#mostly these incidents are from the first month or so but in any case. would like to stop Remembering

[ephemeral-winter]

have been at my job for five months now but we have reached the point where i am spending saturday night Remembering every embarrassing thing i did when i still didn't know how to do my job

[tswwwit]

Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny goes on Vacation: Bad Ending

(Kind of a Part 2 to This Post, and specifically the comment made by @gamermineral about the GIW)

So! Danny has not had a Vacation in Years. Not since the day he became a Hero.

Its not even that he hasn't tried before, its that every time he does it all goes horribly wrong.

The first time he ever tried taking a vacation, Undergrowth broke out of the Zone and took over the town for a 2nd Time. It took a week to fix that mess.

The next time, he tried just going away for a few days, and that was the day Aragon and Vlad teamed up to try and take over the City.

The final time was a few years later. He had mostly managed to establish a Stable Situation after months of Hard Work. The Rogues weren't attacking as Frequently, and in fact many of them had become good frenemies with him over the years. Their Battles were more like Play Fights at that point, although he did need to keep them from going too far and hurting civilians.

He thought he was safe for a few days break in the next city over...

Turns out some random Cult decided to Summon Pariah Dark out of his Coffin in them middle of a Major City that very day. That Incident had both Secured his Position as the new Ghost King, and had caught the attention of the JLA. They approached him afterwards offering a position on their Team.

Still, Danny held off on having a Vacation for a while longer. He still didn't know if it was even worth asking them to cover for him, the situation was mostly peaceful and they weren't that big of a threat usually.

Eventually though, after a few months of working up the nerve he asked the Team if they could cover for him so he could have a Vacation. They had enthusiastically agreed, happy to help even if it was a supposedly easy job.

Danny left them a few instructions on what to do in the case of a Rogue Attack, and left for his Vacation in Space.

But he still wasn't fully sure, so he went back to check on them after 2 days. It seemed like everything was actually fine, and he left again.

A week later, he was feeling nervous again, and check up again. And it still seemed to be going well.

After one more minor checkup, he felt secure in the safety of the Situation. So he left to deep space for the remainder of his Vacation and enjoyed the hell out of it. He felt free for the first time in YEARS!

But the situation wasn't going nearly as good as the Team had lead on.

The Rogues were too powerful for the initial team dispatched to handle the threat, and they needed to call in a few more Heroes to fight them off. When Danny showed up for his check in, they had played if off as Much as they could and sent him on his way. Then they did the same for the next two times.

The JLA Team was struggling far too much, much more than they could handle. But they didn't want to call in high level members, they had too much pride.

And unfortunately, the GIW was there to "help" them. They said that they could use the GIW Tech at their disposal to contain the Ghosts until the Hero of the town got back, that their weapons were Optimal for battling them without hurting them.

And the JLA Team took up the offer.

The next time they beat a Rogue, using GIW Weapons, they sent them to the nearby GIW Base and called it a day. And they continued doing that for the entire month Danny was away. They didn't know better, they would later claim.

Danny returned from his trip happy as can be. Until he sought out his Fight Buddies, and could find none of them.

"Hey guys, I just checked up on the Zone." Said Phantom, "And I couldn't find any of my Rogues. Do you know where they are?"

One of the Team Members who had taken over Amity for the month responded, "Well, we weren't having an easy time forcing them back through the Portal, so we took up the offer of some Locals who said they could help."

"Oh!" Said Phantom, "So Ms Mason and Mr Foley helped? Or was it Mrs. Grey? Or the Fentons? What did they do to keep the Ghosts from the Zone?"

"Oh no, it wasn't any of them" Said the Team Member, "It was this little organization called the Ghostly Investigation Ward, they helped us contain all the Rogues in their Base. We started last month, and-"

And Phantom stopped listening after that. His Heart stopped, his blood drained from his face, and he felt a deep sense of horror permeating his Core.

The GIW had captured all of his Friends.

And the JLA had helped them.

[phoenixblaze1412]

can i request a fem reader who has a terrible moodswing during her period? i couldn't help but imagine dottore getting yelled at by reader because of her mood hehe, also, how will dottore handle the situation?

-🧊

Code Red.

Every segment knows of this. An event that happens every month and usually lasts for a week. Yes, their darling's monthly period pain.

Dottore is already aware of it. He was the one who made the code after all.

He would already have the medicine and painkillers that you may need to help suppress those cramps you have to endure. Ibuprofen, naproxen, aspirin and the like. All prepared and organised in a certain shelf titled 'For Pain/Cramps' just in case needed.

Ah, ah, ah. You are not eating various sugary treats or those cravings you want. The only treat you can consume is dark chocolate. Dottore explained that said product has magnesium that can also help alleviate your pain. Doctor's orders after all.

Dottore usually wouldn't be bothered when others would scream at him. But hearing your voice curse and yell at him would make him flinch. He knows it's part of your mood swings and it's normal but sometimes he would be overthinking some of the words you would say until you had to force it outta him during your post-period state.

If Dottore is busy in his laboratory or on a mission while you're on your period, he would send some of his segments to take care of you.

Dottore made sure to write a list of things needed for you and to take note of your mood swings because each emotion or reaction you show has various meanings that the segment has to understand to be able to handle the situation.

The segments, mostly the younger ones during Dottore's pre-fatui era, would be panicking over you. They read the notes given to them, yes. But did they understand? Absolutely not. They haven't taken care of you like this before but they were the ones ordered by Dottore himself to take care of you since they were available.

The segments even suggested of immediately putting you in the operating room right when they saw the blood staining your sheets and coming from down there. They thought that one of your organs must have popped and could require medical treatment immediately.

Dottore had to step in and rescue you right after Omega informed him that you were about to have surgery just because of some measly blood. He couldn't blame his segments for being so idiotic, he once thought you had an internal bleeding that he didn't examined carefully when he first found out about your period.

After that incident, he decided to hold a small meeting between himself and his segments and informed them of your monthly pain. He made sure the segments don't even bother to think of trying anything else to fix you other than follow the instructions he laid out when your menstrual cycle arrives.

Dottore may have forgot to inform them about the mood swings.

Later on, he found his segments sulking in the corner of your room with a hurt look plastered across their faces.

"..never have I seen a woman become so scary..."

"I blame you for this, Gamma."

"I didn't do anything! I was only giving her the medicine! Besides, Epsilon was supposed to bake treats for her."

"She already ate them all!"

"Enough of your chatter and stand up. She's acting like that because of her mood swings. It's part of her monthly cycle. So stop whining and get to work."

Yes, Dottore wrote down every little thing needed to do whenever you had your period but he left out a certain thing. Affections.

Any simple act of physical affection that he would initiate is already enough to keep you stable. From cuddles to forehead and cheek kisses all the way to whispering sweet words into your ear is enough to stop your mood swings from going haywire.

He wouldn't let his other segments know about it, just because they're him from different time periods doesn't mean he would let them give you affections. How ironic of him to be jealous of himself.

Nonetheless, when it comes to you, you are his and his alone.

[joydoesathing]

hello!! so i followed you on twitter because i LOVE your nu:car genderbend designs AND your art is just so beautiful and creative. i love how expressive and fun it is!! and now, you recently got me into tnmn 😭 i started playing it and now i’m having brainrot over it, but specifically more on your genderbend au!! (i’ve been gushing about your designs and au to my friend who is also getting into tnmn with me, lmaoo)

and i want to say that i LOVE your design for steph and mckendra. i’ve been simping so hardcore for steph, i was lowkey disappointed when i saw what steven actually looked like in game 😭

so on that note, do you have any headcanons for the rudboys?

i'm glad that you like both my nukani ladies art and my current art in tnmn too, anon❤️❤️

anyway, without further a do, here my hcs for the rudboys girlies

The Rudboys

The cool, tomboyish ladies™️

Definitely speak with a Southern accent (though Steph has been used to speaking with the standard American accent as well, especially when talking with others in her workplace. The Southern accent becomes prominent when she's around her mom or when she's emotional)

Mr. Rudboys (Steph's dad and Kendra's husband) got killed by a doppel around the late 40s, being one of the earliest cases of doppel attack casualties. Almost immediately after that incident, the two were relocated into the apartment.

Stephanie

She's quite serious, especially in her workplace where she does not tolerate nonsense from her colleagues, but does have a sense of humor (though it's mostly of the snarky variant)

Not really used to letting loose in front of others, so when she actually does try, she can be quite awkward (in an adorable way)

Secretly fond of cute animals

She cut her hair short only recently within a decade. After her dad untimely passing and seeing that her mother was clearly shaken up from that incident, she took it upon her self to act as man of the house and toughen up. She then cut her hair the way she did as some kind of mark of her commitment to her decision.

At first, her mom was horrified and thought Steph got mugged but eventually got used to it. She didn't tell her reason for cutting her hair to her mom, until much later on in the 50s, and her mom reacted this way:

She does gets relentlessly teased and doted on by her mom, but she mostly let it slide, even if it does cause her really bad embarrassment.

Mckendra

A lively and outgoing person with a strong sense of humor

Old lady with a young person's soul

In her younger days, she was barnstormer but later on worked as a flight instructor for a little while, then settled down and retiring in the early 40s.

The hat that she wears belonged to her late husband and she gets quite fussy if people try to touch it or take it off from her head

One night in the late 40s, while at home with her husband, a doppel broke into the house planning to kill and eat them both. The two did put up a fight with the doppel , but it ended up with Mr. Rudboys brutally dying in the end.

Months after the incident, she developed serious separation anxiety and would obsessively coddle Steph. Although, most of it has died down now and she's fine with Steph going out, she still does dote a lot on Steph and is quite protective of her.

She also prefers not to openly talk about her husband with others. She often tends to dissociate when the talk is about spouses.

[aylacavebear]

The Curse That Changed Your Life - Part 2 Chapter 2

With the witch taken care of, your hopes of being human gone, and dealing with sensations and emotions you hadn't before, life didn't seem like it was going to get much better. How would he look at you in the morning after what you'd said to him? What would you do after this? What would the next month hold, and how much like a cat were you? There were far too many questions you didn't have answers to and didn't want to ask. Would you find any answers in the month to come? Only time would tell.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 2498

Warnings: Fluff, Dean being Dean. Not really much for this one.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 2

The next few days passed without any sort of incident. Dean would make comments here and there, mostly flirting with you, so you did the same in return. The others mostly stayed quiet when it came to the two of you, waiting to see who was going to give in first, even if none of them wanted to be anywhere near the bunker when it did finally happen. The sexual tension that was building could be cut like a hot knife through frozen butter.

You were doing your best not to let it show just how flustered you were getting, as Dean looked like he wasn’t flustered in the least. That was annoying you more than anything. The two of you still talked about stuff, but he seemed to enjoy making innuendos just to watch you squirm, which you did.

They were still trying to find something to break the curse, but when another case came up, it had to get put on hold. This was day five since he’d accepted the challenge you hadn’t meant to make.

“At least it looks easy enough. Simple salt and burn,” Sam said, his attention firmly focused on the laptop in front of him.

“When has anything for us been simple or easy?” Dean asked sarcastically, sipping his coffee.

You weren’t sure how you felt at the moment. You knew he was a hunter and that he’d hunt things. You just weren’t prepared for the emotions that sparked inside you at the thought of him being in possible danger and getting hurt. So, you sat quietly, sipping your coffee, just listening.

“I could go with you. It might go faster that way,” Eileen offered. She was getting the feeling of cabin fever and needed to get out for a bit.

“I am not getting stuck in a motel room with the two of you,” Dean groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Can’t be any worse than being stuck here with you and Y/N and the tension that both of you are only making worse,” Charlie added with a fair amount of sass.

“Then I’ll come along. Eileen and Sam can share a room, and I’ll share a room with Dean,” Cas pipped in, making you attempt to keep from laughing at the way it sounded.

“Cas, that’s just wrong, on so many levels,” Dean told him, not amused in the least.

Cas just looked at him, confused, “What’s wrong with two men sharing a room with separate beds? You and Sam do it all the time.”

Dean rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out how to explain it to the angel, “Never mind, Cas. Fine, you can go.”

“Nice. I get to stay here, corrupt Y/N,” Charlie stated happily.

It was interesting to you how none of them seemed worried, in the least, about getting hurt while chasing some ghost. You looked over at Charlie, somewhat puzzled as to how she could corrupt you, but before you could ask, Dean did.

“How would you corrupt her?” Dean asked, now curious more than anything, glad that the focus was no longer on what Cas had said.

Charlie smiled in that mischievous way that she did, “Turn her into a nerd. Or I could just show her your porn collection that you meticulously keep neatly organized.”

Dean almost looked mortified, but you took the opportunity, “Pretty sure he’s soft compared to the things I enjoy when it comes to porn.”

“See, now you need to elaborate,” Dean stated, leaning his arms on the table.

“No, Dean, she doesn’t. We need to focus on the case,” Sam interjected quickly.

You mouthed the words “ha ha” before leaning back in your chair and sipping your coffee again. He gave that look that made your knees weak, and you were thankful you were sitting down. You knew he’d eventually get around to making a move; it was evident not only in the way he looked at you but also in the amount of pheromones he was giving off.

“You totally have to tell me about it when they leave,” Charlie told you quickly before dropping the topic, more due to the look Sam gave her.

The case was only a few towns over, so it wasn’t like they were going far. There was just this weird feeling nagging at your insides and fear that kept lurking in your mind. You just couldn’t quite pinpoint why you were feeling that way. 

When they were packing up, bags on the map table, it finally hit you. You were worried he wouldn’t make it back, that something terrible would happen to him. He was standing over his bag, double-checking the weapons he packed, and you watched from the library.

Your body moved toward him, seemingly on its own, the worry in your eyes that you couldn’t hide. He saw you out of the corner of his eye but didn’t turn to you. And when you were standing almost next to him, he finally spoke before you could.

“Come to see me off, propper like?” he asked fairly seductively, but when he looked over at you, his smirk faded, seeing how worried you were.

“I know you do this kind of stuff all the time and that you’ll probably be fine, but…” you attempted to explain, quietly to keep your voice as even as possible. “...Look, I know… I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t…” 

You couldn’t seem to get the words out right at the moment, so you took a deep, determined breath and then leaned up on your tiptoes, giving him a soft, gentle kiss with your hands resting on his chest. It was a plea for him to return to you, and you had to admit that you liked him far more than you’d wanted to admit to yourself.

Dean was a little startled at first but returned the kiss, cupping your cheek for a few moments before he pulled away. “I promise, I’ll come back,” he whispered, then went back to his bag, making sure he had what he needed.

The others in the room had been silent but now were smiling. Dean had enjoyed the last almost week of teasing you. Your brattiness had him thinking all sorts of wonderful things, but then there was your soft side. It drew him in in a way that scared the hell out of him, but craved it at the same time. 

As you listened to the Impala drive away, your heart sank while you stood in the war room, staring at the garage door. Charlie set her hand on your shoulder, “They always come back. Sometimes beat to shit, but they always come back,” she tried to reassure you.

You looked over at her, “How do you not worry about them?” 

She chuckled, motioning for you to follow her back into the library, where she returned to her seat and you to yours. “Those two have been fighting monsters their entire lives. Yeah, sometimes it is more dangerous than others, but they always come out on top. You’ll see,” she explained, back to her happy-go-lucky self again.

You glanced at the garage door, contemplating what she’d said. She had a point. Dean shared some stuff with you, and they had always made it through whatever they were up against. Hell, both of them had died, more than once. You knew it would only ease your worry some, now that you’d admitted to at least yourself how you really felt toward Dean.

“So, what do you normally do when they aren’t here?” you asked, looking back over at her. 

“Depends. Sometimes, I play online RPGs. Other times, I read some of the lore they’ve got here. That’s when I’m not hacking into some corporate system, having a little fun,” she explained, doing something on her laptop.

“Huh…” you mumbled, attempting to think of things a little differently than how they’d ended up in your head. 

I could always think of it like he’s at work, and I’m here, waiting till his shift is over, like a truck driver. What would I do if it was like that?

For a while, the two of you sat in silence, your mind wandering with your thoughts. Charlie watched you, your ears twitching, your tail swaying with your thoughts, but she stayed quiet for now. She was still goofing off on her laptop, but that girl could multitask like nobody's business.

During your stay with all of them, you helped out with simple clean-up in the kitchen and library. You even made sure to keep the bathroom clean after you used it. Right now, you knew there was no point in organizing the library tables, as they would return to their research when they returned. The kitchen and most of the bunker were already clean. 

It honestly surprised you at how clean the brothers were compared to what you’d heard about how men typically lived when they were ‘alone’, per say. You’d never been in Dean’s room, though, and that had made you fairly curious how he kept his personal space. 

“I need to do some laundry,” you finally broke the silence as you stood.

“Have fun,” Charlie replied absentmindedly as her focus went entirely to her laptop. She figured since the others would be gone for a few days, there was plenty of time to goof off with you later.

You headed down the hallway to your room but stopped outside Dean’s. It being across from yours always made you wonder what the inside looked like. Biting your lip, you reached out for the doorknob but stopped yourself.

Would he get mad if I just went in there without his knowledge?

The thing was, when your curiosity got piqued too intensely, you had to satisfy it, or it would drive you up the wall. You stood there, though, fighting with yourself as your hand slowly found the knob, your fingers gently tightening around it. 

I shouldn’t…

But you couldn’t stop the curiosity that just kept growing. You slowly turned the knob as your ears drooped a little with your apprehension, tail flicking with anticipation. Chewing on your bottom lip nervously, you slid the door open, then flicked on the light. 

To your surprise, it was cleaner than you had pictured. He’d hung weapons around the room, which you figured might hold some sort of memory he enjoyed, or perhaps they might be his favorites. You weren’t quite sure. His bed was even made. There were beer bottles dotted around, but it could have been worse.

It was his laundry pile that made you sigh, as it looked like there were at least three loads there. You didn’t even realize the man owned that many articles of clothing since you typically saw him in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel over it. He did occasionally wear sweatpants, but you’d only seen him in a red plaid pair, which were now sitting on top of his laundry pile.

I wonder if he’d get mad if I did his laundry.

You slipped out of his room, already feeling the guilt of invading his space like you had, closing the door behind you. Once in your own room, you pulled out your phone and thought about texting Sam, asking him the very question that teased your thoughts. You pulled up Sam’s contact information, went to the message section, and began typing out the question. Just when you were about to change your mind, you hit the send button.

While waiting for a response, you gathered your laundry and headed to the laundry room. At least you only had one load and could carry it without issue. Your phone vibrated in your pocket halfway there, making you grumble slightly.

It wasn’t a far walk, thankfully, and you set your clothes on the top of the dryer before pulling your phone out.

Text from Sam: Why do you want to do Dean’s laundry?

Text to Sam: I wanted to do something nice for him. Will he get mad or not?

You hit send and began getting your stuff into the washer when your phone went off again.

Text from Sam: I get doing something nice, but his laundry? 

You rolled your eyes, slightly annoyed he wouldn’t just answer you already.

Text to Sam: Can you just answer my question, please?

This time, you held onto your phone, tapping your foot as you waited, seeing the little dots appear at the bottom of the screen, showing he was typing.

Text from Sam: I don’t think he’ll get mad. It’s weird, though. You two aren’t even dating.

Again, you rolled your eyes.

Text to Sam: Thank you for answering my question. If he’d ever get around to asking

You reread it, then deleted the last part and started over.

Text to Sam: Thank you for answering me. What would you suggest that wouldn’t be weird?

That one you sent. The last thing you needed was for something he could show Dean that might only make things worse. You didn’t want it to come across weird through text, either. As you were getting your clothes into the washer, your phone vibrated.

Text from Sam: Maybe bake something? He likes sweets and pie. Oh, and anything that includes bacon.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that one, anything that includes bacon. You sent a quick thank you text, shoved your phone in your pocket, and took care of your laundry. Knowing the load would take nearly forty-five minutes to wash, you returned to the library, where Charlie was still sitting, on her laptop.

Plopping down in a chair, you leaned your arms on the table, thinking about what you could possibly do that wouldn’t come across as weird. Baking him something was a nice idea, and you were sure there were plenty of supplies in the kitchen; you’d just never made a pie before. 

“Whatcha thinkin' about?” Charlie asked you without looking up from her laptop.

“I was gonna do Dean’s laundry as something nice, but Sam said that was weird. He suggested I bake something,” you replied, half-mumbled

She looked up at you, raising an eyebrow, “Can you bake?”

“Yeah. Baking is mostly easy. I’ve just never made a pie before,” you answered, going through different recipes in your head.

“The man loves chocolate,” she chuckled.

Glancing over at her, a recipe came to mind, “I think I know what I’ll make. Do you know when they’ll be back?”

“Should be about three days, give or take a day,” she answered, “Why?”

“Cause the thing I want to bake is better the first day,” you replied with a small smile, letting his possible reaction play out in your mind.

“They usually text the morning they’re heading back,” Charlied replied, hyper-focused on whatever she was doing on her laptop.

That works. I can make it that morning and it’ll be ready for when they get here.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 3

Series Master List Part 1 Master List Part 2 Master List Past 3 Master List Main Master List

A/N: As always, if you'd like to be tagged, let me know in a comment. And if I missed your request to be tagged, please let me know. I know not everyone is interested in everything an author writes, so don't mind doing different tag lists for each piece of writing. I just get a lot of requests sometimes.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @zaratahir @jc-winchester @suckitands33 @n-o-p-e-never

@nancymcl @deans-spinster-witch @kindollss @flamencodiva @reignsboy19

@stillhere197

[ejzah]

Would you be interested in writing a little something related to Kip and Deeks? I’ve always wanted to read about how Deeks tells Kip about Kensi. Obviously he knows a bit of his feelings/attraction based on how he was teasing Deeks. Would love to read a few small snippets of conversations between them.

I love your writing. It makes my day to see a new post.

A/N: Hi anon! That’s so sweet of you. Thank you!

I probably have written a version of this before, not that I recall exactly what (😂), so if this seems familiar, I do apologize.

***

Just Between Two Friends

2011

Deeks first met Kip Brigham in sixth grade. Back then, Kip was a skinny little kid five inches shorter than Deeks and on the quiet side. They played basketball every chance they got; sometimes with Ray or a couple other guys, but mostly just each other until they got on the high school team in ninth grade.

Since then, their friendship had experienced ebbs and flows. Before NCIS, Deeks hadn’t seen Kip in months due to his undercover work.

Now, they were spread out on Kip’s couch—a ridiculous leather thing that probably cost more than all of Deeks’ furniture combined—after spending the morning surfing.

“You know, if you hadn’t been all about pursuing justice and all that crap, you could have gone pro,” Kip commented, slouched in one corner with his feet up on a glass table in front of him, an overpriced smoothie bowl in his lap. Deeks didn’t begrudge Kip’s success at all, but he certainly didn’t mind the perks.

“I’m glad you think so highly of my former professional aspirations,” Deeks said, grinning to let him know he didn’t take it to heart. “You know if I’d try to surf full time it would have ruined it for me.”

“Right, because you’re too good to be rich, Saint Marty Deeks.”

Deeks dodged Kip’s elbow jabs, digging his phone out of his front pocket as it buzzed twice. There were two texts; one alerting him to a new case and the other asking if he wanted a ride.

“Who’s Kensi?” Kip asked, peering over his shoulder. Deeks shoved him away.

“Hey, personal space, man.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a new ‘ladybird’.” Nodding in approval, Kip held his hand up for a fist bump.

“I don’t. She’s my partner.”

“Ah, partner. Is that the new term for friends with benefits?” Kip said, smirking.

“No, and if she heard you say that, she’d knock you down without breaking a sweat and smile the entire time,” Deeks warned him.

“Ooh, she sounds like my kind of girl. Is she hot?”

“I’m done talking to you,” Deeks informed him, standing up.

“Oh Marty-Mar, don’t be like that. I won’t tease you about your girl anymore. Sit down and finish your smoothie bowl.”

“Once again, she’s not my girl and I have to go to work.”

“You keep telling yourself, brother!” Kip called after him.

***

2012

“And that, my friend, is a slam dunk, and you owe me five dollars,” Deeks panted, basketball tucked under his arm as he jogged back to Kip. “Pay up.”

“You were a much better winner when we were 15,” Kip informed him. “I told you I tweaked my calf yesterday, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Deeks held out his hand, waiting until Kip slapped the money into his palm.

“Whoever wins this round, buys lunch.”

“Since you’re a professional NBA player, that seems slightly unfair, but alright,” Deeks replied dryly. He paused to check his phone for any missed messages. It was a Sunday, but that meant little when it came to bomb threats and international incidents.

There was a string of texts from Kensi, and he chuckled under his breath as he read them.

“Alright, who’s making you smile like that, Martin A. Deeks?” Kip asked suspiciously.

“It’s just Kensi,” he answered reluctantly, anticipating Kip’s delighted grin.

“Oh really? So what did your “partner” say to make you look happier than the day you got accepted into law school?”

“She was just telling me about this professional development training she’s at.“ He couldn’t get much more specific than that since the topic was interrogation techniques. “Apparently she made one of the guys in her group cry.”

“I take it that’s a good thing,” Kip guessed. He paused a moment. “What’s this Kensi look like?”

“Brown hair, brown eyes, little taller than average.”

“Oh man, you gotta give me more than that. Is she pretty?”

Deeks huffed the softest of laughs; Kensi was the most gorgeous women he’d ever met. “She’s gorgeous,” he allowed.

“Alright, now we’re getting somewhere. Now tell me about how she looks in a bikini—”

“And it’s time for round three,” Deeks interrupted, ignoring the flashes of Kensi in said bikinis flashed through his mind.

“Oh, you got it bad, man.” He heard Kip say from behind him.

***

Early 2013

Deeks glanced around the bar, noticing the peeling wall paper and rickety tables. He and Kip used to come here all the time backs when Deeks was a broke college student and Kip hadn’t made his millions yet. Somehow it seemed a lot more depressing now as a fully grown adult.

“You know my partner, Kensi?” he asked, twisting a half-empty beer bottle between his palms, head lowered so he didn’t have to see Kip’s expression. He’d only had a couple, but it was enough to encourage his already melancholy mood.

“You mean brunette, makes you laugh like a school boy and go all starry-eyed Kensi?” Kip confirmed, rolling his eyes when Deeks looked up in surprise. “Man, you only talk about her every time I see you. Kensi likes sushi, Kensi is so pretty. Kensi beat up a guy twice her size and I thought it was really hot.”

“I did not say that,” Deeks protested. He took a long drink of his beer, holding up a finger. “Though she admittedly has beaten up a lot of guys.”

“Like I said.”

Deeks shifted uncomfortably, hunching over the table. He didn’t know why he’d brought Kensi up here and now of all places.

“So, what about your Kensi?” Kip prompted, and Deeks didn’t bother denying that Kensi might be his.

“I think I’m in love with her,” he sighed. Kip outright laughed at that, slapping his knee.

“Well thank god you finally figured that you. Took you long enough. What finally tipped you off?”

Deeks glared at him, but didn’t have the will keep it up for long. “I guess I’ve known I had feelings for a while. I convinced myself that we were just friends, and colleagues, but she makes me happier than I’ve ever been. She makes the suckiest day better and,” he stopped, raising his hand slightly as he tried to find the words to explain exactly how much Kensi meant to him. “When I’m with Kensi, I feel like I’m not just some broken, screwed up guy.”

“It sounds like she’s a good woman.” For once, Kip didn’t go for a joke and Deeks appreciated it.

“She is. She has the most amazing smile.” He looked slightly beyond Kip, smiling himself as he imagined the way her face lit up, and how much he adored it when he was the source of that happiness. “And she has the most insane laugh. It’s like a cackle. It’s crazy, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. I’d do anything for her, which is kind of terrifying if I think about it too much.”

“Oh brother, you’re really gone,” Kip commented.

“Yeah,” Deeks agreed softly. He didn’t add that he’d willingly followed her into bomb-rigged buildings and would jump in front of every bullet if he could.

“So what’s keeping you from taking the next step? Don’t tell me she’s not into you.”

Deeks shrugged. “Sometimes I think she’s interested, but uh, I think she might be as scared as I am. Besides, it’s kind of frowned upon since we work together.”

“Well, that’s a load of crap,” Kip declared bluntly. He took a long drink of his beer. “Ok, here’s what we’re gonna do. We finish these beers, take my limo over to your lady friend, and then you express your undying love to her.”

“Oh god,” Deeks groaned. “Kensi would kill both of us.”

“What if we throw in a couple dozen roses and a trip to my bungalow in the Caribbean?”

“That’s a wonderful offer, but I don’t think we’re just ready for grand declarations of love.”

“Well, when you are ready, my bungalows and limousine are at your disposal,” Kip told him, raising a slightly unsteady finger. “With the promise that you tell me all about it.”

“You got a deal,” Deeks agreed, because he doubted that moment would ever come.

***

A/N: I hope I did Kip, and his and Deeks’ friendship, justice.

Thanks for the prompt!

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

I am very interested in Labrats au stuff currently and I would love any facts about it, like things about how the experiments affected their overall health and stuff like that!!

Yeah! lemmie say some notes on those-

Every patient now, instead of having a tracking bracelet, has an implant that is put into their upper back/neck area, along the spinal cord.

(Rough idea)

These are implanted as soon as a new patient is put into the Patient Program, where they are then put through multiple "appointments" where they are either injected with the mutating agent, or put through surgical corrective procedures.

The typical mutational process takes months or even up to a year of gradual injections, the dosage of which increasing with nearly every appointment. The first appointment is simply a starter, seeing how the agent effects the patient, and seeing if they're a viable test subject or if they won't be able to withstand the mutations. (Failing test subjects will be subjected to more tests, (namely prototype versions of mutations they're planning for proper patients) or are simply disposed of. Luckily, all 6 participants of the patient program were all able to withstand the mutations, to varying degrees.

The mutations effect the patient's health in different ways, some living mostly normally despite the changes in their body, with others having many health issues due to the changes. Mark and Sam are two ends of that spectrum.

Mark, despite the occasional pain in both his "wings" and "talons", he lives mostly normally. very little harmful health issues, as all his organs function properly, aside from his brain, being mildly effected to the point it causes outbursts of violence and a seemingly lack of awareness, like an animal. However, these incidents are rare, only happening on random chance or when he's under extreme stress. He has adjusted well to his mutations, most likely due to Thatcher's help in rehabilitation.

Sam however, is not dealing with his mutations well. Due to his extreme height and weight change, he had to go through multiple corrective procedures on his heart and lungs specifically so they'd be able to support the long limbs and more effort needed to move his body. He also suffers from memory loss and delayed brain functions, digestion issues, along with poor circulation, even despite the surgery on his heart to try and fix that problem, causing his pale, cool colored skin. He has to remain under observation to make sure he doesn't collapse or over exert himself. Due to his inability to move very fast otherwise he risks passing out, MBT has plans in place just in case they need a new patient guardian.

[starkillerbass]

Realisation

___________________________

Rizzles fanfic, fluff, admitting feelings

Rizzles fanfic, just a little something, no warnings apply, just a lot of thinking on Janes part

Jane gets hurt on a case and Maura is acting distant. Jane has a lot to think about and a visit to Mauras house reveals a lot of things.

Jane sitting in a hospital bed, absolutely annoyed by the fact that she has to be here and that not just Korsak and Frost made her come here but mostly that Maura had basically pushed her in the ambulance.

Yes, Jane had been shot but it had hit her vest. Literally nothing had happened. She was gonna have a big fat bruise and nothing more.

There was no reason to stress out about this little incident. Jane had expected it from Korsak and Frost, make her follow protocol and all that but Maura normally at least gave her a chance to try ans talk herself out if it.

More often than not Maura made her go to the hospital, get checked out even when Maura already knew everything was fine. She just cared a lot. But she also always gave Jane the benefit of the doubt and let her go a few hours before going to the hospital.

Today was different somehow. They went in to apprehend a suspect, they knew very well that the suspect would be armed and Jane knew the risk of going into the room first. Of course the take down didn’t go as planned and Jane got a bullet straight to her chest. Good thing she was wearing the vest.

It wasn’t even hard enough to knock her out or anything. Just a second after she fired at him, disarming him and arresting him with the help of the boys. Everything was alright and nothing big happened.

But over the last few weeks, well maybe months, Maura had been acting a bit different. At first Jane had written it off as Maura being Maura. Maura was just special and Jane loved that about her. So it wasn’t that weird for her to be a bit different than normal.

When it just didn’t stop with the little things Jane had to start thinking about it. She thought that maybe she had done something wrong. So Jane actually went to Mauras damn yoga class with her. Jane brought flowers whenever she went over to Mauras place. Jane actually tried to cook something healthy when Maura came over to visit her.

Jane has tried everything she could think of to make whatever was going on go away again. But Maura continued to act different. Their banter didn’t feel the same and somehow there was always tension whenever they were in each others space.

Maura had even thrown Jane out of the morgue some days because apparently Jane was distracting and Maura needed to focus.

Their nights together on each others couches ended more often than not with Maura leaning against Jane but never talking and then suddenly scooting away again. Like something in Janes demeanor or in Mauras head made her want to get away.

And now Maura basically pushed her in the ambulance. She didn’t even drive with her in the ambulance. Normally Maura would let her credentials and medical degree play and make people let her in the ambulance. Not once leaving Jane alone.

Now apparently there was no reason anymore not to leave Jane alone. Maura had pushed her away again and again and again and Jane didn’t understand why.

Maura was always so close to her and so worried and she still looked so worried, maybe even more so. Maura was as worried as ever and yet she acted so differently around Jane.

The doctors had taken some X-rays and checked if there were any signs of internal damage and obviously found nothing. So Jane was just sitting here waiting to be discharged.

The only person Jane wanted to see was Maura and Maura wasn’t here. Korsak had told her that Maira went straight to the lab got them the last pieces of the puzzle and went home.

Once Jane was discharged she got a cab to Mauras place. Jane was fuming. Jane was sad. Jane had no idea why she was so hurt by Mauras actions. Jane had no idea why Maira was acting that way. It irritated her not to know what was going on.

When Jane finally rang the bell she felt like running away. Maybe Mauras approach to whatever was going on was the right one. Just run away and worry later. But it was too late to run. Maura had already opened the door.

Red puffy eyes, wearing one of Janes old red sox sweatshirts and standing there in front of Jane with her hair messily down and her sleep shorts on.

She looked horrible. Well Maura was always beautiful and there was nothing more beautiful than the Maura that Jane got to see but with the red puffy eyes from crying she looked horrible. She looked horrible because she had been sad and Jane hated to see Maura like that.

„Jane, what are you doing here?“

„You didn’t come to the hospital.“ was Janes dumb reply, not knowing what to say and or what to talk about. With Maura having cried it felt wrong to confront her about something.

„I'm sorry Jane. Do you want to come in?“ Maura asked and already walked into her house, she just knew that Jane would follow. That Jane would always follow her and Jane knew it too. She would follow Maura everywhere.

„Maur, what's up with you lately?“ Jane finally asked after having closed the door and putting her jacket on the kitchen counter. Already walking over to where Maura was standing, ready to hug her if she wanted that.

„Nothing is up with me lately.“ She shot back, Jane was a bit taken back by her reaction but now also knew that there definitely was something going on.

„Maur, I know you. You’ve been so distant lately. I miss my best friend.“ Jane replied.

Maura took a deep breathe before walking towards Jane. Closing the rest of the distance between them. Jane was confused. She had no idea what it all meant.

„Jane, I'm sorry that I‘ve been distant but you are more than a friend to me. Lately it has been hard just to be your friend.“ Maura said.

And that was when it clicked for Jane. The cuddle sessions. The way they relied on one another. The way they trusted each other more than anyone. The way they were the talk of the department. The way it all had been true all along.

Maura wasn’t pushing her away because she disliked her or because Jane had done something. Maura was in love with her. Jane was distracting her. Jane was making her worry each and every day of their lives because she always risked her life for the people around her, not caring whether or not she came out alive.

When Jane was shot today Maura pushed her to get checked out because she cared so much, because she had been scared that Jane was gone forever and she couldn’t face her because then her facade had broken down.

Maura loved Jane and if Jane was honest with herself she loved her as well. Maura was the one person Jane wanted to do everything with and for. Jane loved every little thing and quirk about Maura. Jane didn’t just love her like a friend, not like a best friend, she loved her more than that.

Jane loved Maura as well. There was nobody she would do so much for. There was nobody she would rather have in her life. She wanted Maura in her life forever and always. And so far she hadn’t cared as what but now, now she wanted more.

„Maur, why didn’t you tell me?“ Jane dumbly asked. Not admitting her own feelings.

„Because I was and am afraid to lose you.“ Maura stated the obvious.

„You will never lose me. Maur, there is no one I would rather spend my life with than you.“ Jane admitted. Not saying her feelings out loud but making it clear what it meant. Making it clear that there was no need to worry because she felt the same thing.

And with that Maura closed the last rest of the distance. Softly kissing Jane.

[tagsecretsanta]

From @hebuiltfive

From @hebuiltfive to @sofasurf

Could someone please ping @sofasurf as Tumblr is refusing to tag them.

This was from the prompt: Christmas movie marathon with Gordon (but it features a brief mention for the prompt Shopping with John and Gordon too!)

Gordon's Christmas

The previous week had started off so promisingly.

John had come down from Five to embark on some much needed holiday shopping and had been partnered up with Gordon for the task. Gordon had been ecstatic and would have claimed that John, despite his grumbling, had been equally as thrilled about his shopping partner. It had been a while since the Squid and the Space-Man had spent some quality time together and, for the most part, Gordon would have claimed they mostly enjoyed their short excursion. Gordon had even managed to wrangle in a few pranks.

His favourite, even if it had been a little extreme, had John sighing deeply and glaring at Gordon with a look of disappointment. In fairness, his big brother should have been expecting something absolutely ridiculous from him at some point during their trip. Then again, looking back, maybe the seven Santa figurines that were dancing and singing out of sync across one of the toy aisles was perhaps a little too much, even by Gordon’s standards.

Everything had been going to plan, however, and, despite Gordon’s practical jokes, they had both managed to bag quite a few gifts and trinkets.

Lunch was when it all started to go downhill.

They’d been called back for a rescue. Virgil had flown by in Thunderbird Two to pick them both up as Grandma Tracy relayed the mission details. It should have been a reasonably simple ordeal.

Except it wasn’t, and Gordon ended up fracturing both his ankle on one leg and his tibia on the other.

He endured two medical examinations — one conducted by Virgil at the scene of the incident, and one by Grandma when they all returned to Base. Both exams concluded the same medical plan — that Gordon wasn’t in need of surgery but he was going to need a large bout of R&R for the next few months.

Least to say this news displeased him immensely. Whenever he tried to argue his case, however, Virgil and Grandma (and sometimes even Scott himself) would remain adamant and wouldn’t budge. He was to stay in bed, with his bandaged ankle lifted in those first few days. They lectured him relentlessly on why the crutches were needed and how he shouldn’t be putting any weight on his injuries if he wanted it to heal at all properly. Gordon didn’t care about any of that, though. Not only was he annoyed at being treated like glass once again, but it was also growing closer and closer to Christmas and Gordon was beginning to feel like he would miss out of festivities. 

He lasted a week before he finally began to feel like he was going insane. Gordon had already binge-watched the entirety of Into the Unknown once again. If someone were to ask him how many times he’d seen that show now, he’d have been unable to place a number. Five times? Ten? Twenty?

But even Gordon, an avid fan of the show, couldn’t bare to sit through another watch so soon after his last marathon.

He scrolled through his holo-projector, interest peeking when he came across a a host of Christmas films. Was the week before Christmas still too early to be watching such festive films? He then glanced his bandaged legs and frowned.

‘’Tis the season, as they say.’ Gordon murmured to himself, now flicking through the various options.

Safe to say he was spoilt for choice, but eventually he decided upon his first film; A Muppet’s Christmas Carol. There was nothing not to love about the film: it had Muppets, it had songs, it had a generally uplifting feeling to it. It was precisely what he needed.

There was only one problem.

Gordon had since ran out of snacks from his secret stash and was in dire need of more. Normally, he would have rung his special bell that had been retrieved for him and would have asked for one of his other family members to assist him… except they weren’t available. 

Scott, Virgil and Kayo were all out on various missions, John had long since returned to his station in orbit, and Grandma had visited the mainland for her own Christmas shopping trip. 

Brains was busy with MAX in the laboratories and Alan was somewhere in the villa doing his homework (or so he claimed).

It would have been rude to disturb them, especially over something as simple as needing some movie snacks. Gordon debated the pros and cons, the arguments that might ensue if he was caught, but in the end he came to conclusion that he was very much capable of fetching his own movie snacks, thank you very much.

With his bandaged ankle lifted off the floor, and being high on pain medication enough for the pain in his shin to be nothing more than a dull ache, Gordon snuck down to the kitchens with his crutches, successfully arriving without being seen or heard. He would grab what he needed and the return to the safety of his room before anyone realised he’d left. Simple.

Popcorn, check. Soda, check. Restock of the Celery Crunch Bars, check.

Gordon mustered up a collection of bits and bobs, different candies and savoury treats, along with enough drinks for plenty of refills when necessary. He was quite impressed by the haul that he’d managed to whip up in only a few minutes, and was proud of the fact he’d done it all so stealthily.

That was until he realised that, with the crutches supporting him, there was no��way he was going to be able to carry all of what he’d collected back up to his room.

Ah.

It was a dilemma that he was intent on solving on his own. He probably would have worked it out far sooner had the medications not dulled his brain so much.

Gordon was in the middle of plotting out an elaborate plan, that probably wouldn’t have worked, when soft footsteps alerted him to Alan’s quiet arrival.

His little brother sighed. “You’re supposed to be in bed, Gordo.”

Gordon shuffled uncomfortably with the crutches so he could turn and face his brother, his expression one of pure innocence. “I needed food.”

“They told me that you had to stay put.”

“I needed food.”

“Then ask one of us to get it for you. Brains is around and I was literally across the hall in my room… How did you manage to sneak past me, by the way?”

“I’m a ninja.”

Alan rolled his eyes before those blue orbs landed on the snacks that Gordon had amassed. Those eyes then widened. “Are you feeding an army?”

This time, it was Gordon who rolled his eyes. He faced the counter again and… okay, maybe there was a lot there in hindsight, but he was hungry and feeling sorry for himself.

“You should have asked me to help you.” Alan continued, stepping past Gordon to fetch himself a glass of water.

“I can do it myself.”

His brother slowly turned his head to look at him, offering Gordon a look that suggested Alan didn’t believe a word of that statement. His head then cocked to the side, gesturing towards the bowls and packets on the counter. “Yeah? Carry all that up to your room then.”

Alan was smart. He was probably smarter than all of them combined (minus John, of course). The glass was lifted to his lips, a sip of water was taken, but Alan didn’t take his eyes off Gordon, as though he was daring his big brother to try and prove him wrong.

Gordon was tempted to try, if only to wipe the smug smile off Alan’s face, but he knew when he’d been defeated. He just despised the fact that this defeat was due to a bowl of popcorn.

“Fine.” He sighed. “Fine, I can’t do it. I didn’t, uh, think it through, did I?”

To his credit, Alan didn’t jibe or tease his brother. Instead, he simply shrugged. “I could help you. I mean, if you let me sit in on the movie with you.”

Gordon chuckled and shook his head. “No. You’re supposed to be doing your homework.”

“And you were supposed to stay in bed, yet here we are.”

“Scott would kill me if he found out. Grandma would kill me. No. Absolutely not!”

“C’mon, Gordon!” Alan pleaded with those puppy-dog eyes that he was so talented at wielding. “I can catch up with all that work tomorrow.”

“What if you’re needed on a rescue tomorrow?”

“Then I’ll just catch up the day after that.”

Oh, his brother was good. Insufferable, maybe, but good. “Alan…”

“If you let me watch one film, I won’t tell anyone about your little solo trip down here.”

Gordon sized his brother up. Definitely insufferable, but he couldn’t skip out on such an offer.

Another sigh was released. “Okay, okay. One film, but then you’re back to your homework. Two conditions: I get to pick the film and you don’t get to any of my treats.”

“But you have tonnes there—!”

“That’s the deal, Allie.”

It was a deal that was reluctantly taken and soon enough, with the help of Alan, Gordon was back in his room. He tucked himself underneath his squid-patterned blanket, which was large enough to cover Alan as well as his kid brother nestled in beside him.

Once they were both comfortable, Gordon hit play.

Throughout the movie, Gordon’s rule of Alan being unable to have any of his snacks relented. Both a hand from each brother continuously dived into the popcorn bowl until there was nothing but un-popped kernels at the bottom. Bars of chocolate were hastily devoured and their glasses were repeatedly filled with fizzy soda.

By the time the credits rolled on A Muppet’s Christmas Carol, Gordon had seemingly forgotten the other two rules he’d created in the kitchen — that Alan couldn’t choose the film, and that Alan had to return to his homework once the one film was finished. 

He turned to his little brother, who was propped up against Gordon’s headboard with an octopus shaped pillow behind his back, with a cheery grin. “Which one do you want to watch next?”

There was much debate but eventually they settled on The Grinch. 

Alan disappeared for a few minutes to refill some of their supplies, making sure to grab enough snacks for himself this time as well, and then the movie watching recommenced.

After The Grinch, The Polar Express was put on. 

After that, Elf.

By the time Virgil returned home and came in to check on Gordon, both the boys had fallen fast asleep. Home Alone 2 was still playing on the holo-projector, though it was clear from the state of them that they’d drifted off not long after the film started. Virgil carefully made his way over to the bed, avoiding empty wrappers and containers that had been strewn across the floor. He switched the screen off, leaving his brothers to continue to rest in darkness. Words would no doubt be had in the morning over Alan’s incomplete homework and Gordon’s leg not being elevated as instructed, but for now Virgil was keen to let them rest. 

[wirewitchviolet]

A Teachable Moment

So I hopped into some freshly minted Discord server, maybe a month ago, and the norms of it still haven't settled into place. It's open to the public and focused on a game, so there's a bit of a mixed crowd, let's say, and prior to the incident I'm setting up the backstory for, there hasn't really been a test of their ability to moderate their damn public spaces.

Also when I say there's a mixed crowd I mean there's both a good number of trans women (because if you are making a deep game for a niche audience, we're gonna make up a shockingly high percentage of that audience every time), and a few right-wing extremists doing their best to "hide their power levels" (because if you create and promote literally any sort of social space, they WILL show up to test for whether local conditions are suitable enough to build a nest). In the early days of things they mostly kept their masks on aside from using the nazi frog as a reaction image to things (which IS something everyone should have a zero tolerance policy towards, but I feel like I need to know someone fairly well before I can explain that one), and their eyes lighting up when they see the server rules include "no politics" (a perfectly fine policy to have but you need to understand that if you post it you WILL have to constantly ban nazis who think you're using "politics" like they do- a euphemism for all the people they want dead).

Anyway, there's a few people on my radar here, but everyone's been civil enough, and it's a pretty relaxed vibe. Pretty quiet. Mostly just icebreaker talk. The most prolific poster is this one guy who saw there was a pet photo channel and just kinda sat down and made a point of posting several images a day to it, of a particularly uncommon sort of cute pet. Naturally this lead some people to ask some follow-up questions about whether these are his and how long he's had them, and this yielded the pretty damn weird in retrospect response that no, he has no pets at all, but would like one of these some day.

Now, this isn't at all the main thrust of this, and I wouldn't like, start keeping vigil for this as a sign of troublemakers, but a thing that undercover bigots do all the time as can be seen here is set up in a community and just kinda spam harmless generic platitudes and such to try and establish themselves as a known chill person. This goes double for anywhere that has a general public/trusted community members split. Never just go by "well he seems pretty chill" for giving people access to more private spaces, they can wait as long as they need, generally, as long as they don't have to improvise a normal person response to a situation where bigotry is in play.

Anyway, getting to the main event, a few days ago in this server, someone posted some cute little comic which... you know let me just find it.

Clever little subversion there. Got a polite chuckle out of the bulk of those paying attention, but seeing a nice wholesome bit of trans positivity incensed pet-poster guy, who immediately shouts "I've seen another version of that comic!" and posts a variation I am absolutely not going to share where the girl in the last panel is dead.

That is as clear cut of a do not pass go, do not collect $200, ban that piece of garbage permanently without a word and delete the post as soon as you can before anyone has to see that sort of hate directed at them offense in absolutely any community. Even moreso in this case as in the time it took a moderator to notice, this creep was going full mask off and responding to everyone's horrified reactions with grotesque anti-trans propaganda of a particularly hardcore "my other hangouts have openly posted swastikas" variety.

Here, people did delete the profoundly offensive comic, but then, to be blunt, otherwise handled this like a kindergarten teacher seeing a kid grab the blocks another kid was playing with and just nonchalantly explaining some basic manners. First off, nobody goes that hard on hate speech accidentally, and more importantly, showing a lack of willingness to dole out any real consequences for such an open act of hate has an emboldening effect. Sure enough the other sleeper agents present jumped up to try and push things farther, encouraging them to also remove the comic above, ban any mention of trans people, and jump the gun with prepared responses that don't work in context (you call everyone you don't like a nazi! Both sides are wrong! etc.).

I came pretty close to just quitting the server on response to that, but stuck it out a bit to double check if this wasn't just one particularly green mod trying to put the fire out before double checking if that's ban worthy when someone else was awake, or if I needed to explain the code-talk in the following conversation, or hell, if they just need more mods. I'm decidedly overqualified for that sort of thing.

Anyway, moderation policy handled that poorly... and to be clear, I'm not pinning that on any one person, basically everyone who ends up in a position of authority has a gut instinct to moderate as laxly as possible and needs some real training, reading, or tragic experience to learn how vital a firm swift hand is if you don't want people like this to show up and drive everyone else away. Especially not going to put this on the one green volunteer awake at 4 AM or whatever.

Still, the ball was dropped here, and I was pleasantly surprised to see how the rest of the community stepped up to hold their ground. Over the next couple of days, people just started casually dropping every cute trans positive thing they had handy in there, agreeing with each other that it was all nice and sweet. This both reestablished that chat as a relatively safe place to exist with a kind general vibe, and really got under the skin of these mask off nazis who started throwing tantrums. Apparently they just started privately messaging the mods to flag every single wholesome little image or comic as offensive to the point where people higher up the food chain came in, did some more serious reprimanding, and added an explicit policy against transphobia to their TOS... and threatened to ban these people if they pull this crap again.

Now, that increased firmness plus the community in general making it pretty damn clear they don't tolerate hate does seem to have scared the bigots into hiding (the one guy made this pathetic desperate effort to retake power by threatening to stop posting the animal pictures... that he's just pulling out of an image search, it was pretty funny), but... they're still there. The people they were threatening both broadly and as specific individuals still have to be careful not to share anything these scumbags can screencap and weaponize against them, and I'm sure at some time in the future when it's clear there's no mods awake they're going to pipe back up to do as much damage as they can in a blaze of glory if spying on all the queer people doesn't pay out for them, so while it is nice to see how just actively rejecting this sort of ideology can at least temporarily shut this crap down even without people in authority taking real action, I want to reiterate what responsibilities those in authority are neglecting here.

As a moderator of literally any sort of space, your basic duties are to keep things safe and to keep things civil. Those are two separate duties. Don't ever try and merge them together, and don't ever forget that safety must always take priority over civility.

If you see a situation where people are just getting randomly heated and angry over something inconsequential (happens a lot), yes, by all means, try to just deescalate things by stepping through just taking a stern tone, formal warnings, timeouts, 3 strike rules, temporary bans, etc. These are situations where we can hope that people who otherwise get along just let their emotions get out of hand and will hopefully shake hands and make up after having some time to cool off.

If on the other hand you see a situation where someone is threatening/antagonizing/intimidating someone else, especially in a case like this where the reason is transparently that the offender is a bigot who genuinely wishes harm or death on the target, there are no steps to escalate through. You remove the dangerous person from the community immediately, no exceptions, no warnings, no escalating response scale. That nazi posting crap about trans women in nooses, Jews in ovens, black people holding spears, women being raped etc. is not a friend having a rough day. There can be no reconcilliation no matter how much time you give. You just have a predator here to whittle your community down, and a vulnerable person who needs you to reassure them that they are safe in your community. The only option that should be on the table is the permanent zero appeals ban, and you should have no hesitation in deploying it.

Oh and here's the part where I remember that I am going to lose my home by the end of the year if I don't ask people to throw more money at me (this is a link). I hate doing this, but my other options for income went up in flames so completely I don't even know how to start to rebuild.

[thenarator]

AU of Bakugou has consequences but Izuku never gets OFA and becomes a vigilante

the vigilante thing threw me off for a bit, because i don't do a lot of straight vigilante aus, but then i remembered this one i came up with years ago when i was first getting into bnha:

bakugou does get into ua. actually, he gets ofa. once he graduates it only takes him a year to break into the top ten (not quite hawks' record but not bad either). by his second year as a hero, he's already on track to become the next all might. a lot of experts are saying its only a matter of time.

people have their misgivings about this. he's facing a lot of criticism for collateral damage and attitude problems, especially with younger fans. some reporters who don't make a habit of towing the party line worry about the example he's setting. bakugou doesn't care.

all might has his misgivings as well. he basically picked bakugou to be his successor after he won the sports fest his first year, thinking that his time was running out and he needed to make a choice. he was despondent and had given up on finding the ideal person he truly admired, but the more violent bakugou becomes, the more he feels he made the wrong decision.

izuku didn't immediately take up vigilanteism when he got rejected from ua. mostly he needed an outlet for his frustration with how unfair the world was, so he took up martial arts. when he was in college though, there were a lot of incidents in the area where he lived, and heroes didn't patrol there. he started going out on "leisurely walks" after dark, dealing with any crime he came across, and became some thing of a local legend.

that local legend becomes a not-so-local-legend when izuku accidentally stumbles on a huge trigger manufacturing operation and busts it wide open.

additional headcanons under the cut

look, it's not his fault the factory blew up. that isn't even what he got famous for. he was just trying to sabotage the equipment while he rescued a bunch of little kids that were getting used as test subjects. it's only because he got caught on camera leading them all out of the burning building, one particularly adorable little girl clutched in his arms, that anyone even knows he was there. the fact that he was silhouetted against an explosion in the background made it look like ten time more badass than it was. he was just trying not to drop her.

obviously, he gets arrested for vigilanteism, but he's been through that song and dance before. vigilanteism is classified as a form of illegal quirk use, and he doesn't have a quirk. ergo, he cannot be a vigilante. the police are still scratching their heads when they have to let him go, but he walks. the gaggle of reporters waiting outside are impressed.

the story spreads like wildfire. izuku becomes an overnight sensation. he gets given a hero name -- the green shadow -- and he has like four different fanclubs inside of a week. there's calls for him to be given a hero license, or at least some kind of award.

he keeps doing vigilante work, obviously. first some underground heroes ask him for help with a case, then a support company gives him a suit (for "cosplay purposes" obviously) and pretty soon he's doing actual patrols and meeting fans on the street. he thought giving a few radio interviews (on present mic's show! he's living the dream!) would make it all die down, but people are hungry for more of him. in just a few months, he's a household name. the calls for him to be legitimized increase.

the hpsc ignore all of that. quirkless people can't be heroes. izuku was probably just in the right place at the right time to be in that picture. they don't need to do anything, or acknowledge him in any way. that would be counterproductive, and send the wrong message to the public.

the public disagree.

the thing about the hero rankings is that not every individual person can rank every individual hero. there's thousands of heroes in japan, so even if approval rating data was gathered via website, it would be impractical for people to select from a list of choices. as such, the forms are write-in. people are given five blank spaces, and told to list the heroes they approve of most.

when approval ratings for the next billboard chart are being collected, the hero with the number one approval rating is the green shadow.

the hpsc are furious, but find that, according to their own rules, they can't actually do anything about it. they have to give him the ranking, even though he's not really a hero. a hero is defined as someone who works within the justice system and uses their natural abilities to stop crime and protect citizens, after all. technically, izuku fits that definition.

this is when bakugou becomes aware of what's been going on. he honestly didn't even register the green shadow as being a thing until he was told he got the second highest approval rating. obviously izuku isn't on the payroll, so he doesn't have a "cases resolved" stat, but being the number one most approved hero in japan is enough to get him to number 10. bakugou is pretty pissed.

he gets even more pissed when he finds out who the green shadow actually is.

bakugou does what he always does when deku gets to much attention: he goes to put the nerd in his place. unfortunately the only time he can find deku reliably is during a patrol, so he has to settle for a very public call out. he's fine with that, and fine with having witnesses while he berates deku for trying to be a hero without a quirk. he's fine being recorded while he picks a fight with deku on a crowded street. he's even fine when the cops who come to break up the fight let deku go after they drag him away. little punk's not worth arresting.

he's less fine when his approval rating takes a last minute nosedive, knocking him out of the number one spot he should have been claiming this chart, and relegating him to sixth place. lower than he's been since his debut.

it kind of goes from there. izuku keeps doing increasingly badass things. his approval rating keeps going up. the underground heroes he works with start listing him as a consultant, so he even starts getting paid and has a record of his resolved cases. over the next three charts his rank keeps climbing. first number ten, then number eight, then number seven, then jumping up to four. after two years walking the fine line between vigilante and hero, he's at number two and knocking on number one.

bakugou, meanwhile, continues to decline. he keeps getting into very public fights with deku, and while he considers himself the "winner" in each fight he notices that deku is focused not so much on him but on keeping people out of the way and minimizing damage to their surroundings. people are praising deku for "handling things so well" and "preventing collateral damage" and they're criticizing bakugou for equally stupid things. his approval rating keeps dropping. his resolved cases are dropping too, as he spends more time fighting with deku and doing public appearances to try and salvage his approval rating. his rank drops lower and lower.

the chart where bakugou drops out of the top ten is the same chart where izuku makes number one.

all might reaches out to izuku, at that point. he says he regrets giving ofa to bakugou, and that if he had the choice he would take it back. he says izuku is much worthier recipient. izuku says he wouldn't take it if he had the chance; he likes being a quirkless hero, even if he had to find a loophole to do it. however, the fact that bakugou has ofa, and is using it so recklessly, is becoming a problem. all might asks what they can do, and izuku says he has a plan.

all might throws his weight around to pressure the hpsc into giving izuku a hero license. honestly, it's kind of absurd that their number one isn't a real pro. they should be ashamed it took them this long. the hpsc cave and plan a huge public ceremony to make izuku officially a hero. maybe once the people are satisfied on that front they'll lose interest.

obviously, bakugou has to crash the ceremony and try to kill deku.

izuku does something pretty sneaky at that point. for the firs time in their professional rivalry, he gives bakugou his undivided attention. he starts talking trash, baiting bakugou, goading him to further anger. finally he drops his ultimate bomb: telling bakugou he's only worth anything because of ofa, and that if he can't win with the quirk he was born with his victory doesn't count. bakugou takes the bait, and hands ofa back over to all might like he's taking off his gloves.

bakugou loses, obviously.

after that, things wrap up pretty nicely. bakugou goes to prison for trying to kill someone, finally. izuku becomes number one, and a proper hero for all the world to see. all might gives ofa to someone who really deserves it, one of the kids izuku rescued from the trigger factory. izuku's first hero friend, eraserhead, introduces him to his student, logical ruse aka hitoshi shinsou, and it's only eighteen months before they're planning a wedding. everyone lives happily ever after.

except bakugou.

[chriscdcase95]

"Screaming Until Dawn" chapters one and two are up.

Title says it all, but for the long version, the first two chapters of my Scream/Until Dawn crossover are finally up.

Link to chapter one and chapter two

Summary: "Spin-off and midquel to Unlife is Strange; and part of The Fog of Worlds Saga

In 2011, Kirby Reed pulled through a with death. and dreamt she was a girl named "Sam". In 2015, Samantha Giddings pulled through a brush with death, and dreamt she was a girl named "Kirby".

In 2016, both Kirby and Samantha have put those "dreams" behind them, and with the radical changes in their lives, tried to focus on their college career. But when an unfamiliar voice calls Sam "Kirby", and Kirby "Sam" both girls set out on a mission to get to the bottom of these dreams.

A mission that causes the lives of Kirby, Sam and their places in their world to blur, as something from beyond calls to them."

Ships include: Sam x Jessica x Emily - as per Unlife is Strange, they have a "Friends With Benefits/Open relationship, functioning the main pairing here. Some LIS characters will be featured, mostly as supporting or background characters, so this story also features Pricefield and Chasemarsh, even if it's not prominent.

Kirby isn't really paired with anyone here - the only character I serious ship Kirby with is with Sam Carpenter (which is probably gonna stump me when I write Kirby's interactions with Sam Giddings). I imagine Kirby's "love life" as mostly consisting of "no strings attached" flings, or dates that fizzle out before of the night.

Content Warning: Canon typical violence and horror elements; This story also nudity, eventual smut down the line. Not sure if it'll go into PWP territory. This story will also feature supernatural elements, but I'll try not to go overboard with it.

For more of what to expect, here's the initial preview, but to give a quick rundown...

----

I plan on making this a shorter story - about five or seven chapters max - but it's something I've been cooking up for over a year. While I plan on wrapping up Mission To Silas before the year is over, I thought I'd get to work on this "side story" as well.

The original idea started out as "What if Kirby Reed/Sam Giddings experienced eachothers lives through dreams, and what if those dreams pulled them together ?" The idea then grew from there.

As said this is a spin of Unlife is Strange - being a midquel set between the present day (2020) storyline, and Rachel's flashback arc in LA/Seattle (2014/2015). Set in 2016, we focus on Sam attempting to take a sabbatical from the FBC following the LA/Seattle case. (To see that case, and Sam and Emily's involvement, read Unlife's chapters: "9 Crimes" and "Rachel & Steph").

Meanwhile, we follow Kirby years after Scream 4 when she is preparing to enroll to the FBI as the sole survivor of her friend group. While Kirby attempts to isolate herself following her survival, Sam has become more lively and outgoing. Despite the different lives, they are pulled down the same road as a result of someone or something from each other's lives calling to them.

I had to split the initial first chapter into two, because it had a whole lot going on at once; especially for something that would have been nearly two hours long. But I found the first half should be enough to establish things so far.

Because of this split, the first chapter is an introduction of Sam, Kirby and their connection, while chapter two the actual inciting incident; when something from another side calls to them, and Sam and Kirby's lives begin to blend together.

In the meantime, I'm gonna be juggling this story with Unlife is Strange and Mission to Silas, so chapter three may take a while. On a good run, it normally takes me a few weeks to a month to get a chapter ready in any of my stories, and I REALLY want to finish Mission by the end of the year.

[rubylarkspur22]

any headcanons about Nezuko's life after the events of KnY?

Here's a few I can think of off the top of my head:

Nezuko took a while to readjust to her human biology, especially eating. For anywhere between the first few months to a year after she turned back, she ate very small and light meals while gradually working her way up to full meals. She had to be careful not to push herself in order to not upset her stomach.

She definitely has scars from when Tanjirou attacked her when he was a demon. Very few people have seen them, limited mostly to the Kamaboko Squad. She spent hours assuring Tanjirou that the scars don't hurt and that she's not going to hold a grudge for something he had no control over.

Due to the time she spent as a demon, Nezuko did experience fertility issues(since demons in KNY are said to be incapable of having kids, and it's possible her demon status messed up when she hit puberty). But she didn't mind, so long as she was in a happy relationship and had people she loved and who loved her. She did manage to have kids, but it was several years after she and Zenitsu got married.

After they started dating, Nezuko actually pushed for Zenitsu to take things slow. After all, she barely knew him, and he barely knew the real her, and figured rushing would hurt the both of them in the long run. This also led to Zenitsu working to improve himself to be better romantic partner material for her.

Inosuke called her "Mom" by accident one time. Nezuko laughed it off and responded by patting Inosuke on the head.

If she ever found out about the "Welcome back, Inosuke" Incident, she's a hundred percent weaponizing it. Calls Zenitsu Inosuke just to mess with him, and it confuses their kids to no end. "Mama, why are you calling dad Inosuke, like Uncle Inosuke?" "We'll tell you when you're older, honey."

Mama Bear. Do NOT mess with her kids, she's not afraid to beat your a** if you do. She may not be a demon anymore, but that doesn't make her any less terrifying when she's ticked.

She, Kanao, and Aoi all get together when they can to have tea. Luckily, all their respective husbands take the kids without any complaints.

Nezuko acted as the midwife for Kanao and Tanjirou's first kid. She and Zenitsu happened to be visiting the day Kanao went into labour, and Nezuko refused to let her brother and his one functional arm try and catch the baby. Plus, Nezuko had learned some midwife tips in case becoming a seamstress didn't work out.

Speaking of which! She continued to hone her sewing, becoming a seamstress in her late teens and continuing that work until she couldn't anymore. Despite the damage her left hand took from Tanjirou's energy blast, her sewing was still more than good enough to turn a profit. Even if the money wasn't always needed, thanks to Kiriya and his sisters regularly sending money. Sometimes she just did some alterations and repairs for friends and family as favours.

Loves experimenting with new hairstyles. For the first little while, she stayed away from braids due to the memories they brought of Mitsuri.

When they first came back to Mount Kumotori, Nezuko(and Tanjirou) would sit by their family's graves to tell them about everything going on in their lives every day. Eventually, it petered out to weekly, then monthly, then birthdays and New Year's and any holidays they spent together as a family.

Nezuko was among the last members of the Kamaboko Squad to pass away. She lived a good life, passing away from old age.

Nezuko did have a couple lingering side effects from her time as a demon, aside from what I already mentioned. Her eyes occasionally glow in the dark, especially if she she's feeling strong emotions, and she's a little stronger than she was before the attack. Nowhere near her demon strength, but certainly not her pre-demon strength, either.

[robo-milky]

1. I have no issue in being the spokesman for this ship i swear. Also so be it, outta the way Cloche, Epel bby come here 😍

2. I thought that ask didnt send?? I completely forgot about the carved apple hc thou good thing you still saw it <3

3. Im just now noticing being tagged as a mutual?? Like i know you follow me too but the tag 😭💕

4. And lastly response to the previous ask (this has been a series of full-blown responses, back and forth amongst us)

Shinning light on Epel's character, he does indeed feel conflicted. He fears Cloche's paranoia and vulnerability after the incident is what made them to be closer. If that's the case then he hates it. Dont get me wrong now Epel's the kind who "fell first and fell harder" but he wants to be sure that his Relationship with Cloche even as friends is genuine. He wants to be sure that the closeness Cloche develops with him is not related to her incident even in the slightest. While he still sees glimpses of OG Cloche with how she responds it still makes him uneasy with how he got closer to her in a few months then he could in a year. He knows Cloche doesn't like him back. The way she looks at his vice housewarden with love in her eyes, he wishes he could be that person. (Dont be jealous of that wannabe Dora 🫶)

But he knows he'll never be. But that doesnt mean he wants to cut all ties with Cloche. She is still special to him. He can move on but he knows that wont be the case for a good while but till then he'll be there for Cloche in her time of need when rook is ojt for internships.

Now thats enough angst on my side since now i just feel bad 😭

That being said, signing off till the next responses, peace out and hugging cloche <3 (and hugs for you as well :D )

Throwing in a lighthearted meme as a cleanser <3 If you know the source, you know 😭 God… The amount of layers to get this- (Shout out to y’all following along the SY! Cloche lore)

[Response]

The true ship was Epel x justm3di0cr3 all along- I’m losing it at the irony of you being the spokesperson of ClochEpel yet also writing the downfall(?) (er… Not ClochEpel ClochEpel)

Sending hearts back at ya <3 Any mutual is a mutual ^^

Going straight for the angst path I see- Not that I’m complaining- I’m all for it!

Waiting for Cloche’ epiphany arc to come, when she finally realizes she shouldn’t have taken Epel and his feelings for granted when he’s gone for good. Before the incident, Cloche would have known about Epel’s one-sided affections for her (at some point), but she’s more confused why he would like her. With that, if Epel ever confronts SY!Cloche to set things straight or were vocal about missing the old Cloche, she’d feel upset and lost.

As the person experiencing the changes, Cloche views the new development as growth. OG!Cloche was distant, always trying to not be a burden, and now she’s opening up her heart to rely on others willingly. Cloche, herself, didin’t think the incident changed her, but was an excuse for her to act upon the fears she already had. How Cloche sees herself vs how Epel sees her, would make for an interesting conflict of misunderstandings. Since Epel wants to be there for Cloche, he probably wouldn’t voice his personal conflicts, and Cloche is too prideful to open up any more.

The few remnants of OG!Cloche that Epel can find, is mostly her uncaring, “so be it” attitude. Despite having been there for her for so long, he’s still bitter that a simple “Salut” from Rook on Magicam is enough to make her …smile. (Barely. The corners of her mouth can tilt up by 1mm, I guess.)

When SY!Cloche does feel better, she wouldn’t apologize to Epel, but more so give a word of acknowledgement. She’d drop the bomb out of nowhere, when they’re just alone, without any warnings at all. And ofc, in OG!Cloche fashion, it’d be hella dry but gets the point across. She is chewing on her pride (she cannot swallow it completely.)

“Thanks …for everything. You make this world a little more tolerable, I guess…”

FR— Epel dealing with SY!Cloche’ hot-n-cold reception is such a big improvement from OG!Cloche’ hot-n-cold.

[get-back-homeward]

The Case of Thelma Pickles

Thelma's account of John is most often cherrypicked by detractors as evidence he was some lifelong wifebeater. While the violence in the incident she describes is clear, the nuance that makes her account so vivid gets lost in the debate.

I keep coming back to her account for her picture of John at a crucial time, only a few months after Julia is killed.

John’s girlfriend in the autumn of 1958 was Thelma Pickles, a new and interesting student at the art school, just turning 17. Initially, she thought him “a smartarse,” then changed her mind when she witnessed his reaction to a girl who asked if what she’d heard about his mother was true. “She said, ‘Hey John, I hear your mother’s dead.’ He didn’t flinch. He simply said, ‘Yeah.’ She carried on, ‘It was a policeman that knocked her down, wasn’t it?’ Again he didn’t react, he just said, ‘That’s right, yeah.’ I was stunned by his detachment, and impressed that he was brave enough not to break down or show any emotion. Of course, it was all a front.”30

Soon afterward, John and Thelma sat talking at the Queen Victoria Monument and each revealed being deserted by their dads. “He pissed off and left me when I was a baby,” John said of Alf, which was far from correct but no doubt how he felt. Thelma’s father had left home when she was ten; she was sensitive to the stigma of having only one parent and emotional when anyone mentioned it. “I couldn’t sustain the detachment John managed,” she says. “I thought it was quite an achievement to be able to behave like that.”

Suddenly, John and Thel, as he called her, were “going out.” The shared soul-baring cemented it, and also they fancied each other. Thelma was the first female John allowed to get close after Julia’s terrible death. She was given glimpses of his other side.

When we discussed it between ourselves I realized he was clearly more sensitive than he appeared. He spoke of the pure shock of losing his mother, and he said what a loss it was (though I don’t think he used the word “loss”). At such times, he spoke in a much softer, more explanatory way than usual, and though he never demonstrated extremes of emotion, his pain was clear. The other side of the coin was that he’d detect any minor frailty in somebody with a laser-like homing device. I thought he was hilarious, but it wasn’t funny to the recipients.31

Thelma was witness to a rare occasion at Mendips, when John, Paul and George all stood in the kitchen and played their guitars. Mimi was out, and before she was expected back Thelma and the two lads scarpered. John knew Mimi didn’t want them in the house and would raise merry hell about it, and he just didn’t need the headache. For a while, though, John and Thel took regular advantage of Mimi’s going out (it seems she went to play bridge one night a week). The plan, carefully formulated by John, was for Thel (who lived in Knotty Ash) to take the bus to Woolton; she and John would meet and sit across Menlove Avenue in a shelter on the edge of the golf course, and when Mimi left and walked down the street, over they’d go. “I only ever saw Mimi from a distance, in the dark,” Thelma says.

Mostly, Thel found John “enormous fun to be with, always witty, and when we were alone together he was really soft, thoughtful and generous-spirited.” He made them tea and toast, he made her laugh, and he made love to her in his little bedroom above the porch. “We didn’t call it sex—that word wasn’t really used by people then. John called it ‘going for a five-mile run,’ because he’d read or heard this was the amount of energy a man spent.” They used no protection, trusting only to luck, and John told Thel he was glad she was no “edge of the bed virgin”—his euphemism for the kind of girl who would take him half the way there but no further.

John and Thel often took afternoons off from art school to go to the pictures. He liked the old horror films at the equally old Palais de Luxe on Lime Street, and they also went to see Elvis’s final pre-army film, King Creole, which reached Liverpool Odeon in mid-October 1958. Though John very occasionally wore his glasses at college, he definitely didn’t do so in public, and without them, even sitting near the front of the stalls, he could hardly make out how his idol was faring up there on the big screen. He kept nudging Thelma, nagging her to describe all the action: “What’s he doing now, Thel?”

—Tune In, Ch. 9 (June–Dec 1958)

Her account of the beginning of their relationship supports Paul and Cynthia’s characterization of young John as a kid that put on a public front to mask fear and insecurities and grief. She is surprised by his detachment to loss, something she wishes she could attain. (Echoes of this story of John and Paul. Like recognizes like?) Yet with further scrutiny, she sees the detachment as a facade and discovers a shared trauma, and they bond over opening up about their family losses.

After this recognition, they become close. When alone, Thelma sees the softer side to John, thoughtful and generous. When in public, she notices his awareness of the eyes of others, mocking frailties of others while walking around half-blind himself. She finds him hilarious as long as his target is someone else, feeling a sense of specialness by being part of his crew. You can see echoes of John and Paul's mean girls schtick here.

It's notable that by 1959, John has made a habit out of bonding over shared grief/trauma. John meets Paul just after his mother dies, and John lost his father figure a few years before that. John meets Thelma after Julia’s death and they bond over absent fathers. John goes on to meet Cynthia, who has just recently lost her father.

Her account of the end of their relationship supports how John would lash out when power shifted and exposed his insecurities. This lashing out comprises not only one hit in a moment of anger, but several days/weeks(?) of public mocking in response to her ending the relationship over his own actions. Notice how he mocks her with a lie they both know isn’t true all because she wounded his ego? It’s the performance of it all that sticks with me.

And the only way she gets him to shut up is to match him in being equally vicious back. The games of adolescence perhaps, but its echoes in John’s other significant relationships suggest a pattern. Mind games, more than anything, is the weapon of choice.

[Quotes and sources under the cut]

During the course of this, John leaned over to Thel and asked if she fancied “going for a five-mile run.” She agreed, and they slipped upstairs to the Art History room, assuming it would be free. “It was dark but we could tell there were other couples in there, probably having a five-mile run of their own, or trying to,” Thelma recalls. “I told John I was uneasy about doing it in a place like that, especially with other people there, and he wasn’t happy with my attitude. When I insisted on going, and got up to leave, he became rough and whacked me one—his fist connected somewhere between my shoulder and my head, around my neck.”8

During the course of this, John leaned over to Thel and asked if she fancied “going for a five-mile run.” She agreed, and they slipped upstairs to the Art History room, assuming it would be free. “It was dark but we could tell there were other couples in there, probably having a five-mile run of their own, or trying to,” Thelma recalls. “I told John I was uneasy about doing it in a place like that, especially with other people there, and he wasn’t happy with my attitude. When I insisted on going, and got up to leave, he became rough and whacked me one—his fist connected somewhere between my shoulder and my head, around my neck.”8

Thelma stormed off, and decided that was the end of their relationship. She did her best to avoid John through the following week, and when this wasn’t possible she simply ignored him. He started to mock her but she resisted his gibes, and this went on for several days until reaching its culmination in the Cracke. “He was still mocking me, in front of others, and then he called me ‘an edge of the bed virgin.’ That really pissed me off because we both knew it wasn’t true. He was just being sarcastic and wounding because he was pissed off with me, and I got so enraged I shouted back, ‘Don’t blame me just because your mother’s dead!’ It was a cruel remark, but he knew all about those. It just seemed the easiest way to get back at him.”

John and Thelma had reached the end of the line, though they’d remain friends and keep in touch for several years. In an interview in 1980, John reflected on his teenage behavior: “Hitting females is something I’m always ashamed of and still can’t talk about—I’ll have to be a lot older before I can face that in public, about how I treated women as a youngster.”9 Except that he was talking about it, and with the sort of candor customary even when it was to his own detriment. In 1967, John mentioned it within a song lyric and spoke about it to his biographer Hunter Davies. “I was in a blind rage for two years,” he said. “I was either drunk or fighting. There was something the matter with me.”10

This was also, of course, the way it was in many other relationships, and had been for a long time and would be in the future, especially in the north of England. It wasn’t excusable but nor was it unusual, and such attitudes were reinforced constantly in receptive minds by the silver screen. “Not only did we dress like James Dean and walk around like that,” John later remarked, “but we acted out those cinematic charades. The he-man was supposed to smack a girl across the face, make her succumb in tears and then make love. Most of the guys I knew in Liverpool thought that’s how you do it.”11

In terms of dress, John continued to interchange between college scarf and Teddy Boy drape, though being a Ted was always more a state of mind for him.12 The persona remained very much part of his attraction to Paul and George, however—as Paul says, “We looked up to him as a sort of violent Teddy Boy, which was attractive at the time. He got drunk a lot and once he kicked the telephone-box in … [and] what might have been construed as good old-fashioned rudeness I always had to put down to ballsiness.”

—Tune In (Ch. 10, Jan–July 1959)

Based on the accounts of Thelma here and Cynthia elsewhere, both known incidents of John being physically violent with women are single, isolated events. Thelma describes a hair pull and full-on hit (punch) in the neck, which is physically painful to think about, whereas Cynthia describes a slap in the face. In both cases, they feel confident enough to shut it down and walk away, Thelma for good and Cynthia at least making him grovel first (Christmas 1959 card). Domestic violence comes in several forms, some of which do match John’s behavior with Cynthia even if they were common for the time (controlling appearance and activities, possessiveness and paranoia of infidelities, etc.), but neither of these women describe habitual physical violence.

However, this incident does not seem to reflect the guilt with which John talks about it later. Even when put together with Cynthia’s account, which is less than a year later (fall 1959), the level doesn’t seem to match. I notice both incidents would be within the two years after Julia’s death, yet he’s writing about it in 1967 (“I hit my woman”) and still talking about it in 1980. Even 3 months before his death, he was calling himself "a hitter." Either there were more incidents left untold (e.g., Thelma and/or Cynthia are condensing into one where they left, or other women who’ve remained silent) or John’s guilt spun it into more over time. This is notable because there’s not much else he ever seems to publicly regret.

Looking up Lewisohn’s sources, the worst quote from John is actually from Source 11 (the James Dean quote above), a print interview from a dubious author (link in the sources listed below). The author Sandra Shevey has claimed to have spent at least 12 hours interviewing John and Yoko, and while at least one recording of her interview with them is available, I’m skeptical about other quotes in print considering her output. Reading a few pages of her book on John, some parts are so unhinged I wondered why on earth Lewisohn even used anything from her as a source (serious burn book vibes). John has mentioned elsewhere about being influenced by Hollywood’s images of (toxic) masculinity as a teen, but her full quote makes it sound like he was basically raping women all the time. She uses the quote as a springboard to her more outlandish theories (like devoting several pages to the idea that John raped and then murdered Brian over a contract detail?!).

Burn book moments aside, Shevey also gets tons of basic details completely wrong like attributing Get Back’s writing or Bernard Webb’s Woman to John (both are Paul’s) and in general treats Paul as a nonentity in John’s life and work. So I have a hard time trusting anything from her book. However, she is one of the few John bio authors to consider bisexuality (unhinged theories aside) and is questioning the ballad of John&YokoTM in print as early as 1990, perhaps because she spoke with them during a time when the cracks were more visible. So assuming her quotes are accurate and her reading is just wildly off the mark, I think it’s worth mentioning the context of this James Dean quote in her book. It's prefaced with background that may shed light on the case of Thelma Pickles, who had the dubious honor of being John’s first real girlfriend.

Talking in 1972, he's speaking about this in relation to his struggle with accepting Yoko as an equal creative partner on the latest album. There’s a flavor of blaming British society and American culture that sounds very Yoko shaped (he goes on to call British men both effeminate and sadist). However, applying this background to 1958, you can see how a young John would have struggled to apply his relationships with other boys to his first attempt at a relationship with a girl, especially one who was by her own account looking for recognition and belonging with the boys.

Aside from the physical violence, Thelma’s account details the headtrip of John’s verbal violence. When you’re 16, a week of public mockery can feel like a lifetime. Doubly so when it comes from someone you were once close to. Like Pete and Paul, Thelma figures out how to match John’s level and shut him up. Bill Harry also recalls the importance of standing up to John to gain his respect. Thelma has to deal with him like one of the guys, delivering a verbal uppercut that leaves him clocked out and in the sand.

In a way, John’s mockery of Thelma looks like a mirror of the much longer, much more public mockery Paul gets from John 1970-1972. Ram aside, Paul waits to turn the public equivalent on John until 1972—which just so happens to be when John starts to cool his fire toward Paul. Shevey claims to interview John a day in September 1972 and the only recording she’s released is John ruminating about working as a partner with Yoko vs male artists (“It’s a plus, not a minus. The plus is that your best friend, also, can hold you without…I mean, I’m not a homosexual, or we could have had a homosexual relationship, maybe that would have solved it”) and the continued struggle of making this transition. Assuming Paul knew more about John after 13 years than Thelma did in 6 months, I’m left wondering why did Paul wait so long in the 70s? Maybe it’s harder to kick back when you’re feeling down? Or guilty? Maybe smarting from result of the last attempt? Maybe it’s harder to kick back when there’s a mountain more of feelings between you.

After Thelma gives him a taste of his own medicine, they continue to be on speaking terms though the closeness they had was gone. She recalls loaning him art college assignments because he’s in danger of flunking out. John goes on to date Cynthia, and Thelma remembers thinking he’d fancied her given his taunts but sounds a bit dismayed by how he got her to change her entire identity for him (“He got what he wanted”). She recognizes being married to John would be a “gargantuan task” and had no regrets herself.

Lastly, a comment on Lewisohn’s framing here. I think it’s appropriate to mention John’s guilt and the effect of pop culture on the social mores of the time here. But I find it incredibly distasteful that Lewisohn concludes this incident with a quote that suggests Paul liked John violent and hitting women, considering the actual context of the quote.

Here's Paul's words in Many Years From Now that Lewisohn quotes from:

The first sentence of Paul's words on this says it all. This quote is all about the image of the Teddy Boy as a protective measure. Conflating violence against women with fashion is not helpful at all.

This word-twisting feels especially terrible because Paul ends up dating Thelma himself a few years down the line...

All the Beatles were now in settled relationships. Having ended with Dorothy Rhone, Paul played a broad field without hindrance, sparking flames old and new, and he also (from August 1962) found himself a special new “steady.” This was Thelma Pickles—John’s art school lover before he got together with Cynthia. Paul had always liked Thelma, and happened to see her in Liverpool while driving his car—his proud and precious Ford Consul Classic, which he bought new (“on the never-never”) in early August.16 She married, had a baby boy and then separated from her husband. Approaching 21, Thelma lived in a Prince’s Avenue bedsit as a single parent and was trying to resume her art school studies, a talented young woman … and here in her life arrived Paul McCartney.

He was no longer a slightly plump young schoolboy but very much his own person. I only like visual art, I’m not into music, so I had just a vague notion that John and his group were still going. Paul said he’d pick me up later to see them play at the Cavern. It was a jazz club when I’d last been there. It was full of raw energy. Girls were screaming and boys liked them as well. I’d only ever watched Six-Five Special and this was different. I hadn’t believed what Paul said about their increasing fame—being brought up working-class in that era, we were given to believe “our sort” couldn’t become successful.17

—Tune In (Ch. 31, Aug 19–Oct 4 1962)

Her comment on class and success is important to put in context with the rest of her account. Given John's more middle class standing living with Mimi at the time, I’m sure Thelma felt the power differential between them at least the first time she visited Mendips. Notice how sneaky John is to make sure Mimi doesn’t meet her? It mirrors how John only has the band over when Mimi's out of the house; he knows how she will react to him seeing a working-class girl and doesn’t want the trouble. That sticks with a girl, feeling like you’re not worth the trouble. He does end up introducing the much more prim and proper Cynthia to Mimi, and it still goes terribly, but at least he tries, signaling to Cynthia he sees some future with her. That hit in the neck? Sounds a lot more gruesome than a slap in the face. And it's in public, after she turns him down. Despite their shared closeness alone, the power differential in public still reigns supreme. But she knew her limits and stood firm in spite of it all. We only have one picture of her at this time, but it’s a telling one all the same. I look at it and can’t help thinking, oh, I know this girl. Good for her.

Even after Thelma and Paul’s relationship fizzles, they stay friends through other connections. She ends up dating (and later marrying) Mike’s bandmate, Roger McGough. She recalls staying with Roger at Cavendish in the 60s. It’s not clear if she crosses paths with John at this time. Perhaps her presence prompted the guilt we see John express in 67 in Getting Better and interviews with Hunter Davies. I hope she haunted him…even just a bit.

Sources by Chapter

Chapter 9

30 Observer, December 13, 2009.

31 Author interview, September 6, 2010.

Chapter 10

9 Interview by David Sheff, September 24, 1980, for Playboy.

10 Davies, pp56–7. The song lyric: “I used to be cruel to my woman / I beat her and kept her apart from the things that she loved”—“Getting Better,” 1967.

11 Interview with Sandra Shevey, the Hartford Courant, November 26, 1972.

12 “The Teddy Boy … that was my scene, but it was only a club to belong to at the time”—interview by David Skan, Record Mirror, October 11, 1969.

13 Many Years From Now, pp49/33.

Chapter 31

16 Author interview, May 2, 1991.

17 Author interview, September 6, 2010, and e-mails August 29, 2010, and February 28, 2012.