#may have taken it a little too personally

[myriad-rainbows]

From observation:

Collect a small group of ADHD and/or autistic and/or polyamorous people (other types of people may also work but I haven't tried that) (you also don't have to date them. but having SOME kind of mutual long term commitment probably helps.)

Spend ~5-10 years communicating with them in a daily or near-daily intentional way about things that matter (such as values, goals, feelings, needs, wants)

Everyone also goes to a regular therapy during this time and works on learning how to give and receive constructive criticism effectively (note: you do NOT have to get perfect at this at any point, but it is essential to commit to the intention and keep coming back to attempting it)

This helps you learn how to act like a person who it is safe to be mad at AND helps the other people learn to trust that you are safe to be mad at (& express it), provided they are doing their own work

Recognize & accept that sometimes people will still have Feelings about being asked if they're upset with you about something, and then you might even have Feelings about their Feelings, but nobody's feelings inherently dictate that anyone has to act in a specific way

Congratulations*, you've made an "are you mad at me" that (with these specific people, provided they haven't hit skills breakdown) is taken neutrally and informationally!

Sample script: "Hey, I'm wondering if you're upset with me, because [X]. If that's true even a little bit, would you tell me? Because I care about hearing your feelings, and I'd also like to know if there's something I can do that would help."

The "because [X]" is optional, but if your reason for wondering is something about how they're behaving, it gives them an opening to explain the reason for that behavior if it isn't that they're mad at you. X could be a mannerism, a way they're treating you, OR something like "I would be/understand being mad at someone who did [thing you're worried they're mad about]" or "other people have been mad at me about [action] before", or probably a secret nth thing I haven't thought of.

If you are talking with someone who you know or suspect has trouble believing that you actually want to know when they're mad at you, you could try (either in the moment or in some other metacommunication conversation) adding further reassurance/arguments for why they can and should tell you; for example:

"It helps me trust that when you tell me you're not mad at me, you're telling the truth, rather than trying to spare my feelings [optional: because even though I think you're trustworthy, my nervous system can't always get with the program]"

"It makes me feel honored that you feel like I'm a safe person to share difficult feedback with"

"Even if I feel hurt over you being upset with me, the fact that you shared that with me feels like a way you're showing that our relationship is important to you and that you know it's important to me too, which feels good"

Huge shoutout to my wife for helping me learn All That, practicing it very well themself, and being one of my small group of people.

*Results not guaranteed. Terms and conditions apply.

They should make a "are you mad at me" that is taken neutrally and informationally every time and doesn't make everything worse when you ask it

[dontbesoweirdkira]

A/N: Had this in my drafts and i just needed to know i'm not alone.... Just thinking about possessive Dick Grayson being a sloppy and disgusting kisser. PLEASE HEAR ME ON THIS. errr this is a drabble that is kind of unfinished but you get the vibesss. There really no plot...just wanted an excuse to draft up this though so.....

Warnings: suggestive not full blown nsfw....

request: always open

masterlist

He'd have you pinned under his body the moment you entered the apartment. Your wrists were pinned together by just one of his hands and your legs were locked in between his muscular thighs. It hadn't taken much to completely subdue you like this, though you fought as hard as you could, you were helpless up against someone as skillful as he. He's ever so cocky about it at first too as his hot tongue trailed down the side of your neck until your body slightly twitched. ugh! He found a new sweet spot and it peaked his interests. You probably thought your loving partner wouldn't notice, huh? Oh, he notices everything, no matter how minor it may have been ...just like when he noticed how that person was eyeing you earlier.

"Be good and stay still for me. You don't wanna make me unhappy, right?"

You could feel his lips purse up into that cocky smile of his as he let out a chuckle. It was sly, maybe even a little twisted in the way he let it out. His mind was revisiting how good it felt to put them back in their place. Oh just how terrified they looked realizing how much they fucked up by having the audacity to even think they had a chance with you. And for Dick be on top of you like this right now while they were probably limping home? Man, that creep would flip his shit if he could see this. It gave Dick too much of an ego to be the only one in the world who'd ever have the pleasure to do whatever they wanted with you.

While he soaked in moments like this, you hated it. His arrogance left a sour taste in your mouth. Dick didn't deserve to be rewarded for this poor behavior and think this was okay. You tried once more to fight and tell him how you seriously needed to talk about boundaries but it was useless.

That didn't surprise you tho. Dick had selective listening and was too self righteous to ever admit to his wrong doings. He was like a puppy who desperately wanted to play but couldn't grasp the concept that he just destroyed the living room and you're pissed off at him. . You could punish, scream and threaten him but Dick will never fail to get what he wanted in the end.

His tongue met with the crook of your neck and slowly made circles in place.

"i'll let you curse at me all night but please just be still and let me just-"

He let out a breathy plead before he was sucked back into his selfish desires. It was pathetic how quickly he could melt into you. He hadn't even done anything yet but the taste of you was enough to send his body into overdrive. Suddenly he was the one struggling to stay still. It was far too hot in this damn apartment and his clothes were too restrictive. It was evident he didn't exactly know what to do with himself even though he's done this a million times. He couldn't stop himself from becoming overly excited each and every time he had you like this. So eager to explore your body like it was the first time all over again. His one free hand slithering under your dress and grabbing onto anything that was soft and plump.

You could feel your neck being pulled at as his lips sucked on your sweat spot. You tried to remain upset and stiff as he left his love bite but it was hard when you had someone as disgusting as Dick all over you like this.

Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head when his lips crashed into yours, shoving his perverted tongue as far as he could inside your mouth without any warning. The sounds of Dick's lewd moaning and smacking of each others lips filled the apartment as he sloppily made out with you.

He was so shameless in the way he handled you. He constantly craved more. More attention...more affirmations....more you.

Dick doesn't stop until he's begging you with his big, blue eyes, hoping you'd forget all about what he did to upset you. come onnn and be a good owner....he really...reallly wants to play right now.

[yandere-toons]

I know this is a little early but can you do a Book of Life headcanon for Dia De Los Muertos? It can be La Muerte and Zebulba or Maria, Manolo, and Joaquin. (I love your writing so much!)

Yandere La Muerte & Xibalba (Platonic & Romantic Headcanons)

Warnings: Death, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. – ¡Feliz Día de los Muertos!

While the candle of her chosen mortal is aflame with life, La Muerte dons it proudly in a prime spot among her dress or hat, close enough to where she can always feel its heat and wince at the exact moment it goes cold. If so exists even a whiff of foul play, it is her husband Xibalba who punishes the living with a sudden uptick in fatal snakebites.

Hot boils the resentment of Xibalba, who never so wished to eradicate the Law-Maker as he does watching his own helpless reflection in the window of a home where his favourite mortal lay despairing. Decades of deceit and contrivances just to share a few words, forced by ancient law to conceal his true name and nature, have worn his patience to a thread. At the same time, Xibalba is inclined to thank this purveyor of death in person, to offer a taste of what the latest victim endured and send the slain soul to rot, as he did, in the Land of the Forgotten.

La Muerte, for all her power in death, can in life offer only words of encouragement from the mouth of a kind stranger. She often observes their day from the secrecy of terraces and distant roofs, watching to ensure their happiness and step in with bits of wisdom should they seem lost. She refrains from direct intervention until the day they wander inside her castle, at which point she cannot help wondering how much longer it may have taken to meet them this way had they lived the life they wanted. Such rumination is channelled into action as La Muerte focuses on bringing them more comfort with their new arrangement than ever they found with the living, seeing it as a way to make up for all the strife she was forbidden from preventing.

La Muerte is happy to join their visitation for Día de los Muertos, believing it will help them grow more accustomed to her and accept her as someone deserving of a higher role in their existence. Xibalba gripes the whole time while wondering where he went wrong to make them so opposed to his presence that they would choose the company of mortals over a night spent drinking and feasting with him and his wife, even questioning whether La Muerte is behind all of this to punish him for some ancient crime.

Xibalba muses that, for a bond so strong as this, he could use his deathly touch to kill their relatives all at once, feigning the promise of a reunion — while keeping to himself that such a deed would only eliminate the last of their tethers to the living and thus send them straight to his realm in perpetuity. Xibalba has one finger outstretched to do just that when La Muerte slaps it down and swears she will never forget this should he go through with it.

Xibalba wilts at her wrath but soon grows restless with spite and decides a more clandestine approach will net him his petty vengeance. If simply snatching away a few lives is too vulgar, then perhaps he can make a wager of it. La Muerte, her inner child intrigued, listens as he spins the age-old tale of a fair trade: if their spouse in life leaves town; if the kids down the street go on to marry one another — Xibalba will claim hosting rights, and if not, he will stop cursing their mortal attachments.

Neither are too moved by sympathy plays, having heard every plea imaginable from souls desperate to live and reunite with those up above. A bet, however, draws from both gods the memory of a younger time, a splash of excitement in an otherwise predictable system.

La Muerte's conditions are more palliative: not protesting when she requests a day spent with her, not trying to breach the living-dead barrier before its time. When others or perhaps even the soul themselves begin to question these once-thought agape embraces and invitations to dine, the goddess admits to a more personal interest. She has walked beside them for much of their life and feels they were cheated by it, seeing the bad side of the world too much and the good side too little, and so has taken it upon herself to show them what could have been.

Xibalba's conditions revolve around staying with him for longer periods, say a millennium instead of a century, or granting him explicit permission to kill some mortal companion of theirs who stokes his envy. Such a blessing is by no means necessary to carrying out the hit; rather, it serves as a colossal show of deference as well as a convenient method of claiming the person's blood is now on their hands.

La Muerte can generally be relied upon to act as a restraining influence on Xibalba, keeping him from wiping out whole droves of mortals in a fit of cruelty; however, even she will leave them to their fate if the terms are clear and both parties have agreed, for a wager with a god is all-binding. By refusing to fulfil one's end of it, the winning side is bound no longer to the stipulations set forth in the agreement and may exact any price as recompense.

Only one path to victory remains: accuse Xibalba of rigging the bet, which La Muerte will be inclined to believe given his history, assuming a trip to lodge this complaint with her is even feasible. Xibalba may suspect this intent to oust him and cancel the next dinner date in haste, professing to La Muerte that he and his new roommate are getting along splendidly.

La Muerte laments their absence and voices her desire to see them again, to which Xibalba pleads that she has hosted them long enough and to give him a chance. Despite a winding series of lies and broken promises to consider, La Muerte is committed to forgiveness and thus gives her word that she will not try to ferry them back to her land, at least until the next bet is up.

Xibalba's lonely heart is all too eager to drag them down into the Land of the Forgotten, where souls hardly move or speak, having lost all sense of self. Immortals and mortals alike who spend any significant amount of time in this realm incur some degree of degeneration and start to lose touch with what made them human, a process Xibalba endlessly chatters about to fill an otherwise eternal silence.

La Muerte, once content with this tenuous sort of balance, finds the scales tipping when they express a disinterest in reconnecting with the living world. Chaos erupts as La Muerte challenges Xibalba to return their soul, convinced he is poisoning their heart with his own bitterness for humanity. Xibalba deflects at every opportunity, suggesting that he merely speaks a harsh truth and offers an escape from the drudgery of mortal life.

A deep frustration ignites within La Muerte, less now at the dark turn of her husband, which she has begrudgingly come to accept, and more at the threat of losing her chosen soul to exactly the kind of existence she strove so hard to separate from them. Even though the march of time will one day condemn the soul to what comes after, La Muerte sought to enrich their short journey and give them the taste of true happiness they could never afford.

While she has walked this path with many and knows the weight of her title demands she overcome her grief, cursed objects of half-formed immortality and interjections of the soul's name into increasingly unrelated projects and movements are the desperate final scratches of Xibalba. A god who chases off the inevitable, Xibalba scrambles to build this entire false history in those last few years, only to watch it crumble when his actions force La Muerte to banish him for upsetting the natural order.

[pink-amethyst-tarot]

🤍 Why You Should Be Proud Of Yourself 🤍

credit to @crystallilytarot for the idea 💕

P I L E 1 P I L E 2 P I L E 3

Close your eyes, take a deep breath and choose the pile that you think is the one for you ♥

P I L E 1 - You have come so far! Four of Swords, The High Priestess, Two of Pentacles, Eight of Pentacles, Ten of Pentacles, The Fool, The Magician

The first thing I heard before even pulling cards is The Party's Just Begun by the Cheetah Girls and that feels like a sign that you should be having fun, dancing and living your life to the fullest! Your life can be so beautiful if you let it.

You know much more than you think that you do. I feel like you are back and forth between losing faith in yourself and feeling like you are finally breaking through. (I know what that's like, I've been there too much.) You've got to cut yourself some slack. Yeah, it's not perfect now but, you have made so much progress and that is important. You are so much closer to the finish line than you realize. Don't give up now. You've worked too hard and have come too far to give up now.

party cuz you know the future's all yours // dance 'til your feet don't touch the floor // celebrate the day you've waited for // party like you're ready for so much more // do it like you know it's never been done // go a little crazy // have too much fun //today's the day, c'mon everyone // the party's just begun //

Channeled song - The Party's Just Begun by The Cheetah Girls

P I L E 2 - Going With The Flow Two of Pentacles, Nine of Pentacles, Two of Wands (Reversed), Six of Pentacles, Justice, Queen of Pentacles, Eight of Swords

Despite your fear of change, you have overcome, finding your balance in your life and either now or soon, you will be enjoying the fruits of your labor. That could be financial abundance for this pile - it seems pretty likely, considering all the pentacles. You have been a very giving person and now it's time that people start giving to you in whatever way that may fit you.

You should also be proud of yourself for getting yourself to a point where you don't feel sorry for yourself. You've done the work to really see the truth of the situation - where you have been both right and wrong - and you've seen that you aren't as stuck as you once thought.

P I L E 3 - You've opened your heart again! King of Cups, Ten of Swords, Seven of Swords, Seven of Pentacles, Ace of Swords, Eight of Pentacles (Reversed), The Moon, Ten of Cups

You've been through some hard times. I feel like your heart was really bruised and batter but, despite the things you have been through, you have taken your lemons and turned them into make lemonade! I can see some of you turning to writing, journaling, or posting on social media. You have been working on yourselves and you are so happy with the progress you've made. You should be proud of yourself; I know I am! This work you have done on yourself is leading you to a new beginning in your life, a change of pace that you have be dying to have!

Your dreams are coming true and your intuition is spot on! You are about to get everything you wanted and then some so you can relax and know that your life is about to change for the better.

If you are looking for a personal reading, you can look on my shop on Etsy at PinkAmethystTarot, DM me or send me an e-mail at pinkamethysttarot@gmail.com

If you feel called to tip:

C@SH@PP: $oddlycozycottage

P@YP@L: @oddlycozycottage

KO-FI: @oddlycozycottage

Thank you all so much for interacting with me and my readings, it really does mean the world to me!

Page Divider by @cafekitsune

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. THESE READINGS ARE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. no guarantees are implied. These readings are not a substitute or replacement for any professional help or services. My readings are not a substitute for any form of professional legal, medical/psychiatric, relationship, religious/spiritual or financial/ business advice nor consultations. You should always see a professional legal/trained adviser for help in any matter. I am not responsible for any decisions/ actions you take.

[agent-sushi-fbi]

Selina sighed as she watched Bruce begin pacing her entryway. She knew that keeping this a secret would backfire one day, but was honestly hoping that she wouldn’t be in town when it did.

Dread filled her at the new knowledge her baby was in Gotham, a city she had tried so hard to keep him away from to protect him. What if Joker escaped and found him on the streets? What if he tried to go to the park and Nygma set explosives? Tim wasn’t in town and she didn’t trust anyone else in the family to finish the riddles quickly enough.

Thoughts swirled rapidly in her mind, anxiety bubbling in her stomach as she steadily sipped her wine. Acting indifferent right now was best, Bruce would pick up on and point out an different behavior. Thoughts running wild against her control, and yet Selina couldn’t help feeling a tingle of excitement rush down her spine at the possibility of meeting her son.

The little boy she held in her arms for a scant few hours before he was taken away. The little boy with the brightest blue eyes and thickest tuft of black hair on his head that most certainly gave her heartburn. The small dusting of freckles across his nose plagued her thoughts most days, making her wonder if he still has them or they only really show up in summer like hers.

“Selina.”

She tried not to outwardly startle at Bruce’s voice, too lost in her thoughts to notice he had stopped pacing and was now giving her the Batglare. But she knew him well enough after all these years. He may be putting up an intimidating front, but he was hiding his own shaking hands and nervous energy as much as she was.

“Bruce.” She tilted her head like a cat, taking another fortifying sip of wine. “Are we just saying each other’s names darling, or are there actually more words to your sentence?”

Bruce frowned, the mask he still wore pulling right across his features as he crossed his arms in front of him. Selina held back a snort at how it brought the mental image of Damian when he’s pouting.

Lifting her glass once more, she frowned at finding it empty and turned away from Bruce’s gaze to pour more wine. It was the only way to get through this conversation.

“Selina,” he started again, sighing heavily. “Why have you never told me about him?”

She was sure if he wasn’t wearing the cowl, his eyes would be baring all the hurt he was feeling and she would feel worse than she does now. Selina shrugged as casually as she was capable of before answering. “Well Brucie, you and I weren’t a thing back then. It was all ‘I am vengeance’ with you at the time, your crusade just started.” She watched the red wine swirl in her glass, unable to glance away from the beverage and face her consequences directly. “We were just a fling back then, neither of us were ready for kids—despite you adopting Dick—so I thought it was best to give him up.”

“But never telling me about him at least? You didn’t think I was owed the knowledge that I helped create a person?” Bruce’s voice was strained, the sound pulling on Selina’s heart in an uncomfortable way she didn’t like. Chugging a bit of the wine for courage, she finally turned around to face Bruce’s general direction.

Locking at his shoulder, she snarked at him. “Pretty sure I handled the creating thing, since I’m the one that carried him for nine-and-a-half months and all.” She smirked, raising the glass to her lips. “All you did to help was covered in less than ten minutes. A good ten minutes, I promise, but well I did the heavy lifting.”

“Selina.” He chastised.

“Bruce.” She copied.

He grunted and pinched the bridge of his nose, turning away slightly in frustration.

She knew they were getting nowhere, but admitting her biggest regret to the only man she’s ever truly loved in her life was hard. Most days she could barely admit to herself that in the basic sense of the word she was a mother. That she had a child who was half of her out there, living his life without her in it and hopefully happier for it. There were days she ignored the pangs in her heart so much that it would actually manage to slip her mind. That is until she came home to an empty penthouse in the middle of the night, sadness creeping in she had no one to wait for her. Or when Harley comes by on his birthday every year with Ivy to celebrate, whether Selina liked it or not.

Selina was a mother. But she was also alone because of it. She gave away her son. She pushed away Bruce. She didn’t let her herself get close with his kids. She couldn’t let herself be part of their family, despite their open arms, because of the guilt over giving away her son. Bruce’s son. Their son.

Letting out a shaky breath, she carefully set the glass down on the counter and gripped the edge of the marble for dear life.

“Take off the damn cowl and sit on the couch Bruce,” Selina shook her head snatched the wine bottle instead of her glass. Determined, she stormed towards her living room to curl up in her expensively soft couch and get this painful conversation over with. “We’re going to talk about our son.”

"Fifteen years ago you gave a child up for adoption."

"Well hello to you too," Selina purred, looking over at Bruce who was in his Batman attire, "How do you know about that?"

"Because the child is here in Gotham asking me for help."

Selina frowned, "He was adopted out of state-"

"Yes," Bruce cut in, "And his adoptive sister happens to be Comissioner Gordon's niece. She brought him to Gordon who brought them to me."

"What are you asking, Bruce?"

"The child's father wasn't listed on the birth certificate. Fifteen years ago…"

Selina gave a sigh and turned away from Bruce, heading for the kitchen. Bruce didn't hesitate to follow. She poured herself a glass of wine, taking a healthy sip of it before finally turning back to Bruce.

"Yes, he's yours."

"Dammit Selina."

[stupidlittlespirit]

Rating: SFW (later chapters will be NSFW) Type: Long form, multi-chapter, Stanford Pines x Reader Tags: Sharing body heat, mutual pining, dry humping, praise kink, miscommunication, AFAB reader but no pronouns used, teasing, horror, a special appearance from Stan, mentions of the kids, housekeeper!Reader, tw: my horrible jokes. Word count: Chapter 1 - 5,729 My other works: here on tumblr and here on Ao3!

In which a simple expedition with Ford goes increasingly sideways and you learn more than enough about thermodynamics to last you a lifetime.

A/N: This has been quite an undertaking to produce. I created this fic as somewhat of a universe in which base a number of my post-portal!Ford one-shots etc in, and that meant I had to lay a lot of groundwork in it. I wanted to have a setting where I didn't need to keep giving background on what the Reader's role is and how/why they feel a certain way in every fic, and to also offer a kind of timeline that could be explored through future works. Because of that, in this fic there will be vague allusions to some small events happening to set us up for the current day and if people are interested in reading more about those events in full detail then I'd really love to explore them properly with you guys.

Just as an aside - Reader will mention they don't have a father in a throwaway line. It can be taken as just a joke or as literal. Up to you.

Anyway, most of this fic is already completed and I'll be posting a new chapter every couple of days or so. You can wait to read it all in one go or enjoy it in chapters. There will be roughly 5 in total. Enjoy!

Sometimes, in life, things align so perfectly that a person can't stop themselves from considering the possibility of cosmic interference.

Deities. The universe. Some other unseen, all powerful entity of murky origin. All of their existences seem far more plausible when events in one's life fall effortlessly into place and line up to give them the exact thing they've always wanted.

Today is one of those days.

You're busy chopping onions when the planets orient themselves for you.

The broad kitchen knife in your hand knocks rhythmically against the oak board underneath it with every slice you make and the little ribbons of milk-white flesh stack neatly between blade and vegetable, but your attention is, quite irresponsibly, elsewhere.

You really ought to be keeping track of your fingers but you're far too preoccupied with gazing out of the bay window in front of you to really care all that much. The thing is huge; its frame is rimmed with rich mahogany and it has one broad, square pane sitting in the centre, beset by two more, slimmer, rectangular pieces. It drinks in the waning daylight outside and on sunnier evenings, the pretty little stained panels that skirt the tops of each one glow a rich blue, showing off the depictions of constellations inside, like someone has captured part of the night sky and trapped it within the glass for their own private amusement.

Today, the clouds block the sun and the cerulean glass is dull, but you don’t mind too much. You’re not making use of the window to admire the art, lovely as it may be. You’re far more focused on what’s taking place on the lawn, beyond the bounds of the warm interior of the house.

Out on the well-kept grass, two figures are vigorously working out. Well, one is. The other looks like he’d rather keel over and die than spend another second out there, but he’s doing his best all the same and that’s what matters, you suppose.

Steam rises from Ford’s figure as he pauses in his work to help his nephew grip a mid-sized dumbbell correctly. It curls off and around his body like smoke, rising from its sweaty source and wafting into the unseasonably cool air. His cheeks are pink, likely both from exertion and the chill in the weather, and the colour blooms all the way across his face, stretching far enough to even tickle the tips of his ears.

He looks gorgeous.

Dressed in all-black, he’s wearing a short sleeve t-shirt and sweats, paired with dirty blue trainers. Where the skin of his throat and arms should be exposed, however, they’re instead wrapped up tight in what you presume to be some kind of fancy thermal shirt. You’ve never seen him wear anything that shows off his skin, yet somehow the way it clings to the curves of his biceps and forearms is even more revealing than seeing them bare.

Granted, this isn't the first time you've spied on one of his workout sessions like this (in almost exactly the same way), but every time he shows up, it feels like you've been blessed by the Heavens.

Ford, for what it’s worth, hasn’t noticed anything untoward. Not as far as you’re aware, anyway. He’s usually too lost in whatever he’s doing to pay you much mind and if he does catch your presence in the window, you’re always quick to make yourself look busy.

Ford works out four times a week, like clockwork, on the front lawn of the house he shares with his brother. He doesn't always have his nephew with him (Dipper clearly only ever wants to do his best for his great-uncle, however exercise is hardly the kid's forte and you can't say you blame him), which means that oftentimes you get the absolute pleasure of observing a clueless Ford lift weights and stretch his quads for sixty minutes whilst you break from your other chores to prepare them all dinner.

You've been working for the Pines’ for the better part of a year now and getting hired had been a complete accident:

Upon moving to Gravity Falls eighteen months ago and landing the first job you had come across in the local paper (an underpaid, exhausting waitressing gig at the local diner) you’d run into the kids one afternoon on a rare day off.

Mabel had almost smashed your ankle to bits after she and her brother had lost control of their overstuffed trolley and once they had finished their litany of apologies, you’d taken note of the cart’s contents: primarily filled with sugar riddled snacks and items with so little nutritional value that you’d been astounded they’d been legal to sell, neither one of the kids appeared to know how they were going to lug all their so-called food home or what they were going to make for dinner.

Without much else to do, you’d volunteered to lend a hand. They had explained their task: “Grunkle Stan says his back hurts too much to waste time in the store these days and he promised that if we helped, he’d make Grunkle Ford teach us how to drive so we can do it even faster!” Mabel had enthusiastically informed you, eyes bright and metaphorical tail bushy, and despite your confusion over the concept of a ‘Grunkle’, the idea of two apparently-just-turned fourteen year olds at the wheel had been less than thrilling.

Some gentle sweet talking had convinced them to swap out some of their items for things a little more suitable and you’d carried their bags back on a short walk to the house where you’d met the infamous Stan lounging on its porch, his feet up on some empty crates.

At Mabel’s excited introduction of you and her retelling of your recipe ideas, Stan had given you a once over before he’d asked how you felt about replacing the kids as dinner gofer. As it turned out, sending two hyperactive children out to get groceries every week had apparently (shockingly) not been working out too well for the older brothers, and one offer of help had turned into several paid offers.

After only a few short weeks of assisting them, you’d been offered a full time position as housekeeper. The decision to take them up on it had been easy; waitressing barely covered the bills for your decrepit little cabin on the outskirts of town and spending hours every day walking the same five metre route to and from the kitchen six days a week was monotonous enough that you’d been considering moving on anyway.

You’d jumped at the chance.

Technically, your job here is to help with the household tasks that Stan is too lazy to do and that Ford is too busy researching or gallivanting around in the forest to take on, but more often than not, you’re stuck doing whatever little thing Stan thinks up so that he can, as he puts it: ‘enjoy his retirement, sweetheart’. The work extends to any little chore they might need help with, and when the kids head home for summer and Ford and Stan set sail for a few months again, it falls to you to keep the place standing until they return.

Hence why you’re slaving away in their roomy kitchen this evening, gazing out at Ford like you’re some kind of yearning protagonist in a classic romance novel and turning over several thoughts in your mind that you’re sure would get you fired if you revealed them in detail to anyone else. You exhale softly as you watch him show Dipper how to correctly pull off a bicep curl, his arm flexing beneath his shirt.

Behind you, at the dinner table, Stan pauses where he's rustling through his daily newspaper at a leisurely pace and his chair creaks as he shifts in it. “Keep sighing like that and you’ll fog the windows up before he’s finished.”

You start, having completely forgotten his presence, and narrowly you swerve the kitchen knife to avoid chopping off the tip of your index finger. “Jesus, Stan!” you huff. “I almost cut my hand off! They should put a bell on you.”

Stan laughs under his breath. “Oh, they’ve tried, trust me,” he mutters darkly. “Besides, that’s what you get for not paying attention.”

“I am paying attention,” you lie. “I was just…. Thinking.”

“About what?” Stan asks, in a way that suggests he already knows. He probably does.

Stan is the only other person besides yourself who’s aware of your affection for Ford.

The crush had started small, blossoming slowly over time into something more significant, and Stan had worked it out before you’d even caught it yourself.

For all his faults, the guy is as perceptive as they come and admittedly, he’s a lot of fun in his own right. He’s cantankerous and rough around the edges, and yet he’s got a heart of gold that he hides deep underneath his gaudy chains and string vests. At first, he’d been grumpy and standoffish about your presence, despite being the one to hire you in the first place, but as time has gone by and you’ve proven yourself to be competent at both the work and at giving as good you get, he’s dropped his guard and dragged you into his jokes and games.

Although he’s less than thrilled about your private sentiments towards his brother, he's charming in his own special way and he only ever uses it to rag on you when he’s feeling mean. To the best of your knowledge, he hasn’t said a word to anyone else about it. Stan is an ass, but he’s not cruel.

And while you’re not going to divulge your most intimate thoughts to him, you’ll always rise to a little back and forth with him. He seems to enjoy having a verbal sparring partner.

“How old did you say your brother was again?” You ask with feigned innocence, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“What?” Stan grunts, folding the top of his paper down enough to glower at you over it.

“I said, remind me how old your brother is again,” you repeat, turning your attention back to watching Ford lean down to stretch his hamstrings again. It looks like he’s cooling down for the day now which means he’ll be doing static stretches for the next ten minutes, and every time he does so you’re treated to a wonderful view of his ass.

“Same age as me,” Stan says, and at your silence he tacks on: “We’re twins,” like you’re an idiot.

“So….?”

“He’s sixty-two, genius.”

“Huh,” you mutter quietly. “Interesting….”

It's hard to remember when Ford is so agile and active, and for all your interest in him, you've never actually asked his age. Sixty-two is perfectly doable though, in every conceivable sense of the word…..

Stan rustles his paper again. “If you’re thinkin’ about what I think you’re thinkin’ about, and I know you are, don’t even think about it.”

You snort. He has such a way with words.

"I told you last time, stay away from him. He's...." Stan pauses, as though he intends to say something else but thinks better of it. "He's old enough to be your father."

“I don’t have a father,” you say absentmindedly.

It’s Stan’s turn to snort now. “Y’know, that makes a lot of sense, actually.”

You tear your gaze away from Ford’s routine to flip Stan the bird, sticking your tongue out for good measure before you reach for the glass mixing bowl to your right. Now that your evening matinee is ending, you really ought to get a move on with dinner.

“Anyway, I didn’t hire you to gawp at my brother like he’s a piece of meat on the discount shelf,” Stan grouches. “You’re s’posed to be cooking.”

“I'm not gawping, I just happen to be facing the same way that he's doing all his stuff in,” you say defensively, before adding in a muttered: “Besides, he definitely wouldn’t be on the discount shelf.”

“Uh huh,” Stan says, clearly not believing a word.

Rather than defend your actions, you focus on your work: Tonight's dinner is wild mushroom pie. You've only made it once before but it's nice and filling, and you're supposed to be helping everyone eat better. Bad diets run in the family apparently (although where Ford is concerned, he just as often skips meals altogether some days) and so far, they've all been amenable to trying something new. The kids had been reluctant to test out vegetables at first but after a few valiant efforts to make them as palatable as possible they'd come round.

A lot of the work is already done; a pot of stock is simmering away on the hob, the onions from earlier are ready to be tossed into the slowly-warming frying pan and a red, ceramic pie dish is neatly lined with pastry and ready to go whenever you need it. For now, the next task is to prepare the star ingredient: Wild mushrooms.

You’ll be the first to admit, quite happily, that you're not the most outdoorsy of people and you're going to cheat a little bit on the ‘wild’ requirements. You'd picked up a packet of the things last weekend at the supermarket with the intention of doing one thing or another with them, and it does say on the label that they're wild, so you'll let yourself off on that one. Although, knowing Gravity Falls you're really hoping that ‘wild’ isn't a play on words and they turn out to be some kind of feral man-eating fungi. You're not in the mood to be hunted down by a hungry creature today.

Leaving your pots and pans to simmer, you check in the pantry for the little box only to come up empty handed. There's no sign of it anywhere in there, not even when you rummage around right at the back, and you call out to Stan in confusion: “Have you seen the mushrooms I brought back last week?”

“The ones in the brown container?” Stan asks.

“Yeah….”

“Mabel fed ‘em to Waddles last night,” he says, and when you stick your head around the pantry door to stare at him in disbelief, he shrugs without looking up. “What was I supposed to do, tell her no?”

You know what he means; She’s upstairs right now giving the damn pig a manicure makeover with your old (and apparently animal safe) nail polishes because you hadn’t had it in you to deny her them when she’d been upset about her own limited supplies.

It’s extraordinarily hard to refuse Mabel anything and you can appreciate the difficulty, but still.

“Stan, I told you what I was planning to cook tonight!” You groan, kicking the pantry door shut. “How am I supposed to make a mushroom pie with no mushrooms?”

You can’t exactly nip to the store today either. Every single shop in town is shut. The news this morning had warned of a major storm blowing in and informed everyone that they best stay at home lest they keep an inflatable raft in their back pocket, and no one sells those outdated things anymore. Too many accidental indoor deployments, apparently.

According to Ford, this place is susceptible to irrational weather spells and the increasingly aggressive changes in pressure and temperature that have spawned with global warming have only made them more volatile. Last summer there had been a spate of hailstorms that had puked up football-sized pieces of ice and smashed the windscreen of your car to pieces. You’re still sore about that one….

“What am I supposed to do?” You lament, sparing a miserable glance at the half-done recipe on the stove.

From behind you, a deep voice makes you jump: “Is something wrong?”

You almost leap out of your skin, swivelling on the spot to find the source hovering in the doorway of the kitchen.

Both brothers have the ability to be supernaturally quiet when they want to be. While Stan uses his subtlety less often, Ford skulks around like a well practised alley cat a lot of the time and he frequently scares the shit out of you. He must have finished his routine and crept back inside unannounced.

He gives you an apologetic smile, holding one hand up to ease your fear. “Apologies,” he laughs under his breath. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Ford is still dressed in his workout clothes, his thick, wavy hair roguishly dishevelled and slightly damp at the temples, and he looks just as lovely up close as he had done from the window. Perhaps even lovelier.

You swallow thickly, your brain short circuiting at the sight of him. “Uh, yes?” You say, though it's more of a question than an answer.

Ford looks at you expectantly, evidently waiting for you to expand on your problem, and Stan smirks at your lack of grace.

You shake your head minutely, desperately pulling yourself together and hoping he'll assume your speechless state is just because he's made you jump and not because your heart is climbing up your throat.

“I'm making pie,” you say, jerking your thumb over at the pots. “And someone,” You pause to fix Stan with an annoyed look and he rolls his eyes. “Let Mabel feed them all to Waddles, and…. I don’t have a back up plan.”

You feel a little stupid admitting it aloud.

Ford hums thoughtfully, heavy brows creasing together as he leans against the doorframe.

“That's quite the conundrum….” He says, frowning at the flagstone tiles under your feet.

His dark eyes flicker back and forth quickly, and you can tell he's trying to think up a solution.

After a long pause, he snaps his fingers and speaks up again: “You know, I did stumble across a nice little patch of mushrooms not far from here about a month ago. We could take a walk up there and grab some, if you'd like?”

“In the forest?” You ask, brows raised.

“Where else?” Ford grins, and you feel your stomach fill with butterflies. “They're edible, of course, I've tested them myself.”

“Are you telling me you ate random mushrooms you found on the ground, Doctor Pines?” You ask, mildly appalled. “They could have killed you.”

Ford waves a hand dismissively. “Unlikely. My travels have given me something of an iron stomach. It takes more than a Death Cap to put me down these days.”

At the mention of ‘travels’, you perk up a bit.

Ford's history is more than a little murky to you. In the time you’ve been working for the family, you’ve only heard second-hand snippets or passing mentions of his alleged escapades. The kids have let slip to you several times about his adventures and, despite initially assuming they'd been making things up for fun, the stories had eventually begun to seem a little too consistent to simply be make-believe.

One evening, when the kids had been safely tucked up in bed and Ford had been locked away in his study, you’d brought the subject up to Stan over a nightcap on the porch.

Stan had sighed, lit a cigar, and sworn you to secrecy before giving you a rough outline of his brother’s complex background: his outstandingly impressive academic history, their less-than-ideal family rift and some kind of accident that had sent Ford careening into, quite literally, another dimension. Stan hadn’t gone into excessive detail, and you hadn’t pushed despite desperately wanting to, but by his own admission he had felt that if you were to be working around them then you’d be better off at least having some idea of their strange history.

And strange it is.

You yourself have only lived in Gravity Falls for the better part of eighteen months and becoming accustomed to the weirdness of this place has been unusually easy. Residents take the bizarre in such casual stride that you’re more likely to stick out should you make a fuss about it all and after a while, seeing the odd oddity around had quickly become the norm.

At Stan’s vague reveal of his brother’s disappearance and, as everyone else calls them, his travels, the notion had been surprisingly easy to fathom in the context of such an already weird place. Utterly incredible, yet somehow very in line with this town.

Ford has never brought it up to you himself beyond a rare, fleeting mention, but you’re aware that he’s apparently spent significant time in places that other people might only dream of.

You’re sure he knows of your vague awareness but you know better than to poke around in other people’s sore wounds without permission.

Stan had warned that neither he nor his brother were predisposed to telling everyone and anyone about his time away and you can’t really blame them. From what you know (and can imagine), it can’t have been all fun and games.

“I think he’s got, like, PTSD or somethin’,” Stan had said that night, sounding genuinely heartbroken about it. “So don’t go sniffing around him, alright? He’s…. It’s difficult. Everyone’s been through a lot. Maybe we’ll tell you about it properly one day.”

You understand, of course. Whatever has gone on in their lives is clearly significant and you’re still an outsider. A year is no time at all in the grand scheme of things and they’re a tightly-knit, protective family. They’ve no reason to fill you in on their traumatic family history just because you help around the house and you’ve no right to know it, but you’re willing to earn their trust and if the stories come with it, then so be it.

Although slow to start, things have been going well so far and you’re closer than ever with them, so every titbit Ford drops has you on tenterhooks immediately.

“Besides,” Ford says, still on the subject of his thrilling mushroom discoveries, “their lack of toxicity isn’t even the most exciting part!” He adjusts his glasses and you can tell he's gearing up into scientist-mode.

Behind you, Stan sighs, long-suffering.

“I thought they tasted significantly more intense than a regular mushroom, so once I’d confirmed that they were safe for general human consumption, I asked Dipper to try them. He reported them to be, in his words, 'beefy'. Now, Umami is the most commonly associated flavour with regard to mushrooms because of naturally occurring glutamate, but monosodium glutamate, which would deepen the flavour even more and fall in line with mine and Dipper's taste tests, isn't, and I doubt the gnomes are out there spraying crops with MSG. They haven't the tools for that, I've checked. Anyway, I asked Mabel to try them and she said they tasted, quote, ‘like chocolate stirred by puppies and angels’,”

Here, Ford pauses to laugh fondly before he goes on:

“Which is most certainly not a common flavour of mushroom. So my hypothesis is that they change taste based on whoever touches them and I've been meaning to test them again, seeing as we ate the first batch before I could record the findings properly. We'd be killing two birds with one stone, really.”

You have to fight back a smile. The way he lights up when he talks about his stupid fucking mushrooms is beyond cute and you always enjoy watching him get passionate about his projects, especially when he veers off course on silly tangents that he deems relevant.

But Ford has never asked you to accompany him before which makes this event all the more alluring. It's a privilege to be invited along and as much as you want to jump at the chance, you do have one worry:

“What about the storm?”

At the table, Stan pushes his chair back with a screech and stands up. “Exactly. TV said it's gonna be a bad one and I'm not paying for another newspaper ad if you kill our housekeeper just because you wanna show off again.”

Ford sputters. “I'm not showing off, Stanley! This is about science!”

It should be worrying that his main concern is his pride over your potential death-by-negligence, but the way the top of his ears turn red at his brother's accusation overrules your concern. He's disgustingly adorable when he gets embarrassed.

Dipper chooses that exact moment to trot past his great uncle's side and into the kitchen, giving you a bright, exhausted smile. He’s shed his workout gear for a t-shirt and a fresh pair of sweats, and his hair is slightly damp. “Dinner smells good,” he yawns. “I'm starving. I got ten whole reps in today, right, Grunkle Ford?” He looks especially proud about it.

Ford shucks off his ire to give his nephew a warm smile. “That you did, my boy. Up two compared to last week, by my calculations. You're going to be giving me a run for my money before the summer is over.”

Dipper rubs the back of his neck, bashful, but the way he's beaming betrays his excitement. “I wouldn't go that far….”

“Nice work, dude,” you grin, offering a hand out for a high five.

He takes the bait and slaps your palm with his before fetching himself a soda. “So, how long ‘til dinner?”

You wince inwardly. He'll be hungry enough to eat a horse by now and you can't let him subsist on snacks after all the exercise he's done today. It won't help him build the muscle you know he so desperately wants if all he eats are chips, dips and sodas.

“You better stock up on snacks tonight, kid,” Stan chuckles as he reaches for his own bag of chips that he already has open the table top. “Somebody forgot to get ingredients.”

You shoot Stan a venomous look and at Dipper's disappointed little ‘wait, what?’, you turn back to Ford. Storm be damned, the idea of letting down a child makes you feel worse than getting stuck in a downpour ever could, and you know you'll regret it but what other choice do you have? You've done stupider things for less.

“You're sure the patch isn't far from here?” You ask Ford, giving in with a sigh. “And we'll beat the storm?”

Ford beams at your change of heart, and that, combined with the knowledge of a well-fed charge, instantly makes your agreement worth it. His moods vary like the wind sometimes and you’re always eager to see him happy because you know that it means he’ll spend more time talking to you.

“We'll be in and out in under an hour, you have my word,” he assures you. “I know that place like the back of my hand.”

You sigh again. “Fine. I'll go with you to get the mushrooms.”

Dipper slips back out of the kitchen. Usually, you're sure he'd inquire about your task and ask to come along, but it seems he really is thoroughly exhausted from his gym session and he takes an early leave. Poor kid.

Ford nods, pleased. “Give me a moment to shower and change. I'll put together some supplies and then we can leave.”

“Sure,” you smile. “And thank you, Doctor Pines. I appreciate the help.”

Ford grins, giving you a nod, and then he’s following his nephew out of the kitchen, sweeping down the hallway to sort out his things.

You make use of the spare time to tidy up a little and lower the gas on the stock as low as it will go, then take the pan off the heat. If Ford means what he says about getting in and out quickly, you might have a chance at saving the rest of the prep and it would be a shame to have to start everything over again.

You clean up your workstation and make sure everything is safely put aside before taking a seat at the table to wait.

It's then that you realise Stan is watching you closely. He’s smirking, and it always makes you a little nervous when he wears that mischievous look.

“What?” You ask him hesitantly.

“You can just call him Ford, y’know,” Stan says, slumping back in his chair and looking amused. “Pretty sure he wouldn’t mind….”

You roll your eyes, shrugging one shoulder. “Not this again. I told you before, he's never asked me to call him anything else. I did the same for you when I first started, didn't I?”

“Yeah, and I told you to stop because you made me sound like my old man,” Stan gripes through a mouthful of potato chips.

“Exactly, and that's your prerogative,” you say, a little defensively.

You're telling the truth; Ford hasn’t ever asked you to call him something less formal, even if you might like to try the taste of something more intimate on your tongue. “Ford has earned his title, I’m not going to take it away from him.”

Stan snorts. “Oh, I bet he loves that.”

“What?”

“You, stroking his ego and running around after him like a lost puppy,” Stan says, amused.

“First of all, I run around for everyone in this house like a lost puppy, it's literally my job,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Secondly, I’m not stroking his ego. The guy’s smart and he’s got an armful for doctorates. I’m just…. Acknowledging that.”

“Uh huh,” Stan says, sceptical.

“What now?” You huff.

“Nothing.”

“Stan,” you say sternly. “Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh come on,” he says, trying and failing to keep the smirk off of his face. “Could you be any more obvious? You're worse than Dipper was when he came back after all that time, hanging off his every word and getting all googly-eyed over him like the sun shines out of his ass.”

“I don’t-“

“‘Yes Doctor Pines, no Doctor Pines’,” Stan simpers, putting on a poor imitation of your voice. “Take me out to the woods and experiment on me, Doctor Pines!’”

You can feel your face heat up. “You're such an asshole sometimes, you know that? And he isn’t experimenting on me, he asked me to help hi-”

“Show me your magic mushroo -“

Someone clears their throat in the kitchen doorway and both you and Stan whip your heads around to follow the source of the noise. Much to your horror, Ford is waiting for you, clad in jeans and a trademark red turtleneck along with a pair of filthy hiking boots. There's a sizable backpack slung over one of his broad shoulders and he doesn’t look very amused at his brother's antics.

“Are you done?” He asks, levelling Stan with a searing look.

Stan opens his mouth, still grinning, and Ford cuts him off instantly. “Actually forget that, I know you’re not,” he says. “You never are.”

Then he turns his attention to you.

You’re trying very hard not to melt into a humiliated puddle on the floor and under his gaze you feel yourself slip just a little further down into your seat.

His gaze softens somewhat, almost sympathetic, and he gestures vaguely towards the front door down the hall. “If you're not too busy being harassed, I'm ready to set off,” he says.

You really rather wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole right now, but alas, you do need those stupid mushrooms…..

“Sure,” you say faintly, scrambling up from your seat.

Ford heads off towards the foyer and you try to compose yourself with a deep breath before you follow him, glancing back to stick your tongue out at Stan again.

Stanley laughs at your awkwardness and as you hurriedly trot towards the hall, he pretends to fan himself dramatically.

“Three bags full, Doctor Pines,” Stan grins, and then you're shutting the kitchen door on him before you put your job on the line with the insult you're lining up in your head.

Stan thinks he's endlessly funny when it comes to winding you up over Ford and if you show how much he gets under your skin with it, he'll only get worse. You think he might be doing it in the hopes of putting you off his brother, but he’ll need to try a lot harder than that.

Instead of encouraging him, you follow in Ford's footsteps down the short, oak panelled hallway until you reach the front door.

Ford has already donned his reliable tan trench coat, patiently waiting for you to pull your own jacket and boots on. So much of the town is woven between the forest that you practically live in hiking shoes these days and it doesn't take you long to be readily dressed and warm.

Once you’re sorted, Ford swings the heavy oak front door open. A well-timed gust of cool wind blusters in as he does so, ruffling your clothes and hair, and instantly you realise the weather is much more intimidating when face to face with it.

It's incredibly dull out here. In the short time that Ford and Dipper have ended their routine and you've packed your things up, the sky has gotten impossibly darker. The winds must have herded more clouds overhead than you’d realised and the light has faded so much that you'd be forgiven for assuming it to be almost night time. When you check your watch, however, it still reads barely 6PM.

Ford must catch the concern on your face because he picks up on your worry straight away. “It's just overcast,” he reassures you. “I’ve seen plenty of storms like this in the time I’ve lived here. We'll have enough time to make it there and back before it gets too dark, and I brought torches as a precaution.”

That makes you feel a little better, at least. You know he’s an experienced outdoorsman and he’d probably be able to find his way around here blindfolded and hogtied. If you have to go out in risky weather with anyone, Ford is your best bet.

With the stride of a uniquely confident man, Ford steps out into the evening with a sharp breath inward and a contented sigh, taking in the awaiting scent of petrichor. He holds the door open for you with one hand and gestures for you to follow with the other, offering you a rakish grin.

“Shall we?”

And when he smiles at you like that, what choice do you have?

A/N: Yay! You made it to the end!

So firstly, I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to post another work! These take a bit of time for me to write because I tend to write the entire work in one go from start to finish before I begin posting and I've also been unwell/busy, so it took a backseat for a bit but here we are!

Secondly, as I posted at the start, this is going to be a small series and will start as a decently sized multi-chapter fic. There will be smut and I already have most of it written. Your patience will be rewarded!

Please consider supporting me on ao3 also :)

[eugenedebs1920]

I was going through my pictures from 2020, I’m a little embarrassed to say that there’s probably more memes, posts, articles, and pictures taken of whatever I was trying to make a point of on the tv, than there is actual pictures.

This is a Tweet (remember those!? I don’t know what they’re called now. Hates?) from Robert Reich ( no sh*t Eugene!? Get to the point!)on the morning of Election Day 2020. It’s the same plan then, as it is now.

Donald Trump has no respect for America, it’s institutions that have endured 248 years, our systems of government or democracy in general.

This will be Americas 60th presidential election. You know how many of those were accused by one side or the other of being “rigged”? Three!!! Before a single vote had been cast in 2016, the election was said to be “rigged”. The 2020 election there was accusations of fraud and a stolen election that were prominent. The other election that had claims of being “rigged” is this one, the 2024 election. What is the common variable in all three of these elections? 🤔

I can already see the comments now, ‘People said that Hilary won’, and ‘Democrats said the 2000 election was stolen’, and to an extent they’re not wrong, but they’re not right either (well they’re right wing but, you know). The Florida recount in 2000 was a bit interesting how that conclusion came, to be to say the least, but, Gore went on television and conceded (I would recommend looking up Gores 2000 concession speech on YouTube, THATS what class looks like. THATS what politics used to be before reality tv people became involved.). In an utter display of class he told the American people that the Supreme Court had ruled, and that it was time, for the sake of Americans good, to move forward. He went to the inauguration of George W Bush. The 2016 election, I think everyone was in shock that Hilary was defeated in the electoral college by a failed businessman and two bit reality tv personality. Hilary won the popular vote by over 3.5 million votes but that doesn’t count (no pun intended) for whatever reason. (I know the reason, but it’s too much to go in to at this moment) Yet Hilary conceded when the counting was finished, and had the grace to show up at the inauguration of Trump, which I sure was utterly painful.

We all know how the 2020 election went. Trump and his allies doing everything they could to stop the vote before all the ballots were counted. That’s not how it works. That’s like a sports team getting a lead in the game and saying, ‘we won! Games over!” It’s not how real life works. You “play” till the end.

Trump is going to do the same thing this time. Because Democrats work (😉) Trump will be up in many states throughout the day and early evening. As the night goes on, Kamala’s numbers will continue to rise until her eventual victory, which will take several days to count and officially be over.

I want to say this now, to liberals, Republicans and especially MAGA. THE ELECTION ISNT DONE UNTIL ALL THE VOTES HAVE BEEN COUNTED. THATS HOW IT WORKS, WE ALL HAVE A VOTE AND IT IS ENTITLED TO BE COUNTED. DESPITE WHAT YOU MAY HAVE HEARD, MIDNIGHT IS NOT WHEN ELECTION DAY IS OVER, IT IS OVER WHEN EVERY SINGLE VOTE HAS BEEN TALLIED AND IS COUNTED FOR ITS RESPECTIVE SIDE.

This is going to be an ongoing issue until, somewhere between the 7th and the 10th. This is perfectly normal. This has happened in almost every modern election. It’s Trump and his narcissism, Republicans grasping on to relevancy, and powers that wish to benefit themselves, not the nation that will be pushing the narrative that it’s “illegal” or the “election is being stolen behind closed doors”. In all actuality it’s professionals, doing their job, to ensure every Americans voice is heard.

Trump is going to lie and lie and lie some more. He will throw wild accusations out there, he already is, he will tout crazy conspiracy theories, he already is, he will whine and b*tch and complain, he already is. Don’t listen.

For 57 presidential elections, our system has been the envy of the world. The most accurate and fair system developed. It’s only 3 that have EVER has accusations of fraud, or being rigged or stolen. The common denominator in those 3 elections is Donald Trump.

Donald Trump is a traitor, a selfish human being, and a terrible person. He does not deserve to be anywhere near the White House. Let’s keep it that way and vote for a real leader, Kamala Harris.

[h1llzy]

MUMBO JUMBO S10 LORE THEORY/OVERVEIW: immortality

Right I have a lot of things to explain, you may be wondering…does mumbo even have lore? And I’d have to tell you yes yes he very much does and it’s stuck in my brain like a worm.

And I believe he has planned it since episode 9 of his hermitcraft series…

I’ll start in chronological order.

Firstly: when mumbo is planning and drawing out his base he has a small box at the bottom with numbers. That is what is going to be the data base in episode 20 , where he talks about him / all his inventions… living on forever. (This will be a major theme)

Now that in its self is not enough to prove anything… but in episode 25… the laboratory we learn about what a certain company is trying to achieve in their endeavours.

It talks of a couple major things: red stone research…artificial intelligence…preservation of the lived experience…

But the biggest of all “soon we will be living forever..”

And they are going to “start human trails shortly…”

Also in this same episode, Mumbo changes his skin and starts to grey.

It goes from this…

To this… and it happens midway through the episode:

(Both taken from episode 25)

So we know that the mined labaratory is testing with artificial intelligence and red stone to attempt to create some sort of immortality situation. And mumbo is being directly effected by it via aging.

But the MOST DARNED evidence is within episode 29 at the very beginning!!! He made an entire cinematic sequence…

(I can’t place the clip but seriously go watch it it’s sooo good!)

From this… we are able to see testing cells… that have chicken noises and villager noises coming from them.

Where we can sort of tell:

- one: the chickens have been tested on in order to possibly experiment on their entire life cycle. (Egg, embryo, chick, chicken..)

- two: the humans within the cinematic…talk in villager noises. So human trials have definitely started.

Then the dialogue shows even more…

“I got the notification, is it done?”

“It’s done…” and then we see this…

A mind… is 100% mapped…

THEN! Midway episode 32 he changes his skin again to grey even more!

(You may say that is because he is literally being sued but that kinda just speedens the process a bit)

So here is the basic parts I have put together in a small synopsis theory:

Mumbo is essentially patient zero, the mined company want to preserve intelligence , to see if after they die they can live as an ai. They have tested on animals, and villagers/ humans (not too sure) but now want mumbo’s intelligence via documenting it all onto a computer. Where it gets trained into an ai that is a replica of the person mind, their personality…every little bit about themselves…that why the brain is 100% mapped..because it is 100% copied… the data base, is also apart of this.. and is actually connected to mumbo in some sort of way, storing all the inventions and red stone ideas he has ever made to be placed into the ai algorithm.

This is very much having a bad effect on mumbo himself, as he seems to be aging much quicker….as if in trying to preserve life they are making it fade more quickly…

But the real question is what is going to end up happening well I have two theory’s for you there….

Silly theory: Grumbot.

You see when mumbo changed his skin it no longer had the waffle…so that possibly means that when minded was mapping out mumbo’s brain…it picked a up a bit of an anomaly..such as….someone’s soul…

Grians… (mwahhaa). So while trying to obtain a obedient ai that could persevere all of mumbo’s intelligence of red stone and inventions forever through the data base. They have also inadvertently picked up a bit of Grian within the ai (which is why the waffle from mumbo’s skin disapeared, due to the fact it’s now in the ai)… creating the famously charming Grumbot!!!

Angst theory: Ai after death

Mumbo is going to die due to the rapid aging that the mined company has placed on him…in which causes them to create basically an ai replica of mumbo, placing him in a robot body where he is essentially “replaced” by his robot version, and that ai is just now him (kinda like Astro boy)

So yeah….this took 2 hours…I need help, the brain rot is bad. Um thanks!

[666writingcafe]

Wrath

A Text Conversation Between Satan and MC

Satan: You don't have to worry about my transition affecting you. As it turns out, the bulk of it occurred before you were even introduced to us.

Satan: Part of why this is even happening is because the others were once angels, so it's taking their bodies longer to adjust to their new form.

Satan: Meanwhile, this is all I've ever been, so it's a bit easier for me to accept who I am.

MC: I appreciate you telling me this. I sure could use the break from experiencing everyone's sin.

Satan: I bet. You must be exhausted.

MC: *nodding crow sticker*

MC: Can I ask you a personal question?

Satan: As long as you're prepared for the fact that I may not answer.

MC: Fair enough.

MC: What was your biggest fear?

Satan: During that time?

MC: *nodding crow sticker*

Satan: Being reduced to a mere shadow of Lucifer. I started as a feeling inside him. The more he felt it, the stronger I became. The war and consequent fall caused me to separate from him.

Satan: For the longest time, my mind was a wasteland. I had to separate my identity from Lucifer's, which was quite frustrating, to say the least. I know there will always be similarities between us, but it's taken me a while to find any substantial differences. I've had to force some to form in order to gain some semblance of self.

MC: How did you overcome it?

Satan: By listening to you.

Satan: When you summoned that ball of light, it was the first time I've truly been calm. The longer I held the light in my hands, the more I could discern its whispering. It was your voice comforting me. It was soothing.

Satan: But it also felt familiar.

Satan: Which brings me to my next point.

Satan: I know who you really are, MC.

MC: *eek sticker*

MC: *eek sticker*

MC: *eek sticker*

Satan: It's okay. I'm not upset. I understand why you had to keep your true identity a secret. I wouldn't have even found out if it wasn't for Lord Diavolo and Barbatos.

MC: WHAT????

Satan: Don't worry; they didn't tell me outright. I just happened to be in the castle library when they walked in and began talking about you. If they knew I was in the room with them, I doubt they would have said anything about it until I left, but I was tucked in a corner behind a couple bookshelves, so they couldn't have seen me without purposely looking for me.

MC: *face-palming crow sticker*

MC: You REALLY weren't supposed to find out, but it's not like I can do anything to change it.

MC: So, tell me what you overheard them say about me.

Satan: I know you come from a future timeline. The prince apparently had told Barbatos to try to find your version of the butler and get some answers from him about why all this has been happening to you. They've really been worried about you and want to do everything in their power to help you.

MC: I imagine my Barbatos was selective about what he shared.

Satan: *nodding crow sticker*

Satan: He mentioned that back home, you're a human that managed to form pacts with all seven of us and that a large part of your power became tied to your emotions as a result.

Satan: He also seems to believe you were sent here to experience each of our transformations firsthand so that you can help someone go through their own.

Satan: Obviously, he didn't reveal who that person was, but both my Diavolo and Barbatos felt like that would have been unnecessary information, for they've observed someone begin acting differently during your stay here.

MC: Oh?

Satan: Apparently, he trapped you in a closet at some point?

MC: Shit.

Satan: So it IS him, then?

MC: Yes.

Satan: The only memories I have of him prior to him visiting us for the founding ceremony are hazy and through Lucifer's eyes, but I've always gotten the sense he's not been particularly happy about where he's at.

Satan: I just didn't think he'd have the guts to do anything to wildly change his circumstances. He seems too devoted to the little one to just pack his things and leave it all behind.

MC: I don't think he did when we first met.

Satan: Are you able to tell me what changed, or would that be revealing too much information?

MC: I can give you the simple answer and let you fill in the blanks.

Satan: *thumbs up emoji*

MC: He developed strong feelings for me.

Satan: But you're a human.

MC: Yes.

Satan: And he's an angel.

MC: At the time, yes.

Satan: Wait a damn minute.

Satan: Did he seriously FALL for you?!

MC: Not quite. He was still an angel when I left, but he'd made some choices beforehand that pretty much sealed his fate. I just don't know what exactly he'll be when I return.

Satan: Well, judging by the way they're saying he's currently acting here, I'd say he's gearing up to be YOURS.

Satan: And I'm not trying to be sappy. I'm being completely serious.

MC: I don't doubt it.

Satan: When he believed everyone was out of the room when you and Asmo were passed out, he was right by your side, watching over you.

Satan: According to Barbatos, he even held your hand and kissed you on the forehead before he eventually got up and left.

Satan: Angels don't typically act that way towards demons. Even with Diavolo's efforts to make peace with the Celestial Realm, they tend to act rather hostile whenever they're around us for more than a few seconds.

MC: I know.

Satan: I'll let you get some rest. You'll need it

Satan: And don't worry; your secret is safe with me.

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @budbuddnbuddy

[fire-of-the-sun]

This is wonderful insight and beautifully written. My thoughts have strayed to Noctis' post-awakening shower many times as well. I assume, given that he cuts his own hair shortly after awakening, that he may have found some kind of mirror on the yacht (unless he miraculously did it without looking) and he may have had a moment here where he really absorbed his new appearance, but I like the idea of him just clipping his hair quickly and efficiently, perhaps not letting himself really chase those thoughts and focus instead on what he needs to do. He has to keep moving, running, fighting, searching until he finds his friends and only then, in the safety of their compound and company, does he get the chance to truly rest and it's here that he finally lets himself stop and reflect.

There is probably much to scrub away in the shower, but I can't help but imagine him largely standing still, arms steadying himself against the wall before him, head bent, eyes closed or just staring into nothing as he lets the hot water roll down his back - just finally allowing himself to pause and absorb what's happened. What's going to happen. His last real moments for himself before he has to give everything and commit every second of the rest of his life to serve and fulfill his calling.

Maybe part of him wants to stay like that, freeze time a little longer and not have to face what comes next a little longer, and another part of him knows he needs to return to his friends and spend his last night in their company, so he emerges and begins to change and only then does he allow himself to really look in the mirror. Examines the person staring back at him whose face is familiar and foreign at the same time. He sees the foundation of the young man from before but also the ghost of his father in his beard, his brow, his jaw. Ponders over the changes or lack thereof as he assesses his bare body. His mind reeling at the weight of all the years he's lost.

Not wanting to take too long and keep his friends waiting, he buries the myriad of emotions raging within him and chooses to don a formal black suit - the kind of suit his father would wear. When he exits the bathroom, he leaves behind the boy he once was and accepts the man who has firmly taken his place.

Did he look in the mirror one last time before left and harden himself to do what needs done? Did he indulge a little in his isolation from prying eyes and let himself shed a few tears? What did older Noctis do in his last moments alone before he enters the throne room by himself to die? I just really love older Noctis and thinking about this time, too!

Thinking on the first shower Noctis took, post-crystal.

He wakes up, and he has to know on some level that quite some time has passed, even before he reaches Galdin Quay. The scratch of facial hair on his chin, the way his hair is longer and tickles his chin now when it shouldn't have, the accumulated grime - dust and dirt and traces of black soot and gray ash on his fatigues - on his skin and clothes from the struggle in Zegnatus Keep and then a decade in stasis.

I'm not sure if the crystal just up and deposited him on Angelgard, because while Noctis was sucked into it in his entirety - we don't know of the divide between his soul/mind, and his actual body, and there's something so grim in thinking about Noctis himself was in the crystal, absorbing centuries of power, while his body is left in Angelgard.

That also, to me, makes more sense as to why Gentiana and Umbra would be there, guarding him, and later - a la Comrades expansion - the surviving Glaives.

Noctis himself wasn't there, but his body was.

Imagine the feel of that. Ten years worth of grime, or nearly.

I say nearly, and maybe it's just my bleeding heart for how Gentiana does care about Luna, and in turn how Luna cares for Noctis, but there's something very tender and bittersweet in the thought of Gentiana - the messenger and Astral in one - trying her best to keep Noctis healthy during that long decade, like sponge bathing to keep the worst off him.

If anyone had direct access to Noct, it would be her.

It wouldn't be the same as a proper bath, or real exercise, but it would be something - keeping of muscular atrophy and maintaining his hygiene as much as possible (as well as whatever crystal fuckery is going on besides Bahamut's revelation, because the amount of issues Noct should have woken up with makes no small list).

Noctis wakes up, and he walks the trail Umbra paves for him, to the shores of Angelgard - and the royal vessel is waiting there for him. Aged, probably worn, but there to bring him back to the mainland. Back to Lucis.

We never see the interior of the Royal Vessel, but there's probably bedrooms - and probably a bathroom. Considering Noctis would probably be more focused on driving the yacht itself, rather than stopping, it'd be unlikely for him to enter the bathroom - but the thought of him looking into a mirror, and looking at himself, so changed from what he remembers being...

It carves the strongest feeling of loss, down to the roots of my heart in my chest because - Noctis is grown. He's fully grown, a man, and yet - not. Ten years were stolen from him, and he wouldn't even know yet. Not until running into Talcott.

There's so much of his father in his face, but his father is dead. His father never got the chance to see Noctis grown up in life, never would have gotten the chance with the strain of the wall and the magic of their bloodline sucking his life away.

His father, who at the end of it all, would be forced to deliver the final blow which severed Noctis from his body once more.

Permanently.

I think it might be even worse, though. For Noctis to first see himself in the mirrors of Talcott's van. In glimpses, but never as a whole, because it's so damn dark and the sun hasn't risen - hasn't pierced the clouds of miasma - for near ten years.

If there was anywhere he'd be able to see his face, it would be at Hammerhead. Hammerhead, where his retinue was waiting - Prompto, and Gladio, and Ignis (who would, just like Regis, be unable to bear witness to Noctis growth).

They're all different, too. Gladio, with longer hair and more scars to count. Prompto, with a goatee a tad longer than Noct's stubble and facing down Daemons with more practice and experience. Iggy, who can't see, but learned to cook and fight again, with more lines on his face and scars on his hands from where others had helped guide weaponry or cookery away from himself before he had adjusted -

Then, Iggy being the exception (except for the visions in Altissia), they are the first people to see his face, besides Umbra, besides Gentiana, Talcott, the Glaives...

There's the feel of water dousing his hair, rolling down his spine and over his body, and it's not hot or cold - but lukewarm. People in and out of Hammerhead now, the power that goes into heating water needed elsewhere. The scent of bland soap, without any real fragrance. Clear water running dark down a drain as he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs - and he gets out, and he gets dressed in attire fit of a king.

A warrior, heading to war. A man, mortal and yet to become not, preparing to make a declaration to the heavens themselves not in words, but his own spilled blood staining the throne once built off of it.

Just. Noctis waking up after the crystal.

Feelings.

[bballlvr8]

Geno Media Availability 

What hes looking for in the exhibition game: Basically trying to execute what they’ve been practicing. Try some lineups, and get things accomplished. 

Says early on in November you don’t know what you are really going to get. 

This year they have options, and the lineup may depend on who they are playing.. He says that he wouldn’t read too much about the exhibition starting lineup. 

Kaitlyn: Has chemistry with the other players, said it doesn’t come easy. Kaitlyn is aggressive, tough competitor, shes in fantastic shape. She’s been everything that they had hoped. 

Post Players: They are inexperienced and sometimes he has to sit and think when they are up and down is it because of the inexperience, or is it because they aren’t focused. Said that when the mistakes come from them not being focused those are the type of things he can’t accept. Says that they are getting better at understanding what they have to do, getting better at bringing the same thing everyday. Says that they have 3 completely different post players, they are distinct, completely different from each other and the rest of the team, and said that’s a good thing. They all wanna play and do well. Said he’s excited for them. Key to your team is how well they play. Didn’t replace Aaliyah and said someone has to fill in those gaps. 

Was asked what were those distinct things they brought: Jana is her size, she takes up a lot of space, goes after every offensive rebound. Ice loves to play on the perimeter, she’s a good passer, she’s gotten better defensively. Sarah play’s more like a guard, she’s more like a guard-forward, shes comfortable wherever she is on the floor. 

Sarah has continued to show the role that Geno wants from her, she’s coming out of her shell and feels that she’s too unselfish. Encouraging her to be herself. She has a lot to offer. 

Excited for Jana to finally get her opportunity. Great teammate, exceptionally hard on herself. Not going to look pretty early on. 

Morgan has practiced on and off sometimes. (Hamstring injuries are very easy to aggravate, so I’m happy they arent trying to rush her). She has multiple leg injuries it appears that probably weren’t probably taken care of when she was in highschool. Looked fantastic in practice, she’s a very comfortable player almost like sarah. She and Sarah can be interchangeable on the wing and post. 

Azzi Looks great, she did practice today, just not while the practice was open (I wish the journalist would clarify that after they make those statements lmao). Just a matter of time now, but cannot give an exact date. Will be back sooner than the rest of the injuried players excluding Morgan. 

Yanna still has the sling on, it has come off a little bit, it’s going to be a little while longer, he doesn’t have an exact timetable for any of the injuries really. 

Caroline, Does more every day in practice, but very little to do with contact. She’s limited

Q, is continuing to look good in practice, says she’s active in practice, and has been incredibly aggressive, making it so that she can be in the rotation. 

Allie shoots the ball great, she’s a fantastic scorer. Said that the new things that the freshmen didn’t have to do in high school are what they really struggle with. But the things that they were good at in Highschool are the things they are good at now. When they have her, Paige, and Azzi out on the floor at the same time that’s a lot of shots that go in. 

Said that Ash comes and goes, she’ll have days where she makes everything. 

Ice is in the best shape she’s ever been in, said that she worked really hard during the preseason, Ice is pretty good when she knows you’re counting on her. Said that both Jana and Ice are hard on themselves, he said it's very tricky to keep your confidence when it's not something you naturally have. They take too many things personally and say it'll be some work for the two of them. It is up to the coaching staff to make sure they guide them the right way. 

Jokingly said that Paige is delusional (he was talking about confidence and said that some people have it, then said he doesn’t know if they are at the Paige level of delusion where they think they can do anything). 

For Azzi’s Return Date: Geno said to him he thinks it’s a feel of comfortability and confidence that she’s ready to go. She has a limited practice of how many minutes she’s going to be out there, said there will be a time  (next week, the week after he doesn’t know) when she’s going to come to him and say that she’s ready to go. 

Not looking forward to his 40th Coaching Anniversary lmao.  

[habitsbf]

TRUE FORM BASED HABIT HEADCANONS :D

note: these are obviously not all completely accurate to the canon sketch we have of his true form, so if youre a canon purist you may not dig this post. these were all taken from my own personal version of his true form.

- similar to cats (mainly talking about bigger wild cats here) HABIT has little spikes, aka papillae, all over his tongue. i know his canon true form has some spikes at the end of its tongue, but this is how i like to view them since it makes more sense to me.

the spikes on cat tongues are there for a few reasons, but the main reason that sticks out to me is the fact theyre used to scrape meat from bones. i feel like thats pretty fitting for HABIT, considering he is a predator/hunter.

- HABITs claws cannot retract and he has paw pads similar (but not exact) to a wolves. hes literally a werewolf spider demon freakazoid thing, so i think it works!! plus the idea of him having paw pads of some sort is silly...

- his fur is a dark purple-ish tone meanwhile his (multiple) eyes are a brighter purple. he doesnt have pupils, his eyes are just one solid color. that last part is basically canon since evans drawing doesnt include pupils either, but i still wanted to mention it bc i think its cool :P

- HABITs teeth are similar to a wolves, though his are sharper than a wolves are, letting him sink them into things easier.

- he doesnt need to sleep often, but sometimes HABIT curls up into a ball to sleep more comfortably, like this ↓

- HABITs tails wag when hes happy or relaxed, but if someone were to point it out he would get annoyed and probably growl at them. HES SUPPOSED TO LOOK EVIL!! YOURE POINTING OUT THINGS THAT DONT MATCH HIS EVIL PERSONA!! HES SO MAD!!

- in the MLAndersen0 video "GOODBYE" theres a clip at some point where it sounds like HABIT purred. im assuming it was meant to be a growl that came out more purr-like, but i do like the idea of that evil fucked up looking creature being able to purr. similar to the tail wagging, he would probably get pissed if someone called him out on purring as well.

- HABIT can stand and walk on two legs, but he can also walk and run around on all fours. i dont think he would use his spider legs often, but i think he would definitely use them to appear taller/bigger and present more intimidating.

speaking of appearing taller/bigger, i think his true form would be pretty big. definitely bigger than your average wolf, hes probably like... idk, 2-3 mackenzie valley wolves combined.

- i think he would chew/bite on things for fun and out of boredom. im mainly talking about bones here, but he probably chews on random things he deems chewable sometimes too.

- HABIT would probably enjoy being petted but would never admit that. he would act like he hated it and would probably bite and growl at whoever was petting him. obviously not many have the opportunity to even attempt that, but if it were to happen, thats how i think it would play out. THIS ONE IS ALSO JUST KINDA SILLY TO ME like imagine THAT FREAK letting his guard down for a moment to enjoy the feeling of being petted

THATS ALL FOR NOW, FEEL FREE TO SEND ME ASKS ABOUT HEADCANONS 🐾

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 27: Stalking

This got long, but it's very spoopy so I think that's alright, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1319

Content warning: Small injury and blood mentions

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

You should've taken the bus.

You had meant to. It was entirely in your plans. You scheduled your shifts the past few weeks around the bus and its run times. So that this exact thing wouldn't happen. 

But then, of course, your coworker had bailed on you and you had to work alone, which meant you had to stay later and clean up, which meant you missed the bus. 

So now, you're walking back home, hoping you'll get in and still manage to get a decent night's sleep. 

And hoping you'll make it. 

You've been having some, issues, the past few weeks. Something's been following you home. 

And you know it's something and not someone because you've managed to catch a glimpse of it. Just once, but it was more than enough. 

It had been back when you'd first notice that you hadn't been going home alone at night. Nor had your shifts been as lonely at you'd first assumed. 

Your coworker at the coffee shop was the owner's son, and he really only came in when he felt like it. So, it was pretty quiet. A few customers every now and then, may some groups of students, but otherwise, quiet. 

One night, while taking out the trash, there'd been a flower laying out on the step when you went to head back inside. Small, slightly wilted, but noticeably one of your favorites. Given that it was October you found it odd and assumed it must be deliberate, you just weren't sure from whom.

But, you picked it up and stuck it in your apron pocket and went about your night. 

The night after that, a few more flowers, again, you accepted and went about your work. 

Another night, after you tripped and dropped your dinner all over the sidewalk on your way in, there was a bag of, really good, Chinese takeout waiting again on the step. It was, starting to get a little odd, but you were starving and having a bad night so you shrugged it off. Same could be said of the random candy that would sometimes appear.

Then the gifts started getting, specific.

Before the coffee shop, you worked at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Plex. After the place burnt to the ground however, you'd been out of luck. You really loved that job though, helping out in the Daycare with the two animatronics that ran it. 

So, you can imagine your surprise, and confusion, when a doll, looking like the playtime attendant, was propped up against the front door when you were locking up one night. Picking it up, it was a little torn up, dirty, and smelled of ash. Someone had tried to clean it up, and-sort of-succeeded. Not seeing anyone else on either side of the darkened street, you could only assume this was still the same person. 

You took it home, cleaned it up, and sure enough a few nights later it had a blue and white companion to sit with it in your windowsill.

There would be other things, always burnt or ripped in some way, but things you know had to be coming from the old Plex, coming straight from the Daycare, even. You'd tried wracking your brain over and over as to who would be behind this. And what they wanted from you. 

At this point, besides being a little unnerving, it made you feel so much worse about it all. You missed the Attendant dearly, and it was beginning to feel like this person was rubbing it in your face. 

Until one night. Your coworker was late as usual. It really had started to grate on you. So, you calmy asked if he could start showing up on time, stating your concerns as nicely as possible. He didn't take it too well. 

You'd ended up crying in the bathroom after getting berated, and basically told him 'fuck off, take out the trash yourself' though in slightly more polite words so he couldn't go crying to his mom about you being-rightfully-rude. 

After quite a few tears, you were cleaning up in the sink and you think to look up.

Something's staring at you through the vents.

Before you can react, the glowing red eyes disappear, and you assume it must have been your imagination. What else could it be?

When you walk back out to the shop, your coworker isn't there. You figure he must've went home until you hear a scream out back, followed by crashing sounds and the door bursting open.

You jump up as he rushes in, clutching his eye and blood running down his cheek. 

"What happened? Are you okay?" You ask but he waves you off angrily.

"Some, fuckin' cat, or or something, I don't know! Just, lock up and go home, forget it. I'm not dealing with this shit tonight. Fuck," He tossed the keys at you and stormed out, you heard him peel out of the parking lot a minute or so later. 

Lost, you just do as he says. 

The walk to the bus stop is cold and unsettling. You easily pick up on the sound of someone following you. It's just that, it's not the sound of normal human movement. 

Every heavy footfall has mechanical clicks, metal scrapping the ground, and twinkling bells. It's quiet, a bit behind you, but it echoes throughout the street as your feet unintentionally start to move quicker.

Unfortunately, so does the person behind you.

By the time you've made it to the bus, it's yawning doors and blue light beckoning you like salvation, you're in a full on sprint for its safety. 

You all but launch yourself onto the steps, the doors closely behind you shortly thereafter. 

The bus driver gives you an odd look, but says nothing and puts the vehicle into drive. 

As you collect yourself, gasping for air, you think to look back. 

Standing, at least eight feet tall on the other side of the glass is something. Made of metal with dark red eyes, it stares down at you. It doesn't seem happy. 

As the bus moves away, light flashes across the machine, and it's eyes briefly flash from red to white. It's head swivels to follow you as you fade off into the night. Never breaking it's gaze.

You stopped accepting gifts after that night. 

You don't have another close encounter after that, and so while you're walking through the dark tonight you try to reason with yourself that you're relatively safe, passing from streetlight to streetlight, still ever cautious just in case. 

You're almost home, just a few more minutes really, when something moves across the street.

You turn to look at it, eyes straining and hands pulling tightly at your jacket to protect against the cold.

The only movement is just the clouds of steam caused by your breathing.

You listen for any sign of life. Nothing. It's dead quiet on this street. 

You start walking again.

Out in front of you now. You know you saw something move through the night. And yet, nothing. 

You stand there, watching, waiting. It's just your breathing that you can hear, save for your heart pumping in your chest. 

Then, something landing behind you. A cacophony of mechanical sounds breaking through the night. Though in reality it was probably not much louder than a whisper.

You turn around. 

Standing tall under the nearest streetlight, is Sun. He looks worse for wear. Like he's been through hell and back. Like he's been through a fire, and survived.

"Hello, friend," He steps just slightly out of the light just slightly, faceplate spinning, and one eye becoming red, "It's so good to see you."

You stare up, wide-eyed. Something about their words doesn't match their tone. You feel, threatened. Frightened. And as you've come to find out, have nowhere to go.

Because they are much quicker than you.

You should've taken the bus.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Wowza! What a cliffhanger. I'm sure you'll be fine tho :)

Other promptobers are here, and if you'd like to see the Spookvember Schedule while I catch up with everything it's here. Thanks for reading!!

[irasceris]

There's a lot they're not saying, that much is clear, but it doesn't feel like they have to. Because she's right. He does know her, and doesn't see anything of his current self in there, but the aspiration of what a past version could have tried to live up to. Somewhere. Whatever fragments of selflessness he's held onto have always come with a price someone else had to pay. The more lonely he's become the less of that he's taken on, until the full cost fell on whoever he claims he was helping in the first place. Prime example: Bonnie's life for Elena's. He's never thought twice. Neither has Bonnie. How similar were those motivations, really, when at the core of it, Damon's the only one to benefit? He could count on one - well, likely less than one - hand the number of people he's truly been good to, no personal gain to be had. That number dwindles when he thinks of who it's lasted with. Stefan may be the only left he could make a weak argument for, but Damon still managed to screw that one up pretty spectacularly. It just doesn't end.

"If I squint," he echoes, a half hearted agreement, then with more confidence, "You're a lot better at it than I am." Feels like he should warn her maybe, that love does destroy a person, and it's a dangerous edge to teeter on, but what does he know? It's habitual now, running from whatever burns him. Running back if it hurts bad enough. But that might just be Damon, and his chronic inability to face any problem he can't kill, snark, or bleed away. Bonnie just takes it all and then some, and if it's crippling in any capacity she doesn't let it show. And he's .. jealous of that, in a sick sort of way, when he knows he wouldn't have half the composure but would appreciate the faith. Even when - on the very rare occasion - she's failed, no one's given up on her. Why would they? It's Bonnie, perpetual good man in a storm. Damon fails and it's expected; feels like a set up to prove he's only good for making things worse. Maybe he leans into that too much to change, but it would be nice, he thinks, to be counted on to do the right thing. To shake the court of public opinion just that little bit. Can't be that worth it, though, if Bonnie's not gotten away totally unscathed. She said so herself, that she's lonely, too, all the way on that other side of the spectrum. Damon doesn't know if that's better or worse. Maybe it is the same.

He stretches out, wringing all those thoughts out along with him, until his back cracks and the bed makes some horrible squeaking noise from the splintered pallets beneath the mattress. Pauses to listen for any damage he forgot about, then settles into position again when he's satisfied. It's not that bad. Not something he feels like answering for right this minute, though. "Thanks for this." There's a sincerity that might shock both of them, actually, and while most things he says are to get a reaction this is genuine truth. "The platonic physical touch thing," emphasis for her benefit, "Letting me be .. weird about stuff. Not barbecuing my brain on sight. Means a lot." More than he can appropriately express, unfortunately, and because he doesn't trust himself even in this vaguely vulnerable position, has to add a joke of some sort. "You tell anyone about this I might have to kill you. Or, you'll have to kill me. Let me out of here with some dignity. I'll ... I owe you one." Or two or twenty, she can add it to his tab.

he's quiet for too long, but she doesn't push him on it. understands the risk that comes with loving someone all too well. but she should have pushed him, should have pressed his buttons, shouldn't have let herself forget for a fleeting second who she's with, because now he's gained the upperhand and thinks it's okay to tease her like that. gross. "i'm handsy," bonnie says, holding eye contact, because she knows exactly how to pay him back for being annoying, and it isn't with mutual teasing, it's with a humiliating truth. humiliating for him, anyway, "because you needed it. and it's helping. you're welcome for the gift of physical..." not affection. let's not give him that word as ammunition. "touch."

jeremy. it's the first time damon's dared to bring him up in her presence. "that was..." she starts the sentence before she knows where it's going. she's surprised, in fact, that she doesn't feel angry anymore. not right now. anger's been her constant companion, lately, in the weeks and weeks since elena's birthday; thought for sure it would linger here between them now, a shield against whatever's going on with this conversation, a surefire end to any jeremy subject. but tonight her body's loose, her own thoughts don't feel like bullets, and damon's face isn't her enemy. (it's just a little pathetic, like a pitbull she found on the side of the road.) and bonnie doesn't know if this is forever or if this is a consequence of exhaustion, so she finally continues, "him being human. him having a heart for someone else, not because he wanted to, but because ... sometimes things just turn out that way."

bonnie turns her gaze to the ceiling, because she doesn't need to see the look in his eyes. doesn't need to receive the judgment she's already been angling at herself ever since she took him back. because taking jeremy back wasn't easy, of course not. bonnie has more self-respect than that, but she also has—well, damon said it best, didn't he? she's one to talk. she's lonely, too. she wants to be loved, and she wants to love in return, and she wants it to be easy, romantic, everything. it's just that she isn't an eight year old girl dreaming about some make believe love, she's a grown woman who loved a boy with too much of it to give. and it just didn't all find her. and maybe that's wrong of her. maybe she doesn't have the respect for herself that she thinks she does, because it's her turning the other cheek, it's her saving everyone else's ass, it's her biting her tongue so she doesn't trigger someone else's grief, it's her making her entire year about getting revenge on behalf of the guy who cheated on her once. it's funny, looking at herself from damon's perspective. heartbreaking, a little, but this is who she is. who she's always been.

"i mean." she turns her gaze back to damon, returns that bump of his knee against hers, finally, in silent recognition that she isn't going to kick him out for the subjects they're landing on tonight. "you know me." better than he lets on, she thinks, if only because he never has a reason to talk about it and she doesn't ever want to ask. "you've been watching the whole time, ever since you came back to mystic falls, right? i don't mean this summer, i mean before that. and you encouraged me, actually. think about it. how many times have you been way too ready for me to die for elena?" a little smile; she's not hurt by the truth. it's just an open fact. and she would die for her best friend. for any of her friends. "that's just how i love, i guess. fully. completely. sacrificially. i'll let love destroy me if it's for the right reasons." her smile feels different now, though, the more she vocalizes it. the longer she watches him. "i guess ... i'm almost as unhealthy and messed up as you are, if you squint."

[spicyicymeloncat]

Saw two posts recently and I disagreed with them for the same reason and that is, y’all better not be falling into the pit of dissing things bc they’re not “sophisticated” enough for you or something.

Like someone complaining about cutesy wutesy terms or like stupid fanfic writing. Some people be saying stuff like ‘no! You have to like real books! Only use real words to describe yourself!’ Who are you? The cringe police?

Actually the colloquialisation of language is kinda a complicated topic. Yeah we shouldn’t dumb down words and stuff when it comes to discussing serious things and we shouldn’t be calling anyone else things that they don’t want to be called. But if someone is using casual language to refer to themselves and they’re someone who can ‘reclaim’ (for lack of a better term) that language, then I don’t think it’s hurting anyone. Sometimes we need to use serious language and sometimes we don’t.

And let’s not make fun of hashtag weird fanfic or fandom (as long as it doesn’t actually promote harmful views or cause harm).

There’s obviously exceptions to both these points but my general rule is, let’s not attack things for the sake of ‘it’s weird’ or ‘different’. Being judgemental and shaming people to conform to arbitrary standards is the talking point of literally every single hate crimer. That mindset is used by ableists, racists, sexists, queerphobes etc etc. Lets not forget that.

[fragmentedblade]

I think I've become an official HI3 player. I check the HSR leaks hoping for iterations of HI3 characters now