#happy hallow-queue

[ocpotluck]

Happy Halloween @oneirataxia-girl

[timelordvictoiouspartyof1]

Tag yourself. I’m background guy

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Christmas fic please?

☺️

The Blue Hour This is somewhat of a sequel to my other 18th-century fics 'When the Heart is Full the Tongue Will Speak" and "The Prison Ship," but it also stands alone. Valley Forge was arguably the worst winter of the war. Alfred's having a bad time. Matt tries to help. He has something for Alfred. This was supposed to be longer, but I had to say fuck it and put it in the queue, or it wasn't happening, so I'm so sorry for inflicting it on you. Apple pie reference is from the HC that Alfred's pie recipe comes from a nice Pennsylvania Quaker lady who took him in in the late 17th century when he was little after the Massachusetts witch crazes. This isn't a happy fic, but it is deeply loving. Also on ao3

Valley Forge, Christmas 1777

Alfred’s legs didn’t feel quite real as he approached the clearing. It was silent here. No animals. No people, either. Even the last chickadees, so faithful through the winter, had disappeared behind him as the previous winter sun faded from a depressing grey to pitch dark. He was a bit numb and more paranoid as he rounded a copse of trees and found himself staring at a pristine clearing. He recognized this house, grey stone with a heavy slate roof. There was no glass in the windows, but cheery, flickering firelight escaped through whatever slight cracks there were in the shutters. He hefted his rifle, bayonet attached, closer and approached, wary. The forest held its breath, and the fire crackling became louder as he approached. There was smoke from the chimney but no shadows of movement inside. He gripped his rifle. He should go home to his haphazard tar paper and log shack, but it was dark now, and Valley Forge was 30 miles behind.

He pushed open the door with a bang, rifle to his shoulder, and heard a surprised shout. A figure twisted, axe in hand, poised to hook it into Alfred’s neck and remove an arm at the shoulder like a branch from a trunk. Then, a note of laughter, and he was embraced.

Warmth hit him. First, Matt’s entire body was warm, and his clothes were fire-toasty. Then the smell of roasting meat floated, so solid it was almost visible, into his senses. Then, dizziness. Dizziness struck like a blow to the head. Alfred might have passed out on the floor if Matt hadn’t already had his arms around him.

Matt squeezed with more strength than Alfred had ever known his baby brother to have. The rifle was tugged from his hands, and he was suddenly sitting, sodden clothes and boots pulled off, feet stretched towards the fire. He might have vomited if he wasn’t so hallowed out. Matt was gone for only a moment, but Alfred grabbed a hold of him as soon as he was back.

“Have you changed your mind?” He grasped Matt’s sleeve with a shaking hand. “Did you come to your senses?”

“Have you?” Matt said, derisive even as he pressed a mug into Alfred’s hands. “Drink that, and the world will stop spinning.”

“Matthew---” He didn’t let go of Matt’s sleeve. “You haven’t come to—.”

“Bend the knee?” Matthew’s eyes flashed, and Alfred was all too aware of the axe on his belt and the rifle against the wall. “No. I’m not.”

“What are you doing here then?” He let Matt go and sipped on the contents of the mug—broth, salty and rich beyond belief. Matt was right. The world did stop spinning.

“It’s Christmas.”

“Is it?”

“It is,” Matt said with a watery smile. “I take it you got my note.”

“Pie at sundown,” Alfred recalled. “I got it. I could hardly believed you remembered that.”

“First apple pie you ever made me. I’ll remember it til the sun goes dark.” Matt was before him with a blanket and a stack of clothes. “Finish drinking that, put these on and then we’ll talk.”

They were his own clothes, what he’d left in the chest of drawers in Boston after he’d slipped his guards and disappeared across the border and into Quebec. He wanted to toss them back. They were the clothes of a crown subject, a boy with a British boot on his neck. Not the free man he wanted to be. That he was, but he hadn’t had a fresh shirt since his baby brother had dragged his corpse out of his shallow grave on the Hudson. He could wash it as often as he liked, but the linen was still wearing thin. His former things were practically new, the linen fresh and clean, the wool still warm. Alfred ran a hand over the fabric, still so chilled he hardly considered his pride as Matt turned away to tend to the bird slowly roasting over the fire and dressed. He glanced over his shoulder when Alfred slipped the shirt over his head. There hadn’t been a mirror to look at himself in months, and he didn’t want to. He knew his ribs were stark; he could feel them. Matt looked that kind of devastated that, if he hadn’t turned away, might have made Alfred cry.

“Have you had a decent meal since I saw you?” He didn’t look over his shoulder again until the shirt was over his head, and he’d buttoned the blue waistcoat over his chest. Everything was so ill-fitting now.

Alfred ignored him. “Does Father know you’re here?”

Matthew snorted. “It’s Christmas; he’s so deep into the officer’s nog when I left he won’t realize I’ve gone unless I’m not there for epiphany morning with tea going. So I shot a turkey and pissed off south to find you. Looks like its a good thing I did too.”

“I’m fine.” Alfred scowled. “There’s a camp of thousands of men 2 miles from here with nothing but rice and vinegar for Christmas dinner. Next to them, I’m all right.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt said, and it damn well looked like he meant it, narrow shoulders bowed as he sat heavily onto one of the overturned logs he obviously meant to use as a kitchen chair for the occasion.

“You could feed a lot of people if you stayed. You’re a good hunter.”

“Don’t,” Matt said. “We’ve had this conversation. Look at you. You know I wouldn’t survive another war like this. You’re kissed by God himself and you look like death.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Rice and vinegar, eh? Yeah well. Try some turkey and see if it compares.”

“Why do you keep coming to see me if you won’t pick a side, Matt? You’re committing treason and you know it.”

“You’re my brother.”

His shrug was simple, unemotional. The sky was up, the Earth was down, the snow was cold, and Matt would haul and shoot a turkey and walk four days just to sneak him a decent meal. He teared up. Maybe it was the cold, the deprivation or just how much he missed home and heart and heart. Throat working, shoulders shaking even if he wasn’t crying, he grabbed Matt by the shoulders and squeezed for a third time, kissing him on the forehead about a dozen times and just feeling something so desperately affectionate he had to ride it out like dizziness.

“I missed you.” He said.

“You too.” Matt had clamped himself around Alfred, playing as if he just held on; he wouldn’t feel how much weight he’d dropped since summer. After a long moment, he made Alfred sit on one of the logs and tossed the rucksack while he struck flint and steel and put tinder to kindling. “Have you been sick? You look terrible,”

“Everyone is.” He said. There was no point in hiding it. “You know what it’s like. A moving army is a healthy army. A camped army is a sick army.”

“Why do you think I like the woods so much? I could run from the British as easily as from the typhus.”

“Yeah, well, they’re my people. I can’t leave them.”

“Do you have scurvy yet?”

“Gettering there.” He poked his tongue at his teeth. He had all of them, but he was always so tired. It couldn’t be far away.

Matt pivoted and took an orange in each hand, shoving them at Alfred. “Father... he’s in the habit of buying two.”

“I can’t take these!”

“Think of them as reparations.”

“Won’t you get scurvy?’

“I get lime juice twice a day. Just take anything you want out of my pack and eat it. Take the rest tomorrow. I’ll get a rabbit on my way back if I get hungry.”

“Why do you have to go back?”

“Stop asking me that. Pick something for me to make out of what’s in there, all right? Anything you want tonight, and you can take the rest tomorrow.”

“I want you to stay.”

Matt leaned against the wall by the hearth, arms crossed. “And I don’t want to die. So stop asking. That’s the agreement. Stay alive. Not stay with you.”

“You should be my right hand. It should be me and you against the world.”

“You’re the one fighting with the world, Alfred. I already have. I lost. Pick a vegetable, eat an orange, have some wine and stop trying to sentence me to death because you’re lonely again.”

He was tearing up, and so was Alfred. They looked away from each other, and Alfred went to the pack.

He opened food like he had once opened pewter inkwells at the apothecaries, looking for the blue ink he liked better than the quickly fading walnut; there were cranberries, potatoes, apples, stalks of celery, onions, cabbage, carrots, mushrooms, honey cakes, tea, coffee, a jug of wassail and a smaller bottle of Madeira. Smaller quantities of sugar, flour, oats, rice, raisins and rye. There were more of his clothes that he hadn’t taken when he’d fled Boston nearly two years prior. And under all that, a length of blue cloth with shining brass buttons. 

“Mattie.... What is that coat?” 

His brother froze. He’d been dragging his knife down the side of the roasted bird and onto a rough-hewn platter. For one long moment, Alfred thought he might burst into tears. 

“It’s for you.” He said. 

“Whe did you get it?” 

“General Montcalm.” He said. “It was too big so I hid it under the floorboards. Thought I’d wear it too the victory parade someday. It’s... it’s your colour now, isn’t it?”

“It— Yeah it is.” 

“I hope its luckier for you than it was for me.” He said quietly. “I hope Lord Bonnefoy is better to you too.”

“Mattie.” Alfred said quietly. 

Matt was standing there, eyes shut against tears, until he looked up at Alfred with those same big, hopeful eyes he’d always had before all this. Full of all the softness and warmth of Canada that may not have existed elsewhere that winter. Words stuck in his throat, and suddenly, so homesick he wanted to burst, Alfred opened his arms. Matt gave up on carving the bird, put down the plate, and allowed Alfred to pull him in again. If Matt had grown, it was only a little, and Alfred could still easily rest his cheek on Matt’s crown, which he did for a long moment.

“Thank you.” He said. 

“It was meant for you,” Matt replied. “You’re... tall and capable like that. It will fit you, even when you fill it out again.” 

“You’ll grow.” Alfred said. “Someday. And then we'll be fine."

Someday. 

[slidepool]

Good Omens Rough Draft Oneshot/Fic Idea: Hallowed Ground

Aziraphale had always loved the churches that the humans built, he'd seen numerous designs throughout his time on earth. He was determined to show Crowley at least one, the Notre Dame Cathedral.

"Are you sure about this Angel?" Crowley asked hesitantly as he sat in the newly miracled wheelchair with a soft red blanket wrapped around his legs and waist.

"Absolutely positive, if anything happens I'll teleport us out ticky-boo." Aziraphale looked so pleased with himself, he was very happy with the color scheme of the chair he made as it matched Crowley's aesthetic. "Ready dear?"

"As I'll ever be." The demon nervously held onto the blanket as Aziraphale stood behind him and pushed him over to the queue that was lined up outside the door. The angel started to absently touch Crowley's hair as they waited, lightly scratching his neck and soothing the hair on the back of his head, which also helped calm their nerves a bit. They had such a wonderful vacation in Paris so far, they had gone to various bakeries, wineries, vineyards, and châteaus. Aziraphale had made a point to visit equal amounts of the places they liked, if Aziraphale had visited bakeries for the day then Crowley got to visit wineries for the next day. Even though Crowley insisted he enjoyed the bakeries too Aziraphale knew he only liked it because the angel enjoyed it. Plus it had been too precious the way Crowley's eyes lit up when they arrived at the winery to sample various local wines and beers for the day.

The line went fairly smoothly and soon enough a group of them was rounded up and given the rules lecture before they would be let in. Aziraphale didn't really pay attention to it but Crowley listened with muted curiosity, "These rules are just about as extensive as Heaven's," Crowley commented quietly.

"Well, they want the place to be kept nice for generations to come. That way everyone can enjoy it." Aziraphale playfully rolled his eyes and patted the demon's shoulder.

"But Angel, that's so boring. I want to smudge up and touch the ancient architecture," Crowley whined before chuckling to himself.

"Hands to yourself dear," The angel lightly chided, but he knew the demon would be tucked away in his wheelchair for his own safety. They had a long discussion before deciding to come here, it's how they decided that a wheelchair would be best to keep his feet from getting burnt. They based their information on the time the demon had saved Aziraphale from those spies so long ago. He hadn't burst into flames then by simply being inside, only blistered and burned feed due to the consecrated ground, which eased Aziraphale's mind slightly.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Doing okay love?" Aziraphale checked in as they stepped through the threshold and into the building.

"Yes darling, as long as I don't touch anything I'm tickety-boo."

~~~~~~~~~

"Wow angel, it seems bigger on the inside," Crowley commented as they craned their necks to look at the high ceilings.

"The stained glass is so pretty. Oh, look! It's making rainbows with the sun shining through it."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, be sure to lock your wheels and we'll get you lifted up in a moment," The attendant said cheerfully as Crowley looked at the lift warily. Aziraphale wheeled him on and locked him in place as told before stepping back which panicked the demon for a moment.

"It's alright dear," Aziraphale softly said as he stepped up the few stairs and smiled.

The ride up was smooth and short with Aziraphale waiting with a gentle smile.

"Now that wasn't so bad hm?"

"I guess..."

[limelyrics]

Happy Hollow and the God Club/ハッピーホロウと神様倶楽部

Can’t feel a thing, no, not a thing, nothing’s happy

Cannot find joy and I cannot feel safe

Everyday’s going at a frightening pace

Everywhere I go is a frightening place

I heard about a kid kicked outta school today,

Said he was outed as a bully and he had to pay

See this world just isn’t made for me or anybody who associates with anybody

Ah,

What should I do? What can I do? 

Come and tell me why I feel like dying, ‘cause the feeling ain’t new

All throughout my brain, cobwebs are strewn

Everything I’ve thought of, I’ve already thought through

Happy hallow!

I’m praying to you, why don’t you get rid of the things that make me blue

Give me just a moment of peace for a while and I’ll always love you

Ah

The clock strikes midnight

Ah 

A dazzling fright

Ah

A group of misfits gathering together underneath the pale moonlight

Ah

Now everybody

Ah

Why don’t you follow me?

Divert yourself with God, become devotees!

The leader of our club is someone who can’t be seen

He’s a puppet, he’s a prophet, he’s what you want him to be

Twisted delusions, verbal abuses, we can fill him up with all those excuses

Strip away all of the pride you held before, when you come around here, nothing matters anymore

Carve a smile into that jack-o’-lantern, dance until you can’t anymore

Ah, once more, we’ll kneel before the god of the happy hollow that each one of us adores

Can’t feel a thing, no, not a thing, nothing’s in me

Everything is empty, so I bid you adieu

There’s nothing in particular I wanna do

Everything I’ve thought of, I’ve already thought through

Even if I go through life without a single sin

Even if I die always ignoring my whims

In the end, I’d end up in a coffin in a hole, slowly rotting from the outside in

What should I do? What can I do? 

Come and tell me why I feel like dying, ‘cause the feeling ain’t new

My life is blurring in and out of view

My heart is pounding heavy and it might push through

Happy hallow!

I’m praying to you, why don’t you get rid of the things that make me blue

Pierce me through the heart, and give me something that I can look forward to

Ah

Dingy coyotes

Ah

Cats, rats, and puppies

Ah

They sulk around and gather far away from the dimly lit town

Ah

Now everybody

Ah

Why don’t you follow me?

Let’s have a blast and go out on a big spree

The leader of our club is someone who can’t be seen

Not a soul has every seen him, he’s an eldritch entity

Anything obscene, anything sleazy, he’ll accept it all and just leave you be

Everybody here has the chance to be a star, everybody can do something so incredibly bizarre

Throw a white sheet over your body, cut some eyes, and dance to who we truly are

Ah, again, we say amen as another joins the score and prays to that we which we adore

Don’t wear yourself out by being so self conscious

After all we’re gonna end up skeletons and such

Wearing away at the things that keep you sane, living life by the book and just following the queue

Go ahead and live like that

No, don’t let me stop you

Ah,

Come on, take a peek and join all the freaks who drag along all their ugly souls

And even so, we walk on and live on, you know?

So anyone will do, come on, step right up!

Let it pierce through your soul if you’re feeling stuck

Oh, come light a lantern that can’t snuffed!

The nature of our club is a foolish little thing

So forever and forever we can fool around and sing

All your hopes and dreams, all of your grand schemes

You can chock us up to anything

Strip away all of the pride you held before, when you come around here, nothing matters anymore

Carve a smile into that jack-o’-lantern, dance until you can’t anymore

All alone, out on your own, kneel down to an empty god and call the loneliness your home

Indeed, you see, if you’re depressed or in need,

Why not come on over, knock on our door at the brink of dawn

Come on!

[writer59january13]

Reflections upon mine gender identity redux

Although heterosexual

predilections punctuated physiological pulsations about five inches below innie belly button of mine showcasing undersize male member, when fully erect not much to crow about, contributed

diminished masculinity within body electric regarding

wordsmith crafting poem linkedin with his feelings of diminished machismo male sexuality sputtered courtesy handy dynamo powered ample male germ cells birthing offspring two healthy females born approximately twenty six months apart, thine eldest born right at Capricorn

cusp, and youngest made her debut exactly where

Aquarius midpoint bitter cold day ideal for Esquimau

one grateful father prematurely ejaculate fantastico blessed gift, which helped reinforce against being emasculated empowered at reproductive prowess happy as a lark feeling

indomitable as Geronimo an Apache leader and medicine man best known for his fearlessness in resisting anyone–Mexican or American, who attempted to remove his people from tribal lands ruinous and sacrilegious historico plus torturous legacy settlers gawking, kickstarting

and muckraking mistruths about indigenous people shamelessly reducing so called "noble savages" as one after another charade, façade trumped up lame excuse to invade sacred hallowed lands impresario gigs stereotypical presumptions didst buzzfeed fire re: kindling sparking eventual

their genocide insult to injury courtesy diatribe deliberately fomenting ill will, where Native peoples at receiving end of jingo token "fake" reverence bestowed upon rightful awk queue pants place evidenced courtesy place name whether state, county, borough... such as Kickapoo

hollow benevolence meted out, but obliterating cult chore wars hashtagging "redman," courtesy eminent domain of "Turtle Island" indignantly stolen by Forbe heirs by trumpeting school of vandals battering down

millenniums back once impregnable walls of Jericho

indefatigable marauders

wrought wrongs upon in us sent occupants proclaiming might of arms justifiable

reason (not necessarily with rhyme) to smote women men and children down with deadly force transforming happy go lucky agrarian festive folks thriving landscape courtesy brute force utilizing mo' sophisticated weapon

re: of mass destruction rendering harmonious leitmotif

presaging tranquility said near picture perfect Kodak

moment lifestyle into veritable charnel/slaughterhouse

desecrating thence scattering lovely bones + trappings of then helplessly, melancholically quickly vanishing oral

culture to the four winds,

where archeologists painstaking

efforts piece together long extinct histories analogous to All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty together again, nevertheless tragedy writ large

indelibly etched upon collective consciousness longview

hounding one doggone muttering long haired pencil neck

geek three score plus four years; he reflects upon Homo sapiens wanton killing of docile brothers and sisters part and parcel of same genus and species differentiated by: creed, gender, language, nationality, race, religion, sex,

et cetera since time immemorial inherited without choice

genetic predisposition nsync with environmental influence

(liberal Unitarian upbringing) wages internal war against

himself, and times gone by mentally toyed with notion of

homosexuality, yet never acted upon said impulse somewhat attributed and linkedin with anticipated regret.

[yarnreader]

Episode 45: "Queue-a-long" (6/24/16)

https://youtu.be/c1J2IuQuaw4

Happy Friday everyone! I hope the week has treated you well. Here's this week's episode for you to relax and enjoy! Welcome!Show notes are on the blog.The Ravelry group is The Yarn Reader Blog and Podcast.I can be found at:Twitter RavelryGood readsGoogle + Pinterest What I've been up to? Went to the movies on Friday.Had Jordan's father over on Saturday.Got a washer and dryer on Monday. BooksI'm still reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K Rowling. Crafty StuffKnittingWhat I've been working on:Harry Potter BlanketFlaxLonging for SpringAshling ShawlPuerperium CardiganBaby Bear HatCrochetingI finished the Dumpling Kitty.Cross-stitchBookmark kitFuture CraftingA possible Queue-a-long? TV TimeFinding Dory! Go see it! What I'm wearing.My Rose City Rollers socks. New to me PodcastsFluffy FibersFor the Love of KnitCraftLitGet Lit and KnitHandmade and WoolenCommuter KnitterIn a sKnit Added to the PileKnit Picks needles Good bye! Please like and subscribe on Youtube. Happy Knitting! Sam<3

[femiswifters]

happy halloween 🎃

[agentverbivore]

Happy Halloween, Psych-O’s!

[luvdsc]

mark lee sucks at technology.

tap the heart if you have a big, fat, embarrassing crush on your best friend!

pairing :: lee mark x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + social influencer au word count :: 5,883 words warnings :: none playlist :: dumb stuff (lany) ⋆ feeling (coin) ⋆ so far so good (gabrielle aplin) ⋆ electric love (børns) ⋆ love by mistake (bad suns) author’s note :: i was debating if i should post it on his bday instead, but i decided to drop it earlier, so uh, happy (approx. one week early) bday to mister absolutely fully capable (except when it comes to tech stuff) !!!! thank you for blessing us with your god tier raps ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

In your required upper division business course aptly titled “Essential Marketing Strategies,” you had learned about a concept called personal brands. A personal brand is explained as the first impression a person wishes to perceive based on their own experiences, qualifications, and achievements. Your professor had told you and your classmates to pick three words to define your own brand. For instance, you chose to label yourself as charismatic, fun, and creative.

Your best friend’s brand would be awkward, endearing, and technologically challenged. 

Okay, so that is definitely more than three words, but who’s counting? You might as well tack on “Y/N’s big fat crush” at this rate because everyone and their mother knows that you carry a torch—or more accurately, a blazing wildfire that can easily be spotted from Pluto—for your best friend.

Well, to be more precise, you should probably say everyone, except Mark, knows. And that’s not for lack of trying either. You completely dropped the art of delicate subtlety months ago already. Maybe you should add “hopelessly oblivious” instead.

The rolling end credits to the sixth Harry Potter film are playing on the screen in front of you, signaling the nearing end of your magical movie marathon. You’re seated on the worn down couch in Mark and Donghyuck’s shared apartment, watching the former make his drink with the fancy, gently used Keurig newly settled on the scratched countertop. Johnny dropped it off a few days ago because he had splurged on a better coffee machine (“It even makes Instagram worthy whipped frappuccinos!”) and didn’t want his old, but still perfectly functioning caffeine provider going to waste.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Mark slaps the side of the machine, and it starts to emit a low whirring noise. “Oh, that’s good, right? That sound is good, you think?”

His question is immediately answered by the sad squirt of hot water speckled with coffee grinds falling into his mug for a few seconds before the machine shuts off.

“What the hell?” he mutters angrily, carding his hand through his hair in frustration, and you finally decide to take pity on your best friend. Getting up from the comfy spot you know you sadly won’t be able to recreate perfectly again later, you stride over to where your best friend stands and flip open the top of the Keurig.

“Hyuck didn’t take out his used coffee pod,” you say, pulling out the incriminating evidence of your best friend’s roommate and disposing it in the trash can next to the refrigerator. “Where’s the espresso one you’re gonna use? Why didn’t you put that in?”

His jaw slackens, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze and mumbling, “I thought I’d just open it later and pour it into my hot water.”

“Mark,” you start, placing your hands on his shoulders firmly and staring into his eyes with a serious look on your face. “Please know that I’m saying this in the most loving way possible, but you are an absolute idiot.”

You release your grip on his shoulders and grab the espresso pod dangling from his fingertips before slotting it into the Keurig. You remove the mug he placed underneath the spout and wash out the accidental coffee water before placing it back in its original position and pressing the start button on the machine. With a sigh, you lean against the side of the counter, glancing at your friend who looks like a child being scolded for stealing from the cookie jar.

“If you pour the pod into your mug, are you just going to chug all the loose coffee grinds, too?”

“... I didn’t think that far ahead.” His lips start to unintentionally form a tiny pout, and your eyes (and your heart, too) soften.

You’re very relieved that Donghyuck is off filming with your friend because he definitely would be making fun of your heart eyes that frequently make an appearance around a certain Mark Lee. Which you always deny. Because you certainly do not have a gigantic crush on your technologically inept best friend.

You glance over at him again and have to physically fight yourself to resist the urge to kiss his cute pout away. Okay, so maybe you harbor a very respectable, medium sized crush. But it's no big deal. It’s completely under control. Unless you’re counting the fact that your best friend is still unaware, and you’re running out of ideas to try and see if he likes you back before you actually shoot your shot. Then it’s very much not under control because you’re losing sleep over it and you don’t know what to do to be any more obvious without stating the, well, obvious.

“Well, now you know. If you forget, you can FaceTime me and I’ll give you instructions on how it works.” You pat his shoulder reassuringly before pausing. “Wait, you do know how to FaceTime, right?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, sulking even more before confessing in a quieter, defeated tone, “Hyuck showed me last month.”

Mark grabs his finished drink and follows behind you, settling back onto the couch next to you. The streaming service already has Deathly Hallows Part 1 in the queue and ready to go, and your best friend is ready to click play until he notices your attention being focused on the smaller screen in your hands. He wonders if you’re about to post another one of your popular cooking videos on that app that shares a name with the most iconic song of the 2000s (hint: the name of the song’s singer is made up of four letters and a dollar sign).

“Are you uploading one of your videos?” he implores before taking a sip of his drink with a satisfied smile. Somehow, it always tastes better when you make it, and he can’t figure out why for the life of him. When he went to Johnny’s place, his older friend uses the exact same pod and water ratio for his espresso, and yet, it’s never as good as yours.

“Nah, I’m ordering my grocery delivery before I forget. Do you want anything?” You select the option to load your usual grocery items into your cart before debating on whether or not you should splurge on buying several packages of those seasonal Pillsbury sugar cookies that only come in stock during certain holidays. It seems like such an insult to the entire premise of your Tiktok account based on baking and cooking, but you’re an absolute sucker for those soft pastries.

“Yeah, can you get me a Shin Ramyun ten pack? Hyuck ate the last one two days ago and didn’t tell me.”

“You sure you don’t want ten boxes again?” You decide to get those Pillsbury sugary delights, happily adding three boxes to your cart. Everybody has a weakness, and yours just so happens to be a premade one way ticket to diabetes. You’re here for a good, delicious time, not a long time.

“No! That was an accident!” He objects, flailing his hands around, before falling back against the couch cushions in defeat. “But Hyuck does all the online grocery shopping now.”

“Thank god. You guys finally have quality toilet paper again.”

The past month of bathroom occurrences was plagued with scratchy tissue that felt more like goddamn sandpaper from the horrible depths of hell. To be honest, you probably would have rather used actual sandpaper, given the choice. You even made sure not to drink too much water any time you came over, but today, you decided to splurge on a venti passion fruit iced tea with sweetener from that very popular franchise sporting a mermaid logo and fiscally cosmic name. To your pleasant surprise, your trip to the toilet this time was wonderfully padded with Charmin Ultra Soft, not that absolutely awful off brand one with the gross texture of a dried pinecone from inferno.

“Hey, that toilet paper was a good steal! It was a three for one deal,” Mark protests, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Wow, I wonder why it was priced so low.” You deadpan, and Mark blanches, recalling all those restroom incidents that were rather rough. Literally.

“Anyway, do you think my viewers wanna see me make chocolate crinkle cookies or mochi doughnuts?” You bring up the two recipes you managed to perfect and add your own spin to on your phone, eyes scanning the ingredient lists.

“Both. And tell me when you’re making them, so I can come over and eat them.” He gives you a wide grin, and you let out a snort at that. His smile only grows as he says happily, “I love your job.”

“You only love it because you can freeload off of me,” you jest, but nevertheless begin to start to add all the ingredients for both recipes to your shopping cart. You always film cooking videos on Tuesdays, edit on Wednesdays, keep Thursdays free for last minute touch ups and emergencies, and post one every week on Fridays with other various random videos uploaded whenever in between. With that in mind, you schedule your upcoming grocery delivery for Monday.

“Hey, you need me. I’m the best taste tester.” He puffs up his chest proudly before hastily tacking on a more genuine reason. “And because I’d starve without you. I can’t live off of instant ramen and frozen chicken nuggets forever. Gordon Ramsay already confirmed my shitty cooking skills. I need you to survive.”

“Oh my god, when I uploaded those pics of your scrambled eggs on Twitter, I lost like a hundred followers in less than a minute.” You confirm the delivery and place your phone on the coffee table, picking up the opened bag of Cheeto puffs before settling back in your seat. “My cooking credibility was completely shot. I had to explain to my fans that I didn’t make those.”

“Yeah, but now everyone calls me Eggy Boi online!” he whines, and you laugh. You have to admit, it’s quite a funny play on the whole “edgy boi” terminology. You wonder if Mark will find it amusing if he discovers his roommate is the culprit behind his new online persona (He probably won’t, and you reckon Donghyuck enjoys living in a safe space where he doesn’t have to sleep with one eye open, so you stay quiet about it. You’ll use it as leverage some other time).

“Okay, Eggy Boi, come by on Tuesday because I’ll be baking in the afternoon,” you say casually, grabbing the remote control from your best friend and pressing play. 

You very narrowly avoid a green gummy bear to the face. It lands somewhere behind the couch, lost forever to the dust bunnies and other snacks that missed its target. You know for a fact that it’ll stay there until the boys decide to move to a new apartment. Mark grumbles at the miss, biting off the head of a red cherry flavored gummy bear perhaps a little harder than necessary.

“I hate you. But I’m still coming over next week because I want a doughnut.”

“No cookie?”

“... and a cookie. Maybe two.”

Wednesday comes faster than you expected, and you’re currently holed up in your apartment’s second bedroom—which you had transformed into a snazzy office space—completing the edits to your second video on mochi doughnuts. You already finished polishing the one about the cookies earlier, thank goodness. If you had to stare at your computer screen for another three hours, you would rather eat those pastries Mark tried to make two months ago, but had mistaken salt for sugar. Adding a cup of salt to any baked good is an extremely effective way to make anyone who tasted your best friend’s brownies experience a trip to the beach. Because they essentially just swallowed a mouthful of sand and ocean water. Because it’s salty as heck. Just like Mark was when you told him.

Speaking of your best friend, he’s currently puttering around in your kitchen doing god knows what. He knows better than to try another recipe and possibly blow up your number one moneymaker—your prized oven—in the process. Your heart nearly drops when your ears pick up the faint chopping sounds of a knife against your wooden cutting board. Is he going to try to temper chocolate again? He nearly burned through your entire stock of dark, milk, and white chocolate last time.

After much contemplation and deciding that you deserve a good procrastination break and a fully intact kitchen, you’re about to go out and see what he’s up to when Mark timidly appears in your doorway, clutching onto a white bowl of watermelon cubes with a fork tucked neatly in it. He shuffles in, dropping the snack on your desk before turning to walk out without a word, not wanting to disturb your work mode. 

Your heart warms up at the sight, and you speak up, a small smile slipping into your face. “What’s this for?”

“Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” He pauses in the doorway and adds on sheepishly, “And I can't cook anything, so this is what you get.”

Your heart swells tenfold, and your smile widens even more as you spear a piece of fruit with the fork and quickly pop it into your mouth. “Thanks, Marky.”

His cheeks flush with a pretty shade of carmine, and he fails to suppress the little giddy smile that appears on his face at your nickname for him. He walks out of your office, reddened cheeks still rising up higher than ever. “Y-Yeah, of course. No problem.”

By the time you finish adding the final few touches to your edited video, the bowl of watermelon has been picked clean. You save your video and transfer both of your completed projects to your phone, making a mental note to schedule their uploads and add them to your account’s posting queue later. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweats after ensuring the successful transfer of your videos, you pick up the empty dish and walk out towards the kitchen, the silver fork clinking against the side of the bowl with every step.

As you wash the dish and utensil, Mark wanders over from his spot on the couch, leaning forward and casually placing his chin on your shoulder. Almost instantaneously, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you briefly fantasize about your best friend wrapping his arms around your waist and how domestic and sweet the two of you would look, like one of those cheesy couples the two of you always made fun of.

“What’s up?” you ask, making a conscious effort to hold your voice steady and not waver over the fact that Mark is basically draped over you. After you place the dish on the drying rack, you turn around to face your best friend, sorely miscalculating the distance as mere inches separate your face from his now.

“I—” Puberty decides to make an ugly appearance in the form of an ill timed voice crack, and he internally curses as he takes a step back, willing the incoming blush to go away. Letting out a small cough, he tries again, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“I, um, Jisung sent me some kind of dance video. He said it’s a challenge? I kinda don’t know what to do with it? Like do I make a new dance, record myself, and send it back? Actually, isn't it easier to just do a dance battle face to face?”

“Can I see the video?” You already have a good idea on what the video will be, but you want to confirm it. Mark fumbles with his phone, pulling up the video in his text messages. He angles the phone towards you for you to see, and you grab his hand, bringing the device a little closer to you for a better look and clicking play.

“Oh, it’s a Tiktok challenge! He’s doing the Say So dance!” you exclaim, recognizing the song almost immediately as your eyes follow the fluid dance moves, completely enthralled. “So a challenge isn’t going up against someone, like a battle. It’s just some kind of trend or concept that you try to copy yourself. You’re supposed to learn the same dance and record yourself for this one. I can show you some other challenges and help you practice and record this one tomorrow if you wanna drop by after work!”

“O-Oh, okay, sounds good.” Mark stumbles over his words, attempting to focus on what you’re saying and the dance Jisung is doing, but all he can think about is the way your body is pressed against his side, hand comfortably wrapped around his. He freezes up as the tips of his ears grow redder and redder with every passing second, and his face sports a similar color. He silently prays for the telltale crimson to go away by the time the dance is over.

When the video ends, you once again realize the close proximity between you and your best friend. Your face burns at this revelation, and you awkwardly take a step back. Clearing your throat, you hastily release Mark’s hand (He inaudibly lets out the breath he’s been holding in this entire time, yet he also already misses the way your hand felt grasping his).

“Uh, anyway, I’m gonna make a latte. Do you want a drink, too?” You walk towards the other side of your kitchen with Mark trailing behind you. You take out a floral, peachy colored mug from your cupboards before pausing and looking at your best friend. “Wait, do you remember how to use a Keurig?”

“Yes!” He says, slightly exasperated as he picks out his own cup from your cabinet. He always uses the same one—a cerulean blue mug with squiggles all over it—and all of your friends and guests know not to use it because it’s unofficially officially Mark’s mug (And perhaps, you did indeed buy it from that overpriced kitschy tableware shop down the street two years ago with your best friend in mind).

“Really?” You select the latte option and press start after you had already positioned the mug beneath the spout and inserted a green tea matcha pod. He finally relents, shoulders sagging and a defeated expression on his face.

“... No.”

You chuckle, taking the mug from him and carefully putting it on the counter. You grab the espresso pod you know he likes from the drawer below and place it next to the cup. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you again.”

Mark tries. He really does. He tries very hard to concentrate on memorizing the simple process, but he keeps getting distracted. His eyes are focused on the correct button to push before they start to trail up to your fingertips. And then, they go from your hand to your arm, then up to the elegant curve of your neck, and finally, to the way your lashes frame your pretty eyes and how the tip of your tongue sticks out slightly as you concentrate until all he can focus on is you, you, you.

Suddenly, in what feels like a blink of an eye, you’re done and handing him his finished drink, complete with a perfectly whipped milk foam on top. You ask him if he knows how to make it now, and all he can do is lie and nod with a barely convincing smile.

After all, how can Mark tell his best friend that the reason he never remembers is because you’re the biggest distraction?

Mark should be here in five minutes, according to his most recent text message. And in the text message below that, your friend had sent you a challenge. More specifically, it’s the one she completed with Donghyuck a few weeks ago. When you said you wanted bold suggestions on how to figure out if your best friend feels the same way about you as you do about him, you didn’t want one this bold. 

Yet, the video link to your friend’s “today I kissed my best friend” challenge along with a winky face from her is staring mockingly at you. While you aren’t one to back down from a challenge, the mere thought of kissing your best friend causes vast colonies of butterflies to erupt in your stomach and your ears to feel as if they have caught on fire. You’re already tongue tied with your head in the clouds, and he isn’t even here yet. How utterly fantastic.

However, your mother definitely did not raise a quitter, so you spring into action when you hear the faint jingling of a key being inserted into your apartment’s door (You had given Mark a copy of your key almost immediately after you had moved in). You move the pretty indoor fern given to you by Jaemin as a housewarming gift last year closer to the edge of your towering bookcase, leaning your phone against it. You quickly position the device to capture a good view of the couch area in your living room and press the record button, arranging a few of the leaves to hide as much of your phone as you possibly can without obstructing the lens.

You run full speed to your bedroom, letting out a sigh of relief when you’re safely inside and hear Mark finally unlocking the door successfully and shuffling in. When he calls out to you, you try to even out your breathing, walking out of your room with your tripod and laptop in hand.

“Hey,” you greet him in the most casual tone you can muster. You place the tripod down and sit before opening your laptop and setting it on the coffee table. “I thought we could watch a few challenges for fun before trying the Say So one. Have you watched Jisung’s videos before?”

“Um, well, no, not really,” he confesses sheepishly, taking a seat next to you on the couch, leg pressing against yours. He squints at the YouTube video you pulled up earlier before he had arrived, reading the title before clicking the space button to start it. “Savage Tiktok dance compilation part two?”

“Wait, hold up.” You pause the video and then turn to face him with an incredulous expression on your face. “You’ve never watched any of Jisung’s dance Tiktoks?”

“No… I don’t even have an account.” His cheeks are dusted with the lightest shade of pink as he quietly admits, “I watch all of yours though.”

Your eyes widen at his confession, face heating up as you stammer out, “O-Oh, well, I can help you make an account later to upload your video.”

“Sounds good.” There’s a few seconds of silence as you mull over his previous words before he speaks up again awkwardly, “Should I, uh, play the video?”

“Oh! Yes, right! Of course, hit play,” you laugh nervously, twisting and playing with the hair tie around your wrist. He starts the video again, and the two of you watch the compilation, slowly relaxing once more as you tap your fingers to the rhythm of the song and he bobs his head to the beat.

“Do I have to change outfits like that?” he questions a few minutes later, eyes growing round as he sees the girl on the screen switch between four different outfits throughout the dance. His closet basically consists of the same five black shirts that he stole from Jaehyun. Even if he did do an outfit swap, there would literally be no difference at all.

“You don’t have to,” you assure him, clicking the enter key to play the next video that’s recommended: another Tiktok dance challenge compilation. “All you have to do is copy the dance.”

Mark nods, taking a glance at the laptop screen before his hand shoots out and he pauses the video, leaning forward to take a closer look at the little recommended video title banner at the top. “Wait! What’s that one?”

He clicks on it, the new video now loading up. The two of you wait patiently for it to begin, waiting for the spinning disc to stop. But it doesn’t. In fact, the whole chrome page goes blank and then, the little pixelated Google Chrome dinosaur pops up on your monitor, announcing that you have no internet connection. Furrowing your eyebrows, you try to reload the page before trying to re-establish your laptop connection to your wifi. Unfortunately, you cannot find your appropriately named “drop it like it’s hotspot” wifi anywhere to connect to.

And that’s when it hits you. Your landlord had sent out a notice to the entire apartment complex last week about the electricity being powered down today from 4 to 6 p.m. for a maintenance check, and a quick glance at the digital clock on your laptop shows that it’s a little past four.

You groan, closing your laptop and flopping back against the couch cushions dramatically. Mark cocks his head, slightly confused, before he pokes you in the arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I completely forgot about the scheduled electricity shutdown for the entire building. We won’t have any wifi for the next two hours.” You pout, your bottom lip jutting out in the slightest, and Mark doesn’t think it’s fair that you get to be this cute and have this much of an effect on his racing heart rate.

“That’s okay, we can… play some board games?” he suggests offhandedly, pushing away the embarrassing thought and nudging your leg with his, and you smile before a sudden idea occurs to you. 

“Or we can still do some Tiktok challenges! What was the challenge you clicked on?” You quickly sit upright, turning to face your best friend, eyes sparkling in excitement. “I memorized a few of the dance ones already! Was it Renegade? I can teach you that one. Jisung showed me how to do it.”

“Um,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His eyes dart everywhere, except you, as he lets out a feigned cough. “It wasn’t a dance one. It was about, uh, going up to your boyfriend… and um, hugging him... when he’s playing video games.”

“Oh.” You answer lamely, not knowing what to say. You unsuccessfully try to push away the image of you attempting that challenge with your best friend. “Those are really cute.”

“Really?” He says doubtfully, wrinkling his eyebrows and fiddling with the frayed sleeve of his sweater. “Wouldn’t the dude get mad?”

You don’t know what suddenly possessed you to do this (you’ll have to ask Renjun and his paranormal loving ass later), but you thank whatever demon did for that split second because you find yourself gently grabbing Mark’s arm and slipping your head underneath it. You swing one leg over his lap and settle down until you’re securely sitting in his lap, bent legs on either side of his hips, hands curled around the soft fabric of his sweater on both sides and resting on top of your thighs. His arms instinctively go around your waist, wrapping around you securely.

You tilt your head to the side slightly, studying the flustered boy in front of you with a teasing, albeit a little anxious, smile on your lips. “Are you feeling mad?”

Splotches of red litter his cheeks and decorate the tips of his ears, but your best friend furiously shakes his head at your question, bashfully ducking his head afterwards and muttering a soft “No.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding erratically in your chest as you timidly ask, “Would you be mad if I do this?”

Mark looks up at that, confusion written all over his face. His arms start to loosen around your figure, hands now resting on your waist. “If you do what?”

You take a deep breath. “This.”

You lean in and gently press your lips against his. Mark freezes in shock, and you quickly retreat soon after, gnawing at the inside of your cheek as you wait anxiously for his reaction. Your heart feels like it’s about to fall out of your chest and be buried six feet under.

A tiny noise of surprise belatedly escapes from him and crimson spreads across his cheeks like wildfire. His doe eyes are wide and sparkling, staring at you in bewilderment. Your best friend lets out a small laugh of disbelief before a full blown smile breaks out across his face. He gazes at you adoringly, breathing out softly, “I’m not mad at that.”

You perk up at that, draping your arms around his neck as you lean forward, beaming. “Really? You’re not?”

“Definitely not.”

This time, Mark meets you halfway, his lips slotting against yours perfectly and making you feel tingles up and down your spine. Your eyes are closed, and you are so hyper aware of the way his hands grip your hips, how he tugs you closer, and how his lips chase after yours. The number of butterflies from earlier multiply in your stomach, and you have ascended past cloud nine by now.

When the two of you break apart, your eyes flutter open, and you nudge your nose against his affectionately. The brightest grin blooms on his face once again, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his little giggles and hiding the awfully vibrant cerise that rapidly blossoms on his face.

“Is this a good time to tell you congrats for completing your first challenge?” you say, resting your cheek against the crown of his head. You pull away when he lifts his head up, surprised.

“I wasn’t playing video games though,” he says slowly, processing your words and thinking back to the challenge that started this all.

“It was a different challenge. It’s the one that Hyuck did a few weeks ago,” you confess, and realization dawns on him, his face lighting up for a split second before a look of horror takes over.

“Oh, no. Is that why you had your phone recording on the bookshelf?” Mark asks, dread beginning to cloud his mind.

“Yes…” you say slowly, a little perplexed. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my god, I ruined your video,” he moans, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder. “I saw your phone when I walked in and thought you were filming earlier and forgot to turn it off, so I turned it off for you.”

When the words finally register in your mind, you can’t stop the laughter from bubbling out of your throat, and he raises his head up to look at you with wide doe eyes at the pretty sound. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

You can’t stop laughing at the situation, and he looks at you worriedly, gnawing on his bottom lip slightly. You force yourself to calm down, a soft chuckle leaving your lips before you beam at him, leaning in and placing the softest kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, Mark. I’m not mad. That video wasn’t important anyway.”

“But still,” he whines before letting out a groan and slapping his hand against his forehead when the realization sinks in even further. “I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot now, right?” you say teasingly, albeit a little shyly as well, as you reach over to tug his hand away from his face and lace your fingers with his.

“I mean, I kinda thought I was always your idiot,” Mark laughs softly and a little embarrassedly, eyes averted and cheeks turning pinker than ever. The largest grin spreads across your face at that, and you turn away slightly to hide it. You didn’t think your best friend can possibly be any more endearing, but he manages to prove you wrong every time.

“Well, then now you can add ‘Y/N’s boyfriend’ to your resume,” you say, and he fails to suppress the pleased smile appearing on his face at your remark, his rosy cheeks rising even taller than skyscrapers.

“So, uh, what sort of job description does that have?” He gazes at your intertwined hands in wonder, still completely giddy at the reality of you being his best friend and something more.

“Sharing hoodies, giving me attention, kissing, holding my hand, going on dates, you know, the basics,” you answer, squeezing his hand tenderly, and his doe eyes instantly light up. Mark feels a little bolder than before, and it shows when he grins widely and says:

“Can we do number three again?”

“Yes, we can, Eggy Boi.”

He wrinkles his nose at the name, disgruntled and unimpressed, as he crosses his arms over his chest, sulking. You let out a laugh before leaning in and crashing your lips against his. He immediately relents at that, enthusiastically responding and hugging you closer to him, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss as you feel his own smile appear as well.

At that moment, you decide that you want to change Mark’s personal brand. Because his should be “absolutely wonderful, positively amazing, a cute kisser, your boyfriend, and your bestest friend.” And yes, that is most definitely more than the allotted three words, but again, who’s really counting?

Certainly not you when you’re too preoccupied with kissing your best friend. Correction: best friend and new boyfriend.

One new notification: donutkillmyvibe uploaded a new video!

moominjun commented:

so you’re saying the reason why we didn’t get the highly anticipated best friend challenge video is because @ marklyrawr turned the camera off?

donutkillmyvibe replied: yes 😔 I’m sorry to disappoint everyone 🤧

nanaislove replied: omg no bby it’s ok 🥺🥺💞💓💓💝💗 you didn’t have to make an apology video for that 🥺💗💓💘💖

goofys.chuckle replied: yeah it’s mark’s fault. he’s the disappointment here 🥴

morklyrawr replied: hahahahaha stfu hyuck

tytrack commented:

mark is going through puberty. I apologize

dobunny replied: @.@

goofys.chuckle commented:

are we getting whip(ped)lash pt 2 by eggy boi?

morklyrawr replied: YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STARTED THAT NAME?????

goofys.chuckle replied: uh gotta blast 🚀

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle does this mean you’re staying over again?

goofys.chuckle replied: @ showmethemonet yes if you want your super cute, mega talented, very handsome boyfriend to still be alive 🥺

showmethemonet replied: @ goofys.chuckle oh my god I didn’t know I was dating bts jin???

moominjun replied: LMFAOOOOO

goofys.chuckle replied: heart 💔 been broke 📉 so many times ⏰ i don’t know 🤔 what to believe 💯 mama 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 said 🗣 it’s my fault 😢 it’s my fault 🤦🏻‍♂️i wear my heart ❤️ on my sleeve 💪 i think it’s best 👍🏻 I put my heart ❤️ on ice 🧊

jenojam commented:

why am I not surprised……

itsmebetch replied: just mark thingz 🍉

suhprisemf commented:

mark your head looks flat af

jungjaeprince replied: 😂😂😂

10vely replied: @ jungjaeprince be quiet don’t cry

letswonwon commented:

whoop whoop

junguwu commented:

OMG CONGRATS ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP SWEETIE 😍😍

takoyaki_prince commented:

MARK!!!!! you look handsome !! 😘

jisungpwark commented:

rip to @ donutkillmyvibe ’s future videos that mark will ruin. press f in the chat to pay respects 🙏🏻

bigheadking replied: F ✊🏻😔

peachyangel replied: f 🥺🥺

yoitslucas replied: F 🤪🤪🤪 but glad you’re happy, man ❤️

donutkillmyvibe replied: F 💔

morklyrawr replied: @ donutkillmyvibe wtf babe????

officialgordonramsay commented:

didn’t i tell you to get back on tinder ?

apado_god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

[ocpotluck]

Happy Halloween to you @connietheecunning

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Rose Red’s All Hallows Eve: Ticket Please?

Summary- 4.2k Curtis Everett x You. Your boyfriend got you tickets to a charity Haunted House, and the special features include immersed scenes from the movie of your choice. Once you hear that the one and only Curtis Everett from Snowpiercer is a part of the choices, you just have to go. Prepare for a night of apocalyptic fun! 

Warnings- Blood/Gore, brutal killings, swears. 

A/N- Written for @jtargaryen18 Haunted House 2020. This is a 3 chapter story that will be posted within a few days of one another. Be sure to read the warnings for each chapter. The page dividers were made by @firefly-graphics​ , I highly suggest checking out her work, its really excellent and a bit of everything to choose from. The manor described in this story, Rose Red, is a piece of work from Stephen King, and I highly suggest watching the tv mini series, if you can find it. Perfect for this time of year. Special thanks to @what-is-your-plan-today​ for being my Beta in this project. Happy Reading and Haunting! 😈🎃

“What do you mean Bryce that you can’t come? You promised you would! When is New York State ever going to open Rose Red to be explored like this again Bryce?” You spoke into your cell phone while looking in the mirror, currently doing a french braid to keep your hair out of your face. Your expression reflected back at you was a mixture of fury and disbelief. You had only been talking about this charity for 6 months, and here was your boyfriend backing out after he’d promised to come with you numerous times.

“Something came up with Maya, okay? You know my sister can’t do anything without fucking it up. Besides it's just a house” 

“Bryce, don’t talk about your sister that way.” You sighed exasperatedly before your voice dropped slightly conveying your disappointment “And it's not just a house, it's just the most haunted manor and grounds in New York. They had it condemned supposedly just for that reason! You really can’t come?” 

“You know that shit isn't real. Sorry Baby, but why don’t you take one of your friends? How about that Karen chick?” 

You gave a sigh and roll of the eyes, Bryce never bothered to get to know any of your friends, not like you did with his friends. “You mean Stacey? Her name isn’t Karen.” 

“Well, she’s like a Karen.” He retorted with a condescending tone. 

“Whatever Bryce, I’m hanging up now.” you snapped out, he was being an ass especially considering this entire night had actually started out as a treat to him from you.  

“Hey, Hey, I was kidding. Take Stacey. You know I wouldn’t be any fun, I never liked Snowpiercer, remember?”

“That’s not the point Bryce…” you sighed again. 

“Look, go have fun with Stacey, and tomorrow morning I will pick you up, we can go for a drive down the coast, just the two of us. Maybe have a long weekend in Hampton. How does that sound? I will even take you to that hotel you like. That one right on the beach with the view we stayed at last summer. We had fun there, didn’t we Sweetness.” now his tone was a hint of teasing and promise, and although you were still mad that he ditched you again, you felt a warmth bloom in your chest that he was trying to make it right. 

You bit your lip remembering, it had been a fantastic vacation, and Bryce really showed you a good time without ever having to leave the room. At your silence he gave a chuckle of triumph. “That’s what I thought, I'm gonna call them right now. Have fun tonight baby.” 

“Okay, but you better be here bright and early Bryce. Love-” Before you could even say the words, he hung up, and you hit the end call button, trying to get over the feeling of disappointment before you called Stacey. You could already hear what she would say, but as your best friend, she would be there. She always was. Dialing her number, you pulled out the tickets from your purse, allowing yourself a smile. 

What could you say, you were a fangirl. Snowpiercer was such an intricate dark story, you had fallen in love with it the first time you watched it on Netflix. So when Bryce mentioned his grandfather was helping sponsor a haunted house charity at the town's resident creepy manor, and it was featuring several film sets. Including none other than Snowpiercer, you just had to have all the details. It even went as far as Bryce having his grandfather putting in a good word of how much of a fan you were to get you in. You scrimped and saved, Bryce as well helped you with paying for the tickets. You had really wanted to do this with him too. No, he didn’t share your love for the story, but he was your boyfriend and Halloween was your favorite holiday. It was something you two could have shared. 

Oh well, next year we will do what he wants to do, you thought to yourself waiting for Stacey to pick up her phone. 

A familiar voice answered, jerking you from your thoughts. “What’s up? I thought you would have already left for the charity function?” Stacey questioned. 

“Slight change of plans, something came up with Maya, and Bryce can’t make it.” 

“Big surprise.” the answer made you wince, cause this wasn’t the first time you called Stacey about Bryce. “You want some company? I can be ready by the time you get here?” 

“Please?” you already had your purse over your shoulder and were heading out the door as she answered. 

“Don’t worry girl, I got you. See you in a few.” 

The line to get into the grounds was long, cars piled up as the two of you pulled to a stop. Stacey leaned forward to look out the windshield, giving a soft whistle. “Damn, they pulled out all the stops for this charity, didn’t they? Isn’t that the Rose Red Manor?” 

“Yea, they were able to get it for the night from the Governor. Pretty crazy since this place has been condemned, they were supposed to demolish it back when Ellen Rimbauer’s grandson sold it to New York. You know the stories here, don’t you? Men die, Women disappear never to be seen again. The house somehow has random room built on out of nowhere. No one actually knows how many rooms Rose Red has, and the grounds are much larger then the records state.” You let your foot off the brake, easing forward. 

“Shut up, that’s not true.” Stacey gave a shudder and you laughed, winking in a teasing manner. “How does a house keep getting bigger? I say bullshit.” 

“It’s all just for spooks, the place is safe or else they wouldn’t let us on the grounds.” 

“If I die Y/N, I’m haunting you.” Stacey jibed back, pulling up to the concession stand, and you rolled down your window. 

“How many, and what set are you here to visit?” a tired voice sounded at you while you pulled the tickets out of your purse and handed them out the window. 

“2, for the Snowpiercer, Curtis Everett set.” 

The redhead took your tickets, her green eyes flickering to check them before she gave a slight smirk of perfectly painted ruby lips. She leaned forward, to look into the car. “Curtis Everett you say? A personal favorite of mine, the set reminds me a bit of home.” Your eyes flickered to her name tag, reading Natasha Romanoff, it sounded Russian, where it is assumed the train derailed at the end of the film. “Curtis is a bit intimidating, but don’t get scared, it's all a part of the show.” She stamped your tickets and collected bracelets, handing them back to you which you and Stacey both snapped onto your wrists. “Enjoy, and make sure you have those tickets on you. The Wilford on set will be looking to collect them. Bozhe, pomiluy tebya.” God have mercy on you.

Your brows came together in confusion at the foreign launguage and gave a nod. “Thanks?” 

The woman smiled and snapped her window shut, ending the conversation. Pulling the car away to continue to park, Stacy wrinkled her nose. “What was that about?” 

“You got me. I don’t even know what language that was, I’m guessing Russian?” You watch and follow the people directing you to park and are soon in your designated spot. “Whatever, you ready?” The uneasiness slipped away as you got excited, cause lets face it, Curtis Everett had been a crush for you since you saw the movie. And now you were going to see him, well the actor in the role, once again. From what you could tell this charity was an a-list kind of deal, cause after hours of scouring online, you found nothing talking about Chris Evans doing this function. Maybe Bryce was good for something, you thought as you got out of the car, and then chided yourself for being so cruel to your boyfriend. After all, if it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be seeing Curtis or the Snowpiercer set. While you two were walking, apparently the last ones in the queue, you pulled out your phone to send him a message.

Hey, Stacey, and I just got here. Miss you and Love you.

 It wasn’t even a few minutes till your phone pinged back 

Have a good time and don’t get too scared. 

Smiling to yourself at the glowing screen, you stuffed your phone back in your purse and proceeded towards the front where you showed your bracelets. 

“Ahh Snowpiercer, you actually go around back. Follow me.” Your host said as he led you around the side of the building, away from the last of the people disappearing inside. 

“We're not going into the house?” you couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the idea, it was supposedly one of the most famous haunted houses in New York State. The well-dressed host turned, looking at you for a moment before putting on a suave smile. 

“Since you are special guests, I’ll wait for you after your tour with Curtis Everett on Snowpiercer. Give you a proper tour of Rose Red. But I assure you, that you’re in for a better treat, this is a truly exclusive walk though as hardly anyone gets to explore this much of Rose Red. Did you know that Ellen Rimbauer also had a private train on the grounds? It’s not documented as extensively as the house is, but many strange occurrences have happened here as well. It’s rumored that a single match light can be seen running up and down the aisles. Workers will be glimpsed from the corner of your eye in the darkest shadows. The ones that have visited the train claim to feel extensive chills, and in the engine, ramblings and whispers of madness can be heard. Most assume it's the conductor, looking for his replacement.” Your host continued, while out of the darkness a massive ominous train loomed, vines all over it, and it almost had a skeletal appearance as windows were busted out of it, and it looked pitch black in all the openings. 

“The workers used the train to bring in materials from the harbor to the construction site. And in 1903, a riot happened on the train, the crew claimed that they weren’t being compensated for the conditions, and they demanded better wages. When W. Rimbauer refused them, they put a stop to the train for good. Resulting in many deaths.” Your host led you to the front car, in which a pale man stood with a lantern and a single red rose he was twirling in his fingers, and upon seeing the trio of you, he promptly slipped the delicate flower into his robe and smoothed down his outfit. Giving a wave, he stepped down and you noticed that oddly he was wearing what looked like a luxurious robe, his bald head shining in the glow of the lamp. The more you studied him, the more you thought he looked exactly like Ed Harris in his Wilford role. You were about to ask, when he interrupted you with his own question to the host. 

“Blackwood, this the Curtis couple? We were a bit worried you wouldn’t show up tonight. Which is a shame, as Curtis has been waiting for you.” He seemed to direct his answer solely at you, his pale blue eyes glinting gleefully at you, it was the only way you could describe it, but they still sent a shiver down your back. Ed Harris or not, he was a good Wilford, you thought to yourself as you tried not to let his act give you the creeps. Stacey pulled in closer to you, hooking her arm through yours and whispering. 

“You sure we should go on this train? It’s pretty fucking creepy back here. And where is everyone else?” 

Blackwood cleared his throat with a smile. “Now ladies, the Curtis scene was very exclusive. In fact, only you two were able to get tickets. Seeing how it’s away from the main house. But I’m going to leave you in the capable hands of Wilford here as I must return for the next group. I will be back soon to give you a house tour afterward. You ladies enjoy the fully immersed experience.” 

Your host left you with Wilford, who lifted his lamp to show a path that led down the side of the train. “It’s just a way down here, Curtis will meet you inside, and take you on the tour of Snowpiercer. Now, remember, he will not be breaking character as is per his instructions. We want this to be as authentic as possible.” 

You and Stacey follow along behind his seemingly smooth stride, both of you tripping up a bit although Wilford seemed to have no issues with the uneven ground. Both of you were panting a bit when he came to a stop, and held a hand up to a ladder, leading into the darkest opening you’ve ever seen. 

“There are no lights inside?” You drawled out and Stacey braced her hand against the train to catch her breath.

“How the hell are we supposed to see? And climb in with heels? No one told us that this was going to be an expedition just to see a movie set.” the woman snapped out, and Wilford turned that gaze from you to Stacey, giving a cold smile. 

“It will all come on once you're inside, everything is in its preordained place in Snowpiercer and we are allowing you to really see it all come to life. But before you two go on, can I have your tickets please? No one goes onto the snowpiercer without one.” His grin turned eerie in the shadows on the lantern he had brought with him, and you were quick to look away from it, 

Fuck he is weird. You shudder, while searching your bag and handing over both tickets. He immediately put them in his robe and held the lantern up so you could see a bit better to get inside. Grasping the ladder, you start to climb in, Stacey following right behind, holding onto the back of your shirt. One you stumbled in, and Stacey did too, you both turned to look back out, expecting Wilford to follow you in, but the door slammed shut, and a shudder went through the train, hard enough so you both yelped, falling into each other. 

“Y/N! What the fuck is this? We have to get out of here.” You could feel Stacey digging into your arms in a panic, and you stumbled back to where the door was, your hands slamming against freezing cold metal, your palms pounding on the vibrating metal. 

“Why is it vibrating? WHY IS THE TRAIN MOVING?” You started to yell, and Stacey moved up next to you, also slamming her palms against the metal walls. Blinding light made you both yelp and cover your eyes, stumbling to land in a heap when you pulled your arm away from your face, blinking to get your pupils to focus. It was an empty train cart, windows that appeared to be filled with bright natural light lined the walls, and at each end, metal doors that have yet to be opened. Stacey takes the first tentative moves to stand up, pulling herself to look out a window and her eyes widened in disbelief. 

“What is it?” You ask as you start to push yourself up to a stand, and she shakes her head as if to shake whatever she was seeing away, muttering over and over. 

“What the fuck?” 

You make your way over, and all you can see is snow. Snow and ice, speeding past like this train were actually able to run on a track. Buildings encased in snow, making way to nothing but white, everywhere. Even the windows had frost encasing around the edges, your breaths fogging the glass. 

“How? What?” you question, beyond confused and rubbing at your face to look again. How the hell could this be? You go to reach in your bag for your phone, and look down to see it is gone. And not just your phone, your bag. Scanning the train, there was no sign of it. Panic settled in a little more now that you didn't have a way to call for help should you need it.

Stacey pressed her fingers to the glass, her tone a bit shrill as if she was trying to convince herself it was make believe. “Gotta be like we're watching a screen right? Just supposed to look like the trains moving.” Although the train gave another shudder, swaying back and forth. 

You never got an answer, as one end the doors swung open and people wearing all black spilled into the train, all carrying axes, faces masked so you couldn’t see anything discernible about them. Except for flashing teeth among happy grins. Each one hefting their ax like it was a toy. Your confused addled brain screamed at you to pay attention. Danger. But you were in too much of a shock to really focus. 

Another whoosh and you spin around to see who was coming out the other side, Stacey whimpering in fear next to you, still staring at the first group. But your eyes raked over these men, dirty and worn looking. The one in front had a wide stance, his feet braced against the rocking of the train like he was familiar with it. A black trench coat swept around him, ragged sweaters piled over a broad chest and your gaze fell onto a familiar hard face, scanning his opponent, drawing himself into a more fighting stance. Curtis Everett. 

“Oh shit” it dawns on you what scene this was and you draw Stacey closer to you, and back against a wall. 

“What? Oh god, I don’t understand what is happening.” Stacey said in a panicked voice, and you shook her a bit. 

“I don’t know either, but stay out of everyone’s way, okay? Those axes are not fakes!” The weapons they held were clearly not props, the heavy blade handles slapped in palms, and gleamed in the winter sun streaming through the windows. A touch would easily slice into anything. And these two groups look ready to hack into each other.

“Shouldn’t they help us get out?” Stacey’s eyes rolled wildly, and you gulped, seeing the large trout get passed up, and just as you guessed, the ax easily sliced into the fish’s flesh, drizzling blood down to see  along the edge, dripping down the handle and to the floor. 

“I don't think so Stace…” You whipped back to look at the opposing group, feeling Curtis’s gaze seeking yours with a glimmer of hatred and confusion behind them. For half a second, then it was back on their enemies. You could see it, the taunting lunges each group made, and just when they both broke for each other, you screamed and yanked Stacey down onto the ground as they all collided. Attempting to avoid stomping feet and falling blades, you two tried to stick to the wall, screaming and covering your heads, blood splattering everywhere above you in hot sticky sprays that rained down on your two. 

Stacey wouldn’t stop screaming, her voice piercing above the noise of the fighting, bodies started to litter the floor, and you tried to make your way towards one of the exits, your hands and knees slipping in warm fluid. Over bodies you dragged yourself when Stacey’s screaming changed to one of pain and panic. Looking over your shoulder, she was getting dragged away by her ankles, her fingers trying to find a hold in the floor, nails raking through the blood to create long rakes through all the red. 

“Y/N! Y/N! Help!” she continued to scream, and you twisted to go back for her when she was whipped to her back and her arms came up in defense, trying to cover her face or neck. 

“No!” 

Whump! This is when you lost all your control and started to scramble back for her. There was so much screaming and you never realized it was coming from you. 

Whump! The ax planted in Stacey’s chest and she jerked upwards, trying to push the blade away, and the militants foot planted on her stomach, yanking her loose. You would still see her moving, still alive. You were closer. 

Whump! this one landed on her skull, blonde hair turning stringy red and his boot planted on her face this time, crushing in her forehead and nose as he yanked it out, once more red spray flew through the air. 

Several whacks fell on her, over and over, spraying you with each yank the axe gave off Stacey's body, the militant man grinning as her blood sprayed all over him, you, any nearby person. 

You were in shock, your hands to your mouth, as you saw Stacy's body collapse into broken pieces, blood spurting out of her mouth and she went limp right in front of you. His gaze fell to you and his wide bloody grin looked like he just won the prize, his axe lifting when he was suddenly thrown back and slaughtered himself. You didn't pay attention to who took him out, only catching sight of a whipping coat snapping in the person's actions, you turned towards your best friend's body, convinced she might still be alive. This was all just for fun, pretend after all, right? Snowpiercer and the Revolution did not exist. 

“Sss-Stacey?” you crawled over to her, your hands cupping her broken face and leaning over her still warm form, doing your best to hold what remained of her face together, as if you could just piece it back together like a puzzle. You kept shaking her, although she had several gaping holes in her body. 

“Come on Stacey, we got to move.” you sobbed over her, unaware once more of what was going on. 

You didn’t notice the fighting stop or the survivors rush to look out the windows in a panic, but you did feel a hand yank the back of your shirt to slam you into the wall and keep you pinned in place. Even as you struggled to get back to Stacey’s body, lying lifeless. You didn’t notice any of these things till a growl snarled in your ear. “Girl, stop it! What’s wrong with you?” A vicious shake thudded your head against the wall, and the crack against the back of your skull made your eyes roll back in pain. The world tipped upside down, Curtis’s scowling cut face tipped around, and you went under, the blackness welcomed from the hell you just experienced. 

“Hey Curtis, she’s awake.” was the first thing you heard, your head pounding and when you started to pry your lids open, figures were blurry, moving around, flashes of light blinding you till they were blocked back out by bodies. You gave a moan and lifted your hand to your face when the larger one slapped it away, and the cold slick hand grasped your throat, dragging you forward. “Focus Bitch, we don’t have all day.” Your eyes snapped obediently to Curtis, fearful and wide-eyed as you took him in. 

In the movie, he was large, towering over others. Here, as he was staring you down, face contorted to semi-controlled rage, and leaning over you so you could feel his hot breath wash over his face, how the blood dried to crack along his cheek, and eyes that you swore were debating snapping your neck.

“I don’t understand what is going-” 

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not asking questions here. Wilford sent you?” 

“Wilford? Yes, yes.” You stutter, his fingers squeeze further and you can feel the hot tears streaming down your face, landing on his filthy hands. “He put Stacey and I in here, m-m-my friend. She was…” Your eyes rolled to where her body was twisted strangely, smeared in gore from where she slid around, or someone tripped over her. All you knew is her eyes started up at nothing now. Her wounds were gaping and bled out. 

Curtis gave you a shake, his snarl brought you back to him. “She was what? What did Wilford send you two back here for?” 

“We were here for a charity! I was supposed to meet Chris Evans, You as Curtis Everett.” your voice started to rise in a panic, your hands grasping his wrist at your neck. “That’s it, why is the train moving? Why are you all using real axes, fuck I just want to get off.” You sobbed, the survivors looked at you with disgust, shaking their heads. 

“Once you’re on the Snowpiercer, there is no getting off.” Curtis leaned back a bit, looking you up and down as if inspecting you curiously. “You’re such a fragile little thing. Just like a baby bird, all brittle bones and helpless.”  

“No getting off? What are you even talking about?” your tears started to sting your eyes, the panic settling deep in your chest like your heart was about to explode.

Curtis ignored your question, his free hand tugging at your thin sweater and shaking his head. “Fucker didn’t even send you back here properly dressed.” 

You tried to struggle and Curtis slammed you back hard enough to make you stop.

“She’s fucking whacked out of her gourd. Gotta be a kronole head someone spouting that shit.” A young man said behind Curtis, and he got in your face, tapping your cheek smartly. “Girl snap out of it, that shite fucking rotted your brain.” 

“No Edgar, this is different, she's lying. Good at it, but lying.” Curtis made to stand, dragging you up with him. You stumble in his hold, falling against his body before he dragged you along, hissing in your ear. 

“I don’t know what Wilford was thinking Little Bird, sending you back to me with this innocent act of yours. But don’t worry I will make you sing.”

[todourouki]

Some Chick Like You (2) | Bakugou

a requested one shot | part one

✰ the people asked, and I delivered (: thank you so much to the anon that requested part two— here you go <3 also isn’t the anon asked thing cute? Should I keep doing it? Omg idk lmaoooo but yea enjoy!

✰ SUMMARY the one where you don’t really know what to do with yourself when you find your friend kissing your neck on top of you in nothing but pure desire— especially if he’s one of your boyfriend’s biggest rivals.

PAIRING Pro-Hero!Bakugou x Fem!Reader & Angry-Boy!Izuku

WORD COUNT 2.1k

WARNINGS explicit language, a little bit of physical shit, angst (I’m so sorry bby Izuku), and fluff bc I’m a weak bitch no I don’t take constructive criticism!

You weren’t sure what it was about Bakugou’s lips that captivated you so much, but even with the brainwashingly sinful way his lips moved against yours, the knock on the door brought you back to your senses.

As if on queue, you pushed his body away from yours as you panted roughly and searched for some source of air in the room. You watched his face flush, eyes narrow as a smirk began to lift onto his once soft features.

Somehow through the turmoil, his fingers itched into your folds, squeezing all of what was in you out and now silking across his thick, long fingers. You almost passed out when you saw him suck his fingers and slip them out your mouth with a pop.

“Next time,” he stood up, hovering over your body for a second to grip your chin roughly with his wet fingers in a way that made you gasp, “you’ll clean my fingers for me.”

Without a second glance, you watched his muscular body push your head back and walk towards the door across the couch you were currently resting in. You took this as a sign to gather yourself up a bit, your cheeks still flushed from the intimate acts done moments ago.

With a quick adjustment of both your bra and t-shirt, you heard him open the door and immediately watched as his back tensed up. Without even getting a chance to ask who it was, the voice you heard made your heart fall to the ground and practically explode.

“Hello Kacchan, is Y/N here?” You didn’t miss the malice behind the word Kacchan, the way your boyfriend said both of your names as if there was venom laced within each letter.

You sat up, gulping as you watched a scarred hand plant itself against the door and push an awestruck Bakugou to the side.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice that once rang with such excitement said in the driest tone you had ever heard, and you found yourself gripping onto the couch with white knuckles to keep yourself from exposing what had just happened, “I didn’t expect to find you here. I’ve been calling you for a while.”

“Yea,” you struggled to say, the air leaving your lungs as you fell under his harsh stare, “I was just h-here with Bakugou to get some advice.”

Izuku’s voice never scared you. He never raised his voice at you, never spoke with an attitude or with a scowl, never called you by your first name even. Yet watching as his eyebrows drew forward and watched you plainly made your own eyes gloss over in fear.

“I-” you picked your phone up from the floor, seeing that a phone call was still ongoing and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I didn’t get a call—”

Your voice froze as you unlocked your phone and watched the time frame continue on. Forty-five minutes. You had been on the phone with Izuku for forty five fucking minutes.

Your throat got dry, breath hallowing in a way that made you feel as if the room had started spinning and stopped over and over again. The seconds continued, mocking your horrified glare as your lip began to quiver.

There was no way Izuku didn’t hear anything— he had to have heard everything. There was no way you could escape this, even with the fact that he has your location on and probably stormed over here as soon as he heard you lewdly moan Bakugou’s name.

Oh god, he heard you beg Bakugou to fuck you. Your boyfriend of two years heard you beg another man to fuck you harder than he ever has.

You couldn’t stop the single tear from falling down your eyes, the guilt and shock stopping you from being able to thoroughly respond to anything being said.

You eyes snapped up at him, watching the freckle-faced boy glare at you as if you were the scum on the bottom of his shoes. Nobody said anything, both you and Bakugou avoiding each other’s faces as you watched Izuku take a step closer towards you and toss a bouquet of flowers on your lap.

“The worst decision I ever made in my life was consider you to be someone I loved.” He snarled, the flowers seeming to have been destroyed in anger as you glanced over at them. A cry left your lips, shoving the flowers off your lap and quickly standing up in fear of him walking out.

“Izuku please, I-I..” You couldn’t find any words to explain yourself, and the hickey on your neck only showing more as you motioned your way towards him to grab his hand.

The minute he saw it, his body erupted with lightening as he zoomed forward and gripped your neck into the wall. Izuku wasn’t thinking straight, the anger fogging his mind as he snapped your neck towards the side to watch the hickey in disgust.

“Please what, Y/N?” He yelled, his soft voice turning into one of anger as his voice cracked in the midst of his words.

You could see the tears pooling at his eyelashes. Your heart was broken. You never wanted to hurt him, if anyone deserved to be okay and not be hurt and just be happy, it was Izuku Midoriya. The words you wanted to hush his tears with refused to come out as instead a whimper did at the way his hands gripped your neck.

You watched Bakugou from the corner of your eye tense up at the position, taking cautious steps over to the boy with his hands in fists. The bright flash of yellow-orange made you realize he was beginning to get angry and that just frustrated you more than your lightheaded brain already was.

“Deku, let go—” Bakugou began to warn him, his body inching closer until Midoriya’s hand slammed into the wall next to you.

A hole was dangerously carved next to your head and a breathless sob left your lips. The air of the punch repeated next to your ear and you could still feel the intensity of both of their eyes as your head began to lose consciousness. You weren’t even mad at him, how could you be.

“Get the fuck away from me, Bakugou!” Midoriya yelled, making Bakugou raise an eyebrow unamused and place his intently hot hand on top of the one gripping your neck into the wall.

“I said let go of her.” Katsuki now spoke with more authority, the hand now gripping onto Izuku’s letting smoke rise from the crevices and you realized he was literally burning Izuku’s hand.

You wanted to yell and tell him to stop— just get them both to stop but the words couldn’t leave your throat. Nothing could once your body dropped down to your knees the minute Midoriya let you go harshly and faced the unphased blond across from you.

“Why the fuck were your filthy hands on her?!” Izuku yelled, the lightning around his body becoming more and more visible and green in a way that made the hair on the back of your neck stand.

Bakugou was still unphased.

“Maybe if you fucked your girlfriend right, I wouldn’t have had to.” The hothead’s voice was smug, and you gasped the minute you heard Izuku yell and pull his hands into electrifying fists.

“You two fucked?! That’s what I heard?!” He exclaimed, your body gripping the coffee stand next to you as you regained balance and made your way back to a standing position.

“No,” Bakugou scolded, a smirk then raising up to his lips as his gripped hand then opened and errupting in small cracklings noises to showcase his disguised anger, “but I would have if you didn’t come inter—”

It was like slow motion, and you weren’t fast enough to stop it from happening. Before you could react, Izuku’s hard fist slammed into Bakugou’s cheek in a way that threw his head over to the side. You yelled for him to stop, grabbing his arm back to try to deescalate the situation, yet Izuku’s hand shrugged out of your grasp.

“Get your fucking hand off me, please.” Izuku threatened, making you release his hands and lift yours up to signal you were backing up.

Bakugou spit onto his floor, a visible cut beginning to exude blood from the bottom of his eye to his jawline. You felt a pang in your chest, ignoring it as you turned your attention back to Izuku. He only avoided your gaze, tears still running down his face as his breath only wavered more and more.

“You know, it fucking shocks me.” Bakugou begins, spitting again as some blood slipped through his lips and now into a puddle on the ground. Izuku said nothing, glaring at him with his fists ready to strike again.

Slowly, Bakugou turned his head towards Midoriya again, his red eyes visibly growing in fury as he clenched his jaw with that same smug smirk as before that got him punched in the first place.

“It just shocks me that Y/N would be with someone like you, Deku.” The minute the nickname slipped off his lips, he spat onto the ground in disgust as the smirk returned once again.

You winced are his words, watching the situation with a certain guilty pain in your chest. Why am I enjoying the fact that they’re fighting over me? What is my fucking problem?

“You don’t take care of her, that’s something that she fucking needs.” His words were rough, the anger he once learned how to resolve returning again.

You hadn’t heard Bakugou yell the way he did in high school and in the beginning of his career in years, and the return of it made your eyes widen. This wasn’t getting any better and that worried you.

“I do take care—” “Oh shut the fuck up Deku, if she didn’t she wouldn’t be here with me. I planned on taking care of her the way someone like her deserves.”

Bakugou’s voice rang through your head, a gleam in his eye as he glanced at you quickly and turned back towards the shaking boy in front of him.

Izuku stood quiet, his anger seething through his chest as he surprised you by unclenching his fists. He said nothing, walking over to the counter that held his phone and freezing when his back faced to two of you.

“Your things will be packed away in whatever bags I find and will be sent back to your apartment. Don’t bother coming back, the locks will probably already be changed.”

“Also, I’m sorry about your neck. I’d never do anything to hurt you in that way, and I wasn’t thinking.”

More tears streamed down your face as you wanted to beg for him to stop. His words mocked you, the pain in your chest growing with guilt. You knew that what you did was wrong, and you knew he would never forgive you for this. How could he? He literally sat through 45 minutes of you moaning another man’s name. There was no way of changing his mind and you knew that.

You watched as he slammed Bakugou’s door open, pausing as if he was going to say something else the way he had before but simply slamming it shut again and disappearing into the hall.

A strangled cry left your lips, your hands reaching towards your neck to feel at the bruise you knew was growing. Bakugou fled towards you, softly questioning you to see if you were okay and dragging you away from the holed-up wall and to the sink in his large bathroom.

All while his hands attended to the bruise on your neck with a wet cloth, your eyes trailed over the dry blood on his cheek. His words rang through your head, repeating as you somehow managed to get Midoriya’s crying eyes out from your conscious.

‘I planned on taking care of her the way someone like her deserves.’ ‘Maybe if you fucked your girlfriend right, I wouldn’t have had to.’

You gulped, eyes meeting his red ones as you watched the tips of his ears redden and the same scowl he loved to wear ran across his bruised face one again. As you watched him, soon switching positions to attend to the blood on his cheek, your brain raced all over the place yet always came down to the same thought you desperately wanted to push away.

Even after being caught with Bakugou, you didn’t regret it once. Not when you realized Midoriya heard, not when he gripped your neck into Bakugou’s wall as he saw the hoodie, and not when he kicked you out without any second thought.

You didn’t regret the way he made you feel, and it scared you to think that you actually wanted him to have kept going.

—

And we’re going to end it there for the sole purpose of letting you all imagine what happens next 😗 I hope you enjoyed, anon!

[soyforramen]

Reality Show

The room swam into view in front of her, black spots dancing on the outskirts of her vision.  Blinking her eyes, Betty slowly came to the realization that she was bound to a chair when she couldn’t grip her pounding head.  She retched as her sight went black again.  

“Stop with the dramatics, Elizabeth,” a woman’s voice sighed behind her.  “It’s only a little hemlock.”

Betty forced herself to sit up and squint against the moving black blobs that had taken up residence in her eyes.  Dark red curtains, dusty from age; an old hardwood stage littered with scratches and stains; and a room full of silent figures in front of her, staring blankly at her.

“Where -“  

Her words were garbled, muzzy and difficult to catch hold of.  A flash of pain erupted at the back of her head and she tried to piece together what happened.  It was near impossible, though, as none of her thoughts stayed still long enough to line them up.  

(Something about cats in queues.  Or was it tutus?  Bald cats dress all in white, offering her a plate of hummus and nirvana, warning her against the dangers of keeping Oregon.  Or was it Ontario?

(Ah.  A concussion then.  She’d heard about those once.  Maybe twice.  Or was it -)

The slap rang out around her and her vision flared into a Lead Zepplin light show, the ones Trev had always tried to get her to go to.  Or was it more like the Fourth of July, where fireworks flared against the dead black sky to -

“Damnit, I told you to use only a touch of hemlock. What did you two incompetents do?” the woman snapped.

Flat, sluggish voices groveled with apologies until one sounded out above the rest.  “We’re sorry, priestess, but she wouldn’t eat our food.  We thought it was best to try alternative methods.”

“What did you do?”

“Light of the Moon used a few techniques from our previous life. We assured ourselves that it would leave no lasting damage, and from our expertise -“

“Just,” the woman took a deep breath, “go take your spot in the crowd.”  

They shuffled off, cloth rustling around them and Betty remembered thinking she’d had a bad idea once.  More than one, even.  But why would that matter now?  Something about fake brownies and a recipe book?

Betty was shoved back against the seat and she gagged at the sudden movement.  A redheaded woman came into focus, freckles scattered across her cheeks like a dusting of cinnamon (“Purification, love, lust, but no more than two teaspoons…”), her eyebrows drawn together in frustration (“Lavender and chamomile to turn away the nightmares, demons won’t come near you when I’m around…”).  Betty knew her from somewhere.  This woman was important, but something about her was wrong.  She had to remember, even with the shadows pressing pain into every nook of her head.

“Evie?”

Evelyn snorted at the nickname.  “That’s Priestess to you.”    

She held up a vial of foul smelling liquid to Betty’s lips (“Potions are the quickest to work, but don’t forget to take the vial with you when you leave…”).  Betty parted her lips, the same as she did every night in childhood, and let the liquid fall down her throat without a fight. (“It’s awful, huh?  But it’s the only way for the runes to take, Lizzie.  I promised your mother…”)

(What was so important about Evelyn?  It was vital she remember, but everything felt as if her insides had been replaced by clouds of cotton and nothing was real.  All she could remember was Evie curling up around her and reading her bedtime stories when her mother was out; Evie doing Polly’s makeup for the initiation ceremony; Evie disappearing before Betty’s fourteenth birthday; Evie -)

“Happy Day!  He is risen!” Evelyn said, throwing her hands in the air.  A chorus of voices repeated her words back at her, the noise echoing around the gymnasium.  It bounced around in Betty’s skull until it came to rest in the pit of her stomach, fetid in its existence.  This was a farce; it had to be.  Some strange reality show where nothing was true and everything was true; ghosts of the past returning to haunt her; her mother’s sins hanging above the daughter, the Sword of Inherited Damocles trembling among the voices.  

“We have a treat for tonight, my brethren.  An unbeliever.  A heretic.  A spiritual murderer in our midst!”

The crowd stamped their feet once.  As the sound died down an unnatural silence took its place and Betty shifted against the ropes, trying to find some weakness in the knots.  

Evelyn came closer (what was it she’d forgotten) and placed a hand on Betty’s shoulder.

“In another life, this woman, this witch,” Evelyn spat, as if the word itself was unfit for her congregation, “was my sister in all ways but blood.  I raised her.  I cared for her.  I laughed with her, broke bread with her, cried with her.  

“And yet when I found the light, when I found the true path,” Evelyn yanked Betty’s ponytail and forced her to face the crowd.  

Betty’s vision danced with the darkness.  She wavered in and out of consciousness, Evelyn’s words as muffled as a party three doors down, the words muffled against the pain.

“- and yet she and her kind would try to stop our glorious plan.  They don’t want us to be free.  They don’t want us to reach our full potential.  Because if we do -“

“We will rule!” came the resounding response.  

Betty’s vision came back into focus and with it came the memory of Evelyn walking out of the coven along with ten other women, among them Alice.  Evelyn had spun tales of an eternal life of happiness; promised them power and independence divorced from magic. It was a siren’s call to those who’d felt unheard in the coven, those looked over for positions of power, those whose own magic had fizzled over the years or who’d never been that adept in shaping it to their will.

As for why Alice had left…

Ten years on and Betty still wondered why her mother had gone with Evelyn.  If it was a strange sense of loyalty, a belief in the mad prophet’s promises, or if she really did feel as if she’d never been needed within the coven.  It had to be something big enough for her to leave two teenage daughters alone.  At least, Betty hoped it was something big enough.

Betty’s eyes scanned the faces closest to her, squinting against the stage light.  It was hard to distinguish one cultist from another.  Harder still when her mind pressed Alice’s eyes, nose, mouth onto each face she saw.  

Evelyn’s shouts cut through to Betty and warning klaxons sounded off in her head.

“And what do we do to our enemies?”

“Drink their blood!  Eat their organs!  Lay them at his feet in praise of him!”

Betty shuddered at their conviction.  Belief was one thing; slavish, violent devotion another.  She shifted, trying to reach the knife she always kept in her back pocket, but the ropes held her tight.  In front of her, Evelyn raised a cup and a sword high above her head, the silver casting beams of light on her congregation.  A hush fell over the crowd once more and she closed her eyes in ecstasy.  

Seeing her like this, it was easy enough to see why she was called priestess.  Robed in lose linen, her feet and hands bare, her copper ringlets danced among the shifting rays of light.  An ancient druid steeped in ancient beliefs, her voice held no doubts, no question, no uncertainty as to her cause.  

“Hallowed be his name, our one true savior sent to cleanse this earth,” she said softly.  

She repeated it, her voice rising each time.  The crowd murmured along with her, their eyes locked on her.  As their voices raised to a fever pitch the lights went out around them and everything went deadly quiet.

Betty tugged harder on her bindings, desperate to get free.  Her gasping breath and desperate attempts were the only sounds in the dark.  As the rope dug further into her wrists and ankles she cursed herself for going back to the restaurant alone.  She knew she should have waited.  But Jughead had gone off on his own, refusing to tell her why, and the thought that perhaps they’d missed something nagged at her conscious.  The whole restaurant had a bad aura, lies and deceit running through their cheery facade.  

Frustrated with the lack of progress, and frustrated with Jughead’s lack of faith in her own abilities (even though she’d saved him from a demon last week; especially because she’d saved him) Betty went back under the guise of wanting another taste of their bland, flaky desserts and, perhaps, an introduction to their beliefs.  Her food hadn’t been in front of her for more than ten minutes before… well before she was hit in the head, she supposed.  

The lights went back up again and an icepick of pain shot through her left temple, blinding her.  The space behind her eyes throbbed and she leaned forward, her stomach heaving.  Ice ran along her wrists and she stifled a scream.

“Don’t make a sound, there’s no telling when they’ll be back,” Jughead’s familiar voice whispered.  

Her heart fluttered as the rope dropped from her wrists.  Betty looked around and found that the room was completely empty, a psychological tactic no doubt.  Evelyn always did like to play head games rather than work things out like a normal person.

“Where did they go?” Betty asked, scanning the room for any sign of life.

“Purification ritual.”

Not that the ropes were gone from her ankles, Betty stood.  Pins and needles waltzed down her limbs and she caught herself against Jughead’s shoulder.  With a stony expression he slipped off his grey beanie and handed it to her.

“Your head’s still bleeding,” he said in a flat tone.  

The rough wool scraped at her raw scalp, but she was grateful for the gesture.  

Jughead nodded towards a door tucked away against the wall on the far side of the room and she followed silently, still unsteady on her feet.  The third time she stumbled he picked her up and jogged almost noiselessly to the door.

“You didn’t bring any baubles with you, did you?”

She pursed her lips, confused.  “Baubles?”

“Marbles, rocks.  Whatever those bombs you make are.”

Those charms were anything but baubles, and she’d hate to see what they did in another’s hands.  She’d poured years of research into refining the shaky art of imbuing, years she might have better spent pursuing other pursuits.  Yet this was where she’d excelled, all for it to be refined down to ‘baubles.’

Laughter threatened to escape her at his ridiculous descriptions.  A side effect of the concussion, no doubt.  She’d have to seek out Dr. Curdle.  Herbs and potions and spells did little against this sort of injury and despite the opinions of most witches, modern medicine did have its own place in their arsenal.  

“No, they would have seen right through me if I’d brought anything like that,” Betty said.  “Though I suppose they did regardless.”

She stifled a gasp when Jughead shifted her to lean out the door, the sudden rush of blood into her hand rippling with a thousand sharp, tiny pinpricks.  Ignoring her discomfort, he slipped down the hallway, navigating his way through the strange maze of white, florescent lit hallways.  They slipped out of the building into a common brick alleyway, littered with trash.  Steam rose into the chilly morning air and Betty shivered.

In the dim light, she realized Jughead was seething.  Strangely, she wanted both to apologize for getting into this situation and yell at him that she didn’t need saving.  

Instead, she did neither and thanked him for his help.

He narrowed his eyes at her, inspecting her as if for deceit.  Without another word, he slung his jacket around her shoulders and walked past her into the street.  It smelled of cold fields and damp earth, coffee and ancient leather.  A blush came to her cheeks as she realized how much she’d missed the scent.  

It was the concussion, she decided.  And the kidnapping and potential of being sacrificed to a madman claiming to be divine.  Otherwise she’d never have thought of so many descriptors of how Jughead smelled, walked, and talked.  She’d never wonder why he’d come to save her, nor why he seemed so angry about having to do so.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind Betty pulled the jacket on and trailed behind him, wondering how well the suggestion of waffles would go over.

[thewatchau]

Happy Hallow’s Eve!

Surprise! Y’all get three posts today! Mostly because I didn’t plan ahead and I know I’ll be using the afternoon queue slot for a report on Lord Jameson’s return, but no matter. 

Despite the significance of Hallows Eve (the night when magic both good and evil are strongest) in the lore of The Watch AU, this is the first time we’ve actually experienced one since I started writing all of this in December 2018. 

Therefore, I figured I would celebrate by directing y’all towards every single post that’s ever mentioned the strange magical occurrences and history of Hallows Eve (the night when magic both good and evil are strongest) so that everyone can appreciate the significance of this day together!

If you’re feeling inspired and want to write about the magical effects that your Watcher(s) experienced today or a past Hallow’s Eve, feel free to tag me in a post, send in an ask or submission, or just put it in the reblogs of this post! It doesn’t have to be anything fancy; I’m just interested to see where your imagination takes you. Then again, I’m pretty sure everyone’s imagination is currently fixed on the return of a certain silent lord later today... ;)

Alright, I’m done rambling. Without further ado, enjoy the Hallow’s Eve lore!

Hallow’s Eve and Fae Gardens: Why is this “the night when magic both good and evil are strongest” anyway? (Plus, more info on Fae Gardens themselves)

Boom in Magical Plant Growth: Hallow’s Eve’s practical significance to farmers and herbologists across Duilintinn. (Plus, more info on magical plants)

Historic Events on Hallow’s Eve: It’s the full original timeline, so it’s a bit long, but it’s worth it just to see the first time Hallow’s Eve is ever mentioned. ;)

[macksted-blog]

6 New Netflix Christmas Movies That Are Just In Time For The Holidays

While we're still in the middle of the spooky season that is Halloween, something much colder lurks around the corner. That's right: brace yourselves, Christmas movies are coming! And we're not just talking a couple of flicks either, as content providers like Hallmark have plans for a record number of yuletide cinematic offerings to be unleashed in the year 2019.

To compete with that sort of intense competition, one has to act pretty early... which is probably why Netflix has unveiled its holiday movies this very week. In free Time you can check this Netflix Gift Card Code Generator and Generate free Codes.

Not content with letting Hallmark do all the heavy ho-ho-holiday lifting, the streaming giant is looking to get into the game with a lot of movies, shows, and specials that'll warm your heart, as well as your cocoa.

In the middle of that burgeoning lineup are six original Netflix films that plan to win over one and all as the weather outside grows ever so frightful. Everything from sequels to holiday favorites, a long-awaited adaptation, and a couple of other surprises are in store for you lucky viewers.

Put on your hat and gloves, as this list is going to get real frosty real quick. Now let's see what's sledding into the Netflix queue throughout November and December's holiday season.

1. Holiday In The Wild

While you may love Christmas movies like no other genre in the world, you might be sick and tired of watching them all take place in the snow. Well, should you have this very specific demand, Netflix has you covered with our first film, Holiday In The Wild.

Starring Sex and the City's Kristin Davis as Kate, the film shows us a wife who tries to take the edge off of her son's departure for college with a romantic trip with her husband.

Strangely enough, that's right about the time he decides to dump her, leaving Kate to embark on an African safari all by herself. Luckily, Holiday In The Wild has a couple of things to take her mind off of her recent pains.

Thanks to some animal rescue scenarios, and a handsome pilot played by Rob Lowe, Kristin Davis' recently single woman will have a lot to keep her busy in this unconventionally warm holiday movie.

2. Let It Snow

Believe it or not, the film adaptation of the YA Christmas triptych Let it Snow has been in development for almost a decade.

Authors John Green, Maureen Johnson, and Lauren Myracle put together an impressive trio of stories that see a cast of teenage characters finding love, friendship, and happiness in one really snowy night in Richmond, Virginia.

Just as impressive as the list of authors involved in Let It Snow's literary incarnation, the movie version has quite a cast of heavy hitters itself. With an ensemble that includes Chilling Adventures of Sabrina's Kiernan Shipka, Spider-Man: Far From Home's Jacob Batalon, and fellow Spider-Person Shameik Moore, he of Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse fame, that's just the surface of the spectacular roster of talent that will bring this story to life.

3. Klaus

The legend of Santa Claus is about to get another fresh coat of paint, as Klaus reimagines the story of the beloved holiday figure in an animated comedy with a big heart. In this version of the story, Klaus (J.K. Simmons) is a lonely carpenter who teams up with a less-than-passing postal cadet named Jesper (Jason Schwartzman) to bring holiday magic to a village that's not in a holly jolly mood.

Co-starring Rashida Jones, Joan Cusack, and Will Sasso, Klaus is a Christmas movie that looks to give both kids and adults a new angle on a very classic tale. Not only does this look like a gorgeously animated film, but did we mention J.K. Simmons is playing this story's version of Santa? That feels like something people might be just a little interested in knowing.

4. The Knight Before Christmas

If the Christmas movies on Netflix had a royal court, you could bet that actor Vanessa Hudgens would be sitting right on that hallowed lineup of talent. After scoring a pretty big win with The Christmas Switch, Hudgens has gone back to playing one version of herself with this year's The Knight Before Christmas.

Don't think this is going to be some standard, business-as-usual holiday movie rom-com though, as there's a pretty big catch when it comes to the object of Vanessa Hudgens' affection this time out.

As luck, or misfortune, would have it, Hudgens' character of Brooke is a science teacher who's about to meet a guy from out of town. And by out of town, we totally mean that he's a time traveling knight from the medieval era.

Naturally she'll try to send him back to his own time, but if you know anything about holiday movies like The Knight Before Christmas, you can kind of see where this Christmas movie is going in the most charming way possible.

5. Holiday Rush

Christmas is probably the worst time to lose your job, especially in the world of holiday movies like Holiday Rush. Starring A Million Little Things' Romany Malco as a popular New York City radio DJ, and Star Trek Discovery's Soniqua Martin-Green as his producer, this Christmas movie comedy has Malco almost going off the air for good and his kids looking to get everything on their Christmas list.

As a deal to get him back into the broadcasting game is in the works, one big catch presents itself to Malco and his on-screen family: they have to live much simpler lives. With a story of family togetherness, and the help of the legendary Darlene Love in the role of the protagonist's aunt, Holiday Rush is going to be a race against time to save the day, and get a little bit closer to the ones we love.

6. A Christmas Prince: The Royal Baby

If you're one of those fans of Christmas movies who watched A Christmas Prince religiously back when it premiered in 2017, and if you're someone who really enjoyed seeing A Christmas Prince: The Royal Wedding continue the story of Rose McIver's Queen Amber and Ben Lamb's King Richard, then oh baby are you in for a fun time this year! You totally saw what I did there, as there's nothing better than throwing in a quick joke to announce that A Christmas Prince: The Royal Baby is on the way for this December.

For you folks out there who need a little more than a little prince or princess to spice up the sequel plot, how's this for a story? Not only will the king and queen have to restore peace with a foreign country, but if Amber and Richard fail, a curse will fall upon the kingdom of Aldovia. It all comes down to a missing 600-year-old treaty, and a midnight deadline, which only makes A Christmas Prince: The Royal Baby that much more of a fairytale for fans of Netflix's holiday movies to enjoy.