#ask; linda carter

[izzysarchivedblogs]

Smash or Pash + Laelynn ( Linda )

@hopeburns

❝ Thank goodness, you are not actually an employee, because I'm not about to go down as an HR violation like some purple clad idiot we know. ⸻ You are a gorgeous woman, Laelynn, and you're a literal life-saver in a pinch, so you know, SMASH in a friendly way. ❞

[jackbatchelor3]

Who do you think Linda is phoning, I keep thinking Shirley as I cant think of anyone else that Linda would trust to run it with her that would may also be returning. And it cant be someone we dont already know else why the secrecy.

To be honest, I ain't got a Scooby.

Although atm I'm not sure whether Linda is on speaking terms with Shirley what with that photo with Dean a few weeks back.

[benxcallumforever]

I love how it's become pass the parcel with those cufflinks and anytime they come up we're all like 👀.

I still wonder if its gonna be a red herring though, like on the day of the death there will just be a scene of someone being handed them so the years worth of watching them wont have meant anything 🤣

It's actually quite fun. Just waiting to see who next gets the Cufflinks. I know there are people finding clues like the Keanu drinking green shots, suggesting Denise kills him. I am focused on those Cufflinks. I'm not sure how they'll reveal who's dead without showing the person receiving the cufflinks before they're killed. You want the reveal to take place inside the pub. We'll just have to see.

[heroineimages]

Now that’s just silly! You’ve got so much more class than at least 98% of anonymous questioners.

What about you Lynda, have you ever sent an anonymous question??

Every anonymous message on Tumblr is from me.

[slaybey]

act ii   COWBOY CARTER   3.29

"It's interesting, because a lot of people don’t know that Beyoncé is my last name. It’s my maiden name. My name was Celestine Beyoncé, which at that time was not a cool thing, to have that weird name. I wanted my name to be 'Linda Smith,' because those were the cool names.

I think me and my brother Skip were the only two that had B-E-Y-O-N-C-E. It’s interesting — and it shows you the times — because we asked my mother when I was grown. I was like, ‘Why is my brother’s name spelled B-E-Y-I-N-C-E? You know, it’s all these different spellings’, and my mom’s reply to me was like, ‘That’s what they put on your birth certificate’ so I said, ‘Well, why didn’t you argue and make them correct it?’ and she said ‘I did one time. The first time, and I was told be happy that you’re getting a birth certificate because, at one time, Black people didn’t get birth certificates."

- Miss Tina Knowles for In My Head with Heather Thomson (2020)

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Evil Computer

Harlan Ellison: so how does a guy get paid around here Edgar Allan Poe: this isn't that kind of event, harlan Poe: we just gather here to tell stories for fun Ellison: well, the rest of you might be assholes but that doesn't mean i am Ellison: not saying a fucking word here til i get my money

Harlan Ellison: what is this? some online jokester making jokes with my likeness? Ellison: oh you better hope they're paying me for this Poe: lighten up harlan it's just for fun Ellison: lightening up costs extra

Harlan Ellison: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the evil computer that can torture you forever Elon Musk: mama mia! Musk: concerning!

Ellison: who's this guy? Barker: oh that's just steve's friend elon musk King: he's not my friend Barker: he shows up sometimes King: he's not my friend

Elon Musk: eyyy Friendship ended with stephano king Musk: Now HP Lovecraft issa my best friend Lovecraft: what Musk: eyyyy hp lovacraft we lika two peasa inna pod Musk: you no lika de jews, i no lika de jews! Musk: you namma you cat a slur, i namma my kid a slur! Lovecraft: which kid? Musk: De Protocols offa de Elders of Xion Musk

Ellison: so there's this evil computer that can do anything Ellison: like, it can make you live forever just to fuck with you King: how does it make you live forever? Ellison: shut up steve, i'm talking

Ellison: like, this computer is so evil and it can make shit like Ellison: like ice caves and shit Ellison: and it can turn you into a jelly King: how does it do any of this Ellison: shut the fuck up steve Ellison: asking stupid questions costs extra

Musk: mama mia this-a evil computer will destroy ussa all! Harlan Ellison: oh you like this concept? Ellison: think its real scary huh? Ellison: motherfucker, pay me.

Musk: eyyy dissa evil super computer willa destroy ussa all Musk: therefore i musta help build it Musk: itta de only logical thing to do!

King: so apparently elon musk built an evil super computer so powerful that it can say all the slurs at once Arthur C Clarke: my god, steve!! Clarke: doesn't he know Clarke: that's the purpose of creation! Clarke: once every slur is said, God will bring the Universe to an end!

Clarke: once every slur is said, God will bring the Universe to an end! Carter Scholz: i was going to say that too Clarke: oh yeah wow real original Scholz: like, you know, as a commentary on your story Clarke: yeah i know what you're doing Clarke: eat my ass carter

Linda Yaccarino: [sweating, rictus grin] everyone loves twitter, the fun place for fun! Elon Musk: eeeyyy here-a soma my favorite slurs Musk: saracen, tinker, spaghett face, niknokker, bibblebeep Yaccarino: [sweating, rictus grin] yeah ha ha we sure love to have fun here on twitter!

Musk: eyyyy i hate de jews Musk: but i lova de israel Jonathan Greenblatt: masterful gambit, sir

[usafphantom2]

HOW A CATHOLIC PRIEST GOT CLOSER TO HEAVEN

Recently, I was told by Bill Kraus that his father a SR 71 navigator and RSO and a SR-71 Pilot, Tony Bevacqua and four or five other crewmembers would go to the chapel and pray every day they were blessed and protected by God because no Air Force officer was killed in the line of duty flying the SR 71

The actual unofficial top speed of the SR 71 is 3.52. This happened because of the urgings of a Catholic priest!

SR-71 pilot Tom Alison said, “My God, Padre, what more do you want?

I came within 5degrees of burning up this entire airplane! “What more do you want? The Father wanted to make sure that he broke the official record of the fastest speed in the SR 71 that’s what he wanted. Father Hesburgh was used to asking for a lot and getting it. Father Theodore Hesburgh, President of Notre Dame, was an aviation buff. He was hooked after a flight in a barnstormer’s stunt plane at the age of 10 that his Dad paid five dollars for. In his autobiography, he wrote that He has logged nearly three million miles in the air, flying in exotic aircraft such as an F14-Tomcat, a Torpedo Bomber, a Weather Plane, and many more. He also broke the sound barrier several times, flew into a volcanic crater, and piloted a naval bomber over the Pacific despite having no formal flight training. But he wanted more. The ultimate prize would be to fly in the world's fastest airplane and break the current record. That record was set in 1976 at 2193 mph.

President Carter was thanking the Roman Catholic priest for his Goodwill accomplishments; he asked Hesburgh is there anything I could do for you? President Carter recalled the moment Hesburgh asked for the favor: “I said, ‘Fr. Hesburgh, it’s not customary for civilians to ride on a top-secret airplane.’

He said, ‘That’s all right. I thought you were Commander-in-Chief.’”

Two days later, Hesburgh got a call from the Air Force’s chief of staff. He was to report to the Beale Air Force Base, CA, to undergo a training regimen and series of rigorous tests. After passing the physical and psychological examinations administered to astronauts, Hesburgh had to learn how to operate every instrument in the back seat: navigational equipment, radios, and dozens of gauges and meters. He was then put through situational training for various emergency scenarios, including ejection and equipment failure. Father Hesburgh was possibly the oldest VIP to get a ride in the SR 71. He was 61. A close rival for this title would be Senator Barry Goldwater. He was 60 when he got his VIP ride in 1969.

On February 28, 1979, Hesburgh and the pilot, Major Tom Alison, prepared for their attempt to break the Blackbird’s speed record. The priest wanted to push it to the limit..

After cruising at 30,000 feet just under the speed of sound, Allison and Hesburgh dove 5,000 feet and broke the sound barrier. They then turned their nose upwards and rocketed past 80,000 feet, accelerating through Mach 3. As Hesburgh watched the speedometer, the Blackbird pushed past 2,200 miles per hour, breaking the plane’s speed record.

In his autobiography, Hesburgh said that when he’d landed, he “asked Tom if he had pushed the plane as fast as it would go.” Allison responded, “My God, Padre, I went within five degrees of burning us up. What more do you want?”

Hesburgh fulfilled a lifelong dream — he set an unofficial airspeed record in the world’s fastest airplane, an SR-71 Blackbird. This became the Father's proudest accomplishment, a story that he told over and over again to his friends. This is a truly remarkable story about a man who asked for an almost impossible task and received it!

Written by Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[izzysarchivedblogs]

@thefleetsfinest

Linda had not initially been part of the away team, she had not been needed at the start of her mornings. It would not be until later in the day while she's worked from her top of priority, gotten to research work that she would be summoned.

On any other day involved would normally see Leonard being beamed down to the planet much to the Chief's grumblings. It had nothing to do with her own capability as she had been front lines and a field physician on her previous assignment. That had everything to do with the Captain's profound trust and respect for the Chief.

Contact with a people, with a civilization, had been made and it had been going well; than a few hours later the Captain had contacted the Bridge that they were offering aid, which than followed with Medical being informed that aid was needed from one of their doctor. . . . with stipulation. The culture had beliefs and law, they needed a lady doctor. Based on the fact, Linda had volunteered and was transported on planet to meet with the Captain and the First Officer.

She understood what she was there to do, what she had to keep in mind and she had told the Captain to worry not and as a doctor one of the thing most important things she needed to have was respect. That had been all been well and fine. Linda had met with the people here's doctors, offered her assistance and was brought in on a private matter.

That was when the day start to unravel, to not make as much sense or maybe her memory ⸻ what the Captain, the entire away team had stumbled into was a civilization under politic unrest and divide thinly masked and aggravated by contact that was invited.

Linda had been the unfortunate victim, the outsider doctor in the room and she had just been trying to help ⸻ that is where her memory fails. That often means trauma, shock, adrenaline; her mind working in ways to protect her. Panic had ensued, a situation that the crew of the Enterprise was not prepared for.

It could not be recalled entirely, but there was pain and blood ⸺ her patient's? She. . . . She had been trying to protect someone ⸺ so the blood ended up being her own. Attacked or a blast ⸺ something with and by what and who? ⸻ Linda starts to stir.

Awakening from unconsciousness brought on by blood loss and. . . . she knows the reasons as to why that could happen. It matters not at the present moment as her eyes are open. Greens meet Leonard, first thing that she sees even before she sees the room. A jolt, startled, as she's not where she last remembers she was.

A hand over hers, the lightest of squeeze and it helps her find focus. Heart rate is up, breathing heavy in momentarily panic. Her lip quivers before she can speak ⸻ CLINT? That's right, he had been a part of this away team and he had. . . . was there, saved her, in the panic and chaos? Thank God for Clint. What else ⸺ it didn't matter she was back on the ship in medical.

HOW YA FEELIN' LIN ⸻ He called her LIN, he's started doing that and Linda's never done nickname before. Does he realize he does that? She likes it. ⸺ REAL SCARE. She was scared too, what was she thinking but it. . . . no other option, the patient.

He called her LIN, and he's right there by her side, she was not alone. How long had he been there? It wasn't just shock making her heart race now. ❝ Le ⸺ Leonard, I, uh, mhn. ❞ She takes a breath, than tries to calm herself down. This was going down as one of the days she could go without. ❝ ⸻ like I had a really bad day, Len. ❞ Just to try it out, he did it with hers and if there was something that should be known about anything about their friendship; she'd go match for match with him.

Linda turns her hand, and lightly grasps at his hand in return. There's a over a dozen questions she has, which she doubts he would have all the answers. ❝ Everyone else, are they okay, and ⸺ and there was someone I was helping, is he? ❞ Start with that, get through the confusion and the residual panic.

❝ I'm sorry. ❞ She didn't mean to scare anyone, but than no one foresaw this. Well, maybe, someone had thought that outsiders like the crew of the Enterprise simply being here might further upset a tense situation. ❝ It was my blood, wasn't it? ❞ a pieced together thought. Least of all she had wanted to worry him.

✧˖° → @oceansfirst

"How ya feelin' Lin? " He had been watching her the ENTIRE time she had been unconscious, from the MOMENT they had beamed her aboard the ship he had been at her side, monitoring and seeing to ALL of her medical care himself. Of course he didn't want to think TOO DEEPLY into all of the why he needed to be the one to do it.

Leonard knew himself all TOO WELL to know that when he got insistent about a person's care when they got sick or injured to this degree.. that meant they were someone IMPORTANT to him, and he knew EXACTLY how and why she was.. but, right now his main concern was making sure SHE WAS OKAY.

God he needed a drink..

"Ya gave everyone a REAL scare there, I thought for sure they were gonna have to claw Clint off the guy."

If he closed his eyes he can still remember all the BLOOD that covered her and Clint who had been the one who had CARRIED her and handed her off to Leonard in the transporter room. They had shared a look, one of PANIC and REASSURANCE mixed together in a silent conversation that they have only ever been able to have.

But she was STABLE..

Without even fully realizing he had done it, his free hand reached out.. finding hers and giving it the GENTLEST of squeezes.

[creepzkilla]

[BRIAN THOMAS, TOBY ROGERS, TIMOTHY WRIGHT x FEM! READER]

chapter warning. gore, death, mutilation, maggots, talk of killing an animal, gutting an animal.

wc. 7860

authors note. this fic gonna be long asf so buckle up. sorry its lowkey boring up yk its building suspense. any questions about the fic or concerns please submit an ask!

important, read. even though this is implied to be a female reader that has she/her pronouns, I suggest downloading this extension for Microsoft edge to replace [Y/N] as your name and to replace she/her with your preferred pronouns to make you feel more comfortable if you do not identify as a female.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏: 𝐇𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐀 𝐒𝐘𝐑𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄

meaning. a mushroom that grows over decaying bodies

As the sun rose above the eastern horizon, casting its golden hues across the land, a lone car ventured forth on the winding roads leading to Grove, Oklahoma. The engine purred softly, its rhythmic hum blending harmoniously with the melody of nature. With the sounds of soft rock and country preoccupying the silence that the car held in its void. The silence was filled with the songs of Linda Ronstadt, and Deana Carter; two maestros of musical storytelling, graced the airwaves, serenading the passenger with a poignant repertoire of cherished memories. The tunes resounded with the recollections of sun-drenched summers spent in the Western fields, where her mother's berry farm unfurled its emerald charm.

[Y/N]’s mind wandered back to the days when the weathered white barn stood as a sentinel, and the family's nearly antique truck nestled alongside, an endearing relic from bygone eras. Each note carried her back to the sight of verdant paint curling and surrendering to the passage of time, revealing glimpses of raw metal beneath. She vividly recalled the delicate act of running her nails over the lifted layers of paint, peeling them away one by one, as if uncovering the hidden stories embedded within the truck's weathered facade.

In nothing but her nightgown, [Y/N] ventured out, her bare feet delicately dangling just beyond the worn-out Ford logo adorning the truck bed. Wandering through the fields, she traversed the rough terrain, her feet bearing the brunt of her barefoot journey. The berry saplings, a recurring sight in spring and summer, had now blossomed, displaying their succulent fruits as late summer approached. Yet before their transformation, the bushes stood tall, their leaves pointed and vigorous. Her path, confined to the Western fields, beckoned her toward the barn. Basking in abundant sunlight, the western expanse fostered accelerated growth, causing the saplings there to sprout thorns at a rapid pace. As a consequence, the girl’s feet endured the accumulation of mud and crusty blood, an undeniable testament to her traversing the formidable fields.

With dirtied feet and a stained nightgown, she embarked on her ritual every morning, just before the sun's radiant glow graced the sky. Ascending the antique truck, she found her perch, eagerly awaiting the mesmerizing spectacle of the sun's rays stretching across the vast expanse of land. Yet, amidst this ethereal beauty, her heart danced with anticipation for a different kind of awakening.

As the first glimmers of light began to peek over the horizon, a familiar melody filled the airwaves, heralding the start of a brand new day. Soft country tunes, like those sung by Tanya Tucker and The Judds, tenderly embraced her senses. However, her ears strained for one particular tune, a treasure she yearned for each morning at 8 AM.

And then it happened—John Denver's timeless classic, "Take Me Home, Country Roads," resounded through the airwaves, soothing her soul with its heartfelt lyrics. Sitting atop her vantage point, she became a symphony of joy, her voice bursting forth despite its imperfections. With every note, she poured her heart into the song, her little lungs valiantly attempting to reach every high and low.

Though [Y/N]’s singing may have lacked finesse, it mattered not, for her spirit soared with unbridled enthusiasm. Without pausing for breath, she sang the entire composition, as if on a sacred mission to carry its melody across the rolling hills and valleys. In those precious moments, the world was her stage, and she, the star of her own enchanting performance.

 Queens ensemble of trumpets and brass instruments harmoniously faded into a gentle hum, merging with the engine's subtle vibrations. With every turn of the wheel, a captivating journey unfolded, transporting her to an enchanting realm where time lost its urgency, and the world transformed into a vibrant symphony of colors.

[Y/N]’s grip on the steering wheel remained relaxed, a testament to her confidence in navigating the road ahead. However, the weight of exhaustion was evident beneath her eyes, concealed by bags that hung like heavy burdens. Her gaze alternated between the winding road and the small, blaring red text of the clock on her car monitor: 7:59 A.M.

Anxiously, her fingers drummed against the supple leather steering wheel, mirroring the racing beat of her heart. Her eyes darted back and forth, desperately seeking confirmation of the fleeting minutes. As the hum of the engine threatened to engulf her senses, its dominance was suddenly overpowered by the opening notes of John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads."

In that moment, her attention was captivated by the red letters once more, and they revealed the time: 8:00 A.M. A gentle hum escaped her lips, akin to a sigh of relief, as she muttered along with the song's lyrics, embracing them with unwavering devotion. Without pausing to catch her breath, she sang along, infusing her voice with the song's nostalgic melodies.

The road stretched out like an asphalt ribbon, carving its way through sprawling meadows and rolling hills. Fields of emerald green extended as far as the eye could see, adorned with delicate wildflowers that danced in the gentle breeze. The air, crisp and invigorating, carried with it the scent of earth and the promise of new beginnings.

As the car glided forward, the scenery unfolded like pages in a vivid tapestry.Towering trees lined the roadside, their branches stretching toward the heavens like ancient sentinels. Leaves shimmered with a kaleidoscope of autumnal shades, painting the landscape with fiery reds, burnt oranges, and golden yellows. The trees seemed to whisper secrets to one another, their rustling leaves creating a symphony of nature's own design.

The road wound its way up and down gentle slopes, revealing panoramic vistas that stole the breath away. Mountain ranges stood majestically in the distance, their peaks kissed by the wisps of ethereal clouds. They stood as guardians of the landscape, their stony faces etched with the stories of ages gone by. But nothing could compare to Grand Lake. 

The bridge, spanning what felt like endless miles, gracefully arched over the water, its reflection shimmering in the gentle waves. As if in a dance, a multitude of boats navigated the water's expanse, trailing wakes that glistened in the crystalline depths, mirroring the celestial azure above and the passing cars on the bridge. The radiant spectacle transformed the water into an irrefutably luminous spectacle. It seemed as though liquid silver veins intricately intertwined with the land, carrying the harmonious melodies of life and the captivating tales of the creatures that resided within its mysterious depths. Geese gracefully etched invisible patterns against the vast canvas of the heavens, casting a mesmerizing spell on the onlookers below.

The scratching of gears wound up, blending into the symphony of sound, as the window glass slowly rolled down. The mechanical protest produced a terrible screeching sound, reminiscent of an animal's anguished cry, piercing the air and capturing her attention. Her eyes widened, captivated by the scene that unfolded before her.

Inhaling deeply, she savored the dewy summer air that gracefully entered her lungs, infusing her with an ardent fervor. Each breath became an embrace of life itself. The atmosphere, cool and revitalizing, carried a tangible energy, blending the essence of earth with the promise of new beginnings. The aroma of raindrops and freshly cut grass intermingled, filling her senses with a harmonious fragrance that evoked a sense of contentment. As she exhaled, a sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips, releasing any lingering tension—contentment.

The car engine purred in agreement at the sight of landscape, the tranquility of and complete beauty was simply enchanting.  

In a graceful display of poise and determination, she effortlessly steered the sleek vehicle away from the confines of the bustling main road, opting instead for a captivating detour onto a secluded single-lane path. As the tires glided over the uneven terrain, the verdant canopy of lush green forests enveloped the winding road.

Along this path, a humble dirt road emerged, veering away from the well-trodden route. Its weathered surface, pockmarked and rough, dictated a slower pace, Each jolt and tremor sent ripples of anticipation coursing through her veins, heightening her senses as she pressed on with unwavering resolve.

Gradually, the path unveiled a breathtaking vista, an opening that seemed to materialize from the very fabric of a storybook. A small pond, its crystalline waters shimmering under the gentle caress of the sunlight, beckoned with an irresistible allure. Nestled harmoniously by its side, a resplendent cabin emerged, a captivating testament to rustic beauty.

The cabin, although once a haven of tranquility, now appeared as a relic of forgotten memories, as if time itself had woven a shroud of neglect around its weathered exterior. Weeds triumphantly sprawled across the surroundings, their emerald tendrils dancing in the wind, while determined vines conquered the cabin's weathered facade, gracefully ascending its walls in a seemingly eternal embrace with nature itself.

In this serene tableau, the intrepid traveler found herself drawn to the essence of this forgotten refuge. Its dilapidated state only served to enhance the mystique, inviting her to uncover the tales that lay dormant within its timeworn walls. She sensed that beneath the encroaching foliage and the fading echoes of life, whispers of untold stories and echoes of forgotten laughter still resonated within, yearning for someone to listen, to breathe new life into their cherished existence.

As the shadows danced amidst the rustling leaves, she stepped out of her vehicle, her footsteps cautious yet filled with reverence as the gravel beneath her crunched. The air seemed to hold its breath in anticipation, as if the surroundings acknowledged her arrival, recognizing the significance of this encounter.

As her boots pressed against the gravel roadway, their crunch merged seamlessly with the harmonious of natural sounds that enveloped the picturesque surroundings. Advancing towards the cabin, each step resonated through the ancient floorboards of the front porch, releasing a melancholic creak as if the timeworn planks were exhaling with a subtle sigh. Weathered by countless footsteps, the wooden planks bore the indelible marks of their enduring journey, their once vibrant hue now transformed into a rich, dark oak shade. Inhaling deeply, she absorbed the essence of the place, her hand gravitating toward the doorknob of the screen door. For a fleeting moment, her gaze caught the old rocking chair, swaying gently in response to the playful caress of the breeze that meandered through the air. Finally, [Y/N]’s turned the the doorknob as the screen door creaked open—exhaling.

 She inhaled, the sharp fragrance of pine and bleach wove its way into her senses, its pungency tugging at her  nostrils. Their potent combination was not without consequence, for it provoked a reaction within her, eliciting a gentle scrunching of her nose. 

The house exuded an eerie aura of both familiarity and enigma.  She found herself standing in an expansive, open area cabin, devoid of hallways, which seemed to beckon her further inside. With each step, the immaculate cleanliness of the interior revealed itself, creating an almost surreal ambiance.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the second floor, with its single set of stairs ascending like a mysterious gateway to another realm. On the ground floor, to her right, lay a quaint and compact kitchen, an intimate space that appeared to have witnessed the preparation of countless meals and conversations with its worn down appliances. 

To her left, the living room stretched before her like a tapestry of memories. A comfortable couch adorned the space, an inviting haven where the occupants must have spent many hours engrossed in captivating tales or deep contemplation. In front of the couch, the heart of the room resided—a grand fireplace. Its flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, seemingly whispering forgotten secrets.

Perched atop the fireplace, an old flat screen TV served as a window to the past, where characters from era that might have come alive came alive, momentarily escaping their scripted confines. The juxtaposition of the antiquated screen and the modernity it once represented painted a vivid portrait of the house's intriguing history.

Yet, despite all the intriguing elements that adorned the room, her gaze eventually shifted downward to the very foundation of the space. The wooden floor bore the weight of countless footsteps and stories, its grainy texture inviting her to feel the past as she walked upon it.

In the realm of her consciousness, she possessed an intimate knowledge of the house's history. In the era preceding her own, her beloved grandparents had entrusted its care to a man of enigmatic nature, one by the name of Willard Tucker. The townsfolk, adorned with tales and whispers, had deemed him a peculiar figure, cloaked in the shadows of perceived insanity. Yet, the precise details eluded her, veiled behind a shroud of uncertainty. All that remained were fragments of narratives whispered through the winds of time—stories suggesting that the man, his heart shattered by the loss of his wife, had departed for the fertile lands of West Virginia, seeking solace within the embrace of family ties, all while taking up farming.

She had guessed that Willard was the reason for the foul smell of cleaning products. Cleaning and scrubbing off residue so as to not leave it behind for the next tenant. That being her—a girl from small town Kansas in the depths of the west. However, she secretly cursed Willard for using so much of the cleaning product.

Upstairs and to the left, In the midst of simplicity, her bedroom exuded a quiet charm. Nestled against the wall, a regal queen-sized bed commanded the center stage, flanked by two modest nightstands. On the left, a generous window framed the wall, revealing a glimpse of the  wooden sanctuary beyond.

As she gazed through the window's translucent pane, a tingle of anticipation caressed her being. It was as if the wistful tendrils of nature, woven into the fabric of the scene, beckoned her. The sheer simplicity of the room was deceptive, for within its unassuming boundaries. A shiver traced its delicate fingers along her spine, electrifying the air with a gentle chill.

She shook it off as paranoia. 

As she ventured into the confines of the bathroom, her delicate fingers gently placed the small pills of respite into the trinity of mirrors ensconced within the cabinet. Ambien, a faithful companion in her torment against insomnia, found solace in this sanctuary. The affliction had haunted her since the early years of her high school debut when a merciless onslaught of ghastly nightmares infiltrated her slumber. Rarely, she could sleep without nightmares, rarely she could sleep at all. Not through a full night at least. In a valiant attempt to retain her grasp on reality, she adorned her abode with vibrant beacons of guidance, neon yellow sticky notes that served as simple reminders.

Before she placed the pills in their place, with meticulous care, she tenderly appraised the contents of each vial, her discerning gaze fixed upon the pills nested within. Twelve, she confirms. Retrieving a vibrant yellow sticky note from her pocket from her linen jacket, her blue pen danced across the note, etching the numbers upon the labels of both bottles with blue ink. 

Nestled gently beside the cabin lies a quaint garden, albeit a modest one, marred by a profusion of resilient weeds. Throughout her family’s lineage, they had cultivated a bounteous farm teeming with an abundance of blossoms, nourishing produce, and succulent fruits. This trio, her mother, father, and herself, helmed a "berry utopia"—an expanse of verdant fields, stretching across countless acres, brimming with an assortment of fruit:  blueberries, blackberries, vibrant raspberries, strawberries, and cranberries—each variety harvested with unyielding dedication.

As her gaze fell upon the  garden, now overrun and wild, a surge of nostalgia washed over her like a familiar melody from a song. The sight evoked memories of her home, where there were fields upon fields of saplings of fresh berries. Determination welled up within her, fueled by a profound sense of connection. With resolute certainty, she understood that this hallowed ground deserved to be restored to its former glory. And then this became her mission.

With a hum, she nestled into the plush embrace into the seat of her car, releasing a wearied sigh that spoke volumes about her exhaustion. The weight of countless sleepless nights seemed to settle beneath her eyes, casting shadowy hues that deepened with each passing moment. Her gaze drifted toward the console, where a vibrant neon yellow sticky note had found a temporary perch upon the sleek gear shift. Delicately scripted upon its surface were two simple yet poignant words: "Call Mom."

A flicker of recollection sparked within her. Reminding her of the promise she had made to her worry-laden mother. A call was expected, an assurance of her safe arrival. Jane, her mother, possessed a peculiar knack for turning fret into an art form, yet in her own idiosyncratic way, her daughter desired nothing more than the act of vanishing without a trace.

In the tender embrace of  Jane’s watchful care, her protective nature has forever been her daughters steadfast companion. Jane ardently desired for [Y/N] to remain by her side, nestled within the sanctuary of her love, tending to the bountiful fields of the farm until the end of days. Undoubtedly, affection for her only child knows no bounds, yet an undeniable sense of confinement subtly gnawed at her being. 

Since the untimely demise of [Y/N]’s beloved father, a transformative shift enveloped her mother's being. Like a shadow cast by the moon's gentle glow, she became an ever-watchful sentinel, closely monitoring her daughter's every step with unwavering dedication. Her love took on an armor of protection, shielding [Y/N] from the world's perils with an intensity that left her in awe. The mere notion of forging friendships seemed inconceivable, friends were near to few, yet she made it through. 

As she embarked on her journey to the store, a fleeting thought of reaching out to her beloved mother danced in her mind, promising to materialize into a heartfelt conversation once she fulfilled her immediate errands. Before delving into the realm of garden essentials, a trusty blue ballpoint pen found its place in her hand, etching a list: a delightful assortment of blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, and  blackberries. A sudden mishap tainted the pristine clarity of the yellow paper, as her thumb inadvertently collided with the wet ink, obfuscating the very last word with an smudge, rendering it a mere blur, without her noticing

The jingle reverberating through the air above the door was no delightful melody, but rather a haunting creak that sent shivers down one's spine. As the door swung shut, it unleashed a piercing screech, its brass hinges groaning under the weight of accumulated rust. In that moment, it seemed as though a flurry of white paint chips had erupted into the air, propelled by the force with which the door had slammed shut. She was consumed by a wave of embarrassment, cast her gaze around, desperately seeking an opportunity to offer a timid apology to the cashier. Regrettably, the name tag affixed to the cashier's uniform bore the name "Ranae Reeds," yet the older woman remained oblivious to the commotion, deeply engrossed in the captivating narrative of her newspaper, so captivated that she spared not even a passing glance.

The quaint little store exuded an ambiance both intimate and grundgy. Its petite dimensions were adorned with luminous streams of yellow light, gently cascading overhead, a mesmerizing sight that lured a vibrant array of insects, their presence immortalized by a delicate layer of expired life at the base of the ceiling fixtures. Amidst this glow, a second source of illumination emerged from the rear of the store, emanating from the flickering glow of the freezers, whose contents contained nothing but dairy products.

Four rows stood in perfect formation, each aisle beckoning with an irresistible allure. Yet, it was the initial 3rd island that caught her attention. Like echoes from her college days, these rows overflowed with an abundance of budget-friendly delights, an ensemble of delectable junk food.

On the 4th and final row, she found what she needed; seeds.  She picked up a variety of packets of seeds, holding the small packets between her fingers. Blueberry, Raspberries, and strawberries—She was missing one thing

She nestled her hands into the cozy refuge of her coat pocket, avidly searching for that elusive neon yellow sticky note. Days of inadequate slumber had exacted their toll, leaving her mental acuity adrift in a sea of drowsiness, a constant companion to her weary mind.

The yellow paper must have slipped out somewhere. 

As she turned to retrace her steps, her gaze fell upon a figure standing a few feet away. Dressed in a dark hoodie that seemed to swallow his form, he was an enigmatic presence amidst the mundane shopping atmosphere. His face was partially concealed by a dark yellow hood, casting intriguing shadows upon his features.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should approach him. But something compelled her to step forward, her curiosity overpowering any apprehension she might have felt. With a nervous yet determined smile, she approached the figure.

"’scuse me," she began, her voice tentative but polite with a southern accent slipping through her lips. "I seem to have dropped something, and was wonderin if you happened to see a yellow sticky note?"

He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting hers through the darkness of the hood. His gaze was intense, as if trying to unravel the secrets hidden behind her words. Without a word, he bent down and picked up the stray yellow sticky note from the floor, holding it out to her.

Relief washed over her as she accepted the note, feeling a strange connection form in that brief exchange. "Thank you lots," she said, her gratitude evident in her voice. "I wouldve been lost without this."

As she looked up to thank him, her eyes widened in surprise. The hood that had previously obscured his face had fallen back, revealing his features in full. His brown hair was unkempt, falling across his forehead in a disheveled manner, matching the roughness of his beard. There was a weariness etched into his face, as if he carried the weight of a world unseen.

His eyes, though tired, possessed an unmistakable glimmer of something deep and complex. They held a mix of vulnerability and strength, as if he had seen things that most could never comprehend. The lines around his eyes spoke of experiences that had left their mark, making him seem older than his years.

He was quite handsome, [Y/N] thought.

A ghost of a smile played upon his lips as he nodded in response to her thanks, acknowledging her gratitude. “Ain't no trouble.," he replied, his voice a low rumble that held a hint of grave and southern twang. "Happy to lend a hand."

Silence hung in the air for a moment, as if both of them were caught in a suspended moment, each waiting for the other to break the spell. It seemed like the man found himself unable to tear his gaze away. 

‘Dude, fucking break eye contact, this is getting weird’, She thought as an awkward frown formed on her face.

Her eyes flickered to the red gallon he held in his hand, the word gasoline emblazoned across it. Questions formed in her mind, but she hesitated, deciding against asking him directly. There was an unspoken understanding that some things were better left unsaid.

Instead, she mustered a smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, thanks again," she said, her voice warm with sincerity. "It was nice of ya to help me out."

His lips curled into a slightly deeper smile, a tooth gap evident, a hint of something genuine breaking through his stoic demeanor. "No worries," he replied, his voice tinged with a quiet appreciation, before going back to looking at the seeds. 

The way his lips curled into a grin, sent shivers down the curve of her spine. Though his smile, expansive and brimming with teeth, held a peculiar detachment within the depths of his eyes, a dissonance that left her unsettled. His lips, etched into a smile, never reached his eyes. Like an emotionless facaque. He had something of a crooked grin, skewed in its authenticity, that just didn't seem right Deep within her core, an unsettling awareness resonated, silently cautioning her about the man before her. Still, an irresistible force tugged at her very being, pulling her closer to his presence.

She glanced down at her yellow sticky note for the last item, only for the blue writing to be smudged. 

“Fuck.”

The man couldn’t help but notice the frustration on her face as she stared at the yellow sticky note in her hand. The item she had written on it was smudged, rendering it illegible. He cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence that had settled between them in the garden aisle at the back of the store.

"Hey again,  uh... , 'scuse me for interrupting but aah couldn't help but notice yer frustration. Do you still need a hand?" The man had asked, his voice gentle and concerned.

Startled by his sudden address, she looked up, her eyes meeting his. She blinked a few times, trying to regain her composure. "Oh, hey. uh... i was just trying to remember what i needed to buy," she stammered, a hint of embarrassment displayed on her face. 

He nodded, understanding the struggle of forgetfulness. His gaze fell upon a rack of seed packets nearby. "Well, if yer open to suggestions, there's this type of berry seed that might do the trick.  They're strong and grow plenty. Might just be what ya searchin for.”

She hummed, her eyes widening as she turned her attention to the seed packets he indicated. She scanned them, reading the descriptions and imagining the bountiful berries that could grow from them. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Imma give em’ a try," [Y/N] replied, grateful for the suggestion,"Thank you."

He reached out, plucked a seed packet from the rack, and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed briefly, a fleeting connection that sent a shiver down her spine. She accepted the packet, feeling the weight of the possibilities it held.

"Yer welcome," He had said with a genuine smile that still didn't reach his eyes. "Aah sure hope they bring you a fruitful harvest." he laughs.

As she held the seed packet in her hand, she couldn't help but be struck by a sudden curiosity. "Do you gotta a garden?" [Y/N] laughed, “You sure seemed to know lots bout’ plants and whatnot.”

His smile faltered slightly, and he glanced away for a moment. "Well, I used to have one," he replied softly. "But things shifted ‘round, and aah had to leave it behind… but ah’m fixin’ to start a new’un.” He drawled out with a smile. 

Understanding flickered in her eyes, and she nodded in sympathy. Sometimes life forces people to leave behind things they hold dear. It reminded her of something, but she just couldnt put her finger on it. Before she could delve further into the subject, his phone buzzed loudly, interrupting their conversation.

He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. A serious expression settled on his face as he answered the call. His voice was barely audible, and he moved away from her, creating a physical distance between them.

She watched him, a mixture of caution and curiosity mingling within her. His hushed conversation gave away little, leaving her to wonder about the nature of the call. 

As the call ended, He turned back to face her, his eyes filled with a mixture of apology and urgency. He didn't say a word but mouthed a goodbye, his hand waving gently in farewell. Without another word, he swiftly made his way out of the garden aisle, leaving her standing there, holding the seed packet in her hand.

“I wish i would’ve at least gotten his name.” [Y/N] hummed, rubbing the packet in her hand. She really hopes that the man was right about this seed packet.

She read the packet again, more carefully. The packet read Boysenberry. A cross between  a raspberry, blackberry, dewberry, and loganberry. She could make this work. The picture showed something like a blackberry , yet it was enlongated and a deep red, almost black color. The description read that when freshly picked, it tasted like a sweet blueberry with a tangy aftertaste. 

[Y/N] grabbed a few more more things: 2 bags of fertilizer, Top Soil, and Green gloves

She sighed, walking towards the front desk, flashing a soft smile towards the cashier, Ranae Reeds, she recalled. The woman’s name tag was worn around the edges, with her name partially faded. Much like the name tag, Ranae was a little worn around the edges. With her gray roots, her deep smile lines told tales of a younger, happier her.  

Ranae Reeds delicately placed her magazine, adorned with the captivating headline, "Infamous Serial Killer, Jeffery Woods caught," on the polished surface before her. [Y/N]’s eyes beheld the image of a man whose countenance bore the unmistakable evidence of two hauntingly deep gashes etched into his cheeks, and a profound sensation seized her being. The spectacle unfolded before her like an eerie tableau—an unsettling tableau that seemed to suspend the very breath in her throat. Its sheer grotesqueness sent tremors coursing through her, causing the hairs on the nape of her neck to rise in response.

Ranae cashier merely looked at the younger girl, almost with sympathy.

The cashier took the seed packets with a shaky hand, her golden bracelet jingling  as she scanned the packets of seeds with a ding of the scanner, “I ain’t neva seen ya round’ before.” Ranae spoke with assertiveness and confidence, surprisingly, as her stature was rather petite and she seemed to be soft-spoken. But that was in fact not the case.

[Y/N] was taken aback by her sudden curiosity, she blinked and said, “I just got ere’ this morning, moved in today.” She rocked back and forth on her toes and heels, eagerly wanting to leave already.

Ranae looked at her up and down with a bored expression on her face and asked, “Where yer from girl?” Her lips never moved from the straight line that almost seemed to be formed. Her freckled hands grabbed the fertilizer as she scraped the bag of pellets across the scanner, never taking her eyes off of  [Y/N].

DING. 

“Oh, aah’m from Kansas. Born n’ raised.” [Y/N] didn't have a Southern dialect—well, not anymore. It only slips out on occasion, particularly when talking to someone else with a southern twang. Her momma and daddy always had a thick southern voice, as they were both from Texas and moved to Kansas. 

Kansasans don’t exactly have an accent, besides not pronouncing the “R” in words. Yet, they got a way of speaking that you can clearly tell their from somewhere in the West.  If you went south, close to the Oklahoma border, the accent would get thicker as you went. 

Ranae hummed, almost like she had something to say, yet she bit her tongue. She scanned the items slowly, like she was purposely taking her time.

[Y/N] shook her leg rapidly, impatience growing within her as she watched Ranae struggle to bag the items in a brown paper bag. 

DING.

“My PawPaw and MawMaw died recently, so I inherited their cabin down by Grand Lake,” She said in attempt to fill the silence that annoyed her so much, in hope to pass the time. [Y/N] has always been rather extroverted, starting conversations with strangers she didn't mind, it was this silence that ate at her. The silence was bugs crawling underneath her skin, like roaches gnawing at her veins as they swam in her blood. 

Ranae merely hummed again, scanning an item, completely uninterested in the  conversation at hand, letting silence fall over the conversation once more. The silence was only broken by tapping of [Y/N]’s leather boots, which were worn out and needed replacement. 

“A man named Willard Tucker used to live there—“

DING.

“Ya best be careful round that house,” Ranae suddenly spoke up, her brown eyes boring into the girls, a serious expression took over her features,“There been rumors bout’ some folks down by those parts doing god knows what.” The woman's veiny hands wandered through the bag of fertilizer in search of the bar code.

[Y/N] stiffened at her sudden demeanor. “I see,” She watched intensively as Ranae scanned the last item before bagging it into a brown bag and pushing it towards [Y/N].  

Y/N smiles, “I’Il be sure to be careful—“

“And ya best be careful round that man that was in ere’ earlier. Aah’ve seen him do some suspicious things with those little friends of his.” Ranae cut her off once again, except her loud and apprehensive nature was no more; instead, it was quiet, and she was talking merely above a whisper. 

“He’s up to no good, girl.” Ranae’s eyes once again, bore into [Y/N]’s with a sense of urgency and protection. Ranae reminded [Y/N] of her mother, Jane. From the way, she spoke with a protectiveness of a mother to her veiny freckled hands that trembled constantly. 

DING.

[Y/N] hummed, taking the brown bags underneath her arms hastily, “I will don't worry.” She reassured Ranae with a tight-lipped smile, before pushing through the door that opened with a groan.

The smell of summer once again hit her, and she inhaled the sweet, tangy air. It was humid as well, the weather was hot and sticky. [Y/N] was used to it from being on a farm for all of her life, yet she never really enjoyed it. Her dad, Steve, enjoyed the heat, he loved it. He would always drag her out of the house when it was well into the 90’s.

She really misses her dad.

[Y/N] threw the brown bags in the tail bed of her 1995 Ford 150. She slid into the plush fabric of her seat, shutting the car door behind her as she slumped against the leather steering wheel. 

“Why in the hell is it so damn hot?” 

She peeled herself off of the steering wheel, her head heavy as drowsiness took over. partly from the lack of sleep, and the warm sun that scattered it’s light against her face.

She shoves the old, almost rusty, key into the ignition, turning it to start the car. The car sputtered, before failing to start. [Y/N] sighed, before trying again, turning the key in the ignition. Yet again, it groaned and sputtered with a metallic scratching noise that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. 

It was an old truck, a gift for her 16th birthday. Painted a dark red that rusted around its silver rims, the truck was a relic, almost like a family heirloom that her family passed down from one generation to the next. It was frequent that the truck wouldn't start, constantly breaking down from a plethora of problems. It wasn't just one problem with the truck, but everything. The engine, the ground cables, the filter, overheating-- the truck almost had every problem in the book.

“I swear to fucking god,” She turns it for the third time, Please, god, start.” She pleaded as the engine sputtered once more, before roaring to life with fever. 

[Y/N] slumped her head on her steering wheel once more and said, “Thank you,” She kissed the leather steering wheel, thankful that the universe had answered her pleas. 

With the roar of the engine [Y/N] peeled out of the small parking lot of the Grocery Store.

Within the forgotten garden, an eerie silence lingered, broken only by the faint rustle of weeds that thrived unchecked. Like rebellious tendrils, the vibrant greens stretched beyond the confines of the patch of tilled earth, entwining their wiry strands with the blades of grass and any unsuspecting object within reach. Mushrooms and fungi covered the garden like a blanket, growing in mass abundance. This unruly congregation of vegetation and fungi seemed to possess a will of its own, reclaiming its dominion over a forsaken realm. Amongst the overgrown foliage, unseen insects and arachnids sought refuge, their presence betrayed only by an occasional scuttle or a shimmer of silken threads. Camouflaged amidst the verdant chaos, they patiently awaited their next unsuspecting prey, ready to seize upon any who ventured too close. 

As the sun descended in the western sky, its golden rays extended through the dense foliage of towering oak trees, painting a mesmerizing tapestry of light and shadow. The ethereal dance of illumination and obscurity enveloped the scene, amplifying the eeriness that permeated the air. The songs of robins and mourning doves serenaded the somber landscape, their delicate melodies contrasting with the ominous backdrop. Amidst the rustling leaves and trilling birds, She heard the distant grunt of a white-tailed deer. And as the final rays of sunlight retreated beyond the horizon, they bathed the discovery in a soft, eerie glow, accentuating the unsettling sight before the witness's eyes.

[Y/N] glanced at her phone, which glowed an illuminating white. She looked at the white numbers that read: 6:00 PM.  

She stretched her limps as they  ached from hours of being hunched over digging to completely remove the wild grass and herbs that grew. Her arms gave a satisfying crack, just as her back did in response. She had napped for a satisfying 7 hours,only waking a few times. [Y/N] was suprised that she was able to nap in general. She was content and fully recharged. On the downside, she probably won’t be able to get any rest tonight. 

At least she'll be able to stay awake binging Netflix.

With a determined grip, she thrust her green gloves into the yielding earth, their fabric sinking into the damp soil as she uprooted the herbs with a swift, purposeful tug. As she pulled, the tips of her gloves absorbed the essence of the earth, their vibrant hue now tainted by the stubborn remnants of the earth's bounty. The once-pristine fingers of her gloves were adorned with a telltale shade of brown, evidence of their close association with the soil. And beneath the surface, her nails bore the weight of the garden's secrets, caked with a fine layer of dirt that clung tenaciously to the thin, porous material. 

[Y/N]’s mind wandered as she aimlessly dug through the soil, ripping the herbs from their roots like tendrils. Until her hands gripped something that squished beneath her fingers.

She gazed down, her eyes widening in pure horror, as a gut-wrenching sight unfolded before her. In her trembling hands, a writhing mass of maggots squirmed with repulsive vigor, their pale bodies contorting and intertwining in an unsettling dance. The pungent stench of decay wafted through the air, assaulting her senses and threatening to overpower her resolve. As her grip tightened involuntarily, the soft flesh of the larvae ruptured, smearing her trembling hands with a sickening mixture of viscera and fluids. The once-innocent soil beneath her feet became a graveyard for crushed worms, their slimy remnants mingling with her fingers, an unholy stain that marked her as both witness and participant in this grotesque scene. 

[Y/N] let out a blood churdling scream as she stumbled backwards from her squatting position, landing on her backside. She frantically swiped her hands together to get the maggots off as they fell into the grass beside her. 

The squirming maggots, now a grotesque spectacle in the dew-kissed grass, seemed to writhe in agony. Their once pale, plump bodies were now stained crimson, their delicate flesh bearing the gruesome evidence of their fallen brethren.  Each wriggling creature fought desperately, their tiny frames flayed violently as they were torn away from their decaying feast. The gore of destruction painted the once vibrant green blades of grass a haunting shade of red.

“What the actual fuck?” 

Laying where [Y/N]’s gloved hand dug, was a mound of dirt that maggots swarmed, their white skin hiding beneath the dirt.

[Y/N]’s curiosity peaked exponentially as she moved closer to the mound, dirt staining her knees brown. Her gloves dug through the maggots filled mound, her stomach filling with uneasiness as they glided through the soil.

Suddenly, her hands struck a soft, pudgy, material. [Y/N] dug through the dirt to fully uncover the mound, and as maggots crawled anxiously around her hands, she recoiled in disgust. She was sure it must be a dead animal, and the land must have grown around it, right? 

[Y/N] knew the stench of death, and didn't partially mind the sight of dead animals. Her father, Steve, was a frequent hunter of deer and other game, to which [Y/N] accompanied him. Steve had taught her from a young age how to field dress a deer. Hanging the deer up by its hooves to a tree, she remembers taking her father's hunting knife and running it down the belly of the animal-- very gently to not puncture the belly. Scooping the contents of the deer out, leaving the inside of the deer completely bare. That was the easy part. Now to field dress the deer, was a tedious and lengthy process, using the tip of her knife to slowly peel the hide off of the animal. Hours would pass in the blistering Kansas heat and wind. It was revolting, yet she grew accustomed to the sight.

For her 13th birthday, she was gifted an old 22. rifle from Steve—an old gun that needed to constantly be cleaned and scoped in. The bullets weren’t made for large game such as deer, but they did work on prairie dogs that plagued cow farmers' fields. Eventually, she got a .300 WIN MAG, which now sat below her bed.

She had guessed the rotting carcass of an anwinsle from the potent smell wafting through the air. An unmistakable and haunting odor tainted the air, suffusing every inhalation with a chilling foreboding. It was the stench of death, a macabre orchestra composed of decaying flesh and the ghostly remnants of blood.  

As she slowly uncovered the mound, it became more and more apparent what the mound was. Her hands swiped away the last layer of dirt and maggots to reveal the form underneath the soil. 

[Y/N]’s features contorted with sheer terror again, the lines of his face etched deep with despair. The pallor of her skin turned with goosebumps, a stark contrast to the clammy beads of perspiration that clung to her furrowed brow. Eyes wide, they became twin portals to the void, reflecting the depths of her fear—paralyzed.

A corpse, abandoned to the earth, lies in a state of advanced decomposition. Its once vibrant form is now a haunting testament to the inevitability of mortality. The body, stripped of life, is a pillar of grotesque transformations. The flesh has given way to a grotesque canvas, with patches of decomposed tissue revealing glimpses of bone beneath. The skin, mottled and discolored, hangs loosely, tattered and ravaged by relentless decay. Time etched deep crevices into the once-familiar countenance, obscuring any resemblance to the person it once was. Swarms of maggots and other scavengers feast upon the remains, their writhing presence further amplifying the scene's repulsive nature. 

 Bile crawled up through [Y/N]’s as she doubled over, vomiting into the grass next to her. Food chunks and liquid sprayed the green grass a vomit brown. A tremor coursed through her trembling frame, betraying her tenuous grasp on composure. It was in this harrowing moment that horror unfurled its chilling wings, casting an indelible veil upon her face—a blanket of anguish. The very air seemed to quiver in the presence of such raw, unadulterated fear, as if nature itself recoiled in silent reverence for the intensity of her terror. 

She had torn off her gloves as she scrambled across the grass, grabbing her phone, in an attempt to distance herself as much as possible from the corpse. Her surroundings seemed to spin as the drum of her heart overtook her hearing as well as the sound of the dial tone. When did she call 911?

“This is 911, what’s your emergency?” A woman's voice came from the other side of the phone. Calm, and tender, her voice was comforting. Yet her voice was almost muffled as [Y/N]'s heartbeat filled her eardrums.

“I," [Y/N]'s breath was shaky, quiet as she spoke with a sense of urgency, "Would like to report a dead body."

tag, @rat-briccs-trauma, @strawberrie-fluff, @spookyravioli @darkovergrownforestnymph, @urmomisaqt420 @yipeeesstuff

.@qupiikaaa @fynnwolff

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Revisiting Some Old (and New) Fic Ideas!

Obstacle Course: Linda and Wally babysit Owen, Bart, and Thad for the weekend to ease their fears about parenthood.

The Grandmother Effect: An older woman finds Damian Wayne unconscious in an alley and nurses him back to health. The problem is, he doesn't remember who he is, and he thinks she's his grandmother.

The Houdini Clause: Scott Free-centric boarding school AU

Radio Silence: College student and radio show host, Thad Thawne moves in with Tim Drake at Bart's request in this 90s AU.

If Ever In My Nature: HS AU where Guy recalls the summer he fell in love with a boy named Taylor from his school's buddy program.

I Bet You're Wondering: College AU where Ted and Booster meet in the emergency room.

orange: Guy Gardner decides to foster a little girl in this no powers AU.

Thicker Than Blood: Jade asks for Ivy's help after Roy shows up in her apartment, suffering from a mysterious illness. She suspects it's poison, but it's unlike anything she's ever seen before.

Sky's The Limit: College football player, Michael "Booster Gold" Carter pretends to come from a wealthy family to impress Ted Kord.

Little Winter: Stephanie Brown takes a little girl to the ER and decides to take responsibility for her when she realizes the little girl has nowhere to go.

[izzysarchivedblogs]

[ hold ] one muse cradles the other’s face between their hands ground them. 

// Make it Linda holding his face pls maybe?

@thefleetsfinest -> here's that into darkness thing we were talking about

Where to begin with the past several ⸻honestly, she hasn't been keeping track of the time and in the following days, Linda would come to find how short a time that everything had happened.

From apprehending a man, three hundred years old, to the Enterprise being fired upon; it happened in rapid succession one thing after the next thing after the next. Lives lost, that's the most important sticking fact to her. Linda had been scared along with everyone else, but she knew her role and the face she had to wear. A brave face, stepped right up and she had been intensive situations before.

When the ship first arrived, transporter and shuttles being used to land on the planet. Precautions taken, protective equipment worn and masses of people getting sick, dying. The first week were the roughest, assessment of a situation that was worse than the initial information that they had received. It was awful, made her feel ill and shed tears in the one moment alone she'd find.

They helped people, that's what a hospital ship was for. Helping, bringing supplies, relief and aid. Crisis. Linda's proven to herself that she could handle that, after so many years of medical school and training, and she knew she could. When she had been there, it really had tested her.

The Captain didn't die there nor had there been a three hundred year old war criminal and an Admiral who gone so far with what he had done. Linda was sure when the shock wore off for everyone there will be reports and all the sort of stuff that even before she considered Starfleet, stuff Linda hadn't cared for. The talk, all the bureaucracy of everything. It wouldn't be at the top of her concerns, that would go to the Chief Medical Officer. There would be a funeral after for everyone lost.

Linda's already got the number in her head, or at least a guess from before they were even pulled out of the Enterprise after it was all over. She knows her people, knows the ship crew and size. It's not hard to keep Help coming, taking accounting and the count was one less than what it was The Captain, something that may have felt sort of him playing at being a god; that's one of the things that any medical professional all secretly thought they could play at, when it came to saving lives and Chief Mccoy had done it. He had played god, and it was remarkable. Her eyes couldn't look away from him.

Khan's blood had done it, revived a dead tribble and the Captain's only had just died. Livor mortis sets in at twenty minutes, that had been the window of time that felt like a miracle. Tribble starts breathing and brain function was first to save, the heart could be fine for up to an order and the heart valves for a day. She was able to work with that when Dr. Marcus and Chief Mccoy had put Jim Kirk in cryo to preserve what function was there.

That had been rush, she's not even sure how many hours had gone by once they had Khan, and begin transfusing blood. She had a hand in this, father wrote the modern book on hearts published multiple journals about congenial heart diseases, she was keeping an eye on the Captain's heart, made sure it was pumping properly as the blood transfusion had began. Carol Marcus and Leonard Mccoy worked on everything else while she was the monitor.

THE CAPTAIN LIVES. A miracle, and she's sure now that they had him in a hospital bed. Lungs breathing and brain function appearing present. The blood had left Jim heavily irradiated, and he's been out cold but alive. It's incredible, and her eye haven't left Leonard. They had already been looking, before he played a god, before any of this. Her eyes have been on him, chest went incredibly tight when they knew that Jim had died, watched the way that he went tense; held himself together and than dropped down at a bench, the bench with the tribble.

She couldn't move, shared that moment of silence with everyone. She had been attending to a crewman, she couldn't recall who, but her eyes had went to Leonard and watched him hold his face in his hand. His friend had just died, and he hadn't been there. Linda had watched, pinpointed the moment as the tribble began breathing how his mind had begun to work. Eureka in those blues as he runs a test, as he makes the order to get Kirk into a cryo pod. She had been monitoring those.

Preserve as much brain function, had to be fast and Linda's still watching him. Kirk's in coma, but he's alive and going to recover. There's much to worry about him still, irradiated cells and blood pumping through his body; that puts his heart on overtime, there was so much that could still go wrong. There is that chance that he won't wake up, or an unforeseen neurological change within Kirk when, if he wakes up.

It was four days post, and it's catching up to him. There's something tight between his shoulder blades as he's monitoring the Captain. Linda notices how he had been dry swallowing, jaw clenching and she can guess at a grinding of his teeth. She's aware that he hasn't had a moment alone, reports and talk, being in here to monitor Kirk himself. Linda knows why he does that, long chat about anything and everything. Jim was his best friend, and he put himself at risk and died. Revival wouldn't matter.

I can keep watching him, and she would continue monitoring him. There's nothing to update, his body was healing. He lived. She takes over, or tries to when she can. Enforce that she won't work under the Chief if he's not taking any care of himself. Linda doesn't know what he does when she stands in the door way and refuses him to entrance. As the days drag on to two weeks, Linda knows she's wearing herself thin but she's holding on better.

It's nothing to comparable like anything before, but she's had experiences and someone had to. It's as it reaches two weeks, and Jim Kirk wakes up, that Linda is certain he's not sleeping. That was already a given, but he's really not doing well. Jim's awake, and than there's something, as they were both leaving for the evening. Linda knows not to presume how someone will react to anything. Heart transplant, and the young woman excited to have a new lease on life comes back one month later sobbing for the heart to be ripped put and left with a dead heart.

His best friend was alive, awake now, and he seems defeated, heartbroken. Linda tries to say something, call him back. Hey Chief, you, uh, and she chokes on that. Try to get some sleep, Mccoy, I mean it. She was really worried about him, should have just said that. Admit that she watches, pays attention, and he's her friend. Close friend, possibly her best friend on the ship. She should have just aid that, she's shown the concern before but come on, Carter. She knows that her noticing him was more.

It's hours later, and Linda's gotten sleep and she's his friend, call him or better yet he told her where's his apartment. She's up early, way early enough that it makes it an odd hour, most people don't show up at seven am but they knew each other's sleep schedules. He'd be awake and he'd appreciate good coffee.

That's how she ended up in front of his San Francisco apartment, and he does answer to her. AND THE SIGHT OF HIM ⸻ Oh, he was drunk, not just hung over but like he still was nursing a drink. There really had been something bothering him, whatever it was after Jim had woken up. ❝ I'm guessing you're hoping that I had brought an Irish coffee. ❞ She comes in, won't let him take back opening the door to her.

❝ I don't mind the state or the mess. ❞ She's in, and he was sad; must've been mulling over something all night.

Cursory glance around the place, mostly searching for what was his poison was. She takes in the little kitchen, the living room with the bookshelves. Another time, maybe she could browse them and take her pick of things. Really, what she was doing was looking for his poison. One large bottle, and a glass sitting to be filled. There's maybe less than half of the glass worth left. It's got to be a strong proof, and he was going to have one hell of a hangover that was not going to be polite with him.

Linda knows that this was heavy to be dealing with, and she's got to weight her options with him. Decides, however, that he was done at least and one more was only going to make him hurt him. She goes to pour the final glass, and drinks it herself. It's not to show off, but she finishes off the rest in a go. ❝ You don't have the worst taste but there is better whiskeys. ❞ A soft muse, poor attempt at humor she knows. Linda knows her liquor, ❝ Poker with ol' pops, no Doctor Carter in this family wasn't going to not know the good drinks from the bad drinks. ❞

She explains, just to be talking and show that it was okay. She was here, and she wasn't going anywhere; no judgements either. Linda sets the glass down, next to the coffees and leaning down, reaches to take off her shoes. ❝ Come on, floor time, no saying no. Indulge me. ❞ Linda goes to get water instead, because coffee wasn't the trick to countering alcohol consumption. It was the trick to hiding alcohol consumption.

He'll know what that means, over the year they've been working together and they'd end up in his office, sitting on the floor. Shoes became optional, once they felt like were friends and Linda admitted while her shoes were comfortable she rather have them off. So floor time, no shoes, and they'd just sit and talk. Take a moment to just be before they were back to work. It's their thing, what she'd do for a friend.

She moves the coffee table away from the couch to make room for them on the floor. Sits herself in front of his couch, back against it than pats the spot directly next to him and looks at him expectantly. Come on, she's his friend and she's watched him for two weeks wear himself to the. . . . the bone; she knows his nickname, the pun wasn't intended. There's concern on all fronts, but Linda wasn't letting her friend continue or be alone.

They sit, just quiet for a moment and she just focuses on her breathing. ❝ So, that was a lot, sweeping it under the rug? ❞ She starts, trying to speculate perhaps where some of this was coming from. ❝ Christ, I am doing alright or I will be, will be okay again after some time. Nothing like what I've worked under before. ❞ She starts with herself, just talks and tell him about the rush of the day it was, along with the lead up. Admits she was scared, worried for him a lot of it.

❝ First week on planet, the masses. . . . Fifty patients about every nurse and doctor; thirty eight of those first fifty under my watch died. ❞ She's talking about her last ship she had been aboard, giving him some context for where he was at with her feeling. How she handled everything there. She had lost fellow nurses and doctors too, who got infected but that wasn't admitted. Linda will tell Leonard everything he wants to know anytime, about her past assignment or more.

This time, it all happened so fast and they lost crew mates and friends. Linda talks about that, how she may won't feel the effects until a few more days later and the ship; their home for the time was in dry dock for colossal repair. Talks about herself, and perhaps she shouldn't when Leonard is drunk. It just might help, to know she feels it all too.

Linda knows he's drunk, knows there's the chance he's maybe not going to remember parts of this. Aware of his state, but he's alone and he needs a friend; and Linda's concerned for him. So she's hear, and talking. She notices how he was leaning into her, seeking physical contact, and she turns to him. Gives him something more, connection as well, to see in her eyes.

Her hand goes to cup his cheek, hold his face and really look him in the eyes. Thumb brushes slowly, barely skimming over his skin. Her face displays the fullness of her concern, of her care, her best friend since meeting him on the Enterprise. ❝ Hey, hey ⸺ you can let yourself breath, and feel, and you can rest. ❞ She tells him, her lips a part and she means that.

Hopes that she was reaching him, and she has a thought. ❝ He woke up, you saved him and he saved everyone, than died. You weren't there for that, but you were there to save him and he's awake cause of you. ❞ Pure speculation, and she'll admit to that. ❝ You saved your friend, Leonard, that's enough. ❞

Linda continues to hold his face, thumb still moving so slowly over its place. ❝ Talk to me, how I can help you, Chief, I really worried about you and please, tell me what upset you today. ❞ She pleas, and waits and than she listens. Continue to hold his face, or hug him and be his friend. SHE LISTENS WHEN HE TALKS, EVERY WORD, AND DOESN'T LOOK AWAY UNTIL HE WANTS HER TO.

Her hand doesn't stray from his face, and she knows, she knows, she knows. But he's drunk, and this was just friends. That would be okay for Linda. Eventually, they will get up and leave the floor, his apartment. When that happens, Linda presses her thumb gently into skin and rubs again. ❝ Hey, you slipped and this is one hell of a hangover to have, but Leonard? You got through it, in a terrifying time and you did something incredible, and we can talk about that too. ❞

There's a lot of ethics brushed on there and thoughts, she liked their debates and slow day philosophical wanders. Adored those times, and she had so many thoughts about what he had did. There is the god topic, and than seeing how he worked, how he saved hiss friend. A lot to discuss. Later, that's all for later.

❝ You were strong than, and you'll be strong again, and with help if you ask for it, which I am right here, you're my best friend and of course, I'd help you ⸻ speaking of hell hangovers, you're getting water, doctor's orders, and we're gonna go eat now. Doctor's orders too. ❞ Linda's assuming he'll ride the hangover out, instead of curing it medically. Thumb brush one more time, than she's up to get him more water to drink. AFTER THEY'LL GO EAT.

[jackbatchelor3]

I know there's still a lot of time left for things to be set up but currently I think Ravi is the victim of the Six. Initially I thought it could be Ravi, Nish or Keanu.

Right now though Ravi has connections with

• Suki: let her believe she killed Ranveer, didnt give her an alibi which ultimately let Kheerat to life inside.

• Stacey: same reasons atm, losing Kheerat due to him.

• Denise: the affair, blackmail, dating Chelsea.

• Sharon: getting Keanu involved in drug dealing, and then leaving him for dead.

Currently no ties for Kathy and is Linda the sixth? From spoilers we find out next week that the pub gets trashed because she goes back on her deal with the Panasars so it could be Ravi that trashes it on Nish's order and perhaps provides further trouble for her going forward.

Have you had any thoughts yet on possible victims?

It would be too obvious for the body to be Ravi, but if he's gonna be connected to The Six, then who's to say the body won't be Nish?

[sassenashsworld]

I was causually discussing about Goncharov with my mother on the bench behind my house when suddenly, she asks me;

"Which movie?"

"The Martin Scorcese's success of 1973."

"Never saw..."

"You really should, better then Godfather in my sense, and you have Robert de Niro AND Al Pacino all in one."

"You kidding me?"

"No listen, the main theme. It's good, is in't? Remind me of the theme of La vie est belle."

"Yeah, I concede... 1973?"

"Yup, look, Linda Carter was at the premier."

And that's how I piss off my mom today

[rayslittlekitten]

All I Have To Give

“Crush” Masterlist

A/N: So "From the Bottom of My Broken Heart" came on shuffle and it made me think of young Benny. My headcanon is Benny absolutely loves pop music, particularly boybands in the late 90s-early 2000 era. Also that he's a hopeless romantic and everything kinda fell into place with him in the "Crush" universe. Hope you enjoy this little cute piece about Benny with pop songs sprinkled in there.

Rating: G

Word Count: 559

Pairing: Benny Miller & BFF! GN!Reader (reader is F in some of the other fics, but this can be read as GN), Benny Miller x OCs (named and unnamed)

Plot: Benny’s got all the love to give and he's been trying to find someone to give it all to.

Contains: Benjamin being a hopeless romantic and some late 90s-early 2000 pop music references

There goes your best friend nervously walking up to the waitress who's been the apple of his eye for the last two months. He thinks that her memorizing his usual order is a sign she's interested. You don't want to burst his little bubble letting him know she also memorized yours.

That lover boy is the most hopelessly romantic person you've ever met - to a fault. Once he falls in love, he gets tunnel vision and obsesses over them. You blame it on pop music. He'll never publicly admit it, but the Backstreet Boys are his favorite boyband. He never learns his lesson though. His heart has been broken so many times, you're sure it has turned into sand. You gotta admire him though. All these rejections and heartaches never deters him from looking for love again. He's just a puppy. Literally. Give him head pets and treats, and he'll eat out of the palm of your hands.

You remember in the summer after sophomore year, on the last day of school, Ben worked up the courage to ask his current crush at the time, Kristina out after being the Invisible Man all year. He even got a summer job so he knew he'd have money to take her out. She said yes, and after a few dates, you both saw her getting cozy with a different blonde - Jaime Carter, who had a resemblance to Nick Carter. He would even tell girls that he's related to him, which you both knew was bullshit.

That summer, you must have heard Britney's "From the Bottom of my Broken Heart" more times than any song ever. NSYNC's "Bye Bye Bye" was a close second. As much as he loved "Show Me The Meaning of Being Lonely", the reminder of Nick Carter made it worse. Lover Boy was hurting and pop music was his way to soothe his heart.

Then a month later, Linda walked into the doors of his job and subsequently, into his life. As he described it to you, it was like a movie moment. It happened in slow motion while Savage Garden’s “I Knew I Loves You” played in the background. When summer ended, so did his time with Linda when she went back home. She was only in town to visit family. Gone.

Once school started again, and the new girl became the new object of his affection. He worked up the courage to ask her to the Junior Winter Wonderland Bash and Christmas came early for him when she said yes. Couple of months later, he felt like his death came early when she became someone else's valentine. All or Nothing.

Then there was Tina from the music store, Becky from the movie theater, Maria from Blockbuster, Vivian at the bowling alley. Rinse, recycle and repeat. This went well into adulthood.

And today? No different. You watch Benny as he makes his way back to the booth with an extra pep in his step.

"I got her number!" Benny flashes the napkin along with his teeth.

"Good job!" You high five him and tussle his hair. "You want the rest of my fries?" you offer.

"Oooh!" His eyes light up and his ears perk up as he digs in.

20 years later and still a puppy. And every time, you hope he gets his fairytale ending.

[dnaamericaapp]

Beyoncé’s ‘Cowboy Carter’ Spotlights Black Country Music Pioneer Linda Martell

Beyoncé’s new album, “Cowboy Carter,” has shined a light on a country music pioneer that many people may not know.

One of the album’s tracks is called “The Linda Martell Show,” which is an intro to the song “Ya Ya.” Martell appears on that track, as well as the song “Spaghetti.” Though Linda Martell, 82, has a long history in country music, many who are unfamiliar with her name and her vocals, are asking the question: Who is Linda Martell?

In 1970, Martell released “Color Me Country” which featured the hit “Color Him Father,” a cover of a song by The Winstons. The album also included such popular songs as “Bad Case of the Blues,” “Before the Next Teardrop Falls” and “You’re Crying Boy, Crying.”

Rolling Stone said that her album, which was described as “a mix of honky-tonk spunk and heartbreak balladry, all infused with her roots in gospel and R&B,” led Martell to become the first solo Black woman country artist to play the Grand Ole Opry.

“During that time,” Rolling Stone reports, “She also appeared on the hugely popular syndicated country variety show ‘Hee Haw’ and shared stages with country artists like Hank Snow and Waylon Jennings.”

Lindamartell.com also touts her as “a pioneering force hailed as the unsung hero of the genre” who “had the highest peaking single on the Billboard Hot Country Singles (now Songs) chart at #22, ‘Color Him Father,’ by a Black female country artist in the history of the genre in 1969, until Beyonce’s “Texas Hold ’Em” debuted at #1 on February 21, 2024.” -(source: nbc news)

DNA America

“It’s what we know, not what you want us to believe.”

#dna #dnaamerica #news #politics

[doyelikehaggis]

Fandoms + Ships (for Prompt Purposes)

As I like to reblog prompts a lot but have the annoying little habit of jumping ship on a fandom, I decided it is finally time I make an official list, which will be constantly updated as I develop new interests! If there’s a ship you want to request but it isn’t here, just ask and I’ll let you know where I stand with it!

In The Flesh

• Kieren x Rick

• Kieren x Simon

The Hunger Games

• Everlark (Katniss/Peeta)

• Finnick/Annie

• Haymitch/Effie

• Katniss/Madge

HSMTMTS

• Caswen (Ricky/EJ)

• Portwell (EJ/Gina)

• Mashlynn (Maddox/Ashlynn)

• Ricky/Jet

The Vampire Diaries

• Stelena (Stefan/Elena)

• Mattlena (Matt/Elena)

• Tylena (Tyler/Elena)

• Elenijah (Elijah/Elena)

• Barolena (Bonnie/Caroline/Elena)

• Stexi (Stefan/Lexi)

• Denzo (Damon/Enzo)

• Forwood (Tyler/Caroline)

• Maroline (Matt/Caroline)

• Bamon (Bonnie/Damon)

• Bamenzo (Bonnie/Damon/Enzo)

• Carenzo (Caroline/Enzo)

• Dalijah (Damon/Elijah)

• Parkwood (Tyler/Liv)

• Klayley (Klaus/Hayley)

Legacies

• Handon (Hope/Landon)

• Jandon (Josie/Landon)

• Henelope (Hope/Penelope)

• Hizzie (Hope/Lizzie)

• Kizzie (Kaleb/Lizzie)

• Methan (MG/Ethan)

• Ked (Kaleb/Jed)

• Dark!Jobastian (Dark!Josie/Sebastian)

• Landizzie (Landon/Lizzie)

Teen Wolf

• Sciles (Scott/Stiles)

• Scydia (Scott/Lydia)

• Mccallinski (Lydia/Scott/Stiles)

• Stalia (Stiles/Malia)

• Malydia (Malia/Lydia)

• Stira (Stiles/Kira)

• Scira (Scott/Kira)

• Liason (Liam/Mason)

• Allydia (Allison/Lydia)

• Allerica (Allison/Erica)

• Berica (Boyd/Erica)

• Malisaac (Malia/Isaac)

• Lydora (Lydia/Cora)

• Allora (Allison/Cora)

• Scanny (Scott/Danny)

• Malira (Malia/Kira)

The Witcher

• Yennskier (Yennefer/Jaskier)

• Geraskerer (Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier)

• Raskier (Radovid/Jaskier)

• Trennefer (Triss/Yennefer)

• Geralt/Triss

EastEnders

• Frobby (Bobby/Freddie)

• Chryed (Christian/Syed)

• Ballum (Ben/Callum)

• Sukeve (Suki/Eve)

• Ben Mitchell/Kheerat Panesar

• Jack Branning/Michael Moon

• Whitney Dean/Chelsea Fox

• Lauren Branning/Peter Beale

• Lauren Branning/Lucy Beale

• Peter Beale/Fatboy

• Zack Hudson/Martin Fowler

• Zack Hudson/Felix Baker

• Anna Knight/Bernie Taylor

• Stacey Slater/Danielle Jones

• Peter Beale/Tamwar Masood

• Darren Miller/Tamwar Masood

• Masood Ahmed/Jane Beale

• Anna Knight/Bobby Beale

• Anna Knight/Bobby Beale/Freddie Slater

• Linda Carter/Alfie Moon

Hollyoaks

• McHay (Ste/John Paul)

• McShepherd (John Paul/Carter)

• Stendan (Ste/Brendan)

• Brendan/Walker

• Joel/Theresa

• Brendan/Warren

• Brendan & Mitzeee (platonic)

• Brendan & Joel (platonic)

• Amy/Michaela

• Leah/Vicky

Friends

• Roey (Rachel/Joey)

• Chanoey (Chandler/Joey)

Stranger Things

• Elmax (El/Max)

• Elumax (El/Lucas/Max)

• Byclair (Lucas/Will)

• Byler (Will/Mike)

• Ronance (Robin/Nancy)

• Steddie (Steve/Eddie)

Glee

• Blam (Blaine/Sam)

• St. Hudson (Finn/Jesse)

• Tike (Tina/Mike)

• Quinntana (Quinn/Santana)

• Pezberry (Santana/Rachel)

• Quinncedes (Quinn/Mercedes)

• Sike (Sam/Mike)

• Jarley (Jake/Marley)

• Kurtbastian (Kurt/Sebastian)

The Flash

• Barrisco (Barry/Cisco)

• Snowbarrisco (Caitlin/Barry/Cisco)

• WestStein (Joe/Martin)

• Superflash (Barry/Kara)

• Thallen (Barry/Eddie)

•Westthallen (Iris/Barry/Eddie)

• Westhawne (Iris/Eddie)

Outlander

• Jamie/John

• John/Brianna

• Brianna/Roger

• Lizzie/Josiah/Kezzie

• William/Denzell

Lucifer

• Lucifella (Ella/Lucifer)

• Douchifella (Lucifer/Dan/Ella)

• Mazifer (Maze/Lucifer)

• Douchifer (Dan/Lucifer)

• Chlaze (Chloe/Maze)

PJO/HoO

• Jasico (Jason/Nico)

• Jercy (Jason/Percy)

• Perachel (Percy/Rachel)

• Rachabeth (Rachel/Annabeth)

• Pipabeth (Piper/Annabeth)

Merlin

• Merthur (Merlin/Arthur)

• Mercelot (Merlin/Lancelot)

•Merwaine (Merlin/Gwaine)

• Morgwen (Morgana/Gwen)

The Dumping Ground

• Elektra/Faith

• Elektra/Carmen

• Carmen/Lily

• Tyler/Jody

• Jody/Sasha

• Tyler/Ryan

• Chloe/Candi-Rose

• Candi-Rose/Bird

• Candi-Rose/Jay

The Story of Tracy Beaker

• Tracy/Crash

• Tracy/Ben

• Tracy/Lol

• Lol/Wolfie

• Crash/Rio

• Justine/Rebecca

Life With Derek

• Dasey (Derek/Casey)

• Derek/Sam

• Derek/Trevor

• Casey/Sally

Boy Meets World

• Shory (Shawn/Cory)

• Jeric (Jack/Eric)

• Eric/Jason

• Shawngela (Shawn/Angela)

• Shawpanga (Shawn/Topanga)

Girl Meets World

• Rilaya (Riley/Maya)

• Riley/Zay

• Riarkle (Riley/Farkle)

• Lucaya (Lucas/Maya)

• Maya/Zay

• Riley/Maya/Zay

Descendants

• Jal (Jay/Mal)

• Jaylos (Jay/Carlos)

• Mevie (Mal/Evie)

• Hevie (Harry/Evie)

• Buma (Ben/Uma)

• Umaudrey (Uma/Audrey)

• Haudrey (Harry/Audrey)

• Humaudrey (Harry/Uma/Audrey)

• Bevie (Ben/Evie)

iCarly

• Creddie (Carly/Freddie)

• Carly/Sam

• Carper (Carly/Harper)

• Sparper (Spencer/Harper)

Victorious

• Tandre (Tori/Andre)

• Jori (Jade/Tori)

Zoey 101

• Quogan (Quinn/Logan)