#not because of the horror of a thirteen year old doing all that

[apollos-boyfriend]

like. age him up all you want but canonically that is a middle schooler. he can't even go to hot topic without his parent's permission. give me more biblically accurate jeff the killers where he's just the world's shittiest eighth grader

i get that realistically jeff would age, and likely has aged in the original story itself, but i can't ever get used to seeing jeff the killer fanart where he's a grown ass man. that is a 13 year old. he has an ELA essay over call of the wild due tomorrow. why does he look like that what did you do to my son

[skellycrows]

dp x dc (dead tired/brain dead)

One of my favorite things in fiction is combining my favorite characters with some sort of occult or eldritch horrors or whatever and torturing them. Surprised it took this long for it to really click that with dpxdc that's Very Easy to do.

So picture little Tim, post Jason's death, coming to the realization that Batman needs his Robin back. That his hero is suffering and making others suffer and Tim is the only one that's paying attention, the only one that can do something about it. Nevermind that he's just a kid- he shoulders the responsibility without even blinking.

Except that instead of demanding the Bruce makes him Robin, he chooses to bring Batman's Robin back.

Tim using the resources provided by his wealth to research the occult, deals, summoning's. Tim painstakingly gathering the materials, searching for the best ways to make it safe, to make it work.

And when everything is ready and he goes through with it, trembling but steadfast with that stubborn determination that refuses to die, he summons the ghost king himself-

When all is said and done, Tim has lost rights to his own soul, unconscious on the floor, and Dark Pariah has revived Jason in his grave.

Except, being unconscious, Tim doesn't make it to check the grave before Jason has clawed his way out and be taken in by the league of assassins. Because yeah, Pariah Dark agreed to bring him back to life, but the deal didn't specify that he had to give him his full faculties back.

And after that, it follows canon- Tim becomes Robin, partially to save Batman, but also so he can more easily search for Jason. He doesn't tell anyone what he did- how is he supposed to explain that he sold his soul away for a boy he never met? And everyone knows Bruce isn't the fondest of this stuff being in Gotham. And then, when bonds and relationships are built, it becomes more that he knows how it would hurt them to know that he did that, to know that he doomed himself, to know that Jason was alive and he didn't tell them.

Except maybe all this with the added sting of the deal having changed something fundamentally in Tim. It made him uncanny, tainted his soul (not his, not anymore-) made him different. He moves a bit too quietly, heals a bit too quickly, handles pain a bit too readily. Maybe he's too pale and thin, even when he builds muscle and eats healthily. Maybe he can stay up for days on end, or when he gets mad his voice distorts, his eyes just barely tinge green.

Or maybe that's just the criminal's imagination acting up. its Gotham, after all.

And then his parents die.

And by the time the Red Hood shows up, Tim has all but given up, accepted that he sold himself off for nothing, only for the reveal to slap him in the face. And he's pissed. And he's hurt, and he's relieved and-

He's mostly traumatized because what the fuck Jason, you don't fit in that damn Robin suit anymore Jesus Christ.

Tim doesn't really know what to do, if he should tell anyone that he's the cause of this, because at this point he feels like explaining would be the equivalent of tearing an organ from his body.

And then Damian shows up. And then Bruce dies. And then Robin, the role he never really wanted but is now all that he really has gets taken from him, and he goes on his trip to prove Bruce is alive and save him, and really, he's too busy to think about how he sold his soul.

While all this is happening, Danny has taken over the throne of the ghost king, and is slowly working through all the legal bullshit he inherited and all the souls that he now apparently owns??? And while dealing with it all he eventually lands upon a contract made with a thirteen year old and really, that's just not fair, he'll have to look into it when he gets the chance.

So, after everything, when Tim finally gets the chance to settle down into his life again, he's down in the Batcave, working on a case late into the night, only for all the very expensive tech to start glitching, the air to get colder.

He, of course, turns around to see a boy. The boy is a bit taller than Tim, but thinner, more lanky. He floats in the air, snow white hair and glowing green eyes- the whole eye, pupil and sclera colored as well.

And Danny is terrifying and he is beautiful in that terror, uncannily sharp features and pale clear skin, a crown atop his head and a ring upon his finger. He's off putting in a way that defies explanation, in a way that makes shivers run down Tim's spine despite his years of experience, the sheer weight of his presence implying a being that's powerful beyond Tim's comprehension.

Danny, meanwhile, is just frowning at Tim, because-

"How the hell did Pariah manage to fuck up a simple deal? You have ectoplasm, dude. Have you died, before?"

Tim just blinks at him, because okay, the terrifying person that somehow got in the Batcave without setting off any sensors sounds like a teenage boy. Sure. Why not.

"What the hell is ectoplasm?"

[chaussetteblanche]

AHH i lived ur luke one do u think u can do another maybe like an enemies to lovers trope (sorry im a sucker for enemies to lovers)☺️

hi babe !! thanks for requesting ! don't apologise we're all on our knees and begging for enemies to lovers <3

I hate you

pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader summary : you and luke have been mortal enemies for months, will things change because of a quest? word count: 2.3k warnings : swear words, description of a wound

Luke had hated you since your first day at camp. To this day, you had no idea why. But after months of letting snark comments and aggressive capture the flags slide, you’d decided you had had enough. That had been the moment you'd officially become enemies. 

When he'd jeer at you, you'd bite back with even more venom. If you made him drop his sword at capture the flag, he’d come after you with his bare hands. When one hit, the other hit back harder. It was constant war. 

The rest of camp never understood this hatred you both harboured for one another. Singularly, you were both kind, generous and intelligent people. The kind of people you’d expect to get along fine and even become good friends. But no, it was always one thing after the next. 

So imagine your horror when a relatively new camper was chosen for a quest and found nothing better to do than pick you and your mortal enemy to accompany him. It was your worst nightmare come true. You froze when both your names resounded in the agora. 

You choked, coughed and held back from spluttering, refusing to embarrass yourself. You smoothed down your camp shirt and nodded. You did not look at Luke, even though you could feel his heated glower on your skin. He would probably find a way to blame you for this. Chiron looked between you and Luke with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips. You could almost hear what he was thinking. Nonetheless, he abided. 

Walking back to your cabin to prepare your things, you could hear the word actively spreading behind you.  "Did you hear that-" "Yeah, he’s chosen Luke and-" "They’ll be lucky if they don’t kill each other." Rolling your eyes, you shut yourself in your cabin and leaned back on the closed door. You dug the heels of your hands into your eyes, groaning. This was going to be nightmare.

And it really was. By hour 12 of the quest, you’d managed to get yourself thrown out of a train, fought off two harpies and had lost Luke.  "Where the hell did he go?" you asked loudly as you and Alan, the young camper, walked in direction of your next task. "He couldn’t have just disappeared!" "I don’t know, maybe he’ll join us later on." Alan shrugged. You frowned.  "Do you know anything about this?" You slowly turned to to him and he took a step back, shaking his head. "No, no, I-" "I’d suggest you think twice before lying to me, Alan," you growled. Alan sighed. "Yes, he told me he wanted to see how badly you did on your own so he could report it to camp." "Right." Of course. Of course he would find a way to make the dangerous quest even harder than it needed to be. You inhaled deeply, trying to remind yourself not to take your anger out on this thirteen year-old child. Your blood boiling, you turned back around and continued to walk. If Luke wanted to stay behind, that was fine with you. Better that than have him be in your way. 

"Oi!" Called a voice about an hour later. Ugh, Luke. You ignored him, keeping a steady pace. He called your name again. You didn’t react until his hand came down on your shoulder.  Before he could say another word, you spun around and pushed him up against the nearest tree, your forearm pressing down on the column of his throat. "Who the fuck do you think you are," you snarled, close to his face, "to leave Alan and I alone? The quest comes before everything! It comes before your hatred for me and your stupid pettiness! So pull yourself together and stop fucking around! » You shoved yourself off him, glaring into his eyes. He looked at you darkly before grabbing your wrist and pulling you close to him. "Yell at me again, princess, and I’ll give you a real reason to scream," he warned in a low voice. You scoffed, ripping your wrist out of his grip.  "Shut up and start walking, Castellan."

The quest went smoothly -as smoothly as it could go considering the tension between Luke and you- after that. You found that the three of you made a pretty good team. Everything was going fine and you had been on your way back to camp when you crossed a griffin. You pushed Alan behind you immediately, taking out your sword at the same time Luke did. "Distract him, I'll go around the side!" Luke ordered, running off. Despite not wanting to follow his orders, you set your jaw and instructed Alan to hide. You twisted your ring, a gift from your mother which turned into a shield when twisted the right way, and waited for the shield to form before banging your sword against it.

"Over here, you stinking pile of feathers! Or should I say fur?" You yelled as you ran backwards, away from Alan. You continued banging your sword against your shield and watched as Luke charged forward from the griffin's unguarded side. The beast shrieked as it was struck and batted Luke away with its large wing. Luke flew to the side with an 'oomph' sound. Despite your despise for him, you felt surprisingly concerned.

You darted forward as the griffin raised one of its clawed feet, ready to strike down Luke, who was slowly getting to his feet. The loud clang of claws meeting the metal of your shield made him look up quickly. You were straining underneath the power of the monster, pushing back against your shield with all of your strength. "Fucking. Move." You managed to speak through clenched teeth. Luke finally snapped out of his daze and bolted to the side. You readied yourself before jumping to the side, out of the griffin's reach -or so you thought. He swapped at you with his other clawed foot and despite you trying to run out of the way, managed to cut a gash in your side. You cried out. You heard Luke and Alan scream your name, but they felt far away.

You spun around, livid, and cut off the beast's hand as it came down towards you once more. Luke took his chance and stabbed the monster in the chest. The three of you watched as the creature turned to dust. You fell to your knees. Luke was next to you in a second, breathing heavily. He laid you down in the grass, muttering to himself. "Show me," he ordered, lifting your shirt up to reveal your stomach. You squirmed both from the strange feeling of having his eyes on your revealed body and from the stinging pain of the cut. "Gods- how bad it is?" you asked. The sound of Alan vomiting was indication enough. Luke bit his bottom lip, brows furrowed. "It's fixable. You just need ambrosia and a healer." "Really?" You hated the way your voice sounded so weak. Luke nodded strongly. "Trust me." And for some reason, you found that you did. He stood up and sheathed his sword before gesturing for Alan to take your bag.

"Can you walk?" he asked, though it sounded like more of a formality than a real question. You lifted yourself up on your elbows and groaned in pain. You shook your head, hating the fact that you had to rely on him of all people for help. "Okay, then." Luke bent forward, going to pick you up. "Wait." He stopped immediately. His eyes snapped up to your face, which had gone frighteningly white. You were staring at the gash across your stomach. It went from the top of ribs to the side of your belly button. And it did not look good. The cut was jagged and blood poured out all over your clothes. Luke watched, helpless, as your fingers reached out to touch the cut. You hissed in pain before looking up into his eyes.

"I'm going to die." Your voice shook dangerously. He hated the way your eyes watered and the way you looked so scared. He'd never seen you look that way before and he wanted to wipe the sight from his memory. You did not have a face that was meant to look frightened. You had a face which was meant for pride and victory. "Look at me." He grabbed your chin and kneeled next to you. "You are not going to die." He pulled a spare T-shirt out of his bag, balled it up and pressed down on your wound with it. "I know, it hurts," he cooed as you whimpered with pain. "Hold it here."

Ignoring your groans of pain, he pulled you into his arms and stood up. Your vision was becoming blurry, but you did all you could to keep pressing down on your wound with his T-shirt. You heard him bark out orders to Alan in the distance. "Luke," you spoke softly as black dots danced in your vision. "No, no, no, don't close your eyes, princess. Keep looking at me." "I don't wanna die," you whispered before passing out. Luke clenched his jaw as he sped up the pace, ordering Alan to keep up with him. "Idiot. You're not gonna die. I won't let you."

You awoke to a soft yellow light surrounding you. Slowly opening your eyes, you looked around to find yourself in the camp infirmary. Luke was on a chair beside your bed. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Hey." "Hi," you croaked, trying to sit up. Wobbly, you managed to sit somewhat straight against the pillows. "How're you feeling?" Luke asked, looking over your face. He was relieved it to find it less white that it had been two days before. "Like shit, really." You let out a hoarse chuckle. He laughed shortly, looking down at his hands. You were surprised to find it was a really nice sound. That had been the first time you'd ever heard him laugh, and it felt really good to be the cause of it. "How long have I been out?" "Two days and a half." You were quiet for a moment as you thought back to the last things you remembered. "I guess I should thank you for saving my life, Castellan."

Luke let out something close to a scoff and leaned back in his chair. "You saved mine first. Thank you." "Well, yeah." You coughed. "I couldn't just let you die like-" "I don't hate you, you know," he interrupted you. You stopped talking. "Not really."

"What do you mean you don't hate me? Of course you do. You can't stand me. You think everything I do is stupid and bound to failure." "No, I- I don't hate you. I'm envious of you. Of what you have." "Of what I have? I have a fucking hole in my stomach right now, Caste-" "Of your mom. Mostly."

Your lips made an 'O' shape as you understood. Suddenly, everything made sense. That was why he'd disliked you from the start. You had the one thing he never would. Your mother was a minor goddess and did not have many children. This permitted her to be frequently in contact with you and therefore play the role of a present mother. Your father always kept in touch with you. You knew that with each of them you would always have someone to turn to. Unlike Luke.

"Mostly?" you asked, tilting your head to the side. "I'm envious of how whenever you walk into a room, it immediately lights up. Of how everyone likes you. Of how you always look good, even if you've just been torn to pieces by a griffin. Of how you always seem to see the good in people, except for me, I guess. Of how you get along with everyone except for me." Luke didn't meet your eye as he spoke. "Maybe if you hadn't been such an ass when we first met, we'd have gotten along fine. And I do see the good in you, I just like to ignore it for my own benefit." Luke's eyes shot up to yours.

"What do you mean 'your own benefit'?" "Well, if I didn't ignore the way you're so kind to the new kids, the way you're so protective of your friends and Annabeth, the way you stand up for what you think is right, the way your eyes look when they catch the light just right and the way your laugh seems to draw everybody in, then maybe... Maybe I wouldn't dislike you at all. Quite the contrary, actually." You could feel your heart hammering inside your chest as you spoke. The way Luke was staring into your soul was not helping either.

"Say something, Luke," you pleaded. His first name felt soft and foreign on your tongue. You had never said it before.

Luke did not answer. Wordlessly, he stood up and was by your side in two steps. He cupped your cheek, leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. Your heart raced and when he pulled away, you found yourself chasing his lips. He looked deeply into your eyes and smiled before kissing you properly. Eruptions exploded in your stomach as you kissed him back. You pulled him closer by the shirt as his warm lips pressed against yours. Finally, you couldn't help but think. All those feelings you'd ignored and pushed to the back of your mind finally broke free and you almost cried from relief.

His free hand found the back of your neck and you shivered as his fingers caressed the skin there. You leaned into his touch and cupped his jaw before slowly sliding a hand into his hair. He let out a soft moan but before you could get too into it, a cough resounded throughout the room.

"I'm glad to see that you and Luke have managed to work through your differences, Y/N." Chiron spoke, amusement dripping from his words, as he trudged into the room. "Now tell me about your quest."

[ckret2]

Would Mabel being the reincarnation of Bill cause a rift between her and her family? I imagine that even though they know that Mabel and Bill are two different people it'd be kinda hard to get over the fact they ARE fundamentally the same being,especially for Ford.

Now, that's the problem. They AREN'T two different people. That's the whole point of this specific AU's take on reincarnation. It's not "Mabel happens to now possess the soul that was formerly used by some other guy" but rather "this is that guy after working on himself for thirteen years, she just didn't remember it until now."

"We know you're two different people" is the kind of thing her family might say to be reassuring. But in her ears it'd be like if she's on trial for murder and her family says "We love you because we know you're innocent," when actually she did totally commit that murder, and it was premeditated, and she didn't even have a sympathetic motive. Like it's nice of you guys to say that and I know you mean well, but if you only love me because you think I didn't do anything wrong, would you still love me if you understood the truth?

The biggest rift is on Mabel's end. She's holding back from letting them find out for as long as possible. It's not coming out until they put together the evidence themselves or she has a breakdown and confesses while in tears. And, naturally, when she's trying to keep that big a secret from them, she's gonna be withdrawn.

Like, there's a very high probability that Gideon finds out before any of the Pines do, that's how hard she's trying to keep it from her family.

When they DO start finding out?

Dipper's known Mabel almost fourteen years; he knew Bill two months. He's gonna get over it the fastest.

He's cracking annoying brother jokes before you know it. "I mean—you didn't manage to kill me in the womb, I don't think you're gonna do it now." "I forgive you for the sock puppet thing but now I REALLY wish I'd done more dumb stuff in your body while we were body swapped. As pre-revenge."

If anything, ultimately this turns out to be GREAT news for Dipper. He spent all last summer being pissed off that Bill had all the secrets of the universe and just wouldn't share them, to be a dick. WELL GUESS WHAT. NOW THEY'RE SHARING A BEDROOM. He's keeping her up until 3 a.m. asking about every conspiracy theory in history until Mabel lies "sorry, my memory of that one hasn't come back yet. Maybe my memories would return faster if I could GET SOME SLEEP..."

Stan's known Mabel off and on for fourteen years, and has gotten to know her really well over the past year; he knew Bill for—lemme check how long his death scene is—under two minutes.

Try to tell Stan that Mabel's Bill and his first reaction is "WELL THAT'S STUPID AND I DON'T BELIEVE IT." "But she can set fires with her brain." "Sometimes teenage girls do that! I saw it in a horror movie!" He's gonna process the news about the same way he'd process it if Mabel told him that she's some gender he's never heard of before: he's confused and too damn old to understand this complicated identity stuff, but he loves her even if he only understands half of what's going on, and he'll punch anybody who looks at her funny because of it.

Ford's only known Mabel since last summer; he's known Bill over 32 years.

This AU ain't a fic, so there's not a single set plotline, just a whole bunch of ideas that may or may not actually happen if I were ever to turn it into a story; and because of that there's a lot of ways things could go down with Ford, on a wild scale from hilarious to heartwarming to tragic, depending on what I think is interesting on any given day. But in many potential timelines, the first and most pressing question Ford's facing isn't "can I still love Mabel even if she was—is—Bill?"

It's "How do I kill Bill again?"

Because he knows Mabel the least and knows Bill the best, he has the best odds of looking past what everyone else sees as "haha that's just Mabel being Mabel!" and going "that's Bill fucking Cipher"; and because he hates Bill the most, he's the absolute last person Mabel would voluntarily tell about her exciting new personal discovery—meaning that he just has to draw his own conclusions. If he sees Bill looking at him through this little girl's eyes and clearly trying to convince Ford that he's not Bill he's gonna assume Bill's back from the dead and possessing his niece.

If Ford finds out, Mabel's not just afraid he won't love her anymore; she's also afraid he'll want her dead. If anything, him thinking she's possessed would be a good thing, because it'll buy her a little time while he's looking for a way to "extract" Bill to "save" Mabel, whereas if he knows the truth he'll know there's no Mabel to save.

Worst case scenario, she fears that, if he finds out, she's dead as soon as he can get his hands on her—unless she can find a way to defend herself.

Of course, this is Gravity Falls, where the power of love & family always wins, so in reality if he found out no that IS Mabel it'd stay his hand while he tries to figure out what's going on. His hatred for Bill is weaker than his love for his family. But she doesn't know that.

After all, Mabel's known Ford for 32 years, and for 30 of them he was on a suicidal vengeance quest to kill her; he's only been her grunkle since last summer.

[inactivewattpadauthor]

👻Fujin x Reader: Halloween Special 2024👻

🎃Happy Halloween! Here's some sweet stuff for y'all!🎃 ~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Wind Lord had been sky running for quite a bit. Looking down, he searches through the area to find the correct neighborhood you resided in.

Everything looks different. It wasn't the first time he came to where all the mortals lived, and everything was just decorated with pumpkins and quite creepy factors.

It's always around this time of year. He wonders why.

Fujin has not seen you in a month, perhaps you can catch him up on this tradition of mortals. All while he does nearly anything with you: Watching a movie, helping you do your chores, cuddling, or if you just wanted to sit down and talk. Anything this man will do for you.

Spotting what's hopefully your house, Fujin flies down to the front door. He presses the doorbell once and waited.

Fujin couldn't help but glance at your lawn. You had carved pumpkins with quite... frightening looks. Also, your bushes had purple twinkling lights.

The front door opened, and there you were. Messy hair and in a robe.

"Fujin!" You smiled widely at the visitor. You step out and go to hug him, which he expects, squeezing you lovingly.

As you pulled back, you two briefly shared a kiss before you let him inside your house.

"I just got finished cleaning around. So we can watch something on TV." You pat his shoulder, walking to the couch with him.

"That would be delightful- what is that?" Fujin stops his steps and point at a prop mini skeleton with an afro wig.

"Oh, that's just Brook. I know you don't get the reference, but the kids will when I put him out there." You moved the skeleton off the couch so you and your boyfriend could sit together.

You used your remote to browse channels. Meanwhile, Fujin remembered what he wanted to ask. "It's the time of year mortals will start decorating their surroundings oddly. With the pumpkins and unsettling displays... Why?"

"Oh, Fujin." You coo. "It's almost Halloween. Every last day of October, at night specifically, kids will dress up as anything and go door to door for candy. But in general, Halloween is horror themed which is why you may see 'unsettling' things around."

"Ah." Fujin nodded once as you explained pretty much everything.

"I stopped trick or treating when I was thirteen since it would've been lame for a teen with no friends going around, asking for candy." You grumbled. "Anyways, want one?" You presented to him your candy bowl.

...

An old horror film was rolling for you two- more so just Fujin because he was the one watching as you were playing with his braid, holding it underneath your nose like you had a mustache.

His hair is fun.

A random question appeared in your mind that made you stop.

𝘏𝘢𝘴 𝘍𝘶𝘫𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯?

There's a bag you haven't opened yet, maybe you can pour it all into a bowl and have it instead of the classic popcorn.

Fujin didn't even realize you got up, slowly clutching onto a pillow and hugging it as the black and white filtered lady was being covered by the silhouette of her possible killer.

The build up music was making the experience much more creepy for him as he squeezed the pillow tighter.

"Hey, Fujin! Wanna try-"

The god let out a gasp and flinched, looking back at you.

"Oh, sorry." You snickered. Your boyfriend is so dweebish sometimes. How is he real?

"It's okay, dear." He calms down slowly, clearing his throat and picks the pillow off the floor. "What was it you wanted to ask?"

"If you wanted some candy corn." You presented him the bowl. Fujin examines the small triangular bits.

He takes a piece of your offering and his face brightens a little before he takes the bowl gently from you.

You sit with him and watch the movie with him, touching his braid again. "Yeah, they're only good the first few times." You giggle.

"I like them." Fujin shrugs. Just wait until you offer some to him next time.

He sets the bowl aside, you take the chance to lay on him. A hand resting on his strong cheek, you turn back to your TV.

"You're going to come back here on the 31st and help me pass out candy to the children, okay?"

"Hm, if that's what you want." The man smiles. ~~~~~~~~~~~~

[whencyclopedia]

African Americans in the American Revolution

On the eve of the American Revolution (1765-1789), the Thirteen Colonies had a population of roughly 2.1 million people. Around 500,000 of these were African Americans, of whom approximately 450,000 were enslaved. Comprising such a large percentage of the population, African Americans naturally played a vital role in the Revolution, on both the Patriot and Loyalist sides.

Black Patriots

On 5 March 1770, a mob of around 300 American Patriots accosted nine British soldiers on King Street in Boston, Massachusetts. Outraged by the British occupation of their city, as well as the recent murder of an 11-year-old boy, the crowd was filled with Bostonians from all walks of life; among them was Crispus Attucks, a mixed-race sailor commonly thought to have been of African and Native American descent. When the British soldiers fired into the crowd, Attucks was struck twice in the chest and was believed to have been the first to die in what became known as the Boston Massacre. He is regarded, therefore, as the first casualty of the American Revolution and has often been celebrated as a martyr for American liberty.

Five years later, in the early morning hours of 19 April 1775, a column of British soldiers was on its way to seize the colonial munitions stored at Concord, Massachusetts, when it was confronted by 77 Patriot militiamen on Lexington Green. Standing in this cluster of militia was Prince Estabrook, one of the few enslaved men to reside in Lexington, who had picked up a musket and joined his white neighbors in defending his home. In the ensuing Battles of Lexington and Concord, Estabrook was wounded in the shoulder but recovered in time to join the Continental Army two months later. He was selected to guard the army headquarters at Cambridge during the Battle of Bunker Hill (17 June 1775) and was freed from slavery at the end of the war.

Attucks and Estabrook were just two of the tens of thousands of Black Americans who supported the American Revolution. There was no single motivation for their doing so. Some, of course, were inspired by the rhetoric of white revolutionary leaders, who used words like 'slavery' to describe the condition of the Thirteen Colonies under Parliamentary rule and promised to forge a new society built on liberty and equality. These words obviously appealed to the enslaved population, many of whom were optimistic that, even if slavery was not entirely abolished, they might receive better opportunities in this new nation. Others enlisted in the Continental Army to secure their individual freedoms, as the Second Continental Congress had proclaimed that any enslaved man who fought the British would be granted his freedom at the end of his service. African Americans also enlisted to escape the day-to-day horrors of slavery, to collect the bounties and soldiers' pay offered by recruiters, or simply because they were drawn to the adventure of a soldier's life. Additionally, several Black Americans were forced to enlist by their Patriot masters, who preferred to send their slaves to fight instead of going themselves.

Of course, not all Black Patriots served in the Continental Army or Patriot militias. Some, like James Armistead Lafayette, were spies; posing as a runaway slave, Lafayette was able to infiltrate the British camp of Lord Charles Cornwallis and procure vital information that helped lead to the Patriot victory at the Siege of Yorktown. The French general Marquis de Lafayette was impressed with his service and helped procure his freedom after the war, leading James Lafayette to adopt the marquis' name.

Other Black Patriots showed their support for the movement with their words. Phillis Wheatley was an enslaved young woman who had been brought to Boston from Senegal, where she had been seized. She was purchased by the Wheatley family, who quickly recognized her literary talents and encouraged her to write poetry. By the early 1770s, Phillis Wheatley was already a celebrated poet. She began to write extensively on the virtues of the American Revolution, praising Patriot leaders like George Washington. Despite his status as a slaveholder, Washington was moved by Wheatley's work and invited her to meet him, stating that he would be honored "to see a person so favored by the muses" (Philbrick, 538).

Continue reading...

[thorntopieces]

An addition to my post about Genesis from a few days ago, this time from Zack's perspective

Zack comes to Midgar having heard tales of the great hero Sephiroth and his many exploits. It's not the only thing that draws him to Midgar as opposed to the countryside town of Gongaga, but it's a factor all the same. He leaves his parents behind with nothing more than a note on his pillow explaining to them that he's going to Midgar to become a SOLDIER and that he hopes that they will support him through it. He's only thirteen but he's strong and the few times he stuck his hands in a pool of mako it only barely stung and he's talented enough with Materia that he should be accepted right away

Leaving his parents behind hurts and their potential condemnation of his choices make him too scared to reach out and to come home and visit even when he's granted leave. Any mission that goes even close to Gongaga he avoids

Sure enough he's accepted once away, without spending more than two weeks in the infantry barracks before he's accepted into SOLDIER. The mako shots hurt more than the pure mako ever did, but he supposes that has to do with it being injected straight into him, rearranging the cells in his body to enhance him similarly to the great First Class SOLDIERs he has heard so much about. During the injections he cries, fourteen years old and in pain, nauseous and afflicted with the worse headache he's ever had. A research assistant snaps at him to suck it up and it stings so bad he doesn't ever let himself cry in front of anyone else, not until Aerith

Angeal is the one that finds him outside R&D, staring at a wall, clutching his sluggishly bleeding arm (he never sees the research assistent again that snaps at him and refused to bandage his arm 'because the mako would clear it up'). Angeal takes him under his wing from that point onward, protecting him from the worst horrors of SOLDIER, all the while asking himself how they let a barely fourteen-year-old kid into SOLDIER

When he meets Genesis, Genesis brushes him off immediately, entirely disinterested in him. Angeal tells him not to take it personally, that Genesis doesn't easily warm up to other people in the same way Sephiroth doesn't, but Sephiroth is polite in a way Genesis isn't. Genesis seems to hate him. Zack swallows down the rejection and pretends it doesn't hurt him because he's developed a reputation for being happy all the time and no one wants to hear him whine

It takes him until the conversation at the hillside overlooking Gongaga for him and Genesis to finally talk and for Zack to realise that Genesis doesn't really hate him. But it's almost too little, too late, because the only other two people important to both of them are dead and gone

But at least they have each other

Edit: I wrote a small fic about this, that isn't as angsty as this is, it's just the hillside conversation. You can find the link to it here

[itte-tstar]

Bad sanses X Marie reader (platonic) headcanons!

Marie is thirteen years old,so are reader!

English is not my first language so I apologize if I write something wrong!

Nightmare

Great, another child for Nightmare to take care of

Oh wait you are actually quite strong

He is very interested in your abilities and the skulheart

You got all this power just because of this relic? Interesting...

And you are also a maid

Another positive point!

But to be honest Nightmare finds your abilities better on the battlefield

He would use your past to manipulate you sorry not sorry

Killer

You are a human who has skeleton powers?

Fucking cool!

If he already made bad jokes about bones before, now it will be even worse

And he would make a mess just for you to clean it up

But all his macho pose goes to hell when he sees you using your powers

Yeah he'll be more careful with you now

Dust

Just like Nightmare he is very interested in your abilities

Especially because you are so young but with so much power

He will probably study about the skulheart

Of course with your permission since the relic is attached to your back

He's never seen anything like it before

He likes your gothic style and how calm you are

I think you two would get along great

I mean you two in the end just wanted to protect people important to you both

And he would also give Killer a good scolding for always making a mess just for you to clean it up

Horror

Don't give a fuck

Seriously, he really doesn't care about you

Maybe he'll like you a little if you cook for him

I headcanon that he likes the dust bunnies

Even though the dust bunnies are more like weapons he likes to play with them

Well, at least you can use this to get closer to him plus the food

Error

Another one who don't give a fuck

But this time he really don't dive a fuck

He hates the noise of your vacuum cleaner

He doesn't care if it's a weapon or just for cleaning he hates it

He also hates dust bunnies, he says the noise they make is annoying

In fact, he loves dust bunnies and when he sees one messing around he takes it to the anti void and plays with it until the little creature disappears

It was another day at the castle, Killer and Dust fighting, Horror stuffing himself with food as always and Nightmare probably signing and reading some important papers.

You were just doing your job as a maid when you heard a noise in the living room,It sounded like laughter. You walked closer and then saw Error playing with one of your dust bunnies and he seemed to be having a lot of fun.

You couldn't hold yourself back and ended up letting out a laugh that made Error notice you, he was glitching while blushing in embarrassment and you just laughed more.

[absolutelybifurious]

the thing is im usually allllll for putting eddie in the torture nexus, its actually my favorite favorite thing, but it hits so different when its chris. when its the person eddie has tried so hard for again and again and again. when its this thing he's poured his entire soul and life and being into for YEARS to try and Not Fail His Kid. when its now his kid being merciless in punishing him. now the same kid is ghosting him for this one mistake that also hurt eddie terribly.

and i get it isnt out of place for a teen to do something like this, bc their emotions are so big, but can someone CALL THAT OUT? can someone be like yeah hes taking this a bit far lets maybe put a stop to it??? but eddie's parents are just ignoring eddie and letting this Angry Teenager uproot his entire life and break his dads heart while eddie is powerless to do anything about it because he, once again, so desperately, wants just to be a good father. but he actually kind of isnt being one because he doesnt value himself enough to be like oh hey, wait, you're actually being unfair. we need to discuss this. he can't teach chris that running and being selfish and icing people out is Not Healthy because that would mean prioritizing his own hurt over this months-long temper tantrum christopher is having. and it would be great if this arc ended in a way that addresses THAT.

and if no one's gonna explain this to chris, i just need someone to explain it to eddie, i really desperately need someone to actually comfort EDDIE. i need someone to tell him, or at least acknowledge, that it wasn't completely his fault. that he tried to stop it before it affected chris. that he did the right thing but then got ambushed by kim. or even that the whole kim thing must have Hurt Him Too. like someone just hold him or talk to him or ANYTHING in a way that isn't wow you really hurt christopher huh :(

but i honestly can't tell where they're going with it bc its been one episode. i just know i, like christopher and eddie, am having Big Feelings and DONT KNOW HOW TO PROCESS THEM.

there's so much potential and im tentatively excited but also hahahahasf i would like this particular torture nexus to end immediately. this is a kind of emotional horror that might actually give me heart damage. christopher diaz get over yourself and go home.

im really hoping all this leads to a VERY heartwarming reunion because if it does not then i have beef with a fictional thirteen year old im so serious. (also the diaz parents but i've had beef with them so.)

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Thirteen - Yours

W/C: 5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it."

Sweet Nothing - T.S.

A/N: so i think this fic will probably come to and end soon, not really sure but ITS SO BITTER SWEET

Masterlist

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“Aliens aren’t real!”  A young boy, maybe eight years old shouts at Eddie, swiping the little action figure Eddie had placed on top of his toy fire truck, sending flying a few feet away.

“And you know that how?”  Eddie argues, arms crossed over his chest.  His dark gray knit sweater sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, a telltale sign of how heated the argument had become.  He sits on the floor, criss cross while a little girl sits behind him on the couch, her tiny fingers combing through his chocolate curls.

Sometime in between you offering to help dish up dessert and freshening up in the bathroom, Eddie seemed to have made a few new friends, quite the opposite of what you were expecting out of tonight.

“Clippy!”  The little girl demands, holding her hand out.  

Eddie’s eyes widened as if to recall he had a certain task that he’d abandoned, snatching up a tiny sparkly blue butterfly clip from the fibers of the carpet and holding it out in the palm of his hand.  Within seconds, the left side of his bangs are clipped away from his face.

“Cause they’re not!”  The boy shakes his head.

“Why?”  Eddie prods.

You can’t fight your grin, big bad Eddie decked out in tattoos fully engaged in a disagreement with an eight year old had you internally squealing.  You’d never been met with such a sight, such contrast as Eddie’s large hand held out yet another clip, a pink one this time.

“Cause.”

“Why.” 

“Just cause.”

“That’s not a reason!  Give me my guy back!”  Eddie attempts to reach for the little figurine across the carpet only for the little girl to protest, a whine stopping him from moving any further.  “Sorry, sorry.”  He surrenders, falling back into his original position.

“You messed it up!”  She begins to wail.

It’s evident you need to take the initiative, poor Eddie’s face contorting in horror as he squeezes his eyes shut.  Without another second wasted, you plop down next to her on the couch just above Eddie, greeting her gently.

“Hi, is this the salon?  I was told you do the best hair in town.”  You smile.  “May I make an appointment?”

Her big eyes take you in, scanning you up and down before realizing you’d only wanted to play.  A half done braid in one of Eddie’s strands of hair sits at the back of his head, one that seemed to fall apart in Eddie’s attempt to collect the little alien.  The girl, nodding shyly, starts to point toward the predicament she’s in.  

“Oh no!”  You sigh, placing your hands in your lap as if nothing could be done to aid in correcting the braid.

“Fix it, fix it.”  Eddie mutters under his breath, his hand covering his mouth to muffle his voice.

“Can I?”  You ask the girl, gesturing to her little toy hairbrush.

With a petite nod, she allows you to take the brush from her little hands as you begin to work it through the loose hairs that had come out of the braid.  

“You can be a firefighter.”  The little boy insists as he hands Eddie a new toy, an obvious scoff coming from the man.

“What’s your name?”  You ask the girl, ignoring him.

“Grace.”

“Grace?  That’s a pretty name.”  You begin to pinch the strands back together, braiding them.

Eddie’s thankful that his thoughts don’t project on the wall because in all honesty, he wants to throw himself out the window.  Not once had he ever desired having a kid.  Was this baby fever?  

In an instant those thoughts escaped his mind when you secured the little braid and began scraping your nails at the back of his head, combing through his tangled curls.  His eyes nearly rolled into the back of his skull, he could practically purr and was tempted to just curl up in your lap.  With a full belly and head scratches, he figures he can die happy.

“Are you sleeping?”  You snort, leaning forward only to catch a glimpse of his blissed out face.

”No.”

”Yes!”  The little boy chimes in.  

“Was not!”  Eddie argues, straightening himself up.  

The boy raises a brow at you, Grace happily twisting strands of Eddie’s hair together.  This felt like home.  This felt like the warm apple pie nestled in your stomach embodied as an emotion, gooeyness seeping from your raised cheeks and crinkled eyes.

Stolen glances at the dinner table just shy of a half an hour ago and brief touches of fingertips as you passed various dishes had warmth radiating throughout your body.  Home was starting to feel more like a person than a place.  Home had started to feel a lot like a person for a while now if only you had been more attentive to the fact sooner.  

Tiny smiles from a tough metal head only encouraged you to rest a delicate hand on his knee whenever possible throughout dinner.  Among all the chatter and friendly bickering, a silent conversation had been happening, an audience oblivious to the behind the scenes of the main attraction: a turkey big enough to nearly splinter the table.  A calloused thumb had grazed over the top of your hand, the touch enough to heat your cheeks and pull the corners of your mouth into a permanent grin.

His dimples took residence on his face the entire time, a shyness to him whenever you took the leap to intertwine your fingers together underneath the table.  A closeness only the two of you were aware of.  A gesture not too big, but not at all taken for granted as he returned an affectionate squeeze.

And when all was said and done, dinner had been devoured, dessert enjoyed, tiny gestures continued to bombard his and your heart the same.  Like an unspoken love war, who could offer the best token of their affections? 

Once Eddie was in the clear with Grace, you’d been able to steer him off to the kitchen, now completely void of busy bodies and full of empty plates and dirty dishes.  Your intent was to drop off your wine glass, and Eddie to discard his beer bottle.  Laughter rang throughout the house, something about a few of the adults playing drunk Twister.  It was lost on you, a large hand splayed out on your waist and pulling you toward Eddie’s warm body obliterating any other thoughts you had.

A buzzed haze lingered in both your stares, heavy eyes taking each other in.  The kitchen was dim, lights shut off for the time being as everyone ignored the ginormous mess awaiting them, only the light leaking in from the living room illuminating a fraction of the room.

”Hi.”  A whispered greeting, softly, for your ears only.

“Hi.”  You whisper back, a gentle finger tucking a rogue curl behind his ear, hot to the touch whether it be from the nerves or the alcohol you weren’t sure though you had a suspicion that it was both.

Your cold hand rests against his stubbly cheek, his eyes fluttering shut at the touch.  Your other hand trails up to rest flat against his chest, body heat radiating from him.  Anyone could walk in and spot you two at any second.  But neither seems to care.  

“You’re beautiful.”  He gulps, not enough beer in the world could aid him in having the confidence to tell you though he went for it anyway, humiliation could be confronted later.

He thanks whatever higher power is looking out for him that your eyes grow larger and twinkle in a way he’d now spend forever attempting to replicate.  A bashful smile parts your lips, your gaze shying away from him momentarily. 

His shy girl.

Several glasses of wine couldn't even hide the sheepish aura taking control of you.  Fragile fingers toyed with the neckline of his sweater, fidgeting with the chain around his neck.  A distraction from the flustering words.

”Yeah?”  You ask, small and sincere.

So small and sincere, he wonders how often you’d been made aware of your beauty.  So small and sincere, it’s like you almost didn’t believe him.  If that were the case, he’d kick the stupid butterflies in his stomach to the curb, suck it up, and tell you every chance he got.  

“Yeah.”  He tells you with a nod, waddling the both of you back and forth to the music drifting in from the living room record player, Can’t Help Falling in Love, Elvis.  “You’re beautiful.”  He repeats, his forehead now resting against yours.

He doesn’t know if his advances are correct.  Doesn’t have the experience of another woman’s touch to provide him the checks and balances.  But he figures that if he was wrong in his movements and words, you would’ve given him the hint by now.  

“And you’re handsome.”  Your lips hover just barely over his, nose nudging into his cheek endearingly, a sultry tone to your hushed voice that nearly makes him melt.

He had never been called handsome before, not in the tender way you were uttering it to him.  Sure, girls had attempted to lure him in for some free weed, never genuine and only for their own personal gain.  You never asked anything of him other than earlier when you’d asked him to stay.  Just to stay.  That was it.  And he couldn’t fathom it.

”Yeah?”  He mimics you from earlier, a genuine question falling from his mouth against your top lip.

Your answer doesn’t come in the form of words but in the seal of a kiss, a promise against plush, slightly chapped skin.  A statement.  A devotion.  

I am yours, I hope you’ll be mine.

Noses smash together as your lips mold to his, his hands coming up to cup your face with anxious hands.  Similarly, yours reach up to rest against his cheeks, one hand working on its own accord to tuck itself into his hair, thumb brushing over his ear to fidget with the little silver hoop dangling from his ear lobe.  Rather than ignore the shiver it sends up his spine, he embraces it, stroking his thumbs along the highest points of your cheeks.  His rounded nose nuzzles into yours, lips parting from each other slightly, the tiniest strand of saliva hanging from either end.  Suddenly, you feel the pad of his thumb brush against your bottom lip, tugging it ever so gently with crinkly eyes and a toothy grin.  His answer.  His own devotion to you.

I have been yours all along.

—

“You’re biting me.”  You laugh, a bit too obnoxiously for your own liking.  

Eddie’s canine grazes your top lip, teeth clashing against yours.  His determination was endearing though you were hoping to keep your lips intact and your tooth unchipped.  A breathy laugh against your cheek sends shivers through your body, his voice dripping in honey, more so than you’d previously heard.  A side of him that not another soul had been granted access.

“Sorry.”  

Endless giggles–yes, giggles-fall from his lips against your skin, his forehead bumping against your temple, hands fiddling with the hem of your sweater.  You start to wonder how anyone could see him as anything but gentle.  Anything but sweet.  

The truck was cold enough that you saw your breath in the air, a warning that you should head inside though you couldn’t find it in you to part from him.  Invite him in, you found that little voice in your head saying.  But you didn’t want to push.  Despite the front he could put on he was delicate, you could see it in his eyes.  Chocolatey pools of vulnerability that had previously been stone cold but slowly melted for you.

“Slower.”  A whispered instruction, your hand cradling his jaw as you hover your lips just above his.  “Softer.”  You playfully nip at his bottom lip, plump and kissable.  

He offers a hesitant kiss, lips gently brushing over yours before pulling away.  

“Like that?”  It’s barely a whisper.  A kind of anxious fear falling out of his brain and into the air, a thought he didn’t mean to put so much emotion behind.

“More.”  Your lips meet his again, encouraging him.  “Like you need it.”

A large hand rests at your waist, nearly pulling you into his lap though the steering wheel prevents him from doing so.  Instead he dives into you, nose smashing into yours, eyelashes fluttering against your skin as eager lips work themselves against you.

“Mhm.”  You mumble, nodding, motivating him.  “Just like that.”  You gasp, unable to get another syllable in before his tongue interrupts you.

Teaching Eddie the basics of how to make out wasn’t something you had envisioned when fantasizing about him previously.  But it was so much better than anything your mind could’ve conjured up.  It was endearing, the way he was so hesitant, so unsure, as if you weren’t ready to pounce into his lap hours ago.  As if you hadn’t been glancing his way all evening, flirtation twinkling in your eyes and necessity for his touch obvious in the way that you would graze him any chance you could.

“Like that?”  He repeats, excitement leaking in his question whether he knew it or not.

He was a quick learner, leveling up from awkward and uncertain to velvety smooth and confident in his movements.  The more you egged him on, the more greedy he became, holding your face in his hands, tongue exploring against yours, lips finding a rhythm as they smeared your lipgloss.  He was covered in it, some lingering on the tip of his nose and when you attempted to wipe it off he was kissing you again.

“Just like that.”  You practically whine into his mouth.

—

Weeks passed by, a quiet romance blossoming with each and every interaction.  Within those weeks, there were stolen kisses at the bar on smoke breaks and in passing.  You didn’t mind the tobacco on Eddie’s breath though you still encouraged him to quit.  It more so bothered you that he was increasing his chances of his health deteriorating.

“So everyone can blame you when I get grumpy if I quit?”  Eddie grinned, dimples deep in his cheeks.

”You’re already grumpy.  Even after your smoke breaks.”  You giggle.

The Bourbon was doing well enough, the evening rush not quite arriving yet as the remaining beams of sunlight set behind the horizon at a premature five o’ clock.  Happy Hour had officially started though the blanket of snow coating the town fended off some regulars as they opted for the comfort of their own homes, almost like hibernating animals.

”Is that so?”  Eddie chuckles.

The tiny hallway just outside the office was secluded from any view from the rest of the bar.  Especially the corner he was backing you into.  Slowly, as if you were prey, he stalked toward you, caging you in with his arms.  You couldn’t help but admire the lean muscle as it tensed against the wall next to you.

”Mhm.”  You hum.  “So if you think about it, you’ll be grumpy either way so you might as well—“

You weren’t prepared for his lips to smash against yours so suddenly, his tongue grazing your bottom lip before pulling away.  A smile hid behind his eyes, his teeth sinking into his lip as he tilted your chin with his index finger.  

God, was he fucked.

“You really want me to quit?”  He asks, drowning in your eyes.

He’d do it for you. Only for you.  Anyone else could ask him and he’d tell them to fuck off then and there.  But you had him wrapped around your finger.  Where he once didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion, he cared about yours, he deeply cared about yours.

”Well I-I just-I think—“

”Tell me.  Tell me you want me to quit.”  Eddie demands, encouraging you to stand your ground, be firm with him.

”Well, only if you want to.”  You say quietly, your gaze nearly forcing him to his knees.

”My shy girl.” He whispers, tracing his knuckles against your cheekbone.

You made it so easy to go soft.  So easy to submit to.  Yes, he was the more dominant one by definition but he kneeled to you in every instance.  It took him a while to realize it but it was so obvious now.  Eddie was coming to find that when he fell, he fell hard.  Faceplanted.  

“Yours?”  You question.  Nothing had been established yet though you both had a pretty good idea where the other stood.  

“If you want.”  He uses your words against you, smirking.

You’d pin the mental polaroids you’d been taking of his dopey face on that ever growing wall in your brain forever.  Frame them, even.  Put them on display like a museum.  They were precious, untouchable.  No one could taint them, not on your account.

”Yeah.”  You nod, a breathy sigh escaping your lungs.  Solace washes over you, like your heart had just realized it had found a long lost piece of itself.  And it whispers:  Oh.  There you are.    “Yeah.”

And immediately your lips are on his again, a craving for nicotine kisses that drove you crazy.  Then, a muttered promise against you had your head spinning.

”’M gonna quit.  Just be patient with me.”  

“Always.”

One of the new hires, Rex, had interrupted, shouting from around the corner that there was a “Code Vomit” near the bar.  It didn’t spoil the lovesickness that poured from your mouth into his, only forced you into desperation as you chased his lips.  Eddie’s eyes rolled, the scent of your perfume much more preferable to the puke out on the floor.

Later you talked him down, insisting that the new hires didn’t need to “earn” their status though Eddie thoroughly disagreed.  You suppose he had a bias, being pulled away from you mid-makeout surely increasing his grumpy mood.

“They’re fine, they can deal with a little puke.”  His hands dramatically gesture toward the office door, shutting you both in and shielding you from wandering eyes.  

“Just because you put me through trials and tribulations doesn’t mean we need to continue the tradition with them.”  

“Oh–I did not–”  Eddie scoffs.

“You did.”  You grace him with a smirk.  

“Bambi.” 

“Eddie.”  You sing his name.

For a silent moment, he stares.  His stares had become increasingly softer, his rough edges fading away anytime you were in his presence.  And you knew he surrendered before even saying another word.

“Forgive me?”  A hopeful question as he steps forward, looping a finger in one of your belt loops, tugging you toward his chest.

“Hm.”  You hum in thought, eyes fixing themselves on the ceiling rather than his large, intriguing eyes.

“Hm?”  He hums back, an inquiry.

“I dunno.”  

You were playing games, the kind of games he was unfamiliar with.  A territory he’d only recently stepped into, a flirtatious bantering that had his heart fluttering, aching because it had never been used to this kind of attention.  The muscle had never been exercised, never prepared for this kind of thing.  

“Tables are filling up, need another set of hands!”  Jett bangs a fist on the door, not lingering for any longer than he has to as he continues managing the sudden rush.

“Yeah, yeah.”  Eddie calls back.  

“How can I make it up to you?”  He tilts his head, his tone quieter in contrast.

Rather than supply him with an answer, a delicate hand cups his jaw, a slow yet passionate kiss pressed to his lips as he gladly reciprocates.  His hold tightens on your waist, pulling you even closer if possible.  

“You’re forgiven.”  You whisper, twirling one of his curls with your finger.  

You leave him in his office, pretending to ignore the rock hard bulge in his jeans.  It’s not until around ten minutes later that he shuffles awkwardly into the bar and you’re sure you’re the only one who catches the little kick he does as he finishes adjusting himself.  

–

The phone call comes unexpectedly.  Wayne only calls on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.  8:00 AM.  Three times a week, a well polished routine.  It was Thursday night.  9:00 PM.

Eddie had stared at the phone, hearts taking the shape of his pupils at the prospect of it being you on the other end.  Another routine he’d been carefully trying to curate, every other night risking his integrity just to hear your voice.  Stupid, he knows.  With you just a few yards away in your own home, he may as well just show up on your porch but this…this was comfortable.  He didn’t have to fear not touching you enough or overstepping.  It was only your soft tone, his hushed responses, and the evening out of breaths between two half asleep souls.  You hadn’t chanced calling him first, not yet.  There was a mutual understanding that this was all unscathed territory, your knowledge of Eddie’s past confirming that moving too fast would only scare him off like a spooked horse.  

He was grateful for your everlasting patience though he didn’t know how to navigate telling you that you could call him any time, night or day, and he would gladly pick up.  He wouldn’t mind your voice lulling him to sleep, and welcomed the idea of his ears perking up, his body reacting to your voice like he just had a shot of espresso should you call him first thing in the morning.  Yes, he wanted to take it slow, wanted to respect the boundaries around his heart he’d spent so long putting up.  But he also didn’t have the patience you yielded and often found himself wanting to take a hammer to any walls he still had up.

Wayne’s usually gruff voice surrendered to a more calming tone, one that Eddie hadn’t really ever heard or cared to remember hearing since Mama had passed.  No, he hadn’t heard this frequency of gentle words since that one night, he was six and his only worry should’ve been his spelling test the following morning.  Unfortunately his worries far exceeded that of a first grade spelling list he had practiced with Wayne and Mama all week.  

His uncle's breathing wavered, a nervousness about him that had Eddie paralyzed with his palm beginning to sweat against the plastic of the phone.  He could nearly picture the way the older man’s calloused hand would rub over his scruff, his head shaking as he searched for words.  Eddie couldn’t anticipate what kind of news was about to break.  Was Wayne sick?  How long did he have?  How was he going to get him to agree to move out with him so he could take care of him?  Was Wayne even allowed to move in with him, did Eddie’s government contracts allow for that?  He hadn’t bothered to search that far into it initially seeing as his uncle was stubborn and thought it best to let Eddie take the reins on his life after everything went down.  Let him do what he always said he wanted to do, get out of Shit-Hole-Small-Town-Hawkins.  He had Grandpa Roy anyhow, waiting on the other end of everything to support Eddie, he didn’t need Wayne anymore.  

Eddie told himself as such, too, so he could get out of his old man’s hair, let him live his life without supporting some kid he never asked for.  He knew he loved him unconditionally but he owed him that much.

Thousands upon millions of thoughts engulfed Eddie’s brain, everything that could go wrong, that other shoe was about to drop, it had to be, Christmas was just around the corner and it wouldn’t be a true Munson holiday without something going wrong.  It’s why he didn’t celebrate anymore.

“Kid, I gotta tell you somethin’,”  Wayne warned his nephew.  “It’s about your dad.”

Eddie blurted out every possible scenario the second he was mentioned.  Every plausible reason.  It had been years, maybe over six?  He hadn’t spoken to or heard from his dad in around six years although there was no telling if he had tried through the means of Wayne and his uncle had never relayed his messages.  For good reason.

“He got caught up again and needs a place to crash.”

“He needs money.”

“A getaway driver.”

“An accomplice he can screw over when it all goes to shit.”

”Just say it, he needs his fuckin’ son to help him out of some shit and he’s got no one else to turn to.  That’s it isn’t it?”

Venom lingered on Eddie’s tongue, he wondered why the man didn’t just call him himself, though Eddie would hang up at the first trace of his voice.  At least then though, his dad would’ve been man enough to seek him out on his own this time.  At least then, it would’ve shown he tried to track Eddie down; put in some effort.  Eddie didn’t want that…did he?  He hated that man with every ounce of his existence but something about appeasing him always remained deep in his gut.  Like a virus.  

The little boy in him couldn’t let go.

Couldn’t let go of the what ifs.  

The daydreams of what could have been.  They poisoned his mind, every now and then reducing him to a ghost of himself.  Eddie wasn’t proud of it, who would be?  Idolizing a man that never existed?  Dad was never one to teach him to play ball or take him on fishing trips, no, he was the man that taught him to hijack cars and talk his way out of trouble.  The kind of trouble that lands you in a cell for a night or two.  The kind of trouble that got him caught in the crossfire of two local gangs and when he turned to his pops for help, he was nowhere to be found.  He was twelve.

He was twelve and was beaten to a pulp in an alley near downtown.  Left to choke on his own blood.  Dad was long gone and the only one he could count on was himself and even then, he feared he would black out before being able to crawl to the nearest payphone.

Wayne picked him up that night, red in the face because of his brother and blue in the eyes for the broken boy in his passenger seat.  if he could die and give Eddie a life worth living a thousand times over he would.  The kid never stood a chance in his brother’s hands and he’d done everything he could to get Eddie out of that godforsaken house that was full of dust bunnies and beer cans but Eddie was hard-headed and always vouched for his deadbeat father.  It’s all he knew.  It’s what he thought love was.

But after that night, Eddie didn’t fight back.  Didn’t refuse going back to the trailer park, his heart still stuck in that stupid house his dad rarely came back to.  Didn’t protest.  He wanted to, god he wanted to but his ribs were so damn bruised that words were impossible to create.

He still craved affection from his father, even when he left him for dead.  Still wanted his approval.  Wanted to ask if he was good enough.  If he had even been the slightest bit proud.  Those conversations never happened.

Wayne cleared his throat in preparation for his next words.  Words that he wasn’t even quite sure how to piece together.  

“Ed, he-“. Wayne stuttered.  “Your dad, he was-he had a run in with the cops.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what his uncle was trying to get at, dad always had run-ins with the cops.  It happened more often than not.  Maybe this time he wasn’t so lucky, maybe this time he got himself thrown in jail for good.  

“Figures.  What does he want, bail money?”  Eddie spat.

Rage clouded his vision, how much audacity did his dad have?  Did he really think Eddie would bail him out after the last incident?  Perhaps the last incident had been a tad more tame than others, Eddie made it out in one piece, conscious and not too badly bruised.  What made it different though: pieces of Mama had been destroyed, burnt to a crisp.  And that in of itself severed the remaining tie.  Burned the entire bridge.

“He’s gone.”

Eddie let the words bounce around in his brain briefly.  Gone?

”What, so, he fled the country?”  He asks.

Wayne sighs, keeping Eddie on edge, making him wonder what was so damn different this time that had the old man delaying his words.  His uncle was not one to sugar coat things.

”He was shot, Ed.”  Wayne says quietly, almost with regret.  Regret for the small boy he knows still resides within Eddie.

Eddie’s breathing comes to a halt, stalls in his lungs.  It couldn’t be.  The devil himself couldn’t be dead, he had to be immortal, always lingering somewhere awaiting Eddie’s everlasting loyalty.  Why did he feel sad?  Why did the tears well up in his eyes for a man who never shed a tear for him?

”He’s—he’s—dead?”  Eddie whispers the word, the reality of everything sinking in far too quickly.

Time freezes and he is a boy, sharing a frozen dinner with the man who promised and promised and never delivered.  He is just a boy and he is looking at that man with stars in his innocent eyes, devoting every hope and dream to the life they would one day have, the life pops told him stories of.  He was just a boy.

”Look, son—“

”I have to—I’m sorry.”  Eddie sniffles before dropping the phone back down, burying his reddening face into his shaking hands.

He surrenders his body, sliding down toward the crumby kitchen floor and bringing his knees toward his chest in an effort to disappear.  His cheeks wet and body trembling with sobs, he can't help but ask himself, why?  

Why do I care so much?

Why am I sad?

Why does grief feel so wrong?

~end~

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[proshipper-plaza]

I’ve finally gathered my thoughts together.

This is my experience with antis.

For starters, I’ve been a huge Pokemon fan ever since I was a child and my first game was Pokemon Blue. I remembered watching the anime back when it was good imo

As the years passed, I completely dropped the anime entirely because the same duo of Ash and Pikachu annoyed me to no end, and I wanted a new protagonist. But the games I loved and played every one up to the ninth generation.

Anyway, when Pokemon Legends Arceus came out, I was enthralled— even though the game’s story has its faults, I still greatly enjoyed the experience over all.

One of the characters that stood out to me was Volo. I love him so much and decided to create my own AU for him as well as roleplay as him.

Now, I have a tendency to ship the MC with a popular character if they’re interesting enough to me, so obviously I was going to ship Akari ( who’s canonically fifteen) with him. I didn’t mind the age gap, because I enjoy the taboo nature of it.

(My first ever mlm ship was Pitch Black/Jack Frost from Rise of the Guardians. Overall, I do in fact ship adult/adult, so I’m not totally obsessed with adult x minor pairings, but I have no issue with them.)

Getting back on track, I decided to friend on Volo once I created the account on the roleplay site and there was this RPer who roleplayed as Koko, a character from one of the Pokemon movies, who’s thirteen years old. They have a habit of portraying young characters in an unsavory light. ( oh noes, the horror, antis amirite.) this was told to me by someone who was formerly from a toxic group. Let’s call her R.

So the breaking point was when it was made public and they were openly discussing dildos and whatnot in character with my version of Volo, so naturally it set off a huge stink bomb.

Koko made a couple friends uncomfortable and it just snowballed from there. At the time, R got fed up and admittedly ripped Koko a new asshole for even trying to integrate that kind of topic on their clearly underaged character. And since Koko said my name...I was ultimately assumed to have been engaging in something nefarious.

I have to put my foot down at someone who’s a writer/Rper being attacked for writing about underaged characters engaging in activities clearly unsuited for that age group. People act as if they have feelings and are alive, for goodness sake. They’re fictional, and it’s really no one’s business what anyone RPs/writes about.

Anyway, Koko got harassed off the site, and I was upset, but of course I didn’t want to say anything because people would look at me funny if I came to their defense.

So then, an Akari RPer shows up and I’m happy because hey, I can ship Volokari now. Our more, ahem, lewd roleplays were in private messages, but we kissed IC publicly and were affectionate with each other. Now this site’s layout is set up where whatever you post can be viewed by everyone, and I made the popular role players in the Pokémon verse uncomfortable, apparently. But I didn’t think anything of it, even when the Akari RPer was scared off.

One day I’m feeling good, and decide to friend a Dialga RP account, and then log off to go watch a movie online. When I return, and I wish I had the screenshots, but my original Discord got hacked, the writer had sent me a nasty message in which she called me a pedophile and all this other stuff as well as a rat.

I remember being stunned, then crying a lot because I didn’t know what I could do.

I tried so hard to defend myself, but my words didn’t have the effect I wanted. I felt hurt and confused and angry.

So after being harassed more by another user who masqueraded as someone normal, only to say they’d “hunt down every account I made in every verse and expose me for the pedo I am”, as well as a reply to my OOC post where I said, “I’m mentally drained”, and this other user said, “Good. Pedos don’t deserve rest.”

I was told I must be a freak in day to day life because I “portrayed an adult x minor ship in a healthy light.”

After removing all the pictures I uploaded and making my profile blank with a long message as to why I was inactive, I left. Couldn’t take it. Second time I tried to come back? I was friended by a Mewtwo who proceeded to greet me with, “I thought we established pedophiles weren’t allowed in this verse.” And I replied with, “I thought we established I wasn’t one?”

They responded that in characters interactions are a sign that I what I desire in roleplay, is what I desire in reality.

I replied with something along the lines of, in character interactions will always be baseless accusations.

Oooh, they didn’t like that at all. They called me a piece of shit for even saying that and how dare I make light of their trauma they went through when they were younger ( news flash, it’s not about YOUR TRAUMA, it’s about the ship dynamics. )

They ended up calling me a disease to humanity and that their opinion of me would never change. They blocked me.

So once again, I deleted, and my third and final attempt to come back unsurprisingly ended in failure.

This clique was warning people new to the verse to block/report me.

I’m not confused.

I’m not mentally ill.

I don’t need professional help.

I’m so sorry you all were lied to, and you believe their words at face value without asking for concrete evidence.

Why should I have to be treated with hostility and disdain simply over what I ship/how I chose to portray a character when there are actual predators who need to be exposed?

In closing

What I do is in fiction is no one’s business and I get it, the overwhelming majority is uncomfortable by underage ships, but the mature things to do are either ignore it, block, and move on.

It’s uneasonable to harass someone over fictional content and it’s very unreasonable to slander and water down the term pedophilia to something that it’s not, to the benefit of actual predators.

Don’t like me? Don’t like what I am? Then move on with your lives and never interact with my content.

So go ahead, waste your time on your little moral holier than art thou moral high grounds, I guess.

Nowadays, I’m in other verses and am keeping to myself just like what I did before. All in all this entire situation sucks and I strongly wish it never occurred in the first place. I wish people would mind their own business and leave me alone.

Thank you for reading. If you want my discord so we can talk more, ask.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

omg omg maybe like chad x riley weathers reader

doesn’t have to be anything super specific maybe like comforting them after dewey dies or after gale is attacked

or hcs honestly anything

Warnings: mention of character death (Dewey)

my taglists are here (I added one for SCREAM) + you can requests here at any time

—

The day your parents announced their separation to you was the worst day of your life.

You had only been thirteen years old, but you remembered it like it was yesterday.

Mindy and Chad had invited you over for the weekend-long sleepover. You spent the weekend watching horror movies in secret — and hiding in Chad’s shoulder during gore-y parts you couldn’t stomach —, eating popcorn and ice scream, scraping your knee when falling from Mindy’s bike. It was a really fun weekend. You were excited to tell your parents all about it when they picked you up, but only your mom was in the car.

When you got home, your dad was there and you could tell by his face that he wasn’t in his best mood. You thought it had something to do with your grandmother, but it wasn’t. Your parents sat you down and announced that they would be divorcing.

You never thought another day could take this day’s position — until today.

You were at Chad’s, hanging out on the couch and distracting yourselves from the return of ghostface, when you received a text from Sam asking you to come to the hospital. Since Tara had not been released yet and she didn't have access to her phone, you assumed she wanted to see you, but when you arrived at the hospital you were faced with a totally different scene.

Lights from police cars were flashing around the entrance, giving away that something — likely ghostface related — had happened. Your stomach twisted at the thought and you leaned into Chad’s side, getting the feeling that this was ghostface related. He released a shuddered breath, wrapping a protective arm around you.

Chad was the one to point Sam and Richie talking to the police in a corner. He pulled you toward them, but your eyes caught a body-bag being rolled out of the hospital by coroners. There was a tag attached to the bag — a name —, but it was too far to be able to read it.

Was it Tara? Did ghostface finish her?

It didn’t make sense though. If Tara had been killed, Sam would be crying the loss of her sister. Instead, she and Richie were looking at you with sad and pitying faces.

‘’We’re so sorry, Y/N,’’ Sam said, heavy-heartedly informing you that the body in the bag was Dewey.

An agonizing scream derived out of your lungs as all the air was knocked out of them. Your heart began racing in shock and disbelief, refusing to accept that your father was dead. He was strong and resilient, he had survived many ghostface attacks and stabbings. He couldn't be dead, no.

Sam was retelling what happened inside the hospital. How ghostface had attacked Tara and that Dewey came to help them. Although he had retired, helping and saving people was something he would never stop doing.

He fought until whoever was under the killer was knocked out, but he didn't come with Sam, Tara and Richie in the elevator. He went to shoot ghostface, because according to the pattern of the past, it's the only way to kill them.

After a moment, Dewey was not coming out so Richie went back to check on him and found the ex-sheriff in a pool of his own blood — dead.

You slipped from Chad’s grip and ran to the coroners, hot tears streaming like waterfalls. ‘’No! Dad!’’ you screamed as the two men set the body-bag in the back of the van.

Before you could reach them, one of the police who knew you pulled you away. Her heart was breaking at the loss of her old co-worker, but she couldn’t let you get close to the body-bag. Another scream left your lips as you attempted to get away from the policewoman’s grip, the pain in your heart so big you needed to scream.

Chad came over to you, taking over from the police officer, and immediately you stopped screaming, turning them into heavy sobs. You felt your knees giving out, not strong enough to stand anymore. Thankfully, Chad caught you before you fell to the parking lot’s ground.

He didn’t say anything, knowing no words would fix your pain. Chad didn’t have any experience with death. The only person he lost was his uncle Randy, but he wasn’t even born when he died. So he took the support route and wrapped his arms around you tightly.

You leaned against his chest, crying into his hoodie as sobs shook your whole body.

Your mother had been called too. Her car pulled up in the parking lot a few minutes after you. She got out, calling your father’s name like she did in the past attacks, but this time he wasn’t there.

All she saw was her daughter crying in the arms of her boyfriend. 

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos​ @xjennyx2 @jennasslut​

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight

[nalyra-dreaming]

Can’t wait for people to flip when they meet “Privileged French White micro-aggression compilation”’s mentor, Mr. macro-aggression colonizer superiority complex Marius “I married a thirteen-year old former sex slave and adopted him as my son” de Romanus. Marius is his own trigger warning. Wait until they hear about Marius’ disciplinary methods involving whips and willow switches. Or the fact that Marius sent his son-wife to a brothel to learn “important skills”. Or that when he told Lestat about Those Who Must Be Kept, Marius literally framed Akasha’s genocidal tendencies as “taming savages”. Oh boy, it’s not gonna be good.

Like… Who do you think Lestat learned his skewed world view from? Moving to America was probably a bucket of cold water to Lestat. I would like to give Lestat the benefit of the doubt, as his father was an asshole aristocrat. Lestat quickly learned how privileged he was, even as a disgraced marquis’ son. His genuine horror at how the racist fat cats treated Louis said everything to me. I don’t think anyone understands that Lestat is interested in doing better. He is. He’s working through it. He will fuck up, because nobody ever gave him a look outside his little world.

The thing is, vampires do end up in ruin when they stay behind as the world around them goes forward. Just like humans, when we get stuck in outdated ideals. It’s heavily implied at the end of the Blood Communion novel that Marius is slowly going mad. All vampires do, at some point, go through a period of madness. Some just come out of it better than others. In the IWTV novel, Louis eats grass and mopes around his brother’s rectory for a while after Armand hesitantly leaves him. Armand kills his own coven. Khayman loses his memories for a while and wanders the world, snacking on mortals’ bone marrow. Daniel becomes mute and obsessive, luckily finding an outlet in model trains. Poor Lestat lost an eye and had to be restrained, before he slept for a long while. Thorne got tied down for a while. Benji and Sybelle. Unm. Well, Benji ended up with a podcast and Sybelle delved into the piano. And Louis, of course, tried to kill himself once— but it changed his relationship with Lestat for the better.

Okay, so I went on a meta tangent, but the point is, Marius is an even bigger fuck-up than Lestat, and covering him is going to get pretty ugly. And even more existential. I hope viewers stop and philosophize, you know? Everyone stops to question the nature of mankind and how we fall if we don’t move with time.

And as far as Marius goes, hope Justin Kirk is prepared. 😅

P.S. I swear I’m not high, just tired. 🥱

:))

(For those who think the "eating grass" is an euphemism here: "I was picking at the grass, and tasting it, though the taste was bitter and unnatural. The gesture seemed natural.":))

Marius... is going to be something. Which is part of the reason why I keep saying that Justin Kirk will be perfect if he is, because it needs a very seasoned actor with a lot of thick skin to pull him off (and, I mean, Justin does not shy away from difficult characters as we know *nods at Succession*).

It will be interesting to see what kind of wounds they will put their proverbial fingers in.

Like, the casual racism and superiority complex Marius employs has to clash with Armand's recast, too. Not necessarily with the choice (of Amadeo) per se, but with the circumstances. I am betting real money that there will be some very uncomfortable meta commentary on sex slave trade in combination with racism coming up right there (and I for one want them to make that commentary! Even though it will probably lead to more fandom drama.).

These vampires are children of their times, and they do change/adapt/grow, but... slowly. (I am not so sure about Lestat getting his world view from Marius, I think there is a reason why Lestat never became the pupil Marius wanted him to be, and I do think that Lestat might be willfully ignorant at times, which can come off a certain way, but his own backstory is more to blame here than Marius, imho.)

I do not need Marius to be a good character to enjoy the fuck out of him, on the contrary.

I am not sure if the show will go the "whip" way. They might insinuate. I think they will, as with other scenes let the mind of the audience do the rest, which will be more than enough, too. I mean, the audience can read up on it all in the book *coughs*. There's no need to go more explicit than needed.

But yes. I hope Justin Kirk is prepared :)))

And... I hope the audience is prepared as well.

[bridenore]

HD Something made them do it fic recs

Here are a few drarry fic recs where, of course, “something made them do it”. Listed in alphabetical order, as always.

Burning the Ground by @lqtraintracks [10k]

“Strap him down,” someone said, and Harry felt the rage thicken inside him – the viscous fear.

 Magical bindings pulled taut around his wrists … He felt a wand touch his arm and then a sharp bite as something punctured the skin, and a sweet, cool tonic rushed his veins.

 His breathing slowed. His eyelids drooped. The ceiling went grey and dark. And then he heard a woman’s voice sigh, “Someone, get Healer Malfoy.”

The Company of The Rose by @lower-east-side [31k]

Six years after the war, Draco Malfoy has been restoring magical estates, while sidestepping his mother’s plots to marry him off and resolutely avoiding his issues. An advert in the Prophet takes him to a remote island, where a mysterious stranger has purchased an abandoned retreat. But the house has a few secrets of its own, and Draco will be forced to deal with not only his past, but the possibilities of the future.

The Destiny You Sold by @tryslora [58k]

In which Draco knits, Harry makes wands, and things get very tangled up between them.

Fall on the Earth by @dodgerkedavra [15k]

Harry Potter hates being separated from Draco Malfoy. Not because he’s in love with him, for Merlin’s sake! Because they’re Auror Partners. One time is all it takes for Draco to be attacked with an illicit potion. Until it wears off, Harry’s job is taking care of his partner. Harry thinks the effects of the potion can’t possibly be as serious as Robards says. He thinks wrong.

The Great Magic Sex Mushroom Fiasco by Magnolia822 [6k]

Lost in the Siberian wilderness without food, Aurors Potter and Malfoy are forced to improvise, with unexpected consequences …

If It Takes All Night by @tackytigerfic [10k]

It’s not the first time Harry’s been the victim of a botched curse (that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t like crowds), but he feels bad that Malfoy had to get caught up in it too.

So they’re bonded. That’s ok, they just have to make sure to be touching at all time. No problem. Because Malfoy smells so nice, and has such lovely shiny hair, and his skin is so very warm.

But this isn’t going to be a problem for their friendship at all.

Is it, Harry?

In the Interest of Interhouse Cooperation by @firethesound [11k]

Organizing a Duelling Club was supposed to be a fun extracurricular activity for Harry’s 8th year. But add in Draco Malfoy and a malfunctioning Room of Requirement, and things can’t help but get complicated.

Incident Reports (That’s Not How May Queen Works Remix) by megyal [5k]

Only you, mate, Ron says, and doused with May Queen, honestly, and can’t wait for this report.

The Light More Beautiful by @firethesound [81k]

Thirteen years after Draco accepts Potter’s help escaping the horror of his sixth year, he returns to England where he makes the unfortunate discovery that Potter is still as obnoxious as ever. And worse, more than a decade overseas hasn’t been enough to dim Draco’s obsession with him.

Lubido Mendax by @malenkayacherepakha [17k]

When Harry is hit by an old and alarming sex curse while on a job with Malfoy, he’s faced with an agonising decision. But it turns out that curing the curse was easy compared to everything that came next.

Men Who Love Dragons Too Much by @fencer-x [479k]

[Extensive re-telling of Deathly Hallows] As in Half-blood Prince, Draco is charged by Voldemort with killing Dumbledore—only instead of trying to do his best with the challenge, he realizes he’s been set a futile task and instead focuses on finding a way to save both himself and his parents. He eventually decides to spend his sixth year studying Animagecraft, convinced it’s his best shot at escaping the impossible situation he’s found himself in. But just his luck, his Animagus form turns out to be a dragon, and a rather randy juvenile at that, intent on finding its mate: one Harry James Potter.

Of Mouslings and Men by dornfelder [14k]

Harry encounters the Subspecies of Doom. He also realises he likes chocolate frogs a lot, despite his greatest efforts to convince himself otherwise.

The Only Magic Left Between Us by @lqtraintracks [24k]

Harry goes to the market and ends up having to save Draco Malfoy’s life  with sex. He saves Draco’s life with sex and ends up with a husband. The  last thing he expects in all of it is to fall in love.

Sealed with a Kiss by @faith2wood [46k]

Harry Potter will fall in love with the first person who kisses him. Draco knows what he must do. A Christmassy Hogwarts fic, this.

Sex and the Art of Castle Maintenance by birdsofshore [14k]

“Come on, boys,” Zabini drawled. “You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

Trouble always had a way of finding Harry, and eighth year was obviously going to be no exception.

Strange Bathfellows by @bixgirl1 [27k]

It started with a bath.  Or a potions accident.  Or maybe it started before that, but who can tell anymore.  

Featuring: Uncomfortable wanking, more comfortable wanking, mutual wanking, bath sharing, inappropriate betting, secret shagging, those secrets at Hogwarts that everyone knows, and oblivious Harry who knows one thing: he’s falling in love.

That Old Black Magic by @bixgirl1 [77k]

Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he’d thought would be easy after the war… with Draco Malfoy.

Tug-O-Want by @dysonrules [16k]

Harry is back at Hogwarts minding his own business when he finds himself magically drawn to Draco Malfoy. Over and over again.

Twice as Much as an Earthquake by @firethesound [18k]

Accidental bonding. Breaking and entering. Conspiring, however unwillingly, in the strange one-man war Malfoy’s waging against detention. This isn’t the normal school year Harry anticipated having, but at least it’s not boring.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[a-crochet-spider]

More Matthew headcanons cuz I've been rotating him in my brain for the past week

Sorry this is formatted weird :(

·         He either dresses in suits or like a homeless teenager. Again, no in between.

·        Uses very dramatic, theatrical pet names with his s/os like “my love/dearest/darling”. Life is a musical for and hot damn if he isn’t going to act like it.

·        Ramona fucking hated this when they were dating for a week.

·        His first musical was Rocky Horror Picture Show, which explains a lot about him.

·        He saw it at like ten years old when he found a copy on DVD in his garage or something and watched it when his parents were asleep.

·        He wakes up early on most days but only because he forces himself. He’s not really that much of a morning person.

·        He used to paint his nails in middle school, but doesn’t do it often as an adult because he was probably bullied for it.

·        He started fights online about musicals and refuses to change his opinion even if he’s wrong.

·        I’ve heard a theory that he’s in the military because of the symbol on his jacket sleeve, and he tells everyone that he was, but in reality he just thrifted the jacket and wants people to think he’s cool.

·        He learned self defense after high school because he got bullied a ton, and he’s really good at it clearly.

·        He pretends to like black coffee around other people, but when he’s alone he puts a bunch of cream and sugar and spices in it.

·        He eats up those stupid wolf edits that you see on YouTube reels or whatever (you know the ones I’m talking about).

·        When he’s stressed out he just needs to sit in a dark room by himself and not interact with anyone for a few hours.

·        He has a scar on his upper arm that he’s really vague and mysterious about, but he got it because he tripped and gashed his arm on the corner of a counter.

·        On that note, he’s a walking human disaster yall. He’s agile when fighting and stuff, but every other time he’s constantly getting hurt.

·        No idea how to hold a baby and probably never will learn. He always ends up holding it wrong and the parent always has to grab the baby from him before he hurts it.

·        If anyone calls him Mattie they’re getting decked.

·        He isn’t an outdoorsy person at all. He doesn’t like hiking or dirt or anything of the sort.

·        He only takes naps when he wants to treat himself.

·        He’s pretty claustrophobic and definitely doesn’t like tight spaces. If he has to go in one, he'll end up volunteering someone else to go for him.

·        Doesn’t know what the word passive aggressive means, he just yells at people.

·        He does have a few piercings that he got in high school, including in his ears and septum. He doesn’t really wear any obvious jewelry on them anymore though.

·        He dresses as the Phantom of the opera for Halloween every single year without fail and has since he was thirteen years old.

[alexihollis]

War Torn

"Who's Jackson?"

Cochise stared at Swan as their cart moved away from the Wonder Wheel loading dock, her horror mounting at the same speed as the cart rising off of the boardwalk.

"What?" Cochise forced herself to respond, trying to play it cool. Casual.

Based on Swan's expression? Her attempt appeared less than successful.

"Jackson. Thirties, looks exactly like you. Came by Cleon's looking for you," Swan said. "Cleon said she'd put the word out, see if you were around."

"And you couldn't have asked me this anywhere else?" Cochise asked, her voice getting a bit too high, a bit too thready.

"Call it payback," Swan deadpanned.

Damn. Cowgirl did always say this would come back to bite her in the ass. "I am not nearly as avoidant as the rest of you."

"Then why does it matter?" Swan cocked her head to the side.

Because Cochise wanted to be avoidant. "He's no one. Tell Cleon I don't want to talk to him."

"Why?" Swan asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Did it matter when you made me talk about my sisters?" Swan shot back. The words hung heavy in the air for a moment. "He's your brother, isn't he? The one who made it home?"

One of three, blood-related at least. One of far too many others. Vaguely, Cochise remembered telling Swan about her brothers being sent off to Vietnam. About only one coming back, only a handful left of the older neighborhood boys who used to run their block and left behind scared kids who grew into angry teenagers and didn't understand the people who returned to them wearing the faces of their lost siblings.

Cleon swallowed, thickly, before nodding. "Yeah."

"He's doing well," Swan said. "Married. Has two kids."

"That's great for him," Cochise forced herself to say, looking out over the ocean.

"He wants to get dinner or something," Swan said. "Catch-up."

"How'd he even find me?" Cochise asked.

Swan shrugged, "You'd have to ask him."

"I don't want to."

"That's your right."

Swan told the truth. Cochise remembered crystal clear what happened when Swan's sister, the one barely more than a year younger than her, tracked her down to Coney a few months after Swan joined the Warriors. Within two seconds of Cochise watching the Not-Swan talk to Cleon, two things became clear: 1) Swan was very much understating the religious aspect of her upbringing, holy shit and 2) Not-Swan had absolutely zero nice or helpful things to say to Swan. Cleon chased off Not-Swan, saying she would let Swan know she came, but back off, then brought the conversation to Swan to let her make the decision. When Swan said no, it had been easy enough. Not-Swan was skittish and not very stubborn at all, so after a week of vague-threats and Ajax silently glaring with her arms crossed, Not Swan stopped coming around.

Jackson would not be as easily run off, but it would be the same game plan and Cochise would never have to even look at him.

Jackson didn't deserve that, though.

"He's not a bad guy," Cochise said.

Swan nodded. "Okay."

Cochise shifted, uncomfortable on the vinyl seat. Okay. Maybe everyone else had a point about getting trapped on the Wonder Wheel like this.

After a minute of Swan just staring at her, Cochise cracked. A bit. "Seriously. He's a good guy. Even when he came home, he was just depressed and slept all the time."

"How old were you?" Swan asked.

"Thirteen. By the time he got home," Cochise said. "Eleven when he left. Ten when most of the older kids left."

"That must have been difficult."

"I didn't understand what was happening, at first." Cochise remembered that the most. Remembered her neighborhood gathering together when the letters first coming in. Her mom sobbing at the kitchen table, then other moms sobbing at their kitchen table.

One family vanished out of nowhere one night. Someone said they ran to Canada, but Cochise didn't know if that was true or not.

When Jackson's time came, a few months after their older brothers' orders and a year before they died, Cochise remembered hearing her dad yelling. Telling him to say anything. Do anything. Pretend he couldn't see colors. Pretend he couldn't walk right. Pretend he was too dumb to take orders or too queer to be trusted on the frontlines. Anything.

Jackson refused and Jackson got sent away.

"The adults were a disaster," Cochise said. "We were usually left alone, the older kids did a lot around the neighborhood, but I don't think we really realized how much until they left. I tried to help, when I could."

Jackson had told her, too. You're the oldest now, he had said, the same words everyone Cochise's age heard when their older siblings left. You need to step up, he said, watch out for the younger ones.

Cochise tried, but it was hard. Then, the teenagers started leaving. The sixteen year olds all the way down to twelve, sometimes. They just started running away. One by one. Breaking their parents hearts all over again, but unable to stay and Cochise tried. She babysat for kids not even two years younger than her and learned what mom liked to get from the grocery store. She learned what beer dad drank after work and what cigarettes grandma smoked.

It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to make grandma's heart survive the pain of losing two grandchildren or stop her parents from fighting, day in and out.

"It was hard and Jackson coming home didn't help."

She remembered Dad yelling at the lump sleeping in her brother's bed. Telling him to get up. Go to a bar, go on a date, do something, do anything. Then, Mom yelling at Dad to not yell, to give him space, and Dad hollering about World War II, because Cochise always forgot her dad served, he never talked about it.

"Everyone said a lot, but no one talked, you know? It made everything worse."

"You're always yelling at us about that," Swan said, her voice soft, but still strong. "You're really good at getting people to talk about things they don't want to. That's saved us a lot of problems."

Cochise smiled, half-heartedly. "Thanks." Then, "I didn't know how to do that back then."

"You were a kid."

"Yeah, maybe."

She didn't feel like a kid, back then. Some days, she felt more like a kid now. Running around on the boardwalk, getting in trouble with Cowgirl, Cleon chasing after them making sure they ate lunch and drank water. No matter what she did, Cleon would be there, looking out.

"When did you leave?" Swan asked.

"I kind of didn't," Cochise said. Swan looked a bit confused, so Cochise elaborated. "Mom and Dad split not long after Jackson got home. Dad took me and got an apartment in Coney, then he died not long after I graduated high school. Heart attack."

Same as grandma, but more sudden. Cleon remembered she had been making them dinner when the knock on the door came and she opened it to one of Dad's friends from the factory. She knew what it was before he opened his mouth.

"Same apartment, even," Cochise said.

Swan blinked, before the dots connected. "You still live in that apartment? With Cowgirl?"

Cochise nodded. "It was Cleon, first, when we were with the Destroyers. We got the bigger apartment when the gang started growing and we had more girls crashing on the couch, so Cleon moved in there and I stayed put."

"I always forget you were the first soldier," Swan said.

"Yeah, don't go reminding people." It made people weird. Ajax still thought it was weird that Cochise never even angled for number two.

"So why are you surprised Jackson could find you, then?"

"Because my mom and Jackson thought we moved out of state," Cochise said. Dad said it was for the best and Cochise had never thought to question it. Never wanted to question why she still followed orders after his death.

"Damn," was Swan's only response. Then, "If you're sure you don't want to talk to him, I'll let Cleon know."

Except...that didn't...

That felt wrong. The felt really wrong.

"Don't," Cochise said.

Swan stayed silent, but Cochise did not elaborate.

"You want her to tell him something else, then?" Swan asked.

"No." At Swan's unimpressed look, Cochise continued. "They live in the same house. I'm going to go pay them a visit myself."

Swan's eyebrows raised. "You know that?"

"Yep." The cart started to close in on the loading dock. Freedom. "We don't need to dissect why I know that."

"We can go another round," Swan said, half-teasing.

"I'm good!"