#or maybe the neighborhood fox

[uselessgaywhovian]

so how's everyone else's saturday night going

[obnoxiousarcade]

limited time offer be a good friend and i failed hard

[siarrawrites]

Does anyone happen to have some sources on hand? Not because I doubt this, it makes a disturbing amount of sense, but because I want to share with my parents and a tumblr post alone will not be convincing.

I tried it looking up with similar search terms, and was having trouble finding articles/studies, which is why I ask.

it's so chilling to walk through an area where the houses are surrounded by blank sterile lawns and see a big lilac bush in full bloom without a single bug on it. No bees, no butterflies, not a stir of activity.

[themoonking]

anyway can’t wait until i have my own place so i can steal the outdoor cat on my street

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

me: "what else is different here than on mobile....and different from the other times ive been on desktop.........somethings different......"

i got an ad blocker on firefox. thats whats different lol

no ads

[simpingsavant]

Late Night

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Summary: You are the person always working when Spencer stops by to get his fix of Mountain Dew Kickstart.

Genre/Warnings: Fluff, slow-burn. A gross man flirts w you for plot purposes. Promise it's very non-major but just in case.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: First time posting for smosh, but not the first time posting fanfic. I made a whole side blog for this lol I'm thinking I want to post more so feel free to send me smosh requests and give lots of love so I stay motivated to write more hehe <3

Working the graveyard shift at a 24-hour convenience store is generally not a good idea. Except this one is in a nice area of LA, you’re almost always working with someone, and it’s slow enough that you can get your grad school work done.

Four months ago, when you were first looking at the help wanted sign in the window, you decided you would give it a week to see if it was actually worth it. Now, you were contently typing away on your computer as a group of middle-aged people grabbed alcohol and snacks. They were fancily dressed but the expressions on their faces were reminiscent of college students who were partying through the night like they owned it. When they came up with a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and enough snacks to last them weeks, you happily scanned the items.

The silver fox dressed in a deep, blue suit dropped a twenty in the tip jar.

“Thank you,” You said, handing him a receipt as his cohorts grabbed the food.

The bell jingled as they left. Your coworker was in the back taking inventory. You looked down at your laptop, rereading the last couple of sentences as you found your place in the research essay you’d been taking notes from.

You loved your job. You worked from 11 pm to 8 am and although it took you time to adjust to a new sleep schedule, it was worth it. You were paid slightly more since you were working such an atrocious shift and you never interacted with your boss. Occasionally, he would message you that he was coming in early to talk, but he often just texted about what he wanted you to get done.

Until 1 am, you were working with Michael, a young man who was in his senior year of college. At 4 am, Marie would come in, an older Latina woman who had been working this shift for over ten years now. She’d relieve you for your break and you’d come back just in time for the morning rush.

You liked the morning rush. Although you couldn’t get much homework done at the time, it was when you had your most regulars. You would see moms buying their children lunch before school, office workers buying cheap coffee, and students buying energy drinks.

Marie would man the register, and you would come to help if needed. During rests, you would be restocking shelves or cleaning.

From 1 am to 4 am, you would usually see only a few faces. You would see students who stay up extremely late or workers having to go in much too early. Since it was a nice neighborhood, they were all pleasant people and you never worried about your own safety or well-being. 

Only one regular came in consistently during these hours. He looked to be about your age with chocolate hair that curled at the nape of his neck. He came in just after 1 am and always sported dark eye circles. He purchased anywhere from 4 to 8 cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart and occasionally a bag of chips. 

Sometimes, you’d see him in the morning again before you were off. He’d buy a cheap coffee and some fruit.

For the first month, you were too concerned with doing your job well to start any conversations besides pleasantries. He was, however, the first customer you recognized as a regular. You couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would need so many energy drinks. In particular, why in God's name did he love Mountain Dew Kickstart?

Maybe you were so intrigued because he caught your eye from day one. He was dressed in combat boots and a worn jacket. You soon learned those two items were part of his daily attire. You liked the way his hair looked or the way his downturned eyes crinkled as he smiled.

In your second month of working there, you spent way too much time trying to think of a way to start a conversation.

So far, you only got:

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How’s your night going?”

“Good, and you?”

“Fine. Do you want a bag?”

“No, I have my backpack.”

“Okay. Your total is $12.53, go ahead and swipe, insert, or tap your card. Would you like your receipt?”

Sometimes he said yes, sometimes he said no. A few times, your hands would brush. He was always so warm, your cold hands lingering as he bashfully smiled and looked away.

“Have a good one.”

“You too.”

His hair was getting longer and you thought it suited him well. You wanted nothing more than a reason to hold a genuine conversation with him.

During your third month, that reason finally came.

He walked in, luscious locks replaced with a buzz cut and you couldn’t help but go “Oh wow.”

“Is it that bad?” He joked, rubbing the top of his head.

“No, no,” You immediately said, hands moving rapidly. “It just surprised me.” A beat of silence followed before you added, “You pull it off.” He really did, but you also took that as a sign you liked him a little too much. You felt like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Thanks, it was for work,” He adds, voice monotone despite the little grin he sported at your compliment. He walks farther into the store, toward the opposite wall with the display of drinks.

“For work? Are you joining the army?” You question, stumbling over your words slightly as you realize that it’s finally happening—you are finally holding a conversation with him.

“No,” He laughs. “I work for this online entertainment company.” He fills his arms with five cans. “It was for a special.”

“Oh,” You reply, rolling on the balls of your feet as you try to think of ways to keep the conversation going. “Are you an actor?”

“More behind the scenes,” He replies, coming up to the counter and placing his drinks down. He grabs a bag of chips from the front display.

“That’s cool,” You say, picking up the first can as you begin scanning.

He shrugs, “I’m sure half the city does stuff online.”

“I doubt that,” You scoff. “Maybe half does entertainment, but definitely not exclusively online content.” Feeling a little bad for shutting him down, you look up at him for a moment, expecting to see disappointment or annoyance.

Instead, he’s smiling. It’s not a large smile, but it quells your anxiety.

“You’re probably right,” He answers, fishing out his card.

“I usually am,” You joke, giving him a quick look before clicking away on your screen. “Your total is $10.54.”

He lets out a short laugh that makes your insides flip with satisfaction. “I’m Spencer by the way,” He offers, putting away his card after the reader beeps.

“Y/N,” You say, tapping your name tag. “Do you want your receipt, Spencer?”

“Sure, Y/N,” He answers, putting his drinks into his backpack.

You rip it from the printer and hold it out. The way he said your name makes you shiver. He takes the receipt and bids you farewell.

You see him in the morning and you’re eighty percent sure he times it to check out with you instead of Marie. Today he opted for an iced coffee with lots of cream and a plastic container of chopped mango.

“Good morning, Spencer. How’d you sleep?”

“Good, but not long enough. What about you?”

You see a flash of realization on his face as soon as he says it, but you’re speaking before he can correct himself.

“Haven’t slept yet, but I get off in ten minutes and will be able to sleep till five today so that’s nice.”

“What’s at five?”

“Class. They’re in the evening since so many grad students work day jobs.” You tap away on the screen. “Would you like your receipt?”

“Nah, just toss it.” He picks up the drink and fruit. “See ya later, Y/N.”

“See you,” You reply, crumpling the receipt and throwing it in the small trash bin under your register before waving to the next customer.

~~

Since then, Spencer has come in every night without fail and sparked a conversation with you. You learn that the company he works for is called Smosh and you think the name is vaguely familiar. He asks you what you’re studying and why you’re always on your laptop.

The next month and a half goes by quickly. You come to expect him, anticipating his nightly visits. He has recently started staying longer, leaning over the counter and smiling at you as he talks about something that happened the other day. If another person comes in, he usually takes that as his sign to leave, wishing you well and exiting before the new customer is ready to check out.

You’re unfortunately not getting as much homework done because of this, but you don’t mind one bit. You either work during your break or just take some time before class to do more. You wonder if he’s not getting as much sleep because of this, worried you’re burdening him. Despite this, you know that you’ll selfishly never be able to turn him away. Even if it is for his own benefit.

Once, he came in before Michael had left. Your conversation was curt and he left right after you gave him the receipt. Michael stared you down the whole time and Spencer was clearly thrown off by another person being there.

“Who was that?” Your coworker asked, moving toward you from his spot behind the hot food.

“Just a regular,” You answer, trying to keep your cool. You pull out a cloth and begin wiping down the counter, wanting to occupy your hands. “He usually comes later.”

“Ah,” Michael says, nodding slowly and giving you a look. “That’s it?”

“Yeah?”

“Interesting.”

The comment piques your interest and you can’t help but ask, “How so?”

Michael smirks at you, “Why do you care?”

“Bro, shut up,” You hiss, pushing him out of your face and walking over to your stash of food. Your face felt hot as you walked past, and you attempted to hide it in the collar of your shirt. It was never fun to be caught with a crush, but you wanted to know Michael’s thoughts. So far, you and Spencer always talked in privacy, with no onlookers to comment on if your feelings seemed mutual.

“Fine, fine,” He relents, holding his hands up. “It’s just that I saw him through the window before he came in and he was smiling way too big for someone coming in the pick up energy drinks.”

“You’d be surprised. He gets those every night,” You defensively argue, “He probably has a shrine at home.”

“Oh, come on,” Michael says, rolling his eyes as you pop a chip into your mouth. “That smile dropped as soon as he saw me. I bet he wishes it was just you.”

“Don’t say that stuff.”

“Why not? Don’t you like him? You definitely lit up when you saw him.”

You gawk at your coworker, absolutely astonished at how easy it was for him to notice. This was the first time anyone witnessed the two of you interact and now you were questioning every interaction. Did he like you? Or did he just like that you gave him a confidence boost because your infatuation was so obvious?

“W-what’s your major again? Investigation?” You accuse, stuttering out of pure frustration.

“Yes, actually—”

You roll your eyes, but the sound of the door brings your back to attention. You steel your expression but are grateful the conversation ended. It was a wake-up call for you and you spent the rest of your shift trying to understand your feelings more.

Could it still be called a crush? You felt like you knew so much and yet so little about him. When did you cross the line from strangers to acquaintances? How do you go from acquaintances to friends? Did you even want to be friends?

After that, Spencer always came in after Michael left, his disposition more friendly when it was just the two of you. You didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign, but it was hard to think about when only a counter separated the two of you and he was radiating warmth and cracking jokes.

~~

“Okay,” You hear Michael say and all of a sudden you are back to reality, no farther in your reading than you were 10 minutes ago.

The door to the back shuts and you look at your coworker with wide eyes.

“I finally finished with inventory.”

He looks down at his phone, prompting you to look at the time showing on your laptop.

12:56

“Sweet,” He says, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “Need anything from me before I go?” 

“No,” You answer. “Enjoy your night.”

“Thanks, I’m gonna go grab my stuff before I clock out.”

“For sure. See you tomorrow.”

“Later,” Michael says.

He opens the door to the back and you turn to your computer. The break room was through those doors as was the back entrance which almost all employees used when coming and going.

You focused on your computer, reading the most important parts of the study and taking down notes. In the back of your mind, you knew Spencer would be arriving soon. It makes you nervous, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you await his arrival.

You have been thinking lately about how to advance your relationship. Maybe get more personal with the information or invite him to hang out outside of your job. The idea makes you queasy because you worry about ruining everything by trying to get more.

You finished the reading and moved on to another class assignment. Spencer came in soon after, his lips quirked up and no jacket on. The weather was getting warmer and it was rather dry. You could absolutely walk around with only a T-shirt and jeans on despite the time.

This, however, drew your eyes to his arms immediately. They weren’t as hairy as you were expecting, his beard and how quickly his hair grew back making you think they would be. He wasn’t very muscley in any way, but your eyes shamelessly lingered on his biceps longer than you wanted.

His skin was littered with freckles and tattoos, black ink that started at his forearm and rose past his t-shirt. You could spend hours looking at them, a couple of them immediately garnering your interest.

“Hey,” You greeted, your eyes snapping up to his face. You were pretty sure he caught you, but he thankfully said nothing. Maybe he was used to his tattoos being looked at, an easy cover considering you weren’t just looking at his tattoos.

“Hey, how’s your night?” He makes his way across the store with ease, eyes staying on you.

“Fine, it’s extra slow tonight.”

“That’s nice,” He’s speaking loud enough that you can hear him from far away. “Are you getting a lot of homework done?”

“Yeah,” You replied. “Finals are coming up and I’m working on all the trivial homework now so I can study and work on the final essays in the library.”

“Is this your final year?”

“Sort of. I’ll be getting my masters after this, but I’m on an automated track for my PhD.”

There’s silence as he grabs a final can and walks up to the front. It’s almost awkward, but you aren’t sure why. It seems like he wants to ask you something, but is struggling to say it.

You start scanning his items, letting him think instead of trying to fill the space with meaningless talk.

“Are you still working here over the summer?”

“I am,” You light up, realizing why he was nervous. It sent a spark through your body to think about him missing you.

God, you wanted him so bad.

“I’m also doing some research work for a professor though,” You add. “I’m honestly too busy to have a job and it will only get worse in the upcoming year, but I need the money and this is the best option for pay and the ability to do homework.”

“Damn,” Spencer sighs. “I’m sorry about that.”

His voice is soft and sincere. It throws you off for a moment, not used to this kind of sympathy. Your social circle consists of Michael, Marie, and other students who were also going through their own shit.

“Oh, it's nothing,” You shyly reply, eyes falling to the counter and lips forming a tight line as your mind races.

“No, seriously,” Spencer insists. “It must be so difficult and yet you never seem like you’re struggling.”

With a large breath, you finally accept his compliment. “Thank you, that’s very nice of you.” You look up to see that his gaze is already on you and you hold eye contact for an absurd amount of time. You’re sure any onlookers would consider the scene intense.

The pressure of the moment builds, compressing your lungs.

“Um, anyways, your total is $9.54,” You say, breaking the silence and eye contact.

“Oh, right.”

Spencer shoves his hand into his pocket to grab his wallet and you once again admire his arms as he’s busy.

“How was work today?” You ask, wanting to dissipate the intensity of the moment.

“Long.” He answers. “This week is a filming week so I’ve been busy as hell working behind the camera and being in a few videos too. Tomorrow is Friday though and I don’t have to be in till 11 am.”

You hum in acknowledgment, “That sucks.” 

Long ago, when curiosity finally got to you, you looked up Smosh. You realized quickly that the name was familiar because it was quite popular back in OG YouTube. You spent an hour exploring their channels before growing bored and looking up videos with Spencer specifically. It was weird and you could only watch in short increments of time before needing a break. You felt like you were violating his privacy, but struggled to stop when you realized just how funny he was, his humor translating perfectly on camera. He held your attention in so many videos, quick quips making you burst out laughing.

You also note the differences in how he talks to you and how he talks to the camera. Although quiet, he cracks jokes almost every time he speaks. His coworkers seem like friends and you’re sure that helps to comfort any nerves he would have on screen. However, they were obviously trained on-camera talent whereas he simply fell into it because of how much the audience liked him. Around you, he made jokes, but he also seemed to shed the demeanor he developed for videos. Not every sentence was about entertaining.

They were real. Real discussions with real problems no matter how mundane.

“Yeah, but at least we are getting it done. Next week is all at my computer or in meetings,” He adds, tucking away his card and putting his drinks into his backpack. “Anyways, so, when is your finals week?”

“In two weeks technically, but I have a couple of major things going on next week,” You answer, taking a seat on the stool next to you.

“Like what?” Spencer inquires, a light in his eyes that sends a shiver up your spine.

“Well, I’m taking four classes. Two of them have an exam and a final essay. One has a final essay and matching presentation, and then last is a group assignment that also has a presentation and essay.”

“Oh no, not a group assignment,” Spencer interjects, empathy on the tip of his tongue.

“I know,” You agree, nerves falling away as you ease into familiar territory. “People in masters programs are not as bad but they can still be pretty clueless and unhelpful.” You shake your head in frustration, “Like this one guy in my group, he thinks he is so edgy and smart. He takes no criticism but also doesn’t put in enough work. He’s basically made me his personal target and I literally have a group chat with two other members just to rant when he says the stupidest shit.”

“Damn, sounds like an ass.”

“He is,” You groan, closing your eyes. “But we are almost done. We have the essay due next week and then presentations during the finals period.” You grin in relief, “After that, I have two weeks of break before starting my internship with the professor.”

“Are you getting paid for that?” Spencer asks.

The conversation was flowing easily, his interest in your life more evident than ever. It isn’t lost on you that he’s exhibiting every sign of attentive listening and it makes your insides twist. He’s leaning forward, fingers tapping away on the counter as he nods periodically.

“Only in experience,” You sigh. “Money would be great, but I’d rather learn from this and not get paid than not do it at all. I only have to dedicate 12 hours a week to it anyway and that’s not much considering my usual schedule is jam-packed.”

“What’s the study about?” He asks, holding your gaze more often than usual. You find it hard to reciprocate, too nervous to engage in whatever he is doing. You aren’t sure if you could call it flirting because he definitely wasn’t complimenting you, but he was acting differently enough that it was noticeable.

Before you can answer, a customer walks in, the bell ringing in your ears as you look at the brunette in front of you. You expect him to leave like every time before, but he doesn’t move. Although thrown off slightly, you recover quickly and answer his question. When the customer is ready to check out, Spencer simply steps to the side but lingers near. As soon as the man leaves, Spencer is right back where he was and asking you another question that keeps you talking.

He leaves twenty minutes later, eyes half-lidded and tired. You don’t see him that morning, likely because he doesn’t have to go into the office as early as usual. Despite logic, you still miss him.

~~

When Spencer comes in that night, he’s later than usual. Not by much, it’s not even 2 am when he walks through the door. And yet, he’s apologetic.

“Hey, sorry,” He mumbles, coming right up to the counter.

Taken aback, your hands slip from your keyboard and you stand up straight. Fridays were always the busiest weekday and although you did wonder where Spencer was, you didn’t have much time to think about it.

“I was playing a game and totally lost track of time,” He continued, a touch more out of breath than usual. He runs a hand through his short, recently bleached hair.

“No worries,” You say, not quite sure why he’s apologizing. It’s not like you had a set time to hang out or do something together. “Need to come get a drink so you can keep going?” You ask, trying to dissipate the awkward feeling that was bubbling up. You didn’t want to let yourself assume more than was reality.

“No, no, I mean,” He stumbles, “I probably will go back to playing, I just—never mind.” He looks down, staring at the counter, specifically the display of scratchers in the built-in glass case.

God, this felt so weird. You shouldn’t have said that, maybe he actually wanted to see you but then you ruined it by making it about the drinks and not you.

“So, what game were you playing?” You ask, the air feeling stuffy.

After a relieved sigh, Spencer goes into the details. You listen intently because not only is he a good storyteller, but you also genuinely care about his interests.

As he rants about some game mechanic, your mind begins to wander. More precisely, you wonder if your affection for him is obvious. Even from the short interaction you had in front of Michael, he could tell there was something more going on. To a stranger would it be obvious? To your friends would it be obvious? Would they say you two would make a cute couple? Or would they not see the chemistry?

“Oh, that’s frustrating,” You say, picking up on the pause in his monologue.

“Eh,” He shrugs, “It’s life.” He leans over the counter, shoulders more relaxed than when he first entered. “I needed a break anyway. So, how’s your night been?”

“Well,” You begin. “I felt rather lost without you.” Sarcasm is dripping off your tongue and Spencer immediately smiles. “My internal clock is all screwed up.”

“You poor thing,” He says, playing along.

“You, sir, need to take your responsibility more seriously,” You laugh, sitting back down in your chair and leaning over to grab your water. “More than half an hour late, I’m sure your body is screaming for a Mountain Dew.”

“Not just a Mountain Dew,” He protests, “A Mountain Dew Kickstart.”

You giggle, just about to add something before the bell rings and your eyes immediately shift to the front door. The patron, dressed in black jeans, a blue hoodie, and a leather jacket, comes up to you immediately. In the fifteen-foot walk between you and the door, you notice he is at least twenty years older than you, skin wrinkling and sagging with age. His clothes are worn, fraying at the seams. When he pushes forward, Spencer immediately slinks away, stepping over to look at the opposite wall of food. The stranger places his hands on the counter and you see dirt under his nails.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“Two packs of the Marlboro Red,” He commands, his eyes dragging up and down your body. Just as you turn to grab the cigarettes, you can see a smirk forming on his lips.

You sigh, taking a moment to harden your exterior before turning around to scan the packs. These kinds of customers were uncommon for the area, but still came in enough for you to pick them out of a crowd immediately. Usually, they leave easily enough.

“Anything else?” You ask, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

“Two of those beef taquitos, hun,” He says, a dirty finger pressing against the warm glass.

You feel a wave of cold at the name but move aside to grab the hot food without any fuss. The sooner he leaves the better. When you hand them over to him, he purposefully moves his hand far enough forward that it touches yours. You are vaguely aware of Spencer in the background, but force your eyes off him.

You can deal with this on your own just fine.

The stranger's eyes linger on your hand and you snatch it away, typing on the tablet to add the taquitos to his total.

“Anything else?” You echo, voice more curt than before.

“Hmm,” He hums contemplatively, putting his finger to his chin like he’s performing. “I suppose I’ll take your number too.”

You fake a laugh, looking into his eyes for only a moment before going back to your screen. “Although I’m flattered, I don’t give my number to strangers.” A few more taps to the device, “Your total is $22.37.”

“Well,” He leans forward and reads off your name from the tag. It sounds sickly coming from his lips. “My name is Mark. Give me your number and then we won’t be strangers.” He pulls out his card to pay, shoving the cigarettes into his pockets.

You give him a forced smile, resting your hand on your heart while you try to let him down gently. “Nice to meet you, Mark, but still. I am not interested.”

“Why?” He questions, “You got a boyfriend?”

You debate telling him you’re in a relationship. Maybe it will get him to leave, maybe he’ll just suggest you cheat. It’s always difficult to tell.

“Dude,” You hear a voice speak up. “You’re holding up the line.”

Mark turns around to see Spencer a few feet behind. You have to crane your neck to see him, the brunette lining up down an aisle. He’s holding some random items, clearly having wandered around the store, paying attention but trying to look like he was merely shopping.

Just before Mark can say anything, Spencer is pushing forward and shouldering past. “Just take the L and move on,” He deadpans, his voice low and foreboding. He stares down the stranger, putting his items onto the counter without even looking away. He’s half a head shorter than the guy, but his presence alone makes up for that tenfold.

“Here’s your receipt,” You quietly interject, holding it out. Half of you was thankful for the interruption, but the other half of you was annoyed. Despite that, you choose to use this opportunity to end the conversation.

With a huff, Mark snatches the receipt from your hand.

“Whatever,” He mumbles to himself, “Bitch.”

The bell dings as he exits, leaving you and Spencer in a loud silence. You let out a shaky breath.

“Oh my god,” Spencer begins. His words draw your gaze away from the door and to him. You can see the concern on his face and the disgust in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You have a moment to say before he’s talking again.

“What an ass. Do you not have a panic button?”

“I do,” You answer, “But that’s for robberies.”

“Or this!” He protests, gesturing at the door where the man had exited. “You need to stay safe.”

“I was staying safe,” You defend.

“I can’t believe they have you alone at this time of night,” Spencer continues, seemingly not registering your words. “Like, anyone can just come in here!”

“Spencer,” You say, trying to grab his attention.

“You should never have to deal with that kind of–”

“Spencer,” You repeat, finally getting him to shut up.

“What?”

“It’s fine, I can deal with this on my own. You didn’t need to help,” You explain, wishing the moment would simply pass so you could move on.

“Just because you can deal with it on your own doesn’t mean you have to,” He argues, his voice softer than before.

His words leave you at a loss, unsure how to respond. He breaks the silence before you can.

“How often does this happen?”

“Not often,” You say, struggling to make any eye contact. “This is a nice area and usually they just give up after a couple of tries.”

Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair with an exasperated expression. “Sorry,” He mumbles, the word being pulled from him. “I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.” You can see the regret in his eyes. “I got so heated and I should have just made sure you were okay.”

“Oh,” You say, “Thanks.” His apology was unexpected but very appreciated. “I am fine.”

Spencer nods, the moment feeling slightly awkward as the resolution comes. “When does the next person get here?” He asks.

“Four,” You answer, taking a chance to grab your phone and check the time.

2:21

“Damn, that’s a long time.”

“It’s whatever,” You shrug. “It goes pretty quickly since I’m basically just talking to you and then doing homework.”

When the words register for him, there’s a glint in his eyes and a small smile forming on his face. “That’s good,” He replies. There’s a pause before he speaks again, “But damn, that’s like an hour and a half away.”

“Yeah,” You sigh, resting back on your stool.

“Can I stay?” He asks, surprising you. “For peace of mine, I mean. I’m just thinking about me leaving and that guy coming right back in. I don’t know, it’s dumb, but I just can’t imagine leaving you right now.”

“Sure,” You reply, interrupting his word vomit once you’ve regained your barrings.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” You shrug, a closed-lip grin forming. “I would love for you to keep me company.”

“Cool,” He says, a smile forming for him.

The moment is awkward and foreign. From an outside perspective, you probably both look like grinning idiots.

“Well,” Spencer begins, breaking the silence, “I’m definitely going to need an energy drink to stay awake.” He looks down at the pile of snacks he brought up. “You keep working, I’m gonna put these away and come back up with stuff I actually want to buy.”

“Roger that,” You reply, giving him a look before turning back to your computer. You don’t get much work done as you wait for him to come back up. You can’t see him in the aisles, but as he moves between aisles, he always looks at you. The security camera screen is just to your right and you can’t help but watch him as he puts away the random collection of items.

You’re nervous, too distracted by his presence to focus on anything. You were somewhat excited to spend such a prolonged period of time with him. However, you were also absolutely terrified that you would make a fool of yourself or simply seem too boring.

“Okay,” You hear him say, already aware that he was making his way back to the front. “All done.” He is now holding three cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart and a chocolatey protein bar. “Can I also get a couple of taquitos?”

“What kind?” You ask, reaching forward to start scanning his items.

“Your pick, I guess."

You smile at him and see he’s already grinning at you. You can’t help it, everything he does seems to make you happy beyond logic. “I’ll give you one chicken and one fiesta. The beef is fine and the cheese is not good.”

“Sounds like a plan,” He laughs, pulling out his card to pay and then opening a can and taking a big swig.

“Did that guy getting some make you crave them?” You ask, a joking glint in your eyes as you look up at him.

“Am I a misogynist if I say yes?” He replies, making you let out a laugh that was just a little too loud.

When you hand him the taquitos, he leans back onto the counter, head turned so you can see his side profile. He has the drink in one hand and the paper bag of taquitos in another. He takes a bite, a comfortable silence falling over you both. You occupy your time by looking down at your computer and mindlessly clicking around while you try to think of things to talk about. 

“How was work?” You say, deciding on that as the least risky option.

“Good,” He shrugs. “We finished a little late and traffic meant I didn’t get home till almost 7 pm.”

“Oh jeez,” You groan. “My commute is pretty easy in the morning because I go opposite the traffic.”

“I’m jealous,” He replies, smiling at you. “Do you live far from here?”

A shock of electricity shoots through your body. “Somewhat. This isn’t my local convenience store, but I’m not that far.”

Spencer nods, “This isn’t mine either.”

“What?”

He turns to look at you, eyebrows perked up like he didn’t just say something ridiculous.

“This isn’t your nearest convenience store,” You repeat slowly. When he nods, you ask, “So why do you come here?”

Spencer laughs, realizing his mistake. “The one nearest me is literally down the street, but they don’t always have these,” He answers, holding up the pineapple orange mango-flavored drink. “This store is only a few more minutes away and it always has them.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s because you buy our stock,” You joke. “I’ve literally had my boss ask about why we are selling so many more.”

“Really?” He gasps, leaning in closer. “I used to only make the walk here if the closer one was out, but four months ago I just stopped bothering.”

The fact that four months is when you started working is not lost on you. Feeling confident, you add, “What about when you get coffee? I’m sure the other one has coffee.”

“True.” He looks slightly caught off guard, eyes scanning the store before speaking, “I only come to get coffee here if I’m too lazy to make it at home and running early enough to…” He pauses for a second, the sentence closing as if it wasn’t the planned ending. Finally, he adds, “To see you.”

You hum, looking down because your face is warm and you’re at a loss for words. Luckily, he’s too nervous to look at you either. You feel tingly, knowing full well that this is a special moment that you’ll look back on if you end up dating.

“Anyways,” Spencer breaks the silence. Before he can say anything else, he yawns, mouth opening wide.

“You know you can go home, right?” You laugh. When you look down at your computer, you see it’s about half an hour later. “No one has come in and I doubt anyone will before Marie gets here.”

“No, no,” He protests. “And anyway, aren’t I making time fly?”

“I suppose,” You grin. “You are quite great company.”

Spencer flashes you a smile that makes your insides twist. You wonder if he is picking up on all this. If he can tell that you’re interested in him.

“I’m honored.”

“You should be.” You sarcastically quip. “I have high standards for the company I keep close to me.”

“Is this close?” He contemplates aloud. “I’ve never even seen you without your black polo, black pants, and nonslip shoes.”

You laugh, looking down at your clothes. “Don’t you like this fit?”

“I mean, I love it,” Spencer starts, “But I don’t know how much you’re serving day to day.”

“I serve even when I’m only going to class,” You protest. “Maybe when I’m done with finals, I’ll grace you with my out-of-work personality.”

Spencer grins, “I’d be honored.”

You’re on high alert, knowing exactly what was happening.

“You should be,” You echo, unsure of what else to say. It doesn’t matter though. You could say anything and Spencer would find you charming.

“Maybe we can go to competing stores and graffiti them,” He suggests, long since turned around so he can look at you fully.

“Pft,” You laugh. “I don’t want to get arrested with you the first time we hang out.”

“You don’t? That’s usually my go-to!”

“Well, my go-to is food. Or the arcade.”

“The arcade?” He questions. “All this time I’ve been talking about games and you’ve never mentioned that you’re also a gamer?”

“I am not!” You protest. “Definitely not compared to you. You’re a savant and I’m the fool.”

“I doubt that,” He replies, a grin never leaving his face as he leans in closer. “I say arcade so I can check out your skills.”

“Deal,” You say, leaning onto the counter so you are only a few feet away. “The arcade it is.”

[small-sinclair]

Check List

Whumptober 17: Nowhere else to go

A RZ!Michael Myers x fem sleeping!reader Tw: stocker maybe?, gore mentioned, blood mentioned, he might be obsessed with reader if you squint

Nowhere else to go

Michael knew who you were because he’s not only seen you around the neighborhood, but he’s seen you without you spotting him. He wasn’t stocking you, for say, but he wasn’t planning to kill you, either. You were just part of his daily check list for some reason, and he had to see you at the same time every day. If he doesn’t, there’s a new body, a new murder story for the morning news the next day. Michael saw more as a little wondering soul than a person. If anything, he saw you more as a thing to watch for than go after. You’re just as harmless as a bunny.

Which led him to sneaking into your house while the cops were searching for him, trying to stop the freak with the knife, the Boggy Man as some call him. He knew where your spare key was hidden, he knew which door to use, and he knew which path to take to get to your room. His footsteps went unheard as he inched closer to your sleeping form and tangled sheets. As far as he knew, he didn’t know what he was going to do to you. He stood at the edge of your bed, watching you as you slept, thinking to himself all the terrible, bloody things he could do to your body. He could rip you apart limp from limp, break every bone in alphabetical order, kill you swiftly, silently, or he could wrap his hands around that delegate throat of yours and just squeeze. Michael thought over and over on what he wanted to do, but each one made his stomach churn and turn away from you every time he thought of your body in a mangled mess.

No matter how hard he pushed himself, how hard he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to harm you.

Must be from that cheek list he made.

His grip on the knife loosens and hits the wooden floor, causing you to stir but go back to sleep. His heavy blue and green eyes looked over your skin, perfect as a picture in the moonlight, and marveled at your peaceful from. What were you dreaming about? What beautiful dream were you living in that head of yours? Let him be part of it just for a moment. Spare a thought, a vision of him, then set him free from the cobwebs and chains that held him back for so long. If he couldn’t be part of it, not part of the little thoughts and threads, then stay at peace and still, for he doesn’t want the darkness that follows to engulfed your running water thoughts and gentle breathing.

Michael wished he didn’t have to be here, but the police were closing in like a pack of hunting dogs to a fox. He had nowhere else to go, but he felt thankful in a way. He’s looking over a sleeping angel with the moon tangled in their hair, making a halo of hope and bliss. Apart from breaking into your home in the dead of night with dry blood on his boots, he felt blessed to be gifted with this vision of you.

Gently, he lifts his mask, taking it off, and placing it quietly on your dresser. He two to steps, just striding without effort, and stood over you. He basked in the moonlight view of you, wishing he could take a photo and have it in his pocket. Michael pulls his hair back until it was resting on his shoulder and knelt on the floor in front of your sleeping face. The monster felt human for once. The shadow over this town faded until there was a man just looking back in a reflective surface. Slowly, he inched closer to you, daring his courage and thoughts, until he felt your breath, cool and smooth, on his lip. Michael shuddered at the thought of your lips on his, marveling at the thought of you waking up and embracing him as a man, not as a monster, as a killer, and as a lunitic that escaped. Thoughts of being normal carved into his bones until he felt them turn into dust, and he felt more and more at home as he looked at you.

You’re on his list, his check list.

He had nowhere else to go, nowhere else to call home, yet he found it here with you sleeping in an oversized shirt and gym shorts. He found it sleeping soundlessly under tangled blankets and a small mountain of stuffed animals. The peacefulness that flows from your heartbeat and blood flow...he wanted to be a part of your more until thoughts of him being in you, physical and mentally. He wanted to be a part of your story and live a thousand tales with you. He was just there, right there! So close to your sleeping arms and blissful lips that he began to hunger for—

Not like this. No... he can’t do this like this.

Michael withdrew from your side and stood up, blocking the moonlight from making your skin glow. He licked his lips as his eyes marveled and memorized each curve and mark on your body. He turns, picks up his knife, and takes his mask. He gives you one last glance, one last moment for his eyes to gaze over you like this and leaves your room for the living room. He sits down on the rocking chair and leaned back into the cushion until he felt his eyes drift off. Sleep called for him, for the man who never slept before a day in his life. As his eyes closed, his last thoughts were spared for you and your moonlight haloed hair.

[loventian]

Touchstarved character name meanings!

Lemme preface this by saying I’m not a name meanings expert I just love crawling through google pages and over analyzing things ALSO to make sure the results weren’t influenced by fandom everything here is from pre-2020! With that let’s get into things!

Mhin:

Mhin is a little bit tricky, as I can’t find anything for their name spelled as it is. Min, however, has several different sources and meanings.

In Chinese, Min (敏) meanings “quick, clever, sharp” Which seems rather fitting for our neighborhood soulless hunter. An alternative script for Min (民) translates to “people, citizens” which could have some interesting implications, as Mhin is implied to have strong connections to the city of Lovent.

In Burmese Min means “king, ruler” which, connected with the second Chinese translation, could perhaps be some foreshadowing? We don’t know how Mhin is connected to Lovent, but the city must have had a ruling class, perhaps Mhin held a position of power? It could also be why they survived, and which a powerful curse nonetheless

Finally, in Irish Min is said to mean “smooth, fine, small”, though I can’t find as many sources on this one. I include it because people have pointed out Mhin’s cloak pins are triquetra, which are Celtic symbols.

Kuras:

Please know I adore Kuras when I say this, but he really got the short end of the naming stick it seems. The most promising thing I can find is the usage as a Hindi surname, which doesn’t seem to have a meaning listed. If you remove the S and go with Kura, it can mean “river” in Turkish or possibly “fierceness, tiger” in Japanese.

Now here’s the silly translations! In Arabic, Kuras (كراس) seems to translate to brochure. In polish, it translates to chicken.

I truly doubt the devs thought brochure/chicken were good labels for the dear doctor, so I’m favoring the Turkish translation. Mostly because Eridia is a city divided by a river; could there be something deeper hidden in there? Maybe!

Ais:

So clearly Ais has a lot of Japanese influence, with his design being inspired by Oni, so I looked for those possible translations first. Ai (愛) translates to love in Japanese, and is typically used as a broader term to refer to emotions tied to like compassion, empathy, or platonic forms of love (as opposed to 恋/koi which refers to romantic love).

I’m gonna focus on this translation for a bit. Someone on a translation forum phrased it in a way I really love: “Ai” is something you do or give. Ais is our introduction to the Seaspring, and to groupminds in general. While the concept of a hivemind is usually used in horror as a way of taking away agency, the Seaspring is framed as a refuge for people to turn to. Could Ais’ name be an allusion to a goal he keeps hidden? Is the Seaspring a manifestation of a desire to give love despite the violent world? Or am I just reading into this too deep?

Vere:

Vere actually has a straight up name meaning! Most of the sources I found say that Vere is a French/Gaulish name meaning “Alder”, and it usually pops up in the surname “De Vere”. Alders are a kind of bitch tree, and I have no idea how that tie into Vere as a character.

But if we take “Vere” as a word rather then a name, then Latin translates it as meaning “truly, really, actually, rightly”. Vere’s introduction to us is as someone to not trust, a cunning fox waiting for the next meal, stealing our darn room key and lying about it! So I find it really interesting that his name could be a word for truth. Perhaps before his chains Vere was someone a lot more truthful ?

Leander:

Big shout out to Leander for having a plain ass easy to translate name. I’ll give you googles exact definition here: "lion of a man", from leon, "lion", and andros, "man".

That was easy, so now let’s pick it apart!

Traditionally, lions are symbols of nobility, courage, strength, and protection. Leander has a reputation for being That Guy; he’s a leader, a protector of the masses, etc etc. for all intents and purposes, Leander really is a lion of a man!

…On the surface at least. Because under all the symbolism, lions are still predators, no matter how noble.

[television-overload]

fate is the handspike

(an X-Files ficlet)

[Read on AO3]

Summary:

Starting on February 23, 1964, Teena Mulder begins to worry about her young son. At first, she thinks maybe he's wishing for a little sister, a wish that will be granted very soon. But he insists the little girl he talks to is called Dana, and she's too little to play, but she likes when he reads his books to her.

(fic below the cut)

i.

At first, Teena thinks it's cute.

"She's just a baby, mommy, she can't play yet," he'd say.

"Oh, is that right?" she'd reply, indulging him in his childish fantasies. Perhaps this was his way of asking for a sister. The other moms in the neighborhood often urged her to give Fox a sibling, citing a child's need for company and social engagement, but Fox had always seemed so happy to play alone. She's not on the best of terms with her husband at the moment, either, which complicates things.

But then there's times when she sees Fox on the floor, legs splayed out before him as he recites his favorite picture books to his imaginary friend, and she wonders if she ought to be worried. Just a little.

Dr. Seuss, Curious George, Clifford the Big Red Dog... The boy has a photographic memory. Though he's too young to properly read, he has a grasp on the basic plots and recounts them in great detail, turning the pages as he goes.

"This one is called 'Where the Wild Things Are,' Dana," he says, because his friend's name—he insists—is Dana. He turns the book in his hand and shows the colorful illustration on the cover to a patch of carpet on the living room floor. "Don't worry, it's not scary," he assures her. Her. It. Whatever it is he's spent his days talking to since late February.

When he tells the story, he uses his own name, instead of 'Max.' That's how she'd always read it to him, and that's the only way he knows.

"And Fox told the monsters to be still!" he narrates with enthusiasm. "He used a magic trick and looked right in their BIG yellow eyes, and they were all scared. They said Fox is the most wild thing of all, and they made him king!"

ii.

There was one night when she'd woken to find Fox standing in the corner of his room, speaking softly to the wall.

"Shh, it's okay, Dana," he soothed in his little voice. "Here, I'll sing you a song. Twinkle twinkle little star...."

She never tells Bill what she's seen. He's always too busy to notice himself. But others know.

"He's quite an imaginative young fellow," Spender notes, taking a draw from his cigarette as Fox rolls around in the grass outside the house in Quonochontaug. Since "Dana" learned to crawl, he's been even more preoccupied than usual. He shows her all his toys, tells her the names of all his action figures. He announces to his mother one day that he's going to teach Dana how to walk. That she can only stand on her own for a little bit right now, but she doesn't cry anymore when she falls down.

Bill, if he ever catches wind of this, must think he's talking about one of the other kids from Teena's ladies' group. But there's no "Dana" in this neighborhood. Not on the Vineyard, either. She's checked.

iii.

The day she finds out she's pregnant, a part of her wonders. Though her knowledge of her husband's work is small, she knows enough to gather that things she might have thought impossible, could in fact be possible. Perhaps her son had been having visions of his baby sister, long before she was even conceived. Maybe it had simply been a sign that he would one day be a big brother. Soon.

She'd long since dispelled thoughts of ghosts and hauntings and exorcisms.

He tells Dana all about the baby in mommy's tummy. He giggles and makes silly faces, pausing in between sentences, which she gathers must mean his friend has developed the ability to speak.

"Mommy, she said my name! That's right! Fox! Fox!"

iv.

When Samantha is born, "Dana" seems to disappear overnight. This, at least, supports her theory that he had simply been preparing himself for a new sibling, and after a few years, she's completely dismissed the issue. Fox shows no other signs of strange or unusual behavior. He is nothing but a doting big brother, who occasionally gets annoyed by his freckle-faced kid sister, as any brother is wont to do. He reads to her, plays games with her, watches the television with her. They're two peas in a pod, and not once does the name "Dana" escape his lips. She is all but forgotten.

Until he's twelve years old. Samantha is gone, and Teena lacks the patience to deal with his questioning.

"Mom? Does the name 'Dana' mean anything to you?" he asks.

"What? Of course not, Fox, why would you ask such a thing?"

He looks down at his feet, shoulders slumping. "No reason. Forget I asked."

v.

When Fox lays awake at night, the bedroom next to his now dull and empty, he thinks he can hear a voice. It isn't Samantha's—though he'd thought so at first.

"By heaven, man," she reads, "we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded sea!"

What does this girl know about fate? What does she know of this upside-down world?

"Read the next chapter, Dana!" he hears another girl's voice speak. The words are faint—muffled—like he's underwater. But her voice is clear.

He falls asleep, like most nights, listening to the tales of Ahab and Starbuck, and a great white whale.

-.-.-

Tag List ♡: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @numinousmysteries @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @teenie-xf @thursdayinspace

[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap chapter 5 progress

In which Tim flirts with the sad thoughts but is not committed to them.

masterpost

Probably the best thing to do was to make sure everyone was happy with him. If he did everything that everybody wanted, there would be no issues. 

So, Tim finished his experiment for Miss Fox and sent her his report. The groceries arrived while he was finishing up. After he put it away, he made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and ate it one-handed while he looked up the address that Jason had told him about. 

“That's pretty far away,” Tim mused. Some grape jelly dropped onto the keyboard. He swiped it up with his sleeve. He was a little less careful about the apartment now that he knew it was Big Tim’s place and not someone important or mean. 

Huh.

Tim paused mid contemplation. Speaking of important people, where was Mom? (And also Dad.) He turned his head around looking for the most recent post card. He usually kept that on the fridge.

Apparently, Big Tim had lost the habit. The dig post card tacked to the fridge was years old. Tim took it down and read it anyway, smiling at Mom’s handwriting. It was neat and precise, just like her. 

He felt better. He'd figure it out later. Tim put a pin on the thought and went back to focusing on his- on Jason's request. He squirmed in his chair while he thought it through.

The address was in a residential neighborhood, the kind with separate houses and not apartment complexes. The suspect himself lived in a duplex. The other half of the duplex was registered to a retiree who Tim didn't find any digital trail of, other than that her Social security checks were being cashed and her bills were paid on time. Oh, neat, she had been part of Gotham’s historical recreation society. She seemed kinda cool.

She had crazy huge electric bills, though. Tim frowned at that. He wasn't absolutely sure. But he thought that most people didn't have electric bills in excess of $600 monthly. How was she even affording that off of her Social security income? 

“Maybe the neighbor killed her and is using her apartment for nefarious purposes,” Tim reasoned aloud. “He's chasing her check and concealing the death. Maybe he uses her apartment to store his industrial sausage making machines.” 

It was a bit of a reach but it seemed a little more likely than his follow-up idea: her hobby was running every appliance in her house at the same time for all the hours that she was awake.

Focus, Tim! How was he going to surveil this place?

It wasn’t like there were any nice big buildings with dramatic awnings and gargoyles to creep around. It was suburbia. 

Tim spun around on his chair miserably, hands on his head to help him think.

Were there any abandoned homes in the area that he could use as a viewpoint? He checked on that. No. No, there weren’t. Dangit. He looked up everyone who lived in the neighborhood, wondering if there might be like, a family on vacation or someone whose second floor was unoccupied. He didn’t see anything useful like that. There were just a bunch of families with little kids.

He spun faster. Maybe the centrifugal force would somehow jar his brain awake.

“There’s nothing for it,” Tim decided ruefully. “I have to go undercover as a child.”

He put on the light up sneakers that he had ordered, washed his face, and made sure he had enough money for the bus. Then he set off on an adventure with a little notepad in his pocket. When he got to the apartment lobby he realized that he probably should have brought Big Tim’s phone, but oh well. It was too far now.

He took three buses and walked twenty minutes. He arrived in the right neighborhood in the early evening, around 5 pm. He looked for rogue groups of playing kids to join in. He’d do whatever game they were playing, then subtly interrogate them.

Unfortunately, it seemed like everyone was inside eating dinner. Tim frowned at one window. He could see a table being set.

Weird.

Alright, new plan. The old lady neighbor was probably dead, so he could just sneak into her half of the duplex, find a place to hide, and observe whatever sick and twisted stuff Jason’s bad guy did. Then he could tell Jason about it later, and he would like Tim.

He tried the backdoor. It was locked. Tim skulked around the house and tried windows until he found one that was open. He had to scramble a bit to climb up the siding to get into the house but he managed it. He hit the floor with a tumble.

“I have a mace!” said a female voice. “I am prepared to use it upon you!”

Tim rolled over to see the retiree. “Oh,” he said. “Hello.” He was a little disappointed that he was wrong about her being dead, though of course it’s always nice when someone isn’t murdered.

Mrs. Henderson yanked open a drawer and withdrew her mace. She pointed it at him steadily over her walker.

“Whoa,” said Tim. “That’s really cool. That’s Gothic, right?”

She looked at her mace. “...I believe so,” she said. “Get out of my home!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Tim said, deliberately not agreeing. He sat up and crossed his legs. “I didn’t realize that you lived here.”

Mrs. Henderson slowly lowered her Gothic mace, which was probably a replica of one from Western Europe and weighed about 2 kilograms. “...Did you mean to go next door?” she said, sounding more confused and less hostile. 

“Yeah, I got mixed up,” Tim lied like a champion. “I accidentally locked myself out and no one is home.”

Although that really wouldn’t be true for much longer. Hm. Maybe Tim should have waited until tomorrow to come by.

[cupcakeshakesnake]

are you serious about believing that cats shouldn't be let outside?

why? like don't get me with that "oh they'll kill animals" well yeah, maybe they will. it's their natural instincts, and allowing them outside promotes a range of natural behaviours. so isn't it cruel to prevent that? and if you believe they shouldn't be allowed to go outside, isn't it cruel to choose to keep them inside instead of just *not having a cat?*

also for that arguement the rspb says " there is no scientific proof that predation by cats in gardens is having any impact on bird populations UK wide." while you may not be from the UK, the UK isn't a place where domestic cats are native either!

I wonder if you are American as so many Americans seem to have this weird opinion - is it very common to believe solely in indoor cats where you live? /gen q. it's very common to have cats that go outdoors here in the UK, and the concept of outdoor cats doesn't exist - if someone mentioned an outdoor cat I'd think of a cat that never went inside, like idk a barn cat. a website I found said 90% of cats in the uk can go outdoors but based on what I'm seeing on your feed and Tumblr it's very different for you?

Yes, I'm serious.

I suppose it's also a natural instinct of coyotes (US), foxes (UK) and hawks to kill cats, so isn't it cruel to prevent that? Cats may have natural instincts but they are not part of nature. They're not part of your local ecosystem, you brought it there. Do you only care about your cat fulfilling its 'natural instincts' and nothing else?

Let's say you have, oh I dunno, the Xenomorph from Alien. Let's say you love it a lot. Are you gonna set it free on the neighborhood because its natural instinct is to kill?

If you believe children shouldn't stick their fingers in the wall socket even if they want to, shouldn't you just not have children?

And yes there is plenty of scientific proof. Cats are not native ANYWHERE. If your cat just stays in a fenced garden or maybe a catio, it's fine, but studies found that cats' kill counts are so high because even 'freeroaming' cats roam less than their wild counterparts (i.e. jungle cats) and thus kill in a more concentrated area. They also kill for fun and not just to eat. Cats have contributed to the extinction of 63 species of birds, mammals, and reptiles in the wild, I'm directly quoting an article here.

Very weird of you to push the American button just because I disagree with you, I am in fact South Korean, and oh believe me outdoor cats are barely a thing here. Cats here are either firmly indoors or stray, save for very rare cases. Most cat owners (and people in general) live in the city and if they let their cats out, a variety of things could happen - such as their cats eating trash and getting sick, being hit by a car, or being killed (or worse, captured and tortured) by ill-meaning people (which has very well happened before).

+ Edit) Let's talk cruelty. What is more cruel, a cat being bored out of its skin, or the cat being flattened by a car, or countless small animals being torn apart and left to die? All of which is preventable with a few extra steps from the cat owner.

In my opinion, having cats (or any other pet) is a lot like raising children. Of course their needs should be paid attention to, but they themselves don't always know the best way to go about fulfilling those needs and it's your responsibility to keep them safe and happy at the same time. You can't let them do whatever they like all the time. AND, you are responsible for what your pets/children do.

[astrangetorpedo]

It's Saturday night at Otherlands Coffee Shop. The space looks about the same as it has for the past decade of weekend concerts. A small group of people drinking lattes or craft brews sits around the eclectically shellacked tables while Julien Baker takes the makeshift stage with her baby blue electric Fender. Behind Baker, plate-glass windows are beading with rain. Brake lights from passing vehicles roll over the room, the glare catching the metal plating of her guitar…

It has been a standard evening so far, as coffee-house singer-songwriter sessions go. A folk duo has played a few by-the-book ballads. People are talking quietly. But when Baker takes the mic - her guitar affixed to her tiny frame with a rainbow strap - the atmosphere of the place changes. It's hard to say what exactly does it. Baker is five feet tall and looks, by her own admission, to be about 12 years old, though she turned 20 in September. She wears an unremarkable blue jacket and gray t-shirt, a look she has described in interviews as "level-one RuneScape clothes." She's up there alone.

Baker begins her set with a single guitar note, held for a long moment before she begins, in a quiet and urgent alto "Do you think that there's a way this could ever get too far?" - covering the question with reverb before abandoning it. "I know I saw your hand," she continues, "when I went out and wrapped my car around the streetlamp." She pronounces streetlamp sweetly, drawing it out, the way you'd fixate on something you loved.

The lyric is a reference to the time, when Baker was 17, that she drove her car off the road, shattering the windshield enough so that she was unable to see as a 25-foot-tall light pole crashed towards her. The concrete post split Baker's car cleanly in two but somehow left her entirely untouched.

"Blacktop" - which will be the first track on her debut solo album, due out October 23rd - is a lonely song, maybe her loneliest, though it has some strong competition. When she asks, in the next verse, that some intervening divine, the same that saved her life, come visit me in the back of an ambulance," it is with the longing of something barely missed, rather than any certainty in her good fortune.

The feel at Otherlands, as Baker earnestly continues her set, gives definition to the phrase, "you could hear a pin drop." If people were not paying attention before, they are now. Previously unremarkable environmental details - the rain outside and the hush of the room - seem pulled into Baker, collapsed into her intimate, pining music.

If VH1 ever makes a Behind the Music: Julien Baker, it will play out something like this: A small girl with a big voice grows up in the far suburbs of Memphis. She works a night shift through high school, spends her free time hanging out at the skatepark; she smokes cigarettes, plays hymns at her small church, and figures out an electric guitar in her dad's living room. She forms a punk band with her friends. They call themselves "The Star Killers" and play all-ages shows in community centers and neighborhood pool houses. She gets a girlfriend, gets into drinking, gets some dumb tattoos. Starts touring when she isn't in school. Applies herself. Makes it to state college, where she records a lonely record. The record is really good. People hear the record, share the record, and she gets signed. What's next is history.

At least, it seems like that will be the case, if recent articles comparing Baker and her forthcoming solo album to Rilo Kiley or Natalie Prass and calling her music "equal parts agony and burgeoning wisdom" (NPR), "crushing" (Stereogum), "wise" (Vulture)," a study in contradiction, both fragile and steely at the same time"

Morgan Jon Fox, the Memphis filmmaker, describes hearing Baker's music for the first time this way: "This very gentle young woman stepped up and started playing these songs, and it was one of these moments in life that genuinely felt golden, when you see something that is so special, and so fragile, that is just on the precipice of taking off."

Fox went on to use selections from Baker's forthcoming album throughout his most recent project, a miniseries called Feral, and cites it as perhaps his foremost influence for the project. "I got obsessed with it," he says. "I listened to it while I was writing and in the car while I was finding locations. It's lyrically just very wise beyond her years."

It is easy to talk about the precocity of Baker's music, since she is young, but just talking about the precocity makes it seem as if Baker is a 5-year-old playing sonatas to an auditorium. The image doesn't convey how moving songs like "Blacktop" or "Go Home" ("The side of the road in a ditch when you find me," sings Baker, "... more whiskey than blood in my veins") are, and how Baker's particular talents are as much emotional as they are technical.

"I've never really encountered somebody who has the ability to resonate so broadly with their songs," says Sean Rhorer, whose label, 6131 Records, will release Baker's debut. "I posted about it on Facebook, and my mom responded to it," he laughs. "But then, dudes in punk bands who are associated with us are all about it as well. For me personally, it's like I've listened to a song of hers 200 times and on the 200th time I am just in my car weeping. She has that ability."

Pending release of "Sprained Ankle" in the next week, Baker is doing what she usually does: going to class at Middle Tennessee State University, where she is studying to be an English teacher. She started school as a recording engineering major, but quit the program after a professor told her that if he was going to teach the class one thing, it would be to "take their passion and monetize it.”

"I guess I just believe in the lyceum model of education," she told me when we met in Murfreesboro on a weekend in early September. "I think you should educate to build your intellect, not to make money?"

In the past few months, Baker has flown to Los Angeles to shoot a music video and to Richmond, Virginia, to record at Matthew E. White's Spacebomb Studios, the same studio that produced Natalie Prass' debut album. She's been on the radio, toured to New York, and played around 20 shows, both as Forrister and as Julien Baker. She's currently keeping it together by drinking copious amounts of what she calls "AA-meeting coffee", meaning the strong stuff (Baker is now sober by choice). When we met, I noticed that her hands were marked up with scribbled English assignments and Sharpied X's for being underage from the two gigs she'd played in Memphis that week, driving the four hours back to MTSU in the early hours of the morning.

A year and a half ago, if you'd asked Baker whether she'd be trying to balance a burgeoning career and travel schedule with her schoolwork, she would have looked at you like you were crazy. The songs that make up her album were recorded as a one-off, a side project while she was away from her band. She illustrated the album cover and released it for free on Bandcamp. She didn't think much of it. "Whatever happened with it, I was like, oh, cool," Baker says.

People quickly started to share the album, including a video version of her song, "Something" - shot in a Memphis parking garage by local filmmaker Breezy Lucia - but it wasn't until Rhorer and 6131 contacted her about a three-record deal that she realized what was happening. On her new label's advice, she took the record down from Bandcamp until it could be mastered and formally released.

A favorite mantra of Baker's comes from the high school days she spent around D.I.Y. house venue and record label, Smith7. "Let's all fail together," she repeated, as we drove around Murfreesboro. "At least we'll have each other."

The Smith7 shows were put on exclusively as benefits for charity; records produced without hope of material recompense. "We called it investing in people," says Brian Vernon, the founder and backbone of the lab which has produced locally-familiar bands like Wicker, The Holiday, and Nights Like These.

It was a scene that taught Baker to be wary of the music industry that can, as she phrases it, "put best things to meanest use." (A quote from Paradise Lost: "O little knows / Any, but God alone, to value right / The good before him, but perverts best things / to worst abuse, or to their meanest use.")

But Baker is quick to acknowledge how fortunate she is at the moment; how, not that long ago, even this starter level of success seemed a distant hope. "Being able to support yourself with your art - that's the dream, you know?" Baker mused. She sounds both hesitant and excited. "It sunk in for me when I was able to hand my roommate utility and rent [money]. I was like, 'Wow, that's real."

At Otherlands, Baker introduces herself this way: "I'm Julien, and I don't mean to bum you out. That's just the kind of songs I write." She smiles and pushes back her messy blonde hair from her face, a tic. "You know, you sing about it, and you exorcise it."

A guess at why the 20-year-old's songs are so broadly resonant: They all take place at a familiar, perhaps universal moment of surrender. People connect with it. Her surrender is manifold - laid at the feet of the audience, an ex-girlfriend who left her in a parking lot ("I should have said something," sings Baker, "but I couldn't find something to say"), the friend who once picked her up as a teenager, drunk and lost, from the side of a highway, or an invisible God. She always starts slow, voice drawn out over echoey guitar. As the song builds, she allows for considerable tension, enough space left between verses that you think she might turn away or give up at any time.

But then there always is a moment, about halfway through, where it's as if she makes an unannounced decision that this one is all or nothing, and suddenly she is pure energy. When you see her perform, I swear there is a point when she opens her mouth - I mean really opens it - and she appears to grow three sizes. "Like one of those little styrofoam things you put in water and then they get huge," Morgan Jon Fox laughingly agrees. This shift is her simultaneous will-to-power and an invocation for the listeners to join her. She is no longer suffering alone.

The lyrical loneliness is variously romantic and existential, sometimes within the same breath. Baker, who says she "played the worship circuit" in high school, makes music about God, but is not a Christian musician, to the extent that Christian music is a well-defined and (in my heretical opinion) musically underwhelming genre. There are Christian music labels and Christian music festivals, and Baker is not a part of that scene, though she likes Underoath and Pedro the Lion and Manchester Orchestra - bands that have, more or less explicitly, copped to their love of Jesus. She was devastated when Mike Reynolds, the guitarist for Christian metalcore unit For Today, took to Twitter and declared, "There's no such thing as a gay Christian."

"Sometimes, I haven't played that song," she told me, referring to "Rejoice", a tour-de-force and one of the best tracks on the forthcoming album, "because I felt I needed to hide a part of myself in order to not be made fun of." "Rejoice" begins with Baker wandering around her neighborhood: "Jumping the fence, veins all black. Sleep on a bench in the parking lot." Her voice is low, almost gravelly. "Birthday," she intones. "Call the blue lights. Curse your name when I find I'm still awake." She continues, emphatic, underwhelmed: “choking on smoke, singing your praise" and, without much conviction, "but I think there's a God, and he hears either way. I rejoice. And complain. I never know what to say."

And then she backs up and basically shouts, as desperate as anything else: "I rejoice ... But then why did you let them leave and then make me stay?" Her voice would break if it weren't so strong.

The thing about it, the thing that gets me - despite the fact that I haven't lifted up anybody's holy name since I was in middle school and assigning sexier worship lyrics onto particularly handsome church camp counselors - is that, per Julien Baker, this shit is real as it gets. There is no pretense, no particular evangelism, just the barefaced results of a young woman who is searching. I don't think you have to believe in anything, or come from any specific background, to respect the search, even to feel it deeply.

If there's a mythos to suburban teens - especially punk kids from the suburbs, who, like Baker, grew up hanging out at indoor skateparks and smoking in big box parking lots - it is that they are bored. See: the Arcade Fire anthem "The Suburbs," the chorus to which rejoinders, "We were already bored. We were already, already bored." There's an attendant feel - a beautiful and washed-out-in-a-basement-romance-while-smoking-weed-in-the-summertime sort of thing.

Baker does not seem bored or washed-out. Like her music, she comes off notably uncynical and deeply interested in other people's music, in workers' justice (she uses her fluent Spanish to volunteer for an organization that assists immigrant laborers), in literature, in elementary education, in big questions.

"Why," she asked me offhandedly in the middle of a conversation about Faust, a leaf-eared copy of which she keeps in her room next to a hot-pink record player, "were German writers so interested in water suicide?"

For Baker, making her music and trying to fix bad things in the world are inseparable ideas, though there is no particular proselytizing in her lyrics or sound. It is more about the hows and wheres and whos of the process. She's a proud product of the Memphis grassroots, of the idea that you make things with your friends and do it for someone besides yourself.

And if she has a central fear about the recent attention her music has been getting, it is that she'll have to change the way she makes music, that she won't get to spend as much time writing with her band or crafting her own songs in basic anonymity.

"When you are in The Star Killers," she says, "you have the liberty to do whatever you want, musically. The biggest fear is getting what you want and having it not be what you really want."

But at Otherlands, surrounded by a crowd that the young musician has effortlessly transfixed, it's clear that any apprehension on Baker's part won't stop people from listening. Whatever she is putting out there, people who hear it are picking up on it.

As she finishes her set, Baker seems confident, ready, and, yes, somehow wise beyond her years. Most of all, it seems clear that she's doing precisely what she was born to do.

"When I have these great opportunities," she says, "I have to remember they are transient. But when it comes down to it, this is the only thing that makes sense to me."

(x)

[mrs-hatake]

Jealous, jealous, jealous girl!

pairing: sylus x afab!reader

Surveying the N109 Zone is not a regular occurrence in your agenda…is what You told Yourself at first. In the beginning, You’d just patrol around Sylus’ neighborhood, ensuring that that sneaky little fox isn’t up to no good. Somehow, as the days turned into weeks, watching over the N109 Zone has become a habit that you can’t seem to break free from. 

But Your endeavor isn’t fruitless. Though You have yet to witness Sylus competing any sort of felonies, You have stopped petty criminals from harassing the few innocent civilians living in the zone. At the mere sight of crime, You’ll wear a porcelain maroon mask (one that You’ve purchased so that Sylus won’t recognize you), jump out of Your car and head straight into battle. 

The crimes aren’t much to begin with but the more You get involved, the lesser they’ve been committed. Your assistance even made news into their shoddy newspapers. Masked hero saves The Zone! Is how most of the headlines are read. 

Tonight has been a quiet night. There are not bored looking children roaming the streets for some highly inappropriate prank that’ll cost the city quite a few millions in damages —not that the city council will do anything about it.  You don’t spot shady looking people who are breaking and entering. It’s a silent night. Still, You wait out a few minutes, just to make sure that everything’s good before You leave. 

Just as You’re about to press the grey button to start the engine, a familiar tuft of hair catches Your eyes.

Sylus, in his glorious height and broad shoulders, leisurely walks from around the block. A hand casually slipped into the pocket of his dark jeans pants. Though the man is giving the aura of friendliness, You can tell that Onychinus’ leader is on high alert. His shoulders being slightly elevated is a dead give away. 

You observe the man, following his every move, ready to strike when needed. Despite the fact that the two of you have gotten closer in recent months, You still can’t fully trust Sylus. How can You when he’s a crime lord?

As You continue to watch, Your tense muscles relax. It truly does seem that Sylus is simply out for a walk. In the back of Your mind, You vaguely remember Sylus informing You that he has trouble sleeping at night. Maybe tonight is one of those nights and he thought that strolling through the city might tire him enough until he sleeps. 

Just like earlier, You’re about to start Your car when a figure appears from the shadows. 

High heels step into the street lights, black leather gleaming under the artificial lights. They’re adorned on feet that carry long and smooth pairs of legs. Supple thighs are barely hidden by a blood dress, too short and revealing to be worn in the dangerous streets of N109. 

Sylus is a crime lord, that much is true, but You don’t believe he’d do something to an innocent woman but You can never be too sure. 

With a bated breath, You watch as the two about to cross paths. They’ll pass each other and You’ll be reassured, once again, that Sylus isn’t all that bad. 

However, the mysterious woman stopping directly in front of Sylus catches you off guard. Her boldness as she runs her finger down Syulus chest, the very same one that’s been haunting You in Your dreams, has You gawking in disbelief. 

Her flirtatious demeanor that is eagerly reciprocated by Sylus has You double taking at the exchange. Yeah, Onychinus’ leader can come off as flirty with You at times but it’s never anything serious. Yet, seeing Sylus’ lips curly lazily as his eyes appreciatively roam over the woman’s figure has Your chest feeling hollow. 

Without a thought, You shove Your car door open and march to where the two are. 

Thoughts of Sylus’ teasing remarks, him relentlessly calling You kitten, sweetie and other frivolous pet names, the nonstop skinship, all of those seemingly insignificant moments has Your footsteps thundering down the chewing gum covered pavement. 

Once they’re within reach, You impulsively yank Sylus away from the woman and step between the two of them.

Purple eyes that can be mistaken for sugilite blink with incredulity. The woman’s—whom Your brain tauntingly marvels at her beauty—pouty lips part ways, as if to defend herself but You don’t let her. 

“Sorry.” You press Yourself closer to a stupor caught Sylus. Glaring at the woman, You continue,  “He already has someone to warm his bed at night.”

“What?” Both Sylus and the woman ask, as if they haven’t heard what You had said. 

You don’t repeat Yourself but the fire burning in Your gaze is warning enough for the woman to back off. 

Suddenly, a quick bark of laughter cuts through the night air.

The nerve of the woman to laugh at You! 

Behind You, a voice sighs, “Y/N.”

The heated glare is now directed at Sylus who has his face hidden behind his large hand. 

“And you!” You shove Your finger into his rock solid abs, “How dare you seduce me and flirt with another woman?” You spit out the words in his face.

“I-” Sylus tries to explain but You cut him off. 

“I took You for many things, Sylus, but a womanizer wasn’t one of them!” Your tone is cold and disapproving. 

Sylus, despite being on the receiving end of Your venomous words and harsh glare, stares down at You in amusement. This only adds fire to the fuel.

 “What’s so funny?!” Your gaze shifts between the giggling woman and the amused looking Sylus, nausea churning Your stomach. You need to leave before You continue making a fool out of Yourself. Screw Sylus for his flirtatious nature. And screw him for playing with Your heart. 

“Relax Y/N.” A familiar voice stops You from running away in embarrassment and driving all the way home with Your vision filled with tears. 

“Kieran?” You blink in astonishment at the…woman? “What?”

Kieran chuckles, his gaze soft and apologetic. “I’m not stealing your man, don’t worry.”

When You’re still staring at him with shocked confusion, Kieran explains, “Boss and I are luring out a rival kingpin who has been relentlessly targeting our organization.”

“But,” You tilt Your head, still trying to process what has been said to You, “why are you dressed as a woman?”

Vibrant red colors Kieran’s cheeks, amplifying his beauty. He avoids meeting Your eyes as he explains, “The dirtbag has a specific type of woman and I’m the only one who matches the description. Luke’s sick so…” he rubs the back of his neck.

An awkward silence envelopes around the both of you. It is only interrupted by Sylus’ chuckle. 

As if remembering his existence, Your entire body flushes in embarrassment as Your behavior from earlier caught up to You.  

“So you’ve been warming up my bed?” His eyebrow rises when You turn to face him, “I’ve been wondering why I’ve been sleeping so restfully the past few days.”

Mortified, Your hands shoot out to push Sylus away but he catches Your wrists in a strong grip, “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” 

Sylus leans forward, his lips a hair's breadth away from yours, “Never.” 

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Surprisingly see more animals with the sidewalk in my backyard than before they cleared out the trees

Like i know those animals were there before and were just hidden by the trees but I thought the sidewalk would scare them off

Apparently not

[hmshermitcraft]

smalletho, maybe? :3

Joel is not going to lose to that stupid dog trainer.

He has been training for years. His dog is pedigree, she obeys commands perfectly. He spent so long learning to style her hair! This is his moment.

And then some guy waltzes in with this dog everybody seems love! It barely even looks like a fox, Joel wouldn't be surprised if it was a fox or something. And the guy is nice looking too, with that matching white hair (so overkill.) It's ridiculous! Doesn't he know this is Joel's year? When did he even move in!

Their neighbours, meanwhile, are wondering how there's this much drama over their small neighborhood show.

[kthecritter]

can you do a silver fox kin care kit? or just fox in general pls?

here you go, I hope you enjoy! loved researching about foxes!

foxes have a wide range of vocals! look up videos of fox vocals and try to imitate them, or come up with your own fun noises to make

foxes are depicted as smart tricksters in mythology. make up your own riddles for others to solve, or find a book/website of riddes to try to solve

foxes are solitary creatures. take a break from the world, and chill out in a quiet room with soft fabrics, nature sounds, and even a diffuser with comforting smells

silver foxes have strong legs, and are fast runners! go for a run around your neighborhood, and try to build up your strength and stamina. if you can’t run, try exercises or stretches that focus around your legs

silver foxes have soft silvery black fur. try dressing in darker tones with soft, fluffy fabrics (maybe even add some fox ears if you have them)

silver foxes—like many foxes—are nocturnal. try switching up your routine to include more activities in the evening/night, and embrace the darker, quieter aspects of night