#it's got little check boxes and lists in it that I want to mark off so badly

[famewolf]

after I finished every story mission in ESO I thought to myself 'I think I'm going to replay Skyrim and use my old game guide and do every single quest in Skyrim'. and then Baldur's Gate 3 came out

[puckinghischier]

The 7th Year

Nico Hischier x fem!reader

summary: reader wants to celebrate Nico’s 7 year anniversary of being drafted to the Devils

notes: i really wanted to post this on his actual draft anniversary but i’m a slacker and didn’t finish it in time, so here it is now. it still counts cause it’s still draft week, right? anyways, i hope you enjoy and happy reading! 🫶🏼

[4.4k]

“Jack, it’s all wrong!” you cry out, looking at the orange cake sitting in front of you.

“Listen, we can fix it. I can run down to the nearest grocery store and have them make me a new one really quick,” Jack tries to reason with you, attempting to avoid the incoming meltdown.

Today was Nico’s seven-year anniversary of being drafted to the Devils. You know it’s an in-between milestone, most people celebrating every five years, but you didn’t care. You weren’t with him two years ago, having only been dating the hockey captain for a little over a year, so you were determined to make a big deal out of this milestone instead.

Your apartment was decked out in every tacky, red or devil related decoration imaginable, from cardboard cut-outs of Nico littered throughout the large living space to a custom ‘pin the horns on the nico’ party game you ordered for the occasion.

“Jack, I special ordered this cake four months ago, because the bakery he likes had a waiting list almost six months long for their cake decorator. I literally told them I’d pay extra if they could have it done by today,” you shut the lid of the cake box, not wanting to look at the orange monstrosity any longer.

You had sent them several reference pictures of what you wanted done, confirming with them last week that they had the correct pictures and color scheme.

“Well, at least they got the logo right?” Jack tries again, watching you run your hands through your recently curled hair.

People were set to start showing up any minute now, and you were panicking about being ready in time for Nico’s return home in a little over an hour. You barely had time to shower and make yourself presentable after spending all day transforming your apartment into a Nico museum.

All of his trophies and medals from childhood up until now are displayed on various surfaces around your shared apartment, action shot posters are taped on the living room walls, taking the place of your decorative pictures, and several of his old jerseys are on display in shadow boxes propped up in the high-top chairs that usually sit around the small table on your balcony, but are currently placed in various spots around the large room.

“Yeah, sure. The logo says Devils, but the colors say Flyers,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose, trying to stop yourself from crying off your fresh make-up.

Jack had been a trooper today. Luke too. The two of them had shown up to your apartment not even twenty minutes after Nico left with Jesper and Timo this morning for their early tee time. They helped you decorate and arrange your entire apartment, ran all over Hoboken with you grabbing last minute stuff for the evening, and Luke is out right now picking up the catering order that was supposed to be delivered but somehow got marked for pick up.

Your phone starts ringing in the middle of your deep breathing moment, trying to calm your nerves.

“Luke, please tell me you have the food and are on your way home,” you answer the phone, praying Luke is calling to check in and not to give you bad news.

“Yeah, I got it. On my way now. Just calling to check and see if you need anything else while I’m out,” he tells you, the sound of his car door shutting heard in the background.

You breathe out a sigh of relief. At least the food is taken care of, you think to yourself. “No, I think we’re good. I double checked everything before I got in the shower. And Jack has been setting stuff up while I was getting ready. Just please get here in one piece with the food before I have a small stroke,” you attempt a joke, but your tone sounds more strained than anything.

“Aye Aye, Mrs. Captain,” you hear through the phone, picturing the small salute Luke is likely doing right now.

You chuckle out a goodbye and hang up your phone.

“So, am I good to go get changed now, or do you need me to talk you off a ledge right now?” Jack asks you, treading lightly.

You send him an unamused glare. “No, I think I’ve done everything I can do until Luke gets here with the food. Go, change. Shower if you need to,” you wave him off, grabbing the cake on the counter in front of you and walking to place it in the large fridge.

“Alright, but if I hear the balcony door open I won’t hesitate to run out here butt naked to make sure you’re not trying to make an escape,” he sings out as he walks out of your kitchen, turning down the hallway towards your guest bathroom.

You flip him off even though he can’t see you, a smile on your face nonetheless.

Thirty minutes later, Jack is showered and dressed and a few of Nico’s teammates have shown up, decked out in the t-shirts you had ordered and distributed to everyone.

Each of Nico’s teammates are wearing a shirt with his picture from his draft on it. No matter who you were looking at, Nico’s smiling baby face, devils hat on his head and devils jersey pulled over his formal attire, with one finger pointed in the air to signify his being picked first overall, was looking back at you.

You thought it would be funny to have Nico walk into a surprise celebration with his face staring back at him from nearly everyone in attendance, and when you pitched the idea to his teammates they were all for it.

You had ordered your own shirt with Nico’s face on it, too. Although, yours was one of the shirts in the WWE style, overlapping, various pics of Nico making up the design.

As the time got closer to Nico coming home, more and more of his teammates and their significant others showed up, ready to surprise their captain.

Ten minutes before Nico was due arrive, you get a call from Jesper.

“Hey, you guys almost here?” you answer, walking away from the noise of your living room.

“Yeah, leaving the bar now,” he tells you, pausing to bid someone in the background goodbye and ringing out ‘thank you’ a few times as he walks out of the bar.

Jesper and Timo were tasked with keeping Nico busy and away from home today. It started with their game of golf, but quickly turned into an additional eighteen holes and trying to kill time at the clubhouse bar when their games went by far quicker than they anticipated.

Around lunchtime, Timo called you and told you Nico kept saying he was going to bow out early to come home and spend some time with you, but you begged them to find a way to keep him occupied. You ended up having to send him a message, telling him you were out with a friend for a quick lunch before a fake nail appointment that turned into a real one once he asked to see what design you had chosen this time. Which is why you were late getting ready, having to leave Jack to decorate the apartment during your impromptu salon trip.

Most of the time you love that Nico is so invested in your relationship. He always wants to spend time with you, going with you to hair and nail appointments, following you around like a puppy when you go shopping, and simply sticking around the house on days when he has nothing planned just to catch up on your latest reality show obsession he always gets hooked into.

Today, though, you wish he was a little more apt to spending time with his friends. The amount of ‘I miss you’ and ‘can’t wait to come home and binge love island!’ texts you got today made you love him even more – if that’s even possible – but also made your anxiety sky rocket each time, because you know if he wanted to, he would simply leave in the middle of his plans with Timo and Jesper, no amount of convincing able to keep him there.

“Alright, don’t forget your shirts,” you start to remind him. You turn your body to look behind you, hearing a chorus of “Lukey!” and “Moose!” ring out, signaling Luke was finally back with the food. “Hey, I gotta go Jesp, Luke just got back with the food. Be safe!” you rush out before hanging up, making your way back into the small crowd.

You weave through bodies until you reach your kitchen, watching Luke attempt to sit down the large disposable trays.

“Luke, please don’t drop those,” you run over to him, helping him slide the heavy food onto your kitchen island.

You unstack the pans, making sure each one is unharmed and an appropriate distance from the edge of the counter.

“C’mon, Y/N, have a little more faith in me than that. I can carry a few trays of food,” he tells you, dramatically flexing his arms at you.  

You roll your eyes at the curly-headed giant. Checking the time on your phone, you figure you have enough time to try and set up the food a little bit before Nico gets here. Opening the various pans, you freeze.

“Luke…what is this?” you ask him, a cold feeling washing over you.

Luke furrows his brows at you, peeking over your shoulder from his spot behind you. “The food you asked me to get? Is this a trick question?”

You dropped the flimsy lid, condensation from the hot dish flying everywhere.

When you were thinking about what food you wanted to have for the party, you knew it would be in the off-season, the Devils losing their playoff spot pretty early this season. So, you figured it would be a good time to order a few pans of his favorite dishes from his favorite Italian restaurant.

You ordered a pan of their lasagna, chicken parm, and a large pan of a steak and pasta dish specific to the restaurant. You had called them to confirm this morning, which is how you found out it was marked as pick up instead of delivery, causing Luke to have to drive forty-five minutes one way in order to grab the food.

What you were unaware of, however, is the fact that this restaurant, apparently, also caters an array of vegan options.

When you opened the three pans, you were met with a large pan of what looked like roasted cauliflower with tomato sauce, eggplant boats covered in pesto, and what looked like breaded and baked zucchini. 

You had no issue with vegan food, some of it being some of the most delicious food you’ve ever eaten, but this is not at all what you envisioned surprising Nico with.

“I ordered lasagna, chicken parm, and steak pasta. There is no chicken, parm, steak, or layered noodles in front of me right now,” you try to keep your tone even and calm, knowing it’s not Luke’s fault.

“I swear, they handed me the box of food that had your name on it. I even checked the receipt and everything,” Luke defended himself.

You can feel the tears welling up, despite your attempt at taking big, deep breaths to avoid your emotions getting the best of you.

When the first tear falls over, the rest come crashing out before you could even stop them. You bring your face to your hands and start sobbing, upset that you couldn’t have everything be perfect for such an important day for Nico.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Luke coos as he wraps you in a hug, your face still hidden by your hands. “You’re going to ruin your make-up. You don’t want to greet Nico while looking like a little raccoon, do you?” you let out a chuckle at Luke’s words, his attempt at cheering you up working for a quick moment.

You bring your hands away from your face, sniffling and trying to carefully wipe your eyes. Luke keeps you trapped in a hug, giving you a few moments to collect yourself before stepping back, rubbing your arms instead.

“I just wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted Nico to walk in here and see all of his friends here, ready to celebrate him. I wanted to surprise him with his favorite meal and his favorite cake from his favorite bakery, since he doesn’t ever get this stuff during the season. But instead he gets an orange cake and a vegan dinner,” you huff, gesturing to the food in front of you.

“Well, he’ll definitely be surprised,” Luke attempts another joke, this one earning a sarcastic laugh instead of a genuine one. “Listen, we can fix it, okay? We’ll call the place and get a refund then order a few pizzas, alright? It’ll be fine. Everyone likes pizza.”

He bends his knees so he’s eye level with you, trying to gauge your reaction to his suggestion.

You look over to the food on the counter, bringing a sliver of your bottom lip in-between your teeth, mulling the idea over in your head.

“Yeah, we can do that. Everyone does like pizza, don’t they?” you try to convince yourself pizza will be fine, you could just take Nico out to dinner for his Italian food later this week.

“They sure do. And lucky for you, I have the best pizzeria in Hoboken on speed dial. I’ll make them do a rush order for their favorite customer,” Luke winks down at you, stepping away to pull out his phone and make the last-minute order.

You cover the food in front of you back up, picking up each tray and tossing them in the trash can at the end of your island, knowing that a group of hungry hockey players wouldn’t want three trays worth of vegetables to eat for party food.

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, trying to compose yourself and wipe away any mascara residue when Jack comes running through the open doorway, frantic eyes landing on you.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? Why do you look like you’ve been crying? Jesper just texted and said they’re on the elevator on their way up,” he rushes out, walking towards you to make sure you’re alright.

“Catering mishap, Luke’s ordering pizza now. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Go grab him, quick,” you suddenly perk up, nerves bubbling in your stomach.

As you follow Jack out of the kitchen and make your way to the front of the small crowd at the end of your entry way, all you can think about is hoping Nico likes what you’ve done. You hope he doesn’t think the decorations are too tacky, or that the shirts are weird. You hope he’s okay with eating greasy pizza and orange cake. You hope he likes the custom Halifax and Devils split jersey you plan to gift him later to represent where he started and where he is now. Overall, you just hope he understands how proud you are of him.

You see Jack and Luke walk up beside you out of the corner of your eye, matching with the rest of their teammates that are surrounding you. Luke leans down to whisper “Pizza’s ordered, it’ll be here in twenty,” into your ear before standing back to his original height and facing forward, waiting on his captain to walk through the door.

You’re suddenly hit with a thought about how thankful you are for the people surrounding you. For Jack and Luke who dealt with your demanding and crazy self today, talking you off of ledges and running around doing your bidding all day long. You’re thankful for the teammates that showed up today, ready to celebrate the captain they love almost as much as you do. You’re thankful for Timo and Jesper, making sure Nico stays in the dark about the surprise, doing everything in their power to keep him out of your hair until this moment.

You’re so incredibly thankful that the universe has allowed you to not only love someone as kind, loving, and special as Nico, but that he loves you back just as much. You also gained an entire family through Nico, his teammates treating you like one of their own, showing you just as much love and care as they do him. You’ve found some of your best friends through him, Jack, Luke, Timo, and Jesper being four of the best people you’ve ever had in your life.

The sound of the front door opening distracts you from your sentimental thoughts. You see Jesper enter first, his Nico shirt looking a little out of place paired with his golf pants. Nico follows him in, blindfolded. You have to stop a snort from making its way out, not knowing Timo and Jesper were going to resort to blindfolding him. Timo follows a step behind Nico, hands on his shoulders, guiding him and preventing him from bumping into anything.

Timo guides him to a few feet in front of you, stopping him before dropping his hands from his shoulders.

“Alright, Cap, you can take your blindfold off now,” Jesper tells him, him and Timo quickly stepping over to where you stand, joining the rest of their team.

Nico reaches up the untie the blindfold on his head. “I swear to god, if you guys did this just to mess with me and take me to another bar I’m going to kill both of you. I told you I just wanted to go home to Y/N-“ Nico stops mid-sentence when the cloth falls into his hands.

A loud, “Surprise!” rings out around the room, Nico’s eyes darting to each person, then down to their shirts.

You stand there, smiling at his shocked face.

“What-“ he starts, but stops, speechless at the scene in front of him.

You step forward the few feet to him, his gaze finally landing on you.

“Happy draft anniversary, baby,” you tell him, smiling up at him.

He looks down at you, eyebrows furrowing. You can tell he didn’t remember what day it was until this moment, his eyes looking around the room again, understanding settling in on the choice of shirts.

“You did all this? For me?” he asks, a smile taking over his face as he looks down on you.

“Well, duh,” you tell him. “Your seven-year draft anniversary is a big deal, you know?”

He beams down at you, the amount of love in his eyes enough to nearly knock you down.

“I love you, you know that?” he asks, wrapping his arms around you, pulling your body close to his.

“I think you’ve told me once or twice,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes at you, bringing his lips down to meet yours. The kiss is innocent and sweet, considering most of his team is stood behind you, but it was enough to cause a feeling of warmth to wash over you, all the way down to your toes.

When you pull back from the kiss you can’t help but to keep smiling at him. “Alright, go greet your teammates now. I’ll find you later,” you tell him, patting him on the chest as you step back.

Nico gives you a wink before he walks over to his friends and teammates, making his way through hugs and handshakes.

You mostly sit back and observe for most of the night, splitting off from the festivities when the pizza was delivered, placing it in the kitchen and announcing everyone to just serve themselves.

You make your way around your apartment, conversing with Nico’s various coworkers. You cross paths with Nico a few times, each time he tried to whisk you away to your shared bedroom, but you insisted he have a good time with his friends, there’ll be plenty of time for the two of you later. You stick around Jack and Luke some, but finding yourself in a corner talking to Nicole, Jesper’s girlfriend towards the end of the night.

“Y/N, seriously, this is great. I wish I would have thought of something like this for Jesper. Nico hit the jackpot with you,” Nicole compliments.

Your cheeks redden. “He deserves it. I mean, he left everything he’d ever known in Switzerland to come here and pursue this. And look how well he did for himself,” you turn to look over at him standing with Jonas and Erik, Jonas attempting his turn at pinning the devil horns on the large poster of Nico on the wall.

You’ve always been amazed at Nico’s bravery and determination to pursue this dream, knowing how hard it was for you to move just a few states away from your family, much less halfway across the world. He proved every single person that told him he wouldn’t make it wrong, not only getting drafted, but being the first overall pick. And now he earned his captaincy on top of that, proving he’s not only a phenomenal player, but an even better teammate and leader.

“I think he did very well for himself, and not just in reference to hockey, either,” she tells you, leaning over and placing a hand on your leg to emphasize her point.

You look down, not particularly knowing how to respond to her compliments.

“Hey, Y/N, want us to stick around and help clean up,” you hear a voice ask you, turning around to see only Jack, Luke, Jesper and Timo remaining.

Nico walks over to you as Nicole stands and joins Jesper.

“Nah, you guys head out. We’ll call you tomorrow if we need any help,” Nico answers for you, standing behind you and placing his hands on your shoulders, giving them a light squeeze.

“That’s code for ‘get out you goons, I’m trying to be alone with my girl right now,’” Jack says, earning a chuckle from the group.

You and Nico walk everyone to the door, saying your goodbyes before shutting the apartment door and turning around to observe the state of your apartment.

“Don’t even think about trying to clean anything up tonight. You’re not lifting a finger for the rest of the night,” Nico threatens, slipping his arms around your torso from behind, burying his face in your neck.

“C’mon, at least let me clean up the cups your lazy teammates didn’t throw away,” you pat his hands, starting to walk him over to start picking up the red, plastic cups.

“Alright, but after that we’re going to the bedroom and aren’t leaving until this time tomorrow,” Nico points a finger at you as he separates from your body.

The two of you gather all of the stray cups, bringing them into the kitchen to throw them away. You notice the empty pizza boxes, breaking a few of them down while asking Nico to put the leftovers in your fridge so they don’t ruin.

“What’s in the box?” he asks, grabbing the white cake box and dragging it out of the fridge.

“Oh no! I totally forgot about the cake!” you exclaim.

“You bought me a cake?” Nico opens the box.

He looks up at you, amusement in his eyes. “Schatz, why did you get me an orange Devils cake?”

You groan, bringing your hands up to rake them down your face.

“It was supposed to be red, but the bakery fucked it up and I didn’t know until they delivered it,” you explained, walking over to stand next to him as he looks between the cake and you.

“The catering was messed up too,” you continued. “I tried to order your favorite dishes from that Italian place you like, but they sent a bunch of vegan dishes instead, so Luke had to order pizza last minute.”

Nico lets out a laugh at your confession. “So, you threw me a draft anniversary party with an orange cake and vegan food?” he teases, closing the lid to the cake box and turning his body to face you.

You give him a pout. “Don’t make fun of me, I was trying to be nice to you.”

This earns another laugh, Nico placing his hands on either side of your pouting face.

“You could have thrown me a party with water soup as the entrée and ice cubes as appetizers and I would still think it’s the best party I’ve ever been to, simply because you planned it,” he tells you, looking down into your eyes.

“You meant it? You enjoyed yourself tonight?” you ask him earnestly, that small seed of worry making its way back into your brain.

Nico doesn’t answer, he leans down to kiss you for the second time that night. This time, though, he wasn’t as slow and sweet as he was when you had an audience.

His kiss isn’t rushed, but with his tongue slipping its way into your mouth, it quickly turns into a partial make-out session in your kitchen.

He pulls back once the two of you need to come up for air, resting his forehead against yours.

“I had a blast tonight. The shirts were a nice touch, by the way,” he smirks at you.

You let out a giggle, thinking of how funny it was when he registered all of his teammates were wearing his face on their chest.

“Thank you, seriously,” his tone turns serious. “I can’t even begin to explain to you what this means to me. I just wish I could’ve had you by my side from the start.”

You look at him through his long lashes, not being able to think about anything except for how much you love him at this moment.

“Well, you’ll have me until the end of it. Or until you get sick of me, whichever comes first,” you joke, causing Nico to pull his forehead back from yours.

He uses his hands that are still on your face to tilt your head up to look at him. “Not possible. If anyone gets sick of anyone around here it’s going to be you getting sick of me, because I never want to be anywhere but by your side.”

You just stare up at him, shaking your head in a no motion, the intensity of his stare taking any words from the tip of your tongue.

You both just stand there, staring at each other for what feels like hours, but was really just a few moments.

“Enough of us just standing in the kitchen, I think it’s time we take this little party to our bedroom so I can really show you how thankful I am,” he breaks the silence, his eyes going from love to lust before you could even blink.

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, just throwing you over his shoulder while you squeal, carrying you to your bedroom. As you pass all of the decorations on the hallway walls on your way to the bedroom, you’re already thinking of how you can make year eight’s anniversary even better, especially if Nico is as thankful next year as he proves to be this year, thanking you over and over and over again once you reach your bedroom.

[mikkomacko]

begging for more johnny jack luke and reader just being chaotic or something please

“Mr. Hischier?”

Nico grunts into the phone, focus remaining on reviewing the product inventory in front of him. He marks off a box of goods from Switzerland sent by Luca, and then another. Timo and Lazar stack them on their specific pallet before returning to the drop off dock for more.

“This is the Hoboken police department calling,” Nico freezes, pen going slack in his hand and alarm bells are immediately going off in his head. Obviously something terrible has happened, you’ve gotten in an accident and are in a coma, someone broke into the house and hurt you and the dingbats Nico left with you, you fell on your run this morning and knocked yourself conscious, you choked on a bagel at breakfast and had to be resuscitated, you-

“I was calling to let you know that I’ve got three of your boys and your wife down here, and you’re listed as her emergency contact.”

“What happened?” Nico asks, motioning Jonas over and handing over his inventory list. He’s patting at his pockets for his keys and wallet, wondering where the fuck his phone is. “Is she ok?”

Oh right, he realizes, huffing to himself. “Yeah they’re fine sir. We picked them up in the abandoned lot off 32nd-“ the street the boys live on, right by the loft Nico bought them. “-they were running messing around and accidentally ran each other over.”

Unamused, Nico scoffs and shakes his head. “They ran each other over?” He says incredulously, then pauses. “Did those clowns run my girl over?”

The man-officer laughs. “No sir, she was in the vehicle. And no one is hurt, just a little banged up but ya know we had to bring em in, even if they’re yours.”

Nico and the police department have an agreement. They don’t fuck with his boys, Nico doesn’t fuck with them. And they get a heavy donation every month to the training department, and drinks at the bar whenever they want. Nico doesn’t tell them this, but he gives even more the fire department and hospital to make sure his guys are always prioritized. Lucky for him, the department hasn’t realized Nico skimps on them.

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, running a hand through his hair. It’s fine, he can leave the guys here to finish inventory while he goes to pick you and the three stooges up.

“Had a rookie take the car to the Rock instead of impound, but we can’t let these ones out without your signature.”

“Yeah,” he says again. “I’ll be right there.”

~~~~

“Atta boy Luke, it looks really good.”

“I think my ass is bruised,” the scuffle of shoes sounds down the brick hall. “Will you check y/n?”

“I don’t really want to see your ass Luke.”

Nico rounds the corner, unimpressed hands on his hips when he sees the scene in front of him. You, Luke, Jack, and Johnny are all locked in the holding cell, not that it’s stopping you from looking like idiots.

You’re huddled in a ball on the metal bench, hands held out in defense and eyes squeezed shut in disgust as Luke sticks his ass out at you, fingers on the button of his jeans. He’s covered in dirt and there’s a rip on his shoulder, a bruise on the left side of his face.

He must’ve been the one you guys ran over.

Marino has his phone out, a wicked smile on his face as he films you shoving Luke away. “Make Jack do it!” You whine, kicking at Luke’s knee until it wobbles.

“Eww that’s very taboo of you, I don’t want to see my brother’s ass.” Jack cries, then he’s narrowing his gaze at you. “Does Nico know the dirty thoughts in that head? Because I always thought he was the nasty one-“

“Hey!” Nico barks, and you all go rigid and silent. In unison, every head turns to look at him, a series of timid and apologetic eyes peering through the bars. Not yours though, that are instead looking at him like he’s a single ray of sunshine coming through the clouds on a rainy day.

He waits for someone to speak, but no one does. Finally the officer that called him retrieves his keys, metal jingling as he sticks them in the lock. All four of you rise to your feet.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, pointing to you. “Just her.” The boys all groan, sitting back on the bench while you clamber to your feet. The door gets unlocked, you step up to Nico with a shy smile, fluttering your pretty eyes at him. It takes all his will power to just stare down at you, expression neutral.

Nico juts his head to side, motioning you down the hallway. He sends the boys one last warning look before gripping the back of your neck, not harsh or painfully, but firm enough that he feels all the muscles in your body relax.

He’s not really sure how he’s supposed to show authority like this in front of the boys when you seem to enjoy it far too much, but what else can he do?

The officer passes them, returning to the front desk and Nico directs you through a door, into an interrogation room. The door slams shut behind him, heavy and loud. Nico guides you to the chair, urging you to sit. You do so politely, hands folded in your lap and eyes following him as he sits across from you.

All he has to do is raise a prodding eyebrow.

“Jack wasn’t supposed to hit him that hard,” you say, not much of an explanation. You must be able to tell, cringing before starting over. “We were trying to make a TikTok since my last one kinda blew up, and it was that scene from The Office, where Michael hits Meredith.

“Except Jack gots a heavy foot and he didn’t give Luke enough time to jump on the hood so he just kinda hit him and I guess someone saw and called 9-1-1 and then Mercer ran away-“

“So Dawson was a part of this too?”

You shrink in on yourself, frowning apologetically. “He was filming Luke outside the car, and then we heard sirens and he just took off back to the loft.”

Nico sighs, running a hand down his face and you tilt your head, eyes big and beautiful, and everything about you so pretty and sweet. He wonders how they managed to put you in a cell without feeling guilty.

“‘Three of my boys and my wife’,” he repeats the officer’s words, trying not to smile when you blush. “What a sentence to hear from a police station.”

Bashful, you flutter your eyelashes at him again. “I thought maybe they’d let us go if I said I was a Hischier.”

That damned smile breaks through, dimpling at his cheeks and crinkling by his eyes. “You are a Hischier,” he murmurs, “just be careful who you’re running over under that name, yeah?”

You smile back, so proud and happy looking that it makes his chest ache and he has to remind himself that he’s here because you in all your sweet innocence, ran over one of the boys.

A sharp shrill rings out in the cold and sterile room, the signature apple ringtone coming from your lap, and you dig your phone out, laughter glinting in your eyes as you answer.

“Hello,” you answer, introducing yourself and Nico watches you, curiously. “What a coincidence, I’m already here!”

Nico chuckles in realization. He was your emergency contact, and he can already picture you heading in here with his name on your tongue, demanding they call him or they’ll be sorry.

And by the look on your face, you’re the emergency contact of the other three idiots here. At least Mercer was smart enough to pump his legs if he’s going to be stupid. Although Nico would prefer that he doesn’t ditch you again in a crisis, especially because it’s his job to protect you.

You hang up, giggling. “Time to bail out my boys,” you cheer. “At least Luke. Poor baby needs to get some ice on his butt.”

“And his face,” Nico snorts. “I get to see that video right?”

“Oh yeah. I’m already asking for the security cam footage in the parking lot too.”

[blueraineshadows]

Mechanic!Garreth Weasley

Weasley Wednesday just got greasy and dirty

This week's Garreth's Groupies Discord Prompt is: Alternative Universe

Mechanic!Garreth x F!MC 🔥 NSFW 🔞

Long fic under the cut ❤️

With the last box loaded into the back of her little van, MC checked her clipboard one last time before giving a wave to Ben in stores. "I'll catch you in a bit, Ben," she said. "Thanks for helping me load up."

"No worries, MC," he said. "And don't let them give you any crap today, okay?"

MC grinned and waved her hand in dismissal. "Ah thanks, but I'm tougher than I look. I'll be fine."

Climbing into the driver's seat, she checked her delivery round list and entered the first address into her SatNav. Sunglasses on, radio turned up, MC put the van into gear and set off.

It was summer, the sky a gorgeous blue with little puffs of cloud drifting lazily by. MC sang along to the radio, thinking about Ben's concerns, but MC could handle the banter. She had been delivering to the local motor garages for about 6 months now and learned to let the comments from the techs bounce off her skin. Their cheeky remarks about her bending over to pick things up, asking if her uniform came in a lower or tighter fit, were just lads getting through their working day. She wasn't against a bit of flirting, and most of the time, that's all it was.

MC laughed it off or quipped back with a little comment of her own. Most of them were harmless, and the odd creep was easily handled with a firm look and a few choice words. Her Dad hadn't raised a fool. Working in the trade himself, she was well used to being around a working garage, having spent her Saturday mornings helping her Dad as a kid.

Her first drop went without a hitch, and then she was back in the van checking her clipboard for the next drop. A small smile curved her lips. She recognised the address and didn't need the SatNav. Weasley's Motors was a regular client and she definitely didn't mind if he wanted to flirt with her, that was for sure.

Nestled out of town down a country road, Weasley's Motors was a garage that worked out of an old lock up on a farm. Her van made the turn into the driveway, bouncing along the potholes in the gravel track until she pulled up outside the entrance. MC turned off the ignition, and the quiet surroundings were pierced by the sound of a heavy-duty tool from inside the workshop, the distant sound of a radio playing the only other noise.

She climbed out with her clipboard, lifting her sunglasses on top of her head as she peered into the gloom of the workshop. There was no sign of the owner, Garreth, but his work mate, Ryan, was bent over an engine, his overalls pulled down and tied at his waist. He stood and turned to look at her, a slimy grin spreading across his face.

"Here she is," he said. He grabbed a rag and wiped at his filthy hands, wandering towards her. "What you got for us today then, love?"

MC moved to the rear of the van, opening the doors and checking the deliveries in the back. If it was just Ryan, then she wanted to get this over with. He was one of those that bordered on creep territory.

"Service parts and brakes, I think," she said. She spotted the service parts order in a bag and grabbed it, checking the invoice. She patted a cardboard box marked heavy. "Would you mind grabbing the brake discs for me?"

Ryan gave her a slow look up and down as he approached the back of the van, and MC pretended not to notice. He bent to pick up the brake discs, the smooth toned muscle of his arms flexing at the weight of them. "Anything for you, love," he said.

MC flashed a polite smile and carried the bag towards the workshop, Ryan following close behind. She glanced around. "Is Garreth about? I need a signature, and I've got some old invoices that need checking."

Ryan nodded as he put the brake discs down on his tool trolley. "Garreth!" He yelled. Ryan moved towards the back, waving for MC to follow as he disappeared through a door. His voice carried out to her. "That bird with the nice arse is here from AutoParts."

MC rolled her eyes, hanging back in the workshop in case Garreth wasn't actually in there. She did not want to be alone in the back room with Ryan, and she clutched her clipboard a little tighter, fantasising about whacking it around Ryan's head.

Ryan appeared, grin still in place. "He's just coming, love."

MC tensed as he passed her, his eyes roving over her as he went back to work on his car. He was one of the creeps that she would rather avoid, and it was a shame because Garreth was lovely.

MC let some of her tension go as Garreth appeared in the doorway, his wavy red hair tumbling across his forehead, his smile wide as he saw her waiting for him. He had gorgeous green eyes and a smattering of freckles over his face. Today he was wearing dark grey overalls, pulled down and tied at his waist as Ryan's were, revealing a black, sleeveless top that showed off toned arms covered in tattoos.

MC felt her cheeks warming up as she tried not to oogle him. To do so would make her no better than Ryan, but it was hard not to. Garreth was bloody gorgeous and she gave him a shy smile, feeling like a frump in her steel toe caps, jeans, and checked shirt. Over her shirt, she was wearing her work high-vis vest, and her hair was thrown up in a messy bun. It was not her best look, but it was only work after all. Right now, though, she was wishing she had made more of an effort this morning when she crawled out of bed.

"Hey, how's it going?" Garreth said. He was always cheerful, his smile welcoming and you couldn't help but smile back.

"Not bad," MC said. She held up her clipboard. "I've got some paperwork that needs signing and some invoices to double check."

"No problem. Do you want to come through to the office?" Garreth pointed his thumb back through the door, and this time MC nodded, more than willing to follow him.

As she followed Garreth through the doorway, Ryan shouted across the workshop. "Get her number this time!"

Garreth huffed a laugh and shook his head. He gave MC a sheepish look. "Sorry about him, he can be a bit of a knob."

MC laughed. "I noticed."

The office was tiny, the desk a chaotic jumble of paperwork, dirty tea mugs, and random tools. The wall was covered in planners, posters of cars, notices, and a calendar of topless models hung from a rusty nail. Garreth filled the space and MC hovered near the door, clutching her clipboard a little nervously.

Garreth grabbed a box of donuts from the desk and held it out to her. "Would you like one?"

MC eyed the sugar-coated delights, but the black finger marks around the box made her nose wrinkle. "I'm all good, cheers."

Garreth shrugged and dropped the box back down before rubbing his hands together, his grin playful. "Come on, then. Where do I need to sign my life away?"

MC held out her clipboard and pointed to the box where he needed to sign. Garreth grabbed a pen from the pot on his desk and leaned in to sign his name, his hair falling across his forehead, while she held the clipboard for him. He was left-handed, and his arm brushed against her hand as he signed. His skin was warm, the hairs tickled against the backs of her fingers, and she almost shivered. His male scent surrounded her, the clean aroma of his shower gel and his aftershave mingled with the underlying tang of oil and grease.

His eyes lifted to hers, and she stared at him, a nervous smile lifting the corners of her mouth. The soft green of his eyes was just so lovely, framed with thick copper lashes, and they sparkled with a hidden mischievousness and warmth. Being this close to him had her heart pounding and she wondered if he could tell.

"Thanks," she murmured. She mentally shook herself, reminding herself that she was supposed to be working here, and lifted the signing sheet to pull out the invoice file. "Erm, this is for you. Outstanding invoices. My supervisor wanted me to get you to check them and give the office a call."

Garreth took the paper, leaning his hips back against the desk as he quickly checked it. He nodded and grabbed up a small box from the desk, pulling out a handful of business cards. "Before I forget, would you mind putting some of these on your shop counter? I've just had them made up and I thought I would be cheeky and ask."

MC took the cards, her fingers brushing against his as she did so, the contact adding to the gentle swirl of heat building inside of her. She looked at the cards, quickly reading the details.

"I've started doing a call-out service out of hours. The number is on the card," he said. "Another way to earn a few pennies."

She smiled and tucked the cards into her pocket, wondering if this was a subtle way of giving her his number. Ryan certainly kept hinting at him getting hers. "I'll put them on the counter myself," she promised.

"Thank you, I appreciate it," he grinned. His eyes glanced over her, not as obvious as Ryan, but there was a glimmer of interest all the same that stoked her hope. "Been up to much lately?"

"Oh, you know, working, the usual. I tried that new bar in town last weekend," she replied.

He looked up with interest. "I know the one. Wasn't there a band playing?"

She nodded. "Yes, they were really good."

He smiled. "I should check it out sometime."

"You should."

The air hung thickly between them, both of them eyeing the other. MC bit her lip, her mind going blank as she tried to think of something to say. She had noted a while ago that there was no wedding ring on his left hand, but then in his trade, that wasn't unusual. It was too dangerous to wear rings. You could lose a finger if it got caught up at the wrong time. She wondered if he had a wife or girlfriend waiting for him at home. She wouldn't be surprised if he did. It made her hesitate to say much more, the words suggesting that they should go to the bar together dancing on the tip of her tongue.

"Are you going this weekend?" He asked. Was that a glimmer of hope in his eyes?

MC felt her cheeks grow warm again, and she fiddled with the hem of her work vest. Her tummy flipped at the idea of going with him. "I might," she said.

The phone rang on his desk behind him, and they both turned to look at it. He gave her an apologetic smile. "I'd better get this," he said regretfully.

MC nodded. She should really be getting on with her delivery round, the taco in the van would be timing her and she shouldn't really be lingering. "Sure. I'll erm... I'd best get going. See you next time."

"Take care," he said. His smile was soft as he looked at her, reaching out to pick up the phone. It made her far too reluctant to leave his office, but he held the phone to his ear and he was back into work mode. "Weasley's Motors, how can I help?"

MC backed out of the office, a little regretful that their conversation had been interrupted. She sighed and tapped her clipboard against her thigh as she crossed the workshop, her thoughts still on Garreth and his smile.

"Alright, love?" Ryan said. He ducked out from under the bonnet of the car he was working on and her soft, warm feelings over Garreth plummeted into mild disgust. "Did we get your number this time?"

MC looked at him and rolled her eyes. "You want a number?" She tore a sheet out from under the delivery list on her clipboard and shoved it into his hand. She pointed at the headed paper for the company she worked for and smiled sweetly. "Contact details right there. Have a nice day."

Ryan laughed as she turned away, completely unperturbed by her sass. She ignored him. "Maybe next time then, yeah?" He called out.

She strode out of the workshop and out into the sunlight, irritated as she threw the clipboard into the passenger seat of the van, and fired the ignition.

....*....

The late summer sun was sinking below the horizon as MC dropped her friend, Poppy, off at her home. They had been down to the sea front for a walk on the beach and a cheeky ice cream. It had been nice to catch up with her. She had been full of stories about her boyfriend, Sebastian, and MC felt a twinge of envy.

Why couldn't she keep hold of a bloke? Her luck was terrible. She always seemed to end up with the Ryan's of the world and longed for a Sebastian of her own, a bloke who would treat her properly, as well as ruin her in the bedroom. Maybe a bloke like Garreth. The thought made her smile. Bloody hell, she fancied him.

MC took the turn out of Poppy's apartment block car park and turned the radio up a bit, singing along to the song playing as she drove towards home. As she was moving along the dual carriage way, a strange clunking sound came from under the car, and she frowned, turning the radio volume back down again. Her eyes quickly scanned the dash for any warning lights, but there was none. She slowed down, her ears pricked up in case it happened again. It did. A clunk and then the car seemed to dip in speed on its own, the engine power dying.

"No, no, no," she groaned. She gripped the steering wheel, a look of misery on her face as she pulled to the side of the road and rolled to a stop. She leant her head against the steering wheel and sighed. "Shit!"

Unbuckling her seat belt, she pulled the bonnet catch and got out. The road was quiet, the sky a deep blue that was quickly turning into the black of night. She lifted the bonnet and squinted in the dying light, pulling out her phone to turn the torch light on. She shone it over the engine bay but couldn't see anything obvious.

The oil and water were good. She checked it regularly as her Dad had taught her. The only thing she had not done was get her service yet. Money had been tight, and she had been holding off. She bit her lip, knowing her Dad was going to lecture her for not doing it, but that wasn't going to help her now. Perhaps she had blown a filter or something and she rubbed her face with her hand.

Glancing down at her phone, she debated calling her Dad. He was away on holiday, but it wouldn't be the first time he had tried to diagnose a problem over the phone. Then, a flash of inspiration struck her. Her heart pounded as she hurried back around to the car door, climbing in on her knees to fumble around on the back seat for her work vest. Out of the pocket, she pulled the business cards that Garreth had given her earlier. Thank goodness she hadn't put them in the shop yet.

Her fingers trembled as she keyed in the phone number for out of hours, hoping that it wasn't going to put her through to Ryan. The dialling tone sounded and was answered quickly.

"Hello?"

MC took a breath. "Hi, erm...is that Garreth?"

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Who is this?"

"Hi, it's MC. I deliver to you, you know, AutoParts? I was there today."

"MC?...Wow, erm...what can I do for you?"

She cringed. "I've broken down, and I still had your card in my pocket...you said were doing call outs now?"

"Oh, right, so you need my services? Where are you?"

MC told him the road she was on and roughly how far along from the nearest junction she was.

"Are you alone?" He asked. She told him she was. "Hang tight, darling. I'm on my way."

MC felt a flood of warmth at the endearment and bit her lip at the concern in his voice. She gazed around at the isolated surroundings of where she had stopped and appreciated his promise of being on his way.

The road was quiet, the odd vehicle rushing past, the headlights growing brighter and then fading off in to the distance. MC had locked the car and moved into the grass verge to sit and wait. She knew never to sit in the car and wait in case you get slammed from behind by a truck that didn't see you parked up. She had the hazard lights on, but it wasn't worth the risk. Even though the creepy darkness was starting to put her on edge, she stayed put.

Now that the sun was gone, the air had cooled, and MC hugged her arms about herself. She was only wearing a thin vest top, and tiny denim shorts and goosebumps covered her arms. She played about on her phone, scrolling aimlessly as she waited for Garreth, a little flutter of anticipation her chest at the thought of seeing him again.

When a pickup truck slowed to a stop behind her car, MC hesitated, eyeing the driver as he climbed out, relief washing over her when she saw Garreth's unruly mop of red hair. She stood, brushing loose grass from her bare legs. "Sorry to call you out so late, Garreth," she said, approaching him.

He smiled that gorgeous smile. Tonight he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with a lightweight dark jacket. "Not at all, I was just watching TV. Are you alright?"

She nodded. "I'm alright, but my car not so much."

He came closer and held out a bottle of water and a big share bag of crisps towards her. She eyed them with confusion. "You brought snacks?" She asked, amused.

He shrugged. "I'm always prepared, and I thought you might be hungry."

She giggled. "Do you do this for all your customers?"

"Only the pretty ones." His wink made her tummy flutter, and she took the offered treats with a shy smile, thanking him.

She explained what had happened, and he had a quick look under the bonnet. "You're probably right about it being a filter but I won't know for sure until I get a proper look at it. It's too dark to see out here, but I can tow your car back to the garage and check it out tomorrow if you like."

"That would be great, thank you. I will call a taxi or something to get myself home." She smiled, rubbing her arm with her hand against the chill as she unlocked her phone.

"Don't be daft. I'll give you a lift home," he offered.

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"Of course," he said. He studied her a moment and then slipped his jacket off and held it out to her. "You're cold. Here, put this on. I'll get the tow rope fixed up and you can go sit in the truck and warm up."

MC blushed. "Oh, you don't have to give me your jacket."

He sighed and moved around her to drop the jacket over her shoulders, smoothing his hands over them as he did so. MC shivered, but not from the cold, her breath hitching at the solid feel of his hands on her. The jacket was warm from his body heat and smelled of him. It was doing torturously wonderful things to her insides. She wondered what else those strong hands could do as he held her.

"No arguments," he said. Still holding her shoulders, he guided her towards the truck and opened the passenger door. He nodded inside. "In you get. I won't be long."

The truck was warmer than being outside, despite the mess and the lingering odour of oil and men, and MC hugged his jacket around her as she watched Garreth fix up the ropes. He was adorably sweet, bringing her snacks and giving her his jacket, but right now she was shamelessly gawping at his arms in the glow of the headlights as he pulled the rope tight.

Once the car was roped up and ready, MC got back out of the truck.

"Have you ever been towed before?" He asked.

She nodded. "My Dad was a tech. I've done this plenty of times."

Garreth's smile was warm. He caught her under her chin with a calloused finger, the touch light, there and then gone. The burn his touch left behind tingled down her neck and spread all over her.

"Full of surprises, aren't you? Jump in your car then, and we'll get going. I will go to the garage first and then I'll take you home. I won't go to fast, we'll take it easy."

They took a careful trip to his garage with no incident, pulling up outside, and then he unhitched her car, pushing it inside the workshop where it would be safe.

"I can't thank you enough for this," she said. Garreth checked the workshop and was pulling the huge doors closed. He grinned at her. "Maybe you can buy me a beer in that new bar to say thank you."

Her heart leapt. "Sure! I mean, yeah, I could do that," she said, blushing. She hesitated. "You've not got a girlfriend or anything have you?"

He paused to look at her, his hands on the other door, and shook his head. "No. What about you? No boyfriend at home waiting for you?"

She shook her head. He looked thoughtful for a moment and then pulled the garage door closed, locking it up securely. He walked towards her slowly and reached out to slip the keys into his jacket pocket, the jacket she was still wearing. She was reluctant to take it off, not ready to lose the warmth and his scent.

His eyes met hers, his gaze glittering in the darkness, the glow of the security light reflecting in the green depths. He reached up and gently brushed her hair back with a finger, the callused tip grazing against her temple.

"How is it possible that a girl as beautiful as you has no man waiting for her at home?" He asked softly.

"I'm just not that lucky," she whispered. His touch was stoking the aching burn between her thighs, his eyes deep pools of temptation that she would happily drown in.

He trailed that finger down her cheek, waking up her goosebumps as he continued along her jaw, his thumb brushing against her lips. She parted them, her breathing picking up the pace, her heart thudding against her ribs and she couldn't tear her gaze away.

He bent down and brushed his lips against hers, a teasing kiss, a gentle taste, before pulling back a little. His eyes burned into hers, and she grabbed the front of his t-shirt, her mouth claiming his for another kiss because one just wasn't enough. He moaned against her lips, his hands sliding up over her waist, gripping at her vest top and pulling it up so he could smooth his palms over her skin.

She gasped at the feel of those calloused hands on her midriff, her mouth opening to welcome the taste of him, his tongue gliding smoothly against hers as he backed her up. Her Converse scraped against the gravel, legs stumbling backwards until she collided with his truck, his kiss deepening with desperate hunger. She shoved a hand into that glorious hair, fingers sliding through soft locks as he reached around to grab her arse, groaning as he moulded it with his hands.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he breathed. He pinned her against the truck, hips grinding, and she whimpered. She could feel how hard he was, and she ached for more, arching her back, greedy for his touch.

MC slid her hands under his t-shirt, sighing at the delicious ripple of firm muscle, the soft hair on his stomach, and achingly smooth skin. She teased his lips with tongue and teeth, drawing soft sounds from his throat, he was very vocal and it spurred her on. His hands moved to her thighs, sliding upwards, fingers delving under the hem of her tiny shorts. They were short enough for him to grab the flesh of her arse and he hummed in approval.

"I've been wanting to get my hands on your arse for bloody weeks," he murmured. He bent to mouth at her neck, his hands groping and moulding her flesh. "So fucking sexy."

MC tilted her head back, a soft groan leaving her mouth as he sucked at her neck, tongue sliding over her hot skin. "Keep groping me like that and I won't be responsible for my actions," she teased.

"Hmm, is that right?" He squeezed her arse even harder with a growl, before sliding his hands up and around, pushing them up under her vest to cup her breasts, his fingers sliding over the lace of her bra. "Oops, more groping. What are you gonna do?"

She chuckled and slid her hand down to cup him through his jeans, palming along his length with slow deliberate strokes. He groaned and rutted against her hand. "Fuck, yes..."

"You like that, huh?" She whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes looking down at her hand as she rubbed, his hips rocking. He bit his lower lip, moaning. "Your place or mine?" He asked. "I need to get you somewhere, and fast, before I fuck you against my truck."

Hunger, hot and feverish swept over her, an ache so fierce she was panting with it. Her fingers fumbled at his jeans, tugging at the buttons. "Do it," she begged. "Fuck me."

A shocked sound left his mouth, his eyes wide as he looked at her. She stared back at him, breathing hard, her body begging for him to take her.

"What...are you sure?"

She had his jeans open now, and she kept her eyes on his as she slid a hand inside, her fingers sliding over the hot, silky skin of his hard cock. She felt it twitch under her touch, a low moan coming from him, his eyes hooded and glazed over as she began to stroke him. "I want it," she whispered.

Utterly gorgeous, sexy and adorably cute. Oh, she was sure.

Garreth groaned and kissed her, his mouth devouring her as he made quick work of her shorts, shoving them downwards to expose the pretty lace of her knickers. Impatient fingers tugged that lace aside, sliding eagerly down and delving into her waiting slick. MC moaned, lips parting as Garreth skilfully swept finger tips over her opening, soaking his fingers with an appreciative groan before sliding two deep inside of her.

"All this for me," he said. He pumped his fingers, twisting them slightly. "Fuck, MC, you're perfect."

MC whimpered and rocked her hips, clinging to him as the pad of his thumb sought out her clit and rubbed in torturous, slow circles. "Garreth..."

"Tell me," he whispered. His mouth moved to her ear, nipping and kissing along the shell of it. He moaned into her ear, his fingers curling and rubbing her into a panting, moaning mess. "That's it, fucking moan for me. I want to hear you."

His filthy talk was so hot, adding to the desperate ache. Her thighs trembled and her back arched, her head tilted back and rolled in ecstasy against the window of his truck as he sucked bright blooms of red down her neck. She could feel the building pressure of her climax, each firm, deliberate thrust of his fingers driving her faster and faster towards it. She didn't care that they were outside and someone could come along and catch them at any moment. All that mattered was his smouldering green eyes and the way his fingers were driving her crazy.

"Garreth," she cried. Her nails dug into the flesh of his arm, the muscle beneath her grip flexing as he fucked her with his hand. Her climax hit, and she clenched around his fingers, a cry leaving her lips, splitting the quiet darkness of the night around them.

Garreth whispered words of praise into her ear, his fingers easing gently, stroking her in teasing slow circles as she shuddered with little after shocks, overly sensitive and throbbing. "Such a good girl," he whispered. "I'm gonna fuck you now. Is that what you want?"

"Yes," she whispered, biting her lower lip. "Please..."

Garreth slipped the jacket from her shoulders, opening the truck door and throwing it inside. He slid both hands up her body, pushing up her vest top to expose her bra. He hummed in appreciation, his thumbs hooking back the lace.

"I need to see these," he murmured. He tugged back the lace and bent to lick across her breasts, moaning against her flesh as he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked, his tongue rolling over her hardened peak. "Delicious," he whispered.

He kissed up over her collar bone and throat, finding her mouth, and he kissed her deeply. His hands reached around to grab her arse again. He moaned and pulled his mouth away. "I'm gonna turn you around, alright?"

MC nodded. "Okay."

He smiled and kissed her nose, his hands gently turning her, shuffling them along a bit until they were at the open passenger door of the truck. He pushed her forward and bent her in over the seat, her legs trembling as he slid her knickers down over her hips, letting them pool at her ankles with her shorts. He smoothed his hands over her arse and hips, dipping between her legs to tease her with gentle fingers before pressing her thighs open a little more. "Fucking hell," he groaned. "That looks so perfect."

MC felt a blush heat her face as he caressed and teased her from behind, her breasts squished against the seat, her hands gripping the edge as he slid fingers inside of her again. He worked her open, soft moans leaving her lips as she felt the brush of his cock against her thigh.

"Please..." She whimpered. She rocked her hips eagerly. She felt the pressure of his tip as he rubbed it teasingly against her slick heat. She rocked her hips again, and he moaned.

"So greedy for my cock," he whispered. He guided himself inside of her, both of them moaning at the intrusion. He filled her up so perfectly, and as he began to move, MC buried her face into the seat. Her hands grappled for purchase against the leather, bracing against the centre console of the truck as he began to fuck her hard.

A cry left her mouth, his skin slapping against her arse in a punishing rhythm, the truck rocking on its wheels as he braced one arm against the top of the door frame. His other hand gripped her hip, breathless grunts, and moans spilling from his mouth as he pounded relentlessly. The angle was utter bliss, each thrust hitting that sweet spot until she saw white spots in front of her eyes. Her climax came swift, ripping through her with blazing heat, her walls clenching tightly around him.

Garreth swore viciously, grinding against her tight and hard with a growl before pulling out. MC whimpered at the sudden emptiness, gasping as his cock slapped against her arse, sliding upwards, hot and throbbing as his cum splattered up her sweaty back.

All she could hear were their tortured breaths in the silence as they took a moment to recover. And then the truck dipped, and he leaned in over her. She smiled as she felt his lips soft and teasing against her shoulder blade.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

She nodded. "That was so good," she said.

She heard him fumbling about and turned her head. He grinned as he pulled a rag out of the door compartment and wiped the cum from her back. He chuckled. "Apologies, I made a bit of a mess."

"We made a mess," she chuckled.

He helped her out of the truck, and as she adjusted her bra and vest top, he bent to slide her knickers and shorts up her legs. She smiled at him, appreciating the way he was taking care of her. One minute, he was banging her within an inch of her life. The next, he was sweetly tugging up her knickers and pressing soft kisses on her thighs. What more could she ask for?

When he stood up, she grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him in close. She stared up into those pretty green eyes of his. For so long, she had met them with shy smiles. Now she had seen them burn with desire, and for her no less. The smile she gave him now was one of intimacy, appreciating the fucked out daze of his eyes knowing that she had put it there.

She liked that look. She could get used to seeing it all too easily. She cupped his face and pressed a slow kiss to his lips.

"You know we are doing that again, right?"

His eyebrows lifted, his eyes pleased, eager. "We are?"

She smirked and nodded. "Your place or mine?"

"Mine," he said. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully. "Might have to stop at McDonald's drive-through on the way, though. I'm fucking starving."

MC giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Deal. And it's my treat seeing as you came to my rescue this evening."

He kissed her nose, his hands roaming around to cup her backside again. He was definitely an arse man. "Sex and a burger. Best night ever," he grinned.

[heartfullofleeches]

delivery person reader always delivering pin from one new owner to another

really weird how this doll keeps getting given away all the time, makes you wond-ah! i have a new delivery due aaa! *forgets about it*

"Y/n, hold up."

Foot hanging on the steel step of your truck, you shift your attention to your superior as they near the back of the vehicle. Parking a trolley as they open the back, they thumb through a list on their phone. Something in you predicts the next chain of events.

"Got a last minute addition to your route. I'll load it in then you can head out."

You could buy a lottery ticket with your luck - if it hadn't been so poor. The box is worn and cardboard taped at various ends, but you knew it, and its contents well. You packed the doll in it when it was returned to the office on its own two feet. Which shipment was that - the third or tenth? While putting a date to that specific instance was hard, what you did remember was that your little friend had been with you for some time. Location to location; following you pass a personal move to a new residence and job placement. You felt bad for the not-so little guy; the doll reaching the ceiling of your office when it wasn't crammed in a box.

"Alright. Let me know when you're done." You wait in the driver seat for your co-worker to finish up. You can see the box getting shoved in the corner out the overhead mirror. They round to your side following the slamming of the back door.

"Before you leave, you left all the updated info for your address in the breakroom like I asked right, right?"

"Yeah. Left it on a posted note under a salt shaker like you asked."

"Cool, just thought it'd be easier since I'm heading out early today, and wanted to get the prize from that raffle sent out soon. See you tommorow."

"See ya." You roll the door shut and start the truck's engine; speeding off to make up for those few seconds you lost. The day goes as smoothly as possible for someone worrying about their inanimate tag along could. Throughout your shift you have to arrange the box around due to movement during the drive. After a while, it just sits in the little nook behind your chair no matter the bump or slide.

Your time together ends the same as your shift. As the last stop on the roster, you march up the darkened driveway up to the front porch. It's a little rough around the edges, but you managed to find equal ground for the box to stand on. Saying goodbye to a piece of mail is the last thing you existed to mark off your list, but it feels right in this situation. You pray its the final one and that its found its loving home, but it's almost a bittersweet farewell.

"Hope things work out for you this time."

You load into your truck and drive off with only the occasional glance in your side view mirror.

-

"What the hell did you order, Y/n?"

Halfway through swallowing, you choke out a reply. "What- do you mean?"

Your coworker shrugs, making a rectangle with their hands to get their point across. "Well, not that I was being nosy, but I saw the note with your address and noticed it matched one I delivered to with this huge ass box.

"That's... concerning on its own, but I haven't ordered anything recently. Doubt something that big is from a raffle. I'll check it out when I get home."

Your break ends shortly after. The conversation with your coworker lingers in your head the remainder of the day. It couldn't be - right? As per usual, your shift is over long after the street lamps turn on. You take your time getting home; preparing yourself for what your instincts told you was there. From door in view - you can see it there.

A torn, cardboard box with various addresses covered by a new label; yours the newest addition. The tape on the seams is bunched up and peeling from lack of adhesive. You calmly enter your house, still unable to face it. Your face lands in a wall of plush.

Welcome home, Y/n.... I had so much fun hanging out with you, but I think we should play a new game now. House is so much more fun.... especially since we can do so much more together now.

[slippinmickeys]

Okay if you feel like this is interesting for a Proof of Life fic...

just little windows into their first pregnancy, lounging and being happy, traveling for work maybe, and then meeting the baby for the first time or something.

1. He is staring at her face, but he doesn’t care. He is clocking every shift of her eyes, every microexpression; dying, dying to know if he’s done well, if he’s done the right thing. 

She stopped next to the real estate SOLD sign and is studying the outside of the house. It is modest, especially for this neighborhood, but it has nice lines, and verdant hydrangea bushes out front weighed down with so many pink and blue blossoms that you can hardly see any green.

“It’s got great curb appeal,” she says, and Mulder lets out an enormous sigh of relief. 

“Let me show you the inside,” he says, digging deep into his pocket for the set of keys the realtor had handed him only that morning. 

It takes two tries to get the door open, and Scully stands there wearing a patient smile, her hands resting on the soft swell of her stomach. 

“There we go,” he says, and he stops halfway over the threshold. “Do you want me to carry you in?” he asks, turning back toward her. He doesn’t want to fuck this up.

“Let’s save your back for the boxes,” she says. “I’m afraid you’re on your own for all the heavy lifting.”

“Roger that,” he says, and reaches out instead to grab her hand, pulling her into the small foyer. 

“A front closet,” she immediately observes. “That’s good. And room for a bench and shoes.”

With every nice thing she says, pounds upon pounds of weight lift off his shoulders. 

She was in Haiti far longer than either of them anticipated, and he offered to fly back to the States to start looking for a house for them to settle into once she was done. She’d given him a long list of requirements, and he’d kissed a lot of frogs before finding this house–a mid-century modern ranch in Alexandria with three bedrooms, two baths, and a check mark next to everything she’d requested. When he’d looked at it the first time, he’d felt it was right, and his realtor told him that if he wanted to put an offer down, he shouldn’t wait. 

“There are fifteen offers on it already–I mean, at this price, in this neighborhood?” She’d said. “But it’s an older couple that’s downsizing and they want it to go to a young family. I may have mentioned your wife’s condition and there’s a possibility I showed their realtor your picture from the Pulitzer ceremony.” She had glanced at Mulder with a look that screamed I hope I did the right thing. “They’re waiting on an offer from you. If they don’t get one today, they have another buyer picked out.”

And so after three phone calls to Scully’s cell phone that all went unanswered or were met by a recorded voice telling him the number he is trying to reach is unavailable, he put in an offer, which was accepted twenty minutes later and by the time Scully called him back, they were homeowners and she hadn’t so much as seen a picture of the house. Mulder had been there for the inspections, and escrow closed while she was still on Hispaniola. 

He likes the house. He hopes she loves it. 

“The kitchen is through here?” she asks. He nods and follows her in. 

“Wow, the appliances look new,” she says, and he simply smiles at her. 

They are new. Brand new. He’d bought them himself and had them installed before she got back to the States. The ones that came with the house were archaic–avocado green monstrosities with abysmal energy ratings. But the kitchen layout was great, and the countertops and cabinetry were acceptable and could be improved or replaced in the future. 

She runs her hands along the mantle in the living room, peaks out the window to look at the spacious backyard. She wanders into the master bedroom, complimenting the closet space, and when she gets to the back bedroom, she stops in the doorway. 

“The nursery,” he says quietly, putting a gentle hand on her lower back. 

The room is painted a soft yellow, and in the corner stands an enormous stuffed giraffe with a large bow around its neck. 

“From James, and the crew at the We clinic,” he says. “They say his name is Twiga.”

She turns to him with tears in her eyes. “Perfect,” she says. “It’s all perfect.” 

2.  “I can’t believe the only piece of furniture you own is a coffee table,” Scully says, putting her feet up on said object. 

Mulder is in the kitchen fiddling with the various bags of take out, assembling plates for them both. 

“You’re lucky I had it,” he calls to her over his shoulder. “Seeing as how Ethan got everything in the divorce.”

“Don’t even joke about that man,” Scully says, reaching down to adjust her wedding and engagement bands, making sure the small Indian diamond Mulder got her is perfectly centered. “When I moved in with him, he had nicer furniture, so I got rid of all mine. You know this. But even my old coffee table was better than this one. It’s hideous.”

Hideous might not be the right word, but it is certainly not to either of their tastes. She doesn’t know furniture styles all that well, but it looks practically colonial, with wooden legs that round into clawed feet, and nearly all of it is covered in intricate carving. It’s like a miniature version of the Resolute Desk. With feet. 

He appears from the doorway that leads from their kitchen to the living room carrying two plates laden with at least five different kinds of Chinese takeout. 

“That one has history. It has provenance. There’s a reason I kept it.”

He kept nothing else. He’d had a small storage unit in Boston with the coffee table and twelve boxes of photography equipment.

He sets his food down on the aforementioned artifact and hands her the plate he made up for her, along with utensils, a cheap paper napkin, paper-wrapped chopsticks and a fortune cookie. She dumps the chopsticks and fortune cookie on the table next to his and balances the plate on the enormous rounded drum of her stomach. 

“You don’t even need a table, Scully. You’ve got one built-in.”

She has to admit it is handy. It is next to impossible to pull up to a dining table (not that they had one) with the enormous mass of her stomach, so couch eating, using her stomach as a platform makes for a comfortable, tidy solution. Unless the baby kicks, then all bets are off. 

She gives him a look and continues to gaze at him. “If there’s provenance, I want to hear it.”

“My dad had it in college,” he says, taking an enormous bite of egg roll that he has to fully chew before he can go on.

“So far I’m unimpressed,” Scully says, turning to look at the table and then her plate. The plate is absolutely laden. She doesn’t know where to start. 

Mulder wipes his mouth and continues. “Dartmouth. One of his roommates was this super rich guy from Hyannis Port. Grew up next to the Kennedys. Rose was particularly fond of him. When he moved off campus in college, she found out and gave him a shitton of furniture from one of the Compound rooms she was redecorating to outfit the new digs. When Dad’s roommate graduated, he took everything but this.”

“I can’t blame him for leaving it,” Scully says, winding a bite of lo mein onto a fork. “It’s awful.”

“It’s interesting,” Mulder corrects her. “Probably three generations of Kennedys have put their scotch down on that table. It’s historic Americana.”

“I bet the Kennedys used coasters,” she says. “This piece of historic Americana,” she gestures to the table. “Looks like it was made from the captain’s berth of a whaling ship and is sporting what looks like at least five different water rings from Dartmouth Pabst.”

“At least one of those rings is mine and it was iced tea,” he says, standing up. “Speaking of…you want one?”

“Sure.” 

“Captain’s berth or not, this is what we’ve got for now,” he says, coming back into the room and handing her a cold Snapple. “Once we add a few more water rings and the dazzling crayon stylings of Scully Jr., we’ll donate it to the Smithsonian.”

“All I took from what you just said was that we can eventually get rid of it.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “But please keep in mind that the only furniture we currently have is a mattress still in plastic, the couch we’re sitting on which is on loan from your brother until his next posting and the Dartmouth Pabst Americana coffee table.”

“Hey, that’s a lot for two people who mostly lived in tents the last half decade.”

“And how,” he answers. 

Scully takes one more bite of food and slides the plate onto the only table they own. 

“You okay?” Mulder asks, instantly tender. “You barely ate.”

“If I eat more than five bites I’ll be up all night with heartburn,” she explains. 

Mulder obliviously wolfs down the last three bites of his own food and sets his plate down. 

“Here,” he says. “Swing your legs up here and I’ll rub your feet.”

Scully doesn’t hesitate and Mulder is digging into her aching arches before her head even hits the arm of the couch. 

She lays there blissed out for a moment. “Want to split a fortune cookie?” she asks after a moment, reaching for the one she set on the table. 

They break it in half like a wishbone and Scully gets the half with the fortune in it. She pulls out the little piece of paper and takes a crunchy bite of the cookie. Heartburn be damned, she can’t resist.

Mulder raises his eyebrows. “So?” he says. “What’s our fortune?” 

“You will soon find yourself in a Pottery Barn,” she reads. 

3. It’s the first time he’s been away from her overnight since she’s been back in the States. He hates it. She hates it. They both hate it. But they have a month to go before the baby is due, and he’s still looking for a full-time job. When he got a call asking if he wanted to be a part of a week-long photography symposium in California for a decent amount of cash, it was an opportunity he couldn’t turn down.  

He calls her as soon as the plane’s wheels touch down at National. He can’t wait to hear her voice. 

“Hey,” he says when she answers. “I just landed.”

“How was the flight?” she asks. Her voice is a little breathy, like maybe she was walking up a set of stairs. 

“Not bad, all things considered. A little weather over the Rockies. Are you out and about?”

He really hopes she isn’t. All he wants to do is go home, plant a massive kiss on her lips and then fall into bed with her in his arms and sleep until next Tuesday. 

“No, I’m home,” she says. 

“Oh,” he says. “Good.” 

“You’re taking the Metro home, right?” she asks. “You left your car at the Kiss & Ride?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I didn’t want you to have to come and get me.”

“Okay,” she says. There’s an odd quality to her voice that he can’t place, but forgets about it when she says “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he says, his own voice going soft. 

The woman in the seat next to him looks at him and smirks, but he doesn’t care. 

“Listen, we’re about to pull into the gate. I’ll see you soon. Love you, Scully.”

“You too,” she says on a breath and then disconnects the line. 

The next hour is a pain in the ass. His luggage takes forever to come in and his hard case of camera equipment is dented on one side, so he has to go through each piece of equipment one at a time to check for damage. Luckily everything checks out. Outside, it’s a rush hour mob scene and the rain makes the train cars humid and smelling of funk and he’s half soaked by the time he makes it to his car. It’s not a long drive from the lot, and once he’s on Fort Hunt Road the traffic has finally thinned, but he has to stop for gas. By the time he pulls into their driveway, it’s dark, and he’s exhausted. He half hopes Scully’s asleep so he can just slide into bed too and lose himself to oblivion. 

He enters and kicks off his shoes, leaving his luggage by the door. The house is quiet and the lights are dim. He tries the master bedroom first, but she isn’t there. 

“Scully?” he calls out.

There’s a noise from the living room. When he enters, his stomach falls into his socks. 

Scully is half on the couch and half off, her arms resting against the cushions as if they're holding her up. It looks like she has maybe fallen. He cannot see her face.

“Scully!” He skids to her side on a bright burst of adrenaline and she turns to look at him weakly. 

“What happened? Are you okay? What’s-” The words all tumble out of his mouth one after the other and she reaches over and squeezes his arm, shutting him up instantly. 

“I’m fine,” she breathes. “It’s just…” She clenches her teeth, unable to finish, and Mulder instantly reads the situation. She’s in labor. A whole damned month early. 

“How far apart?” he asks her, breathless. 

The contraction seems to have passed and she gives him a weak smile. “Not very.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“You got teleporting abilities I don’t know about?” she asks, and he helps her move up and onto the couch. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You should have called your mom, you should-”

Another rough grab of her hand to his arm. “I’m not doing this—any of this—without you.”

4. They’re not left alone, the three of them, until they’ve been moved out of the spacious and plush Labor and Delivery ward and into the small, confining cell of Recovery. When at last the on-call nurse leaves the room with a smile and instructions on how to use the call button, the room descends into peace. A quiet, hovering peace. 

The baby is asleep, nestled into the crook of Scully’s arm, warm and oddly heavy.

Mulder still has a dazed and exhausted look on his face and is wearing the same clothes he traveled in yesterday, rumpled and a little bit worse for wear. He also hasn’t stopped smiling. A single, gentle click punctuates the silence and then he sets his camera down on the bedside table.

He is as quiet as the room itself and leans over the bed, staring at the baby. He only moves his gaze once, to flit his eyes to Scully’s, running a soft hand through her hair. 

“You did it,” he whispers. 

“I did,” Scully says happily, tiredly, following his gaze to look down at the small miracle of their child. 

The baby has a button nose, orange peach fuzz, and eyes that so look like Mulder’s that Scully can hardly look away herself. 

“Can I hold her?” he asks tenderly. “I don’t want to wake her, but…” 

He’d cut the cord, he’d gotten to shout “It’s a girl!!” He’d held her while the nurses helped Scully into the wheelchair to move floors. But he hasn’t yet had the chance to commune with the life he helped create, and Scully knows that’s what he wants and she knows it’s something he needs. 

“Of course,” she says, immediately moving the tiny child up and around so that Mulder can take her, tubes trailing down from the IV line taped to the back of her hand. 

His hands are gentle and tender as he lifts her, and big, so big that the baby practically looks like an egg in a baseball mitt.

“Hi,” he says to her once she’s settled in his arms. He wears a big smile, brushing eyes with Scully before staring back down at his daughter. “Hello Emily,” he says, like he’s trying on the name. The baby snuffles, settles. 

Beyond the walls of the hospital, airplanes cross and fly overhead. Beyond the walls of the hospital, are arguments, traffic accidents, war. People are kidnapped. People are killed. Beyond the walls of the hospital is everything else. 

Mulder settles into the chair in the corner of the room, his daughter laying snuggly in his lap, and he doesn’t move for a very, very long time.

[xf-cases-solved]

S1E12: Fire

Case: An incel played by Mark Sheppard is lighting people (and things, but we're more concerned about the people) on fire, and they can't figure out how he's doing it. This case is brought to Mulder's attention by his toxic British ex, Phoebe (who, as far as Mulder's exes go, is way more charismatic than Fowley so -shrug emoji-), and the two of them go off to Massachusetts to stop some rich British people from being barbecued. Half the people in this episode are weirdly horny, especially the fire expert guy at the Bureau who sounds like he's in the process of getting off when he describes pictures of fire. Mark Sheppard kicks a dog. Mulder literally says the words, "That's one of the luxuries to hunting down aliens and genetic mutants—you rarely get to press charges," so at least they're self-aware. Also, he's terrified of fire and apparently "cursed" with a photographic memory—I'm pretty sure neither of these things ever come up again. Meanwhile, the only person doing any actual FBI work is Scully. Thank god for her.

Does someone die in the cold open: Ah, yeah. Death by psychic immolation. Not the nicest way to go.

Does Mulder present a slideshow: No, but he does get practical joked into thinking he's about to die in a car bombing. Take note, Youtube pranksters.

Does the evidence survive the investigation: The most damning evidence is Incel Mark Sheppard himself, and while he's definitely a little crispy, he makes it to the end.

Whodunit: Incel Mark Sheppard

Convictions: Incel Mark Sheppard will face prosecution once he's done applying aloe to his burns. They are kind of not sure how to do that given that he can light literally anything flammable on fire with his mind. If it was 2024 they'd just do a Zoom call, but alas.

Did they solve it: Yes!

[how do i determine if an episode is solved? check the scale here: x]

THIS EPISODE IS SPONSORED BY: Forced exposure therapy.

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Forced exposure therapy works by having you speedrun the entire therapy process by putting you in a life or death scenario where you have no choice but to face your fears. Tired of being afraid? Well throw yourself into that burning building and learn to become brave, once and for all!*

*Forced exposure therapy may worsen phobias in some individuals, potentially resulting in the development of moderate to severe post-traumatic stress disorder. Do not put yourself into life or death scenarios without first speaking to your doctor to see if forced exposure therapy is right for you.

***

General Total Stats:

(green means stat has changed since last ep; red means new stat added to list)

Total Cases *Definitively* Solved So Far: 5 (that's two in a row! new best streak!!)

Total Number of "Mulder/Scully, it's me" phone calls: 1 (oh man, we were so close two different times. first one Scully goes, "Mulder, it's Scully," and i was like, "damn," and then later she started calling him on her gigantic black box cell phone, and i was like, "ooh, here we go!" but then the call didn't go through :( )

Total Number of Times Scully Has Conveniently Not Seen Something Crucial: 4 (she was kind of the only person paying actual attention to anything this episode)

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Been in Mortal Danger: 5 (the amount of smoke inhalation he got both times he was in the fire probably should have killed him, tbh)

Total Number of Times Scully Has Been in Mortal Danger: 3

Total Number of Sexually Charged and/or Flirty Moments Between Friendly Coworkers: 6 (there's so much weird tension in this episode that i can't even count it all individually)

Total Number of Autopsies Scully Has Performed On Screen: 1

Total Number of Times Scully Plays Doctor: 1

Total Number of Times Mulder Talks to an Informant: 6

Total Number of Nosebleeds: 4

Total Number of Times Mulder Has Tasted/Sniffed/Touched Something Questionable Without Following Proper Safety Procedures: 1

Total Number of Times Someone Says "Trust No One": 1

Total Number of Cigarettes Cigarette Smoking Man Has Smoked: 2

Total Number of Alex Krycek Sightings: 0 :(

Total Number of Times I Had to Look Up What State the Episode Takes Place in Even Though I Literally Just Watched It: 3 ½ (giving myself half-credit bc I knew it happened in Cape Cod, but I didn't know where Cape Cod was lol)

Total Number of Times I Had to Look at an Episode's Wikipedia Page to Fill This Out Because It Was Fucking Confusing and/or Too Boring for Me to Pay Attention: 2 (not this episode, and i can also say with authority that this stat won't go up next episode either, bc next episode is mfing "Beyond the Sea" which is the topest of tiers of first season episodes. get hype!!!)

[atimeofyourlife]

A small surprise

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: came back wrong | rated: t | wc: 973 | cw: mentions of Steve having bad parents and diet culture | tags: deaged steve harrington Steve came back different after the final battle against the Upside Down. Nothing dangerous or violent, just a lot smaller.

The third morning of everyone sheltering at Steve's house in the aftermath of the final battle against Vecna, where they'd agreed to spend a week if anyone was unaccounted for after the fight. Steve was the only one missing, but as no one had seen a body, everyone refused to accept that he hadn't made it. Eddie walked into the living room to the strangest thing he'd ever seen. Most of the group were scattered around the various furniture, talking over each other as normal. The strange thing was Robin, stood off to the side holding a small child on her hip. A small child that had definitely not been around the night before when everyone had gone to bed.

"What the fuck is that?" He asked, unable to hold back his confusion.

"It's a baby." Dustin replied, his tone condescending as always.

"I know it's a fucking baby, what's it doing here?"

Then, a small mumbled reply came, distorted around the fingers in his mouth. "M not a baby."

"No, Stevie. You're not a baby, five is so much more grown up than a baby." Robin said softly, bouncing the kid- Steve- a little.

"Wait, that kid is Steve?" Eddie looked a little closer, and it was pretty obvious. The big brown eyes peeking up at him paired with the moles and beauty marks scattered across the kid's skin, there was no one else it could be. "How- What?"

"We're not sure yet. He showed up this morning like this. We're waiting for Owens to get here to check him out. El doesn't think that it's the Upside Down." Robin explained.

"Now we just have to figure out what we're going to do with him in the meantime." Nancy added, looking a little uncomfortable at the situation.

"Yeah, like clothes, food, diapers." Dustin started listing things off on his fingers.

"He doesn't need diapers, Dustin. He's five, not a baby." Mike cut in, sounding offended on Steve's behalf.

Somehow, in the wait for Owens, Eddie ended up assisting as the main babysitter. With Steve getting passed between him and Robin, depending on what needed doing at any specific time. Robin being pulled away as the most familiar with Steve's house to help search the attic and the basement for any boxes tucked away from Steve's childhood, a task that had been deemed too dangerous for Steve to be involved in. So Eddie had to try and entertain a five-year-old. Little Steve seemed fascinated by his long hair.

"And your mommy doesn't care that your hair is so long?" Steve asked, his face lit up in awe.

"That's the good thing about being a grown up. You don't have to listen to what your mommy and daddy tell you to do." Eddie replied, tickling at Steve's sides.

Steve squealed with laughter and squirmed away, looking a little confused. "But Daddy said I always have to listen to him, even after I've grown up. That he knows best."

Eddie's heart broke a little at that. This sweet, tiny boy next to him, believing that he would forever be under his dad's thumb. "Hey. You can do what you want. If he's not around, you don't have to listen to him. When you're older, you can live to be who you want to be. He won't be able to tell you what to do all the time. And if he tries, you'll be allowed to say no to him."

When Dr Owens got there, it was chaos. Everyone wanting to be involved, to give their input. Crowding around, making Steve pull away, clinging to both Eddie and Robin.

"Maybe, if we tried this in a more private room?" Dr Owens suggested, after several unsuccessful attempts to start examining Steve. "With less people around."

"Uh. Steve's bedroom, maybe?" Eddie suggested, "He's got a big ensuite, so there's space in there?"

"Yeah, and if it's just me and Eddie? The gremlins are too loud and obnoxious to be any help." Robin added, being met with protest from most of the kids.

After Owens had fully checked Steve over, during which Steve kept switching between wanting to be held by Eddie, or by Robin, they still didn't have many answers. Owens had done a number of tests and taken samples and told them that he would be in touch. And that all they could do in the meantime would be take care of Steve and keep him safe.

"After you being such a brave boy for the doctor, I think you deserve some ice cream." Robin said, carrying Steve towards the kitchen.

"Not allowed ice cream. Mommy says it makes you fat." Steve replied. "Gramma gave me some and Mommy yelled at her and won't let me see her any more."

"Well, Mommy's not here, so she doesn't have to know." Eddie said, faking a smile and ticking Steve's sides to hide how his heart was breaking even more.

Eddie sat Steve in his lap at the table while Robin filled a bowl with ice cream, topped with far too much chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and sprinkles. Steve went to town on it when it was set in front of him, shoveling it down faster than could be healthy.

"Hey, slow down. You don't want to make yourself sick." Robin warned.

Steve looked up at her with wide eyes.

"No one's going to take it from you, so you can eat it slower." Eddie added. Steve turned to him, and Eddie smiled at the chocolate sauce smudged across his nose. He didn't know how long it would take for Steve to get back to normal, but while Steve was small, he was determined to give him the childhood he deserved. And once Steve was big again, he would always make sure that Steve felt loved and cared for.

This 110% came from the "I know it's a fucking baby, what's it doing here?" sound on tiktok. And I just wanted to try a different version of came back wrong.

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

HEY GUESS WHO NEARLY GOT VOTER SUPPRESSED

I got my South Carolina driver's license in September. I specifically remember the DMV guy asking me if I wanted to register to vote ("Yes!") and then double-checking with him at the end to make sure I was marked down to vote. I walked out of the building confident that I could vote when the election came.

Today I went to early voting and was told I was not on the list of registered voters. The poll worker directed me to a table of three people who could look into the problem further. I headed over and explained the problem; they began looking through their forms for me and eventually started making phone calls. It was clear that they were juggling multiple people at a time and looked pretty stressed out. There were three other people waiting for their registration issues to be solved.

(I've voted in every major election since 2008. This is the first time I've seen a designated waiting area for registration issues, complete with a panel of workers to handle them.)

Eventually one of the workers came over to tell us that they were badly backed up, so it could take a long time for our registration problems to be solved. She offered to give us a pass that would let us go to the front of the voting line so we could leave now and come back once our problems had been resolved. Sounds good, but how will we know that the problem is fixed? Will you call us? Probably not, she admitted. They were so backed up they were having a hard time keeping track of everyone. Thanks but no thanks.

One of the other poll workers called my name. They were going to call the government to check my records. Did I want the call back to go to me or to the polling station? To me, please. I dictated my phone number to the poll worker, who repeated it over her phone to whoever her contact was. Then I headed out.

In the parking lot, the government called back. Yes, they had found my DMV paperwork, and yes, I had checked off the box for voter registration. So yes, I should have been registered, but for some mysterious reason, my name wasn't on the roll. Great, can I go vote now? No, I had to go to the county office and fill out another registration form. Then I could vote.

I drove to the county office. When I explained my situation, the woman at the front told me that they would probably have to call the DMV again to verify my status. I braced myself for another wait, but a second woman ran over. "I'm so glad you were able to come over so quickly!" It was the woman who had called me in the parking lot. She gave me a slip of paper that looked like this:

"Do I have to fill out the race section?"

"You can check as many of the boxes as you want."

I checked Other Specify and wrote "Choose not to state." Then I crossed it all out and checked White. I didn't want to create an excuse to invalidate my registration.

The officials directed me to seating where I could wait for them to finish my paperwork. After a little while the second lady came out with a card that I had to sign. And that was that. As I prepared to leave, I casually asked, "Hey, why wasn't my name added to the voter registration rolls?"

"I don't know what it is--we've gotten so many people. Like, quantitatively speaking--before this election, we never saw so many people come in. Maybe the DMV and the Election Commission have some kind of compatibility problem..."

Her response petered out. I thanked her, returned to the polling station, and finally--finally!--cast my vote.

[elysians-adventures]

My Muse

Chapter 2: 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

➺ Confusion fills the both of you in different forms.

Elliott has met the new farmer, and quickly becomes infatuated. He attempts to keep his focus on his writing-- and fails, over and over, rather becoming a lovesick poet.

Pairing: Elliott x Farmer!Fem!Reader

➺ previous chapter masterpost next chapter

The morning doves squawked their song, rising you from your deep slumber. You had an odd dream that night, involving parsnips, letters and some sort of… what was it again? You shook your head, deciding to cast the thought away. It left you a little shaken up– yet you couldn’t understand why you dreaded the letters aspect out of all. Sliding the thin blanket away from your body, you put on your slippers. Clack. A sharp sound sounded outside, like a letterbox being closed. You peeked your head through the misted windows, seeing some paper peeking through the hole in the box. Whoever delivered it must have done a terrible job, folding most of the letters– giving them dog-eared looks. 

 

Gradually, you finished your morning routine, having brushed your teeth, dressed appropriately for farm-work and steeled yourself for the gruelling hours you were about to endure. Noticing the parsnip seeds on the table at your left, you pocketed them and exited the door. You decided to make a mental list of what you had to do for the day: plant the parsnips, meet the other villagers, check out the deeper parts of the farm, check out your letters and… you almost forgot. You took out the seashell in your pocket, looking at the small engravings in it. You had to return this to Elliott– remember?

Taking your hoe, you began. Heave– ho, heave– ho. 

Either breakfast didn’t give you enough energy, or you were extremely unathletic. Each time you hoed the ground you felt a small chunk of you being ripped away, leaving you absolutely exhausted at the end of it. To be fair, it wasn’t only hoeing you did, but also chopping down the trees that seemed to infestate your farm like pests.  

 

You wiped the sweat from your face, breathing heavily. Sowing was much easier, barely taking a swipe to finish all your seeds. Planting parsnips, done. You may have forgotten an important piece of the process, yet you didn’t notice yet.

 

Now for the next job in question would be… checking out the letters, right? It was right there on your farm, it wouldn’t make sense not to since you were already here. You opened the box, a flurry of paper spewing out. The previous critique of the postman being bad was gone, rather feeling pity for him having hauled all of this so far. Most were from your parents and old friends from Zuzu, congratulating you for moving and wishing you luck. Some with small specks of change and food here and there. Though, a few were from villagers, piquing your interest.

 

 

From Robin,

 

Hey there, Y/N! I’m the carpenter for this town. We already got introduced when you first got off the bus, but I wanted to remind you about me… annnd to encourage you to come to my shop sometime! 50% Off for the first time!

 

 

You smiled, switching to the next letter.

 

 

Ahoy farmer, me and your grandfather were buds a while ago. Come to the beach and I’ll teach you some tips on how to fish. It’s the best sustainable way to eat meat here in the valley. I’ll even share some stories about me and your pops when we were young.

 

Willy.

 

 

Each villager had their very own writing styles, though it seemed all of them shared the mutual feeling of wanting to meet you. There was one last letter from someone, marked with a cross on the envelope. The rest of the letters being maps for the village and a small guide.

In scrawly handwriting, it was written:

 

 

Your eyes are a prison I never wish to escape from,

Nor accept rescue. You are like the sun;

I wish to for you to shine forevermore, 

Even if in my mind it will be.

But even the sun does not compare to your beauty,

Even with its light it does not hold a candle to your eyes.

 

 

You stared at the words for a few moments. Confused. Surprised. Perplexed. Any of these words wouldn’t begin to describe how you felt. The letter wasn’t signed, and it seemed like it was crumpled before, being straightened out and folded neatly to send to you. You could see how hard the pen was pressed against the paper, making obvious markings. 

 

You blinked slowly, before pocketing the letters, still startled. How were you meant to react? Sure, you felt complimented, but you hadn’t even met anyone in town… hold up… it couldn’t be? He did say he was a writer, and this is a poem, but it felt like the coincidence was too great. Surely after only a day of not even ‘knowing’ each other, he couldn’t be enamoured?

 

The song of the birds softened, letting you listen to your thoughts. There was no way, literally. Only a crazy person would fall so hard so easily… thus, you decided to stop thinking about it. Maybe it was someone from Zuzu, having met a few weirdos in your time there.  No, it was definitely someone from Zuzu. At least, that's what you managed to convince yourself. Guilt littered your heart, being suspicious of Elliott felt bad. You had just met him.

 

Okay… you needed to get back on track, what was next? Right, you should return the seashell before anything else, since he was on your mind now. It looked important, and for all you know he could be panicking for it. 

 

You slipped off your boots coated in mud, and decided to wear the farmer attire for the rest of the day, making your way to the beach. During your trip, you had met a few more faces: namely Haley, Harvey and a small kind grandma called Evelyn. Each personality was a stark contrast to each other: Haley having called your clothes ‘dirty’ and ‘unfashionable’; Harvey stressing the need for medical care; and Evelyn simply commenting on how ‘hardworking’ you looked in your denim overalls. By the time you stepped on the sand, a smile coated your features.

 

Your eyes noticed a ginger-haired man wafting through the sand, picking up seashells and tossing them after examining them for a brief period. It seemed your doubts were right.

“Hey, Elliott!” You waved at him from a distance, though your voice seemed to stop the man in his tracks.

 

You couldn’t have found out already, surely? His thoughts were a sudden wreck, already in a mess due to losing his belonging. He stopped in his tracks, slowly raising his eyes to meet yours. You held a look of utter innocence and obliviousness. His doubts seemed to wash away like seafoam… talking of seafoam, his feet were getting wet– water seeping through his shoe. 

 

“Y/N,” he said, shakily– silently as if admiring you, before clearing his throat and repeating it louder for you to hear: “Y/N.” 

You walked towards him, palm outstretched with the clam in-hand. He bore a look of amazement, taking it gently from your hand. The man couldn’t believe you had found it, and nevertheless, returned it. Elliott worried Vincent or Jas mistook it for a normal shell, yet it seemed as if fate brought you two together.

 

“What’s with all the little drawings carved on it?” You asked, still smiling, happy that he looked so grateful.

“Ar… Urm…” He stumbled on his words, putting the object in his pocket and closing it tightly. Never again… “It’s a gift from Leah, my first friend in Pelican Town. She picked up this shell from the tidepools down there, and painstakingly carved out each drawing by hand. I couldn’t bear to lose my lucky charm, thank you, Y/N.”

 

The absolute show of gratitude almost caught you off guard, Elliott cupping his heart to show his utter appreciation for your attention. ‘ My muse is observant, best not to let my heart take me again and deliver one of those poems lest she figures it out… ’ He sighed, his thoughts bothering him. Why on earth had he trekked out in the early hours of the morning to show you his lovesick work? After he came back, a sense of guilt overtook him like nothing else, yet it was too late. 

Perhaps he was too forward… at least he complimented himself for not signing the letter.

 

“That’s so cool! They’re so tiny, that must’ve taken a lot of time,” you commented, now staring him directly in the eye. The man’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted, now focusing once on you. His mind ran wild with ideas simply standing by you, all to fuel his novel. He couldn’t let such a source of inspiration go. He had written more last night than he had in the past months, even though it was unrelated to the book.

 

“Yes, she actually gives me some art every once or so, in exchange for a sneak peek at my book…” He trailed off, adding quietly at the end: “not that I work on it these days…” The fact you were interested was bewildering to him, barely able to speak such things with others. They all shook him off, so he rather chose to be a listener than a speaker. In fact, his previously honeyed words stopped short at your sight, barely able to hold a conversation now. What have you done to him? You must be a witch, in his eyes, to make him so longing. 

 

He could not yet describe this as love, rather a lust to continue his long-lost passion by using you. That’s why he felt guilty. All these thoughts crossed his mind a split second before you responded, still joyous and unaware.

 

“Oh! You told me you were a writer, but I didn’t know you were writing a book…” You stopped short, wondering if that sentence made you sound stupid or ignorant to what writers do, “What’s it about?”

 

Elliott took a breath, ‘ compose yourself ’, “It’s a secret,” he winked, a smile creeping up his face once more.

 

“Agh, c’mon man. Can’t you spill?” You asked, pouting slightly in disappointment. Taking a slight glance at the sky, you remembered your list. And how little time you had to complete it. 

You went through it again in your head: meet villagers, clean your farm– you forgot to water your parsnips! You weren’t confident that they would die, after all they were seeds, but you weren’t going to mess up on your first harvest. 

Before letting him respond, you started to back away slightly, “Elliott, I forgot something important! Just– tell me about it through the mail or something, okay? Or, I’ll come by later!” 

 

You began jogging on the spot, waiting for a nod of acknowledgment from the man. When received, you began dashing back to the bridge, a fog of sand trailing your steps. 

 

Elliott was left there, slightly amused by your sudden disappearance and slightly disheartened. He was about to tell you, yet it seemed there was something more important in your mind. You had only came to give him back his belongings, so why was he so irritated? ‘ Something more important than me? ’ He couldn’t stop thoughts of envy, he had met you so shortly and yet he was thinking like this. 

 

Was it the practical human isolation? He hadn’t talked to anyone in a week. Or was it…? The ginger-haired man shook his head violently. He gripped his wrist in shame, trailing back to the cabin. The sound of his shoes and stones coming together resonated through his mind, deciding to focus on his environment for now. If he thought about you now, god forbid, he might do the same as last night. His eyes were still heavy and wrist was still tired. Yet, he couldn’t stop reciting in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. 

 

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Last Minute Customer

Summary; Beau Arlen x Reader -> When you’re closing up the store for the evening, you have one final customer. 

Warning; Pure fluffy fluff, books, bookstore and snow. 

Snow had been constantly falling for the last 6 weeks. At first, it was light and melted almost as fast as it had come. But now it was 3ft high and sent everyone into a tizzy over being able to walk.

Why you hadn't moved out of Montana by now, you didn't know. You could have gone anywhere. California, maybe? New York? Perhaps Seattle.

But no. You had decided to stay in Montana, open up a small bookstore in Helena and stick with the snowy winters.

Yet, it was all worth it.

You had been stood behind the counter, having shut early due to the weather. You had been counting your stock making sure you had enough of the popular books in stock in time for the mad-christmas dash.

That was when a knock came to the door.

"Hello?"

Rushing over, you quickly unlocked the door and let the stranger inside. He was covered in snow, his fingertips were turning red and his cheeks were flushed.

"Are you okay? What are you doing out in weather like this?"

"I could ask you the same thing." He smiled. "Sorry if I scared you."

"It's okay. Are you here to buy some books?"

He nodded, dusting off the snow with your help. Only now did you notice his shape. He was broad and tall. 

"Actually, I am." He smiled. "Sorry, I should have introduced myself. Beau Arlen."

That's why he looked so familiar.

You had seen him around town every now and then, mostly making his way in and out of the coffee shop across the way, Dewell and Hoyt and some of the local stores.

"Y/N Y/L/N." you smiled back. "So, what exactly is it that you're looking for?"

"I don't know."

Your eyebrows knitted together for a moment before he pulled a piece of paper from the back of his jeans and handed it over to you.

"My daughter...she wrote me a list."

You took the list from his hands and opened it up. There was some good titles on it.

Emma, by Jane Austen.

A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens.

Sherlock Holmes, Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Dr Suess, Chronicles of Narnia.

"I think we have some of these in stock. I'll check in the back for the others."

"Thank you."

"I've still got the fire going if you want to warm yourself up." You offered, pointing over towards the two leather sofa's that sat paralle to one another beside the fire.

"Is it safe to have a fire in a bookstore?"

"The fireplace has been there since the place was first built. I only put it on in desperate conditions." You turned back with a small smile before disappearing into the back of the store to look for some of the less commonly stocked books.

Pretty much most of them you managed to find on the shelves, Beau helping.

"Whoa." You said aloud as the rolling stairs went a little further than anticipated.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You want me to hold it still?"

You nodded. "If you don't mind."

You managed to reach the top of the bookshelves for the extra boxes, finally finding the last copy of A Christmas Carol.

"I'm usually banned from using this ladder." You told Beau. "Last time I was on it, I slipped from the fourth step and twisted my ankle."

Slowly, you climbed back down. Only, once you made it to the half way mark, you felt Beau's hands hold onto the back of your legs. They hovered just far enough from your skin to help you down but be close enough to catch you if you fell.

And it was a good job because just before you hit the bottom, your foot missed the step, sending you sliding down.

Thankfully, Beau took your waist into his hands and helped you safely to your feet.

"Thanks."

Beau smiled down, letting go of you once he knew you were okay. "You should probably get some safer ladders."

You smiled. "That's not the first time someone has told me that."

Beau gave you another smile and you found your words faltering in your mouth.

"Um," you stepped back and handed over the book. "Here you are. Is that everything? Not got another list in your back pocket, have you?"

Beau looked down with a soft chuckle. "No, not this time."

You rung up his order, asking if he'd like for them to be gift wrapped. "No, that's okay. Em's having me wrap them with her at home. She says I need the practice."

"It can't be that bad, surely."

Beau smiled and leaned onto the counter. "Whatever you're imagining, it's worse than that."

"Well, nothing can be worse than my parent's wrapping." You told him. "One year they just handed me a gift in a plastic bag with an upside down bow."

"What was it?"

"The gift? A vintage camera and record player." You smiled. "There up over there."

You pointed over towards the large wooden unit beside the fireplace.

"Did you take these photos?" Beau asked, looking to the postcards beside the register.

You smiled shyly. "I got bored one day and decided to go for a walk. There is a beautiful place by this canyon. There's a lake that runs just below it."

Beau studied the photo a little better. It seemed very familiar.

"Do you fish?"

"Sorry?"

You smiled, continuing to bag up the books. "I asked, do you fish? It's a good fishing spot if you ever wanted to try."

Beau clicked his fingers. "That's why I recognise it."

"Have you ever been on the hiking trail above it?" You asked.

"No, I- Uh...I haven't had the chance."

"Maybe, if you'd like, I could show you?"

Beau looked up and for a moment, he didn't know what you were asking. But the moment he did, he smiled, bowed his head to try and hide the texan blush on his cheeks, and nodded.

Finally he looked back up; "I'd like that."

"It might be a bit cold, but it's beautiful in the snow."

Beau smiled. "I'm sure it is."

"How about Saturday? If there's no big snow blizzard."

Beau nodded, paying his cash and picking up the bag of books from the counter. "Saturday it is."

Turning back around towards the door, Beau looked out to the snow.

"How long have you got left on your shift?"

You looked up to him, taping some boxes up. "Not long. Maybe about 10 minutes? Why?"

"Would you...would you like me to drive you home? With this snow and everything...I mean...what kind of Sheriff would I be if I let a citizen nearly die because of frost bite?"

You gave him a light smile and nodded. "That would be nice. Thank you."

Eventually, you closed the shop and followed him to his car. “So? How long have you been in Montana?”

“All my life,” you answered. “Mostly. I mean, I left to go to College but...I came back.”

“And the bookstore?”

You smiled as you explained the story to him on the way to your home. “It was something I always wanted to do. As a kid I had a vision board for my life - yes, I was that kid.” Beau smiled. “Anyway, I used to dream of owning my own bookstore and seeing kids like me find that place where they can go and just...be them. Pick up a book and...find another world. What about you? What made you want to be a Sheriff?”

“My dad,” Beau began. “We use to watch all these old westerns and he used to tell me all these cool stories of what he had done that day at work. About the people he helped.”

“He was your hero?”

Beau nodded and smiled. “Yeah.”

Finally, Beau pulled up outside of your home and you unbuckled your seat-belt. “I guess I’ll see you on Saturday?”

“I guess you will.” Beau smiled. 

He waited until you unlocked your door and walked inside before he pulled away. 

Maybe it was a good thing you stayed in Montana after all. 

[godesssiri]

Thrifting Philosophies 1

Getting the good stuff requires commitment, knowledge, and luck. There’s always going to be an element of luck in thrifting. What are the chances that the perfect item will be donated and put out on the shelves of the very thrift store that you are going to and that you will get your mitts on it before anyone else? There is real kismet in walking out of a thrift store with an item that you’ve dreamed of, I literally daydreamed about one of my best scores (a 2.5-foot-tall ceramic panther) for years before it actually happened – and discovering it actually went almost exactly like my daydream.* Don’t let the luck factor put you off because if you are committed and knowledgeable then luck will come to you more often.

You have to go often. You have to have a circuit and make it routine and scour every inch of the store. Like I said I daydreamed for years before I found my panther, you’re NOT going to just walk into a thrift store and find your dream thing first try, unless you are extraordinarily lucky. I’ve noticed a couple of the Youtubers I watch that have a very specific aesthetic, and know exactly what they want, often mention searching new listings online every single day, they have their list of search terms, and they just keep looking every day until they find exactly what they’re looking for. Thrifting dream items is a hunt, and you have to remember you are a persistence predator so be persistent.

Being knowledgeable about what you are looking for will also increase your luck. The more you learn about the thing you love the more search terms you learn it could be listed under. The more you train your eye the more likely you are to spot the gems. I recently scored a Lisa Larson figurine for $3; her stuff goes for hundreds, and I never thought I would be able to own something of hers. But because I was familiar with her design style when I saw this little dog (on the shelf where my favorite thrift store stashes stuff they think is crap and they just want to sell it cheap) I was able to identify it as something that looked like her other designs and scoop it up. The marking on the base was so faint it was barely readable, and I had to google her mark so I could compare side by side. I then googled ‘Lisa Larson dog’ and checked the image results and sure enough my little guy popped up. Google is your friend in these cases and whenever I’m in a thrift store and think I’ve found something good, but I don’t know enough to tell for sure I’ll put it in my basket and take a seat in one of the armchairs that are for sale, and I’ll google away. Researching on your phone while you’re in store is the best way to decide if the thing in your basket is a bargain or not, today I saw a malachite box in the cabinet at the thrift store but it was a bit pricey, $40, so I googled to see if it was worth that, boxes of a comparable size were popping up for $150-$200 so you bet I snapped it up for $40. If you’re interested in an item, then do your research so when you spot it you instantly know what you’re looking at. Looking at lots of examples of a thing online means that when you come across it in real life it will draw your eye so it’s more likely jump out at you when it otherwise might be lost in among all the other stuff on the shelves – I’ve trained myself to spot antique blue and white china from just seeing the rim of a plate in a stack of random plates. I absolutely cannot emphasize enough that you need to know that you’re looking at something special when you lay eyes on it, there is so much good quality stuff in thrift stores you just have to be able to recognize it when you see it. The more you research and dream about finding your goal items, the more likely you are to stand in a thrift store and squint at something and go: Is that? No couldn’t be. Maybe it is? Then pick it up and turn it over to discover that it’s exactly what you thought it was and you’ve got a treasure in your hands. People talk about manifesting the things you want, and I do believe that you can. But I believe it has less to do with putting mystical vibe out into the universe to bring you those things and more to do with training you brain to spot the opportunity to get those things.

*The panther story for anyone who’s interested. I’ve been drooling over these huge ceramic big cats on Pintrest for years and desperately wanted one, you can get tigers, cheetahs, leopards, panthers, and they’re usually sitting up and are about 2.5 feet tall. They were mid-century and original ones sell for $$$$, you can buy new reproductions from the original molds but even those are in the 1-2 thousand range so yeah, I was never gonna be able to buy one. I daydreamed that someday I would walk into my favorite thrift store and find one. I live in an area with a lot of retirees who had money around the time these were being made so my chances were decent. My favorite store has a fully glass frontage and they put the best stuff where you can see in the windows. I daydreamed that I would be walking up to the store and see it through the window before I’d even gotten through the door, that I would beeline for it and grab it growling “Mine!”, and march it up to the counter without even looking at the price, I dreamed that when I got to the counter I would check the price and it would be incredibly reasonable – like $200 (considering how much even reproductions sell for). The things that went differently from my daydream: It was just after a Covid lock-down and here in New Zealand we used to scan-in to public places using a QR code which registered us on a government app – if someone tested positive everyone who had been in a location they had been to at the same time as them could be warned through the app. I saw my panther through the window just like my daydream and was fumbling to scan in while making loud inarticulate noises that embarrassed my mother and brother who were with me. My brother carried him up to the counter for me because I was shaking with excitement. When I actually stopped to check his price, he was $75!!!!!!!!!!! My brother also found a David Bowie book that day that retails for hundreds and that he’d wanted but never thought he would be able to afford, it was also $75. My mother still talks about my squealing and just about running people over to get to Jayjay the Panther (my honorary nephew, Jayjay then 4-years-old, was the one that named him, and he wanted to name him Jayjay).

My previous thrift post

[megafreak400]

2024 Media Thread - #31

Crash Bandicoot (N Sane Trilogy) (8/19/24) -  Score - 1/10

So far this year, i’ve mostly played really good games. Last year I tackled more games on my backlog, to mix quality. This year i’ve played more new games or games on game pass so most of the games I've finished tend to be ones I’ve liked. There have been a few exceptions like the disappointment that was Ufouria 2, but overall I was starting to think I wouldn’t have any really bad games on this year's tier list. ENTER THIS FUCKING GAME! So let me give you a little bit of background. I was mostly a Nintendo kid, with a splash of Sega genesis. But my youngest brothers during the GameCube era were given a Playstation 1 at some point. So occasionally I’d check out what games they had for that and found a few I really gelled with. Jigsaw madness was a ton of fun playing against my brothers, Spyro 2 was a blast and then there was Crash Bandicoot Warped. I remember it being somewhat tough but having been a kid that preferred 2D platformers and missed them on the N64 and Gamecube, it was cool playing a game with a similar energy. Fast forward to college and while I never beat Crash Bandicoot Warped, the game stuck in my mind. At some point one of my college friends was selling some Playstation One games, and I had recently purchased a used PS2. They had a copy of Crash Bandicoot 2: Cortex strikes back. I remembered fond memories of Crash, so I bought it from them. I had thought however that 2 was the game i had played in the past. So when I looked things up in more detail and I realized it wasn’t I was slightly disappointed. I did later play Crash 4 and overall enjoyed it (though i’m never 100 percenting it), but I never got back to Crash 2 for one reason or another and so it just sat on my backlog. That is until GamePass added the N sane trilogy to game pass. I was like “ok awesome this is a good excuse to mark another game off my backlog and I also get to finally play Crash Warped again. However I didn’t just want to jump into Crash 2. I could have, and probably should have, but if I’m playing 2 of the 3 Ps1 Crash games I might as well play them all right…….HAHA… WRONG!!! I finished this game out of spite. I finished this game to write this blog post because Crash Bandicoot 1 is by far the worst game I played this year, and might be the worst game I’ve beaten in a long time. All of this mind you is multiplied by the fact that the game has 2 sequels that are basically the same thing but better. It’s like how people don’t really talk much about Sonic 1 because Sonic 2 is just better in every way while also being basically the same thing. Mega Man 1 is also talked about in this fashion. But I don’t see too many people (more than I thought though after I lambasted this game in my Discord server) hating on the first Crash game. I’m shocked this series even took off because this game is just frustrating and mocking the player at every turn.

To start with, yes I’m playing the remake. From what i’ve been told by friends the physics are the same as what they were in the original. I’ve also seen conflicting accounts online that it uses Crash 3’s physics, and then other sources say it uses Crash 2’s physics. Ultimately, i’m willing to believe some of the precision isn’t nearly as awful in the original, but on the other hand, some of the easier difficulty aspects like being given masks after so many deaths or extra checkpoints were also added which balances things out in terms of which version is worse. On top of that apparently if you wanted to get every boxes in the original you had to do every level with zero deaths. I’ll get into how awful 100 percent is for this game in a bit, but fuck that. Also the original was programmed for the D-pad, but ultimately i’m going to tell you playing the remake with a control stick is still ass so I don’t think that’s a mark against the original. Ok where to begin? Well to start with as I mentioned above the physics in this game are ass. It’s possible it’s because a different momentum system was applied to overly precise levels but even if the momentum is the same, some of the precise jumps they ask you to do in this game are insane at times. There are so many 2D levels that have several vertical jumping sections that one wrong move sends you plummeting back to the bottom. Or a few horizontal sections with multiple small platforms or enemies you need to jump on. It reminds me of DKC Tropical Freeze when you only have DK, you pretty much have to be spot on with your jumps or you’re screwed. And while the many 2D levels are annoying, the traditional Crash Style hallway levels are also to blame for my rage. Those stupid bridge levels can go jump off a cliff, they’re horrendous, asking the player to land on a tiny plank multiple times while dodging WILD HOGS. It got to the point where I said screw it, found out you could walk on the railing of the bridge, and cheated my way to victory. Don’t get me wrong precision platforming can be very fun, but it never feels rewarding here. If I fail it’s because the level is a long ass gauntlet or because of the weird perspective at points that throws you off. Or again, because if you don’t jump at the last possible moment you will fall. Add into this the fact that like most bad old game it has a lives system and a game over sends you all the way back to the start of the level, and you can see why it just gets tedious. Maybe if other aspects of the game felt rewarding I wouldn’t be too annoyed by the platforming, but no the game is the opposite of rewarding. So the big thing with Crash is that you need to smash all the boxes in a level to get a gem. Can be a fun time in theory, though more often than not they get it wrong. In Crash 4 the levels were also long slogs, with some boxes hidden in a way that if you missed one you had to do it all over again. Long levels and the box mechanic don’t really go together, and unfortunately most of Crash 1’s levels are overly long. That would be fine though, if it wasn’t for the fact that 90 percent of the time YOU CAN NOT GET ALL THE BOXES ON THE FIRST RUN OF THE LEVEL. Why? Because multiple levels lock a few boxes behind a colored gem….that you will not be able to get until a future level in most cases. This means wasting your time until you realize this, and even after if you do want to do 100 percent it means slogging through the level again. And keep in mind I didn’t have fun the first time so there was no way in hell that I was going for a 100 percent. But that’s not good enough for the game. You didn’t get all the boxes? Well shame on you, how could you be so bad at games. Because of your crimes against gaming we’re going to proceed to smash a billion boxes that you missed on your head to make it hit home how awful you are at this game. Like seriously, you couldn’t get all the boxes? 

No game I couldn't because LITERALLY I NEEDED A GEM FROM A FUTURE LEVEL. This aspect of the game just infuriates me because I hate it when games feel the need to mock the player. 100 percent doesn't even feel that important in the game, so making a big deal out of it just rubs me the wrong way here. The box crashing animation is so bad, in Japan it was taken out because it was making kids cry. So ok the levels are mostly unfun slogs, 100 percent is a fool's quest, what about the bosses? Surely the bosses are a good time? Ha…Ha..ha, what do you think? The first boss is easy enough, but the second boss requires you to jump over small platforms above water to hit TNT boxes that will hopefully be timed to explode when a deranged kangaroo is jumping by to damage him. Sounds easy enough, but instead of flowing constantly through the water, the TNT boxes stop at each platform for a bit. When you stomp on them they stop moving for good so that they can explode, but while in theory the waiting is good to allow people an easier time to jump on them…they just take forever. So it causes this battle to drag. On top of that, small platforms and Crash 1 = precision jumping meaning I died a lot. Ripper roo sucks, and it’s hilarious because his battle in 2 is a joke, but here it made me want to pull my hair out. Most of the other bosses aren’t as bad but they all have elements of just…taking forever. Koala Kong is easy enough but he just takes so long to do anything. Other bosses like the weird gangster rat and N Brio aren’t horrible but also aren’t really fun either. Ultimately just get rid of the bosses, you already have stupid long levels we don’t need the bosses dragging this game out any longer.  Other negatives are the overuse of really bland locals, like dank tombs, dank castles and dumb bridges. I will say the Levels in Cortex’s lab are generally ok, feeling more like something you’d see in crash 2 with less precision, but overall most of the levels just felt like they were wasting my time. Music is whatever, it’s fine but for having to re do these levels over and over could you give me something catchy to listen to? Crash himself is ugly, but at least the remake let’s me play as Coco instead, and she functions basically identical to Crash himself.

I honestly don’t know how this series got popular. Maybe it was the novelty of the more 3D style levels but if you want precision platforming there are much better games. Crash is at it’s best when your collecting stuff in short levels and trying to do the levels fast (something Crash Warped would be perfect) and none of that exists here. Could I have 100 percented this game? Sure but why if i’m not enjoying myself? I never felt rewarded finishing a level here, I just felt relieved it was over. Anything good Crash 1 does is just done better in the later Crash game or is done better by a different platformer.  If you like Crash 1, more power to you, but to me it’s going straight in the trash.

[jgmartin]

JAGGED JANICE

I'm a government employee. 

My name isn’t important. All you need to worry about is what I have to say. 

I work at a compound known as the Facility. Within it, we perform research on things the public would find… unappetizing. Officially, we’re listed under Experimental Weapons Development, but lately, our umbrella has spread much wider.

Suffice it to say that there are things out there that go bump in the night. Things, both legendary and mundane, that exert their influence upon us and defy explanation. My job is to interview individuals who believe they’ve encountered such entities and determine if their accounts are fact or fiction. What my job is not to do, however, is share those interviews. 

In this case, though, I don’t think I have a choice. 

_____________________

The room is cramped, dimly lit, and smells vaguely of stale piss and black mold. A light hangs above the table between us, rocking back and forth and doing a poor job illuminating much of anything. Still, I can see the man's gaunt face and the fields on my clipboard. 

It's enough. It will do. 

I ask the man to tell me his story, and it begins. 

“It happened at the cabin,” he says. He’s twenty-something, with a long nose and five o’clock shadow. When he reaches for his cigarette, his hand shakes like a 1950’s pickup truck. “Not my cabin,” he adds. “It belonged to Emily, but she invited us up. The three of us.”

My pen scratches across my clipboard. FOUR INDIVIDUALS. “For leisure, I’ll assume?”

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, I guess.” A laugh escapes his lips. It’s short. Awkward. “Why else do people go to cabins? We just wanted to get drunk, stoned, forget our problems for the weekend. You know, like normal people do.”

“Of course,” I say, marking down his response. His eyes dart toward the cameras in the corner of the room, and his tongue slips across his lips. They’re chapped,  cracked and bleeding. He looks worse than a mess. He looks like a disaster.

“The cameras,” he says. “What’s the deal with them? You said you weren’t a cop.”

“I’m not,” I reassure him. “The cameras are for my own records. Events— encounters with the paranormal, they’re tricky things. Sometimes we catch items in recordings we’d otherwise miss in person.”

He stares at me a while. His lip curls in, his teeth gnawing at it. It’s a look I’ve seen before, the sort of look where he’s wondering if maybe he’s being played. He’s wondering if this is a sting operation, and he’s taking the bait and I’m going to have him thrown into a psych ward, or worse.

“It’s better if you tell me everything,” I say, placing my clipboard on the desk between us. “I’m not here to have you put away, only to get some answers.”

A moment of dead air hangs between us, and it’s the sort of moment I recognize. He’s weighing the situation. Sizing me up. He’s wondering if he’s comfortable talking about something this batshit insane to a total stranger. 

But then he takes a breath, followed by a deep drag, and he ashes his cigarette.

“Sure,” he says. He taps on a finger on the desk. Gathers his thoughts. “It happened late at night. The four of us had been drinking in the cabin, doing mushrooms, but we all slept outside in tents since the place was full of spiders. Hardly ever got used.” 

“Why’s that?” I check a box labeled INTOXICATED. 

He shrugs. “Bad memories, I think?”

I tilt my head to the side, inviting him to continue.

“The cabin belonged to Emily’s mom," he explains. "She passed away when Em was a little girl, and the place has been a mausoleum ever since. Em thinks it has bad mojo.”

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?” He tastes the question. “I think that... ” He trails off, his eyes losing focus, gazing at the splintered wooden table between us. Suddenly, he seems far away. There’s an emptiness to his expression. A disconnect. I wonder if he’s thinking of legends and nightmares. 

I wonder if he’s thinking of Jagged Janice. 

“Is everything alright?” I ask.

He blinks, then nods. 

My pen scratches across my clipboard. SUBJECT APPEARS TRAUMATIZED. AVOIDANT.

“What’s that?” he asks. “What are you writing?” He leans forward, his thin frame eclipsing the table as he narrows his eyes on my form. I pull it away. 

“It’s private.”

“How come?”

“Your knowledge of my notes could influence your account. I’d prefer it if such biases were avoided.”

His face creases, jaw clenches. 

“Now,” I say. “Please continue.”

He looks angry as he sits back in his chair. Pissed. He’s gnawing at his lips again, and his finger’s tapping the table like a gatling gun. There’s no doubt in my mind that this guy’s been through a lot, but I need to make sure he’s telling the truth, and in order to do that, he can’t know anything. Nothing at all. 

“Fine,” he says at length. “We’ll do it your way.”

Yes, we always do. 

“Like I said, we were drinking in the cabin. Swapping old war stories from high-school. Talking about stupid pranks we’d pull, or places we’d tag, or teachers we hated. We reflected. Pretty soon though, we got drunk enough that stuff went deeper. We stopped talking about all the silly surface bullshit, and we started talking about the stuff that really meant something to us— the things that set our souls on fire.”

“That’s a poetic turn of phrase. Are you a writer?”

He shrugs. 

“Let me rephrase. Would you describe yourself as having an active imagination?”

The man studies me, gears turning in his head. Again, he’s wondering if I’m goading him into an admission of insanity. He’s wondering if I’m calculating what amount of antipsychotics it would take to counterbalance his paranoia, and what size straightjacket would best fit his scarecrow frame. 

But I’m not doing any of that. 

The truth is, I don’t care if he’s insane or perfectly lucid. I don’t give a damn about him at all. All I care about is whether or not he’s seen Jagged Janice, and that he isn’t another liar. 

“My imagination isn’t anything special,” he says at length. “Now, can I tell my fucking story, or are you going to keep interrupting?”

I smile. "Sure. Go ahead." 

He takes a breath, spares a half-second to glare at me. “The four of us are drinking in Em’s cabin and she starts to get… low. Like, depressed. She’s usually a pretty upbeat person so I ask her what’s up, and she says she’s just been feeling a bit haunted since coming back to the cabin.”

I lift an eyebrow.

“Her brother…” The man sighs, shakes his head as though determining how best to phrase his next words. “Her brother died at the cabin. Drowned to death in the ocean a hundred yards from the front door. Emily watched it happen.”

“She watched her brother drown?”

He nods. “She was three years old. She didn’t understand what was happening, not really. There wasn’t anything she could do.”

“I see.” It’s a sad story, but not really what I came here for. Worse still, nothing yet matches the Jagged Janice legend. “Anything else?”

The man looks up at me, and disbelief swims in his eyes. “Anything else?” he mutters. “No, asshole. That’s it. She watched her brother die and it made her feel like shit.”

“I’m not here for Emily’s story, I’m here for yours. You’ll excuse me if I forget to feign empathy for a woman I’ve never met.” I check a box labeled CONFRONTATIONAL and rest my pen on my clipboard. “Now then, you said you were drinking. Talking. What happened after that?”

His jaw is set. Clenched. He looks like he wants to slug me in the face and honestly, I wouldn’t blame him, but instead he takes a drag on his cigarette and leans back in his chair. 

“We drink and talk until our eyes get droopy,” he says. “And then we go to bed. It’s like any night, I guess. Up until a point.”

There’s an implication in his words, but I’ll deal with it later. For now I need more details. I need to understand the setting of the Event as clearly as I can. “The police report,” I say, glancing down at my copy of the document, “mentions the incident occurred inside of the cabin. Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Can you describe it for me? The layout?”

He scratches the back of his head, brows furrowed. There’s a picture being painted in his mind, colored by memories. “It's a tee-shaped cabin. Capital T. There’s two bedrooms on either side of the T, and at the very top center is a bathroom. The bottom of the T is the living area and kitchen, then the front door.”

“Simple enough.” I make a quick sketch of it on my form. “According to the report, the Event occurred in the washroom. I’d like you to talk about that.”

His eyes narrow, and his mouth twitches. He sucks in on his cigarette like it’s the last drag he’ll ever have. Slow. Long. He burns it down to the filter, eyes bloodshot, and then he drops it into the ashtray. “You got any more of these?”

“Sure.” I reach inside my jacket and pull out a pack, tossing it to him. The man catches it and flips it open. His hands are shaking. They’re shaking so hard that he can hardly light the smoke after he slips it into his mouth.

“Let me,” I offer. 

“No,” he says. “I’ve got it.” The lighter strikes, and a flame dances to life. He hovers it below his dart until an ember glows. Then the man leans back, takes a deep drag, and blows out a storm cloud. “You’re the real deal, huh?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The real deal. You actually believe me, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” I say. Truthfully I’m still making up my mind. “You said the four of you quit drinking to go to sleep. Back in your tents, I presume. What happened after that?”

He ashes the cigarette. “Nature calls. I gotta take a shit, so I get up and head to the cabin. When I unzip the tent though, I can’t see the dirt in front of me. It’s that dark outside. Pitch black.”

“No moon?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t looking for one. All I know is I’ve got to take a shit, and I’m not about to use the outhouse— it smells worse than death. So I make my way to the cabin. Once I get inside though, this weird feeling comes over me.”

“Weird feeling?”

“Like I’m being watched.”

Promising. 

“The place feels empty. Lonely. It’s just me, the bugs, and the light from my phone. The light’s making shadows out of everything— the dusty fridge, the cluttered shelves, and the messy counters. There’s a thousand shapes all around me, shifting with every step I take and this feeling of, I don’t know.... Dread? comes over me. Like I’m not safe.”

The man pauses. Sweat beads down his forehead. “Sorry,” he says. “I just haven’t thought about it in this much detail since the night it happened.”

“Don’t worry,” I tell him. “Events are messy things, and more often than not, they leave scars.”

“Okay.”

“Take your time.”

He gives himself a minute. Catches his breath. “Like I said, I don’t feel safe in there, but I’m drunk enough that it doesn’t faze me. I’ve still got a buzz going from earlier in the night, you know? I think to myself, I came to take a shit and some spooky shadows aren’t gonna stop me.” He chuckles to himself, shakes his head. “But a few seconds later, I’m in the bathroom and locking the door behind me. I figure, why take the chance?”

He’s nervous. Jittery. His leg’s bouncing up and down and shaking the table. It’s beginning to affect my ability to write. “Would you like a glass of water?” I ask.

“I’m fine.”

“Humor me.” I grab the jug and pour him a cup, sliding it across the table. He eyes it for a moment, and then grips the glass, bringing it to his lips and downing it in one swig. I pour him another. 

“So,” he says, wiping his lips. “I’m about to unbuckle and do my business when I see movement. It’s in the top corner of the bathroom— in one of those little toilet windows, like the type that’s clouded on the bottom for privacy, or whatever, but clear on the top to let in light.”

“I’ve seen those. Is that where you witnessed the Event?”

“That’s where I saw the smile.”

Jagged Janice. “Describe it.”

“Honestly I…” He sounds suddenly hesitant. Worried. “I’d rather not describe the smile, if we could. Wouldn’t it be better to just talk about the Event instead?”

“The smile is part of the Event,” I remind him. “It’s important that we get as many details as possible, no matter how uncomfortable your memories may be.”

He looks down, and his eyes drift out of focus. “The smile is just a row of teeth. But the teeth are too big and too sharp to belong to a human, and there are just… so many of them.”

I check my notes, consulting descriptions of Jagged Janice listed in old email chains from the early 2000’s. “I’d like to hear  more about these teeth.”

“Why?” 

“The teeth are important. Describe them, please.”

The man is uncomfortable. He’s shifting in his seat like quicksand, and when he talks his voice cracks but he gives me what I want. “The teeth are jagged,” he says. “Serrated, almost. Their length is all over the place. Some barely break her gums, others stretch down, cutting through her lips.” His fingers move again. They’re tapping on the metal table. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

“When I see the smile, my heart starts pounding. I’m frozen there, standing in the dark bathroom with just the light from my phone. My mind’s reeling, but I know that whoever that smile belongs to, I don’t want them seeing me, so I hold my phone up against my chest. Tight as I can. I smother the light.”

“The light,” I say. “Did the woman showcase an adverse reaction to it?” Janice, according to her legend, loathes light. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Or, I don’t know? I can’t remember small details.” He pauses, and reaches for his glass of water before taking another gulp.”At that point my body’s mostly just adrenaline. There’s a storm of it coursing through me and screaming at me to run or scream or fight this bitch or just do something. Anything. But I can’t. I just stand there, staring at her inhuman teeth, at her horrible, twisted smile with my phone clutched to my chest like a crucifix.

“Then the smile begins to fall away, lowering itself until it’s just a blur behind the foggy part of the window. In its place are two eyes.” The man takes a breath, shuddering, trembling. “They’re wide, angled all wrong and they’re leaking this… black fluid. They dart around the washroom as if looking for something.

“I stay still. Still as I can, like I’m fucking paralyzed. There’s no light in the room, none except the bits of moon framing the monster in the window, so I let myself meld into the darkness. I don’t move an inch, and I pray to god the creature can’t see me there.”

He shivers, reaches for his cigarette and takes a drag. 

“Then I hear the tapping on the window. Tap. Tap. Tap. It’s followed by this chattering sound, and it takes me a second but I realize it’s her teeth gnashing together, open and shut, open and shut, over and over again. I don’t want to look at her. I don’t. But part of me can’t stop myself, and I glance up and see her eyes staring back at me. Two tiny black dots in a sea of white. My breathing stops. My pulse races. Dribbles of piss run down my leg. It’s just the two of us now, watching one another.”

I lean forward, my interest piqued. Much of his description could have been pulled from the Jagged Janice legend itself. The small black pupils. The rows of inhuman teeth. I check off the features on my clipboard as he goes. “What does she do?” I ask. “When you lock eyes with her?”

He swallows. “She speaks.”

“What does she say?”

“She says,” he stammers. “I see you.”

I write the words down and circle them three times. They’re not familiar to me. “Describe her voice to me. Did she sound old? Young?”

“Her voice was quiet. Hard to hear. The words sounded like they’d been pulled out of a woodchipper. Their pronunciation was broken and unnatural, like they’d been cut up by those… teeth.”

“Curious,” I mutter. 

“Her fingers reach up, and she taps the glass again. Tap. Tap. Tap. I chance another look, and all I can see is her terrible, serrated smile in the window. It’s making me feel nauseous. I’ve never been that scared, you know? I close my eyes, wanting the feeling to go away for just a second, but when I open them again the smile’s gone. It’s just me, alone in the bathroom.”

He puts his face in his hands and lets the armor fall away. His shoulders quake with silent sobs. I give him a minute, then another. 

“Is that all?” I ask. 

No response. It becomes apparent that his account has reached its conclusion.

Disappointing to say the least.  

“A harrowing experience,” I say, giving my form a final swipe with my pen. With a sigh, I stand up from my chair, reaching out to shake his hand. “On behalf of the Facility, I’d like to thank you for taking the time to share it with me.” 

The man’s sobs taper off. He blinks up at me, with red, puffy eyes and when he speaks his voice is barely there at all. “It’s not over,” he says. “There’s more.”

My heart thrums as I pull back my handshake. A smile slips across my face as I sit back down in my chair, centering my clipboard in front of me. “Something else occurred?”

“Yeah,” he says, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “The next few hours turned into a nightmare.”

I click my pen, skin prickling with goosebumps. “You don’t say?” Now it’s my turn to take a breath, to center myself and calm my nerves. “How very unfortunate.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” he says, sarcasm thick in his voice.

“Please continue, then.”

“It… It takes me ten minutes before I can muster the courage to crack the bathroom door. When I do, I do it gently. Quietly. You can hardly even hear the shitty hinges creak, that’s how careful I am. I peek out of the crack, looking for the smiling woman, terrified that I’m going to see her standing in the living area waiting for me, but I don’t. 

“There’s nobody else in the cabin. It’s just me. So I step out, moving across the hardwood floor. It creaks and groans with every step I take and each time that it does, my heart skips a beat and I expect to see her jump out of the darkness. I’m seeing that smile everywhere now. In every shadow. In every window. I want to shout and scream— I want to call out to my friends in the tent and beg them to pull me out of this horror, but they’re beyond the cabin door. Out there at the far end of the yard. They’re a world away.”

“And your phone,” I ask. “You never thought to use that to call for help?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’m on a backwater island off the coast of rural BC. I’ve got great cell service out there.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t get a cell signal if I climbed to the top of the tallest tree. My phone was a glorified flashlight.”

A fair point. 

“Since I can’t call for help, I psyche myself up. I’ve got my hand on the front doorknob, and I’m ready to fling the door open and scream bloody murder, run to my friends and tell them we need to start the truck now because there’s a fucking monster on the island and.... And that’s when I hear it.”

His fingers thrum the metal desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

“In the window next to the front door, I see a long arm in a frayed sleeve, with crooked fingers playing against the glass. They’re drumming a rhythm. Something… awful. It’s noise masquerading as song.”

“Then I hear her again. I see you, she says in a gravely, guttural voice. The tapping gets faster. Heavier. I pull away from the window, from the door, and fall back into the shadows of the cabin. She must be twelve feet tall because her head cranes down into the window frame, all the way from the top of it. Her eyes are gleaming in the moonlight, darting around and swiveling again in ways they shouldn’t be able to. She’s searching again. For something— me maybe. I don’t know.”

The man finishes his cigarette and slips a fresh one out of the pack. He lights it, trembling, and sucks in on the nicotine. His expression softens. “Then she’s gone,” he says. 

“Gone?” I ask, disappointed. “Again?” There’s nothing in the Jagged Janice mythology that indicates her vanishing and reappearing at regular intervals.

“Gone,” he confirms. “I’m alone. Time passes. Minutes, maybe hours. I don’t know. I just sit there in the living room, my ears and eyes straining for any sound, any movement, anything at all. I’m shaking and breathing in short bursts, terrified if I breathe too heavily she’ll hear me. I wonder to myself how long it's been. How long there’s still to go until the sun rises, and somebody wakes up and comes to check on me or use the washroom. I think about using my phone to check the time, but the idea of its blacklight giving me away terrifies me, so I don’t. I just sit there and wait.”

“How long do you wait? Until morning?”

He laughs. Takes another drag. “Fuck no,” he says. “It takes a while, but eventually I get calmer, or maybe too scared to keep sitting there doing nothing. Maybe I just need to reassure myself that this nightmare has an ending. I don’t know.” He gnaws at his fingernail. “I’m fucking quivering as I pull my phone outta my pocket. Shaking like a leaf. I turn it on, and my home screen lights up my face like I’m about to tell a campfire story.”

“What time is it?”

“3:34 a.m. Two hours from sunrise, at that time of year.” The man sighs, running a hand along his jaw. “It’s too long for me. I can’t do it, you know? I decide I need to do something now before that woman comes back because I have this horrible feeling that the next time she shows up she’s going to be inside the cabin. She’s going to find me. So I tell myself to make a run for it. Wake up my friends. It’s easy, I think. I’ll open my mouth and fucking scream my lungs out, and that way even if she gets in my way then at least everybody on the island will wake up, and maybe I’ll get out of there in one piece. So I do it, I open my mouth and I scream.

“But nothing happens,” he says quietly. His expression darkens. Tears slip from the corners of his eyes, and his lip trembles all over again. “No sound comes out. Instead, a hand that’s long and crooked wraps itself around my mouth. It pulls my head back, and I smell rot and decay and seaweed, and a voice whispers in my ear like a lawn mower. I see you.”

Janice. I lean forward, gazing at him expectantly. “How did you get away?”

He wipes at his eyes, choking back the last of his sobs. “No idea. I blacked out. When I woke up I wasn’t in the cabin anymore, I was in a hospital bed surrounded by my friends.”

“Same ones from the cabin?”

“That’s right.”

I check a box on my form labeled SURVIVOR. Then I chew on the back of my pen for a second before checking a second box: POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS AFFECTED.

“And what do these friends say? Anything useful?”

“They tell me it’s all their fault,” he says. “Em mumbles about how we should never have come out to the cabin in the first place. Steve and Haily are blaming themselves for letting me get exceptionally drunk.” He cracks a bittersweet smile. “Everybody wants a share of the guilt.”

My eyes drift down to the man’s file. “You said the island was remote. I’ll assume the hospital wasn’t local to it?”

“No,” he says. “It was off the island. An hour or so inland. I must have been out for a day at least though, because I don’t remember ever travelling there.”

“Interesting.” A recurring aspect of the Janice mythology is a sense of mild amnesia and the presence of minor to severe bite wounds. “What did the hospital treat you for?”

He clears his throat. “A mild concussion. And water in my lungs.”

“Water in your lungs?” I shake my head, dropping my pencil. Perhaps I should be happy the young man survived whatever terror visited him that night, but so many pieces of his story don’t match the mythology at all. “You’re certain? Water in your lungs?”

“That’s right,” he says. “The doctors didn’t understand it either. I never even got a chance to take a dip in the ocean, let alone drown in it.”

“Okay, let me get this straight. So your friends pop by, leave you some get-well cards and you get discharged a couple of days later.” I lean back in my chair, folding my arms. “Does that  about sum things up?”

The man looks away, rubbing his arm. “Not exactly,” he says darkly. “Before they leave, I tell them about the smiling woman. I ask them if they’ve seen a tall woman with razor sharp teeth lurking around the island. Steve and Hailey look at eachother like I must have hit my head harder than anybody thought. The look in their eyes… It's like they’re terrified I’ve given myself brain damage. Steve squeezes my arm and apologizes over and over for doing shots with me. Says he should’ve gone easy for the first night. Hailey agrees. Says I drove them all the way out there, so they should have let me get some sleep.”

“And your other friend?” I ask. “Emily?”

“She’s standing back. Staring at me, and her eyes are filled with… I don’t know. Regret? But it’s different from Steve and Hailey. She doesn’t look like she feels sorry for me. She looks like she really blames herself for all of this. I say her name, Emily. Ask her if she’s seen the woman because I get the sense that she has.”

I slide my pen down my clipboard and circle a word that says WITNESS before annotating it with a small question mark. “How does she respond?”

“She leaves,” he says with a sigh. “I don’t think she wants to talk about the woman— at least, not in front of Hailey and Steve. Pretty soon everybody leaves. It’s just me again, in some tiny hospital on the outskirts of nowhere. The only company I’ve got is the apple tree outside my window and the shitty TV. I sleep pretty uneasily that night. Tossing and turning. I wake up at one point to the sound of tapping, and I stare out my window horrified, expecting to see that woman again, but it’s just the apple tree. It’s branches are brushing against the glass. 

“I wonder to myself if this is just my life from now on. If everytime I hear the faintest sound at night, I’m going to wake up in cold sweats thinking that woman’s come back for me. Then the door creaks open. My body goes into full-blown panic, my breath hitches in my chest, my muscles tighten, and it’s like that night all over again, with the smiling woman where I can’t move an inch for fear.

“But it’s just Emily,” he says, chuckling in disbelief. “She pauses in the doorway and asks me if she can come in. I tell her that of course she can, and she does, not bothering to turn on the lights. When she gets to my bedside, I can see her face more clearly by the light of the window. She looks rough. Her eyes have these heavy bags, and her cheeks are all red and splotchy from crying. She’s wiping snot on her sleeve and telling me sorry, over and over.”

“Sorry for what? Inviting you out to the cabin?” I say, doing my best not to roll my eyes. I’ve never seen a group of friends with such a guilty conscience. 

“No,” the man says. “She says she’s sorry for not warning me about the woman. She says she thought the woman was gone, otherwise she’d never have come back to that place.”

“What?” I snap forward, eyes latching onto his. “She told you she knew about the woman?”

He nods. “She said the circumstances of her brother’s death were different than she’d originally told us. He didn’t drown— not accidentally. He was murdered. A woman attacked them on the beach, a woman with a terrible smile and this tangle of black, messy hair that covered her face. She dragged Em’s brother backward through the sand, muffling his screams with her hand, and then held him under the surf. She kept him there until he stopped moving. Then, she let the tide take him away.”

“Disturbing,” I say. “And she never brought this up to her parents?”

"She did. Her father told her it was just her imagination. He said that her brother had fallen into the ocean and gotten swept away, and it was already hard enough to deal with without Emily adding to it. So Emily just buried the memory. Moved on."

The man looks up at me, his expression despondent. “That’s when we hear it,” he says. "In the hospital room. A tapping. Tap. Tap. Tap. It comes from the window to my right, the one with the old apple tree.”

“The woman?”

“I don’t look. I tell Emily not to look either. I tell her to focus on me, to ignore the sound. I don’t know what she saw as a little girl, down by the ocean, but I know I don’t want her to see what I saw in that cabin." He shudders. "I don’t want her to see that smile." 

“Does she listen to you?”

He grips a fistful of his hair, closes his eyes. “No,” he says quietly. “She looks, and when she does, she screams. She screams so loudly that the lights come on down the hall, and Inurse bursts in and pulls Emily away, calls a patrol car the night nurse call out and start running. Emily rushes toward the window, I catch sight of it from the corner of my eye because I still refuse to look at that pane of glass, but I hear Emily beating against it with her fists. Clawing at it with her nails. Then the her to drive her home.”

The man takes a breath. He puts his face in his hands and rubs his eyes. “I text her an hour later. Just to make sure that she’s okay and—”

“—Yes,” I say, cutting him off. I glance at the folder on my desk labeled CORRESPONDENCE, then down at the watch on my wrist. It’s three in the morning, and I’m jet-lagged. The meat of the man’s story appears to have run its course. “If the texts are everything that’s left then I can read them on my own.” I rise from the desk and offer my hand to shake. He gives it a weak, reluctant squeeze, avoiding my eyes. Then he leaves the room without another word. 

I sigh, sitting back down in the steel chair. Another long day. Another dead end. I adjust my glasses and pull out the text logs. There’s only a handful of message receipts. The chance is slim, but the possibility that there’s something in there about Jagged Janice entices me too much to set them aside for tomorrow.

I begin to read.

As I do, I make note of the timestamps. Words do a good job of painting a picture, but time and location lend context to everything. 

01:34 Dorian: are you okay?

02:12 Emily: Not really

02:12 Dorian: did you see her?

02:45 Dorian: em, im sorry. that was a stupid text 

02:45 Emily: It's fine. 

02:46 Dorian: im guessing you dont feel like talking

02:46 Emily: Actually, it might be good for me

02:47 Dorian: yeah? okay. me too

02:47 Dorian: i never got a chance to tell you earlier, but i cant imagine how horrible it must have felt to see what happened to your brother and have your dad not believe you?? thats fucked

02:55 Emily: It's fine. We were never close anyway. 

02:55 Dorian: sorry to hear. did you ever tell your mom? I mean, before she passed?

02:56 Emily: No. Mom was already dying by then and dad would've killed me

02:56 Dorian: fuck. im an asshole. how could I forget something like that? sorry agajn

02:57 Emily: You're not an asshole. You're right that I would have told her about Jonas if I could have

02:59 Emily: By then she was so hopped up on painkillers though that I hardly even recognized her

03:00 Dorian: the meds must have been pretty heavy. thats a lot to deal with for a four year old kid. 

03:01 Emily: Yeah, her esophageal cancer was bad. She was in a lot of pain near the end and rarely in a good mood. Pretty sure dad was having an affair at the time too. Fuckin prick

03:01 Dorian: im sorry. thats a shitty memory to bring up

03:03 Emily: Dont be. I think I repressed a lot of old memories of her which probably isnt healthy

03:05 Emily: Honesrly, if it wasn't for you, I'd probably think I was going crazy right now 

03:05 Dorian: why?

03:06 Emily: I saw her too.

03:06 Dorian: the smiling woman? 

03:07 Dorian: em?

03:34 Emily: My mother

03:34 Emily: I see my mother

I stare at the last word in stunned silence. Her mother? Could she actually have been the origin of the legend? I rub a hand along my jaw, considering what I've heard of Emily's history. She had only been four years old at the time of her brother's death when she had witnessed a crazed woman drag him into the sea, a woman who she couldn’t identify because black hair obscured her face. 

Could that woman have been her own mother? It doesn’t seem terribly likely. But it doesn’t seem impossible either. Children often reframe moments of terror in a bid to understand the incomprehensible. 

I reach for my briefcase, unclasping the latches on the front and pulling out my laptop. I take a breath and then open up the database software. Emily’s easy enough to find. Her last name is plastered everywhere across her social media, so I plug that in. The search function isn't the fastest, but it does the trick. It takes thirty seconds for the tiny, rotating hourglass to stop spinning, and when it does I see her.

SUBJECT: EMILY  KALDWELL

FATHER:  HARLOD KALDWELL

MOTHER:  JANICE KALDWELL [DECEASED]

I swallow, my hands shaking on the keyboard. 

Had I finally found Jagged Janice? I pour myself a glass of water, finishing it in two giant swigs. It does little to calm my nerves. Still, it's one piece of the puzzle solved, but really it just creates more questions. It doesn’t explain several aspects of the man’s story. The water in the lungs, for instance. Or the vanishing. Certain pieces of his encounter don’t add up, at least not compared against the original legend. 

There’s a knock on the door. 

Three sharp raps with a knuckle. I get up to answer it, thinking maybe the man’s forgotten his phone or wants to give me back my pack of smokes. When I open the door though, there’s nobody. 

I raise an eyebrow and head back to my laptop. I need to discover the source for these changes, these departures from the Jagged Janice mythology. This time I bring up my web browser, navigating to one of my preferred resources on urban legends. The website's a bit corny, but it's proven accurate, and its community aspect has been invaluable in my research.

After some scrolling, I bring up the Jagged Janice article. People can leave anecdotal encounters beneath the main text, and sometimes they do. Usually, they’re all bullshit.

One of them catches my eye, however. It mentions seeing the serrated smile, the tapping fingers, and… that they found their infant child dead with water in its lungs. I shake my head. A coincidence, that’s all. I keep scrolling. More keywords jump out at me. 

“... there and then gone.”

“... voice like a meat grinder.”

“... to the sea with you.”

I pause. Those were the words Emily said, words she remembered when she witnessed her brother being pulled into the ocean. To the sea with you. My mind spins, but a picture is forming. The guttural, difficult to understand voice. The drowned brother. The words.

“I see you.”

No. She was never saying those words, not really. She was saying to the sea with you. The man misheard, or perhaps he couldn’t properly understand because of Janice’s damaged voice. In his panic he likely defaulted to the simplest sounding phrase. 

My heart races, I reach for my phone to make a call, to tell my boss what I’ve found. It wasn’t long ago the Facility had an incident with a Man with a Red Notepad, one in which we learned the core principle of all legends and one which cost many people their lives: that legends evolve. 

If the Jagged Janice legend has evolved, we need to allocate additional resources to locating it and neutralizing it. I continue to scroll, noticing many of the anecdotes have been posted in the last week. Several, in the last few days. If even half of them are true, it'd imply highly increased activity on Janice's part.

I hear another knock at the door—three soft raps. I curse, kicking off from my desk and storming to the door, phone still pressed to my face waiting for my boss to pick up. Once more, I swing it open, and once more, I look down a cold, empty hallway.

I slam the door shut and stalk back to the table. My phone continues to ring, and my boss continues to ignore my call. It's really not like her, but I tell myself to relax. She's probably sleeping. According to my watch, it’s late as hell— 3:34 in the morning to be precise. That makes me an asshole, maybe, but this discovery is too big, too dangerous to ignore. Janice is out there, and she’s on the move. 

Three more knocks ring out. These are softer than before. More gentle.  

Almost taps.

[random-mailbox]

Random-Mailbox's Favorite Sailor Moon Fics - Week 15 - Christmas Part 1 - Ugly Christmas Sweaters and Santa!

First of all, I need to say a BIG thank you to the absolutely amazingly talented @beej88 for this artwork, she made it special for this post after hearing me complain about there not being enough Ugly Christmas Sweater content out there. While looking for the Holiday fics to include in the series, I noticed a few entries where Ugly Christmas Sweaters were a plot point and decided to dedicate a post to them. Then I added a couple of Santa ones too for a good measure. AND there will be more Christmas content coming next week!

As always, my apologies in advance for spoiling some of these for you (Fic Titles are linked to either FFN or AO3 entries).

What's Under the Ugly Christmas Sweater - @reispinkoveralls

I could not do a post centered around Ugly Christmas Sweaters without this one shot. Usagi showing up in the ugliest Tuxedo Mask themed sweater she could find just to get a rise out of Mamoru is completely on brand for the character. Throw in a little mistletoe and we are treated to a very fun Holiday-themed reveal fic with a very lemony ending. 

Made With Love - @ninjettetwitch

This two-shot is not marked as complete (so maybe @ninjettetwitch can be convinced to write more of it one day because it is freaking adorable?!) but it does leave off on a logical conclusion. This story has a recurring theme of ugly Christmas sweaters with both Usagi and eventually Mamoru donning them. After an argument at the arcade where things go a little too far between the duo, Usagi decides to make things right by getting Mamoru a Christmas present, which kicks off a series of events, culminating with the sweetest kiss (sorry for the spoiler!)

Reasons To Be Happy - @cassraven

This story is a cute little one shot about Usagi and Mamoru spending a day together and opening Christmas gifts. BUT it does mention Usagi’s attire of a “red knitted sweater with snow bunnies patterns”, which, as far as I am concerned, makes it fit the theme of this post!

Mamoru's Christmas sweater (link to a Tumblr post) - @caelenath

This is the newest addition to the list of the amazing Ugly Christmas content that got whipped up by @caelenath last week based on a discussion on Discord. In this one-shot, no matter how devious Motoki may think he is, Mamoru can rock any Ugly Christmas Sweater monstrosity, something that I wholeheartedly agree with.

Although I wish there was a lot more Ugly Christmas Sweater content (hint-hint, nudge-nudge), I figured adding in stories where Santa plays an active role in trying to make lives better for Mamoru and Usagi is a fair addition.

Choose for Me, Old Santa Claus - Alicia Blade

Elves Misle and Toe take on fulfilling an old and accidentally overlooked request of a 7-year old Mamoru for someone to love him before he “ages” out of the jurisdiction at 18. As they go through possible matches for him out of the people he interacts with that would make logical sense to them for him to be with, the one person that seems to always catch his attention is our favourite blonde with twin buns.

Santa's Little Plan - @moon-daisuki

Santa (with the help of his hapless elfs) tries to get Mamoru to see what is in front of him by nudging him along in discovering who has lost a bracelet that he had spotted under the bar counter at the Crown Arcade, as well as slowing down to take in the world around him.

Next week, based on the suggestion of @riverlethe , because I could not whittle down the number of stories I wanted to include in my post, we are going to do a 12 days of Christmas Themed one! With 12 amazing holiday stories that will get posted up on Boxing Day for you all to explore, as tryptophan from all the delicious turkeys is wearing off 😉

Here are the links to the previous Tumblr posts in these series to explore more amazing works based on different themes - make sure to check them out if you haven't had a chance! (Click on title name to go to the post)

Week 1 - Groundhog Day

Week 2 - Established Relationships

Week 3 - Sex Positivity

Week 4 - Unfinished Stories

Week 5 - Darker Stories

Week 6 - Potions 🧪

Week 7 - Reveals

Week 8 - 👻Halloween🎃

Week 9 - Wrong Perceptions

Week 10 - Non-Senshi AU

Week 11 - In-Progress Fics

Week 12 - Mutual Pining

Week 13 - Enemies to Lovers

Week 14 - Slow Burn

[poochyhyena]

MEGA CAT PROJECT: Real vs Counterfeit

So I’m obsessed with Megahouse’s Mega Cat Project line of figures, which means I’ve been buying them second hand in order to get the blind box figures I want.

In doing so I have ended up buying a counterfeit off of Mercari, and since I received the actual figure today (ordered off eBay) I decided to do a comparison of the two figs since I haven’t seen that yet for these figures in particular!

Please enjoy my overly thorough comparison below the cut :)

Right outta the gate, my advice for spotting a counterfeit is, like for any figure to ask for more photos. When I bought the counterfeit figure the photo was low quality and taken with bad lighting which made it hard to see any details. I've seen other ones where they are even inside a plastic bag to add to the 'realism'.

The easiest photo to ask for is the bottom. If you’re finding it tricky to tell if it is real, the bottom is a bit of a giveaway.

As you can see the real figure has a mark that says “MH CHINA”, while the bottom of the counterfeit is just white.

This mark is present on all of the other Mega Cat figures I have. Interestingly the bottom of the Kakashi laying down has additional detailing, and the MH China mark is above the tail.

In addition to not having the stamp the paint quality isn’t as nice either. Counterfeit Luffy has blurry lines, and an overall more messy finish on the edges and sunflower design.

The coloring is also a little different, with the counterfeit being overall less vibrant which doesn't show up super well in the photos but it's really apparent in real life.

Next, the quality of the build of the figure. Which, honestly, isn’t horrible. The main issues are pretty apparent when you look at the side by side, notably the chest area on the counterfeit isn’t inlaid, rather it sits almost level with the shirt - there’s actually space in between the bottom of this piece and the rest of the figure. Additionally, there is extra bits of plastic sticking out from the sides that were never sanded down.

Overall, the structure looks almost blurry with the nose and label folds not being as distinct. However, the detailing on the back of the hat is pretty good!

Another thing to note is that the counterfeit feels almost smoother, and is a little shinier.

Other than asking for more photos, a good thing to always consider is price. While you can definitely find these figures cheaper on Mercari (I tend to spend ~$16 vs $24 on eBay) beware of the figures that are suuuper cheap - I got my counterfeit for $10. I tend to trust the listings that come with a box, but that doesn’t mean that they are counterfeit if they don’t have one. The Kakashi figure in this post didn’t come with a box (and was bought off Mercari) and he is very much an actual Megahouse figure.

If you are looking for figures, I would scope out other sites so you can see which ones are more popular (more expensive) because that tells you which ones to be more careful with! Dressrosa Law from Nyan Piece, for example, is on the pricier side and if you look him up on Mercari you can probably find counterfeits (check the earrings, they look fur tone rather than yellow). Once you spend some time looking at photos of the real thing the counterfeits become more obvious.

If you are super worried, I recommend Suruga-ya, they are a resale store in Japan so there is little risk of counterfeits. Every so often they do free shipping internationally, and their prices tend to be cheaper than eBay. (I got my Zoro figure pictured above from there). But for me, Mercari and eBay have worked fine.

I hope this guide helps, and please enjoy your cat figures!! I have bought way too many - and if you are wondering counterfeit!Luffy is well loved and sits on my desk at work. :)