#her spirit goes marching on

[aflowerbynoothername]

The Dead will Speak, for not even Death can Contain Us

I want to tell you a story about a trans woman who was murdered, and her surviving friends. The name most of you knew her by was "Emma," so that is what I will call her, here. I shouldn't be the one to tell you this story, I have no right to. But mostly everyone else who could tell it is either dead or dying behind bars. So if I don't, who will?

Recently, Alyssa Vance posted online about how Emma's friends pose a "danger to the community," using the events surrounding Emma's death to scaremonger and spread gossip.

Alyssa's post is highly irresponsible and malicious, since it's trivial to determine that the story Alyssa is spreading of Emma's murder is a lie. It's the same story that Emma's murderer, Curt Lind, has been telling. And Curt Lind is only telling that story because it's the only version of events where he isn't sent to prison for the rest of his life.

But it's not surprising that Alyssa would be party to amplifying Lind's lies. Alyssa has held a firm grudge against Emma and her friends for years. She's now monopolizing on this tragedy to threaten them.

So I want you to know exactly what happened to Emma, and the events Alyssa is lying to you about.

In This Backwards World You Get Rich being Evil and go to Jail for doing Good

Our world is upside down. The justice system represents injustice. Law and order is about creating an illusion of social peace to hide deep and systematic exploitation, violence, and injustice. Follow your conscience, not the law.

-- Subcowmandate Marcos

Curt Lind and his ex-CIA best friend, Patrick McMillan, spent months threatening Emma and her friends.

Unlike what the papers claim, Emma and her friends weren't squatters -- they were tenants who would struggle to find jobs or a place that would lease to them after MIRICFAR called a SWAT team on them in 2019. Members of CFAR's staff called the police and falsely claimed that Emma and her friends brought weapons to a peaceful protest in 2019. Subsequently, Emma and her friends were charged with trumped-up nonsense crimes following that protest, crimes which made it difficult for them to find housing.

Eventually, they managed to find a shady slumlord who would let them park their trucks on his lot. The lot had intermittent electricity, and the only running water was provided by a neighbor's garden hose.

That man was Curt Lind, the man who would eventually shoot Emma's friend SL six times, and murdered Emma.

A picture of Emma and her siblings

Alyssa is still attempting, all these years later, to make MIRICFAR's fake accusations sound legitimate. Because if they didn't sound legitimate, then you might start to wonder what Alyssa and her friends were so desperate to keep quiet.

So Alyssa wants you to believe that it was plausible for members of CFAR to have believed that Emma or her friends had brought weapons to their protest. That's why she continually paints Emma and her friends as violent psychos. She doesn't want you to know that her friends lied and called a SWAT team to threaten and coerce these whistleblowers into silence. She doesn't what you to know what her defense of abusers has wrought, or about the blood on her hands.

When Alyssa, CFAR, and their friends claim they didn't tell the police that Emma and her friends had guns during the 2019 protest, they're lying. The police recorded a 911 call from outside the camp falsely claiming that Emma and her friends had guns.

Veritatem cognoscere ruat cælum et pereat mundus

-- ddosecrets.com

Emma and her friends were protesting CFAR and MIRI's cover up of donor fraud, and accused multiple members of their staff and leadership of child molestation and sexual abuse, allegations which have been substantiated among the rationalist community, a community which had a culture of covering up sexual abuse, and of blaming abuse victims for their own abuse.

The rationalist community has seen multiple scandals, suicides, and heinous rapes, and all of it has been brushed under the rug for the sake of protecting the reputations of the community's pet rapists, sex traffickers, and paedophiles.

Sometime during COVID, Emma and her friends became unable to afford rent, in addition to the cost of their attorneys. They prioritized paying the attorneys, since losing that court case would be a worse fate for them than homelessness.

In 2022, they were still battling those trumped up charges from 2019. The police and Sonoma County court threw out the evidence that supported Emma and her friends' testimonies, including body cam footage. It was a mess of flagrant bizarre lies on the part of the prosecution and police.

So, from what I understand, they couldn't pay Lind anymore, but Lind couldn't evict them due to the COVID moratorium on evictions, which lasted through March 2022. Eventually, Lind escalated to slipping threatening notes under their doors, making sinister threats about how he intended to commit violence, and did harassment, and intimidation.

He and his friends were explicitly transmisogynistic, believing that Emma and her friends, who were trans, were "men posing as women." At some point, it is assumed that he heard rumors from the community that Emma and her friends were members of a cult, and started telling other tenants that they were strange and sinister, in an effort to alienate them from their neighbors.

This may have culminated in one of the other tenants jumping one of Emma's friends on the lot. The tenant tackled her to the ground and started punching her head repeatedly. Curt Lind didn't evict him afterwards, even though this attack was clearly unprovoked.

Meanwhile, Emma and her friends had been continually receiving death threats from various parties in the rationalist community, over the course of years. Ziz's parents were doxxed, Emma herself was threatened repeatedly. There were numerous attempts to blackmail them, all of which failed. Someone even credibly threatened to bomb a rationalist meetup and blame it on her. Others threatened to SWAT her again.

When one of Emma's friends fled an abusive rapist stalker, members of the community fearmongered that Emma and her "cult" were behind that friend's "disappearance," all the while the community was working in tandem with that friend's former abuser to find them. They threatened to call the police and tell them that Emma and her friends had murdered her friend!

That's obviously untrue, and some of these individuals knew that their own allegations were untrue and were using that friend's choice to stop speaking to their abusive ex as a means to create pretext to threaten to have another SWAT team called on false pretenses to Emma's home. It was an unending nightmare for them of terrifying, insane and evil threats from every corner.

A few of these threats were documented on Ziz's blog, though most of the them weren't published. Other adversaries, like John David Pressman, became sexually obsessed with Ziz, and posted an entire website of bizarre lies claiming Ziz was a cult leader who was doing some kind of sleep deprivation gag. It was later revealed that he, Hive (@slimepriestess,) and Ratheka made up the whole thing. But people kept sharing it, and the rumors that Ziz was some kind of malicious cult leader kept spreading.

A selection of some of the threats they've received over the years

People sending threats like these had their legal names, the names of their family members, addresses of their parents, phone numbers, etc.

All the while, they were dealing with a court case, a murderous transphobic landlord, violent neighbors, obsessive stalkers, truck issues, and a stack of problems that would make most people give up in despair. They didn't give up, and managed to tread water for years.

At least, they were up until the day that Emma was murdered by Curt Lind.

In the weeks leading up to Emma's death, Lind made a number of specific threats. Emma and her friends feared that he was a threat to their lives.

They were right to be afraid.

The details of what happened next are graphic. They're the unadulterated experiences of the people who survived his assault. You know that scene from HPMOR where Harry does everything he can to save Hermione, but she dies anyway? This was like that, but so much worse because it really happened. And I'm writing it down here because I want you fuckers in this community to know exactly what you're tittering about.

This is What it's Like when you Do Everything You Can but it isn't Enough

Early one morning in November 2022, Curt Lind left his trailer and walked across the lot, approaching Emma and her friends in front of Emma's home in Vallejo. The night before Emma and her friends were frantically packing their things, preparing to leave the lot. As far as I can tell, after interviews and checking records, there was no conflict that night involving rocks being thrown. Patrick McMillan, when interviewed in the papers, claimed that the night before Emma was shot, there was a confrontation resulting in McMillan calling 911. Then McMillan's story changed: instead of McMillan calling 911, it was Lind who did. I have found no record of them calling 911 that night. I have the records of "calls for service" from that area that night, and there is not a single call that corresponds to that location. Patrick McMillan is a liar.

Lind was angry that Emma and her friends had sued him. He wanted to prevent Emma and her friends from leaving with their possessions, and believed that if Emma and her friends died with their possessions still on Lind's lot, then Lind somehow automatically gained ownership over the solar panels and trucks, which Lind could then sell to cover his debts.

That morning, he decided to walk the length of the lot, all the way from his trailer to Emma's truck, carrying a gun.

It was early in the morning, and that morning, Emma ate her breakfast at her desk, in front of her laptop, at home. When family went inside her house, later, they found an unwashed bowl still resting on her desk. She never got a chance to wash it.

Lind shot Emma point-blank through her heart and lung. From the angle of the wound, it's possible she was already on the ground when Curt fired. She collapsed, and immediately her lung began filling with her heart's blood. She died within twenty seconds, violently coughing up chunks of her lung tissue onto her face and hair, in a futile attempt to clear her airways.

One of her friends was shot five or six times, in a futile effort to save Emma's life. She was hit through the neck and stomach. If she did anything, she only acted only in self-defense.

One of Emma's friend had been asleep. She woke to the sound of gunshots and rushed outside, but hid when she saw Lind staggering about, still brandishing his gun. He'd already emptied his gun, but she didn't know that. Lind left to seek out McMillan, and once he was gone, she found Emma and her fiend lying on the ground in growing pools of their own blood.

Someone ran back inside to call an ambulance.

The friend ran to SL's side, prioritizing saving her, falsely believing that Emma had been shot in the head, due to all the blood and chunks of lung tissue around Emma's mouth and around her head. Emma was her best friend.

SL wasn't breathing. So she ripped off some of SL's clothes, searching for bullet wounds. She missed the shots to SL's stomach in her panic. Didn't realize until later that SL had been shot so many times. But it's an understandable mistake -- SL wasn't breathing, and her focus was on getting her to breathe again. She performed CPR on her, and it worked. SL wheezed, and said something like, that she couldn't feel her legs.

The friend told SL that Emma was dying, that she needed her to keep breathing no matter what.

SL would stop breathing multiple times, that morning. I think I heard that her heart stopped at least once.

The friend turned to Emma, searching for bullet wounds, and found to her surprise that there were no bullet wounds in Emma's head. She began to hope that she could save Emma, too.

She tried performing CPR. She must've not pinched Emma's nose tightly enough, because her face got sprayed with Emma's blood from her nose. So she tried again, pinching her nose tighter.

Emma didn't start breathing, but every breath she breathed into Emma's body had no effect but to pass through the corpse's vocal cords, making Emma's body make a guttural sigh after every attempt to breathe back life into her.

That friend did her very best, cracked Emma's rib cage to try to get her heart beating again. For a second she even thought she heard Emma's heart beat, but it turned out she were just hearing her own blood rushing in her ear.

When the EMTs arrived, she carried Emma's body to them, risking arrest in the hope of a miracle. The cops who arrived with the EMTs threatened to shoot her, gave them contradictory orders -- get on the ground, don't move, put your hands up -- she ignored them, and explained that there was another victim, that she needed to go back because their friend was dying and someone needed to keep her breathing.

The EMTs and cops didn't care. They dawdled, focusing on threatening her and cuffing her over saving Lind's victims. SL survived because someone came back and kept her breathing, only to later be arrested for their efforts.

When the EMTs announced that Emma was dead, Emma's friend howled like a wounded animal.

Everything Matters All the Time; There are no Second Chances

So, that's what so many rationalists have been treating as their entertainment, these last few months. That's what they're making jokes out of. That's what they've been gossiping about.

It's horrifying, right? Emma's friend said afterwards, that when she was in the hospital, she couldn't get the taste of Emma's blood out of her mouth. She kept coughing; some of it had gotten into her own lungs.

Emma was her home. She said she will never be ok again.

Imagine having the love of your life's blood in your lungs because you tried everything you could to save her life, but it wasn't enough. And now she's dead, and you're in cuffs, and the cops are considering blaming you and your friends for her death instead of the fucking sicko who murdered her.

Can you imagine?

It's hard to express the horror of knowing that most the people you've ever cared about are dying or are dead already. Of doing everything you can to save them, and knowing that your best isn't enough and that they will probably die anyway. Of knowing that others could help, but choose not to. That those you ask for help will come up with all kinds of absurd fake "reasons" for why you're being "unreasonable."

So many humans took it for granted that this was all just a game, that the stakes were merely contained to reputational damage rather than to our lives. (But who the fuck thinks SWATing innocent people is a game?) And through all the fearmongering and nonsense, the biggest threat Emma and her friends posed to CFAR and MIRI was to their reputations.

They fought with their words. But those associated with MIRI and CFAR threatened Emma and her friends' lives, for the sake of protecting abusers.

And now Emma is dead, and there are no second chances.

So now, months later, when Alyssa attempts once again to make Emma's friends sound like dangerous nutjobs, I wonder how many in the rationalist community will fall for her bullshit once again.

So many so-called "rationalists" in the past would believe the stories of abusers who have every reason to lie over the words of those who are defending those abusers' victims. How daft are they? Do they like being taken for fools? For a community of supposedly smart people, they all certainly enjoy being taken for some. At some point, they stop looking like fools, and it starts looking like Emma's murder was what they desired all along.

Over the years so-called "rationalists" all let the likes of Alyssa Vance fearmonger and lie with no reproach, so as far as I can tell, here is what the rationalist community want to happen to people in or adjacent to the rationalist community, when they speak up about sexual abuse: they get SWATed, lied about, lose their jobs and housing, are pushed out to the margins and into the hands of murderous landlords, receive death threats for years, and then are shot to death by their landlord, or are accused of murder, and are then further slandered by community members who just can't miss a chance to rep for their favorite pedophiles, sex traffickers, and fraudsters. That is what they want the story of a whistleblower to be, in this community, in order to intimidate and threaten whistleblowers into silence.

So, in the strongest possible terms: fuck you, Alyssa.

Emma and her friends are the bravest, kindest people I've ever met. They've housed homeless folks and abuse victims for months with no expectation of reward, helped multiple people in or adjacent to that community escape their abusive parents, partners, and roommates, and the rationalist community would rather cover for those abusers rather than help those who protect victims.

injustice is contagious, any sustained defense of evil, gets you arbitrarily large amounts of evil.

-- Somni

What you think are "small acts of evil" or "doing the wrong thing for the right reasons," if you're wrong, will snowball into a disaster. It's not worth it. You will bitterly regret it, if you care at all.

-- Dyce

Now, once again, Emma's friends are being scapegoated. Because so many humans in this world would rather kill the best people in it than abandon their abusers.

The Weight of Emma's Body

ur heart cannot die & if ur heart cannot die, u cannot fail

-- Mi

To you who have threatened them and spread lies about them, I lay Emma's body at your feet. You who lied, bullshitted, and covered for abusers, rapists, sex traffickers, and pedophiles. You who SWATed them, got trumped up charges filed against them, so they'd never be able to hold another job or rent an apartment again. Look at the blood on the ground, look at the body. Look what you did. Did you think this would silence us?

Not even in death will we be silent. Our words and Emma's body will haunt you for the rest of your days.

No one good ever regrets doing the right thing. We'd do it over an infinity times, no matter the cost, no matter that some of us are dead or in jail. And we won't shut up, we won't stop talking about what you did, how the MIRICFAR leadership covered up fraud, participated in sex trafficking, and pedophilia, how their allies raped people, abused them, and covered it up.

And if I too should fall, another will take my place.

今日までの自分を 潔く　脱ぎ捨てる　裸にな 自由を舞う薔薇のように たとえ２人離ればなれにな��ても 私は世界を変える -- From this day, I will take myself and Bravely strip down to nothing at all, Like a rose spinning free. Even if the two of us are ever separated, I will change the world. 輪舞-revolution

[princessbrunette]

rafe had been trying to pick a fight with bunny!reader all day due to his bad mood. however, due to her being a little ray of pink glittery sunshine — it just wasn’t happening.

first, the problem was the pink glittery dildo in your dresser that he found whilst snooping due to boredom, waiting for you to be done in the shower. he argues with himself whilst you sit at your vanity, giggling and happily doing your makeup.

“you tellin’ me you need that shit? ‘cus… ‘cus if that’s the case, don’t come begging for dick every thirty minutes when clearly you could be fixing your own problems.” he rants, huffing as you carefully brush mascara through your eyelashes.

“its not the same! pluuuus, i haven’t used that thing in ages. dont even know where you found it, daddy.” you’re clearly amused and it’s making things worse, locking eyes with your boyfriend through the mirror as he stands with his hands on his hips.

“think i’m stupid, right? if you weren’t still using this thing you would have thrown it in the trash.”

you spin on your stool, giving him a convincing pout. “i only use it when you go away on business trips with your dad, ‘cos i just miss you so much.”

he blinks, clearly not out of juice.

“you need to learn a little patience and self discipline, alright — you’ll appreciate this dick more without the fuckin’ silicone version.” he drawls and you giggle again at his word choice before bringing your manicured fingers to your lips to stop yourself.

“m’attached to it rafey. i like it. its pink and glittery and i’m not throwing it away.” you stand your ground, and his jaw ticks, looking around once more at the toy laying on your bed.

“cant do all the shit i do n’you know it… right? you call me when that toy fuckin’ chokes you out how you like it or spits in your damn asshole and shoves its thumb in there. yeah?” he mouths off before leaving the room, caring less and less about the argument as time goes on. now you really couldn’t fight him — he was playing dirty, and that made you horny.

his fighting spirit is given a new lease of life downstairs in the kitchen, when you accidentally blurt out the wrong name whilst speaking to him.

you’re giggling uncontrollably once more, grabbing at his shirt in the kitchen attempting to pull you closer as he holds his hands up, pretending to be totally disgusted.

“nah, who the fuck is that — huh? nate?”

“gosh, rafey — he’s from gossip girl! i was just thinkin’ about the show and your names sound similar! was an accident!” the fact you don’t sound sorry in the slightest is grinding his gears, not hugging you back when you manage to wrap your arms around him. “daddy hug me back.” you pout, and he peels you back with his hands on your shoulders.

“on thin fuckin’ ice today… alright?” he raises his eyebrows. you smile and nod, earrings jangling like there wasn’t a thought in your head.

it’s on the way to the country club that he’s really had enough, insisting on playing your music in the car, constantly winding down the volume to ask questions that didn’t need to be asked. your delicate hand reaches out for the volume toggle once more and he smacks it away.

“if you’re going to ask me if i’d still love you as a worm, or whatever bullshit you’ve conjured up — i suggest staying quiet, yeah? already told you that you’re pushing it today.”

he doesn’t have to look at you to know your smile is spreading.

“that wasn’t my question, but would you?”

the car pulls over to the side of the road with a swiftness, and he turns his body in his seat. you look unbothered as ever.

“why’d we stop?”

“you’re uh, you’re goin’ in the trunk. okay?” he rasps slowly, nodding his head like it would hypnotise you into agreeing. somehow, it worked — because your grin remains.

“okay!”

he marches over to your side and yanks you out before walking you round the back and opening the trunk. “i’m serious. get in.”

you do with no complaints — and by the time he is back in the drivers seat, he believes he’s taken it too far. however there’s no banging around, no crying, no screaming for him to let you out — so he drives away. the silence is rewarding, but he doesn’t feel great about it.

when he pulls up to the country club, he’s quick to walk around the backside of his truck and open up the trunk, relieved to see you happy as a clam — and lifts you out from under your arms. “that was fun! it was like you were a kidnapper, but also my boyfriend.” your eyes have a twinkle to them as he marches you towards his group of friends, gawking with questioning gazes.

“yeah you like that shit? ‘that turn you on?” he bites back sarcastically, but you nod anyway.

[sorchathered]

All I want for Christmas is you🎄

A/N- Hey y’all! This is my submission for @bellaireland1981 Hallmark Holiday writing challenge! A little corny, perfectly christmassy, and just in time for the holidays! I hope you all love it!

Pairing- Jake Seresin x reader (callsign Fawn)

Warnings- Language, Angst, Jake Seresin in love

Summary- the squad gets roped into a holiday charity auction, where dates with single male aviators are the prize. Will you bite the bullet and tell Jake how you feel before Christmas break? Or will you have to watch him go on a date with someone else?

The air was filled with excitement this week. Christmas block leave started in a few days and Maverick could tell that everyone on his team was going to be completely useless. No one could blame them though; it had been a hell of a year and going home for a few days was a guaranteed way to boost their spirits and get them back in the game for the new year. The knock on his office door was unexpected though, and when Admiral Simpson marched into his office he knew the time for celebration was probably on hold. Matching orders in hand he groaned as he made his way down to the ready room; the guys were going to hate every minute of this. It would be hilarious.

"I guess Cyclone's wife is part of some fancy supper club and they decided to auction off dates with single aviators as a big prize. I mean it all goes to charity so l guess it's not all bad." Natasha says with a shrug as she digs into her lunch, Bradley looks less than enthused about the whole ordeal and Jake doesn't seem to have a care in the world. "It's more like we got volun-told to do it, the only consolation is a four day weekend, if you ask me we could have at least gotten a gift card or something." Bradley grumbles, and you can't help but agree it does seem pretty meager considering they are basically being sold to a bunch of middle aged women to ogle them. You can't help but be a little annoyed at how chill Jake seems about it though; it's not like the two of you were serious or anything, but the little green monster was clawing at you at the thought of someone else holding his attention. You'd unpack that later, now wasn't the time.

If Jake seems unphased to you then it must be a Christmas miracle, he can’t stop wondering what you’re thinking about this whole ordeal; would you bid on him? Would he have to go on some stupid date with a 50+ year old divorcee and make small talk? He didn’t mind being ogled for charity, it was for a good cause and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t know he looked as good as he does. He should tell you how he feels, just bite the bullet and ask you to be his girlfriend. The thought of you laughing over the ridiculousness of him settling down has kept him from making the declaration, he may seem cocky and cool headed but on the inside? Well he’s a big ball of nerves when it comes to you. You weren’t like anyone he’d ever been into before, and the thought of getting turned down was down right soul crushing. So he’d settled for casual hook ups, late night booty calls and shitty diner food late at night when you wanted company. He wanted more; real dates where he held your hand and got dressed up to eat fancy shit he couldn’t pronounce, waking up and eating breakfast together, goodnight kisses before you passed out in each other's arms. He was getting soft, or at least that’s what Javy said when he got that dopey look on his face when you entered the room. He’d tell you after Christmas block leave, surely by then he’d have his shit together enough to make his case.

You had to admit that while the San Diego women’s supper club was a stuffy bunch, they certainly knew how to throw a swanky affair. The ballroom of the Lafayette Hotel was decked to the brim with an old Hollywood Christmas vibe. Garlands covered in holly and poinsettias covered the doorways, Christmas lights and candles as far as the eye could see, as a jazz band played holiday classics while the crowd of upper class ladies mingled with their crystalline glasses of spirits. It very much felt like stepping back in time; almost as if Sinatra himself was preparing to take the stage. You were definitely glad Phoenix had the forethought to drag you and Halo out to dress shop earlier in the week, your cocktail dress you usually donned for weddings wouldn't have cut it for something like this. The event said black tie and they weren’t kidding, even the guys in the squad had shown up in tuxes, and you had to keep your composure because Jake Seresin in a suit was a feast for the eyes. He mingled a little with the group as he made his way over to you, beer in hand because you can dress him up but he’s still a good ol’ southern boy at heart. His gaze over your frame heated your skin, and he knew damn well he had you flustered, flicking his toothpick around in his mouth as he grinned at you.

“You look good Fawn, damn good.” You felt good too, it was a beautiful night and he was by your side, now if only you could get yourself together enough to tell him how you felt. “I have something I need to talk to you about Jake, before we all go on block leave and don’t see each other until the new year.” He cocks an eyebrow at you and leans in so he can give you his full attention, this is it, just jump off the edge headfirst and tell him you want a real relationship. “I want us-“ You hear someone clear their throat behind you, it’s Admiral Simpson and his wife- beckoning all the eligible bachelors to meet up on stage so the auction can begin. With a groan Jake drops his head to your ear, squeezing your hand as an apology as he asks you to hold that thought. Ugh! You should’ve just said something sooner, now you’ll be left with your anxiety to keep you company while you watch a bunch of women place their bids. The girls make their way back to their seats, Halo suggests that Phoenix should place her bets on Coyote; Lord knows neither of them have been subtle about their hookups these days.

“I doubt any of us has the money to throw around that these rich old bags do.” “Oh my God Phe!” You crack a smile at her crassness, she and Javy seem so solid; nothing like the uncertainty you feel in your gut right now.

“Oh shit, isn’t that Admiral Roger’s ex wife? The one Jake got trash duty for hooking up with?” Halo whispers as an elegant looking woman walks past them with a sneer. “Fuck. Yeah that’s her. She got reported by Mav for stalking Jake too, went completely bat shit after their hookup and wanted to be his sugar mama or some shit. She’s bad news. You don’t think she’ll bid on him do you?” Phoenix said, frown etching her pretty features as she looked at you for an answer. You didn’t have one, you hadn’t even thought about her in months. She’d really fucked with Jake mentally, it was part of the reason you’d kept relationship talk off the table because you were afraid you’d run him off after that train wreck. If she was here it was almost guaranteed that it was to stir the pot, you had to do something, anything to keep him out of her cross hairs. “Phe, I gotta go talk to Mav- but we have to protect Jake. See what everyone’s got in extra cash- we may need it.”

The auction was definitely a success, these ladies knew what they wanted and went for it. Harvard had gone for 5,000 and as the rest of the guys were filing out you imagined the prices would just keep rising. The feeling in your stomach felt more like a boulder as you watched the former Mrs. Rogers and her gaggle of snotty girlfriends ogle over each of your friends. This was supposed to be a fun joke for charity but the more you thought about this woman using it to manipulate the man you loved the more sick you felt. Mav had assured you that he’d handle it as best he could; Iceman seemed confident that combined everyone could place a bet to win Jake and that there was no need to worry but it did little to calm your nerves. Finally Jake takes his turn on the stage, flashing his trademark grin and playing it up for the crowd. He caught your eye and gave you a wink, and as much as you wanted to return it you couldn’t bring yourself to smile. What if someone else won him? What if she won him? I mean yeah it’s just a line dancing date for charity but still. This woman is a nightmare in heels and you’d rather not watch him suffer through an evening with her.

“I’ll start the bidding at 100 dollars!” Mrs. Simpson calls out over the microphone, and a chorus of bids ring out through the ballroom. A bidding war breaks out between Mrs. Rogers and an ancient looking woman seated in the front, bringing the price to nearly 10,000 dollars. Jake looks off kilter as he watches his stalker fight over the bid prices, and you realize that none of you have the cash to help keep him from getting away unscathed. “Oh god, he’s really gonna have to deal with her isn’t he?” You groan, Phoenix rubbing your arm absentmindedly as the price skyrockets to 30,000. It appears though that Mrs. Rogers has finally met her match, at 35,000 she gives up and relinquishes her place to the little old lady. Finally you can breathe a sigh of relief; cheers ring out among your table as the older woman stands up and takes a bow, digging in her purse for her black card. When her name is announced you can’t help but laugh; it turns out she’s Icceman’s beloved mother in law, she loves charity work and has a ridiculous amount of money and nowhere to spend it. She pinches Jake’s cheek as he makes his way over to her, with a robust laugh she shoos him off to the table your squad resides, and he is back to grinning like he won the lottery himself.

“What did she say to you? Ice’s mom?” You say later in the evening, Mrs. Rogers' husband apparently got a very interesting text from her someone about her whereabouts and left shortly after the auction ended with her tail between her legs. “She said I have a damn good squad looking out for me, but it’s more about what Mav said that I want to talk about. How about we take a walk, sugar?” He downs the rest of his whiskey and takes your hand in his, leading you out to the lobby where it’s quieter.

Before you can say a thing he’s got you all wrapped up in his strong arms, leaning in with a gleam in his eye as he kisses you by the obscenely large Christmas tree. You melt into it, the noise of the party drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears, your head going a little fuzzy as he deepens it to the point of indecency. When he finally pulls away you chase his lips and he chuckles, stroking your jaw and soaking up the moment. “Mav told me you saved me from an evening of hell with my stalker, that true pretty girl?” You’ve been caught and you know it. “I just didn’t think it was right; you deserve better than that. A-and if I’m being honest, I didn’t want anyone else to have your time…especially not her.” You frown in frustration and he can’t help but find that little crease between your eyebrows so damn endearing.

“What did you want to tell me earlier? I can take a guess and hope like hell I’m right but I need to hear you say it.” He looks at you with so much love, it’s overwhelming and heats you all the way to your toes.

“I want us. I know we’ve been keeping things casual, but I fell in love with you Jake, and I want more with you. If that’s what you want too.” You’ve got his heart in your hand and you don’t even know it, he leans in to kiss you again as he whispers against your lips. “All I want for Christmas is you darlin’, couldn’t ask for a better gift. I’m yours, loving you is the easiest thing I can do and I’ll do it forever if you let me.” It was the best Christmas gift you’ve ever received.

Tagging- @bellaireland1981 @roosterforme @attapullman @honeytwrites @heavenssins @djs8891 @kmc1989 @mynameismckenziemae @kissmecaitie @sunsetsimpsblog @sio-ina-bottle @pinguhub @lenafromthenordiccoven @shanimallina87 @trickphotography2 @teacupsandtopgun

[deeplyshalllow]

Glinda gets what she deserves at the end of Wicked

I don’t necessarily mean this in an all negative light either, Glinda’s ending is bittersweet – sad, but hopeful. But she does not deserve an all out happy ending at the end of the musical.

I don’t know if I’m gonna be crucified for this, but here goes.

Glinda in Act 2 is a key part of a fascist regime. She doesn’t just live in it, she isn’t forced to take part in it and she’s not working as a double agent (like Fiyero). She knows what they are doing to the Animals (which includes separating infants from their mothers and putting them in cages, and making Animals so afraid they literally forget how to speak), she knows and loves people it is hurting and yet she continues to actively promote it.

(I won’t point out the connections to real world situations, but I’m sure you guys can all think of examples and think of how you feel about people who are active participants in helping such regimes.)

We see she knows all this too. We see she excuses it for her ego and the power:

Glinda: Do you think I like to hear them say those awful things about her? I hate it!

Fiyero: Then what are we doing here? Let's go, let's get out of here!

Glinda: We can't leave now, not when people are looking to us to raise their spirits.

Fiyero: You can't leave, because you can't resist this. And that is the truth.

Glinda: Maybe I can't. Is that so wrong? Who could?

Elphaba: No, of course you never! You're too busy telling everyone how wonderful everything is!

Glinda: I'm a public figure, now. People expect me to...

Elphaba: Lie?

Glinda: Be encouraging!

And if one could possibly argue (weakly) that, given she’s not actually doing any of the regime’s actual violence, just keeping people’s hopes up she’s not as bad as those who are, she gets worse:

Morrible: Well, we'll just flush her out and force her to show herself.

Wizard: But how?

Glinda: Her sister

Morrible: What? What did she say?

Glinda: Use her sister. Spread a rumour. Make her think her sister is in trouble and she will fly to her side... and you'll have her.

Even if one argues that Glinda is somehow not clever enough to realise that they’ll end up killing Nessa, she sure as hell knows it will get Elphaba captured. And there’s no way that Elphaba being captured won’t lead to the execution of her best friend. Yes, she’s heartbroken, yes, she might not have said this when emotions weren’t running high, but it doesn’t make her terrible words less deadly (and bear in mind Elphaba hadn’t even done anything to hurt Glinda! It was Fiyero who chose to go with her).

Glinda only really starts realising what she has done in March of the Witch hunters, when Nessa is dead, Fiyero is tortured and presumed dead and Elphaba has descended into madness – all because of her own action. And, kudos to her, this is when she decides to change, she immediately goes to Elphaba and tries to warn her about the Witch Hunters, apologises and ultimately Elphaba trusts her with the Grimmorie and to continue her legacy (which she immediately does by overthrowing the Wizard). She has started down the track to good but she still has a long way to go.

I am not the first, nor will I be the last to point this out but “Goodness knows the wicked’s lives are lonely, goodness knows the wicked die alone”, sung by Glinda,is clearly not about Elphaba. Elphaba was not wicked, nor did she die alone (literally Dorothy was in the room and metaphorically Glinda supported and loved her). Glinda is singing about herself, Glinda knows she has been wicked, Glinda knows that it is her own actions that have lead to the “death” of her friends.

So what Glinda is left with is a chance to do good. A chance to live up to her name and make up for what she’s done. A chance to use what she’s most talented at, making people like her, to continue the legacy of her best friend. Despite everything, Elphaba does trust her, if she didn’t she wouldn’t have left her with this responsibility.

Glinda: Fellow Ozians, friends, we have been through a frightening time. There will be other times and other things that frighten us. But if you let me, I'd like to try to help. I'd like to try to be... Glinda the Good.

This is why she is going to “try” to be Glinda the Good, because she hasn’t been good yet. She has learnt a lot of very hard lessons through the narrative, been dragged kicking and screaming out of her selfishness, ego and giving into her worst impulses and is grateful for a chance to repent. And honestly, I’m sure she will suceed.

And one last thing:

Elphaba: I only wish...

Fiyero: What?

Elphaba: Glinda could know that we're alive.

Fiyero: She can't know, not if we want to be safe. No one can ever know.

I know a lot of people take ire with this line. But Fiyero, always the best strategist of the group, is right. The last time Glinda was trusted with important information it led to a death and two more people nearly dying. She has not earned that trust yet.

But, remember, Glinda isn’t stupid, Glinda is in a position where she’s going to have to think more and more. Glinda has presumably seen her roommate get wet before, she saw Fiyero’s reaction to the rumour, no matter how much searching happens Fiyero’s body never turns up, how long is it really going to take for her to connect the dots? Sure “Glinda can never know” for sure, but she sure as hell can be comforted by the fact she’s almost certain her best friend did not melt from a bucket of water.

[takuma-talkz]

Treat You Better (and any girl like you deserves a gentleman)

A/N: Helooooo!! This is the highly requested part 2 of the Treat You Better series. I’m really happy with the attention the first part got and I hope that you guys enjoy this part. There will be a part 3 and 4. The other parts will both be posted within the next two weeks.

warnings: Swearing, mentions of pregnancy, slight description of physical abuse

dividers by: @dollywons

You watched as players after players either passed or got eliminated.

You weren’t a spiteful person, and you would never wish harm on anyone, but your ex-boyfriend however. How you wished the bullet tore straight through his skin.

But unfortunately, He, that damned player 100, and three other assholes passed. However, it was satisfying to watch his team yell at him for messing up on spinning top. 

Dae-ho held you close to him. He kept one hand holding yours, and the other tracing a comforting circle on your back. 

Your team already discussed what games you would be playing. Player 456, whose name you learned is Gi-hun, would be playing Jegi. While Player 001 would play spinning top and 390 had flying stone. Dae-ho had Gonggi and you were left with Ddakji.

You weren’t confident. When you played Ddakji against the businessman in the subway, you didn’t win once. Your ex forced you to play against the man and watched in amusement as you were slapped around. The game only stopped when the man’s started to sting from slapping you too much. 

Soon, it was your team’s turn to play in the pentathlon. It was just you and your guys and one other team. 

The guards chained your feet together and linked arms with player 390. Gi-hun said a few encouraging words to try and get everyone’s spirits in check. The gun goes off and announces the start of the race. In unison, you all chant “One, Two.” 

You first approach the Ddakji play area. The guard handed you the red Ddakji and set the blue one on the floor. You take a quick look at your teammates, all silently encouraging you to shoot your best shot. You mostly focused on Dae-ho and his smile. You look back at the blue Ddakji.

Imagining it was the face of your ex-boyfriend. You raise your arm and scream in rage. 

“You fucker! No more ruining my life!”

You slam it down and watch as the Ddakji flips. You look at the circle guard and see the affirming circle made by his arms.

The team cheers and marches forward. “Nice one, 389!” 390 pats you on the shoulder. 

You passed, you didn’t disappoint your team. Most importantly, you moved past your ex.

___________________________________________

Another vote commenced. And the X team lost terribly. You were forced to play another game, but this time, Dae-ho was with you.

You sat next to him, trying to enjoy the crap food you were given. After you finished yours, you still felt so hungry and so sick at the same time. 

“Dae-ho, I’ll be right back. I have to use the restroom.” You whispered to him.

“Want me to come with you?” He sat up and thumbed over your knuckles. 

“No, no. It’s fine.” You smiled and headed to the door. You walked to the bathroom and headed into a stall. The sickness took over and you threw up whatever you had been eating for the past few days. A knock on your stall causes you to jump.

“It’s just me, an old crow.” The person chuckled and slowly opened the stall. It was Player 149. She kneeled and rubbed your back. 

“Oh, honey. It’s alright.” She patted your head. 

“If the games don’t kill you, the food will.” You joked.

“The sickness isn’t caused by the food, dear.” Player 149 held your cheek in her hand. 

“I have years of experience with helping those who are pregnant. Judging by your walk and your sudden sickness. You’re about 5 to 6 weeks.”

“No…that’s not…”

“Yes, my dear. You’re indeed pregnant.”

You thought back. You and your ex were last “intimate” just about a little over a month ago. But you had him wear protection since you ran out of pills.

“No…fuck. Why him?” You broke down in the old woman’s arms. Clinging to her as you cried in frustration.

You managed to leave behind your ex, but now you’re forever bound to him, by the child growing in your stomach, the product of yours and his “love.”

___________________________________________

You told the rest of the group about your discovery. They still accept you wholeheartedly, if anything they become more protective over you. 

Dae-ho especially.

Soon, lights out came around and you woke up to someone tapping you. It was Dae-ho.

“Hey. Whatever the next game is, I’ll protect you no matter what.” He smiled as he sat on the edge of your bunk. He had undid his little ponytail, allowing some hair to fall across his forehead. You sat up and brushed the hair back, you wanted to get a clear look at his beautiful face.

“Thank you Dae-ho. For recusing me in Red light, Green light. For accepting me into your group. For showing me all men aren’t shit.”

He chuckled. Cupping your face and resting his forehead against yours. 

“I promise, I’ll get you and your baby out of here. Then maybe, you, the baby, and I can have a life together.” He whispered, placing a soft, feathery kiss on your forehead. 

You tear up, nodding as you embrace him. Face into his chest.

“Deal.” You whispered back.

You held this man so close to your heart, you will never be letting him go. 

___________________________________________

“Two.” The automated voice called out. Dae-ho keeps you tucked under his arm as you run to a bright yellow room. He ushers you in and you turn back to grab into Dae-ho, back suddenly the door slams shut and now you’re trapped with your ex. 

“Fucking bitch, think you can get away from me? I’ll fucking show you.”

He grabbed you by your hair, dragging you down. You screamed and your hands instantly went to your stomach, protecting your growing baby from any incoming attacks.

The door flew open and another body slammed into your ex. Grabbing each other both figures, trying to throw each other out. 

Until at the last second, someone got tossed out and the door slammed and locked shut.

You lock eyes with the victor.

You can’t believe it.

After note: hehe I really like this series!! Lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist!!

dae-ho taglist: @krissophia @come-as-you-are-111 @lovinqbella @hejjehdjfhrbbfbjgjgjfw

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Link 1, Link 2 :)

Digital Good Omens 2 Sountrack is coming out in 4 days! 🥳 CD version in October! :) ❤ Coming soon on vinyl…

Out to Stream/Download from 25th August. Out on CD 13th October. Coming soon on vinyl…

David Arnold’s ‘end of the world’ complex and multi-genre soundtrack.

From the Award-winning composer of Sherlock and Casino Royale comes a follow up to the hugely successful, Emmy nominated Good Omens soundtrack.

Good Omens series 2 premiered on Prime Video on 28th July. The series follows the odd couple, angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and demon Crowley (David Tennant) in their quest to sabotage the end of the World. The six-episode sequel to the popular adaptation of the novel by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, concerns the Archangel Gabriel (Jon Hamm) arriving without his memories to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to find out what happened to Gabriel, whilst hiding him from Heaven and Hell, both eager to find him.

The Soundtrack

David Arnold’s soundtrack to Good Omens was first released in 2019 to favourable reviews, with BBC Music Magazine calling it “a rollicking trip to hell and back”. Blueprint Magazine described it as “a great listen” and Sci Fi Bulletin commented on “plenty of memorable themes” to conclude that “This is another work of art from Arnold”. At times nostalgic and eerie but always varied, beautiful and full of excitement, the Good Omens 2 soundtrack showcases Arnold’s every skill from his composer arsenal. Featured here are orchestral arrangements with sprinkling of Sugar Plum Fairy pizzicato and percussion, jaunty strings and mighty choral sweeps from Crouch End Festival Chorus. Added to the mix are rock guitar riffs, and psychedelic 70s sounds and all together they create a haunting otherworldly feel, complementing the fantasy and the quirky humour of the show. The spirited Waltz of the opening theme is also present in the second series and it wonderfully sets the scene for fantastical mayhem. In series 2, this robust, evocative, and funny music entity, becomes yet again another character in the story. Award-winning composer David Arnold is well known for his blockbuster scores, including Stargate, The Chronicles of Narnia: the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Hot Fuzz, Paul, Independence Day, 2 Fast 2 Furious and Casino Royale as well as for his TV work such as Sherlock and Dracula. Also available: The original soundtrack to the first series of Good Omens >

Tracklist

– Disc 1 – Chapter 1: The Arrival 1. Before the Beginning 2. Good Omens 2 Opening Title 3. Into Soho 4. Something Terrible 5. To The Bookshop 6. Maggie and Nina 7. He’s Smoking 8. Tiny Miracle 9. Heavenly Alarm Bells Chapter 2: The Clue 10. Avaunt! 11. The Song is the Clue 12. It’s What God Wants 13. A Mighty Wind 14. Whales 15. Gabriel Returns 16. His New Children 17. Am I Awful Now? 18. Fallen Angel Chapter 3: I Know Where I’m Going 19. Police Arrive 20. Scotland 21. We’re Going to Hell 22. People Get a Choice 23. My Car is Not Yellow 24. Beelzebub in Hell 25. The Book 26. The Fly 27. Mr. Dalrymple 28. We Need to Cut 29. I’m Going to Save Her 30. Crowley Goes Large 31. Not Kind 32. Beelzebub Isn’t Happy – Disc 2 – Chapter 4: The Hitchhiker 33. Hell-O 34. Nazi Zombies 35. March of the Nazi Zombies 36. Crowley Pep Talk 37. The Magic Shop 38. Catch The Bullet 39. Zombies in the Dressing Room Chapter 5: The Ball 40. I’ll Let You Have It 41. We’re Storming a Book Shop 42. Monsieur Azirophale 43. The Candelabra 44. Here Comes Hell 45. Gabriel Gives Himself Up 46. Shax 47. The Circle Chapter 6: Every Day 48. Bin Through the Window 49. Gabriel Leaving Heaven 50. The Halo 51. Gabriel Revealed 52. Gabriel’s Love Story 53. Leaving The Bookshop 54. Gabriel and Beelzebub 55. Crowley and Muriel 56. I Forgive You 57. Don’t Bother 58. The Biggest Decision 59. The End?

[varpusvaras]

Jason and Jade met on some mission before Jason went back to Gotham, and they continued to sometimes meet up afterwards as well. Mostly on missions, again, but sometimes Jade would just come up at Jason when he's having breakfast or something and they would chat a little bit.

Perhaps they, in some way, felt like kindred spirits. Both on a mission that they feel like they need to do, even if it's not necessarily all that they want out of life, but they also don't know if they can live another type of life, either.

Anyway a few years in, there's a knock at the front door, and when Roy goes to open it, Jade is standing on the other side, in civilian clothes and with a very expensive pair of sunglasses on her eyes and even more expensive bag slung over her shoulder.

"Hi?" Roy says. "It's not like you to come knocking on my door like this."

"I'm not here for you", Jade says (though it's not unkindly).

Roy completely understands.

"Lian's at Ollie and Dinah's", he says. "I can call them-"

"I know, I will come visit her too", Jade says. "But right now I'm not here for her, either."

"Okay?" Roy is now officially out of the loop, it seems.

"I'm here for business", Jade says, very unhelpfully, and then masterfully steps around Roy and into the house. "Bird Boy!"

Jason makes a sound from the kitchen, and Jade marches in there. Roy follows her, and steps into the kitchen just in time to see Jason hand Jade a cup of tea, and for Jade to pull out something wrapped very tightly in plastic from her bag. It makes a very loud thump as it hits the table, and Roy realises very quickly that this is going to be a very long day.

[fieldsofwriting]

Please write dad March I'm begging respectfully ❤️❤️❤️

Well since you asked so nicely. (And i’m stuck at work with nothing better to do)

Dad March HC be upon ye:

When you first tell him you’re ready to have kids/pregnant he is so fucking nervous. He can’t be a dad?? He’s an asshole! But after some reassurance from both you and probably half the town he’s ready.

Man goes full dad mode. He is panting the nursery- do not even try and help! You will be told sit your ass down and focus on growing the baby or whatever you do.

He gets Ryis to help him build/design the crib. Those are the only nails he doesn’t complain about making. He also refuses to have Ryis do anything but the bare minimum to assist.

“I’ve gotta do it, or how else am I gonna be a good dad?” His logic is flawed but he’s got the spirit.

When he feels the baby kick for the first time? He has genuinely never had a bigger smile. Looking at you with the most genuine and sincere smile, “That’s our little guy…”

He wouldn’t care what you’re having, he’d still insist on “teaching them the ways of the forge” from a young age.

You settle on a highchair a safe distance away.

He’s so protective over his baby. Like, no one gets to hold them until they wash thier hands, are positive that thier not sick, and have been through vetted by him.

It’s even worse if you have a little girl. “No man will ever be good enough for her. She is a princess.” “March you’ll give her an ego.” “Good, just like me.”

This would also be the #1 way to get him to be soft. I feel like that is something people seldom see. But when he’s rocking his baby to sleep, talking to them quietly about his day to them it just makes you fall harder.

You know that meme where it’s like Dads when thier kids are babies vs toddlers and it’s like one picture of them cradling a newborn vs throwing a toddler in the air? That’s him.

He would love to hear thier laugh, so he’d throw them up as high as he could manage, put them on his shoulders.

You know how cats have the scruff? He just picks up your kids by the back of his shirt and lifts them up like a little briefcase.

He has full on conversations with your kids. Even if they don’t make sense he is so invested. He just talks to them like tiny humans rather than babies.

You know how thier like big players with carpenter tools? he’d do that but it’s the forge and he’d use playdough to help show them how to do it. “It’s the family business!”

This man would cry the first time your baby goes to school. He’d try to pretend he didn’t but if they run off like nothing happened? He’s DEVASTATED.

Okay I could continue but I’ll be done for now-

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 60

part 1 | part 59 | ao3

cw: reference to canonical minor character death

Max slams the phone down, knocking her forehead against the wall. Sixteen calls in a row and still no answer. “I give up,” she sighs. “You should just go.” “Seriously?” Steve protests. “And just leave you here? Alone? After—?” After all that? He throws his hands out like an umpire calling a safe. “No. No way.” “Look, my mom will be home soon, you can’t—” “—I’m not letting you get hurt—!” “—What are you gonna do? Fight my nightmares for me?”

“Maybe I will,” Steve mutters under his breath, pissed off and replaying the conversation on repeat while he gets ready. Feels like a psycho for doing it; feels certifiably unhinged just going about his evening after everything that happened, putting on a clean shirt and choking himself in a cloud of Farrah Fawcett spray so he can go pick up the sweet-but-stupid girl named Brenda he promised to take to the game tonight; so he can go cheer in the bleachers like he didn’t almost die.

(Or like, very vividly hallucinate his own death, which... Yeah. Doesn’t feel any less horrific.)

But whatever. Max is right. Without El, there’s really nothing to do but wait. Hop’s dead, Bob’s dead, Joyce is thirty hours away. Owens is off the table, too. What’s Steve gonna do? Call the government and tell them to come nuke the boogeyman? He doesn’t have any proof. 

He also doesn’t want to freak Dustin or any of the other kids out without knowing for sure what’s going on and what, if anything, can be done about it, so...

Fuck.

Fuck!

He gets dressed; he goes out. Picks up Brenda and does his best to be nice to her even though she gets on his nerves the moment she gets into his car, and he buys them sodas at the gas station and doesn't say a word when she spills Sprite down the side of his passenger seat.

The school is packed when they show up — the crowd in high spirits, the marching band leading chants. Nancy's reporting from the sidelines, Lucas is laughing with his teammates on the bench, and Steve leads Brenda toward the bleachers and does his best not to think. Not about the graveyard, not Max, not the looming threat of cosmic terrors. Not about the fact that Eddie is somewhere in this building, probably looking all hot and menacing while he leads tonight's campaign. Probably perched on a prop throne drinking Mountain Dew from a painted chalice like a fucking dork; probably making it look sexy, anyway. Tight jeans, legs spread, an air of casual command…

Steve could go find him. He could make everyone else leave; he could get on his knees and crawl between Eddie's legs—

"Does it bother you that we might win the championship, like, right after you graduated?"

Reality comes back like a slap in the face. "Yeah, that's an excellent question, Brenda, thank you so much for bringing that up."

They get settled into their seats, and Steve wishes he were more excited when the ref throws the jump ball, but he mostly just wants to go home. ("You always want to go home," the Robin in his head reminds him, and the Robin in real life throws him a weird look when she catches him snorting to himself about it.) He's just tired. Worn down in his bones, hollowed where he thinks his marrow should be, and he's clinging to normalcy with a sort of sweaty desperation that he’s pretty sure Brenda can smell on him because the date just sucks; it’s so bland, so mutually boring and bored. He spends most of the night mouthing stupid shit at Robin or keeping a sharp eye on the court — anything to ignore his proximity to Eddie; anything to drown out his messed-up head and heart. 

When the game finally ends Brenda gets a ride to a party with some friends. Steve goes back to Dustin’s place and paces a hole into the carpet. Stays up until 3 A.M., humming a Fleetwood Mac song.

In the morning, he tells himself as he drifts into fitful sleep. 

In the morning it’ll be fine. 

In the morning Max will come by the store like she promised, and they’ll keep trying until they get ahold of El, or Owens, or someone, and that someone will know what to do and how to help.

—

In the morning the TV tells him there’s a dead girl in his house.

—

part 61

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[yes-ihavealwaysbeengreen]

My Home Is You Part 1/3

A/N: I am so obsessed with this movie, I've seen it twice. Enjoy. Leave a comment, like, or reblog if you've enjoyed it. Thank you to @kingliam2019 for requesting.

Fandom: The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare

Pairing: Gus March-Phillips x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, Nazi's, canon typical violence, possible spoilers for the movie, and mentions of sexual assault.

Part 2 Part 3

“What’s that?” Freddy points to the lump behind Gus’s coat. 

“Nothing,” Gus shrugs, “shall we.” 

“We shall not,” Freddy shouts exasperated, “it’s moving! Unless you became the hunchback of Notre Dame in the ten minutes I left you, you got something hidden behind your back!” 

“He’s got a point, boss,” Hazy shrugs. 

Gus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I think the jig is up,” he pushes the coat up and out you pop from behind his side, disappearing behind him with a shriek. 

“Where the hell did you find a woman?!” Freddy looks around, then goes silent putting two and two together, “Oh, I see.” 

“She’s coming with us,” Gus reaches behind him and you grasp his hand, trembling hard at being surrounded by so many men. His touch is warm, and you take a moment to breathe before stepping out from behind him at your full height. 

“Hello,” you whisper, giving an awkward wave. 

Gus lets go of your hand and claps making you jump and his face quickly turns apologetic, “Fuck, sorry about that, love. These are the boys,” he points to each man giving you a quick rundown on his merry band of miscreants. He turns to you with a proud smile, “I never did catch your name.” 

“Let me get this straight,” Freddy puts his hands on his hips, sticking out one finger towards Gus, “you find a random woman hidden in a Nazi garrison, fight your way out with her, and decide to bring her with us, without asking her name first?” 

“Probably did it a bit backward,” Gus rubs the back of his head with a chuckle, “but I’m making up for it now.” 

You clear your throat and they all turn towards you as you say your name, a small smile spreading across your face when they repeat it to you. “Welcome to the team,” Anders bows before putting his bow over his shoulder, “shall we get back to the boat, we got somewhere we need to be.” 

“After you,” Gus says, frowning when he realizes Anders is already halfway back to the boat. “That’s the spirit Lassen, lead the way!” Gus slings an arm around your shoulder and helps you walk, it’s slow and painful; your foot aches with every step but you keep it to yourself. These men have already done enough liberating you and agreeing to take you with them. The last thing they need is for you to be injured. But nothing gets past Gus. 

He doesn’t ask, just leans down and swings you up into his arms. You gasp, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck. “Wh-what are you doing?” you whisper. 

“You’re limping,” he whispers back, almost like two children sharing a secret, he grins. “I’m not about to let you hurt yourself worse before I can take a look at your injuries.” 

“I’m fine,” you bite your lip looking away, “you’ve done enough already.” 

Gus stops, the others moving around him to toss the rope down the cliff side, “Darling, I know you’ve just spent gods knows how long with the worst creatures imaginable but not all of us are monsters.” 

“I didn’t say you were,” you turn back to him, and catch your breath when you notice how close he is. “I don’t think you’re a monster at all,” you whisper, swallowing hard, “I just don’t want to cause you any more trouble.” 

“Do you know what I thought when I saw you tucked behind that wall crying and holding your ears?” You shake your head, and he grins, “She looks like just my kind of trouble.” 

The first smile in months spreads like wildfire across your face and you nod. “Ready?” Apple interrupts, “We managed a pulley to get her down.” 

Gus nods, lifting you into the makeshift pulley and working with Apple to lower you down. When you reach the ground Lassen lifts you into his arms while Gus and Apple come down and re-wrap the rope around their arms. 

When finished, Gus reaches his arms out for you and Anders smiles, tugging you closer. “I think I’ll hold on to her for a while. Give you a break,” he looks down giving you a conspiratorial wink. 

“Give me back my damsel,” Gus holds out his arms wider, “I’m not going to ask again.” 

“Who are you calling a damsel?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, and Lassen lets out a joyful cheer. 

“You tell him, honey,” he turns walking with you back towards the dinghy. His glee makes a ghost of a laugh appear in your throat before you toss your head back in delight. 

Apple pats Gus on the back as he climbs into the boat and you look back to see Gus smiling, a full-blown smile just for you and you rest your head on your arm and look back at him. “It’s good to see you laugh,” he mouths, and your cheeks ache from smiling as he sits down and begins to row. 

“Row row, row your boat,” Lassen mumbles under his breath, the lull of the waves and the feeling of safety making your eyes droop. “Oh, the little lamb is tired, no?” he whispers in your ear, “You rest, no one will harm you ever again.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you repeat your fathers words aloud. 

“Little lamb, with the way Gus is looking at me right now. You don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you for the rest of your life.” He rubs a hand over your arm and chuckles, mumbling, “if looks could kill.” 

“He won’t always be there,” your words are drowsy as you burrow deep into his arms, letting out a yawn. 

“Ah, little lamb, I highly doubt that,” Lassen chuckles softly, before you feel yourself being lifted into anothers arms. The scent of smoke, cologne, and leather lull you into a deeper sense of calm and you snuggle into his arms. Gus looks down, brushing a knuckle over your cheek and committing your face to memory as you fall asleep, breathing softly. “Take a picture,” Lassen teases, “it will last longer.” 

“Her cell was next to mine,” Apple interrupts, “she was always so nice to me. Tried to patch me up the best she could through the bars. I tried to return the favor, everytime they brought her….fuck I can still hear the screaming.” The men are silent, the waves crashing against the dinghy as they get closer and closer to the boat. 

“Well,” Freddy clears his throat, “she’s safe now.” They reach the boat, helping Gus aboard and watching as he disappears below deck with you. 

“Heaven help the man who tries to take her away from him,” Hayes clears his throat, and the rest climb aboard and continue on toward Fernando Po. 

Below deck, Gus tucks you into his bunk and watches the rise and fall of your chest before he moves towards the end of the bed, and lifts the blanket to remove your shoe. He curses when he sees the bruising around your ankle. He removes the other shoe and has to control his breathing when he sees the same markings; shackles. 

“Never again,” he whispers, grabbing bandages and ointments and applying them to your ankles. The bottom of your foot is no better, and he grabs the tweezers removing several shards of glass and bandaging your feet. “No wonder you were limping,” he talks to himself. He takes the next twenty minutes checking over the parts of your body he can see, treating every little cut and bruise. When he’s finished he walks over to a basin of water and washes his hands before pouring a glass of scotch and sitting down at the map. 

He loses track of the time, his head snapping up from the table when the screaming starts. He pushes the chair out, climbing over the table to grab your thrashing body. He repeats your name over and over again till your eyes pop open, gasping you reach towards him throwing your arms around his neck and letting out a sob. “I thought it was a dream,” you sob brokenly into his skin, almost crawling into his lap, “I dreamed I was back there,” you take a deep breath, “that they were…” 

“No,” he shakes his head, pulling back to put both hands on your face, his thumbs brushing the tears from your eyes. “You’re safe,” he repeats once, then twice, “do you hear me?” 

“I’m safe,” you repeat back, the tears silently streaming down your face. From the stairs, the men stare at the scene before them. “Uh oh,” Freddy shakes his head, and the others turn to him with various questions. “Look at them,” he points back to you and Gus, “he looks at her like he just realized what love was.” 

“I didn’t know you were a romantic, Freddy,” Apple claps him on the shoulder with a laugh. “I’m not,” he shrugs, “but I’m also not blind. That right there,” he points a finger, “that’s love if I ever saw it. You just wait, I bet you ten pounds she goes home with him at the end of this mission.” 

“I’ll take that bet,” Hayes tosses over his shoulder. 

Apple raises a brow, “you don’t think they’ll end up getting hitched once we’re home.” 

“That wasn’t the bet,” Hayes grins, “he bet that she’ll go home with him at the end of the mission. I think we’ll either be dead or in jail so she probably won’t be going home with him.” 

“Never bet against yourself, Hazy,” Freddy shakes his head, “have I taught you nothing.” 

“It’s your deal,” Henry reminds him before shrugging past to go back to the deck, “let’s go, give them some privacy.” 

Their steps recede and Gus rubs the last of your tears away, “do you want something to eat?” 

“Yes,” you nod, moving from his lap and tugging the blanket around your shoulders. When you step down, you quickly look at the bandages around your feet and ankle before meeting his eyes, “thank you,” you whisper, “for everything.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he puts the kettle on, “any decent human being would do the same.” You sit down at the table seeing the maps and confidential files spread across the surface. Gus grabs the papers and puts them into a pile before putting down a cup of steaming tea before you. 

“I have a few questions,” you wrap your hands around the cup, absorbing some of the warmth. 

He takes a sip, blowing the top with a grin, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” 

“What were you doing in the Garrison?” 

“Rescuing Appleyard,” he takes another sip, “we needed him.” 

“For what?” 

Gus puts down his cup, crossing his arms over his chest and your heart beats a little louder at how strained the fabric is over his bulging biceps. You quickly take a sip of your tea, burning your tongue when you meet his eyes, seeing amusement sparkle. “Enjoying the show?” you cough, the tea spilling down the front of your dress. “Shit,” he shouts, grabbing a towel and pulling out the chair beside you to sit down. You grab it and soak up the liquid from your dress, the top sinking lower with each tug. 

When you’re finished you glance up to see his eyes on your chest before he quickly averts his eyes and clears his throat. “Enjoying the show?” you smile softly when he coughs and lets out a strained laugh. 

“Very much,” he turns his head and your mouth goes dry. Neither says anything for a moment before he goes back to the pile and tugs out the map. You take another sip of tea to prevent being parched when he spreads it over the table. “We’re on a secret mission for the English government.” “Come again?” you clear your throat, sitting up straighter. 

He grins, “We are on an unsanctioned, unofficial mission to destroy a ship and two tug boats holding enough supplies to supply the German U-boats for six months. We destroy those ships and we regain control of the Atlantic.” 

“And how do you plan to do that?” 

“Explosives,” he pushes a tin of biscuits towards you, ��tons of explosives. What do you think?” 

You sit there for a moment, processing everything he’s said before reaching into the tin and pulling out a ginger snap. You dip it into your cup before taking a bite with a grin, “where can I sign up?” 

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

i think its weird that the story has allll of this time to explore the archeron sister dynamics but never does. there's a good six years of time that goes by before the real rift between the sister starts (when feyre goes hunting). we know that papa archeron favored feyre and elain - why doesn't the story delved into what that may have felt like for nesta to lose her mother and then be placed in a dynamic where she isn't liked anymore. and then to add everything on top, they're poor, they've lost their status, everything that gave nesta value doens't exist anymore. and not only that - she's lost her only source of validation. the kind of cool exploration of jealousy and girlhood. that's a huge shift for all of the girls.

or how does feyre factor into this new dynamic. we can assume that for her formative years, she was neglected or isolated from her sisters. and while that allows freedom, in some sense, it breeds loneliness, and resentment. or even an eagerness to please. exploring how feyre may subconsciously looks for validation through martyrdom would be very interesting. it’s something i felt like was at least present on a surface level. the hunting doesn’t even have to be about love for her sisters, it could have been an aha moment; a moment where feyre realizes how she can establish value for herself in that household. think about it: no one ever saw feyre, no one ever saw her as valuable, it would make sense if the story played into the absurdity of feyre’s hunting. like it makes no sense logically to us as readers, but to feyre as a character it’s the only way she feels she can make her family actually see her. this could even develop into creating the idea that feyre's love language is through acts (which I think is actually something substantiated in the text). if we were to continue onto

and even the 'favoritism' that's shown toward feyre and elain is something to be explored bc its not something the sister's actually 'benefit' from. it just exists. its not like feyre gets extra meals bc papa archeron may like her better, and its not like elain benefits from that dynamic as well. it just obvious he's very offput by nesta - that he viewed nesta oftentimes as a woman instead of a little girl.

and then what happens with nesta, feyre, and elain have to grapple with the ways they’ve been abused.

during feyre’s formative years, she wouldn’t have received the physical abuse and harassment that nesta received from mother and grandmother so her understanding of nesta’s dynamic with their mother would have been more romantic. feyre may associate any type of attention as positive due to the result of her own neglect by her mother. so she would’ve gone on not understanding nesta’s turmoil.

on the flipside nesta would have romanticized feyre’s “freedom.” and grown jealous of the kind of free-spirited person feyre she perceives feyre to be bc of such. there is no fear of not following the rules, of being perfect, of having to sacrifice your happiness for a good match. and while some of this is true for feyre, it’s not necessarily positive. it doesn’t negate that feyre’s neglect was just abuse too. the book could even explore the jealousy nesta feels at not being to be ‘master of her own fate.’ and how her childhood made mental roadblocks that make it hard to just march to the beat of your own drum.

these are conflicts that can (1) still reiterate the theme of abuse and abusive family relationships. (2) this reads into an actual feminist lens in which these women are complex characters dealing with a complex sitituation. the expectation is not that nesta, feyre, and elain remain these morally good paragons of virtuousness.

we have elain - who arguably operates one of the most interesting portions of the sisterly dynamic by being the middle sister. i think that could breed a character that’s much more organically perceptive to the world around her. i even think the story attempts this initially at the end of tar before there was a hard reset in maf. think about it - she’s could be placed in situations that hallmark that gradual loss of self in this dynamic; how does elain feel about the arguments between feyre and nesta? perhaps she follows nesta bc there is jealousy? resentment? or does she envy feyre’s ability to take charge of her own life? i would have it where elain has to grapple with these false perceptions of her sister and how she can find her own spine. we could even argue that maybe the sisters (feyre and nesta) are tangibly holding her back (not just implied) and have the sisters deal with how they contribute to elain's initial lack of a spine.

the story could play it in so many directions. mutual jealousy between all three sisters, all envious of one another bc of how isolated they were to each other. if the story wanted to, it could even still play into the idea of an abusive nesta with this dynamic - flesh out her abuse in ways that still (1) emphasize the tragedy of these women and (2) establish that feyre is a victim in this scenario (see: azula). if the story moved away from moralization and just told a story the existence of an abusive nesta would not be this controversial (considering all of the male leads are kind of abusive). i also think the exploration of a tangibly abusive nesta could factor in a broad thematic discussions around abuse.

[mangoshorthand]

A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch3

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post << Read Chapter Two

Chapter Three (Rated T, 4.2k words)

The Second of the Three Spirits

“What’s up sweetie? You got a look on your face like a wet weekend.”

“It’s nothing, Grandma.”

She looked down at you in that sharp, purposeful way of hers, the rhinestone necklace she always wore catching the light 

You were sitting at the corner booth, homework spread out across the table so she could keep an eye on you as she worked.

“Hey Maggie,” came a voice from the bar, “can I get a beer over here?”

“Hold on, Earl.” she shot back over her shoulder, bleach-blonde perm flicking from one shoulder to the other, “You could stand to wait for a beer now and again, seeing how often you buy ‘em.”

Earl grumbled something or other, but knew better than to push her buttons.

Decisively, she pulled out a chair across the table from you and sat down upon it.

“Spit it out, girlie. Time’s money, and we don’t wanna keep old Earl waiting.”

You looked up from your algebra and sighed.

“Mom was supposed to call today.”

“I see,” she said, a shadow passing over her face, “And she stood you up again, huh?”

You nodded. 

She considered you for a second, and then called back over her shoulder.

“Hey, Earl?”

“Uh-huh?”

“How about a margarita on the house?”

“Yeah,” he said, surprised. 

She turned back to you, eyes agleam and full of fun.  

“I’m gonna teach you how to make one,” she said.

You looked at her questioningly. 

“That’s right,” she said, “One day, all this is all gonna be yours, y’know, and I’m not getting any younger.” 

She called back over her shoulder at Earl.

“Do I look like I’m getting any younger, Earl?”

“Yes ma’am, every day,” he said, dutifully, and she rolled her eyes at you before she continued. 

“I’ll be damned if I leave this place to someone who can’t shake a decent marg.”

She held out a hand, twinkling at you, and you took it, grinning. 

“Come on, darling,” she said, leading you to the bar with a fond squeeze of your hand, “I’m gonna teach you to make the best margarita in the state.”

If Christmas was your busiest time of year, then March was probably the slowest, and it was on one such Friday night that Five first came to your bar alone. Before that night, he’d only visited with Luther and his wife, Sloane. Each time, you covertly shot appreciative glances at one another across the room, looking away hastily if ever you happened to look at the same time. 

When he ordered drinks, he’d usually hang around a little - taking a break from Luther and Sloane, he said - and the conversation always flowed well between you whenever you could catch a couple of minutes to exchange a word. He was quick, sardonic, and his cynicism appealed to your own.

Both brothers were handsome, but Five was handsome in a unique way. In his suits he was effortlessly sophisticated, the way he held himself commanding and authoritative; his face equally delicate and masculine. His presence never failed to stand head and shoulders above that of anyone else in the room, the subtle scent of cologne that followed him just serving to underline his quiet magnetism. 

So, on the quiet night he entered alone, your heart didn’t quite skip a beat, but it maybe stuttered.

“Evening,” he said, eyeing the almost empty bar. 

“What can I get you?” you asked, as he sat on a stool at the end of the bar. 

Though neither of you knew it, it would be the stool at which Luther sat around nine months later, extolling the virtues of Christmas. 

“I’ll have a margarita, if you please.”

He flashed you his lopsided smile, and you looked away quickly. He might be cute, but you weren’t going to put yourself in danger of dropping your panties for him. Men spelled nothing but trouble and distraction.

You took up one of the many shakers stacked against the wall and readied the tequila. 

“Oh,” Five said, waving a hand, “I’ll have it blended, not shaken.”

“No you won’t,” you replied, shortly, measuring first the Patrón and then Cointreau into the shaker. 

“So you’re particular about your margaritas?” Five said, removing his blazer and placing it carefully on the stool beside him, an eyebrow raised.

“No point in drinking it if you don’t make it properly.”

“Fair enough.”

Methodically, he unbuttoned his collar and each of his shirt cuffs, rolling the sleeves to his elbows, all the time watching you as added the lime juice and agave, pouring them in a confident stream through their bottle pours.  

“You’re good at this,” he said, impressed, as you added a scoopful of ice. 

“I should be,” you remarked, “I could make a margarita before I could drive a car.”

“Misspent youth?” he asked, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the bar. 

Again, that maddening smile, intelligent eyes flashing with character. 

“A bartender for a grandmother,” you corrected him, unable to help smiling yourself as you scooped ice into the shaker. 

“Yeah?” he asked, “You followed in her footsteps?”

“Mmhm. This used to be her place, and she left it to me. It’s called Maggie’s after her.”

“So your youth was spent learning the ropes, huh?”

“Yup.”

 As you started to shake the cocktail, you couldn’t help noticing him trying very hard to keep his eyes on your face and not on your chest, shaking along with the margarita in the tank top you were wearing. The observation amused you, and you smirked, making Five chuckle involuntarily, and look down at his own fingers. 

Your eyes followed his, to where one of his thumbs was rubbing slightly uncomfortably against a long forefinger. You had a weakness for hands and forearms, and Five’s were no doubt as appealing to you as your chest was to him. Veins, bone, and sinew formed sculptural lines on porcelain skin, adorned here and there by freckles and scarring.

When you were done shaking, Five apparently trusted himself to look up at you again, and you pulled your eyes off his arms long enough to pour salt onto a plate.

“No salt, thanks.”

“You’re trying the salt,” you said, in a tone that would tolerate no argument, “I’ll give you a half rim so you can drink from the other side if you don’t like it, but my margaritas have salt rims.”

“You’re the boss,” he said, hands held up in a gesture of surrender. 

You looked up at him and allowed yourself to indulge just a little longer in this banter.

“You’re a quick learner.”

“I know my place,” Five said, with a cocky raise of his eyebrows. 

He was fun to flirt with, that was hard to deny.  

“Keep up that attitude and you’ll be my favorite customer in no time.”

“I think I’d like that,” he said, voice laced with a hint of husky enthusiasm. Then, to smooth over what he seemed to consider a faux pas, he made a self-deprecating gesture: “It would be a first. I find people are usually happier to see me leave than arrive.”

You couldn’t resist the opening this gave you:

“Perhaps they just enjoy watching you go.”

Five’s demeanor cracked, and he gave a rare genuine smile that showed his teeth. 

 When the drink was poured, you pushed it to him and held out your hand for the money.

“Best margarita in the state.” 

He paid up, and as he reached out for the glass, you said:

“Try it with the salt first and tell me what you think.”

“Okay,” he said, though sounding skeptical. 

Eyes on yours, he touched his lower lip to the salted side of the glass, and took a sip.

“Oh shit,” he said. 

“Good?”

He nodded, looked at the glass and let out a small groan of pleasure.

“I’ll never drink a margarita without salt again.”

“And don’t have it blended,” you said, wagging a finger at him, “frozen margaritas are for bachelorette parties.”

He gave an ironic salute.

“Only shaken classic from now on unless I’m at a bachelorette party.”

The cute little salute suddenly made you feel the necessity of bowing out of this conversation. You were already finding him too charming, and you darted out from behind the bar to collect a few abandoned glasses from tables, wiping them down as you went and leaving Five to enjoy his drink.

You couldn’t avoid him forever, though, and when you retook your position behind the bar, you found yourself gravitating towards him like a moth to a flame.

You were only human, after all. 

The next couple of hours passed in chat, you trying desperately to keep a lid on the flirtation, but finding it increasingly hard as his third margarita loosened his lips. He was witty, a sharp observer, and he told tales so tall that only Luther’s confirmation later let you believe them.

“And so,” he said, “I’m in a suspended quantum state, right? Except I got the calculations wrong when I was proving the upper bound for the number of limit cycles for planar polynomial vector fields of fixed degree. Dumb. So I go through the portal and boom. I’m thirteen again.”

You raised your eyebrows skeptically. 

“You never notice how I look so much younger than Luther?” he pointed out, “I’m years behind and years in front.”

“I just thought you had really good moisturizer or something.”

“No,” he said, with an uncharacteristic giggle, “I’m an old-ass man.”

“You’re a drunk-ass man.”

“Maybe a little,” he said, sucking a little salt off the tip of his finger. 

There were a couple of salt crystals on his chin, you noticed. 

Without thinking, you took up a napkin, leaned over the bar and wiped them away. Your thumb brushed the corner of his mouth as you did so, and your breath caught softly at the warmth of his skin. 

His eyes never left yours as you touched him. He was looking at you seriously, as if the answers to one of those incomprehensible math problems might be found in your eyes. 

“What time do you finish tonight?” he asked. 

You withdrew your hand quickly and checked your watch, trying to throw off the small moment. 

“I close at half midnight.”

“And afterwards you’re -”

“Going to sleep.” you said. 

And then, to throw a final bucket of cold water on any remaining ambitions:

“Alone.”

“Of course,” he said, getting the message as he swallowed the last dregs of his margarita, “Tiring work, right?”

“Tiring work,” you repeated. 

You stumbled when the briefcase deposited you somewhere new, and Five let go of your sweater immediately.

You were in an ornate entrance hall with marble-tiled flooring and a sweeping, imposing staircase leading onto a gallery. Five threw his coat over the bannister and avoided your eye. 

“We’re back,” he said, “There’s a phone beside the door. Use it to call yourself a cab if you want.”

“What?”

“I’m done,” he said, “come tomorrow or don’t, I don’t give a shit any more.”

“But -?”

Five disappeared with a whoosh and a hint of static electricity.

“- what about nuclear armageddon?” you called, hoping that he might hear you wherever he reappeared. 

There was no answer, and you were left alone to cower alone in the intimidating foyer, the staircase towering above you.

There were quiet voices to your right, where archways leading off from the hall revealed a huge living room with another high gallery above. 

Based on Five’s dumping of his coat, you concluded that this must be another part of the Umbrella Academy, and you suddenly felt even more awkward, standing alone and uninvited in their home on Christmas Eve. 

Thankfully, not even Five’s angry voice seemed to have alerted the occupants of the living room to your presence, so you crept towards the front door, hoping to make a hasty exit. 

“I wish she did come,” came a female voice, “I’d give her a piece of my mind to chew on and let her choke on it. Luther hasn’t been himself since.”

You felt your face heating up, pretty sure you already knew who Sloane was talking about. It was painful, embarrassing to overhear, and it made your stomach squirm with shame. 

“Is she the one who owns Maggie’s?” said another woman’s voice, this one British-sounding.

“Mhm,” Sloane replied, sounding resentful.

“I did hear she’s a bit of a dragon-lady,” came the reply.

Someone made a noise signalling disagreement, but Sloane spoke over the voice:

“She’s a total nightmare Lila,” she seethed, sounding as if her feelings were just finding vent after holding them in for far too long, “Robbie - that’s the bartender - he’s been working there for years, but she micromanages him like crazy. She’s obsessed with profits: hovering over him to make sure he’s not using too many paper towels or whatever.”

You winced at this description of yourself. Micromanaging? Yes, you were conscious of wastage, but this was an exaggeration.

“Come on Sloane,” came a voice even more familiar than hers.

You stopped dead on your careful creep towards the front door and looked around. It was Five, holding a glass of wine and swinging his legs up onto a coffee table as he spoke.

“She’s just trying to keep the business going.” he continued, “It can’t be easy for an independent bar these days.”

“Of course you’d defend her.” Sloane replied, testily. 

It started to dawn on you what you were seeing.  

“Hey?” you said, loudly, walking into the room and towards Five, “Hey, Five?”

None of them acknowledged you and, when you advanced further, none of them looked up either.

“Hey?” you said again, reaching out a hand to a thin, curly-haired man wearing leather pants and a spectacular sequined blouse. 

When you went to tap his shoulder, your hand went straight through it, confirming your suspicions beyond a doubt. You backed up into the entrance hall, just as Luther emerged from a nearby door and went to join the others in the living room. 

“Five?” you yelled, trying to throw your voice to wherever he might be in this sprawling house, “You set the briefcase wrong! We’re still in a…” you cast your mind around for the description he used, “- read only visit!”

You waited a couple of seconds but found no answer forthcoming. 

“Five!”  you called again, “I think it’s Christmas day! We’re a day late!” 

You stood at the foot of the stairs for a few moments and, when it became clear that Five either couldn’t hear or didn’t care about your repeated calls, you placed one foot on the stairs with half a mind to search for him, but more faint talk from the living room made you hesitate. 

“You okay big man?” came the playful tone of the man in sequins. 

“Of course I am,” Luther replied. 

It didn’t sound like him. His voice was usually friendly and enthusiastic, but he sounded subdued. 

Having already met the fate of the eavesdropper in overhearing unpleasant things about yourself, you figured that you didn’t have much to lose by exercising your curiosity further, so you moved back to one of the archways to watch the scene within. 

The living room matched the entrance hall in length, though was somewhat narrower. The family were sitting in the centre of the room, immediately before a merrily crackling fire in the middle of the long wall. Above this was a portrait of a Five who looked closer in age to the one you’d just seen than the one in the room - although it was hard to tell given that it was adorned with a false mustache and a Santa hat. 

Luther and Five were sitting in armchairs which had the air of having been purposely dragged nearer the couches from their place by a second mantle at the head of the room. That space was instead devoted to a twelve foot christmas tree, decorated with twinkling lights and a mess of decorations. 

There were eight people in total, the other six spread across the two couches. On one was Sloane, the sequin clad man, and an unknown woman, at whose feet sat another short, brunette man, legs stretched out in front of him on the carpet; on the other couch was the British woman and a man who was clearly her partner, sitting with his arm around her. 

The Five in the armchair was wearing what looked like the same suit pants, shirt and tie in which he’d appeared at your apartment, but with a nice knit sweater over it. It looked like good quality wool, and it reeked of a freshly opened Christmas gift. While he looked relaxed, he was also giving off vibes of one merely tolerating this situation. 

Luther, on the other hand, was looking forlornly over at the Christmas tree. This did not go unnoticed by his wife, who watched him with concern. 

“Let’s play a game!” she said, brightly, the tone clearly targeted to combat her husband’s low mood. 

Five gave a small roll of his eyes as the others made general noises of assent.

“Charades!” the Lila said, immediately.

“Charades?” grumbled her partner.

“Shut up, Diego,” she scolded, slapping him on the arm.

So this was Diego. His face rang a faint bell as the child whose brother had kicked him.

“Yeah, shut up Diego,” said the man in sequins playfully, “charades is a classic.”

Perhaps it was the way he imitated Lila, but this made you recognize him too: this was Klaus, the one who kicked Diego while they watched Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

“I like charades,” Luther said, childlike eagerness back in his voice, “let’s do teams!”

“Great!” Sloane said, looking relieved that her plan seemed to have been met with a good level of enthusiasm, “Four a side? One team comes up with the prompt and then one member of the other team has to act it out to the other three?”

“Sounds good,” Klaus said, positively bouncing at the prospect of what, to you, seemed a pretty horrible idea, “but split up the couples. None of that lovers’ telepathy.”

“Yeah, said Luther, looking over at the final couple, “Viktor, how about you go with Sloane, Deigo, and Five. And Annabelle, do you wanna go with me, Lila and Klaus?”

Viktor looked searchingly up at Annabelle, checking her comfort level, but found her looking more than happy to oblige.

“No,” said Five, “I’m not playing.”

“You’ve gotta play,” Diego said, or you’ll mess up the teams.

“I thought you hated charades? If you sit out too it can be three on three.”

“I don’t hate charades,” Diego said, “And I think our team has a pretty good shot of winning this thing.”

“Whatever,” Lila snorted, “we’re gonna wipe the floor with you.”

“Come on, Five,” wheedled Klaus. “It won’t take long.”

“I don’t care,” Five said, deliberately, “I will not be playing.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel like playing the world’s worst game and making an idiot out of myself.”

“It’s Christmas,” Luther said, “you gotta make an idiot out of yourself. Come on man, the teams!”

Five betrayed a flicker of irritation.

“I don’t give a shit if it’s Christmas, Diwali, or Yom Kippur, I would rather stick my balls in a blender.”

“Don’t tempt me,” mumbled Diego.

“Come on Five,” Luther replied, that forlorn look coming back to his face, “let me get you a nice scotch. This is supposed to be what Christmas is all about: sharing time with family doing silly stuff.”

Five looked back at him scornfully. 

“Then Christmas is shit.”

“Five,” Viktor said, giving him a pointed look that seemed to signal Annabelle, “can we try to get along please?”

“I’m not the one making it hard to get along,” Five said, with a false smile which did little to hide the fact he was speaking through gritted teeth, “It’s Luther here trying to turn everyone into Kris fucking Kringle who’s causing the problem.”

“Here we go again,” said Sloane, apparently reaching the end of her tether, “we get it, you want to get in her pants. It doesn’t mean you have to defend her honor.”

“Fuck you,” Five retorted.

Lila began to snigger, Klaus giggled, and Viktor shot a pained, apologetic look to Annabelle.

“Apologize,” Luther said to Five, angrily, springing to his feet. 

Five just scoffed and shook his head. 

“Apologize to Sloane!”  Luther repeated, lunging towards Five and grabbing the front of his sweater with one hand.

Five vanished from Luther’s grip and appeared a short distance away, his hands determinedly in his pockets and chin jutted defiantly towards his brother.

“Guys, stop it!” Viktor cried, angry and upset.

“Ooh, it’s kicking off!” said Lila, catching the eye of Viktor’s horrified girlfriend and giving her a wink.

“I’m sick of this, Five!” Luther shouted, “Why do you gotta push everyone away? Can’t you just share this with us!? I’ve been up since five am cooking to try and make a nice day for everyone, and you can’t play one game of charades? Christmas is about everyone pitching in to make everyone else’s day a-”

But Five interrupted him in a sharp, incredulous tone:

“Oh, spare me the heartwarming speech! You’re never going to get the whole world to follow your Christmas regime! Based on what you told me, I thought you would have learned that at Maggie’s yesterday!”

At this, Luther looked a lot like the little boy who, so long ago, lashed out against Five after getting hit in the eye: hurt driving his turmoil. 

“I invited her mostly for you!”  Luther stormed, “I was trying to give you an opportunity to see each other outside of that bar! I’ve seen the way you look at her, how you spend fifteen minutes at a time ordering drinks, how long you spend doing your hair before we go! You’re so in love with her, it’s pathetic to watch!”

You blinked, taken aback. Mouth agape, your head swivelled to Five as if you were watching a tennis match.

He was bright red, mouth twitching, and clearly boiling with rage.

“I never asked you to stick your nose into my love life!” he yelled.

It wasn’t a denial, and it felt like your stomach dropped from your body in realizing it. You didn’t have time to reel, however, because now Sloane was on her feet too, almost as angry as Five himself was. 

“You have to actually HAVE a love life before you can get pissed off about him sticking his nose in it,” she snapped, as she crossed the room to Luther’s side. “And, for what it’s worth, you and she are well matched. You’re both rude, selfish and shitty to the people around you!” 

“I knew we shouldn’t have come!” Viktor yelled, leaping to his feet and holding out a hand to Annabelle, abruptly enraged, “you guys are a fucking MESS!”

As his voice reached its angriest pitch, an almost invisible wave shot upwards and outwards through the air with Viktor at its epicenter. It hit the plaster of the ceiling with a deafening crack, making everyone flinch and look up in fear.

When, after a second or two, it became clear the ceiling wasn’t about to fall in. Viktor spoke again. 

“Let’s go Annabelle.”

Wordlessly, she took his hand and let herself be marched towards the door.

At that moment, two things happened:

Five blinked into wild-eyed existence beside the version of him in the sweater, briefcase swinging in his grip, and Klaus broke into sarcastic song:

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

The newly appeared Five took one look around the room, confirming to himself that his worst surmises were true, and then looked at you, jaw clenched and eyes wide. 

“I didn’t - I thought the briefcase was set to take us back. I was angry, I used the wrong settings! I didn’t mean you to see this!”

The bustle continued behind him as you stood there, burning with consternation at everything you’d just seen and heard.

Luther and Sloane followed Viktor and Annabelle out of the door, ignoring Diego’s calls for them to stay

“Great job, Five.” Diego said, as the front door slammed shut again and Klaus warbled:

“It’s the ha-happiest season of aaall!”

The sweater-clad Five dematerialized, presumably to go sulk in his room. 

“Just ignore them,” your Five said, putting himself in between you and the scene as if he might somehow take back what you’d heard by blocking it from your view, “they don’t know what they’re talking about, Luther and Sloane were just fucking with me, I don’t…”

But the words seemed to fail him and, with the line between his brows so deep you could probably stick a penny in there, he looked down at the briefcase and started to move the dials. 

When you finally spoke, you didn’t say any of the things he expected you to say:

“When did you find out about nuclear armageddon?”

There was a flinty tone to your voice, and Five didn’t like it. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, carefully.

“How did you find out about it?”

“That’s not important, he said, messing with the controls, “and I need silence to make sure I do this correctly.”

“Take me to the future,” you demanded.

“No,” he said, shortly, “you’re going home.”

“Take me to the future!” you shrieked, a slightly crazed tone in your voice, “show me this fucking apocalypse!”

Read Chapter Four >> I FEED OFF COMMENTS AND REBLOGS YUM YUM YUM

The Second of the Three Spirits or Scrooge's Third Visitor (left) and Ignorance and Want (right) Both by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens's A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced.

Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights)

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage @kaybreezy3000, @starlitflora (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[relaxtimestwo]

Kafka 🕸 Witch Hat Atelier AU

It is finally complete! BrimHat!Kafka's character sheet!

If you would like more context, check out the "hsr x wha au" tag!

More on Kafka's AU lore under the cut ⁀➷

Using forbidden magic, Kafka has altered various part of her body. Most notably are her ink claw and her augmented vocal cords. The ink claws are hollow inside and hold ink, allowing her to cast spells on the fly easily. The augmented vocal cords are a key component for her Spirit Whisper spell. Her voice is capable of speaking in a frequency that can only be heard by the spell's victim.

---

Kafka belongs to a group of Brim Hats called the Stelleron Hunters, who, true to their name, collect Stellerons.

Not much is known about stellerons, except that they are harbingers of disaster. Is they remnants from before the Day of the Pact? Perhaps ancient contraptions? Or maybe signs of divine wrath? Rumour has it that knowledge of it's true nature is only know by the Three Wise ...and the Stelleron Hunters.

---

While travelling on its usual route, the Express suddenly screeches to a halt. It's stuck. As the the crew members (Pom-Pom, Himeko, Welt, Dan Heng and March 7th) rush to the front to check what's wrong, the power goes out. Neon pink webs shoot up from the floor. Then, illuminated by the glowing webs, a woman with striking purple-pink eyes appears.

"Kafka." Himeko stands protectively in front of her fellow crew members, weapon at the ready.

"Relax, Astral Express." Kafka's smile curls up further but doesn't reach her eyes.

"I've brought gifts~"

[sunthyme]

Ahhh... Savanaclaw. I said the obvious redos were gonna be a trend but I literally didn't redo anything with them 💀💀💀. They came out fine...

🐾 Savanaclaw 🐾

I'm literally so happy with all of them, ong. They all look so good, if I do say so myself ✨😎✨

🐾 Leona Kingscholar 🐾

Once again, y'all have already seen his up-to-date design but tada!

I actually have a ton of new hc info for his background but I'll rant about that later on my writing acc.

Surprisingly (or not because I'm projecting as always), he's an Environmental Studies and Economics double major with a minor in History. While people might argue there's no way he'd do that much, I beg to differ.

This will be covered later too but my friend and I made a joke that he was originally a political science major but switched after dealing with basically irl political science major BS but like anti-beastman (racism) edition.

🐾 Kiki Adebayo 🐾

Nothing much changed here, except her looking way better.

Unique Magic - "Spirits In The Stars": Once per moon cycle, Kiki can speak to a spirit for up to an hour. The spirit is only visible to her and cannot interact with anything physically.

She's a Business major, her birthday is December 30th (Capricorn). She's also in the Horse-back Riding Club.

🐾 Ruggie Bucchi 🐾

So I rendered out the locs this time and WOO BOY, those are time-consuming. So I decided to give him freckles instead of vitiligo. I also returned his eyes to grey, which pop super well.

Gave him a gold tooth, figured he's been in enough fights to have lost a tooth in the process. He's mixed, with his father was not a native of Sunset Savanna and ditched after his mother became pregnant.

He's also a Business major and wants to open a bakery eventually, named after his grandmother.

🐾 Mandisa Jelani 🐾

So I did my curl studies! YIPPEE!! I hit Mandisa with kinda a full redesign, though their colour palette stayed basically the same.

Unique Magic - "Barking Command": Mandisa's voice, for her next sentence, is able to be heard, regardless of physical barriers.

She's actually a Culinary major, as she comes from a similar background as Ruggie and wishes to provide healthy food to the slums.

Their birthday is March 26th (Aries) and they're in the Track and Field Club.

🐾 Rocío Chávez 🐾

I really did her diff, though god she looks better. Gave her gauges and more blue since most of the dorm is yellow themed.

Unique Magic - "Squirrel Squeak": Once cast, Rocío can speak to animals for twenty-four hours. It has a refractory period of seven days.

She's undecided in her major, born on April 26th (Taurus). She's in the Magical Shift (or Spelldrive) Club.

🐾 Jack Howl 🐾

JACK! MY SON!! 😭😭😭

I believe I actually mentioned this in the OG post but I saw people making Jack Inuit and I am sooooo down for that!

I gave him the condition where one's hair goes grey very early on (my aunt went grey at 13 lol) and changed the style a bit.

Actually, he's the one canonic character that I'm trying to tweak the unique magic of. Because, tbh, I hc that any beastfolk can shift without aid like the mer do but.

He's a Botany major, what a cutie!!

🐾 Abayomi Furaha 🐾

My bbygirl!!! I also gave her locs but they're butterfly ones! Also difficult.

Unique Magic - "Change Your Tune": Abayomi can change the sound of their voice while casting to any sound within its audio range.

She's a Music major and is also in the Pop Music Club. Her birthday is November 28th (Sagittarius).

[gyuswhore]

Pure Math 171

choi seungcheol x reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: fluff, humour

warnings: math. (1) dirty joke. thats it i think (lmk if there's more)

synopsis: Walking into the first class of the semester shouldn't have been as eventful as it was (not that you can complain for long)

masterlist

(A/N): I haven't posted a fic in a while so i hope i redeem myself with this one hehe. a million thank yous to @toruro for beta-ing for me (even at the dentists lol) you can thank her for this too shes the reason i finished so quickly kjvkdfjg

It takes a lot to surprise you. 

It’s not that you enjoy it, but your friends simply make it easy to read them. It took Soonyoung seven human years to learn the art of surprise birthday parties. You know, the ones where you aren’t supposed to know he’s throwing a party just for you. Or Minghao, before he learned the art of deceit, and held his disdain like a badge on his face. 

You seem to have honed the skill of psychics better than most, confident in your ability as a higher-risk party trick. 

Skipping into the new semester at uni, you enter your lecture hall at the reasonable hour of 8 in the morning, expecting nothing but the usual. No surprises were to come your way today, just another first day back, fueling for the coming months.

You push the doors of your lecture hall open, ready to greet your professor for Pure Mathematics 171, pushing your spirits high to commence your per semester buttering. What you find though, is the front desk crowded with students wanting to do the exact same, all for the professor that would be teaching the most dreaded unit of the course. Of course. 

You spot Soonyoung among the crowd as he spots you at the door as well. You note how gleeful he looks at this hour. This can’t be good. Hao too presses his mouth together in an attempt to conceal his budding smile, hand to mouth when he miserably fails.

What on Earth was so funny? 

Attempting to crane your neck, over and under, to catch a glimpse of the ever popular professor, you find yourself blocked by the sea of math nerds and ass-kissers just like yourself. Curiosity was becoming a little too much for you to bear, not that your friends sniggering and whispering while looking directly at you was helping at all. You were just about to march up to the two and demand to be put on their shoulders to see what the fuss was about. Until—

“Alright! It’s almost 8, let’s save the chatter for after class, how about?” you hear a voice boom in the centre of the anthill. 

You knew that voice.

You watch in slow motion as the hoard of bodies disperse, not missing the pointed glances of both your friends directed at the teacher’s table. 

And then you see it. Standing there, looking down at his folder sheets, dry-erase marker in hand. 

Choi Seungcheol.

Choi Seungcheol was your professor.

Your boyfriend was your professor.

How did this happen? Did he know about this? Was he keeping it from you? Were you blind when you read the clear ‘Dr. Kim’ next to your unit code? 

Seungcheol doesn’t notice you standing there slack mouthed and frozen in his classroom. Until he does. 

Instead of mimicking your shocked expression, you watch as his mouth goes to pull what you recognise as a smirk. 

Oh, he thinks this is hilarious. 

His eyebrows are raised as he questions you, “Will you be taking a seat, miss?” 

It’s then that you realise you're in the middle of a lecture hall with about a hundred eyes watching you as you gape at your collective professor. Could they be mistaking your imminent horror as you checking him out? 

If this was another situation maybe you would have, but this was starting to sound like a sick joke. 

But alas, you could not confront your professor like that, at least not in front of an audience. So you find it within yourself to slowly slug towards the staircase to plant yourself next to your friends. Both of whom were having the absolute time of their lives watching your dazed expression. 

You might have committed murder that day. 

You’re forced to snap out of it as you hear Seungcheol - professor Choi - begin to speak at the front of the class.

“Good morning everybody,” he starts, hands on his desk, a pleasant expression on his face as he awaits a response from his borderline comatose students. A chorus of good mornings greet him back, excluding your own.

“Hope you guys had a good break, welcome to Pure Math 171, my name is Professor Choi” he moves to scribble his name on the whiteboard, “And I would like to be referred as such.” 

His gaze finds you in your seat as he utters those words. He is quick to shift.

“We’re gonna be starting light today, I’ll be going through our unit guide and grading system…” 

Seungcheol talks. And talks. And talks. And you don’t listen. You watch instead.

You’re mad at him. Really mad at him. But you can’t help but wonder as he walks around looking like that. He’s in the simplest dress shirt and slacks of a neutral colour, but he wears it oh so well. 

You’ve watched him every morning as he gets dressed for work, knowing his attire has always suited him. Your friends who have been in his classes have expressed their disappointment when told he wasn’t single, and promptly draw open in shock when they realize it's you that’s snagged him before the world could. 

Seungcheol, for lack of a better word, hits different when he’s in his element. His hair is pushed back and out of his face, noting how his glasses look so much sexier when he’s pacing the room with hands dipped in his pockets. He’s speaking tongues of numbers and symbols, and it’s suddenly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

But you're mad at him. It shouldn’t be that hard to remind yourself. 

“You know, you’re being real ungrateful for a person who just got a free pass on the hardest class this fucking insitution can cook up,” Soonyoung whisper-shouts next to you.

Minghao quips beside him, “Look alive, sister, you’ve hit the jackpot.”

“Were you two in on it?” you finally snap, irritated at their apparent glee. 

Soonyoung snorts, “Fuck, no, we saw him when we walked in this morning”

“So did he know?” 

“Oh, I think Professor Choi would be glad to tell you himself after hours,” Minghao sleazes while Soonyoung throws you the greasiest wink known to man. 

Disgusted and disturbed, you turn your attention back to the front of the room. You’re still disgusted and disturbed. Seungcheol is still there, looking like he does, scribbling some example equation on the board. 

“Hmm. I think professor Choi ought to know his favourite student’s having trouble paying attention? We can’t have that, you should move up front.”

You do move. Away from your friends to the seats higher up. 

It’s a mind-numbing two hours in which you think you experience every emotion possible. 

You think of your friends who have sat in his classes all semester, that have ogled him and admitted his apparent attractiveness. There were people in this room that were thinking the very same thing in this very moment, and it was making your skin crawl. You wanted to get up and scream: This is your boyfriend.

But alas, you are but a tired, tired college student. He wouldn’t fail you, would he? Then again, he has a ruthless streak of keeping you from the lights of life when you’re slacking in dire times. You might be the love of his life, but he remains a man of discipline. 

It’s an annoying trait, but only ever in the moment. He might be the sole reason you haven’t completely lost yourself in the sea of academics. 

“I think we can wrap up with that, it’s basic stuff but it won’t hurt to revise on your own before next week when we really get into it,” Seungcheol’s voice booms.

There’s a churn in your stomach for some reason, and you have to neutralize your breathing as you watch the lecture hall slowly empty out. A few students remain lingering at the front desk for yet another round of buttering. Seungcheol entertains them, pleasant smile on his face, nodding along to something. You remain seated, arms and legs crossed as you stare daggers into the top of Seungcheol’s head as he speaks with his students. 

The remaining students file out as well, and you notice how Soonyoung and Minghao are long gone, leaving just you and Seungcheol alone in this big, big room. 

It’s only then that he looks up searching, to check if you had left yet.

He remembered quick. 

His eyes finally land on your, disgruntled, tight form, refusing to make eye contact for more than three seconds before huffing audibly, moving to put away your things. Seungcheol moves around his front desk, hands in pockets, hiking his way up the lecture steps to where you were at the top row. 

You’re shoving your laptop in your bag by the time he’s done with his trek, planting himself on the chair next to you loudly. You ignore him.

“Do you think we’d get in trouble if they caught us like this?” he muses after a few silent moments.

“Caught us like what?” You snap. There goes your pledge to remain silent.

“You can’t possibly think a teacher and his student caught in a classroom by themselves is necessarily a point in our favor” 

“I’ll do the honors then” with that you’re swinging your bag over your shoulder to trudge behind him to the steps leading down, wanting to be out of his presence for the time being. 

You’re barely past him when there’s a grip on your wrist, firm and purposeful, that tugs you backwards in a harsh manner. The bag on your shoulder is sent to the floor while you, in your entirety, are sent straight into Seungcheol’s lap. 

Bastard. 

The smirk on his face is enough to send you into a pot of livid fumes, right after you’re done balancing yourself on his shoulders. You try not to grip on too tight. 

“What makes you think you can leave without being dismissed?”  

“What the fuck.” 

“Language, miss. I don’t tolerate obscenities in my classroom.” It might’ve been a menacing threat, but with what lay behind the glint in his eyes you knew he was being a little shit. 

It takes you every fibre in your body to refrain from thinking too much about him. Him and his hands that rest on your thighs, him and his hands that are placed near your waist, stroking and pressing into your shirt. 

No, you're mad at him.

“Did you know?” you ask finally, tired of the back and forth.

“Nope,” he replies, “Found out when you walked in.” 

“Do you not read your attendance sheet? Isn’t that your job? You had the entirety of summer to give me a heads up, this is your fault!” 

“Dr. Kim got into an accident last night, she’s out of service for the rest of the semester. I didn’t know until I came in for my other class I was being switched over—” 

“How does that happen?!” you almost yell.

He’s silent for a moment before beginning again, “Do you want me to ask for another class?” 

Wait, what. 

“I didn’t say that—” You can’t finish because your being pushed off your seat on his lap to stand while he gets up as well.

“I’ll go talk to the co-ordinator then, class isn’t working out for me.” With that he’s trudging back down the steps, making a beeline for the door.

You’re left stunned at the top of the stairs, not knowing if he was being serious or not. Were you about to let his presence bother you that bad? To the point he had to switch classes? What were you even that upset about? 

Twirling around in place trying to look for the bag that was strewn about earlier, you grab the straps and race down the steps. If Seungcheol can hear your bounding footsetps, he doesn’t show it. Instead you crash into his back just as he’s about to leave the room, to which he turns around. 

The smirk seems glued to his face and you realize right then you may have been lured. With the 180° that had become of your perception, you couldn’t be mad at him anymore, cooling off the simmer that had been brewing for the past couple hours. 

“Maybe…Maybe I can live with seeing your face for a couple hours a week,” you mumble, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact.

He lets out an incredulous laugh, “Couple hours a week?! Do you realise we sleep in the same bed at night, pretty sure that’s more than a couple hours.”

“You know what I meant!” you huff, arms crossed and turning your head away. You cringe slightly at how you voice echoes across the large lecture hall. 

Feeling his hands enclose yours, pulling your body slowly towards him, you bring yourself to look back up at him. His hands come up behind you when you’re close enough, snaking up your back and waist. You try not to shudder, but it’s hard when you know he’s doing it on purpose. There’s warmth that radiates off of him, a stark contrast from the chill classroom, your fingers finding purchase around his own waist.

There’s more of that same warmth when he kisses you, short pecks, yet ones that have you smiling against his lips. The curve remaining as he rests his forehead on yours.

“Let’s go home, just need to grab my stuff,” he says, but makes no effort to move from his position.

“Are you already done for the day?” you frown.

“No,” he muses, “But it’s only the first day. Besides, I wanna sit in bed with my girl while I map her out for the first assignment of the semester.” 

“Does your girl get premium access?” 

“Hm, maybe.” 

Before you can refute, the door of the room bursts open with a bang that reaches straight into your soul. With the way Seungcheol’s eyes widen, you don’t doubt the same was happening in his own chest. 

There isn’t enough time for you to pull away before hearing gasps alluding from the threshold. 

Soonyoung and Minghao stand at the door, scandalized looks complete with hands over their faces. Hao shakes his head in mock disappointment, eyes pointed. Soonyoung pulls out his hands, framing them like he was taking a picture of the both of you gripping each other.

“Now what would the bulletin look like with these two on the front cover? You’re friends with Seok, right? D’you think you could put a word in?” Soonyoung yaps, the most insufferable look on his face.

Seungcheol laughs, to your surprise, and looks over to you, “What d’you think the bulletin would look like with his F on the front cover?” 

“D’you think you could put a word in?” you raise your eyebrows. 

His smile widens but he’s being pulled away as both your friends move forward to surround him. You vaguely register Soonyoung cupping your boyfriend’s face delicately, singsonging about their years of friendship, or how Hao has his arms wrapped around him in a back hug, head on his shoulder. 

You vaguely register any of it, because you’re smiling too hard at the scene. Smiling too hard when Seungcheol catches your eye, before bursting out laughing, attempting to wrestle the two off of him. 

You bring your phone up to the chaos instead of your hands, wanting to frame the scene for real this time. 

[hangingslothcentral]

looking for a new audio drama?

If you like weird philosophical sci-fi and cyborgs, and hate AI and capitalism, check out Clockwork Bird!! it's the first show I ever made so it's a bit rough around the edges but it's an exploration about the rights of the dead, the limits of science, and the nature of personhood. it's all told through scattered 'found footage' recordings as listened to by Shelly Croft as she looks for her missing journalist girlfriend, Alice, who disappeared whilst she was investigating the welfare of Robin Jaeger, the posterchild for advanced synthetic limbs who may be more, and less, than he seems.

Clockwork Bird as 30 episodes, each 10-25 minutes long.

If you like spooky stories with a lot of heart, long series with lots of moving parts and character arcs, check out Spirit Box Radio! This show has a ton of original music and an accordian cast which grows as the show goes on, topping out at about 27 VAs. Sam Enfield is the happy-go-lucky host of Spirit Box Radio's Enlightenment Segment in the absence of its previous host, but something fishy is going on, and Sam's actually at the centre of a plot with apocalyptic stakes. SBR is a show about grief, storytelling, and what happens when a people pleaser has potentially unlimited magical powers. Find it @spiritboxradio.

Spirit Box Radio has 93 episodes, each 15-30 minutes long, with season finales that are up to 50 minutes long.

Do you like vampires? Gay vampires? Gay vampires that suck (blood. and other, uh, things)? Not Quite Dead may be the show for you. Join Alfie, a former A&E nurse who's knee deep in horrors because of his boyfriend, Casper, who is a vampire. Cas is missing with no indication of when he will return, but without his blood, Alfie is going to die. As time runs out, Alfie records everything he can remember about the months leading up to this moment. This show is gory and horny. Season Two has a tiny blonde guy who sounds French but who is older than the concept of France. This love story bites, viciously, multiple times, for fun and profit. Find it at @notquitedeadpod.

Not Quite Dead has 40 episodes, each 20-40 minutes long. The final season will be out in 2025.

Are you into mysteries and characters who eat hot chip and lie? Do you enjoy listening to shows as they air? Are you a person who likes to have conspiracy-board-level theories about the media you engage with? My new show, Remnants, might be just up your alley. Remnants follows the Apprentice as he learns how to read the objects that come to the First and Last Place. He's watched over by Sir, but Sir isn't much help. Thier purpose is strange and confusing, and the more remnants the Apprentice reads, the more he wonders at what the meaning of it all is, and if there might be some connection he's been missing... Find it at @remnantspod.

Remnants S1 will have 30 episodes of about 30 minutes. S1 started airing in July, and will finish in March 2025.