#and i got him a cool old lightbulb clock and he got me a cool spiral paper light

[amadaans]

anyway every year me and elliot choose a traditional or modern wedding gift to get each other, and this year the traditional is flowers/fruit (in the us) and the fucking modern one is appliances. appliances. thank god the fourth year has both a us and a uk traditional gift, so i'm getting him flowers/fruit (me, an american) and he's getting me silk/linen (him, a brit).

[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 1 |  Living Well is the Best Revenge or Just Trip Her on the Red Carpet

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom is in Vegas to present at a music awards ceremony and what do you know his high profile ex girlfriend is nominated for two awards.  And the press are having a field day.  Molly Bishop is grateful for the awards show because it means extra tips and getting her closer to paying off her student debt.  An offhand comment by Luke coupled with an encounter with his old girlfriend has Tom’s mental wheels turning.  Perhaps he and Molly can solve each other’s problem.  All they have to do is get married.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

--

Tom dreaded turning his phone back on when the plane landed at McCarran airport. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Tom wondered if his publicist would buy the story he left his phone back at the bar in Heathrow. Probably not, he had tried that earlier in the year and Luke went ballistic until he came clean. He did not want a repeat of the earful he got back then. With a sigh, Tom switched on his mobile and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, vibrating as messages and emails came in.

Tom never imagined the relationship would end like this. He thought he was in love. He thought she was in love. But it had all been what were the words she used “escape hatch”. Tom had been a means to an end. And the punishment for his naivete was a news cycle that would not die. And that photo.

He waited until he was in the car on his way to the Bellagio before checking his messages. There were a series of several text messages from Luke.

Call me when you get to your hotel room.

Don’t read the papers.

Don’t talk to any reporters.

Don’t do anything until you talk to me.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

This meant only one thing. Another story. Maybe more pictures. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was attending the same awards show. It ventured to guess the papers would play that up. Tom slumped against the car seat for the rest of the ride.

Check in went fine at the VIP check in. One perk of not only being a celebrity, but a presenter at the awards show. The bellhop delivered Tom’s luggage and garment bag. He pulled the outfit for tomorrow and hung it up, just like Illaria told him to. It was only when he flopped onto the sectional couch, Tom called Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for your phone call.” Luke deadpanned. “I started to worry you would pull that ‘I left my phone at the airport bar’ story.”

“I did cross my mind.” Tom let his head hit the back of the sofa. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” Luke winced. “They used the photo again.”

“Of course they fucking did!” Tom punched a nearby pillow. “I look like a twat. Luke, I need this to stop.”

Luke sighed. “Until something comes along that is better than this, expect it to hang around for a while. Unless you are planning on getting married in the next two days.”

Tom chuckled darkly. “Not bloody likely.” He sighed again. “Thanks for everything Luke.”

“It’s my job, mate. But you’re welcome.”

After Tom hung up, he stared first at the phone in his hand and then at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out. Tom decided instead to wallow in self-pity and eat a ridiculously expensive room service steak.

-

Weekends were always busy when there were special events over at the MGM arena. This weekend was no exception. And while it may not be good for Molly’s back, her bank account greeted every penny with a smile. Vegas may be a cheap place to live, but it still costs money. And her college did not accept IOUs for student loans. She shoved more tips into the jar behind the bar and helped the next person.

“What’ll be?”

“Whatever you have that is strong and on tap.” Tom’s smooth voice cut over the din of slot machines and video poker machines.

“Coming right up.” Molly poured him a beer, and he signed the receipt with his room number before sliding to the end of the bar.

Three hours later, Tom still sat at the end of the bar, nursing the same beer. Most of the crowd dissipated at this point. Celebrities needed their beauty sleep. Or at least most of them.

“Would you like to switch that one out for a cold one?” She leaned over, smiling. “On the house.”

“Sorry.” Tom blinked and glanced around, looking for a clock Molly imagined.

“No clocks.” she commented. “Or windows.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“The whole point of casinos is to keep people inside. Clocks and windows help people realize how much time has passed.” Molly replaced his beer. “The whole place is set up like a maze.”

Tom took a long draw of the fresh beer. “You seem to know an awful lot about casinos for a bartender.”

“You seem awfully forward for a movie star.” she snapped back. Tom’s eyes met yours. She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who works at Regal Cinema, they let me in for free.”

“I’m having a bad day.” Tom muttered back. “You still didn’t answer the question.” He took another long draw, leaving the glass half empty.

“Oh, so we are adding pushy to your resume. I thought Brits were supposed to be charming. If you must know, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Tourism from Arizona State.”

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but Molly cut him off.

“Funny thing about the tourism industry. You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience without having a job. Classic catch-22. Which does not pay my bills. So I bartend until I get hired somewhere.”

Tom felt like a prize idiot moping about his problems. He cleared his throat. “Apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been in a poor mood for the last several weeks and it has made me a terrible companion and customer.”

Molly smiled at him. The first truly friendly face in a while. “It’s fine. And you are entitled to a bad day.” She filled up his glass. “Once or twice. Share your troubles with me. Unless it is about which supermodel you should date next, then I don’t want to hear it.” she joked. Tom’s face fell. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Tom held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I take it you don’t read the magazines.”

“As a matter of course, no I don’t.” Suddenly a lightbulb went off. “Oh…”

Tom twisted his face into an exaggerated expression. “‘Oh’ is right. Usually followed by the words ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’.”

“And is she…”

Tom drained the glass. “Yep. Nominated for two awards.”

“Yikes! Well, if there is anything I can do, I am here all weekend.”

Tom stood up and left several twenty-dollar bills. “I might take you up on that. Thank you again for the conversation… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly Bishop”. she said, clearing his glass.

Tom offered his hand, and she shook it. “Tom.”

“I know.” she leaned in, her dark brown hair falling to the sides of her face. “Remember, you’re a movie star.”

Tom laughed. A real belly laugh. So loud that it jolted the old man at the other end of the bar awake. “I needed that. Thank you again. Have a good evening, day, morning.”

“It’s evening. Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

Tom headed back towards the bank of elevators. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Molly wipe down where he had been sitting, shove the twenties into a tip jar, while tucking her hair behind her ears and help an obviously drunk couple. Tom made a mental note to find her again before he flew back and leave an even bigger tip.

-

Tom woke up the next morning and headed down to the gym to run on the treadmill. He would have preferred running outside but wanted to avoid people. After running five miles, he switched the machine off, wiped it and him down and headed upstairs to shower and change for the day. Tom wandered back downstairs in search of Molly, but the bartender on duty, a guy named Seth, mentioned she wouldn’t be back until the evening. Tom thanked him and headed back upstairs.

He was restless until it was time to get ready. After dressing, he took a selfie in the mirror and sent it to Illaria who confirmed he did it right. Now came the waiting game. Tom wanted to time it to avoid having to see her at all. Finally deciding he had wanted long enough, Tom called for the car and headed downstairs. What Tom forgot to account for was his incredible bad luck.

He arrived right after her and was forced to walk the red carpet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, with her arm linked around whatever man, boy, prey she ensnared for the evening. Tom plastered a killer smile on his face and continued to repeat the mantra in his head “Living well is the best revenge” when all he wanted to do is either trip her or return to his hotel room and eat an inordinate amount of chocolate cake.

The rest of the awards show blurred together into moments of white hot rage masked by a cool exterior and numbness. Thank god for the teleprompter or else Tom wondered if he would have made it through his presentation. But he did and thought he made it through the entire event without running into her and then…

“Tom!” her voice called out.

Tom froze and stiffened. What a difference a few weeks can make.

“Darling!” He spun on his heel to face her, smile firmly in place. He leaned forward and kissed her cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You look good.” he lied through his teeth.

“You too. I thought I might miss you. I just wanted to say—”

Tom waved her off. “Water under the bridge.” Another lie. Perhaps he missed his calling as a barrister or even a publicist. “Your date seems nice.”

She smiled. That smile that once melted his heart. “Thanks. He is. Where’s your—”

“Back at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me, I should head back. Big plans for the night.”

She blinked, and stutter stepped back. “Oh. Right.” She composed herself. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I hope we can be friends.” She held her arms open.

Fucking friends! Tom howled inside his mind. What was she playing at? More fodder for her songs? Tom seethed on the inside. He stepped forward to awkwardly hug her, praying there was no one around to snap a photo. Knowing her, though, she probably had someone in the balcony with a zoom lens.

“Of course, love.” He squeezed her a little too tight until she let loose a small yelp of pain. Tom allowed a genuine smile to come across his face. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the after party.” He walked away before she could continue on the conversation.

He waited until he was well out of earshot. “Bitch.”

-

The crowd started waning around 9:30 as the awards show let out. Molly figured most of the attendees would hit the after parties and things would pick up around 1 or 2 a.m. Until then, it would just be the regulars. She turned around to arrange the glasses she just cleaned when a now familiar voice rang out.

“Marry me.” Tom asked, his tie loosened.

“I don’t know you.” Molly teased back. “Now what will you have?”

“You as my wife.” Tom repeated, his palm flattened against the bar.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you drunk?”

Tom shook his head. “Stone cold sober. Hear me out.”

She glanced around, seeing no plausible escape. “I’m listening. But if another customer comes up, I’m walking away.”

“I need something to move the paparazzi off this current news cycle with me.”

Molly smirked. “You ran into the ex. Did she have a new boy toy on her arm?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point.”

“It is entirely the point.”

Tom slammed his hand against the bar, rattling the container of nuts nearby. “Can I continue or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Molly crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“I need something to move the press off this story. You need money. We are the solution to each other’s problems.”

“You may be gorgeous, but if you think I am sleeping with you for money…”

“I never said sex. I said marriage. The last I checked, they could be mutually exclusive.” Tom’s expression softened. “Listen, you are clearly unhappy here. I am unhappy too. If us being together could alleviate a bit of that unhappiness, why wouldn’t we seize the opportunity? We get married. Get the paparazzi off my back. I would pay off your student loans and credit cards. And then after a year of living together, we quietly divorce. No sex. Just a business relationship.”

Molly chewed over what Tom said, while chewing on her bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong, she was unhappy. Vegas was supposed to be a brand new start, but it was more of the same. Dead end job and no career prospects on the horizon.”

“Did you say live together?”

“In London, yes. I have plenty of room. Your own space. You have a passport.”

“Yes.”

Tom’s face broke out in a wide grin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Molly Bishop?”

“Yes.” she smiled back.

Tom leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let’s get going, because the licensing bureau closes at midnight.”

Molly headed over to the manager, Nick.

“I quit.” she shoved her apron at him.

“What? You can’t quit, Molly. The big rush is coming.”

“You heard the lady.” Tom called. “She quits.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé. Come on, darling.” Tom held out his hand. She lifted up the bar at the entrance and took his hand.

-

The two of you were full of nervous energy the entire cab ride to the licensing bureau, fitting right in with the other couples waiting to get a license. While you waited in line, Tom made some calls to several chapels until he found one open and able to squeeze the two of you in.

“Now all we need is to get you a dress and some rings.”

“Oh!” Molly dug through her purse. “My friend’s kid gave these to me.” She pulled out two plastic rings. “I think these will do in a pinch.”

Tom closed his hand over hers. “I’ll buy us proper rings tomorrow. Now a dress.”

“There’s a mall on the way. I can grab something on the way.” Tom kissed Molly’s forehead.

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Within an hour, Molly was wearing a simple white slip dress, Tom still in his suit from the awards show, although he did straighten up the tie. She smiled like a fool, holding onto a fake bouquet and Tom’s wedding ring, complete with a plastic spider in her hand.

Tom slipped on the plastic gem ring when the minister told him to, and she did the same with the spider ring. Tom giggled and so did Molly .

“I now pronounce husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. His lips were warm and soft. It was… nice. Under other circumstances, she imagined Tom would be an excellent kisser.

Tom gazed down at her. “Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.”

[glumpiglet]

Beetlejuice meeting his S/O and shes a ghost?

Hi..Thank you for the request.. I had a lot of fun with this one.. It really got away from me lol I hope you like it <3 to those who requested I havent forgotten about you, it’s just easier for me to write on the weekend when I’m not working. K love you guys

Warning: bit of swearing.. basic beej innuendos... thats it.

If you had known that when you woke up that Wednesday, it would have been your last day alive, you probably would have done so not hungover. Stumbling out of bed, sheets still clutching at your legs, you swore at the morning sun shining once again for the high, wide windows in all the bedrooms. It was on the list to replace the sheer curtains, but fabric that long was hard to find and not cheap to buy.

When Great Aunt Gerdy left you her house, the only wish she had was to ‘preserve, protect, and breath life back into Windflew Manor.’

Sweet, naive Gertrude. Spun of sugar more than flesh, your great aunt had been the youngest of twelve and definitely your favourite family member. Growing up, you fondly remembered spending summers here, riding your bike through the halls on rainy days, playing ‘Pirates and Rogues’ in the backyard with Gerdy and her children.

When you got older you begged to still come to the Manor; Gertrude watched you grow and in her own mind, Auntie Gerdy had assumed you would follow the steps of the women in your family, hunker down with a fine man, pop out some kids every few years.

As you said, Gertrude was tragically naive. Never had the heart to ever tell her the truth. That marriage….Children? Had never even entered the equations of goals. You wanted a spontaneous, fun life full of breakable things. Adventure. 

But also it was known that if you didn’t take this house, it would have gone to an auction. It broke your heart the way her children acted, their mother was one of the greatest women you had ever met, a role model. It was what she wanted. You couldn’t do that to Aunt Gerdy. So with hesitant determination, you had set about restoring Windflew Manor.

Due to funds, you were forced to do most of the work, getting help for a few handier friends. But it had been coming along nicely, room by room the cobwebs and mold were disappearing. It was satisfying work.  

Resting your head against the shower wall, however, you didn’t think you could find the strength to tackle the gardens today. It was all your friend's fault, ‘one more drink (Y/N), we’ve worked so hard!’ 

Exiting the shower, wiping the fog from the mirror, you reflected on how tired the image looked as you moisturized, changing into comfy shorts and a tank top without bothering to properly dry yourself. It was a warm day and you liked the cool moisture mixed with the lotion slicking your skin.

Just as you began brushing your teeth, the doorbell rang multiple times. Who the hell was that this early in the morning? The sound came again, more insistent and you had to roll your eyes.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Hold your horses..” Sprinting down the hallway, trying to steady on the banister, you felt the gravity shift as your feet slid across the hardwood.

You supposed everyone would lament your damned clumsiness, your carelessness. Imprinted on the skin, you held the reminders of how prone to accidents you had been. It had been a joke in the family for years. ‘(Y/N) is gonna kill herself one day!’ 

It was only a matter of time. 

Swing your hand wildly, nothing could be gripped as you felt yourself swinging forward, hurdling towards the twenty-six flight of stairs that as a child, never it was considered it would have spelled your end….  

**

Turns out, it had been nothing more than a neighbor, wanting to let you know the street sweepers would be out tomorrow. 

Life was funny that way. 

Watching in dull horror as the EMT’s took your body away, trying to process the following information.. It came to you so obviously even though it sounded crazy: You weren’t having some out of body experience… You hadn’t taken any hallucinogenic drugs lately.. You were dead. 

Thinking about what the afterlife would have been: Heaven, Hell, Purgatory…. Haunting Auntie’s empty house had not been on the top of the list. 

Time was meaningless now, you could look at the grandfather clock and see two p.m and look five minutes later and see eleven a.m. it was always cold. You cursed not wearing something warmer than your p.j’s that last morning, not that you thought it would have helped. 

Going outside had been a big no-no. Whatever fucked up colossal worm creature had been out there when you tried the one time to leave, was obviously meant to be keeping you here. So here you stayed.

It could have been only a day you spent dead and lonely in the house. Or a week. A month. Years. You were being a little dramatic, you knew it hadn’t been years. Friends and family came by, grieving openly, making your heartbreak; and removing all your items, which was even worse. Obviously to be sold off or stored in your old room. A time capsule.

On one of the many days that found you aimlessly wandering the halls, a book fell before you without pretense. Equal parts startled and puzzled, well as much as a ghost could be, you picked it up.  

‘Handbook for the Recently Deceased..’

Gripping the pages, intent to open, you were halted as your front door swung open. A dozen or so handsome, young men carrying multiple packed things burst into Aunt Gerdy’s foyer, laughing and chatting loudly.  

“Aw, dude this place is awesome!”

“Look at all the space!”

“Get that pong table over there!”

“What the fuck!?”

Stomping forward, you were about to raise your voice louder before you stopped yourself….Right, stupid... They couldn’t see you… The whole ‘being dead thing’.

Watching in impotent rage as they slammed their things on the hardwood floor, scuffing their sneakers on the expensive carpets you had saved every penny for…

This was not good. Not good at all.

**

You had been right.

It wasn’t hard to not like these kids. You weren’t really into the whole ‘boys would be boys’ excuse for male idiocy in their youths. 

You didn’t like the way they treated each other, the archaic ‘hazing’ they would often do leaving you feeling ill. You didn’t like the way they treated the girls they used and laughed as they were forced down the traditional ‘walk of shame’ making you furious.

You especially did not like the way they treated the Manor. It was terrible, gaudy streamers and tacky posters were pinned to the walls. Daily parties...Keggers…. Were held here, the place was a war zone. Litter and garbage cluttered every hall and you were beginning to tear your hair out in helplessness. 

They had turned your Aunt’s treasured home and your hardworking project into a frat house. It was just rude.

What were you gonna do? Time passed and you watched as the house grew further and further into decay when a lightbulb burst unexpectedly. 

Realizing your answer, you hoped the discarded handbook was still where you had dropped it. Returning to the living room, you sighed in relief at seeing the odd-looking text where you left it. Walking up to it, however, you noticed something there that wasn’t there before. 

A card, dusty, and sticking out of a random page. Bending down you began pulling at it, fingering the worn edges. You lifted it up into the light, trying to read it under all the dirt caked on. On the card, it just said one word three times, strangely compelled you said it out loud.

“Betelgeuse… Betelgeuse…. Betelgeuse?”

The burst of smoke made you hack instantly, it was like someone smoked weed in an embalming room, pungent and eye-watering. 

It was a man. Well, no. Not a human man in any case. Duh. You would say this was the weirdest thing to ever happen to you, but nothing was normal after you died apparently.

Observing as he waved his hands, stepping out of the cloud, you couldn’t help the widening of your eyes...He was.. Definitely interesting looking.. 

“Geez, did I come late to the party or what-… Woah.”  

He looked awful and smelt even worse, and why the hell was he here?

The… Character that stepped had gone silent. Awkward and stilted, you struggled to speak. It couldn’t help being noticed his... Hair was changing colour… Most certainly going from an almost neon green to baby pink…. What was he? 

“Don’t be afraid. You’re dead. I am also dead.” There was a moment before an incredulous giggle escaped your lips, you couldn’t help but realize it had been the first time you laughed since.. Well..

“Yeah, I figured that. From... You know… Seeing my dead body get taken away.” The two of you stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, the silence deafening. 

Before he pounced. Flouncing over in a comical manner, he began to circle you, the humour disappearing from you at the look in his eye. 

“Huh, that line usually doesn’t work.. You’re surprisingly calm..” Turning your head until you couldn’t anymore, you swiveled striving for eye contact. He completed his journey around and stood in front of you, seeming to be searching for something. Before he held his grimey hand out…. The intense desire to hesitate held you still. 

It didn’t seem to deter him in the slightest.

“Hello! A pleasure to meetcha-” Leaning forward, you realized in just enough time what he was doing before he could press his lips to yours, jumping back. 

“Uh, excuse me!?” 

“Can’t blame a demon for trying, babes. Anyways uh… What can I do for you?” He fidgeted with his jacket, pulling at the cuffs and flapping the lapels, wafting his stench towards you making you gag. Covering your nose you murmured beyond belief.

“What do you mean?”

“Well usually I only get called when someone needs something from me….. Bio-exorcism. Homicide. Sexual pleasure. I do it all.” This guy couldn’t actually be serious… You shook your head, none of this was helping. You had gone to the book for an answer and had only gotten even more questions. 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about dude, I just found this card in this book. Anyways, what is happening right now? Who are you and why can you see me?”

Snickering, he continued to very eagerly invade your personal space and it was getting harder to find the space in the living room. The predator was cornering.

“You said my name, sexy. You called me.” 

What kind of name was Betelgeuse? Deciding immediately to shorten it for ease, you opened your mouth but apparently, he was on a roll, and continued. 

“And I already told you.. We’re dead. Deceased. Post Mortem.” Bumping into the wall, just hearing the words from someone else’s lips made you stop… Well, dead. Pun intended. Before they could be halted tears were gathering in your eyes… You weren’t even that emotional about it anymore, had already spent endless nights sobbing about what-ifs and regrets...Not for a while, still, it never got any easier to think about. 

Trying and failing miserably to hide the sniffles, you peered at BJ’s surprised expression. 

“Shit...shit..shit. I didn’t mean to do that…. Don’t cry,” Wiping at stubborn tears that fell against your wishes, you could see BJ shuffle his feet, looking extremely uncomfortable at your sudden breakdown. You tried to calm him, ironically.

“No, I’m fine. It’s just… Not been that great so far... Sometimes I think I might be in hell.” Staring at the ground, you had the overwhelming wish once again for it to finally swallow you whole and take you where you belonged.

“Is it… Your current occupants?”

“It certainly doesn’t help.” Looking up at BJ’s tilted head and rapt expression, the need to confide was making you continue.

“My Aunt left me this house and… I’ve hated seeing what they're doing to it.” BJ looked to be contemplating something before he spoke.

“I could help you.”

You looked at him “What do you mean?”

“I told you.. Again... Sweetheart, you’re smokin’ hot but your memory’s shit. I’m a Bio-exorcist. Getting breathers out is my forte. Well, most breathers can’t see me… But I can teach you! Breathers are waay more likely to see a ghost than a demon.” Riveted by what he was saying, you didn’t realize his pursuit until you felt his grip sound your waist, pulling you closer.

“Mmm… Get you in a little school uniform.. Give you extra credit...” Blatantly ignoring him, focusing on the important part of what he said. 

“What you’re saying is we can get these kids out of here?”

“Of course babes. I take my job very seriously.” Shooting him an incredulous look, you managed to extract from him without much ease, he was really touchy for someone you just met.

“Yeah, I noticed…”

This was insanity. You weren’t actually considering letting this.. Demon?! To teach you how to scare the young men living in your house. It was dangerous and crazy.

Even more, there was no other option. Desperate times.

“Then you’re hired,”

“Oh, this is gonna be so good!” Once again having to duck away from his advance, you pressed a hand to the dirty front of his suit, holding him at bay.

“Stop that,”

“Hmm... Playing hard to get, I respect that.”

Maybe this wasn’t a great idea.

**

In hindsight, it worked out perfectly. Beej, as he had assured, was very good at his job. Just because that job entailed scaring the shit out of anyone and anything around him shouldn’t be held against him. 

Once again, incredulously if you had known in your life that your love of horror movies would have come in handy in your afterlife, you would have paid much more attention.  

Beej was impressed with your novice skill. The voice throwing came naturally to you, and your favourite trick was hiding in the corner of one of their bedrooms, positioning your arms and legs at odd angles and whispering to the sleeping boys, stifling giggles as they awoke, petrified and flew downstairs, waking everyone else in the house.

None of them could actually see you, but you had sworn the one redheaded one had locked eyes in the bathroom mirror, the two of you paused before the urge to scare rapidly left and the need to leave arose. Walking out the bathroom his eyes had definitely followed. 

He never told his friends about it, but BJ had said he watched him lay awake more than one night, clutching his sheets a little too tight. 

Possession was something you felt was unnecessary. Beej had often offered to uh.. Show you how it worked but the thought of BJ well.. Inside of you… It made your skin crawl and you didn’t know if it was from repulsion or excitement.

BJ was.. Unexpected in the best way. Devilishly Intelligent. Hilarious and.. You saw glimpses of his sweetness. He bashfully gave you dead flowers from the garden and was constantly sending you praises that would make you blush if you still had blood. How beautiful you were, how great of a scarer you were…. After getting over the whole stink thing, he was really cute and you might have been... Falling for him. Just the thought made you terrified. 

It all came to an end gradually. It was unexpected, you thought it would have been some big final fright, using all of your cunning ghostly powers. But no, one by one they just disappeared. Claiming to be moving back with family, dropping out, or simply leaving for ‘reasons’.

On the day you stood in the kitchen, now empty save for a few left behind appliances, the beaming smile sent to BJ couldn’t be contained.

“We did it.”

“You did it, babes. I was uh- Just along for the ride, I guess.”

Shifting closer to him, you saw with amusement Beej staring at your lips. The BJ of before would have taken your closeness as an immediate seduction, trying his luck. Now the fact he was trying to control himself, made your heart swell. 

The moment was broken by the sound of the front door opening, you held your breath to see who, or what entered.

A beautiful couple entered, followed by an obvious real estate agent, discussing the house. The couple seemed too good to be true, polite, and awed at the house. Seeing the little bundle of a baby tucked in the mother’s arm as they continued their inspection. You supposed in a way Aunt Gertrude had gotten her wish. And that could be enough.

You turned to Beej watching the scene with an odd countenance.   

“Thank you BJ, really. I’ve had a lot of fun.” You finally noticed. There was purple in his hair, something was making him sad.

“Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye?” 

Oh. oh.

Struggling to answer him, you watched as he further sank in himself. “I read the book, BJ..The Netherworld… Shouldn’t I be…”

“Not yet! Once you get there… We won’t be able to see each other this much... Haven’t we been having fun?” 

“Of course but-”

“Don’t leave!” His voice was frantic, higher-pitched than you ever heard, you couldn’t find the words to calm him.

“Please! I’ll… I’ve been looking into something…” The moment took the oddest turn when Beej practically flew to his knees, reaching out to you to clasp your hands between his before clearly speaking two words you never imagined him saying.

“Marry me.”

The words shocked you. Scandalized, you said the one thing you could.

“Beetlejuice!” That wasn’t it, the look on his face broke you. It was pitiful, desperate.

“No nonono say something else babes, let me explain!” You reached out, stroking his stubble as his giant, golden eyes glittered at you with so many emotions swirling.

“I’m not gonna send you away Beej, stop please.” Taking deep breaths between you, the urge to sink to the floor with him ran over you. Somewhere in your mind you realized how stupid this was, two ghosts having a panic attack in the kitchen, but weirder things have happened.

“If I… Marry a breather. I get brought to life. So I’ve been thinking..” Beej was asking to marry you.. Could ghosts and demons even get married? Would you have a wedding? Invite other ghosts to the ceremony?

“I don’t know BJ… We don’t even know if it will work,” You hadn’t said ‘no’ yet. At the moment, you couldn’t find the desire to do so. You liked Beej, it was the little things in death you realized that mattered. 

“What have we got to lose?.. I thought..”

Looking at him, on the floor with you. Overwhelmed with affection, you leaned forward, noting with glee Beej’s astonishment. Kissing the ghost with the most was... Everything and nothing what you expected. His tasted like cigarettes and dirt, still you leaned into him more.

The one thing that could make death totally rad. Being with him. He was absolutely right. Pulling away, looking at his blissed out face, eyes staying closed, you gave him your answer. 

“Yes. Okay. I’ll marry you.”

[chipsfics]

Part 5: Basement

Part 5 is here!!

rated: PG (for injury and swearing)

~~~~

A few weeks later, Tissues and Yinyang had fallen into a sort of rhythm. Get up, get breakfast, sit in the front room and play video games- they still seemed closer than ever, although they weren't making any progress getting better at playing the games. Sometimes the ruckus from Yinyang's rage (mostly Yang's) would annoy the other residents at the hotel. Other than that, things had fallen into a nice, consistent normal. Boring, but normal. Mostly.

It was something small, but... Every odd night, if any thoughts at all, Tissues was thinking about that tiny door they'd found under the wallpaper. What else could the hotel be hiding? Between twisting orange hallways, leaky ceilings and peeling wallpaper- The hotel already seemed like the perfect place to house mysteries. That, or cockroaches. It was the first time in a long time that Tissues had something to think about, to worry about, to wonder about. Most of the time he was just concerned with surviving, any way he can, and keeping himself entertained cooped up while Inanimate Insanity draws closer to curtains. 

It was a bright pink evening, the sunset dazzling and painting the hotel's dusty windows like a canvas. A couple contestants were outside watching the sun go down, but Tissues was in bed, staring at the humming ceiling fan, as he often found himself doing. Around 7pm, if he had the mind and strength to be tossing and turning he would have been. That secret door was there all along, he'd probably walked past it a few times- What other secrets lie hiding, impossibly old, right under his nose, right under his feet? It made him shiver. He wondered if Yinyang thought about it as much as he did, or even at all.

Since their discovery, of course, everyone else in the hotel noticed the door too. The general consensus seemed to be "Huh, weird." OJ seemed a bit upset (mostly confused), but didn't feel like figuring out how to re-wallpaper the peeled area. And of course, nobody had figured out it was them who had uncovered it, or that it had previously housed those mysterious magazines. Tissues sighed, willing himself up into a sitting position and fetching his tattered old journal from his side table's drawer. Once he flipped to the first blank page, a thought hit Tissues sudden as a train and heavy as a bag of bricks.

"Does the hotel have a basement?" 

Tissues, his heart momentarily racing, grabbed his worn out ballpoint pen sitting askew on his bedside table, and quickly scribbled his chickenscratch between the snot-splotched lined paper of the cheap notebook, neglecting to write the date and filling up the page with his large, rough handwriting. 

"DEAR DIARY:" (he wrote in all-caps) "DOES THE HOTEL HAVE A BASEMENT?" (this is when he stopped for a moment, furrowed his brow and chewed on the pen's lid-) "IF SO, WHAT IS IT HIDING..? I KNOW THAT THE ELEVATOR DOESNT GO BELOW F1 BUT IVE NEVER TAKEN THE STAIRS AND THEY MIGHT GO DEEPER. I MIGHT INVITE YY TO CHECK IT OUT WITH ME." (YY is shorthand for Yinyang.) "ON SECOND THOUGHT, NO THEY PROBABLY ARENT INTERESTED IN IT. THE LAST THING I WANT IS TO BE ANY MORE ANNOYING THEN I ALREADY AM." (Tissues scoffed, and put his journal back into the cupboard.) Tissues flopped back down onto his bed and stared at the same old ceiling fan. A small black bug crawled across the lightbulb. Tissues sniffed. The wall clock tick-tocked until it hit 7:23pm. Frenzied thoughts bubbled inside Tissues' mind until they felt like they were going to boil over and out his ears. 

Once he reached for his water bottle and noticed his hand shaking slightly- He decided that tonight was the night. A determined but nervous feeling swept over his body as he huffed and forced himself out of bed and out the door- To the staircase. It was a plain, short walk down, carpeted stairs with nothing to trip or slip on- A short safe staircase. He gulped. Did he trust himself enough to make it down even these easy stairs? 

The dizzy, nervous feeling that made his stomach plunge the two story drop before he did wasn't helping much- He grabbed onto the handrail with a white-knuckle grip. He took a slow step downward, and his head spun- The staircase beneath him seemed to sprawl out into endless darkness. He wasn't about to give up, though. He shook himself off and continued walking down the stairs one step at a time, two steps per stair- Step, step. Step, step. He was making progress! Step, step. Step, step. Once he made it halfway down, he stopped to catch his breath, and.... Oh no. Sniff, Sniff.... He felt a sneeze coming on. Ah... Ah.....

ACHOO! 

Tissues stumbled back and attempted to hang onto the handrail- he tripped over the side and fell, for what seemed like ages, down, down, down, and rolled banging into every odd step on the way down.

"Oof.... Ughh....." Tissues forced himself up, bruised and tattered from his fall, and found himself on cold concrete. Had he ever been on this floor...? It took him a moment to readjust, but as he looked around, rubbing his sore head, he realized that F1 didn't have any concrete. This must be it. The basement.

~~~~

It was dusty and completely dark- cold with a chill that seemed almost too appropriate for such a spooky place. Tissues rummaged around inside his head to pull out his phone and flashed the light into the deep darkness- It cut through the inky blackness like a beacon. Tissues shone it around the room slowly and nervously- illuminating large shapes draped in old white sheets of fabric. Tissues' heart raced before he realized it was probably just furniture with a dust covering- Yeah, just furniture. He sighed. He crept into the strange and cavernous room- His small footsteps echoing through the basement, reverberating clear and crisp as the dark, cold air. He shivered. 

He more he looked around, the weirder the basement got. Cloth-draped chairs and couches and even what appeared to be a small TV set or strangely-shaped table seemed to be arranged as if whoever was using this room just... up and left. It looked like a living room for ghosts. The furniture itself also seemed to be localized around the middle of the room- The rest of the room seemed strangely vacant except for a few stray cardboard boxes stacked on one another.

"The basement can't just be this room, can it? It's an entire floor, is the rest just filled in? It can't be. There's got to be more," Tissues thought, circumventing the room once again, looking for a door, a bricked-off passageway, something that he could use to explore the rest of this strange place. It seemed, after a few minutes of looking around, to be a concrete prison. 

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp.

Tissues froze. 

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp.

Footsteps. Getting closer. echoing down the staircase, heartbeat racing, no way out but up. Between fight or flight, Tissues chose freeze. He stood like a deer in the headlights, holding his flashlight at the entrance, his hand shaking like a paint mixer. 

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp.

Closer, closer, down the stairs, Tissues had no idea why he was so afraid- It was probably just another resident at the hotel. If it was OJ, he might've gotten in trouble, but some strange part of him felt like he was an intruder. Like whoever is coming down the stairs right now was following after him for a reason. As the shadow came into view, in a moment of pure adrenaline, Tissues flung his cell phone at whoever it was that was following him. It hit them straight in the forehead.

"Ow, what the hell?!"

Relief washed over Tissues as he immediately recognized the voice.

"Y.....Yinyang?" Tissues said timidly.

As the familiar face came into view, rubbing his forehead, picking up the cell phone that had gone skidding across the concrete floor moments before. 

"Of course you dumbass, who else?" Yinyang said, shining the flashlight at the bewildered, blinking Tissues. "What are you doing down here? Are you ok?"

"Umm oh. Ohhhh... You-" Tissues stuttered, blushing. "You came down here to check on me?"

"The hell do you mean?" Yang growled, "Of course I did!" Yin continued, walking up to Tissues and inspecting him closer. "You fell down 2 flights of stairs! Are you injured?"

From the sheer adrenaline of the situation, Tissues didn't seem to notice, but his knee was scraped pretty badly. "Ah... Yeah. A lil bit. My knee," He said, gesturing to his left leg. 

"You dumbass!" Yang cursed. "Why did you- Why did you try and go down the stairs alone in the first place? You know-" Yang sighed. "Why are you even in the basement? There's nothing in here but old storage space," 

Tissues sniffed. "Umm... well... ahh... umm..." Tissues seemed to be getting a little bit choked up. "Umm... y'know how we found the old- the little door? After we..." Tissues took a deep, shaky breath. "I wanted to see if the hotel had any more secrets like that. Yknow... cause, I have so much time to think, and it was just bothering me... I thought- It can't be just that, there's got to be more- I guess i just wasn't thinking." Tissues wiped his nose.

"Oh, Tissues..." Yinyang said, his voice soft. "We should go back upstairs. I'll get you patched up," Yinyang continued, patting him on the head gently. “I was worried about you!

"You're probably right..." Tissues sighed, and limped to the doorway, Yinyang letting him lean on his shoulder. On his way out, he leaned against the wall, and his fingers came into contact with something smooth and cool, completely different from the texture of the concrete walls. He froze.

"Wait-" He said. "I feel something." He continued, trailing his hand farther up and feeling something akin to a lightswitch. He flicked it on, and the basement was instantly illuminated- causing Yinyang and Tissues to squint and turn around.

"Huh. I found the lightswitch!" Tissues laughed, and scanning the room in the light, it didn't look as scary as before- and one thought was present in his mind. 

"Hey, this could make a really cool hangout spot if you just fixed it up a little bit." 

It was like another lightbulb came on dinging bright above Tissues' head.

As Yinyang worriedly ushered him back up the stairs and into his room, Tissues was busy smiling, ideas silently buzzing in his head as Yinyang cursed him out while tenderly wrapping blue bandages around his knee. 

The moment he left, Tissues pulled out his journal and hurriedly wrote something in big, messy lettering:

"BASEMENT SUITE...?"

~~~~

[theinfinitybucky]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x reader (platonic, “siblings”)

Summary: Before the reader joined the Avengers, she was doctor who was tortured by HYDRA and given the power to heal or kill. When Bucky returns, they become close friends who are forced to act as a married couple so they can foil the plans of someone who plots to create a nuclear bomb and destroy half the world.

Trigger Warnings for this Chapter: PTSD related themes

Chapter One

MASTERLIST

Another night without sleep you thought to yourself as you finally pulled yourself out of the blistering hot covers. You lowered yourself off the bed and stood up with a sigh. Maybe a glass of water would help. It was like you had drank a cup of coffee before going to bed every night all though no latte had gone down your throat. You dragged yourself down the stairs in frustration because it was only one in the morning and you had a lengthy night ahead of you.

Sleep never came easily to you. It had become incredibly difficult to even get an hour after your time with HYDRA. Some days were worse than others. In the month since Bucky had showed up, it seemed to have taken a turn for the terrible. Bucky had brought back memories that you had buried in the past few years since you had gotten back to America. It wasn’t that you disliked Bucky, it was more so the fact that he brought up things that you thought you would not have to relive. He was currently going through what you had gone through two years before. You tried to avoid him to avoid the memories he triggered. You walked down the stairs into the living room to get to the obscenely large kitchen. You flipped a light on and pulled a glass out of the cabinet. For a split second a memory passed.

The room was freezing and the only warm you could even find was from the small lightbulb in the corner. You huddled over by it, hoping that somehow that one small flickering light would save you from frostbite. They had killed everyone. Their dried blood was still on your hands. You could have saved them. The gun shots had rung out of nowhere and struck multiple people in the platoon you were working with. You attempted to render the medical attention that you knew. It was no use. You attackers enclosed too quickly and there was no escaping. They had taken you to whatever the terrible place was. You had no idea who they were or what they wanted, but you would find that out all too soon.

A chill ran over the back of your neck and down your whole body covering it in goosebumps as you remembered the frigid room that HYDRA had kept you in. You heard someone sneaking up behind you. There was a sudden urge to reach for one of the kitchen knives on the counter. You were still on edge from the passing memory. You resisted the urge and turned to see Steve leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“How are the nightmares?” Steve’s voice made you jerk around quickly. 

    “You know you shouldn’t creep up on me like that.” You snapped at him in an attempt to avoid the question he asked.

    Steve saw straight through your diversion. “I know something’s wrong. You’ve been acting… off.” You stirred through your brain for a moment as you tried to decide what to tell him. Steve had been there for you through it all. He knew about all the nights you paced the Avengers compound. He was like your brother and he thought of you as a sister.

“I can never heal myself. At least in this sense.” You muttered without looking him in the eye. The refrigerator began to hum softly in the background. You leaned against the cool marble of the kitchen counter. Steve sighed and ran a hand over his face. It pained him to see you turning back to your old habits.

“Is this because of Bucky?” He wondered and you continued to avoid the eye contact therefore answering the question.

“I’m fine.” You interjected.

He began in a stressed tone, “God, Y/N. I wish the two of you would just talk to each other or at least interact. I know that you don’t want to, but please do this for me.” You took in his request for a second. He had done so much for you. He had extracted you from HYDRA and this was all that he had ever asked of you. You nodded in respect of his request. It would not be easy to get yourself to open up with Bucky. Bucky might not want to open up to you either. The least you could do is attempt to interact with him. He was Steve’s best friend so he couldn’t be that bad… Or he wasn’t that bad in the past.

Steve stayed up with you for a bit then eventually left because he was getting tired himself. You dragged yourself back to the bedroom a few hours later and fell asleep at around 4 am only to wake up an hour later to your alarm clock. A day of training was ahead of you and you hoped that would let exhaustion overcome you later so you could sleep.

Later that same night, you tried to go sleep as your muscles ached from the long day. Sleep came more easily than the night before. You finally drifted off into the opening arms of what was sleep. Another nightmare waited to flare up in your mind. Only this was more of a memory...

“Would you let her die for you?” Von Strucker whispered in your ear. You watched the dark haired woman scream as a blade was raked across her skin.

“No.” You said through gritted teeth as your wrists jerked beneath the handcuffs that held you to the chair on both sides. You had been stuck inside the walls of HYDRA somewhere in eastern Europe for months now. They had taken everything from you. Every last soldier who had ever said your name was dead. Now they used people you had never met as leverage. You learned their stories.

She would bleed out soon if you didn’t cave. You wished that you could lose your conscience sometimes. You yearned for the day that these random lives no longer mattered to you. In the back of your mind, you thought of what kept you in these situations… A mother, a daughter, a son, a father. You may have lost everything, yet the families that arrived every week kept you here.

“Stop!” You yelled before they struck the woman’s carotid with the blade of the knife. The man who was in charge of the torture paused and glanced to von Strucker. The man lifted a finger for the torturer to wait. Your voice came out with a quiver, “Who do I have to kill…”

Just as von Strucker was about to speak you jerked in the bed. Your body was covered in sweat and your heart was racing. You breathed heavily and pulled your hair away from your face. You sat up in the bed and caught your breath. You would never be able to forget what you had done. All the lives you had taken away without even one touch. You still had the ability to kill someone if they were in the same room. Steve had taught you that you could use your powers to heal and that was the only thing that kept you going.

You tried to snap your thoughts away from the past. You got out of the warm bed that never put you to sleep. Your throat was dry as a Sahara desert. Some water was all you needed, you told yourself. You walked down the long hall to the kitchen. You heard snoring as you passed some of your team member’s rooms. As you neared the kitchen, you saw the lights were already on.

    You rounded the corner to find Bucky sitting at the counter with a book. He glanced up and his eyes caught your own. You didn’t take note of the title as he set it down. He uncomfortably shifted in the chair.

    “Guess I’m not the only one who couldn’t sleep.” His tone came out smoothly. The whole situation was awkward in a sense. You had been avoiding him and surely he knew it. The moment he would enter a room you would leave. You wanted to leave now. The thought of Steve requesting you to make friends with Bucky ran across your mind. Now was your chance.

    “No, I suppose not.” You told him softly. You pulled out the stool next to him and took a seat in it. He was surprised by the gesture but didn’t question it in the moment. You sat there for a second trying to figure out what to say next. You hoped Bucky would say something yet he did not. He sat there without looking at you while also not picking his book back up.

    “Why can’t you sleep?” You queried him.

    He glanced downward for a second trying to determine if he was going to tell you the truth. “Nightmares,” He decided. “Or memories.” You watched him and waited for him to offer up more. As a few seconds passed, you realized that he would not be telling you more. 

“You have to talk about it with someone. I know how the story goes. You say, ‘I’m fine’ and then tell them you don’t want to talk about it. Then you never do. You never release that burden…” His blue eyes met your own. You deciphered the look on his face as shock. He hadn’t expected for you to offer up anything like this. “Look, I know what HYDRA was like. You can lie to everyone else, but I see through it. What comes after the war is the real battle…”

You trailed off. You began to decipher what you were doing to do next. Would you tell him how you had gotten here?

You began your story even though he didn’t ask for it, “I did things that would make your skin crawl before I was even part of HYDRA. I’ve stuffed men’s intestines back inside their body with my bare hands in the field, but isn’t what broke me.” You paused for a second as the pang of a memory arose. You gritted your teeth together for a second so you were able to fight it off this time.

“Before HYDRA, I was a doctor in the army. My parents died when I was 16 so the army was my only chance at making a life for myself. They paid for my education and in turn I did two tours. The first one was not that bad. The second… was different. HYDRA stormed the camp we had made. HYDRA was shooting up the place then the bomb went off and that’s where it all kind of goes black...”

Bucky watched as you revealed what he never thought you would. Steve had told him that you were very private about what happened. The only other person on the team who even had any idea of your past was Steve. Bucky did not interrupt because he didn’t want to ask for any more information than you planned on giving. He knew that he wouldn’t want to reveal any extra details.

“I’m not sure what happened for the first six months. I just know that I woke up and felt different. They performed various tests on me until they figured out what I could do.” You swallowed at the thought of the trials. “That’s when it began getting bad…”

“Y/N. You don’t have to tell me this.” Bucky touched your hand. You didn’t pull away.

“I want to.” You told him the truth. He left his hand on your own as you continued. The small amount of touch was comforting and anchored you to reality. “I spent two years there. They brought civilians in for two years. Every day would be a new person and every day I would cave. I know that I did more damage by doing what they wanted, I hate-.”

Bucky cut you off, “Dont-.”

“What?”

“Don’t hate yourself for things you did under duress.” You stared into his eyes as you tried to understand how he could say that. You knew he hated what he had done too. How could he give this advice, but not take it.

“You know I could say the same thing to you.” You told him with a lopsided smile. He cracked a small smile of his own. 

“You could.” Bucky sighed and looked at his hand which was still on yours. Why neither of you were pulling away was a mystery. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve killed good people. The one thing that always haunts me is their faces. I will never forget one.” Your eyes locked with his. This may have been the start of a great friendship.

Thank you for reading. Please give a like, reply, or reblog for more content in the future. I also am taking one shot requests go ahead and send your idea in to see it brought to life!

[aye-write]

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex​

*****

Chapter Two

The kitchen was teeming with heat when Isla walked in. Everyone’s eyes flickered towards her, leaving her feeling very much like a prized Miltank on show. Heat crept into her cheeks. She glanced around, trying to find somewhere to let her gaze settle. Skye and Blair were working through plates of pancakes. Kenneth leaned against the countertop sipping black coffee. Rhona had her sleeves rolled up and was tending to something on the stove. Anxiety spiked in her chest. Discounting Nana Morag, she was the last one up.

“Good morning!” Isla said, trying to inject cheer into her voice.

Rhona turned around to face her. “Good morning, chick!”

She was smiling. Good. At least Isla knew she hadn’t committed some unspeakable faux pas before it even turned ten in the morning.

“Have a seat,” Rhona continued. “Do you want tea? Breakfast? It’s just pancakes today, so I hope you like them.”

What kind of world did she live in where home-made pancakes were “just pancakes”? Rhona obviously didn’t get enough appreciation. “I love them! And tea would be grand, thank you.”

“Help yourself, there’s some in the pot.”

A fat teapot sat in the middle of the table with a brown tea cosy pulled around it. Fixed with a pair of floppy wings and a crocheted head, the Pokemon it was supposed to represent looked like a fatter, happier version of Rhona’s Ruchter. Isla sploshed milk into her tea from a jug that looked suspiciously like a Miltank and loaded it with sugar, the first sip sending a pleasant, energising warmth through her.

The tea worked its magic on Isla, but everyone else looked pale and withdrawn, like they’d woken up on low battery. Isla sipped her tea and battled between two impulses that both felt equally rude.

Eventually, she settled on, “Is there anything I can help you with today? Like around the croft or… or anything?”

Blair leant back into his chair and stretched. “It’s all done,” he said. Something in his back popped, the noise like a gun going off.

Isla blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. We start at six.”

“In the morning?”

Everyone stopped. Kenneth’s eyes found Isla’s over the rim of his coffee mug.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I just didn’t… hear anything.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to help out with anything,” Rhona said kindly. “And we didn’t want to wake you either. Especially with last night’s storm. We’re used to it here, but it can be quite distracting for folks not local.”

Isla had almost forgotten about the storm. The mention sent the image of the child from last night flashing into her head like the sear of a lightbulb. Her fingers tightened around her mug of tea. “Yeah,” she heard her voice waver. “The thunder and lightning were something else.”

Rhona’s eyebrows creased. “Thunder and lightning?”

“Yeah,” Isla said. Then she saw everyone else’s expression. “You guys didn’t hear it? It was like… It was like the world was coming to an end out there.”

They all returned blank looks.

“Well, did you guys notice the power going off?” Isla tried. “About 3am, I think it was.”

“I was asleep,” Skye said, spearing her pancakes and oozing sauce all over the table.

“So was I,” Rhona said, and Kenneth nodded his agreement. Isla was beginning to wonder if that man ever spoke.

Everyone looked at Blair, who bristled under their stares.

“I don’t remember the power going off,” he said, swilling the liquid in his mug. It smelled bitter and strong. Black coffee. No wonder.

“Then you didn’t see the—” Isla stopped herself. What would they think if she told them what she saw? She wasn’t even sure she knew what it was. Something deep inside her told her to hang onto it. At least for now. At least until she could do some further research.

Luckily, her trailing off went unnoticed as Rhona put a plate of pancakes down in front of her. She busied herself adding sugar and a squeeze of lemon as conversation slowly resumed around the kitchen table.

“So what’s on your agenda today, Isla?” Rhona asked, sitting down heavily in the spare chair.

“I’d like to get started on my research,” Isla replied, her mouth full of soft, fluffy pancake. “I brought some books and copies of old script with me, so I’d like to start organising my thoughts and think about what I’d like to tackle first.”

The others nodded politely as Isla explained her plans. Kenneth was the first to leave, dumping his coffee mug in the sink and ducking outside. Isla saw him lumbering towards the field of Wooloo in the distance a few moments later. After that, the rest of the family moved off like falling dominoes, until it was only Rhona and Isla left at the table.

“You’ll need the Wi-Fi password,” Rhona said, tearing off a strip of paper. “You might have a couple of wee connection issues since you’re a bit far away from the router, but you can always come down and work in the living room if you need to. Here,” she handed Isla the paper with the code. “We’ll try keep out of your way. We’ll be out working on the croft for a bit. Skye’s got some work to do in her room, but she should give you peace. Oh, and help yourself to anything you like from the fridge. Lunch will be about 1 o’clock. I’ll shout you down or I can take something up to you if you like?”

“It’s okay, Rhona,” Isla interrupted gently. “You’re doing so much for me at as it is. I’ll come down for lunch. I’ll probably need the distraction,” she paused. “Thank you, Rhona. I mean it.”

“It’s okay, chick. We’re family. That’s what we do.”

With that, Rhona headed out, leaving Isla standing in the kitchen, fighting a lump the size of a walnut in her throat. A minute to compose herself and she turned with renewed determination towards the stairs.

Back in her room, with the door shut against the world, she let out a long, slow sigh. The bedroom wasn’t the best as far as study spaces went. It was pretty small for a start. And like everything else in the house, it was cluttered and claustrophobic. But it was welcomely cool after the humid heat of the kitchen and after taking ten minutes to straighten up her things and clear the desk of all the tat and mess, she was starting to see its potential as a working space.

Isla unearthed her laptop from under a pile of clothes and plugged it in. As it chuntered into life, she released Soba, who curled herself up into a tight ball on the rumpled bedclothes. The WiFi was a bit dodgy as Rhona had fretted, but it was serviceable. As long as it didn’t drop entirely whenever she’d have to have a video call with the university department, she’d be fine.  

For the first ten minutes, she picked between a handful of internet tabs tuned to information she’d found vaguely useful in the initial research stage. Now that she was supposed to actually make sense of it all and turn it into something halfway presentable, it was like her brain had stalled entirely.

No, she told herself. She wouldn’t be beaten. She clicked open a new Word document and started to type.

To Do For Thesis:

Get translations for Kildonian Chessmen texts

Interview locals about legends

Find, research, and visit rumoured Chessmen resting places

Research divide in Kildonian population (Vitalities?)

 She paused, then added in:

Find out what was in the garden on the night of the storm.

**

A knock at the bedroom door startled her. Soba’s ears pricked up as Isla dragged herself back to reality. What was the time? She glanced at the clock. Nearly midday. Almost three hours had gone by no quicker than a blink as she clicked through research articles and flicked through books.

Scrambling to her feet, she answered the door to Nana Morag’s lined face. She was smiling, in a sort of mischievous way, one side of the mouth curved more upwards than the other.

“Heard you had a little powercut last night,” she said, conspiringly.

“Yeah,” Isla rubbed the back of her neck. “I think it must have skipped the rest of the house though. Or… or maybe it was just my imagination.”

“You think so?”

“I mean, it could have been,” Isla said, half-wondering why she was trying to rationalise it. “I was pretty tired. My mind could have been playing tricks on me.”

“Hm,” Nana Morag didn’t sound convinced. She glanced back down the hallway, before taking a step closer. “Isla, have you heard of Basinish Island?” When Isla shook her head, Nana Morag’s whole face illuminated. “Basinish Island is a small, abandoned island off the coast of Port Glen. About three or four miles…. that direction,” she pointed over Isla’s shoulder, past the window and towards the tracing-paper grey sky. “Legend has it that you can walk there and back from Port Glen on days when the tide goes out. Of course, no-one ever tries. It’s very dangerous.”

“Okay,” Isla said, wondering exactly what Nana Morag was getting at. “What does this have to do with—”

“There’s rumours that Voltean – the Electric Vitality – lives out that way. Of course, it’s never been proven,” she said, in an off-hand way like she was telling Isla the brands of cereal in the cupboards. “But I thought you might like to read about them in this.”

Nana Morag pressed a thick hardback book into Isla’s hands.

“This is an old text,” Nana Morag continued. “There are some newer edits now, but I think you still might find it relevant. Especially for your research. It’s translated, so it might read a little funny. But there should be plenty there to keep you occupied.”

Isla looked through the book in awe. Pages of intricate illustrations and small, looped writing teased her from within. She could barely get her words out to thank Nana Morag. Soba purred and chirruped from the bed in appreciation.

“Nana Morag, thank you so much. I’ll take really good care of it. I promise.”

“Not to worry, Isla. You seem to have your head screwed on tight. If there’s anything in there you need some help with decoding, you let me know and I’ll try and help.”

“That would be wonderful. I was actually wondering if I could ask another favour of you,” Isla said, feeling opportunity shoulder its way in. “I have some old translations about the Kildonian Chessmen and I need some help translating them. Could you help?”

“I can do one better,” Nana Morag said. “Come along to my class this afternoon. I teach the young ones how to read and write the old language. I find there’s so much more meaning in having done the work myself. Don’t you agree?”

The expectation trickled down Isla’s back like a sliver of ice. Would she have the time to learn for something like that? Surely it would only take a couple of hours, tops, for someone to translate the documents rather than possible weeks to learn even the basics of an entire ancient language? It didn’t seem like a good trade off. But Nana Morag had already been so kind to her. And there was no telling how she’d react if she refused. Maybe if she showed willing now, Nana Morag would be more flexible later.

Isla clutched the book to her chest. “When does it start?”

“I’ll be leaving now,” Nana Morag said, her eyes gleaming.

“Alright,” Isla nodded. “I’m with you.”

**

Nana Morag lead Isla towards a small community centre, off a narrow lane from the high street. The whole area was residential, cluttered with redbrick terraces and full of people going around their daily business even with the biting wind and the overhanging threat of rain. Nana Morag was stopped nearly a dozen times by passers-by, each one making the same guarded enquiries about Isla, wondering who she “belonged to”. Isla couldn’t tell if they were pleased or not when Nana Morag explained they were family.

The classroom was perfect for children, bright, colourful, and visually appealing, but its cheery theme did little to soften the sharp edges of anxiety in Isla’s stomach. It spiked even more when she sat down, on a too-small chair that creaked every time she even considered moving.

Nana Morag didn’t call attention to Isla when the children came in for her class, which she was eternally grateful for. Along with the rest of the children, she was given an easy-reader book in Old Kildonian, a language heavy with vowels and punctuated with strange looping symbols. There was also a sheet of paper, typed in large print, with what looked like an alphabet and a few short words paired with an English equivalent. Isla stared at them until her eyes went blurry. She couldn’t even figure out how to make her mouth contort itself to make those noises. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The words were simple. Too simple. Words for “Mum”, “Dad”, “good”, “nice”, “friend”, and other twee phrases ran through her head. Not even a full sentence. Not even “Mum is nice”, “my friend is good”, just words, scattered over the page as if they were plucked from the ether. How would this help her? How could she translate complicated archaic documents with these basics?

The class hadn’t even started yet. Nana Morag was still talking to a parent while the children shouted and ran around the tables, obviously too overstimulated even before the lesson began. And Isla was spiralling. She could feel it percolating within her. As her breath raced out, she tried to clear her head.

This wouldn’t do. It couldn’t. Even if she attended one of these classes every day for a month, she’d be nowhere near ready to decode the Chessmen documents herself. She didn’t have that time to waste. The exhibition in Hydrogate opened in three weeks and she still had most of the region to see. Places to go. People to interview. Legends to find. She just couldn’t do it.

A blip pinged her phone, making her jump. While Nana Morag’s back was turned, still in conversation, Isla slid it out of her pocket and looked at it under the table.

Isla,

The Anthropology Department is concerned that you have not yet been in touch to update on your project. As such, we are writing to inform you that we have arranged a video conference with you at 1pm Johto Standard Time in two days’ time. Please follow the link below to attend your slot.

The department would like you to prepare a short presentation to highlight your progress as part of the video conference.

Please also remember you must submit proof of your passage to the Kildo region as evidence.

Regards,

           Prof F. S. Gardener

Isla could only stare numbly at the email for the first few minutes. Slowly, heat crept into her face. Anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach. How dare they? How dare they talk to her like that? The condescending attitude dripped off the words like hot grease from a searing grill. They wanted a presentation? In two days? It couldn’t be done.

At least, not while she allowed her time to be wasted.

**

Nana Morag looked disappointed, but said she understood when Isla explained that something had come up that meant she had to leave early. It didn’t make her feel better.

Outside the community centre, she sat on the nearest bench and took large lungfuls of crisp, cool air until the anger and anxiety gurgling in her stomach finally ebbed away. She cast a guilty look back at the door. Hopefully Nana Morag would forgive her.

It would take nearly half an hour to walk back to the house. Plenty of time to think about what direction to take the presentation. Even as she thought about it, her mind unspooled ideas. She could look through the book Nana Morag gave her, cite the conversation they’d had about the Vitalities, maybe ask Rhona and the family for any other stories they had. She could do this. She could pull this together. She’d show that professor exactly what she was made of.

Just as she pushed herself to her feet, something thudded to the ground. Isla froze, her concentration shattered. Her hand sought the familiar Pokeball hanging at her waist and she rolled her fingertips across its keenly smoothed surface. Something crept into the corner of her peripheral vision. A dull, murky, red-brown shape, a rusted stain on the greenery encroaching the community centre. Her stomach tightened. Nausea crept up her throat and she had to fight a sudden, violent urge to vomit.

When the nausea passed, and the world faded back in, a noise trembled through the earth under her feet. A low rumbling whinny followed by the steady, echoing beat of hooves.

 Isla called Soba out. It was an unwelcome return to reality. She was in a new region with strange new Pokemon and she hadn’t even taken five minutes to look at the kinds of creatures that lived in the area. If there was something there that could hurt her, then she was playing a dangerous game. Could she even defend herself?

She should ignore it, she reasoned. Ignore it and head back to the croft. Wild Pokemon attacks on humans weren’t common, especially in fairly urban areas, but something still spurred her into action. Sweat stood out on her brow as she circled the Community Centre, Soba in pursuit.

There was nothing there. No people. No Pokemon. The only thing that stood out was a patch of disturbed grass by the window that looked into Nana Morag’s classroom. A line of hoofprints sunk into the long, leafy fronds, each one fringed with thin purple liquid. .

Soba coughed and retched.

“Easy, girl,” Isla returned Soba to her Pokeball. The last thing she needed was for her only Pokemon to become unwell. That would just be the rotten cherry on the top of the already disgusting cake.

She took one last cautionary glance around the area. Leaves trembled in the trees. Cars sloped down the road. Children played in a park down the street, their voices carrying over a thin, brisk wind.

When she looked down at the prints again, the strange liquid was gone.

**

Back at home, Isla shut herself back in the tiny room, opened her laptop, and focused. Hours fell away. Daylight morphed into darkness. All Isla knew was the tapping of keys and the pages of books stiff with bookmarks and post-it notes.

She was turning over into a new chapter – The Shifting Traditions – when her stomach gurgled, lifting her out of her study induced stupor. What time was it? It had gotten dark without her even noticing. She groped for the desk light and clicked it on, the room touched by a jaundiced yellow light.

The clock flashed back; 18:47.

She didn’t want to seem presumptuous. Running a croft with only a few family members must have been tough. She could imagine it was the kind of work that never had a clear end goal, that there was always something that needed done. And she’d only been here a full day. She didn’t know their routines yet. Maybe they were a late dinner type of family. And she definitely didn’t want to pressure anyone. But it was very late now. She hadn’t eaten any lunch. And there hadn’t been any noises in the house for hours.

Downstairs, every room was draped in darkness. Isla felt around for the light switches, but the unfamiliar walls wouldn’t give up their secrets, and she clattering through the house like a particularly ungraceful Hippopotas. It confirmed one thing. There was nobody home.

Panic rose in her chest as she picked her way towards the windows, hoping that she could let some light in via the curtains. I

With a bang, the door opened, bounced off the wall, and light spilled into the room. Rhona stood in the hallway, shelling herself from a puffy jacket.

“Rhona?” Isla squeaked.

“Oh, gosh! Isla!” Rhona’s hand flew to her chest, her skin translucent. “Chick, why were you standing there in the dark?”

“I couldn’t find the light switch,” she said lamely. “I’d been upstairs, and I got a bit worried I hadn’t heard anything down here for a while.”

“Oh, God. You didn’t get the message?”

“What message?”

“Kenneth sent Drambark to the house with it,” Rhona said, hanging up her coat.

Isla wasn’t sure exactly what a Drambark was, but she didn’t think now was the right time to ask. “I didn’t get anything, sorry. What’s happened?”

“It’s Nana Morag, chick. She came over very ill just before she finished her class. She was taken to hospital.”

“Hospital?!” Isla gasped.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, but she’s okay, she’s stable and responsive. They’re keeping her in overnight, but I think it’s just as a precaution.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“They don’t know yet. They were running tests when I left.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Isla stammered. “I should have stayed with her.”

The look in Rhona’s eyes became sharp and probing. “Yes, why did you leave? I thought you wanted to learn about the language.”

“I do, but…” Isla heaved a sigh. “I got an email from my course supervisor when I was in the class telling me I have to do a presentation for them. In two days. About the progress I’ve made in the project. And I haven’t… I haven’t had much progress yet because I’ve only just got here. So I panicked and came back here to start working on that immediately because… well, if I don’t jump through their hoops, they’ll pull approval on the project.”

Rhona nodded the whole time Isla spoke. “Och, chick, maybe it’s for the better that you didn’t stay.”

Isla frowned. “Why?”

“Because it wasn’t just Nana Morag who became ill. Everyone attending that class did.”

[poiwritesnstuff]

The One Where Richie Patronizes A Bar

Inspired by this post by @coldplaysongsonrepeat.

Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier was finding it harder and harder to frequent bars since he started being actually recognized. Comedy clubs were places of work, and it was generally considered bad practice to vomit where he ate. Clubs were an overpriced headache full of drugs he was too old to keep up with. Sports bars were usually full of the kinds of guys who would want to get chummy and laugh about stupid broads and masturbation jokes, which was masturbatory in and of itself. It was like... mastur-ception. Incept-urbation.

Maybe there was a reason he didn’t write his own material.

So it was with this reasoning that Richie ended up in a dive bar almost forty minutes from his house, nursing a glass of something alcoholic in the corner of a building that a clown car would call cramped. The lighting was dim with burnt out lightbulbs, the bar made of actual wood, and the stool just unbalanced enough for him to nearly fall off twice. In a word, perfection.

It was so dingy and forgotten that Richie hadn’t noticed the faded pride stickers and graffiti until the bartender struck up a conversation with the charming opener of “Should have figured a guy with a name like Trashmouth Tozier would be gay.”

Richie blinked up at her. “Yeah? What tipped you off, my incredible sense of style or the giant bear railing me as we speak?”

“Are you serious? Right in front of my salad?” She asked, her eyes wide with mock shock as she lit a cigarette. Richie laughed

“I think I might love you,” Richie said. “Forget dick, I’m all about you now, baby.”

“Too bad, since mine is bigger than yours,” she said. 

She offered him the cigarette. Richie didn’t normally smoke, but there was something comforting about the act of smoking with this stranger. They continued on like this, throwing nonsense back and forth until Richie was stumbling out of the bar and into an uber she had called for him at 2AM.

Richie woke up every day for a week and when his sexuality wasn’t plastered on the front page of TMZ, he went back. The same redhead was tending bar and smiled when he came in.

“The prodigal son returns! I thought you might have died last week.”

“That was just the warm up, baby. You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

--

Four months later, Richie had been coming to this place at least once a week and nobody bothered him except to wrinkle their nose at his shirt. He couldn’t tell if he liked it or hated it, but he couldn’t stay away, so he continued sitting in his corner where nobody could bother him.

On one such night. when he was full of whiskey and contemplation and the clock struck 1, he looked up at his redheaded bartender. “Bess.”

“You know I hate that nickname,” she said lightly, collecting her tip from the last customer to depart.

“Besserly!” he insisted.

“Stop calling me th--” She turned around and saw him sitting with his cheek on the cool surface of the bar. “Richard, that’s disgusting, get your head off the bar.”

“It’s fine.”

Liz filled a glass with water and put it in front of him, and Richie lifted his head just enough to slurp water from the glass.

“Richie, I’m gonna close up early so I have to kick you out soon, okay?”

“No!” He jolted up, panicked. Liz paused in her movements to look at him. “Not just-- I have to say a thing.”

“Okay,” Liz said cautiously. She stopped wiping the bar and watched Richie carefully. “What is it?”

“Okay. I’m... It’s a thing. I just am saying the thing. To you. Because you’re my bartender. Isn’t it funny how people will just say so much shit to their bartenders? Like, I know it’s easy to get a bartender confused with a therapist, you give both of them money to give you shit that makes you feel better and maybe makes you cry a lot-- oh, hey, you’re smiling! I knew I was funny, deep down.”

“You were gonna tell me something, Richie,” Liz prompted, idly wiping down the counter around him. “You don’t have to deflect if you don’t want to say it.”

“No, I just need to do it, you know? I just need to... get it out. Admit it. And then the world will keep turning and I can move on with my life. So, Besserly. Good old Queen Bess. Queen Lizzy-Lizabeth. Lizzy.” He drew in a deep breath, took her hand, and looked her right in the eyes. “Liz, I... I am... Uh. I’m, uh... The-- The thing is that I have to, uh, say that I’m... I’m just really.... I’m...”

His heart clenched so hard that his eyes watered. He wondered if he might be dying. Could be preferable to whatever was about to happen.

“Liz, I’m...” He let go of her hand and dropped his head to the bar, his voice muffled by the bar. “A dick. I’m a dick. Just figured I’d say it. First step is admitting you’re a problem and all.”

Liz patted his head and continued to clean, and Richie’s stomach sunk as he thought that she may have understood him after all.

--

It took a record seven months for someone in the bar to finally approach him.

Richie had to do a double take, and then a triple take when the boy sat down. He had clear, light skin and giant brown eyes, his hair combed down into the dorkiest haircut he had ever seen. His heart hurt at the sight.

“You okay, Richie?” The boy asked, his cheeks round and flushed.

“Uh.” Richie cleared his throat and tried again. He couldn’t work past the whisper of a memory that was begging to be unlocked. “That is... um.”

“You’re Richie Tozier, right? The comedian?” The man tilted his head, and the brief vision Richie was having disappeared. Still, this man was young in a way that made Richie feel every second of his thirty-eight years. He tried to shake off the feeling, but it slid like water through the cracks in his armor and settled into the marrow of his bones. He was suddenly too tired and not drunk enough.

“Debatable, but yes.” Richie smiled halfheartedly. “Richie Tozier, here to entertain.”

“It was just a question, dude,” the young man said, brow furrowed. 

Richie laughed suddenly and finished off his drink, then smiled politely as Liz refilled it. “Sorry, that was weird. You just... You remind me of someone. This boy from my hometown...”

Richie trailed off, studying the man, ignoring the painful clench in his stomach as he returned the gaze with a little heat in his enormous eyes, large and expressive and the stuff of his particularly curious nightmares.

“Yeah?” The man prompted. “Where is he now?”

“Well, I don’t... Don’t really know. Honestly, I don’t remember much of my childhood. It’s mostly, like, blurred pictures and shit.” He laughed. “Well, that sounds fucking stupid. Never mind.”

“It’s not stupid, Richie,” the man said, emphatic.

“Yeah?”

“No, it’s, like, fascinating. I mean, maybe it’s a good thing you don’t remember him.”

“Yeah, see, the thing about that is,” Richie said, sitting up straighter on his wobbly stool, “is that at least people who remember the shit they do, they get to know they don’t want it. The thing about forgetting is that you’ve lost a piece of the puzzle. You don’t get to decide you didn’t want it. Even if it’s super fucked up, you don’t get fucking trigger warnings or whatever. Just blankness. Like whiteout on your brain.”

“Yeah, well, knowing isn’t so much better. I broke up with my boyfriend three weeks ago and I wish I could pile up all his shit and set it on fire. I blocked him on everything and like, deleted all of his pictures on my stuff, but I can’t delete them up here.” The man tapped his temple. “Kind of wish I could. He was such an asshole.” A beat, and then-- “Maybe yours was, too.”

“Yeah, I wish. Having trauma would be great material for my stand-up, I wish I could remember it. Maybe my therapist will tell me after another ten thousand dollars.” He let out a rueful laugh, caught sight of the guy grinning at his joke, and laughed more genuinely.

“So you think this person was your friend?” The man asked. “Someone important?”

“Probably not if I can’t remember him,” Richie said with a shrug. “Must have just been some random dude I hung out with before I moved for college.”

The man gave Richie a searching look that Richie missed, and then put his hand over Richie’s. Richie ought to have reacted; he did not.

“Well, listen, maybe... if you want, we could finish our drinks and get out of here. I live close by.” He paused and lowered his voice to whisper into Richie’s ear. “I could be this guy for you, if you want.”

Richie should have been turned on by this twenty-something virile specimen with puppy-dog eyes and luscious lips breathing at his ear, but all he could feel was panic. He jerked back, though not fast enough to be unkind, and smiled as wide as he could.

“I mean, hey, who could turn down a proposition like that? Damn, you’re good at this, wow, but I kind of gotta get back home, can’t get back too late or else the missus is gonna have my ass for waking up the kids and it’ll really piss off my friend if he wakes up to me fuckin’ his mom so uh yeah sorry I’m just gonna”

He almost sprinted out of the bar, leaving his tab and an astonished, rejected man behind.

Richie leapt out of the uber the moment it got to his mansion and he sprinted inside to the bathroom. Richie conjured up the impossible image of this young man looking at him with want, his features changing just enough to push Richie over the edge with a forgotten name on his lips. 

In the aftermath, Richie panted in the dark, leaning on the counter for support as his legs threatened to give way. He finally lifted his head to look at himself and saw, for a moment, two glowing yellow eyes peering back at him.

[therainroguefanfiction]

⁂ Push Your Limit (Initial D) Act 3

📑 Table of Contents | ◂ Previous

Author’s Note: This is the author’s note I posted once upon a time when I posted this on Quizilla lol I’m starting to realize how cringy I was back then, my god.

“I think this is finally starting to get good (or maybe it’s just me). Was it exciting for you? Did it make you laugh? I’m seriously having fun writing this XD Even if it IS slightly annoying to write out (but that may be due to my stupid freezing retarted dumbass computer) <—- Almost pulled an Iggy~ Have a good Niay (Night + Day = Niay!), Zilla~!”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

“What?! What do you mean Cole got in an accident?!” Iggy was shocked. Tak, who was finishing up with a customer, also had his attention on the one who had delivered the bad news. You were standing next to Iggy, just as worried. “When did it happen?!”

“Last night. He hit the guard rail while coming down Akina.” Kenji explained.

“Was he hurt?”

“Thank you for coming,” Tak bowed to the customer before running over to the trio, just as worried as Iggy and you were for the sake of your friend.

“He’s kind of messed up, but it could have been worse. He’s got whiplash and a bunch of scrapes. He’s really P.O.ed about the whole thing. He may have got by with a few nasty bumps, but I heard his car wasn’t so lucky.”

“What’re we gonna do about Saturday? We got the battle meeting!” Iggy asked.

“Yeah, I know. We’re hosed. Unless we find someone willing to drive for Cole.” Kenji looked down at the ground, knowing that the possibility was extremely slim.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You and Bunta were sitting in the living room watching TV when Tak came home. Without a word, he started up the stairs. He stopped on the sixth step, suddenly remembering something important. Tak walked back down the steps and into the living room. “Before I forget, I was wondering if I could borrow the car this Sunday?”

“Sunday?” Bunta didn’t even turn to look at Tak. “Uhh, no.”

“But why not? I’ll take care of the morning deliveries before I go anywhere!”

“No, that’s not the problem. There’s a town meeting I wanted to go to this Sunday, so I need the car.”

“A town meeting? That figures.” His hand flew to his mouth and he started thinking out loud, “Now what am I supposed to do?”

“Huh?” Bunta noticed this and started laughing. “I get it. Must be a girl.”

You chuckled. “Definitely,” Tak turned red and you burst out laughing. “Right on the money, Bunta!”

“Mind your own business!” Tak looked away, cheeks still flushed a bright red, “Come on, don’t be so stubborn, just let me use it.” his eyes shifted back to his dad, but the red never left, “It’s just an old piece of crap, anyway. I’m taking it.” he shoved his hands in his pockets and started up the stairs.

“A car can’t go very far without a key, which will be on a string around my neck.” Bunta murmured, causing you to chuckle in amusement.

Tak flew back down the stairs, “That’s not fair!”

“If you want it that bad, oh.. I’ll think about it.”

“You will?” Tak smiled.

“There’s one condition.”

“What’s that?” his smile dropped.

Bunta turned serious, turning to look at his son. “There’s some clown who’s known as the fastest on Akagi. I want you to beat the hell out of him on Akina’s downhill Saturday night.”

You tilted your head to the side, glancing at the old man. ‘So this was his plan? I guess Cole got to him.’

“You want me to do… what?”

“If you do that, the car is all yours on Sunday. Tell ya what, I’ll even throw in a full tank of gas.”

“Full tank of gas? Hmmm.” His hand moved to his chin as his eyes closed in thought.

You didn’t bother looking at him as you sipped your soda. His answer was obvious.

“Well? What’s it gonna be?”

“I’m gonna need to think about it for a little bit,” Tak answered, his hand moving to the bridge of his nose as he climbed the stairs once more.

“That’s fine. Take all the time ya need.” Bunta smiled, knowing he had captured Tak’s interest.

“That’s pretty sneaky, Bunta,” you said once Tak was in his room. “Any hidden intentions I should be aware of?”

“Not really.” he responded lazily, “I want you to go with him, though. Keep him in line.”

You shrugged. “Sure. I’d love to see him beat that blonde idiot into the pavement. With a front-row seat… it’ll be lovely. I should bring some popcorn!”

Bunta chuckled before lighting up a cigarette.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

“I wonder if it’s going to be sunny tomorrow,” Tak wondered, mind elsewhere.

“Why do you bother me with such boneheaded questions? The TV said it was gonna be sunny the whole week.” Iggy answered.

The three of you were walking on the bridge that went over the street, allowing pedestrians to cross the road safely, on your way home from school.

“Why? Do you have special plans?” Iggy questioned, glancing at his best friend.

“I’m going to the beach.”

“Hmm? The beach?” he paused, before freaking out and grabbing the front of Tak’s white school shirt, “AHHHH! You’re cruisin’ to the coast to chill and you’re not taking along your best friend?!” His gaze snapped to you. “Are you going?”

“Nope,” you answered, pulling a cigarette from your pocket.

He turned deadly serious. “Wait a minute…” The seriousness was quickly lost, “You’re going with a babe, aren’t cha? Aren’t cha?!”

“Sort of.”

“Who is she?! Do I know her?! Does she hate me?! Is she fine?! Does she have a nice rack?! What does she look like?!”

“Is that all you care about?” You rolled your eyes.

Iggy looked at you in disbelief. “Duh! If she ain’t cute or have a nice rack, what’s the point?”

“You’re pathetic.”

“You’re just mad that you’re not cute!”

“The fuck you just say to me?!” You growled, grabbing for his shirt, but he ducked away, hiding behind Tak, who wasn’t even paying attention.

“She’s real cute,” Tak answered dreamily. You could practically see the lightbulb appear above Iggy’s head.

“I know… Natalie…”

Tak nodded, smiling sheepishly and scratching his cheek. “Yeah,”

“You should have fessed up man!” Iggy cried.

“I know, it just didn’t seem right to tell her that I wanted you to hang with us. Next time we go, bro, you’re comin’, kay?”

Iggy turned around, crying waterfalls.

Tak sweatdropped, “Will you knock it off?”

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

You and Bunta were sitting in the living room once more, watching the Masked Singer on TV. Tak came in and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.

“So~ You gonna do it?” Bunta asked, not turning to look at his son.

“I guess, but I’m not really into it.”

“Why not? Don’t you think you can win? Just drive like you normally do. You won’t lose.”

Tak sighed, closing his eyes and grabbing his brown bangs with his hand, deep in thought. You watched him closely, waiting for him to utter the response you knew was coming. How could he turn down such an offer? “Fine.”

Bunta sent you a look before removing the key from around his neck and tossing it at him. The three of you stepped out into the cool night air.

Tak got into the driver’s seat, revving up the car as he turned the foglights on. You sat in the passenger seat, feeling relaxed.

“Do I need to take the paper cup with me today?”

You smirked at the comment Tak made.

“You don’t need that cup, you’re not carrying any tofu with ya on this run. This isn’t like your regular runs, so push it as hard as you can.”

“Don’t forget, you said a full tank of gas.”

“I know, I didn’t forget.”

“Alright then, I’m out of here.”

“Good luck. Keep each other safe.”

Tak shifted gears and took off for Mt. Akina.

You glanced at him before turning your attention toward the window. ‘This is going to be so~ interesting,’ you folded your hands behind your head, lips twitching up. ‘And I’m getting a fucking front row seat. I can’t way to see the look on that rich bitch’s face,’

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

* Drifting Terms:

Braking Drift – Upon entering a corner, a driver slightly depresses the brake in order to shift the balance of grip to the front tires, therefore allowing the rear tires to slide into a drift with ease.

Clutch Kick – Depressing the clutch upon entering a corner causes the rear end of the car to kick upwards, shifting the balance of the grip to the front and allowing the driver to perform a drift by swinging the rear around in the corner.

Dirt Drop – Initiating a drift by allowing the rear tires to slide off the road and into the shoulder.

Inertia Drift – An inertia drift is initiated by feinting the car towards the outisde of a corner and quickly steering towards the inside. The resulting rebound of grip initiates a dynamic slide in the normal cornering direction.

Jump Drift – This occurs when a rear tire is bumped off the inside curb of a turn in order to lose traction in the rear, resulting in drift.

Shift Lock – When entering a corner, the driver downshifts and allows the RPM to drop. Upon releasing the clutch, the rear wheels slow due to engine braking, causing understeer.

Side Breaking (E-Brake Turns) – Pulling the E-Brake during cornering causes traction loss in the rear, resulting in oversteer. E-Brake turns are necessary to induce a drift in an FF car.

Straightaway Drifting – A high-speed drift initiated on a straight section of road in order to achieve a maximum drift angle.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

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[angelofbenignmalevolence]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Grandma Tracy, John Tracy Additional Tags: Family Bonding, scared of the dark Series: Part 3 of IR Relief 2020 Ficlets Summary:

John’s night light goes out in the middle of the night. Sometimes a little love from Grandma is all it takes to make it better.

A brother scared of the dark. (Bonus points if you include Jeff or Grandma Tracy) submitted as prompts by @LouTheStarSpeaker for International Rescue & Relief (https://nutty.gumnut.net/irrelief/). 

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

Grandma rolled over and looked at the clock as she heard the terrified wail of a small child. The red letters on the clock read 3:22. She held back a yawn as she threw back the sheets and moved to the door, the wail growing louder as the door opened into the hall. Jeff and Lucille were off on a well-deserved retreat together, so it was up to her to avert whatever crisis had caused the episode before it spread to the other boys. She looked up and down the hall a moment, trying to figure out which boy was having trouble tonight.

She turned to her right and moved along the hall, stopping in front of John’s door. The poor thing was barely four years old and he still had trouble sleeping through the night when his parents were gone. She gently pushed open the door and the light from the hallway trickled into the room, leaving a triangular expanse of light that illuminated John’s small form. He was tangled in his blankets and clutching his pillow to his chest as he wailed. Grandma moved into the room and gently untangled John from his rocket-ship sheets, pulling him into her lap and leaning him gently into her chest.

“There, there, now,” she said soothingly, smoothing his bright hair with her free hand in a repetitive motion she had perfected after raising first Jeff, and then assisting with her grandsons. John’s wails subsided into whimpers as the contact and security of his grandmother’s presence began to soothe the fear that had consumed him only moments ago. Grandma kept up her soft murmurings until even his whimpers were on the verge of disappearing altogether. “What’s the matter? What’s the matter with my little Johnny?” she asked. He buried his face into her chest, as if he could hide the answer that way. Grandma gently dislodged the boy from her chest, tilting his chin up to look at her. Tears had made trails all down his cheeks and she gently wiped them away. “What’s got you so upset, little man?” she asked again as he sniffled, his bright blue-green eyes looking up at her.

“It’s so dark, Grandma,” he said. “My night light’s not working anymore…” Grandma turned to look at where the nightlight had been plugged in. Sure enough, the little bulb had ceased to glow. Grandma smiled at him as the familiarity of it all came rushing back. She had gone through this with Jeff so very long ago, and even Scott and Virgil had had a few nights where the dark was too dark for them. She shifted and got to her feet, swinging John onto her hip in a practiced motion.

“Well, let’s see if we can’t fix that, huh?” She said. John leaned his head on his grandmother’s shoulder as she moved down the hallway. She kissed the top of his head as she went in search of a new bulb for the little nightlight. She opened the closet where they kept the spare lightbulbs for the house, but frowned as the search turned up empty for bulbs for the nightlight. She closed the door and rocked John gently on her hip as she thought about where else Jeff may have hidden the extra lightbulbs.

She ran a hand over John’s back. She wasn’t sure if she had yet started going senile or if it was just the fact that her brain was not made to fire on all cylinders at 3:30 in the morning, but she couldn’t seem to think of another place in the house where there might be spare night light bulbs. She had to think of something.

“What’s got you so scared of the dark, sweetheart?” Grandma cooed as her mind struggled to think of an alternative.

“There’s monsters in the closet,” he said. “Big scary things that come out of the shadows.” Grandma frowned. Where had he been getting those ideas? Sometimes, the fact that he read at a reading level nearly equivalent to the eldest of her grandchildren was a curse. She shook her head and looked at John.

“Those monsters?” She said. “You don’t have to worry about those monsters.” John sniffled and looked up at her.

“I don’t?” Grandma reached for a tissue to clean up his face.

“You sure don’t. Do you want to know why?” she asked. John nodded. Grandma began to head back down the hall, turning off the lights as she went along. She moved into his bedroom and sat down on the windowsill, settling John in her lap. “What do you see up there?” she asked, indicating the sky.

“Stars,” he said. She smiled.

“Yes. Stars. They are kind of like nature's night lights. And do you want to know something?” John nodded again. “Some of those stars are linked together in patterns called constellations.”

“Consolations?” John asked.

“Not consolations. Constellations,” she corrected gently. “And each of those constellations has a story to them.”

“They do?”

“They sure do, sweetheart. Like….that one there. You see that group of stars?” She traced out the pattern with a finger, indicating a constellation. John followed her finger.

“I think so,” he said.

“That’s Leo,” she said. “He’s a great big lion.”

“I don’t see a lion, Grandma,” he said. “I just see a bunch of stars.”

“Well, some cultures see it as a lion,” she said. “And it’s pretty close to the big dipper, which some cultures call the big bear.” John looked up at the sky again.

“Show me,” he said. Grandma smiled.

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please show me, grandma,” he said. She traced out the pattern of the big dipper. “Wow…that’s cool.”

“And you want to know a secret?” John nodded earnestly. Grandma reached over and picked up John’s teddy bear from where it lay among the tangled sheets. She showed him to John. “This little guy right here? He talks to the big guy up there.” She indicated the constellation with her eyes. John’s eyes widened.

“He does?” Grandma nodded.

“Cross my heart. This little guy keeps an eye on you while you sleep. And if any of those scary monsters would even dare come out of the closet? Your teddy bear tells the big guy up there and he comes in and scares the monsters away.” John’s eyes widened and he looked at his teddy bear as if seeing him in a whole new light. Grandma handed the bear to her grandson and stroked his hair back as he cuddled the stuffed toy close. She hummed softly as she felt him begin to relax in her arms, hoping to put him back to sleep.

It was another several minutes before she felt his breath even out and she gathered him up into her arms again. She moved to put him to bed again, tucking the covers around him and kissing his forehead goodnight. She crept from the room and shut the door quietly behind her, letting out an exhausted sigh, though she couldn’t help the smile that came to her features as she did so.

Teddy bears talking to the constellations? Not sure where she came up with that idea, but she had to admit that it was a pretty good explanation for such a late hour. She re-entered her bedroom and looked at the clock as she settled in. Almost 4 am. Now that all was right with the world again, it was time to settle back into her own sleep. She set aside her glasses and pulled the sheets up over herself once more, closing her eyes.

“Don’t let the big bear bite,” she murmured to herself as she drifted into a quiet sleep.

[lbat1901]

How Tom Stole Christmas [An Eddsworld Story]

It was a snowy Christmas Eve in England and everyone was excited since it's almost that time of year again. That's right, it's going to be Christmas, a holiday where you can go full out on decorations similar to that of Halloween. On Durdam Lane, all residents decided to make Christmas a bit bigger and brighter than before. Christmas lights on gutters along with lawn ornaments showing either jolly Old St. Nicolas, a reindeer, or a snowman. Despite everyone getting their work caught up there was one person that wasn't in the spirit. That one person had to be Thomas Ridgewell also known simply as Tom. You see Tom had always hated Christmas ever since he was a small child and that he is known to be a Jehovah's Witness. Ever year, Tom attempts to kill Santa and he usually fails; however, this time was different. "Hey Tom, if you're just going to stand there you might as well give me those Christmas lights by you. We're decorating the tree" said Tord. "Yeah, a tree that I found" said Matt with a smile. "Yeah, yeah, I got it" said Tom. Tom picks up the Christmas lights before going over to Tord and handing them to him. Edd wanted to celebrate Christmas with a bigger tree....which was so tall that it was able to fit inside his own house. At first Tom only had a look of disbelief before realizing that Edd had invited Tord over and not to mention, Tom hates his guts but he'll let it slide....for now. "Thanks for your help Tord" said Edd. "No problem Edd. I'm glad that I was able to take time off especially for the holidays" said Tord. "Yay! Oh that reminds me, I've made everyone hot chocolate" said Matt. Matt then hurries over to the kitchen to get the hot chocolate while Edd, Tord, and Tom sat down at the table. "So with that out of the way, what should the next big thing be?" asked Edd. "I don't know, you've planned this didn't you? It's best if you decide" said Tord. "Ah you're right. After having hot chocolate, do you guys want build a snowman together just like old friends?" asked Edd. "Sure, whatever I guess" said Tom. "Oh come on Tom, what's with the sour mood? You never turned down something like building a snowman before" said Tord while nudging Tom's arm with his elbow. "Oh when did you know, commie?" asked Tom. "Guys, I have the hot chocolate. Careful, it's hot" said Matt. The boys took each a mug of hot chocolate of their own and talked on what it seemed for about 10 minutes. "Can we go build a snowman now? I'm starting to get bored staying indoors" complained Matt. "Sure. Let's get building guys" said Edd. Soon the boys finished on what was left of their hot chocolate and started cleaning up before getting on their coats, hats, boots, and anything that they need for the cold weather outside. "Hey Tom, aren't you coming?" asked Edd who noticed that Tom didn't put anything on. "You guys go on ahead. I'll just stay here and do something else" said Tom. "Okay then, we'll come back inside if it gets too cold or that Matt hurts himself somehow" said Edd. Edd, Matt, and Tord soon goes outside to start building a snowman while Tom goes back to his room. While inside his room Tom looks out the window to see a snowman being built by Edd along with Matt helping him, suddenly they were both hit by snowballs only to see Tord. Then all three then threw a snowball fight leaving Tom disgusted at the sight. "Sounds like someone's a little unhappy am I right?" asked Future Tom. "How did you- yeah I'm unhappy and you should you know. It's Christmas a holiday that I despise with a burning passion" said Tom. "Heh of course I know. We're the same person after all" said Future Tom with a slight chuckle. "That's not even the worse thing. On Christmas Day, everyone on this stupid block will all come together in the town square and make a whole lot of noise which I hate" said Tom who shivered at the thought just before adding on saying "And let's not forget that all of Durdam Lane will all join hands together and sing Christmas carols once it hits that 8 o' clock in the morning mark". "They've always done that. I never understand why though. Do they realize that it's freezing in the morning?" asked Future Tom. "I'm not worried about that. It's just the fact that they'll sing, and sing, and sing, sing, sing, sing, and sing. I've put up with this nonsense for how many years of living here now? There has to be a way to stop this celebration. What do I have to do steal....Christmas? Oh yeah....." said Tom as he suddenly came up an idea. What Tom came up was an idea alright, a real grinch-tastic idea that's pure evil as he gave off a sinister grinch smile while a lightbulb appeared above his head. "Looks like you have an idea" said Future Tom. "That right! I'm going to steal Christmas once and for all, come on we have work to do" said Tom. Both Tom and Future Tom left the room to start getting materials on what Tom needs to steal Christmas. First he brought a sleigh more like had Future Tom threaten the show owner with a laser pistol, then Tom brought some sewing needles and a couple of thread, and finally some large sack bags along with 10 flamethrowers. Soon afterwards, Tom begins sewing together a replica of Santa's outfit till he was done. "Are you done yet? I can't keep looking through magazines forever" said Future Tom. As a response, Tom opens the door to his room allowing Future Tom to come in and see Tom wearing his Santa outfit along with a white beard. "So what do you think? Do I look like Santa?" asked Tom. "Yes you do. I am impressed" said Future Tom. "Hehehe....thank you" said Tom with a smile. "Tom, we're back from the snowball- I mean mall" rang Matt's voice. "Oh crap! I don't have time to change out of this. Can you do me this one favor and be me?" asked Tom. "Sure" said Future Tom. Tom then quickly goes over to his closet and closes the door. "Oh there you are. I thought you would come out of your room after we came back, but that doesn't matter. While we were on our way back, I slipped on some ice and now my hand is all red. I'm fine for now, but it hurts" said Matt. "Oh that's very unfortunate and fortunate to know. What do you want?" asked Future Tom. "First off cool visor and second, we're going to be watching Christmas movies and I was wondering if you would like to watch them with us" said Matt. "Uh yeah sure. I'll be right there, just give me a minute or two" said Future Tom. "Good! We'll be waiting for you. Don't be late" said Matt before turning to leave. "Man that was close" said Future Tom. Suddenly a hand grabbed Future Tom by the neck only to reveal Tom who looked angry. "What did you just agree to? You know I can't stand Christmas" said Tom while gripping his hand tighter. "I'm sorry.......it's just that in the future, I have a new found appreciation for Christmas....." said Future Tom as his breathe was slowly cutting out. "That may be true, but as of now on this present day, I still hate Christmas. Understand?" asked Tom. Future Tom nods his head just before Tom lets go of of his neck. "Now if you excuse me, I need to....watch Christmas movies. I'll be back tonight just so we can start our plan" said Tom. Tom soon leaves the room and heads to the living room.

[ficklepicklefandoms]

Little Family ~ Archie Andrews

Fandom: Riverdale

Pairing: Archie Andrews x reader

Words: 1282

Requested?: Yes

Ok so this is kind of an out there type of ask but I saw an imagine kinda similar ish and it made me think of this, but an Archie imagine where him and the reader out a couple years older and have a baby? Just like lots of fluff and stuff?

Warnings: FLUFF!!!

A/N: I bloody love this request so much it’s unbelievable. And yes, I know that being married at 20 is a bit young but it’s true love y’all.

May 23rd 2021

The morning was like any other. I awoke to the sound of my husband wriggling out of bed and plodding to our daughter’s room. Every morning I still think it’s a dream, me waking up next to my highschool sweetheart Archie Andrews and our gorgeous new baby girl Ida. Yes, we’re young and possibly going to make some mistakes but at least we have each other.

I could hear his sweet voice nursing her from slumber to prepare for our busy day that is Archie’s first day of recording in a studio. We had flown out to LA just after Ida was born so that Archie could finally record his first song for his EP. I was apprehensive but once I saw how happy it made him, I agreed. 

It was hard living away from our families but both were supportive of our relationship and Archie’s talent so we left Riverdale for LA.

“C’mon pretty, let’s go get mommy up for the day. It’s a big day for daddy and everyone in the studio.” He chuckled as he returned to our room and gently sat on the bed. 

My eyes had yet to open and meet the sunlight streaming in through the largest window of our bedroom. Our apartment that was provided by the record company was too good to be true. Big white walls with modern furnishings, a lovely kitchen and three great bedrooms. Our belongings were neatly placed in the wardrobes once we arrived and that’s when it started to become home.

“Babygirl, it’s time to get up.” Archie said quietly as Ida cooed in my ear. Her little noises and cute laughs finally made my eyes open as I turned to face to my loving husband.

“Hello bigshot.” I said in a croaky voice. I scared myself with the sound of my voice and made a funny face which caused Archie to laugh and little Ida to grin.

“Come get up, we’ve got to be at the studio in two hours. I made breakfast last night so we wouldn’t have to worry this morning and all the bags are packed so we can just eat, shower, get dressed and leave.” He smiled kissing my cheek with a gentleness I will never get used to. Then like a lightbulb going off in my mind I recounted the few sentences Archie had uttered to me. He made breakfast.

“Archie, please tell me you didn’t burn the kitchen down making breakfast.” I sighed and he laughed shaking his head. He placed his left hand on my cheek and I felt the cool metal of his wedding band against my warm skin.

“It’s cereal. Honey, when I said made I meant poured two bowls of Cheerios and left a bottle of milk on the middle shelf of the fridge. I have little missy’s breakfast all ready to go as well.” He smiled at our daughter. Even though she’s only 5 months old, she looks more and more like her father everyday. Even though she has my hair, she was lucky enough to inherit Archie’s beautiful eyes.

“Well then, let’s get the Andrews family ready for the day.” I smiled as I took Ida from Archie and hopped out of bed to go to the kitchen. Archie turned on the radio in the kitchen as I put Ida into her highchair. 

Castle on the Hill was blaring throughout the rooms making me have a greater spring in my step. I looked up to see my husband dancing around our kitchen in his grey sweatpants using the milk bottle as a microphone. I laughed loudly almost doubling over. This was a regular occurrence in our household.

“How did I get so lucky?” Archie suddenly said pouring the milk into the bowls. That sentence made me stop in my tracks. 

“Sweetheart, what do you mean?” I questioned walking closer to him. I put both my elbows on the cold marble work surface. I was genuinely confused.

“I’m so blessed that I’ve been given the chance to record for this label and have this apartment and a beautiful daughter and the most amazingly beautiful, caring, loving, kind, sexy, best wife in the whole world. I’m only 20 and I’ve been given this much. I can’t thank you enough babygirl.” Archie said pulling me into a sweet and loving kiss.

“Achoo!”

We broke away from the kiss quickly to turn and face our daughter, covered in applesauce and milk. No surprises there.

“Well bless you honeybun.” Archie laughed as I did too. I look at the clock on the wall seeing it was 11 am. I quickly kissed him once more and almost fell over my own feet.

“Archie! We only have an hour left!” I shouted as I bolted to Ida to take her to shower and do my makeup simultaneously. I could hear Archie tripping over his own feet and running into the bathroom.

“You, put your war paint on, I’ll clean baby.” He said turning the bath on and taking Ida from me. I quickly applied primer and realised I didn’t have time for foundation so I plastered concealer across my face, powdered like a mad woman and drew my eyebrows on. I swiped mascara over my lashes and applied a quick layer of liquid lipstick.

“Baby is clean and dressed, quick we’ve 20 minutes until we have to leave, that’ll make it 11 30 and that gives us 30 minutes to get there.” Archie panicked pulling on a baseball tee and jeans. I picked out my favourite outfit and put it on quickly before running to Ida’s crib and placing her in car seat.

“We’re leaving in 5 honey!” I shouted running down the hallway to the door. I grabbed my shoes and bag from beside the door and rushed down the stairs that led to the entrance of our house. I placed Ida into the car and strapped her in.

“Go go go baby!” Archie shouted from the door as he locked it and I hopped into the passenger seat. He ran down the stairs and got into the car and began driving.

“Archie, this is really happening. You’re gonna be famous.” I smiled as he took my hand and laced his fingers through mine as he navigated the short drive to the studio.

“Might baby. I might be.” He chuckled lightly a he turned the corner. Just then, the studio came into view. 

He pulled into a parking space and as a family, we went inside. The lovely workers brought us to the studio where Archie’s producer and mixer were with a team of many others. They were all lovely and took a liking to Ida.

“Ok Archie, you ready to start?” James, his producer asked as I sat down with Ida on the couch facing the booth. Archie was smiling brightly inside as he nodded and the music began to play. His voice soothed my ears and made Ida clap her hands loudly making everyone in the room smile.

“Dada!” Ida squealed as Archie stopped singing with surprise and my jaw dropped. The music stopped and everyone turned to face the little girl on my lap.

“Ida! You little smartie!” I screamed hugging her tightly as Archie ran into the mixing room.

“She’s 5 months and talking! Oh god Daddy is so proud of you baby!” Archie smiled kissing her head and hugging me.

“I’ve a lovely little family.” I smiled as everyone “awwed” behind us. Archie laughed and kissed my forehead lightly.

“I love you.” Archie sighed brushing a stray piece of hair away from my face. I smiled widely and chuckled.

“I love you too Andrews.”

[estheradamanipulatedphotography]

Research

Artist research

I have chosen to go forward with my photography series idea due to photography being a passion of mine and my strong point.

As my theme is manipulated photography, I decided to look into various artistic interpretations of what manipulated photography is. I discovered two artists by the name of Adrian Sommeling and Manu Probal who specialize in manipulated photography.

Adrian has a photography series based on his travel with his young son. In these photos, you will them visiting historic landmarks from across the world.   

This photo is of Adrian's son changing the time of big ben while Adrian takes a photo of him doing so. Notice how his son is big enough to reach the clock whereas Adrian is smaller and taking a photo of him from afar. Looking at this picture, it gives off the impression that the photo symbolizes precious memories the two may share and that children can grow up and achieve their dreams and let their imaginations run wild.         

Manu Pombrol is a 35-year-old artist and photographer from Madrid, Spain. He wrote on his Pinterest that his inspiration for his photos come from all aspects of life such as death, human evolution, time and psychology/collective behavior in general. This particular photo gives the impression of the saying “ The voice/ person inside your head” and symbolizes that sometimes our thoughts may differ from our actions whether good or bad.

To get a concept/idea of how I want my photos to look like, I looked at different tutorials on youtube and followed them.

       The first tutorial I found was of fish trapped in a lightbulb. I really liked this because it’s an odd concept and looked really cool. I have planned to apply this to my own photos by replacing the fish with a person and a crack in the light bulb to symbolize feeling trapped and wanting to break free.

                                                                  I wanted to explore futuristic manipulation photography because I wanted to portray what photography in the future may look like. My idea of futuristic photography involves lots of pixels, high definition etc.

As I have decided to edit portrait photos that I will personally shoot myself, I decided to look into popular photographers that specialize in portrait photography.

Annie Leibovitz

Annie Leibovitz is considered one of the most famous portrait photographers of the 21st century. She is mostly known for photographing the portraits of celebrities. She has worked for Rolling Stone Magazine, Vanity Fair, and a few other fashion publications. I like Annie’s work because she uses bold lighting to make her subject/models stand out, I will be doing the same to my photos.                 

Steve Mccurry

Steve is an American photojournalist whose work has been featured in the national geographic magazine. He has won many awards for his photojournalism for coverage of various wars throughout history. His most famous portrait to date is of a Muslim girl simply titled “Afghan girl”. It is commonly called the “modern Mona Lisa” and is compared to various other famous works of art. What I like about Steve’s work is the bright colors and how they are bold and complement the photos well.                                                                                                                 

Dorothea Lange

Dorothea Lange was an American documentary photographer and photojournalist. She is best known for her portraits of displaced farmers during the great depression era. During the great depression, Dorothea would walk along streets and take photos of unemployed men and women. She often asked the people what their experiences during that time and used their statements as synopsis/titles of her work. I like her work because it represents the struggle at the time and how bad the great depression affected Americans.

Target Audience

My target audience will be from children from 11 years old to adults 18 and onwards. This is because from 11 you are able to make your own opinions instead of following the crowd. Also, children aged below 11 won’t understand my project and may get confused.

I conducted a short survey to see if my target audience would be interested in my project and the theme, I also asked them which form my project should be presented. Overall, the feedback given was really positive and has given me a few suggestions on how my project turns out. Below are some of the responses.       

                                                                                                                          Market research

I want to make sure I get positive feedback from my project. To do this, I looked at various famous manipulated photography artists and looked into why their work is popular amongst the public.    

I found out that most manipulated photography artists work is featured in fashion editorials and magazines. I think this is because of how fashion is portrayed as edgy and the fact that there are new trends being made everyday and fashion editorials want that to be portrayed in an edgy and cool way to influence people to buy their product. One of the most popular manipulated photography artists featured in fashion editorials is Melvin Sokolsky.

Melvin Sokolsky is a well know manipulated photography artists well known for his 1963 fashion editorial named bubbles. I believe that his work is very popular because at the time his work was published, manipulated photography was unusual and relatively new. Due to photoshop not being in existence at the time, Sokolsky built a class sphere which he either hung from buildings or balanced on boxes to give the effect that it was a bubble floating. This particular fashion editorial was for Harper's Bazaar. He has also produced work for Vogue, the New York Times and various advertisement companies. In 2014, Sokolsky recreated his bubbles series using Jennifer Aniston for the cover of Harper’s Bazaar.

                                                                                                                              How I am going to apply my research to my project

From conducting my research, I want my project to a powerful meaning. This is because I want to impact my audience positively and want them to discuss with others on what the photos mean to them.

When conducting my survey, I asked my audience what they thought the term “manipulated reality” meant as it was a theme I wanted to apply to my project. I got a lot of responses that linked to virtual reality gaming which I didn’t want my project to be about, so I have decided not to go with the theme. This is because I want my project to express important matters.

I have also concluded that I will be taking portraits and editing them in photoshop instead of using existing photos and secondary images as I believe it would be more authentic and more surreal.

Link to original document: https://docs.google.com/document/d/14tNzpFa9VlYAblY15hO_ebWws1br267v