#system crasher

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Faith No More - Epic

[dxrlingsofmine]

I just got done watching System Crasher, Albrecht Schuch looks a bit like my dad which is very conflicting.

[8umb1eb33]

welcome to salems den ~

♥︎

꩜ hey! my names salem and i'm 18!

꩜ i'm in a ton of different fandoms, my top two being faith the unholy trinity, and the furry fandom!! my pronouns are she/her (but salem is a boy)

꩜ i LOVE music and my favorite bands are SOAD and PATD. i really love nu metal and emo (obviously) but any kind of metal or rock/alt i'll listen to. me when men whine and cry over acoustic guitars :3

꩜ i also like video games! im currently playing faith and trying to beat castle crashers on insane mode (the forest is going to make me pull my hair out holy shit WHY IS IT SO HARD TnT)

꩜ i'm neurodivergent so sorry if im kinda slow lel so PLEASE USE TONE TAGS!!!

꩜ DNI if:

you are homophobic, transphobic, antifur, conservative, cub/loli/feral nsfw or ANYTHING sexualizing minors or beings that CANNOT give consent. proshippers, zoophiles, zoosadists, transmeds, ablests, misandrists/misogynists, TERFs, MAPs

follow me on instagram~

http://instagram.com/8umb1e_b33

be kind <3

[kitchenisking]

my honey bee, come and get this pollen by LillyWhitefield - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 4,220)

“Well, one of us is sure to make the next heir eventually and will take over. If they produce a son, they will have to rise to the occasion,” she said absentmindedly, arranging her parchment in a neat pile in the top left corner of the desk.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Penelope realized what she said only a moment before Colin blurted out, “What?!”

~

Penelope neglects to inform Colin about the Featherington heir baby race.

Surprisingly, he doesn't mind too much.

loving him was burning red by starupabove - (Rating: Mature, Words: 3,778)

Perhaps all those years of anger and resentment have finally sent Penelope to a breaking point, or perhaps she loves Colin more than she has ever loved herself that she will not tolerate any kind of slander against him, or perhaps it is the alcohol in her system that has given her the courage to fight back. Oneshot.

Down Bad by pinkishtea - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 1,302)

Penelope isn’t aware of how much her words of praise affect Colin. Until her husband tells her.

Polin Bonus Week Day 7: Favourite Kink

Like father, like son. by Polinolicity - (Rating: G, Words: 4,849)

Colin and Penelope Bridgerton adore their son, and he adores them right back.

What would happen if one day Colin came home to their son going through a little phase? An oedipus complex phase….

Elliot Bridgerton is only 5 years old, what does he know?

Billiard Room by https_lunette - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 6,064)

"How about a game?" Colin suggested, breaking their brief staring contest.

"A game?" She echoed.

"Yes, unless you are afraid of a little game, Pen," he teased, his mouth twitching as he struggled to suppress a smile.

He was challenging her once more, and she refused to back down, especially when she noticed him struggling to conceal his smile. "Very well then, a game," she declared, standing her ground.

Wedding Crashers by Dreams1723 - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 5,221)

The one where Penelope doesn't know how she ended up lying about dating a groomsman at the wedding she's just crashed, but luckily for her said groomsman is happy to go along with it.

Rewrite the Stars - Polin by Xolentus - (Rating: Mature, Words: 8,564)

"August 25th, 1815

I find myself missing Penelope’s words more than I could have ever imagined. Each city I visit, each adventure I embark upon, feels only half complete without her responses. The beauty of Paris, the charm of Rome, the grandeur of Vienna – they all pale in comparison to the warmth and comfort I feel when she shares in their beauty, albeit even if it is just my letters describing it to her..."

What if Penelope read about herself in Colin's journal?

What if Colin realized his feelings sooner?

What if, after their first kiss, Colin pursued her...

of manmade tales & honest lies by champdelevande - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 12,894)

Based on this tweet:

just saw someone asking "what if penelope finds out she's pregnant right after the lady whistledown fight with colin" and i genuinely think shonda is not above torturing us like that

Cheeks pink in the twinkling lights by colinscourt - (Rating: T, Words: 9,051)

Imagine if John Hughes had made Season 3? Well that is what I did when I wrote this.

Colin and Pen are both seniors in high school, preparing for their senior prom. Since no one has asked her, Penelope has decided to take her fate into her own hands and get a date through sheer determination which will have repercussions for her and Colin both.

wrapped around your finger by maxmayfield - (Rating: T, Words: 6,571)

“I did not know…” “Well, you are very foolish, Colin,” Anthony says. “The rest of us were well aware. Penelope was never subtle with her longing looks.” “Do not tease her on this matter,” Colin thunders.

In which Colin mourns the time he did not love Penelope in return.

[gyorouis]

⭑.ᐟ 'TIS THE SEASON.

⤷ cozy up with this playful collection of holiday tales, where love is as magical as snowflakes and just as unpredictable.

TITLE TRACKS ˎˊ˗

CHOI YEONJUN - 1221204

true love (socialite!yeonjun) ⤷ yeonjun’s view on love is challenged by the reader, leading him to discover something deeper during their festive time together.

CHOI SOOBIN - 122224

winter things (bf!soobin) ⤷ soobin and the reader turn a canceled trip into a cozy staycation, realizing that the simplest moments can be the most memorable.

CHOI BEOMGYU - 122324

wit it this christmas (party crasher!beomgyu) ⤷ beomgyu crashes a holiday party and meets someone who matches his playful spirit, turning the night into an unexpected adventure.

KANG TAEHYUN - 122425

december (jock!taehyun) ⤷ taehyun's competitive banter with a rival at the winter gala takes an unexpected turn, leading to a moment neither of them expected.

HUENING KAI - 122524

not just on christmas (stranger!kai) ⤷ huening kai shows the reader that love isn't just about the holidays, but something to cherish every day.

gyo's note: hey guys, i’m sorry i’ve been MIA for a while, but yes, i just survived finals, literally 7 days before christmas (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)—can you believe that?! i love my course so much but i swear my uni’s system sucks, it’s been a mess. anyway, enough about me, how have you all been? i hope your holidays are going great so far. ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ i just remembered i haven’t finished kai’s installment for alumni homecoming, but don’t worry, i’ve already written a couple of one-shots and have THREE drafts for a series lol. (｡>﹏<) i’m just super blocked on the kai one since it’s been a while since i had the idea, but i’ll definitely get it out soon. also, please interact with me even though i suck at replying (i’m terrible with social cues, guys) but i STILL wanna talk to you all. i’ll see you this christmas with a new one-shot series! and yes, it’s inspired by ariana’s christmas & chill album. love you all, and thanks for being patient with me! if you made it this far, thank you! (,,>﹏<,,) you will be loved, xoxo!

jump back in to your daily playlist !

[otrtbs]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ an otrtbs submission for the @sillylovesongsfest ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

prompt: pierre by ryn weaver

jarty croucher | t | 4.1k | slightly sexual themes and recreational drug use

Barty rolls over and groans at the sun-soaked tent he finds himself in. It’s sweltering hot and the thin cotton top sheet of the makeshift bed clings to his sticky skin. The tent is too bright and it smells sour with stale tobacco and weed.

It would be enough to make Barty vomit if there was anything left in his stomach.

There’s sand everywhere.

“It’s so fucking humid in here,” he groans, as his brain pounds against his skull. “I can’t breathe.”

A voice in the bed next to him makes him jump.

“It rained last night, remember?”

Barty turns to see a head of nearly white curly hair fanning out over the blue tarp next to him. A girl, no, the girl from last night laying on her stomach, still half-asleep.

“Fucking torrential.”

Barty didn’t remember. Not really.

The night before was coming back to him in bits and pieces. Alcohol-soaked frames of cognizance.

He remembers fighting with James again. Screaming so loud that his voice was hoarse and his throat was scratchy. This time was the last time. Never come back here again. He remembers hearing about some giant rager in the desert. Something about celebrating the blood moon. There were caravans of people and bonfires and music by the time Barty showed up.

He remembers not knowing anyone there. Heard from a friend of a friend. He was a drifter. A party crasher. None of that mattered once he was there though. A group of people pulled him in like they’ve known him his entire life, and soon enough he had a cup of something that burned his throat in his hand and a girl dragging him closer to the fire.

He remembers the brutal sun casting heat waves so violent that everything seemed to shimmer and dance slightly around him. Pockets of sun-induced water appeared just beyond the sand dunes and disappeared by the time Barty walked over to them.

He drank until the sun went down, he took everything offered to him. He sweats out all of the vodka in his system just to down more in a steady stream. He barely recalls the red moon rising high above him, ruddy and ominous.

When the desert got cold, that’s when the real party started.

Some man’s hand around his throat, some girl’s tongue in his mouth. Everything pulsating and dully muted around him. Bodies pressing up against his, hands through his hair, a settling chill to cool the sticky heat.

The girl pulls away. Stark white hair like an angel in the desert. Billowy white clothes like a ghost.

And Barty wants to be haunted.

Sand slipping through his hands. She weaves in and out of the crowd once she decides she’s done with him, but he follows as closely as he can.

Eventually, she stops and turns around again, the shadows from the fire flicker on her face.

“I have something to help with dullness,” she shouts over the noise, the people, the music, the blood rushing in his head.

“What?” He hadn’t realized he’d said that part out loud.

She sticks out her tongue so Barty can see a little white tab with a smiley face on it. It has three eyes, and one of them winks at him.

He puts his mouth on hers in grateful acceptance and the tab finds its way under his tongue.

“Who are you?” Barty asks, voice reverent as he eyes the tattoo on her shoulder. Little horns inked into her skin. “An angel?”

She laughs as she pulls him closer. Her nails are sharp like claws and for a second Barty thinks she might rip him apart. Feels like he’s been caught. Her teeth sharp and glinting at the sight of his throat.

“Maybe I’m the devil.”

That’s where his memory ends. For the most part.

He holds a hand up to his sore lip and winces. Runs his tongue over it and tastes the dried blood.

“Fuck,” he groans.

The girl sits up and as soon as Barty sees her pale green eyes blinking back at him he smiles.

“Pandora.”

“Hm. So you do remember.”

“Vaguely,” Barty croaks through chapped lips. “I can’t believe I slept in a tent in the desert on the floor.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You look like you do this all the time. No offense.”

“None taken,” Barty sighs, as he examines his stinging palm to see a raw and, now dried, bloody cut spanning the lifeline on his skin. “What the fuck?”

“It was the sacrifice to the moon,” Pandora supplies breezily as Barty moves to stand up.

“Right, whatever that fucking means,” Barty brushes her off.

Maybe he should be more concerned about the whole ordeal, but he wasn’t. It was actually…fun. A good release of energy.

He would’ve hated it.

He would’ve insisted that Barty stay the night at his place instead. Entertain him with something less risky. Something more self-serving.

Barty shakes his head to clear his thoughts. At least last night he hadn’t thought of him at all. Now, the harsh light of the morning was screwing things up again.

Pandora helps him search the sand and surrounding tents for his keys and his wallet, and some various other items before she points him in the right direction and Barty makes the trek back up the road to his car.

She tells him there’s another party next month. He tells her he’ll think about it.

The drive back is quiet. Barty doesn’t turn on the radio, it’ll only aggravate his already pounding head.

Instead, he thinks.

What would he think if Barty told him what he did?

Told him he held out his bleeding palm to the fire and listened as the blood sizzled on the rocks and wood beneath it. Told him he danced in the desert in the pouring rain and slept in a sandy tent as the alcohol coursed through his system. Told him he stayed out all night, not bothering to call home. Not bothering to tell a single other person where he was.

He’d be appalled. He’d probably sigh in disappointment, or better yet, he’d yell when Barty finally bothered to answer his call the next week.

It’s not Barty’s fault that James liked him because he was rough around the edges. Too sharp to hold onto without bleeding. Too impulsive to see a long-term future with. Too mean to have breakfast with the next morning.

It’s why it was fun. Something with an expiration date. Manufactured good times in a bottle– consequence-free-fucking.

But then it got confusing.

Barty wishes he would call. But he’s thankful he doesn’t.

A few weeks later, Barty finds himself at the front row of some dive bar-turned-concert-venue sipping a warm and flat beer. The place is crowded and loud, and the air is warm with the stench of alcohol and weed. He’s pretty sure someone in the back is giving out makeshift tattoos for five dollars. He’s pretty sure he’s gonna take the guy up on the offer after the show.

Some girl, in a poor attempt to dance, knocks into him and sends his beer sloshing over the side of his cup and onto the floor.

He doesn’t really mind though. Because it’s that occurrence that causes the bass player to look at him. Really look at him as he sways along to the music, and nods his head to the beat.

Barty gives a small smirk and raises his plastic cup in response and the bass player smirks back at him. A challenge. A dare. One that Barty knows well.

Barty watches him all night. Dark, muscled arms strumming along, plucking the strings. He’s so close Barty can see his short paint chipped fingernails and calloused hands. His hair bleached almost white, falls in twists that he shakes every once in a while as they fall in front of his eyes. His lips mouth the words to the song the frontman is singing. His body moves to the beat of the drummer, and his eyes shine like he’s doing it all for Barty. And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s because Barty has always been Barty, but as the night progresses he starts to actually believe it is all for him.

When the set is over, Barty follows the bassist out back into the cooling night.

“You played really well up there,” he called after the man, causing him to turn around.

“Oh yeah?” The man smirked.

“Yeah. I’m Barty.”

“Evan.”

“Watched you all night.”

And that’s all it took really before Evan had him pressed up against some cold stone brick wall in a back alleyway.

Barty spends the better part of two months with Evan. They travel to different venues in the surrounding towns. They sleep all day and stay out all night as Evan plays his shows. Evan teaches him how to steal from unsuspecting store clerks. Barty shows him how to pick any lock. He lets Evan trace the scar on his palm over and over again. They’re high for most of it. Barty pierces Evan’s septum. Evan pierces his eyebrow. He travels with the band and plays the part of groupie dutifully.

It was much longer than his one-night desert excursion with Pandora, but soon enough the inevitable happened. He gets bored. Evan’s time was up and those soft, disappointed brown eyes flooded his mind once more.

Evan’s hands were calloused but not as rough. He was telling a joke but didn’t laugh the same. He didn’t bite to draw blood. He didn’t press to bruise.

Fuck.

Barty left with little trace. Just a text message telling Evan to text him the next time he was in town playing a show. Evan liked it but otherwise didn’t say a word.

And that was that.

Maybe this was just his way. Maybe he would be perpetually stuck chasing some unknown James shaped hole for the rest of his life. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. He could fill it up with other things. He could live with that.

He tries to tell himself he can live with that when it happens. His phone buzzes. Again and again and again and again and Barty stares at the caller ID displaying a number he’s more than familiar with. He answers it with a shameful eagerness but doesn’t speak.

“Hello?”

“Did you mean to call me?” Barty croaks out in the deadened air.

A stuttering pause. “Yeah. Yeah, hi. How are you?”

Barty lets out a sharp laugh. Too sharp. “How am I? I’m fine, James. How are you?”

“Good,” James tried to say brightly, but Barty could hear the flatness in his voice. “How, um. How have you been?”

“Okay, what the fuck, Bambi. You’re freaking me out. It’s almost four in the morning.”

James laughs at the nickname that was always made to be an insult. Until it wasn’t.

“No, I know. I just…” James trails off and Barty finds himself wishing he would just finish his fucking sentence.

Come on, James. It’s me. You don’t have to be nice to me, remember? That’s the deal. That’s the rule. You can be mean to me. I can take it.

Something in his chest pulls, but Barty opts to ignore it as he takes on his talking-to-James tone: Sarcastic and needle-sharp.

“Miss me that much, Potter?” Barty hears James let in a sharp breath on the other end of the line and pushes on. “What? Are you going to tell me that it’s three in the morning and this is the time I normally come slinking around your place? Miss having someone like me to knock you about a bit? Get a little too rough with you? Fuck you, smoke with you after, and leave before the lights come on?”

“Barty.” He tries not to flinch at the fact that James is using his first name. “That’s not why…I’m calling because–”

But Barty cuts him off before James can say something ridiculous. Something like ‘I’m calling because I care about you,' or 'I’m seeing someone else,' or 'I’m worried for you. This guy’s really great, not at all like you,' or 'I miss you.’

“Well, I can’t come around anymore. I just finished touring around with some bass player and his band all across the state. They just signed to a label they’re about to be huge. And Evan, the bass player, he’s like the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me, so.” Barty was aware that he was trying too hard. He could hear it in his own voice, but he was praying it was convincing enough for James. He pulled his lip ring in between his teeth and waited for James to say something.

“Oh, there’s an Evan.”

There was an Evan, kind of.

“Yeah, and he’s great, and I’m great. Never better, actually. So I think you were right to end it when you did. Whatever it was. It’s better this way.” Barty lies.

Barty lies and James goes quiet. It’s unbearable.

“James?”

Do you want to come over?

Why did it take you months to call?

Did you mean what you said when you told me you could never bring me around your friends?

Do you ever miss fighting with me like I miss fighting with you?

Remember when you almost let me pierce your eyebrow? Evan pierced mine a while ago and I thought about you the entire time he was doing it.

His hands aren’t yours wrapped around my throat. He never squeezes hard enough.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

Speak now or forever hold your peace, James Potter.

“Okay, yeah. Sorry, yeah.”

“Okay. Later, bambi.”

Barty clicks the phone before James can respond.

What the fuck was James thinking?

What was he thinking?

Barty would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a small pulse of adrenaline at the sound of James’ voice. A small sense of satisfaction that James had broken the silence between them and called first.

He was going to ignore the fact that James had used the gentle voice with him. The voice reserved for a crying child, a terminal patient, or a scared wild animal in the woods. He was going to ignore the fact that James had obviously called him for a reason and Barty had dominated the conversation to keep him from it. And he was definitely going to ignore the curiosity chewing away at his mind about what James would’ve said if only Barty would’ve let him.

No. Instead, he was going to keep on telling James, and himself lies.

He was fine.

He was happy.

He was better than he’s ever been.

Barty walks himself out to his balcony and lights a cigarette as the cool air kisses his face. He recounts his lies over and over again and counts down to the day they might come true.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“What did you say your name was again?” Barty looks at the sandy blonde boy questioningly. He’s got a smattering of freckles and soft eyes that are shining due to the alcohol.

The bar is too loud for a Thursday and Barty wants to leave, but the man just bought him another round and it would be rude to turn it away.

“Peter.”

Barty nods, tilting his new beer towards him. “Well, cheers Peter.”

Peter offers him a smile as he tilts his glass in Barty’s direction and takes a drink, smiling coyly.

They talk for a minute. This is how Barty finds out that Peter is English and has no job and no house. He came into some money and is using it to travel to as many places as he can before the money dries up. He finds places to stay by matching with people on Tinder or Grindr and he’s out by morning exploring the city.

So in other words, he’s trouble. Which is exactly what Barty’s looking for.

Peter has honey-colored eyes and a honey-colored voice to match. Sweet on the surface with something dangerous and reckless buzzing just below the surface.

They stay until the bar closes and they stay until the parking lot clears out, and then when it’s good and dark and empty Barty slaps his motorcycle helmet on over Peter’s head and tosses him the keys.

He stands on the pavement with his arms crossed and watches as Peter starts the engine.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Barty asks skeptically as Peter hesitates.

“Y-yeah.” He calls over the hum of the engine. “ I had a motorbike– have a motorbike back home but it’s in the shop getting repaired.”

Barty nods. “Well, just take her around the parking lot a few times then. Let’s see it.”

In his defense, Peter was the one who had asked to ride it. When Barty brought up his motorcycle, he watched as Peter’s honey-colored eyes went wide as saucers as he asked to see it. To give it a ride. Maybe Barty should’ve been worried that this stranger would just drive off with his bike in the dead of night with no witnesses and leave him stranded, but he was too drunk to care. It would all be just another story to laugh about in the daylight. Moonlight desert rituals and bass players and motorcycle thieves. All because of James fucking Potter.

Barty watches and snickers as Peter clearly has no idea what to do.

James knew how to ride motorcycles. He would take Barty’s sometimes to the only 24-hour corner store to pick up a watered-down black coffee and a new pack of Parliament’s when they ran out. Sometimes an orange or two if they were hungry.

Peter manages to make it around the parking lot twice before a loud pop rings through the air and causes Barty to jump. By the time he can register what’s happening, Peter is already beside him, pale-faced, and apologizing profusely.

He popped a fucking tire.

The blowout was not a gunshot. Thank god.

He lives another day.

Barty gives Peter a once over and determines that he went smashing into the concrete based on the scrapes to his face and his hands, and the tear in his pants at the knees.

For a moment, Peter looks at Barty like he might kick the shit out of him, and maybe Barty should, but the whole thing seems so comical at the moment that he can’t help but burst into delirious laughter.

Of course, someone named Peter that he met in a bar at midnight would ride his motorcycle once and make the tire pop. That was just his luck.

Without thinking about it, he sends a text to James.

‘Motorcycle tire just popped. Fucking shit.’

His phone buzzes almost instantly in his hand.

‘I told you last time the tire needed air. It was only a matter of time. You should’ve let me fill it up.’

Barty watches James type a message for what seems like an eternity. Then a new message.

‘Are you okay?’

Then it’s Barty’s turn to type forever.

‘Never better, bambi.’

He makes Peter call them a cab and tow company to get the bike. It’s the least he could do. Since he thinks it’s his fault the tire blew out, and Barty convinces him that it is.

Barty says they’ll figure it out in the morning and lets Peter stay at his place until the end of the week. Just long enough for him to see that the motorcycle was getting fixed. Long enough to take him around the city and show him all the best places.

They keep in touch for a month at tops and then Peter fades into another memory. Another story to tell. Another person he was with because he wouldn’t be with James.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

On the fourth of July, he meets Regulus at some party in someone’s backyard.

They’re about to start shooting off the fireworks when Barty sees him. Short crop of curly black hair and a downturned frown.

“Not having fun?” Barty smirked in an attempt to make conversation.

“What?”

“Not having fun?”

“Not really.” The boy’s frown deepened. “Not at all.”

“Oh, what the fuck. You’re French?”

“Very astute observation.” The stranger says as he attempts to walk away.

“Sorry. It’s just, why the fuck would you be here if you could be in France? I’m Barty by the way.”

“Regulus,” the stranger sniffs. “And why the fuck would your parents name you Barty if they could pick from any other name in the world?”

Barty grins at Regulus’ accent and his snark. “Got it. No more questions then.”

“No more stupid questions,” Regulus amends.

They stick together the whole evening as Barty attempts to make the Fourth of July fun for the both of them.

He spends a few weeks with Regulus after that. Regulus speaks broken English, something stilted, but sure, and it rings nice in Barty’s ears long after he’s stopped talking. There’s nothing serious between them. They just spend the summer days sun drunk and carefree. Regulus attempts to teach him French. Barty attempts to make this time different. Neither of them are successful.

“I lied,” Regulus says in a passing moment as Barty gets ready to say his final goodbye. “I’m not twenty-three, I’m twenty. Also, my English is perfect. I was just fucking with you.”

Barty just blinks a few times. “Why do you think I would care about that? Regulus, what the fuck.”

Regulus shrugs. “Just thought you should know. You’re not the only one pretending to be something you’re not just for the fun of it.”

And Barty knows it’s fucked up, but he could kiss Regulus all over again.

He adds a pathological liar to his running list of adventures.

When he returns to his apartment, it’s quiet and empty. He tries to tell himself that he’s okay with that, that he likes it best this way, that he’s never been better.

James calls once again.

It’s become a routine of theirs.

James calls and Barty answers. He fills James’ head with all of his exploits, all of his stories, all of the Pandora’s and Evan’s and Peter’s and Regulus’ he’s been with since James. All of the fun he’s had since the last time they spoke.

But he couldn’t ever let any of them in, because James was already there, taking up too much space. Always there, lying in wait.

Barty keeps on telling his lies and James lets him, but they’re still not coming true. Barty’s counting down the days and still feeling more down than ever. He wishes that James would just call his bluff, hear the falseness in his voice, and yell at him for being irresponsible. But he never does.

It’s not until after Emmeline, Fabian, and Narcissa that James gives him another call.

Barty’s in the middle of recounting his latest adventure when James does it. Interrupts him with a knowing scoff.

“Listen, Crouch,” he says just like he used to. He’s fed up. Barty finally managed to press his buttons once more. “Can we stop doing this song and dance now? Drop the act?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Barty sniffs, still trying to get one up on him.

“Oh sure,” James continues, voice flat. “When you’re ready to stop lying to yourself and to me…I was calling to tell you to come around.”

The words land like cement in his stomach.

“To come around?”

Barty’s heart picks up its pace.

It was a bad idea.

It was a horrible idea.

It would put them right back to where they were before.

Fighting and yelling and waiting for the moon to come out to talk to each other. To see each other.

It would end horribly.

They would burn each other up. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. But God, Barty missed how it felt to be on fire.

“Yeah,” James breathes into the phone receiver. “You know the code to get in.”

Barty takes a deep breath.

What did it say about him that it had been all this time, and he still thought about James and his apartment and his soft sheets that were always laundered every day? James’ hands gripping his jaw. James’ laugh when Barty couldn’t find his jeans that had all been but ripped off of him. James’ sharp sneer and clenched jaw when Barty managed to get under his skin.

It doesn’t take too much convincing. Just lighting bolts of flashing memories. Tooth rot that ached too good to let go.

“Alright. Yeah. Fuck it. Fuck it, Bambi.”

There would be plenty of time for lying to himself later.

And one day his lies would come true.

Just not today. And definitely not tonight.

“I’ll come around.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

inspired by the song pierre by ryn weaver

[seth-burroughs]

Makoto looks at his phone while driving not because he's stupid but because he's smart. He can multitask. A shiny object in his peripheral will not hinder his ability to steer a vehicle, like, he can just look up, this shit is easy you just move a wheel, hold down a brake here and there, press some button, who needs an entire license for that. You can easily learn everything there is to know about operating a car just from theory in 2 days MAX. Similiarly, drinking while driving was never an issue to him in his entire life. He knows that the majority of all car accidents are actually caused by sober people, so perhaps, maybe they're just worse at driving without any magic liquids in their system. It's the drunk crashers that give them all a bad rep. He doesn't use turn signals, why the fuck would he let them know what he's thinking of next, never let them take advantage of your foolish predictability. If there's no available parking spots left the sidewalk is ok. If the citizens have to step over his car hood in order to pass then that's perfectly fine with him, he'll understand it, because he loves them

[amekonocternia]

Said fuck it and decided to merge two of my favs (cookie run and castle crashers)

The stories pretty much the same for cr just put the cc magic and knights system in

[soelvfisk]

Jeg gik en lang tur med hund her til aften. Mit hjerte smelter. Trods alt kaos og modvind på det sidste, er der altså virkelig ved at ske et julemirakel af en art. Måske er det fordi jeg ægte bare har brug for den slags energi jeg får, når jeg bor alene og kan lade op i mit eget selskab? Som et “pling” føltes byen tilgængelig og åben, fordi alle butikkerne lukkede og menneskerne forsvandt. Kun sporadiske skikkelser, helt pakket ind i huer og lange jakker. Som en by af emo-katja-kaj og emo-bente-bent’ere. Sort og mørkt, men trygt? Luften var kold og stod nærmest stille om os. Vi satte os i græsset og kiggede ind i skyggerne bag en bygning. Den lille hare var ikke farlig, den var bare på afveje. Og hund gøede ikke engang. Betragtede det lille lang-ørede dyr hoppe videre ud i aftenen. Intet at være bange for lige dér.

Noget af æren for den pludselige energi, skyldes nok min snak med psykiater i dag. Jeg kan være benhård når vi taler om traumer, men så snart vi taler om mad… så sidder jeg og tuder. For der er bare intet der har hjulpet og jeg taber mig bare mere og mere og trods mit ønske om sondemad, så er det ikke en mulighed. Græd fordi jeg var så godt på vej inden Bjerget, men så endte det med at Bjerget spiste af mine madvarer og havde sine uvaskede fingre i brødposen… og så røg jeg ud af kurs igen pga stress og flytning etc etc. Psykiater afbrød mig og så sagde hun: “Hør - lige nu er der så langt til succes for dig, fordi vi forventer for meget. Det er ikke et problem, for det giver mening og nu ændrer vi kurs. Vi har haft fokus på mad - og det stresser dig og kaster dig tilbage i tid. Så nu ser vi fremad og har fokus på tidspunkter istedet. Pyt med hvad du spiser og hvor meget - bare tyg i noget som du sluger 3 gange om dagen”.

Og HVILKEN LETTELSE! Pyt med om det kun er en mandel eller et glas kapers eller en appelsin eller et glas nesquik. Mængden skal nok komme! Variationen skal nok komme! Nu skal jeg bare lige fatte at jeg godt kan tygge mad, 3 gange om dagen… og nå i mål uden at miste modet. KÆMPER for at spise nok og bliver SÅ SUR og modløs når jeg fejler. Det gav mig underligt nok appetit, at der pludselig ingen forventninger var. Så da jeg kom hjem, lavede jeg brunede kartofler og spiste det rub og stub. Et helt glas. Har så heller ikke spist andet i dag, men bevares. Og så elsker jeg bare at jeg ved, at det er nok for nu. Må heller ikke overbelaste mit system. Hurra for autisme-venlig spiseforstyrrelses-hjælp wow. Psykiater sagde også at det er påfaldende som mine autistiske træk træder frem når jeg er i mistrivsel - og jeg sad og tænkte “måske fordi vi kun diagnostiserer autister i mistrivsel???”. Mine autistiske træk er jo knap så tydelige når jeg trives og kan accomodate mine behov. Og jeg kan jo ikke accomodate mine behov ordentligt, når min doom-hjerne fortæller mig at jeg kun må spise fucking persille. Nu prøver vi persille 3 gange om dagen og så er det måske brunede kartofler og persille dagen efter. Who knows<3 Og hvis jeg crasher, så er lille hund her jo - parat til at slikke tårer<3

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Faith No More - We Care A Lot

[transgender-activated]

Hey guys this is @thescaryhyperfem's flag hoarding account :) below the cut is a bunch of info about my identity. Under cut cuz it's long

TW: Reclaimed slurs, eyestrain

Name Hoard:

Fave: Francis, Funbus / SCPFunbus / Dr Funbus, Crasher & Trasher.

Others: Smasher, Francisco(a), Willy, Will, Mill, Lavender, Crumbs, Fishy & Mr Fish.

Pronouns Hoard:

Fave: it/itself, one/oneself

Others: ze/zim, ze/zir, xey/xem, xe/xem, xe/xer, xey/xeym, xy/xym, zy/zym, zi/zir, xi/xir, xiy/xiym, zy/zym, xhei/xheir, basically any pronouns that sound "weird".

Term Hoard:

Fave: Feminine & royalty related.

Sexuality: Gay (romantic), Bisexual, Finsexual, Pansensual, Kaitarose, Gaberian, Autorose, Aroace-Spec, Reciproromantic, Aahhce-spec.

Gender: Transgender, Ambonec, Non-binary, Agender, Nixic, Androgyne, GNC & Xenogender.

Objectum: Mangerum, Pool Toys, Bathrooms, Houses, Plushies, Fonts (Comic Sans), Balloons, Fursuits, Blankets, Pillows & more... (Attraction is not exclusively sexual / romantic)

Other: Lobo Guará, Hyperfeminine / Femboy, Sun Bear, Cub Bear, Dyar, Faggot / Viado, Tranny, Drag Queer, T4T, Freak 4 Freak, Weirdo 4 Weirdo, Quizil,

Tagging System (barely use it):

#🏳️‍🌈 = Flags

#📦 = Userboxes

#✨ = Blinkies/Stamps

#👿 = "CoNtRaDiCtOrY" labels

#🔳 = Roblox Related

#🍼 = Agere Related

#👑 = Royalty Related

#🤡 = Juggalo/ICP Related

#🔒 = SCP Related

#🐈🌈 = Nyan Cat Related

[crashingstar69]

hi its 🌲 i made a sideblog @second-best-daisy because i decided i wanted to talk more 👍

i am also some flavor aroace which is really funny. why is there so many of us. i love all of the crashers but i think nick is my favorite because he was the first crasher i watched and he is responsible for like half of my current hyperfixations. swag

i’m also a system. that’s not related but i think its neat :)

uhhh okay cant wait to talk with you guys. yippee

Welcome to the club!!!

Funnily enough, Brent was the first Party Crasher I watched and look at me now... (Obsessed with him/hj)

Also, at this point I think being AroAce and a PC fans means that you want them all to kiss.

[ultimateoptimus]

Autobot Junior Divers Kicker and Sari Upgraded

>[ERROR]: Deviation "Autobot Junior Divers Kicker and Sari" V1.0 (2021/06/18): [//////OBSOLETE//////] >[ERROR]: Deviation Upgrade Required And Requested >Auto-Upgrade: Initated >Upgrading Deviation To: "Autobot Junior Divers Kicker and Sari Upgraded"... 100% >Upgrade: Succesfully Installed _

Just in time for the Transformers 40th Anniversary, Transformers Energon 20th and Summer 2024, Autobot Junior Divers Kicker from Transformers Energon (2004) and Sari Sumdac from Transformers Animated (2008) are back, femmes and gentlemechs, bolts and gears, protoforms and techies of all aeons - and the Energon scuba spaceboy and the Animated scuba robotgirl are all upgraded and ready to Transform and Dive Out, be it in a Summer SCUBA class adventure diving under the waters of Ocean City in Kicker's native reality or Detroit, Robot City in Sari's reality, training themselves in out-of-air emergency simulations, underwater combat, rocket flying underwater Supersonic Jetfighter Rocketkid style and ultimately having splash 'n crash aquawesome fun underwater with each other and their Autobot wingmen protecting and escorting them with Kicker's Energon Saber Mini-Con Team, Sari's technorganic upgraded body and both's Autobot battle brethren led by Optimus Prime of both their native realities in case of Decepticon underwater party crashers!

The Autobot Junior Divers' personalized, customized boys' and girls' school swimwear and swim caps, stylish and colorful ABC kits of 360 degree single lens dive masks, clear purge snorkels and pairs of dive fins and just as stylish and colorful TransformerTech'd up backpack dive jacket, hi-capacity air tank and mouthpiece regulator SCUBA rigs all based on their respective battlesuits from their respective toyline and cartoon series are fully upgraded and ready for more Deep Heavy Metal Underwater Robots In Disguise Action than ever before as detailed below:

Autobot Junior Diver Kicker now has his own personal Evolutionary Accelerator (EV-AC) loaded with his custom Autobot EV-AC Helix for when it's time to Xevolve into his Autobot Powerlinx Kicker exobody, Grindor of his Mini-Con Street Action Team as his Transformer dive buddy and TransformerTech All-In-One Scuba Backpack System with TekSnorkelator has a Powerlinx port for Grindor to dock into and turn it into a TransformerTech All-In-One Scuba Underwater Jetpack System for Kicker to jet through the underwater worlds in hyperspeed - his way.

Autobot Junior Diver Sari's TransformerTech All-In-One Scuba Backpack System with Double Hose TekRegulator is now a Sumdac Systems TransformerTech Hydropack All-In-One Scuba Underwater Jetpack System created for Sari by Isaac Sumdac reverse-engineered from Bumblebee's Hydrodrive Underwater Submarine Module as her new personal All-In-One Transformable Scuba Underwater Jetpack System that has an Underwater Waterwing Scooter/Underwater Kickboard alt mode for Sari to rocket through the underwater worlds in true Kid Robot Girl style with a functional replica of her Allspark Key as a memento.

Long story short: 2021's requested aquawesome little Junior Diver!Kicker X Junior Diver!Sari art for Anbu-AAE-Demon333 just got the 2024 upgrade just in time for those forementioned anniversaries.

Autobot Junior Divers V2.0 Patch Notes: >Autobot Junior Diver Kicker V2.0 - Kicker's personal Evolutionary Accelerator (EV-AC) with custom Autobot EV-AC Helix loaded given to Kicker - Energon Mini-Con Street Action Team Grindor added and linked to Kicker as dive buddy - Powerlinx port added to Kicker's All-In-One TransformerTech SCUBA Backpack System - Grindor can now dock in the SCUBA Backpack System's Powerlinx port to access All-In-One SCUBA Underwater Jetpack System upgrade

>Autobot Junior Diver Sari V2.0 - Functional Allspark Key Replica given to Sari - Upgraded Sari's All-In-One SCUBA Backpack System to Sumdac Systems TransformerTech Hydropack All-In-One Scuba Underwater Jetpack System - Hydropack can transform from Underwater Waterwing Scooter/Underwater Kickboard to All-In-One Scuba Underwater Jetpack System and back

@aae-demon-zone333 @theworldofesteveze

@creepie-treattricker

[internerdionality]

okay so i was talking to a friend about how I've never been drunk enough to get a hangover

(My system just doesn't tolerate alcohol well, I go straight from "this is fun!" to "I am throwing up" without ever going through the like, falling down or blackout stages.)

And so they asked about the drunkest I've ever been, and after I finished telling them the story, they told me I should post it here, so here we go

the drunkest I think I've ever gotten... It must have been NYE 2011. I was living in NYC. I'd started a 9-5 that year, so I wasn't going out as much (before that I'd been working a canvassing job 2-10, so like, me and the other canvassers used to go out and party after work most nights) and one of my good friends was all like "you never come out any more we have to have a good time for NYE" right? so we went out and he took me on this tour of extremely twinky gay bars of the lower west side so I was like. The only girl (or at least the only girl with deep cleavage and vast tracks of... hair, lol) for most of the night And even though gay men don't mostly like women sexually they DO often like to admire big tits, I've found So I was NOT buying my drinks most of the night and then after like. idk. 2 or 3 hours of that. Just cocktail after cocktail and dancing with no food. it's getting near midnight and Jon (my friend) is like, we have to go to this party that I've been invited to for the countdown and he had the building address (right, like, at the extremely posh bit between MePa and Chelsea) but not the apt number... and it turns out to be a building with doorman. and his friend isn't answering his texts so Jon somehow talks this doorman into letting us in, and he directs us up to the lounge floor where this big party is going on as soon as walk in, we know it is absolutely NOT the party we'd been invited to it is Black Tie It is POSH It is pink-themed all the men are wearing like, tuxedos or NICE suits with pink ties or shirts. The women are in fucking like, prom dresses and shit there are actual pyramids of rosé champagne do we back slowly out of the lounge in our grundge clubwear? Of course not. we go right in and go like "heyyyy, guess what? we're crashers" and fortunately the crowd is drunk enough that they think this is hilarious So we ring in the new year with these rich kids (oh yeah, median age of this party was like, MAYBE 21. They're young enough that Jon and I, who were in our mid-twenties, felt distinctly old for this crowd), and then they all head out to an after party and so they kick us out with like five bottles of champagne and then we run into Jon's friend in the elevator down cause they're coming down from the roof, where THEIR party was and so we end up going back to their apartment to finish the champagne. And at THAT party there is whip cream vodka, which I will never drink again as long as I live so we finally leave the lower west side at like. idk. two or three am and take the train uptown (cause this is when I lived in Wash Heights, and it's WAY too late for the express, so we have quite a ways to go). Unfortunately the first train is still SLAMMED cause it's NYE in Manhattan, and I am SO DRUNK at this point so on the train up to Columbus Circle I end up sitting on a series of pretty girls' laps I'm just like, literally wandering up and down the train being like "I can't stand anymore pls let me sit on you" (Jon finds this hilarious and encourages me) and then when we switch trains I throw up on a couple of rats fighting on the tracks I think I only didn't get a hangover that time because I was still tipsy when I woke up

[mcultraman]

Kept you waiting huh?

I am brining this blog back! I am still streaming, I just kind of neglected this place. My current schedule is:

Tuesday 6:30 P.M. EST Castle Crashers

Thursday 6:30 P.M. EST Yakuza 0 with my friend Nanathotep

I also have two once a month TTRPG streams. I run a Pathfinder 2E game using The Abomination Vaults Adventure Path. And I run a game using the Savage Worlds system, using an old setting called Sundered Skies. Both are a lot of fun, and follow me here to learn when those go live!

[ceduralshinji]

Crasher (alternatively, Ego Protector.)

A member of a system with NPD who deals with and prevents narc crashes, blows to the system's ego, criticism, etc.

Crashers may be prone to worrying about narc crashes, and focus on trying to find praise and approval.

Exclusive to systems with NPD, obviously.

don't repost <3 ask before adding to wikis