#i was trying to get it out before school started up again and golly gee | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cyoc49 · 4 years ago

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Golly, Archie!

[Based on an inbox request sent to me by @tfkinky ]

Hiram Lodge stood in front of the mirror and adjusted his tie. Today, as with every day, he looked his best and most professional. The crisp black dress shirt wrapped around his powerful chest, his strong arms were hugged by a deep blue suit coat, and a matching tie perfectly pulled the look together. His eyebrows were neatly shaped. His hair... not a strand out of place. He radiated power, and for a good reason: Hiram Lodge basically owned Riverdale.

He was close to literally owning Riverdale, but he had two items left on his to-do list: Archie Andrews and Jughead Jones. At his every chance to claim total control, those two thugs somehow managed to thwart his plans at the last second. If he could get rid of them, nothing would stop him.

And as it turned out, there might be a way to get rid of them.

In a particular moment of desperation, Hiram had made his way to a local witches’ coven. There, he had learned an interesting fact: there was an alternate version of Riverdale in a local parallel universe. One where life was very, very different.

After a series of shady deals with the witches, Hiram was taught a spell which could be used to completely rewrite the reality of an individual and slip them into this alternate universe. Only in his case, it would be two individuals.

Now, Hiram walked over to his desk. He had drawn a pentagram and lit candles as instructed by the witches, and spread out in the middle were pages from a 1950’s comic, showing teenagers living in the time period. On top of the comic pages were two photos: one of Archie, and one of Jughead. Hiram made small cuts in each of his palms, and held them palms-down over the photos. As his blood dripped onto the setup, Hiram chanted:

Little boys who think they’re cool.

Hot shots, now made into fools.

No longer swear, no longer act mean.

Learn to say golly, nifty, and keen.

Slick your hair and dance the jive.

Welcome to 1955.

With each word, the photos began to warp and shake as if they were water. Slowly the photos began to almost melt into the comic, until they disappeared from the table completely. Instead, the comics now featured two new characters: goofy looking 50’s versions of his former foes. The candles blew out.

Hiram smiled to himself. What fun they’ll have

Archie wiped sweat off his brow. He had been mowing lawns and trimming hedges all day. In an effort to make some extra cash on the side he had started his own lawn care service for the good people of Riverdale. It was tough work, but the money was nice. And he got to walk around shirtless all day, which was a nice plus.

As he threw down another bag of clippings, Archie heard a voice in his head.

“You’re a good boy, Archie.”

Archie paused. He looked around. There was nobody else on the street right now. Had he imagined that? He shook his head and went back to work.

... but even as he worked, Archie couldn’t stop thinking of that little voice. The phrase “good boy” stuck with him, and bounced around in his head like a lone thought running free. Archie had never considered himself one of those goody two-shoes guys. Given everything that happened in this town, everyone had to have a bit of dirt on on their hands. But what if he didn’t? What if he had the chance to do better, wash his hands off and dedicate his life to being a good son and a good member of the community. Well, gosh, wouldn’t that be something?

Before these thoughts went any further, Archie snapped back into the moment. It was a nice idea, but this was his life.

“You’re a well-behaved, well-mannered boy.”

He hear the voice from nowhere again, and this time it sounded even more persuasive. Unconsciously, Archie shifted his back and stood straight, rigid as a board. It was like second nature - without thinking, Archie knew to look upright and presentable at all times. After all, that was the way any well-behaved boy should act.

And as he shifted into a proper posture, he felt a wave of Euphoria was over himself. Standing tall allowed him to push out his chest and show off his arms, after all. He smiled a wide, wide smile. Acting in this way, being a good boy, it made him feel indescribably happy... and also a bit horny. There was a strange feeling bubbling inside of him, growing stronger with every second. A feeling of peppiness, and perkiness. Archie knew it was right to help people. Gosh, that’s what good guys do, right? That’s why I’m mowing my neighbors lawns for free, Archie thought to himself. But no - that’s not right. No, I’m trying to make money... aren’t I? Archie felt confused, like his truth was being clouded and replaced by a new preppy reality that was only getting more intense. Golly, how much farther could this go?

“You have sharp dress style.”

With those words, the few clothes Archie was wearing flew off his body. He immediately moved to cover himself up, until the wave of preppy euphoria relaxed him again. He didn’t really miss his old clothes that much. Sloppy jeans and t shirts? And he had the audacity to walk around shirtless? Unacceptable, Archie thought to himself. I can’t look sloppy, I’m 18 for Pete’s sake! I should be dressed to the nines at all times!

The universe seemed to comply with Archie’s new thoughts as a fresh set of clothes wrapped themselves around him. 1950’s style tighty whities slip up and covered his private areas, nicely cupping his sizeable package and perfectly outlining his firm, round buttocks. The waist band went up to his high waist in that classic 50’s style, a style that Archie was coming to think of as his own.

A white dress shirt appeared next, buttoning itself up to the very top button. The shirt was tight against Archie’s beefcake body, and the outline of his pecs and arms could be seen through the shirt, a feeling Archie didn’t mind. The shirt had a small polka dot pattern on it, but of course it did. Archie loved fun patterns on his clothes! Sometimes he wore multiple bright patterns just to feel extra nifty.

Today was one of those days, apparently, as wool dress slacks with a plaid pattern slid up Archie’s thick legs, coming to rest at his high waist. Through the pants the outline of his full buttocks could be seen. The shirt tucked itself into his pants. As if I would ever go anywhere with my shirt untucked! Archie wanted to guffaw at the thought!

A plaid green bow tie wrapped itself around Archie’s neck into a perfect bow (Archie had mastered the art of tying a bow tie many years ago. He hardly left the house without one). As it locked into place, the wide smile on Archie’s face got wider. He felt absolutely giddy in these clothes. Golly, he loved to dress crisp like this! It made him feel real boss.

Pristine white dress socks rolled up his feet, and wingtip loafers wrapped around them. The shoes were brown leather, so perfectly polished that Archie could see his reflection in them. He polished his shoes every night, he liked to keep them looking a spiffy as possible. A matching brown leather belt, just as polished, cinched his waist, further defining his beefy build.

Over the top of the whole ensemble, a knit sweater vest appeared, in a deep blue. Emblazoned on the front was a gold “R” - for Riverdale High, of course! Archie loved his school and had a number of sweater vests, sweaters, ties, caps, and other pieces of merchandise for the school. He loved to incorporate them into his look - Riverdale’s quarterback should show his school pride, after all!

“You look clean-cut and presentable at all times.”

Archie’s hair ruffled as gel began to flow through it and lock it in a slicked back position. His signature red locks now looked like a plastic helmet on top of his head, perfectly styled into a neat all-American side part (the way every man’s hair should look!), and lightened until it was almost a cartoonish orange.

Archie’s bushy eyebrows slimmed out, taking on a clean styled look, and the pores on his face vanished. Archie how had an impossibly clear and bright complexion, aside from a smattering of freckles across his checks. His teeth straightened into a perfect row. His eyes shined a bright blue, even if his gaze was now a bit mindless.

Archie’s look had totally transformed. He no longer looked like the tough jock he was before. He now dressed like a total square. But Archie didn’t care, he thought his dress style was neato! An artificial perfection settled over his whole look, locking Archie in plasticine preppiness.

Archie rubbed his new clothes. Gosh, he enjoyed the feeling of them so much. As his fingers circled his chest, he heard several more words from the voice, only now he willingly welcomed them:

“You obey your parents, Archie.”

“You follow all orders you’re given.”

“You always hold the door open for those behind you.”

“You’d never do something without asking first.”

“You always say ��please’ and ‘thank you’.”

“You are a good boy, Archie.”

With every command that rang through his vacant head, Archie’s wide smile only got wider. The perky feeling was growing. It wasn’t just in his stomach, it had spread through his arms and legs, into his fingers and toes and into every hair on his head. On a molecular level, Archie felt like a keen all-American teen. A swell guy who helped old ladies cross the street, always had dates home by 10PM sharp, and ended nearly every sentence with “sir” or “ma’am” when talking to an adult.

Archie’s connection to this Riverdale was fading. The squeaky clean school boy now had little in common with the unforgiving town he had grown up in. Instead, he was coming into alignment with the other Riverdale, the one where wholesome American values had never gone out of style. His memories had also shifted from the old Riverdale to the new, as he only ever remembered the 1950’s haven as his home.

But there was so much to do there! Heading to the malt shop! Going to sock hops with Betty and Ronnie! Listening to records! Gee whiz, Archie enjoyed his Riverdale life so much, he wanted to be there right now!

“Archie, it’s time to go home.”

For a brief second, Archie’s head spun as the world flashed and shifted around him.

Only for a brief second, though. After that, it was back to the setting Archie knew and loved. Technicolor houses, white picket fences. Children playing in the street. Home. Archie sighed and smiled. He was at peace here.

Suddenly, Archie remembered his plans for the day. He was going to pick up Veronica and take her to Pop’s. Without missing a beat, Archie ran to Veronica’s house. His knock on the door was answered by this Riverdale’s version of Veronica, sporting a prim blouse and skirt, with bobbed hair.

“Hiya, Ronnie!” Archie exclaimed with a wide grin.

“Hey there, Archiekins!” Veronica pulled Archie into a hug.

The two embraced for a moment and looked at each other sweetly. It was puppy love, plain and simple. Archie always wanted a girl to be sweet for, and Ronnie was the right one for him. And if he was lucky, they might get to play some backseat bingo in his station wagon later.

“Ready to go, sweetie?” Archie asked. Veronica responded with a nod, and the two made their way to Pop’s to split a sundae. Another perfect Riverdale day!

��——————————————————————

Jughead paced the floor of his dad’s trailer. He’d been tipped off by a connection on the outskirts of town that Hiram Lodge had been seen paying a visit to the local coven. That could only mean he was up to trouble. Jughead had been trying to contact Archie all day, but his friend had seemingly gone off the grid. Jughead was getting concerned that it wasn’t a coincidence. If Hiram was resorting to black magic, Jughead had no idea what to expect or how to respond. As much research as he did, that was one area he did not mess with.

But now Jughead felt like he was at the end of his line. Hiram had tried multiple times to take him and Archie out, and if he had finally figured out a way, Riverdale was doomed.

He had to contact the witches. That was the only way, Jughead decided. He would drive out there and convince them to undo whatever Hiram had them do. He would beg, make them see that the safety of Riverdale was on the line. It wasn’t his best plan, but it would have to work. It would have to.

Jughead picked up his keys, but dropped them again just as quickly after a booming voice echoed inside his head.

“You’re a good boy, Jughead.”

He couldn’t move. He knew this was the end. But even scarier than the absolute terror he was feeling in the face of defeat, was the fact that those feelings of terror were disappearing. As much as he didn’t want to listen to the voice, the phrase “good boy” just refused to go away. It comforted him, the idea of giving in. Jughead had worked for so long to be a total nonconformist, and yet in this moment he wanted nothing more than to just fit on. Be one of the boys.

Jughead was terrified by the thoughts he heard and felt. He was fighting to hold on to his consciousness, but it was quickly becoming a losing battle.

“You’re a goofy, fun-loving guy.”

Jughead chuckled. He sure did feel that way sometimes. All throughout high school he had been a class clown, always making light of the situation. It was just his way of seeing the world. He liked to make people laugh, but nobody laughed louder than he did at himself.

“You are always dressed in a clean, respectable fashion.”

Jughead’s denim jacket and flannel disappeared from his body. Jughead didn’t mind too much. He wasn’t the kind of guy to dress to the nines, but he did think that every young guy should know how to dress. Jughead kept it simple, but he kept it clean.

To highlight this point, a blue turtleneck sweater popped up around his slender frame, leaving him feeling very comfortable.

White briefs wrapped up his nether regions like a Christmas present, and black dress slacks covered the top of them. The pants were freshly ironed, with visible pleats down the front. Jughead always wore clean clothes!

White tube socks rolled up his legs, and over the top of them came a fresh pair of Chuck Taylor All Stars. Jughead sighed with relief as he wriggled his toes around inside the shoes. Nothing made him feel more boss than a pair of Chucks.

On top of his head, Jughead’s beanie had reformed as a paper crown, his trademark accessory. Jughead didn’t know how he had started wearing it or why he still did, but it sure was fun! And it matched his goofy personality well.

“Your appearance is just as well groomed as your clothes.”

Jughead’s long, unkempt hair was pulled to the side and perfectly groomed into a side part, shortening down in the process to a fresh cut. His teeth whitened and his skin cleared up, just as it had for Archie. Jughead now looked like a perfect model for a Normal Rockwell painting.

Jughead loved the way he looked. This was who he was: just one of the guys, always ready to join in on plans, but never looking to stand out. He was a lovable goofball, and he wore his reputation with pride.

Jughead stood in place, enjoying the feel of his new getup, as more commands piled into his head.

“You love to eat.”

Food was one thing he couldn’t get enough of. He often had multiple hamburgers at Pop’s, and always had snacks no matter where he went.

Jughead let out a low burp. His stomach rumbled, then expanded under his sweater, reflecting his new big eater tendencies. Jughead enjoyed his little pot belly. He chuckled thinking about it.

“You love to laugh.”

And as he did, his chuckle turned into a full-bellied laugh, sending waves of joy throughout his body. His laugh began to take on a honking quality as the tip of his nose expanded to a bulbous shape.

“You are slow-witted, but keen and well-mannered.”

The light behind Jughead’s eyes faded. His journalistic wit and hard-hitting problem solving skills were gone. As Jughead’s goofy personality took over, he felt his care for school and work disappear. He didn’t like to try too hard, raised people’s expectations of him too much. And besides, that school stuff was so hard. Why not take life easy?

“You love to joke, dance, and do other fun-loving, innocent teenage activities.”

Jughead smiled as he remembered his Riverdale. A town where all his best pals were, and where he got to enjoy his neighborhood and all the pleasant people within. It made Jughead happy to think of his Riverdale. He never had to try hard there. Eating burgers and drinking shakes were his highest priorities. The most work he did was cracking a joke in response to Archie’s latest goof.

Jughead kept thinking about his town and how swell he felt when he was there, and realized he wanted nothing more than to be back. Back in his 1950’s home.

With perfect timing, the final command came.

“Time to go home, Jughead.”

Jughead spun, and so did the world. Then, half a second later, everything was back to normal. He was at home, in the suburbia of good ol’ Riverdale. The sun was shining high and proud, and for the 782nd day in a row there was not a cloud in the sky. Jughead knew this was where he belonged.

And just his luck. Across the street was none other than his best pal Archie Andrews! Archie was with Veronica, but was grinning ear-to-ear as he saw Jughead, and Jughead felt the same way as he saw his buddy. Jughead ran across the street to join them (after looking both ways first, of course).

“Howdy Jug! Boy, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!” Archie exclaimed.

“Right back at ya, Archie! Gosh, I’ve been looking for you all over!”

The two pals exchanged perfect white smiles, filled to the brim with glee. What could be better than life in Riverdale, with good buds and great manners?

Archie opened his mouth again “Hey Jug, Ronnie and I were about to go to Pop’s. Wanna tag along?”

“Golly, Archie! You know I can’t say no to Pop’s!”

The three friends all laughed in unison. They turned and began to walk down the street. The sun was shining on another perfect Riverdale day, and it was only noon! Who knew what kind of wacky adventures they could get in today?

TWO WEEKS LATER

Hiram sat and enjoyed a celebratory glass of wine. It had taken several nights of hard bargaining with Mayor McCoy to get what he wanted, but after pointing out the town’s high crime rate and lack of development (and also after making a few “charitable donations”), Hiram got what he finally wanted: ownership of Riverdale. He now truly felt on top of the world.

“This morning’s paper, sir.”

Hiram turned his head to watch as Smithers, the Lodge family’s long time assistant, came in to the room. Hiram thanked Smithers as he left a copy of the morning’s Riverdale Registrar on the table. Hiram truly didn’t care about most of the tat in that paper, even though he was technically it’s owner. But he flipped through, looking for one section that he had recently insisted they add.

“Bingo!” Hiram found what he was looking for as he flipped to the comics page. There at the top was a full-color page of comics labeled Archie and Friends. In today’s installment, Archie (clad in the most garish red bow tie Hiram had ever seen) was helping the neighbor’s kid find his model plane, before being tricked and falling into a swimming pool. Hiram found himself laughing. Archie had always been a gullible fool, it was nice to see that reflected in his new persona. And there right next to him was Jughead, laughing along and eating a sandwich.

Hiram enjoyed seeing what his two former nemeses were up to. He now had a copy of the Registrar delivered to his office every day so he could observe their ridiculously corny adventures. His eyes rolled along the page, looking at the various scenarios the boys found themselves in.

His eyes stopped at the end of the page where the strip had introduced a new character, and older gentleman in a waistcoat with slicked back hair.

And his blood froze as he saw Archie call this new character “Mr. Lodge”.

...Coincidence, surely? There was a Veronica in the strip, so maybe this Mr. Lodge was just her alternate universe father. Why on earth would he be in the strip?

Then, Hiram knew exactly why. In order to convince the witches to hand over their secrets, Hiram had promised to grant the witches legal ownership of their coven’s land, as it was within town limits. Hiram had of course told them what they wanted to hear, but in his legal proceedings earlier that day, he had laid out plans to turn the woodland containing the coven into a tourist lodge.

And somehow, they had found out.

Hiram maintained his composure, even as panic rose inside him. He had faced tougher foes before, and he wasn’t about to let a group of hokey witches take him down. He just had to think of what to do.

Only it was becoming terribly hard for Hiram to think, because a new voice was speaking to him:

“You’re a good boy, Hiram.”

#preppy #preppy tf #preppytf #stepfordization #bowtie #sweater vest #riverdale #archie andrews #Jughead #riverdale tf #suitandtie #suittf #suit tf

182 notes · View notes

spookybreadstick · 3 years ago

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Dearest Toby Rodgers.

Good gosh and golly gee...just saying that name brings back memories. Getting pissy online over any criticism levied upon you, reading your story again and again, desperately trying to summon Slender Man in hopes he'd take me away from my lunatic parents, seeing you in my dreams...

It was a simpler time.

I've got a double whammy of autism and ADHD, and frankly, you helped me get through some tough times in my life. Maybe that's why you're still my favorite out of the others..I grew up with you. You were more sympathetic and understandable than Jeff, not supernatural like either Eyeless or Laughing Jack..you're a person, just like me. Sure, some people saw you as annoying, but you were teenage me's best friend, I had you on my lock screen, I wanted to buy the hats, the merch, you even introduced me to Masky and Hoodie, and thus, Marble Hornets, and MH still inspires me to write to this day. So...thank you. So, so much. You have no clue how much you mean to a random stranger over the internet.

Also, your hoodie is awesome. I wanna steal it.

Forever yours

Eli

𝘏𝘪 𝘌𝘭𝘪! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦! 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳�� 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘓𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘯, 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴. 𝘐 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭, 𝘩𝘢𝘩𝘢. 𝘔𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺'𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘐 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰. 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘚𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸? 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵... 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘈𝘋𝘏𝘋, 𝘵𝘰𝘰. 𝘈𝘥𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘛𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦'𝘴, 𝘊𝘐𝘗𝘈, 𝘈𝘋𝘏𝘋, 𝘢𝘯𝘹𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺, 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘗𝘛𝘚𝘋. 𝘚𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘯, 𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵...

𝘈𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘑𝘦𝘧𝘧'𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴. 𝘓𝘑'𝘴 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘰, 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘐 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘌𝘑 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘺, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘥. 𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘶𝘺. 𝘓𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘵𝘰𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦, 𝘢 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭? 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦-𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵! 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥. 𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥? 𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥

𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘏𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘴, 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘵. 𝘐𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦. 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦'𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘋𝘏𝘋, 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵? 𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘛𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦'𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘋𝘏𝘋, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘺!

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘺, 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘵, 𝘵𝘰𝘰. 𝘐𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦, 𝘌𝘭𝘪. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯. 𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺? 𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵. 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵! 𝘖𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘉𝘺𝘦!

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘛𝘰𝘣𝘺

𝘗𝘚: 𝘓𝘺𝘳𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘚𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦!

This was a really sweet letter! Toby and I both love it <3 <3 <3

TRANSLATION:

Hi Eli!

Thanks for writing to me! First off, hope you’re in a better place, man. Lunatic parents are no fun, I had one myself so I know how it is. I appreciate you defending me against online bullies. Where were you when I was getting bullied in school, haha. Means a lot to know that somebody’s looking out for me out there though. You know, I used to wish that somebody would take me away from my life too. I didn’t know it would be Slender, but I just wanted to get out of my living situation, you know? I know you’ve probably heard my story on the news before, and you said that you’ve reread it a bunch of times so you probably know this already but... I’ve got ADHD, too. Add that to my growling little pile of disorders. I’ve got Tourette’s, CIPA, ADHD, anxiety, depression, and mild PTSD. So fun, I know. I’ve also probably got bipolar and maybe autism in there too, I don’t know, a doctor once told me that but my dad brought me out of the doctor’s office and told me we were never going back there again. He also said some other things that I don’t want to repeat....

Anyway, I wanted to let you know how much it means to me that I’m your favorite. I don’t get a lot of that, and I get it. I can be pretty annoying at times, but you know I mean well. And you know, Jeff’s kind of an ass but he’s okay sometimes. LJ’s okay too, he’s just a clown so I try not to let him bother me too much. And EJ looks really scary, but he’s really not that bad. He’s always been patient with me, so that’s how you know he’s a good guy. Lot of the people here are pretty good people, deep down, even if they don’t want to admit it. I like to think that way about myself, too, but it’s hard on some days.

And even though it’s kinda weird that you had me, a random person, on your lockscreen and stuff, it’s flattering if I’m being honest, that somebody out there thinks I’m at least halfway cool? I don’t know how I could have been teenage-you’s best friend, but I’m glad for it! I’ve always wanted to be somebody’s best friend, and to have a best friend. Hey are you looking for a best friend? Cause I could

I have to be honest, I don’t know what Marble Hornets is, it sounds familiar somehow but I can’t place it. Is it a show that Masky and Hoodie like to watch or something? Is that how you know them? Whatever it is, I’m glad it makes you happy. And I’m real glad that it inspires you to write. I wish I could write, but I’m not real good at it. Between the Tourette’s and the ADHD, writing is not my friend. You don’t want to know how many times I got distracted while writing this or how many times I started this letter over because my tics messed it up. But it’s like really cool that you write. What do you write about? Something cool? You should send me your work sometime. Might take me a while to read it, again between the Tourette’s and the ADHD, it’s hard for me to sit down and read something, but I can try!

And hey, at the end of the day, I’m just a random person over the internet, too. It meant a lot to me to get your letter, to know I have somebody out there rooting for me, somebody who thought of me as a best friend even if I wasn’t really there, and somebody who thinks that I mean a lot to them. You mean a lot to me, Eli. Your letter was super nice, and I’m gonna keep it under my pillow from now on. Is that weird to say? I hope not. I just want you to know that I think you sound really cool and I really hope awesome things happen in your life because you were awesomely kind to me and you deserve it! Okay I’ll stop rambling now. Bye!

Your grateful friend, Toby

PS: Lyra made the original for me, but Slender’s had extras made for me because of his brother being like a fashion wizard or something. You could totally have one of mine!

#📨#📨 message a pasta! 📨#message received 📨#📨 letter from: ticci toby #🪓#toby rogers #ticci toby #🪓 toby rogers 🪓#🪓 ticci toby 🪓#🪓 Toby Rogers/Ticci Toby🪓#creepypasta #my version of the pastas #messaging the pastas #spookybreadstick

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ambivalent-anarchy · 4 years ago

Text

Empire State Of Mind

Masterlist

Gender: Female

Pairing: Peter Parker x stark!reader

Warning: None

Summary- (FLUFF)(CRACK)the story of how Peter Parker got over his fear of heights (I was inspired by one of Peter's lines in the Spiderman ps4 game)

A/N: Okay this is me getting back to fics because apparently the only way I can actually get inspiration to write is if I'm procrastinating sooooooo since school has started I guess there will be lots of that lol

---------------------------------------

When Peter told Ned about his fear of heights, he completely freaked out.

"You can't be afraid of heights. You're Spiderman!," he whisper-shouted at their lunch table. "How can Spiderman be afraid of heights?!"

Peter shrugged. "I dunno, maybe I'll just have to get over it eventually."

"But if the spider gave you strength, perfect eyesight, and all those other awesome things. How could it not give you the ability to not be afraid of heights?!," Ned asked, utterly confused. "I mean, spiders aren't afraid of heights."

"Yeah Ned, I know. But-"

"And if spiders aren't afraid of heights then when the spider bit you, you should've picked up that trait too, right?"

"Ned-"

"-Maybe you just got a really lame spider. Maybe the spider that bit you was afraid of heights and he was a spider outcast and-"

"Ned!"

When Peter told MJ about his fear of heights, she immediately mentally prepared herself for his funeral.

"How is Spiderman afraid of heights?"

Pete groaned. "I don't know..."

"I knew it," she sighed. "You're gonna die."

"Wait, what?"

"You can't be out there saving the city while being afraid of heights. That doesn't mix," she explained matter-of-factly. "You're gonna die."

"I'll get over it, MJ. I just have to keep trying."

She shook her head. "Whatever you say, loser. But when you die, the only thing I'll be saying at your funeral is 'I told ya so'."

When Peter told Harry about his fear of heights, he teased him about it relentlessly.

Peter braced himself. "And before you say it, yeah I know: 'How is Spiderman afraid of heights?'. Ha. Ha. Funny."

Harry tossed a pretzel into his mouth. "That's pretty pitiful, Pete," he snickered.

"Yeah I know-"

"-You're supposed to be the 'Amazing' Spiderman, not the 'I-can-only-save-you-if-we're-under-fifty-feet' Spiderman."

"You know what? I'm just going to stop telling people," Peter mumbled, hiding his face into his hands.

"C'mon, I'm just messing with you, bro," Harry teased. "But seriously, how can Spiderman be afraid of heights? That's like Ironman being afraid of iron!"

Peter stared. "...it's really not though."

"Whatever." Harry reached over to ruffle Peter's hair with his hand. "Just come to the penthouse tonight and I'll throw you off the roof. Bam. Fear conquered."

"..."

When Peter told you about it, you did the natural Stark thing to do, and helped him out...after teasing him of course.

"How the fuck are you Spiderman and you're afraid of heights? How does that even work?," you laughed.

"Ugh, not you too [Y/N]," he groaned.

"Why're you scared if you've got your webs?," she interjected again. "As long as you remember those, you can't fall."

"That doesn't really help."

"Wait, so you save all those people in tall buildings while you're so scared of heights? Wow. You're even more awesome now."

Peter shrugged it off. "I guess when the moment comes to save people, I kind of have to push the fear aside, y'know?"

"Aaaand why are you even telling me this? What, you want me to fix you or something?" You laughed again, slapping the table. "I'm good with robots, Pete. I'm not a wizard."

Peter shuffled in his seat. "Well I-i was kind of hoping that... maybe you could h-help me?"

You raised an eyebrow. "And how would I do that?," you asked, giggling a bit. "Push you off avengers tower?," you teased.

"A-actually I was hoping for the Empire State Building..."

You paused. "...wait, what?"

Peter nodded in response.

"Pete..I was only kidding... Like really, are you being foreal?!"

He smiled, patting his hands on his lap nervously. "Will you?"

"You're going to fall off the Empire State Building to get over your fear of heights?," you asked.

He nodded uncertainly. "Yep."

"...And you want me to push you off said building?"

"Yeah pretty much," he confirmed.

You stared in disbelief for a moment before checking your watch. "The things I'll do for your dumbass," you sighed. "Alright. Meet me at the top of the Empire State at four. But if you die...I will not be held responsible.

--------

Peter crawled cautiously along the side of the Empire State Building, being sure to never look down.

'You're not that high, Pete. You're not,' he told himself. 'You're only like twelve....t-twelve....hun....'

"Twelve h-h-hundred fucking feet off the fucking ground oh my goshhh!," he whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as he continued up the building. "Oh my God, please let me live."

He crawled with his eyes closed until he couldn't feel the thick glass wall anymore. Peter jumped over the railing of the 103 floor observation deck and finally placed his feet on solid ground.

"Wow, Spiderman. You're literally shaking," he heard your voice laugh.

Peter looked at you, wide-eyed as you sat on top of the railing, legs pointed outward, facing the city. "How are you not terrified right now?!"

You shrugged. "I literally take the iron suit for a joy-ride like every week. Heights don't bother me. Now, are we doing this or not?"

"J-just.. gimme a second," he mumbled. "You can do this, Peter. You can do this," he pep-talked himself. "You got this."

You remained sitting on the railing and swinging your legs, trying to give Peter some space to get himself together.

After what felt like about ten mintues, you looked over at him. "You okay over there, Pete?"

Peter took a deep breath and gave a small nod before peeking over the side of the building, which he quickly realized was more than just a big mistake on his part. "F-fuck no!" He quickly stepped back until he was the furthest he could be from the edge. "It's too high! I-i can't do this!"

You groaned. "C'mon, Pete. Wasn't this your idea anyway?"

"Actually it was sort of Harry's!," he stammered. "...[Y/N]..I-i really don't think I can do this."

You ran towards him, cupping his face with your hands. "Hey, hey... relax. You're gonna be okay. You hear me?"

Slowly, he began to nod. "...O-okay," he sighed and took the time to prepare himself again. "I think I'm ready."

You backed away a bit. "You sure?"

"..no."

"Look," you said. "Y'know, you don't have to do this if you really don't want to."

"No," Peter declared, squeezing his eyes shut, his hands turning to fists. "No, I said I'm going to do it today. So I have to do it today. I have to."

"Well then let's do it."

"But I can't!," he whined.

You groaned. 'If this dork doesn't make up his mind.'

Then it hit you.

"I guess when the moment comes to save people, I kind of have to push the fear aside, y'know?"

He'd told you the answer to his problems without even knowing.

"Got it," you whispered.

Turning around quickly, you climbed back over the railing separating the standing area from the edge of the building with a mischievous smile.

Once comfortable, you started to rock, swinging your legs back and forth. "Golly gee, Peter. I sure hope I don't fall!," you yelled dramatically in the perfect 'woe-is-me' fashion.

Confused, he looked up from where he was frozen in place. "[Y/N], what?"

You continued to speak dramatically and robotically. "Oh it would be such a shame if maybe I were to..." You gestured a person falling with your hand until it finally reached the end. "Splat!"

"[Y/N], c'mon. Stop."

"And I suppose if I were to happen to be plummeting to my death-" you looked over at him with wide eyes. "-The only person capable of saving me would be the AMAZING Spiderman!"

"[Y/N]. I'm not kidding around. Seriously, this is dumb."

"Gee wilikers! I guess my life is in your hands now Spidey!," you smirked before throwing yourself off the edge of the Empire State Building.

"[Y/N]! What the fuck!"

"Whooooooooooooo!," you yelled as you fell, confident that he would catch you.

Rolling his eyes and cursing under his breath, Peter immediately threw caution to the wind as he jumped over the fence. The only thing on his mind was catching you.

'You idiotic bitch of a girl that I love...'

Gathering his crazy surroundings, he looked around until he finally saw you. And there you were, free falling and whooping like you were on a rollercoaster and not actually almost dying.

'Okay, Pete,' he thought. 'Save her or Mr. Stark will literally kill you..Plus your girlfriend will be dead... yeah definitely that too.'

"[Y/N]!," he yelled.

"Any time now, Peter!," you shrieked once you felt you'd been falling for a bit too long. "C'mon, I know you can do it so how about you FUCKING DO IT!"

Finally catching up with you a bit, he shot a web out to pull you towards him, and then shot another on the building.

You gasped when you felt something yank you upwards. Immediately after you were scooped up by a blur of red and blue.

"I've got you, [Y/N]," he gasped out, one arm holding you while the other was busy holding the two of you up with the webbing. "I've got you."

You held onto him tightly and let out a laugh of relief. "I knew you would," you giggled. "That was awesome."

He began to laugh too. "Oh my gosh, you crazy little adrenaline junky!"

You smirked in response, looking around at where you were now "Sooo.. we're hanging off the Empire State Building..what now?"

Peter looked around too. "Uhh-" he smirked. "-wanna go for a swing?"

"That's just the adrenaline talking, Petey," you informed. "But I mean, I'm down if you are. You're not still scared?"

"Oh I'm terrified," he laughed before leaning in for a quick, messy kiss. He stared at you with nothing but love in his heart. "But I'll be fine as long as I've got you."

The next time Peter found himself swinging through the air, the last thing on his mind was how high he was going.

@spideyyeet, @soft-petey, @hey-its-grey, @allegra-writes, @chaoticpete, @underoosjae, @allegra-soleil, @sovereignparker, @lost-space-ranger, @kelieah, @spidey-reids-2003, @spidey-boy-89, @thesherlockianavenger, @crappy-unicorn

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dracox-serdriel · 1 year ago

Text

There are a number of things that are kind of insane going on here:

"Traditional Broadcasting Structure" was a hellscape. Perhaps you've forgotten, but things were broadcast at a set time on a single channel. If you didn't have the channel? You didn't see it. If you had the channel but you missed it, you effing missed it. Maybe you could catch the re-run if you were lucky enough to encounter it. But those were also scheduled at a set time on a set channel. Oddly enough, shows still had social function, even though Real Life could - and often did - EASILY prevent people in your workplace or school from watching that last episode. Seems to me like Traditional Broadcasting Structure had more hurdles to the social aspect than Binge Structure.

Outside of set channels/times, shows that drop weekly aren't magic fairies that grant everybody their run time in free time to watch them when they're available. Lots of people haven't watched the latest drop and/or haven't watched the most recent season. This is especially true for shows that drop during weekdays.

I feel silly for having to write this, but here it is: Spoilers were a thing before binge watching. So why would spoilers trip up the social aspect now but not then? (Again, remember how easy it was to miss the latest episode.)

To the best of my knowledge, it's just as easy to ask, "Did you see the episode last night?" as it is to ask, "Wait, what was the last episode you watched?" So, this idea of "oh well someone might've binged it and you only saw the first episode" isn't the barbed wire gate of fan conversation it's being framed as being.

Binging can absolutely be conducive to analysis and enjoyment, especially if the show has complex world building elements, complex plot, and tons of crap going on in general. Not having a whole week of Real Life Crap getting in the way can make the story more engrossing and even easier to follow.

Perhaps this is just a personal peeve of mine, but those "previously on..." recaps that run at the top of episodes often bang out major effing spoilers (like, ohhh gee golly gosh, a clip of character-we-haven't-seen-in-a-whole-season? perchance they appear in this episode?!), which can ruin it for some people. Also, they are cut for brevity, which can leave them echoing partial information or straight up misleading information because of how the cut is done.

Fun fact: Nothing is actually stopping anyone from opening a show that dropped an entire season one episode at a time with a week in between. Yes, indeed, you can recreate the "traditional" release style of episodic TV shows!

This idea that binging is killing fandoms is kind of insane for a number of reasons. Why blame binging when there's a far more obvious culprit? The sheer volume of new content available to fans.

All humans have limited time, and most of us have pretty limited free time. So, how many people are up-to-date on a show AND active in the fandom at the same time? That was already a limited number of people before streaming services and binge watching. But two decades ago, in 2002, there were 182 original scripted series avaialble. In 2021, there were over 550 original scripted series released/dropped/broadcast. [source] Oh, and wait - this count doesn't include a lot of stuff - for example, outside of a few (including PBS shows) kid's shows aren't counted nor are non-English shows. [source]

Want some other numbers to work with, like maybe some indication of stuff before 2002 when FX started counting? Maybe include kids shows and non-English shows? Try IMDB's handy search!

TV Series, Released between 1950-01-01 and 1950-12-31 - 280 titles

TV Series, Released between 1960-01-01 and 1960-12-31 - 557 titles

TV Series, Released between 1970-01-01 and 1970-12-31 - 716 titles

TV Series, Released between 1980-01-01 and 1980-12-31 - 945 titles

TV Series, Released between 1990-01-01 and 1990-12-31 - 1,502 titles

TV Series, Released between 2001-01-01 and 2001-12-31 - 3,181 titles

TV Series, Released between 2021-01-01 and 2021-12-31 - 10,783 titles

Now look at this by decades:

1950-1959 - 3,988 titles

1960-1969 - 6,655 titles

1970-1979 - 8,023 titles

1980-1989 - 11,284 titles

1990-1999 - 19,780 titles

2000-2009 - 42,797 titles

2010-2019 - 96,172 titles

2020-2023 - 35,066 titles (as of August 8, 2023)

There is more content being created now than ever before, and a lot of us have access to content created from 30-50+ years ago on top of all the new content out there!

People are blaming binge watching for reducing fandom discussions, when the logical reason for the reduction is that you are participating in smaller and smaller fandoms. It's not that there is a lack of passion, a lack of creativity, or a lack of interest - all that's lacking is the size of the fandom that's up-to-date on recent material. We all have so much content (even new content) to choose from, and we all only have so much time.

The only valid point I read in this thread was about Netflix canceling shows that didn't meet ridiculous standards. That being said, Netflix has consistently refused to report actual numbers related to production performance. They'll say it "underperformed" and cancel it, but they don't bother reporting the numbers. Why would they? Right now, they hold all the cards - nobody but Netflix can see how well a show is performing on their platform; nobody knows how Netflix actually measures that performance; nobody knows WTF Netflix actually thinks of as a show with good performance. So they can say "oh well it didn't perform well" and cancel it. Spoiler alert: Netflix cancels shows after Season 2 because by Season 3, their labor force FINALLY has means to negotiate for better compensation. Netflix will cancel shows that perform incredibly because they'll make more money on shows on season one or two because they're stiffing their labor force and pocketing that money as revenue.

Before, broadcasting network viewership could be measured by outside forces. Now, these streaming platforms are monopolizing that information. The only audience they'll care to share such numbers with are advertisers, who are likely forced to sign confidentiality agreements just to see those numbers. These streaming platforms can now obfuscate show performance/viewership to meet their own ends and pad their bottom line. So this idea that Netflix canceled a show because not enough people binged it the first week is complete BS propaganda. Netflix likely planned on canceling that show before they even dropped the newest episodes, especially if the newest episodes were season 2 or beyond, regardless of viewership, turnout, or acclaim. They've already calculated their numbers, and actually paying their laborers cuts too far into their profits, so they cut the show. Please don't buy this idea that bingewatching (or a lack there of) is actually involved here. And keep on rejecting this idea until these effing companies pony up the effing numbers and methodology behind their "performance" requirements. They won't, of course, because that kind of transparency will result in a loss of control that will become losses in revenue.

One more point: someone mentioned House of the Dragon fandom content after all episodes were released (after 2.5 months of content being released), but they've not bothered to mention what they were comparing that to. In theory, the only way to know if more fandom content is produced by binge drops vs. weekly drops is to compare fandoms of roughly the same size at roughly the same duration of content consumption/processing. So, you can't compare the content produced by the fandom 1-2 weeks after a binge drop to the 1-2 weeks after the last episode of a weekly-dropped show. That doesn't make sense. The latter fandom has had 3 months of time to produce content, while the former only had 2 weeks. You need to compare them both after 3 months of the last episode drop. And even that could be a crap-shoot, because fandoms that are released at different times of year may have more/less content due to time constraints of the humans paricipating in that fandom.

TL;DR -

Binge watching is not destroying fandom. There are simply fewer people active in each individual fandom now because there is so much more new content being produced.

Binge watching has not mucked up the social aspect of shows. You are simply much less likely to watch the same shows as people you know IRL, even when it comes to "popular" shows -- because there really are that many shows available.

Binge watching (or lack there of) is not why Netflix canceled that awesome show. Netflix cancels shows after season 2 to avoid paying its workers (they finally get leverage by season 3). Don't believe their reasons until they pony up the numbers and are transparent on their performance expectations.

Traditional Broadcast Television was a hellscape, stop acting like you're pining for the good old days. It was NOT better back when you could miss an episode because you had to take the dog out for a walk. And it certainly wasn't better when there were only like 5 shows to choose from and if you didn't like them - oh well.

"binge-worthy show" man fuck that

i want my shows one episode followed by a whole ass week of going a little insane over it with the people on my phone, writing fics theorizing and going over every single scene through amazing gifs and meta, before the next ep drops and the cicle begins anew

#binge watching #entertainment #stop hating on the binge dude #binge is not the enemy #binge is not the villian #binge is not killing fandoms #stop blaming the binge

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kalee60 · 4 years ago

Text

Tap That

Author: Kalee60

Square Filled: C3 - Free Star - Middle Square

Ship/Main Pairing: Bucky/Steve

Rating: G

Major Tags/Triggers/Warnings: None

Summary: When Steve is distracted while waiting at a busy crosswalk on the way to an important meeting, he inadvertently meets the man of his dreams - but only after making the most mortifying social gaffe of his life.

Red faced and apologetic he tries to forget the incident.

But sometimes when things go wrong - they suddenly turn out spectacularly right.

Word Count: 2,129

Read on ao3 here

For: @buckybarnesbingo

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve was late, he hated being late.

Tucking his portfolio snug up under his armpit, he strode down the busy sidewalk, dodging people left right and centre, using the fancy footwork he’d learned from years of walking the streets of New York.

The coffee shop he was meeting his potential new client at was only a few blocks away, but it may as well have been on the other side of the ocean with the crowd and traffic lights he had to adhere to. Steve wondered errently if he should just jaywalk and dash across in between cars. He squashed the thought, he enjoyed not having to pay fines, and also he enjoyed being alive and not suffering death by delivery truck. It was close to peak hour after all.

Steve was hopeful that the meeting would go well. His design business was growing in leaps and bounds, but he needed just a little more exposure and steady clients on his books before he felt that he’d truly succeeded. And then once he felt like his career had reached a point it was self sufficient, he might take Nat’s advice and start to date again.

It had been a very dry few years, with only a couple of random hookups to keep his desires in check. But if he were honest he was reaching an age that, yes, sex was amazing, but he was kind of looking for it more regularily and with the same person. But finding that special someone with his hours and workload, was near to impossible, plus dating apps and set-ups with friends only went so far.

He wanted a connection, something tangible and electric.

Steve wasn’t asking for much at all. Just the impossible.

The crosslights ahead turned red and he scowled, hitching the portfolio up again, and felt a small tug on his knit jumper. He’d not even realised he’d caught a thread with the sharp corner of the folder, and as he tried to salvage the knit with one hand, he reached forward to press the button to hurry the crosswalk up, with the other.

Steve tapped it a couple of times, but didn’t feel the usual depress, or the sound, but he was too annoyed that the small amount of wool had come untethered, knowing he’d have to get out the needle and thread that night to fix it, to really notice the difference.

He tapped the button again.

“I think you should buy me dinner first, before you go any further," a sardonic, yet deeply amused voice said.

Steve looked up to see the most beautiful man in existence standing before him, looking over his shoulder back at Steve, his blue/grey eyes sparkling with laughter and it took too long to realise he was speaking to him. To Steve.

“Excuse me?” He asked, and when the dark haired man with a smattering of stubble he suddenly had a desire to press his face against, gestured lower, towards their hips, it took him a long moment, embarrassingly so, to realise he’d not been pushing the button for the crosswalk.

He’d been tapping this man’s very tight and firm, and if he were honest, gorgeous ass.

“Oh shit, crap, um I mean, shoot, Jesus stop swearing. I am so sorry.” Steve managed to mangle out into the open and he must look like the biggest idiot to roam the world.

The chuckle the man let out was sinful, deep and Steve wanted to curl up in it, make him do it again and again, try to elicit a full body laugh.

“Don’t be, and please keep going, I want to see if I hear a ‘dang it’, or a ‘golly gee’.”

Steve’s face was flaming, he could feel the redness, the heat, and knew the slack jawed expression on his face, wouldn’t have been the most attractive.

“Please believe me when I say, I don’t make a habit of… accosting men at crosswalks.”

The man turned back towards the light which had just changed to walk, and Steve swore he heard him say, “pity.”

They ended up walking next to each other, both of their strides long and Steve kept throwing glances at the brunette. His jacket collar was pulled up against the cold, framing his gorgeous cheek structure, and he seemed to be about Steve’s age, plus he couldn’t see a ring on his finger. And Steve was officially creeping on a man whose ass he’d tapped at the lights (and didn’t that phrase bring up delicious images).

But, it seemed like the man was throwing just as many looks Steves’ way. And the appreciating glance at his snug knit made him glad he’d chucked it on. Nat had said it was a good fit, and paired with his dark wash jeans and loafers, he was casual yet smart and was glad now of his choice. Especially if he kept getting small side-glances from a man he wanted to gobble up.

Just as he was psyching himself up to talk to him again, Steve’s phone rang and as he fumbled to get it out of his back pocket, and answer it. The man had continued on, glancing once over his shoulder with a wide grin. And Steve was going to regret for the rest of his life that he didn’t chase after him, but it was his potential client on the phone.

After a quick three minute chat where they said they were running an hour late, Steve decided that he’d just go to the cafe and get some caffeine into his system, grab a bite to eat and work on the proposal. Or get lost in the memory of the perfect man.

He walked into the shop, the scent of grounds hitting him and he inhaled deeply. Steve loved the smell of coffee. Ordering the biggest they had on the menu, Steve waited for it, then traversed the earlish morning rush and found a free table, situating himself at it and taking a long sip, savouring it.

“Well, if I knew you were under-caffeinated, I could have excused your lack of unique swear words.”

Steve choked on his next sip, and praying milk didn’t just come out of his nose, he looked at the table next to him. The perfect man sat there, a smug look on his face, a coffee before him and an open text book, now laying face down as he beamed at Steve.

Once more he felt too hot, but managed to grin back.

“Believe me, I have some good ones tucked up my sleeve.”

Blue eyes snapped to his biceps, encased in the wool and he couldn’t help the little thrill that went through him as the man clearly checked him out.

“Yes, you do,” was the drawled response, and Steve felt it all the way through to his dick.

Holy shit - they were flirting. Steve was actually flirting, in real life, with somebody he was very interested in.

“Are you, er, are you meeting someone? I mean here, today, now?” Steve had managed to go from some semblance of flirting to utterly looking like a dork in three seconds. It was a new record.

The man’s grin was blinding, “nope, I’m just here to get out of the office for a bit, do some light reading,” he grimaced at the technical book, which looked like it had something to do with engineering, “and you?”

“Oh, I’m meeting someone in about an hour or so.” As the man’s smile dimmed, Steve realised what that sounded like, “for work, it’s a work thing. Fuck… sorry, again. If you’d like, you can join me, at my table I mean.”

“Sure,” the man didn’t even blink, suddenly sitting in front of Steve, coffee before him, book now shut, eyes trained on Steve’s. “I’m James, but you can call me Bucky.”

Oh, that was nice, a name, his dream man had a name.

The chuckle came again and James, no, Bucky was laughing at him, why? Fuck again.

“Sorry, I honestly am usually not this dense. I’m Steve.”

He held out his hand and Bucky took it, his palm warm and slightly calloused, the friction as their skin met, rough, in the way it would feel amazing running down his chest, lower and lower until -

“So Steve, when you’re not accosting men at traffic crossings, what do you do with your days?”

Almost an hour later, and two more coffees, Steve knew he’d never been so charmed before, or half in love with someone he’d just met. Bucky was everything he was looking for, funny, witty, smart and seemed to be eye-fucking Steve as much as he was in return. Giddy with excitement and anticipation he continued with his story about when his nose got broken in a fight with a kid seven years older than him in school, when he felt something against his leg.

Pausing, he saw Bucky’s grin widen and the movement against his leg intensified. Steve smiled and pressed himself closer, heart hammering in his chest.

Then Bucky leaned forward, motioning for Steve to as well. Tilting his body so they were only a breath apart, Bucky smirked then whispered, “Steve, would it be too forward of me to say that I really want to see you again, but with less people, more privacy and much less clothing, maybe get you to tap my ass again?”

Steve gulped, eyes shutting for a mere second in pure unadulterated want, Christ did he need that. Badly. Desperately.

“I’m sure we can arrange something.” He husked back and as Bucky smiled, eyes full of promise, Steve closed the gap.

Their lips met, still warm from their coffees, and Bucky tasted of all the good things in life, everything he’d been waiting for. Moving, he opened his mouth, still conscious of where they were, and deepened the kiss as much as he dared. Bucky was onboard, more than if the hand that came up and pulled at the back of Steve’s head was any indication, and paired with the small helpless gasp he felt on his tongue as he pressed it into Bucky’s mouth, he was going to enjoy their time together. Immensely.

The clearing of a throat shook them from their indiscretion, and Steve pulled back, noting the way Bucky’s lips were reddened and his desire to yank him back across the table and just take him was viceral. Bucky looked like he was ready to be thoroughly fucked. And Steve was definitely stepping up to the plate and would deliver on that front.

“Steve Rogers?”

His full name broke Steve out of his little bubble of fantasy, the one where he was licking down Bucky’s spine, leaving nips and licks and bruises on his skin.

“Uh, yeah, Jeremy?” It was his client, with the worst timing ever.

Jeremy looked between Steve and Bucky a moment, but before Steve could say anything Bucky had neatly slipped from his seat, indicating for Jeremy to sit.

“Catch you around, Steve.” Bucky said with a smirk, slipping a small business card into his hand, then left the shop.

Steve looked down to read ‘James Barnes - Mechanical Engineering - Patent Attorney’ it was a mouthful, exactly what Steve hoped he would be. It also had a personal number scrawled on the back with ‘call me’ written in block letters.

“So Steve, I really like -”

“- hang on Jeremy, just excuse me for one second.”

Steve raced out the store, seeing Bucky looking down at his phone a few metres away waiting for the crosswalk. He strode over and without even thinking twice, tapped his ass a few times. Bucky jumped and turned around with a scowl on his face, until he saw Steve.

“Steve?”

Steve didn’t wait a second, just wrapped his arms around Bucky completely, squeezing him tightly against his body, holding him like there was no one else in the world except the two of them. Bucky melted into the embrace, his mouth opening into the kiss, tongues tangling until Steve was gasping for air. He pulled back and rested his forehead against Bucky’s for a second, inhaling deeply, looking into Bucky’s blue eyes.

“I’m going to call you,” he husked out, smiling like he never had before.

Bucky laughed, loudly and free, it was glorious. “Pal, I hope so, I’d hate to think you kiss all the men you accidently tap like that. Tonight?”

Steve beamed.

“Tonight,” he promised, then gave Bucky one last chaste kiss, and waved goodbye.

Heading back to the coffee shop and his client, Steve felt a spring in his step that hadn’t been there for a long time, and put Bucky’s number in his phone immediately.

It was a good day. A very good day.

#buckybarnesbingo2020 #my writing #stucky #meet cute #steve x bucky #short and cute #my partner saw this happen at the lights in the city one day #of course he text me immediately starting with - here's a fic starter idea #and guess what - here's the fic!!

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littlemonstersau-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Meet The Parents

Written by @jkl-fff, illustrated by me

————————————————————————————————

Bill, meticulously arranging props in front of laptop: … Okay, that looks enough like organization getting unintentionally messy … [puts cotton balls in cheeks to make them rounder, straightens tie, puts on stolen glasses, picks up pen] And now, to wait for the skyelp to come through! [bends over “homework” as if dutifully studying … holds exact pose for over 5 minutes while quivering with excitement]

*laptop chimes as skyelp comes online*

Dipper, excitedly: Will? You there? I’m here with Mom and— [registers costume (especially new additions of sweater vest, tie, and glasses) and gasps]

Bill, beaming and voice-cracking: Dippy!

Dipper, breathlessly happy: … h-hey there …

Ms. Pines, squealing softly to her husband: My gosh, he’s so cute!

Mr. Pines, just as softly and trying not to laugh: He looks like a tiny, Irish accountant. Like he’s balancing the ledgers for the Leprechaun King.

Ms. Pines: I know! I just wanna pat his chubby, little cheeks and put a pencil behind his ear!

Dipper, blushing: M-Mom! Dad! Don’t embarrass me with B-Will! [clearing throat] Um, Will. This is m-my Mom and Dad.

Bill, dripping with wholesome enthusiasm: Pleased to meecha, Ms. and Mr. Pines! I’m William Corduroy, but you can call me Will. Or even (ugh) Willy, if you like.

Ms. Pines: Well, Willy, it is sooo nice to finally meet you!

Mr. Pines, sternly: What are your intentions with my son? [gets smacked by wife while son groans] What? C’mon, I had to ask it at least once. I’m a dad!

Bill: My intentions? [flashes through everything he’s imagined doing with Dipper since the twins had to go home … it’s pretty wild; blushes; starts to sweat] hhh … HOLD HANDS! MAYBE KISS FACE! CH-CHERISH! [gestures helplessly at Dipper] I mean, look at him! What else could anyone intend with him?!

Ms. Pines and Dipper: D’awww!

Mr. Pines, still sternly: You tell me. What else do you intend?

Dipper, burying face in hands: Oh, Moses, Dad …

Ms. Pines: Dear, stop, you’re making the poor boys nervous. And teenage boys already sweat enough as it is. Just look at Dipper.

Dipper: Mom!

Ms. Pines, insistently: We can have a talk about … safety and responsibility later. [Bill and Dipper exchange a horrified look] Right now, we’re here to get to know Dipper’s little boyfriend. So stop acting out clichés for 5 minutes, please. Now, Willy … um … How’s your day been? What’ve you been up to?

Bill, relaxing visibly as things go back on script: Oh, y’know. Same old, same old. School. Now I’m just here at the library, gettin’ my homework done for the weekend. [gestures at prop “homework” like a good student] Sorry I couldn’t do this at home where you could meet my dad, but we don’t have a computer. If you can believe that. It’s also why I’m still wearin’ these school clothes.

Dipper, confused: School clothes? Gravity Falls schools don’t require uniforms. They’re public.

Bill: Oh, well … Today was … special.

Dipper: Did you … dress up just to impress my parents?

Bill, a little defensively: Golly, I just wanted to make a good first impression! So your folks’ll, y’know … like me. And let us keep being together.

Ms. Pines, charmed: Oh, don’t worry, Willy. It worked; I think you look absolutely darling!

Bill: Gee, thanks! I can see where Dippy gets his sweet personality!

Ms. Pines: Oh, you!

Mr. Pines, rolling eyes: Okay, honey, dial back the falling for cheesy compliments. Anyway, Will, what do you like to study?

Bill: Oh, I really like math. Especially … trigonometry.

Dipper, snorting: Pff! Seriously? Oh, um, inside joke.

Bill: Perpendicular.

Dipper: Hahaha! C’mon, man, be serious!

Bill: Let’s see … I also like psychology. Dream analysis is fun, ‘cause then I getta tell people that, like, I’m the boy of their dreams … analysis! At least, I getta tell Dipper that.

Mr. Pines, snorting: Okay, I’ll give you points for that one, kid. Dad Joke level of corniness. 6.5/10.

Bill, grinning: Gee, thanks!

Mr. Pines: You getting good grades in math and psychology?

Bill, playing at modesty: Oh, golly, sir. I don’t wanna brag … But it is easier to work hard when it’s fun, y’know? Unlike the way they do history classes here.

Mr. Pines: Boring teachers?

Bill: Yeah. Plus, they’re complete schills for the conservative military-industrial complex. It’s bad propaganda done borin’ly.

Mr. Pines, perking up: What makes you say that?

Bill: Oh, the usual. The don’t even teach that Ben Franklin was secretly Gwen Franklin, that JFK was killed by mobsters from the future to keep him from becomin’ a robo-dictator, and that Ronald Reagan was a mind-controlled puppet put in power by a conspiracy of billionaires to keep colonizin’ other countries for their resources and essentially slave labor.

Mr. Pines: Ugh! Tell me about it! And it’s all because they want to keep the populace uninformed and easy to pacify.

Bill, defiantly: But it’s not gonna work on me! Or Dippy! We do our own historical research and stick it to the man!

Mr. Pines: Boo-yeah! Tear down corporate capitalism! [turns to wife] Okay, I like this kid.

Bill: I can see where Dipper gets his keen judgment of character. Along with his striking good looks.

Mr. Pines: Oh, go on!

*Dipper gives bill a secret thumbs-up*

Ms. Pines, smirking: Okay, now who has to dial back the falling for cheesy compliments? [turns back to Bill] So, math and psychology and rebellious history study … Given any thought to what you’d like to do with those when you grow up?

Bill, feigning thoughtfulness: I … think … I’d … like to make video games. Coding and design and such. But ones that make players think and be creative.

Ms. Pines, impressed: Really? Has Dipper told you that’s the kind of work I do?

Bill: What? No! Gosh, Dippy, why’d you never tell me! That’s just swell, ma’am! What kind?

Ms. Pines: Indie games, so there’s a lot of side-scrolling and retro RPG elements—very basic gaming elements— but sooo much more heart. And, like, artistic integrity. The kinda stuff that really touches people.

Bill, starry-eyed: That’s the kinda stuff I wanna make!

Ms. Pines: It’s not easy … but it’s worth it. So, how’d you and Dipper meet? When’d you start dat—

Mr. Pines: Wait, sorry, hold up. Is that a freakin’ skull? [points at shelf]

Bill, genuinely surprised: What? [turns, has to take off glasses to actually see] Well, gosh, it looks like it is.

Dipper, mouthing silently: Why in the 79 hells would you even put that there?!

Bill, honestly: I’m honestly not sure why the library’d have that. I didn’t even notice it.

Mr. Pines: Might wanna get your prescription checked, kiddo.

Bill: They’re reading glasses, so …

Dipper, mouthing silently: Where’d you even … ARE THOSE GRUNCLE FORD’S?!

———

[Meanwhile, back at the Shack, Ford, stumbling around all squint-eyed: Ah, Stan, there you are! Have you seen my glasses?

Sascrotch, standing mutely like a taxidermied figure: …

Ford: It’s the darndest thing. I’d swear I set them on the end table when I laid down to take a nap, but couldn’t find them when I woke up. Of course, I’m not having much luck finding my glasses without my glasses.

Sascrotch: …

Ford: What? Oh, am I still getting the silent treatment for saying you’re too old to have hair that long?

Sascrotch: …

Ford, indignantly turning away: Fine, who needs you anyway? I’d find them without your hel—

Ford, tripping: AAA!

Ford, lying flat on his face: … I’m alright!]

———-

Bill, continuing as if to the Dad, but actually to Dipper: It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. [goes and puts a book in front of the skull] There! Problem solved!

Mr. Pines: Yeah, that’s much bet … Is that The Necronomicon?!

Bill, genuinely surprised again: … Huh. Looks like it is. [picks it up, pages through it … shakes head] Nah, it’s just The Nockoffronomicon. You can tell ‘cause it doesn’t mention Shaggy or even Bob. And instead of Cthulhu, it’s dedicated to Cthhula. [puts different book in front of skull] The best dancer among the Elder Gods, am I right?

Mr. Pines: Heh … 7/10 for that one.

Bill: Gee, thanks! Anyway, um … D’you mind if I tell ‘em, Dippy? You’re sure it’s okay? [pretending to get bashful] So, um … Dippy used to have a crush on my big sis, Wendy. And ‘cause she works at the Shack, they’d be, like, hanging out together a lot. He even came over to the house a few times. And, um, naturally I had a crush on him from the get go, ‘cause just look at him! Who wouldn’t?

Dipper, blushing: Ah, jeez …

Ms. Pines: D’awww!

Mr. Pines, grudgingly: D’awww …

Bill, making himself grin and blush wholesomely: So I started coming along to hang out. Then, before I knew it, it was just us hanging out alone together. And we were exploring the woods one day when we found some wild mistletoe—golly, I told him, “That’s wild mistletoe. That’s what it looks like in the wild.” and then he said … No, he stepped under it first, then he said, “Guess we gotta kiss now.”—and so we kissed.

Mr. Pines, slapping his son on the back: You sly, little dog!

Bill: And I was like, “Gee, that was swell!” Can you believe it?! Real lame-o line to follow a first kiss, right? And he was like, “We could do it again, if you want.” And I said, “But, gosh, we’re not even dating! Everyone’ll think I’m a boy-floozy!”

Ms. Pines: HA! Oh, that’s precious!

Bill, giggling: Y-yes, ma’am! It was! And then Dippy, he said, “Well, be my boyfriend. We’ll start calling our hang-outs dates, and I’ll fight anyone who calls you a floozy.” It was soooo chivalrous!

Dipper, beet red and with his hands in his face: Stahp …

*a while later, after the parents have left*

Dipper, relieved: That … That went a lot better than expected. And they sure loved Willy Corduroy.

Bill, self-assuredly: Natch. I’m inescapably charming, no matter the alias. [pulls out cotton balls and tosses them in the trash] If you ever call me Willy, though, I will shank one of your stuffed animals. That was me takin’ one for the team. Which is us, by the way. The team is us.

Dipper: Heh! Yeah, I gathered that.

Bill: Still, I’m surprised they never asked about my eyes …

Dipper: Oh, I “warned” them in advance. Told them you had a medical condition, and that you were really sensitive about it.

Bill: Good thinking. You’re so smart. And handsome. And sexy.

Dipper, grinning: Stahp!

Bill, grinning back: Nope. Never. Because I love you.

Dipper: Hehehe! I love you, too … Willy!

#little monsters au #billdip #bipdip #bill cipher #dipper pines #gravity falls au #writing #fanfiction #meet the parents #here it is bois #submission

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musikat18 · 6 years ago

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Star Trek: Schism Chapter Seven (Bones x Reader)

Pairing: AOS Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy/Reader

Summary: Ever since the Academy, Bones has known that Lieutenant Commander Y/N Y/L/N was not the ordinary security chief. Something about her secretive, aloof nature and red-tape-coated files make him more than a little wary of her friendship. When the core of the Federation is shaken, she’ll have to cope as her friends realize that some secrets are better off buried in the past.

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence and blood, emotional turmoil, feelings

A/N: GOLLY GEE WHIZ IT’S BEEN A WHILE? Anyway, long-awaited Chapter Seven! I’m probably going to focus on series stuff (and a two-shot in the works) for a while, just because they’re a little more easy for my brain right now with all the Madness Month wind-down, and I’ll probably stitch something together for free week of Trek Fest...really disappointed that it’s not really working out to be able to do it this year.... This chapter also features a short flashback in italics, so that’s where that comes from. Enough rambling from me-- enjoy!

Star Trek: Schism

Chapter Seven: The Things We Do For Love

You kept your eyes firmly schooled on the open torpedo, not really sure how to reconcile what you were seeing with your entire career.

Was this what you had chosen to fight for? Was this the grand product of it? Humans frozen in torpedoes, effectively killed by their sole survivor?

Did this really make you just as bad as him?

“So bait,” Jim frowned at the body that was still laying in the cryotube. “Marcus set us up as bait.”

“Not bait,” you shook your head, “he fully expected you to actually pull the trigger on these people, and you almost played right into his hands. If anything, it was the change of heart that made us bait. It’s my fault.”

“You had no way of knowing what would happen,” Jim said. “What happens on this ship is my responsibility.”

You disagreed, but you chose not to say anything.

“Think you’re gonna talk to Khan about it?” Bones asked. He was asking Jim, you were sure, but he kept his eyes on you. He had nearly the entire time that you and Jim watched him and Carol get a better look at the man in the missile.

You blamed yourself for that, too. You had lost control of your emotions; it was your fault for getting both of your hopes up.

“He’s not worth any more of your time,” you advised. “We know what he’s trying to do. He wants the torpedos, and who knows what he wants to do with them once he gets the people out of them.”

“We could theoretically just let him leave with them. Go far enough away that he’s not a problem.”

You couldn’t keep the ice out of your eyes as you finally turned to face thoughtful and set hazel ones.

“Speaking from personal experience, I don’t think Khan is willing to just take his ball and go home. I don’t think Marcus is willing to let sleeping dogs lie, now, either. We’re in this mess, and I don’t know how long we have before Marcus comes after us for it.”

Carol’s eyebrows quirked in realization.

“The Vengeance. That’s our next obstacle.”

“I know Lieutenant Commander Y/L/N is a little less generous than usual at the moment, but--”

“No. My father,” Carol shook her head, “he’s been developing a ship with enhanced warp capabilities-- including mid-warp tracking and firing capabilities.”

“Then he’s certainly already started after us. I’m going to go check on Chekov, see if he’s got things up and running down in engineering.”

“Y/N!”

You didn’t stop when Bones called your name, no matter how much you wanted to. You had a new mission-- protect your crew and the Federation from not one, but two madmen. Protect Jim, protect Carol. Protect Bones….

You had failed at protecting your loved ones once. You would not do so again.

“Y/N, I want to talk to you.”

Damn that doctor. You paused in the corridor at the feeling of Bones’ hand around your wrist, gentle but insistent.

“Doctor--”

“You’re gonna call me Doctor after kissing me like that?”

You had to measure your breath before you turned and responded to him.

“I’m not very interested in talking about that kiss right now. It was a mistake.”

Your heart wrenched at the hurt that surfaced in his eyes, “Mistake?”

“I’m supposed to keep my emotions in check, Leonard!” you snapped quickly. “It wasn’t-- What I feel isn’t important. I have a duty to this entire ship. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I put my emotions above my duty, and I can’t afford to...I shouldn’t...I don’t deserve to have you. Kissing you was...selfish. Just like it was selfish of me to run from my sisters...and now they’re dead. All my selfishness has cost me, no matter what I did to keep it from doing so.”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You didn’t have to, though, to know that his whole heart was breaking at your words.

“Y/N…”

“Do you know why I don’t talk about Archanis? Do you know why I can’t bear what I’ve done?”

He looked down at your hands. He wanted so desperately to take one and hold it and reassure you.

“It’s hard to answer that when you still haven’t told me anything, darlin’.”

You drew in a long breath before you spoke, but even then, your voice was shaky.

“Because it makes me just as bad as Khan. He was right. One hundred percent right…”

Bones’ brow furrowed, so you went on to explain more….

“The Klingons took the whole damn research base on Archanis, Galatea!”

Marcus’ voice boomed as he spoke, but you remained perfectly still. You had heard much worse screaming from your own throat.

“I understand, sir.”

“That’s one hundred hostages, and two hundred Klingons this much closer to closing in on us. Do you know what could happen if we get tangled up in war with them?”

“We can avoid it,” you insisted. “It’s one base. I can extract the hostages.”

“One base is one base too many.”

“Admiral, I just need a ship large enough to--”

“You’ll be seen.”

You smirked. “Have I ever been caught before?”

“Hostage situations are different. Extraction isn’t enough.” Your brow furrowed at Marcus’ cold and firm tone. “All two hundred of them...dead. They have to go. It’s too close to call.”

“Sir, you think the Klingons won’t notice two hundred missing soldiers?”

“Scientists, Galatea,” Marcus corrected. “Though, you might not be all that wrong. Don’t know if they have much of a distinction.”

“Two hundred bodies is too much to cover,” you set your jaw hard. “It’s easier to just get our people out.”

He walked the length of his desk, silent. It wasn’t a good sign.

“Three hundred people on Archanis, Galatea. Do you know what it’s like to have three hundred lives in the balance?”

“Is this the part where you tell me how hard it is for you to run the Amazon Corps, sir?” you asked, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm.

He turned slowly back to you, but you couldn’t read his expression.

“If they got here, you know, that would be three hundred deaths on your hands-- one for each of the Klingons. And I’m certain they’d find a way to take care of those one hundred hostages. Three hundred lives, gone.”

You didn’t like where he was taking this.

“If you’d like to wait, I can help you understand what three hundred deaths feels like.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You would sacrifice almost three hundred lives just to prove a point?”

A fist slammed down on his desk, and for the first time in a long time, you physically jolted at the noise.

“We are constantly teetering on the edge of life and loss, Agent Galatea,” he glowered. “If I can’t make you understand with words, I’ll make you understand with your sisters. I need two hundred dead Klingons. You can make it happen.”

You nodded, still barely breathing.

It made you less disgusted by the blood that coated your hands, your cheeks, your uniform when you returned home a week later.

You could almost feel the blood dripping from your chin again when you recounted the story, but it was just tears rolling down your cheeks. The wetness was quickly brushed away by a soft pad on your face; when you were more aware of yourself, you quickly realized that Bones was wiping them away.

You gently pulled his hands away. You didn’t deserve his kindness.

“Khan’s doing it by choice. You did it under threat,” he said.

“But the blood on our hands is still the same,” you shook your head. “Don’t you see? This is why this isn’t going to work. This is why it wasn’t fair of me to kiss you. I can’t put you in my line of fire. I can’t be selfish because it’s going to hurt other people. My sisters are dead, anyway. It didn’t matter. I can’t let that happen to you now when it does.”

He didn’t know what to say. What you had confessed, and all your terror and breaking down...it was the one wound he couldn’t heal, a scar he couldn’t dermal-regenerate away, a gash he couldn’t seal up.

It may not have been him driving you away, but he wasn’t entirely certain that was a good thing.

“I told you knocking down walls was a bad idea,” you murmured, arms crossed in front of you, not in defense, but in weakness. Leonard never remembered seeing you so vulnerable before.

“Well, I don’t care what’s behind your walls,” he said firmly, taking your hands. “It’s still you. We’ve both made mistakes. Some are a little bigger than others, sure, but they’re ours. And they’re yours. And I love all the parts of you, so I’m not afraid of whatever it is Marcus or Khan or whoever wants to throw at me. I just want you to let me in.”

Your lower lip quivered as you looked up at him; god, he wanted so badly to capture it with his and soothe all your pain. Maybe he always had. Maybe it had just started with the headquarters attacked, as his heart had suspected.

All he knew was that he wasn’t going to let you go it alone with this burden anymore.

But instead, you just smiled, sadness dusting your vision.

“That sounds lovely. But impossible. So I’m sorry for being selfish.”

Weighing down his heart, you took back your hands and walked away.

You can’t help pacing on the bridge. Marcus is coming. He has to be. By this point, it’s only a matter of when.

“Calm down, Y/N,” Jim looked over at you. “We’re going to be fine.”

He didn’t sound confident.

“Jim, please don’t,” you exhaled heavily. “Don’t lie like that.”

“Listen, I may not be a super-soldier, but that won’t stop me from trying to help the crew. We’re going to make it out of this together.”

You didn’t believe him, but you stayed quiet for the sake of the uneasy crewmen around you.

“Well, if you’re really that confident, at least you have another super-soldier on hand in the brig.”

Jim shifted in the chair instead of answering you.

“What’s that about?”

“I...might have moved Khan from the brig.”

“To where? The warp core? I hope it’s the warp core.”

The blond was more quiet than he’d ever been before, and that made you look at him.

“What?”

“Well…” he measured his words, “it’s not the warp core...I mean, I’m happy to tell you where Khan is, it makes sense for you to know, I mean, safety hazard, he’s your brother and all, but, well…”

“But what?”

“Well...first you have to promise not to get mad.”

You slowly narrowed your eyes; Jim felt the ice freeze his bones.

“James Tiberius Kirk, do not tell me you put my psychopath blood brother in the medbay.”

Jim opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it.

“JIM!”

“YOU PROMISED NOT TO GET MAD!”

“NO, NO I DIDN’T! YOU JUST ASKED ME TO, AND I DIDN’T, BECAUSE NOW I’M MAD!”

“Captain,” Uhura interjected nervously, “it’s the admiral.”

Jim took a moment to decide whether he would rather face an angry you or a looming admiral. He looked back over at you with your crossed arms and steam practically pouring out of your ears.

“Uhura, answer the hail from the admiral.”

Marcus’ face was promptly emblazoned across the viewscreen. It made you want to spew blood and venom and worse.

“Captain Kirk,” he greeted coolly, “it’s been a while since you checked in. You were due back an hour ago...I was worried that you ran into trouble with the Klingons.”

“No trouble, sir,” Jim answered, not missing a beat. “I have an excellent security chief.”

“Yes,” Marcus turned frigid blue eyes to you, “yes, you do. I’m seeing extraneous numbers on board...take any prisoners?”

“Just one. In engineering.”

You understood Jim’s plan immediately: keep Khan from Marcus, stall as long as possible, and hopefully talk his way out. You knew your captain, that much was certain, but whether or not you trusted him to be able to outfox Marcus was another story.

“Great work, Captain. Prepare to beam him over, and we can call it a day.”

“And what about the missiles?” Jim asked, shoulders back and jaw firm.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek. So much for outfoxing Marcus.

“Oh, shit,” your former boss sighed flatly and leaned back in his chair, “you talked to him. I don’t suppose Lieutenant Commander Y/L/N had anything to do with that.”

“Not intentionally, sir,” you said, keeping your tone dry and your gaze cool, “you learn to just roll with the punches under Captain Kirk. I’m sure he’s as much a nuisance to me as I was to you. ...That’s a compliment, by the way, sir.”

He had that very Jim smile on, “As expected, Y/L/N.”

Marcus huffed, “Look, let’s make this easy. Turn over the prisoner, and we can forget this little lapse in subordination, Captain.”

“No can do, with respect, sir,” Kirk said. “Promoting war with the Klingons isn’t something the other admirals would approve of, I’m sure. Especially not if it means execution without trial.”

A beat. A long, painful, tense beat. You weren’t even sure anyone around you was breathing anymore. You kept your eyes trained on the viewscreen, hoping for mercy and knowing none of you would get it.

“Son, you are aware there’s a helluva lot easier way to erase this problem. Granted, it’d be a real shame to blow so many fine officers to ash, but if this is what it comes to….”

Your stomach dropped, and Jim looked like he had about the same feeling.

“No, sir, understand this was my decision. None of them knew what they were getting into when we left. If— if you want to punish anyone, let it be me, but don’t do this to my crew. Sir, please. I’m the captain. It’s my responsibility. This is all on me.”

Your heart broke for Jim. Marcus would never budge, but his selflessness struck you. This was not the roguish, childish cadet that had walked into your basic training course.

No, as young as he was, Jim was a real captain. You certainly had no reason to doubt him or mistrust him.

You’re snapped from your moment of pride as you see that Carol has made her way to the bridge from the medbay. Your knee-jerk question is what did that sick bastard do to Bones, but you hold your tongue; you’ve gotten very good at doing so.

“Dad?” she earnestly looks at the viewscreen with restrained but pleading eyes. “Dad, it’s me. It’s Carol.”

“Carol?” Marcus is thrown off his game, you can tell. “What are you doing?”

“Your missiles. They worried me. Looks like I was right...Dad, I...I know you’re trying to do what feels right to you, but...I can’t believe that you would sacrifice hundreds of lives for one. And I know that the man who raised me would never do something like this. Please, Dad. You don’t have to do this.”

Your heart leaps at Marcus’ pause. Who would’ve thought the old bastard actually had a heart?

“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t.”

The look of concern that flashed across Carol’s face as gold light began to envelop her, even as she dashed away, put a pit in your stomach, and your hand went to your station as Carol fully beamed over to the Vengeance.

“What’ll it be, son?” Marcus asked.

You were running out of options. What options did you even have left, other than explode in space? Jim very well couldn’t turn over Khan, but….

The words tumbled from your mouth even with your plan half-formed.

“Take me instead.”

All eyes available turned to you.

“You?” Marcus frowned. “That still leaves a loose augment and a very mouthy security officer, Galatea.”

You pretended the name didn’t make you flinch as you strode forward, “But taking and ending Khan leaves you without anyone left to fight your Klingon War. No more Amazons, remember? Not only am I as smart as Khan, but I’m strong. You know that. I’m the perfect woman, after all. With me in your pocket, it won’t matter if you let them go.”

“Y/N, I can’t let you do this,” Jim grabbed your arm.

“I’m not asking your permission, Captain,” you said seriously. “As Chief Security Officer, it’s my duty to protect the crew. This is me protecting the crew.”

“You make a good point, Agent,” Marcus decided. “You have fifteen seconds.”

“Y/N…” Jim looked distressed, but he was clearly keeping it muted for the crew.

You smiled sadly, “I’m too dangerous, anyway. It’s better this way. Just tell Leonard I’ll be okay. And give him this for me.”

You leaned up and kissed your captain’s cheek before golden light rearranged you onto the bridge of the Vengeance. Carol was looking on in silent sadness.

“Agent,” Marcus nodded at you, “welcome back to service.”

Three guards surrounded you; insurance, you decided.

“Let’s just go,” you said flatly.

“Hold on, Agent. Let me say goodbye to your friends.” Marcus looked back at Jim on the viewscreen, “I have what I need, Kirk. You have an hour to turn over Khan or die.”

“NO!” you snarled, paying no mind to the phaser rifles pointed your way, “YOU GOT ME, YOU ALREADY GOT WHAT YOU WANTED! LEAVE MY CREW!”

Sickness settled in your stomach, knowing that didn’t matter.

Jim had better hope for a good way out, because you certainly weren’t going to pull it off from here.

Tagging: @goingknowherewastaken @annathewitch @tellmeoflegends @ha-tep @ncc-1701mccoy @jelaha @southernrebel12 @phanofmanythings @eyeofdionysus @mad-girl-without-a-box @feelmyroarrrr@yallneedtrek @all-stars-allign @flowerbunbunny @one-to-beam-up @mysterymegal @musicmandy1991 @the-super-walking-wholock @bluebird214 @reading-in-moonlight

Tags for this fic are open!

#leonard McCoy x reader #doctor McCoy x reader #bones x reader #st:schism #leonard McCoy imagine #doctor McCoy imagine #bones imagine #star trek imagine #star trek fic #star trek aos imagine #star trek aos fic #star trek into darkness imagine #star trek into darkness fic #so we're all good?#this is fine?#it's fine #everyone is fine #I promise it will be fine

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forestwater87 · 6 years ago

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The last part of my turned-into-a-monster-far-beyond-my-intention art trade with @doritofalls! Hope you enjoy! :)

Chapter 5

The next time Daniel appeared, Kevin half-expected to see a knife in his hand. Maybe Sister Hannah hovering over his shoulder, telling him that Xemüg would be proud or something.

But he was alone -- paler than usual, with circles under his eyes that looked smudged on by makeup, but alone. “You can’t come to the ascension,” he said.

Kevin smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “Nice to see you too, Dan.”

“This isn’t a joke! You aren’t going to the ascension party.” Normally this was the point where he would’ve shoved past Kevin inside, and there was something sad and unnerving about the way he was just hovering outside, glowing brilliant-white in the trailer-dotted wasteland of his front yard, like a diamond ring dropped in the gutter.

“Let me guess, Sister Hannah said no. I’d be too impure and ruin the vibe.” He’d been expecting something like this, and something cold and leaden rolled off his chest. Kevin had had a couple days to think through his spur-of-the-moment dare -- and to realize that he was perhaps just as insane as this merry band of cultists -- and when the alternative was probably being force-fed poison, he was very relieved to be disinvited to the party.

Daniel didn’t react, his eyes dark and bloodshot and unwavering from his own. “You would,” he said, a few seconds too late, like a poorly dubbed movie. “All your questions and your unclean habits -- your unclean mind -- you ruin everything. I don’t want you there.”

Okay, this was starting to sound like the kind of speech that was usually accompanied by a chainsaw and “the voices in my head made me do it.” Kevin slid his foot back, shifting his weight as subtly as possible to not look like he was running the fuck away. “That’s kinda harsh, don’tcha think?” he asked, only vaguely aware of what he was saying -- infinitely more aware of every twitch and tremor of the (very, very insane) man in front of him.

His fingers fluttered, a movement that would barely have been noticeable if Kevin’s brain wasn’t working so hard it was probably overheating, fans whirring as he tried to take in everything and plan a potential escape -- and oh, devote maybe 2.5% of his attention to the things Daniel was actually saying. “Don’t. Just . . . don’t, Kevin.”

Is that the first time he’s actually used your name? the stupid, useless 2.5% of his brain asked unhelpfully.

“Sure, man. Whatever you want me to do. Or not do. Whatever.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, fingering the switchblade hidden there. He was painfully aware of the fact that the Flower Scouts were inside the trailer, trying futilely to get an ancient monster of an air conditioner to work. (He had no idea where it had come from; the girls had just showed up that afternoon, staggering under its weight. For kids loudly opposed to anything resembling work, it was a hell of a lot of effort to go to.) Chances were good they could take care of themselves; he’d seen them scare off giants with machine guns, and Daniel was only 120 pounds of crazy and seemed unarmed. But goddamn it, they were his responsibility.

And like he’d fucking summoned them . . . “Heyyyyyy, so Erin has an idea,” Sasha called, sticking her head out of the front door. “It involves science or some shit. Are you using the ice in the freezer for anything?”

“What?” He turned around, forgetting about Daniel for a second. “I’m using it for ice, what are you talking about?”

“So like, we can have it?”

“I -- yeah, sure. Go nuts.” She started to disappear back inside and he raised his voice. “Fill the trays back up when you’re done!”

(Christ, he’d become his mother.)

He turned back to Daniel, who was watching him with an expression he couldn’t read, but scared him slightly less than the bubbling anger from a few minutes ago. “So . . .” He rocked back on his heels, sucking at his teeth. He wasn’t really good at ending conversations at the best of times. “Sorry I’m not sparkly enough to deserve your crazy-cult.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed, but he still didn’t quite look mad. His gaze flicked from Kevin to the trailer, where the girls had somehow coaxed enough bars out of the area’s horrible cell coverage to blast Sleepy Peak’s single Top 40 station and were singing along (badly) to it. “No,” he said finally, shaking his head. “You don’t deserve any of it.”

“They’ve ascended.”

Kevin glanced up; he wasn’t surprised, exactly, by the intrusion — “storming in and declaring something stupid” was a remarkably common way for Daniel to introduce himself — but he did wish it hadn’t happened while he was “gardening” with the Flower Scouts. “Go check on the cookies,” he muttered to them, and while Sasha just stared at him with dark-rimmed eyes, the other two were much easier to persuade, and dragged her away. “What’re you talking about?”

Part of him hoped Daniel’s announcement would end “They’ve ascended, and everything’s fine. Nothing was poisoned, and we all had a good laugh about what a paranoid freak that old Dirty Kevin is.” But the look on his face . . .

“Inside,” Daniel hissed, grabbing Kevin’s wrist and hauling him toward his trailer. “We can’t talk out here.”

“I literally just sent the girls ins — and we’re here.” Rolling his eyes, he tugged Daniel out of the way of Erin, who was balancing a too-large tray of steaming pink cookies. “Looks great. Why don’t you let these cool outside, huh? Take a break and relax in the shade or . . .” It occurred to him that there wasn’t a tree within half a mile of the trailer park. “. . . something.”

“Seriously?” Sasha rolled her eyes. “If you wanna get rid of us, just say.” She glanced up at him and then back to the floor, biting her lip. “Like we wanted to hang in this dump, anyway.”

“No, guys. It’s not like that.” He knelt down, trying to meet the five downcast eyes. “My buddy here’s just really stupid and might’ve done somethin’ that’ll get him arrested, and I don’t want you caught up in that. Be like Mexico all over again, right?”

Sasha looked marginally convinced, which he tended to use as his meter for all three of them, since she had the least amount of stupid going on. “Guess we’ll, like, call Miss Priss, then,” she said dismissively, turning sharply enough that her hair whipped Kevin in the face. “Come on, ladies.”

She paused at the door, turning to eye them over her shoulder. And hell, before he’d met those girls he’d never thought the glare of a prissy little girl could be intimidating, but . . . “Try not to get arrested.” Her eyes flicked up, then down, taking Daniel in before dismissing him with a toss of her head. “Your weird new boyfriend is totally not worth it.”

Kevin heard a quiet, outraged noise behind him, but then the trailer door slammed shut with a clank. Distracted from his irritation, Daniel burst forward, drawing the curtains and fiddling with the door’s cheap padlocks before whirling on him, a look in his eyes that Kevin couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t the fake “golly gee!” salesman spiel, and it wasn’t religious mania . . . but the few times he’d seen Daniel genuinely angry, it was a controlled, icy sort of rage, not this fire blazing behind his eyes.

For a second they just stared at each other. Then Kevin licked his lips — dry, chapped and dry; what else was new? — cleared his throat, and shoved his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt. “So, uh . . . ascension, huh?”

God, it all felt painfully awkward: Killed any kids lately?

Not like he had a ton of room to talk, but at least the children under his ill-advised care were still alive.

“You were right,” Daniel said, the words coming out all in a rush like he was afraid he’d be interrupted. Or like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve if he slowed down. He was pacing rapidly the length of the trailer, his steps hard enough to slightly rattle the entire camper. “Y-you — all of it — you were right about all of it. It doesn’t make any . . .” He sighed, almost a groan really, and raked his hands through his hair. His fingers drew neat furrows, the fluffy poof of his bangs sproinging back up immediately. “It was all fake,” he murmured finally. “There is no ascension. They made it all up.”

Kevin was aware that his trailer-guest was in the middle of a major existential crisis, but he had customers, and those cookies sold best when fresh out of the oven . . . “Right. Great. Uh, congratulations on all the . . . not being crazy, I guess.”

“It’s gone,” he whispered. His pacing slowed, and for a moment he just stared down at his hands. (Kevin leaned in closer, but they looked like the same pale, well-manicured skeleton hands to him.) “It’s all gone.” Daniel’s head snapped up, his eyes focusing on Kevin with his typical laserlike intensity. But it didn’t feel predatory for once. No, this look was decidedly desperate.

Desperate and hollow, lost hopelessness nestled in the deep, dark lines of his face. And he looked even more like a corpse than usual, skin the color of moon-drenched sand and the cheap fluorescent lights catching in the finger-combed waves of his hair.

Dirty Kevin was no poet, but something flashed across his mind anyway —

( that man is an island and there’s madness lapping at the shore )

— that might’ve been a half-remembered snippet of something he’d read in high school, or something from a dream, or something his brain had conjured up when he was blitzed out of his mind. Whatever it was, it made his skin prickle and go cold.

“What’s all gone, Daniel?”

“The Circle —” He shook his head abruptly, furiously. “The — the cult,” he spat. “There was — a ceremony. An ascension party. I . . . mixed up the drinks. Just to be sure.”

(“Don’t you dare.”)

He didn’t know what to say, but Daniel didn’t seem to need a response. Resuming his pacing, he rubbed his chin with a rough motion, like wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “They . . . ascended. I ascended them.”

His mouth twisted into a cruel smirk, and Kevin had seen that mocking contempt before but never this bitter, and never directed inward.

“No — I killed them.”

(“I don’t want you there.”)

Kevin took an unsteady breath — the first, it felt like, in hours. His fingers were only shaking slightly as he reached for Daniel’s shoulder, and it was almost possible to convince himself it was a holdover from that one bad batch of cookies. “Hey, man, it’s okay —”

(of course it wasn’t okay. Even Kevin wasn’t morally degraded enough to think any of this was okay)

“I murdered them. All of them.” His hands clenched into fists, and while he didn’t jerk away from Kevin’s touch, the vicious look on his face was almost enough to make him pull back himself. “The leaders . . . if they’d all dropped dead except me — if the — initiates hadn’t ‘ascended’ too, they would’ve panicked. Would’ve — called the police.”

Daniel shook his head, his eyes boring into Kevin’s forehead but his gaze a million miles away. Or maybe just a few, just up the road and across an old railyard to a small white house.

A small white house full of bodies.

Calling the police wasn’t sounding like such a bad idea . . .

“There wasn’t enough.”

Kevin jumped; Daniel had been quiet for so long, them both zoning out for who knew how many minutes, that the sound of his voice was startling, a gunshot in the still close air.

He kept talking, not noticing or ignoring the twitch of the hand on his shoulder — still, for some very stupid reason, on his shoulder. “Whatever was in the drinks was enough to kill . . . half the people. Maybe a little more. Mixing all the drinks together with the Elders’ — it wasn’t enough. The poison. It . . . took longer. It took forever.”

Daniel blinked, something like clarity returning to his eyes for a second. He smiled, and it wasn’t the creepy neck-cracking smile that was familiar and, oddly, almost comforting by this point, but a smile that trembled along its edges, a smile shrouded in darkness and shaking from the effort not to collapse into a scream.

Once, Kevin had an ex-girlfriend who said she couldn’t stand to look at him. “Your smile is haunted,” she’d said, standing in the hallway of their apartment — back when he could still afford an apartment. Back when it was still smart to sell out of an apartment. “You have the ghosts of the people you’ve ruined in your eyes.”

He was pretty sure that was complete bullshit, but if any smile had ever been haunted it was this one.

“I had to keep them from screaming,” he said, his voice still soft and breathy and his smile still more than a little unhinged. He let his neck fall to the other side with a sickening crack. “What else could I do?”

Dirty Kevin wasn’t aware of opening his mouth, of taking a deep breath. Of yelling and yelling like his lungs were about to burst.

He wasn’t aware of much of anything except a pair of bright, bright eyes and a poisonous smile.

Then, of nothing at all.

The first thing that came back to Kevin was the smell of cookies.

Then, a furious beeping.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t just stand there! You’re the, like, adult!”

“I’ve never seen one of these in my life!”

That was when he smelled smoke and bolted upright. “Whasgoinon?”

Sasha glanced over, crossing her arms over her chest. “Finally. You’re awake.”

“The trailer’s on fire,” Tabii added helpfully, standing on her tiptoes to see Kevin’s bed from the kitchen; it was really all one big ugly room with a toilet the size of a shoebox, but there were two Flower Scouts and and lot of smoke blocking her view, not to mention . . .

“Dan?”

Daniel coughed, covering his mouth with his arm and stepping away from the oven. “First deal with the beeping.”

Erin tossed her hair, revealing for a split second her one orange eye. “Or, like, the fire.”

Kevin stumbled out of bed, steadying himself against the wall, and hurried over to the kitchen. The damage was minimal, just some very on-fire cookies, and he tried not to think about how much money was smoking up his trailer. “Open the windows,” he said, taking the flaming tray from Tabii, nearly dropping it because he wasn’t wearing oven mitts, and finally letting it crash into the overfilled sink and running the faucet. “None of you know how to turn the alarm off, do you?”

Erin and Tabii shook their heads, while Daniel scoffed and looked away and Sasha snapped, “What do you think?”

Neither did he. “Google it,” he ordered, searching his pants pockets for his phone before realizing someone had put him in pajamas. Another terrible thing to deal with later. Finding it on his bedside table, he considered Daniel for a moment before tossing it to Erin. After an embarrassingly long time of her valley-girl-style coaching, he managed to shut the fucking thing off and collapsed into his armchair, nearly landing on Barbra. As she rubbed her face on his legs and then jumped back up into his lap, he ran a hand over his face, exhausted but far from sleepy, and turned toward his very odd guests. “What are any of you doing here?”

“You’ve been asleep for two days,” Erin said, handing him his phone.

“We told Miss Priss we’re doing extended community service! We even went shopping and everything!” Tabii added.

“Oh, yeah.” Sasha tugged a very familiar piece of plastic from a bag around her wrist and flicked it toward him. “This thing is, like, way out of money.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. If he’d been awake he could’ve told them he hadn’t used a credit card in months. “I’ll pay you back.”

“Nuh-uh, Tabii found some cash in your mattress.” She wrinkled her nose and gave him the most witheringly judgemental stare he’d ever received from a twelve-year-old. “You know, with everything else you’ve got under there.”

“Hey, that shit’s private! And nobody asked you to go snooping in my stuff!” He heard a soft dismissive noise from the other side of the room and pointedly ignored it, keeping his attention on the girls. “You’re too young to know what those are, anyway.”

Tabii brightened. “I’m not! My sister told me --”

“Your sister’s wrong about everything, Tabii,” Erin interrupted.

“Yeah, and what’s with magazines, anyway? I mean, you know the internet exists, right? You’re not, like, that old.”

He opened his mouth to answer that, but his brain caught back up with him. “We’re not having this conversation. Give me back my money!” (So he was a little old-fashioned. There were worse things to be.)

Sasha returned his battered money clip -- which was considerably thinner than he remembered seeing it last -- and the girls sat down around his kitchen table; even if they hadn’t eyed Kevin’s ratty fur-covered couch like it was made of rancid cheese, Daniel had flopped onto it before they could’ve taken a seat anyway. (At least some things didn’t change.) “Anywayyyyy, he keeps trying to make us go --” she jerked her head in Daniel’s direction, hair whipping like a flag, “-- but he won’t leave the house so like, what was he gonna do when you ran out of food?”

“Besides, we thought he might try to kill you like he did all those weird church people!” Tabii said, seemingly completely oblivious to the warning looks the other girls were giving her, or how the air chilled a few degrees as she spoke.

There was a long, tense moment of silence. “Right,” Sasha finally said. “Anyway, we’re gonna, like, go. Since you’re awake now and stuff.” She crossed the room and plucked the money clip from his hand, taking a $20 bill. “For the Uber.”

“We also totally messed around with your phone just totally because we’re bored,” Erin added, leaning over the arm of the chair to prod at his screen. “So like, for totally no reason the police are on speed-dial now? Just like, y’know, because.”

“Have a good night!” Tabii continued to not quite grasp the trailer’s atmosphere, and something appallingly close to affection squeezed his chest. She leaned in close, cupping her hand around her mouth and his ear. “Be careful, Mr. Kevin. My sister says even if you’re gay you can like still get pregnant --”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he cut her off too-loudly from trying not to laugh, putting his hand over her face and shoving her away. “Get back home before you get in trouble.” He watched them leave with exaggerated interest and immediately dropped his head in one hand, telling himself it wasn’t stupid for his face to feel warm because his trailer had very recently been on fire.

It was quiet for a few moments, and Kevin hoped for a second that Daniel would shut up long enough to let him think for a minute or two. He just . . . needed to wrap his mind around everything. The last thing he remembered was Daniel confessing to mass fucking homicide, then apparently he’d been alone with the Flower Scouts for a few days and why had he been hanging around here for a few days? He should be miles away, or in jail, or hell maybe dead in a ditch if this cult was as insane as it’d always seemed, so what in the flying fuck --

There was a quiet snort. “Sweetheart?”

Kevin sighed.

Goddamnit.

He rolled his eyes, lifting his head. “It’s been a weird week,” he began. “Could you just --”

For the first time, he really got a good look at Daniel.

The kid was a fucking mess.

Not by Kevin’s standards, to be sure. His hair was still impeccably styled -- using what kind of product, Kevin had no idea -- and his jeans were as gleamingly white and unwrinkled as ever. But he must’ve borrowed clothes, because the black 2003 Warped Tour T-shirt had definitely come from the back of Kevin’s closet, and so had the cream cardigan he’d shrugged on over it (a gift from his grandmother. Of course Daniel had been drawn to it), and everything was dusted with a thin layer of white cat fur.

Not that his wardrobe was the most startling thing about his appearance.

Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “What are you looking at?”

Kevin’s lips twitched, and he quickly covered his mouth with one hand, glancing over at Barbra before his eyes were inevitably drawn back to Daniel. “Nothing.”

He dragged the wrist of the cardigan across his cheek, like he could wipe away the too-dark stubble. “Stop staring. I hate it, okay? Stop looking at it.”

Kevin nodded slowly, still trying not to laugh. “No, man, it’s . . . really something.” Daniel huffed angrily and glared at the wall while Kevin tried to get ahold of himself, the silence settling into something surprisingly comfortable, like this was just another inexplicable visit. When he thought he could speak again, he took a deep breath and said, “So. The, uh. Hair.”

Daniel didn’t say anything, just eyed him suspiciously.

“Couldn’t talk the girls into buying you some bleach, huh?”

He ran a hand self-consciously through his hair, tugging at where the light brown roots suddenly blazed into platinum blonde. “They don’t like the color,” he muttered.

Kevin did laugh then, shaking his head and enjoying the way a blush flared across Daniel’s cheeks and ears. “Run a tight ship, don’t they?” he said, glancing around the trailer and noticing for the first time how nice it was. Not neater, exactly -- he was actually quite good at keeping things tidy; it was one of the only ways to make a shithole look less like a shithole -- but there were little homey touches here and there: a beer bottle rescued from the garbage and repurposed as a vase, little sprigs of wildflowers scattered throughout the place like tiny religious offerings. “Surprised they didn’t make you shave.”

If possible, Daniel wound even tighter. “You’re out of razors,” he said sullenly. “And in this ridiculous town, children can’t buy them.”

“Makes me wonder why you’re still in this ridiculous town.”

And like that, the familiar atmosphere snapped. Daniel sat up straighter, his entire body tensing like he might bolt. Kevin closed his fingers around the phone in his pocket, taking comfort in the reminder that he had the police on speed-dial.

Well, they were here. Might as well get this over with before he was murdered in his sleep. “Why are you here, anyway? You could be in fucking Cabo right now or something.”

Daniel fidgeted, his gaze on his knees. “There’s nowhere for me to go,” he admitted after a moment. “I can hardly return h -- to the Circle, even if I wanted to.” His face twisted in a bitter mixture of distaste and grief, and Kevin remembered with a start that this was kind of . . . really traumatizing. He’d never done the whole religion thing, but he knew what it was like to have a home suddenly stop being home.

Of course, he didn’t know what it was like to be wanted for mass murder. “But they know where you are, right? You’ve gotta be, like, Xemüg’s Most Wanted now.” Daniel stared at him blankly, and the exhausting task of getting him caught up on something like twenty-five years of pop culture settled over Kevin like a blanket. “Aren’t they gonna come find you? Maybe give you a nice cold glass of poison?”

“What was I supposed to do?” he demanded, putting his hands on his knees and leaning forward, like he was considering getting up.

Kevin shrugged, trying to remain as casual as possible. “Off the top of my head . . . drive the twenty or so miles to the nearest airport, get a one-way ticket to the border, escape into Mexico, dye your hair, and start a low-profile-but-reasonably-lucrative business doing literally anything besides killing kids.”

The look on Daniel’s face was like he’d accidentally swallowed a frog.

“None of that occurred to you, huh?”

He dropped his head in one hand with a groan. “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

“Yeah, not like space toxins and alien wars and all that other totally reasonable cult shit.”

“It had rules!” he snapped, and Kevin flinched. Surprise flickered across Daniel’s face, and for the briefest second something like guilt. Then he settled back against the couch, his expression once again hovering between annoyed and disdainful. “Not like you would get it. You’ve never cared about rules.”

Kevin considered correcting him -- he did have rules, thankyouverymuch, and he stuck by them. The Flower Scouts had never had so much as a crumb of their own supply, had they? -- but decided it wasn’t worth the argument. Not when he was still wrapping his head around the fact that he’d apparently been harboring a felon for the past two days, quite literally unconsciously. “So what’re you gonna do now?” he finally asked, breaking the silence. “That whole Cabo thing is probably out, since I assume your face is all over the news by now. Cops been by yet?” Someone had to have noticed him hanging around; this park was half filled with gossipy old ladies, and Daniel didn’t exactly blend in as much as blindingly draw attention.

Daniel shook his head, looking cowed. Like maybe he’d finally realized what a fucking bad situation he was in.

Good.

Kevin should just call the cops. If Daniel had run for it, if he tried to make a run for it now, he would’ve been happy to protest innocence and give the kid a fighting chance. But if he was too goddamn stupid to even run . . . Christ, he was like a bunny staring down headlights. No survival skills at all.

A bunny with a knife in its teeth.

Kevin ran a hand through his hair, puffing out his cheeks and exhaling loudly. Leaving his phone on the arm of the couch, he wandered over to the kitchen, shuffling through his cabinets to see what he had left in the way of cookie supplies.

(The shelves were filled with food he was pretty sure had never entered his house before: fancy fruits and spices and quinoa, whatever that was. He wasn’t sure whether to smile or wince, looking around at his now very-expensively-stocked kitchen. He was never letting those girls near his cash again, comatose or not.)

“You know anything about cooking?” He cut himself off with a dismissive snort. “Nah, no way I’m letting you anywhere near food. Last thing I need is the whole town dropping dead.” Ignoring the wide-eyed stare he could feel boring into his back, he crouched down in front of the sink, opening a drawer and tugging out a box. “You can’t leave here until we do something about your . . . whole . . . situation,” he continued, waving one hand in Daniel’s general direction. “But I’ve been meaning to start an indoor garden. Friend set me up with a mushroom kit, and --” he shook the box at Daniel for emphasis, “now it’s your project.”

“And what makes you think I want to help you with this . . . business?” Kevin jumped; he hadn’t noticed Daniel’s approach until he was practically hovering over him. Which just brought to mind all sorts of murdery mental images.

Still, he wasn’t going to let himself be bothered. Bunny with a knife, he reminded himself, putting his hands on his knees and pushing himself to his feet. “Nice sneer. Very Snape,” he said, then sighed at Daniel’s confused frown. “Fine, I’ll go to the library, catch you up on the last couple centuries. Anyway, you’ll do it because one,” he held up one finger in Daniel’s face, “you don’t want me to rat you out to the police and I am seriously sticking my neck out for you, so don’t be an ungrateful prick. And two, because you’re not gonna be able to leave this tin can for at least a couple months while shit settles down, and you will be bored as shit.” He shoved the kit into Daniel’s hands, stepping away to . . . well, to do nothing, but it was a good line to walk away on.

And if he also needed a little bit of space between himself and the reformed cultist killing machine, that was only common sense.

“Why are you doing this?” Kevin could count on one hand the number of times Daniel’s voice had approached anything near vulnerable, and something about the way he spoke, through gritted teeth like he was trying to bite back the question but the words clawed out of him anyway, was more pathetic than any frustration or uncertainty or even panic.

Because I’m a sucker for bunnies. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Dan,” he said instead. “I could use some help running my bountiful drug empire, and you could use a place to lie low.” He half turned back, unable to resist a slight smirk. “Simple as that.”

“Nothing about this is simple,” Daniel muttered. He was clutching the mushroom kit to his chest, and spoke down at it.

“Yeah,” Kevin agreed, returning to his chair and plopping down into it. He’d received a text from Sasha, the only one who had a phone and who’d taken the initiative to add herself to his contacts within five minutes of meeting him: ‘still alive?’ “Welcome to Earth, spaceman.”

Daniel’s head snapped up, his mouth opening to make an angry retort, but after a second he closed it, his expression softening almost imperceptibly. He turned and set the mushroom kit next to the sink and turned on the faucet, focusing his attention on the burned cookie tray.

Kevin watched him for a minute, trying to figure out if the slight upturn of his lips was a trick of the light. Finally giving up, he opened up Sasha’s message and tapped out a quick reply:

‘So far.’

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #kevdan #cc daniel #cc dirty kevin #cc kevin #consistent writing style? i don't know her #daniel is way too woobified here #i became what i said i never would #but listen #it's hard to make him likable #and he's just so dumb and pathetic

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the-storyteller-and-her-soldiers · 6 years ago

Text

In The Pits

Title: In The Pits

Word Count: 2,166

Warnings: Mild angst in the beginning but I don't believe it's too bad! (Just being salty over school) Probably a swear word or two in there, none said in malice but just to be safe! FLUFFY ENDING SO FLUFFY YOU WILL CHOKE ON THE FLUFF!! ...Not really but it is fluffy

Ship: The Storyteller and her Shield (Gladio x myself) (Golly gee, I can't even explain why I love him so much! AAA!!)

Summary: Yesterday my friends and I got to talking about school starting up and since my school is literal hell (The devil is our mascot) I kinda work myself up over it since I'm still struggling with my sickness. Well when I go outside to try and work things out all on my own, someone comes in to check on me. And let's just say it's so much easier to sort out everything with someone who cares!

Harsh rays of burning daylight shot down from the cloudless sky above right onto the wooden planks that made up the porch of the historic white house, warming them. This house that held so much unspoken history sat across from the parking lot of one of the town's oldest churches. Aside from the immense humidity that could make a person soak in their own sweat, the world outside was quite vibrant which made it the perfect destination to go try and clear one's mind.

A pair of bare feet, colored by the sun and multiple scrapes and bruises, approached the warm wood. The hushed curses and questions of why the person didn't bother with shoes went unnoticed by the nearby nature of the quiet birds and tired breeze. What could alarm them, however, was the blaring bass guitar that could be heard from multiple feet away, ringing out from tiny black earbuds. The marked-up feet hastily climbed the one stair that lead up to the porch to escape the burning concrete, a huff of relief escaping into the air as the feet settled themselves on the noticeably cooler step. The rest of the body, that of a young lady, plopped itself down on the wood, basking in the heated glow for only a moment before wrapping sun-kissed arms around wobbling knees and curling into a self-given hug. A sudden thump filled the air, earning a caw from a crow that perched itself just above on the charcoal colored roof, as the young lady let her phone carelessly fall from her hand and on to the step below her. She hadn't even reacted to the tug that her trusty little earbuds gave her when she did this, only folding her now free hands over her shaking knees to create a pillow for her heavy head.

The young woman lifted her head only a little to sweep strawberry locks from her view in order to see the familiar empty sight before her. Staring off into the winding horizon, at nothing in particular, lightened her mind somewhat. Although, the fiery-haired girl couldn't even place where her mind was, really. Sun-kissed arms curled in as close as they possibly could towards her torso in an attempt to soothe her main problem, the pit. Oh god, the pit. It felt more as if the girl had somehow swallowed a five-pound weight. It seemed to pull her to the ground and left her throat far too dry and scratchy to even cry out for some ease. Resting her cheek on her arms, the gaze of chocolate eyes fell to another direction of standard nothingness on the desolate residential street. Sitting up halfway, she thought about getting up to grab a bottle of water. The pit in her stomach instantly ate up any strength to even stand and with no motivation, fiery locks once again crashed into the pillow of her arms.

What even caused this? Were the only words of her own that she could hear over the music that had faded to nothing but muffled speech and background noise.

At the melodic ting of her phone reporting that she had multiple messages, she was reminded of the source of her sudden downtroddenness. Picking up the rough black case that enclosed her phone, dark eyes squinted at a darkened screen to view the incoming messages. She flicked through them, chuckling at a few until she reached the conversations that slapped her in the face.

“Riiight,” The girl muttered, glancing down to where she felt the evergrowing pit, “School begins tomorrow.”

Dropping her phone to the side of her, the air was filled with another thump. Hickory eyes hid behind cream lids and tanned hands, while a shiver coursed its’ way through the girl's body.

It was normal to feel nervous before the first day, but this wasn’t just nervousness. This felt more like full on anxiety, which again was normal before the first day, except she had it for all the wrong reasons. Dried peach lips pursed themselves to hold in one of many dry heaves. The girl had been in a very similar situation entering school last year, from the year before. Except for the fact that this time she wasn’t even cured of her ‘sickness’ one that still pained her to no end. That meant that putting on a brave smiling face and enduring all of the needlessly stupid questions from not only her peers but from her teachers would only be that much more difficult. Not to mention putting up with any harassment, god forbid they find her shaking body that hilarious like they did last year.

“No they did not ‘fix’ me, and no I’m not going out spending two hundred bucks of my own money to buy a wheelchair just to be able to come here. I’ve worked too friggen hard.” The young girl responded bitterly to last year’s questions that were echoing in her mind. “And no, I am not a spastic freak! My leg isn’t even spastic. It’s shakey, yeah. But I wouldn’t call it spastic. God, you’d think English would teach us about a little thing called word choice. Gah...”

The girl continued her monologue to no one in particular, only replacing her current frustrations with new ones as she recalled more and more memories from the previous year. Her monologue paused just to let out a drawn-out groan that had been bubbling up inside. Too wrapped up in trying to sort out her frayed mind, the lady with locks of crimson didn’t even hear the heavy footsteps that were coming towards her.

“Yo, Becca, thought you might be out here.” A deep voice called out notifying her of their presence.

Upon hearing a voice that wasn’t her own, Rebecca jumped slightly startled by the sound. Sitting up much straighter than before, she sent the towering brunet a wary smile. “BWAHH-- Oh, hey Sweetheart! What’s up, anything I can help you with?”

“You alright? Didn’t even notice that you left.” Gladio shot back, taking in and seeing past the facade his partner was trying to muster.

Rebecca hung her head slightly causing crimson locks to shield her eyes. “Me, I’m functioning. I just wanted to get some fresh air, can’t stay locked away in my room on a day like today.” A giggle trailed after that statement. But, like the smile she had cobbled together, that too, was rather forced. Gladio simply narrowed his own amber orbs at the girl who sat just beside him. When she allowed herself to catch a glimpse of her partner’s face, she knew that he wasn’t taking any of her crap. She let her airy tone fade into her more natural voice, the one that revealed how close she was to crying. “You’re not buying it, are you?”

Gladio only shook his head. He watched his partner cup her cheeks with her hands and physically fight with herself to keep the smile on her lips. “It’s stupid, getting all worked up over this. It’s stupid!” Crimson locks further obscured her sight while she shook her head.

“Can’t say unless I know what’s going on.”

Rebecca hummed in agreement while she edged closer towards her partner. When she was close enough, Gladio wrapped his arm around her and closed the small gap that was between them. A high pitched squeak emerged from Rebecca as she felt herself being pulled closer. Widened pools of hickory met with ones far brighter for a brief moment before hurriedly averting themselves. A small smile, however, started up its slow game of playing at peach lips. Though the smile once again faltered as she spoke of what troubled her mind.

“School. I’m freaking out over the mere idea of going to school tomorrow.” Resting her elbow on the one knee that had calmed itself and resting her chin in the palm of her hand, words continue to bubble out of her.

"I'm not afraid to go in, though I know what to expect, and to say I hate it would be an understatement. I don't want the pity, or to be someone's shot at free publicity because 'oh look at them they're so nice to talk to the sick handicapped kid.' and I know that's what they want because as soon as the teachers go away so do they.

Don't even get me started on the teachers, I've had a few treat me like a mental vegetable, instead just talking to my aide in regards to me instead of myself. No one is going to know my limits better than I do! There's a lot more but I've said my piece. Now don't get me wrong, there are good people there and I'm not trying to play the 'oh woe is me, I have no one here' because that's bull!

But you've seen my campus, meeting up with said people and friends is a rather difficult normally, let alone in my current state. Not to mention how people can get away with calling me actual slurs but if I try to defend myself, I’m the one being disciplined.

I dunno, it's just why travel through the toxic waste dump --that has been known to kill-- when there are alternative routes to get you to the goal in the same time? You see my point? I’m just not prepared mentally to handle all that without snapping at someone, and that’s the last thing I’d ever wanna do."

Trailing after this long ramble was a breath that Rebecca never realized she was holding. She picked up her head to feel the golden shine on her face while she rubbed away any tears that threatened to spill over ebony dams. Getting all that bottled up noise out had lightened the weight within her chest. But now her stomach had lightened up enough to begin flipping, because oh God, did she truly just spill out like that?! Her insides continued the scream in peril as the programs in Rebecca’s mind ceased to function. Without a proper thought, Rebecca fell over only finding a cushion in her boyfriend’s lap.

Gladio’s fingers found themselves entangled in her ruby strands, watching his partner’s shocked expression shift to one of calmer contentment. Eyes wide as small dinner plates closed and little crinkles revealed themselves at the corners and that oh-so-familiar smile began to tug at the corner of her lips.

“It’s alright if you have more to say. Better to get it all out there.”

Rebecca shifted her body to make herself a bit more comfortable as another airy hum filled the air. “Yeah, that’s true but I don’t know what else to say! Nothing that wouldn’t just sour my mood anyway. I’d rather focus on the positives since I can see them again.”

“Oh yeah? Those being?”

Rebecca opened one of her eyes and did her best to hold back a grin, “Well one of them being you and your cute face.”

Now it was Gladio’s turn to be shocked. It was obvious that he was quite attractive to most and there was never a shortage of compliments from those wanting to be with him. But cute? That was something that he still wasn’t used to since Rebecca was the only one who ever said it to his face. Chocolate eyes studied his expression while she laughed. That sweet smile and those glistening eyes that held such adoration. Rebecca was pretty sure she could feel her heart skipping a beat or two. Though she wouldn’t have long to bask in this moment since her hands flew to cover her suddenly blushing face at Gladio’s comeback. Various high pitched and embarrassed groans were sounded off as Rebecca rolled back and forth slightly.

The heat within her cheeks made Rebecca finally absorb how hot it was becoming outside. Not wanting the extreme heat to mess with her constant headache any further, Rebecca sat up and asked if they could head back inside where it was relatively cooler thanks to her air conditioning. Gladio agreed and stood up first only turning to give his hand to his partner. Glancing down, he noticed that her feet were bare and relatively cut up.

“Want me to carry you?”

Rebecca giggled as she stood up, shaking her head one more time. “Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s just a short walk after all!” Though once the top half of her foot touched the rocky concrete beneath her, her answer changed.

“Nevermind, please carry me!” Was what she sheepishly whimpered, practically leaping into her boyfriend’s open arms...

#ship: the storyteller and her shield #self insert #selfshipping #selfship #self ship #self shipping #selfship community #selfshipdom #gladio x myself #fluff #fluffy #comfort #i'm feeling so much better after writing this

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redhead-33 · 7 years ago

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Yoonmin fanfic idea: cliche I love the bad boy Yoongi and soft boy Jimin perhaps a little too much **mentioning of parental physical abuse** Yoongi is the stereotypical bad boy or so everyone thinks. Everyone, even his friends Namjoon and Hoseok think that Yoongi is the biggest punk in the school. He is two years older then everyone in his grade so what exactly do you expect? It doesn't help that he rides a motorcycle, wears a leather jacket, and there are even rumors that he smokes! Of course Park Jimin tries to stay exactly 17389 miles away from him at all times. The Junior already has enough to worry about with pretty much the rest of the school bullying him, he'd rather not have the schools toughest guy pounding his face in as well. But one fateful day at the nurses office brings the two together in ways they never expected. Jimin was there trying to get his nose to stop bleeding when Yoongi walked in with a black eye. The nurse sighed when she saw him and asked what his father had gotten mad about this time. Yoongi smirked at the nurse, a woman everyone knows is his aunt, and told her that its because he didn't make a 33 or higher on the ACT. Jimin had never seen a woman so angry in his life. The nurse got up and put her hands on her hips, her tone was more then fed up, "That man. How dare he! You had a 32 dammit. You've already been accepted and given full scholarships to what? 6 schools? Good ones at that! If your father thinks he can do better you should tell him to come see me because I might just need to give him a mental exam!" Yoongi let out a small chuckle, "calm down Aunt K. I know it seems frustrating but it's ok. Once I leave it'll be fine. I just hope he doesn't get any stupid ideas again." The nurse threw her hands in the air, "Yeah! Like uprooting his whole family from Korea without any notice and moving to America and making his son take kindergarten twice because he had no English teaching before school. Or maybe like moving again once the same child was in 8th grade and already had fantastic friends where he was just because he heard the weather was better in North East!" Jimin of course wasn't sure if he was supposed to be hearing all if this so he tried to sneak out of the nurses office but sadly hit his hip on the edge of a table and was compromised. The two heads simultaneously snapped to jimin st the same time, one gaze a lot kinder then the other. Jimin awkwardly smiled and forcibly laughed, "sorry, I'll be going now, I think my nose stopped bleeding. Thanks for the bandaids Nurse K." The woman nodded, her smile was kind, "I'm sorry we ran out of the regular ones. I just had those I'm my purse and it's my emergency stash for my daughter. I hope it's ok that they are pink and blue." Jimin shook his head, "it's ok, really. I like the colors. They're my favorite actually. You could probably tell, ya know, my hair and all." The woman let out a small laugh, "I guess so. But Jimin, are you sure you dont want to tell the principal this time?" Jimin nodded yes. "Why not sweetie? If you tell the principal who is doing this they could get suspended or something. You don't have to endure this bullying." Jimin sighs, "What happens when they come back from suspension? They just say 'Oh golly gee I realized what I've done wrong sorry ol jimin pal!' No, they'll kill me. I'd rather be bleeding then dead." The woman sighs back, "Ok. Just, try not to get hurt anymore ok. I'm running low on supplies." Jimin nods his head before leaving. Right before he exits the main office to go to class there's a hand on his arm and Jimin curls in on himself, ready to be hit. But it never comes, instead a deep, slightly gravelly voice fills his ears, "Don't tell anyone." Jimin opens his eyes and looks up to see Yoongi, looking quite anxious at that. "Don't tell anyone what?" Yoongi rolled his eyes, "what you heard in there. Don't tell them about the schools or the score and dont you fucking say a word about my dad. Jimin nods, "I want planning on it." He started to leave but Yoongi's grip stayed firm. He looked back at the boy and Yoongi was giving him a confused look, "What?" "Why do you let them do it?" Jimin furrows his eyebrows, "Who do what?" Yoongi mutters a swear under his breath, "Why do you let those shit heads hurt you? I've seen you dance when I'm passing by the dance class, you have muscle even if your cute oversized sweaters cover it. You could take them but instead you let them hurt you because what? You're gay? Why dont you fight back?" Jimin almost laughs, "I'm not much if a fighter. Even if I could've take them I wouldn't want to. Small, ignorant minds talk with their fists." Yoongi scoffs, "Well I don't find it too smart to allow yourself to get beat up every day. It's not stupid to fight back, it's self defense, it's bravery." Jimin shakes his head, "Your bravery is nothing but a mask to hide your emotions. My bravery is coming to school every day even when I know what awaits me. I'm not going to stoop to their level. They only hurt me because they are afraid of me." Yoongi cocks an eyebrow, "Why do you say that?" Jimin smirks, "Let's face it, I'm hotter then half of the girl population at this school and almost all if the boys. I scare them because I threaten their idea of masculinity and make them question their idea of sex." That was when Yoongi knew he wanted Jimin. There was something about the way the boy had said those words that left Yoongi stunned. Jimin shook Yoongi hand off and left. That was also the day Yoongu decided to beat the living shit out of anyone who hurt Jimin. A few months pass and Jimin doesn't get beat up quite as often and he is starting to get suspicious. He doesn't get why its stopping but then it all goes to hell as he's walking home one day. Three boys jump him and start to beat him up. Jimin doesnt really know what happened at first but all of the sudden he's on the ground and his favorite sweater has holes in it while one of the guys from the football team kicks him repeatedly in the side. As he comes to terms that this is where he'll die Jimin shuts his eyes and tries to curl into himself as the three continue to kick and punch him. But then it stops and Jimin hears a few grunts and then shoes running on the pavement and then there's a hand on his cheek, gentle and warm. Jimin slowly opens his eyes and sees the face of Min Yoongi. His lip is busted but aside from that he looks unscathed. The boy looked at Jimin in concern as he tried to sit up but doubled over in pain. Yoongi helped him sit up and then spoke, "What happened? I swear to god I'm gonna kill those bastards, I tell them that if they ever hurt you at school again I'll kill them and then they go and wait for you outside of school. I'm gonna destroy them." Most of what Yoongi was saying was rambling and if Jimin were honest he barely understood because he kept looking at the olders bottom lip where blood was coming from that was covering his chin. Jimin brought his hand up and brushed Yoongi's lips, effectively shutting him up, "You're bleeding. " "Jesus fucking christ Jimin. Who cares about my lip when you are bleeding and bruised-" Jimin pouted, "Me. I do." They sit there for a few seconds just looking at each other, realizing what Jimin Just said. Yoongi broke the gaze off when he felt his cheeks start to turn red and moved to take his jacket off, "Here, put this on. Your shirt is ripped pretty badly." Jimin looked at the jacket in awe, "I didnt know you could take it off. I've never seen you without it on. This is so weird!" "Oh for god's sake just put the damn thing on." Jimin struggled at first but was finally able to put it on. The two spoke just a bit longer before Jimin agreed to go with Yoongi to his house, Yoongi only offered because his father wasn't home. It was there that the two great closer. Jimin found out that Yoongi actually didnt smome but had only tried it out once in the ninth grade and never did it again because of all the coughing he did afterwards. People only assumed he got addicted after that. Jimin also found out that Yoongi was really into music and that he didnt want ti fo ti some ivy league school for college but actually wanted to peruse music. Yoongi found out that Jimin is planning on going to a preforming arts college after high school and that he had been dancing ever since he was three years old. He also found out that jimin is heavily inspired by love poems and short stories and he loves to write in his spare time. That night the two boys fell in love and nothing else in the world mattered to them in that moment. Not bullies or strict abusive fathers. Not grades or sexuality. Only love.

#yoonmin fanfiction #yoonmin fic #yoonmin fanfic #yoonmin #yoongi #jimin #suga #bts jimin #fan fiction #fanfic #bts fanfction #fan fic writing

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spacenerrrd · 7 years ago

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Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover: Chapter 2

Sander Sides

Word count: 2,948

Characters: Patton/Creativity, Virgil/Anxiety, Patton/Morality, Logan/Logic

Warnings: School stresses

Summary: Logan runs a library in a small town, allowing him to share his love of books without feeling left out. His business partner and friend Roman helps by running the bright Disney themed cafe that attracts more people to stay for longer. The two clashing but somehow perfect match of a friendship went their days peaceful in their small community until one day a new pair of brother; Patton and Virgil, moved into town and showed the owners a new way of live.

Chapter two: Getting to know you

Chapter 1

~~~

Scribbles.

“So you understand that the y-intercept can be found by knowing the gradient of the slope?”

“No I don’t get it. How can you do that? I don’t understand the equation Logan.” The red haired girl hid her freckled face into the heels of her hands.

“Well, let me write it down for you. The equation is y=mx+b and the m stands for….Lucy?” Logan heard sniffles coming from the girl and his face softened from his usual serious tone when he was tutoring. “It’s alright ok? You’ll pass this test because you’ll understand it.”

“But what if I don’t? I need to pick up my grades in Maths otherwise I won’t make my dream university.” She mumbled in her hands, voice rough from her recent crying.

“Don’t you dare say that you won’t make it. I know you can, believe me. You are one of the most brightest and intelligent young ladies I know and you can do this.” Logan scooted his chair closer and rested a delicate hand on her back. “Look at me Lucy.”

She hesitantly looked up, her shining blue eyes glistened with the tears ran down her cheeks, sticking strings of her hair messily across her face.

“Let’s take a break. Why don’t you get that book you come in when you’ve had a bad day and you can read it to me?”

“How did you-”

“It’s my job to know this stuff. Now go.” Logan gave a soft smile that lit up Lucy’s face as she ran off to search the shelves. He sighed, sorting out the sheets of study papers and notes. He didn’t need to see it to notice the person sit across from him, and somehow feeling the smile radiate off them it would really only be one person. “Greetings Patton, I’m glad to see you back again.”

“Hiya Lo! Gee, this place is just oh so lovely that I couldn’t stay away!”

“Thank you for the compliment. May I ask where Virgil is?”

“Oh! Yea Virg is just at the cafe. Needs a big ol’ cup of coffee before diving into the books.” Patton’s happiness seemed very dramatic for the situation, but Logan guessed that’s just how he was.

“So he’s still in school.”

“Yes sir-ry! Very much into the music industry and arts. Such a brilliant kiddo he is!”

“He sounds wonderful indeed. Now I’m sorry Patton, but I have a tutoring session currently and she will be back any minute.”

“So that’s who that pretty young chooken was! I saw how you handled her emotions and it just made my heart swell with joy. You seem to be so good with the children. Do you help them a lot? She seemed to be just so comfortable with you like my golly. I would not expect that from you Lo, but I guess you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, am I right?”

Before Logan could even get a word in to reply to any of the questions Lucy had already returned, grinning ear from ear that made him blush.

“Oh yes, sorry, teaching session going on. I’ll get out of your way.” Patton was still smiling, shuffling his chair back until Lucy spoke up.

“Wait Mr, you can stay. I haven’t seen Logan smile like that in ages.”

“I was not smiling Lucy and you know better.”

“Oh yea, totally. But can you stay? I was only going to read this book anyway. Do you want to sit with us?”

Logan was about to protest the idea before Patton spoke up. “My golly, I would be honoured to listen. You have such a lovely voice.”

Lucy giggled, a light pink covering her cheeks that made her eyes shine brighter. “Why thank you Mr.”

“Please, my names Patton, but most people call me Dad.”

Lucy laughed, smile unfortunately spreading across Logan’s face from seeing her happy. She opened the book, and to little surprise by Logan she started reciting the words from Alice In Wonderland. “Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, `and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice `without pictures or conversation?'”

Logan looked over at Patton who was resting his head in his hands, eyes sparkling as he listened like she was an angel from heaven. Logan cringed at the small smile that was on his face, but he unfortunately couldn't help it as his heart fluttered that tiny bit more.

Virgil had his headphones ear so loud that it was a wonder how his ears weren’t bleeding. The purple hood covered his face in a shadow, hair assisting as it fell over his eyes. He stood in front of the counter, trying not to smile at the Disney puns of names before he was snapped back when a hand waved in front of his face. He disgruntledly removed a headphone and looked up at a smirking Roman.

“Well hello emo child, glad to see you back here.”

Virgil stared at him. “You’re the closest coffee place….and the best tasting in town.” he grumbled, trying to decide on what to get.

“I suggest the Black Cauldron. It’s the biggest and strongest coffee we have, perfect for study time when you hardly have any sleep.”

“I am not-”

“Bag slung across one shoulder that is shaped to hold books and a laptop, too lazy to wear properly as it’s too close of a walk. Although you seem to cover it with your heavily done eyeshadow, the bags under your eyes are still visible and almost draws attention away to your beautiful eyes.” Roman smirked. “You’re not the only student who’s a favourite here. Soon I’ll know your timetable.”

Virgil stood there speechless, blushing furiously as his eyebrows knitted together. “Just make my damn coffee will you?” He slammed the change on the table and stomped off to one of the tables, the smirk growing wider.

Virgil had his music pumping into both ears again, setting up with a textbook, sheets and an art book he was currently sketching in. He was drifting off from the real world, getting lost in how the pencil worked against the paper until a coffee slid in front of him and someone occupied the spare seat. He sighed heavily, trying to ignore Roman as he took a large gulp from his cup and went back to his book. The boy would of kept going if it wasn’t for the fact that Roman shuffled closer, trying to peer at what Virgil was drawing. He tilted the book away, getting words from Roman that he couldn’t hear. He pulled an earphone out, earning a smirk.

“Whatcha drawing handsome?”

“None of your business.”

“It will be if you’re going to becoming in regularly. Just got out of an art degree myself last year, along with theatre, so I’m making sure you guys actually keep going on the work.”

“How did you know I’m taking an art-”

“I also can tell you’re taking music. Do I really need to go through how I know this, Senior.”

Virgil flushed again, nails digging into his palms in agitation as he pulled his jumper sleeves down.

“I’m not here to pick, we’re here for support, and quite honestly you’re a cutie so I don’t want you to be getting behind sweetheart.”

“I am not sweet. If I was coffee I’d need as much sugar as that coffee did yesterday Princey.”

Roman’s smile faltered at the name, Virgil about to apologies before Roman spoke up again like nothing happened. “You wish. I’ll get the soft side out of you, just wait. I-” Roman was cut off by a small child tugging at his sleeve. The small boy had chocolate brown eyes that matched his hair, small freckles covering his face. “Well hello Miles. What would you like?” “Isn’t it story time Ro? We wanna know what happens next!” The small child pointed to a large clock, the arrows pointing to the words STORYTIME in silly font instead of the number 3.

“Well would you look at that it is! Why don’t you go tell the other’s that I’ll be there in just a giffy.”

Miles smiled wide, running of to spread the word to the other children playing.

“I’m sorry to cut our date short, but the children will attack if I don’t go over soon. I’ll come back just after playtime if you’re still here though.”

“This wasn’t a date-”

“See you later hoodie boy.” Roman winked before standing up and walking over to the the small children who cheered in unisation. Roman smiled at them all, taking his seat in the throne and picking up a book. All the children gathered and sat patiently, wide eyes and bright smiles facing Roman as he narrated the book, facial expressions and different voices for the characters packaged in that had the children laughing.

Virgil tried to make it not obvious that he looked up to watch Roman from time to time. The way the kids seemed to love him to bits that made it extremely hard for Virgil to force a smile down.

Once Lucy had been feeling better and convinced Logan that she was fine to keep working, they went back to work. Patton still sat patiently across from them, learning too from listening to Logan.

Lucy looked at her phone for a moment before having to take a double take, eyes going wide. “Oh god, it’s already 5. I really need to get back home.”

Logan looked confused until he got a glimpse of the time himself. “Oh god Lucy, I’m sorry. I should’ve been looking at the time.” His face turned to one of guilt.

“No no, it’s alright. It’s my responsibility. It shouldn’t be too bad today anyway. Dad’s not home so Mum should be out and won’t even notice.” She smiled, hiding a million different emotions behind it. “See you later Logan, and thanks for spending time with us Patton.”

“Anytime kiddo, I wish you luck for your test.” Patton waved Lucy off, smile still wide. He looked back at Logan and the expression on his face made him worry. “Come on Lo, being home a little bit late shouldn’t be too bad, right?”

Logan looked at Patton, trying to hide any emotion on his face but his eyes betrayed him. “Lucy doesn’t have the best living arrangement at this current moment. She doesn’t have the money to live in campus so she needs to stay there for now.”

Patton smile faltered for a moment. “Oh… well at least she has you and your library to come back to a safe place.”

Logan gave a quick small smile. “Yes, I guess that is a positive.” he started cleaning up the textbooks and scrap paper left on the table, grateful for the silence until Patton was speaking up again.

“I never would of thought you would be so good with kids Lo!”

“I’m not good with humans. The only thing I know how to do well is to teach and the point of that interaction was to teach.”

“No way! She was crying and you calmed her right down to where she was smiling. If I don’t call that good then people don’t call me Patton.”

“I was merely being factual, it was just a plus that she found it comforting.”

“Whatever you say Lo, but we both know the truth.”

Logan gritted his teeth. Why couldn’t Patton just trust that he was bad with human interaction? If he was good then they would’ve stayed, not hurt him. He wouldn’t be here if he was good with human interaction , so why can’t Patton just admit it. He stayed silent, afraid to open his mouth and walked away to put the textbooks back on the shelf. Logan thought he would be left alone until he could hear the soft skipping on the carpet that was unmistakably Patton. He stayed silent though as he sorted out the textbooks and some other books that he saw were out of place. The entire time Patton trotted behind him, smile still there as he quietly admired everything. Something about the silence was worse than Patton’s talking but he wasn’t going to mention anything. Once he had finished organising the books he turned around to the ball of sunshine following him. “Do you need to get home? I think Virgil has been studying for a considerable amount of time..”

“Oh yes! I bet he’s gotten so much work done. Gosh, i’m just so gosh darn proud of him, ya know?” Patton said cheerfully like everything else, starting to head to the cafe.

“I do know, as you have expressed it in the past before and it is very evident in the way you speak about him.” Logan state, not understanding the question Patton said was mainly rhetorical, but still getting a bright grin in return. He walked over to the cafe, Patton happily trotting alone up to the table Virgil was sitting at. With both of his headphones in he didn’t realise the two coming up and saw him looking over at Roman who was playing with a small girl, parents must of still been at work. The small soft smile being wiped off and being replaced by a flush of red after hearing Patton’s exclamation.

“AWWWW VIRGE!! You’re smile is adorable!! If it was making you that happy you should’ve just asked to join them.”

Virgil’s eyes went wide, turning to see if Roman heard to be met with the princes shining eyes and a laughter tumbling from his lips. Virgil stared at Patton who was oblivious to what he was doing wrong as he started to back up his work. Shoving it into his bag, mumbling something under his breath before stomping off to the exit.

“Well it seems like someone’s on the Virge about something.” Patton grinned, giggling at his own joke. Although he did not find it that amusing himself, Logan found himself giving a small smile about something. “Well I guess I better get him, make sure he doesn’t get lost on the way to the car. I’ll see you later Lo!”

“My names Logan, and goodbye Patton.” He waved off the bouncing ball, taking a seat at the cafe to watch Roman play. Even though it was past the playtime, as evident by the hands on the big clock being past the words PLAYTIME that replaced the 4 and 5, he still played with the little girl who was left as their parents were late. Logan just couldn’t understand how he was so good with people. All the students who came in and went to him seemed a little bouncy on their toes as they left. Roman claims the same happens to the kids he tutors but he denied it, saying he couldn’t see any difference in them. Logan didn’t realise how long he had been sitting there for, lost in thought until Roman pulled up a seat beside him. He sighed when he saw his massive grin. “Nothing did or will happen.”

“I never said anything did. I was grinning about that I saw you smiled at a pun. Honestly I feel offended that you smiled at his because I’ve been telling you some for years and haven’t even gotten the smallest sign of a smile yet he could get one out of you just like that.”

“I wasn’t smiling at the pun.”

“Oh, so there was something else.”

“Why can’t I just smile and have it be over nothing?”

“Because you don’t smile anymore.”

The tone suddenly dropped, a silence falling over the two for a bit. Logan didn’t look up at Roman who was giving him a gentle stare. After a few moments the Logan suddenly stood up, the chair scraping against the wooden floors. “You know how to pack up.”

“Oh Lo, you know I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t call me that.” Logan snapped, making Roman shut his mouth. Logan’s expression softened slightly, eyes apologising. “I will see you in the morning.” He received a nod from Roman as he walked out. Even though there was still an hour until they were suppose to shut, there was currently no one else in apart from them and some students who offered to clean up the shelves for some pocket money. Logan’s leather shoes trotted along the pavement as he made his way home, hands in the pockets of his heavy jacket. Soon the keys were clicking the lock open and they were dropped with a clank into the bowl that sat upon the table. The jacket was shrugged off and hung up neatly through routine, shoes shortly following suit. Logan made his way straight to the his office, sitting down in the dark blue leather chair that was positioned behind the oak desk. The draw was slid open to allow him to pull out a black fabric covered book. It was opened, revealing pages upon pages of neatly writing words, dates differing from hours to months. His mother taught him that showing pain and emotion was weakness, so to allow a book to keep them locked up and safe was the better option. Logan found a new fresh page, crisp white seeming to shine in the dim light. A fountain pen was picked up from the cup that kept his desk neat and was soon spilling its ink along the pages, expressing emotions it shouldn’t be able to.

Scribbles.

~~~

Here’s Chapter 2 y’all! I hope you all enjoy this one because I really enjoyed writing this. If you’d like to be tagged in future ones and aren’t on my tag list let me know and I’ll happily join you in!

Next chapter

Tag list peps:

@deathbyvenusftw @moonlightinwater @princeanxious @roman-is-a-gay @coffeekeyboardsss @ocotopushugs @thepoolofthedead @sanders-sides-things @angered-turtle @gayrobotalien @rebaobsessions @a-ghosts @catsandrandomness @fricksonsticks @v-blue-writer @hanramz-the-fander @your-username-is-unavailable @emphoenixcat @daughterofsomnus

#ayyeee new chapter peps #hope i provided well #sander sides #logan #logic #patton #morality #virgil #anxiety #roman #creativity #thomas #thomas sander #sander sides fanfic #prinxiety #logicality #Don't Judge a Book by its Cover #djabbic

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thevampirediariesdiary · 7 years ago

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1.17 Let the Right One In

There is a lot of plot in this episode.

After her one normal day, Elena gets brought into the loop on aaalllll the tomb vampires being out. Needless to say, she’s not happy about it, and since it’s actually due to Grams’s failure and that’s an uncomfortable thought, she decides to focus on Damon making a deal with Pearl. “It’s not like I had a choice,” he says, “she’s…scary. Besides, she’s gonna help me get Katherine back!” Now, Damon is definitely still interested in finding Katherine – but he hasn’t admitted as much to Pearl, so apparently he’d rather tell Stefan and Elena that he made a deal behind their backs than admit that he was threatened into complying and then got his ass kicked. Elena buys it: “Damon gets what he wants as usual, no matter who he hurts in the process.” Damon just smirks, says, “Well you don’t have to be snarky about it.” “I’ve earned snarky,” Elena retorts. Damon gets to the heart of the issue: “Ugh, how long are you gonna blame me for turning your birth mother into a vampire?” “I’m not blaming you, Damon,” she says, “I’ve accepted the fact that you’re a self-serving psychopath with no redeeming qualities.”

“Ouch,” Damon says. Stefan steps in, says, “This isn’t…being…very productive. We’re gonna figure out a way to deal with Pearl and the vampires, yeah?” Damon just walks out. “I’m sorry,” Elena tells Stefan, “he just makes me so cranky!” Stefan pulls her into a hug, says soothingly, “Oh, I know, he makes everybody cranky.” He reassures her that he and Damon are going to take care of everything. “Well, what about me?” Elena asks. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!” “That’s exactly what you’re going to do because that’s what’s going to keep you safe,” Stefan answers. “Which means nothing if you’re not safe too.” “What do you mean, I’m perfectly safe!” Stefan says lightly. “I have Damon the self-serving psychopath on my side.” “Oh, that’s comforting,” Elena grumbles. But actually, Stefan doesn’t seem very worried.

Matt confesses to Caroline that he yelled at his mom the previous night. “If she would just try to try,” he says, heartbreakingly. He gives Caroline driving advice for going to visit her father since it’s storming pretty badly, tells her to call him when she gets there, and kisses her goodbye.

They’re so cute I can’t handle it at all.

Stefan tells Damon he’s going “hunting”, since the tomb vamps did a number on him and he needs to get his strength up. “I have two liters of soccer mom in the fridge,” Damon offers. Stefan just looks at him. “…no? Alright, give my regards to the squirrels.” Damon is fixing a clock in this scene for some reason?? We get a really silly shot of Stefan zig-zag jogging through the woods before he is grabbed by a handful of tomb vamps and stabbed. Again.

Damon notices he’s gone and goes over to the Gilbert house, where he politely knocks and waits for Elena to open the door before he barges in. “You’re ignoring me,” he accuses. “The six missed calls?” she says. “Sorry, my phone was dead.” But when Elena finds out Stefan is missing, the antagonism quickly becomes shared, escalating worry. Whatever Elena said about him and his self-serving psychopathy, it’s immediately clear that Damon’s concern about his brother is sincere, and that’s enough for these two to be able to work together. Thus begins the next era of their relationship: the Stefan-centric stage.

Damon bangs on the door of the tomb-vamp house and yells for Pearl; the main, revengey vamp, Frederick, says she’s not home. Then they drag Stefan out and stab him again while Stefan moans a lot and Damon watches. Interestingly, Stefan doesn’t appear at all surprised that Damon’s come for him – where only a handful of episodes earlier, that would have been pretty unthinkable and/or suspicious. And Damon, for his part, is openly suffering seeing his brother in pain.

Elena is down the road waiting anxiously in the car, but gets out to run with her umbrella to meet Damon, who’s drenched. It’s visually STUNNING, and I’m sure symbolic if I could be bothered to think about it. “Why are they doing this, what do they want with him?” she begs. “Revenge, they want revenge,” Damon says, helpless. “We’ve gotta do something,” Elena says, edging towards hysterical. “I know.” “We can’t let them hurt him, we’ve gotta get him outta there!” “I know, Elena!” Damon takes her face in his hands, looks into her eyes, and says intently, “I know.”

Stefan’s strung up with vervaine ropes, getting tortured. Harper bursts in, yells, “This isn’t right!” The revengey vamp gives a long speech about Miss Pearl not being in charge, and all of them definitely being back for the sole purpose of revenge. Harper: “THIS!! ISN’T!!! RIGHT!!!!!” *Donna Meagle voice* Oh Harper, you’re fine, but you’re simple.

Damon and Elena corner Alaric, who is – as usual – lurking around the school after hours. “Well, don’t you look…alive,” Damon says. Elena explains, “Stefan’s in the house. Damon’s a vampire, he can’t get in. We need you. I would go, but –” “But your life is valuable,” Damon finishes for her, “yours on the other hand…is…” “Stefan told me about your ring,” Elena supplies. “What about it,” says Rick, surly. “Well let me recap,” says Damon, “you tried to kill me, I defended myself, you died, and according to my brother that ring brought you back to life, am I leaving anything out?” “Yeah,” says Rick, “the part where I try to kill you again, only this time I don’t miss.” Elena steps in between them, says, “Mr Salzman please, it’s Stefan.” “I’m sorry Elena,” Rick tells her, “it’s not my problem.” “Well that’s a shame, because the woman in charge of the crowd could help you find your wife,” Damon pipes up. “You’re lying,” Alaric says. “Am I?” says Damon. It’s more or less the exact same tactic Pearl used on Damon, only this time it straightforwardly works. Gee golly, these two men are a lot alike.

Meanwhile, Jeremy has been making shockingly bad decisions as always. “Come on you can’t keep saying no to me,” he teases Anna. It’s immortality, Jer, she definitely can. “Why do you even want this?” she asks, “give me one good reason.” He can’t think of anything. Then, Anna accuses him of only liking her because of what he wants from her. He denies it, and offers to give her his bracelet – which would be symbolic, if he knew what it was. Anna says he should keep it. Finally, he explains himself: “I wake up every day and I feel okay, but there’s something missing…You should turn me because I don’t have anything else.” Anna tells him there are four reasons vampires turn people: 1) to have someone to do their dirty work, 2) revenge, 3) boredom, which never turns out well, and 4) you love someone so much you’d do anything to spend eternity with them. Jeremy doesn’t fit any of those categories, and so she won’t do it.

Damon, Alaric, and Elena talk game plan over a case full of vervaine darts. “Just get me in, I’ll get Stefan out,” Damon says. “That’s your plan,” Elena says skeptically, “you’re just going to take them all on yourself?” “I’ll be a little stealthier than that,” Damon tells her. She picks up one of the darts. “Whoa, what are you doing,” Alaric says, panicking. “I’m going with you guys,” Elena says. “Nooo,” Damon says, “no no no no, no way.” “You need me,” Elena insists, “I’ll get in, you distract them, I’ll get Stefan out.” “You’ll get yourself killed,” Damon corrects, “you’re not going in there.” “I’m going!” Elena repeats stubbornly. Damon ignores her, turns to Alaric: “So when you get me in, get out as quickly as you can, ‘cause I know how to sneak around where they won’t hear me, you’ll basically just be in the way.” “Damon, now’s not the time to be the lone ranger,” Elena puts in derisively. “Fine, Elena, you can – you can drive the getaway car, hmm?” He gives her a fake smile which quickly turns serious as he reiterates, “You’re not going in the house.” “You can’t stop me,” Elena tells him, “it’s Stefan we’re talking about here, you don’t understand!” “Oh, I understand, I understand!” Damon says, mockingly. “He’s the reason you live. His love lifts you up where you belong. I get it.” Elena was already rolling her eyes at him a few words in, and now snaps, “Can you just not joke around for two seconds?” So he doesn’t, and says with voice-shaking intensity: “I can’t protect you, Elena. I don’t know how many vampires there are in there.” He snaps his fingers. “That’s how long it takes you to get your head ripped off. I have to be able to get in and get out, I can’t be distracted with your safety. Or, this will end up a bloodbath that none of us walk away from. Including Stefan.” And he doesn’t mention Stefan to get to her - his voice breaks on his brother’s name. This isn’t revenge, isn’t pride. He really, genuinely is just as worried as she is.

“I know,” he says, quietly, “I get it. I understand.”

Alaric, who by his face has only just realized exactly how complicated this situation into which he stepped is, says in an attempt to regain control, “Look, if we’re gonna go, let’s just go.”

Rick, you have no idea.

Stefan and Harper have a heart to heart. “Thank you…for trying to help me,” Stefan says. “They just needed someone to blame, to punish,” Harper tells him. Their rescuers arrive. “Elena…you shouldn’t be here,” Stefan says. “She was supposed to stay in the car,” Damon says, and goes to kill Harper. “No! Not him,” says Stefan. “Whatever,” says Damon. They get Stefan out of his ropes, Stefan and Elena de-stake Harper. “Can you get him to the car?” Damon asks Elena. “Yeah,” says Elena, then, “what about you?” “You rescue, I’ll distract,” says Damon. Alaric saves Damon’s life; Pearl gets home in time to save them both from the remaining tomb vamps. Elsewhere, Frederick has run straight to their getaway car and broke it, and then laid in wait for Stefan and Elena, for maximum drama. He stabs Stefan a couple more times, before Elena gets him in the back with the vervaine dart.

Frederick starts to stir, and Stefan is in no shape to deal with him. Elena offers him her bleeding wrist. When he tells her to run, she says she trusts him. He feeds on her. It’s weird. But he gains back his strength enough to over-zealously kill Frederick, and when Elena starts to suggest that maybe five stabs is enough, he growls at her. He’s ashamed, she’s shocked. Honestly, this whole scene is so Twilight I can’t even stand it.

Back in Mystic Falls, Matt’s mom is trying to try – she’s made a casserole. “Hey mom, what’s going on?” Matt asks. “What does it look like,” she answers. “I honestly wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen it before,” he says. There’s a knock at the door, Matt goes to get it – it’s Caroline, looking pitiful. “What happened to you?” Matt says teasingly, and then Liz steps into frame. At the grill, Mayor Lockwood starts blabbing about Vicki’s body being found in front of Tyler and Jeremy. I really hate that guy.

“What you did today, coming to help me,” Stefan tells Elena, “you could’ve been killed.” “I know,” she says. “And what I did, I’m sorry…I’m sorry that you had to see it.” “I’ve just never…you were like this other person,” Elena says, “and I made you –” “No, no, you didn’t make me do anything,” Stefan assures her. “You were saving my life, and I was saving yours. Everything’s gonna be okay.” This conversation is troubling on two levels. One: Elena says Stefan seemed like another person because up until now he’s acted like another person – like a non-vampire person. Her acceptance of him was premised upon him pretending to be something he’s not – not super strong, not needing blood to live. This is a problem. Two: I know the “You were saving my life and I was saving yours” is very classic epic-love tropey, where anything at all can be justified if it’s done for the other person…but either justify your actions on intrinsic terms (healing and self-defense, respectively) or admit that maybe you’re not the fully righteous good guy.

At the very least, I’m glad Elena doesn’t have to live with lying to her oldest friend anymore (as much), and can comfort him like she’s been wanting to since Vicki died.

Damon sits down next to Alaric at the bar, says, “That was fun! …oh don’t look at me like that, I know you hate me. Guess what, everyone hates me. But you can’t deny, we were bad-ass!” Alaric punches him in the jaw and leaves – I’d guess he’s more upset with himself for saving Damon than anything else. Damon shrugs it off.

Anna figures out that Jeremy only wanted to turn to be with Vicki.

And Damon walks into the Salvatore house to find empty blood bags everywhere.

Just when they found an equilibrium.

Eyebrow Watch: “Am I leaving anything out?”

previous episode // next episode

#rewatch #1.17 #let the right one in #in the main screencap #he touches her ARM #in a comforting way!!#before he leaves!!!

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stargazer1682 · 4 years ago

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Buffy Season 6 was terrible

Season 6 is a dumpster fire and far from anything I'd describe as "well planned," let alone immaculately written.

The plot is heavily contrived, starting pretty much with the Scoobies plans to bring Buffy back. Why are they bringing her back? Because.

Don't get me wrong, the argument that Buffy's soul MIGHT be in a hell dimension isn't wholly without merit, given that they saw all number of hell dimensions open up before their eyes and Buffy had to sacrifice herself to close a rift between these dimensions in much the same way Angel did, for essentially the same purpose. Knowing the lives they lead, everything they’ve experienced and how cruel they know their universe to be, there would be a very distinct probability that Buffy was in hell. In fact the only reason she wasn't was arguably because being in heaven and pulled out by her friends is the only worse possible fate.

But, Buffy's body was barely cold when they started hatching plans to bring her back; they didn't really even try to move on without her. And as it turns out, bringing someone back isn't actually all that difficult. I maintain that they should have done a time jump; like 5 years, which would have at least established that they TRIED to move on without her before bring her back. And the effort could have been said to have taken more time than a summer vacation. Plus it would have better aligned the majority of characters with their real world ages, while create an added facet for why Buffy might feel disconnected from her friends if they’ve literally moved on with their lives. Even Dawn, who be closer to Buffy’s age, would be a practical stranger to her at that point; adding to the isolation.

But this is a minor criticism in the grand scheme of the season though, because the show always cut to the chase; and for the most part I can appreciate that. So let's do the same and really get down to the less excusable contrivances.

Practically everyone’s livin’ in casa de Summers, yet is anyone apparently contributing anything to the expenses? Not by any indication. Buffy’s back barely a minute, doesn’t even take time to readjust before going patrolling, and soon after that they say, “welcome back, you’re drowning in debt. Get a job, deadbeat.”

And this leads to a couple of ridiculous plots. The first of which is Giles’ sudden and inexplicable inability to tell Buffy “no” and establish clear boundaries between them; you know, one of the key essential traits of his character five years running. And yes, I know, Tony Head wanted to move back to England and that’s fair, but the excuse they gave his character for his absence was, simple put, stupid. Lots of parental figures have to deal with the transition of a so-called child that they’ve looked after and been responsible for and help usher them into independent adulthood; and they’ve done that, remarkably enough, without moving clear across the flippin’ planet. This is to say nothing of the conventional dynamics of a Slayer and her support system; which we don’t know enough about, in terms of how previous Slayers that lived into their early 20s managed to get by financially. There’s been a lot of speculation and the consensus typically leans towards an informal understand that their Watcher supports them. This arrangement may not be fair and Giles may want Buffy to lead a less restrictive life than the average Slayer had before her, but there are certain practical realities that Giles of all people should understand in this regard. The first and foremost of which is that, as Slayer, Buffy must put those responsibilities ahead of all others and it’s simply not feasible to expect her to burn the candle at both ends, working a full time job during the day and be a full time Slayer at night. On top of that is this inane idea he develops that Buffy was somehow shirking her responsibilities, when, again, she doesn’t miss a beat after coming back from the dead before going on patrol. The thing she struggles with, apart from how she’s going to support herself financially without it interfering with her Slaying duties, is being and adult in her VERY early 20s with a mortgage and single mother to a nearly fully grown teenager; all while dealing with the trauma of coming back to from the dead. This goes beyond the pale of the normal responsibilities of someone going through Buffy’s stage of life in season 6; and any adult going through anything even remotely comparable should not be expected to do that single handedly on their own. Giles even admits later that being an adult means knowing when to ask for help, which just goes to show that his reason for leaving in the first place is complete and utter BS.

Giles demonstrated greater understanding for what Buffy was going through in season 3 when she merely had to send the man she loved to hell, after being thrown out of her house by her mother; yet here he seems to be utterly clueless. There are countless ways that Giles could have helped Buffy find her footing, without her being dependant on him, while still explaining Tony’s departure. But they wanted to set up a story that perpetuated Buffy’s hardship and isolation – hence the reason the writers felt the need to undermine the most obvious and practical solution for her need for a job, working at the magic store.

Then there’s a crux of the season’s conflicts. And yeah, I guess “life” as a big bad is… something… but decidedly not as effectively well done as the earlier seasons did with the allegorical struggles about adolescence and coming of age during the high school seasons.

Buffy is isolated from her friends, depressed, emotionally abused by a man taking advantage of her state of mind, drowning in debt (and not taking any of the realistic steps to address it, like dumping the house she can’t afford in favor of a small apartment for her and Dawn.) Eventually it ceases to be a story arc and just crap on Buffy day. There’s no joy here; and that’s one of the quixotic things about life and depression, it’s ability to make you think for a second that if you’re able to laugh in this moment, maybe things aren’t all that bad, right before they go back to being terrible.

After Tabula Rasa, once Giles leaves, the quality of the episodes takes a sharp downturn; and subsequently improves upon his return. There isn’t necessarily a correlation, especially since I’d say opposite is true with Giles’ presence with season 7. But right off the bat we’ve got Smashed and Wrecked, two incredibly stupid episodes, with equally terrible plot points that redefine the direction of the season.

Buffy starts screwing Spike, and… Amy’s suddenly a creep who could give her mom a run for her money? Oh, and now apparently Willow’s problem with magic is that she’s actually addicted to it, like a drug, and not the abuse of power and lack of moral forethought that they’ve been making it out to be ALL THIS TIME. No, now she’s suddenly doing ambiguous “magics” in back alleys that have no other apparent purpose than to make her trip.

Now, don’t worry, I didn’t forget about Xander… like the writers seemed to do after season 4… He’s still there and he’s going to marry Anya; which is going to be is sole defining arc the rest of this season and probably the next; even when the wedding doesn’t happen. The wedding episode was ALMOST interesting, but the fact is, while I’ve come to not like Xander overall, in the course of multiple re-watches of the series; he was put through a seriously traumatic ordeal in Hells Bells that they just gloss right over by the end of it; and expect him to still get married. And when he’s not in the right frame of mind to do that, they decide that he’s the AH for it….. Worse still, he accepts that title, deserved though it may be for a variety of other reasons from over the years; this instance is not one of them. But Joss has to Joss, which means everyone and everything sucks.

And then there’s the “Trio”…. (sigh)

I mean, they even went to the trouble of acknowledging how pathetic a “challenge” they were in contrast to previous big bads, with a doctor commenting on it during Normal Again. (Augh… Normal Again….)

Warren bordered on a comparatively compelling antagonist, by virtue of him being a complete bastard, but they had to blunt his arc with the nerd shtick; and I’m not sure why I hate it so much, because with the likes of Dick Wilkens’ “gee golly, I just want to be a big snake” attitude or Glory’s valley girl god demeanor, this shouldn’t have felt at odds for a big bad, yet it just doesn’t work.

The bigger problem I think I have with it all is that, ultimately, Warren’s not even the big bad; Willow is – which would be fine too, if her arc leading up to that break wasn’t so terrible. And here’s the thing, they had all of the pieces to make it work; it was all there. Willow’s story of where she was at in her life and the things she was doing and why she was doing them, closely parallel Warren’s story. Both characters had the smarts, the power and ambition to do whatever they set their minds to; and neither of them were stopping to ask themselves, “just because I can, should I?” and as a result were seriously abusing the power they had. Both of them undermined the free will of the women they loved, without consideration of the ramifications. Willow KINDA got it and tried to change, whereas Warren didn’t. But by trying shoehorn a drug analogy into Willow’s story, while just making Warren an AH, they undermined that parallel and the collision of wills they were ultimately on.

Don’t even get me started on killing off Tara. That was the wrong decision, full stop.

It should have been Xander. It would arguably have set off Willow at least as much as Tara’s death, and Xander’s spirit could have still appeared to Willow on the cliff to talk her down.

Then bring Nicky Brendon back for season 7 as the primary embodiment of the First.

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irfankallu · 4 years ago

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A Jingling Christmas in the Classroom

The bell jingled merrily, dismissing school for lunch. Happy students hastily closed their books on Silas Marner and busily made their exit. Tomorrow, Christmas vacation would begin; but it held no charisma for the young, weary and troubled English teacher Robert Reardon. With a sigh he began to gather his materials together, observing up with a forced smile as a student, hurrying by, wished him a merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas, he reflected, with a dissatisfaction that he could not restrain. All around the soil people were assigning voice and claim to the old custom, but to Robert it seemed artificial.

Vaguely, he thought, there was astuteness he should be grateful that such a season existed. There was a vision he should be merry, warm in spirit, anticipating. But he didn't brains anything but the fatigue that was creeping over him, the hopelessness that seemed to come with indecision, disappointment, and dissatisfaction.

His eyes fell on the letter which he had just uncovered by lifting his classification book. The letter. Sweetly perfumed, enclosed in a soft blue, thin covering and addressed with a graceful, flowing, feminine hand. Robert felt a eruption of despair. He clutched the letter in a momentary burst of brains and started to crumple it. Then he stopped. A small groan came from his mouth. He ran his fist across his eyes. For a value he stared at the accessory on the blue envelope, then with fingers that weren't too steady he removed the letter and unfolded it. He began to read:

December 17, 1952

Dear Robert darling,

I hardly know how to write this letter. It's not the apoplexy that is easy to write. But--here it is.

I'm going to marry another man. I'm in love with you, but I'm going to marry someone else. It sounds rather foolish, doesn't it? But that's the medium it must be, darling. I approximation I'm just a coward at heart. I'm afraid I'm just not one of those women who tins live by love alone. I stipulation security. The financial kind. With you, as much as I love you and you love me, I'd discovery insecurity staring me frighteningly in the face. I couldn't bear that. And creature that type of person, I'd be no good for you, Harold. I just couldn't be the strokes of spouses you want. I vigor ask you to give up teaching, but we've been over that, and I know that I can't ask that of you. You seem to feel education a handicap beyond our personal love for each other. I can't batalla that, even if I wanted to.

So, darling, enclosed with this missives you will find my fight ring. It hasn't been easy to sweeps my decision. Memories don't die easily...

Love, Judy

No, Robert objective helplessly, intention don't die very easily. In fact, reminder are the realest creature closely life. Slowly he let the missives drop to the desk.

"The rousing finger, having writ, moves... "

"Merry Christmas to all and to all a Good Night!"

"Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Robert ran a hand across his eyes as if to wipe away the unhappiness that was his. As he did, texts from Judy's missives pushed their resources into his thoughts.

"You seem to sense education a responsibility beyond our personal love for each other... " Robert startled himself with a cynical, metallic laugh. The very aim seemed absurd. Teaching a duty.

"Let the secure, settled wives of financially successful husbands teach the children," his priest had said. "Get into something where you can get ahead. In the education profession, you maintenance yourself blue in the face, and what do you have to show for it?

The son's solution had been spoken with vehement conviction once. Now, as he recalled it, the one word, spoken emphatically, seemed grotesquely false. "Satisfaction." Inner satisfaction. Doing a creature because you felt the urge, because something inside drives you on, because it type you sense clean and pure inside.

Bitterness and cynicism was all he felt now... Robert shook his summit as if to jerk off the corrosive concept and rose with a weary sigh.

"Hello, Mr. Reardon. Gee, I'm glad I caught you before you left."

"Hello, Sally."

Sally Williams was the daughter of Jean Williams, who taught art at Cabot High. Sally was a junior in Robert's aide intensity English class, and he felt that if anything made teaching worthwhile, it was pups people like her. She was much like her mother, in propriety as well as appearance. She had the same sensitive, intelligent face, the same bright, large and inquiring eyes, and the same short ebony hair. She was quiet but possessed a warm brains of humor, understanding. She was considerate and sympathetic, and was very sincere and earnest in her work. She was departing to study art teaching in college.

"I wanted you to have this betrayal from Mother and me. It's not much, but I made it especially for you. It was my project in art class."

Sally's face was flushed with youthful pride as she placed it timidly in his hands.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Reardon!" she said warmly, observations him with those large, hunting eyes.

Robert stared awkwardly at the rectangular betrayal wrapped in white mesh paper and tied with a bright, red ribbon.

"Thank you, Sally," he replied, hoping his voice sounded sincere. "Thank you very much."

Sally smiled with that impressionable tools she had o£ tide her top slightly to the period and down in modesty. Hesitantly, Robert started to open the gift.

"Oh, you don't have to open it now, Mr. Reardon," she said. "Why don't you put it under your tree and open it Christmas morning?" She lowered her head shyly. "I put a stanza inside--one I wrote for you. Mother helped me, o£ course."

Robert felt some of the bitter vanity departure him as Sally's warm friendship pervaded his being.

"I bet you wrote it without any aid, Sally," he said to flatter her.

She laughed charmingly. Suddenly she looked at her wristwatch. "Golly, I've got to go. The Glee Club is supposed to sing during the conclusion half of dinners period. Will you be there?"

"I'll try."

"Merry Christmas!" Sally sang out. She was gone, and peacefulness once more settled approx Reardon.

"Merry Christmas," he said, but she didn't hear. It hadn't sounded as if he meant it, anyway. He looked at the Christmas gift with a sigh, and then he opened his desk drawer and placed it inside. From the belt of the cafeteria, he heard puppy voices seizing the mettle of Christmas as they sang, "0 Come All Ye Faithful."

In the saloon he met Eileen Gray. Eileen was a year older than he, but she had been teaching two years. She went through college in three years, graduating with honors and an AB mathematics in conversation and dramatics. This was her third year at Cabot High.

"Hello, Robert," she smiled. "Are you going residence for Christmas?"

"I'm going to subordination in town."

"Why--won't that be rather lonesome? Not much of a Christmas."

He shrugged his shoulders. "It'll be Christmas enough."

Eileen's almond-colored eyes took on a puzzled look. She opened her jaw as if to speak, then she changed her mind. Robert felt that he was creature unnecessarily short to Eileen, for she was only trying to be friendly and thoughtful.

"My protector are traveling. They're in California. That's a little farther than I can afford to go. Besides--we quarreled."

"Oh--I didn't know."

Silence. Awkward silence. Eileen's eyes wavered from his. She looked down at the floor, then up and over his shoulder. She had the routine of biting her lower lip, which Robert liked, when she was nervous. Just now he observed it absently. She had auburn hair with bangs, and her long, full lips were touched lightly with a couleur of red to match her hair. Her long but not too long nose curved up pertly at the tip. She looked more like a high seminar planes than a 23-year-old teacher.

Only one thing betrayed the womanhood into which she had undoubtedly passed. That was the goal in the deepness of her eyes of some saddening experience.

"I suppose you'll be here, too?"

Her sad eyes grew sadder. "I'll be here," she said quietly. "Linda has her playmates, you know. It wouldn't be Christmas unless she could portion her presents with them."

Linda was Eileen's five-year-old daughter. Robert had seen her twice with her mother.

Eileen smiled, "She fondness you."

"What?"

"Teaching is arrangement you terribly absent-minded, Robert Reardon," she said lightly.

"I'm sorry. What were you saying, Eileen?"

"My daughter says it was love at assistant sight," she laughed. A melodious laugh. One that gave the soul a lift. "She asked me just this morning. 'When evidence we see Mr. Reardon again, Mommy?' I told her, if she wanted to see you very bad, I would invite you over for ritual one evening."

Robert goal she looked at him rather oddly. There was that same awkwardness roughly her.

"Robert--we'd like for you to spend Christmas day with us--Christmas tree and all."

Harold shook his head, but he smiled apologetically. "Thanks, Eileen, but I can't." All he wanted was to be alone with his problem. Besides, he had no loci among a happy clans three and their Christmas.

"I intents you'd think seriously about coming," she said, look inappropriately disappointed.

"Thanks just the same. And I perspective you, your husband, and Linda have a merry Christmas."

Eileen's eyes seemed to rays with bewilderment for an instant; then she looked away. "Call us," she said oddly, "if you innovations your mind, Robert."

As he turned away, the felt a sudden flare of rage as a hard slap landed on his back. He looked around darkly as Martin Reed moved up beside him, putting his big hand on Harold's shoulder.

Martin was a sum teacher and coached basketball during the season. He had been at Cabot High for two years. Certain flights around the seminary wondered how he had ever managed to graduate from college.

One teacher had recently remarked sarcastically: "How a person can be so stupid and not be aware of his numbness continually amazes me!"

Reardon recalled one of his students storming, exasperated, into one of his classes and saying, "Mr. Crutchfield, I think Mr. Reed is a horrible teacher. Do you know, I made 99 on a test, and he wouldn't give me an A? And just because I spoke out of turn, because I questioned him closely it, he made me foundation at the blackboard with my nose in a chalk ring! That's so silly."

"You know," Reed boomed, "A fellow begins to think himself dumber each year he stays in this education racket."

"That's a rather cynical attitude, isn't it?" Reardon said quietly.

"It's realistic."

"Why don't you do something else if you sense that appliances roughly teaching?" Robert countered. He was surprised that he was defending the profession.

"These students have the side they know more than the teacher," Reed went on, as if he hadn't heard Robert.

Maybe they do sometimes, Reardon thing to himself. Never sell the younger authority short.

"And this object of students grading educator is nonsense."

"Evaluation is the better word, I believe," Harold suggested.

"These theorists who say students have a odds to criticize instructor are still shower behind their ears." Reed stopped Harold suddenly by grasping his arm. "That's damned outrageous. Who runs this education pronouncement anyhow?"

Robert felt his nerves cultivation taut. Impatiently he pulled his pinchers loose, mumbled some excuse, and hurried away.

As Robert entered his auditorium after lunch, two of his students appeared suddenly on either angle of the entrance and kissed him playfully on each cheek.

"Merry Christmas!" they laughed, goal to the section of mistletoe over the door.

"For a very special teacher that we know,

Here's a merry kiss beneath the mistletoe."

Robert's disguise reddened as he accepted their light-heartedness with a peculiar, momentary cheerfulness of his own.

Jean Williams, Sally's mother, stuck her rosh in the entryways as the two girlfriend danced out gaily in tempo with the Yuletide spirit.

"Merry Christmas, teacher," she grinned, as he looked around with embarrassment. "Your guise is almost as red as the lipstick they left behind."

Robert fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief as she entered the room. "The Christmas spunk is like an epidemic," he laughed.

"Very much like one," she agreed. "It's difficult, isn't it, for anyone to escape it?" Robert stopped drying and lowered his fist slowly. He felt a peculiar agitation throb through him. "It does seem difficult, almost impossible."

Jean looked up, puzzled at his tranquility and preoccupation.

"You're a very solemn offspring doc so near Christmas. You aren't leasing your students get the best of you?"

"No, it's not that."

"Would you like to conversation to busy-body Williams here approx your troubles? Sometimes it's the best remedy, and I have two generous ears."

Robert felt a very warm upkeep for his good-natured and sympathetic senior. It was an devotion that was supported by trust. He found it very natural to confide in her, and just now he wanted to bare his feelings with someone uptake and helpful. He picked up the missives from Judy, paused hesitantly before he passed it to the art teacher.

"It's Judy," he said simply. "And the devil of the affair is I'm so confused I'm not sure but that she's right. You said yourself sometimes we could profits assets too seriously."

Jean finished scanning the letter and passed it back to him. She seemed contemplative as she looked at him. She took her time to speak.

"It's not just Judy, is it, Robert? Your family has taken a similar attitude, haven't they?"

"They hardly have sympathetic attitudes. No, it's not just Judy. Her defeating our connection cuff me the hardest, though. I cared more for her than I'm willing to admit."

"Why don't you go after her, then? If she degree that much. Go after the mass important things. Don't let the remainder hold you back or turn you aside."

Robert looked at Jean Williams searchingly. He detected something hidden in what she had just said. "Mrs. Williams," he said, curious, "I never asked you. Maybe it is none of my business. But what was your husband deed for a maintenance when you married him?"

Don Williams had been killed in an automobile misadventure when Sally was two. Jean's animated brown eyes seemed suddenly to swim with reminder of the past. A tiny smile creased the corners of her jaw as she recalled the time dozens era before.

"He was education school. It was his first year, but he was fired with conviction in education. He seemed to alarm little roughly the recompense that hardly met expenses. When he met me, I was just out of high seminar and had no plans. My mouthpiece wanted me to go to college, but I wasn't interested, I wasn't interested in scads of anything those era following commencement from high school. My parents, however, said I could either go to college, or go to work. I had a stance as a secretary when I met Don."

"When he asked you to marry him, did he plan to stop teaching?"

"You mean--did I rubbish to marry him unless he could provide more financial security than his teacher's salary? No, I didn't refuse, for Don, creature what he was, had given me a new lease on life. Oh, he would have given up his upkeep if I had asked it. In fact, he had mailed in his retraction before I dissuaded him from apportioning up his beloved profession. He was deed something for others and I loved him for it. His selflessness awakened something inside of me that altered my perspective on life completely. Then when he was killed, I opinion my whole life was destroyed.

"But it was only a shot time that I felt this complete despair. Sally was never to let me sink into self-pity or utter hopelessness. She is like her priest in so many deportment and I've thanked God so many times that she was so much like Don. Through all these years I've never felt that he was really gone. I've always felt that he was very near--particularly when I made the settlements to go to the University and prepare myself for the custom he had believed in so deeply. The power of existence is so dynamic, but it has never seemed as strong as it did when I made that decision."

A few certainty of stillness followed. Robert stood there, staring with stirred sentiment into eyes beautiful with memories. Then Jean smiled and her eyes no longer reflected those concept of the past. Once more the gift became a reality.

"I'm afraid I sounded rather dramatic and foolish," she said apologetically. "I've put you in my position of listening."

Robert shook his rosh slowly, smiling, his growth glowing. A great brains of lessening and release settled over him.

"No, Mrs. Williams, you've helped me scads more by simply being 'dramatic and foolish'."

The bell for the onset of the first afternoon status rang, and the passage were suddenly alive with the loud voices and footsteps of students.

"I probability so, my friend. I outlook you'll discovery it a little easier to type your decision," Jean said.

"I have. And, Mrs. Williams, you're right. We must go after the important things, batalla for them, type sacrifices---they aren't really sacrifices--if task be. My conviction was shaken for a time, but never shattered."

Reardon's fourth health students were effusion into the classroom.

"Hello, Mr. Reardon!"

"Hi, Mr. Reardon!"

"Merry Christmas, teacher!"

Robert's smile was warmly responsive. "Merry Christmas, class."

Jean Williams started toward the door. He followed. "The Christmas mettle is like an epidemic, isn't it?" he smiled.

"And one we escaping no immunization against" Jean agreed. She stopped and looked over his class. "And where else tins you finds it fuller of excitement and sincerity than you do here?"

Eileen Gray stopped at the door, smiled warmly, and said to Jean,

"Just wanted to remind you, Mrs. Williams. You're to speak to my fifth endings class approx stagecraft."

"I'll be there, Eileen."

She focused serious eyes on Robert; then she gave a tiny laugh. "I lookout you'll change your mind closely the invitation, Robert." She smiled at Jean and walked away.

Robert's eyes followed her. He liked the medium she walked, the food she laughed, all her adorable little mannerisms. Jean's eyes followed his; then she turned back with a wise smile.

"She's a very pretty girl. She has a penalty character, too. She'd makes someone very happy." Robert looked around in surprise. "But she's married--"

Jean shook her head. "I purposes you knew. I appearance everyone knew. Her husband's wrestler jet was short down in Korea two era ago."

His eyes left Jean's slowly. He stared down the tavern where Eileen had walked only a few worth before. Then that was the answer to the melancholy and emptiness he had seen in her eyes.

"I have to go now, Robert," Jean said as the tardy bell rang. She studied the silhouette of his disguise for a moment; then she said softly, "I would profits Eileen up on that invitation. I pondering it would be a much merrier Christmas for three clan I know."

Robert looked down at her gratefully. "Thanks," he said. "I pondering I will." He put his hand lightly on her tweezers then turned back to his class.

"Today, class, we're going to listen to a recorded program of The Christmas Carol-Charles Dickens' classic--Allen, will you boldness the player?"

As the class sat listening to the inspired story of a miserly old fellow named Scrooge, Robert Reardon sat at his desk with a bosom and brain at peace.

And as the amusement moved on dramatically, he reached into his desk and pulled out the gift Sally had given him. He started to open it; then remembered that she had asked him to expectation until Christmas. He smiled and placed it back in his drawer wondering what the poem would say. His bosom swelled with amusement as he impression about Eileen.

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