who else but Eddie. Leaf is absolutely the one character confident enough in himself to jump up on a table and make a speech, he’s also totally the type to DM Dungeons and Dragons. Wears a cape he made himself, talks with a sock puppet sometimes, is friendly with everybody but also… is seen as a weird and stupid problem child by both his family and presumably everybody else at the Bee (Which I mean doesn’t fit his uncle but it does fit the town). He doesn’t win his hometown spelling bee and is only there because the two who placed above him had to go to a bat mitzvah. He worries he’s stupid and doesn’t belong there but finds peace in himself by the end. This delightfully mimics Eddie’s coward complex despite the fact he isn’t a coward??? And the fact he almost exists above social rules, uncaring of who anybody else is and usually judging them on character alone. Eddie and Leaf thrive in being strange. Leaf is also the sweetest character in the show you just can’t hate him. (Double cast usually as one of Logainne’s Dads).

This is probably the least good fit unfortunately, anybody who could fit Marcy Park fit in better elsewhere (Robin def would sing ‘I speak 6 languages’ and Nancy is very much the ‘best in everything but broken inside finding happiness in not winning’ girl). But Barb fits fine. She’s got that cold exterior somewhat disappointed in you never really happy with the fact she’s forced to fit in a box but does it anyway vibe. And would definitely purposefully lose and then celebrate like Christmas came early. Like it’s not perfect but it does work if you squint. (You could maybe cast Marcy as Chrissy Cunningham instead? They both do cry in bathrooms and feel trapped in their lives, happier letting go of expectations, Barb is just an easier character to characterize).

Now for the adults!

Best fit is definitely Mitch Mahoney and Jim Hopper. Like come on, this is the one where I was like… oh I’ve got something here. Gruff cop with rough exterior but a heart of gold who finds himself through comforting a lost kid and could easily be seen as a father figure? Please god that lines up so well with the ex-convict knows how rough the world is and wants the kids to know this isn’t that big a deal but finds being a comfort counselor actually fits him very well. Genuinely enjoying making sure these kids are alright and have a juice box. They’re both straight-up good people who just take a little bit longer than most to find their footing. Also Mitch being there for community service would line up with Hopper being there because Joyce dragged him into it. (Usually double cast as both Logainne’s other dad and as Olive’s pretend Dad).

Rona Lisa Perretti is the ‘could be seen as a mother figure’ counterpart to Mitch moderator of the Bee who sees herself in all of the kids and finds true joy in all of it. Joyce Byers might not line up perfectly but it’s such an easy placement okay? Like I mean, you can really tell she loves these kids, bending the rules for them even when she’s not supposed to. Also you cannot convince me Joyce isn’t the type of mom to sign up to run the school spelling bee her son goes to. (Usually double cast as Olive’s pretend Mom)

Vice Principle Douglass Panch is the only one I can’t figure out. It could be Murray, Bob, Clarke, Owens, Yuri, or even Ted (but please god no it’d fit but no) but none fit him well enough to make a call. Infatuated with Rona, had an incident as judge five years ago but claims to be in a better place now (he isn’t). Panch is a really fun character but he’s also the least mentally stable one. If I had to pick I think Murray would fit the established relationships in this crossover the most, and Yuri would fit his character the most. But again, I can’t make a good call on this one.

For the 4 audience members who fill in the ranks? Well, any ‘teen/young adult’ members of the show fit. Billy, Chrissy, Heather, Vickie, Argyle… take your pick.

— Additional stuff:

This could be easily played as a love triangle between Nancy (Olive), Jonathan (Barfée), and Steve (Chip) which works way too well for both sets of characters. It could also be played as Ronance (my personal pick lol) because Olive and Logainne I mean - if you don’t put Olive with Barfée that ship is like, right there. Olive helping Logainne through her panic attack it’s so sweet. And Olive x Her Dictionary hilariously lines up with Nancy x Her guns.

Again Chip and Leaf are weirdly friendly with each other and they’re also funfact the biggest ship on AO3 for this show which again is almost a perfect line up with Steve and Eddie. I have no words it’s just a funny coincidence. The gay ship between the weird stoner kid and the popular jock kid is universal I guess.

In other non-romantic funny coincidences:

Rona Lisa and Mitch Mahoney I’ve found usually play the good adults in the kids lives who step in and sometimes go as far as adopting some of the kids in many fanfics. Which I mean… yeah that sounds like Joyce and Hopper in the fandom as well.

Logainne has a very pronounced lisp and a tendency to overcomplicate which mimics Robins perpetual inability to stop rambling in front of pretty girls and in stressful situations.

Chip ends up forced to run the bake sale and complains about his ruined mojo, which again for some reason Chip and Steve just are perfect fits for no good reason. What a Little League champion.

Leaf and Marcy are the only two characters to lose and end up happy about it (Olive is a weird case), which is funny because Barb and Eddie are the only two characters here who die! Yay! ):

Nancy and Olive are both seen by everybody around them as the ‘sweet and lovely girl’, but are both intensely broken on the inside.

Marcy (Barb) is the character who gets to literally see Jesus, and Jesus is played by Chip (Steve). You could not have a funnier casting.

Like I mentioned above but it really needs to be highlighted, Chip and Barfée literally get as close to straight up fighting as possible. Chip at one point throws a bag of peanut M&Ms at him which if you don’t know, Barfée is allergic to, and Olive is the one who steps in. You couldn’t line it up better between these three.

The only relationship I can see that sadly doesn’t make it in here… is Robin and Steve . Chip and Logainne just don’t really talk much? I thought about shoving Robin in as Leaf for this reason and it’d work? But not nearly as well. I mean but like… this is my crossover damnit and if I want Chip and Logainne to somehow become absolute besties despite being complete opposites then I will make it happen. Chip really needs companionship and Logainne desperately needs at least one person in her life who supports her, and it’d be by far somehow the most perfect but completely alien from the outside friendship in the show. Which parallels Steve and Robin nicely (The added benefit that nobody would believe they weren’t dating if Robin wasn’t out as gay in this continuity).

————

So like, here’s the thing. I have spent way too long thinking about this, and I had to get it out there. Maybe it works as well as I’ve made it out to, maybe it doesn’t. The point is I think it’d be really funny, and as far as I know nobody has even brought it up so far. Which I get! Like I said, this is possibly the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. But it works way better than it should and I had to make other people understand my vision.

So thanks for reading all of this and please if you want to and have made it this far, give me your thoughts.

[fandomkid101]

Owen Gubberson was dead.

In the Physical sense, he was dead. But Mortimer knew better. Having spent so many years of having his soul moved into different bodies against his will, Owen came to realise that he would never be able change the outcome of what he did that night; he finally did what Mortimer wanted. Owen gave himself to the puppets and accepted them as their creator; not before making Scout without their knowledge of her purpose.

Owen had no way of knowing what Mortimer was capable of when it came to ironic punishment and torture. Owen did not know what became of his original body. He thought Mortimer would have just disposed of it like it was garbage. What the mad puppet had done to Owens real body was downright horrifying.

Mortimer had Owen original body cut in half from the waist down; turning the upper half into a lifeless husk like a petrified mummy. Upon closer inspection, Owen realised what Mortimer had done.

Owen: Y-you turned my real body into a puppet?

Mortimer: Do you like it? Now you’re less man and more puppet!

Owen:... I don’t understand.

Mortimer: Well, father. I came to the realization that human bodies don’t last forever. And I tell you that preserving yours was quite the endeavour.

Owen: Why would you preserve my body like this? I’ve accepted you and the others as your father; what more is there?

Mortimer:*starts to chuckle evilly* Well, I don’t want you die in a mortal shell... I’d rather you be trapped in a prison and subjected to A STILL AND UNMOVING HELL!

With that, Mortimer used a spell he memorized from the book of Ennioch and sealed Owens soul inside his own corpse; dooming him to unending hell where he could never move or speak a word. He could only watch and listen to the things happening around him.

Time came to a standstill for Owen. He lost track of days, months, years. But he could feel his prison rotting as time went; feeling like his mind was decaying along side it. But one night out of nowhere, the feeling of rotting and decaying cake to a stop. He could suddenly feel other things like breathing, heart pounding and he could move his eyes. He looked down not to see the hands of a decaying corpse; the hands of a living being. Owen could swear that he almost had a stroke when he came to the realization that somehow, he was once again in a live human body.

Louise calms the man down and explains to him what was happening (the puppets taking on human bodies and leaving Mortimer behind); making him realise how long he was trapped inside his own corpse and how it has actually been nearly forty years since that night he saved Harper.

After Louise is unfortunately captured to be turned into a premature host (this would actually kill her and Mortimer and the others know this) and being cornered by Mortimer and his sock puppet lackies, Owen comes to the defence of Nick, Riley, and Daisy; knowing what the old puppet has been doing and how he has been treating them.

Owen: I know what you’ve been doing to them, Mortimer! I’ve seen and heard everything! And it stops right now!

Mortimer: Father; you’ve suddenly become quite brave. Just what exactly are you trying to save? Them? You’ve previously made it clear that for them you don’t care. Did the guilt of being an effortless father become too much to bear?

Owen: *keeps the other puppets behind him as he stands his ground* No. We all just want to see you burn like the rotten piece of wood that you are.

A fight brakes between the now human puppets and the sock puppets; thankfully with no casualties on Owens side while the resurrected creator goes to save Louise before she is turned into another host for a puppet. Using the rusty blade and handle of an old paper guillotine that was left lying around, Owen makes it to his old office in time to see Mortimer performing the ritual to bind Louise with a sock puppet; quickly realising it was close to the end. Owen acts quickly and charges at Mortimer with the paper guillotine in hand; swinging with surprising brute force as he brought the blade down between Mortimer and his own host.

After a moment of sudden and eerie silence, Mortimer and his host fall to the floor with the arm still attached to Mortimer. The mindless and hollowed host lays still on the floor as they bleed out while Mortimer seems to lose consciousness. The other puppets arrive in time to see the aftermath as Louise throws the sock puppet off her hand and thanks Owen for saving her. Thinking that Mortimer is definitely dead after being cut off from his host; Owen tries to leave with everyone else. But is stopped and tripped over when Mortimer wakes up and grabs his creator by the ankle; speaking in a demonic voice as he threatened him and clawed at him.

Mortimer: YOU BLOODY LOUT! I'LL CUT OUT YOUR INERDS AND RIP YOUR THROAT OUT!

Owen: NOT BEFORE YOU BURN IN HELL!

Overcoming his twisted creation, Owen stood back up as Mortimer attempted to strangle him; managing to get the upper hand on Mortimer and throwing him into the same furnace he used to burn the pages all those years ago. The other puppets cover their ears and look away from the sight as Mortimer screams in pure agony; swearing a curse on all of them for being traitors.

Now with Mortimer gone (as far as they know), Owen and the human puppets are now free to leave the studio; but with nowhere to go. Louise says that they could come and stay at her house; saying she at least owned Owen for saving her life.

After a long walk and a bus trip, the group makes it to Louises' house where her mother is calling the police to report her daughter missing. One tearful reunion between mother and daughter later, Owen realises who this woman is. Scout Harper.

Harper: This can’t be real... How are you even alive, Owen? I thought you were dead this whole time. I thought Mortimer and the other puppets killed you.

Owen: ...It's hard to explain.

Louise attempts to explain what has happened to her in the last 16 hours, from the three puppets, the soul transfer ritual, Owen being trapped inside his dead body all the way to Mortimer being killed off in a furnace; trying to get her mother to let the group stay with and help them learn what it means to be human. Harper only agrees on the terms that if the puppet do anything to hurt or kill them, they will get thrown out.

While Owen was a human to start off with, he has just as much trouble adjusting to his new found life (man from the eighties finds out about the 2010’s and becomes very confused) just as Nick, Riley and Daisy have trouble adjusting to being humans. The events of what happened that night tend to keep him up at night. But the fact that Harper made it out alive and got to live out her life bring him some peace of mind.

Owen decided to avoid anything to do with making puppets; thinking that he might somehow cause some horrible demonic things to happen again or get someone killed. While he has trouble finding himself a hobby outside of puppetry, the resurrected man becomes interested in gardening and flowers; planting a rose bush and some lily’s etc. He becomes a bit of a guide to the puppets; teaching them about certain topics and listening to them when they need to vent and talk about their emotional struggles. While he does not really want to admit it, he wants to be a better father figure then his own father was to him and he definitely wants to be a positive role model to the puppets; thinking that Mortimer set the bar pretty low for that.

But Owens resurrection did not come without setbacks. Some nights, he loses sleep due to frequent nightmares about his time trapped in his original body after what Mortimer did to him and he developed a fear of tight spaces. Harper helped him with this by teaching him breathing exercises and mindful meditation to help him stay calm in times where his anxiety goes up.

 Yes, I decided to make Owen alive for this AU because I can.

[saturns-ringg]

ahhhh I'm doing this and tagging ppl!!! I may not give some info but yeah

middle name: julianne

age: between 13-14 (guess)

bday: april 24

zodiac sign: taurus!!

fave color: purple/dark orange

lucky number: 9!!

pets: cat and dog!!

from: america...

height: 5''6

shoe size: 7 or 7 1/2 in womens

pairs of shoes: 7

last drem: genuinely dont remember...

talents: art and writing

psychic? uh, dunno

fave song atm: wet by dazey and the scouts

favorite movie: spider man across the spiderverse

ideal partner: dunno

want children?: only if I can adopt them, no way I am having a child

church wedding?: noooooo!!!

religious? hellenistic pagan

have you been to the hospital? yes, for MANY ear infections as a kid

ever got in trouble with the law? nooooppeee

ever met any celeberties? only local ones...

baths or showers? showers

what color socks are you wearing? blue

have you ever been famous? yeah, school famous in like 4th grade for "dating" a kid-

would you like to be a big celebrity? not really

what type of music do you like? pov: indie according to spotify

have you ever been skinny dipping? no I will never-

how many pillows do you sleep with? 2, with a bunch of plushies

what position do you usually sleep in? stomach-?

How big is your house? medium-small(?)

What do you typically have for breakfast? toast 🤤🤤

Have you ever fired a gun? no

Have you ever tried archery? yes

Favorite clean word? mischievous

Favorite swear word? bitch

What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 20 hours

Do you have any scars? no

Have you ever had a secret admirer? no

Are you a good liar? kind of

Are you a good judge of character? dunno

Can you do any other accents other than your own? cursive, ik it isn't an accent but its funny

Do you have a strong accent? no

What is your favorite accent? british

What is your personality type? enfp-t

What is your most expensive piece of clothing? no idea

Can you curl your tongue? yes

Are you an innie or an outie? innie

Left or right handed? right

Are you scared of spiders? yes

Favorite food? pastaaa

Favorite foreign food? greek hummus

Are you a clean or messy person? messy for sure

Most used phrased? "uhm, actually"

Most used word? slay

How long does it take for you to get ready? about 30 minutes

Do you have much of an ego? sorta

Do you suck or bite lollipops? suck ofc

Do you talk to yourself? all the time

Do you sing to yourself? not really

Are you a good singer? meh

Biggest Fear? being embarassed

Are you a gossip? nah

Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? don't worry darling

Do you like long or short hair? short

Can you name all 50 states of America? kind of

Favorite school subject? english

Extrovert or Introvert? ambivert but more extrovert

Have you ever been scuba diving? no

What makes you nervous? my english teacher/my grades

Are you scared of the dark? yes

Do you correct people when they make mistakes? sometimes

Are you ticklish? yes

Have you ever started a rumor? i don't think so

Have you ever been in a position of authority? nah

Have you ever drank underage? no

Have you ever done drugs? no

Who was your first real crush? a boy I met in the library

How many piercings do you have? one, but I'd like about 4

Can you roll your Rs?“ yes

How fast can you type? decently-?

How fast can you run? not that fast

What color is your hair? brown

What color is your eyes? dark blue

What are you allergic to? I guess just seasonal allergies

Do you keep a journal? no, used to

What do your parents do? dad works at a car paint shop and my mom works in a special ed classroom

Do you like your age? sorta

What makes you angry? the government/stupid people

Do you like your own name? not really

Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? apollo, athena, mae, macy

Do you want a boy a girl for a child? either

What are you strengths? silliness

What are your weaknesses? silliness

How did you get your name? from the song letters to elise by the cure

Were your ancestors royalty? I don't think so, although I think I am semi-related to Ulysses Grant

Do you have any scars? no

Color of your bedspread? white/purple

Color of your room? pink/white, but like aesthetic pink

tagging: @draweronly @rrcenic @moonsgreendawn @toddreblogslotf @kunfire @peachtaglia and any of my other mutuals that I somehow haven't thought of!!!

Get To Know Me Uncomfortably Well

PLEASE DON’T LET THIS FLOP AHHHH

1. What is you middle name? 2. How old are you? 3. When is your birthday? 4. What is your zodiac sign? 5. What is your favorite color? 6. What’s your lucky number? 7. Do you have any pets? 8. Where are you from? 9. How tall are you? 10. What shoe size are you? 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 12. What was your last dream about? 13. What talents do you have? 14. Are you psychic in any way? 15. Favorite song? 16. Favorite movie? 17. Who would be your ideal partner? 18. Do you want children? 19. Do you want a church wedding? 20. Are you religious? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? 23. Have you ever met any celebrities? 24. Baths or showers? 25. What color socks are you wearing? 26. Have you ever been famous? 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? 28. What type of music do you like? 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 31. What position do you usually sleep in? 32. How big is your house? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? 34. Have you ever fired a gun? 35. Have you ever tried archery? 36. Favorite clean word? 37. Favorite swear word? 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 39. Do you have any scars? 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? 41. Are you a good liar? 42. Are you a good judge of character? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? 44. Do you have a strong accent? 45. What is your favorite accent? 46. What is your personality type? 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? 48. Can you curl your tongue? 49. Are you an innie or an outie? 50. Left or right handed? 51. Are you scared of spiders? 52. Favorite food? 53. Favorite foreign food? 54. Are you a clean or messy person? 55. Most used phrased? 56. Most used word? 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 58. Do you have much of an ego? 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? 60. Do you talk to yourself? 61. Do you sing to yourself? 62. Are you a good singer? 63. Biggest Fear? 64. Are you a gossip? 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? 66. Do you like long or short hair? 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? 68. Favorite school subject? 69. Extrovert or Introvert? 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? 71. What makes you nervous? 72. Are you scared of the dark? 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? 74. Are you ticklish? 75. Have you ever started a rumor? 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? 77. Have you ever drank underage? 78. Have you ever done drugs? 79. Who was your first real crush? 80. How many piercings do you have? 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ 82. How fast can you type? 83. How fast can you run? 84. What color is your hair? 85. What color is your eyes? 86. What are you allergic to? 87. Do you keep a journal? 88. What do your parents do? 89. Do you like your age? 90. What makes you angry? 91. Do you like your own name? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? 94. What are you strengths? 95. What are your weaknesses? 96. How did you get your name? 97. Were your ancestors royalty? 98. Do you have any scars? 99. Color of your bedspread? 100. Color of your room?

[pages-of-us]

Camping

When Andrew suggested a family camping trip, it was met with mixed reactions.

“Camping?” Ralph had asked, his brow furrowing as he glanced at his husband. “Like… in the woods?”

“Yes, Ralph, that’s generally where camping happens.” Andrew had replied with a smirk.

“Will there be bears?” Yazmin’s eyes widened in excitement.

Ellias shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to try fishing.”

Elliot, sitting quietly with a book, looked up. “I’ll bring the guidebook on edible plants.”

“Guidebook?” Ralph scoffed. “We’re not foraging. We’re bringing food!”

“Oh, we’re foraging.” Elliot replied with a confidence that left Ralph questioning his firstborn’s motives.

By the time the trip rolled around, Ralph had resigned himself to the experience. With the car packed to capacity—tents, sleeping bags, food coolers, and Yazmin’s excessive collection of flashlights—they set off for a campsite two hours away from home.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —— — — — — — — — — — — — —

The Zanes had barely arrived at the camping grounds when the first hints of chaos began. Ralph, wielding a clipboard he had meticulously filled with every necessary supply, had declared, “We’re ready for anything!” Andrew, on the other hand, had pointed at the sky and replied, “Except rain, which it looks like we might get.”

“No way,” Ralph insisted. “I checked three weather apps. Clear skies guaranteed.”

The twins hopped out of the car, energized by the fresh air. “This is going to be amazing!” Yazmin declared, arms spread wide as if she were welcoming the wilderness.

“It’ll be cold.” Ellias muttered, already regretting not bringing another sweater.

Elliot, the ever-prepared eldest, had packed extra socks and a multipurpose knife, looking every bit like the family’s survival expert. “Don’t worry,” he said coolly. “We’ll be fine. I’ve been reading up on camping tricks.”

“Reading, huh?” Ralph teased, slinging an arm around his son. “Then you can help me set up our HQ, Captain Scout.”

Elliot had already cracked open his guidebook. “Did you know mosquitoes are attracted to carbon dioxide and body heat? Daddy, you’re sweating too much.”

“Thank you, Professor Zane.” Ralph replied dryly.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —— — — — — — — — — — — — —

Ellias quickly proved to be the most naturally adept camper. With Ralph overseeing, he managed to stake the family’s tent securely while Yazmin tried—and failed—to follow the instructions.

“Ellias, how did you get your side up so fast?” Yazmin groaned, wrestling with a particularly stubborn pole.

“I read the manual.” Ellias said with a shrug.

Yazmin made a face. “Boring.”

“Not boring if we’re not sleeping under the stars tonight.” Elliot said, stepping in to help Yazmin.

By the time the tent was up, Andrew had laid out a picnic blanket and prepped sandwiches. “Lunch break?” he offered.

“Finally,” Ralph said, dramatically flopping onto the blanket. “All this manual labor’s killing me.”

“Daddy,” Yazmin teased, “We’ve been here an hour.”

“An hour too long without coffee.” Ralph muttered.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —— — — — — — — — — — — — —

Fishing, Ralph thought, would be a relaxing father-son activity—if the fish had cooperated. The serene lake sparkled in the afternoon sun, and the Zanes had lined up with their fishing rods: Ralph, Ellias, and Elliot.

Ellias turned out to have a knack for it. “I’ve got one!” he shouted, reeling in a small but respectable catch.

“Beginner’s luck.” Ralph said, still trying to bait his hook properly.

Elliot chuckled. “Actually, I read that fish are more likely to bite if you use this kind of knot.” He demonstrated, tying a flawless fishing knot.

“Show-off.” Ralph grumbled, but he followed Elliot’s instructions—and promptly caught a fish.

Meanwhile, Yazmin, bored after five minutes of watching, had wandered off to explore the lakeside. When she returned, she was covered in mud, holding a weird-looking plant.

“Look what I found!” she announced.

“That’s algae.” Ellias said flatly.

“It’s gross.” Elliot added, shoving his glasses up his nose.

“You’re gross.” Yazmin shot back.

“Alright, alright,” Ralph intervened, hiding a grin. “Yaz, put that down. It’s not coming in the tent.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —— — — — — — — — — — — — —

Back at the campsite, Andrew was busy preparing dinner while Elliot explored the surrounding area with his guidebook in hand.

“Dadda, did you know that pine needles can be used to make tea?” Elliot said, showing Andrew a page in the book.

“Really?” Andrew asked, intrigued.

“Yep, and it’s high in vitamin C.”

“Sounds… earthy.” Ralph said, returning with the fish.

Later, when the campfire struggled to stay lit, Elliot stepped in.

“Did you know dry pinecones make excellent kindling?” he said, gathering a handful.

Moments later, the fire roared to life. Ralph stared at his eldest, impressed.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. You’re handy to have around.”

Elliot smirked. “Told you.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —— — — — — — — — — — — — —

That night, the family gathered around a roaring fire, courtesy of Ralph and Elliot, who had teamed up to light it. The forest was alive with the sound of chirping crickets and rustling leaves, and Yazmin, usually full of energy, surprised everyone with her composure.

When a loud hoot from a nearby owl startled Andrew, Yazmin grinned. “It’s just a bird, Dadda. Nothing to be scared of.”

Andrew gave her a mock glare. “I wasn’t scared. I was startled.”

“Sure.” she said with a wink, roasting another marshmallow.

Andrew had packed marshmallows, which Yazmin and Ellias eagerly roasted—until Yazmin set hers on fire.

“Quick, blow it out!” Ralph exclaimed.

“It’s extra crispy!” Yazmin said, laughing as she waved the flaming marshmallow around.

“You’re going to burn the whole forest down!” Ellias cried, snatching the stick from her and dousing the marshmallow in dirt.

“Ew!” Yazmin protested.

“Crisis averted.” Elliot said, deadpan, while Andrew tried not to laugh.

As the fire crackled, Elliot shared trivia he’d picked up from his books. “Did you know you can tell the time using the stars?”

Yazmin frowned. “How?”

Elliot pointed out constellations, explaining their positions. Despite her initial skepticism, Yazmin was entranced. “That’s actually kind of cool.” she admitted.

“Thank you.” Elliot said with exaggerated patience.

Ellias leaned back, staring at the clear night sky. “It’s nice out here.” he murmured.

“See? Camping isn’t so bad.” Ralph said.

Andrew smiled, leaning against him. “And it’s surprisingly peaceful… for now.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —— — — — — — — — — — — — —

The peace didn’t last.

“Who took my sleeping bag?” Yazmin shrieked.

“Not me.” Ellias said, already tucked into his.

“I didn’t either.” Elliot said, flipping through his notebook by flashlight.

“Did you pack it?” Andrew asked, sitting cross-legged near the tent entrance.

Yazmin paused, then flushed. “... Maybe not.”

Ralph groaned, pulling out an emergency blanket from his duffle. “Here, princess.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” She grinned sheepishly.

Finally, the family settled in for the night.

As the crickets chirped and the forest around them stilled, Ralph smiled into the dark. Despite the chaos—and Yazmin’s accidental marshmallow torch—he had to admit: it had been a good day.

“Daddy.” Yazmin whispered.

“What?”

“Do bears like marshmallows?”

Ralph groaned. "Yaz, go to sleep!"

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —— — — — — — — — — — — — —

The next morning, Andrew woke up to find Ellias frying eggs on a portable stove while Elliot helped brew coffee with a makeshift French press.

“I thought you two would still be asleep.” Andrew said, surprised.

“We figured we’d help,” Ellias said. “Daddy deserves a break.”

“And you do too, Dadda.” Elliot added, pouring him a cup of coffee.

Ralph emerged shortly after, rubbing his eyes. “Morning.”

Ellias handed him a plate. “Eggs, toast, and some of the fish we caught.”

Ralph looked at the boys, clearly touched. “You two did this?”

Yazmin stumbled out of the tent, yawning. “What about me?”

“You slept in.” Ellias said.

“I supervised.” Yazmin replied, sitting down and stealing a piece of toast.

As they packed up the campsite later that day, Ralph looked around at his family with a rare sense of contentment.

“You know,” he said, “This wasn’t so bad. I might even do it again.”

Andrew smirked. “Don’t push your luck.”

Elliot grinned. “Next time, we can try foraging!”

Ralph groaned. “I take it back.”

[elgringo300]

elgringo300/755365694868209664

Nature is healing, sunrise, cool dice (how was the boat trip?)

My toxic trait is I think my boy scout training would be sufficient in a societal collapse, which, to the other side of my brain, tells me I would die immediately in an apocalyptic situation. But yes, lets go hiking! (and thank you for calling me kind soul!)

I used to be a really good morning person! Back in like middle and early high school. Now I'm a night owl, I don't know what happened. I moved to a new high school and my body's circadian rhythm just flipped. man I am trying so hard to do everything right. and yet the horrors. Indeed. Water is great - I am a frequent bathroom enjoyer in college

Nerds rule the world! I have some pretty cool red socks so thank you. Boat trip was fun and awesome and I have a really cool tanline where my watch is. If you've seen the recent post I made about dealing with people (everyone is trying to be a good person etc) I wrote that based on my experience with the other people in the boat.

There were a couple people in the same watch as me who would consistently shit-talk the skipper of our boat. Some of their complaints were valid, but I think they read way too deep into those and were looking for things to complain about. I listened to them and tried to see where they were coming from, and tbh I could! But if they had tried to see things from a more forgiving and adapting attitude, they would've had a far greater time, and the skipper really didn't deserve all that. I think he was trying his best, for a fairly old dude.

The one fair complaint I truly agreed with the others about was when the skipper decided to dump our waste inside an area you're legally Not Supposed to Do That, which... as a guy at a military college I understand both sides of This Rule Is Stupid So I've Elected to Ignore It as well as Follow The Rules Because You Haven't Thought Of Everything You Idiot so. I'm on side Follow The Rules but I get it.

The sailing was fun too! Its louder inside the sailboat than outside of it because the ropes bang against the hull and you can really hear that. It sounds so incredibly loud inside if its windy outside because every rope flying around sounds like a gunshot or like something metal snapped, and then you go up and "well its windy but the ropes sound normal". We got a little unlucky because there was just very little wind most of the way up and back down, to the point where we used our motor more than half of the way to stay on schedule. Most of the time the biggest problem was how sweaty I got when trying to fall asleep (which was very - boat can get pretty stuffy inside).

At one time though the wind was so strong we were at a 20-30 degree angle constantly - and that was with a reef taken in the main (that means we lowered the mainsail a little bit so that it was smaller and would catch less wind - you can take 2 reefs in the main at most). It took actual skill and positioning to get dressed for my watch because you could not rely on the floor to not throw you against the wall as you were taking off your shirt. And when we tacked (meaning we turned so the wind was coming at us from the other side) it was so violent! We had to secure everything to make sure it wouldn't fly off the counters when we turned. Its hard to explain but whenever you tack and especially when you gibe, when the wind passes the midpoint and catches the sail it can really just seize the boat and what was a nice measured turn suddenly turns into a loud, hard spin. At least thats what it feels like. Whenever you tack or gybe thats a minimum of 90 degrees change of course.

I think thats long enough of a post for now, but thanks for asking! If you want more sailing trivia just let me know - I learned so much in such a short span of time I can probably pull bits and pieces out of my brain for days.

Thanks for the ask!

[h-i-raeth]

Fuck it, here's the first chapter of Easy Peacetime Girl

It's probably still going to stay a backburner project, but I didn't want to just sit on it, so: here, enjoy Barb's first day in the upside down.

She sure isn't.

Day One: The Ice Age Come To Find Her All Alone

There are a few things that might have tipped the scales of Barbara Holland’s death.

It might have been the radio, music playing low but audible from where Barb sits to dangle her feet into the pool. It might have been the pool’s heaters, disorienting the creature that hunted her.

But mostly, it’s that Barb was a girl scout. She knows how to dress a wound. There’s blood in the water, and blood on the deck, but it’s not soaking through the bandage.

So when Barb gets pulled into that nightmare realm, she makes it out of the pool before the creature grabs her. She makes it to the poolhouse door, and barricades herself there for long enough to adjust to the fact that she’s fallen into a fucking horror movie.

The door doesn’t look like it will hold.

The monster or alien or what-ever-the-fuck is between her and the house.

Fuck, she hopes Nancy’s not stuck in this nightmare too, because Barb doesn’t stand a chance at getting past this thing. She’s going to have to make a break for it through the woods.

Maybe she can make it to her car.

-

Her car isn't there.

She’s in Hawkins, that much is obvious, but her car is not where she left it parked at the beginning of this ill-advised house party.

She can’t hear the thing banging on the pool house door in the distance anymore.

Either it’s lost interest, or it’s figured out that she’s gone.

She can’t afford to hope for the former.

She has to find somewhere to hide.

-

She follows the road.

Maybe it’d be smarter to head back into the woods. She’d be less visible, and she might hear that thing coming from further away. It’s larger than she is. In theory, it would have a harder time navigating the woods.

But she doesn’t have any fucking shoes. And it’s fucking cold in this twisted mirror of Hawkins. It’s hard enough navigating the flat asphalt of the road while her toes are threatening to fall off. If she tried to run through the woods, she’d probably just attract attention. No, she needs to head into town. Break into a building. Find some fucking shoes. If she’s lucky, she can make it home, and her spare glasses will be right on her bedside table where they’re supposed to be, and then she’ll actually be able to see properly.

She just has to make it from stupid, rich-boy Loch Nora to Cherry Street. Easy.

Easier if she had some fucking shoes.

-

Her car is parked in the driveway, in her usual spot.

Or. Not really her car. The grayscale, overgrown version of her car that must belong to this nightmare dimension. But her keys open the door of it anyway.

Barb doesn’t try the engine. It’s covered in some kind of weird vines, rooting it to the spot, and anyway, she’s still wary of making noise. She hasn’t heard anything since she left the poolhouse behind. She doesn’t want to try her luck.

Her keys open the door to her house, too, but she checks the corner under the porch where they hide the spare anyway. Pockets it, just in case.

Her shoes—the shoes that she’d taken off so that she could dangle her toes into Harrington’s heated pool—are next to the door, lined up next to her parents’. They’re mildewy, too, but at least they seem sturdy enough. Even if she’s not excited about putting them on without clean socks.

It bodes well for her glasses, at least.

-

Barb packs a bag, after she cleans off her glasses. It’s not any warmer in the house than it is outside. She can’t afford to be squeamish about the filth on her mirror-clothes when they might mean the difference between survival and hypothermia.

She does try to clean them, first. But the electricity doesn’t work, and even though the detergent seems fine, no water comes out of the sink faucet when she twists the handles.

Come to think of it, there hadn’t been any water in the pool, either.

That could be a problem.

-

Sealed containers.

Everything in this place looks like it’s aged twenty years in a nuclear wasteland, but sealed containers seem to have mostly escaped unscathed.

Or, at least, when Barb cracks open the can of peaches that she pulls out of the pantry, they smell fine. Taste fine. If she drops dead of botulism in a few days, well, there are worse ways to go.

Like being eaten alive by an alien with fucking flower petals full of nightmare teeth instead of a face.

Hopefully water bottles follow the same logic. Her parents don’t keep any, but if she can make it to Bradley’s—–

Barb realizes that she’s assumed that she’s going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future.

And, well. Isn’t she?

Nancy will look for her, she knows that. She’ll see her car still parked with no Barb hanging around to drive her home, or she’ll get to class tomorrow and find Barb’s desk empty. She’ll call Barb’s mom, ask questions. Get somebody involved.

But Barb hasn’t been kidnapped by—by a serial killer, or traffickers, or whatever. She’s been pulled into a goddamn mirrorverse. What can Nancy do about that? 

Nothing, unless she and everyone else in Harrington’s house got pulled here with her.

If they did, they’re probably dead.

Or they’re stuck in that house. Barricaded, looking for an opportunity to slip past the alien, assuming Barb long-left or dead herself.

Fuck, Barb’s going to have to check.

-

She’ll need supplies first.

A handful of canned goods get swept into the bag with her clothes, and there’s rope in the garage. A first aid kit in the bathroom. A dagger from her aunt in the drawer of her bedside table, and a swiss army knife next to the lighter in her glovebox. She’d give just about anything for a gun, or her aunt’s sword, but the Hideout’s on the edge of town closer to Forest Hills. That’s the opposite direction from Loch Nora. 

If Nancy’s here, she might not have that kind of time.

-

It’s immediately obvious that the thing that attacked her earlier is no longer here.

It’s just as obvious that Nancy’s not here, either.

The downstairs of the Harrington house is completely untouched, except for the decay that blankets it like everything else here. The back door hadn’t even been locked. If anyone else got pulled into this nightmare, they’d made no effort to barricade the house. There hadn’t been any struggle between them and the creature. There was no blood or broken glass strewn about the floor, or furniture tipped over in a haste to run.

Still, Barb checks the upstairs. Catalogs the empty rooms. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than the fact that Harrington’s drapes apparently match his bedroom walls. Really, Nance? This is the boy you’re going to let fuck you? 

There’s no point wasting the trip, so she grabs things that might be useful as she passes them. Whiskey from the study. Soda cans freed from the slime of the fridge. A couple bottles of hairspray from under the sink in the upstairs bathroom. Another couple of lighters.

There’s a gun safe in what might be the master bedroom, but it’s locked. Barb doesn’t bother searching for the key. She doesn’t want to sleep here, monster or no monster.

The wall that leads to the pool is all glass, and she doesn’t want to be caught upstairs if that alien fuck decides to come back. 

She’s grabbed what she can. Nancy’s not here. Hopefully, that means she’s safe. Now Barb needs to get the fuck out of here.

-

In the end, she doesn’t make it back home.

She tries to cut through the center of town, maybe scope out some supplies, and stops dead twenty feet away from something that is not what attacked her earlier.

This thing is smaller. Quadrupedal. It has a tail.

It also has that same nightmare-flower mouth for a head.

She ducks into the nearest building on instinct and immediately knows she’s made a mistake.

Something is nesting in here.

[kammartinez]

By Will Harrison

Socked in during Covid lockdown, I became increasingly obsessed with archival footage of “actual human life,” so I scoured the internet for any videos I could find of Pedro Martinez, my favorite baseball player, in action. Watching him pitch was like gaining access to memories I’d forgotten or never quite had. Fortunately, the most illustrious game of his career — which took place on Sept. 10, 1999, when his team, the Boston Red Sox, played the Yankees, in New York, amid that year’s playoff race — is now widely available online. Contemporary viewers can see what I would argue is not merely a baseball game but a novel, an opera, a lyric masterpiece. Watching it feels a bit like witnessing Virginia Woolf write “Mrs. Dalloway,” in real time, right in front of you.

Inevitably, my viewing habit came to influence my own work. “This is what writing feels like lately,” I wrote in my journal. “It’s all about pitch sequencing, about sentence variation. You have to move the reader through the paragraph. Fastball, curveball, changeup. Normal sentence, long sentence, short sentence. Straight declarative sentence, periodic sentence, sentence fragment. Keep them on their toes, keep throwing the ball past them.” I’m always thinking about the role that rhythm and movement play in my own prose and in the prose of my favorite writers; I love the way that language can leap from my mind and then to my fingers, much like a curveball arcing out of the hand of an All-Star pitcher. I studied Martinez, first as a baseball player and then, eventually, as an artist — I close-read him as you would a Modernist author. I came to learn that he is an excellent writing instructor, as wild as that sounds. His signature games are a master class in how to shift registers, how to strategize, how to create forms and patterns and leitmotifs. From Martinez, you can learn how to perform on the page.

The Yankee game begins strangely: In the bottom of the first inning, Martinez clips the leadoff batter Chuck Knoblauch’s jersey with an inside fastball, putting him on base. Many of my favorite masterworks, too, begin with a bit of whimsy. For instance: “Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself,” Woolf wrote. What sort of pitch is that? It is a declarative and confident opening sentence, and it stakes its claim: maybe a brushback fastball itself. “For Lucy had her work cut out for her.” At first glance here we have another fastball, but the initial “for” puts some spin on it, turning a declarative sentence into a nonsentence or an addendum to the one before: curveball on the outside corner. After Knoblauch is thrown out stealing, Martinez retires the next four batters before throwing an uncharacteristically flat fastball to the Yankee slugger Chili Davis, who smacks a home run into the right-field bleachers, making the score 1-0 Yankees after two innings.

Given the awkwardness of the first two frames, it might be easy to miss what is transpiring. In fact, several of Martinez’s greatest performances seem to be catalyzed by a constraint of his own making, by a showman’s raising of stakes. (Consider the game versus the Tampa Bay Devil Rays in August 2000 when he incited a bench-clearing brawl after drilling the leadoff batter, Gerald Williams, before going on to throw a no-hitter for eight complete innings.) It’s as if his pitching potential — his “stuff,” as baseball scouts call it — is a powerful and unwieldy beam of light that he must fine-tune and pinpoint as the game goes on.

He works, for the most part, at a relentless pace, as if writing complete sentences off the top of his head, editing only when necessary.

By the third inning, the beam of light is overwhelming the defending-world-champion Yankees, shining right in their eyes. The highlight of the inning comes when Martinez throws Scott Brosius a curveball on an 0-1 count, the ball bending as though on a roller coaster, jerking up and then suddenly down with an intensity that sends Brosius flailing as it falls gently into the strike zone. Two pitches later, Martinez hurls a high fastball past the swinging Brosius for the strikeout; this time the ball makes a more subtle hiccup, darting upward as it approaches home plate.

In the Yankee game, Martinez works, for the most part, at a relentless pace, as if writing complete sentences off the top of his head, editing only when necessary. As the innings mount, so does his strikeout total, which stokes the energy of the usually ruthless Bronx Bomber faithful, bringing them slowly onto his side. In the seventh inning, now nursing a 2-1 lead, he strikes out the heart of the New York lineup: Derek Jeter, Paul O’Neill, Bernie Williams. After the Jeter whiff, a graphic pops up onscreen, detailing the American League season leaders in strikeouts: In first we find Pedro Martinez with 267, and in second there’s Chuck Finley with ... 167.

By the time Martinez takes the mound in the ninth inning, the crowd is roaring and on its feet. Out in right field, a cluster of Dominican Republic flags flap crazily, and the frat boys are standing, too. At this point, Martinez has racked up 14 strikeouts, retired all 19 batters since the homer to Davis and hasn’t allowed a ball in play since the sixth inning. As his mastery mounts with each successive inning, it begins to feel as if he is throwing a no-hitter but in reverse; it seems as if an entire stadium of 55,000 has been converted, all of them zealots for the art of pitching.

The final frame does not disappoint; the novel gets the concluding chapter it deserves. On 13 pitches, Martinez strikes out every batter he faces, punching out Knoblauch — the only Yankee hitter he has yet to strike out — with a 97-mile-an-hour fastball, the kind that turns a hitter’s knees into Jell-O. Here, Martinez imparts his final writing lesson: Leave your best stuff for last, but don’t overstay your welcome. As I watched the ninth inning, I couldn’t help thinking of Woolf again, this time of the concluding sentence of “To the Lighthouse,” which describes the painter Lily Briscoe’s finishing a canvas she has been laboring over for the entire novel: “Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision.”

[kamreadsandrecs]

By Will Harrison

Socked in during Covid lockdown, I became increasingly obsessed with archival footage of “actual human life,” so I scoured the internet for any videos I could find of Pedro Martinez, my favorite baseball player, in action. Watching him pitch was like gaining access to memories I’d forgotten or never quite had. Fortunately, the most illustrious game of his career — which took place on Sept. 10, 1999, when his team, the Boston Red Sox, played the Yankees, in New York, amid that year’s playoff race — is now widely available online. Contemporary viewers can see what I would argue is not merely a baseball game but a novel, an opera, a lyric masterpiece. Watching it feels a bit like witnessing Virginia Woolf write “Mrs. Dalloway,” in real time, right in front of you.

Inevitably, my viewing habit came to influence my own work. “This is what writing feels like lately,” I wrote in my journal. “It’s all about pitch sequencing, about sentence variation. You have to move the reader through the paragraph. Fastball, curveball, changeup. Normal sentence, long sentence, short sentence. Straight declarative sentence, periodic sentence, sentence fragment. Keep them on their toes, keep throwing the ball past them.” I’m always thinking about the role that rhythm and movement play in my own prose and in the prose of my favorite writers; I love the way that language can leap from my mind and then to my fingers, much like a curveball arcing out of the hand of an All-Star pitcher. I studied Martinez, first as a baseball player and then, eventually, as an artist — I close-read him as you would a Modernist author. I came to learn that he is an excellent writing instructor, as wild as that sounds. His signature games are a master class in how to shift registers, how to strategize, how to create forms and patterns and leitmotifs. From Martinez, you can learn how to perform on the page.

The Yankee game begins strangely: In the bottom of the first inning, Martinez clips the leadoff batter Chuck Knoblauch’s jersey with an inside fastball, putting him on base. Many of my favorite masterworks, too, begin with a bit of whimsy. For instance: “Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself,” Woolf wrote. What sort of pitch is that? It is a declarative and confident opening sentence, and it stakes its claim: maybe a brushback fastball itself. “For Lucy had her work cut out for her.” At first glance here we have another fastball, but the initial “for” puts some spin on it, turning a declarative sentence into a nonsentence or an addendum to the one before: curveball on the outside corner. After Knoblauch is thrown out stealing, Martinez retires the next four batters before throwing an uncharacteristically flat fastball to the Yankee slugger Chili Davis, who smacks a home run into the right-field bleachers, making the score 1-0 Yankees after two innings.

Given the awkwardness of the first two frames, it might be easy to miss what is transpiring. In fact, several of Martinez’s greatest performances seem to be catalyzed by a constraint of his own making, by a showman’s raising of stakes. (Consider the game versus the Tampa Bay Devil Rays in August 2000 when he incited a bench-clearing brawl after drilling the leadoff batter, Gerald Williams, before going on to throw a no-hitter for eight complete innings.) It’s as if his pitching potential — his “stuff,” as baseball scouts call it — is a powerful and unwieldy beam of light that he must fine-tune and pinpoint as the game goes on.

He works, for the most part, at a relentless pace, as if writing complete sentences off the top of his head, editing only when necessary.

By the third inning, the beam of light is overwhelming the defending-world-champion Yankees, shining right in their eyes. The highlight of the inning comes when Martinez throws Scott Brosius a curveball on an 0-1 count, the ball bending as though on a roller coaster, jerking up and then suddenly down with an intensity that sends Brosius flailing as it falls gently into the strike zone. Two pitches later, Martinez hurls a high fastball past the swinging Brosius for the strikeout; this time the ball makes a more subtle hiccup, darting upward as it approaches home plate.

In the Yankee game, Martinez works, for the most part, at a relentless pace, as if writing complete sentences off the top of his head, editing only when necessary. As the innings mount, so does his strikeout total, which stokes the energy of the usually ruthless Bronx Bomber faithful, bringing them slowly onto his side. In the seventh inning, now nursing a 2-1 lead, he strikes out the heart of the New York lineup: Derek Jeter, Paul O’Neill, Bernie Williams. After the Jeter whiff, a graphic pops up onscreen, detailing the American League season leaders in strikeouts: In first we find Pedro Martinez with 267, and in second there’s Chuck Finley with ... 167.

By the time Martinez takes the mound in the ninth inning, the crowd is roaring and on its feet. Out in right field, a cluster of Dominican Republic flags flap crazily, and the frat boys are standing, too. At this point, Martinez has racked up 14 strikeouts, retired all 19 batters since the homer to Davis and hasn’t allowed a ball in play since the sixth inning. As his mastery mounts with each successive inning, it begins to feel as if he is throwing a no-hitter but in reverse; it seems as if an entire stadium of 55,000 has been converted, all of them zealots for the art of pitching.

The final frame does not disappoint; the novel gets the concluding chapter it deserves. On 13 pitches, Martinez strikes out every batter he faces, punching out Knoblauch — the only Yankee hitter he has yet to strike out — with a 97-mile-an-hour fastball, the kind that turns a hitter’s knees into Jell-O. Here, Martinez imparts his final writing lesson: Leave your best stuff for last, but don’t overstay your welcome. As I watched the ninth inning, I couldn’t help thinking of Woolf again, this time of the concluding sentence of “To the Lighthouse,” which describes the painter Lily Briscoe’s finishing a canvas she has been laboring over for the entire novel: “Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision.”