#that since it’s the 80s in utah

[were-wolverine]

i don’t know how or why like 90% of the fandom agreed that Michael has a mullet but i am all for it either way. love that funky little mullet guy

[crumbleclub]

I'm writing a little thing with the masked bullies in it and I don't really want to just assign names to the two I'm not confident on being someone named elsewhere so I'm like. Bouncing back and forth between just trying to narrate them namelessly or calling them by their mask character's name

[centrally-unplanned]

Academic History YouTuber Premodernist released video recently on "State Flag" discourse, and flag discourse more wildly, that I thought was pretty good! I agreed with 50% of it. For those who don't know, there is a longstanding movement in the vexillology community to push for more simplified flag designs, and they hate the state flags of the US as their antithesis; a movement that catapulted into the internet mainstream when YouTuber CGPGrey released a video riffing on that debate and grading all the state flag designs.

That video is great by the way (it's hilarious, CGP Grey is just very talented as a performer), and the biggest thing Premodernist is wrong about is that the state flags do suck. But what he gets right is that the so-called "principles" briefly referred to in the video are themselves pretty weak; some are fine but others do not hold up to much scrutiny. The state flags largely suck for the boring reason that they just suck; they are shitty designs and often repeat each other in a domain where "standing out" is the point. Like what the fuck Montana:

This is something a 5th grader whips up in PowerPoint for a class presentation. Helvetica Bold?? "Mandated by law in 1985" yeah I didn't need Wikipedia tell me this decision dates to the 80's.

But that is boring and subjective, right? You can't just say they suck. So you had to make a theory about it - and I won't go into too much detail but it generally boils down to:

Make it simple, "something a child could draw"

Make it "distinct at a distance", since it is a flag you are supposed to see it at a distance

Three colors or fewer

No words on flags

Which I think you can get the philosophy for. These principles, which CGP Grey outlines, actually come from the work of Ted Kaye, who is a big figure in the aforementioned flag reform movement and the focus of most of the video. As part of the original CGP Grey video I just rolled with that, but I did remember him showing Utah's newly designed flag at the end which embodied these principles, and uh:

This is kind of mid? Like it doesn't suck, but it looks like a corporate redesign of a hockey team logo or something. A bit of a red flag (hah) if your front-and-center case is weak.

Anyway this is what Premodernist digs into in the video. The stuff I agreed with the most are the parts where he just ???? at some of these rules. "No finicky bits", a "child must draw it", "distinct at a distance"? None of these actually track for say this one:

A child drawing the US flag does not draw 50 stars and 13 stripes unless they are a budding librarian; you absolutely cannot tell if this flag has 50 stars on it from a distance, and that level of detail is clearly some kind of finicky. Of course your response is "okay sure but still, I can tell what the flag is from a distance, I can't count the 50 stars but I get the gist". But that is true for almost all flags!

It's a fern and a peace pipe and a brown thing and the word "Oklahoma" below it, you absolutely, 100%, will be able to tell what this flag is at a distance. You don't need to count the leaves to get the general shape, and when you think about it, it is actually kind of silly anyone would claim otherwise. There just isn't any need to appreciate the tiny details on a flag to understand whose flag it is. (the only valid critique here is that everything should be bigger - too much dead space)

Not to mention the "see from a distance" thing even being a metric. That isn't how you encounter flags most often today? Maybe in the 19th century on a battlefield that was (and even then you had battle standards), but it isn't now. You see it in textbooks, on your computer screen, as an icon for a football game team, right next to you in a government office. Why privilege distance? You just made that up as a value. 99% of "flag consumption" is not seeing it at a distance.

The "only use ~3 colors thing" is the funniest, you can just argue this with...no? No you don't. You don't. What? No. You can...you can just use more colors? Here is an example from the "manual" Ted Kaye wrote on the subject:

And the 5 bands on the chinese flag are fine! They are not "hard to look at" or whatever. Also, I am screenshotting a tiny corner of a youtube video, this image is like 240p, and I can tell its a dragon - and that isn't even the color point it is trying to make, dude just deviates off into another critique. Meanwhile the Amsterdam flag looks like a traffic warning sign. Chinese flag needs to not have the white stripe connect into the white seal background, that is an error, but otherwise I prefer it.

It is annoying how many of the state flags are a blue banners with a round seal in the middle. That does make them hard to distinguish from each other. But that isn't a problem with seal-on-blue, that is just a collective action problem! Flag-reform-favourite the tricolor can run into this too - here are the flags of the Netherlands and Luxembourg:

Like one of your needs to go home and change, that is ridiculous. Though if you had a complex seal in the middle that might avoid this problem! Funny that.

Even the "no words on a flag" argument, which I am more sympathetic to, doesn't hold up too well because too often you find yourself going "unless it is good" which just isn't a rule. The Iranian flag is the stand-out he mentions:

The middle crest is a stylized rendition of the name Allah, and the cursive lining on the tricolor bands are text as well - God Is Great, 22 times, marking the anniversary date of the Islamic Revolution. Stylistically beautiful, also words on a flag. The state flags just didn't try to do anything artistic.

I think the best point Premodernism mentions is a sort of stylistic unity Kaye & Co are pursuing above all else - everything sacrificed for corporate minimalism. Kaye's book will say it respects history and symbols should be meaningful, but then hates any symbols that require complexity. He singles out Turkmenistan as an ugly flag for example:

And as I said I only 50% disagree sometimes, I do think there is a complexity limit, and this flag goes over it, that is too detailed. Though the main reason this flag is bad is the weird choice to not put the banner at the edge, and have the crescent just...float off center? If it was this:

Two seconds in paint, already better, you can play with it. But anyway, you can say the symbols are too complex, but if you also say you care about historical meaning? Turkmenistan is a nation of traditional semi-nomadic tribes, who populated the Silk Road and made textiles as their ultimate expression of art. These carpet guls are traditional symbols used in those carpets that represent the five major tribes that compose the country. You can't just invent new symbols that have equal meaning to these, right? Like you can try if you want, sure, new symbols become meaningful all the time. But a rule that says "all art from before 1950 is tossed in the dumpster because it wouldn't pass muster as a Pepsi logo" is a weird rule to adopt if you say you value historical meaning. Turkmenistan does not have to look like France, and it is weird to want every national symbol to be aesthetically coherent to each other. Let 100 flags bloom! It is certainly "distinct at a distance" lol.

Anyway that is enough summarizing of a YouTube video - as I mentioned, he actually likes the state flags, I don't, I do think you have to balance a lot of this with just "general design principles". Never have your name on a flag in Helvetica Bold, amazing I had to write that one down for you. But a lot of these flag-specific rules derived from Kaye's work I often see bandied about are silly, and I was glad to see someone point that out.

[qqueenofhades]

Leaving aside possible reversals, disasters, doom & gloom, can we take a moment to savor the Trump meltdown over Harris/Walz and the momentum that makes a possible blue tsunami seem an entirely plausible outcome? I'd love to give you the space to ramble about it if you'd like, as my current fandom at least for the moment has shifted back to US politics (but not, for the first time in a while, to doom scrolling politics!).

Aha, I feel as I have probably already said most of my current thoughts, but here are a few things that really make me desire a heaping helping of butt-whooping blue wave in November:

The state that has had the most volunteer sign-ups since Harris took over the ticket? Fucking Florida, with over 18,000. The Villages, formerly a hotbed of Trump support (and y'know, probably still is), also had a major pro-Kamala event, and she is allegedly up 15 points in Miami-Dade (after Biden won the county by 7% and lost the state only by 3%). Now, we all know that Obama won Florida twice, but it has become such a symbol of retrograde Trumpian/DeSantisian politics that winning there would be literally seismic. I'm not going so far as saying that it's in PLAY play, but let's just hold onto that happy, happy idea.

Likewise the poll I mentioned the other day, where Trump is struggling to break 50% in Ohio, once a swing state and now also reliably red. The fact that this is Vance's home state and he's dragging the ticket down every single time he opens his mouth, thus offering the smallest sliver of hope that Ohio (which DID legalize abortion and weed by major margins last year) could also go blue? Incredible. Amazing. Showstopping.

Harris is also tied with Trump (46%-46%) in North Carolina and there is a lot of chatter about how the terrible GOP governor candidate could give a boost to Democratic turnout statewide.

The Mormons have apparently announced their intention to abandon (or at least support much less than they usually do) the Republican presidential ticket in 2024. Remember when Obama won Indiana in 2008? In my wildest dreams, I imagine Utah going blue in 2024. It won't but shh.

Basically, where we were braced for another agonizing nail-biting grind-it-out three-day election determined by a few thousand votes in key states (because etc etc the Electoral College sucks) we are now looking at the very real possibility that Harris wins at least one state, and possibly more, that Biden didn't, and which have been seen as out of reach for Democrats since Trump came on the scene. I don't think I need to counsel anyone against complacency, because we're all too damn scared for that, but yeah. Polls, even the good-looking ones that we like, don't vote. They are still skewed and subjective and do not represent the actual reality, whatever that may end up being. The Republicans and the media will be trying their absolute goddamnfuckingest to ratfuck us again in the 80-something days that remain, but:

WE CAN DO THIS, WE WILL DO THIS, WE MUST DO THIS.

WHAT IS THIS.... JOY SCROLLING? FOR AMERICAN POLITICS? IN THE YEAR 2024 WITH DONALD TRUMP ON THE TICKET FOR THE FUCKING THIRD TIME?

UNPOSSIBLE.

[chongoblog]

A Moment: A Short Story

Simon had always heard about just how beautiful Zion Canyon was, especially from the end of the Angel’s Landing trail which lead to a breathtaking view over the canyon. Now that he was there, he knew in his heart that his 50 day hike was worth it. At least, he assumed that’s about how long it would have taken if time had moved a single second. The hardest part about stopping time for this long is that it was so easy to lose track of just how long it had been for him since time had moved. No clocks or watches to keep track. No day or night. It was just him wandering across the world within that one single moment.

But what a moment it was. He paused to drink in the view from the top of the trail, even if he had all the time in the world to do so. The sun was setting, bathing the wall of the canyon in a warm glow. The trees that peppered the canyon walls reached up to the orange sky, adding touches of life to the hard rock that made the gorgeous structure. In the bed of the canyon, life exploded with greater abundance, with thousands of trees and even a small town settled along the river. 

While the view provided Simon a sense of peace, he felt something underneath his foot. His instincts led him to move his foot to see what had disturbed his tranquility, finding a pebble. He tried to kick it off of the steep cliff face to watch it fall, only to see the pebble remain completely unmoved. Frozen in time, just like everything else. 

What good is stopping time if you can’t change anything?

The question lingered over his thoughts like a vengeful specter. This so-called “superpower” of his was a joke. When he had heard of people stopping time in movies and comics, it usually had more utility than this. The superheroes could use the time-stopping to move from one place to another instantaneously, or to perform long and arduous tasks in the blink of an eye, or even to play some kind of prank. Simon couldn’t do any of that. Everything was completely frozen in place, and time could not continue until Simon returned to where he had begun. 

At least he had chosen a good moment to pause time, with the gorgeous sunset rewarding his efforts. His mother had always told him how amazing the view was from atop Angel’s Landing, since she once hiked this trail when she was his age. 

He sat down atop the rock to take it all in. He had all the time in the world, after all.

—

Simon had been on plenty of nature hikes with his family when he was a child. While his father had passed away a few years ago, his mother continued to take him hiking in his stead. On almost every hike, she would say “Well the hike up is the tough part! Once you’ve seen the sights at the end, the hike back doesn’t even feel like a hike!” And while that was true for most hikes, walking all the way home from Utah to Boston still felt like a hike.

Just like the nature hikes, this trail known as “I-80” was full of wondrous sights, like the incredibly flat prairies that seemed to go on forever with nothing in sight except more highway and some power lines. However, in case he somehow got bored of stewing in his own thoughts, there were always gas stations. They weren’t exactly Niagara Falls in terms of majesty, but they were a break in the monotony, especially if he was lucky enough to catch them with the door open. 

Somewhere in Iowa, he came across a cheap looking fuel stop with its door open, and decided to go check it out. After all, he had time. 

The dim fluorescent lighting illuminated the small, cramped building. The fragrance of cheap corn dogs hit Simon’s nose like an unconvincing temptress, making him glad he didn’t have to eat to stay alive in frozen time. His eyes looked around to see what everyone was doing at this moment in time. The cashier was giving a customer change for a twenty, with Simon noticing that the cashier was accidentally giving the customer one too many dollar bills. The customer was paying for two bags of Funyuns, a bottle of grape soda, and a bottle of orange soda, all placed on the desk. Behind him was a young boy, who Simon couldn’t help but focus on. He was holding an ice cream cone, but the ice cream scoop was falling towards the floor.

Simon looked at the expression this kid wore on his face. It was a face of shock, surprise, pain, even grief that stared at the ice cream scoop as it fell victim to gravity. Obviously, this wasn’t going to ruin this kid’s life, but the look on the kid’s face at this precise moment told a different story. At this moment, the child felt more sorrow than could be put to words. 

When Simon was walking to Zion Canyon, he had stopped here as well. He hated this child. Yes, it was a child, but someone feeling this much pain over something as trivial as ice cream sent him into a fit of rage. 

Simon stared at the agony written on his face for a few minutes (or at least, a few minutes for him), and finally spoke for the first time that felt like months. “That sucks, what happened to your ice cream. I wish that I could use my power to stop this from happening to you. But I can’t.”

He crouched down, meeting the child at eye-level. “But it’s going to be okay. At this moment, you probably feel awful. But…time heals all wounds. Once I start time back up, your dad will probably offer to get you another one. Or at least, I hope he does. Until then, there’s nothing wrong with feelin’ bad over it. You just…can’t stay like that forever.”

After another few seconds, Simon sighed. “I gotta get back home. The sooner you get a new ice cream cone, the better.” He stood up, and left the store, continuing his long, long, long hike. 

—

Simon was finally home. The world around him had been frozen for what felt like months, and yet Simon still felt the knot in his stomach swell as he approached Tonio’s Pizzeria. It was always his favorite restaurant, since they always melted the cheese in their cheesy crusts just right. He and his mom had just finished their meal celebrating his acceptance letter into UMass Boston. The delightfully tacky exterior flooded its multi-colored neon lights all across the few available parking spaces in front of the building. Unfortunately, Simon and his mother couldn’t find any available parking in the front. After fighting the knot in his stomach, he walked behind the pizzeria to where they had ended up parking their car.

Unlike the front of the pizzeria, the parking lot out back was shrouded in darkness of nighttime. There were only a few cars in the parking lot, but next to one of the cars was a familiar sight that still managed to freeze Simon in place. 

There stood two people. A masked man with a gun, holding it towards his mother. In the air between the two of them was a single bullet, directed straight for his mother’s head.

Before he had embarked on his expedition out west, Simon had spent a long time in this parking lot. He lost count of how many times he had tried to do something. He had tried moving the bullet. He had tried moving his mother. He had tried picking up something to throw at the bullet. He had tried punching and kicking the masked man. He had even tried moving himself between the bullet and his mother and resuming time. But nothing had worked. Everything had been set in stone, with Simon meant to stand right next to his mother.

Simon took a few deep breaths, knowing what he had to do. If he didn’t, that kid would be crying over his ice cream forever, now wouldn’t he? Every step felt heavy as he made his way into the correct position. He could hardly bear to look at his mother’s face one last time. It was a face that he could never forget. One stricken with shock and fear, but with an unmistakable look of acceptance.

“You were right, mom. Zion Canyon was…incredible.”

And so, Simon resumed time once more. 

[bignaz8]

D-DAY ANNIVERSARY

“You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward which we have striven these many months. The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you…” With these words, Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower issued the “Order of the Day” just before the 1944 Allied assault on Normandy Beach. It’s been 80 years since that historic day, and less than one percent of Americans who served in WWII are still alive. However, the impact of their service and sacrifice will live on forever.

Code named Operation Overlord, planning for D-Day began after France fell to the Nazis in 1940. It involved Allies from several countries and was the largest amphibious invasion in military history. As H-Hour approached (5:30 a.m. local time) on June 6, 1944, demolition teams had already blasted out underwater obstacles planted by German forces. Rangers were already scaling the cliffs to knock out coastal guns, and American and British airborne divisions had been dropped in hedgerows behind the beaches overnight. Soon, the first waves of Infantry would hit the beach.

Leonard T. Schroeder, Jr. served in the 2nd Battalion, 8th Infantry, Fourth Division, where he was the commanding officer of Company F. 

He has the distinction of being the first man ashore at Utah Beach, the first beachhead, landing fewer than 60 seconds after H-Hour. Recalling the day, Schroeder said that Allied aircraft had bombed the beach heavily, creating craters that could be used as cover. Some of those craters were offshore and hidden by water. When Schroeder’s landing craft pulled ashore, he jumped off and into a water-filled crater six feet deep. He came up sputtering and struggled to rush ashore. Working his way up the beach, he was wounded by shrapnel but continued to fight. He commanded his company for three hours before collapsing into unconsciousness. He woke up at an aid station and was later evacuated to England. Schroeder received the Silver Star.

Pvt. Carlton W. Barrett served in the 18th Infantry, 1st Infantry Division and participated in the Normandy Invasion. His unit was in the third wave of Allied soldiers to come ashore at Omaha Beach, landing at about 10:00 a.m. Germans had planted mines on the beach about a foot apart, and the beach was strewn with bodies of soldiers. Barrett landed under heavy enemy fire, wading through neck-deep water. He noticed fellow soldiers around him floundering in the water and rushed to save them from drowning. Once on the beach, Barrett carried dispatches back and forth along the exposed beach while under heavy fire. He also carried wounded soldiers to an offshore evacuation boat. For his dauntless courage, Barrett was awarded the Medal of Honor.

The Allies landed over 160,000 troops on June 6, 1944, with an estimated 10,000 casualties, more than half of which were American. Today, a visit to the Normandy American Cemetery is the final resting place for 9,387 Americans and a sobering reminder of selfless service and the ultimate sacrifice made 80 years ago. 

[aisling-saoirse]

Quaking Aspen - Populus tremuloides

Today I want to bring up a charismatic favorite: the Quaking Aspen. Like all populus species, it's a fast growing, clonal colony forming, northern extreme and mountain loving tree (just like its Eurasian sister species: A. tremula) with an incredibly wide range of distribution. In addition to all those interesting qualities, the oldest known organism is presumed to be a Quaking Aspen colony (Pando, in Utah)

General identification before I can talk about the more interesting bits, Aspens are best known for their yellow autumn leaves and smooth white bark with dark knots, they can grow as large as 60' but depending on their environment can be stunted to around 5-20' (think of krummholz). Leaves of this species appear slightly heart shaped and retain the same sheen on both sides (image 1). Plants are unisexual meaning individuals either have male or female flowers, interestingly enough this is a good method to distinguish where one colony begins and ends by looking at the color of the branches in spring (see image from Colorado below, note trees with light green and those without). Emerging catkins are white at first which become green and longer as the season changes, male catkins having slightly longer stamen but female fruiting catkins ultimately growing longest at 10 cm. Seeds are small capsules with silky hairs to assist in wind dispersion, these trees are ruderal so they produce around 1.6 Million a season with many unable to germinate. Seedlings often need consistent moisture and full sun to even germinate, most of the seeds growth goes to root structure the first year.

The name Quaking Aspen (or trembling per the Latin) refers to the extremely mobile habit of the leaf. Leaves are connected to flexible petioles (stems) which flip around in the slightest breeze. Environmentally speaking, I was once told that leaves have chlorophyll on both sides however this stem could also be a biological strategy to cope with harsh wind conditions in mountainous environments, I didn't encounter any recent research verifying this though. Interestingly enough, given the harsh nature of which this tree thrives, apparently, there is chlorophyll in its trunk, allowing extra energy to enter the tree when it's leaves are gone.

Quaking Aspen is an early succession species, able to reestablish/colonize a site after a fire or other major disturbance. Many of Upstate New York's famous Aspen forests are actually a result of logging and fires in the early 1900s rather than a typical forest compostion. Establishment is different depending on opportunity, in the west its often long lived clonal roots systems, in the high arctic its often through wind blown seed, in the east its generally short lived clones out-competed by hardwood/conifer forest after a century, and in its furthest southeastern range I typically only encounter individuals on rocky outcrops or former fields.

Above ground trees usually live less than a century, in the east maybe 50-80 years given our moisture, out west individual trunks can live two centuries. It's common to find dense forests with even-age trees since clonal root structures re-emerge together (Image above from Bluebell Knoll Mountain in Utah). Its also thought that the root system can live for two millenia or longer, Pando being an example of extreme longevity (I mean 40,000 years would survive an ice age, even in Utah there would be mountain glaciation, thats quite spectacular if true). Ironically, one of the best survival tools in the Aspen's playback is fire recovery, otherwise it will get out-competed/shaded pretty fast (see the context in image 2, that NJ forest used to have lots of aspen).

All this in mind its good to point out that Aspen's early successional habit makes it great for ecological restoration. It's common to find them as the first pioneers on former mines or superfund sites (aspen grove below from Palmerton gap, Pennsylvania). Unfortunately one of the negative side affects is that populus species often bring up a lot of heavy metals in their leaves and wood meaning they can re-contaminate through their own biological accumulation. Which is good for extracting small scale contaiminants...very bad for large sites where you need to trap metal under soil to prevent toxins from eroding offsite

All this being said Quaking Aspen's large geographic range mirrors that of the last glacial maximum, implying a rapid spread onto retreating glaciers. This also suggests a growth habit requiring wet or moist soil conditions. This range is North West to Alaska nearly touching the Arctic Ocean at its Northern-most range in the Yukon, then east to Newfoundland; south west to Mexico (usually restricted to high mountains) and east from Iowa to New Jersey (with scattered populations in West Virginia).

Since Aspen often colonizes sites of former glaciation, with climate change it's predicted there will be a northward and uphill progression of populations. Aspen isn't really in intense danger of dissappearing but studies have shown major stressors (draught, extreme heat, over-grazing) cause higher mass-mortality events from minor stressors (typically disease and insect herbivorey). Given the fact that many forests are clonal there was a question of low genetic diversity amoung populations, yet interestingly, individuals undergo somatic mutations (DNA alterations after conception) and are extremely variable, so different individuals often place different energies into different defense tactics.

In addition to all of this information Aspens are primarily used today to make paper pulp. Historically settlers used aspen to derive quinine (think gin and tonic), and indigenous tribes have a history of using big trunks to create dug out canoes.

So please go out to your nearest mountain/boreal forest to enjoy the Quaking Aspen's lovely smooth bark and haunting shaking in the wind!

[exodusin]

"Hi good night or good morning I was just asking if you can do a teen Michael afton with a Jamaican s/o"

( yes am Jamaican and i hope your alright and well :)

TEEN MICHAEL AFTON WITH A JAMAICAN S/O☆

pairing ˖ ݁ ˓ teen michael afton x jamaican!reader drabble + headcanons (both Michael and reader are 18 seniors)

note ⋮sorry if this took long :,) please let me know if any of the following seems disrespectful since I’m not Jamaican, if there is let me know and I’ll fix or take it down, enjoy :D also no bite of 83 here just pure love and Michael just being an idiotic flirtatious teen in love ♡

contains ⋮ fluff, michael is a douchebag but he’s a total flirtatious dorky sweetheart, michael has a mullet, 80s love, pet names, a little tiny bit of spice nothing much

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

It all started in early 1984, you were a new student in Hurricane, Utah. A simple girl with a pretty face, minding your own business, doing what you need to do, not a goody two shoes, just a student wanting to get your senior year over with, not expecting excitement until from a certain popular boy changes it all.

Michael tried so hard to not focus since he didn’t want to attach with someone who is new and wants to make them feel like any other nerd.

But he couldn’t because why did you have to be so damn beautiful?

Always looking pretty, being chill, you weren’t to prudy or too rude, you were just a butterfly fluttering around finding sweet nectar.

The way your long locs swayed gracefully as you did P.E, how relaxed you look, being cheerful at times like the world wasn't watching, your warm smile, your dark skin that made him all giddy inside, just YOU. Maybe he’ll cut you some slack and not be asshole just like he did to the other new students.

But that doesn’t mean he won’t mess with you a bit because that’s what he is. A bully

He made his move the next day when you were putting your stuff away in your locker, you turned your head to meet a teen about 18 years old and gave you a smirk with those stupid blue eyes that somehow made your heart flutter, but then you realize it was Michael Afton, the troublesome boy, the bad boy, you looked at him a playful judgmental look at his sudden appearance beside your locker.

“You're the new girl, innit?” he asked, and not in a way to be friendly but to annoy you, you were unbothered since you can do the same, you closed your locker and held your books close you, “Yea? What are you here for? To shove inside my locker as you do to the other kids?” you teased, damn, your voice was attractive as hell, he could just melt in that spot he's standing, his tried to maintain tough in front of you but damn just you existing made him a giddy dork.

Although he didn’t expect you to respond, instead all his cockiness faded, well not all but more than half

“What? No no no, you got it wrong I just...hmph...I, oh shit, you just seem cool and I wanted to introduce myself since you don’t seem nerdy or geeky as the other new students…..” You slowly raised a brow and chuckled a bit, “There’s nothing more cute than seeing a punk get nervous over a girl, how sweet.”

You knew he liked- well had a crush on you- but Michael didn’t like the slow chemistry going on so he followed his instincts and confessed to you about his feelings, you weren’t going to lie, he was attractive and treated you like a queen more than he did with his friends, plus he was really to fun to hang out with and you were indeed catching feelings.

That night, you two were just cuddling in the back of car and he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his thumbs softly rubbing your cheek, he so wanted to kiss those plump lips of yours that seem to have pineapple lipgloss but you decided to tease him and kiss him on the cheek instead, payback for the bullying he does towards his little brother and the nerdy freshman.

“Drive me home, pretty boy. I’m tired, it was nice today, thank you.”

Poor boy didn’t get his kiss, karma tho.

Anywho- headcanons!

Sometimes when it’s night time in Friday nights Michael would visit you outside your balcony, just seeing you dance to a childhood reggae song or any other music that you like.

“Nice moves, babydoll.”

Yup, babydoll is the special nickname he has for you.

He came back that night just to get his kiss, you found it silly but still, you couldn't resist it, you so wanted to kiss him back, and damn it sent him to the moon.

The kiss was romantic, slow, and passionate and when I say after that kiss, Michael will buy you loads of lipgloss for those perfectly shaped lips of yours, you just look so darn beautiful in them, he wants to claim you in every shape, way, or form.

He wants to learn how to do your hair and doesn't want to mess it up, if you ever ran out of the shampoo that is needed for your texture he will buy it in a second, need new bonnets? He will buy the finest ones on earth.

If he messes up the slightest on styling your hair he’d cursed himself while you just laugh at him and just teach him the basics.

He LOVES laying between your pillowy thighs, the way the lamp reflects your dark skin is like an image the gods sent him. Double pointers if you play with fluffy mullet while he rests his head between your thighs giving them butterfly kisses.

If you were to sleep over at his house he would lend you an oversize band shirt, he definitely didn't hide your pajamas just so he could get away with seeing you with his shirts.

Anywho

The days you doll yourself up, with cute clothes that fit your curves perfectly, your hair either styled in long locs, braids with beads, or an afro with flower decorations, Michael will do everything in his power to hold you by the waist, a sign to show others your his.

He gets more possessive when the tormentors from his friend group flirt with you, like for instance, Jeremy Fitzgerald (freddy mask) once said-

“You and I will get married one day ;)”

Michael: MARRY MY FIST—

Sorry this silly punk British boy loves you so much, he can’t help it.

But you return your love and reassure his by kissing him all over his face with your plump lips, his grin turns idioticly boyish.

He’d love your parents and how they embrace their culture, your dad having records of popular 60s-70s reggae artists in the living room like Bob Marley and The Wailers, Toots & The Maytals, Horace Andy, etc.

Your mother gave you the idea to invite Michael over for dinner to meet him, and Michael was more than happy because the food tasted like he's got a piece of what heaven is like, the dinner was a Jamaican dish called Fish Escovitch along with fried plantains as a side snack.

William didn't know how to cook for shit, and the poor boy had to eat it because as much as he'd rather starve he knew he couldn't.

But with this food your mother served, he was finally satisfied but had to maintain proper, despite him being a dirtbag that has no shame slamming geeks into the lockers and mercilessly beating them up.

When school was finally over for the summer, you invited him to Jamaica for two weeks of the summer, a town called Falmouth.

And you in your emerald bikini and beach skirt that fitted your dark skin is so beautiful, he always asked himself how he got so lucky to have someone like you, a piece of the heavens sent for him ignoring his aggressive persona of a bully, because, despite all that, the heavens new Michael Afton would treat you like a queen.

It was like you were made of stars instead of atoms.

In the lagoon, at night, Michael would place a Hibiscus flower behind your ear, place you on his lap and kiss your face and run gently his pale fingers onto your wet locs and whisper-

“I love you F/N, only you, and forever be, even in the afterlives, there will be no existence where me and you aren’t together.”

[liamgallaghermpreg]

route 70 blues

When I was little, Dad taught us how the highways go: evens from east to west and odds from north to south. Starting up in Boston there's Route 90, all the way to Seattle. And then the 5 from the border at Blaine, through Seattle and down to the border at Chula Vista. Route 80 from New York, Route 70 from Maryland. And so on and so forth.

Route 70 was my favorite. There's an exit in Breezewood, Pennsylvania, and it looks like every exit on the east coast, but it was special to me because it had a McDonalds that Dad was always willing to stop at. Those were the days that you’d get the little slip that would tell you how much to pay based on which exit you were taking and there was a toll booth at Breezewood. I used to get a kick out of telling Dad how much he owed. Dean would never let me put one of those EZ-passes on Baby’s windshield, and now I just keep a couple $20s in the glovebox or pay the bills when they come in the mail. The car’s registered to a real address now.

We spent a lot of time on Route 70. Straight through a couple flyover states and ending in Utah. When Dean and I would play the alphabet game, we’d race to see who could spot the Zanesville, Ohio water tower first to get the Z and win it all. We would bet stupid shit on winning that game: who would have to clean Dad’s Colt next, who would have to cast iron bullets next. Who would have to make the beds at the next motel that would be home. That sort of thing.

But the main thing I remember about Route 70 was the way the sun would shine through the windows of the Impala once we’d get out of the green of the Kansas City suburbs and before we’d get into the Rockies. There was this little stretch where the fields turned tan with dead corn and wheat, and we’d stopped in a town called Burlington to sleep for the night on our way to a case in Moab.

It's a postage stamp town. There was a truck stop called Love’s and a motel named for the town, which was where we’d fueled up and then bedded down. I must’ve been about newly 16, Dean 20 and full of false-bravado. Dad was letting him go off on solo hunts more and more often by then, but he and I were together in the car at the time. I had been a steady passenger in the front seat by that point. And I remember – the sun was shining, and there were no trees to dapple it, and it hit Dean’s face just right. His freckles were finally coming back out in the May warmth and his eyes looked almost clear. He had a little grin on his face, the right side of his mouth pulled up as he nodded along to CCR’s Cosmo’s Factory cassette. Ramble Tamble was the opening track on the B-side. I always bitched about Dean’s music taste, but I didn’t mind the swamp rock so much. And I liked Ramble Tamble, because it reminded me of us. Drifting. A big long guitar solo that made Dean smile and made me think about moving from town to town.

Back then, I hated the way we lived, but I liked that the way we lived was something just Dean and I understood. Something just for us. No matter how many kids I couldn’t make friends with in school, eventually I'd get back in the car with Dean. And down the road we’d go.

In Burlington, Colorado, I knew I was in love with Dean. I knew it in that moment with the sun shining, with Dean's hands tapping on the steering wheel and John Fogerty crooning along in the background. I knew it in the way we’d share the motel bed since Dad only ever got rooms with two queens, and I knew it in the way that Dean would clean the guns next even though he’d spotted the Zanesville water tower first.

I'd wanted to lean over and kiss him. Instead, I'd said, “This is the tape with Up Around the Bend on it, right? I like this one.”

And he'd said: “Sammy, you might have some good music taste after all!” It'd made my chest bloom, and I loved him. I’d hold that inside for another decade before I said anything, and by that point, we were both doomed.

— for @wincestwednesdays "americana"

[myemuisemo]

Suddenly, Letters from Watson dumps us in the middle of the Great American Desert (part 1 of "On the Great Alkali Plain," 2/7/24). This is not anywhere I expected to be transported from London, and the contrast makes the Mountain West feel exotic for a minute.

The Great American Desert -- stretching from about Grand Island, Nebraska to the Sierras and pretty much the entire north-south length of the U.S. -- had become a thing of legend since explorers' accounts in the 1820s. When Dad and I drove across it in 2022, we talked about how incredibly daunting it must have been for emigrants seeking their land of milk and honey on the Pacific coast.

The way we went, out I-80, Nebraska shifts from green to gray as it rises toward the Rockies. After a while, the wind picks up as you go uphill into Wyoming. There's a lot of Wyoming, and after Cheyenne and Laramie (both of which would be small towns in most states), it's very, very empty. When we finally started the descent toward Salt Lake City, and the little valleys beside the road turned green with running water, it was truly like entering paradise.

Of course, in 1847, Salt Lake City was just barely being settled, as Brigham Young led his Latter Day Saints west from Council Bluffs, and its location wasn't part of the U.S. yet.

The Mexican-American war had started the prior year, 1846, and was still going. Spring-summer of 1846 saw the Bear Flag Revolt in California, followed by the U.S. just annexing the state. Gold wouldn't be discovered at Sutter's Mill until 1849, so while emigration to California happened -- the Donner Party made their ill-fated trip in 1846-47 -- it wasn't anything like the scope of movement along the Oregon Trail.

As far as I can tell, "Sierra Blanco" is not a real place. There's a Sierra Blanca in New Mexico -- which would fit with all the specific landscape, plus White Sands National Park in New Mexico specifically has alkali flats. Last time I drove through New Mexico on I-40, in late 2018, it was delightfully desolate, so I can buy that in 1847, it seemed completely empty, with even the native peoples avoiding some stretches.

Why anyone would be crossing New Mexico is a mystery, since neither Arizona nor southern California were much settled by Americans. There was some sort of wagon route across New Mexico used by U.S. soldiers during the Mexican-American War, so if I'd expect anyone to be about, it'd be the U.S. Army.

Utah, now, is downright famous for its salt flat, but that's west of the site of Salt Lake City.

Regardless, parties screwing up their trip to the west by taking an imprudent shortcut or mistaking the route was definitely both a thing that happened and, thanks to the Donner Party, a trope. Our haggard and starving traveler sounds about right.

Then he reveals a Plucky Innocent Victorian Child.

That "pretty little girl of about five years of age" is the absolute ideal of Victorian childhood, being perfectly behaved, utterly imperturbable, determined to see the best in all things, sweet, trusting, and looking forward to being reunited with her mother in heaven.

This kind of child is why Louisa May Alcott was seen as innovative for writing Little Woman about girls who worked on their character flaws. (This is also the ideal the March girls were being aimed at. Polly in An Old-Fashioned Girl comes closer, but even Polly would have been upset about being hopelessly lost in the desert with no water.) Contrast this with the street urchins that Holmes employs in his investigation, who are good enough sorts but scrappy, resourceful, and street smart.

Ordinarily, a Victorian child who was utterly sweet and pious would be a cinnamon roll, literally too good, too pure for this world, and thus would die beautifully but tragically before long. Being lost in the desert seems ideal for this, but --

She turns to prayer, and since someone must survive in order for this scene to be relevant,

Yes, darn it, I am on the edge of my seat to know what happens. I'm also grateful that crossing the Great American Desert in 2022 was a quicker process. I've been reading Carey Williams' old-but-interesting California: The Great Exception, which has a lot to say about how 19th century isolation shaped California's economy and power structure, not always for good. But that's neither here nor there -- I don't think we're headed to California.

[importantchaosgiver]

I know I haven't posted anything recently, I am sorry. But I'm thinking of ways to continue Steelclaw's story. But, I recently just finished watching the FNAF movie and I have so many ideas. I hope you enjoy.

The Mystery Begins

Summary: Back in the 80s, a cop was called to Freddy Fazbears to help in the investigation of the five children disappearing. She didn't find anything, but many years later, she can't help but think about it. However, when she gets called to the pizzeria, she gets more involved than she should have been....

Warnings: Slight mention of blood, some spoilers?

******

No one's POV

It was unlike anything anyone had heard of. Five children, one party. How? The parents of the kids were worried out of their mind. Cops and detectives were looking through the building with everyone outside. Some officers were talking with everyone, trying to understand what was going on. Amongst these officer's was a young woman with (h/c) hair and (e/c) eyes. She was rather new to the job, having gotten out of the police academy a month ago. Officer (Y/N) (L/N). She was tasked with interviewing staff. She saw a man with brown hair, icy blue eyes and glasses. Beside him was a young girl with blonde hair and an orange toy aeroplane.

He was talking with her colleague, but his eyes drifted over to her. (Y/N) paused, their eyes locking together. She was surprised at how good he looked, but she couldn't help but feel a little cautious about him. Something wasn't right. He gave a small smile at her, one of that unnerved her slightly. Little did she know who he was....

******

Years later....

(Y/N) yawned behind her hand a little as she put her phone down. Years had passed and she had grown older. Instead of being a simple officer, she worked hard to become a detective. Work was slow in Utah, she had just gotten off the phone with a friend of hers when there was a knock on the door. It was a co-worker of hers. "Hey, detective. We've just got a call. Apparently, Freddy Fazbears was broken into," he said. (Y/N) paused. It wasn't unheard of. The place was shut down ever since the kids went missing. So, of course people would break in. But, why was being asked to she get involved?

"Again? Why are you coming to me?" she asked curiously. Her co-worker shrugged. "Dunno. It was the night guard who called. Michael Schmidt," they said. (Y/N) shrugged. It was something to do. She stood up, grabbing her coat. She took her car and drove to the pizzeria, the sign (despite looking old and some vines and dust coating it) lit up. Nostalgia hit (Y/N) as she got out of the car and headed to the entrance, pressing the buzzer. A few minutes later, a man came to see who it was. "Mr Michael Schmidt, I take it?" (Y/N) asked. He nodded, wondering who she was. "Detective (Y/N) (L/N). You called about a break in," she said. "Yeah, that was me," he said, letting her in. "Did anyone find the people who broke in?" (Y/N) queried. "I don't think so. But I found something," Mike said. She raised an eyebrow, following him along the halls.

Mike noticed how she looked around, as if she had been there before. He showed her to the supply closet and showed her the door. (Y/N) squinted a little, taking out her flashlight, scanning the door. Just below the frosted glass window, was..... blood? "That's fresh, right?" Mike said. "Yes, it is. Do you mind?" (Y/N) asked, holding out the flashlight. He held it as she put on latex gloves and a swab.

"Hopefully we can find out who could have done this," she said, putting it into a tube and then into a bag before putting it in her pocket. Mike nodded. Just then, they heard a little girl's scream. The two looked at each other. Mike was the first to react. "Abby!" he shouted, running to the main room. (Y/N) followed, hot on his heels. "Mr Schmidt, wait!" she said. When they arrived, they saw the animatronics around surrounding someone. (Y/N)'s eyes widened. They weren't supposed to do that. At least, not to her knowledge. Freddy slowly approached them menacingly. Mike picked up a chair to use as a weapons; (Y/N) drew her gun, except she didn't know how well that would work against an animatronic. Just then.....

"Mike, they wouldn't stop tickling me! I thought I was going to die," Abby giggled, walking up to her brother. (Y/N) looked at the child, surprised. "Is this your daughter?" she asked. "No. S-She is my sister," Mike said, cautiously putting the chair down. (Y/N) holstered her gun, seeing Freddy stop walking. Bonnie moved forward, staring intently at (Y/N). "You're pretty. Are you Mike's girlfriend?" Abby asked. (Y/N) blinked. "No, I'm not. I'm a detective," she said. Mike hid his face in his hands, embarrassed. Abby turned to the animatronics. "They said they've seen you before," she said. "Pardon?" (Y/N) asked.

"Chica, Freddy, Bonnie and Foxy. They said they've seen you before," Abby stated. (Y/N) looked at the animatronics, one by one. All of them were looking at her. "Oookay? Well, I best be going," she muttered. Mike nodded. "Thanks. For coming out here so late," he said. Then, the buzzer rang again. A different officer was outside. Mike brought her in, clearly familiar with her. "Vanessa, this is Detective (L/N)," Mike said. The two women shook hands. (Y/N) looked at Vanessa. She looked strangely familiar. "Have we met?" (Y/N) asked, looking at her. "Briefly. Back in the eighties. I was a kid," she said. Oh, now that made sense. "Ah, yes. Now, I remember. You were with your father," (Y/N) said with a soft smile. Vanessa smiled back, but something about her body language gave away she was cautious.

So, (Y/N) let go of her hand and went to leave, passing a picture on the wall. One she should have paid attention to. One with a yellow rabbit and five children, all holding hands, clearly drawn by a child. If only she knew. But Vanessa gulped. A detective? Her dad won't be happy about this...

[fnafindigowillafton]

Aaron x Will Facts:

-Aaron always kept Will's gender identity a secret out of love and fear, he didn't want his spouse to get hurt because of it due to people not fully accepting to the LGBT community just yet, especially in the 80s

-Will always make sure Aaron packs some stress toys before he go to work because Aaron has terrible anger issues

-Aaron is Cajun and was born and raised in New Orleans, so he has many of his own recipes of New Orleans style dishes, his friends and family are obsessed with his cooking

-Will is Autistic and Aaron has ADHD, so they have big hyperfixations and special interest. Will's special interest is obviously robotics and he also very fixated in coding as he thinks it's beneficial for his robotics and for the diner business. Most of Aaron hyperfixations are criminal cases and mysteries, which is not very surprising since he's a detective, his condition is probably one of the many reasons he's the best detective in Utah. Will is actually one of Aaron's hyperfixations, man is madly in love for the love of his life

-Will is a sweet addict and Aaron always makes his breakfast sweet because it helps him get ready for the day

-Aaron likes bitter things, so Will often gives him dark chocolate bars for the road

-Will is actually more scarier than Aaron when he is mad, so Aaron and everyone in the family always have to be in his goodside

-Will's sweet tooth is so big he can barely have a sugar rush after eating a large amounts of sweets which mesmerized yet concerned Aaron

-Aaron's bitter loving taste sometimes makes Will want to gag, especially when he can can taste the bitter black coffee when they kiss

-Always plan their anniversaries together

[hypocriticaltypwriter]

Now tell me some info and stuff on Chrysta! ((Cherri))

Like was she born there in Santa Carla? How DID she meet the boys? What is her personality like? Is she secretly a vampire?👀

Give me all the info bby gorl I will happily read every little thing🍒🤭

MJ, YOU DONT KNOW HOW HAPPY I AM THAT YOU ASKED!!! 💜💜💜💜

I'll gladly tell you... In the form of an infodumping 6 hour essay-/JJ

BUT ON A SERIOUS NOTE... This might be a bit long, but I'll gladly share~!! Thank you so much for asking eheheheh 😈😈😈😈 I'm also using this ask to Ramble, so I'm so sorry YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ MY 'LONGER THAN THE BIBLE' POST 💀💀

Chrysta wasn't born in Santa Carla, but she's been coming to live with her aunt (mother's side) every summer since she was around seven, so she's always considered herself a local- the same goes for other residences who know her well. She lives way back in good old Utah when during the school year and other seasons. With her father and his wife, after her mom was put in the hospital due to some health issues. But she tries to call her mom every night.

Chrysta's summer home is along the small strip of stores near the boardwalk, where her Aunts house is a makeshift hair and nail salon.

The front is the whole workplace, while a hall separates the rest of the house- and upstairs basement made into Chrysta's room. Chrysta also grew up getting to know Mister Emerson well as when she was around nine her aunt had sent her over to the old man's house to give him some home-cook meals as a thanks for a favor Chrysta was never told- kept secret from her.

And ever since she was kind of a delivery girl for her aunt - if of course she didn't hate it, she enjoyed Mister Emersons company and his silly stories about vampires.

Sure it was definitely something that made ten year old her hide under the covers with a flashlight every night, but the older she got, the more she began to outgrow the fear over something so ridiculous- especially with her aunts rules and stories. She wasn't allowed to even be out on the boardwalk by the time the sun set.

Her curfew was always Eight on the dot, not allowed outside or to invite anyone in. No matter how many times she asked for a genuine answer, her aunt would always say the same thing: "That's when the vampires come out to play."

Of course Chrysta is a teenager in the 80s, and she wants to live her summer days to the fullest, so she usually waits till her Aunt retires to her bedroom to watch soap operas, and sneaks out her room window and goes to have a night out on the town... That's how she met the boys. 👀👀

Since the beginning of the summers, Chrysta had been visiting Santa Carla, and she had already built her reputation of being a drop-dead flirt and total tease. She knows how to sweet talk herself out of a situation or to get a free bite to eat. Of course, even if she's built the label for herself, she isn't cruel or bratty.

She's a total sweetheart! Chrysta seems to get along with many if they're willing to be friendly back of course and even if she isn't best friends with anyone, she's at least a little acquainted or on good terms with most.

So, being the little tease that our Miss Campbell is, Chrysta met the well-known trouble makers of the boardwalk back at the beginning of the summer 87... Er, well, sort of.

(SPOILERS FOR THE LOST BOYS PREQEUL SCRIPT YOU CAN READ FOR FREE HERE!)

Also, wanna write a story or make a comic about how she meets them and her whole backstory, but I'm still thinking about it, but here's the basic outline!

Chrysta is a part of the extremely distant Russian descendant on her mother's side. Yet her face is the spitting image of the princess Anastasia David had fallen for many years ago... It was what had gotten the bleached haired individual and the rest of his motley crew to keep staring at the stranger and her friends standing afar.

It wasn't until Chrysta's friends had whispered to her about the watchful eyes of the boys all perched on their bikes Chrysta had looked back to fully face the four. Eyes locking with the pair of cold blue ones.

As confident as she had been labeled, she immediately brought her gaze shyly to the ground, excusing herself from her friends and disappearing into the busying crowds along the boardwalk. Moments later, the four boys followed after, leaving their bikes parked outside the video store.

And the pursuit continued for a while, stalking and searching through crowds, picking out anyone who looked similiar to the strange, familiar stranger, and when they had found her once more, she had looked back to see them following, only to hurry off and away from their eyesight again.

And it was only after Chrysta had disappeared through the door of the salon she worked at, giving one final expecting glance toward the four vampires they realized something.

She wasn't running away. She was playing hard to get.

So the game of cats and mouse continued almost routinely every night she snuck out, no matter where she was, they'd be there a moment or two later, somtimes vice versa.

And it wasn't until one night Chrysta had decided to hide away inside the video store she'd ACTUALLY meet David, Marko, Dwayne, and Paul. She'd been sneaking around trying to avoid them in the store, peeking around aisles and walking into the next one when they would go to the one she was in- just stupid cheesy cute stuff like that that .awesome me squeal and roll around giggling.

Chrysta does finally get trapped when David and Dwayne cut her off on the opposite side of the aisle, Mark and Paul, on the other, leaving her nowhere to go.

She did talk to them and finally got some names, pulled on her charm, ect- overall playing along and enjoying the company of these new strangers... Until Max had shown up, assuming the the boys were bothering her and tried to get them to leave, thankfully Chrysta explained they weren't doing any harm and made sure to keep their case clean in front of the Video store owner.

Reluctantly, he believed her, but told them to leave as he'd told them multiple times not to come around here anymore.

As a thanks for sticking up for them, David offered her a ride on their bikes, just to check out the boardwalk and beach. Just 'one' ride.

Chrysta was a little unsure at first, like those stoies or cliches of the girl running away on the back of a boys bike. But after some convincing at playful peer pressure from the rest if them, she decided why not. A little rebellion never hurt anyone!

Right?

----

ANYWAY HERE SHE IS IM SORRY I RAMBLED BUT THIS IS MY BOO IN ALL HER GLORY!!!

You can also see her ref sheet for more stuff here!

I hope I answered your questions and let me know if anything wasn't clear enough or you need more specifics!

[fnafsbheadcanon]

Gregory: So you’ve been around since the 80s, Freddy? Tell me what they were like! Did everyone have weird hair and outfits, Freddy? Did you meet any 80s movie stars, Freddy? Did you kill a man, Freddy?

Freddy:……What happens in Hurricane, Utah stays in Hurricane, Utah.

Gregory: Damn it tell what happened in Utah

[sketching-pasketti]

I’ve been looking for your blog for so long because of you thinking that fnaf and creepypasta exist together, and I also do!! So, I was wondering if you could elaborate on that. If not, that’s totally fine!! Have a great day.😸

I would love to elaborate on this!

For most of the characters it's a "I've seen/heard of you before but nothing else" type of relationship.

I'd like to think that because FNAF is set in Utah most of the characters have never interacted face to face, they've heard of the pastas when they've either been declared missing, dead, or wanted

Longer elaboration under the cut

So William and Henry being the old men that they are heard of Sally as soon as she went missing, now since Henry's the only one out of the two of them with a heart he wanted to help locate her. But William can make a pretty decent argument of "We have a whole business to run, we are not looking for a child"

Oh yeah Slender also likes to kill and kidnap children, William's heard it all and he doesn't believe Slender exists, but Mrs. Afton has seen him before, so she knows

Fast forward to the early 80s and Tim's gonna have a birthday party at Fazbear's! Or so he thought, thanks William. Yeah 6 missing children and the owner's son dying due to an animatronic in just like 2 weeks? World Record winning Afton over here ruined little Timothy's big day

84, bye bye Elizabeth :). And Mrs. Afton :(. What other reason do you need to not go any animatronic-hosting restaurant anymore? Especially when it's the one restaurant where the robots are designed specifically to kill children? Tim's parents clearly didn't need anymore reason, neither did Brian's.

Everyone's heard of the bite of 87 so we're not gonna talk about that since SL happens like right after it and probably not the best headline to make, Michael, but you tried. Oh yeah, somewhere around this point they find out that Sally's dead.

FNAF 1 barely exists for like half a second and then we go 30 years into the future to 2017 (Also I'm pretty sure William got springlocked sometime in 87). So now most of the pastas are actively being goofy, and some are starting to move into the mansion.

YAY Fazbear's Fright burns down, Jeff saw it, best night of his life if you ask him. After that it's all quiet on the FNAF front for a few years but with the pastas it's absolute chaos, Zalgo's now being the goofiest goober and restarting ancient shit that Slender no longer gives a flying fuck about.

Yippitee yippitee hooray, FNAF's back on the menu, boys. Except no one really cares about PizzaSim and UCN, so we're ignoring them. Anything after those happen way too late and the pastas are not as active anymore.

So I think I should clarify that most of the Creepypasta shenanigans are happening in or around the Midwest/Southwest area, not anywhere near Utah

[upthewitchypunx]

Greetings from the Riverhouse! It's been too long since we have been up. While watching bats fly over the river last night we saw the International Space Station quickly move across the sky! It was so bright due to the angle of the sun right at the time.

My mom reminded me that when I moved to Utah for 5th grade our teacher gave us an assignment to write a story of how our family got to Utah. Apparently I got a bad grade for my story being about riding in a station wagon with logs of pecan and mesquite wood (for my dad's BBQ) strapped to the top on our way from Texas and dropping my grandmother off in Colorado Springs to see a friend.

It was Utah in the 80s and I guess our teacher expected everyone to have some Mormon Pulling-a-hand-cart across the plains in the 1840s story? Sorry? My mom is still mad about it but I don't even remember.