#may have to crack out the old laptop for that

[broke-on-books]

Waiting for my kindle to charge so I can buy a DVD player for my new laptop so I can watch scoobyyyyyyy

[coralinnii]

❋ If you’re a villain, then let me be your accomplice ❋

↳Reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy part 2

feat: Rook

genre: drama, slow burn romance, smitten fools,

note: sequel to reincarnated into a new world as the bad guy Rook ver., historical fantasy setting, sculptor!reader, reader is referred to as “Ma artiste” and “Mon amour” by Rook, no pronouns used with the reader, mentions of beast hunting, 1.8k word count

While it refers to fictional beasts, this touches the controversial topic on hunting which can be sensitive to people. I’m not trying to claim that my own opinions or the opinions in this fic are right and you can have a stance against these opinions. Despite the controversy, I still decided to add this into the story because this world is supposed to mirror the era when this was practiced by people of the time and with Rook as a canonical huntsman, this fits the story well.

I choose to be transparent that this topic will be in this fic and if you are uncomfortable, you are free to ignore this story because I would rather you decide your comfort levels than have people read my story.

Random note: when my laptop died, all my banners are gone so yea…I changed my character banners again

series masterlist

To your dismay, you found yourself facing the consequences for the actions of an obsessive character that convinced the famous knight Rook Hunt to be your fiancé.

Begging the Hunt family, you managed to settle a deal to repay the dowry the Hunt family paid to annul the engagement, since losing this engagement would cost their side more than yours.

Thankfully, the era of this world was the rising age of artistic revolution and the aristocracy was itching to find the newest trend of beauty and creative innovation, which you enthusiastically took as an opportunity to build your name in the field of art as a sculptor, starting off with simple desk ornaments to breathtaking statues.

Perhaps it was your silver lining that your still fiance Rook was a well-known admirer of all things beautiful as with his keen eyes, your sculptures stood out among others due to the added details of your subjects that your fiance pointed out as you work. You were confident in your skills but you owe it to Rook for enhancing the realism in your sculptures.

Initially, guilt ate away at your conscience for not only the forceful engagement you placed upon the knight (even if you weren’t directly responsible) but for also taking his help with your commissions without any benefits to himself. But the green-eyed man did not ever allow you to dwell in such thoughts.

“Non, ma artiste! Your works of art are the fruits of your passion and hard work that cannot be replicated. I may have given some notes here and there but the beauty of each masterpiece you created can only be brought out from your skillful hands.”

Rook smiled as he held your hands, still dirtied with bits of dried clay. The gaze of his bright green makes you feel somewhat self-conscious. You were a noble but you must have ruined the softness of your skin due to your long hours of work and stress. You tried to pull your hands back in embarrassment but your fiance held them firmly in his own gloved pair.

“Every scar, blemish, and crack is a show of your strength, mon amour. I could get lost tracing the lovely lines of your hands if you allow me.”

No matter how many others have praised you or your work, you couldn’t help the unique warmth in your heart that only appears when Rook sings them. But you chalk it up to your body reacting from old feelings held by the original character. It must be, right?

Your commissions have thankfully slowed down enough to give you a well needed break. You were curious to what might taking up the attention of the nobility right now which was how you learned about the bi-annual “Hunt of the Beasts” event.

You were initially terrified to learn the existence of magical beasts in this world and the danger that resides in the dense forests and mountainous lands that borders the kingdom. In order to maintain the beast population for the safety of the people and resources, the imperial family hosts an extravagant event for the knights and local mercenaries in the kingdom to vanquish the beasts. Some may call it barbaric or cruel, but for the safety of the villages and farms that reside near these beasts’ territories, it was an unfortunate necessity that is at least maintained by the imperial family to avoid excessive hunting that disrupts the delicate balance of the population.

Rook was a frequent participant of the hunt and of course he was going to be a participant. Typically, partners of the participants would attend the event as spectators waiting by the designated zones among other visitors. However, you were too new to this world and this will be the first hunt for you where you will surely come across images you weren’t sure you were prepared for.

Giant beasts…even thinking of their corpses. It’s too overwhelming.

You expressed your discomfort with Rook and despite his experience as a seasoned participant, offered words of understanding to you. The knight suggested that you could sit out from the event and he could explain to any curious busybody that you were not feeling well.

Once again, Rook warmed your heart with his words but there was some guilt still left behind within you. Despite the loveless engagement, Rook has wholeheartedly supported you in your passion and your work despite his own inexperience in the field, but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept something that he as a knight and huntsman took pride in. You allowed your fear win over and it left a bitter feeling in your heart.

The day has finally arrived and the dense forest that bordered the kingdom was busy with attendees of all status. Many have come to join to spectate and support the brave men and women who have trained to battle the dangerous beasts that lurk within the land that was darkened by wild greenery. Aides from the imperial palace watched over the event as participants were informed of the rules of the hunts; what to expect, what to capture, and what to avoid lest they choose to face punishment.

Rook surveyed his surroundings as he finished his last preparations. He saw both familiar faces and newcomers that hope to make a name for themselves today. Tents were filled with important families and even visiting guests from nearby lands either to observe or participate themselves. But he doesn’t see a glimpse of your figure.

Not that he expected it. He respected your choice not to attend the event. It could be that he has become too desensitized by the presence of beasts and monsters due to his work that he has forgotten how frightening it could be for a civilian to witness them in person.

Maybe during his hunt, he could find some wild flowers to bring back to you when he visits you later. Would you feel better if he did? You had such a conflicted expression on your face last he saw you so maybe a bouquet of rare flowers could brighten your mood, even bring you some inspiration for your art. Would you feel grateful, perhaps even smile for him as you call his name in appreciation…

“Rook.”

Ah, he could even hear you right now.

“Rook?”

A rare occurance, Rook was actually spooked to suddenly feel your presence behind him. The blonde knight did not sense you standing there, with him…at the Hunt of the Beasts.

“Mon amour, you surprised me!” His green eyes almost couldn’t believe it. “I thought you’d chose not to attend this year.”

To be fair, you’re surprised yourself. The whole idea of this event still feels unreal to you and your fear of witnessing something you’re not mentally ready for is still there. Even so…

“I want to support you, like you always have with me” you whispered shyly but Rook could clearly hear your voice at this distance. He then saw in your hands a small woven charm bracelet, a common blessing given to participants like him.

During the Hunt of the Beasts, traditions came about among the participants and non-participants. Those who participated in the hunt would offer their game as an offering to their lover as a show of devotion and strength to protect them from harm. In addition, non-participants could give a blessed items to the participant of their choice as a show of admiration or to wish them safety during the hunt.

You noticed the knight’s gaze and you felt more nervous than before. As this was your first attendance, this was also the first time offering a blessing to someone. When you told your servant you were going to the hunting event, he graciously gave you a woven bracelet and suggested that you offer it to your “lover”, much to your embarrassment.

But then you noticed the knight more closely and saw that he already had a number of bracelets and ribbons peeking out from his left arm sleeve. You supposed despite his eccentricity, Rook was still a very talented knight and quite attractive to people of all social status. Even if he was technically a taken man, this did not stop admirers from showing favour towards him with blessed charms and ribbons.

Mortified, you tried to hide the small bracelet as you put on a smile. “Since it was tradition, I thought I should bring you something but I should have guessed that you would have plenty of blessings from others. Adding more would probably be burdensome-“

You flinched slightly when you felt your hands being captured by another pair. You saw Rook’s gloved hands stopping your own but he had such an unreadable look in his eyes that you couldn’t tell what was on his mind.

“Rook?” The call of his name seemed to have woken him from his trance as Rook quickly gave you a smile before he spoke.

“Mon amour, I would be honoured to receive your blessing.” Releasing his grip on you, Rook removed the glove on his right hand where unlike his counterpart hand, was empty. “Would you please place it upon me?”

Nodding your head, you gently wrapped the woven bracelet around Rook’s wrist, careful not to tighten the knot too much since this was Rook’s dominant hand. You tried not to think too much about how he allowed your blessing and only yours on his right hand and not with the rest on his non-dominant hand.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” you tried to focus on something else and rested your eyes on Rook’s hand. It was not often you see it as the blonde-haired man tends to wear gloves as part of his uniform but you could see the rough calluses and scars littered about his fingers and palm. The skin of his hand was smoother than you expected (probably due to his friendship with the Schoenheit heir) but you can tell how hard Rook must have trained to be as skilled as he was today. How diligent this man is which earned the respect of many. While caressing his warm hand, you absentmindedly echoed the words he once spoke to you.

“Every scar, blemish, and crack is a show of your strength…How beautiful.”

Realizing what you just said aloud, you quickly let go of Rook’s hand before rushing to create distance between the two of you (when did you get so close to begin with?!).

“There, all done!” you did your best to hide your embarrassment with a smile. “I’ll be in one of the tents until the hunt is over. I wish you luck!”

With a quick bow, you rushed into a tent that was open, too flustered to look back and face your fiance.

A shame, really. Because you missed the opportunity to see a rare image of Rook with a rosy shade blooming across his cheeks and ears.

[d10nsaint]

LOVE SONG | Lawyer! Nanami K. x fem! reader

syn: Nanami Kento was your work partner. Nothing more, nothing les-said no one. ever. Request is here.

notes; HAD TO CRACK MY LAPTOP OPEN FOR THIS ONE !!! this is prob the most plot i’ve ever put into my writing… i’ll proofread tyis later (no i wont) can someone tell me the wc🙏

Nanami let out a deep sigh as he loosened his tie. It was way past the normal time he left, the sky dark and all the lights from the city settled outside his window. He would’ve left hours ago if he didn’t have to revise all of his notes for a very important case tomorrow. He’d been working on it for weeks, and losing this case would be a major fuck up. As he rubbed his temples, he heard a faint knock at the door.

“ I’m back,” You said, slowly opening the door with your back, your hands full with a tray of two takeout coffee cups and a bag of snacks. “I got coffee from the place a few blocks down, got some snacks too… just in case…” You said, muttering the last part, looking at Nanami. The man was a work of art, defined jawline, gorgeous veins and harsh muscle made him, turning him into pure eye candy.

“Thank you,” The man says as he stands up, stretching a bit before walking over to the little coffee table that you set the food on. “How much was it?” He says, his jaw slack a little, looking at how much you got. “I’ll pay you back tomorrow-” “-after we win this case,” You finish for Him, smiling while taking a cup of coffee from the plastic holder and taking a stride to your desk.

Nanami watched you, completely infatuated with your confidence. You were sure of yourself—not like Gojo—you’re the kind of sure that made 100% of his heart know that you two were going to win. He smiled at you, watching you furrow your brows as you quickly went back to work. He grabbed his coffee, and walked to your desk.

“May I see what notes you have?” He says, as a strong arm with a rolled up sleeve pulls a chair next to you.

He was going to be the death of you.

You were practically bouncing off the walls, Nanami almost struggling to keep up with you.

“I told you, didnt I? that we’d win?” You exclaim, cheekily stepping out of the courtroom. The other attorney—Hiromi Higuruma— walked out afterwards, with a long face and a deep sigh. He walked over to you, shook your hand, and then walked away, running his hands over his face. He looked like he was fucked, Nanami thought as he walked towards you after you shook Higuruma’s hand.

“I kinda feel bad…” You say, frowning. “His eyebags are at his chin. i’ve never seen someone with such sunken eyes before, either..” You cross your arms over your suit jacket, tapping your foot.

“Would you rather that have been us?” He looked down at you, both of his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a suit—like always, but he usually doesn’t wear the jacket, and now that he is, you kind of wish he did. Made him look sexier.

“No…i’m just saying,” You sigh, as you shrug. You sneakily smirked at him as you remembered one thing from last night.

“You still taking me out to pay me back?”

“I cant beleive of all places I couldve taken you, you asked to go to a club.” Nanami says, as he scoots a stool out for you, letting you sit. Ever the gentleman.

After making sure you were seated, he pulled out a chair for himself and sat down. “I mean, where else were you going to take me?” You retort, before you ask the bartender to give you the strongest fruity drink they have.

“I dont know… Maybe a nicer place.” He looks around at his surroundings, making sure that everything seemed okay to relax. After he calls over the bartender and orders an old-fashioned whiskey, he takes the jacket off, and It totally suits him.

“Like, a nicer place that serves steak or..?” You take a sip of the drink, and feel a wave of colors wash over your vision, and the taste of pineapples lingers on your tongue.

“A nicer place with a stricter dresscode,” He grumbles, as he catches a glimpse of a woman who’s top looks like a bra and a thong so high that he can feel the wedgie. You turn around to see where he was looking at with such disgust and start giggling. You order another one of those drinks, fully intending to get your money’s worth from Nanami. You take another long sip, as He finishes his whiskey, ordering another.

“Well, maybe next time, we can go somewhere fancier,” You say, shrugging happily as you order a third drink. Everything starts to look pretty and all the colors feel so nice around you. You down that one in a single sip and your body starts to rock back and forth.

Almost instinctively, Nanami gets up and holds your body upwards, afraid of you falling. He keeps a hand on your back and a hand on your stomach as he holds you. He looks at you with worry littered all over his face, and you take a glance upward at him.

“…you look so pretty like this, Nanami.” You say, a cheesy smile on your face. His eyes widened and his cheeks reddened, but he ignored the statement.

“Are you alright? I think you should stop drinking. Come, let me take you home,” He mumbled, as he used his hand to call over the bartender to pay for the drinks. His voice had a certain emotion to it—it was almost romantic, the way he cared for you. He turned his back for a second to get his coat, and slung it over his arms.

He held your hand as he guided you out of the club, calling a taxi over. Even when you two were waiting, he rubbed his hand on your back. As a taxi pulled up, he opened the door and let you get in first, then slid in.

He tells the driver your address, and then his. While you wonder why he knows it, you really don’t mind. You snuggle into his chest, smelling his woodsy cologne, and he doesn’t stop you.

“You must be so tired…” He says, as he strokes your hair. He adjusted his body a little so you could comfortably rest on him, although he was uncomfortable himself.

“You’re so comfortable…I always wonder why a man like you is single.” You mutter, letting your head comfortably rest on him as you fall asleep.

He sighs, and looks down at you.

“I wonder, too.”

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 2

Bruh. My back is HURTING from being hunched over my laptop lol. For some reason I've managed to shit out this next chapter at the speed of light, but I'm back at uni and deadlines are picking up so I can't guarantee another one for a couple weeks. ANYWAY - ALASTOR HAS FINALLY MADE AN APPEARANCE. Not in person yet, but he's here (in spirit). I also apologise to anyone not from Yorkshire, I've used some of our slang from there and it may not make sense, but MC's embracing her Northener crave for violence.

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 6800

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Descriptions of murder and dismemberment. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2

Another box for my trinkets it's trinketville.

Meraki (Definition): To put something of yourself into your work. (Noun)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Thursday, 7th November, 1929.

The first four months of your new apprenticeship had you thriving more than ever before since arriving in the US. The last time you had felt this joyous and satisfied you were nearly eighteen, the tickle of the long grass on your cheeks as you laid in the meadow at the height of spring, holding the bunch of wildflowers against the kaleidoscopic swirls of the evening tones of the sky above you, admiring the way the lowering sun hit the petals and the small bugs that floated around with its golden highlights. It was one of the few times you had managed to bring your racing mind to a stand-still; no voices; no random lines of songs in your head playing on replay; no worries about the chores you were procrastinating or the book your friend had recommended weeks ago that you were yet to touch. You remembered the feeling of the summer dress you wore, the texture of the leather messenger bag beside you gifted by the old woman who lived further down the lane of the village. She used to babysit you when your parents would travel to York days at a time for work or personal errands. You loved to skip down that lane, with your hand running along the rough stones of the ancient stone walls that lined the lanes of your little village you had spent your whole life in – also lining your mind with the cuts it gave you as you tried to climb over them with the twins over the years.

The routine of working at the repair shop had brought the blissful feeling of stability back, the hectic frenzy of travelling from hotel room to hotel room, checking your tickets a thousand times to make sure you were on the correct train platform, then checking again. You no longer had to worry about travel dates that would leave you feeling paralysed from doing anything else.

Mr LeBlanc had been an excellent teacher and manager, drilling skills into your mind since you stepped into the shop for your starter shift. It was certainly an experience: opening the double doors to a vintage collector’s dream, an antique emporium filled from floor to ceiling (and on the ceiling). Ralph had brought you behind the counter, to a room in the back that he gleefully revealed to be concealed by a door disguised as a bookshelf. The workshop hidden behind was every antique restorer’s sanctuary, and it was certainly yours. Drawers lining the walls filled with every tool that could file, chip away, or apply anything you could find. In the centre was a large wooden table – thick, sturdy planks covered in chips and splatters of paint and adhesives used over the years. This table would be the place you would spend the next four months, your hair tied back by a patterned silk bandana, Ralph showing you how to work with materials from wood to porcelain, metal to textiles. You would pour over books you had pulled from Mr LeBlanc’s bookshelves until late into the evening, until he sent you home with them in your bag, and you protected them with your life as you returned on the trams (or ‘streetcars’, as Americans called them) in the evening light.

Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, he taught you everything he could, and you absorbed it all at the speed of light, your mind soaking up every piece of information like a dry sponge. By month three you had been given the go ahead to work on your first object from a customer – a small, spindly regency era chamber table belonging to a local gentleman. All it needed was some chips to be filled and repolishing, allowing Ralph to be confident enough in your abilities to complete it correctly. Your results came out on top, both Ralph and the customer being satisfied with your work, and you received the praise gleefully, along with the hefty tip the gentleman handed you over the counter. To you, everything was going fine and dandy.

Until October hit.

Apparently there were plenty of warning signs, according to most. They knew this was coming, your aunt knew this was coming. It was what she had said when you sat with her on the steps of the front porch.

“Shops are going to start disappearing.” She said, keeping her gaze ahead as she watched the cars sputter by. “With the rate this is going, I’m going to have to pull the boys out of school and get them working – I can’t keep the walls of this house up by myself.”

It had sent chills down your spine when you had picked up a newspaper, the words ‘Wall Street’ and ‘Stock Market Crash’ staining the pages for weeks. You put your mind and body into helping Mr LeBlanc, desperate for him to keep his business up and running. Unfortunately, as prices dropped, less people wanted to splurge the extra cash on something nice and antique, so you both lowered prices where you could, even going to lengths to hammer fliers to every street-post that advertised restoration jobs for any household item, promising customers that they would save money on repairs instead of buying it new.

It worked more than you thought, and it brought in enough income for Ralph to scratch by. He was also grateful you hadn’t asked for a raise to cope with the financial crisis, flat-out refusing when he had tried to hand you some tips he had received.

It was just the beginning of December when Ralph had called the house phone as you were getting ready for work. Ollie had yelled up the stairs to tell you and you scrambled down in your work trousers with your nightgown still on. Grabbing the phone, you listened to a raspy Mr LeBlanc as he told you he had falling ill with the usual winter flu. Unfortunately, being 63 meant that he was more susceptible to the illness, and was unsure if he would recover. If he did, it would still take a while, so he had asked you that morning if you were capable of running the shop solo. You had instantly said yes, refusing to let any sidetrack be his business’s downfall, so, with your head held high, you walked to his house, picking up any essential documents that he said you would need, and kept the shop up and running to the best of your abilities.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Friday, 6th December, 1929.

It was the Friday of the first week of December when you were an hour away from closing. You had been lucky that it had been pretty quiet the last few days, allowing you to settle into working your first ever Monday to Friday and getting to know the everyday things that were essential to keep the doors open. You had brought an armchair behind the counter – the gap between the counter and the wall was spacey enough for you to fit the chair and a small side table.

After not seeing any customers for over an hour, you had wandered off to the small side kitchen hidden by a Persian rug hung over the doorway to fetch yourself a warm cup of tea and a slice of carrot cake that Agnes had slipped into your lunch bag that day. Returning to the front, you placed the food and beverage on the side table, and sank into the chair, propping your feet up and delving into the book you had bought a few months ago.

Your eyes were drooping by the time you finished the tea and cake, and you rested your head on the back of the cushion, lowering your eyelids shut but remaining awake, knowing you had to get up soon in order to close in a half hour. Though the sudden sound of the shop’s bell chiming had you shooting out of your seat like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Scrambling to your feet, you scooted over to plop yourself on the counter stool, fixing yourself to look as presentable as possible as you faced the person entering. It was the mailman, stomping his boots to rid of the snow from the mild blizzard outside on the shoe rug by the door whilst holding a semi-large parcel under his arm. You recognised him from his rounds of the area, normally dropping off the odd parcel here and there for Ralph. Making sure the curls you had pressed into your hair overnight weren’t flattened at the back, you straightened out the silk scarf tied round the front of your head, flicking a curl out of your eye, and faced the man with a warm smile, to which he returned. He was a tall, young looking lad, older than you, but youth still shone in his eager eyes as he approached you.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he greeted, tipping his snow patterned hat. “I apologise for the snow on the floor, m’fraid the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

You waved him off, assuring that you were going to be cleaning up soon anyway. He inquired about Mr LeBlanc’s whereabouts, and you explained that his illness wasn’t letting up any time soon.

“Shame,” he said. “I know you’re probably not getting overrun, but it still must be complicated being a young woman running someone else’s business – especially near Christmas, having to trek home in the cold and wet by yourself.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” You laughed with a shake of your head, trying to not let your frustration show at the thought of him doubting your skills because of your gender. “He’s given me everything I need, and I can deal with the weather just fine. Wet and cold is the norm where I’m from.” Changing the subject, you gestured to the half-damp parcel still under his arm. “Is that addressed to Ralph or the shop?”

As if suddenly remembering the reason he was here, he quickly hauled the parcel from under his arm and slid it onto the counter.

“It’s for the shop.” He explained, gesturing a gloved hand to it. “S’pose it’s a last minute repair for a Christmas gift or somethin’.”

Placing your hands on either side, you slid the large square box towards you. Standing up from the stool, you peered at the top. Brushing off the half-melted snow, you read the handwriting that ornately spelled out the address - this was probably another repair.

The parcel itself was probably the neatest you had ever seen anything wrapped. The parcel paper was thick and expensive, the water and snow running off without leaving any trace behind except for a slight sheen, and the edges were folded so crisp and perfectly shaped and flat you wondered if whoever had wrapped it was human. Tied round like a present was a thick twine, looping into a bow directly in the middle of the top. You admired the dedication of whoever had put in the time to wrap this, running your fingers over the corners only to jerk them back slightly as the folds were so sharp they felt like they were slicing at your skin.

Looking back at the mailman, you thanked him for the delivery, and hoped him safe travels back home. Tipping his hat at you, he turned away with a farewell, and the bell chimed again when he opened the door, dipping his head against the wind as he faded into the white wall outside.

When the howling wind finally allowed the door to shut, you began the closing routine, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone else today with the severity of the weather outside. After locking the exits and pulling the shutters closed and the blinds down, you kept the shops lanterns on as you lifted the hefty parcel with a grunt and shuffled through the hidden doorway into the workshop.

Sliding it onto the table, you got to work opening it up, pulling the twine bow free and taking some small hand-held shears to slice open the glued down folds to reveal a cardboard box.

Pulling the thick brown paper and twine out from underneath, you chucked them onto the other workbench pushed against the wall to the right. Placing the shears down, you pushed your fingernails between the gap of the serrated cardboard and swung the flaps open. Inside was a lot of loose cotton wool, and you reached in, removing the protective layer and chucking it onto the table whilst simultaneously thanking whoever had spent their time padding the box out. This uncovered a semi-large shape swaddled in a maroon-coloured knitted blanket, and you reached your arms in deep to wrap around the object and haul it out.

Laying it on the table, you pushed the box and wool out of the way, and gently began unwrapping the blanket, mindful that some repair jobs may start out with several shattered pieces that you certainly didn’t want to accidentally drop an lose amongst everything. Coming to the final layer, your nails slotted through some of the holes of the knitting and clacked against what sounded like solid wood, and slipping the material off, you had your first look at your new potential project.

It was an old radio. Well, not that old, considering radios had only been in circulation for a decade or so, but it was one of the earlier models, the features you recognised from when you visited the county Mayor’s house when you were in your early teens. It was shaped with a resemblance to a cathedral arch, the wood panelling around the edge looking like pillars that began swirling and spiralling into gothic patterns the closer you got to the top. These patterns decorating the fine grated material that covered the speaker, and a few dials were situated on the bottom half, and you immediately noticed one was missing.

Pulling a stool over, you sat down to get a closer look, and you noted down the damages that came to light. It had obviously been looked after over the years, but, as always, people are prone to accidents, and this radio seemed to have gone through a few. Apart from the dial that was missing, there was a large split down one side, between two of the panels, and scratches and slight dents from where it had obviously been dropped. Grabbing your notebook, you jotted down your initial observations, before diving your hands into the left over cotton in the box to search for anything that could assist you.

To your luck, you found a small linen bag about the size of your palm, that you untied to reveal the missing dial and a few pieces of wood that had come off in some areas. Returning to your notes, you were just about to start a proposal form for treatment when something caught your eye. Looking over to the blanket you had put to the side, your eyes landed on a fancy looking envelope.

Reaching over, your fingers clasped around the paper, the material just as thick and expensive feeling as the parcel wrap, and you brought it towards you, careful not to elbow anything in the process, because if they could afford fancy radios and paper during this crisis, then they certainly were expecting you to repair this with equally expensive standards. Holding the paper up you read the loopy handwriting on the front of the envelope:

To  the Owner.

Turning it over, you pried the even fancier wax seal apart as gently as you could as to not ruin the paper, and opening the flap, you reached in to slide out a folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, you began to read the matching, loopy words.

---

December 4 th, 1929

Dear Owner,

I do hope this package finds you well. I am delivering this fine radio to be repaired at your establishment, as it belongs to my dear Mother and I would be overjoyed to have it completed in time for Christmas. Unfortunately, it has suffered its fair share of drops and bumps, but from what I have heard from others in our beloved city, you should be able to do an excellent job. The outside is obvious with what needs to be done, but there are areas within the interior mechanics that require some repairs. Now, I would take it to the radio shop, but the man who owns it is oh-so unpleasant, and would take weeks to be returned.

I am sure you would be happy to take on this challenge, for my mother’s sake, and that you will do a splendid job.

Regards,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

You blinked. Then furrowing your brows, you read it again. And again. Did this guy want you to not only fix up the look of his mum’s radio, but magically know the ins and outs of radio technology? You shook your head, then did a quick once-over of the words scrawled onto the page. Yep, he wanted you to do a Frankenstein and completely resurrect the old thing.

Placing you elbow on the table, you rested your chin on your palm as you stared at the wall covered in tool across the room. There was no way you could do this, not without Mr LeBlanc still ill – though even if he was here, you didn’t know if he had any knowledge on radios. Sighing, you rubbed at your face tiredly, not caring if you smudged the mascara on your lashes, it wasn’t like anyone was going to walk in on you with panda eyes anyway. Letting out a prolonged groan, you came to the final decision of what to do.

Trudging back into the shop, you quickly made yourself another cup of tea, before snatching some of the letter paper and an envelope from under the counter. Slumping back onto the stool in the workshop, you placed the paper in front of you whilst reaching into one of the drawers attached to the table to grab a pen, then, taking a moment to think of what you were going to say, you began writing.

---

December 6 th, 1929

Dear Mr Boudreaux,

Thank you for your enquiry. As much asI would love to fulfil your request, there are some issues regarding certain stages of the repairs. Mr LeBlanc, who owns the company, has taken ill this last week, and it is not yet known when he will recover, and I am the only member of staff he has employed at the moment. Unfortunately, I am not experienced in radio mechanics, and strongly advise that you come and collect the radio and take it to be repaired at a radio shop.

The radio can be returned here for outer repairs, but I am afraid that is the only option I can offer you at this time. The radio will be ready for you to collect from 9am on Monday morning. I do apologise for the inconvenience.

Regards,

---

Signing the first letter of your name, along with you surname, you read over what you had written. Satisfied, you sealed it in the envelope and got to work wrapping the radio back up. Quickly taking a candle, you took a peek in between the crack in the wood, the light shining on the innards. You definitely had no chance of fixing that, if the absolute mess of dislodged coils, wires and metal pieces inside said anything. Reluctantly you placed it back in its box wrapped up and padded with the cotton, before taping it up and re-glueing the parcel paper and twine back in place. It was a shame that you had to reject the request, the payment for the repair would have benefited you and Ralph quite a bit, and it made you feel awfully guilty to prevent someone’s gift for their mother, but it was out of your control. So, with the guilt hanging over your head, you pushed the parcel into the corner under one of the tables on sale.

Doing one last round of the shop, you extinguished the candles dotted around and flipped the light switches off except the main one by the door. With your coat and gloves on, you made sure the scarf was wrapped tight round your neck before grabbing your bag and did one last sweep of the place. Glancing in the corner, you took one last lingering look at the sorrowful parcel that sat under the table, but quickly snatched your eyes away, and grabbing the keys, you flipped the final light switch and stepped out into the cold, looking for the nearest post-box with the letter grasped in your hand.

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

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Monday, 9th December, 1929.

Monday came rolling round as usual, and you began your usual weekday routine of washing and dressing yourself before heading downstairs for breakfast. Scooping some scrambled eggs onto the toast on your plate, you trudged from the kitchen to the dining room, the slap of your bare feet on the tiles echoing through the wide hallway.

Shuffling through the doorway, you sat opposite Ollie, who, by the looks of it, was still waking up as he shovelled buttered toast into his mouth with his head still lying sideways on the table. Reaching over, you slapped the handle of your fork against his ear that stuck out from between his loose, dark curls, and he let out a whine as he sat up to face you with one eye glued shut, the other barely open, bread hanging from between his frown.

“You’ll choke eating like that.” You said as you scooped egg into your mouth.

Ollie dropped the toast from his mouth onto his plate. “Good.” He mumbled. “S’better than Miss Sammie droning on and ooonnnn about nonsense.” He flopped his head back on the table.

“Well enjoy it while you can.” You snorted. “If this crash gets any worse Mum will be pulling you both out to find jobs. And I know you two wouldn’t last a day in the workplace.”

He jerked his head back, scrunching his face in offence. “Like you would be any better.”

You deadpanned. “I’m currently working 9 -5, Monday to Friday, dumbass.” You jabbed back in annoyance, throwing a piece of crust at his forehead.

“Shit, forgot about that.” He grumbled, but perked up suddenly. “Yea, but you’ve only been working full time since last week!”

You chucked another crust. “Running a shop full time on my own – something I’ve never done before??”

“Still.” He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.

You had opened your mouth to retort, but stopped halfway as Allie’s voice echoed through from the kitchen.

“There’s been another one!” he called out, almost excitedly, the thumping of his feet vibrating through the floorboards as he practically sprinted into the room with the morning newspaper grasped firmly in his hands. The two of us jerked back as he slammed it onto the table.

“Amuver!?” cried Ollie, voice muffled by food, though he quickly swallowed it. All evidence of his tiredness now gone, he snatched up the paper and brought it right up to his face. “It’s barely been a week!”

“I know!” Allie replied, his voice rising in volume every time he spoke. “At this point it could end up happening every month!”

You looked between the two of them confused since you couldn’t see what Ollie was reading. “What could happen?” you asked, perplexed.

The two of them froze, turning to stare at you. Their eyes darted to each other, before Ollie lowered the newspaper and spoke.

“…The murders?” He revealed, as if it was the most obvious thing.

You blinked, then looked between the two, more confused. “What murders?”

“What!?” Allie cried, bracing his hands on the table as he leant over it, eyes wide. “You’ve been gallivanting round town for seven months and don’t know about thee murders??”

You leant back slightly at the sight of your cousin’s crazy expression, and slowly shook your head. “I’m uh – not one to read the newspaper often.” You explained sheepishly.

He gaped, clearly shocked at your lack of knowledge about the subject. His head whipped to where his brother sat, and his hand reached out and snatched the newspaper from Ollie’s. You quickly moved your breakfast out of the way, saving your food from being flattened as Allie slammed the paper down and began aggressively prodding at the headline on the front page. Swatting his hand away, you read the giant words printed above a photograph of a lake you didn’t recognise.

‘BARRISTER FOUND BUTCHERED ON EMBANKMENT’

Suddenly intrigued, brought the paper closer to read the front column.

Tragedy strikes again in New Orleans as the remains of county barrister, Paul Morgan, were found on the embankment and in the water of Lake Cataouatche by visitors to the area. Morgan was reported missing last Wednesday by his wife, Martha, when he failed to return home for two days after a night out on Monday with his colleagues. It was reported that Morgan’s body was dismembered, and his head took several hours to locate. However, certain body parts are still missing, therefore the lake has been closed off to the public for the foreseeable future. Police are calling in and searching for potential suspects, and give their condolences to Paul’s close family and friends, stating that they are working overtime to bring the killer to justice and prevent any further deaths. Due to the nature and severity of the crime, it is possible that this is another victim of who the public dubs ‘The Bayou Butcher’. The Sheriff strongly encourages people to stick to an early curfew and remain indoors after nightfall, as the safety of the public cannot be guaranteed at this trying time. (More on Page 5)

You went to flip through, but the paper was pulled out your hands by Ollie who wanted to read it.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Allie hissed excitedly as he lowered himself onto the chair at the head of the table between you both. “This could be another Axeman!”

Ollie gasped, eyes sparkling. “Shit, it could!”

You perked up. “Another Axeman? How long has this guy been around?” you asked as you brought your breakfast back in front of you.

Allie turned to you, eyes shining in excitement. “The first body was found in 1927 – and the rest have been popping up every 2-3 months, but this is the first time there’s been two in less than two weeks!”

You narrowed your eyes in thought. “How do you know it’s all one guy?”

At this question he seemed to get more excited, practically vibrating in his seat as he gestured to his twin. “Ollie and I have been collecting newspaper clippings on every murder that’s happened, and we’ve tried to eliminate any outliers – like, different weapons, ones that are bleedin’ obvious who did it – the rest all have the same MO: they never find the whole body.” He yammered on at light speed, emphasising each word with a loud thump of his finger prodding the table. “Sometimes it’s not obvious, I think they try to throw the police off by going for something small – like a finger – but there’s always something missing, and we know it’s them.”

You frowned. “Them?”

He shrugged. “Could be a woman.” You raised an eyebrow. “What!? I don’t discriminate! Women can be scary!” You slowly sat back in your seat, staring your cousin down. He pointed at you as he looked at his brother with wide eyes. “See!? You wouldn’t be surprised if she dragged a body in?”

Ollie swallowed the food he was chewing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she caused the second Great Fire of London because someone stole her food.” He said nonchalantly, before casually returning to his toast.

“Exactly!” cried Allie. “No wonder the government wants you all nice and buttoned up in a strait jacket!”

Dropping your fork with a clatter, you looked up at him in shock, mouth hanging open. He froze, quickly realising what he had said, and his face slowly scrunched up as he cringed.

“Too far?” he squeaked meekly as he glanced at you. “Sorry.”

Pouting, you glared silently before picking your fork back up.

A few moments of silence passed, before Ollie decided he had experienced enough of the dampened mood. “You know,” he began, catching your attention again. “We think the body parts aren’t just missing for the sake of it.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued again.

He looked you directly in the eye. “We think they’re eating them.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oo yummy, like a cannibal?” you queried, eyes darting to Allie, who perked back up, nodding. “So… there’s a cannibalistic serial killer running around New Orleans?”

Allie pointed a finger. “Serial killer, yes. Cannibal, possibly. We don’t actually have any proper evidence for that. I’m also going to skip the ‘yummy’ part, cuz I know you would never willingly consume human flesh.”

“You would be correct,” you confirmed with an amused smile, before glancing at the two. “Has mum ever suggested that you two should consider joining the police force?”

All you got were two matching cheshire grins in response.

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

After cleaning up your food, and disappointing the twins because no, you didn’t bring your serial killer books to America with you, because you didn’t want to be judged by the luggage inspectors on the ferry, besides, Jack the Ripper got a little boring after a while.

Even though it was interesting to learn about the current events of the city you were staying in, the subject of said current events did end up putting you on edge when you travelled to work that morning, with you clutching your bag a little tighter, and intensely staring down anyone who looked at you a little odd on the tram. It even got to the point where you had stepped off the tram, and spent the ten minute walk between there and the shop glancing down any alleyways as subtle as you could, even though you knew you would spot anyone against the white snow that reflected the morning sun into your poor, suffering eyes anyway.

Unlocking the shop doors, you stepped in, stomping the snow off of your boots on the mat before picking it up and shaking it off outside. Crossing the threshold of the room, you ducked under the rug into the kitchen, shrugging off your scarf and coat and hanging them up on the pegs.

You were just dusting off the old grandfather clock that was slotted between the shelves of smaller antique clocks when a knock echoed through the shop. Jumping slightly, you lowered the feather duster in your hand and looked over your shoulder to see the same mailman from Friday waving at you through the window in the door, his smile growing as you made eye contact with him . Placing the duster down, you quickly strode over to the door, twisting the locks before pulling it open and sticking you head through the gap.

“I do apologise Miss,” he began after you said hello. “I hate to interrupt you whilst your still getting ready to open, but my boss handed some priority mail to me – said I had to get it to you as soon as I could.” He held a letter out in front of you.

Frowning, confused, you slowly reached out and took the letter from his hands. “Okayyy…” Turning the letter around you came across some very familiar hand writing:

‘To Mr LeBlanc’s Employee.’

“Oh god.” You groaned quietly, your shoulders slumping. This could turn out to be quite nasty if this was going the way you thought it would.

The mailman glanced between the letter and your very prominent grimace. “Is everything alright?” he asked, concern shining in his eyes.

“Yea! Yea,” you breathed, glancing around the street with the dwindling hope that your client would show up to pick up his parcel, but the letter in your hand said otherwise. “Everything’s fine. Just some very small business issues.”

He glanced at your face again, and went to open his mouth, but hesitated, seemingly switching what he was going to say. “Well, uh, I hope everything goes well, ma’am. I’ll see you around?”

You nodded, still staring down the street. “Yea, sure. See you around.” You said distractedly. Quickly giving him a strained smile, you stepped back to close the door, and the man tipped his cap at you again before strolling away.

Walking over to the counter, you slumped onto the stool with a groan, chucking the letter down in front of you. Leaning your elbows on the surface, you rested your forehead against your palms as you glared at the words inked onto the paper. The way it was addressed to you already screamed passive-aggressive, and you hated confronting anything or anyone with a passion, and you certainly didn’t want to confront this Boudreaux guy because you denied his mum a Christmas present. With a loud whine, you slammed your head onto the counter before blindly patting the surface until you felt the thick paper and slowly dragged it towards you. Sitting back up, you held the seemingly innocent envelope in front of you, and stared at it for a couple more moments, before you couldn’t take it anymore and tore it open.

---

December 7 th, 1929

To the Employee of Mr LeBlanc,

I hope this letter has found you in post haste. I am deeply upset that you lack the skills of radio repair, after all it is a growing medium that most should be learning at this point. Therefore I have come to the conclusion that I will refuse your rejection. The fliers you put out stated very clearly that you could repair ANY object, and it would be very disappointing for people to hear that it no longer has that skill to offer, since the only other option for radio repair during these trying times is a very unpleasant experience with that owner I mentioned.

I do hope my Mother’s radio will be fixed on time, I do hate to disappoint her. If Mr LeBlanc does not recover within the period, or you have any queries about the repair, please call the number I have written below.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Best Wishes,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

If your mouth hung open any further than you would be catching every insect that resided in the swamps surrounding the town.

Was this guy fucking for real??

You scoffed slightly. Then again. Eventually you scoffing spiralled into manic laughter as you guffawed at the audacity that this man thought he had. With wide eyes, you slammed the paper down back onto the counter, staring over at the wall because if you looked at those words any longer you would probably end up tracking this man down so you could shove his mother’s radio up his ass along with the fat metal rod that apparently already resided there.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed back the stool and stood up, deciding you needed you reset your mind before the first customers came in. Marching back to the kitchen, you spent the next five minutes sat in the middle of the floor, waiting for the kettle to boil as you very angrily stuffed the blueberry muffin you had brought in your mouth. You glanced at the clock and pouted as you realised you only had 15 minutes before you had to put on your best customer-friendly expression despite the metaphorical grey cloud that thundered above your head.

Thinking for a moment, you shot back up, chucking the muffin case as you strode back through to the counter, and snatched the letter up, marching back to the kitchen over to the rotary phone on the table in the corner. Picking up the handset, you pressed it to your ear as you spun the number written out on the paper in front of you.

It rang for a moment, and you tried to picture the man who would – hopefully – receive your call. You expected to hear the gruff voice of some 50 year old, that would start yelling down the line about how incompetent you were, especially when he found out you were a woman, before you heard a crackle as it was picked up and a polite and much younger sounding “Hello?” came through.

You froze for a moment, your vision of some rude, old guy whooshed away at the voice of a much younger, more spritely man, and you pictured someone like the mailman, until you heard a louder, drawn out “Hellooo?”, the man on the other end seemingly becoming amused at your lack of response.

Snapping yourself out of the character builder you had in your mind, you quickly spoke. “Hello, do I happen to be talking to–”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” You blinked as you were interrupted. “But I do believe you’ve accidentally called an American number!” The man said chipperly, though there was a condescending undertone – his amusement clearly growing at the thought of your apparent mistake. You guessed it was when he heard your accent.

“I- what?” you stammered down the receiver.

“Oh you poor thing.” He simpered over the line like some fake grandma comforting you after you tripped over. He was clearly having fun – you could just picture the fake pout he was putting on. “Like I said, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”

No, this was definitely the right one. His attitude over the phone matched his attitude in the letter precisely.

You could hear him being to move to put the phone down, and you quickly called out. “WAIT NO!!” you cried, on the verge of an outrage. “I definitely put the right number in! Now, am I or am I not speaking to a Mister Boudreaux?”

“Oh! Do pardon me.~” He practically sing-songed. Oh, so now he was willing to listen? “Yes that is I, and to who do I owe the pleasure to be called by an English dame such as yourself?” the fake flirtatious tone had you picturing the faceless man laid on his front, kicking his legs as he twirled the coil between his fingers. You pushed that amusing thought down, however, when you caught sight of the piece of paper in your hand.

“I got your letter.”

“Ah,” It was like a switch was flipped, the man’s tone darkening slightly. “I see.”

Rereading the words this guy had put down, you could barely control yourself, and you pictured the time your mother had marched you down the lane to the house of a boy in your school year. That boy had given you a large bruise on your forehead, and instead of telling you that he did it because he fancied you, your mum decided to give him and his family the verbal lashing of your life. ‘I’m not raising you to snap at the slightest pressure like those London lasses, my love’, she had said, ‘You’re gonna go down kicking and screaming like it’s the last thing you’ll do’.

And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.

“Right,” you began, your Yorkshire accent coming on full force. “I’m gonna need you t’ open yer lug ole, lad, cuz I dunno how you lot do customer service over here in America, but bein’ passive aggressive t’ someone who’s literally done nowt to deserve the absolute shite you’ve just given me makes you out t’ be a right knob’ead, you hear me?” You reprimanded. “If you don’t get your arse down to the shop by the end of the week, I’m putting ya mum’s radio down as unclaimed and selling it t’ the next person I see!”

You quickly slammed the phone down, too fuming to hear anything that Mr Boudreaux had to say. The only reason you felt a little guilty was that you knew nothing about this guy’s mum – she could be the sweetest woman in the world, and you just up and went and threatened to sell her possession! Though, with the way her son behaved, you would be surprised if she turned out to be just like him. Ugh, then you would be dealing with two of them.

Letting out a sigh, you picked up the phone again, instead dialling the phone number pinned to the corkboard on the wall. It rang for longer this time, and when it picked up you received a very loud coughing fit. When it died down, you finally spoke.

“Ralph I need your help.” You groaned, plopping yourself down on the spindly chair next to you with a defeated sigh.

“I’ve got the worst customer in the world.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Does uh, anyone want more memes?

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, and I do apologise for the sudden dialect change, I was desperate for MC to finally speak the way I do lol. See you soon for Chapter 3!!

Please let me know if you want to be added to the Taglist!

< Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

Return to Fic Masterlist

Return to Navigation

*feeds you content a lot earlier than I thought*

Taglist: @theredviolets @mybrainsautocorrect @all-user-error @belos-simp69 @boogiemansbitch @elio-ee @snowlotr @mistresslemonsuger @sugasweettea @jaygrl22 @mysterypotatoink @yunimimii @threefingeredpencil @mydeardelphi @glowinthedarkbones1150 @fluffismystaplefood @writer-girl99 @rl800 @the-unhinged-raccoon @riritvt

[littleoneamanda]

GF: Fiddleford Hadron Mcgucket

Alright, I think I'll just continue drawing in the original style. It's actually pretty fun xD The only difference is colored lines and maybe background. Hope you like it!

And here we go again to my thoughts on the book of bill, thisisnotawebsitedotcom and my thoughts on Fiddleford as a character. Or in this one is more like a summary of what information we have about him. Welcome to my second essay on 2D characters xD (SPOILERS)

Oh boy, where do I begin with this one? xD

Fiddleford, probably (imo) one of the most tragic character in this show. Going from once a brilliant inventor to a deranged hillbilly living at the dump. His life ruined by trauma, his fear of bad memories, and by his own invention.

College

Fidds is the first Mcgucket in the family to go to college. His first day starts off pretty rocky. The school's mascot "THE BMU B-", shoved him into a locker, got his mustache caught in a pencil sharperner (???) and getting laughed out by a whole class for trying to prove the universe was a giant hologram. While sitting in his room in tears, his room mate barge in the room. Confidently declared that his theory was plausible and was ready to not sleep until they have proved it accurate. Not only did they cracked it, but Fidds did something else that he thought was impossible: He made a friend, Stanford Pines.

This is pretty much (currently) the information we have about them in college. I really wish there were more. It seems both of them became friends very fast. Both being nerdy and outcasts for different things. Ford with his sixth finger and Fidds coming from a hog farm ( I relate so hard with Fidds on the farm background you have no idea I love it) However, while Ford is more of a socially awkward introvert, Fidds seems to be a little bit more extroverted.

After college

Fiddleford moved to Palo Alto, California. Around this time he met his wife Emma-May and they had their son Tate.  He starts up his own computer buisness "Fiddleford Computermajigs". It's unclear how the relationship between Fidds and his wife were, but the fact that he doesn't seem to hesitate to leave them behind to help an old college friend he haven't talked to in 6 years is a little weird. Six years is how long Ford had been in Gravity Falls before he contacted Fidds. (Source: Journal 3). Sure, if the whole project was a positive thing, it could be have been their big break in science and fame. But Fiddleford had a life in California. He had a family, but how good was the marriage? Maybe Fidds didn't get any other friends after college. So when Ford called for help, he didn't seem to hesitate to say yes and join him.

"Success! He has agreed to join me! With his assistance, I am confident we can complete the machine. He has already made several suggestions over the phone that I intend to incorporate into my revised designs."

-Stanford, Journal 3

Gravity Falls, Fiddleford is now Stanfords assistant/partner.

Some things Fiddleford brought with him: A vase/pot when he chews tobacco, a photo of his family, the banjo, floppy disks , two laptops which one of them is special designed for Fords extra finger. The other one is Fidds which has Fords name as password. And a Cubic's Cube that Ford scrambles when Fidds is not looking. Fidds solves it without a problem tho.

When seeing the blueprints for the portal for the first time, he asked Ford if he had any help with these plans because of complex they are. Ford describes Fidds as a suspicious man (pretty ironic knowing how Ford will become later).

During his time in Gravity falls we learn early that Fidds seems to have some trouble handeling his anxiety. Especially after some of the things they encountered. His knee starts bouncing when he's agitated or he starts pulling out his hair. Being Fords assistant turned out to be adventurous and scary at the same time. Reading Journal 3 you kinda wonder why he even stayed for so long with Ford. There was times he really got traumatized. It is now where the we get into the speculations and the hints of Fidds having a bit of stronger feelings for Ford than just a friend.

The gifts. Already in Journal 3, he gives Ford a special designed laptop with extra keys for his extra finger. He buys a pumpkin at the fair because it reminded him of Ford.

"He pulled it out of a barrel of "reject gourds" because he said it reminded him of me! (Suppose I did inherit my dad's nose.)

-Stanford, Journal 3

From the thisisnotawebsitedotcom, if you type in Oroborous, you will get two pages of when Fidds gave Ford an axolotl that Ford named it Frilliam.

"F said it's frills reminded him of my sideburns and he thought it could keep me company the next time he's out."

-Stanford, thisisnotawebsitedotcom, Code: Oroborous

I'm still pretty traumatized after Frilliam...that damn dorito asshole demon. Also...Ford drew a heart over the "i" in friend instead of the dot??

In the TBOB, Fiddleford gives Stanford a snow globe that HE MADE. And not only that! He gives Ford knitted a pair of six-fingered gloves that HE has KNITTED.

Fiddleford flies back home to visit his family for the holidays, but the reunion have not been exactly happy. Fidds and his wife had got in a massive fight when she realized he'd forgotten to buy her a Christmas Present...man. Look. I mean...I honestly do not know what to say to that. My guy gave gifts that he had made to his bestfriend that he might have some certain feelings for and just happen to forget he had a wife...that's normal right? xD

Let's talk a little bit about Ford cause I forgot to mention some other things as well. In journal 3, Ford talks in a certain way. It's more sterile and stiff. Keeping distance from emotions pretty much. Especially before the 30 years on the other side of the portal. In TBOB+ the pages from the website, these pages are more personal. Which is a whole new view of Ford that we didn't see before. This time we get to see what Fidds and Ford did when they weren't focused on the project. When they had a winter break from it. When Fidds tells Ford he's leaving to visit his family, you can kinda read between the lines that Ford seems very sad about that. His fear of being alone again. On that page, there are some blue stains which some believe are tears... :(

"Sixer was a lot better at science than he was at making friends, and he tended to rip out journal pages that had anything to do with his issues with others..."

-Bill, TBOB

After the massive fight between Fidds and his wife, he decides to return to Gravity Falls as soon as possible. When he reurns, he sees Ford being in trouble and saves him from the Krampus by hitting him with his banjo. They embraced. Fidds explains why he's back and Ford asks him if there is anything he could do to cheer him up. But Fidds feel pretty defeated by everything that has happen.

That night, Ford calls Fidds to come down to the lab for a portal update.

"I'll admit that it wasn't the most efficient use of our electricity, but the smile on his face proved I'd made the right choice."

-Stanford, TBOB

Ford later tells that it was time to drink nog until they didn't remember what a Krampus was. And they spent the rest of the night building snowmen and reminiscing about old times.

This is wholesome asf. Also, Ford said himself he's not really a drinker, but after that kareoke drunk thing, I wonder if he kinda wanted have a similar experience? Perhaps a stretch, but interesting in my opinion.

But all good things comes to an end. In Fiddlefords case, in a very tragic way. After some traumatic encounters (especially after the  Gremloblin), he invents the memory gun. He uses the gun multiple times on himself during his time with Ford. He have even used it on Ford at one point when Ford tries to talk him out of ever using it.

The night before the testing of the portal, Fiddleford expresses his concerns to Ford about the portal. He tries to talk him into publish his research as a thesis instead of the portal. Ford who has been ver manipulated at this point to believe Fiddleford has ill intentions, refused. And the next day...the portal incident that makes Fidds mental state go so south. Seeing the Nightmare realm and  predicting apocalyptic catastrophe that was about to be the consequences of the portal.

Now here is a interesting thing about the portal scene (this could be a stretch once again). Something i did notice while rewatching s2. When Ford tells the story about the portal, it seems pretty cut and clear of what happen. Fidds get dragged into the portal, traumatized, warns Ford, stands up and leaves. And Ford calls Stan. Which makes it look like everything happened in a very short time period. But when Ford talks about the portal incident again with Dipper, Ford has different clothes, sitting down and have Fidds in his lap. Now this could just be a mistake or something they choose for more dramatic effect. But seeing the difference how Ford talks in Journal 3 and TBOB, it is a interesting choice for that scene. Like, when he has the white shirt and black tie, there is a more serious tone and stiffnes. When he has his blue shirt and brown sweater vest he is more personal. In TBOB, it takes like around 2 days before he finally decides to contact Stan. He decides to do that after he found the 5 failed knitted prototypes for the perfect 6-fingered gloves and the ripped photo. When he realized he had lost Fiddleford.

Fiddleford's mental health keept getting worse. After quitting the project, he found himself still very haunted by everything he has seen. He started to use the memory gun even more and created an organization, The Blind Eye Society. Hoping this would help other people in the town to forget bad memories. Ford found this out and suspected Fidds to be behind it. Unfortunaly, Fidds started to use it as soon as he had seen something scary. The more he used it, the more he started to lose his mind and forgetting words. 618 days. It took around 1 year, 8 months, 1 week and 6 days. That is not really a long time. He used it so frequently, and knowing he had some trouble handling his anxiety from the start…this hurts. His body aged so fast during this time as well. And he's suppose to be around the same age as Ford, around or in his 30s.

Fiddleford before the portal: a very smart, brilliant inventor, sensitive and a very kind person.

After the portal: An old deranged hillbilly who lived at the dump with no memory of his past, but still haunted by what he saw in the portal.

He does starts to regain his memories in S2: Society of the Blind Eye. Finding out after 30 years who he really was.

"After all these years I finally know who I am. Maybe I messed up in the past, but now that I've seen what happened, I can begin to put myself together again."

-Fiddleford, S2, "Society of the Blind Eye"

When Ford and Fidds reunite in Weirdmaggedon, he forgives Ford for everything that led up to this. After Weirdmaggedon, Ford visits Fiddleford. Fidds was overjoyed to see Ford and they spent hours talking. Ford is feeling guilty for the things leading to Fidds causing losing his memories, but Fidds dismisses his attempts to apologize.

"Not only is this man's mind superior to mine, but he has one of the biggest hearts I've ever seen."

"Before I left, Fiddleford insisted that I listen to him play the banjo. I could have sworn that as he joyfully played, i could see the age lift off his face, and see the the Fiddleford who had been my friend so many years ago."

-Stanford. Journal 3

I swear a tear dropped from my eye while writing this quote. And I have an idea for a drawing for just that one.

And that's where I wanna leave this. A happy ending after all :)

I'm very sorry again if there are any grammar errors in this one. I have to go back and forth on the sources a lot here. The show, books, website and the wiki just to try understand the timeline and if there were any details missed. I did not intend for this one to be as long (maybe even longer) about Stanford. But I kinda wanted to put Fiddlefords story together and give some of my thoughts on it as well. Fiddlefords story is so sad in so many ways. He and Ford, Best friends and room mates in college. Both of them having no other friends than each other. He sacrifices a lot when he leaves his family to help Ford in Gravity Falls, Returns to Ford when the family reunion goes south. The fact that he could have done anything else, but he decides to go back to Ford. Maybe because he felt he didn't feel welcome there anymore and only has Ford left. Tate is probably the one I mostly feel sorry for in this situation. His father coming home for the Holidays and then leaves again to not come back. Fidds trying and wanting to help Ford, but get his concerns about a real danger ignored. Then Fidds trauma and fear of remembering bad things takes over so much he invents a memory gun that becomes his addiction. Ruined by his own invention.

Now, I'm someone who has NEVER done shipping art or not really expressing any thoughts about it. I'm pretty careful with that honestly and I have been with Ford and Fidds as well. But this time feel so different from the other times of speculations of what happend between them. It feels like it's right there. Especially with Fiddleford reading TBOB what he did for Stanford. Or maybe I'm just another person hoping a little bit too much xD It's just...the possibility of them having some kind of stronger feelings is there. Again, Especially when it's from Fiddleford. Stanford is kinda bit harder to read when it comes to his feelings. Kinda what I said before, he talks in two different tones. Probably depends on who he trusts to talk to.

Alright, That's all folks! I promise I won't do a essay like this for the other drawings xD But I just needed it to get out of my system. And I haven't really seen a post like this that sums up the information we have atm. So I wanted to contribute xD

Thanks for reading!

Next up is actually going to be a GF video🍃

[kumememe]

little help (oliver quick x m!reader)

plot: places after the events of saltburn, where oliver had already inherited the estate. he sees someone who caught his eye, someone who reminds him of who he was when he was younger.

a slow sunday afternoon was bestowed upon oliver's day. the usual rustle and bustle of people as they went about their day on the streets, the car honks when there was a mild amount of traffic, the cloudy season of london—everything appeared to be in order. well, except for one thing…

him.

oliver was seated in a small café, typing on his laptop as he worked on some reports for his job as a journalist. with a sip of his cold brew in hand, he took a deep breath and came to a stop. he looked at the word file he had open, the blinking of a single text line jarring. he had hit a block, not knowing what to do next. he took this moment as a sign to rest, stretching his arms outward as he let out a yawn. the feeling of his bones cracking brought him some relief. he looked around the café—no one was there except for the new barista.

ah yes, the barista. from what oliver had gathered, he was a college student, eighteen years of age, studying at oxford just like oliver had. tall, active, and most importantly—diligent and honest. and attractive, but that was beside the point.

oliver had grown intrigued by the younger man who served him coffee every day. he noticed how sweet and alluring the boy seemed, an abundance of innocence and charm surrounding his aura. the folds in his eyes when he gave that toothy grin as he greeted oliver with his coffee, wishing him a good day—it made oliver's stomach swirl with a familiar feeling he hadn’t felt in years. it seemed strange having a feeling remind him of his past, but he couldn’t help it. the college student working diligently behind the coffee bar… he reminded him of him.

young, naive, filled with curiosity and infatuation for the world yet driven—it was something oliver knew all too well.

oliver noticed that the barista was just relaxing, taking his fifteen-minute break earlier than usual. he cleared his throat to get his attention, raising his hand for the young man to see. luckily, the barista saw him and made his way over with a beaming smile. the two of them had shared a fair number of conversations, mostly casual greetings and small talk about how their days had been. they were familiar with each other, so the barista had no problem walking over to him. the barista sat down across from oliver, leaning back against the chair. "hello, mr. quick," he greeted. "hope the coffee's good. we tried new roasted beans today to see if there was a difference."

oliver let out a small bemused sigh, nodding. "it's good, y/n. i wasn't going to mention the sweeter taste until you brought it up."

oliver placed his laptop to the side of the table, resting his elbows on the wooden surface as he propped up his head. "so, how have you been? i assume you're still studying?"

y/n nodded. "yeah. uni has been a bit heavy lately. i can barely balance work and the interims i have." he let out a sigh through his nose. "but i have to do what i have to, to survive."

"what about you? how's work?" y/n asked out of curiosity.

it was oliver's turn to grunt at the mention of his job. "same old, same old. but it's getting rather… monotonous." he leaned back in his chair, mimicking y/n's stance. "journalism is about facts and objectivity, but with the whole internet spewing out rumors left and right, it's getting tiring to follow up on a story."

y/n nodded. "i get it, though i don't do journalism. reading any news article nowadays feels like a double-edged sword," he muttered. "i wouldn't blame you if you wanted to take a break. i'd certainly do so if i could afford it."

oliver cocked his head to the side. "may i ask why you can't?"

y/n licked his dry lips, crossing his arms as he blew out some air. he was hesitant to share, but after knowing oliver for a few months, he decided he could open up. he cleared his throat. "well, for starters, i'm working two jobs just to pay the monthly rent for my apartment," he mentioned, causing oliver's eyes to soften. oliver felt a pang of sympathy for the young man as he listened.

"academic workload is catching up to me, and i'm falling behind just a tad," y/n explained, running a hand through his hair. "there's just so much going on, i can't even think of what to do first."

oliver raised a brow. "isn't term break nearing?" he asked.

y/n shook his head. "yeah, but… i'll need to catch up on my rent. i'll probably work most of the week."

oliver hummed, the gears in his mind turning. for some odd reason, he felt bad for the guy. working two jobs just to make ends meet while also battling the workload and school duties at a prestigious university. he didn’t know his family situation, but it must be difficult if his parents weren’t at least helping to assist him. maybe a certain someone’s savior complex had rubbed off on him, or perhaps since inheriting wealth, he had become more generous. in a twisted sense, maybe it was sympathy.

oliver couldn’t just leave him to suffer, much to his dismay. he wanted to help. he was hooked, intrigued by this young man. he knew he wanted y/n to need him. to be dependent on him for his needs. his eyes darkened slightly as he took a shallow breath, speaking after making up his mind.

"tell you what," oliver began. "i'll help you with your rent."

y/n's eyes widened at the sudden offer, and he let out a laugh of disbelief. his laughter faltered when he noticed how serious oliver seemed. "… are you serious?" he asked.

oliver gave him a small, crooked smile. "of course. why wouldn't i be? it's just to help you get some of the weight off your shoulders," he said in a convincing tone. he noticed the way y/n stared at him, knowing he was probably weighing his options as he looked down at his lap.

"i can't possibly accept that kind of offer, mr. quick. i…" y/n's sentence trailed off, his mouth slightly ajar as oliver waved a hand dismissively.

"i'm not asking if you want to accept it," oliver said, crossing his legs. "i'm telling you that i'm helping you. think of it as a treat for working so hard."

y/n was flabbergasted, not knowing how to respond. for a moment, his eyes squinted and his brows furrowed. "…is there a catch?"

oliver snickered slightly, feigning nonchalance. "no, no catch."

y/n whined slightly. "but i need to pay you back somehow, mr. quick."

"call me oliver."

y/n cleared his throat. "oliver, i…" he tried to protest, but it seemed oliver had made up his mind. with a sigh of defeat, he relented. "alright… thank you so much, oliver. it will really help. a lot." he added, "please, if you need anything from me, i'll do my best to help."

bingo.

oliver smirked internally. "i'll keep that in mind."

a few days later…

y/n returned from work, exhausted, as he collapsed face-first on his dorm room bed. today was the day the rent was due, and he groaned as he got a ping on his phone. unlocking it, he checked the message, tapping the icon to open his inbox. he rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the tiredness. squinting slightly to read the message, his eyes widened. he couldn't believe what he read.

"greetings, mr. l/n, here is confirmation that your past and current rent have been settled. as for the remaining rent for this school term, it has been paid in advance. the individual who covered your dues has included a message for you, which is enclosed below. good luck with your examinations.

'see you soon, y/n. - o.q.'"

______________________________________________________________ author's note: just a little drabble here since someone asked for some oliver quick love. might make sequel to this or a part two, depending on how many people like it. it's quite rushed and i just wrote it in between classes so... yeah. hope you enjoyed!

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Creepy Carl

Danny is not fond of his parents' old ghost hunting friend that's come to pay them a visit for the week.

For the prompts: Jack and Maddie invite an old ghost hunting buddy (not Vlad) to stay in their guest room for the week. Expecting to catch up with their good ole pal, they're a little confused when this ghost hunter just keeps asking questions about their son, Danny [from @ectoblastfromthepast], and After the accident, Danny no longer has a shadow, and he isn't the first person to notice its absence. [from TheSilentBard]

Fair warning, Danny calls the old ghost hunting buddy 'Creepy Carl' for a reason. It may not be sexual in any way, but he is still very much creeping on a child, and I think y'all should be aware of that going in.

Read also on AO3

[Warning for uncanny valley elements, and (non-sexual) inappropriate behavior by an adult toward a minor]

How many 'old ghost hunting buddies' did his parents have? Danny wondered as they introduced them to one Anderson Carl. First Vlad, and now this guy?

Apparently, after college and before Jazz was born, the two of them had gone on many a ghost hunt with Mr. Carl. Now, he had his own paranormal investigation blog with a pretty decent readership, and he had come to Amity Park to do a piece on the town, which of course meant he needed a place to stay in town while he was doing research.

Luckily, he had a couple of old buddies with a guest room who happened to live right where the action was, and when he told them he was coming to town, they eagerly invited him to stay in said guest room for the whole week he was planning to stay. They thought it would be a great chance to catch up with their good ole pal, but Danny was wary the second he laid eyes on the man.

Anderson Carl wasn't as tall as Jack, as hardly anyone was, but he still loomed over Danny at a solid six feet tall, probably a few inches taller than that. He had close-cropped, dirty blond hair, and dark gray eyes like angry storm clouds, they even seemed to light up with electric curiosity as Danny watched the man, and the man also watched him.

"Welcome to Fenton Works," Maddie greeted him cheerfully. "That's our son, Danny. Our daughter Jazz is out tutoring right now, but she'll be back in a few hours."

"Nice to meet you, Danny," Mr. Carl said, and smiled.

The smile was perfectly ordinary, but Danny couldn't help feeling a sinister chill when it was directed at him. Maybe it was to too-white teeth, or the way it stretched his chapped lips so tightly they looked like they might crack, but Danny didn't like it.

"Uh... sure," Danny said cautiously. "Sorry, but I've got homework to do, so I'm gonna go."

He could feel those dark eyes following him all the way up the stairs, and when he closed his bedroom door behind him, he felt like Mr. Carl couldn't be leaving town soon enough. A whole week of this already sounded unbearable.

The next morning, when Danny got dressed and left for school, Mr. Carl was already awake, and sitting at the kitchen table, typing on his laptop. The laptop, too, was a dark grey, but it had a sticker on it that said UncannyCarl.com in bright red letters designed to look like they were partially obscured by smoke.

"Good Morning, Danny," the man greeted, with that same unsettling smile from the day before. "Off to school?"

"Yeah, it's Monday, so..." Danny trailed off. He took an orange out of the bowl on the counter for breakfast, not taking his eyes of the man before him. "Is that your blog, Mr. Carl?" he asked. "Uncanny Carl dot com?"

"That's right," the man confirmed. "Uncanny is something of a synonym for paranormal, but really the name is based on... are you familiar with the uncanny valley effect?"

"Never heard of it," Danny said.

"The uncanny valley effect is when you see something that looks human in most respects, but it's just slightly off enough to make your brain send out warning signals that it's not human, and you shouldn't be fooled by it," Mr. Carl explained. "Often times, you aren't consciously aware of what detail your brain registers as wrong that's causing the uncanny valley effect, whether it's that their arms are just slightly too long, the shape of their face is abnormal, or they don't have a shadow. Your brain notices it, even if you don't."

Danny couldn't help thinking that this guy was a little uncanny valley himself, but he thought it would be rude to say out loud, and he didn't want to piss off his parents' creepy guest.

"That's fascinating Mr. Carl, but I gotta get to school."

"Oh, and you can drop the 'Mr', by the way," he said. "Everyone just calls me Carl, even though it's my last name. In school, people used to joke that my parents must've but my name backwards on my birth certificate."

Danny just furrowed his eyebrows, shook his head, and left the kitchen, along with Creepy Carl, behind him as he headed out the front door to school.

Between classes, he caught Sam and Tucker up on his new house guest.

"Great, because all you need is another ghost hunter living under your roof," Sam said sardonically.

"I know, right?" Danny agreed. "At least this one's only staying until Saturday, but he's already creeping me out. I feel like he's constantly watching me whenever we're both in a room together. It's weird."

"Do you think he noticed something about you?" Tucker asked. "I mean, you don't know anything about this guy. What if he's actually a better ghost hunter than your parents?"

"It's not hard to be," Sam scoffed.

Danny ignored her, choosing instead to answer Tucker's question. "I'm not sure, but... maybe? He was talking about something called the uncanny valley effect, which he explained as being able to recognize when something that looked human wasn't, I guess. Something like that, anyway. He was just explaining the name of his blog, but he might've meant it as a warning that he was onto me.

"If you ask me, he's the uncanny valley one, though."

—

Jack and Maddie had been excited to show their old friend around their (relatively) new lab, especially the Fenton Ghost Portal. Carl seemed suitably interested in all of it, and he listened as they caught him up on their lives since he'd parted ways with the couple, but the whole time he seemed a bit... distracted.

Back when they were fresh college graduates, Carl had been an eager note-taker, his pencil hardly stilling on the pad of yellow lined paper he always carried with him. But now, he was hardly taking any notes at all. Even when he was staring at the portal between this world and the next, he only scribbled down a few sentences before twirling his pencil idly between his fingers.

They asked him about what he'd been up to since they last saw him, and he told them, but he was remarkably brief. He mentioned that he'd gone solo for a bit before deciding to start a blog, and he'd been running that ever since, writing the occasional opinion piece for local newspaper to get some supplemental income.

He'd finished talking about himself in under a minute, and even when asked, he didn't seem keen to elaborate on any particular investigation of his over the last sixteen years. All he said was that they could read about it all on his blog.

That wasn't the end of his strange behavior, because the next thing he asked about was Danny.

Jack and Maddie were of course very eager to brag about their kids, especially Jazz, but when they started to do so, Carl said they were getting off track, and he was really curious about Danny.

He asked them how old Danny was, if he was at all reclusive, or short-tempered, if they'd ever noticed him acting particularly odd or cagey.

They answered of course, seeing no reason not to. Carl was their friend after all, and they trusted that he didn't have any bad intentions when it came to their son—and if he did, they wouldn't hesitate to beat his ass and hand him over to the police—but surely he didn't. They were still confused though. Especially because, since the conversation turned to Danny, Carl's pencil hadn't stopped moving even once.

"What's with all the questions about Danny?" Jack asked. "I thought you came here to investigate ghosts."

"Oh, no real reason," Carl replied with a casual shrug. "Just... a bit of a hunch. I won't bother you with it unless I happen to find proof." Then he asked, "Have you even noticed that the air feels colder around Danny, or that standing next to him gives you an uncomfortable buzzing sensation under your skin?"

It was a odd question... but even odder was that neither Jack nor Maddie were actually sure of the answer. They worked with ghosts all the time so of course they felt sensations like that, but... neither could remember if they'd felt them around Danny... nor could they say for sure that they hadn't.

As Carl continued his line of questioning, a feeling of disquiet settled in on top of their confusion. After a point, they asked if he might want to hear about some of the recent ghost incidents around town, rather than just spending all day talking about their fourteen-year-old son.

Carl looked at them in silence for a moment, his eyes narrowed as if he might challenge them and insist. But then his lips quirked up in a smile, and he agreed to the subject change without resistance.

It wouldn't be the last time he asked about Danny that week though. He would stop, when asked, but by and by, the topic of Danny would always come up again, and when they told him about Danny's accident with the Fenton Portal a few months before, he seemed particularly intrigued.

—

It had been three days since Creepy Carl took up residence in the Fenton guest room, and Danny could confidently say that he hated the guy. He'd suspected as much from day one, but now that it was Wednesday, Danny had confidently confirmed that Creepy Carl almost never looked away from Danny when the two of them were in the same room, and it was seriously freaking Danny out.

At home, Danny was spending almost all his time in his bedroom to avoid running into the guy. Unfortunately, his bedroom shared a wall with the guest room, and just knowing the guy was right on the other side of the wall was causing Danny to lose sleep.

Still, Creepy Carl never did anything more than just watch him. At least, not until very late Friday night, or very early Saturday morning. Danny never did know which was more correct. His discomfort proved to be well founded when, around one in the morning that night, he awoke to a bright light being shined on his face.

Danny put a hand up to block the light and sat up to see what was causing it.

He wasn't sure if she should be surprised or not when he made out the silhouette of Anderson Carl shining a flashlight directly at his face. Danny was pretty sure his bedroom door had been locked. Ever since Carl started staying the room next door, Danny had been making sure to lock it. Obviously that had been a futile endeavor.

"What the hell, Carl?" Danny groaned. "Just... just what the hell?"

"What are you?" Creepy Carl asked creepily.

"What do you mean what am I? I'm a freshman."

"A freshman without a shadow?"

"What?"

"Look behind you?"

Danny was hesitant to take his eyes off the creep in front of him, but curiosity got the better of him and he turned.

On the wall behind him was a circle of light from Carl's flashlight. For a moment, Danny didn't register what he was supposed to be seeing, then as the tiredness in his brain started to lift slightly, he realized. He was supposed to be seeing his shadow behind him.

It wasn't there.

He snapped his head back around to look at Carl, and jumped with a start when he realized that the man had taken several steps closer to Danny's bed when he wasn't looking, in absolute silence, and without any movement of the flashlight in his hand. He was now knelt next to the bed, scrutinizing Danny with wide eyes.

"What are you?" Carl repeated.

He was close enough now that Danny could feel the warmth of his breath and lurched backwards in vague disgust and alarm.

"Uncanny Valley, right?" Danny said. "You would know better than I would. What are you?"

Danny had thought that Carl wasn't moving, but then he suddenly froze, and Danny realized the still he'd been a moment ago had been jittery and trembling, but the still he was no was statuesque and cold. He said nothing, and narrowed his eyes like he wasn't sure if he should, or if he should keep holding his cards close to his chest.

"I'll be honest, I never actually noticed I didn't cast a shadow until you pointed it out," Danny admitted. "But I've noticed plenty of uncanny valley around you."

"Like what?" Carl asked, though his tone didn't carry any doubt, just curiosity.

"Like... your smile is wrong. You teeth are too straight, and too white. Kinda like a TV news anchor, except I'm pretty sure there are too many of them." Danny saw Carl run his tongue over his teeth like he was counting them. Then he added, "And also, your lips are all cracked and gross, which isn't uncanny valley, but it is weird that you'd take such good care of your teeth and not even bother with some lip balm."

"Is that all?"

"Your eyes are weird, too," Danny continued. "Nobody's eyes are that color, and even if they were, they wouldn't spark like yours do, just tiny flashes of light. Human eyes don't do that. And your skin is too thin, I think, because your veins and stuff are all weirdly visible, even though you're not that pale."

Carl nodded slowly.

"And... how many teeth are people supposed to have?" he asked.

"I dunno," Danny said with a shrug. "I think, like, thirty, thirty-two, somewhere around there."

"Thanks for the tip," Carl said. "Your eyes flash, too, you know. Bright green. When your emotions are running high."

"Yeah, I know. I've been working on that."

"You're really not going to tell me, are you?" Carl stood, evidently resigned to not getting an answer. "I know you're not a human, and I know you're no ordinary ghost. You sure you won't even give me a hint?"

Danny gave him a derisive snort. "Will you?"

"No, I suppose not." Carl smiled then, and though it was dark, Danny could almost swear the number of teeth in his mouth had changed. "I guess we'll both just have to suffer in disappointment. Goodnight, Danny."

With that, he turned around and walked out of the room, not waiting for an answer.

Danny got up and went to check his door, to see if Carl had broken the lock to get in or something.

Not only was it not broken, it was still locked. Danny had seen the door open and close. He'd heard the doorknob twist. But it had somehow remained locked the whole time.

"Goodnight, Creepy Carl," Danny whispered.

He went back to bed, but didn't get a wink of sleep.

Creepy Carl left the following afternoon, much to Danny's relief.

He hoped that he would never have to see the man again, but somehow, he had a feeling he would. Someday, somewhere... when he least expected it.

[anixknowsnothin]

Anix!

It was rare YOU WERE THERE

Tell everything!

Introduction

It's been a long time coming… It's almost been a month since my show, and I still can't fully process that I was there. I attended the London N3 show of Taylor Swift's Eras Tour, and it is definitely one of the best days of my life. Though I've not been a Swiftie for a long time, this show was incredibly special to me.

Pre-Show Rush and Opening Acts

I was in Scotland the day of the show, traveling by plane to London, so we were quite rushed. Plus, the hotel didn't have our room ready, so we had to change somewhere else and leave as I didn't want to miss a single second. Luckily, we were right on time.

Benson Boone, I feel you. I NEED Taylor Swift too. Plus, the vocals are insane! I mean, he sings AND he backflips?!

Paramore, oh my god. Hayley, stop being the reason behind a bisexual panic for me all the time. I was screaming and singing along to the lyrics like a madwoman (pun intended). "Still Into You" and "This Is Why" were my favourites, and the energy was electric.

Lover Era

The beginning of Taylor's performance with "Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince" had me so shocked that I couldn't move. The bridge of "Cruel Summer" was a lot of fun to scream. My mom recorded all my funny dance moves and claimed I had a choreography for each song. I may or may not have accidentally come out to my mom because I made her record me screaming, "CAUSE SHADE NEVER MADE ANYBODY LESS GAY" during "You Need to Calm Down." Mom danced during "Lover," as it's her favourite Taylor Swift song.

Fearless Era

This set is always so nostalgic for me. I remember dancing in my older sister's room to "Love Story" and screaming "You Belong with Me." I did all the claps on time. My friend from Wales was dressed as the Fearless era, so it was her moment to shine.

Red Era

The "22" moment was so cute, even though I didn't get the hat. I was so happy. "UP YOURS WANKER" is my new motto (WANEGTBT). Definitely did not cry during "All Too Well" and screamed the lyrics like the heartbroken bitch I am (mom was kind of shocked).

Speak Now Era

It's a crime this is such a short era. "Enchanted" is still so beautiful, and she wore my favourite gown from Speak Now, so I'm good. I clicked some really beautiful pictures, and the choreography was gorgeous.

Reputation Era

A nice reminder of how gay I am. "…Ready for It?" girl, OMG, I was screaming and doing the dance, having seen it 1000 times in theaters and on my laptop. I always love "Delicate" and the stage effects, how there are cracks when she jumps on the stage. Plus, screaming "1 2 3 LET'S GO BITCH" was like therapy. "Don't Blame Me" high notes always make me feel like I'm ascending to heaven. "Look What You Made Me Do" is always iconic, and I shall never deny it. I'M SORRY, THE OLD ANIX CAN'T COME TO THE PHONE RN. OH WHY? CUZ SHE'S DEAD.

Folklore and Evermore Era

It's a crime to get rid of "tolerate it" and "The Last Great American Dynasty" and merge this, what?! The "champagne problems" ovation was soooo lengthy; we were stomping our feet and clapping for five minutes straight. Also loved screaming "WHAT A SHAME SHE'S FUCKED IN THE HEAD." She looked so cute running on the stage during "august," though. I cried during "marjorie" as I was remembering my dead dog, Simba. This song helped me grieve for him when he passed away last September. "Willow" is one of the best performances in the eras show imo. I am an Evermore girl through and through, especially when it comes to its Eras Tour performances.

1989 Era

I LOVE 1989; IT WAS SO MUCH FUN TO JUST DANCE. I love "Style," and I was just teaching my mom the lyrics to it. I had a full choreo during "Shake It Off." ALSO BAD BLOOD, AHHHH.

TTPD Performance

OMG, OMG, OMG, I loved this set so much because it's just so theatrical. Not the biggest "But Daddy I Love Him" fan, to be honest, though, but still enjoyed it. I love "So High School," so it was such a cute performance. "Who's Afraid Of Little Old Me" is one of my favourites when it comes to performance, and I loved it. So is "Down Bad," I mean, have you seen the UFO?! "Fortnight" and "The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived" too, again, it's all so theatrical. Holy shit, when I saw Travis on stage for "I Can Do It With A Broken Heart", I was so shocked. It was amazing watching him, and it was adorable. The entire stadium was screaming. It was my mom's favourite part lmao. But in all seriousness, ICDIWABH is one of my favourites from TTPD as it's SO RELATABLE (I was depressed for a while lmao).

Surprise Songs

Okay, I get Paramore, Benson Boone, Travis, and now Gracie?! Girl, honestly, I loved Taylor singing Gracie's part of "us." But I love Gracie so much it's crazy. To get Gracie Abrams performing "us." during the Acoustic Section (I was one of the very few who knew the lyrics)?! Damn, that was amazing. I was screaming my head off because I love them both so much. For the piano part, I was thinking of @measuredmotion as I sang along to the 1989 mashup because I know how much she loves it. Such a wonderful performance. Did I get my favourite songs? No. But these songs are now so special to me because I heard them live with 88,000 people. I remember I was later at a restaurant with friends, and when "us." was playing, I was screaming in excitement.

Midnights Era

God, I love Jan Ravnik- "Lavender Haze." I mean, what a time to be bisexual indeed. "Get it off your chest" is my favourite part of the song ahahah. "Anti-Hero" was therapeutic to scream out loud. "Midnight Rain" was such a beautiful and seamless transition. "Vigilante Shit" is always a reminder of how gay I am. I mean, the hip movement and dance were on point. "Bejeweled" is just a fun song. "Mastermind" is one of my favourites from the album, so it was so much fun to scream, "I'm only cryptic and Machiavellian 'cause I care," as it's one of the best lyrics ever. "Karma" was the perfect end.

End of the Show

I cried when the show ended. I traded so many friendship bracelets and met so many people with the most amazing outfits. It felt like I was a part of a community, a family. We are all united by this powerful, beautiful, talented 34-year-old pop star. I went with my mom, my cousin, and her mother. It took us an hour or two to find our car, but it was worth it as I went to the Eras Tour (I was wearing heeled boots, so it hurt a bit). God, the post-concert depression is real, and when I woke up, I was sick, and my throat was gone. BUT I MET @noproof-youjustknow IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM, AND SHE GAVE ME HER AND @mymuses-acquiredlikebruises FRIENDSHIP BRACELETS, SO SCREAMING, AHHHH.

Conclusion

Overall, I am so grateful for this experience, and I loved seeing Taylor live. The Eras Tour was a magical experience <3

[vagueandominousvibes]

I came across one of those posts that's like "tell me in the tags the HCs for your blorbo's phone/car/device/etc" and started talking about the Knights' Lodge AU boys, only to realise it was getting so long I might as well make my own post about it.

Les aka. Blue

Blue's phone is one of those slabs that's only barely made the transition to touch screen. The screen itself is so cracked it would likely fall apart completely if it wasn't all held in place by a very dubious screen protector. Tiny shards occasionally fall off along the edge.

The brightness is turned down to 0, regardless of the actual brightness of his surroundings; he knows this phone so well he could use it blind. He's had it for years, and if anyone asks he'll shrug and say he's just not gotten around to getting a new one yet, but the truth is that it was a gift from his aunt. The background is of the two of them leaning against her motorcycle. He's in his teens and is wearing her patched leather jacket. They're eating ice cream and grinning from ear to ear.

His lock screen, however, is something really generic — like the most plain thing you can imagine. A solid colour maybe, or one of those stock photos of turquoise water washing up on a beach. His password has been the same 8-digit code since he was twelve. It's the day he came out to his aunt: he had a minor breakdown about it, and she took him out for really greasy fast-food; when they got back to hers, she put on this black-and-white version of Frankenstein that was so bad it was funny. Blue's aunt is long gone, but he still keeps a copy of that movie for when he's feeling rough.

Clancey aka. Red

Red gets a new phone every couple of years. It's not that he's careless with it — he really isn't — it just seems to be a magnet for accidents: it fell off the bathroom shelf, directly into the toilet, during an all-nighter in uni; it slipped out of his backpack when walking home from school once, and a bus drove over it; he accidentally dropped it on concrete and the screen shattered.

At this point it's a bit of a running joke in the family.

His current phone has a lovely maroon leather case with numerous little charms dangling from the top of the spine. Most are from various fan artists, though a couple are little pearl-chains his half-sisters made for him in pre-school. These two pearl-chains have moved from one phone to the next, and he's always made sure the case has somewhere to attach them.

Irvine aka. Green

On the outside, Green's may seem like a little bit of an Apple person. He didn't mean to become one, and he's got a proper gaming laptop, an Xbox, and a Switch, but his phone is an iPhone, he mostly uses a Mac, and he's got an iPad laying about somewhere. He's even got an Apple Watch.

In his twenty-some years of existence, he's never had to worry about being short of technological devices: Mr Irvine is very pleased to be able to provide his only child with the latest in technological development. All Green has to do is say the word, and it'll be his. Not that Green needs all of these things. He would much rather spend Christmas Day with his dad, instead of opening yet another thing alone in front of the white Christmas tree with glitter and fairy lights pre-installed.

The thing is, Green doesn't really know his dad — and Mr Irvine doesn't really know his son. Mr Irvine wants to make sure Green is provided for, and Green is grateful for the sentiment. He keeps every single thing his dad has ever given him, because he would feel exceedingly guilty throwing any of them away.

Which is why he's never going to tell his dad that his favourite device is a small grey-and-white mini-MP3 player from 2005, that runs on batteries, has no Bluetooth options, and stores some 150–200 songs.

Dunn aka. Shadow

Much like Blue, Shadow's phone is old and cracked. Unlike Blue, Shadow would love to get a new one, he just can't afford it. The SIM-card is one of those cheap top-up ones with ridiculously expensive data. He keeps it in his coat pocket for emergencies (and to take blurry photos of his and Vio's cat), but otherwise uses Vio's phone if he has to make a call.

Not that Shadow has a lot of calls to make, outside of the occasional GP appointment when necessary, or the optician every couple of years to get his eyes checked and get a fresh batch of contact lenses, but he generally prefers dropping by in person.

Does Shadow feel insecure about the state of his phone? He'll laugh the question off, but feel viscerally that yes, he really is. He keeps trying to save up, but for one reason or another he never gets there. Usually it's because of his mum — she barely recognises him these days, but he still likes to get her nice gifts, and if that comes at the cost of a new phone, what is there to do? He just wants her to be happy.

Cor aka. Vio

Vio accepted a long time ago that 'my phone' really meant 'our phone'. If he really wanted to, he could probably make up a reason as to why he would need his job to provide a work phone, but honestly, he spends more than enough time staring at screens as it is, and when he goes home he's off and doesn't want to be pestered with texts or emails that can wait till the morning.

So he has one phone, and he's perfectly happy to share it with Shadow. It's really quite enjoyable to curl up on the sofa with Shadow after dinner, to play yet another iteration of Scrabble, Word Search, or Sudoku together.

It must also be said that the background — their hands intertwined, silver rings glittering in candle light — still makes his insides flutter warmly, especially when he looks up and catches Shadow admiring the ring Vio had spent so long choosing.

[ellie-s-list]

Light in the Darkness (1)

Abby Anderson X Fem!Reader, College AU, Multi-Part

Hello, I’m not dead, just twenty years old now. I’m also obsessed with Abby and Ellie from TLOU 2 so, here we are since I can’t stop thinking about them.

This will be a song-fic type thing, as I find it cool.

Pt. 2 can be found here

TW: Anxiety

Don’t come at me for typos, my brain’s confused

Chapter One

Drop Dead Gorgeous, Voila

“You take my breath away

With that face

Because she’s drop dead gorgeous”

Blondes were never your type. You didn’t really know for sure what your type was but one thing was for sure, it was that blondes never caught your eye. Yet this dumb, buff, Chad of a girl who always sat right in front of you, got your attention. She wasn’t dumb, like any meathead jock that snorted creatine like crack, she was quite intelligent. Maybe too smart. Definitely too smart for this pre-req Anatomy class. Yet, here she was, sitting in front of you in lecture, and sitting at a table across from you in lab as well.

During mid-term presentations, she was quite knowledgeable about the topic of cellular respiration. Her partner, rather, not so much. But that's when you knew. Just noticing this girl, Abigail as it read on the discussion boards, was just the beginning. Now, at the class after the midterm exams, you were staring holes in the back of her head. Eight weeks left, you weren’t going to make it without having emotional casualties.

“Of course,” The professor, Dr. Andrews, started talking as she walked to the front of the white board. “I know we just had mid-terms and a midterm presentation, but we have to start working on the final presentation.” She grabbed her clipboard, “I already picked partners for you, so no one is left out to do all the work this time.”

Her comment was directed at you. It had to be, since you were the only one to present alone. But it was okay, you didn’t care. Meeting new people was rough, awkward. Though, you couldn’t get away with doing projects alone forever. A couple students looked at you, then back to Dr. Andrews when she started talking again.

“Projects will be on whole systems this time, and it will correlate to lab, so these partners will also be your designated lab partner,” Dr. Andrews then looked down at her clipboard to seal your fate. “Abigail Anderson,” She called, looking up at the blonde sitting in front of you. Then she called your name, causing you to freeze. Dr. Andrews continued to call out names as Abigail turned to look at you, giving you a small smile. “You may now sit with your partners,” Dr. Andrews concluded.

There was a free spot next to you, so you nodded your head to it. Abigail seemed to understand as she gathered her things and stood up. You didn’t look at her when she pulled the chair out next to you.

You could feel Abigail’s eyes on you after she set up her laptop and notebook. Dr. Andrews gave the class ten minutes to socialize with their picked partner, but you didn’t know what to say.

“You can call me Abby,” The blonde said softly, “Do you have a nickname?”

“For you?” You asked, turning your head to face her.

“What?” Abby looked amused, “I meant for you.” She leaned a muscular arm on the table, propping her head on her hand.

You stared at her, “No,” You answered, looking down at the pencil you were playing with. Your hands were getting clammy, heart rate speeding up. She was actively talking to you, and she didn’t seem annoyed by your weird question. Although, this was your first conversation with her, so it could get worse.

“You had a nickname for me?” Abby asked, her eyes never left you making our anxiety spike. She was wearing a cut off tee with cargo pants, showing off her arm muscles. Her hair was in a Dutch braid, like it usually was.

“No.”

“Mmm, okay,” Abby chuckled, not pushing the topic. “You did the last project alone, right?”

That question caused you to look at her, eyes furrowed as you blinked at her. She seemed genuinely curious, even if her question had an obvious answer. She’s not dumb.

“I mean, yeah,” You answered, looking her in the eyes, then you looked at her face. Her skin was bright, slight acne scars, but nothing too bad. Her nose and cheeks had freckles, forehead and chin just lightly dotted. Abby’s lips were slightly chapped, but they were a pale red.

Abby licked her lips, bringing you out of your analysis of her face. She apparently said something, but you never caught it.

“What?” You ask.

The blonde smirked, her dark blue eyes scanning your face now. She then leaned slightly closer, causing you to stiffen.

“You do well with public speaking,” She relented, “Yet right now, this conversation seems one-sided. Are you nervous around me?”

Your mouth dropped at her question. Who was she to call out your anxieties? Immediately, you almost put up your defenses, almost cut her out of your life. But a rational thought brought you back. She was just being curious, maybe trying to become friends. And she wasn’t wrong about the one-sided conversation, or about you being nervous around her.

Closing your mouth, you turned your attention back to the pencil. “I don’t care what these idiots think about me, or how I talk.”

“But?” She prompted, her voice softening.

“You’re a potential friend,” You turn back to her. Surprised at the proximity she gained towards you, you flinch. Abby didn’t move, waiting for your answer. “Also, we’re stuck together for the next eight weeks.”

Abby stared at you, taking in the information. But she still didn’t move, instead asking, “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No,” Your answer was immediate, causing you to flush. “You seem to know what you’re talking about.” You turned your attention to your laptop, opening the projects rubric.

Abby hummed, seemingly satisfied with your answer, she leaned back into her seat.

After Dr. Andrews explained the project, she left the class to work amongst themselves. Abby didn’t push any further during class, instead pulling her own weight. You were thankful, having had partners in the past that forced you to do everything.

A few minutes before class ended, you decided to pack your items away. Abby decided to do the same, but you could feel her eyes watching you rearrange your items. As you zipped your backpack up, you heard Abby sigh.

“I should give you my number.”

You snapped your head to look at her, narrowing your eyes, “Why?”

The blonde didn’t seem phased by your reaction, instead she cocked her head, “So we can talk about the project.”

You thought her actions were cute, noticing how she kind of took on an innocence when she cocked her head at you. She seemed to not care about your hostility to the question, probably putting it together that you had anxiety. The conclusion warmed your heart, maybe friendship was possible. But, these qualities made the blond even more attractive to you.

Picking up your phone, you handed it to her, “You make a compelling argument.” She smiled, grabbing your phone gently. You watched her type her number in, then she placed your phone on your desk in front of you.

Abby grabbed her phone, handing it to you. You typed your number in, hitting save. Handing her phone back, you left your name blank so she could fill it with whatever she wanted.

“Do you want to join my table in lab?” You asked, changing her name in your phone.

Abby was silent for a moment, thinking your question over. You were nervous, having started the conversation this time.

“Sure.”

You nod, standing up, slinging your arms through the straps of your backpack, “See you then.”

The two of you had sent texts to make sure that you both had the right numbers. You smirked at her latest reply as you sat at your lab table.

From Abby (Chad) Chaderson

Hey

To Abby (Chad) Chaderson

Chad

From Abby (Chad) Chaderson

What?

You didn’t respond, rather you got your work for the class out. Thumbing through your lab book, you heard students start filing in. Movement out the corner of your eye caught your attention, causing you to look up. Abby was taking her seat across from you, placing her backpack on the table.

“Chad?” Was all she said. You smirked not looking up from your book, acting as if you were still reading.

“Hm?”

“So you’re secretly a gremlin,” Abby stated as Dr. Andrews walked in. You only shrugged at the blonde with a grin, turning your attention to the professor.

After a brief lecture, Dr. Andrews left the class alone to do the lab exercises. Abby was more talkative, not minding your brief answers as the two of you worked.

“What’s your major?” Abby asked.

“Reading,” You answer, writing down some data from your lab report.

“Funny,” Abby looked up at you from her own course work.

“I hope so, or else I’ll need a new job,” You smile, looking up to meet her eyes. Though, with that action, you froze. Your throat went dry as you took in her smiling face, the crinkles of the corners of her eyes highlighting just how often she smiled.

“So…?” Abby pressed, her smile turning into a sly smirk.

Swallowing thickly, you looked back down at your notes. Heat roast to your cheeks as you said, “Biochem.” Turning to a new page of your notebook you ask, “What about you?”

Abby hummed, “Pre-med.”

Tearing a piece of paper from your notebook, playing with it, “Rough.” You state, focusing on tearing it apart. Silence enveloped the table. God, why did you have to make things so awkward? “Why?” You decide to ask.

“My dad’s a doctor.”

“Makes sense,” You look at your paper pile that was forming in front of you. Humming you answer her curious stare, “You’re not dumb. You know what you’re talking about.” You then looked up at her, “You’re not the only one who noticed something during midterms.”

Abby smirked, “I guess not.”

There it was. The pit-fall in your stomach, your hands getting clammy. The racing of your heart, your eyes not being able to leave the person you’re getting attached to. The evidence was clear, with you not being able to get your mind off this buff, Olympic goddess of a woman.

Maybe Abigail Anderson was the blonde exception.

Posted: April 8, 2023

WC: probably 1,800

[bl00dlight]

i saw this ask on another blog and then recently i came across a reddit post abt this exacttt thing. but it did make me wonder, cause I know u got some opinions but, what do u think about Aemond being a blood supremacist? alot of team greens deny it but idk... he literally says it in the show? the blog also disagreed I think to. also love love love ur fic nd I like how u haven't made aemond and visenya like besties. cause I agree with ur other rant to, there is soooo much soft, Mary Sue stuff with aemond and it dosent really fit him as a character at all.

First of all thank you sm for reading the fic. I literally just cracked open my mother fucken laptop one day and was like "IM OVER IT!!!". But yes, I agree, so many fics really like project an idealised version of Aemond. Which is totally fine, no hate no hate but, I just prefer canon accurate characterisation with everything.

But to answer your question, I feel like it's pretty straightforward and I'm also really surprised this a debate? Yes, Aemond is obviously a valryian supremacist. Almost all the Targs are to some degree and the Velaryons. But Aemond quite literally references the importance of keeping their valyrian blood pure and is deeply obessesed with dragons. "It would keep our Valyrian blood pure." Coming from a 13 year old boy is like a clear indicator that, yes homie is pro-targ supremacy. He is also the mirror of Daemon... who is also pro-targ supremacy.

I don't believe that Aemond commented on Helaena in ep7 just to display how "dutiful" he is. We know for a FACT Aemond is not dutiful, he is ambitious/power hungry. That is his whole arc, especially in Fire + Blood. Homeboy is dutiful in the same way Daemon is. It's not about actually caring for what is right or wrong, it's about his own proximity to power. I think alot of people really misinterpret Aemond's lines regarding duty as being a display of dedication. When in reality, it's narcissistic grandiosity lol. Like straight up. His envy of Aegon isn't "ugh I'd be a much better King because I care about protecting the realm, helping the smallfolk, maintaining order, doing what is right." It's "ugh, I'd me a much better King because I'm BETTER." We can see that in ep 9 when he literally gives out a list to Cole, why he would make a superior King to Aegon. Not once does he mention anything outside of what he perceives as his own brilliance. This is a book Aemond quote when he becomes Prince Regent and wears Aegon the Conqueror's crown "It looks better on me than it ever did on him,". So here we have another indicator that this isn't about being a good dutiful brother, this is about him living out his Rogue Prince fantasy.

I feel like people may bring up Alys Rivers as a counterpoint but again, I don't see why? Because remember, Aemond literally slaughtered her entire House because he hated the Strongs. He would make fun of Jace and Luke's appearance in Fire and Blood for like lack of Valyrian features. He left Alys alive so he could take her as a "prize" to use as a 'bedmate' / 'paramour'. This wasn't recorded as a consensual reltionship, and of course Alys went with it because what else is she gonna do? Fight him? He just slaughtered her entire bloodline, just BECAUSE of their blood. She's on thin ice. By today's standards she was put into sexual slavery. (unfortunately fire & blood is an unreliable text and it was written to be contradictory, so literally there is no actual canonical understanding of their relationship) Also a significant amount of fire and blood was written by those from the Greens side, and there are claims she bewitched him etc etc so that he wouldn't kill her. Regardless, the point is, Aemond fucking Alys isn't a marker of his progressive belief that Targaryen's aren't superior? If anything it reinforces it because he has literally chosen a woman who in every single way is completely socially 'inferior' to himself. Again, it's about power and vengeance. Him taking Alys is saying "look at me, I can do whatever the fuck I want. I can burn the Riverlands down, I can slaughter an entire House and then, I can fuck the last very last woman left because I CHOSE TO KEEP HER ALIVE." And he did it again, he abandoned Alys at one point and left her captive to another mother fucker just to get more vengeance on the Blacks after Helaena's last child dies (i can make a post on the suspicious Helaena x Aemond parallels in fire and blood) and then eventually came back to get her again. He don't really give that much of a fuck, in my opinion. She is not an example of him not being a bigot. And we see this in the real world too. Powerful bigots have historically sexually enslaved whom they oppress. *cough cough, literally ww2*. Sex is a power exchange in many ways, and Aemond taking Alys to fuck, after he spent his entire life loathing her family and KILLING THEM, is not some star-crossed lover shit. It's him continuing his reign of abuse on the Strongs. He kept one of them alive, just to fuck. That is an active example of his supremacist beliefs. There is also speculation Alys got pregnant, but it's never confirmed. However, his son would be another Strong bastard. And it wouldn't mean shit to him, because is that not the ultimate "haha im superior" to interject himself into the Strong line? To be the one which controls it's survival?

Also again, we see it time and time again with Targ men. They believe in Targ supremacy, actively want to participate in their 'traditions', while also wanting booty calls. Daemon does the same thing, homie fucks women left and right, yet still loved /married Rhaneyra because she was a Targaryen like him. Viserys iii also, fucked other women, yet canonically wanted to marry Daenerys once he assumed the throne to continue their bloodline.

Because marriage is very different from sex in this universe. Marriage and sex are two completely separate ideas. So it makes sense for Aemond to believe that Targaryen's should maintain their Valyrian blood through marriage because it is a marker of supremacy; while he also wants to exclaim is dominance through having sex with a woman who is 'beneath' him. Aemond is also an actual misogynist in the books too. So again? In what world does he look at Alys as his equal?

Thus, why marriage/love/legitmate children is reserved for Targaryen women, and sex is reserved for prostitutes, bedmates etc. People be forgetting, in this society women are used at the whims of men, LAWFULLY - like it's their right to do so, and women are very much given social status based on how men view them sexually. Madonna/Whore complex.

Which is kinda interesting if we even go further to talk about Helaena and Aemond...

Funnily enough, this exact topic will come up in my fic. Anyway, that's my take on it. That's kinda why the strong niece fics never made sense to me, because it is so contradictory to the motives behind what he does.

[femdomlieeh]

Wanting your attention (m)

Subby!WayV x Dom!GF!Reader

WARNING—suggestive themes, light angst & crack ✧ use of sex toys ✧ semi-public stuff ✧ light S&M ✧ breath play ✧ degradation ✧ praise ✧ mommy kink ✧ mistress kink ✧ baby boy kink

SONG PLAYING—Phantom ✧ WayV

[A/N.] I wrote and posted this very long ago (on my first book that was deleted by wattpad at 190k reads🥲) and i only re-wrote the scenario for some of the members (i think u can tell lol). I will continue re-writing old posts so u guys have smth to read in the meantime while i try to write new shit😊👌

M.LISTS—wayv ✧ nct u ✧ superm ✧ latest updates ✧ read on wp

钱锟 / 전곤 / Kun

Kun craves attention from his lover but he likes to present himself as someone who doesn't as he's afraid of coming off as clingy and also doesn't want his partner to feel pressured or forced to give him all their attention. Let's say you pay him less attention than usual — you're stuck on the TV or working on your laptop rather than making conversation or cuddling — he may get worried that something had happened or that he's upset you in some way. Rather than being selfish, he would take care of you by making you food or bringing you something to drink or snack on to the table so you don't have to get up when working (he wants you to feel better). Let's say you had been spending more time with or talking to someone else and smiling and laughing a lot more with them than you had done with him this day, he would feel insecure about himself — like do you think he's boring? Do you think you two spend too much time together? Does he lack charisma? He's a bit more mature than the others so he's more likely to talk to you about but will try to sound as not needy for you as possible so you guys can communicate and compromise.

You were watching The Package (great film) on the sofa alone, not asking him if he wanted to join or what movie you two should watch, and he had gained the confidence to sit down next to you and lightly put his chin on your shoulder.

"Are you hungry? Because I can make you something to eat if you want," before you can answer he continues, trying to get you to look him in the eyes, "Or do you want coffee or tea maybe? Iced? Hot?"

"I'm a bit dehydrated actually. Hm hot green tea sounds nice about now."

"Okay, Love. I'm gonna be back soon and you're gonna have the green tea of your life," he felt how his cheeks were flaming by the end of his speech from embarrassment, thinking he sounded too desperate.

"Thank you, Babyboy," you kissed his pink cheek.

He was so happy to make you the cup of tea!

As the relationship progresses I see him continuing doing this, and if your sadistic ass still doesn't give him attention after all the good he does, he'll overanalyse the situation to figure out why he deserves being ignored. Give him a sign you're not upset with him. A quick peck is enough for him to smile. But I also think eventually he'll feel comfortable and confident enough to try to get your attention in less perfect-son-in-law ways (only on occasion if he's tipsy or particularly horny and needs your attention more than usual though). Like he might put his hand on your thigh at a restaurant and move higher and higher until you warn him you'll punish him once you get home.

...✧...✧✧✧✧✧✧

ชิตพล ลี้ชัยพรกุล / 이영흠 / ten

Ten. Is. Shameless. Periodt. He'd do whatever the fuck he wants whenever he wants to get your attention. You'd be quite amazed at how far he'd go to get your focus. Casually stripping off his clothes in front of you when you're trying to work from home? Put your hand on his neck when your talking on the phone? Pull out a vibrator to use without asking for permission? While purposely looking at you with a smirk? Whisper dirty shit in your ear when you're having a dinner with loved ones? He'd do it all. It wouldn't matter how lewd it were as long as he got the attention he desired in the end.

"Damn, this dick is so good, Mistress," he moaned loudly, referring to the dildo he was bouncing on without your permission.

You were trying to ignore his groaning and his sinful stare because the online meeting was still getting wrapped up (you had mic off).

"So damn good, way better than your strap, Mistress," he threw his head back and looked at you with a fucked out expression.

The meeting finally came to an end and you put down the laptop screen and turned to him, "Excuse me?"

His reply was short but powerful, "You're excused."

And that was why his ass was red hours later.

But he isn't a freak all the time! He can be really sweet and adorable if he wants to too. Like he will talk to one of his fat cats and be like "—— isn't giving me all their attention how mean, right?" And then pout with the cat (Idk his cats' names💀) next to his head as I'm giving you kitten eyes. He only acts this way with his partner.

"——, please pay attention to meee~" he whined with his chin on your shoulder, staring at the side of your face longingly.

"What, Baby?" you look at him.

"Do you wanna cuddle or fuck or watch a movie or something?"

He'd never change methods: acting naughty or cute is always successful. He loves all the consequences of acting like a slut to get your attention and whenever he feels super cute he likes to act that way too. I think that as you explore together in the bedroom (kitchen, balcony, bathroom etc) he will want to try exploring outside of your home too — it'll all start with him being very needy from you telling him all the nasty things you want to do to him once you get back home from the party, and he will instead grind up on you or join group conversations and say double entendres that everybody else understands as neutral, normal things to say but that you know he secretly means something dirty. And if you tell him you like that he will continue getting your attention this way. He's so creative he can come up with all types of ways to act nasty. Eating a very inappropriately shaped food (even if it's a fruit) while making eye contact. Dancing sexily in front of anyone. Touch you under the table. Draw something that could be interpreted as sexually explicit and show it to you. Call you Mistress in inappropriate settings when nobody else hear. He loves attention and there's no way you're not giving it to him.

✧...✧...✧✧✧✧✧

董思成 / 동사성 / winwin

Winwin is an angel. He's always obedient and listens to your commands, loving your praise afterwards. But if he sees you talking to someone else and enjoying it a little too much, he might get insecure. He'd want your attention as soon as possible and — since he's not a naughty boy — he'd do something innocent like whisper in your ear and ask you kindly and indirectly to give him some attention too because he'd rather communicate and solve the small issue than overthink it.

"Can you hold my hand?" he asked into your ear so only you could hear him.

A small smile made an appearance on his face when you took his hand in yours.

He looked at the attention-thief who had dared avert your attention away from him, and sent a friendly warning that you were taken.

My Mommy.

If you still didn't give him the attention he wanted, he'd become extremely pouty. Why won't you just give him attention? If he were desperate enough, he'd sit on your lap. But only if he were feeling daring or passionate enough for you to show him some love.

He sighed frustratedly and looked at you before he made his way to sit on your thighs.

You were shocked at the fact that your non-affectionate boyfriend made a move that was bold — in his case even kissing your cheek in public was considered bold.

"Mommy?" he whispered in your ear.

"Yes?"

He looked at you in the eyes, "Can we go home, please? I'm tired and I wanna sleep."

Give him attention! He's a good boy and deserves it! Kiss his hands, cheeks and lips in front of others if necessary. He's your good Babyboy, you should be nice to him. Don't be a meanie :c

✧✧...✧...✧✧✧✧

黄旭熙 / 황욱희 / lucas

Xuxi craves attention, whether it's verbal or physical. He enjoys being called handsome just as much as he enjoys being choked like a bitch. But he hates it if you give some of the attention he's supposed to have to someone else, e.g. if you were to call someone else 'handsome' especially, he'd feel a little butt hurt. He's confident, but he's still capable of feeling jealousy. Although he's jealous, he's still confident he can get your attention back. He's so handsome, how can he not? He wouldn't take it seriously, rather playfully or even silly. There are three key ways it could go:

1. Tease you

"Mami," he whispered darkly into your ear, "I'm hard."

You finally looked at him.

"Can we go and fuck? Please, Mami, I want you to choke me and handcuff me and call me yours."

"We're in public."

"So what? Let's go to the car, I always keep toys there for situations like this one."

"Such a slut."

He smirked, "Oh yes."

2. Confront you

"Talk to me, Mami, not him/her/them."

He whined annoyingly.

"How can you even think of looking at someone else when you have the most handsome boy in the world in front of you?"

3. Flirt with someone else in front of you

"I can play your game too, Mami," he winked before making his way to someone half as good-looking as you.

He didn't cheat, of course, but he managed to frustrate you enough to make him get on his knees for you in just a few minutes.

He's sure of himself and doesn't even feel threatened when you give someone else attention, just a little jealous because he wants you all for himself. He'd think of getting your attention as a fun activity. Like a game where he tries to get you to break from the act and when he does — he never loses this game — you reward him. Victory tastes good.

✧✧✧...✧...✧✧✧

肖德俊 / 소덕준 / xiaojun

姐姐 (jiejie) = older sister

Angel is rarely naughty, but if he's desperate for your attention, he might consider taking that path (not with the goal of having sex but rather just make you look at him or cuddle him or something). He wouldn't do something super naughty, but something bad enough to mildly shock you. His mind would go to something like 'accidentally' or 'innocently' touching you in a place he shouldn't touch you when you're around other people. He'd do it for your attention, and maybe because he'd want other people to see that you're obviously taken.

He looked at you for a second, contemplating whether or not he should put his hand on your inner thigh.

When he heard you laugh at someone's joke, he made up his mind and put his hand there.

You looked down at it and then at his face.

His expression was blank, but you saw right through it and smirked.

"Are you jealous, Prince?"

OR

Xiaojun had been shopping earlier this week and he decided to put on the shirt he liked the most before making his way to you, hoping you'd think he looked good.

"姐姐, I missed you," he hugged you.

"I missed you too, Prince."

He smiled into your neck.

If you still didn't give him the attention he'd hoped for (whether he'd tried to get it by shocking you by being naughty or by acting cute and sweet), he'd get upset since he can get a bit sensitive and sentimental. He really cares for you and your relationship so if you act indifferent at his attempts to get your attention, he'd think that you were questioning his love for you, or his cuteness, or that you were hinting at a breakup. The ache could be too big for him to stay composed, making him go and cry somewhere alone.

He excused himself and left.

Knowing he's sensitive and usually doesn't leave suddenly, you follow him.

When you found him you saw that he had tears in his eyes.

"Baby, what happened?" you asked.

"Why are you acting like I'm invisible. Like I'm not there? Like I'm no one?" his voice cracked and tears feel.

After that one sad incident, he'd expect you to not ignore him in the future since you now know he's vulnerable and gets affected by it. And so if you happen to ignore him like that again — even after the incident — he'd become more of a wreck than last time.

a/n. May or may not publish an angst imagine with this concept since it's been requested in the past...

✧✧✧✧...✧...✧✧

黃冠亨 / 황관형 / hendery

Hendery is a sweetheart. Your attention is always highly appreciated, but it's also expected from you (How can you possibly ignore a loud sunshine?). If you didn't give him his usual amount of attention he'd think you were in a bad mood and thus needed to be brightened up. He'd always be very nice at first and try to impress you with his cute and thoughtful antics, by saying something kind, being caring, giving you something thoughtful or pink.

"Mama, I got us food. Let's watch Netflix," he beamed and held your favorite dish up like it was a prize.

If you didn't return the enthusiasm his big smile would decrease.

But if you pushed it and still didn't give him what he wanted, he'd continue being optimistic and give it another try. If his thoughtful sweetie side didn't work then his energetic crackhead side certainly would. He'd say or act weird or dramatic in order to get you to crack. It's very hard not to smile when he's being his odd, loud self and he knows it; he's a natural born entertainer and uses it to his advantage.

"Throw it back!" he voice cracked out while dancing stupid.

"I shake it off, shake it off—"

"Don't leave me dancing alone. Come on, Mamaaa—" he nagged and tried to drag you to the dance (kitchen) floor.

If you give him what he wants in the end, he'd love to fight for your attention. But if you don't reward him attention, then he'd just feel like you don't fit with him. His personality should be able to gain your attention easily. So if it doesn't then there's clearly something wrong. He'd talk to you about it before making any snap decisions.

✧✧✧✧✧...✧...✧

刘扬扬 / 류양양 / yangyang

Babyboy feeds on your attention, and he will do almost every to have your eyes on him and spend time with him. He can be a jealous person sometimes and he hates that trait. Since he's an idol for SM he can't do anything that will make netizens suspicious of him being in a relationship and because of that you two have to act like you don't know of each others existence. But sometimes you two cross paths in public and this means that you can't look each other in the eyes or talk — which also means that if someone flirts with you or if you're laughing very loudly with an attractive person or fan girl/boy over another idol whilst he's missing you a few meters away, he might get sulky and will act sulky with the WayV members (and they will take care of him of course). And he knows that he's jealous but he will just try to act cute or pouty afterwards with you. If he's in a playful mood, he'd prank you in a mischievous way instead of being a naughty boy like some people. His creativity and sense of humor would come to play and he'd end up laughing at your reaction. Orrr he will act like a freaking brat and find a way to get on your nerves just for the fun and aftermath of it. Like he would randomly try to seduce you by dancing and end up giving you a lap dance or he would call you Mommy when you're talking to someone on the phone. Whether he gets punished or not doesn't matter as long as he wins your attention.

fluffy ver.

"Mommy~" he cooed and put his head in your lap.

"What?"

"My hand is tired of playing with my hair. Can you do it for me instead?"

non-fluffy ver.

A sex song from your playlist (or any song from WayV or 127 lmao) started playing on speakers and when you turned to where the sound came from, you saw Yangyang swaying slowly back and forth to the rhythm of the music, slowly getting closer and closer.

"Focus on me, Mommy~"

He didn’t mind a punishment afterwards<3

He's very needy and horny so he will find many different ways to get your undivided attention or a punishment. He will literally embarrass himself and do aegyo in front of his laughing member (and dye on the inside) just to get you to stop giving Xiaojun all your attention and instead smile and hug your sweet, cute, hot, awesome, sexy, lovely, best boyfriend (or just laugh and humiliate him so he gets hard and begs for you at home).

✧✧✧✧✧✧...✧...

❝ Only you can see the truth, so babе

偽裝臉孔清晰的視線

光影的真理未止息

Fade out, phantom ❞

—

( Only you can see the truth, so babe

Look as if there is no mask

The light of truth was never lost

Fade out, phantom )

—wayv; 2022

[utronabalcone]

crystal castles: "we predict a riot",  jun 17, 2008 

PART 1

t.o. electro-punk terrors crystal castles tackle the world on their own terms, trading distorted guitars for a decrepit old laptop and riding a wave of buzz that defies even their own expectations. 

over the past two years, the rowdy synth-punk duo have toured constantly. they sell out runs of 7-inches as soon as they’re released and have become darlings of the uk music scene despite doing everything they can to keep their faces out of the media.

we’d love to get glass’s version of the cc story. she’s very much the onstage face and voice of the band, while kath hides inside a hooded sweatshirt behind his laptop most nights however, offstage he’s the one who does the talking, which reinforces glass’s image as a wild blur of motion that can’t be contained or pinned down by conventional means. onstage, she’s usually lit only by strobe lights as she pogos around, shrieking her lungs out and fearlessly jumping into writhing mosh pits while wearing a nice skirt.

“the live show is where alice comes in. she’s the face of the band and fills up that space quite nicely,” admits kath, as their recently com-pleted album plays on a laptop in the background of their manager’s downtown apartment. 

"as soon as i saw her perform [with her old band, foetus fatale], i knew i could trust her and that i wouldn’t have to look over anything she does. whatever she’d put on my tracks would be fine, and she’ll never write a clichéd lyric."

they’re cocky and a bit difficult, but so were the sex pistols, and like them, they’re causing near-riots without even a full-length album to their name. “riots” might sound like hyperbole, but check out the youtube footage of their appearance at the rough trade store in london. the police may not have had to break out the rubber bullets (yet), but these sure ain’t polite folk-pop gigs.

“for its grand opening, the store had a different show booked every night for a month. ours was one of the first few, but our fans went so mental that they started breaking things in the store – a few coffee tables, a cd rack. then the store cancelled the rest of the shows... i announced on the radio to all the other bands that the shows were cancelled because of us,” - kath laughs with some obvious pride.

it could have been worse, though. a crystal castles l.a. after-party got so raucous that the police brought in a helicopter to break it up. seriously. and that was after they played a club gig that had security working overtime.

“i’m not sure why, but for that show the fans felt the need to get onstage to hold onto alice as if she were morrissey. one security guard kept ripping them off and throwing them back, but they just kept coming. finally he called for backup, and there were six security guards onstage with their arms linked, and kids were still trying to get over them. one kid tried to jump over them, got his head cracked open, and as they’re dragging him off the stage to throw him out he started grabbing toward me.”

if you’ve been unaware until now of the bizarre success of this toronto synth-punk duo, welcome to the Internet era.

by benjamin boles, nowtoronto

photo by richmond lam

[dilf-rights-activist]

Another Life: part 4

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gender neutral reader

Summary: Miguel brings himself out from the four cozy walls of a little cafe and into the shaded canopy of the large trees in a local city park. Here, he learns about the dangers of parasitic fungi and, more importantly, about the cute barista that has somehow tumbled their way into his life. Or, the one where you run into Miguel after a grocery run and you go for a walk in the park together.

Word Count: 2.9k

Content: eventual sugar daddy AU, coffee shop AU, no use of (y/n), slow burn (we’re gathering the sticks now), sfw, swearing, a brief history lesson about a tree

AO3 part 1 part 2 part 3

New York’s cool autumn breeze wafted through the air as you made your way out of the market, two grocery totes in tow. You adjusted the heavy straps on your shoulders and began your commute back to your apartment to show Hobie the fruits of your labor (some of which were actual fruits!).

Commuters and pigeons milled about the busy sidewalk before collectively coming to a stop at a crosswalk, a rhythmic ticking crackling through the old speaker as everyone waited for their chance to cross the street. You nodded your head along to the automated beat before a colorful sign caught your periphery.

You turned (mindful to keep your baggage from smacking unsuspecting onlookers) to face a small shop that sold an array of teas and smoothies. Your eyes lingered on the shop’s colorful widow, and you allowed yourself to take the smallest step in its direction. The bags hanging from your shoulders suddenly suddenly seemed much heavier, and you wanted nothing more than to sit at the cute shop and enjoy a fun little beverage.

And why shouldn’t you! Why not enjoy a little treat?

Reality hit you like a freight train as you recalled how you had barely stayed within your budget during your grocery run and groaned. Right, that’s why not.

Before long, the crosswalks’ crackly speakers notified you that it was time to make your way across the road, and you reluctantly turned away from the cute cafe. You sighed through your nose as you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket.

You jogged down the remainder of the cross walk and adjusted the heavy grocery bags that were (painfully) digging into both of your shoulders. The cracked screen of your phone lit up to greet you as you opened a text from Peter, a photo of him posing playfully with your water bottle (and a smiling May in the background).

Stop leaving personal items at work, he texted jokingly.

“That’s where I left that,” You chuckled and stepped to the side of the sidewalk as you worked to reply to his message.

I’ve been looking everywhere for that lmao im omw

You looked down the horizon and swiftly pivoted to change your course from your apartment to the cafe, eager to see your boss and to retrieve your water bottle (while secretly hoping that May will offer you a croissant for your troubles).

—-

It wasn’t long before you heaved your bags through the heavy metal door of Cafe May, the groceries having placed a strain on your sore shoulders that was too great for you to bear (you had resorted to hauling each one in your hands, the bottom of the canvas totes just barely scraping the dirty asphalt). Peter waved you and and you made a beeline for the counter, walking right past a large man who was quietly hunched over his charging laptop.

“Hey, you.” Peter smiled before bending down to pick up your water bottle from the back of the register. He patted the lid lovingly before sliding it over the counter. “She missed you.” He said playfully.

“And I missed her.” You smiled up at him as you wrapped your hands around the cool metal surface of the bottle, placing it securely in your tote. “Has it been busy?”

“No more than the usual rush,” May said from behind Peter, smiling warmly at you.

“You doing okay in the cold, hon? Would you like a cookie to go?”

Your eyes lit up at the thought of finally, finally getting a little treat before nodding and thanking May enthusiastically. Her gentle face smiled at you, just as she has hundreds of times before, and she turned your blue eyes towards her dessert case to pick something out for you.

Little beeps rang through the air as May preheated the oven and you allowed your eyes to wander around the familiar cafe, looking to see if any tables needed to be cleared. Your gaze bounced from table to table, and were pleased to see that every surface was clear of excess clutter (Of course May and Peter had been on top of it. You didn’t expect any less of them). You lingered on a familiar looking mess of curly brown hair and a pair of obscenely broad shoulders.

“Miguel?” You thought quietly to yourself. The brunette looked comically large at the small table he was seated at, hunched over his (also small) laptop as he furiously typed…whatever he was typing, an (even smaller) espresso cup lying empty and cold to his side. You blinked as you stared at him before turning to face May once more.

“Actually, May. Would you mind if I had that cookie for here?” You smiled. “Please?”

She nodded as she moved to get a small ceramic plate for your pastry. She plated your cookie and gave it to you with a soft “There you go, hon.” And you smiled warmly at her before turning towards Miguel. You walked briskly across the laminated floors of the cafe (eager to relieve yourself of your groceries) before reaching his table and shuffling your bags to the ground, he hadn’t even looked up. You kneeled down next to him and cleared your throat, holding in a laugh when he blinked and abruptly straightened to look down at you, glasses slightly askew.

“Hi,” you grinned up at him. “I’ll trade you those empty plates for this warm cookie.” You smiled warmly at him while presenting a small plate with the fresh pastry. “I know it’ll be hard to let them go, I really need them back. Deal?”

Miguel blinked a couple of times before pushing his glasses up his nose with a strong finger. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He smiled lightly.

You placed the cookie on the table before picking up his old cup and plate. “What? I’m not always working.” You laughed a little mirthlessly, because you were. You literally always were.

“One sec,” you said before bringing his dirty dishes to the bar, and May took them with a hasty “Stop working off the clock!”. You walked back to Miguel and gestured at the empty chair in front of him. “Could I…?”

“No.” he said definitively as he looked up at you. You froze as you fell silent before him. “Oh, shit.” You thought “Did I interrupt his work just now? Does he hate cookies? I should’ve just left-“ your mind ran a mile a minute as you mentally berated yourself for being stranded in such an unfortunate situation. You looked over to May and Peter, who had stopped what they were doing to watch your awkward exchange.

Miguel could see the distress on your face and decided to step in before you busted a vessel.

“I mean,” he smiled. “I’ve been here for a couple of hours and my ass is starting to go numb from sitting for so long.” He chuckled.

“I’m actually about to go on a walk. Got any frozens?” He asked, gesturing to your grocery bags that were slumped against the wall. You looked down at the damp tote bags and thought of the frozen dumplings you had picked up from Fu Zhou Wei Zheng Wei earlier, and just knew they were getting sweaty.

“Oh…” you began, getting ready to turn him down. “I-“

“They have it covered.” May said as she stepped behind you. You nearly broke your neck as you turned to look at her, where did she come from? Peter gave you a wide grin as he bent down and picked your groceries.

“We’ll keep these in the fridge for you!” He said brightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait-“ you started, but Peter was already hauling your bags to the back. You looked at the woman beside you. “May-“

“Aunt May.” She said firmly.

“Aunt May,” you started. “It’s alright, I don’t want to trouble you. I can just-“

“It’s no trouble.” She said with a sweet smile and fierce eyes. “Go. Have fun with your…friend.”

You blinked, not quite liking how she said that. You looked to Miguel, who had already packed up his things and was waiting for you with an amused grin on his face. He got up and pushed his chair in politely while you turned to face the older woman in front of you. You whispered a quiet “thank you,” before facing him once again.

“So…a walk?”

—-

Miguel blew out a deep breath of fresh autumn air as he looked up at the tall American Elm trees of Tompkins Square Park. It had been nice to get himself out from underneath the high ceilings of his apartment and into the warm colors of the New York sky, he couldn’t remember the last time he had stepped into this park. Central Park was his usual choice, as it was the closest one to him in the Upper East Side, but you were clearly more familiar with this area. You ran your hand along the worn, black railing that lined the park’s walkway as you strolled down its old cobblestone path, and you smiled.

You had a cute smile.

So cute, in fact, that he hadn’t noticed you asked him a question until you were staring at him expectedly for a few moments too many, your eyes shifting to the side awkwardly.

“What?” He asked dumbly.

“I said, ‘did you get your work done?’” You grinned politely at him, not minding that his head was lost in the pink clouds of the sunset.

He smiled grimly. “I’m never done with work.” You looked up at him and frowned before nodding to yourself.

“I understand,” you sighed and he pursed his lips. Miguel knew you were busy as well, with your two jobs and heavy schooling that you had to tend to. He hoped you were remembering to take care of yourself. His mind wandered to the cafe, and how both of your coworkers were eager to help you spend time with him; he was glad you had someone looking out for you.

Your shoes crushed the dry, crisp leaves that decorated the cobblestone path before you as you both approached your favorite part of the park.

“Could we stop by the dog park?” You looked up excitedly, and who was Miguel to say no to a face like that?

“Of course.” He smiled before pivoting off course to visit the lush patch of grass in the middle of the park. You half jogged ahead of him, excited to see what dogs were at the park today. Miguel watched you fawn over the animals before you, your eyes lit up as you cooed down at them, and your smile somehow got even bigger when their owners gave you the okay to pet them. The larger man came up behind you and kneeled down, his broad body shielding you almost entirely.

“Do you like dogs?” You asked as you gleefully gave a belly rub to a senior pitbull mix that happily rolled over in front of you.

“Love ‘em.” He said, and you looked up at him then.

“Switch with me.” You said before grabbing his hand and placing it on the elated dog. He blinked at the sudden contact and tried to focus on the dog’s wide smile as it panted on the ground in front of him. You rummaged in your bag for a while before producing a small zip-lock baggie filled with…biscuits?

“Are those dog treats?” He asked.

“Yeah!” You smiled. “You never know, right? Right, buddy? Huh?” You cooed at the dog below the two of you, and smiled happily as its tail wagged excitedly. You handed him a treat, pressing it into the warm palm of his hand with more tenderness than you had any right to.

“Here, old girl.” He said softly as he brought the treat up to her snout. The dog happily took the treat from him, making sure to lick his fingers for any remaining crumbs.

The two of you spent some more time in the dog park before eventually leaving and making your way down your original path. The conversation that flowed between the two of you went on naturally, as if you had known each other for years.

“What do you like to do in your free time?” You asked as you sat beneath the large Hare Krishna Tree in the center of the park. Miguel sat next to you, his large shoulder so very close to brushing against yours.

“I like to work out,” he began.

“And?”

“And…” he trailed off before falling silent. He blinked to himself, what did he like to do in his free time? He worked a lot…but that wasn’t really “free” time, was it?

“Uh…exercise.” He finished lamely. You playfully shoved him then.

“Exercising is the same thing as working out. Try again.”

“Sports?”

“Sports are competitive exercise!” You laughed. “Fine. What sports do you do?”

“This and that.” He sniffed. “Baseball, weight lifting, Judo…”

“Wow, that’s a lot.” You said, impressed with his athleticism.

He also did kickboxing, gymnastics, rock climbing, tae kwon do, soccer, cross country, and swimming, but who’s counting?

“You don’t have any other hobbies?” You asked him, a small, worried crease appearing between your brows.

Truthfully, he occasionally allowed himself to binge watch old telenovelas while eating more chicharones than he’d care to admit. In years past, he watched the cheesy soap operas with his daughter, her favorite being El Secreto de Selena. Now, he watches them alone when he can do nothing else but think of the life that he used to have, of the man that he used to be (but you didn’t need to know that).

“Not…really.” He murmured as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“We gotta change that.” You said before looking up at the large canopy of leaves above you. “You gotta be like this tree.” You said.

He looked at you then, because what the hell.

“Sorry?” He asked.

“This tree.” You kept your eyes upwards. “It’s an American Elm. The park is full of them, actually.” You gestured around you.

“It’s pretty rare to have so many of them in one place. A lot of the American Elms were killed off by fungus.” You continued. “Not this one though, the Hare Krishna Tree. Back in the sixties, an Indian spiritual leader founded the Hare Krishna religion in the United States, right where we’re sitting.” You gestured to him. “And now, it’s a protected piece of nature that’s recognized as a historical site. None of that would have happened if it were killed by a fungus.” Your eyes fell from the tree line and onto his face. “Don’t let yourself get killed by fungus.”

He blinked at you, in awe at the sudden profundity.

“Que maravilla…how did you know all that?”

“A friend taught me.” You smiled. “And also, I read the plaque that’s right over there.” You pointed to a chain link fence that held a metal sign that detailed the Hare Krishna Tree’s significance and laughed. You pulled out your phone to check the time and frowned before looking up at him.

“I should get going, my roommate is expecting me with groceries.” You said a little dejectedly.

“Oh,” he said quietly, a little disappointed that your date day had come to an end so soon.

“Here,” you held up your phone and opened the phone app. Or you tried to, at least, as the poor thing was unresponsive to your touch.

Jesus, he thought. This thing’s gotta be at least 4 iterations behind.

“Sorry, it uh…it takes a while.” You lightly smacked the side of your phone in an attempt to speed up its processing.

Maybe 5 iterations.

“Here!” You said excitedly once the cracked screen had finally displayed the number pad. You handed him your phone, prompting him to put his number in. He obliged, adeptly entering in the 10 digits that would allow you to keep him in your life. He handed the device back to you with a smile.

“Text me when you get home.” He said before getting up.

“Sure,” you dusted your clothes off. You appreciated his concern for your safety, and only barely resisted the urge to playfully call him dad.

Miguel watched as you turned and made your way down the old park’s path and back to the cafe. You pulled out a (tangled) pair of wired earphones and plugged them into your phone, your stride slowing as you scrolled on your device to pick out a song (or maybe a podcast). He looked on as you came to a stop at the crosswalk and startled as you suddenly turned on your heel to look at him.

“Mierda,” he thought, sure that you caught his staring. His concerns were quickly quelled when you smiled (that damn cute smile) and waved at him. Miguel couldn’t help the small grin that appeared on his face as he held his hand up in acknowledgement. You gave him one last wave before turning to cross the street, and his eyes followed your receding form before you turned the corner, out of sight.

Miguel placed his hands on his waist and blew out a deep sigh, not noticing how the flush in his cheeks wasn’t caused by the frigid evening air, but by something different.

Something else entirely.

Notes: i was lowkey cringing when i wrote about the tree and dog treats i hope it didn’t come off to manic pixie dream girl-y lol (or the Absolutely Insufferable Lead In An Indie Film who says people are like a bag of chips)

the ooc miguel o’hara allegations are beating my ASS lmao i watched his whole 8 minutes of screen time and he is a vile, putrid man in each and every one of them. how can i write him as a person who asks someone to text him when they get home when in he is fully choke slamming children on the subway i am a sham

Tag! @deputy-videogamer

[randomperson99sworld]

Hope

~ Chapter 14 ~

Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester save a young woman —Natalie Johnson, from a coven of witches who are after her deceased grandmothers spell book. At first Dean doesn’t trust her, will he ever? Natalie is just simply a woman who gets roped up in the supernatural world from a mistake her grandmother made.

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warning: Age gap, slow burn, smut (not until the later chapters), language, gore.

Word Count: 997

A/N: I may post one or two more chapters tonight. Happy reading! ♥️

The morning after the heated confrontation, the air in the motel room felt a bit lighter. Sam was still recovering from his injuries, but his color was better, and he was awake and alert. Dean was pacing the room, his mind already on the next hunt, and Natalie—sitting at the small table with her laptop—was focused on her own task.

Dean had suggested Natalie stay behind for this one. After the previous hunt went sideways, they agreed that it would be best for her to handle the research side of things this time, especially given her knack for hacking and digging up information. Sam needed rest, and they needed someone with skills to help them out remotely. So while the boys went off to investigate, Natalie had stayed behind to provide support.

As the day wore on, Dean and Sam were deep into their hunt—a string of strange deaths that pointed toward a revenant. But they had hit a dead end and needed more information. Specifically, they needed access to a secure database that could provide insight into the location of the revenant's burial site. That's where Natalie came in.

Sitting in the motel room, Natalie was in her element, typing furiously on her laptop. Her fingers flew over the keys as she accessed databases, searched for encrypted files, and hacked into restricted systems. The government security on the local archives wasn't anything she couldn't handle—she'd faced worse in her professional work—but this required finesse. The information they needed was buried deep in city records, and she had to bypass multiple layers of protection to get to it.

Dean's voice crackled through the phone as he and Sam stood outside a small graveyard, waiting for her to come through.

"Natalie, we need this info like... yesterday. You got anything for us?"

She rolled her eyes, smirking at the impatience in his tone. "Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on. I'm working on it. Whoever set up this system did a pretty decent job, but..."

Her voice trailed off as she clicked through a series of firewalls, each one falling as she bypassed their defenses. Within minutes, she was in. Her eyes lit up as she found the records they needed—burial records and land ownership that hadn't been touched in years.

"Got it!" she said, a note of triumph in her voice. "Looks like your revenant is buried in an old plot on the edge of the cemetery. I'm sending you the exact coordinates now. You'll want to be careful, though—there's mention of an unmarked grave, which means you're probably going to have to do a little digging."

Dean's sigh of relief was audible through the phone. "Good work, Nat. You just saved us hours of guesswork."

Natalie grinned, feeling the familiar rush of satisfaction. "You're welcome. Anything else you need?"

Sam's voice came on the line next, sounding tired but grateful. "Actually, yeah. There's some encrypted police files on the previous deaths that we couldn't access at the station. Think you can get into them and see if there's any common thread between the victims?"

"On it," Natalie replied, her fingers already flying over the keyboard as she worked on cracking the police database. This one was more challenging, but she was in the zone now, her mind focused and clear. After a few minutes, she let out a satisfied hum as the files unlocked.

"There we go," she said, scrolling through the records. "Looks like all the victims were buried with personal items—family heirlooms, jewelry, stuff like that. Could be what's keeping the revenant tied to them."

Dean grunted in approval. "That's what we needed. You're killing it, Nat."

Natalie smiled, her confidence growing. She hadn't just hacked a secure government database—she'd done it faster and more efficiently than she thought possible. The work was exhilarating, and even though she wasn't out in the field with the boys, she knew she was contributing in a big way.

"You guys owe me dinner for this," she teased, her voice light.

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, we'll get you something. Just keep that line open. We might need more help when we dig this thing up."

The hunt ended successfully, with Dean and Sam managing to locate and take down the revenant before it could claim any more lives. By the time they returned to the motel, covered in dirt and sweat but victorious, Natalie had compiled a detailed report on everything she had uncovered during her research.

As they walked in, Dean tossed his jacket onto the bed, nodding toward her with a smirk. "Gotta hand it to you, Nat. You pulled through again. That hack job you did on those city records? Impressive."

Natalie looked up from her laptop, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, was that an actual compliment?"

Dean shrugged, trying to downplay it. "Don't let it go to your head."

Sam, sitting on the edge of the bed, chuckled. "Seriously, though, you were great today. We wouldn't have been able to get this done without your help."

Natalie felt a swell of pride. "Thanks, guys. Honestly, it was kinda fun. You might want to leave all the tech stuff to me from now on."

Dean snorted, but there was no edge to it. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't go getting cocky."

Despite the banter, there was an unspoken understanding between them now. Natalie had proven herself, not just in the field but behind the scenes as well. She wasn't just along for the ride—she was part of the team. And that meant more to her than she could put into words.

As the three of them settled in for the night, with another hunt successfully completed, Natalie couldn't help but feel like she'd found her place. She might not be swinging machetes or firing silver bullets, but she was still in the fight. And for the first time in a long while, she felt like she truly belonged.

[shattered-reflections-au]

Fluffvember 10, Accommodating / "I've got you,"

--- --- ---

"have any of you seen Red today?" Blue asked, having done his third lap around the house's common spaces, still missing his boyfriend. Today was a Sunday, Red didn't have work on Sundays. He should be around the house.

"I think he said he was having a pain day." Vio explained, briefly looking up from his laptop. Blue frowned and shook his head, retracing his footsteps to the one place he forgot to check. Red's room. How had he forgotten about that?

It was raining this morning, Red's old injuries reacted to storms. they always teased him about his old man hips, Blue just always forgot the outcome of an actual storm brewing.

Blue walked right into Red's room, the door having been open a crack.

"Red, you okay?" he asked, immediately being greeted by a sobbing Red in his bed.

Blue rushed to his boyfriend's bedside. "woah, woah, woah, what's wrong?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Red looked back up at him, eyes full of tears. "it hurts blue," he managed to get out before returning to sobbing.

Blue sighed, gently rubbing Red's belly.

"where does it hurt?" he asked, watching closely as Red pulled back the covers to point at his left hip.

"did you take anything for it yet?" Blue asked. Red shook his head.

"I can't walk, Blue!" he cried, "i can't walk and i have to do so many things today!" he ranted. "but oh Blue it hurts so much!"

Blue's heart stung, wanting nothing more than to pull Red in, taking all his pain away. One day, he vowed to give Elaine a piece of his mind for all the pain she gave Red. But for now, he was here to help Red.

"what do you usually take when this happens?" he asked.

"some ibuprofen, but it's usually not this bad," Red replied, sniffling, "i usually just try to walk it off and put heat on it."

Blue shook his head softly. Blue had watched Green struggle through many sports injuries. Never once had Green gotten better off of something that made him unable to move by just popping an advil and "walking it off"

"did your hips hurt yesterday?" Blue asked, the sudden memory of a limping Red flashing through his mind. Red suddenly went quiet, eyes welling with fresh tears again. "it wasn't too bad. I thought I could just... you know... Malana was sick I had to take her shift!" Red spat out excuses.

Blue pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long sigh.

"please don't' get mad..." Red said softly, watching Blue's face like a hawk. Blue gave Red a tired look. "i'm not mad, i could never be mad at you for doing what you're used to. bending over backwards for others." he explained. "i'm mad at that bitch you used to call your mother." he added quickly.

Red looked down, fiddling with the tissue in his hands. "c'mon," Blue ushered Red to sit up a bit. "Lets get you some medicine." Blue walked over to Red's desk grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen off of his shelf. he pulled out two pills and grabbed Red's water bottle.

"here, these should help." he said, handing Red the pills.

Red smiled, taking them with a sip of water.

"lets get you somethin to eat, huh?" Blue asked, having sat back down on the side of Red's bed.

Red nodded, shifting himself with a wince and swinging his legs off the side of the bed with a pained yelp.

Blue deadpanned. "Red, what are you doing?" Red looked up at Blue with wide, teary eyes. "gonna get breakfast." he said. Blue stared at him for a second. "you just said you couldn't walk."

"Well, i mean, it hurts but like-" Red spluttered. "i can make it i think." he insisted. Blue stood up, arms crossed across his chest as he watched Red try to stand.

The second any weight went onto Red's legs, he crumbled.

"yeah no," Blue said, " "walking it off" may have worked when you were a twig bitch, but not anymore. you're heavier now." he explained. "let me help you."

Red rolled his eyes, lifting an arm so that Blue could be a crutch. Red was not prepared to be swept off his feet. Red yelped, unprepared to be completely in the air.

"BLUE." he exclaimed, grasping onto his boyfriend for dear life. "PUT ME DOWN IM TOO HEAVY TO CARRY!"

Blue rolled his eyes.

"i said you're too heavy for your hurt hip to carry, not for me to carry." Blue explained. "i think you forget i lift 200+ pound truck tires for a living." Blue kissed Red's cheek gently as he made it out the door. "i've got you." Red smiled, holding onto Blue and trying not to whimper when his hip was jostled going down the stairs.

---

"are there any pancakes left for my prince?" Blue asked his twin as he gently placed Red down on the couch, making sure there was a pillow under his knees. Blue kissed Red's forehead before meeting Green in the kitchen, tossing a heatable stuffy in the microwave.

Green pulled a few pancakes out of the stack waiting in the toaster oven, putting them on a plate for Red. "everything okay?" Vio asked Blue, Red having tuned into whatever was on tv already.

Blue smiled, heart swelling when he heard Red's sweet laugh.

"yeah, he'll be fine." he said. "we're just going to take it easy today."