#ive held on as long as i could in Florida...

[aceyanaheim]

Like idk dude like ofc Florida isn't ideal but I'm looking at the kids I'm teaching and I'm thinking "if some of them discover they're queer and all the queer adults leave the state ..who's gonna help them"

[fagsex]

i had been too scared for years to check up on this really shitty thing from when i was a kid because his name his face the building they all made me nauseous and i knew if there was any justice at all it would be too little. i researched it today and turns out i was right. fucking scum got let go and all charges dropped for lack of competency. should that not speak more? when he was initially charged, it was on cnn, usatoday, cbc, covered so much that ive had friends ive made over the years in different states tell me they heard about him. ive found news articles in french about him. and yet not a word from any source outside of local about how he got fully away with it.

this is a weird thing for me to be randomly rambling about but sometimes it just hits me what happened. dr howard schneider of jacksonville florida, the only pediatric dentist to take medicaid in the largest city by area in the fucking continental united states, tortured, not exaggeration, tortured children for 30 years. at least.

when i say im afraid of dentists, im testy around dentistry, and teeth, and so much related things to it, everyone brushes it off easily as a common fear. which is naturally how he got away with it for so long. we were children physically restrained with leather straps. the doors were locked, parents werent allowed to come back, at a pediatric dentist. there were patients with teeth they just got being ripped out of their heads. i was either never given anesthetic, or, on more than one occasion, given so much i violently threw up, while lying down, restrained. i was seven years old tied strapped down choking on my own vomit with a bubblegum gas going in my nose. i can still smell it.

cold air still makes me nauseous. gas masks make me anxious. i couldnt lie down or feel relaxed anywhere that wasnt my bedroom for years. i would be sent to the nurses office as a kid, and refuse to lie down, because i felt like if i did, pain would begin. i would go in for a checkup and leave with too tight, too wrong crowns, covering my teeth. often, my teeth were not inspected or cleaned beforehand, just straight in with the drill. adult clamps in a childs mouth because i was being 'a whiny brat'.

have you ever been to a dentists office, or any medical office whatsoever, where an entire wall was a mirror? i could see myself held down and put through hell. i was too scared to put anything in my mouth at home, it repulsed me, not to mention my gums, my cheeks, the roof of my mouth, tongue, everything hurt so bad. i figured out later it wasnt normal, he was slicing them with a scalpel, with a pick, anything and everything. he put a hole in my sisters cheek. my baby sister walked, toddled out of there with a hole in her cheek after her first check up. we still went back, we couldnt afford anyone else, and he kept telling us how much work my mouth needed. he kept trying to convince my parents i may need braces, but i had the straightest teeth my parents had ever seen.

my heart still drops when i hear a drill, any drill. certain smells make me feel like i cant speak or breathe. my own mother screamed at me for being dramatic, for complaining so much. she said itd only hurt if i didnt listen, and he said the same. he said id be in trouble, big trouble if i told, and i remember it clear as day. he put on a movie on the ceiling tv he bought with the money medicaid gave him for ripping our milk teeth out, and it was the same movie everytime. some people dont understand that even the silliest, oddest thing can scare you if it sticks. he put his hands on my neck several times to restrain me and keep me from moving, and had me stare at the ceiling, and as fucking lame as it sounds, i could not listen to jerry seinfelds voice or participate in any bee movie jokes that became en vogue in 2016 or so, because i was legitimately terrified.

my own mother would mock my fears of putting things in my mouth to clean them, saying that if i was actually scared, i'd want to clean my teeth more so i'd see him less. it wouldn't matter what i did. and a scared 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 year old doesn't have that logic. i was just a lazy kid with disgusting teeth who was scared of the dentist, to everyone. in late 2019, the crowns he gave me all exploded, and took my teeth with them. four, five of my teeth were slowly destroyed and chipped out of my mouth. and every day i had to feel that scraping again, the cutting up of my mouth, how it filled with blooded. i couldnt talk or eat, but my family saw that as a positive, and i was too ashamed to tell them my teeth broke in my mouth. i knew they would see it as a sign of how disgusting i was. to be in my teens, and already have teeth abandoning me.

the state of florida forgave this. over 100 parents and children presented stories like mine, and he was still forgiven. i dont have a reason for sharing this, not now, not really. its not a special date, nor recent news. i dont even have some message behind this, other than oversharing. it was not just him either. it was every adult who did not listen or care, i suppose. it was the nurses there too. it was the state, it was his attorneys and lawyers that he could use his millions on that he made putting patients off anesthetics in papoose boards.

he was never even charged with child abuse, but fraud. the money was the most important thing the law found. i didnt smile with my teeth for years, my sisters speech was delayed for years, i had panic attacks in the middle of the day in middle school over a cartoon bee, ive had to remove 4 shattered teeth from my head and have several other teeth reconstructed where he broke and did not fix them,i was blamed for all the dental problems that suddenly appeared in my mouth when i began going to him, ive been belittled my entire life for such a childish 'fear', and that was never in question. just the fact he took my teeth to make money, that he put me and thousands of poor children, in both senses of the adjective, through hell to charge medicaid.

anyway what the fuck right. im sorry i dont know why im writing this all out right now but it just feels so stuck inside me that itll burst from my chest if i dont write it out. its actually relaxed me quite a lot. if you live in florida or georgia and you see some old bitch who looks like this just feel free to get him on sight 🤙

[jd-westan9]

I've been stewing over some thoughts since Fridays game. Putting a read more cause this might get a little long

I'll start by saying that I don't think Edmonton is a bad team. Objectively, they are good. I personally don't know much about the . I mean besides you're two obvious players(which many see as those two who make the up the whole team and honestly it's quite true), they have some other notable players that don't get enough recognition. Forever foreshadowed by mcjesus. Whatever. But I'm not saying by any means that they are a shitty team, no talent, etc etc.

Im a fan of the Florida Panthers. Before the post season I wasn't, I had no opinion on them, had never even watched a game of theirs except the ones that were against the penguins(I'm from Pittsburgh so they are, by all means my team)but they were held pretty high up in league standings most of the year so I had of course heard things over the season about them. The pens didn't make the playoffs so I just chose the panthers as the team I was gonna follow through the post season. Call me a bandwagoner if you want, I don't care. To each their own.

But ive watched every single one of their games this post season. I have grown so attached to this team. It wasn't really me choosing them, they sort of chose me and wormed their way in my heart. I'm keeping them.

But the league is making an absolute mockery out of the Florida Panthers. If you're one of the people who believe sports to be rigged/scripted, well, if that's what's occuring here, they are really writing the script to make them a joke.

Everyone round this post season (maybe not against Tampa but I can't remember anything that stood out like the others), it's been the broadcasters being completely biased to whatever team the panthers are playing. Against Boston and against the rangers, the coverage was all over them both. There was barely any coverage on the panthers. You could get whatever ridiculous statistic about either team but mainly what you would get about the panthers would be something negative; shitty power play, turnovers, etc etc. I don't know how other series faired in terms of their coverage but the games I did tune into, it seemed pretty even sided for the most part.

But this finals has been all Edmonton. You'd be lucky to ever hear a fucking thing about Florida. The cats were up 3-0 and in those three games, all that could be said was what Edmonton could do to get themselves a win, what they could do to get past bob, what they need to focus on, what not to do, you get the point. In those three games, obviously the cats were up 3 wins, they rarely had anything positive to say about what the Panthers were doing. How they were playing. They would just make it all about Edmonton. Panthers score, oh well let's talk about Edmonton. The cats penalty kill has been phenomenal but they can only seem to talk about edmontons pp or their pk. I remember in game 2, Niko Mikkola scored. Doesn't score very much. But during the intermission, they were talking about his goal and I can't remember exact words but they said they weren't gonna make fun of him but then proceeded to make fun of him. He scored a goal and they had nothing nice to say. All they did was laugh and make jokes.

The series has now been tied at 3, and the three games that Edmonton won, such praise. All they continue to talk about is Edmonton. Unlike how when they were down three in the series and the broadcasters and those during the intermission talked about what they could do to get a win, Florida drops three and they have nothing but negative things to report. All the things they did wrong, not being aggressive, defense lacking, sloppy passes, turnovers which lead to goals, their power play being utter shit. We get nothing. They wrote off the panthers back in the first round.

There are also people out there who believe that the league paid them off to drop games. The league wants their money so getting the series to a game 7 gets them a fuck ton of money. So maybe they paid off the panthers to drop three games. If anyone has watched a panthers game or has watched many, they would know that the way they played in those three games, that wasn't the Florida panthers. Yeah I get it, teams can go through a funk, shits not meshing. Whatever it may be. They haven't been perfect in every game in the post season. No team can be, far from it. But how they were playing was so unlike how they are known to play is what also got me thinking what if they were paid to drop these games. If you know the panthers, you know that's not how they play. I'm not gonna go into depth there .

Thats obviously all speculation, no one can obviously know for sure. It just doesn't add up.

The lack of calls, specifically in game 6 in my opinion was just absurd. There should have been a few more penalties against Edmonton. If they didn't take away barkovs first goal that was deemed offside, game 6 would have been a completely different game.

I can't even go in facebook without the nhls page posting something about edmonton. I don't know how it is on other social media with their pages but Facebook is all Edmonton. I only scrolled so far on it but their past 15 posts that were specifically about the cup finals, were related to Edmonton in some fashion. I get it, they came back from being down 3-0.

I'm just completely at a loss for words how the league has completely buried the Florida panthers. They've made them a joke at this point. We have broadcasters who are so obviously biased towards Edmonton(and who were biased towards Boston and the rangers), posts being made only about Edmonton. Us panthers fans get absolutely nothing for our team. We are being forced to listen to 60+ about the fucking o*lers and have hope to hear a little snippet of something about the panthers, even if it's not something positive. Then again they never say anything positive, it's few and far between.

And oh maybe you are thinking, 'you're just thinking this way cause you don't want to admit they are actually bad' etc etc etc. If you think any of what's going on right now is right, I don't know what to tell you. I just don't believe a team like this just falls off like this so hard.(I want to direct people to the very first thing I said after the cut) Not good enough to make a team completely lose themselves like this.

I've seen some posts about players/teams and how they shouldn't use 'deserve' for winning or being in the playoffs, or in the finals. Whatever it may be. No matter how far you got in the playoffs, whether that be only as far as the first round or if you made it all the way to the finals, I firmly believe that a player/team can deserve to be in that position. People can deserve to have things. You can use any other word that you want. But I stand by that and that's my opinion and I'm allowed to have said opinion, as are you.

To whoever stuck to read this through to the end, I'm sorry.

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children: Redux | IV. No Rest for the Weary

A DPxDC crossover // Read on [AO3} or [FFN.net]

← Previous Chapter // MASTERPOST // Next Chapter →

Present Day…

Batman made plans to visit Belle Reve Penitentiary before the week was over. The entire facility was made out of thick, gray, stone dotted by uniform windows. It stood above the waters of a murky swamp, the edges of the property enclosed by high wire fences. 

There were about half a dozen security protocols that needed to be done to gain access to Belle Reve’s inner sanctum. Each layer and set of equipment installed and updated by various construction teams to insure that no single entity could compromise the Penitentiary’s—and thus Task Force X’s—security. 

Batman, as he was wont to do, bypassed all of it.

He deposited himself in Amanda Waller’s office. It would have been a spacious room had it not been crowded with rows of filing cabinets. A healthy dose of paranoia made Waller careful to store any truly critical information in digital form, where it can be hacked by some malicious force or given access to by some particularly helpful person. The sorting system, from what Batman could see at first glance, forwent the standard A-Z categories for something else. Probably something that only Waller could understand.

A desk sat in the middle with a comfortable rolling chair behind it and a dual-monitor on top. Behind it was a wide window that overlooked the midnight Terrebonne Parish skyline. 

He did not, however, have the time to appreciate the view as Amanda Waller finally stepped into her office. 

She was a stout woman with a stern expression, dressed sensibly in a dark, mauve blazer, a white blouse, pearls, and a long, black skirt. A file-folder was tucked beneath one arm. The second she saw him, Waller paused, cocking her hip to one side and free hand tucked into her blazer pocket. 

“Batman,” she said, nonplussed. “What brings you here?” 

“Information…On a prisoner of yours.”

Waller took a seat behind her desk, setting her folder aside. “As far as I recall, Belle Reve isn’t currently housing any of your rogues. The last one was transferred over to Arkham a few months ago.”

He threw a printed article onto her desk. A small little piece from the Terrebonne Times, more a notice than actual news with what little information it held. The headline was emblazoned on the top:

DEATH AT BELLE REVE

Inmate Dies Under Mysterious Circumstances;Foul Play Suspected

Waller glanced at the article then looked back up at Batman, brow raised. “A little late to be investigating this, don’t you think? The event in question happened six months ago.”

“I need access to Frederick Isaak Showenhower’s cell.”

“Hm. I’m surprised you’re actually asking.”

Batman remained silent. 

“Well.” Waller steepled her fingers together. “I suppose we could come to an arrangement.”

“An arrangement?” Batman snorts. “Sure. You give me access to the cell and I won’t tell your superiors that Showenhower—a regular human kept in a meta prison—didn’t die from some dispute between inmates, but from some outside force breaching Belle Reve’s ‘impenetrable’ security. You don’t hold any cards here, Waller.”

“Oh really? If I didn’t, I would have expected you to just waltz into the cell yourself without telling anyone.”

“I hold some respect for you, Waller. That’s the only reason why I’m asking.”

Waller made a pinched, sour face. With a huff, she got up from her desk and led Batman through the winding corridors of Belle Reve to Showenhower’s cell.

“What do you know about Freakshow, Batman?”

“Thirty years old, male, Caucasian, and possibly born with albinism. A bank and jewelry store robber who disguises his hits with a traveling circus show. He has connections with the occult and used it to commit his robberies. APISA apprehended him in St. Augustine, Florida, a little over a year ago.”

Waller laughed. “The GIW’s first and last hurrah.”

The Ghost Investigation Ward—or the Guys in White as it was jokingly referred to—was a fairly new and now defunct branch of the Agency of Paranormal Investigation and Spectral Affairs, focused on the research and apprehension of ectoplasmic entities known as ‘ghosts’. Their less than stellar track record made them the joke of not only APISA but the entirety of Task Force X, instilling within the ward’s few members a tight-knit camaraderie and an almost terrifying level of dedication towards their mission. They were more zealots than government agents. Coupled with their incompetence and their high collateral damage, the group was forced to disband. 

“Occultism aside,” Batman said, “small time human thieves aren’t usually the kind of criminals Task Force X would be interested in.”

“You’d be right. APISA and the GIW’s interest lay not with Freakshow, specifically, but with his family. The Showenhowers’ research in the occult and supernatural go back centuries. They’re a veritable treasure trove of information, and as of three years ago, they’re also the only expert on ghosts left.” 

He blinked. “Ghosts.”

“Ghosts.” Waller echoed. “Though not exactly the kind that you’re thinking of, but that is what these creatures have been calling themselves. As far as our researchers can tell, these ‘ghosts’ are inhabitants of a dimension tied very closely with our own.”

Suddenly, a spark. A memory. Information clicked into place.. “You learned of Freakshow in Amity Park.”

Waller neither confirmed or denied it.

It made sense, in a way. Though thought of as little more than a tourist trap, Amity Park had gained the reputation of being the most haunted city in America. Though no substantial proof ever made it outside of the city besides extremely blurry shots of light and grainy footage of streaks in the sky, the Justice League knew better than to dismiss the threats, if only because JL-Dark marked the city in the League’s main database with a heavy ‘ DO NOT INTERACT ’ warning for humans and metas alike. The exact situation in Amity Park was never explicitly laid out for the League other than that it was contained and handled and that the League should not, under any circumstances, interfere. 

 Though for good measure, Constantine saw it fit to bold, underline, italicize, and capitalize the DNI. Most heroes since then have taken to simply going around the city—even going so far as to avoid its air space. 

“Well, here we are.”

Showenhower’s cell was located on the highest floor of the penitentiary, at the very end of the  hallway and isolated from every other prisoner. Despite it being six months since the incident, all of the cells in this particular hallway were left unoccupied. 

The inside of Showenhower’s cell, however, was far from empty. Frost covered the room from floor to ceiling, dropping the temperature by a few degrees. Large stalactites of ice hung down from the ceiling, patches of ice covered every corner and crept up the walls like vines.

“This is where he died,” Batman stated, breath coming out in white mists. 

“Right over there.” Waller pointed at the single bed pushed towards the right side of the room. A frozen mattress on top of a rectangular dias that jutted out of the wall and had no space beneath it. “It was a strange thing. One moment Freakshow was sitting on the bed and staring at the wall. The next? He slammed his hand against the wall, froze the whole damn room over, and dropped dead.”

◆◆◆

Pause. Rewind. Play.

The door to the cell slid open and Freakshow walked in. He stood in the middle, surveyed the entire room, before his gaze stopped at the camera discreetly placed in the corner of the ceiling. He blinked, lowered his head, then went to sit down on his bed. Directly across from him was a mirror.

Ten minutes passed in relative silence. Freakshow just sits, tapping his foot. Tilted his head here and there. Scratched the back of his neck. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then— He froze, shoulders stiffened. For a brief moment, a wide grin stretched across his face before it’s pushed back into a stony expression. Freakshow slammed his hand against the wall, ice burst from his palms, and he dropped dead.

Pause. 

Rewind. 

It had been days since Batman visited Belle Reve. Bruce made little progress in solving the case.  It did not help, of course, that there were other things that demanded his attention: a JL founders meeting concerning the admission of new heroes; the rumored reappearance of some stolen tech from Task Force X circulating the black market; his presentation for an upcoming fundraiser for the Wayne Foundation; his regular duties as batman and as CEO of Wayne Enterprises…The list was endless.

Play.

Thank goodness for Tim. His son had a good head on his shoulders and amazing intuition. Though as much as Tim had been arguing with Damian as to who got to accompany him on certain excursions, Bruce could see that Tim was just itching to go off on his own. To spread his own wings. 

Reluctant as Bruce was to let any of his Robins fly out from under him…at this point, he’d like to think he had enough experience to know that his children would grow up with or without his consent. Bruce had spent the last year easing up on Tim’s restrictions—much to Damian’s envy. More solo patrols, more casework, a greater degree of decision in his own missions, etcetera. Bruce even let Tim take the lead in the stolen tech case, only stating that he reports any and all findings to Batman and to not engage dangerous enemies alone if able. 

Bruce tapped a sharp rhythm on the desk, willing his attention back to the task at hand. 

Ice covered the room. Freakshow slumped down, dead. Pause. 

Rewind. 

He played the video from the beginning once more, fingers steepled as he watched the proceedings.

An ordinary man with no powers at all walks into a heavily fortified prison cell, sits down on his bed, shoots ice from his hands, and dies. No one entered the room with him, and the door remained locked up until security came barreling through the doors a few minutes after he died. 

Freakshow sat down, foot tapping loudly—

Pause.

Freakshow’s character profile described him as someone who was very deliberate with his movements. A trait possibly learned from years as a showman. What few footage Bruce managed to scrounge up from Circus Gothica’s shows displayed a ringmaster with a mastery over his own body, each gesture practiced and perfected for maximum effect. What videos there were of Freakshow when he was not addressing the audience—or the dozens of recordings of his stay in Belle Reve— saw a man who stood with uncanny stillness. Hands clasped behind his back, head tilted to the side just so.

Certainly not a man prone to fidgeting and tapping his foot. 

Rewind.

Play.

Freakshow sat down across from the mirror, back to the camera, foot tapping loudly. The sound of it reverberating loudly in his tiny cell. He tilted his head, hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. 

Bruce narrowed his eyes. How did he miss it before? He zoomed in on the mirror, enhancing as much of the image quality as possible. Freakshow was talking . The words were too inaudible for the camera to pick-up, and his mouth’s movement was too subtle, too quick to be read. 

“He knew his murderer was in the room with him,” Bruce mumbled. 

“Father?” 

Bruce looked over his shoulder. “Ah, Damian.” He rotated his chair to face his son. “What can I do for you?”

 “Pennyworth asked me to inform you that dinner would be ready soon.” Damian’s eyes flicked over to the video footage. “Any progress with the assassin?”

“Perhaps.” He beckoned Damian closer to the monitor, replaying the video for him and explaining his own thought process. “Here, pay special attention to the mirror. It’s subtle, but you can clearly see Freakshow speaking— presumably to someone else in the room. Notes on his file indicate that he’s not prone to talking to himself or mumbling his thoughts aloud. Coupled with the uncharacteristic fidgeting—an action that causes enough noise that it masks his mumbling—we can also presume that this conversation contains sensitive topics, ones he wants to hide

“I briefly considered some kind of magic to be at work because of his connections with the occult but disregarded it quickly. Not only is a suicide spell out of character for Freakshow—and also shown no prior attempts to it or any signs of thinking about suicide—but the display of cryokinesis doesn’t fit into the larger picture. And while Freakshow was noted to use magic, he does not possess an innate talent for it like Zatanna. According to Waller, Freakshow’s magic is more in line with alchemy, and his cell was swept every time he leaves it for any contraband or suspicious items.”

He paused the footage and rewound it to when Freakshow sat down in front of the mirror. “So, we can presume that he was talking to the culprit meaning three things.” He held up his index finger. “The first is that his murderer was in the cell with him but managed to remain unseen, perhaps because of some new cloaking technology, though it’s more likely that invisibility of some sort is part of their meta-ability.” He raised another finger. “The second is that Freakshow could sense the presence of the culprit and has enough of a relationship with them to hold a seemingly civil conversation. And the third—” he held up a third finger then curled his hand into a fist— “Freakshow was unable to call for help. Why?

“He was overshadowed.” 

Bruce snapped his head to Damian. The words were quiet, so quiet in fact he nearly missed them.

“What did you say?” 

Damian clamped his mouth shut, eyes widening imperceptibly as if he, too, was shocked to have said it out loud. Quickly he smoothed his face, features receding into an impassive stare as he took a step back from the monitor. 

Bruce decided to press further. “Damian.”

Damian pursed his lips, eyebrows pinched in such a way to indicate that he was deliberating something. “It’s…” He trailed. “How much do you believe in ghosts?”

If someone had asked that question to Bruce when he was sixteen, ten, or even seven years old, he would have answered with a resounding no. Ghosts—restless spirits, monsters, things that go bump in the night—were all mere figments of imagination. Now, however, having lived in the time of gods and superheroes, intergalactic politics, and magic …

“I believe enough.” He tilted his head, a piece of some unknown puzzle slowly making itself known. “You are referring to Amity Park’s breed of ghosts.”

Damian gave a curt nod. “Grandfather was always trying to learn more about the Lazarus Pit. He had some assets—scientists—within Amity Park tasked to do just that. Of course once these ghosts began to appear, grandfather was immediately informed,” he explained. “From what I’ve learned, overshadowing is some kind of possession, it’s an ability that all of Amity’s ghosts can utilize.”

“So you believe Freakshow was overshadowed by one of these ghosts.” The explanation, for lack of another, worked. The lack of any physical evidence, no forced entry or exit—all evidence that could be explained away by ‘the ghost was invisible,’ as much as it irked Bruce to say. Freakshow’s connections with the occult only strengthened the theory.

According to the penitentiary’s blueprints, Freakshow’s cell was lined with a special type of metal composed of ectoranium—a rare mineral with anti-ghost properties. A preventative measure in case Freakshow’s partner, Lydia, or any other ghost tried to help him escape. It should have been impossible for any ghost to phase their way into the prison.

Unless the ghost walked in with Freakshow. 

“The eyes give it a way. Look—” Damian reached over to rewind the footage, pausing it at a specific moment. “—His eyes are normal here.” He points at Freakshow’s irises, dark gray due to the grayscale footage of the CCTV, plays the video, and then pauses it again a few seconds later. “But if you look at his eyes now, you can see the faint indication of a glow around his eyes. The color value of the irises are lighter, too. One of the biggest tells if someone is being overshadowed by a ghost is the glow and the change in eye color. “

Another review through the footage revealed that Freakshow’s eyes changed multiple times, often reverting back to his original eye color when he was speaking, and then changing when he was silent. 

Bruce grunted, fingers drumming a steady staccato on the arm of his chair, head leaning on his knuckles. Their culprit was a ghost. That information certainly changed things. Not only was Bruce’s suspect list now wiped clean and placed Freakshow’s murder as the lynchpin of their case, there was also the worrying implication that the League of Shadows held command over an extradimensional being whose powerset he was not familiar with. 

He glanced up at Damian. “What else do you know about ghosts?”

Damian shrugged. “Not as much as I’d like. Grandfather didn’t share much with me.”

“Hm.” He rose from his seat and set a hand on Damian’s shoulders with a light smile. “You head up first. I’m sure Alfred needs help setting the table.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll head up after you. There’s still one last thing I need to do.”

Damian raised an imperious eyebrow before ducking his head and heading to the elevator. Bruce watched his son’s retreating back, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth downturned.

Damian was hiding something.

◆◆◆

 Beneath the eerie, grim torchlight, Plasmius observed the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep. It stood, looming above a raised dais where a throne might have been, once. Beneath it on each side were two pedestals encased in glass, protecting the two most powerful artifacts of the Infinite Realms. 

The glass cases were a mere formality, however. No one would steal either of the artifacts. To take only one of them would render the artifact useless as only with the ring and crown combined could the awesome power of the Infinite Realms be harnessed. Taking both would be an even riskier gamble. The crown and ring would only deign to bestow its powers on those it deems worthy. Strong. If the wearer did not suit, then the artifacts would eviscerate them before they could even blink.

It was strange to think that Pariah Dark’s awakening would be the felix culpa that saved Plasmius from his own demise. 

Plasmius was prideful and vain in nature, but even he was self-aware enough to realize that the artifacts would only accept those equal or greater in power to Pariah Dark— and Vlad was simply not that.  Even the Ancients, powerful as they were and the original victors against the old king, were not considered worthy. The only one who might have come close was young Daniel.

‘Close’ being the key word here. 

It was unfortunate that the boy never stayed long enough to grow into his powers. If he did, he might have become someone powerful. Someone worthy. A king. (Only if it was under Vlad’s terms after all. A child monarch was never without an older and wiser regent at their shoulder. Taking Phantom under his own tutelage would be a worthless endeavor if Vlad could not come out on top). 

Instead Daniel ran away, squirreled himself into a hovel so deep that neither of Vlad’s ghostly nor mortal resources could dig him up. (Yes, Daniel ran away. Was missing. No matter what forensics or the police or his own private investigators tried to say, that mauled and burned body placed beside the Fenton memorial was not Daniel James Fenton. The boy was still alive. It was only a matter of where.)

The sarcophagus shuddered.

Plasmius lifted his gaze to the death mask of Pariah Dark. “It is weakening,” he said, voice reverberating  across the near empty throne room. He pivoted on his heel, a sardonic grin on his face as he faced Fright Knight. “Should we prepare for His Majesty to awaken any time soon?

Fright Knight cut an imposing figure in the torch light. “No.” Plasmius could not tell if the ghost was disappointed or relieved. “The sarcophagus holds strong still. In a year or in a decade, my king may wake once more, but that time is not today. For now, he rests in a fitful sleep.”

“A year or ten…how comforting.” Plasmius rolled his eyes. “What brings you here, then?”

“It is the duty of a knight to protect his liege lord against all things.”

“Oh don’t go pretending you’re a loyal knight now. Not when you betrayed your lord the last time.”

Fright Knight narrowed his eyes, then gave a derisive snort. “No, I suppose not. If you must know, half-breed, I was summoned by my creator, and regardless of my own desires I am obliged to answer the call.”

“Your creator— Pariah?”

Fright Knight shook his head.

“Then who—?” He turned to look at the dais again. At the sarcophagus. At the crown of fire and the ring of rage emitting a preternatural glow.

Ah. That explained it.

Of the many paradoxes there were in the world, Vlad’s favorite one concerned the nature of Omnipotence. There were many versions of the Omnipotence Paradox, but the most well known one went like this: could god create a stone so heavy that he could not lift it? While there were many answers to the question and many conflicting ideas, Vlad favored the notion that an omnipotent being could do absolutely anything it desires except that which compromises its own omnipotence. If god is essentially omnipotent, then he cannot make a stone that he cannot lift, for that would mean making a stone that is equal in power to god.

Vlad often wondered why Fright Knight never attempted to seize the sovereign’s artifacts for himself, what with his predilection for ruling. Though bestowed with the title of knight , anyone could see that Fright Knight's true desire was rulership. Dominion . A desire that he could never satiate. The closest he could ever come to it was to serve and stand close to power. 

Apparently it was not because Fright Knight didn’t want the artifacts, but because he was, by nature, incapable of wielding them. The artifacts cannot create something stronger than themselves, and they refuse to be worn by anything it perceived as lesser than them.

“My, my,” Plasmius laughed. “It must have absolutely burned you to bend the knee to Pariah Dark.”

The fiery plume on his helmet flared dangerously bright as Fright Knight let out an inhuman growl. “Watch your tongue before I relieve you of it.”

Plasmius held up his hands in mock-surrender. “So, why did your creator call you to Pariah’s Keep?”

Fright Knight paused, intrigued. “Can you not hear it?" He asked. "They are singing.” 

Vlad strained his ears, but he heard nothing. Just the echoey silence of the throne room and the flickering of torchlights and Fright Knight’s armor.

If Fright Knight had a mouth, he would smirk. “No, you cannot, can you? Someone of your ilk is not privileged enough to hear their song. But I suppose there’s enough of a ghost in you that you can feel the artifacts’ call even if you cannot hear it.” He quiets, head inclined just so as if he were listening to the song right now. As if the artifacts were speaking to him. “They are in mourning.”

“What would they even be mourning about?”

“A lack of purpose,” he said. “For what is the worth of a tool if nobody uses it?”

Vlad frowned. So they are the reason why the Ghost Zone has been so agitated recently. Like Eris and the golden apple of discord, the artifacts have thrown their song all across the Infinite Realms, proclaiming to everyone to prove their worth, to prove their strength. Even Pariah Dark, trapped in his slumber, cannot resist the call.

Even Plasmius, who was deaf to its song, was drawn to this place.

Plasmius rubbed his hand across his face. “It will tear the Infinite Realms apart just to find someone strong enough to wield it.”

“Perhaps,” said Fright Knight. “You cannot hide your portal forever. It will be found, mark my words.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning, Plasmius. If you wish to preserve what modicum of peace you have in the material world, then you would do well to close the portal and destroy it.”

Plasmius’ face curled into a snarl. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Then you invite your own folly.” With a dramatic flourish of his cloak, violet flames licking at the cobbled floor, Fright Knight leveled the Soul Shredder between Plasmius’ eyes. “Challengers will seek out the Uncrowned to prove their mettle, collateral damage be damned. They will find him, or he will find them."

“Will you be one of them, then? A challenger?”

Fright Knight stilled, anger simmering just above his armor. “Mocking me, are you? No, a challenger I am not. My grand purpose in this world is to guard my creators, bestow them to and swear my oaths to my future liege lord, whoever that may be.”

With those parting words, Fright Knight flew off, taking his post at the entrance of the keep, leaving Plasmius alone in the presence of the ring and crown. To bear their heavy gaze.

(Something within him, something that he once thought controlled, thought leashed to his will, reared its head. Want , it said. Want-have-mine. It gnawed at the back of his mind like a starving rat chewing on the bars of its cage. Want-have-mine-want-prove-prove-worthy.)

Vlad squashed that voice with a grimace.  He was the one in control, not his ghost.  He was stronger than such baser instincts.

(Prove-worthy-power)

Danielle had been working far too hard lately, and as a result she’s been in and out of the portal more times than Plasmius would prefer. It was attracting too much attention. Perhaps a quick vacation was in order.

Besides, it wouldn’t do to reject an invitation from Bruce Wayne himself now, would it?

[catless-and-covenless]

We lost Pinky. Granted we ran to go find them after we all managed to get up. Na and Ca dragged G and I dragged Cr like a kitten. In hindsight I guess it should be funny to me that I was dragging a taller than 6 foot man around. But it wasn’t funny. I barely managed to keep it together. Something about the way G looked made me think that it might not be the best idea to let fear take the forefront of my decisions. So we shove it in the same box that the divorced parents' feelings go into.

Far away and locked down tight.

The feeling that wasn’t locked down though was Na holding my dagger. That’s MINE. Granted seeing as I’m the magpie queen I shouldn't be upset. And Yet. The feeling of relief that spread when I saw G stand firm and up and take it back…was something I can't put into words. Same as the feelings that I got when I held Cr hand and it was the warning warmth I get around her.

Maybe it’s the need to do something. The need to prove himself. The need for penance. There’s nothing an ex-catholic like myself knows better than seeking forgiveness in the lashes of the world. I saw it in me and I saw it in him. Cr jumped in front of us all again once we caught up with Pinky.

The thing was even….worse…than the previous one. It was a like HP Loveraft decided to have a baby with the entire state of Florida and birth this unholy abomination of a were….gator..?

I don’t know but I do know I will have nightmares about it. For a long time. Ir managed to run past it with Ca to go save the babes. I tried to use…my gift to make them toothless But I had used so much it hurt. Something deep inside of me. It was like a muscle broke and I felt my nose start to bleed. That…thing..came after me. It decided to target me. I think it was like a shark. Single Minded and smelled the blood.

I couldn't focus on using my ax and my gift.

So I gave the ax to Na. Who swung it like a champ. It tried to go for Na but G jumped in front of it again.

I really need to talk to G and Cr about self preservation skills. Because he got hurt.

Everything started going really fast. In movies everything slows down so you can see what everyone is doing. But I was so focused on just trying to survive. All I know is G swung again and Cr disappeared. Something happened and when I turned to see Ir was….something. Something different. And bleeding green. Green. Like the forest itself was pouring out of them.

Everyone tried to run away but only Na and G carrying Iv moved past us? I tried to bind it. Tried to make it sit. But the earth responded instead of it’s muscles. All I remember is trying to run away for what felt like hours. Everything left my mind. If you asked me I could normally tell you every single thing I carry on me. Everything I….acquire second hand…from people around me. I forgot it all at that moment. My friendships, my promises, my things. I barely managed to cling onto G’s arm and my things. I saw black. Everyone says it’s a light at the end of the tunnel. But maybe I’m already locked out of that place. Because all I saw was myself. Him. He waved his little colorful ear at me. And then I looked up to see Ki and Cr fighting those things. And Ki….

I won’t forget that in a long time. Not ever. They took it away. I don’t remember much. I followed the sounds of them running. I don’t know how but we ended up at this weird cavern. There was malachite everywhere. I was trying to catch my breath to be honest. All I know was after some arguing that happened somewhere above my pain G picked me up. I thought I heard some commotion in the back. But I was swimming in and out before we reached the outside.

The moon was so bright. So pretty. I felt so much more awake. Ixchel was always one of my favorite goddesses Mami tells me about. Mami always told me I was obsessed with her bunny. With the love, textiles, and healing energies she had. Even if people thought she was evil she’s not.

But the intersectionality of her being a fertility and love goddess who gave us medicine and her destructive side of death and floods and storms fascinate me. And of course people only see her as evil. Only focus on the destruction she causes and not the life she brings into the world. They don’t see it as punishment for the bad things. They all focus on that side of her. Maybe I’m just projecting.

But we all talked. I gave G his jacket and arm back, and he gave me my dagger back. Then immediately turned to Na and Ca. It’s fine. It gave Ir time to hug it out with Iv. They looked normal again. I took the time to mend things with my Cr. My kryptonite. The only one I’ll ever be soft for. Even after he hurt me. He’s hurt too. Realizing how much he got used. It’s not fixed. But it’s starting to be.

Cr decided to go take a dirt nap and walked off. I managed to get Ca to promise me to text me when she got home safe. Iv, Ir, and Na all went together to rest and heal. So I wasn’t as worried. I told G he could go too but he didn’t. He agreed to get patched back up by me. It was nice. To be needed. To be trusted. To be…chosen. He let me drive in silence and that was nice too.

As soon as we got in though I suddenly realized what I signed up for. Having essentially a strange..boy..man? In my apartment. Alone. I wasn’t afraid but I was something. I don’t know. Ca texted me and was finally loosening up in text so I’ll follow up with a few things tomorrow before school.

But that took the back burner to healing up G. I didn’t realize how close you had to be to another person to do that. Maybe Ixchel was there. Shining through the window. Because patching up was fairly easy. He was being weird until I finally got him to bark again. It was nice. Being just a shit talker in my living room. He patched me back up and that was..something. Even more when he kept asking me what everything felt like. It felt..weirdly intimate to explain how and why things hurt. To hear about G’s family. About hobbies G takes up when we’re not running around in mines. It was a weird experience overall. Not..bad…just new. And strange. But a normal strange experience.

I made a joke about getting princess treatment and he..did? Or started too before I realized he was still missing a finger. I didn’t get a chance to sew it back on. He was just such a little...anyways he got on his knees to jokingly ask and beg for my help so of course I had to help. By taking a photo on my phone. And making sure to stick it down my shirt and into my sports bra. I didn’t think he would actually chase after me. So when he lunged at me I jumped back and couldn’t help but play keep away. I don't know how much longer I can keep hopping but he’s not laying a finger on my phone.

[thefeathereddragon]

Hey Tumblr. I dont post much on here but if you follow me on my other socials you know my sweet Monkey!

Well, this week, something triggered him to go into anaphylactic shock and the only vet that would see him was an hour out.. i didnt think to grab a charger and got there with 1% and directions there and back written all over my hand. The whole way there i kept my hand in his carrier, and he would put his forehead in my palm and cry whenever i had to take it away. As i passed Florida and North Carolina tags, i just sobbed. I certainly had a right to be stressed with a dying cat in my passenger seat but i knew to count my lucky stars that there was a vet to go to, that the roads were there to drive on, and so many other factors.

They kept him overnight. My baby wasnt doing good at all. His face was so swollen, his body was trying to seize as they took him back, and he wasnt able to come off of oxygen at all overnight. He was still breathing fast when i picked him up, but once we got in the car headed home he slowly but surely leveled out. He takes medicine like a champ and so far he’s been doing great- swelling all the way down, breathing normal, sleepy from meds, and maybe a little anxious (he’s been sleeping closer to us and hanging out closer) but things are looking up in that regard.

But it’s just my boyfriend working. We were able to put the expense on his credit card this time, but this year we’ve also spent $15k in car repairs, and had just started to recover from that when this happened. By next wednesday 10/16, we’ll have spent $3000 and we still arent 100% sure if he will have to go on medication for life or not. Im not asking for donations without giving back in return so ive been brainstorming on how i could help build ourselves back up and keep an emergency vet fund on me in case this happens again. But as it stands right now, if it happens again too soon, i may not be so fortunate and will have to make a gut-wrenching decision.

I know cats don’t live forever, but Monkey is only a year old. He came to me last September as a 3 week old kitten, who had been lost from mom for so long he was starving, dehydrated, and so weak. I had lost my 9 year old, Pixel, earlier that year, and my cousin Andy was murdered the same weekend he was born. When i first held him, i said the same thing my granddaddy said about me as an infant; “just like a Monkey!” cause i had long little toes and Monkey is a Polydactyl. In many ways, it feels like all three of them hand picked this cat for me, so he is very special to me.

So here is some of my art! Ive been working on improving and growing my skillset so I’d love to tackle animals/pet portraits, classic cars, landscapes/skies, etc but my forte as of late has definitely been more anime/cartoon style. If you feel led to donate or support me in any way, put a prompt in the notes or message me and i will get back to you asap. I’ll post some more examples soon or you can follow my IG/FBpage; thefeathereddragonart and if you’d like to see some extremely cute videos of Monkey, go check out my tiktok TheFeatheredDragon

My cashapp/venmo is triangularbird ! Thank you so so much in advance. Even if you cant help monetarily, i genuinely appreciate if you share or reblog or even just follow in case you might be able to in the future or you just want to see Monkey. Thank you again. 🫶🏻☮️

[afactaday]

aFactADay2022

#730: WHOOOO!!!! i am now definitely the only person in the world whos kept up their new year's resolution for 2 × 365 days!!! what a year its been!

the themed week thing was really fun and definitely changed the way i research. however, i wont continue it into 2023, because i felt it was slightly restrictive, particularly towards the end, so it wont be continued into future fotds - stay tuned though for a whole new format in 2023!!

nonetheless, lets look back on the year in the nerdiest way i could think of: doing one more fact for each themed week!!

(between this and the pub quiz thing, ive been researching and writing facts for a solid four days.... the 51st one is very fun btw.)

#1: Fireworks! fireworks have always been dominated by the chinese: the first gunpowder fireworks were manufactured during the Song dynasty, and the first coloured fireworks were mentioned in 14th century chinese texts. the first rocket propulsion and rocket warfare was employed by the chinese, mentioned in texts from the 14th century. to date, china is the largest manufacturer and exporter of fireworks in the world.

#2: US Laws! in Little Rock, Arkansaw, under article II section 18-54, you cannot honk your horn at a place that serves cold drinks or sandwiches. the exact phrasing is “No person shall sound the horn on a vehicle at any place where cold drinks or sandwiches are served after 9:00 p.m.” and i wonder whether this means you can honk all you want before 9pm, or whether its only at shops that sell after nine that you cant honk your horn. i would also like to know whether 1am is after or before 9pm. badly written law if you ask me.

#3: Tornadoes! texas is the most tornado-ridden state in the US, at an average of 125 tornadoes per year, followed by oklahoma at 57/year. however, florida has more tornadoes per square mile because its much smaller, even though it only gets an average of 55/year.

#4: Yellow! yellow is the easiest colour to see, with a wavelength at around 555nm, which is why its used in warning signs and so on. thats also why yellow screens cause more eye strain, and why taxis and schoolbuses are yellow.

#5: Calories! there is a very popular myth that celery is a negative-calorie food because it takes more to crunch and digest the fibrous makeup than it contains. however, a study at the oxford brookes university busted this, showing that over 85% of the calories it contains are burned to eat it. but that 15% still makes up 2 calories per 100 grams. but all is not lost! another study has shown that celery can act as ballast, with nutritional content but less calories, as it fills you up and takes up space. moreover, it reduces your appetite, meaning that all in all a side-salad of celery could reduce the caloric intake of a meal by 12%, adjusted.

#6: Nothing! this is less of a fact, but nonetheless, i read an interesting opinion from 1995 called Nothing is Nothing. it argues that the universe must have sprung from something: cosmologists claim that the universe started from nothing, and this particular shade of nothing happened to consist of quanta fluctuating in a vacuum. and surely that makes it something? to quote Lev Landau, “Cosmologists are often wrong, but never in doubt.” i would imagine that the theory is more refined these days but i thought it was interesting.

#7: Squid! every year theres a competition held called the All England Squid Championships, where they try to catch the biggest squid. it is literally a squid game. but in 2012 the adverse conditions meant it was very difficult to catch squid. in fact, only one squid was caught that whole day, by Davide Thambithurai, and it was a third of an inch long. of course it won, but it doesnt feel like a win...

#8: Flowers! sunflowers, aka helianthus, can remove toxic substances from the soil, like arsenic, lead and uranium. after the chernobyl disaster, they were planted to remove caesium-137 and strontium-90 from a pond.

#9: Money! a pound of pounds is 52 pounds (nearly). thats right. If you want the most pounds in a pound, five pound coins (no longer minted) are your best bet: a pound of five pounds is 80 pounds. a more modern second place is a pound of two-pounds clocking in at 75.6 pounds, providing you chop of a fifth of that last one.

#10: Wet Wipes! they were invented by Arthur Julius, a cosmetics factory worker who took a soap portioning machine home in 1957. in 1958 he trademarked the name Wet-Nap which is still being used. his invention was unveiled at the National Restaurant Show in Chicago in 1960.

#11: Fwoggies! the Truadiobatrachus massinoti is an extinct species of “proto-frog” around 10cm long that is thought to be the common ancestor to all frogs.

#12: Chimpanzees! chimpanzees are really bad at rock paper scissors. it took them around 100 days to learn it and only 5 of the 7 subjects got it. and even then theyre awful because they just go for the same thing again and again. the tricky part was the circular nature of it: if scissors beats paper and rock beats scissors, why should paper beat rock? i expect most people have wondered this, actually. i spose you could wrap it up and hide it in a recycling bin... in japan, the traditional alternative is the tiger, the village chief, and the village chief’s mum. the mum kills the chief when he doesnt come home for tea, the chief kills the tiger when it threatens the village, and the tiger kills the mum because thats what tigers do. i think that makes much more sense.

#13: Ice Skating! the first ice skates were probably developed in scandinavia, c1000BC. this was probably more like sliding than skating, but when the dutch made sharp-edged blades in the 13th/14th century it became more refined. the first ice skating club in england was founded in edinburgh in the 1740s.

#14: Tetris! the game was developed partially in order to demonstrate how easy computers could be used, to show that a computer isnt just “a sophisticated thing to deal with numbers and spreadsheets, but also a fun toy to play a simple and engaging game.” the 10x20 grid that the game takes place on is called the matrix.

#15: Easter! 76% of people eat the ears of an easter bunny first.

#16: Trains! in the 50s, there was still a law that train operators had to run affordable 3rd class trains. but they didnt want people to pay less than lots, so they decided to remove the second class, and raise the price of the third class to that of the second, so they effectively had no third class but it was still around. they also gave chimney sweeps free travel because they could sit in third class in their skanky sooty clothes and scare away all the passengers, so people would rather pay the price for first class. sneaky!

#17: Sports Grounds! the oval in south london opened as Kennington Oval, because cricket grounds are shaped like an oval and its in Kennington. the word oval itself comes from latin “ovum” meaning egg. it gives its name to Oval Station, which was the first station in london to get electrified tracks.

#18: Stained Glass! one theory for the prevalence of stained glass was for the benefit of medieval churchgoers, who would have been illiterate, so the stories told through stained glass made the religion more accessible.

#19: Sounds Effects! one major progress moment for foley was the invention of the Vitaphone system by Warner Bros that allowed for sounds to be played in perfect synchronisation with film, allowing for complicated interlocking sounds.

#20: Hedges! formal hedges (the ones in topiaries) need to withstand regular shearing, but even the hardiest plants get tired of this, so they need to be allowed to grow a little longer every time theyre sheared. this means that eventually you need to cut it down and start again. this makes some types of tree very unsuitable for this sort of hedge, like many needle-leaved plants.

#21: Clown! the word Clown comes from cloyne in the 1560s meaning peasant or a man of rustic manners. theories include that it came from scandinavian or low german. one theory i like is that it came from the same stem as clod [of dirt] because clod and clot are used in many languages as synonyms for clown. another theory i find interesting is that it came from Latin “colonus” meaning colonist or farmer, but this seems less likely.

#22: Sedan Chairs! sedan chairs were named after the town of Sedan in France, where they were first used. when introduced to london, they were much cheaper than the hackney cabs, and were much quicker and more versatile, which was why they became so popular so quickly.

#23: Big Ships! Santa Maria, christopher columbus’s largest ship when he reached america, was only 19m long. the largest ship ever built is a tanker called the Seawise Giant, which is 457m long. it was bombed during the iraq-iran war, rebuilt, renamed, resold, rebuilt again, and scrapped after 34 years of life, 5 of which were spent doing nothing in a dock in japan.

#24: Count Dracula! he has appeared in nearly 300 films, making him the most portrayed film character! Christopher Lee has played 11 of these.

#25: Locusts! locust trees are a genus of north american trees used for decoration (and lumber). many of the plants’ flowers can also be eaten and are often had in pancakes and fritters. theyre allegedly called this because the flowers look like locusts... the word locust itself comes from Old French “languste” from Latin “locusta” which is also the origin of langoustine and lobster. people arent quite sure how the c in locust went to a p in loppestre - the prevailing theory is that it was an intentional corruption, influenced by the Old English for spider, “loppe”.

#26: the Charts! since the start of the charts, bands have been trying to cheat the system. rich artists in america would buy and resell thousands and thousands of their own songs to get into the charts. until quite recently, if you bought a t-shirt or went to a gig, it would come with a free record, just so they could say they sold one.

#27: Conspiracy Theories! heres a few more conspiracy theories:

the ice bucket challenge is a baptism ritual for indoctrinating people into satanism.

nigerias 75yo president, who was ill for a while, is a clone.

the hadron collider is a gateway for shiva.

finland doesnt exist - its a ploy by the swedish, russians and japanese to get more fishing rights. the top bit is allegedly just part of sweden and the bottom bit you see on the maps is all sea.

pokemon go is designed by the US government to track everyone. if they wanted to track you, im guessing there are easier ways to do it.

dinosaurs built the pyramids of egypt.

back to the future predicted the 9/11 attacks and the JFK assassination.

the earth is hollow and filled with civilisations.

#28: Bri’ish Monarchs! 88% of brits think queen elizabeth ii faced to the left on all the coins, but she actually faced to the right. this may be because she faced to the left on stamps, but in denmark, there is exactly the same false bias, and the queen of denmark faces outwards on the stamps. this negates the stamp theory, in favour of the fact that its a right-handed thing. apparently its just easier to draw profiles towards the left. the monarchy alternates the direction of facing, since charles ii: the first coin with charles iii on it was recently minted and he is facing to the left, just like george vi.

#29: Caviar! even though its fish eggs, the name derives from bird. it comes from Persian “khaviyar” from Middle Persian “Khayak” from Old Iranian root “qvyaka”, a diminutive of “avya-” from PIE “owyo-” meaning “egg” from root “_awi-” meaning “bird”. this root is also the source of ocarina (diminutive of italian “oca” meaning goose), as in the game.

#30: Microorganisms! sadly, the NCTC havent published their christmas quiz yet. but there was an experiment where tardigrades were shot out of a gun. they survived speeds of up to 2 kilometres per second and pressures of up to 1.4 gigapascals and apparently their gait simply goes dizzy.

#31: Magnetism! Hans Christian Ørsted was the lad who discovered that an electric current produces a magnetic field. he initially discovered this in april, 1820, but he ignored it for three months for some reason... there is a CGS unit named after him, the oersted, which is equivalent to one dyne per maxwell.

#XXXII: Roman Numerals! man, dem engineers getting everywhere! even the i’s in roman numerals are turning into j’s! thats right, during the middle ages when lowercase letters were favoured, the last i in a chain was changed to a j, possibly as a swash variant. this was actually continued into the 20th century in medical documents. the medieval scribes really wanted everything a lot shorter, though, so they started inventing new roman numerals willy nilly. like s for vii (“s”even), S for lxx (“S”EVENTY i guess), F for xl (“F”ORTY), O for xi (“O”NZE). for some reason an X with a little tick after it was 9.5 and a K was 151. maybe they were fans of gen 1?

#33: Potatoes! the Frietmuseum is a museum in Bruges dedicated to chips. it was founded in 2008 by eddy van belle in a building from 1399. exhibits include the history of potatoes, the history of potato peelers, artworks of chips, and how to make the perfect fries. i visited bruges not long ago and im sad i missed this.

#34: Lighthouses! the Sharps Island Lighthouse was blown off its pedestal in 1881, and was swept five miles down the bay with the keepers still inside. It was rebuilt, but this new lighthouse was subject to 40 feet of ice in 1976, pushing it over to an angle of about 15 degrees, rather leaning-tower-of-pisa-esque.

#35: the Channel Tunnel! one major concern of construction was that animals could carry rabies through the tunnel onto the otherwise rabies-free island. another major concern i already talked about was invasion. oh and by the way, the trains drive on the left for the whole duration of the tunnel.

#36: Dinosaurs! one of the earliest known dinosaurs was the Eoraptor, whose name means “dawn plunderer”, allegedly because it lived in the dawn of the dinosaurs. the eo prefix comes from greek “eos” meaning dawn, which comes from the same root as aurora, east, easter, austria and australia. so aurora australis means dawn dawn wind. or something.

#37: Spreadsheets! Tatsuo Horiuchi, aka the Michelangelo of Excel, uses Excel to create digital vector paintings of japanese landscapes.

#38: Cowboys! since they were exposed to a lot of cacti, cowboys wear chaps on their legs. no, not fellows, nor flakey lips, nor divisions of political parties. a piece of leather clothing thats like leggings with a belt. they were originally used in southern spain by vaqueros.

#39: Cats! cats spend 13-16 hours a day sleeping, which is quite typical of predatory animals. the mayor of Talkeetna, Alaska, was an orange tabby called Stubbs, for 20 years! this town also holds annual moose dropping festivals. it only has 900 residents so the cat doesnt hold much legislative power. according to the manager at a general store, “He doesn’t raise our taxes - we have no sales tax. He doesn’t interfere with business. He’s honest.”

#40: Coyotes! theres one story in the indigenous Chinookan folklore where a half-coyote, half-human goes up to a river and tries to fish but it cant so it does a big poo and the poo tells it that its really bad at fishing, so the coyote-thing asks the poo how to fish and the poo gives detailed instruction. the next day the coyote-thing comes back to the river and forgot how to fish, so it does another big poo, and the poo gives even more detailed instructions. and thats how the coyote learned how to fish.

#41: Car Safety! the WHO has a list of 7 utmost important regulations of safety standards, but only 40 countries comply with them and 80% of cars sold are not compliant. in the US, a pedestrian is hit by a car every 8 minutes. 90% of crashes are caused at least in part by human error according to Stanford Law School.

#42: Hibernation! even fish hibernate. for example, the antarctic cod (Notothenia coriiceps) burrows under the seabed for days at a time during the polar night.

#43: Carrageen Algae! most algae are photosynthetic, but some are mixotrophic, getting some energy from phagotrophy and myzocytosis. but some are parasitic! for example, the Oodinium algae is a genus of dinoflagellates that causes velvet disease in fish by living inside the gills and covering it in its yellowy spores.

#44: PEZ! each PEZ sweets is 15x8x5mm. The logo is made to appear like its constructed out of 44 sweets (a total coincidence that thats the week number, i swear!), making the P 41mm tall, the E 35mm tall and the Z somewhere between 24 and 32mm tall. even thought theyre all portrayed as the same size...

#45: Folding Chairs! the two major varieties of folding chairs are called Front-X and Side-X for obvious reasons. side-X chairs are actually defined by having the support for the backrest and front foot conjoined.

#46: Lightning Rods! lightning rods are often called finials because they act as a finial. sometimes a finial acts as a lightning rod. why cant one thing be two things, i spose. a finial is some sort of pointy thing that emphasises the apex of a building, for example a dome, spire or tower. some finials are pinnacles and some finials are called bouquets. it comes from latin “finis” meaning end, because the finial is the end of the building. but if you didnt have a lightning rod, then surely _that_s the end of your building? xD

#47: Avatar! in Avatar the last airbender, the people can manipulate one of the four elements. The moves for each element was inspired by a different martial art: waterbending by T’ai chi; earthbending by Hung Gar, firebending for Northern Shaolin and Ba Gua for airbending. the styles for each was carefully selected to reflect the element and characters. but interestingly, Toph Beifong who was born blind, was completely self-taught in the ways of earthbending, so her moves are like Southern Praying Mantis, a martial art stemming from a type of kung-fu, which focuses on the hands and speed. there are five main branches of this style, each refined by a different family.

#48: from Kalamazoo to Timbuktu! the first example of rhyming found is the Chinese Shi Jing from c.10th century BC. rhyming is occasionally used in the bible as well. The Quran also uses a form of rhymed prose called saj’. it is known that the ancient greeks knew of rhyming, but classical greek/latin poetry only used it occasionally.

#49: Darts! the line you throw from is called the oche, and must be 7’9” from the board, which is most often positioned at 5’8” off the ground. just from what little i can find around and about, the word used to be hockey (probably pronounced like the hokey pokey) and this word seemed to spring up from nowhere. there is a theory that it comes from the brewery “S. Hockey and Sons” and their crates were used as the toe-line. however, it is unlikely, because there arent any records of such a brewery.

#50: Disneyland! the park in california costed $17m to build, and took 2500 labourers. it is the only of many disney parks to be overseen by walt disney himself. the bench he sat on to dream up the idea of the park is for some reason on display in the park.

#51: Pub Quiz!! for the grand grand finale of the year, heres seven more pub quiz questions! theyre going to be impossibly difficult, as ever, but the theme for this set is #aFactADay! thats right - seven meta-facts!!

1) throughout the whole of #aFactADay2022 and #aFactADay2021, how many characters (not including newlines or the hashtags themselves) were used?

2) throughout the three hashtags, 1.6589% of letters were uppercase. in just #aFactADay2022, what percentage of letters were uppercase?

3) how many spaces are in #aFactADay2022?

4) in #aFactADay2022, how many prices in GBP or USD are mentioned?

5) of the 6447 capital letters used in the three hashtags, how many of them were Es?

6) in 2021, 100%, 85% and 6% were the most commonly used percentages at 3 occurrences each, followed closely by a tie between 2%, 3%, 5%, 8%, 16% and 80% at 2 occurrences each. in 2022, what were the most commonly used percentages?

7) on the first of january, 2022, what time was the first ever #aFactADay2022 posted? one point for on ph and one point for on discord.

_ _

_ _

ANSWERS:

1) 503274. this is about three and a half times the length of hamlet, shakespeares longest play.

2) 1.43229936%. i find it interesting that the capital density went down this year.

3) 45622. i didnt count newlines in this, and emoji had a space either side so they were counted double. apart from this, its a close estimate for the wordcount. this is about two-thirds the length of frankenstein by mary shelley. which i struggle to believe because i read most of the fotd-2022s in about three days, but it took me about three months to read frankenstein.

4) 46. i just did a count for all the instances of $ and £ so it should be close enough. in 2021 it was just 24.

5) 145. this is just 1 in 44 capitals, whereas the lowercase e makes up about 1 in 8. i will now refer you to the lipogrammatic works of Georges Perec, and in particular, his univocalic novel, which i impulsively bought late at night a few months ago simply because its cool.

6) 4% and 60% were both used three times in 2022.

7) 11:11 on pokeheroes and 12 minutes later at 11:23 on discord. there is approximately a 30% chance that i posted at 11:12 on pokeheroes, which doesnt have the same ring to it (this uncertainty derives from the way it rounds the date). i didnt note it down, you see, i just stalked the feed until the time since posting changed. i say i stalked it, i mean i got some code to stalk it for me.

#52: Christmas! brits love sprouts. 25% of sprout sales in the UK happen in the 2 weeks before christmas - as mentioned previously, thats 750 million! if you lined these up, it would stretch from london to sydney! however, some estimates (there are disagreements on this) say that around 12 million sprouts go uneaten. some sources claim this figure is as high as 300 million. why are sprouts so divisive?? (i love em xD ) well apparently theres a gene carried by about two-thirds of people that makes you taste a sharp bitterness in sprouts that not everyone tastes.

and that concludes #aFactADay2022!!! happy new year, and see you tomorrow :D

[fruitcoops]

okay so we all know remus LOVES long haired sirius (and who can blame him) but as someone who has long hair myself, i can't say it's all sunshine and roses. could you write a fic/small scenes/hc about remus learning to live w someone with long hair (hours in the shower, all these random hair products cluttering the bathroom, hair EVERYWHERE, etc?)

Yes! I love long-haired Sirius, but I 100% agree with you. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

I

“Re, do you have a—”

Wordlessly, Remus held his wrist up.

“Oh. Thanks.” Sirius’ surprise was audible as he slid a hair tie off Remus’ collection and kissed his forehead. “Love you. By the way, have you seen my scrunchie?”

Remus paused, then glanced over the top of his book and cocked an eyebrow. “Sorry, Olivia Newton-John, but I haven’t.”

Sirius flicked his ear lightly with a smile. “Fuck off, Lily gave it to me to borrow the other day and she’ll kill me if I lose it.”

“Should we look for your leg warmers, too?”

“Fuck off.”

II

“What the fuck?” Remus muttered as he dug through the drawer of their bathroom sink. “What the—honey?”

“Yeah?” a distant voice called down the stairs.

“What the hell?”

“What?”

He grumbled under his breath and dumped a few colorful bottles on the edge of the sink—absolutely none of it smelled like Sirius’ cologne, but Remus was fairly sure he had changed his shampoo recently…

Footsteps padded in the hall; two seconds later, Sirius poked his head in with a frown. “Did you call for me?”

“Yeah, I—” Remus gestured helplessly at the collection, unsure how to proceed. “What?”

Sirius rolled his eyes and blew a perfect lock of inky hair off his forehead. “Not all of us can roll out of bed looking fluffy and soft, mon amour.”

“You can!” Remus protested as Sirius disappeared once again.

III

Sirius lifted his arm to make room for Remus before settling back into the pillows again—not once did he look up from his phone. “Why were you in the shower so long?” Remus asked as he turned a page and his frozen toes began to warm up.

“Quoi?”

“You were in there for, like, half an hour at least.” The side of Sirius’ mouth dipped down in a pout. “Oh, there’s the lip. What happened?”

“My hair got all messed up from salt water, and it took forever to get the knots out. I didn’t even get all of them, see?” Sirius ran a hand through the underside of his hair and winced when it got stuck. “Fucking Florida.”

“Here.” Remus sat up properly, legs crossed, and made grabby hands at him. “Gimme.”

“I used so much conditioner on this thing. It’s not coming out.” Sirius’ whole face turned sad. “I’m going to have to cut it.”

“Nah, I can get it.”

Sirius looked suspicious, but he rooted around in his nightstand and handed over a comb all the same. “Don’t yank.”

Remus scoffed in indignance before gently taking the problem section of Sirius’ hair and feeling for the knot. “That’s a tough one.”

“Right?”

He bit his lip and carefully began working from the bottom up, wracking his memory for Lily’s advice when she made him braid her hair at games. Start slow, be gentle, use the end pick if you have to for tricky spots. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Ten minutes later, Remus was ready to snap the comb in half in frustration. “It’s not moving, is it?” Sirius asked.

“I got most of it, but the center is really tangled. I’m sorry, love.”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder. “It’s alright, I had to get it cut anyway. It’ll make cleaning the shower drain a lot easier.”

“I can cut it, if you want me to,” Remus teased, earning himself a pillow to the chest.

IV

Sirius was a very, very patient man, and for that, Remus was grateful. “Are you done?” he asked, clearly amused.

Remus continued running his fingers through the freshly-cut sides in awe. “It’s so soft.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And short.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You sound sad.”

“No, no, it’s just—” Remus shook his head, but didn’t look away from the dark curls flowing over his fingers. What used to fall past Sirius’ chin had been cropped to his ears; it was still wavy, and far from a buzz cut, but after months of the previous length it was rather shocking to remember what he used to look like. “Wow.”

“Are you going to keep petting me, or can I have lunch?”

Remus reached up to feel the top, and his jaw fell open slightly at the silky texture. He couldn’t imagine why he had ever grieved the loss of Sirius’ long hair when this was his prize. “Five more minutes.”

[spacedikut]

“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 2

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer decides it’s time to tell you, but he needs some help. 3887 words. part 1

a/n: THIS is the longest fic ive ever written but im actually kinda proud of how it turned out? i hope this is a good sequel :)

Spencer chickens out of telling you the next day.

He avoids you all weekend, actually. You resisted texting him the day after Rossi’s because you assumed he’d be busy – with his big plan involving a girl that isn’t you. You’re not bitter – but Sunday comes around and you message him not long after you wake up and six hours later there’s no response.

Twelve hours later - there’s no response.

Monday, you don’t have time to say hello to anyone – there’s a case waiting for you, somewhere in Florida.

Reid avoids your eyes. His body language tells you something is wrong, so you assume whoever he confessed to didn’t reciprocate (they’re insane) and he’s dealing with it. So you don’t press.

Spencer pretends to sleep the entire jet ride. He’s avoiding everyone, not just you.

He spent the whole weekend beating himself up. He drove to your apartment on Saturday, sat outside for so long a neighbour knocked on his window and asked if he was lost, but couldn’t bring himself to step foot out of his car.

So he locked himself in his room, away from you and your loveliness and away from his phone because he knew you texted him and he knew you’d send some soft message about being there for him if he needs anything and he didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful and out of reach you are.

Derek seemed to be waiting for him Monday morning, arms crossed as he held a cup of coffee. It was weird seeing him in before Spencer.

“How’d it go?” He immediately asked.

“How’d what go?” Spencer mumbles, flinging his bag on the floor by his desk. He slumps in his seat.

Derek raises a dark eyebrow, “You know what, pretty boy. You had a big thing? Big plan?”

“Didn’t work out.”

It doesn’t take a profiler to realise Spencer is very clearly saying leave me alone. Leave it alone.

Derek isn’t one to leave it alone. Especially when it comes to Spencer.

He sighs and moves a little closer to Spencer’s desk, just in case someone overhears them.

“What happened?”

“That’s exactly it,” Spencer slams open a file, “Nothing happened.”

“And why did nothing happen?”

“Because I’m an idiot that can’t even tell a girl how I feel.”

“Whoa- hey!”

Derek spins Spencer’s chair so they’re face to face. Derek takes one look in Spencer’s eyes and knows what’s going on – he got too into his head and backed out at the last minute.

“You’re not an idiot. Why didn’t you do it?”

Spencer shrugs, “I got to her apartment. I had flowers, too. I don’t know.”

Derek’s evidently concerned – Spencer’s beaten up over this, over whoever this girl is, and he deserves the chance to experience love. Spencer deserves a lot more than he himself thinks he does.

“You seemed really excited, man. You can still do it. Just cause you try once and it doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t ever try again.”

Spencer stares off into the distance, accidentally ignoring Derek as his thoughts slip out of his mouth, “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway – I was stupid to think I could get someone like her.”

“Hey, no.” Derek nudges Spencer’s shoulder so he looks at him again, “Don’t talk like that. You’re one hell of a guy, Reid. All you gotta do is get that confidence that you had Friday night back, and you’re all set. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Spencer gives a feeble nod. Derek moves back to his desk, knowing he isn’t convinced, but he isn’t done yet.

+++

Later, in Florida, Spencer’s making a coffee in the precinct’s kitchen after waiting twenty minutes for you to leave. Luck’s on his side, for once, and you’ve been working non-stop with Prentiss going crime scene to crime scene so he hasn’t had to actively avoid you. You smile at him every chance you get, though, and it distracts him.

Someone clears their throat behind him. It’s Penelope, whom Spencer didn’t realise was invited on this case.

She looks guilty. Spencer recognises that face; the face she has when she’s done something she shouldn’t have or knows something she isn’t really supposed to. Given current circumstances, Spencer bets it’s the latter reason.

“Morgan told me something he shouldn’t have.”

Bingo.

He leans against the kitchen counter, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.

“What did he tell you?” He asks, feigning tranquillity. Inside he’s screaming non-stop.

She’s got her hands clasped together in front of her, almost innocently, and fiddles with her fingers, “He told me you needed assistance in the love department.” Before he can object, she continues, “And I am willing to do anything if it means our resident weirdo-slash-genius falls in love and gets to experience some much needed cuteness.”

There’s no point in lying to her. There’s also no point in being mad that Morgan told her about his situation – they’re kind of a package deal. And, who knows, Garcia might be able to help.

“So…” She sways, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer shuffles on the spot, scuffing his shoes against the floor. He debates whether he should tell her, since, you know, you’re in the next room over, but Spencer worries that Garcia is so good at her job she’d somehow find out through hacking Spencer’s phone, or maybe somehow hacking his dreams. His subconscious. He’s terrified of Garcia and her abilities.

“You can tell me.” She insists, “I’m much better at keeping secrets than Morgan.”

Spencer turns away from her, she steps closer, and he mumbles your name.

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“WHAT?!”

Spencer spins, hands coming up to tell Garcia to shut up and Garcia immediately covers her mouth in both shock and hopefully so she doesn’t shout again.

“Since when?!” She screeches. “How could I not have known?! Oh God, almighty Doctor Reid, I feel like I’ve failed you by not realising earlier.”

Her enthusiasm makes him smile, for the first time in far too long. Garcia has that power – this innate skill to comfort those around her and make them feel special, make them smile when the world feels like its collapsing.

“Let me help!” She requests.

Spencer’s clearly hesitant. He knows it’s a bad idea.

“Please!” She begs, “I just- I have so many ideas of how you can go about this. Let me brainstorm, get back to you, and if I’m too over-the-top you can tell me no and we’ll pretend it never happened!”

He takes a deep breath. Yes, Garcia is the definition of over-the-top, but that’s one of his favourite things about her. It’s your favourite thing, too. And he did tell Morgan he had big plans. Anything involving Garcia is a big plan with big payoff.

“This is between us.”

“I’ll take it to the grave. Unless you realise how amazing my ideas are and use one to tell Y/N how you feel and then years later I get to commend myself during my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

She looks ecstatic, hands now together under her jaw as her eyes twinkle. Spencer can’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

+++

The next day, the team returns to Quantico after a semi-successful case. The general mood is good and Morgan invites everyone out for drinks – Spencer declines, but you have your first full conversation since last Friday.

“C’mon, Spence,” Your head rests against the jet seat and you blink sleepily at him, “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you for years!”

Spencer gives you a small smile, “I promised my mom I’d call her tonight. Sorry, Y/N.”

You nod in understanding, “Will you tell her I say hi?”

“Of course. She loves you.”

You grin at eachother, immediately lost in your own world. You’ve missed him more than you realised, and you have no idea what’s going through his head, but you’re happy that you’ve had this – a Spencer Reid smile that makes you feel at home and on top of the world simultaneously.

Spencer has to tear his eyes away before he blurts something stupid, like she’s not the only one that loves you.

+++

“Spencer!” Garcia greets, Cheshire cat grin on her face. “I need to see you in my dungeon, please. Immediately.”

Spencer drops the file he’s holding. Unfortunately, Penelope’s request caught the attention of the whole team.

“What business do you have in the villain’s lair, Reid?” Derek asks. You’ve looked up from your computer, Emily smirking and leaning back in her chair in expectation.

“Uh…”

“Important nerd business. Go away.” Garcia says, eyes narrow as she tugs Spencer’s hand. He’s whisked away from any further questioning, leaving the befuddled team behind.

He isn’t sure what to expect when he stumbles into Penelope’s second home, but the display in front of him explains why he overheard a conversation about missing evidence boards earlier. Penelope’s obviously been using the new printer in her cave to her advantage – there’s at least twenty different pictures printed out on one board titled “date ideas”, then the board on the right has a picture of Spencer and you in the centre with a perfectly drawn heart around it. Under and around that is a mixture of love quotes, including song lyrics and quotes directly from romantic movies. He notices “The Parliament of Fowls” on there – Garcia remembers that he mentioned it’s considered the first Valentines poem?

“Whoa,” Is all he can say.

“I know it’s a little intense,” Garcia squirms, “But! I started scrolling through Pinterest and couldn’t stop. I don’t know what came over me, maybe some type of love deity, but I started thinking about you and Y/N in a classic love film in, like, black and white and I…”

She’s out of breath from animatedly explaining.

Spencer laughs through his nose, almost a scoff, but he’s impressed. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the Penelope Garcia.

As Spencer wanders towards the first board, Garcia follows him like a shadow, “My personal favourite is-“ She points to a picture of chocolate fondue with faceless people in very little clothing, “-this one.”

Spencer awkwardly clears his throat when he begins to think of you and him like that.

“A little much for your declaration of love, though, I get it,” Garcia nods.

He scans the board – heart speeding up when he moves from idea to idea and picturing you and him in each one. He can’t help but think no, that one would be good for our anniversary – ah, she’d love to do that one for her birthday.

“What’re you thinking?” Garcia asks quietly. She knows his brain is whirring like her computer drive, so she approaches him gently.

“This one.” He says. “Where should we do it?”

Garcia grins behind him. The one he’s referring to shows a dinner table set up outside, brown wooded table with white wooden chairs opposite eachother. There’s flowers at the centre, a bottle of wine already poured in each glass in front of a basket of cookies, and the area around is shrouded by shrubbery, fairy lights hanging delicately from every-which-way.

It’s perfect. You love fairy lights, Spencer loves cookies, and the set-up looks private enough for Spencer to feel confident when he empties his heart and soul to you.

“The roof.” Garcia says wistfully.

“We have access to that?”

“Yes.” They both know they don’t. “Leave it to me. Oh… one more thing.” She adds, hesitantly, “Can Morgan help? I’m a lot of things, including emotionally strong and your love guru, but physically I’m gonna need some assistance.”

Spencer doesn’t even need to agree – Morgan’s gonna involve himself no matter what.

+++

Five o’clock is quickly approaching and you’re slumped over your desk, lost in your work. You need to be lost in it, because ever since Garcia released Spencer from her office right after lunch he’s been sneaking glances at you (he’s not sneaky) and has made several attempts to approach you but decided against it, sharply turning and pretending he meant to go another way instead.

You are beyond confused. You assume it’s to do with the girl he’s been trying to get over – you hope he’s been trying to build the confidence to tell you exactly what happened and maybe, you really hope, he’ll invite you over for the weekend so you can slip back into your old routine.

“Psst.”

You assume they’re not trying to get your attention, so you don’t move.

“Psst!”

You still don’t move.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up to Spencer leaning over the divider between your desks. He looks alarmed – which is odd, given he’s the one who called you – and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally speaks.

“Are you busy tonight?” He sits back and, if he wasn’t so goddamn tall, all you’d be able to see would be his eyes. His added height means you can see his eyes and his nose. You wanna kiss it.

You smile – this is an olive branch, “I am completely available for whatever it is you might need.”

You sound incredibly eager, which you are. You miss him.

His cheeks move upwards, a smile, “Can I talk to you, later, on the roof? Uh-“ He clears his throat, “-I need to tell you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You’re not gonna push me off, right?”

“No,” He laughs.

“Promise me.”

Now he guffaws, “I would never, Y/N!”

“Promise me, Reid!”

“Alright, alright! I promise!” He’s jokingly raising his hands in a form of surrender.

You give him another smile and turn back to your work. You feel at ease, now, thinking he’s finally gonna tell you what happened on the weekend – finally you’ll be able to help him and go back to normal.

Spencer, on the other hand, is the exact opposite of ease. He’s about to pour his heart out to you.

He takes a deep breath and looks back to his computer, which is open on a tab titled “How to Tell Someone You Like Them.”

Step 3: Be Confident.

Spencer opens a new tab and searches, “How to be confident.”

+++

Garcia hacks into Spencer’s computer to open a document and type that the roof is ready. She wishes him luck, tells him she loves him, and calls dibs on being the godmother of your future children. As if she doesn’t have enough godchildren as it is.

He clears his throat and your head snaps towards him. You’ve been done for a while, playing Tetris on your phone, waiting for Spencer to take you to the roof where he swears he won’t kill you – you’re not entirely convinced.

“Um-“ He scratches his neck, “You ready to go?”

You nod and give him a weak smile in hopes it gives him some type of reassurance.

“Whatever happened, it’s okay, Spence.”

All he does is nod in return, gathering his coat and bag. He doesn’t really register what you say, or he would’ve been very confused.

You follow him up to the roof. The elevator ride is silent and Spencer is jittery; his hands twitch and tap against his legs, he’s bouncing on his toes and he keeps looking at you through the corner of his eye. You’ve taken several deep breaths to calm your racing heart – you hate heights, and this is the closest you’ve been to Spencer in a week. This will be the longest conversation you’ve had with him in a week, too.

The second the doors open, Spencer leaps in front of you.

“Wait!”

You jump back in surprise, “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Completely fine. Just… when we get there, let me explain first, okay? Before you say anything.” He’s pleading, as if you’ve already told him no. You look at him with furrowed brows and mumble an ‘okay’.

You’re visibly confused as you trek up the flight of stairs to the roof. Spencer pushes open the fire door and the first thing you notice is how bright the roof is – you always assumed it’d be dark, little light, especially at night like this.

Wait.

There’s fairy lights… everywhere. You’re pretty sure this isn’t the norm for the FBI roof.

Spencer is equally as awed at what he sees before him - it’s exactly the photo he saw in Garcia’s cave brought to life, but he’s too distracted by you to fully appreciate it. You look like a child on Christmas; eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth slightly agape. You’re gorgeous.

“What…is this, Spence?” You wonder, noticing the set table, fingers grazing the roses that sit in a vase in the middle. They’re fresh and smell wonderful.

He stands a little behind you, fiddling with his hands, and clears his throat, “Would you like to take a seat?”

You do. When he finally sits, he pours you a glass of wine and you immediately take an anxious sip. Although Rossi is a big fan of wine, you rarely take interest in it only when Spencer’s involved. You’ve come to associate wine with him – a smile peeks out from your glass as you stare at the man opposite you.

“I need to get something off my chest. But there’s cookies, if you want one,” He picks one up from his plate, breaking it in half and giving it to you. He’s stalling, but you seem to take the bait and bite into it.

“Are these from the bakery two blocks away?”

“Yeah,” He replies, but he isn’t really paying attention. He doesn’t know where to begin.

You wait patiently for him to open up. You’re still unsure of what to make of all of this – the beautiful setting, the wine, the flowers, the lights. God, the lights are dazzling in the Virginia night sky. You need context, and you need it now.

“Spence-“

“Listen.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just…” He trails off, “I need to say what I need to say before I back out again.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You’re ready for whatever’s to come.

“Do you know how long we’ve known eachother?” He asks. His head tilts like a puppy.

“Nearly five years. Our friendaversary is coming up, you know.”

You realise, then, that this must be a celebration for that – that explains the… typically romantic setting. Before you can open your mouth to ask if that what’s this is, Spencer speaks.

“Four years, three-hundred and sixty days. That’s how long we’ve known eachother.”

“If we were dating, we would’ve been my longest relationship the second we passed a year.”

You don’t know why you said it, but it flusters him. He has to pause to take a breath and collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been in love with you for four years and three hundred and fifty-eight days, Y/N.”

It’s silent as you process and he figures out how to continue.

“I knew you were special when you were introduced to us. Hotch already had such a soft spot for you, and you had this way about you that made us all fall in love instantly. I remember Garcia did a background check the second she found out your name and she said you remind her of me and I… that freaked me out, to be honest. I thought you’d try to replace me.” He huffs a laugh, but can’t bring himself to look you in the eye, “I realised I was in love with you when you drunkenly defended me. Do you remember that?” His eyes flicker to yours for half a second – you’re wide-eyed, “You’d known me for two days at that point, but we’d already done a case together so we were celebrating. And these guys at the bar were whispering about me, acting like I couldn’t hear them, and the second you realised what was happening you stood up, stormed towards them and gave them a piece of your mind. It was incredible.

“You barely knew me, at least personally, but you thought so highly of me you scolded a group of drunk bodybuilders without a second thought. You made them apologise – it was hysterical watching someone half their size force them into submission like that – and when you were done you asked if I wanted to leave and go get ice cream. We couldn’t, cause you vomited on the way there, but I knew in that moment I loved you and I feel so hard, so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. And you never… you never indicated you thought of me as anything other than a friend so I didn’t try. Then you dated Greg who, in my opinion, sucked on his best days, and you encouraged me to date Abigail and I…”

He’s run out of breath and of things to say.

“I just love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” He adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

He finally looks at you, then. You’re just staring and he panics when he can’t make out what you’re feeling. He’s always been able to read you, you’ve always hated the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul because your eyes are always your tell, but now they’re… glassy.

You’re crying.

“Spencer…” You gasp, throat tight.

“It’s okay.” Spencer gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows what’s coming. He should’ve expected it. He has been expecting it.

“I love you too, Spence.”

Spencer chokes on air. He takes a gulp of wine.

You give him a teary smile in disbelief, “I’ve always loved you, Spence. I thought you knew that – I thought that big brain of yours knew exactly how I felt and… you didn’t do anything about it so I thought you didn’t feel the same. Spencer…”

He slowly moves a hand to place it palm-up on the table. Immediately you place your hand in his, your grip tight as you lovingly stare at him. This feels unreal.

“I’m in love with you too, you idiot.” You half laugh, half cry, “If you’ve really loved me this long, we’ve wasted so much time! God, we’re both idiots.”

Spencer’s crying too, now, and he starts laughing with you.

You’re two idiots in love, sitting opposite eachother on the roof of your place of work in a dream-like surrounding filled with fairy lights and flowers, and you could’ve been doing this for years.

Spencer sniffles, looking at you through his wet eyelashes, “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“If I say yes, will I get more dates like this?” You tease.

“Well, Garcia has a whole evidence board of date ideas she stole from Pinterest. We have enough ideas to last a lifetime.” He giggles.

“Penny was in on this?!”

Spencer gives a heh, “This is all thanks to her, so yeah.”

“She’s always had our backs.”

“She’s also now going to be convinced she’s cupid.”

You laugh again, and can’t help yourself when you lean across the table, still gripping Spencer’s hand, and letting your lips fall on his. Spencer leans into you, lips moving against yours as you both try to suppress grins.

You pull back slightly, Spencer’s lips following you, and whisper, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again, just cause he can.

Big plan, big payoff. You’re worth every little stress and more.

[wienerbarnes]

Necessary Evil

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 1,816

Warnings: nothing crazy, typical canon violence type stuff, special character appearance👀

A/N: so sorry for not posting this like two days ago when i said i was going to🥴 ive had a ton going on and ive been a busy bee but hopefully ill get myself organized for next week :) question for yall! should i keep the friday posting schedule or do thursdays instead bc of fatws on fridays? lmk!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

It’s been a confusing couple of weeks. You’ve been placed on a temporary leave while you finish your recovery after the last mission.

You’ve been trying to learn as much about your new powers as you can, not really understanding what they are or how they work considering that most of the time they’ve shown themselves it’s been accidental.

Making Bucky drop food, slamming doors shut, sending stuff flying across the room. At this point you’ll tape your hands at your sides if it means you’ll stop making such a mess everywhere.

Everything has been put on halt. You don’t cook, in fear of starting a fire or making a mess in your kitchen, you don’t spar with anyone or workout unless it’s in a closed off and sealed training room used for when the Hulk was at the tower, in fear of hurting people around you, and unfortunately, you haven’t let Bucky be around you much in fear of hurting him.

He tells you that you’re not going to hurt him and that even if you did he wouldn’t take it personally, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. The two of you got into a heated argument a few days ago when he offered to let you use him as a practice dummy for your new powers.

“How dare you suggest something like that to me?!”

“Well, I just meant that -”

“Meant what? How would you feel if I asked you to slap me around like a ragdoll with your metal arm? Make you go Winter Soldier on me?”

“That’s not the same thing, and you know it.”

“Isn’t it though?”

It wasn’t pretty.

It also didn’t help that Bucky was sent on a solo mission recently. He couldn’t tell you much about it, and you didn’t push it, knowing the two of you were still a bit rocky with each other, and knowing that it would only put more stress on you constantly thinking about his mission.

Boy, did you miss him though. You’re glad you put aside your pride to hug and kiss him goodbye, taking in his warmth, his love, his smell, savoring his arms around you and his lips on yours before he left. With the way he held and kissed you, you think he felt the same.

That was two days ago. Alpine has been the one to keep you the most company. She’s gotten big, and it’s a lot more fun to play around with her now. You trail a feather attached to the end of a string around the ground while she tries to pounce after it. A knock at the door doesn’t even pull her attention away from the toy as you let her win and catch it, standing up from your sitting position on the floor.

You open it to reveal Sam in more casual clothes than his regular tactical pants and shirt, and you return the smile he gives you.

“You busy?” He asks.

You look over your shoulder to see Alpine still pawing at the feather on the ground.

“No, I’m not busy, what’s up?”

“Just wanted to hang out, we both got the day off, figured I’d show you the best danishes in New York.”

You’re not sure if Bucky put him up to this or if this is a way to keep you from going batshit being stuck in your room not being able to do anything, but you accept the offer anyway. It’ll be nice to get some air.

“Do you, uhm,” You begin, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“What’s up?” Sam asks, the guy from the VA coming out, encouraging you to tell him.

“Do you know if Bucky’s okay? I haven’t heard from him, is all.” You ask, slipping on some shoes and heading back out into the hallway with Sam.

“I mean, I’m sure he’s fine, why wouldn’t he be?”

“Just that I know these solo missions can be anywhere and he could be doing anything, but I still worry. I didn’t know if you knew where he was or anything.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t know, because Bucky told him Steve asked him for a few favors and he needed some off time for a couple of days. He thought Bucky was in rural New York. There’s no mission. But he supposes he’s not supposed to tell you that.

“Yeah, I don’t know much about it. Fury’s probably the one behind it.” Fury’s in Florida for his niece’s sixth birthday. He doesn’t tell you that either.

Luckily you accept it and enter the elevator to leave the private floor and go to the common area, able to leave out the backway of the tower.

“Avenger in the building, Captain.”

Sam doesn’t understand. Avenger? Who’s even around anymore?

“Uh, huh? Bucky?”

“No, Captain.”

“Clint?”

“No.”

“Who’s here?”

“Underoos.”

Underoos? Where has he heard that? Isn’t that -

The elevator doors open to the common room, a teenage boy stands with his back towards the two of you. His head whips around in typical teenage fashion and your eyebrows shoot up, unaware that the Avengers recruited teenagers.

“Is that a fucking kid?”

“Peter?” Sam asks, clearly surprised at the boy being in front of him. He hasn’t seen him in years. He wasn’t even sure where he was all this time, assuming he was in school, with his Aunt, but now he’s here.

“Sam! And his lady... friend. How are you?!”

“The lady friend has a name.” You chirp.

“What are you doing here?”

You and Sam speak at the same time. Peter addresses you first, “And your name is…?”

“Uh, Agent 51.” You didn’t think that through.

“Weird name, but alright.”

“Peter.” Sam brings his attention back to his question.

“Who is this guy?” You ask, clearly lost on who this person is and how he’s an Avenger.

“This is Spider-Man.” Sam tells you nonchalantly.

“Uh- Sam?!” Peter exclaims.

“What, she works with us, now. She doesn’t have anyone to tell anyway.”

“Sam?!” You elbow him.

“Why are you here, Peter.” Sam asks again.

“Well, you know, I was in school, doing some stuff here and there for Hill and Fury, and I figured I’d stop by.” He smiles.

You and Sam stare in silent confusion.

“Okay, look. I feel… lost. Like I feel like I’ve come to terms with Tony dying and stuff, but, I don’t know...” Peter finally cuts to the point.

You know very little about Spider-Man. You definitely didn’t know he was a kid, but you also didn’t know that he had some sort of a close relationship with Tony Stark. You’re becoming more and more like Bucky everyday; not knowing who any of these people are, not remembering seemingly important events, hell, not even knowing have these things happened because you were under Hydra.

“Peter, we don’t -”

“I’m not asking for help. More so asking if you have anything for me to do, or something.” His smile falls. You’re definitely confused, but you feel for the guy. You remember feeling lost as a teenager, losing the people you looked up to. And that lost feeling landed you in the Marines and the Marines landed you with a terrorist organization. We should help him, you immediately think.

“I’m sorry, man.” Sam offers. He wants to help Peter, as annoying as he finds him. Being a teenager is hard, and being Spider-Man is harder. But, Sam can’t forget that he’s still a kid in school with only his aunt and a few friends around him. He doesn’t want to put a person like that in the immense danger they throw themselves into, even if he knows he can handle it.

“No worries, I’ll be on my way, then.” Peter nervously scratches at his eyebrow.

“Sure you don’t want to stick around here for a bit? I know the Avengers aren’t much of a thing anymore, but, you always got a room here; a place to stay.” Sam tells him, assuming Peter’s on the verge of having a sort of coming-of-age moment.

“No, no, I need to be with May. I’ll see if I can, uh, maybe stop by more often. Maybe. If that’s alright. Nice to meet you, uh, Miss 51!” He bids farewell before walking away awkwardly, leaving Sam with a sort of sullen look on his face and you still very confused.

“What was that whole thing about?” You finally break the silence as you two make your way towards the private garage elevators.

“I’ll tell you over danishes.”

Bucky plants his fist into the HYDRA soldier’s face for the sixth time, the sound of metal hitting flesh making a slushy sound with little clanks, signifying teeth hitting the floor.

“This is the last time I ask you before I kill you. Where is Bychkov, Morozov, and that fuck with metal arms?” He pants beneath the black mask and goggles, an outfit he hadn’t dawned in so long.

Your list is heavy in his pocket, he thinks about the names he’s already crossed off and few he has left. He’s not going to stop until he finds the handlers that captured you and the supposed soldier with metal arms that shot you, details you only mentioned to him once after a nightmare that he refused to ever forget.

“They… went back… to base… in Kiev. Just… north of it.” He struggles out.

One step closer. Bucky stands taller, letting the man slump on the ground, and he reaches for the knife at his thigh.

“Wait! I - I told you… where they went!”

“I was going to kill you whether you told me or not, you Nazi fuck.” Is all he says before he slashes the knife, ending the bastard’s life.

Leaving the man’s home, he rounds a corner into the night and replaces his knife, taking out a pen in one of his many pockets as well as your list.

He crosses off Antonov, looking down at the four remaining names, two of which were the men that did this to you.

He takes a breath, the layers of leather and kevlar straining over his muscles as he sighs. He never thought he’d be hunting people down like this, Nazi or not. He never thought he’d have this black mask and these goggles over his eyes. But he also never thought HYDRA would touch the love of his life the way they did; never thought they’d put you in that chair.

So, now, he’s only getting revenge. It’s the least he can do after this organization has stolen his life, kept him from seeing his family forever, took his arm, gave him PTSD, gave his girlfriend PTSD and injected her with who knows what only to put her in that goddamn chair.

While he never thought he’d be in this position, they asked for it, and he’s not sorry.

On to the next name.

[honeylikewords]

uneasy lies the head (poe dameron)

In the wake of her passing, the official, if somewhat symbolic, royal title of Alderaan has passed to from Leia Organa to her chosen heir, Poe Dameron. Along with his elected position as the Galactic Senate Represenative for his home planet, Yavin V, Poe is now burdened with the responsibility of a political office he never imagined holding, and is called to attend a summit of the galaxy’s leaders that will be held aboard the Starcruiser Halcyon. 

This piece is based on a few things: one, me liking the idea of Prince of Alderaan Poe, two, my interest in Begrudging Politician Poe, and three, the new details that have come out about the real-life Halcyon experience that will be opening up at Disney World in Florida, which you can read more about here! I’ve been really excited about it for a long time, and just thought it’d be fun to tie one of my favorite characters in to this amazing new experience that will be coming soon! 

(Content Warnings: mentions of Leia’s de@th, some slightly risque flirting between Poe and his wife, and a little bit of making out, but that’s about it! Word count is 5k.)

Poe stands in front of the mirror, anxiously adjusting the epaulets of his tunic. They don’t seem to sit right on his shoulders, he thinks, passing a hand through their silvery fringe and watching them brush the snow-white fabric of his sleeves. This isn’t his kind of uniform, and when he looks at himself, he sees more a child wearing the spoils of a raid on their parent’s closet than the Senate representative he was meant to be. He tries tightening the high, pale collar of his tunic against his throat, swallowing thickly and watching his Adam’s apple bob beneath the colorless fabric. That didn’t help much dignify the image, he thinks, eyeing himself morosely.

He looks older. His beard is fuller, having let it grow out to appear more… wise, he supposes, and the grey streaks running through it match the ones appearing more and more every day at his temples. His tan fingers tease lightly at the end of his beard, trying to stroke it like he’d seen other, more senior politicians do when lost in thought (or at least trying to come across like they were). It makes him look pretentious.

Sighing loudly, he slumps his taut shoulders and rolls them a few times to loosen the aching muscles. He turns away from the mirror and steps out of the dressing room, entering the stateroom and collapsing onto the edge of the bed, his face in his hands. He hears a door hiss open and looks between his fingers at the emerging figure.

She’s still fidgeting with her hair, which is now lifted from its former looseness into a series of intricate looping braids. Letting out a huff, she takes her hands away, seemingly having resigned herself to leaving the hair as it was. Poe lifts his head a little, resting his chin on his palm as he watches her pat her dress and check the mirror in the dressing room, just as he’d been doing mere moments before.

She looks much, much better than he does. It’s an objective fact. Her air is stately and refined, with her gown framing her regally. The fabric is a delicate, pale blue, trimmed with fine threads of gold that interweave and flow, like braided ivies, trailing up her waist in a way that guides Poe’s wandering eyes to the loveliness of her figure. She seems to belong better to this world, with its mannerisms and socialites, its political politenesses. He never had the patience to be so diplomatic, even though that is his job, now.

He watches her pull a face at herself in the mirror, frowning at some flaw he’s oblivious to, and he stands up, coming to her side and placing his hands on the small of her waist, leaning his head on her shoulder and kissing her cheek amiably.

“You look like a princess,” he purrs, hoping his flattery will encourage her confidence. He hates seeing her unhappy with herself.

“I wish,” she responds, voice tinged with something wan and far away. “I… I really do wish.”

He knows what she’s thinking about: he’d been thinking about it, too. Dropping the air of adulation, Poe reaches for her hand and gently knits their fingers together, pressing their locked hands softly against her belly for reassurance. He meets her eyes in the mirror, and the two share expressions of loss.

“I miss her, too,” he murmurs. “I don’t feel like… like I can do what she did. What she left for me to do.”

He feels his wife squeeze his hand intently, causing him to lift his head up and meet her gaze as she turns to look at him, unfiltered by the mirror. Her eyes, clear and sharp, stare at him as she nods, then kisses his forehead warmly, taking her free hand and brushing it softly across his cheek.

“She chose you for a reason,” she whispers, soft and sincere, just like she always does. “Leia left you her seat and title because you’re the only person fit for the job. She trusted you.”

Her hand dips to his jaw and she lifts his head up from its morose slump. He cannot look away from her, even if he wanted to.

“I trust you, too.”

Poe takes in all the angles of his wife’s face, knowing that no single word of what she said was untrue, but searching for the possibility of a lie anyway in some small giveaway of her expression; after all, how could he be the one fit to carry on in the shadow of his predecessor? How could his shoulders carry the burden of her greatness, much less improve upon it? But there, in her eyes, Poe sees the truth, reflected over and over again: he was chosen for this job, chosen to carry on a legacy he had no option but to strengthen. He is the only one who could, whether he believes it or not.

He straightens his back a little, standing up taller,  and squeezes his wife’s hand in silent thanks, taking a moment to press their foreheads together and breathe in the scent of her. She is wearing perfume-- something they’d never had access to during the scarcity of the war-- and he marvels at how something so small changes the entire atmosphere of her presence. She truly embodies the grace and elegance of the woman who came before both of them, looking every inch the part of an Alderaanian royal.

Glancing back at himself in the mirror, Poe huffs; while she may look, indeed, just the way Leia would want the nation to be represented, Poe does not. He looks stuffy in his garb, at times like an old man in the too-tight clothes of his youth, and, at others, like a scrawny teenager in the baggy trappings of someone he was only pretending to be. She seems to sense his dismay, as she takes the initiative to comfort him, this time.

“You look dashing,” she smiles, adjusting his lapels and the ribbons of decoration on his chest. “Prince Poe Dameron, Senate Representative of Alderaan and Yavin IV. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

At that, Poe lets out a playful, exasperated huff, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll be great,” he grimaces, eyeing his form in the mirror. He raises his voice into a mocking lilt, swaying his head from side to side in an intentionally cartoonish parody of a stuffy bureaucrat. “Oh, Senator Y’Barra, your engagement commission is most dreadful! Shall we discuss its heinousness over tea and crescent crumpets? Garcon, we need more gold-dusted butter for our scones if we are ever to pass this bill!”

She covers her mouth to hide the beginnings of a smile and tries to reprimand Poe, affectionately slapping his chest.

“It’s nice that we’ve been asked to attend the summit, Poe. At least try to make some--”

“Don’t say friends,” he groans. “I don’t want to make friends with these people. They’re politicians; they don’t want to do anything other than profit, and post-war reconstruction is a hell of a time to make money for slime bags like these people.”

That seems to take her back for a moment, and Poe watches her expression shift as she sorts through her thoughts, her lips pursed, eyebrows arched. She then shrugs and nods, acquiescing.

“Probably. But there are probably also people like you: people whose service in the war and dedication to their people, all across this galaxy, led them to this job. People who just want to rebuild. Do better. You’ll find them, dear: you’re an excellent judge of character.”

She taps her fingers against his nose playfully.

“After all, you picked me, didn’t you?”

“If I remember correctly,” Poe teases, lowering his eyes to her lips and smirking, “You were the one to get a crush on me first. All butterflies and nerves anytime I so much as passed you in the halls. More like you picked me, huh?”

Poe catches her face take on the familiar cues of embarrassment and flustering; he can just tell he’s got her all a-twitter, and she pouts her lips, looking down at her shoes shyly as he starts to chuckle. It’s adorable to remember how flighty and skittish she was in those early days, and how enamored of her he himself was, and remains. Getting her all shy like this is a sweet harkening back to that early, giddy tension, and he dips his face down, hovering his lips just above hers, feeling her draw in a breath of neediness and--

“Senator Dameron,” a robotic voice announces through the commlink in the stateroom, freezing Poe in place. “The ferry is beginning docking procedures with the Halcyon. Please proceed to the boarding area. A droid will be sent to collect your luggage as you leave.”

“Ah, shit,” he growls. He’d completely lost track of time.

Dodging back out into the stateroom, Poe glances out the window and sees the looming mass of a gigantic starcruiser, a sharp body of glimmering steel and inky black portholes contrasted against the star field behind it. It is massive-- far larger than any ship Poe had personally piloted in the past-- and spans more than the distance his window could afford a view of. They are extremely close, and within minutes will be aboard the behemoth, where Poe will have to eat, sleep, and breathe senatorial and princely dignity.

He turns away from the window to see his wife making sure everything was packed and prepared for departure, checking the bathroom and dressing room before giving him a confirming nod: everything is where it needs to be. They are ready to go.

They walk towards each other and Poe places his hands on his wife’s arms, stroking up and down the bareness of her shoulders to steady himself. As he feels the warmth of her skin beneath his rough palms, Poe blinks with awareness and gives her a quick squeeze, darting off to the dressing room. He opens a trunk and lifts up the topmost layer of fabric, running back into the stateroom with it carefully laid across both his forearms, then turns his wife to face him and gently lays the upper corners of the fabric on each of her shoulders.

“The cloak,” he mumbles as he fastens the pale silver silk around her neck, “Don’t wanna forget that. A princess is set apart by garments like that.”

“Right,” she hums, admiring his hands as he fusses with her collar. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that since you’re the prince, now, and I married you, I’m the--”

“Princess, yep,” grins Poe. “Princess Dameron.”

“By marriage only,” she teases.

“And I’m only the prince because she left an essentially honorary title to me,” Poe wits back. “But it suits you, at least.”

“You think?”

“Mm. Now, I think the prince owes his princess one of the tenets of royal responsibility: unadulterated affection towards one’s spouse.”

“Is that a tenet of your responsibilities?,” she smiles, brow cocked.

“I just made it up, but I like to think so.”

Once again, Poe presses his palms against the soft curves of her upper arms, squeezing in the grounding manner he knows she likes, tracing his thumbs along the creamily-smooth fabric now covering her, and he leans in close, admiring how the light shifts against her skin as his shadow draws nearer. He parts his lips, ready to feel the gentle swell of her soft ones against his, when, as if by divine interruption, the hydraulic hiss of the stateroom’s door fills the room and a silver-plated protocol droid peers at him through the now-open door. He grits his teeth to resist letting out a completely undignified expletive aimed at the droid and stares at it pointedly, trying to silently communicate that it had interrupted a private moment.

“It is time to board the Halcyon, Senator,” it chimes in the lilting manner all protocol droids seem to have, seemingly blissfully unaware of his frustration. “Please, come with me to the boarding area.”

Behind the protocol droid, a cargo lifter droid rolls by, seemingly waiting until Poe and his wife leave the cabin to enter. Poe sighs, but can’t resist letting a small chuckle out: both droids, despite their different purposes, both seem polite, in their own sorts of ways, and he always finds that endearing.

Looking to his wife, Poe gives a little bemused half-smile and shrugs his shoulders, as if apologetic but resigned. She takes his hand and turns, nodding to both droids with an impassive but gracious expression, one that Poe notes is more than befitting of an official such as herself. Distanced, but not dour, regal, but not recalcitrant. He loves it.

“Thank you,” she says, coolly polite. “Please, lead the way.”

The protocol droid begins its stiff-jointed hobble towards the boarding area and Poe and his wife trail behind, arms linked at the elbow as Poe fidgets with her fingers. He twiddles her marriage band as they walk, always comforted by the feel of it on her hand. He admires it as they silently proceed; it’s somewhat rough-hewn, made from hammered durasteel, a little uneven and dented in some places from the haste in which it was made, and Poe loves it.

He loves how it contrasts the delicate, fragile jewelry common amongst royals, how it’s not meant to glitter and shine and grab attention, how it ties her to him and he to her, with no regard for image or pomp. It is heavy and solid and made purely for the sake of love and belonging, and she wears it everywhere she goes with pride, as if it was the finest-cut Oshiran sapphire, or the most carefully sculpted gold. It is one of the crown jewels of Alderaan, now, and the thought of it-- of his parent’s simple, quickly-made wedding ring, forged in a time of war, without promise of any moment past the one they were in, now being a royal regalia-- makes his heart ache to bursting with unadulterated love.

Poe tugs her hand up and kisses her knuckles as they finally round the corner into the boarding area; somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers the droid saying something about how their luggage will be sent directly to their stateroom aboard the Halcyon, but he’s hardly listening. He’s looking at his wife, his rock, his tether, as they begin their socialite dance, seeking steadfast comfort in her as he prepares to have to play his part in a world he was never born to be in.

The droid gestures to a corridor formed between the two ships: passengers traipse from the shuttle onto the boarding area of the Halcyon, representatives from a myriad of species in a breadth of costumes and liveries. Poe and his wife exchange glances, knowing that these people will have some hand in forming what comes next in the political landscape of the galaxy, and that they, too, will be instrumental in forging the new governments of the rising Republic.

“Come on,” she smiles, trying to coax him along, tugging his hand and taking a step forward, “It’s gonna be fine. It’s not like my flyboy to get cold feet, hm?”

Poe chuckles and shakes his head, trying to dislodge his clouding worries, and walks in time with his wife, joining the throngs of senators and royals and presidents and diplomats making their way aboard the Halcyon. Some of them exchange pleasantries, others are locked in conversations: some even look at Poe and his wife and nod in acknowledgement, or turn to their compatriots and whisper.

Poe feels an embarrassed heat creep up the base of his neck; he knows rumors have circulated about his particularly unusual position as a representative for a dead planet and a living one, and about how he’d been named the next in line for a royal title he was not born into. He tries not to let it get to him-- let people think that they think, and do your job, Leia had always told him-- but the feeling of alienation and disbelonging hangs over him, shaming him into silence. He tenses, and keeps his eyes fixed forward, which grants him an ever-nearing view of the grand foyer of the massive starcruiser.

The Halcyon is unlike any other ship Poe has ever been on. He’d heard about starcruisers like this, meant to be enormous cruise ships travelling in luxury and style from one planet to another, filled with sprawling cabins and indulgent amenities, and had never even pictured himself aboard one. The thought hardly appealed to him: days, weeks, even, of doing nothing? Just wandering aimlessly around, decadent and opulent in one’s revelry? The mere idea disgusts him. Still, as he steps into the expansive entry for the Halcyon, he finds himself feeling something other than disgust: he feels strangely at home.

The area is bustling as ship workers and bellhops collect luggage and transfer it to droids, as greeters guide guests to check in areas and hand them keycards, as officers check passports and documentation against databases, all lit under the glow of thousands of lights, which reflect off polished durasteel and marble surfaces. Holo projections provide information about travel destinations and the cruise itself in hundreds of different tongues, while a massive projection of the captain glows a familiar blue and greets the boarding politicians.

Poe turns in awe, gazing at the dozens of porthole windows affording views of distant and nearby star clusters, at the navigational crew high above, checking maps and charting courses, and takes a deep, steadying breath in through his nose, squeezing his wife’s hand tight. The hum and thrall of the ship, with its thousands of moving parts and requisite workers, feels exactly like all the ships he’d served on during the Rebellion. He half-believes that if he closes his eyes and turns around, he’ll open them and see Leia there, giving orders and directing the workflow.

The memory sits on his heart, but instead of a heavy, lingering pain, it kindles a warm, growing fire: she lives on in him. She would be proud to see him carrying on the mantle, working to do what no one else has the skill, speech, or stones to do. She is never really gone. Never can be.

Instilled with strength and purpose, Poe looks to his wife, who is staring at the gargantuan hub of activity before her, almost taken aback by how bustling it is. He leans down and gently pecks her cheek, tugging her along and breaking her out of her trance. They’ve got places to be, things to do, royal engagements to avoid, after all. As they begin to move closer to what Poe believes is the reception desk, a Twi’lek in a sleek, almost military-looking white uniform steps in front of Poe and his wife, grinning from green ear to ear.

“Senator Dameron, Princess Dameron,” she greets, bowing at the waist respectfully, “I am Lyna’ame, and I’ll be directing you regarding your stay on the Halcyon. Thank you for honoring us with your patronage.”

“Uh, thank you for having us,” Poe stammers, unsure of how to conduct himself in such a position.

Lyna’ame looks up at him with a quizzical eye, but seems too well-trained to respond with anything more than a polite smile and a nod. She produces from the pocket of her grey-trimmed suit a pair of infochips, extending them towards Poe and his wife.

“You will be staying in the royal suite on Deck B, unit number eighteen,” Lyna’ame smiles. “These chips will act as your keys to the room and to any amenities you should wish to access, and will remind you of upcoming engagements or conferences you should be in attendance of.”

As if on cue, the small screens on the infochips light up and read “19:00: Senatorial Dinner In Ballroom One!” Poe blinks at it, then flashes Twi’lek a cordial but slightly cold smile, taking the chips from her hand and tucking them unceremoniously into his breast pocket.

“Alright, thanks. I think we can get it from here.”

She seems not to register his attempt to tie off the loop of the conversation, continuing anyway.

“You will also have access to all the facilities of the ship, including the swimming areas, dining areas, lounges, bars, activity centres, spas and--”

“I’ll check the brochure in the room,” Poe smiles, searching for an exit. “I appreciate it, but, uh, my wife is very tired--” --Poe nudges her with an elbow and she balks, then understands his intention and mimes a yawn, nodding sympathetically-- “--And I’d love to get her some rest before any hobnobbing, y’know?”

“Of course, your highness,” Lyna’ame says, again accompanied by a civil bow. “The elevators are to the left. Press your infochip to the pad and it will take you to your floor. Your luggage should already be in your room, and please,” she smiles. “Enjoy your cruise.”

Poe bows back, then leads his wife by the elbow to the elevators, where they tap their key card and the doors hiss open. As they board, just the two of them, Poe’s wife turns to face him and raises one eyebrow, haughty.

“Really threw me under the bus there, Poe,” she smirks. “‘Oh, my wife wants to leave this conversation because my wife is awkward and doesn’t know how to handle subordinate behavior from service workers’. Real nice.”

Rolling his eyes, Poe can’t help but smile, and instead of replying, drops his hand to the small of his wife’s back, grazing his fingers there for a moment before dipping slightly lower and--

She jumps, then giggles, hitting him with a shocked but not at all displeased expression.

“Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Maybe,” he smiles. “Why?”

“You just seemed so…” She touches his arm, searching for the right word, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Severe, before. Lost.”

“Feeling better. Feeling… like I can do this, maybe. Or at least do what I need to do, even if it doesn’t look exactly like how everybody else might expect me to.”

At that she purses her lips and nods, and he can tell she’s happy for him: he’s not entirely out of the woods about this whole ‘galactic representative’ thing, and certainly not used to all the expectations that come with being the heavy head that wears the crown, but he’s going to be alright. At least, he feels like he is, at this moment, and that’s all that matters.

Poe finds himself allowing his smile to grow wider as he dips down and nuzzles her temple, teasing his lips over her ear, tempting and toying.

“I still hate the suit,” he whispers, sending her shivering, “And I don’t want to talk to these people like we’re all buddy-buddy--”

“--Acknowledged, Senator,” she teases, rubbing his arm in the way that lets him know she’s itching to get more handsy.

“But we’re gonna have a private room,” he continues, “And a lock on the door, and at least--” --He checks the infocard, which reads “17:05”-- “--About two hours before anybody’s gonna need us, so I say we shimmy out of these nice duds…”

Poe’s finger trails down the silky rivulets of her collarbones; he has to admit, he does find her massively attractive in this royal robing, but he figures it’ll be less hassle for both of them to assure he doesn’t get too rowdy while they’re wearing some of the best (and irreplaceably expensive) fineries in the galaxy, so he’ll have to bid her pretty little dress and luxurious cape adieu for their stateroom rendezvous. Not that he minds: the dress might be pretty, but the woman underneath is ten times more so. Besides, she can always put it back on again for the dinner, anyway.

“We go see what kind of minibar we’re looking at,” Poe teases, watching her roll her eyes, “Hop in the bath, and see where those two hours take us.”

“Mm, we’ll see,” she demures, patting his chest. He knows she likes to dance around it, never say anything too scandalous where someone else can hear, and he loves that; she extends the tension, making him wait for what he wants. He may not ever have been a patient man before, but she forces him to slow down, savor it, work for it. And that’s delicious.

The elevator doors slide open as Poe leads his wife out into the hall, kissing her jaw as he checks the suite numbers. They shuffle along, exchanging little pecks and touches in the graciously empty hallway (what would the other representatives think, she reminds him in a hushed tone as they pass rooms, if they saw the new prince of Alderaan and Senator for Yavin V hanging off his wife like a pubescent teen?) before arriving at suite eighteen. Poe fumbles in his breast pocket, keeping his lips planted on his wife’s neck, then slaps the infochip haphazardly against the door. It clicks open, and Poe doesn’t even bother to look inside: he just coaxes his wife in, and tumbles in after her.

The lights in the room slowly turn on automatically, rising from a low dim to a sunny brightness, illuminating white-panelled walls and a lush, wide bed, all the furniture sharply clean and sleekly modern, trimmed in shades of black and silver. A massive window shows the endless expanse of space beyond the double-layered transparisteel, and while Poe would normally be more inquisitive and peek around the room to admire it, he’s more than occupied as he pushes his face deeper in the warm, scented crook of his wife’s neck.

“Careful,” she warns as his hand starts to pet at the base of her head, eking dangerously close to the beginnings of her hair roots, “These braids took me hours. I don’t want to have to re-do them, Dameron”

“I get that,” he breathes heavily, “But you look really hot with messy hair and--”

“If we’re going to go to that dinner, I’m not going to go with my hair flying everywhere! I’ll look like a… well, you know!”

“Like a woman well-loved by her husband,” Poe teases, nipping at her jaw. “But, fine, we’ll skip the dinner, and I’ll just keep you all to myself. Nobody else has to see. In fact, I’d prefer they didn’t.”

His eyes glimmer with wolfish promise as he sets his wife down on the edge of the white-blanketed bed, staring at her as her skirts form pools of silver and blue. He’s serious: the summit dinner all but disappears from his mind as he looks at her; how beautiful she is. How elegant. So poised and pretty and his, all his, to love until all the suns swallow themselves and burn out. All these representatives won’t miss him at one measly, lousy dinner, right? Not when he has the love of his life to attend to, surely.

“What’s gotten into you?,” she giggles, kicking off one of her sophisticated shoes as she sits on the bed. “You’re acting like we’re on our honeymoon!”

Poe leans in and places his hands on either side of her hips, bumping his forehead to hers as he takes long, weighty breaths, feeling the heat radiate off of her.

“I just… This is a lot, right?”

“Mm,” she acquiesces.

“And you’re kind of… what I go back to when I’m in too deep. So, right now, all this summit stuff and the Senate and the council? I need that to take a backseat to me being with you. The person I love. And letting that be what guides me in what I need to do for… everybody else.”

She lets out a soft, appreciative “aw”, her eyes softening as she cups his cheek, and Poe leans into her hand, allowing a little lasciviousness to leak into his smile as he stares down at her.

“Plus, it’s kinda… you know, a little sexy, being somewhere so new and ritzy. I’m not used to this kind of stuff. That, and we barely got a honeymoon, if you remember--”

“Yeah,” she recalls, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly vexed by the memory, “I remember. The day after we got married, that First Order outpost tried to open fire and you were up and out of bed and back in deployment after less than twenty four hours of being a married man.”

“Duty never sleeps,” he shrugs. “But… We can make up for lost time here, on this big, shiny, fancy-ass ship, huh?”

Poe wiggles his eyebrows with playfully rapacious intent, sending his wife into a fit of good-natured laughs. He adores when she laughs; it sends his heart racing, every inch of him alight with the joy of knowing that her smiles are because of him, the sound of her voice bouncing up and down with glee all caused by some silly little thing he’s said or done. Unable to contain himself, Poe leans down and kisses her, cutting off the sounds of her laughter, a deep, satisfied groan emanating from his chest.

“God,” he rumbles as they part for a quick breath, “I haven’t gotten to do that all damn day.”

“It did feel really good,” she sighs, clasping her arms around his neck. She seems to take pause, etching his face into her memory with her eyes, then comes to a decision: Poe would recognize that resolute gleam in her expression anywhere. “Alright, we’re staying.”

“...You mean it?,” he chirps.

“Yep. You tell them your poor, defenseless wife is laid up ill and needs your constant and most doting attention,” she smiles, kissing the tip of his nose. “Then when you’re done calling the front desk, you come over here and you help me get out of this dress and into that bath you promised.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles, then catches himself. “I mean, yes, Princess.”

“Mm,” she beams, teasing him with a pinch on the thigh. “Much better.”

They share another deep, drawn-out kiss before Poe manages to wrest himself away from her and off to the side of the room with the comm built into the wall, but glances over at her as he taps at the screen to connect with the front desk. She grins coyly from the bed, kicking one leg out in a pseudo-sultry, semi-silly way from beneath her sumptuous gown. Poe can’t help but feel a swell of endearment.

As the call connects, Poe sighs dreamily to himself; if all else failed, at least he had her, and with her by his side, he was definitely going to enjoy a very, very pleasurable cruise.

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

ooh ask day! are you working on any of your own writing at the moment? what excites you about it? is your writing similar to your prompts in any way? or do the prompts fulfill something else for you?

mainly im working on getting my first novel published, which you can read about HERE. otherwise, the sequel, an adult fiction project, and an urban fantasy type YA about a town called florida. in florida. Florida, florida.

Florida project, working title BORDERLINE, is the most in line with my general prompt vibe here. a little cosmic horror, bent reality, just generally odd.

I never write stuff based off the prompts, but I DO write prompts based off my own stuff, very occasionally. for me, writing prompts is like scales for a musician. keeps my brain well oiled.

*still taking asks, no requests please*

anyway, ive been working on Florida project a lot lately. have an excerpt:

Backpage:

Lin O’Leary was born and raised in the town of Florida, Florida, tucked away into a corner of the state’s forgotten coast. All the locals know Florida is a strange place, rumored to stand on a borderline, where the veil is thin and mysterious forces wander alongside the human population. The daughter of Irish and Mexican immigrants, Lin knows you can only find trouble if you go looking for it, and like the rest of Florida’s residents, lives comfortably alongside the supernatural. This is before Momoko Kasahara disappears into thin air, frightening the town of Florida into a new, ultra-cautious existence. Five years after Momo’s disappearance, Lin is seventeen, a highschool dropout now working at a convenience store, her once vibrant town still plagued by fear. The days drag by, mundane as they come in Florida, occasionally punctuated by unpleasant visits from Bo Kasahara, brother to Momo and full time asshole. Then, one fateful late shift, Lin sees the missing Kasahara twin standing in the aisles, gone as quickly as she appeared. Meanwhile, a stranger arrives from California, claiming to be a paranormal investigator hellbent on uncovering the mysteries of Florida, and suddenly Lin is faced with a choice. Be smart and keep her head down, or dive headlong into the strange mist that so often covers Florida, to rescue Momo Kasahara, and return her town to the way she remembers it.

1. 100% humidity feels like breathing underwater.

L I N

Florida ate Momoko Kasahara on the most miserable day of the year, and washed her down with a thunderstorm. A lot of other important things happened that day, but Momo’s disappearance overshadowed them all. Momo was the coolest girl in our class. She had shiny black hair that ran down to her waist. She liked to wear a different flavor of lip gloss every day of the week, and could sing in Japanese. I was on my way home from the beach when I saw the police cars in her driveway, and her twin brother sitting on the porch, painted purple in the twilight. 

He shook his head, at me, slow, and all the sound seemed to drain out of the world. The flashing police lights distorted his face, as bright white clouds passed too quickly above us. The whole scene drove a stake of wrongness hard into my chest. Sometimes even now, I dream about it. Bo and I watching each other. The dead silence. The purple light. The too white clouds. And Momo, eaten.  For the first time in my life, I was afraid of my own town. 

My name is Lin O’leary. I live in Florida, Florida, a nothing sort of place crammed into an extra forgotten corner of the state’s already forgotten coast. Some days I can forget about Momo, and everything that happened in the hours before she vanished. Heff says I’m good at keeping my eyes closed, even when they’re open. 

I really wish he were right. 

2. Cloudy with a chance of hotdogs (haunted).

J U L I E N

I was standing in front of the worst building I had ever seen. Slab grey and full of sharp edges, additions had been slapped onto every side until it resembled an impossible puzzle piece. The front windows were crowded with signs for cold beer and hot food, but the glass itself was opaque. It was a convenience store from hell, a collection of stationary parts so nonsensical I was worried it might grow a few new alcoves if I blinked. Above the door, an unintelligible sign in complicated neon cursive flashed electric blue. There was a neon clock too, flickering wildly, just striking twelve.

I must have walked halfway across town, and as far I could tell this was the only place that sold food at all, let alone past three in the morning. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. My stomach was a mess, and haunted convenience store hot dogs could only make it worse. I fished my phone out of my pocket, but the little service I had was, like the midnight clock above me, barely clinging to existence, my map application nothing more than a collection of beige squares. There was no one around. The sky was intensely dark, a pitch black blanket of clouds. Water hung thick in the air, the night time street so quiet I could almost hear beads of sweat sliding down my already slick face. No, there was nothing for it. I needed directions. 

The bell above the door made a strange, flat sound as I pressed inside. If the building was weird from the outside, that was nothing to its interior. The shelves, tall and numerous, had been arranged like maze walls. The overhead lights were blinding, stark white, and every other tile on the floor was mismatched. Some were squares of carpet. The only thing really visible from the entrance was the register, a fortress made of dark wood and surrounded by lottery advertisements. Behind the counter, a girl was reading something intently. As I got closer, I saw it was the back of a box of oatmeal.

“Hi,” I said, adjusting the duffel bag that had been crushing my left shoulder for an hour. 

The girl nodded, but didn’t look up. She had thin black hair, pin straight and chin length. Her skin was a warm, golden brown. Her shirt said something in miniscule writing, but my glasses were a little foggy, so I would have had to practically press my face to her chest to read it, which didn’t seem like a great first impression.

“Can you help me? I’m looking for the Fahrenheit Motel. I think it’s supposed to be around here.” 

Finally, she glanced at me. 

“It’s just around the corner. See the glasses store across the street? Go straight past that and make the second left, you’ll run right into it.” 

She pointed out the window, and I realized they were one way. 

“Who built this place?” I asked. 

She shrugged. 

“We’ve had a lot of owners. Everyone adds something new.”

There was something off about her. Like we were talking, but mentally she was still 

reading the box of oatmeal. 

“I’m Julien,” I said, sticking out a hand. She raised her eyebrows before taking it. 

“Lin,” she said, with another small nod. 

Her face was round, but her features were knife sharp. I wondered what she looked like angry. Maybe that was a really weird thing to think. 

Not wanting to ask for a second set of directions, I wandered around the store for thirty minutes before returning to the counter with a gallon of chocolate milk and a bag of seaweed flavored potato chips. 

“I can’t believe you have these. I didn’t think you could find them outside of California.”

Instead of replying, Lin held up the chocolate milk. 

“There’s no fridge in your room at the Fahrenheit. You know that right?”

“I was told on the phone… ” I started.

“There’s a fridge, but it’s in the lobby, communal. Kimmy’ll drink this.” She gave the milk a little shake before scanning it. “Just warning you.”

“Thanks,” I said, as she stuffed my things in a smiling shopping bag. 

I paused on my way out.

“Goodnight,” I said, “Or, good morning I guess.” 

Lin stared at me, then glanced at the box of oatmeal and back. 

“Morning,” she said, with a sigh.

***

I followed Lin’s directions, and wound up at last in front of a long, low building sporting a vacancies sign. Even in low light I could see about a hundred sad looking plastic flamingos had been stuck all over the lawn, the bushes, even the gravel path that led to the front door. I had to pick my way around them on approach. 

There was no one at the front desk. The reception area was lit only by the green blue light coming from an enormous fishtank that didn’t seem to have any fish in it. As I approached the counter, I noticed someone had left the key to my room out for me, next to a scrap of paper bearing the wifi password. I picked up the key, old and brass, then watched the fishtank for a second, before turning around and experiencing heart failure. 

A very old woman with wiry black hair was standing there in her nightgown, arms crossed and frowning at me. She didn’t apologize for nearly sending me to my grave. 

“I’m up. I can check you in properly,” she said, shuffling past me. “I’m Kimmy, but you can call me Miss Kimmy. You got ID?” 

I dug it out of my wallet while she opened a dusty guest book. 

“The reservation is for Julien True,” I said. 

Miss Kimmy glanced at the ID I had just handed her. 

“That’s not what this says.”

“I know. It’s a stage name,” I admitted, “everything else is correct.”

She raised an eyebrow to herself, but didn’t ask any more questions. 

“Now listen,” she said finally, shutting the guest book with a snap. “I’ll be honest, there’s not much to do around here. There’s a bus runs to the state forest during the day, and the beach isn’t going anywhere. If you’re hungry that’s too bad for the most part, unless you feel like walking down to Morton’s.”

“Is that the weird looking building? One way windows?”

“That’s the one. Midnight Morton’s, never closes. This late at night you’ve got Lin at the counter, nice girl.” 

I don’t know what I would have called Lin, but it probably wasn’t ‘nice girl’.

“Thanks,” I said, glancing around for the hallway that led to my room.

I bid Miss Kimmy goodnight and lugged my things to Room 7, at the very end of the dark hall. Inside was simple, but stunningly clean, which I had in no way expected. The bed had a sunken spot in the middle, and there were a lot of paintings of tropical fish on the walls. Home sweet home. I changed into pajamas, and took a huge swig of chocolate milk before glancing at my duffel, still full of equipment. 

It could wait. I was exhausted, sweaty, and more alone than I had ever been in my entire life. 

3. Welcome to my grocery store how may I assist you.

L I N

“I want to drop out of high school,” said Roach. 

We were sprawled out on separate tartan sofas, both angled towards the ancient television. It was after midnight, and the only light in the room was coming from the nature channel.

“No you don’t,” I said. “You’re not even in high school.”

Roach was a weird little girl. Eleven years old, she wore oversized thrift store t-shirts, and big chunky glasses, and cut her own hair. I loved her the most in this world.

“Yeah, but when I get there, I want to drop out. You did.”

I sighed. 

“You’re smarter than me. You have to finish school and work in a laboratory anywhere but here. Those are the rules.” 

Roach crossed and uncrossed her skinny legs without arguing. I knew she just wanted to hear me say she was smart. 

We continued to watch the nature channel in silence. A documentary on the arctic ocean was playing, which I found devastatingly boring, but Roach was clearly glued to. I could hear dad snoring upstairs, a pleasant sort of nightly white noise, and tuned out completely until Roach clapped an inch from my face. 

“Jeez,” I started, pushing her hands away.

“You were way out there. It’s freaky.”

I had been practicing my zone out since I was Roach’s age. On my best day, I could have an entire conversation without hearing one word the other person said. Call it a life skill.

“You’re doing it again!” said Roach. “Don’t you have work soon?” 

That snapped me out of it. I looked at my watch. 

“Oh, yeah. Thank you.” 

I rolled off the couch as Roach sat back down with a huff. The arctic documentary was ending, and she picked up the changer to scroll through a long list of similar recordings. Roach loved animals, all of them, even fish that ate your insides, and grubs, and parasitic worms. Especially parasitic worms. 

“Don’t stay up too late okay?” I said, tugging gently on her massive ponytail. Roach got dad’s curly, reddish brown hair. I got mom’s.

“Mmhm.”

I glanced in the hall mirror to see if there was any food on my shirt. Then I stepped into the mosquito ridden, muggy Florida night, and headed to my shift.

***

You might be thinking: where does a seventeen year old high school dropout work after midnight? And the thrilling answer is: the grocery store, sort of.

You might be thinking: what? 

But that’s Morton’s. 

The sliding doors opened smoothly for me upon arrival, which was always a good omen. I straightened the newsstand and went to look for Barry.

My manager, a small, Dominican man who loved to party, was in the produce section with a woman I assumed was his latest girlfriend. He was chucking the moldiest vegetables into an open trashcan.

“Our fresh produce is a travesty,” I said. “When was the last time someone bought an eggplant here?”

“I’m thinking of moving the veg,” said Barry, “they don’t like the energy in this corner.”

Barry was constantly moving things around the small labyrinth that was Morton’s. At least once a month he would take an hour long stroll from shelf to shelf, while I wrote down what was going where. I made a new map of the store for every big move.

“What are you guys up to tonight?” I asked, as Barry followed me to the register, bag of moldy vegetables in hand.

“Dancing,” said his date, with an endearing round of jazz hands, as Barry broke into a stationary samba while he gave me a list of stuff to work on. He treated me to his own enthusiastic jazz hands, and a few notes of a Juan Luis Guerra song as he samba’d in the direction of the door. As it swung shut behind them, I let the intense silence of Morton's wash over me. The fluorescent lights hummed gently. The food sat well behaved in slightly crooked rows. I turned my brain down to its lowest setting, and consulted my list.

...

[fgffbfghtr]

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[deeeelightfuldee]

surveys 065.

Do you remember much from high school? I remember enough yes

Where would you go for the ultimate honeymoon? ooooooo, europe

Can you access the roof of the building you live in? I mean, with a ladder I suppose

Do you know anyone who has a strong accent that is hard to understand? Yeah, but thats OK

If you had to get a tattoo tomorrow, what would you get? probably something that nods towards one of my favorite books

What was the last podcast you listened to? Do you listen to it regularly? I don’t listen to any podcasts.

Are you more of an optimist or a pessimist, and why do you think this is? I’m an optimist thru and thru

When was the last time you moved house? i moved to florida for a year like 2.5 years ago

Have you ever held a gun? Did you fire it? Yeah. Ive been to the shooting range a couple times too.

Do you like simple questions or deep questions that make you think? usually more so deep

How long have you been using Bzoink? I havent used them at all so I am curious about those for surveys

When was the last time you threw up? Why were you sick? I had gluten

Are you on a first-name basis with your boss? (or last boss if unemployed) yes

What brand is your laptop or computer? Asus chromebook

Would you ever wear a bright orange shirt? Sure why not

What was the last thing you wrote in a word document? I think stuff to kile in a doc.

Who do you miss and what do you miss about them? I miss kile. I miss hearing his voice, i miss feeling close to him and the intimacy we shared like even just mentally close. I miss feeling like I had someone just constantly sharing my day with me. I miss promoting him, celebrating him, supporting him. I miss hearing about his life and sharing mine with him.

What were the best and worst costumes you've ever worn? ive really not had a lot of costumes.

Do you know anybody who is gay and married? Yes.

What did you last take painkillers for? headaches or swelling for my foot.

Have you ever shared a home with a friend? yes.

What's the craziest or weirdest place you've ever slept? hmm im not entirely sure

What did you have for lunch today and who made it? chili no beans. 

How many hours of sleep did you get last night? a few.

Are you allergic to anything? How did you find out? gluten and dairy. I noticed after severe stomach pain for as long as I had 

What's your favourite Thai dish? its different now because of being GF 

Do you have any alarms set? What time and what for? none right now. I’ll need to eventually. but none ast the moment.

What are you going to do when this survey is over? perhaps another one if I have the time, but I might need to go to the store.

Have you ever been on a date with someone you met online? How was it? yup. Depends on which one. I’ve had some that are amazing and some that were terrrrrible. 

What colour is the rug in your living area? umm, its tan

Do you call it a couch, sofa, lounge or something else entirely? couch or sofa. 

Who is your favourite character on Friends? tom selleck. man the things I would do to him. 

When was the last time you used a pair of headphones and what for? when I was on the plane. I was listening to my kile playlist. that was the night I said goodbye to him. 

Describe the temperature of the area you're in right now. 88 with a real feel of 98.

Who was the last very physically attractive person you saw? in person? a gentleman at a gas station

Have you ever had teppanyaki? Not that I know of. 

How long does it take you to get ready before you go somewhere? if I have showered, it may take like 25 mins or so. If I havent showered then that means my hair may be a disaster and that could be like 45 mins

Do you find it difficult to get rid of material possessions? if there is any emotional attachment to the item.

What sort of games do you like to play? ANY OF THEM.

What was the last candy you ate? girhadelli

Have you ever been hit in the face? What's the story? yeah. I mean as a kid my siblings. older, my dad. 

Do you know anyone who is deaf? I do. many people.

Name one thing on your bucket list. I want to do and see so many things. *congratulations on the house. I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. I’m sure you are relieved and are happy to have some money coming in. thats great news.

[livtries]

love at first...flight? c.h pt 1

love at first... flight? part one pairing: calum hood and female reader summary: you were on a plane, on your way to a friend's wedding. you were sat next to a very attractive boy. little did you know, that wouldn’t be the last that you saw of him... word count: warnings/tw: swearing throughout. a/n: i’m going to try to make this into the first person! it’ll be the first story ive done that with, so please bare with me. also, im sorry for being gone for so long! but i’ll try my best to stick around for a while, i have nothing but time now!! hope everyone is staying safe & healthy. love you all! <3 -- “shit! i’m gonna miss my flight...” i spoke to myself, as i tried my hardest to zip my luggage. i always pack way too much stuff whenever i go anywhere. i go to my parents to visit for the weekend, and i bring half of my wardrobe along with me, so as you can imagine, i’m gone for a week, and i bring nearly all of my clothes with me. i succeeded in zipping my suitcase after a few tries, and some sweating. i made sure i didn’t forget anything and was out the door. i walked out my front door, locking it, and struggling to put my luggage into the trunk of my car. 

i managed to get it in and was off to the airport. i got there with about 20 minutes to check-in, and get onto the plane. one of my childhood friends has invited me to her wedding, and i, of course, couldn’t turn that down! she’d been a good friend of mine for so long, and i couldn’t wait to see her again! i got through security just fine, and i wanted to go get coffee before i got onto the plane. i had to pass by the starbucks to get to the terminal anyway, so it wouldn’t have been out of the way anyways. i saw the line and decided i better not. there were nearly 50 people in line waiting for coffee, and such. and i wasn’t about to be late and miss my flight.

i got to my flight in time, and meandered to my seat, behind some older women, probably going on vacation, and some men in suits, probably on their way to an important business meeting, or something along that line. i checked my ticket one more time, trying to find my seat, and keep moving, careful to not walk too slow, and hold up the people behind me.

i saw my seat, there was no one there as of then. i made my way over there. i managed to get my luggage into the overhead bin and took out a notebook, and pens from my carry-on. i made myself comfortable by the window, wiping down the tray, because... you never know. and i put on a movie to watch. as i was just getting comfortable, a guy, who looked very flustered and rushed looked at his ticket, and then looked at me.

“33K?” he looked at me, noticeably out of breath, probably from running to get onto the plane. i nodded my head and absentmindedly smiled.

“looks like i’m sitting next to you.” he smiles. “33J.” he showed me his ticket. i finally got a good chance to look at him. as soon as i looked up at him, he caught my eye, and then it was just weird... he sat down after 10 minutes of trying to put his luggage in the overhead compartment.

“do you need help?” i asked him. he kept swearing and shaking his head. “no, thanks. i’ve got it.” he tried to laugh it off, but he was clearly frustrated. he finally was able to get his back into the overhead bin, and he sat down in his seat. he had the same idea i did. he brought out his blanket and some writing material.

“what’re you reading?” he pointed at the book that was turned over in my lap.

“john green.” i turned the book over so that he could read the title.

“i’ve never read anything of his, but i hear that he’s a really good writer.” he smiles and looks down at the notebook in his lap.

“what’re you writing?” i asked, catching a glimpse of all of the notes he had written down.

“just some songs and stuff. and some doodles.” he handed the notebook to me, “flip through if you want.”

i flipped through a few pages and admired the incredibly messy writing and cute little drawings that were on nearly every corner of every page. i gently closed the book and handed it back to him. 

“so, what brings you on this plane ride, today?” he asked me, as one of the flight attendants came to ask us if we wanted anything to eat or drink.

“i’m actually on my way to a friend's wedding!” i put my book down and asked him the same question.

“i’m on the way to a friend's wedding too! my friend matt is getting married,” he spoke. i know i should’ve probably asked my friend what her fiance’s name was but i didn’t...

“one of my friends is getting married too! her name’s emily!” i spoke. “what a coincidence would it be if we were going to the same wedding??” he chuckled a little and smiled at me.

“that’d be weird.” i laughed and he reached out to turn on a movie.

“any recommendations?” he asked me.

i clicked on ratatouille. “i know it’s sort of a kids movie, but it’s good, ok!” i laughed and he laughed too.

we sat next to each other in silence for a bit, until it started to get late. it was gonna be a pretty long plane ride, since we were going from california to hawaii. it was about a six and a half hour plane ride from here to there. there was about an hour layover too, so it was about an eight-hour adventure from beginning to end. 

“i just realized that you have no idea who i am...” he looked over at me, through his unruly hair that was peeking through the hood he had on.

“names calum.” he smiled cheesily and held out his hand.

“im y/n.” i smiled back to him and shook his hand.

“so, where are you from?” he asked me.

“i’m from [state/town name].” i responded.

“where are you from?” i asked him.

“australia! sydney actually.” - once i finished my first movie, i looked over to see how calum was doing. he was drifting in and out of sleep. before i could say anything to him, he looked over to me.

“can i use you as a pillow?” he quietly asked me.

i blushed and smiled a bit. “of course. make yourself comfy.” he rested his head on my shoulder for the majority of the plane ride, until one of the flight attendants announced that there was a one hour layover in florida, because of a rainstorm.

“what’d she say?” calum looked at me and asked.

“there’s at least an hour layover in florida because of rain...” i repeated, and opened my book once again. before i continued reading, i glanced over to calum, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“you still tired?” i asked him.

he nodded his head and yawned again.

“lay back down, you have plenty of time to sleep.” i joked, and he laid his head back on my houlder. - once we finally landed, i had to wake calum up.

“calum, you gotta wake up. we landed.” i nudged my shoulder a little. he lifted his head up, slowly, taking in his surroundings

“we landed already?” he asked me. i nodded.

“you slept nearly the whole time.” i smile

he got up to get his stuff out of the overhead and got my stuff down for me. everyone slowly filtered out of the plane, and went to get their luggage, and greet their families.

i had left calum to go get my luggage, and he walked up beside me.

“hey, i know that he kind of just met... but i wanna see you again. maybe take you out for coffee, or dinner?” he asked, as i turned towards him.

“yeah... i’d love to.” i blushed. “what’s your number? just so we can keep in touch.” i asked, pulling out my phone.

we exchanged numbers, and we were both on our way. i got my luggage and was off to my hotel for the next week.

a/n: part two will be up some time later today!! i really hope you all liked this, and thanks to whoever read this far. you’re awesome!

[itzcharlesblog]

THE PERFECT STORM (Movie Review)

I. Trivia about the perfect storm The Perfect Storm was generated by a cold front that moved along the United States' east coast. The front spawned an extra tropical low to the east of Nova Scotia on October 28. The 'perfect storm' created wave heights of up to 100 feet and winds of up to 70 mph at its highest, according to Boston. "The winds and waves in Sandy were much stronger." The Andrea Gail was capsized by waves as high as 39 feet. In a terrifying trilogy of events, a high-pressure system, a low-pressure system, and the remnants of Hurricane Grace collided. The ensuing waves and strong winds slammed into several areas of the Eastern United States, sinking the Andrea Gail and killing all six of her passengers. II. CAST OF CHARACTERS & DIRECTOR G.Michael Ironside as “Bob Brown” the Andrea Gail is owned by Bob Brown. Despite his success as a self-made businessman, Gloucester locals have called Bob "Suicide Bob" because of his proclivity for taking chances while fishing. George Clooney as “Billy Tyne” as captain of the Andrea Gail from Charlie Reed. Billy was born and raised in Gloucester. Billy, a divorced father of two, is one of the exceptional fishermen who genuinely enjoys his work. Mark Wahlberg as “Bobby Shatford” is a crew member on the Andrea Gail. Bobby was raised in Gloucester, Massachusetts, by his mother, Ethel. He was engaged to Chris Cotter at the time of the boat's last voyage. He is divorced from his ex-wife, with whom he has two daughters. He wanted to take a job on the Andrea Gail to help pay off his expenses after being brought to court for non-payment of child care. John C. Reilly as “Dale "Murph" Murphy”. Murph is one of the Andrea Gail's crew members. He is from Bradenton Beach, Florida, and is 30 years old. Debra is his ex-wife, and he adores his three-year-old son Dale. One of the last things he does before embarking on the Andrea Gail's last adventure is to buy his son toys. Allen Payne as “Alfred Pierre”. Alfred Pierre is a crew member on the Andrea Gail. The ship’s only black crew member, he was originally from Jamaica and lived in New York City.

John Hawkes as “Michael "Bugsy" Moran Bugsy”. Moran is a crew member on the Andrea Gail. He has long hair and a crazy reputation in Gloucester. He disappears along with the rest of the crew during the storm.

F.William Fichtner as “David Sullivan”. Andrea Gail's crew member when another fisherman accidentally pulled out, he signed up for the trip at the last minute.

Diane Lane as “Christina Cotter “. Bobby Shatford's fiancée is Chris Cotter. When The Perfect Storm takes place, she is in her early forties. She has three children from a former marriage and is divorced. Bobby's fishing trips give Chris a lot of distress, and she also drinks to deal with his long absences. Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio as “Linda Greenlaw”. Linda is the captain of the Hannah Boden, the Andrea Gail’s sister boat, which is also owned by Bob Brown. Christopher McDonal as “Todd Gross” a Boston meteorologist for WNEV-TV.

Wolfgang Petersen the director of the movie “The Perfect Storm”.

Sebastian Junger  the Perfect Storm is written by Sebastian Junger. Since seeing the storm's devastation firsthand and reading a media article about the Andrea Gail's alleged destruction. III. Summary of The Perfect Storm The sword fishing cruise, The Andrea Gail, returns to port in Gloucester, Massachusetts, in September 1991 with a disappointing catch. Billy Tyne the Captain, desperate for funds, persuades the crew to accompany him on another late-season fishing adventure. They leave their normal fishing grounds behind them, leaving a brewing thunderstorm in their wake. After a string of failures, they travel to the Flemish Cap, where their fortunes turn around. The ice machine fails during their fishing trip, and the only way to save their catch is to return to shore quickly. The crew debates whether to sail into the approaching storm or ride it out, and ultimately decides to gamble it. However, there is a confluence of two strong weather fronts and a storm between the Andrea Gail and Gloucester, which the crew of the Andrea Gail overlooks. The Andrea Gail drops her antenna after repeated signals from other ships, causing a fellow sailor to call in a Mayday. The Andrea Gail had a number of issues, big waves smashing on the ground, a damaged stabilizer crashing into the ship's side, and two men being tossed overboard. To escape more storm disruption, the crew decides to turn around. After that, the ship runs into a massive rogue wave. The stricken fishing vessel capsizes and sinks after trying and struggling to sail over the tide. Just Bobby Shatford is able to escape the ferry, but he has little hope of survival. He was last seen alone in the ocean. A farewell service is held on the sand, as friends and relatives fret and wait for a ship that never appears.

IV. Review The Perfect Storm excels at a few things. It tells an engrossing story. A true story of people trying to succeed as their chances of success go from slim to zero. Just when fate conspires to tempt the captain and crew to try their luck with minor wins, we are encouraged to believe that maybe they will make it and that this ongoing struggle will result in some sort of happy ending. We, like the Andrea Gail's crew. These individuals feel genuine, each with their own goals, desires, challenges, and hardships. Joy, pride, optimism, anger, and anxiety were all instilled in the townies, crew, and captain, making you feel as though you knew them. The creators have provided enough inspiration for the characters' actions. Why would someone in their right mind gamble their life to return to the sea while so many people caution them about it? There are economic strains, the need to end a losing streak, the urge to retain a crew and prove yourself worthy, but there is also the love of the sea articulated so well by Billy Tyne as he embarks on his final voyage. V. Reaction The movie “The Perfect storm” the first time I feel just happy and chill that I see the people out there is being excited to  see their love once comeback and at the middle of the story I began to fill strange and nervous that what will happen to the fisher man’s. Till the hurricane came I became nervous, amazed, that my reaction is mixt up. There is came up in my mind that what if I encounter just like that hurricane. Until the boat sank and the six fisher man’s lost and died I think my tears will going to too fell but I just suppressed it. Hands down to the cast and to the director this is one of the best movie for who wants  to cross the sea and the one who wants to see what struggle for the fisher man’s  is. VI. Lessons Learned The story of both of us is told in The Perfect Storm. We all have our expectations and aspirations for the future, as well as our rivalries, pride, loves, and fears. We embarked on our respective journeys, each with its own series of challenges and triumphs. Human existence is too brief to not make the best of each day. Taking the time per day to think on how lucky you are being living. Don't ever be afraid to pursue your passion; it could just lead a good future. Life is a series of twists and downfalls, but never forget that you don't know what future will hold. VII. REFERENCE Junger, S. (1997). The perfect storm: A true story of men against the sea. New York: Norton.

Junger, S. (1997). The perfect storm. United States: W. W. Norton & Company.