#or maybe. social worker. had that thought at one point

[mangoisms]

weird question. but in ur opinion, what major would tim do at college? I was thinking comp sci but making him a business major would be so funny

good question! to be honest.. i want to say it’s difficult to pin down any one major he’d choose, especially because i feel like he’s not exactly academically inclined, at least if he’s doing vigilante stuff? school was always a big issue for him hence him dropping out to focus on The Mission and that seems like All He Is Doing right now thank you dc editorial. but if he isn’t… comp sci is a good choice but for me, i lean towards maybe something like mechanical engineering? or electrical engineering? kinda feel like he has comp sci in the bag already from having to learn it/having learned it in his time as a vigilante (largely due to babs im sure!)

but mechanical or electrical engineering just because of how much stuff he created for his suit when he was robin and how he was always reconfiguring redbird and messing with all of it. although where those skills and that degree could be applied is Another Question Entirely. my best guess is — and this is probably super basic — with WE? or maybe if we want to have a little fun. somewhere like kord industries. or even STAR labs. or maybe a teaching position? could see him being down for that as he gets older

a little more indulgent would be photography but even if not a major i would like to think he at least minors in it or something!

business major would be SO funny because he would be miserable the entire time. i think.

but yeah! he’s just. idk. probably hates prerequisites. probably wants to take ten classes at once. he’d really need to slow down i think which is the goal. ultimately. for me. in any case This got very long my bad <3 i’m just. fascinated by him and his mysterious future

[alicechess]

Art x reader part 2

Note: This hasn't been proof read, so my bad if it's not the greatest I smashed this out in like 4 hours. So not the highest quality chapter. I might fix this up at one point, heavy maybe.

@ch1hvro

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You felt ill after the shift, it could be explained, it absolutely could be, right? Just a coincidence, a man dressing up to be a dick, then point at the plastic ring on your hand because he thought it was amusing, and joked that it was him who gave it. Yeah, just a joke, coincidence. You settled on it being a coincidence. 

As soon as you got home, you took the ring of and but it on your bedside table, you didn't want to wear it, you were meant to Halloween night, but it completely slipped your mind. 

However, that night, you heard on the news he somehow escaped the morgue today, in the morning. The news reporters stated the injuries, and allegedly a few people who work in the medical field said how unlikely it would've been for him to survive. They then stated that the poor mortician was brutally murdered too from him, because of course he had to do it. Does that mean it is possible he came to your work today? If that was him, why? He didn't have any blood, or any visible injuries at least. He moved perfectly fine. 

You shook your head, there was no point in thinking about it. If you saw him again, then it absolutely wasn't a coincidence, as there would be no way to justify it. You then turned the TV off, then went to bed. The thoughts of him stuck in your mind as you laid there, the whole day repeating over in your head. How his attention was stuck on you, why that specific Cafe, and although again, the ring may just be him being a dick and not knowing. It still bothered you, all of that happening within the span of an hour. Eventually you fell asleep, your dreams, of course, had him there too. 

The next morning you awoke in a cold sweat, your heart racing rapidly. Once you glanced around and noticed you were in your room, you felt relief.

Just a dream

Maybe you needed to ignore the news, take a break from social media for a few days or even a week. You had no doubt some people would be talking about stuff, but you just had to hope you wouldn't overhear anything. Maybe it'd be good to take a day off, though you knew your boss would be pissed and so as your co-workers. You've barely taken days off the whole year, maybe 3 at most. 

You decided to send a message to your boss, explaining that you have some family stuff going on, and if you could take the day off tomorrow. 

Hopefully he'd be fine with it.

You started getting ready, after showering

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You walked into the door of the Café, the ringing bell irritated your ears. You walked into the back, you had to do a bunch of dishes from last night since one of the other workers had to leave early. Your co-worker spotted then greeted you, "Hey, you look like shit."

You rolled your eyes, "Wow, what a nice way to say good morning Charlie." 

They gave you a cocky smile, "I know I know, I'm wonderful aren't I?"

That damn smile was contagious, "Aww, and I've got you smiling too."

A small chuckle left you, "Yeah yeah, anyway, how longs your shift today? Anyone else in?"

"Uhh, till about 4. I have another job on the side to earn extra. And no, Laurie left about 10 minute ago, she had to leave early as she had an appointment."

"Ew, that's gotta be painful, and god damn it, it would've been nice having a third for today.

"It's painful, but moneys money, world can't go on without it." They sighed, "And I'm trying to save for a new car, the shitbox out there ain't gonna last much longer." They said, taking the eggs out the frypan. "Anyway, can we talk more during our break? Can't have customers complaining."

"Yeah sure, that'd be great actually." They then walked out with the plate of food. 

Your morning was a lot easier to deal with after that interaction, although you hated to admit it, they were annoying at times but you loved them. They were a great friend, and made working a lot easier to tolerate.

You filled the sink and placed the dishes in there, cleaning the least dirty to the most. More and more dishes came, but you tried your best to stay ahead. The dishwasher was going to take forever and only could do a small amount at a time, so this is unfortunately a job that had to be done.

After about an hour, you were close to being finished, and so was the dishwasher. After, you put the dishes away, then went up to your Charlie to check if they needed help with anything.

"To be honest, not really, business is slower than normal, which is a fucking relief." They whispered, so none of the customers could hear. 

"Nice, is Chloe gonna be here soon? It would be nice if she could cover the register, and we can chill in the back."

They shrugged, "Not sure, she's meant to be here at some point today but that's all I know."

You groaned, "Alright, since business is slow should I just sweep and mop now?" 

You heard that cursed bell ring, and you heard a honk. You instantly turned around, wondering what that noise was. 

"What the fuck..." Charlie muttered under their breath.

Your eyes widened, bile rose up in your throat. You stood still for a few moments as you locked eyes with that fucker, then you sprinted towards the staff toilet. You leaned over, the breakfast you ate not longer ago instantly came up. Your throat burned as acid tore at your throat. You clenched the toilet bowl as it kept going. You body shook rapidly from fear and shock.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

Why is he here, it was meant to be a fucking coincidence. Do I have a murderer stalking me?

You weren't sure what to do, but after about a minute you heard your Charlie running over.

"Hey, hey!" They said crouching down, rubbing your back. "What the hell was that? Are you okay?"

You nodded, "Yeah...." You croakily mumbled, your legs wobbling as you slowly stood up.

"Stay there if you need to, I can handle the front for a bit." 

You shook your head, "I'll be fine, it's fine. Just give me a minute and I'll clean up."

"Look Chloe should be here soon, when she gets here I'll explain you were sick so you had to leave. Got it?"

You rolled your eyes, "I'll be okay, I just got nauseous.-"

"No, you're heading home when she gets here."

You wanted to argue, but you knew it was probably a good idea. You didn't want to see... it again. 

"Fine, can I help just till she gets here?"

"Yeah sure, just don't overwork yourself and let me know if you feel ill again."

You nodded, moving towards the sink to splash water on your face. "Alright, I'm gonna head back, don't rush yourself I can handle it." They patted your back again, then walked off.

You looked down at your shirt, and thankfully there was no vomit. So, you went back to helping Charlie. As soon as you were in the doorway you spotted him, sitting down. "Hey, is it okay if you could pass this to the customer in the clown suit real quick? I just need to prepare another order."

You nodded, trying to not show your fear to them. "Yeah, of course!"

While you walked over, you noticed his eyes were on you. You looked at the floor, knowing it was rude but you were so afraid. You put the pancakes down in front of the clown. "Here's your order... sir." You mumbled, giving a forced smile. As you starting walking away, he beeped the horn. 

"Did you need something?" 

He nodded, gesturing you to come closer.

He looked at your hand, a frown forming on his face. But not a second later is was replaced with that eerie smile. He stared at you as he purposely knocked the plate down onto the floor. It shattered onto the ground. He covered his mouth, giving an exaggerated 'Oops' face. A few customers looked over giving a confused and concerned expression.

Your face turned into a thin line, what the fuck "I'm sorry sir, I'll be back." You quickly muttered, walking to Charlie, "Hey, look I can't do this right now, can you please talk to the clown? I'll do whatever you were doing before. I'm just really uncomfortable around him."

They nodded, noticing you were shaken up. "Yeah that's fine, but what's going on? You look horrified, did something happen?"

You shook your head, "It's nothing, just can you help him?"

"Okay, I'll do that now, you just need to make a strawberry milkshake for table 5 while I deal with the clown."

"Easy." You immediately started to work on it, you scooped the ice-cream, poured the milk and strawberry-flavoured syrup and then blended it. You occasionally heard words from your Charlie while they were trying to communicate with the clown. But of course it went nowhere. As you were pouring the milkshake into a plastic cup, they came up to you. "I have no idea what he wants, he's not responding at all to me. I clean up the mess, but I don't know what else to do. Was he at least responding to you?"

"Yeah, I guess, but I really, really don't want to talk to him. He's... scaring me." You glanced at the floor, feeling embarrassed. 

"It's okay, I'll figure something out. Other customers are starting to feel uncomfortable as well. Fuck, Chloe needs to get here soon."

"Yeah, hopefully, should I contact the boss?" 

They nodded, "Can you contact Chloe first? We need her here soon."

"I'll do that now, I'll try and make it quick." You hurried out to the back again, pulling out your phone. You dialled her number, but it immediately when to voice mail. "What the fuck..." You murmured, trying again. And again. You groaned, then decided to send her a quick message.

Y/n: Hey, are you still coming into work today? 

You hoped she'd read it soon, then you dialled your bosses number. Thankfully, you heard her voice on the other end. 

"Hello?"

"Hey, I heard from Charlie that Chloe would be coming in today at some point. What time would she be here? She isn't picking up any of my calls. "

You heard a sigh on the other end, "Give me a moment."

After 15 seconds of rustling sounds, she answered. "Alright, it says she'd be on around 2pm till 8pm. Is she not there?"

"No, she's not. It's 2:30."

You heard another sigh from your boss, "I'll try and contact her, that's all I can do. Is that all you needed?"

"No, I was wondering what to do about a customer. One of them is making me and Charlie uncomfortable. He keeps.... just doing stuff."

"If you want advice I need more details." 

You took a deep breath in, "For one he's in a clown outfit, which in itself isn't bad but it's just how he's acting doing it too. If that makes sense, and he purposely broke one of our plates, and acted like it was all funny. He then wouldn't talk to Charlie, only me. It's just such bizarre behaviour."

"Normally threatening them with the police will cause them to stop, but if he continues call the non-emergency line for the police. That's it."

"Alright, thank you."

"Bye." She said, the line ending.

You walked back to the register to talk to your Charlie. "Chloe was meant to be here at 2. What the fuck do we do? She isn't picking up my calls, she's not answering my messages and the boss just told us to threaten the clown with the police but fuck that I'm not comfortable with it I don't know him and he's scaring-"

"Calm down, you're gonna be okay. This isn't a big deal you'll be fine we can figure this out. I'll talk to him."

You glanced over your shoulder to look at the clown. He was sitting there, his chin resting on his hands, giving you a wink. 

"God fucking damn it." Your muttered under your breath, he waved at you, then gesturing for him to come over again. "He wants me to go over again, what do I do? What the fuck do I do?"

Charlie bit their bottom lip, "I can go over if you like and try again, but I doubt he'll listen."

"Fuck, fine, I'll fucking doing it." You whisper-yelled, immediately going over towards the clown. You noticed most of the customers had left. How had no one called the police yet? Maybe they thought it was someone trying to be funny? 

"Hello sir, is there anything I can help you with?"

The clown told you to stop, raising his pointer-finger. He then went through the garbage bag next to him. You heard the sounds of metal hitting metal, making you feeling almost as sick as before. He pulled out an envelope. You stared at it for a moment, noticing brown splotches over it. It looked like dried blood. You also noticed how there was a bump inside. You were about to place it down, but he gestured for you to open it.

You stared with widened eyes, really not wanting to. "I'm sorry sir... I-"

The clown gestured one more time, a deep frown on his face. You were afraid, so begrudgingly, you open it. And inside was a chunk of blonde hair, with a small amount of dyed-blue strands. You pulled it out and saw a piece of someone's scalp was attached. The blonde hair looked identical to Chloe's. You placed it back down onto the table, stepping back. 

"Why.... what did she do to you?"

You knew what he did. It was obvious. But all you wanted to know is why. Yeah she could be bitchy at times, but she never had bad intentions. Not anything worthy of her fucking dying.

The Clown silently giggled, slapping his knee like it was the funniest joke in the world. He pointed at you, mimicking a horrified look and then continued laughing. 

"Oh fuck this." You muttered, Charlie looked over and saw the terrified look on your face. "Charlie we need to get the fuck out now!" You yelled, grabbing their arm, dragging them into the kitchen. To get out through the front, you would've had to walk past him again, and that was not something that you wanted. 

You shoved them inside and slammed the door shut, locking it. "Grab a knife Charlie." They didn't ask questions, just grabbing it off the bench. The clown was walking over towards the counter, where you'd pass food through to the person at the register. He stood there smiling. 

"Nope, don't look just fucking get out." You urgently said to Charlie, grabbing their arm and leading them to the back door. You unlocked it ran out with them. You rummaged through your pockets and grabbed your keys, your hands shaking as you tried to open the car door. 

"Y/n your tires have been fucking slashed!" 

"Oh for fuck sake!" You yelled, this time they dragged you. You dropped your keys while they pulled you, "My keys!"

"It doesn't matter Y/n! There's a fucking psycho chasing us." 

You followed them, running to the nearest store. You looked behind, noticing the clown was behind, with that fucking garbage bag thrown on it's shoulder. 

As Charlie ran into the store, they yelled to call the police. They didn't care about scaring the workers, they just needed to make sure the both of you were safe. The woman at the register looked confused. They ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind the both of you. They fumbled with their phone, dialling the emergency number. 

"What's your emergency?"

"There's a fucking psycho chasing after us! He's trying to fucking kill us!" They yelled, sounding hysterical. 

"Okay, calm down. Are you safe right now?"

"I think so, we've locked ourselves in a random stores bathroom. We don't know where he is right now."

"Okay, what did he look like?"

"He-he was wearing a black and white clown outfit, like the one from the news!"

"Alright...." The operator said, sounding like they thought it was a prank call, but they still continued.

"What store are you in right now?" 

Charlie turned to you, "Do you know where we ran to?"

You shook your head, "I-I wasn't paying attention, I'm sorry!"

"It's fine." Charlie murmured, "We don't know, but can you guys track the phone?"

The woman sighed, "Yes we can, but if this is a prank call you will be in serious trouble."

"We aren't fucking lying, my fucking car tires were slashed and this fucker gave me an envelope with co-workers scalp in it! Get the damn police here right now or we could get brutally murdered!" You screamed at the operator.

"Please calm down, the police are on their way." The operator said, "Please stay on the line, are you hearing anything outside of the bathroom?"

Charlie spoke up, "No, it's oddly quiet out there, I... I don't know where he is. I don't know if he followed us in or not. We didn't look around."

The only thing you could hear was cars driving by, it was otherwise painfully silent.

"Fuck what happened to Chloe, oh god I hope she's okay. Please Chloe be okay." You whimpered, dropping to the ground. "Fuck I'm sorry Chloe, I'm so sorry." Tears welled up in your eyes, then started streaming down your face.

Charlie knelt down, placing their phone on the tiled floor, "Hey, it's okay, Chloe might still be out there. Probably not in the best condition but still maybe out there." They gently hugged you.

You sniffled, "What if that psycho grabbed my keys, I'm not even going to be safe in my own fucking home." You sobbed, "I didn't even do anything to him!" 

"I know, some people are just messed up, but you'll be okay, I'll make sure of it. No ones going to hurt you." 

Eventually, you heard the police sirens and them shouting. After a few moments they knocked on the bathroom door. You immediately unlocked it, running out. "Did you find him?" You asked, your eyes showing the hope in this being simple, like maybe he was waiting outside or something stupid. But of course, reality didn't work that way. 

"The only people we found were the workers here, I'm sorry." One of the officers said, "Do you have any injuries?"

You and Charlie shook your head.

"Alright, we're going to need to take you in for questioning."

--------

[maxdibert]

One thing I can't stand is how Marauders fans always bring up that Severus was a Death Eater and call him a Nazi. Like, he wasn't a Nazi! He spent years saving people and regretted it almost immediately! They made me so mad grrr

I think the problem with this fandom is that most people in it are very young, sometimes even teenagers, who don’t have a broad perspective on life or the world in general, and they tend to see everything in black and white. Of course, joining the Death Eaters was wrong, but many young people (especially vulnerable ones like Severus) fall into extremist groups or associate with terrible people at an early age.

One of my best friends today was part of a far-right political group when I first met her at 18. Today, she’s a social worker, and her ideas couldn’t be more opposite to what they were back then. But she came from a family that was literally part of a religious cult, and it was what she thought she was supposed to do. Then she went to university, broadened her perspective, cut ties with that nonsense, and now she dedicates her life to helping vulnerable youth.

I’m a criminal defense lawyer and work with an organization that helps people reintegrate into society after serving time in prison. I’ve heard all kinds of stories. And when I say all kinds, I’m not talking about people who just shoplifted once; I mean people who’ve lived incredibly messed-up lives and made terrible decisions. But the thing is, I’ve met people whose histories are absolutely horrendous, yet today they’re as harmless as teddy bears. People can change, especially young people who didn’t have good role models, emotional support, or resources.

Young people, particularly those abandoned by adults or left to fend for themselves, are especially vulnerable to going down the wrong path. You have to understand the context, see beyond the tree and look at the whole forest. That’s something Marauders fans refuse to do, because if they did, they’d have to admit that, yes, Severus was incredibly vulnerable, that he didn’t have resources or support, and that the rich kids who had everything chose to torment him to the point where his only escape was to align himself with the only people who accepted him and made him feel safe. Unfortunately, those people turned out to be a bunch of extremists with horrible ideas. But that doesn’t fit their narrative—or maybe they just can’t grasp it yet because they’ve still got a lot of growing up to do.

[angel-bugz]

Part One | Above & Below.

18+, MDNI Word count: 1.3k A/N: Okay, first proper fic in a while... i really hope you guys enjoy reading this. my writing skills are a little rusty at the moment but they will definitely improve in the next parts.

No one was surprised when they bought an apartment together. Wherever Ghost was, Soap was not too far behind. Whenever Ghost was absent, all questions were directed to Soap. The two were brothers in arms, the best of mates - twin flames, yin-and-yang. Inseparable. Ghost and Soap. Simon and Johnny.

It took Simon very little convincing to move into an apartment with Johnny. Simon tended to be in an overall bad mood about living on base, especially after an exhaustive week. Johnny believed that being away from base on the weekends would probably do both of them some good.

After a long and particularly rough week, the Task Force was brought to the local bar not too far from base under “captain’s orders”. It was rare to see the group at the bar without reason, though Price knew that a few drinks were needed to lighten the mood. (He definitely needed a few himself).

Johnny and Simon were eventually left to themselves at their usual booth in the bar. It was an unusually quiet night for the end of the week. Johnny didn’t care too much for what the others were doing; he had Simon to himself. And there it was, those miserable complaints again, about having to wake up hungover in the same bed he woke up in for his work duties. About having to deal with the rowdy, drunken others on the way back to base. Perfect timing for Johnny to–

“What about those apartments down the street?

Smooth Johnny, real smooth. Simon’s complaining ceased. He gave a short hum, considering Johnny’s suggestion. Wasn’t a bad idea. 

“Maybe. Bit expensive, aren’t they?”

“We could rent together– …just a thought.”

Simon had no reason to decline Johnny’s offer. The town wasn’t a terrible place to live in, and everything was close by. These specific apartments were known to be the best in town, given their high rent.

“Alright. We’ll sort it out tomorrow, then.”

Simon’s decision was given easily – no second thoughts, no hesitation. He was almost too casual about the deal. Really, he was excited to finally move away from base, living in peace and quiet. A small taste of a normal life outside the military. Johnny knew Simon well enough to recognize that – able to read him by only his eyes at this point. 

Johnny was barely able to stifle the grin on his face. 

There was one tiny problem, though. 

Johnny’s feelings towards Simon – which could be described similarly to that of a high school girl’s crush. Of course, Johnny wouldn’t ever cross the line with Simon. He never had any intention to overstep the boundaries of their friendship. However, living with Simon would prove to be a challenge for Johnny. He could only ignore his feelings around Simon for so long. He was definitely worried that he might slip up, come across as too weird or pushy, or ruin everything that he and Simon had built between them. Desires for Simon aside, Johnny was overthinking every little thing that could go wrong.

The one thing Johnny wasn’t worried about was missing his chance to confess to Simon. He had plenty of time ahead of him! There was no need to rush, and it wasn’t as if Simon was popular with the ladies. In fact, Simon was extremely unlucky when it came to women. 

To put it lightly, Simon was… socially off-putting. He was scarily tall, with a large build, and not to mention painfully awkward when talking to women. Despite his intimidating nature, he just really had no fucking clue how to talk to women in situations that weren’t work-related. Sure, he could talk to women as a lieutenant, a teammate, a co-worker. Even as a consumer at the grocery store. But romantically? Not a chance.

It wasn’t unusual to see a woman talking to Kyle or Johnny at the bar. Sometimes Price, too, had a woman trying to make advances on him, not yet aware of the pretty wife he had at home. Everyone had been hit on at least once in that bar. Everyone except Simon, whose conversations with civilian women at the bar (if any) were always short-lived and were limited to questions about his friends. There was absolutely no interest in him.

So, Johnny was certain that by the time he was ready to confess to Simon, he’d still be single – and hopefully open to the idea of being with a guy (or, more specifically, with him).

It had been almost a month since Johnny and Simon had moved into their new home. Two weekends was all it took before they finally settled. Now on their third, the apartment was fully furnished, their belongings were unpacked, and the fridge was nearly stocked. 

That was the first time you saw Simon – properly, this time. He was standing next to you, waiting for the elevator. A plastic bag in his hand, clearly having returned from the grocery store. You’d briefly seen the new neighbors moving in a couple of weeks ago, but you weren’t able to work up the courage to introduce yourself. Besides, they didn’t live on your floor, so it wasn’t like you were really their neighbor.

You tried not to stare at him for too long, but it was hard to ignore his generally large presence. Most people in the apartment complex were positive and friendly, but Simon didn’t pay an ounce of attention to you.

You quickly learned that the man was not a talker. In fact, you didn’t even get his name.

You glanced down at your phone screen every so often, but the silence between you was awkward (for you, at least. Simon didn’t seem to notice it). You felt like you had to say something, right? He was a new resident, after all. 

“You, uh… moved in recently, didn’t you?”

Your polite voice broke the silence, the question asked for the sole purpose of making conversation. You turned slightly to face Simon, your eyes flicking over his form. It was hard to gauge anything about him, especially with that black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face. 

He nodded at your question and offered nothing more. He glanced at you once – only for a second.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to an empty cabin. He let you step in first before following. You didn’t get the chance to ask which floor he was headed to before he pushed down the button on the elevator himself – the number seven lighting up as it was pressed. 

“...How’re you finding the apartment?”

Your voice broke the silence again. You both stood in opposite corners of the elevator, against the back wall. He looked at you as you spoke, his eyes meeting yours for half a second before quickly looking away.

“S’alright.” he muttered, followed by a shrug. His single response fell flat. He was clearly uninterested in small talk. That short answer alone had left the conversation fizzling out fast. The elevator ascended, slowly. Floor 3… 4… 5…

“Well, if you need anything, I’m just on the sixth floor… apartment sixty-four.”

You offered sweetly, just before the elevator doors opened at your floor. You doubted he would need anything from you - it’s the thought that counts, right? You gave him a smile before stepping off, but he only responded with a nod.

Leaving Simon standing there, feeling like a complete idiot. He mentally face palmed himself as he watched you walk off, as the elevator doors closed. Wishing he’d had the guts to ask for your number – or, hell, your name at least. His surgical face mask barely hid the pink dusting his cheeks.

He was sure he’d get another chance – especially now that he knew you resided in the apartment directly below his. He had to have another chance with you.

Divider creds: @bernardsbendystraws

Taglist: @sleep101 @lostintransist @callsign-selkie

[cuteskunkz]

╭──────────.★..─╮

One Night With You

╰─..★.──────────╯

(Mike Schmidt x Reader)

Summary~ Mike is a very touch starved man. He spends all his nights at work and the daytime caring for Abby if not sleeping. He hadn't been with a girl since his junior year, making him feel like a total loser. The amount of times where Mike went back and forth with his inner thoughts, convincing himself that he was the problem was getting pretty intense and it was clear that he just needed a night out to clear his mind and prove those thoughts wrong.

You've been a "dancer" for the past few months at the downtown strip club, just trying to make ends meet. There was a tough competition working against you. You were new to this line of work whereas the other girls had been in the game for a while now, but you kept pushing on desperately. How else were you going to make rent or keep the lights on? The nights were slow and building a consistent flow of clientele proved itself to be a challenge, that is until one night when you meet a new guy outside of the nightclub.

Tags~ Stripper reader, Mike is a SIMP!!!, lowkey enemies to lovers but not really, no smut (YET...)

Note~ This took me much longer than I thought since I've been super burnt out of writing lately, but I hope you guys enjoy! As always if there's anything in particular you would like to see in chapter 2, please lemme know

⊱✿⊰

Mike felt confused with the lack of responsibilities and errands to run on this warm summer night. Abby was off at a sleepover and Steve finally hired a second night shift worker, leaving him all alone with his reoccurring self doubt introspections. Dude gets one night for himself and simply cannot think of a single thing to do to pass the time. He laid there in his bed tossing and turning unable to fall asleep. He jolts up feeling frustrated with himself, "Ughh... just fall asleep already bro..." He shifts around in his bed and grunts, "I can't do this-". He sits up and sulks his way into the living room, plopping down on the couch. Mike pulls out his phone and begins to scroll.

He isn't really the social media type but had made an anonymous instagram account a while ago for mindlessly scrolling. After what seemed like hours, Mike stumbles across a video of you. You were practicing a routine for the club, twirling and moving seductively. Mike felt himself grow larger in his pants and put the phone down in shock. He stares up at the ceiling in disbelief, damn you really got him feeling this type of way this quickly? He looks down at his lap and feels helpless. He wrestles with his feelings for a while and ultimately picks his phone back up to look more into you.

He clicks on your account and "researches" a bit. There's multiple videos of you practicing, photos of your skimpy outfits, and the most captivating selfies he's ever seen. One of your posts has a location tagged in the top corner, "Deja Vu Showgirls". He looks further into the club, finding that it's not too far from the pizzeria. "Fuck it. Why not..." he whispers to himself. Mike ensures he's well groomed for the occasion. if you're there he wants make a good impression. He showers, dresses in the best outfit he can come up with, and slaps some product in his hair. He finally felt content with his appearance and hopped in the car.

You weren't surprised to see another night play out typically. Maybe 2 or 3 cheap lap dances and a couple short sets up on the stage for less than 50 bucks. This clearly isn't working for you, at this point you've spent more on outfits and shoes than you've made while working here. An older gentleman walks up to you reeking of alcohol and cheap cologne, you couldn't help but gulp at the thought of providing your services for him. Yeah you were a stripper but you still had standards that made doing your job successfully hard at times.

"Well aren't you something?" he slurs while damn near tipping over from intoxication. You sigh and snap into your persona. "I'd hope so, this outfit ain't cheap y'know!" you reply in a flirtatious tone. You grab him by the hand and lead him to a booth, preparing for the worst. He starts groping on your sides which makes you shudder. Maybe this place isn't for you after all. "H-hands off baby.... Use your eyes and focus on me" you redirect with confidence. Times like these made you wish someone could just scoop you off your feet and save you.

He drives to the location with his heart pounding out of his chest. He'd never been to strip club before so Mike felt nervous even making his way closer to where you have the slightest chance of being at. He pulled into the parking lot and shut his car off abruptly, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves. "What if she isn't here? I don't even know the girl why am I acting so fuckin' weird about this.... I really need to get out of the house more" he thinks to himself while gripping onto the steering wheel. After a few mental pep talks to himself, he finally musters up the courage to get out and make his way in.

Just as he goes to push the door to the club open, you storm out with eyes welling with tears. Mike stumbles back a bit not wanting to startle you. You're holding your pricey Pleaser heels in hand, walking barefoot and trying your best to keep it together. All you want is to curl up into a ball and quit at life. You thought that creepy dude would cheap out on a dance, not grope and hurl insulting names at you for rejecting his advances! You look up from the ground and lock eyes with a man you've never seen before. He's cute... too cute to be wasting his time at some dingy place like this.

"Can I help you?" you snap at him with a shaky voice. It was hard not to notice the concerned look on his face. "No I'm-" he stutters before you promptly cut him off. "Leave me the fuck alone then." His face goes pale hearing you say this, he didn't even get a chance to meet you yet and he feels as if he already blew it. You pace towards your car and pop the trunk, filling it with the all the contents of your locker. You pick a T-shirt out of your duffle bag and drape it over your revealing outfit. His presence is burning a hole into your back so you swiftly turn around to meet his gaze.

He walks over slow and bashfully. There's a pink tint to his cheeks and he can't keep his hands still out of anxiousness. "Dude are you good?" you ask. He looks as if he's going to break a sweat, "Yeah... I'm good. Are you though? You looked pretty shaken up back there." You assumed he was just another guy looking to get lucky with a dancer after a shift change. "Look, if you want to get some action, walk your ass into the club. I'm not who you're looking for" you reply. His stomach drops hearing your voice. It was one thing to see you for the first time, but to hear your voice even if it be out of anger made Mikes head spin. He didn't want to sound like a complete creep stalking you out to your job for a closer look but you were exactly who he wanted.

"That's not why I'm here. Fuck- look... To be totally honest, I'm not a strip club type of dude. I just- I saw a video of you on instagram and I was- y'know... impressed by your talent and beauty." Typical response coming from a man trying to bring a stripper home for the night you think to yourself. "I'm not shocked by your reaction. You realize that's what I hear like- 10 times a night, right?" you say with a sarcastic tone. He seemed a bit more genuine with his words than the others but men will do and say anything when they're in need of a quick fuck. "Not that type of girl sir. Try one of those cheap hookers down the road" you point down the street and close the trunk.

"Please... I know how this sounds, believe me I know how dudes are but-" He sighs and continues, "But I don't have a lot of experience with girls so- I thought coming here... to meet someone new would help" he says looking very serious, almost to the point of desperation. If he weren't so damn handsome you'd turn him down in a heartbeat but something in you is screaming to give him a chance. He seems to be telling the truth and damn is he starting to fluster you with the whole innocent act. "Fine. I'll give you my number but don't you dare think about blowing my phone up." You scribble your phone number into his palm with a pen from your bag and blow him a kiss while getting in your car to drive away.

Mike smirks and waves at you, watching you drive off into the distance. "That was easier than I expected...huh..." he whispers. He gets back into his car and texts you, already so eager to see you again. The message reads:

Hey it's Mike, the guy from earlier. You doing anything tonight? I could take us out to a bar or something? :)

His cheeks start to blush again from imagining you two hanging out. He desperately craves a deeper connection with you but doesn't want to come off as too interested off the bat, it could scare you off for all he knows! His phone dings and he reads it:

Shitttt I'm free as long as you're gonna be on your very best behavior!!

⊱✿⊰

*Read part 2 and part 3 here!*

It might take me a bit to get part two posted, but I'll try to give you guys as many updates as possible!!! Keep in mind I am a new writer. This is my third fic put out so far :))

[redflagshipwriter]

Nest Swap 9

masterpost

Having a mission changed everything. 

Tim took full advantage of his new knowledge of the holy manuals. The first rule that he took to heart was that he was meant to be armed. Of course! It made sense.

Unfortunately, he was also not meant to take any weapon onto the field that he hadn’t trained with. Tim thought hard for a while whether or not a suburban house counted as ‘in the field’, but it seemed like he should pay lip service to Batman’s rule. So he got some sharp things that seemed interesting and spent some time throwing them at a target. They kind of looked like Batarangs, but… different. 

“I don’t think bats change shape in the next ten years or so,” Tim muttered. He gave another half hearted throw. The thing dinged off the wall below his target. “So this isn’t meant to be a bat shape. Did Batman rebrand to the Birdman and no one fixed his wiki page yet? Is this a parallel universe and not my actual future?”

It occurred to him that it might be a bird because of Robin. But come on, Robins didn’t use sharp things. Robin was a child. It was irresponsible for children to use blades. 

Tim sent another thingy into the wall. It hit with the pointy end first this time and sank an inch into the wall to the right of the target. He held his breath as it wiggled for a moment. Then it went still without falling.

“Yes!” He punched the air. Thank gosh! He was getting bored with that. It was good to be done with training. It was kind of dull.

Steps one and two were finished. He had a weapon and he had trained with it. Tim went back to his list. The next technical skill set was lock picking. That was super easy and fun! Tim enjoyed the clear diagrams and explanations. There wasn’t anything to practice with, but he thought that he had the concept down handily. He grabbed a set of lockpicks for his khaki pockets. 

He needed to do a little more to understand the patterns of the target, as well as their background. Tim considered asking Jason for any information, but he probably didn’t have any. Maybe he wasn’t very good at googling. So he just did it. The Sausage Guy was more commonly known as Benedict Orange, a name that Tim really liked and mentally stored away to use as an alias when he was a superhero. 

Anyway. Tim figured out how old the guy was, where he’d gone to school, and a bunch of other stuff like the record of his marriage ten years ago. 

“Huh,” Tim said, brows furrowed. “I didn’t find a divorce record. But he’s single now?” Mr. Orange had accounts on a lot of dating sites. He was using his engagement photo for the profile photo, with his wife cut out.

That was weird. He tried to find the wife, but there wasn’t anything more recent than 8 years ago, when she’d announced that she was quitting her job on social media. 

…Tim had kind of a bad feeling about that. 

He put a pin in it for now, but he had a small theory at the back of his mind that started with ‘I think this guy killed his wife.’

Maybe that was how the human sausage thing started. Maybe he’d killed her on impulse and then needed a way to get rid of the body. And then maybe he’d gotten a taste for it.

Tim shuddered. Okay, okay, he was for real done thinking about this! Big yucky.

Benny Orange was an office worker with a title that Tim didn’t really understand. It seemed vague to the point of uselessness, but then again, that was office work. The relevant thing was that he got home around 6 pm, and he left at 8 am.

It was 10 in the morning. Tim could get over there and toss Benny’s home before the end of the workweek if he hurried. The manual said that you should never spend more than an hour investigating an unsecured location. It also said that you should file a report or directly inform someone of where you’d be. 

That part made Tim pause for a moment before he remembered that he’d told Jason. Jason would probably check on him when he woke up, or whatever.

Tim found an equipment belt that he could wrap around his waist twice to buckle on. He put his sharp things in it. Then he untucked his shirt, because he had tucked it in out of habit and that would make it harder to access his weapons. He frowned as he did it. It just felt wrong.

He put on his shoes and got out the door. He didn’t have a lot of time to waste if he wanted to be able to take his time, so Tim hailed a taxi to cross most of the distance this time. He was grateful that Mrs. Henderson was gone and there was no chance of seeing her. Last time had been a little bit of a disaster. Needing civilian help to get into the building was not a winning move.

He had bat-approved lockpicks this time. He went to the front door and did his best. 

It turned out that maybe he should have practiced? Tim started to sweat out in the open. It felt like someone was staring at his back. He looked at the houses around. No one was at their windows or walking outside. He started jumping whenever the tall herbs in Mr. Orange's garden swayed in the breeze. He had a lot of plants.

His hands were shaking. The sweat made his shirt stick to his back. He was going to get caught and in so much trouble.

When the door finally opened, Tim offered up a thanks to Bast, because he assumed the cat goddess was more likely to be pro-breaking and entering than other gods. That logic was just based off of what he knew about Catwoman, honestly. 

The first glimpse into Benedict Orange's home was disappointingly normal. He had vinyl flooring (easy to clean!), leather furniture, and a big flat TV high up on the wall. He didn’t have enough knickknacks and there was no art. There was a wood and glass case that was full of identical, unlabeled bottles with something red in it. Hot sauce? Was he a hot sauce guy?

Tim mentally reclassified Mr. Orange further down the list of ‘people I could talk to at a cocktail party.’

The place had the same layout as Mrs. Henderson’s place, just in reverse. Tim beelined to the kitchen because.. Well.

He just did.

The counter space where Mrs. Henderson had a hot water kettle, a big stand mixer, and a toaster was mostly clear here. Mr. Orange only had one piece of cooking machinery. Tim didn’t know it. He squinted at it. It was a big shiny stainless steel thing. It had a metal tray, a wheel, and like… a nozzle. When he climbed on a chair to look down, he could see there was a little tunnel tube thing where you could put stuff inside the body of the machine.

Weird. Moving on!

He checked inside the fridge. He stared for a moment of aghast silence. There was a stack of takeout containers, a bunch of seasonings in the door, and a stack of tupperware with something red in them. 

Cautiously, Tim dug one out and opened it.

“That’s raw meat,” he said, voice high. He put the box back in and then hesitated. Maybe he should be like, taking it? Or taking a sample? To see what animal it came from?

“I’ll think about it.” Tim shut the fridge a little harder than he needed to and beat feet out of the kitchen. He started checking the other rooms. He found the master bedroom. His nose wrinkled. “I don’t think he’s restyled this since Brenda died,” Tim complained. He looked at the curtains with extreme judgment. They were so outdated it wasn’t even funny, but they also weren’t retro yet!

Oh. Wait. Belatedly, Tim remembered that it was ten years into his future. So, maybe they were retro now. Anyways, Brenda had liked the trend for chickens and roosters. There were chickens and roosters everywhere in the decor, including a cute print of what was obviously intended to be a husband and wife pair snuggling on a sofa.

His heart hurt a little. He looked at it a little too long. 

Tim took a deep breath. Then he went back to looking for evidence. There wasn’t much in the bedroom, so clearly Mr. Orange had a personal office elsewhere. There were two more rooms in the apartment.

Tim opened the next door. The room was mostly a guest bedroom, with the notable exception of a huge chest freezer and a weird long wooden bar across the room.

Tim shut the door.

The last room was the office. There was a desk, a file cabinet, and a lockbox full of women’s drivers licenses.

“Yeah, okay,” Tim said under his breath. “He’s a serial killer.” He took photos and sent them to Jason immediately with the subject line “Yeah he’s a killer!!!”

Then he got down to sorting through the papers to see if there was anything else. Jason was a Robin, Tim supposed, so he’d need the evidence to show the police. It would be helpful if he just went and sorted it out now. He found warranties for the TV, the new freezer, and he presumed that ‘Meat Grinder’ meant the thing in the kitchen.

“I appreciate that he’s so organized, actually,” Tim muttered. He was hunched over digging through the bottom drawer now.

A key went into a door. 

Tim froze stock still. He slowly, silently shut the drawer. He stared at the closed door to the living room. On the other side of it, Mr. Orange unlocked and opened the front door. Tim slowly looked up, saw 12:14 on the clock, and vaguely registered that sometimes people come home on their lunch breaks.

The front door shut. There was a quiet metal sound that Tim thought was probably the chain lock. The chain lock that was too high for him to move without a chair to stand on.

Okay. Uh. He looked around for a place to hide. The best option was under the desk. Tim crawled through the legs of the chair, heart beating furiously.

He weighed his options. Wait it out and hope Mr. Orange didn’t come in?

…Seemed risky. But there was no way he was going to run out past the guy to the front door. At least, the odds that he’d get grabbed were just not good, not when he didn’t know where Mr. Orange was. 

Alright. Tim knew reality. He might not be able to get out of this on his own. At the very least, he should let Jason know what was going on so that they could add his murder to the list of charges. And maybe Jason was close by to help? Wayne Manor was awfully far away, so probably not. But it didn’t hurt to try.

He got his phone back out and was silently very glad that he had it. Jason had responded to his message. Tim didn’t take the time to read it, instead typing up a blank email with the subject line “um might need help asap :( he here”. He sent it. Then he huddled down to wait.

Noises came from the kitchen- the suction as the fridge opened. The beep of the microwave. A man’s voice saying, “What the fuck? Did I leave this here?”

His blood turned ice cold.

‘What did I do?’ Tim desperately tried to remember what he’d touched in the kitchen. Had he really moved something around? He didn’t remember anything! His heart rate went up like crazy.

The door opened. Tim flinched. His whole body started shaking uncontrollably.

Oh. No. It wasn’t this door yet. It was the door to the next room, the spare bedroom. He heard the weird squelch of the chest freezer opening. Then the closet door squeaked open. Something heavy moved around. 

“Well, it wasn’t you,” said Mr. Orange. There was a mean satisfaction in his tone. The heavy thing moved again.

Tim’s brain went a bit blank.

Who was he talking to? Was there someone in the apartment? Hidden behind something heavy?

He opened up another email. Jason hadn’t responded, so there was no way to know if he’d seen. Tim hastily typed up, “I think there’s a living hostage in the house” and sent it as the door to the office opened.

He hugged his arms around his knees and squeezed his eyes shut. Oh gosh. Oh heck. Oh no, oh no. He bit his lower lip and broke skin.

‘No. I can’t be a baby about this.’ 

It was really hard with how stiff his fingers felt. But Tim put the phone in his pocket and wrestled the sharp bird weapon out. He held it clumsily. And he watched Mr. Orange’s feet move around the room. They walked around the room. He saw the curtains move as Mr. Orange pulled them to check no one was hiding there. Then he knew that Mr. Orange was coming to his hiding spot.

Tim swallowed. He waited until Mr. Orange’s feet were in sight. He stabbed his sharp thing down through the top of Mr. Orange’s sock.

Mr. Orange bellowed and fell back against his filing cabinet. 

Tim scrambled out and ran.

He went towards the front door on automatic and nearly got there before he looked up and saw that yes, the chain lock was on. He couldn’t reach it. 

“You little shit!” Mr. Orange bellowed. He lunged at Tim. Tim barely dodged. He jabbed at him again without looking and barreled towards the door to Mrs. Henderson’s apartment. It only had a doorknob lock. He unlatched it, praying that she had not changed her ideas about the open door policy. The door handle turned.

He threw himself into the room and slammed the door shut. He clicked the little button lock.

Mr. Orange hit the door, hard. It shook. He wasn’t saying anything anymore. There was something about that which struck Tim as absolutely terrifying. Didn’t people bellow and yell when they were mad? 

He looked towards Mrs. Henderson’s door. The door shook again as Mr. Orange hit it.

Wood splintered.

If he went out Mrs. Henderson’s front door he could sprint for it. What were the odds he could outrun a grown man? If he did, wouldn’t Mr. Orange just get in his car? Potential witnesses had made Mr. Orange back off before, but he was more invested now in silencing Tim. And there was no one around. Tim had checked. 

The door splintered again. He could see Mr. Orange’s shoulder. Then a socked foot.

‘I don’t think I stabbed his foot well enough,’ some distant part of Tim’s brain catalogued. ‘He’s still moving on it. If I live past this, I’m going to commit to the next stabbing with more enthusiasm.’

He bolted for the stand where Mrs. Henderson kept her mace. He was just out of sight from Mr. Orange’s hole in the door. His heart thudded so loud. His shaking had stopped. The mace didn’t  feel heavy. 

‘If I was taller, i’d aim for the face. I can’t pull that off. I’ll aim for center mass. He may block with an arm, but theoretically his arm will be hurt enough that I’ll be able to pull back and make another swing.’

There was a catastrophic smash from inside Mr. Orange’s apartment. 

Then a “What the fuck-” that got cut off a little early. Mr. Orange sounded mad and confused. 

A thud. Two smaller thuds. A clicking. Tim wanted so badly to know what was going on. 

A hand reached through the hole in the door and unlatched the lock. 

Tim swallowed. He readied a swing. 

The door opened.

Tim took a step forward and swung Mrs. Henderson’s antique mace with maximum strength directly into the armored center mass of a guy who was NOT Mr. Orange.

“Oh my gosh,” Tim said, horrified, at the instant he connected. The guy was looking forward. He looked down too late, just as the mace hit.

There was sort of a bounce. The mace bounced back off the tummy armor without digging in or drawing blood. Half of Tim was relieved, and half was terrified that his plan had failed. 

The guy doubled over and made a sound that was a lot like GURK. He clutched at his torso with one arm and pointed a gun at Tim with the other.

Tim put his hands up.

The guy looked at Tim. Presumably. It was hard to tell through his ugly red motorcycle helmet.

“I really should have known.” 

His mechanical voice was scary.

Bad guy! 

Tim took his chances and another swing before the guy could shoot him. He expected to hear a shot as he smashed his mace again. The guy yelped and jerked backwards to avoid getting hit. Then there was a thud.

Tim peered through the door cautiously. The guy had tripped over Mr. Orange. Mr. Orange was laying on the floor facedown, arms zip tied behind his back. 

“Oh, sorry,” Tim apologized. He took a couple steps over to put the mace back away. He gave Mr. Orange a wide berth.

“I never would have guessed that the Red Hood used kids like this,” Mr. Orange said meanly. He narrowed his eyes at Tim. “Small, even for bait.”

The Red Hood guy pointed his gun at Mr. Orange’s head. Tim shrieked.

The Red guy stopped. He seemed to look at Tim again. He had some really bad words. “Alright.” He got back up to his feet and put the gun away.

Right. He’d probably just been joking or something. Tim belatedly registered the control it must have taken to not accidentally shoot while being attacked and falling over. 

Oh. Wait. It was a huge coincidence that a hero came right now, unless-

‘Is this Jason?’ Tim felt his eyebrows go all the way up. He wanted to ask a million questions. His mouth was firmly glued shut, though. Partly it was infosec. But it was also embarrassment.

[prettyoatmeal]

Confessing Feelings (König x Reader)

First tumblr post since years of being inactive and I’ve grown a real liking towards these fellas. They’re my baby girls ❤️❤️ Reader is GN and smaller-hinted (about 5'2-5'7). Sorry future me for horny posting.

WARNINGS: Very slight mentions of death but very tame. Overall fluff

SUMMARY: You confess your feelings to König in a dangerous situation and you don't want to go out without finally telling him how you feel. He feels the same and asks you out.

Word Count: 813

Masterlist here!

***************

König was a real gentle giant; it was no secret. Or well not to you at least. Being part of KorTac for a while now, you’ve gotten to know the Austrian military man over the time you’ve spent together. You were very intimidated by him at first, both because of his height and his build. Anyone would be if they saw a ripped 6’10 man in uniform with a hood covering his entire face and only his eyes able to stare down into your soul.

He was very timid with you at first as well due to his social anxiety, poor boy doesn’t have those confident friend-making skills. Long story short, you two were both afraid of talking to each other. You were scared of him, and he was scared of you. Though, you two were once paired together and had to look after each other. You’d finally built up the courage to crack a joke about the situation you were found yourself in, and then you two slowly started chatting both in and outside of missions.

He was charmed by your outgoing nature by the time you two were regularly talking, and he’d become attached. Super attached. You'd often be the one talking and he'd be the one doing the listening. But he didn't complain. He couldn't complain. He loved, loved, LOVED hearing you talk, finding the biggest comfort in your voice.

This wasn’t to say you hadn’t grown a fond of him either, realising how you two clicked instantly, you knew you’ve made a lifelong friend (eventual boyfriend, and maybe even husband, who knows?). If you two were on missions together, he'd never let you out if his sight. And if you weren’t on missions, you two would be inseparable anyway, always together, to the point of even creating little pet names for each other; him calling you Mous, and you calling him Bear. You two slowly started building those strong feelings for each other but neither of you wanted to admit it, valuing you guys’ friendship (and jobs) too high to lose.

You finally mustered up the courage to tell him you like him in a life or death situation on one of your missions. Finding yourselves in immediate danger, you didn't want to go out without telling him.

“I like you. A lot. As a crush.” You would whisper out, not knowing if it’s like last time you two will ever see each other again.

“… scheiße…” he’d reply to you in a low growl, causing your stomach to drop as you instantly figured he didn't feel the same. Though in reality, his gears were turning and he was preparing himself to grab you by the waist and sprint to safety with you in his arms.

The moment you two were back at safety, the adrenaline slowly wearing off, he asked you,

“Do you really, (Y/N)?” And you’d nod, looking down and feeling ashamed for developing such a crush on technically a co-workers. It was at that time when you’d felt the most vulnerable in your entire life as the beast of a man stood above you, his dark eyes looking straight down at you.

He thought his heart would beat out of his chest, taking his gloved hand and placing a finger under your chin to make you look up at him. Of course you two were both nervous out of your mind. Your eyes scattered as your knees went a little weak from that gesture alone before your eyes finally fixed themselves onto König's. You could now tell by the little squint in his eyes was that he was smiling widely under the hood. And by pulling it just enough to reveal his lips, he gained that little burst of confidence to lean down and place a small kiss onto your lips. All the worries and nerves calmed themselves as your lips moved in unison.

He was always scared to touch you, knowing how small and fragile you are compared to him. He'd slapped you on the back once after a successful mission like he would with the other boys. The difference is that they have that butt load of extra muscle mass to keep them grounded. The boys were massive, you were not. The 'harmless' slap caused you to jolt forward, almost losing your balance and giving him the biggest scare of his life. After that, he'd refuse to ever lay a hand on you, afraid of his own strength and hurting you any further. Only in specific situations would he ever touch you. This was one of those situations.

Pulling away from the kiss, König lets out a shy giggle as the burst of confidence in him slowly flying away and going back to his more timid, shy self.

"So, uh.. you free after we get back day after tomorrow, Mous?"

Yes. Yes, you were.

***************

Hello there. Sorry this was an impulse post I whipped up in like 15 minutes. This is not proof read so please ignore any grammar or spelling mistakes.

[pumpkinsy0]

The most thoughtful gift Curly ever gave Pony is a false book yeah Pony thought it was a prank at first until Curly mentioned how he could hide his cigarettes there in plain sight from the social workers and then Pony thought Curly hung the moon every night for like a week.

For Curly, it was a switchblade from Pony that had his name engraved on it. The Shepards might not be as tight as The Curtis, but they're trained; and boy do they steal shit left and right and 2 times Curly has had his blade stolen (and of course Tim didn't give a fuck to back him up) so with a gold "Curly" engraved on it, now Curly has full rights to beat their ass for theft. (But usually Curly doesn't use it in a fight. He actually likes to crave stuff out of it, like little animal figures from sticks and wood. He feels it's more useful and poetic. And if he's honest, this is the first time he's used a weapon for creating something rather destroying. He feels Pony healing his soul every time he uses it)

ANNDDDD TO ADD ON☝🏽☝🏽

bonus points if its not like one of those fake books made by a company, maybe curly actually made it himself!! he can tell bc the cutting inside the book is pretty crudely done, hell if he looks at a few pages he can see spots of curlys dried blood from accidentally cutting himself(he did it 3 times if u were wondering) and that makes pony like it even more, bc that means curly spent his time w it and thought of him, makes pony feel a bit special

MOREEEE bonus points if the blade has curlys name spelt w ponys handwriting, it was a surprise gift and pony didnt ask curly to spell his name for him or somethin, so pony just had to use his own handwriting, but curly likes it anyways, it feels more personal to him!!!ANNDDDD he likes to use that blade to carve out “c + p was here” or something along those lines, he feels extra proud to do it actually and on top of it being the only weapon he uses to create, its also the only one he just takes out to just admire, u can find him at the kitchen table just looking at how the blade and the gold part of it glints under the shitty light

[redvelvetcupcakes21]

Don't ask me why ask me why I wrote this.

But enjoy!

(I think I just got emotional over the parents dropping their kids off for the first time for their first day of school 😭)

The stupid fire was too much for any of them. It had been burning for over 4 days now and Tommy couldn't help but feel his stomach drop as he realized the fire had demolished the row of cabins that were scattered around the woods.

He and his team had managed to save a few people, sadly there was one family that Tommy's team could save except for the infant.

"Having a child is like having your heart walk outside your chest"

It was something he had heard Evan say when it came to Jee and Chris.

He understood it, he had had his own nephew, two nieces, and one God daughter.

He just never experienced it.

Until now.

At first he thought it was because it was out of guilt, they couldn't save the parents in time. And then he thought it was because the baby (he looked maybe 1 or 2 years old) had a port wine birthmark. A reminder of Evan, but unlike Evan the birthmark covered nearly half of the baby's face; just stopping shy of the boys nose and left ear. His hair was dark, as well as his eyes- the opposite of Evan. But Tommy couldn't help but think the kid looked like how Tommy did when he was little.

Or maybe, it had to do with the fact that the kid was deaf. Tommy noticed the hearing aids when they were loading the kid into the helicopter.

-

"Mr. Kinnard, you okay?"

Tommy smiled politely at the nurse and social worker standing outside of Lucas's door.

In the following days since his team had saved Lucas, Tommy had learned a few things 1) Lucas was 2 years old, he was indeed deaf and knew some ASL, 2) he had thankfully came out of the burning cabin with no burns but minimal smoke inhalation and 3) they had found some of Lucas's family- but unfortunately due to financial reasons and location, the family members couldn't take the toddler in.

Yeah, that broke Tommy's heart into pieces because the kid deserved to be with family.

Tommy knew some ASL, he had learned some as a child thanks to his next door neighbors daughter teaching him in the case Tommy wanted to say hi to his neighbor. He had picked more up while in the military during downtime but not enough to carry a conversation. So he had relied on the ASL interpreter when visiting Lucas.

"God, he's adorable." Buck cooed as he kneeled down on the floor where they had a blanket out for him, Lucas, and Tommy. They had decided to buy Lucas some cool toy firetrucks since Lucas had told everyone at the hospital that he was best friends with firefighter Tommy and Buck.

(Tommy would forever remember the moment when Lucas tried to stand up on the hospital bed, excitedly pointing to himself and then at Evan, signing something so quickly that the interpreter had to ask Lucas to sign again for her.

"What did he say?" Buck smiled, letting out a chuckle as Lucas went in for a hug.

"He said you look like him.")

"You know, Tasha said that they're going to begin looking for foster parents for him pretty soon." Tommy tried and failed to sound subtle, they had spoken about having kids in passing. It wasn't a number one priority for them, but it was something they did talk about.

Buck didn't even pretend to look shocked or surprised.

"Uh-Is that your way of talking about becoming foster parents for this cutie?" Buck smiled brightly, he looked at Lucas and signed "Hungry?"

Lucas signed "No." Happily going back to playing with firetruck. He pushed the truck into Tommy's knee, signing to the older man "Look!"

Tommy signed back "it's so cool."

(It surprised absolutely no one that Buck had immediately started to watch ASL videos the moment he learned about Lucas.)

"Are we really doing this?" Buck asked excitedly, he looked at Tommy hopefully. Tommy could see the excitement but fear in his boyfriend’s words.

"Yeah." Tommy nodded, "I think we really are." He smiled back, "We should talk to Tasha, see what we need to do."

Buck nodded, heaving a sigh as he remembered what Hen and Karen had gone through with both Nia and Mara. He wasn't sure if he could handle losing Lucas, but ever he had met Lucas he felt like had finally found the last missing puzzle piece of his heart.

"You ready for this?" Buck asked his boyfriend, he had noticed how attached Tommy was to the kid the moment Tommy had brought him to Buck after returning from his strike team deployment.

Tommy paused to look at Lucas, running his finger gingerly through the boy's dark curls. Lucas looked up and smiled lovingly at Tommy who reciprocated.

"I'm terrified to be honest with you, but I'm ready." Tommy admitted, "it's exciting and terrifying to hope we can become a permanent family."

Buck nodded in agreement. "So we're gonna keep our expectations low then, baby steps through out all this then. Right?"

"Right."

Buck squeezed Tommy's hand in reassurance. "So let's talk to Tasha then.

(Tasha had been ready for them, without a word she pulled a heavy manilla folder from her backpack, "I was wondering when you two would finally ask me about taking Lucas in." She told them excitedly.)

[pigeonstab]

So, I actually managed 1005 words! which is like 250 more than i had before, yippee!!

I think some CWs are needed for this one, basically this is a bit of insight into Cross's childhood, he's probably around 13 here?

//CW vomiting & child abuse??// (lmk if there are any more needed)

Raindrops hit the car window, blurring the sight of the city lights behind the panes with a soft pattering sound. Cross was cold. The air was humid and he wanted to go home. Wherever that was.

The car ride had been spent in silence, as had all the other ones these past months. Cross kept himself entertained, watching flashes of light pass through the darkness of the car, observing as they shifted and bent with the shape of the seats or as they passed over his legs. He didn’t know if he could do this again, if he’d find the courage to. He wanted to say something though he knew he shouldn’t, protesting never got him anything but remarks and lectures.

He’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“I don’t wanna go.” His throat felt tight and there was a growing pressure behind his eyes. he had to tell someone.

A heavy sigh came from the driver’s seat and Cross winced “And I don’t wanna hear it Cross. This is your third placement in three months. You know how these things go.” her tone stayed stern and cold. He didn’t know why he ever tried. A beat passed “You know if you would just behave–”

“I know” he snapped at her, holding his brow, a low growl building in his throat.

“See? This is exactly what I mean!”

“Oh, fuck off!” He knew he’d made a mistake as soon as the words left him.

The car came to an abrupt stop at the red light and Cross flinched when she twisted around to face him, her face contorted with rage, pointing an accusing finger in his face.

“I’m doing this for you, you know that right?” She started “I’m driving you there but if you wanna be like that, you can get out of the car and walk your stuff to the new house. And then you could do the introductions and explain all that’s wrong with you. Since you like talking so much. Is that what you want? Huh?”

Cross stayed quiet, curling up on himself. He knew this was a shit idea anyway. She never listened. Tears ran down his cheeks as he kept his eyes glued to the floor. “’m sorry..”

She merely scoffed, turning back to the road as the light turned green. “And stop crying.”

–––––––––––––––––––

Now, Cross stood quietly, his backpack in hand, and in it all his meager belongings. He cringed as his social worker rung the doorbell of the new house.

The door opened, blinding Cross with the warm light coming from inside. He felt like he could cry again. Wanting nothing more than to go back to the car.

His social worker greeted the man at the door, a smile plastered on her face that she only used when talking to the foster parents. Cross was disgusted at her hypocrisy. This house would be just like the other ones, they’d act nice for a bit while he was quiet and docile and then at the first sign of resistance they’d realize he’s nothing but a wild animal, ‘a problem child’. Once he snaps at them, once he’s not just a way to give them good conscience. He hated them already, he hated this.

He wanted out. He liked it better with Epic. He should’ve stayed with him.

“Cross, are you coming?” He was pulled from of his thoughts as she called him inside. She’d already told his new foster parents about the protocol for his shifts, he knew because the man he’d seen earlier was holding a vial of wolfsbane in his hand. He shuddered, it was rare when foster parents let him spend full moons without sedation. He didn’t like the way they looked at him.

Like they were nice, like they weren’t going to hurt him. Cross hoped they’d let him keep his books. Maybe they wouldn’t be as bad as the last ones.

–––––––––––––––––––

Cross knew this placement had been a bad idea. He panted and whined as he struggled against the silver shackles attaching him to the basement radiator, his arms were pulled back uncomfortably and the silver was burning him, he could hear his own flesh start to sizzle.

He’d been annoying, he knew he’d been bad, but he didn’t think they’d even keep him around long enough to deal with a full moon. They’d laced his water with wolfsbane at dinner. Of course that wouldn’t be a problem if only they hadn’t put this much. It wasn’t his usual dose and he could feel his body rejecting it, his stomach clenched and he tried his best to fight it as he gagged, his diaphragm working to expel the poison from his metabolism, his chest heaved and Cross retched, only slightly purple tinted bile left him as he sobbed.

Everything was aching, his limbs weren’t responding and he felt sluggish, his senses held in a panicked torpor. He didn’t know how long he’d been crying, his wrists feel raw and chaffed. He felt his body forcing itself into a different shape as the full moon rose and illuminated the basement through a small window, his mind stuck in an exhausting loop of unfinished thoughts and panic, and he howled in pain as the first cracks rang out and echoed in the basement.

The smell of blood permeated the air. he couldn’t think. The poison left him immobile, save for the slight shivering that wracked his small furry form. Cross wanted out.

Closing his eyes and letting his tired mind drift off, he thought of green grass and cool air, the sound of the leaves rustling with the wind, feeling his paws hit the earth with each bound, wind rushing past him, ruffling his fur, it was enough to satiate the instincts clawing at the back of his head. And in the morning he’d wake up wishing he hadn’t. But for now, hurting and laying on cold damp concrete floor, hidden back into the retreat of his mind, he felt calmer.

[cloveroctobers]

SILVERADO — Boone [September Prompts]🩶

A/N: this was actually supposed to be my first drop out of the small bits of twisters fics that I’ve written but I’ve been waiting on a certain song that I knew fit perfectly for my loud mouthed ADHD baby + storyline so blame her okay!?

WARNINGS: written in bullet form as a “quick” summarized read type of situation since I’m not entirely in the mood to write a fic, possibly language, giving Boone a backstory along with reader (not overly done for reader dont worry), & the anxieties of finding your place in the world!

PROMPT ADDED FROM HERE & I’m using: 8) a coat draped gently over a sleeping form.

˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు

It’s become a thing, pointing out Silverado’s or catching each other’s eyes across the field whenever the other spots it first.

This was also a shared look that was given after the EF5 hit down in Oklahoma (along with the vicious wind that shoved you to the theater wall that you thought you may have broken a rib. Boone rushed over to you, getting you back up to shaky feet and underneath the seats as he shielded a bruised you and you accepted that maybe this was how it was intended for you to die, right in Boone’s arms. When it was over you snorted to yourself, not believing that you were more dramatic than Boone in that moment!) and you both made it back outside to excess the damage before running to Kate out on the field. 

A silent message of being thankful for that truck because the both of you came a long way since North Carolina but that didn’t mean you weren’t the same people inside.

You and Boone went to high school together, weren’t really in the same circles but had a few classes together and actually ended up bonding over a Saturday detention (you initiated a walk out during one of your classes and Boone set off fireworks in a nearby trashcan in the hallway for fun but actually caused the schools nervous wreck of a teacher to go to the hospital over it. She didn’t die though!) —real breakfast club type shit—which you mentioned and Boone was in awe that you knew of that classic.

That’s where you learned he was a huge film nerd and not just some loud class clown.

He would film majority of his friends doing stupid stunts and parkour all over the city but as an artist yourself, you appreciated the perspective.

Boone even started slipping pieces of paper of handwritten recs of films for you, whether it was in class or in your locker and you for him with books.

You learn he’s dyslexic and got crapped on about it by some “friends” and even a few mean teachers growing up. Boone even debated about dropping out of school after some disciplinary action was in place after he got violent because of his learning disability junior year.

thankfully he had a caring guidance counselor and a social worker who looked out for him and taught him how to start using his own voice in better ways, even if he chest got tight, blood was boiling, and if he stuttered.

Even learned new techniques to help him out with reading and writing.

He didn’t like getting confrontational but he had to learn to stick up for himself and sure it didn’t have to turn violent and he vowed to never get to that head space again but it was still a page of what made Boone, Boone.

He lived in many foster homes since the age of seven and some were less than pleasant. His mother couldn’t care for him anymore and he never knew why, which left an ache he couldn’t describe but he still remembered what she smelled like.

His father passed before he was born but he’s got a pocket sized picture of him at a race track…he’s got his easy smile and jawline.

His mother named him, “boone,” because that’s where she gave birth to him in NC. It’s not a nickname, or last name, it’s his government.

You’re originally from PA but moved away from a bad home life to live with your grandparents sophomore year in Banner Elk, NC.

Boone was able to reconnect with his father’s sister (who funny enough lived in Miami and actually knew Javi’s family) claimed that if she would have known she had a nephew, she would have done everything in her power to raise him.

He let her in because he’s always wanted to know what it felt like to have family that was blood.

Once high school was done, the both of you enrolled into community college with Boone majoring in media studies and video production and you in screenwriting and illustration.

Boone expressed that he felt like the school wasn’t teaching him anything he already didn’t learn on his own and quickly grew tired of the routine of school.

He was the first to drop out with the plan of having his own production company, he already had a camera or two and a laptop that he worked hard for at a shitty minimum wage job since he was fifteen and he had the YouTube channel that has over nine hundred subs then that he accumulated, thanks to those old videos of his childish high school friends but he also had side gigs of editing a few other YouTubers videos that gained traction.

It seemed Boone always knew what he wanted to do and didn’t mind if it took time. He knew after awhile that he couldn’t grow if he stayed in NC and knew it was a big ask for you come with him, asking you while the both of you swayed on your grandmother’s porch swing after that thanksgiving feast.

“…And where exactly are you going?”

He sent you that easy smile with the small laughter lines on his cheek, hands clasped together over the brown fedora that looked an awful lot like your papa’s (grandfather’s), “wherever the world needs me, baby. And I need my best bud to be right there with me but no pressure.”

Which sounds like he didn’t have any idea, just like whenever he would sneak onto your GranGran’s and papa’s property trying to get you to hang out with him at midnight on a school night. “To do what, boone?” You whisper-yelled from your window half awake; you hated having your sleep disrupted.

“Does it matter?! Why wouldn’t you want to spend time with me? I’m good lookin’, talented, the bestest buddy you could have ever asked for—

“Yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“Dang, don’t got to be so sassy about it.” Boone pouted with his arms crossed.

Yeah he was a sensitive thing but you loved him anyway, it was that kind of charm and heart that made it impossible to not believe in him. Sure you weren’t friends long back then but it felt like you were going to know him for a lifetime and vowed to have that friendship even more after that.

You didn’t break right away, telling him you’ll think about it but you were spending the holidays together and going Black Friday shopping with your papa—which your Gran-Gran all called you fools for doing.

She still went on that tangent about that time she went Black Friday shopping with her sisters back in the late seventies when she was pregnant with your father!!! which resulted in your papa having to post bail for her 😬

After a talk with your grandparents, your gran wasn’t exactly thrilled about this whole idea of you exploring the world while your papa was usually always down for an adventure and he liked that Boone brought that out of you.

In short: You were the house black cat and Boone was the golden retriever.

It’s funny how it took some time for papa to get along with Boone and see that he wasn’t just some loud mouth nut job who was always “all over the place!”, but actually found him to be a good friend of yours.

And Boone wasn’t going anywhere so Papa had to learn to love him.

You made some friends during your first year in NC, sophomore year but you know how high school friendships sometimes turns out!

Boone was the only one who you ended up being tight with after the diplomas.

Ofc they started to come back around once The Tornado Wranglers made it big but you made it clear that you wanted them to get well soon from their clout chasing. You really weren’t on the team anyway, which if you brought this up to any of the members they would tell you it’s all hogwash.

You came up a few of the designs and knew some web designers after the both of you settled in Arkansas (and they also helped you with your own work) but you kept far away from the tornados as much as you could…however you experienced one or two up close (before Oklahoma) after Boone and Tyler dragged you along just to show you what a day in their life on the job was like.

Tyler was also something.

He came up out of the blue and seemed to know who Boone was, Tyler saw his much smaller channel and was a fan of Boone’s work and said he could use someone like him for a team he had in the works.

Boone told him, “I appreciate that man, really I do but I’m a package deal.”

And that’s when the two of them snuck up on you at the parking lot of a 7/11.

You’re scowling at not having any luck on the lotto tickets that’s placed on the console when they catch you off guard.

You’re the skeptic of the two, wondering what the guy with the wide grins that resembles folds of batter motive was.

“Nah, I don’t buy it. You could be a undercover creep of a serial killer for all we know.”

Tyler laughs while Boone is rolling his eyes up to the clouds, “you’ll have to excuse my friend here…first they’re sour, then they’re sweet.”

“I’m not offended by any means, you do have to be careful out here…especially if you’re all each other’s got.” It didn’t take Tyler long to analyze the situation: old joints in a liter bottle, duffle bags tossed in the backseats, ash on the dashboard, minute man and Wendy’s leftover bags that decorated the front floor thanks to you having the passenger side door open to the 2007 Silverado.

In summary, Tyler assumed that the both of you were either on a lengthy road trip thanks to the NC plates or you were living in this car.

He would be right.

You held on for the longest being Boone’s road partner but there were times where this journey became a lot and arguments were had. Even storming off to catch a ride with a trucker back to the nearest rest stop to hitch more rides back to NC.

It took time but Boone searched for you, after you left. Almost had a panic attack once he realized the outcome of this disagreement—you no longer being by his side.

Boone’s voice is shaking once he locates you, “What? you don’t believe in my dreams anymore or somethin’? You don’t think I can do this?”

“I never not once ever believed you couldn’t. I’m your biggest fan, no matter what you do but I’ve got dreams too and this isn’t what I pictured.”

“Well i can’t fully say ditto to that cupcake, you’ve always been part of mine.”

And that got you back into the Silverado, things tossed right back into the backseat and arms wrapped tightly across his shoulders. “I love you booney, I don’t know how many times I’ve got to tell you and I can never picture a world without you in it. Life is just so damn hard sometimes and I don’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, I get it but we’ll be fine.” He mumbles against your shoulder, “I’m sorry for raising my voice…I just need you to never leave me, alright? You have no idea what that does to my heart.”

You kiss his cheek and apologize too.

That all happened a couple of days before Tyler found you two and ofc you didn’t want to be looked at like a charity case (especially since your gran-gran always told you to come on back home) but Tyler proved that wasn’t his mission in creating the wranglers.

You were more leery towards Tyler whereas Boone was more open.

Tyler even opened up his home in the natural state but you chose to continue sleeping in the Silverado for the first night or so until your back and neck told you to let your guard down some.

He gave you two the tour of his spacious storage unit where he sometimes did his sit down streaming on where he kept track of storms all over America and talked about them. If he wasn’t out there getting in on the action, he was sharing his knowledge on how this storm was working and providing links to support family and businesses that needed help.

Tyler Owens journey was lengthy too, you two learn. He vaguely talked about it on his channel but he felt like he could be open with you two in private and saw the determination in both of your eyes.

Boone with all things film and you with illustrating. You picked up that interest more than ever after being trapped in the car and grabbing a sketch pad from the dollar store you two always made a routine of going to on Sundays nights.

It was long a time coming, seeing this kind of success. With boone being the head videographer and editor, finding more family members along the way, settling into Arkansas (which you never would have guessed for the two of you), finding your own path in this world writing for some tv series and selling illustrations as a small business online.

There were talks of a certain network that reached out to Tyler, wondering if he wanted to have his own show—which was different than running a YouTube channel—and everyone turned to you that night in your shared townhouse at dinner, which you were oblivious to as you chewed into your food happily before being elbowed by Lily who almost made you drop your fork.

“Ow?”

The woman with locs looks unapologetic, “So whaddaya think about that?”

“About?” You question, now reaching for your beverage.

Lily groans with a hand slapped to her face, Dani laughs with a shake of her head, and Boone is seated across from you, leaning on his own elbows to peek at the screen Dexter is on to see if he’s listening, since (you weren’t) he’s visiting family back in Detroit.

Javi speaks, “told y’all not to bring this up while they’re not all the way fed yet.”

“Shut up, Javi.” Kate says while he raises his hands in surrender.

You turn your eyes into slits as you wave the fork at each and everyone of them, “Wait…have you guys been talking about me behind my back? And what for?”

Tyler clears his throat, “well if you had your listening ears on—

“Hey,” Boone warns, “not too much, T.”

“My bad,” Tyler sends a knowing grin before continuing, “You would have heard that I have a proposal for you—

“Ew, this finger is kindly reserved and not for you.” You peek down at the tatted diamond on that exact finger.

Tyler frowns, “now wait a minute, what do you mean by ‘ew?’”

Javi and Dani snicker leaning into each other, trying to stifle their laughter at Tyler’s offense.

You keep your eyes on the cowboy while feeling familar eyes burning into the side of your face, “get on with it rodeo grinch, I’ve got an early morning.”

That makes the table go silent, which was odd. Everyone was used to having their own separate conversations but the focus was on you this evening.

“Right,” Tyler clears his throat glancing at Boone who dips his head and gives him the okay sign which makes you furrow your brows and ready to question what that was but he quickly carries on, “I have a feelin’ I’m going to be part of that early morning since the executives that you work for invited me…well Kate, Javi, and myself to meet with your writing team for a show that approached me and wrote to me about.”

You take in this information, “okay…that’s huge if you’re all open to it? You’re be able to reach even bigger audiences than you already have. Are they including everyone?”

Kate speaks now, “we told them we wouldn’t be involved if everyone isn’t. They just want to meet with us three first and then if we agree to whatever contract they have for us, then they’re bring in everyone else to do the same.”

Two seperate signing contract sessions…you hoped they had a lawyer they trusted.

You’re actually shocked that Kate was interested since she was sorta like you, not wanting to be the face of the wranglers and cared more about the work than the show. She’s introverted but seemed to get along with everyone once she got a better understanding of what this team was about.

“Wow! That’s great guys, I’m happy for you.” You smile at everyone, which lingered longer on Boone who winked at you.

“Which also means that it doesn’t work without you,” Tyler adds, “I told them if they’re going to have some sort of layout of how these episodes are going to go they have to give me the best when it comes to these things and that’s you.”

You pointed to yourself which everyone nodded to, “that’s sweet and all Ty but… none of you give scripted tv. It wouldn���t be authentic to any of your characters.”

“Hear, hear!” Lily raises her black plastic up, “thank you for knowing us so well! But we definitely need you just as much as they need us. You’ll have our backs on the inside, is what Tyler is taking too long to get at.”

Tyler sarcastically replies, “thank you, lily. Yeah…we already told them what we wanted and they said they would talk to you about it?”

“I guess that’s what Jason was blowing my phone up about all weekend but he knows not to bother me on the weekends and he did it anyway.” You mentioned, “I’m thankful that you all think so highly about me—

“Are you kidding?! Course we do! Each of us makes up the perfect puzzle to this little gang.” Dani announces while Dexter nods.

“What Dani said!” Dexter calls out.

“Don’t forget that other part though, Tyler. About you wanting them to also be your manager.” Javi tells, making you blink rapidly.

“Seriously, Dude!?” What was it with everyone speaking for Tyler tonight?

Javi shrugs, “Just had to rip the band aid off, man.”

“…you’re asking for a whole lot here…when did this even all come about?” You sit back in your chair, feeling your crossed foot shake a little.

Dani answers, “well there were talks about it before we touched down in Oklahoma but Ty’s been giving them the runaround. It wasn’t until he and Kate made it to New York to pitch the barrels that the producers actually popped up to Tyler’s house to talk more about the show in works.”

If looks can kill, if looks can kill!

“But Tyler’s been thinkin’ about making you his manager for the longest if that helps?” Kate also cuts in, her tone attempted to be comforting although she can tell you’re dissociating.

She’s been there.

“It doesn’t.” You’re monotone but Boone can see the pressure weighing in on you. He thought having you part of the wranglers in this way would be the best but he knew Tyler asking you to also be his manager would be more than a lot, considering you didn’t like him chasing after storms anyway but you would never get in between that.

It’s his passion and who were you to crap on it? You saw Boone in his element, watching the videos whenever he wasn’t around and when he was, witnessing just how much went into all of it and you were more than proud. So you always said a silent prayer, every time he ran off to Tyler’s red suv doing some wild flip that should have broken his neck and was always excited to clock in for the day with his other best bud.

“I told you we should have buttered them up with a root beer float or a possum pie.” Lily muttered to Dani and Javi, while you went quiet.

The rest of the dinner was a little awkward but you all pushed through it since there was the weighing question of what you ultimately chose to do. You were more behind the scenes if the wranglers ever asked for your help on anything, preferring it that way and sure it would still be the same but not really if you became Tyler’s manager.

It wasn’t about the money or not wanting to put in the work, it was about the big responsibility of having his career in his hands. You only liked having your small business and writing rights in your hands but this? Felt like holding the beloved Tyler Owens life in your hands and that was a weight you weren’t sure you wanted to sign up for.

Worrying about Boone was enough for anyone to handle!

Tyler never did anything in hopes of getting anything in return, this you knew while you got to know him and consider him a big brother over the years but you thought it over while you lay outside underneath Arkansas’ warm September air out in the inclosed patio.

Thought so hard about it that when Boone came out to check on you, he draped a jean jacket gently over your sleeping form.

He sighed beside you on the lounge chair, getting ready to smoke when you spoke with your eyes still closed, “that better not be a cig cricket.”

You were cupcake and he was cricket.

“Why no, it’s my number one girl MJ.” Boone informed, “and I wish you’d stop doing the whole pretending to be sleep, sleeping beauty.”

“Who said I was pretending? My eyes are closed.”

“Are you sleep talkin’ or prayin’ then?”

“…maybe.”

“Aye look baby doll, you don’t gotta do anything you don’t want to do. The tv part I thought you might be down for but I told Tyler that managing kind of pressure? might not be the best choice for you and not because I don’t think you won’t do a phenomenal job or nothin’…it’s just you overthink and you’ll constantly overthink that you’re gonna let him down.”

“You know me too well Boone Veluz.” You stretch raising your arms above your head, “but…there might be a good angel on my shoulder this time.”

Boone raises his brows while placing MJ behind his ear along with his hair, “don’t tell me I’m that angel?” He jokes while you scoff at him.

“I’m picturing more of a zendaya to be honest.”

“Hopefully not rue zendaya.” Boone mutters while you lightly kick his chair, which makes him chuckle a little.

You groan as you push yourself up into a sitting position, rubbing at your eyes before saying, “since we got to Arkansas…things have been looking up. It brought us to Tyler, you were able to further achieve your filming dreams, I was able to study and establish a career, we created a home together, found more family and happiness and I say that’s a huge blessing considering all that we’ve been through on this road.”

“Yeah you got that right, you’re a jelly roll hater.” Boone teases as he points an accusatory finger at you.

You glare, “if that’s true then you hate Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac.”

He exclaims, “Lies!”

“Anyway, I’ll have to see what tomorrow brings but I’m gonna sleep some more on it.” You start to get up, fixing Boone’s jacket to now drape over your shoulders, as a piece of chocolate slides out from one of the pockets.

“My advice if you do say yes twice: Just look at it all as a silver lining right?”

You hum as you toss the mini pack of chocolate into his lap before getting to your feet, “well…you’ve always been mine since the day we met.”

Boone felt like melting just then as you grab his hand, which he squeezes against yours as you kiss the back of his hand, “i love you, cupcake.”

“I know and that feelings mutual, Booney cricket.”

“You headin’ to bed?”

“Yes, I’m gonna need it for that abrupt meeting.”

“You’re gonna crush it, no doubt.”

You shake your intertwined hands up in the air before letting go, “God’s willing. Night.”

“Night.” He echoes and watches you go into the wood siding home, still being hopeful that one day he’ll plant one on you.

As always Boone just goes with the wind and where he’s needed, letting out a sigh as he checks the group chat where they’re looking for answers hoping that he finally did something about you.

“I’m not going to persuade them by kissing them, I told y’all that already. That’s not me. They got their own mind and know how to use it, so leave it be.” Boone quietly speaks into his phone before sending the message.

Lily: You must be a shitty kisser then.

Which is HAHA’d by Javi.

Dexter: not nice, Lilith.

Tyler: Patience little lambs 🙏🏼

Dani: uh…our patience ran out with you and Kate ijs🥤

Which receives two thumbs up from Dexter and Lily, an exclamation from Javi, and a thumbs down from Tyler.

Kate: gn 👋🏻!

Boone: goodnight lady! & guys…everything always works out the way it should 🤘🏽

Javi: hope that’s true my guy because my faith lays more with them than some monkeys in a suit.

Lily: whats storm par’s number again?

Dani: ohh!

Dexter: well…

Boone: damn ur on one tonight lil!

Javi: 🖕🏼

And then all chaos breaks loose in the group chat, which leaves Boone to rip into the candy with his teeth before he moves to head into the house and up to his room to get comfy as he watches this family dynamic carry on into the night.

Yet he can’t help but to let his own overthinking erupt in his brain—he’s always been a night owl—noticing that you didn’t leave his jacket on his bed this time and just hoped that you had nothing but good dreams and maybe even one about him!

Boone’s just counting on many more good years with you in it, is all 👉🏽🙂‍↕️👈🏽

౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు⊹₊ ˚౨ు

more September prompts can be found here.

[patchiko]

Oh em gee.. I just thought about how AK!Jason would feel about meeting readers family?!?!?!? GIGGLES OMG

HEHHDJEHURHRBEHD

Ak!Jason Meeting Readers Family ((HCS))

nervous

HE’D BE REALLY NERVOUS

but he’d try to not let it show

but its so obvious he’s stiff as shit and as he’s driving there he’s like gripping the car wheel to the point where his hand is hurting

he’d wear long clothes to cover up, you try to comfort him and tell him that you told your family not to ask about his face

it did comfort him, but it also made him feel like the plague.

the more he’s around you the more he wants it to disappear

but he knew he had to suck it up, just for now.

Instead of letting him silent break down during the car-ride, you decided to talk about something a little more fun.

like work out how you two met.

you couldn’t exactly explain how you helped ‘THE RED HOOD.’ on some cold night in Gotham and now you, whether know or not, have a pre-planned husband, a ride or die, a ‘till death do us part’.

Jason snickered at you staring the conversation, setting the tone for him,

with “so how did we meet because i cant exactly say ‘he’s my pimp!’ but thats the best thing i can think of right now man.”

After a funny conversation where you two joked about meeting in a strip-club or an alleyway, teasing at your parents for their nervousness at the absolute built 6” Gothamite you were bringing.

you also get him to agree to grab icecream before you go, he just gets a milkshake.

You two settled on the fact he’s a firefighter who locals the coffee shop you settle at frequently!

i <3 firefighter!jason todd or paramedic!jason todd or social worker!jason todd

the conversation was also a spur of the topic and the biggest yapping session known to man. Jason talking about punching some guy in the face, you saying ‘you should do that to my boss.’ and then pointing at a dog, Jason just saying ‘Dog.’ ISTG JASON TODD X READER WHO MAKES HIS ADHD GO FUCKING HAYWIRE.

i dont wanna make any assumptions on anyones family so maybe ill make one on my puerto rican ass family, but if you wanna rq with anything specific on ur fam u can :)

RQ: Open (be gentle with me though.)

[coraniaid]

#19 for person of interest and #2 for willow rosenberg

#19 ... one behind-the-scenes trivia fact I've learned somewhere and my thoughts on it.

I honestly don't really know that much trivia about Person of Interest. One thing I think I remember reading somewhere once is that the writers originally cast Amy Acker to play [a version of] Caroline Turing and only quite late in production decided on the twist that Caroline Turing was actually an alias for Root [at which point, presumably, they renamed her character, because she probably wasn't called 'Turing' before that].

Which is kind of amazing to me, if it's true: Amy Acker as Root is such a huge part of the show that's it's strange to think it almost didn't happen [and, presumably, the show itself would have gone off in an entirely different direction in Season 2 without Root: we'd have seen a lot more of Alicia Corwin for a start].

But, well, I can't find the original claim now and even if I did it probably didn't have any particularly solid proof to back it up. So maybe it's not true at all. (I think it's obvious that the writers hadn't yet cast Amy Acker as Root in Season 1's Root Cause, but that's a much less interesting claim to me).

#2 ... ...how I would have chosen to change their story from canon

Not an original take, I suppose, but to me the big problem with Willow's arc is the way that everything the show has been building up to since (at least) Becoming gets utterly derailed by the Willow-as-a-metaphorical-drug-addict subplot in Season 6. And, yeah, I can see arguments for this subplot: magic had been used as a metaphor for drug abuse before, and it does fit with Season 6's wider theme of exposing the characters to more bleakly quotidian problems like bills and dead-end jobs and (metaphorical) battles with social workers. But it just doesn't work for Willow or her arc. Willow's descent into villainy ends up being almost something that happens to her [because of bad actors like Amy or Rack or Warren] rather than something that evolves naturally from her own flaws.

And that's frustrating, because the show's already spent a lot of time setting up Willow's character flaws and how they will surely lead to tension between her and Tara and her and Buffy. We know Willow has self-image problems ["I'm not your sidekick!" she snaps at Buffy in Fear Itself], that she's afraid that people won't like her if they see the real version of her [see her dream in Restless for example], that she compensates for this by trying to help everyone and make herself useful ["I want to help", she tells Buffy in The Harvest, "I need to"].

We know Willow is prone to being jealous when other people get attention despite (in her eyes) not working as hard for it as she's had to or when they threaten to come between her and the people she loves [see: Faith in Season 3, Anya in Season 5]. We know Willow is very often unsympathetic to other people's problems if she can't personally relate to them [see ... well, many examples, but in particular Buffy in Dead Man's Party].

We know that Willow's been getting into magic to an extent that worries all the other sympathetic magically-aware people we know. We know that Willow has a strong sense of herself as a 'good person' despite the fact she often does things that are illegal or dangerous or unwise. We know that Willow is proud of her intelligence and her accomplishments and that she often ignores advice she doesn't like or lashes out at people she thinks are talking down to her [see, for example, the way she talks to Tara in their fight in Tough Love]. We know Willow has had trouble respecting other people's wishes and that her first reaction to relationships going wrong is to try to work out how she can "make" people forgive her [how she reacts to Oz discovering her with Xander in Season 3, for example].

None of this has anything to do with Willow being tricked into being a magical drug addict by a girl who used to be her pet rat. It just doesn't.

In my ideal version of Season 6, Tara still leaves Willow (for much the same reason she does in canon: Willow not respecting her boundaries, using magic to mess with her memories to 'resolve' arguments they have) and Willow still reacts terribly (and manages to de-rattify Amy). But Rack doesn't exist and more generally Amy is not at all the person she is in canon who pushes Willow to use magic more and more because she's some sort of self-destructive hedonist.

Amy should be more or less the same person she was halfway through Season 3. She shouldn't be luring Willow into drug dens [drug dens which she shouldn't even know about!]. She shouldn't suddenly be recast as a Bad Influence. She should be more or less the person she was in Gingerbread. She should be (honestly) amazed by how much better at magic Willow's gotten since high school. She should think of Willow as her friend and try to 'stand up for her' because she (thinks she) knows that Willow lets people push her around too easily. She should (unintentioally) feed Willow's ego: tell her that she's perfectly in the right and it's everyone else who's over-reacting to her growing magical strength.

And yes, maybe eventually she should start directly encouraging Willow to misuse magic (to help her 'fix' her relationship with her Dad, for example, or to get back into college despite technically not finishing high school). But it should be a gradual process. It shouldn't be something that starts fan theories about Catherine Madison somehow posessing her again. And the narrative should [and I can't stress how much it doesn't do this] care the slightest bit about Amy herself as a person, and recognize that she has gone through something awful and traumatic.

Amy's role in the plot of Season 6 should be to encourage Willow to keep telling herself she can use magic all the time whatever anyone else says because she's a good person. She should enable Willow, sure, but not intentionally. She's been a rat since she was 17; she shouldn't know things about the world she didn't know three years ago (except rat things, I guess). She shouldn't force Willow to do magic or trick her into it, because then what happens to Willow is no longer a consequence of who Willow is as a person.

You can make Amy a catalyst for Willow's continued bad behaviour without making her deliberately evil. You just need to make Willow the more active partner in their relationship. Wilow should be the one to decide to keep using magic but just keep it hidden; the one who keeps finding excuses for why she can treat people like objects and still be a good person; the one who keeps redefining where the line is everytime she steps over it. Until eventually Willow goes too far even for Amy, and she has to reckon with what she's been doing all this time.

And that makes Season 7 Willow works better too, because she's actually got something real to feel guilty about. She's not just sorry that after Tara died she reacted by temporarily going a bit crazy and having a relapse into her former addiction [and then being persuaded by some bad magical energy she absorbed into wanting to end the world]. She should be sorry about what she deliberately did to Tara (and to Amy, and to Buffy, and to Dawn, and to everyone else), not what she almost did to the world when she wasn't in her right mind.

I mean, sure, you can keep Warren killing Tara if you want [I'm not sure I would, but...]. Play up the parallels between Warren and Willow, even. Keep Willow killing him and trying to kill Jonathan and Andrew. Keep her trying to end the world, too. But the fundamental moral agency should be Willow's.

Her arc shouldn't be a temporary drug habit she's tricked into by her Bad Friend followed by going cold turkey for a bit and then relapsing after a random horrible event. She shouldn't decide to end the world because a coven of witches we've never met use Giles as a proxy for some elaborate and almost self-defeating 11-dimensional chess game (I quite like Grave, all in all, but that particular twist is infuriatingly stupid). Willow should drive her Season 6 arc by being Willow, only worse. By being the same "callous and deeply strange" Willow we know from the high school seasons, just more so, one who ignores Buffy's advice from Ted to "use [her] powers for good".

The writers shouldn't be afraid to acknowledge that Willow Rosenberg (who, to be clear, is one of my favorite characters in fiction) actually does have the capacity to be a bad person without external factors forcing her into it.

[lixzey]

Letters

warnings: mentions of therapy, grief, child abuse, keeping a child in a basement, starvation and malnutrition of a child, mentions of bruises, mentions of child protective services, bullying, and hospitalization

a/n: PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION ‼️‼️‼️This has very detailed scenes which may not be suitable for everyone. The last five letters will be the same, so heads up!

The Thirteenth Letter

Timothée stared out into the window, taking a deep breath as the plane soared through the clouds. He knew he had to continue reading the rest of Y/N's letters, as painful as it might be. He was terrified; there was no denying that. The mere thought of a young Y/N going through more suffering made his stomach churn, but he needed to know more. He would find her, protect her, and be there for her in any way he could. He couldn't change the past, but he could certainly make a difference in her future. He had to be there for her, to listen to her, to support her, and to show her that she wasn't alone anymore. Timothée swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to make sure that she felt safe and loved. 

Timothée took another deep breath before opening the thirteenth letter, dated August 11, 2023.

Dear Timothée, 

Sorry, this letter took a long time to write. I got caught up in therapy. I have a new therapist; her name's Gina. 

She asked me about the letters since I had mentioned them to Julie before and they were written in my file. Gina asked me if the letters were helping me, and of course I said yes. She asked if I could show her one, and I did. She took it and ripped the letter into pieces, right in front of my eyes. I honestly didn’t know how to feel; I just stared at the pieces of paper on top of the table.

Gina said a lot of things about coming to terms with my past in a natural and slow process and that maybe these letters weren't helping as much as I thought they would. Writing to you was riling up those painful and bad memories, only making me feel worse. She also mentioned that false hope wasn’t good for me, which is bullshit because I don't really hope for anything anymore.

I know you won't reply. I know you won't even read any of my letters. Hell, I know you won’t ever receive any of the letters I wrote. I just like to pretend that you do, that's all. 

After the 'session', Gina gave me a pamphlet. It was 'How to Deal with Grief and Coming to Terms with Loss'. It was shit, really. Because one of the bullet points says to talk about your loss with another loved one. Funny, because all of my loved ones are dead. So here I am, talking to you, because you are the next best thing. 

So anyway, here's the continuation of the story of my fucking life. 

I still spent the rest of my days down in the basement—locked up alone, scared, and nearly dead. I was sickeningly thin from malnutrition and dehydration. Bruises littered my body in all shapes and sizes; I had scratches all over—out of frustration and skin irritation from allergies, since I didn't get the chance to fucking clean myself. Every day, I prayed for some kind of miracle to set me free from that living nightmare. I didn't know how much longer I could survive in that hellhole. I could hear my aunt's voice upstairs every night, laughing and carrying on as if I wasn’t three feet under her house. It made me sick to my stomach to think about how she could go about her life while I suffered down below.

It didn't get any better, until my eleventh birthday came around. Honestly, I didn't know how long I was down in the basement. I had lost track of time, but it felt like I had been down here for years. Then one day, my aunt just dragged me out of the basement and shoved me into a bedroom upstairs. It turns out a social worker was looking for me. I was eleven, and the school year had just begun, but I wasn't at the local school, so child protective services got worried. My aunt got to work fast; she made me look as if I wasn't abused—that I was a normal and happy kid living with her. She did a fucking great job, I'm not gonna lie—she covered each and every blemish on my body with foundation and concealer—fucking impressive. She bought clothes, toys, and everything a child would need just so she could avoid getting arrested for child neglect. 

When the child protective services came again, I was forced to act like everything was alright and that I was in a happy home. I desperately wanted to tell the social worker the truth. I wanted to scream so badly and just run into the social worker's arms and beg her to take me away, but I couldn't. 

My life got a little bit better after that day, though. My aunt was forced to let me stay in the room upstairs rather than the cold basement downstairs since child protective services visited me every week. It was easier for her to let me stay in the bedroom than to make me look decent every time. I was never to leave the room unless necessary, not that I wanted to leave the room with my aunt around the house. I still got the bare minimum from her—I still got her scraps of food, but it was better than nothing. 

Then middle school happened. 

At first, I was excited to make friends with kids my age; I never had any growing up since I usually stayed at home with my parents and there weren’t really any kids in the neighborhood I grew up in. So, naturally, I thought that making friends would be easy.

I was too fucking stupid to believe that it would be easy. I mean who was I kidding? Middle schoolers were fucking mean—well,  not high school mean, but you get the point. I was bullied relentlessly, and I always dreaded going to school; it was torture. The kids in my class always made fun of me, calling me names and treating me like shit. I was the freakishly thin girl who always wore baggy clothes that no one wanted to be friends with. There was this one time when this girl—her name was Claire—tripped me in the hallway, and I crashed into the janitor’s cart. Bleach and other cleaning chemicals spilled everywhere—on my skin, on my clothes, and in my hair. It burned my skin so badly that I had to be taken to the hospital to get treated properly. Until now, I still have burn scars on my arms and neck area. I had to wear long-sleeved shirts to cover up my arms, though in the long run, the burns weren’t the only reason why I covered my arms up.

I just wanted a normal fucking life, but life decided to push me into a living hell. Was that too much to fucking ask? I’m so damn tired, Tim. I don’t think I can live like this anymore. I’ve been through so much, and what’s written in this letter isn't even half of what I’ve gone through.

I think it’s about time to stop writing, don’t you think? As if you’d answer me, God, I never fucking learn.

Maybe Gina does have a point. Maybe these letters really are making everything worse.

All my love, 

Y/n.

Timothée sighed, folding the letter and tucking it back in its envelope. He wanted to let her know that he was—in fact, listening—granted that it was a year late, he was listening. The pain and suffering she went through were unimaginable, and the guilt he felt for not being there for her when she needed him most was killing him. If the letters had just arrived earlier, he would have done anything to make it all easier for her. 

“I hope you're still here, Y/n. I hope you didn't give up.”

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @ashlynnmalfoy @imnotoverlyobsessive @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @mel-vaz @elsagreeer @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29 @saintcosette @ashisabitgay @ladyladybuggg @nyrasunderwrld @lizzxoxo @remussbitch @jadahxx @starrystormwritings @ell0ra-br3kk3r @dreary-salem @drewsandsebastianswife @greenapplegrass @lilianelena39 @danni-phant0m @haybellewrites @cloudlst @si4a @ev3ningrain @ttulipwritezz @bambikitten @bullets-from-another-dimension @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @reg-arcturus-black @abruuinlove @marina468 @3stelar @timhalamet @st4rf00k3r @idli-dosa @jimins15thhair @blacksgarden

[petitelepus]

Could you write a Yandere Muichiro (Aged up) x Fem Reader, where she had escaped almost an entire year ago, changing her appearance completely and working a job where she cannot be recognized. But of course, she wouldn't run away forever, and Muichiro finds her, I wonder what would happen after the recapture.

Summary: You escaped from your captor Muichiro exactly one year ago. You crafted yourself a brand new life, but can you ever truly escape?

Warnings: YANDERE, STALKING, EMOTIONAL AND MENTAL MANIPULATION

A/N: Fem!Reader, Adult!Muichiro

ALTERNATIVE END

It has been a year since that fateful night when Mucihiro, your friend, your lover, your captor, and your stalker had forgotten to lock the door to your room that worked as your prison. You had gotten a chance to escape and you greedily took it.

That night you drew out all your money from your bank accounts and left town with the first train, making sure to use cash so Muichiro wouldn't have been able to track your card's transaction.

You weren't an expert, but you had seen enough movies to know what to do and what to avoid to keep yourself from being caught.

You did everything in your might to avoid your former friend and protect yourself and the new life you had built around you.

You adopted a new name, cut your hair, dyed it, and changed your whole dressing style and even the way you spoke. You were ready to do anything to keep that man from finding you and locking you up ever again.

You were a humble office lady, working quietly in your own little space that you could decorate any way you liked… But to make sure that your interests weren't leaked to social media, you left your workplace as it was, plain and boring.

"Good job today!" Your co-worker smiled as he walked up to your spot.

"Thank you," You nodded, "Job well done, right?"

"Right!" He laughed, "Listen, we're going to go out to drink and wanted to invite you to join us?"

"I-!"

In your previous life, you would have happily taken a chance to let loose and talk with your friends and co-workers, but in this life, you were a loner with no real social life.

"I'm sorry, but I really have to finish this thing…" You shook your head, "Maybe next time?"

"Alright then," The man gave up and left. You watched after him as he joined his friends by the doorway and you sighed before turning to look at your computer again. It was already late and the sun was setting, it was time to go to your apartment.

Yes, it was an apartment, not a home. Home was where the heart was and yours wasn't there. You weren't sure where it was… Maybe it got left behind when you escaped or fell off somewhere along the ride.

Either way, you packed your things and left the office. The walk back home was quiet, except for people walking and talking around you. You blended into the crowd like a ninja, but you didn't feel anywhere near that cool.

You made it to your little apartment complex, took an elevator to your floor, and let yourself into your apartment with the keys. You flicked the lights on as you closed the door and you sighed, leaning against the door and slumping down until you sat on the floor.

Even your apartment was empty, save for the bland couch, bed, TV, and computer. You didn't have the strength or energy to care… But these days made you miss your real home, your friends and your old job.

Hell, you almost missed Muich-!

No! That man locked you into his home and didn't let you go! He claimed that he loved you…

"But who locks up their loved one…" You muttered quietly by yourself…

"A man who knows best."

Your eyes widened and your flight or fight instincts flared as you registered the familiar voice that you thought you had forgotten long ago.

You turned and saw him, Muichiro standing at the corner of your room, looking at you. How you didn't notice him until now? He was always light on his feet, silent as a cat.

"Hello, dear-!" He was greeting you when you grabbed your umbrella from the floor next to you and pointed it at him, "S- Stay away!"

"Dear-!"

"Don't call me that!" You scrambled back until your back hit the wall. You grounded your teeth together, "You don't get to call me that!"

"Please, calm down," The young man smiled, "Put that umbrella down so we can talk."

"H- How did you find me!?" You totally ignored his plead and he sighed, "You were always a stubborn one."

"Answer the damn question!"

"Well… To start with, did you really think you could escape from me?" Muichiro smiled, "The only reason you got this far is because I allowed you to."

"T- That's not true-!"

"I'm always one step ahead of you." He said as he bolted and you yelped, raising your umbrella but as you were about to hit him, he caught the thing easily and threw it across the room, leaving you helpless before him.

"Please don't be afraid," He smiled as he offered his hand to you, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Y- You aren't…?" You asked, your body tense with fear, but he just smiled sweetly at you, "Have I ever raised my hand against you?"

He had not… But he had messed with your head before so you couldn't let your guard down around him.

"Please, let's talk." He said as he moved his hand towards you, but you smacked it away and got up on your own.

"Say what you want and then get the fuck out…!" You hissed and the young man nodded, "Alright. I came to bring you back home."

"I knew it!" You pointed at him accusingly, "Forget it, I'm not coming back!"

"Why?" He seemed honestly confused like he had forgotten that he had locked you into your room and never let you out without him by your side, holding your hand as if it was a sweet gesture but you knew better.

"Why!?" You frowned, "Did you forget what you did to me!?"

"I took care of you and kept you safe?"

"Being locked inside didn't keep me safe but miserable!"

"I see…" Muichiro nodded thoughtfully, "I can see the point in your view. But how has your life been without me?"

"Bette-!" You were saying when you froze, dread creeping up from behind you and stilling you. You felt anxious as you thought back at the last year of your life and it made your heart ache in your chest.

Muichiro saw your reaction and nodded, "I always knew where you were… I've been watching you for quite some time already."

"Y- You knew?" You were shocked, "You knew where I was all this time?"

He nodded, "Yes."

"Wh- why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you wait this long…?"

"I just gave you a taste of how dull your life would be without me in it." Muichiro tilted his head as he looked at you, "You are miserable, aren't you?"

"I- I-!" You couldn't reply, not when you knew that he was right and you hated more than anything admitting to him that he was right, as usual.

"Is life really worth living if you have to be someone you are not?" He asked and anger flared inside you, "It's better than being your prisoner!"

"You were never my prisoner," Muichiro shook his head, "You're an indoor cat, not an outdoor cat. You were safe inside."

"I'm not a cat!" You cried out in frustration, "And you just can't treat me like one!"

"But aren't you tired of living this way?" He sounded genuinely confused, "Running, hiding, and denying yourself from being you?"

"I don't…!" You swallowed, feeling yourself grow desperate, "It's all your fault!"

"I love you, I always have and always will. So I've come to you with a proposition."

"W- what is it?"

"If you come back kindly and peacefully, I will make sure that you can live your life to the fullest with me by your side."

"I'm..!" You swallowed nervously again, trying to find reasons to refuse, "I'm not the person I was back then…!"

"I have changed also," He smiled, "For example, I didn't like how that man spoke so familiarly with you, but did I hurt him? No, I let him go because I know you only have a spot in your heart for me."

"Y- you saw that?" You were truly horrified, but the young man didn't seem to mind it, "As I said, I've been watching you and I've seen how miserable you have been."

"I'm…" You frowned as you felt the heartache in your chest as if a cold hand was squeezing your heart. It left you nearly breathless as you tried to calm yourself down, but you just grew more and more anxious.

"I knew it," Muichiro nodded, "So I've come to you with a proposition."

"Wh- what is it?" You looked at him uncertainly as you frowned, and he smiled so gently you almost forgot how sinister he could actually be when he wanted to, "I love you and never want to be separated from you ever again… And therefore, I'm ready to put this all behind us so we can start anew."

"W- Wha-!?" You were so shocked you felt it in your bones.

"Marry me." He said and he sounded so genuine as he knelt before you and grasped your hand, "Marry me and come back with me and I promise, you can be yourself and we can be together and love each other unconditionally."

"B- But, I-!" You stuttered, your mind feeling like it had been shuffled and your feelings were all over the place. Your mind was a mess and you couldn't tell if you Muichiro was being genuine and if you were actually in danger or not.

That was one of his traits you hated, making you question your own feelings and such…

"I love you." He said as he gently kissed your hand, "Give me a chance and I'll show you truly how much I care for you."

"I…" You swallowed as you succumbed to your feelings, "I love you too."

"That's all I wanted to hear," The man smiled as he got up and pulled a gorgeous diamond ring from his pocket and slipped it onto your left ring finger, making you briefly wonder how he knew your exact ring size?

"Now…" He kissed your forehead, "Let's head back home."

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

What’s up with the ties between Sally & Eddie?

There are quite a few - to the point where I’m starting to suspect that they may be foils, or at least inherently tied together in the story.

First let's bring things back to the clocks. The “day” side has an obvious resemblance to Sally, like how the “night” side resembles Eddie. There’s not really much I can say here since we don’t know much more yet, and who knows if this has changed behind the scenes. But just think about that, the rarity of the color purple, night vs day, and the “monster”. Keep it in your head, I think it may be important. 

Also the fact that Eddie is the only one with a watch, but Sally’s face has an incredibly similar face on her door.

Obviously Sally has some sort of beef with Eddie, despite him being nothing but friendly and (to our knowledge) being undeserving of it. One thought I entertained was “maybe Sally is dismissive of him because he’s a worker,” but that holds zero water when you consider how perfectly friendly Sally was with Howdy (karen Sally debunked <3). The second thought I had was “maybe Sally senses the queer in Eddie and it intimidates her” - which would make sense if Sally is a lesbian like I suspect. Internalized homophobia, anyone? This holds up if Eddie is going to turn out to be - not open about himself, but comfortable in his skin in a way that, say, Frank isn’t. Which I have a feeling that will be the case, which would likely make Sally put on airs even more so than usual. 

Anyone else seeing a continuous trend of (social) masks and performances unfolding in the Neighborhood? I sure am.

But let’s talk about why I think they might be foils. They balance each other out in an interesting way, despite their only solid similarity being that Both will work/perform no matter the weather. They have a lot of closely related differences:

Eddie has been mentioned (and implied within the story so far) to have a deeper well of knowledge than he lets on, but acts humble about it. Sally has been mentioned (and implied) to know less than she portrays, but acts like a bit of a know-it-all - she pretends to know things that she doesn’t. 

Eddie’s role is about helping others at his own expense, while Sally’s is using others to reach fame. 

Eddie strives to connect with his Neighbors and is all about accuracy/precision. Sally is in her own little world and has proved to be more than willing to improvise / not think things through before acting.

Eddie is slow to anger, and Sally is easily irritated. 

Selfless vs Selfish.

Night vs Day. 

And to put them in the Johari Window - i believe that Sally resides in the Blind Spot (known to others, not known to self), and Eddie resides in either the Facade (not known to others, known to self) OR the Unknown (not known to others, not known to self). Personally I’m starting to believe that Eddie may reside in both. 

It’s far too early to draw any real conclusions, and theorizing on all of this is difficult. I feel as though - as usual - we have puzzle pieces but no frame of reference for the way they fit together, what picture they build. And who knows, tomorrow’s update may shred this to ribbons, but I doubt it. 

One thought I had was that they’re in cahoots about something - it doesn’t have to be something malicious or some sort of secret plot, it could simply be something they both know and are trying to keep quiet about. Eddie is trying to connect with Sally since they have this in common, but Sally is actively putting distance between them to preserve their secret / plausible deniability. Do I actually believe this? Meh. I’m just throwing spaghetti at the wall to see what sticks.

So current base thoughts: Sally is dismissive of Eddie either because he intimidates/scares her on an internalized level, or she’s actively trying to put distance between them for a currently unknown reason. There’s probably a secret third option I haven’t even considered!