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noparadiseinthis · 4 months ago

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English is not my first language. Bear with me, Grammarly helps, but it doesn't work miracles

Series: Come away, O human child! Part 1:

Secrets hidden in plain sight

Spencer Reid/fem!Reader

Read part 2 here

Warnings: mention of domestic violence and abusive relationship. Reader is married and has a son.

Summary: Spencer meets the son and wife of one of the police officers they are helping at the moment. There's something strange about them.

You could swear that William had made it his life's mission to turn you gray as soon as possible. You couldn't look away for a second and he'd disappear into the crowd. To make matters worse, you were at the police station to drop off your husband's lunch, which he had forgotten at home. You planned to drop it off and leave as quickly as you could, as the whole atmosphere always made you uncomfortable, but it wasn't as if you felt comfortable anywhere.

You knew he had to be somewhere in there, so you started searching the rooms as quickly as possible, passing the other police officers who were looking at you in confusion and trying not to let despair take over. William was safe in there. It wasn't because Steve's colleagues looked away when you appeared injured that they would do your son any harm.

You just prayed you'd find William before Steve did, or you'd never hear the end of how you didn't take care of his son properly. The son he barely remembered he had, even though they lived in the same house.

"Willy? Willy! Thank God!" you exclaimed, seeing your little 5-year-old son's head from afar and approaching at a fast pace. "Don't ever do that again, William! You've got me worried to death!"

The boy at least had the decency to look embarrassed as he whispered an apology.

"I'm sorry, if I'd known you were his mother I would have taken him to you," a voice said.

That's when you became aware of the presence of a strange man, one you'd never seen in the police station before and who wasn't wearing a uniform. Tense, you stood in front of Willy and looked at him suspiciously. He was tall, with brown curls adorning a face that would have made you blush if you were still at college, but at the moment, he was the suspicious man talking to your son.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, right, I'm sorry," he muttered as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket and showed you his ID. "Agent Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI. We're helping with the case of the missing girls."

Spencer avoided frowning when he saw that even your identity didn't completely reassure you, you still looked as tense as before, even though you were no longer hiding your child behind your body. Being a profiler, he couldn't help but analyze other people, focusing on the way you looked tired, with dark circles under your eyes and your skin pale in an almost unhealthy way, your long-sleeved shirt being too hot. You didn't seem to be attacking him, you seemed to be defending yourself. As if you genuinely believed that Spencer was going to hurt you. It was strange.

"Mom, he's a wizard! It's incredible!" William exclaimed, attracting their attention.

You turned your focus away from Spencer for a moment, giving your son a weak smile as you stroked his hair, even though you didn't know what he was talking about.

"Um..." Spencer began, and you turned to see what he was going to say. "I thought it would be a good idea to distract him with magic tricks, you know? While I couldn't find his parents."

Forcing yourself to relax, you took a deep breath before flashing your most genuine forced smile at the FBI agent.

"Thank you for that. He's so hyper."

"No need to thank me, he was a great stagehand."

The doctor's smile seemed genuine in a way you hadn't seen in a long time and it almost unsettled you. You didn't like that, you couldn't have predicted what would come next. With Steve, you almost always knew what to do. When to send William to his room so he wouldn't see anything that would traumatize him, when to apologize, and when to stay silent. Spencer Reid was a valley of strangeness that you decided you hated.

"There you are! I thought you weren't coming." You heard the grumble of that familiar voice, the heavy footsteps coming closer and closer and you had to remind yourself that he wouldn't do anything in public.

"I was just... a little late."

Spencer knew exactly how to recognize fear when he saw it. It was an instinctive reaction, the immediate shudder when she heard the voice of the policeman approaching the three of them. The man was part of the search team he had been introduced to earlier. No one worth paying much attention to so far.

"Dad." William spoke, much more withdrawn than before, albeit with a small smile on his face.

Reid understood what he was doing; the boy was waiting for an instruction from his mother. He had seen enough tense family dynamics in his life.

When you left, going out with Steve - your husband, probably, the rings matched - her gaze met Spencer's again. What he saw there made any explanation unnecessary.

- Hey, Reid. Come and look at this. - Derek called out.

Distracted by work for the rest of the day, Spencer still couldn't get his gaze off his head. It was empty. Without any kind of hope. Without even the desperation that would at least indicate that you were trying to ask for help.

"Morgan," he said at a random moment in the day, making his friend turn to him, "how often do you think women accept abuse at home because they have children?"

Derek snorted.

"In my experience? All the time."

That made his stomach sink.

In the next chapter: Spencer sees a mark on you. He decides that if no one is going to do anything about it, then he will. If only he can convince you to accept help.

#spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds

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classicprowrestling · 1 year ago

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Dr Death Steve Williams vs Cactus Jack - 1990

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#cactus jack #dr death steve williams #wcw #90s wrestling #classic wrestling #Youtube

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deadboyfriendd · 3 months ago

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I Hope This Letter Finds You Well.

Summary: It is already so hot that it burns. The sheriff had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn't decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heatstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this.

A culmination of letters shared between family and new friends turns into a stand-off at the tarmac of Tucson, Arizona.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Sheriff/Wyatt Earp!Steve Harrington x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, Sherrif!Steve (he has a mustache), guns and gun violence, death of minor original characters, death of a spouse, period-appropriate death, drug use, angst, fluff, save a horse, ride a cowboy, feminine rage embodied (I couldn't give her a gun this time because, if I did, everyone would be dead), eventual discussion of The Civil War and the politics that came from it.

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 4.5k

Author's Note: This is it. Bisbee is here and it feels like I'm breathing life back into my cowboys through my sheriff. This is so, so special to me and @dr-aculaaa, and I cannot wait to tell you all their stories.

Find the series masterlist here!

“When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf.” Cormac McCarthy, Blood Meridian

Nellie,

I believe that the face of death is a woman, and that she is beautiful.

I believe that she may have loved my betrothed, at least as long as there was breath in his lungs and a thrum in his chest. I believe that William looked into her dark eyes and followed her into that unknown place, and I know, there, he might finally find something to still his mind.

I believe that she kissed him good and hard, Nellie, in a way that I could not have done– that she danced her spindly dance clear across the desert, through the plains of the midlands, and splashed in the bayou of Louisiana until she found him.

I believe that death is a friend to our family, that her sinewy arms loom over our men in an embrace that we can not provide, and I believe that she is warm. Much warmer than you or I have been created to be. I believe she walks alongside us, whispers into the ear of our husbands, and laughs as they dance their troublesome dances.

I believe she is kind, much kinder than us, for why else would our men leave the safety of us for her? I cannot fathom it, Nellie.

I no longer believe that death is cold and harsh, for I know that no man could be as cruel as she.

We were always cut from the same cloth, in life, and now in death.

Signed, your cousin.

He could have said that he never wanted any trouble, and he could have said he didn’t go around picking fights, yet both seemed to find him with speed and vigor. He sought them out, begged for the metallic heat to seep from behind his teeth and drip down his lips like ambrosia. The boy could not read nor write, yet also harbored a taste for mindless violence– his gangly teenage frame a harbinger of death.

The monsoon was fast approaching, dark clouds filling the sky in an apocalyptic haze, though the Lord knew this land needed it. The rain came down in heavy sheets, droplets weighing deep against the flesh and warm in strides. The powder dust beneath it stirred and settled in waves, and he prayed for no wind, for the wall of dust that would overtake them in the future just might suffocate him. He cried out in thirst, having mistaken this anguish for freedom. All he could do was turn his mouth towards the sky and hope it would wash away the rawness in his throat.

This heaviness did not go away with time nor age. The boy-now-man sifted through the powder silt of the remnants of his life the same way he sifted through these crises as a child, though with more sure steps and a heavier hand for subtlety. He no longer craved ambrose violence gilded in the candied sheen of shed blood, though it did not stop searching for him.

He was out with lanterns, in search of himself.

There used to be nothing here but a broad expanse of mirage, the heat rising from the sand and warping the distance into a false lake like a sick joke. He remembered the settlement. The miners came first, then the saloons, and dance halls. The cattle drovers and thieves would follow suit to reap their fortunes, but the plume of the mines came first.

Still there is hope, an old miner had said to him, for I know of two Bibles in town.

Though men of God and men of war both have strange affinities, it would seem.

War, much like God, was here long before man. It crouched its ugly pose and waited for his arrival. The ultimate trade awaits the ultimate practitioner.

Today, the oak planks, rotted from years in the sun, groan in the same anguish beneath his boots and he ignores it as much as the God he prayed to ignored his own cries. The bright orange of globe mallow presses its way between the planks, soft resilience even in this heat. When he reaches down to touch it, it crumbles between hardened finger pads.

This township felt like a tunnel, a vignette blurring the Gaussian edges of its structures that settled like graves. His boots sunk a lowly sulk through the banks of the roads where wagon wheels had pushed them from their packing. He still felt the nothingness here, vast openness in which he awaited a tomahawk crowning, sinking into the same sand on his knees, candy-coated in that gilded red gloss.

Through the nothingness there was a stirring, his eyes fixated on the microburst brewing along the mountain's edge in the distance.

Thunder fades to wheels along tracks.

You’d watched the land turn from green to brown and back again. You’d watch the sun wick the water from the soil and feel it warm your skin. There’s a certain disdain that fills your chest like liquid when you picture Nellie on this trail. There was no train west to take. There was no railway.

Did Nellie still look like her mother? Had her mouth begun to crease with a perpetual smile? Was her hair still long and did she still let it fall in ringlets down her back? Surely, she had not sounded the same in her letters, though, this sullen stranger had still signed the letters with the same swooping motions.

As the trees became sparse and turned into gangly, reaching boojums, you realized just how far from home you had been. You had never left the great state of Louisiana but, had run those riverbeds and marshes ragged with bare feet, had run heels hard against the hollow tomb of that old paddle boat. Could you be as wild as the West? Would it love you in the same way the marshes had? Wrap you in its mossy embrace and let you sink beneath stagnant water in wait?

But for what?

The sharecropping had been a logical by-product of everything your father had fought for in the war, rock salt and nails and hand over first for years under the lead of General Benjamin F. Butler, though no one could foresee the way the plantation had hemorrhaged money after he took on nearly ten hired men, or the way the land had would have dwindled to nothing had you not taken that ghastly, ugly burden against your back, one heavy enough to spur you west. One heavy enough that even the sting of the sunburn did nothing to quell the ache that you still felt in your chest against it.

You watched the life drain from this land, music and the lush green of the coming summer turning to sweltering, daguerreotype daydreams. You pressed your palm against the glass and sighed.

It was already warm enough to burn.

When you pressed your face against the glass, you could feel the rumble of the hardened earth beneath the sodden tracks. The dried parchment of letters scraped against themselves where they pooled in the makeshift reservoir of your dresses ruched into your lap– just high enough so that your ankles could feel any movement within the waning stagnation of air in the train car.

You tore the one on top open with your thumb– the last one to remain unopened. Its straight edge was too sharp and angled perfectly as you pulled at it, the edge of your thumb already pooling cherry beads of blood where it rippled.

“Shit.” you cursed.

Gilded eyes peered towards you, slicing through the silence of this welling heat like ice. Had it been dark, they would have glowed. Ladies in Parisian hats tailing the woeful gazes of their well-tailored merchant husbands turning towards the spectacle that was you. Young. Unmarried. Unaccompanied and profane in your lack of grace aboard the train to the lawless lands. Maybe, by God’s hand, you had been cut from the same cloth as this lawless place– the rumble of the tracks a song to the listlessness that stirred in your chest like silt in distant waters.

You dismissed the judgment, the venom of it all sliding off of you like that same water against a duck’s back, turning your attention back towards the product of your own disdain: Nellie’s letter, signed, sealed, and delivered to your last known location.

Cousin,

Your father has sent word about your arrival in Tucson, and I will meet you at the train depot in due time. I do hope that, in time, the heat of this land may dry your tears in the same way it has mine.

I fear that you may not recognize me upon your arrival to Tucson, my face has grown harder and my body less soft. You will become this way, too. I am tough. I am afraid this place has weathered me like old leather.

I have asked the sheriff to accompany me to the train depot in Tucson, and he has happily obliged. I didn’t think you would mind much, either.

The sheriff is a nice man, as I am sure you have come to find, however, this land has hardened him in the same way it has hardened Edward and I. In the same way, it took Wilhelm as payment for some grander, more horrendous scheme. I do not ask you to excuse his shortcomings– or mine– but I do ask that you try to understand us.

Though it is better now than it has ever been, this place is still not like Louisiana. This land is lawless. This land is tough. This land does not make promises or send prayers. It exists as it is, rough and unbinding– blistering for all it is worth.

We are the law, here.

If we lose our morality, we lose everything.

I will see you soon. I love you.

Nellie.

It was an unspoken truth that there was something broken much deeper within them that they had shared some form of solidarity within. Somehow, in some way, Nellie and Steve had shared something they never wanted you to see, but, even now, something was different about her in more recent letters that you couldn’t quite differentiate.

Perhaps it was the way she told you she loved you. She hadn’t written those three words since writing of Wilhelm’s death. Maybe she said it then in search of the love she had lost, had looked for shreds of it to mend herself back together. Maybe Edward had done that for her, and maybe now she had some left to give. You hoped that much for her.

Edward was an entity unknown to you– a phantom in his own respects. He reaped his own form of morosity in the way he loved Nellie. He did so in a way that was devouring, in a way that encompassed her in every respect. You had been well past the persuasion of beautiful faces, for a face much like his was the face that launched a thousand ships. Another puppet wielded by The Devil, he was. That holy shape becomes a devil, best.

It was an unholy thing, to resurrect the dead. And, you supposed, Edward had done just that. Nellie’s letters came to an abrupt halt after the announcement of the Death of Wilhelm. Your family, the only remaining kinship to her lineage, had not received a letter from her in over a year.

You’d thought of all of the ways she could have died, but the most plausible cause was a broken heart. Even now, as rolling hills turned to planes and back again, as you watched the horrors that this land reaped, you could not see any of them taking your cousin. No, she was a force to be reckoned with. Not even this land could break her will. No, if she were to die here, now, it would have been by her hand.

And then, by some unforsaken force beyond even your father’s control, Nellie breathed once more. Her letters were flowery, her writing curling into crashing waves of stories told. You watched as this solemn stranger breathed life back into Nellie, something as cruel and unusual as beauty in this place unseen and unheard of for years, beauty unseen to Nellie since Wilhem was killed.

You knew of only unholy things that fed upon the dead– that breathed an ugly, hot breath back into their lungs and pulled them from the sodden earth in which they lay. Edward was not entirely truthful, that much you could tell.

You supposed you and Edward had shared that sentiment, in some way.

The Whispering Sands was still not the ritzy bar. That was still located in the lobby of The Grand Hotel, just footsteps from where The Sheriff stood now, planks still singing their groaning songs of protest beneath his legs, still stiff with sleep or nerves or years of failed prayer.

His footfall fell heavy against the hollow floors, the weight of him reverberating against the early hum of the bar. The dealer was still as straight as a Christmastime wreath, though, now, he knew that this one could at least shoot in the right direction. You no longer needed to carry when you walked through, your spare now confined to below the counter out of sheer caution and the guiding hands of ghosts alone. The doors didn’t hang crooked anymore, the dealer making fast work of fixing all of the things Nellie had pushed to the back burner in relentless disembowelment of her own self-preservation that she so readily gave to him in the form of softened twine and spoken promises tightened around ring fingers.

The Sheriff would not be so easy. His self-preservation ran deeper than that.

Nellie knew it, knew that his roots were wrapped around something vital within him, something deeper than hers– something from a time before her, before this town, and before the West was wild.

The echo of him reverberated off of the walls of the bar, bounced off of the piano, and rattled the windows. It demanded her attention long before the brass bell of the front door rang and the heavy oak clattered against the frame.

8:50. Like clockwork.

In the times before, just after Wilhelm, he would stop in and buy a cigar, though, to this day, she had never seen him smoke. She never inquired it, and he never inquired her.

There was a solidarity in their grief, and it never quite, even now that she felt happy more times than not. She had a sneaking suspicion he was there for something other than a cigar every morning, but she pulled one from the humidor and took his money anyway. There had been a time where she insisted it was on the house. It wasn’t worth the fight, now.

He looked different today. Still sullen is his strange, tortured way, but there was almost something beautiful about it, about the way he ruminated in this state of torture. Even in the way his stagnation had turned into just that with time, something seemed to still sit there in wait, leaden in the pit of his chest.

He looked like the face of a handbill like this, enveloped in all black. Square-toed boots with black trousers that made him look ganglier than he was, made him loom over Nellie more than he already did. His black frock coat dusted his calves at a three-quarter length, and a black bolo tie covered as much of the stark white high-collar as possible. On the hat rack by the door sat his usual wide-brimmed Stetson, and, from just behind the plain silver of his belt buckle, the Colt Burtline Special shone in the light.

He looked fit for a funeral.

He walked like he beckoned the apocalypse in clouds of rolling thunder behind him. When his heels pressed into the softened sand, the earth quaked beneath it. The weight of him made the stagecoach groan on its hinges– leaden and heavy with the weight of something bigger than settled silt within his chest, kicked up like the sand behind horse hooves and stagecoach wheels.

Parchment sat like lead in his lap, curdling there and souring something that had sat too long. Cracking fingers curled around your words like poison, sweetened with sasparilla whiskey, golden ambergris letters seeping into him and warming his throat like bile and molten gold. He opened the first one with a nimbleness unlike one he had ever known, and read it once more:

25 April, 1894

To the Sheriff that this letter finds,

I am afraid your letter has found me in a state of disrepair. I have never been one for niceties and I am afraid I do not have it in me to start now.

My betrothed had never known peace in life, and I am afraid that he may not ever know it in death, wherever that plane Hell may be.

Maybe it is I that has died, and maybe it is I that walks across this Hell. Maybe it is my own doing that brought me to this. Maybe I am the creature of my own undoing. I am not a nice girl, Steve. Not the nice girl you think I might be.

We were raised like leather, stretched and scraped to be tough in the way that our mothers were, unbending and unbreaking as they had been. They were not forgiving, nor were they kind. Nellie was once that way, too. Though, I fear that your desert sun has softened her. That it changed something deeper within her in a way that she may be someone I no longer recognize.

I plan to arrive in Tucson by train on the first of October. Maybe this sun will soften me in the same way it has softened my cousin. Maybe I don’t want it to.

Though I hope for my tomorrow to be kind, I have an inkling that it never will be, for this life had never had a kindness to offer.

I’ll be the one in white.

I will see you then, Sheriff.

He pictures the way you will step off the train, white linens spilling over the threshold of it by some sickened grace of the hand of an unkind God. He both relished in it and could not bear the thought. He thought of linens hiked over knees and rucked up under the fabric of itself, a depiction of the implosion of his world.

He had already lived this, soft hair against soft legs and white linens shed in a dustbowl around shared space and soft, breathlessness passed between lips. He had felt this kind of softness before– had known this tender touch of a woman outside of the mother he never had.

It was the first time he had ever been touched gently.

Even Nellie’s hand seemed gruff as it gripped his shoulders in a grounding movement, his eyes slowing with the movement of reading and dissipating into blankness an indicator that he had gone somewhere that even she would never be allowed to see. It was a look she had known all too well.

“I’m afraid she might not like me much.” He whispered, low enough for Eddie to not be able to hear– or, at least, low enough so he could pretend not to. She knew what he meant by this, another feeling chased after her own reanimated heart.

Nevertheless, she avoided the philosophical nature of it all, answering him with the only thought she had: “I’m afraid she might not like anyone much, Steve.” She starts, and the questioning gaze he gives her urges her to continue.

“It wasn’t easy for her, either, Steve.” She starts with another sigh, now more like the weight was being pressed out of her lungs from the weight that she felt, “Most of the time, it was out right hard.”

“We’ve all had it hard, Nellie. Nothing about this life has been particularly easy.” Steve says back. He didn’t mean it to be as harsh as it was. She knew that, though it didn’t stop that initial sting of his dismissiveness.

“William wasn’t a nice man, no matter how much she loved him.” She tells him, louder this time and too fast. Eddie couldn’t help the the way his eyes are drawn to her from where they are fixed to the periscope of landscape before them, “Forgive her if she isn’t welcoming.”

To the Lady that may find this letter, I hope it finds her well

Tucson still radiates heat at this time of year, the mirage at the end of town makes the expanse of land between here and the mountains feel both endless and right in front of you at the same time. It warps like the heat is melting space and time itself. Nevertheless, the first blooms of orange mallow have begun to open in a patch where the stagecoach stopped.

He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he was inclined to plock them from the ground and brush the dirt from their roots.

It seems the desert knew you would board the train in New Orleans and set west for us, and wanted to welcome you with its kindest hello. The desert is not kind, but she would make an exception for someone like you, I would suppose.

The wheels screech along the wrought iron of the track as they slow to a halt– and he swears, just for a single, fleeting moment, his heart stops with them. There is a stream of people that step down. Ladies with large hats and square-shouldered men in frock coats not unlike his. He wonders if you will know your face before Nellie does– wonders if he knows who you are just from the curls of your letters.

And then, you were there.

You were unremarkable in every way possible, though, at a closer glance, you had chosen to forego a bustle and corset. Instead, the pliant lines of your body undefined against a white buttoned shirt and a long dark skirt. A plain, flat-brimmed stetson sat against the crown of your head, just enough to obscure your face from his view.

Your cousin is very kind. I like to think that you are kind like her, though, I also hope that you are tough in the same way that she is.

He steps forward, his hands sticky with sweat or the sap of the stems of the orange mallow crushed beneath a pressing grip, he isn’t sure. As he steps on to the tarmac, he remembers his manners– remembers that he isn’t an animal and you are not inherently dangerous, and pulls off his hat, pressing it to his chest as he holds an arm out stiffly towards you without any further introduction.

You see the star against his chest, pressed silver pinned there like a placard on the spectacle of the man before you, and know that this is him– that this is the entity whom has spilled his heart to you over parchment and ink and blood, “Well, now, those are awfully pretty, sheriff.” You say to him, looking down at the crushed orange matter in his hands. They have already begun to wilt.

“I have an affinity for pretty things.”

He flirts shamelessly with you, and something deep within you stirrs. It is not the schoolgirl crush you harbored with William. It isn’t even akin to love, but something worse and something ugly. His letters and flowery words and then his backtracking and condolences meddle into one ugly mass of insult. No, this thing that rose in you was not love, nor was it even a cousin. It was hate. Blinding, furious hate.

“And I have an affinity for men who can make up their minds.” You nod towards him, reaching towards the tarmac for the cracking handle of your green steamer trunk, especially now that the gangly, lean man you presume is Edward reaches for it.

There is a moment in time where everyone freezes. Both Nellie and her husband, as well as the sheriff before you. They are walking a thin line, one akin to the silver thread between life and death. The tension is palpable, and Nellie shatters the thing you cling to for resolve like glass:

“Now you’re being outright childish–”

She sucks in a breath when you snap, the wild dogs that live within your chest writhing and pulling against chains as you release whatever hurt and pain you held in your heart towards her. Everything you had wanted to say, everything you wanted to scream back at her once she had resurrected. You weilded them now as weapons against her.

“You sure are one to talk about childish, Nellie. You ran in the other direction when things got hard, and then you up and died on us.”

“I’m not dead. I was never dead.”

“Well, I have a hard time believing that.”

The Sheriff and the tall man take a step back behind Nellie, shrink away from your thunderous roar as if you might actually bite. The leather of your handle and the steamer dropping from your hand with had resonant patriarchal basso against the tarmac. Time has frozen in place, but people continue to swirl around you in a flurry of haste and posthaste annoyance. Silver tears well against the pink line of her eyes, and you are acutely aware that yours are a mirror image.

Steve had faced many things. He had killed men with his bare hands, he had been covered in so much blood that he couldn’t decipher theirs from his own. He had known starvation, heartstroke, and tragedy. Though, he had never known this– his wife was only ever tender.

He can see the rage drip from your mouth like hot, molten tar, can see the tears well in your eyes like casted silver against the mold of your face– the way a single one cools and leaves a residual streak against the ashen skin of your cheek. You want to love Nellie, in the same way she wanted to love Edward, and in the way he loved his wife. He can see it, that burning want so bad that it becomes hatred. That kind of love whose flame burns blue.

He knows Nellie loves you, too, but also knows how dangerous it is to speak it aloud– lest that vile maiden Death may hear it.

Your eyes stare holes into him, burn against his abdomen from where you fix them. He had heard of women becoming alight with lust born from rage before, but had not though of you to be insane enough to eye him in a familiar way right here on the tarmac. That blue flame affixed to him and warming him from the inside, as well.

“That’s an awfully ugly belt buckle, sheriff.” You speak, finally, breaking the silence and restoring some semblance of order to this congregation.

This place is not forgiving, nor is it kind. I hope that your heart is not faint, and I hope that this place is kinder to you than it has been to us.

With warmest regards,

Steven Harrington

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #sheriff!steve harrington #cowboy!steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #Spotify

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ringthedamnbell · 7 months ago

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Whatever Happened To: Edcar Thomas?

Rob Faint Today on the blog, Rob Faint looks at the underwhelming pro career of Edcar ‘Boo’ Thomas from the 1980’s. A wrestler who seemingly had the backing of some top wrestlers and promoter from the Mid South territory and then suddenly disappeared. Continue reading Whatever Happened To: Edcar Thomas?

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#Bill Watts #Dr Death Steve Williams #Edcar Thomas #Mid South Wrestling #Whatever Happened to Edcar&039;Boo&039; Thomas

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marcmarcmomarc · 2 months ago

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Once Upon a Lamp - list of characters

In honor of Once Upon a Studio turning one year old

EXT. THE STEVE JOBS BUILDING - EARLY EVENING

The Adventures of André and Wally B.

André

Wally B.

Luxo Jr.

Luxo Sr.

Red’s Dream

Lumpy

Red

Tin Toy

Tinny

Gumbo

Flip ‘n Beth

Ace

Clocky

Spot

Zoo Train

Chrome Dome

Rallye Guy

Fire Hydrant

Helicopter Sheep

Toypot

Frodo

Bouncy

Eben’s Car

Les

RenderMan

Knick Knack

Knick

Sunny Miami

Sunny Florida

Sunny Egypt

Sunny Jamaica

Sunny Palm Springs

Sunny Israel

Surf Death Valley

Sunny Atlantis

Toy Story (Toys)

Woody

Buzz Lightyear

Jessie

Mr. Potato Head

Slinky Dog

Rex

Hamm

Bo Peep

Mrs. Potato Head

Bullseye

Mr. Pricklepants

Dolly

Trixie

Buttercup

Chuckles

Stinky Pete

Barbie

Ken

Lots-o-Huggin’ Bear

Big Baby

Twitch

Stretch

Chunk

Sparks

Chatter Telephone

Bookworm

Peas-in-a-Pod

Forky

Giggle McDimples

Ducky

Bunny

Duke Caboom

Gabby Gabby

The Dummies

Billy, Goat, and Gruff

Toy Story (Human side)

Andy Davis

Mrs. Davis

Molly Davis

Sid Phillips

Hannah Phillips

Bonnie Anderson

Bonnie’s Mom

Bonnie’s Dad

Buster

Scud

Geri’s Game

Geri

A Bug’s Life

Flik

Hopper

Princess Atta

Princess Dot

The Queen

Molt

Slim

Heimlich

Francis

Manny

Gypsy

Rosie

Tuck

Roll

P.T. Flea

Dim

Mr. Soil

Dr. Flora

Thorny

Cornelius

Thumper

Aphie

For the Birds

Bluebird Flock

Gawky Bird

Buzz Lightyear of Star Command

Commander Nebula

Mira Nova

Booster

Warp Darkmatter

Gravitina

N0S-4-A2

Monsters, Inc.

James P. Sullivan

Mike Wazowski

Boo

Celia Mae

Randall Boggs

Henry J. Waternoose

Johnny Worthington

Scott “Squishy” Squibbles

Don Carlton

Terri and Terry Perry

Art

Tylor Tuskman

Val Little

Fritz

Katherine “Cutter” Sterns

Duncan P. Anderson

Roz

Yeti

Jeff Fungus

Banana Bread

Roger Rogers

Suzy “Sunny” Sunshine

Finding Nemo

Marlin

Dory

Nemo

Hank

Boundin’

Jackalope

Lamb

The Incredibles

Bob Parr

Helen Parr

Violet Parr

Dashiell Parr

Jack-Jack Parr

Lucius Best

Edna Mode (E)

Buddy Pine

Winston Deavor

Evelyn Deavor

Mirage

Rick Dicker

Voyd

One Man Band

Bass

Treble

Tippy

THX

Tex

Cars

Lightning McQueen

Tow Mater

Cruz Ramirez

Lifted

Stu

Mr. B

Ratatouille

Remy

Alfredo Linguini

Chef Skinner

Colette Tatou

Django

Emile

Anton Ego

Presto

Presto DiGiotagione

Alec Azam

WALL-E

EVE

Captain B. McCrea

John

Mary

M-O

GO-4

The Defective Robots

Hal the Cockroach

Partly Cloudy

Gus

Peck

Carl Fredricksen

Russell

Dug

Charles Muntz

Alpha

Beta

Gamma

Kevin

Kevin’s Babies

Day & Night

Day

Night

La Luna

Bambino

Papà

Nonno

Brave

Merida

Elinor

Fergus

Hamish

Hupert

Harris

Fergus’ Dogs

Angus

The Witch

Maudie

Lord MacGuffin

Lord Macintosh

Lord Dingwall

Young MacGuffin

Young Macintosh

Wee Dingwall

The Witch’s Crow

Conan the Clan Dingwall Hunk

The Blue Umbrella

Blue

Red

Lava

Uku

Lele

Inside Out (Mindscape)

Joy

Sadness

Anger

Fear

Disgust

Anxiety

Envy

Ennui

Embarrassment

Nostalgia

Inside Out (Humans)

Riley Andersen

Jill Andersen

Bill Andersen

Grace Hsieh

Bree Young

Valentina Ortiz

Dani

Ally

Sofia

Nour

Coach Roberts

Sanjay’s Super Team

Sanjay

Sanjay’s Father

Hanuman

Durga

Vishnu

The Good Dinosaur

Arlo

Spot

Henry

Ida

Buck

Libby

Nash

Ramsey

Butch

Thunderclap

Downpour

Coldfront

Frostbite

Windgust

Bubbha

Lurleane

Pervis

Earl

Forrest Woodbush

Fury

Destructor

Dream Crusher

Debbie

Piper

Lou

J.J.

Coco (Land of the Living)

Miguel Rivera

Dante

Abuelita Elena Rivera

Enrique Rivera (Papá)

Luisa Rivera (Mamá)

Tío Berto Rivera

Tía Carmen Rivera

Tía Gloria Rivera

Abuelito Franco Rivera

Abel Rivera

Rosa Rivera

Socorro Rivera

Benny Rivera

Manny Rivera

Coco (Land of the Dead)

Papá Héctor Rivera

Ernesto de la Cruz

Mamá Imelda Rivera

Pepita

Mamá Coco Rivera

Papá Julio Rivera

Tía Rosita Rivera

Tía Victoria Rivera

Tío Óscar Rivera

Tío Felipe Rivera

Bao

Mom

Son

Dad

Cindy

Purl

Lacy

Office Bros.

Office Ladies

Kitbull

Dog

Smash and Grab

Smash

Grab

Float

Father

Son

Wind

Ellis

Ellis’ Grandma

Onward

Ian Lightfoot

Barley Lightfoot

Laurel Lightfoot

Corey

Colt Bronco

Blazey

Soul (Living World)

Joe Gardener

Libba Gardener

Dez

Curley

Dorothea Williams

Connie

Soul (The Great Before)

Moonwind

Terry

Counselor Jerry A

Counselor Jerry B

Loop

Renee

Marcus

Out

Greg

Jim

Manuel

Greg’s Parents

Gigi

Luca

Luca Paguro

Alberto Scorfano

Giulia Marcovaldo

Ercole Visconti

Massimo Marcovaldo

Daniela Paguro

Lorenzo Paguro

Grandma Libera Paguro

Ciccio

Guido

Machiavelli

Nona

Renee

Twenty-Something

Gia

Nicole

Turning Red

Meilin Lee

Miriam Mendelsohn

Abby Park

Priya Mangal

Tyler Nguyen-Baker

Ming Lee

Jin Lee

Grandma Wu Lee

Auntie Chen

Lily

Helen

Auntie Ping

Mr. Gao

4*Town

Lightyear

Izzy Hawthorne

Sox

Mo Morrison

Darby Steel

Commander Burnside

Alisha Hawthorne

Kiko Hawthorne

Elemental

Ember Lumen

Wade Ripple

Bernie Lumen

Cinder Lumen

Gale Cumulus

Fern Grouchwood

Clod

Brook Ripple

Harold Ripple

Alan Ripple

Lake Ripple

Eddy Ripple

Marco Ripple

Polo Ripple

Ghibli

Flarrietta

Flarry

Self

Win or Lose

Coach Dan

Vanessa

Rochelle

Elio

Elio Solis

Elio’s Aunt

Ambassador Questa

Ambassador Grigon

Hoppers

Mabel

King George

———————————————————————————-

Notes

Everybody is all smiles for the group picture, from heroes to villains and everything in-between. Even characters who were otherwise sticks in the mud like Hank genuinely smile for the picture. Villains such as Muntz, de la Cruz, Lotso, Thunderclap and his gang, Syndrome, Evelyn, Randall, Waternoose, Hopper, Skinner, and Ercole, as much of evil psychopaths they were, are seen tenderly and respectfully singing along. Even Sid, who was a massive bully to Hannah, is seen giving her a kind brotherly embrace. Also, most movies’ main cast seem to be cramped together. Even the villains stand near their respective heroes, everyone in a healthy relationship with their families and loved ones are tenderly holding each other close, and many of the larger characters offer their bodies for the smaller ones.

Forky, Heimlich, Dory, Jack-Jack, Mater, WALL-E, and one of the triplets wave at the camera.

Dim and Wee Dingwall give the camera dopey smiles.

The egg-shaped bluebirds and the gawky bird stand perched above the entrance. The bluebirds are happy to have the gawky bird with them, a far cry from how they treated him in their short.

Sulley carries Boo tenderly in his arms. Helen does the same to Jack-Jack, as do Presto with Alec, Carl and Russell with Kevin’s babies, Elinor and Fergus with their triplet sons, Embarrassment with Envy, Massimo with Machiavelli, and Izzy with Sox.

Terri attempts to dance before his other half stops him.

Hank carries Marlin, Dory, and Nemo in a coffee pot.

Voyd and Abby giddily bounce in place, clearly the most excited for the photo.

Linguini carries Remy while Colette holds Django and Emile.

WALL-E and EVE hold the umbrellas from The Blue Umbrella.

HAN-S still can’t stay still, shaking aggressively as the photo is taken.

Kevin and her babies take the time to mimic Carl once again.

Maudie and the Clan Dingwall hunk share a loving look.

Young Macintosh flexes his pecs while giving the camera a cocky smile, the same type of smile given by characters like Terry, Darby, and Clod.

The Witch has her Crow standing perched on her shoulder.

Being stationary volcanoes, Uku and Lele are unable to leave their photo. Thankfully, they have Thunderclap to hold it so they can be in the group picture.

Nostalgia sticks her head out from behind Embarrassment, clearly hiding from the other emotions.

Riley, Grace, and Bree all carry Knick together while Riley’s parents carry the Miami and Florida knick knacks, Val and the Fire Hawks carry the Egypt, Jamaica, Palm Springs, Israel, and Death Valley knick knacks, and Coach Roberts carries Sunny Atlantis in her fish bowl.

Cindy, Son’s fiancée, winks at the camera as the photo is taken.

Machiavelli gives the camera his standard bored look.

Mei has her red hair, panda ears, and panda tail, continuing to embrace her panda.

Aaron Z gives the camera a thumbs up while Tae Young makes a heart with his hands.

Izzy gives Sox a neck scratch.

Alisha and Kiko’s inclusion also counts due to their backlash following the movie’s release.

23 notes · View notes