#die hard iphone

[rigginsstreet]

"oh apple is bad you should get a different kind of laptop instead"

ok but have you considered ive been using the same macbook for the past 10+ years and i do not like change

[yatiso]

man fuck carpal tunnel im about to teach myself how to become left handed

[updownlately]

Oh and she loves Shake It Off! SO MUCH

okay she's cultured. i respect it 😂

[passionpeachy]

Highlights from the Green Day concert at Austin

flames

that dancing guy in the gross ass bunny suit at the start of the show that they just REFUSE to clean

someone threw Billie Joe a Mexican flag and he posed with it (as a Mexican American I cheered VERY hard)

someone in the crowd gave him a big red hairbow and he wore it (I wish I had a picture)

more flames

me scream-singing and dancing to every single song so hard I didn't notice I lost an earring and it SHATTERED under my boot

Billie Joe pulling out a heart grenade that exploded into red streamers and my butch boyfriend caught one and tied it to my hair 💗 they also kept making sure I was hydrated throughout the show

The costume changes when they went from playing Dookie to American Idiot. ex: Mike Dirnt (bassist) taking off the orange jumpsuit from the Basket Case music video to reveal the more "modern" outfit under. I think that transition was cool considering how different these 2 eras are!

THE GIANT HEART GRENADE INFLATABLE????

the little Bad Year blimp from the album cover of Dookie flying over the crowd

my boyfriend buying me a tote bag at the merch table ^_^

When Billie told us to take out our phone flashlights to wave in the air (during Boulevard of Broken Dreams I think?) and said it was the only thing an iPhone is good for.... #ilovemyboomerdad

During Time of your Life (the last song), after Billie Joe told the crowd to put away their phones and to be “in the moment”, Tre Cool (drummer) runs out with a phone and circles him while filming LMAO

BONUS: this picture my boyfriend took of me while I was singing along to Fuck Off and Die

[metamatar]

When electronics manufacturing took off in China in the 1980s, rural women who had just begun moving to the cities made up the majority of the factory workforce. They didn’t have many other options. Managers at companies like Foxconn preferred to hire women because they believed them to be more obedient [...]

Hiring a young, female workforce in India comes with its own requirements — which include reassuring doting parents about the safety of their daughters. The company offers workers free food, lodging, and buses to ensure a safe commute at all hours of the day. On days off, women who live in Foxconn hostels have a 6 p.m. curfew; permission is required to spend the night elsewhere. “[If] they go out and not return by a specific time, their parents would be informed,” a former Foxconn HR manager told Rest of World. “[That’s how] they offer trust to their parents.”

[...] the Tamil Nadu government sent a strong signal welcoming Foxconn and other manufacturers: Authorities approved new regulations that would increase workdays from eight to 12 hours. This meant that Foxconn and other electronics factories would be able to reduce the number of shifts needed to keep their production line running from three to two, just like in China. [...] Political parties aligned with the government called the bill “anti-labor” and, during the vote, walked out of the legislative assembly. After the bill passed, trade unions in the state announced a series of actions including a demonstration on motorbikes, civil disobedience campaigns, and protests in front of the ruling party’s local headquarters. The government shelved its new rule within four days.

Indian Foxconn workers told Rest of World that eight hours under intense pressure is already hard to bear. “I’ll die if it’s 12 hours of work,” said Padmini, the assembly line worker.

For the expatriate workers, the slower pace of the factory floors in India is its own shock to the system. A Taiwanese manager at a different iPhone supplier in the Chennai area told Rest of World that India’s 8-hour shifts and industry-standard tea breaks were a drag on production. “You have barely settled in on your seat, and the next break comes,” the manager lamented.

In China, Foxconn relies on lax enforcement of the country’s labor law — which limits workdays to eight hours and caps overtime — as well as lucrative bonuses to get employees to work 11 hours a day during production peaks [...] five Chinese and Taiwanese workers said they were surprised to discover that their Indian colleagues refused to work overtime. Some attributed it to a weak sense of responsibility; others to what they perceived as Indian people’s low material desire. “They are easily content,” an engineer deployed from Zhengzhou said. “They can’t handle even a bit more pressure. But if we don’t give them pressure, then we won’t be able to get everything right and move production here in a short time.” [...] At the same time, the expat staff enjoy the Indian work culture of tea breaks, chatting with colleagues, and going home on time. They recognize they are helping the company spread a Chinese work culture that they know can be unhealthy. [...]

On the assembly line, Foxconn’s targets were tough to reach, workers said. Jaishree, 21, joined the iPhone shop floor in 2022 as a recent graduate with a degree in mathematics. (With India’s high level of unemployment, Foxconn’s assembly line has plenty of women with advanced degrees, including MBAs.) [...] “At the start, during my eight-hour shift, I did about 300 [screws]. Now, I do 750,” she said. “We have to finish within time, otherwise they will scold us.” [...]

Mealtimes are an issue, too. In December 2021, thousands of Indian Foxconn employees protested after some 250 colleagues contracted food poisoning. In response, the company changed food contractors, and increased its monthly base salary from 14,000 rupees to 18,000 rupees ($168 to $216) — double the minimum wage prescribed by the Tamil Nadu labor department for unskilled workers. [...]

Working conditions take a physical toll. Padmini has experienced hair loss because she has to wear a skull cap and work in air-conditioned spaces, she said. “Neck pain is the worst, since we are constantly bending down and working.” She has irregular periods, which she attributes to the air conditioning and the late shifts. “[Among] girls with me on the production line, some six girls have this problem,” Padmini said. Workers said they regularly see colleagues become unwell. “The day before yesterday, a girl fainted and they took her to the hospital,” [...] Padmini, at 26, believes she is close to the age where the company might consider her too old. “They used to hire women up to age 30, now they hire only up to 28,” she said.

[xyaehir]

need ur attention asap —

SYP — w characters who i think are actually really clingy (secretly or not)

GEN. — fluff

WARN. — gn!reader, clingy characs, pda, sickening couple activities

REQ. — “do you do carlos madrigal x reader.. if yes, could I get one?? i can’t really find any recent ones now and I love your works! if not, that’s completely fine!!! xx”

NOTES. — im literally so bad at sticking to one character 😭 im glad u love my works, have a good day lovely <33

thinking about having a clingy bf who can’t get enough of ur love <3

ur clingy bf! who can’t stop clinging onto you like a koala.

ur clingy bf! who loves back hugging you and discovering different cuddle positions.

ur clingy bf! who shows up to your door at random times with a bouquet of your fav flowers.

ur clingy bf! who has a secret obsession with the sweet taste of your lips.

ur clingy bf! who encourages you to play the chapstick game, a new excuse to kiss you over and over. (he doesn’t even make an effort to guess the flavour..)

ur clingy bf! who pulls you away at any social event to kiss you breathless.

ur clingy bf! who stares at you with a subtle pout as his friends drag him away to do god knows what.

ur clingy bf! who basically uses his status to go see you instead of doing what he should be.

ur clingy bf! who refuses to remove his arms around you in the morning, leading you to quite literally limp around with him attached to your hip.

ur clingy bf! who tries to act stoic in public but his facade crumbles in 5 minutes and his hands are back on your waist.

ur clingy bf! who has a habit of rubbing your noses together.

ur clingy bf! who carries you all different styles and doesn’t care about your protests.

ur clingy bf! who always cradles your face so gently whenever you’re ranting and just stares at you with heart eyes and a big, silly smile on his lips.

ur clingy bf! who pulls you back to his chest when you get even a centimetre farther from him.

ur clingy bf! who gives you another bottle of his perfume to spray on your clothes so you smell like him when you go out.

ur clingy bf! who’s always there for receiving and giving affection, especially on hard days.

ur clingy bf! who’d rather die than leave the comfort of your arms wrapped around him, his safe place.

ur clingy bf! who loves you so much that he has to remind you how amazing you are literally every 10 minutes.

ur clingy bf! who send you those care-packages every month filled with all of your favourite things, skincare, games, books etc.

ur clingy bf! who always matches with you in real life and in every game you two own. (no such thing as u playing a game that he doesnt play)

ur clingy bf! who’s always loud asf whenever he sees you. (mf sprints to u to give u a hug)

ur clingy bf! who calls you every single term of endearment, even the weirdest ones.

ur clingy bf! who definitely unironically calls you his pookie wookie farting glitter boo boo bear. (he says it so seriously too..)

ur clingy bf! who wont let you pay for anything and spoils you with everything he can get his hands on.

ur clingy bf! who would and will give the world to you.

thinking about having a clingy bf who can’t get enough of u <3

bonus!! —

the sound of the iphone alarm rings throughout the bedroom. a mix of deep, raspy groans and soft whining fill the room, replacing said irritating noise.

you reach to tap the ‘snooze’ button but a hand grabs your arm. he stretches a hand out to hit it instead but missed 5 times before effectively shutting it off. he groans, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into your chest.

“babe, get up. you’re too fat, you’re suffocating me.”

“‘s too early to get up, stop squirming,” he reaches a hand up to your face, trying to cover your mouth before you slap it away.

you wriggle in his grasp before stopping, surrendering to his warmth.

“morning, my sweet waffle with honey, maple syrup and berries on top.”

there was a good few seconds of silence to make you realise he’s not joking and genuinely calls you that.

upon imagining the image of waffles in your mind, the idea obviously makes your stomach grumble. you wanted to get up and make some but forgot about the tired guy on your chest.

with a loud groan, you drag him with you out of bed. you can definitely hear his quiet giggles as he brings the blanket with him, perched on his shoulders while you drag him around.

bonus #2!! —

“i got it, i got it!”

“baby, let me pay for it!” you strain out, struggling against his tight embrace. you can feel the vibrations of his chest behind you as he captures your arms in one hand and tries to put the money in the machine with the other.

you squeal when you free your hands from his vice grip and he tickles you to prevent sticking your money in.

“babe, babe stop! i wanna pay, its my turn.”

“i got it, don’t worry. im not gonna let you pay, ill cover it,” he laughs, taking the cash from your hands and slipping it back into your wallet.

at this point, you’re thrashing around in his grasp, not harsh enough to hurt him though. he has his arms hooked under your shoulders to prevent you from moving forward.

“please, let me pay! i got it, its fine!” he protests through his own laughter.

you throw your head back on his shoulder, giggling while trying to free yourself from his grip. he leans downwards and presses several kisses to your face, successfully stopping your movements.

he paid for you again. hey, at least you tried, right?

— (bllk) NAGI, sae, REO (genshin) KAEYA, CHILDE (star rail) gepard, JING YUAN, SAMPO (haikyuu) SUNA, tsuki, KENMA, KUROO (KNY) TANJIRO, AKAZA (ENCANTO) carlos, CAMILO (ATSV) miguel, MILES, PAVITR () YOUR FAVES

@xyaehir 2023. This is my content, inspired or not. Do not translate, copy or plagiarise my works in any way. Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated. <3

[webslingingslasher]

is trouble ever frat!peter’s lock screen? Either before or after the whole situationship thing or secretly during both eras? If so, what picture?

yes! relationship!peter does it proudly, situationship!peter is a bit more stealth. iphones have a wallpaper feature where if you hold the screen down you can swap between photos and i imagine that’s how it is.

peter went home for a week and really missed you and went through his photos and he saw that picture he snapped of you at a party. the background is blurred, proof that the liquor was flowing heavily. you’ve got a smile that shows off almost every tooth and a vice grip on a liter of rum. he doesn’t know why, but he made it his wallpaper for the week and would pick up his phone every five minutes just to look at it.

relationship!peter has a picture of the both of you. something he looks at and is reminded of what he has and how much he truly loves you. it was from a double date night you both had a few months into being official, your friend pressured peter for the photo, he rolled his eyes and gave in. he’s glad he did. it’s his favorite.

you’re wrapped around him in a side hug, peters got a grip on your shoulder. he’s laughing at something your friends date said, he’s wearing the grin you tell him you love. but the reason he has such adornment for the photo is because of the way you’re looking at him.

your eyes are bright and shining, your smile matches his, not because you found anything funny, but because peter’s joy was contagious for you. each time he looks at it he feels warmth radiate, a visual reminder of how much you love him.

—

(you know i had to add a bonus of trouble finding peter’s wallpaper!! -situationship!peter obv)

‘just sit here and look pretty, i’ll be thirty minutes tops.’

peter had pulled you away from date night with the promise of stopping at his chapter meeting. he had negotiated the first hour, trent, the chapter president, wouldn’t break on the last thirty minutes and demanded peter be there. or else.

you wouldn’t mind but peter didn’t tell you until last minute and now you’re sitting down at an empty table at the library while they fill up a rented room across from you.

‘it’ll be longer than that and you know it.’

‘you’ll be fine. give me a kiss.’ you meet him with one, you grumble down at your phone. ‘my phones about to die, what am i supposed to do?’

peter feigns shock, ‘oh no!’ he looks around, ‘i hope you’ll find something to do in this big, empty library. it might be hard.’

your eyes narrow, you hate his sarcasm. ‘the library doesn’t have instagram reels, peter. how am i supposed to entertain myself while you’re talking numbers and business?’

there’s a miniature battle of silence, you win when peter groans and hands over his phone from his back pocket. ‘here. use mine.’ you reach forward, peter’s giving you unbridled access to his phone, you’d be dumb to say no.

‘nuh uh. you promise me right now you won’t fuck up my algorithm, i spent months perfecting it.’ you make grabby hands, ‘promise.’

the sleek, black screen is in your hold in seconds. your thumbs fly over the screen, you’re in and on instagram in a second. peter looks back once more, ‘thirty minutes.’ you nod, the first video already playing, you wish you could send it to peter. you send it to yourself to send back to him when you’re at a full charge.

ten minutes and you need a refresher, wandering around towards the bathroom you grab a water from a vending machine. cracking the cap, your left thumb pressed into peter’s home screen and his wallpaper separated, another photo right next to it.

you can recognize the edge, you swipe and feel your heart melt into a puddle. it’s you and only you. smiling and posing just for peter. he snapped the pic and saved it, he even went one step further and put it as his screensaver. a backup one, but something tells you he doesn’t want you knowing it exists.

you can keep a secret.

you can’t stop smiling at his phone and the short videos playing aren’t even that funny. you perk at a kiss on the top of your head. ‘told you i’d only be thirty minutes… what? why are you looking at me like that?’

‘no reason. it was very nice of you to offer me your phone, thank you.’

another kiss, you can’t wait til you get him alone. you might be the only one in on the secret, but he was going to be treated very nicely for it.

‘no problem, trouble. what’s mine is yours.’ your heart thumps louder. ‘and now,’ peter gently pulls you up with him, you’re along for the ride.

‘i owe you dessert, let’s go.’ you don’t walk with him, you stay until his hand tugs yours, peter looks back at you confused. ‘i wanna have dessert at yours.’

peter pouts, ‘tarrent polished off the ice cream.’

‘i know.’ peter knows that tone, now he’s standing straighter and acting casually. ‘oh? alright, yeah, let’s go home.’

[octuscle]

From Penthouse to Trailer Park

"And now you want to tell me what my future should look like?" Matthew rolled his eyes and looked up from his new expensive iPhone for a moment. The visit to the careers advisor was obligatory, but he thought it was completely unnecessary. His parents had sold his great-grandparents' company to a German corporation a few years ago and now devoted themselves to managing their assets and looking after their bodies. Matthew was the only son, he would inherit everything and he had no intention of ever taking up a profession. He was interested in art, maybe he would study art history in Tuscany, but that was just a hobby. And a way to hook himself a hot Italian stallion…

He continued to play with his cell phone while the man across from him asked him questions, handed him brochures and swiped on a tablet computer. Matthew was annoyed. And he didn't even think the man was hot. Someone boringly normal to die for. Someone who had to work for a living. Someone who didn't go for manicures. Boring and repulsive. "Can we cut this short and end it now? I have an appointment with my personal trainer and then I have to go to the beauty salon. Why don't you fill out your form however you like? Do I have to sign anything? To document that you've done your pathetic job? Did your career counselor actually advise you to do this? Matthew chuckled arrogantly. Chris hated narrow-minded assholes like that. But there were plenty of them here at the school. So he quickly drew up a report and handed it to Matthew so he could sign it on the display.

Matthew breathed a sigh of relief, took his sports bag, neatly packed by Consuela, and left Chris's office without a word. He was looking forward to being properly tortured by Aaron, his hot trainer, at the gym. But he had rejoiced too soon. No one was available at his gym reception and Aaron already had another client. So he would have to train alone. This day was a disaster. And it got worse. Because he had obviously got the wrong gym bag. The clothes were neither clean, nor were they his. It was probably the bag belonging to Manolo, Consuela's son. Disgusted, Matthew took the clothes out of the bag. Should he just leave now? On the other hand… It might have been quite funny. He put Manolo's clothes on. Everything was a bit big, Manolo was 20 years old. Two years older and considerably more muscular. Without a private trainer… Manolo's sweat smelled so good! This was going to be a good workout.

It was a good workout too. Even if the other members looked at him a little disparagingly. With his cheap and dirty clothes, he didn't fit in here. But that didn't matter. Matthew was here to work out. Not to put on a fashion show. After an hour and a half of hard training, Matthew remembered that he still had an appointment. Shit! No showering now. He couldn't keep his tattoo artist waiting. Matthew stroked his pumped-up upper arm. Today the lines would be joined by the shading. It was going to look hot. As he left the gym, the employee at the counter called after him that his membership fees had still not been paid. Shit, it was the end of the month. Money was tight. Everyone was like that…

So, I'm Matt, dis here’s Junior, Pete, Chuck, an’ mah lil' princess Soraya. Shit, I wuz hopin' I could only father boys. I want at least five. An’ mah ol' lady already got a new baby in her belly. Keep yer fingers crossed it’s another boy. Shit, I'm lookin' fer a job right now. But it's just like the guy at the job center said: Once ya’re 18, don’t got no high school diploma an’ no education, yer prospects suck. I mean, I can sometimes help out in Hank's garage or drive a few routes at the truckin' company. But that don't help permanent. Mah own tattoo parlor would be cool. But who’s gonna pay fer that? An’ I mean, if someone wants their name or somethin’. An’ I’m makin' a mistake. I mean, spellin' or whatever it’s called wuz never mah thing. Guys, I can only advise ya to do yer thing. Mah life is awesome! An’ look at me! I’m the hottest guy in the whole trailer park. Ya can ask any slut here.

Chris shut down his computer with satisfaction. He had had a series of successful conversations. He believed he had really helped some of the students. And with the arrogant idiots who were born with the golden spoon in their mouths, he had simply recorded what he thought they deserved. It was just a dream. But he could jerk off to the idea afterwards.

[the-californicationist]

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 07)

Soap/Reader

TW: sex

MDNI/18+

AO3 LINK

I'm so sorry for the wait!! I hope this long chap made up for it. I really appreciate all the comments and reblogs. It really keeps me going. The next chapter is gonna be rough. Hope you're ready for it. I'm not!

CHRISTMAS EVE

The lecture hall slowly began to fill with graduate students and professors. A gaggle of undergrads huddled to the side with their notebooks, surely attending by someone else’s command and not of their own volition. They were all dressed in various layers of warmth. Anoraks and sweaters rustled and stretched in the cloth seats, the odd peacoat was hung carefully over the edge of a chair. It was nice to have a small crowd, but you were sure everyone had somewhere better to be. The only people that would show up to the long-standing tradition of a Christmas Eve colloquium were the die-hard academics and those desperately needing extra credit in their year-long lab classes.

You liked this lecture room the best. The big arching stadium seating made you feel like a surgeon in her theatre, carving up your poems and displaying their abnormalities, arguing in favor of their spectacular forms, illustrating your skills with grace and ease. It was all well and good not to be the patient on the table. Today’s victim would be Sonnet 91. 

The projector light blinded you in an unnatural blue, making you turn away from its lens, and you pretended to busy yourself with your notes as you waited for it to warm up. You shuffled the papers again, and you had a sip of water. Just fidgeting. If you stopped moving, you’d think about him, and you didn’t want to think about him. 

He’d gotten your message from Gaz, that much was clear. You knew because you started receiving sunrise texts again — just the pictures, though — and when he needed to go out on a mission, you’d get your little promises. You sent him back what you received. If he sent a sunrise picture, you returned it with your own. If he said that he promised, you said it, too. You wanted him to call. You wanted to drag it out, to gut it like a fish, to see all the entrails of your feelings and the bloody evidence of your battle to be together, all of its innards smeared across a cutting board, sterile and measurable. 

But, for some reason, you couldn’t do it. You tried to type out what you’d wanted to say, but none of it made sense. It was all just begging and pleading and wishing for things you couldn’t have. So, you stopped. You kept up the replies. You matched his energy. It wasn’t until he sent you a screenshot of his flight itinerary that you started to realize the other shoe was dropping on you very soon. 

He was supposed to fly in sometime this very afternoon, but it wouldn’t be only him. You’d heard from Pidge that his whole team was coming with him, eager to meet her and Hamish, apparently. You didn’t know what emotion you felt about that, but its anonymity didn’t stop you from feeling it. 

You’d sent him back a Google Maps screenshot of your apartment, since he was supposed to be your ride up to Old Kilpatrick, and he sent you back the thumbs up emoji. 

It was embarrassing to you that the slight change in send-reply patterning made your heart race. You felt like your brain could benefit from a hard reset, like an iPhone that had chosen to get stuck on the same application, unable to move forward to the next task. 

So, you’d tried to put him out of your mind. When your labmate begged you to take her place at this colloquium, you jumped at the chance. A presentation would take up so much time and energy; surely it would cure you of your obsessive behavior. Unfortunately, Sonnet 91 felt all too timely. 

You watched it populate the screen, the first four lines occupying the cold, unembellished center of your slide, professionally stark:  

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,Some in their wealth, some in their body's force,Some in their garments though new-fangled ill;Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

You wondered where your glory would come from, if you ever had any. Then, as if to answer your question, the hall door opened and he walked through it, carefully propping it open behind him and letting his three enormous friends through. Johnny was freshly shaven, and his mohawk was back, trimmed on the sides and groomed to stand in a tall, brown shock. You could see the prominent scar on the side of his head, a sharp cross where the hair could no longer grow. 

There was an observable air of confidence to his movements, as if this was his hundredth colloquium, as if he attended them every week. His surety silenced you, and you stood staring, rapt. 

He met your eyes. The bright, glassy blues found you, set in a pleased way, fully at peace. It was the face made when something lost had been found, when a gift was unwrapped. A knowing gleam. 

If you didn’t start talking, people were going to ask you if you were alright. So, you introduced yourself, shakily but smoothing it out as you went,

“Good evening, and thank you for joining us at the 2023 Christmas Eve Colloquium tonight. I love this tradition, and I really appreciate you all being here. If you didn’t get the, uh… the handouts,” you pushed the stack across the desk toward the undergrads who all crowded around them like seagulls with an old French fry, “Okay...”

You pointed up to the sprawling slide,

“In looking at Sonnet 91, most would argue that it is a confession of love. But, it is a tentative one, at best. The speaker claims that despite whatever glory others may have, his glory is found in his lover. We don’t learn until the couplet that his affections are at risk of not being returned.”

You flipped the slide, showing the next four lines:

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:But these particulars are not my measure,All these I better in one general best.

It was all very simple. This was an easy sonnet, and there was no real mystery, but as you came to the end, you tried to reiterate your thoughts quickly, feeling the pressure to let people get on with their lives,

“The speaker makes quite a substantial claim here, so much so that the audience may be led to believe that he is being intentionally facetious, especially if one were to consider the content of Sonnet 92.”

“No,” a deep voice from high in the back protested, “I mean, I think I disagree with you, lass.”

The whole room woke up. Everyone turned quietly in their seats, generating a symphony of creaking and rustling of chairs and coats, craning their necks to look at Johnny who, for some reason, had stood up in his aisle.

“Oh, how so?” You said politely, trying to be deferential. 

It was more than a little uncomfortable in the room. No one ever asked questions during the colloquium, even though that was its intended purpose, and certainly no one ever stood up when they asked it. Everyone usually just allowed the speaker to drone on and on about whatever topic they were into that week, and there would be polite applause at the end so you could all go home early. Ironically, Johnny had committed an act of rebellion a mere five minutes into your talk. 

“Well,” he crossed his huge arms over his chest, shoving his muscles against each other. Amongst the mostly lithe, soft-bodied academic crowd, he and his friends looked out of place. He raised his voice, sending it arching down to you like an arrow, “I’m pretty sure he’s genuine. Look at the next four lines.”

He pointed to the glowing screen. You sighed, flipping slides.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,Of more delight than hawks and horses be;And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:

“Look, bonnie,” Johnny chuckled, “I dunno about you, but if I’m boastin’ about a wee hen who’s more than all that — more than wealth, more than all men’s pride? She must actually be somethin’ to boast about.”

You countered, trying to get the talk back under your control, flipping to the next slide: 

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst takeAll this away, and me most wretched make.

“Then what of his lamentation in the couplet?” You asked pointedly, listening to the sounds of creaking chairs again as everyone turned back to look at you as you responded, “Surely he has some reason to doubt this uniquely prideful love.”

Johnny shrugged,

“He doesnae doubt the love; his life cannae be separated from his love. Love is all there is. Ye ken it from Sonnet 92 when he asks: But what’s so blessed-fair that knows no blot?”

You smiled, slowly, knowingly, and then finished the couplet for him,

“Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.”

You were aware of the implication you were wielding like a knife down there in your theatre, staining your hands and hurling your scalpel at him, accusing him through verse of the same sin you’d thrown in his face the last time you spoke to him: of being false, of betraying Pidge. 

Johnny shifted his weight, frustrated, but standing his ground,

“It’s not… he doesnae think it’s false, hen. Tha’s not it.”

Were you still arguing about the poem? You couldn’t tell. His face had become serious and a little pleading. So, you responded in verse since it would fit the conversation either way, 

“How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow, if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show.”

“And I would bloody eat it anyway, thief. False or no.”

There was an awkward silence and then a short, if a bit unsettled, polite applause. People began to shuffle out, standing, stretching, and chatting with each other as they made their way back into the hallway. A few of your labmates waved at you, and a friend from your cohort wished you a happy Christmas. 

Johnny sauntered down the stairs toward you, leaving his friends lounging in their seats, and as he came closer and closer, you felt like you were the one on the slab of your own theatre, open and vulnerable to the empty room, fully at the mercy of your operator. 

You thought he might pause, that he may stop walking and stand a few paces away, ready to talk things out, but he didn’t. He didn’t even slow his pace. Johnny grabbed you around your jaw with his enormous hand, his wide palm hot against your chin, and he pulled you into him, your lips sliding into his, pressing together like the last piece of a puzzle, completing a picture. 

His body was so warm as you crashed into his arms, and he held you down, pinning you like you would fall away from him if he let go. You couldn’t do much else other than submit to his strength; you didn’t want to do much else. You grabbed him around his waist, feeling him through the thin cotton of his shirt, tumbling into him as he forced your mouth to take his tongue. 

Johnny let go of a low moan, a sigh that couldn’t escape, and the hand that had been holding your face was now fisting your hair and running thick fingers through your soft strands. 

He pulled back without warning, gasping as he whispered to you, speaking with his forehead resting on yours and his eyes pinched closed,

“Did you mean it, what you told Gaz? Am I right? Is this right?”

You took a deep breath, smelling his soap and his cologne, the scent of his skin so familiar to you it seemed like home. His eyes remained closed, and he wore a mask of pain, holding himself back from truly letting go. You nodded, whispering back to him,

“You were right.”

Then, his eyes shot open, finding yours immediately, looking back and forth to peer into both of them at once, searching for even the slightest hint of deception,

“Are you fallin’ for me, mèirleach? ‘Cause I’m… I cannae go halfway. I’m in, or I’m out.”

“I’m in,” you smiled, laughing a little at your confession. He kissed you again, softly petting your hair, holding you close. But, you paused and looked up at him with a warning glare in your eye, “But, look, she cannot know. Maybe after the wedding, but… she cannot find out.”

“She won’t,” he was smiling back at you, making it look like it would be on his face forever, “I’m a professional spy, lass, or did you forget my wee entourage back there.”

He nodded up to his friends. The captain was asleep with his hat over his eyes, snoring in long, regular rhythms. Ghost was using a datapad, staring intently at the screen, and Gaz was using two hands on his cell phone, tapping vigorously, engrossed in some sort of game.

Johnny whistled, quick and shrill. The men stirred, peering down at him and making their way toward you. When they reached the bottom, they all towered over you, ready for polite introductions.

“John,” the scruffy, bearded one shook your hand first. His fingers were dangerously strong, and it shocked you to feel it against your own palm.

A young man was next. You knew it was Gaz, but you hadn’t seen a photo of him yet.

“I’m Kyle,” he smiled. He was even nicer in person, “We texted, before.”

You nodded, smiling back, and introducing yourself.

Then, it was the big one.

“Simon,” the tall blond shook your hand for a brief moment, just enough to squeeze and release. 

“It’s really nice to meet you all,” you said, “I’m glad you made it for the holiday.”

“We try to stick together ‘round this time of year,” Price explained, but you weren’t sure you fully understood his meaning. You just smiled and nodded. 

“You ready to head out?” Johnny asked you.

“Yeah, just need to head back to my place and get my bag.”

“Alright, hen,” Johnny smiled, “Lead the way.”

You led them up and out of the building and into the cold night air. Your apartment was only a short walk from this side of campus, so you decided to forego the bus ride. 

Johnny had your hand clasped in his so tightly that you wondered if he was alright. You looked up at him, and he smiled. You didn’t know how to say all the things you wanted to say, so you just commented on the most obvious one first,

“Where did you learn Sonnet 91? Or 92 and 93 for that matter?”

Gaz interrupted you, turning his head to talk over his shoulder as you walked behind him,

“Bloody stuck in his Kindle for months, he was. I think he read them all, and then he read them all to us. We’ve had more of the Bard than fuckin’ Lizzy the first.”

You gasped and made a face at Johnny, waiting for him to answer for his actions. He just shrugged, his cheeks flushed either from the embarrassment or the cold. 

Price walked up beside him and knocked him a bit on his shoulder, ribbing him along with Gaz,

“Especially that one. What number?”

“Fuckin’ 145,” Ghost groaned.

Then, in unison, the three soldiers all started reciting it aloud, their voices sing-song and purposefully annoying, 

“Those lips that Love’s own hand did make breathed forth the sound that said “I hate” to me that languished for her sake…”

Johnny shoved Gaz back to the front of the group with his free hand, laughing it off,

“Alright, alright, you bastards. I may have read it two or three times…”

“Two or three hundred, Sergeant,” Price rolled his eyes. 

You grinned up at Johnny, humming your pleasure,

“Wow! I’m impressed. Didn’t know you were such a Shakespeare fan.”

Gaz scoffed, 

“It’s not the poems he’s a fan of!”

Price smacked him on his arm, stopping Gaz from being too mean in his playfulness, aware that Johnny had his limits of what he would allow to be said in front of you.

“Mmm,” you answered noncommittally, squeezing Johnny’s hand as it held yours, clutching at you like the end of a rope, holding you like an anchor to his hull.

As you made it to your apartment, you pointed to the small coffee shop on the corner of your block,

“Do you wanna wait somewhere warm? I’ll only be a minute.”

Price snorted, grinning as if he had just remembered a private joke, 

“Go help her with her bags, Sergeant. C’mon, lads.”

The trio left you together, and Johnny waited for you to open the door to the lobby. You buzzed in and waited for the elevator in the quiet foyer. 

He was silent the whole ride up to your floor. You thought he’d have more to say, especially after just getting back from a tour. You wondered what was keeping him so quiet. 

You jiggled your key into the lock and pushed your way inside. Marlowe was on the futon, lounging in her favorite position, but when she saw the strange man in her house, she bristled and fled beneath your bed. 

“Marlowe,” Johnny said, recognizing her. 

“Yeah,” you smiled, grabbing your vitamins from the kitchen cabinet to put in your bag, “Sorry, she’s afraid of strangers.”

“It’s alright, hen. I love your place. Look at that view. You can see the river and everything. That’s class.”

He was being polite. Johnny was way too big for your apartment. With him in the space, it felt like you may as well have lived in a tent. It was such close quarters that you spent most of the time edging around him to get to your stuff. 

“Can I…?” He was pointing down at your bed, asking to sit. 

Recognizing your rudeness, you nodded,

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Can I get you a water or something? Tea?”

“No, I’m good,” he sat and smiled, still looking around the space, taking it in. To be fair, there wasn’t much to see.

You continued to pack, trying to hurry knowing his friends were downstairs waiting for you. 

“Okay, toothbrush… I think I’m all set. Are you ready?”

“No,” he was looking down at the floor, and his tone was so soft that it made you stop your packing whirlwind to listen to him. 

The silence deepened between you, and you tried to be patient. Neither of you dared to move, but he met your eyes. 

“What is it, Johnny?” You asked, still waiting. 

He stood and walked the half step it took to stand before you. His huge shoulders blocked out the light, and you could tell he was chewing on his words, working them over and over to make sure they were right. 

“I need to know…” he said quietly, running his fingers through your hair again, “I need to know if you are havin’ any doubts about this, lass. I dinnae want to pressure you, and I know I shouldnae be asking you to lie to her, but I need you, mèirleach. I need to know you’re not still havin’ doubts about the way I feel about you.”

Were you? You weren’t sure. You knew he cared about you, and you didn’t have any evidence that he was playing you, but Pidge’s warning still raged in the back of your mind. 

You sighed,

“I don’t doubt that you have feelings for me.”

“But, you think they willnae last?”

“I don’t know, but I want to find out. It’s just hard to have confidence in a secret.”

He furrowed his brow,

“I’d call her and tell her now, if you’d let me. You wanna wait, hen. And I’m fine with that. I am. But, how am I supposed to show you who I am when I’m not supposed to be showin’ you anything at all?”

You didn’t know what to say to him, and it made you feel discouraged. Maybe you were wrong. Perhaps you should have kept your promise after all, and this was just too complicated. 

Johnny watched the guilt spread across your face and chased you down with his eyes, his tone laced with dark suggestion,

“Unless you want me to show you now, thief.”

You did. You wanted him to show you everything he was. And, you understood what he was asking you for. The nerves between your legs pulsed, and blood rushed down your arms, excited for whatever he was threatening you with. You wanted him to fuck you right here in your apartment. But, you hesitated, very aware that if you said yes, if you let him show you what he wanted you to see, you wouldn’t be able to come back from that. The guilt would eat you alive. 

“Your… friends…” you picked at the zipper of his thick coat, stepping close enough to him that you could feel his heat radiating from inside the fleece lining of it. 

“My friends can wait, thief. I can’t.”

“Then don’t.”

The same way a bear trap snapped shut, its teeth digging into the writhing flesh of the creature inside its metal maw, that was how he caught you in that moment. You looked up at him, eyes wide and expectant, and you were greeted with a hunter’s smile. He knew he had you, and he went for the kill, putting you out of your misery. His arms wrapped around your body as he kissed you with a high fever, moving from your mouth to your neck as quickly as he could, devouring your soft flesh there, nipping and sucking at you frenzied and harsh. All of his gentle reservedness was gone, pushed aside in favor of sating his wild craving. 

You were on the bed in a second, your back flat, pressed into the mattress by his heavy weight. He didn’t readjust. He allowed his body to pin you down, crushing you beneath him. You tried to rid him of his jacket; there were so many layers between you, and you were eager for there to be none. 

He helped you, shucking off his coat and shirt layers quickly before returning to your mouth and throat, breathlessly panting as he kissed and licked your throat. His chest was bare to you then, and the cold metal of his tags stung your chest as they jingled out of his clothes, falling onto you like two silver coins. You rubbed his body down, pressing into the muscles of his neck and back, feeling them jerk and lunge as he moved above you. He kissed your mouth again, moaning through his nose. 

Then, he was peeling you apart, taking your clothes and tossing them away, pulling off the tissue from a coveted gift. Johnny didn’t even take time to pause at your bra; he just yanked it over your head with the rest of your clothes, unceremoniously. While you were sucking on his tongue and kissing down the scruff of his jaw, you heard his boots thump onto the floor, one after the other. 

All that remained between you were your slacks and his jeans, and he was forced to leave your mouth to deal with the barriers. He made his way to your breasts, sucking on them hungrily, but not playing. He was done playing with you, it seemed. 

He popped the button on your pants and tucked both of his hands into the waistband, grabbing your panties along with it, and ripped them down your legs with a deep grunt. You were naked, and the denim of his jeans raked against your sensitive skin. He was grinding his body against you as you were trapped beneath him, and you felt his hips rock back and forth as he rubbed his cock against your core, trying to use the friction inside of his jeans to find some pleasure, returning to your nipples to lick them into stiff peaks. 

You wrapped your legs around his hips, your thighs halfway between the skin of his ribs and the bite of his belt, letting him thrust against you. 

“Johnny,” you whispered, “Take them off.”

“Not yet, hen.”

You moaned, feeling his crotch pressing hard against yours, but not being able to find any sort of consistency in the texture. 

“Why not?” You asked and begged at the same time.

“Because…” He kissed his way down your belly, settling his face between your thighs, “As soon as I do, I’m gonna fuck you, mèirleach. And I’ve not tasted you, yet.”

His mouth was wet and hot and just what you wanted. Johnny ate you like he was on a mission. There was no careful exploration like the first time. It felt like he was eating you to satisfy his own craving, and your enjoyment was merely a fringe benefit. 

You keened as loudly as you dared, crying out for him as he lapped at your folds, hunting down your flavor. 

Then, he began to speak to you as he sucked on your clit, pausing to say his words before returning to his font to swallow more of you down into his throat. 

“Do y’know how long I’ve waited for this, hen?”

Suck, lick, kiss…

“How many nights…”

Suck.

“...in the sand…”

Lick.

“...in the bloody dark…”

Kiss.

“...waiting to have you in my mouth like this.”

Lick. Lick. Liiiickkkk…

“Oh, fuck, Johnny!” You bit down on the back of your hand, reeling from the pressure building in your center, feeling chills on your arms and chest, “Please…”

“And when Gaz told me…”

Suck.

“...I didnae believe him.”

Lick.

“But, I wanted to. I wanted to believe…”

Kiss.

“...that you were really mine…” 

Suuuuckkkk.

“...mo mèirleach…” 

Liiickkkk.

“...mo ghràdh.” 

You started to come, your hips vaulting into his strong jaws, and his eyes found yours, bright and clear, staring at you, watching you fall apart in his mouth. At the last moment, just before you fell over the peak, he wrenched his eyes shut and sucked even harder, yanking you into a furious, crashing orgasm. 

Then, desperately scrambling to taste the result, he thrust his tongue deep into your hole, his entire mouth suctioned to your pussy, reaping his soaking reward. 

“Johnny,” you sobbed, overwhelmed by the power you felt growing inside of you, bursting across your body like hundreds of little fireworks.

He was back up by your face in a moment, cradling you and kissing you with your come smeared all over his lips and cheeks,

“Shh, shh… it’s alright, lass. I know what you need. It’s what I need, too.”

You heard his zipper and watched him slide out of his jeans, kicking his socks off with them, naked with you once more, and now with full intent. His cock was drooling onto your belly, the precome leaving long, sticky trails as his swollen shaft traced its way up and down through your folds. Johnny’s cock was so hard that it felt like a warm, iron pipe was pressing into you, threatening and dangerous. 

You must have worn the concern on your face because he chuckled down at you, kissing your forehead sweetly as he humped himself against you,

“Too much for you, thief?”

You let your hands meet in the middle, holding his dick with one on top of the other, effectively jacking him off as he thrust forward and back, wetting him with his own lubrication, and you watched him throw his head back in sharp need. You smiled up at him,

“Not yet.”

“Jesus Christ,” he paused, holding his position, poised like a viper. Then, he looked down at you, suddenly serene, “Do you need a condom?”

“No, do you?”

“Fuck, no,” he said, and he immediately sank his head into your softness, melting into you with a slick slide, trusting you implicitly, believing you like a disciple. 

Your body hadn’t experienced a cock as thick and as hard as his. It wasn’t uncomfortably long, but its upward curve was particularly cruel. It was built to torture the soft pleasure-ladden spot inside of your walls, dragging across it as he fit himself inside of you. It took a few thrusts until you felt his hilt, but you were wet enough that your pussy didn’t need much coaxing. He was sighing above you, audibly and full of relief, his face bent and twisted in a perfect torment. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… thief, holy fuck. Oh, Christ. I cannae… oh…”

His thrusts were audible. Flesh pounded into flesh, and the wet noises coming from you seemed unreal. Each and every time he entered you, pressing through you and molding you to his shape, you felt sparks of bliss within your belly, expectant and eager. 

“Johnny… it feels so good. You feel…” 

“You alright, mo ghràdh? Do you… mmmph, fuck… do you need me to slow down?”

You imagined what that would be like, and your pussy railed against it, feral and wanton, fighting any semblance of gentility with sharpened teeth and greedy claws. 

“No, please… don’t.” you kissed his cheek as he lay his head into your shoulder, deep in concentration, rolling in his passion.

Your kiss made him turn to face you, kissing your mouth so softly, with loose, relaxed lips, gently sliding his cheek across yours like a huge cat, rubbing himself all over you. He didn’t stop, but he spoke to you darkly, 

“I’ll do whatever you want, lass. Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“This,” you sighed, moaning as another wave of pleasure made you clench down around him, gripping him from within you with a fluttering squeeze, “You. Just you, mo chridhe.”

You tested out the nickname you’d used before, hoping to encourage him. You may as well have poured kerosene on a fire. He narrowed his eyes at you in disbelief, obviously hearing it and using it like war paint, covering his body in it, staining himself in it, changing himself from the inside out to fit its definition. He lay his head next to yours as he worked his cock within you, grunting through gritted teeth with each heavy thrust. His body started to tremble, shaking with his need to come, and the low, long whine that came from his throat made it sound like he was boiling over with blinding pleasure. 

He took both of his arms and crossed them behind your back, grasping your shoulders from behind in a painfully tight hold. Then, pressed to his chest, he lifted you, settling you in his lap in the lotus position, keeping his cock sheathed deep inside of you. You grabbed onto his neck instinctively, holding him like a lifeline, rocking your hips into him to chase that friction. 

Johnny sighed, pressing his forehead to yours, 

“Yes, yes, yes, thief. Take it. Fuck yourself on me, hen. Use me. I wanna feel you come, mèirleach…” 

He begged so sweetly, and you were happy to oblige. You used his shoulders to brace yourself while you pushed your body down onto him, spearing yourself over and over. At this new angle, his cockhead hit your g-spot every single goddamn time, and you were dizzy from his menacing shape. He snaked his hand between you to press on your clit, not even rubbing it but applying force, giving you something to grind against. The combination of his hand and his cock and his growling whines of struggling for control were enough to do the trick, and you saw white behind your eyes as you fell into a chaotic, plunging orgasm once again. 

“Fuuuuckkkk…” He groaned loudly, his voice turning vicious, “You are mine.”

Your body fell back to the bed and he shoved your legs onto one of his shoulders, fucking you as deep as he could go, stretching you as he did, throwing himself into you as you came down from your high. He was shouting, curses and praises, all in a filthy, animalistic snarl. Johnny just kept repeating the same phrase in a cultish chant, mindless and recursive, completely beyond himself, past reality. 

“You’re mine, thief. Mine.”

As he came, he searched for your eyes, staring into them, showing you his elation. You ran a hand across his scalp, your fingernails dragging through his mohawk, and you saw the whites of his eyes as he rolled them back into his head involuntarily. You held onto his hair and gave it a little pressure, holding his skull in your hands as he filled you with his spent pleasure, his cock throbbing, pulsing rope after rope of hot come into your belly, frothing and foaming around the base of his shaft as he fucked you through it. 

20 MINUTES LATER

You were so worried that his friends would make some sort of comment. As you walked back to the coffee shop, tucked under his heavy arm, you prepared for the playful banter and the jeering. His mohawk was destroyed, and you were both glowing with a sheen of sweat, matching in your states. You knew that they knew. You could also tell that Johnny was bracing himself for the worst, steeling his resolve before entering the cafe. And you thought you would get, at the very least, some mention of how long it had taken to get your bags. But, when you made it to the coffee shop, they didn’t say a word. They smiled, and although they smiled knowingly, there was more affection in it than mischief. It shocked you. After all the ribbing from before, to have none now seemed like some kind of gift. When Johnny realized they were going to let him keep his prize for himself, uncontested, he began to glow with pride as much as pleasure. 

The ride was not quiet, though. All of their stories from Urzikstan and its many dangers started to come out. Price told you about how Gaz and Ghost were almost incinerated in a cobalt mine, and Johnny was showing off his newest badge - a retro SAS pin Price had given him for rescuing the other two from said mine. The blue wings and the motto surrounded a bright sword.

“Who dares, wins?” You asked, trying to see the words in the dark backseat. 

Ghost, who had needed to sit in the front with Johnny because of his height, nodded, taking the pin back from you to admire it.

“Well deserved,” Price commented beside you. 

“Sounds like it,” you agreed. 

Johnny had been so sweet to you after his ferocious lovemaking, you thought all the medals in the world might not be enough to thank the man. No one had ever been so kind nor so attentive. Most of the time, you and whatever lad would clean up separately, maybe watch a show or two and then say your goodbyes. Not Johnny. He spent most of his time admiring your body, making sure you were intact and unharmed. Then, after covering you up with your softest throw, he came back with a hot towel and cleaned you up meticulously. He lay beside you until you felt good enough to get dressed, and still as you were putting your hair up, he made you a tea and finished packing your bag with the things you’d forgotten; your vitamins on the counter and your phone charger. 

When you came out of the bathroom, he had stripped your sheets and put them in the hamper, and Marlowe’s food timer had been set. Her litter box was clean, and the automated litter keeper was reset. You wondered fleetingly if he had wiped down the counters as well. 

The drive felt shorter than usual, especially since your thoughts were on other things. But, when you pulled into Old Kilpatrick, Johnny spoke up to the whole car,

“Look, no one says a fuckin’ thing about us to my sister. To anyone, alright? She’ll find out when she’s bloody meant to.”

The men agreed to keep quiet, but Gaz mouthed off beside you, 

“Sure we can keep a secret, Soap, but what about you? I wouldn’t give you a medal for impulse control, mate.”

Johnny eyed him in the rear-view mirror with a stern glare,

“Aye, but then that’s my problem, you daft bastard.”

 Gaz rolled his eyes, grinning all the while. 

By the time you’d arrived, the only open spot to sleep was a big pallet on the floor of the living room. Hamish was the only one awake to welcome you, and he set you up with pillows and blankets to camp out like a row of sardines. 

“Hey, lass,” Hamish told you, “Go sleep with Pigeon. She’d murder me for leaving you on the ground.”

He looked worn out, and although you didn’t mind sleeping on the floor, you didn’t have any real reason to insist. So, you hugged all the boys good night, making sure not to take too long on Johnny’s turn, and retreated to your post. 

Pidge was snoring softly as you entered the room, and you got ready for bed as quietly as you could, plugging in your phone to the nightstand. It buzzed, and you saw his message flash up on the screen:

Mo Chridhe: miss you 

You: i miss you too

Mo Chridhe: im still in a wee shock

You: why

Mo Chridhe: you. cannae believe youre mine

You: i am. and youre mine johnny mactavish.

Mo Chridhe: promise

You: promise

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Waking up with Johnny and sitting around the tree together with your coffee was every bit like Christmas morning as when you were a child. Instead of presents, you were content to sit as close to him as you dared, pretending to be making room for others by finding spots on the floor beside the gifts and stockings. 

All together, it was Johnny, his three soldiers, you, Pidge, Hamish, Hamish’s mum and dad, and Roger. Rodger had crashed on the couch last night, the Hamiltons had taken Johnny’s room, and now you were all crowded up in the small den, passing gifts around and chatting as you opened your presents. There weren’t many, but it was enough to feel like a holiday. 

Roger got the Playstation he’d been begging for from his brother, and his parents had bought him the games. Pidge had given Johnny a new set of headphones since his had melted in the cobalt mining fire. She also got him a pound of her shortbread cookies, which he was stuffing into his mouth with absolute abandon. He’d bought her a tea set off her wedding registry, and Hamish had landed a very aggressive knife from him. The professor was already being given a tutorial by Captain Price, and you tried not to laugh as he practiced stabbing the air with him in the kitchen. Price was scary when he did it, but Hamish looked downright silly. 

“Okay, alright. My turn. Here,” you gave out your cards to everyone in attendance, but pulled out a box for Pidge. 

“What did you do! I told you not to, hen. I am going to give you a laldy, and you’d deserve it!” She hugged you around the neck and jiggled the box. 

Satisfied with the rattle, she tore into the paper and gingerly lifted off the lid. Inside, she saw the MacTavish tartan, woven into a full shawl, embroidered with a tiny pigeon in the corner, just for her. She inspected it with wonder, her breath fully stolen away. 

“Did you… You made this? Are you doin’ your weavin’ again, babe? I thought you gave it up.”

You shrugged,

“I found a reason to give it one last shot.”

Pidge started to cry real, honest tears, and she reached out for you, clutching the shawl to her chest, sobbing, 

“Thank you, hen. Thank you so much. After they buried mum in hers, and I didn’t… I couldn’t touch it anymore, I just…”

You held her and rocked her back and forth, smiling at her outpouring of love,

“I know, babe. I remember you saying so. But, now you’ve got one of your own.”

For a moment, you stole a glance at Johnny. The whole room was a little moved by your gesture, but he looked… unwell. He was standing behind everyone, and you were the only one looking at him. His hand was clasped over his mouth, and he had tears coming from his eyes, unblinking, letting them roll down his cheeks one after the other, staring at you, frozen in place. He was so unsettled that, for a moment, you thought you’d made some error. But, as Pidge recovered, so did he, and he wiped his face to return to normal; putting on a mask of an expression, hiding whatever he had just shown you. 

“You’re the best damn friend I’ve ever had, hen. And I love you. Dearly.”

“I love you too, Pidge.”

“Here, here, open mine! It’s not as braw as all tha’ you did, but still.”

You were handed a gift bag, and you peeked inside. You found a book of poetry with some incredible illustrations inside, and a charm necklace with a silver boar hanging from it. 

“It’s our wee clan beastie. You may as well be a MacTavish by now, hen. So, I thought you should have it.”

You smiled, letting her put it on you. Then, you hugged her tight, 

“You don’t know what that means to me, Pidge.”

Pidge laughed through dried tears, still emotional,

“Ha! Says you, miss weaver. Honestly.”

You let her gush over it a little more before you retreated back to your position beside Johnny. You pulled out the four smaller boxes from your bag and handed them to the soldiers, indiscriminately since they were all alike. 

“What did you do, thief?” Johnny’s voice was low, and he was grinning up at you, staring at you through those dark lashes.

“Open them,” you urged him. 

They did, and one by one they all pulled out small compasses, made with built-in flint strikers, hanging from tied paracord. It was the most tactical practical thing you could find on such short notice, but they all seemed pleased. Gaz shook it at Price, 

“This would’ve been bloody helpful in South Tobraka!”

You laughed, 

“Well, I’m sure it’s a little too low-tech for you, but Merry Christmas anyway.”

“It’s bloody perfect,” Gaz smiled, clapping you on the back. Ghost nodded, and Price hooked it to his lanyard without questioning it. 

Johnny bent over to whisper to you as discreetly as he could, 

“Gotta sneak off to give you mine, lass.”

You smacked him on the arm, whispering back, watching Pidge like a hawk as you did so to make sure she couldn’t see you,

“Don’t be naughty.”

Johnny laughed, 

“No, no. I’m serious.”

“Alright!” Hamish clapped his hands, causing you to jump out of your skin, “Who’s ready for crackers?”

CHRISTMAS NIGHT

You and Johnny were curled up on the couch with a steaming cup of sweet wassail, scrolling through the photos you’d taken that night. You popped two crackers together, pulling out your paper crowns, your gold and his blue, snapping selfies and reading the jokes to each other. Everyone was in their crowns by the end of the night, and while Price smoked cigars on the porch with Gaz and Ghost, Pidge and Hamish had driven his parents and brother home. 

You were finally alone after having such a full house, and your gift for him was burning a hole in your bag. You were dying to give it to him, but he beat you to the punch.

“Alright, mèirleach, are you ready for your wee gift? It’s probably gonna earn me extra PT for a few months, but it’s worth it.”

“Why?” You asked, setting your cup down on the end table and turning your body towards him. 

“‘Cause I’m not even supposed to have these off-duty, much less hand them over to my American lassie.”

Johnny dug into the neckline of his shirt and pulled out the dog tags that you had encountered last night when he took you to bed. The coin jangled on the chain as he pulled it over his head, and like a medal for an award you had not won, he looped it behind your neck, letting the coin fall between your breasts, still warm from his body and now warm from yours. 

You pulled it up to read its stamp, staring at the words:

O POS 2073521 MACTAVISH SAS RC

“Wanted you to have it, lass. A wee piece of me to keep safe, if you will.”

It was hard to know why you started crying, but you felt the searing tears fall down your cheeks as you stared at the tag. His blood type was what started it all, and you began to imagine all of the times that this thin coin would have warranted such a label. 

“It’s alright, mèirleach, if you dinnae —”

“No,” you raised your hand to his face, closing your other hand around the coin and pulling it in to your chest, eager to keep it safe just as he had asked, “Thank you, Johnny. I love it.”

He turned his face toward your hand as you caressed his scruffy jaw, and kissed your palm, holding your hand with his so you couldn’t escape. 

“I got you something, too. But, it’s small, and now I’m afraid you won’t have anything to hang it on.”

You dug in your bag and pulled out a small cardboard box with a thin red string tied around it. There was no card, there was no name printed on it, but he knew it was him nonetheless. He took it from you, almost snatching it, excited and surprised, not waiting for it to be given. 

“Thief! You didnae have to do that,” he was grinning, and his eyes gleamed, full of sudden joy. 

You’d found an old locket at the charity shop, and your gift had fit inside perfectly. When he opened the clasp, he froze. You’d use a scrap of the shawl that you’d woven for Pidge and cut a little circle from it, embroidering a tiny map of Scotland over the threads, planting a little red heart over what was almost Glasgow. 

“Mo mèirleach…”

“Mo chridhe.”

As soon as you said his name, his eyes found yours and he leaned in to kiss you, clutching the locket in his fist, tight, tight, tight. 

BEFORE DAWN

That night, in his bed, smelling his oranges and cloves, his scent filling your nose, covering you with his sheets, you lay buried in his chest where his tags used to lie, your cheek now warming the skin beneath. You imagined the compasses that dangled from the four sets of keys strewn across the kitchen counter. You thought about the shawl that was wrapped around his sister as she slept in her bed. Holding his locket in your hand, you ran your fingertips over its tartan, borne of the same threads as hers. You wondered about tomorrow, and the day after that, and the year ahead of you, and you felt a tightness in your own chest as you considered the timeline stretching out before you, woven from the choices you and your lover had made together. It was as if you had altered fate’s plan somehow, shunning your intended path and forging one of your own making. What future had you created? Did you have the guile to craft the right course? You held his hand, his fingers laced between yours, and whichever way you went, you hoped that he would be braving it with you.

[adobe-outdesign]

since u reviewed the other three dragon neopets, maybe you could review the draik next? it's one of my favorite neopets!

Draiks are one of four (4) dragon Neopets, which is entirely too many. Despite coming last however, it does feel like they're one of the more memorable dragon designs on the site.

Part of the reason for this is that Draiks are restricted Neopets, which is a fancy way of saying that you can't make them through Create-A-Pet the way you can almost every other species. Instead, you have to either use a morphing potion or get a Draik egg item and bring it to the Draiks' Nest page. Thankfully TNT has made Draiks much easier to get over the years due to wide releases of morphing potions among other things, reducing them from an elite status symbol to just a somewhat less common pet with a neat gimmick.

The other reason is that Draiks have an usually slim and detailed design for Neopets. There's no hard rules for Neopets, but they generally skew towards thicker and almost chibi-ish in terms of proportions—think like the Scorchio. The Draik's slender body stands out amongst the more standard dragon designs, as does details like the subtle speckling. It also helps that they have a lot of really good colour options.

Base colour wise, the light grey accents work well as they blend with any given color and don't overpower the design. The color distribution is also very good, with the large swaths of grey used on both the underbelly and on the wings and ear fins. Meanwhile, the eyes pop due to a combo of red and yellow.

Visually, I also really like how the little whiskers by the mouth are matched by ones on the head (which are missing from some colours?) and the ear fins, and how the fins mimic the shape of the wings. It feels very well thought-out and cohesive.

Draiks were improved greatly by customization and I am prepared to die on this hill. The old art had such a weird expression, like it just accidentally dropped your iPhone into the pool and is trying to figure out how to gently break the news to you. The way everything is cluttered towards the center of the body also makes the silhouette very hard to read, and the red head hairs ruin the cohesion thing I mentioned earlier. The tail standing is sort of neat, but unlike Meercas I don't think think they've really ever done this outside of the original pet art.

Favorite Colours:

Maraquan: A particularly pretty design, the Maraquan Draik looks a bit like a lionfish crossed with an eel. The whit base with the orange and magenta accents looks really nice, and the subtle changes to the design—one back fin instead of two wings, fins around the tail, long whiskers—feel appropriately aquatic but keep the species recognizable.

The converted version is very similar to the UC/styled version, just flipped. However, it always felt subtly off to me, and after some investigation I've figured out that it's because, in addition to shorter whiskers and a slightly smaller head, the head isn't turned enough relative to the body so it doesn't quite connect right. It's a minor thing but it low-key drives me nuts.

Chocolate: The chocolate Draik, while not necessarily unusual for the color, looks really nice. I love the use of wafers for the wings and fins and the subtle cracks. The white chocolate parts add nice contrast and the chocolate topping and whipped cream add some nice finishing touches.

Mutant: The mutant Draik has much more realistic dragon-like proportions than usual, which makes it look particularly different compared to the usual delicate design. I do think it looks more zombie-like than mutant-like due to the exposed brain and ragged wings (plus the base anatomy remains unchanged), but it's still a good design regardless.

Both versions are fine, but the UC/styled one is just a superior take overall; better shading and beefier proportions in things like the tail and arms, plus the cool tongue. I honestly don't know why they changed it, seeing as mutants can't wear clothes and nothing significant changed; it's like they didn't have vector files so they redid the entire thing instead of properly redrawing over it.

BONUS: Speaking of Draik colors that got butchered in conversion, the Tyrannian Draik is a travesty. The UC/styled design has a triceratops-like head crest, which works because the head is incredibly flat. I get that there was no good way to convert it, but maybe just... don't, then? Regardless, the original design is great. I really details like the banding on the feet, hands, and nose horn, the subtle speckling, and the nice brown/greenish-grey contrast.

[juminies]

🔁 tom reblogged

📱 generictexter mutuals

Um I just found an iphone on the street and some guy is texting it telling me to go to an apartment nearby. Might die but he's kind of hot and I'm feeling wild so

#Has anyone heard from her? I'm a little worried! #UPDATE: my friend texted me to let me know she's fine :)

📷 V following

🔁 eattherich reblogged princesshan

🔆 eattherich

it's actually insane how many fans jumin han has considering his dad is literally the chairman of a global conglomerate. do you realise how much money these people have that they could be putting to better use

🎀 princesshan follow

op doesn't realise the money is part of the appeal

🔆 eattherich follow

the money is why everyone at the top of C&R is also at the top of the 'to eat' list

#i can't even begin to form a response to prev tags #also inb4 you say something like 'j*min will be eating something else iykwim' #moving on!

anonymous asked:

if 'lordofthecattower' joins your party block them they'll throw

🧙‍♂️ supermanyoosung mutuals

Wait that's my friend T-T I know he's not great but it's ok! We all start somewhere!!!

#me and our other friend have been trying to teach him! #i didn't even know he was playing without me lololol

🐈 catprotect following

Remempurr our fundraiser is tomorrow everyone! Please feel free to bring along any well behaved kitties but gentle reminder that they must be kept either within a carrier or on a leash. We would hate any accidents!

See you there!

🌟 idolpage follow

anyone else think that soloist that just debuted looks scarily like the president

#delete later

🎭 zenlover7 mutuals

It must be so hard for Zen's friends not to hit on him every time he sends them selfies T_T T_T

🤍 thezenryu following

Haha you flatter me but I'm mostly friends with guys!

🔁 princesshan reblogged eattherich

🔆 eattherich follow

it's actually insane how many fans jumin han has considering his dad is literally the chairman of a global conglomerate. do you realise how much money these people have that they could be putting to better use

🎀 princesshan follow

op doesn't realise the money is part of the appeal

#he's also insanely hot but i digress !! #...and don't quote me on this but his dad could kinda get it too 👀

⚔️ lololfiend follow

we can't decide in the gc so

#league of loneliness of life #lolol

💒 lostlover follow

has anyone heard of "mint eye" I just got handed a flyer for it but it's so vague and I can't find anything online lmao. are they trying to recruit me into a cult or something

#he also gave me some sort of drink(?) but if it's from a cult I don't really want to drink it #mutuals lmk if I should do a taste test

🎬 zenupdates mutuals

Zen selfie from today (via an anonymous source).

[thebaddexample]

FILM THEORY: DEATH RETURNS TO INANIMATE INSANITY!! BUT IT'S NOT TACO OR LIGHTBULB!!

Warning, spoilers and possibly cringey or bad writing, but it's 1am for me so eh

(First off, shout-out to my mom for coming up with this idea for me to make a theory on- You're the best :3)

(Second, thumbnail by me :])

(Thirdly, I might rewrite this during the day at some point because I'm really tired, but had to get this out before I slept bcs I'd forget to otherwise)

(Fourthly, I know that this isn't a completely original idea, and people have done it already, but I wanted an excuse to make a theory and there's evidence, so I thought "why not?" It'll make people upset with me if I'm right, and I get to pretend to be Film Theory for a bit. It's a win-win!)

(You are legally required to read this post as MatPat's voice /silly /j)

————————

With the horrifying tweet that Brian made last Saturday, there's a lot of people (including you, probably) worried about who will die in the finale, the harsh battle between whether we say "bye" to a bright light, or "so long" to our sour cream schemer. My answer? Neither!! Object show community, inanimate fandom... whatever we call ourselves! I'm about to present to you why our beloved (and somewhat recently hated) host is going to be the death of the season.

————————

First of all, the trailer (and @inanimateinsanityfan 's recent tumblr post "invitation") has somewhat implied that the focus of the movie, the A-Plot at least, will be around Cobs attempting to get to MePhone4 somehow, whether it be luring him up to Meeple Headquarters or trying to get down to him. We've seen from previous episodes that Cobs wants him dead, but it's hard to tell if he's changed his motive, since we haven't seen him since Episode 13 "Mine Your Own Business". However, he has been consistently sending his newer MePhones to eliminate MePhone4, as 5C clearly states in Episode 6. The newer models have features like tracking (much like MePad) and knife hands (NOT like MePad), which MePhone4 doesn't have, which should in theory have made him easier to kill.

Speaking of the abilities, the MeLife function is only ever used by MePhone4, or at least we only ever get to see him do it. Why? Well, I have an idea but that's a theory for another time. The point is; MePhone4 seems to be the only Meeple product with the ability to bring people to life, and has all of the contestants on there as far as we know. This means that, unless there's a creative solution to perma-kill one of the contestants, MePhone4 needs to die first for any perma-death to occur in the first place.

And hell, removing the regeneration ability as a whole would be a great way to cap off the season, to establish that there's no more retrying and that everything is now set in stone. And even if we do get that damn FOURTH season (bonus points to whoever gets the reference), it'll at least spice things up with having, say, MePad as a host instead, leaving the spot open for someone else to claim and have an interesting story arc of their own.

This shot already pulls up a parallel between MePhone4 and MePhone3GS, and though 3GS isn't really confirmed dead, they're definitely not gonna be alive any time soon. The parallels could imply that MePhone4 is destined to a fate similar to 3GS; no longer in service, probably broken, and maybe even killed of by Cobs himself.

In addition to this, all of the other MePhones we've seen have all died; MePhone4 technically died with 4S and 5 in the Season 1 finale "Journey Through Memory Lane", 5S and 5C were introduced and immediately killed in Season 2 Episode 6 "Let 'Er RIP", and MePhones 6 and 6+ were also immediately killed upon introduction in Season 2 Episode 8 "Theft and Battery". The MePhones all have something in common, and that is unavoidable and quick death, much like real iphones honestly.

Does this mean that MePhone4 will have to die as a result of MePhone's faulty creation? No, but there is a pre-established pattern with each of the MePhones that goes as a cycle, perpetuating Cobs' cruel style of doing things; he creates something, claims it's his favorite for a year, then makes something a little better and throws the pre-established bond away to die, and rinse and repeat.

But hey! That's just a theory!

An Object Theory!!

Uh- what's the opposite of "greetings and salutations"-?

"Goodbye and see-you-laters!!"

[your-oddities]

Marble Hornets headcanons !!

but 1/4 of this stuff are just habits i have.

this is due to the fact these characters are literally me.

Jay:

-If a fast food employee gets his order wrong, he’ll do everything in his power to make sure it’s not fixed. Not because he doesn’t care. He just hates having to bother minimum wage workers.

-When he was young he used to cough obnoxiously whilst walking past smokers to make them feel bad. He did this a handful of times with Tim in a couple hotel rooms. But Tim didn’t notice. Or ignored him. Jay never knew which.

-He bumps into EVERYTHING. No spacial awareness at all.

-He has quite few jackets in his closet. Most of them are the exact same because he found one he really liked then just bought like five. neurodivergent boy say what!??!!1!1!

-If you give him pointers or constructive criticism he’ll take them way too personally and feel like he did something wrong. Like really wrong. It’s really not a big deal. To him it is.

-Isn’t superstitious at all. That being said, that one lucky charm he got from an old friend always seems to find itself in his pocket.

-Very sentimental.

Tim:

-Definitely had to be a “he ordered no pickles” kind of guy when he and Jay were out sharing hotel rooms.

-Avoid confrontation at all cost. Unless it’s completely necessary, he just won’t do it. Someone could cuss him out and he’d just stand there wondering how to get out of the situation.

-Honestly… love you Tim, but I imagine his personality to be pretty stale. He never had real good social interaction until Brian came along, meaning not until college. He finds it hard to get past small talk with people he’s recently met.

-If you take him to a Starbucks or something and ask him what he wants he’ll say “uhh.. coffee??”

-Says his favorite band is something like Metallica or Green Day. And don’t get him wrong, he likes those. But he’ll die for The Smiths.

-Never cared about style. Ever. Did you see what he had on in entry #9??

-Still loves his mom. He places some blame on her of course, but he could never bring himself to hate his mother. He knows he was and still is messed up mentally. She handled it best she knew how.

-Uses reading glasses whenever he’s trying to read something on his flip phone. That was until iPhones came out and he got rid of his old phone.

Alex:

-Everybody knows that during Marble Hornets man couldn’t for the life of him chill. He was always angry. But that’s definitely the influence of The Operator. He was actually a really sweet and funny guy pre-MH. Yes, he had his angry moments, but who doesn’t??

-Unless you’re using the most sarcastic tone ever, he can’t understand it. But he’s extremely sarcastic himself. Of course he always tries to make it very clear.

-THICK LENSES. Like bro. Took his parents until he was about five and bumping into absolutely everything to go get his eyes checked.

-Living standing emoji. He didn’t discover putting his hands in his pockets until after he dropped Marble Hornets.

-Watches fiction movies then criticizes the parts that aren’t realistic.

-“Why would you pull that piece of glass out of your leg?? Keep it in until you can see a doctor!” “Alex we’re watching a movie about an alien invasion.”

-Did I mention he speaks to the characters on screen like they’re actually there?

-Denies he’s the dad of the group (he is).

Brian:

-The silly. But we already knew that.

-Extremely social. Extrovert to the max. Doesn’t love parties, but he’ll go to just about any other social event.

-He doesn’t have any idea what personal space is. He’ll hug, pat your back, or just give you small bits of affection every three seconds. Unless someone asks him to stop, of course. It’s just his go-to.

-Actually, Brian’s openness to physical affection is the main reason Tim became good friends with him. He didn’t get a lot of love when he was a child, so it’s something he’s come to crave. And Brian welcomes it with open arms, literally!!

-Loves (most) bitter food. He’ll defend dark chocolate with his life. But he can’t handle black coffee.

-He bit his nails for years on end. When he learned how insanely unsanitary it is, he stopped immediately. Now he just picks at them.

-He’s never not had a dog. Except for that one time he had a ferret.

-Feeds the alley cats. He just loves animals so much. That’s why his parents thought he was gonna be a veterinarian when he grew up.

lil extra stuff abt their sexualities and whatnot!!

Jay - Gay, though that’s basically canon. Aroace but he’s not repulsed by relationships by any means. Romantic or sexual. He’s had his fair share of boyfriends and girlfriends before he found out he dislikes titties. He/him.

Tim - Doesn’t really bother with labels. He knows he likes girls as well as guys, so he just tells everybody he’s queer. He also doesn’t exactly announce this to anybody but his close friends, but he’s demisexual + romantic. He/him but he won’t correct you if you use anything else.

Alex - Born a girl. He was a girl for years because that’s just what everybody called him. Then he watched SheZow when he was like seven and went “whoa… people can change genders??” Years down the line and a bunch of long conversations with close friends lead him to identify as a boy when he was a junior in high school. Of course he got bullied relentlessly for it, so he didn’t actually transitioning until after school. I mean, literally. After the last day of senior year he picked up testosterone for the first time ever. He/they.

Brian - To me, he’s definitely pansexual. He doesn’t care about the parts. Personality is the one thing that matters to him. When he first got into college, he learned what non-binary means and he experimented with a couple different gender labels. But he settled on being demiboy. Any pronouns.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

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123 for 🧟:

---

Buck feels relieved. She didn’t travel all this way not to have a support system in him. 

“Hershey didn’t get the worst of the outbreaks,” Maddie says. “Roads closed from Harriburg, and… Well, it was stemmed.”

Buck remembers that, from the early days. Before the internet went out. He’d tried to reach out. Even to his parents. 

“But everyone went into lockdown mode,” Maddie says. “At first I thought that would exclude me, being in healthcare. I thought I was needed more than ever.”

“Weren’t you?” Buck asks. 

“Oh, I think probably.” Maddie admits. “But Doug came home one day with new guns and told me neither of us was leaving the house again. Not without his say so.”

“What the fuck?” 

“I think he was happy, honestly. Society had gone to hell, and he didn’t have to be careful anymore.” Her eyes tear up a little. “He could do whatever he wanted.”

Buck’s blood goes cold. He knew Doug didn’t treat her right. Didn’t treat her well at all. But what she’s implying? If he had known… Oh god. He would have never left her. 

“Maddie…”

“Don’t say sorry,” she says firmly. “I worked hard to make sure you didn’t know, okay? It’s why… It’s why we lost contact.”

Buck’s head hangs a little. “I would have helped you.”

“I know. That’s why. He would have killed you.”

Buck sighs. “So what happened?”

“He got sick,” Maddie says. “Went out on a supply run one afternoon, came back sick. Infected.”

“Shit.” Buck hisses.

“So I shot him.” Maddie says, very quietly. 

“My god, Maddie.” Buck exhales. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

“It was,” she agrees. “But I wasn’t going to die there. Become infected or wait for him to fully turn and… Eat me.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t,” Buck replies. “I’m so glad you survived.”

“Me too,” she says, inhaling a little. Like she’s convincing herself. 

“Can I ask what happened to Mom and Dad?” Buck asks. 

They’re obviously not close. Never were. He hasn’t worried for them, the same way he’s worried for Maddie. But it’s not like he wishes them harm. Though, harm has come for most people anyway. 

Maddie shakes her head a little.

“I don’t know entirely,” she admits. “By the time I left and was able to check on them, the house was abandoned. No trace of them. No remains.”

Buck bites the inside of his cheek. So it will always be a question, then. 

“Sorry,” Maddie says. 

Buck shakes his head. “No, that’s… I mean, everyone has people like that, right?”

She nods. “I’m glad you’re not one of them, now.”

Buck throat feels tight. “Same with you.”

▪️▪️▪️

Buck starts his shift on cams after Maddie is asleep. He’s on from eight until two in the morning, when Bobby will switch with him. 

It sounds painfully boring, but Buck doesn’t hate cam shifts. He did at first. The stillness was grating. Drove him crazy. He learned to entertain himself, over the past months. He can’t read, really. He could miss something. But he can listen to music or audiobook CDs. Not just CDs, either. Karen’s iPhone is still in good shape, and it had dozens of audiobooks, podcasts, and music downloaded onto it. She leaves it in the cams room with a charger for whoever is on shift. So there is a lot for Buck to do to occupy his mind. Even if some of the podcast episodes and audiobooks start to get repetitive on the second or third listen. 

Tonight, he’s listening to a nonfiction selection of Karen’s. Something academic and a bit smarter than Buck. But the only way he learns is by challenging himself, so he’s trying to focus. It’s nearing ten o’clock. Most everyone has gone to bed. It’s been a long, tiring day. Full of activity. 

All this to say, Buck is surprised when he sees someone pop up on the security camera. Not just someone. Eddie. He’s walking, purpose in his step, down the hallway connecting to the front foyer, right out the big glass entryway doors. Oh. Well, that’s stupid. The doors lock from the outside. Bobby locks them before he goes to bed. Buck will have to leave his post to let him back in, which is annoying. 

He’s about to do as much, making the short walk to bang on the glass and let Eddie know, when what he sees on the screen stops him short. Eddie walks to the side of the building, leans against a brick wall, and starts to cry. 

Oh.

Well, this is very awkward. 

And, hey, there’s nothing wrong with crying. Buck has cried twice today. One over the radio, once over his sister returning. No shame in it. It’s just that, Buck has all the off-cam good crying spots down. Including his private room. This poor guy doesn’t realize Buck can see him. 

He shouldn’t watch. Surely no zombies or other forms of villain will come in the next… Well, how long does it take to cry? Buck doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything about this guy. Other than that he saved Maddie. Really, the polite thing to do would be to turn away and give him a minute. He’s going to. Definitely. 

Except, he finds he can’t look away. 

Something in his heart cracks, watching this guy. He’d seemed friendly and collected earlier. Steady. Not like someone hours away from weeping. Maybe that’s just a front. Maybe he wants to seem tough in front of his kid. Buck thinks he could understand that, despite not being a parent. 

The crying lasts less than ten minutes. Buck watches Eddie straighten himself up, rub his eyes, and turn back towards the entrance. Which is still locked. Shoot. Buck bounces to his feet, leaves the cam room, and jogs down the hallway towards the entrance. By the time he reaches the door, Eddie is trying the handle to no avail, a panicked expression on his face. 

Buck reaches forward and opens the door. 

“Sorry, man,” he says. “It locks from the inside. Safety.”

“No, right,” Eddie nods. “That makes sense. Thanks for letting me in.”

“Don’t mention it,” Buck shrugs. Really. He literally saved Maddie’s life. Buck opened the damn door. Not the same level of effort.

“How did you know I was here?” Eddie asks.

Buck’s cheeks go a little red. “Uh…”

[humble-humbler]

I don't know if you're real or not some tumblr fever dream, but I just want you to know, your excessive use of ellipses is funny and I like it

Hi!

Thanks for your message, good to hear from you!

I'm afraid I've been writing this way for decades now, looong before the invention of computers, internet, etc!!

HAA HAA, even today, I have very little experience of computers, i.e. NOT very techie at all! I can just about get by with reading and sending emails, so please don't .......... LAUGH!!

If I get stuck I simply ask my whizz-kid ...... kidz ....... to ..... bail ..... me out!

I've been .......... "butchered" ...... by my family ........... who constantly keep ........ BUTCHERING .......... me ........ "for god's sake get a decent mobile and a decent laptop" ......... for ...... a ......... DECADE ..... now !!!

I have a clapped out 10 year old Samsung Android mobile, and an equally clapped out 8 year old .......... Laptop!

My BETTER HALF and kids all have iPhones, and very decent computers to say the least!

I don't call myself ............ "Humble-Humbler" ............... for nothing!!

Finally, I find it damn hard to be ......... "modern ....... and ....... TRENDY" ...... and go with the ...... surrounding .......TRENDY ........... crowd!!

As they say ............. OLD HABITS ........... die ........... HARD?!!

I'll probably ........... DIE ............ with my .......... HABITS .......... accompanying me to my ................ WOODEN ......... BOX?!!

CONCLUSION: "It is what it is!" At least I use this very ...... MODERN ....... and ............ TRENDY .......... phrase ........ thanks to the ........ MODERN ........... and ........ very ....... TRENDY ................................................... e-a-r-t-h-l-i-n-g-s .......... on ..... planet .......... e-a-r-t-h!!!

>> Hallelujah !!!!!!!! <<

[butternuggets-blog]

DRACULA: A Modern Adaptation

My script for a modern tv adaptation of Dracula, based on the novel by Bram Stoker Also on AO3

EPISODE ONE

101     TRAIN TO BISTRITZ

An aerial shot of train tracks winding through mountainous terrain. A train winding its way towards its destination; old, either early 1990s or even late 80s.

Camera zooms in; long swooping shot.

102     TRAIN CARRIAGE

A figure idly watches the landscape rolling past the window. The glass is streaky; the carriage is clean but shabby and well-worn, clearly old and very used. JONATHAN HARKER rummages inside a pant pocket and pulls out a mobile phone. Samsung Galaxy; he can’t afford an Iphone or has chosen not to purchase one. Not a trend-follower.

Camera static; shows phone screen. Static zoom cut showing the internet and cell reception bars abruptly cut out. He is on his own out here.

103     ARRIVAL AT BISTRITZ

Train shudders to a stop; Jonathan pulls his suitcase out from under his seat and follows the crowd outside onto the platform. Open-air station; very old ticket office with one window, a single bench for waiting passengers. No electronic ticket machine, no modern ads scrolling up. This station is ancient.

Jonathan spots a sign (very hard to miss) for the Golden Krone Hotel which is directly in front of him, opposite the station. He walks across the platform, looks both ways down the street before crossing – people walking by, a stray dog, a genuine horse-drawn carriage – and goes inside.

104     INT. GOLDEN KRONE HOTEL - LOBBY

Open plan hotel lobby; the dining/seating area is to the left, already packed with a modest amount of locals and travellers. The staircase to the upper floors is ahead. The small reception desk is on the right; an OLD WOMAN, one half of the establishment’s proprietors, is already lifting up a flap in the desktop and walking through, reaching Jonathan as he stops in the doorway to admire the interior of the hotel lobby (very traditional; lots of hand-carved wood and painted wallpaper).

OLD WOMAN

Are you the Englishman?

She is speaking German with a stilted fluency. It is not her first language but she knows it passably well. She is Székelys.

JONATHAN HARKER

Yes. I am Jonathan Harker.

He speaks German like a tourist. He is enunciating firmly, with an English accent. Jonathan bows suddenly, awkwardly; the woman reciprocates the gesture. She is smiling; it is an old custom to bow to women in greeting, nowadays most people shake hands. She thinks it is sweet that he has learnt the gesture.

OLD WOMAN

Room seven has been prepared for you.

Jonathan follows the woman over to the desk. She grabs a key – iron, old-fashioned, heavy – from a hook and places it in his hand as her husband appears from a door leading into a back room beside the desk.

OLD WOMAN

Dinner can be served but it is extra, my apologies.

JONATHAN

Thank you. That’s not a problem.

The woman turns to her husband. Jonathan cannot see her expression but the audience can. She is tense, but pretending that nothing is wrong.

OLD WOMAN

[in Romanian] Fetch the letter before I change my mind.

OLD MAN

[in Romanian] It’s for the best.

Jonathan has no clue what is being said. He is wearing the polite smile of a man completely out of his depth.

OLD WOMAN

[in Romanian] Just fetch it.

The man wants to speak, but it is an old argument and he closes his mouth, lets it die. He goes back into the office while Jonathan and the woman stand in awkward silence.

The man returns, handing an envelope to his wife. It is made of thick parchment, sealed with a genuine wax seal, and addressed to Jonathan. The woman slides it across the countertop, fingers pressing down on it.

She is smiling. It is clearly forced.

OLD WOMAN

This was left for you.

JONATHAN

Oh, thank you.

Jonathan tries to take the envelope but there is resistance. The woman does not want to hand the letter over. He tries to snatch it again; this time he is successful.

105     INT. GOLDEN KRONE HOTEL – DINING ROOM

Jonathan is eating a dinner of “robber steak…bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks and roasted over the fire” with several glasses of “Golden Mediasch wine”.

He reads the opened letter as he eats; the envelope is tucked into his journal, also on the table, which is propping up the letter.

We now hear Dracula’s voice for the first time as he narrates the letter.

DRACULA

My friend, welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well tonight. At three tomorrow the coach will start for Bukovina; a place on it has been reserved for you. At the Borgo Pass my carriage will pick you up and bring you to me.

106     FADE IN – INT. GOLDEN KRONE HOTEL – ROOM SEVEN

The dining room scene fades into Jonathan packing his bag in his room the next day and tidying up his bed.

DRACULA

I trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.

There is a knock on Jonathan’s hotel room. He zips up his suitcase and answers the door; the OLD WOMAN is standing there, fidgeting nervously.

JONATHAN

Yes? What’s wrong?

Jonathan lets her into the room.

OLD WOMAN

Do you have to go? On today of all days?

JONATHAN

Yes, I have business-

The woman starts weeping.

JONATHAN

Oh! Oh-oh-shh, shh, shh, shh-

He moves to comfort her

JONATHAN

I’m sorry

OLD WOMAN

[in Romanian] I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! It should be us and not you but I can’t-

JONATHAN

What’s the matter? What’s wrong? What did you mean, “today of all days”?

The woman takes a moment to get herself under control.

OLD WOMAN

It is the eve of St George’s day. When it strikes midnight tonight, all the evil in the world will hold sway.

Jonathan is confused.

JONATHAN

What has that got to do with my business trip?

The woman silently shakes her head. She’s said enough; to talk more would be suicide. She takes a rosary from around her neck and places it on Jonathan. He is very confused.

OLD WOMAN

For your mother’s sake.

She leaves.

107 EXT. VARIOUS LANDSCAPES

Picturesque shot of a stagecoach travelling through various landscapes: forest, fruit trees, snow-covered mountains, and valleys.

108     INT. TRAVELLING COACH

As the passengers realise that they have reached the Borgo Pass, they begin to ply Jonathan with gifts; one clasps his hands and says a short prayer, while others press dried rose and garlic into his hands.

JONATHAN

Oh, er, thank you. Thank you.

He is just as confused as he was at the inn. Perhaps this is a normal Romanian farewell?

The coach approaches the stretch of road where Dracula’s coach should be. Everyone looks for it expectantly; Jonathan is disappointed by its absence, the others breathe a sigh of relief.

The driver opens a sliding window set in the front of the coach so he can talk to his passengers.

DRIVER

[in Romanian] We are an hour early.

One of the passengers make the sign of the cross. Another nods.

NODDING PASSENGER

Smart.

The driver turns to Jonathan.

DRIVER

Your coach has not arrived yet. It is late; we will take you on to Bukovina and put you up there for the night.

JONATHAN

Could you wait maybe five minutes? Please?

DRIVER

No. There are wolves.

Suddenly Dracula’s carriage appears behind them. The passengers scream; the driver swears and struggles to get his horses under control as the carriage overtakes and stops in front of them.

DRIVER

[in Romanian] The dead travel fast.

DRACULA – I mean, the “COACHMAN” – alights from his coach and approaches them.

“COACHMAN”

[in Romanian] You are early tonight.

The driver flinches, says nothing. The passengers are frozen in their seats, hardly daring to breath. Their bravery has fled.

The “coachman” pulls Jonathan’s suitcase from the luggage rack. Jonathan climbs out and hesitantly approaches the other vehicle.

“COACHMAN”

Come, come! Let me help you.

He grabs Jonathan’s arm and heaves him into the carriage. He uses a little too much force; Jonathan bounces against the seat. The “coachman” puts a cloak over Jonathan’s shoulders.

JONATHAN

You can keep it for yourself if you want; I’m wearing enough protective layers.

“COACHMAN”

Keep it. And there is a flask of slivovitz in the seat pocket if you would like a nightcap.

The “coachman” flicks the reins and the carriage starts moving. The driver, white-knuckling the reins, watches Jonathan leave. The passengers watch as well, pressed up against the windows but not daring to poke their heads outside.

109     EXT. LANDSCAPE NEAR THE CASTLE

The carriage rides through the night. Jonathan is cold, despite the layers; he pulls the cloak around himself like a blanket and enjoys the night time view.

Jonathan gets curious. By the light of the moon he looks at his watch; it is about to strike midnight.

Camera static; static zoom shot of the watch face as the hands strike midnight.

Howls pierce the air. They are far away and oh so close. Jonathan shivers, shrinking down and trying to hide as best he can in the carriage. They keep moving.

110      INT. OPEN TOP CARRIAGE

Aerial shot of the carriage rolling along the road. Jonathan, feeling brave, is sitting up properly again. He spots blue flames flickering among the trees to the left.

JONATHAN

A will o’ the wisp! I didn’t know you had them here! We have them back home in England, in the marshes.

“COACHMAN”

They are not wisps, only blue flames. Wisps have a mind.

JONATHAN

Supposedly wisps lead people astray. Some people have died after following them.

The coachman grins. He enjoys the thought of people dying.

“COACHMAN”

The flames always appear on St George’s Eve. They mark hidden treasure.

Eyes around them, glowing white. The horses buck and whinny, but there’s nowhere for them to go. The cloud cover lifts and

Wolves.

Standing in a ring around the now stopped carriage, silently observing the men. Suddenly they throw back their heads and howl.

The coachman stands up, throwing his arms wide.

“COACHMAN”

[in Romanian] Begone!

The wolves leave.

“COACHMAN”

The children of the night. What music they make!

Jonathan is shaken. What the hell was that? He presses a hand to his chest, pressing the rosary tucked under his shirt against his skin. It is a comfort.

111      EXT. CASTLE DRACULA

The carriage comes down the final stretch of road before pulling up in the courtyard of “a vast ruined castle”. Jonathan is slumped in the backseat; fear and exhaustion has been too much for him and he nodded off.

The sudden lurch of the carriage coming to a halt wakes him up and he looks about him in awe, hopping from the carriage with the help of the coachman who proceeds to deposit his suitcase beside him before driving off.

Jonathan approaches the front door. It is massive and weathered, with iron nails embedded in it.

Carved along the stone doorframe, in English, is an inscription. The words are clearly new, although the stone it is carved onto is very old.

JONATHAN

[in English] Enter freely, go safely, and leave a little of the happiness you bring.

There is a loud clank of bolts – and gears? - and the door slides open, seemingly on its own.