#queue screen of death

[bloodswag]

the power of a single dialogue option

[owlkhemy]

I can't believe that two years ago today, a burnt bagel made me finally decide to leave my horrific ex-roommate

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

I ABSOLUTELY ♡ THE CONCEPT OF EMO REAPER

Reaper: oh, i hope you like this look. i put plenty of blood, sweat, and tears into it Reaper: hehehe

[sorry-forgot-to-mention-this]

Just finished watching the 3 eps of Love and Death and now I wanna read a fanfic of Wanda and Vision just chilling in the suburbs. I miss their domestic life. Points if Wanda is being terrifying, cuz y’know it’s a vibe.

[tenpixelsusie]

you ever wake up from an elaborate dream about a joyful euphoria deathland and everything starts falling apart? me too

[lola-writes]

Diagnosing Desire

Pairing: Tom Bennett x nurse!reader

Word Count: 5,6k

Themes & Warnings: pov first person, use of Y/N, swearing, fluff, drinking, smoking, eventual smut

Synopsis: Working as a wartime nurse, you’ve been charged with seeing to the physical exams of new recruits. It’s not until Tom Bennett shows up that you realize just how physical the exam can get.

A/N: Not surprised so many people wanted more Tom Bennett. Some inspo taken from Pearl Harbor. Not everything is medically accurate for the sake of the plot. Found this picture (bottom right) of a soldier getting an exam during ww2 that looked just like Ewan from behind!

Song: Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene - Hozier

Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ❤️

Enjoy the read!

“Efficiency is key,” my uncle declared, rustling through the recruitment papers with a grim determination etching his features. “We need to be swift yet thorough.”

“How about I take the main parameters from the start,” I offered. “Leaving you more time to fill out paperwork. Then, I hand them over to you and fill out their files as you examine?”

A thoughtful crease furrowed his brow. “That might just work,” he said, tapping his finger against his lips in contemplation.

The car rattled upon the cobblestones as we lurched onto Manchester’s main street, shuddering us into silence. Every window, lamp post and building were decorated in posters and placards of soldiers with brandished rifles, blaring red pronouncements reading ‘RECRUIT NOW’, ‘EVERY FIT MAN WANTED’, and ‘RALLY ROUND THE FLAG’. 

Neville Chamberlain’s haunting voice echoed in my head, a remnant of his crackling announcement on the Home Service. 

This country is at war with Germany.

A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. 

I despised war, the very notion of violence solving anything. Yet, here I was, about to be thrust into the heart of its machinery.

But if war was inevitable, I would steel my resolve, seeing to put my expertise to good use. 

Fresh out of basic nursing training at King Edward VII Hospital in Sheffield, I’d been dispatched with my uncle and a contingent of colleagues to Manchester. As an NHS nurse, we were tasked with overseeing and assisting in the physical examinations of the city’s new recruits. My uncle, Dr. Benjamin Clark, a seasoned veteran with ten years under his belt, would lead the examinations, while I served as his right hand.

The car turned a corner, then another, before coming to a grinding halt at the curb. I nudged my uncle, yet engrossed in paperwork. Once he glanced up, a gusty sigh escaped his lips. 

“Plan B then,” he muttered, his voice laced with resignation.

The queue leading into the induction center stretched for what seemed like miles. Tracing its path with a sinking heart, a chilling realization dawned on me and settled in my stomach. 

There was endless work ahead of us.

The induction center hummed with activity and crackled with a nervous energy as we entered. Sunlight streamed through high ceilings, illuminating rows of tall, numbered privacy screens. Each makeshift booth held a white-clad nurse and a trepidatious recruit clutching a folder. 

The Manchester center pulsed with a daily influx of hopeful faces, each ushered through a chaotic dance of physical exams, fingerprints, fitness tests, and dreaded vaccinations. My days blurred into a whirlwind of vision checks, height and weight measurements, and the familiar sting as I administered countless injections.

Most of the men I examined were models of civility, enduring the process with a stoic resolve, a wince of pain at the stick of the needle their only betrayal. Yet a few shattered the façade, their bravado crumbling into crass jokes and unwanted advances. Thankfully though, my uncle was a fortress of composure, and would swiftly shut them down, but each encounter left me with a residue of unease and a tear in my patience.

I wasn’t unused to being flirted with. Now, however, it felt like a relentless barrage, a desperate grasping for normalcy in the face of oblivion. By the end of each day, I felt like I’d fielded more marriage proposals than a fairytale princess. I could hardly blame them, though. These men were teetering on the precipice of war. Desperation hung heavy in the air, clinging to these men about to face the unknown. They would depart with no guarantee of whether they’d ever return. 

While I couldn’t offer them a forever, I could offer a gentle smile and as kind of a rejection as I could muster. A disarming act for some, but for others, it wasn’t enough, their misplaced advances requiring security to escort them out.

“Go on, love, give us a chance,” this one man wheedled at my desk after completing his examinations.

I skimmed his file splayed open before me, everything appearing to be in order. ‘Keith Worsley’, it read. 

What a cruel joke, I thought, as I stamped his papers for approval, plastering on my most saccharine smile. He practically vaulted the desk, arms outstretched like he was about to give it a big hug. 

A firmer approach perhaps, a harsher deflection, would expedite his departure. The insistent line of restless faces behind him fueled my resolve.

“You’ve passed,” I announced, my voice clipped, as I shoved his folder shut, thrusting it towards him. “And there’s a queue.”

He ignored the dismissal, looming closer, his breath a noxious cocktail that I could almost taste on my tongue, threatening to crack my carefully constructed façade.

“You gonna deny a soldier his one shot at happiness?” he pressed, his voice thick with misplaced entitlement. 

I sighed internally, a silent scream trapped in my chest.

Efficiency is key, echoed my uncle’s voice in my head. What a struggle that turned out to align to.

“I might die fighting the Nazis,” he continued. 

I started to think it funny just how common that sentence turned out to be. And how these men begging for my hand, publicly liked to expose just how self-absorbed they really were. Pathos disguised as romance.

“Let’s live life to the fullest tonight, baby,” he drawled, desperation clinging to his words like a bad cologne. The urge to laugh was a battle I nearly lost, but the bile rising in my throat solidified my resolve, and I leaned in closer, a sugary smile plastered across my features.

“I’m afraid I’d rather be fighting the Nazis,” I quipped. 

He clamped onto my arm, a jolt shooting through me.

Perhaps not the best candidate for my newfound ‘ice queen’ persona, I thought. 

“Think you’re clever, hm?” he snarled. 

Before I could respond, or seek refuge beneath my uncle’s wing, a voice sliced through the tension.

“Get yer coat, mucker, it’s not gonna ‘appen,” it drawled, its tone snarky, dripping with playful menace, and with an undertone of complete and utter disregard for law and custom. 

Keith rose from the desk, my hand still hostage in his grip. We saw him simultaneously. 

A tall, wiry figure, all straw-blonde hair and icy blue eyes stood behind him in the queue, a scowl twisting his features as he sized Keith up and down, eyes rimmed with lethal venom.

“The fuck you say?” growled Keith, his grip tightening on my arm.

“Y’ heard me.” The blonde dipped his chin. “Now, let go of the lady’s hand. She’s done nothing but take care of ya.”

Kieth obliged before lumbering towards the blonde, towering over him, fixing him with an unwavering glare. But the thick tension ran thin when the blonde suddenly erupted in laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Something funny?” Keith snarled, nostrils flaring.

“Keith? That’s yer name?” the blonde derided, amusement lacing his voice as he nodded at Keith’s dog tag.

A beat of stunned silence followed.

“What about it?” asked Keith hesitantly.

“Well, Keith was always the name of that kid who wore a balaclava till’ April, candle wax snot angin’ from his nose.” The blonde grinned widely. 

My jaw clenched to stifle a snort of laughter. What a cheeky fucker, was all I could think, before Keith’s fist met his face with a resounding blow. The blonde was on the floor before anyone could stop it. 

Security materialized in seconds, hauling both men out the door in a flurry of limbs and shouted obscenities.

I rubbed a hand over my forehead, the day’s stress settling into my bones. I sighed deeply, before waving forward the next recruit. 

_

The next day was no different. Another deluge of recruits. Hundreds lined up to get their vision checked at my desk, their anxious energy buzzing through the air.

Another folder slapped onto my desk as I was finishing up with the one before. The pen slipped around in my clammy hand, still getting used to the rhythm of work. 

I opened the new folder with a practiced flick, my eyes scanning the documents. To service the Royal Navy, HMS Exeter (68). 

“Tom Bennett,” I read aloud, already filling out the form.

“Yes, ma’am,” a voice replied promptly, a hint of salt-laced amusement clinging to the words.

“Read row eight for me, please,” I instructed, pointing at the Snellen’s chart over my shoulder, my focus remaining on the papers.

“D-E-F-P-O-T-E-C,” he declared, rather fast, considering the small size of the letters.

“Steady on, sailor,” I chuckled, glancing up. 

My breath hitched in my throat. 

The tall, straw blonde mischief with the quick wit, a deep purple blooming around his left socket.

“Goodness,” I gasped, my mind scrambling for a more eloquent response.

He flashed his infuriatingly charming grin, pointing at the damage with his thumb. “Y’ should see t’other bloke,” he winked, coaxing a giggle from my lips. 

He towered over the desk, his hands folded in front of him, assuming a casual, almost nonchalant posture that somehow commanded attention. His sharp, protruding chin and aquiline nose dominated his features. 

But it was his lips that truly captivated me. They were set in a sort of perpetual pout, settling him into a curious air of sensuality that contradicted the hint of arrogance in his demeanor.

Suddenly, my mouth felt dry. Words seemed to evaporate as I looked up at him, a nervous flutter awakening in my chest, and a pulse settling in my core.

“Thank you,” I managed, a wave of unexpected gratitude washing over me at the thought of this stranger taking a punch for my dignity. “For yesterday, I mean.”

He dipped his head a fraction. “Come on,” he lulled, wetting his lips. “Who wouldn’t lend a hand to a lady in distress?”

A hesitant smile touched my lips, sweeping a glance around the room before meeting his gaze again. “A lot of people,” I countered.

He scrunched his nose and curled his lips. “Bunch of wankers, the lot of them.”

I offered him an amused smile as his eyes settled on my face, a playful smirk slowly tugging at the corner of his mouth as our gazes lingered a beat too long. The intensity sent a blush creeping up my neck. Flustered, I ducked my head to his file, though the words swam before me, my eyes failing to comprehend regular English.

“No worries like,” he said, pointing at his papers. “I’m mint in my file, healthy as a horse.”

“Right,” I replied, checking off the twenty-twenty vision, hearing, and speech. “Procedure demands a full exam, though,” I said, rising from my chair.

“Ey?” He cocked his eyebrows, his eyes following me towards the privacy screen. “Y’ gonna examine me?” he asked, almost in disbelief.

“Please, step behind here,” I said, gesturing behind the screen.

His eyes sparked with satisfaction as he rounded the desk towards me, his gaze fixed on me with a mischievous glint, his hand brushing me in passing as he slipped around me behind the screen, sending a warm current through my body. I followed suit, my mind suddenly a blur, as I attempted to regain my composure, busying myself with sterilizing equipment, discarding used needles, and filling new syringes with vaccines, all the while feeling his gaze on me.

“Alright, so… how’s this whole exam thing gonna work then?” he asked, restless fingers exploring my equipment. 

I gently swatted his hand away, a wry smile playing on his lips. 

“We’ll start off with a quick height and weight measurement,” I explained. Tom nodded and started towards the scale. “Then, you’ll need to undress and I’ll…”

“Whoah…” he countered, stopping in his tracks. “Undress?” he repeated, his voice darkening beneath something amused.

“Well, yes,” I confirmed, raising an eyebrow. “Were you never briefed beforehand, Mr. Bennett?”

Tom curled his lips.

“Did they not tell you what to expect?” I clarified.

“Never stuck ‘round for that long. Just thought it’d be a quick look in me gob and I’d be sorted,” he drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But if y’ want me to get me gear off, just say the word,” he rumbled, looking me up and down.

The audacity of his suggestion both flustered me and strangely titillated me. I fought back a laugh from the utter impertinence of his man, channeling my frustration into professional courtesy.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm, Mr. Bennett,” I said, forcing a politeness into my voice, though betrayed by a hint of mirth despite my best efforts. 

“For you,” he said, curling his lips. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I cleared my throat to steady my beating heart, and began to explain the procedure to him, in the most professional way possible. But as I did, his face grew more and more smug.

“Christ,” he muttered, elation sparking in his eyes. “Least let a bloke buy ya a drink first.”

 “The doctor will be conducting most of the physical examination,” I informed him, a faint smile tugging at my lips.

“That’s a shame,” he droned.

I studied him with disbelief, to which a cheeky smirk curled his lips. 

“Yer hands all over me. Mind ya, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I said, rolling my eyes as I pulled the latex on my hands.

“Wouldn’t be needing those either,” he said, nodding at my gloves. “Wouldn’t want ya choking your lovely hands on my account.”

“Let’s keep it professional, Mr. Bennett,” I countered, a playful edge to my voice as I slipped on the second glove.

He sniffled. “Mmhm,” he hummed, his lips pursing defiantly. 

“Right,” I said, clicking my pen to the ready. “Let’s get started.”

“Fire away, love,” he drawled, his amusement an inescapable distraction.

I took a deep breath, willing my butterflies to settle.

“Would you mind emptying your pockets and stepping onto the scale for me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and began rummaging through his pant pockets, pulling out a metal lighter, a packet of fags, some pounds, and his ID. He placed them in the bowl I held out and hopped onto the scale. I noted down his weight and height. 

“Excellent. Now, please remove your shirt.”

A satisfied glint lit up his eyes. He clicked his teeth and crossed his arms over his stomach. “Quite like bein’ ordered about,” he said, before pulling the shirt over his head.

“I suppose you have to get used to it,” I replied, my eyes flickering over his toned chest, his dog tag nestling between his pectoral muscles. Turning away to grab the measuring tape, I silently berated myself for the warmth blooming up my neck. 

“Wouldn’t be ‘alf as good from anyone else, though,” his voice, a low rumble, sent shivers down my spine. 

When I pivoted back, his height loomed over me, his hands clasped behind his back in a soldierly posture that accentuated his broad shoulders and chest, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

“Would you mind…?” My voice trailed off as I hesitated to make physical contact. Unlike the others I’d processed with practiced efficiency, the thought of touching him set my nerves on fire. “Standing like this for me?” I finally managed, my voice a gentle whisper, my hands reaching out to gently unclasp his from behind his back, raising them straight outward. “Perfect.” 

I drew closer. The scent of him, a mix of clean sweat, tobacco, and bad decisions, filled my senses as I reached around him to fit the measuring tape around his shoulder blades. As I straightened to fix it around his chest, I caught him observing me. The playful glint had softened, replaced by a simmering intensity that sent a warm tremor through me. I half expected him to lay an inappropriate or snarky comment, but a beat of charged silence hung in the air, save his breathing which had gotten slightly labored.

I quickly recorded the measurement and released the tape. “Perfect,” I said, a touch too brightly, charging my voice to attempt to salvage my composure. “You may lower your arms.” Scribbling the numbers in his file, I forced myself to focus on the next task. “I will have a look at your teeth next,” I said, picking up the light source and a wooden spatula.

“Alright,” he said. He dipped his chin for me to reach, his lips pouting with arrogant sensuality, as I approached him. 

His presence consumed me. His scent, the warmth of his body, mere inches from my own, radiated through me like electricity. I hesitated again.

“I don’t bite,” he grinned, to which I rolled my eyes, and placed my hand to his chin in defiance. His timber lowered into a throaty whisper, “Only if ye ask me nicely.”

My breathing shallowed, heat shot through me like licking flames, my heart drumming against my ribs. “Good to know,” I said, attempting to sound unbothered, tilting his head toward me. “Say ‘Ah’.”

“Ahhhhh…”

I depressed his tongue with the spatula and examined his teeth, making a mental note of the slight misalignment of his incisors. “Bite down,” I instructed. Another minor misalignment appeared. “Hmm,” I murmured, and released him, noting it down in his file. 

“Problem?” he asked.

“Did you have braces as a child?” I inquired, setting down the equipment.

He scoffed. “Fuck nah. That gear’s for mugs only.”

His foul mouth was disarming

“I see,” I said, before I turned and started towards him. His eyes had become hooded, the ice melted into a dark sea, holding a challenge I couldn’t quite decipher. His lips inched up into an askew smile that pitted his cheek as I reached for his face again. I felt a prickle of awareness as his gaze flickered down my body, before returning to my face.

I palpated along his jaw, starting below his ears, then down towards his throat. He sighed deeply. His skin was so very warm beneath my fingers.

“Been experiencing any fever or illness of late?” I asked, my fingers continuing the path down his neck. His gaze flicked to my lips.

“No,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

He was extremely warm. Borderline feverish. 

“Currently on any medications?” My fingers continued down his broad neck, down to his collarbones. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and his ‘no’ came out hoarse and shaky. 

I systematically checked the rest of his body for abnormalities, checking for any bruises, hernias, anything deviating. His breath hitched as my fingers grazed his arm, then the other. Then I took a turn about him, checking his neck, shoulders and back. My eyes travelled lower, and something fluttered through my stomach. 

He had a very cute butt. 

He tilted his head to the side when I came around him, a devilish grin on his lips. 

“What d’ya reckon, doc? See somethin’ y’ like?”

“Everything seems to be in order,” I announced, going to stand in front of him, ignoring his blatantly rude comment. “Just like you claimed, healthy as a horse.”

A satisfied grin tugged at his lips, “Told ya.”

“Now for the really tricky part,” I continued, watching Tom’s smug grin slowly fade from his face as my uncle emerged from behind the privacy curtain.

“How are we doing in here then, Y/N?”

“All done, Dr. Clark. He’s all yours,” I confirmed, a hint of amusement dancing in my eyes. Tom’s confusion was a welcome change to his previous arrogance.

Dr. Clark cleared his throat and flipped through the file. “Mr. Bennett,” he addressed and looked up. “For the lower body examination, please remove your trousers,” he said, smacking his gloves into place.

Tom looked to me, a silent plea I readily understood, and I flashed him with a sweet smile.

“Good luck, Mr. Bennett,” I sang, tearing the gloves from my hands.

He turned to my uncle, then hesitated. “Could I…” Then he cleared his throat, his voice lowering to a whisper, though loud enough that I could hear before I vanished behind the screen. “Could I have a moment?”

_

The next day, a familiar name landed on my desk at the vaccination booth.

As I looked up, intense blue eyes met mine.

“Mr. Bennett,” I greeted him professionally, though something stirred within my chest.

“Y/N,” he said with a charming grin which made my heart trip over its next beat.

Fuck. He must’ve heard my name from my uncle yesterday. 

“And please,” he continued. “Call me Tom.”

“Alright, Mr. Bennett. Right this way,” I said, rising from my chair. 

He hesitated at first, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he obliged and rounded the desk, following me behind the screen.

“Pull down your trousers and lean over,” I instructed before he could manage to land some witty remark.

“Actually, I-,” he started.

“Chop chop, sailor,” I interrupted, ushering him to the table. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Right uh… Like this?” he asked, his back turned to me, his cheeks exposed before me.

I looked him over. “That’s right…” I said absently, my eyes travelling.

Focus.

As I readied the vaccine, a beat of awkward silence stretched between us before Tom spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“So, listen uh…” he began, clearing his throat, an unfamiliar vulnerability lacing his voice that unsettled me. My gaze drifted to the way his jaw clenched, a flicker of some apprehensive in his eyes. Was he scared of needles or something? “I know a lot of these other blokes been causing ye trouble and that, and uh…”

Gosh, he was so fucking cute when he was nervous. 

“I was wonderin’ like…” He rubbed his chin in his hand. “Would you want to like…” His fingers tapping out a nervous rhythm on the table, attempting to urge his words forward. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off, searching for the right turn of phrase.

Oh god, he was about to ask me out. 

My heart hammered against my ribs.

I loaded the syringe in a nervous blur, and tapped out the bubbles at the top.

“Like… wanna go out with me – argh!” His whole body cramped up as I stabbed the needle into his butt cheek. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I poke too deep?” I asked with feigned concern.

A throaty groan escaped his lips. “Clattered me bones, I think,” he wheezed, his head bent over the table, swaying slightly as he held onto it for support.

“Go on, sailor. You can take it,” I said gently, patting his back as he pulled his trousers back up, groaning as he went. 

I thought he must’ve forgotten what he was about to say, because he started staggering out of the booth, one hand rubbing his arse.

“Nah, hang on,” he said, turning on his heel, his jaw ticking with determination. “Listen, I really wanna take ya.”

My cheeks flared red. “Excuse me?”

Alarm sparked in his eyes, as if just realizing what he’d said. “Out!” He corrected. “I’d really wanna take y’ out. That weren’t meant to come out like that.”

Suddenly he started acting very strange. It started with staggering. He steadied himself on the IV pole at his side, the metal rattling under his weight.

“Mr. Bennett?” I asked, approaching him slowly, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, shaking his head to his senses, “Just gon’ a bit… wobbly, is all.”

Something dawned on me. I snatched his file from the table and opened it. ‘Andrew Howarth’ was hidden beneath a sticker of Tom’s alias.

I slammed it back down on the table, my voice sharpening. “Have you already had this shot?” I demanded, turning back to him, venom lacing my voice.

“Well,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering. “Just t’ once.” Then his head hit the floor.

_

Exhaustion gnawed as I exited the doors to the induction centre, the hours of work settling heavy on my cognition. The golden glow of lampposts cast long, spidery shadows across the slick cobblestones as I descended the stairs. The memory of Tom swam up before me, his handsome face against the cold floor, concern flooding me after his fainting spell. I recalled him muttering incoherently in my lap as a crowd gathered, my uncle eventually pushing through to help.

A warmth, unexpected and foreign, bloomed in my chest. He’d taken a punch to the face during our very first encounter, then nearly experienced an anaphylactic shock trying to ask me out on a date. Underneath that snarky, arrogant mask, I believed, was something so much deeper. 

My heels clicked against the stone as I approached the car. I opened the door and slid inside, just starting to pull it shut when a voice echoed from outside. 

“Y/N!”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through me as I saw a figure jogging up the street towards me, hands shoved in their jacket pockets. 

A thrill sparked in my chest as they drew closer. I flung the car door open again and stepped out. 

“Hello, Mr. Bennett,” I uttered, attempting to hide the shakiness in my voice as he approached. “How are you feeling?”

“Made up,” he said, flashing a lopsided grin, and I noted that the purple around his eye had deepened somewhat. “You?”

A laugh, tinged with delirious exhaustion, escaped my lips. I shrugged. “Pretty knackered, actually.”

Tom’s grin diluted slightly, as a concerned frown etched his features. “Course y’ are! Made up you’re knackered after all that!” There was a soft concern in his voice that spun in my ears like silk. I smiled at him as a comfortable silence settled between us. But when I turned my heel slightly on the cobble, he spoke up. 

“Listen, uh…” he began, putting honey in his voice. “Before all of that with the fainting,” he said, drawing closer. “I wanted to ask ye out.”

I smiled, nodding. “I know,” I admitted softly. “It was pretty obvious.”

A cheeky grin lit up his features, and he tilted his head. “So…” He pursed his lips. “What d’ya say, doc?” His voice lowered into a gentle caress, and I felt his fingers brush against mine ever so lightly. “I need someone lookin’ after me while I recover,” he winked.

I couldn’t keep from smiling, my gaze drifting down to the cobblestones, as I considered his request.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise,” he said, grinning, coaxing a laugh from me. 

Exhaustion threatened to pull me under, but a different kind of weight settled in my stomach as I met his gaze. He was off to war, soon to be on a ship across the Atlantic, with no notion of when he’d be back. If he’d ever be back… 

Dread coiled in my stomach. 

If he was going to die, we should at least live tonight. 

I winced internally at the cheesy quote from that Keith bloke. But it was the only thing that seemed to fit the urgency in my heart. 

“Alright,” I heard myself say.

“Yeah?” Tom’s voice dripped with elation, a melody that tugged at my already strained emotions. “C’mon then,” he said, offering me his arm. “Everyone reckons a cold brew sorts ye right out after a dizzy dossin’.”

_

A honeyed glow emanated from The Old Wellington, pulling us like moths to a flame. Inside, a vibrant symphony of voices rose and fell, punctuated by the melodic clinking of glasses. The air thrummed with the mingled aromas of spilled ale, aged leather, and an undercurrent of cigarette smoke. Tom, a whirlwind of charismatic energy, navigated the throng, his smile as familiar as the worn grooves on a favorite record, his banter bouncing off patrons like playful echoes. Their easy camaraderie spoke of a shared history, a hidden world I longed to decipher. Here, in the heart of Manchester, I was an explorer in a land of unknown faces and customs, adrift but not entirely lost. But when he grabbed my hand and pulled us towards the bar, none of it mattered. 

“A pint and a gin martini, if y’ would, Kristina,” he tossed over his shoulder to the bartender.

The cheek of this man. Did he just assume what I’d be drinking?

“A gin martini? Really?” I arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in my voice. 

He pivoted towards me, a smug pout plastered on his lips, one hand casually tucked in his pant pocket as he leaned against the worn wood.

“Thought y’ might need a touch of sophistication, ya know, a taste of the high life,” he drawled, his eyes twinkling with something akin to a dare. 

And I was up for the challenge. 

I snorted and mirrored his stance, my arms crossing atop the bar in a playful imitation. “Do elaborate,” I replied, my voice laced with amusement.

A genuine grin erupted across his face. “Well, gin martinis are for proper ladies like, the kind with a bit of mystery and that,” he said, his voice dropping a touch lower. “Like yourself,” he finished, wetting his lips as his eyes flicked briefly down my body.

A shiver danced down my spine and vibrated in my stomach.

“So, a woman of intrigue is defined by her choice of beverage?” I countered, cocking my eyebrows in defiance, a playful glint in my eyes.

He shook his head ever so lightly, a flicker of something deeper gracing his features, like I’d totally missed his point. “Nothin’ could ever define ya, love. Y’ more than a drink,” he said, his voice growing suddenly serious. 

A warmth bloomed in my chest. This cocky charmer held an unexpected sweetness beneath the surface, a complexity that piqued my curiosity even further. 

Kristina placed our drinks on the bar and Tom slid a bill across to her. “Cheers, Kristina.”

I nodded at his pint. “So, you’re a lager then,” I joked. 

He tilted his head, a dimple flashing in his cheek. “A simple brew for a simple bloke,” he said, placing the rim to his lips and taking a swig. 

I laughed and shook my head. “You’re anything but simple, Tom.”

 “Seems my theory holds some water, then,” he grinned, mischief glittering in his eyes.

He pulled his packet of fags from his pocket and lit one with a practiced flick, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked in. Smoke curled from his lips in a grey cloud, momentarily obscuring him in a hazy veil. In that moment, a strange desire flickered within me – to be the tobacco stick consumed by his flame. 

“Fancy one?” he offered.

“Why not?” I said, watching him already pull a second one out of the pack, putting it to my lips, the subtle graze of his fingers against me singeing my skin like hot coal. 

“So, what d’ya think of the war then?” he said, flicking the lighter shut. 

I exhaled, tapped the ash, and pursed my lips. “That there must be a better way to solve conflict.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. He pointed at me with the cigarette wedged between his fingers. “You and me dad would get along,” he stated.

Intrigued, I leaned in. “How so?”

He took a blow of his cigarette before he answered. “He’s a conscientious objector,” he said, breathing a plume of smoke.

“You clearly don’t share his sentiment,” I said, stirring my drink with the olive stick.

Tom curled his lips, a furrow etching between his brows, his finger flicking ashes into the ashtray. “Let’s just say it was either this or a stint in Her Majesty’s finest accommodation.” He rubbed his nose, a cocky sniff escaping him, as if the topic was bothersome. “Not exactly dad’s proudest moment.” His voice lowered somewhat, his fingers tapping atop the bar.

My eyes skimmed his fidgeting hands in contemplation. He’d enlisted for redemption, though I wasn’t exactly surprised he was a troublemaker, lacing him with even more intrigue than I had expected. 

The liquor flowed freely as he unraveled his story – his pacifist father, the ache of losing his mother young, his spirited sister who appeared to have stepped into their mother’s shoes. With each revelation, an invisible thread tightened between us, drawing our bodies closer, a silent conversation blooming beneath our skin.

By the time I finished my second martini, a reckless glint danced in my eyes, my fingers feeling daring and loose. They brushed down his arm while he was talking. My gaze flickered to his lips, a silent invitation. Tom, immersed in some topic I’d failed to keep up with, trailed his hand up my side absently, his fingers grazing my hips, up to my waist, his body radiating into me, my mind consumed by his scent as I attempted to focus on his words. 

A husky chuckle grazed my ear. “A bit bevvied, are we?” he whispered into it, his voice laced with amusement.

“Not any more than you,” I countered. 

“Pfft,” he said, frowning theatrically and pursing his lips. “I’m off the wagon.”

His hand drifted down my back, a single finger tracing a tempting path to my tailbone, the motion sending sparks downward. Desire flared within me, a wildfire consuming my inhibitions, fueled by the euphoric buzz of the alcohol. I leaned into him until I could feel his breath mixed with liquor and tobacco upon my lips. My fingers came up to his chest, my lips savoring his every breath like it was life itself. I just needed him to make a move. Close the gap between us. Draw his tongue into my mouth so that I could taste it. But he was still, ragged breaths fanning me, his muscles drawn taut beneath my fingers. 

“Fancy a change of scenery?” I whispered against his mouth. 

“Bet,” he mumbled, his voice thick, before creating distance between us, the electricity cut, sparking like static. His hand in mine, he steered me out of the pub, the night air a stark contrast to the heat that had been building inside me...

Tag list: @venmondiese @diespulcher @izfrogzy @fan-goddess @yyrzmomo @slytherincursebreaker @canpillowscry @mhmhey @meadowscollectivelight @jasminecosmic99 @funnyzgirl @rhaethoughts @rosaness @beautifulballads @ramielll @maplesauce43 @elmageber @gxuxhdjdu @randomstory56 @darylandbethfanforever9 @allthethingsel @kkdragongirl @saintlavie @haleyheart0197 @kind3sstuff @mooneeishorny @hikaerys @swagfancroissantpizza2 @thescooponsof @venmondiese @lovelybruises @sonolynn @pandoras-bussy @babymilkxd @diespulcher @aiyaiy @lovebambon @stapleyourfacebackon @banditlovespunks @gvmmie-bear @airadajascake @anyaisssleeping @liv-cole @hc-geralt-23 @elleinex0x0 @dovesandorchids @gothmuppet92o @meganryannnn @forreadsstuff @baddieduhh2 @sushiapril @mel0man1a @onemillionpeopleinone @hermoonfan @bitchwithlebrains @xxxkat3xxx @ultravxl @zesldl-blog @reeseelise @strangemaximoff @imaginecrushes @anyaskywalker21 @littybeech @achaoticeternal @im-perched-in-the-dark @stcrrjoon @wxnderingthoughts @starkwlord @rhxenyra-txrgxryen @rafanadalgeek888 @summerposie @hederahelix-mj @aegonswife @wwwrafecom @shadowolf993 @kalasyrtiaan @starwarsgirlsimmer1 @maybeijustwanttobeme @violetiss3lfish @ecstaticactus @magicalkidchaos-blog1 @fan-goddess @solairestar @shelby-leah @forbiddengrimoire @magnificentdelusionr @issshhh @luvsfics @rhaenyslay @beautifulmilkshakearbiter @thelastofkryze @slytherincursebreaker @thought--bubble @doll-joh4n @zackyvravageme @youngunicorn16 @jexify @odeioemail @canpillowscry @sinistersnakey49 @osferthswifey

Divider by: @saradika

A part 2 is planned soon!

[papaya-twinks]

kika hii hiii,, so this may be a v sad ask but no one does lando fics better than you so,,, i was wondering if you could do a VERY angsty fic where the reader is a driver and gets into a terrible crash causing possible death, and lando wins podium, im so sorry for the ask it's been a rough week for me :"D

Warnings: Bad crash, a wittle bittle of angst

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

You had had a tap with Charles onto the first corner of the Miami Grand Prix, resulting in a front wing change that put you in P7. “Fuck,” you cursed as you came out the pits behind George, immediately speeding up. “Y/N, there’s a car approaching faster, behind you,” your engineer said, as you led down the pit lane. “Okay,” you acknowledged, there was no way you were going to fall to P8, as you sped up down the line, trying to maintain position. You pushed too hard. 

Far too hard, going two abreast down the small, narrow corner, his right wheel slamming into the side of your bodywork. The only thing that touched your car other than that was the wall, sending you into a spin, across the weaving straight of the Miami track. “Fuck!” you shrieked, your car slamming into the wall, the car half on its side.

 “Y/N, Y/N, are you okay?” your engineer asked you. “Yeah, sorry about that. Pushed too hard,” you nodded. The safety car was deployed, as your eyes travelled to the big screen. With your dizzy head and blurry eyes, you couldn’t quite make out the results, as an orange car came speeding past. You saw the brief flicker of a ‘4’ drive past. At least Lando was first. “Fuck, who is that?” he demanded of his engineer. 

“George and Y/N collided,” Will said, speaking into the radio. “Y/N? Is she okay?” Lando’s mind immediately went to his girlfriend as he drove round the track, in order to catch the safety care queue. “She’s not out the car yet,” his engineer said. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Lando didn’t even want to finish the race, not with the state of his girlfriend. But he was first, dangerously close to his first win. 

One of the mechanics helped you step out the car, as you dragged yourself to the pits, slumping. Your vision was starting to come back, the massive screen behind you flickering into vision. And then you saw it. The McLaren logo, first, with three letters. ‘NOR’. Your boyfriend was leading the race by 6 seconds. 

And the laps flew by, Lando crossed the line in first. You pushed the horrors of your own race out of your mind, as you rushed to the three cars, your boyfriend waving his fist. His eyes scanned the crowd, looking desperately for you, just to know you were okay. “Y/N!” he jumped, seeing you, and waving, as you rushed to him. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, his gloved hand cupping your cheek softly. “I’m okay, I’m okay, you won, sweetie,” you brushed it off, “you won,”. Lando smiled at your determination to keep the light on him. “All for you,” he smiled, a grin on his face. “So, maybe I should crash more and you’ll win?” you pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” Lando laughed, “but it means you’d lay off competition,”.

[asumofwords]

Til Death Do Us Part - Teaser…

Dark!Modern!Aemond x Reader, Divorce AU -

READ IT HERE

Summary: You and Aemond had been married for years, but he was not the man you thought he was. Discovering his affair with his secretary Alys Rivers, you had decided that enough was enough. You packed up your things in secret and left, leaving divorce papers on the table, and booked a one way ticket out of the country.

What will happen when Aemond goes to the ends of the earth to find you and make you his again?

Warnings: This fic will be 18+. Readers discretion is advised. She/her pronouns, infidelity, divorce, stalking, abuse, toxic relationships, manipulation, gaslighting, marriage breakdown, yandere, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, NONCON, rough sex, choking, hitting, slapping, physical violence, forced orgasm, daddy kink, dacryphilia, no happy ending (come on, its a dark fic lmao, look at these warnings).

Pairings: Modern!Dark!Aemond x reader

Word count: Around 10k so far...

Notes: I can't wait to post this story hehehe, I hope this lil teaser gets you ready for it. I will be posting this within the next week after SFA is finished <3

“Where are you?” He had asked, voice deep and quiet, small growl on the end; a tell tale sign that he was furious. 

The airport was loud around you, people moving to their next gates, stopping to move to the small cafes to eat, others continuing onwards towards the baggage claim to collect their luggage. 

“It's none of your business.” You had responded, tone clipped. Irritation and anger surging through you at his audacity to even be mad.

“I think it’s plenty my business. You’re my wife.”

“Not anymore. Have your solicitor talk to mine. Sign the papers, Aemond.”

You heard him breathe heavily into the speaker, “If you think for one fucking second that I’m going to-“

You pressed the red button on your phone and hung up on him, shoving your phone into your back pocket as you moved lazily through the queue to get through customs.

By the time you had gotten out the other end, you checked your phone again.

There was only one text on the screen that had sent panic blaring through your mind. 

‘See you soon.'

[sokacoke]

Compiling some questions and information regarding indigo park from unique geese's live streams.

Some clips might not be long enough for the full answer due to YouTube only being 60 seconds so just keep that in mind.

A bit of the older ones could contain stuff that aren't up to date that I forgot to remove because I was making this in my notes for like 3-5 weeks so lets uh. ignore those!! (ill delete them later maybe)

IF I SCREAM THE STREAM ENDS

'I think comparing Issac to fucking Willam afton is such a sad comparison'

Credits to @lunozapp for the clip

INDIGO Q&A 

“Will there be any boss fights?”

‘That’s a hard thing to say. I’m gonna say no.’

“How old are Rambley and his friends?”

'They’re all over 18. Probably around there early 20s at oldest.  They’re younger but I don’t really have set ages for them.'

“Would Indigo park be rated M?”

'I would argue indigo park chapter 1 could get away as teen but I’d like to rate it up as a M by chapter 2.'

“Is chapter 2 going to take place under the park?”

'No. There might be parts under but chapter 2 won’t.'

“Rambley has been left alone since the park closed. Has he practically sat alone for that long?”

'In all technicality, he was sitting there alone and abandoned for many years. He’s not fully aware of what’s going on, but he is you know?” 

“Do you have any plans for future chapters?”

'The entire greater story has been set in stone for months and we don’t have any plans to change it.'

'There’s stuff in chapter 1 that people won’t realize are important to the plot until chapter 5.'

“Is mollie macaw an antagonist?”

'Depends what you’re saying when you say mollie macaw. Antagonist is a strong word.'

LAUNCH STREAM

“Is the raccoon evil?”

'No. You guys just buckle up. you’ll see.'

REACTING TO YOUTUBERS 

“Did you expect for Rambley to be popular with the furries?”

‘I made a joke that it would be popular within it but nothing in the game was designed to be furry. It was just like “hey we need parody’s of Mickey Mouse and Disney characters” ending up creating characters I really liked.'

“Do you know that there’s already NFSW art of Rambley?”

'It’s the internet sorry. If you make NFSW stuff I just ask you don’t send it to me or inject it to the rest of the community. Keep it separate, these are like my children.'

“How many versions of the railroad did u go through?”

'It took quite a while. We would get to a point where we kind of liked it and then be like “oh I don’t really like this it doesn’t flow really well.” I think the great thing going into chapter 2 we have a better understanding of what we want the game to look. Chapter 2s going to be mainly a lot of the rides. It was kind a deal where I wanted you to feel claustrophobic but it was hard to deal with those open environments. I’m not gonna announce anything crazy but chapter 2 will start in the queue and lobby for oceanic oddesy'

“How many chapters will there be?”

'The game plan is five.'

“Is this the last time we will see Mollie? Her death screen mentions she can copy voices but that wasn’t shown. Will be shown again to do that mechanic?”

'The voices were less of a mechanic and more of showing going on when she’s talking throughout the game. All the dialogue is something she’s heard during game,behind the scenes of the park or something that a guest has said.'

“Is Rambley the bad guy?”

'What part of the game made you think Rambleys the bad guy? No.'

“I trust Rambley with my life. If he betrays us I’ve already forgiven him.”

'Yeah, you don’t need to worry about that.'

“Whys the main character so jacked?”

'It’s just the character model I had I was using. We might change it.'

Critter cuff

'I was big against the idea of having one mechanic. They saw poppy playtime and instantly thought “every mascot horror needs a mechanic.” The critter cuffs important but I also want different fun mechanics that can be worked into it.'

“Do you plan to add more characters?”

'There will be more characters added into chapter 2. There may some returning characters. Obviously Rambley will be the focus of every chapter he’s ur buddy through ur journey. We do have a new set of characters.'

“Will there be another credits song in chapter 2?”

'We don’t want to start planning stuff until we know for sure how much money is there budget wise.'

“Where’s the cat?”

'There originally was just a regular ass cat that was in the and was in the game for quite a while. The model we had didn’t look like it fit the world and the animation looked stiff. Maybe we bring it back.'

“What were the stealth things in the files for?”

'Originally there was a section where Lloyd would follow you and you’d hide. I definitely want to do some stealth stuff where you have to hide under stuff I think that’d be a lot of fun.'

“Will Mollie return?”

'Do you think Mollie will return?'

“Is Rambley sentient?”

'He’s fully aware of everything around him but he’s programmed to behave a certain way. The best comparison would be GLaDOS or Wheatley from portal. Programmed to act a certain way, but also aware and able to see stuff around them and react.'

“How long will chapter 2 be?”

'We’re aiming chapter 2 to be just a little bit longer then chapter 1. We want each chapter to be a bit longer than before. I’d say for chapter 2, two and a half

'The only character that won’t have much influence is clearly Mollie.'

“What about Lloyd?”

'Lloyd’s cool and Lloyd will be important. That is all I can say.'

“Will there be other AI companions?”

'No. It’s just Rambley the main mascot.'

“Is there a possibility of a major overhaul of chapter 1?”

'There’s room to improve it a bit. In the future, I can see us doing a full on remaster of chapter 1.'

“Never make Rambley a creep I will not forgive you for it”

'You got it.'

“What’s the estimated gap between the chapters?”

'Year to Year and a half, maybe two. Chapter 2 is definitely 2025.'

“Don’t be fooled?”

'There was a lot more potential do something with that. If we had more budget then it would be really cool where you’re running through the pipes and you have to listen for Rambleys voice through the pipes and sometimes it would be mollies voice. It would be Rambley guiding you and then you hear Mollie trying to sound like Rambley.'

“It hurts Lloyd”

'That’s the funny thing. I don’t wanna get TOO deep into it but this was kinda just random text. I’ve seen 5 or 6 different interpretations of what people think it says.'

'Without spoiling anything I do think multiple ending’s for the final chapter would be kinda cool.'

REACTING TO MATPAT

“A lot of sexual tension between these guys”

'Shout out to the furries because I’ve seen every combination of characters being shipped and it wasn’t until today that a single female character was involved that all. Not mollie not Nonbinary with Salem it was literally just the 3 men'

“Does Rambley canonically sing Rambley review?”

'Yes he actually does. It’s in between chapter whenever ur going into chapter 2. The player could turn around and find a way out now but he actively wants to keep going with Rambley.'

TALKING ABOUT INDIGO PARK,FNF AND MORE

“The voice and creator of indigo park”

'I don’t voice anyone expect for Jackson and another character that no ones found yet.'

“Are you ever going to get a console support?”

'So we will eventually but to be honest with you I don’t want to do that until we have like chapter 3 out. At earliest if chapter 2 becomes massive then maybe as a bundle, but I don’t know.'

“Is chapter 2 free?”

'No it won’t be.'

FUNKAST THEN FNAF

'Other then a few minor tweaks we have the first few minutes of Rambleys dialogue at the beginning of chapter 2 written out.'

'I don’t think we’ll ever do a fox character. We were brainstorming some of the characters in chapter 2 and thought “oh maybe a fox would be cool” but we were looking at the role that this character would have to play if they were a fox and thought “at some point we’re just making knock off foxy from fnaf”'

“What the species”

'I cant disclose that sorry chief. There are other animal based cartoon characters in chapter 2 if that satisfies you. Furries rejoice I guess? I feel like it’d be harder to do a human villain.'

“How hard is it to make an idea of a character?”

'All of the characters we make need a purpose. It’s layers of talking through stuff and ideas to get stuff we like. The designs for them aren’t done but the idea for them is there and i am in love with them.'

“So the character design isn’t finished but have you made actual development of the game?”

'No. We’re working on chapter 1 right now. Again we’re looking at a year and a half or two years until chapter 2 cuz I’m not gonna rush it or my team. We’ll have little animations stuff and between yeah we’re not gonna do anything with that.

“Update is bug fixes, trying to get controller support working,revamping some of the environments and I’m bringing on a new modeler for some of the monster designs. Not confirming but i think Finley is going to get a full on redesign for chapter 2.”

“What chapter are you most excited for?”

'To be honest with you, i think chapter 3 is where we’re going to start doing the crazy shit possible and then chapter 4 is planned to be the most bad ass chapter i could ever think of. The story gets moving chapter 4.'

NEW FNAF GAME + INDIGO PARK NEWS

'It turned out that jakeneutron who’s my head animator, was going to Disney at the same time I’m at Orlando. We met up and we took so many pictures for reference. We went to universal studios and it was my first time we ever went to universal so I took so many pictures'

“Refs for what?”

'For indigo park bro. Dude I needed anything theme park and I got so many ideas for the future of indigo and stuff.'

“Salem news or I’m not here”

'Do I wanna put out Salem news..Salem is important 👍'

'I’ve kind of teased it a bit but we are working on some minor chapter 1 before chapter 2 just so there’s a bit of a quality jump so it’s a little bit more in the realm of where we want it to be.'

'We are working on some environmental updates. Working on some new assets to put into chapter 1. Which should make stuff feel cooler in my opinion? '

'To accompany that one thing we didn’t have a lot of is that environmental music in regards to what they would have in a real theme park. Like if ur waiting in a queue in a theme park there’s a lot of music and stuff that they play that is custom to that. Let’s say you were waiting for Rambleys railroads, what would that sound like? So maybe a little bit of new music?'

New potential song in clip link

FINISHING INTO THE PIT & NEW INDIGO PARK PLUSH LAUNCH PARTY

“Character hints?”

'I think you will be soft introduced or at least see the character designs before chapter 2s out. Right now at this point of development there are four new characters planned.'

“Is there gonna have a obby theme?”

‘Probably not really. I’ve talked about a little about a mechanic that we started to workshop and figuring out how it’ll work in the lore and gameplay elements but I probably won’t talk about it again.'

“Will there be a haunted house ride or a dark ride?”

'I want to do a haunted mansion parody hopefully chapter 4 or 5. Not in chapter 2 it wouldn’t fit.'

“Space mountain?”

'I have ideas for a space mountain and I can’t tell you what chapter that one will be in.'

'It’s funny cuz I’m reworking all of the chapter 1 environments and I’ve been thinking about it. There’s a fair enough of stuff that theorists haven’t caught onto yet that I hope will be super obvious in the future. I’m super excited to see what people do with chapter 2.'

HORROR GAME NIGHT & TALKING INDIGO PARK

“Will you be selling art prints maybe with posters?”

'We might do posters. There’s some new poster art coming for chapter 2 and I’m gonna leak, the (chap 1) update.'

“Now will they all have villain roles?”

'I dunno. I’ve already told you guys about some of them actually you guys just haven’t figured it out yet'

Talking about the 4 new characters

'I will say the chapter 1 update will have new secrets for you to find and some of it will help you figure out stuff in chapter 2. We are cooking is all I can say.'

“Whats ur favorite out of the 4 originals we know about since u said 4 new characters”

'Yeah let me just reveal one of the characters. No. You guys won’t- actually? You guys will know about some of the characters WAY before chapter 2 comes out.'

BACK FROM PAX! - WATCHING JACKSEPTICEYE PLAY INDIGO PARK & CATCHING UP ON FNF MODS

'there’s a little bit of the new queue! A little bit of a step up. I mean hot take but. Looks a lot better I think.'

Queue in clip

'We’re still working on it but this is what Mollies landing pad looks like now. This feels more themed.'

New mollies landing pad in clip

“Can you make an update trailer for the indigo park update so people know it exists?”

'Yea we will. We’ll change it.'

Extra notes worth mentioning:

it’s been said that there will be a meme ending for chapter 3 though I’m not able to find the clip at the moment so if anyone somehow has it u should tots send it my way

When he's talking about the 'Other character he voices that no ones found yet' it might be possible he’s yapping about the reverse Llyods Limos line Context:

Video is from forgottenstudios1987 on YT

The cat been brought back!

Another part of the new rambleys railroad queue song.

More of the New Rambleys Railroad Third link is just a very subtle railroads gift shop but it counts i think

Other landing pad clip

FEEL FREE TO ADD ANY OTHER CLIPS I MIGHTVE MISSED!

[jewish-sideblog]

i see what you are saying. i read your reblog on fetishizing oppression and i agree - it’s reductive and ends up harming people because they then become dehumanized. it is still puzzling to browse your blog and not see an ounce of compassion for the senseless mass murder of people, especially when this happened once to your people too. i would honestly love to talk and get to understand what you mean and feel about this, because i cannot put the pieces together in my head. you can love your people and wish for better for you, but how can you seemingly turn a blind eye to the very real suffering of others? do you care? and, of course, you cannot speak for everyone and i do not expect you to. i care about *your* opinion. reducing people to pro-hamas is one of the things that feels questionable to me - how is that not fetishizing what, to you, is the oppressor? and then closing the door, on both sides, to any real discourse that could get us anywhere? -not USAmerican latin person

Despite clearly sending this ask in good faith, you might be misrepresenting me in your head there Nonnie. This Tumblr blog is not a news source on the Palestinian conflict-- it's not a news source at all. And it's certainly not the end all, be all of my life or my activism. This blog runs almost exclusively on the queue. I have a whole crazy life beyond this screen, and it is certainly not a life where I turn a blind eye to anything or anyone that might deserve my support or help.

This blog has a purpose: Combat and identify antisemitism on Tumblr, and help Jews who use Tumblr feel sane and seen as they face antisemitism. That purpose won't be helped by constantly posting Gaza death tolls or images of warfare. Nothing will be helped by that. This is a Tumblr blog.

Jews on Tumblr don't owe you a comprehensive breakdown of what we're feeling, saying and doing about Gaza in our daily lives. We certainly don't owe you any of that because of the Holocaust. For as long as this blog has been around, I have taken every opportunity to express my desire for Palestinian safety and self-determination, more often than not followed by links to charities and aid organizations that operate in Gaza. That's more than a Jew talking about antisemitism on the internet owes you. You don't know me.

[owlkhemy]

Okay so I definitely have a phobia of distorted faces (massive "thanks", horror side of Reddit) and there isn't a term for it that wasn't also an older term for body dysmorphia, that being dysmorphophobia.

Since prosopophobia, the fear of faces in general, is already a properly laid out thing, I'm specifically making a term to refer to distorted ones. Thus, I'm hereby coining it as dysprosopophobia, or rather literally, "fear of abnormal faces" (where "dys-" is abnormal, "prosopo-" is face, and "-phobia" is fear).

Trying to look up results of "fear of distorted faces" does NOT help in exactly the same way that trying to look up "trypophobia" wouldn't for that phobia, so unless someone without this fear wants to find the proper term for me, I will be using my new one, thanks.

[bingeate-r]

hiii hope you’re doing great! :) i was wondering if you could write about zayne reacting to the reader listening and singing along to like the weeknd or a song with rather explicit lyrics, like slow down or meddle about from chase atlantic (the song doesn’t matter you can choose whatever!) and reader just sings along really loudly in a car ride, it can be pure fluff or suggestive whatever you like and are comfortable with! gender neutral reader is fine w me but i’d prefer if you used fem (if that’s okay with u ofc)

thank you 💗💗

Hello! I’m doing great, and I hope you are as well!! I have no problem doing a fem reader 🥹

I hope you like what I came up with!!

Zayne

A set of narrow eyes flicker down to the bright phone screen held in his hand, reading the message that had popped up. It was from you, he knew that instantly because his phone was set to ding differently when you texted, ensuring he would never miss an opportunity to talk to you.

‘Waiting outside by your car, be quick! It’s cold 🥶’

A simple message, followed by a picture of you next to the car for proof, as if your every word wasn’t pure gospel to him. The photo was saved in an instant, hands sliding up to lock the phone before returning it to his pocket.

He kept his gaze forward, confident strides leading him down the familiar halls of the hospital. Each step brought him closer to you, his heart racing by the time he reached the exit. When he found his car, his focus shifted down to you, who was dancing happily around his car, phone in your hand as you recorded the moment.

His hesitation allowed him to take the moment in, commiting it to memory. With a curt shake of his head he continued the short journey, stopping in front of the drivers side door. As you spun around, your gaze locked on him, a wide grin rising to take up your features. He found it hard to not beam back, fighting the urge to reach out and pinch your cheeks. Instead he nodded, making a quick move to the opposite side of the car, opening the door for you.

“Get in, you’ll get sick if we don’t warm you up soon.” His voice was smooth and tempered, his hand darting out to cover the edge of the car so you could dip in safely. In the time it took him to close your door, and open his own, you had the aux chord, plugging it into your phone with a sweet smile.

Zayne simply observed, finding no reason to protest. As you lined up the queue, body wiggling in excitement, he leaned over. A large arm wound around you, grasping the seatbelt and pulling to fasten it in the hook. He gave it a gentle tug for good measure, before repeating the actions in his own seat.

“Oh Zayne, this song is sooo good!” You sung out, hands darting to crank the sound up. His eyes flickered seamlessly between you and the road, unable to miss even a moment of your light. He had a long day at the hospital, but just being near you made him feel better- your energy was infectious.

“Is it?” He quipped back, hands steady on the wheel. Your only response was a nod, readying yourself for your favorite verse. Your body swayed side to side, hands flying through the air.

Zayne couldn’t have been more grateful for a red light in his life, now having a chance to fully look at you. You were singing at top volume, the sound of your sweet voice filling the car and consuming his mind. You would be the death of him.

He let out a breath he didn’t even realize he had been holding in, eyes locked on you as you danced about. Every movement was so carefree, and so full of life- it was impossible to not get captivated. Zayne broke one hand free from the wheel, reaching out as you slowed down, now looking at him with a grin. Your hair was a mess around your face, chest heaving slightly as you struggled to catch your breath after putting on a one man show. Slender fingers met your cheek, gently guiding your hair back to clear your view.

“I think I like this song.” He spoke, his usual intense stare nothing but a soft and warm pool of fondness. Zayne was pulled back to reality abruptly, the car stuck behind the two of you honking. He had been so lost in admiring you that he hadn’t even noticed the light turning green.

He cleared his throat, a diffusing cough flying out. You were a giggling mess, returning to your dancing in an instant. His body shifted back forward, focusing on the road, using it as an excuse to regain some composure. He could feel his ears burning, and he was hoping it was dark enough you wouldn’t notice.

Zayne decided in that moment you would be in charge of the aux chord permanently.

[backthenatfifteen]

This is a really difficult post but this is my honest account of attending the eras tour…

I ended up with VIP general admission standing tickets to Wembley for the 17th. I was completely torn whether to queue up or turn up late and go to the back. When I loaded the ticketmaster site, I was 50 in the queue to get in. I got in, it kicked me out and I rejoined the queue as the 50,000th person. I cried. I only had the option of VIP standing at this point.

In the end I decided to queue up from 12.30. The queuing outside was well managed but when we got in it all went a bit pear shaped. People were pushing in on the grounds that they needed to be with their friends. Half the time this was legit, the other half it wasn’t. I started out row 5 from the front and ended up row 10. I wanted to cry before it had started. The Wembley staff really did nothing to prevent this and you could sense the tension on the floor. I held back tears.

The stage is absolutely huge. You can’t comprehend how big the stage is until you get there. When Taylor was at the far end she was a speck. I could only see the far end of the stage when I went onto my toes. I did this for an hour until my calves were screaming at me. Stood normally I couldn’t see the stage and I could only see the top of the screen. I’m 5’’5 so average height. There was inevitably no room to dance but I wasn’t surprised at this. I was just surprised I couldn’t see anything at all. I kept having to ask my 6’’2 husband where Taylor was on stage 😭😭 maybe I’m naive as hell.

When Taylor did come to the T zone, everyone’s phones went straight in the air, completely blocking my view. I completely understand people want photos. I got some photos. But people don’t need 50 photos at the expense of everyone else’s experience. You need 1-2. I swear mobiles will be the death of our generation.

“A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground, with no one around to tweet it”.

Taylor did look at me through the sea of phones. I don’t know if I’m being crazy but I’m a massively empathetic person and when she looked in our direction I felt like she was scared of us. And I completely get it if that were the case because everytime she came down our end, the phones went up like robotic arms. I was scared of us, too.

I’ve spent the last 24 hours mourning and thinking “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve”. But I got the experience I was given. It didn’t occur to me to buy multiple tickets for multiple dates. It’s just not how my mind works but boy do I regret it. I bought one for me and one for my husband. I wish I had gone at the back and danced my little socks off. I’ve been trying to get a press pass for tonight but I’ve left it too late. I can’t afford resale tickets.

I watched 95% of the eras tour through the back of other peoples phones. You will look at those photos they and others have taken and think “wow, what an amazing view”. They were holding their phones 2 feet above their heads. Their phone may have had an amazing view, but they did not.

I love Taylor and I know she loves her fans. I don’t want her to feel bad. I just wanted to be honest.

Note to add: there are no channels to complain to. I’ve messaged ticketmaster and got cut off. I’ve messaged Taylor nation and got silence. I paid £250 per ticket.

[vulpinmusings]

My speculations on Indigo Park

I'm putting this post under a read-more in case it finds someone who hasn't played Indigo Park yet and wants to experience it blind.

(BTW, it's free and takes about an hour to finish so just go play it. The horror value's kinda tame overall, but trigger warning for blood splatter at the end.)

Why Rambley doesn't recognize Ed/the Player: The collectables notes make it obvious that our Character, Ed, used to be a regular guest at Indigo Park as a kid. Yet, when Rambley goes to register them at the beginning he says he doesn't recognize Ed's face. I've seen speculation that this might be due either to Ed's age or the facial data database being wiped or corrupted after the park's closure. However, I think there's another possibility.

The Rambley AI Guide was a relatively new addition to the Park. Indigo Park is essentially Disneyland; it's been around for a long time and I rather doubt that the technology for a sentient AI park guide was available on opening day. Rambley mostly appears on modern-looking flat-screens, but in the queue for the railroad he pops up on small CRTS, so technology has advanced over the park's life time. I suspect that Rambley as an AI was implemented a short time before whatever caused the park to be shut down, and the reason that Ed's face isn't already in the system is because Ed just never went to the Park during the time between Rambley's implementation and the closure.

Rambley needs Ed just to move around. Rambley claims he'd been stuck in the entrance area since the closure. That might imply that as an AI guide he's not permitted to move around inside the Park unless he's attached to a guest, and he has to stick close to them. He's probably linked to the Critter Cuff we wear, which would explain why he insists we get it and doesn't just override the turnstile or something. He still needs cameras to see us and TVs to communicate, but it's the Critter Cuff that determines which devices he's able to use at a given moment.

There are other AI Guides. Rambley's limitations in where in the park he can be seems inconvenient for an AI that's meant to assist all the park's guests. Perhaps during normal operations he was less limited because every guest had a Critter Cuff on, but that might have put too much strain on his processing if he was the only AI avatar. Ergo, some or all of the other Indigo characters could have been used as AI guides as well; either a guest would be assigned to one character through the whole park or the others would take over for Rambley in their themed areas while the raccoon managed the main street. Due to the sudden closure, the other AIs may be stuck in certain sections of the Park like Rambley was stuck at the entrance, and we'll interact with them and/or free them as part of the efforts to fix the place up.

The "mascots" are unrelated to the AI. But Rambley believes they are linked. The official music video for Rambely Review has garnered a lot of speculation for how different Rambley's perception of how the Mollie Macaw chase ended is to what we saw in the game. I'm not 100% sold on the idea that Rambley flat out doesn't know that the Mollie mascot got killed. His decision to drop his act and acknowledge the park's decayed state is because he sees how freaked out Ed is by the Mollie chase, and he seems to glance down toward Mollie's severed head when he trails off without describing the mascots. HOWEVER, I don't think he sees Mollie as being truly dead. He's possibly come to the conclusion (or rationalization) that the AI guides, based on the actual characters, are stuck inside the feral fleshy mascots and the mascot's death has led to Mollie's AI being liberated. This idea will stick with him until such time as we encounter an AI character before dealing with the associated mascot (likely Lloyd).

Salem is central to the park's closure. All we really know about Salem the Skunk is what we see in the Rambley's Rush arcade game, where Salem uses a potion to turn Mollie into a boss for us to fight. This reflects real world events, although whether Salem instigated the disaster due to over-committing to their characterization or was merely a catalyst that unwittingly turned the already dubious new mascots into outright dangers remains to be seen.

Rambley's disdain for Lloyd is unwarranted. Collectables commentary indicates that Lloyd's popularity may have been eclipsing Rambley's, and that ticks Rambley off. That's not the fault of the Lloyd(s) we're going to interact with, however. That's on Indigo's marketing for emphasizing Lloyd so much. And who knows, maybe there were plans for other retro-style plushies, but the Park got shut down before those could come out. Either way, while Lloydford L. Lion may be a bit of an arrogant overdramatic actor, the AI Guide version of him isn't going to come across as deserving Rambley's vitriol, and that's going to be the cause of one chapter's main conflict.

[scaryman-fancam]

REVENANT X READER ANGST DRABBLE - tw: talk of death, death, detailed fear of sudden death, grief

It’s a quiet evening in the little apartment.

He had no need for a place to rest at night, or at all. The place was rented specifically as a way to know where you were. He liked knowing you were safe in a little place he’d picked personally. Having control gave him some sort of reassurance that you’d be alright while he was away, because it was his home, his bed, his things keeping you cozy and warm.

You’re curled around his waist. He drags the metal of his fingertips across the screen in his hands, clearing jobs off of his list. Ones that had kept him away for months at a time. He tilts his head slightly every few minutes in between logging details of each hit, optics flicking to you, checking on you, casting a small, momentary spotlight on you in the slow dimming of the room as the sun dipped behind the other buildings in the city.

He was the literal mechanical grim reaper. Death was his job, his medium. A grisly artist who left carcasses as canvases, signed with a special brutality reserved for those unfortunate enough to end up in his job queue. He was all too familiar with death. He had died again and again, numb to the darkness that exists in-between each new vessel. Numb to the cold and the pain of the metallic husk collapsing in on itself, of the burn in his chest when the motors and circuits whirr to a painfully slow end, suffocating as his systems shut down.

Then he wakes up again.

Death was nothing to him. Thousands at his hands, thousands of his own. Thousands more simulated in the games.

It had you wondering.

Life was dangerous. Living is dangerous. Something could happen at any given moment. Hell, Wraith had told you that something HAS happened at any moment across different universes. If you could imagine it, it’s happened.

She’d warned you that in many universes, Revenant was your way out. Had your first meeting gone any differently, perhaps in a universe where he didn’t truly know his own strength. One where he was still a human, and you were one of his last hits before dying for the first time.

You’ve thought about it. Stressed about it. But has he?

It itches at the back of your brain for months. Brewing viciously and boiling your entire being along with it, mindlessly moving and writhing as the denied fear tries to look for a scrap, something to feed it and let it fester, something to let it root in the back of your mind—

“What’s got you squirming?”

His rough voice breaks your train of thought. You still, blinking up at him, his eyes already trained on yours, his tablet set aside. He’d been watching for a while.

“What’ll happen when I die?”

The first words that come out of your mouth. You know the answer. He’d told you many times when he was haunted by the thousands of deaths he was forced to endure.

He scoffs, like it’s irrational, “You won’t know you’re dead. You’ll know that you’re dying, but you won’t know when it’s settled in, like falling asleep.”

It’s supposed to settle you, the way he spares you of the worst of it. You can’t decide if it works. You must’ve been too quiet too long for his liking, so he pokes your forehead.

“What else is happening in that pretty little head of yours?”

It almost makes you smile. That sarcastic and playful streak trying to warm the fear bitten part of you.

“What will you do when I die?”

He stops. He’s quiet for a long time. It’s a question he too has wondered about. He’s numb to the concept, death is tangible, yes, he’s seen a light go out a million times, burnt bulbs to never be replaced, but he can’t help the twinge of discomfort of not being able to stop death. He can control the way they go. Cut short and quick, or painful, slowly draining the life. He can’t prevent death.

He’s a killing machine. Not made for healing, not made for care, tenderness and love. Everything he does is rough, it’s harsh, unforgiving. If you fear death, he wonders, why are you with him? It makes him uncomfortably angry at himself. Something soft and weak offers itself to him, equipped with claws and blood in every groove of his mechanical being. Makes his hands itch, even now when he longs to be gentle, he wants to lash out in anger at the way fate has left him as a monster.

He’s lived for hundreds as a monster, and he’ll live for hundreds more as one. Wishing he were gentle for just one night to truly indulge in the fragility of your being does not reverse it. He will remain a monster, long after you are gone. Unchanged.

“Knowing you, you’ll probably have earned it,” he decides, folding his arms. No room for argument as he scoffs, “Asking questions like that, always so fearful. The world out there will eat you up,” his voice dropping to a low rumble before he laughs, the grating mechanical sound hopefully distorted enough to hide the shimmer of weakness. The long forgotten phantom ache on the outer corners of his eyes, the burn that follows after, invisible heat rimming the shiny water lines. He bows before no other, but secretly he thanks a higher being that he is no longer flesh, that you cannot see the ghost of how he feels.

It eases you, his sadistic sarcasm, somehow. This master of death speaks to you as if it is no big deal. So maybe it isn’t.

“Thanks Rev,” the words are soft and reassured, and he leans down to bury his cold face into the side of yours, “keep me warm,” he mutters, grunting as he repositions himself, ignoring the way you squirm and try to push away the frigid metal with annoyed huffs and giggles.

The lights are off, the curtains drawn. You’d leave all the lights on, your eyes weren’t like his: artificial and equipped with night vision. He wanders the place at all times when he isn’t busy, not bothering to change vessels or clean the viscera away when he gets home.

You used to complain about the blood crusted footprints he’d leave on the rug. So he simply stays off of it now.

He traces the damage you’d left in the place as well. Chipped paint from tripping over the coffee table and into the wall. A coffee stain on the white marble counter that just wouldn’t go away. He’s certain he could get rid of it now, but he’s not sure if he can.

Revenant finds himself with his face to the wall. In the couch cushions. Even limp with his head in the empty washing machine, searching for traces of your scent. He’s done this routine enough to know that there’s nothing left. He’d greedily breathed in every trace of your presence in the first few months.

It doesn’t stop him from checking.

There’s a dirty cup in the sink. He holds it in his hand, mimicking you, the clink of his metal lips to the ceramic, following your motions, fruitlessly putting his lips to where yours once were. He wishes he had a tongue, so he could check the silverware for just a taste of you left.

The bedroom is the worst.

He avoids it when he can.

But it’s been a rough day. A rough week. A month, a year. Maybe longer?

It’s going to be a rough forever.

Slipping into the room with the grace of a zombie. It’s been a good couple hundred years since he’s felt exhaustion, but the constant burning around his optics has warn him thin. At the bed, he finds himself curling up in the divot of where you used to lay. The mattress hasn’t been used properly in a decade already, and he knows the hollow has changed its shape. It’s not truly yours anymore, his heavy form wearing the foam down further. He regrets lying in it, damaging the relic of your residence, but starvation leaves a dog desperate.

His legs tucked to his chest, arms binding them in place, head tucked between his knees. Fetal position, though he wishes fate would miscarry him this one time.

He’ll pretend that he is rotting, already with you. He’ll never die. They’ll make more of him for as long as they can.

But for now he’ll keep his consciousness in this one. He died the same day as you, his heart ripped from the otherwise hollow chassis of his being. The slow burn of the death of his circuits the only comfort, dreaming that one night it will be the final time.

[pxgeturner]

keep you safe. keep you mine.

ghostface!miguel o'hara x reader. prologue.

you're a junior in college and you have a totally awesome boyfriend in the master's program. a girl from your school is murdered and your boyfriend is there to make sure you feel safe (college/uni!au as if its not obvious)

an. I've had this idea in my head for like a month. executive dysfunction is a little bitch so i've onlyy been able to sit down n write this today. I wrote part of it a work but most of it within the last hour. (it’s currently a bit past midnight on the first of october) which if u have been here for a while, know that’s v surprising for me. i really wanted this to be posted on the first of the month but what can u do. i’m just gonna queue it atp. this isn't very action packed bcz it's just a prologue. but im soooo excited. also, r is latina coded but can be read from any ethnic standpoint. also this has not been proofread.

warnings: r has a panic attack, mentions of death (slightly graphic description of a dead body)

wc. 1.2k

you can’t change the channel. you don’t know why. but you can’t. a girl from your university was killed just about an hour ago. you were going to turn on the run of practical magic that started about half an hour ago. you just keep watching the news-lady rehash the same information over and over again. the killer all but turned the poor girl inside out. she’s in your finance class. you worked on a group assignment with her. she’s one of those girls who tries to maintain the hierarchy of high school in college. which is total bullshit, you’re third years for crying out loud! she’s passive aggressive, sure, but she should’ve had so much more time to grow. so you’re sitting there. bundled in blankets, not able to press the button on the remote. 

PING! 

something hits the sliding glass door to the back porch. you don’t want to become chopped liver. so you stay in your seat. a few minutes pass, you think, and no more noise, so you turn back to the tv. 

thud thud. you ignore it, keeping my eyes on the screen. 

then my cell starts to ring. you jump in your seat, and search for it, lost in the blankets. It’s miguel. you pick up the call. 

“hey mickey, you scared me.”

“sorry, baby. mind opening the door? It’s a little fresh out here?”

“the slide door?”

“yeah,”

you untangle myself from the blankets and approach the glass. you turn on the outside light, and it’s him. you unlock the door and let him in. he kisses your cheek as he comes in. “hey, angel,”

“hey yourself,”

“where are your parents?” you shut the door

“concert, pop surprised mama with tickets to a merengue singer. gloria something.”

he nods and comes in to hug you. “how’s your night been angel? The news is on? why’s it still playing?” he strokes your hair “you know if you keep watching this fear mongering shit it’s gonna just make you anxious, baby.”

“yeah…” you melt into him, feeling safe with your big strong boyfriend here. “can you stay the night?”

“’course baby. anything for my sweet girl.” he leads you back to the couch, “what do you want to watch?”

“practical magic, but it’s already running.”

“don’t you have the dvd?”

“OMG YES” you jump out of your seat and dash over to the tv stand, opening the dvd stash drawer. “HERE IT IS” you wave it around in triumph before inserting it into the player. 

once you’re back on the couch your boyfriend goes “if you have it on dvd why would you watch it on cable?”

you pout at him “it felt special. like they were playing it just for me. it was the perfect time.”

he shakes his head and chuckles, “you’re just too cute, baby.”

… 

“she talked shit about you, y’know.” gwen says after she tossed a penny into the fountain. 

“what?” the two of you start walking to the dining hall

“that girl, ava whatever? she was in my drawing class after your finance class with her. she like, thought you were obsessed with her.”

you stop in your tracks. “wait. what the fuck?”

she steps back and turns to face you. “yeah. i didn’t tell you because i figured if she never said anything to your face it wouldn’t be a big issue.”

“ok…” this is confusing “a: what did she say and b: why are you telling me this?”

“she said you’d stare at her. and that you look like you look like a… what did she say?… ‘a brainless mutt’ and other shit. she only said shit like that a couple times. and i ripped her a new one both times.” she gestures for you to keep walking. you realize today they probably have pizza and she wants to get there before they run out. “i’m telling you this so you don’t feel too bad. she wasn’t some innocent soul, she was a bitch. you’re so nice. but i don’t want you wasting your emotions on her.”

you think about all this information as you two walk. you never really liked ava. she totally thought of herself as a queen bee, and that’s so icky. the class you had together is tiered with semi-circular layout. you sat at one end, and she did at the other. when you space out, you guess it might seem like staring, but, like. what the hell?

and then you see miguel. he’s in a booth with peter, mj, and miles. you and gwen go up to the table.

“hey, angel”

“hi mickey,”

“they have soup, got some for you. cranberry juice too.” your favorite food and your favorite juice? he’s heaven.

you smile so big it almost hurts.

“did you get me food?” gwen asks miles

“i- uh, didn’t know what you wanted,” gwen glares at him– it’s a joke but when you’re on the other end it doesn’t feel like it. “-but there’s plenty of pizza left! i haven’t gotten food yet. i wanted to wait for you.” gwen smiles and offers him her hand. the two of them leave and you slide into the booth, next to miguel. 

“how was break?” peter asks. 

“it was good! love being with my family as usual.”

“and miguel, i’m sure,” mj winks playfully. 

“i was at my parents house!”

“and miguel went over every time you offered.” peter says before taking a sip of his coffee. 

“he’s so in love with you. it’s an obsession.” mj jokes. 

miguel drapes his arm round your shoulder exaggeratedly. “gotta keep my girl safe, there’s some freaks who’d want to hurt her.” you elbow him lightly to tell him to stop joking like that. 

somewhere along the line after gwen and miles get back, the subject changes to them trying to convince you and gwen to go to graduate school. 

“you’re so smart! You could study classical literature! or ethical studies! or ethnic studies! genders studies.”

“oh my god parker please stop throwing studies in my face. i’m so happy y’all are having a good time in the master’s program. and i’m so glad that miles is planning to go do that kind of path too,” you lean back, head supported by miguel’s arm. “i just have no desire to be a career academic. by the time i graduate i’ll have spent seventeen years of my life on education. After i get that diploma i just want to write.”

“and that’s exactly what you’re gonna do, doll.” 

a few days later, and the weekend has arrived. you’re in miguel’s room, a tim burton film playing as you two cuddle. 

the movie gets drowned out by the sound of an alarm, coming from your phones. it’s an emergency alert from the police. someone else has been found dead. someone from your school. your breath turns shallow and a lump forms in your throat. you’re crying. you can’t breathe. everything is blurry. your chest feels heavy. miguel holds you, whispering in your ear reassurances. he’d never let anyone touch you. you’re safe. nothing bad is ever going to happen to you. he’s here to protect you. 

thank god you have miguel to protect you from everything evil outside.