#posts about squiggly air

[slam-dunkrai]

I've finally been reading Erin Osmon's biography on Jason Molina these last few days; not really sure why I'd put it off for so long other than for fear of reading two hundred pages about one of my favourite guys and his notoriously fraught final decade, but it's an incredibly well-researched and consistently engaging document about the man. This one's my pick of the many strong nuggets contained within: his grasp on his whole deal as an artist was clearly very strong.

[andreabandrea]

i havent been able to stop thinking about this post ever since i saw it a few years ago. i couldn't stop thinking about how i would Ace Attorney-ify this otherwise average man into one of the series' over-the-top witnesses.

i'd like to introduce you to Mr. Drinkwater, minor witness in the refreshing case "Drink to the Turnabout". (With apologies to the real Andrew Drinkwater, if he or anyone who knows him in real life ever sees this).

in this case, Phoenix & friends must solve the mystery behind a drowning at the Water Research Centre, in which foul play is suspected and for which an innocent person was arrested. Mr. Drinkwater claims to have seen the whole thing.

The notes read:

Head designed to look like a water droplet

Hair designed to look like a comb-over and a 'wave'

Glasses turned fishbowl shaped

Water droplet-like nose

Coat pocket looks like sailboat

When nervous:

Hair 'droops'

Sweats a comical amount

Mouth gets squiggly

When angry:

Hair gets spiky like a lightning bolt

Tears of anger in the corners of his eyes

When shocked:

Spit take [Editor's note: after a while, I think the Judge is like "can we get a mop in here? A towel, maybe?"]

Breakdown:

Huge spit take [Editors note: straight up into the air] that looks like a fountain.

Crying comically-drawn tears.

'Dries out' into a raisin afterward.

Post-breakdown:

Mr Drinkwater's wrinkles are accentuated and his face shape has changed to make him look more 'dried out.'

His comb over falls apart, revealing he's bald. [Editor's note: I don't know if the real Andrew Drinkwater is bald or not. This isn't about the 'real' man himself, though.]

Mr. Drinkwater is mistaken about what he saw and ultimately lies on the stand to protect the deep secrets of the Water Research Centre. He's seen again at the end of the case, congratulating Phoenix & co on their victory. He offers to buy everyone a round of drinks on him-- drinks of water, that is.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

[lawlietscaramels]

It looks like asks are turned on! Can I request writing or, like, headcanons about how the death note characters laugh? I mean obvs there’s Kira’s silly evil laugh but what about pre-Kira light and L?

-🎲

Laugh a Little Louder ╾ Cast

AAA so asks here work!! yes. yesyeysyeye though the Wammy's kids may be ooc. See my various chats and notes for reason why but without further ado, here come the laughs!

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

L Lawliet 🍰

first off, he doesn't laugh very often.

memes? nothing. jokes? nothing. sarcasm? nothing. This doesn't mean he doesn't find any of these funny, he just doesn't have the urge to actually laugh.

but Light falling down the Task Force stairs? YES.

L finds other things funny too but there's just... something special about watching Light mess up...

if he's around people he trusts he's likely to laugh more, at super not funny things especially. for example, bad puns, horribly edited memes or videos, and dark jokes are high on the list. (I may or may not also find these things very funny)

anyway that got into when he laughs. as for HOW he laughs: it varies depending on how funny something is.

Mildly amusing? Dry chuckle. almost sounds like a cough or the engine of a car if that makes sense. sometimes he will say (with no change in tone whatsoever), "haha. that was quite amusing."

Hilarious? the man is cackling and wheezing.

high pitched, like a hyena...

Light Yagami 🖊️

you guys might hate me but

Light is a GIGGLER!!!

this kind of embarrasses him so he can usually make it sound more like a chuckle, this is also how he does fake-laughs when he's Kira and wants to hide the crazy-laughs.

I think he'd find animals and cute stuff worth a little laugh just because it's amusing and they bring joy to his life

that said I think Kira version of Light wouldn't laugh as much. He's under a lot of stress, he doesn't see the joy in life any more. Light is just there to fulfil his mission, to cleanse the world of evil, and he's so dedicated to this cause that he doesn't find time to appreciate the good that already exists in this world

damn that got sad for a post about laughter

uhhh anyway other people laughing inevitably sets Light off too, even as Kira he struggles not to laugh when L or Matsuda does. Misa's laughs, not so much of a problem. They just concern him...

Misa Amane 💝

hold on this is kind of hard actually...

you know what, I think she'd make other noises instead of actual "laughs."

such as squeaking, squawking, honking, all those funny words used to describe people who laugh but don't really laugh. shakes her head and sighs a lot at dad jokes but she secretly loooves them.

if she actually laughs it will be hahahahahhahaa-gasp-hahahhahahaha where it gradually gets higher pitched and the sound stops and she's just breathing in a squeaky manner. Misa will also start waving her body and arms back and forth like she's going to hit her knees, but only hits air.

sounds a little like she's dying tbh

Misa used to be embarrassed about her laugh when she was little, but she grew to learn it just means she's happy! so she likes it

though she would never laugh if she's livestreaming or anything like that, like Light she'd have a fake laugh (a typical girly giggle) for such occasions.

Touta Matsuda 🦆

this guy is like so normal help hahjajjajjasjsj

I think he would often like scream and then laugh (especially on roller coasters, watching horror movies, being jump-scared, all that)

wheezes a little, goes "oh God- oh God- no no stop-"

his stomach starts to hurt because if Matsu starts laughing he just like. does not stop. he goes into hysterics.

would end up rolling on the floor and struggling to breathe

"Matsuda it was just a bad bee pun, are you alright?" because he'd suddenly be set off by one silly thing like that and just be chuckling and laughing and all for the next few hours. and expect it to start again if someone makes the mistake of saying "bees" in the next few days

Okay but his mouth would go all squiggly like Charlie Brown's when he's trying to hold in a laugh.

shoving his bright red face into a pillow and trying not to scream in laughter, literally this man is DYING at every lame joke. he loves really long jokes too.

this guy is not actually so normal after all...

Near 🧸

like L, he does not laugh very often

unlike L, this statement is ONLY true for when he's in the company of others. when alone I think Near does a fair bit of laughing, though it's quiet

it's just the kind of vulnerability and genuine enjoyment that he only feels safe to express when he's alone...

anyway Near's laugh is a little rough like he's not used to doing it. he might chuckle for a while, or just let out a quick and sharp "HA!" if he's more startled into laughter. the first one is more private, the second he might let out a couple of times in company

I think Near would also lie in bed at night and just laugh at the ceiling. maybe especially if he's had a bad day. it makes him feel a little better and reminds him that there are good things in the world! Because when Near laughs he remembers the other things that have made him laugh

it's a sign he likes and trusts someone if he laughs with them

Near can also mimic lots of different kinds of laughs. I feel like he's a storyteller, even if he only tells the stories to himself, so this skill can come in very useful!

Mello 🍫

HE HAS AN EVIL VILLAIN LAUGH

less disturbing than Light's Kira laugh BUT IT'S STILL KIND OF SCARY IF YOU'VE NEVER HEARD IT BEFORE

but most people are quick to realise he's just laughing. laughing a little like a crazy person but it's easy to tell, if you take the time to observe, that he's just genuinely enjoying himself

Matt ALWAYS knows what to say to make Mello laugh

(Mello tries not to laugh at Matt though, mostly because he's a little ass who doesn't want to give him the satisfaction)

Actually, his laugh is kind of sweet to listen to in a way??

I don't know how to explain that and the villain-laugh headcanon fitting together but they do, just trust me. it may sound evil but it is super sweet

hahaha he thinks he's a badass his laugh sounds like he's a badass but somehow it's not badass at all.

The opposite of Near, he's more likely to laugh around others.

I think his favourite thing to laugh at is really bad movies. Just making fun of them, ridiculing the plot, and though some people thinks he sucks the fun out of it he finds it enjoyable

Matt 🚬

laughs often, doesn't GENUINELY laugh often.

he's a smoker right? well, I think that makes it clear that he's got a smoker's kind of laugh. he might end up coughing if he laughs too long

don't smoke kids

Matt's always had more of a throaty laugh though, he's a low chuckle kind of guy. unless he's tired or REALLY amused, in which case he'll cackle.

When typing he does a keyboard smash laugh: AJHSHAHAJAJA

I think he laughs at himself often. Matt in particular I haven't seen his dn appearances in years but I think he's a pretty chill guy most of the time, happy to give a laugh if someone insults his fashion taste.

not a headcanon but I wonder if a PC emoji would fit better...

Loves to make other people laugh too!! will lighten the mood or turn a chuckle into an uproar with a few really good bad jokes or a funny assortment of actions or impressions

He pokes fun at everyone and everything because when you take life too seriously, you don't enjoy it.

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 ˏˋ⋆˖⁺˖⁀➷ 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 + 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

[beep-beep-sunny]

Reddie Week Day 4 Soulmates!!

This is my longest Reddie week post so far! I'll put it below the little squiggly line and see what that does. Please let me know what you think if you decide to check it out! Thank you!

Soulmates were real. Right? Eddie Kaspbrak was always told they were. That there were auras that were visible to just you and that special person. That being around them made things smell different… taste different. They made you look at the world with fresh eyes. He had no proof of that. 

He had no proof of it because he wasn't able to see anything. He never could. It would be one thing if only that "special" person was supposed to have an aura. No. People said they could see their own auras. Eddie never saw anything. He didn't even know what it was supposed to look like. It's like how no one how's how well they can visualize things because they'll never know what other people are seeing. How clear is the apple? What the fuck does that even mean.

He used to try to see it. He'd convince himself he was a late bloomer. It was coming. His colors would come in and he'd see the world in a new vibrancy. 

His mother was pushy from the start. "Describe it sweetie? What are your colors?" She wouldn't drop it. Wouldn't let it go. "Why won't you just tell me, sweetie?? What are you hiding from mommy?" 

She pushed it and pushed it until Eddie popped. He started crying and screamed out. "I don't have any colors! I'm blank! I'm broken!"

He regretted it immediately. He feared what might happen after speaking to her like that, but she just pulled him close in an oppressive stranglehold. "Oh baby, it's okay!! Maybe you don't have colors because you don't need a soulmate because you have me. I'm all you need, Eddie bear." Eddie, overwhelmed, only cried harder. 

When his friends asked, he lied through his teeth. He was silent as he listened to his friends describing their colors. Bill was sad because his colors didn't end up matching with Beverly Marsh, the girl he had a crush on ever since they kissed in the school play. His were purple. Stanley mostly just said his were green. He didn't give much away about his stance on "soulmates". Just green. Then, Richie. For some reason, Eddie has been dreading Richie's explanation the most. He and Richie had been "Eddie and Richie" for so long. Always together, always fighting, always tangled up limbs forming the infinity sign. It was selfish for Eddie to wish Richie was like him, but he did. He told himself he just didn't want to be the only one. 

Richie has colors. From the sounds of it, the most beautiful and obnoxious colors that ever existed. He painted a picture with a rainbow of colors. Eddie watched him with wide eyes, stunned, in awe, as Richie kept going, kept describing the most beautiful colors in the world. "What about you, Eds?" Richie asked. Eddie searched Richie's face. Did he know? Could he tell? They made eye contact, Eddie swallowed, though his throat was dry. Richie's eyes were so, "Blue." Eddie said, before he even realized his lips were moving. The eye contact held for a moment longer, the air sticky thick, before Richie smiled wide, carefree as if Eddie's world wasn't falling apart. "Cool!" 

Not long after, Beverly Marsh joined their little group as well as Mike Hanlon and Ben Hanscom. As it turned out, Beverly Marsh's soulmate was the new kid, Ben. Bill tried to hide the heartbreak on his face when they told everyone, hand in hand. Eddie's mouth turned up in disgust. Why should something so stupid control love? What If they don't feel it? What if they love someone else? Who decided that's what the colors meant anyway? Bill cried on Eddie's shoulder for a week while they ate goldfish and gushers and watched the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

The rest of them didn't see the person with their colors throughout their highschool years. It didn't matter much, as Eddie saw it, with what they'd been through together? They were all soulmates in the ways that mattered. 

They all lost touch after graduation. 

He met Myra on a Sunday. He got off work early Sundays, so he likes to spend his nights sipping fruity cocktails at The Lucky Turtle. The old dusty sign under the name read "your destiny awaits". Her voice had a familiar shrillness, even though they'd never met. She was wailing to the bartender about her boyfriend loud enough for the entire bar to hear, and the bartender looked overwhelmed. "He's a bum!" She blubbered. "I can't believe I got saddled with such a gross loser for a soulmate! I was really going places before he came along ya know! All A's in school and cute as a button. Now we're broke and all my potential is wasted. Stupid freaking," she paused, "Pardon my language, but stupid colors shouldn't trap a cute teen girl into a life of suffering with a total loser. I need a man that can take care of me!" Myra wasn't pleasant, but Eddie couldn't help but be intrigued by her disdain for the colors. He moved closer to her. "W..what??" She sniffled. "Come to take advantage of my fragile position?" She looked at him through her eyelashes and puffed out her lower lip. 

Eddie almost just left, but he didn't. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through his veins"I don't think the colors know everything." He said coolly. "It's all a huge scam." She lit up at that. 

They went home together. It wasn't like Eddie to mess around with a married woman, but it wasn't like him to mess around with anyone and he was so fucking lonely. When Eddie blurted out his defect. I have no colors. I'm blank. I don't have a soulmate. He thought that would be it. Why would anyone want someone that was deficient? It wasn't. She was delighted. 

By the fifth meetup, Myra announced she was leaving her "dead beat" husband for him. She loved that Eddie was dependable with a good paying job and benefits. She also loved that he was broken. It was like having two soulmates, she'd say. She never had to worry about him leaving her for his real soulmate because he didn't have one, and she thought that was great. 

Their relationship wasn't anything special. Things didn't smell different or taste different, but at least he wouldn't live his life alone, and that was better than nothing, right? They were married on a Sunday, just like the day they met. His mother cried. Seeing them in one space was unnerving. It made it impossible to ignore their similarities. Two women that used his deficiency to claim him. 

He was married. That's what he wanted, right? To not be alone forever like he feared he would be? It seemed as though he should have been happy. He had everything normal people had, and yet, maybe the colors really meant more than just "soulmates", maybe it was the soul itself. Maybe Eddie was soulless. Maybe God forgot to give him a soul. Maybe he'd never be happy because he was hardly a real person. 

One afternoon, he was doing the dishes and Myra was watching TV in the sitting room. The rooms were connected, so they could still look over at each other. Myra was laughing, until she wasn't. She'd been watching her favorite late night talk show. "This guy sucks." She whined as she sunk deeper into her chair. "Eddie bear, come here! Look at this guy!! He really thinks he's funny, but he's awful. I can't believe Johnny Daily would have a hack like this guy on the show. What is the future of TV coming to?" She just droned on into an unpleasant white noise. 

"Okay okay, just for a minute. I'm doing the dishes." He took a few steps over so he could see the TV, absentmindedly drying a plate. 

"Richie Tozier, ladies and gentlemen." The TV came into crystal clear focus. There he was Richie. All grown up, scruff, laugh lines, and all. Same shitty jokes. The plate slipped from his fingers and shattered on the ground. 

After that, Eddie secretly sat in the bathroom to look up Richie, watch his standup, he'd only watch him on TV if he knew Myra wouldn't be home as if he were having an affair and not just embarrassed to be obsessed with a guy that his wife thought was "offensively unfunny". 

Myra was out with friends one night. "Girls night, don't wait up!" She said, going out the door in low-cut cheetah-print. Eddie had recorded Richie's recent TV appearances on a secret account and had been itching to watch them. Just waiting for an opportunity. 

The first was very typical of Richie's TV appearances, promoting his upcoming Netflix special that Eddie was already ready to sign up for a free trial to watch as soon as it came out. The second recording was different. It wasn't like his usual appearances. The vibe was more serious. At first, Eddie worried something was wrong. 

"So, you've come out! Tell us more about that." The host probed with a sympathetic smile that felt artificial. 

Richie's smile felt genuine, but nervous. "Sort of, I guess. If you want to put it like that. It's true. I don't have colors. I never have." Eddie felt himself immediately become cold and clammy. His mouth grew dry. 

"Never?" She asked. 

"Nope!" Richie replied, almost jovial. "I'm tired of lying. I figured I couldn't be alone. I thought, maybe I should finally be at least a little brave if that means it would help some other confused kid. It would have meant a lot to me to know I wasn't alone." 

Eddie stared at the screen, much closer to it than his mother would have been okay with. She always said sitting right in front of the TV was like staring at the sun. That hardly felt like it mattered at that moment. Eddie got up from.in front of the TV while earnest Richie and the fake interviewer continued the interview in the background. Eddie desperately pawed through the medicine cabinet. He'd thrown out his inhalers years ago, but suddenly felt desperate for a puff. Seeing Richie made him feel strange and small and scared. 

No. He thought. Nononono. Richie had colors. He said so. He had the most beautiful colors of all. Swirling blues and green and orange and yellow like the sun. He told them. He. He lied. Just like Eddie. Eddie always assumed, before he saw him again on TV, that Richie was living a happy white-picket-fence life with a beautiful wife. Someone special. Someone that also had the most beautiful colors and together they were raising two boys with a cat and a dog and a chameleon that could turn all kinds of different colors. Richie always wanted a chameleon, but no. Richie didn't have those things. He was just as confused and scared and lonely as Eddie had always been. 

Before he realized what he was doing, his body moving almost automatically, he was in the car and driving. Where am I going? The broadcast wasn't live. I recorded it a week ago. At a red light, Eddie skillfully typed out, "Where does Richie Tozier live"  like a stalker. He got a vague area in LA from a sketchy tabloid site, and that was good enough for him. 

He didn't say a word to anyone, not to his work, not to Myra. Maybe he should have attempted to message Richie, but it's not like he'd see it. He was famous now and Eddie hadn't talked to him since highschool. He just got on a plane, looking unkempt and jittery. He didn't think the random screening he was pulled for was very random. 

He'd never been to California. He used to want to go. He used to want to see all kinds of places. Road trips in fast cars, wind running through his hair from open windows, even though it's terrible for your ears. 

He opened Twitter and navigated to Richie's page. Eddie didn't use Twitter, and using it now just made him feel even creepier. What am I even doing? This is crazy! He thought, but he looked anyway. Richie had a bad habit of posting everything. Eddie went on a wild goose chase, following his Twitter breadcrumbs to no avail. He almost gave up. It was getting dark, and Eddie had retreated back into his hotel room. He relaxed in the provided hotel robe after a long scolding shower. Eddie heard once that lonely people take the hottest showers. 

His phone buzzed. Probably Myra. He told her something came up for work. He hated lying like this, but how could he possibly explain the truth? Sorry darling. I'm in LA stalking your least favorite comedian. He's actually my childhood friend and it turns out we're both broken in the same way. It was stupid. It was so stupid. 

It wasn't Myra. It was an alert from Richie's Twitter. He posted a picture of himself on a stage in front of an empty stadium. It said, "I'll see you all at my show tonight!" It included a link to more information as well as a kissy winking face that flipped Eddie's stomach. 

He was performing a show at a place nearby the hotel at 9pm which was only an hour away. This was his only chance. He got dressed quickly. He didn't pack much. He looked unpolished and ridiculous, but he headed out anyway. 

He thought he could buy tickets at the door, but no such luck. He ended up crossing his fingers and buying a ticket from scalpers for five times the price. He had no idea Richie was so famous. He wasn't even funny. 

He got in with his scalped ticket. He watched from the nosebleeds. Okay, maybe he was a little funnier than he'd been as a kid. He was in his element up on the stage. He'd really grown up. Eddie heard sounds coming out of himself that he hadn't in a long time. Fond little laughs that were embarrassed to bubble out. Okay, maybe he always found Richie a little funny. 

By the end of the show, Eddie was a bit more relaxed. He was here. Richie Tozier. In the flesh. Richie Tozier who didn't see the colors. Just like Eddie. 

When Richie finished wishing the crowd goodnight, Eddie was already out of his seat. He was fighting through the legs of slow patrons with a flurry of "Sorry, excuse me sorry." He could lose Richie. Not again. He didn't have a plan beyond "get to Richie". 

There was a crowd around the front and a bodyguard that was on the short side, but still muscular and stocky. I probably could put run this guy. Eddie thought, seemingly embracing his fate as a creepy stalker. "Back up!" The guy yelled, spitting as he talked. 

Richie was walking down the side stairs. They were so close now. Eddie took a deep breath. "Trashmouth!" The yell came out more squeaky and desperate than he would have preferred, but he had to do it. What else was he going to do? 

Their eyes met. Richie looked scared. Eddie realized this was a mistake immediately. Richie was scared. Of course he was scared because Eddie was a total fucking stalker. Richie would probably get a restraining order and he'd never see him again. 

"Alright, get out of here." The bodyguard walked over to shoo him, and Eddie was ready to let him, but Richie wasn't. He reached out and stopped his bodyguard from moving forward. 

His eyes bore into Eddie. Eddie shivered under the intensity of his icy blue eyes. "Eds?" Richie said. The nickname gripped Eddie's heart and wouldn't let go. Richie and his bodyguard shared a look that must have communicated "let him through" because that's just what he did. Eddie walked past the bodyguard and was suddenly feet from Richie for the first time in two decades. 

They stared for a while. "Hi." Richie said, his voice suddenly raw and vulnerable. 

"Hi." Eddie replied, shyly.

"What are you, I mean, how did you, I um," Richie struggled to form a coherent thought. Some things never changed, though he never used to seem so careful about word choice. "You're here." He settled with. 

"I can't see the colors either!" Eddie blurted, almost like he couldn't hold it in anymore. Like the words have been pounding on his throat for a long time. 

Richie looked lost. He searched Eddie's face as if he thought this was all some kind of mean joke. "But," his throat sounded dry. He probably wasn't hydrating properly. "But you're blue." He said, not needing to search his mind for the color. It was as though he'd thought about it many times before, but why. Why would he remember that little lie after all these years? The answer to that was simple, but Eddie couldn't let himself believe the simple answer. Because if Richie remembered Eddie was blue the same way Eddie remembered the picture Richie had painted of the most beautiful colors in the world then maybe that meant he felt it too.

But, what the hell? "I lied." Eddie said. 

"Why?" Richie sounded desperate, hanging on Eddie's every word. 

"I didn't want you to think I was broken. I-" Almost as soon as the words were out of Eddie's mouth, Richie caught his cheeks in his hands, pulling him impossibly close and linking their lips. Eddie didn't shut his eyes. He couldn't, because suddenly he was filled with such clarity. He could see the green grass, the dark night sky, the yellow dandelions of spring, the blue of Richie's eyes. The colors were all there. They were always there. They were everywhere. Who's to say he's missing anything? The colors were here the whole time. Blue wasn't a lie, because it was there, in Richie's eyes. Eddie wanted to live in the blue of his eyes forever. 

It didn't take long for the kissing to deepen and for Eddie to notice the cameras flashing. Eddie held up both his middle fingers. He heard that makes it so the magazines can't use paparazzi photos. He wanted this moment just for them. 

[sirens-sanctuary]

Deception (part 2)

Miguel Ohara x fem!reader

.

. FWC:

. TW:

. (this is part two click here for part 1, more parts to come :3)

. authors note, masterlist, rules, and taglist below <3

The slow and groggy sounds of machines beeping and whirring you lull you from your daze. You toss and stir letting out a small whine when you feel a pinch in your arm.

"What~?", you reach over and pull an IV needle out of your forearm. You roll over onto your back and breathe out, staring at the ceiling in confusion. You were fighting a villain you've never seen before, to falling in the air, to landing in a place littered with other spider-women and men.

The sound of a door opening causes you to sit up, making you clutch your ribs in pain.

"Oh yeah- you're gonna be in pain for a few hours." A middle-aged looking man in a pink robe and baby strapped to his chest chuckles.

"Hi, I'm Peter B Parker, but you can call me Peter B for short," he gives you a wide smile, "And this here is Mayday, isn't she the cutest?"

"Where am I?" You couldn't care much for the small introduction Peter was trying to give you.

"Uh- well you're in the medical ward inside the Spider Society."

"The what?" You squinted your eyes at him, more confused than you have ever been.

"The Spider Society..." Peter shuffles around awkwardly as you just...stare at him.

You nod your head slowly and get up from the hospital bed and placed your feet on the ground. At least they gave you those fun grippy socks hospitals usually have.

A lot of things were raving through your head. Spider Society? Psht- yeah ok, weird ass dream you're having right now. The more you looked around the room you tried to convince yourself more and more it was a dream...the walls weren't squiggly though. Nothing was morphing or random things like a chicken popped up like they normally did in your dreams.

"You're not dreaming by the way." Peter spoke up again. You looked at him and gave him an expression that reeked of 'What the hell?', to which he laughed at-

"I've been there, trust me." Trust you? Random guy with cute baby? Sure why not. "Follow me and I'll take you to boss-man Miguel. He'll explain everything to you and all that boring stuff he does."

"Boss-man?" You followed close behind Peter, looking around past the various other spider-people.

"Yeah boss-man! He kinda runs the place, sends out orders ,puts everything together- y'know boss-man things." Peter says with a goofy grin on his face, mayday babbling along with him. As much as you wanted to ignore the two and just hurry to where you needed to be, you couldn't. Their bubbly energy was enough to make you smile.

You followed Peter through countless hallways, listened to him ramble and talk about missions he went on. He even showed you a few photos of Mayday and his wife MJ. It was a nice little moment. Many of the other spider-people knew who Peter and he stopped many times to talk to them and they often stopped him to say hi to Mayday. It was annoying as hell. You wanted to leave and go home- get this bullshit over with. It was like walking with you parent at the store and they see an old friend in the fish-stick aisle.

After another excruciating 10 minutes of walking and stopping to talk to other people you finally make it to a big opening.

———— [DISCONTINUED] ————

posting this bc it was still in my drafts for ages, this isn't a finished or complete part of the series, I jist wanted to share it bc I'm deciding whether I continue to write or just leave it as this as a "What could've been kind of post. I also don't have anything to post so lol, take with it what you will.

[fourseasonsfigs]

Hug a Pig

I remember when I saw this fig for the first time, and I thought, How did someone dream this up??? Now this was a while ago, way before I realized that that was entirely the wrong question to be asking. The right question is, I wonder when this happened?

The answer, my friends, is Zhang Zhehan's (solo) appearance on Happy Camp that aired on June 12, 2021.

His beautiful smile (while holding this piglet) is the inspiration for this fig!

Here's a better view of Zhehan's outfit.

And another so you can see his crocheted pouch. I was about to say this casual look is not my favorite of Zhehan's - I would have preferred just a t-shirt, frankly - but then again he IS holding a pig in this! So maybe he's downright dapper.

Yes, he went right on a fig stand. Those little tiny feet were not able to hold both the weight of that big ol' head. The only way it would have been able to do so if it was actually a full grown pig and not a piglet!

This is also a great view of the pig. I know in the clip you can't see the pig's eyes, and I do appreciate the verisimilitude, I do.

But to no one's surprise, I have a weakness for cute big-eyed chibi-style animals. I'm just saying, it'd be super cute if this was a big-eyed roly-poly little pig that was either smiling all big like Zhehan, or say, looked really surprised.

BUT accuracy is accuracy, so here we are.

The little crochet handbag Zhehan is wearing in the episode is a nice burst of bright blue against the general tan effect of his clothes, and of course matches his crochet blue flower pin.

Zhehan's hair was styled pretty spiky in this Happy Camp episode, so you can see the definition that the fig maker put in it.

It's all all tan outfit here. The strap of the crochet bag is a decently bright orange (but not like neon or anything) in the pictures, whereas in the fig it's a little more muted of a color. It's less of a contrast and more in line with the overall color palette of the clothes.

The modeling is good on the arms - nothing looks disproportional or too long.

A streamlined but still very standard Zhehan silhouette.

I'm so glad the fig maker picked this moment - his big beautiful smile in the show is just so radiant!

The hair is spot on, if you scroll back. The fig maker also got the nice detail of the uh, squiggly? embroidery on his pocket. And of course the blue crochet flower pin. Very cute.

A bottoms-up view / closeup so you can see the details of the shoes, pig, and shirt (mostly). Look at those rosy cheeks!

I'm still impressed by how accurate the fig maker got the hair. She does good work!

It's always fun to have the box art be a peek into what figs are coming up! You've already seen Neufmode Han here, so that only leaves that Baozhushajun there in the middle.

Guess what fig you'll see tomorrow 😉

Material: PVC

Fig Count: 377

Scene Count: 26

Rating: 🐷🐷🐷🐷🐷 5 / 5 pigs agree this is the best fig ever!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[storiesofsquiggs]

The Writing Blog Intro Post Nobody Asked For

Hi guys I’m Squiggles (Squiggs, Squiggly, take your pick)

I’m in my 20s, my pronouns are she/her, and I have been writing since I was 6 years old. I have a small library of original works gathering dust in my home, and started my very first fanfiction in May of 2022

I have never and will never be confident in my own writing, but I’m trying to get better about self-deprecation. I write primarily as free therapy; and everything is horribly self-indulgent

Wind is my blorbo and you will be seing mostly Wind-centric stuff; however, Warriors recently ate my brain so brace yourselves for a good bit of the good Captain, too

Angst is my jam. I do write major character death with some frequency! It is always tagged, but be aware that it is here! I also get a little descriptive with injuries and whatnot; there will be blood. However there will not be anything NSFW ever, and swearing is minimal and tagged if present

I think that’s about it! Don’t hesitate to interact, I love to talk and will jump at the chance to chat about my stories! I love prompts and feedback, and hope you enjoy The Angst Train (don’t worry, it makes an occasional stop in Fluffville)

One last thing: Comments are like air to me they sustain me and I love them so so much if you ever leave a comment on anything you will forever own a piece of my heart. Okay that’s all <3

💖💖💖

[writingwitharlo]

I posted 285 times in 2022

That's 268 more posts than 2021!

117 posts created (41%)

168 posts reblogged (59%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@writingwitharlo

@nhasablogg

@ticklishraspberries

@discountscoobyart

@hypahticklish

I tagged 233 of my posts in 2022

Only 18% of my posts had no tags

#ask box answers - 33 posts

#reblog - 30 posts

#tickle fic - 22 posts

#tickling - 21 posts

#heartstopper - 20 posts

#heartstopper tickle fic - 16 posts

#nick nelson - 15 posts

#charlie spring - 14 posts

#ticklish!nick - 13 posts

#ticklish!charlie - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 123 characters

#it was specifically about charlie saying something like that he likes nick's dogs more than him and nick tickles him for it

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Entry Requirement

a/n: whipped this up in one sitting, so anyone should be eternaly grateful. if there are any parts that don't make sense or sound wrong, blame it on the fact that it is now 4am ♡

Summary: Movie night, it's a classic.

Ship: Nick/Charlie

1809 words

Wednesday

"My mum will be out of town on Saturday."

"Hm?"

"I was thinking, we could do that movie night we've been talking about."

"..."

"Charlie."

A nudge of an elbow eventually tore the younger boy away from his essay.

"Look what you've done! Now my 'T' is all squiggly."

Nick simply smiled, shooting innocent eyes at his form partner.

"Did you hear what I said?"

Charlie huffed a little as he tried to save the untidy letter by tracing over it a couple of times. "When?"

"Just now."

Charlie paused and stared blankly at Nick.

Nick chuckled and shook his head. "Movie night, Saturday."

"Oh. Yeah, sounds good." He paused. "Should we invite Tao and Elle?"

Nick shrugged, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. "Do you want to invite them?"

Charlie's eyes flickered down briefly, noticing the fabric of Nick's shirt stretch across the older boy's broad shoulders.

"Uh... Y-Yeah? Well-... Actually, I don't know if we'll be able to settle on anything to watch with Tao there. So, maybe-... Maybe next time."

The corner of Nick's mouth curled upwards and he nodded. "Sounds fair. I was hoping it would only be the two of us."

Charlie felt a flutter in the center of his chest and was unable to hold back the grin that split his face in two. "Yeah?."

Nick nodded, leaning forward and picking up his own pen again. "So, I'll sort out the snacks and you can pick what to watch."

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Saturday

Saturday couldn't come early enough. It had been a few weeks since the two had officially started 'going out', but it all still felt pretty surreal to Charlie.

See the full post

182 notes - Posted May 10, 2022

#4

In Front of Them

a/n: finally finished!! i'm actually pretty happy with how it turned out, even if it ended up a looot longer; also just tagging @ticklishraspberries @veryblushyswitch @nhasablogg @happyandticklish and @ticklepinions who i think might enjoy

Summary: Sequel to the Not In Front of Them drabble, the gang find out about Nick's ticklish secret...

(Heartstopper; Charlie/Nick, Tara/Darcy, Elle/Tao, Isaac)

2909 words

"Is he still sleeping?"

Hushed voices and dim morning light. The heaviness of sleep still lingered in the air of the spacious living room of the Nelson residence. The grey autumn sky painted the walls in a faint blue hue.

"I mean, it's barely eight," Charlie answered in a hushed voice, checking the time on his phone.

"Yeah, Darce, not everyone wakes up at the crack of dawn like they have coffee pumping through their veins."

Darcy gasped dramatically and pummeled her girlfriend with her stuffed elephant. Charlie had to bury his mouth in the crook of his arm to keep from laughing out loud.

It was nice having the two girls as part of their friend group now. It almost felt like they had been around all along. Plus, Elle finally had someone to discuss all of the topics with that the boys had just been hopeless at the last couple years.

Pillows and blankets and duvets lay, generously scattered, across the floor. Charlie couldn't remember at what point the movie night transitioned to the sleep-over part of the stay.

He initially woke to whimsical music playing over seemingly eternal end credits. Groggy and blearily he hunted down the remote, swallowed by the covers. Once the room fell silent and dark, Charlie shoved the remote behind some pillow and cuddled up to the warm body beside him. Nick briefly stirred awake from being kneed in the thigh. A couple of hushed words were exchanged before the dark enveloped not only their bodies but their minds, once more. A few hours later, the sound of a whispered conversation and giggling drang through to Charlie; although, for all he knew, it might as well had been minutes by how foggy his brain felt. The three girls sat huddled in a circle, each bundled up under their blankets and phones in their hands. Knowing that going back to sleep wasn't going to happen, Charlie sat up, gently smiling back at the girls as they took notice of him. His eyes briefly fell on Nick, making his stomach flutter at the mere sight of him; untidy hair, crumpled tshirt, expression of blissful oblivion. Charlie felt the overwhelming urge to just grab his face and kiss him until they were both breathless, but instead he let the older boy sleep some more; there would be plenty of time for kissing later. He picked up Nick's discarded jumper and pulled it over his own long-sleeve shirt, his scent wrapping around him like one of Nick's hugs, before flipping over onto his stomach and settling down at the foot end of the couch to join the girls. Elle offered to make them all tea and forced Tao awake to keep her company while Isaac volunteered to tag along to help them carry the cups back in a bit. The faintest clatter of ceramic and muffled voices billowed in from the kitchen a few moments later.

"I think that should be a thing though," Darcy spoke, leaning against the base of the couch and hugging her elephant to her chest. "Caffeine infusions. They would change the world."

"Isn't that what coffee already does, though?" Charlie pointed out with a chuckle.

Tara shook her head. "You're not really going to use reason to argue with her, are you?"

Charlie raised his eyebrows as he thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, you're right. My bad."

"Hey!"

"Shh."

"Hey."

Charlie heard the faintest rustle of the duvet beside him as Nick stirred some.

"Did I wake him?" Darcy whispered, placing a hand over her mouth.

Charlie shook his head. "No, I don't think so. He can be a pretty heavy sleeper."

"You sure? What if he's just faking to listen in to our super secret conversation."

"About your genius medical invention?"

Charlie looked at the blonde for a second with a knowing smile. He really shouldn't. Nick had specifically asked him not to, and he should respect that. And would it not be more fun to keep the secret just for a bit longer? But it was true, they would find out sooner or later. And if it was up to Charlie, he definitely preferred sooner.

Slowly, he moved his hand to the socked foot poking out from under the covers. His fingertips grazed against its sole lightly. Anticipating a kick or something worse, he ducked his head, but the only reaction he got was a tiny twitch of the toes.

"Hm," Charlie hummed, retracting his hand again. "He's definitely asleep."

Darcy looked up at him, her mouth ajar. "Charlie Spring, have you been withholding valuable information from us?"

"Oh, no," Tara chuckled.

See the full post

182 notes - Posted May 26, 2022

#3

the 80s crop top era would have been steve's downfall (and eddie's uprise)

193 notes - Posted July 22, 2022

#2

See the full post

193 notes - Posted June 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

only noticed when i came across an edit of this idiot, look at that smirk and his little tongue poking out at the end actually has me dead

i mean, all of us felt something when he launched himself at dustin so just know that this is the exact face eddie makes before launching a tickle attack

slowed version for better appreciation:

See the full post

2,015 notes - Posted July 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[johnmanciniwrites]

In Fragments We Trust

When, Why, and How to Write Incomplete Sentences

__

“Fragments are the only forms I trust.” – Donald Barthelme

The soundbite goes viral. People rally round a slogan. The meme speaks volumes. In our fragmented media landscape, phrases have more currency than clauses.

In his 1857 poem, “The Swan,” Charles Baudelaire complained of an “immense nausea of billboards.” Who would have thought, even back then commercialism was overwhelming people with superficial distractions and empty promises. In a way, his take on fragmented reality anticipates postmodernists like Barthelme, who responded to his own generation's deluge of sensory stimuli and existential anxieties.

If fragmentation is key to understanding the modern or post-modern or post-post-modern condition, that might explain why my Word software no longer offers a squiggly line when I write an incomplete sentence. Maybe it doesn’t matter anymore. But maybe it should. Knowing when, why, and how to break the rules is an artist’s job.

One used to learn in grade school what makes a complete thought, when that thought “runs on” into another complete thought, when the writer should insert a period instead of a comma. But these days the nuts and bolts of grammar are rarely taught. If at all. Some universities offer tutoring sessions on fragments and run-ons. Attendance is optional.

So here's a tutoring session you can take at your leisure.

The well-placed fragment can add style and emphasis and even increase dramatic tension in your work. Fragments are often built on parallels, so it helps to have some understanding of syntax, such as being able to recognize a series of verb phrases when you write one. But a basic ear for language and voice should tell you when to pause with a comma, take a sip from the oversized Yeti or Stanley cup, and carry on. Or when you need to make a full stop. And then start again. A feel for rhythm and momentum can be learned. 

From Postcards by Annie Proulx:

Even before he got up he knew he was on his way.  Even in the midst of the involuntary orgasmic jerking he knew.  Knew she was dead, knew he was on his way.  Even standing there on shaking legs, trying to push the copper buttons through the stiff buttonholes he knew that everything he had done or thought in his life had to be started over again. Even if he got away.

The main clause (the complete thought) in the first two sentences is “he knew.” The fragment is built on the verb, knew. The first fragment announces a dramatic surprise in dramatic fashion. It increases urgency. The second is built on the modifying conditional phrase, even if. Repetition is key.

Here’s one from William Faulkner’s “Dry September”:

Through the bloody September twilight, aftermath of sixty-two rainless days, it had gone like a fire in dry grass – the rumor, the story, whatever it was.  Something about Miss Minnie Cooper and a Negro.  Attacked, insulted, frightened: none of them, gathered in the barber shop on that Saturday evening where the ceiling fan stirred, without freshening it, the vitiated air, sending back upon them, in recurrent surges of stale pomade and lotion, their own stale breath and odors, knew exactly what had happened.

The fragment here is an appositive, basically the fourth item in the parallel list that tries to name the thing that had “gone like a fire in dry grass—the rumor, the story, whatever it was.” By isolating the last and most telling of the items in this list Faulkner strikes a power chord that emphasizes the scandal. It's also worth noting the long final sentence there, which seems to spread, from comma to comma, like the rumor itself.   

Here’s one from Alice McDermott’s Charming Billy:

We sat in the car instead, the broad front seat.  There was the scent of stale cigarettes and old joints and the sweet smell of the beach towel I held on my lap.  You were tan and wore the leather band around your right wrist. Just out of Stony Brook.  Worked a charter fishing boat all summer.  Wanted to own one of your own.  Wanted to see the west coast.  Never went into the city, didn’t like it.  Couldn’t imagine living in a place like Rosedale, going to college way up in Buffalo.  A Bonacker, a real Bonacker.  But your mouth was dry and your eyes dark brown.

These seven parallel fragments are all extensions of the previous sentence which tells us what you were. Most of them are verb phrases in which the you is implied (worked, wanted, went, didn’t like, couldn’t imagine) and the final fragment breaks this pattern with an implied intransitive verb (you were a bonacker). Notice how she returns to a complete sentence for the final line in this paragraph, breaking the pattern and adding closure.

You can build fragments with resumptive modifiers, by repeating a word and saying more about it. Consider the following example from Tobias Wolff’s “The Other Miller”:

For once, everybody else is on the outside and Miller is on the inside. Inside, on his way to a hot shower, dry clothes, a pizza, and a warm bunk.

Like the example from Faulkner, the following fragment is an appositive, which could have easily been incorporated into the sentence it is modifying—perhaps with an em dash—but the writer isolates it with fragmentation. It is also an appositive, essentially a long parallel modifier that renames “coal miners.”

From Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games:

Our part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour. Men and women with hunched shoulders, swollen knuckles, many who have long since stopped trying to scrub the coal dust out of their broken nails, the lines of their sunken faces. But today the black cinder streets are empty. Shutters on the square grey houses are closed. The reaping isn’t until two. May as well sleep in. If you can.

I like that one at the end. If you can. The well-placed fragment announces itself. The sentence could have read “May as well sleep in—if you can” and perhaps achieved a similar effect. But by fragmenting the final phrase she cuts up the rhythm even more and adds an eerie tension to the notion of trying to sleep through what's coming. Which makes sense. This is, after all, the day of the reaping.                                  

So have no fear of fragments. They are not incorrect. No red pen required. In fact, their experimental and unconventional nature may be a proper reaction to our fragmented world. A more authentic reflection of the human condition in the twenty-first century.

[ra-tutubixi]

Behind Time's Shawl: Exploring the rhymes and reasons of Mesoamerican Day-Signs

So sometime ago, it occurred to me that, perhaps, the signs of the Meso calendar could be traced to something geographical, cosmological even. That's not a new idea, the charge of certain "landmark signs" has been well-known for a while now, with sources as early as the Relación de Meztitlan describing some of the matter.

But perhaps the other signs have a story to tell, too.

This's gonna be a real simple post, much less dense. That's mostly because, as the tags indicate, this is the outtake of an effortpost. Perhaps eventually I'll get to formatting it here or on my neocities, but for now this will serve as a side-blog for explaining and elaborating on a few of the things I write about, or my diverse whims.

The Maya Rhombus

Here delineated, the relationships glimpsed by my hand. The vertical lines denote conceptual opposition, i.e. things complimentary yet inverse, while the horizontal ones instead connect causalities, sets of concepts that follow from one another.

Going clockwise from the top and following the vertical arrows, Ik' (wind) can be said to repel Eb' (rain), as it sweeps clouds off the sky.

You'll notice I'm skipping the second (Ak'b'al-Chuwen) and third (K'an-Ok) columns to the previous pair's right; I cannot provide much description here, other than the vague suggestion that those concepts might be connected in a similarly oppositional way. The Maya area is far from one I'm well-versed in.

Next comes Chikchan (snake), strongly related to fire through K'awil and the Vision Snake, made from smoke, and Muluk (water). Here follows Kimi and Lamat, death and rabbits; the glyph for the latter can be interpreted as three corn kernels, seeds of life, and rabbits generally are known as quick-footed and, primordially, prolific, lively, active.

To the left of Eb' comes B'en (reed) and its pair, Imix (lily or crocodile, wrongly glossed in the image as "stone." oops). Reeds stand tall, with teeny flowers, while lilies are low to the surface and display grand beauty, though less foliage; were it to be crocodile, the opposition would be between that which is static and that which moves, plant and animal, water-air and water-land, for reptiles are the skin of the world. Next, Ix (moon) and Ajaw (day-sun). There's not much more I need to elaborate here. Men (eagle) and Kawak (storm), carrying similar connotations as Ik'-Eb', though with the additional thing where eagles are connected to the sun, to the wind and clear skies; calm, one could say, and rage.

I also skipped Kib'-Ets'nab'. Manik' and Kab'an haven't vertical parallels due to their placing at the left and right corners.

Horizontally, top-to-bottom, Ajaw-K'an (corn), sun and growth, light and plantlife. We skip over to Ets'nab' (knife)-Kimi, the blade and its outcome. One final skip is made to Kib' (vulture)-Lamat, the herald of rot and death which consumeth the herald of life and growth; Kib' has also been interpreted as "owl," which could be taken as further support here. Finally, Men-Muluk, the free skies and the earthly waters — I realized this while finishing this section, so this squiggly line was not included in the diagram.

Ik' and Eb' similarly don't have horizontal pairs, as they're at the top and bottom corners. I skipped Imix-Ak'b'al, Kawak-Chikchan, Kab'an-Manik, Ix-Ok and B'en-Chuwen, for that same lack of knowledge and/or late-night brain. It happens.

The Central Mexican Rhombus

The axes are similar here: vertical lines are complimentary opposites, the horizontal ones are relational — that is to say, the paired signs share a domain. As before, Reed and House haven't a horizontal pairing due to their vertical cornering, while Flint and Rabbit have the converse situation.

Vertical relationships are as follows, going from leftmost to rightmost: Earthquake/Rubber-ball and Rain as, well, the movement of earth and that of water, or that of the sun and that of the divine liquid; Vulture and Flower as rot and blooming and growth, consumption and production; Eagle and Reptile/Knife as, uh, bird and reptile, sky and earth, flight and ending; Jaguar and Wind as Teskatlipoka and Ketsalkoatl, dusk and dawn, night and day, dark and clear smoke; Reed and House as monte and city, perhaps as Chichimec-Toltec (the former are known, at times, to wield decorated reed staffs); Twistgrass and Lizard as starvation and food, cold and warmth; Monkey and Snake as forest and dryland, canopy and ground; Dog and Skull/Death as flesh and essence, change and staleness; Water and Deer as wetness and dryness, reaching below and growing skyward.

Horizontal relationships from top to bottom, in turn, are: Jaguar and Twistgrass as darkness, tamelessness; Eagle and Monkey as exaltation, abundance and fortune; Vulture and Dog as passage, the Eaters of Filth, those who return to the earth that which is dead; Earthquake/Rubber-ball and Water as cleansing, as movement eternal; Flint and Rabbit as birth and death, the cutting winds and the fast winds, the stone-hard earth and the soft earth; Rain and Deer as movement, as running, nourishing that which is in drought; Flower and Death as transformation, as constants of life, as each nurtures the other; Reptile/Knife and Snake as, well, Reptile and Snake, as the skin of the earth; Wind and Lizard as living, as changing, growing, metamorphose, as shedding the dry skin for a new shape, or shedding the wet skin for a dry one.

Aight that's that. No proper sources this time, 'cause half of this is more of my own understanding of the things, though the foundations do have the following: The Central-International sign lists are from a collection of codices, notably the Magliabecchiano, Telleriano-Remensis, Huichapan/Antämatsits'i (and, if you really wanna go there, the Florentinus), while the Maya one is from wikipedia Miller and Taube (1993: The Gods and Symbols of Ancient Mexico and the Maya: An Illustrated Dictionary of Mesoamerican Religion). Both contain some associations.

[slam-dunkrai]

What's that, you say? A *second* Mountain Goats show in three days? Science had not, until this point, considered such a thing possible — surely going from Scotland to London and back in such a short span of time would be impossible, factoring in the need of my voice box to recover and the gauntness of my bank account. And yet!

Cannot complain about any of that, least of all "Stabbed to Death Outside San Juan;" there are only a few chances you get in your life to scream the phrase "Hertzsprung-Russell Diagram" in meter, with a crowd of other people — or, for that matter, a respectfully observed "You Were Cool" and the most communal and jubilant rendition of "Alpha Rats Nest" I've ever heard (at least until the next time they play that when I'm at one of these, probably). The Jenny From Thebes material they're playing also comes into its own live, too. They're colourful songs, made further vibrant by JD's stage presence — and Kathy Valentine's cameo on "One Way Out" at the recent London show, too!

For both shows I was at this week, special compliments must go to the entire band, but especially Matt Douglas, frequently ripping the nastiest saxophone solos this side of, uhh, John Zorn (this comparison is confusing and built on nothing; people are threatening to doxx me over this; I know, I know; I am looking for a professional editor who can tolerate my bullshit and cut down on the purple prose for these unscheduled recollections of cool things happening; nobody at Bloomsbury or Penguin Random House picks up my calls, sadly, so you'll all have to cope until then; I make no apologies).

Honestly? One of the better weeks I've ever had, both in musical endeavour and in general. I'll be riding this high for a while yet, and I'm going to be an insufferable fount of gratitude for a bit. Forgive the soppiness! You've gotta savour these ones when you get 'em, folks!

[sleepy-moron]

As it seems the leaks are increasing at a substantial rate; here are some friendly reminders:

- please use spoiler tags on posts containing spoilers and use the read more option....if you're on the website the option to add the break is an orange squiggly line, and on mobile you type : readmore: and then hit enter

- not all the spoilers you see are true and even the ones that are true are lacking context....we won't know for certain what happens until the show actually airs

- if a blog asks people to stop sending asks about leaks please respect this, this is a hobby and respecting people's boundaries is important

- generally just respect the opinions of others

This is a really exciting time for all of us so let's keep it that way

[ghostbellies]

Earthworms

(SFW SHORT STORY)

(A story I wrote about Engines. Yes, it’s Thomas and Friends, Get off my ASS. If you like it, drop me a comment! i love writing but don’t do it often! ALSO bear in mind that this is NOT my usual content, i’m just using Tumblr to post this to world lol)

It was a warm, drizzly day on the Isle of Sodor.  Rain fell in shimmery sheets over the island, the smell of new greenery and rich earth mixed in the air with the scent of petrichor. The sun shone through breaks in the clouds, spilling a golden light on the awakening countryside.

“The devil is beatin’ his wife”, Some Sudrians would say as they lifted their eyes skywards.

The engines on the Fat Controller’s railway hardly had time for such meteorological observations - they were busy at work as always, the Spring season bringing eager tourists from the mainland looking to enjoy the milder weather; trucks laden with paint and fresh thatch for Spring cleaning; and of course, lots of post.

Percy The Little Green Engine found himself pulling an additional afternoon mail train on every Wednesday, bringing priority post from the mainland. Although eager Percy would have rather blown his throttle valve than complain out loud, he couldn’t help but be a touch grumpy over the additional load, as it was always a rush job and always just shy of ‘absolutely bloody late’.

On that wet Spring Wednesday, Percy was hauling a particularly heavy priority mail train, running 8 and red-faced as the gentle rain became stinging needles against his plump cheeks.  Percy offered meek praise to the Maker when the mail depot finally appeared on the horizon. The porters were already racing around with carts in anticipation of the mail delivery, but he could also see a tall lady waiting patiently on the platform. She was wearing a lumpy raincoat, dirty overalls and muddy green boots.  Her brassy blonde hair was grimy, plastered to her forehead in the humid air.  As soon as Percy labored up to the platform, wheezing with the effort of hauling the laden trucks, the woman waved to him.

“Hello, Little Six!” she said in her big, brash northerner’s voice. Percy beamed, immediately feeling ten cars lighter. “Hallo Miss McColl!” He chirped brightly.

Amelia McColl was Farmer McColl’s eldest daughter. Only a few seasons prior she had taken over a good deal of the farm duties that pertained to the growing of crops, and she took it very seriously.  She was rarely seen without a healthy dusting of dirt on her clothes or a big box of seasonal produce and flowers to share with her neighbors. Percy liked her. She seemed to genuinely enjoy talking to the engines; sharing stories about troublesome crows in her corn or photos of her army of barn cats. 

Amelia stood aside as the porters hustled to unload Percy’s freight. One of them rushed over to her. He nodded to her curtly with a mumbled “ma’am” and handed her a clipboard, which she scrawled her signature on and traded back for a smallish crate. It was stamped with blue ink - RUSH DELIVERY: KEEP COOL.

“Thank you, Percy!” She said, bringing the crate ‘round to Percy’s front so she could look into the green engine’s earnest face.

“You’ve no idea how excited I’ve been for my worms!”

Percy raised an eyebrow as he watched the dirty farmer tear into the crate like Christmas morning.

“Worms?” He said incredulously. Suddenly he realized he had little to no idea what a worm even was other than the most basic wormy-understanding. He’d barely even seen a worm. Even as the smallest of the engines at Tidmouth, they were simply too far beneath his line of vision to see.

“Those little squiggly things??” 

Amelia laughed a big barking laugh - “I’ll have you know these are pedigreed squiggly things! All the way from Scotland!”

Percy’s furrowed brow communicated his absolute bafflement.

She pulled off the lid of the crate with the edge of her pen-knife and thrust her hand inside; she pulled up a handful of rich dark earth and held it up close to the curious engine’s pug-nose. She sifted the dirt out between her fingers, and as he peered closely, pale pink somethings twisted and writhed in her hands.

“These little beasties live their whole lives underground, eating dirt and keeping the soil loose and airy so the roots can breathe. They’re wonderful for a vegetable garden - a farmer’s best friend!” Amelia said it with a touch of pride, pleased with her purchase, clearly thinking the engine would agree. 

But Percy’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. He couldn’t look away from the strange things squirming desperately, as if the light burned their slick skins.

Suddenly he heard the sound of the mail truck doors creaking and slamming shut.  The porters had almost finished their frantic dance, and he would need to carry on with his daily duties. Amelia replaced the worms in their dirt bed, then patted Percy’s cheek affectionately. “Right! I better let you get on with it! I’ll bring you a bright bunch of posies for your cab once they sprout - all thanks to your hard work, and my worms!”

Percy smiled half heartedly. “Thank you Miss McColl, I certainly would love to see the flowers.”

But not so much the worms…

He thought to himself as he pulled away from the station, feeling a queasy rush of cold in his pump injector.

***

Later that evening, the engines were all bedded down at Tidmouth Sheds. They’d had the clinker cleaned off their grates, their flues brushed, and were cooling comfortably in their berths. The nightly indignation session was in full swing.  

“…I’ve had an ache in my flank since this morning…Driver says it was nothing but oh, I KNOW it’s a loose rivet…I shall come apart at the seams…”

“… A whole filthy team of footballers, all jostling and climbing in MY coaches!!! I could just DIE…”

“…I want racing stripes! Bertie says they’ll make me go faster…I’ve no idea how paint can do that but you bet your buffers I’ve GOT TO HAVE IT.”

Edward The Blue Engine listened patiently, the grumbling chorus of engines providing a familiar backdrop to the rain that was pattering on the tin roof. But one voice was missing.  He turned his gaze to his left where Percy sat silently, letting Thomas’ inane chatter about paint rush past him like a countryside view.

“It was Wednesday today, wasn’t it? Priority Mail day. Anything extraordinary?” Edward prompted gently, watching Percy’s eyes refocus as if he had been staring a thousand miles down the track.

“Worms.” Percy said hollowly. “I brought Miss McColl a crate of Scottish P..Peppertree worms…”

“Worms?” Thomas blurted out, a touch of jealousy piping up. “You’ve hauled a load of worms?! I’ve never hauled so much as ONE worm!”

Percy’s chassis rattled. Now that the seal was broken, he blurted the rest of his story out in a torrent.

“No you don’t understand…they…they looked so horrible! All pink and strange and slimy! She had a crate of smelly wet dirt, and they came packed inside in a horrible tangle… She said they live their whole lives underground…in the dark…”

“Ugh!” James The Splendid sniped, turning his bulbous nose up in disgust. “You wouldn’t catch ME living in the dirt!” 

“No respectable engine would have anything to do with worms. Pitiable tiny things. They haven’t even any arms.” Gordon huffily contributed to the worm deriding.

Once again the shed was ringing with cantankerous voices as the engines, big and small, provided their expert opinions on the merits (or lack there of) of worms. Percy seemed to shrink in on himself as the others talked over him.  Thunder shook the shed, and Edward seized his chance in the ensuing silence. He raised his voice only slightly.

“Oh, I don’t know. This reminds me of stories from the mainland about strange trains.”

All that could be heard was the soft tick-ticking of cooling fireboxes, and the air was thick with the engine's collected curiosity. Edward’s lined face crinkled with his gently mischievous grin. Now I’ve got them.

“Edward, I don’t like such frightful stories before bed!” Henry groused, screwing up his face in a look of distaste.  Edward just continued, knowing they’d all be hooked by the time he took his first pause.

"Driver told me on the mainland there are cities built over vast, gloomy tunnels underground. They tried to explore the tunnels, but they were so long and dark that anyone who set foot in them was swallowed up by the great yawning black, never to return.  So many were lost trying to navigate the tunnels, that they realized something had to be done. So the Great Controllers on the Mainland and the Makers got together to create a  plan.  They would tame the dark. Yoke it for their use as they have the great expanses of Sudrian countryside.  They brought in builders and iron workers and brick layers and engineers, but it was still so utterly alien and foreboding that they realized they had only one choice…to build engines to help.”

Thomas blinked in confusion.

“Engines? Underground? Away from the sun and fresh air? What kind of an engine could stand that misery?!” He knew the dark was not a friend to a locomotive.  Unseen hazards lay in it, waiting to derail an engine who carelessly rolled into it without their lamps, or worse. Tunnels had their own hazards, flooded lines or bad track that lay in wait. To The Iron Horses of the rails, the thought of a dank, endless dark was as unpleasant as a cold water washdown.

Edward cleared his throat of a bit of soot, and continued as his friends leaned in as if trying to breathe in his words.

“Underground engines.  Strong as the greatest LNER, and as fast as one as well. Great big beasts with wide, luminous eyes, though they are blind as a dead end. They haven't any fireboxes, because they do not need to eat…."

"Not eat?!" Muttered Gordon with a huff, already fuming over the implication of a faster engine than he.  "Nonsense. no proper engine could run without coal!"

 "...Or diesel!" Henry piped up helpfully, fully invested in this strange tale.

Edward continued quietly.  "Not a single lump of coal or drop of petrol. No - these monsters get their power from cables and coils…electricity.  They pull trains so long their tails are like rivers.  The Makers created the perfect engine for these inhospitable depths…the subway train. Never sleeping, stopping only to pick up passengers. They hurtle down these subterranean tracks, screaming into the dark like banshees, searching constantly for someone, anyone, to relieve their toils.”

Thomas spoke up with faux-bravado.

“Oh Edward. You’re yanking our Johnson Bars! No controller would allow their engines to be treated so unfairly! Afterall, if they are strong and fast and pull such huge trains, they must be really useful!” His tone seeked affirmation from his fellow engines, but they seemed to doubt his conviction.

Edward just smiled, another rumble of thunder punctuating his artfully crafted pause.

“When the Makers built the engines, they only knew to make them really useful for the underground.  And no man, brave or strong, can live in the tunnels with them all the time.  As a matter of fact…Driver told me he witnessed a subway train break down.  The poor engine had been rushing through the foul tunnels at full speed when it derailed on a length of uneven track.  It lay on its side, bellowing in pain for days before they finally found it. They had to use a huge crane to pull it through the tunnels and haul it above ground to the works….”

“Did…did they fix it?” James squeaked fitfully, the trio of big engines shook like shivering trucks on a shaky track. Henry rolled backwards as far as he could go into his berth, hiding his face completely behind Gordon’s bulk.

Edward’s voice dropped to a low rasp.  The dying embers of the engine’s smokebox cast strange shadows behind him, making his careworn face seem hard and angular in the low light.

“They drug the pitiful thing up to the surface slowly, carriage by carriage. The whole time they could hear it’s soft, mournful moans. At last they arrived at the head… But those poor fools, the lot of them - they didn’t know, just couldn’t know…once the engine was in the full light of the sun…”

Edward SHOUTED in a manic voice!

“PUT ME BACK! PUT ME BACK UNDERGROUND! MY FACE! MY FACE IT’S BURNING!!”

The shed erupted in noise. Thomas startled back like a nervous horse, giving a fearful wheesh of steam. The Big Engines hollered, Gordon’s whistle blasting a strident, hectic shriek. 

Throughout the whole ordeal… Percy had been staring tightlipped with mounting panic. As the others turned their ire to Edward for startling them, the old blue engine looked at Percy…and winked cheekily.

Percy’s face finally broke into a wide, genuine grin. He giggled, realizing suddenly that he and Edward had shared a brief moment of solidarity. He was grateful to his old friend.

“So there you are, Lads” Edward said, chuckling at his rioting comrades. “You see, Percy was rather brave to face those worms unprotected!”

***

The Engines on the Isle of Sodor always work hard and want to be really useful…but every so often, when the rains come and they care to look downwards to the wet soil where strange pink snouts poke out of the earth…They remember the alien worlds of the subways and their fireboxes cool a degree or two…

All except Percy of course, who now knows that pedigreed worms really do help grow wonderful flowers!

[penname-artist]

This is a hot take, at 12:20 in the morning, because I've been thinking about it and now I would like to make words appear:

I wish to impart some 'old hag of the fandom realm' wisdom to fanfic writers, of all kinds, on what to maybe not do, when writing your fic. Constructive critique of course, this is not to bash on those who do these things. Cuz see sometimes, I am human, and I have preference, and often my preference is for fics...that have...correct grammar...

Line breaks. If you are posting to a site like AO3, there is a special HTML code for a line break to separate scene changes in your fic, and it's <hr>. Please use them, please? We have them, they're beautiful. We don't have to have a hundred squiggly ~~~*~~~ lines, I know they look pretty, but people who use screen readers get very frustrated when they get to them. There are easier ways, my children. Far easier.

Please...please at the very least understand the structure of sentences. Subject, predicate, period. "The ball (subject) is red (about subject) . (End of the statement)" Run-on sentences, or sentences which have no periods, or the periods are far too spaced out, get really really hard to read really really quickly. Example: There used to be a ball in the park where I used to play with my friend Dillan, he is away in another city right now, so he hid the ball somewhere near the playground where we used to play and left clues all over for me to try to figure out where it might be and I went out there this afternoon with my family to try to see if I could find the first clue to *snooooore*

If you do struggle with grammar errors and such, kindly see if there is a buddy or fellow mutual able to assist you or edit your fics. This will optimize not only the quality of the content coming out for readers, but it will increase your bond with your editor. Probably.

It never hurts to keep an air of professionalism. Remember to try and keep readers in the moment, so taking them out to add in personal notes during the fic may not be the best idea (unless the intention is only for comedic effects. *Squeaks rubber chicken*)

As well, remember to keep track of your writing tense during the scene. Is it past tense? Present? First person POV, third person POV? Double check if you're not sure.

Lastly, since I see lots of people struggle with this type of thing, remember you can also read up on grammar stuff if you're ever in a jam. The internet is full of easy ways to learn the correct dialogue tags without spending forever in a classroom trying to pass a test. Use it to your advantage! And there are tons of additional writing helpers out there; synonyms, word rhyme sites, writing quality checkers, finding missing words, and more.

[djellaganza]

Cw: non-con, dub-con, kidnapping, voyerism, exhibitionism, Oral sex, fingering, very NSFW

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

"Let me go you piece of shit! I am on a mission!" you spit out as Madera ties your hands to the bed post. You look around the tidy room and the huge Uchiha fan above the bed, you were trying to find any kind of weapon laying around. "You know, for an unbu black ops you are pretty sloppy" he chuckles "I spotted you the second you started following last week, and I haven't taken my eyes off you since". Fuck! You think to yourself, how could you have been bested by this Uchiha? The first hokage had trusted you with this important mission and you had fucked it up. You were supposed to be the best unbu and you were now being tried to a bed like a common whore with no backup coming. "I am under strict orders from the first hok-" he grabs your jaw, his face just inches from yours. "If Hashirama wanted to know what I was up to he should have come himself and not sent a sexy thing like yourself". Before you know it his lips are crashing into yours. You squirm and bite his lip, "don't you fucking kiss me, you are one step away from being a criminal, do you really think I would kiss someone like you?!". Madera chuckles again, making the restraints on your wrists tighter. "You did hear me say I haven't taken my eyes off you since last week didn't you? I know for a fact you want me, I saw you dip your fingers into your dripping cunt while you were watching me stroke my cock. Nothing escapes these sharingans baby". Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! How could you make such a rooky mistake?? To be fair the man looked like a literal God, and watching him stroke his cock and pinch his nipple while biting his bottom lip had your squirming for relief in no time. "My sharingans even picked up your lip movements. I believe you were saying fuck me harder Madera, fuck please I need you". By this time your pride and whatever fight you had left had just shattered. You were up in the trees miles away and he saw everything. At this point you might as well enjoy yourself because if the first hokage doesn't throw you in jail, then you will definitely be excommunicated from the village. "OK, fine, I can admit you are quite handsome..." Madera takes off your pants and underwear all in one swoop. "No lying my little kunoichi, I believe the words you muttered in the trees was, he looks like a literal god". You thrust your hips up a little when you feel the hot air hit your cunt from when he chuckles inches from your already soaked pussy. "Be a good girl and let me show you what this god can do". Before you know it Madera (the actual fucking Madera) has his tongue on your clit, licking, kissing, slurping, just making an absolute fucking mess out of you. You keep your voice down because you don't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you scream his name.... That's until he plunges 2 fingers deep inside you. "Fuck! Please Madera don't stop. I am so close please!!" Madera chuckles again and ceases all touching. At this a sob wrecks thru you. "Don't cry baby girl, you'll cum, but you will do so my cock."

In a flash you are tasting yourself as Madera kisses you again. "Look at me beautiful." The second you open your eyes the last thing you see are two red orbs staring back you........

You wake up feeling groggy, your head hurts and you pussy feels sore. Everything is still fuzzy when you hear footsteps. Your eyes snap open and you sit up with the jolt. "Who's there??" you scream into the void. You don't understand where you are. Something about this room doesn't look right, the walls seem to be moving ever so slowly in a squiggly pattern and the silence is almost deafening. You look down and you are completely naked and yet something feels like it's going in and out of your pussy. The room isn't pitch dark and you can see a little; you can definitely see that there is nothing or no one between your legs, but what could that sensation mean? You can't think about that right now, your ninja skills kick in and you jump up to look for a weapon. Why does all this seem familiar, why does this feel like the most realistic déjà vu you have ever experienced. "Stand down kunoichi" you know that voice.... Seemingly appearing out of no where, Lord hokage approaches you. You instantly fall on one knee and bow your head. "Lord hokage! I am so sorry, am not sure what happened or where I am. Madera spotted me and the mission was compromised. I don't remember much, he must have used some kind of genjutsu on me and....".

"What did I tell you Hashi, she's a beauty when she's on her knees ain't she". Your head snaps up and forgetting you are in your birthday suit you launch yourself between the hokage and Madera. "Get away from lord hokage" words spew like venom from your lips. With your arms spread out and your back to the hokage you whisper behind you "don't worry lord hokage, I'll protect you". As soon as you finish your sentence Madera bursts out laughing. "Sweet girl, you're the one that needs protection" and he thrusts his chin behind you. Before you know it, your spread out arms are being held and pinned behind you. "Lord hokage! What are you doing??". Hashirama says nothing, and in an effort to turn your head and look at him properly, you just now realize that he is also naked underneath his very open kimono. "He isn't really here sweetheart, you are in a limited tsukuyomi. Oh and by the way, out there in the real world, I am fucking you so good. You already squirted twice and are moaning for my cock like a good little slut". Your world comes crashing down, how many different ways is this man trying to degrade you? Even if the lord hokage holding you isn't real, the amount of admiration and respect you have for the man is making this whole situation so much worst. With your arms still pinned against the small of your back, Hashirama bends you to a 90 degrees angle and uses his leg to spread yours apart. You feel his hard cock brush against you ass and a little whimper escapes your throat. "Let me tell you what's going to happen kunoichi, Hashi over there is going to pound that pussy until you start squirting in this world as well while I fuck your pretty little mouth" . Madera comes closer, and it's only then you realize he is also fully naked, hard cock in hand slowly pumping it. Fuck why is this so hot? This is wrong, and yet your pussy is saying this is right. You can already feel yourself getting wetter by the moment, and you decide to second your decision you made earlier and enjoy yourself. "Fine, do what you must. Far be it from me to turn down not one but 2 gods that want to fuck me".

"Good fucking girl. Now open up real wide". As Madera's fat cock is sliding into your mouth, Hashiramas even bigger cock is sliding into your pussy. Picturing what you must look like, split roasted between these two deities is enough to have you coming. "Fuck, her cunt is throbbing like crazy" you hear the hokage growl behind you. "Such a fucking slut aren't you, I know what made you cum, and trust me baby, you look fucking amazing being right now".

[yelenasdog]

the pillowtalk of a pessimist (spencer reid x fem reader)

genre: fluff with a millisecond of angst

summary: pillowtalk takes an interesting turn for spencer at the mention of the harsh realities of his work.

words: 1.3k, she’s a shorty.

warnings: nsfw themes (nothing smutty, it’s just implied and also directly stated that they slept together), typical criminal minds violence + death, and maybe cursing? idk. 

a/n: btw this isn’t the fic i was ranting on about that i’m writing, she’s still in the works. also! this could be an x oc or anybody bc i didn’t use y/n if you would prefer to read it as such.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

A pale stream of moonlight shone through the open window of apartment 23, the home of Doctor Spencer Reid. It illuminated a small section of his bedroom, specifically on one of his many floor to ceiling bookshelves, a beacon of knowledge that was there 24/7 for the taking.

The gold engravings on the spines of his many reads shimmered, a beautiful contrast to the dark mahogany the shelf was made out of.

The room smelled like a mixture of his cologne, her perfume (Chanel no. 5, specifically), and the results of their previous affairs that lingered in the crisp air of the night.

She took a deep breath, settling down further into the white duvet, pulling it over her bosom in response to the chilly temperature. The dark green walls of the room welcomed and calmed her, overwhelming the girl with a wave of serenity that could only be brought to her by him.

He quickly took note of her unsteady breathing and shift in position, immediately jumping to action. He pulled her closer by her shoulders with his strong arms, eliciting a squeal from her and a chuckle from him, more so at her reaction than the move itself.

Her head laid on his bare chest, her hair splayed out with half of it residing on his pillow, the other half on his bicep. She could have appeared to be an angel, although in his eyes, she truly was.

She rested her hand on the left side of his chest over his heart, her fingernail ghosting shapes on his tanned skin. Circles, squiggly lines, even abstract faces.

“How do you do it?”

Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. If his hearing wasn’t so acute, he was sure he would have missed it. This would have saddened the genius greatly, as he valued everything she had to say with a burning ferocity, and even one word lost would be a shame.

“What?”

He was confused by the nature of the question, attempting to search every corner of his brilliant brain for what she might have been referencing. Was it an equation? No, she hated math. Perhaps the way he so effortlessly could play any instrument because yet again, math. He decided that couldn’t be the subject at question either, she played better than he did, glorious melodies flowed from her fingertips. So the doctor was truly stumped.

The answer was simpler than he had imagined.

“Your job.”

With those doe eyes he was so fond of, she looked up, meeting his own glance.

If the term “heart eyes” was able to be personified, Spencer would be the guy to personify it whenever his eyes landed on the one in front of him.

“What do you mean? I get up in the morning, drink some coffee, and get to it.”

She giggled, but the sound he loved so much ceased with her pout.

“That’s not what I mean, Spence. How do you go on everyday, seeing body after body,” she trailed off, obviously distraught. Spencer wrapped his large hand tighter around her, placing his chin on her hairline.

“How do you consistently manage to look at these victims, these people, with lives that they never got to finish living-“ A tear slipped down her cheek, she bit her bottom lip, tasting her own salty droplets on her tongue. She sniffled, burying her head further in his neck with what he presumed was shame.

“And not break down when you do.” Her voice was muffled, but the emotions she felt were evident nonetheless.

He took a moment to carefully articulate an appropriate response. The gears in his mind turned ever so diligently, finding a solution to dry her tears.

“It’s not much different than what I initially said. I get up in the morning, drink some coffee.”

He pushed a hair away from her face, admiring her distinct features as he often did. She looked up, moving her left hand to trace his sharp jaw as he sat in thought.

“And I realize that these people that are now dead, are a part of the hundreds, of throusands, of millions of people that die every year. It’s a part of life, what gives it meaning.”

She gave a dry, humourless laugh.

“What, you don’t have a specific statistic for that?”

“Oh, I do, but I don’t think you want to hear it.” He tilted his head, weighing the option of disclosing the information but deciding against it.

“But the bottom line is, they have families. Families that are grieving, and hurting, and needing answers and justice. I cannot do my job and give them the closure they deserve if I’m staying focused on my own emotions and delving deep into who the victims were, rather than how to catch those responsible for hurting them.”

She moved on to her back, stilling managing to keep her eye contact with Spencer.

“But you’re a profiler! That’s what you do! You’re supposed to, what did you call it, ‘delve deep’ into who they are.”

“Pretty girl, are you trying to tell the one with 3 doctorates how to do his job?”

She rolled her eyes, lazily throwing a hand on his neck, right behind his ear. She ran it back and forth, savoring the intimate moment.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Agent.” She taunted, poorly trying (and failing) to agitate Spencer. She had a hunch (that was more true than either of them would let on) that it wasn’t possible for her to do so, and he found himself proving it to be correct.

“I just had to learn to let the family do what they had to do so that I could do the same.”

The girl’s tone softened as she spoke, staring at the popcorn ceiling.

“I guess so. I’m just too empathetic, my heart is too pure.” She joked, a feathery laugh falling past both of their lips.

“Of course. I would expect nothing less.” He teased back, enjoying the dynamic they both held in the tender moment.

“You amaze me.” She muttered, leaning in, analyzing him and his ruffled post-sex hair, his gorgeously long lashes, and his light 5 o’clock shadow that donned his chin.

He huffed quietly, doing the exact same thing, minus the scruff of course.

“I could say the same to you, pretty girl.”

Their lips connected once again, in a different manner than the feverish and needy kiss from before.

This time, it was a union of two individuals, allowing themselves to mould together in a way only the two of them could. It was slower and sweeter, with more feeling poured into their lips while they moved in sync.

“M’ tired.”

“Yeah? You wanna go to sleep, bubs?”

She grinned as she snuggled into his arms, her exhausted eyes fluttering to a close.

“Bubs, huh? That’s new.”

A worried frown made its way onto his face as he rushed to cover up his previous words.

“D-do you not like it? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable-“

“Spence.”

He stopped, looking over her for any microexpressions, only seeing positive signs. That wasn’t technically profiling, right? He hoped he would be in the clear if she ever was to find out.

“I love it, baby. Say it again.”

“Bubs?”

“Mhm. Say it again.” She sounded with content. He smirked, a proud feeling infiltrating his body, causing him to puff up his chest in the slightest way.

“Goodnight, bubs.”

He reached up, his paranoia forcing him to close the window above him, despite being a more than qualified FBI agent with a revolver safely tucked away in the top drawer of his night stand that never quite was shut all the way.

It was just the pessimist in him.

She wrapped around his figure, intertwining his form with her own.

“Sleep well, Spence.”

He felt happy with her, happier than he had been in a long time. He relished in that, allowing it to lull him to a well needed rest.

But what could he say, she just brought out the optimist in him.

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

hj posting at a time that isn’t 3 am?????? unheard of. also i may or may not have pulled an all nighter to write whatever tf this is bc my ex posted something with his new gf and i felt pathetic LMAO. anyway, i hope your day is fabulous, go drink some water and remember things are what you make of them and it’s all about intent! love you, xx hj.